Jamie Parsley's Blog, page 10

5 Easter

 

April 28, 2024

 

Acts 8.26-40; 1 John 4.7-21; John 15.1-8

 

+ As Inear the 20th anniversary of my ordination to the Priesthood on June11—we’ll be celebrating here at St. Stephen’s on June 9—I have found myselfsomewhat introspective, but kind of retrospective, fi you know what I mean.

 

I’ve beenlooking inward

 

And I’vebeen looking back.

 

Lookingback over my 20 years as a priest.

 

I will gointo more depth about all of this on June 9th in my sermon, but Ihave been thinking long and hard about some of the stances I have made thathave put me, shall we say, outside the norm for priests, especially in thisdiocese.

 

One situationin particular rose to the forefront this past week as I pondered our scripture readingtoday from the Book of Acts.

 

Way back,in the beginning days of my priestly ministry, I was asked by some wonderful parishionersat the congregation I served to do a baptism for these parishioner’s twingranddaughters.

 

I wasclose to this family—I loved them dearly—and I was honored to do so.

 T

hefamily requested however that the baptism be done in the chapel of the church.

 

In thatchapel was a columbarium, in which the ashes of people were interred.

 

And thegreat-grandfather of these twins was interred there.

 

They wantedit there so that we could include the great-grandfather’s memory in baptism.

 

I thoughtit was a beautiful sentiment, and so I said sure, why not?

 

We plannedthe service between Sunday morning Masses, so that we could include anyone whowanted to come to be present, but so there wasn’t a disruption of the liturgywith a procession to the chapel rather to the regular baptismal font in the church.

 

Well, assweet and nice and beautiful as this all sounded, it did not sit well with theclergy in charge.

 

I don’tknow if they were offended by what they viewed as a unilateral decision by thisupstart assisting priest who served in their parish.

 

And, tobe fair to them, I will give them that.

 

I SHOULDhave received their OK to do these things before I gave an OK to the family.

 

But I didnot think it would be an issue.

 

Well, itmost certainly WAS an issue.

 

And afterbeing reprimanded by them, I was then summarily summoned to the Bishop’soffice, who also reprimanded me for this situation, at the behest of theseclergy.

 

Before youstart thinking less of me, if you  believethat I just humbly and sweetly took these reprimands quietly, let me assureyou, I did not!

 

I sat throughthe clergy reprimand biting the inside of my lips until they bled.

 

I triedto defend myself, but it was two against one.

 

And youall know how I LOVE to be ganged up on….

 

But whenI was summoned to the Bishop’s office, reprimanded and then told to make aformal apology to the clergy, I protested.

 

And I protestedloudly.

 

Now, if Ihad violated the relationship with the clergy, I considered it resolved afterthey reprimanded me and I then apologized them to them in that meeting.

 

But tohave the Bishop reprimand me after the clergy and then demand that I make apublic formal apology was a bit much.

 

And his reasonfor reprimanding me had nothing to do with my overreaching my role as anassisting clergyperson.

 

It had todo with the rubrics.

 

The rubricsare those italicized instructions we find in the Book of Common Prayer---thestage directions, so to speak.

 

So, let’sturn in our Prayer Books to those rubrics for Holy Baptism

 

On page 298.

 

Theargument was that the rubrics say on page 298, second paragraph, that “Holy Baptismis appropriately administered within the Eucharist at the chief service on aSunday or other feast.”

 

I, ofcourse, as well as every single clergy person in the Episcopal Church, am boundby my ordination vows to conform to the “doctrine, discipline and worship ofthe Episcopal Church,” which means those rubrics.

 

And I doso, “with God’s help.”

 

But if youwant to see my hackles rise, just bring me into contact with so-called “rubricNazis.”

 

I arguedmy case, saying that rubrics are not emphatic on that whole principal service,and that the Prayer Book actually does give us an opportunity to baptize atother times other than the primary liturgy of Sunday morning.

 

We wentround and round about this until I finally realized I was going to lose.

 

After all,what did some newly ordained poet-priest know about such things language?

 

But I didget one last shot in before I conceded.

 

I pickedup a Bible and placed it before the Bishop and I said, “please tell me where,in the Book of Acts, is says that Philip baptized the Ethiopian Eunuch duringthe “chief service on a Sunday.”

 

I didn’tget an answer, other than “don’t be difficult, Jamie.”

 

And sadly,that did not win my case.

 

I lost.

 

And yes, thosebabies were baptized.

By another assisting priest at that parish.

 

Between services.

 

On a Sunday.

 

In thechapel.

 

Just asit was originally requested and planned.

 

*Sigh.*

 

But. . ..I have thought a lot about that reading from Acts over my years as a priest.

 

This hasbeen a very important scripture to me for some time, and not just because ofthat baptism way back then.

 

Theintroduction of the Ethiopian Eunuch is vital for us—especially those of us whoare a sexual minority in the Church.

 

TheEthiopian Eunuch is a marginalized person—a person who is not allowed to be includedin the Jewish fellowship because of the castration that was done to them.

 

But for Philipto accept this person--who by Jewish Law could not be considered fertile, whowould by some be seen as a barren branch, someone who could not live out thecommandment to be fruitful and multiply--and baptize them and include them inthe fellowship of Christ is a story of radical acceptance and inclusion.

 

Of course,the Ethiopian eunuch is important to Transgender people, who relate to theEunuch.

 

But theEunuch is important to people like me who are asexual, who also definitelyrelate to the Ethiopian Eunuch.  

 

In the EthiopianOrthodox Church, the eunuch is actually named and seen as a saint.

 

They aregiven the name St. Bachos and in the Easter Orthodox Church St. Simeon(sometimes referred to together as St. Simeon Bachos).

 

In thisstory we see how radically inclusive and revolutionary the act of Baptism canbe.

 

Andshould be.

 

Asbaptized followers of Jesus, as Christians and Episcopalians who are strivingto live out the Baptismal Covenant in our lives, we know that to be relevant,to be vital, we must be truly fruitful.

 

Intoday’s Gospel, we find Jesus giving us a glimpse of what this means

 

“I am thevine, you are the branches,” Jesus tells us.

 

Theeffective branch bears fruit.

 

Our jobas Christians is do just that.

 

It is tobear fruit.

 

Now, thistakes on a very different meaning when we consider St. Simeon Bachos, the EthiopianEunuch, or trans people or asexual people.

 

Beingfruitful in this sense means being spiritual fruitful, being fruitful in bringingabout the Kingdom of God abundantly.

 

Bearingfruit means, growing and changing and flourishing and being open minded.

 

We do ithere at St. Stephen’s by doing something that might not seem trendy.

 

We do itwith our ancient form of worship.

 

We do itwith the Eucharist.

 

We do itwith taking what we do here, breaking bread and sharing bread with each other, onSundays, and then going out doing just that in the world.

 

And indoing that, we make a difference in the world.

 

That iswhat it means to is to be effective as Christians.

 

Being aChristian means living out our faith—fully and completely, in every aspect ofour lives.

 

Andliving out our faith as followers of Jesus means that we must be pliable tosome extent.

 

And wemust be fertile.

 

We mustgo with change as it comes along.

 

We mustremain relevant.

 

Now thatdoesn’t mean we throw the baby out with the bathwater.

 

In factit means embracing and holding tightly to what we have do well.

 

Werespect and honor and celebrate our tradition, our history, our past.

 

But wearen’t bound to it by some kind of noose.

 

We arenot called to serve rubrics.

 

Rubricsare meant to serve us, to make our worship meaningful and beautiful, to keepthings in line so that our liturgies don’t become circuses.

 

Being aChristian, following Jesus means that we will following him by being fruitfuland growing and flourishing, by making a difference in the world.

 

We aredoing positive and effective things in the world.

 

We aretransforming the world, bit by bit, increment by increment, baby step by babystep.

As we are told in our Epistle reading today, "God is love."

 

We are beingthe conduits through which God who is love works in our lives and in the livesof those around us.

 

This iswhat it means to follow Jesus.

 

That iswhat it means to be reflectors of God’s Love on those around us.

 

This iswhat means to be a positive Christian example in the world.

 

And whenwe do this, we realize that we are really doing is evangelizing.

 

We aresharing our faith, not only with what we say, but in what we do.

 

That iswhat it means to be a Christian—to be a true follower of Jesus in thisconstantly changing world.

 

That iswhat it means to bear good fruit.

 

So, letus do just that.

 

Let usbear fruit.

 

Let usflourish and grow and be vital fruit to those who need this fruit.

 

Let us benourished by that Vine—by the One we follow—so that we can nourish others.

 

Amen.

 

4 Easter

 Good Shepherd Sunday

April 20, 2024

 

Psalm 23; John10.1-10

 

+ Since the last time I stood here and preached, I have traveledquite a few miles, flown on quite a few planes and talked to a wide variety ofpeople.

 

And I have seen some truly beautiful things.

 

Invariably, whenever I talked with someone, whether they be seatedbeside me on the plane or at a luau or just in regular conversation, when theyinvariably asked me what I do, I pause a bit.

 

Saying I’m an Episcopal priest elicits a variety of responses.

 

One of the responses I get is from people who have been hurt bythe Church or religion as a whole.

 

And there’s a lot of those people out there.

 

As I talk with hose people and share that I too have had an oftendifficult relationship with the Church, they are surprised.

 

They would not think that priests have bad relationships withreligion or the Church.

 

But we do.

 

And when they found me agreeing with them on many topics, ratherthan being  defensive on them, they aresurprised.

 

They were surprised at some of the things I have to say, or how Isay it.

 

They were surprised that often what drove them away from religion isthe reason I stay and fight and speak out in some maybe foolheartedly attemptat saving what I love and cherish about the Church.

 

But, sadly, there is a price for making the stand, for speakingout, for refusing to conform, as you all know.

 

There is a big price for living out a faith that oftentimes therest of the Church does not quite agree with.

