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A Children’s Sermon on Matthew 28:1-10 — Easter

Bernhard Plockhorst -Schutzengel (public domain)

This particular sermon is written with two particular bits of cultural context in the background. It is for Easter, so you might think a children’s sermon on Matthew 28:1-10 would be easy picking. However…

1. Our culture, both the Protestant and Catholic sides of Western Christianity, doesn’t really have a good grasp on the importance of Easter and the Resurrection of Jesus. Sure, we celebrate it. But we let bunnies and eggs predominate, because our theology of sin, guilt, sacrifice, and forgiveness mesh much better with Good Friday.

The Christian leaders don’t have a grasp of why the Resurrection is the very best bit of Good News amongst all the Gospel possibilities. (If you don’t believe me, notice how many Easter songs and sermons are actually about the Cross.)

If the leaders can’t make sense of the Resurrection, the parents probably can’t be expected to do much better.

And if the parents don’t get it, you can bet the kids don’t.

2. This is the time of the COVID-19 pandemic. Most of us are under orders to stay in our homes as much as possible. Most places churches are not able to gather. (That may make a children’t sermon moot, though I know one church that is using these in their Zoom services.) Millions have already lost their jobs. Schools have been out for weeks and for many or most they will not resume until Fall.

So with all that going on, no matter how much or how little the kids consciously know about the pandemic, they’ve certainly absorbed their parents’ anxiety.

Of course #1 above makes the Good News actually news.

And of course #2 above is the kind of emotional landscape that the Easter stories speak to quite well.

So… whether for your Zoom church, or for your kids’ bedtime story, or for family devotions in lieu of church, or just for your own reflection, here we go.

Use it if you want to. Let me know how it goes.

A Children’s Sermon on Matthew 28:1-10

If you’ve been following along with the stories of Holy Week, you know that today is a big day. It is a VERY big day. Easter is the biggest, most ancient, most important holy day in the whole Christian year.

Last Sunday was when Jesus rode into Jerusalem on a donkey and everybody sang and waved palm branches.
Last Thursday was when Jesus washed his disciples’ feet and told them to love each other the same way he loved them. He also gave them the Lord’s Supper. He said the bread was his body. He said the wine was his blood.
Last Friday was the very sad day when Jesus was hung on a cross until he died.

But today is Sunday. Here’s what happened on Easter Sunday.

Early in the morning, two of Jesus’ friends were talking. They were both named Mary. They were so sad that their friend Jesus had died that they couldn’t sleep.

The two Marys decided to walk to tomb where Jesus’ body was buried. Sometimes when someone you love has died, it helps to go to the graveyard, even if it is just to cry.

When they got there, nothing was what they expected.

First there was a big earthquake. The ground was shaking like crazy!
Second, because of the earthquake, the big stone door of the tomb fell right open!
Third, there was someone sitting on that big stone door — it was an angel, a messenger of God, and their clothes were glowing with light!

I suspect that the two Marys were pretty frightened by all of this. The messenger understood how they felt and said, “Don’t be afraid. You are looking for Jesus. He isn’t dead any more! He’s alive!”

“No way!” they said.

“Yes way!” said the messenger. “Come and look in the tomb. He isn’t in here any more!”

“Where is he?” they asked.

“He’s on his way to Galilee,” said the messenger.

“What should we do?” asked the Marys.

“You have a very important job,” said the angel. “Go to find the rest of the disciples. Tell them Jesus is alive! Tell them to go to Galilee to meet him.”

So off they went. But along the way, Jesus met them.

They ran up to him. They fell to the ground and held onto his legs, crying for joy. They were so happy!

But Jesus said the same thing as the angel had said: “Don’t be afraid!”

The women said, “We aren’t afraid any more! We were afraid we’d never see you again. But now you are back!”

Jesus said, “I know you aren’t afraid of not seeing me. I’m saying you don’t need to be afraid of the other things — the big things.”

“What big things?” asked the Marys.

“Most people are afraid of dying,” he said. “But I fought a battle with death and I WON! Death is conquered. Now go tell my other friends to meet me in Galilee.”

So those two women went and told the Apostles and the rest. They were the first to hear the Good News that Jesus was alive — that he had conquered death. They were the first to be told to share that Good News with others — so that they wouldn’t have to be afraid any more.

And I’ll tell you something: For a very long time, Christians had a very hard time. For hundreds of years, many Christians were killed for following Jesus. But one of the things that people noticed was that the Christians were not afraid to die. They knew that Jesus had conquered death. Jesus had showed them that they didn’t need to be afraid any more.

I wonder what the Marys felt inside when they say the earthquake and the angel.
I wonder what they thought and felt when the angel and Jesus told them they didn’t have to be afraid.
I wonder if sometimes they were afraid anyway.
I wonder if you’ve ever been so afraid that you couldn’t sleep at night.
I wonder, in these crazy days when there is no school and our families are all cooped up at home, if you ever feel worried or afraid.
I wonder what would happen if you remembered that Jesus is alive, and that he’s right there with you when you are afraid.

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Monday Meditation: RCL Year A, Easter Sunday, Matthew 28:1-10

Sunday is Easter for those of us in the Western form of Christianity. My Orthodox friends have to wait a week longer. I pray for you that the day is full of joy. And I pray that it is full of hope.

These are the great gifts of Easter: joy and hope.

As I’ve noted before, we in the West often don’t quite know what to do with Easter. Our faith tends to focus rather relentlessly on Good Friday, Christ’s suffering and death, willing sacrifice of his life on our behalf. Our theology tends to be focused on atonement — on the guilt of our sin as the problem, and Christ’s sacrificial death as the solution to that problem.

We know that Easter, when Christ has risen from the grave, is supposed to be the source of greatest joy, but, alas, it doesn’t have that much of a place in our schema of guilt, sacrifice, and forgiveness.

We are, in fact, most like the version of the story of Easter as found in Mark: the women came to the empty tomb and were told that Jesus had risen, but they went away scared and confused; in fact they told nobody.

Matthew 28:1-10

This year, however, if our churches are following the Revised Common Lectionary, we find ourselves in Matthew’s version.

Here in Matthew 28:1-10, those women (just Mary Magdalene and “the other Mary” for Matthew) are told to go and tell the rest of the disciples — and they go to do it.

They meet the risen Christ along the way, and he too tells them to go and tell the rest of the disciples — and they get back on the road and do it.

This is another example of Jesus turning first to unlikely evangelists. During his earthly ministry he chose the Woman at the Well to go and tell her Samaritan neighbors about Jesus; and he chose the man freed from a legion of demons to tell the people of the Decapolis what God had done for him. The list could go on.

Here, though, at the crucial moment, the very first witnesses to both the empty tomb and the risen Christ are these women whom Jesus did not place among the Twelve. They are given the Good News to share with those Twelve Apostles, who were, at the time, hunkering in the bunker.

Let us remember that the first evangelists of the Good News of the Resurrection, by the choice of the angel and by the choice of Jesus, were these women.

