April 20, 2014 Matthew 28:1-10

After the sabbath, as the first day of the week was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb. And suddenly there was a great earthquake; for an angel of the Lord, descending from heaven, came and rolled back the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning, and his clothing white as snow.  For fear of him the guards shook and became like dead men. But the angel said to the women,

"Do not be afraid; I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified.  He is not here; for he has been raised, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay.  Then go quickly and tell his disciples, 'He has been raised from the dead, and indeed he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him.' This is my message for you."

So they left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy, and ran to tell his disciples. Suddenly Jesus met them and said, "Greetings!" And they came to him, took hold of his feet, and worshiped him. Then Jesus said to them, "Do not be afraid; go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me."

***

Perhaps, you are here this Sunday because your grandmother pestered you to go to church and that obligated feeling of, ‘supposed to,’ runs deep. Perhaps you are here because your family is here, and like on Christmas, coming to church is part of the holiday tradition. Perhaps you are here because you are looking for something, an experience, an answer. Perhaps you are here because you are always here, and this is your church home. Perhaps you are here because long ago, this, or some place like this, was your home. Perhaps you are here because this Easter story reminds you of promises to come. Perhaps you are here because this story tells you of a promise that has already come. Perhaps you have your own reasons, but I tell you, whatever brings you here, whatever you believe, you are welcome, and whatever you are feeling, you are not alone. Even I, as your preacher, am here with you and probably feeling it too, but perhaps unlike you, of all Sundays, this would be the one I would skip.

I was listening to a preaching podcast, (yes, they make those), about this scripture, and before the Easter commentary, the pastor explained, that this Sunday was like finals week, it was the Sunday where combined with more to do, more services, more study, more anxiety, and less sleep, it was the time to show what we are about. And I think that is my problem. Easter is about so much; its about resurrection, and forgiveness, about conquering death, about life everlasting, about fear not, and great joy, earthquakes and angels and stones rolled away, but my faith is about one thing, that Christ meets us on the road. If you have come for answers about the first list, I am afraid you will be disappointed, because when I look at this story, I see more questions and I find myself quite content with the unknown, but if you have come to see what lies at the tomb, I, your preacher, do believe, Christ appears to us, and this is what I find in the Easter story.

You see, I don’t think Mary Magdalene and the other Mary, were dissimilar. Perhaps they came because they were supposed to carry away the body. Perhaps they came because it was their tradition to anoint the body. Perhaps they came to grieve at the tomb. Perhaps they believed in Jesus’ promise to return, and his promise of life everlasting. Perhaps they too came looking for answers. Whatever their reasons, whatever brought them there, whatever they believed, whatever they were feeling, they were welcomed, and they were not alone.

Matthew writes,

“After the sabbath, as the first day of the week was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb. And suddenly there was a great earthquake; for an angel of the Lord, descending from heaven, came and rolled back the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning, and his clothing white as snow.  For fear of him the guards shook and became like dead men.”

I wish I could preach this part just as it is. As an English major, I value its description: The setting of the first day of the week, and the significance of dawn. The strength of the word, “suddenly,” and the enormity of the earthquake. The majesty of an angel, “descending from heaven,” and the conquering image of him sitting on the stone. The descriptions of the angel’s appearance like lightning and as white as snow,” and my favorite, “the guards shook and became like dead men.” I wish I could say it happened just like that. I wish I could assure you that there was no literally flourish, no metaphor, no analogy in this scene. What I can tell you, that I believe matters more, I tell you as if I was sitting on the stone. I believe, God met those women at the tomb. I am not sure in what form God came, be it Matthew’s dazzling, be it Mary Magdalene’s dreaming, or even Mary’s delusional, but whatever it was, a gardener, an angel, a teacher - Rabboni, I believe it was divine. I believe God came to meet them, and I wonder how the Marys described it later. Were they able to convince the disciples of its grandeur, or did they run and say simply, “We have seen the Lord.”? In honesty, I am not sure they knew exactly what happened, and I surely do not. Yet, I think we are both content with that, because we have seen the Lord. God has come in forms we can’t explain. I believe that God appears in the dawn, and at the tomb, in the enormity of earthquakes, and the impracticality of angels, in lighting and the white of snow. I believe these things, and so does the angel, but I wonder if in the attempt to explain this presence the angel and I miss the point.

