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Text: John 13: 12-17

Today, with the images of four of our nation’s greatest presidents before us, we turn in the gospels to a story of a biblical model of leadership.

Jesus, the King of Kings and Lord of Lords, gets down on his hands and knees and washes the feet of his disciples.

As the words of Tom Colvin’s hymn, “Jesu, Jesu” remind us:

“Kneels at the feet of his friends, silently washes their feet, Master who acts as a slave to them.”  (UMH #432)

Our Master humbles himself in service to others.

Our Master doesn’t demand praise and monuments and glory… but finds glory in loving and serving those who are lowly. 

And calls us to do the same.

But even more than that… this act of love and hospitality and service was not just meant for those who were righteous and perfect and had it all together.

Simon Peter, who would soon deny Jesus three times was there. 

Judas, who was about to betray Jesus was there.

Jesus knew them fully.  Completely. 

And Jesus loved them and asked them to do the same for the world.  

What does it mean for us to live in this world not seeking our own glory, but seeking to humbly serve others? 

What might it mean for us to know others fully, completely, and love them anyways?

Let’s pray:  Gracious God, may the words of my mouth and the meditation of all our hearts and minds be holy and pleasing to you, O Lord, our Strength and Redeemer.

At the end of this spring when I put Mount Rushmore on the list, the location evoked nothing but nostalgia for me.   Summer, vacations, grand vistas, and playing games in the car. 

Remember that photo from the start of summer where my brother and I were handcuffed together?  

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Well, that same trip also included a stop at Mount Rushmore.

As we arrived, we noticed that my hair was a strange shade of green. Our campground the night before had a pool and my light blonde hair had turned green from the chlorine. 

Then, when we got out of the car at the national monument, we were suddenly surprised to discover just a few cars away my childhood friend, Matt, and his family! 

I was so embarrassed.

But I got over it and we all enjoyed the grand majestic views of these spectacular presidents.

As the summer has gone on, I must admit that those iconic men carved into a mountainside have taken on a different tone in our national discourse. 

Our country is grappling in new ways with the systemic racism that underlies every institution.

We are questioning practices that currently exist and looking at our history with new lenses. 

And that has not only included the monuments of Confederate generals, but also the full legacy of great American heroes like Washington, Lincoln, Jefferson, and Roosevelt and the land upon which this monument is built itself. 

I have to admit… when President Trump scheduled a big celebration there for the Fourth of July, I thought nothing of it. 

But all of a sudden there was controversy because someone from the DNC had tweeted that Mount Rushmore was connected with white supremacy.

What?! I thought.

That’s bonkers… it is divisive for the sake of being divisive…

It is a simple patriotic monument.

And then I took a breath.

I’ve made a commitment to myself that when I find myself outraged at something, I try to research instead of react. 

My first impulse is not to repost it, but to google it.

Sometimes, the information is flat out wrong.  Sometimes it is intentionally misleading.

But sometimes, there is truth to be discovered there. 

Sometimes, my anger or outrage is a defense mechanism because the way I had always thought about something is being challenged. 

Do you know what I learned early in July about Mount Rushmore? 

It is a sacred site for our Lakota siblings. 

This mountain is called Six Grandfathers, named for the Earth, Sky, and four directions that had been carved into the granite by the elements.

In 1868 this land was promised in a treaty to the Lakota people. 

Yet the discovery of precious minerals like gold and tin brought miners and prospectors to the area in a breach of that treaty. 

There was conflict and the U.S. sent in more calvary to defeat the Lakota and their allies. The Congressional Act of 1877 forced Native Americans onto reservations and our government took over the Black Hills. 

In July of 1980, nearly 100 years later, the Supreme Court ruled that these lands were illegally taken from the Lakota people, but the land has still not been returned. 

That rush of prospectors brought to the area a New York lawyer named Charles Rushmore.

In his own words, Mr. Rushmore explains how the land came to be named after him:

“I was deeply impressed with the Hills, and particularly with a mountain of granite rock that rose above the neighboring peaks.  On one occasion while looking from near its base, with almost awe, at this majestic pile, I asked of the men who were with me for its name.  They said it had no name, but one of them spoke up and said ‘We will name it now, and name it Rushmore Peak.’ That was the origin of the name it bears…” (https://www.nps.gov/moru/learn/historyculture/charles-e-rushmore.htm)

We ignored our treaties with indigenous people for the sake of our own prosperity.

We erased their legacy and names and stories from the land.

And then we gave this place our name and carved the faces of our leaders upon it.

It is a far cry from the humble service that Jesus calls us to embody with our neighbors.

But in the minds of those at the time, such acts could be justified because native people were seen as savages, less than, unequal to their white counterparts. 

The only way our ancestors could rationalize genocide, enslavement, and colonization wasto believe that there are innate differences between the races and that non-white people were inferior. 

That is white supremacy at its core.

The four men whose faces we now see carved upon this mountain were not perfect. 

They were heroes and champions and they made our country what it is today, but they had faults as well and they lived and breathed and upheld systems that supported a belief that white people were somehow different and more worthy of this land than people of color.

George Washington led us to freedom from Great Britain, but that freedom was not extended to his own slaves.  When his wife’s slave, Ona Judge escaped, Washington went to great effort to recover her, fearing she would inspire their other slaves to seek freedom as well. 

Thomas Jefferson literally wrote our independence into existence and doubled the size of our nation.  But, also, the sexual exploitation of his slaves is so well-known that there is an Ancestry.com spoof about it.

Abraham Lincoln helped to preserve our nation and abolished slavery.  However, that freedom was not extended to Native peoples and during his administration, land was stolen and native people were executed and massacred. 

Theodore Roosevelt was chosen for the monument to represent the growth and development of the United States through incredible social policies.  Yet he also say Native people as an obstacle towards settlement and once said, “the only good Indians are dead Indians.”

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You know, when Borglum began to carve the faces of these men into the face of the cliff, the design included the figures from head to waist. 

He intended for a fuller image of these great American heroes to be portrayed. Not the full story of their legacy, but at least a greater rendering of their persona.

Borglam died, the country was at war, and the project ran out of money so this full realization was never completed. 

Only their faces were ever finished.

I’ve been thinking a lot in the midst of the national debate about whether monuments or statues and the like should stand not about these figures… but about Jesus… kneeling at the feet of the disciples.

He knew them fully.

He knew them completely.

He knew their faults and their triumphs. 

And he loved and had compassion and offered forgiveness to them anyways.

