Michael Seiler

Author: Michael

  • Don’t Lose Your Head

    This passage about the beheading of John is always one of those where you wonder, why is this here? Why did Mark feel compelled to add in this story about John the Baptist’s death? This passage comes right after we are told that Jesus sent out the twelve disciples in groups of two, to spread the gospel and to cure the sick, which they apparently did with miraculous results. And immediately after this passage comes the story about Jesus feeding the five thousand with five loaves of bread and two fish. It seems like an odd place to put a story about a man losing his head.

    The main context of this particular story is that John the Baptist had vehemently opposed Herod Atnipas’ marriage to Herodias, his brother Philip’s wife. However, this marriage happened after a divorce between Philip and Herodias, so it seems a bit odd why John would condemn this marriage. We find out from the ancient historian Josephus, however, that Herodias “took upon her[self] to confound the laws of our country, and divorced herself from her husband while he was alive, and was married to Herod Antipas.” In the Mosaic Law, women had no path to divorce, and yet Herodias made it happen, by manipulating the laws so that she could get out of the marriage to her first husband. That means that she had broken the law for her own benefit, and caused Herod Antipas, of this gospel passage, to become an adulterer. 

    Herod was a puppet king of the Roman Empire, and yet still a Jew, and so John the Baptist was holding him to account for breaking the Jewish law of being married to another man’s wife. You can see why telling rich and powerful people that they are sinners might not be in your best interest if you’re a person who dresses in camel hair and eats locust and honey for dinner. They will likely despise you, and seek revenge for your insolence.

    This was, of course, the reason that John the Baptist was in jail. Herod didn’t like John spouting off that he was a sinner and an adulterer – especially not when he was the leader of the people, their king. Herodias held a grudge against John and wanted to kill him. But Herod, her new husband, wouldn’t kill John because he feared him, and knew that John was a righteous and holy man. And so, John sat in jail as drama played out between Herod and Herodias.

    Which leads us to this particular evening, when Herod was entertaining guests and dignitaries, both from the leadership of Galilee, and from the Roman Empire. His step-daughter, which we know from Josephus to be named Salome, dances for him and the guests. And this is where the story goes off the rails a bit. We are told that Herod was so pleased with Salome’s dancing that he offered her half his kingdom as a reward. 

    And the result of this was the death of John the Baptist.

    Drama! Intrigue! It’s a story that leaves us full of questions.

    But again, it begs the question, why is this passage here? What can we possibly learn from it? Just before this, the disciples have gone around casting out demons and healing people, and just after this passage, Jesus is seen feeding five thousand people with five loaves of bread and two fish. Why is this family drama in the middle of these stories of God’s sovereignty and power?

    One possibility is that we are to look at what motivated these people.

    A quick recounting of the family might help. Herod the Great was the father of  Herod in this story, Herod Antipas. Herod the Great had many sons, from many different women. Some of them were Herod the second (sometimes called Herod Philip), Herod Antipater, and Herod Antipas. Herod the second and Herod Antipater were brothers from the same mother, Mariamne. Herodias was married to Herod the second.

    It seems that Herodias’ brother in law, Antipater, had plotted to kill Herod the Great with poison, but failed, and Herod the Great had Antipater killed. But then, Herod the Great found out that his wife Mariamne, the mother of both Antipater and Herodias’ first husband had known about the plot to kill him and had done nothing to stop it. Because of this, Herod the Great divorced his wife and dropped Herodias’ husband from the line of succession. That is, her husband would no longer be king. But guess who was? Herod Antipas, the one in this story. And Herodias manipulated the laws of the land to divorce her now disgraced husband – while he was still living – so that she could marry the one successor of Herod the Great that would, in fact, become the king. 

    It’s a story of a woman who sought nothing but her own interests above all else, who manipulated situations so that she would always come out on top, and could live in a position of comfort, of wealth, and of power. That is to say, she wanted to please only herself, and she used lies, deception, and divisions to bring about her own desires. I’d say becoming a queen and living in comfort rather than in disgrace is a decent motivation for doing what she did. And also a reason why a straight-talker like John the Baptist would call out her marriage to Herod Antipas as illegitimate.

    The next person in this story is Salome, the daughter of Herodias, and the step-daughter of Herod Antipas. She dances for her stepfather and all the gathered people, and when Herod offers her a reward for her terrific dancing – up to half his kingdom – what does she do? She runs off to her mother to find out what she should ask for. What her mother tells her to ask for is of no benefit to Salome. Instead, it benefits her mother Herodias’ desire for revenge. But what’s interesting here is that his girl does as her mother asks. She wants so badly to please her mother, that rather than taking advantage of something to benefit her own desires, she does what her mother wants her to do – even though it means a man in jail will die. She wanted approval from her mother so badly that she was willing to get it even through the death of another human being. 

    And then there is Herod himself. He got so caught up in his stepdaughter’s dancing that he made an impulsive and foolhardy promise to give her up to half of his kingdom. He wanted to show his approval for her, in order to gain her approval. And then, he finds out what she wants. And the Gospel tells us that “out of regard for his oaths and for the guests, he did not want to refuse her. Which is just a nice way of saying that he didn’t want to lose the respect of those that were gathered there. He wanted to look like someone who keeps his promises; he wanted to look like a strong leader of the people. And so he sent his guards to kill John, even though he was conflicted at the thought of killing John. Herod killed John because he didn’t want to look bad in the eyes of other people; that is, he cared more about his reputation than his ethics and his own character.

    On one side of this story, we see the disciples, through the power of Jesus, healing people, curing the sick and casting out demons. They were sent out by Jesus, and did the work he asked them to do, and many people were healed. There was joy and rejoicing, not only by the people cured, but by the disciples themselves. On the other side of this passage, we see Jesus feeding five thousand people, showing his majesty through miraculous works, made possible by a young boy sacrificing his food: five loaves and two fishes. And people were amazed at the power of God, power that came from sacrifice and compassion.

    … And in the middle of these stories of power and sacrifice are the stories of three lives fueled by self-absorption, by narcissism, by a lust for power and revenge…

    It’s almost as if Mark wants to point out that when we place anything ahead of God that there will be death. It may not be physical death, like with John the Baptist, but it will be death of some sort. The more we place our own priorities over those of God, the more likely we are to experience the death of our conscience, the death of our ethics, and the destruction of our moral compass. It won’t happen immediately, but slowly, over time, we will erode the desire to please God.

    As we slowly try to please those around us for the sake of our reputation, or please parents, friends, or significant others for the sake of approval, or seek our own pleasure for the sake of comfort and power, what happens is that our morality becomes distorted, and God becomes an afterthought, a fancy we ascribe to when it suits us, rather than the light that guides us.

    What I find interesting about this family drama is that for each of them, we can find a similar transgression among those who followed Jesus.

    Think of Paul, who sought power through the destruction of the early followers of Jesus. He was among the leaders of the people, and he wanted to please those in power. And in doing so, he persecuted those who followed Christ, killing them. And then God got ahold of him on the road to Damascus, and he became an apostle of Jesus, and wrote the majority of the New Testament by way of letters to congregations he either founded, or taught.

    Think of Peter, who, in the courtyard of the High Priest, just before the crucifixion, was recognized as belonging to Jesus’ disciples, and three times he stated that he did not know this Jesus and that he was not one of them. He denied Jesus because he feared what others might think of him, he feared for his reputation, and he feared their anger and violence. And yet, in the end, Jesus restores him and says to Peter, that “on this rock, I will build my church.”

    Think of James and John, who in Mark’s gospel asked if they could sit, one on Jesus’ right hand, and the other on Jesus’ left hand. In Matthew’s Gospel, it is their mother who asks Jesus that question. Either way, it seems that James and John were simultaneously seeking power, and seeking approval from their mother, rather than seeking to be humble followers. Jesus forgives them both, and James became an early leader of the Church in Jerusalem before he was martyred, and John wrote the Apocalypse. 

    We might see ourselves in the lives of these apostles. And sometimes we might see ourselves in the faces and stories of Herod, Herodias, and Salome. It’s human nature that we will seek our own desires above our desire for God. And when we do, and when we fail to allow correction in our lives, then things begin to slowly die and crumble. It may take time, but the end result of placing anything in a position higher than God in our lives will eventually bring about death. 

    But as we see with the disciples, that is never the end of the story. As our second reading says today, “In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of his grace that he lavished on us.”

    Later in his life, Herod was accused of plotting to kill the emperor, and he and Herodias and Salome were all exiled. History loses them there, and we have no idea when, or how, they died. This great king, his wife, and their daughter, all of whom prioritized their own lives over everyone and everything, died in complete anonymity. 

    The disciples, however, despite their deep failures, turned to Christ for restoration and reconciliation, and once again lived in the power and the miraculous joy that came with doing what Christ commanded. And more than 2000 years later, we still look to them as examples. 

    All because they prioritized God’s will over their own.

    Let us do the same.

    [This sermon was delivered at St. Alban’s Episcopal Church in Wickenburg, AZ on July 14, 2024.]

  • Do Not Fear. Only Believe.

    Some of you know that I raise money for the National Multiple Sclerosis Society by doing a bike ride every year in the fall. The goal of these rides is to raise enough money to fund research into a cure for MS.

    At every event, there are riders who have been diagnosed with MS, who wear jerseys that say, “I Ride With MS.” The idea is to raise awareness of how many people in this country live with MS, and to give people an opportunity to meet those who are living with the disease and to learn about their story. In short, these jerseys create an opportunity for conversation and building relationships.

    For almost everyone with MS, the initial diagnosis brings with it an enormous amount of fear, because no one can know if their illness will progress rapidly, or if it will progress slowly. Moreover, most of the people with MS understand the financial burden that is involved with the illness – money that they will be spending on tests, on doctor’s visits, or in lost income because their symptoms make it impossible to work on some days.

