Message Archive

Acts 8:26-40, 1 John 4:7-21, John 15:1-8, Psalm 22:24-30

Jesus said, “Abide in me as I abide in you.  Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me.” [John 15:4 NRSV]

These are some of the last words that Jesus spoke to his disciples before he went to the cross.  He and the eleven remaining disciples are gathered in the darkness of the night preceding the crucifixion.  Judas has made his departure to carry out his plans for betrayal that will lead to Jesus’ arrest.  Jesus seeks one last time to console his followers and prepare them for the hardships to come.  He wants to reassure them that their hopes will come, not from fleeing the volatile environment surrounding Jesus in Jerusalem on that fateful night, but from drawing even closer to Jesus – abiding in him, trusting in him, moving more profoundly into relationship with him.

Our Gospel lesson for today includes the last of Jesus’ “I AM” statements that are so characteristic of John’s Gospel. These “I AM” statements tie us to the ancient biblical exchange between God and Moses in the Wilderness. In Exodus, chapter 3, we read that God says to Moses, “I am who I am.”

For us, Jesus completes the “I AM” statements. Just as he came to show us the way to God, he uses the “I am” statements to provide us with familiar metaphors that help us understand our relationship with God through Jesus.  In these words spoken on the eve of the Crucifixion, Jesus tells us, “I am the true vine” – Jesus is the true vine, the real and authentic source of the Father who is the vinegrower.

And, we are to abide in the vine that is Jesus Christ. As the branches of this real and authentic vine, we know that abiding in the vine means pruning is necessary in order for us to bear the best and most bountiful fruit.  Abiding in the vine means: discipline, protection, sustenance, guidance, continuous seeking of the way to the Father who is our salvation and eternal life.

We realize the importance of clipping back a shrub or a vine during these early weeks of spring.  As hard as it is sometimes to snip off those first signs of new growth, we know that this pruning is necessary in order to have healthy and sturdy growth in the months to come.  Climbing roses allowed to grow unchecked will put out leggy crisscrossing unproductive spirals with sparse unhealthy blooms. Vinegrowers know well that the branches closest to the vine will produce the most bountiful and desirable fruit.  Pruning is necessary if we are to abide in the vine and bear more abundant fruit.

Thus, Jesus’ metaphor of the vine and the branches clarifies for us how we are to abide in Jesus and Jesus in us.  Eugene Peterson’s Bible in contemporary language entitled The Message explains these words of Jesus in this way:  “Live in me.  Make your home in me just as I do in you.  In the same way that a branch can’t bear grapes by itself but only by being joined to the vine, you can’t bear fruit unless you are joined with me.” [John 15:4 The Message]  It is in the state of mutuality of love and abiding that the best of our fruit in service to Christ is produced.

In our lesson from Acts, Philip, an apostle of the Good News, is abiding mutually in the vine of Christ.  This encounter with the Ethiopian eunuch occurs in the years following the Resurrection and Ascension.  Abiding in Christ, Philip hears and follows the instructions of the Holy Spirit to go south to the wilderness road and there to approach the chariot of the Ethiopian.  We can assume much about this exotic stranger from these few verses.  He is obviously well-placed, lacking few luxuries as he travels by the queen’s chariot.  He is a powerful person in charge of the entire Ethiopian treasury.  And, as he had come to Jerusalem to worship, we assume he is a convert to Judaism.

We might also assume that some of his characteristics would have labeled him somewhat of an outcast.  As an Ethiopian, he would be dark-skinned, an exotic anomaly at best and obviously not of Jewish ethnicity.  And, as a eunuch – castrated as a young boy, some would say that Jewish law forbade his inclusion in worship in the temple.

All things considered, the miraculous power of the Holy Spirit leads Philip to see beyond the earthly being of the Ethiopian eunuch to find the place where Christ abides.  Our lesson tells us that Philip proclaims to the Ethiopian the good news about Jesus and baptizes him into the body of Christ.  Philip abided in Jesus as Jesus abided in Philip.  Philip made his home in Jesus as Jesus made his home in Philip.  Philip came to understand that outward and intimidating earthly appearances and circumstances are no obstacle for the working of the Holy Spirit through those who abide in Jesus Christ and in whom Jesus Christ abides. And, Jesus abides in all of us.

Jesus said, “Abide in me as I abide in you.  Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me.”

Acts 4:5-12, 1 John 3:16-24, John 10:11-18, Psalm 23

Jesus said, “I am the Good Shepherd, the Good Shepherd lays down his life for his sheep.”

