Unexpected Brothers and Sisters

A Sermon for the Sixth Sunday of Easter, Year B – Acts 10:44-48; 1 John 5:1-6; John 15:9-17

In this season after Easter, we hear many of the stories of Jesus after his resurrection, of his appearing to the disciples, of the earliest witnesses coming to terms with what Jesus’ death and resurrection meant to them and to the world.  But we also get to hear stories of this same group of people, fast-forwarded a few years into the days of the Early church.  We hear stories of Peter and Philip and the other disciples, now apostles, from this book, aptly entitled, the Acts of the Apostles.

The lesson from Acts this morning is clearly a snapshot of the end of an event during the formative days of the Early Church, with Peter preaching the good news of Jesus the Christ to crowds who have never heard the story.  What we don’t hear is the sermon that Peter preached that lead to these unexpected events recorded in today’s lesson.   Preceding even the sermon, in the beginning of chapter 10 of the Acts of the Apostles is even more background.

You may recall that the church immediately after the resurrection and ascension of Jesus found itself in a bit of a quandary.  It was an identity crisis.  The original followers of Jesus, his immediate apostles and the rest of those who chose to follow Jesus, were all Jews.  The men had been circumcised, had been raised in Jewish communities, and they even continued to keep the Law with dietary restrictions and other holiness codes even after Jesus’ ascension.

Well, as the gospel spread, more and more gentiles heard the story of Jesus.  They were joining the movement and it was quickly looking less like a localized Jewish sect started by some rabbi to an international movement.  No event could have been more symbolic than the day of Pentecost – the day that the spirit fell on them in a new way — the story of the powerful deeds of God was spoken aloud in many strange and foreign tongues.  It would seem that the Spirit was determined not to be contained, but rather to move like the wind, defying expectation.

But the question remained – what to do with these gentile converts?  Do they need to become Jews first?  Must the men be circumcised? Should they follow the Law in order to be followers of Jesus?  Jesus hadn’t prepared them for this.  The early Christians were forced to decide for themselves what to do with these unexpected brothers and sisters.  Would they be second-class citizens in God’s kingdom?  Would they ever be allowed to be leaders of God’s people?

Last week we heard the story of the Ethiopian Eunuch in Acts 8 who became another example of an unexpected follower of Jesus.  Philip even baptized him in a very unexpected, surprising place.

At the beginning of chapter 10, we hear the story of yet another of these unexpected followers – Cornelius the Centurion.  We are told Cornelius was a devout man, even though he was a gentile.  He gave alms generously and that he prayed constantly.  Well Cornelius has a vision of an angel telling him that his prayers have been heard by God.  The angel also told him to send someone to go find Peter.

Meanwhile, Peter himself has a vision, or what the reading calls a “trance.”  In this trance Peter sees a sheet descending from heaven and spreading on the ground.  On it are all kinds of animals, four-footed animals, birds and even reptiles, the writer of Acts notes.  Peter is told in the trance to “kill and eat.”  But not all of the animals on the sheet are clean.   To this day, not all animals are kosher, so Peter objects – I’ve never eaten anything unclean.  But the response Peter hears is clearly what he is meant to take away from this encounter, “What God has made clean, you must not call profane.”  And at that moment the servants sent by Cornelius to find Peter arrive at the house.  God has good timing.

Peter ultimately meets with Cornelius and Peter himself comes face to face with someone like the Ethiopian Eunuch, and unexpected follower of Jesus.  And so it is in this context that Peter is preaching the sermon that immediately precedes today’s lesson.  Shew!

Peter’s sermon that day began with these monumental words, words that would reverberate throughout the early church – “Truly, I understand that God shows no partiality.”  Peter goes on to give eyewitness testimony to the life and ministry of Jesus, and tells some of his own story.

But then the Holy Spirit interrupts Peter.  It would seem this Spirit isn’t very good at following the program.  The Spirit interrupted at Pentecost and again here.  What is even more remarkable is what happens in this gentile setting – the day of Pentecost had been in Jerusalem, but this was in Caesarea, a town full of Romans and other gentiles.  The Holy Spirit falls on this gathering, much like at the day of Pentecost.  The results are very similar – people speaking in tongues and praising God.  But the shocking fact is that these people hadn’t received water baptism yet.

Peter and the others are astounded.  These gentiles, not even officially converts yet, are filled with the same spirit of God as the apostles!  What do we do now Peter?  “Quick,” Peter says, “Baptize them!”  So these gentiles are given water baptism en masse.

God’s expectations and plans are not always what we can predict.  In those early days of the church God did amazing and unexpected things, bringing into the followers of Jesus unexpected people.  It has often been said that God’s spirit doesn’t follow a clear path, but instead works in a trajectory, drawing us toward God’s kingdom.

