Sermon, Easter 5 (C)

Praise and glory be to God!

Alleluia! The Risen Christ is glorified – and God through him – it’s a happy Gospel today!

And this joy echoes throughout the readings…

From peter’s eye-opening experience to recognise that earthly structures cannot limit God; to the Psalmist connecting the earthly and heavenly in acts of praise (that’s a great all-encompassing psalm!).

Praise and glory. It’s energising!

Then of course the Revelation takes us somewhere new indeed – a new heaven – and a new earth! Where there is no pain, no discomfort, only joy.

Not an amnesiac bliss, even – but a land of milk and honey where we KNOW what life can be – and we KNOW what true life with God is.

For this is the place of perfect love.

Praise and Glory indeed!

Yet: we can get caught up sometimes in the nitty-gritty: pondering how do we get THERE from HERE.

Because here: well, we know what this world is: imperfect. Earthly.

And we know how we are here: imperfect. Earthly.

Yet in us – all of us – God sees the potential for love.

Even in the worst of circumstances, Jesus wants his friends to know they are welcome at the table – the table they’ve just had a meal at, and the table in the Heavenly Kingdom.

For the context of this passage is important: Jesus is at supper with his friends; in the Upper Room; the night before his arrest.

And at the beginning, the person that we hear had just gone out – that was Judas – and we know where he went off to.

Yet: Jesus – despite knowing that Judas would betray him – Jesus did not exclude him from the table. For the table of God is for all to be received.

And the disciples – who did not fully understand what was happening – could have easily had their hearts harden and their ministry ended.

So Jesus offers the pre-emptive directive: to love.

He phrases it as a commandment: a divine imperative.

To love.

And he uses the agape love – that never-ending, unconditional, always present love.

And we know that agape love is nearly unattainable here on earth: agape love is heavenly love.

So Jesus is commanding – instructing – his disciples to act in ways that extend heavenly love: well, it’s fitting.

And he’s not doing this in a do-as-I-say kind of way, but in an expression of praise and glory for the love they have already received: worthy or not.

And then: the not-so-subtle reminder even further: by this the world will know you are my disciples – if you have love for one another.

To be a disciple is to live in that journey towards the expression of love.

Disciple – the word itself means follower.

And it is the same root as discipline.

NOT in a punitive manner, but in the sense of practice – pattern – the discipline of daily prayer, the disipline of regular exercise, etc.

For Jesus, the discipline – the following of his leading – is through love.

Love one another, as I have loved you.

It is the ministry that we are called to – for we are ALL ministers.

We have all been called – and equipped – and empowered.

In our baptism, vows were made by us or on our behalf – promises to love God and each other; to seek the truth and share the Good News of God in the world. We affirm this every time we declare the creed or renew our vows.

Our baptism is the foundation for our life of love.

And our receiving of the Communion elicits from us praise and thanksgiving; and gives us what we need to live our earthly lives while aspiring to God’s heavenly promise.

The Holy Communion reminds us of the Holy Community; the blessing of being the people of God. It’s a shared meal with a good friend; that feeds us and nourishes us for the life of love that we are called to.

And thus: we go into the world – as disciples.

As the ones who are baptised into God’s family; and fed at God’s table; and sharing God’s goodness.

For this is how the world will continue to know us: loved, and loving. Following, inviting, accompanying.

We ARE the baptised.

We ARE the community.

We ARE the hope for the world, as we carry the love of God in our hearts and through our lives.

We ARE the disciples, seeking new ways to love: in peace, in truth, in Christ.

We ARE the followers, who delight in the constant opportunity to praise and glorify God.

So today, as we celebrate the gift of love that we have received, we also celebrate our faith that sustains us. We celebrate the meal that nourishes us. We celebrate the mission of love before us, that we are called – and compelled – and even commanded! to undertake.

We close with a prayer from Donald and Susan Johnson: (In Praying the Catechism, page 189)

 

Sermon, Easter 4 (C)

 As I’ve said before, and as we all know, the context of our scriptures is as important as the content of our scriptures. Especially in the Gospels, when the evangelist tells us the setting of an event, we can do ourselves a favour by paying attention to it.

Today, for example, the passage starts by telling us that the Festival of the Dedication was taking place.

