Mark – Salvaged Faith

Again & Again, the Sun Rises

Posted on April 4, 2021Leave a comment

Text: Mark 16: 1-8

Three women made their way to a lonely tomb just after sunrise…

Have you ever thought about a sunrise? Scientifically speaking, it happens every single day, at every single moment, somewhere across this globe. Our planet travels each year in an orbit that is 584 million miles in circumference, but every twenty four hours we make a full rotation, spinning at a pace of 1000 miles per hour. And every time we moment we complete that rotation, the sun appears again over the horizon.

The sun always rises. But we often sleep right through it. Or it is cloudy. Or our view is obstructed. Rarely do we experience or appreciate a sunrise in all of its glory.

I remember one visit with my family to the Hawaiian islands. We tried to catch the sunset every single day, but seeing the sunrise was almost impossible. Our location on the island meant that a chain of mountains obscured the view. So we rented a car overnight, got up while it was still dark, and made a 45 minute drive to a part of the island where we would be able to see the sun rise over the ocean… And it was cloudy.

But you know what? The sun still rose that morning. The sun rises every morning. Again and Again, the earth spins and the sun comes into view. Even if we can’t see it.

I’ve been thinking a lot about how Mark tells the story of the resurrection. Three women made their way to a lonely tomb just after sunrise. There is no joy in this journey, only profound grief. Another morning is another reminder that their nightmare was real. Jesus was dead and it must have felt as if the earth had stopped spinning and the sun would never rise again. Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome could only face the day together.

Together they were journeying to the place where they laid his body. They were going to mourn. They were going to do what so many of us have not had the opportunity to do in this pandemic… to provide what they thought was a proper burial. Not the rushed and distant goodbye that came on Friday when Joseph of Arimathea placed his body in the tomb before sunset. But a real goodbye. Where they would touch and anoint his body with spices. Where they would weep and mourn and comfort one another.

As they neared the tomb, they began to wonder what on earth they were doing. Were the Romans who had crucified their teacher watching them? If they made it there safely, how would they roll back the stone on their own? But maybe even more than these immediate concerns, they had to be wondering… what’s next? Would they, could they, return to their old lives? With Jesus dead, none of the disciples seemed prepared to continue his work. For all the women knew, those men had scattered in the nights before… maybe never to return again. It all seemed to have ended on the cross. All their hopes. All their dreams. All the promises. It was finished. But despite their doubts and fears, they kept moving forward, step by step, clutching one another’s hands, until they came to the place where he had been laid.

What they find there is clouded… confusing… disorienting. Nothing was what they expected. The stone was gone. Inside, a young man sat on the cold, hard slab just inside the tomb. What was he doing there? And where was the body of Jesus? Where they in the right place? Were they hallucinating? The women huddled together, trembling, speechless…

And then the man spoke: “Don’t be alarmed. You are looking for Jesus, but he isn’t here! He has been raised just like he promised. Go – tell the disciples, especially Peter, that Jesus will meet you in Galilee.” In their grief, and confusion, and weariness, I’m not sure the women heard a single word the man said. Scripture tells us that overcome with terror and dread, they fled from the tomb and said nothing… to anyone…

In the Gospel of Mark, Jesus never appears in his resurrected glory. There is no witnessing from the disciples. No sharing of the good news. In part, Mark ends his story this way because all along Mark has been leading us on a journey. Every time the disciples make a mistake and look like bumbling idiots, we learn something about who Jesus is. Every time they fail, we learn more about what it means to follow God. And when the women come to the tomb in their grief, we are invited to bring our grief as well.

And oh what grief we carry… The grief of not being inside our building…The grief of the meals and the celebrations we have missed… The unimaginable loss of life to the coronavirus, not simply the 2.7 million lives that are gone, but also the ones closest to you. We might not feel like shouting Alleluias in the wake of mass shootings or racial tension or the drowning of Iowa State students or the images from our border.

Debie Thomas reminded me in her words this week, “We’ve witnessed and/or sustained losses on a scale we’ve barely begun to register, much less to grieve. We’re weary, we’re numb, we’re bewildered, we’re sad.” (https://www.journeywithjesus.net/lectionary-essays/current-essay)

And so like Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome, we might hear the words of the young man who is sitting in the tomb… “Christ is risen” And in some part of our minds we might know that they are, as Thomas writes, “the most consequential words we’ve ever heard…” Christ is risen! But when we look at the world around us, how can this be true? Maybe it’s not possible to fully wrap our minds around what Thomas calls “God’s incomprensible work of redemption” as it “collides in real time with the broken bewilderment of our lives.”

But then I remember… even on a dark and stormy morning… the sun will rise. Even when our view is obscured… the sun will rise. Even when our eyes are closed or filled with tears… the sun will rise. Even when night has fallen in one part of the world… the sun is rising… always rising… somewhere in the world. Rev. T. Denise Anderson writes, “resurrection still came, even if they weren’t yet able to receive it… Again and again, the sun rises on a new day, often without embrace or acknowledgement. The same is true of resurrection. Whether or not we discern what’s happening, God is literally and figuratively turning the world around!”

Jesus is not cold and dead and lifeless in a tomb, but out there, loose in the world, ready to change everything. In her painting, Rev. Lisle Gwynn Garrity imagines “what the women see in the moment before they turn to flee from the tomb.” A horizon breaking open… The heavens blooming like a flower… Sacred darkness that lingers… A winding path illuminated with promise… The sun has risen…The Son of God has risen…

“The Promise” , Rev. Lisle Gwynn Garrity | A Sanctified Art | www.sanctifiedart.org

You know, there are times when the good news of the resurrection of Jesus seems as common to us as a sunrise. We sleep through it. We expect it. We take it for granted. We no longer marvel at the wonder or stand in awe at the miracle. And we say nothing to anyone about it… not out of fear, but complacency…

But there are other times… maybe like these times… when the good news of the resurrection is like a brilliant and miraculous sunrise that we aren’t able to see… and we simply have to trust it is there.

My friend, and the head of Discipleship Ministries for the United Methodist Church, Rev. Junius B. Dotson was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in January and died from the disease at the end of February. But in a devotion he wrote during that time he reminded us of Jeremiah’s hope in God’s promises from Lamentations: “We are sick at our very hearts and we can hardly see through our tears, but You, O Lord, are King forever… and You will rule to the end of time.” (Lamentations 5:17,19) Sometimes our eyes are filled with tears and the skies are filled with clouds and we can hardly see the promise. We can’t see the sun rising.

But the good news from the gospel of Mark is that whether or not we believe it. Whether or not we understand it. Even if we can’t see it. The tomb is empty. Death has been defeated. Jesus is alive. And this story is not over. Your story is not over. The Kingdom story is not over.

Again and again, the sun will rise.

