Sermon: Ascension Sunday 5.4.08

Edgebrook Lutheran Church

May 4, 2008

Seventh Sunday of Easter

Acts 1:1–11

In the first book, Theophilus, I wrote about all that Jesus did and taught from the beginning ²until the day when he was taken up to heaven, after giving instructions through the Holy Spirit to the apostles whom he had chosen. ³After his suffering he presented himself alive to them by many convincing proofs, appearing to them during forty days and speaking about the kingdom of God. ⁴While staying with them, he ordered them not to leave Jerusalem, but to wait there for the promise of the Father. "This," he said, "is what you have heard from me; ⁵for John baptized with water, but you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit not many days from now."
⁶So when they had come together, they asked him, "Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?" ⁷He replied, "It is not for you to know the times or periods that the Father has set by his own authority. ⁸But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth." ⁹When he had said this, as they were watching, he was lifted up, and a cloud took him out of their sight. ¹⁰While he was going and they were gazing up toward heaven, suddenly two men in white robes stood by them. ¹¹They said, "Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up toward heaven? This Jesus, who has been taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven."

What are we, then, to do?

Can I get a witness?

I said, can I get a witness?

You know, on the South Side where I live, that question gets a slightly different response. Our Lutheran brothers and sisters on the South Side shout “Amen!” or “Yes you can.”

Most of the time, if you were to ask me, “Can I get a witness?” I’d probably say, “What for? Are we going to court?”

But I think that Jesus in today’s Acts reading probably yelled that out at some point as he was ascending into heaven. I mean, Luke doesn’t record it in there, but I think he probably said, “Can I get a witness?” sometime in there.

Because that’s what we’re left with: witnesses.

Today we celebrate the ascension of our Lord. Not much is known about Jesus ascension, and even Luke isn’t really clear on what’s going on. What we do know is that Jesus was with his disciples for 40 days after his resurrection, and then he didn’t show up in the bodily presence anymore. Instead, he spoke of this new way that God was going to be with people, in the paraclete, the Advocate, the Ruah that we spoke of last week. The Holy Spirit.

And today we find these disciples, having been promised the Holy Spirit, having been promised that Jesus would come back again, and they’re staring up into heaven waiting for it to come as if it’s going to happen right now, right away.

And I bet, I bet for a moment there they wondered what they were to do next. I bet, I bet for a moment there, they had a twinge of sadness because this experience with God that they’d been having through the person of Jesus had come to an end.

And how to express that?

Shel Silverstein, at the end of his book of poetry “Where the Sidewalk Ends” has one final poem that reads:

“I went to find the pot of gold

That’s waiting where the rainbow ends.

I searched and searched and searched and searched

And searched and searched and then

There it was, deep in the grass

Under an old and twisty bough

It’s mine, it’s mine, it’s mine at last…

What do I search for now?”

“What do I search for now?” is probably just the question that those disciples were asking themselves as they stared off into space.

And the only thing that brings them back to reality, that brings them back to action from staring up at heaven are these two people that show up in dazzling clothes.

“What are you doing looking up at heaven? He’ll come back; he promised. The Holy Spirit will come upon you; he promised. But now, there’s work to be done!”

Now, there’s work to be done.

You see, the experience that they had with God, the experiences that we have with God through the gift of the Holy Spirit is not some pot of gold to be found at the end of a spiritual journey. The experience is the journey.

And that is why we don’t stop with just the Gospels in our New Testament texts. The experiences with God continued even after Jesus was no longer bodily present. And so, what are the disciples to do now that Jesus is not bodily present, what are we to do now that Jesus is not bodily present?

Well, we’re not supposed to just stand around looking up at space, waiting for it to happen again. That, according to these two people in dazzling clothes, these two “new people” as the Greek literally calls them reminds the disciples, and reminds us.

We’re about to leave the season of Easter. We’re about to head into spring. We’re about to have life slow down just a little bit. It won’t be the same.

But listen to these people in dazzling white: the work is not done. God’s spirit, God’s indwelling presence is still here, and so our encounters with God continue to happen.

And we can’t be silent about that. We can’t be silent about our experiences with God, our experiences with the God made known in Jesus Christ.

We need to be witnesses! God has made God’s self known to us, and so we need to be witnesses to the fact that God is at work in this world bringing salvation in the here and now.

So, what does it mean to be a witness?

James Mulholland, a Quaker minster, writes in his book “If Grace is True” about one of his first sermons as a preacher. It was at an inner city mission. He says,

“I watched about fifty men, many mentally ill or drunk, herded into a dingy chapel. They mumbled the words to a familiar hymn, yawned through the prayers, and seemed oblivious to the words I’d labored over so carefully. I pleaded with them to accept Christ and experience his grace. No one responded. Afterward, I turned to one of the workers and said, “Well, that was hopeless.”