Great!

This is important for us: not just because we hear that it was winter, and Jesus was in the Temple in Jerusalem – specifically in Solomon’s portico.

So why is this important to the conversation that’s about to happen?

Well.

The feast itself: the Festival of the Dedication: it happens in winter, and we usually hear about it by its Hebrew name: Hannukah. The festival of lights: a celebration that re-affirms the ideals of the faith, and offers special commemoration of the re-dedication of the Second Temple in Jerusalem. Each of the 8 days of the festival is marked with prayer and lighting of candles: the light in the world increases.

So: folks were celebratory, and they were focusing on faith.

And: Jesus is in the Portico of Solomon, which was a porch area built on the eastern side of the Temple. Solomon, son of David, was the famed King of Israel, whose rule included the building of the first Temple, and he eternally dedicated that space to the worship of God.

Sitting on the eastern side, so all the symbolism of East remain as well: the east is where the sun rises, where the light comes from. It’s why our churches are constructed with the altar facing the east: to face the sun – and the Son.

A further note, according to the first century historian Josephus: the eastern wall was an important reality to the construction of that site – even after the destruction of the Temple by the Romans in 70AD, when King Herod constructed his own edifice on the site of the razed Temple, he maintained the eastern wall in the precise location and dimension – though the rest of the new building had entirely different specs.

And all of this was known by John prior to his writing his Gospel for the world to benefit from.

Context matters: it enhances our learning.

And today’s context is that of faith:

A faith that was being celebrated in the timing of the festival;

A faith that was revered in the overall setting of the Temple, and the specific location in the portico.

A faith that was enhanced by the nuance of history that the people would have recognised by this.

And despite all this: the people question Jesus.

Tell us plainly: Are you the Messiah?

Ooof.

I can imagine Jesus trying to be patient, and compassionate, while he recognised that these folks were still struggling with the very basics of faith.

They were trying to KNOW.

And that’s not what faith is.

Faith is leaning into the mystery; it’s embracing the unknown, it’s delighting in the amazing truth of God.

If we try to KNOW everything, we are trying to limit the movement of the Spirit.

Father Richard Rohr said this in a recent podcast interview:

“Many religious folks insist on answers that are always true. We love closure, resolution, and clarity, while thinking that we are people of faith. How strange that the very word faith has come to mean its exact opposite.”

It’s worth noting that Fr. Rohr could be speaking about us today; he could also be speaking about the people gathered around Jesus some 2000 years ago.

As Jesus is inviting them – and us - to a deeper faith.

A deeper acceptance of the unknown; not a blind faith, but an informed and spirit-led connection based on knowledge and experience, reason and tradition. A relationship of trust.

Because Jesus is speaking – then and now – to people who want to believe – but who will continue to ask questions.

Now, to be clear, Jesus is fine with questions. God invites us to ask questions; to do our best to understand not just what it means to be God’s people, but how we can apply that in our lives. Our baptismal prayer invokes an inquiring and discerning heart.

And with that heart of faith, we discern how we can perceive the ideal of a faith-filled life and engage in the practices of a spiritual presence and ministry.

And those themes – of ideals and action – are actually present with us throughout this Easter season:

In the readings that supplement and compliment the Gospel, our Easter lectionary directs our attention to passages from the Acts of the Apostles, and from the Revelation to John (different John from the Gospeler, by the way. John was a popular name then as well.)

In the Revelation, we are gifted with a vision of the ideal – the new Jerusalem; the city of God. In today’s passage we hear of the gathering of the community being one of inclusion and praise and worship. It is a celebration of faith that we can all aspire to – where we come together and keep our focus on God, learning from one another, helping each other, being part of the family of God. For we are assured that the people of faith are worthy to be gathered together in the presence of God.

The Revelation is definitely what we aspire to: and what we are invited to work towards while we are in the here and the now: to bring this idyllic reality of God’s Kingdom into our earthly reality of today: how we treat one another and the whole of God’s creation: this is what Hope looks like.

And in the Acts of the Apostles, we are gifted with the real ministry of the people of the Way – the followers of Jesus. They are the folks who go out and do their best to do their best. Sometimes it works well and they can convey the power of God – like in today’s scripture as Peter and Tabitha interact. A private encounter, a renewal of life that has echoes of Jesus’ own ministry, an encouragement that with God nothing is impossible.