I could tell you, that we are not to fear, as the angel says, “Do not be afraid,” but I don’t have that type of reassurance. I could promise, that an omniscient God knows for what we come looking, as the angel surmised to the Marys, “I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified.” But I, alas, can neither read your mind, nor God’s. I could point out the evidence, “He is not here,” but I am not literally sitting in front of an empty tomb, and I know there are many reasons people are not where they ought. I could raise up the prophesy, “for he has been raised, as Jesus said,” but I find prophesy as convincing as hindsight. I could try to prove, “Come, see the place where he lay,” but I know that there is no proof for belief. Any preacher who comes to you with answers, or evidence I think misses the point, misses the mystery, explains away the divine. A mentor of mine sent me a poem which begins,

“Dear Lord, I pray for all the pastors today
Who feel enormous pressure to have their sermons
Match the greatness of the subject
And will surely feel they have failed.
(I pray even more for those who think they have succeeded)
Help them to know that it is enough
Simply and faithfully to tell the story.”

In preaching Easter, I cannot be the assured angel. All I can do, is be like the Marys acknowledging the mystery and telling the story of faith. When it all boils down, there is not much about Easter I know for sure. I cannot promise everlasting life, though I have my hopes. I don’t really understand the whole, ‘Forgiveness of Sins,’ part, though I think it is fitting with the Gospel. Matthew’s scripture does not describe the actual resurrection, and nor can I. But I can tell you one thing. I believe God met the Marys on the road, and likewise, meets us.

Matthew writes, “So they left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy, and ran to tell his disciples. Suddenly Jesus met them and said, "Greetings!" I could tell you the million times Jesus has met me and greeted me. In the stress of writing this sermon, a friend, Liz Romtvedt, went on a run with me to discuss the scripture. Mentors sent me poems, and called on the phone. One mentioned, “authenticity,” and I laughed because even though I might be heretical, ‘authenticity,’ I do have. Congregants and friends offered prayers in the form of Facebook Like Buttons and drawings which included my name. They sent encouraging words; and a woman from my home church passed along the bewilderment of my dad from my Christmas sermon prepared belatedly and somehow convincingly delivered. Another friend, Anne, sent me a picture of a garden in bloom and laughed with me at the joking irony when I texted her late at night in all caps, “I HATE EASTER!” My sermon reading friend Susie, who texted at 4:30am letting me know that despite my disbelief this sermon was preach-able  I told her she had brought me Easter, but so have all the others. None of these friends told me how exactly Easter came or comes. They did not try to describe resurrection, or point out evidence of an empty tomb, and unfortunately though I teasingly offered to Jim Kauth, none took the bait to write the sermon for me. They simply honored the mystery, told me not to fear, and that Christ will meet me. They were the Marys of my Easter story.

Likewise, when Jesus met them on the road, the Marys did not stop to question Jesus, to ask him how exactly he rose, or the meaning of his rising, or why he was there in front of them. I have no doubt, like us, those questions came later, but in that moment, instead of questions, “They came to him, took hold of his feet, and worshiped him.” To me, it fits that the Marys did not hug him, did not even hold his hands, but grasped at his feet. I cannot hold onto Christ’s whole being, nor can I even describe the theology of his hands. There is a lot I cannot explain, and really, I am quite content with the unexplained. Because Christ has met me on the road, and all I want to do is bow down, touch his feet, and worship him. Despite, the impossibility of preaching Easter, I know it is enough to give a message of faith that honors the mystery and acknowledges the presence of Christ. The questions come later, to be explored those other Sundays of the year that I like better, but this Easter Sunday, may we be like the Marys, content that Christ has met us on the road, and thankful to touch just his feet. 

