Here’s just a sampling of the activities for kids at Messiah:

Sunday School
Vacation Bible School
Christmas Pageant

Here is just a sampling of the activities for adults:

Valentines Day Dinner
Messiah Dinner Groups
Christmas Charity Auction
Memorial Day Church Picnic
Adult Forum
Women’s Advent Tea (and Men’s Anti-tea)
Harvest Festival
Adult Choir
Praise Band and Choir

Here is just a sampling of the activities for teens:

Senior Youth Group — 1st and 3rd Sundays 11:30 – 2:00
Middle School Youth Group — 1st and 3rd Sundays 11:30 – 2:00
Hammonasset Youth Gathering, The Zone — Youth Retreats
Hampshire Hills Lock-in
Praise Band and Choir
Confirmation and Sunday School
Camp Calument — Lutheran summer camp

Easter 5B  05/06/12

Acts 8:26-40

Grace and peace to you from God our Maker, Christ our Savior, and from the Holy Spirit, our comforter and guide.

Can you guess what I have here? Yes, it’s a box—but can you guess what’s in the box? Wrong. It’s not a strangely shaped pizza. But nice try! No, in this box is the present that I gave to Lisa on her 20^th birthday. (Pause to let you fill in your own joke.) Want to see? Well, here’s a piece of it…and here’s another, and here’s some part of it…and here’s the directions. Now can you tell me what it is? (and no answer from you, Lisa, or you’ll get it again for this birthday!)

It’s an Appalachian Mountain Dulcimer. And I got it for Lisa thirty years ago—which is, in and of itself remarkable that it’s still around. But what is even more amazing is that I bought it and gave it to Lisa, unassembled. And that’s exactly how it remains—unassembled. For thirty years. Why? You may ask?

Fear. I was afraid to try and put it together. Scared to attempt bending the wood for its sides. Anxious about cutting the frets and spacing them correctly on the neck of the instrument. Terrified that if I got confused and put it together wrong, people would laugh at me. So I put it off.

Oh, I had sound reasons, good excuses, for not assembling the dulcimer. Reasons that camouflaged my  growing trepidation over beginning the project. Didn’t have the time. The correct tools. The extra wood needed for the jigs. A good workbench. I was tired. It looked complicated. I wasn’t in the mood. It would take longer than I wanted to spend. The directions were obscure. I was busy at the store, at camp, at seminary, at church. I couldn’t find the darn thing after we moved. The moon had not yet aligned with the planet Pluto, and now Pluto was no longer a planet, so there you have it—impossible!

And so here it is. Perhaps never to reach its true potential as a musical instrument—playing songs in its dulcet tones, soothing the savage breast, pleasing kings and paupers alike with its droning drone strings. Damned to spend eternity in a box, KD’ed, toted forever from state to state, house to house—but never getting “home,” never achieving wholeness, never feeling the sweet one-ness of being released from its immortal and futile bonds—instead forever the albatross around neck of an Ancient IKEA Mariner.

Oh, maybe…maybe I could…nah! Too much going on right now. Maybe this summer…

Don’t bet on it. There’s too many things preventing me from ever assembling that gift.

Thank goodness that isn’t the case with baptism! In today’s reading from the Acts of the Apostles, Philip, one of the twelve, is led by the Holy Spirit to the road from Jerusalem to Gaza, where he comes upon a chariot carrying a foreign dignitary. Philip is instructed to run alongside—and he does. Either he was a fast runner or that was a slow chariot—anyway! Philip hears the occupant reading from the scroll of Isaiah—which was amazing not because he was not a Jew, and not because very few individuals, and even fewer Gentile individuals, possessed scrolls. What is amazing is that this guy was reading it. He had a “bible” and he was reading it. Pouring over it. Studying it. Philip asks if he understands what he is reading. And he admits that he cannot make heads nor tails of it. (That sounds more familiar!)

So, Philip climbs in the ol’ chariot, and he shows the dignitary how the scripture he’s reading—and all scripture—reveals the good news of God in Jesus Christ. And then he tells the eager scroll reader about Jesus—the whole story. Hearing Philip’s message of the love of God obviously touches this fella’s heart and mind and spirit, because as they come up upon a watering hole, the Ethiopian is moved to say, “Look, here is water! What is to prevent me from being baptized?”