Jesus identifies himself to his disciples as the Good Shepherd who lays down his life for his sheep and takes it up again.  Jesus speaks of laying down his life to his disciples early in his ministry with them, long months or years before that imagery becomes reality in the crucifixion and the resurrection.  From the early months of his ministry, Jesus wants the disciples to be alert to this understanding of what was to come.

Shepherds and sheep are frequent metaphors for our relationship with Jesus Christ whose discipline and guidance – his rod and his staff – bring us rescue and comfort.

Christians of the first century understood the vital role of the shepherd in protecting the livelihood necessary to this agrarian society.  To the people of first century Palestine, shepherds were smelly ruffian outcasts; but to their flocks of sheep, the shepherds were trustworthy, self-sacrificing protection AND wise, authentic guidance.

Jesus willingly lays down his life for his sheep; “No one takes it from me.”  Jesus says, “I lay it down of my own accord.”  Jesus has the power to take up that life again as he overcomes the wolves of evil and death, taking up that life again into eternal life where we, his sheep, are assured of our place with him.

Always, on 4^th Easter, our Gospel lesson presents the Good Shepherd imagery; we know this as Good Shepherd Sunday.  It is the day that I invite you to stand before the Good shepherd window, which now adorns our Parish Hall – the Good Shepherd window that has looked down upon this parish since the days of our A View location.

We gaze at the Shepherd who clutches his sheep in his right arm with tenderness and affection.  That image brings to mind the words of Christopher Reeve in the months after his tragic accident that paralyzed him from the neck down. A great heartache for him was the inability to take loved ones into his arms and cradle them near his heart. We all need to be gathered and cradled by our beloved, as this tiny lamb in the window is being caressed so tenderly near to the heart of Jesus.

This is the Good Shepherd who readily enters the sheep pastures of our lives – the mucky and mired up pastures, the barren overrun pastures.  The Shepherd is there in the blistering heat all the day long and in the biting cold throughout the night.  And, this is the Good Shepherd who celebrates with us in the green and lush pastures beside the calm still waters.  All the while, Jesus tenderly caresses us near to his heart.

This is our Good Shepherd who is vulnerable.  He chooses and is well aware that he puts his life between ours and that of the wolves that threaten to tear us apart.    Surrounding him, as we note in the window, are the “other sheep” who follow and listen to Jesus’ voice.  See the eagerness in their expressions.  In the sheepfold of the Good Shepherd there is one flock, one shepherd.  In the kingdom that is here now and the kingdom that is to come, we are united as one flock, embraced and protected by one shepherd.

Jesus says, “I AM the good shepherd.”  To the people of first century Palestine, shepherds were smelly ruffian outcasts of their communities; but to their sheepfolds, the shepherds were trustworthy, self-sacrificing protection and wise, authentic guidance.  God, through Jesus Christ, is our trusted, self-sacrificing protection and wise, authentic guidance – our Good Shepherd.  Jesus is the model Good Shepherd; he leads with a strong hand, yet he is kind and merciful; his power is expressed through humility and tenderness; his mission is meshed with God’s mission for the redemption of all creation.

The Good Shepherd willingly lays down his life for his sheep in keeping with the command of the Father – our creator.  Jesus willingly laid down his life for the redemption of all creation.

Jesus has willingly laid down his life for our redemption.

Acts 3:12-19, 1 John 3:1-7, Luke 24:36b-48, Psalm 4

Jesus himself stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.”

Peace is another one of those very important words in our English language that is broadly defined, so much so that we too seldom reflect on its very significant meaning.  When an elder loved one dies a gentle holy death after a long, fruitful life, we say we are at peace.  We sing of our souls being “well” as like that of a peaceful river.  We pray for peace in our country and in the world – a peace that is much more than the absence of war – though the absence of war seems less and less attainable.  This morning, we are privileged to baptize three of our precious young children into the peace of Christ, while the precious children of Syria have never known peace – they have never known life without the threat of exploding bombs and chemical attacks so prevalent that even their loving parents cannot protect them from being maimed or killed.

What do we mean when we speak of peace?  The peace of which Jesus speaks is one of welcoming, restful hospitality and unity.  The original Greek translates the word ειρηνη from the verb meaning “to join.”  Peace be with you = I join with you. This peace of which Jesus speaks is defined as “oneness, peace, quietness, rest + set at one again.”  Thus, we do not have ειρηνη without quiet and rest in the context of being at one.  When we are at peace, our souls are joined in our trust of the peace of Christ; when we are at peace, our anxieties are replaced by our faith in Jesus Christ our risen Lord.

