Our identity

Easter 4c, April 17, 2016 (John 10:22-30)

 

Sometimes we struggle with our identity – with who we really are.

 

When I was a little boy, to my mind, my identity was still unfolding. I was Ken and Vera's son. But what that meant was batted around daily. If I did well at school, I saw myself as being good. Or, if I had a great day on the athletic field in my fastball, hockey, and tennis games – I felt good about myself, that I was worthwhile. But when I didn't have those "good" days – like in shop when I was all thumbs and my friends would laugh at my woodwork, or in provincial championships where on occasion I went 0 for 5 hitting – well then I felt ... horrible. For moments, sometimes longer, I felt no good, nothing, sometimes even a "loser". I could hear the chants of the opposing teams. Sometimes those denigrating voices went off inside myself.

 

As time passed by I finished university. Then I graduated from seminary. To be sure, I experienced some incredible ups and downs in those years. Yet I had a sense that I was moving  forward. Eventually I was blessed to meet an amazing woman. She still loves me. Later I was blessed to begin to become a father. There are all kinds of ups and downs in that experience. I accepted a call to a congregation and people called me "Pastor". Wow – what an honour, what a privilege, what responsibility. I often thought and even felt that I knew who I was, who I am.

 

But still, there are times when our identity is much more complex than first glance or outer appearances. As a husband, I love my wife. But I don't always act towards her in loving ways. To be sure, I deeply love my adult children. Yet sometimes I am less than loving or patient or open to their ways. And, I am still called to be a Pastor, your Pastor for a little while yet. But sometimes I am tired. Sometimes I don't pray for you. Sometimes I have hesitated to offer courageous leadership because I have lacked trust in God and then wondered about whether or not we could do whatever I sensed God calling us to.

 

Then there are times like this last week- where an accident, where the realities of life and death propel us upwards and downwards as if we were actually living on a roller coaster. Sunday we learned of Cassandra's fall from a cliff. By late Sunday evening I had heard that she would be able to walk again soon. Thanks be to God. But before we could even exhale on early Monday we learned that our beloved Shirley had suddenly died. Her death is incredibly difficult for us. Shirley, was ... Shirley. Loving, kind and so often deeply and actively thoughtful. She had a way of drawing us into her orbit by her steadfast love, by her standards of hope and excellence. Now, so suddenly she has died. There is no way we could have anticipated that. And even if we could, I am not sure it would be any easier.

 

To add to all of this we have just learned that finally that Wayne has suffered a bowel obstruction. He required surgery.  Again, thankfully he is recovering, slowly but surely.

 

If all of this hasn't been enough for us today we learn of devastating earthquakes claiming lives and uprooting the peoples of Japan and Ecuador. On some level this seems far away. But these people, just like us are created and loved by God. Like us they have friends and parents, brothers and sisters, children. Can we imagine their reality now?

 

So it is - our thoughts and feelings about ourselves, our self understanding continues to be batted about by the wind and rain of reality.

 

Who are we? Who am I? Who are you?

 

Are we merely dust? Do we impact a few, maybe even a few hundred and then disappear? As amazing, as wonderful, as mysterious as our lives are, do we live and breathe for a merely a few moments in the scope of time and then ... that's it? Are we only like the handiwork of a child, a building of sand on the beach to be washed away, literally erased by the incoming waves?

 

During his life on earth many people questioned Jesus' identity. Some people still do. Was he only a good man, an amazing teacher, delusional, or even a lunatic? Or, is he, as he himself claimed, the Son of Man, as so many others, millions even billions of people have come to know and experience, the Good Shepherd, the Bread of life, the Son of God, the Messiah, the Christ? Just who is Jesus?

 

As he encounters us in today's Gospel it's winter. Jesus is walking in the Temple, near the East Gate. It is the festival of light, Hannukah. He's been teaching there. He's been loving people there. And now, because there is a dispute about his identity, some ask him to tell them plainly who he is. He tells them this plainly, "I have told you and you do not believe".  He reminds them that everything he does points to who he is. People once blind, can now see. People declared guilty by others, even seemingly deserving death, have been forgiven. He reminds those passing judgement that none of them, indeed no one, is without sin.

