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My heart beats for love. I want to be different. I want to be who I am called to be. WORTHY and LOVED!

Sunday, April 27, 2014

“Making Disciples” - 1 Peter 1: 3-9

We’ve met the Risen Christ last week. We celebrated that we are Easter People. Now what? Where do we go from here? 
While most of consider Easter to be one day out of the year, it is actually a season, like Lent of 40 days, lasting until Pentecost. It is during this time that the Risen Christ appeared to 500 or so people. Teaching them. Sharing life with them. And that is exactly what we are commissioned to do as Christ’s people - teach, share, serve. Make disciples.
1 Peter proclaims today that by his great mercy he has given us a new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Christ Jesus from the dead. But I have to ask do we actually know what this new life requires of us? Often Christians rejoice that new life means that we have an eternal home, and this is true, but new life also requires something of us. It requires that we do the hard work of making disciples. 
How did you come to know yourself as Christian? How did you get the faith of the ages? And how can you pass on that faith to others? For some of us we grew up in the church. We attended every Sunday School and youth event we could be at. If the church doors were open we were there. And slowly but surely over time we learned that God’s grace is for us! Others had a dramatic conversion experience, where they knew instantaneously they had to follow Christ. Neither experience is better than the other, and they both contain the same requirement to grow in love with God and neighbor.
United Methodists believe that God’s grace is at work in our life even before we realize it. And at some point, whether it be over a period of time, like those who grew up in the church, or at a single moment, such as those who have a conversion experience, we have to decide if we are going to respond to God’s grace with a “yes” or a “no.” If we are going to say “yes” or “no” to this new birth that 1 Peter speaks of in this morning’s scripture passage. God doesn’t twist our arm, or make us respond a certain way, it is our free will to respond with either answer, but if we choose to say “yes” to the grace that is being offered and the new life in Christ Jesus we are given a vocation.
A Christian vocation to be exact. To love God and neighbor. We are given the task to respond with faith to God’s action in our lives. We are called to live a life of holiness of heart in which faith is working in love. And we are tasked with inviting people into a relationship with God.
One of the hardest things about this call is the inviting. We are afraid that people may say no - and some will. We are afraid that people will think differently of us - and some may. We are afraid that it will be hard work - and it will be. For in the words of scholar Sondar Matthaei, “It takes time and effort to prepare persons to repent of their sin and to receive God’s grace”. But I’m much more afraid of what happens when we don’t live into this call to invite. That, perhaps, when we get so caught up in our own preoccupations about inviting that we miss the opportunity to speak to what people are searching for - speak to their desire to find a deeper meaning that nothing and no one else can offer. To offer this hope, is what we have been given new life in Christ to do. 
But how? How do we share this hope? Isn’t just expecting people to show up in Church enough? Folks, the days of people just expecting people to show up in Church and thats enough are over. In fact, those were a very brief period of years in Christian history. We’ve returned to days like those in Acts where we need to look at the culture we are living in and figure out how to nurture faith in these days and times. And chances are that’s going to make us feel uncomfortable. It may mean leading a Bible study at our place of work or in a coffee shop. It may mean being in relationship with people long enough and deep enough that they can see the hope of Christ in us and ask about it. 
It will certainly mean taking Church outside of the building and being creative to meet people where they are at. 
We are the body of Church, the Church. We need to live into that in whatever way God is leading us to. Gone are the days when preaching makes disciples alone. We need to be people who live into worship, reading scripture, and building holy relationships, both inside of this building and out. We need to be people who care for each other, teach Christian education, engage in service and fellowship, not just on Sunday morning, but during other times in the week. We need to be people who pray, witness, study, and serve every change we get, inviting others to join us along the way. 
The Church, the people of God, exist to tell others about Christ. Exist to invite others to this new life, this new identity in Christ Jesus. We exist to help support each other in the call to love God and neighbor. And we exist to grow both as individuals and a community.
That is a large task, but brothers and sisters we are also promised a large reward. It is written in 1 Peter, we are given birth “into an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for you.” Inheritance is usually a tricky thing in any culture, because if you get something that means someone else doesn’t get to have it. Only one person can have a family heirloom at a time. Or a sum of money that needs to be divided four ways instead of three. Or family members fighting over an item, not because they want it to honor the memory of their loved one, but just to keep someone else from getting it. But all of the drama that goes with earthly inheritances does not exist in our heavenly inheritance, which among other things includes salvation, peace and joy. This is the type of inheritance that can only expand as we share it with others, not diminish. 

