Eternal Life

"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! By his great mercy he has given us a new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and into an inheritance that is imperishable..." 1 Peter 1:3-4a

What do you make of the promise of eternal life? It comes to us as a gift from God through Jesus. But what is it? It's either hard or easy to wrap your mind around. For those of you who think it is what it says it is--that being eternal life--life eternal--live forever, then you're okay with it and that's fine. Good for you!

But if you have a hard time equating eternal life and our mortality--then here's a way of looking at eternal life that I heard or read once that has helped me over the "reality of death hump."

This scholar began by defining life as "having a future." Something that has a future is considered to be alive. A dog. A flower. You and I. Conversely, something with no future is considered dead. A dried up plant has no future, and is therefore dead. Likewise, when we pass away, we have no future--there is no tomorrow for us.

Or at least there wasn't--until Jesus rose and promised resurrection for us too. A sure and certain hope. So sure and so certain that it effects us today, though its timing is unknown. We now have a future--a resurrected future. So we are alive now, and we will be alive then, but most importantly--we are "alive" even though we may be physically dead, because we have a sure future in Christ Jesus.

Maybe that helps you get a hold of eternal life. Maybe that just clouds the waters more (sorry!). But it's fun to think about such mysteries of faith. As long as we realize they are just that--mysteries, and faith. We'll never know some things exactly for sure. But one thing we do know.

He is risen!

A New Look at Thomas

I dread the second Sunday of Easter. Because it's "Doubting Thomas" Sunday. And being named Thomas, I would get ribbed on that day--"Hi, how are you Doubting Thomas?" It's a day only one other can top for Thomases the world over. (That day being Thanksgiving. "Hi, how are you, Tom Turkey!!")

So you can understand my reluctance to get out of bed that morning!

I think old Thomas gets a bum deal. After all, he simply asks for what the other disciples had already--a personal appearance of the risen Christ! It's not like they told him Joseph of Arimethea stopped by. They said a former dead man dropped in for a visit--through locked doors! Can you blame him? Maybe I'm a little too defensive.

But Thomas did some other things, said some other stuff as well. (All right, one thing). When the disciples warn Jesus not to go to the dying Lazarus, for fear of the authorities, Thomas says, "Let us also go , that we might die with him." Sure beats denying him three times, or arguing over who gets to sit on Christ's left and right in heaven. Okay, so we don't know where "the Twin" was when Jesus actually was dying. Surely he didn't repeat that offer. And he seems to have been out running an errand or something when Jesus appeared to the disciples that Easter day. The good stuff always happens when you're out of the room! So he doubted.

But can't we just remember Thomas for his one shining moment, instead of his doubt--which I'm sure we all have experienced at one time or another?

At least, don't call me "Doubting Thomas" this coming Sunday!

BTW

I went to do my daily (or thereabouts) blogging, and came upon By The Way's blog entry for today on Easter: Day or Way? Pastor Kari posted it, and it says what I would say this day, so instead of re-saying it here, I'll direct you over there.

Just click on "By The Way Emerging Church" on the links section of the pantry (scroll down, and look on the left). And enjoy!

Pastor Tom

Happy Easter! He is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Faith!

Easter Day 3/23/08

A pastor in the rural south was making some communion visits one day when he ran out of gas. Being near one of his parishioner’s farms, he stopped in to see if he could get any gas from him. The old man who lived there said he reckoned the preacher could have some gas—he had a 55 gallon drum of it. But he had no container handy. So off he went into the barn to see what he could find to dispense the petrol into. A few minutes later he came back out holding a bedpan aloft. “Figure this’ll do the trick,” he allowed.

So they filled the bedpan up with unleaded and the pastor hiked back to his car and began to pour the contents into his gas tank. Just then the local priest happened to drive past. Catching a glimpse of this peculiar incident, he did a double take, then looked in the rear view mirror to confirm that what he thought he saw was indeed what he saw. It was. The priest shook his head in admiration and said to himself, “What faith!”

What faith! That’s why we’re all here this morning. Faith. Faith in someone. Jesus Christ. Faith in something. He is risen! Faith in sometime. We shall one day share in that resurrection with him. And so we proclaim the mystery of faith—Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again. A faith that appears to the rest of the world to be every bit as foolish as pouring the contents of a bedpan into your gas tank. Every bit as foolish, but every bit as faith-full too. What faith!

Faith was not high on the list of spiritual attributes of Mary Magdalene and the other Mary as they went out early Sunday morning, heading for the tomb where they had seen Jesus hastily interred Friday just before sundown and the beginning of the Sabbath. They had watched Joseph of Arimathea’s men roll the heavy stone over the entrance to the tomb. It was over—Jesus was dead. He couldn’t save himself.

So, despair was more likely what they were experiencing. Even their hope against hope—that he had been raised as he had promised—that hope was dashed when the two women arrived to see the stone still against the tomb’s opening, the guards still lounging about, speaking vulgarly to each other and laughing at them. Little did these soldiers know that the dead man they had been guarding was no longer in that tomb, and the joke was on them.

Oh. But perhaps you’re thinking I’ve gotten a little out of sequence here. The stone was still against the opening. So, Jesus had to be inside still, right? No, of course not. Jesus didn’t need an angel, or an earthquake, or anything else to roll away the stone. He didn’t need the stone rolled away at all. He was Jesus. The same Jesus who walked on water. The same Jesus who commanded the storm to be still. The same Jesus who had cured the sick, fed the hungry, and changed water into wine. He was Jesus, the messiah, the Son of God. No rock could hold him in, no stone could contain him—no matter how big.

So why the earthquake? Why the angel—remembering that a biblical angel is not some cute chubby valentine’s cherub but a fearsome supernatural creature with an appearance like lightning? And why does the angel roll back the stone, and, in arguably one of the funniest scenes in the gospel, then proceed to sit on it? Can only be one reason. To awaken their faith. To stir up in them the faith needed to override their reason, their logic, their human expectations.

