Sermon: The Faith of Abraham

            “Here I am.”

            Here it is… 
the strange story commonly known as Akedah Itzak
—the Binding of Isaac.

            A sacred story that asks many questions of us, 
even some we may not wish to answer.

            A story where:
-The Devotion of Abraham gets to the core of what we mean by Faith. 
-The Experience of Isaac raises questions about how that faith is passed on.
-God’s Intervention at the end, answers a gnawing question we may have, “What kind of God do we have faith in?”

Prayer

 

            Here I am, Lord!

            Just as I am. Everything on the line…

            I left Ur of the Chaldees all those years back, 
and with that all of my kinsfolk, 
to come to this land of promise. 

            To follow after you, Lord God… 
to travel by hoof and by foot 
through dessert and dryness and danger… 
over 2,000 miles, for you, 
because you called me, 
because we cut a covenant
—we made a relationship.

            Every other relationship broken… 
everything on edge…
I wrecked it all!
Hagar and Ishmael cast out. 
Sarah bitter and broken hearted.

            Again and again, 
everything on the line…

            Yet here I am, 
here I stand, on your promises alone.

 

Here I am, Lord!

            The promise of a son
—offspring and posterity 
as plentiful as the stars in the night sky
—my beloved son…. 
            Commanded by the very God who promised him to me… 
commanded to put him to the flame.

            It’s immoral, 
yet I will give way to your command… 
            Does not God’s awful command 
make ethical the unthinkable? 
The logic of every act of religious violence and fanaticism…
Yet…

 

Here I am, Lord!

            Face to face with how far I’ll go… 
Tested… 
my faith revealed.

            The Faith of Abraham, they will call it
—and debate about what it is:
            Is it mere cognitive assent
—belief
—knowing the right answers about God?

            Is it emotional investment
—a feeling of the heart
—being emotionally moved by God?

            If that is all this is about
—if that’s faith
—the test failed!

            I didn’t! I didn’t fail!
I trust you! 
I am in awe of you! 
I am utterly devoted to you, O Lord!

 

Here I am, Father!

            What a strange faith… 
I’ll give it a try, for you, dad.
            But you need to know, it isn’t enough to walk with you… 
though if you don’t let me do at least that, 
all of this is lost… 
            You need to understand Father Abraham
—I never knew Ur, 
I did not travel the roads you traveled. 

            What moves you does not move me.

Faith isn’t inherited without effort, intentionality, and love.
            If you don’t even go through the motions with me, 
what makes you think I will ever know your God?

 

Here I am, Father!

            As we walk, let me interrogate you for a while… 
because, you see, while we are walking together, 
we are generationally and experientially apart.
—let me see if this all passes the sniff test
—let me look under the hood 
and check your integrity. 

            Share your Holy Wisdom with me!

Tell me your story! 
Where’s the lamb? 
Who is this God we will sacrifice to?

            Let me participate too
—let me carry the wood, 
experience the danger of faith.

 

Here I am, Father!

            I have to experience it! 
I have to know this God for myself! 

            I need this faith translated into my vernacular! 
It need to be true to me! 
Now!
Not a generation ago.
Not a historical truth.
Not a formula or wager… 
but salvation now! 
God for me. 
Now!

(Perhaps this is what we do every Sunday
—experience together God and God’s promises, 
in a way that can be true for us today! 
At least for this week, 
this moment… 
bread for today and hope for tomorrow)

            Oh my Lord! Oh my God!

            The knife put away! 
The climax of Abraham’s promise is the beginning of Isaac’s own. 
My relationship with God. 
            This is the God who saved me!

 

Abraham! Abraham! Here I am!

            God with you in your pain
—you probably didn’t catch it… 
most translators don’t
—it’s one little word, 
in the midst of a big long sentence
—but I say in Hebrew “Na,” Please! 

            I recognize the horrific nature of this test
—I am not disinterested or unconcerned.

            This isn’t a situation 
where I do not understand the gravity of my command
—my request.

            I am suffering with you 
as you reach your ragged edge, 
climb up the steep mountain that is faith.

 

Abraham! Abraham! Here I am!

            This experience of yours
—it has echoes, it foretells
—another tale of faithfulness… 
            My Son, my only Son, whom I love, Jesus… 
Humanity will take him up Mount Golgotha,
will kill him… 
and I will accept their murder of him 
as a sacrifice for sin… 
even the sin of killing my son.