An inheritance is a heritage - and for us, as followers of Christ, that is the heritage of expanding the kingdom of God by making disciples,  but an inheritance is also a legacy. What we want to pass on to future generations. Is it more important that we pass on the faith, or that we have things the way we like them? Is it more important that we are comfortable now, or that we reach new people for Jesus Christ in new ways? What are we willing to risk for the Kingdom of God? How will we, individually and as this local body of Christ, reach out to share the hope of Christ? What is God calling you and us to do to share the message of Jesus Christ? Amen. 

Friday, April 25, 2014

Sabbath

    I often go through phrases on Sabbath. Times when I am really good at taking a day to simply rest in the presence of God and restore my soul. During each phase it looks a little different, but recently I have been in the phase of a Sabbath-drought. During Lent, I only had one Sabbath…out of six weeks. And my body and soul feel the deficiency.

   This week, I was supposed to be on spiritual retreat. My church has graciously agreed to give me a week to simply be renewed (not vacation, not continuing education - simply rest in God). My plan was to take a stack of books to a monastery and simply be for three days. However, the plan got thwarted on Easter Sunday when one of the Saints was called Home.

  So plan B. Days at home with just a little work each day (since I had worked ahead anticipating being away). Days at home filled with steaming cups of tea, conversations with friends, candle light and lots of reading. I simply cannot devour enough books. These simple days have made me realize what I have been missing - the ability to be refreshed by what I love. What feeds my soul.
 
  So Plan B is leading to a phrase of Sabbath. Yes, I will still take a weekly Sabbath, but I'm also realizing that I need time each day to be refreshed as well -  with a book, tea, candle light, conversation, or a combination of the above. Time to sink into the Holy. We will see how this phase goes and where God is leading next.

