Revisiting Ash Wednesday 2020

The words of my Ash Wednesday sermon have been coming back to mind in these days of the COVID-19 Pandemic.  So I thought I'd offer them here for continued/renewed reflection.

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“The Wisdom of Ash Wednesday”

Rev. Jason Alspaugh

Ash Wednesday

Christ Episcopal Church

February 26, 2020

“Come now, you who say, ‘Today or tomorrow we will go to such and such a town and spend a year there, doing business and making money.’ Yet you do not even know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. Instead you ought to say, ‘If the Lord wishes, we will live and do this or that.’”  ~James 4:13-15

There is an inherent wisdom in our Ash Wednesday observances; especially in the moment when ashes are imposed, and the minister says, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.”  It’s a gentle, liturgical, poetic way of saying, “You’re going to die.”  No one really ever wants to hear that, but there is wisdom in acknowledging our mortality, in admitting our finitude.  There have been such wonderful advances in medicine that have given us the impression that we can put off our dying and death almost indefinitely; and so many of us do not spend much time reflecting on such things.  

Often it’s not until we’re at a funeral or driving along in a funeral procession that we take time to think about our limited existence.  Often it’s as Emily Dickson wrote, “Because I could not stop for Death / he kindly stopped for me.”  At times, someone dies suddenly, tragically and people pause to remember how fragile and precious life is, saying things like, “Tomorrow is not promised” and “You’ve got to live every day like it’s your last.”  But most of the time, if we’re generally healthy, it seems there is enough going on to distract us from thinking about our mortality.  It’s up to the minister then to remind you to do so from time to time; and today is one of those times.

A few sermons ago I mentioned the fact that I pass by a survival supply store almost every day.  And there on the base of the store’s sign is a message crudely painted in black that says, “Stay Alive.”  It’s a message that taps into one of our most basic instincts—survival.  And it’s a reminder that our survival, staying alive, is not a given.  We are vulnerable.  Ironically, there is now a For Sale sign posted on that survival supply store.  Even the survival supply store can’t survive forever.

If we forget this, if we forget our mortality, we are bound for folly.  Those in positions of power and privilege often deny their limits, some even going so far as to declare themselves divine.  In the Bible, one of those figures is Pharaoh.  Walter Brueggemann says that “in Egyptian lore [Pharaoh] is taken to be invested with absolute authority…his regime is all-embracing.  Nothing is possible or even imaginable beyond his reach…his absolute authority and control extend to perpetuity…And then, says the [biblical] narrative, Pharaoh died (2:23)!...The ideology asserted [that Pharaoh was] “absolute to perpetuity.”  But then he died.”[1]  Death is the ultimate reminder that we are, in fact, not God.

Ash Wednesday helps us to maintain this perspective.  And spiritual practices like fasting can further remind us of our dependence on God.  Fasting reminds us that our life needs to be nurtured.  We need food and drink and sleep and more to live.  And this awareness should foster in us compassion for others.  A perpetual problem with the folly of people like Pharaoh (while they live) is that it often leads to human suffering.  They lack compassion, and those not deemed so divine are denied their own worth and dignity, and many of the things they need to live and thrive. 

Prophets like Isaiah and Micah and Amos called on the privileged, the powerful, and the pious to remember their place before God, and to remember that our life is indeed precious to God.  God did not need their burnt offerings, the prophets declared, but people did need food.  And so the prophet Isaiah, acting as spokesperson for God, would ask:

Is such the fast that I choose,
   a day to humble oneself?
Is it to bow down the head like a bulrush,
   and to lie in sackcloth and ashes?
Will you call this a fast,
   a day acceptable to the Lord?

Is not this the fast that I choose:
   to loose the bonds of injustice,
   to undo the thongs of the yoke,
to let the oppressed go free,
   and to break every yoke?
Is it not to share your bread with the hungry,
   and bring the homeless poor into your house;
when you see the naked, to cover them,
   and not to hide yourself from your own kin?[2]

Again, our piety, our faith should draw us closer to our neighbors in need.  The awareness of our own mortality should make us more compassionate.  To know that someday you will not wake up with your dog or cat staring in your face; to know that someday you will not embrace your beloved; to know that someday all the wealth and “things” you have gained will be as nothing to you—to know such things, should lead us to value all of life.