They expected to sit at the tomb and weep and wail for their Lord. They didn’t expect a risen Christ. So they needed perhaps just a little push, a little nudge, if you will, a little nudge towards faith. And so God sends the angel to open the door, not so Jesus can get out. He’s already out. No. So, they can get in. Get in and see that the tomb which was full Friday is now empty. Get in to see how death had been vanquished. To see how that which was logical and reasonable had flown right out the door. To witness God resting after the eighth day of creation. They go in empty handed and come out with faith in the risen Christ!

There’s a clue to support this in the text, though it appears only in the Greek. The angel says, “Do not be afraid.” But the Greek grammar suggests that a better translation would be, “You of all people, do not be afraid.” The angel understands the two to be women of faith, and so should have been expecting this. Then he invites them to see the place where Jesus was laid. So that they might believe and have faith.

And if that wasn’t enough, and it clearly wasn’t since they left the tomb with both great joy and fear, Jesus suddenly meets them and says basically, “Hi there!” Again, to counteract their doubts and give them faith, Jesus appears to them in the flesh. And how do we know he’s in the flesh and not a ghost? Because they touch him—and not just anywhere—his feet—they grab a-hold of his feet. That’s because (and this is way cool) in ancient times, ghosts just kind of wafted around—they weren’t pictured as having feet. So by grasping his feet the two Marys are assured that Jesus is no ghost—he’s real! What faith!

Okay, now, you might say, “That’s all well and good for two women back in those days. But what about for me? And what about for us as the church? We could use some of that kind of faith building too.

Well, I doubt if an angel of biblical proportions is going to appear and sit on anything here today. But an angel is a messenger for God, and I believe that there’s plenty of them here today—not rolling boulders, but peeling back the veneer of our world and revealing a glimpse of the coming kingdom of God. In effect, transforming scenes of death into scenes of life—new realities that we can step into for a look at how the risen Christ has changed all of creation.

These messengers of God say to us, “You of all people, don’t be afraid. You believe in the risen Christ. Come, see where he has been.” And then they show us Anne Marie House, where homelessness has been transformed into hope. Or the Ash Street Shelter, where hunger has been transformed into meals shared around a table. Or SHARE, where abject need has been turned into the spirit of giving by a little girl collecting toothbrushes. Or Crop Walk, where poverty has morphed into partnerships of economic development. Or the local prison and jail, where places of human incarceration have been transformed into places of freedom in Jesus Christ.

The messengers are showing us these things, not only to get our support and dollars—but to reveal the power of the risen Christ to take the cold, harsh reality of this world and alter it into resurrection reality. These places are the “empty tombs” of our time. And we are invited in to see, and to believe. Believe it is true also for you. Faith!

As for the church, we have a lesson to learn from the women’s encounter with the empty tomb. It was empty—Jesus was not there. He was out and about! They met him out there in the world.

So, too is it for us. We like to think we “bring Jesus” to those places in need of him. Truth is, Jesus is already there in those places. Working, teaching, healing, advocating for the poor, seeking justice for those who are different, and spreading the good news that all are acceptable to God thanks to the cross. He is going ahead of us to the mission front, there he will meet us—there in the world. And so it is that we receive the gift of faith in the resurrected Christ

One last story: A temporary Sunday School teacher was struggling to open a combination lock on the supply cabinet. She had been told the combination, but couldn't quite remember. Finally, she went to the pastor's study and asked for help.

The pastor went into the room and began to turn the dial. After the first two numbers he paused and stared blankly for a moment, and then he looked serenely heavenward while his lips moved silently. Suddenly he looked back at the lock and quickly turned to the final number, opening the lock.

The teacher was amazed. "I'm in awe at your faith, pastor," she said.

"It's really nothing," the pastor answered. "The number is on a piece of tape on the ceiling."

What faith! For it is only with God’s help that we can say at all:

Alleluia! He is risen! He is risen indeed, Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia!

Amen and amen!

Good Friday

Here is tonight's sermon...

“Hope”

Good Friday 3/21/08

Passion of St. John, Hebrews 10:23

Faith, hope and love. Three words that are the mission of this church, and us as Christians in it. Last night we talked about “love”—how Jesus self-emptying love is the basis for his new commandment, “Love one another, just as I have loved you.” Sunday we’ll hear about “faith.” The word for tonight, on this Good Friday evening when we leave Jesus dead and buried—consigned to the nebulousness of non-existence as we know it—the word for tonight strangely enough is “hope.”

According to Dante’s Divine Comedy the inscription over the gates of hell reads, “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.” And if hell is a lack of hope, then the followers of Jesus were certainly a kind of hell as they watched their friend and master die an excruciating death, get speared, and be taken down from the cross and laid in a cold, dark tomb. Especially since it was done just at sundown Friday—the beginning of the Sabbath, precluding them from giving him a “proper” Jewish burial.

Their hopes had been dashed—unless perhaps we read between the lines of the gospels just a bit. How many times did Jesus foretell his death on the cross? Not just once—which would have been forgettable, perhaps—not just once but at least three times depending on what gospel you look at. Three times—and one was right before he clashed with Peter for saying, “Never, Lord!” He called Peter “Satan” then—that would have been memorable.

They likely remembered those predictions of his death. And then likely too they also recalled his talk of being raised on the third day—also mentioned by Jesus numerous times—straight out ad alluded to.

So perhaps, just perhaps, buried deep down under their fear, their disappointment, their sorrow, their shame and their regrets there was just a tiny little ounce of hope. Hope against hope. Hope beyond all rational logic, hope despite all physical evidence, hope in the face of disaster, doom and death—just a tiny bit of hope that what he said, he meant for real—not like in one of his stories or riddles. For real. Hope.

Hope that love like his could never stay dead. Not for long. Hope that his death accomplished what God wanted it too. The forgiveness of the sin of the world. Hope that the tantalizingly bright glimpses of the kingdom of God that he gave them through his healings, the feeding of the masses, and the new commandment to love weren’t just the rantings of a political or religious fanatic—but were instead a foretaste of the feast to come. For real. Hope.

