Good Friday Sermon, 2013

What should I do with my life? What would give my life meaning? That’s what Cheryl Schott kept asking, and deep within she knew that someday, if she was attentive enough, the answer would come.  In 1985 she was watching a segment on the evening news and saw Diane Sawyer interview a 12 year old named Mohammed who lived deep in the Sahara. He was starving, homeless, dirty, but a handsome boy nonetheless. As Cheryl watched, she heard a voice within her soul say, “That boy is my son.  He is my son.”  The urge to reach out to that boy lasted beyond the few seconds he was on the screen. Cheryl and her husband borrowed money, maxed out credit cards, made countless phone calls and traveled into the Sahara desert 400 miles to find Mohammed. He was sick from malaria, had an infected club foot and tuberculosis  when they found him a year later and brought him to this country. Mohammed graduated in the spring of 1998 from Georgetown’s prestigious School of Foreign Service. 28 years ago, when Mohammed arrived at Cheryl’s home, he thought he was supposed to be the houseboy, and he was ready to clean and serve. “No,” Cheryl explained, “you are here to be our son, our son.” To which Mohammed replied, “I don’t know what that means, but if you teach me, I will learn.”

Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved, and he said, “Woman behold your son.”

Throughout the centuries, there have been many depictions of the crucifixion, and the focus is, of course, Jesus himself.  What we often forget, though, is that there was a whole world beneath that cross: women weeping, disciples hiding, bystanders heckling, and a whole bunch of people busy about their own lives, preparing for the coming Passover, perhaps only vaguely aware of the day’s executions. It is striking, that for just about the length of a typical news story on TV,  Jesus addresses himself to those who are below, giving Mary and John to each other, not only as mother and son, but as a new community.

You and I are standing at the foot of the cross. We are that new community. And some of us are weeping, hiding, heckling or just vaguely aware. Today we look at the cross of Jesus and we ask ourselves, “Have I really learned what it means to be God’s beloved?”  Are we willing to learn if we are shown?  It is a matter of learning three seemingly simple things: OBEDIENCE, FORGIVENESS, LOVE.

OBEDIENCE We don’t like that word because we think it is about following commands, much like a child, or even a puppy. When I was wrestling with the writing of my final vows as a Benedictine, I of course knew I had to include the 3 traditional monastic vows of “poverty, chastity and obedience”, but as I wrestled and researched the Latin word “obedientia” I came to understand that the word actually means “to listen.” Suddenly that didn’t sound like puppy training at all, and since the first word in Benedict’s Rule is “Ausculte!”  (“Listen!”) I knew I was on to something solid.  Jesus always listened to God. He always let God’s word direct him, guide him, strengthen him, even in the most terrible moments of his life. He wants to teach us this kind of obedience. In times of difficulty, confusion, or struggle, it is not the words in the NY Times, on Dr. Phil or the contradictory words we hear coming out of our own mouths:  it is the Word of God that matters.  And we must learn from Jesus to listen to that word, not simply on the Good Fridays of our life, but every day of our life.

FORGIVENESS Forgiveness, they say, is one of the hardest things to live. Maybe because it takes more than a 30 second sound bite. Maybe because it means sometimes we have to change course and drive 400 miles into the Sahara. Maybe it is because sometimes it means we have to shut up!  Notice Jesus in his trial says very little. Where is his brilliant defense? Couldn’t he have used a parable or some snappy beatitudes to his advantage? No, he says in the face of hatred, there is no need to retaliate, to argue, to be right. His attitude is one of standing in the power of God’s perspective. And that is what forgiveness is : standing in the power of God’s perspective. It’s not found in the power of getting even, making our point, proving you wrong, getting the last word, making someone pay. Forgiveness says in a still, small voice, “Those things have no power over me.”  Just think how different our life would have been—regardless of our age right now—if we had been willing to learn forgiveness from Jesus.

And finally, LOVE.  Jesus wants those who stand at the foot of the cross to learn the meaning of love. We suck at this because we think love is bound up with how we feel.  We use love as a kind of bargaining tool, thinking we are going to get something in return, something we’ve paid for by the mere fact of our loving. This is incorrect. Love, Jesus says, is when you are willing to give yourself to another, because you see God’s handiwork in them and you see yourself in them. Yes, I agree, it is way easier to love a freshly hatched newborn baby than a recalcitrant 15 year old.  It’s easier to love a faithful friend than it is to love someone who is  self-absorbed.  And it is darned near impossible to love someone who has betrayed us, or worked to undermine our community by lying, stealing or even killing. It IS difficult, challenging and impossible to love these people if when we think of loving them we imagine hugging them and smiling sweetly. But if we can see God as their Lover as well as our own, and if we can recognize ourselves in them, then we can love them for sure. Because the unpleasant truth is that I am moody. I am self-centered. I have betrayed. I have lied. I could murder someone. Isaiah reminds us that it is only when we do not look away, that we suddenly look at the people we can’t stand at work, the shiftless and lazy, the hundreds of thousands of refugees leaving Kosovo, those who are hungry at this hour… only when we do not look away can we suddenly see, and be able to say. “That’s my son! That’s my daughter!”

