I Chose You -- Sixth Sunday of Easter

John 15:9-17 (Acts 10:44-48)

May 5, 2024

 

            When Zach was in second grade, I went to pick him up from school and I had a chance to chat with his teacher. I didn’t get to do that very often because pick-up time was usually organized chaos. But this particular day was different, so his teacher and I were talking about how he was doing in school, his abilities, and his struggles, etc. She commented to me that it was such a treat for her to see friendships develop between the kids. Zach and another little boy in the class were becoming good friends, and they spent as much time as possible talking and talking and talking. The talking wasn’t a problem when they were doing their classwork, but when they were supposed to be getting ready for recess or lunch or getting to the bus to go home, she would have to remind them to stop talking and get a move on. Because we lived in Iowa when my kids were little, several months out of the year required lots of extra clothing to go outside – like snowpants and boots and waterproof gloves. It was already a time consuming process to get all this gear on, so if the kids dawdled and talked too much it made it even longer. But his teacher wasn’t upset about it. She was a veteran teacher; she was used to it. She just smiled and told me that this was a special time in a child’s life – the time when they really began to make friends.

            The word friends has taken on new meaning since the advent of social media. On some platforms, I am “friends” with people I’ve never met. But I’m “friends” with them because other friends connected us. I am also “friends” with people I rarely see and have no real contact with outside of the internet. And I’m even “friends” with people I didn’t much care for when we were in close proximity with one another – say junior high school. I once read a comment from a fellow preacher who said that friendship has been cheapened by social media. I can see how this is true.

            Maybe social media has cheapened the idea of friendship, but despite that, I stay with it. For one thing, if you want to plan a high school reunion or reunion of any kind, social media is the best. Social media has also helped me connect with friends I believed I’d lost. And on more than one occasion, social media has helped my friends and me help another friend who was struggling from trouble in life and in her circumstance. There are people that I’m friends with who I wish I had worked harder at interacting with when we saw each other more often. I wish I had worked harder at seeing them as fellow children of God, trying to figure out life the same as I was. If social media has cheapened the idea of friendship in some ways, in other ways it has widened my understanding of it. Social media has helped me think outside the box when it comes to friendship.

            Jesus might not have referred to his understanding of friendship with the disciples as thinking outside the box, but by calling them friends he was changing their status. They were no longer just disciples to a teacher or servants to a master, they were friends. When Jesus called them friends, he was not referring to pals or buddies or chums. He was referring to them as loved ones. Being his friends meant that they were part of his family, an integral part of his life and of him. Being friends meant more to Jesus than just a label or category. It was a relationship with God in God. Friendship meant abiding, remaining in God as well as with one another. Friendship meant obeying the commands of the True Friend, the True Vine. The number one commandment that Jesus gave was to love one another. You are my friends, you abide in me, and I abide in the Father. We all abide together in love. So, love one another as I have loved you. I chose you, and this is what I command. Love one another. And this is what love is, laying down one’s life for one’s friends.

            This is the love that Jesus embodied for his friends. Jesus literally laid down his life. He went to the cross and sacrificed his life for the love of his friends. However, Jesus does not only lay down his life for the disciples or the people of Galilee or the folks from his hometown of Nazareth. The cross was and the cross is for this world.

            Earlier in John’s gospel we hear the words “for God so loved the world …” It was for the world that Jesus was willing to die. Jesus not only preached sacrificial love, but he also lived it and he died for it. For God so loved the world – the cosmos, the entirety of God’s creation. So, I don’t think I am unfairly stretching the analogy to say that the entire world consists of Jesus’ friends, or at least a wide and beautiful diversity of people Jesus calls to be his friends and chooses to be his friends.

            In our text from Acts, Peter also gets a new understanding of what it means to be friends. All of chapter 10 consists of Peter being pushed to see through new eyes what it means to be clean and unclean, pure and impure. It begins with a centurion named Cornelius and Peter’s vision of a sheet filled with animals that by the standards of the Law were considered unclean. Peter wanted to obey the Law, to stick with what he knew and understood about what was right and what was wrong. But God insists through this vision that Peter see beyond the box that he previously dwelled in. This was not merely about clean and unclean food. This was about people. God was choosing people, calling people, all kinds of people. Saul, who persecuted believers, was chosen and called. Cornelius, a Roman centurion was chosen and called. And as we read in our verses in this chapter, the Holy Spirit descended even upon the Gentiles. In other words, a whole lot of people were chosen and called and answered that call to abide in God through Christ. A whole lot of different kinds of people were now friends.

            I know that this kind of friendship goes beyond social networking and the shallow kinds of friendships that we experience. I know that befriending the entire world is a daunting task to say the least. But I do think these passages remind us of the fact that loving God means loving God’s people, all of God’s people. And Jesus did not just suggest this, he commanded it. He commanded us to love one another, to see the other as a loved one, a member of the family. As he chose us, we must choose each other.

            Love comes up a lot in the gospels, and indeed in the whole of scripture. So, I know that I have said this before. Love is not just about how we feel. Love is not just warm fuzzy happy feelings. Let’s face it, we don’t always feel warm fuzzy even about the people we love most in the world because all of us make mistakes and mess up and hurt the people we love. Love is not just something we feel, love is something that we do. Love is a verb. Love is action. Love is deed. We may not feel love, but we must live love. We don’t have to feel love to live love. And we should always strive to live love.

Yet, it occurs to me that when Jesus commanded us to love one another, maybe he did mean that we should feel it as well. Maybe we were commanded to show love, to enact love, and to feel love for one another. By commanded us to feel love, Jesus commands us to change our hearts, change our minds, and change what we do as well. Maybe the command to love one another is to truly believe that the world is filled with our friends, our loved ones. How different would the world look if we not only acted this way, but felt this way, thought this way? What would the world look like, what would our country and communities look like, what would our church look like, if we strived to live out the commandment Jesus gave us? If we lived as though we were all friends? It is a tall order indeed. But Jesus is not just our role model. Jesus is our True Vine. We abide in him. He is the source of our love. He is the source of our friendship. He is the One from whom all friendship comes, and in whom we abide, remain, and stay. He chose us and calls us to choose one another. He laid down his life for his friends, and he did so with a loving heart. Can we do the same? Can we feel the same?

Let all of God’s children and all of our friends say, “Alleluia.”

Amen.

Along the Road -- Fifth Sunday of Easter

Acts 8:26-40

April 28, 2024

 

            Ethiopia is one of the oldest civilizations in the world. Modern day Ethiopia is landlocked now, but its ancient boundaries bordered the Red Sea. The Queen of Sheba, who traveled to Israel to test the famed wisdom of King Solomon, was Ethiopian.

