Luke 24:36-49
3rd Sunday of Easter
Elizabeth M. Deibert
This past week, Tricia and I attended the presbytery’s mandatory sexual misconduct prevention seminar for pastors and educators. The psychologist who spoke to us was particularly concerned for those of us who are in committed relationships that we keep our relationships are healthy, because you know it is unhealthy relationships that often pave the way for infidelity. It is often people who are not maintaining healthy boundaries – working too hard, neglecting their own families, allowing a marriage or partnership to languish for lack of attention, who find themselves tempted to have an affair, who are caught looking for love in all the wrong places.
Now while it is not obvious how this connects with our reading today the third resurrection narrative, I think you will begin to see how they came together in my mind. Because I see in this holy encounter of Jesus with the disciples a lesson about all our relationships.
1. Jesus enters the room with a peaceful presence. He is very present to his friends and very sensitive to the fear and doubt they are experiencing. That’s the kind of non-anxious presence we need with those we love.
2. Next he talks to them. What is proclamation but talking about what is significant – telling the truth of life as we see it. In our relationships conversation about what is important to us is the lifeblood of intimacy. Apart from emotional intimacy, any other form of intimacy is hard to sustain over the length of years. Jesus takes that conversation further by interpreting the present through the witness of the past. He helps them understand scripture and the heart of the good news, which involves sharing it, not expecting people to come get it, but taking it out to them.
3. Finally he promises that power from God will come upon them, presumably the Holy Spirit who comes at Pentecost. The power of an intimate spiritual union comes to mind, a power when unleashed is wonderful, joyful, and overwhelming. So peaceful presence, to alleviate fear and doubt, proclamation to understand scripture and be able to share it, and power from on high. Presence, proclamation, and power. Watch for those as we read the scripture:
(Read Luke 24:36-49)
My brother woke up one night in his college dorm room and saw Jesus at the foot of his bed. I have never had such a direct visual encounter with the Lord as that, but I have felt the presence of God’s spirit in music, in receiving communion, in writing sermons and in hearing sermons of others, in participating in baptisms. I have experienced the touch Christ when praying in small groups with a kind of electricity, a spiritual intimacy is almost palpable in the room. What about you? Think hard because I’m going to ask you to share with another. When has the presence of Christ, or the Spirit of God been real to you? Have you ever been overwhelmed by the peace of Christ as if Christ himself whispered in your ear, “Peace be with you”? Maybe there’s a part of the worship service where you more often feel that God is speaking to you or moving your heart. Maybe when a child was born or a parent died. Think about that for a moment silently and perhaps jot down a note or two, and then I’m going to do something we don’t often do at Peace and that is we are going to turn to a neighbor and share with one another a time when we have sensed that God was present. Perhaps it was at sunset on the beach or viewing the mountains in their autumnal glory. (Give time)
Now that might have felt odd to you because those of us who grew up in mainline Protestant and Roman Catholic churches have not often been asked to talk about our experience of God. We have often considered it too private, but that’s what has gotten us into trouble with growth. Who wants to go to a church where no one is excited enough about the experience that they want to speak of it?
If we cannot speak with authenticity about our experience of God, then we cannot share faith. Then all we can do is invite someone to our church like it’s a social club. Hey, come to my church. There are a lot of important people you ought to know there. That’s how the mainline churches grew in the 20th Century, but not 21st. 21st Century people are more concerned with experience than with the social rewards of church membership, which have diminished dramatically as the church as institution has been questioned. So the churches that are filled with people unable to speak of their experience of Christ are not growing. Thank you for being courageous enough to learn to talk about your experience of the Lord.
So Christ was present and shared peace with the fearful disciples, and then, to aid their understanding, he shared scripture. So that leads me to my second point and that is our need to know scripture. Your experience of the presence of Christ is great, but you also need to have a foundation in scripture. Think to yourself in this moment. Do you have a habit of reading scripture daily or even weekly. Talk to Troy about his disciplined commitment to making his way through the Bible. Talk to Mickey about how you can sign up to receive the daily lectionary (a set of scripture readings) on your computer every day. Talk to me about the director of student activities, who when I was in college, encouraged me to memorize scripture verses which are still with me today.
When I talk to my children or to you, my friends, verses like “I know the plans I have for you, says the Lord, plans for your welfare and not for harm.” We could say that to Jo Allison, and after many months of waiting she was able to affirm last week, “Yes, the Lord does answer prayer.” We can say “All things work together for good to those who love the Lord.” to Catherine, who needs to know that no matter what college she chooses, God will be at work for good. We can quote the psalms in saying to someone struggling with an agonizing problem, “How long, O Lord? How long?” Oh, sure, there’s a lot in the Bible that I would NOT encourage you to commit to heart. There are many verses that are so culturally bound to a 1st Century mindset, verses about eating habits or warfare or the placeof women or sexuality that they do us little good and occasionally have done harm to people and to the true witness of Christian love. But there are other portions that have inspired tremendous faith and hope and generosity of spirit and forgiving love.
Talk to Sarah Rea and get her to recite the 23rd Psalm for you sometime this morning. Think about how meaningful that Psalm is once it is in your head and your heart. Talk to Richard about the 100 year old lady in Hospice care who can still recite the 23rd Psalm with a voice full of faith. In fact, get Richard to play his recording of that for you during fellowship time. There is a mysterious but real power in the words of scripture committed to heart, much like the mysterious but real presence of Christ at the communion table.
Notice that Christ’s call to the disciples and to us modern day disciples is to proclaim the gospel of repentance and forgiveness. To repent is to turn away from one kind of life and embrace another – that is a one time but also a continuing process of giving our lives over to Great Lover of us all. Giving ourselves over to love and forgiveness means relinquishing an attitude of individualistic rights, which is so central to our American identity. “Be generous, as the Lord is generous.” “Forgive one another as the Lord has forgiven you.” “Do not repay evil for evil but take thought for what is noble in the sight of all.” Can’t you see how those verses shaped MLK and a movement for justice, rooted in peace?
