Easter 3 b: Live the Resurrection

I have to share a great story with you.  On Thursday, we held the Shalom Center—opening our doors to people who may need some assistance.  18 people came—our biggest month yet.  Of those 18, we were able to meet the requested needs of 10 people; 4 people had some of their immediate needs met, and we were unable to help out 4 others. 

We also had a family member come in who needed assistance due to an unexpected shortfall in monthly income.  For that member, after Shalom Center closed, the office sent out a request to the parish family, asking for help in gathering the $150 needed for this individual.  Within hours, the amount was made available, and within 18 hours, not only was our family member’s needs met, but there was enough provided that I will be able to contact the 7 people whose needs I was unable to meet on Thursday.

I am overwhelmed by the love and generosity, the hospitality and compassion of this family at Intercession Episcopal.

“Touch me and see.” Both Luke and John tell of this moment, this resurrection appearance of Jesus walking through walls and telling the disciples to touch his wounds, to believe he is real, to see him.  

“Touch me and see.”  Jesus is asking them, and us, to believe that death does not have the final word; it is God’s love which wins.   To believe that God’s love wins even when all seems lost and an end seems inevitable and our human mind cannot imagine a different outcome.

The disciples don’t recognize Jesus.  They do not think he is real---that he is flesh, as they are.  How can the dead become undead? As this Jesus stands before them they are afraid; he is strange, a ghost, the other. The wounded Body of Christ stands before them and commands: Touch me and see; touch me and believe. 

Mennonite pastor Isaac Villages writes: “To trust in the resurrection of Jesus is to believe in the transfiguration of all flesh, to believe that God comes to us in our encounter of the other.”

As 21^st century disciples, the wounded Body of Christ stands before us and declares: “Touch me and see.”  Touch my wounds and know Jesus.  Touch me and see that I am flesh and blood like you.  That I am real.  I am not the other.  We share the same God DNA.

The wounded Body of Christ entered these holy spaces this past Thursday as the Shalom Center opened.  People who live in our community, struggling to make ends meet.  Most of them have income coming in, but not enough to make ends meet.  They find themselves on the edges---it might be due to circumstances beyond their control, due to their choices, due to bad luck or illness or tough economic times.  It does not matter.

They come here seeking assistance, a response, an outreach. Touch me and see. Know that I am real.  See me---not just my circumstances or my hardships, but the person within this struggle. 

And we respond, by inviting them here, welcoming them in, and by listening.  By making eye contact, shaking hands, perhaps a hug.  Whenever we can, we share from our blessings to lessen the gap of need.  We open our doors.  We recognize our sameness rather than our otherness.  We touch and see. And the Risen Christ is known.

“Peace be with you,” Jesus says to his apostles--those who are sent to continue his redeeming work and healing ministry---“peace be with you.”  The peace of Jesus found when we remember who we are and whose we are and in the remembering, in the living of the truth of who we are and whose we are, we are made whole.  Like Jesus, made whole even in the midst of pain and suffering, tragedy and fear, uncertainty and illness.  Made whole because, like Jesus, we can know from where we come and to where we are going.  Jesus knows peace and Jesus passes peace along to others.

“Peace be with you.” Every first Thursday of each month, some of us gather in the chapel of the Portage County Nursing Home.  We come to worship with residents there, and sometimes, caregivers or family members.  Too often in our society, the aged and dying are left alone.  After all it is hard to see that which we all become---like the appearance of the undead Jesus—the elderly can make us uncomfortable, perhaps even provoking fear and unrest---they may seem strange or the other.

“Peace be with you. Touch me and see.”

And so we do.  We greet them and gather them in, pray and sing together, make eye contact, share the Peace, touching hands, and we share the bread and the wine, giving thanks to God as we recognize our sameness.  Our oneness. 

As we do here, each Sunday and each Wednesday.  Welcoming whomever enters our doors, hopefully even taking the risk to invite others into our gathering, knowing that the Risen Christ is present among us.  And we touch and see, taste and know. 