And the Acts also tell us of those times when things don’t always go how we expect or plan, but throughout, God’s will is done. It can be quite liberating and encouraging to have this focus as well, as we all engage the work of God through processes of trial and error – and trial and success. Through The Acts of the Apostles, God’s people bring the message of optimism, empowerment, and faith. We don’t have to get it right all the time: God does that. But we are encouraged to try:

Because we have faith.

So in Easter it’s good for us to be re-dedicating ourselves to live as people of faith.

Because we all have those moments when the ideals and the actions don’t line up; when we fall into doubt or apathy; when we would be the folks saying to the person of Jesus “Just tell me plainly.”

Yet through it all, we move to the voice that speaks to our hearts: to the core of our beings. The voice that calls our spirit home: the voice that reminds us that we are already part of the family, that we belong, and are wanted.

It’s the voice of the Shepherd; a whisper from the Spirit, a word from the Risen Word:

The voice that lifts us up when we are down, that encourages us, that empowers us, that awaits our contributions to the whole: and that celebrates our collaborative journey.

It’s the voice that reminds us that we have seen enough to believe; to hope, to try.

It’s the voice that calls us to faith.

So let us hear anew the Easter message of love and life; of mission and ministry; of ideals and actions:

The Easter message entirely of faith.

Let us dedicate ourselves to the life of faith: and be rewarded as we share the Good News of God.

Amen.

Sermon, Easter 2 (C)

This morning we continue on our Easter journey, as John’s gorgeously mystical Gospel is divulging great truths about the Christ – as I mentioned a few weeks ago, John always presents Jesus in this Christological perspective, and in the post-Resurrection chapters it is not even possible to deny.

But what about Doubt?

Ah, yes, this is Doubting Thomas Sunday. Poor Thomas.

All he did was ask a question, to his friends, about the unfathomable story that they’ve shared with him.

Now, the context for this passage is important, as well as the content. From the start, we hear:

“When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week…”

When we start off a passage like that, it’s helpful to get some clarification.

THAT day – which day again? The first day of the week – which week?

Well, it’s actually the same day that Mary has just told the disciples that she has seen the Lord.

A mere three days since the horrors of the crucifixion.

They are terrified for their own safety; they are grieving their friend; they are confused about their future. They’re still baffled by the empty tomb.

And so they’re together; that day, that evening – the first day of the week, locked away upstairs, trying to figure out what happened.

What it could mean: for Jesus. For them. For all of humanity.

And these are big and difficult questions to grapple with at the best of times – and they’ve been living the exact opposite of that for several days now.

Their minds; their hearts; their souls: have been chaos.

And into this chaos comes Jesus; inexplicably, unimaginably: there is Jesus.

Showing to them his wounds.

This is important: because Jesus IS wounded.

In the Resurrection, he did not rise unwounded.

So perhaps Jesus – in showing these wounds – is doing so not just to prove who he is, and not just to show the immeasurable power of God, but to acknowledge human woundedness.

Not just his woundedness: theirs. Ours.

It’s no wonder Thomas wants some clarification when the other disciples tell him that Jesus popped in for a quick chat over dinner.

And Thomas had a reputation for seeking clarity in the teachings of Jesus, often using rhetoric. He’s inviting people to ask questions, to understand better before they take action. He is the apostle who has encouraged the others to stay with Jesus, to seek deeper knowledge and wisdom.

So it was to be expected, when the disciples tell Thomas that they have seen the Risen Jesus (and he has not) that he asks some specific questions.

And he goes to the woundedness.

Thomas was on to something: wounds tell a story. They answer questions that words cannot.

For we all carry wounds. We all have imperfect bodies. We have all had our hearts broken. We have all questioned the meaning of life.

We have all experienced pain: in body, mind, and spirit.

And: we all have scars.

Scars are fascinating things – because they are not wounds anymore.

They are healed.

The body has an amazing ability to repair wounds: on our skin, in our organs, even our bones. The science is astonishing in itself; but the reason that scars are still visible is because the healing process forces things to line up differently. Normal skin, for example, is made up of proteins in a random basketweave pattern; scar tissue’s proteins align themselves in the same direction.

