Year A, Ascension Sunday, Luke 24:44-53

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

By the power of the Holy Spirit, we are called to proclaim two things to the world in Jesus name –

                Repentance

                                And Forgiveness.

These are the gifts Christ freely offers.

And as we ourselves have experienced these gifts, we are called to be witnesses, sharing with others our own experience that they may know, as we know, about the love of God that is ours in Christ Jesus.

But all this is harder to do, than it is to say.

The difficulty lies in our understanding of repentance and its relationship to forgiveness.

It all gets messy in the real world.

And it challenges our very understanding of the Gospel and everything that Jesus lived and died for.

Consider with me two examples of real life situations that we have struggled with as a Church.

The first is the whole matter of divorce.

40 to 50% of all marriages in our country end in divorce, and the rate is even higher for those in second marriage.

For many people, divorce is one of the most difficult things they will face in the course of their lives.  It can be a living hell to go through, and it affects not only the relationship between the husband and wife, but virtually every other relationship they are a part of as well.

Regarding divorce Jesus was asked if it was lawful.

Jesus response makes two things clear:

First, that from the beginning, God created us to be united together in marriage, the two becoming one flesh.  And he states “what God has joined together, let no one separate”. 

And secondly, he declares :

"Whoever divorces his wife and marries another commits adultery against her; and if she divorces her husband and marries another, she commits adultery."

Neither divorce nor remarriage are in accordance with God’s will. 

Or to put it differently, it’s not something God would wish on anyone.

Of course, very few among us want to experience divorce, either. 

But how do we respond as a church to those who are divorced?

What does it mean to proclaim repentance and forgiveness of sins to those who have lived through the pain of divorce?

And given what Jesus says, can we with integrity as a Church offer our blessing to remarriage when Jesus explicitly calls such a marriage adulterous?

What does repentance mean for one who is divorced?

And how might we offer forgiveness to those who have faced this difficult and painful reality?

The second issue has been much more controversial for the Church in recent years, and as you might guess, it is the whole question of homosexuality.

Are gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender people welcome within the Church?

Some would maintain the traditional teaching of the Church that the Bible clearly teaches that homosexuality is to be condemned.  They will point to a few passages in scripture, and from those passages will lift up words like “abomination” to describe homosexuality.

Having said that there are a number of things to consider.

First, though homosexuality was common  place in the Greco-Roman world in which Jesus lived, we have no record of Jesus ever saying anything about it, unlike divorce, which he explicitly addresses.

And secondly, it is identified in Romans, not as a sin in and of itself, but actually as the consequence of sin.

Questions abound.

Is being homosexual sinful in and of itself?

Or is it only homosexual behaviors that are sinful?

And probably the most important question, are our gay and lesbian brothers and sisters anymore sinful than the rest of us?

We have always had gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender people in our congregations.

And as long as there were pastors, there have been some pastors who were gay, and in recent years since we’ve been ordaining women, lesbian.

The most recent controversy in our Church was over the decision to allow pastors in monogamous relationships to serve in our congregations.  After years of study and wrestling with this issue, we basically decided to allow it to be a congregational decision. 

This is the thing, and the controversy around the decision:

We know that all pastors are sinful, just as everyone is sinful.  None of us can claim to be righteous, if by righteousness we mean “without sin”.

The question that is debated though is if there is repentance. 

As with divorce, no one questions whether forgiveness is possible.  The issue is whether there is true repentance. 

What does repentance look like for a divorced person?

What does repentance look like for a gay person?

At issue in both these cases, and in fact in all of our lives, is what we mean by “repentance”.

There are two basic understandings of repentance.

Literally, “repentance” means to turn.  To change the course of one’s life.

One understanding is that true repentance means that we turn from our sin. 

If you want to be forgiven, the first step is to recognize your sin, and stop doing it.

Repentance means to stop sinning.

What does this understanding of repentance mean for one who is divorced?

True repentance in this sense would mandate that one seek reconciliation with one’s spouse.  And, if reconciliation is not possible, then one should live out one’s life single and not commit adultery by marrying another.

As far as the homosexual goes, repentance in this manner means that first one should one should first of all, do everything possible to curb one’s desire for those of the same gender, and secondly, refrain from engaging in any same gender sexual activity.  Celibacy, or marrying one of the opposite gender, are seen as the only options for one who is truly repentant.

The same sort of thing can be said for all sin, and for all of us, whatever our sinfulness may be.  Repent.

Stop your sinning.

Then, and only then, is forgiveness possible.

There is one major problem with this understanding of repentance.  It is not possible for any of us.

It might be easy, if there was only one thing to repent of.  For example, I did in fact repent of my drinking, and since that time, I’ve not picked up a drink.  But there are so many other areas of my life, of who I am, and what I do, that remain tainted by sin. 