Pick the scriptures you value and meditate and memorize and watch how it changes your attitude and your actions. “I have been crucified with Christ, such that it is no longer I who lives but Christ who lives in me.” Christ in me is a much better person than Elizabeth’s striving to be her best. Repentant Elizabeth who knows she’s needs God’s forgiveness daily is a much better person than proud Elizabeth, thinking the world, the church and my family owe me something.
Repentant Elizabeth can speak of my own weakness and the gift of forgiveness, which unites me to every other human being. Repentant Elizabeth cannot hold on to grudges, but must forgive, as I am forgiven.
Presence, peaceful, re-assuring presence. Youth – there is nothing more powerful than a kid who is secure in the peaceful presence of Christ and can be that peace for other kids, who are swimming in a sea of insecurity and struggle for meaning and identity. You can model Christ’s peace when everybody around you is cutting somebody down and you have the strength to stand up for the person who’s being hurt.
Proclamation – we all have our story to share, but our story fits into a larger story of the people of God. The larger picture informs our understanding. And we share the good news, by our words and by our lifestyle that we have been raised from the deadness of despair and bitterness, from the deadness of prejudice and fear, from the deadness of self-centeredness and greed to a life of hope, forgiveness, love, and generosity.
And in all of this there is the promise of God’s power, that power that comes through the Spirit of the Lord all around us, a spirit that is present, a spirit that gives us courage to proclaim our truth in ways that don’t elevate us or deny others their own experiences. This Spirit leads us into the power of loving and faithful relationships. The power of that Spirit descends upon us as we commit ourselves to practicing the presence and the proclamation of Christ. Let us bow before the Spirit of God in silence.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Open Eyes, Burning Hearts
Luke 24:13-35
2nd Sunday of Easter
Rev. Elizabeth M. Deibert
Catherine and Richard have gone to visit several colleges again so she can make her final choice. She needs to see the campuses, and meet students, get the feel of the place. Seeing and feeling. With our eyes and our hearts, we make many decisions. I don’t mean to discount the mind, but our minds are fed a good bit of information from our eyes and our heart. I bet if I asked you to describe an experience of falling in love, you would talk about seeing someone or feeling your heart flutter in the presence of someone. What we see, what we feel. Powerful relational experiences often begin with eyes and heart.
That’s how these otherwise unknown disciples of Jesus describe their strange encounter with the Risen Christ on Easter night. They meet a stranger on the road and two become three. And while they know that there are three of them on the road, they do not immediately recognize their companion as Jesus. They are stuck with their assumptions about death. Despite hearing news earlier in the day that the tomb was empty, despite second hand word from an angel that Christ is risen from the dead, they do not recognize him. Did he look so different, was his voice not the same? What does it take for them to solve the riddle? It takes Word and Sacrament, just like for us. That’s still what it takes for us to really see Jesus, to really feel him present, to move out of our pre-conceived notions of how desperate life is to a more hopeful truth of the presence of the Lord in the midst of despair, bringing life from death.
READ Passage
Let’s think about this passage as having four parts – four parts which describe our experience of the presence of Christ. The first part is prayer. The disciples are talking to the Lord about their problem, their worries, their grief and despair. The fact that they don’t know they are talking to Jesus make it remarkably similar to our experience. We cannot see Jesus walking with us along this journey but he’s there listening in, responding to us, reminding us of what we need to know, reassuring us, correcting us.
The second part is that word of the Lord. Prayer, talking to the Lord, is not enough. We need that Word from the Lord, that interpretation of our life experience by Christ’s life, by the witness of those who have gone before us in faith. That Word challenges and prods and warms our hearts, as it did John Wesley’s, the Founder of Methodism. Hear what John says about the night of his conversion, In the evening I went very unwillingly to a society in Aldersgate Street, where one was reading Luther’s preface to the Epistle to the Romans. About a quarter before nine, while he was describing the change which God works in the heart through faith in Christ, I felt my heart strangely warmed. I felt I did trust in Christ, Christ alone, for salvation; and an assurance was given me that He had taken away my sins, even mine, and saved me from the law of sin and death.
Did not our hearts burn within us. The heart is warmed by the word. And so, the disciples on the way to Emmaus, say to the stranger walking with them. Come now, it is late, stay with us.
And we move from the prayer and the Word to the Sacrament. The third part of our spiritual experience of Christ. He breaks the bread and they recognize him. If there’s any doubt from anyone here about our celebration of weekly sacrament, look at this text. What did it take for the full recognition of Jesus – the breaking of bread. There was prayer – sharing the life story. There was response – the sharing of the Word, straight from the mouth of Christ to the hear of the disciples. But they still did not get it.
They did not get it, because they still did not know who was really there with them Only at the table did they know. Only as the bread was broken, did they sense the real presence of Christ, a real presence that we still believe is here. We are not just re-enacting. We are not just remembering the Last Supper when we share communion. This moment at the table is a mysterious experience of the real presence of Christ, which we cannot interpret in logical terminology. That’s why the table is for everyone – for all ages, because it is the place of encounter, knowing of open eyes, not so much of mental comprehension.
The Word of Christ makes our hearts burn. But we don’t really know yet who is with us. Only in the breaking of bread are our eyes opened.
It is the difference between perception and recognition. Perception is what we think we see. Perception is an impression in the mind of something perceived by the senses. Their eyes were kept from recognizing him. Distinct from perception, recognition is a knowing. The Greek word is gnosis. It is deep knowing.
Luke helps us identify several ways that the two disciples are prevented from re-knowing, from re-cognizing, from seeing what and who they needed to see. It has to do with the distinction between perception and recognition. Perceptions may be born out of assumptions.