In north central Ethiopia in Lalibela, the Emperor Lalibela ordered rock hewn churches to be built when he reigned in around the 12^th century. When you hear the phrase, rock hewn, you might think of rough, rustic structures that are more like openings into caves. At least that’s what I thought. I couldn’t imagine what these churches might look like. These churches, which are a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and a place of pilgrimage for people of faith, are some of the most magnificent structures I’ve seen – and I’m going only from pictures. They are solid rectangular churches of granite that rise up from deep trenches. They were sculpted inside and out with magnificent detail. Even the roofs are sculpted with ornate crosses, which makes sense when you realize that the first sight of these churches comes from above. There is nothing primitive or rustic about these ancient churches. Instead they are a testament to the advanced architectural skills that have existed in Ethiopia for centuries.

            Ethiopia is also known for being one of the first countries in the world to make Christianity its state religion in around 300 ce. While it’s quite likely that with the trade routes between Ethiopia and the lands surrounding ancient Israel, word of this new religion, this Way, would have reached Ethiopia through multiple means, the credit is given to the story from Acts that we have before us this morning.

            Everything about this story of the encounter between this Ethiopian eunuch and Philip is both strange and wonderful. Unlikely is the word that comes to my mind. Philip’s story alone is remarkable. Just a few chapters before this one he and twelve others, including Stephen, were commissioned to feed and care for the widows in the community. That meant they oversaw food distribution. The apostles needed time to pray and spread the word so they laid hands on these twelve so that they would also be empowered by the Spirit to do their own unique work.  But the Spirit is never to be underestimated and it blows where it will. It moved Stephen to speak to the powers and principalities even though it meant his martyrdom by stoning. And Philip? After Stephen was killed, Saul led a severe persecution against all the believers in Jerusalem. So, except for the apostles, all the other believers were scattered. Philip traveled into Samaria. He had not been commissioned to preach or evangelize, but a calling is a calling. He preached to the Samaritans. And his preaching was extraordinary and powerful. The enmity between Israel and Samaria had not lessened since Jesus told the story of the Good Samaritan, but that human animosity could not hinder the Holy Spirit working through Philip as he preached. His preaching expelled unclean spirits from those who were possessed.  Folks who were lame or paralyzed walked again. Philip’s preaching even converted a magician named Simon. Simon was baptized, and although he once performed acts that amazed all those around him, now he was amazed by the miracles and signs that happened through Philip because of the Holy Spirit.

Regardless of what the original intentions were for Philip’s ministry, the Spirit blows where it will. It directed Philip in a completely different way than any of the apostles or Philip could have imagined, and the results were astounding!

If this were another kind of story in another kind of context, we might have heard that Philip was promoted to the next level of leadership. After all, his results in Samaria were incredible, why shouldn’t he move up the ladder of success? But that’s not the story we have before us. Instead of allowing Philip to remain in Samaria and continue his work there, Philip is told by an angel of the Lord – which is another name for the Holy Spirit – to get up and go south.  Take the wilderness road that leads from Jerusalem to Gaza.

The word wilderness in this road’s name is exactly what it implies: a wilderness, desert, little or no life, arid, dangerous, wilderness. One commentator I read pointed out that telling Philip to “go south” was not only a direction but a time. He would have been told to go about noon when the heat of the day was at its most extreme.

Let’s recap. Philip is told to travel the wilderness road, the arid, deserted, possibly dangerous road in the heat of the day. No one should have been traveling on that road at that time of day. No one should have been on that road to encounter, much less to preach or witness to. And if no one was there to preach to, what use would God have for Philip to journey along that road? It was all completely unlikely.

But if Philip questioned this directive, we don’t read about it in our text. He just got up and went. 

As he walked along that unlikely road at such an unlikely time, something else completely unlikely happened. Another traveler came down that dusty, deserted stretch, and an unlikely traveler at that. An Ethiopian eunuch, an official of the court of Queen Candace, indeed the person who oversaw her treasury, was in his chariot leaving Jerusalem for home. The Spirit tells Philip to go over to the chariot. Philip ran to it and when he did he heard the eunuch reading aloud from the prophet Isaiah. Philip asked him if he understood what he was reading, and the eunuch invited him to join him and guide him in the interpretation. 

Philip began with that Isaiah passage and told him, to quote the old hymn, the story of Jesus. When they came to some water, the eunuch was moved to ask for baptism. More specifically he said, “What is to prevent me from being baptized?” 

The chariot was ordered to stop. They got out. Philip baptized the eunuch. When he and the eunuch came out of the water Philip was snatched up by the Spirit and taken away. Apparently the eunuch was not surprised by the unlikeliness of Philip disappearing from the road, because still drenched from the waters of baptism, he went on his way along that road rejoicing. Unlikely as it may have been, Philip found himself in Azotus. From there he went through each town proclaiming the good news.

            What was a court official of a queen doing on that road? What was a man, who on the surface seemed to have no qualifications to preach or evangelize or baptize, doing on that road? What was water doing on that road?! It was a wilderness road, an arid, desert road in the middle of an arid, desert land! But there it was, there when it was needed.

            And this eunuch, who was doubly an outsider – both a foreigner and one who would have been considered to be without gender, who would not have been allowed to be in the temple in Jerusalem – was not only traveling away from Jerusalem where he worshipped the God of Israel, he was also open-minded and open-hearted enough to have a stranger join him in his chariot and interpret scripture for him. Even as a eunuch, this man had greater social status and power than Philip did, but that did not prevent him from listening to Philip and trusting Philip to act in the name of Jesus.

            And Philip who was commissioned to table fellowship and nothing more has followed the Spirit’s call to preach, to witness, to go to unlikely places and unlikely people and tell the story of Jesus. Because of his willingness to go, he meets an unlikely person along that unlikely road and the good news of the gospel is shared, the Word of the Lord is heard and believed, and the world is changed once more. It’s all very unlikely.

Everything about this story, from beginning to end, resounds with the unlikely. None of it should have happened, yet it did. But why do I find the unlikeliness of this story surprising? I shouldn’t be surprised at all. None of us should. The word unlikely should really be the subtitle of scripture. The Holy Bible: An Unlikely Story about Unlikely People Being Called in Unlikely Ways to Bring an Unlikely Message to Unlikely People from God.

Abraham and Sarah, an unlikely couple who were childless and older than dirt, were promised by God that their descendants would number more than the sand on the ground and the stars in the sky. Jacob, their grandson, was a scoundrel, a schemer, a cheater, a liar, completely unlikely. But his name became Israel, and he was the father of a nation, God’s chosen people who would bring God’s blessing to the world. Moses should not have lived to see his first birthday, but the unlikely circumstances of his rescue and the unlikely way he was called by God, began the exodus of God’s people out of Egypt.

Ruth, a Moabite who should have gone back to her own people, stayed with her mother-in-law, Naomi, and married Boaz in the most unlikely of ways. Their unlikely marriage resulted in a grandson named Jesse and in a great-grandson named David. David was an unlikely choice for King, but King he was.

But what was most unlikely was that the Word became flesh, the Divine became human, starting off in life the way we all do – tiny, helpless, and powerless. And when that unlikely baby was born, the first tidings of his birth were announced to an unlikely group of shepherds! That tiny baby grew up to be an itinerant preacher and called together a woeful band of followers who never seemed to get it right; even when their teacher told them exactly what was going to happen. He would die but death would not win. In the early hours of the third day, without witnesses, he would be resurrected, the most unlikely event of all.