Furthermore, if this is our understanding of repentance, what often results is that we can cause more harm than good.

For example, if a divorced person must seek reconciliation with their spouse, in order to be truly repentant, what becomes of their second marriage?  Do they have to divorce their second spouse, so as to be able to reconcile with their first? 

Or for example, should a gay or lesbian person enter into a traditional marriage?  How would you feel if you found out that your spouse was gay or lesbian?  Most of us would be deeply troubled by that. 

Our bondage to sin is so great, that even when we try to sin no more, we often sin all the more.

The other problem with this understanding of repentance is that if we were able to turn from our sin, we wouldn’t need forgiveness at all.

The second understanding of repentance is that it is a turning toward God.

We turn to God, to Jesus, to the only one who can truly forgive our sins.

To put it differently, true repentance in this understanding is to ask God’s forgiveness.  And in the asking, there is both recognition of our sinfulness, and a turning to God who alone can forgive us.

What does that mean for our ministry as a congregation?

I think it is this simple.

If someone walks through that door, they are turning to God, and are fully repentant. 

If someone kneels before the altar to receive Christ’s body and blood, they are turning toward the only one who can forgiven their sin, and are fully and truly repentant. 

It means that the divorced person who comes, has already come to true repentance.

It means that the gay or lesbian person that comes, comes as one who is repentant.

It means an alcoholic like me, comes with a repentant spirit.

Likewise for all our sins.

That we are here at all is itself, proof of our repentance.

And here in this place, we receive God’s complete forgiveness.  Then and only then, do we stand before the Lord as righteous people in his sight.

But what about our lives, do we just continue to sin and seek forgiveness?

The truth is twofold.

Yes we will continue to sin.  And God will continue to forgive.

But, forgiveness has a way of transforming the very fabric of our lives, in surprising ways.

Things will change.

We just never can predict exactly how.

All we can do is trust in the Spirit of God who brought us here in the first place.

May this peace that passes all understanding keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.  Amen

Year A, Easter 5, John 14.1-14, Many Rooms

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

Sometimes, what you need most of all, is simply the knowledge that you have a place to come home to, that there is someone there who loves you, and that once there, you will find peace to sooth your weary soul.

This is the incredible gift Jesus gave us.

“Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you may be also.

A place for you.

There are times in this life when we simply don’t seem to belong.

Later Jesus would pray on our behalf, as a people that remains “in the world” but not of the world.  We are as sojourners in a foreign land.

There are struggles.

Times when we feel displaced.

That there simply is not a place for us.

I have experienced those feelings from time to time in my life.

The first, I’ll share because this is Mental Health Awareness month, something our country has observed for more than fifty years, now. 

At the core of any mental illness is an experience of just not fitting.  We just don’t fit within the realm of normal human experience.  We don’t feel we belong.

It’s an uncomfortable feeling.

I have bipolar disorder.

Everyone experiences highs and lows in their life.

For a bipolar person these are simply more pronounced.

During the highs, the manic periods, there is a sense of invincibility, a feeling that everything is possible, a willingness to take any risk.  It’s an emotionally exhilarating time.  And yet it can be a very dangerous time.

For me, it was during these times that I was able to achieve some of my greatest accomplishments.  Most notably, when I got on a roll in my parish in Sandpoint I decided that senior housing was going to be the key to our congregation’s future.

Remarkably, I was successful.  All the stars aligned just right, and we were able to build an 87 unit senior housing complex.

15 million dollars later Luther Park was born.

I was so convinced about the merits of this type of ministry that I attempted to reduplicate the effort elsewhere.   About three million dollars were spent to purchase land in Boise for another project.  However, the economy collapsed, and with it, those dreams.

And with it, my mood collapsed as well.

I went from the highest of highs, to the lowest of lows.

The dark side for a bipolar person is depression.

It comes like a thief in the night, sometimes predictably, sometimes not. 

During these periods it was difficult to even get up, make it to the couch, and then sit there and be paralyzed, barely able to survive amid the burdens of the world.

My own experience was that during the worst of times I was incapable of sleep, though the early morning hours were times that brought some relief.  But then, like the San Francisco fog that rolls in every night, a wave of darkness would overcome me around 3 in the afternoon. 

Simple things became monumental tasks.

A shower was a major accomplishment.

For quite a long time, I managed to cope with the highs and lows of my life by turning to Scotch. 

A couple of stiff drinks tended to mellow me out during the manic times.

And though alcohol is no cure for depression, it being a depressant itself, it did help to the extent that during the melancholy of a hard night’s drinking, you just didn’t care anymore that you were depressed.

