Sermon, August 12, 2012:  St. Timothy’s in Fairfield CT

1 Kings 19:4-8

But he himself went a day’s journey into the wilderness, and came and sat down under a solitary broom tree. He asked that he might die: “It is enough; now, O LORD, take away my life, for I am no better than my ancestors.”  Then he lay down under the broom tree and fell asleep. Suddenly an angel touched him and said to him, “Get up and eat.”  He looked, and there at his head was a cake baked on hot stones, and a jar of water. He ate and drank, and lay down again.  The angel of the LORD came a second time, touched him, and said, “Get up and eat, otherwise the journey will be too much for you.”  He got up, and ate and drank; then he went in the strength of that food forty days and forty nights to Horeb the mount of God.

John 6:35, 41-51

Jesus said to them, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.

Then the Jews began to complain about him because he said, “I am the bread that came down from heaven.”  They were saying, “Is not this Jesus, the son of Joseph, whose father and mother we know? How can he now say, ‘I have come down from heaven’?”  Jesus answered them, “Do not complain among yourselves.  No one can come to me unless drawn by the Father who sent me; and I will raise that person up on the last day.  It is written in the prophets, ‘And they shall all be taught by God.’ Everyone who has heard and learned from the Father comes to me.  Not that anyone has seen the Father except the one who is from God; he has seen the Father.  Very truly, I tell you, whoever believes has eternal life.  I am the bread of life.

Your ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness, and they died.  This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die.  I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.”

SHARING THE FEAST

In the name of God, Creator, Savior and Inspiration.  Amen.

This summer, for five Sundays in a row–July 29 through August 26–we are being fed with stories of Jesus as the Bread of Life—chapter 6 of John’s gospel.  I sympathize with one commentator who irreverently wrote, “It’s hard to know how to slice this loaf in appetizing ways five weeks in a row.”

Last Sunday we talked about Jesus as the bread of life which deeply nourishes–unlike some of the other dietary choices we sometimes make.  Sara Lee’s oxymoronic Soft and Smooth Whole Grain White Bread featured largely in that discussion.

In the spiritual sense, we all need–and we all want–the “good life.”  To welcome God into our lives, to allow the Holy Spirit to guide us in creating lives that are meaningful and satisfying– that’s what we hope to do—that’s what we intend to do–but while we’re still thinking about it–life just happens.  As someone once said, “NOT choosing is a choice, too.”  By not making thoughtful choices we can sail down routes we never meant to travel—and miss the ones we might have chosen.  For Christians, Jesus is the North Star.  And in a way, that’s what every one of these five Sundays is all about.

Jesus refers to himself as the bread given by God “for the life of the world” several times.  Bread for anyone who is hungry and thirsty.  God in Jesus fed the five thousand. The four thousand.  The rabbi’s daughter.  He shared meals with all manner of people.  He never told folks that their stomachs didn’t matter.  In fact, he was accused of being a drunkard and a glutton because he didn’t.

He did, however, tell people that although their physical appetites were not unimportant, neither were they the most important things. He cautioned his listeners not to confuse loaves of bread with the heavenly bread that comes from God.  The loaves are important today.  The heavenly bread is important forever.

It’s worth repeating the true story about the children in England during WWII who had been orphaned during the bombing blitzes.  Some of them were starving before they were rescued and put in refugee camps.  But even in the camps where they were fed and cared for, the traumatized children were unable to sleep—until someone thought of giving them a piece of bread to hold. Finally they could sleep, knowing they had eaten that day, and they would be able to eat again tomorrow.*

Like those children, we hold on to the bread which gives us life:  Jesus.  We might call that Step Number One.  Receiving nourishment.

Step Number Two moves us from being recipients of the bread, to being the sharers of the bread.  Once we have found the bread, we are meant to share it with others.  We move from individual thinking to communal thinking.

It’s easy to envision fuller life for ourselves and our friends and families and local, or even regional or national communities.  It’s much more challenging to envision fuller life for the world.  So many complexities, so many diversities….  And yet, “I am the bread of life, come down to give life to the world.”

In essence we are talking about two big and intimidating church words:  “evangelism” and “outreach.”  Both of these are about sharing the bread.  Both can happen in ways large and small.

 Evangelism is one of those things Episcopalians don’t feel completely comfortable about.  They imagine it involves proselytizing about their faith on street corner to all and sundry.   Which is the reason evangelism got a bad rap in the first place–because too many people have used it as a bully pulpit and an excuse to impose their own views about faith on other people—whether those people were interested or not.

We’re a little wiser now; we know that if we live admirably—or to use Jesus’ word, if we live “fully”—we won’t have to make speeches to people.  If they are hungry they will want to know how to find the bread that we’re eating.  And then we’ll have our chance to share the nourishment with them.

Outreach, on the other hand, is both easy–because there is such great need in this world—and daunting—because there is such great need in this world.  There are so many hungry people, so many people with no place to live, so many children without proper shoes or warm clothes for the winter.  It takes ongoing mindfulness and discernment for each of us to know how we can help when the need is so overwhelming.

I mentioned the refugee children in England during WWII.  Carolyn Bohler writes of modern-day refugees:  5-year-old children in Mexico, who drawn pictures showing “crying clouds with sad faces,” and stick-figured dismembered children.  She adds, truly, “That is not life for our world.”

And yet:  “I am the bread of life, I come to bring life to the world.”

This seems to be a Sunday of stories about children, so I have one final one, under the rubric “Step Two:  Sharing the Bread with the World.”

This story is about 5-year-old Anthony, the “adopted grandson” who lives across the street from some friends of ours.

One Friday night Anthony was feeling a little lonely. His older sister was out at some event, and his twin sister was at a party with her ballet class.  Our friend Kathy, his adopted grandmother (also known as “Nina”) did what she could to cheer him up.

So when Kathy asked Anthony what he’d like for dinner, and he replied “Roast beef and mashed potatoes,” she felt badly that time prevented her being able to meet his request.  She replied:  “Well, Anthony,” she said, “I can’t cook it that fast, and you’re hungry now.  But we could have pizza.  Or I would even take you to MacDonald’s.”

Anthony could hardly believe his good fortune, and off they went in the car to MacDonald’s.  He ordered—of course—a Happy Meal.  6 nuggets; not 4. Then, he asked Kathy if he could get something to take home for his twin, too; and she said “yes,” touched that, even at his age, he was willing to share.

