We Know!

“In The New Beginning”
Mark 16:1-8
April 8, 2012/Easter Sunday

            Christos Anesthi.  Aliethos Anesthi.

            Christ is risen.  He is risen indeed.

            Thanks to the Greek contingent in my family I can speak a few words in Greek – a very few.  I can say hello, stop, leave it, yes, etc.  But the most important words I know are the ones I just said.  Christos Anesthi.  Aliethos Anesthi.  Christ is risen.  He is risen indeed. 

            These words will be heard all over the world today.  They will be proclaimed in every language we can think of.  As a congregation we began our service with them and they will keep being offered throughout our service.  Yet what I find interesting and strange is that while we are literally and figuratively shouting them from the rooftops this day, they cannot seem to be found in Mark’s gospel. 

            The passage that we read today from Mark’s gospel is considered to be the actual ending of Mark.  This can be confusing because if you read ahead in your pew Bible, you saw that there were two other endings listed – the shorter and the longer.  It’s believed by scholars that these two endings were added by later scribes or editors.  And it’s no wonder that some well-meaning scribe wanted to “fix” this original ending in Mark.  It’s not much of an ending. 

Stopping at verse 8, leaves us with a picture of some pretty sorry disciples.  They leave the tomb afraid.  They run away.  They were too terrified and too amazed to speak at all, much less shout that Christ is risen. 

            If you like a story where the ending wraps everything up into a nice little package, one that ties up all the loose strings,  then you can probably understand why a later writer wanted to create more of an ending to Mark’s ending. 

Because this one, with the disciples taking off and keeping their silence in spite of being told to speak, isn’t exactly a happy ending, is it?  It doesn’t even seem like an ending at all.  At best it’s a cliffhanger, but we want another book in the saga to find out what happens next.

            But this is Mark’s ending, so this is what we must wrestle with.  The Sabbath is finally over.  Three women, Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James and Salome, make their way to the tomb to anoint Jesus’ body with spices.  While they are walking they’re worrying about how they’re going to move the stone that blocks the tomb.  But what a surprise when they finally reach the tomb to see that the stone has been rolled away for them!  So they go inside and the tomb is empty save for a young man, dressed all in white.  This alarms them.  But the young man greets them with the words, “Do not be alarmed.”  In other words, fear not.

            The young man knows why they are there.  They are looking for Jesus of Nazareth but he is not there.  He has been raised.  He even points out the spot where Jesus was laid to prove that Jesus was there and now it is empty.  He tells them to go and tell the disciples, tell Peter that Jesus is going on before them to Galilee, and there they will see him.  It is everything that Jesus told them. 

            Fear not.  This is the standard greeting in our scriptures when a divine being is about to import dramatic, amazing, life-changing news to a human who was not expecting it in the least.  Fear not. 

            But the women didn’t listen.  They were terrified.  They were amazed.  They could not bring the words, “He is risen,” to their lips.  They run away.  Fear takes hold of them in every single way and they flee without saying anything to anyone.  The End.

            It’s not exactly a happy ending, is it? 

            It’s not really an ending at all.  Which is what, I suspect, Mark wanted. 

On the first Sunday of Advent last November, when we dove into Mark’s gospel for this liturgical year, I stated that in order to understand the beginning of Mark’s gospel, we also had to give our attention to the ending of his gospel.  Now that we’ve reached Easter, it seems that’s true for the ending as well.  If we want to understand the ending, we have to go back to the beginning.

One of the contributors to Workingpreacher.org wrote that at first glance it seems that as a writer Mark is terrible at both beginnings and endings.  Because the beginning of Mark’s gospel doesn’t exactly leap off the page either. 

            “The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.” 

            In my journalism classes in college we learned about and discussed in great length the importance of the lead.  You have to catch the reader’s attention in the first sentence or else you lose them completely.  Mark must not have taken the same courses I did.  At first glance, it doesn’t seem to be a gripping way to start off such an important story as this one.  But Mark isn’t about engaging in long discourse.  He does not mince words.  From the very first moment, we, the readers, know exactly who Jesus is and what we’re reading in the first place.  Jesus is the Son of God and this is the beginning of his gospel, his good news. 

            We know that right up front.  The problem is that the disciples, the people around Jesus, the people who were part of this story don’t.  They don’t know.  Jesus tells them.  He teaches them.  He tells them stories, trying to explain the kingdom of God in ideas they can understand.  He takes on any trick question that comes his way.  He teaches with authority.  Jesus asks them, the disciples, their opinion about his identity, and does not deny the truth Peter uttered.  “You are the Messiah.”