Perhaps it was hope as well as fear that kept them in Jerusalem. Perhaps it was hope as well as tradition that sent the women off to his tomb early on the morning after the Sabbath. Perhaps.

For us, hope is just as tenuous. We have the end of the story so we don’t sweat the time between Good Friday and Easter morning. Our hope isn’t pinned on whether or not the rock will be rolled away—it was. No, our hope against hope is also based on what Jesus said way back then. He said, “I am the resurrection and the life—whoever believes in me though he may die, yet will he live, and whoever believes in me and lives, shall never die.”

We hope that the finality of death in this world isn’t so final after all—that we and all of creation will someday share in the power and life of the risen Christ. And that this sharing is so sure that we can hope also for bright shiny patches of the coming kingdom of God to show up even in the midst of darkest death.

So what does this mean for us as individual Christians? What is hope for us? It is a restless longing for, and a patient anticipation of our freedom from death and disease and destruction and disaster. Hope counteracts fear, it conquers apathy; hope dispels despair. It is the reason we don’t succumb to the chaos and evil and inequity and un-fairness that surrounds us. Hope is what we live in—a sure and certain hope that ultimately it is God who will overcome death and redeem and restore all to wholeness.

For us as a church, it is our mission to keep that hope alive—amongst ourselves. Telling each other the old, old story of that first hope and our hope over and over again. It is also our mission to take that story out into the community. To tell people who are ravaged with disease, hunger, addiction, war, environmental damage, unemployment, acquisitiveness, or the jaded nature of our modern world—to tell people that there is hope, that as long as there is a God in heaven, there is hope in the renewing of the creation—the reversal of what is backwards, the righting of what is wrong, the wholeness of what was broken. There is hope.

There is hope. And we’ve pinned that hope to the cross.

Maundy Thursday

The following is the sermon I will preach tonight...

“Love”

Maundy Thursday 03/20/08

John 13: 34-35

Grace and peace to you from God our Father, and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

Faith, hope and love. Three words we hear a lot around this church. They’re watch words for us—guiding principles, if you will. They remind us where we’ve been, they ground us in the present, and they provide a pathway towards our future. Faith, hope and love.

We’re going to look at faith, hope, and love over the next three days—during a period which not so coincidentally is called Triduum, or The Three Days. Because the three most holy days in Christendom all gathered up in one worship event that spans the time from Maundy Thursday, through Good Friday, to the Vigil of Easter and Easter Day. We’ll look at one word each of those three days, beginning tonight with “Love,” then tomorrow with ‘Hope,” and finally, with “Faith” on Easter morning. And with God’s grace we will see afresh why these words are both our call to mission as a church, and the very essence of our lives as disciples of Christ Jesus. So, first…love.

Tonight’s reading from John comes from what is called Jesus’ farewell discourse. It takes place during the last meal he shared with his disciples, and it’s sort of a last will and testament for Jesus, in which he gives instruction, comforts his friends, and promises them a continued presence via the Holy Spirit. One of the things Jesus tells them is a “new commandment.” This in itself is startling, for it reveals Jesus’ oneness with the God of Israel, who gave Moses the Ten Commandments on Mount Sinai. But it is the commandment itself which is truly surprising.

“Love one another,” Jesus begins, and, if left to our own devices to finish this advice, we might say, “as you would love yourself.” Love your neighbor as yourself. The “Golden Rule,” right? But no, Jesus, as usual, is going to take that saying and give it a major twist. “Love one another,” Jesus says, “Just as I have loved you. Jesus’ love for us is to be the model for our love for one another. Well, what does that love look like—how is it different than our love for our own selves? Well, I’ll tell ya…

There’s an old camp song that goes like this—join in with me if you know it:

Love, love, love, love;

The gospel in a word is love.

Love your neighbor as yourself,

For God is love.

The gospel in a word is love. But did you know that there are several different words for “love” in the gospels? The New Testament was written in Koine Greek, which was kind of a common language used for trade in those days of the Roman Empire. And Koine Greek has different words for different kinds of love.

There’s philos or what’s commonly known as “brotherly love.” This is the deep emotional connection one shares with a family member, or other close knit social grouping—a “related-ness,” if you will. We get our English word “philanthropy” from the same root.

Then there’s the romantic and carnal love that exists between two people. That’s eros in the Greek. We get the English word “erotic” from this root. Bet’cha never thought you’d hear that word in the sermon tonight!

And finally there is agape. Agape is kind of a generic word for love in Greek, but in the New Testament and especially the gospels, it is infused with very specific theological and Christological meaning. Which is a fancy way of saying “agape love is special.” How is it special? Three ways (at least, there’s probably a whole lot more, but we only have the three days!).

First and foremost, agape represents God’s love for us in Christ Jesus. Given graciously and freely with out merit. As such it is not dependant on our reciprocation. For example, with eros love there is consent between the two parties. With philos there is a shared connection based on feelings. For both of these types of love to work, there has to be give and take, loving and being loved. If one party stops loving, the relationship is shattered and comes to an end.

But, as I said, God’s love is not dependant on our loving God back. God’s love is not conditional. God loves us no matter what. He loves us when we love him, but he loves us even if we forget or neglect to show our love for him. He loves us even if we curse him. Even if we say we don’t believe in him, God still loves us. God loves us unconditionally—on our part.

Second, God’s love for us is immeasurable. Sometimes when Lisa ask me, “Do you love me?” I say, “A little bit.” Just to freak her out—I don’t really mean it. I love her a lot—my real answer comes from a children’s book we used to read to Erik: “Do you love me? All the way to Africa and back.” Or, all the way to the moon and back. Or, for you Star Trek fanatics, all the way to Rigel 7 and back. The thing is, though, no matter how great a distance those may each be, they are finite—they can be measured. Human love can be quantified.