When the cashier gave them their total, Anthony declared, “I’m paying tonight, Nina.”  And he pulled two dimes out of his pocket and laid them on the counter.  The cashier was obviously amused and obviously touched.  So was Kathy.  But all she said was, “Thank you, Anthony,” and surreptitiously paid the rest of the bill.

Which is the thing about Step Number Two:  sharing the bread.  You think you’re doing the giving, and you find out that you’re also doing the receiving.  That’s the way it works in God’s economy.

Therefore:  let us share the feast!

Amen.

*See Sleeping with Bread, by the Linns

Sermon, St. Tim’s, Fairfield, August 5, 2012

Exodus 16:2-4, 9-15 and

John 6:24-35

Exodus 16:2-4, 9-15

The whole congregation of the Israelites complained against Moses and Aaron in the wilderness.

The Israelites said to them, “If only we had died by the hand of the LORD in the land of Egypt, when we sat by the fleshpots and ate our fill of bread; for you have brought us out into this wilderness to kill this whole assembly with hunger.”

Then the LORD said to Moses, “I am going to rain bread from heaven for you, and each day the people shall go out and gather enough for that day. In that way I will test them, whether they will follow my instruction or not.

Then Moses said to Aaron, “Say to the whole congregation of the Israelites, ‘Draw near to the LORD, for he has heard your complaining.’” And as Aaron spoke to the whole congregation of the Israelites, they looked toward the wilderness, and the glory of the LORD appeared in the cloud.

The LORD spoke to Moses and said, “I have heard the complaining of the Israelites; say to them,  ‘At twilight you shall eat meat, and in the morning you shall have your fill of bread; then you shall know that I am the LORD your God.’”

In the evening quails came up and covered the camp; and in the morning there was a layer of dew around the camp.  When the layer of dew lifted, there on the surface of the wilderness was a fine flaky substance, as fine as frost on the ground.  When the Israelites saw it, they said to one another, “What is it?” For they did not know what it was. Moses said to them, “It is the bread that the LORD has given you to eat.

John 6:24-35

So when the crowd saw that neither Jesus nor his disciples were there, they themselves got into the boats and went to Capernaum looking for Jesus.  When they found him on the other side of the sea, they said to him, “Rabbi, when did you come here?”  Jesus answered them, “Very truly, I tell you, you are looking for me, not because you saw signs, but because you ate your fill of the loaves.  Do not work for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures for eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you. For it is on him that God the Father has set his seal.”  Then they said to him, “What must we do to perform the works of God?”  Jesus answered them, “This is the work of God, that you believe in him whom he has sent.”

So they said to him, “What sign are you going to give us then, so that we may see it and believe you? What work are you performing?  Our ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness; as it is written, ‘He gave them bread from heaven to eat.’”

Then Jesus said to them, “Very truly, I tell you, it was not Moses who gave you the bread from heaven, but it is my Father who gives you the true bread from heaven.  For the bread of God is that which comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.”  They said to him, “Sir, give us this bread always.” Jesus said to them, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.

BREAD FOR LIFE

There is a lovely—and true—story about a situation in England during World War II.*  After the bombing raids thousands of children were orphaned and left to starve.  And even after they were rescued and placed in refugee camps where they were fed and cared for, the children, afraid of what the next day might bring, were unable to sleep.  Then some brilliant and compassionate person who really understood the deep connection between the needs of the psyche and the needs of the body, suggested that each child be given a piece of bread to hold at bedtime. This comforted the children so that they were finally able to sleep in peace, realizing “Today I ate and tomorrow I will be able to eat again.”

Bread, in some form or other, has been a staple of the human diet for at least 7000 years before the birth of Jesus—although for many in the US, bread as such is no longer such a crucial ingredient in a meal.  Fruits and vegetables and proteins have staked their claim.  Even so, bread is the perfect base for sandwich fixings, or to toast and spread with butter and jam or honey—or even, I’m told, bananas and marshmallow fluff!

But though it may no longer be a central part of diet or mine, for too much of the world bread is a crucial dietary component.  Every day includes baking or purchasing bread.   Not the healthiest diet, but you can live indefinitely on only bread and water.

For the Israelites, wandering and starving in the wilderness, the bread sent by God was mysterious so they called it “manna” meaning “what is it?”  Moses explained, “It is the bread that the Lord has given you to eat.”   The life-saving bread of heaven.

Our gospel passage begins the day after the miracle of the loaves and fishes.  The crowd asks Jesus not “What is it?” but “Please, can we have some more?”  They believe he has the ability to feed them–and they’re right.  But he warns them against preoccupation with only their physical needs.

Jesus never denied the requirements of the flesh.  He fed enormous crowds; and after resurrecting Jairus’ daughter he tells them to “give her something to eat.”  He dines out and goes to parties—once famously turning water into wine.  Add to that his understanding of physical pain—healing was central in his ministry—and we see that he was deeply compassionate and he believed that care of physical needs goes hand in hand with care of spiritual needs.

So when Jesus responds to the crowd’s request for bread with, “Do not work for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures for eternal life,” he is not being unsympathetic, but is seizing the moment to teach them not to confuse bread loaves—which give momentary physical life–with the “bread of God which comes from heaven and gives life to the world.”  This, he explains, is the bread that will leave them truly satisfied.

These days we know about alternatives–bread which is not life-giving but leaves us wanting more. And when we eat badly we are hungry even sooner:  Literally and metaphorically, our blood sugar spikes, then falls, and suddenly we’re starving. The satisfaction doesn’t last.

Michael Pollan’s terrific book, In Defense of Food, offers a startling recommendation: “eat food”—as opposed to what he calls “foodlike substances.” For example, Sara Lee’s Soft and Smooth Whole Grain White Bread is a sad—and hilarious–example of a foodlike substance.  “Whole grain white bread” is a marketing miracle.  The ingredient list contains over 30 items, many unpronouncable.  Pollan writes, this bread is “not food and if not for the indulgence of the FDA couldn’t even be labeled ‘bread.’”

Definitely not “the bread of life.”

When the crowd asks Jesus how they can find this real bread, this  life-giving bread, he points to himself as sent by God specifically to nourish them.  “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.” And the crowd responds, “Sir, give us this bread always.”

This is the bread we want, too. For us, Jesus is the pathway to life eternal.  He also is the pathway to fuller life here and now. He explains elsewhere that he has come to bring us “life abundant.”

Which doesn’t mean abundant “stuff.”  It doesn’t mean being so worried about the construction mess in your garage that you can’t happily welcome old friends to your home. (I was recently guilty of that.)  It doesn’t mean being so busy we neglect those we love most. It doesn’t mean being unable to sit through a meal or a meeting without checking the cell phone.  It isn’t numbing out through addictions—large or small—or relieving our own stress by hollering at somebody else.  And it definitely doesn’t mean getting mad at ourselves when we inevitably do one–or all–of the above!

