Tuesday, April 27, 2010
April 25, 2010 - Easter 4
I've been thinking in these weeks after Easter about what it means to be a people of a resurrection faith. What does it look like when we have experienced Christ's resurrection, when we have felt that power of new life at work in our own experiences and our own situations? What do we do? How do we live? Well, today's story from Acts gives us an example.
It's the story of Tabitha,
and the saints and widows who were her friends,
and of Peter.
Tabitha's a pretty amazing woman, a pillar of her community.
Because Tabitha sees the hurting and needs around her
and she gets involved.
She gets to know these people;
She reaches out.
She becomes a part of their lives.
These widows who she helps become her friends,
not just strangers, not just statistics.
And then she dies suddenly, and it leaves a hole.
They are beside themselves with grief for this woman
who had done so much for them
and meant so much to them,
not just because she was generous in her giving,
but because she was generous with herself.
Tabitha lived a resurrection faith.
Peter does too –
Peter, who has been preaching the good news
about life under God's rule,
who has been traveling around healing people,
who is in the next town over from Joppa.
And when the disciples in Joppa call him
because Tabitha has died,
Peter is bold to get involved.
He comes to their town,
and he sees the tears running down their faces.
He hears the grief in their voices,
as they show him these clothes that Tabitha handmade for the widows,
as they tell him the stories of her good works and acts of charities
and what she meant to them,
how her love transformed their lives.
And Peter gets involved.
He sends them all out of the room,
and he prays.
For what?
For words to speak?
For guidance?
Does he dare ask for the power to raise Tabitha from the dead?
Who knows...
All we know is what he does next -
which is to take a chance,
to turn to Tabitha,
to stand in the place of death,
and to trust in the power of God's love and life anyway
To call forth the impossible
and to say - “Tabitha, get up!”
And we are amazed – not just that it worked,
but that Peter even had the audacity to say the words.
But even in this place where the power of death has proven itself,
Peter remembers what he has seen.
Peter is a man of resurrection faith
He knows what God can do,
for he has seen what God has already done.
In that place, Peter calls on the one who has power over death,
the one who raised Christ after 3 days in the grave to live forever!
Peter knows that God is stronger than death
And so he speaks God's word of life
in the face of that death.
And God uses Peter once again to remind those early Christians
and the rest of us on down through history,
and probably Peter himself,
that God is always on the side of life,
that God is always working to overcome the power of death,
that God always seeks to replace fear with courage,
despair with hope,
and doubt with trust.
That is what people of resurrection faith do.
They are bold to go into those places that harbor and hold
desperation and despair and death,
trusting that some how, some way, beyond the world's evidence,
God is at work,
that the power of God can and will triumph
to banish the finality of death
and bring new life.
And because people of a resurrection faith
trust this One whose promises to us are always love and life,
because we have the confidence that as strong
as the powers of darkness and death are,
they do not have the strength
to match the God who brings light out of darkness
and life out of death,
people of a resurrection faith are bold to get involved.
Because the world is filled with the signs and symptoms
of dread and despondence.
The upper rooms where death seems stronger than life are all around us.
We see it in myriad ways:
in the developing world,
racked as it is by poverty and hunger and disease,
where in sub-Saharan Africa, just as one example,,
AIDS, a preventable disease, is the leading cause of death
and 12 million children under the age of 18 have lost 1 or both parents
to its deadly power,
and where malaria, which is both preventable and treatable at very low cost,
kills 2800 children a day.
A day.
But it's not just in the developing nations of our world.
The reality of death and disease and despair
make themselves know in our own country, in our own neighborhoods
where in 2008, 13.2% of Americans lived in poverty
and 19% – that's about 1 in 5 – of our children lived below the poverty line;
where over 22 % of our kids live in food insecure situations,
meaning they're likely to go to bed hungry tonight;
where homelessness is a growing problem that affects
people we never would expect
and includes growing numbers of children and their families.
And we don't need statistics to feel the pain
of our own struggles with death and disease and despair,
with illness and addictions and relationships that seem beyond repair.
We are well-acquainted with these upper rooms of death
and sometimes we are those calling
for the Peters of the world to come to help us in our grief.
But just as often
probably even more so,
we are the Tabithas and Peters
who the world calls to come to the places of death,
not knowing exactly what we might be able to do,
but calling us to come anyway.
And through this story, God calls us out.
God says to us who are dead in our busyness,
dead in our apathy,
dead in our overwhelming sense that there is nothing we can do –
“Get up!”
Get up,
because there is something you can do -
as individuals, as a congregation, as part of the larger church -
God says, “Get up!”
For you are not bound by the powers of death.
You are a people of a resurrection faith
who have witnessed God's resurrection power
flowing through the life and ministry of Jesus
lifting him up from death to life.
We witness it through the stories of the Acts of the Apostles,
who felt the wave of God's resurrection power carrying them
through their own fear of death and despair.
We witness it in the lives of Tabitha and Peter
who dared to come into the places of darkness and death,
who were not intimidated by their power
but dared to get involved,
to take a chance.
to speak the power of God's light in the face of darkness
God's hope in the face of despair
God's promise of life in the face of death.
God says to us,
Get up
and get involved!
Look around you and see the needs of the world
and dare to do something!
Dare to be a light in the darkness;
dare to be a voice of hope;
dare to trust that in Jesus, life and love overcome death.
And then in that trust,
get up and make a difference
as God's resurrection power flows through you.
Amen.
Friday, April 23, 2010
April 18, 2010 - Easter 3
I've been known to become the victim to my own one-track mind. Maybe you know what I'm talking about. Sometimes I'll come up against a problem to solve or just have a situation to figure out. It doesn't have to be anything dramatic. It can be while I'm playing a game or working on a puzzle or trying to organize a room in my house. And I tend to get my mind set early on that there's one particular way to approach whatever I'm trying to do – and once that happens, that's the only thing I can see. There may be other better options or solutions, there may be better ways to accomplish my goal, but I am slow to figure that out. I am blinded by my own certainty that my way is the way. It's certainly not my best, most useful quality, but I'm glad to see that I'm not alone. Here in this story from the book of Acts, we see that both Saul, who will become known as Paul, and Ananias suffer from the same affliction.