Especially in light of the horrendous tragedies and mass murder throughout our world, an intense and surprising reflective experience of our time in Berlin was the visit to the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe.  The memorial is located within sight of the German Reichstag, which once again is restored and houses the German parliament; nearby is the Brandenburg Gate, under which have passed Germany’s victorious armies of centuries past and through which ran the wall separating East from West until 1989; the intent of the 4.7 acre site is to memorialize, in a most unusual unsettling setting, the 6 million Jews murdered in the 1930’s and 40’s.

Upon arrival, my surprised response was “Oh, this is it?  This is odd.”  The memorial is odd, to say the least, and perhaps it is the oddity and perplexity that draws one deeper into the complex in a quest to understand.

From the webite visitberlin.de we find this description:

On a site covering 19,000 square metres, [New York architect Peter] Eisenman placed 2711 concrete slabs of different heights. The area is open day and night and from all four sides you can fully immerse yourself in the fully accessible spatial structure. The memorial is on a slight slope and its wave-like form is different wherever you stand. The uneven concrete floor gives many visitors a moment of giddiness or even uncertainty. Its openness and abstractness give you space to confront the topic in your own personal way.[1]

As best I can describe, the concrete slabs or stelae evoke the equivalence of enormous grave markers; all are the same length and width, similar to that of a concrete burial vault, but their height varies randomly from eight inches around the perimeter to over fifteen feet in the inner area.  And, many of the stelae are set unevenly.  Thus, the further you move into the straight but slightly rolling 3’ wide alleys dividing the concrete columns, the higher they become, until suddenly you are engulfed.  At this point, even though you can see the way out ahead or behind or to either side, there is an overwhelming sense of imbalance and chaos; there is aloneness and fear of what might be encountered at the next juncture of alleyways.  The stelae become the known and the unknown voices from the grave.

Moving through the alleyways with our two daughters, I had the overwhelming need to hold onto them for fear of losing sight of them or getting lost in this mesmerizing setting.  The effect is truly indescribable, defying human reality, except to say, there is no peace, and perhaps this is the overall motive of impact – reducing us to a place of such lack of peace that we emerge with renewed desperation to carry out our commissioning as messengers of peace- never again closing our eyes to such magnanimous human atrocities.

Author Joan Chittister reminds us that Jesus’ message of “peace is our legacy, our mandate, and our commission, as alive today as ever, more in need today – in a nuclear world, a world of starving people – than ever.”[2]

Our Collect for Peace found in the service of Evening Prayer [BCP p. 123] asks our most holy God to “Give to us, your servants, that peace which the world cannot give, so that our minds may be fixed on the doing of your will that we, being delivered from the fear of all enemies, may live in peace and quietness.”  This peace is an inward peace and tranquility of heart known by those whose minds are fixed on God’s will.

Thomas a’ Kempis, the 15^th century monk, is quoted as saying, “First keep peace within yourself, then you can also bring peace to others.”  Similarly, St. Francis of Assisi would remind us that if we want peace, we must first experience it in our own hearts.  Only then, Francis would say, can we give birth to peace in our homes and communities, in our country, to the children of Syria, and the world.

Very shortly, we will [receive the newly baptized and] exchange the peace with one another; this is an essential act in preparation for our unified reception of the Holy Communion.  Remember that these words of peace are the words of Jesus, spoken to his frightened and doubtful disciples.  Look deeply into the eyes of your companions in the faith and exchange a true sense of peace from within yourself as we join with one another – a quiet restful sense of being at one with God and with others.  Here, even though we may feel engulfed by imbalance and anxiety, we seek and experience the nearness of Jesus and the sound of his voice speaking to us, “Peace be with you.”  Keep peace within yourself so that you can bring peace to others.

Isaiah 52:13-53:12, Hebrews 10:16-25, John 18:1-19:42, Psalm 22

 “This was to fulfill the word that he had spoken. ‘I did not lose a single one of those whom you gave me.'”

Our Lenten journey has culminated in Good Friday.  At best, we’ve spent these last 7 weeks with God’s help sorting and casting out our junk.  Our dumpster is now spilling over with garbage and ready for disposal.