I suppose, following Pollan’s example, those things might be called “life substitutes” or even “life distractions.”

We are all hungry; we all need that deep nourishment.  And too often we settle for less.

Soon we will gather around the communion table to receive Jesus, the bread of life, the essence of life in God for us; the “last supper” as we sometimes call it.

This is a term which surprised well-known Vietnamese Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh when he heard his Christian friends using it.  He wondered if it could not also be appropriately called “The First Supper” because he knew that after partaking of it, for Christians everything in life can bemade fresh and new.  We will eat “the first supper” together this morning.

Our whole life in Jesus Christ is a banquet, meant to be as thoughtfully eaten as we would any special meal.

Like those children in England, we sleep with bread, we hold what gives us life.  Although our lives and we may not be perfect, we are fed and we have helped to feed the world.

 Let us keep the feast. 

*See Sleeping with Bread:  Holding What Gives you Life, by the Linns

BEACH HOMILY

St. Paul’s, July 8, 2012

Mark 6:1-13

He left that place and came to his hometown, and his disciples followed him.  On the sabbath he began to teach in the synagogue, and many who heard him were astounded. They said, “Where did this man get all this? What is this wisdom that has been given to him? What deeds of power are being done by his hands!  Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary and brother of James and Joses and Judas and Simon, and are not his sisters here with us?” And they took offense at him.

Then Jesus said to them, “Prophets are not without honor, except in their hometown, and among their own kin, and in their own house.” And he could do no deed of power there, except that he laid his hands on a few sick people and cured them.  And he was amazed at their unbelief. Then he went about among the villages teaching.

He called the twelve and began to send them out two by two, and gave them authority over the unclean spirits.  He ordered them to take nothing for their journey except a staff; no bread, no bag, no money in their belts; but to wear sandals and not to put on two tunics. He said to them, “Wherever you enter a house, stay there until you leave the place.

If any place will not welcome you and they refuse to hear you, as you leave, shake off the dust that is on your feet as a testimony against them.” So they went out and proclaimed that all should repent. They cast out many demons, and anointed with oil many who were sick and cured them.

In the name of the Trinitarian God:  Creator, Savior and Inspiration.  Amen.

It’s so good to be on the beach, able to breathe freely and just slow down. Problems never seem quite as overwhelming out in nature.  It’s so easy to feel God’s presence out here.

When I was ordained, one of the statements we were required to make and sign was—and still is:  “I do believe the Holy Scriptures of the Old and New Testaments to be the Word of God, and to contain all things necessary to salvation….”

Which, frankly, seemed pretty self evident.   There’s a lot of writing in those texts—I’m pretty sure that somewhere in there is something to illuminate and transform anyone!

At that point I believed that if we lost all of holy writ, just this phrase from Jesus would keep us on track:  “Love God with all your heart and soul and strength, and love your neighbor just as you love yourself.”

Now I’ve come to believe that just “Love God with all your heart” would be a fine guideline:  for if we truly love God, how can we not love our neighbor and ourselves?

Simple.  It should be simple.

But we love to complicate things.  Most of us say we want to simplify our lives, but we make daily choices that make that impossible.

We long for peace yet we live in ways that tend to stifle it.

We yearn to see and feel God’s presence in our lives—what the church calls “living in the Kingdom of God” for of course God’s Kingdom is simply God’s presence.   But we allow ourselves to be distracted and we turn away from the simple act of opening our eyes, looking within and all around for God, who is as near as the beating of our own hearts.

We seek God in far away places and through exotic methods, and too often we remain unsatisfied.

Jesus teaches us, over and over, that God’s kingdom is near; God’s kingdom is at hand; God’s kingdom is within us.

And like the people in our gospel story, we don’t get it.  Like them, we tend to spurn what is right in front of us.  They assumed the carpenter’s son couldn’t be wise or teach with authority.  He is too “ordinary”; too “unimportant.”  Too familiar.  Remember what Aesop says about familiarity?   It breeds contempt!

When Jesus sends the disciples out on their healing mission to announce the arrival of the Kingdom of God, he prunes away all those complications.  Take what little you need for physical survival, he tells them, leave the iPad at home.  Don’t waste time with people who aren’t interested in your message, don’t waste energy bouncing from house to house; stay in one home and offer the good news—carried in your hearts and minds– that the kingdom is at hand.  That’s all you need.

And the disciples return from the successful mission–Luke elaborates on the story—rejoicing in their power.  And Jesus tells them not to be all excited about “their” power, but rather to rejoice that their names are written in heaven; i.e., that they are members of the Kingdom; children of God; in the presence and care of God.  Their names are written on the heart of God; as God is written in our hearts.

It is that simple.

God within us.  God all around us.

Always.

We don’t need to complicate it.  We don’t need to seek far and wide, high and low–just more deeply within ourselves.

We call this seeking “practicing the presence of God.”  And it will lead us from the shallows to the deep.

Out of suffering into peace.

From complicated …. to simple.

Amen.

In the name of God, Creator, Savior, and Inspiration.  Amen.

Apparently there are over 700 phobias which have been officially named by the psychiatric medical community.  Some—fear of spiders, fear of snakes, fear of flying, fear of heights—are very familiar.  But some are more surprising.  Have you ever heard of “arachibutyrophobia?”  Me either.  That is actually the fear of getting peanut butter stuck to the roof of your mouth.  And apparently enough people suffer from this—and I use the word suffer advisedly—that they actually have a name for it.

If you rank fears based on how many people have them, according to Brett Younger, fear of death is only number two.  Glossophobia (fear of public speaking) is number one!    So apparently lots of people would rather die than do what I’m doing right now–preaching to you!

Fear is just another form of anxiety.  Recently I read that for every twenty people in the U.S., one has a serious and debilitating issue with anxiety.  Not surprising.  We live in anxiety-producing times.  Quite apart from the fact that some of us just seem hard-wired to be fearful worriers, we live in fast times; we work hard and play hard, and global communication has made it possible for every piece of bad or freakish news to pop up for our enjoyment whenever we check our email.  And truly, we do live in a world where very frightening things can and do happen.

But if we think that we today have more reasons to be afraid than any people ever before–that’s just not true.