One season we say, “Oh, I love those Celtics!” Then next season they lose a lot and we say, “I can’t stand those bums!” Or we may love a political candidate’s message, but not enough to give him or her a chunk of our hard earned cash.

God’s love for us in Christ is not quantifiable. God’s love is “deep and wide” as another camp song relates. It has no boundaries, no limit, and there’s no end to it. God doesn’t just up and decide that he’s not going to love Ray Theil anymore, or that he’s willing to love Christina a little bit, but not enough to die for her. God’s love, like his promises, is steadfast, enduring, timeless, and immeasurable. God loves us unconditionally—on his part as well.

Last but definitely not least—and I warn you right now I’m going to stretch your brains just a wee bit more by giving you one last Greek word to ponder—God’s love for us in Christ Jesus is characterized by kenosis. Literally translated that means “pouring out,” as with a pitcher of water. God’s love is shown to us by Jesus “pouring himself out” for us. By serving, not being served. By healing, not being healed. By feeding,, not being fed. By proclaiming the brightness and newness of the kingdom of God, not by keeping his mouth shut when it came to a point in which it would be advantageous for him to keep quiet. Jesus loved us so much that he poured out his very life for us, and that’s the kind of love he intends for his disciples to have for one another.

That’s the whole idea of that foot washing thing Jesus does with his disciples. It illustrates the “just as I have loved you” part of the new commandment. Jesus Christ, Son of God and Son of Man, King of Kings and Lord of Lords, with the Father and the Holy Spirit, one God from before time—Jesus never the less disregards his divinity and stoops to wash the dirty smelly feet of his followers. Even Peter’s.

So “love.” What does it mean for us individually, as followers of Christ. It means that we are so loved by God that we are empowered by that love to love others with that same type of love. A self pouring kind of love, in which we are more interested in what we can do, what we can say, what we can give of ourselves, rather than what do we get out of this relationship, how am I filled, or what’s in it for me? In this way we become wellsprings of God’s love, for that love flows into us endlessly and out through us to each other without ever running dry.

And finally, to quote another, non-camp song, what has love got to do with it—what does this agape love mean for Messiah Lutheran Church? It means we are blessed with an abundance. Forget the budget deficit, forget the size of the Sunday School, forget even the attendance statistics. We are blessed with an abundance of God’s love pouring like a flood into this church—soaking the people, drenching the sanctuary, saturating Messiah House, and puddling up the parking lot. God’s love is so abundant it’s drowning us and so we need to go down to the end of the driveway and open the floodgates and let that love wash us out the doors of this building and out into the community and the world to be for others what Christ is for us. Love. Let me hear you say LOVE!

By this they will know that you are my disciples. LOVE! Love, love, love, love, the gospel in a word is love. And our mission in a word is also - ? Love. AMEN

Wednesday in Holy Week

[Jesus said,] "...one of you will betray me..."

Much has been made of the recent scholarly work on the "Gospel of Judas," which paints that biblical character in a way different light. Since I'm not up to speed on that research, I won't comment on it other than to say there is something to be gained from such study--but there are reasons why such books didn't make it into the canon.

I thought it might be fruitful, however, to think about Judas Iscariot for a while this morning.

How do you feel about this man? Was he evil incarnate? Did the devil make him do it? Was he part of a cosmic plan, and therefore had no free will? Would one of the other disciples have betrayed him had Judas decided against it? Does Judas deserve all the ill will directed his way if he was only a cog in the machine of salvation?

Here's my take on it:

I generally look upon the characters of the disciples as a composite of "the reader/listener," the one accessing the gospel narrative. The disciples model different responses to Jesus and his ministry. There's unbelief (Thomas), there's faith (Peter), there's inquisitiveness (Philip), and so on. The disciples serve as a literary device to help us understand our reaction to this event called Jesus. And one of those reactions is betrayal.

Judas betrayed because of greed ( the gospel says he was the money handler and skimmed a bit). But he also did it because he thought he knew better--that was his biggest sin. And it is ours as well.

We think we know better when it comes to what we "need" to live.
We think we know better when it comes to how to treat others.
We think we know better when it comes to how Jesus should be God.

We think we know better--and Judas is the embodiment of that.

Judas realized his mistake after the fact. Because of Judas, we have the opportunity to confess our prideful-ness and not betray our Lord. And we have Jesus' assurance that, even if we do betray him, deny him, crucify him--he will forgive.

"Father, forgive them--for they know not what they do!"

Amen

Tuesday in Holy Week

[Jesus was teaching them saying,] "And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself."
John 12:32

Reflect on this:
What does "draw" mean--how will he draw all people to himself?

What is meant by "all people?" Jews and gentiles? All the nations? Everyone?

Blessings on your Holy Week!

Pastor Tom

A Tale... (part four and final?)

It was the best of worship services, it was the worst of worship services.

The coffee hour was all good, though. It seemed like everyone stuck around for a while, chatting and joking with each other. Pastor Smith went to change out of his robe, but was intercepted by several people wanting to comment on the sermon.

“I thought that the people who wanted more organ music were just plain stubborn,” said one member. “But that part of the sermon where you said that kind of music is the only kind that opens some people up to God really opened my eyes. I can see where they’re coming from. I hope they can see why I like more contemporary stuff.”

“One would hope and pray,” he replied.

Another woman said, “We should try to be more quiet when we enter the sanctuary, right Pastor? I know I like a little quiet time when the prelude is playing. But I try to think of the buzz of conversation rising to God like incense—like in Holden Evening Prayer, right Pastor?”

“Right you are!” was his reaction.

Mrs. Klopher and Sam were off in a corner—she speaking very animatedly, he listening intently. Pastor Smith had a flash of concern as he walked towards them—he had seen the brief facial exchange between the two during the prayers. But as he came up on the two, they both burst into laughter and shared a hug. “Berta just told me about the time her oldest son crawled all the way from the back to the front of the church—under the pews—during the sermon!” said Sam. “And I was telling her how much her husband meant to me as a Sunday School teacher. You were right, Pastor—people are very different and we should respect that—and even celebrate it. But even with those differences, the really important things are the same for all of us.”