 

Abraham! Abraham! Here I am!

            Do not lay your hand on the boy, 
or do anything to him… 
I am not that kind of God!

            I am not some second-rate deity 
who requires gifts and sacrifices. 
I do not hunger or thirst, 
save for justice for all my children.

            No small God am I. 
I am the ground of all that is, 
and more still
—the source of all goodness.

            I am a God beyond religion
—for religion says “Sacrifice” 
but faith say “God will provide.”

            Look up! A ram!
Be a true steward
—you offer what I have first given you.

            It is said of me, 
“God demands mercy, 
not sacrifice, 
the knowledge of God, 
not holocaust.”

 

            “Here I am.”

            Here it is… Akedah Itzak.

            A story that speaks to us today about: 
-the nature of faith, 
-how faith is passed from generation to generation, 
and the subject of that faith
—God who is Merciful and Just.
Amen.

The Family of Abraham

          We’re never satisfied by the biblical tale, 

we are often embarrassed by it and want to: 
expand it, embellish it, and explain it, 
because we fail to realize that it is more sophisticated than we give it credit for…

         And this is nothing new… 
When Jewish thinkers ran into other cultures, and shared their stories, 
they were skewered for calling these tales sacred and holy… 

         After all, so much of storytelling in the dominant cultures of the ancient world was about asserting greatness and lifting up feats of renown
—stories of strength, 
stories about heroes… 
or maybe they would occasionally go as low as tragic heroes… 
or perhaps they would feature Greek Choirs singing about tragic heroes… 
But that was as humble and human as they were likely to go…
and then you have the Bible… 

         Apologists of all sorts would try to change it
—make the people of God into figures like Hercules or Agamemnon, Romulus and Remus
—Superheroes instead of humans like you and me…

         But, the tales were already there, too entrenched in the religious imagination to be easily erased… 
the bare bones tales of the Bible are so incredibly honest
—they tell tales of God’s people—warts and all. 

         Hesitant and stuttering liberators, 
bizarre traumatized prophets, 
puzzling sages and wisemen talking in circles, 
and Messiahs who die.

         And today’s story about the family of Abraham is no exception. 
A new family member comes on the scene
—little Isaac
—and every piece of the puzzle changes
—it’s a o’ so human drama worthy of TV shows like Yellowstone or Succession, 
or literature like Shakespeare’s King Lear or Richard the 3^rd or Dostoyevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov… 
or at least the tawdry tabloid take on the British Royal Family… 
O’ so human, these people of God.

Prayer

 

         There is a question that shapes the whole of this story
—what does it mean that Ishmael played with Isaac? 

         Some folk turn it into a “William Tell” kind of game
—shooting an apple off the head of a newborn… 
others read it as sexual abuse… 

Still others dismiss it as word play
—Sarah laughed about Isaac, and now Ishmael laughs about Isaac…
         But let’s read it flat, the plain meaning, playing… 
an older brother and a younger brother playing… 
they are siblings, from the same family, playing… 
It’s a natural, ordinary, thing
—one big happy family…

 

         And Sarah doesn’t like that family arrangement, 
she can’t stand it… 

         After all, she consents to this set up, 
was the one who invited Hagar into her husband’s bed…
she regrets she chose to allow Abraham to make such an arrangement with their slave girl.

         She responds to that regret by viciously casting Hagar and Ishmael out, 
separating them from the family.
         Have you ever done that? 
         -Have you ever regretted a choice and lashed out? 
         -Have you ever been angry at yourself, 
but attacked someone else instead?
         -Or been angry at someone who has power over you, 
and you couldn’t punch up, 
so you punched down instead? 
         -Have you ever pulled the rung out from under the feet of someone, climbing the same ladder as you?

 

         When she comes to Abraham with this, 
he plays Hamlet
—indecisive and cowardly
—heart torn by two families
         Pulled tight like a bungee cord at a monster truck rally
—eventually snapping back fast, and hurting people…

         Abraham at least holds out for a promise from God
—that both houses will have a future.

         But then he gladly grasps the easy solution
…that is… 
easy only for him and Sarah
—he gets rid of them, 
casts his slave girl and son out of the household.