Perhaps the lesson from John predicted this trajectory.  Jesus seems to speaking almost in a riddle.  “If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love.  This is my commandment that you love one another as I have loved you.”

The commandments of God that defined the Jewish nation were many, but Jesus has simplified what it means for his followers to keep his commandments – love.  And the epistle from I John has a similar meditation – if we love God, we will keep God’s commandment to love.

This spirit was doing remarkable things in the early church, driven by love, breaking down barriers, confounding expectations.  This same spirit is among us today, guiding the church to new places, unexpected places.

In 2003, the people of the Diocese of New Hampshire elected Gene Robinson to be their bishop, despite those who demanded that he was eligible, not worthy.  God’s spirit confounded expectations, and I don’t know if you’ve ever seen footage of when his election was announced, but the cathedral in Concord erupted in exuberant celebration.  God’s spirit is still moving.

I’ll never forget the stories told of General Convention 2006 – the national gathering of Episcopalians.  At this convention, delegates were electing the new Presiding Bishop – the Bishop who serves as the leader of other bishops and serves as our national bishop, of sorts.  Something unexpected happened, God’s spirit moved and elected, of all things, a woman!  Just thirty years after the church finally consented to allow women to be priests, God’s spirit, God’s wisdom told us it was time for a woman to lead us.  I don’t know if you saw some of the memorabilia from that Convention, but one of my favorites was the button many people wore after Katherine’s election that simply read, “It’s a girl!”  The spirit of excitement that spread throughout the gathering was much like the excitement of the day of Pentecost.  Clearly God’s spirit continues to confound expectation, to break down the rules and regulations we set up for ourselves.  God’s spirit will not be contained.

We here in Southwest Virginia are listening to the Holy Spirit as we seek our next bishop.  We’ve been sharing our hopes and dreams for the future.  But what we cannot predict is where God’s spirit may take us.  What’s next?  God’s spirit is moving.  Stay tuned!  Amen.

Wanted: A Good Shepherd

A Sermon for the Fourth Sunday of Easter, Year B – Acts 4:32-37; I John 3:1-8; Psalm 23; John 10:11-16

“The Lord is my shepherd.  I shall not want.”  These are perhaps the most familiar words in all of Scripture.  They are as old as King David, and even though very few of us have ever worked with flocks of sheep, we have no problem inhabiting this Psalm.  “I am the good shepherd,” Jesus proclaims in this passage from John’s Gospel, appropriating to himself the role and the imagery of David’s meditation.

Today, the fourth Sunday of Easter, is traditionally known as Good Shepherd Sunday.  All of the readings, and yes, most of the hymns, follow this theme.  It is one quite familiar and accessible. They are very much “comfortable words,” and it is the task of the preacher to sit down with these passages and ask, sometimes with exasperation, “Is there anything new I can say?”  It may seem that everything that needs to be said has been said already.

And yet, our ears and our spirits hear these familiar, comfortable words differently from year to year.  We are not the people we were just one year ago on this Sunday.  Our lives have changed, even if just a little.  A passage such as Psalm 23 may have been with us as a companion as it were all along the journey of our lives.  As a child we may have identified with the loving Jesus in flowing robes, seated by a babbling brook, cradling a tiny lamb in his arms.  At other times we may find ourselves walking through the valley of the shadow of death.  Still other times we may have experienced the chastising protection of the shepherd, what some would call the “business end” of God’s rod and staff.

With this in mind, I was inspired as I contemplated this fact to look back and revisit some of the past sermons I have preached on this Sunday, glancing backward at a bit of a timeline in my life, the life of this town, and the life of this parish.

In past sermons I have told the story of Corrie ten Boom, the Dutch woman who, with her family, was taken off to concentration camps because they hid Jews from the Nazis during World War II.  I have told the story of Judy Shepard, whose son Matthew as killed for being gay, and how this mother’s heart, broken in her loss, has become strong and courageous as she continues to speak out for other children on the margins.  In 2007, this Sunday was the first time I preached after the shootings on campus, and I wrestled with our emotions and questions during those difficult days: where was our shepherd when we needed him?  How can we be shepherds to a flock of hurting and frightened young sheep?

Yet, it was my sermon on this Sunday from 2006 that found some particular resonance this year.  In 2006, we as a parish were in the midst of searching for our next rector after the departure of Clare and her family.  This year we as a diocese are finding our feet on a similar path.  We are reflecting and dreaming as we begin the process of calling a new bishop.  It is as if we have hung a sign on the front of every Episcopal parish in Southwestern Virginia – Shepherd Wanted.

As Neff often tells the children of any parish he visits, the bishop is a shepherd.  The bishop’s crozier, that staff he carries, is inspired by a shepherd’s crook, used to both herd and defend the sheep under his or her care.