There are interesting oddities I could regale you with: the fact that the earthquake happens while the women are approaching the tomb, not sometime before as I inwardly picture it. They must have weaved and wobbled up the trail, trying to reach the spot. And there are those soldiers left to cower in fear, or perhaps they actually passed out cold “like dead men.”

But it is a surreal and strangely busy time, this season of quarantine and isolation and social distancing. It is a hard time to string two thoughts together and write you something coherent.

We can’t go out to work, most of us, due to the COVID-19 pandemic. The way to love our neighbors is to stay away from them. We are cooped up with our families, or we are cooped up totally alone, even introverts longing for some social contact with strangers.

I find myself reduced to a high-tech hunter-gatherer, sitting at my computer trying to find a store that will let me pick up groceries without going inside, or one that will schlepp them to my doorstep. I’ve filled shopping carts at the three local options, and hourly for three days have tried to check out from just one, any one, hoping that some new pick-up or delivery slots will open up. But I digress.

Easter Hope in the Season of COVID-19

What we need is, in fact, the message of Easter.

In the words of the angel and the risen Christ we are told,

Do not be afraid!” (Matthew 28:5 & 10 NRSV, emphasis added.)

And that is what we need, right?

We are home, afraid of getting COVID-19, and afraid that we might have it and give it to someone else.
We are afraid, hearing of public figures who have been sickened or killed by this strange new disease.
We are afraid, worrying for aged parents and relatives with health conditions that put them at risk.
We are afraid, having lost a job, or wondering if we will, because the pandemic has wrought economic damage as yet unable to be tallied.
We are afraid that the world will never return to a condition we can recognize as “normal.”
In short: we are afraid of death.

Death of self. Death of loved ones. Death of hopes.

But the angel and Jesus told the women

Do not be afraid!

Ah, but when Jesus rose from the grave, his risen life took away the thing that had so filled them with sorrow and fear. They thought they’d lost Jesus. Now they had him back.

Isn’t our situation different?

Well, we too have the good news that Jesus is back. As he will say at the end of the chapter,

And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.” (Matthew 28:20 NRSV)

Even if our careers, our hopes are decimated, Jesus is with us.

Even if our loved ones die — even if we die— Jesus is with us.

That promise of his presence genuinely matters. That Easter Good News can take away fear, or perhaps more likely, it can be with us in the dark night of our fears.

But you know, my Orthodox friends would tell you that there is more, much more, to this Easter Good News of Christ’s resurrection.

The actual message of the Resurrection is that Jesus has conquered death itself. Yes, Mary and the other Mary, plus all twelve of the Twelve, eventually died. And so did every person to whom they preached the good news.

And so will you and so will I — whether due to COVID-19 or to ripe old age.

We all die.

But death is conquered.

Death is no longer the final enemy.

The new life has begun, and will continue to all eternity.

As the Orthodox will sing about a thousand times during the season of Easter

Christ is risen from the grave

Trampling death by death,

And upon those in the tombs bestowing life!

Christ is risen. Death is conquered. May you know it in your very bones.

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By the way: in the middle of writing this I snagged a delivery time for some groceries. May you be so blessed as well!

The post Monday Meditation: RCL Year A, Easter Sunday, Matthew 28:1-10 appeared first on Gary Neal Hansen.

A Children’s Sermon on Matthew 21:1-11 — Palm Sunday

In writing a children’s sermon on Matthew 21:1-11 — Palm Sunday — I try to emphasize both what is unique to Matthew’s version and what kids can connect with.

If you are a regular reader of my children’s sermons you will have noticed that they end with “wondering questions.”

If you use these, whether in worship as some do, or as bedtime stories for children as I do, I really hope you include those wondering questions.

Way too often, we try to tell children what to think about Scripture. We turn it into a rule book or a doctrinal reference book, or (I tremble to think how often) as a lame excuse to tell children to be nice and obey their elders.

The thing is, though, that one of the key ways Scripture works in faith is that you absorb its stories and you sort of let them rattle around inside you. You look at the strange and fascinating interactions of God and biblical people, and sort of wonder about them.

Eventually those stories become your own. They shape your inner world and you live in light of them — and in relationship to the God who breathes in those stories.

Why turn Scripture into a rule book when we present it to children, when so much of the substance of the New Testament message is that the rules aren’t how we live as God’s people? We live in relationship to the God of grace revealed in Christ — in stories of his life, and in the stories he told.

I learned this lesson when leading the “Young Children and Worship” program for younger kids in a church. They use a very particular form of biblical storytelling, introducing children to the whole narrative of salvation and always leading children to stop, at the end of the story, and wonder about it.

Sometimes the kids spoke up and answered the questions. Sometimes they wondered inside themselves. Sometimes, in conversations after worship, or after weeks had passed, they would reveal that they were still very actively wondering about those stories. It was, in a word AWESOME!

As the Rev. Mr. Rogers put it, “Did you know that when you are wondering you are learning?”

A Children’s Sermon on Matthew 21:1-11 — Palm Sunday

I wonder if you’ve heard the story of Palm Sunday.

It was Sunday, the beginning of the week we call “Holy Week.” Jesus knew that this would be the last week of his life on earth.

The next Thursday night he and his friends would eat a special meal called “Passover.” It was the most important celebration of the year for the Jewish people — and it still is.

At that Thursday supper, Jesus gave his friends the bread and said “This is my body, broken for you.” And then he gave him the cup of wine and said “This is my blood of the new covenant, shed for you.”

It was the same special meal we still share in worship. We call it “the Lord’s Supper,” or “Communion,” or “the Eucharist.” It’s the day we call “Maundy Thursday.”

Then on Friday Jesus would be falsely accused of crimes, and be sent to die on the Cross. It’s the day we call “Good Friday.”

And then on the Sunday after that, Jesus would be alive again. Death just couldn’t hold him! It’s the day we call “Easter.”

But on the day we call Palm Sunday, a week before Easter, Jesus wanted a big celebration.

Jesus had his friends find a donkey for him to ride on.

Then he got on and rode the donkey into Jerusalem, while people lined the sides of the road. Some of them made a carpet for him to ride in on, laying down their coats and palm branches on the road.

They sang “Hosanna!” which means “Save us now!” And they sang, “You are blessed! You come in God’s name to help us!” And they waved their palm branches.

It was like a big parade. I suspect that the ones who had the most fun were probably the children. Wouldn’t it be fun to wave palm branches while Jesus rode by? Or to run alongside singing songs to him?

It was such a special celebration that all four Gospels tell the story — Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.

Today we are listening to Matthew’s version of the story, and it is a little bit different from all the others.

In Mark, Luke, and John, Jesus rides into town on a donkey.

But in Matthew, Jesus rides into town on TWO donkeys!

To me it sounds a little awkward. How would he sit down?

But Matthew wanted to make a very important point. Matthew remembered something said years and years before by one of the prophets.

Look, your king is coming to you,

humble, and mounted on a donkey,

and on a colt, the foal of a donkey.”

It sounded like the prophet said there were two donkeys. So Matthew told the story with two donkeys.

Matthew wanted to make sure you and I know that Jesus is the savior that had been promised by the messengers of God for centuries.

Jesus is not just someone who was wise and good.