Look at our reading from 1 Samuel:  David, the teenaged shepherd in charge of his father’s flocks is fighting off lions and tigers and bears to defend those lambs.  (Okay, he doesn’t actually say anything about tigers; but he does mention lions and bears.)  And I for one do not believe that while fighting with a lion or a bear David would never have been afraid.

The biblical writers have clearly romanticized the story a bit, because they make it look as though David was as cool as a cucumber about fighting Goliath, too. His faith removed, they would have us believe, all of his fear about facing Goliath, who was by far the biggest guy in the Philistine’s army.  In fact, the text tells us that Goliath is “six cubits and a span”; that’s nine feet nine inches tall.

Yet, David was so outraged that this man was insulting and defying the Lord and the Lord’s people, that when none of the grownups stepped up to fight, he went to King Saul and insisted that he could take Goliath.  For some crazy reason—fear, I suppose—Saul agreed to let him try.

So they suit David up in armor till he can’t move–and he wisely decides the only way he can fight effectively is his way: no armor, a big serving of faith topped off with plenty of courage—and a slingshot with five smooth stones picked up off the ground.

Goliath takes one look at David and starts taunting him.  He curses him by his foreign gods, and shouts “What, am I a dog, that you come after me with sticks?”  David does a little trash talking of his own—in the name of the Lord–and then he runs at Goliath, sending one of his stones soaring.  And it slips through a chink in Goliath’s armor, sinks into his forehead, and that’s that.

Now, we know a lot about David, and he definitely was neither a fool nor suicidal, so he must have been terrified to go up against Goliath. And that’s the definition of courage.  Feeling the fear and taking action anyway.  David felt the fear, but put his faith in God and his slingshot. He didn’t just sit back and wait for God to take care of business, or to take away all his fear.  He did his part.

Remember the story of the guy who refuses to leave his house during a terrible flash flood, because he has faith that God is going to save him?  He’s not afraid.  He tells the police—no no, I’m not leaving, God’s going to take care of me.  The water keeps rising, and now he’s out on his roof, but he’s still praying loudly to God for deliverance.  Some folks in a boat paddle by, offering to help, but no, he says, God’s will save him.  A rescue helicopter sends down a ladder but, nope, he’s fine, God will save him.  So he ends up drowning, and when he gets to heaven he says to his Maker, I trusted you; I prayed to you for help.  Where were you when I needed you?  And God says, hey, I sent the police, I sent a boat, I sent a helicopter.  Did you think I was gonna make a house call?!

It might have been better for that man if he’d had a little healthy fear to go along with his faith.

In our gospel reading the disciples and Jesus are in a boat together—Jesus is sleeping—and a terrible windstorm blows up, swamping the boat and terrifying the disciples—who were, after all, fishermen, and presumably not easily scared.  Jesus calms the storm and then scolds the disciples for having too much of the one (fear) and not enough of the other (faith.)  Apparently there’s an acceptable balance, and maybe the disciples should have bailed harder before waking Jesus up—maybe they were almost paralyzed by fear.  The story doesn’t tell us, and in fact the disciples are frequently made to look rather foolish in Mark’s gospel.

I confess I don’t think they did that badly.  They were in mortal peril and they instinctively turned to the one they thought might be able to save them.  Jesus, the one who can calm all our fears.

It’s important to remember, though, that we need to do our part.  God gave us brains and bodies for a reason.  Like the two guys in a boat—yet another boat story–headed for the waterfall.  One shouts, “We’re going over!  Pray!  Pray!”  And the other one yells, “You pray—I’ll row!”

We will always have things to worry about and be afraid of.  Faith cannot prevent that from happening.  But if we step out in courage, as David did, and do what we can, we will be reminded that we are not—we are never–alone.

Faith cannot prevent fear; but it can make it manageable.

For God is greater—hands down—than any of our fears–and we can count on that.

Amen.

Sermon, St. Tim’s, Fairfield

June 10, 2012

Pentecost 2

Mark 3:20-35

And the crowd came together again, so that they could not even eat. 

When his family heard it, they went out to restrain him, for people were saying, “He has gone out of his mind.” 

And the scribes who came down from Jerusalem said, “He has Beelzebul, and by the ruler of the demons he casts out demons.”  And he called them to him, and spoke to them in parables, “How can Satan cast out Satan?  If a kingdom is divided against itself, that kingdom cannot stand.  And if a house is divided against itself, that house will not be able to stand.  And if Satan has risen up against himself and is divided, he cannot stand, but his end has come. 

But no one can enter a strong man’s house and plunder his property without first tying up the strong man; then indeed the house can be plundered.

“Truly I tell you, people will be forgiven for their sins and whatever blasphemies they utter; but whoever blasphemes against the Holy Spirit can never have forgiveness, but is guilty of an eternal sin”–for they had said, “He has an unclean spirit.”

Then his mother and his brothers came; and standing outside, they sent to him and called him.  A crowd was sitting around him; and they said to him, “Your mother and your brothers and sisters are outside, asking for you.”  And he replied, “Who are my mother and my brothers?”  And looking at those who sat around him, he said, “Here are my mother and my brothers!  Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother.”

In the name of God, Creator, Savior and Inspiration.  Amen.

 I don’t often start sermons with a joke—not because I don’t like the practice, but because I never seem to have any good ones.  The truth is I only know two jokes:  the first is a dirty joke I learned in 3^rd grade:  “A white horse fell into a mud puddle!”

The second joke for some odd reason has stuck with me for years and seems apropos based on our gospel reading: 

Have you heard that there are three reasons why they are now positive that Jesus was Jewish?

1.      He lived at home till he was thirty. 

2.     He followed his father into the family business. 

3.     His mother thought he was the messiah.

 Although our gospel text from Mark rather contradicts that last statement about Mary thinking Jesus was the messiah.  In this lesson, Mary and Jesus’ brothers (he had at least three) and his sisters (he had at least two) have traveled from Nazareth to Capernaum to “restrain him” because they’re so alarmed by reports of his activities and that people are saying he’s lost his mind.  Presumably, for his own safety and the good name of the family, they have decided to intervene.

Some commentators have tried to soft pedal this text, claiming that Jesus’ family didn’t really think he’d gone round the bend, but scholars of the Jesus Seminar feel sure it’s correct, partly because it’s the kind of thing that wouldn’t have made it into the gospel unless there were some truth in it, since it’s a store that doesn’t fit well with Jesus “image.”  But at least at this point early in his ministry—and quite understandably–Jesus’ mother and siblings thought he should end his public ministry and move home. 