Sunday, April 20, 2014

"We are Easter People" - John 20:1-18

I’m not the most athletic of persons. In fact, I have successfully managed to avoid most gym classes and foot races. But I remember when I was a child that you ran simply because everyone else did. If others were running a certain direction, they must be going to see something - something you didn’t want to miss.
The disciples also ran in today’s scripture passage. They ran not because there was something that they didn’t want to miss, but because they had just heard news they didn’t want to believe “They have taken the Lord.” Ironically, the Roman guards had been scared that it was Jesus’ followers who would steal his body and now, as if a cerul joke has been played, it seems like someone else has taken and hid the body of the one they loved.
So two of the disciples - Simon Peter and the other disciples - took off like a shot. Mary probably ran behind them, to see the event that had just caused her to dash to these disciples through their eyes. To relive the pain of not knowing where Jesus’ body lay. The other disciple got there first, bent down and saw the linens lying there. Maybe he remembered back to just a few days earlier when he had witnessed Lazarus stumbling out of his own tomb in response to Jesus’ voice. He came out still wrapped in all of his grave clothes, but Jesus’ were cast off. Then Peter arrived, and goes a bit further, boldly stepping into the tomb. What were they to make of these discarded clothes? Who would carry a body without them? Especially at this point? 
I can’t begin to imagine the questions and emotions that must have been present between the disciples and Mary Magdalene. But I would guess that their first thoughts were simply about the incomprehensibility of the situation. Like most of us, they jumped to a logical conclusion - the body was gone, someone must have taken it. Who? Why? When? Where? How? 
We too face questions at the face of the empty of tomb. In fact, some of us may have even come to worship this morning driven by the question - is this even true? Or how is my life changed by the risen Christ? Why does this day matter? The claim of a man raising from the dead seems questionable itself, let alone to say that man was truly God. 
But our questions, just like the disciples, are not bad. In fact, without questioning, they never would have ran. Without reaching the tomb they would have never went in. And without going in they never would have come to believe. It’s okay to have questions, even questions that we may never have answered in this lifetime, because questions show that we care. Question shows that something has peaked an interest in our spirit - something that has driven us to look into the empty tomb today as well.
Out of the disciples questions belief did come, but not belief as we may define it. For when the other disciple, the one who reached the tomb first, followed Peter into the tomb we are told that he saw and believed, but that he didn’t understand that Jesus had been raised from the dead. We may go as far as to say his belief was only partial. But he did believe in the glory of Christ. That the cross wasn’t the final word and that it lead to Jesus’ magnification, not death. The message of Christ could not be contained.
It doesn’t matter at what point in our life we looked into the empty tomb, saw, and believed. It doesn’t matter if we have all of the facts straight in our head or can recite every Bible story. What does matter is that we, too, believe. Believe that Christ’s mercy and grace triumph all. Believe that death doesn’t have the final word. For over the years many people have come to faith by looking into the empty tomb. We have faith in the seemingly unbelievable. But in the words of Pastor Clayton Schmit, “Faith comes first as a gift. Sorting it out comes later.”
The other disciple believed. He and Simon Peter returned home. But Mary, Mary who ran to get them in the first place, doesn’t have that same belief. And she cannot leave the empty tomb, which her Lord has been taken from. So she stands outside and weeps. As she is weeping, she bends down again to get another look and sees angels standing there. They question her, “Why are you weeping”. And even after though she has saw angels, she still doesn’t believe. 
She stands up, still crying and is met by another person she thinks is the gardner. He took asks her why she is weeping and she begs him to tell him where he has taken her Lord. But then Jesus calls her by name, “Mary” and she grabs him, clinging too him. 
Sometimes looking into the empty tomb is not enough to start our faith journey. Sometimes we are so caught up in our own pain, that we cannot see the message of hope through our own tears. We too are asked “Why are you weeping?” and have so many answers. Weeping for the pain that we carry around that others do not know about. Weeping for loved ones gone too soon. Weeping for a world at war. Weeping for children that go to bed hungry. So much to grieve over. We cannot see Christ through our tears.
We need Jesus to call us by name. We need to listen for the voice of Christ, when coming to see is not enough. That voice may sound different for each of us. It may be the voice of a friend inviting us to serve on a mission trip. Or a spouse inviting us to come and worship with them. It may be the voice of a teen asking if there is more to life then what we weep over in the world? Questions and invitations may be placing us in the path where Christ can meet us and speak to us. We may not recognize his voice at first, but slowly and surely over time, we notice that it is a voice that is unlike any other. The voice of our teacher that speaks to us in a deep way.
Rather we see and believe or hear the voice of Christ speaking our name, we are left with the same question - what are we going to do when we leave worship this morning? Are we going to go, like Mary, and proclaim the good news, “I have seen the Lord! He is Risen” or are we simply going to return to life as usual? Are we going to live as Easter people who follow God, no matter how many questions we may have, or are we going to return home and pretend that today never happened? Are we going to go out and let our voices ring? Are we going to live as if we are empowered by the Lord? Will we go on to live victorious? Will you live like the resurrection means something for your life?

Easter people know that while we live in darkness, weeping now, its not the end of the story. Easter people know that while we have questions, they drive us to look even more closely at the tomb that proclaims of the resurrection. May we go forth as Easter People, going forth to tell our brothers and sisters, “He is risen, indeed!” Amen. 

Easter Meditation

This morning’s lesson is a familiar one. We read a version of it each and every Easter Sunday - the angel appearing to the women at the tomb. The women come to the tomb to keep vigil, to grieve. The one whom they dearly love has died. They go to the tomb to tend to the dead.