• The disciples assumed that the women who had been to the tomb earlier that day were overreacting; that they had not seen a vision; that they were confused about their facts regarding the empty tomb. The disciples perceived that the women were telling an idle tale (Luke 24:11).
• The disciples assumed that Jesus was not only the one to redeem Israel, but that he would do it in the manner they thought best. They perceived that he had failed because he was captured and crucified (Luke 24:20-21).
• The disciples assumed that the stranger on the road was just that – a stranger. They perceived that he was the only one around who hadn’t heard about the crucifixion of their teacher and friend (Luke 24:18).
The stranger, Jesus, and the two disciples continued on their way to Emmaus. Jesus spoke to them about the need for the Messiah to suffer; that this was what the prophets had been saying all along, from Moses on. Jesus interpreted to these two the scriptures and things concerning himself. Cleopas and the other disciple invited Jesus to stay with them that night. During supper, Jesus took the bread and blessed and broke it, and gave it to them.... THEN! The flash of recognition broke through their perceptions. And they knew in a deep way. Their eyes were opened. (For this section on perception and recognition, I am indebted to Rev. Karen A. Blomberg’s 2008 sermon on this passage.)
So there’s prayer, then there’s the Word. That holy conversation between us and the Lord. Our sharing our experiences and struggles, Christ sharing the Word with us. Our burning hearts. And then there’s the knowing that occurs when our eyes are opened to who he really is. That happens in the Sacrament. And finally, there’s our very significant response to this heart-warming, eye-opening experience. Jesus vanished, but the two discuss with one another their experience and then rush out to share it with the others. They testify to what has happened to them. And while they are sharing this testimony, Jesus appears to the others. In the sharing of our experiences of the presence of Christ here with us at Peace, we are part of the mysterious appearance of Christ to others. John Baggett, friend of Mickey Miller, and author of the book study we are starting today in the class Mickey and Morgan are leading, Seeing through the Eyes of Jesus, makes this claim: “The unity of God’s good news for humankind is to be found in the shared reality of Jesus the human being and those who claim him to be the Christ, the Son of God.” When our hearts are warmed by prayer and the Word and our eyes are opened by the Sacrament, and we go to share good news, then the unity of God’s good news for humankind comes to fruition. That is the mystery of the Christian life, as our Lord keeps appearing.
As we reflect in silent prayer, let us remember the one who is on the road with us, no matter where we are going, the one who wants to be invited into our hearts and our homes to be fully known.
2nd Sunday of Easter
Rev. Elizabeth M. Deibert
Catherine and Richard have gone to visit several colleges again so she can make her final choice. She needs to see the campuses, and meet students, get the feel of the place. Seeing and feeling. With our eyes and our hearts, we make many decisions. I don’t mean to discount the mind, but our minds are fed a good bit of information from our eyes and our heart. I bet if I asked you to describe an experience of falling in love, you would talk about seeing someone or feeling your heart flutter in the presence of someone. What we see, what we feel. Powerful relational experiences often begin with eyes and heart.
That’s how these otherwise unknown disciples of Jesus describe their strange encounter with the Risen Christ on Easter night. They meet a stranger on the road and two become three. And while they know that there are three of them on the road, they do not immediately recognize their companion as Jesus. They are stuck with their assumptions about death. Despite hearing news earlier in the day that the tomb was empty, despite second hand word from an angel that Christ is risen from the dead, they do not recognize him. Did he look so different, was his voice not the same? What does it take for them to solve the riddle? It takes Word and Sacrament, just like for us. That’s still what it takes for us to really see Jesus, to really feel him present, to move out of our pre-conceived notions of how desperate life is to a more hopeful truth of the presence of the Lord in the midst of despair, bringing life from death.
READ Passage
Let’s think about this passage as having four parts – four parts which describe our experience of the presence of Christ. The first part is prayer. The disciples are talking to the Lord about their problem, their worries, their grief and despair. The fact that they don’t know they are talking to Jesus make it remarkably similar to our experience. We cannot see Jesus walking with us along this journey but he’s there listening in, responding to us, reminding us of what we need to know, reassuring us, correcting us.
The second part is that word of the Lord. Prayer, talking to the Lord, is not enough. We need that Word from the Lord, that interpretation of our life experience by Christ’s life, by the witness of those who have gone before us in faith. That Word challenges and prods and warms our hearts, as it did John Wesley’s, the Founder of Methodism. Hear what John says about the night of his conversion, In the evening I went very unwillingly to a society in Aldersgate Street, where one was reading Luther’s preface to the Epistle to the Romans. About a quarter before nine, while he was describing the change which God works in the heart through faith in Christ, I felt my heart strangely warmed. I felt I did trust in Christ, Christ alone, for salvation; and an assurance was given me that He had taken away my sins, even mine, and saved me from the law of sin and death.
Did not our hearts burn within us. The heart is warmed by the word. And so, the disciples on the way to Emmaus, say to the stranger walking with them. Come now, it is late, stay with us.
And we move from the prayer and the Word to the Sacrament. The third part of our spiritual experience of Christ. He breaks the bread and they recognize him. If there’s any doubt from anyone here about our celebration of weekly sacrament, look at this text. What did it take for the full recognition of Jesus – the breaking of bread. There was prayer – sharing the life story. There was response – the sharing of the Word, straight from the mouth of Christ to the hear of the disciples. But they still did not get it.
They did not get it, because they still did not know who was really there with them Only at the table did they know. Only as the bread was broken, did they sense the real presence of Christ, a real presence that we still believe is here. We are not just re-enacting. We are not just remembering the Last Supper when we share communion. This moment at the table is a mysterious experience of the real presence of Christ, which we cannot interpret in logical terminology. That’s why the table is for everyone – for all ages, because it is the place of encounter, knowing of open eyes, not so much of mental comprehension.
The Word of Christ makes our hearts burn. But we don’t really know yet who is with us. Only in the breaking of bread are our eyes opened.