Again & Again, We Are Called to Listen

Posted on February 28, 2021Leave a comment

Text: Mark 8:31-9:8

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I have been thinking this week about my grandfather.

A little less than a year ago he died and in the weeks to follow, my little brother discovered online a memoir my Grandpa Earl had written for a booklet called “Facing Bereavement” from Alpha Ministries.

He tells of how he and my Grandma Doni were faithful churchgoers for years… until the spring of 1987.

My aunt, Candy, died at the age of 32 from an incurable brain tumor and they stopped going to church. It wasn’t necessarily a conscious decision, but my grandpa was angry. He found ways to just not be available.

Jennifer Stern writes that “grief, like drowning, an be deceptively quiet… those who live with grief often appear “okay”… they look like they are floating (if not swimming) yet on the inside they feel they are drowning…. It takes herculean effort to stay afloat during the rough waters of grief.” [1]

Grandpa Earl tried to stay afloat and numb his pain by traveling extensively for work and numbing it through heavy drinking. My grandma kept asking him to stop, but he wouldn’t listen. He writes, “Throughout this time, I was drinking Scotch every night and I didn’t think I could stop – I didn’t really want to. I didn’t have the willpower. I was still mad.”

My grandma didn’t drink, but one day she had enough of my grandpa’s behavior. She got drunk, floated out into the lake and might have drowned had my grandpa not found her. He thought she was trying to commit suicide, but after she yelled at him for hours, he came to understand just how unhappy she had been. A truth he hadn’t been able to hear until he dove into the water to drag her back to the dock.

My grandpa had been so caught up in his own pain, he couldn’t see or hear hers. He made a home in his anger and drinking and distance. He couldn’t see how his actions were causing further harm because he lived in a different reality. A false reality.

Until my grandmother was finally able to get through to him with a hard truth.

The next day, he made a commitment to never drink again.

And he kept that promise.

Together, they found ways to confront the reality of their loss. Together, they found ways to heal. Together, they found faith again.

The truth is, we all get stuck in our own pain.

We all get caught up false realities we think are good for us, whether they are narratives of success, or the rose-colored glasses of our privilege, or illusions that everything is okay when it is not.

Again and again, we mess up and refuse to see hard truths.

Rev. T. Denise Anderson rightly notes that “we don’t exactly incentivize the telling of hard truths.” After all, “hard truths trouble the waters of our understanding and challenge notions of what is real.”

Patterns of “shame, guilt, ignorance, or inaction” can trap us in situations that feel familiar and comfortable, when reality is far more difficult to accept.

We drive past the person looking for a handout on the street corner and ignore the problems of homelessness in our city.

We rush to make a neighbor feel better rather than actually listening to their story.

We lift up our few relationships with people of color instead of confessing the systemic racial injustices that plague our church and nation.

We drown our sorrows rather than holding them in the light and seeking healing.

In our scripture for today, Peter, likewise, found himself confronted with some hard truths.

Truths that shook the core of his being.

He seems like he has it all together, just like my grandpa did.

After all, Peter has been walking in the footsteps of Jesus for months.

He had a front-row seat to the inbreaking Kingdom of God!

And so when Jesus asked, “Who do you say that I am?” Peter knew the answer.

“You are the Messiah.”

It sounds like the right answer, but… perhaps Peter wasn’t actually pay attention.

In this time, the Messiah, the Christ, “the anointed one,” came with numerous interpretations.

Some talked of a king who would rule with divine authority.

Others believed the Messiah would return at the end of days to bring judgment.

Still others hoped for a spiritual leader who would reform the people.

When Jesus starts to say things HIS messiah would never say: words like suffering, rejection, and death, the text says Peter takes hold of Jesus and rebukes him.

“No, no, no, Jesus… you have it all wrong…”

Like Peter, we want it to be easy.

We want to pretend that everything will magically be better.

We’d like to think that we can show up for church once and a while and nothing more will be expected of us until we arrive at the pearly gates.

We have had enough death and suffering… especially in Covid times.

We’re tired of living in Lent.

We’d rather plead ignorance, or avert our eyes, or numb reality away with our favorite vice.

“No, no, no, Jesus… you have it all wrong…”

But Jesus challenges those false narratives with a dose of hard truth.

As Debie Thomas reminds us, we cannot replace the cross with a shortcut. [2]

If we want to be a disciple, we must take up the cross.

If we want to save our lives, we must let them go.

And truth be told… a lot of us really are not ready to embrace that reality.

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A few days later, Peter and some other disciples find themselves on a mountain top where Jesus is transfigured before their very eyes.

God’s power and presence is revealed in their midst.

The sight of Moses and Elijah confirms the role of Jesus in the world.

Surely, Peter gets it now… right?

Only, again.. and again… he wants it to be easy.

Or rather, the possibility of having to actually accept this reality is terrifying.

He thinks maybe there is an “out” from all this talk about crosses and suffering and death:

“It’s good to be here… let’s build a shelter. Let’s start a church. Let’s stay right here in this place and not leave.”

But the clouds roll in and a voice rumbles from the heavens… “This is my Son! Listen to him!”

Rev. T. Denise Anderson asks: Are we willing to listen to hard truths?

“Or are we committed to the status quo because, though it may be imperfect, it’s at least familiar?”

We tend to protect ourselves with numbness or apathy, or by plowing ahead focusing only on our own needs and desires without concern for anyone else.

Maybe this call to listen, to pay attention, to be aware, is actually what allows us to take up our cross.

Maybe it is what finally allows us to step outside of what Debie Thomas names as those vicious cycles we embrace again and again… cycles of denial and acquisition, success and violence, false realities that try to “cheat death, but in fact rob us of… abundant life.”

What if taking up our cross is not about denying the world, but opening ourselves to the suffering of the world?

We “experience the abundant life Jesus offers,” Thomas writes, “by accepting – against all the lies of my culture – that I will die, and trusting in Jesus’s assurance that I will rise again.”

And once we truly listen and understand that reality, we cannot help but work to make it a reality for others as well.

For a long time, Peter watched as the Kingdom of God was breaking forth.

The hungry were fed.

Demons were cast out.

His own mother-in-law was healed.

“This guy is making everything better!” He must have thought.

But what Jesus offers is not an invitation to sit back and watch…

Jesus doesn’t say that once we get ours the work is done…

Jesus calls us to listen, to notice, to roll up our sleeves, to take up our cross, to labor for the Kingdom.

To stand in the midst of the world’s pain and see the hungry…

notice the demons and powers that would destroy….

Weep with the broken and grieving…

and then do something about it.

We experience God’s abundant life when we enter into the reality of the suffering of this world and give everything we can to bring about God’s reality.

That was the kind of legacy that my grandfather left.