These acts, these acts of touching the wounded Body of Christ, of seeing Jesus in each person we meet, these are revelations.  Not only do we reveal Jesus to those we touch and see, but we see Jesus in those we encounter.  The other becomes the known.  The wounds are tended to, and the Christ lives.

Let us not take this too lightly: these monthly, weekly, daily acts we commit to partake in as Jesus’s disciples.  Let us not dismiss them as obligations, duties, or self-serving necessities.  Let us recognize them for what they are.  These actions of touching and seeing—they are the means by which we transfigure the world with Christ’s peace.  These acts are the touch of Christ which disarms violence, the touch of Christ that spills out God’s mercy and grace.  It is gentleness made flesh that gives life, affirms life and makes the Light of the World known.

After the resurrection, Jesus walked through walls and ate fish.  How will we, as 21^st century apostles, continue to break down walls and share food?  Break down the walls that separate us and others from God?  Share food by living simply so that all may simply live?  See the wounded Body of Christ before us and touch and see?

Beloved, let us not only believe the resurrection.  Let us live the resurrection.  Let us declare it to the world with our lives.

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Good Friday: Why?

I am sure you have seen the billboards:  Jesus died to save us from our sins.

Basic understanding of Christianity, right?  Jesus’ death saves us from our sins.

I wrestle with what this means.  So, when Jesus died, were our sins just erased?  And now there’s no more sin?

Well, obviously not, right? I mean, there’s still sin.  We still act and think and talk in ways that put obstacles between us and God.  So, what does it mean that Jesus died for our sins?  What does the cross mean?

Jesus lived and moved in the Hebrew culture.  It is the culture of his family, his nation, his childhood.  This culture, as seen in Scripture, worked toward redemption and reconciliation through sacrifices.  Blood sacrifices, food sacrifices, burnt offerings…..

We see this idea continued throughout the New Testament as most of these writers also have the Hebrew culture as their foundation; the idea that Jesus paid the ransom, that Jesus’ blood sacrifice “pays the price.” We’ve all heard this, right?  We’ve all been taught this.

But, what does it mean?  My understanding—which stems from a famous argument put out there by St. Anselm of Canterbury---has always been that somehow God is not pleased with humanity---that we have messed up tremendously---and someone had to be punished. Ever since Cain and Abel, the human way (which Scripture attributes to God as well) is the belief that blood must be let for blood.  That only a blood sacrifice will appease God and make things okay again.  Anyone else have this understanding?  So, Jesus paid the price for us.  Jesus made the blood sacrifice.

But, what if this offering of life on the cross isn’t a transaction—a tit for tat. What if God doesn’t move in a quid pro quo fashion.  I know it is hard for us to wrap our heads around this possibility since we move in the world with a tit for tat, a quid pro quo, worldview.  Humanity reacts from a “you hurt me, so I hurt you,” mindset.

But not Jesus.  Not God.  On the cross Jesus says  Forgive instead of Avenge.  If God acted according to quid pro quo---we would all be in big trouble.  Theologian Richard Rohr reminds us that the Franciscans have given us another way to understand the cross that has long been a “minority” understanding in the Church, but one that I think is well worth our taking to heart. This Franciscan atonement or “at-one-ment—becoming one with God” theology of the cross lines up with the character of God being less of a dictator judge and more of a parent who loves us sacrificially and unconditionally.

So, what if, instead of a “tit for tat” transaction, the cross is an act of transformation.  What if God is saying: “Okay, humanity, you demand blood for blood, then I’ll give you blood.  But, I love you so much, it won’t be your blood that pays the price.  It will be mine. “

What if God is saying that we don’t have to spill blood to get to God.  God will spill blood to get to us, to show us, in our limited human way of thinking, that God loves us so much that God will pay the price---even this price.  A price we demanded rather than one that God demanded.  God asks us for our lives---but not in this way.

God asks of us lives of obedience—the realization that God is God, and we are not.  We are called to lose our lives by shedding behaviors, ways of thinking, ways of being—to lose the lives of our false selves, willing to let die those parts of us that are not in the image of God so that we may grow more and more into the image of God.  To lose our lives by sacrificing prejudices, and greed, and our convenience when it comes at a great cost to others, so that we can rise into new life in Christ, the life of our true selves.  But, God does not require our blood.  That is a human reaction that goes back to Genesis 3.  Goes back to Cain and Abel.  The beginning of the violence that we cannot seem to get beyond believing is a solution for every problem.

