The Good Samaritan

Good morning. Scott is a great handyman. Barb and I have used him many times, and he is the best. No matter what we need need done, Scott can do it. We give him a call, he comes over, we explain what we want, and he tells us how he can do it. Just like that. He is friendly, he does excellent work, and his prices are very reasonable. We jokingly refer to our home as the house that Scott built, and when we had to completely renovate my mom's house to use it as a rental, Scott was our man. Scott is a consummate professional. 

Albert the electrician, on the other hand, is not a consummate anything. When we inherited my mom's house, everything electrical had to be replaced. I met Albert through my plumber, and I hired him to do all the electrical work. This was a giant mistake. Albert worked very slowly, when he worked at all. He seemed to know what he was doing, and he assured me everything would get done, but sometimes he wouldn't do any work for three or four days in a row. He kept promising that a new power line would be connected to the power pole, but it never happened. It was very frustrating. Scott and Albert were as different as could possibly be, and as you can imagine, they didn't get along at all. Renovating my mom's house became a battleground between Scott's professional glaring, and Albert's lame assurances that there was nothing to worry about. Scott and Albert disliked each other intensely. 

I think it is fair to say that Scott's intense dislike of Albert turned to something close to hate when Albert the electrician "disappeared." He bagged it. Albert went home one day, and never came back. His phone was disconnected, and that was the last we ever saw of good ole Albert.  Walking off a job was something that Scott would never, ever, ever do, and at this point, I believe Scott came to despise Albert. 

The Scott/Albert dynamics were very intense, and I believe some very similar dynamics were happening in Jesus's day that led Jesus to tell the parable of the Good Samaritan. So this morning I want to use Scott and Albert as a guide to help us answer the question, who is my brother?

In our reading from Deuteronomy Moses tells the Jews that if they obey the commands of God, God will make them abundantly prosperous. Scott is a prosperous man. He has a successful business, people like him, and he has worked very hard for everything he has. He has obeyed the rules of what it takes to be successful, and it has payed off. Albert, though, was a betrayal of everything Scott was, and everything Scott worked hard for. Albert didn't work hard, he wasn't successful, and he wasn't prosperous. Albert was the antithesis of everything Scott was. Everything Scott was, Albert was not. 

The relationship between Scott and Albert was very similar to the relationship between the Jews and the Samaritans. The Jews were faithful and obedient to the law. They believed they were the true descendants of Moses. They never inter-married with foreigners.  They never worshipped false gods. The Jews were pure Jews, not half-breeds. They had worked hard to preserve their faith, and they suffered greatly to remain true to God.  Like Scott, they had done it the right way, they worked hard, and they were successful. They were the chosen people of God. 

The Samaritans, however, didn't take their faith seriously. They hadn't worked hard to keep the faith pure. They betrayed God by worshipping false Gods and marrying foreign wives. They hadn't suffered to preserve the faith; when the going got tough, the Samaritans got going. They were half breeds. Like Albert, they bagged it. And like Scott despised Albert, the Jews despised the Samaritans. 

But the issue for the Jews of Jesus's time went even deeper. The Jews didn't despise just the Samaritans. They also despised tax-collectors, sinners, prostitutes, and Romans. Anyone who didn't believe what they believed, and who wasn't part of their group that was successfully following the law, was despised.  Jesus was constantly challenging this attitude. The older brother in the parable of The Prodigal Son despised his younger brother because he, the older brother, had worked hard and never left his father. The Father told him it was okay to love. Those who had worked all day in the parable of the vineyard despised those who came last but were paid the same. Jesus said it was fair for the owner to bless even those who came late. And Jesus spent lots of time with sinners and outcasts, clearly communicating that they, too, were worthy of time and love. 

The problem was that the Jews had developed a faulty view of the law.  They had come to see the law as a ladder, a ladder on which they could climb closer, and closer, to God. They believed that on the ladder of the law, they had climbed higher than anyone else. Because they had ascended to higher rungs, they looked down on all those who were lower on the ladder. They believed they were holy, and faithful, and righteous, but they had no compassion for those who were not. 

But the law was never intended to be a ladder. God gave us the law as a mirror, a mirror that reflects back to us who we really are. The law shows us that we all fall short, we are all sinful, and we all need God. Because the law is a mirror, we have compassion on everyone because we are all in the same boat, we are all brothers and sisters. We are humble, because any success we have comes from the grace of God. 

So when Jesus was asked, who is my brother?, He said, the one you hate the most, and despise the most, the Samaritan. Only he understands compassion, and only he grasps brotherly love and mercy. If you ask, who is my brother?, then you already don't get it, because we are all brothers and sisters. If the despised Samaritan knows what it means to be a brother, why don't you? You thought the law was a ladder, but it isn't. The law is a mirror, but you refuse to look at yourself. 

It seems that looking down on others with anger, instead of compassion, is hard-wired into our DNA. We may, like Scott, have worked harder, and been more successful, and even been a better person than someone else. That may all be very true. But that doesn't mean we should not be compassionate and merciful. Every time we don't let go of our disgust, we are walking to the other side of the road, and we are not involving ourselves in someone's life who might need our help. When we feel that temptation to pass to the other side, we must look into the mirror of God's law, and remember that sometimes we are all Albert. When we do that, then we are free to be the Good Samaritan that God hopes we will be. 

We all despise something. We might despise Trump, or Clinton. The Republicans, or the Democrats. Corporations, or welfare recipients. And yes, I think we all despise Tom Brady and the New England Patriots. But I pray that God will give us His grace to respond in love and mercy to those who are not like us, and may our compassion and mercy be a light to those who are living in darkness.  Amen. 

Orthodoxy

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, when I was in my 20's and 30's, I worshiped in an evangelical church. In my early 40's I became an Episcopalian, but for a few years in-between I thought about becoming an Orthodox Christian. I had always been curious about Orthodoxy, and one Sunday I went to an Orthodox service in Lafayette with a few friends. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced. Fragrant incense burned the entire time. The service lasted two hours, you sat down very little, and most of the liturgy was chanted. The church was filled with icons, and though icons are beautiful, for me they were a little strange. In my evangelical world, people were suspicious of images and the imagination, and so the walls of my church were bare white walls. Visiting an Orthodox Church was very strange for me, and I have to be honest, as I was thinking about the service that Sunday night, with the smell of incense lingering on my clothes, I felt like I had been to a pagan ritual. 

But as I attended more Orthodox services, and studied the history of Orthodoxy, I became much more comfortable with Orthodox worship. In fact, I grew to love it. I came to see that Orthodox worship strives to be very trinitarian. In the mystery of the trinity, the three in one, western churches tend to focus of the oneness of the three. But Orthodoxy has always emphasized the threeness of the one, and because of this, the Orthodox go out of their way to craft their worship so that all three persons of the Trinity are honored, and experienced. When I came to understand this, Orthodoxy made sense. It no longer felt like a pagan ritual. Instead it felt like a multi-sensory experience of the triune God. 

A few weeks ago at our liturgy meeting Paul asked us to think about what worship is, and why we do it. These are important questions, and on this Trinity Sunday I'd like to use what I learned about worship in the Orthodox Church to help us think about how and why we worship, and to think about what the Trinity means in our lives. 

When I began exploring Orthodoxy, the first thing that grabbed my attention was the all-encompassing liturgy. We Episcopalians have a liturgy, but the Orthodox liturgy is liturgy on steroids. The Orthodox use the liturgy of St. John Chrysostom, which was written in the mid three hundreds A.D., and this liturgy is the absolute bedrock of Orthodox worship. This liturgy is long, and the Eucharistic section is elaborate. Many many saints are remembered, and there is a lot of repetition. Coming from an evangelical context, where worship was contemporary and often improvised, I didn't get it.  Why this heavy emphasis on an ancient liturgy? But I began to see the light when I remembered a scene from the movie Field of Dreams. In the movie Ray Cansela builds a baseball field in his cornfield, and baseball players from the past start showing up to play. But Ray is tempted to sell his farm, and his baseball field, to pay his bills. Thomas Mann, an author, reminds Ray about what is really going on. He says, "People will come, Ray. The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. Its been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt, and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game, is a part of our past Ray. It reminds us of all that was once good, and could be again. Oh, people will come Ray. People will most definitely come.” 

This is what liturgy is all about. Liturgy is a deep river flowing down through the generations. Like baseball the liturgy remembers its stars, and  it is a constant though the world around it is ever changing. Clergy come and go. Churches come and go. We have come, and someday we will go. But the liturgy remains. Like baseball the liturgy reminds us of our history, and it gives us hope for the future. Liturgy is an ancient, deep, and unchanging river  of wisdom. In our reading from Proverbs this morning, wisdom is portrayed as being at the very beginning with God. Before the mountains were made and the sea was formed, wisdom was present with God. And through the ancient and deep waters of the liturgy, wisdom flows down to us. In all cultures the symbol of wisdom is the sage, the wise old man or  wise old woman. In Orthodox worship, the ancient deep wisdom from before the dawn of time that we experience in the flowing of the liturgy is an experience of the ancient and wise one, the first person of the Trinity, God the Father. 