The expression says that “God moves in mysterious ways.” I would change the word mysterious to unlikely. God calls unlikely people to do unlikely deeds in unlikely ways. That’s how God’s purposes seem to be worked out – in the unlikely.

Our faith seems to be based on all that is unlikely. It doesn’t follow logic. To some it even sounds a bit nuts. But it seems to me that it is the unlikeliness of it all that makes the good news the Good News, because unlikely in God’s eyes does not equate to unworthy. Unlikely is not the same as unable. God’s purposes for good and for love and for life are worked out through unlikely people in unlikely places and in unlikely ways. That includes those whose call some might question. That includes foreigners and outsiders and Others. That includes all of us. God’s purposes for good and for life and for love are worked out through all of us, unlikely as we may be. And for that I say, thanks be to God.

Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia!”

Amen.

 

For the Sheep -- Good Shepherd Sunday/Fourth Sunday of Easter

Psalm 23/John 10:11-18

April 21, 2024

 

            Many years ago, a friend of mine told me about being convinced by some folks in her life to do something she really didn’t want to do. It was a medical procedure, and my friend went along with it until the last second when a good friend talked her out of it, and she’s never regretted changing her mind. When I asked her about why she was listening to these other people even though she was uncomfortable about what they were asking her to do, she said, “I was a sheep.”

            In our culture being called a sheep is not necessarily a compliment. If you’re a sheep, you’re considered to be mindless, following others because apparently you don’t have a mind or a will of your own. Therefore, if you are a thinking human being you don’t want to be called a sheep. It means that you don’t or won’t think for yourself. Our culture also puts a lot of emphasis on the individual, so being compared to an animal who is seemingly just a purposeless cog in the larger wheel of the flock is insulting. Who wants to be compared to a sheep?

But about a month or so ago sheep and shepherds were the focus of our Wednesday night fellowship. Wanting to know more about sheep and in preparation for that bible study I found a list of facts about sheep that made me think differently about these creatures of God. For those who weren’t there that night and for those who were, but may not remember, here are a few of these facts.

            Sheep and goats alike have rectangular pupils. This gives them a wide view, up to 320 degrees, which helps them stay ahead of predators. So, when you think a sheep is just wandering about aimlessly, think again. With their panoramic view of the world, they’re probably just keeping a close watch on the wide world around them and looking out for any other critter who might do them harm.

Sheep have been domesticated for centuries because they’re so easy to manage. But a large flock requires a good shepherd to keep them together. There are thousands of different breeds of sheep around the world. We may have only encountered a few of those breeds, but there are so many others we have yet to meet.

Sheep have very good memories. They can remember at least 50 individual sheep and humans for years. Their memories are based on a neural process that is like ours.  

Contrary to popular belief, sheep are very intelligent animals. They are clever and can problem solve. This counters the idea that sheep are just mindless dumb creatures, who follow the flock because they don’t know anything else and they’re too brainless to try anything new.

Sheep have been known to display emotions just as humans do, and like humans they use different vocalizations to communicate their emotions. Ewes make good mothers. They form deep bonds with their lambs. And sheep are social animals, which makes being part of a flock a good thing for different reasons. The flock is protection. The flock is friendship. The flock is family.

It seems to me that sheep, rather than being just dumb animals with no abilities other than to follow, are more like humans than we realize. They’re intelligent creatures with emotions and bonds, but maybe they’re just a little too smart for their own good sometimes.

Because even with all their abilities and intelligence, a sheep separated from the flock is vulnerable. That’s why a shepherd is necessary to care for and protect the sheep. In the twenty-third psalm, which outside of John 3:16, is perhaps some of the most beloved and well-known verses in scripture, there is a vulnerability being expressed that we may not always notice.

We may not notice it right away because psalm 23 is seen only as a psalm of praise and thanksgiving. It is giving thanks for the Lord, the shepherd who is there for the sheep, leading and guiding them. In just six verses, the psalmist describes a relationship with God that is intimate and personal. The Lord, the shepherd, protects and nurtures the sheep, leading them to verdant pastures to graze and clear waters to drink. In darkest valleys where predators may lie in wait, the shepherd walks with the sheep. Even with enemies all around, a table of welcome and hospitality is set. Oil, a sign of blessing and abundance, anoints the head and the cup is overflowing.

In our English version, the Hebrew in verse 6 is translated as follow. Goodness and mercy will follow me. But a closer meaning of the Hebrew is pursue. Enemies do not pursue the sheep, mercy and goodness do. Mercy and goodness are relentless and unwilling to give up the chase. And when the psalmist speaks of dwelling in the house of the Lord, it’s more about turning and returning. I will return again and again to the house of the Lord. I will return to God, my good shepherd, no matter what. Even if I wander and stray, the Lord is my good shepherd and I am pursued by God’s mercy and goodness, calling me back to the fold again and again.

This is the vulnerability I’m speaking of. The psalmist expresses the deep vulnerability of being a sheep, and the dependency of a sheep on the shepherd. Then think about the description of the good shepherd that we read in John’s gospel.

“I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. The hired hand, who is not the shepherd and does not own the sheep, sees the wolf coming and leaves the sheep and runs away – and the wolf snatches them and scatters them. … I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me.”

The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. Today, the fourth Sunday of Easter, is always known in our Revised Common Lectionary as Good Shepherd Sunday. It is the day when we lift up Jesus as our good shepherd, the one who leads us and guides, who lays down his life for us like a shepherd will lay down his life for his sheep. And while I normally only focus on one passage in a sermon, I could not help but look at these two distinct passages together. It seems to me that the vulnerability of the sheep in Psalm 23 is answered by Jesus’ assurances of “I am the good shepherd.”

We tend to put the words of the psalmist into the realm of the eternal, and certainly reading John post Easter, there is a tendency to do that with the gospel as well. Jesus is our good shepherd, leading us to life eternal and we dwell in the eternal house of the Lord forever.

While thinking of the eternal is part of our faith, true, I also think it’s important to remember that Jesus is our good shepherd now, not just in the sweet by and by. The Lord is our shepherd now, not just in the eternal life to come. The vulnerability expressed by the psalmist speaks to us now. It speaks of living in the real world that is full of uncertainty and danger. It speaks of trust and faith, even though we live in a present that often feels frightening and into a future that is unknown at best.

Psalm 23 speaks of the Lord our shepherd being with us through it all, through the times of overflowing abundance and the times when we walk in the darkest valley. Think about a time or times when have you felt like you were walking through the darkest valley. What did that feel like? Think about a time when you felt alone and vulnerable, times when you were afraid and unsure of what lay ahead? What got you through those times? Who was walking through that darkest valley with you? Who was there when you were most vulnerable?

The psalmists’ answer to these questions is the Lord. The Lord is my shepherd. Jesus’ answer to these questions is, “I am the good shepherd.” The psalmist reminds us that even if we feel alone and afraid, we have our good shepherd. The Lord is my shepherd., I shall not want. The Lord brings us to lush pastures, filled with life. The Lord brings us to clear and clean waters and encourages us to drink. The Lord is with us, even when we are most vulnerable. The Lord is our good shepherd, who lays down his life for us.