Of course, he’d left home—Nazareth–in the first place because after prophesying God’s judgment on Israel in the local synagogue, he created such an uproar that they almost stoned him.  Which may be why he relocated, leaving his home and his family and making Capernaum, on the north shore of the Sea of Galilee, his base of operations.

He found that the synagogue at Capernaum was much more open to his teaching than the one in Nazareth had been (remember Jesus’ almost ironic comment about prophets not being appreciated in their home town?).  But Mark reports that the folks in Capernaum were “astonished” and amazed at his teaching, because he taught with such personal authority. (Mark 1:22)

Four local fishermen–Peter, Andrew, James and John—down their nets and leave everything to follow Jesus, as does Matthew, the local tax collector–and the seven other members of the twelve.  There were countless other followers, too; people flocked to hear Jesus teach, and to receive his healing touch.

But the criticisms—the accusations that he’d lost his mind or was possessed by a demon—were inevitable because his teaching was so different.  He flouted the Jewish purity codes, he violated the Jewish  Sabbath laws, and he hung around with people on the fringes of society.  And so his family comes to town to try to save him from himself.

Jesus is teaching in a private home when they arrive, and the house is packed:  people standing in the doorway, spilling out into the courtyard, trying to get close enough to hear.  Mary and Jesus’ siblings couldn’t get in, so they sent word inside to him, to please tell the teacher that they were there. “Your mother and brothers and sisters are outside, asking for you.”  But when Jesus gets the message, this is what he says: “My mother and my brothers are here!  Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother.” 

This is a pretty shocking response to his relatives, but as Matthew Skinner points out, if you’re looking for stories of happy, healthy, functional family relationships, the Bible is not going to be on your short list of resources.

To be fair, I think it’s a reasonable assumption that Jesus probably knew—or guessed–why his family had come.  From his viewpoint they weren’t only outside the house; they were outside in their understanding as well.  In his eyes, they were actively trying to prevent him from fulfilling his calling, his mission on God’s behalf.  And if it came to a showdown, he was choosing to follow his Heavenly Father. 

So he rebuffs them—pretty stringently–and also makes it a teaching moment for everyone listening.  He redefines the true family as not being about blood relationships, but rather as being about “doing the will of God.”  His own relatives fall short of that standard, standing in opposition to what he believes is God’s will for him, and so he repudiates their behavior.

We know that Jesus’ relationship with his blood family eventually shifted.  His mother become a devout follower and his brother James, along with Peter, led the church in Jerusalem.  But if pushed, it’s clear that Jesus is willing to let those blood ties go if they interfere with the mission of God.  Remember him telling the man whose father had just died to follow and not wait to bury his father, but to let the dead bury the dead?  Or there’s the time he says he brings not peace, but a sword, and then uses an illustration of a family torn apart by his message.  

 Instead, Jesus visualizes another kind of group that is open to all who wish to join it.  This new community become “family” to one another in their common effort to do the will of God in the world.  All are welcome, all are equal, and all are alike under the will and purpose of God.  (Crossan:  Who Is Jesus?  p. 48)

 Let’s say it one more time:  All are welcome.  All are equal.  All are alike under the will and purpose of God.

I had a conversation with a sixteen-year-old recently.  We were wrestling with her lack of self esteem, and I was trying to help her know herself as a person of worth and value—and I was making some headway.  But then, we really bogged down when I suggested that eventually she might even come to understand that all other people are also worthwhile and valued children of God.

This girl–let’s call her Jennifer–didn’t have so much trouble with the idea that she was special, but she wasn’t so crazy about the idea that everybody else is, too.

We chuckle at this, but most of us feel this way at least sometimes.  The idea that “all are welcome” in the family of God sounds wonderful; truly good news.  But the bad news is, that “ALL are welcome.” Even the ones we don’t like, even the ones we strongly disagree with.  No distinctions of age or class or gender or race or religion or short or tall or anything else you can name. 

ALL who wish to join are welcome into this family.  Jesus’ statement moves the value of human relationships from beyond the biological, into the spiritual.    

We understand this.   We love stories about people who become “family” groups in ways other than biologically.  The kids at Hogwarts school in the Harry Potter series; or the misfits in “Welcome Back, Kotter”; or the gang on Sesame Street!  We even check out YouTube to hear stories about monkeys who become best friends with ducks!  We love it that Jesus feeds the 5000 without asking anybody to prove they deserve it; and that he heals Samaritans and Syrophoenicians and slaves of Roman centurions and the ritually impure and women and lepers and on and on. 

We love hearing about it and reading about it because we know it’s right; it’s what we want to do ourselves.

But it is tough to live it out.  A great big family all being crazy together!   Messy Church, indeed.  We tend to forget that there are just as many people out there in therapy because of us, as the other way around!

You at St Timothy’s have already claimed this new kind of spiritual family relationship for yourselves.  You call yourselves a community of friends following the way of Jesus.  And by doing this, you have committed to living his “way” as best you can. 

His way.  God’s way.  Both the good news and the hard news:  ALL are welcome.

 Amen.

Jeff Who Lives at Home‎ is an R rated comedy directed by the Duplass Brothers.   Actor Jason Segel is Jeff, his mother is played by Susan Sarandon, and Ed Helms plays his older brother.  The award winning film is only showing at our area “arts theater” so I’m not sure how widely it’s playing, but if you get a chance consider seeing it–especially if you like movies that make you chuckle and get a little weepy at the same time–and also that remind you life is all about letting go and new beginnings.

Jeff lives in his mother’s basement, smoking dope and mooching off his mom, and his existence seems stupefyingly aimless.  We soon discover that he is does have a plan:  he is anxiously scanning the universe for signs about what he’s supposed to be doing with his life.   He acts on those signs in some remarkably sad and silly ways as the movie progresses.  So simple a task as purchasing wood glue to fix a shutter (a special birthday favor for his mom) turns into an existential and supernatural odyssey.

As the film moves on we are drawn more deeply into Jeff’s bizarre, seemingly pointless behavior, and it’s soon apparent that his mom and his brother aren’t doing all that well either.  The death of the family’s father has left some serious unfinished business behind.

Yet just when it all seems to be going nowhere, everything shifts and the situation explodes into something completely different.

And we are left feeling less assured about the distracted and overbusy lives most of us lead–and invited to ponder more deeply our own inner purposes.

April 15, 2012

A Sermon for Easter 2

 John 20:19-31

On the evening of that day, the first day of the week, the doors being shut where the disciples were, for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said to them, “Peace be with you.”  When he had said this, he showed them his hands and his side.  Then the disciples were glad when they saw the Lord.  Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you.  As the Father has sent me, even so I send you.”  And when he had said this, he breathed on them, and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit.  If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.”