Jesus is someone God had been planning and planning for. When we celebrate Jesus on Palm Sunday, we are welcoming someone whom God’s people have been waiting for forever. God finally came in person.

I wonder if you’ve ever waited and waited, hoping that God would help you.
I wonder if you’ve ever had a time when the waiting was done, and help  finally came.
I wonder if you’ve ever felt so joyful that you wanted to wave palm branches and sing a song in the streets.

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Monday Meditation: RCL Year A, Lent 6 (Palm Sunday), Matthew 21:1-11

Equestrian heritage Kazakhstan (public domain)

This Sunday is the beginning of Holy Week. Amazing, and disorienting in the season of the pandemic, when I’ve been unable to participate in public worship services through most of Lent.

My lenten journey has been mostly quiet, private, and inward. The fact that you, dear reader, join me in these blog posts is a lovely gift, a strange and socially distant form of community. Thanks.

The Palms and the Passion

The Revised Common Lectionary always gives two Gospel readings for this particular Sunday.

One is the “Liturgy of the Palms,” the story of the “Triumphal Entry” of Christ coming into Jerusalem, amid the accolades of the crowds. Just about everybody calls this day “Palm Sunday” because of this scene, and Matthew 21:1-11 is our text.
The other is the “Liturgy of the Passion,” a lengthy reading of Matthew 26:14-27:66 (or, for the faint of heart, just Matthew 27:11-54). This is, I suppose, for churches where they hold no other Holy Week services.

Traditionally one would hear the passion texts on Maundy Thursday and Good Friday at services commemorating those events. In 21st century American Protestantism? Not so much. Their pastors give them the Passion on the Sunday before, and miss out on the Triumphal Entry that set up the events of Holy Week.

Matthew 21:1-11

I’m writing today on the Palm Sunday text. Matthew’s version is distinctly different from the other three Gospels and, after all, I’m cooped up. No need to rush past Palm Sunday to get the Passion story in. Might as well take it one day at a time.

The basic picture is the same in all the Gospels.

Jesus is heading to Jerusalem.
He arranges transportation via borrowed livestock (as in the other Synoptics — not John).
People make a carpet of their cloaks (as in the other Synoptics — not John).
People add branches to the carpet (as in Mark and John — not Luke).
People cry “Hosanna!” (as with Mark and John).
And in all four Gospels they say that he is blessed who comes in the name of the Lord.
Like in Mark, there is a reference to the ancient King David.

There are two notable details that are unique in Matthew’s telling of the tale. I think they are part of Matthew’s attempt to make the same point, so I’ll talk about them together.

In fact, that’s about all I’ll talk about — it is ridiculously late in the week and I need to get this posted.

Each includes both an added detail and an omission relative to the other Gospels.

1. The Colt

First is the memorable scene where Jesus sends his disciples to pick up a donkey for him to ride into town. Chances are you remember it the way Mark and Luke tell it.

In all three Synoptics, Jesus tells him where they will find the donkey, tells them to untie it, and what to say if anybody objects.

Mark and Luke tell us that they followed his directions; someone did object; they gave the recommended excuse, and were permitted to take it.

Matthew leaves that out.

Instead Matthew adds an explicit reference to Jesus riding on a donkey as fulfilling a prophecy from Zechariah. Here’s that text:

Rejoice greatly, O daughter Zion!

Shout aloud, O daughter Jerusalem!

Lo, your king comes to you;

triumphant and victorious is he,

humble and riding on a donkey,

on a colt, the foal of a donkey.” (Zechariah 9:9 NRSV)

That isn’t mentioned by either Mark or Luke.

For Matthew it continues the priority he has had since the very first chapter of his Gospel: He wants us to see Jesus in a very particular way.

It isn’t “just” that Jesus is, say, the incarnation of the Word, or a super-compassionate savior.

Jesus, for Matthew, is explicitly and constantly, the fulfillment of the Old Testament’s promise of the Messiah.

And here, Matthew makes the point with excruciating, and I’d say comical detail.

He zooms in on the last set of parallel phrases from Zechariah:

…humble, and mounted on a donkey,

and on a colt, the foal of a donkey.” (Matthew 21:5 NRSV)

Rather than seeing the two references as an example of the parallelism that is the most constant feature of Hebrew poetry, Matthew reads it as a description of two separate animals.

This is really important to Matthew. Notice that he has Jesus include this in his instructions to the disciples:

Go into the village ahead of you,

and immediately you will find a donkey tied,

and a colt with her;

untie them

and bring them to me.” (Matthew 21:2 NRSV)

And this shapes how we must see Jesus’ triumphal entry in Matthew’s telling.

…they brought the donkey

and the colt,

and put their cloaks on them,

and he sat on them.” (Matthew 21:7 NRSV)

For his entry to Jerusalem Jesus was actually mounted on two animals at once. Uncomfortable. Or maybe all the more glorious if it looked like the Kazakstani trick rider in the picture I’ve attached above.

I have to say, that’s a nobly consistent, if quirky, attempt to show Jesus fulfilling the prophecy to the letter.

2. The Prophet

The second detail switcheroo is Matthew’s omission of further reference to Jesus as king.

The other Gospels make his kingship part of the crowd’s proclamation.
For Matthew it is left back in verse 5 as part of the prophecy. You know it, as a reader, but there is no claim that the crowd had figured it out.

Matthew’s crowd only goes so far as saying Jesus is “Son of David.”

And in the end, when asked what the whole scene meant, again it was not about kingship. It was about prophecy. Jesus, they had deduced, was a great prophet.

When he entered Jerusalem,

the whole city was in turmoil, asking,

‘Who is this?’

The crowds were saying,

‘This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee.’” (Matthew 21:10-11 NRSV)

What does it mean?

And the upshot? Matthew portrays Jesus (always) as the fulfiller of prophecy. So far as the crowd can figure out, Jesus is walking in the tradition of the prophets.

I’m thinking Matthew is making a distinction between what was revealed to the crowds and what was revealed to the disciples — like his choice to teach all in parables, and explain them only to the disciples. It was a big deal when Jesus recognized him as Son of God. From that point he turned toward Jerusalem, suffering, and death.

It is the passion, in Matthew, that brings revelation of Jesus’ true identity to the gentiles.

On the cross, Pilate places the sign “This is Jesus, The King of the Jews” (Matthew 27:37).
After Jesus’ death the centurion exclaimed, “Truly this man was God’s Son” (Matthew 27:54).

Mysterious. Worthy of contemplation. This is a paradoxical revelation, with suffering and death showing him to be king and God.

Back on Palm Sunday we have, instead, a procession in trick rider glory, a confused crowd singing his praise while not yet knowing who Jesus is.

Which is just the confusion most of us Christians have, most of the time, I suppose.

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Looking for some intellectual and faith stimulation while hunkering down in the time of COVID-19? I have an online reading group that is just starting a journey through Justin Martyr’s “First Apology.” I post videos and the text, and you can read and even discuss with others if you want to. All the details are on my Patreon page. Click through here and look for the reward level called “The Education.” It would be great to have you!

The post Monday Meditation: RCL Year A, Lent 6 (Palm Sunday), Matthew 21:1-11 appeared first on Gary Neal Hansen.