Recently, the clergy of the diocese were called together to be in conversation about this very important time as we call the next bishop, who will be for us both a spiritual leader and one who can make our jobs much easier.  As part of this day, we were invited to reflect back over the bishops we have known in our lives.  We told stories about good shepherds in our past, those who touched our lives in meaningful and helpful ways.  Likewise some of us also had stories about bad shepherds, those who for whatever reason, rubbed our wool the wrong way or were downright negligent or even harmful.

The quality and the character of our next bishop will very much determine what kind of flock we would like to become, where we would like to be led and what kind of other sheep we would like to attract to our little corner of the fold.

We never know who God is going to raise up.  Sure we could make a safe choice, but as the Holy Spirit works in this process, we might find that God has some surprises for us as well.  As our church embraces our increasing diversity, recognizing gifts for ministry in women, people of color, gay and lesbian clergy, and even internationals, we dare not assume that our next bishop will look like any of our previous bishops.

There are unlikely shepherds like Barnabas, this faithful follower of Christ from Cyprus who gave so generously to the church.  This passage is just the beginning of Barnabas’s story.  Barnabas was one of the few who stood by the Apostle Paul immediately after his conversion when most others were either afraid of him or skeptical of his claim to have changed.  Barnabas not only defended Paul when it wasn’t the popular thing to do, but he was also an integral part of the beginning of Paul’s missionary journeys.  Barnabas broke with convention, himself an unlikely shepherd, and helped raise up an even more surprising shepherd – Paul.

The person we call to be our shepherd, no matter what their resume and biography look like, must be that person we sense is God’s choice to guide us, to comfort us, to challenge us, and to lead us into the future, deeper into our mission as a diocesan family, as a flock of faithful sheep.  The shepherd we call must not forget that she or he is still very much a sheep, just as in need of a shepherd as we are if not more so.  The shepherd we call must be listening for the voice of the Good Shepherd and teaching us how to listen for it as well.  And the shepherd we call must be committed to the vision Jesus shows us at the end of the gospel lesson.  There are other sheep out there.  Are we prepared to welcome them in, no matter how crowded the sheepfold may get, or noisy or colorful?  Jesus’ vision is of a unified flock under one shepherd.  The shepherd we call must be of the same mind as our Lord.  We are sheep, and God has provided for us all in the meal we are about to share.  May we come to this table trusting God’s future for us and that God will speak.  Most of all come to this table believing that we will hear God’s voice over the coming months and that we will have the courage and the strength to obey.

Wanted: A Good Shepherd.  Amen.

Jesus Eats, Teaches, Sends

A Sermon for the Third Sunday of Easter, Year B – Luke 24:36b-48

Well, here we are again, back in a locked room with fearful disciples who are suddenly surprised to find a very risen Jesus standing before them.

The Gospel reading today recounts one of the resurrection appearances of Jesus to his disciples, but this time from Luke’s account.  This may well be based on the very same encounter as the one from John that Thomas missed out on, but Thomas is not a focus of Luke’s story here.  In fact, it’s only in John’s account that Thomas is portrayed as the doubter, which has led scholar Elaine Pagels to wonder aloud, “I wonder what Thomas did to make John mad?”

This particular encounter with Jesus in Luke’s account happens immediately after his appearance to two of Jesus’ disciples who were making a journey from Jerusalem to Emmaus, just a few miles away.

Now, these disciples were not from among the twelve, so we speculate that they were from among the 70, the group just outside the inner circle of the twelve. Whoever they are, they are making the day-long journey from Jerusalem to Emmaus with rumors of Jesus’ resurrection ringing in their ears, but they cannot bear to hope for such a miracle.  Then a stranger comes along side them on the road and begins to instruct them how all of the events of the last few days, the triumphal entry, the betrayal of Jesus, his trial and crucifixion, and yes, even his resurrection, had been foretold in the Hebrew Scriptures.

These disciples invite their new friend to stop and break bread with them in Emmaus before he continues on his journey.  When this stranger blesses and breaks the bread, they know him to be the Lord, but immediately he vanishes from their sight.  Filled with joy and hope, they rush back to Jerusalem to tell the other disciples.

So here we are in today’s lesson.  These two disciples have arrived in Jerusalem from Emmaus and are recounting their tale to the other disciples gathered in this locked room, when suddenly Jesus appears to them.

He speaks words of comfort to them and encourages them not to doubt his resurrection.  He even provides them with the ultimate proof, the same proof he offers Thomas in the other account, “Touch me.  See that I am no ghost.  I am flesh and blood.”

But then there comes this curious request of the Lord.  “Do you have anything to eat?”

Was Jesus hungry?  Perhaps he was, as all these resurrection appearances must surely be tiring.  But I’m not sure hunger was primarily on his mind.

So why did he ask them for food?