Then the worker smiled back at him and said, “I used to be one of them.”

Who was the witness there? A witness is the one who says, “The world is ending? Oh, yeah, I used to think that. I’m all alone in this world? Oh yeah, I used to believe that. There is no God, we’re water and some trace elements? Oh yeah, I used to hold on to that. But then…

But then God spoke to me in Scripture. But then the Holy Spirit stirred me to faith. But then I realized that the breath of God moves through humanity like a wind over grass. But then I was baptized into the faith, held by a God, sealed by the Holy Spirit, marked with the cross of Christ forever.

When we have church, when we witness to the encounter that God has had upon us, “I used to be one of them” is not an unfamiliar response. God changes things yet today, and so we cannot keep looking to heaven waiting for eventual salvation, for as those “new people” in dazzling clothes remind us, there is so much salvation to be witnessed to here around us.

So, can I get a witness?

Amen.

Sermon: 6th Sunday after Easter 4.27.08

Edgebrook Lutheran Church

April 27, 2008

Sixth Sunday of Easter

Gospel John 14:15–21

⁵If you love me, you will keep my commandments. ¹⁶And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate, to be with you forever. ¹⁷This is the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees him nor knows him. You know him, because he abides with you, and he will be in you.
¹⁸I will not leave you orphaned; I am coming to you. ¹⁹In a little while the world will no longer see me, but you will see me; because I live, you also will live. ²⁰On that day you will know that I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you. ²¹They who have my commandments and keep them are those who love me; and those who love me will be loved by my Father, and I will love them and reveal myself to them."

You Promised

Every summer during college I worked as a camp counselor. The camp was named “Kirchenwald” which means “church in the woods.” At the end of each camping week, the entire camp would play a game called Capture the Flag. It was a great game because the whole camp, from second graders to high schoolers, would play. We would split the camp into two teams, and each take a field to defend our flag. I would assemble the team on my field together and attempt to make some strategies. We did, after all, want to win.

At the end of one of these strategic sessions one week, a fourth grader said, “Tim, I think we should pray that the Holy Spirit enter our shoes so we can run faster than the other team!” I looked down at little Sarah and said, “Sarah, God doesn’t work that way.” She looked right up at me and said, “Well it’s a good thing you’re not God or we’d never win!”

And she’s right, of course. It is a good thing I’m not God. It is a good thing that God is more complicated than the small box that I tried to put God in when talking to Sarah.

Today we receive a promise, we receive a reminder, that God is complicated, more complicated than you and I can possibly imagine. This is not means for alarm. This is not means for despair. This is means for glory. You see, we glory that God is complicated in word and deed, in action and structure, because that too is a reminder that God is at work in ways we don't understand. And today is just an example of that.

In today's gospel message we have Jesus finishing the speech that he started last week. It a speech of "final things." If you'll remember, last week Jesus reminded his disciples, and therefore us, that he is "the way, the truth, and the life." Today he tells them something new.

In this last half of the speech, he makes a different statement.

In this last half of that speech, that speech he gives them right before he is going to eat dinner with them, be arrested, be crucified, and rise again. In this last half of the speech that he gives before they are going to get a complete shock: the death of their rabbi. Before they are going to get a complete upheaval of their life's trajectory. In this speech, before he leaves them for the cross of Golgotha, he gives them a promise.

"The Father will give you another Advocate to be with you forever. This is the Spirit of truth."

The Spirit of truth. The Advocate.

Or, as we say, the Holy Spirit. God's indwelling nature in creation, in humanity, in this world. God's emotional side, as I like to say it. That side of God that nudges us, pushes us, protects, and yes, advocates for us. Jesus promises his disciples that he will send his "indwelling spirit" to be not only with them, but in them.

In us.

As good Lutherans, we beg the question, What does this mean?

Well, you must know that this emotional side of God, this Spirit of indwelling is not new to Scripture. Jesus is not introducing a new idea to the disciples, although I'm not sure they recognized that.

You see, in Old Testament scripture, this Spirit of truth, this Advocate, this indwelling spirit of God is mentioned quite a bit. Her name is Ruah. Yes, that's right, it's a she. Ruah, God's Ruah , God's wisdom is a "she" because Hebrew is a gendered language, and Ruah, which actually means "breathe" in Hebrew, is feminine. Now, in Greek it's Paraclete, which is neither feminine or masculine, and in Latin its Spiritus which is definitely masculine. So, you see, the switch from feminine to masculine in speaking about God is not original to the text. God's Spirit was originally thought of as Ruah, as she that indwells.

And so Jesus is promising that, although it may look like he's gone, God is not. Although it may look like there is no light in this world, there is. The Ruah, the Paraclete, the Spirit of God is with them.

But how will they know? How will we know that the spirit of God is with us? Because, I think this is one part of the tradition that I think we take for granted…or don't take at all.