 

This past week I found this piece making the rounds on socialmedia.

 

It’s by Chuck Kratzer. And it spoke loudly to me.

 

It goes like this:

 

 Whatthe hell did you expect me to do?

Youtold me to love my neighbors, to model the life of Jesus. To be kind andconsiderate, and to stand up for the bullied.

Youtold me to love people, consider others as more important than myself."Red and yellow, black and , they are precious in His sight." Wesang it together, pressing the volume pedal and leaning our hearts into thechorus.

Youtold me to love my enemies, to even do good to those who wish for bad things.You told me to never "hate" anyone and to always find ways toencourage people.

Youtold me it's better to give than receive, to be last instead of first. You toldme that money doesn't bring happiness and can even lead to evil, but takingcare of the needs of others brings great joy and life to the soul.

Youtold me that Jesus looks at what I do for the least-of-these as the true depthof my faith. You told me to focus on my own sin instead of trying to police itin others. You told me to be accepting and forgiving.

Ipaid attention.

Itook every lesson.

And Idid what you told me.

Butnow, you call me a libtard. A queer-lover.

Youcall me "woke." A backslider.

Youcall me a heretic. A child of the devil.

Youcall me a false prophet. A reprobate leading people to gates of hell.

Youcall me soft. A snowflake. A socialist.

Whatthe hell did you expect me to do?

Youpassed out the "WWJD" bracelets.

Itook it to heart.

Ithought you were serious, apparently not.

Wewere once friends. But now, the lines have been drawn. You hate nearly all thepeople I love. You stand against nearly all the things I stand for. I'm tryingto see a way forward, but it's hard when I survey all the hurt, harm, anddarkness that comes in the wake of your beliefs and presence.

Whatthe hell did you expect me to do?

Ibelieved it all the way.

I'mstill believing it all the way.

Whichleaves me wondering, what happened to you?

 

Today is, of course, Good Shepherd Sunday—the Sunday in which weencounter this wonderful reading about Jesus being the Good Shepherd.

 

And we love this Sunday because we love the image of the Good Shepherd.

 

But, as someone who in my life as a priest has been called by peoplein authority or by others—because of the stances I make, or the position I havetaken on matter as we heard from Chuck Kratzer---I have been called a “badshepherd.”

 

Or one person, the spouse of a clergy person at anothercongregation once called me: “the devil in priest’s garb.”

 

And for someone like me, despite my thick skin and my callousedview, those words still hurt

 

I think the key here is what we may definite as “good.”

 

Does “good” in this sense mean being perfectly orthodox and correcttheologically and scripturally?

 

Does good in this sense mean being polite and nice and sweet allthe time?

 

Or does “good” really mean striving for justice, for speaking outagainst injustice, for calling hypocrites to their faces and overturning tablesin the golden temples filled with misbegotten money and the blood ofslaughtered animals?

 

For me, I think all these images of the sweet, gentle Good Shepherdare misguided.

 

I think the real Good Shepherd doesn’t only just sweetly hug thesheep to their chest and glow celestially like a candle.

 

I think the real Good Shepherd fights and fights hard.

 

The real Good Shepherds shouts at those forces that threaten theirsheep.

 

I think the real Good Shepherd stomps the ground and wields thatstaff and defends their sheep at any price.

 

We, each of us, not just me, are called to be those kind of shepherdsin this world.

 

We too—all of us—are called to speak out, to shout, to stomp theground, when danger threatens.

 

We are not called to be complacent shepherds with no backbone.

 

We are called to actually “know” the people we are called toserve.

 

The God Jesus shows us is not some vague, distant God.

 

We don’t have a God who lets us fend for ourselves.

 

We instead have a God who leads us and guides us, a God who knowsus each by name, a God who despairs over the loss of even one of the flock.

 

We have a God who, in Psalm 23, that very familiar psalm we haveall hear so many times in our lives, is a God who knows us and loves us andcares for us.

 

We see this first in Jesus, who embodies God and who shows us howto be a Good Shepherd.

 

We, by being good shepherds, allow God to be the ultimate GoodShepherd.

 

We were commissioned to be good shepherds by our very baptisms.

 

On that day we were baptized, we were called to be a GoodShepherds to others.

 

Anyone can be a good shepherd.

 

But in being a real good shepherd, we run the risk of being seenas bad shepherds for what we say and do and believe.

 

We run the risk of being called heretics or disruptors or agitators.

 

 

Real bad shepherds sometimes appear and are touted as Good Shepherdsby those in authority.

 

Real bad shepherds actually undermine and, chip by chip, destroythe work of Christ in this world.

 

But, today, we don’t have to worry about those real bad shepherds.

 

We know that the actual bad shepherds, and those who allow them tobe bad shepherds, in the end, get their due.

 

The chickens always come home to roost.

 

Today, we celebrate the Good Shepherd—the Good Shepherd that isshowing us the way forward to being good shepherds in our own lives.

 

Because in celebrating the Good Shepherd, we celebrate goodness.

 

We celebrate being good and doing good and embodying goodness inour lives.

 

And we do so realizing that “good” sometimes is seen as “bad” byothers.

 

Good sometimes means we run the risk of being called “libtard,” or“queer-lover,” or woke.”

 

It sometimes means we are being called a “backslider,” or a “heretic,”or a “child of the devil.”

 

Being good sometimes means we are viewed as “False prophet,” or a “reprobate,”or “soft.”

 

It sometimes means we are called a “snowflake,” or a socialist,”or…a “devil in priest’s garb.”

 

If that’s what “good” means, than so be it.

 

Because, if Jesus the true Good Shepherd were living his earthlylife right here, right now in our own time, let me tell you, he most certainlywould be called every single one of those terms.

 

And if it’s good enough for him, it’s good enough for us.

 

So, on this day in which we celebrate the Good Shepherd, let us bewhat he is.

 

Let us live out our vocation to be good shepherds to those aroundus.

 

Let us truly “see” and know those people who share this life withus.

 

And let us know that being a good shepherd does make a differencein this world.

 

Let us make a difference.

 

Emboldened by our baptism, strengthened by a God who knows us andlove us, let us in turn know and love others as we are called to do.

 

Amen.

2 Easter

April6, 2024

John 20.19-31

+ There’s a book Ireference quite regularly, if you’ve heard me preach for any period of time.

 

It’s Outlaw Christianby a friend of mine, Jacqueline Bussie.

 

There was a quote in thatbook that has stuck with me for several years

 

Bussie quotes the greatGerman theologian Dorothea Soelle (one of my favorite theologians):

 

Bussie writes:

 

“Though a devout, Jesus-lovingChristian, [Soelle} once oddly described herself as a believing atheist.”

 

I don’t know why, butthat description of Soelle really stuck with me.

 

I “got” it in ways Idon’t always get something.

 

But, if you ask me why I“got” it, I would have trouble articulating it.

 

I am not an atheist.

 

I, like Soelle, am aJesus-loving Christian.

 

But, you have to admit.

 

I’m probably one of thefew priests you know who mentions atheism regularly in my sermons.

 

And mention it not in anegative way.

 

I know.

 

It’s unusual.

 

But, I really find itfrustrating when I hear Christians disparage atheists.

 

I always say that we, asthe Church, have to accept the fact that we have probably produced moreatheists by our not-so-wonderful behavior, our self-righteousness, ourhypocrisy than anything else.

 

The Church has done agood job of driving people way, of nudging others toward atheism.

 

As for me personally, asyou know, I actually read a lot of atheist theology.

 

OK. Maybe those words“atheist theology” sound somewhat oxymoronic, but you get what I’m saying…

 

And I have read most ofit.

 

From Richard Dawkins toSam Harris, from Albert Camus and Jean-Paul Sartre to H.L. Mencken and MadelynMurray O’Hare, the notorious founder of American Atheists—I think I’ve readthem all.

 

I enjoy reading atheisttheology because it’s often, surprisingly enough, quite insightful.

 

It challenges me.

 

It helps me develop acritical eye about the Church, about theology in general and about my ownpersonal faith in particular.

 

And none of us shouldlive in a vacuum, certainly not priests.

 

It’s good for all of usto step outside our comfort zone and explore other areas.

 

What disturbs me aboutatheist theology isn’t its anger, its rebellion, its single-mindedness abouthow wrong religion is.

 

What disturbs me aboutatheism is how simple it is—how beautifully uncomplicated it is.

 

And I think in many waysit would be so easy for me to be an atheist.

 

Which is maybe why I ‘clicked”with Soelle’s quote.  

 

Let’s face it—it’s justso easy to not see God anywhere.

 

It’s easy to look up intothe sky and say, I see no God.

 

It’s easy to believe thatscience has the only answers and that everything is provable and rational.

 

(And just to be clear, Iam fully 100%  pro-science, by the way)

 

Atheism in a veryuncomplicated way to look at life.

 

And I don’t mean that tosound condescending.

 

For atheists, there areno ghosts, no demons, no angels.

 

There are no hiddensecrets.

 

There are no frighteningunanswered questions about existence.

 

No one is watching us,looking over us, observing us.

 

There’s no all-seeing,all knowing “Eye in the sky” for them.

 

For atheists, there areno surprises awaiting them when they shed this mortal coil and head into thedarkness of death.

 

There is no hell, and noheaven.

 

There’s no unendingexistence following death.

 

I get that.

 

I almost—ALMOST—envythat.

 

And when I hear any of mymany atheist friends state their disbelief in the white-bearded male god whosits on a throne in heaven, I realize: if that is what they don’t believe in,then…I guess I’m also an atheist.

 

And maybe that is reallywhat Soelle is saying when she called herself an atheist who believes.

 

Any God that I canobserve by looking at the sky, or into the cosmos is definitely a God in whichI don’t believe.

 

I don’t want a God soeasily provable, so easily observed and examined and quantified and…materiallyreal.  

