resurrection – Page 2 – 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.

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

Posted on August 11, 2019Leave a comment

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.”

This is Love: Love that Conquers Death

Posted on April 21, 2019Leave a comment

Text: Song of Songs: 8:6-7, Luke 24:1-10

In the sensual poetry of the Song of Songs, we hear the tale of a young couple madly in love with one another. Their love is made every more delicious by its scandalous nature, and explodes with emotion and passion. Every time I read through its passages, my mind wanders to the forbidden love of couples like Romeo and Juliet. So taken are they with one another, death itself could not drown out their love.
“Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm,” the young woman speaks, “for love is as strong as death, passionate love unrelenting as the grave.”

In some ways, we find the overwhelming love and passion of these verses a little silly and sentimental.
But the truth is, we have known that love.
When we hold the hand of a dying parent or grandparent, we know the strength of the love that cannot be defeated by death.
When we say goodbye to a loved one, to a spouse or child taken too soon, we know the unrelenting passion for that beloved and precious life that will never leave our hearts.
Every birthday. Every anniversary. Every time we come across their favorite flower or song or team, that love pours back into our soul.
For me, it is the smell of lemon verbena. I am instantly transported back to my grandmother’s side and the smell of the lotion that was on the side table. Memories flood my heart with all of those moments of laughter and lessons… baking casseroles in the kitchen… hearing her encouragement for my endeavors.
And then I open my eyes and remember it has been nearly eighteen years since she passed.
We live with the reality of our loss. The love we have for another cannot snatch them from the arms of death. It cannot keep someone breathing or their heart pumping. It cannot bring them back to life.
Our love endures death.
The silence of the grave cannot take away the love we have for another person…
But neither can our love cannot defeat it.

On Good Friday, we carried Christ to the tomb. The stone at the entrance was secured and then we began to sit in lament.
Death is the final wilderness.
It is imagined as a place of suffering, darkness, silence, and nothing.
Our love endures, but the reality of death continues.

That enduring love brought three women to the tomb on Easter morning.
Their beloved teacher and friend… the one who had showed them what it truly means to live… had been taken by the powers of the world and had been executed.
They came to the tomb early that morning with love in their hearts.
Love that caused them to set aside any fears they might have about being arrested.
Love that was stronger than the desire to remain safe.
Love that couldn’t be extinguished by a criminal’s death on a cross.
Mary Magdalene, Joanna, and Mary the mother of James went to the tomb with love in their hearts expecting to encounter death.
They were going to look death square in the face and anoint the body of their Master.
They were going to tell death that it might have taken away their hope, but it could not destroy their love.

They discovered something they could not understand.
The tomb was empty.
His body was gone.
Angels suddenly appeared among them…
“why do you look for the living among the dead?”

On that Easter morning, so long ago, we discovered a love that was stronger than death.
God’s love for the world.
And that love poured out through the cross.
That love entered the reality of death.
It was a love so strong that the forces of death could not contain it.

Our journey through Holy Week rarely spends much time with the reality of Holy Saturday, but I want to take you back there this morning.
You see, the power of death is all around us.
And it can only truly and finally be defeated if it is confronted head on.
God’s love for this world is so great and so deep and so wide that nothing and nobody can escape it.
Not even the depths of hell.

In the Apostles’ Creed, we recite words handed down for centuries that convey the most important realities of our faith.
I actually want to invite you to pull out your hymnals and turn to page 881… or peek into the back corners of your memories… page 881… and recite with me once again those ancient words.

I believe in God the Father Almighty, maker of heaven and earth;
And in Jesus Christ his only Son our Lord:
Who was conceived by the Holy Spirit,
Born of the Virgin Mary,
Suffered under Pontius Pilate,
Was crucified, dead, and buried;*
The third day he rose from the dead;
He ascended into heaven,
And sitteth at the right hand of God the Father Almighty;
From thence he shall come to judge the quick and the dead.
I believe in the Holy Spirit,
The holy catholic church,
The communion of saints,
The forgiveness of sins,
The resurrection of the body,
And the life everlasting. Amen.

How many of you noticed that little asterisks in the printed version in the hymnal.
Look down at the bottom of the page at what words we so often leave out.
After Jesus suffering and death… after he was buried in the tomb… the traditional way we remember this story is that Jesus descended to hell.

In the First Epistle of Peter, we are told that the God who made everything, came to us in the life of Jesus Christ… and that in order for all of us to be brought back into the life and presence of God, God’s love descended even to the depths of hell… even to the spirits who were in prison… and shared with them the good news of life and love and light.