A no brainer, right? Not exactly.

There are a few things that could have prevented him from being baptized. First off, he’s a foreigner—from Ethiopia (which is just south of Egypt)—and, as diverse as the population was in Palestine—it being an important trade route and all—people “from away” were received coolly by the people of Israel, who refused to be assimilated into the paganism of the Empire and its environs.

Second, the Ethiopian is a high-ranking official in the court of the Candace—he is the queen’s treasurer. He’s more like those in opposition to Jesus than those for him. However, he appears to be a “God-fearer,” a proselyte, which is what individuals who desired to become a part of the Jewish religion were called. There was a whole prescribed process and timeline for eventual reception, but even if this man made it through, he would be considered somewhat less than a full Jew because it was not from birth.

And to top it off, the Ethiopian was a eunuch. A castrated man. Part of his job description. Which, besides the obvious drawbacks of that condition, ultimately excluded him from the Jewish community by not allowing such full participation in the assembly (Deuteronomy 23.2). So, the Ethiopian would probably not even be on Philip’s radar as someone to evangelize to—the mission was to the lost sheep of Israel. Peter had not yet met Cornelius, and Saul, later known as Paul, was far from opening the mission to the Gentiles.

Look, here is water. What is to prevent me from being baptized? Plenty, but they all boil down to fear. Fear that somehow letting just anyone in “waters” down the purity of the group. If the Ethiopian gets baptized, then we’ll have to baptize all the Ethiopians. And if we baptize all the Ethiopians, then we’ll be baptizing eunuchs left and right. And then the lame will come and the deaf, and the poor and pretty soon we’ll have to baptize anyone who happens to be standing near some water and asks for it! Who was it—Rodney Dangerfield, who said, “I’d never want to be in a club that would have me as a member. Fear. Fear…

Luckily, we read in 1 John 4 that God is love. And that abiding in Christ both gives that love to us, and perfects that love in us. And love made perfect by Christ Jesus casts out fear. So as Jesus reached out to the ones marginalized by the world, forgotten by the world, reviled by the world—and enfolded them in his Father’s love, so too are those who follow him bound to be radically inclusive and accepting of those who seek transformation by the Holy Spirit.

When the Ethiopian eunuch asks Philip then, “What is to prevent me from being baptized?” Philip doesn’t hesitate—he goes down into the water with the man and baptizes him. (Although in one of the ancient copies of Acts—not the earliest or best—a verse in which Philip extracts a statement of faith from the eunuch first, was added later!) There is nothing to prevent baptism—except what we concoct or invent to muddy the waters.

Now. You’re probably wondering why I told that long story about this (the box). It was not to illustrate the fear that could prevent our welcoming people into faith by baptism. Although it’s good for that. But no, the story doesn’t go with what’s to prevent baptism, for we have learned that nothing does. It goes with this question—our question, as individuals and as the church. Got water? Then what is there to prevent us from living out our lives as ones baptized?

Plenty, it seems. There’s petty jealousy that gets in the way of walking with Jesus. There’re old wounds and feuds that flare up at unrelated moments, masquerading as small disagreements. There’s the complacency that dampens others’ enthusiasm. Apathy that immobilizes mission. Priorities that supersede worship. Distractions that make the passing on of the faith, so very important and so very well illustrated by Philip, making it into something you only do when you have time and no better offer.

Yes, there are a plethora of things to prevent us from living out our destiny as the baptized—again, all of our own making. Again, all born out of fear. Fear of failure, fear of success, fear of those we are called to witness to, fear of calling our brothers and sisters to accountability even in a loving way. We are so afraid that we are not equipped or trained well enough for our mission, that we don’t have the right tools, the correct program, the proper number of volunteers, the most up to date surveys and data, the newest technology, and exactly what everyone needs for their spiritual life. We’re even scared out of our gourds that what we think is the mission may not actually be the mission!

And all that results in our taking the box and the directions and putting them way up on the top shelf of the basement shelves, where we can’t see them. Out of sight out of mind, right? Out of mind, out of guilt.

But before you do that, before you deny your birthright and trade your future for your comfort in the present—before you do that I would like you to say just two little words.

Got water?