Do we experience our liturgy this way? In our worship do we feel the presence of the god the Father?  Do we understand that as episcopalian Christians the liturgy is our DNA? Do we understand that the liturgy is not something we do, but that the liturgy is who we are?  Worship is not just something that we do in here. Are we taking our liturgical wisdom out there? Are we bringing our liturgical experience of God to a world that is full of doubt and confusion? 

The second thing I learned from the Orthodox about worship and the Trinity is the meaning of icons. At first I didn't know what to make of the icons that filled the walls. They were beautiful, but as I mentioned, for me they were kind of eerie. They were very spiritual, and they seemed to be pointing to something outside this world. They were pulling me, and I wasn't sure I wanted to be pulled. At the front of the church is a wall of icons, called the iconostasis, and this wall stands between the people and the altar, with a door in the middle. The priest performs the Eucharistic ceremony at the altar, behind the wall. Weird. I knew from my church history that the Orthodox use of icons has been controversial at times, and I was beginning to understand why. I didn't know what to make of it. 

Fortunately, I was very lucky to meet the woman who created the icons for this church. We got together several times, and she explained to me the Orthodox theology regarding icons. The key point in Orthodox iconography is incarnation. The Orthodox strongly believe that because Jesus, the second person of the Trinity, was incarnated into this world, now everything physical can incarnate heaven. Icons are a physical window into the realm of spirit. The Orthodox icons of Jesus, Mary, and the saints remind us that because of Jesus' incarnation, we can use the physical to approach heaven, AND, heaven can be revealed to us through the physical. 

The point of this Orthodox emphasis on incarnation is that each of us are an incarnation of Jesus, each of us is an icon of Christ. Icons are a constant reminder that heaven is being incarnated in us that and that each of us are icons of Christ. In Romans Paul tells us that because we are icons of Christ, we can boast even in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint. We are being transformed into the image of the incarnate Christ, from one degree of glory to another.  And because worship is not just what we do in here, but also what we do out there, we can proclaim to the world that Christ incarnate in us changes everything. Christ incarnate in us helps us to endure the pain in this world. And Christians, as the icons of Christ, can provide hope for a world that so often lives in despair. As the bread and wine, in here, are the literal incarnation of Jesus, so too we can approach the entire world, out there, eucharistically, recognizing the body of Christ in the least of our brothers and sisters. 

The third thing I learned from the Orthodox about worship and the Trinity is that music is the foundation of unity. When I went to the church in Lafayette, people were chanting something called the Orthros, even before the service began. Then behind the iconostasis someone started ringing something like bells, but which also had the feel of a tambourine. Then the priest started chanting, and when he came out from behind the iconostasis the entire church started chanting. This kind of worship was completely different than anything I had ever experienced. 

Music in Orthodox churches is beautiful, and they use music differently from how we use music in worship in the west. There are no hymns as such, and music isn't tacked on or ornamental. If you take music out of Orthodox liturgical worship, then you no longer have Orthodox liturgical worship The entire Orthodox service is chanted, sometimes everyone singing, sometimes just the priest singing, and most of the chanting is a back and forth, repetitive, joint chorus. The Orthodox Easter service, the Pascha service, is a three hour chant of triumph and praise to God.  And as we've all experienced, Orthodox music is heavenly. Even if we don't know what the words mean, the music transports us into spiritual realms. 

This unity in worship that the Orthodox are working toward is a reflection of the third person of the Trinity, the Holy Spirit. In our Gospel reading 

John emphasizes that the Spirit is one with the Father and Jesus. All that the Father has he has given to Jesus, and the Spirit, who is with the Father and the Son, bears witness to this truth. The Spirit is not a separate authority, but he glorifies Jesus, and He communicates to us the unity of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. This unity in the Spirit is what the Orthodox are trying to reflect and replicate in their music and worship. 

In our worship, how are we reflecting and replicating the ministry of the Holy Spirit? If the movement of the Spirit is among us, and together with us, Do we feel his presence among us?  Are we participating in the Spirit's unity? Are we feeling the melody and harmony, and sometimes even the dissonance, of the joint music we create with one another in the Spirit?

Because worship is not just in here, but also out there, are we music to the world? When people see us, do they hear the sound of the Spirit's music?  Are we bringing them a new song? Are our melodies and harmonies and dissonances healing?  Are we bringing unity to a broken world? 

I am very thankful for my brief sojourn with Orthodoxy. But I can't finish without mentioning one more aspect of Orthodox worship that is very important. If the movement of the Father is a river flowing through our worship, and the movement of the Son is heaven incarnating in our worship, and the movement of the Spirit is melody, harmony, and dissonance throughout our worship, then our part of the dance, where we honor that which is holy, and return our worship and praise back to God, is incense. The always burning incense in Orthodox worship acknowledges the holy presence of the triune God, and then rises up and returns to heaven. Incense is the movement of our worship and praise returning to God. 

 

We always have to remember that our experience of the Trinity in worship precedes our doctrine of the Trinity. The Trinity is less about doctrine than it is about movement. The Trinity is less about creeds than it is about dance. The liturgy reveals the father as he moves like a river with us and through us. The icons reveals Jesus and heaven as they incarnate in us. Music reveals the Spirit as he moves among us, and incense is our movement back to God, completing the circle, and then starting the dance all over again. The Trinity is all about energy, and movement, and dance, and song. The Trinity isn't something we believe. It is in The Trinity that we live, and move, and have our being. 

On this Trinity Sunday, may each of us deepen our experience of the triune God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. May our worship always take us deeper into this holy mystery, and having been touched by the triune God, may we spread God's wisdom, incarnating power, and unifying presence to all the world. Amen. 

My Little Friend

Good morning. The first few months of 2007 were not easy months for me. On January 31, after several illnesses, my dad passed away, and one month later, on March 1, I came home to find my father-in-law, who lived with my ex-wife and I, dead on the floor. These two men were my most significant male elders. I dearly loved both of them, and losing them both within a month was very difficult. 

I was training for a marathon that spring, and a few days after my father-in-law's death, I went on a planned three and a half hour training run at Crown Hill Park in Wheat Ridge. About 20 minutes into my first lap I looked down and saw a small, pink, stuffed animal sheep. It looked like it had been part of a roadside memorial, and the little sheep looked lonely and sad. As I was feeling lonely and sad I thought about picking it up and taking it home, but instead I kept on running. A few minutes later I regretted not having picked up the little pink sheep, and decided to pick it up on the next lap. About 30 minutes later I looped by the spot, but the little sheep was gone. I kicked myself for not picking it up when I had the chance. As I kept looping back to that place every thirty minutes, I became more and more sad that I hadn't picked up my little pink friend. My sadness and loneliness about losing the most important males in my life were mirrored in my lost chance to take home a sad and lonely little friend. 

After three hours of running I was ready to begin my last lap. I was on the complete opposite side of the park from where my pink friend had been, at least three-quarters of a mile away. I started to run, and in the distance I noticed something pink on the trail. I thought to myself, no.  I jogged to the spot, and there sitting right in the middle of the trail, looking right at me, was the little pink sheep. I couldn't believe it. I still can't believe it. I picked up my little pink friend, and held him close, and cried for my dad, and my father-in-law, and for myself. It was the best cry I ever had.

I have no explanation other than God for how this sheep got there. All I know is that God was saying, at just the right moment, I am with you in your pain. As strange as it might seem, I believe this experience was, for me, a John The Baptist experience, and this morning I want to use my little pink sheep as a picture of Advent, John the Baptist, and God's relentless love.

John the Baptist must have had an incredible personality. Jesus said that John was the greatest of the Old Testament prophets, and his influence on the  people around him was profound. In Acts chapter 19, 25 or so years after Jesus, Paul The Apostle came across some believers who were still following John the Baptist. In 350 AD, some Christians came across a group of Jews, and they, too, were still following John the Baptist. And in John chapter one, you get the feeling that John is going out of his way to show his readers that Jesus was greater than John. John the Baptist was such a powerful personality that he threatened to eclipse even Jesus. 

And, John was a wild man. The gospels tell us that John lived in the desert, wore a camel hair tunic, had a belt of leather, and ate nothing but locusts and honey. He was a wild man in the wilderness, crying make straight the way of the Lord. This powerful, wild spirit of John the Baptist is the same spirit that I encountered when I found my sheep on the trail. My experience was a wild experience. It was wild in the sense that it was outside the box, extra-ordinary, and unpredictable. In a billion billion years, I would never have come up with the idea of comforting my grief with a pink sheep. Never. When God acts when I least expect it, in ways I could never imagine, and when I need it the most, that is the wild spirit of John the Baptist. 

The Jews in John's day were not in a good place. They were stuck. They were led by religious leaders who couldn't think outside the box, and they were living in a predictable world dominated by a brutal Roman Empire. They were frozen. Then, when the Jews needed it the most, in a way they could never imagine, a wild man appears in the desert giving them hope. 