“Sometimes I’ve been known to get it right,” joshed the pastor.

A smile crept across Pastor Smith’s face. People were getting it, he thought. And while he didn’t expect people to go around on tenterhooks, he did feel that they would be more aware of each other’s worship styles. And he knew that it was hard to accommodate a variety of piety in a congregation with one service. That some folks were just not going to be happy with that mixture—no matter how respectful people were of each other.

But he also knew that this was an exceptional group of people, who were more intent on serving God and knowing Jesus than they were on the adiaphora—those things that Luther insisted didn’t matter to salvation. They would do well sharing each other’s piety because they were focused on discipleship.

As for himself, Pastor Smith admitted to God that he had a worship style preference as well. And that he needed to keep aware of that when planning worship, so that hopefully everyone going out into the world after the service would do so with this thought on their minds:

“It was a good worship service!”

Passion Sunday Sermon (Draft)

Wine After its Time[1]

Passion Sunday 03/16/08

Matt 27:48

Wine is a metaphor for life. It can be sweet. Sweet as a new born baby, or fine dinner. It can be dry. Dry as a business lunch or a trip to the beach. It can be bubbly. Like fantastic news, or a celebration. And it can be intoxicating. Like love. Wine is a metaphor for life.

It’s made from the essence of individual grapes, but only in combination with many others. Sometimes there’s a diversity of types, sometimes not. It takes nourishment from the soil and light from the sun to raise those grapes. Then there’s the pressure of the wine vat and the straining off of the waste and impurities. Finally it requires patience and time to ferment and achieve its maturity. What was that winemaker’s slogan? “I’ll sell no wine before its time!”

Well, what about wine after its time?

We call it vinegar. It’s sour wine actually. Wine that’s “turned.” It’s what the bystanders at the foot of the cross offered Jesus off a sponge on the end of a long stick. Did you ever wonder about the significance of that sour wine? I mean-why was it done—why was it given to him?

Was it a merciful attempt to offer relief from the excruciating pain of the nails in his palms and feet? Was it simply pity for a fellow human being, obviously parched from hanging on a cross, in the hot sun all afternoon? Or was it done as cruel mockery of the “King of the Jews,” on an equal footing with the crown of thorns, reed scepter, and scarlet robe the soldiers dressed him in before crucifying him?

What might be the symbolism of the sour wine—the vinegar? Well, what is vinegar used for? Some kinds are used to flavor anything from tuna salad to gourmet dishes such as seared quail with cranberry vinegar reduction. Aged Italian balsamic vinegars are so subtly flavored that Alton Brown, host of the Food Network show Good Eats even quaffed some like a cocktail during one episode. So, vinegar adds a bitter, yet needed, flavoring to things.

Vinegar is also acidic and is used as a catalyst in chemical reactions in cooking. It reacts strongly with baking soda—a base. So, vinegar adds what’s needed to get a reaction.

But for the most part vinegar has been used over the ages as a cleaning product—to clean glass, copper, and surfaces that come in contact with meat, such as cutting boards. The acetic acid in vinegar is what makes it not only bitter tasting, but also a good cleanser.

So what reality does the symbolism of the sour wine point to? One way you could think of it is as Jesus taking on the bitterness of our sins. You may even imagine Jesus taking the vinegar as the opposite of him giving good wine to his disciples at the Last Supper only a short while before this.

Another notion would be to see the vinegar as one final insult that Jesus bore directly before his death. Coming as it does in Matthew’s gospel from a simple “bystander,” rather tan a Pharisee or soldier, we can feel culpable, too. Guilty of pouring bitter, soured expectations upon the head of the Christ. Expectations of a more grand and glorious Son—not this one hanging on a tree!

You might even see the vinegar as representing the souring of life itself, as humanity careens hopelessly to the destruction of the very one who came to heal them. Wine after it’s time—life gone bad, horribly bad.

Or perhaps you experience the sour wine that Jesus drinks as a cleansing agent, marking the moment of his death on the cross as a catalyst for a whole new creation. Given freely. For us.

One thing ironic about vinegar, wine after its time, is this: many of us will use it in the coming week – to color Easter eggs. As you prepare for the resurrection, don’t forget that it takes some sour wine to get there. Thanks be to God that Jesus drinks that cup for us! AMEN

---

[1] Adapted from illustration in Sundays&Seasons 2008 p. 124

A Tale of Two Pieties (part three)

Network was down yesterday. But here's the third installment of the serial...

Pastor Smith looked out over his flock during while welcoming them all to worship. He sadly took note that both the crucifer and the acolyte had failed to appear for duty. At least the assisting minister had come in right at the last minute. Attendance looked a little low that morning—Pastor Smith wondered what was occurring “out there” today tat was keeping people away. Maybe it was a whole lot of different things—these people were busy with kids on one end of the scale and aging parents on the other. There were many good excuses for not being at worship each week—but still, he sighed deeply.

At least the “old reliables” were in their usual seats, thought he. Mrs. Klopher had arrived at her usual time and had been seen smiling during the first hymn—Rock of Ages. The Rood clan was sitting in the back today—probably had a sick child to care for.

Each face had a story behind it, each had different issues, cares, concerns, and joys—and each, the pastor knew, had a different way of being worshipful to God. Some were quietly reverent, and some were boisterously reverent, and some fell in between. Could they all just get along, he wondered?

Pastor Smith’s children’s message was a bomber, but he recovered his dignity in the sermon when he spoke on the text “Wherever two or more are gathered in my name, I am there with them.” Jesus said this to reassure the disciples that he would indeed be with them after his death. But Pastor Smith took a new spin on it by noting that no where in the text did it say that the two people had to agree on how they would be “in Jesus’ name.” Green book or Cranberry, intinction or common cup, Old Lord’s Prayer or modern version, Jeans or Suits—didn’t matter. All that was needed was two people calling on the name of Jesus! Oh, and one other thing. Respect. Both had to respect each other’s way of worshiping.