When he lost my aunt, Candy, he tried to hide from the reality of that loss. He numbed away the pain and closed himself off from others.

When my grandmother died from the same kind of tumor in 2001, he embraced the cross of Jesus Christ.

He learned to listen not only to God, but to his own pain and to the pain of the world.

He decided to let go of trying to do it all his own way and decided to allow others to help. To allow God to help.

My grandpa wrote: “I know that until he calls me home I have a mission of reaching out, touching people, helping carry his word in any way that’s his will.”

Grandpa Earl got involved in the church’s after school program and hung out with the kiddos every afternoon… building with blocks, reading stories, singing songs.

He started visiting people who were in trouble and needed someone to talk to, whether they were home or in the hospital.

He became involved in recovery ministry and A/A and made his famous five-pound-fudge to take to meetings.

When he listened to his own pain, and saw how God was moving through it, he was able to listen to the pain of others, and help them find a way through as well.

As Anderson reminds us, “Again and again, we are implored to listen, especially when what we hear is unsettling.” Again and again, God shows us a path through the difficulties of this world… through even death itself… to abundant life.

May we hear… and may we act.

[1] https://transformativegrief.com/2018/04/30/drowning-doesnt-always-look-like-drowning-neither-does-grief/

[2] https://www.journeywithjesus.net/essays/2930-gains-and-losses

Again & Again, God Meets Us

Posted on February 21, 2021Leave a comment

Text: Genesis 9, Mark 1

In Lent, we are reminded that again and again, suffering and brokenness find us.

Again and again, the story of Jesus on the cross repeats – every time we witness the injustice and are reminded about how we have forgotten to love.

And again and again, God breaks the cycle and offers us a new way forward.[1]

In that way, this time of Lent is a blessing… a gift from God that reminds us God meets us wherever we are… but never lets us stay there.

Our scripture for this morning is the story of Noah and his family.

Noah found favor with God in the midst of a world that had fallen apart.

All the earth was filled with sin and wickedness, immorality and violence.

Again and again, we fail, don’t we?

God was fed up with the whole thing and wanted to start over.

So our Creator went to Noah and asked him to build a boat – a ship large enough to hold his family and one of every kind of animal.

And when the boat was completed, the skies opened up and it began to rain.

God blessed and saved Noah and his family through the flood… but every other person on the earth – all of them sinners – were swept away in the waters.

For forty days and forty nights, the rains fell and Noah and his wife and children were absolutely alone in the world.

But one day, the waters began to recede.

Eventually, the boat settled on dry ground and Noah and his family came out of the boat and the scriptures tell us that God looked around and realized what had transpired.

We often forget when we come to this part of the story that the earth’s population is gone.

We forget that the animals and plants and every other living thing on earth was now dead.

We forget of the devastating force of flood waters, until we go through them ourselves.

I remember vividly what it was like to walk in the neighborhoods of Cedar Rapids following the flood of 2008.

After just a few days of being submerged, the grass and the plants were dying and the stench of creatures that had not escaped was everywhere.

I can’t imagine the devastation after more than a month of floodwaters.

Scripture tells us that God looked around at all the destruction and made a promise – right there and then.

“Never again will I send a flood to destroy the earth and everything that lives on it. No, I’m going to put my rainbow in the clouds, so that whenever the storm clouds start to gather and you see that bow – I will remember the promise that I have made to you today.”

This part of the story – where God changes God’s mind is really hard for some of us to understand.

We don’t like the idea that God acts one way and then turns around and feels bad about it.

We like to think of our God as unchanging and dependable!

But I want to tell you that I don’t think this is story is about God’s uncertainty or remorse.

Many other cultures and religions in the world have a flood story.

American Indians, the Ancient Greeks, Sumerian and Babylonian traditions, among many others, tell of waters being sent by the gods to flood the earth.

Many of these also have a hero who is warned of the coming waters and who preserves the heritage of the people.

So it’s not surprising that the Hebrew tradition, our tradition, has a flood story, too.

What is surprising is that when all is said and done – our scriptures speak of God’s mercy and tell us that destruction is NOT how God is going to save the creation.

It’s almost as if our Hebrew ancestors took those familiar stories of the flood and they retold it with a new ending.

Our God, the God that we follow has made a covenant – a promise – with us.

Our God cares for the creation.

Our God desires life, not death.

It’s almost as if they were saying: the God we follow never would have sent a flood in the first place.

You see, from the very first chapter of Genesis to the very last chapter in Revelation, the message is conveyed in the Bible is that God loves us. God meets us where we are. God wants to redeem us… not destroy us.

This week for Ash Wednesday, we acknowledged our sin and our struggle.

We claimed our humanity and mortality.

We are all sinners… the dust of the earth.

Had we lived in the days of Noah, we would have been destroyed by those flood waters.

If we had followed the gods of the Babylonians, or the Greeks, or the gods of this world who demand performance and success – our only legacy would have been death.

But you know what?

We don’t follow the gods of this world…

we follow the God of the Universe.

And that great, amazing and powerful God looks down upon us,

specks of dust though we are,

sinners one and all,

and God loves us.

God reached down to the earth and took a lump of clay and formed us in the divine image.

Our God breathed his very life into humanity.

Our God is a merciful God, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.

Our God made a covenant with Noah that never again would all flesh be destroyed by the waters of a flood…

because our God desires not the death of a sinner but a repentant heart.

And that very same God restores all of creation, not by wiping the slate clean, but by meeting us where we are.

God takes on human flesh and is born among us.

We are dust. We are human and mortal and make so many mistakes.

But Christ came to show us a better way.

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Description automatically generated with low confidence — “I Delight in You” by Lisle Gwynn Garrity | sanctifiedart.org

Just a few weeks ago, we remembered the story of the baptism of Christ.

The way of Jesus begins with a repentant heart and through the waters of baptism, our sins are washed away and we are filled with the Holy Spirit.

God meets us where we are and our lives of dust are drenched with new life.

God speaks to each one of you… You are my child, and I love you.

God meets us where we are… but then refuses to let us stay there.

God refuses to let us return to those old lives and sends us off into something new.

Mark tells us that immediately after Jesus comes up from the waters of his own baptism, the Spirit drove him to the wilderness.

For forty days, Jesus stayed there.

It is a reminder of the forty days the waters covered the earth in the time of Noah.

It is a time we mark through the forty days of Lent.

And we read in Mark that Jesus was not alone.

We are never alone.

Jesus went into the wilderness and God met him there, too. Angels waited upon him.

Now, I don’t know about you, but I sure could use some angels in my life right now.

I need that reminder that God is present in my life.

I need to claim that reality that no matter what happens in the world, God loves me.

That is the opportunity we have in this season of Lent.

With all of the struggles that we face, we also have the chance to know God’s love and presence.