Usually, I try to bring my sermons to a point of persuasion and action. I want to rouse us to be the people God calls us to be, to love others – all others, and to go out into the world showing that love through our actions. And I will continue to do that for as long as I stand in the pulpit and preach. But I also realize that sometimes we just need to know that we are not alone. Sometimes we just need the comfort that comes when we recognize that we are sheep under the care of a good shepherd. We are not mindless. We are not aimless. We are part of a large and loving flock, protected and nurtured by a good shepherd who gives his life for our sake and who continues to call other sheep, different sheep, into the flock.

It is more than okay to just take comfort in these words from scripture today, to find solace in the assurance that the Lord is our shepherd, we shall not want. No matter how much we try to control the world around us, the truth is we are all vulnerable. We can only control so much. Life continues to lead us to dark valleys, but the Lord is our shepherd. The Lord is our good shepherd, who leads us and walks beside us and pursues us no matter what. Find comfort in that. Find hope. Find peace. The Lord is our good shepherd, who came for the sheep, all the sheep, and we are part of the flock. Thanks be to God.

Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia.”

Amen.

By These Wounds -- Third Sunday of Easter

Luke 24:36b-48

April 14, 2024

 

            My mom warned me and warned me to stay away from our next door neighbor’s motorcycles. The teenage boys next door had a lot of motorcycles. My parents weren’t crazy about them – the motorcycles, not the teenage boys – and they didn’t want me near them. They could be dangerous, and I was too young to be on one. Also, they said “no!” But I thought they were fascinating.

One summer day, when I was probably 8 or 9, I saw my neighbor pull up to his house on his bike, turn it off, and go into the house. I decided to go look at it. I was just going to look at it. I wasn’t going to do anything else. But it turned out that looking at it wasn’t enough. So, I decided to climb on the seat. What harm could come from climbing on the seat? It wasn’t like I was going to ride it or anything. I climbed onto the seat prepared to do some pretend cruising, but what I didn’t know was that since the motorcycle had just been ridden, the metal on the bike was hot. I was barefoot and wearing shorts. I climbed onto the seat for my “ride” when unfortunately the inside of my ankle touched hot metal. I jumped off immediately and ran home in pain. Touching that hot metal burned my ankle. And it left a scar for a long, long time. The scar is mostly faded now, but for many years it was a visible reminder to listen to my mother.

            A commentator on this passage from Luke’s gospel talked about the stories that our scars tell. When Jesus shows the scars on his hands and feet to the disciples to prove it was him, he was reminding them of the story that led up to that moment. His scars were a visible reminder of who he was and who he is.

            Jesus was also trying to prove to the disciples that he was not a ghost. This is a post resurrection story, and we, the readers, know that Jesus is not a ghost. But this story does seem a little ghostly. Jesus seems able to walk through walls and doors, solid boundaries that no living human could breach. Only ghosts as we understand them in popular culture can do that. I mean one minute Jesus was not there, and the next minute he was standing in their midst. That seems like a ghost to me! But Jesus was not a ghost, and he asks the disciples why they are frightened, and why they have doubts lurking in their hearts? They have been talking about “these things,” and these things refer to the story that immediately precedes ours.

            That story is Jesus meeting two of the disciples on the road to Emmaus. The Emmaus story is probably one of the best known of the post-resurrection stories in the gospels. Two disciples are making their way from Jerusalem to a village called Emmaus. Jesus joins them on the road, but they don’t recognize him. The disciples, Cleopas and another one whose name we don’t know, were talking about everything that had happened in the last few days – the crucifixion of their beloved Rabbi, and the women’s supposedly idle tale about the tomb being empty and receiving a message from angels that Jesus was risen.

            Jesus, an apparent stranger, asks them what they are talking about and why they look so sad. They suppose that he is the only person around who has not heard about everything that has happened, so they fill him on the details of the last few days. Then Jesus, this stranger, begins to interpret the scripture for them in light of what they have seen and heard.

            He goes to leave them, but they encourage him to stay with them. It is getting late in the day, darkness will soon fall, and he should not be out in the night alone. Jesus, still unknown to them, agrees. They sit down to eat, and when Jesus breaks bread with them their eyes were opened. They recognize him! As soon as they do, he vanishes from their sight. Now, these two hightail it back to Jerusalem to tell the other disciples. They too have seen the risen Lord!

            And while they are sharing this incredible story with the others, Jesus again appears in their midst. I guess the story that the two disciples were telling them had not yet sunk in, because when Jesus just appears they are terrified. As has already been said, they think Jesus is a ghost. But Jesus tells them that he is no ghost. This is not a ghost story.

            Look at me, he tells them. Look at my hands and at my feet. Touch my hands and my feet. Touch the scars. See where the wounds were. Does a ghost have flesh and bones? Does a ghost have scars that tell this kind of story? Just as Jesus did for Thomas in John’s gospel, Jesus offers the disciples proof of who he is and what has happened. He was indeed crucified, dead, buried, and now he is resurrected, risen again!

            But their doubts persist. Luke writes,

            “While in their joy they were disbelieving and still wondering, he said to them, ‘Have you anything here to eat?’ They gave him a piece of broiled fish, and he took it and ate in their presence.”

            I remember a professor in seminary talking about this particular moment and relating to us, his students, that the Greek does not say that Jesus merely ate the fish. He gnawed it. He devoured it, just as any living human would who had not eaten in several days. Jesus is not just a spirit or some ghostly apparition before them. He has flesh and bones and hunger. He has scars that tell the story of what has happened.

            The disciples are overjoyed at this, but still disbelieving. They don’t trust their senses. Then Jesus did for them what he did for the other disciples on the road to Emmaus. He opened their minds to understand the scriptures.

            It seems that an open, enlightened mind is the final, necessary ingredient to belief. When Jesus finishes interpreting the scriptures in light of all that has happened, with his physical presence before them, the complete and unequivocal proof that what he told them before his death has indeed come to pass, he declares to them all,

            “Thus it is written, that the Messiah is to suffer and to rise from the dead on the third day, and that repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem. You are witness of these things.”

            You are witnesses of these things. That’s not just a statement of fact, is it? There is an implied imperative in Jesus’ words as well. You are witnesses of these things and therefore you must witness. Starting in Jerusalem, the story, this story, the story that my scars offer, must be told. God’s word of repentance and forgiveness must be preached. And as witnesses of these things, it starts with you.

            What stories do our scars tell? Do they tell of mishaps as children or surgeries as adults? Do they tell stories of disobedience or bravery? Do they tell stories of perseverance and persistence or a willingness to be reckless? What stories do our scars tell? When Jesus offered his hands and feet as proof of his resurrection, he was also sharing the story of his life, his ministry, his authentic humanity. His scars told the story of everything he preached and everything he taught. His scars told of his willingness to do what was considered unlawful, but what he knew was really of God. The scars on Jesus’ hands and feet told the story of the people dined with and the people he welcomed and the people he forgave. They told the story of who he healed and when he healed. Jesus’ scars told the story of the cruelty and barbarity of the powers and principalities, and they told the story of his courage and conviction that would not be swayed and of his obedience to God no matter what the cost.