At that point the organist dropped his big hymn book on the piano keys, amking a dissonant bang, waking up the Henrish baby and setting her to caterwauling! She eventually settled down, and Pastor Smith regained some semblance of order through the rest of the service. The candles never did get lit, though.

It was the best of worship services, it was the worst of worship services.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Tale of Two Pieties (continued)

It was the best of worship services, it was the worst of worship services.

Sam Rood and his wife and two young sons got to church right on time—or close to it anyway. They dropped the boys off for Sunday School, then went to the Adult Seminar. Sam was grateful that people were laid back here and didn’t mind if he wore his jeans to church, or came in a few minutes late. It was really like a second family here. Sam and his wife felt comfortably close to God here because of that—not like at their last church.

Sam and family partook of the snacks before heading in to the sanctuary. Then came the weekly decision of where to sit. Sometimes it was up front so the kids could see all that was going on, and sometimes (when they were less than cooperative) it was in the back. Today was a back row day. But not to worry—folks here accepted kids for who they were, and no doubt someone would help them keep the two boys relatively quiet.

Things went pretty well for them that day. The sermon was interesting and inspiring and the music – just the right mixture of good old hymns and contemporary praise songs. One of the boys needed to go to the rest room during the prayers. And it was at that point when Sam noticed Mrs. Klopher frowning at him. He suddenly felt like a child with his hand in the cookie jar. He rushed the boy out of the sanctuary, and snuck back in during the passing of the peace.

It was the best of worship services, it was the worst of worship services.

TO BE CONTINUED…

A Serial Blog Entry

A Tale of Two Pieties

Piety (pi-eh-tee) – style of religious devotion, personal preference as to a way of

worshiping God.

It was the best of worship services, it was the worst of worship services.

Mrs. Klopher arrived early, got her bulletin, and proceeded directly to the seat she had sat in for past forty years. She picked up her hymn book, marked the hymns for that day with the ribbons, and then sat quietly, watching the dust motes drift lazily around in the sunshine, colored by the stained glass of the rose window. She smoothed her Sunday dress, and sighed deeply, remembering her husband, gone now ten years, and how they had sat here together week in and week out, praising and thanking God. It felt good being here, and she closed her eyes and thought of how God had blessed her over the years.

Suddenly, her musings were interrupted. First, two of the men of the church stepped into the sanctuary and began discussing (loudly) their plans for that afternoon. Then some children ran around the sanctuary until their mothers came in and corralled them. Finally other worshipers started filtering in—some quiet and reserved like Mrs. Klopher, but some talking and laughing—enjoying each other’s company.

And it didn’t get any better after the service began. Children cried and talked loudly, people excused themselves to the restroom at all times (no matter what was occurring), and some of them even sipped coffee and finished up their pre-worship snacks! It was all Mrs. Klopher could do to keep silent in the face of what was to her, such disrespect! Still, she enjoyed the worship—loved the sermon, felt uplifted by the singing (even though there was one of those “new songs” in there), and was comforted taking communion amongst all the saints.

It was the best of worship services, it was the worst of worship services

TO BE CONTINUED…

Psalm 67

May God be gracious to us and bless us
and make his face to shine upon us,
²that your way may be known upon earth,
your saving power among all nations.
³Let the peoples praise you, O God;
let all the peoples praise you.

⁴Let the nations be glad and sing for joy,
for you judge the peoples with equity
and guide the nations upon earth.
⁵ Let the peoples praise you, O God;
let all the peoples praise you.

⁶The earth has yielded its increase;
God, our God, has blessed us.
⁷May God continue to bless us;
let all the ends of the earth revere him.

Ch-ch-ch-changes

The more things change, the more they stay the same. ---Proverb

I got me one of those new fangled music machines. What do you call them--Mp3 players? It is a cheap one (go figure) but it still holds hundreds of songs from my collection. So now I can carry fifty or more Cds worth of music with me wherever I go.

That's a far cry from the format of the first music I ever purchased. 45 records. No not the number 45. RPMs--revolutions per minute. That's how fast the vinyl record spun. On the turntable. On my stereo. Ancient history. (But a vast improvement over 78s!)

Then I really got on board with new technology--bought me an eight track player. But before I could amass a collection of eight-track tapes, the world changed to cassettes. So my first ever stereo had a cassette deck in it. That lasted awhile until the cd craze hit. I joined BMG several times to build , or should I say, rebuild my collection. My car still has a cassette player though--It's out of date as well! Now there's MP3s--but I'm catching up.

Only now I hear that real audiophiles are migrating back to vinyl. Glad I kept my albums and turntable--and those narrow ties as well--they're bound to come back in style, don't you think?

Church things change a lot too. Music styles change, hymnbooks change, the seating changes, the architecture changes, the pastor changes, the translation of the Lord's Prayer changes. Some changes are good and proper--some are faddy and fade away. But one things certain:

Jesus is the same--yesterday, today, and tomorrow. You can count on that. But I'd get rid of that hair shirt if I were you!

O God of all the ages, you are from forever, you will be forever. Bring us all into your eternity, and hold us together timelessly. In Jesus' name, amen.

At Calumet

Here I am at Camp Calumet again---this time visiting Lisa at the tail end of her quilt retreats. Camp is a good place to go to get away from it all. But I tend to bring "it all" with me so I don't always feel that release. My problem.

I have to learn to leave things behind and live in the moment that God has provided. Jesus told us to not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. That's good advice that's hard to implement though. We're encouraged to be ready for the future--to save and plan and, yes, to worry about it too. Which advice do we take?

I think you plan and save but you can't let that interrupt your trust in God. So I set a work schedule and keep it--even at camp. But I shouldn't fret about it to distraction from the blessing God is raining down on me at the moment.