But knowing that “the grass withers and the flower fades,” is not all there is to Ash Wednesday.  We make the sign of the cross as ashes are imposed, reminding ourselves that we live in the hope of resurrection.  It is not a hope that erases the experience of dying and death.  Instead, it is a hope that allows us to endure it.

In prayer, Brueggemann has said to God:

We are able to ponder our ashness with
   some confidence, only because our every Wednesday of ashes
   anticipates your Easter victory over that dry, flaky taste of death.

On this Wednesday, we submit our ashen way to you —
   you Easter parade of newness.
   Before the sun sets, take our Wednesday and Easter us,
     Easter us to joy and energy and courage and freedom;
     Easter us that we may be fearless for your truth.
   Come here and Easter our Wednesday with
     mercy and justice and peace and generosity.

We pray as we wait for the Risen One who comes soon.

As we enter these forty days of Lent, may we “ponder our ashness with some confidence,” and may we grow in the wisdom that leads to life here and hereafter.  Amen.

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[1] Walter Brueggemann, Interrupting Silence, 9-10.

[2] Isaiah 58:5-7

Sermon for the 3rd Sunday in Lent

“Peace with God”

Romans 5:1-11

Rev. Jason Alspaugh

First United Methodist Church

First Baptist Church of Dayton

Sunday, March 15, 2020

If you were to read Paul’s writings about Jesus and his death and resurrection, without reading any of the Gospels, you might miss the fact that the road to the reconciliation, the path to “peace with God,” that Paul speaks of was rather messy.  Read any of the Gospels and you’ll see that there was fear and doubt, people running away, people looking for a way out, as the threat of crucifixion grew.  And after it happened, even after Jesus’ resurrection, the disciples are left to wonder at the significance of it all.  The death of Jesus on a cross was a particular challenge to wrap one’s head around.

Rowan Williams notes that “in the world in which Christianity began, a place of worship was the last place you would expect to see a cross […] The cross was a sign of suffering, humiliation, disgrace.  It was a sign of an all-powerful empire that held life very cheap indeed […] So a group of people who proclaimed the sign of their allegiance was a cross had a lot of explaining to do.”[1]

If we’re honest, we are still trying to get a grip, to make sense of it all.  In his book, The Cross and the Lynching Tree, James Cone said, “No human language can fully describe what salvation through the cross means.  Salvation through the cross is a mystery and can only be apprehended though faith, repentance, and humility.”[2]  And because of the limits of our language to describe this mystery, I think it’s a good Lenten practice to meditate on the various meanings of the cross we have inherited in Scripture and tradition.

Ever since that day on Calvary, people have been trying to understand what happened.  Consequently, the cross has accumulated a lot of theological baggage.  To borrow the words of John Donne, people still “reckon what it did and meant.”  However familiar we may be with the image of the cross—e.g., the sterling silver cross on your necklace, the wood cross that appears every Lent, the brass cross on the altar, the backlit cross on the baptistery—it’s likely that we each have a somewhat different understanding about it.  That might make some of us uneasy, but if you were to look closely enough you’d see that it’s always been this way.

Look through the letters of the New Testament and you’ll find numerous explanations for Jesus’ death on the cross.  Rob Bell once did this and found that in Hebrews 9 it says that Jesus “has appeared once and for all at the culmination of the ages to do away with sin by the sacrifice of himself”; and in Colossians 1, Paul writes that through the cross God was reconciling “to himself all things, whether on earth or things in heaven, by making peace through his blood, shed on the cross”; and in 2 Timothy 1 and in 1 John 5, we read that Jesus has “destroyed death,” and that “this is the victory that has overcome the world”; and in Ephesians 1, Paul writes that “We have redemption through his blood.”  So Bell asks, “Is the cross about the end of the sacrificial system, or a broken relationship that’s been reconciled […] or a battle that’s been won, or the redeeming of something that was lost?  Which is it?  Which perspective is the right one?  Which metaphor is correct?  Which explanation is true?”[3]  Some of us might be asking the same questions.