April 13, 2014 Matthew 21:1-11

Matthew 21:1-11, Page 23 When they had come near Jerusalem and had reached Bethphage, at the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two disciples, saying to them, "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. If anyone says anything to you, just say this, 'The Lord needs them. 'And he will send them immediately." This took place to fulfill what had been spoken through the prophet, saying, "Tell the daughter of Zion, Look, your king is coming to you, humble, and mounted on a donkey, and on a colt, the foal of a donkey.” The disciples went and did as Jesus had directed them; they brought the donkey and the colt, and put their cloaks on them, and he sat on them. A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. The crowds that went ahead of him and that followed were shouting, "Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest heaven!” 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.” *** There is a commercial that starts out focused in on the face of Jean Claude Van Damme. Enya is playing and there is a golden sunset highlighting the sky. At first you notice that there is a slight movement like a wind; then the cameras begin to pull back and Jean Claude Van Damme is standing between two semi-trucks straddling one foot on each side mirror. Then the camera pulls back more, and you realize the trucks are driving backwards, and slowly pulling apart, as Jean Claude, arms crossed, goes into his famous splits. The commercial is for Volvo and its precision steering, and it can be found on Youtube under the the title, “The Most Epic of Splits.” I think there are ways we imagine Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem in a similar way, the hero of all heroes, riding triumphantly into the city, palm branches waving, people shouting, ‘hosanna.’ This lofty vision of Jesus is depicted when we sing, ‘All Glory Laud and Honor,’ This historic hymn, for this monumental yearly Palm Sunday occasion, was written in 820AD, originally composed in Latin, and as much as I enjoy it, ‘All Glory Laud and Honor,’ reeks of old English, and oil paintings where a peaceful Jesus is stylized with those gleaming beams of light. The lyrics describe, “Thou art the King of Israel, Thou David’s royal Son, Who in the Lord’s Name comest, The King and Blessèd One. The company of angels Are praising Thee on High, And mortal men and all things Created make reply.” In this image, Jesus Christ Van Damme is coming into town with Enya playing in the background. It is serious, and superior, and perfect, but if you’ve ever heard me preach, you’ll know I resist the perfect interpretation. I resist perfection here because while I believe Jesus could have had the athleticism of Jean Claude, I do doubt that two donkeys had the precision of a couple of Volvos. Yes, I said two donkeys, a donkey and a colt, the foal of a donkey. And like Jean Claude positioned between two trucks standing on their side mirrors, Matthew describes that Jesus, “sat on them,” plural. I don’t imagine riding one donkey to be very graceful. When I was in Greece, tourists had the opportunity to ride down a bunch of stairs on a donkey. It didn’t take me long to decide that this activity was really for the amusement of the Greeks, who walked up and down the stairs, as did I. I didn’t want to make a fool of myself. Jesus on the other hand, was much more comfortable being more ridiculous then respectable. I imagine him riding both a donkey and its colt. Perhaps he laid down across them, perhaps he tried to straddle them both, perhaps he rode one and reached for the other with an outstretched arm, but somehow he sat on them, both, as Matthew describes. Somehow he rode into Jerusalem that way. There is a trailer video of Jean Claude hearing for the first time that he is being asked to straddle two Volvos. He rhetorically asks in his strong Belgian accent, “So if the trucks separate too far, I will..” and then he makes the universally clear hand motion of falling through. While donkeys are not as far to fall from as semi-trucks, I doubt the motion of falling through was unfamiliar in Biblical times. Were there times on his triumphal ride into Jerusalem that the donkey wanted to stay on the road and the foal wanted to go munch on the weeds on the side? Was Jesus’ parade more like Field Day at Elementary School, more akin to three legged, and wheel barrow races? Was Jesus’ entry this humorous? This playful? This countercultural to our image of “Thee, Redeemer, King?” I think it was, because just as this spectacle seems contrary to our red carpet image of Jesus, it was likewise contrary to the Jew’s image of a king then. The Jews were waiting for a military hero, a political king to redeem them. "Two processions entered Jerusalem on a spring day in the year 30," write biblical scholars Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan. They continue by contrasting the two processions, one from the east largely composed of peasants, following a certain Jesus from Galilee riding a donkey (or donkeys) down the Mount of Olives. On the opposite side of the city, from the west approaches the Roman governor, Pontius Pilate, entering the city on a war horse at the head of a column of imperial cavalry and soldiers. He has come from Caesarea Maritima for the purpose of maintaining law and order during the potentially tumultuous days of the Jewish festival of Passover.” Jesus' procession proclaimed the kingdom of God,” while Pilate's proclaimed the "power of empire.” The people lining the streets are expecting someone more like Pontius Pilate, and instead they are getting Jesus on two donkeys, who brings no war cry, no political power, but instead peace by way of prophesy. Matthew writes that Jesus, in this Palm Sunday parade, is fulling the prophesy of Zechariah 4, which reads, 9 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. 10 He will cut off the chariot from Ephraim and the warhorse from Jerusalem; and the battle-bow shall be cut off, and he shall command peace to the nations; his dominion shall be from sea to sea, and from the River to the ends of the earth. The people of Jerusalem are expecting Jean Claude Van Damme, not Martin Luther King Jr., not Mother Theresa, not Nelson Mandela, and certainly not someone acting as ridiculously as the crew from Saturday Night Live. We today have been expecting, “All Glory Laud and Honor,” not “We Shall Overcome,” not, “Old McDonald’s Farm.” We have been expecting two Volvos, not two donkeys. Jesus had been expecting the donkeys. He knows they are there, and sends the disciples saying, “"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.” and I can’t help but notice those lines, “bring them to me.” It is just as Jesus tells the people holding back their children, “Bring them to me, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.” The kingdom of God belongs to the one who is willing to ride into town on the silly ridiculousness of two donkeys. The kingdom of God belongs to the one who has come to cut off the battle-bow and bring peace to the nations. The kingdom of God belongs to the children, who come in waving palm branches, both then and now. Can't you imagine it, the kids noticing Jesus' silly scene, running up to him with laughter and cheering, their smiles a testimony to the peace that Jesus' brings, to the peace that they understand, the peace the adults needed to see through those children's' eyes. "To whom the lips of children made sweet hosannas ring.” This line is the part of the old hymn which gets it right, that powerless joyful children embody Jesus’ ministry. Often on Palm Sunday, we adults struggle to really wave our palm branches, sheepish motions are made to egg on the kids. Perhaps we think we are too grown up to come into the church waving palm branches. Perhaps we think it is too silly, and not serious enough. But the truth is we need the children to lead us. We need Palm Sunday to look different than a straight faced robed processional of adults, or soldiers marching. We need the little ones who have to be corralled down the center aisle, and the ones like the colt who stray off to munch the weeds or head toward their parents, and never make it quite to the front. We need the ones who are willing to be silly, who are willing to bring peace by their joyful presence. We need this because this is the kingdom of God to which the parade is leading, both then and now.