 

I don’t believe in a Godthat is so made in our image.

 

I don’t believe in a Godthat is simply a projection of our own image and self.

 

Who would want that God?

 

For us, however, asChristians, it isn’t as easy.

 

Being a Christian isactually quite hard.

 

I hate to break that newsto you.

 

Believing is actuallyhard.

 

Yes, we do believe in theexistence of God.

 

And by doing so, we areessentially taking the word of a pre-scientific (dare we say “primitive”) groupof people who lived at least two thousand years ago.

 

We are now in the seasonof Easter—a season in which we celebrate and live into the reality of theResurrection of Jesus,

 

But event that is basedon some incredible evidence.

 

We are believing what agroup of pre-Enlightenment, Pre-rational, superstitious Jewish people from whatwas considered at the time to be a backwater country are telling us they saw.

 

But we believe because weknow, in our hearts, that this is somehow true.

 

We know these thingsreally did happen and that because they did, life is different—life is better,despite everything that happens 

 

We believe these thingsin true faith.

 

We didn’t see Jesus whilehe was alive and walking about.

 

We didn’t see him afterhe rose from the tomb.

 

We don’t get theopportunities that Thomas had in this morning’s Gospel.

 

Doubting Thomas, as we’vecome to know him, refused to believe that Jesus was resurrected until he hadput his fingers in the wounds of Jesus.

 

It wasn’t enough thatJesus actually appeared to him in the flesh—how many of us would only jump atthat chance?

 

For Thomas, Jesus stoodthere before him, in the flesh—wounds and all.

 

And only when he hadplaced his finger in the wounds, would he believe.

 

It’s interesting to seeand it’s interesting to hear this story of Doubting Thomas.

 

But, the fact is, for therest of us, we don’t get it so easy.

 

Jesus is probably notgoing to appear before us—in the flesh.

 

At least, not on thisside of the Veil—not while we are still alive.

 

And if he does, you needto have a little talk with your priest.

 

We are not going to havethe opportunity to touch the wounds of Jesus, as Thomas did.

 

Let’s face it, to believewithout seeing, is not easy.

 

It takes work anddiscipline.

 

A strong relationshipwith God—this invisible being we might sense, we might feel emotionally orspiritually, but we can’t pin-point—takes work—just as any other relationshipin our life takes work.

 

It takes discipline.

 

It takes concentratedeffort.

 

Being a Christian doesnot just involve being good and ethical all the time.

 

Atheists do that too.

 

Atheists are ethical,upright, good people too.

 

Atheists are committedthe same ideals most of us are committed to here this morning.

 

And they are sometimeseven better at it all than I am, I’ll admit

 

But, being a Christiandoesn’t mean just being ethical and “good.”

 

(Though we should allstill be ethical and “good”)

 

Being a Christian meansliving one’s faith life fully and completely as a Christian.

 

It means being areflection of God’s love, God’s Presence, God’s joy and goodness in the world.

 

It means that we mightnot touch the wounds of Jesus as Thomas did, but we do touch the wounds ofJesus when we reach out in love to help those who need our love.

 

Remember last week, whenI talked about us being “another Jesus?”

 

Well, we make Jesus realwhen we embody him.

 

When we act like Jesus, andthink like Jesus and love like Jesus.

 

By embodying Jesus, weembody the God of Jesus and make that God real in this world.

 

And by being an Alleluiafrom head to toe, we must be an Alleluia to others too.

 

“Blessed are those who believe but don’t see,” Jesus says this morning.

 

Weare those blessed ones.

 

Weare the ones Jesus is speaking of in this morning’s Gospel.

 

Blessed are you all.

 

You  believe, but don’t see.

 

We are the ones who,despite what our rational mind might tell us at times, we still have faith.

 

We, in the face of doubtand fear, can still say, with all conviction, “Alleluia!”

 

“Praise God!”

 

We can’t objectively makesense of it.

 

Sometimes all we can dois live and experience the joy of this resurrection and somehow, like sunlightshining in us and sinking deep into us, we simply bask in its glory. 

 

Seen or unseen, we knowGod is there.

 

And our faith is notbased on seeing God here in front of us in the flesh or proving the existenceof God, or finding scientific proof for the Resurrection.

 

Because we actually haveknown God, right here, right now.

 

God has been embodied inus.

 

We know God throughlove—love of God and love of one another.

 

Blessed are we whobelieve but don’t see now.

 

The Kingdom of Heaven istruly ours.

 

Alleluia!

 

 

Easter

 

March 31, 2024

 

+A few years ago, ournewspaper interviewed me for an article.

 

It was a very flatteringstory of me, that also included interviews with other people who knew me.

 

Well, one of the peopleinterviewed said, “Father Jame is like another Jesus.”

 

When the article appeared, adear friend of mine made a point of telling me how offended they were by thatstatement.

 

“I know you,” this personsaid. “You are NO Jesus.”

 

Well, to be fair, Inever said I was.

 

But, the bigger point of allof this, is this:

 

Isn’t that the goal?

 

Isn’t that the goal for allof us who are followers of Jesus?

 

Isn’t it the goal for eachand every one of us to be, essentially, “other Jesuses,” to be the Presence ofJesus in this world, to be the hands and feet of Jesus?

 

We are, after all, the BODYof Christ. Right?

 

What does that mean to us ifit doesn’t mean that we’re expected to embody Christ?

 

In the Eastern OrthodoxChurch, there’s actually a term for seeking to be essentially another Jesus.

 

It’s called “Theosis.”

 

And what it means is that thegoal of our lives as Christians is to be what Jesus is—to become divine, to liveinto the ideal of what Jesus.

 

Essentially to evolve intoChrist-like beings.

 

As you hear me say way toooften, we tend to put Jesus on a safe little shelf.

 

We keep him there, pristineand sweet and nice and smiling.

 

Our own personal Jesus, toparaphrase the old Depeche Mode song (I’m dating myself here)

 

And there, on that safeshelf, we worship our safe, smiling Jesus, and we can be in awe of him, thereon that safe little altar.

 

And none of that is wrong.

 

But if that’s where we keephim, inaccessible, beyond us, wholly other than us, than we’ve missed the boaton this whole Christianity thing.

 

As I have said again andagain, Worshipping Jesus is easy and safe.

 

Following Jesus, actuallystriving to be like Jesus, to be “another Jesus” in this world---that is veryhard.

 

The point I’m making on thisbeautiful Easter morning is this:

 

Easter is truly a beautifulday.

 

I absolutely  LOVE Easter.

 

Some people are Christmaspeople.

 

Some people are Easter people.

 

I’m definitely an Easterperson.

 

Easter, after all, is all about life.

 

Jesus’ life.

 

His rising form the grave.

 

His living again.

 

But if it’s only about him, and not us too, then what is Easterfor us?

 

If it’s only about Jesus’ resurrection and not our resurrectiontoo, Easter becomes a quant, sweet, nice gentle little holiday, not that farremoved from bunny rabbits and painted eggs.

 

But when we strive to be like Jesus, when we seek to be “anotherJesus” in this world, we start realizing that what God did for Jesus—God raisedJesus up from death itself—God also will do for us.

This is the radical aspect not only of following Jesus, but alsoof trying to actually BE Jesus in this world.

 

BEING another Jesus in this world means that we also get to beraised like Jesus

one day.

 

BEING another Jesus in this world means that we will be raised byGod from the dark shadow of death and live, like Jesus, with God.

 

This Day in which we shout our alleluias at the Resurrection ofJesus, also becomes a day when our alleluias celebrate the fact that we, likeJesus, are also going to be raised up from death.

 

Just realizing that makes us truly want to shout, “Alleluia!”

 

See, this is why I LOVE Easter.

 

But what’s even better about Easter in my opinion is that, unlikeChristmas, which when it’s over it’s over (people put out that Christmas treethe day after Christmas), Easter happens again and again for us who arefollowers of Jesus.

 

We get to experience this joy and amazing reality and all itrepresents multiple times over the year.

 

Certainly every Sunday we celebrate a mini-Easter.

 

And why shouldn’t we celebrate it beyond this season?

 

When we celebrate Easter, we are celebrating life.

 

Jesus’ eternal life.

 

And our eternal life.

 

The truly wonderful Christian writer, Rob Bell, once said,

 

“Eternal life doesn’t start when we die. It starts now. It’s notabout a life that begins at death; it’s about experiencing the kind of life nowthat can endure and survive even death.”

 

I love that.

 

Resurrection is a kind reality that we, as Christians, are calledto live into.

 

Right now.

 

Right here.

 

And it’s not just something we believe happens after we die.

 

We are called to live into that Resurrection NOW.

 

The alleluias we sing this morning are not only for some beautifulmoment after we have breathed our last.

 

Those alleluias are for now, as well as for later.

 

We are essentially saying today, Praise God!

 

Praised God for raising Jesus.

 

And Praise God for raising us too!

 

Those alleluias, those joyful sounds we make, this Light wecelebrate, is a Light that shines now—in this moment.

 

We are alive now!

 

Right now!

 

Easter and our whole lives as followers of Jesus is all about thisfact.

 

Our lives should be joyful because of this fact—this reality—thatJesus died and is risen and so will we.

 

This is what it means to be a Christian.

 

Easter is about this radical new life.

 

Today we are commemorating the fact that Jesus, who died and wasburied in a tomb and is now…alive.

 

And one day, we who strive to be like Jesus, who strive another“other Jesuses” in this world, we are alive right now, right here, and that wetoo will live, like him, for eternity.

 

Easter doesn’t end when the sun sets today.

 

Easter is what we carry within us as Christians ALL the time.

 

Easter is living out the Resurrection by our very presence.

 

We are, each of us, carrying within us this Easter Light wecelebrate this morning and always.

 

All the time.

 

Easter is here!

 

It is here, in our very souls, in our very bodies, in our veryselves.