It is the difference between perception and recognition. Perception is what we think we see. Perception is an impression in the mind of something perceived by the senses. Their eyes were kept from recognizing him. Distinct from perception, recognition is a knowing. The Greek word is gnosis. It is deep knowing.
Luke helps us identify several ways that the two disciples are prevented from re-knowing, from re-cognizing, from seeing what and who they needed to see. It has to do with the distinction between perception and recognition. Perceptions may be born out of assumptions.
• The disciples assumed that the women who had been to the tomb earlier that day were overreacting; that they had not seen a vision; that they were confused about their facts regarding the empty tomb. The disciples perceived that the women were telling an idle tale (Luke 24:11).
• The disciples assumed that Jesus was not only the one to redeem Israel, but that he would do it in the manner they thought best. They perceived that he had failed because he was captured and crucified (Luke 24:20-21).
• The disciples assumed that the stranger on the road was just that – a stranger. They perceived that he was the only one around who hadn’t heard about the crucifixion of their teacher and friend (Luke 24:18).
The stranger, Jesus, and the two disciples continued on their way to Emmaus. Jesus spoke to them about the need for the Messiah to suffer; that this was what the prophets had been saying all along, from Moses on. Jesus interpreted to these two the scriptures and things concerning himself. Cleopas and the other disciple invited Jesus to stay with them that night. During supper, Jesus took the bread and blessed and broke it, and gave it to them.... THEN! The flash of recognition broke through their perceptions. And they knew in a deep way. Their eyes were opened. (For this section on perception and recognition, I am indebted to Rev. Karen A. Blomberg’s 2008 sermon on this passage.)
So there’s prayer, then there’s the Word. That holy conversation between us and the Lord. Our sharing our experiences and struggles, Christ sharing the Word with us. Our burning hearts. And then there’s the knowing that occurs when our eyes are opened to who he really is. That happens in the Sacrament. And finally, there’s our very significant response to this heart-warming, eye-opening experience. Jesus vanished, but the two discuss with one another their experience and then rush out to share it with the others. They testify to what has happened to them. And while they are sharing this testimony, Jesus appears to the others. In the sharing of our experiences of the presence of Christ here with us at Peace, we are part of the mysterious appearance of Christ to others. John Baggett, friend of Mickey Miller, and author of the book study we are starting today in the class Mickey and Morgan are leading, Seeing through the Eyes of Jesus, makes this claim: “The unity of God’s good news for humankind is to be found in the shared reality of Jesus the human being and those who claim him to be the Christ, the Son of God.” When our hearts are warmed by prayer and the Word and our eyes are opened by the Sacrament, and we go to share good news, then the unity of God’s good news for humankind comes to fruition. That is the mystery of the Christian life, as our Lord keeps appearing.
As we reflect in silent prayer, let us remember the one who is on the road with us, no matter where we are going, the one who wants to be invited into our hearts and our homes to be fully known.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
The Risk of Believing
Mark 16:1-8
Easter Sunday
Elizabeth M. Deibert
It’s Easter and my challenge again to inspire you to believe in the truth of our Christian faith, the resurrection at the heart of it, a truth that none of us can prove. The risk of believing begins with showing up, like the three women did. You can only see two of them there. I think the angel and the other women are inside. Don’t ask me to prove it though. I can’t prove it. These women showed up, thinking Jesus was dead. They came to pay their respects. Some of you showed up today to pay your respects, to be part of the celebration. though you’re not sure he’s alive.
So you’ve taken the first risk of faith – showing up. You’re not sitting at home with your coffee mug and chocolate eggs and the news. Coffee is good, chocolate is good. The news, well, most of it, is not so good, unless you filter it through a lens of faith. I am sick of hearing of incidents of random violence – schools, churches, nursing homes, shopping centers. And unemployment numbers keep rising, and there’s a new corporate scumbag every day. And WE live in a relatively safe and comfy part of the world. But I still believe God is powerful and God cares even though God hasn’t stepped in and magically fixed all our global problems, not to mention personal ones.
It’s been a year of death in my family. Two first cousins in their fifties – one, my cousin Jay, had been sick for many years, two kidney transplants. And the other, Sherry, dropped dead, presumably a heart attack, with absolutely no warning. My mom lost all three siblings in a four month period of time. Ralph and Ivy Ruark lost their dear friend Don to pancreatic cancer on Thursday night – one month’s warning. Barbara Staton’s son lost everything he owned in a fire last week. Nearly everyone of you has lost someone or some thing significant in the last year
– a job, a house, a friend, a marriage, your health, or a loved one. Some of you have experienced major losses – parents, siblings, children, spouses. And some of you live with a constant awareness that death is just around the corner. At the Deibert house, we’re always folding funeral bulletins for Richard’s next service. I had a very interesting conversation with the quality control guy from a lawn care company the other day. He a widely read atheist, who grew up fundamentalist. He says, he’s okay with this life being the only life there is. That’s where he and I differ. I’m not okay with that. I cannot convince him to believe as I do, but I did enjoy talking to him and I hope, dispelling some of the misconceptions he had about me.
You see the risk of my believing is that modern atheist and agnostics will think I’m crazy (without a brain) or that I’m some kind of religious exclusivist without heart, thinking that we Christians are the only ones God loves. So I work at dispelling those myths. I do have a brain and a heart. Don’t you?
Some might point out that the other risk of believing is that I might one day discover this belief in the Resurrection was unfounded. So the risk would be that I am wasting my time or that I misguided other people to waste their time.
Are we wasting our time? That’s a real question, not a rhetorical one. I am sure that the mysteries with which we deal are as real as the rational logic used to refute them. I cannot prove the resurrection as scientific fact, but I do believe this story to be true. After all, why would a first century patriarchal culture make up a story like this – with women being the first recipients of this message? What kind of credibility would three grieving women have in a first century world?