Here is the thing about not only Jesus, but the entire biblical witness.

Our scriptures don’t shy away from telling the full story of our leaders. 

We know that Moses led the people out of Egypt, but we also know that he was a murderer and we know that his own grumbling with God prevented him from seeing the promised land.

We know that David was a man after God’s own heart and his line was chosen for the redemption of all of Israel, but we also know that David was a rapist and murderer and stood idly by while assault and division happened with his own family. 

We know that before he was Paul, Saul persecuted Christians and oversaw their executions and that even later in life in the midst of his ministry, there was a thorn in his side, a temptation that never quite eluded him. 

For so much of our national history, we have focused only on the parts of the story that we like.  The parts that hold us up in a good light. The parts that demonstrate our worth and our glory and invite others to follow in our footsteps. 

Just like Mount Rushmore remains unfinished… a partially completed rendering… the story we tell ourselves about our own history and these figures is incomplete.  It is not the full picture.

And it has ignored and diminished other voices and stories and hurts for too long.

What we are experiencing in our nation right now is a lot of pain, and conflict, and tension… but in the midst of that woundedness, perhaps there is for the first time in a really long time we also have the possibility for healing and new steps forward.

When Jesus knelt at the feet of the disciples, he knew they would harm him and washed their feet anyways.

I think about how a wound often has to be cleaned out and debrided before it can properly heal.

That is what we are experiencing right now.

Systemic racism and white supremacy have wounded our nation and our people and our relationships with one another. 

And there is a lot we have to clean away and bring to the surface, so that the wound can properly heal.

It is painful.

It is ugly.

But it is the only way healing can ever be possible.

Because you see, only when we allow God to see us fully – with all of our faults and all of our sins and all of our mistake and all of our faithful attempts to do the right thing – can we truly accept God’s grace and mercy into our lives and share it with others. 

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In 2004, Gerard Baker became the first Native American superintendent of Mount Rushmore and has worked to establish the Heritage Village there to share the history and customs of the land before Custer and Borglum left a mark on the area.  Baker said:

“it’s not just a teepee here.  We’re promoting all cultures of America.  That’s what this place is.  This is Mount Rushmore! It’s America! Everybody’s something different here; we’re all different.  And just maybe that gets us talking again as human beings, as Americans.” (https://blog.nativehope.org/six-grandfathers-before-it-was-known-as-mount-rushmore)

Mount Rushmore is the story of America. 

With all the things we have done right, and all the ways we have gotten it so wrong. 

As we think back upon our history, our story, if we find a way to tell it in all of its fullness, with all of its diversity and triumph and tribulation, maybe… just maybe we can remember that we are all human beings. 

That none of us are greater than our Master. 

And that God calls us all to another way, a better way, of being in this world. 

As we sang together in our opening hymn:

“Cure thy children’s warring madness, bend our pride to thy control; shame our wanton, selfish gladness, rich in things and poor in soul.  Grant us wisdom, grant us courage, lest we miss thy kingdom’s goal.” (Harry Emerson Fosdick, UMH #577)

As we engage in these tough national conversations, help us to be humble.  Remind us of your call to serve our neighbors rather than promote ourselves.  Give us wisdom and grace to speak the full story.  And bless us with courage to do the right thing.  

The Breath of the Spirit (2.0)

note… the original sermon for Pentecost was written over 10 days ago because of staff vacations and our own pre-recording for worship in the age of Covid-19. But I couldn’t rest with this sermon and felt the Spirit keep nudging me to talk about how breath this past week has been stolen from so many… so here is the update God put on my heart this morning.

Text: John 3:1-8

Most of us are familiar with the story of Pentecost from Acts. 

As the crowds gather in Jerusalem for the Feast of Weeks, fifty days after Passover, the disciples of Jesus were also in town. Suddenly, the Holy Spirit rushes in, sounding like a violent wind and appearing as tongues of fire. 

And then, the Holy Spirit empowers the disciples to reach out and speak to all who gather around, each able to hear in their own native language. 

Three thousand people give their lives to Christ that day, receive the Holy Spirit, and the church is born. 

Just six weeks before, those disciples had been gathered together behind locked doors.  We heard this message right after Easter and also last week from Bishop Deb.  Jesus is resurrected and shows these frightened disciples his hands and side and then he breathes on them, giving them the Holy Spirit.  He offers them peace and sends them into the world. 

This wasn’t the first appearance of the rushing, flowing, creative, breath of God.

In the first verses of our scripture, God’s breath, wind, Ru’ach, sweeps across the waters as the world is being shaped. 

And in the second chapter of Genesis, God scoops up a handful of topsoil and forms it into a human being. Then, God breathes life, Spirit, into its nostrils.

Birth and creation and the Spirit go hand in hand.

And wherever the Spirit shows up, the finite and the infinite are closer together. 

Our very first stop on our summer road trip is Wind Cave National Park in South Dakota. 

For the Lakota people, their story of emergence into this world is connected with this sacred place. Emergence in this tradition is not creation per se, but when their people came to the surface and emerged from the spirit realm.

Their story begins in a time when the plants and animals were being brought into existence, but there were no people or bison living on the earth.   

The cave itself, is known as Oniya Oshoka, the place where the earth breathes.  This cave is believed to be a passageway between the spirit world and the surface. 

The Creator instructed their ancestor Tokahe to lead the people through the passage when the earth was ready for them.  When they emerged, they saw the hoof print of a bison who had come before and were told by the Creator, “follow the buffalo track and you will have what you need.”  

Then the Creator shrunk down the entrance to the passageway, leaving it as a reminder of where they had come from. 

As a child, my family traveled through the Black Hills in South Dakota for our family vacation one summer. 

Yes, in this picture my brother and I ARE handcuffed together.  You see, we made a stop at Wall Drug and got some of those novelty handcuffs… and when we got out to take this picture we couldn’t find the key!   

However, we never found our way to Wind Caves. 

In fact, it most people traveling through the area probably would have been unaware of the intricate network of caves just below the surface.  The opening from the Lakota Emergence Story is just a small hole where the wind moves in and out. 

In 1881, the Bingham brothers were traveling by and heard the sound of a blowing wind, even though it was an incredibly calm day.  They sought out the source and the wind blew one of the brother’s hats right off! 

Many came to see the sight and explore the caves and in 1903 it was officially designated as a National Park.  It is one of the largest cave systems in the entire world and still has not been fully mapped!

Scientifically, changing barometric pressure causes the air to move through this the small natural entrance to Wind Cave. 