Of course, as you know, this resulted in my developing a major chemical dependency problem. 

As time went on, it felt more and more like I simply didn’t fit in this world. 

More than once I prayed “Into your hands I commend my spirit” and hoped that I would simply die.

Suicide might have been an option, but I couldn’t bear the thought of what that might have done to my wife, but especially, to my children. 

I could no longer work as a pastor, or anything else, for that matter.  There was an overwhelming sense that there was no place for me.

And then there is the promise.

In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you?

A place of belonging.

Sometimes, what you need most of all, is simply the knowledge that you have a place to come home to, that there is someone there who loves you, and that once there, you will find peace to sooth your weary soul.

The second experience I have is related to the political environment in which we live.

We have become so polarized as a country that depending on who is power, those with opposing political beliefs simply feel out of place, like sojourners in a foreign land.

I’ve had that experience quite a lot, in no small measure because I’m a liberal democrat that has lived and served in dominantly conservative, republican parts of the country.

I’ve even had people ask me how I could possibly be both a Christian and a Democrat.

I didn’t feel as though I belonged here.  I felt out of place.  Like this wasn’t my country.

I would suppose that those on the other end of the political spectrum experience the same feelings when the Democrats are in power and a liberal agenda rules the day. 

Sometimes, I feel out of place, not because of my political convictions, but because of my faith convictions.

We are Christians.

Peace and reconciliation are major themes of the Gospel.

And yet we are part of a country that boasts the most powerful and lethal military force in the history of the world.

That should make all of us feel a bit out of place. 

Like this is not our home.

Jesus is not a fan of nuclear bombs.

The God who created this world is not in favor of our destroying it. 

These are statements that every Christian should fully embrace, and yet to even speak them, seems radical.

How do we feel comfortable living in a highly militarized society, while at the same time worshipping the Prince of Peace?

Stangers in a foreign land.

Sometimes, what you need most of all, is simply the knowledge that you have a place to come home to, that there is someone there who loves you, and that once there, you will find peace to sooth your weary soul.

Sometimes what you need most of all, is a Mommy.

One of the things I regret about our theology and language about God is that we speak of God exclusively as the Father.

Fatherhood means many things to us.

And the reason we call God our Father is that Jesus did.

Actually, the word Jesus used was Abba, which does not translate as “Father”, but rather as “Daddy”.

But sometimes, what we need is not a Father, or even a Daddy, but a Mommy.

Roman Catholics have responded to this need in part with their devotion to the Virgin Mary.  She fills this need for a Mommy. 

Sometimes, we have a stereotyped image of a Father as the disciplinarian, the authority, the strong guardian and guide for our lives.

These are not bad things, but sometimes you need a Mommy.

When I think of a Mommy, what I think of most of all is a person in whose arms we always have a place.  I think of a gentle, caring, and compassionate love.

I remember with fondness, the image of children being nursed in their mother’s arms.

I remember the gentle lullaby.

But most of all, I remember coming home to Mama, as truly coming home. 

This is what is lost too often in our world.

We have no place to call home.

Much of our lives is spent searching for the very thing we had from the beginning. 

A place to call home.

A place where we are accepted, not because of what we’ve done, but simply because we are loved.

A place where we belong, even if we feel we belong nowhere at all.

Have you ever considered that this might be our most important mission in the world?

To offer a place to call home?

One other thought about a place called home.

Robert Frost shared with us the quote:

“Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.”

In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you?

Home.

In the Father’s house.

For me and for you.

Amen

Year A, Easter 4, Acts 2.42-47, 1 Peter 2.19-25, John 10.1-10, Psalm 23 Camelot

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

“Don't let it be forgot

That once there was a spot

For one brief shining moment that was known

As Camelot.”

We heard in the first reading for today of that “brief shining moment” that existed following Pentecost.

All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need. Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having the goodwill of all the people.

Questions abound about these early days in the Church’s life together.

Was this in fact the way that Jesus intended for all of us to live?

Is this what the Kingdom of God was supposed to look like?

They were a close knit community.

They shared all that they had.

Each of them was cared for according to their need.

They broke bread together, rejoiced in all the good that was being done in their midst, and, finally had the goodwill of all the people.

Was this what Jesus imagined for all of us who followed the way?

Or was this simply a passing fancy that was a result of their religious exuberance, which quickly faded from the scene as soon as the reality of life settled back in.

Was it merely a ‘brief shining moment’?

Historians tell us that one of the reasons the early Christians were willing to live this way is that they believed with their whole hearts that their time on this earth was very limited.  Jesus would return soon.  And when he returned they would be taken out of this world and enter into the Kingdom of God.

This belief resulted in their having little concern, for example, for material possessions. 

No need for a pension fund if Jesus is going to come and take you back with him to the Kingdom of Heaven very shortly.