The waters of baptism never dry out, and the relationship that was formed between you and God cannot be broken, no matter how broken you or I or the church gets. God is for us—who can be against us? God pours out his saving grace once and for always in baptism, and he continually washes us clean from all that prevents us from living as followers of Jesus. Each day new. Every morning another chance. Which is good, because we need it. It’s like the little saying that used to be on Lisa’s bulletin board in her office – Well, Lord it’s another day and I haven’t swore or envied my neighbor or cut anyone off on the freeway…but it’s only 7 am and there’s a whole lotta day to go—so please be with me!

We got water. The water of baptism. The water of relationship with God. The water that washes us clean each day, each month, each year. So do not fear. And don’t put it aside anymore. You got water. So wash, and be clean. And let’s get to it. AMEN

Easter 3B  04/22/12

Luke 24:39-40

Grace and peace to you from God our Father, and from our Savior, Jesus of Nazareth, the risen Christ.

I like lists. Do you like lists? Of course you do. Who doesn’t?

Here is a short, incomplete list of those, who, in the gospels, were healed of their infirmities. The paralytic lowered through the roof to Jesus. The ten lepers. Peter’s mother-in-law. The blind man who sat by the road and he cried (clap, clap). The man with the withered hand—healed on the Sabbath—in the synagogue! The Geneserene demoniac. The woman who touched Jesus’ cloak and was healed. Jairus’ daughter and the widow’s little girl—he raised both of them from the dead!  Along with Lazarus—three days dead and then alive—without the predicted foul odor. The boy with an evil spirit in him that made him fall in the fire. Cripples, deaf, dumb, blind—all healed. And that’s only a partial list—there’s many more stories of Jesus’ individual healings—not to mention those days when all that is recorded is that Jesus cured all their sick and exorcised many demons.

Do you remember most of those healing stories—do you have at the least a nodding acquaintance with them—enough that you might answer a stupid question about the lot of them? Good! Here it is: in each story, does the person healed manifest that healing physically? I mean, does the woman with hemorrhages stop bleeding? Does the blind man see? Do those with atrophied limbs suddenly walk on healthy legs, or clap their previously misshapen hands? Didn’t the son of the royal official get up and meet his father when he returned from seeking Jesus’ help? And didn’t Lazarus come forth wrapped but not as smelly as previously presumed—in fact didn’t he walk out into the sunlight by himself?

So, wouldn’t you agree that all the people healed by Jesus, were healed totally? Mentally, spiritually, physically—bodily? No tumors left inside to cause sleepless nights? No diminished capacities when it came to learning or working or tending a home? No scratches, incisions, bruises, weakness, trouble sleeping, rashes, shortness of breath, ringing in the ears, nausea or vomiting. Wouldn’t you say that, most assuredly, those affected by the power of Jesus of Nazareth were healed 100%–and that they did not retain any telltale marks of their prior affliction? Yes, we can agree.

Then how come Jesus—the resurrected Christ and Son of God—is scarred? Wounded. As well as risen? Why is that? Certainly Jesus had the power of God working in him to raise him up—surely such relatively “minor” injuries such as the holes left by the nails, and even the wound left by the spear plunged into his side, were no grave problem for such almightiness. The gospel writers don’t recall Jesus’ otherwise outward appearance. It is assumable that the welts and blood left by the whip used to flog him, and the disfiguring  bruises and swelling in Jesus’ face from the rough treatment he had experienced from the Temple Guard and Roman soldiers, that they were no longer apparent. That they were gone. Healed?  It appears so. But the nail and spear holes were not healed. Perhaps scarred over. But definitely there for all to see and touch. Why? Why does the risen Christ bear wounds?

For the answer I reference the superior theological detective work of that world renowned organization, CSI. No not “crime scene investigation”—Christ  Seen Investigation (that’s Christ S-e-e-n). They’re quite like those other CSI folks—Miami, New York, Las Vegas… CSI Amherst. Detective Ptom, at your service. Seriously though—when I was trying to make sense of these wounds of Christ, CSI Miami came right to mind. They deal with bodies all the time—wounds, bruises, maybe no spear holes—and they’re experts at identifying John or Jane Does. They use lots of methods to do that. Eye witness or next of kin identification. Dental records. Mug shots. Identifying marks. They can usually figure out who’s who in the morg.