My friend and colleague, Mary Bellon, wrote these words for her Holy Saturday devotion for the Annual Conference

“I think it must have been so quiet
In heaven, when God came home
Dragging with him the souls
Who had been lost, carrying them
On his shoulder and over his back
One by one, up from all pure lost-ness
Into heaven and such still silence,
Nobody wailing or weeping but held now
In the abiding, in the coming home.
For three days, he carried the lost
And shut the door on hell… ”

You see, in the holy moments between the cross and the tomb this morning, Christ was busy.
Christ was busy breaking this world free from its chains.
Christ was busy opening up all of creation to the power of God’s restoring, redeeming, recreating love.
Jesus entered the wilderness of hell itself and rescued the disobedient, broken, lifeless, defeated people from the prison of death.
And when he got up on Easter morning…
When he rose up from the depths of hell…
When he stood in body and spirit, in all of his resurrected glory before the disciples…
Christ ushered in a new kingdom where every power that would destroy life, every force that would bind us up, every authority… was now put on notice.

As the Apostle Paul writes to the people of Corinth,

“Christ has been raised from the dead. He’s the first crop of the harvest of those who have died. Since death came through a human being, the resurrection of the dead came through one too… Each event will happen in the right order: Christ, the first crop of the harvest, then those who belong to Christ at his coming, and then the end, when Christ hands over the kingdom to God the Father, when he brings every form of rule, every authority and power to an end. It is necessary for him to rule until he puts all enemies under his feet. Death is the last enemy to be brought to an end.” (1 Cor 15: 20-26, CEB)

Whenever a new kingdom comes to rule, the old powers don’t just give in.
They go kicking and screaming to their end.
All around us, death is trying to claw its way back into power.
The forces of evil are fighting back.
We still experience loss, and pain, and grief.
But the Kingdom of Christ is already reigning among us.
And we have been given the promise, the assurance…
The resurrecting love of God will conquer all… even, finally, death itself.

What is the power of resurrection?
It isn’t merely rescue from the brink of death, like we saw with the cathedral of Notre Dame… as brave souls worked through the night to prevent utter destruction.
It isn’t simply reanimation, as we saw this past week when scientists brought a spark of life back to pig’s brains.
It isn’t only resuscitation, where those we thought were dead were pulled back from the brink through extraordinary measures.
Resurrection is not rebuilding…
It is not renovation.
It is not restoration.
It might be a little bit of all of those things, but it is also so much more.

Resurrection is what happens when those who were dead and hopeless and defeated and gone stand up in the love and grace of Jesus Christ.
When we thought the story was over.
When we thought victory was firmly in the hands of death.
Love burst forth from the grave and said, not today Satan.
And resurrection happens all around us when we take up the life and the mission and the ministry of Jesus Christ.
It happens when we die to our self and rise with Christ in baptism.
It happens when we commit to resist the forces of evil, injustice, and oppression in the world.
Resurrection is the addict who hit rock bottom who is now a minister of the gospel.
Resurrection is the church showing up to sing praises in the ashes of a burned building.
Resurrection is a challenging the powers that be who seek to stifle life.
Resurrection is entering the prison.
Resurrection is mucking out a flooded home.
Resurrection is sitting with the dying.
We practice resurrection, we participate in resurrection, we are agent’s of God’s amazing resurrecting love every time we go to those people and places that the world has declared dead, hopeless, defeated and gone and we proclaim with our hands and feet and lips and hearts… not today, Satan. Not today.
Love is not just as strong as death.
Today and tomorrow and at the end of days, the love of God in Jesus Christ through the power of the Holy Spirit has conquered death once and for all. Amen.

The Wilderness: Can These Bones Live?

Posted on March 11, 2019Leave a comment

Yesterday was my Sabbath day.
I wore pajamas all day long.
I curled up in a chair and played video games.
I watched five episodes of Grey’s Anatomy on the DVR.
I was a sloth.
I was exhausted.
I needed to stop moving,
stop thinking,
to simply be.

But there is a fear
that when we stop moving and thinking and doing
maybe we will never want to start again.
Maybe once we stop
we cannot start again.

I got up from my chair late in the day
And my bones ached.
My muscles hurt.
Every joint felt like it was crying out.

Don’t get old, Katie,
my dad always tells me.
Don’t get old, because your body stops working.
It starts talking back.
It cries out and lets you know what aches.
It tells you that you are fragile.
You are merely bones and flesh.
You are human.
You are not invincible.
You are not wonder woman.
You cannot do it all.

Actually, maybe I need that reminder.

Maybe we need that reminder.

Maybe we need this season called Lent.
Maybe we need to call a time out.
Maybe we need to remember that life is fragile.
Life is precious.
Life is fleeting.

We come from nothing but dust and ashes.
We will return to dust and ashes.

I say those words a few dozen times a year
As I stand with families over an open grave.
As we gently return the bodies of their loved ones to the earth.