Do we look for the Holy Spirit, the Ruah of God, the breathe of God working in our world? In our creation? Do we look for the Advocate?

Perhaps we do, but it's hard. It's hard to tell what is breathe of God and what is just wind. It's hard to tell what is the Spirit of God and what, as my grandmother used to say, is just "indigestion."

It was early in the morning on July 4^th of last year when my beeper went off. I rolled over on the small bed that the hospital provided for me. ED, my beeper said. So I called down to the Emergency Room Department.

"Hi Father, you're needed down here right away, please." I glanced at my watch, it was 4:28 am. "Give me five minutes," I muttered. "Ok, please be quick."

So I put on my collar, grabbed my Bible, and headed toward the elevators.

As the doors opened, and walked down the Northwestern hallway, the ED was as busy as I'd ever seen it. July 4^th. A lot of accidents. I entered trauma one, pulled back the curtain, and saw a young man, my age, lying on the stretcher. His mother was weeping uncontrollably over his cold body, his father rubbing her shoulders. There were sisters and brothers, about four siblings, crowded around the bed.

When I entered, the mother looked up and she said, "Padre, Padre, pardone, pardone." She only spoke Spanish, and my Spanish was not enough to communicate fully. But the sister translated, and I knew what I had to do.

I went over to the sink, drew some water, blessed the water, and joined the family around the young man. I blessed his head with a cross, blessed his hands with a cross, and there, under those harsh lights of the trauma room, we all said good bye to this young man. This young man who, just hours before was splashing in Lake Michigan, jumping off his father's boat. One flip too many in those early morning hours, and he hit his head on the side as he jumped.

And here we were, saying goodbye, commending him and the family around to God's care, to God's comfort. As we were praying and going through the liturgy, nurses and EMT's came in and joined our circle. One nurse held the mother in her arms. An EMT wrapped his arm around the youngest sibling there, rubbing her shoulder, and we all prayed and cried together.

Afterwards I went up to the chapel at the hospital. It was dark. I was alone in there. And I let God have it. Where was the God that could still the waters? Where was the God that could part the sea? Where was the God who promised the Advocate, who promised protection, to that young man down there? To that mother, who's only words she could mutter when she saw me was, "forgive him. Forgive him!"

Where was God there?

And then I sat, exhausted. And I remembered the nurse, holding the mother in her arms. I remembered the EMT, a large burly guy, rubbing the shoulder of that young sibling. I remembered the water, that blessed water, that baptismal water, running over the head and the hands of the young man as a sign that he, still, and especially now, was a child of God.

And I that’s when I experience Ruah. I saw the Advocate. I saw the great helper, the comforter, the promised one to be with us. It was a glimpse. It was in the form of a love that moved past the emergency room to cut to the heart of the pain there. And it was God.

You see, Jesus is about to leave his disciples. Jesus is about to die, and I have no doubt that those disciples were going to go back and curse God, shake their fists in the air, and say, "You promised!"

You promised.

And so, here, today, before any of that happens, Jesus promises them that, no matter what it looks like, God is with them, indwelling, moving, shaking, advocating, helping. Breathing in them, with them, and for them.

And I think there was good reason for this promise now, because, even when we try to look for God's Spirit, God's breathe working in this world, we often come up questioning what we are seeing. It is only later, only in the aftermath, only in the resurrection period and afterward, that we remember where God was.

And so Jesus gives his disciples, gives us, the promise before hand. It's given so that we can trust that God is present, God is working, God is indwelling in us despite what it might look like around us. It's a promise that will carry us through those times, that will carry us through those hours of darkness, of loneliness, those hours when we look up at the cross and say, "You promised!"

It's given to those disciples, to us, to be our comforter and our advocate because it is only later that we can see it.

God the Spirit is at work in our world, is at work in us. We may not see it now, but I bet we'll see it in retrospect. I bet we'll see it later. So lets trust it now, and look for it later.

Amen.

Sermon: The Fifth Sunday in Easter 4.20.08

John 14:1-14

Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me. ²In my Father's house there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? ³And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also. ⁴And you know the way to the place where I am going." ⁵Thomas said to him, "Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?" ⁶Jesus said to him, "I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. ⁷If you know me, you will know my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him."
⁸Philip said to him, "Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied." ⁹Jesus said to him, "Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and you still do not know me? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, 'Show us the Father'? ¹⁰Do you not believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me? The words that I say to you I do not speak on my own; but the Father who dwells in me does his works. ¹¹Believe me that I am in the Father and the Father is in me; but if you do not, then believe me because of the works themselves. ¹²Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these, because I am going to the Father. ¹³I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. ¹⁴If in my name you ask me for anything, I will do it.

Ego Ami

Today Jesus makes quite a bold claim for us in this Gospel reading from John:

"I am the way, the truth, and the life."