If you have ever built or remodeled a home, your contractor provided you with an enormous refuse container, blocking your driveway and spilling over with broken concrete and splintered wood and rusty nails.  Impatiently, we await the glorious day when the truck will come to hoist the eyesore onto its rollback and drive away with that ton of ugly, useless, broken, space-consuming rubbish. 

Even on this day when we come to wrap ourselves in the horrors or the crucifixion, we can smell the lilies in the flower room; we know the truck is on the way.

There is nothing in our current culture (even with our over-zealous 24/7 news coverage and political divisiveness) – nothing that can compete with the religious and political scandal of the crucifixion. 

The religious leaders – Jesus’ own people – wanted him out of the way.  Jesus had declared himself the Son of God, and they were not comfortable with the evidence that supported that declaration.

Jesus did not move up in the ranks of religious authority according to conventional expectations.  He didn’t seek favor among the legal and religious elites; he had no desire for earthly luxuries or attention grabbing ornamentation.  As written so beautifully in the Christ Hymn of Philippians 2, Jesus “did not regard his equality with God as something to be exploited”; Jesus did not come to earth to use his miraculous powers to facilitate military might as so many of his people desired.

Rather than focusing his attention on these superficial earthly distractions, Jesus had pursued his ministry in ultimate humility.  He had healed the sick and embraced the outcast; he had openly defended the sinful while strongly rebuking the religious leaders for manipulating God’s law in order to enforce their power over the people. 

So, after months of keeping Jesus under constant surveillance, there just was not enough evidence to convict him of the unforgivable sin against God – blaspheme; and there were too many – huge crowds of faithful Jews – who lauded his ministry, continuing to seek the healing salvation he bestowed upon believers. 

What was an adversary to do?  How might one dispose of such a sensational figure without having blood on his hands?  Ah!  The Romans!  It was Caesar who was god and king of the Roman Empire!  If the opposing religious leaders could collude with the Roman political leaders convincing them that Jesus had presumed himself King, the Romans would surely convict him of treason and arrange for his execution.  Bingo!

And, yet, we cannot blame the Jews, as John refers to Jesus’ adversaries; and we cannot blame the Romans.  We cannot sneer at Judas’ betrayal; we cannot lift our noses at Peter’s denial; we cannot separate ourselves from the collusion and corruption that sought to snuff out Jesus’ ministry.  If this were a pretty story, we couldn’t relate.

We cannot blame without turning the spotlight on ourselves.  We’ve all contributed to this crucifixion that we have come to glorify on this day.  And, we continue to carry the Cross of crucifixion as the reminder of our redemption.

Our dumpster of garbage is full to overflowing.  It is a horrendous eyesore, a great source of ugliness and shame, far too heavy for human hands to bear.  And yet, Jesus, knowingly and willingly, has taken it upon himself and carried it away. 

Jesus said, “It is finished.”  Then he bowed his head and gave up his spirit.

Exodus 12:1-4, (5-10), 11-14,  1 Corinthians 11:23-26, John 13:1-17, 31b-35, Psalm 116:1, 10-17

The account of Jesus washing the feet of his disciples is found in John’s Gospel only.  This particular Gospel lesson is unique to Maundy Thursday and we hear it yearly on this day.  In this setting on the eve of the Passover, the followers of Jesus have come together to share a meal as faithful Jews have celebrated the Passover since the Exodus as described in our first lesson. 

For three years now, the disciples have observed Jesus’ example of what it is to be a true disciple.  This is a very private intimate occasion.  Jesus is aware that his public ministry has ended. 

The hour has come; God’s time is the right time for Jesus to depart from this world and go the Father.  Soon, he will no longer be physically present with these disciples to teach and exemplify true discipleship.  His focus now is his private ministry to his closest followers, preparing them as best he can for their future beyond his departure.

The teaching, the preaching, the healing, the acceptance of the outcast and the sinful – these fearful and bewildered disciples are struggling to put together the whirlwind of puzzle pieces of the last three years and to absorb what Jesus is saying, “I am with you only a little longer…. Where I am going you cannot come.”

To these most intimate followers together for the last time, Jesus says, “I give you a new commandment that you love one another.”  It is from the Latin translation of our word “commandment” that Maundy is derived. 

Thus, on this Maundy Thursday, we hear the powerful words of Jesus’ new commandment – we are to love one another.   This command doesn’t sound so new; we’re accustomed to Jesus telling us and showing us how to love one another.   