Ashes to ashes.
Dust to dust.

And I find myself telling them…
Telling myself…
That in between those two bookends
We have an opportunity.
A beautiful opportunity.
To clothe ourselves with new life as well.
A life that extends beyond the valley of the shadow of death.
A life that will overcome even the grave.

Can these bones live?
That is the question on the tip of our tongue
As we watch our loved ones lowered into the earth.
Can these bones live?

The prophet Ezekiel was familiar with that question.
Can these bones live?
Can life return?
Is this really the end of it all?

He witnessed his city under siege.
He saw its walls crumble.
He saw the temple destroyed.
And then, he had to leave everything behind.
Forced against his will
To journey through the wilderness
To a strange land
A foreign land
A hostile land.

From the dust of the earth that city and temple was built.
And to dust it returned.

Ezekiel also knew…
Quite keenly he was aware
That death and dust and destruction
Were the tools of God.

He was called to name the sins of Judah
The transgressions of Jerusalem
With his very body
His bones and his flesh
He bore witness to the impending destruction.

He starved himself long before the siege.
He shaves his head long before he was taken prisoner.
He begins to experience in his very bones
The fear and trembling
That would soon be upon the people.

And part of him has to wonder…
Can these bones live?

Can this dead and lifeless people repent?
Will they see the light?
Are they able to change their ways?
Will it be too late?

Babylon arrives.
The city is destroyed.
The people are sent away.

Ashes to ashes.
Dust to dust.

When I find myself on my knees
Laid low in humility
Brought to nothing
I remember I am dust and ashes
I am the stuff of the earth

And in that moment
Sometimes there is a quiet acceptance.
I am dust and ashes.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
I have reaped what I have sown.

But somewhere in me there something else…
a spark.
something that dares
that yearns
Can these bones live?
Can we begin again?

Even if it way too late…
Is it ever too late?

After all,
We began as dust.

And as dust,
You, God,
You breathed life into us.

That spark I feel.
That yearning.
That calling.
That desire to live
To truly live and love and move and serve.
To do it right.
To do it well.
That is Your presence in me.

Your breath in us.
Stirring… calling… pushing.

The city was in shambles.
The people were scattered.
And there was this divine spark
Speaking in Ezekiel’s soul.
Stirring… calling… pushing…

And that spirit led him out of himself
Out of captivity
Out of complacency

Can these bones live?

It was a question Ezekiel wasn’t sure if he dared to utter.
It was a question that he longed to speak aloud but couldn’t.
It was a question of hope.
And hope was now a stranger to him.

So God asked the question instead.

Can these bones live?

Can your bones live?
Do you believe that I can breathe life into you again?
Are you willing to risk that it is not too late?

Ezekiel isn’t sure.
Lord God, only you know…
Only God can do it…
If it could be done.

And God calls him to stand.
God calls him to speak.
God calls him.
And he answers.

Out of dust and ashes.
Out of hopelessness.
Out of grief.
Out.

Ezekiel speaks.
And the bones start to shake.
The earth starts to quake.
Everything is at once falling apart and coming together.
A great transformation.
Everything changing.
Everything becoming.
Bones.
Flesh.
Sinew.
Skin.

And then there was breath.
God’s breath.
The Holy Spirit rushing like the wind.
Filling those bodies.
Standing them up.
Calling them back to life.

We are ashes.
We are dust.
We are bones.
We are sinful people, brought low by our deeds.

And yet…
There is that spark…
that breath…
that glimmer of God…

Telling us it is not too late.
It is not too late to stand.
It is not too late to live.
It is not too late to love.
It is not too late to repent.
It is not to late to act.

On my own, I can’t do it.
I will burn out.
I will falter and make mistakes.
On my own I’m not strong enough.
I am dust and ashes.

But… and… I am more than dust and ashes.
Because I am also the Lord’s.
And this body.
This flesh.
These bones.
Are filled with the Spirit.
And this body.
This flesh.
These bones.
Are part of the body of Christ.

When I stop, for just a moment.
When I let my bones and flesh rest.
It is then that I remember
God is with me.
God is in me.
God is in us.

Can these bones live? God asks.
Can this scattered and broken people live?
Can this church live?

Only you know, Lord.

So, come, Holy Spirit.
Come, Breath of God.
Come and knit us back together.
Come and fill us with your life.
Help us to stand.
Raise us up.
Send us out.

You Are Family

Posted on April 29, 2018Leave a comment

As a child, when I feel down and skinned my knee, there was nothing I wanted more than to be held in the arms of a parent. Their soothing words helped me to know that this moment of crisis was only temporary and that I would be okay.