And that’s the answer right there. Identification of, not a body, but a somehow-alive-when-it–was-last –seen-dead body. CSI Miami looks at wounds as identifying marks. How many of you have scars? Let’s get a count! I have a big one – goes from here to here. Guarantee if I ever needed to be identified, God forbid!—finding that scar would be a definitive part of the process.  Or as Horatio might put it, “A scar tells a story about a person…whether they’re alive or dead.”

Identification—that’s what this mystery is all about. Jesus is tortured, dies on a cross, and is buried. Usually that’s the end for seeing a person. So when Jesus shows up after the resurrection, either some way he is perceived or some way his resurrected body is different, causes even his best friends to not recognize him. Perhaps it was because they knew he was dead and in that tomb—it’s kinda like when you don’t recognize someone because you associate him with  a certain place –school maybe. And seeing him in the 99 just confuses your identification of him. There frame of reference for Jesus at that moment in time was DEAD.

So when Jesus appears to them, they don’t recognize him. So Jesus helps them make the ID.

Now, another list. Resurrection appearances – in chronological order as much as is possible. 1. To Mary Magdalene at the tomb. She thinks he’s the gardener. 2. To the men walking on the Emmaus road. 3. To the disciples in the upper room. 3. To Thomas. 4. To all the disciples by the sea (today’s story). 5. To the disciples, with Peter getting a private visit (feed my sheep). 6. To many more in Galilee. 7. And finally to Paul (Saul).

In all of the major appearances, Christ enters the scene unseen, and he is not recognized—so much that his appearance provokes great fear. There is misunderstanding. Mary thinks he is the gardener. The disciples think he is a ghost. Thomas thinks the rest of them are mental.  A group of men walk and talk with the risen Lord for hours—telling him all about himself – but think him just another pilgrim of the road. The disciples, offshore and fishing,  can’t say for certain but they think it’s Jesus waving to them from the beach. Saul falls off his horse when confronted by Jesus on the road to Damascus, yelling WHO ARE YOU? Nobody knows Jesus. But Jesus helps them make the identification. In three very different ways:

With Magdalene, it is Jesus’ voice calling her name, “Mary,” that opens her eyes to see the risen Christ. For Saul—paul, the experience is similar but Jesus identifies himself after he calls SAUL!

With the travelers to Emmaus, Jesus is made known to them in the breaking of the bread.

And for the rest, Jesus shows them his hands and feet, nail scarred. And his side, complete with spear wound.

Horatio would no doubt have something incredibly corny to say.

I myself opted for something profound. And I’ll tell you it in a minute. But first let me tease out the implications of this three fold identification of the risen Jesus.

Jesus is made known to us because he calls our names. Not exactly like he did for Mary or even Saul. But through our baptism, Jesus calls us by name and we are made the children of God. Then, throughout our lives, even when we don’t recognize his presence and power in our lives, he is made known through the Word of God, written and lived out by others whom we long to live like.

And as if that weren’t ID enough, Jesus provides further evidence of who he is, in the breaking of the bread and the pouring of the wine. Jesus, the risen Lord Christ, Son of God is here among us—as we gather as a church, but most identifiably as the words are spoken and the body and blood of Jesus are here mystically re-membered, for us to take into our very being, so that the identity of Jesus Christ becomes part of us and we part of it. Christ is made known whenever people are fed with the bread and wine, and also whenever we enter into the work of God invoking the name of Jesus—whether it be the bread of teaching, or outreach, or stewardship, or acolyte-ing—Jesus reveals himself saying “Peace be with you.” The bread you break is me—I am here to connect you with the Father, and to show you the Spirit. And to include you and the whole world in my new life.

But what about the scars, the wounds? The list of healings? The CSI identification? We have scars. So does the resurrected Christ. Does that mean on the last day, when the trumpet blows and the dead rise, I’ll still be branded with the mark of the cancer that threatened my life. Will the child with the marks of fire etched into her face and arms carry those awful reminders of pain and sorrow and the taunts of others into a new world a new heaven? Is the wounded-ness of humanity unredeemable? Are the wounds our sin?

No, none of those. I think that Jesus is identified by the scars and wounds of the crucifixion, not healed of them, because they mark him as the one who suffers for humanity, then and now. That Jesus is scarred like us, connects him to us in a way that transcends the limitations of time and space. Jesus enters into the fragility and disability of all of us, there to know us and be known to us as one who also suffered and suffers. Jesus’ wounds identify the one we know as Jesus, but also the work of the one called Messiah. To be a follower of Jesus is to engage the suffering of the world flat out and dead on. To be ready to rejoice with the angels in heaven at the breaking in of the kingdom of God, yes. But also to tend to the wounds of the world, to heal them—and through that healing, be healed ourselves.