A Children’s Sermon on John 11:1-45 — The Raising of Lazarus

CC by Steven Depolo 2.0

This is the fourth lectionary Gospel in a row that is a very long encounter with Christ from John. However writing a children’s sermon on John 11:1-45  is much easier than it was on Nicodemus, the woman at the well, or the healing of the man born blind. That’s because there is much more action in the story of the raising of Lazarus, as well as much more emotion.

However there is a lot of story; I can’t include every twist and turn. I’m going to focus on the part that I think kids can connect with most easily. The death of a family member is a great fear for many children, and it comes to pass far too often. Watching the way Jesus deals with his friends when they have suffered a deep loss is a lovely thing.

You are, of course, welcome to use this, either as a children’s sermon or as a bedtime story. They start out as bedtime stories for my own kids, so in this time when so many services are cancelled due to the COVID-19 pandemic, and we are all cooped up in our houses, I hope it gives you some good family moments, focused on Christ.

But however you use it (and I know some readers enjoy these as part of their own personal meditations), please be sure to include the wondering questions at the end. Hearing the stories of Jesus is not about getting clear and direct answers to everything. Rather it puts us in a position of holy wonder, where we can listen to God.

A Children’s Sermon on John 11:1-45

One time when Jesus was out in the desert with his friends, a messenger came. “Your friend Lazarus is very sick!” the messenger said. “Could you please come and help?”

It took several days for Jesus to get to Bethany, the town where Lazarus lived with his sisters Mary and Martha.

When Jesus got near their house, there were many people gathered around. Many of the people were crying.

Someone who was passing by said, “Lazarus is dead! I just can’t believe he’s gone!” He looked dazed and confused as he travelled on.

Then Lazarus’ sister Martha came out to meet Jesus on the road. She was really angry. She stomped her foot and said,

“Lord, if you had been here my brother would not have died! Now he’s gone! This is all your fault!”

Jesus listened to her, and let her be angry. He didn’t say she was wrong. He didn’t defend himself for taking so long.

They talked for a long time about death and life. And Jesus told Martha a secret: “I am the resurrection and the life,” he said — but Martha didn’t really know what Jesus meant.

Soon Lazarus’ other sister Mary came out. She wasn’t angry. She was sad. She was so sad she couldn’t even stand up. She fell onto her knees and said, “Lord, if you had been here my brother would not have died! Now I have nothing to live for.” She cried and cried.

Jesus saw her sadness, and he felt sad too. He didn’t try to cheer her up. He stayed close, and listened. He was so sad for Mary that he cried too.

When he had listened, and cried with his friends, he said, “Mary, and Martha, let’s go to Lazarus’ tomb together.”

So they went there.

Now Jesus, and Martha, and Mary, all knew that usually when people die they are gone from us. But Jesus wanted to show his friends something very important: Jesus is so full of God’s life that being near him means we come alive too.

Jesus did a very surprising thing. He told them to open the tomb. Then he called into the tomb: “Lazarus! Come out!”

And Lazarus came out — alive!

The Bible doesn’t say what happened to Lazarus after Jesus ascended into heaven. But the Church remembers him as having traveled to the island of Cyprus, where he served for the rest of his life as a bishop.

And then Lazarus died — again.

Because, sad though it is, everybody dies eventually. God gives us life, and God heals us and helps us many times in many ways. But eventually we die.

We die — but Jesus really is the resurrection and the life, just like he told Martha. When we belong to Jesus, when we stay close to Jesus, we hear his promise that he will raise us up to live with God forever at the end of the age.

I wonder what it was like for Martha when she got angry at Jesus and Jesus listened to her and talked with her.
I wonder what it was like for Mary when she got so sad, and Jesus stayed close and cried with her.
I wonder what Lazarus thought and felt when he woke up in the tomb and heard Jesus calling him!
I wonder what Mary and Martha thought and felt when they saw him alive again!
I wonder if someone you knew or loved has ever died.
I wonder how you felt — confused, or angry, or sad, or something else.
I wonder how Jesus might stay by you, no matter how you are feeling.

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I’d love to send you all my children’s sermons, plus my other new articles and announcements. Scroll down to the black box with the orange button to subscribe, and they’ll arrive in your email most Fridays.

The post A Children’s Sermon on John 11:1-45 — The Raising of Lazarus appeared first on Gary Neal Hansen.

Monday Meditation: RCL Year A, Lent 5, John 11:1-45

The Raising of Lazarus by Duccio di Buoninsegna (public domain)

We’re all cooped up in our homes, loving our neighbors by keeping six feet away and not gathering with anybody we don’t live with. But whether our churches are streaming their services (in otherwise empty sanctuaries) or whether our congregations are simply not meeting for the next while, we need to draw near to God, and we need to connect with the community of faith. That’s what these meditations are for.

For many, the fact that their churches use the Revised Common Lectionary brings a sense of connection with Christians in other churches, other denominations, and other regions. And within some congregations, knowing that the sermon will be on a text from the lectionary gives members a chance to spend time in Scripture in the week before. I offer my Monday Meditations in the spirit of those kinds of unity. Even if you can’t go to worship, spend time in the text that would have been read and preached on this Sunday. I hope it helps in this dark time.

John 11:1-45

On Lent 5 the Revised Common Lectionary gives us the last of its four great encounters with Jesus from the Gospel of John. Each one has been longer than the last, making for a different kind of engagement with the text than most Sunday Gospels. This time it is John 11:1-45, the raising of Lazarus.

There is much more action in this than the previous encounter stories.

Jesus and his disciples are out in the wilderness, 20 miles from Jerusalem across the Jordan.
A messenger arrives saying Jesus’ friend Lazarus is ill — would he please come?
Jesus stays where he is for two more days.
Finally they make the long trek to Bethany, two miles outside Jerusalem. It had to be at least one full day’s hike.
Martha meets him with the news: Lazarus is dead. If Jesus had only come in time! They talk about the resurrection.
Mary meets him, and repeats the accusing message. Lazarus is dead. If Jesus had only come in time!
Jesus shows deep feeling at their grief.
But he has a surprise in store. Jesus has them open the tomb, calls for the dead man to come out.
And out comes Lazarus! He’s risen from the dead at Jesus’ command.
Many who saw came to believe in Jesus.

Along the way there are a few really remarkable moments. Some are commonly noted. Some less so. But I’m meditating on three of them this week, and wanted to share them with you.

1. The Time Line and the Implications

I’ve always heard this story through Martha and Mary’s grief. Each of them approaches Jesus with the same accusation:

Martha said to Jesus,

‘Lord, if you had been here,

my brother would not have died.‘” (John 11:21 NRSV)

Then

When Mary came where Jesus was and saw him,

she knelt at his feet and said to him,

‘Lord, if you had been here,

my brother would not have died.’“ (John 11:32 NRSV

Of course I’ve assumed their accusation was correct. And it makes sense: Jesus basically healed everybody, so if he had been there he surely would have healed Lazarus. He wouldn’t have died. Right?