What a bold claim, the "ego ami," that phrase the John associates with Jesus so much, connecting Jesus to God at the burning bush in Exodus. "I am that I am" God says there. "Ego ami" Jesus says here.

"I am the way, the truth, and the life."

But do we approach it that way? Do we approach our faith, our religion, our quest to seek the "otherness" of God allowing God in Jesus to speak first, to make this claim of pathway, truth, and life first?

Author A.J. Jacobs wrote a memoir entitled, "My Year of Living Biblically" in which he attempts to follow all of the laws from the New and Old Testaments for an entire year. Now, Jacobs himself comes from a Jewish family, but he is a marginal participator in religion at best. High festival days receive some attention, but he never goes to temple and readily admits so.

But in his year of living Biblically, he begins to see his life transformed by the practices that he picks up. He prays three times a day and, although it's uncomfortable, and although he's not even sure what he's praying to, he finds that the practice itself is beneficial, regular, spiritual, in fact. And he even starts to have moments, glimpses, and times when he begins to believe in God, he begins to believe that there is more out there than just atoms that change over time, but an actual God who is changing them.

n this journey with faith, he has many advisors and spiritual helpers that he consults on a regular basis. One is his best friend's father, who just happens to be a retired Lutheran pastor.

One day they're sitting down to eat and he says to the pastor, "You know, this practice has been a really great experience. I feel healthier, I feel less cynical, I feel…faithful. Perhaps I should take up religion just because it's better for me and better for my children."

The pastor sips his coffee slowly, takes a swig, and puts it back down. And then he looks A.J. in the eye and says, "I don't think that's a very good reason to believe. Belief in God should come from somewhere more…organic."

Faith in God should come from somewhere more organic. You see, as much as I agree with A.J. that faith is good for our bodies as well as our souls, good for our minds as well as our hearts, belief cannot come when we place ourselves first in the equation. In the end I always agree with that pastor

Have you ever been talking with someone, telling them a story about what happened to you, a really pivotal, exciting story, and you end it and the first words out of their mouth, "Oh yeah? I've got a better one, guess what happened to me…"

Or you've had that relationship, that friend that always takes and takes and takes, and never gives. They suck the life out of you, every living breath to the point where the relationship breaks, you can't take it anymore.

You see, those conversations don't work, one party always goes away jaded. Those relationships don't work because one party always ends up having enough of it.

So why do we think it will work with our faith life? Why do we think that we can look up to God and say to God, "Ego Ami" I am the important party in this relationship. What are you going to give me? What are you going to do for me? What am I going to get out of following your way, your truth, your life?

Faith has to be more organic than that. It has to come from the roots of history, experience, of being. It has to come allowing God in Jesus to speak the word first. It has to come by allowing God to be God, allowing Jesus to be God. It has to come by hearing Jesus say, Ego Ami! And us not trying to refute it.

And we do refute it. Unfortunately we refute it too often, and we don't like to hear that. We don't like to be convicted of that, but it's true. I mean, look at today. Earth Day. We've had to set up an entire day of consciousness to remind us that we live on Earth and should take care of it.

And why did we do that? Because we've looked at the Earth, this habitat that God has given us, and have said "Ego Ami". I am the Lord of this Earth. I can rape, pillage, and plunder it like I want. I can deforest it until it's nothing but an arid wasteland. I don't have to let the fields lie fallow every seven years. I don't have kill animals ethically, "Ego Ami" I am the god of creation.

But we are not Lord's of the earth, su ei, you are the Lord of the Earth, I am just a steward.

And that is the humility with which I think we need to re-approach faith, religion, and our quest for the "otherness" of God. We come here each week first and foremost to worship God. Yes we receive blessing here. Yes we receive spiritual food here. But first and foremost God speaks to us here, Ego Ami, I am that I am. Jesus speaks to us here, Ego Ami, I am the way, the truth, and the life.

And as a church, that is our mission and our goal. You know, as you search around church websites, both Lutheran and non-Lutheran, I often see a button the home page that I just despise. The button is often entitled, "What we offer." And I know it means well, but, my God, if I click on it and it doesn't say "a relationship with God in Jesus Christ" it's off the mark.

We must have God in Jesus as first and foremost in our programming, in our worship offerings, in all that we do here, God must speak the first word! Ego Ami! And we must speak only secondarily, Su ei, you are God and because you are God we seek you, we desire you, we want our children and grandchildren to know you, to love you, to be healed by and in you.

Su ei.

Jesus Christ is the way, the truth, and the life. Given to us that we might believe, that we might be in relationship with God. But given to us first by God and for that, my friends, we give praise to God, we worship God, we adore God.

So come, Jesus is speaking a word, "Ego Ami" I Am. We follow that voice and not our own. Amen.

As Spring and Easter Converge...