Now, Saul, he's had this one-track mind from his youth. He talks about it in his letters to the early church – about his single-minded devotion to following God & God's laws, to learning the Hebrew Scriptures, to moving up in the ranks to become a leading Pharisee, to teaching others the ways of God and making sure they followed God in the same way he did. Saul's spent his whole life getting to know God, and when we meet him in Acts, he's pretty sure of himself. He's confident he knows who God is, how God acts, who God loves, and what God wants. He's convinced that these followers of the Way, these disciples of Jesus, have it all wrong – and not only that, they are leading other people down the same wrong path. Saul knows that God is not a part of this Jesus movement, so he dives right in to solve the problem, to make the situation right. He goes and gets permission from the high priest to go round up 'em up. He's like Tommy Lee Jones in The Fugitive, bound & determined to get these law breakers and bring them to justice by throwing them in jail or worse.
And then we come to Ananias. He's equally one-track-minded, but in a different way. You see, he's heard all the stories about Saul. He knows that Saul was there in Jerusalem when Stephen, the 1st martyr, the 1st man to be put to death for his faith in Jesus, was stoned to death. Not only did he watch it, he approved of it! And right after that, Saul started going through Jerusalem, dragging men and women to jail for talking about Jesus. The believers who weren't locked up ran away to other cities – and now, Ananias knows, Saul is on his way to Damascus to continue his persecution. Nobody needs to tell him anything about Saul. Ananias knows all he needs to know already. So when God shows up in a vision to Ananias, Ananias' initial response is to argue with God. “You want me to go to who?! Lord, it seems like there are a few things you don't know about this guy Saul, so let me fill you in. Don't you know what he's been up to? The man's your enemy! How can you want me to go to him?”
What it boils down to is that in their single-mindedness, both Saul and Ananias would rather trust in themselves and what they think they know that in God and what God is trying to show them. God is inviting both of them into a future that they aren't quite ready to see.
How often does God do that to us? How often are we convinced, like Saul, that we know what God wants already, and rush full-speed ahead, only to discover that we're going the wrong way? When have we heard God's voice telling us to “get up and go,” like Ananias did, but hesitate to go because we're pretty sure that we know more than God does, and if God only had all the facts, God wouldn't be telling us to do what God just told us to do?
And what strikes me about both of these men and their situations is that what they're really struggling with is the issue of who God can and cannot love, who God can or cannot use. That happens over and over again – we could point to a few hot-button issues in our society and in the bigger church even today, where people on both sides think that they know who God is and who God loves and who God wants us to exclude on God's behalf. But it always makes me nervous when people dare to speak in the place of God with words of fear and judgment and condemnation. Because that's not what we see here in this story. It's not what we see throughout the Bible. I don't mean to downplay the reality and existence of sin and sinful acts; I don't want to sound like I'm saying anyone can do anything they want at any time and God won't mind – but throughout the word of God, it is up to God, not humans, to judge – and what we are called to do is extend the invitation to come and experience God's love, to receive God's forgiveness, to be changed by the power of the Holy Spirit.
And that's what we see in this story with both Saul and Ananias. They both go through a conversion of sorts. Saul's is more dramatic, of course. He's surrounded by a flashing light and struck blind in order that he might learn to see. He hears Jesus' voice speaking to him, calling him, guiding him – and he is brought into Damascus to wait for more directions about what he's supposed to do next. But Ananias has his own moment of change, when the Lord speaks to him too, calling him to open his mind to see that God can love anyone, can forgive anyone, can use anyone, and Ananias is set into motion, to go be the healing hands of God, laying hands on Saul so he might regain his sight. Jesus comes to both of them and tells them to get up in go in directions they never expected, to people they never thought God would want them to go to, calling both of them into the ever-widening community of God's love.
And their obedience changes the world! Saul becomes known to us as Paul – who was like the Johnny Appleseed of the early church – except instead of planting trees, he planted churches, instead of growing apples, he grew believers. We wouldn't have the Bible as we know it if Saul and Ananias had never met, since Paul went on to write much of the New Testament. But before any of this could happen, God had to open their eyes, help them to see the radically new way God was working in the world, through Jesus and those who would follow.
In this season of resurrection and new life, Christ comes to us still in the places of our blindness and too-sure certainty to open our eyes to the new things God is doing, to expand our vision of who God loves (everyone!) and how God works in our world, telling us to get up and go in directions we never expected, to people we never thought God would want us to go to. God's love is for everyone – and when we believe it and start living it, God will use us to change the world!
Amen.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
April 11, 2010 - Easter 2
I don't know if any of you have ever had to go to court, or what your experiences there were. In my old job, I used to have to take my clients to Family Court periodically. For the most part, I sat out in the hallway with them and their social workers and wait for their case to be called. And then, once they were up, I usually wasn't invited to go into the courtroom with them. But on occasion, I went with them before the judge. Even more rarely, I was asked to speak. And I have to tell you, that during those times, I was usually pretty nervous. It's kind of strange – I was never in any sort of trouble – I was there to share my opinions or observations. But still, I was uncomfortable – the strangeness of the situation, the power of the judge, the fear of making a mistake or unintentionally doing something disrespectful. I'm one of those people who is an obey-er of the rules, a respecter of people in power and authority, generally speaking, and you can see why I'd feel a little skittish. It's like being called to the principal's office, even when you know you didn't do anything wrong.
And you'd think that maybe the apostles would feel a little of that too. We see it in the Gospel, there on Easter day, when they are locked behind closed doors out of fear. We see it earlier in the book of Acts, when Peter and John have been arrested and jailed overnight for healing and teaching in Jesus' name. And when they are released, it's with warnings and threats not to speak any more to anyone in this name. So Peter and John go back to the growing group of believers, and they're a little shaken up by the experience – so they pray, pray for God to grant them to speak God's word with all boldness – because they are know the risk they are facing, - they saw what happened to Jesus. They know all too well the temptation to keep quiet.
But then we come to this story in Acts, chapter 5, and we see something different. They no longer have that nervousness or fear that I felt so strongly standing in a courtroom. When this story picks up, the apostles had just been arrested and jailed overnight again. But this time, an angel of the Lord had come in the night and set them free. Set them free and sent them with a mission – to go back to the temple where they were arrested the day before and tell the people the good news, the whole message about this life. So when the temple police go to the prison to find them in the morning, they're not there. The doors are locked, the guards are still standing guard, but the apostles are long gone. And if they were like you or me, you might have expected that they had left town, gone to a less dangerous place. But no. Daybreak finds them in the temple, back at the scene of the crime, doing just what had gotten them thrown into jail the 1st two times – preaching and teaching in the name of Jesus. And when confronted by the council - “Who do you think you are? We gave you strict orders not to teach in this name, but here you are, filling Jerusalem with your teaching...”, Peter and the rest of the apostles say, “We have to. We must obey God rather than any human authorities.” They go on and share the good news with these people who seem like the enemy – God has raised Jesus up! “God has exalted him as Leader and Savior, that he might give repentance to Israel and forgiveness of sins. And we are witnesses to these things...”