God is not necessarily asking us to drive 400 miles into the Sahara to rescue a child. But maybe we could give God just a bit more than a television soundbite of our time.  Maybe this Good Friday can be a turning point for us.  Maybe this could be the day when we finally admit that our life is supposed to be about obedience, forgiveness and love? And if you are one who is right now wondering what it is you are supposed to do with your life, I invite you to take a look at the cross and those who are standing beneath it.  You’ll know what to do.

 

Easter Homily 2013

“Why do you look for the living among the dead?” It’s a good question. Jesus himself had told them what was going to happen to him, and that on the third day he rise.  And here it is, the third day, and the women were in the cemetery, carrying the spices used for dead bodies. They weren’t looking for the living Christ; they were seeking a corpse they could treat with respect, bury properly, and then leave in the tomb marking his final resting place as a remembrance of him. Similar to our cemeteries today, they probably expected to return again and again to that tomb, to remember Jesus’ life, to feel close to him, and to miss him.

We hear this story so often and know it so well, it’s easy for us to sit back and judge the women and the other disciples for their lack of faith. Of course Jesus had risen from the dead; he was the Son of God. That should have been made clear by all the miracles he’d performed, and of course they should have believed him when he’d said he would rise from the dead. But we have an advantage; we have two millennia of people telling the story, believing it enough to try to follow this Jesus in the way they live their lives, and passing their faith on through the generations.  Billions and billions of people have entered into the mystery and wonder of this story and found faith enough to believe—we know this, and that’s why this is an old story to us.

But for the women and the disciples, it wasn’t a story—it was their lived experience. It was their reality. They had believed in this man completely, thinking he was the Messiah, thinking this time the ancient prophecies would surely come to pass.  Israel would be saved from her enemies and made to be a light to the nations once and for all. But all of sudden, he’s betrayed, arrested, tried and executed in a matter of hours. He’s gone. No way to bring him back. He’s dead, and placed in a tomb, and left there for days. Despite what they may have believed, despite what he may have told them about himself, his death seemed pretty final. And in the ensuing grief and shock, they struggle to make sense of this man, the one they loved so much, the one they admired, the one who, it seemed in retrospect, was just a man like any other. 

Think now of a time when you’ve lost someone, and even attended the graveside service.   You know where his or her grave is, so if one day you returned to the gravesite, went to the plot and found it opened and empty, would your first thought be “resurrection?” Probably not. You would think either grave robbers or vandals, or maybe you would be so kerfuzzled that you wouldn’t even be able to think of an explanation.  Maybe you would just stand there speechless and lost.

Now imagine that you’re standing there in shock, and suddenly two men in dazzling clothes appear and tell you that your loved one is risen from the dead.  Maybe  you’d be a bit more open to the idea of resurrection, or, more likely, you’d think you were hallucinating. What if you weren’t at the gravesite at all, but rather, you were simply at home overwhelmed by your grief.  Imagine some close family members rushing into the house and telling you the story of the empty grave and the men in dazzling designer clothes from the Oscar di Laurenta spring line?  Would you believe them? 

Honestly, we all have to admit that we would not believe them at all, and furthermore, we’d insist that they get some quality grief counseling immediately!  It’s not healthy to live in fantasy; death is final and we just have to accept the fact that it comes for young and old, without regard for wealth or status, gender or occupation.  Death is real and that’s all there is to it.

But here’s where the disciples have an advantage over us. In the verses that come right after today’s Gospel reading, Jesus himself appears to the disciples. It’s hard to argue how illogical the idea of resurrection is when the deceased man is standing right in front of you talking to you, after having been 3 days in the grave!

While we are grateful for the long history of the Church, in fact, those 2,000 years of people telling us this story can also work against us. It was so long ago, after all.  Our first century ancestors in the faith were, by post-modern standards, backward and superstitious.  Remember, the Enlightenment was still 16 centuries away, and the scientific era was 17 centuries away. We have come to know and trust that many of things people used to call “miracles” have rational, scientific or medical explanations. Besides that, we have all played the game of “post office”, so we know how stories get changed in the telling and retelling. Maybe this resurrection story is nothing more than an idle tale borne out of wishful thinking.  It got told so many times that it morphed from “if only it had happened” to “it really did happen.” Isn’t that a simpler, easier, more rational thing to believe??

“Why do you look for the living among the dead?” In other words, “Why are you here? This is not where you’re going to find what you’re looking for.”

And so I ask each one of you here today, “What are you looking for? And where are you looking for it?” Some of us come here looking for comfort, some for answers, some for guidance, and some don’t have any idea what they’re looking for—they only know that something is missing in their lives.  And when all else fails, when the philosophies of the Enlightenment, and the verifiable truths of scientific inquiry and method fail to satisfy, they come to these large, tomb-like buildings whose only reason for being built was to continue to remember a crazy story about a dead man being resurrected. When nothing else in our lives is working, a lot of us are willing to give crazy stories a second look.