That said, I cannot help but admire longingly this time in the Church’s life.

There was something about the generosity of Spirit that guided them.  “They would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need.”

When we visited Russia we were asked a very difficult and pointed question.

“We have been told that there are poor people in America.  Is that true?”

“Well, yes,” we replied, “that is true.”

“How can it be that in a country as rich as yours, there are poor people?  We are poor, but we are all poor.  And what we do have, we share.  We don’t understand how your country can be so rich and still have poor people.”

“they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need.”

Was this what Jesus imagined for all of us?

Or was this merely an idealistic notion of a community of faith that was not sustainable for the long haul.

We will never know because it simply didn’t last.

Jesus didn’t return immediately.

Christians had to settle back into the reality of life and day to day existence.

Giving still continued, but with every passing year it became less and less.

And sin crept in.

During this early time in the Church’s life it was said that the early Christians enjoyed the “goodwill of all the people.”

That changed.

By the time Peter wrote his letter to the Church the situation was much different.

Now the Christian community was defined by suffering. 

Peter writes:

It is a credit to you if, being aware of God, you endure pain while suffering unjustly. If you endure when you are beaten for doing wrong, what credit is that? But if you endure when you do right and suffer for it, you have God's approval. For to this you have been called, because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example, so that you should follow in his steps.

Perhaps it was precisely because Christians had tried to live such a radically different life that they were no longer enjoying the “goodwill of all the people”.

The world doesn’t like ‘different people’.

What we do know is that very shortly after the time of Jesus, Christians were driven out of the temple and the synagogues. 

We hear in Acts of the martyrdom of Steven, who was stoned to death for proclaiming Jesus as the Messiah.

He was but the first of a long line of martyrs.

Suffering for doing right became the way of life for the followers of Jesus.

Now, instead of bearing witness to Jesus with the way they lived, they bore witness by the way they died.

What a contrast.

And throughout the history of the Church this has been and continues to be the story of God’s people.

At times we experience the goodwill of all the people.

At other times we suffer unjustly for doing that which is right.

Both of these experiences can be the consequence of following Jesus.

Today we also read that wonderful Psalm that is so familiar to all of us.

Psalm 23.

1 The Lord is my shepherd; *
I shall not be in want.

2 He makes me lie down in green pastures *
and leads me beside still waters.

3 He revives my soul *
and guides me along right pathways for his Name's sake.

These words speak of the good times.

The times when everything seems to be going just right. Green pastures, still waters, right pathways.

“I shall not be in want.”

And then in contrast to this David writes:

4 Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I shall fear no evil; *
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff, they comfort me.

5 You spread a table before me in the presence of those who trouble me; *
you have anointed my head with oil,
and my cup is running over.

Here we hear of the promise of how God remains with us during the darkest of days.

In fact, one of the realities of the life of faith is that often it is during the most difficult of times that Jesus seems most present with us.

So what does it mean to follow Jesus?

Does it mean living together in an ideal community of faith, sharing all things in common, rejoicing in the good life, and each receiving according to their needs?

Or does it mean taking up our cross and following Jesus, enduring suffering for doing that which is right?

The answer to that question is a simple “Yes.”

As we gather together as a community of faith, united in our love for Jesus and care for all, Jesus is there in our midst.

And as we experience the conflict of living in a world riddled with sin, suffering for doing that which is right, Jesus is there, suffering with us.

The Lord is my shepherd.

Leading and guiding us both in green pastures, and the valley and shadow of death.

Surely your goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, *
and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.

Goodness and Mercy.

The blessings of good times.

The compassion of our God to sustain us through the difficult times.

This is what the life of faith is all about.

There will be good times.

There will be bad times.

Sometimes we will wonder how life could be any better.

Sometimes we will wonder if life could get any worse.

But God is there in the midst of it all.

Jesus will walk with us all the way.

And that is the hope that is ours.

Amen.

Year A, Easter 3, Acts 2.14a, 36-41

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

“For the promise is for you, for your children, and for all who are far away, everyone whom the Lord our God calls to him.”

It was November 2, 1989, just a little over a year after I had begun my ministry in Thompson Falls.

I was out in my backyard splitting firewood when the sirens blared out across our town.  I remember wondering to myself if one of my parishioners was involved in whatever event was the cause of the sirens.

Then the phone rang.

There had been an accident.  JoJo, the granddaughter of one of my members, had taken her friend Alison on a joy ride in her grandmother’s 1966 Mustang.  An inexperienced driver going too fast on a back road, she lost control of the car and flipped it.

Alison was thrown out, her head smashing into a tree twelve feet off the ground.  She was in critical condition.