Yet that unseen force, that natural in and out, reminds us of the breath of life blown into Adam’s nostrils.

It reminds us of the wind hovering over the waters.

It reminds us of Jesus breathing the Spirit of peace upon the disciples.

It reminds us of the birth of the church!

And as fundamentally as our own life depends on every breath in… and breath out… our life in God depends upon the flowing of that Rua’ch, Pneuma, Spirit in our own lives as well.

Think about your own breath. 

Inhale.

Exhale.

That breath sustains you every minute of every day.

But how often do you really notice it?

The air entering your lungs.

The muscles moving as it leaves again.

The oxygen moving to every red blood cell. 

I must admit I’ve been thinking a lot more about my breath this week.

I’ve been thinking about it after seeing those images of George Floyd struggling to breathe on the ground.

As a white woman, I confess that when Eric Garner cried out that he couldn’t breathe and died in police custody in 2014, I was upset for a little bit.

But my life went back to normal.

Lord have mercy. 

Hear my confession that nothing in my life changed, when I could have breathed in your Spirit and could have spent these last six years building capacity and standing up against racism in our community.

The anger and frustration we see spilling out on the streets is a direct result of the fact that nothing has changed.

That what is normal is the systemic racism embedded in the fabric of our country.

I’ve been thinking about my breath every time I check the daily numbers of coronavirus cases and deaths here in Iowa.

Because of the essential nature of their work, the virus is disproportionately impacting our black and brown neighbors here in Iowa.

But I also think about the stories of children in the documentary “The Human Element” who couldn’t breathe because of asthma.  The film explored a school in a neighborhood with a lot of industrial pollution where so many of its children have this disease they have an entire asthma protocol.

We are so busy prioritizing livlihoods over lives we can’t hear the people in our community telling us that they can’t breathe.

My insides are just twisted from grief and anguish.

It is Pentecost and it is 2020 and it feels like the world is on fire.

Maybe you feel the same.

Our gospel lesson for this morning comes from very early in the gospel of John. 

Enter Nicodemus.

He was part of the ruling class in Jerusalem.

He had done everything in his life right.

He was the epitome of privilege and power.

And I think he felt like his world was on fire.

He knew that something had to give, something had to change, knew that there was something he wasn’t seeing.

And he was scared.

He was scared for others to know what he was wrestling with or how he felt…

In some ways, he was waiting to emerge…

So he goes to Jesus under the cover of night to have a conversation. 

What he hears surprises him. 

Jesus tells him that unless he is born anew, born from above, re-created… Nicodemus will not be able to see the Kingdom of God. 

It’s as if he is telling him, as long as you remain hidden, in the dark, under cover…

As long as you are comfortable with things as they way they are…

If you refuse to let go and leave behind what you know…

Then you’ll never really experience God’s Kingdom. 

Nicodemus takes Jesus literally and tries to figure out what it means to re-enter his mother’s womb…

And that is when Jesus brings the Spirit back into the conversation.

We emerge…

We are recreated…

We are born again…

We wake up…

We are able to see and know and participate in the Kingdom of God only by the power of the Holy Spirit.

Jesus invites Nicodemus to set aside his privilege and power and to let the power of God fill his life and guide his actions instead. 

And just like that very first breath in Adam’s nostrils brought him to life, when the Holy Spirit moves into our bodies and minds and souls, we come to experience a life that we couldn’t even comprehend before.

God breathes into our lives and changes everything.

All around us, our neighbors can’t breathe.

They can’t breathe because systemic racism is holding them down.

They can’t breathe because of pollution.

They can’t breathe because of an uncontrolled virus.

They can’t breathe because of hatred and frustration.

And I am taking a good long look at my own life today and thinking about all of the ways that I have directly or indirectly contributed.

How have I stifled the breath of God?

How have I kept that life-giving breath from entering their lives?

Where do I need to emerge, wake up, be born again?

As Tim Nafziger writes, “Jesus understand that power warps the way you view the world.  The more power, the greater the warp. Being born again is what it takes to start seeing things again in their proper light.”

It all feels so impossible.

It feels overwhelming.

The grief, the division, the anguish is palpable.

But you know what… it was for the disciples, too.

When I initially wrote this sermon, I said that on the day of Pentecost they were in Jerusalem celebrating.

But how can you celebrate when your leader has been executed by the empire?

How can you celebrate when you are still angry and frustrated and grieving?

It had to have felt impossible and overwhelming and they had to have still been afraid.

And that is when the Holy Spirit showed up.

Showed up with fire and with wind.

Turned the world upside down.

No doubt, some in that crowd had just fifty-three days before been crying out “Crucify Him!”

But the Holy Spirit showed up and they could see now what they couldn’t see then.

Three thousand people were born again that day.

Three thousand people woke up to a new way of life and living in the Kingdom of God where you put your neighbors first and love is the greatest command and you share what you have and make sure no one is in need.

I think again about Nicodemus.

If we follow his story through the gospel of John, we find him again at the end. 

No longer is he hanging out in the night.

He emerges into public view, in broad daylight, after the crucifixion of Jesus.

In a time when it would have been the riskiest for him to do so, the Spirit pushes him to the seat of power to ask for the body of Jesus. 

He puts his own life on the line for the sake of the Kingdom of God.

In the midst of all that seems impossible, Come Holy Spirit!

Come and blow your life-giving breath among our communities once again!

Come and breathe into our lives so that we might see Your Kingdom.

Come Holy Spirit!

Cleanse us of all within us that keeps others from breathing.

Cleanse us of all that has kept us from experiencing your life.

Burn away the sins of racism.

Melt away our tendency to put profits over people.

Come Spirit and help us to see things in their proper light.

Help us to see ourselves in our proper light.

Help us to see our neighbors in their proper light.

Your light.

Your life-giving, life-sustaining, cup-runneth-over, abundant love for all light.

Empower us to be your church.

Not in a building, but right where we are… in our homes, our neighborhood, our work, our world.  

Come Holy Spirit and help us to set this world on fire once again with love and grace and mercy and kindness and forgiveness.

Let’s pray…

Spirit of God may we breathe in and hold your love within us.

May we breathe out and share it with the world.

Spirit of God may we breathe in and hold your peace within us.

May we breathe out and share it with the world.

Spirit of God may we breathe in and hold your life within us.

May we breathe out and share it with the world.  (Christine Sine)

Do you love me?

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Text: John 14:15-21

If you love me, you will keep my commandments.

If you LOVE me,  you will keep my commandments.