Going beyond the Scriptures we’d find that the dominant message of the cross for about the first thousand years of Christianity went something like this (in the words of James McClendon): “Satan, by successfully tempting human beings, had acquired a claim to them; they were his prisoners awaiting redemption.  Christ is offered to the devil as a payment of that ransom; the exchange was duly made at the cross; but in the resurrection God reclaimed [Jesus], so that both [God’s] risen Son and redeemed sinners are [once again] God’s.”[4]  Is this the right message?  Is this what the cross was all about?

Well there were others for whom this message was unconvincing.  One such person was Anselm of Canterbury, whose alternative message still dominates to this day.  It goes something like this (in the words of Marcus Borg): “God’s retributive justice requires that the penalty for our sins must be paid from the human side.  But we are all sinners and thus cannot adequately make the payment.  Only a perfect human can.  But a human can’t be perfect unless also divine.  So God became human in Jesus in order to pay the price for our sins.”[5]  Is this the right message?  Is this what the cross was all about?

A Parisian monk in Anselm’s time, named Abelard, said “No.”  “No” to Anselm’s message, and “No” to the messages before him.  Arguing “against both the ‘ransom’ and ‘satisfaction’ views of atonement,” Abelard wrote:

How cruel and unjust it appears, that anyone should demand the blood of the innocent as any kind of ransom, or be in any way delighted with the death of the innocent, let alone that God should find the death of His Son so acceptable, that through it He should be reconciled to the world! (Commentary on Romans, quoted by McClendon, 209)

(According to McClendon) “Abelard’s own view [was] that it was love […] that was the sole cause of redemption.  Christ’s perseverance in love to us (“even unto death”) evokes a like love in [us]…” so it goes.

We could go on exploring the messages of the cross put forth by countless others, men and women, but what I’ve mentioned so far should be enough for us to begin to see that the cross has presented a challenge to Christians in every age.

In Paul’s time, the cross, the proclamation of “Christ crucified” was “a stumbling-block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles” who would not, could not believe it.  It’s been said that “…there was no ‘expectation’ of Christ in Scripture that could have enabled even the keenest Hebrew reader […] to foretell Jesus’ ministry, his suffering, his death and resurrection…” (Doctrine, 216).  No one had considered that the Messiah-King and Suffering Servant figures in the prophecy of Isaiah might be the same person.  No one had considered that the Christ would “[grow] up […] like a root out of dry ground; [or have] no form or majesty that we should look at him”; no one had considered that he would be “despised and rejected by others; a man of suffering […] oppressed […] afflicted”; no one had considered that the Christ would be “taken away” by “a perversion of justice” and buried “with the wicked” (Is.53:1-9).  And certainly they did not think that such things could happen to one who was in any way divine.

The cross was an impediment, incredible and absurd for Paul’s generation; and it has been so for many in every age.  And so, in every age Christians have made use of the language at hand to convey the importance of “Christ crucified” in the most intelligible, the most convincing way they knew how.  The first Christians, Bell says, “looked at the world around them, identifying examples, pictures, experiences, and metaphors that their listeners and readers would have been familiar with, and…said: What happened on the cross is like...a relationship being reconciled, something lost being redeemed, a battle being won, a final sacrifice being offered…” (Love Wins, 128).  In other words, they told stories.  And, when it comes to the cross, the most effective narratives (for me) have been the Gospels.

McClendon has said that the Gospels “directly address the chief hindrance to participation faced by Jew and pagan alike—namely, the cross […] the Gospels make sense of the cross exactly by setting it within their own larger story” (Doctrine, 228).  So if you ever find yourself hindered or even embarrassed by the cross, by the message of “Christ crucified”; if you’re ever confused or unconvinced by all of the messages of the cross, with all of their attendant metaphors and theological jargon; I would suggest you read at least one of the Gospels.  During Holy Week the Revised Common Lectionary prescribes large passages of scripture from the Gospels, and I’ve come to find that such readings help ground my understanding of Jesus’ death; because they account for what happened before and after.