 

With that Easter Light burning within us, being reflected in whatwe do and say, in the love we show to God and to each other, what more can wesay on this glorious, glorious morning?

 

What more can we say when God’s all-loving, resurrected realtybreaks through to us in glorious light and transforms us?

 

What do we say?

 

We say, Alleluia!

 

Praise God!

 

Christ is risen! And weare risen with him!

 

The Lord is risenindeed. Alleluia!

Holy Saturday

 

March 30, 2024

 

+We’re going to go back in time for a moment.

 

We’re not going back too far.

 

We are going back 20 years ago, to this time of year way back in2004.

 

If you were any kind of active Christian in the United States duringthe Lent of 2004, there was an event happening that you were no doubt aware of.

 

For me, I remember it well.

 

I was a transitional deacon at the time.

 

I had been ordained a deacon the previous July, and I wasanxiously awaiting my ordination to the Priesthood in June.

 

But during that Lent, this event caused many of us to crowd intoWest Acres Cinema.

 

And there, we saw the event that was The Passion of the Christ,directed by your favorite antisemitic, Trad Catholic director, Mel Gibson.

 

As you might have guessed, I HATED that film!

 

No. That’s not even strong enough to describe how I felt aboutthat film.

 

I absolutely despised it!

 

It was a disgusting, antisemitic, gratuitously violent snuff film.

 

And what drove me over the edge with that film, was sitting in thatcrowded theatre, surrounded by busloads of weepy, overly sentimentalevangelical Christians who were literally wailing when the film was over.

 

I remember turning to the people I went with and asked, “Didn't theyknow how that story was going to end?”

 

It was a strange moment.

Well, you might be asking, why am I bringing up this dark day inAmerica cinema on Holy Saturday morning?

 

I am because, just recently, it was announced the SSOberguppenfuhrer Gibson has directed a sequel to The Passion of the Christ.

 

I kid you not!

 

Now, I know what you’re thinking when you hear “sequel.”

 

You no doubt think, as I did, that a sequel to the Passion wouldbe about…..what else?.....Easter. The Resurrection.

 

Au contraire, my friends!

 

It is most certainly NOT about the Resurrection.

 

It is, in fact, about the very even we are commemorating thismorning.

 

It is about Jesus’ descent to hell.

 

Which actually has piqued my interest about the film.

 

And because it is, yes, sigh, I probably will go and endure thesequel.

 

Today of course is Holy Saturday.

 

And, as far as I know, we are the only church around here anywaygathering together on this bleak Saturday morning to celebrate this bare-bonesliturgy.

 

But, as you have heard me say a million times: I love to preach about Holy Saturday and especiallyabout the so-called Harrowing of Hell.  

 

Ilove to talk about Harrowing of Hell.

 

Ilove to mediate on it throughout the year.

 

Ieven encourage people who use it as their meditation as they walk ourlabyrinth.  

 

And Iguess I love do so because Holy Saturday and what it represents is kind of ignored.

 

Forthe most part, Holy Saturday is not given a lot of attention by a majority ofchurches, at least here in the U.S.

 

Inplaces like Mexico, it is a big day.

 

HolySaturday in Mexico is also called Judas Day and it is on this day they burneffigies of Judas Iscariot. 

 

It iscalled Judas day because it is popularly believed that Judas committed suicideearly on this day. 

 

But Holy Saturday and the so-called Harrowing of Hell isimportant.

 

It’s important because it’s a part of our humane experience.

 

Let’s face it, we’ve all been here.

 

We’ve been here, in this belly of    hell.

 

We’ve been in this place in which there is nothing.

 

Bleakness.

 

No hope.

 

Or so it seems.

 

It’s not just a bad place to be.

 

It’s the worst place tobe.

 

We have been in that place in which we seemed abandoned.

 

Deserted.

 

No one was coming for us, we believed.

 

No one even knew we were here, in these depths of hell.

 

Hell.

 

Holy Saturday is the time in which we commemorate not only thefact that Jesus is lying in the tomb—in which we perform a liturgy that feelsacutely like the burial service.

 

We also commemorate a very long belief that on this day, Jesus,although seemingly at rest in the tomb, was actually at work, despite the factthat it seemed he was dead.

 

He was in the depth of hell.

 

 

 

This belief, of course, comes to us from a very basic reading of 1Peter, and from the early Church Fathers.

 

Jesus descended into hell and preached to those there.  

 

The popular term for this is the Harrowing of Hell.

 

He went to hell and harrowed until it was empty.

 

I always put out this ikon of Jesus on this Saturday.

 

In it, we see a glimpse of the Harrowing.

 

And what do we see?

 

We see Jesus lifting this man and this woman out of broken tombs.

 

That man and that woman are none other than Adam and Eve.

 

Jesus, the belief goes, on this day, went to hell----to theunderworld where the dead slept----and brought them up.

 

He “harrowed” or raked hell for those souls trapped there.

 

Is this surprising to you?

 

Is this shocking to you?

 

Does this fly in the face of everything you thought you may haveknown about what happened on this day?

 

If so, all I can say is, “good!”

 

Because, as a follower of Jesus, I find the story of the Harrowingof Hell to be so compelling.

 

I find it compelling, because I’ve been there.

 

I’ve been to hell.

 

More than once.

 

As have many of us.

 

I have known despair.

 

I have known that feeling that I thought I would actually die frombleakness.

 

Or wished I could die.

 

But didn’t.

 

Even death wasn’t, in that moment, the worst thing that couldhappen.

 

That place of despair was.

 

It’s the worst place to be.

 

Which is why this morning’s liturgy is so important to me.

 

In the depth of hell, even there, when we think there is no onecoming for us—just when we’ve finally given up hope, Someone does.

 

Jesus comes to us, there.

 

He comes to us in the depths of our despair, of our personaldarkness, of that sense of being undead, and what does he do?

 

He leads us out.

 

I know this is a very unpopular belief for many Christians.

 

Many Christians simply cannot believe it.

 

Hell is eternal, they believe

 

And it should be.

 

If you turn your back on God, then God’s back should be turned toyou and  you should be in hell foreverand ever, they believe.

 

If you do wrong in life, you should be punished for all eternity,they will argue.

 

I don’t think it’s any surprise to any of you to hear me say thatI definitely don’t agree.

 

And my faith speaks loudly to me on this issue.

 

The God I serve, the God I love and believe in, is not a God whowould act in such a way.

 

Now, I am not saying there isn’t a hell.

 

There is a hell.

 

As I said, I’ve been there.

 

But if there is some metaphysical hell in the so-called“afterlife,” I believe that, at some point, it will be completely empty.

 

And heaven will be absolutely full.

 

What I do know is that the hell I believe in does exist.

 

And many of us—most of us—have been there at least once.

 

Some of us have been there again and again.

 

Any of us who have suffered from depression, or anxiety, or havelost a loved one, or have doubted our faith, or have suffered several rejectionor been ostracized or discarded or have thought God is not a God of love—wehave all known this hell. 

 

But none of them are eternal hells.

 

I do believe that even those hells will one day come to an end.

 

I do believe that Jesus comes to us, even there, in the depths ofthose personal hells.

 

I believe that one day, even those hells will be harrowed andemptied, once and for all.

 

Until that day happens, none of us should be too content.

 

None of us should rejoice too loudly.  

 

None of should exult in our own salvation, until salvation isgranted to all.

 

If there is an eternal hell and punishment, my salvation is notgoing to be what I thought it was.  

 

And that is the real point of this day.

 

I love the fact that, no matter where I am, no matter where I putmyself, no matter what depths and hells and darknesses I sink myself into, eventhere Jesus will find me. 

 

And I know that the Jesus I serve and follow will not rest untilthe last of his lost loved ones is found and brought back.

 

It’s not a popular belief in the Christian Church.

 

And that baffles me.

 

Why isn’t it more popular?

 

Why do we not proclaim a Savior who comes to us in our own hellsand brings us out?

 

Why do we not proclaim a God of love who will bring an end, onceand for all, to hell? 

 

But let’s not leave it there.

 

Do you want to get even more controversial?

 

Here’s a wildly unpopular theological theory that has garnered mesome very heated arguments.

 

There is a belief from the very early Church that poses thisquestion:

 

Is Christ truly victorious if anyone is still left in hell?

 

Namely one last person.

 

The Devil.

 

Satan.

 

The belief is that, at the very end, Jesus will descend into hevery darkest, deepest corner of hell, will find the Devil, will take, like Adamand Eve, by the hand and will take him out, redeemed and restored.

 

Only then, will the victory of Christ finally be complete.

 

It’s radical to some.

 

It flows counter to what most of us have been taught about ourfaith.

 

But it also opens our faith, and shows us the true love and powerof God present in creation.

 

We as Christians should be pondering these issues.

 

And we should be struggling with them.

 

We should be wrestling with them.

 

And we should be seeking God’s knowledge of them.

 

On this very sad, very bleak Holy Saturday morning, I find a greatjoy in knowing that, as far as we seem to be in this moment from Easter glory,Easter glory is so close.

 

It is still happening, unseen by us, like a seed slowly bloomingin the ground.

 

That Victory of God we celebrate tomorrow morning and throughoutthe season of Easter is more glorious than anything we can imagine.

 

And it is more powerful than anything we can even begin tocomprehend.

 

In my own personal hells the greatest moment is when I can turnfrom my darkness toward the light and find consolation in the God who has cometo me, even there, in my personal agony.

 

Even there, God’s light and love comes to me even there in that darknessand frees me.

 

God has done it before.

 

And I have no doubt God will do it again.  

 

In the bleak waters of abandonment, God has sends us just what weneed to hold us up and bring us out of the waters.

 

There is no place in which God’s love does not permeate.

 

Even in the deepest caverns of hell, even there God’s love and lightpermeates.

 

That is what we are celebrating this Holy Saturday morning.

 

That is where we find our joy.

 

Our joy is close at hand, even in those moments when it seems thatour joy has gone from us.