Do you love God?  Do you love Jesus? My heart wants to say, YES!, I do!  Of course I do! 

I love God with all my heart, mind, soul, and strength!  Don’t I?  Do I? Do you?

If you love me, Jesus says, you will keep my commandments. 

I think all of us are really trying to love Jesus, but if we are honest with him… and with ourselves… we are probably not keeping them, obeying them, living them as well as we should.

Maybe we should back up a step. What commandment? 

Well, this passage comes from the gospel of John and just a chapter before, Jesus sits down the disciples and shares with them this last meal and he tells them:“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.”  (John 13:34-35)

So…. If we love Jesus, then we have to love each other.    And love each other in the way that Jesus loved us.  I think we’ve been doing a pretty good job of that during this pandemic.  You’ve been making phone calls and sending cards and checking in on each other.  We’re making masks and picking up groceries and trying extra hard to be nice to the people we live with.  We’ve taken care of each other as the church.  And that’s a good thing. 

But I also remember that John’s gospel is just one version of this commandment.  In Matthew, Mark, and Luke’s gospels,  Jesus tells us about the greatest commandment.  A lawyer or a scribe comes up and wants to test him, so he asks what commandment in all of the scripture is the most important.  What one law would sum up all the others?  And there, we get some version of that phrase we know quite well:  “You must love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your being, with all your strength, and with all your mind, and love your neighbor as yourself.” (Luke 10:27, CEB)

This is where it gets a little harder.  You see, our call isn’t just to love others in the church.  Not just to love the people like us who do the same things as us. But to love our neighbors. Strangers. People we disagree with. Folks we can’t stand. Even when it is hard. Even when it is uncomfortable. Even when it puts our own freedom or lives on the line. Because that is how Jesus loved us. 

These last few weeks, we have been exploring some of the resurrection stories of Jesus.  Two weeks ago, we remembered how six of the disciples got in a boat to go fishing and Jesus showed up for the third time.    When they dragged their catch to shore, there he was, waiting, with breakfast cooking on an open flame.  But there is more to that story. 

You see, after they eat, Jesus turns to Peter and asks him a simple question:  “do you love me more than these?”  Peter is a bit taken aback.  He sputters out a response:  “Yes, you know I love you.”

“Feed my lambs.” 

It’s almost as if Jesus is pointing back to that conversation they had before his arrest… If you love me, keep my commandments. If you love me, take care of each other. If you love me, love your neighbor as yourself. 

And it happens not once, not twice, but three times Jesus asks Simon Peter this question: “Do you love me?” And those three times are important.  Because you see, three times, Peter turned his back on Jesus.  Three times, Peter denied that he knew him. Three times, Peter chose to put himself before Jesus, before others.

Did Jesus turn away or cut him off? No…  Jesus look at this imperfect, selfish, human being who finds it hard to keep his commandments… and keeps giving him another chance. Gave him the opportunity to redeem himself.  A do-over.

We started out today thinking about whether or not we love God. Whether or not we are keeping the commandments. Whether or not we are loving others as much as ourselves. And we have fallen short. We haven’t always put that love into action. We’ve been selfish. We are human. And God keeps reaching out to us.

Today, you have a chance to show you love God by keeping his commandments.  Whatever happened yesterday is in the past and if you offer it up to God it is forgiven and wiped clean.  TODAY you can love God with your whole self by loving your neighbor as yourself. EVERY DAY you get a chance to start anew. 

You know, here at Immanuel, when we talk about what it means to follow Jesus, what it means to be a disciple, we like to use three little words. Love, Service, and Prayer. In a way, it’s kind of how we sum up that great commandment. In everything we do, we try to make love, service, and prayer part of it.  At the food pantry…. At Wednesday night supper… In small groups… In music rehearsals…In our interactions at school or work… Everywhere we go and in everything we do. 

Today, we are marking the closing of another year of school at that means we have some high school seniors who are graduating. And one of the things about these young people is they get it. 

They know who God is and they each, in their own way, are out there loving others and serving their neighbors, and prayer is an important part of who they are.  And some of that is because they have amazing parents who have helped them to grow in their faith. But another part of that is because of you, the church. You’ve lived out what Jesus commands us in John. 

[image of kindergarten bibles for Peter, David, Laurel, Ana, Rachel]

From the time they were knee high, you have been part of their lives, helping them to love, showing them how to serve, joining them in prayer.  So thank you, for being a part of their journey…

They Recognized His Voice

Text:  John 10:1-4,10-11; 21:1-14

In these weeks after Easter, I’ve been spending a lot of my time reading and thinking about the resurrection appearances of Jesus. 

They seem like a natural way to spend our time… as we find ourselves looking for signs of resurrection and hope in the midst of our own time of difficulty.

What surprised me as I turned to the lectionary, however, is that this year, our readings take us not on a journey with the disciples AFTER Easter, but take us back to Jesus debating with the Pharisees and teaching the disciples about what it means to be a shepherd.

This week in our bible study, we talked about the hopes of people in the time of Jesus for the coming Messiah.  One of the primary metaphors the prophets used was that of a shepherd.

Moses prayed that God would anoint someone who would lead the people so they wouldn’t be like sheep without a shepherd. (Numbers 27:15-17)

Ezekiel shared God’s promise that his people would not be scattered forever, but that a single shepherd from the line of David would be sent to feed them. (34:5,23)

As the Pharisees start to test Jesus and push on the edges of who he said he was, Jesus responded that he was the Good Shepherd.

The shepherd who would call the sheep by name and bring them in and lead them out.

The shepherd who would bring abundant life.

The shepherd who would lay down his life for the sheep if necessary.

You know… not many of us have grown up around sheep. 

And even if we have, the way we might shepherd today in the west is very different from how they would have done it in Jesus’ day.

So how about a little ancient shepherding 101?

First, where we might herd our sheep, pushing them towards their destination with dogs or other animals to aid us, the shepherd’s of Jesus day would have led their flocks.

He would have stood near the front, in their midst, and where he walked, they would have walked. 

Wherever he went, they would go. 

The sheep would have known his voice, the voice of the one who protected them… and would also have known the voice of a stranger who might harm them. 

When their names were called by their gentle shepherd, they would go. 

As I read more about sheep this week, I learned that they are smarter than we give them credit for. 

Sheep have excellent long-term memories.  In fact, in a study, a group of animals was shown pictures of the faces of other sheep.  When presented with some, they were given treats, but with others nothing.

Time and time again, when presented with a choice between a face that produced a treat and a face that produced nothing, they knew the difference. 