We are witnesses to these things. Witnesses. And witnesses are not mere observers. Just seeing something happen doesn't make you a witness, not in a legal sense. We all know from being in court or watching court shows on TV that witnesses are the people who are willing to get up in court and sit in that stand next to the judge and tell what they saw. They don't keep what they have experienced to themselves, they share it. They tell the story to others. Clearly the apostles faced some witness intimidation, but what they had to say was too important. They literally can't shut up about God and Jesus and the Spirit and what they have done for them and for the world. The good news cannot be stopped. The apostles cannot be stifled, because they have been set free, not just from the physical prison of the religious authorities, but set free from fear. And they were set free for a purpose – so that they might witness to what God was up to in the world, even to the last people who want to hear about it.
It's amazing to read these stories of the early church, to see the boldness the early believers had in sharing the good news, even in the face of such consistent opposition, knowing as we do that for many of them, it led to death. I don't know about you, but I tend to find it a lot easier to relate to the disciples on Easter Day than these brave, post-Pentecost apostles, sent to carry God's message to the world. We shy Lutherans are not known for being quick to share our faith – we even tend to have a hard time inviting someone to come to church with us! We all have our reasons – fear of standing out in the crowd, of seeming different, of offending someone. We don't really know what to say. We lack the words to express how God has changed our lives. We lack the sense of urgency the disciples had, to share the story of what God has done and is doing for us and for the whole world. So we tend to hold our tongues; we take this ancient council's orders not to teach in Christ's name to heart.
Yet if we are people of a resurrection faith, if we have felt God at work in our lives, we too are called to be witnesses of these things – that God sent the only Son, not to condemn the world, but to save it; that Jesus came to give repentance and forgiveness of sins, to open the door to new life of healing and wholeness, a life graced with his peace, not the world's fear. People of a resurrection faith are called to look at the many places and ways that God has set us free – set free in baptism from the power of death and sin, yes, but also, by the power of the Holy Spirit, set free from the power of fear and anger and bitterness. And not only have we been set free, we have been set free for a purpose, set free to witness to these things, to share the stories of how God has changed our lives. The world is desperate for some good news – and we have the best news of all! May the Holy Spirit fill us with boldness to tell someone today.
Amen.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Easter is Coming (video)
Okay, so technically as I share this, Easter is past. Easter Sunday, anyway. (Easter is a full season, starting at Easter Sunday and going through Pentecost, 7 weeks later.)
Anyway, I found this video in my meanderings around the web - It surprised me, actually, and made me want to share it. Hope you enjoy!
Anyway, I found this video in my meanderings around the web - It surprised me, actually, and made me want to share it. Hope you enjoy!
March 24, 2010 - SW Nassau Conference Worship
With God, Nothing Will Be Impossible
SW Nassau Conference Worship
Lent 2010
Do any of you remember the board game Perfection? I don't know if it's around anymore; it was the one with all of little yellow plastic pieces in a bunch of different shapes. The board got pushed down into its plastic case & that started the timer – and the object of the game was to get all of the pieces into the right slots before the timer went off – because when the timer went off, the board popped up and all of the little yellow pieces went flying! All of your hard work down the drain if you weren't quick enough.
I remember playing that game a lot whenever I went over to my cousin's house. And while I don't remember that I actually ever did this, I wouldn't have put it past me as a kid to have taken all of the pieces and lined them up in order in front of the board before starting the timer, because that would be the simplest and easiest way to get all of the pieces in place before time ran out, the quickest way to ensure that you would win the game, even if it was kind of cheating.
And while that may be a kid's game, it's not just a kid's way of thinking. It's part of our grown-up way of life too – this idea that we need to get all of the pieces and parts of our lives lined up in order for things to work out the way we want them to. So we spend all this time planning ahead, thinking things through, weighing our options, trying to see potential pitfalls and work around them before they happen, coming up w/ plans B, C, D, E, etc, just in case. We do it in our work lives, in our families, as members of congregations. Those of you who have less control issues may not do it as much as those of us who do, but my guess is that at one time or another, in one situation or another, we all do it.
And then God shows up. God shows up in some way, shape, or form, and says, “Here's my plan. Here's my vision for your future.” And just like that, the pieces we've so carefully laid out can go flying up in the air.
Take Mary, for instance. She was just a young girl when this story from Luke's gospel took place, probably just in her teens. And it probably seemed to her tLuke 1:26-38hat the pieces of her life were laid out pretty well, in a nice, predictable, organized fashion. As was the custom, her parents had arranged her marriage, chosen a husband for her who would care for her and provide for her. They weren't married yet, but they were betrothed, the deal was almost as good as done. All that remained before she could embark on the typical adult life of a Jewish girl of her time was for her to go and live with Joseph in his home and become his wife. All Mary had to do was follow the plan and all of the pieces would fall neatly into place.
And then along comes this angel Gabriel, sent from God. And pop! The big board sent all of those pieces flying! That always gave me a start when that happened, even though in the game you could see the timer, you knew it was coming. So imagine what it was like for Mary when Gabriel shows up and starts laying out God's vision for her life. She had no way to anticipate this change, no way to see it coming. And what a change! “Mary, you're going to conceive and bear a son and call him Jesus. He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and God will give him David's throne. But his kingdom will never end.”
And poor Mary responds the way I think most of us would, “How can this be...?”
“How can this be, God? It's not at all what I have planned! How can this be, God? I'm not prepared for this! How can this be God? What you are telling me I'm supposed to do is impossible.”
Reactions like this are not uncommon when we catch a glimpse or hear a whisper of what God is planning to do in the world. Because God's vision for what could be and what will be is always far beyond our own. God is always breaking into our broken world to bring hope and healing in ways that defy our imagination. And when we first learn of God's dream – and how God intends for us to be a part of making that dream a reality – our initial response is often to ask, “How can this be...?”, filling in the rest of the sentence, “since,” with all sorts of challenges and obstacles that seem impossible to overcome, because from our point of view, the pieces don't all line up – heck, sometimes it doesn't even look as if all of the pieces are there! So, God, how can this plan of yours be?
But God is not a child trying to win a game of Perfection. God does not need to have all of the pieces to be neatly lined up beforehand in order to accomplish God's purposes before time runs out. And so, the angel Gabriel goes on to explain to Mary what is about to happen. (I say explain, but it's still really a mystery, isn't it?) And he gives her a sign – because Mary's relative Elizabeth has just had all the pieces of her game tossed up in the air too. This old lady who everybody thought would never have a child is now in the 6th month of her pregnancy. She too will have a son. Nobody would have believed it was possible, but Gabriel reminds Mary, “With God, nothing will be impossible.”