    Some people lose a lot of money because they go to all the doctors that they can find that promise some sort of cure – even cures that are not approved by the medical community. And others take part in clinical trials, becoming guinea pigs for untested treatments and medications because they so desperately want to find a cure. Sometimes these trials go well, and other times, their issues are compounded with unexpected side-effects.

    One person living with MS had a story of their own initial fear at their diagnosis, and how they prayed every day for “healing.” When they went to an older and wiser individual to speak about this fear, this person told them, “Usually, when we talk about healing, what we really mean to say is that we want to be ‘cured.’ But, healing often involves a whole lot more than just being ‘cured’ of an illness. It’s just that for most of us, ‘healing’ has become synonymous with being ‘cured.’ Are you willing to accept healing, or just a cure?”

    Obviously, part of the reason that so many of us think of being healed as “being cured” is because of these stories that we find in the Gospel reading today. The entire Gospel is about miraculous cures of illness at the hands of Jesus.

    The first story involves Jairus, a leader of the Synagogue, and a very wealthy and important man. He comes to Jesus, falls at his feet, and begs him to come and heal his little daughter. “Come lay your hands on her, so that she may be made well, and live.”

    And the next sentence is very simple. It says, “So he went with him.” That is, Jesus went with Jairus, walking toward his house, where his little daughter lay sick, simply because Jairus asked him to. And as they were walking, so many people crowded around Jesus that one translation says they “thronged him.” 

    Now, suddenly, Mark interrupts one story to bring us another, so we know that Mark thought this second story was important for his readers and listeners. At this point, he tells us the story of a woman who had been bleeding for twelve years. It seems that she had endured the ancient equivalent of Clinical Trials at the hands of physicians. She had probably been a guinea pig for all sorts of treatments at the hands of these doctors, and nothing had helped. According to the Jewish purity laws, she would have been considered unclean because of her bleeding. But more importantly, despite this, the real factor that would have made her an outcast was that she was poor. She had spent all of her money on doctors. More so than the purity laws, she would have been looked down on and dismissed for being poor. People would have ostracized her from society for both being sick and being poor. We can see that she was desperate to find a cure so that she could once again become part of the community, and spend time with those she knew.

    She was so desperate that she was willing to break all of these purity laws, pushing in through the crowd of people so that she could “only touch his clothes.” She knew that if she touched his cloak, she would be made well. She risked punishment at the hands of the leaders of the people – in fact, people very much like this very important leader of the Synagogue, Jairus himself – by essentially making all the people she touched on the way to Jesus “ritually unclean.” But she pushed on, touched Jesus’ cloak. 

    And was instantly cured.

    It’s at this moment that Jesus stops suddenly, turns around in the crowd, and says, “Who touched me?”

    I imagine there were at least a few people who immediately jumped back, lifted up their hands and said, “I’m not touching you.” “Not me.” “Huh – uh. I would never.” Even the disciples are completely confused, and practically mock Jesus with their question that amounts to “Lord, you see everyone is pressing in on you, why on earth are you asking ‘Who touched me?’ I mean, everyone is touching you.”

    But the woman knew what was up. She knew that he was speaking about her, because she knew that she had been cured of her bleeding. And so, it says, she came in fear and trembling. That is, she thought that she was going to be punished for what she had done. So she tells him everything that she had done. But instead of punishing her, Jesus says to her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease.”

    Jesus was on his way to heal the daughter of a wealthy and important leader of the people, a father who had told Jesus that “all I need is for you to lay your hands on her, and my daughter will be healed.” He had stepped out in faith; he would have known what the other leaders of the people were saying about Jesus, and what they really thought about him. But because he knew the mighty works that Jesus was doing, and because he was desperate for the healing of his daughter, he persisted. And this woman, just like the leader of the people, persisted, despite the social norms and purity laws.

    If we were to stop here in the Gospel with these snippets of story, we might have a very fine motivational speech about pushing on, about persisting in the face of doubt and in the face of societal norms or opposition and just having mountains of faith. It’s almost as if you can hear the motivational speakers saying, “If you can believe it, you can achieve it!”

    The trouble with that sort of thinking is that it places all the burden of our own healing squarely upon our own shoulders. That is, if these stories were intended to teach us that being cured of our ailments was only about our faith, it would mean that our God would only heal us if we didn’t waver in our belief.

    Years ago, there were some faith healers who came through a church I used to belong to. These people came in, and prayed for people to be cured of illnesses, of various addictions, and other ailments. Some people were miraculously healed. And others were not. One of the people who had not been healed asked one of these people why she had not been healed, and his response to her was flippant: “You weren’t healed because you didn’t have enough faith.” 

    Obviously she was devastated. It was all her fault. She didn’t believe enough. Jesus didn’t want to heal her because she had not persisted enough, not pressed in enough, not believed enough that she could be cured. It took her months of conversations with other believers for her to finally realize that sometimes God answers prayers – and other times, God simply does not do what we want. And it has absolutely nothing to do with the measure of our faith. This woman, a pillar of faith in our community, had doubted herself, and worse, had doubted the faithful heart of God, because of a careless word by someone who blamed her for God’s failure to act according to what she desired.

    To return to our story, Jesus knew that someone had touched him with a deliberate purpose, with a drive to be cured, and he knew that “power had gone out from him.” The important thing is that he stopped, not to punish the woman, but to build a relationship with her. On his way to heal the daughter of a wealthy man, he stops to spend time with one of his own. He turns to her, and calls this woman, “Daughter.” He wanted to know the story behind her persistence. If Jesus didn’t care, he could have just kept walking to Jairus’ house. But instead, he stops, lets the woman tell him her story, and sends her on her way. Notice that he declared her healed in the middle of the people. That means that not only did he heal her physically, but he also restored her place in society, and restored her as a member of the community. He showed her that he cared for her beyond just her physical well-being. He wanted her to be healed and restored in all aspects of her life, this woman he calls his “Daughter.” 

    If it had been about how we are to have an abundance of faith and persist in our beliefs, then this story would have stopped without Jesus turning to this woman. It would have stopped with her being healed, and the story continued on with Jairus and his daughter without this moment of Jesus speaking with the woman. Ignoring her and her story would have solidified that it is all about our own faith, and about persisting in the face of doubts and societal norms. It would have been all about us, and what we do, rather than about God, and how much God cares for each and every one of us. It would have made God into our servant, into nothing more than a lucky rabbit’s foot, or other magic talisman that one could touch to get miraculous healing. 

    However, on the way to Jairus’ house, Jesus stops to speak to a poor woman, a cast out from society, to hear her story, and restore her to abundant life within her community. That is the nature of Christ. He wants to know us, and he wants what is best for us. It may have started with this woman’s persistence in pushing in toward Jesus to be healed, but it ended with a blessing of peace and reconciliation.

    After this, the story continues on. On their way, people from Jairus’ house come and tell him that his daughter is already dead, and that he shouldn’t bother Jesus any longer. What’s the point after all? How can anything be done for someone who has died? It would have been a perfectly logical conclusion for Jairus to draw regarding his daughter. She’s dead. It didn’t work. There’s no point anymore. Why don’t we just stop now?

    But Jesus, sensing this, tells him, “Do not fear. Only believe.” 

    We, of course, know the rest of the story. How Jesus raises this little girl from the dead. He restores a little girl to life, and restores a family, to the amazement of all that witnessed it.

    Again, however, the miraculous healing is not the only intent of this story. True, the miraculous healing shows us God’s power over sickness and death, but more important are the words that Jesus said: “Do not fear. Only believe.”

    “Do not fear. Only believe.”

    “Do. Not. Fear.”

    This is not just a commandment to Jairus, the father in this story, but a commandment given to us as well. 

    But, in the face of so many things in this world that can cause us to fear, this is a hard task. Our minds often spin out of control with all the possible scenarios that can cause us harm or damage. That can cause us loss of face or social standing. Things that can cause others to ostracize us. Things that can bring us to the brink of death. We fear all of these things. Even though God tells us not to. And tells us only to believe.

    The woman was afraid that she would be punished for her desperate persistence in pushing forward her own agenda. And Jesus stopped to grant her peace, and restore her to health and life within her community. Jairus was afraid that nothing more could be done for his daughter, and Jesus told him not to fear, and then restored his daughter, his family, and all of them to the faithful community. 

    In each case, Jesus was concerned with more than just the physical healing. He wanted them to be healed and restored to an abundant life among the people of their community. He forged a relationship with them, and restored them to a place of relationship with others. They were healed as well as cured.

    To return to the person with MS that I mentioned at the beginning, the one who had received the question, “Are you willing to accept healing, or just a cure?” What was the outcome of that question, I wondered? Their response was, “I still have MS, but I am no longer afraid of the consequences of the disease, nor am I afraid of what might happen. Instead, I count my blessings every day, and praise God for each and every healthy moment. And I thank God for every moment with those I love. God has healed me. It isn’t a cure, but I understand that God is with me, God wants what is best for me, and God is in charge of everything, even in this nasty disease. For that I am forever grateful.”

    This person had indeed been healed.

    Just like the woman in this story, they went from being afraid of the present and the future, to doing as Jesus commanded the woman:

    They went in peace, because their faith had made them well.

    [This sermon was delivered at St. Alban’s Episcopal Church in Wickenburg, AZ on June 23, 2024.]

  • Who Is This Guy?

    Years ago, while I was still living in Alaska, one of my friends and I took some hunters up the river to another town. We left them with a guide, and the next morning, we started the journey home. At the mouth of the river, there is a large lake to cross to get back to our town, and the wind was picking up something fierce. It’s a shallow lake, and so the waves started to grow tall, and develop whitecaps as we started across it.

    The pounding of the waves was relentless. Our boat kept climbing the waves, and then smashing down on the next one, water flying over the bow, and into the boat. The wind was so strong that it seemed like we were not making any progress. But when we looked we had made it at least to the center of the lake, and just needed to power on for a little while longer.