 

Our joy is just within reach, even in this moment when it seems deadand  buried in the ground and lost.

 

Amen.

 

 

Palm Sunday

 

March 24, 2024

 

Mark15.1-39

 

+  Thiscoming week is, of course, Holy Week.

 

As this Holy Week begins, I find myselfa bit emotional. 

 

Yes, I know.

 

To have toemotionally face all that Holy Week commemorates is not something I can say Ilook forward to.

 

I think it isemotionally difficult for all of us who call ourselves followers of Jesus.

 

How can it not, afterall?

 

We, as followers ofJesus, as people who balance our lives on his life and teachings and guidance,are emotionally tied to this man.

 

This Jesus is notjust mythical character to us.

 

He is a friend, amentor, a very vital and essential part of our lives as Christians. He is truly“the Messiah, the son of the BlessedOne,” that we heard in our Gospel reading for today.

 

So, to have to gothrough the emotional rollercoaster of this coming week in which he goesthrough his own death throes is hard on us.

 

 And today, we get the whole rollercoaster inour liturgy and in our two Gospel readings.

 

Here we find amicrocosm of the roller coaster ride of what is to come this week.

 

What begins thismorning as joyful ends with jeers.

 

This day begins withus, his followers, singing our praises to Jesus, waving palm branches invictory.

 

He is, at thebeginning of this week, popular and accepted.

 F

or this moment,everyone seems to love him.

 

But then…withinmoments, a darkness falls.

 

Something terribleand horrible goes wrong.

 

What begin with raysof sunshine, ends in gathering dark storm clouds.

 

Those joyful,exuberant shouts turn into cries of anger and accusation.

 

Those who welcomedJesus into Jerusalem have fled.

 

They have simplydisappeared from sight.

 

And in their place anangry crowd shouts and demands the death of Jesus.

 

Even his followers,those who almost arrogantly proclaimed themselves followers of Jesus, havedisappeared.

 

Their arrogance hasturned to embarrassment and shame.

 

Jesus, whom weencounter at the beginning of this liturgy this morning surrounded by crowds ofcheering, joyful people, is by the end of it, alone, abandoned,deserted—shunned.

 

Everyone heconsidered a friend—everyone he would have trusted—has left him.

 

And in his aloneness,he knows how they feel about him.

 

He knows that he isan embarrassment to them.

 

He knows that, intheir eyes, he is a failure.

 

See, now, why I amnot looking forward to this week?

 

But, we have toremind ourselves that what we encounter in the life of Jesus is not just aboutJesus.

 

It is about us too.

 

We, in our own lives,have been to these dark places—these places wherein we have felt betrayed andabandoned and deserted, where we too have reached out and touched thefeathertip of the angel of death, so to speak.

 

We have all known whatit is like to have our joy turned into sorrow.

 

We too have hadmoments when our successes turn to ashes and are forgotten.

 

We too know what itis like to have our failures come back to haunt us.

 

It is a hard place tobe.

 

And it is one that,if we had a choice, we would not willingly journey toward.

 

But this week is morethan dealing with darkness and despair.

 

It is a clearreminder to us that, yes, we like Jesus must journey roads we might not want tojourney, but the darkness, the despair, death itself is not the end of thestory.

 

Palm Sunday is notthe end of the story.

 

Maundy Thursday andGood Friday and Holy Saturday are not the end of the story.

 

What this week showsus is that God prevails over all the dark and terrible things of this life.

 

And that God turnsthose things around again and again.

 

God always raises usup from the ashes!

 

That is what we seein Jesus’ betrayal and death.

 

What seems likefailure, is the actually victory.

 

What seems like loss,is actually gain.

 

What seems likedeath, is actually life unending.

 

Now, in this moment,we might be downcast.

 

In this moment, wemight be mourning and sad.

 

But, next Sunday atthis time, we will be rejoicing.

 

Next Sunday, we willbe rejoicing with all the choirs of angels and archangels who sing theirunending hymns of praise.

 

We will be rejoicingin the fact that all the humiliation experienced this week has turned to joy,all desertion has turned to rewarding and wonderful friendship, all sadness togladness, and death—horrible, ugly death—will be turned to full, complete andunending joy and life.

 

That is how Godworks.

 

And that is what wewill be rejoicing in next week.

 

So, as we journeythrough the dark half of our liturgy today, as we trek alongside Jesus duringthis Holy Week of betrayal, torture and death, let us keep our eyes focused onthe Light that is about to dawn in the darkness of our lives.

 

Let us move forwardtoward that Light.

 

Even though theremight be sadness on our faces now, let the joy in our hearts prompt us forwardalong the path we dread to take.

 

And, next week atthis time, we will be basking in that incredible Easter Light—a Light that triumphs over the darkness of notonly Jesus’ death, but ours as well.

 

Amen.

 

 

 

5 Lent

March 17, 2024

 

Jeremiah 31.31-34; John 12.20-33

 

+ I have never made a secret of a simple fact of my spirituallife: I am a seeker.

 

I was talking to someone this past week about my spiritual journey—myjourney from being Lutheran to being Roman Catholic to Zen Buddhism andUnitarian-Universalism to Anglicanism and the Episcopal Church.

 

I said to this person, “I don’t regret any of my journey. All ofthose places I stopped at and rested along the way have influenced me in someway or the other, and I’m grateful for each of them.”

 

The fact that I found my home here in the Episcopal Church alsodoesn’t mean that I still don’t find comfort in other spiritual expressions.

 

I still read and explore Judaism deeply, as well as Buddhism.

 

In fact, you have heard me say many times that Buddhism and Judaismhave made me a better Christian.

 

I find comfort in those places.

 

I have a deep respect for other religions, I think we can alllearn so much from other religions.

 

The reason I do is because I am seeker.

 

I am seeking after God in my life.

 

Certainly, I am seeking after God in my vocation as a priest, inmy life as a Christian, and as a human being who is part of this world.

 

I am seeking, just as you all are seeking.

 

We’re here—whether in this building, or joining us throughlivestream—seeking something.

 

People who aren’t seekers don’t need to “come” to church.

 

They don’t need to listen and ponder the Word.

 

They don’t need to feed on and ponder the mysteries of theEucharist that we celebrate at this altar.

 

 People who don’t seek,don’t come following the mysteries of their faith.

 

I have discovered in my own life as a seeker, that my seeking, myasking questions and my pondering of the mysteries of this life and myrelationship to God, are what make my faith what it is.

 

It makes it…faith.

 

My seeking allows me to step into the unknown and be sometimesamazed or surprised or disappointed by what I may—or may not—find there.

 

In our Gospel reading for today, we also find seekers.

 

In our story, we find these Greeks seeking for Jesus.

 

“Sir, we wishto see Jesus,” they say.

 

This one line—“we wish tosee Jesus”—is so beautifully simple.

 

There’s so much meaning and potential and…yes, mystery, to it thatI don’t think we fully realize what it’s conveying.

 

What is it they think they’re seeking?

 

Do they know they are seeking Jesus, the divine Son of God?

 

Do they know they are seeking this Messiah?

 

Do they—Greek Gentiles—even know what the Messiah is?

 

Or are they seeking the God who dwells in Jesus—the God who sentJesus, whom Jesus embodies, the God they see that Jesus shows them?

 

Well, we never find out.

 

In fact, as beautiful and as simple as the petition is—“we wish to see Jesus”—we never, ifyou notice, find out if they actually get to see him.

 

The author doesn’t tell us.

 

We find no resolve to this story of the Greeks seeking Jesus.

 

However, despite it being a loose end of sorts, it does pack somereal meaning.

 

What’s great about scripture is that even a loose end can havepurpose. 

 

One interpretation of this story is that that the Greeks—asGentiles—were not allowed to “see” Jesus until he was lifted up on the Cross.

 

Remember our readings from the Hebrew scriptures and the gospel fromlast week in which we heard the story of Moses lifted up the bronze serpent ona staff to heal the people, and how Jesus made reference to it?

 

Well, h references it again in this reading.

 

Only when he has been “liftedup from the earth,” as he tells us this morning will he “draw all people to [himself].”

 

Jesus’ message at the time of theGreeks’ approaching the apostlesis still only to the Jews.

 

But when Jesus is lifted up on the Cross on Good Friday, at thatmoment, he is essentially revealed to all.

 

At that moment, the veil is lifted.

 

The old Law of the Jews has been fulfilled—the curtain in theTemple has been torn in half—and now Jesus is given for all—for everyone, Jewsand Gentiles alike.  

 

It’s certainly an interesting and provocative take on this story. 

 

And it’s especially interesting for us, as well, who are seekingto “find Jesus” in our own lives.

 

Like those Greeks, we are not always certain if we will findhim—at least at this moment.

 

But, I am going to switch things up a bit (as I sometimes do).

 

Yes, we might be seekers here this morning.

 

But as Christians, our job is not only to be seekers.

 

Our job, as followers of Jesus, as seekers after God, is to be onthe receiving end of that petition of those Greeks.

 

Our job, as Christians, is to hear that petition—“show usJesus”—and to respond to it.

 

This is what true evangelism is.

 

Some might say evangelism is tellingothers about Jesus.

 

Possibly.

 

But true evangelism is showingpeople Jesus.

 

And, let’s face, that’s much harder than telling people aboutJesus.

 

So, how do we show Jesus to those who seeking him?

 

Or, maybe, even to those who might not even be seeking Jesus?

 

We show people Jesus by doing what we do as followers of andseekers after Jesus.

 

We show people Jesus by beingJesus to those around us.

 

Now, that sounds impossible for most of us.

 

The fact is, it isn’t.

 

This is exactly what Jesus wants us to be.

 

Jesus wants us to be himin this world.

 

Jesus want us to embody within ourselves the same God who was (andis) embodied in Jesus himself.

 

Jesus wants us to be like him in every way.