With God, nothing will be impossible. All around us, at home, at work, in our churches, God is casting visions, and dreaming dreams, painting us a picture of the world as God intends it to be. And we see it in this son Mary will bear, the one whose name will be Jesus, the one who will bring good news to the poor, and proclaim release to the captives, and bring sight to the blind, and let the oppressed go free. It's all connected to Jesus, who teaches us about the kingdom of God, the kingdom that will never end – the place where the hungry are fed, and the thirsty are given something to drink, and the stranger is welcomed, and the naked are clothed, and the sick are taken care of, and the imprisoned are visited. We see it in the life and death and resurrection of Mary's son, who proves to us, that despite the evidence of the world around us, God's goodness is stronger than evil, love is stronger than hate, and life is stronger than death. This is the vision God calls Mary into, the dream God invites us to wake up to.
So as we continue on this journey through Lent and beyond into every day of our lives, when we hear God calling us to be part of things that seem like they cannot be,when it seems like the pieces of our lives have been tossed up in the air, may we hear the story of Mary and come to trust in God's promise, that with God, nothing will impossible. And may we then respond with the confidence of Mary: “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word,” daring to risk following Jesus, knowing that God doesn't require perfection, just our willingness to serve.
Amen.
March 18, 2010 - Ecumenical Evening Prayer
God Reminds Us Who We Are
L-ER Ministerium Evening Prayer – March 18, 2010
When I was a kid, one of my favorite things to do with my brother & sisters was to watch movies together on the VCR. And you know how kids are – they have movies that they just love to watch over and over again. And one of those movies for us was The Muppets Take Manhattan. Now in this movie, the Muppets have just graduated from college (yes, for some reason they went to college), but before they graduated, they put on this big show, a big theatrical, musical production, and it went so well, that they decide that they're all gonna move to the big city, to New York, and see if they can't get it on Broadway. Well, of course, that turns out to be not as easy as they hoped. But eventually, Kermit the frog goes off to meet with a producer who wants to produce the show, and Kermit races off from the meeting, so overjoyed in his excitement that he can't wait to tell the whole gang! And what happens? He's so excited that he's not paying any attention to the world around him, and Kermit gets hit by a car. Now, never fear, he's not serious hurt, not physically, but when he wakes up in the hospital, he has no idea who he is. He's got amnesia – no memories of his life before or what he was doing. So Kermit ends up falling into a job at an ad agency, making up a name, and taking on a life and personality and identity that aren't him, trying to build a new life, even though it doesn't quite fit. It's a case of forgotten identity.
Well, that's kind of the situation the people of Israel were in when tonight's passage from the book of Isaiah was written. Because this part of Isaiah was written after the Israelites were taken off into captivity, lead off into exile from their homeland. The Babylonians had come in and taken over their land, and part of their strategy was to move the people they conquered. So there they are, far from home, living in Babylon, a foreign land, among strange people with strange customs. And no, they don't technically have amnesia like Kermit, but they are in danger of forgetting who they are. They are at risk of forgetting who God had created them to be, at risk of trying to be something they were not as they tried to build a new life after the old one was lost to them.
It resonates with us too, this possibility of forgotten identity, of losing sight of who we are and who we were created to be. It's not because of amnesia or because we've been hauled off into exile. I know many folks who have lived here in Lynbrook & East Rockaway and our surrounding communities for years. Some were born & raised here, many moved here and raised their families here. I'm sure that's the story for a lot of you. And yet even if you haven't moved, sometimes it feels like the world has. Sometimes it feels like we are living in a foreign land, because the world around us has changed so much, is changing so much everyday. Change comes faster and faster, and what we thought we knew for sure doesn't always seem so certain any more. And this changing world tells us everyday who we are, who we ought to be – and usually the message is that we're too fat or lazy or dumb, that we're not pretty enough or cool enough or rich enough. And as we look at the world around us and listen to its ad campaigns, we can start to wonder, who am I? Is this really my life? Is this really me? We are in danger of forgetting our identity.
That's where we left Kermit, back in that ad office, trying to come up with a slogan to sell Ocean Breeze Soap. But in the meantime, his friends, Miss Piggy & Fozzie and Scooter and Gonzo and the whole crew are out searching the city, looking high & low, calling his name, “Kermit! Kermit!” Even though he has forgotten who he is, they haven't, and they won't stop until they find him. And when they finally do, in a crowded restaurant, the only reason they see him is because he is using the water glasses to tap out the melody of one of their show's songs. Deep down, Kermit hasn't forgotten who he is – he just needs someone to remind him.
So did the people of Israel, and so do we. And so into this 4th week in Lent comes this poem, this song of God, to remind us of who we are. And it's sung by none other than God - “now thus says the LORD, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel... Do not fear, for I have redeemed you;... do not fear, for I am with you.” When the world around you is changing, when you aren't sure who you are any more, do not fear, for your life is rooted and grounded in the God who creates us and forms us. God says to us through the words of Isaiah, “you are precious in my sight, and honored, and I love you.” And because of this, God says, “I give people in return for you, nations in exchange for your life.” Like the Muppets hunting everywhere for Kermit, this poem reminds us that there is nothing God won't give or do to find us, to win us back, to remind us of who we are, even to giving peoples and nations, even to giving God's own Son, who takes on our human identity so that we might take on his! No matter what else we may be, from the beginning of our lives to the end, we are God's – precious, honored, beloved, redeemed – created and formed and made to live as God's children. Lent is about returning to that identity, about diving into that relationship, about embracing life in the One who loves us that much. As we continue through these next few weeks of Lent, as we follow Jesus to the foot of the cross and beyond, may we hear God calling each of us by name, and may we truly remember who we are.
Amen.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
April 4, 2010 - Easter Sunday
Jesus Changes Lives
Easter Sunday – April 4, 2010
Sometimes one event, one encounter, can change your life, change your whole perspective, change what you do from that point on. Sometimes one event, one encounter can change how you live and what you live for.
I was reminded of that this week when I was watching the TV show Bones.
It's one of those law enforcement shows, with the forensic anthropologist, Temperance Brennan, also known as Bones, & her scientist colleagues who partner with the FBI to solve difficult, mysterious deaths.
In this most recent episode, the young FBI psychiatrist, Sweets, is riding on the subway, minding his own business, when he notices the young man sitting next to him suddenly getting all emotional. Being a psychiatrist and a generally good guy, he takes out his earbuds, turns off his iPod, and asks if something's wrong. But nothing's wrong. The other man has just found out that the leukemia that has dominated the last 8 years of his life is gone. He's cancer free! He's got his life back! And he's filled with ideas and plans for how he is going to make up for that lost time, how he'll live his life to the fullest – he travel and date lots of exotic women.