The implications of this are different based on the tissue, too:

In bones, this makes a repaired area stronger than the original.

In flesh, it makes the skin less pliable, theoretically less prone to re-injury; however it also makes that skin more susceptible to ultraviolet light, and unable to grow hair follicles.

Scars are interesting. They tell a story, they convey a healing.

They show the world that we have been wounded, and will never be the same.

But they also show the world that the wound we had is no longer a wound.

Now, we all know the process between wound and scar is not instantaneous – even a papercut will take some time to heal up. It’s a process; and sometimes a process involves forward and backward motion.

If an injury is left to heal in ideal circumstances, it will likely heal – ideally.

But here in the real world, we know that sometimes there are setbacks… stretching our fingers can re-open a papercut, infection into a cut can need further intervention, stubbing an already bruised toe – well, we know how unpleasant that can be.

Wounds hurt; If ignored, they can worsen.

Healing is dynamic;

and it’s a process that we can’t articulate the *exact* moment when it’s done.

And this is what Thomas draws our attention to today.

He asks to see the wounds that Jesus endured. Not the minor scrapes and bruises; the substantial life-ending wounds. In his hands – in his side.

Thomas does not express doubt – he does not even ask specifics about the resurrection – he focuses his question on the wounds.

Are they wounds that show any sign of healing? For the wounds of the dead do not heal.

Have the wounds begun to heal, are they mid-process? If so he would not be able to insert his finger or hand.

Let me see the wounds; he says.

And when Jesus comes back and invites Thomas to see the wounds, we don’t even know if Thomas did touch them – but he would have seen them in the process of healing: a sign of life.

So, despite what renaissance-era art would tell us, it is unlikely that Thomas would have re-opened these wounds just to place his hand or finger in – we all know that re-opening a wound adds pain and delays healing.

Instead, we are comforted in the lesson that Thomas shares: he sees that God is ALIVE. Living – healing.

For Jesus is not showing fresh wounds to Thomas – he is showing wounds that have been healing for a week.

Wounds that are on their way to being scars.

And he declares: My Lord and My God.

And we are all invited, by the Risen Christ himself, to believe: for we have no reason to question or doubt.

Jesus and Thomas give us the reminder of the power of healing; and we come to believe and know that through believing we too may have life in his name.

This passage reminds us that we are wounded;

Sometimes in body, sometimes in mind, sometimes in spirit.

And Jesus shows us the reminder to not cause woundedness to others out of our own pain.

And – very importantly - we are assured that healing happens: often with work, intervention, intentionality, time – and faith. But it happens.

We come to Jesus with a broken heart and he accompanies us into new and renewed relationships.

We challenge God with our desperate souls, and God inspires us to see the beauty of the created world to remind us of the miraculous in our midst.

We come to Christ seeking solace, and he gives us balm for our souls with words of peace.

God does not remove our wounds from us; God gives us the path the healing.

And we know that when we come to Jesus, acknowledging our woundedness, asking for healing, God does not abandon us.

For God wishes us to make the transition from wounded to scarred:

A place where the healing has at least begun;

a place where we (hopefully) will not re-enter a place of injury;

a place where we do not ignore the past but neither are we bound in it;

a place where we can help others along a healing journey.

The place of a scar – a healed wound – is a place of peace.

The peace that comes from a calmer spirit;

The peace that comes from a lighter heart;

The peace that comes from a healthier sense of self and community.

The peace that comes from the calming of the chaos:

The peace that comes from Christ alone.

So just as Jesus wished his disciples Peace as part of their healing:

May we all be blessed with this offering from Jan Richardson:

Blessing in the Chaos

To all that is chaotic in you,

let there come silence.

Let there be a calming of the clamoring,

a stilling of the voices that have laid their claim on you,

that have made their home in you,

that go with you even to the holy places

but will not let you rest,

will not let you hear your life with wholeness

or feel the grace that fashioned you.

Let what distracts you cease.

Let what divides you cease.

Let there come an end to what diminishes and demeans,

and let depart all that keeps you in its cage.

Let there be an opening

into the quiet that lies beneath the chaos,

where you find the peace

you did not think possible

and see what shimmers within the storm.