I remember my years at the U of Wisconsin as a religious studies major.  A lot of students my age and younger lost their faith in Christ because their exposure to other world religions—which had been scrupulously avoided while they were being raised Christian—had provided them with many other sacred texts, scriptures, traditions and stories that also seemed to contain truth.  Groups of us would wrestle with these questions over coffee at the student union on a regular basis, and for many, they just couldn’t get past the knowledge that other religious traditions also had powerful stories that supposedly carried the Truth.  The problem, of course, is obvious: stories aren’t the answer. Stories tend to give us information, yes, but on a cold, sleepless night when something isn’t right in our soul, information is not what we’re seeking.

“He is not here, he is risen.” The living Christ is not locked inside the pages of a sacred text, no matter how sacred, and he’s not locked in any one of the Christian traditions that bear his name.  Christ is not limited to any one time or place, nor is his sole residence to be found at Holy Redeemer Catholic Community or Grace St. John’s United Church of Christ. To be sure, the living Christ IS here, but not only here: he’s also out there, in the world, working in, with, and through people and events, political ideas and dangerous theologies of liberation and radical equality. We love and treasure our Scriptures.  They give us a great deal of information about who God is and what Jesus came to teach us—but we need a living community of other believers to help us digest, learn and interpret that information. Remember, Jesus never promised his presence to individuals at all, rather, he reminds us again and again that “where two or three are gathered “ he is there.  In other words, Jesus reveals himself in and through the community of faith.  And that is the sole reason we exist as a congregation: to help each other see the risen Christ working in our lives. 

As some of you already know, I lost my firstborn son on Maundy Thursday, sixteen years ago.  On the Tuesday after Easter, after singing his funeral at the parish were I was deacon, I led the final procession out of the church behind Chris’ body singing an Old Slavonic Easter hymn, “Christos voskrese…”  in other words, “Christ is risen from the dead…” And the congregation of well over 100 people, sang the refrain over and over in 3 part harmony until we were outside in the street.  I will never forget it.  But notice, we weren’t singing,  “Christ rose two thousand years ago” because, really who cares about that??  What does something that happened 2,000 years ago have to do with us?  Instead, we sang that hymn exactly as sang it this morning:  “Christ is risen…today.”  Present tense.  It’s not a historical event we’re celebrating, it’s our present reality. Jesus Christ is risen, today and every day.  That’s what we’re celebrating.  

“Why do you look for the living among the dead?”  Jesus is not locked up inside a book or a building anymore than he was locked up inside the tomb. He is risen. He is alive. He’s with us in the depth of our hurting and pain, and he’s with us when we’re laughing out loud. He’s walking with his disciples on the road to Emmaus; he’s guiding them in the upper room. He’s driving with us on the way to Indianapolis and he’s in our room late at night when we lie awake, unable to pray.  He’s on every road, in every room, walking with every one of us, guiding every one of us, embracing every one of us, loving every one of us just the way we are. The power of his resurrection fills our hearts, even when we can’t perceive it, even when we have locked ourselves away in the tomb of fear and doubt and sadness. 

Our holy Book and our beautiful building can, with the help of a living, believing community, help us understand what all this resurrection business is all about. That’s why we’re here.  But you don’t need to come looking for him here because he’s already found you where you are.

God’s (Non-existent) Witness Protection Plan

In many ways, it seems as though there is no reason to preach today. We’ve all heard the story before. We know resurrection. In fact, everything about our faith, the way we worship, the day we choose to worship—all of this relates directly to the fact that Easter is at the heart of everything about our faith.  It is the most important story in our lives, and that’s why this reading from Acts is appropriate. Like us, Peter knew the story. He had told it before. He was an eyewitness to it! Yet here he is, ten years later recounting the events of Jesus’ life once again.

In our text for today, Peter is at the house of Cornelius, who had sent for Peter while he’d been praying on the roof. It was lunchtime, so he asked someone for some food. While he was waiting for his lunch, he had a vision in which he sees a tablecloth filled with non-kosher foods.  And a voice told him to eat—which Peter didn’t want to do since these were unclean items for Jews.

This happened three times! Still unclear of what the message was, Peter was told by the Spirit that servants of Cornelius were coming to see him.  So, when they arrived, Peter went with them. It’s easy for us to forget that the early Christians saw themselves as Jews first, Jews who happened to believe that Jesus was the Son of God, the first to be raised from the dead. They still had clear lines that excluded Gentiles like Cornelius.

It was that particular aspect of the Christian faith Cornelius was challenging. He explained to Peter what had happened in his vision and then asked Peter to tell him what God had to say about it. Peter has been put on the spot and has to make a statement. It would be a statement that would change the nature of the entire church, setting a precedent for all future generations.