 

         Perhaps Hagar initially experiences this as freedom… after all she remembers her previous escape from slavery to Abraham and Sarah, 
caught out in the desert, 
where she sees God…

         Perhaps she begins by assuming she will be saved in the desert, 
for God will see her again, 
see them.
         But out there in the sun and elements, 
bearing Ishmael through the wilderness,
this sweet hope, 
this taste of freedom, 
curdles, 
and she moves to desperation and despair
—like those harrowing and horrible stories of enslaved mothers on slave ships, 
who fling their children overboard, 
so the child will not endure the cruelty of their mother’s plight
—so too Hagar flings the boy, casts off Ishmael into the desert to die of exposure.

 

         Cast out, 
where God hears his cry, 
hears Ishmael
—out where the Angel of the Lord intervenes
—calls on Hagar to look up! 
(I love the physicality of this in the Hebrew, 
she lifts up her eyes, 
as Abraham will famously do in the next chapter) 
Look up! 
Look up to providence
—water in wilderness heat, 
look up hope! 
It’s not over! Look up! 
A Future despite being cast off and cast out!
         Lift up your eyes, 
God is here!

 

         An amazing story
—the cast off and cast out are heard and held by God

         —that might not be heroic in a conventional sense… 
but to those of us transformed by the unconventional reality of God’s grace! 
It’s gospel! 
         In the dry wilted thorn-grey-brown of wilderness 
the wideness of God’s mercy is on display! 

         Mercy wide like oceans, 
wider than galaxies, 
if you looked lightyears away
—God would be on the other side of the telescope still loving you there too!
         There’s a theme that runs through Genesis, 
of family lines chosen or not, 
Isaac not Ishmael, 
Sara not Hagar, 
Rachel not Leah, 
Jacob not Esau, 
Joseph not the 11… 
yet God’s blessings abound, splash out of any stingy cup we might try to hold it in

         Yes, the chosen are blessed, 
but the cast out are too! 
         There is enough God to go around, 
to overcome despair and desperation, 
         To mend a torn heart and buoy even the cowardly with promise! 
         The generousity of God can take a vicious choice, 
self-hatred and loathing even, 
and empty it of wrath, 
disarm it 
and right even awful wrongs.

 

         We’re never satisfied by the biblical tale, 
there aren’t enough super heroes, 
if you really read it, 
it’s too honest about people…
human O’ so Human…

         I’m just glad it is also honest about God.

Amen?

Lord of the Harvest

          The calling of the 12 is a height of a pattern established well before today’s reading… Miracle, call. Miracle, call. Miracle, call.

         Jesus cleanses a Leper, makes well a paralyzed man, and heals the sick
—then calls an unnamed disciple to follow him.

         Similarly, he makes wind and sea to cease its chaos, and stills, too, the inner chaos of two poor possessed souls by performing an exorcism
—then he calls Matthew.

         Likewise, there is the flurry of healings we read last week— which culminate in today’s calling of the 12, after Jesus prays: 
         “Lord of the Harvest, 
your harvest is plentiful, 
but the laborers are few, 
please send out laborers 
into your harvest.”

 

Prayer

         Yes, 
Jesus teaches in thought provoking parables, 
proclaims Gospel—good news, for the people, 
and follows that good news up with curing and healing.

         He sees this crowd of people
—the harassed and the helpless
—and has compassion on them… 
is moved, 
yes, moved in the guts, 
in the depths of himself
—by their plight… 
and by his own limitations…
—part of God becoming flesh, 
is accepting the limitations of the body… 
Jesus can’t be everywhere, in 1^st century Palestine…

 

         There is a scene in the rock opera Jesus Christ Super Star that touches this point, 
this moment of pity and compassion
—where Norman Jewison’s version of Jesus is overwhelmed by a sea of 
lepers, the sick, the poor, 
all asking him to touch them, 
they wash over Jesus 
and he shouts to his Father in Heaven, and to the crowd:
“There are too many of you… 
there is too little of me!”

         In Matthew’s account, Jesus prays to his Father, 
“Lord of the Harvest, 
your harvest is plentiful, 
but the laborers are few, 
please send out laborers 
into your harvest.” 

         God answer’s his prayer, 
with 12 disciples who become Apostles
—those who are sent out.