Sometimes we need a wild bolt from the blue to realize that God is near. There are times in our lives when we are sad, or without hope. There are times when we are stuck in the familiar predictability of work, or family, or even church. There are times when we just can't seem to think outside the box, or get outside the boxes we live in. It is then that the wild spirit of John the Baptist breaks into our world, in ways we can't imagine. God is unpredictable, and he loves to help us in extra-ordinary ways. Like Mr. Beaver said about Aslan, the Christ figure, in the Chronicles of Narnia, he's not a tame Lion. 

When I began the third hour of my training run, I was physically and emotionally at a low point. I was exhausted from running, and I was dearly missing my dad and father-in-law. I didn't know what my life would look like without these men in my life. At my lowest point, I found the pink sheep. When God meets us at our lowest point, this is also the spirit of John the Baptist. 

When John appeared in the desert, our readings from Malachi and Isaiah instantly came to the minds of Jews and later Christians. They saw John as calling for a straight path, a path where valleys would be raised up, and a path where rough places would be made straight. For Jews of the first century, John's message gave great hope, because many were living in valleys of despair, and the path forward seemed crooked, and unsure. The Roman occupation was crushing, and nobody knew what to do about it. The Pharisees and Sadducees were not providing good religious leadership, and the Zealots, who advocated for an armed insurrection against Rome, were radical and dangerous. The Jews were in a deep trouble, in a deep valley, and their journey forward was foggy and treacherous. Into this foggy valley, John the Baptist provided hope, proclaiming that the Lamb of God was near. 

We have all visited this foggy valley. We all know the discouragement of being in a valley we can't seem to get out of, and of having no idea how to get out even if we could. Maybe our family is having problems, and nothing ever seems to change, and we have no clue about how to help. Maybe our job is a dead-end valley, where we really don't feel we can leave, but we don't see any way to make the situation better. Maybe we are plagued by a habit, or an addiction, that we just can't shake, and nothing we have tried sets us free. Or maybe we are alienated from a friend, and the pain of that alienation wounds us every day, but there seems to be no path to reconciliation. These valleys of pain and confusion are awful. Sometimes we just give up. 

But it is into these valleys of pain and confusion that the voice of John the Baptist calls to us. His voice reminds us that God will raise us up out of our valleys, and He will straighten our paths. Somehow, someway, God will lead us through our pain and confusion. This is the Christmas hope that will bring us home. This is the voice of John the Baptist. 

My finding the pink sheep on the trail was first and foremost God comforting me, and telling me He was near in my time of grief. But as I look back at that event, finding the pink sheep was also a signal that my old order of life was coming to an end. My old order was a good order, having as two of my elders two very good men. But as the circle of life turns, the old order passes, and when it does, a new order begins. I am still, eight years later, trying to figure out and fully inhabit what it means to be me in this new order. 

John the Baptist was the herald of a new order. Not only did John seek to make the valleys level, and the journey straight, he also passionately sought to bring the high places down, and to make every mountain and hill come down low. The Pharisees believed themselves, and their interpretation of the law, to be the high water mark of Judaism. But they weren't humble, and they were often hypocrites. John furiously took them on. He called them a brood of vipers. And when the Pharisees pridefully asserted that, well, Abraham is our father, John responded, yeah, well, God can make children of Abraham out of rocks and stones. The Pharisees thought they were high and mighty, but John cut them off at the knees. John said, There will be a new order, and if you don't repent, you won't be part of it. 

And John took on the Romans too. When John rebuked Herod about his sexual sin, John was not just calling Herod out, he was calling out the entire Roman culture of sexual casualness, decadence and vice. John was taking on the entire Roman order of life, and He proclaimed that a new order was coming, with a new leader who would be the messiah. 

When we encounter the wild spirit of John the Baptist, he will also take on our high places, and he will begin initiating a new order. We all have high places in our life, areas that need work. We all have areas of pride from which we look down on others. We are all aware of actions or attitudes in our life that are hypocritical. I'm sure we all have places where we cling to the old order of things, ways of life that don't work anymore, but we're afraid to let them go and move into a new way of living. The wild spirit of John the Baptist doesn't always appear as as a cute stuffed animal.  John's spirit can sometimes be a purifying fire, and that spirit is always pushing us to change course where needed, and repent when necessary. The goal, as Paul tells us, is that our love may overflow more and more with knowledge and full insight, to help us determine what is best, so that in the day of Christ we may be pure and blameless, having produced the harvest of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ for the glory and praise of God.

The story of John the Baptist is a moving and inspirational story that we read every Christmas.  John said prepare the way of the Lord, and in Advent we prepare our hearts for the coming of Christ. My little pink sheep is a wonderful Advent picture of how God meets us in our low places, and changes our path for the future. But, as I finish this morning, I need to conclude with a warning. John the Baptist was a force of nature, a wild and passionate spirit who challenged the world in which he lived. This made him a dangerous man, and dangerous men sometimes come to a bad end. We must be careful with the spirit of John the Baptist, because there is a little bit of Herod in all of us. The spirit of John the Baptist is relentless, and sometimes, like King Herod, we are tempted to lock this spirit up, and sometimes even cut its head off.

The spirit of John the Baptist never quits, and he can wear us out. There have been times in my life when God was clearly knocking on the door of my heart, in the spirit of John the Baptist, and I didn't want to respond. I was tempted to lock the voice of God up and not deal with it. One or two times when I was young I was tempted to cut God's voice off completely. Fortunately I didn't. At times God has hit me over the head to get my attention, at times he has forcibly pushed me in the right direction, and a few times he has dragged me against my will. I'm glad He did. And I'm glad  I never allowed the Herod in my heart to lock this voice up or silence it completely. The spirit of John the Baptist is like a strong wind that never stops, and the best strategy is always to put up our sails and let the wind take us where it wants. Resistance is futile. 

I am very thankful for the gift of my little pink sheep. I will never forget how he came into my life, and I will never forget why he came into my life. This advent, may we all thank God for the many ways he has come into our lives. May our hearts be open to the wild spirit of John the Baptist, and as we await the coming of Christ, may God make straight our paths, meet us in our valleys, and gently help us down from our high places. Amen. 

Transfiguration and Field of Dreams

Good morning. Many movies over the years have moved me emotionally, but one movie that gets me every time is Field of Dreams. How many have seen this? It's a story about an Iowa farmer named Ray, who hears a Voice that says If You Build It, He Will Come. So Ray ploughs under his corn field and builds a baseball field. Sure enough, long-dead baseball players start showing up on Ray's field, beginning with shoeless Joe Jackson. It's a magical movie, and as a young man I was watching it with my girlfriend. At the end of the movie, when Ray sees his father as a young man, I started to tear up. After I took my girlfriend home I went back to my house, sat on my couch, and cried my eyes out for at least half an hour. I wasn't even sure why I was crying, but something about voices, baseball, and fathers touched something deep in my heart. Every time I see Field Of Dreams I still feel that magic.  

Today we celebrate the Feast of the Transfiguration, and as I was looking at our readings, I felt a magic similar to what I feel when watching Field of Dreams. And I heard a voice saying, "If you preach it, they will come."  So this morning I want to use Field of Dreams as a guide for looking at the magic, the mystery, and the poignancy of the Transfiguration.

In our gospel reading Jesus takes three of his closest disciples, and ascends a high mountain. There, He is transfigured in glory, and is joined by Moses and Elijah who shine with an amazing brightness.  Moses and Elijah were the fathers of Judaism, Moses the father of law, and Elijah the father of prophecy. What a story!  What a Field of Dreams!  For Peter, James, and John, this would be like Todd Helton taking you to a baseball game, and being joined there in glory by Babe Ruth and Mickey Mantle. At the old Yankees stadium. It had to be incredible. 

Then Peter, dazzled by the sight, and in the presence of the greatest figures in Jewish history, says, hey, let me build some condos so you can all stay for awhile. Good old Peter. Mark says Peter was flustered and scared, and didn't know what he was saying. But I wonder if Peter didn't know exactly what he was saying. In Field of Dreams Ray hears a voice saying if you build it, he will come.  Peter also hears a voice, and his voice says, since they have come, I better build it. Peter wanted to make this experience last. He wanted to make it permanent. He didn't want it to ever end. 

This deep human instinct to build a container for the sacred, and make it permanent, is universal. If you were a Freudian, you might say that in the presence of the holy, human beings have an edifice complex. Just think about how many churches, synagogues, mosques, shrines, pyramids, kivas, and other religious structures have been built in human history. It's easy to understand why: our encounters with the sacred are magical and profound, but they don't happen often enough, and they don't last long enough.  So we want to honor these experiences, and make them tangible and permanent. We don't ever want them to end. Ray heard a voice and built a ball park. Peter heard a voice and was going to build some condos. 

But just as Peter is discussing with James and John his building plans, poof, Moses and Elijah disappear. Peter is thinking permanence, but he is slammed by the temporary. We've all had mountain-top spiritual experiences that end way too soon. We have visions of the divine, we see how everything fits together, and then a friend calls whose life is completely falling apart. We touch God in nature, and then have to return to the city. In worship we come into the very presence of God, and then on the way home some idiot cuts us off in traffic. On retreats, camps, and mission trips we clearly see God in our brothers and sisters.  But then we have to go back to work. We wish so much these experiences would never end. 