I rushed off to the hospital to be with Jean, the grandmother.  Jean immediately told me that her granddaughter would be alright, but that the other girl’s parents were the ones that really needed me.

Bob was standing in the hospital hallway, leaning against the wall, in the hospital in Plains.  His wife, Laurie was not there, having gone to Spokane that day.

As Alison was life flighted to Missoula, we returned to Bob’s home to wait for Laurie to return from Spokane and share the bad news with her. 

You’ve never heard a scream, until you’ve heard one like that, coming from a mother whose just been told her daughter is dying. 

“You may want to talk about organ donation,” were the last words the doctor had said in Plains.

We took off and rushed to Missoula, about a hundred miles away.

During the drive, Bob and Laurie informed me that they had been remiss, and had never gotten around to having Alison baptized. 

When we arrived at St. Patrick’s Hospital in Missoula, the chaplain was waiting at the door for us.  A few words about baptism were exchanged and I was taken into the room where Alison was.

A little water in a Dixie cup. 

“I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

A prayer.

That was it.

And then the waiting began.

Alison never regained consciousness.  She died a few hours later. 

When we gathered for the funeral the next week, a fresh layer of snow had just fallen.  But amazingly, next to the cross in front of the church, an Easter Lilly, planted there last Easter, was in full bloom.

“There are lilies blooming at the foot of the cross,” were the words I shared that day.  We live with an Easter hope in a Good Friday world.

I spoke a lot about the promise of baptism and the promise of eternal life.  I called upon everything I believed to offer a word of grace and hope to Bob and Laurie.  At the end of the day, it was simply the “Promise”.  That’s all we have.  God’s promise, offered freely to us, in baptism.

As I left the sanctuary, I noticed Linnea standing in my office, crying.  I went in to console her.

Turns out she was deeply troubled by my sermon.

What I found out was that twenty years before, her second child Randall had died unexpectantly due to complications that developed after he was born.  Randall had never come home from the hospital where he was born. 

The Stevenson’s had every intention of having him baptized.  They were simply surprised when they got the call that Randall had died.

What troubled Linnea deeply, and angered me when I heard about it, was that their pastor at the time had said, “What a shame!”

Lacking baptism, he was convinced that the child was not saved, and was not in heaven.

I was deeply angered by his response. 

He had taken the promise of baptism that is meant to give us hope, and turned it into a law that condemned that innocent young child.

The next week, I spoke with my confirmation class about Alison.  They had all sorts of questions.

Alison was a classmate of theirs.

And they knew her far better than I did.

She had not gone to church, or like them, been part of confirmation instruction.

“Did she even know you baptized her?” was one of their questions.

The only thing I knew about Alison’s faith was that she loved Amy Grant songs, and had even sung one for a vocal competition. 

What the kids were trying to figure out, was why, if Alison could be saved by just being baptized in the emergency room, were they going to all these confirmation classes and church.

Grace is hard to understand at times. 

We are much more comfortable with the Law.

“Brothers, what should we do?”

That was the question that the crowds gathered together on Pentecost had asked the disciples. 

What must we do?

 “Repent, and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ so that your sins may be forgiven; and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit.”

Is this a promise?

Or a law?

Grace is the unconditional love of God that is totally undeserved and unmerited. 

But we want to make it a law.

We take the promise that was given to us that we might have hope, and turn it on its head, so that it becomes a law that condemns us.

“Repent!”

Have we repented, well enough?

Is repentance a turning away from our sin, or a turning toward God in faith?

Who among us have truly repented of all our sins?

But perhaps that is not what repentance is all about.  Perhaps the real repentance is about having faith, trusting in the promise, turning from our doubts and simply believing.

But what is believing?

How much must we believe?

Was I wrong to baptize Alison in that hospital room without a confession of faith from her?

The most common questions people today would ask center around a profession of faith.

“Did she accept Jesus Christ as her personal Lord and Savior?” 

And what does that mean?

Surely, there is something that is required.

Do you believe in God the Father, who created the heavens and the earth?

Do you believe in Jesus Christ, God’s only Son, who died and rose again, that you might be forgiven?

And have you received the gift of the Holy Spirit?

And how would you know if you had?

All of these questions arise because of our tendency to make every promise of God a law that must be obeyed.

We attach conditions, requirements, on the promise.

Beware the Word “if”.

That simple word negates the promise, and makes it a law that ultimately will condemn everyone.

If you believe all the right things-

If you repent of all your sins-

If you accept Jesus as your personal Lord and Savior-

If you live your life according to the Gospel-

If you are baptized-

If you commune-

If, if, if.

That one little word makes everything a law and negates the promise of God that is freely given.

And where there is a “if” involved, there is no love.

The word that we should cling to for hope, is not “if” but “because”.