God answers his prayers, 
and so Jesus authorizes these disciples to go out and do as he did…

         Go to the lost 
and remind them of God’s closeness
and graciously heal the hurting
—restore the lost.

Go out lightly, 
with nothing to offer 
save what Jesus first gave you
—the peace of his presence.

         Receive the hospitality of those you minister to…
         Be ready for dangers and disappointments
—vulnerable, just as Christ accepted the vulnerability of being human.

 

 “Lord of the Harvest, 
your harvest is plentiful, 
but the laborers are few, 
please send out laborers 
into your harvest.”

         Hear a second time what is being prayed by our Lord:

         The house that is burning is salvageable, 
but there aren’t many good firefighters, 
so ask the captain of the fire station 
to send more firefighters into the rubble.

         The need is great, 
the workers are few, 
the world needs to hear and to know Gospel.

 

         “Lord of the Harvest, 
your harvest is plentiful, 
but the laborers are few, 
please send out laborers 
into your harvest.”

         Hear yet again what is being said:

         Janet, our council president, and I have been reviewing the congregation’s rolls in preparation to clean them
—after all, 
our claim that we have 490 members seems… 
to stretch the facts… 
on initial review, we seem to be much closer to 130…

         Now, that means there are 360 members 
who we’ve lost somewhere along the line
—that number represents a bunch of folk 
who are separated from the fellowship of their baptism…

         At least some of them, 
are folk who are 
harassed, harried, and hurt
—in some cases by the church itself…
who may need to hear words of 
repentance or reconciliation or restoration.

         Imagine Jesus authorizing all of us to reach out to our siblings, 
separated in so many different ways
—and offering them peace.

 

         “Lord of the Harvest, 
your harvest is plentiful, 
but the laborers are few, 
please send out laborers 
into your harvest.”

         Or, perhaps even that last example feels a little too pie in the sky… 
well, in the last few weeks I’ve been thinking about ministry here at Spruce Run
—what we’re up to as a congregation. 
(I think this happens with most pastors sometime after Pentecost
—you finally have at least a few minutes to catch your breath and look around and ask, 
“What just happened these last 7 months… 
the mad rush from Advent to the end of the Easter Season?”)

         And I think I can describe it in three words:
—Grace, Love, Gospel… 
or maybe three actions: 
receive, rejoice, reach out…

         -We’ve received God’s grace in worship and faith formation
—Lenten vespers and weekly Sunday School
         -We’ve loved one another… rejoiced together in times of fellowship
—shared meals and shared moments...
         -We’ve spread the Good news, reaching out with the Gospel
—through acts of service, outreach, and evangelism.

 

         When we receive, rejoice, and reach out
—we’re embodying 
“The Kingdom of Heaven has come near.” 
We’re part of God’s answer to Jesus’ prayer!

 

         “Lord of the Harvest, 
your harvest is plentiful, 
but the laborers are few, 
please send out laborers into your harvest.”

         As I said, Matthew establishes a pattern
—Miracle, Call. Miracle, Call. Miracle, Call…

         -Jesus goes out to make God’s good presence known, 

         -then Jesus sent out 12 two by two, 
the good news present in 6 separate places… 

         -and then the 70 are sent
—Gospel in 35 places! 
Calling in the lost sheep of Israel…

         And then, there is one more miracle
—Jesus’ resurrection.

         And the call expands exponentially!

         The call is given new life when the risen Christ comes and says:
         “Go and make disciples of all nations… 
remember, I am with you always, 
to the end of the age.”

 

         “Lord of the Harvest, 
your harvest is plentiful, 
but the laborers are few, 
please send out laborers 
into your harvest.”

Amen.

Sheep Poem in 4 parts

             Poetry is weird. 

            Poetry is a kind of truthful seeing, put into words. 
The poet takes metaphors and analogies and images,
and they gather together, 
and are seen and said, 
in just such a way that a truer truth crystalizes, 
because these images were collected and connected.

 

            The 23^rd Psalm is a braiding of three thought threads
—Sheep, 
Pilgrimage to Jerusalem, 
and Life in God, 
crystalized together and packed so tightly by the religious imaginations of both Jews and Christians down through the centuries
that this Psalm gathers meaning upon meaning into it, 
like a cartoon snowball rolling down a hill.