 

He is making his way to Jerusalem. There he will be falsely accused, suffer and be horrifically executed. There he asks God to forgive those who execute him. On the third day he will be raised. He calls Mary by name, offers peace to his disciples, they who had abandoned him. Then He does the unthinkable. He gives them his spirit sending them out to share the good news. He is not dead but alive. Death and hatred do not win. God in Jesus' vulnerability and love, overcomes death and hatred for the sake of humanity, even all of creation.  

 

Now Jesus points those who demand simple answers about his identity to a profound reality. He says, "My sheep hear my voice. I know them. And they follow me."

 

This is the voice of One who doesn't just say that He loves people and this world but actually gives Himself for all people and all creation.  He refuses to give into hatred, violence or even apathy towards in the face of those who hate him or who choose to ignore him.  Even now He is speaking to us, wherever we are, however we understand or feel about ourselves and this world.

 

He knows us intimately.  Both what we present on the outside and what we hide on the inside. Knowing us, miraculously He still chooses to love us.

 

Do we hear his voice?

 

Oh God, help us to listen. For in his voice we can hear so much that is good for us – consolation as we mourn, assurance of whose we are however we are doing, challenge when we think we know best, encouragement and courage for the most difficult times.  Jesus himself tells us. We are God's children, God's own sons and daughters. This is the reason for His being. And nothing, no one, no act, not death nor even hell itself can change that.

 

Hearing Him we are to follow this One, this Jesus who loves us and the world.

 

Following him is often difficult but it is good. Following him means that we are not alone. He is with us. His Spirit enlivens and stirs up faith within and among us.

 

Dear people, I cannot know exactly where you are on your life's journey. Nor can I know exactly how you feel or what you think about yourself and others right now. But with all my being I want you to know that God knows you. God chooses to love you. See God taking on our flesh in Jesus, living, loving, suffering, dying and being raised. He is alive and speaks to us even now. Regardless of our age, our past, our health, our feelings, our faith our doubt – we are his.

 

Oh dear people by God's grace trust Jesus, listen to him and follow him. In that journey is abundant life, right now no matter what, and forever. This is who we are and who we are called to be. Amen.

             

 

 

Beyond 'fear and unless'

Beyond 'fear and unless'

Low Sunday, Easter 2 c, April 7, 2013 (revised, April 3, 2016)

Texts – Acts 5:27-32 (we must obey God rather than men – witnesses to repentance to Israel and forgiveness of sins)

Revelation 1:4-8 – Greetings – not alone; but God is the Alpha and the Omega (here and wherever). Be careful about other realities that seek to claim our allegiance as the alpha and the omega.

John 20:19-31 (a) – Peace be with you, breathed on them the Holy Spirit, sends them out as afraid and as imperfect as they are to be sent as he was – to reveal God – then forgiveness and retention of sins (careful here)

 

Trusting isn't easy. Not now. Not then!

 

On that first Easter morning Mary Magdalene tells the disciples, "I have seen the Lord!" But they don't believe her. We know this because that same night, we find them, behind locked doors. They are paralyzed by their fear. They may have heard Mary's words, "I have seen the Lord". But for whatever reason or reasons they couldn't trust her, they couldn't believe that she had actually their Jesus who had been killed.

 

Maybe they feared for their own lives. Since Jesus had been executed maybe his followers would be next. Or, maybe they are afraid because if Jesus is alive, who knows what he might ask them to do next? Look where his teaching, his love, his blunt honesty regarding God, himself, and others had gotten him! 

 

Are you ever afraid, so afraid that you just don't seem to be able to trust anyone?

 

What causes us to figuratively lock our doors – to shut other people out, to keep our minds closely shut, to attempt to close ourselves off from whatever God might be up to right now, in people around us?

 

Are we afraid of not having enough, of losing our job, of losing a relationship with  our kids, grandkids, friends? Are we skeptical, perhaps even fearful of change, of what's happening in society, our Church, our families, our schools?