They recognized the faces of other sheep. 

Sheep carefully discern who they can trust…

Who will seek the best for them…

And once they recognize that person, they will follow them anywhere. 

Fast-forward through Jesus ministry with me for a bit. 

Past Palm Sunday and the trial and crucifixion…

Past the days of fear and trembling for the disciples where they were huddled up in their homes… or had scattered to the winds…

Past the rumors of resurrection…

Past even those first two appearances to the uncertain disciples. 

John’s gospel tells us that a few weeks out from the resurrection, the disciples are tired of hiding.

They are tired of being scared.

They don’t know yet how this whole resurrection thing has really changed their lives.

They want to return to a normal life… but they aren’t sure what that means.

Do we go back to the life of ministry when we were following Jesus?  Or do we go back to whatever time there was before? 

Peter suddenly stands up one day and proclaims, “I’m going fishing.”

It’s what he knows how to do. 

And it’s something to do. 

So five other disciples decide to go with him and spend the whole night on the boat.

They catch absolutely nothing.

But to be honest, it was probably nice to just be out.

To breathe in the fresh air.

To look up at the stars. 

To reflect and ponder and wonder what was going to come next.

You see, they were feeling a little lost.

Jesus was alive, but he wasn’t there.

Some of them had scattered. 

They didn’t know where to go next or what to do.

They were like sheep without a shepherd. 

But as dawn began to break, they looked to the shore and saw someone standing there. 

A voice carried over the water: “Have you caught anything?”

No, they hadn’t.

Their nets were empty.

“Cast your net on the right side and you’ll find some.” The voice called back.

Whether or not they could fully recognize the voice, they could recognize the command.

You see, they had been on boats before. 

They had been asked to trust, and have faith, and cast their nets one more time before.

They had witnessed the miracles of abundance when they could barely pull them in because they were so packed with the catch.

Can you imagine how their hearts must have started beating?

Can you feel the adrenaline?

They tossed their nets and they literally couldn’t bring the net back up it was so full. 

They knew his voice.

They knew their shepherd.

They knew this was Jesus.

And Peter simply can’t contain himself but dives in the water and heads straight for the shore.

The rest of the disciples follow, dragging both the boat and the net with them. 

Before they have even stepped on dry land, there is a fire and fish cooking for breakfast.

You see, the Good shepherd provides for his flock.

Provides safety and comfort.

Food and warmth.

I love this line from John 21:12 “None of the disciples could bring themselves to ask him, ‘Who are you?’ They knew it was the Lord.”

The sheep know the sound of their shepherd’s voice.

They recognize his face.

They know who he is by the provision he offers… both the abundance in their nets and the meal set before him.

You know, I think we, like the disciples, are eager for a little bit of normalcy. 

Unsure of what comes next, we might want to rush back into exactly what had been.

We want to get back to places and people that brought us joy.  Like this video that you sent in of a beautiful afternoon on a lake…

[video, then back to camera]

For you, it might not be fishing, but it might be going into work…

Sitting in your classroom…

Hanging out with friends…

Joining together in ministry…

Gathering with your family…

Heck, even commuting is starting to look good these days!

The disciples were scattered and lost and unsure and so they turned first to what they knew.

They got in a boat and cast out a net.

But you know what, Jesus had called them from that life once before.

He gave them a glimpse of something different.

Something better.

He gave them a purpose that was beyond what they had known.

Beyond the familiar.

Beyond the comfortable old routines.

He gave them authority and power.

He took their gifts and transformed them.

To simply go back is not what our shepherd has in mind. 

No, Jesus doesn’t want that old life… Jesus wants us to experience abundant life.

He wants everything that was to be transformed by what he is offering.

And as soon as they see their shepherd, they know it.

They know that there are things they have learned along the way that have changed them.

They know they are different than when they started.

They know that they are being led in a new direction.

They can see the abundance that awaits if only they have the courage to follow.

I’ve been thinking a lot about these times. 

Will we head right back to what is familiar when this is all over? 

Or will we patiently wait for the voice of Christ to lead us?

You see, our Good Shepherd is watching over us.

Right now, he is leading us through this valley of the shadow of death by keeping us safely within the fold… in our homes and with our family. 

Through the kindness of our neighbors and strangers, we have been able to find still waters and green pastures.

Even in the face of our enemies of illness and isolation and even death, our shepherd is setting a table of abundance. 

Abundant kindness. 

Abundant time with the people who are closest to us.

Abundant creativity.

The cup is overflowing it is so full.

Will we allow ourselves to be filled up in this time of shelter and safety? 

And when the gate opens, will we not just rush out, heading our own way, going back to what is familiar, but will we let the shepherd lead us? 

Stand in the midst of us.

Guide us.

Will we listen to his voice? 

May it be so.

Amen.

Behind Closed Doors

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Text:  John 20:18-20

Almost every Easter, we focus on the tomb.

We focus on the women.

We spend all of our time and attention on that glorious moment when they discover the tomb is empty and Jesus is alive and they have a story to tell.

But this morning, I want to focus on the rest of the disciples.

As my friend, Rev. Allison Lanza, reminded me a few weeks ago, the rest of the disciples were not at the tomb. 

They were not in the garden.

They were not taking risks and bringing oils to honor the body of their Lord.

As Rev. Lanza wrote,

“On the very first Easter the disciples were locked in their house.  It was dangerous for them to come out… They were living in a time of such despair and such fear.  If they left their homes their lives and the lives of their loved ones might be at risk.”

Only a few of us are able to gather here at this empty church to lead worship for this morning… just like only a few ever gathered to witness the empty tomb.

The rest of the disciples… the rest of the church… the rest of the faithful…

Well, you are home.

You are home where you are safe.

You are home where you are doing everything you can to protect your loved ones.

You are home because it is dangerous not just for ourselves, but for our vulnerable neighbors as well, to go out.

It is not irrational fear keeping you home… but very real concerns and worries and sensible measures that we need to take to care for one another.

This year, we may not be dressed up in fancy clothes and crowding into the pews.

One of our biggest disappointments might be missing out on that beautiful and delicious Easter Breakfast put on by VIM. 

We aren’t watching the kiddos squeal and run past each other finding eggs and crashing after eating all the candy.

But maybe what we are experiencing this year is a glimpse into what that very first Easter was like for those who followed Jesus.

It wasn’t about candy or food or clothes.

It was a group of people who were grieving and lonely and scared.

They were heartbroken and frustrated.