A few years ago, a friend of mine was awake in the wee hours, unable to sleep.  He was reading quietly in his downtown Bluffton apartment, hoping to get tired enough to go back to bed. Suddenly, he heard a commotion outside, and when he looked out his upstairs window, he saw a police officer in pursuit of a man running right down the street in front of his apartment.  The suspect had a gun, and as Max watched, the man stopped and turned toward the policeman, aiming his gun and taking a couple shots at the officer!  The man was intoxicated and a bad aim, so the officer wasn’t hit, but Max was trembling as he called 911.  Other policemen arrived and the man was arrested, Max gave his statement, end of story.

One year later, however, Max was subpoenaed to testify about what he had seen that night.  As he entered the interview room on the appointed day, he was seated directly across the table from the suspect.  A thousand things went through Max’s mind as the two of them—suspect and sole witness—were left alone in the same room together while the detective went to get a colleague. 

Max began to panic: What if this man isn’t convicted and gets to go free?  He will know exactly where I live!  He might come after me and shoot me in my own apartment some night when no one is expecting it!  Max wondered if he needed a witness protection plan so this man wouldn’t be able to find him and take revenge on him.

Max tried hard to give details of what happened that night, but it had happened so long ago!  He was afraid he might’ve forgotten something; he was perspiring and nervous. Max left the police station angry, disgusted with the justice system. Fortunately, the man was found guilty and sent to prison, and Max was relieved.

In many ways, Peter’s appearance before Cornelius is like a court appearance. He is being called on to testify. Unlike Max, however, Peter was able to remember all the details about Jesus’ life.

Easter had come into his life in such a way that he had been changed dramatically. Resurrection brought more than just new life for Jesus; it was creating a whole new world for Peter as well. Even in this sermon of Peter’s, he has another realization about the resurrection – it isn’t just for Jews but for all people. Peter proclaims, “Jesus is Lord of all” (v 36). Easter is continuing to unfold in his life and every day is another chance to see God changing the world.

That’s why we are witnesses, too. We are the witnesses of resurrection today. We may not be eye witnesses, but we are witnesses nonetheless. We see the resurrection happen in our lives. Every time we come out of feelings of depression or feelings that God isn’t hearing our prayers, we know the truth of resurrection.  Each time we stop ourselves from a bad habit—gossiping, being negative, judging, or needing to be in control—and we choose to say or do something  positive instead, we are expressing the truth of Christ’s resurrection.  Every time we set aside our own biases and habits and simply allow God’s will to be made manifest through the words, deeds and actions of others, we are affirming the truth that new life is always possible—even for old dogs like us–because of the truth of Easter. 

We are witnesses. We are the ones who can look around us and see lilies blooming and know that life does come from death. We can see the trees budding and know that spring is finally on the way. We are witnesses to these things. And we are called upon to witness to our faith, whether we want to or not because God has no Witness Protection Plan.

But know this for certain: you will be summoned to testify.  You WILL be subpoenaed. Sometimes that subpoena will come in simple and unassuming forms:  

a hug needs to be given to someone who is grieving;  

you will need to answer your neighbor’s question about why you go to church;

an elderly gentleman will need you to help him carry his groceries to his car at WalMart.

Those are the easy ones.  There will also be times when that subpoena will test both your courage and your conviction:

You will need to stand with someone who has been falsely accused of wrong;

You will be called to welcome an estranged family member back into your home;

You will have to engage in a conversation where you will have to admit that you were wrong and someone else was right.

When these opportunities arise, we are given the example of Peter to follow.  We are continually invited to find and proclaim new evidence for the resurrection of Jesus Christ.  So we don’t need to be nervous, we can be bold!

God has no witness protection plan. If we witness the power of resurrection, we’re called to testify. We have each experienced resurrection in powerful and personal terms; we must proclaim it when called upon to testify. We have no need to be timid because, like Peter, we are living the truth of resurrection.  We see its power all around us; we are its witnesses today.  Amen.

Who’s “Prodigal” Now??