    And then the engine died.

    Howling wind, huge waves, the smell of gas from our dead engine.

    We were slowly being pushed back across the lake because of the strong wind.

    For a while, everything seemed bleak, and hopeless. We were scared. Scared of dying.

    And I can tell you, that if I had seen a man laying down in the bow of the boat sleeping, I would have been very angry. I would have asked, “How can he sleep at a time like this?” I would have questioned his sanity. And I probably would have said some very not nice things.

    During that time in the boat, I certainly didn’t remember this story of Jesus and his disciples on a lake in a storm. But I remembered that I could pray. And pray I did. That God would get us safely to dry land, and get us home. I prayed, because I was afraid.. 

    It is interesting to note, in this story of the disciples and Jesus on a boat, crossing a lake, that Jesus asks the question, “Why are you afraid?” He does not tell his disciples that there is nothing to be afraid of. 

    This world has many things that can terrify us. This world has very real things that can harm us, and things that we really should be frightened of. And then, there are things that we fear that are purely imagined. I’m not talking about things like the boogieman, the chupacabra, bigfoot, or the Loch Ness Monster. I’m talking about those things that we think might happen. Those things that have not happened, but we treat, in our own minds, as if it were a complete certainty that they were going to happen. Even though in reality, there is no imminent danger, nothing that we can see that is causing a real threat.

    When I was young, my family was on vacation, and we were staying in someone’s house while they were out of town. It so happened that I woke up one night, completely terrified. Paralyzed with fear. I thought there was something else in the room with me, and I couldn’t move, the fear felt so oppressively dark and heavy. I was so terrified that I could barely get a squeak out of my mouth. And yet, miraculously, my mother heard me, came into the room, and then began praying with me against the power of evil.

    And immediately, I could move again, and talk again, and the oppressive heaviness lifted from my chest, and I was able to sleep again.

    Now, was that imagined? The product of late night pizza and too much soda coupled with the mind of a growing child?

    I may never know. But what I learned that day is that the God my mother prayed to is the King of all Creation, and the Lord of All. Because when we prayed, my fear left me.

    And this is the lesson in this story of Mark. Let me give you a little context about this passage in Mark. Jesus had been teaching people from a boat, and later that day, he said to his disciples, “Let us go across the sea.” The Sea of Galilee is only 8 miles wide, but it is 700 feet below sea level, surrounded by high mountains on three sides. It’s not uncommon that windstorms appear in the evening, because the warm tropical air from the lake rises to meet the colder air from the mountains, and that causes winds that whip up the waves on this lake. The disciples, many of them fishermen, would have been aware of the fickle nature of the Sea of Galilee. And despite that, because he asked them to, they still followed his lead.

    The other thing is that on the other side of the lake is the land of the Gadarenes. This was the first time that Jesus had ventured outside of the land of Israel. This is the first time that Jesus went to the Gentiles. The Gadarenes were not people of Israel. They were outsiders. Others. People different from them, who held different beliefs, who did not think like them, and who worshipped another God. In short, Jesus was taking his disciples with him to those who represented a not a real fear, but merely an imagined one. Because moving outside of their comfort zone, moving into a territory of those they might not completely understand was at least a bit unnerving.

    And then what?

    A very real and present danger appeared to them in the form of a mighty windstorm. And the waves were so large that the water was crashing over the bow and filling the boat with water. The waves crashing, the wind howling, and the disciples struggling to keep the boat afloat. They were terrified. They feared for their lives.

    And Jesus slept.

    And when the disciples could no longer contain their fear, they woke Jesus up and asked him, “Don’t you care that we are dying?” As in, “don’t you care about us enough to help? Are we not worth enough to you, for you to help us out? What kind of a leader are you, that you would let us remain in danger? Do you care only about yourself?”

    And Jesus gets up, turns to the sea, and says, “Peace, be still!” And the winds stop, and the sea is calm, and the danger is gone.

    But even though the immediate and real fear of death is now gone for the disciples, the Gospel passage says that they “feared exceedingly.” That is, they got even more afraid, because now they are wondering, “Who is this guy?” Who is he, that even the wind and the sea obey what he says? They were struck with awe at the power and majesty of Jesus.

    That day, the disciples learned something about the identity of Jesus. They learned more about all aspects of who Jesus is, in the middle of a lake, on the way across it to explore unfamiliar and possibly unsafe lands filled with people who were quite unlike them. They learned aspects of who Jesus was, by calling out to Jesus in the face of fear.

    Jesus did not wake up from his nap on the pillow and tell his disciples, “There is nothing to fear,” because that is not true. There was a very real and present danger in the form of this storm and the waves that were bashing the boat. The question that Jesus asked was, “Why are you afraid?”

    And that question can incorporate all the fears the disciples had. And all the fears that we might have – real or imagined. It is as though Jesus is asking us: Why are you afraid? Am I real to you, or just imagined? Have you figured out who I really am yet, or am I still just a guy you are following because that’s what good people do? Do you trust me, or do you not? 

    And the question that was really on the disciples’ minds was,, “How can we trust you, when we don’t even really know who you are?”

    This is the big question: Why are you afraid? 

    It is not that we are afraid – from real or imagined threats – but the reason for why we are afraid that often helps us to see the face of Jesus in a new light, to experience a new side of Jesus we had never known before. Understanding what we fear, and reaching out to God in prayer for that very fear, is how we get to know Christ in a way that draws him closer to us, and us closer to him. It is often in this middle state between a state of comfort and the presence of the unknown, and the uncertain, that we experience fear. And it is in this state when the grace of God will become most evident to us. When we understand what we fear, that is when God can step in, and rescue us from that danger, whether real or imagined. And God will do that either by softening our hearts with compassion and understanding, or by opening our minds to seeing things God’s way. And what’s difficult to grasp is that often those are exactly the same thing.

    The disciples got on a boat to cross the Sea of Galilee because Jesus asked them to. They knew full well that there was a possibility of danger in the shape of a storm. And they did it anyway. They got into a boat to cross over to the other side, the land of the Gadarenes, a people very unlike them, because Jesus asked them to, despite the fear of the unknown and foreign. And they did it anyway. They left the comfort of their homes and their own country to follow Jesus, and came to know the fear of death on a boat in the middle of the Sea of Galilee.

    And then it was in the face of that fear that Jesus allowed the disciples to know more about him, to see a side of him that they hadn’t seen before. It was in the face of that fear that Jesus was able to display his power as the Lord of all Creation.

    The big question might be, “Why are you afraid?” but an even bigger question is “Who is this guy?” And those questions are for us as much as they are for the disciples in our Gospel today.  

    Jesus displayed his power to the disciples that day, and showed them he commands the universe. And later on, he showed them that not even death can control him, that he has authority even over death. The disciples hadn’t found that out yet. But we know. We have the luxury of looking back and watching as the disciples’ eyes are opened to the truth that we already know. 

    Who is this guy, Jesus?

    As my friend and I sat in that storm on the boat back up in Alaska, I prayed that God would get us home safely. Eventually, through several more engine failures and heavy bashes of the boat against the waves, we made it across the lake. After taking a few minutes on dry land to compose ourselves, we got into the channel that would take us home, and got back safely. I was relieved, and glad that my friend and I had been able to figure out the problems with the engine.

    The next morning, I passed by the boat we had been on, only to see it half submerged on the shore of the lagoon. It turns out that we had blown a rivet on the boat, and had been taking on water in the front compartment the entire time. It was hidden from us, and by the time we realized it, it would have been too late. If we had not gotten the engines working and across the lake, I would likely not be standing here today. 

    It took a day for me to realize just how much God had answered that prayer, and just like the disciples’ in the Gospel today, my eyes were opened to just how much of my life is in God’s control.

    It is part of the human condition that we will face fear in our lives. It is in the face of that fear that Christ reveals himself to us in a new way that draws us closer to him. God might ask us to do things that we find frightening, and we do them simply because we have been asked to, and then experience the fear that comes with stepping outside our comfort zone. Or, we might be experiencing real fear from dangers we are facing, both real and imagined.

    And we ask, “Why am I afraid?” And, “Who is this guy, Jesus?” And then we call upon Jesus in the midst of that fear, so that we can understand ever more the answer to the question of Jesus’ identity. The question then becomes not “Who is this guy,” but “Who is Jesus to me?”

    When we call upon him our eyes might be opened immediately to understand God in a new way, or it may take a day, or two, or a hundred, but eventually we come to realize just exactly how God is King of all Creation, and Lord of All, including the Lord of our lives.

    If you are in the middle of your own storm right now, if you are anxious and scared, or struggling with fears, both real and imagined, remember that Jesus is with you.

    Jesus said to the wind and the waves, “Peace, be still.”

    And he says the same to us.

    [This sermon was delivered at St. Alban’s Episcopal Church in Wickenburg, AZ on June 23, 2024.]

  • A House Divided

    Harold Camping, a Christian Radio personality, predicted that the world would end with a global cataclysm, and that faithful christians would be raptured on May 21, 2011. 

    When the day came and passed, Mr. Camping was so distraught that he ran away from his home and camped out in a motel for the night, because he didn’t want to deal with the questions from his followers. Later on, he apologized for not having the dates – and I quote – “worked out as accurately as I could have.” After some conversations with friends over this difficult weekend of failure, Camping had the sudden realization that May 21 was just supposed to be a “Spiritual Judgement Day” and not the actual rapture. He had miscalculated, you see, and the real end of the world would be happening on October 21, 2011.

    What are we all still doing here, I wonder?

    Something happened though, in those 5 months between May 21, and October 21. Rather than admitting that he was wrong, Camping held on to his belief that he could figure out the day and time that Christ would return. Despite being so terribly wrong, he maintained this deeply held belief that he could calculate his way into knowing God’s return. He didn’t quit believing, he just made up more excuses and expanded the set of ideas that would allow him to keep believing a lie.