 Now Thomas, one of the twelve, called the Twin, was not with them when Jesus came.  So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.”  But he said to them, “Unless I see in his hands the print of the nails, and place my finger in the mark of the nails, and place my hand in his side, I will not believe.”

 Eight days later, his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them.  The doors were shut, but Jesus came and stood among them, and said, “Peace be with you.”  Then he said to Thomas , “Put your finger here, and see my hands; and put out your hand, and place it in my side; do not be faithless, but believeing.”  Thomas answered him, “My Lord and my God!”  Jesus said to him, “Have you believed because you have seen me?  Blessed are those who have not seen and yet believe.”

 Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of the disciples, which are not written in this book; but these are written that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that believing you may have life in his name.

In the name of God, Creator, Healer, and Inspiration.  Amen. 

Traditionally, the Sunday after Easter is usually called “Low Sunday.”  No one is exactly sure why this is, and even the illustrious Oxford Dictionary of the Christian Church will only say it’s “probably” called Low Sunday since it follows Easter Sunday, which is the highest, most important feast day of the Christian year.  Although my priest friends would say it has to do with attendance, Easter Day being the mountain-top, and Easter II being down there in some subterranean location!

Another tradition we observe every year on Low Sunday is that our gospel reading is always from John.  It’s always the story of Thomas, the disciple who demands to see and touch Jesus before he (Thomas) will believe Jesus is risen and walking among them again.  Thomas is sometimes referred to in the gospel as Thomas the Twin–although we have no idea who his twin might have been.   Anyhow, “Twin” is not the designation which has stuck to Thomas.  We all know him as–you said it, Doubting Thomas.

I take issue with this nickname and I want to argue for Thomas’ redemption!  Thomas is mentioned four times in John’s gospel, and in two of those incidents he’s revealed as a man of extraordinary loyalty, courage and honesty.  When Jesus is preparing to travel to see the now-dead Lazarus, there was real danger.  (John 11) The disciples knew that the Jewish leaders were on the watch for Jesus at that point.   Yet Thomas tells the other disciples, “Let us also go, that we may die with him.”

Thomas is also the one who responds to Jesus’ famous comment, “I am going ahead to prepare a place for you all, so that you may follow me.”  Thomas anxiously says, “We don’t know where you’re going, Lord.  How can we follow?”  (John 14) He wants to follow; he just wants to know how.

Given these other perspectives, it seems a bit unfair to remember this man only as Doubting Thomas.

Yes, he did say, “Unless I see…the print of the nails, and (touch) the mark of the nails, and place my hand in his side, I will not believe.”  Definitely bold.  Not just, “I need proof,” but “I need Jesus to come and show me proof.”

We may look askance at Thomas’ demand for proof, but Jesus didn’t.  Eight days after he has first seen the disciples—minus Thomas–in that upper room—Jesus reappears.  This is clearly a new Jesus.  He walks in through a wall.  And he knows exactly what Thomas has said to the others about needing to see and touch in order to believe.

Jesus wastes no time.   He greets everyone, then he deals with what is apparently his first order of business.  He turns to Thomas and says, “Go ahead and touch me, see me—and believe.”  Like the shepherd who leaves everything to find that last sheep, Jesus has returned to answer Thomas’ request.  He is determined not to leave this one behind.

And Thomas’ response to Jesus’ action is the strongest declaration of Jesus’ divinity found in the gospels.  Peter hailed him as Messiah.  Thomas goes farther.  He cries out, “My Lord and my God!”  He recognizes God in Jesus, and he allows himself to be changed from honest and bold doubter to devout and bold believer.

Jesus makes four post-resurrection appearances in John.  First, he appears to Mary Magdalene as she stands weeping in the garden.  She is so distraught she doesn’t recognize Jesus when she sees him, mistaking him for a gardener.  Then he calls her by name, and she knows him.

When Jesus comes the second time, he appears to the disciples in that upper room—that’s when Thomas wasn’t there.  The disciples are cowering behind locked doors in well-founded fear for their lives.  But with Jesus’ arrival, like Mary, they are changed: reborn.  They move from one level of belief to a far deeper level of faith.

The third appearance is the one we’ve already talked about—when Jesus comes for Thomas.

The fourth appearance takes place on a beach, just after daybreak, when several of the disciples are fishing–in vain.  Jesus, yet again unrecognized, points out to them where to cast their nets, and only when they catch so many fish that the nets tear, do they recognize him.   They all wind up having a fish fry on the beach.  And after the feast, Peter is given the opportunity to offset his earlier three-time denial of Jesus, with a three-time declaration of his love for Jesus—and for the people Jesus is entrusting to Peter and the others’ care.  All the believers who will come.  All the people like you and me.

The truth is, when we are in great anguish it can be very hard to recognize God with us.  Remember “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

That’s the whole point of the “Footsteps” story, too.  A man, looking back on his life, says to God, “I see two sets of footprints, yours and mine, during my whole life.  Except during the tough times.  Then there are only my footprints.  Where were you then, Lord?”  And God answers, “That’s when I was carrying you.”

Mary is so tightly closed in upon herself that she doesn’t know Jesus until he calls her by name.  The disciples are locked down so tightly in that upper room that Jesus has to arrive through a wall.  And on their fishing expedition they’re so busy thinking about fish that they don’t recognize him then either, until he calls out to them and the fish pile into their nets, tearing them.

But Thomas—the one we disparagingly call Doubting Thomas—Thomas is fully engaged and paying attention.  He wants to see Jesus, he wants to touch Jesus–and he won’t settle for less.  His eyes are wide open and he is waiting.  And Jesus comes. 

There is no wrong way to engage with the Christ.  Whether we are hidden behind locked doors–real ones or the barriers we put up in our minds and hearts–or whether we are waiting and watching for Jesus–there is no force which can prevent his coming to us.

Of course what happens next is up to us: it’s an inside job.  How do we respond to God’s offer of new life?

Whatever our life has been, whatever it is now, Jesus will meet us there and offer us peace.  He can teach us who we really are and all that we can become.

Because here’s what I know:  God’s specialty in Christ is making all things—including us–new.    

Amen.

The Great Litany of the Anglican Church (p. 148 in the Episcopal Church Book of Common Prayer) was created by Archbishop Thomas Cranmer sometime in the 1540′s.   The BCP recommends its use particularly in Lent or on Rogation days.  (Rogation days are special days which used to be set aside for prayers dedicated to fruitful harvests.  My only acquaintance with them was as the days when I, as a postulant for holy orders, was required to send a letter to my diocesan bishop giving him an update on my “process.”  That experience hasn’t left me with a fondness for Rogation days, I confess.)