The problem with Jesus is that he just doesn’t know when to let it go! It’s one thing to have conflicts with the religious authorities, it’s quite another to tell them that tax collectors and prostitutes are entering the Reign of God ahead of them. No wonder he keeeps getting into trouble!
And then there is this story he told, the one we call “The Prodigal Son.” Notice that the word “prodigal” never appears in the story, and if you look it up in the dictionary, you’ll find that two definitions: “a wasteful spendthrift” is the first one, but the second one is “profuse in giving, exceedingly abundant.” We will come back to these meanings throughout this reflection.
To whom did Jesus tell this story? That’s an important question, one often overlooked when people read the story. So let’s consider this question. The 15th chapter of Luke begins with these words:
Now the tax collectors and sinners were all drawing near to him. And the Pharisees and the scribes murmured, saying, ‘This man receives sinners and eats with them.’ So he told them this parable … “(RSV)He directed it to the Pharisees and the scribes, in other words, the “cardinals”, if you will, of the religious establishment of that time. They were interpreters of the Jewish law; they had the important responsibility of making judgments about right and wrong. And it’s this group of people who are paying close attention to Jesus and they’re not happy with what they hear. Worse, he’s surrounded by tax collectors and sinners—the lowest of the low. The Pharisees and scribes take offense, and they complain, “This man hangs out with sinners and even eats with them!” Jesus hears them and tells them the story we just listened to.
Remember the first definition of “prodigal” is “spendthrift”, and that is what the younger son becomes. He demands his share of the inheritance from his dad and leaves his home and his village. This would have been seen as a grave insult to the father and to the community as well, and in fact, the young man would have been shunned after disrespecting his father in this way.
But after having the time of his life, the young man is broke and homeless and ends up working for a pig farmer. To Jesus’ audience, this is the lowest form of employment. Pigs are considered unclean animals, and the fact that this foreign landowner raises pigs tells us that he is a Gentile, which means the Jewish son is also having to work on the Sabbath. In other words, he is compelled to violate everything he has ever been taught to consider sacred just so he can survive.
But now, just as his life down-spirals to the bottom, the turning point comes. The boy thinks back to his home and how even the servants there are better off than he is. So he decides to return. He even rehearses what he’s going to say: “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me as one of your hired servants.” If that doesn’t do it, maybe he’ll be able to work up a few tears to melt the old man’s heart.
What he doesn’t know, of course, is that his father has been waiting for him. Every day he’s been going out across the fields, to look down that road, hoping against hope that his son will appear on the horizon. And one day his prayers are answered, and the silhouette of his son appears on the horizon. And like a crazy man, the father goes running down the road toward his son. He grabs him — ragged clothes and pig smells and all — and kisses him like he’s returned from the dead.
The son starts his carefully rehearsed speech about how he’s sinned against heaven and isn’t worthy to be called a son, blah blah blah, only he doesn’t get through it before the father is shouting orders to the servants about getting some decent clothes for the boy, killing the fatted calf and organizing the welcome home party.
The welcome home party makes a great ending to a heartwarming, emotional tale about a father’s love, and Jesus might have stopped there. But, like I said, he never knew when to quit. He just couldn’t leave sleeping pigs lie, so to speak…
So, Jesus continues: “Now the elder son was in the field.” The elder son? Oh yes, there are two boys, aren’t there? We’d forgotten about that firstborn son. Won’t he be surprised to hear the news?! Won’t he be excited to learn that there’s a party being planned? We would be, wouldn’t we? Or…do you think maybe you ought to pull your father aside and have a few words with him? To express your anger and outrage? To talk some sense into the old fool? This is what happens in the parable, when the older son refuses to join in the festivities and dad has to go outside to find out why—and he gets an earful!
“Look, all these years I have worked for you like a slave, and I have never disobeyed your orders. What have you given me? Not even a goat for me to have a feast with my friends! But this son of yours wasted all your property on prostitutes, and when he comes back home, you kill the prize calf for him!” (Good News Translation).
And he’s making a good case: it hardly seems fair, all this fuss over the one who ran off and made a mess of things. What about me? he wants to know.
We have all asked that same question, and if we’re honest, it’s this older brother with whom we identify most. Up till now, the parable was a heart-warming bedtime story, but now suddenly we find ourselves in the story—exactly as the scribes and Pharisees saw themselves. And like them, we aren’t too pleased with what we see.
The older son resents the attention his brother is getting and he even adds details to the story, saying that his brother spent all his money on prostitutes. (This must be a Freudian slip because nobody said anything about hookers up to this point!) And then, worst of all, we realize that the older son feels unloved by his father. This is genuinely tragic because of course his father loves him and has always loved him and will always love him, but the older brother has never once noticed it. Maybe he never felt the love because he was focused so much on getting his fair share of everything else. And the big party for him and his friends? That could all have been his too, any time he asked for it, except he never thought to ask for it because, as Frederick Buechner writes, “ he was too busy trying cheerlessly and religiously to earn it.”1
In this story there is another prodigal son, the one who stays at home. It’s not that he is a spendthrift with money, rather, he is a spendthrift with his own insecurity, his own need to earn love, his own self-pity. And the story ends unresolved: Jesus doesn’t tell us if the older brother is able to overcome his limitations and hurt or not. Since we are connected deeply to this son, we hope he did ultimately discover that the experience of his brother also held amazingly good news for him as well. And we whisper a silent pray that we, too, will make that same discovery.
Maybe we will be able to hear the good news that God’s love for us is not contingent on our good behavior. Maybe we can come to realize that God is willing to come out to meet us, and even run up to us and embrace us, even when we smell to high heaven of our mistakes and bad choices. If so, we need to lighten up on ourselves. That doesn’t mean we need to take the family money and run off to waste our resources on hookers and parties, but maybe we can stop focusing on being “perfect” and just focus on becoming what God intends us to become instead.
The parable of the prodigal son is a great story because each of us lives the roles of all the characters in it at some point in our lives — the role of loving, the role of being loved even when we’re unlovable, and, maybe most of all, the role of feeling that we have not been loved enough.2 And permeating the whole story is the holy presence of the one who told the story.
There is a sense in which Jesus is the prodigal son. Do you remember that second definition of the word prodigal? It means “profuse in giving, exceedingly abundant.” Like the father in the story, Jesus shows how God loves equally the prodigal who wallows in self-indulgence, the prodigal who is lost in self-pity, and every other prodigal in between. This is the God who has no sense of decorum or propriety; this is the God who searches the horizon every day waiting for our return, and as soon as he catches a glimpse of us in the distance, he breaks into a run and comes to meet us and hold us in an embrace we can never earn, we can never be entirely worthy of, an embrace that is the fullness of everything we have ever needed.