What if Jesus didn’t come and live and die and rise again so that God would be good with us?  What if God already, and has always been, good with us?

John 3:16: “For God so loved the world…..” 

Genesis 1:31 “God saw everything that he had made, and indeed, it was very good.”

What if God has always been good with us, and Jesus came so that we would be good with God? That we might finally understand how deeply and profoundly we are loved by God.  What if Jesus didn’t come to change God’s mind about us, but that we might change our mind about God? (Richard Rohr)  And as witnesses to the cross, we might respond to this transformational act of love by transforming?

By allowing our hearts to soften, our minds to change, our arms to open so that we, like Jesus, may begin to live this sacrificial love.  And in the living of this love, as the transformation deepens and makes inroads within our hearts, minds, and spirits, we turn more and more to God, removing the obstacles that stand between us and God---the obstacles that are our doing, not God’s.

With the incarnation of God made flesh, in Jesus, God makes it clear: as far as God is concerned, there are no barriers between us and God.  But we do not seem willing to completely believe this.  To live this.  We create distance between us and God by behaving in ways that shadow God’s light instead of reflecting it.  And friends, God simply will not accept our turning away. So, in comes Jesus---showing us what it means to take up the cross and live out the sacrificial love that saves us.  Jesus shows us what it means to respond to the outpouring of God’s love on the cross, so all barriers fall down and we take our rightful place as God’s people, beloved and free.

The entirety of Scripture---our story within God’s story---calls out to us: God loves us.  Completely.  Just as we are.  Right now. 

Julian of Norwich may have said it best: "The Lord's meaning is love. Love is his only meaning. Who shows this to you? Love. What did He show you? Love. And why does He show it to you? For love. Stay in God's love, then, and you'll learn more about its unconditional, unending, joyful nature. And you'll see for yourself, all manner of things will be well."

---Julian of Norwich, Revelations (from A Little Daily Wisdom)

Maundy Thursday: By this everyone will know...

Eleanor always used to say to her grandkids:  You got some hard work ahead of you today.  Come and sit at the table; you need a good meal.  Fill yourself before you have to empty yourself.

You may have had a mother, an aunt, or a grandmother who said something along the same lines:  Eat a good breakfast to start the day.  Good advice that stands the test of time: Be filled first before going off to do the day’s deeds.

You got some hard work ahead of you:  “Love one another.  Just as I have loved you.”

Now, that’s some hard work---to love other people as Jesus loves us.  To love people with mercy and forgiveness---even those who have hurt us, ignored us, failed us, and disappointed us.  Even them, Jesus?  Yes, even them.

Love one another with touch and close contact---drawing close to those who have been left at the edges---intimate connection with those who make us most uncomfortable, those who are our lepers or our outcasts.  Even them, Jesus?  Yes, even them.

Love people who have betrayed us.  Those who work toward our downfall, who make our way more difficult, those who only have their interest at heart.  Even when they don’t earn it or deserve it, love them with grace.  Even them, Jesus? Yes, even them.

Beloved.  We have hard work in front of us.  Like Eleanor, God advises that we be filled before we have to empty ourselves.  “This is my body that is for you. This cup is the new covenant in my blood.” God calls us to Eucharist—this sacrifice of thanksgiving—knowing that it is the receiving of Jesus that empowers us to go and be Jesus.  To go and serve.  To wash the feet, welcome the stranger, forgive the enemy, empower the marginalized, feed the hungry, give rest to the weary, and to refresh those who thirst.

Why?  Why would we do this hard work?  Why us?