And then something unexpected happens. The earth begins to shake and the rock sealing the tomb shut is rolled away. I love what the angel says in this passage “Do not be afraid” or in the Message Translation “There is nothing here to fear.” Any time an angel says that there is of course something to fear. The women have encountered the glory of God. They are standing on holy ground.

For the one whom they came to tend to, the one whom they came to grieve isn’t there. There is no body to prepare. For he is risen! Not only is he alive, but they actually see him, in the flesh as he greets them. And when they saw this all they could do is worship him.

The women worshipped him simply because he was risen. Simply because they loved him. We too are called to worship him here in this place, on this day, and each and every day of our lives. Because we know that through his death and life, we have life eternal. We know that we have victory over the grave.

Some of us may have come here this morning grieving. Grieving a life that hasn’t gone as we have expected. Or the death of a loved one. Know that whatever we face in the present, we have a hope to come. No matter where we find ourselves this morning, we are called to worship a risen savior. Hear the Good news. He is not here, he has been risen! And so shall it be with us.


Praise our Lord! Christ is risen! And we share in his victory over the grave! Amen!

Sunday, April 13, 2014

Entering Holy Week - Matthew 21:1-11


Biblical Scholar Marcus Borg paints the picture this way. That fateful day in Jerusalem in the year 30, two processions enter into the city of Jerusalem on opposite sides. The first procession is a group of peasants, waving branches and laying down their coats, laying down what they own at the feet of a man riding in on a donkey. An odd site at best. On the other side of town, the Roman Governor, Pilot, is entering with soldiers processing before his war horse. He has arrived to bring order to the potential political chaos that could erupt during the Jewish ceremony of Passover, when they remember when they were brought to freedom. Pilot came to remind them that they are under the rule of Rome and are no longer free. He came to remind them who is in charge. 
We don’t know if Pilot really entered the city of Jerusalem the same day as Jesus, but this with version of the story, Borg portrays the events in a way to heighten the tension between Jesus and Rome. Between who the Messiah is and who the people wanted him to be. 
As we sit in our pews this morning, we know the ending of the story. We know that Jesus came to be killed and conquer the grave. But knowing the ending sometimes makes us forget to appreciate all of the tension of this scene. Jesus enters into the city with one thing on his mind, that which will pass by the end of the week. The people don’t know that’s why he is there. The disciples don’t realize that by the end of the week their master will be hanging on a Roman cross. 
If the people knew how the week would end would they still be singing praises? Over the last three years the crowds have come to Jesus, some like Nichodemus coming under the cover of night, others like the woman at the well coming in the light of day. They’ve listened to his teachings, although they often did not understand them fully. They’ve seen the miracles, like the raising of Lazarus, and healings, like that of the man  born blind, that he has performed and have started to wonder if he is the One. The Messiah. The Son of David. 
And as they started to wonder if he could be the Messiah, they started to fill their heads with cultural ideas of what that could mean. The Messiah would be the one to come and violently overthrow Rome. The Messiah would be a conquering King. Freeing them from the oppression of the Governmental Law. I have to wonder if they were disappointed when this didn’t turn out to be the sort of Messiah Jesus was. 