 

It's is logical to sometimes be afraid. Sometimes horrible things happen. People get killed crossing the street, even outside a police detachment. Illnesses happen at the most inopportune times. Jobs are lost. Homes are broken into. I can remember one of my parishioners having their home vandalized while they were at church. After we have lived even a little while we realize that people aren't always dependable. Even we don't always keep our promises. People do change. So, whom can we trust? And then, we may simply but surely lock our doors.  

 

This is true for us as people and sometimes also for us as larger groupings – congregations, churches, families, cities, provinces and countries. But such "locking ourselves down" has tragic results. When we are not open to trust we are hesitant to be honest about our values, our hopes and dreams, our fears. And then others can never know us in our complexity, our beauty and wonder. Then, we and others too may well miss out on the full and abundant life God wills for all. 

 

But it doesn't have be that way for us. We don't have to remain behind locked doors. The risen Christ, the One who knows our fear, our brokenness, our abilities to resort to blame when we are afraid, our, can penetrate any and all locked doors- even ours.

 

I don't know how God can do this. I have seen it again and again. To be sure the risen Lord comes through the locked door to where those early disciples were huddled. He shows them the reality of His wounded body. In doing so He extends to them a peace beyond understanding. Such peace shapes the way they are to treat each other.  Whether or not they are in agreement, whether or not they understand each other, they belong together, because they are united to him. And then, whether or not they feel like loving the world, they are called to care about and for the world, just as their Lord has. They are to go and tell others that death, evil, hatred cannot hold us. Jesus shows us the new way. In Jesus' life, death and resurrection, we glimpse God's very heart. 

 

Even as Jesus shows those early disciples his hands and side, He does the most radical thing. Echoing an early creation account, He, this Word of God breathes on them giving them God's own Spirit. Then with that Spirit Jesus sends them into the world to bear His love.

 

And so they go as they are, imperfect but enlivened with God's own Spirit.

 

I do not know, nor can I know unless you choose to tell me, what the locked doors of your life are. But I do know this – that the risen Christ, through His spirit can open those doors for us to behold him. We can be freed to walk out of those doors to trust God and begin to work at trusting others.

 

I have seen this again and again. I have watched an older man who never had his father ever say to him, "I love you", learn when he was past 80 to tell each one of his ten children, "I love you", even, "I am sorry!"

 

I have watched a Jewish rabbi, who was persecuted by Christians throughout his life, even being accused of being a Christ killer, invite German Lutherans to his synagogue for Krystallenacht. And I have watched another man who literally hated his own pastor for years, once earnestly and genuinely ask for his forgiveness. I have see Christ open locked doors.

 

We need to know that this crazy, horrible and wonderful world is created and loved by God. But so many people don't experience this love of God. So, we are called to know, experience and share this love of God in Christ Jesus.

 

Because of Christ there can be new beginnings every day for us and for others. Because of Christ there is forgiveness that is real and makes a difference. Because of Christ we know that everyone has incredible value. No matter how dark things are, there isn't just a light at the end of the tunnel, there is the very light of God with us shining into the darkness.

 

We no longer need to be paralyzed by fear. For Christ comes wherever we are, breathing us on His Spirit, sending us to share His love. He calls our name. Mary hears Him. We can too. Even now she tells us, "I have seen the Lord". We can trust her word, for she points to the one who has been killed but who lives.

 

We don't have stay where Thomas once was, saying unless this and unless that. We can be where Thomas is confessing his new experience of Jesus, "My Lord and my God!" We, like Thomas can move out from behind whatever fear is limiting us to trusting the One who is most trustworthy. Yes, we can, by God's grace.  Amen.

Idle tale or New Life?

Easter Sermon c, March 27, 2016 (Luke 24:1-12)

Have you ever been terrified?