 

We, after all, are the Body of Christ in this world.

 

We are to embody Jesus, and by doing so to embody the God ofJesus, in this world.

 

He wants to be our hands, helping others.

 

He wants to speak through our voices in consoling others, inspeaking out against the tyrants and despots and unfairness of this world.

 

He wants to be our feet in walking after those who have beenturned away and are isolating themselves.

 

He wants us to bring healing to those who need healing, and hopeto those who have lost hope.

 

When we seek to bring the Kingdom into our midst, we are beingJesus in this world. We might not always succeed in doing this.

 

We might fail miserably in what we do.

 

In fact, sadly, people might not find Jesus in us, at all.

 

Sometimes, whether we intend it to or not, we in fact become the“Anti-Jesus” to others.

 

But that’s just the way it is sometimes.

 

In seeking Jesus and in responding to others who are also seekinghim, we realize the control is not in our hands.

 

It doesn’t depend on any one of us.

 

Which, trust me, is actually very comforting.

 

I personally don’t want all that responsibility.

 

Nor, I’m sure, do any of you.

 

Who would?

 

In today’s Gospel, we find Jesus saying: “Very truly I tell you,unless a grain of wheat falls on the earth and dies, it remains just a singlegrain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.”

 

In those moments in which we seem to have failed to be Jesus tothose around us, when those who come to us seeking Jesus find, rather, nothing,or, worse, the “Anti-Jesus,” we find that even then, fruit can still comeforth.

 

God still works even through the negative things life throws atus.

 

God still works event through our failures and our shortcomings.

 

Jesus can still be found, even despite us.

 

Jesus can still be found, even when we might not even be seekinghim.

 

Jesus can be found, oftentimes, when we are least expecting tofind him.

 

Certainly, Jesus is here this morning in our midst.

 

He is here in us.

 

He is here when we do what he tells us to do in this world

 

He is here when we open ourselves to God’s Spirit and allow thatSpirit to speak to us in our hearing of the Word.

 

Jesus is here in the Bread and Wine of our Eucharist.

 

Jesus is here in us, gathered together in Name of Jesus.

 

And let me tell you, Jesus is definitely out there, beyond thewalls of this church, waiting for us to embody him and bring him to them.

 

He is never far away.

 

So, let us, together, be Jesus to those who need Jesus, who areseeking Jesus.

 

Let us show them Jesus.

 

Let us together search for and find God, here, in the Word wherewe hear God speaking to us.

 

Let us search for Jesus in this Holy Eucharist, in which we feedon his Body and Blood.

 

As we near the end of this Lenten season and head into Holy Week (nextweek!), let us take to heart those words we heard God speaking to the prophetJeremiah:

 

“I willforgive their iniquity and remember their sin no more.”

 

Let us, a people whose iniquity has been forgiven and whose sin isremembered no more,  search for God.

 

In going out from here, let us encounter those people who truly needGod.

 

And, in encountering them, let us also help those who are seeking.

 

“We wish tosee Jesus,” the Greeks say to the disciples.

 

And people still are saying that to us as well.

 

“We wish tosee Jesus.”

 

Let us—fellow seekers of Jesus—help them to find him in us.

 

Amen.

 

4 Lent

 

Lataere

 

March 10, 2024

 

 

Numbers21.4-9; John 3.14-21

 

+ Well, you know what day it is.

 

It’s one of my favorites.

 

Today is Laetare Sunday, also known as “Rose Sunday.”

Laetare, as I remind everyone every year on this Sunday, is Latinfor “joyful” and it is called this because on this Sunday, the traditionalintroit (or the psalm that was said by the priest in the old days when heapproached the altar in the old Latin Mass) was “Laetare Jerusalem”—“rejoiceJerusalem.”

 

It’s also known by other names. “Mothering Sunday” or “RefreshmentSunday.”

 

It is, of course, traditional on this Sunday to wear the rose orpink vestments.

 

And to have simnel cake, which we will  have at coffee hour, thanks to SandyHolbrook.

 

It’s a special Sunday.

 

It is sort of break in our Lenten purple, so to speak.

 

We get to rejoice a bit today.

 

Notice how I said, rejoice “a bit.”

 

It’s a subdued rejoicing.

 

We’re still in Lent after all.

 

We might get a break from the Lenten purple.

 

But we don’t get a break from Lent.

 

After all, the purple returns tomorrow.

 

But this Rose Sunday is a reminder to us.

 

We are now passing into the latter days of Lent.

 

Palm Sunday and Holy Week are only two weeks away and Easter isthree weeks away.

 

And with Easter in sight, we can, on this Sunday, lift up aslightly subdued prayer of rejoicing.

 

No, we’re not saying the A-word yet.

 

We’re not allowed to be quite thatjoyful today.

 

But, we’re close.

 

The Easter light is within in sight, though it’s still pretty faroff.

 

Now, I know Lent can be a bummer for us.

 

I know we don’t want to hear about things like sin.

 

I don’t want to hear about sin.

 

I don’t want to preach about sin.

 

Most of us have had to sit through countless hours listening topreachers go on and on about sin in our lives.

 

Many of us have had it driven into us and pounded into us and wejust don’t want to hear it anymore.

 

Yes, we know we’re sinners sometimes.

 

But the fact is, we can’t get through this season of Lent withoutat least acknowledging sin.

 

Certainly, I as a priest, would be neglecting my duty if I didn’tat least mention it once during this season.

 

As much as we try to avoid sin and speak around it or ignore it,for those of us who are Christians, we just can’t.

 

We live in a world in which there is war and crime and recessionand sexism and homophobia and horrible racism and blatant lying and morallybankrupt people and, in looking at all of those things, we must face the factthat sin—people falling short of their ideal—is all around us.

 

And during this season of Lent, we find ourselves facing sin allthe time.

 

It’s there in our scripture readings.

 

It’s  right here in ourliturgy.

 

It’s just…there.

 

Everywhere.

 

I certainly have struggled with this issue in my life.

 

As I said, I don’t like preaching about sin.

 

I would rather not do it.

 

But…I have to.

 

We all have to occasionally face the music, so to speak.

 

The fact is, people tend to define us by the sins we commit—theydefine us by illness—the spiritual leprosy within us—rather than by the peoplewe really are underneath the sin.

 

And that person we are underneath is truly a person created in theholy image of God.

 

Sin, if we look it as a kind of illness, like leprosy or any otherkind of sickness.

 

It desensitizes us, it distorts us, it makes us less than who wereare.

 

It blots out the holy image of God in which we were created.

 

And like a sickness, we need to understand the source of theillness to truly get to heart of the matter.

 

So, we need to ask ourselves: what is sin?

 

Well, let’s take a look at what the Catechism of the EpiscopalChurch says.

 

We can find right there, in our Book of Common Prayer on 848.

 

The question is, “What is sin?”

 

The answer is, “Sin is he seeking of our own will instead of the willof God, thus distorting our relationship with God, with other people and withall creation.”

 

If we are honest with ourselves, if we are blunt with ourselves,if we look hard at ourselves, we realize that, in those moments in which wehave failed ourselves, when we have failed others, when we have failed God, theunderlying issues can be found in the fact that we were3 not seeking God’swill, but our own will.

 

This season of Lent is a time when we take into account where wehave failed in ourselves, in our relationship with God and in our relationshipwith each other.

 

But—and I stress this—Lent is never a time for us to despair.

 

It is never a time to beat ourselves up over the sins we havecommitted.

 

It is rather a time for us to buck up.

 

It is a time in which we seek to improve ourselves.

 

It is a time for us to seek God’s will in our lives and not ourown wills.

 

It is a time in which, acknowledging those negative aspects ofourselves, we strive to rise above our failings.

 

It is a time for us to seek healing for the “leprosy” of oursouls.

 

The church is, after all, according to the early Christians, aHospital.

 

And, in seeking, we do find that healing.

 

In our reading from Numbers today, we find a strange story, thatalso is about healing.

 

The Israelites are complaining about having the wander about inthe desert.

 

After Mass, Dan Rice is going to lead a class about the lamenting psalms.

 

I preach about the lamenting psalms on a regular basis.

 

Because lamenting psalms can often sound like complaining.

 

And, as I have said, sometimes complaining to God is not a badthing.

 

I always say, at least it’s better to complain to God, thanto complain about God.

 

Well, this story in Numbers shows us what happens when we don’tcomplain to God, but complain about God.  

 

According to the story we just heard, God sent poisonous serpentson the poor, ungrateful people who were complaining about God.

 

The people acknowledge their sin—the fact that they maybeshouldn’t complain when things weren’t really so bad.

 

So, God tells Moses to “make” a snake, put it on a pole, and raiseit up so all the Israelites can see it.

 

And in in seeing it, they will live.

 

Now, in case you missed it, for us Christians, this pole isimportant.

 

For us, this is a foreshadow of the cross.

 

If you don’t believe me, then you weren’t paying attention when DeaconSuzanne read our Gospel reading for today, which directly references ourreading from Numbers.

 

 Jesus then, in that way,turns it all around and makes something very meaningful to his followers—and tous—from this “raising up.”

 

Just as the poisonous snake was raised up on a pole, and thepeople were healed, so must Jesus be raised up on the cross, and the peoplealso would be healed.

 

As you have heard me preach many times, the Cross is essential tous as Christians.

 

And not just as some quaint symbol of our faith.

 

Not as some gold-covered, sweet little thing we wear around ournecks.

 

The Cross is a very potent symbol for us in our healing.

 

Gazing upon the cross, as those Israelites gazed upon the bronzeserpent that Moses held up to them, we find ourselves healed.

 

And as we are healed, as we find our sins dissolved by the GodChrist knew as he hung the cross, we come to an amazing realization.

 

We realize that we are not our sins.

 

And our sins are not us.

 

Our sins are no more us, than our illnesses are.

 

Our sins are no more us than our depressions are us, or our anxietiesare or our disappointments in life are us.