When I was a bit older, I suffered an injury of my own making. I had decided to stand on the landing of the staircase and leap! trying to determine just how far I could jump. I was old enough I should have known better. I was old enough that I shouldn’t have needed a parent to offer comfort. And yet, even when you know its your own fault or when you think you are too big, the comfort of a parent is still welcomed.

As we grow up or as the hurts and wounds of our lives increase, that feeling doesn’t necessarily change. In those vulnerable moments of our lives, we want to be surrounded by people that are our family… whether our biological or our chosen family. When my own dad lost a couple of fingers in a workplace accident, countless relatives made the trip up to Mayo in Rochester, Minnesota to visit him and to sit with my parents during that long recovery.

And Pastor Todd and I have joined so many of you and your loved ones around hospital beds, in pre-surgery suites, and at home, as you have navigated illness and injury as well. I always find myself incredibly honored to be able to join in those moments. They are spaces of vulnerability and intimacy, holy spaces, and it is a joy to be able to name and lift up the presence of God that accompanies you on your journey.

Marcia McFee reminds us that we feel “at home” whenever we are in a place and surrounded by people where it is safe to be vulnerable. Where we can bring our full selves – wounds, scars, faults and all, and we are still loved and accepted. There, in that space, among those people, we are family.

You accidently back the car into the garage, but you know you will still be loved.

You fail a test at school, but there will still be dinner on the table.

A difficult diagnosis comes at the doctor’s office and there is someone beside you holding your hand.

You lose your job, but there are people who have your back and will support you until you are back on your feet.

You can share your struggles and you know they will be heard and that somehow you will be okay.

But, many of us have not experienced family in that way.

The homes some of us grew up in were not safe spaces.

Maybe it was the constant demand for perfection…

Or Alcoholism…

Neglect…

Or maybe even just that Midwestern work-ethic… Iowa nice… that invited you to always put on a smile because we don’t talk about our problems.

Or perhaps there has been a disagreement or a conflict that grew so impassioned that no one feels safe to authentically be themselves or to speak more than surface level small talk – fearing rejection or the dissolution of relationship.

My heart grieves when I hear about young people who are on the streets because they have fled from a home where they are not safe or where they have not be accepted.

I lament the brokenness of so many of our homes… that busyness and conflict have turned so many families into strangers that simply share space with one another.

And I am particularly saddened when I discover ways that this family, this community – the church, has turned their back on one of their children or has not been there in a time of need.

The church is like any human institution. It is full of imperfect people who make mistakes.

And yet, we claim to follow Jesus, and that is supposed to make a difference in the way we love and treat one another.

Perhaps that is why the disappointment is even greater… I expect more of us.

Today, and throughout this week, the bishops of the United Methodist Church are gathering to be in a time of discernment around how we might continue to live together as a family. I invite you to join with me in prayer about how we might truly, authentically, bring our full selves into relationship with one another and how we might offer love and acceptance to even those with whom we mightily disagree.

It is not an easy time for our church or for this particular church.

But when I think about where we lose our way and why we might have forgotten what it means to be a family, I begin to wonder if maybe we have forgotten who we follow.

Maybe we have become so preoccupied with rules…

So busy thinking about physical structures…

Too worried about how something sounds or how long we have been gone…

We have stopped paying attention to the one who called us here in the first place.

In the epistle this morning, this first letter from John, we are urged to consider the kind of love that the Father has given to us. “What marvelous love the Father has extended to us! Just look at it – we’re called children of God! That’s who we really are… and that’s only the beginning. Who knows how we’ll end up! What we know is that when Christ is openly revealed, we’ll see him- and in seeing him become like him. All of us who look forward to his Coming stay ready, with the glistening purity of Jesus’ life as a model for our own…”

We see God’s marvelous love through Jesus Christ. The one who was born into a human family. Who took on our flesh. Who relied upon the care of a mother and a father. Who created a family of disciples. Who reached out to touch people in their brokenness and offer forgiveness and healing. And who ultimately took our sin and our shame to the cross and who died for our sake.

We are called to keep our eyes on Jesus.

And when we do so, we remember that although his heart was pure, his body was far from perfect.

He bore within his very skin and bones the wounds of God’s love for us.

When he appeared among the disciples after his resurrection, those wounds were not something to be hidden and they did not magically go away.

No, Jesus invited them to reach out and touch his hands and his feet.

These disciples were the same ones who had rejected him and turned their backs.

They had not caused his physical wounds, but they had certainly caused harm through their actions.

And yet, Jesus shows up, right there in their midst, offering love, forgiveness, and acceptance.

Not hiding how he has been hurt, but through is hurt, sharing God’s love.

Henri Nouwen, in his reflection on the Wounded Healer reminds us that “nobody escapes being wounded. We are all wounded people, whether physically, emotionally, mentally, or spiritually. The main question is not, ‘How can we hid our wound?’ so we don’t have to be embarrassed, but ‘How can we put our woundedness in service of others?’ When our wounds cease to be a source of shame, and become a source of healing, we have become wounded healers.”