I see a recurring theme in these accounts of Jesus visiting with his disciples after his resurrection in his last days on this earth – Jesus wants to fellowship with them.  But here they offer him fish and he eats it, “in their presence,” Luke specifically points out.  Jesus likes food.  Food is good.  Sharing food with those you love is even better.  In another famous account in John Jesus even fixes the disciples breakfast.

What better proof of his resurrected humanity than eating food with them, just like they had done in the upper room only a few nights before.  The disciples in Emmaus had only seen him break the bread, but now they were seeing Jesus actually have a meal.

There is something intimate and sacramental in just sharing a meal – we often miss this in our disposable, fast food culture, but even today in Middle-Eastern culture, hospitality and sharing a meal is highly important to the daily functioning of life.

But Jesus does not just eat with them.  He teaches them.

Just as he had done with the two on the way to Emmaus, Jesus showed this group all of the scriptures that prefigured his life, death and resurrection.  All of scripture, all of the history of the Jewish people before this point had been leading up to this one man, his life, his sacrificial death and now his miraculous resurrection.

I love how understated Luke’s account his here, “He opened their minds to understand the scriptures.”  The writer of Luke is pointing all of the followers of Jesus who were hearing or reading this account in those first generations of Christians to look back and study the Hebrew Scriptures.  Look for Jesus there.  You’ll find him!  It’s as if Jesus, through Luke, is giving them permission to appropriate all of Jewish tradition as their own, even Gentile followers like Theophilus to whom Luke was supposedly addressed.

But again, Jesus does not stop with teaching.  He’s got news for the disciples.  This was the first day of the rest of their lives.

In almost a preamble to the great commission that he gives them just before his ascension, Jesus reminds his followers that “repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem.”

Where were they gathered?  Jerusalem.  Jesus was getting them ready to be sent out to proclaim the good news to all the nations.  He has given them their marching orders.

What are the last words we heard in today’s gospel lesson – they are significant ones for them and for us:  “You are witnesses of these things.”

Flash forward just a few weeks into the future and we read the account from our first lesson today from the Acts of the Apostles, which was, tradition tells us, written by the same author as the Gospel of Luke.  This account in Acts finds Peter proclaiming the good news in Jerusalem.  This is Peter, passing along everything that Jesus had taught them.  Peter is acting as a first hand witness of God’s truth.  Peter?  Is this the same man who denied Jesus three times on Good Friday?  Is this the same fisherman who would not let Jesus wash his feet?

What a miraculous change in Peter!  What could possibly have happened to him?  Is there anything that takes place between these two lessons that could explain Peter’s transformation from a relatively loud-mouthed but cowardly follower to a man who powerfully proclaims the good news of Jesus Christ.

The only answer is the day of Pentecost.  We are in the Easter season now, but we are headed for the Ascension and then Pentecost!  Peter is a changed man, and the truth he proclaims so boldly here in Acts is the very truth that Jesus is reminding them of in this resurrection appearance in Luke.

So, where are we in all of this?

Well, we who call ourselves followers of Christ, or Christians, we too are witnesses to his death and resurrection.  We who are gathered here receive food from the Lord’s Table. We even quote from the Emmaus story in Prayer C, “Risen Lord, be known to us in the breaking of the bread.”  But we also reach out, doing that evangelism that Jesus ordered his first disciples to do.  Now, our evangelism may not look like that of other Christians.  We don’t go door to door, or hand out tracts, or lead people in the sinner’s prayer, and yet we reach out, proclaiming the good news of the kingdom of God.

At Christ Church we take mission and outreach very seriously.  The very fact that I am standing before you this morning is that you as a congregation think that college students are important people, people worth caring for and reaching out to.

Next week, a loyal bunch of parishioners will transform the Great Hall into Yard Sale Central.  The proceeds from the yard sale will go directly to the various outreach ministries here.  Whether it is working with the American Indian Ministry or our Sister Parish in Guatemala or supporting Anglicans in the Sudan or the food pantry or the Interfaith Childcare Center, or any of the other ministries I could mention, Christ Church is serious about reaching out and touching the world around us in the name of Christ.  This is the resurrection joy we hear about in these readings.

We are Christ’s body, broken and given to the world.  Every time we reach out, whether it is through tangible outreach ministries like those here at the church, or just in our day-to-day lives when we try to live our lives for justice, we fulfill the mission Jesus called us to.

So as we receive food and drink from the Lord today, the nourishment he provides, the way-bread to strengthen us for the journey, let us truly go forth in the name of Christ, rejoicing in the power of the spirit.  Let us go forth to love and serve the Lord, and let us bless the Lord.

St. Augustine, in his Easter sermon puts it this way, “You are the body of Christ. In you and through you the work of the incarnation must go forward. You are to be taken; you are to be blessed, broken, and distributed; that you may be the means of grace and the vehicles of eternal charity.” Amen.