Bottom line:  litanies are lists–like laundry lists–of things that we want to remember or things that we want to communicate.

Lately I’ve been noticing all the ways in which we constantly create litanies ourselves.

The Great Litany of the church is officially explained as “a long intercessory rite involving extensive use of versicles and responses.” (A New Dictionary for Episcopalians by Rev. John N. Wall, Jr.)

The “versicles and responses” part of that description makes me think of my nephew Andy, a young man who is hyperlexic (on the autism spectrum) and who loves to call his cousin–my son Eric–for a weekly or semi-weekly chat.  Andy’s format for the call is his recitation of a litany of names:  people, cleaning products, stores, and different towns or states.   After Andy names each one, Eric is expected to cantor it back to him.  This mostly goes smoothly, but once in a while Andy tosses in some store name that we are unfamiliar with in New England–Andy lives in the Midwest–and then things get more interesting.  Sometimes my sister Nancy needs to step in with a clarifying word before Andy gets too frustrated, but generally the whole ritual is pleasantly predictable.

Not quite so pleasant are the litanies of scarcity.  I am guilty of recitation of those.  The favorite pattern is simply to list all the things you have to do with an emphasis on how little time you have to get it all done.  Presumably the one reeling off the lists thinks that the listener will feel sorry for her impossible schedule–but these days everyone is so crazy busy that it’s just as likely the person listening will respond with a list of her own.  “Oh, I know.  When I leave here I’ve got the dentist, the school fair planning meeting, then pick up the kids, then get the dog from the groomer and get home in time to get dinner on because tonight there’s that meeting at church.  Unbelievable.”  This is competitive litanizing, and with our current schedules and lack of time to really listen to each other, we often get right up there to Olympic Gold standard.   (It takes a comment by somebody like Willie Wonka to turn this whole mess on its head.  Remember the famous line?  “So much time, and so little to do.”  Perfect.)

There are many litanies of scarcity, and lots of popular ways to create them.  Balancing the budget is always a winner.  The litany here goes something like:  Okay, $50 for Janey’s new jeans, $75 for Johnny’s new sweater, $250 to the plumber, $150 to the car mechanic, $2000 for the house payment, $750 for the insurance, $5000 for gasoline” (yep, I mean that)  “$400 for groceries, $100 for the cell phone, $150 for electric–adds up to, omg…and then subtract that from the paycheck….And we have a total of $49.72 left to spend for the next week.  Well, we can do that if we just cut out the trip to the county fair and if I don’t buy any junk food at the store–that means I need to leave the kids home when I go although that means hiring a babysitter which I can’t afford–and if we don’t eat out anywhere and if I don’t…..” and you’re off and running on yet another litany.

For the most part litanies–and I include the Great Litany of the church here–don’t make us feel any better at all.  Which is odd, because generally it seems as though they’re meant to make us feel better.   But really, why would lists of complaints about other people, of things we can’t afford to buy or that we bought anyway, of things that we should have done but didn’t, of how we have way more to do than time to do it in–why would those make us feel any better?  (NB:  Is that previous sentence a litany?  Maybe so, because I don’t feel any better having written it.  )

Anyhow, there is one litany I use that I discovered years ago.  And it does, unfailingly, make you feel better.  It’s an alphabetical litany.  When you’re on your walk or in the shower or driving to work or waiting for the kids to come out of school or wherever you may be with a few minutes to spare–you go through the alphabet and for each letter you come up with a word (or words) that’s a feel-good word; a healthy word, a blessing word, a love word.  And by the time you’re done, you feel better.  Guaranteed.  It must change the way your brain is working and the chemicals it’s producing, or something.  I wholeheartedly recommend it.  Intriguingly, when you’re in a negative mood, the first words that pop into your head will be negative.  Fascinating.  But if you persevere you can shift things.

So.  Examples.  A:  Andy, Amanda, adventure    B:  babies, beautiful     C:  Chris, Christ, creation     D:  Danny, divine, delight     E:  Eric, evolve, effervescent, energy     F:  fun, flower     G:  God, good, glad     H:  happiness, health     I:  illuminate, illustrious, iridescent    J:  Jim, Jesus, joy     K:  kite, kindness     L:  laughter, love, liberate

You get the idea–try it and see what you think.  Drug free.  Sugar free.  Fat free.  Absolutely FREE and freeing in every way.

We are created in God’s image.  We are spirit enfleshed, as Jesus was.  This is an inescapable and sacred part of our being on this earth.  Our spirit-infused bodies—or perhaps I should say our bodily-infused spirits—bring us great joy and also great challenges.

Jesus’ life is a testimony to this—right down to his horrific and physically agonizing death.  He knew what it was to live in-carnate; in-the-flesh.  Wherever he went, he healed, through touch, forgiveness, by simply looking at someone—i.e., through the power of the Holy Spirit.  I love to remember that the same Greek word that means “to heal” also means “to save.”  Jesus came to save us, and Jesus came to heal us.  Jesus is our savior; we can also, truly, call him our healer.

We, too, bear our part in this ministry.  Like Jesus, we are children of God; Jesus is our brother in Spirit—literally.  God’s kingdom—meaning the presence of God or God’s Holy Spirit—is within us.  Mystically.  And, again, literally.  We are well-connected.  So it is no surprise that healing miracles can and do happen on a regular basis.  We can expect a miracle.

A few points about healing.

First, although people are not always cured of an illness, healing always happens when we ask for it.   Always.

Second, it is possible that, in hindsight, we may feel thankful for some physical dis-ease which seemed awful at the time.  I can state unequivocally that had I not had cancer, I would not be speaking to you about healing.

Sooner or later we all grapple with the question, “Why do good people, with wonderful positive attitudes and loads of prayer support, get sick or even die?”  We simply do not always know.  Accepting this is an important part of our journey; learning to trust that God is Goodness, and that God does NOT inflict pain, but can use the inevitable pain we will experience in this life, to move us into another, deeper way of being.  Think crucifixion and resurrection.

Jesus taught—over and over—that we should ask for what we need—over and over!  He encourages us to seek, and to trust that we will find.  Our prayers are always heard and answered, even when it seems to take forever—because some things have to happen before other things can happen–or when the answer is not what we expected—or wanted.

The early church carried on the healing ministry Jesus had modeled for them.  We see that in the pastoral letter of James.  The laying on of hands, anointing, prayer—all of these continue in the church, 2000 years later.