 

Have you ever been so overcome with fear that a number of your regular functions may have stopped or been altered: breathing; thinking, any number of bodily functions? (Pause)

 

I remember being absolutely terrified more than once. A couple in my parish had been having serious marital problems. On New Year's Eve they went out. They both drank too much. They got into a heated argument. Words were spoken. He struck her. She left taking their three boys. And now two days later when no one had heard from him or seen him, I was to go. He was not answering his phone. He was violent. He didn't like his neighbors. He had guns. I drove very slowly and very carefully into his yard – my head, barely above the dashboard. I was terrified – for him, for others, for myself.

 

A second time. Our youngest daughter was being born. But the birth was happening much more quickly than anyone could have anticipated. And now we found ourselves 30 miles from the hospital when that wee one's head began to present itself. I prayed ardently. I can't tell you exactly what I said. I don't usually say those things in church. But I was terrified – afraid that my wife would die – that our baby would die – that they both might die.

 

Being terrified at least some of the time is part of the human condition. Terrorists realize that if they can torture, kill or maim people, especially people just going about their daily business, then they will terrify us – and therefore have some degree of control over us.  They are sending us a message: we can do this to you. Be afraid of us.

 

Today we meet some women who are terrified. But their being terrified is different than my terror or even the terror that terrorists attempt to inflict upon us.

 

These women are on their way to the tomb. They have been traumatized. Their friend Jesus whom they know and love only two days before had been brutally executed. They had witnessed his suffering and death on that cross. They had watched as people had ridiculed him, as the authorities tortured him, as some had even taunted him.  Then they watched him die. In so many ways they themselves had done nothing...

 

Now right after their Sabbath rest they approach his tomb bearing spices. It's the least they could do – to lovingly care for his poor, dead body.

 

It's early morning, daylight just beginning to break. Dimly, they see ahead. The stone at the entrance to the tomb has been moved. They enter. But, his body isn't there! Their minds begin to race. But before they voice to their perplexity, two men in dazzling white stand right beside them. The women bow their faces to the ground. They are terrified. Their terror grows as the men speak, "Why do you seek the living among the dead?"

 

The women hear them correctly. Why do you seek the living among the dead? What a question! The women hadn't come seeking the living. They had come to do the right thing, the loving thing. Jesus is dead! That one thing they know, for sure! (Pause) 

 

We also know about death. We can count upon death. Dead is dead. Once a person is terminated, expired, passed away – whatever term you choose, well, that's it. The stages along the way that may lead to death – separation, illness, different grades of tumours, on life support, well they may sometimes be reversed. Miracles can happen. But once death occurs – that's all she wrote. It's over.

 

Understandably we have all kinds of terror, panic, great fear about that both for ourselves and for our loved ones. After all, death is inevitable, isn't it? IN some ways the church proclaims and admits the inevitability of death. On Ash Wednesday we mark each other with ashes and say, "Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return."

 

But then, Easter morning comes! The women at the tomb came looking for the dead and are encountered some reality that is totally different, that at first frightens them beyond explanation.

 

Jesus was dead. Even historians agree. But now there is an empty tomb. Those men in dazzling white tell the women to remember. Remember what he said. He would be handed over to people who would seek to do their worst to him:  ultimately to nail him to a cross. The women remember. They know that happened. They saw him suffer and die.

 

But now the dazzling white guys ask them to remember more. He also told them that on the third day he would rise again.

 

They didn't get to see the risen Jesus then. But they do hear the witness of those guys in dazzling white.

 

What we have today is also the word of these strange men, these terrified women and then the word of many other witnesses who in different ways have experienced this risen, living Jesus who most certainly was dead, but whom death and all of its accomplices could never hold. 

 

Notice what those women do. They lift up their faces. They return from the tomb. They tell what they have heard to the 11 and the rest. They bear witness. 

 

But the eleven and the rest think it is all an idle tale. That's actually a soft translation. The Greek word for idle tale is lerous. The early disciples thought that these women had lost it, that they were delirious.

 

Maybe the early disciples at first hearing were themselves terrified. What if what the women were saying was true? Nothing could ever be the same. If you can't count on death, well then what can you count on? If death is no longer the end, where is any certainty? Whom then can we trust? 