In the church, there are certainly wounds that abound among us. Physical illness. The damage of an unkind word. And unintentionally brush-off. Mistakes and missteps. The pain of being gone too long. The feeling that we are not good enough to offer our gifts or our talents. But if we truly were to follow the example of Christ in this building, in the United Methodist Church, in our Christian families, then those wounds, that brokenness would find safe space here. We would find that we are able to be present with one another and offer peace and forgiveness. We wouldn’t hide our illness, but would invite others to journey with us and pray for us. We would not be ashamed of physical limitations, but would celebrate the ways we can serve. We would speak truth and peace to those who have hurt us – just as Jesus invited us to in Matthew chapter 18.

In a family, among loved ones, wounds are healed. Hurts are forgiven. Faults are accepted.

And God our Parent, Christ our Brother has called you into this place so that you might know that love that so far surpasses any earthly love you might ever experience.

And as our God loves us, we are called to love and accept and offer healing and forgiveness to one another – one family, united by Christ.

May it be so.

Go Back Home

Posted on April 1, 20181 Comment

Christ is risen!
He is risen indeed!
Christ is risen!
He is risen indeed!

When those women showed up at the tomb on Easter morning, they didn’t know they were supposed to shout for joy.
They were confused and disoriented and more than a little startled by the angel appearing before them.
Christ has been raised?
He isn’t here?
What on earth is going on?

The only miracle they had thought to pray for was that somehow they would be able to roll away the stone.
They had come to this place expecting that the stench of death would fill the tomb.
In their arms, they carried only spices and oils for anointing the body of their friend, their teacher. Patiently they had waited until the sabbath was over and the sun had peeked over the horizon.

Many of us have been in that place.
We have trudged through the valley of the shadow of death, overwhelmed by our grief, going through the motions of ritual and closure because it is the only thing we know how to do in that moment.
Except unlike us, these three women: Mary Magdalene, Mary, and Salome, had no hope left in their heart.
There was no light at the end of this tunnel.
They were witnesses to a world-transforming, miracle-working revolution of thought and mind and now that it was snuffed out before them… now that Jesus was dead, three days in the tomb… now that the disciples had scattered… it was all over.
They were alone.
The empire had won.
Or so they thought…

Until they arrived at the tomb just after sunrise, carrying objects of mourning, and discovered the stone had been rolled away.
They slowly stepped inside the cavern, unsure, unsteady, unknowing… and were startled by a man in white standing in the room.
I can imagine one of them hoisted up the jar of spices, prepared to use it as a weapon to throw so they could make a quick escape.
But the man quickly spoke: I know you are looking for Jesus the Nazarene, the One they nailed on the cross. He’s been raised up; he’s here no longer. See for yourselves – this place is empty.
The Message translation of this passage notes that they got out of there as fast as they could, their heads swimming, completely beside themselves with this good news of great joy… but before they stumbled out the door, the messenger in white had some very clear instructions for these ladies, these first messengers of the gospel, the first preachers of the resurrection.
“On your way, ladies! You have work to do! Go and tell the disciples that Jesus is going back to where this whole thing started… back to where your ministry began… Go back home… and you will find Jesus there.”

Go back home.

Sometimes, we need to go back to the beginning of our story.
We need to remember where we have come from to understand where we are supposed to go next.

This Friday, we laid to rest our friend and church member, Donna Bales. In the midst of their grief, I listened as Donna’s children and grandchildren shared stories of their loved one. They talked about going back through Donna’s things and they even went back to the stories that Donna herself had told about her life growing up… about her parents and grandparents. In the process, they tapped into the core of who she was – an incredibly strong, yet humble woman, who taught them each how to embrace their own strength in life.

Perhaps you have had a similar experience when you have lost a loved one. When you go back home and start sifting through those memories and artifacts, revisiting things you thought were behind you, you start to discover a rich heritage in your past that has shaped who you have become.

The disciples of Jesus had made a lot of mistakes along their journey. They were human, just like you and me, and they fumbled and failed like we all do. Every step of the way, Jesus was there to guide them, set them back on the path, and to help them understand God in a new way.
In the Garden of Gethsemane, the disciples either betrayed him, denied him, or ran away in fear of their own lives. Their grief and shame hung heavily upon them.
How do you even begin to hear the good news of the resurrection in that moment?
How can you begin to start anew?
You go back home.
You go back to the place where Jesus first spoke your name, first called you into ministry, first showed you that God is present in our lives.
You go back to where it all began.

The messenger in the tomb that morning tells the women, and through them the disciples, that Jesus has already made a plan to meet them back home in Galilee.