But in the next moment, a flood of water comes shooting down the subway tunnel, pushing the train off its tracks, upending the car, sending people flying everywhere. No one is seriously hurt, except this young man, who is thrown forward into the pole, hitting his head. When the chaos subsides, Sweets kneels beside him to find that his new friend, the one with his whole life stretched out before him, has died.
Well, this whole chain of events knocks Sweets for a loop. He's rocked by the injustice and senselessness of it all. It gets him to thinking about his own life. He starts re-evaluating how he's been living. He wakes up to how precious life is, and throughout the episode, we see Sweets wrestling with the deep questions of life, sifting through his priorities, trying to figure out if this is the life he wants, or if maybe something needs to change if he's really going to life his life to the fullest.
Easter is one of those events that invites us to ask the same deep questions. We get the story of that 1st Easter morning from the gospel of Luke this year. And in it, we have the same basic details we get every year. The women come to the tomb, expecting to find a dead body there, expecting to find a lifeless corpse. After all, that's why they have come bringing the spices and ointments that they had prepared on Friday – to care for Jesus' body the way it deserves.
But when they get there, they find themselves face to face with something they never expected. There they have an encounter that will change their whole lives. They come to the tomb, and find the stone is already rolled away. Right away, they are at full alert, on guard. They know something is up here, just like you would if you came home one day and found your door ajar. They go into the tomb, and look! The body's not there... but before they can even start processing what that means, 2 men are suddenly there beside them with a message: “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen. Remember how he told you, while he was still in Galilee, that the Son of Man must be handed over to sinners, and be crucified and on the third day rise again.”
Then the women did remember those words – even if they didn't know what they meant at the time, even if they still didn't quite get what they meant now. (They still haven't seen the risen Jesus yet, remember.) But remembering his words sends them racing off, back to the 11 and all the rest of the disciples to share what they have seen. Because when you have a life-changing experience, you want to talk it over with the people you trust.
But we see when they get back to wherever the disciples were staying that not everybody thinks this is a life-changing event. The disciples hear what Mary & Mary & Joanna and the rest of the women say, but they don't believe it. Jesus has risen – but that's just unbelievable. Dead people stay dead. They don't come back to life. They think it's just an idle tale, meaningless gossip from a bunch of grieving women who don't really know what they saw and heard. But Peter – he has a different response – he wants to go and see for himself what these crazy women are talking about, and so he runs to the tomb. When he gets there, he stoops down & looks in – and all he sees are the linen cloths Jesus had been wrapped up in, lying there by themselves. No body. No men in dazzling clothes. What he doesn't see there amazes him, and he just goes home.
Sometimes one event, one encounter, can change your life, change your whole perspective, change what you do from that point on. Sometimes one event, one encounter can change how you live and what you live for. But it all depends on what you do with that one event, what you make of that one encounter. The gospel story shows us the different ways people reacted to the news that Jesus had been raised from the dead. Some went rushing to tell others, some flat out didn't believe at first, and others had to go see it for themselves.
And in that episode of Bones I was telling you about, Sweets too had options. There were lots of different ways he could have responded to what happened that day on the subway. He could have wallowed around in it for a few days and then just slowly let his life go back to normal, let himself sink back into the every day and forgotten all about it, let it pass like a momentary interlude of personal angst and then moved on like it didn't mean a thing. You know, sometimes that happens to us. We have these big life events that are so deep & so meaningful, and we say to ourselves that we're going to change – and then we don't. Sooner or later, life just goes back to normal.
Well, Sweets could have done that, but he didn't. After all of his soul-searching, his days of wrestling with this chance encounter, he let it change him. I won't give away what he did, but it opened him up to new possibilities, moved him in a different direction, moved him to more fully embrace life in the here and now. That's what happened when he randomly met a man who got a new lease on life and suddenly finds it snatched away.
But we come here this morning and hear an even more fantastic tale – for here in Luke's gospel, we meet a man who was dead, and suddenly, mysteriously, inexplicably, is raised to new life, eternal life – the life that never ends. We have the same options that faced Jesus' followers on that first Easter day. We have the same options that faced Sweets after the subway accident. The question is, what will we do with this one event, this one encounter? Will we let ourselves be changed by this story? Will it make a difference in our lives? After this day of joy and celebration is over, will we sink back into the every day, or will we embrace this story of love that gives itself away, love that cannot die, love that offers us not just eternal life after we die, but a new way of living in the here and now? Will we let the truth of the risen Jesus change how we live and what we live for? Because life in Jesus, resurrection life, will do that to you. It is a gift that comes from our risen Savior this morning, and every day, offering us a new beginning, a chance to see if the lives we are living are the lives he longs for us to have, lives that really matter. Let's not waste it. This Easter, may we let the story sink in, may we let Jesus sink in – and may he transform our lives.
Amen.
April 2, 2010 - Good Friday
It Is Finished
Good Friday – April 2, 2010
“It is finished.” - Three short words, but they carry so much meaning.
“It is finished.” - the last words Jesus speaks from the cross as he bows his head and gives up his spirit.
“It is finished.” - words that echo in the ears and minds and hearts of his disciples, words that probably rang within them from the moment Jesus was taken into custody by the powers that be. For as Jesus was led away, it must have seemed that everything was coming to an end. All of their hopes and dreams, all of their visions of a brighter future under Jesus, their true king, came crashing down.
It is finished. It must have seemed finished to Peter too, with his heartfelt promises to follow Jesus anywhere, even if it meant laying down his life for him, dashed when cold reality snuck in and he found himself denying he even knew his dearest friend and teacher three times. Peter must have felt that he himself was finished, as everything he thought he knew about himself turned out, in that moment, to be wrong, to be false.
It is finished, words the women standing at the foot of the cross heard, all of those women – Mary, the mother of Jesus, her sister, Mary, the wife of Clopas, Mary Magdalene, watching and waiting, beyond grief as those words fell from his lips. All the joy and hope and friendship they had shared with Jesus, this man who treated them as equals, as people, gone with his breath. And as they stood there and watched this all unfold, it must have seemed like the end of all that was good in the world to them.
It is finished. You hear the finality of these words in John's writing, as he shows us Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus coming to take Jesus' body down from the cross, carrying it to the tomb, laying him there in that place, because it was nearby, and it was the Jewish day of Preparation. There was no time to make any arrangements, no time to plan a funeral, no time for a proper burial. It all happened so suddenly, and time was short before the sabbath. So the stone was rolled into place, and that's the end of tonight's story. Jesus' life, all he stood for, all the dreams he represented – over. It is finished.