For instead of coming in on a war horse, Jesus chose a donkey. A humble animal. Pacing slowly down the street. Instead of the elite of the city or the zealots leading him in as an army, it was those who had been attracted to his teachings over the years, the peasants, the lowly. Instead of heading into war, Jesus was heading towards death. This was the entry of the Messiah, the King of Kings, and Lord of Lords. If Jesus is the Messiah, then the crowds leading him in, surely need to set aside the popular notions of what a Messiah will do. Or what he represents.
For Jesus came to serve, not to be served. His leadership was one of gentleness, humility, accountability, reproach, peaceableness, self-sacrifice, and mercy. And if we stop long enough to consider what type of Messiah Jesus is, we may realize that these aren’t the characteristics we would necessarily want in our Lord either. Especially when we want to be saved from the powers and principalities of the world. In fact, this type of Savior may just scare us. 
When we look at Jesus coming into Jerusalem so differently than how we would expect that day, it hits us smack dab in the face that God’s ways are not our ways. That we don’t worship a Savior who makes us comfortable, or forms cozy alliances with the government, but instead whose very presence is an act of protest. 
Honestly, it seems that very few Christians, followers of Christ, have been able to live into the true tension of who people thought Jesus should be and who Jesus was and is. But there have been some. People like Dietrich Bonhoeffer who kept proclaiming that Jesus was Lord, not Hitler during the World War 2 Era. Or people like those Christians who risked life and limb during the Civil Rights Movement because they believed God loved all people. These times, among others, were when faith in Christ lead for a community of faith of do amazing things for the Kingdom of God. Because even though Jesus did not have formal authority in the world, just as he did not have formal authority when he came into Jerusalem, these followers lived into the belief that Jesus had all authority in their lives. That he was the final word.
But Jesus having authority in our lives is once again scary. Its not comfortable and it will often beckon for us to do the opposite of the world. Just like the parade leading Jesus into the city, we don’t fully comprehend what the arrival of Jesus in our lives mean, but we do know that it changes things. 
This authority that isn’t recognized by the world often lead to conflict, both external and internal. For we cannot celebrate Christ this palm Sunday without looking towards the cross, and the events that will come this Holy Week. We cannot celebrate with praise this Sunday and next without examining the grief, and loss, and dismay that is in between. We cannot cry out “Hosanna!” today without remembering that those same cries will turn into “Crucify Him!” mid week! We cannot wave our palm branches without remembering that the redemption we are celebrating comes with a very high price. 
The people present with Jesus that day slightly understood the cost. They knew the chief priests and scribes were not fans of Jesus. They may not of known they were plotting to kill him, but they would have known it was a risk to praise him. Yet they continued to shout “Hosanna!” This is the one scripture where Jesus isn’t talking to the people, rather they are proclaiming with their own lips who he is. 
Do we take the same risks to follow Christ today? Is there any risk for us living a Christian life or crying “Hosanna!”. Have we been able to live into the tension of who people think Jesus is and what he says and who he truly is? Does the way of Christ scare us? Or have we made it overly comfortable and familiar? 