“Because God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son-

                You need not worry.

Faith, you see, is not something we do, it is to be dependent on, and trusting of, what God has already done.

As Linnea cried in my office that day, one thing that was perfectly obvious was the love that she had for Randall, her child, though he only lived but a few weeks.

Randall had done nothing to deserve that love.

Love, if it is love at all, is ALWAYS, is ALWAYS, freely given and received.

We know that.  We know that to attach an “if” to love, is to destroy the possibility of love.

You cannot say “I will love you if and only if you do what I demand.”

That doesn’t work in our marriages.

That doesn’t work for our children.

That simply doesn’t work.

Why then, do we think that God loves us, only if we do one thing and not another? 

Why do we think God’s love is any different than our own?

Actually, God’s love is different.  It is perfect.  It is totally unconditional, absolutely freely given, and undeserved.

God loved us before we so much as breathed our first breath.

And nothing will ever separate us from that love.

It’s a gift, that keeps on giving.

Amen.

Year A, Easter 2, John 20:19-31, Faithful Courage

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

Earlier that day Jesus had appeared to Mary.

Her heart was so heavy with grief, and troubled because of the empty tomb, that she was unable to recognize him.

“Mary!”  Jesus had said.  “Mary!”

And at once her eyes were opened to see the Risen Christ, standing before her, and with that, to begin to perceive the magnitude of what had just happened.

“Mary!”

Jesus calling us by name changes everything.

I shared with you during Holy Week that though it isn’t written here, I rather imagine that Jesus appearance to his disciples began in much the same way.

One by one, going around the room, he looked at them, his eyes filled with love and grace, and spoke to each of them, calling them by name.

“Peter!”

“James!”

“John!”

“Matthew!”

“Andrew!”

“Phillip!”

Around the room, looking intently at each of them, calling them by name.

And in that simple act, there was forgiveness.

But most of all, it was the love that was evident between Jesus and these, his closest and dearest friends.

Then, “Peace be with you!”

Of all the things Jesus could have said, this was what was most needed for “peace” was so far removed from what the disciples were experiencing.

Peace be with you.

They were gathered together behind locked doors.

Fear is what they were experiencing.

At this point, they were terrified that they would share in the same fate as Jesus.  They anticipated that there would be crosses outside of Jerusalem with their names on them.  That they would suffer the same agonizing death that Jesus had.

And so the doors were locked.

“Peace be with you!”

And then, Jesus said, “As the Father sent  me, so I send you.”

What did he mean by that?

What was in store for them?

Were Jesus words to be words of comfort, or words that confirmed their deepest fears that they would all die as well?

Then, breathing on them, as though he were giving them back the breath that had been taken away from them, he said,

“Receive the Holy Spirit.  If you forgive the sins of any they are forgiven.  If you retain the sins of any, they are retained.”

How could he say this?

Who can forgive, but God alone?

And more to the point, how could they even conceive of forgiveness at a time like this?
They had seen Jesus die.  They had seen what the authorities had done to him.  They had witnessed the betrayal of Jesus by one of their own, their brother Judas.

How then could they forgive?

Thomas was not there.

And when he was told about what happened that evening, he simply couldn’t believe.

I doubt that you or I would have believed either.  It’s unfair to single Thomas out because of his doubts.  He merely states what all of us would have felt at that time. 

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

And then, a week later, they had again gathered in the house behind locked doors, still fearing for their lives.

On this night, Jesus again came to them.

Looking into Thomas’ eyes, I imagine that he called him by name.

“Thomas! Peace be with you!”

It is me.  Feel the wounds on my hands.  Put your hand on my side.  See with your own eyes that it is indeed, me.

And seeing, Thomas believed.

And he said what the other disciples had not, namely “My Lord and My God!”

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

One of the things we miss in this story because of our focus on Thomas’ doubts is the struggle to believe that all the other disciples were experiencing.

Jesus had sent them out to forgive sins.

Yet a week later, they were still huddled together behind closed doors, too afraid to even walk out onto the street below.

Perhaps Thomas had to overcome his doubts.

But they had yet to overcome their fears.

Nor, apparently, were they ready yet to forgive.

“Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe."

With these words, we enter this story.

Jesus is talking about us.

We are not mere spectators, hearing about what once happened so many years ago.

We are part of the narrative.

Blessed are those who have come to believe.

“Yes, Lord, I believe!!”

Perhaps we feel proud that we have one up on Thomas.

We have believed in Jesus, even though we’ve only heard the story.  See what great faith we have.

And  yet.

And yet.

Are we not like the rest of the disciples, who though they believed, were still overcome by their fears and locked behind closed doors?

“As the Father sent me, so I send you.”

Only one problem.