 

Ah yes, whom can you trust? Whom do we trust? There's a question for every day of our lives – whatever is happening.

 

Today we are blessed to be encountered by a witness that defies logic, that flies in the face of so much of what we experience to be true.

 

Sometimes, like those early disciples both male and female, we get stuck in places of death – tombs if you will. We get stuck there because such realities are familiar to us. We know the rules of those places. We can bring our spices there. And even though the rules of such places often suck the very life out of us and others, they are more or less predictable. We know about them. Sometimes there's a strange 'comfort' in familiarity.

 

But God comes to those places – places of being stuck, places of death. God comes in ways that may completely surprise us, even terrify us. God comes taking on death in God's own flesh – God's own Son Jesus. There is great suffering and pain. But on the third day God raises God's own Son from the dead.

 

To be sure trusting this is anything but easy. I can't prove it. No one can. But I can tell you about it, share experiences of my own life and the lives of others God has touched, helped and delivered throughout our living, terror and loss, through sin and pain to new life.

 

So, let me ask you this. What if this isn't an idle tale? What if God can and does overcome death with life, hatred with love and terror with hope through God's own Son, who takes becomes vulnerable and gives Himself over to incredible suffering and death. What if this One, this One who has died and has been raised is the source of life? What then? (Pause)

 

Imagine the possibilities. It will take the totality of our lives to flesh them out and more. This is amazing - beyond being terrified, beyond being controlled by the fear of death. This is amazing. We can be, are being opened to new life beyond trying to fill ourselves. We too can give ourselves away.

 

Why don't we run with Peter to the tomb to see for ourselves. Jesus isn't there. So, let's leave this place to see where this living Jesus is leading us, directing us beyond death to new possibilities for ourselves and this world that God loves so much.

 

Sometime later, Peter begins to get it – this miraculous reality of Jesus. By God's grace we can too. For Christ is risen. He is risen indeed! Amen. 

 

           

 

 

YOU ARE WELCOME!

Maundy Thursday, March 24, 2016 (OSLC, Richmond)

(Exodus 12:1-14; I Corinthians 11:23-26; John 13:1-17, 31b-35)

I'm so thankful that you have decided to come to worship on this night. I say that because this night, even more than other nights and days, draws attention to this table, the Lord's Table.

 

As we listen to the forebears of our faith, as we attempt to hear the Word speaking to us, we may be enabled to glimpse the truth. All are welcome here.

 

 I need to say that again, because sometimes we just can't hear. The sounds of the words may enter our ears but we may still miss the message.        ALL ARE WELCOME HERE!

 

This welcome is utterly amazing. But often we are hesitant to be embraced by it. As a result sometimes we have attempted to build fences around the table, literally and figuratively. Sometimes we have expected, even demanded that people have certain understandings about this Meal before we welcome them.  As if the Lord's meal is something we could ever understand or explain. After all, how is Jesus, this God in the flesh, this One who suffers and dies FOR US, present in, with and under the bread and wine? Can anyone explain that?

 

At other times we have tried to limit the welcome of the table implying that some are better suited to receive or more 'deserving' than others. At times we haven't allowed children to draw near. Often, by the physical arrangements of our worship spaces we have excluded some. This is not the way of Jesus who meets us in the Gospels.

 

The words and actions of Jesus around this table on this night show us that God welcomes all of us. We are all in need of forgiveness! Each of us, all of us together, need to be liberated from the many powers of death and evil that seek to hold us. At this table, all are welcomed, embraced by the Christ who can so free us.

 

We need to be continually reminded of this. I remember Sandra, a woman dealing with mental handicaps. She was in her 50's. Sandra knew that she was welcome at the table. Week in and week out she came. Her unique smile lit up her face. She eagerly reached out her hands, cupped in the shape of a cross to receive the bread. Sandra 'got it' in ways that I am not sure I ever will. She deeply knows Jesus' love for her. 