But this week I’ve been thinking about the timeline. Here it is with the most conservative estimates for travel:

Day 1: Mary and Martha send a messenger to say Lazarus was sick. He was at least 20 miles away, across the Jordan. At a minimum the messenger traveled a day to reach him.

Day 2: The message reaches Jesus.

Days 3 and 4: Jesus lollygags before leaving for Bethany.

Day 5: Jesus arrives — if he did a full 20 miles in one day.

But what does Martha say when Jesus wants to open the tomb?

Martha, the sister of the dead man, said to him,

‘Lord, already there is a stench

because he has been dead for four days.’” (John 11:39 NRSV)

So what does that mean? By the timeline defined in the passage, Lazarus was already dead when Jesus got the message.

Even if Jesus had left the second he heard of Lazarus’ illness, Jesus could not have gotten there to save him. This had never occurred to me before.

The observation prompts two thoughts.

Jesus Allows Suffering

First, for Jesus to have kept Lazarus from dying, out of love for Mary and Martha he would have had to stay in Bethany at all times. Their desire to have their brother live is natural. But had they asked Jesus to stay in their home town, all the time, so that their dear brother would never fall ill and die, it would be a problem.

The amazing feature of Jesus’ healing ministry (especially, I find, in Mark) is that he heals everybody who comes to him.

And they come in droves. Every time word spreads that Jesus is around, a crowd comes to him with all kinds of problems that need healing. He serves the people, heals their many ills — and is constantly on the move, sometimes quite explicitly trying to get away from the people who so eagerly seek his healing.

But when I think about it, Jesus was always just in one place at a time. He made a point of moving from place to place, to help more and more people.

There were always lots of places where Jesus was not present.

People got sick — even when Jesus was doing his earthly ministry..
People died — even when Jesus was around in the flesh.

And so it is today. In our grief, or our deep and urgent anxiety, “Lord, if you’d only been here those thousands would not have died. If you’d only been here, we wouldn’t be in the hospital, or quarantine, or isolation, or sheltering in place.”

Jesus is here. He does still heal. But even more obviously than on the pages of the Gospel, Jesus also allows people to die — people he loves very much.

We don’t get to keep Jesus at home as our private healer of ills.

We do recover from a zillion ailments thanks to the miraculous way he made our immune systems, the miraculous advances of science and medicine, and also the miraculous touch of Christ in answer to prayer.

But we remain mortal. We do get sick, and have accidents, and suffer violence. We do die, eventually, no matter how many times Jesus heals us.

As all those people in the Gospels whom Jesus healed did eventually die — Lazarus included.

It is a strange comfort, but to me it is a comfort. My illness, eventually my death, does not indicate the lack of care or lack of power of my Lord. It’s the nature of the life he gave me.

Jesus Chooses Compassion

Second, Jesus chose compassion over being right. Jesus knew Lazarus had died before he started his journey (see 11:14). He knew it when Martha chastised him. He knew it when Mary chastised him. He knew it when Martha told him her brother had been in the tomb for four days already.

But Jesus didn’t point out this truth.

Instead, he chose compassion.

As it says in the shortest verse of the Bible,

Jesus wept.” (John 11:35 KJV)

Or in the more loquacious NRSV,

Jesus began to weep.”

A whole lot of arguments in a whole lot of families would end if we took Jesus’ approach.

No need to point out how wrong this other person is.

Just show compassion.

As Paul put it,

Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep.” (Romans 12:15 NRSV)

Of course if we did it consistently the whole internet might rust and come to a grinding halt.

2. Resurrection and Life

Briefly I note the delightful “I am” saying at the heart of this passage:

I am the resurrection and the life.” (John 11:25 NRSV)

Thus Jesus spoke to grieving Martha, as if it would comfort her.

Thus Jesus proved by calling into a tomb and raising Martha’s dead brother Lazarus.

The whole story illustrates this truth well in advance of Jesus’ own resurrection. Jesus is the lord of life, the one who IS life, whose presence IS resurrection.

Whenever we draw near to him, what we experience is a hint of the resurrection life.

We won’t know it whole until after ordinary life is over. But walking with him day by day we know it more and more.

3. Alive, but Bound

I close with an observation made in a sermon long ago by my then pastor, the late Bruce Larson. Bruce pointed out that while Jesus word raised Lazarus from death to life, he came out still wrapped up in the trappings of death.

The dead man came out,

his hands and feet bound with strips of cloth,

and his face wrapped in a cloth.

Jesus said to them,

‘Unbind him,

and let him go.’” (John 11:44 NRSV)

Notice what the community’s job was? They had to remove all that death from him.

Each of us in baptism and faith is raised to new life in Christ. The trouble is, we don’t really feel it all the time. Frankly it doesn’t really show all the time.

To each of us, about the others of us, Jesus says, “Unbind them and let them go!”

It is our good and holy work to help others out of their death shrouds, to bring to full flourishing what has secretly begun to breath and pulse with his own life.

We have to help each other live that resurrection life — to “practice resurrection” as Eugene Peterson put it. We need to love each other past our brokenness, hang in with each other past our addictions and obsessions, join with each other in the journey of the recreation of Christ’s image in us.

That’s the work of a friendship, a marriage, a church. We all need it. We’re all called to it.

So let’s go unbind somebody.

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The post Monday Meditation: RCL Year A, Lent 5, John 11:1-45 appeared first on Gary Neal Hansen.

A Children’s Sermon on John 9:1-41 — Jesus Heals a Man Blind from Birth

Jules Bastien-Lepage, The Blind Beggar (public domain)

The story of the healing of the man born blind is another very long one. That adds to the challenge of basing a children’s sermon on John 9:1-41. It isn’t that the content is complex or obscure. It s just that the one story has about six different scenes.

With a Gospel text, I often like to make the story itself the heart of the children’s sermon. Kids love stories (grown-ups too) and if we just invite them in, and stop to wonder about what happened, they will be doing the good work of engaging with Christ and the Bible’s message. 

Here I’m aiming to make a story-sermon work by only telling one scene of the story — the part I think kids will find most interesting. And of course, as a storyteller, I’m adding a bit conversation that isn’t in the text. (But really, if the only words spoken were the words in the text the scene would have been very odd.)

Feel free to use this children’s sermon, whether in a service or as a bedtime story with your kids while you’re stuck inside waiting for the COVID-19 pandemic to end. Let me know how it goes!

A Children’s Sermon on John 9:1-41

Long ago, in the city of Jerusalem, there was a man who had been blind since the day he was born. The Bible doesn’t mention the man’s name, but the Church has always called him “Celidonius.”

Celidonius was very poor. Because he was blind, he couldn’t work at a regular job. So he sat there beside the street all day, every day. When he heard people passing by, he would call out and ask if they could give him any money.

One day, he heard some people coming. “Who is that coming?” he asked.

Someone told him “It’s Jesus and his disciples.”

When they got close, Jesus said “Hello. What’s your name?”

“Celidonius,” the man said.

“What are you doing here, Celidonious?” Jesus asked.

“I’m blind,” he said. “So I sit here to beg.”

“How did you become blind?” one of Jesus’ disciples asked. “Did you have an accident?”

“Actually I was born blind.”