            So today, we’re going to take a little time to carefully hear the expanding meaning of this most celebrated of Psalms.

Prayer

 

            Imagine the life of a sheep who is well cared for by its shepherd.

            Yes, you are vulnerable to a variety of dangers and prone to wander. 
But the shepherd’s voice calls you in to the flock. 
He leads you through peril, 
provides an abundance of green grass for you, 
and he ensures that you have a secure sheepfold 
in which to live out all of your days. 

 

            And something about that idea, shakes loose another image. 
Aren’t those pilgrims traveling to Mount Zion, 
to the Holy Temple in Jerusalem, 
aren’t they like a flock.

            In their dessert travels, 
they seek oasis and wadi, 
green pasture and potable water. 
A guide, 
or at least guiding words from those who’ve made the journey before them, 
are crucial, 
for there are many dangers 
on the steep and windy road from Jericho to Jerusalem.

            Along the way, 
and still more once they arrive in Jerusalem, 
they hope for hospitality, 
for a safe home to stay in, 
for cool and cleansing oil, 
a place to decamp before the main event, 
the ultimate destination
—the temple where God’s glory resides, 
visiting the home of God.

 

            Pilgrimage though, that thought pushes the imagination further still, 
this movement to the center of Holiness, 
is it not also a description of Life in God?

            Our existence itself, 
being thrown into reality, 
is from God, 
and God continually provides for us our whole life long
—all that is necessary and nourishing, 
a good gift.

            In the good times, 
God is there to be thanked, 
and serves as a solid rock on which to stand, 
when we need to be upheld, 
and serves as a bed upon which to rest and recuperate 
in the rough patches.

            God, you have broad shoulders, 
they can bear our every disappointment, anger, and bitterness; 
Lord, your shoulder is a shoulder to cry upon 
and draw courage from as well; 
You are with us in the shadow of death and threat of evil.

            In you, we find sustenance and healing, 
hospitality and invitation; 
you love us so O God.

            We are restless until we rest in You, 
the promised end of the journey, 
our pilgrimage, is the embrace of God.

            Jesus is our Shepherd
—the Good Shepherd.

            When we hear the Gospel, learn the faith, 
prepare for Baptism
—that is green pasture for us.

            When the physical sign of word and water meet you in worship, 
you are being called by name like Mary at the Resurrection, 
is that not the still waters we yearn for?

            The Holy Spirit restores your soul, 
and is sealed upon your brow with oil and promise.

            Our lives lived as Kingdom people, 
are the right pathways on this pilgrimage, 
guided and guarded.

            Christ’s voice calling us onward, 
is the comfort of his rod and his staff, 
He is before us
for he goes on ahead of us to prepare a place for us, 
he gives us an example and empowers us 
to follow his loving call to be disciples.

            Holy communion is the table he prepared for us 
at the last supper, 
a thankful meal for us
—abundant life
—a rich feast.

            This life of belonging
—we need each other dear church
—the community of the Church; 
among us, is found the goodness and mercy of God that lasts a lifetime.

An Easter Sunrise Service riff on the traditional "Paschal Homily"

All you Lovers of God, enjoy this Easter Celebration, this delightful festival of God’s love.

All you wearied from your Lenten spiritual practices and journey, now is your reward.

All you grateful and tired servants, rejoice and enter into Christ’s joy.

All you crucified ones, martyrs, and the dead, rest and reside in the Resurrection.

All you vigil holders and early risers, Christ is risen indeed, Alleluia.

All of you, 
You who are eager to run the race—look the Way of Jesus is ever before you!

Believers still puzzling over what you have found—is this not all our lot in life, faith seeking understanding?

Weeping Ones troubled by blunt question marks—take them as best you can and know he is present with you in your grief.

Christ seekers yearning to say, “I have seen the Lord!”—look for here is among us, where two or three gather, Christ is present.

All of you!

Christ is risen. (Christ is risen indeed. Alleluia.)

 

         When Kingdoms rage and tyrants stomp blood stained feet—do not forget that our Ascended Lord and the Reign of God has been revealed.

         When hunger rumbles, join his joyful feast.

         When our life’s mistakes make us o’ so heavy, weep not, for forgiveness has dawned from the tomb.

         When friends die too young, when heartbreak hangs heavy upon us, when the loneliness of old age and death overshadows… be not afraid, for by joining us in death, the Savor has set us free.