 

Some thirty years ago, I also remember a man in his early 20's. I will call him Tom. Tom was gay, but at the time he was not yet 'out'. Each year at Christmas Tom would travel home from the city to his little country town and church. One late December afternoon Tom stopped into the church office for a visit. Tom asked, "Can I come to communion this Sunday?" He wasn't sure that he was welcome at the table. I tried to assure him that this is the Lord's table. He is welcome.  He came and communed that Sunday. It was a wonder-filled day!

 

Do we know that this table is the Lord's table?

 

You are welcome at this table. Regardless of what you have or haven't done, you are invited. But don't just take my word for it.

 

See Jesus the night before he dies. He is at table. But he is not alone. All the disciples are present. All -  including Judas who betrays him and Peter who within the next 24 hours  will lie through his teeth denying not only that Jesus is Lord but that he, Peter, even ever knew Jesus. Judas, Peter, you and me: we are all welcomed to the Lord's table.

 

And, just in case we aren't fully caught up in this love of Jesus that has the capacity to take on death in all of its forms and transform them and us into new life, Jesus washes those disciples' feet. He shows them and us again and again what his love looks like.

 

Do we hear him speaking to us at His table? "This is my body, THAT IS FOR YOU. This is the new covenant in my blood."

 

Tonight of all nights we need to hear him. This night of all nights, we can hear him!

 

God knows us. God knows the powers of death, of hatred, greed, envy, blame, covetousness and fear, powers that act both within us and outside of us. God takes these powers seriously. Death and all its accompanying manifestations can suck the life out of us, drowning hope, squelching faith, pressing us down, towards despair. Death wills to convince us that death is ultimately all there is, that our only choices are to run from it, attempt to evade it, deny it or yield to it.

 

Such death is not just the cessation of our hearts beating, nor the cessation of movement within our lungs, nor even the ending of the marvelous activities of our brains. Instead this death is our own inability to bring about new life and then our refusal to trust that God can bring about new life for us: with others, with creation, with God, especially in the face and wake of brokenness, hatred, enmity, blame, disconnectedness.  

 

To turn the tide of such death, to transform death and all its forms into new life is a cosmic battle requiring God's action, God's intervention, God's incarnation. God doesn't will for us to be enslaved to these destructive powers of hatred, greed, covetousness, violence, blame, despair. So God does something. God takes on human flesh in Jesus.

 

He is born. He lives. How he lives! On the last night of his life on earth as he gathers his disciples around a table, John tells us that Jesus washes all of their feet. Paul tells us that Jesus gives them the bread and the cup, realities which profoundly point to their new life – a burgeoning freedom. Jesus gifts them with Himself, his complete self. . .

 

So, where are we tonight? Where do you find yourself? Dare we face whatever has caught us, that has the capacity to entrap us, that limits our ability to feel, to love unconditionally, to forgive, to hope wildly, to pray fervently, to dance joyfully?

 

Sometimes, like the early disciples, the primary resistance to being freed, comes from within ourselves. It appears impossible for us to let go of our past hurts, to be enabled to make new choices, to relate to others and ourselves in completely new ways. After all, we've been this way for a long time.

 

But Jesus comes, refusing to give up on us. He comes to claim our hearts and minds with his love. Can you imagine him gently washing us? As His love washes over us we are recreated, brand spanking new. We are gifted with new beginnings, new possibilities.

 

All of this is utterly amazing. Jesus gives himself completely not knowing whether or not we will trust him, not knowing whether we will allow ourselves to be loved and then to love others in return. He gives himself completely letting go of whatever we have or haven't done, not being sure whether we will somehow accept this and be made new, again and again.

 

Out of the love of Jesus' life and death He invites us, longs for us to be caught up in His endeavor, the great and grand endeavor, which he sometimes calls the kingdom of God, where feet are washed, the hungry are fed and enemies are loved.  

 

I am so thankful that you are here. Together we remember, proclaim and experience the welcome of our Lord at His table, where because of Him death is transformed into life and sins are forgiven, literally let go of.

 

By God's grace, we are called to live from this reality each day. Amen.