            Jesus showed the scars on his hands and feet as a testament to his story, and that story is God’s story. His story is the story of God and God’s relationship with us, his children, all of God’s creation. When we hear the words, “by his wounds we are healed,” we may think solely in of the traditional interpretations of atonement. Jesus died so death could be overcome. But it seems to me that there is more to those words. By his wounds Jesus told the story of what it means to live life so fully and completely in relationship with God. By his wounds Jesus told the story of humanity’s cruelty and God’s love. By his wounds Jesus reminds us that we are healed not by magic, but by love – LOVE in all caps. We are healed by love that refuses to give up on us, love that refuses to back down, love that seeks justice and righteousness, love that welcomes, love that includes, love that sees the people we can be, love that sees the people God created us to be.

            By his wounds we are healed. By his scars we are reminded of who he was, who he is, who we are, and what we are called to do. We are called to be witnesses of these things. We are called to share and spread the good news of the gospel. We are called to witness to those wounds and to tell and retell the story of those scars. Thanks be to God.

            Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia.”

            Amen.

F.O.M.O. -- Second Sunday of Easter

John 20:19-31

April 7, 2024

 

            I know that I have recently mentioned the weekly lectionary group I attend. The group has become a source of inspiration and friendship for me over these past few years. And last week provided another moment of inspiration. We all commented how the passage today from John’s gospel is one that we’ve preached many, many, many, many times before, and when you’ve preached a passage this often it can be a challenge to come up with a new angle. As we were discussing the different aspects of this story about the disciple Thomas, one member of the group said something like, “Yep, Thomas definitely has a case of FOMO – fear of missing out.” Hence, the title of my sermon today is F.O.M.O. – Fear of Missing Out.

            At first glance, it’s not difficult to believe that Thomas is suffering from a case of FOMO. Our story begins on the evening of the resurrection, for us that would have been last Sunday night. The disciples, minus Thomas, were hiding together in a locked house, fearful that the religious authorities might show up at their door. They had heard the story that Mary Magdalene had told them about talking to a man she thought was the gardener, only to discover that it was their Rabbi, their Teacher, their Jesus risen from the dead. Peter and the other disciple had gone to the tomb when Mary first told them that the stone had been rolled away and the tomb was empty. But Mary’s story about later seeing the risen lord had not alleviated their fear. Whatever they believed or didn’t believe, they were still afraid, hiding, and waiting – for what they were waiting they may not have known.

            But to their wonder and amazement, the risen Jesus came and stood among them. Even though all the doors were securely locked, Jesus was suddenly standing in their midst. He said, “Peace be with you,” and then he showed them his hands and his side – the places where the nails and the guard’s spear had pierced his flesh. The disciples rejoiced. Jesus said once more, “Peace be with you.” Then, “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” He breathed on them and said, “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.”

            Jesus, resurrected and risen, shows up in their midst. He offers them peace, he shows them where he had been wounded, and he breathes on them the Holy Spirit – John’s Pentecost. And while all of this is happening, Thomas isn’t there. We don’t know where Thomas was. Maybe Thomas was the one who slipped out to the marketplace to buy some food and other provisions. Maybe Thomas ran back to his own home to check on his family. Maybe he was just walking around, getting some fresh air. We don’t know what he was doing, but we do know he was not with the others. He rejoins them after Jesus has left, after Jesus has breathed the Holy Spirit on them, after Jesus has shown them the marks on his hands and side, after Jesus has offered them his peace. Thomas comes in after all this has happened, and he is greeted with the words, “We have seen the Lord!”

            One commentator wrote that the first time he went to New York City with a group of friends, he left the group for just a minute because he wanted to get a hot dog from a street vendor. When he returned to his group, the others told him they had just met the actor Will Ferrell and had their picture taken with him! He couldn’t believe it! He was gone for just a few minutes, and in that short span of time they met Will Ferrell! Did he really need that hot dog?

            If this commentator’s disappointment was fierce over missing out on meeting Will Ferrell, how much worse would Thomas’s disappointment and sorrow have been over not seeing Jesus as the others had. Although John does not add the conversation to the text, I think its fair to assume that they filled Thomas in on all that Jesus said and did when he was with them. And when Thomas hears about this, he responds,

            “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.”

            And this is the moment when Thomas receives the moniker that will stay with him for centuries. In this moment he goes from being Thomas to Doubting Thomas. It seems like this is the only way I have ever known Thomas. He wasn’t just Thomas, he was Doubting Thomas, and you did not want to be a Doubting Thomas.

            But did Thomas really doubt? I will say this every time I preach on this passage, traditional interpretations have given Thomas a bad rap. Was Thomas really doubtful or did he only want to experience what the other disciples experienced? Was this about doubt or was it that the other disciples experienced the risen Christ in an unexpected way and Thomas felt that he had missed out? Was this doubt or was this F.O.M.O.?

I don’t believe that Thomas was doubting as much as he was disappointed that he had missed this incredible experience, that he had missed this visible sign of belief. And he puts that disappointment into words.

“Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.”

So a week later Jesus comes again to the disciples, to Thomas. He gives Thomas what he asked for. He gives Thomas permission to touch him, touch his hands and his side. See firsthand the proof of the resurrection. Thomas says, “show me.” And Jesus says, “here I am.”

            Because of this, Thomas is seen as the cynical, skeptical doubter. But I still think that this text is not so much about doubt as it is about faith. Most of the translations of the Bible we have at our disposal, including the NRSV, the one I use, translate Jesus as saying, “doubt.” Do not doubt. But the Greek word for doubt is not used in this story at all. The more literal translation for the verb apistos is “unbelieving.” Jesus tells Thomas, “Do not be unbelieving, but believing.”

            Do not be unbelieving but believing. 

            Do not be unbelieving but believing. Go from being without faith to having faith. Not having faith isn’t the same as being cynical about faith, is it?  It’s not quite the same thing as doubt. Unbelief and belief are opposites, but doubt and faith are really two sides of the same coin.

            Thomas asked for what he needed to believe. Thomas asked for the same experience of Jesus that the others had, and Jesus offered to Thomas exactly what he asked for. Jesus offered himself as motivation, as a sign for Thomas to believe, to have faith, to go from unbelieving to believing.

            When Jesus offers himself as proof and motivation for faith, Thomas utters one of the most profound confessions of faith in the gospel. “My Lord and my God.” Thomas is not exclaiming here. He is confessing his faith. My Lord and my God.

            When we examine the interaction between Jesus and Thomas in this light, then the next words of Jesus sound different as well.

“Have you believed because you have seen me?  Blessed are those who have not seen me and yet have come to believe.”