Reading the Gospel of Mark, for example, you’d see that Jesus’ passion for God’s kingdom put him at odds with religious authorities, who then looked for a way to kill him (Mk. 11:18).  You’d find that every time Jesus tells of his impending death, “those predictions are never about his dying for our sins, but always about the fact that the authorities will kill him” (Mk. 8:31-33; 9:30-32; 10:32-34 / Borg).  You’d see that the cross was not God’s idea, it was Rome’s.  You’d see that there were three crosses on Calvary, not one, because Jesus was crucified alongside two criminals; which reminds us that it was “a form of Roman execution used for…those who defied Roman authority.”[6]  And you’d be astounded and overjoyed to find that the story of Jesus ends with neither his crucifixion nor his burial, for the women are told: “Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified.  He has been raised; he is not here” (Mk. 16:6).  So in fact, the story does not end!

McClendon says, “The enemies did not prevail as they intended”—they wanted to stamp the words “The End” on this picture and run the credits.  But instead the story was “To Be Continued…”—“The disciples, doubting, returned to follow him.”

With the Gospel narrative in mind, then, we can turn back to Paul, who himself represents a continuation of the story.  And when Paul says that we are “justified by faith,” by trusting Jesus, we remember how difficult it was for his disciples to trust him in the face of violence.  

When Paul says that we have “peace with God,” that we have been forgiven and reconciled to God, we remember that Jesus was bold to do so in his life, while he was hanging on the cross, and after his resurrection. 

And when Paul says that “Christ died for us,” we remember that Jesus didn’t just die—he was killed, he was executed—and it was agony.

When Paul says that through Jesus’ death “God proves his love for us” we remember that God did not order Jesus’ execution, Pilate did; and we remember that it was not God’s need or desire for blood that led to Jesus’ death, but that his commitment to God’s ways put him in harm’s way.  As Williams has said, “This is a world in which if you try to give your heart to God you may find your blood shed; it’s that kind of world.”[7] 

And when Paul says that “at the right time Christ died for the ungodly,” we remember that Jesus never waited for someone to be “perfect,” but in love he came to seek and to save the lost, crossing barriers, confronting prejudice, and challenging tradition along the way.  And we remember that “all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God,” and that there will never be a time when we do not need the grace of God’s love and forgiveness.

And when Paul says that “we have now received reconciliation,” we remember that the peace we have with God is God’s own gift to us, not something we have earned; and it is to be shared with the world.

The way we continue the Gospel story, Paul would say, is the “ministry of reconciliation.”  “So if anyone is in Christ,” he says,

there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new! All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ, and has given us the ministry of reconciliation; that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting the message of reconciliation to us.[8]

Even as we trust in Jesus, God trusts us to carry on the ministry of helping people to draw closer to God and one another.  This is the work of seeking God’s kingdom, of doing all we can to build beloved community.  The forgiving, compassionate, self-giving work of Jesus is entrusted to us.  The peace you have been given is not for you alone; it is meant for the world. 

I do not expect that we will ever exhaust the meaning-fullness of the cross of Christ, that we will discover all of the “right” words to explain it, that we will one day come away from the cross with every question settled.  But I do hope that you will come away in awe at the depth of God’s grace and love; and then “go in peace to love and serve the Lord.”  So be it.  Amen.

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[1] Rowan Williams, The Sign and the Sacrifice, 3-4.

[2] James Cone, The Cross and the Lynching Tree, 158.

[3] Rob Bell, Love Wins, 127.

[4] McClendon, Doctrine, 201.

[5] Marcus Borg, Speaking Christian, 98.

[6] Speaking Christian, 99.

[7] The Sign and the Sacrifice, 31.

[8] 2 Cor. 5:17-19

No Matter What?

With regard to the current presidential election and its outcome, I recently heard someone say that "whatever happens, no matter what, it's God's will."  Of course, I find this incredibly problematic.  First, we are the ones at the polls voting; not God.  And so, this kind of thinking presumes that our judgment (or at least the judgment of those who comprise the majority vote) is unquestionably without error.  That is, whatever we as a nation decide by majority vote is to be interpreted as God's will.  Furthermore, this kind of thinking supposes that God is in control of everything, including our politics, and we are just pawns being moved about.  Are we to think that everything that has transpired leading up to election day is really, undeniably the work of God? 