The disciples didn’t go anywhere.

They were still behind locked doors for fear of the Jews.

This is the thing.

They may have come to believe, but they did not as yet have faith.

They were still captive to their fears.

They could not go anywhere, because they were afraid.

And they could not forgive, because of their fear.

This is where we find the other disciples, a week later.  Believing but still without the faith to go out into the world as witnesses to the forgiveness that Jesus proclaimed.

And is this not where we find ourselves, today?

Think about it.

Gathered together in this room.

Oh, the doors are not locked, but they could just as well be.

But here we are huddled together.  Set apart from the world.  And quite frankly afraid to go out from here and bear witness.

I’ll speak for myself.

One of my greatest fears is rejection.

Another one of my fears is failure.

Coupled with that is the fact that I am an introvert.  As an introvert I am most comfortable relating to a close group of intimate friends.  Talking to strangers produces a lot of anxiety and fear within me.

Put it all together and what do you have?

I’m uncomfortable talking with strangers, afraid that I’ll be rejected, and doubly afraid that I’ll fail.

Ah, but at least I’m comfortable standing up here amid this community of faith, behind closed doors, and talking about my beliefs in the Risen Christ.  Just don’t send me out into the world.

I’m not alone.

If it weren’t for our fears, there would be a whole lot more of us gathering together on this day.

Wouldn’t there?

Imagine if Jesus were standing here today, as he stood before his disciples.

As the Father sent me, so I send you.

“Now,” he says, “next week I want you to return, but not alone.  I want each of you to have faith, and trust in the Holy Spirit, and to go out this week and invite your friends and neighbors to be your guest next Sunday.”

Well, what do you say?

Can we all agree to bring with us, next week, one guest.

And the week after that, another?

Be honest, now.

Does such a thought still fear in your heart?

Fear of rejection, or failure.

Or perhaps you’re saying to yourselves, “Well, Pastor, that’s what we pay you to do.”

This is my point:

The biggest challenge for the Church today is not that we share Thomas’ doubts, it’s that we share the rest of the disciple’s fears.  We’d rather gather behind locked doors, hoping to find Jesus here, than to be sent out into the world as his witnesses.

What we need, is the type of faith that gives us courage.

Courage is not the lack of fear, but is rather the willingness to act in the face of our fears. 

Later this month some of us are going to a “transformational ministry” workshop.  We will be learning about ways to reach out into our community.  I just ask the question.   Might you have the courage to attend with us?  It’s a step.  A first step, for many of us. 

But it may be the most important step any of us will ever take. 

Amen

Year A, Easter, John 20.1-18, The Living Dead.

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

Following the death of one of her patients, my sister, who is a nurse, called the on-call physician.

“Dr., we need a pronouncement.”

“I’m the one who makes that determination, not you!”

“Your quite correct, Dr., but I will say that in over 20 years of nursing I have not been wrong yet.”

The doctor came, did his examination and determined that the patient was indeed dead.  As he left he turned to my sister and said:  “Right again.”

There are a lot of things about this life that we do not understand and which remain mysterious to us.

And then there are those things that we know all too well.

Death is one of those things that fits both categories.

Over the course of my ministry I have been called upon many times to be with people as they died, and then to conduct their funerals.

I’ve buried children who died in the womb, as well as newborns that lived but a few days.

Within just a few years of beginning my ministry back in Thompson Falls, I had buried someone in every decade of life, from birth to people who had lived a century.

One of the mysteries surrounding death is “Why?”

“Why does death come far too soon for some?”

“And why, pray tell, does death come not soon enough for others?”

And is there ever a time when a death occurs at just the right moment for us?

These are the mysteries surrounding death.

We will never understand these things.

But one thing we feel quite sure about is death itself.

We fear it.

We do everything we can to avoid it.

We grieve when a loved one dies.

But we know it when we see it.  That is certain.

“Right again.” The doctor replied.

“Right again.”

Another Story:

I went to visit one of my oldest members in Thompson Falls. 

Gladys turned to me that day and said, “Pastor, I have just one more question.  “When we die, do we go directly to heaven, or rest until the last day and then be raised from the dead?”” 

I shared with her that there were Bible verses to support either belief, and that the only thing we really know is that following our death, the next thing we will be aware of is being with Jesus.  We won’t be aware of the passing of time between death and resurrection.

“Gladys,” I asked, “what do you hope for?”

“Pastor, I’ve lived 94 years and I’m tired.  I hope that I get to rest for a long while before I have to live again.”

Behind my home in Sandpoint is a graveyard.

Lakeview Cemetery.