The commandment, however, takes on a new tone as Jesus speaks of going away, as would be our words of love to one whom we knew we would not see again in our earthly life.  In their bewilderment, the disciples are not quite yet ready to understand.  We, too, come in our bewilderment, seeking to better understand Jesus’ command – seeking to have these sacred moments of our time together transformed into a revelation  – a glimpse of the glory of the Kingdom of God.

John tells us “before the Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father” (v. 1).  On this eve of Passover, Jesus rises from the supper he is sharing with his disciples, and in utter humility, washes their feet – a task reserved for the lowliest slave.  From this, we are to understand that this love that Jesus is commanding is a radical fearless love – agape, as it translates from the original Greek – selfless, self-sacrificing love – a pouring out of ourselves in servitude to our neighbor.

On this eve of Passover, the time has come for Jesus to go to the Father.   It will be his followers, gathered in awe-struck silence at the sight of their leader washing their feet, who now must take this message of radical self-sacrificing love to the world.  It will be they who must take on the role of teaching and preaching and healing and embracing the outcast – they who must carry into the world the radical message of the new commandment. 

It will be these followers who would come to understand this new commandment – these followers who would themselves give their lives to preserve and pass down this new commandment to us two millenniums after this bewildering and fearful night that would culminate in betrayal and denial. 

In the margin of my most-worn and pencil-marked study Bible, next to these verses in Chapter 13 of John’s account of the washing of feet, I at some time in the past had written this quote from an unrecorded source: “Regardless of our countless inadequacies, we are all God needs to bring about the Kingdom of God.”

We, in humble self-sacrificing, fearless love to one another, are all God needs to bring about the Kingdom of God.

Isaiah 50:4-9a, Philippians 2:5-11, Mark 14:1-15:47, Psalm 31:9-16

As described in the Gospel according to Mark, we read of the celebrations for Jesus as he enters Jerusalem – shouts of “Hosanna in the highest; blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.”  The Passion Narrative, also recorded by Mark, describes the same crowd, five days later shouting, “Crucify him!  Crucify him!”

We entered our worship today with celebratory songs of Hosanna, but, with the reading of the Passion Narrative, we now find ourselves in the dark shadow of the Cross.  This is a gut-wrenching human story.

Paul’s letter to the people of Philippi alerts us to Jesus’ willingness to be and to remain fully human as he has throughout his earthly life and ministry and, now, throughout this horrendous inhuman experience – fully human until the last heartbeat on the Cross.

In what we know as the “Christ Hymn,” Paul writes:

He emptied himself,
taking the form of a slave,
being born in human likeness.

Jesus willingly took on our humanity – feeling the abandonment as he stood alone before Pilate, unjustly accused of the irredeemable crimes of treason against earthly political powers and blaspheme against God.  All alone – Where are those who shouted Hosanna, spreading their cloaks upon the road?  “Hosanna in the highest; Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.”  We will sing/say these same words as we prepare for Holy Eucharist.  But, the celebrants have disappeared; Jesus is all alone before Pilate, unjustly accused.

Jesus willingly took on our humanity – the target of merciless bullying by the soldiers who laughed and taunted him; they dressed him in purple robes and a crown of thorns to mock his identification as the Messiah, the King of kings and Lord of lords.

Jesus willingly took on our humanity – feeling the cutting sting of the whip of his tormenters, the stickiness of the blood that oozed over his body; the grit of the rocky path grinding against his teeth and filling his mouth as he fell to the ground under the weight of the cross he was forced to bear.

Jesus willingly took the abandonment and the bullying and the physical torment that was rightly ours to bear.  Yet, Jesus did not come to shame us into penitence or to bully us into begging for mercy.   He came to bear our grief and our physical torments as one of us.

All Jesus asks is that we believe in his unconditional love for us – believe that we are truly, truly loved by God who is love and created us in love.  In the words of our Nicene Creed, we affirm that “for us and for our salvation Jesus came down from heaven: by the power of the Holy Spirit he became incarnate from the Virgin Mary, and was made man.  For our sake he was crucified, suffered death, was buried, and rose again.”  For our sake.

Who has ever loved you the most – unconditionally loved you the very most?  Who do you love the most?  How do we know we are loved?  How de we express that love?  That is our focus for Holy Week as we stand at the foot of the cross, gazing upon the wounds, hearing the agonizing words.  Yet, knowing down deep in our souls that this is all for love, that we are loved by God who created us in love – that that love is immeasurable, beyond any love we share on earth.  Believe that you are loved and that the Cross is all about love.  Believe.

Blessed Holy Week.