 

For those of us who have had serious illnesses—and as many of youknow, I had cancer once—when we are living with our illness, we can easilystart believing that our sickness and our very selves are one and the same.

 

But that is not, in reality, the case.

 

In this season of Lent, it is important for us to ponder thesickness of our sins, to examine what we have done and what we have failed todo and to consider how we can prevent it from happening again.

 

But, like our illnesses, once we have been healed, once our sinshave been forgiven and they no longer have a hold over us, we do realize that,as scarred as we have been, as deeply destroyed as we thought we were by whatwe have done and not done, we have found that, in our renewal, we have beenrestored.

 

In the shadow of the cross, we are able to see ourselves as peoplefreed and liberated.

 

 We are able to rejoice inthe fact that we are not our failures.

 

We are not what we have failed to do.

 

But in the shadow of the cross we see that we are loved and we arehealed and we are cherished by our loving God.

 

And once we recognize that, then we too can turn our selves towardeach other, glowing with that image of God imprinted upon us, and we too canlove and heal and cherish.

 

See, sin does not have to make us despair.

 

When we despair over sin, sin wins out.

 

Rather, we can work on ourselves, we can improve ourselves, we canrise above our failings and we can then reflect God to others and even toourselves.

 

So, on this Laetare Sunday—this Sunday in which we rejoice that weare now within the sight of that glorious Easter light—let us gaze at thecross, held up to us as a sign of our healing God.

 

And there, in the shadow of that Cross, let us be truly healed.

 

And, in doing so, let us reflect that healing to others so theytoo can be healed.

 

See, it is truly a timefor us to rejoice.

 

 

 

3 Lent

 

March 3, 2024

 

Exodus 20.1-17; John 2.13-22

 

+ A week agolast Thursday I gave a reading at Concordia.

 

Many of youwere there.

 

It was a greatevening.

 

I wasimpressed by the turn-out

 

But I wascelebrating my new book of poems, Salt, a book of poems about my mother’sdeath.  

 

And one of thepoems I read that evening was a poem called “Maniturgium”

 

What is that,you’re probably asking?

 

Well, it comesfrom the Latin words Mani or hand andturgium, which means towel.

 

So, it’s ahand towel.

 

But in thiscase it’s more than that.

 

In the RomanCatholic and in the Anglo-Catholic tradition of Anglicanism, when a priest isordained, their hands are anointed with chrism by the Bishop.

 

Chrism is thatspecial oil consecrated by a Bishop, smelling of nard.

 

As they areanointed, the Bishop prays this prayer:

 

Grant, O Lord,to consecrate and sanctify these hands by this unction, and by our blessing;that whatsoever they may bless may be blessed, and whatsoever they consecrateshall be consecrated and sanctified in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

 

Themaniturgium is them wrapped around the chrism-covered hands to wipe them.

 

Well, my maniturgium was nothing fancy.

 

It was simplyan old corporal—a white altar cloth—that was about to burned.

 

And my handsactually weren’t anointed at my priestly ordination twenty years ago in June.

 

They wereanointed a few years later.

 

The reasonthey weren’t anointed at the ordination was because, when I asked, the clergyin charge of my ordination raised a bit of protest (I also wanted allowed toprostrate before the Bishop during the Litany, or to be vested with a chasuble,or to be handed the chalice that I was given as a gift—which we are using todayby the way, all of which refused) .

 

Later, when Iwas telling this story, on a whim, they were anointed by a bishop with just meand a few friends.

 

And the oldcorporal that was being discarded and burned was rescued to wrap my hands afterthe anointing.

 

Later, Ipresented this cloth to my mother, which is the tradition.

 

Because thetradition is that the priest is then to present the maniturgium to their mother.

 

The maniturgium is then usually buried inthe hands of the mother of a priest when she dies.

 

Why? You mayask.

 

Well, thetradition states that when the mother of a priest comes before Jesus, he willas her, “I have given you life. What have you given me?”

 

(Really terribletheology there, but…)

 

And the motheris to reply, “I have given you my child as a priest” and then hands him the maniturgium.

 

At this, thestory goes, Jesus grants her entrance into heaven.

 

(Again, et’snot even begin to unpack some of the really bad theology behind all of that!)

 

But it’s agreat story.

 

And it is onemy mother really loved!

 

(I think sheliked the guarantee to get into heaven)

 

Let me tellyou: there was no one prouder to have a child for a priest than my mother.

 

So, you canimagine why I was a bit upset when, after my mother’s death, I could have that maniturgium there for her when she wascremated.

 

I searchedthrough her dresser and her closet looking for it.

 

I thenconcluded that at some point, maybe she had just accidentally thrown it out.

 

Which wouldhave been fine.

 

So, I shruggedit off and just let it go (though I do admit I really had hoped it would’vebeen in her hands when she was cremated)

 

Well, sixyears ago today, I happened to open her cedar chest, and guess what?

 

There it was,right on the top, neatly folded, still stained with chrism, still smelling ofnard (and cedar).

 

So, I ended upplacing it in her urn before I sealed it and buried it in May of that year.

 

I also have tobelieve that that poor corporal really did not want to get burned!

 

So, what’s thepoint of this whole story?

 

Well, it’sthis: cleaning out the clutter is a good thing.

 

A really goodthing.

 

Sometimes youhave to clean things out to find things that really matter.

 

Because if Iheld off, I might not have found it until after we buried her ashes.

 

I think thisstory is good for us during Lent.

 

Lent, as youhave heard me say over and over again, is a time for us to sort of quietourselves.

 

But it is alsoa time to get rid of whatever clutter we might have knocking around inside usor in our lives.

 

Clutter isthat stuff in our lives—and “stuff” is the prefect word for it—that just pilesup.

 

If you’reanything like me, we sometimes start ignoring our clutter.

 

We sort of dothat too with our own spiritual clutter.

 

We don’t giveit a second thought, even when we’re tripping over it and stumbling on it.

 

In fact, oftenwe don’t fully realize how much clutter we have until after we’ve disposed ofit.

 

When we seethat clean, orderly room, we realize only then how clutter sort of made us loseour appreciation for the beauty of the room itself.

 

In Lent, whatwe dispose of is the clutter of our spiritual lives.

 

And we allhave spiritual clutter.

 

We have thosethings that “get in the way.”

 

We have ourbad habits.

 

We have thosethings that we do without even thinking we’re doing them.

 

Things likebackbiting, or being passive aggressive or letting our depression and anxietyget out of control, or eating like crap, or overeating, or not exercising.

 

Andoftentimes, they’re not good for us—or at least they don’t enhance ourspiritual lives.

 

Often theclutter in our spiritual lives gets in the way of our prayer life, ourspiritual discipline, our all-important relationship with God.

 

The clutter inour spiritual life truly becomes something we find ourselves “tripping” over.

 

The clutter inour spiritual life causes us to stumble occasionally.

 

And when itdoes, we find our spiritual life less than what it should be.

 

Sometimes it’sjust “off.”

 

During Lent,it is an important time to take a look around us.

 

It isimportant to actually see the spiritual clutter in our lives and to clear itaway in whatever ways we can.

 

In our Gospelreading for today, we find Jesus going into the temple and clearing out theclutter there.

 

He sweeps theTemple clean, because he knows that the clutter of the merchants who havesettled there are not enhancing the beauty of the Temple.

 

They are nothelping people in their relationship with God.

 

Rather, thesemerchants are there for no spiritual reasons at all, ultimately.

 

They are therefor their own gain and for nothing else.

 

In a sense, weneed to, like Jesus, clean out the “merchants” in our lives as well.

 

We need tohave the Temple of our bodies cleaned occasionally.

 

We need tosweep it clean and, in doing so, we will find our spirituality a little morefinely tuned.

 

We will findour prayer life a more fulfilling.

 

We will findour time at Eucharist more meaningful.

 

We will findour engaging of Scripture to be more edifying.

 

We will findour service to others to be a bit more selfless and purposeful than it wasbefore.

 

We will seethings with a clearer spiritual eye—which we need.

 

It is a matterof simplifying our spiritual lives.

 

It is matterof recognizing that in our relationship with God and one another, we don’t needthe clutter—we don’t need those things that get in the way.

 

We don’t needanything to complicate our spiritual lives.

 

There areenough obstacles out there.

 

There willalways be enough “stuff” falling into our pathways, enough ”things” for us tostumble over.

 

Without theclutter in our lives, it IS easier to keep our spiritual lives clean.

 

Without theclutter in our life, we find things are just…simpler.

 

In our Gospelreading for today, we also find that the Temple Jesus is cleaning out andcleansing serves its purpose for now, but even it will be replaced withsomething more perfect and something, ultimately, more simple.

In a sense,our own bodies become temples of this living God because of what Jesus did.

 

Our bodiesalso become the dwelling places of that one, living God.

 

We become theTemples of the living God.

 

Which bringsus back to Lent.

 

In this seasonof Lent, we become mindful of this simple fact.

 

Our bodies arethe temples of that One, living God.

 

God dwellswithin us much as God dwelt in the Temple.

 

Because Goddwells in us, we have this holiness inherent within us.

 

We are holy.Each of us.

 

Because ofthis Presence within us, we find ourselves wanting to cleanse the temple.

 

We findourselves examining ourselves, looking closely at the things over which we tripand stumble.

 

We findourselves realizing that the clutter of our lives really does distract us fromremembering that God dwells with us and within us.

 

And when werealize that, we really do want to work on ourselves.

 

We work attrying to simplify our lives—our actual, day-to-day lives, as well as ourspiritual lives.

 

We want toactually spend time in prayer, in allowing that living God to dwell fullywithin us and to enlighten us.

 

Wefast—emptying our bodies and purifying ourselves.

 

We recognizethe wrongs we have done to ourselves and to others.

 

We realizethat we have allowed this clutter to build up.