As I walk out the back of my yard into the cemetery, one of the first graves is for George Chatfield.  George was a retired Colonel from the Air Force.  He prided himself on being “a little to the right of Attila the Hun” as far as his politics went.  He was the chair person of our altar guild and set up communion and often served as the assisting minister in worship.  He was a faithful member in our choir.  And I might add, he drank an incredible amount of wine. 

Well there he lies, just outside my back door.

Next to him lies Nancy McFarland.  Nancy was one of the members of our church choir as well and often accompanied us on the piano.  She also played the harp.  She was single, and didn’t want to be buried next to strangers, and so she bought the plot next to George’s so that she wouldn’t be alone.  Dear lady.

As I cross the graveyard, next to the shore of Lake Pend Oreille, there is a columbarium, where ashes are inurned. 

Jim Nelson is there.  Jim was another choir member, come to think of it.  When we moved to Sandpoint Jim decided to help us unpack.  His task was to set up all our beds so that we’d have some place to sleep that night.  His widow is one of our family’s adopted grandparents.

In the same columbarium, Mary Neuder is buried.

Mary was our next door neighbor.  Her son was my associate pastor in Sandpoint.  She and her husband raised Christmas trees and when we moved into the parsonage in Sandpoint, they had set one up for us.  What a gift.

Dear friends that lie in their graves behind my home.

Some people wouldn’t want to live next to a cemetery.  It has never bothered me.  Especially because these are the people I loved and served as a pastor.

Many times I’ve stood in that cemetery, and others.  Surrounded by the graves of those who have died, I am aware of the inevitability of death.  And that one day I too will join them.  My hope is to be buried in that cemetery behind our house.  But not too soon. 

But of this I am certain.

I am still very much alive, and they are dead.

Mary entered the garden, convinced that she too was alive, and the one she loved, was dead.

We know the story all so  well.

The tomb was open.

The rock was rolled away.

Jesus was not there.

 “Woman, why are you weeping?” She said to them, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.”

There was one thing that she felt she could count on that morning.  And that was that Jesus who had died, would be there.

But this was Easter.

The Day of Resurrection.

And everything changed.

Jesus called her by name.

“Mary!”

And everything changed. 

Not just for Jesus.

Or Mary.

But for you and me.

Just when we think we have figured it all out, everything changes.

We walk through the graveyards of our lives, convinced that one day we will die, but today we are very much alive.

And yet, the reality is much different.

It is we who are dead, and they who are alive.

Or as Paul puts it:

“Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth, for you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God.”

“Your life is hidden

                With Christ

                In God”

Paul writes in Romans 6:

“Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? 4 Therefore we have been buried with him by baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life.”

Mary didn’t realize yet that she had been buried with him.  That was yet to come.

But more important is the knowledge that she too would walk with Jesus in the newness of life.

For Mary, that “newness of life” began when Jesus called her by name.

Death is, for us, a mystery.

We think we’ve got it all figured out.

But we don’t. 

I envision living out the rest of my life in our home in Sandpoint.  And then when I die, being laid to rest in the cemetery out back.

And yet Easter changes all that.

If my hope comes true,

I will die in my home,

                But will live, as my bones are laid in the cemetery out back.

We think of baptism as the celebration of the new life of our babies, and rarely think about it as a dying and rising with Christ.

And yet it is, just that.

If I’m honest, I have to admit that with each passing year I am more and more aware of my impending death.  Death is closer, now than it was yesterday.

I look at my first grandchild and I wonder how much of his life I will be able to witness and enjoy.

One of the reasons I think more about death now, than I once did, is because following my last night of drinking, now 4 ½ years ago, my doctor told me “You almost died.”

It was a pronouncement I was not ready to hear.

But today, living my life anew in an Easter faith, I believe that Dr. Carlberg was in fact wrong.

In reality, I did die, but was raised.

Not on that fateful night, but in the waters of baptism.

Our lives have always been hidden with Christ in God.

One last story.

Ted Kato was a member of my congregation in Thompson Falls, and died of cancer.

Before he died, he talked about ‘losing the battle’ to cancer.

In an effort to comfort him, I responded that just because our lives come to an end doesn’t mean that we’ve lost the battle.  It only means that the battle is over.

The night Ted died, he had a strange request.  He asked those of us beside him to lift up his arms over his head.  For hours we held his arms high.

It wasn’t till after Ted had died that I realized what he was doing.  Ted was a football and wrestling coach.  We had talked about how just because the game or match is over, doesn’t mean you’ve lost.  It’s actually at the end of the game that the victors and losers are declared.

Ted chose to die with his arms raised high in the sign of victory.

Death was for him, and will be for all of us, the beginning of life.  It will be a victory celebration. 

Strange world we live in isn’t it.

Where the living die,

And the dead live.

But so it is.

Christ is Risen,

Christ is Risen, Indeed.  Alleluia.