God is ready to meet you… right where you are… to refresh your spirit and guide you through.

And if ever we forget that reality, all we have to do is remember the rainbow.

In the midst of storms that threaten to destroy everything we have built and become, the rainbow shines as a promise that God is with us and will never let go.

I am reminded of these words from Bruce Pewer:

Rejoice in the rainbow.

It is the sign of God’s steadfast love which promises not destruction but hope and reconstruction.

It is on the basis of God’s covenant love that we dare to confront evil;

it enables us to laugh in the face of the evil one,

taking initiative and daring to be pro-active.

Against all the evil you see in the world,

against all the injustice and corruption you observe in our nation,

against all the perverse evil you see raising its sneaky head within yourself,

dare to paint a rainbow!

Paint a rainbow over your frustrating failings and wilful sins,

and over your irksome doubts and ignorance.

Over your sins within family life,

or the ugly compromises you may have had to make in the sphere of your daily work,

set that rainbow.

Project a rainbow over the motley fellowship which is the church,

with its flawed ministers, stumbling leaders and its sometimes passive congregations.

In your mind paint a rainbow

wherever flawed and lost humanity struggles to find a way of its own mess.

The rainbow is a permanent sign of God’s faithful love.

A love which not only creates, but constantly recreates and redeems.

For God so loved the world, God promised never again to destroy it, but to redeem it.

And we see it through the life of Christ, who took what was broken and made it whole.

He found in the poor, riches and in the blind, sight.

He saw God in the lives of sinners.

Jesus lived in the light of the rainbow promise – and showed that new and abundant life is what heals us.

And he died on the cross, so that the love of God might transform even death itself.

In the light of those promises, may you find the courage and boldness to face the pain and evil of this world, and respond out of Christ’s love. May you paint rainbows and remind the world and yourselves of how blessed we are. Amen.

[1] From the Again and Again guide, developed by Rev. Lisle Gwynn Garrity

Follow The Star: Authority

Posted on January 31, 2021Leave a comment

Text: Mark 1:21-28

Our gospel lesson for today begins with Jesus teaching in the synagogue.
And the people of Capernaum were astounded by his teaching.
It wasn’t simply what he taught, but how he taught it.
Jesus exuded authority: power, freedom, ability…
The words were not simply something he had read, but something he possessed.
They brought into being the reality they proclaimed.
As the Message translation describes it, “They were surprised at his teaching – so forthright, so confident – not quibbling and quoting like the religion scholars.”

I must admit, I almost start to take offense to that.
After all, I’m one of those religion scholars, those teachers, trying my best to make sense of the text and what I know and what I don’t know.
You are a scholar, too.
You are a theologian, taking the scriptures and your prayers and studies and doing the best you can to make sense of it all.
And we all quibble and quote.
We have our favorite texts and verses and we rely upon the teachers and leaders who have formed us.
We turn to people whom we believe have the authority to guide us… and we trust them to help us gain knowledge.
But it is also a world of social media and fake news that is so polarized it feels like we are living in alternate realities.
Something happens in the world and we interpret the events completely differently.
What is truth?

In college, I took a class on epistemology. Epistemology simply is the study of knowledge and it explores what is a justified belief and what is simply opinion.
C. I. Lewis claimed that knowledge, or truth, comes from our experiences, but those experiences are always interpreted through our definitions or concepts.
For example, two people might experience an hour very differently… for one it passes quickly and for another it drags on. But because they share the concept that an hour is sixty minutes and have devices that monitor that span of time, they can meet after an hour has passed.
We come to share concepts and definitions, “by the business of living together and the methods of naming, pointing, and learning by imitation,” Lewis writes.
And so, we come to understand together, collectively, that this is green…
The sky is blue… tomorrow is Monday…
An action is good…

But when I follow one teacher, and you follow another…
When my social media feed is filled with one perspective and yours looks completely different…
When I get my news from one source, and you another… are there any concepts or definitions or knowledge that we share?

We used to have something called the fairness doctrine in broadcasting. It was introduced by the FCC in 1949 and it required broadcasters to do two things: One, they had to present controversial issues so that the public could be informed. Two, they had to do so in a manner that was honest, equitable, and balanced.
In effect, it created shared concepts because we named and pointed to the same issues in the world and at least had the same language to talk about them, even if there were differences of experience.
However, the policy was ended in 1987 and it is just one example of the many ways we have stopped living together.

We are swimming in a world of relativity, separateness, and disconnection.
We no longer share the same concepts or definitions.
Racism…. Socialism… sexism… accountability…
What do those words mean? What is true and real and good?

Maybe we, like the people of Capernaum, are longing for a greater authority.
Some truth with a capital “T.”
Words that have power to not simply fill the air, but to name and change reality.

As we read last week, Jesus came into Galilee announcing, “Now is the time! Here is God’s kingdom! Repent, change your hearts and your minds, and trust this good news!”
The gospel is good news.
It is truth and knowledge and proclamation of reality.
He entered the village and, on the Sabbath, sat down in the synagogue and began teaching.
And God’s Kingdom began to become real for them.
It had power and life and being and it was present in their very midst.
And the people were compelled by this reality to repent, to change their hearts and minds.
After all, Jesus was calling them to relinquish the knowledge that could be quibbled over to embrace something that was really and actually true.

But what happens to the power of ignorance or division when the Kingdom takes hold?
What happens to the power that denies life and sows misinformation?
The power that diminishes the value of another person?
Mark names that power… that spirit… “unclean.” “Evil.”
And when confronted with the words and the teaching of Jesus, that spirit began to fight.
Right there in the synagogue it cried out, throwing the community into chaos, “What have you to do with us? Have you come to destroy us?”

We don’t know how long that evil spirit had held power over that person and that community.
We don’t know the kind of damage it inflicted.
What we do know is that Jesus acts.
Jesus rebukes the spirit, stops the harm and expels it from their midst.

God has given us “the freedom and power” as our United Methodist baptismal vows proclaim, “to resist evil, injustice, and oppression in whatever forms they present themselves.”
How can we fight back against forces that have separated and trapped us in cycles of misinformation and suspicion?
So what can we learn from Jesus about how to resist the power of division in our midst?

Jesus takes away its voice and drags it into the light of day where it dies.
Jesus rebukes it, shouting, “Silence! Come out!”

Now, today, in this moment, we see that silencing happening all around.
Cancel culture, after all, is rampant from people on all sides.
If we don’t like what someone has to say or what they believe, we simply unfollow them.
We ban them.
We scroll past.
We end friendships.

I want to start by saying that boundaries are important.
If you are being harmed by what another person is saying or doing, it is absolutely appropriate to separate yourself and to no longer allow their words to have power over you.
But so much of the kind of silencing we experience today simply reinforces our echo chambers. It drags us deeper into our separate spheres and we begin to see other human beings not as full and complex people but as a sound byte that can be dismissed.