Jeremiah 31:31-34, Hebrews 5:5-10, John 12:20-33, Psalm 51:1-13

“Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.”

We’ve come to the time of years when the day’s mail brings a continuous stream of catalogs of fruit bearing seeds and glossy colorful depictions of abundantly beautiful flower gardens and lush orchards.  Bulb companies quite masterfully market their spring flowering bulbs by offering the opportunity to order now while we gaze enviously out the window at our neighbors’ luscious yellow daffodils, planted last fall, and now in full bloom.  “ORDER NOW!” proclaims the postage-free return order form; “SEND NO MONEY.”  There is a large red checkmark pre-printed in the square next to the words, “Please bill me when my order is shipped this fall.”  It’s all so easy; commit your order now and worry about paying the price later.

All around us, the grains of winter wheat have died to themselves and now are growing toward maturity.  The seeds of the earth are bearing fruit.

We don’t often think of a seed dying at this time of growth – seed dying to itself in order for this fruit bearing to occur.  If we take time to notice the birdseed that has fallen from our feeders or the grain that was left in the field from the fall harvest, we might find that much of that seed has sprouted in response to the increasing warmth and sunshine.  And, looking closely at the sprouts, we find that the grain has lost its definition as a grain; little is left to convince us that the green and growing sprout was once a tiny seed.  With proper nourishment, the grain, which has effectively died to itself, will put down roots and produce fruit many times over.

We don’t often think of a seed dying to itself in order to bear fruit, other than when we read this Lenten passage, these words of Jesus in the latter part of John’s Gospel as the shadow of the Cross became more and more consuming.  But, as we study the tiny sprout under the bird feeder, who could discern that this fruit bearing plant was once a very typical seed?  – a seed that is no more, a seed that has dared to die and, thus, to bear fruit and, even later, to bear new life in a multiplicity of new seeds.

“Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.”  What’s your point, Jesus?

In the quietude of Lent, Jesus is confronting us with the realism of the maturity of our faith.  We might comfort ourselves with the misconception that Jesus is talking to those other people – the sinners; or at least, those people whose sins are worse than our sins.

Most of us gathered here come from a lifetime of church experiences, a life-long faith journey.  Most of us do not know of life devoid of the Christian faith and opportunities of Christian mission.  We certainly do not know anything of having our freedom to worship challenged.  And, while that life of faith is an enormous blessing that we all celebrate, the downside is that we risk being less aware of the need to address the ongoing maturity of our faith – intentionally and continuously; we too easily subsist in the safety and security of the seed package where all the other seeds look just like we do and think like we do, and we are very content to remain there being seeds – not taking any risks with what might become of us if we venture forth, being exposed to the fertile soil and gentle rains and warm sunshine of discipleship.

That’s all very scary.  After all, we’ve spent our entire lifetimes working on us – a few sinful rough edges here and there, but surely, we can’t be in need of too much improvement.

But, Jesus says, “Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain.”  Throughout the Gospels we note that Jesus offers healing rather than criticism for sinners – often summed up as “tax collectors and prostitutes” – the “others” of society – those that the religious establishment would label sinners.  To these sinners, Jesus offered healing salvation.

But, Jesus reserved his sharpest criticism and redirection for those who thought they were not sinners – those who were puffed up with their own superiority and self-righteousness and self-assurance.  Jesus spoke directly and harshly to and about those who assumed moral superiority, setting themselves in a position of always being right – there is little need or room for God when we are morally perfect in our own sight.  And, with this disposition, there is certainly no room in our lives for anyone who doesn’t share our level of moral perfection.  If you’re going to live here in my seed packet, don’t tamper with that ziplock; if we were to spill out on the fertile ground, there’s just no telling what might happen.

In these closing weeks of our Lenten season, Jesus is challenging us to look starkly, truthfully, objectively at our faith journey.  Are we maturing in our faith in order for our arrogance and self-importance to die away, making room for the fruit of humility to bear in abundance?  Our Franciscan brother, Richard Rohr states, “If you are filled with your own opinions, ideas, righteousness, superiority, or sufficiency, you are a world unto yourself and there is no room for ‘another.’”[1] 

Dietrich Bonhoeffer said, ”As we embark upon discipleship we surrender ourselves to Christ in union with his death—we give over our lives to death…  When Christ calls a man, he bids him come and die.”