It was there that Jesus began to announce the good news of God – “Change your hearts and your lives – Here comes God’s Kingdom!”
It was there by the Sea that he discovered Simon and Andrew, James and John, casting their nets into the sea.
It was there that Jesus cast out demons, healed the sick, turned water into wine, and multiplied the loaves and the fishes.

Jesus calls them back home to the place where their story began together.
Because it is about to begin all over again.
And they are going to need to tap into those rich memories and stories of forgiveness and the memories of miracles to help guide them as they take their next steps along the journey of God.

This past week, a good friend and mentor of mine, Rev. Michael Williams, died in Nashville. That city was home for me during my seminary years and while I couldn’t go back for the funeral, I found myself reconnecting with friends via facebook as we shared memories and I was able to livestream the funeral – a powerful service of death and resurrection – from here.

I sat in my office, watching the choir process into the sanctuary at West End United Methodist Church and as friends and colleagues stood in that pulpit to speak a word of God’s love. That church was my home for four years. It was where I worshipped. It was where I began my ministry. It was the place I first stood behind a communion table to break bread and share it with my congregation. That church home and those people formed and shaped my ministry and I would not be the pastor I am today without those experiences.
It was powerful to go back home, even if only through the wonders of technology, and to be reminded of where I have come from and where I am called to go next.
Where did you first encounter Jesus in your life?
Who were the people who surrounded you at that time in your life?
Was it at summer camp? At your grandparent’s church? Was it right here in this building?
Did that place come to feel like home for you?

My friend, Michael, wrote: “the people who have formed and shaped our lives while they were among us can still live inside us and influence the way we live even after their death. In some sense, as long as we continue to tell the stories of loved ones, they remain a presence within us and among us.”

When it feels like defeat and death have won the day, we are invited to go back home.
We are invited to go back to the place where this journey started for us and start retelling the stories of our faith.
And we discover there the presence of God all over again. We encounter the risen Savior. We are filled with the power of the Holy Spirit. We are met by the Holy and Triune God who has promised to always be home for us.

In this season of Easter at Immanuel, we are going to be exploring what it means to have a place to call home in our faith lives. Our scriptures and messages will remind us that God wants to make a home among us, God-with-us, Immanuel… and that we are invited to make our home in God – to abide, to dwell in the presence of the Risen One.
Maybe today you have come home to this place, this family, this Body of Christ, and this is an opportunity to reconnect and get reenergized.
Maybe you haven’t yet found a place to call your spiritual home. If that’s the case, we invite you to join us over these next weeks and to go on this journey with us. And I pray that the welcome so many of us have discovered here might be shared with you.
But above all, wherever you call home, know that you are not alone. “In life, in death, in life beyond death, God is with us.” We are never alone. Thanks be to God. Amen.

The Beginning in the End

Posted on March 25, 2018Leave a comment

We spend so much of our lives looking for a savior.
In the book of Judges, chapter 3 – the Israelites cry out for a savior when the going gets tough… and God responds by lifting up individuals who would save the people… Othniel and Ehud and Deborah.
Over and over, the Psalmists cry out for a savior: “Save us!” Oh God… “Hosanna!”
“Save us by your power and answer us so that the people you love might be rescued.” (Psalm 60:5)
A savior will resolve our problems.
A savior will end our struggles and oppression.
A savior will rescue us from despair.
As the Remy Zero song, the theme for the television show, Smallville, goes, “somebody save me… I don’t care how you do it.”

But when the hero shows up… how quickly we discover that we only want a savior on our terms.
How soon do we start to question the motives, the control, the power of the one who is acting on our behalf…

We do care how our savior shows up.
We have ideas and expectations and want that saving to be on our terms.
And so you find pundits and politicians questioning the presence of Superman in the world in much the same way as the Pharisees question the actions of Jesus.

But it is not just the leaders who turn their backs on this savior in Jesus day…
The crowds who lined the streets to welcome Jesus to Jerusalem, riding on a donkey, cried out “Save us!” “Hosanna!” But in reality, they did care how he saved them.
They wanted a king.
They wanted an earthly victory where Rome got kicked out of their country.
They wanted a personal savior on their own terms.
And as soon as Jesus was arrested and their path to freedom started to dim, their shouts turned to “Crucify Him!”
When death looms on the horizon…
When hope starts to fade…
When our savior becomes powerless… or even dies…
Then where do we turn for help?