March 30, 2014 Exodus 17: 1-7

EXODUS 17:1-7

From the wilderness of Sin the whole congregation of the Israelites journeyed by stages, as the LORD commanded. They camped at Rephidim, but there was no water for the people to drink.
The people quarreled with Moses, and said, “Give us water to drink.”

Moses said to them, “Why do you quarrel with me? Why do you test the LORD?”

But the people thirsted there for water; and the people complained against Moses and said, “Why did you bring us out of Egypt, to kill us and our children and livestock with thirst?”

So Moses cried out to the LORD, “What shall I do with this people? They are almost ready to stone me.”

The LORD said to Moses, “Go on ahead of the people, and take some of the elders of Israel with you; take in your hand the staff with which you struck the Nile, and go. I will be standing there in front of you on the rock at Horeb. Strike the rock, and water will come out of it, so that the people may drink.”

Moses did so, in the sight of the elders of Israel. He called the place Massah and Meribah, because the Israelites quarreled and tested the LORD, saying, “Is the LORD among us or not?”

***

I wish this story was as easy as it is often interpreted, that the people forgot about God, Moses remembered, and God saved the day. I wish the scripture’s interpretation was as black and white as, ‘be like Moses, and don’t be like the people.’ But when I read this passage, the people’s complaints are legit, Moses comes off as a jerk, and God becomes the only redeeming character.

For me, this text is neither simple, nor removed. For me, this is a real life story, about the dire situations which drive us to a stuck place, and the creative love of God, which changes the plot. For me this is a story to remember when we are in the worst of times, but the problem is, for both us, and for the Israelites, when we are in the worst of times, these stories are hard to remember. When it is bad, it is hard to remember when it was good. When it is dire, it is hard to remember God is good.

It’s hard to remember anything good, when we are stuck, and the Israelites are stuck. They are stuck without water, and their leader doesn’t seem to care. The people quarreled with Moses, and said, “Give us water to drink.” and as if avoiding the question, and his responsibility, Moses said to them, “Why do you quarrel with me? Why do you test the LORD?” And as if their thirst had to be explained, the people complained against Moses and said, “Why did you bring us out of Egypt, to kill us and our children and livestock with thirst?” And as if Moses only cared for himself, he cried out to the LORD, “What shall I do with this people? They are almost ready to stone me.” It is as if Moses and his people have all forgotten the history of the Lord. They have forgotten their liberation from Egypt, they have forgotten quail and manna, they have forgotten the ordination of Moses and Aaron, and Moses has even forgotten himself. They are stuck.