    There has been a long history of documenting this sort of behavior in Cults as well. Cults often find their way with people who feel lonely, inadequate, unloved, or unappreciated in some way; people who feel the world is against them, and that they have no chance to correct the wrongs without some outside help. The cults then play up the notions of acceptance, adequacy, and appreciation of everyone’s gifts as a way of enticing the members to come and join in. During the indoctrination phase, members begin to realize that some of what they are now doing or saying does not match up to their deeply held beliefs – beliefs they held before joining this new group in their lives. And this moment where the person realizes that they are behaving or speaking differently from what they have always believed, this moment causes them a great amount of stress and emotional conflict.

    And what do people do when they encounter stress? They attempt to get rid of the stress in the easiest possible way. Most who go through a cult experience distance themselves from friends, family, and other people who are telling them the truth. In order to accept the new belief system the cult is offering them, they need to quiet the voices that disagree with the cult and reframe their previously held beliefs. They change their definition of words to align more closely with what their new family is teaching them, they redefine what good and bad behavior is; they redefine what is criminal, and what is ethical, what is lawful, and what is just.

    This state of flux is called “Cognitive Dissonance,” which is a mental discomfort that results from holding two conflicting beliefs, values, or attitudes. And while my examples are things you and I are unlikely to encounter, what we need to realize is that we all experience this repeatedly – we also choose to reframe our viewpoints and worldviews to allow us to believe things that are in direct conflict with another deeply held belief. 

    Why? Because it softens the realization that we are living contrary to what we say we believe. We learn to justify things so that we can reduce our stress, because when we have two conflicting beliefs, then one of them needs to go, and that means we will lose something. Reshaping definitions of words, and changing our viewpoints allows us to maintain both beliefs more easily.

    Now, I know some of you are wondering why I’m talking about Doomsday predictions and cult members, when our Gospel message is all about Jesus casting out demons.

    It’s because this tendency to redefine and realign our worldview is far older than the psychology that explains it.

    You see, the leaders of the people, the scribes, the Pharisees, and the temple priests, had a long standing belief that they were the only ones who had it all right. That they were the ones who had the direct line to God, and that they were the ones who were allowed to act on behalf of God and speak in God’s name.

    And then, here comes a carpenter from Nazareth. He is performing miracles and casting out demons, and healing people, and sharing the Good News of God to all who will listen. And these leaders look at each other and say, “Well, this can’t be right. We’re the ones who are allowed to speak and act for God, not this guy.”

    So what do they do?

    They redefine miracles. And realign their beliefs that what they are seeing is not the full story, but that there is something shady going on behind the scenes. They reframe reality with a new theory that allows them to keep believing their own lie about their own importance.

    This man – this Jesus – is casting out demons by the power of Satan!

    If Jesus were acting on behalf of God, then they would lose their long held belief that they were in charge, that they were God’s chosen, that they were the ones who could speak and act for God. 

    They could clearly see that people were being healed, that miracles were being performed, that people were turning to God. But, because it conflicted with their belief that they were the only authorized servants of God, they needed to reframe reality with a lie.

    And Jesus’ response is that if he were indeed casting out demons by the power of Satan, then Satan would be fighting against himself, and a house divided cannot stand.

    The central theme of this passage, based on its structure, is: a house divided. It serves us best to ask ourselves if our house is divided. Are we divided within ourselves? Are we simultaneously holding one belief in one hand, and redefining words, and realigning our minds with falsehoods so that we can maintain a belief we don’t want to give up?

    The Pharisees and other leaders of the people tried to redefine Jesus as being demon possessed because they feared a loss of power, prestige, and reputation that came with their positions. They didn’t want to let go of that power, so they had to redefine and realign themselves with a lie, in order to continue believing a falsehood. And Jesus tells them that those who blaspheme the work of the Holy Spirit would be unforgiven. That is, those who attribute the work of God to the work of Satan, those who reject the work of the Holy Spirit.

    Jesus’ family was more worried about protecting him from the crowds than they were worried about Jesus doing what the Father had commanded him to do. And Jesus told them that his real family was those who listen to God, and do the will of the Father. That is, those who are Christ’s siblings are those who put the work of God before all other concerns.

    The first is a matter of fear, and hardness of heart. The second is a matter of priorities. And both of those things have to do with what we believe to be true, have to do with us simultaneously trying to reconcile two or more things we believe to be true. And when that happens, we choose anything but the will of the Father.

    And what is the will of the Father? To love god, love neighbor. To love mercy and to do justice. To show kindness where others show hate, and to be patient and wait upon the Lord.

    The church, of course, in her infinite wisdom, has prepared for the eventuality that we will be confronted with two belief systems. The church has prepared for the fact that we will choose the path that redefines our desires and realigns our minds to believe the lies. It’s called The Reconciliation of a Penitent. Confession, for short. It is in the act of confession that we can reconcile our conflicting beliefs, and realign ourselves to the Truth. It is in the act of confession that we can take our divided house and become whole again..

    And that is really what this passage is all about. You see, when Jesus is talking about A House Divided, he is talking about sin. He is talking about hardness of heart, he is talking about giving something else in our lives more priority than standing in God’s presence. He is talking about our own hearts and minds divided by conflicting beliefs, and choosing the one more aligned with our own desires rather than God’s. 

    This is why Jesus brings up the unforgivable sin, and then talks about how his real siblings are those that do the will of the Father. It’s to remind us that it is not just the grievous errors that can draw us away from God, but the simple ones; the ones that seem so inconsequential on the surface and yet can eventually lead to grievous error.

    The Apostle Paul was himself a Pharisee. He had such pride in his stature that he called himself A Pharisee among Pharisees. That is, The Best of the Best. After his conversion, he called himself Chief among Sinners, and we can certainly understand why he might say that. Just like the other Pharisees of Jesus’ time, Paul seems to have believed that the work that Jesus’s followers were doing was from anything other than the power of God – that is, blaspheming God and the Holy Spirit. And for this false belief, he persecuted and murdered these early Christians. His heart was hardened, and his mind harbored murderous intent.

    And yet. God stopped him on the road to Damascus, and gave him the opportunity to soften his heart and be reconciled to God, making his mind and his heart whole again. … And from there, he became one of the greatest evangelists the world has ever known.

    The unforgivable sin, according to many scholars, is the continued and repeated rejection of the Holy Spirit’s prompting to soften our hearts. It is not recognizing that we need to be forgiven, or even desiring to be forgiven. It is a permanent dividing of our hearts, our minds, our inner houses, and shutting the door to God.

    It took a literal act of God for Paul’s heart to be softened, and he turned around and walked away from the path that would have led to his eternal separation from God.

    Most cult members eventually realize that they’ve been duped, and are able to walk away from their indoctrination, and find their way back to truth and are reconciled with their true families.  After the October 21, 2011 cataclysm failed to materialize, Camping finally came to realize, in April of the following year, that he had made a grievous mistake, and begged forgiveness from those who had believed him, and begged forgiveness from God. And he too, was reconciled with God and his own followers.

    Our job as Christians is to recognize when our house – our mind – has been divided, and we have chosen to act upon a belief contrary to God’s will. And then, to return to God, to confess our folly, to ascribe to God the honor due God’s name, and to be reconciled to the Truth.

    This is the way to lasting peace.  This is the way to lasting joy. This is the way to wholeness. Because a house divided cannot stand.

    [This sermon was delivered at St. Alban’s Episcopal Church in Wickenburg, AZ on June 9, 2024.]

  • Jumping Out of the Nest

    The first reading today opens up with the disciples all together – in one accord – in the upper room. And then, suddenly, there came a sound from heaven, like the sound of a mighty rushing wind, and it filled the whole house, where they were sitting. On each of their heads appear what looks to be like tongues of divided fire. And then they were filled with the Holy Spirit and they began to speak with other tongues – other languages – as the spirit prompted them to.

    There were many God-fearing people who lived in Jerusalem – people from other countries and nations – who had heard the mighty sound coming from this house, and they gathered around outside of it. Then the disciples came down and spoke to them, each in their own language, and the gathered people were confused. Confused because how on earth were they all understanding these disciples in their own language? How was that possible? The disciples were telling them about the mighty works of God, but doing it in a way that each of these people could understand. And people were amazed – and yet of course, confused by what was happening.

    Pentecost. This day is often called the Birthday of the Church. And here’s why. While some people were amazed at what was happening, others stood laughing, saying that the disciples were just drunk, “full of new wine,” and that they were merely muttering incomprehensible things. And in order to counter this spirit of doubt, Peter stood up in front of all of those that had gathered around the house and started preaching, telling them all about how the Prophet Joel had foretold the coming of the Holy Spirit, and how Jesus of Nazareth had been put to death, and yet rose again from the dead, conquering sin and death and opening up the way for all of them to stand in the presence of Almighty God.

    And what happened?

    Later in chapter two, it says that among those who gladly received his message, about 3,000 souls were added to them. And not just among the Jewish people who lived in Jerusalem, but from all those who were there who were from other countries and other regions and other nations. This tiny band of Jewish believers who followed a man called Jesus grew exponentially that day. All because these disciples were filled with the Holy Spirit, and spoke in ways that the gathered people could understand.

    But Pentecost is not only called the Birthday of the Church because so many people were added to the group of believers, but because there was a drastic change in the disciples themselves. And because this change in the disciples changed how the group of believers structured themselves.

    You see, the Holy Spirit provides newness, the Spirit provides change, and transformation. Just like the winds blow through the sands of the desert and reshape the mighty sand dunes from one day to another, the Holy Spirit blows through believers, through congregations, and even denominations. Just like mighty sand dunes are moved one grain of sand at a time, so too the Spirit transforms each individual life first, and once that life is transformed it causes change to their congregation and to their denomination, and even, sometimes, to the ends of the earth.