To give God all of the credit (blame?) for the outcome of our politics, is to abdicate our responsibility as citizens; and as people of faith.  To say that God is in complete control of the election, orchestrating the outcome to coincide with God's will, is like saying God confused those Cleveland Indians outfielders and gave the Cubs a grand slam in order to create a game 7 situation tonight.  God is about as involved in our politics, as God is in baseball (or any other professional sport).

I'm not saying God is absent from our lives.  I'm saying God has empowered us and given us freedom to follow God's ways, or not; and it's entirely possible that the outcome of this presidential election will be the result of the latter.  That is to say, the outcome of this election may not be God's will.  But whatever happens, it's really on us; not God. 

Whatever happens, for Christians, our first and best allegiance is to God in Christ; and we must continue to seek God's kingdom.  No matter what.

It's Time to Get Official!

Following the mass shooting at the PULSE nightclub in Orlando last month, the American Baptist Home Mission Societies (ABHMS) issued a statement in support of the LGBTQ community.  As an ordained American Baptist pastor and as a gay man, I was so proud of ABHMS and its Executive Director, Dr. Jeffrey Haggray.  The words in that statement gave me some hope and courage in the midst of tragedy.  Not only did they express their anguish and grief, they said that they condemned “with the strongest language possible whatever ideologies and sentiments contribute to a culture of homophobia, bigotry, hatred and violence against fellow children of God, including our LGBTQ brothers and sisters.”  Furthermore, they affirmed that “We are all created in the image of God, and God’s love for all people is steadfast, immovable and unconditional.”  The statement ended with a courageous call, in which “Haggray encourages churches across the United States and Puerto Rico to open their doors in welcome to LGBTQ persons and others each and every day”:

“Let us find authentic ways to publicly communicate that we stand with LGBTQ persons by extending hospitality, security, love and acceptance in God’s houses of prayer intended for all people,” Haggray says. “Let us publicly affirm that, as Christ’s church, we are a beloved community—a community that welcomes into our houses of worship Latino/Latina neighbors, LGBTQ friends, Muslim co-laborers, and all persons who seek dialogue, understanding, safe-keeping, community and love.”

In tweeting out the link to the full statement (http://abhms.org/about-us/news/american-baptist-home-mission-societies-stands-lgbtq-community-wake-orlando-massacre/) it occurred to me that not only had ABHMS condemned the “ideologies and sentiments” in our own denomination that “contribute to a culture of homophobia, bigotry, hatred and violence,” they had also called all American Baptist churches to become Welcoming and Affirming.  Never before had I heard such clear words in support of LGBTQ people from any of our denominational bodies.

And now I am waiting, waiting for our churches to respond.  I am especially waiting for those churches that have in many ways behaved like Welcoming and Affirming (W&A) churches, but have yet to make this known in any official way.  Such churches may have members who are gay, lesbian, bisexual, and/or transgender, whom they welcome and accept as they would anyone else.  They may even have pastors and/or staff who belong to the LGBTQ community.  And yet such churches have not/will not make the move to make it known to the wider community that they are churches that welcome and affirm LGBTQ people.

To these churches, doing anything official may not seem like such a big deal.  They often see themselves as W&A, and see no difference between themselves and other churches that have made it official.  But if there were no difference, it would not in any way be problematic to put “A Welcoming and Affirming Congregation” on church promotional materials, or hang a rainbow flag out front, or even put a rainbow sticker on the church marquee.  There would be no question.  But, as it stands, these things are still problematic for churches that have not made their W&A ministry known and official.  

And so, LGBTQ people interested in becoming a part of such churches must ask someone they trust if it’s a safe place for them.  Those LGBTQ persons courageous enough to risk joining such churches will always have times where they wonder if it’s okay to be themselves.  Same-sex couples will wonder if they can be married in such churches.  And when tragedy strikes the LGBTQ community, as it did in Orlando, such churches will always make an uncertain sound, if they make any sound at all.  Unofficial W&A churches are not the same as official W&A churches.