So, excuse me, but I think I will take a walk outside right now. Work can wait.

Dem Bones

"I prophesied as he commanded me, and the breath came into them, and they lived, and stood on their feet, a vast multitude." Ezekiel 37:10

This Sunday we hear the gospel story of the raising of Lazarus, which we will see is a "sermon illustration" for Jesus' statement, "I am the resurrection and the life." The first reading is related to that in that there is a resurrection of sorts. We will hear the story of Ezekiel and the valley of dry bones.

There's a myriad of ways to allegorize that story, but this is how I read it today. The dry bones are our church "routines," the everyday business of the church--worship attendance, stewardship, Sunday School teaching, counting, committee work, etc. We've done them for so long they feel dry and dusty--like a bag of bones. But that is not what the Lord envisions.

God connects those dry bones back together--reuniting people and their ministries. He adds sinew and flesh--the meat of the word of God. And he breathes the spirit into the whole thing and we are revitalized for mission!

Have you been feeling bony and dry in the routines of church lately? Pray that God might make those dry bones live! So that we might live for others in our church, the community, and the world!

God, make these dry bones live! Amen

My Soul Longs for the Lord

"My soul longs for the Lord, more than watchmen for the morning,
more than watchmen for the morning." Psalm 130:6

Psalm 130 is one of my favorite pieces of scripture. Not for it's sunshine and butterflies, for it is rather a sad (yet hopeful) bit of poetry. I like it because it speaks to the human condition of despair.

You can tell the writer has reached rock bottom--"Out of the depths, I cry to you-O Lord hear my voice!" He is as low as low can be.

Yet he recognizes that the Lord lifts up those who have been made low, and trusts in the Lord to forgive his sins and restore him to a good relationship with him.

So great is that trust, that he longs for it, anticipates it whole-heartedly. And then one of my favorite lines--"more than watchmen for the morning." The watchman I have in mind is me--sleepless with worry, waiting for the the light of a new dawn to replace the uncertainty of the darkness of the night of my soul.

In this Lenten period, may your soul yearn for the Lord--with hope in the promises of the Lord!

O God, I cry out to you, you hear me, and your love comforts me in the darkness of my life. Be with those who watch for the morning. Keep them courageous and hopeful. AMEN

A Day of Listening

"..let the wise listen and add to their learning..." Proverbs 1:5

Today I went to what the Bishop billed as a "listening day," one of about eight she is doing around the synod. It was at Good Shepherd in Westboro, MA--a beautiful church.

The day started out with (what else?) coffee and small talk in the fellowship hall, and then moved into the sanctuary for the morning. Bishop Payne took on her role as teacher then, talking about listening and being heard and preaching, using as a template Walter Bruggerman's book The Word That Redescribes the World.

Some gleanings from that session:

• we can no longer assume that people know the biblical stories, we need to "re-text" them so they may reap the benefits of the gospel
• we need to stop accommodating the culture of aquisitiveness and "inconvenience" people, for that is what gives energy for mission

Fabulous stuff--I'm adding that book to my reading list!

After a hearty lunch of soup in bread bowls, salad, and dessert, we had a brief worship and then the Bishop listened to us talk--about whatever crossed our minds. Part of this session was devoted to getting us ready to receive the draft copy of the sexuality social statement--due out March 14th. But mostly it was just a discussion of ministry concerns and joys. It was good.

All in all, I'm glad I went. It was refreshing, uplifting, educational, and therapeutic. Here's one of the prayers we used in worship, to close:

By your word, eternal God, your creation sprang forth, and we were given the breath of life. By your word, eternal God, death is overcome, Christ is raised from the tomb, and we are given new life in the power of your Spirit. May we boldly proclaim this good news in our words and deeds, rejoicing always in your powerful presence; through Jesus Christ our risen Lord...AMEN

From the net

NINE MAXIMS OF SUFFERING

1.  Suffering is not God's desire for us, but occurs in the process of
life.

2.  Suffering is not given in order to teach us something, but through it
we learn.

3.  Suffering is not given to punish us, but is sometimes the consequence
of poor judgement.

4.  Suffering is not given to us to teach others something, but through it
they may learn.

5.  Suffering does not occur because our faith is weak, but through it our
faith may be strengthened.

6.  God does not depend on human suffering to achieve God's purposes, but
through it God's purposes are sometimes achieved.

7.  Suffering is not always to be avoided at all costs, but is sometimes
chosen.

8.  Suffering can either destroy us or add meaning to our life.

9.  The will of God has more to do with how we respond to life than with
how life deals with us.

--by Cornel Rempel, hospital chaplain

Looky! (sermon draft 3/02)

Warning: the following sermon illustration involving table manners is rated PG (pretty gross). Parents may want to close their eyes, and cover their ears, and hum loudly during said illustration, while children of all ages may want to stop coloring, eating cheerios or text-messaging and pay attention so that they may enjoy it in all its grossicity.

This illustration goes under the heading “Amusing Things Your Favorite Uncle Taught You To Do at the Dinner Table.”

• Number one: the napkin trick. Take a paper napkin, unfold it thusly, add some music, and… ta-da!
• Number two: the mashed potato extruder. Take a mouthful of mashed potato, pretend that there’s a crank attached to your head—crank it while pursing your lips and pushing mashed potato through the opening. Always amusing!
• Number three: the coffee creamer trick. All you need is a coffee creamer of this variety (non-dairy is just fine), and a fork. Take creamer in one hand, fork in the other and BAM. (Turn creamer over cup and “milk” it through fork holes.) Just like nature intended.
• Fourth and final: “Looky.” Announce loudly, “Anyone want to play Looky?” Treat all takers with a view of your wide open mouth containing an assortment of half-chewed food.