Well, then Jesus’ disciples started talking about Celidonius and his blindness.

“Jesus, why do you think Celidonius is blind?” said one.

Another said, “Wow, God must be mad at Celidonius’ parents. They must have done something really bad for their son to be born blind.”

“No,” said a third. “God wouldn’t do that to Celidonius because his parents did something bad. Celidonius must have done something bad — that must be why he’s blind. God is punishing him.”

“What are you talking about?” asked another. “How could he do something bad before he was born? That’s crazy talk.”

Well they went on and on. I think it was kind of rude to say all that stuff right there in front of poor Celidonius.

Eventually Jesus spoke up: “No, you guys, God is not punishing anyone here. Celidonius is blind because God wanted to show the world some amazing things.”

Everybody wanted to know what kinds of amazing things God wanted to show through Celidonius’ blindness.

Jesus said, “Watch this.” Then he spat on the ground. He scooped up some dirt with his spit, and made mud out of it. Then he said to Celidonius, “Close your eyes tight. I need to spread some mud on them.”

Celidonius said, “What? You’re gonna put mud on my eyes? No way.”

Jesus said, “Yep. I made it out of my own spit. Hold still.”

Celidonius said, “Ew! That’s so gross!”

Jesus spread the mud very gently on Celidonius eyes. Then he said, “Now I’m going to send you to a pool to wash the mud off. The name of the pool is ’Sent.’ When you go where you’re sent, you’ll be able to see.”

And you know what? Celidonius went where he was sent. He washed the mud off. He looked up — and he could see for the first time in his life!

Then he went looking for Jesus until he found him.

I wonder why Jesus used spit and dirt to heal Celdonius’ eyes?
I wonder what Celidonius was feeling when Jesus rubbed mud on his eyes?
I wonder what Celidonius learned by being sent and having to wash before the miracle of healing happened?
I wonder if there are things in us that need some of Jesus’ healing mud?
I wonder if Jesus might send us out to do something before we are able to find ourselves healed?
I wonder what kind of amazing things God had already done in Celidonius’ life before he was healed of his blindness?

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Monday Meditation: RCL Year A, Lent 4, John 9:1-41

Gioacchino Assereto -Christ healing the blind man (public domain)

This year, the lectionary Gospels for Lent 2 through 5 tell of amazing encounters with Jesus from the Gospel of John — and each one is longer than the last. First Nicodemus, then the woman at the well, now the man born blind.

These stories are rich, and also convoluted. They are tough to grasp hold of all at once, and the preacher who tries to deal with them in their entirety is in for a challenge.

John 9:1-41

In the story of the healing of the man born blind (John 9:1-41) has a fairly simple outline. The reader’s or hearer’s confusion comes, I think, from too many twisty details being hung upon it.

Jesus and his disciples meet a man who has been blind from birth.
Jesus sends him off to wash in a pool, where his vision is restored.
All the people who have known him as a blind beggar seem to no longer recognize him.
The Pharisees interrogate him.
He identifies himself over and over, giving all credit to Jesus, and seems to enjoy befuddling the Pharisees who want very much to accuse Jesus of sin for healing on the Sabbath.
Finally he meets Jesus again, and Jesus helps him to a fuller confession of faith.

I think that the interesting things here can be divided into two categories: comedy and symbolism.

The Comedy
1. The Cause of Our Ills

The whole episode is sparked by a comical, if socially inappropriate, discussion between Jesus and his disciples. They are walking along, and here’s this blind man begging. They find out he’s been blind from birth. Right in front of the poor guy they casually discuss whose fault his blindness is — perhaps assuming that he’s also deaf.

Somebody, the disciples assume, must have sinned. Otherwise something this awful wouldn’t happen to anybody. Maybe his parents sinned. Maybe the man himself sinned — in the womb, somehow, I guess.

Thankfully Jesus resolves their puzzlement in a way that turns it to the good: No, this bad thing did not happen because his parents did something terrible. No, this bad thing did not happen because the man did something terrible — before he was born. Good grief.

This thing happened as an opportunity for God’s glory to be revealed:

so that God’s works

might be revealed in him.” (John 9:3 NRSV)

In this case, the good work of God was the man’s healing. But please don’t limit your thinking to miracles. God’s good works are shown in many different ways.

I suspect if we’d asked Jesus he might have told us that God’s good works had been revealed through this man in every year of his blindness.

He developed faith despite his challenges.
He persevered.
He probably did kind things.
Who knows?

(This, by the way, is a good word in this season of COVID-19. Did this pandemic happen because we sinned? Because our parents sinned? Because those rapscallions in the political party we don’t like sinned? No. This is an opportunity for God’s good works to be revealed in us and through us. Go and live in faith, in hope, in love.)

2. The Means of Our Cure

The second moderately funny bit here is the way Jesus chose to heal the guy.

Slow down and read it again: He spat onto the dust. In fact he spat enough that was able to pick up a handful of mud. How long did it take to work up that much spit?

Then he took this mud, and he… ew, gross.

I think there must have been a bit of conversation that John edited out here.

I mean, did Jesus say “Hey, friend, I’ve got a big surprise for you! Guess what this is!”
Did Jesus at least warn him? “Hey, I’m about to rub mud on your eyes. Be sure and close them tightly!”
Or did he just shove it in his eyes, like in the painting by Assereto at the top of this post?

In any case, there’s comedy at work there.

But there is also something far deeper. Think back to Genesis, the creation of the first human being. God took the red dust (“edom”) of the earth and molded it into a person (“Adam”).

To mold dust, you need moisture. God had to add something to make it mud or clay.

Thus human beings were first made into God’s image by God using moistened dust.

Then human beings fell into disobedience and death, the image damaged.

Then Jesus came to restore God’s image in us. And in this scene with the blind man, he shows he’s renewing creation, echoing the first creation, with mud and his own saliva.

3. The Questions

There is an ongoing thread of comic dialogue in this passage, as the man who now can see is mistaken for someone else, questioned and doubted by his friends and relations, and investigated repeatedly by the religious authorities.

Throughout, his testimony is simple. Yes, I’m the man who was blind. Yes, I’ve been healed by Jesus. No, I don’t know what he looks like.

They get angrier and angrier as the now-sighted man becomes wiser and more confident.

The Symbolism
1. The Light of the World

Jesus’ actions, especially in John’s Gospel, are heavily laden with meaning. He doesn’t just heal people. He gives signs.

And throughout John’s Gospel, everything from actions to words is to communicate who he is. Thus this is the Gospel where we get the “I Am” sayings.

Here an “I Am” saying is presented as Jesus’ interpretation of his own action. He is about to bring light to the eyes of a man born blind, and declares,

As long as I am in the world,

I am the light of the world.” (John 9:5 NRSV)

This statement early in the story tells us what the whole thing is about. He returns to the theme in the end, when the Pharisees ask

Surely we are not blind,

are we?” (John 9:40 NRSV)

I expect Jesus to say, “I guess you are.” I mean, you can’t see that giving sight to the blind is an act of good, a healing, a re-creation of a man’s body and abilities the way they were intended to be. They are blind to the very presence of God, the light of the world, Jesus.