"Long, long, long ago;
Way before this winter's snow
First fell upon these weathered fields;
I used to sit and watch and feel
And dream of how the spring would be,
When through the winter's stormy sea
She'd raise her green and growing head,
Her warmth would resurrect the dead.

Long before this winter's snow
I dreamt of this day's sunny glow
And thought somehow my pain would pass
With winter's pain, and peace like grass
Would simply grow. The pain's not gone
It's still as cold and hard and long
As lonely pain has ever been,
It cuts so deep and far within.

Long before this winter's snow
I ran from pain, looked high and low
For some fast way to get around
Its hurt and cold. I'd have found,
If I had looked at what was there,
That things don't follow fast or fair.
That life goes on, and times do change,
And grass does grow despite life's pains.

Long before this winter's snow
I though that this day's sunny glow,
The smiling children and growing things
And flowers bright were brought by spring
Now, I know the sun does shine,
That children smile, and from the dark, cold, grime
A flower comes. It groans, yet sings,
And through its pain, its peace begins.
-"Resurrection" by Mary Ann Bernard

Sermon: Great Easter Vigil at Sunrise

John 20:1-18

Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the tomb. ²So she ran and went to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, and said to them, "They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him." ³Then Peter and the other disciple set out and went toward the tomb. ⁴The two were running together, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first. ⁵He bent down to look in and saw the linen wrappings lying there, but he did not go in. ⁶Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb. He saw the linen wrappings lying there, ⁷and the cloth that had been on Jesus' head, not lying with the linen wrappings but rolled up in a place by itself. ⁸Then the other disciple, who reached the tomb first, also went in, and he saw and believed; ⁹for as yet they did not understand the scripture, that he must rise from the dead. ¹⁰Then the disciples returned to their homes.
¹¹But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb; ¹²and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. ¹³They said to her, "Woman, why are you weeping?" She said to them, "They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him." ¹⁴When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. ¹⁵Jesus said to her, "Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?" Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, "Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away." ¹⁶Jesus said to her, "Mary!" She turned and said to him in Hebrew, "Rabbouni!" (which means Teacher). ¹⁷Jesus said to her, "Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and say to them, 'I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.'" ¹⁸Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, "I have seen the Lord"; and she told them that he had said these things to her.

Live Boldly

“O what a beautiful morning, O what a beautiful day. I’ve got a beautiful feelin,’ everything’s going God’s way.”

They sang that song every morning on the trail when I was riding with the cattle through Eastern Ohio. Those ranch-hands always thought it was funny to wake us up in that way, even though we were miles away from Oklahoma, and while mildly annoying so early in the morning, I can’t imagine another morning where it would be more appropriate.

Easter morning! It’s an exciting time. It’s a time when we can really exclaim, really celebrate in fullness that God has kept the promise, that God has taken away death’s sting, that God has moved past death into a new life.

And it is exciting! Exciting enough to wake up before the sun, to show even the sun, even all of creation, that this day is worth getting up early for, worth celebrating even in the darkness before dawn.

Because that is, after all, when all of this began. John’s Gospel puts Mary coming very early in the morning to the tomb. She comes “in darkness,” as the text says, “to look at the tomb.” Now that word “look” is very deceiving in the English. In the Greek it’s much better.

You see, in the Greek it is clear that Mary isn’t coming just to “look” at the tomb, she’s coming to “study” the tomb, to contemplate it, to meditate on it, to dissect it mentally. In the early morning, in the darkness of the morning, even in the darkness of her faith (after all, her Rabbi has just been murdered), she comes to study what has happened.

She comes in the darkness to study her faith.

And why are you all here? Well, that’s kind of an unfair question, as we know the end of the story. But really, we should be here to study our faith, to dissect, to meditate, to contemplate the tomb. Because, it is in coming in that way that we are truly surprised again.

And Mary is surprised. So surprised, in fact, that she doesn’t have time to meditate and study the tomb. The whole place is in shambles! The stone is rolled away, the body is missing; its all gone. She has come in quiet to dissect, and the quiet morning turns into a whirlwind of activity.

And she runs to the other disciples, and they run to see the tomb as well. They also find things in shambles, but quickly make their exit. After all, they don’t want to be accused of stealing the body. They had to get out of there.

But not Mary. No. Mary stays. The Gospel of John has Mary staying by the tomb. She is going to study the tomb, like she first set out to do. And so she sits and she cries by the tomb. These are tears that probably would have come whether or not the tomb was empty, because she is doubly grieved now. Not only did they kill her Rabbi, they’ve now taken his body. And so she sits at this grave in the middle of a garden, and weeps as she studies.

But this is not the first time there has been weeping in a garden. In the book of Genesis, we find God in the garden, weeping with Adam and Eve as they have first sinned. Weeping because creation can no longer be innocent. Weeping because the relationship between humanity and the creator had been torn asunder. But instead of a tomb stone, a flaming sword would close this tomb.