It is fascinating that one of the most powerful superheroes in the entire comic book world, Superman, is also one that has faced death. In the 1993 comic book series, he dies in the arms of Lois Lane after fighting a villain to death. This storyline was revisited again in the 2016 film, Batman v Superman. The entire world goes into mourning over the savior who they thought would always be there to rescue them from disaster.
Jesus, too, not only faces death, but embraces it.
Death is a part of his calling.
“Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains a single grain,” he tells the crowds (John 12).
But our limited imaginations see death as the end of our stories.
Life is where we are rescued.
Death is defeat.
And if the cross is where Jesus is headed, we want no part of it.
I think this is because we want a savior who acts more like Superman than like Jesus… even if we have doubts about the extent of his power.
Matt Rawle reminds us that Superman saves us over and over again, but “I don’t really have to love my neighbor with Superman flying around. If things get bad, Superman will just swoop in and fix them. There’s not much reason to build up neighborhoods, improve education, feed the hungry, and clothe the naked. If it gets bad, Superman will know what to do.” (p. 125)
Isn’t that how some of us as Christians in this world act?
Jesus is my Savior, so I just need to believe, and I will be rescued from this world of sin and carried away to heaven where everything is perfect.
We want a savior who will save the day without us lifting a finger.
And if that savior is headed towards the defeat of death… there is no saving there for us.

This is because the crowds 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.
The kingdom is like a mustard seed that someone took and planted in a garden.
The kingdom is like yeast, hidden in flour.
The kingdom is like a grain of sand in an oyster.
The kingdom is like a treasure that is buried.

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.

Just like those crosses that we gave our children this morning in the children’s message will sprout and give birth to new life if we care and tend them, so too, does the life of Jesus unexpectedly bring forth something new out of what we thought was over and done with.
The mustard seed becomes a great tree.
The yeast causes the bread to rise.
The sand becomes a pearl.
The treasure is uncovered.
In the bulb there is a flower.
The stone that sealed the tomb has been rolled away.

Our journey over this next week takes us from the last meal Jesus shares with his disciples, through the cross, and takes us all the way to Sunday morning.
We discover that the cry of “It is finished” on the cross is not the end, but the beginning of what is starting in your life and in mine.
A spark is lit in the world and in our hearts so that we might go out and be the hands and feet of God in this world.
At the end of “Batman vs. Superman,” the world is in mourning because they believe that one of their heroes is dead. People of all stripes are gathered holding candles around his tomb.
And there is an amazing inscription written in chalk below his symbol:
“if you seek his monument – look around you.”

That is the message of the gospel.
We don’t have to wait for heaven.
We don’t have to wait for rescue.
We are invited, encouraged, called… God is BEGGING us to get busy being a part of the work of the kingdom right here and right now.
What the world thought was an ending was only the beginning.
Now the story is YOURS to live.
You are the hero that someone is waiting for.
So go out there, in the name of Jesus, and do it.

Scattering Fear and Gloom

Posted on April 16, 2017Leave a comment

Easter Sunday is a rollercoaster of emotions.

We felt that as we began worship today… instead of starting with the joy of the resurrected Christ, we began with the despair felt by Mary and the disciples because their Lord and Teacher was no longer with them.

You see, for the disciples, Easter morning began with a hopeless situation.

It began with fear of the unknown.

It began with the gloom of death.

When I wrestled with what I should preach about this morning, I couldn’t help but think about all of the hopelessness and fear and gloom in this world.

I hear it in the halls of this church, and around our dinner tables… in the grocery store, the halls of work or school… all of the varied and sundry places that we gather in our lives.

We worry about family who just can’t seem to get their act together.

We struggle with illness or money in our personal lives.

We watch the evening news and everything seems wrong with the world.

After a while, the daily grind starts to take its toll and we become numb to all of that stuff around us. We find ourselves settling into the rut and start to believe that this is just the way it’s going to be.

The violence of the world almost ceases to phase us. What is a crucified Savior when another bombing in Syria has taken lives? Another shooting at a school last week? Another gun related death in our city?

We can barely keep ourselves abreast of the human rights violations occurring across our planet as war-torn countries continue to destroy the lives of innocent men, women and children. So many of these places of conflict feel utterly hopeless and without end. It seems that no matter what we do, or maybe because of what we do, new groups and new people spring up to fight, instead of searching for ways to work together and to rebuild lives.

In our gospel reading this morning, Mary goes to the tomb and she is not going with expectant hope. She is going to bring spices and oil and to continue to prepare his body for burial.

You see, Jesus was laid in the tomb just before sunset and the beginning of the Sabbath Day and so the women did not have enough time to properly lay him to rest.

As the sun rose on this Easter morning, Mary Magdelene went to the tomb to mourn, to pray, and to say her good-byes.

She was someone who desperately loved Jesus. He was her Teacher and her Master. He offered her new life and a brand new beginning when he cleansed the demons from her life. And ever since that time, she had followed him faithfully. Then, in one fell swoop, everything that she had begun to put her trust into was taken away.

Her Lord was gone.