We are now entering Holy Week, the most important week of the Christian calendar when we remember the story of who Jesus is and who this Messiah is that we worship. But it is also a time when we remember who Jesus calls us to be as his disciples, and consider how we respond. Ask if we live more like we are followers of the world or Christ. Ask if Jesus truly is the Lord of our lives. What are your answers? Amen. 

Sunday, April 6, 2014

“Unbind Us” - John 11: 1-45

Jesus disciples have to think that he has lost his mind. They have just narrowly escaped being stoned to death by those infuriated with their presence and their ministry and now Jesus is speaking about walking right back in the direction from which they came - the place filled with hate and anger.
They question Jesus as to why he would want to risk his life to travel this path, not realizing that in a few days he would lay down his life completely. His response is perplexing “Our friend, Lazarus, is asleep”. 
Death is a hard thing to talk about. So we try to make it pretty, make it acceptable. We tell small children that Grandma is sleeping or Grandpa went away for a while. And the children often become confused - why did he go away? Doesn’t she want to wake up and play with me again? As we get older our attempts to sweep death under the carpet become slightly more sophisticated “She passed” or “He is in a better place.” But our responses are no less confusing. In fact, they are often infuriating. How do you know he is in a better place? Where was God when she was suffering?
Jesus finally has to state it plainly. Lazarus is dead. I wonder if the disciples whispered amongst themselves about why they were going to visit the dead or if they were stunned into silence. They had met Lazarus. They knew he was dear to Jesus. They had spent time in his home. Met his family. Now he was gone. 
Maybe they started to wonder how many other people they knew, they loved, had died during their three year journey with Jesus. When we hear about the death of someone, whether we knew them or not, it brings back a flood of memories of ones whom we love who have died. Ones who we know who are suffering daily and battling death. 
The sisters of Lazarus, Mary and Martha, are sitting smack dab in the middle of the ugliness of grief. They realize that watering it down by saying “He passed” or “He is in a better place” won’t bring them relief or comfort. Instead they cry out to Jesus a statement that perhaps you have made at one time or another “If only you would have been here, Jesus.” 
There is so much packed into such a short statement. It is drawn out of us in times of grief and heartache, which seem to always be present in our lives, waiting just around the corner. God where are you? God where were you? Why did you let this happen? Sometimes, just allowing ourselves to state these questions is an act of great faith. 
I never really liked Jesus’ answer in this passage, even though it is almost identical to what Jesus told his disciples in the story we heard a few weeks ago about the man born blind. Jesus told the sisters that Lazarus died so that the glory of God could shine. It seems cruel. To let someone you love suffer, just so God can be glorified. Just so that we can be shown that Jesus is one with God and that God’s power is working through him.
And yet. And yet, as cruel as the answer may seem, as much as I wish Jesus would have made it to the home of Lazarus to heal him instead of to the tomb to raise him, Lazarus’ raising from the dead gives us a preview of deliverance from death itself. There was no mistaking that Lazarus was dead. In this ancient culture, four days was the amount of time it took for the soul to leave the body. Practically speaking, four days was when you knew someone was really dead because their body would begin to decay. And with that smell you knew that they weren’t simply just asleep, a mistake had not been made. They were dead. And it is out of this real death that Lazarus is raised to real life. Lazarus tells us not of a general resurrection, where everyone is generically raised to life, but speaks to our personal promise of resurrection. This was one whom Jesus deeply loved who was raised to life. And one who knew him, like his sisters, to the the Christ, the Son of God. Lazarus arose when he heard the voice of his Shepherd calling, a voice that he recognized. A voice that called him out of death into the presence of new beginnings and new life. 
Lent is a time to do the hard work of reflecting on death. To live into the tension between the hope of the resurrection of Easter and the finality of death on Earth. We live into the tension of knowing that God promises to be with us in Entirety and that God promises to be with us right now, here today, on Earth. We have been struggling with this tension throughout the season by laying aside our wants and desires. By spiritually journeying with the one who is leading us to the cross where he will lay down his life for us. And to reflect upon the small ways that we are dying every day. 
For the truth is that we are all bound in death clothes that we do not even recognize and they are suffocating us. We are bound by self doubt, fear, anxiety, isolation, oppression, grief, just to name a few. But for those who are bound in every day deaths, the story of Lazarus gives us the hope not only of a resurrection, but a hope for an unbound life now. A hope to experience life anew.
We know that we are living in a world that is not as it should be. A broken world inhabited by broken people. One of my favorite bands, Over the Rhine, states it this way in their song “All My Favorite People are Broken”. “All my favorite people are broken;
Believe me, my heart should know; As for your tender heart, this world's going to rip it wide open; It aint gonna be pretty, but you're not alone.” 
This world is going to hurt us. It is going to bring grief and people we love are going to die. We are going to ask God why from time to time. Because this world is not as it should be, not as God intended it to be. So it is going to rip us wide open. But when we get caught up in how hurtful the world is, to the point where we remember that we are not alone, but are journeying with a Risen Savior, then we can no longer hope. And that is a pain worse than death. 

The story of Lazarus asks us confront death. To not shove it into a funeral home or death bed, but to really face it. To open ourselves up to the grief of the death of those who have died before us, and to still ask “where is the hope?” The story demands that we examine our own lives for those things that are killing us every day, and lay them at the feet of the cross and claim the hope of a risen Savior who raises us too, both to new life and new beginnings. The story beckons us to live into the tension of the grief of dying and the hope of living, and listen to the voice of our Shepherd who is calling us to his side, the side where we will live again. Amen.