But Jesus inverts the issue: The man who was born blind knew he had needs, and accepted help from Jesus. But these folks are so confident in their righteousness that they can’t admit they have a need. That denial of blindness has implications:

If you were blind, you would not have sin.

But now that you say,

‘We see,’

your sin remains.” (John 9:42 NRSV)

(That’s a useful Lenten message, eh? Look closely enough at your life to realize you are blind to your own problems. You need the light of the world to see your sin. Only if you know you are blind can you seek help, and be forgiven.)

2. Sent to the Pool called “Sent”

The second bit of detail that bears some symbolic freight is the action that happens after Jesus puts mud on the fellow’s eyes. He sends him to wash, but notice the odd repetition:

‘Go,

wash in the pool of Siloam’

(which means Sent).” (John 9:7 NRSV)

Actually that’s a lot of sending.

You could paraphrase it

I’m sending you to the pool called ‘sent.’ Did you notice its all about being sent?

This moment is worth meditating on. Jesus does the odd necessary work of recreating the man’s eyes with spit and mud. But he won’t see until he realizes he’s been “sent.”

The Greek word used to explain “Siloam” is a relative of the word “Apostle.” The twelve were the “sent ones.”

And perhaps it is so with you and me. God has done the good work of recreating us in his image already. But we won’t see the fruit of it until we realize we are sent, and go.

So let’s go. We have a mission to participate in, a message of good news to share.

(Hey! That’s another Lenten message…)

3. Bearing Witness with a Twist

And that larger sense of having an “apostolate,” of being sent with a mission, is exactly what this man born blind experienced.

He went to the pool and washed. But that was just the beginning.

Then he bore witness to the folks in his neighborhood:

He kept saying,

‘I am the man.’

…

‘The man called Jesus

made mud, spread it on my eyes, and said to me,

‘Go to Siloam and wash.’

Then I went and washed

and received my sight.” (John 9:9-11 NRSV)

Then he bore witness to the religious leaders:

He put mud on my eyes.

Then I washed,

and now I see.” (John 9:15 NRSV)

And again:

He is a prophet.” (John 9:17 NRSV)

And then again:

I do not know whether he is a sinner.

One thing I do know,

that though I was blind,

now I see.” (John 9:25 NRSV)

Not sure, but I think he was quoting “Amazing Grace” there.

In any case, the man’s testimony goes on. He infuriates the elders by being so confident and articulate and making them look so dumb about recognizing God as the source of goodness.

The reversal of rolls here is entertaining and actually important.

It is important as an illustration of what it means to bear witness.

As Jesus says in the Synoptics, his disciples are to be brought before authorities and need not pre-plan their speeches. The Holy Spirit will give them wisdom when they need it.

That’s exactly what happens.

And as Jesus says before the Ascension, all he really wants is for us to be his witnesses. That doesn’t mean we need to become experts or master an evangelistic campaign plan. We need to speak honestly, as we would when testifying in court, about what we’ve seen and experienced. Just… bear witness.

That’s exactly what happens too.

Lastly, though, it is important because of what happens later. Going as he was sent, telling the truth to whoever asks, he meets Jesus — and much more fully. Jesus tells the man who he is.

He said,

‘Lord, I believe.’

And he worshiped him.” (John 9:38 NRSV)

I think there is something many can relate to here. It may not be universal, but this an important kind of conversion story.

We realize some gift of grace and don’t know where it comes from. We take it seriously, talking about it when asked, struggling to make sense of it. And dealing honestly with the grace we’ve received leads us, eventually, face to face with the One who gave it. We see Jesus as the source of this grace, and we believe, we worship, and we follow.

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The post Monday Meditation: RCL Year A, Lent 4, John 9:1-41 appeared first on Gary Neal Hansen.

A Children’s Sermon on John 4:5-42, The Woman at the Well

Villages at communal well in Kenya Africa 1981 CC by CSIRO 3.0

There are a couple major challenges to writing a children’s sermon on John 4:5-42 , the story of “the woman at the well.”

First, the conversation is long and convoluted. It is not confusing, but it keeps taking twists and turns as Jesus tries to redirect her to what matters most for her salvation. It is very hard to explain all that to children without losing their interest or running way over your time limit.

Second, most of the issues at stake are not especially child-friendly. Animosity between nationalities and religions? A sexual history that seems to have left the woman isolated and ashamed? The ancient history of the well they are sitting beside?

It is all really fascinating — but only to a grown up with time and attention to spare.

I considered two potential angles: One would be Jesus’ desire for her to focus on her relationship with him as Messiah and source of living water. The other would be Jesus’ willingness to cross social boundaries to show her that he cared.

I’m taking the easy path here and dealing with the second option. Some might object to skipping a chance to call children to a personal relationship with Jesus. Another text or another day would tip the balance in that direction.

Think of it this way: I’m going to assume that my desire for a genuinely caring, and genuinely personal relationship with the kids is going to communicate something about relationship with Christ. And I’m going to assume that there will be other days, with other texts, where that is the obvious and most central topic.

Feel free to use this children’s sermon if you want to. I’d love to hear how it goes for you!

A Children’s Sermon on John 4:5-42 — The Woman at the Well

One day, Jesus and his friends were on a long walk. They were traveling, a long way from home, and it was hot. Jesus was tired.

“I’m going to sit here by this well,” he told them. “How about you all go into town and get us some food.”

So there he sat, hot, and tired, and thirsty.

About lunch time, a woman came up the road with her empty water jar. People in that place didn’t have faucets with running water in their homes. They had to walk to a well and bring home the water they needed for the day.

Usually groups of people would go to the well together. It was hard work, but that way they could talk with their friends and make the best of it. And usually they came early when the day was still cool.

But this woman came all alone, and at the hottest time of the day.

When she got there, Jesus talked to her. First he asked her to help him get some water to drink. Then he talked with her about a whole lot of other things.

The woman was very surprised that Jesus talked to her.

She thought, “Why is this man being so friendly to me? He’s from the country of Judea and I’m from the country of Samaria. People from our two countries are enemies! They hate each other! He shouldn’t be talking to me!”

But Jesus was friendly and kind to her.

She thought, “Why is this man being so friendly to me? He’s a man and I’m a woman and a stranger. Men and women stay separate in our culture. Men only talk to women if they are relatives! He shouldn’t be talking to me!”

But Jesus was friendly and kind to her.

She thought, “Why is this man being so friendly to me? Nobody likes me! Everybody thinks I’m a bad person! That’s why I have to come to the well alone, in the hottest part of the day! If he knew about me he would never be talking to me!”

But Jesus actually knew all about her. And Jesus was friendly and kind to her.

Jesus was kind to all kinds of people. If people were from other countries, Jesus was kind to them. If people were different from him, as women and men are different, Jesus was kind to them. If people were unpopular, and other people were mean to them, Jesus was still kind to them.

I wonder if you’ve ever felt lonely, and wished people would be kind and friendly to you?
I wonder how Jesus responds when you are feeling alone, and hurt, and sad?
I wonder if there are people in your world who other people don’t want to talk to?
I wonder how Jesus’ friends decided to treat other people, after they saw how kind and friendly he was to the woman at the well?