But they do end. In this life we all have to come down from the mountain.  The Voice says build it, but reality whispers, it doesn't last. 

In our Old Testament reading, we learn the story of Elijah the prophet passing the blessing to Elisha. Elisha was the chosen successor of Elijah, and he knew that Elijah would soon leave on a fiery chariot to be with God.  There was no way Elisha was going to let Elijah get away without receiving a double blessing, so he stuck to Elijah like glue, following Him from city to city, until he got the blessing. As Elijah was being taken to heaven, Elisha said, "My Father!  You are like a Father to me!  Elisha loved Elijah, and he pursued Elijah so he could receive his father's blessing. 

In Field of Dreams, Ray hints throughout the movie that his relationship with his father was not a good one. His father had been worn out by work, and Ray was a cocky 17 year old kid. Ray left for college, and never saw his dad alive again. Ray's father could not give the blessing, and Ray couldn't receive it. But at the end of the movie Ray's father is one of the ballplayers that shows up on the baseball field. Ray's dad is a young man, and as Ray and his dad start to play catch, you know that their relationship will be healed. Ray will receive the blessing. 

Fathers are very significant people in our lives, for both sons and daughters, and a father's blessing is deeply, deeply, important.  As a psychotherapist, I have worked with far too many people who never received their father's blessing. Like with Isaac and Esau, too often blind fathers can't bless their children, and with tears the children, like Esau, never seem to find healing. I know people, and I'm sure you do too, who are desperately seeking their father's blessing, 20 or 30 years after their father has died. Whatever a father's blessing is, it is incredibly powerful. 

I wonder if Peter, James, and John felt this loss of a father's blessing when Moses and Elijah disappeared. They weren't denied the blessing, but they were this close to touching, and hugging, and playing catch with Moses and Elijah, the fathers of the faith. And then the fathers were gone. To switch metaphors, it must have been like the Super Bowl, with Seattle on the goal line, the championship right there a yard away, and then it's gone. Ouch. 

Fathers are a great mystery. We long to know them, understand them, and be blessed by them. Many of us have heard a voice that says ease their pain, which is also our pain.  Peter, James, and John heard the voice of God the Father saying this is Jesus, my son. I love Him. We all Long to hear the voice that says that we, too, are beloved. 

In second Corinthians, Paul says that God's radiant glory is displayed in the face of Christ, but there is a veil that prevents the world from seeing this glory.  Believers can see through the veil, but most people can't. This reminds me of a scene in Field of Dreams, where Ray is faced with a very difficult decision. He is bankrupt because he turned his cornfield into a baseball field, and his wife's brother is insisting that Ray sell what's left to the bank. But Ray's brother-in-law can't see the players on the field.  He doesn't believe. There is a veil that prevents him from seeing the glorious treasure of the baseball field, a treasure that people will come and pay to see.  

This is such a great metaphor for our lives. We know the glorious reality of heaven is there, but the hardships of this world often veil our eyes from seeing it. There are times when we feel bankrupt, and we don't have the inner resources to dig deep to see how God is working in our lives. Sometimes our financial issues are so pressing that we lose track of the other reality of God and heaven.  Our relationships are often such a mess that God seems a million miles away. Sometimes our health aches and pains us enough that the reality of a heaven of peace and joy seems like a dream.  On the other hand, our riches and affluence can veil our eyes to the reality of heaven, because in our comfort we are tempted to believe that this world is heaven. It isn't easy to consistently raise the veil, and be comforted by, and challenged by, the reality of God's world. 

But for Peter, James, and John, on the mount of Transfiguration, the veil was completely removed.  They saw clearly the glorious reality of heaven.  After Moses and Elijah left, however, Jesus says something strange. He says, don't tell anybody about this. Don't tell anybody about this?  Really Jesus?  What's that about?  We've seen past the veil, and you want us to keep quiet?

I have a confession to make. I get this whole veil thing. But I don't like this whole veil thing. Sure, I get that not seeing through the veil all the time develops our faith. I get that it disciplines us to seek God, and patient seeking builds perseverance, and persevering in hope builds character. I get all that. But I don't always like it. I don't like that some people have been so bruised by this world that they seem unable to see past the veil. I don't like it that in certain seasons of our life the glimpses beyond the veil are way too few, and way too far between. I wish it were different. 

Seriously.  Why couldn't Jesus have walked down from the mountain with Moses and Elijah, removed the veil for good, strolled into Jerusalem, and inaugurated His messianic kingdom?  Would that have been so hard?  

Jesus tells us why He didn't do that. He told the three, don't tell anyone what you have seen on this mountain until after I have risen from the dead. That's the catch. There's the rub. In order to play on the Field of Dreams, we all must journey through suffering and death. The veil will be lifted, but only after we journey through suffering and death. We will know permanence, but only after we journey through suffering and death. We will be blessed by our fathers, and all our relationships will be healed, but only after we journey through suffering and death. I don't like it, but this is our entire faith. This is the good news. 

This is why we always celebrate the feast of the Transfiguration right before  Ash Wednesday and Lent. It's a liturgical reminder that nothing stays transfigured unless it first goes into the grave. As Jesus had to journey through suffering and death before He entered into glory, so must we. One day we will all play on a field of dreams with all the saints.  But first, we must go the distance. 

Field of Dreams is about longing, and magic, and heaven. When we long for permanence, we long for heaven. When we long for our Father's blessing, and for healed relationships, we long for heaven. And when we long to see through the veil, and see God face to face, we long for heaven. In this holy season of Lent, may we all find heaven in our journey to the cross, and may we all follow the Voice that leads us home. 

Amen

 

The Far Side Of Our Estrangement

Good morning.  When I was in college, I was a member of a non-denominational Christian ministry at the University of Colorado. One Fall we had a retreat in the mountains, and the leader of our group, I'll call him Larry, gave a wonderful talk called "The Far Side Of Our Estrangement."  Larry's message was that God came all the way into our sinful humanity in Christ, identifying with our every weakness and shortcoming. Larry's text was 2nd Corinthians 5:21, where Paul says that "God made him (Christ) who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God." Larry pushed this idea that Christ became sin for us as far as it could go, almost, almost, saying that Christ actually sinned so He could partake of our estrangement. 

After the talk I was talking to another campus minister, I'll call him Rick, and I said something that I regret saying to this day. What I said to Rick set in motion a chain of events that led to misunderstanding, deep bitterness, and broken relationships. What I said to Rick is one of those things that if I could get a do-over about things in my past, this would be one of those things I would change. 

Our gospel reading this morning is a difficult passage. Jesus gives us some guidelines about how to deal with conflict with our brothers and sisters in the church, and His principles are difficult to understand, they are very hard to practice, and, to be honest, they have been terribly abused by Christians throughout church history.  Hopefully, by telling you what went wrong with Rick and Larry, as initiated by me, we can gain some insights into what Christians should be striving for when there is conflict in the church. 

When I was chatting with Rick after Larry's message, not for the first time my sense of humor got me into trouble. I praised Larry's talk, but I said, "boy, it sounded like Larry said that Christ sinned. That Larry is a real heretic." A week later Larry asked to speak to me, and he asked me what I thought he had said at the retreat. I said I thought he pushed the idea that Jesus became sin as far as he could go, but not too far.  Larry then showed me a letter from Rick. In the letter Rick said he was very concerned about Larry's theology, he had spoken to a bright young student named Jim Banks, that would be me, who thought Larry was teaching heresy, and that Larry needed to repent of his heresies and make a public apology.  Uh oh.  I felt terrible. I assured Larry that I was kidding when I said he was a heretic, and I in no way felt he really was. Larry thanked me, and said he would try to patch things up with Rick. What a mess.

We all hope that church can be a safe place to fellowship, grow, and learn, and that with our brothers and sisters in Christ we can be safe from the problems of the world. But we learn quickly, unfortunately, that church can be as rough, and sometimes rougher, than the world. I'm sure all of us, at some time in our life, have been hurt by a brother or sister in Christ. And we may well have hurt others.  That's why Jesus in Matthew 18 tells us how to handle a situation where a brother or sister has wounded us. He says if we've been hurt, go and talk to the person, in private, tell him or her our issue, and if our brother or sister listens to us, then we have won them back. Go in private with humility, in the spirit of reconciliation, with the goal of restoring your relationship.

Unfortunately, Rick did not do this with Larry.  Rick's sense of Christian theology was offended, and he should have gone to Larry, humbly, and asked for clarification, told him his concerns, and sought to bring harmony and understanding to the situation.  Instead, Rick, in a spirit of superiority, did not go to Larry but wrote a letter. He was not seeking reconciliation, but vindication, and as a judge told Larry to publicly repent. Everything Rick could do wrong, he did wrong. 

In fairness to Rick, I think we have all played the part of Rick at some point in our church lives.  Someone has hurt us, and we have not gone to them about it. Instead, we let our anger simmer. We are not particularly humble in our feelings toward our brother or sister. We know what they need to do to correct the situation, and we are not so much interested in reconciliation, as in being right. By doing this we do not win back our brother or sister.  Instead we grow cold towards them. We avoid them. Maybe we even start to get burned out about the church and about people who go to church. That's why Jesus says go to your brother and sister and try to make things right. Go in private with humility, in the spirit of reconciliation, striving to restore your relationship.  Easy to hear, but very hard to do. 