Let’s hear the narrative.
Before we engage the narrative with language, let’s engage it with art from around the world, much as sixty of us did on Friday night with the Stations of the Cross. First an middle eastern image from the Orthodox Church. Next from the Far East of Asia. Chinese artist He Qi. We go to the southern hemisphere for this piece of African art. Finally, we turn to the Western European art that has shaped most of us. Each image has the empty tomb and the three surprised characters.
Mark’s Gospel is known as much for what is left out of the story as what is there. There are three women, one man in white, presumably an angel, no Jesus – only an empty tomb, and a promise of seeing him if we go where he want us.
Matthew tells of the disciples seeing Jesus and having him preach the great commission message – go into the world and make disciples. In Luke Jesus appears to two disciples on the way to Emmaus and then to the whole group, who shares a meal of fish together. In John’s version, Jesus surprises the tearful Mary and then, when he appears to the group, invites Thomas to touch his wounded hands and believe. He gives a final instruction to Peter after a meal together to feed his lambs, tend his sheep. But Mark seems content to leave us hanging. Yes, the most authoritative texts leave us dangling with a preposition in the Greek. “for they were afraid that...” That’s the last sentence.
What do you want us to do, Mark? Risk finishing the story ourselves? So we believers cannot rest comfortably and simply hear the story again and be satisfied. We cannot get resolve enough just by showing up, like the women. No, we have to risk more than just coming to church on Easter again. We have to go tell people what’s happened. We have to follow where Jesus tells us to go, and then, only after we commit ourselves to this discipleship, do we get to see him! I wish it were easier. I don’t really like taking risks. Do you? Yet look at us, taking the risk of starting a new church. Only 1 in 10 new church plants survives Thanks be to God who gives us the grace to endure, even to thrive. Taking risks is hard work sometimes.
We’re like the little kid who wants the joy of going down the slide but is too scared to climb to the top. Rebecca is an excellent swimmer now, but when she was a little kid, she hated the water – anything larger than a bathtub was too big. Swimming pools, the ocean – no way. Richard and I tried to help her adapt. We’d take her in our arms into the water, she would scream nearly choke us clinging to our necks. Only when she risked letting go, trusting a little, did she learn the joy of swimming.
So it is with faith. You have to enter the mysteries with some trust and be willing to take the risk of believing something that cannot be proven if you are ever going to enjoy the great ocean of Christianity. This is not the only place one might swim, but it is the best place, in my experience and presumably in yours. There are some sharks in this great Christian ocean, who will bite. There are some irritating little crabs. There are some waves which will knock you down and take you under. You can get sunburned too, but I still say the water is refreshing and wonderful, so take the plunge. Let’s swim together in the deep and dangerous and exhilarating waters of Christian faith. If I get out too deep or swept away by the undertow, you rescue me and I’ll do the same for you.
Remember in the movie Bucket List, how many of the activities that the two guys shared involved taking a risk. But they could do it – knowing they were going to die soon anyway. And the biggest risks of all turned out to be not sky diving but the relational risks – choosing to love when it is hard. Choosing to be faithful (Morgan Freeman’s character) and choosing to be forgiving (Jack Nicholson’s character).
Jesus took the risk of loving us all the way to the grave. Faithful and forgiving take their definition by his life. By raising him from the grave, God makes it clear that his life, suffering and death were not in vain, and that our life, suffering and death are not in vain.
Our friend Mark just officiated at a memorial service for his stillborn grandson... in the sanctuary of the church that asked him to leave a little more than a year ago.
Two places of deep pain collide. But in the hope of the resurrection he could still say this grief was shared by the one who was rejected and died a horrible death, and yet lives.
We need this message of hope, yet modern culture has made us embarrassed to claim it. It feels like a big risk to believe. It’s scary.
The Gospel of Mark ends with the women being afraid to say anything to anyone. Is that exactly where we are now, church? Afraid to say anything? Or will we risk telling the story, crazy as it sounds, because we too know that the hope of the resurrection means our grief is shared and our life is not in vain. We too shall live and be loved forever, not forgotten. Will we risk appearing foolish? Will we risk appearing exclusivist? Will we risk wasting our time and energy on something we cannot prove but which we know in our heart and soul to be valid and true?
The end of this Gospel story in Mark depends on our willingness to risk believing enough to follow Jesus, to go where he says, and discover that he is meeting us there, in the middle of our fear and disbelief and pain. He is there and he is bringing life to our deadness, joy to our sorrow, companionship to our loneliness. But we have to risk following him before we see him, talking about him, even when are afraid. That’s the risk of believing.
Let us approach our Risen Lord in silence and pray for open eyes, open minds, and hearts.
Easter Sunday
Elizabeth M. Deibert
It’s Easter and my challenge again to inspire you to believe in the truth of our Christian faith, the resurrection at the heart of it, a truth that none of us can prove. The risk of believing begins with showing up, like the three women did. You can only see two of them there. I think the angel and the other women are inside. Don’t ask me to prove it though. I can’t prove it. These women showed up, thinking Jesus was dead. They came to pay their respects. Some of you showed up today to pay your respects, to be part of the celebration. though you’re not sure he’s alive.
So you’ve taken the first risk of faith – showing up. You’re not sitting at home with your coffee mug and chocolate eggs and the news. Coffee is good, chocolate is good. The news, well, most of it, is not so good, unless you filter it through a lens of faith. I am sick of hearing of incidents of random violence – schools, churches, nursing homes, shopping centers. And unemployment numbers keep rising, and there’s a new corporate scumbag every day. And WE live in a relatively safe and comfy part of the world. But I still believe God is powerful and God cares even though God hasn’t stepped in and magically fixed all our global problems, not to mention personal ones.