A Grateful Offering of Thanks

Yesterday, after leading worship at Grace St. John’s United Church of Christ, members various parishes, family members and friends joined in wishing me a “happy birthday.” Student musicians played an awesome repertoire of classic jazz favorites, and the house was teaming with smiling faces and happy hearts. I cannot remember when I’ve had a more memorable, festive and heart-warming birthday experience, and I want to thank everyone who sent cards, gifts (even though they were told not to!) and attended yesterday’s event. My two sons were there, which made it perfect, although the absence of my eldest, Chris, was keenly noticed. He made his transition almost 16 years ago, and I know God is holding him fast. But that doesn’t make missing him an easy task…and neither does the knowledge that I am now 3 times his age. Can’t wait to see him again and party like I did yesterday!

Precious Ointment

(Sermon given at Grace St. John’s UCC, Sunday, March 17, 2013, on the occasion of the Annual Congregational Meeting where discussion about the future of the church was to be discussed.)
Someone once said, “Friends may come and go, but enemies accumulate,” and that is certainly true about this morning’s Gospel reading. A first century Gallop poll would have revealed a large decrease in support for Jesus among the religious right—mostly because this Jesus isn’t following the time-honored rules of our religious tradition. And certainly everyone should have known the rules:
• Rule #1: Never talk or be seen next to a Samaritan woman.
• Rule #2: Do not heal on the Sabbath. But worse than all of the other rules Jesus seemed to flaunt, he had had the audacity to break.
• Rule #3: Do not raise anyone from the dead.”
Jesus was thinking and living outside the box, that much was obvious. They were annoyed when he broke the first two rules, but when he dared to raise Lazarus from the dead a week earlier, they knew it was time to get him out of the picture permanently.
Like I said, enemies are accumulating in Jerusalem, but Jesus still has some loyal friends as well. In our gospel reading a family of three had formed a rare and lasting bond, a deep friendship with Jesus. azarus, Martha, and Mary are not among the Twelve apostles, but they are friends. Even Jesus needs close friends, so whenever he was in town, he knew he was always welcome at their home. He could share lamb-loaf and Hebrew National all beef franks on holidays and weekends. We don’t know how they met, but it’s clear that they love each other. Jesus was no doubt grateful beyond words that he had these friends, that he could just be himself without having to “do” anything for them.
Of course, he is more than “friend” he is also “Messiah.” And just a few days ago, they’d sent Jesus a note telling him that Lazarus was dying. But Jesus was away on a ministry tour, and he wasn’t able to be there to be helpful. Lazarus was dead-four days dead-by the time Jesus closed up his revival and arrived at his friend’s home.
John’s Gospel says that “Jesus wept” because he was a man who had lost someone dear. But then Jesus the Messiah called out in a loud voice that reached beyond the silence of death and called Lazarus back to life. This is one of the unspoken parts of the story that has led to the relaxation of this particular evening.
But something else unspoken is going on: a trade off had occurred. As long as Jesus stayed on the other side of the Jordan, his enemies in Jerusalem would not pursue him. But when he returned to resuscitate his friend, Lazarus, that was the last straw. Jesus had signed his own death warrant—effectively trading his own life for the life of his friend.
So as Jesus enters their home on this particular evening, we can well imagine some of the concern and foreboding he carries deep in his soul. He knows his enemies are closing in on him and he isn’t sleeping as well as he once did. But in the gentle glow of the lamps as evening falls, Jesus is simply grateful to be with his loving friends one last time. So tonight Jesus will relax and laugh; he’ll tell stories he’s picked up on the revival circuit. He’ll report some humorous things that Peter has inadvertently blurted out; he’ll enjoy good food, good wine and great conversation.
As Mary comes into the room with dessert, she puts her plates and forks down and does something shocking. She loosens her hair in the presence of men, something only a certain type of woman would do. Then she pours an entire bottle of expensive perfume on Jesus’ feet–and touches him. Rule #4: Rabbis do not allow single women to caress their feet. Not even among friends. And to end an already strange story, Mary uses her hair instead of a paper towel to wipe the extraneous perfume from his feet. And no one knows how to react!
“Well, let me just say that I’ve never in all my life seen such a thing. What a complete waste of Chanel #5! Shame on you, Mary,” Judas scolds. “Haven’t you looked around and seen all of the poor people we’re trying to help? And you go and waste this top of the line perfume on Jesus—I will pray for you!”
Judas is right: Chanel is very expensive. In fact, this quantity is more than some families annual income. “Leave her alone,” Jesus says. “She bought that perfume to be ready for the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you will not always have me.”
That response is as bizarre as Mary’s behavior. Jesus is the friend of the poor; he champions their cause, he preaches against hoarding and greed. But instead of Jesus’ usual sermon on sharing, loving our neighbor, etc.. he says, “Leave her alone, leave me alone. You’ll be caring for the poor until the end of time. But just this once let her be, my time is running out.”
Jesus has taken a situation and turned it into another parable. All the elements are there: Judas the friend that comes and goes, enemies lurking nearby, the expensive perfume used for burying the dead. In fact, death seems to be everywhere, and Jesus sees Mary’s gesture as a profound prophetic parable. No one told Mary about the impending danger, but something in her heart revealed to her the necessity of doing this one last thing for her friend.
Mary’s actions, her parable could have taken two different endings. If she had anointed his head, for instance, then Mary would have been proclaiming Jesus as a king. Everyone present would associate the anointing of the head with costly oil as a king-making action. Right then and there they could have joined in shouting, “Hail, King Jesus!” and “Long live the King!” and they would have taken up violence on his behalf. But instead, Mary got on her knees and began to pour this expensive burial ointment on his feet. The only man to be anointed in this way was someone who was already dead. Mary’s worship was extravagant and costly, and it allowed Jesus the man a clear picture of what awaited him in the near future. That’s why he says simply, “Leave her alone. Leave her alone.”
Annie Dillard writes that like Mary, OUR worship needs to become extraordinary. It needs to become extravagant and costly:
Does anyone have the foggiest idea what sort of power we Christians so blithely invoke? Or, as I suspect, does no one believe a word of it? The churches are children playing on the floor with their chemistry sets, mixing up a batch of TNT to kill a Sunday morning. It is madness to wear ladies’ straw hats and velvet hats to church; we should all be wearing crash helmets. Ushers should issue life preservers and signal flares; they should lash us to our pews. For the sleep god may awake someday and take offense, or the waking god may draw us out to where we can never return.**
Unfortunately, “we no longer need ‘fasten your seatbelt’ signs in our pews because we no longer fly.”