    Think of the mighty change that happened in the lives of the disciples who, according to John’s Gospel, were in that upper room because they were scared of being associated with Jesus, scared of being found out and arrested. Or, more to the point, think of the radical transformation that happened in the life of Peter. 

    In Lent, we listened to stories of how Peter stood in the courtyard of the High Priest, and denied three times that he even knew Jesus. He denied it adamantly, it says. “I do not know him,” Peter practically shouted. And then the rooster crowed, and Peter was crushed by his own guilt.

    But then there is Pentecost. And the Holy Spirit descends upon Peter and the other disciples, and there are those who are mocking the disciples spouting what sounds to them like gibberish, saying that they are drunk on new wine.

    And Peter gets up, in front of all those who are gathered and not only does he admit that he was a follower of Jesus, but he tells them that some of them were complicit in convicting Jesus as a criminal, and that this Jesus was killed on a cross and yet rose again from the dead. And then he tells them all gathered there that they could have this same new life, if only they believed in Jesus, the Christ.

    To go from a man who denied he even knew Jesus – for the fear of losing his own life, to a man who proclaimed the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus in front of a crowd of people without any fear for his own life, that right there is true transformation.

    Our Gospel today has Jesus telling his disciples that the Holy Spirit – the Advocate – will not come to them unless he – Jesus – goes back to the Father. But if he goes away, then the Advocate would come. The disciples would have preferred to have Jesus around. But that is not the way that Jesus had intended for the church to operate. 

    You see, if the Disciples could always turn to Jesus to have Jesus fix everything whenever they couldn’t seem to get things accomplished, then they would not learn.

    Christ’s work in the world is to reconcile the world to God, and Jesus was training the disciples to do that work for him. He knew how things were going to end for him, and he needed them to learn what they needed to learn, and do what they needed to do once he was gone from this world. But he also knew that it would never happen as long as they kept coming back to him to fix things from them, instead of learning to fly on their own. …

    The eagle, in order to teach its young how to fly, will fly a fresh catch of food just by its young, and then go and land within plain sight of the nest and start eating the food itself, rather than bringing the food to their young. This will continue until the young bird is hungry enough to try and spread its wings and venture outside of the nest. Once the young bird has flown outside the nest to the food, then the parent shares with its young.

    Jesus needed the disciples to spread their wings, to fly, to care for the next generation of believers. He needed them to understand the task he had placed before them. And he did that by leaving them alone, and having them wait until he sent the Holy Spirit. And once the Holy Spirit had come, their joy became infectious, and their lives were transformed by the power of the Spirit of Truth. And the face of the church changed that day. The face of the church changed from one led by a single solitary figure, a charismatic leader who worked miracles and healed the sick, to one led by the people that he had trained and prepared to do the very same work. No longer were the disciples just followers of the man from Nazareth, but now they were ministers of the Good News of Jesus the Christ, Son of the Most High, courageous leaders who shared the love of God despite their own fear.

    Imagine yourself as a baby eagle for a moment. Imagine this Life in Christ, this Spiritual Life of ours as the food that God has placed before you, just out of reach unless you jump from the nest and try to fly. 

    Is it God asking you to try something new? Is it God asking you to stop doing something that brings you comfort, but pulls you away from community and from God? Or is it God asking for you to step up and take up a new ministry that he has asked you to do? Each of these might seem a bit scary, a bit like taking a leap of faith out of a perfectly comfortable nest. 

    There is a difference between the disciples that we hear about in the story of Pentecost, and us. We are not waiting for the Holy Spirit, since we received the Holy Spirit at our baptism. What we need to do is recognize that we are already filled with the Holy Spirit, and allow the Spirit to move within us, to change our hearts and minds, and transform us. We need to recognize that the power and the joy that flooded that upper room and transformed the lives of the disciples – that power is already within each and every one of us. The Holy Spirit is with us, and among us. We do not need to wait for a mighty wind and tongues of fire to understand that we all are already ministers of the Good News of Jesus the Christ, Son of the Most High God.

    Stepping out of the nest is not really as much of a leap of faith as we might think it is. Rather, it is more of an acceptance of a gift that is already in our hands.

    With the disciples, the Holy Spirit made a dramatic entrance, pouring into that upper room like a mighty wind, and dancing upon their heads like tongues of fire. And the joy, the understanding, and the transformation that swept through them changed the face of the church, the city of Jerusalem, and ultimately, the world. 

    Imagine what just one spark of the fire of that day could do.

    For you. 
    For this church. 
    For the world.
    That spark is already there.

    We just need to be reminded to look at it, to hold it, and to allow it to become the flame it is meant to be.

    [This sermon was delivered at St. Alban’s Episcopal Church in Wickenburg, AZ on May 19, 2024.]

  • Sacred People, Sacred Spaces

    If we look at the first reading today, the passage from the Acts of the Apostles, we find that Jesus has told his disciples that he will be leaving them, and then he ordered them to wait in Jerusalem for the promise from the Father. He tells them that they will be baptized by the Holy Spirit not many days from now. Or, in other words, sometime soon. Just wait.

    Jesus didn’t give them the day it would happen. We know that it happened on the Feast of Pentecost, but during these days after Jesus’ Ascension and before the Feast of Pentecost, the disciples could only wait. 

    They waited without knowing when they would be baptized with the Holy Spirit. They waited without knowing when their hopes and dreams for Israel might be realized. They waited without knowing even how those hopes and dreams might come about.

    And what was Jesus’ response?

    Jesus tells them, “It is not for you to know the times or periods that the Father has set by his own authority.” In other words, wait, because God has set things in motion. You don’t need to know when or where or even how things will happen, because God has it in control. 

    But Jesus did tell his disciples one thing, and that was that when the Holy Spirit had come upon them, that they would be his  “witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.” And then he ascended into heaven on a cloud.

    And so they waited, knowing only that they would be Christ’s witnesses to the ends of the earth. That is all they knew for certain. The only clear answer they had was that they would be Christ’s witnesses. Everything else was a mystery.

    You may see the way this church is structured. When you walk in, your eyes are immediately drawn to the front of the church, where the altar stands, and behind which is a cross. There’s a distinct flow of our visual energy from where we come in toward this space at the front of the church. It gives us a sense that this must be important.

    Because the Eucharist was the primary focus of the church, the structures grew up to emphasize the elements at the table, and bigger and bigger churches were constructed that had the same general structure. The altars were elevated, and the area around the altar was closed off, and only the liturgical assembly – bishops, priests, deacons – were allowed near the altar. These changes in structure were intended to instill a sense of awe and wonder, to provide those attending the ability to experience the high and lofty sense of God, to emphasize the singing and music, and to draw people’s hearts and minds toward heaven.

    And these construction elements certainly helped to do that.

    There was an unfortunate side-effect of that sort of building structure, however. By elevating the altar, and closing off the space around it – and especially in some older churches, elevating the pulpit from which the clergy preached – people tended to also elevate the work of the bishops, priests, and deacons since they were the only ones who were allowed near this altar. This made people consider them “mysterious” and somehow “special” and that the clergy were the only ones who were allowed to do any sort of ministry. In short, it managed to make people think that bishops, priests, and deacons were somehow “set above” the rest of the congregation, rather than “set apart” for a particular ministry.

    Granted, there were a fair number of bishops and priests throughout history who really pushed that idea, because they enjoyed the trappings of power and prestige that came with that sort of thinking. But this idea is false: bishops, priests and deacons are not “set above” or “more sacred” than any other person in attendance, and they are certainly not the only ones capable of ministry. They are simply “set apart” for a particular task within the church, which is the body of Christ.

    Hold that thought. We’ll come back to it in a moment.

    The context for today’s Gospel reading is that Jesus is praying to the Father. This prayer is often called “The Farewell Prayer” because Jesus prays it in front of his disciples as part of the Last Supper, just before he is crucified.

    Beginning with verse 13, Jesus says to God:

    I am coming to you, and I speak these things in the world so that they may have my joy made complete in themselves. I have given them your word, and the world has hated them because they do not belong to the world, just as I do not belong to the world. I am not asking you to take them out of the world, but I ask you to protect them from the evil one. They do not belong to the world, just as I do not belong to the world. Sanctify them in the truth; your word is truth. As you have sent me into the world, so I have sent them into the world. 

    “I have sent them into the world.”

    Remember the first reading? When the Holy Spirit comes, it says, the Disciples will be Jesus’ witnesses to the ends of the world. It would happen when the Disciples received the Holy Spirit. After the Holy Spirit comes, then the disciples would be Jesus’ witnesses in the world.

    In the last seventy years or so, the church has gone through a theological renewal, in that it began to understand that the sacrament that truly encapsulates the family of God is Holy Baptism. With Baptism, you are adopted into the family of God, and receive all the rights and privileges thereof. You are made a part of the communion of all the saints, and – and this is important – you have already received the Holy Spirit. 

    And this means that God has granted you everything that God granted the disciples that were with him in Jerusalem. You have everything that God granted the disciples that became his witnesses in Jerusalem, in Judea and Samaria, and the ends of the world. While the disciples had to wait for the Holy Spirit to embolden their lives, you do not. The gift of the Holy Spirit is yours already, this very day.

    Along with this shift in theology came a shift in how sacred spaces – church buildings – were constructed. In some areas, altar rails were removed, and altars taken down from the dais on which they stood and placed on the same level as the congregation, so that people recognize that they are merely spectators, but participants – celebrants, actually – of the Eucharist. The priest, the one who consecrates the host, is merely the presider at the prayers of the Eucharist, but the celebrants of the Eucharist includes everyone in attendance who believes. 