As we gaze upon the emerging beauty of spring, we are seldom aware of the death that occurred to bring about this newly restored bounty of growth.  As Jesus challenges us with the discipline of Lent, we rejoice in the death of our timid, inwardly self-seeking focus – a death that allows us to bear the fruit of discipleship – a death that allows us to rise with Christ victorious over death itself.

[1] Richard Rohr, Adapted from Eucharist as Touchstone

Numbers 21:4-9, Ephesians 2:1-10, John 3:14-21, Psalm 107:1-3, 17-22

 “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.”

These words from the mouth of Jesus himself are very familiar and have been passed about so much that we tend to not listen and absorb their sensational meaning.  It is interesting to note that the writer of the Gospel of John never uses the word  “faith.”  For John, the key word is “believe.”  And, for John, believe is an action word rather than simply a mental acceptance of a certain proposition.  To believe is to obey as the Israelites obeyed by keeping their eyes upon the bronze serpent as described in the account we read from our Old Testament lesson for today – the bronze serpent, so strangely described, became the symbol of the Israelites obedience.  To not believe is to disobey.  To disobey is to perish among the fiery serpents (KJV).  But, to believe is to have eternal life here and now.[1] 

So, should we say:  For God so loved the world that he sent fiery serpents, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish bur may have eternal life?

Commentators of today’s Old Testament lesson from the book of Numbers agree:  the snakes were not simply a desert hazard but were God’s punishment of the Israelites for their sin. 

This generation of Israelites had already been condemned to die in the wilderness, never reaching the Promised Land, because of their habitual disobedience.  Their previous confessions and pledges of repentance had been shallow and short-lived, and they had begun to believe that their own efforts were sufficient, that God’s guidance was unnecessary.  They had begun to trust themselves for deliverance from the wilderness rather than to trust God.  Lacking trust in God is the deepest source of their sin – and ours.  Whether you believe the story of God’s sending of the poisonous snakes to bite and kill his chosen people is literal or metaphorical, the very important message is that God’s judgment is real and our lack of belief and trust in Him always always brings pain and death.

Death is not created by God, but by man’s transgressions.  St. Athanasius, the fourth century bishop and defender of Christian orthodoxy, describes our falling into sin as our “throwing away of our birthright of beauty” that brought about the “natural law of death.” [2]  Thus, God’s intention at creation was not death and tragedy for humans.  Along with the Israelites stranded in the wilderness, these are conditions for which all humans bear responsibility.

We might compare this command to the consumption of a tiny drop of live polio that immunized us and, eventually, eradicated the disease.  Obeying God’s command to look upon the serpent relegates the serpent’s bite to nothingness in the same way that Christ’s death and Resurrection saps all the power from our human immorality and death.  Faith is the action of trusting and obeying God’s command.

“As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up”  (John 3:14, NRSV) – lifted up and exalted.  Listen again for the first time: “God so loved the world “that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but have eternal life.”  The all-knowing and almighty God through Christ came readily into the world as flesh and went willingly to die for the express purpose of saving mankind from death that whoever believes in him may have eternal life. 

The purpose of Christ’s coming was his death and Resurrection.  This is God’s re-creative plan to save us from the death we have brought on ourselves.  In this way, again to quote Athanasius,  “He would make death disappear from them as utterly as straw from fire” for He so loved the world.

We cannot have the eternal life of the Easter Resurrection without the reality of the death on Good Friday and the separation from God through Holy Saturday.  In this Holy Lent, we remain drawn to the Cross, transported away from the nothingness of our disobedience, transported away from the pit of snakes that seek to destroy us, focused on the death of the death from which comes life everlasting.  For God so extraordinarily loves us – his children whom he created – and desires to save us “that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes (believing, which is active obedience), everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.”  [John 3:16 NRSV]

Exodus 20:1-17, 1 Corinthians 1:18-25, John 2:13-22, Psalm 19

The news this past week of the shuttering of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem has been a source of great interest for Christians around the world.  The Church of the Holy Sepulcher is said to be built over the site of the Cross, on which Jesus died, and the tomb, from which he rose again.

Christian religious leaders, representing a wide variety of faith traditions rotate their worship at the site.  Though very small in number, but diversified in theology, these leaders came together on the agreement days ago to close this most sacred of Christian sites.  The action was in response to an economic decision by leaders of the Israeli government to begin taxing previously tax-exempt properties under their jurisdiction with the exclusion of synagogues.  In the face of opposition, the decision has been reversed.