There is nothing skimpy or frugal about Jesus: as we said last week, he is the Prodigal Son in this regard. In him God’s extravagant and costly love has been made flesh. In him, the excessiveness of God’s grace is made manifest.
Our bottle of costly worship isn’t something to be held back and admired from a distance; this costly worship will not be reserved for a rainy day. God is calling this community RIGHT NOW to open up, to offer, to use, to pour out to the last drop a passionate form of worship that costs us something. A worship that overflows and runs out into the streets of our world, filling it with life, filling it with the fragrance of hope. Mary clearly heard the message in her heart, and she acted on it. The rest stayed safely locked inside the four walls of the box that held them, thinking Mary was wasteful and weird.
This congregation is, right now, holding in its hands a bottle of precious ointment at the feet of Jesus. Like the crowd perhaps, we have been comfortable in our own box, unable to see a larger parable. But today is our opportunity to enter into this parable with Mary. It doesn’t matter what has come before, all that matters now is what shall we do with our precious ointment? How will we follow Jesus lavishly, extravagantly??
Hear the Good News! Our God is lavish and extravagant so we need never fear that we will run out of perfume or opportunities for serving others—provided our worship is honest, inspiring and energizing. When God is present, there is always more–more than we can ever ask or imagine–gifts from our lavish, extravagant Lord. Amen.