These Good Friday moments are familiar to us, the times when the world around us whispers, “it is finished.” We are no strangers to the situations that seem to scream, “It's too late. It's over. It is finished.” Those terrifying moments in the doctor's office when we get the diagnosis of a deadly or life-shattering disease. The day when your spouse says, “I want a divorce.” The loss of a job. The storms, literal and metaphorical, that come in and uproot our lives or wash our well thought-out plans for the future away in a flood. The days of self-doubt, or of regret, or of guilt when we are tempted to say, “It is finished,” and bow our heads and give up... The darkness and despair that Peter and Judas and the women at the cross and all of the other disciples felt – we have felt it too, as we have stood in the shadow of the cross and heard nothing but the silence of the nearby tomb, holding the corpse of all we once hoped in. We know too well the sorrow and grief and mourning that are at the heart of this Good Friday story.
And yet the words, “It is finished,” are not the end of the story. Because the words, “It is finished,” don't just refer to the end of Jesus' life. They don't stand simply for grief and hopelessness. No, these words, “it is finished,” as hard as they may be to hear, are also words that fill we who believe with hope. That's because when Jesus hung on the cross and said, “It is finished,” he wasn't just talking about the end of his life. When Jesus said, “it is finished,” what he also meant is, “It is completed.” All of the work he was sent here to do by the Father – there on the cross, he brought it to fruition. “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him” (Jn. 3:16-17).
When Jesus said, “it is finished,” he meant, “Mission accomplished!” This is not a sigh of defeat, but a cry of victory from the one who was sent into the world to save it from itself.
The words, “it is finished,” are a declaration about all of the things that we fear in this world, all of the things that separate us from God and keep us from having the loving, trusting relationship with God that God has designed us for from the very beginning. Hanging on the cross, Jesus says to the strength of suffering and sin – you are finished! To the inertia of injury and injustice – you are finished! To the forces of fear and famine, you are finished! To the dominion of disease and death – you are finished!
There on the cross, the battle between good and evil, between light and darkness, between love and hate, and yes, between life and death came to an end. It is finished, and we know who won!
We know who won, and we'll hear the rest of that story on Sunday. And because the battle is already won, the victory already decided, on those days when the world says to us, “it is finished,” we can look to Good Friday, and say “Yes, it is finished – but I am not. Jesus finished it for me there on the cross.” And if he was willing to die for us, we know he'll never abandon us no matter what else we may face.
It is finished.
Thanks be to God. Amen.
April 1, 2010 - Maundy Thursday
Jesus Blesses His Disciples
Maundy Thursday – April 1, 2010
Maundy Thursday – it's kind of a weird name. Some churches just call it Holy Thursday. That would make more sense, wouldn't it? It's easier to say; we have some idea of what the word “holy” means. But we in the Lutheran church call this day when we remember Jesus' last meal with his friends and followers Maundy Thursday. It's because Maundy is an old English form of the Latin word, mandatum, (man-day-tum) which means “command.” So you see where that comes from in this reading from the gospel of John.
But let's set the scene a little bit. Here in this 13th chapter of John, Jesus has gathered all of his disciples with him for one final meal. He knows what's coming – John says that Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father. Jesus knows it's his last night, so he takes this chance to be with his friends, to eat with them, to talk to them, to help prepare them for what's coming. So you know what he says in this meal is important to him. It's kind of like his last will and testament, his last chance to share some words of wisdom with his disciples. And what does he say? Here at the end of our gospel passage, Jesus says, “I give you a new commandment.” This new commandment is why we call this day Maundy Thursday. “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”
Not only is it important enough to give this command to love each other at his last meal, it's apparently really important to Jesus, because he repeats it not once, not twice, but three times. Love one another. Love one another. Love one another.
But that's not as easy as it may sound. This loving one another business is hard work. Because Jesus isn't describing that warm & fuzzy feeling we sometimes describe as love. He's not talking about that emotion that flows naturally between people who have things in common and enjoy each others' company. The love that Jesus is talking about goes much deeper than that. For Jesus, love is more than a feeling, it's a verb. Jesus' kind of love is active. It's a love that puts itself at the service of others. It's a love that doesn't stand on ceremony, that doesn't let pride get in the way. It's a love that is willing to take on the role of a servant, getting down on the floor, and kneeling at someone's feet, and washing away the grit and grime of the day. Loving one another means loving as Jesus has loved them, and this foot-washing is the example Jesus gives his disciples of what it looks like to love that way, love in action.
And you know it couldn't have been easy for the disciples. Even though they've been following Jesus for 3 years, they still didn't get it all the time. They had a hard time with this humble love Jesus lived. All through the gospels, we see them arguing with each other about who would be the greatest, competing with each other for the #1 leadership position. John's gospel tonight shows us how hard it was for them to accept Jesus acting like a servant, how they resisted his washing their feet. And you don't see any of them leaping up to take his place either, do you?
This command to love each other is a challenge for us too. Because loving the way Jesus loves means getting ourselves, with our pride and our sense of propriety, out of the way. It's hard to love the way Jesus describes, the way Jesus lives. Jesus willingly, lovingly, put the needs of others ahead of himself. He came, he says, not to be served, but to serve. That's what he commands us to do.
And truth be told, we don't always want to do that – there are lots of times when we want to be served, not serve - even with the people we are closest too, the ones we love the most, let alone the people who get on our nerves and drive us nuts. But that's what Jesus calls us to – to look out for the needs of the people in our lives, to find ways that we can help, even when it's not convenient, even when we'd prefer to do something else, even when it means doing something that's the equivalent of washing someone's feet. That's up-close & personal love, love that grows out of the love Jesus has for each of us.
This is a hard commandment, because like all of God's commandments, it is hard to fulfill. But like all of God's commandments, it comes with a blessing. After Jesus washes his disciples' feet, he reminds them that they call him Teacher and Lord, and that's it's right for them to call him that, because that's what he is. Then he says, “servants are not greater than their master, nor are messengers greater than the one who sent them.” But then here comes the good part – “If you know these things,” Jesus says, “you are blessed if you do them.”
You are blessed if you do them. Jesus promises his followers that there is a blessing in living as Jesus lived, in serving as Jesus served, in loving as Jesus loved. I think those original disciples probably had a hard time with this at first. And yet something must have clicked after Jesus died and was raised again, because we see them living this out. They become the kind of community that is known by the way it loves each other, by the way that it takes care of each other. And they don't keep it to themselves – this love spreads, and with it, the good news of life and love and salvation spreads throughout the known world. The disciples are blessed with a new way of life, with seeing the impact they are having on the world through Christ. They come to know the joy of serving that can't be taught, the joy that can only come through the experience of faith made active in love.