And that is why I think we have to pair Jesus’s command to be silent with his call to come out.
To place our experiences and our knowledge in the light of day where we can hold it up to God’s intentions for our world.
Where we can truly compare our sources and our information with humility, an understanding that we might not have the full picture.
It is a call to re-engage.
To be present with one another.
To listen and seek to understand those we disagree with.
Jesus never asks us to set aside our experiences and perspectives, but to allow them to interact as we discern together where the authority of God our Creator and Redeemer is active and moving.
It is a call to share life with one another.

This week, our daily devotions will explore scriptures relating to God’s authority.
We’ll think about people who spoke God’s word into our midst and times when we had to set aside what we thought was true based on new information. We’ll think about what it means to humbly remember we are not the center of the universe.
But perhaps the most important scripture about authority we will read is the last one.
Paul tells us in his letter to the Corinthians that we can have all of the right words and all the right answers, but if we have no love for others, all of that knowledge and truth and experience is for nothing.
Love is the force that created us.
Love is the power that unites us.
Love is the reality that truly offers life.

There is an organization called Braver Angels that is working to try to bring people together in these incredibly divisive times. This week in its newsletter, they highlighted a relationship between a Quaker and a QAnon-believer in Maryland.
Their goal is not to change the other person, but to understand where they are coming from. The author notes:

“They don’t agree on much, though both believe in the importance of integrity in elections and media. But their definitions of integrity differ… [One of them] suggested they decide on a glossary, so that they actually speak the same language.”
These two people are taking the time to listen to one another and to build a common life.

That is the kind of Kingdom that Jesus calls into being.
It is an invitation for people who are radically different to build a common life.
Jesus calls sinners and saints.
Young and old.
Jews and Gentiles.
Blue-collar fisherman and white-collar government workers.
Men and women and people of various ethnic backgrounds.
Pharisees and Zealots.
And we come to learn that we need one another.
We are called to reorient our lives under an authority greater than any of our own experiences.
An authority that created the world and everything in it.
An authority that commands us to love.

So maybe in the coming days and weeks, wherever the forces of division or hatred rear their ugly head in this world, accept the freedom and power God gives you to resist.
Speak out loud if you have to: “I see you. I know what you are. And I refuse to let you separate me from others.”
Choose instead to cast it into the light of God’s love.
Love that puts others first.
Love that doesn’t hold grudges or delight in others mistakes.
Love that seeks the truth.

Follow the Star: Repent

Posted on January 24, 2021Leave a comment

Text: Mark 1:14-20, Jonah 3:1-5,10

Over the last year our routines, our work, our families, our vacations… so many parts of our lives were unexpectedly turned upside down and inside out.
Including our church.
One of my mentors often reminds me that church is often the place that we go to escape the change that happens in the world. It has often been one of the only stable places we can turn.
Churches are notorious for being stubborn and afraid to try new things…
After all, we’ve never done it that way before.

But this year, we had to.
We had to adapt.
We had to change with the circumstances.
We had to embrace a new way of being together and being the church.
We had to repent and believe the good news.

The Greek word we translate into “repent” is metanoia.
It is a reorientation.
Turning around.
Changing our thoughts and our actions.
And in scriptures, we are called to repentance, transformation, when we encounter a new understanding of reality… God’s reality.

Well, we’ve certainly had to do that this year.
In light of the reality of a deadly virus, we reoriented ourselves.
We embraced new practices like online worship and small groups and studies.
But we also noticed some things about our church that honestly, we should have changed a long time ago, but we were too stuck in old ways to do it.
One example of this is how our church, like a lot of churches, can get stuck in cliques and groups.
You notice it at coffee time when people tend to sit down with the same group of people every week.
It’s who we know, who we are comfortable with.
But sometimes that means that a new friend to our church is left out.
Now, if I had come down to Faith Hall between services, and mixed up all of the seating arrangements, ya’ll would have revolted on me.
But when worship moved online, we began to host our Zoom coffee time and our breakout rooms got randomly assigned.
No one gets left out and anyone who wants to stay gets to “sit at a table” with different folks each week.
In the process, we’ve made new friends, learned more about each other, and I think our church is stronger as a result.
That is repentance in action.
A new understanding of who we are and new practices that help us to be more faithful to who God is calling us to be.

As we seek to follow the star and align our lives more closely to God, let’s take a deeper look at how repentance plays a role.
Today, we have two different scriptures that help us to embrace what that means. One is an example of how we turn from actions that have separated us from God. The other is how we might turn towards God’s call in our lives.

Let’s start with Jonah.
One of our more traditional ways of speaking about repentance is naming and confessing our sins.
I have to admit that every time I hear the word “repent” I picture someone standing on a street corner holding up a sign.
And, honestly, that’s kind of what Jonah did!
In the Message translation, God’s instructions come to Jonah: “Preach to them. They’re in a bad way and I can’t ignore it any longer.” (3:1-2)
So Jonah walked for three days through the city telling them the end was near…. “In forty days you will be destroyed.”

Notice, Jonah doesn’t tell them to repent.
But his words help the people of this city see reality in a new way.
They recognize their evil and their sin and they turn from it.
The entire community repents, turns around, reorients themselves to God’s preferred future.
They have no promises of mercy, no hope of restoration.
But confronted with reality, they realize they simply cannot go on a moment longer the way they had been living.
They turn from their ways in a moment of repentance.

Over the last year, there have been a number of moments when we have experienced this kind of clarity and need for repentance.
From the death of a black man on a street in Minneapolis, to raging wildfires perpetuated by climate change, to the brazen display of Christian nationalism in the insurrection a few weeks ago, we have been confronted with images that lead us to cry out… this is not who we want to be.
We may disagree about what concrete actions and policy changes need to happen, but our lives have been collectively reoriented, altered, as we have realized there are systemic and interpersonal realities we must turn from.
I think back to the story of the Ninevites who saw their impending doom.
They recognized just how far their lives and their actions were from what God intended for them and they did something about it.
Whenever we are confronted with reality, a new reality, a different reality, we have the opportunity to hold our lives up to the measure of God’s intentions for us.
If what we discover leads us to change our thoughts or actions, that is repentance.

But there is another piece of this story that is important.
God repents.
When God sees how the people have claimed a new reality, how they have truly turned from evil, the divine mind is changed.
God turns from calamity and destruction to mercy and grace.
God experiences metanoia, too.