About a week and a half after I talked to Larry, he asked to meet with me again. He had sent a letter to Rick apologizing for the confusion, and he promised to meet personally with every student at the retreat to correct any misconceptions he may have inadvertently left them with. I thought that sounded very reasonable.  But then Larry showed me Rick's response.  Rick said no, not a private apology with with each student, but only a public apology would do. In addition, Rick had met "discreetly" with a theology professor at Denver seminary, and the professor agreed that Larry was teaching heresy, and there were hints that Larry might have to appear before a seminary tribunal to "clarify" his teachings. This had turned into a disaster. 

In Matthew Jesus says if you go to your brother or sister, and there is no healing, then take one or two people with you, humbly and privately, with the goal of healing and reconciliation. The force of Jesus's teaching is that reconciliation is so important that you keep working at it if it isn't happening, and you bring a small crisis team with you to give you the best possible chance for success. Do whatever it takes to achieve reconciliation. 

Again, Rick didn't do this. If he believed that Larry was resisting his attempts to deal with their problems, he should have met with Larry, with one or two others, and in a spirit of grace and humility done everything possible to to achieve a breakthrough. Instead, Rick went privately to someone else with his grievances, and began to devise a "remedy" for the situation. This was not a graceful next step. This was not a step seeking reconciliation. 

It's easy to do what Rick did in this situation. A fellow Christian hurts you, and your first instinct is to go tell someone about it, and to find an ally who will understand and agree with you. We've all done it. But this is not the path of grace and reconciliation. In a church body, wounds between people are like an infection, and if left untreated that infection will certainly spread. Too many churches have died because a rampant infection of bitterness and side-taking has killed them. That's why Jesus says if need be, take one or two people with you, not to spread the conflict, but to contain it.  Strive to quickly to heal the wound. 

There is a church in Denver that does something I really like. When someone wants to become a member, they tell them all about the church, and then they sit the person down, and tell them very honestly, we are going to fail you. We will hurt you, and we will disappoint you. We guarantee it. But, if you can hang in there with us, if you can patiently bring  your frustrations to us and deal with them, then that is where grace begins.  That is where grace begins.  That is so wonderful!  But that is so very hard.  When something goes wrong with another Christian, our first instinct is to believe that grace has failed and been defeated. But the opposite can be true Grace can begin when we are wounded by our brothers and sisters, if we are open to it, and if we strive for it.

Two weeks after reading Rick's second letter, Larry asked to meet with me one more time. Oh boy.  Larry told me that he had written to Rick telling him that he believed they were at an impasse, and that if Rick felt the need to continue dealing with this, then they would have to proceed according to our gospel reading, Matthew 18.  Larry meant that Rick should bring one or two along, and meet with Larry, and see if they could work it out. But Rick thought that Larry meant that Larry wanted to bring one or two along and go after Rick, and get Rick to repent. A total and complete misunderstanding. Rick said he was prepared to fight Larry, and basically, come and get me. 

What do we do in a church or Christian organization when something like this happens?  Jesus says in Matthew 18 that if you go to your brother and sister with one or two others, and you still aren't reconciled, then take it to the whole church. Of course, when a situation has gotten this bad, it will come before the church, one way or another. It always does. The question is, how will a church deal with it?  Jesus says hopefully those who are involved will listen to, and follow, the wisdom of the church. And if that doesn't work? Then let the resisting brother or sister be to you as a Gentile  and a tax collector.  We can't avoid it, these are very hard words. But in my opinion, Christians have consistently misunderstood and terribly abused this passage. Christians have believed that if a person won't listen to the church, then throw the bum out. You had your chance. Adios. But this isn't what Jesus is saying. 

We need to remember that Jesus loved Gentiles and building inspectors. Uh, tax collectors. He spent lots of time with them. He even said that Gentiles and tax collectors were going into the Kingdom of God before a lot of Jews.  Jesus is saying that if someone won't listen even to the church, then something has gone wrong.  On some level they haven't understood what the church is, or what reconciliation is, and in that sense they are like a Gentile or tax-collector. But Gentiles and tax collectors they are of infinite worth.  Go get them!  Strive to love them even more. What do you think?  If a man owns a hundred sheep, and one of them wanders away, will he not leave the ninety-nine on the hills and go to look for the one that wandered off ?  And if he finds it, truly I tell you, he is happier about that one sheep than about the ninety-nine that did not wander off. In the same way your Father in heaven is not willing that any of these little ones should perish. Jesus spoke these words right before our passage in Matthew 18.

Matthew 18 is a tough passage. We must take problems with our brothers and sisters very seriously. If I can use our Old Testament reading as an analogy, to be honest, there is an angel of death that hovers over every church, and that dark angel is the angel of hurt feelings, misunderstandings, gossip, and division. No church is immune. My guess is that at some time in our church lives, at some church, we have felt the presence of this angel of death, and maybe we have been members at a church where this angel has caused great destruction. It isn't pretty.  

But there are things we can do to make sure this angel passes over us.  We can paint our door posts with the grace of Jesus, a grace that seeks reconciliation at all costs, a grace that doesn't divide but heals, and a grace that doesn't cast out our problems, but believes instead that our problems are where grace begins.  If we cover our door posts with this attitude, we will be delivered from the darkness.

The angel of death did not spare Rick and Larry. Though Rick eventually dropped everything, he and Larry have never spoken again. They could not find the grace that heals. They could not find the grace that reconciles. It is a true tragedy.

So, one last thought.  The passionate Christians of St. Barnabas Episcopal Church are about to embark on a large building project. Some feelings will be hurt. Misunderstandings will occur. Some relationships might be strained. Are we ready?  Does the reconciling grace of God cover our door posts?  Just askin.

Amen

Doubting Thomas

Good morning. He is Risen!  When my oldest son Mario was a junior in high school, he and a friend and his friend's father traveled to Missouri for a camping trip. When Mario got back he was very excited.  Dad, I saw a spook light!  Spook light, I said? Yeah, a spook light. We were in our car at the bottom of a hill on a dirt road, and these lights appeared right after dark at the top of the hill. As we watched them, one of the lights came flying down the road and went right past us. It was a spook light!  Okay Mario, I said. That's nice.  Mario sensed my disbelief. Don't you believe me dad?  Do you think I'm making this up? I said no, I don't think you're making it up, but, a spook light?  Mario was less than happy with my reluctance to believe his story.  So I said look Mario, I'm not sure what you saw, it sounds amazing, but I guess I would have to be there to see it before I can really believe it.  Putting it mildly, Mario found my lack of faith disturbing. 

In our gospel today we read about the story of doubting Thomas. Over the course of church history, many sermons have been preached about Thomas, faith and doubt.  Should Thomas have simply believed his friends when they told him that Jesus had risen from the dead? Was he right to doubt? Did Jesus find Thomas' lack of faith disturbing?  These are difficult questions.  But for me, they leave out the question of context.  Questions of faith and doubt cannot be examined in the abstract.  You can't answer these questions without looking at the context of Thomas' life and experiences. In the same way, for each of us, questions of faith and doubt can only be answered in the context of who we are, and what is going on in our lives.  

When I was discussing with Mario his vision of the spook light, the very first thing that came to mind was not whether he really saw something, or if he was fibbing. My first thought was, what is my relationship with my son?  This was the context in which I had to address my doubts.  Though I had questions about Mario's story, I knew if I expressed these doubts to Mario that this could endanger our relationship. The relationship between dads and teenage sons is precarious anyway, and I knew that if I told Mario I doubted him that I could make our father/ teenager journey more dicey.  

I had to weigh being honest on the one hand, with preserving our relationship on the other hand.

 I believe that Thomas was responding to the other disciples in a similar context.  He and the other disciples had been through a lot together. They had spent three years with Jesus. They had seen his miracles and listened to His teachings, and they had spent the last week with him in Jerusalem, from the triumphal entry to the crucifixion. Thomas and the other disciples were a team, a band of brothers and sisters, and if Thomas told them he didn't believe them, which was to say he didn't trust them, then his relationship with them might be in big trouble. This is part of the context of Thomas' story.

So I think that Thomas telling them that he needed to put his hands in Jesus' wounds in order to believe their testimony was actually an act not so much of doubt, but of courage. He was taking a big risk that his honesty might damage his relationship with them.  He was risking being compared to another disciple, Judas, who didn't really believe in Jesus and ended up betraying him. I took a risk in being honest with Mario, and in a similar way I believe Thomas took a big risk in being honest with his friends.

It is never easy to find the courage to speak a difficult truth in a close relationship. Sometimes we need to talk to a friend, a spouse, or a family member about a problem, an addiction, or some other issue.  We all know how scary that can be, because we might be putting our relationship with them in jeopardy.  Sometimes we need to talk to a fellow employee, or maybe our boss, about something going on that needs to change, and that takes courage.  Our jobs and our livelihood can be at risk by telling the truth.  As hard as these are, it is infinitely harder to tell someone that you are close to that you don't believe them. I believe, in context, that Thomas had to make this decision, whether to be honest about his doubts, or not, even if that meant that his relationship with his friends and disciples might be damaged.  Thomas found the courage to be honest. 