And even the night before there was weeping in the garden, as Jesus sat at Gethsemane, wondering what was going to happen next. Crying because all was about to fall apart. And as those soldiers approached with flaming torches, Jesus knew that his relationship with his disciples would be torn asunder, as they all fled and Peter denied him.

It seems that gardens and crying go together. So when we find Mary weeping in the garden, with her plans to meditate, to contemplate, to peacefully grieve over her Rabbi, her Master, her Jesus torn asunder, we should not be surprised.

But then enters the Gardner.

In John, Mary is sitting by the tomb, and Jesus comes up behind her. But Mary doesn’t know it’s him. She thinks it’s the Gardner. Mary mistakes Jesus for the Gardner and says to him, “Please sir, if you’ve taken the body, tell me where it is.” She actually asks him if he’s taken the body. Oh, how funny. How funny! Because you see, Jesus is the Gardner and he has taken the body! It is him.

But Mary doesn’t know it until.

But Mary doesn’t know it until he calls her name.

All Jesus says is “Mary.”

All he has to say is her name.

And in that calling, in mentioning Mary’s name, in calling Mary by her name, every relationship that was torn asunder is suddenly mended.

The fall in Eden, the betrayal in the Garden of Gethsemane, the death on the cross, the strained relationship of humanity as a whole, with us, with our own strained relationships are suddenly mended with the love of God. Because God knows our name, just as he knows Mary’s name, and calls to us past death into a new life.

And Mary, who had come to weep, who had come to meditate on death, is now raised to new life.

And imagine it, an actual raising. I can imagine Mary sitting, weeping, and turning. Jesus calls her by name and she can’t help it, can’t help but get up. Can’t help but rise from where she is to run and meet the God who knows her by name, who has called her from her tears of sadness into tears of joy.

She can’t help it! That’s God’s way!

And she can’t keep it to herself either, she must tell the other disciples. And she is bursting with the news. You can tell because, when she meets the other disciples the only words she can utter are, “I have seen the Lord!”

Bursting, just bursting with the news of God. In the resurrection of Christ, she too has risen to a new life. A life of proclamation, not of tears. A life of contemplating how God moved from death to life, not how everything died before her eyes.

And that is the way of God this morning. That is what we celebrate in such a grand fashion this morning. We celebrate the ultimate bursting of God, bursting from that tomb, the grace of God, which has overflowed in our lives to repair what is torn asunder.

And we are no stranger to weeping in gardens. We’ve wept in the gardens of life all too often. Over relationships torn asunder. Over dreams long buried. Over friends and loved ones.

But on this day. On this day we are reminded that Jesus Christ has beaten death, has repaired the irreparable, that God is working God’s way! On this day we are reminded that we are also raised with Jesus Christ, and with Mary, from that place and brought into a new understanding, a new meditation, a new garden of Eden where we are called by name and loved just the same.

And at hearing this, we cannot help, we cannot help but burst with the news. We cannot help but live! Truly live! Truly live as Christ truly lived on that fateful Sunday morning.

And what does it mean to truly live? I think Mary gives us a great example. It means that we run to share what we have seen and heard about God.

But how? There is another image I want to give you this morning as well.

There is a story about St. Francis. Later in his ministry with the poorest of poor, it is said he walked up to an almond tree in the dead of winter and spoke to it. He said to the tree, “Speak to me about God.”

And it is said that the tree immediately began to bloom.

In the dead of winter, it began to bloom.

Easter is here to remind us that to speak about God means to bloom, to burst, with the news of aliveness. Even in the deadest of winter, even in the gloomiest of tombs, Easter reminds us once again that God is blooming! And that we are blooming!

So, people of God, this morning know that everything is going God’s way. So live boldly! And go, bloom for the world, telling others, bursting with joy, that Jesus Christ is living again! Amen.

Sermon: Palm Sunday 3.16.08

Matthew 21:1–11

When they had come near Jerusalem and had reached Bethphage, at the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two disciples, ²saying to them, "Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied, and a colt with her; untie them and bring them to me. ³If anyone says anything to you, just say this, 'The Lord needs them.' And he will send them immediately." ⁴This took place to fulfill what had been spoken through the prophet, saying,
⁵"Tell the daughter of Zion,
Look, your king is coming to you,
humble, and mounted on a donkey,
and on a colt, the foal of a donkey."
⁶The disciples went and did as Jesus had directed them; ⁷they brought the donkey and the colt, and put their cloaks on them, and he sat on them. ⁸A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. ⁹The crowds that went ahead of him and that followed were shouting,
"Hosanna to the Son of David!
Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!
Hosanna in the highest heaven!"
¹⁰When he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, "Who is this?" ¹¹The crowds were saying, "This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee."