Christ our Passover has been sacrificed for us.  Our Passover.  Like our Hebrew brothers and sisters, thanks to the Passover, no plague shall destroy us. Oh, we will face pain and suffering—like Jesus who carried the cross, we will face death; we will be struck down; we will be taunted and tempted, wounded and overwhelmed, but we will not be defeated.  The cross looms before us, but we know what comes after.  We know there is life beyond the struggle.  The shadow of the cross exists, but we cannot forget that the cross is backlit by the glory of the Resurrection.  And because we know this, we give thanks.  Why us?  This is what we are made for—our reason for being---this is the purpose which makes us whole.

The light and love of Jesus---the glory that allows for death to be vanquished and for love to win---has been passed onto us.  We, the living members of the Body of Christ.

Jesus says, “Do this in remembrance of me.”  When we gather and make eucharist, break and share the bread and wine—we, by the power of the Holy Spirit, are re-membering Jesus.  We are putting the Body of Christ back together—making Jesus a living and real presence in the world.  What we do here this evening, and every Sunday, and at every Eucharist—is an act the makes Jesus alive and well in the world.  And as we consume Jesus, we are consumed by Jesus---empowered and inspired to continue the work of Jesus as we leave this place.

Episcopal priest Becca Stevens puts it this way: With every bite of bread, with each sip of wine, we become Eucharistic expressions of love: loving one another as Jesus loves us. We got some hard work ahead of us. Come and sit at the table; you need a good meal.  Fill yourself before you have to empty yourself.

And by this, everyone will know, Jesus declares, everyone will know.

Sunday, March 22: We want to see Jesus

A few weeks ago, Murray and I went to an exhibit at UW-Madison’s art museum.  It was an exhibit of the beautifully illuminated St. John’s Bible.  This Bible is impeccably handprinted in calligraphy on vellum, with artwork interspersed throughout the manuscript.  Thousands of hours have gone into its making.  It is gorgeous.  And moving.  And inspiring.  And it has the ability to be one of those “thin places” where humanity and divinity meet.

In the museum, the selections of this Bible are set up much like other art exhibits---along the walls are cases with pages underneath glass.  The middle of the rooms are empty, except for some benches upon which one may sit, and all the art is along the edges of the space.  This provides for a few different ways to “see” the exhibit.

As a viewer who isn’t really that invested, one could stand in the center of the room, or sit on one of the benches, leaving space between you and the art, and simply view from afar.  It would be a quick way to view the entirety of the exhibit, but one wouldn’t be able to see much detail---just an overview.  Probably enough to be able to recognize the piece if you happened to see it again, but far less chance of actually being inspired or moved by the work.  Quick, painless, and basically non-affective.

Or, as I saw one or two people doing, you could enter the exhibit and get closer to the cases, but move along at a fairly rapid pace.  Glimpsing into each case, perhaps picking up a detail or two, catching a spark of the inspiration that created these masterpieces, but also getting done swiftly.  “Walk-by” viewing, if you will.

Both of these strategies for viewing the exhibit would enable one to claim that he or she had “seen” the exhibit, but neither of these strategies allows for engaging with the artwork or for the images to transform understanding or inspire the viewer.

There is another strategy: one could do what we did and invest in the undertaking.  We went there to see this exhibit---to see it.  We stopped and spent time at each case---trying to grasp what was there---really see it and question and wonder why the colors were chosen or the images.  We read the blurbs on the side explaining each page.  I soaked up the Hebrew that was within the text, drinking in the beauty and love spilled upon each page.  Great art is an icon---letting us see through the image into the truth or the reality behind the image.  One must give icons time to open as we gaze upon them.  Patience is required.  Time is required.  Effort is required.  One must be willing to allow for some vulnerability—openness—to let the art “speak.”

The Greeks in today’s Gospel walk up to Phillip and say: “We want to see Jesus.”

We want to see Jesus.  I wonder if they know what they are asking.  To see Jesus is to see God revealed.  Maybe they simply mean that they want to stand at a distance, like the art viewers in the middle of the room, and watch Jesus from afar.  Not getting too close.  After all, when we get close to God, the reality is not only will we see God’s revelation, but we will be revealed before God.  Danger, Will Robinson, danger.  Do we really want to reveal ourselves to the Creator, Redeemer, and Sanctifier?  After all, is it going to be safe to show our true selves to the Almighty---to expose our tender hearts and flesh to God’s creative fire?