And so we are scarred and wounded, and we bear the marks of a fallen humanity, and the randomness of nature. But I wear mine with delight, as I hope you will as well. Because we do so in good company. For there is a power that is greater than scars, or wounds, or disease, or humiliation, or even death—and that power lives today in the Son of the Living God, who in solidarity with us is scarred and wounded himself. Jesus. There’s power in the name Jesus. There’s power in his name Jesus. Theres love, theres life theres power.

Amen

Easter B  4/8/12

Mark

Grace, peace, and life eternal be unto you from God our Father and from our risen Lord and Savior, Jesus the Christ.

I like DVDs that have bonus features on them. Like director’s or actors’ commentaries,  deleted scenes, documentaries on the film’s subject matter, the making of whatever movie it is. Bloopers. Love the gag reel. Love all the bonus materials. Except one.

Alternate endings.

Hate them! Directors please take note: if even you can’t figure out how the story ends, then how can you expect us to suspend reality and settle for the denouement you included in the theatrical release? A good story only has one ending. A good film should only have one as well. In Casablanca, there’s no alternate ending in which Bogey says, “Oh, what the heck”  and hops on board the plane with Lauren Bacall. There’s no other ending to Gone with the Wind that has Rhett Butler saying, “Frankly Scarlett, you were right about tomorrow being another day!” ET isn’t out of cell range when he phones home for a pick-up. And the Twilight trilogy doesn’t have an alternate ending where the vampire and werewolf both lose Bella to a nerdy guy on the high school AV Squad.

Alternate endings. They just don’t cut it in my book.

And I don’t want to tweak you out or anything…but…today’s gospel has alternative endings. Hang on, hang on, hang on! Don’t be gathering wood for a heretic roast just yet—this isn’t my own scriptural shenanigans. No. Biblical scholars all agree that there are three (count ‘em—three) possible endings to the gospel of Mark. One is the ending we heard this morning—the women are afraid so they run away and tell no one anything Strange ending, especially for those of us who are sitting here knowing that the news did get out somehow.

The other two endings. They’re not included in your bulletin, so we have to click on Bonus Features, scroll down past Cecil B. DeMille’s commentary, past a documentary The Real Lord’s Prayer: Sins or Trespasses?, click on alternate endings, and click on  “The Shorter Ending of Mark.”

(Aside: It’s in double brackets—that means the bible egg heads agree that this could possibly have been added after the gospel had been written—added by some well-meaning scribe or church leader.) Here it is. It picks up where the other left off…

[[And all that had been commanded them they told briefly to those around Peter. And afterward Jesus himself sent out through them, from east to west, the sacred and imperishable proclamation of eternal salvation.]]

Sounds just like Mark, eh? Tell you what. Somebody definitely wanted Peter mentioned, and to get around that “they told no one” thing. But I don’t know. Something feels different about it. Doesn’t fit with the whole of Mark.

But wait—it gets even more interesting. Click on “The Longer Ending of Mark” and let’s read through that. (again—in double brackets)
⁹[[Now after he rose early on the first day of the week, he appeared first to Mary Magdalene, from whom he had cast out seven demons. ¹⁰She went out and told those who had been with him, while they were mourning and weeping. ¹¹But when they heard that he was alive and had been seen by her, they would not believe it.
¹²After this he appeared in another form to two of them, as they were walking into the country. ¹³And they went back and told the rest, but they did not believe them.
¹⁴Later he appeared to the eleven themselves as they were sitting at the table; and he upbraided them for their lack of faith and stubbornness, because they had not believed those who saw him after he had risen. ¹⁵And he said to them, "Go into all the world and proclaim the good news to the whole creation. ¹⁶The one who believes and is baptized will be saved; but the one who does not believe will be condemned. ¹⁷And these signs will accompany those who believe: by using my name they will cast out demons; they will speak in new tongues; ¹⁸they will pick up snakes in their hands, and if they drink any deadly thing, it will not hurt them; they will lay their hands on the sick, and they will recover."
¹⁹So then the Lord Jesus, after he had spoken to them, was taken up into heaven and sat down at the right hand of God. ²⁰And they went out and proclaimed the good news everywhere, while the Lord worked with them and confirmed the message by the signs that accompanied it.]]