In our gospel reading from Mark, we find Jesus himself as the street corner preacher, calling everyone he encounters to repent and believe in the good news.
He is not pointing out their faults or their lack of faith. He is not calling them to turn from something that was bad or evil, but calling them towards a new reality, a Kingdom reality.
His words reach Simon and Andrew, James and John, simple fishermen who drop their nets and leave their jobs and their families.
But as Thomas Long, a preacher and professor at Candler School of Theology claims, “Jesus disrupts [their reality] not to destroy but to renew.” He notes how their roles as brothers and sons become transformed into new relationships in God’s family and how even their work becomes a part of how they serve the Kingdom. “Their past has not been obliterated; it has been transformed by Jesus’ call to follow.”
In the light of Christ, they see themselves in a new light and the potential of who they could be.

I have watched over these last years how the people of Immanuel have heard this call and have turned towards God, using their gifts and strengths to serve the Kingdom.
The ways that you have come to understand that church is not simply a place where you find comfort and the familiar, but where you hear the call to become more of what God believes you can be.
I think about the young woman in our church who felt the tug to make blankets for our homeless neighbors.
Or about our knitters who made prayer squares… which we have also shared with essential workers at our local care centers.
I think about men and women in our church who have built sets for VBS that have helped our children to grow closer to Jesus.
And about those who give their time on Sunday mornings in the AV booth to make sure that we remain connected to God and one another.
Or those who manage our finances, or lead us in music, or make sure the food pantry is filled.
And I think about the countless stories you have shared with me about how you are finding new ways to live out your faith in your work place, in your homes.

Repentance is not simply turning from our past and our failures, but it is also about turning toward who God has created you to become and the Kingdom reality that God is bringing to bear upon this earth.
It is, as our first National Youth Poet Laureate said on Wednesday at the inauguration, the remembrance that we are “not broken, but unfinished.”
That there is more to do, more to experience, more ways to serve, that there is a fullness that awaits us if we simply could repent.
Turn around.
Turn towards God.
Change our hearts and our actions.
To allow ourselves to be transformed.
May it be so.

Follow the Star: Identity

Posted on January 10, 2021Leave a comment

Text: Mark 1:4-11

Last week, we invited you to follow the star of the Magi…
Not the one in the sky, but the one in the manger.
The one who drew them over mountains and deserts and seas.

I love how the Message translation makes clear that the object we are seeking and following is none other than Jesus.
“The star in this drama,” John the Baptist says, “will change your life.”

John called people to the river to confess and repent.
To wash away their old life and make a commitment to a new one.
It was a simple invitation and people were drawn by this call.
They were eager to embrace this tangible, physical, vigorous act of letting themselves be washed clean.
As the cold water drifted by them, the current took their sins away.

Wouldn’t it be amazing if it was that easy?
Just hop in the river and everything is better?

But even John the Baptizer knew this wasn’t the end of the story.
It wasn’t enough.
You couldn’t just say “I’m sorry.”
You actually had to start living differently and there was only one person who had the power to change people from the inside-out.
So he started preparing people for the true star of this show, the mighty and powerful one who would wash people not with water, but with the very Spirit of God.
And then, Jesus appeared.
He showed up at that very same river and spot and he was baptized, too.

Mark tells us that Jesus saw the heavens open and the Holy Spirit come down.
Like a dove diving from the heavens it rested upon him.
And then there was a voice.
“You are my son.
You are chosen and marked by my love.
You are the pride of my life.“

If last week, the star word we focused on was epiphany, this week it is identity.
And clearly, we discover the identity of Jesus in this passage.
God makes it pretty clear who this guy standing in the water is.
God’s Son.
Beloved.
Delightful.

But if this was the identity of Jesus Christ, why did he need to be baptized?
Why did he enter the water in the first place?
Certainly not because he needed to repent or because he was unclean.
No… Jesus entered the water for us.
He stepped into the water so that you could enter the water.
So that you could let go of your sins.
So that we might be made sons and daughters and children of God.
So that the Holy Spirit might descend and flow into our lives.
As the Orthodox baptismal liturgy asserts: “He emerges from the waters and uplifts the world with Him.”

You see, baptism began as a simple ritual washing, but it was transformed by Christ in this holy and sacred moment into a mark that is stamped on your soul and can never go away.
“You are mine,” God says.
“You are beloved,” God says.
“Don’t you ever forget how proud I am of you.”
This is who you are now.
This is your very identity.
Chosen and beloved of God.

Martin Luther once said that every time we wash our hands or our face we should remember our baptism.
Every time we should remember that we are a child of God.
In fact, he was known to often make the sign of a cross on his forehead and whisper softly to himself, “I am baptized.”

That might be easy to remember on the days when the sun is shining and all is right with the world, but it is something we need to remember on the tough days as well.
And, well, we’ve known some tough days lately.
Wednesday, as I was working on writing and praying over the star words that we mailed out this week I got a notification from a colleague that said, “turn on your television.”
I sat at my desk shaking, stunned by the images unfolding on the screen.
T-shirts celebrating the holocaust, the confederate flag paraded through the halls of congress, the large cross being erected on the lawn.
And so many were quick to say: “this is not who we are.”

Except, it is.
This world is broken, and bleeding, and bruised…
As my colleague Diane Kenaston wrote, “This is exactly who we are. We’re shaped by white supremacy, lust for power, violence, scapegoating, fear, and individualism. We’re shaped by sin. And it’s for that reason that we need the transforming love of God… This is who we are, but this is not who we have to be.”

We are called to claim an identity that calls us to love and serve and heal and forgive.
“You are mine,” God says. “You are beloved…. Don’t forget it.”
In the act of baptism in our tradition, it is not simply that God’s Spirit washes over us.
God gives us the power to actually be different.
And so with God’s help, we take vows.
We make promises to reject spiritual evil and the forces of this world.
We promise to resist injustice and oppression.
We promise to stand with God not political leaders… of either party.
We promise to trust in God’s grace.
And all of that becomes part of our identity, too.

Sometimes we are called to do that in small ways. Nadia Bolz-Weber writes:
“The first move of the devil is always the same. Attack your identity as the beloved with whom God is well pleased… nowhere are we more prone to encroaching darkness than when we are stepping into the light. If you have ever experienced sudden discouragement in the midst of healthy decisions, or if there is a toxic thought that will always send you spiraling down, or if there is a particular temptation that is your weakness, then I make the following suggestion: take a note from Martin Luther’s playbook and defiantly shout back at this darkness “I am Baptized”…”
She goes on to recount how when faced with his own doubt and discouragement Luther was known to throw ink pots or other small items in whatever direction he felt a sense of spiritual malevolence… he could sometimes be heard throughout the castle shouting “I AM BAPTIZED!”