Maybe these Greeks are thinking---“We’ll stand here and you bring Jesus over there and we’ll take a looksee---a safe inspection from a distance---dabble, if you will, at this invitation to come and follow, come and see.  This way, the effects of standing in the presence of such love and light will be limited…..and controlled by me.”

Or, maybe they were a bit more adventurous.  Maybe they were like those who quickly walk past the exhibit; they intend to get up close, but not for long.  Still just testing the waters.  “Show me this Jesus,” perhaps they are thinking, “and I’ll give him a brief jot of my time.  I’ll let him come near---but, just for a bit.  A moment.  Don’t want to take too many risks here.  After all, this is my life we are considering letting this Savior, this Messiah, influence.  Gotta keep some control on this.”

Or, perhaps, these are bold and courageous Greeks.  Maybe they are willing to make themselves vulnerable to this Christ.  Willing to bring the entirety of their lives before this Jesus and stand within inches of God’s consuming love and let it soften their hearts, change their perspectives, enlargen their vistas, and break open their worlds, their lives, their being.

God doesn’t invite us to be acquaintances.  God deeply desires to be an intimate lover.  A lover of the entirety of who we are---right now---with all our warts and wounds and messy bits.  God yearns for us to be fully invested in this relationship with the divine.  To draw close and see, taste, and touch the details of the revelation of God in Jesus.

Jesus--who is revealed in our gathering together---we living members of the Body of Christ.  As we come together and look into each other’s eyes, the imago dei—the image of God—looks back at us through our neighbor’s eyes.  We gather in the Lord’s Name because it is that Name which is the foundation of our truest identity—marked as Christ’s own forever.

And marked as Christ’s own, Jesus is further known to us when we take our part in his ongoing ministry to the world: when we serve, when we give, when we welcome in the stranger, the outcast, and the marginalized.  By doing the work of Christ, serving our brothers and sisters, we come to a richer and deeper relationship with Christ---seeing more clearly this Savior and Lord of ours by being his hands, his feet.

As we break open Scripture and hear, read, mark and inwardly digest the living Word, Jesus is revealed—a long drink of water to quench our thirst of longing, and we draw closer.  It’s not so much that we analyze the text, but that we make ourselves available so that the text can analyze us.

And we partake in the sacraments---these conduits of the Holy Spirit---as St. Ambrose said, the sacraments are where we meet Christ face to face.  As we come to the table, as we participate in Baptism, as we receive oil for anointing, the distance between us and God, that is created by our everyday living, is decreased.  

If we take notice, we can feel the breath of God on our faces---blowing in new life.  We can taste the lifeblood of Jesus on our lips, hear the lovewords of God in the whispers of prayer and Scripture.  We can feel the pulse of Jesus’ heartbeat as we share the Peace and stand near our neighbor.

This is no casual observance.  This is no walk-by viewing.  This is intimate connection with God who desires us with an all-encompassing, life-changing, mind-blowing love.  A God who has shown us that pain and suffering need not defeat us nor end us.  New life is possible. Do not miss out on what it is we are really doing and experiencing here.  What we participate in each week---this love feast that is the Eucharist.

The mystic and theologian Hildegard of Bingen wrote: "With my mouth," God says, "I kiss my own chosen creation. I uniquely, lovingly, embrace every image I have made out of the earth’s clay. With a fiery spirit I transform it into a body to serve all the world."

We want to see Jesus.  Do we understand this request?  What it means?  What it requires of us? Episcopal priest Robert Hendrickson writes, "A life of rigor in prayer, service, and community is not about acts of willpower or the strength to assert the firmness of our will, but of the willingness and the faith to surrender to the Holy Spirit."

Friends, we are not called to bring Jesus into our lives.  We are called to bring our life into Jesus' life.

May we be bold enough to draw near.  Courageous enough to see and be seen.  Let us surrender and be changed, transformed, shaped into our truest selves.  May God’s consuming fire have its way with us that we might burn brightly for all the world to see and know and be drawn to the love of Christ.  May God’s Kingdom Come.