It’s been a year of death in my family. Two first cousins in their fifties – one, my cousin Jay, had been sick for many years, two kidney transplants. And the other, Sherry, dropped dead, presumably a heart attack, with absolutely no warning. My mom lost all three siblings in a four month period of time. Ralph and Ivy Ruark lost their dear friend Don to pancreatic cancer on Thursday night – one month’s warning. Barbara Staton’s son lost everything he owned in a fire last week. Nearly everyone of you has lost someone or some thing significant in the last year
– a job, a house, a friend, a marriage, your health, or a loved one. Some of you have experienced major losses – parents, siblings, children, spouses. And some of you live with a constant awareness that death is just around the corner. At the Deibert house, we’re always folding funeral bulletins for Richard’s next service. I had a very interesting conversation with the quality control guy from a lawn care company the other day. He a widely read atheist, who grew up fundamentalist. He says, he’s okay with this life being the only life there is. That’s where he and I differ. I’m not okay with that. I cannot convince him to believe as I do, but I did enjoy talking to him and I hope, dispelling some of the misconceptions he had about me.
You see the risk of my believing is that modern atheist and agnostics will think I’m crazy (without a brain) or that I’m some kind of religious exclusivist without heart, thinking that we Christians are the only ones God loves. So I work at dispelling those myths. I do have a brain and a heart. Don’t you?
Some might point out that the other risk of believing is that I might one day discover this belief in the Resurrection was unfounded. So the risk would be that I am wasting my time or that I misguided other people to waste their time.
Are we wasting our time? That’s a real question, not a rhetorical one. I am sure that the mysteries with which we deal are as real as the rational logic used to refute them. I cannot prove the resurrection as scientific fact, but I do believe this story to be true. After all, why would a first century patriarchal culture make up a story like this – with women being the first recipients of this message? What kind of credibility would three grieving women have in a first century world?
Let’s hear the narrative.
Before we engage the narrative with language, let’s engage it with art from around the world, much as sixty of us did on Friday night with the Stations of the Cross. First an middle eastern image from the Orthodox Church. Next from the Far East of Asia. Chinese artist He Qi. We go to the southern hemisphere for this piece of African art. Finally, we turn to the Western European art that has shaped most of us. Each image has the empty tomb and the three surprised characters.
Mark’s Gospel is known as much for what is left out of the story as what is there. There are three women, one man in white, presumably an angel, no Jesus – only an empty tomb, and a promise of seeing him if we go where he want us.
Matthew tells of the disciples seeing Jesus and having him preach the great commission message – go into the world and make disciples. In Luke Jesus appears to two disciples on the way to Emmaus and then to the whole group, who shares a meal of fish together. In John’s version, Jesus surprises the tearful Mary and then, when he appears to the group, invites Thomas to touch his wounded hands and believe. He gives a final instruction to Peter after a meal together to feed his lambs, tend his sheep. But Mark seems content to leave us hanging. Yes, the most authoritative texts leave us dangling with a preposition in the Greek. “for they were afraid that...” That’s the last sentence.
What do you want us to do, Mark? Risk finishing the story ourselves? So we believers cannot rest comfortably and simply hear the story again and be satisfied. We cannot get resolve enough just by showing up, like the women. No, we have to risk more than just coming to church on Easter again. We have to go tell people what’s happened. We have to follow where Jesus tells us to go, and then, only after we commit ourselves to this discipleship, do we get to see him! I wish it were easier. I don’t really like taking risks. Do you? Yet look at us, taking the risk of starting a new church. Only 1 in 10 new church plants survives Thanks be to God who gives us the grace to endure, even to thrive. Taking risks is hard work sometimes.
We’re like the little kid who wants the joy of going down the slide but is too scared to climb to the top. Rebecca is an excellent swimmer now, but when she was a little kid, she hated the water – anything larger than a bathtub was too big. Swimming pools, the ocean – no way. Richard and I tried to help her adapt. We’d take her in our arms into the water, she would scream nearly choke us clinging to our necks. Only when she risked letting go, trusting a little, did she learn the joy of swimming.
So it is with faith. You have to enter the mysteries with some trust and be willing to take the risk of believing something that cannot be proven if you are ever going to enjoy the great ocean of Christianity. This is not the only place one might swim, but it is the best place, in my experience and presumably in yours. There are some sharks in this great Christian ocean, who will bite. There are some irritating little crabs. There are some waves which will knock you down and take you under. You can get sunburned too, but I still say the water is refreshing and wonderful, so take the plunge. Let’s swim together in the deep and dangerous and exhilarating waters of Christian faith. If I get out too deep or swept away by the undertow, you rescue me and I’ll do the same for you.
Remember in the movie Bucket List, how many of the activities that the two guys shared involved taking a risk. But they could do it – knowing they were going to die soon anyway. And the biggest risks of all turned out to be not sky diving but the relational risks – choosing to love when it is hard. Choosing to be faithful (Morgan Freeman’s character) and choosing to be forgiving (Jack Nicholson’s character).
Jesus took the risk of loving us all the way to the grave. Faithful and forgiving take their definition by his life. By raising him from the grave, God makes it clear that his life, suffering and death were not in vain, and that our life, suffering and death are not in vain.
Our friend Mark just officiated at a memorial service for his stillborn grandson... in the sanctuary of the church that asked him to leave a little more than a year ago.
Two places of deep pain collide. But in the hope of the resurrection he could still say this grief was shared by the one who was rejected and died a horrible death, and yet lives.
We need this message of hope, yet modern culture has made us embarrassed to claim it. It feels like a big risk to believe. It’s scary.
The Gospel of Mark ends with the women being afraid to say anything to anyone. Is that exactly where we are now, church? Afraid to say anything? Or will we risk telling the story, crazy as it sounds, because we too know that the hope of the resurrection means our grief is shared and our life is not in vain. We too shall live and be loved forever, not forgotten. Will we risk appearing foolish? Will we risk appearing exclusivist? Will we risk wasting our time and energy on something we cannot prove but which we know in our heart and soul to be valid and true?