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I’d love to send you all my children’s sermons, as well as my other new articles and announcements. Just scroll down to the black box with the orange button to subscribe, and they’ll arrive most Fridays by email.

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Monday Meditation: RCL Year A, Lent 3, John 4:5-42

Guercino, Jesus and the Samaritan Woman at the Well (public domain)

This Sunday’s Gospel, John 4:5-42, is a fantastic encounter with Jesus. Jesus’ conversation with “the woman at the well” is rich and powerful — and extremely long. I’m glad that the compilers of the lectionary didn’t chop it up (like last week when they hacked the end of Jesus’ conversation with Nicodemus). It needs to be read whole to be coherent. But the sheer length of the text means I’ll only touch on a couple high points and curious bits.

Combine that with a very complicated week (as well as other issues this week I’m quite obsessively following the COVID-19 pandemic news) and I’m barely eking this meditation out at all — and at the opposite end of the week from Monday. Thanks for your patience.

John 4:5-42

Like in last week’s text, there is very little action here. Jesus is at a Samarian well. A lone woman approaches to draw water at midday. Jesus engages her in conversation.

He goes deeper and deeper, asking for regular water, offering spiritual water, revealing her secrets, and drawing her to faith.

The real mystery here: Does anybody ever get Jesus a drink? The text doesn’t actually say.

John, John, John, work on your storytelling skills. This is a crucial detail.

Human Needs

One thing worth noting at the outset is how the text highlights Jesus’ basic humanity. It’s not what we expect. This is John’s Gospel, remember, the one that begins with Jesus as the incarnation of the eternal Word, who is God.

This is the Gospel of the “I Am” sayings. Some of these, the most famous, are his affirmation of a metaphoric role — the good shepherd, the vine, and so on. Others, often lost in English translations, are simple statements at crucial moments when “I Am” is either ambiguously or unambiguously a declaration of his deity.

So here, in John, when Jesus’ human weakness is on display, it is worth noticing.

Jesus was tired, and decided to rest, sending his disciples into town to get food.
Jesus was thirsty — natural enough on a hot day.
Jesus was helpless — though he was beside a well, the water was out of reach.

The Church’s teaching that Jesus is one Person with two natures, truly human and truly divine, is inherently a mystery. It solves a number of serious theological problems in other ways of describing Jesus, and it accounts for the biblical witness. But it is mysterious.

In a text like this we get to relish the clarity of that mystery.

Crossed Boundaries

Something else I find fascinating and delightful in this story is the way Jesus crosses so many boundaries.

Jesus and his friends have blithely wandered to another country. Their more obvious mission is in Judea, but here they are in Samaria — a hint of the larger mission that is always at work. I’m thinking Jesus just doesn’t care that much about the borders of human countries.

Jesus starts chatting with a local woman. He isn’t only unconcerned with political boundaries. He cares nothing, it seems, for social boundaries. I think the woman shows her shock at both these boundary crossings in her response:

How is it that you,

a Jew,

ask a drink of me,

a woman

of Samaria?” (John 4:9 NRSV)

In a religion, and a part of the world where, even today, men and women are often kept quite separate, it must have been pretty startling for her when Jesus jumped into a conversation.

Then there is a third kind of boundary crossing: manners. At least in my opinion, Jesus was really bold in raising the topic of her marital history and current relationship status.

He doesn’t let on how he knew, exactly, that she’d had five husbands and was presently living with someone, as they used to say, “out of wedlock.” Was it something people had been talking about on the street as they walked along? Was it divine omniscience? The text doesn’t say.

But it couldn’t have seemed like good manners to bring it up.

I don’t think she was exactly surprised to have it tossed in her face. When she said

Sir, I see that you are a prophet.” (John 4:19 NRSV)

I think it sounds pretty sarcastic. Like

And who doesn’t know that!

But she goes with the prophet thing and switches to less personal topics: politics and religion.

Her strategy: Get the guy to declare his views on the schism between the Jews and the Samaritans and their different worship practices. That’ll get the focus off of the most embarrassing bits of her own past.

Rich Symbols

All this boundary crossing was Jesus’ way of getting the topic away from the silence of social custom, away from the trivial of social propriety, away from the impersonal of politics and religion, and squarely onto what matters most: Her relation to him — her salvation.

He’s always shifting the conversation that way:

If you knew the gift of God,

and who it is that is saying to you,

‘Give me a drink,’

you would have asked him,

and he would have given you living water.” (John 4:10 NRSV)

Then when she tries to keep the conversation about literal things,

The water that I will give

will become in them

a spring of water

gushing up

to eternal life.” (John 4:14 NRSV)

She wants to talk about practicalities. He starts talking in symbols. Rich and beautiful symbols — water, not just as something to drink but the very source of life. She had to be intrigued.

And as symbols go, water is a great one.

It’s there in creation, when the Spirit hovered over the waters.
It’s there in redemption, when God parted the waters of the Red Sea for Israel to escape slavery in Egypt.
It’s there in the Prophets, when Elijah parted the waters to cross with Elisha.
It’s there in the Gospels when John came baptizing in the Jordan.

That’s just a few of the high points when it comes to water in the Bible.

I think it is an interesting strategy.

The situation is a common enough one in ministry: you want to get people thinking about the big stuff, like their life in Christ. They want to talk about practicalities, like the lack of volunteers for Sunday School, or whether to buy new music for the choir.

What would happen if we started intentionally people asking about the symbolic things, like living water?

Plain Testimony

It worked for Jesus. In just a couple dozen verses he had her thinking about eternal life, living water, worship in spirit and truth — and she started wondering about God’s promises.

I know that Messiah is coming

(who is called Christ). …” (John 4:25 NRSV)

The amazing thing is that in this conversation far from town, in a foreign land, with a woman, with someone who had a troubled past, her tremulous musing about the Messiah prompts something quite unique: Jesus comes right out and tells her that he, himself, is the Messiah.

I am he,

the one who is speaking to you.” (John 4:26 NRSV)

Contrast that with all his beating around the bush at the far end of the Gospels, before his interrogators and judges in Holy Week.

To the powerful he would say nothing.
To someone poor, rejected, foreign, socially inappropriate, he said everything.
To save his life, he would say nothing.
To save her life he said everything.

Actually this is one of those hidden “I Am” sayings I mentioned at the start.

Ἐγώ εἰμι, ὁ λαλῶν σοι.

It isn’t so much “I am he, the one who is speaking to you” as

I am — the one speaking to you.

He’s acknowledging that he is the Messiah she asked about. But more than that, she’s telling him that he’s the one who spoke to Moses at the burning bush.

Lent 3

And what does this have to do with Lent? Well, I suppose you could say Lent is about encountering Jesus, whether for the first time, like the woman at the well, or again after a lifetime, like you and me.

When we encounter Jesus, we find he tries very hard to move us past the distant and the political.

We find he tries very hard to move us past the socially acceptable.

We find he tries very hard to move us past the personal and the shameful.

We find he does everything in his power to bring us to himself — the source of living water, springing up from within, and overflowing to everlasting life.

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