I think somebody was copying the other gospel writers. And not so elegantly. This sounds like a quick rundown of all the resurrection appearances that were seemingly left out. It’s like at the end of a movie when they show each character with subtitles that tell about his or her future. (Mary Magdalene—the first to see the risen Lord. The disciples—went out and told the world.  Senator John Blutarsky) And then the stuff about handling snakes and drinking poison? Where did that come from? Again—it just doesn’t mesh with Mark.

So which do you favor? Accepted ending? Shorter ending? Longer? Which do you think is the ending of Mark? Remember we’re not voting a passage out of the bible, or saying that it’s false or anything, or not worthy of using for our edification and devotion. We’re just saying what we like. Same as on the interweb—except you’ll not get tons of emails as a result. Okay. So, who likes the Shorter Ending of Mark? Raise your hands. And who likes the Longer Ending of Mark? And who likes the way it ended when I read it this morning—with frightened women saying nothing to no one? (raise hand)

I like the way it ends without the alternate endings, long or short. I feel it’s very authentic and reflects what I could see as my own reaction to discovering a man in white in the tomb of a friend. And no friend. And this white-robed fella saying that “he is risen.” I can see myself doing one of those big cartoon GULPs, and then hightailing it out of there to someplace safe—and keeping this psychotic break to myself. I wouldn’t tell anybody—at least not at first. They’d think I was (drinking), or that perhaps there was a rational explanation for what I had seen.

Yeah, I can resonate with the women at the tomb. They reacted naturally to our God’s strange fondness for—ahem!—surprising people. And that’s putting it in the best possible light. What I really mean is God seems to love startling the heck out of people! Sending angels—not fluffy, lacey, feathery precious moment angels, but huge angels with flashing eyes, or dazzling bright clothing—sending angels with messages for people. And if their presence wasn’t enough to cause a myocardial infarction, having them just APPEAR, like that—that certainly is sufficient to reduce one to a blubbering, stuttering, shaking, blathering mess. But that’s okay, because what do God’s angels, and God himself in some cases, say when they first stand someone’s hair on end by appearing to them?

Be not afraid. Don’t be afraid. Fear not.

That’s not funny, God. I know you mean well, but sometimes your stated intentions seem somewhat less than genuine when compared with your actions. Telling them not to be afraid is less than helpful when the message is mind-blowing. Especially when that message is conveyed by a guy who until just recently was dead.  Dead! Jesus was dead.

Those women weren’t expecting the stone to be rolled away. They didn’t figure on an empty tomb. They weren’t prepared for a man dressed all in white. Or the burial cloths neatly folded and placed conspicuously on the stone slab. And they definitely in their wildest dreams never ever ever thought someone would tell them Jesus was raised from the dead. Inconceivable! Better to flee and clam up than to tell people. What would people think? What would Peter say? What would those “Sons of Thunder,” James and John do? Would they scoff, toss them out, think them crazy, or worst yet—be as afraid as they were? That, they could not take. So their fear overwhelmed them and they told no one.

Much in the same way that the women weren’t prepared for what occurred that first Easter morning, we aren’t expecting the living Jesus, either. When we come here to church we expect the same old Jesus—like a familiar character in a movie that you’ve watched over and over. We don’t expect to see Christ sitting in the sanctuary (especially if he’s in my spot!). We don’t imagine that we’ll be the recipients of an angelic message, delivered by a man in white. We expect a well-known, comfortable Jesus who can be counted on to be waiting here for us in the pages of the big book on the speaker’s podium. Even if you haven’t been here since last Easter.

What we’re not prepared for is this: FEAR NOT! I said don’t be afraid. For this Jesus that you seek—the one who was crucified—is not here. He is rsen! And he has gone on ahead of you—out there. I know, I know, you just came from out there. So, didn’t you see him—Jesus? He was out there. He was the young man working at WalMart, who has never been to church and feels it’s already too late. Jesus was driving the ambulance that was headed to a car wreck—he saved a woman’s life when he got there. That was Jesus on the news handing out food to refugees in the Sudan. And, that’s right—it was Jesus you saw waving to you from next door. The mother nursing her baby on the subway—Jesus. The group of kids painting some old geezer’s house for him—they were all Jesus.