            Jesus taught them of his suffering, his pain, his dying and rising again.  He spoke plainly.  But they don’t get it.  They don’t get it most of the time.  The whole way through Mark’s gospel, we struggle with the reality that the disciples and others around Jesus don’t seem to have a clue.  In the other gospels, such as Matthew’s, the disciples sort of get what Jesus is trying to convey to them, but in Mark’s gospel they remain clueless.  Mark cuts them no slack.  They remain unable to understand the full reality of the man they called their teacher.  Knowing this makes Mark’s ending to the gospel a little more understandable perhaps. 

            But who has known the truth of Jesus from the beginning of Mark’s gospel until the moment we have reached today?  Mark, obviously.  He states it right up front.  “The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.” 

            Mark knows.  God knows.  Jesus knows. 

            And we know.  The readers know who Jesus is.  We know his true identity.  We are privy to the words God spoke to Jesus at his baptism.  We hear quite clearly Mark’s declaration at the beginning of the gospel.  We have had front row seats from the very beginning until the bitter end.  We know.

            And because we know, I suspect that Mark saw this moment in the gospel not as an ending, but as a new beginning.  It is our new beginning.  Even though the disciples don’t get it, even though the women flee in terror after the young man in white tells them to fear not, we know.  We know! 

            Because we know, I don’t think Mark just got tired of writing by verse 8, threw his pen down and walked away.  I think he put it on us, the reader.  We have been told from the very beginning exactly who Jesus was, is and will be.  We know.  The disciples could not overcome their fear, but we can.  The women ran from the tomb, unable to spread the message that the angel gave them, but we don’t have to.  Because we know!  The ending of Mark is not an ending at all.  It is a beginning, a new beginning, for us!  It seems to me that the reality of Easter is not so much in looking back at what the inside circle around Jesus did or didn’t do thousands of years ago.  It is about what we can and should do now. 

Christos Anesthi!  Aliethos Anesthi!    Christ is risen!  He is risen indeed!

This is our new beginning to live each day as Easter people.  We know that death did not win.  We know that love is stronger than every other force that comes up against it.  We know that everything has changed, that fear flies in the face of God’s good news.  We know! 

This new beginning is ours.  I spent the first ten or so years of my ordained ministry agonizing every Easter about how to explain or tell or persuade when it came to the resurrection.  I finally realized that I don’t have to do that.  It’s not about fully understanding what happened in that tomb.  That’s just not possible.  But I do think that we become more fully Easter people when we acknowledge and proclaim that the empty tomb makes a difference.  Everything has changed.  We know!  And that is our calling this day and everyday – to proclaim that we know, we believe, we trust, we know.  In this new beginning we can do what the first disciples couldn’t, we can tell the world, Christos Anesthi!  Aliethos Anesthi!

Christ is risen!  He is risen indeed!

            Let all God’s children say, “Amen!”

Go To The Feet

Maundy Thursday

John 13:1-17, 31b-35

April 5, 2012

            The last time I was in the Minneapolis airport, I noticed several things.  Like other big airports, there were lots of gates and terminals.  There was a wide selection of overpriced places to eat and drink.  And there were also rows of elevated seats with foot rests.  Usually the folks sitting in those seats are business people; they’re reading papers, talking or texting on their smart phones or just staring straight ahead.  While they’re doing these things a person sits at their feet, shining their shoes.

            A wise professor of mine once said that this is the modern day equivalent of having our feet washed.  Because we don’t spend most of our day walking on dusty roads with only sandals for protection, we don’t require foot washing the way they did in the Near East in Jesus’ time.  Certainly we don’t see foot washing as a sign of hospitality when we have a guest in our home like the folks at that time did.  But we do occasionally need our shoes shined.

            Jesus would have been the one shining the shoes.

            At a family reunion several years ago, I heard a story about a great aunt of mine.  She wasn’t ordained in any way, but she did a lot of ministry.  People would come to her and tell her about an elderly relative – their mother or father or grandparent.  And they would say to my aunt, “My mom isn’t doing so well.  She feels old and useless, and I think she’s given up.  Do you think you could sit with her a while?”

            So my aunt would make a batch of her famous bread pudding, and she would gather her Bible and she would go and visit the mother or the father or the grandparent who was feeling old and had given up on life.  Sometimes my aunt was as old or older than the person she was visiting.  But my aunt would sit with them, and feed them her good bread pudding; she’d read them passages from the Bible and she’d rub their feet.  A huge health problem in elderly populations is foot trouble.  You use your feet for so many years and they’re bound to hurt after a while. Yet after all this ministry, bread pudding, scripture and the foot rub, the person would begin to feel a little better about life.  They’d feel more hopeful.

            Jesus would have rubbed their feet.