What Revolution?

You know, to many folks, even some sitting here today, what we just did is pretty unusual. Comical, even. And I have a feeling it would have been slightly comical to those people in Jerusalem who were standing by the side of that road, watching this event happen some two thousand years ago.

Here comes this great processional! Rider and steed, attendants and arms, marching through the city streets to pomp and fanfare. Only, the processional isn’t that great. It’s a rider and donkey. There are attendants, but they aren’t robed in shiny armor, they don’t carry huge blades, spears, and pilates like the Roman soldiers of Pilate.

No, they’re a pretty sad lot walking into Jerusalem that day. Simple robes. Simple donkey. Simple announcement. No trumpets. No fanfare. No show of military or political power. Just…simple.

But that’s precisely the point.

You know, there are some scholars out there who think that this whole parade, this procession of palms, was actually a purposeful political joke Jesus was playing on the Roman government. You see, when a Roman governor or senator, or anyone with power, entered a city, they would often make a spectacle of it.

They would ride in on a grand steed, often a white steed, robed in armor and full cape. They would have attendants and servants flanking them, and going before and after, shouting out their name and calling attention to them. “Look! Here comes the great Herod.” Or “Look! Here comes the great Pilate, prelate of his majesty Ceaser!” And people would flock to the road to watch the procession. It was free entertainment.

So imagine the shock, imagine the surprise, imagine, even, the comical scene of Jesus astride a donkey entering the city. Except, this time, Jesus doesn’t come in the name of a Roman official, he doesn’t come in the name of some taxing politician, Jesus comes in the name of the Lord! Jesus comes in the name of the God who called David, their ancestor, to kingship. That same God who now calls Jesus to kingship. Kingship in spite of the rule of Herod, in spite of the rule of Pilate, in spite of the rule of Ceaser himself!

And the people, at first coming to see this comical scene, this person who comes in the name of the Lord, this man who comes not on a steed, but a donkey, not with a procession, but with a ragtag group of blue-collar workers, now start to wonder if this is actually it. They see the signs. They start to wonder if this is the beginning the revolution, the beginning of the new Zion.

And it is. But not as they want it to be. But not as they expect it to be. Jesus will be not just a revolutionary political figure, not just a revolutionary religious leader. Jesus will be the revolutionary God that they sought to know.

But, it will all happen in the shadows. It will all happen in that hidden way that God works. It will all happen in the opposite of how you think it should be.

You know, God works in mystery. God works in opposites. Here, as Lutherans, we truly believe this. Explain how a man riding in to town on a donkey is king, when there are tons of actual kings with actual power riding in on actual steeds every other week. Explain how the death of a 160 lb Jewish guy on a cross is actually the pivotal hinge that will change the trajectory of the world. Explain how God would give up power to die in solidarity with humanity, just so we could move past death to true life.

It can only be explained in paradox and mystery. It can only be explained in stating the fact that God is at work, as a weaver at a loom, stitching the lives of the world thread by thread. And individually, the threads don’t look like much, but there is a wonderful tapestry of salvation being woven.

Today we celebrate a thread of that tapestry, Jesus’ triumphant, if mysterious, if even comical, ride into Jerusalem, showing without a doubt, that God is not about white horses and armor clad guards, but about humility and greenery, about Hosannas and mystery.

As we head into holy week, let us take a look at our own lives. Are we about the things of God? Are we about humility and greenery, Hosannas and Alleluias? Do we look for God in the paradoxes, the mysteries of life? Or are we banking on white steeds and feats of power?

The Good News is, God in Jesus works in mystery. And the man who humbly rides on a donkey, is the powerful God who is beginning a revolution: the revolution of our hearts, of our minds, of our being to be united in God’s love.

The revolution of creation being brought back into relationship with God once again.

And that, my friends, is a revolution worth getting behind. That, my friends, is a revolution that will draw you in, as God’s love is shown this week in paradox, in opposites, in mystery. That, my friends, is truly good news.

Amen.

Sermon: 2nd Sunday in Lent

Genesis 12:1-4a

Romans 4:1-5,13-17

John 3:1-17

Re-Hearing the Promise

I had this sermon all worked out before I saw the flickering lights.

I had this sermon all worked out, all prepared. The background of each of the texts, the historical context laid out plain for you to hear. To appreciate. To use as a guide.

I had this sermon all worked out, all prepared, before I saw the flickering lights.

They were lights that flickered about 65 miles west of hear on Thursday night.

Valentines day.

We were listening intently to the radio as we drove to the restaurant. We listened intently to it after dinner as well.

On 780, on 91.5. And when we got home, on ABC, CBS, Fox. There it was. Those flickering lights.

You see, to dig at the heart of texts, you need to know the historical context. To hear a text as it was first heard, it is important to know that Genesis was written by at least five writers, most probably royal court scribes. It is important to know that Paul was writing to a church in the midst of a schism in Rome, the Jewish-Christians and the Gentile-Christians fighting amongst themselves.