Good Friday

Meanwhile, standing near the cross of Jesus were his mother, and his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene.  When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing beside her, he said to his mother, ‘Woman, here is your son.’  Then he said to the disciple, ‘Here is your mother.’ And from that hour the disciple took her into his own home.

The image of Jesus on the cross is perhaps one of the most common religious images we have in western culture.  But many depictions of the crucifixion feature either the image of Jesus, suffering on the cross, or a simple empty cross silhouetted against the sky.  I don’t feel drawn to these images nearly as much as ones that depict one simple fact: Jesus was not alone as he was dying on the cross.

Maybe because of Hollywood or the myriad sentimental paintings throughout history, we often picture places like the stable in Bethlehem, the Upper Room, scene of the Last Supper, or Golgatha where Jesus was crucified as intimate, quiet moments.  But does this correspond to the reality of the times?  Absolutely not!  What we miss are the noises, the crowds, even the smells of what “real life” would have been like in the time of Jesus.

One of my favorite paintings of the Last Supper is by Tintoretto.  It isn’t at all like the carefully composed vision of Leonardo.  The room is crowded and bustling, the painting dark and chaotic.  It’s hard to pick Jesus out of the crowd.  But in reality MANY more people would have been present besides Jesus and the twelve disciples.  The Upper Room would have been alive with the business that accompanies a big dinner.  There are many times when Jesus needs to go off by himself or with a small group of disciples.  One such moment was immediately following the Last Supper.  Jesus and the disciples sought some solitude in Gethsemane.

Jesus was not alone when he died, far from it.  There would have been soldiers and bystanders as we hear in the narratives in the gospels.  Perhaps the family of the others being crucified would have been there as well.  I fear we have overly romanticized the scene at the cross, as if everyone there knew who this was dying between two thieves.  The vision of everyone standing still to gaze upon Jesus as he breathed his last is firmly embedded in many of our minds.  It makes for nice paintings and movie scenes, but reality was no doubt much more chaotic.  Could people even have heard Jesus’ last words over the din?  Was the centurion moved to faith because he was close enough to hear, to see the faces of Mary and the other mourners?

In this reading from John, we hear of this group of Jesus’ family and friends standing at the foot of cross.  No, Jesus was not alone.  At the foot of the cross stood people who loved him, but not his disciples.  There were mostly women’s faces that he could see gazing up at him.  In this account, John, the beloved disciple, was there too, standing with Mary, the mother of Jesus.  It is to them that Jesus utters these words.  But we listen in.

To his mother, Jesus says, “Behold your son.”  Was he drawing her attention to John or to himself?  She was already witnessing her son, bleeding and dying right before her eyes.  She beheld him.  But Jesus also draws her attention to the young man by her side, this beloved one, John.  Was Jesus concerned for her welfare?  Was he entrusting the care of his mother to this beloved disciple?  Or was he saying more?

“Behold your mother,” Jesus says to John.  Was this more than just an arrangement for John to care for Mary?  Was Jesus pointing beyond the people standing there to the kind of family that all Christians would soon have to embrace?  They may not always be surrounded by their blood relations.  These followers of Jesus would soon have to make hard choices, ones that might render them widows and orphans.  Is it with this in mind that Jesus looks upon the “family” standing beneath his cross?

Jesus looked on them with love and compassion.  But it would be up to them to see that his wishes would be fulfilled.  In his kingdom, there would be no widows, no orphans.  All would have a home.  All would be cared for.

This evening, as we stand looking up at the dying one, contemplating this carpenter’s son, nailed to a tree.  As we see this man whose birth we celebrated just a few months ago, but now whose death we witness, let us ask ourselves, “What is he asking of me?  What might he ask me to do?  Who would he ask me to care for?”

In the din and bustle and chaos around the foot of the cross, Jesus’ heart came into clear focus.  Love one another as I have loved you.  In this way they will know you are my disciples that you love one another.  Amen.

Images of God in the Shadows of Lent

I walked into the Parish Hall yesterday, and I swear I could still smell pancakes!  Or maybe it was the sausage.  It was a faint smell, but still evocative.  It brought back memories of Tuesday night, when we gathered to mark the end of Epiphany with celebration.  There were celebrations in many parts of the world Tuesday night: Mardi Gras, Carnival.  They were enjoying more than just pancakes!  But come Wednesday morning, the crowds had all gone home to sleep it off.

On Wednesday we gathered in a much more solemn atmosphere, kneeling.  We sought God’s forgiveness for the wrongs we have done, and for the good we have left undone.  We put dirt on our faces to remember that we are but dust and to dust we shall return.