This blessing is for us too – we are blessed when we do these things Jesus has taught us. I know that at the outset, it doesn't always look or feel that way. Loving the Jesus way can feel more like a burden than a blessing. And yet I think of the joy I have witnessed in this place as people here love one another the way that Jesus commands. I've seen the blessings flow as folks bring flowers to our homebound, or pack up meals from our potluck fellowship nights and deliver them to people who are homebound or ill. I've seen it as people in St. John's go out of their way to pick up other people who need a ride to church or the doctor. I've seen it in the ways some of you have cared for aging parents or disabled spouses, or looked out for relatives who are in need. And I know some of you don't think anything of it – it's just what people do, but this is where the rubber of Jesus' command to love meets the road of reality – in the ordinary, day to day events of our lives, when we make the time to love each other through our actions, not just our words. You may not even always want to do them at 1st, but when you do, you tell me you are glad that you did. You feel good. You find that you yourself are blessed, even as you are a blessing to someone else. And you are blessed when you do these things, because they draw you ever closer to Jesus, the one who gave us this command, the one who lived it first, the one who gives himself away for us, so that we might be free to give ourselves away to others. Thanks be to God.
Amen.
March 21, 2010 - Lent 5
Abundant Love Leads to Abundant Giving
Lent 5 – March 21, 2010
Have you ever seen the old joke about a church's search for a new pastor? The one I'm thinking of has the call committee addressing a memo to the leadership of the church, getting them up-to-speed on their progress so far. The chair of the committee says that they've been considering a number of applicants and then lists them... and the list is made up of Jesus and his disciples. As the call chair goes through each name, she proceeds to explain why none of them is qualified – Peter is too impulsive, Thomas has expressed too much doubt, Paul is known to flip-flop (he changed teams, you know). Even Jesus doesn't make the cut. So, they'll continue to look, but the chair wants the council to know that there is one promising candidate. He's good with money, he cares for the poor, he's got good connections with the people who count. They'll be setting up an interview with him – his name is Judas.
It's stories like the one we hear in the gospel today that give this joke its ironic punch. Because on the surface, if you didn't know what happens later in the story, if you didn't get these little tidbits from the writer of John in parentheses to tell us about his real motives, Judas looks pretty good. Jesus and the rest of the disciples thought he was trustworthy enough to carry the common purse, and from what he says here, it sounds like Judas cares about the poor. It sounds like Judas puts the needs of others even before the needs of his own group. On the surface, Judas sounds like the man for the job.
And we “get” Judas' response to what Mary does here in this story. At least I do. Because what Mary does is too much. It's just way over the top. It's beyond excessive. It's downright extravagant! “It's good that you want to show your love and devotion to Jesus, Mary. That's great! But could you have picked a less-expensive ointment to use? Maybe the common olive oil from the kitchen would have been fine for a foot rub. And if you just had to use the nard, the expensive, imported nard, don't you think you could've just poured a little bit in your hand & put the rest aside instead of dumping the whole pound on Jesus' feet? Don't you know that with nard, just a little goes a long way? The smell's about to knock us over, it's so powerful! And most of it just ran off his feet and into the ground anyway. What a waste! And then, to wipe off what was left with your hair? They make towels for that kind of thing, Mary. There was no need for you to get so up close and personal. Wiping his feet with your hair? That's just gross, Mary, I don't care how you look at it.”
Oh yeah, we get Judas' response, whether it was from his pure greed, or out of some actual concern for the poor, or just out of plain discomfort. Part of us recoils from this extravagant gift, this overwhelming display of emotion and love – especially us Lutherans, who tend to be kind of stoic and subdued in our worship, who like our hymnals so we can have something to do with our hands, who feel most comfortable when things are done in the usual, safe, predictable order, who, Garrison Keillor likes to joke, hear something funny in church and smile as loudly as possible. We aren't comfortable with this wild abandon Mary shows here, the intimate gesture of kneeling at Christ's feet. It's not just the price of the perfume that's wasted that offends our sensibilities, it's the passion that goes along with it. We prefer to keep things a little more under control. We don't know what to do when people act like Mary.
And neither did Judas. If Mary is the cool aunt who gives the best, most unnecessary gifts, Judas is the old grandpa-type who gives socks and underwear for Christmas. He's practical, he's rational, & even w/ Judas, there's probably some love there, but somehow, it falls flat. He misses the point of giving the gift, which is that gifts shouldn't be given out of a sense of duty or obligation, but rather because you love the one who is receiving the gift and want to show them the best way you can, that you want to please the recipient with your gift. And for all of his practical qualifications, Judas doesn't know something that Mary just seems to get intuitively, that abundant love leads to abundant giving – of yourself, and sometimes, yes, of your stuff, which is why Mary came and knelt at the feet of Jesus and poured an entire bottle of expensive on his feet, and gently wiped them with her hair.
Abundant love leads to abundant giving. That's what Mary learned from her friendship with Jesus, listening to him speak, watching him in action. Over and over, she has seen him give himself away without hesitation, without reserve. Most recently she has seen him call her brother Lazarus forth from death, an act that sealed Jesus' own death – because from that day on, the gospel of John tells us, the people in power planned to put Jesus to death. And now, as the end approaches, as he comes near to Jerusalem to their town of Bethany, just 6 days before the Passover, she knows that he is at risk for his life. Even if she doesn't understand what is about to happen, even if she doesn't totally grasp what he is facing in coming back to Jerusalem, Mary sees that Jesus does, and she sees that he will not hold anything back. In these last few days, Jesus will not spend his time worrying and fretting about what is practical or rational or logical; Jesus does not count the cost – because abundant love leads to abundant giving, even if it means that it will cost him his life.
Perhaps this is what Mary sees in Jesus' eyes that night, and so she follows his example. In these, his last days, she gives the best of what she has to offer in return for the extravagant, lavish, over-the-top love that Jesus has shown every day of his life. She brings to him the nard that is ointment for the dead, that carries with it the overpowering smell that is the reminder of death, and yet, on Jesus, it becomes the scent of overpowering love that stands in the face of death and will not be overcome. It is a love that gives itself away, that pours itself out, a love that shows itself in service and sacrifice. This is the love that Jesus has for us and for the whole world, a love that reveals itself as it hangs on the cross. It is a love that holds nothing in reserve. It is the way that Jesus loves, an abundant love that leads to abundant giving. May we learn from him how to love this way.