    Some churches rearranged the pews in the buildings so that the congregation faced each other, and the altar and the pulpit were on opposite ends of the space, facing each other. The idea was a simple one, to emphasize that there is no one space that is more sacred than another, and that there is no one particular ministry that is greater than another, that the people, together, are the church. These spaces were intended to emphasize that every person in the building is a part of the Body of Christ, and that every person is a minister, every person has a ministry, and that these ministries all work together to continue Christ’s work of reconciliation in the world. From the very smallest one, to the very oldest, God has something beautiful for each of us to do, and every one of us is a sacred person in the eyes of a loving God.

    The disciples in the passage from Acts were waiting for their baptism by the Holy Spirit and had no idea what it would look like for them to be witnesses for Jesus to the ends of the earth. And the promised baptism by fire came to them, and their lives were changed forever, and through the work of the Holy Spirit within them. Suddenly, they not only understood their ministry within the family of God, but they knew what their ministry would look like, and what they would be doing.

    For us, the day of Pentecost might be a re-enactment of the baptism by the Holy Spirit, but that does not mean that we ought to ignore the implications of the beauty of what happened there that day.

    Nor should we forget the beauty of what happened when we were baptized and received the Holy Spirit. It is at that point that we became sacred children of God and were made witnesses of God to the ends of the earth.

    Is it a blessing to have a beautiful church like this one to worship in today?

    Absolutely.

    We must never forget, however, that the space is made beautiful by the people who are in it, and made sacred by the virtue of their common ancestry as children of God.

    The sacred people in this place are each and every one of you.

    And this church building becomes a sacred space, because where two or three are gathered, God is right there with them.

    It is not the building or the design that makes a space sacred, but the ministers of God who worship within it. 

    And that is you: witnesses to Jesus’ resurrection to the ends of the earth.

    [This sermon was delivered at St. Alban’s Episcopal Church in Wickenburg, AZ on May 12, 2024.]

  • That Your Joy May Be Complete

    In today’s Gospel, we see once again John’s emphasis on Love: loving our neighbors, loving one another, even to the point that we might lay down our lives for a friend. Jesus says that we are to do this, to love one another so that our joy may be complete! This commandment to love one another: its intention is to bring us joy! There’s several things in this passage that we need to understand, the first of which is that the commandment to love one another is just another way of saying “Love your neighbor.” And, if we remember the story of the Good Samaritan, we realize that our neighbor is everyone who is not us. 

    The second thing about this passage is the definition of the word “complete.” It brings with it the ideas of “maturity,” of “wholeness,” and of the “full realization of some form of potential.” In other words, it doesn’t just mean “finished,” but that something has accomplished the purpose for which God created it.

    So, what God is saying is that our Joy will attain the purpose that God has intended for us, if – and when – we love one another. It’s a very simple commandment, but it is not always easy to implement.

    In the sermon on the mount, Jesus had even told his disciples to “Love their enemies,” and to “Pray for those that persecute you.” Very simple commandments, but once again, not at all easy to implement. Love God, Love your neighbor, Love one another, Love even your enemies. Jesus would not have told us – his disciples – to love our enemies unless he knew that the command to love those who didn’t love us would bring us joy.

    So how do we do this? How do we love our neighbor, when this world increasingly accepts and justifies violence? You will find all sorts of rhetoric that is intended to make us afraid, because fear provokes anger. The rhetoric is intended to inflame our passions, to make us mad – mad enough to do something about it – preferably with sticks and stones, or even with guns and knives.  You see the rhetoric plastered across newspapers, television and, more often, in posts on various social media sites, sometimes going so far as to call for violence or even death to those that hold a different political viewpoint.

    Honestly, this sort of rhetoric is nothing new. We’ve been dealing with it in this world for as long as there has been written history. But as Christians, we need to be able to step back from this sort of rhetoric, and ask ourselves whether what we are being told is intended to make us afraid, and therefore angry, because we know that when we are afraid, and when we are angry, we are unable to love one another.

    Are we able to trust God enough to be able to consider the option that Love might be a better way?

    In your bulletin today, you’ll see a comic. For those that don’t have a bulletin, I’ll describe it right quick. Jesus tells his disciples he’s got to go, and that they should remember what he told them. The disciples reflect, and realize that it’s pretty much, Love God, and Love your Neighbor. Then one of them says, “Well, that seems pretty simple. I don’t see how we can mess th–” And he gets cut off by another disciple who says, “Uh-oh. Here come the theologians.”

    While we might be able to name theologians off the top of our heads, like Augustine, Luther, Cranmer, or Barth, what most of us don’t realize is that each of us engages in theology on a daily basis. We read the Bible, or hear portions of scripture read, and we interpret them through our own lenses – and that makes us theologians. We can either engage in theology that interprets the words of God and asks us to shape our lives to the simple commands to love God and love our neighbor. Or, we can look for loopholes. Good theology calls for us to transform our lives to conform to God’s will, and to Jesus’ teaching to love God and neighbor. Bad theology looks for loopholes, and seeks to justify our behavior, so that we do not need to change anything about ourselves. Bad theology looks for ways where we get to decide who our neighbors are, so that we don’t need to love our enemies, or pray for those who persecute us.

    Love one another, as I have loved you.

    A very, very simple commandment. It’s just not very easy to implement. Because, you know why? We all like to feel morally superior, we all like to win an argument, we all like to retaliate with power and control, rather than love and compassion. We hate the idea of having to apologize, because saying sorry means we have to acknowledge we were wrong. 

    We all love the idea of justice, and people getting what we think they deserve. But given our human nature, we would rather take justice into our own hands for a quick fix, rather than let the hand of God work through the love that God’s disciples share with the world. In case you’re wondering, that’s us – we are the hands of God in this world. 

    The concept of loving our neighbor is a simple one, but actually loving our neighbors is not always easy.

    Some of you may remember this. This story has stuck with me since the very first time I heard it:  In 2006, there was a shooting in Nickel Mines, Pennsylvania. A man barged into an Amish schoolhouse and shot ten 10 young girls, killing 5 of them. Then he shot himself.

    These Amish people, only one day after having performed the funeral services for their own daughters, attended the funeral service of the man who had killed their children. They all hugged the widow, and then hugged the man’s children. Later on, they raised money to support this man’s family.

    And you can probably guess the reactions to this act of compassion: People were outraged! Many of them accused the Amish of not caring that their own kids died, since they had “Gotten over the tragedy too quickly.” Some people claimed that justice would be allowing the Amish to kill the children of the man that murdered their own – a sentiment that many people agreed to. They pushed violent retribution, rather than love.

    The Amish, however, responded that they were indeed still grieving for their own children, and that they recognized that the family of the shooter had lost a husband and a father, and that that family was grieving too. It was an incredible display of compassion in the midst of their own grief.

    When asked how they could possibly forgive someone who had killed their children and love the family of that same man, the Amish responded: “God has commanded us to love one another. That is what we are doing.” 

    When asked if it was difficult, the answer was, “Of course it is difficult. We grieve for our loss every day, but we have been commanded to forgive sins and to love one another. That is a choice we have to make every single day.”

    The psychologist Erich Fromm, in his book, “The Art of Loving,” said this:

    Love is a decision, it is a judgment, it is a promise. If love were only a feeling, there would be no basis for the promise to love each other forever. A feeling comes and it may go. How can I judge that it will stay forever, when my act does not involve judgment and decision.

    In other words, Feelings come and go, so how can God command us to have feelings of love for our neighbor? The simple answer is that God doesn’t. God commands us to love, which is an active decision to behave a particular way, as evidenced by the Amish in response to the murder of their daughters. They clearly didn’t have feelings of love. Instead, they chose to express love through strength of will.

    The Amish held a belief that they could – and would – see something beautiful even if they loved their neighbor despite the murder of their children. They had internalized the good news that Jesus said we should love our neighbors so that our joy might be complete!

    The Gospel today says, “Love one another, as I have loved you.” We know that the way that Jesus loved us was through a sacrificial death on a cross. The Gospel then goes on to say, that “greater love has no one, than to lay down their life for a friend.” We often like to think of this laying down of our lives as a heroic act – an act of martyrdom when others are facing persecution – and that we would step in and take their place. We like it because of the finality of that decision, the understanding that it is “giving everything” for someone else.

    But more often than not, laying down one’s life for a friend means sacrificial forgiveness, the decision to love, and a willingness to walk away from the rhetoric that pulls our hearts toward hatred and judgment. It’s never an easy task to make the decision to try and understand people and see things from their viewpoint, which is the pathway toward forgiveness and love. It is easy, however, to pass judgment and to refuse to forgive. 

    A hard heart takes very little damage.

    William James, the psychologist, said, “Action seems to follow feeling, but really, actions and feeling go together; and by regulating the action, which is under the more direct control of the will, we can indirectly regulate the feeling, which is not.”

    Or, in other words, “Feelings come from action.” Or, “What we do, we come to feel.” If we choose to support rhetoric that calls for violence upon others, then we will be more likely to actually commit violence, because we will begin to feel hatred and live in judgment. If we choose to respond in forgiveness, love, and compassion, then we will be more likely to feel the emotion of love, because feelings follow actions.

    We need to only look to the Amish again to see this. We can see the results that their difficult decision of compassion in the face of evil had on their community.

    In an open letter to the Amish community that offered her comfort during the aftermath of the shooting, the wife of the shooter had this to say: “Your love for our family has helped to provide the healing we so desperately need. Gifts you’ve given have touched our hearts in a way no words can describe. Your compassion has reached beyond our family, beyond our community, and is changing our world, and for this we sincerely thank you.”

    The letter continued, saying “Please know that our hearts have been broken by all that has happened. We are filled with sorrow for all of our Amish neighbors whom we have loved and continue to love. We know there are many hard days ahead for all the families who lost loved ones, and so we will continue to put our hope and trust in the God of all comfort, as we all seek to rebuild our lives.”1

    Now, all these years later, the family of the shooter, and the families of the victims have not only become friends, but have remained friends, and visit one another regularly, caring for the victims and sharing their faith in the God of Love.