The mood in our worship this morning has changed as well. Two months ago our parish was adorned with the symbols of Christmas.  A month ago, we were enjoying the more relaxed pace of Epiphany.  But now, we have no manger scene, no Magi.  The joy of Christmas and the light of Epiphany have faded like the whiff of by-gone pancakes, and have been replaced with shadows, fasting, and self-examination.  There are no flowers, just ashes.

Last Sunday we heard about Jesus, transfigured on the mountain in bright and shining glory, but this Sunday we hear of Jesus, hungry, alone and being tempted by Satan.

The action in Mark is fast-paced, as we have already seen.  In just these seven verses this morning, Jesus is baptized, and then tempted in the desert for forty days.  Meanwhile John the Baptist is arrested, and Jesus takes over for him, proclaiming the good news of God’s reign.  All in just seven verses.

In the accounts of both Matthew and Luke, we hear much more fleshed-out versions of all these events.  It is there that we hear the details of Satan’s tempting Jesus, including such memorable quotations as, “Man shall not live by bread alone,” and “You shall not tempt the Lord your God.”

Now, temptation is something we often joke about these days.  We often give things up for Lent, sharing in part, I suppose, with Jesus’ temptations.  We deny our appetites, for chocolate, for alcohol, for shopping, even for the Internet!  And yet, Jesus seems to be wrestling with something far greater in the wilderness, so much so that the scripture tells us, “the angels ministered to him.”

Mark’s gospel is about action and power and both are on display here.  Jesus is prepared for his ministry by being anointed by God in his baptism and then immediately is tempted by Satan.  It is then that he goes forth, proclaiming the good news of the kingdom of God.  Was God testing his mettle?  In just these few verses, I believe we see a brief glimpse of both the power and the humility of Jesus.  From the height of his baptism, endorsed by God, to this lonely struggle in the wilderness against Satan, Jesus captures the life journey we all must face.  We do have mountain top experiences, but we are often also driven into the wilderness.

The rhythm of the Church Year has brought our path once again to a wilderness time.  Lent is a season when those times we spend in the wilderness come into fuller focus.  Many of us have been driven into the wilderness of loss, or depression, unemployment, or even uncertainty.  What happens when we don’t feel like celebrating?  In the wilderness we too are tempted, maybe not as dramatically as Jesus, and yet we are often faced with life-changing choices.

It must strike the culture around us as a bit strange that we intentionally engage in a time of penitence and fasting.  Our grocery stores are filled to bursting, and yet we choose to fast.  There is no shortage of entertainment, and yet we choose to deny ourselves some of these pleasures.  Prohibition ended 80 years ago, and yet this time of year we might choose to walk past our favorite bar instead of going in.  This self-denial, this fasting, not only reminds us of the power habits can have in our lives, but it also reminds us that we are vulnerable and all too mortal.  Jesus identifies with us in this moment of temptation.

So where is the good news this morning, a question you may ask again before Lent is done?  I hear in this account of the life and early ministry of Jesus hope, hope that we too will emerge from the wilderness.  I see purpose in the suffering he went through, because Jesus returns to find his own context has changed.  John has been arrested, and the mission is now his, to announce the coming of God’s reign.

I find good news as well this morning in the story of Noah.  While Jesus had been in the wilderness for forty days, Noah and his family had themselves been riding atop the flooded earth for forty days, a wilderness experience of a different kind.  I do like the fact that they both had animals with them.  Imagine the despair and hopelessness that must have plagued the thoughts of Noah and his family, and yet, God heard their prayers and saw their need.

The scene from Genesis this morning finds the passengers of the ark standing before God, having just made a sacrifice in thanksgiving for their deliverance from the flood.  God establishes a covenant with Noah and his family, his descendants, and yes all living things, including those animals.  God would never again destroy the earth with a flood.  Instead God placed a rainbow in the sky as a sign of peace, as a warrior might hang up his war bow.  No more war against the human race.  Soon God would establish a covenant with Abraham and create a people, called by God’s name.

Lent is a time when we as the people of God are invited to walk, once again, the valley of the shadow of death.  We do not walk it alone, though it may feel that way at times.  God is with us.  As you may know, the theme of our Lenten journey as a congregation is “Images of God.”  I would encourage you during the coming weeks to consider what images stay with you from our readings each Sunday.   Have you seen God, or evidences of God’s presence or God’s promises?  Today it might be that rainbow, or Jesus fasting in the wilderness, or Jesus emerging from the wilderness.  There is no right answer.  The texts will speak to each of us differently.  Our images will be diverse as well.

Look for signs of hope in the wilderness.  Angels may minister to you.  You may see that rainbow before our time in Lent is done.  Regardless, let us steel our nerve for the journey ahead.  We know that Jesus has walked this path before us.  He walks before us now, and we must choose to follow him.  Amen.