         Hades swallowed him up, he went down deep into death, and yet it was death who was bound.

         The Grave encountered Jesus Christ and came up short. See, the bitterness of death bites it’s teeth, for death is abolished, mocked, death is slain and the rule of death is overthrown.

         See, it sought a human life, and found God. It accepted earth, but met heaven. It received a visible thing, and fell for the invisible.

         Say now: “O death, where is thy sting? O hades, where is thy victory?”

Christ is risen, and thou art cast down.

Christ is risen, and the demons are fallen.

Christ is risen, and the angels rejoice.

Christ is risen, and life flourisheth.

Christ is risen, and there is none dead in the tombs.

For Christ, being risen from the dead, is become the first-fruits of them that have fallen asleep. To Him be glory and dominion unto the ages of ages. Christ is risen. (Christ is risen indeed. Alleluia.)

Mary Magdalene meets her risen Lord.

          Christ is Risen, 

He is Risen indeed, Alleluia!

         Throughout the Season of Lent we’ve been preparing for this! 
Reading how six ordinary people
—Nichodemus, 
the Samaritan Woman, 
the Man Born Blind, 
and Martha, Mary, and Lazarus
—had their ordinary lives transformed into extraordinary lives
Because they encountered Jesus Christ
—they experienced God in sandals
—the Creator in the flesh ministering to them and to their needs.

 

         And today is the culmination of these stories by John: 
Mary Magdalene meets her risen Lord.

Prayer

 

         Mary was there at the cross, 
with the other women. 
She had witnessed 
his arrest, 
beating, 
humiliation, 
and execution. 
Now, alone and in the dark…
—remember John has a thing about lighting…

(Nick meets Jesus at night, 
the Samaritan Woman at high noon, 
the Man Born Blind has his night turned to day, 
and Jesus calls Lazarus out of an oh so dark tomb)

—In John’s gospel exposure to the Sun in the sky 
indicates an ongoing relationship with the Son of God…

         So Mary, assuming death has put an end to 
her relationship with Jesus, 
goes alone in darkness to the tomb, 
and finds the tomb not as they left it… 

 

         Have you ever had an awful week, 
and then, when you finally think it’s at least done, 
had one more thing piled atop it?

         That’s where Mary is
—The stone’s removal is not initially received as good news, 
but instead one last indignity, 
one more thing in a hellish week…

         “Oh Lord! Now we’ve got to find the body!”

         

         After the strange footrace between Peter and… 
the beloved Disciple, (probably Lazarus)
Mary finds herself alone again.

         She peers into the darkness of the tomb, 
yet another reminder that following Jesus seems to be a dead end.

         She peers in, and is surprised by two angels asking about her tears.

         “Why am I crying? 
My beloved teacher was executed 
and now I have to find the body!”

 

         And then, she turns around, 
and is asked again about her tears… 
and this man, 
perhaps the gardener, 
asks, 
“For whom are you looking?”

-What would soothe your soul?
-Right the wrongs of this world? 
-Whose presence would make God fully present for you?

         But she goes to the immediate problem… 
as most of us would…
“I need my Lord’s body, 
even if I have to drag it back here myself!”

         Then, the one she seeks, the one she needs, 
says her name:

         “Mary!”

         “Rabbouni!” she replies.

 

         She wants to hold onto him a little longer, 
so he won’t leave her again… 
and thank God, he’ll never leave her, 
he’ll always abide with her 
(and with us)
—that’s the promise of John’s gospel!
He abides with us 
as God abides with him!

 

         However, 
the story has to continue, 
there is more to come, 
the fullness of the resurrection, 
Jesus’ Lordship over a NEW Creation 
is already and not yet a tangible, experienced reality.
The Good Gardner is still planting a New Creation!

 

         The Lord
The One to whom Angels Minister
The Teacher
Our Ascendant Lord
The connection point with God
is establishing for us all an intimate relationship with 
His Father and our Father, 
his God and our God…

         Abiding in the extraordinary Love of God.

 

         It’s already here! 
Look at Mary. 

         She began warning the disciples that the body was taken, 
Now, at first light, 
she’s been commissioned by Christ to be the Apostle to the Apostles, 
announcing Jesus’ ascension, 
his enthronement as Lord of all… 
more than that, 
she is able to say, “I have seen the Lord!”