All public statements from ABCUSA end with the statement: “American Baptist Churches is one of the most diverse Christian denominations today, with over 5,200 local congregations comprised of 1.3 million members, across the United States and Puerto Rico, all engaged in God’s mission around the world.”  And by my count, there are only 100 of those congregations who have become official members of the Association of Welcoming and Affirming Baptists.  That’s just not enough.

Now I know there is a process.  It takes time to become a W&A church.  There are conversations to be had, about sexuality in general and so many other things.  And yet there are churches like the unofficially W&A churches who could get there a lot sooner because they are already far down the path.  And we need more churches to get official, I need the church I serve to get official, because there are people out there who need to know without a doubt that they are good, they are loved, and they are safe in our churches.  It’s time!

Remember Everything

Tomorrow will mark one week since the mass shooting at the Pulse night club in Orlando, which means that in a few more days (maybe a week) it will fade from the news.  And people will have gone to all the vigils they could stand.  Religious leaders and public officials will have said everything they could muster to comfort and call people to action.  Those who were gunned down will have been buried.  And the world will go on spinning.

So before all of that happens, I just want to ask that you remember everything.  Remember everything you felt, everything you prayed for, everything you called people to do, everything you promised to do.  Remember everything and press on and follow through.

Searching in the Dark

After trying to preach on this same text year after year, I felt like I finally "got it" last year (April 15, 2012).  I'm actually not preaching on "NAP Sunday" this year for a change, so I thought I'd just share this.  I don't know that I'll ever say anything better about Thomas ("Tom").

 

"Searching in the Dark"
John 20:19-31

If you follow the Revised Common Lectionary (and we do), and if you are an associate pastor (and I am), then today, on this Second Sunday of Easter, it is highly likely that you will hear a sermon based upon John, Chapter 20, verses 19 through 31.  Because, on the one hand, the Lectionary schedules this same Gospel Lesson every year for the Second Sunday of Easter; and, on the other hand, the Second Sunday of Easter, commonly known in clergy circles as “low Sunday,” is often a Sunday on which associate pastors are asked to preach (which is why I gently refer to it as “National Associate Pastor” Sunday, or “NAP Sunday” for short).

Now there are other scripture lessons for today on which I could preach.  I have, in fact, occasionally been led by the Spirit to abandon the Lectionary altogether and preach on “un-scheduled” scriptures.  But I have always been drawn to this Gospel Lesson (i.e., Jn 20:19-31).  Year after year, it never gets old for me.  Monotony never settles in.  I never get tired of reading these accounts of Jesus resurrected.  And I never get bored of talking about Thomas.  He’s best known as a “doubter” but (to me) he has become a friend in the faith; someone to help navigate the darkness of fear and doubt.

+                                  +                                  +

 At the beginning of our gospel lesson for today, it’s still that first day of the week, that first Day of Resurrection.   Earlier that day, “while it was still dark,” Simon Peter and the other disciple had seen the empty tomb, and Mary Magdalene has told them, “I have seen the Lord,” but now evening has come, it’s dark again, and the disciples are meeting in fear behind locked doors.  The scattered flock reassembles, still trembling perhaps with shock and disbelief at the crucifixion of their “good shepherd.”   We are not privy to their conversations, but I imagine them sitting there in the darkness, trying to figure out what their next move will be.  It’s dark and everything still seems uncertain and unsafe.  To many, it must have felt as if Jesus, “the light of the world,” had been “snuffed out.”

Perhaps no one spoke at all.  Maybe it was just as silent as the scriptures, and they just sat there, crouching in the dark, hoping no one would find them.  But just when the disciples feared the worst, that the story, the good news of Jesus had come to a sudden, tragic end, and that all was lost (Weems), “Jesus came and stood among them.”   And before their fear could morph into thoughts of triumph and even violent revenge—before they could try again to make him a militant messiah—Jesus said, “Peace be with you.”   Before his death he had told them, “My peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you.  I do not give to you as the world gives.  Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid” (Jn 14:27).   It’s as if they had lost that peace in the midst of all the darkness and chaos of Thursday and Friday, and now Jesus is standing there, handing it back to them.  Suddenly fear is forgotten, and it’s not so dark.  Then he says it again, as if he’s pressing that gift firmly in the palms of their hands, “Peace be with you.”  And then he commissions them: “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.”