Everything they had planned and all of the possibility vanished on the cross.

They were desperate for a glimmer of hope, a hint of good news, a ray of possibility.

We don’t have to imagine what that was like.

We are living it.

We have loved ones who have tested positive for Covid-19 and you are worried about them and unable to go visit.

We are longing for connection and know you shouldn’t risk it.

We are grieving people in our lives that we have lost but have been unable to go and properly mourn.

All of the plans that we had for this spring… concerts, games, graduation, weddings… heck, even simply barbeques or camping trips or playdates…

In the blink of an eye it was gone.

Postponed indefinitely.

We are desperate for a glimmer of hope, a hint of good news, a ray of possibility.

I have to be honest… somewhere early in the midst of this crisis, I suggested that we postpone Easter.

I just couldn’t wrap my head around Easter with the church filled up with people.

I couldn’t imagine laughing and singing and praising God and shouting CHRIST IS RISEN… without having all of you shouting it back to me.

And Easter is technically a moving holiday… we celebrate it on the first Sunday after the first full moon after the Spring Equinox… which is another way of saying, it doesn’t matter what day it is.

So I got this idea that we should just wait and sit in Lent for a little while longer and postpone Easter until that Sunday when all of us could gather and hug and sing and shout and stuff our faces with food. 

But then I realized… this was not going to be a delay of a week or two. 

And maybe more than ever we need a glimmer of hope.

We need a hint of good news.

We need to see that ray of possibility.

Easter wasn’t cancelled or postponed or forgotten because the disciples were huddled together, shut behind locked doors, closed off to the world.

Easter wasn’t limited to the few people who were able to gather at the empty church… I mean tomb… on that morning. 

Easter wasn’t simply a rumor or a story told by others.

And you know what, that first Easter wasn’t even something the disciples had to risk their own lives to go out and experience.

No, John tells us in his gospel account that even there amid the apprehension and uncertainty and fear, the miracle of Easter showed up.

The resurrected Jesus somehow slipped passed those dead bolts and latches and stood among them.

Right where they were.

In the safety of their homes.

God-with-us… Immanuel.

On Easter Sunday, there were a few who were called to go out and proclaim the story.

In some ways,  I resonate with Mary, tasked with bringing the news from the empty tomb to share it with all of you.

But not everyone could.

Not everyone was safe.

Easter was for them, too.

I don’t know what your Easter will be like this year, but here is one thing for which I am certain.

God is with you. 

The Lord of Life is with you.

The Hope of the World is in your midst.

And when he showed up with those first disciples in their homes, the first words he uttered acknowledge their… our… difficult reality.

“Peace be with you.”

He didn’t scold them.

He didn’t open the doors and push them out into the world.

Jesus offers a word of reassurance.

He simply offers peace.

Peace unlike any else that the world gives.

A breath of the spirit that reminded them of the words spoken just days earlier as they gathered around the table in the upper room. 

“do not Let your hearts be troubled and do not let them be afraid.” (John 14:27 NRSV)

“In the world you have distress.  But be encouraged!  I have conquered the world.” (John 16:33 CEB)

We sometimes think about peace as a calm.

Or as the absence of war.

But the Hebrew use of peace was an all-encompassing word of complete and total well-being.

It meant salvation.

It meant being “uninjured and safe, whole and sound.” [1]

Jesus stands in their midst, wounds still visible, and yet he reassures them that all is whole and well and that his earthly work among them is complete.

Jesus is our peace.

He is our shalom.

Through him, we are restored to God…

We are restored to one another…

And we are sent forth to restore the world…

My prayer for you, today, is that that same peace would show up in your homes.

That the Easter blessing of peace might find you wherever you are.

I pray that in spite of everything, you might be able to breathe in that gift of peace. 

The apostle Paul knew a little something about being under house arrest, imprisoned, unable to go out and visit and care for those whom he had grown to love.

But even in a prison cell, the peace of Christ was with him. 

And so his words to the people of Philippi, I share now with you.

Rejoice[c] in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice.[d] Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near. Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

Wherever you are this morning, friends, let that Easter gift of blessed peace fill your lives. Amen. 


[1] https://www.efca.org/blog/sunday-resurrection

An Act of Holiness

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Text: selected verses from John 13

Never before in my life have I thought so much about washing my hands… how about you?

I mean, I washed my hands before… and I hope you did, too…

But never before did I see it as such a holy and important act.

A life saving act.

In the midst of this pandemic, washing our hands so frequently is flattening the curve.

It is giving our health care workers a fighting chance.

It is protecting the vulnerable in our midst.

Never before in our lifetimes was hand-washing such an act of service to our neighbors.

An act of service and humility and love just like Jesus shared with the disciples when he got down on his knees and washed their feet.

In the midst of Peter’s protest, he reminded them that this is not just an act of hygiene… not just something that he was doing to make them clean…

It was an act of holiness.

It was a means of grace.

It was a sign of love.

So tonight, gather at your table and to eat your supper and think about our call to love…

But before you do that.

Before you eat.

Take a moment and wash your hands.

If you are gathered with your family, crowd together around the sink and wash each other’s hands.

And as you wash your hands, think not just of hygiene.

Think not just of scrubbing germs away.

But remember that this is a holy act.

An act of love and service and humility and grace.

Getting Off the Mountain

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Text: Exodus 24:12-18, Matthew 17:1-9

There are a number of places in scripture where the divine is revealed in those thin places where heaven and earth meet. 

I think about Elijah hiding on the side of the mountain. 

Or when Moses heads up the mountain and receives the word of God for the people.

Or our reading from the gospel today when Peter, James, and John travel up to the mountain top with Jesus. 

You know… I was thinking about Moses’ time up on the mountain and this renewal leave that I just finished. 

Moses took this time to head up the mountain and spend some time with God. 

This is actually a story that we’ve looked at this past fall with our Bible study groups on Wednesday’s and one of the things we discover if we read ahead a few chapters is that the people started to get worried that maybe he wasn’t coming back!

Forty days and nights go by and for all they knew, Moses had been engulfed by the cloud and the darkness on the top of the mountain and they were on their own!

In fact, Moses only comes back in chapter 32 after they discover that the people down below have begun to rebel – forming a golden calf and offering sacrifices. 

Well, good news friends… I’m not back because I’ve heard you were misbehaving!

But these mountain top experiences were all surrounded by something really hard. 

They came in the midst of stressful and difficult times of ministry.

Persecution.

Exodus.

The first prediction of Jesus death and suffering.