 

         I pray that we too, in the midst of our shouts and songs of Alleluia… 
and in our ordinary lives, 
will encounter the Love of God found in the Resurrected Lord
—Jesus Christ.

         I pray that like Nichodemus 
we may come to honor the one in whom we encounter eternity.

         Like the Samaritan Woman, 
may we experience the abundant life that is found in Jesus.

         When we’re driven outside the gates of goodness, 
may we, like the man born blind, be found by Jesus.

         Like Lazarus and his family, 
may service, joy, and life all be part of our faith.

         May we be able to say, 
as Mary said, “I have seen the Lord!”

Amen and Alleluia!

“Why do we tell these stories?”

            “Why is this night different from every other night?” The youngest guest at the Passover meal asks, reciting then the symbolic changes found in the meal

—flat bread because they had to get out of Egypt quickly, 
bitter herbs because slavery was bitter, 
greenery and Charioset to symbolize the gratitude and sweetness of escape, 
a meal seated—because a free people get to sit at meal…

            These questions, and symbols consumed, exist so that the story of God breaking the Jews out of slavery and bringing them into freedom 
might be passed on generation to generation.

            And tonight, on Maundy Thursday, our closest analogy to Passover
—it is worth ruminating on a similar question: “Why do we tell these stories?”

Prayer

 

“Why do we tell these stories?”

            We could tell the story of Pharaoh, 
the story told by magnificent monuments made with slave labor that still overshadow us to this very day. 
We could tell the many stories of slave revolts put down, 
Spartacus, Vesey, and everyone in between. 
Those are stories that are fairly common, 
of might making right, 
the status quo, even when stifling and oppressive, staying put…

            But we tell the story of a people’s hurried hustle out of Egypt. 
God siding with slaves, 
the transformation of tears into sweet gratitude, 
backs straight and heads held high, 
on the other side of the Red Sea, a people forming, 
formed by the story of God’s goodness to them. 
A story’s retelling generation to generation as significant as any monument. 
God’s judgement and release retold among families forever.

 

“Why do we tell these stories?”

            We could tell the story of King Herod or Governor Pilate at table in one palace or another. 
We could recite stories of leaders exalting themselves to vainglorious heights
—that’s not uncommon, is it? 
Or stories about the banishment of betrayers 
and how ruptures in relationship so often result in escalating, tit for tat, hatred!

            But we tell the story of the Teacher learning from Mary and Martha
—service & foot washing the example of love that endures, 
sitting at table with Lazarus who was dead but now is alive. 
A last meal that includes too, 
Peter who will deny him 
and Judas who will betray him. 
Even in such company, the great command 
experienced in washing and in meal
is “Love One Another!”

 

“Why do we tell these stories?”

            We could tell the story of the closed table of Corinth. 
How their religious practice degenerated into hypocrisy, 
how that Christian community in Corinth was so wed to their culture 
that they were using their new religion to reinforce hierarchies of wealth and education, 
an upstairs/downstairs type of faith where the majority were left humiliated and hungry. 
This too is a common story, is it not? 
A pattern that even good intentioned religious communities can fall into, 
chaplains of the surrounding culture 
and exclusive cliques.

            But we tell the corrective story Paul tells to the Corinthians; 
Jesus’ last supper is one different than cultural expectations
—in fact it overturns them, even as it gets him killed. 
Every time we recite and receive this meal, his life-giving service becomes the organizing principle of our life together.

 

“Why do we tell these stories?”

            We could tell all kinds of awful stories, 
read our world wrong, 
reinforce and justify every bad impulse in us… 

            But instead, we tell those stories that sit well with our souls.

Stories of freedom and dignity

Humility, love, service, and friendship

The best of religion overcoming the worst of culture, 
communities where everyone matters.

            We tell these stories so that we can store up hope, 
pass on a future that reaches for something more 
more than hatred, hypocrisy and holding other people down. 

            We tell stories that are out of the ordinary, 
miraculous even; 
stories that could only be taken seriously because a loving God exists,

a loving God who is glorified in: 

liberation of the oppressed,
loving service, 
and proclamation of Gospel.

Amen.