The disciples who followed him had scattered and those who remained were hiding out in fear of the Jewish authorities.

Mary had no one to turn to and nowhere to go.

The only thing she knew to do was go to that tomb and rehearse a ritual practiced by Jewish women for centuries. She would go to the tomb to honor Jesus and to mourn for him properly.

But as our scriptures this morning remind us, when she arrived, everything was in disarray!

The stone was rolled back and her Master was nowhere to be found!

His body was gone!

Desperately, she ran to the house of one of the disciples for she knew that some of them would be there…

They have taken away his body! She cried out….

They have taken him and I don’t know where they have laid him!

Two of the disciples, run back to the tomb with her and find her story to be true. They enter and find the burial clothes there also, neatly folded and placed on the stone. They know that something has happened… but none of them really knows what it means.

Mary, in the midst of all of her desperation and mourning saw Jesus standing before her but did not recognize him. She couldn’t see the promise that was right before her eyes!

Jesus even called out to her, trying to scatter her fear and her gloom:

“Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?”

As Mary stood in that garden weeping out of desperation she heard her Master call her voice. One moment of startling fear and overwhelming joy – a moment of holy awe – as the significance of what is seen – and what is unseen comes crashing in.

And Christ is calling out to us all the time, every day.

He asks us constantly what we are weeping for.

He longs to wipe away the tears from our eyes.

Jesus is Risen. Death could not hold him.

And if it cannot hold him, it cannot hold us.

All that Jesus said about life and death

all that was understood only as idea – as a concept – as a vision

is made real in that empty tomb and in that encounter in the garden.

The disciples and the women heard Jesus talk SO MANY TIMES about his death and resurrection and it just never sunk in.

They couldn’t understand the promise because they never believed it would happen.

So when Jesus shared his final meal with them on Thursday night they let him down and failed to remain faithful.

And when Christ was crucified on Friday afternoon, they were paralyzed by their unbelief and forgot the promises he made to them.

They couldn’t see past their own pain and fear and gloom to remember the promise!

The ancient promises from Isaiah:

“No more shall there be in it an infant that lives but a few days, or an old person who does not live out a lifetime… They shall build houses and inhabit them; they shall plant vineyards and eat their fruit. They shall not build and another inhabit; they shall not plant and another eat; for like the days of a tree shall the days of my people be, and my chosen shall long enjoy the work of their hands.”

And he wants us to see him, to recognize him as the Jesus who is alive – the Jesus who is risen – the Jesus who has the power to bring that new creation to bear on our lives.

But like Mary, our hearts are often so slow to believe, to trust, and to accept he is standing before us.

There are so many things in our lives that we could feel hopeless about:

Loved ones who die too young,

People who work away their lives for a wage that won’t pay the rent,

Hungry families… including the 55,000 people in Des Moines who don’t have enough food on their tables,

But the power of the Easter resurrection didn’t just bring Christ to life.

The power of the Easter resurrection took a rag tag bunch of disciples who barely knew their left from their right as far as following Jesus was concerned…. And turned them into apostles.

It turned these doubting, stammering, disobedient fools into the leaders of a movement that would transform the world!

When Christ rose from the dead, the Body of Christ that is the church was brought to life – a community was formed that would love and cherish and carry on the mission and the ministry of Christ!

Each and every single one of us is a living testimony to the power that Christ’s resurrection had on our world.

Each one of us is who we are today and is in this place this morning because those first disciples experienced the risen Christ.

And because that experienced so radically changed their lives that they had to tell others.

So what is this Easter morn?

It is God’s promise of a new day

It is God’s promise of a new life

It is God’s promise of a new world

coming to pass in our midst.

Jesus is risen. Death could not hold him. And it will not hold us either.

Wherever in your heart there is weeping, Christ promises to turn your tears into laughter.

Jesus is risen! Death could not hold him!

And the forces that tear us apart in this world will not defeat him either!

Christ has risen!

And we… as the body of Christ, in this time and in this place… are called to continually live our lives as a beacon of that promise!

We are called to visit the sick and those who mourn and pray for healing in this life or the next.

We are called to work for those who are struggling and help to create a better way.

We are called to feed the hungry and clothe the naked.

We are called to welcome the stranger and the outcast, the person who is not like you:

whether that means they were born here or not,

an NRA member or fighting to limit guns,

someone who wants sidewalks in their community or doesn’t,

whatever the color of their skin or whomever they love.

You and I… because of the reality of what we experience this morning… are called to go forth and scatter the forces of fear and gloom in the world.

We are to find small ways to live out and practice the resurrection power in our world today.

Christ is risen!

Let us crown him the lord of Life, the Lord of Peace and the Lord of Love

and may we believe in his power to truly transform our lives.

Amen.