And at that moment Jesus breaths life back into them, just as God breathed life into Adam in Genesis 2:7, and he says, “Receive the Holy Spirit.  If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.”  Dietrich Bonhoeffer once said that “[w]hen he did that Christ made the Church, and in it our brother [our sister], a blessing to us.”  In this blessing is the freedom to live with one another without pretense.  We don’t have to be fake.  We don’t have to hide from one another. 

It’s a blessing often ignored, like an unopened gift.  “The pious fellowship,” he said, “permits no one to be a sinner.  So [all] must conceal [their sins from themselves] and from the fellowship.  We dare not be sinners.”  Yet Jesus’ commission dares us to do just that, to acknowledge that we have need of forgiveness as much as the next person.  Every act of confession and forgiveness affirms the resurrection and the belief “that the light shines in the darkness and the darkness did not overcome it.”  Confession and forgiveness of sins are signs of resurrection, of a new creation. 

The Apostle Paul wrote that “if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!  All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ, and has given us the ministry of reconciliation.” (2 Cor. 5:17-18).  We think of Sunday as the first day of the week, the first day of Creation, but “The Epistle of Barnabas called Sunday ‘an eighth day, that is the beginning of another world…in which Jesus also rose from the dead.’  Early Christians saw the Lord’s Day as the eighth day of creation, when, having rested on the seventh day, God began to create anew” (Handbook 18).

“But Thomas” wasn’t there that Sunday evening, that first-eighth-day (v.24).  He didn’t see or hear anything.  He wasn’t there.  In Scripture he’s called Didymus, the Twin, but we know him better as “Doubting Thomas”; because when the disciples repeat Mary Magdalene’s testimony, telling him, “We have seen the Lord!” it’s not enough for Thomas.  No, he needs tangible proof to believe this talk of resurrection, he needs hard evidence that this new-life-in-Christ-talk is real:  “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe” (v.25) .  And for that we call him a doubter.  In his consternation and disbelief, Thomas dares Jesus to show himself; he dares him to be resurrected.  And “after eight days,” on the next Sunday, Jesus returns to their hideout and he dares Thomas to see his hands and touch the wound in his side; Jesus dares Thomas to hear, see, touch, and believe.

The painter, Caravaggio, has also become a friend in the faith, for his depiction of this scene.  It’s called The Incredulity of Saint Thomas, but I like to refer to it as, The [Audacity] of Saint Thomas.  And I can’t help but place it on the bulletin cover every Second Sunday of Easter.  Like Scripture, it never gets old.  There’s our friend, “Tom,” looking like a blind man, searching in the dark, his eyes widening with astonishment, as his finger enters Jesus’ wounded flesh.  Some like to criticize Thomas, but if he has a twin, we are it.  Look in the mirror and you’ll see Thomas.  Frederick Buechner once said, that, “Even though [Jesus] said the greater blessing is for those who can believe without seeing, it’s hard to imagine that there’s any believer anywhere who wouldn’t have traded places with Thomas, given the chance, and seen that face and heard that voice and touched those ruined hands.” 

We’d like to think that we’re better than Thomas, but who among us has moved from the darkness of doubt to the light of belief, who has ever confessed, “My Lord and my God!” without some experience of the Resurrection, some flesh-and-blood encounter with the Risen Lord?  If you have, you are blessed!  But I confess that I am one who needs to hear and see and touch, so that I can “declare […] what [I] have seen with my eyes, what [I] have looked at and touched with [my] hands, concerning the word of life.” (1 Jn 1:1). 

I want to believe the poet/playwright, Archibald MacLeish, who said that “there’s always another scene”; I want to believe the Christian mystic, Howard Thurman, who said that “life’s contradictions are not final”; I want to believe that at the end of every episode of this Christian life appear the words: “To Be Continued…”; but I need something or someone to hold onto to navigate the darkness.  Don’t you?!  Aren’t we like Job sometimes, who said, “I go forward, he is not there; or backward, I cannot perceive him; on the left he hides, and I cannot behold him; I turn to the right, but I cannot see him”?