Okay, kids, you can poke your parents and get them listening again, since the grossness is over for the time being. It’s “looky” I want to talk about this morning—although not the dinner table variety. This one is related, but different. It’s not gross at all. It is the looky as in “Looky, looky, looky!” The kind of looky you use when you’re a kid and you want your parents to take notice of you. Like when you learn to ride a bike (Looky, looky, looky). It’s also the kind of looky you use as an adult—as in “Looky here!” Looky here, I just won the megabucks!! Looky!

Looky—that’s basically the stance that the man born blind takes with the people who question him incessantly about the miracle he had experienced through Jesus’ intervention in his life.

The neighbors and locals started it. They couldn’t understand how this sort of thing could have happened, right in their own backyards! We never did it that way before. They wondered if he was even the same blind beggar who sat there each day trying to part them from their loose change. They asked, “Is that really you?” And he said, “Looky here, it’s me—I can see!”

They took him to the Pharisees Those guys asked him all kinds of questions. Where he was sitting, and how deep was the pool of Siloam, and how exactly he was instructed to wash. Then they asked him about the man who gave him his sight. He said, “Looky here, he put mud on my eyes, told me to wash, and now I can see!”

The Pharisees even dragged his parents in—hoping to prove that he wasn’t born blind by squeezing mom and dad. (You see the Pharisees could chuck you out of the synagogue—and if that happened, well—you might as well have gotten thrown off the face of the earth if you weren’t part of the synagogue in Israel.) But the parents dodged that bullet by deferring the question to their son. “Looky here, he’s old enough—ask him yourself!”

So the authorities go back to questioning the son. “You say this man gave you back your sight. Isn’t that man a sinner? Didn’t he heal on the Sabbath?” “Where does he come from?” “How did he do this?”

The formerly blind from birth man finally can’t take it anymore and he bursts out, “Looky here, all I know is I was blind, but now I can see! Can’t you see that?”

And that’s what this story is all about—seeing and not seeing. But not in the physical sense, as much as there is of that in the story. No, it’s about spiritual sight—seeing Jesus for who he is, seeing others for who they are, seeing ourselves for who we really are. This story shouts out, “Looky, looky, looky!” Let those who have eyes see! Really see.

“Looky here,” says Jesus, “this man is not a textbook case study for who sinned. He is a man. A child of God. Period. He is not simply a blind man—as if that sum totaled his existence. In fact he is who he is so that God may be revealed in him.”

If only we could look at each other and see each other as God and Jesus see us. In the first lesson today God tells Samuel not to look at Eliab’s good looks and height when discerning who God has chosen for king. “For the Lord doesn’t see as mortal see; they look upon outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.”

And isn’t that so about people? Anyone who’s been picked last for a dodgeball team can attest to it. People are caught up in appearances—first impressions. That’s why George Clooney gets the cover of Time magazine, and I couldn’t even make the cover of our newsletter. What you look like, what people see on the outside, colors their opinion of what’s on the inside.

There’s even been studies done with children on this phenomenon. Researchers showed children pictures of attractive people and “unattractive” people and asked them which people were “good,” and which were “bad.” Overwhelmingly they said the good looking people were good, and the homely, bad.

So, somehow, we are hardwired to make these assumptions. And that means, as followers of Jesus, we must override instinct to act in a way that treats people equitably. Equitably in the sense that we look into their hearts, not their faces or bodies for their character. And equitably also in how we treat others who “cue” certain responses within us.

For instance, as a part of my Synod anti-racism training we watched a video on an all white youth group’s plan to go to a black neighborhood and “help them by cleaning up the neighborhood.” What they learned in the course of the program was that this was a very patronizing plan. That, if they truly wanted to be involved with the people there, they should enter into an equal relationship, and wait to be invited to help in some way—while also receiving knowledge and help from them.

The homeless also cue behaviors within us. Part of the greater Nashua Interfaith Hospitality network’s training is meant to restore the dignity the residents lose by being homeless in our eyes. We instantly feel they are spendthrifts, or they have a drug problem, or something must have been flawed in them—because otherwise that could happen to me! Volunteers are trained to see the residents as just people.

But this lesson on seeing is also about how we see ourselves. How do you see yourself? Like me you’re probably fooling yourself in some ways. I see myself as young and thin—when actually I’m slightly middle-aged, and carrying a few extra pounds. But again that’s a human way of seeing oneself. We have to examine our hearts to see ourselves as God sees us. What is in your heart?

In the story, the man born blind sees that he can see—but he has already “seen” the contents of his heart. He is a man without recourse in the world, a sinner, one solely dependant upon what only Jesus can give him.

As “holy men,” the Pharisees, by contrast, see no need for this Jesus. In fact they would just as soon be rid of him. They already have a religious system that works for them, thank you very much, and the Nazarene is simply getting in the way, with his healings and feedings and forgiving sins and whatnot.

Where do you and I fall? We’d like to think in the blind man’s court. But truth be told we may be closer to the Pharisees than we’d feel comfortable being. We may think that we have things “covered” with our own religiosity, our own piety, and our own practice of religion. So much so, that we may begin to see Jesus more as a moral guide and great philosopher and teacher, and less as the one who can heal us, feed us, forgive our sins, and give us a future with God.

That’s the kind of blindness Jesus came to remedy. Fortunately for us, we need only admit blindness to our own hearts and others for Jesus to come to us with mercy and grace and open the eyes of our hearts, so that we might truly “see.” The danger is in saying “I can see!” when the depth of that sight is only skin-deep.

But even then, I don’t believe that Jesus gives up on us. He’s always there, waiting for us to admit our blindness, waiting for us to beg for mercy, waiting to reveal God, through us, to others whose blind seeing prevents them from looking upon the face of the Christ. Yes, Jesus is waiting with spit and dirt and instructions on how to use them to gain your sight.

Which by the way, is perhaps the origin of that toast your favorite uncle taught you to use only on special occasions:

RYAN: “Here’s mud in your eyes!”

Amen

CROP

Instead of reading today why not watch the blog. Check out these Crop Walk videos and help feed the hungry. Scroll down below the cupola to find them.
Peace,
Pastor Tom