The risen Christ was out there. Out there waiting for you. I am the man in white telling you that he is. I know it’s unexpected. I know that it’s scary to think of joining Jesus out there, to think of rushing back to your husband, your kid, your co-workers, your classmates and telling them Jesus IS ALIVE! It’s frightening to do that. What will people say, what will they do, will they think I’m a nutjob or Jehovah’s Witness? Or will the world be healed? Will the hating stop and love prevail, will the first be last by choice and the last first by necessity? Will the peace that passes all understanding suddenly become knowable in a world marked by the cross of Christ and sealed with the broken seal on his empty tomb? Think about it.

And now, hate to say it, but there’s three endings to this sermon. You have to choose one.

Ending #1: The people of God, hearing the good news that Christ is risen, fled from church (after the buffet) and told no one what they discovered, for they were afraid what people would think of them.

Ending #2: The people of God, hearing the good news that Christ is risen, enjoyed a lovely worship service (and brunch) and then went home, having heard it before.

Ending #3: The people of God, hearing the good news that Christ is risen, shout ALLELUIA!, Come to the table (that’s the Lord’s Table, not the buffet), take the risen living Christ in their outstretched hands, and eat and drink. They are renewed by the power of the Holy Spirit and equipped with the gifts needed to transform people’s lives. And then they went out there to meet Jesus, and to bring light into the world.

What’ll it be?  AMEN

Lent 5B  3/25/12

John 12:20-33

Grace and peace to you from God our Father, and from the Lord and Savior Jesus Christ,  Son of God.

Every Sunday morning as I proclaim the Word, I always open using those or similar words. Grace and peace to you from God our Father, and from the Lord and Savior Jesus Christ,  Son of God. Some of you answer with “Amen.”

It’s pretty rote, our opening exchange—done quite perfunctorily with little if any consideration of the immense (I say immense) import of this simple phrase. Beacause, when you get right down to it—I could both begin and end the sermon right there, for, truthfully, it says all that needs to be said. All in 20 words.

Grace and peace to you from God our Father, and from the Lord and Savior Jesus Christ,  Son of God. Could end here, but won’t.

Because I want to help you understand the depth and breadth of these marvelous and life-giving words I say to you each and every Sunday morning. To know what they mean, to understand their implications and the impact those implications can have on your life. I want you to write this phrase on your heart, so that you will know God, and trust in God’s love for you. ALWAYS.

So before we get to the Word for today, let’s have a moment together on the Word for every day. After that, you will marvel at how deftly and seamlessly I tie that in with the readings for this fifth Sunday in Lent!

“Grace and peace to you from God our Father, and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ,  Son of God.” Let’s start with the supposedly simple words. “And” is a conjunction—those of you who watched Schoolhouse Rock in the 70’s know that a conjunction’s function is to hook words and phrases together, in particular and is an additive. This and that. Grace and peace…from God and Jesus. Okay? Okay.

Another simple phrase is “to you.”  Perhaps better expressed as “all of you,” as this you is plural. To you all. That means what it says you are the recipient of something..

And if something is received, it must be given by someone—and they are identified through the use of the small but important word from.

Next word is “our.” It designates relationship. In this case our denotes a relationship we have both with God and Jesus. The “we” of this “our” is the same “us” as in the “to you all.” Capeesh?

We might as well continue with the two givers. The first is God. How does one define God? The ground and center of being? One’s ultimate concern? The source of everything? Creator, redeemer, sustainer? An event, a discourse, a spirit, a person. AnOld man in white robes and flowing white beard? God means many things to many people. But in our case, the our we just looked at will help us out. God is our Father. We know the Father as one of the persons of the Trinity, but in this case it speaks more relationally. God is to us as a father is to a child (in a patriarchal society). That tells us not only who the to is from, but who the from is. Abba—Daddy. The best that metaphor can connote and then more.