Breaking the Law, Loving Instead

(Sermon given at Holy Redeemer Catholic Community, Sunday, March 17, 2013)
On March 22, 1824 an incident took place in Madison County, Indiana, which came to be known as the Fall Creek Massacre. Six white men murdered nine Seneca and Miami Indians and wounded another. Among the nine dead were three women and four children. The six men were apprehended and tried and some were executed. One of the men named John Bridge Jr. was sentenced to death by hanging for his part in the massacre. He was to be executed on June 3, 1825. His father and uncle were also to be executed that day.
John Bridge, Jr., along with a large crowd, witness the hangings of his father and uncle as the crowd waited expectantly for a pardon from the governor. With no sign of a pardon, a sermon was preached as the crowd waited expectantly. Finally, John Bridge, Jr. was lead to the gallows and the rope was lowered over his head. But as the men waited for a signal, a cheer arose from the back of the crowd.
A stranger rode forward and looked the condemned man in the face. “Sir, do you know in whose presence you stand?” Bridge shook his head. “There are but two powers known to the law that can save you from hanging by the neck until you are dead, dead, dead; one is the great God of the Universe, the other is J. Brown Ray, Governor of the State of Indiana; the latter stands before you…” Handing over the written pardon, the governor announced, “you are pardoned.”
In an instant, a terrifying, hopeless situation became the door to new life. John Bridge Jr. returned home, settled down, opened a dry goods store and died of natural causes–fifty-one years later!
I tell you this story so I can ask this question: Can you imagine the fear that must have gripped the heart of that young man as he watched his father and his uncle die, knowing that he was next? Can you imagine the terror as he was led onto the gallows and the noose was placed around his neck?
The sinful woman in the gospel story knows that feeling. As she is led trembling into the presence of Jesus, she knows in her heart that she is about to die a horrible death by stoning. However, her path has brought her into the presence of Jesus, and everything is about to change.
First, a little background information on the text itself. In most Bibles, we find that John 7:53 to John 8: 11 has either a footnote or is bracketed. That’s because NT scholars are virtually unanimous in declaring that this part of the Gospel of John is not part of what John actually wrote—it was added centuries later by an unknown scribe. If we were fundamentalists, we would have a serious problem, but since we’re not, this gives us a change to look briefly at the area of biblical studies called “textual criticism”. Some scholars think the story really happened, was circulated and later added to John’s Gospel.
Maybe they’re right: this story certainly fits our notion of what Jesus would have done in a situation like that. And even if it’s technically not “Scripture”, it still reveals the truth contained throughout other parts of the NT.
For second century listeners, the most remarkable part of the story is that Jesus exalts himself above the Law of Moses, changes its appointed punishment, and reestablishes something we have come to call “righteousness based on grace.” This is probably why this story was preserved in the first place and it is an echo of other NT teachings.
The woman is caught in adultery and brought to Jesus. In verses 4–5, the scribes and Pharisees put Jesus to the test. We have seen this before in the Gospels; it’s a familiar story line. Here’s what they say, “Teacher, this woman has been caught in the act of adultery. Now in the Law Moses commanded us to stone such women. So what do you say?” Clearly, this is another test to see if Jesus will screw up.
The Law said, “If a man is found lying with the wife of another man, both of them shall die” (Deuteronomy 22:22; see Leviticus 20:10). There is already something fishy going on here because only the woman is brought forward, and I think I am correct in stating that adultery is a sin that requires at least two people. But in typical sexist fashion, it is of course the woman who is blamed—so we have to ask just how committed the scribes and Pharisees are to following the Law of Moses. Or is the Law merely a pretext for their prejudice against Jesus?
Verse 6 makes explicit what their motives were, and so we don’t expect a great deal of justice: “This they said to test him, that they might have some charge to bring against him.” They were using the woman, using the Law to undermine Jesus.
In verse 7, Jesus says, “Let him who is without sin among you be the first to throw a stone at her.” This is a great line, but we all agree it’s not a recommendation on how to run a criminal justice system. Think about it: no one could ever be put on trial until a sinless judge and jury could be found! This is why I said earlier that Jesus is going to reestablish righteousness built solely on grace. To this point in the story, there is no grace, no humility, no compassion, and because of these things, there is abiding in the Law either.
Throughout the Gospels, we see Jesus standing against the Pharisees’ view of the law and saying in effect, “Go and learn what this means, ‘I desire mercy, and not sacrifice’” (Matthew 9:13; 12:2). Or: “If on the Sabbath a man receives circumcision, so that the law of Moses may not be broken, are you angry with me because on the Sabbath I made a man’s whole body well?” (John 7:23). In other words, “the Law is fulfilled in one word: Love your neighbor as you love yourself.”
Jesus forces them to see their own misuse of the law—and they all walk away. The point is not that judges and executioners must be sinless. The point is that righteousness and justice must be founded on a gracious spirit, and when they are not, cruelty and hypocrisy are the logical outcome.
When they are all gone, Jesus says to the woman, “Neither do I condemn you; go, and from now on sin no more” (recall John 5:14). He doesn’t tell her that adultery is alright, but he wants her to act with fairness and compassion not because she fears execution, but because she has been saved by grace. So, it doesn’t matter if the story belongs in John’s Gospel or not. It doesn’t matter if the story actually happened or not. The truth of the story stands regardless. This is the pervasive message of the New Testament. Jesus continually exalts himself above the Law but only to show us that God’s interest in us is based on the same experience of amazing grace.
The story points us to the message of the whole New Testament: We are called to be holy as God is holy. Sin harms us and divides us, so we are called to turn away from it. But pursuing holiness without a profound experience of grace in our own hearts produces hypocrisy and cruelty. Jesus shows us, again and again, the God’s grace can overcome everything, even our most entrenched attitudes and thoughtless actions.