            Is Jesus trying to shame or scold Thomas?  That’s what many of us have been taught. Or was Jesus confirming what had just happened? And in his confirmation, he opened the door to faith for generations of believers yet to come. This is one of those moments in the scriptural witness when we can see ourselves firmly in the story. It’s as if Jesus isn’t just speaking to the disciples, to those standing next to him, he’s speaking to us. 

It seems to me that Thomas wants the same experience as the others. He wants to see and touch Jesus. He wants to experience this risen Jesus just as the other disciples have. “Hey, I missed out on your experience of him, so now I want one of my own. I need one of my own.” Thomas needed his own experience of Jesus to believe, and Jesus offered him that experience. And isn’t that where faith springs from? From our experience with the risen Christ. From our encounters with Jesus even when we didn’t know we were encountering him.

I will admit to anyone that when it comes to my faith, it walks hand-in-hand with my doubt. It’s hard not to look at the state of the world and not experience doubt. But even as I doubt, I still believe. And while theology and liturgy and confessions help me and teach me, my faith has been strengthened in those moments when I have experienced the risen Christ. It is in those times when I have made my own confession of “My Lord and my God.”

When I was in my early twenties and new to the Presbyterian church, I found out that a beloved high school friend had committed suicide. I was living in another state, away from my parents’ home, and my mother called to tell me about it when I was at work. She was worried about me being alone when I heard, and she knew that at work other people would be there with me. I was distraught and I called the church office. The associate pastor that I knew somewhat well was not in, but the head of staff was. The church I was attending was fairly large and I know now just how busy this pastor must have been. But he dropped everything and met me at a restaurant for a cup of coffee. And then he just listened. He listened to my grief and my confusion. He didn’t pretend to have answers and he didn’t offer me platitudes. But the one thing he told me was that God was grieving too. God was grieving and holding my dear friend closely in his loving arms. Those words opened my eyes and my heart in a new way. I experienced the risen Christ in a way that I had not before. I went from unbelief to believing. I experienced the risen Christ. Jesus made sure I saw the marks on his hands and his side too.

Thomas wanted to experience what the others experienced. And Jesus made sure that happened. Jesus wants that for us as well. Don’t fear that you will miss out. Look for him and he will be there.

Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia!”

Amen.

 

Terror and Amazement -- Easter Sunday

Mark 16:1-8

March 31, 2024

 

            “So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.”

            These words aren’t exactly what we expect from an Easter message, are they? There is no celebration, no elation. There is no shout of “Christ is risen! He is risen indeed!” There are no “Alleluias!” Nothing about these words or the message they convey are joyful or exultant. They don’t seem to reflect – at all – what has just happened: that Jesus of Nazareth who was crucified is no longer in the tomb. They don’t reflect the amazing and astonishing news that Jesus of Nazareth who was executed by the state, who died on a criminal’s cross, was laid in a tomb without proper burial and without any rituals or rites of respect, is not here.

He. Is. Not. Here. And he is not here because his lifeless body has been moved to another location. He is not here because he is risen, he is resurrected. He is not here, in this tomb, because he is no longer dead but alive. He has been raised. Look, look over there. Do you see that spot over there? That was where they laid him. But he is not there. He is not here. He is risen! He is risen indeed!

            Shouldn’t this news, these words have resulted in celebration? One might think so. But the women who heard them on that early morning did not celebrate. They did not shout for joy. They heard these words from a white robed young man, who was probably an angel, but instead of celebrating they were seized with terror and amazement. Literally, they were trembling with fear, unable to speak. Most likely, unable to think. The women heard the words of the angel and were overcome with fear and shock. And even though the angel gave them instructions to go and tell the disciples and Peter what had happened, to go to Galilee because that is where Jesus is going ahead of them, they couldn’t do it. They could not do what the angel told them – at least not yet. Instead they ran away, saying nothing to no one, because they were afraid.

            No, these aren’t the words we’ve come to expect from Easter. This isn’t the message we want to hear on Easter morning. And I can understand why Mark’s account is not the go-to for the Easter story. I can appreciate why some unknown scribes came along later and tried to clean up Mark’s ending, adding verses to wrap up the story like you wrap a present, neatly, cleanly and tied with a bow.

            It’s as if Mark was taking an exam, heard the warning from the proctor that there were only five more minutes left to finish his essay, and so out of necessity, he just ended the story he was writing.

            “So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.” The End.

            But Mark’s original ending does not feel like an ending. It feels unfinished. Yet, if we look carefully at the rest of Mark’s gospel, this abrupt ending fits. Mark writes with immediacy and urgency. From the first words of his gospel, we feel as though we’ve been thrust into a story in the middle rather than the beginning. Mark begins his gospel with Jesus already born, already grown, and at the start of a ministry that was on the move. Mark has never wasted ink on flowery details or wordy descriptions. From the opening sentences of this gospel, Mark has made it clear that there was no time to lose in proclaiming the gospel and sharing the good news. So, the fact that his ending should be so abrupt shouldn’t surprise us. But what does surprise us is the lack of rejoicing. Instead of celebration, we have terror and amazement.

            Shouldn’t the women have been overwhelmed with joy rather than fear? After all, their beloved teacher is found to be alive not dead. It almost seems like a dream. If you’ve ever lost someone and dreamed that they were still alive, there are no words to describe that joy that you feel – even in sleep – that the person you love was not lost to you, but alive, alive, ALIVE!

            And yet … if I had been among that group of women, would I have celebrated right away? Or would I have trembled with fear? Would I have been dumbstruck with awe? I think it is highly possible that I would have reacted more like the women from our gospel than I might like to believe. Because dead is supposed to be dead. Those women walk to the tomb grieving and anxious, expecting the dead to stay dead. Instead they are greeted with the news that life overcame death and love defeated hate. It was all too much to take in. It was all more than they could comprehend. An angel, an empty tomb, a message of resurrection. No wonder they shook with fear and trembled with amazement?! As Debi Thomas wrote, sometimes resurrection comes upon us slowly. Our hearts and minds need time to catch up. I suspect that this was true for the women as well. Their hearts and minds needed time to catch up with what they were told, with what they saw and experienced on that early morning.

            Certainly, they must have eventually told someone because the good news did indeed spread from one person to the next. The gospel was proclaimed and shared and believed despite their initial terror and amazement. The good news of the resurrection was not lost due to the women’s first response of flight in the face of what they could not yet grasp. Definitely the story did not end with their running away in fear.

            Maybe that is the good news. Maybe that is the good news we need to hear this Easter morning. The women’s fear did not hinder the proclamation of the gospel. Their inability to grasp what they heard, and what they saw did not stop God and the new thing God was doing. Jesus’ resurrection from death to new life was not stopped because the women ran away or the other disciples didn’t understand. The good news of the gospel cannot be stopped or blocked or thwarted by our fears, our mistakes, our inability, or unwillingness to act or to share. This doesn’t mean that we are not called to proclaim, to tell, to share, and to act out the good news of the gospel in the world. But it does mean that God is not stopped by our limitations. God is not stopped by our fear.