Here is another story, this time from my college days. When I was a sophomore I had a crush on a girl in our campus ministry named Marilyn.  We started dating, and getting closer, until one day her old boyfriend came back into town.  Within a week Marilyn and I were no longer an item. That was really hard for me.  Well, about a year later, Marilyn started giving me hints and signals that maybe she was interested in me again (it didn't work out with her old boyfriend).  And some friends confirmed that they thought Marilyn was again looking romantically in my direction.  I wanted to believe it, because I still had feelings for her. But I was too wounded to do anything about it. I told everyone, I'm just too scarred from what happened last time. If Marilyn wants to be involved with me again, she'll have to show me. She'll have to make the first move, and make it abundantly clear that this is what she wants. I just don't have the energy to believe her. 

In context, Thomas and the other disciples were deeply wounded. They had given up everything to follow Jesus, they believed he was the messiah and the son of God, and they expected the kingdom of God to be revealed at any moment. But then their hopes, their dreams, and their beloved leader were killed, and their world ended.  Now the other disciples were telling Thomas that they had seen Jesus.  He was alive!  I'm sure Thomas wanted to believe.  He had heard Jesus say that if you destroy this temple in three days I will rebuild it.  But like I was with Marilyn, he was too wounded to believe, too wounded to make a step of faith. Jesus would have to meet him.  Jesus would have to show him the wounds in His feet and hands. It is only in the context of Thomas' woundedness that we can understand Thomas' doubts.

We all know people who for a variety of reasons are too wounded by life to hear and accept the good news of Jesus' resurrection.  For whatever reason they just can't put their faith in God.  And all of us know what it's like to be  wounded to the point where we can barely reach out to God. Sometimes we go through through seasons where we have to retreat from the church, and maybe even God, and tend our wounds.  And you know what?  That's okay. God understands. In fact, I believe that these seasons of pain and doubt are a key part of our faith journey. God's ways are hard sometimes. Very hard. Sometimes God wounds us almost to our breaking point.  And it is often at these times of doubt and darkness that God does his deepest work in us. God understands when we can't reach out.  God understands our wounded contexts. Just like with Thomas, Jesus will gladly show us his hands and feet.

One more story from my life.  My mom died last year, and in January we started to remodel her house so we could use it as a rental.  Her backyard was a mess, and my youngest son Joey and some others were cleaning things up outside. In early February Joey called me, and said, hey, we found something buried in your Mom's backyard.   What is it, I asked?  He said his friend found a hole, and there was a can in it, and there was something in the can. But his friend had found it, so Joey wasn't sure what it was.  As you can imagine, I found this news very exciting.  What treasure was buried in that can?  What gift had my mom or dad left me, knowing I would only find it after their deaths?  I am a Jungian oriented psychotherapist, and this archetypal symbolism of parental buried treasure was pure gold!  I had to get over there as soon as I could!  But, I was also hesitant, and a bit reluctant.  Was this too good to be true?  Though I felt like a kid on Christmas morning, I didn't want to get my hopes up, and I didn't want to be disappointed.  I would have to calmly wait and see what treasure was buried in that can. 

In context, I imagine Thomas must have felt the same way.  The other disciples were clearly very excited about having seen Jesus.  And Thomas knew the Old Testament prophecies, he had seen the miracles, and He believed Jesus was the messiah. But was this too good to be true?  Jesus had been betrayed, condemned to death, and then crucified.  Was it possible that this story might have a happy ending?  Was it really possible that the other disciples had seen Jesus alive?  Thomas was afraid to hope.  He didn't want to be disappointed. Again. He needed to see for himself. 

We know what this is like. Maybe we hear about someone who has been miraculously healed. We wonder, can this really be true? Could God do this for me?  Or maybe we hear about someone who has had a miraculous conversion to Christianity. We wonder, is it real? Will it last?  Is it too good to be true?  Or maybe a family member tells us that this time, it's going to be different. None of us want to be disappointed. We have all had our hopes raised, only to be dashed, and we don't want to go through that again. We understandably defend ourselves against disappointment. In context, I think this is what Thomas was doing.  When he said he needed to see the wounds in Jesus' feet and hands, he was saying he couldn't bear to be disappointed. 

So was Thomas flippant? Cynical? A man of little faith?  I don't think so.  Thomas was just like us.  He was honest with his doubts, He was wounded and didn't have the energy to believe, and he wanted to believe, but was afraid of being disappointed.  

So you're probably wondering, what treasure did I find in that can? You're curious, aren't you?  Well, for now, I'm not going to tell you. But hold that feeling of curiosity.  Because, in the context of of John's gospel, curiosity and anticipation are what Easter is all about.  Mary was curious about who moved the stone.  John and Peter were curious and filled with anticipation as they ran to the tomb to check out Mary's story. And I believe Thomas must have been beyond curious about whether the disciple's story of seeing Jesus alive was true.  Though he was wounded and didn't want to be disappointed, in every hour of every day, and every time he was in a room with the other disciples, he must have wondered if Jesus was going to show up.  And he did show up!  

We must never lose that feeling of curiosity and wonder. Curiosity and wonder are our Easter faith. When we have doubts, and when we are wounded and can't bear to be disappointed again, we must keep the flame of curiosity burning. When we have to back off and heal our wounds, we must keep anticipating what our next season will look like, and what God will do next. We must understand that Easter is not just something that happened two thousand years ago.  Easter is happening all the time. Jesus is coming alive in our hearts every day.  This is the faith of Doubting Thomas. This is the faith of the church.  And this is the faith that will set us free.

So let us never forget our contexts and the contexts of others, and when we are filled with doubt, and when we are locked up in fear of being disappointed again, tell Jesus you need to feel him and touch him.  He'll show up.  He always does.

Amen

By the way, there was candy in the can. 

 

Jim and Eian!

Curious

What will you tell us?

Hi Coyote

Hello
It's been a while
Where have you been?

Forbidden Planet

Good morning. As you know, I love all the the Star Wars movies. But my favorite science fiction movie of all time is the 1956 classic, Forbidden Planet. Anybody seen Forbidden Planet? Forbidden Planet is about a planet in a distant solar system that was once populated by an incredible race called the Krell. The Krell were amazingly advanced. They had eliminated sickness and suffering, they were ethically and morally stellar, they had travelled the galaxy, and they were technologically light years ahead of earth. But, on the threshold of their ultimate cultural achievement, the Krell perished in a single night.

Two different expeditions from earth visited this Forbidden Planet long after the Krell had disappeared, and discovered that something dark and evil still haunted this world. At the end of the movie we learn that the Krell had been murdered, and this murderous evil still existed, threatening to kill all of the earth visitors.

What was this evil? The Krell heard subtle but devilish cultural voices tempting them. The Krell succumbed to these cultural voices and temptations, and by giving in, they created an evil that caused their extinction. The Krell listened to the voice of the tempter, and perished.

The cultural voices the Krell faced are the same cultural voices and temptations that Jesus faced while He was in the desert. The same evil tempter tempted both. And, the same cultural temptations, and the same evil tempter, tempt us in exactly the same ways. As we all begin the journey of Lent, I want to look this morning at three cultural voices and temptations that the Krell, Jesus and we all wrestle with. By looking at how Jesus and the Krell faced these three cultural temptations, we will learn what the devil’s cultural temptations are, how to resist them, and, what the tragic consequences are if we don’t.

Let me begin by painting the scene in Luke. The big picture that we so often miss is that when the Spirit drove Jesus into the desert, Jesus was going on a classic vision quest. Many cultures then, and still a few today, sent their young people away from society for a period of time to help them prepare for their public vocation or ministry. On a vision quest the goal is to get away from all the voices of family, culture, and civilization, and to clearly hear the voice of God, the voice of your own soul, and, the voice of evil.

Through fasting and isolation, the vision-quester is more open to hearing these important voices. This is why the Spirit drove Jesus into the desert. Jesus didn’t go into the desert simply to individually wrestle with Satan. Jesus went into the desert on a vision quest to turn off cultural voices, and turn other voices on.

But, voices we try to turn off always come back full force. Prepared by fasting and isolation, the very voices of culture that Jesus was trying to get away from on his vision quest came back at Him full force.

The first cultural temptation that Jesus faced was the tempation of compensating for human fraility with omnipotence. After living in the desert for over a month, Jesus is very hungry. The tempter says, “if you’re starving, turn these stones into bread. You are all powerful, use your omnipotence to compensate for your human frailty.” Human beings are frail. We are prone to sickness and suffering. We get weak from hunger, and we get scared when we are all alone. Culture, our shared human community, helps us with our frailities, healing us when we are sick, comforting us in our sorrows, feeding us when we are hungry, and providing us companionship when we are all alone. But, the voices of culture also tell us that we can compensate for our human frailty by becoming omnipotent.