The end of this Gospel story in Mark depends on our willingness to risk believing enough to follow Jesus, to go where he says, and discover that he is meeting us there, in the middle of our fear and disbelief and pain. He is there and he is bringing life to our deadness, joy to our sorrow, companionship to our loneliness. But we have to risk following him before we see him, talking about him, even when are afraid. That’s the risk of believing.
Let us approach our Risen Lord in silence and pray for open eyes, open minds, and hearts.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
The Risk of Misunderstanding
Mark 1:1-11
Palm Sunday
Elizabeth M. Deibert
Never before in the history of our country have leaders been so scrutinized. We’re suspicious. We’re critical. For a number of years we have critiqued our political leaders but now corporate and financial leaders are not excused. “What in the world were they thinking to take the risks they took with our economy?” we wonder. “Were they thinking at all?” we sometimes say. Yet surely we must acknowledge at some level that we all turned a blind eye while life was going well. If it ain’t broken, don’t fix it. But we did not realize that the strain we were putting on the system would surely break it eventually.
Surely those who followed this teacher, healer, prophet, miracle-worker Jesus for 3 months or even the entire three years of his ministry had no idea what was coming, any more than we could have predicted the collapse of our national and global economy.
I wonder how much Jesus knew himself about his impending doom. Surely, as the disciples and Gospel writers looked back, they remembered him making allusions to his death. But just how clear was Jesus about what was going to happen that week? I have this notion that in his fully divine, fully human nature, he simply lived an authentically holy and true and right life of love each day risking the consequences of that life, and the anger of those in power who misunderstood him.
I think the day-to-day events of the last week of his life were not completely known to him. Yet he sensed the impending doom. To come into Jerusalem in the pattern of a King and then to go to the temple and challenge the money changers, Jesus was going down a path he must have understood to be risking his life. Surely there was a heaviness about him as he pondered an entry into Jerusalem for the Passover celebration, knowing as he did that many people disapproved of his message. Yet another part of him knew a courage that did not bow to fear, a love which kept reaching out, a truth that was unwavering.
Hear now the Palm Sunday story from Mark’s Gospel:
Every year when we come to Palm Sunday, I experience this enormous tension between the two shouts of the week. First the joyful celebration of a triumphal entry, with people shouting “Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord. Hosanna, which means ‘save us, we pray.’” and just a few days later, they shout, “Crucify him, crucify him.” In our more immature times of faith and thought, we like to think of good guys and bad guys. But nowadays, we really understand we are large and paradoxical in ourselves. We all contain the good, the bad, and the ugly. So the same disciples who dropped nets and followed Jesus, who lead the procession, would be falling away, denying that they know him. The same one who sat with Jesus at table for the Passover meal, immediately goes out to betray him to the authorities. And by Friday Jesus is praying for all of us, the prayer he prays for those who killed him, “Father forgive them, for they know not what they are doing.”
So the tension of this week is this: We all want to be part of the blessings – receive the healings, hear the inspiring teaching, be nurtured in the forgiving love. We all want to participate in the celebration, to worship when it’s a happy time.
We like Palm Sunday. We get it. We understand. We’re glad to be part of the joy and success. How many people wanted a piece of the strong economy, and were willing to participate in the risk of others’ welfare because of the benefits to themselves?
But Palm Sunday is just the first day of the week. Palm Sunday is also sometimes called Passion Sunday. We know that Thursday betrayal and Friday’s abuse, and even Saturday’s hell are coming. When the going gets tough, when the powers and authorities are not on our side, when success (in the eyes of the world) is not looking promising, then you find your real friends who stick with you through thick and thin. When life is hard, when you’re under threat, when you’re suffering, who really understands? Jesus learned as Palm Sunday moved to Passion Friday that many of his friends misunderstood him, and were not prepared to go all the way with him. They were expecting him to be the power-broker he could never be. Because his power could never be wielded in place of love. His power was love, perfect love, life-giving sacrifice. He had talked about servanthood and the power of weakness, but they misunderstood, still stuck in their paradigm of hierarchical kingship.
The church still misunderstands. Majesty is in lowliness. Power is in weakness. Greatness is in humility. Authority is found in life-giving submission for the healing of others. And those are the tensions, in which we find ourselves today. But perhaps we get a little closer to Jesus, maybe we understand a little better now than we did a year ago. Maybe we get it when we are more weak, humble, and lowly in the world. Perhaps the proud nation, the proud CEOs, the proud Wall
Street, the proud Houses of Congress and White House, the proud celebrities, and even the proud churches all need to be brought to their knees. Then we might just discover what it truly means to be God’s children, all of us together full of humility and grace. Then we might learn that our songs of Hosanna “Save us Lord. Save us now, we pray” are not just for ourselves alone but for all the suffering world. Our shouts of praise and longing are for all people who know, really know the pain, the agony and loneliness of Friday, and who wait with eager longing for the renewal of life. Blessed is the One who comes in the name of the Lord.
Let us bow and quietly meditate on the gift we have in a God who joined our human life to experience our pain, to feel how unfair life can be, to be misunderstood, lonely, and abused, and who promises us hope in the midst of despair.
Later at Communion Table:
We come to the table now, remembering that Palm Sunday quickly moved to Maundy Thursday, the night of the Passover, when Jesus shared his last meal with his disciples. On that night, Jesus begins with an act of loving, submissive service, in washing the dirty feet of those who adored him. Then he said, “Love one another as I have loved you.” That is the command, from which we get the word “Maundy” So the message at this table is love. Love from Christ to us. Charge by Christ that we should love one another. Here at this table – always the same tensions we see on Palm Sunday. The joy of a shared meal, and yet the jarring, mysterious words, “This is my body, broken for you. Take eat. Do this in remembrance of me. This is new covenant in my blood, poured out for the forgiveness of sin.” We come to celebrate the power of God and the weakness. We come, aware of our own neediness and of the marvel of God’s radical inclusion. We are, each of us, both loyal and a betrayer, both faithful and a denier of truth. And Jesus says to all of us, “I am the bread of life. Come.”