The second from is Jesus. Looking ahead just for a minute—we see that Jesus shares the same sort of relationship to “God,” that of Son. Jesus is Son of God. But not just any Jesus, Jesus Christ. Christ is transliterated Greek for the Hebrew word “Messiah” which mean’s God’s anointed or chosen one. Chosen for what? “Our” again comes to our aid. Jesus God’s chosen one is our Savior. He relates to us as the one who saved us. Saved us from what? Hold onto that—we’ll get to it in a minute. First we have “Lord” to deal with. Jesus Christ our savior is also our Lord. Lord defines a relationship as well. A relationship in which a person or persons who are vulnerable to perils, give their loyalty and service to someone who is able to protect them and care for them. In the best of all possible worlds. Lord is the one we respect, obey, come to for justice, offer our services to. It is a relationship metaphor, the best our language can construct.

Now, finally, what the to you’s receive from the froms, who are related to us in an intimate and familial way, and who care for us, protect us, and save us. Two things we get.

The latter being peace, which we take to mean cessation from conflict (and it does have that flavor here), or a greeting PEACE! (and its use in the beginnings of epistles supports this). But peace—or closer to the mark—God’s peace, has a much broader meaning. It means the total well-being of the body, mind and spirit—economically, relationally, physically, mentally, spiritually, etc. God giving us peace also shows that God holds no enmity towards us—much like our sharing the peace is supposed to signify between each other as we prepare to come before God and receive forgiveness. (When it is practiced as it should be—its not really a time for socializing). But wait peace goes even deeper than that. It is also the peace which passes all understanding. That God comes to us with Jesus offering us relationship, well-being, forgiveness from our sin (both what we’ve done and left undone), and inclusion in the kingdom of heaven where Jesus is Lord, both now and forever—when we have nothing—nothing—to offer in return that would ever measure up…that is the peace that passes all understanding and it is represented by the last word in this every Sunday sentence. GRACE.

Not Grace Kelly. Nor say goodnight Gracie. Not “Come Lord Jesus be our guest…” table grace. Not the grace of the movements on Dancing with the Stars. Nor the graciousness you exude when you pat yourself on the back for being such a good Christian. I mean GRACE. Grace in a soteriological sense—how it pertains to salvation. Grace.

Grace is forgiveness of sin, given freely, with no strings attached, no payment made. Another word that could stand in for it is MERCY. Kyrie Eleison – Lord have mercy. Answered by “Grace to You.” Grace.

Sometimes this acronym is used to help you remember the meaning of grace: God’s Riches At Christ’s Expense. GRACE. But this leads to some problems.

(And now for you who did not realize it, we have switched to the gospel reading which has to do with the question of “Why Die?” Why was it necessary that Jesus die?)

Jesus puts it poetically with the seed in the ground analogy. His point is that it is necessary for him to die, that he might bear fruit—continue God’s mission on a grand scale amongst a renewed people of God. That doesn’t help us exactly.

St. Anselm much later, and after centuries of saints wrangling over the issue, put forth the Substitutionary Atonement or Sub Sacrifice theory. It featured an angry God who had to be appeased by those who had sinned against him. Problem was those people had nothing worth anything to give in return for their lives. God can’t simply let them off the hook—that would go against God’s just-ness—it would throw off the space time continuum or some such stuff. So God is satisfied with the blood of another—one who was sinless and able to pay the price—Jesus. God’s riches at Christ’s expense.

That leaves you with a happy God, but one who still demanded blood and was willing to take it from his only son. That satisfies some. But it’s problematic for many.

Here’s a better way to answer WHY DIE?

Sacrifice. (What? You just said that was problematic!) Sacrifice in a different context.

Sacrifice means making something holy by lifting it up to God (Borg). That was the meaning held by the ancient Judaism temple cult. There is no flavor at all of a sacrifice as a satisfaction of sin.

Jesus sacrificed himself in the same way that we look at others who sacrifice for the good of others. Soldiers, firemen and police, mothers and fathers who put triplets through college. Sacrifice here is deeply entwined with love. And it is that love which characterizes the why die for Jesus. Or as my wise pastor at CTK Cary NC answered Erik when he as a toddler asked this question Why did Jesus die—he simply said, because “he loved us very much” No payment, no bargaining, no eye for an eye, no stand-ins, no pierced offering—just one thing. Pure. Free. Radical.

GRACE.

So there you have it. Good news in a nutshell, that you can hear every Sunday and then fall asleep without guilt—for you have heard the word.

Grace and peace to you from God our Father, and from the Lord and Savior Jesus Christ,  Son of God.  AMEN.