Look at what humans have done to compensate for our frailty. We’ve turned deserts into oasis, we’ve cured diseases, we feed the world, we shelter ourselves from violent nature, and, if we continue on this path, who knows what else our power might accomplish. We just might become all powerful. We just might be able to turn stones into bread. This is the voice of the tempter, speaking through culture, telling us that we can become God.

The Krell also heard the voice of the tempter. They were so powerful that they had eliminated sickness, suffering, fraility, and vulnerability. There was nothing they couldn’t do. They were virtually omnipotent. They compensated for their fraility by almost becoming God.

This first cultural temptation we must battle on our lenten vision quests says if our fraility makes us insecure, then maybe our power can make us secure. Jesus responds to the voice of the tempter by saying that humans do not live by bread alone. Our security does not come by turning stones into bread, but by trusting God. We are secure not by becoming God, but by trusting God.



This is a tough battle. I feel this cultural temptation all the time. If I can make enough money, then I can turn that money into bread, and I will be secure. If I do just the right exercises, and take just the right supplements, then I can avoid sickness and disease, and be secure. If I can just develop myself enough psychologically, then I can turn that hoped-for maturity into mental security against rejection, failure, or political and economic unrest. And on and on.

I’m sure you feel similar temptations too. The cultural temptations to compensate for our human fraility by becoming God are everywhere. Like Jesus, when confronted by the voice of the tempter, we all need to compensate for our human fraility not by striving to become omnipotent, but by trusting our fraility to God.

The second cultural temptation that Jesus faced was the temptation to compensate for being limited to one place, by being able to go to all places. After a rough season in the wilderness, Jesus was feeling powerless and alone. Surely He was tired of living in the desert. The tempter leads Jesus to a high place and shows Him all the kingdoms of the world. “All their glory and splendor will be yours,” Satan says. Jesus, trying to get away from the voices of culture, is immediately hit with a powerful cultural temptation to be somewhere else.

The tempter says, “You can be everywhere at once. You need not be limited to one place. From this high ground all the kingdoms of the world are right here before you. There is no place you can’t have. There is no place you can’t reach” This temptation is about power, authority, and omnipresence.

The Krell, from their high place, were also tempted to be omnipresent. On the threshold of their greatest cultural achievement, Krell technology was so advanced that their computers and machinery could connect to the electromagnetic signals of individual Krell brains. This allowed individual Krells to project their presence instantaneously to any place of their planet. The Krell overcame the physical limitations of a body, and achieved virtual omnipresence. They listened to the voice of the tempter.

What are the high places in our culture from which we are tempted to become omnipresent? Militarily, omipresence means our army, navy and air force can fight the enemy anywhere and everywhere in the world. Tourism-wise, omnipresence means we can go to, learn from, and enjoy any place in the world. Internet-wise, omnipresence means we can connect to and communicate with anyone on earth, and, through fantasy, as super-heroes we can battle anyone we want, and, have sex with any image we want.

We can literally travel to the moon, and through our incredible telescopes see back to the beginning of the universe. We can go to the stars. We can color outside any lines. We are no longer tied to body, or to place. As the commercial says, we are without limits.

Jesus responded to the voice of the tempter by saying “you will worship God alone.” By worshipping God who alone is everywhere at all times, we are forced to remember that we are limited physical creatures. We do indeed have limits. There are all kinds of lines we can’t color outside of. There is no place high enough to get us everywhere. There is no place high enough to make us God. We must compensate for being physically limited to one body, in one place, at one time, not by being omnipresent, but by trusting God who is everywhere at all times.

The final temptation that Jesus faced was the temptation to compensate for being mortal, by being immortal. The desert Jesus was vision-questing in was not flat. It had hills and canyons, and certainly, weakened by fasting, Jesus must have worried about falling. So, the tempter took Jesus to the highest point of the temple. “If you are the Son of God, Jump! Your angels will catch you. Don’t worry about falling. Scripture says you can’t be harmed. You won’t die. You are immortal.” Satan tempts Jesus to compensate for His human frailities by trusting in His divine invulnerability and immortality.

Again, the Krell were tempted by the same tempter and the same temptation. Having overcome sickness and suffering, having overcome being physically limited to one place, the Krell were on the verge of attaining immortality. Immortality not through their achievements, and not through their history, but immortality by living forever. The Krell compensated for the greatest fraility of all, death, by swallowing up death up in eternal life.

The promise of eternal life is a profound cultural temptation that we must battle ceasely on our Lenten vision quests. In spite of earthquakes, tsunamis, plagues, and wars, culture keeps promising us eternal life. Think of how much money we spend as a culture on make-up and hair dye to keep us looking young; light beer, shiny cars, and pretty women to keep us feeling young, and angioplastys, stents, and bypass surgeries to keep us living and young. These things aren’t bad in and of themselves. But the subtle cultural message we are hit with all the time is that if we do the right things, then, maybe, just maybe, we will live forever.

Jesus responded to this temptation by saying, “Don’t put God to the test. Don’t challenge God to show you how mortal you really are.” We should trust our mortality to God’s immortality. We should not try to compensate for our mortality by trying to become immortal.”

These cultural temptations are not just quirks of 21st century humanity. Put all these temptations together and humanity has a very serious problem. I want to look at a recent example of how all these temptations came together at one time: Wall Street and the economic meltdown. I want to preface this by saying that my observations are in no way political, and, the executives, accountants, and brokers of Wall Street are not the bad guys. They are just like us, tempted by exactly the same things we are. The only difference is that the drama of their temptations and failures are played out on a much bigger stage.

What do Wall Street executives refer to themselves as? Masters of the universe. Through extremely fast computers and the internet they have the power and authority to economically make all the nations of the world bow down. They are rich beyond their wildest dreams. They believe they have computer programs and economic strategies that remove all risk from their financial activities. These masters of the universe are all-powerful, omnipresent, and invulnerable. And it totally fell apart.


And we are no different. In our small realms don’t we strive with all our might to be masters of our universe? Don’t we arrange our lives to such an extent that we believe, or at least hope, that we are invulnerable? Don’t we dream of what we would do if we were economically or politically powerful? Don’t we way too often spread ourselves way too thin in our quest to be at way too many places at the same time? Wall Street is us. We are Wall Street. We have all given in to the same cultural temptation to think we are God. And it always falls apart.

It all fell apart for the Krell because they thought they could become God. At the very threshold of being technologically able to travel and create everywhere, the Krell destroyed themselves. Having unlimited power, when the Krell went to sleep murderous monsters from their unconscious, that they didnt even know were there, were free to roam and destroy. In striving to be God their inner demons, given unlimited power, destroyed everything, and the Krell never even knew what hit them.

We are in danger of the exact same catastrophe. We think we are becoming masters of the universe. The same energy that fuels the stars humanity has harnessed in our nuclear weapons and reactors. Think about how amazing that really is. And I read recently that we are on the verge of creating life. Think about that. Not genetically altering life, but creating life from scratch in our own image. It is almost unbelieveable. And these almost unlimited powers are in the hands of a human race that is tempted to be God, with all kinds of monsters and demons running around in our souls. To be honest, this scares me to death.


If we as a species believe the illusion that we are progressing towards omnipotence, if we believe the illusion that we are progressing towards omnipresence, and if we really believe the illusion that we are progressing towards immortality, if we really believe like the Krell that we are progressing towards divinity, then we will be destroyed, and just like the Krell, we won’t even know what hit us.

So what do we do? As each of us go on a vision quest this Lent, how do we battle the cultural temptations to become God? Let me tell you what I’m going to do. Since Lent is traditionally the time of “giving things up,” let me tell you what I’m giving up to resist the cultural temptation to think I can be God. Many of you will find this shocking, disturbing, and even unbelieveable, and if what I am about to say makes you feel faint, ushers are standing by to help you. For Lent, I am giving up my iPod.

I know, I know, this is stunning, but let me tell you why. By being instantly connected to the internet wherever I am, I am tempted to think I am God. Through this iPod I can connect to all the knowledge of the world. I can be omniscient. By posting to my blog, twitter and Facebook, I can influence people all over the world. I can be omnipotent. As our resident philosopher Rob Jones says, with this iPod, no matter where I am, I can be somewhere else. I can be omnipresent.

And maybe, just maybe, by leaving a lasting, digital mark in this world that can be accessed forever and ever, I can be immortal. Maybe. This iPod is incredible, but it also subtley whispers in my ear that I can be God. So this Lent, on this vision quest, I am putting it away.

The voice of the tempter never changes, whether on a Forbidden Planet, or on our planet. Just as in the Garden of Eden, the devil is always whispering to us that we can be divine. We must not go this high place of arrogance and greed. This wish to be God takes us away from nature that gives us life, takes us away from our bodies that exist in only one place and time, and takes us away from the desert, the inhospitable desert, that always reminds us how mortal we really are. That is why Lent always sends us back to the desert. Because only in the desert are we reminded, beyond any doubt, that we are, after all, not God.