Though you and I may not know what it is to be without water, I am sure we know what it is to be stuck. The times when you are in an argument, and everything is escalating, and you’ve forgotten that you can take a break, that you can ask questions, that perhaps, the other person just wants to be heard and feel loved. It is easy to get stuck quarreling. The times when a friendship, or a marriage, or a roommate seems so bad, and it is hard to remember the times when it was good, and the only things you can remember are the bad. The times when you feel so alone that you cannot remember how to make a friend. The times when you are so sad, you cannot remember what it is like to feel happy. The times when everything is different, even the church, and you cannot remember that God’s story is longer and more diverse than our memory. I can only imagine these feeling became worse in Exodus, when every place the Israelites were was only where they were not. I can only imagine these feelings become worse, when survival is at rink. It makes sense to me that wars begin over resources. When there is a lack, you begin to quarrel, and if left up to us, quarreling only escalates. Thankfully for us, and for the Israelites, God remembers and reminds.

The LORD said to Moses, “Go on ahead of the people, and take some of the elders of Israel with you; take in your hand the staff with which you struck the Nile, and go. I will be standing there in front of you on the rock at Horeb. Strike the rock, and water will come out of it, so that the people may drink.”

I love that each piece of these instructions is a reminder to a memory. “Go ahead of the people,” God said, reminding Moses that Moses is their leader. His role was not in quarreling with the people, his role was out ahead of them. Then God said, “and take some of the elders of Israel with you.” God reminded Moses and the elders, that there was a structure for support, that Moses was not to be singled out and stoned, but to be the leader of leaders, who are to follow God together. Then God said, “Take in your hand the staff with which you struck the Nile.” I love this line. God reminded Moses, that Moses already had the tools to alter the situation, and it was a tool he had used before. The tool which once turned the Nile to undrinkable blood will also turn an undrinkable rock into a spring. If they were not in this stuck place, someone, probably Moses, would have been able to think this creatively, to remember the time when it is was good before, and attempt to repeat the same miracle in its opposite form. But when it is bad it is hard to remember when it was good, and when it is dire, it is hard to remember that God is good. And so God continues to remind Moses. God speaks, “I will be standing there in front of you on the rock at Horeb. Strike the rock, and water will come out of it, so that the people may drink.”

God is reminding them, in their stuck-ness, that God is never stuck, that God is always moving, always alive like living water, and always seeking the good. I have a friend who suffers from panic attacks. She describes getting stuck in a fearful pattern of thinking. Someone once asked her, if whether in the middle of them, she could remember that she’d gotten out of them before, and will get of them again. She had been so stuck in the pattern of fear that she had forgotten she could get unstuck, that God was working toward her freedom, just like the freedom of the Israelites. My friend, who still experiences panic attacks, now remembers the freedom, and finds the way out.

Likewise, I remember as a youth director, having a couple moments when I was frustrated with something the youth were doing, and Gunnar Burts, one of those kids, who gets out of anything, with charm and humor, knew that the Jeff Buckley version of Hallelujah was one favorite songs. It begins with simple and easily recognizable guitar cords. In the middle of my frustration, Gunnar would begin to play that song. My whole demeanor would relax, and I would smile, and begin to laugh. Gunnar brought the staff with which I struck that Nile. He helped me remember the times when it is was good, when all I could see was the stuck because it was bad.

In relationships, the ability to make someone laugh, and the willingness to laugh, is often a marker of health and longevity for that relationship. It’s the ability to get unstuck. In this church I see us unstuck in the energy of our youth program, in the service of our Backpack and Open Door Ministries, in the spirituality of our missional group, in the collective wisdom offered in Lectionary Bible Study, in the sheer joy of kids during Vacation Bible School. All of these have taken our fears and our quarreling and questioning, and approached them with creativity, Godly creativity, that remembers God is bigger than stuck.

In that moment when we become unstuck, our memory becomes longer than the moment we are in, and takes us back to a place where other answers lie, where creativity enters in, where God enters in. This is the beauty of the text. The reminder that God enters in. It is the part of the story I pray we carry with us. It is the part that I pray comes to us in those stuck moments. It is the water when we are thirsty. Let us remember.