I have to admit that this sermon was not only complete, but had already been printed and mailed out to about fifty households when I turned on the news on Wednesday afternoon.
And as I sat there at my desk I found myself whispering to myself… I am baptized… I am baptized…
But I also wondered how many of the people in that crowd had been baptized, too.
I wondered about how that moment might have been different if their pastor had told them that celebrating the holocaust was evil.
Or if their Sunday School teacher had commented on their facebook post and challenged their white supremacy.
Or if they had heard a sermon that made it clear our allegiance is to God and not the leaders of this world.
Or maybe if there had been someone in their life besides the leader of our country who told them… You are loved. You are special.
And then I wondered whether I had actually done… or if I have failed to do those things.
Where have I been complicit in this moment.

The words of my dear friend and colleague, Rev. Diane Kenaston keep ringing through my head.
“This is who we are, but this is not who we have to be.”
And as we come to these waters, we remember the identity that God calls us to embody.
And God gives us the strength to face the world in all of its reality.
Good and bad.
Tragedy and pain.
Joy and celebration.
And the Holy Spirit helps us to say yes to the things that bring life and no to the things that bring death.
But we cannot do it without our baptisms.
We cannot do it if we forget that the Spirit has our back.
“You are mine,” God says. “Chosen and marked by my love, pride of my life.”
In the midst of everything that is wrong, God pours sanctifying grace into our lives so that we can be different.
So that we can remember that we belong to God and that others belong to God, too.
So when violence breaks out we can stand for peace with justice and accountability.
When pain is felt, we can listen to the hurt and offer comfort without being overwhelmed.
When evil rears its ugly head, we can stand up, and let God shine through us.
And when we have failed, God forgives and renews and gives us the grace to try again.
Thanks be to God. Amen.

You Have Everything You Need

Posted on March 22, 2020Leave a comment

Text: Mark 6:34-44

This week, all of our lives changed.

I’m not just talking about this congregation…. Or people of faith… but everyone… everywhere.

Our lives were turned upside down.

We have had to stop.

Stay home.

Make adjustments.

For some, these are minor inconveniences.

For others, the impact of the coronavirus threatens their physical or financial wellbeing.

While our leadership here at the church has been busy putting into action plans that will help us to connect and care for one another, I’ve also been doing a lot of praying for our neighbors.

I’ve been thinking about people who don’t have a community of faith to encourage them or check in or point to hope during this time.

Our vision as a church is to be out there in the world, loving, serving, and praying, so that all who hunger might be fed by God’s grace.

So I’ve been asking… where is there hunger in our world right now?

How might we be called to respond?

In Mark’s gospel, Jesus looks out upon the crowds… the multitudes… the neighbors and strangers all huddled together and has compassion on them.

He aches in his very core for these people who are hungry for a word, a touch, a glimpse of something new.

So he stops everything he was about to do and teaches them.

Spends time with them.

Connects with them.

You know… he does what Jesus does.

After a while, the disciples start to notice their own stomachs growling.

It had been a long day.

Their own hunger and exhaustion and stress and concern was all they could think about.

“Send the people away,” the disciples urged.

“Let them figure something out for themselves.”

“That way we can figure out what to do for ourselves.”

It makes sense, right?

We’ve all been told to put on our own oxygen mask before we put one on someone else if we are flying.

We’ve all been told that we can’t continue to keep giving and giving and not take time to stop and refill our cup, too.

After all, this whole story begins with Jesus and the apostles in a worn out tired place.

They had just gone out to do a whole lot of ministry and had just returned.

In verse 30, it says that so many people were coming and going that they had no time to eat!

So Jesus invites them away to a quiet place to rest for a bit.

Only… when they get there, that’s when they get overwhelmed again by the crowds.

What is a weary disciple to do?

Jesus answer surprises us: Look at what you have.

Look at who you are.

Take stock of it all.

You already have everything you need.

Or rather… what you need, is what they need.

You are not different from them, or separate from them.

There is no “them” at all.

It’s just all of us.

Right here.

All stuck in the same place with the same needs.

So whatever we have to take care of ourselves, it’s good enough to share with everyone else.

What is the hunger of the world right now?

What are the needs in our community?

What are people longing for?

Well… what do you need?

Because… honestly… they are probably the same.

On a normal day… all we really want is to feel loved, accepted and comfortable in our churches. We want to grow in our faith.

In these kinds of times… those things are mostly true, too, but we also have some other needs.

Peace in the midst of anxiety.

Groceries in a time a social distancing.

Connection when all around us is isolation.

Stability when everything feels uncertain.

And what are the resources we have to meet those needs?

Well, we have words of comfort in scripture… but also things like prayer and breathing deep and the ability to turn off the news and watch the birds sing.

Some of us have the ability to go out and shop or order things online.

We have phones and cards and computers to build connection in new ways.

We have a firm foundation in God that we lean on in times of stress.

Those are our loaves of bread and fish.

And we could use them all to take care of ourselves… which we’ll do…

But what would it look like to place them in God’s hands and let these small simply things abundantly multiply and spill over and feed not only our bodies and minds and souls, but that of our neighbors as well?

In our study and prayers around “Unbinding Your Heart” and “Unbinding the Gospel” the fourth chapter and week is all about what people outside of our churches need.

And it’s really simple.

They want to know that they are loved by God and that the church loves them.

That’s it.

And most people, our book tells us, are open to becoming part of a faith community during a time of change in their lives.

At a time when they were seeking and open for something different.

A time… maybe not unlike now.

It’s why the crowds of people had gathered there in that deserted place to meet Jesus.

They were already looking…

Already seeking…

Already longing…

Already hungry…

As we take stock of our resources and check in with one another and build new online connections, I think that the very things we are going to be doing and starting are exactly the kinds of things that our neighbors outside the church are looking for, too.

I kept thinking about how we are putting together church groups so that we might connect and care for one another over the coming weeks and months.

And about the online opportunities we are starting.

And I realized that my neighbors, Cheryl and Ann, probably need the exact same thing.

They are an older couple and don’t get out much anyways and already experiences some isolation.

So I just walked over to their house and left them my phone number.

I told them that if they need someone to pick up groceries, to give me a call.

If they feel stuck inside, give me a call.

And maybe next week, if I get braver, I’ll invite them to join us online for worship.

We already have everything we need to share with others during this time.

We’ve got the love of God in our heart.

We’ve got a peace that passes all understanding.

We’ve got phones and computers and cards and pen and crayons to make connection.

We’ve got time… blessed time… to work on our relationships.

All we need… all that any of us hunger for… is to know that we are loved.

That we are not alone.

That someone is thinking about us.

Watching over us.

What a better way for us to go out there and be the church…

To let loose the good news of God on this world.

To share it with everyone.