            Whenever I read this passage from John I feel uncomfortable.  That’s because I’ve always been a little uncomfortable with footwashing services in general.  Trust me, considering we’re about to participate in a footwashing service, I get the irony of me stating that.  But the idea of washing someone’s feet or having someone wash mine has always given me pause.  It seems to be such a menial task.

            That isn’t much of a change from the time this passage took place either.  Normally a servant would have been designated the foot washer.  But in this passage Jesus washes his disciples’ feet to teach them that no form of service was too lowly, no one who truly followed him could be above doing that kind of humble chore.  To truly love one another means to serve one another.  Jesus was willing to serve his disciples even in this most subservient of duties.

            Jesus was willing to go to the feet.

            Today, Maundy Thursday, we read this passage from John because it gives us Jesus’ new commandment to love one another.  The word Maundy comes from the Latin word for commandment.  Loving one another as Jesus has loved us is our new commandment.  And to illustrate this commandment Jesus wraps a towel around his waist, fills a basin with water, kneels before the disciples and washes their feet.

            This wasn’t his way of initiating a new religious ritual.  I don’t say that as a way of dismissing the ritual of foot washing or any other religious ritual – rituals provide a framework for our lives – instead I think that Jesus wanted the disciples to understand that loving, really loving, meant action.  It meant service.  Even the master must take the job of servant and wash feet. Jesus was willing to go to the feet.

            So the question before us is are we willing to do as Jesus did?  Are we willing to go to the feet?  In my ministry I’ve sat at bedsides, held shaking hands, prayed and wept and rejoiced with the people I’ve served.  I've been with them as they died, but have I ever washed their feet?  I’ve realized that if I’m not willing to go to the feet, to wash them, to put away my old ideas about pride and dignity and kneel at the feet of the people I serve then I’m not really doing as Jesus commanded.  I’m not truly loving as Jesus loved.  On this day when we consider the cross and the man who went there for our sakes, let us think about the love he showed.  Let us think about what it means to love and serve others.  And after this reflection, let us pick up our towels, fill our basins and go to the feet.  Amen.

Judas

“Then Judas Iscariot, who was one of the twelve, went to the chief priests in order to betray Jesus to them. When they heard it, they were greatly pleased, and promised to give him money. So he began to look for an opportunity to betray him.”   Mark 14:10-11

Did he choose

or was he chosen?

Had century sweeping vision,

or all-seeing eye,

gifted him with witness

name forever linked to

betrayal

                   death

would his hands still

clutch silver

trading treachery,  

bargaining in blood?

Did he choose

or was he chosen?

Was he anger blind?

sight narrowed by the

teacher’s unwillingness to

give less than call

demanded?

Did he choose

or was he chosen?

Destiny or decision?

preordained for destruction

or falling chips of

deed freely done

would foreknowledge halt

the transaction

Did he choose

or was he chosen?

In Remembrance of Her

“One Lovely Thing”

Mark 14:1-11

April 1, 2012

            My sister-in-law is a nurse.  She’s a very good nurse.  She’s competent, efficient, calming and compassionate.  The qualities and characteristics that make her a good nurse also make her a good friend.  A woman she worked with was talking one day about how homesick she was for her mother’s yeast rolls.  They were this woman’s comfort food, reminding her of the love and care from her childhood in her mother’s house.

            My sister-in-law heard this, went home that afternoon, gathered up all the ingredients and made yeast rolls for her fellow worker.  Mary Jo, that’s my sister-in-law, is also a really good cook.  I don’t know if she and the woman she worked with were the best of friends.  In fact, I doubt they were.  But that’s just the kind of thing Mary Jo does.  She will suddenly surprise you with a lovely thing.

            The action of the woman in our second passage from Mark’s gospel was also a lovely thing.  Mark, in typical fashion, doesn’t tell us much about this woman.  She never speaks and the only words that are spoken to her are ones of anger and scolding.  Although some have concluded that she is Mary of Bethany, Mark leaves her unnamed.  This anonymous woman walks up to Jesus as he reclines during the meal, breaks open a jar of fragrant oil and anoints his head.

            This jar was not just an everyday perfume bottle, but a jar crafted of alabaster; a costly, dense white mineral.  And the perfumed ointment of nard comes from a plant found only in India.  This all tells us that this was an expensive jar filled with a rare and precious oil.

            Some of the others at the table were shocked by the woman’s action.  It was wasteful!  This one bottle of oil could have been sold for more than a common laborer made in a year.  The profits from it could have filled many hungry stomachs.  Yet she broke the bottle and poured the oil out on Jesus instead.

            It’s interesting that none of them seemed to have considered the woman’s other alternative: she could have just as easily used the oil or the profits from it for herself.  Not only does Mark not tell us what her name was, he also doesn’t share her particular circumstances.