Lent Beyond Ourselves

Last evening a crowd gathered at Christ Church to commemorate the end of Epiphany with a huge party.  We ate pancakes and bacon and sausage (which was the hit of the evening).  A few folks talked about what they might give up for Lent.  Some were going to log-off Facebook for the 40 days of Lent.  Others talked about eating better, or living a more regimented lifestyle.

Isn’t it interesting how we’ve turned a season like Lent into something very self-centered.  We have come to think of it as a second chance at our New Year’s resolutions.  “Now, I’ll definitely go to the gym more!” we tell ourselves.  Or, “Here’s my chance to get better organized.”

This is not what we hear in the reading from Isaiah today.

Yes, Lent is a time when we reflect on our mortality.  We remember that we are but dust.  It is indeed a season in the church year for self-reflection and working toward goals of self-improvement, but that’s not all Lent should mean to us.

“Why do we fast?” Isaiah asks his audience.  It seems there were those in his day who took occasions such as a public fast to increase their standing in the eyes of their peers, but in reality were treating the poor and those beneath them even worse.

Isaiah calls for some radical practices during such times: “Loose the bonds of injustice, let the oppressed go free, share your bread with the hungry, bring the homeless poor into your house.  When you see the naked, cover them.”  Isaiah is calling Israel, and us, to not use such seasons as fasting to make it all about ourselves, but to look the world and seek justice, to bring about the kingdom of God, here, now!  This is no small undertaking.  Change, real change, comes one action at a time.  If we are convinced our lifestyles need to change, then we must consider such a radical change as this.  In the words of Gandhi, be the change you wish to see in the world.

And then comes this last line, “Hide not yourself from your own kin!” This is quite a curious statement to me.  Of course, Isaiah’s primary meaning is to remind us that we are related to all those whom we might choose to neglect.  The poor and the naked are our family.  But in our context I wonder if it doesn’t also mean to reconnect with our families.  Have those conversations you’ve been avoiding.  Be bold, but also loving.  Be the change in your family that you wish to see.

It is after all these things that Isaiah uses this language, “THEN your light shall break forth like the dawn!  THEN you shall call and the Lord will answer!  Your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt; you shall raise up the foundations of many generations.”

These images of restoration, of rebuilding walls, restoring breaches, bringing peace and safety – these are the images of the kingdom of God that we should take forward with us into Lent.  Yes, Lent is a good opportunity for us to get our lives in order, to clean our houses, sweep out our closets.  But let us also look outside our immediate surroundings and consider in what way we can bring God’s kingdom, even to just a few of the lives whose paths cross ours, be they family, friends or even strangers.

Let us remember that we are mortal.  We are but dust.  But let us also remember that God has called us to be the Body of Christ in this world, broken and offered as a sacrifice.  It is then that we shall see our light rise in the darkness, and our gloom will become like the noonday.  Amen

Restoring the Outcast with a Touch

This morning we have heard two stories, stories of faith, but also stories of restoration.

There was perhaps no more dread disease in the Biblical world than that of leprosy.  There is much debate over whether this was what we have come to call “Hansen’s Disease” today.  Many scholars suggest the term may have simply been a catchall for many different kinds of skin diseases, such eczema and even fungal infections.  People didn’t go to the doctor to be diagnosed, they only knew there was something wrong.  Regardless of what is exactly being described here, a skin disease was not only painful and often life threatening, it was first and foremost isolating.

The purity codes of Jewish Law pronounced those with skin diseases to be ritually “unclean.”  These “lepers” were forced to leave their families and their towns and live in isolation, often without benefit of sanitation or basic shelter.  Even if the disease itself didn’t kill you, the treatment of the community might prove even more fatal.

To my mind one of the worst aspects of this isolation would have been the fact that no one could touch you.  What could be worse?  Do you remember how in the early days of the AIDS crisis in this country, people with AIDS were treated very much like lepers.  There was palpable fear when someone with AIDS was around.  Some churches stopped using the common cup.  People were afraid even to touch those who were HIV+. The isolation must have been devastating to those who had been given a virtual death sentence and most needed the embrace of friends and loved ones.

We have two stories before us this morning, stories of faith, but also stories of restoration.  When we compare them we see similarities but also some marked differences.

In our Old Testament reading, we hear the story of a warrior, a slave girl and a man of God.  The warrior was Naaman, this Aramean military commander, who, as powerful as he was, suffered from leprosy.  Elisha, the man of God and protégé of Elijah, has a growing reputation as a prophet and a healer, and his fame was spreading.  Who will bring them together?  A slave girl.  Kidnapped by the Arameans this slave girl now intervenes by telling Naaman that he can be healed of his disease.  Her courage is matched only by her faith in God to heal Naaman.