            And there are two words in this gospel story that bring this point home. When the angel greets the women, telling them to not be alarmed or afraid, he also tells them this:

            “But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee…”

            And Peter. Now, why do those two words matter so much? Why did the angel single out Peter from the other disciples? Think about it. What was the last thing Peter did? He denied Jesus. He denied him three times. He refused to acknowledge any connection between them. Peter was afraid. He was terrified. He was overwhelmed with fear at what might happen to him because of his relationship with Jesus. So, Peter denied Jesus.

            But this angel tells the women to go and tell the disciples and Peter that Jesus is resurrected, that Jesus is on the way to Galilee ahead of them. And Peter. Maybe Jesus wanted Peter to know that all was forgiven. Maybe Jesus wanted Peter to know that his denial and his fear did not exclude him from the good news now. It did not exclude him from the work that now must be done. Maybe Jesus wanted Peter and all of them to know that the mistakes of the past were both forgiven and forgotten. Peter’s denial did not extinguish Jesus’ love for him. The fear of the women would not keep the good news from being told. No mistakes that any of them had made or would make could stop God. Go and tell the disciples and Peter. And Peter.

            I know that Mark’s gospel does not end as we might like. I know that his finish feels unfinished. Yet, I think that is indeed the good news. It is not finished, we are not finished, and God is not finished. Peter’s denial did not stop God. The women’s fear did not prevent the gospel from being proclaimed. God is not thwarted by our limitations. And we are not excluded from God’s love because of them. Go and tell the disciples and Peter. Go and tell the disciples and Amy. Go and tell the disciples and Brent. Go and tell the disciples and Charlie. Go and tell the disciples and Mellisa. Go and tell the disciples and Chris and Sam and Lyman and June and Drew. Go and tell the disciples and all of us that Jesus is risen. Go and tell the disciples and all the world that love has overcome hate and death has been swallowed up by new and everlasting life. Our fear does not stop God. Our mistakes cannot limit Love. This is our good news, and in this good news we are fearful and amazed. In this good news we are overwhelmed and lifted up. In this good news we find our hope, our joy, our exultation. Jesus is risen! He is risen indeed!

Thanks be to God!

            Let all of God’s children shout, “Alleluia!”

            Amen.

           

           

What Do We Remember? -- Maundy Thursday

John 13:1-17, 31b-35

March 28, 2024

 

            In my first call as an associate pastor, I didn’t preside over the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper by myself very often if ever. I assisted my head of staff, but I didn’t stand at that table alone. In that church someone had made a small booklet that contained the liturgies for the different sacraments, and a copy of that booklet lived in each pew rack. It was nice to have it because the liturgy for communion didn’t have to be reprinted each time we celebrated it. But this also meant that I just read my part in the booklet and didn’t have to think too much about it.

            But then I took a call as a solo pastor, and suddenly I was in charge. It was me and only me who presided over the table, and that made me incredibly nervous. I didn’t have the little booklet anymore, and I wasn’t sure if I should bring the Book of Common worship to the table with me, so I used to type out the entire communion service each month and read from that. Doing that helped me begin to memorize the words of institution. But it didn’t help me completely get over my nerves.

            I still get nervous about communion, even though I’ve presided at the table for a long time now. I worry that I’ll spill something – which I have. I worry that I’ll knock something over – which I have. I worry that I will have a memory lapse and forget some part of the words of institution – which I have. When I would make those kinds of mistakes as a young pastor, I would experience excruciating embarrassment which took me a long time to get past. Now, I still get embarrassed, but I’ve learned to laugh at myself and that helps. In a few minutes we’ll gather at the table again, and I guarantee you I will be a little nervous because I always am. Hopefully, I won’t make any of the mistakes I’ve mentioned, but there’s always the possibility that I might make one or two new ones. But whether I make a mistake or not, the truth is that the power of what happens when we gather at this table is not lessened or erased.

            Although we don’t read the passage from Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians tonight, which shares the words of institution that churches everywhere still use some variation of, the story that we read from John’s gospel is the story of the last supper. It is the story of the night before Jesus’ betrayal. It is the story that provides the impetus and inspiration for our sacrament. In our words of institution for this communion meal, we are called to remember – to remember this story, this night, this last supper, what Jesus said, and even more importantly what Jesus did.

            What do we remember on this night? We remember that Jesus, gathered at table with his disciples, with all his disciples, took a towel, wrapped it around his waist, and knelt to wash the feet of the disciples.

            Foot washing was not uncommon. It was a way of offering hospitality to guests after walking the dusty roads. In households of greater means and wealth, servants would have been employed to wash the feet of those dining. In smaller, less affluent households, water would still have been provided for diners to wash their own feet. Foot washing was not uncommon, but a teacher washing the feet of his disciples was. It was unheard of. It broke every social protocol. And the disciples and anyone else witnessing this would have been stunned and shocked and appalled. We are not told what the other disciples’ response was, but it is almost certain that Peter put into words what the others were thinking.

            “Peter said to him, ‘You will never wash my feet.’”

            As if to say, “No way, Lord! This is not going to happen. You cannot wash my feet.” But Jesus responds that if Peter does not let Jesus wash his feet, Peter will have no share with Jesus. In this context, a share is a portion or a piece. As one commentator wrote, Jesus is reminding Peter that he shares in what Jesus is doing, his ministry, who he is, his love. Peter and the other disciples are co-sharers with Jesus and therefore with one another. Peter seems to understand this, and in typical Peter fashion goes too far the other way.

            Okay, Lord, if you’re going to wash my feet, then wash my hands and my head too.

            But Jesus reminds Peter that only the feet need to be washed. And when he was finished, he put his robe back on, sat down at the table again and asked if they understood what he had just done. If, their Rabbi and Lord, washed their feet, then they should be more than willing to wash each other’s feet. Jesus gave them an example of service, an example of community, an example of love.

            That is the first thing we are called to remember and to do on this night. This is our commandment, which the word maundy means in Latin. We are to love one another, and our love is embodied in our service to one another. Jesus was never afraid to upend social mores. He never hesitated to do what others might think as beneath him. He was reluctant to put love into action. And that is one thing that we remember on this night.

            Something else that we remember on this night is that when Jesus washed the feet of the disciples, Judas was still in their midst. Jesus washed Judas’ feet too. John makes it clear that Jesus knew this was his last night with them, that he knew and understood this his hour to depart was at hand. And Jesus knew what Judas was going to do. Jesus knew that Judas would betray him, and with his betrayal Jesus’ arrest, persecution, and death would be set into motion. There was no turning back, and Jesus knew that. So, it is no small thing to remember that Jesus washed Judas’ feet too. To love as Jesus loved, to serve as Jesus served means that we cannot pick and choose whose feet we decide to wash. Even those who hurt us, even those who may hate us, are not exempt from our love. Whatever divides us must not keep us from gathering at this table together. And what divides us must not keep us from living in community with one another, washing one another’s feet, living out the love Jesus commanded. Jesus washed Judas’ feet too.