They are transition moments that remind each of these people who God is… and who they are.

They remind them that God is there.

They remind them they still have a job to do. 

And in many ways, that is what my renewal leave has been about.

In the midst of the mounting pressure and stress of our denominational life…

In the midst of staffing transitions…

In the midst of some personal relationship struggles that I needed to focus on…

This set-apart time to breathe, and sleep, and focus on God and finding a new balance and rhythm in my life has been so important.

So many of you have been asking already, and so that I don’t repeat myself a hundred more times… my work on renewal leave was pretty simple.

I completely disconnected from email and the constant call of social media.

I spent time every morning reading – scripture, books, resources to help ground myself in God.

I spent hours talking and cuddling with my spouse. 

I hiked in the snow. 

I didn’t set an alarm for an entire month.

I laughed a lot with friends.

I listened to the birds.

I made some really good homemade bread.

I had the opportunity to really drink deep from the living water and to fill my cup back up for the season ahead.

And I am so grateful that you have been supportive of this time away. 

But in some ways, I also have a new insight into how Peter, James, and John felt at the top of that mountain. 

They had been following their teacher for quite some time now and they had witnessed some pretty amazing things. 

But they also had just learned how difficult the journey was going to be. 

They were starting to experience push-back. 

And Jesus had just shared with him for the first time that he expected to be executed. 

He was calling them to lose their lives, too.

This trip up the mountain must have seemed like a welcome respite from the stress and strain of this work. 

As they get to the top of the mountain, Jesus changes before their eyes! 

His whole body radiates with glory and even his clothes shine… brighter than the sun!

And as their eyes adjust to this brilliance, two others appear… Moses and Elijah. 

Our text says that Peter reacted in this moment.

He reacted by wanting to bottle it up and capture it right there, just like that forever. 

He interrupts Jesus and Moses and Elijah and offers to build some shrines where they can sit down and get comfortable and just stay right there.

None of this talk about losing your life.

None of the persecution that was happening back down in the valley.

None of the stress.

Just this perfect presence of the divine.

Light.  Life.  Glory.

If you encountered it… you wouldn’t want to leave either.

When you have a chance to catch your breath and rest in God’s presence it’s awfully hard to not want to just stay right there forever.

Trust me… I’ve just had four weeks to dwell in this beautiful space. 

And while I’m excited to be back, it was also really, really hard to let go of that precious time away. 

I’d be fibbing if I didn’t admit that a part of me imagined what it would be like to just leave it all behind and stay in that place forever. 

During Lent this year, as a church, I’m challenging you to participate in one of our small groups focused around the book, “Unbinding Your Heart.” 

I think this particular study is so important right now, because in some ways, I think we have got a little comfortable.

We’ve taken rest in the familiar and the holy and everything we know about God and the church.

We get into our patterns and routines and sit in the same seats on Sunday mornings and like Peter and James and John have built a little beautiful shrine around everything we believe about God and church. 

This holy place is amazing and we want to stay right here in our comfort zones.

But on the mountain top, the voice of God quickly sets things straight.  Out of the clouds, the glory of God rumbles:  This is my Son, This is my Beloved!  Listen to him!!!!!!

Just as quickly as it appeared, the clouds and fog dissipated and three bewildered and terrified disciples opened their eyes to find their teacher Jesus, standing before them alone.

It was time to head back down the mountain.

It was time to get back to work. 

You see, the mountain top is not a destination.

It is more like a rest stop. 

It is a place to fill up your tank, to pick up some snacks for the road, to take a nap if you need to…

But it is not the be all and end all of the journey.

This mountaintop transfiguration comes at a key transitional moment in the gospel.

It is framed in Matthew’s gospel by these two predictions of his suffering, death, and resurrection.

Jesus has set his face towards Jerusalem.

The disciples were being called to leave behind the healing and teaching and instead to head straight for the seat of power.

They were being called not to violence or revolution, but a display of righteous love that would “refuse to play the world’s power game of domination, exploitation, greed, and deception.”[1]

In the church year, it is also a moment of transition.

We, too, are setting our faces towards Jerusalem as we enter the season of Lent.

This Wednesday, we will remember our mortality when a cross of ashes is placed on our foreheads.

We, too, will live together the last week of Christ’s life.

We, too, are called to live out God’s righteous love in a world that doesn’t always accept or understand it. 

As people of faith, we were never called to build tents and tabernacles to enshrine these moments forever. 

We can’t say – oh, well, we accomplished that, look how great we were, and be done.

We can’t neatly wrap up our faith with a bow and put it on a shelf.

We have to set it free.

We have to keep working.

We have to keep seeing what changes need to be made.

We have to keep following the guidance of the spirit.

And that means getting off of the mountain top, rolling up our sleeves, and getting to work.

We do it all, because Christ has already gone before us.

He is the one we are following down the mountainside. 

Jesus showed us you can take a moment for affirmation and to rest in the glory of God, but then we have to be on the move.

We have to let the good news out.

That light that overcame Jesus on the mountaintop – the glory that transformed him into a dazzling visage – wasn’t meant for him alone. 

Christ is the light of the world and he knew that in order for that light to dwell within each of us, he was going to have to shine even in the darkest places of the world.

He was going to have to confront evil powers.

He was going to have to withstand betrayal and abuse.

He was going to have to carry his cross and enter the grave of death.

And we can’t stay on the mountaintop either.

We can’t rest for a moment longer. 

We have to come down and let that light of Christ shine through our hearts. 

If you haven’t already signed up for one of our Lenten groups, I urge you to do so today. 

They will be starting this week and next and the discussions we will have as part of them will help us learn what it means to get out of church… to get out of these shrines and tabernacles we have built… and go out there to where people are waiting and hungry for the good news of God.

It is a chance to spend some time listening to God, listening to Christ, listening to the cries of our neighbors. 

It is a chance to push ourselves out of complacency and into the harder and more beautiful realm of real ministry.

It is a chance to unbind the gospel… to set it free from those quiet mountaintop moments so that every moment can be filled with the good news of God.

Friends, it’s time to listen to Jesus.

It’s time to let God’s light shine through us.

It’s time to plant the seeds of the Kingdom of God everywhere we go.

It’s time to get off the mountain. 


[1] Rodney Hunter, Feasting on the Word, Year B, Vol 1, page 454.