    Through the active decision to engage in sacrificial love – to display compassion – this community was brought to the very maturity of joy that God has promised for those that love one another. 

    The command to love our neighbor is a simple one.

    It’s just not always easy to do.

    But if we choose the path of love, we can stand on God’s promise that our joy will be made complete.

    1. https://web.archive.org/web/20061021080225/https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/main.jhtml?xml=/news/2006/10/16/wamish16.xml

    [This sermon was delivered at St. Alban’s Episcopal Church in Wickenburg, AZ on May 5, 2024.]

  • Children of God

    Several years ago, there were protests in our country that were evidence of the racial tensions that are still prominent in our country. During that time, there was a video shared on Facebook, which you might have seen. The video shows two little boys who see each other from a distance, and start running toward each other, huge smiles on their faces, and their arms spread out in order to give each other a hug. They can’t be more than two years old. And when they finally get to each other, they fall down in a puddle of joy, laughing and giggling.

    It’s a heartwarming little video. It makes us smile, because their happiness at seeing each other is so infectious, so palpable that you can feel it pouring out of the screen while you’re watching it. 

    What I haven’t told you about the video yet, is that one of the boys is white, and the other is black. But, of course, when you’re watching the video, the only thing you think of is how happy they are. We see that they are the best of friends, they are closer than family. There’s just pure joy at seeing each other, and we begin to feel that same joy because it just pours out of them, through the screen, right into our very core. It’s a feeling we all love to feel, and long to feel, and intrinsically, we understand the purity of their joy and love for each other. It really is a beautiful little video.

    Some of you may have already learned this life-lesson, which is to NEVER READ THE COMMENT SECTION on Facebook posts if the post is from someone you don’t know. I, unfortunately, keep returning to the comment section like a vulture to a road-kill party.

    The most heartbreaking comment that I found under this little video was this:

    “Yeah, they’re happy now. But give them 10 to 15 years, and they will learn to fear and hate each other. That’s what this world will teach them. Our society is broken.”

    You might be wondering why I started out with something like this today. After all, our Gospel is about the disciples, afraid, hiding from the authorities that might come to arrest them because of their association with Jesus. But Jesus shows up, shows them his scars, eats with them, and opens up the scriptures for them, so that they might understand everything they need to know about the Messiah.

    Jesus has shared these things with them so that they understand that “repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem.”

    “To All Nations.”

    This phrase in the Bible has more meaning than just “other countries.” In fact, it routinely is used in both the Old and New Testament to mean, “people of different races and ethnicities.” In short, you are to preach the gospel to strangers, those you don’t understand, those whom you might fear, those unlike you in many ways.

    The disciples were given the task of proclaiming the Gospel to all the world, to all nations, to everyone, to strangers – no exceptions. And that is what the disciples in that room did, eventually. 

    And thanks to them, you and I stand here today, disciples of that same Jesus. And so, by extension, we are called to proclaim that very same Gospel to all people, of all nations, of all races and ethnicities, to strangers – no exceptions.

    Several years ago, while still in seminary – so actually, quite a lot of years ago – I went to a workshop that proclaimed that it would help you to live life to the fullest, to help you break through those things that were holding you back from being your best you. You know the type, I’m sure you’ve all seen one of these workshops advertised before. Because it had been recommended to me, and out of curiosity, I went.

    At one point, those leading the workshop had the entire crowd do a thought exercise, in which we were told to envision ourselves walking down an empty street, as the day is coming to an end, and the light is beginning to dim. On that street, we see a stranger approaching us, and then we are guided through several questions, like “What are they wearing?” “Where are they looking?” “Where do you think they are going?” “Why do you think they are out this time of night?” You know, all the questions that you would ask yourself if you were walking down a street and came across a stranger. What we discovered is that everyone’s mind came to the conclusion that the other person could not be trusted, and that we had to protect ourselves from the possible evil they might wish to do to us. In short, everyone realized that the image we had created in our minds expressed our deepest fears. 

    And then the instructors asked us to put ourselves into the shoes of the other person. To imagine seeing ourselves through their eyes, and what they might be thinking. It took a while, but slowly people started having an aha moment, because we realized that the stranger was asking the same exact questions, and coming to the same conclusion about us: that we are people who might do evil, and we are people who could not be trusted. To them, we were the construct of their fear.

    We fear what we do not understand. We fear what we do not seek to understand. We fear what we refuse to understand. And we will never be able to love what we fear.

    The question the instructors asked afterward was this: “What would it change if you approached each stranger on the street by trying to understand them and view their life through their eyes and experience, rather than a person to be mistrusted and feared? What would your life look like then? How might your life be shaped for the better?” 

    The lesson learned was straightforward: we need to be able to separate fact from fiction, because most of our fear is learned behavior. Learned through our families, our friends, our neighborhoods, our communities, our cultures.

    That understanding of learned behavior can easily be summed up in the phrase, “Like Father, Like Son,” “Like Mother, Like Daughter,” or “Like parent, like child.”

    Our New Testament reading today begins with the words, “See what love the Father has given us, that we should be called children of God; and that is what we are.” Through our baptism, we have been made a part of a heavenly family: we have been adopted into the family of God. And, as Children of God, we have now inherited all the benefits that are due to those who look to God as a parent, and Christ as a brother. We are no longer just Americans, or Chinese, Brazilian or Latvian, German or Canadian. We are first, and foremost, citizens of the New Jerusalem, citizens of heaven, the Holy City of God. We are children of a family that transcends time and space, race and ethnicity, boundaries and borders.

    The ideal, of course, is that the phrase, “Like parent, like child” would apply to each of us. That we would look to the example of Christ, and become like our brother, who is one with the Father. That in all of our actions, the humility, the grace, the passion, and, of course, the Love of Jesus would be evident in each of us.

    That is the ideal. 

    That is what we hope for. 

    Mahatma Gandhi, whom I’m sure you’ve all heard about, led a successful campaign for India’s independence from England, by employing non-violent protests as a form of resistance to British rule. He was born into a Hindu family, but at some point found himself reading the Gospels, and he wanted to know more about Jesus, whom he found intriguing. So, one Sunday morning he set out to go to a Christian Church in Calcutta, but was turned away at the door, because, he was told, the church was only open to Whites and Indians born into the High Castes. Since he was of a lower caste, he could not enter, and was sent away. He never pursued Christianity again, and told people that “If it weren’t for Christians, I would be a Christian.”

    “See what love the Father has given us, that we should be called children of God; and that is what we are.”

    The Church in Calcutta lost an opportunity to share the Good News of Love with a man that later went on to gain freedom for not only his own people, but inspired work among people throughout the world in similar situations. Think of the amazing witness that was lost through Gandhi’s work in the world, only because that church’s learned behaviors caused them to express their fear and pride at allowing a commoner to enter into their community and worship the God of Love with them.

    If Jesus gave his dsiciples the commandment to preach the Good News of repentance and forgiveness to all nations, then by extension, that includes us. So the next question is “How do we do that?” Not all of us are preachers, or writers, or have the opportunity to express our beliefs to people through some form of mass media. 

    St. Francis of Assissi is known for this saying: “Preach the gospel at all times. … And when necessary, use words.”

    When necessary. Use words.

    What St. Francis knew, is that the language of Love is the loudest form of communication that the world has ever seen. From the beginning of written history, we have stories of greed, selfishness, war, hate, anger all growing out of the fear of the unknown. The need to keep ourselves safe, to acquire more, to put ourselves and our own above everyone else has been written into our cultural DNA. To fear the outsider, to be selfish, and to look out for one’s own interests – those things are culturally accepted behaviors. And fear plays itself out in the form of anger and hate.

    But Love, and peace, and understanding – those behaviors are countercultural. Which is why we enjoy videos like the two best friends running toward each other that I mentioned earlier. Those videos remind us of the humanity that we long for, yet overlook for the sake of securing for ourselves those things which make us feel less afraid, make us feel more in control, and feel like we have some power. 

    When we behave like the world expects us to behave, no one ever asks us: What makes you so different? And, How can I find what you have found?

    People ask that question when they see us behaving in a way that expresses the what John was declaring in the New Testament passage:

    “See what love the Father has given us, that we should be called children of God.”

    What makes us different?

    What makes us different from the culture around us?

    When we find the answer to that question, when the answer to that question takes root in our hearts and minds, that is when we begin to live into the commandment Jesus gave us to share the good news of repentance and forgiveness to all nations.

    And that is when we begin to preach the Gospel without words.

    When we find the answer to that question, that is when we might see a fearful stranger on a dark road not as someone to be feared and hated, but as a potential Child of God, to whom we can run toward with open arms, and fall into a puddle of joy, laughing and giggling.

    [This sermon was delivered at St. Alban’s Episcopal Church in Wickenburg, AZ on April 14, 2024.]

  • What Are You Looking For?

    Several months ago, I had reason to go looking for my Passport. So I went to the place where I keep it and other important documents and important items. And it wasn’t there! So then I went to the back-up location, expecting to find my passport there. But it wasn’t in that spot either! And I started to get a little worried. So then I went down the line of all the places where I keep things, and as I checked each one of them, and as the passport didn’t show up, I got more and more worried. I started thinking about all the work that I would have to do to renew my passport, and the possible issues I might have to deal with if I really did lose it. I tore up my place looking for it, and spent time trying to remember where I last saw it, the sense of dread picking up as time went on.

    If I had this amount of worry and dread come up for something like a passport, imagine the amount of fear and dread that the disciples would be facing when they realized that Jesus’ body was missing.

    Imagine the questions that must have come through their minds at first with the most obvious one being: Did we come to the right tomb? 

    First they question themselves, and then, in anger, they question others. Mary, no stranger to conspiracy theories, blames the nebulous “they” when asked what she is looking for by the angels at the tomb: “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” Then she turns around and sees the gardener, and he asks her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” And she accuses him of stealing the body: “Sir, if you have taken him away, please tell me where so I can take him away.”