The Wilderness: God Provides

Posted on April 14, 2019Leave a comment

Text: Deuteronomy 29:2-6, Mark 1:12-14

A few years ago, I was asked to plan worship for our semi-annual clergy gathering. My team had everything arranged and ready to go. I just had to make sure to arrive early enough in the morning that I could meet with the technical engineer to set up the microphones and other electronics we would need that morning.
At this point in my life, I was not a morning person. And in order to get halfway across the state, I had to be out the door of my house by 5:30 am.
The alarm went off at 5:00.
I turned it off and promptly pulled the covers back over my head.
Every fiber of my being wanted to go back to sleep. So I did.
Notice, I didn’t hit the snooze button. I turned the alarm off, and fell back to sleep.
Ten minutes later, something woke me up.
Whether it was the rustle and squacks of the birds in the tree, or a cat pouncing on my legs in the bed or just some kind of internal switch – I woke up.
And I remember very distinctly taking a deep breath and saying – thank God.
I didn’t mean it in an offhand, irreligious kind of way.
I was grateful to God that I had woken up.
I was grateful to God that although my body was not ready or willing, God was making sure I was going to be able to answer the call I had received.
I was grateful to God, because God provided.

How many of you have heard of the word “providence”?
What exactly does “providence” mean?
The word originally comes from the Latin providentia – and has to do with foresight, prudence, the ability to see ahead. So when we talk about God’s providence – we think of God’s ability to provide for, to direct, to shape the future.
Martin Luther understood providence to be both the direct and indirect work of God in the world. Not only does God provide the good things we need for human life – but God also works through family, government, jobs, and other people. “We receive these blessings not from them, but, through them, from God.”
John Wesley in his sermon “On Divine Providence,” speaks of the care that God has for all of creation and claims, “Nothing is so small or insignificant in the sight of men as not to be an object of the care and providence of God, before whom nothing is small that concerns the happiness of any of his creatures.”
It is intimately related to his idea of prevenient grace, in that God has already laid the foundation for all people to come into a saving relationship with God.
And so, providence is the way that God cares for the universe – upholds the universe – and also the special ways that God extraordinarily intervenes in the lives of God’s people.

Throughout this journey through the wilderness, God’s providence has been all around.
We have remembered together that our ancestors were a stubborn and rebellious people.
They witnessed miracles!
They were released from bondage in Egypt…
they passed through the Red Sea…
they were led through the desert by cloud and light…
they were fed by manna and quail…
they drank pure clear water from rocks in the midst of the wilderness…
and yet they doubted and tried to go their own way.
Yet they did not, could not, would not believe that God would continue to provide.
God did.
The words shared with us in the book of Deuteronomy come from the end of a forty year journey through the wilderness.
For forty years… longer than I have been alive… God led them. God fed them. God provided.
As Moses reminds the people on the edge of these promised land:
You couldn’t make bread or ferment wine because you were not in a place where you could raise grain or grapes… you had to rely upon God and God provided.
The clothes and sandals that you are wearing come from the same fabric and resources you had when you fled from Egypt… and they have protected you from the elements for all of these years.

I meant to bring it today because this piece of clothing is a sermon in and of itself, but my husband still has a t-shirt from elementary school that he wears.
We think the shirt is just over twenty-five years old, but since it hasn’t fallen apart completely, he refuses to add it to the rag pile.
When he worked in the Amana factory, he cut the sleeves off making it sleeveless.
The fabric itself is so worn that it is nearly see-through.
Now, it has become a staple of our summer adventures on the boat and we joke that the shirt has a Sun Protection Factor of 15.

When I think about the wear and tear on that one item of clothing that is worn only a dozen or so times a year, I am astonished by the way God provided for the Israelites all throughout that journey in the wilderness.
There were not laundromats or department stories in the Sinai.
No places to trade or barter for the raw materials.
Just the cloth and creatures they had when they fled from Egypt.
What little they had sustained them for forty years.
God clothes the lilies of the field (Matthew 6:25-34) and God clothed the Israelites in the wilderness.
Why do we doubt God will provide for us?

For most of our season of Lent, we have explored how Jesus’ forty days in the wilderness echoes the journey of the Israelites. Faced with some of the same trials and temptations, he shows us how to trust in God and not seek our own way.
Mark’s account of this time is very different however.
The entirety of his journey is summed up in one single verse:
“He was in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts; and the angels waited on him.” (1:13)
Matthew, too, pulls out that final detail in his account, tell us that when the devil left, angels came and took care of him.
God shows up again in the wilderness.
And God provides.
God cares for and tends to every need of Jesus during this liminal time.
Food, water, protection from those wild creatures, companionship.
God provides.

And as our Palm Sunday account reminds us, God is providing at the end of Jesus’ journey to Jerusalem as well.
Before they even get to the city, the colt is ready.
It is tied up just where Jesus tells the disciples it would be.
And the strange and wonderful part of this account is that when they tell the owner that it is the Master who needs it, there are no more questions!

As they enter the city, the disciples break into song, shouting “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!”
And when the Pharisees grumble and complain, begging Jesus to tell them to be quiet lest they make a scene and disturb the Romans, Jesus tells them that this awareness of God’s blessing and providence in their midst is so powerful, so noticeable, that if the disciples closed their mouths the very rocks of the earth would start to shout!

And we cannot forget that this entrance into Jerusalem is the beginning of another act of providence in our lives.
For the rest of the journey this week takes us through the gates, to the upper room, the garden, the trial and ultimately to the cross.
In the very life and death of Jesus, God has provided a way for us to be reconciled… to our sin, to one another, to creation, and to ultimately, to God.

Over and over again in the Psalms, we are asked to tell the coming generations about the glorious deeds of God.
We want them to set their hope in God and to know that God will provide for their future.
But I think this act of proclamation is also for us.
When we remember how God has already provided, we find confidence for our future.

Our denomination, the United Methodist Church is wandering through the wilderness right now and we aren’t sure where the end of our journey will be.
But this past week, I gathered with others in Atlanta to celebrate that we have been in mission together for 200 years.
200 years ago, a free black man named John Stewart was a drunk and penniless and falling apart. But one night on the way home, he heard singing and he stumbled into a Methodist revival happening in the woods. His life was forever changed.
And then he heard God call him to head northwest and share to share the good news.
He found himself among the Wyandotte Nation and our first Missionary Society was formed on April 5, 1819 in order to support Stewart and those who would come in this work.
For 200 years, people have set out to share the love of God with complete strangers, and God provided.
They made mistakes along the way, but God provided mercy and forgiveness and we have learned from their journeys.
They encountered opposition, racism, sexism, the death of loved ones, hunger… but they kept going because God provided them strength.

As I heard their stories this past week, it was a reminder that even in times of uncertainty and change, hardship and conflict, God is in our midst.
Even in the wilderness…. Maybe especially in the wilderness… God is providing us with the things that we need to keep going.
When we remember all of the ways that God has worked in the past, we find the ability to have faith and to trust that God will continue to be there providing for our future.
Thanks be to God. Amen.