When Naaman arrives at Elisha’s house, Elisha doesn’t even bother to come out and speak to him.  Instead Elisha sends word to wash in the Jordan River.  “Excuse me,” Naaman says.  We’ve got rivers where I come from!  Naaman was expecting a miracle show.  He wanted Elisha to come out, wave his hand over the disease and magically cure it.  Instead, Elisha instructs him to do one of the simplest things: to wash.  I love the reactions of Naaman’s servants.  “If he had told you to do something difficult, you would have done it.”  So Naaman washes, is cured of his disease, and proclaims his healing as an act of the one true God.

Compare this story with the one we hear in the Gospel.  Here we have two main characters: another man with leprosy and, of course, Jesus.  This man with leprosy, however, does not have any power.  He is not a military commander with servants to do his bidding.  This man is an outcast, an exile.  We don’t know how he heard about Jesus.  All we know is that he comes and finds Jesus, begging him to heal him.  The encounter is so different from that of Naaman and Elisha.  This is not to say that they are any less powerful or significant, just different.  I find this interaction between Jesus and the leper to be so much more intimate.

The leper’s words are words of absolute faith and trust.  “If you choose, you can make me clean.”  He knows that Jesus has the power.  Notice that he doesn’t say, “You can heal me.”  He says, “You can make me clean.”  The man has been cast out of the community.  He is looking to be restored, to be welcomed back to the community.  And who could do that?  Who could restore the man?  Only a priest could.  A priest had to declare a leper clean before he or she could return to the community.  It’s as if this man is asking Jesus to be his priest.  You can make me clean.

And what is Jesus reaction?  The text says that Jesus is “moved with pity.”  Now, there is debate over this word we have translated as “pity.”  Some other versions report that Jesus was moved with anger.  We know why Jesus would have pity, but why would Jesus be moved with anger?  Some commentators suggest that Jesus is angry at the whole rigid system of purification rites that had made this man an exile to begin with.  But despite whether Jesus does what he does out of pity or out of anger, or both, we see genuine emotion here.  Both words imply deep, gut-level feelings.  Whereas Elisha may have almost seemed flip and off-hand when he didn’t even come out to see Naaman, Jesus’ emotions are most likely palpable, visible here.  Jesus is moved.

And he answers this man’s desperate plea: “If you choose, you can make me clean.”  Jesus’ simple reply echoes down to us today: “I do choose.”  Be made clean!  But don’t miss some very important words right before this – Jesus touched him.

Touching a leper was the last thing a priest would do.  To touch a leper would have meant that you yourself would become unclean.  You’d have to go through all the ritual purifications and washings.  For a time, you would be isolated yourself.

We know how Jesus loved the outcasts and spent time with sinners, but notice how many times people who are outcasts touch Jesus or are touched by him.  The woman with the flow of blood wants to touch Jesus’ garment.  The woman with a bad reputation bathes Jesus’ feet with her tears.  Jesus touches the hand of the dead girl.  And here Jesus reaches out and touches this unclean man.  He embraces, as it were, the umembraceable.

Notice it doesn’t say that Jesus “healed” him, but that the leprosy left him and he was made clean.

Jesus then orders the man not to tell anyone but to go to the priest and show him.  This would ensure that the man would be welcomed back into the community.  He would truly be restored.

The man, however, becomes more like the slave girl in the Elisha story.  This man has been set free, and he tells everyone he meets what Jesus did for him.  The story spreads so far and wide that Jesus can’t even go into the towns.  He must remain outside and have the people come to him.

That’s no small detail.  Notice where Jesus is – on the outside.  Had Jesus gone into the town and set up shop – become a healer and hosted his own miracle party, those who had been outcast couldn’t have gotten to him.  He remains outside the towns.  Of course those in the towns came out to see him, but more importantly, those who weren’t welcome inside the towns could come to him as well.  He was present for those who needed him the most.

Jesus’ power is on display here, as we will see throughout Mark’s gospel.  Not only can he heal, but he can restore the outcast.  Not only can he restore the outcast, but he touches the untouchable.

Jesus life and ministry are about proclaiming liberty to the captives, prisoners of the system, restoring those who had been cast out to full membership in the community.  Jesus stayed where they could find him, and he not only let them find him, but he touched them.  Can you imagine the grace of that moment?

If in a small and indirect way, we celebrate the touch of Jesus in the Eucharist.  We don’t have imaginary elements.  We don’t talk about bread and wine.  We touch them.  We eat them.  They nourish our bodies.  This is tangible stuff.

There are so many in our town and in our lives who experience life as untouchables, whether physically, emotionally, or even economically.  Many suffer in silence and isolation.  Do we have any good news for them this morning?

May God’s grace meet us at the table this morning with touch, with faith, with acceptance.  And may we all leave this place, healed, and with the good news on our lips: I know someone who touches outcasts, embraces the unembraceable.  And may Christ Church have that kind of reputation as well: a place on the outside where even the most terrified and marginalized can find acceptance and welcome.  Amen.