Amen

Transitions

All things considered, Maundy Thursday is my favorite service of the year. The Easter Vigil is a very, very, very close second, but if I had to pick, for me tonight is the most meaningful liturgy in the church calendar. There is so much going on tonight: the washing of the feet, the last supper and the institution of the Eucharist, which harkens back to and fulfills the Jewish Passover, the incredible upper room discourses, the stripping of the church, and walking to the altar of repose where the smell of flowers hits you before you even get to the stairs. Maundy Thursday is a multi-sensory liturgical experience.

I also love Maundy Thursday because of all the transitions, both biblically and liturgically, and all the befores and afters. Biblically, before tonight was the old covenant. After tonight is the new covenant. Before tonight the blood of the Passover lamb protected us from death. After tonight the blood of the Lamb of God delivers us from death. Before tonight our forefathers and mothers celebrated the Passover Seder. After tonight we celebrate the Eucharist. Before tonight Jesus was master and Lord. After tonight he is also a servant and friend.

Liturgically, we mirror this before and after by slowly transitioning, in a different direction, from joyful celebration, to stripping the church, and afterwards to waiting and praying. It’s as if Maundy Thursday is the large end of a funnel, and tonight we liturgically start down and get narrower, moving from celebration and life, to being stripped of everything, to watching and waiting, and then to death on Good Friday. Biblically, on this most holy night, the befores and afters go in a wonderful direction towards life. Liturgically, the befores and afters lead to the cross. That tension is why I love Maundy Thursday.

A little over two years ago I experienced a profound life transition when my father passed away, and as I look back, the evening he died reminds me in some significant ways of Maundy Thursday. That night was a time of transitions and tensions, it was a time of thinking back to all that had come before in my life, and it was a time of anxiously wondering what would happen next. As I fell asleep that night, I had three small dreams that spoke directly to the before and after of life and death, and tonight I’d like to share these dreams with you, because the texture of these dreams has a Maundy Thursday feel: a feel of transition, a feel of before and after, and a feel of tension.

When I got to the hospital on January 31, 2007, I was told that my father had passed away about ten minutes earlier. That news hit me like a punch in the stomach. I sadly went to his room, and as I held my dad’s hand, I was overwhelmed by two thoughts. First, whatever was happening, I knew that this was big, really, really big. Second, I was deeply aware that my dad’s death was in Christ’s image. Because Christ experienced death, human death is now in the image of Christ. I thought back to all my dad had meant to me in my life, and I wondered what my life would be like without him.

I cried as I drove home, and then cried and talked with Andrea. I felt sad and anxious, and I was waiting and longing for something, but I didn’t know what. After a while I tried to fall asleep, but I couldn’t, because, strangely, I kept thinking about atomic bombs.
Let me give you a brief context for this. A few weeks earlier I had read a book about the atomic bombing of Nagasaki, and the author said that in the Nagasaki bomb the fissionable material had lost mass, and that this loss of mass caused the explosion. Usually we think of nuclear fission not as a loss of mass, but as a chain reaction, the classic picture being a gymnasium floor completely full of armed mouse traps, with a ping-pong ball resting gently on each trap. If you throw one more ping-pong ball into the gymnasium, in just a few seconds the entire gym is full of flying ping-pong balls, because that ball springs a ball, which springs others, and the chain reaction is almost instantaneous, just like in a nuclear explosion.

But in the book I read, the author said another way to look at it was that the explosive charges in the Nagasaki bomb had significantly reduced the mass of fissionable material, and according to Einstein’s equations, lost mass is converted into incredible amounts of energy. I had never looked at it that way before, and this image of lost mass had been floating around in my mind for the past few weeks. On the night my dad died, for some reason that image of lost mass kept me awake. I couldn’t shake it, and I couldn’t fall asleep. As a therapist I have tried to train myself to welcome all thoughts and feelings, so I thought that maybe the destruction and loss of death was appearing to me in the image of lost mass and atomic destruction. Eventually I fell asleep.

My first dream was very brief, and in terms of the before and after of death, it clearly spoke to the after. I dreamt that a woman wearing dark glasses was looking at me, and as she looked at me she put on a fur coat, and took off her dark glasses. I woke with a start, and I knew instantly what this dream meant. Maybe atom bombs lost mass, but not my dad. This dream was not about lost mass, or lost anything, but about gain, gaining everything in the world. The fur coat was a putting on, gaining mass, being further clothed. I knew immediately this referred to Second Corinthians chapter five. Paul says in verse one:

“Now we know that if the earthly tent we live in (our body) is destroyed, we have a building from God, an eternal house in heaven, not built by human hands. Meanwhile we groan, longing to be clothed with our heavenly dwelling, because when we are clothed, we will not be found naked....because we do not wish to be unclothed, but to be further clothed with our heavenly dwelling, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life.”

The fur coat said in death my dad was not losing anything. Instead, he was putting on, and gaining, everything.

I also knew instantly that the dark glasses referred to First Corinthians thirteen: “now we see through a glass darkly, but then we shall see face to face.” The woman taking off her dark glasses meant that the “then” was now for my dad. He did not see God darkly anymore. Now he saw God face to face. In death my dad had gained everything.

I was amazed at this small dream, and deeply thankful for its hopefulness. What a wonderful picture of what happens to us after death! I thought about this dream for a while, and then fell back asleep. My second dream was as brief as the first, and it also dealt with the after side of death. I dreamt that I was in a very large aircraft hangar, and a man of about forty was joyously leaping and dancing and doing pirouettes in large circles all around the hangar. Again I woke with a start, and again, I knew instantly what this dream meant. In death my dad had not been reduced or made smaller in any way. Now my dad was dancing in a world much bigger than this one. Now my dad was free.

On this side of death, on the before side of death, death so often seems like a reduction, a loss, a getting smaller, a freezing and stopping of everything. But my dreams were saying just the opposite. It was such a comfort to me that within hours of my dad’s death, I could feel him being clothed with life, and dancing with God in a gigantic world.

After a while I feel asleep again, and I had my third and final dream. This dream was clearly a before death dream. I dreamt I was in Arches National park, in Moab, Utah, which is one of my sacred places in the world. I was on a path, walking on the red desert soil, and on the ground I saw a dead rabbit. Behind me was double arch, and though everything else was completely silent, I could hear small rocks slowly rolling down the arches, and I knew the arches were slowly eroding.

Then I looked down on the ground again, and I saw an ear of corn. I picked it up, put the end to my mouth, and started inhaling as deeply as I could. I woke up suddenly, but this time the interpretation of the dream was not immediately apparent, and it took me a while to get a feel for the meaning. But slowly I began to understand.

In my very sacred place the symbol of the rabbit was from one of my favorite books, “Desert Solitaire”, by Edward Abbey. In this book Abbey talks about a dead rabbit, and how death is part of the rhythm of life. The arches, though seemingly immense and permanent, are slowly eroding, and one day will be gone. As the buffalo was the very life of the plains Indians, so corn was the very life of the native Americans who lived in the Moab area. By inhaling from the corn I was taking in all the life and mystery of this very sacred place.

Putting it all together, my last dream was about “this side” of the transition. On “this side”, before death, nothing is permanent. The rhythm of nature tells us that things are always changing. Life is born, and life dies. Incredible geology is slowly formed, and slowly erodes away. And, most important, the mystery of this changing life, on “this side”, before death, must be inhaled, taken in deeply, and lived to the full. Our life on this side of death is absolutely sacred.

We all can’t wait to get to heaven, where we will be further clothed, where we will see God face to face, and where we will dance in freedom forever. We all long for the eternal and the permanent. But though we long for heaven, we are not meant to simply wait for the sweet by and by. We are meant to experience this life of change and decay to the utmost, because “this side”, before death, is also sacred. This was the Maundy Thursday lesson of my dreams.

I am reminded of a marvelous quotation by Father Alexander Schmeman, a Greek Orthodox theologian. In his book “Great Lent”, he says....”Death is no more!...oh, death is still there, to be sure, and we still face it and someday it will come and take us. But it is our whole faith that by His own death Christ changed the very nature of death, made it a passage, a passover, a Pascha--into the Kingdom of God, transforming the tragedy of tragedies into the ultimate victory.”

Every transition in this life, every time we go from a before to an after, involves death. Every disappointment, every change in a relationship, every move in a job, every sickness and disability, every economic downturn or political upheaval, involves death. And we instinctively hate to die. But, because Christ has redeemed even death, all our little deaths can become a passover for us into eternal life. Every change can be a change into heaven. If we inhale this life and take it all in, taking in even death, then this life will be heaven, even as we wait for the heaven that is to come. That is the great mystery of Christianity, and that is part of the mystery of Maundy Thursday.

When the life of our church is taken down and put away later this evening, it will hurt. We will be reminded that sometimes death follows life in an instant, and that even our Savior did not escape betrayal and the grave.

But hopefully the dreams I had the night my dad died will also remind us that whatever this life is, we must experience it to the full, because through Christ and in Christ this life is the entrace to heaven, being stripped of everything is the door to being completely clothed, trying our best to see in the dark is the path to one day to seeing clearly face to face, and being buried in the ground is the portal to dancing with God forever, in a world bigger than anything we could ever imagine.

Amen.