    And Jesus has to say, “Mary! Come on, now. It’s me!”

    Isn’t that just typical? When we are in the midst of our grief, when we are in the midst of our own thoughts and priorities, when we are engrossed in our own issues, we tend not to see God, even if God is standing right in front of us.

    Up until she recognized Jesus, all that was on Mary’s mind was what she had lost. And not just her, but what all the disciples had lost.

    Mary, and all the disciples had lost a friend. They had lost someone close to them, someone they could confide in, they could trust. Someone with whom they had spent time eating, playing, laughing, and joking. But now he was gone. And their minds were focused on that loss. 

    Mary and the other disciples had lost a courageous leader. Jesus had fearlessly confronted the representatives of the people, spoken truth against their lies, called out their attempts at oppressing the people. He made sure that they knew that he stood against their misuse of the scripture to manipulate the people and control them – all for their own personal gain and amassing of wealth and power. The disciples’ minds were not only filled with the loss of that leadership, but their minds were filled with fear at what their association with Jesus might mean now that he was no longer there to confront the leaders of the people.

    Mary and the other disciples had lost a miracle worker. They had watched as Jesus had done the unimaginable. He had raised Lazarus from the dead, he had fed 5000 people with just five loaves of bread and two fish, he had turned water into wine at a wedding, healed a man blind from birth, and had walked on water. They had seen Jesus doing the unimaginable, and now they could not imagine a future without him.

    Mary and the other disciples had lost hope, because they expected Jesus to be the Messiah, the mighty one who would free them from the hands of the oppressive Roman regime, and return them to a country that governed itself. They had expected him to be the messiah, the one who would conquer the world with his mighty hand. And instead, he suffered ridicule, torture, and death on a cross. And their minds were filled with that type of despair that comes only when you lose the hope you have clung to for so long.

    All of this is on Mary’s mind when she stands there at an empty tomb. She’s suffered incredible loss. And now this. Jesus’ body is gone.

    It’s no wonder then, that she looked at the gardener and asked him where he took the body. “Tell me where you moved him.” It’s no wonder she looked at the gardener, and didn’t realize who he really was: Jesus. Risen from the dead.

    To go from this sense of loss to the realization that Jesus was alive would have been an incredible shock. And would have required an enormous amount of change in understanding – who was this Jesus really? How could he be alive? What does it mean that he is not still dead? How can this happen? What does all this – his life, his crucifixion, his death – mean to me now?

    The church year is structured for exactly this. So that we might come to know Jesus, and realize what was lost. From his birth as a bouncing human baby boy, to the death on the cross, and the resurrection, we become intimately aware of who Jesus is: human like us, baptized in the river, where a voice from heaven announces his true identity as the son of God, tempted in every way like us in the desert, transfigured on the mountaintop to display his true identity, working miracles among people who were more interested in the results of those miracles than in understanding who he was, betrayed by a close friend, arrested and tried for blasphemy, tortured and nailed to a cross, and finally, dying in agony, carrying the sin of the world upon his shoulders.

    The church year is structured for exactly this. So that we might come to know Jesus, and understand what was lost. And this is why people were often baptized on easter. And also why we renew our baptismal vows on Easter. Because Easter is the day where we realize just what Jesus’ death on the cross meant, and, even more importantly, what his rising to life again means for not just us, but all people, the whole world over. If Jesus’ death on the cross conquered sin and opened up the Holy of Holies, the sanctuary of God’s presence for us, then the resurrection of Christ conquered death and opened up for us an abundant life, a life of courage in the midst of a world that perpetuates cycles of death, rather than cycles of life.

    The church year is structured for exactly this. So that we might come to know Jesus, and feel that sense of loss that the disciples felt. But more importantly, that we might feel the joy that Mary felt when we see the risen Christ standing in front of us, calling our names, and saying, “Come on, now. Don’t you recognize me? It’s Jesus!”

    In many ways, that question of recognition is more than what it seems. It is not just reciting the facts, or making declarations; it is internalizing the truth of who and what Christ is. It is, in fact, the same question that Jesus asked his disciples just before he was transfigured into glory on the mountain: “Who do you say that I am?”

    If the first half of the church year is structured so that we might come to know the person of Jesus, and realize what was lost when he died on that cross, then the rest of the church year is structured around our response to the question: “Who do we say that Jesus is?” so that we might come to truly understand and internalize what it was that Christ has accomplished for us.

    It might have taken the disciples some time to work through their grief of losing a friend, a teacher, a mentor, and leader, but when they finally put all the pieces together they were able to proclaim loudly from every corner of Jerusalem that Jesus was the messiah, the son of the living God, the one who conquered sin through his death on the cross and who conquered death through his rising again.

    They were transformed, given new life, changed from scared and frightened people into bold proclaimers of truth.

    Where they had previously watched Jesus confronting the powers of the world, speaking truth to evil, calling out injustice, and standing up for the rights of the poor and disenfranchised, they now looked to Jesus as an example, and continued the work themselves. From denying Jesus three times, to being the rock on which Jesus built his church, Peter was reborn as a new person. From doubting that Jesus had even been resurrected, to evangelizing an entire continent, Thomas was reborn as a new person. From abandoning Christ when the authorities came to arrest him in the garden, to standing before those same leaders, unafraid and with an authority that came from a higher power, these disciples were transformed, they were reborn as new people. People who carried themselves with the confidence that the Almighty stood behind them.

    Where the disciples had previously watched as Jesus had done the unimaginable, they now began to realize that God was working miracles in their midst. Instead of looking for the miracles as a show of mighty power to prove Jesus’ earthly ministry, the disciples now saw these miracles take place because they were showing the power of God’s eternal ministry.

    Where once they thought that their Messiah had died, they now realized that God’s view of salvation was greater than merely Israel, and included the entire world. “For God so Loved the World.” They went from people who had hope that they might be saved, to people who had a hope and a vision that all the world might see – and feel – the presence of a loving God.

    They went from meek and mild, to bold and brave.

    They were reborn, made new, birthed into a fullness of their calling as disciples of Jesus, because they suddenly realized that death in this life is merely a speed-bump on the road to glory. 

    If they need not fear death, then what on earth would they ever need to fear?

    We are not passive listeners of old stories, we too are disciples of Jesus. A Jesus who is alive, and whose power working in us, can do immeasurably more than we can ask or imagine. A Jesus who looks at us and asks, “Come on, now. Don’t you recognize me?” 

    How much excitement our lives hold depends on how we answer that question.

    [This sermon was delivered at St. Alban’s Episcopal Church in Wickenburg, AZ on March 31, 2024.]

  • While We Were Still Sinners

    If Lent is the time of year when we try to put ourselves into Jesus’ shoes, in an attempt to understand his suffering, then Holy Week – the week of the Passion – is that week when we realize just how much Jesus suffered – and that no amount of giving up chocolate will ever help us realize the extent of Jesus’ sacrifice.

    But Holy Week is more than just an attempt at understanding Jesus’ suffering.

    Holy Week is the week during which we realize that we are not only the recipients of all the benefits of Christ’s death on the cross, but we are also the accusers, the bystanders who did nothing, the soldiers who revelled in the violence, and the crowd that yelled “Crucify him!”

    It’s easy for us to look past our own sinfulness and blame those who were there at the time calling for his death, and to see ourselves as innocent.

    It’s easy for us to look past our own sinfulness and focus on the resurrection and see only the benefits that Jesus’ death on the cross brings to us.

    It’s easy to look past our own sinfulness and see this week of Jesus’ passion as merely an intellectual exercise in theology and the cycles of the church year.

    It is much less easy for us to admit that the reason Jesus was on the cross in the first place was because we are the ones who yell, “Crucify him!”

    The reason for Holy Week is for us to learn to grapple with the fact that Christ died for me – a sinner – and that each time I seek my own will instead of the will of God, each time I distort my relationship with God, other people, and all creation,1 that I am the one who yells, “Crucify Him!”

    Or worse, I am the soldier who condemns him, who beats him, who holds him down and drives the nail into his hands and into his feet.

    Palm Sunday especially helps us to understand the wild fluctuations of our human nature. One moment we are joyous and proclaiming Jesus as the Messiah, celebrating him as a king, waving palms and laying them down in his path – and the next we are the angry crowd, the betrayers, the accusers, yelling, “Crucify Him!” 

    We see the beauty in what Christ has done, and can do, but we also recognize that what Christ wants of us is not entirely what we want to do. We see the joy of our salvation in the person of Jesus, but we don’t want to hand over the reins to our life just yet, Or maybe not entirely. We see the good that a life of discipleship brings, but still grasp firmly to our own desires, dipping our toes in the river without ever jumping in completely and letting the flow of God’s love take us where we ought to be.

    It is when we come to this understanding of the depth of our ability as humans to focus on our own desires over and against the will of God that we realize just how powerful Jesus’ death on the cross really is. It is when we recognize the depth of our sin and understand just how much our sin can keep us from the loving arms of God that we begin to feel the truth of the meaning of this death on the cross:

    God loves me because while I was still a sinner, Christ died for me.

    The centurion in today’s gospel reading, a soldier who commanded his men to crucify Jesus, who stood by and watched as what was supposed to be just another convicted criminal being put to death for their crimes, this centurion had a moment of true understanding when he saw all that was going on around him, realized that he had a part in it all, and looked up at the broken body of Jesus and said: 

    “Truly, this man was the Son of God!”

    How much our savior loves us. That while we are still sinners, he dies for us.

    1. Book of Common Prayer, Catechism: Sin and Redemption, p. 848
    2. “But God proves his love for us in that while we still were sinners Christ died for us.” Romans 5:8, NRSV

    [This sermon was delivered at St. Alban’s Episcopal Church in Wickenburg, AZ on March 24, 2024.]