This is why Jesus’ commission to the disciples (to us) is so important, not as a theory, but as a practice.  Through Christ’s commission we may be as Christ to one another.  “As the Father has sent [Jesus], so [Jesus] send[s] [us]…If [we] forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if [we] retain the sins of any, they are retained.” (v.22)  We all need to experience the giving and receiving of forgiveness, and can do so because we have received God’s Spirit and this great commission.  And I’m not talking about the purely sentimental kind of forgiveness that assumes that in an instant everything will be fine.  The visibility of Jesus’ wounds reminds us that Good Friday happened, and that forgiveness, resurrection does not erase the past; But it does allow for healing and for life to go on, even though things aren’t the same.  There is a new creation!

Real forgiveness is difficult.  Most of us find it easier to withhold forgiveness, to hold a grudge.  It’s the road most traveled, and that’s why I think we have practices like “passing the peace.”  We often downplay it as a friendly greeting during worship; a great way to show visitors how nice we are.  But we should really consider it practice for forgiving, for resurrection, for pushing back against the darkness.  When you hear “The peace of Christ be with you,” hear also “Christ is risen.”  And when you hear “and also with you” hear “He is risen indeed.”  You may feel like you’ve been doing this for so long it has lost all meaning, but if we live together long enough, church, there will come a time when saying those words and shaking hands or hugging will be all the light someone needs.  Suddenly, this world won’t seem so dark.  The same is true for the times we join in the Prayer of Confession and tell each other, “In the name of Jesus Christ, you are forgiven!”  It is not always easy to say, but we do; we have to. 

Much of what we plan and do as the church is preparation for the times when we will be called to live out the love of God, being the visible, flesh and blood Body of Christ.  As Peter Gomes once said:  “[We offer our own lives] as the immediate and ultimate ‘explanation,’ remembering that Christian truth is advanced not by postulates and formulas, the bone-crushing logic of arguments point and counterpoint, but in the living flesh of human beings.”  If there’s any proof of the Resurrection, we are it, friends.

So thanks be to God for Jesus, who lived, died and was raised to new life, who has always “lightened this darkness of [ours].”  Thanks be to God for the gift of peace and forgiveness, that we might live together.  Thanks be to God for Thomas, who questioned, doubted and dared, and taught us to say, “My Lord and my God!”  Thanks be to God for every person has been Christ to us, anyone who ever gave us a reason to believe that the darkness did not overcome the [light], that there is always another scene, that the contradictions in this life are not final, and that this episode is:

“To Be Continued…”

 

I know "the flower fades"...but

For the past few years, as people are gathering for worship on Easter Sunday, we have engaged in the practice of "flowering the Cross"--i.e., we adorn the large, free-standing, wooden cross at the front of the sanctuary with fresh-cut flowers to create a beautiful symbol of the Resurrection.  If you hadn't been at any of the worship services during Lent and Holy Week, you probably wouldn't notice the contrast made by that flowery cross; it'd just blend in nicely with the other flowers in the room, and the brass ensemble, and the Hallelujah Chorus.  And that's okay, I guess.

But today, three days after Easter Sunday, I thought I'd tell you about what few see.  This morning I went into the sanctuary and began to remove the flowers from the cross, dry and withering (They were cut flowers, after all.  We knew they weren't going to last forever.).  Yet as I carefully removed each flower, I had the sense that something sacred (just as sacred as what happened on Easter Sunday) was taking place.  It was sacred, in part, because I knew that I would not be throwing those flowers in the trash, but would instead take them out to the compost pile of our church's garden.  There those flowers will continue to fade, but they will eventually help give rise to healthy food (mostly vegetables) that will ultimately give nourishment to the folks who eat at the House of Bread.

Easter Sunday has come and gone, but the season of Easter, of Resurrection continues; and so, the life and work of the Church continues.  We're here every Sunday, and every day in between.  Thanks be to God!