And equally important to remember:  Jesus never turned anyone away when they came seeking healing.  Never.

So whoever we are, and wherever we may be on our spiritual journies and in our need for healing, we are all invited to approach our God, and to place our trust in the healing grace and power of the Holy Spirit.

Amen.

(a sermon for Lent 5)

based on John 12:20-33

Now among those who went up to worship at the festival were some Greeks.  They came to Philip, who was from Bethsaida in Galilee, and said to him, “Sir, we wish to see Jesus.”  Philip went and told Andrew; then Andrew and Philip went and told Jesus.  Jesus answered them, “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified.  Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.  Those who love their life lose it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life.  Whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there will my servant be also. Whoever serves me, the Father will honor. 

 ”Now my soul is troubled. And what should I say–’ Father, save me from this hour’? No, it is for this reason that I have come to this hour.  Father, glorify your name.” Then a voice came from heaven, “I have glorified it, and I will glorify it again.”  The crowd standing there heard it and said that it was thunder. Others said, “An angel has spoken to him.”  Jesus answered, “This voice has come for your sake, not for mine.  Now is the judgment of this world; now the ruler of this world will be driven out.  And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.”  He said this to indicate the kind of death he was to die.

One Friday night not long ago I found myself wanting something light and preferably humorous to read.  So I decided to prowl through my middle son’s bookcase, which—although he lives in Manhattan now—still retains a number of books which I’d been thinking looked pretty interesting as I dusted them.   I was right.  On the shelf I found a book that turned out to be just the ticket.

Declaring itself to be a #1 National Bestseller, it was a sort of wacky memoir written in short and amusing essays.  The book was titled Me Talk Pretty One Day, written by David Sedaris, a popular contemporary author of real excellence, known to everyone on the planet but me, apparently.  His very irreverent book made me laugh out loud.

One of the most amusing, and for me most thought provoking, sections of the book comes when Mr. Sedaris, who is an American, relocates to France, and signs up to take an evening French class in Paris.   The class contains people from a number of primarily Christian countries—and one Muslim woman from Morocco—all just beginners in the French language.   One memorable evening the teacher invites the class to exercise their rudimentary vocabulary by trying to explain to the Muslim woman—in French–what Easter is.   Here is a sampling of how the various students’ explanations translated.

“’It is a party for the little boy of God who call his self Jesus….and then he die one day on two…morsels of lumber.’”

“He die one day and then he go above of my head to live with your father.”

“He weared of himself the long hair and after he die, the first day he come back here for to say hello to the peoples.”

“He nice, the Jesus.”

“He make the good things, and on the Easter we be sad because somebody makes him dead today.”

Mr. Sedaris goes on to muse that nouns like “cross” and “resurrection” were way beyond their grasp, but then he pauses to wonder if, even without the language barrier, he and his classmates could have made any sense of this piece of Christianity.  After all, it’s an idea, he writes, “that sounds pretty far-fetched to begin with.”

He has a point.  The early Christians had a similar problem.  How do you find the words to make sense of an all powerful messiah who dies on a cross, overcome by the Roman and Jewish leaders?  How do you defend as an act of strength—crucifixion–what appears to be an act of weakness?

This was—and is–a deeply complicated theological issue.  In the early days bitter arguments raged between the more “traditional” Christians versus the Gnostic Christians; a battle which the “traditional” group won through sheer numbers–and just to be sure everybody knew who’d won, they labeled the Gnostics heretics.

The struggle over this theological dilemma goes on today, because we still profess a faith to which Jesus’ death and resurrection is central.  Each of us must somehow come to a meaningful understanding of Jesus’ death.  An understanding which not only makes some sort of sense regarding the “why” and “how” of what happened, but that also explains what it has to do with our lives—with you and me.

In the passage from John’s gospel this morning, we hear Jesus’ own understanding of his death; what, to him, is the most important reason why this terrible thing needs to happen.

He claims that his death will have power.  It will not be the futile death of a powerless victim.  It will be a death like the explosive and powerful transformation of a seed. “Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.”

Within the earth, the seed spends itself; it breaks open and dies as a seed, in order to become the plant.  From the insignificant acorn will come the mighty oak.  From the tiniest seed imaginable grows the sturdy mustard bush.   The tiniest of beginnings can produce plants which are able, through sheer perseverance, to crumble rock, and make a place to live and grow in the most inhospitable environment.

This is how Jesus describes his death.  Like a seed, falling into the ground and dying as a seed—yet transforming into the strong plant, which in turn will bear “much fruit.”

What fruit, we may ask, did Jesus believe would grow from his death?  “When I am lifted up from the earth,”—he said, referring no doubt to both the lifting of the cross and the lifting of the resurrection and ascension– “when I am lifted up from the earth, I will draw all people to myself.”  This is what makes his death not just bearable, but powerful and fruitful: we, you and me, Christians everywhere, our existence and our actions—we are the fruit.

The power of his death is not only in the fruit it bears.  There is also power in his willingness.  He could have chosen to do otherwise–“Now my soul is troubled,” he confesses. “And what should I say—‘Father, save me from this hour’?”

But instead of asking for rescue, he recognizes and accepts his path. “No, it is for this reason that I have come to this hour.”  He acknowledges and dismisses the possibility of asking God to release him from the cruel death which awaits.  He chooses to do what he came to do.  To live a life which would inevitably end in his death—but that death that would change the world.  Jesus may be in one sense a victim, but he is a willing victim.  His choice transforms him from hapless victim to sacrificial victim.  And in true sacrifice there is great power.

Jesus knew well where his ministry of preaching, teaching, and healing might lead.  He was aware of the fate of his kinsman, John the Baptist, beheaded for speaking unwelcome truths to Herod Antipas.   Jesus could have made other choices.  He could have run, quietly relocated, or gone underground.  He could have minimized the radical impact of his ministry, making it more socially acceptable.  Barbara Brown Taylor points out that Jesus knew well he was crossing the sort of power lines most likely to get him electrocuted.

And so, he chooses to face a death at the hands of broken humanity; an ugly and violent death—a sign of the refined cruelty of the times in which he lived; a forgiving death, which he lived out all the way to his last breath; a nonresistant, deliberately self sacrificial death.  He purposely became the grain of wheat, dead and broken open, which can grow into mighty wheat fields, into us.

Passing through the darkness of the tomb, Jesus led the way for us, his harvest, into the light.  The power of his death was transformed from the murder of a victim, into the willing sacrifice of a savior.

Amen.