 

We avoid beingoverly anxious, we fight our depression we seek help. We become aware of ourpassive aggressiveness or our need to control everything. We work hard to notfeel sorry for ourselves. We exercise, and are careful about what we eat.

 

We realize wehave not loved God or our neighbors.

 

Or evenourselves.

 

Or we haveloved ourselves too much, and not God and our neighbors enough.

 

Once we haveeliminated the spiritual clutter of our lives, we do truly find our Goddwelling with us.

 

We findourselves worshipping in that Body that cannot be cluttered.

 

We find acertain simplicity and beauty in our lives that comes only through spiritualdiscipline.

 

So, as wecontinue our journey through Lent, let us, like Jesus, take up the cords and gothrough the temple of our own selves.

 

Let us, likehim, clear away the clutter of our lives.

 

Let us cleansethe temple of our own self and make it like the Temple worthy of God. 

 

And when thathappens, we will find ourselves proclaiming, with Psalm 69, “Zeal for yourhouse will consume me.”

 

For it will.

 

 

 

2 Lent

 

February 25,2024

 

Mark8.31-38

 

+ Every week, without fail, I stand here and talk about “followingJesus.”

 

After all, it’s the basis of everything I believe as a Christian.

 

For me, as you hear me say again and again, being a Christianequals “following Jesus” or being a “disciple of Jesus”

 

And I believe that with all my heart.

 

But…but…what I don’t share with you is how difficult it is for meto say that.

 

Because, in fact, it is not easy for me to “follow.”

 

You know me.

 

I’m not that guy.

 

I don’t like taking orders.

 

I don’t do what people want me to do.

 

You all figured that out a long time ago.

 

And I don’t like following anyone.

 

I’m not used to following.

 

I find it difficult to follow.

 

Following, for me anyway, means having to humble myself, having toslow down. To breath, and to let someone else lead the way.

 

And I don’t really enjoy that.

 

I’ll be honest: I kind of like doing my own thing.

 

It’s like being so used to driving all the time and then finallyhaving to allow someone else to drive you.

 

You find yourself sitting in the passenger seat being critical ofthe speed of their driving, how they come up a little too quickly to a stopsign, how they don’t make the turn signal at the right time.

 

When I let someone else drive, I often find myself pumping thatinvisible break on the passenger side sometimes.

 

For me, that is often the way I feel about following Jesus.

 

I often, when following Jesus and trying to live out his teaching,find myself pumping the invisible break on the passenger side.

 

I’m often asking Jesus, “do you know where we’re going? Because itseems like we’re just circling the block.”

 

I often find myself thinking, well, I wouldn’t do it this way.

 

There are plenty of examples in the Gospels.

 

Turning the other cheek?

 

I wouldn’t normally be all right with that.

 

Loving my neighbor as myself?

 

If I had the choice not to, I’m not sure I would.

 

Not that one neighbor, any way.

 

But this is what it means to follow.

 

It means that, pump that invisible break as much as we want, it isnot up to us.

 

We are the followers.

 

We are the ones who must bring up the rear.

 

And doing so is humbling and difficult and hard at times.

 

It means we’re not in control.

 

And here at St. Stephen’s, where many of us (not just me) havemajor control issues, that’s hard for a good many of us.

 

In today’s Gospel, we find Jesus explaining to us in very bluntwords what it means to be a disciple.

 

For him, being a disciple, means being a follower.

 

A follower of him.

 

And, as we know, because we’re not the ones in control when itcomes to following Jesus, being a Christian—being a follower of Jesus—meansthat we are sometimes being led into some unhappy circumstances.

 

Being a follower of Jesus doesn’t mean closing ourselves upintellectually.

 

It doesn’t mean we get to stop thinking for ourselves

 

Trust me.

 

I know too many of these kind of Christians.

 

These are the people who think being a Christian means not havingto think anymore.

 

Just believing that all will be well and there aren’t anyproblems.

 

I think we all, at times, find ourselves lulled into a false senseof what it means to be a follower.

 

We think that being a follower of Jesus means that everything isgoing to be happy-go-lucky and wonderful all the time.

 

We think that  followingmeans not really having to think about bad or difficult things anymore.

 

It’s easy, after all, to be a lemming.

 

But that isn’t the kind of following Jesus wants us to do.

 

The kind of follower Jesus wants us to be is not easy.

 

For many Christians, they don’t even want to follow Jesus.

 

They want to worship Jesus.

 

They want to put Jesus up on an inaccessible altar and worship him.

 

Because. . .well. . . as you hear me say on a regular basis, it’seasy to worship Jesus.

 

It’s safe to worship Jesus.

 

Worshipping Jesus but not following Jesus feels like Christianity.

 

Worshipping Jesus makes one feel like a Christian, withoutactually having to do anything as a Christian outside of our own safe little insularworld. world.

 

Christianity is great when you strive to be pious and holy—or atleast look like you’re pious and holy.

 

But actually following Jesus doesn’t have much to do with beingeither pious or holy.

 

And it sure isn’t safe.

 

It’s messy. It’s dirty. And it’s hard.

 

It means doing things we might not really want to do because they makeus uncomfortable.

 

It means going places we really don’t really want to go.

 

And it means thinking in a way that oftentimes seems counter towhat we have been taught being a “good” Christian is and should be.

 

It means not just worshiping Jesus as some inaccessible ideal, butactually trying to BE like Jesus in this world.

 

And let’s face it, do we REALLY want to BE like Jesus?

 

It’s hard to have someone else’s standards essentially be mystandards.

 

It can be depressing.

 

Now that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be joyful in our following ofJesus.

 

Yes, we should be filled with a deep and sincere joy.

 

But, as the old song goes, no one promised us a rose garden.Nowhere in scripture have we been promised that life is going to be rosy andsweet all the time.

 

Being a follower is not always so much fun.

 

Being a Christian means not always strolling around in comfort andjoy all the time.

 

As we are reminded in this season of Lent and especially in thatweek preceding Easter, being a Christian means following Jesus wherever hegoes.

 

And where he goes is not to the rose garden.

 

It is to the garden of Gethsemane—to that place where he too wouldbe feeling anguish, where he too would sweat blood, where he too would cry outin anguish to God.

 

Following Jesus means essentially being like him.

 

And being like him, means having the same relationships he had.

 

And when we look at the relationships he had, we realize they werenot normal relationships.

 

His relationship with God was intense.

 

For Jesus, God was a parent.

 

God was “Father,”  “Abba!”

 

But the relationship was even more than that.

 

It was also almost like lovers.

 

Jesus loved God.

 

God loved Jesus.

 

And that, too, is what our relationship with God should be like,as followers of Jesus.

 

We should love God.

 

Our relationship with God should be intense as well.

 

It should intimate.

 

It should be so intense and intimate that other people will say,“That’s really weird!”

 

My goal in my relationship with God is that people will say,“”That’s weird, that relationship Fr. Jamie and God have with each other.”

 

I used to joke about getting t-shirts made for people saying,JESUS IS MY BOYFRIEND.

 

But there is some truth to that.

 

We should have a deeply intimate relationship with Jesus, in whichsuch a t-shirt is funny and weird, but kinda true too.

 

But it should be that intense, because God loves us.

 

Deeply and intensely.

 

But it doesn’t end there.

 

There is also the relationship Jesus had, because of his intenseand deep love of God, with others.

 

Jesus loved others.

 

Intensely.

 

Deeply.

 

He cared for them.

 

Jesus loves us.

 

Intensely.

 

Deeply.

 

And because he did, so should we.

 

Because Jesus loves us, we should love others.

 

In everything we do as followers of Jesus, we should let lovealways be our driving force.

 

It is that love that makes us feel the anguish he feels.

 

It is that love that makes us suffer with him.

 

It is that love that makes us bleed with him.

 

Following Jesus means not just following him through the momentsof teaching ministry, not just through the miracles he performed.

 

It means following him through the dark days of his last week,through the blood and excruciating moments of his dying.

 

It means that, like him, our love for him causes us take up ourcrosses and follow him wherever he might go.

 

It means paying the anguished price for love!

 

Jesus knew, as we find in our Gospel reading for today, that therewere certain things he had to do.

 

He had to “undergo great suffering,” He had to be killed.

 

He understood that fully.

 

He in turn tells us that we too must realize that we will have tobear our share of suffering in this life.

 

We too will have to take up our own crosses.

 

The cross is the reminder to us that following Jesus doesn’t justmean following him through the rose gardens of our lives.

 

It means, following him all the way to that cross.

 

It means taking up our own crosses and staggering with him alongthat path.

 

It means sweating blood with him in the garden of Gethsemane.

 

It means crying out with him in anguish.

 

It means feeling with him the humiliation and loneliness of beingbetrayed—yes, even by one’s own friends and followers, by people we love.

 

But, it also means following him to the very end.

 

Just as the cross is a symbol of death and torture and pain—it is,for us Christians, also the symbol of the temporal nature of those things.

 

The cross is the doorway to the glory that awaits us beyond thecross.

 

The cross is the way we must travel, it is what we must carry, itis what we must be marked with, if we wish to share in the glory that awaits usbeyond the cross.

 

I said earlier that no one promised us a rose garden in scripture.

 

I should revise that.

 

While we might not have been promised a rose garden, we have beenoffered glory.

 

Glory comes to us, when we follow Jesus.

 

It comes to us when we let our love for God lead us through thedark and frightening places this world can throw at us.

 

If we let that love guide us, if we let ourselves be led by Jesus,we will find true and unending glory awaiting us.

 

So, as we encounter the crosses of our lives—and we will—as weallow our love for God to lead us into places we might not want to go, let usdo so with the realization that glory has been offered to us.

 

One day, what seems to us a symbol of pain and loss and failure,will be transformed.

 

It will be transformed into a crown upon our heads.

 

And, on that day, there all our pains, all of our sorrows will,once and for all, be replaced with joy. Amen.