Sermon: Mary, Martha, and Lazarus

         The Gospel of John is filled with profound encounters with Jesus
—stories of the extraordinary
—being ministered to by the invisible God made visible.

         Nick met Jesus at night, 
the Samaritan Woman meets him at high noon, 
the Man Born Blind has his night transformed into day.

         And today, it’s a family affair. 
Three siblings, Martha, Mary, and Lazarus
—have their lives transformed by Jesus.

Prayer

 

         Martha, Mary, and Lazarus
—the famous family who live in Bethany, 
a suburb of Jerusalem… 
They serve as Jesus’ home base when he goes down south, out of Galilee.

         When I lived in South Plainfield my couch was sometimes a home base for folk who wanted to travel in to New York City
—a 40-minute train ride from Metro Park Station to New York Penn Station… 
So too the sibling’s home.

         They have an ongoing relationship with Jesus
—they’re friends of his
—they are the core of his disciples near Jerusalem.

         Mary and Martha are sometimes lifted up as symbols of two types of Christians. 
Mary the good Disciple, one who follows…
Martha the good Deacon, one who serves…
For that matter, Lazarus is thought to be the mysterious “Beloved Disciples” of John’s Gospel.

         What I’m saying is their faith in Jesus is deep, 
and, rightly, so is their disappointment with his late arrival.

 

         After Jesus’ back and forth banter with Thomas about 
night and day, 
light and darkness, 
sleeping and waking, 
life and death… 
Jesus travels to his home away from home. 

         Martha expresses her grief
“if you’d been here, then Lazarus would not have died.

         Sure, he’ll live again when God makes all things right… 
but today? 
Today! 
What an astonishing claim, Jesus! 
But yes, I believe it!”

         Then, just like Andrew goes and calls his brother Peter to come and meet Jesus, 
so too, Martha goes and calls her sister Mary to Jesus’ side… 

         Mary runs to him, 
and the crowd follows after her (remember she’s known for her discipleship
—her following Jesus skills, 
so this is true to type)
         She repeats the same disappointment and grief her sister felt
—If you’d been here, then he would not have died…

         And this is some real stuff
—this is the grief of so many of our hearts, 
the disappointments we keep bottled up, 
some of us because we think such lines of logic are unfaithful… 
         Well Mary asks this fairly universal question, 
and then calls Jesus to her side, 
to the hollowest valley of her grief… 
her brother’s tomb: 
“Come and see!”

         “Jesus come and see my sorrow! 
Come and see your dear one’s pain and loss and despair.

         To this, Jesus weeps…

 

         Jesus wept, 
and then prays aloud for our sake, 
so that we can hear God’s heart revealed to God’s whole self… 
see God’s tears on God’s cheeks.

         God revealed as coming down into this world for us. 
God entering into the tomb with us that we might come out. 
That we might be unbound, freed.

 

         The one weeping with us, Teacher, Lord, Messiah, 
our friend Jesus!
is the Son of God, coming into the world, 
who has God’s ear 
and who raises from the dead
—God’s beloved son. 
Who is the Life Beyond Life, 
the I AM… 
so close to God that when you look, you can’t separate one from the other…

         He too will go down further still into the tomb, 
will identify with us so fully that he will die, 
and will draw us so close to him that he will rise so that we too shall rise.

 

         The one weeping with Mary and Martha for Lazarus, will see them again—so soon… 

         Their lives touched tenderly by divinity, 
will be clearly seen, 
clearly transformed, 
their ordinary lives now extraordinary
—at the Last Supper.

         On Maundy Thursday we’ll enact, however imperfectly, Martha, Mary, and Lazarus’ transformed lives. 

         Martha will serve at table, and will catch Jesus’ eye and become THE example of Christian Love, 
the concrete example of Jesus’ command, “Love one another.” Serving one another as the ultimate act of love. Disappointment gives way to loving service.
         Mary will anoint her friend Jesus’ feet with a grand abundance of glad and joyous oils
—oil originally meant to cover the stink of death, 
will spread the scent of life instead. 
Mourning smelling of abundant joy.

         Lazarus very much alive, leaning upon his Lord at table, eating with Jesus. 
In the ancient world that was how you’d know a person was flesh and blood and not a ghost—if they ate… 
and he will eat, with his Lord, 
at his final meal before Good Friday. 
Death transformed into life.

Thanks be to God. Amen.