Palm Sunday
Elizabeth M. Deibert
Never before in the history of our country have leaders been so scrutinized. We’re suspicious. We’re critical. For a number of years we have critiqued our political leaders but now corporate and financial leaders are not excused. “What in the world were they thinking to take the risks they took with our economy?” we wonder. “Were they thinking at all?” we sometimes say. Yet surely we must acknowledge at some level that we all turned a blind eye while life was going well. If it ain’t broken, don’t fix it. But we did not realize that the strain we were putting on the system would surely break it eventually.
Surely those who followed this teacher, healer, prophet, miracle-worker Jesus for 3 months or even the entire three years of his ministry had no idea what was coming, any more than we could have predicted the collapse of our national and global economy.
I wonder how much Jesus knew himself about his impending doom. Surely, as the disciples and Gospel writers looked back, they remembered him making allusions to his death. But just how clear was Jesus about what was going to happen that week? I have this notion that in his fully divine, fully human nature, he simply lived an authentically holy and true and right life of love each day risking the consequences of that life, and the anger of those in power who misunderstood him.
I think the day-to-day events of the last week of his life were not completely known to him. Yet he sensed the impending doom. To come into Jerusalem in the pattern of a King and then to go to the temple and challenge the money changers, Jesus was going down a path he must have understood to be risking his life. Surely there was a heaviness about him as he pondered an entry into Jerusalem for the Passover celebration, knowing as he did that many people disapproved of his message. Yet another part of him knew a courage that did not bow to fear, a love which kept reaching out, a truth that was unwavering.
Hear now the Palm Sunday story from Mark’s Gospel:
Every year when we come to Palm Sunday, I experience this enormous tension between the two shouts of the week. First the joyful celebration of a triumphal entry, with people shouting “Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord. Hosanna, which means ‘save us, we pray.’” and just a few days later, they shout, “Crucify him, crucify him.” In our more immature times of faith and thought, we like to think of good guys and bad guys. But nowadays, we really understand we are large and paradoxical in ourselves. We all contain the good, the bad, and the ugly. So the same disciples who dropped nets and followed Jesus, who lead the procession, would be falling away, denying that they know him. The same one who sat with Jesus at table for the Passover meal, immediately goes out to betray him to the authorities. And by Friday Jesus is praying for all of us, the prayer he prays for those who killed him, “Father forgive them, for they know not what they are doing.”
So the tension of this week is this: We all want to be part of the blessings – receive the healings, hear the inspiring teaching, be nurtured in the forgiving love. We all want to participate in the celebration, to worship when it’s a happy time.
We like Palm Sunday. We get it. We understand. We’re glad to be part of the joy and success. How many people wanted a piece of the strong economy, and were willing to participate in the risk of others’ welfare because of the benefits to themselves?
But Palm Sunday is just the first day of the week. Palm Sunday is also sometimes called Passion Sunday. We know that Thursday betrayal and Friday’s abuse, and even Saturday’s hell are coming. When the going gets tough, when the powers and authorities are not on our side, when success (in the eyes of the world) is not looking promising, then you find your real friends who stick with you through thick and thin. When life is hard, when you’re under threat, when you’re suffering, who really understands? Jesus learned as Palm Sunday moved to Passion Friday that many of his friends misunderstood him, and were not prepared to go all the way with him. They were expecting him to be the power-broker he could never be. Because his power could never be wielded in place of love. His power was love, perfect love, life-giving sacrifice. He had talked about servanthood and the power of weakness, but they misunderstood, still stuck in their paradigm of hierarchical kingship.
The church still misunderstands. Majesty is in lowliness. Power is in weakness. Greatness is in humility. Authority is found in life-giving submission for the healing of others. And those are the tensions, in which we find ourselves today. But perhaps we get a little closer to Jesus, maybe we understand a little better now than we did a year ago. Maybe we get it when we are more weak, humble, and lowly in the world. Perhaps the proud nation, the proud CEOs, the proud Wall
Street, the proud Houses of Congress and White House, the proud celebrities, and even the proud churches all need to be brought to their knees. Then we might just discover what it truly means to be God’s children, all of us together full of humility and grace. Then we might learn that our songs of Hosanna “Save us Lord. Save us now, we pray” are not just for ourselves alone but for all the suffering world. Our shouts of praise and longing are for all people who know, really know the pain, the agony and loneliness of Friday, and who wait with eager longing for the renewal of life. Blessed is the One who comes in the name of the Lord.
Let us bow and quietly meditate on the gift we have in a God who joined our human life to experience our pain, to feel how unfair life can be, to be misunderstood, lonely, and abused, and who promises us hope in the midst of despair.
Later at Communion Table:
We come to the table now, remembering that Palm Sunday quickly moved to Maundy Thursday, the night of the Passover, when Jesus shared his last meal with his disciples. On that night, Jesus begins with an act of loving, submissive service, in washing the dirty feet of those who adored him. Then he said, “Love one another as I have loved you.” That is the command, from which we get the word “Maundy” So the message at this table is love. Love from Christ to us. Charge by Christ that we should love one another. Here at this table – always the same tensions we see on Palm Sunday. The joy of a shared meal, and yet the jarring, mysterious words, “This is my body, broken for you. Take eat. Do this in remembrance of me. This is new covenant in my blood, poured out for the forgiveness of sin.” We come to celebrate the power of God and the weakness. We come, aware of our own neediness and of the marvel of God’s radical inclusion. We are, each of us, both loyal and a betrayer, both faithful and a denier of truth. And Jesus says to all of us, “I am the bread of life. Come.”
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