Sing! Play! Summer! – Hymn of Promise / In the Garden

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Text: Isaiah 46:8-13

I’m just going to say it out loud…
these have been some difficult weeks we have shared together:
The loss and grief we have experienced…
The pain in the world in the wake of mass shootings and the crisis of migration and climate…
The sense of helplessness about being able to do anything to make it better…

When I find myself feeling discouraged, vulnerable, and down about the world, it is usually the church that helps me to feel better.
The people… the songs… the prayer… the time spent in the presence of God.
But as United Methodists these days, there is also a sense that the church itself is stuck. Broken. Falling apart. We are so busy arguing about who is right and what should be done that we are completely out of tune with the real, deep needs of the world.

But then I sat down and began to study a number of chapters from our lesson for this morning.
God called this prophet to speak a word of comfort and release to a community in exile:
“Speak compassionately to Jerusalem and proclaim that her compulsory service has ended.” (40:2)
“I am the Lord your God, who grasps your strong hand, who says to you, Don’t fear; I will help you.” (41:13)
“I, the Lord, will respond to them; I, the God of Israel, won’t abandon them.” (41:17)
“I announced, I saved, I proclaimed, not some stranger among you. You are my witnesses, says the Lord, and I am God.” (43:12)
“Look! I’m doing a new thing; now it springs up; don’t you recognize it? I’m making a way in the desert, paths in the wilderness.” (43:19)
“Listen to me, house of Jacob… who have been borne by me since pregnancy, whom I carried from the womb until you grow old. I am the one, and until you turn gray I will support you.” (46:3-4)

“Remember this and take courage; take it to heart, you rebels… I am God! There’s none like me who tells the end at the beginning… saying ‘My plan will stand; all that I decide I will do.’” (46:8-10)

God, through Isaiah, is not speaking to a bunch of people who have it all together.
This is not a message for the perfect or the righteous.
This good news isn’t offered to people who have never known pain or hardship or frustration or grief.
No… they are wallowing in it.
Their country has been destroyed. Their loved ones killed. Their very way of life has crumbled.
They are struggling to make sense of what it means to go on, to take the next step, to move forward when everything familiar has been taken away.

And the words they hear from their God… The words WE need to hear from God…
“this, too, shall pass.”
“Don’t be afraid.”
“Remember.”
“Look around for the gifts in the grief.”
“I’ve got you.”
“In the beginning is the end, in the end is the beginning.”

Do any of those words offer answers? No.
Do they make it better right now? No.
But they do remind us that we are not alone.
They remind us that human life and institutions are fragile… just like the grass that dries up and the flower that withers (Isaiah 40:8)… but that we have been and are and will be held by and sustained by a word and a promise and a plan and a power that has always been and always will be.
These words of comfort offer strength when we might collapse in despair.
They invite us to be present. To pay attention. To embrace the unknown.
To trust that this moment is not all of the story or the end of the story.

This summer, we have been exploring the favorite songs of Immanuel and today we have grouped together two hymns that sing aloud those truths: “Hymn of Promise” and “In the Garden.”

When Natalie Sleeth wrote, “Hymn of Promise,” she was inspired by a line from T.S. Eliot that “in our end is our beginning” and the way the world itself reawakens with every spring. What is the nature of life and death when we hold in our hearts the promise of resurrection?
This hymn is yet another of these great songs we have been sharing that was written by a United Methodist. Her husband was a UM pastor and taught homiletics at Perkins while she shared her love of music in a local church and began writing anthems and hymns. She is the composer who brings us “Joy in the Morning” and reminds us that songs rise from silence, darkness becomes light, and death gives way to the victory of life.
But what I appreciate the most about Sleeth’s work is that it doesn’t paper over our grief or our discomfort or pain with flowery words.
It dives right into them.
She acknowledges them.
And she creates room for us to embrace that even in that brokenness and apparent death the mystery of wholeness and life and peace that is on the horizon.

We need to hang on to that mystery of the unknown.
I’m reminded of the words of Matt Rawle, whose book, “What Makes a Hero?” we studied over Lent a couple of years back.
He talked about the reason why it was so difficult for people to embrace Jesus as their Savior because we want a magic wand. We want a superhero savior who “will just swoop in and fix [ our problems].” (p. 125)
But if that savior is headed towards the reality of death – there is no saving there for us.
The crowds of people drastically misunderstood how Jesus saves us.
The kingdom Jesus ushers in doesn’t start in some heaven far away, but right here and right now.
Like a mustard seed planted in a garden or yeast hidden in flour, the kingdom breaks forth out of what we thought was dead, buried, hidden away.
The kingdom is the power of new life rising out of death.
The kingdom says that in every end there is a new beginning.
Our God can take any and every broken and painful moment we experience and redeem them.
They don’t go away.
But they are transformed.

Even the death of Jesus unexpectedly brings something new out of what we thought was over and done with.
Not immediately… but with time and work and patience and not a little bit of grace and power and glory.
The mustard seed becomes a great tree.
The yeast causes the bread to rise.
In the bulb there is a flower.
The stone that sealed the tomb is rolled away.

Which takes us to that other beloved hymn of Immanuel – “In the Garden.”
I say it is beloved, but the truth is, there are probably just as many people who despise “In the Garden” as cherish it.
I remember working to plan Dorie Campbell’s funeral and as we were deciding on what songs to sing, we picked “In the Garden,” fully knowing that she would have been upset with us for doing so because she thought it was grammatically inaccurate. Others find it to be too overly personal and ever erotic.
C. Austin Miles wrote this hymn after a mediation upon the resurrection story in the gospel of John. The language he uses is personal and intimate and it draws upon a tradition of devotional poetry where one imagines themselves in the story itself, part of the scene, walking and talking with Jesus.
We are invited to step into the shoes of Mary… to enter that garden filled with grief and love… and to encounter the resurrected Christ and the joy of new life.
But we also can’t stay there.
You see, in the third verse of that hymn, we find ourselves with a dilemma.
Sometimes we want to stay at the tomb with the stone rolled away.
That one perfect moment of hope when everything had fallen apart.
It’s better. We tell ourselves.
I’m going to stay right here forever.

But we can’t stay at the empty tomb.
We need to listen to the voice of Christ calling us to go.
Go out into the world.
Go and tell others what we have experienced.
Go and share the good news.
Go and offer signs of life and hope.

Like the prophet Isaiah, in the midst of the grief and pain of the world, we can’t keep the hope and promise to ourselves. It is our duty to head back out there and offer it to everyone we meet.
“this, too, shall pass.”
“Don’t be afraid.”
“Remember.”
“Look around for the gifts in the grief.”
“I’ve got you.”
“In the beginning is the end, in the end is the beginning.”