            What we remember tonight is that Jesus did not tell the disciples what to believe. He did not offer dogma but devotion. He did not lecture. He loved. This is what we are called to remember tonight, and to remember tomorrow and every day after. What we are called to remember from this night and from this table is that Jesus showed us through his example how to live even in the face of death, and how to love even those who betray and those who deny. That is what we are called to remember on this night, this night when Jesus took a towel, wrapped it around his waist and washed the feet of his disciples.

            Thanks be to God.

            Amen.

What Kind of Triumph? -- Palm Sunday/Passion Sunday

Mark 11:1-11 (Mark 14:1-11)

March 24, 2024

 

As many times as I have heard the story of Palm Sunday, as many times as I have read the story in the gospels, and as many times as I have preached on this particular Sunday, I have never considered the meaning of a Triumph. The “triumphal procession” of Jesus into Jerusalem at the beginning of what we now know as Holy Week was merely a description in my mind. Jesus would process into Jerusalem, and even though his death won’t seem like a triumph to anyone who witnessed it, it would be because he would be resurrected. And in Jesus’ resurrection, he would have ultimate victory over death. A triumph! But a Triumph has an historical meaning that I knew nothing about until this past week. So, I thank my friend and colleague, Blake Hawthorne, for giving me some historical background on a Triumph.

In the Roman empire a Triumph was much more than a victory parade into the city. When a Roman military leader decisively conquered an enemy in battle, the Senate could approve a Triumph. This was more than just the town council approving a tickertape parade. A triumph was a spectacle that could last several days. The conquering hero must be heralded by his soldiers. He would be dressed in purple and gold, royal colors. He would process into the city and finally to the temple in a chariot. He would wear a laurel wreath. The procession would include slaves taken from the fallen enemy, sometimes the conquered king, war riches, etc. There would be speeches and feasts and it was a big deal. But to qualify for a triumph, the conquest had to be mighty. More than 5,000 enemies must have been killed. And the enemy must have been a difficult one to overcome. If that qualification was not met, then it might be considered an Ovation rather than a Triumph. An Ovation, as I understand it from the account I read online, involved the killing of less than 5,000 people or the defeat of enemies that were not considered honorable like pirates. If a conqueror received an Ovation, he road into the city on a horse, and the celebration was more subdued.

With this newly acquired history in mind, I began to look at Jesus’s triumphal entry in a new way. If the Roman Triumph was the standard for a conqueror to enter a city, then Jesus’ entry seems as far from a Triumph as possible. If I’m being honest, Mark’s telling is rather anti-climactic. Jesus and the disciples were approaching Jerusalem, and they were at Bethphage and Bethany, near the Mount of Olives. Jesus sent two of the disciples ahead of him into the village. He told them that the minute they entered the village they would find an unridden colt tied there. They were to untie that colt and bring it back to Jesus. Jesus warned them that if anyone should ask why they were taking the colt, they were to respond, “The Lord needs it and will send it back here immediately.”

The disciples did what Jesus told them to do. They were questioned just as Jesus told them they might be. They responded the way they were instructed to, and they brought the colt back to Jesus. They threw their cloaks across the back of the colt, and Jesus rode it into Jerusalem. It is true that people gathered to welcome him into the city. They cut leafy branches and spread their own cloaks on the ground before him. People encircled him, before and behind, shouting,

“Hosanna! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestor David! Hosanna in the highest heaven!”

This sounds like a sort-of spectacle. Although, as triumphs go, it was still not even close to the triumph a conquering Roman would have experienced. But there were no speeches. There were no feasts. Once the procession is over, Jesus doesn’t do anything that you might expect him to do. He performs no miracles or healings. He doesn’t offer his followers even a rousing sermon. Instead, he goes to the temple, looks around at everything, realizes it is late, and goes back to Bethany for the night. Jesus does not even stay in the city. He returns the way he came. Anticlimactic is an understatement.

Mark puts a great deal more emphasis on the telling of how the disciples managed to get the colt than he does on Jesus’ actual entry into Jerusalem. The procession seems more like an afterthought than a plan. Although Jesus does seem to have clairvoyance about the challenge that might be involved in getting that colt, and I suspect that Jesus also knew that the people who heralded his advent into Jerusalem would have seen the grand arrival of others before him.. The people, who whether they knew of imperial triumphs or not, would have witnessed grand parades and processions of important figures riding into the city in chariots or on a mighty steed.

Writer and theologian, Debie Thomas, described two processionals that happened that day. One came from the west, and it was a full-blown royally regaled romp, dripping with both pomp and circumstance. This parade answers the question, why was Pontius Pilate in Jerusalem at the same time as Jesus? Pilate did not normally reside in that city. Pilate was in Jerusalem because of Passover. Passover was a Jewish festival that remembered, celebrated, and elevated the miraculous and divine exodus of the Israelites from Egyptian slavery and oppression. If ever there was a festival that could get folks riled up at the occupying Romans, it was Passover.

Pilate surely processed into Jerusalem with all the might and majesty he could muster. His processions must have been a vivid reminder of what the people would face if they tried to rebel or riot. Let the people see the splendor and the strength of the Roman empire on full display. It might not have been an actual Roman Triumph, but it would have gotten the message across all the same.

But from the East came another procession, another parade. In the light of a Roman Triumph, this parade was nothing. It would have been considered laughable by the Roman leadership – although the Jewish religious leaders were certainly not laughing. While Pilate may have been heralded with trumpets, Jesus was heralded with Hosannas. When I was a kid I thought that Hosanna was an old-fashioned way of yelling, “Hip, hip hurray!” But it means, “Save us. Save us now.”

And for a minute, the people thought that their salvation had come. But what kind of triumph ends with crucifixion? What kind of triumph ends with death and the defeat of all their hopes and dreams?

You see, that’s the challenge of this day. Growing up in another denomination, we always observed both Palm Sunday and Easter. But we never observed Holy Week. And that’s what this day marks – the beginning of the Holiest and hardest weeks in our church calendar. We begin the week on a day of procession and celebration and hopes and dreams, with hosannas and maybe a hallelujah thrown in for good measure. But in this week Jesus will be betrayed and denied. The hosannas will fade and the shouts to “crucify him, crucify him” will rise. He will be tried, convicted, and executed for sedition and incitement. He will require anointment for burial before he dies, because it will not be allowed upon his actual death.

What kind of triumph is this? Unlike a Roman conqueror, Jesus conquered no one. He killed no one. He enslaved no one. He stole the riches of no one. Instead he healed, he set free, he made all things new. Still, this week ends with the cross.

What kind of triumph is this? We know that Easter will come, that resurrection will once more make the world new. But we cannot skip this week. We cannot jump from procession to resurrection. We must walk through the valley of death before we can climb the hill of new life.

            So, on this Palm Sunday, let us remember that it is also Passion Sunday and that we are beginning the holiest of weeks and the hardest of weeks because the powers and principalities still try to extinguish the Light of the World. We still think that Triumph comes from conquering and subduing and defeating. But what this week will teach us, if we allow it to, is that the real triumph comes from Love and Love alone. So, even as we walk into this week of growing darkness, we also walk into it hope, trusting that the Light still shines and that God is still making all things new.

            Let all of God’s children say, “Amen.”

            Amen.