            Perhaps the woman was a widow, and this was a long-cherished wedding gift.  Maybe she was wealthy once, and this alabaster jar was all that was left of her fallen fortune.

            Whatever our woman’s situation might have been, the other men there saw only extravagance in her giving, and they scolded and rebuked her for her trouble.  But Jesus understood her actions differently, and it is through his words that her action is interpreted for us.  By anointing him with oil, this silent, unnamed woman performed a good service for Jesus.  She prepared his body for death.

            A good service.  The word for this in Greek is kalos.  It can mean something that is “morally right” or “good” or it can be understood as “beautiful,” “aesthetically pleasing.”  This woman’s deed encompassed and fulfilled both definitions.

            It was customary at that time to anoint a body with fragrant oil before burial.  However criminals were excluded from this tradition.  Soon, Jesus himself would be sentenced to a criminal’s death: death on a cross.

            One of our basic beliefs as Christians, certainly as reformed Christians, is that Jesus was both fully human and fully divine.  It is tempting sometimes to see Jesus only as divine, and forget his humanity.  But he was human.  And being human, there must have been times when Jesus, just like us, needed compassion and care.

            The minister also required ministry.

            In anointing Jesus this woman did more than just make a nice gesture, she ministered to him in his time of need.

            She did a good service for him, not only because what she did was morally right, but because it was a beautiful, lovely thing.  Without thought for herself, without calculation, acting only with compassion and love, she did for Jesus all that she could.

            One lovely thing.

            Many years ago before my mom retired, she worked and was good friends with a woman named Mary Lee.  One Thanksgiving, Mary Lee, her husband and kids were driving through a rural part of North Carolina, on their way to spend the holiday with family.

            They had left the main highway and were driving along a back road when their car broke down.  They hadn’t passed another car or star or house for miles.  This was WAY before the day of mobile technology, and standing there on the side of this desolate country road, it seemed as though this Thanksgiving was ruined.

            About this time a rusty, beat-up pick-up truck came barreling down the road.  It was a father and his teenage son, and they stopped to see if Mary Lee and her family needed help.  As far as appearances go, these two looked like pretty rough folks.  But the situation seemed desperate, and she and her husband needed whatever help they could get.

            It turned out the nearest telephone was at their house, and the man offered to take Mary Lee’s husband home to call family and find out about getting a tow truck.  Having no other choice, he accepted the offer, and the three of them rode off together.

            They were gone for what seemed like hours, although it probably wasn’t that long, but Mary Lee was getting frantic.  Finally she heard the sound of the truck coming down the road.  But as the vehicle pulled into view, she saw that another car was following behind.  In that car was the man’s wife and the rest of his family.

            And with them they brought plate after steaming plate of turkey, mashed potatoes, cranberries, rolls, pumpkin pies.  Any Thanksgiving fixin you can think of.  They brought silverware, napkins, drinks.  This family, acting solely out of compassion and love, brought Thanksgiving to complete strangers stranded on the side of the road.

            Mary Lee, with tears streaming down her face, was literally speechless at this one lovely thing done for them in the midst of such a gone-wrong day.

            One lovely thing.

            Mary Lee and her family weren’t poor.  They just had car trouble.  Somewhere in North Carolina a Thanksgiving meal was waiting for them.  And they probably would have gotten their car fixed and found a place to eat sometime, somewhere, had this family not come to their rescue.  But in their time of immediate need, a family ministered to them.  They did for Mary Lee and her family a faithful, lovely thing out of compassion and love.  Just like this silent, anonymous woman who anointed Jesus’ head with oil.

            Throughout Lent, we’ve been making our way to Jerusalem.  And now, today, Palm Sunday, we stand at the gates of the city.  We sing hosannas and wave palms, commemorating this day when Jesus entered into Jerusalem on the back of a colt.  His procession is called triumphant, but it is a triumph that leads him inevitably to the cross.

            With each step that Jesus takes we too journey closer to Golgotha.  So even as we shout our praises and throw our palms on the ground before him, the cross casts its shadow across our path.

            For 40 days now we’ve been making preparations for his death in different ways.  But now as we enter into Holy Week, as we stand on the threshold between death and new life, one last preparation is called for.  That preparation is one lovely thing.  Whether rescuing strangers on the side of the road, sharing someone’s tears in a time of grief, or offering friendship to a lonely person, it is doing this one lovely thing that prepares us for the death and resurrection of Jesus.

            I believe there is no better preparation that we can make.  There seems to be no more fitting response to the love shown us than to offer back that love to someone else.  Because today and throughout this week we remember that through a humble man hanging on a rough wooden cross God does for us the loveliest thing of all.  Amen.