Amen.
March 14, 2010 - Lent 4
God Restores Relationships
Lent 4 – March 14, 2010
So, anyone who thinks that the Bible is filled with stories about goody-two-shoes and holier-than-thou folks has clearly never read this story. It's one of the reasons that I love this parable, and so much of the Bible – it tells us about life as it really is. It tells us stories about people we can relate to, because the stories are about people just like us. This story especially – this one we call “The Prodigal Son”. It's kind of an unfortunate label, actually, because it puts all the focus on one person, the younger son – but Jesus starts the story this way, “There was a man who had two sons.” The parable's about all 3 of them – the man, the younger son, and the elder son.
Now we tend most often to spend our time and attention looking at the younger son, the one who comes to his dad and demands that he get his share of the inheritance today, not now – right now, so he can go off and explore the world. Now for us, that might seem a bit over the top – it doesn't quite seem right to ask for the inheritance before the parent's dead, but we at least understand the impulse to move away from home, to get out there & make a life for yourself – that's what most parents today hope their kids will do – even if they hope they won't go too far away.
But that's not quite the way it worked in Jesus' day. In that culture, family & community were everything. When the younger son asked for his inheritance early, he was basically telling his dad, “You're dead to me.” To leave home & go to a distant country was to say basically the same thing to the neighbors. This young man was cutting himself off from all the relationships that mattered – in leaving them all behind, he became dead to them too.
But the younger son isn't the only one who knows how to wreck his relationships. Because when his younger brother came back, much to the older brother's chagrin, their dad just took him in! No recrimination, no guilt trips – heck, the father throws a party for the whole town! And we know how that went over with the older son. He stands outside, smelling the food and listening to the music and watching the dancing, and he stays outside. Instead of joining the welcome home party, the older son throws himself a pity party. It's not fair! How could their father take that good-for-nothing back like nothing ever happened, as if he hadn't treated their relationship like it meant nothing, as if he hadn't squandered his inheritance in wild and foolish living, as if he hadn't come back, tail between his legs, looking to get back in his father's good graces?
“If anybody should get a party,” he thinks, “it should be me! I 'm the good son. I'm the dutiful one. I'm the responsible one. I never went off to live it up. I stayed here on the farm like a good son should. I work hard for this family. But no-o-o! It's this slacker who gets the party. It's just not right!” So he complains to his father – and Jesus ended the story without telling us if the elder son ever came in, or if he stayed outside, self-righteous and resentful, cut off from his father and his brother.
It's your classic family dysfunction, a story as old as the world itself – family conflict between parents and children, between siblings. It starts with Cain and Abel and it doesn't stop there. It's all through the Bible. And it's in the stories of our own culture – movies, TV shows, books. We love this story because it's about us. None of us is perfect; none of our families is perfect. Every family has these characters. We may identify more with the younger son. Or maybe we feel like the older brother. Sometimes you may have been in the role of the father, or maybe you've seen it play out as you looked on as a neighbor & shook your head at the Joneses and their difficult children. But no matter where we find ourselves in the story, we all know the reality of wrecked relationships. We know how it feels to be cut off from the ones who mean the most, whether it's through our own selfishness and bad decisions, or because we can't let go of old hurts and injuries, can't let go of our sense of self-righteousness and what is fair, what we deserve and the other person doesn't. We all know how it feels to be alienated from the ones we love, whether it's a parent or a brother or sister or spouse or child, or perhaps even from God.
But this story isn't just about two sons. Jesus said there was a man who had two sons, and it's this man and his actions that are really at the heart of the message Jesus was trying to get across to his listeners, those Pharisees and scribes who were all up in arms at the kind of people Jesus was hanging out with. And what Jesus tells us about the man, the father of these two sons is enough to blow you away. Because what we see with the father is that no matter what his sons might do to try to wreck their relationship with him, the father will go to any lengths to restore that relationship. It starts when the younger son asks for his inheritance. The dad could've said no. He could've said, “Do you know what the neighbors will say about us if I give you your share now?” Or he could've said “Good-bye & good riddance & don't come crawling to me if things don't work out.” But he didn't. And when the son went off & spent all his money and got himself in trouble with no food to eat and doing work no respectable Jewish boy would have been caught dead doing; when the son decided he'd have better luck just going home and asking to be brought in as a hired hand; when the son finally came trudging up the road back home, his father could've done any number of things. He could have turned his back on him, refusing even to speak to him. He could have hired him as a servant. He could have made him grovel, could have made him pay for his disrespect and bad decisions, begrudgingly taking him back in. He could have done any of those things or more – it's only human nature – but he doesn't do any of them.
I love this picture of a dad whose son has left them all for dead, waiting & watching the road for signs of his return, who sees him coming while he was still far off & is filled, not with recrimination, but compassion, who runs to meet him, robes hiked up & flapping in the breeze for everyone to see, racing to grab his wayward son in the biggest bear-hug you can imagine, not even stopping to listen to the son's well-rehearsed request for forgiveness, just jumping for joy that he's come home again, safe and sound & calling for clean clothes and shoes and a spontaneous party with the best food, reserved for the most special of occasions, welcoming him home as a beloved son, restoring him fully to his place in the family and in the town. No dignified man would do that. No self-respecting family leader would lower himself that way in the eyes of the community. But the father doesn't care about appearances, doesn't care about what the neighbors think, doesn't care if they all shake their heads at his foolishness.
And it's not just the younger son he shows compassion to. When the older boy acts all petty and petulant outside, his father comes out to him. That's also something you wouldn't do back then. The host stayed at the party – to leave to go get wayward son number 2 was yet another sign of weakness and foolishness. But the father still doesn't care. Restoring his relationship with his son is more important than his pride, than his status, than his reputation. The father goes out to the son, listens to him, and reminds him that his position in the family is secure, that the father will hold nothing back from this son either, but that it's still right to celebrate the return of his younger brother.
This is the picture of the God we follow, the one we dare to call Father. It is a God who will stop at nothing to restore our broken relationships – both with God and with each other. It's a God who doesn't hold our sins or our selfishness or our bad decisions against us, but instead is anxiously looking down the road, waiting to see us appear on the horizon and rushing to welcome us home before we can even say a word. It's a God whose love and grace and forgiveness may strike us older brothers as over-the-top and unfair, this lavish love that won't let anything get in its way. But it's the love that God offers to each of us, love so deep that it sent us another Son, one who lived and died to restore our wrecked relationships, and trusting the message of that reconciliation to us.
This God, this amazing God who offers us such amazing grace, is throwing a party, and the whole world is invited. Come take your place at the banquet!
Amen.
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