As you can imagine, the Church of the Holy Sepulcher is a major draw for Christians travelling from all over the world to visit the Holy City.  Visiting Jerusalem would be quite incomplete without this main attraction.  The popularity of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher is quite a boost to the city’s tourist revenue.

Without doubt, it is quite difficult to maintain reverence and pursue sincere worship in such a space that too easily feels like a tourist attraction – more of a challenge even than the Cathedral in Washington, DC; Bruton Parish in Williamsburg, or Notre Dame in Paris.  Just keeping camera bugs from standing in the chairs and flashing pictures during prayers is almost impossible.

These are perfect examples of the difficulty in separating economics and religion, and it can be even more difficult for them to share the same space.  The Church tends to sneer at wealthy people and corporations, sanctimoniously condemning all the “rich” as greedy and ruthless.  And, yet, our seminarians are dependent upon the scholarships provided by wealthy philanthropists; our churches routinely apply for the grants that corporations graciously make available to support capital campaigns; and our world missions receive millions of dollars yearly from economically successful individuals and foundations who have dedicated their profits to the spreading of the Gospel message.

How do we protect religion from becoming an economic idol?  Where do we separate greedy “capitalism” from Christian stewardship?  Perhaps we are misguided in our prejudice of the wealthy; better to show them the love of Christ and join them in our cooperative faith journeys with the goal to remain humble regardless of our earthly wealth and social status – to remain humble, giving all glory to God and funneling our wealth towards the furtherance of God’s kingdom.

As we read in our Gospel lesson, on this day in the earthly life of Jesus, The Temple – the great pinnacle of Jewish worship appears to have been reduced to a center for economic priorities, clouding its purpose as the house of God.  From our lesson, we can easily envision the chaotic scene.

The Temple structure was complicated; specific religious credentials were required to pass from the outer-most through the intermediary chambers and into the innermost sanctuaries – the altar where sacrifices were offered to God, the tabernacle where God resided.  There was great distinction between the ranks of Jewish religious authority who could enter.

Otherwise, this outer-most area, The Court of the Gentiles was a place where anyone in the general public could gather; it would look to us much like an open-air market with any and everyone milling about or cutting through to shorten the destination to another part of the city.

At the Jerusalem Temple, besides this hurry-scurry loud and disorderly crowd, the open area is complete with the animals – cattle, sheep, and turtledoves held there to be purchased and offered for sacrifice at the altar of God as dictated by Jewish Law.

Faithful Jews coming to the Temple on pilgrimage would bring the current coinage to purchase the appropriate animal for sacrifice.  This currency was that produced by the Roman government bearing the image of Caesar.  Religious policy required that this money be exchanged for Jewish shekels.  It is not difficult to imagine the potential for corruption; moneychangers, of course, would need to set aside a transaction fee; they would have been expected to be accountable to the Roman authorities as well as the religious authorities.  And, as everyone got a cut of the proceeds, the poor humble pilgrims increasingly became prey for these scavengers; accumulated wealth rather than God became the focus of religious life.

These typical activities that were taking place upon Jesus’ arrival were not inherently criminal or unsavory activities.  It was the way that they were being conducted in this sacred space – in Jesus’ words, “making my Father’s house a marketplace.”  The irreverence that exuded from this misuse of this most sacred of sacred places corrupted the journey to the pinnacle of faith; God had been evicted from his earthly dwelling place; there was no sense of the sacred.

Why is this Gospel message so important to us Christians?  How is it that we relate to the pinnacle of the Temple?  Where is the temple in which we followers of Christ find oneness with God?

John tells us “Jesus is speaking of the temple of his body.”  This is blasphemy to those who reject Jesus Christ.  But, to us Christians, it is the pinnacle of our faith.  There is no earthly dwelling place of God; God dwells in Jesus Christ.  We make our pilgrimage to the pinnacle of our faith as we come reverently – unworthy, yet worthily – to the altar where we are made one with Jesus Christ.

Our Lenten pilgrimage is a journey to the pinnacle of our faith; our Lenten pilgrimage is a journey through the earthy chaos of economics and politics that seek to rob the sanctity of our worship and corrupt our presence in the temple of the Body of Christ.  Through this sacred pilgrimage of Lent we are cleansed of the idols we have made for ourselves; hearing God’s Second Commandment that we read in Exodus 20:  You shall not make for yourself an idol, whether in the form of anything that is in heaven above, or that is on the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth. 

Through our Lenten pilgrimage our physical and spiritual temple is cleansed as this earthly Temple was cleansed by Jesus – cleansed by the grace of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.