And it is important to know that the Gospel of John was written somewhere around 96 AD, almost 66 years after Jesus died.

These are important things to know to get at the heart of a text, to hear the heart of a text.

But on Valentines Day, I think it is safe to say that our hearts were not into knowing about 66 AD, or the Yawhist redaction of Genesis, or the impetus to Paul's letter to Rome.

Our hearts were in DeKalb, 65 miles west of here. Our hearts still are, in many ways.

And so, I had to relook at these texts. I had to revision them, re-hear them with my heart in DeKalb. After all, the historical context of a work is all well and good, it helps my mind to know many things. But how am I to go out of here working with my hands and my heart if these scripture readings don't speak to OUR context. To OUR hearts, in DeKalb.

And they do speak to it.

Because, as I re-read these text from that vantage point, I heard something that I didn't hear before. I re-heard the promise.

The first two readings are reminders for us again that God is in the blessing business. Hearing both about Abram, and about Paul, you will be reminded that God is faithful to us, bringing about blessing not because we have done what we were supposed to do, but because God remains God! And God blesses. And even as I would like to give you more on these two readings, I can't this morning. I can't because we must move forward to the Gospel. In these times, the Gospel is paramount, the Gospel must be heard, the Gospel is what truly speaks in these times.

In today's Gospel you will hear these words:

"For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him."

You know those words. They've been written on our minds from the days of Catechism, from our earliest years. But they speak powerfully today.

They speak powerfully today because, as I heard Matt Lauer say on the "Today Show" Friday morning, "The massacre at NIU is a sign of the times." And I disagree.

That killing is not the sign of the times, but that cross is the sign of the times. Trucks and cars with that cross were the ones cleaning up the mess. Candles, flickering lights, shaped in that shape were standing vigil on Thursday night and Friday night, and even today.

That, people of God, is the sign that we must look to in these times because it is the sign of the times.

You know, those words of John 3:16 and 17 are spoken to us, yes. But in the book of John, they are spoken to a man named Nicodemus. Now, Nicodemus is a smart man. He's a Jewish leader, a member of the Sanhedrin, the Jewish High Counsel, but he is confused. We know he is confused because John says he "comes to Jesus in darkness." This darkness is not only a time of day. It is also an indicator into his spiritual sense. He's spiritually "in the dark."

And so what does Jesus do? Jesus tells him about the ways of God. You see, Nicodemus thinks he knows the ways of God. He sees Jesus healing people, doing miracles, all sorts of great things and immediately assumes that these are the ways that you can tell if someone is from God. But Jesus flips his ideas.

"To know the ways of God," Jesus says, "you must be born from above." Literally, that phrase "from above" in Greek is "anewthay" simply meaning "again." "To know the ways of God, you must be born again," he says. You must let go of the natural ways that you think you know the ways of God, and look at them from a different perspective- the perspective of someone who has simply heard the promise and received it. The perspective of someone who has been baptized, the promise that God loves us even though we have yet to do one thing.

Now, this is important for us to hear today. It's very easy for us to believe that God is blessing us when we can see good things happening. It's very easy for us to believe in God as miracle upon miracle comes our way.

But what about now? We come in darkness, like Nicodemus. We come confused. This is no blessing. 65 miles west of here on Valentines Day hearts were ripped from their homes. No blessing. There may be blessings in the aftermath, there may be blessings in the cleanup, in the inevitable coming together of the community. But that act was no blessing, and God was not in that act.

And, so what we need to hear again is that reminder that physical signs are not the ways of God. Despite what the physical reality may present us, God's promise still stands. God's blessing stands, even now because God has been to see death before, and God has come out the other side.

For God so loved the world that God stood with us in our darkest days of death, that God broke the chains that death has around our necks, that God rose from the grave even as God promises the blessing of a resurrection. God gives eternal life, even today. That is the gospel, and that is what we need to rehear again today.

Condemnation, destruction, these are not what God has in store for creation, despite what it might seem. And therefore they should not be what we as a people are about. Instead, God has in store for us new life. A new life found in the promise we hear in the waters at baptism.

Therefore, people of God, as Moses raised the bronze serpent in the desert to provide healing for those dying of poison, look now upon the Son of Man risen on the cross, risen from the tomb, risen in our hearts and our hands as we reach out to those students and families in DeKalb.

The good news is that God stands with us in the face of death, and stands with us as we rise from our tombs.

And that promise, that promise that God continues to bless us, even as we see things fall around us. That promise that God has been here before, been at the footstep of death on this cross before us, and has promised a resurrection on the other side of that.

That promise, that blessing, that cross…that empty tomb. That is the sign of the times. Hear it again today.

Amen.