As I was preparing for the service today, I thought, “Wouldn’t it be nice to have a sermon that was the equivalent of Teddy Bears skipping through alpine meadows picking wildflowers and making bouquets to give to people?”
“I wonder what the Gospel for this week says…”
Hypocrites! You honor me with your lips, but your hearts are far from me!
“Well gee…. That’s not terribly uplifting. Let’s see what the Epistle reading has to say today…”
Do not be hearers of the word only, and not doers. Don’t be like people who look in the mirror and forget what they look like. Act according to what you claim to believe.
“Okay. Guess it’s time for another sermon on introspection and self-examination.”
Now, you might be wondering why the summer months have such an abundance of lectionary items that speak to wrestling with our faith. You see, the season of the Church year starts in Advent, with the anticipation of the Messiah. We hear the story of the bouncing baby Jesus at Christmas, his naming on January 1st, the epiphany to wise men from the East, his baptism, his ministry, his suffering, his death, and ultimately his resurrection on Easter. Then we see how the disciples and the early church responded to this dramatic event at Pentecost, and how their response to what had happened helped to shape the future of the world.
And then…?
Then we get into the season after Pentecost, often called “Ordinary Time.” In agricultural communities in the northern hemisphere, this season often coincides with the growing season, and especially with the harvest. And so you will find all sorts of references to spiritual growth, to planning for the future, to dealing with difficult situations, you name it.
If the first half of the church year is all about Jesus and his identity, his mission, his sacrifice, and ultimately our redemption, then the second half of the year is all about our response to the knowledge of who Jesus is and what he accomplished. And also how that knowledge should inform every aspect of our lives, from how to respond to someone who wrongs us, to how to understand our finances in the light of God’s provision and grace, to planting seeds for a harvest – both physical seeds, as well as spiritual seeds.
That’s the church year, in a nutshell.
Those of you who grew up in small towns may remember that one kid – or maybe a few more than one – that everyone referred to as a “bad seed.” That is to say, everyone knew that there was something terrible inside this kid that made him a terror around town, and someone people wanted to avoid at all costs. Let’s call him Timmy.
And then this kid grows up, and the young man Tim becomes what law enforcement like to call a “repeat offender.” When something bad happens in town, his house is the first place they go. They figure that if anything bad happened, it had to come from this one, because, “There’s something wrong with him on the inside. Ain’t nothing good going to come out of that one.”
We all probably know of someone who fits that description, and we all know how to spot people who come close to that description. Because we are generally halfway decent judges of character, and can see when people have merely made an error in judgment or had a momentary lapse in their moral compass versus those who seem to be filled with scum and villainy at their core. We recognize that it was what was inside of them that defiled them and the world around them. They may use pretty words, and make promises to be better, but ultimately, their words and actions are always on opposite ends of the spectrum.
That’s what the Gospel and the Epistle are getting at today
Only the central figure in the passages today is not Timmy or people like him.
It’s me. It’s you. It’s all of us.
We are all halfway decent judges of character, and can see when people like Timmy have just made an honest mistake, or if they are rotten deep within their core. But we are much less capable of judging ourselves with such clarity and focus.
We say one thing, but do another. We know the truth of the Gospel, but ignore it when we’d rather do something else. We look in the mirror and we see the beautiful image of Christ within us. We see that we are Children of God and made in God’s image.
And then we turn away from the mirror, and instantly forget who we are. And we act according to our own desires and wishes.
In the book of Galatians, we hear that the Fruits of the Spirit are Love, joy, Peace, Kindness, Goodness, Faithfulness, Gentleness and Self-Control. These fruits grow from seeds, and those seeds come from the truth of the Gospel message about the identity, mission, death and resurrection of Christ.
And they will only grow if the soil gets tilled and aerated, if the weeds get pulled, and if the soil gets watered.
This part of the church year fits into the real world cycle of agricultural harvest, but the lectionary focuses us on the spiritual harvest. It asks us to till the soil of our souls and minds, pulling up the weeds of our own self-interest, tossing out the rocks that stand in the way of growth, so that the Fruit of the Spirit can take root and grow within us. We don’t want people to see dry and rocky soil full of weeds. What we want is a garden of abundance so that people are blessed by the sweet fragrance of Christ that grows out of us.
Or, to put it another way.
When people see our lives in action, do they see a “bad seed,” a “repeat offender,” a person who says one thing and does another?
Or do they see us like a teddy bear, frolicking in an alpine field, filled with the fruits of the spirit, gathering wildflowers to give to them as a gift?
Several years ago, I read a book on finances, which talked about the concept of creating multiple streams of income – some of which we would call “side hustles” today – but included things like investing and real estate. I learned the concepts and told all of my friends about this, because it made sense.
A few years later, when I had a chance to meet up with one of these friends, I found out that he had taken the concepts that I had shared with him, and had purchased a bar with a restaurant. Outside of his day job as a teacher, he was running a successful bar, even though the extra work was difficult and time-consuming. He thanked me for having shared that information with him, because he felt it made his life better, and allowed him the extra money to engage his goal of traveling the world.
Several years later, I was on a morning walk with my dad, and told him this story, both about how I had shared the good news with my friend, and how my friend had taken that knowledge and put it into practice. And then, as dads do, my father asked the question: “If this was such wonderful information, why did your friend do this, but you didn’t?” It only took me a moment to respond: “Well, I saw no purpose other than to put a few extra shekels in my coin bag. That’s not really a worthy purpose. While I knew that the information was true, I didn’t believe that the effort was worth the gain.”
Viktor Frankl, a survivor of the Nazi concentration camps during World War II, documented this need for purpose in his book, Man’s Search For Meaning. Even in the horrible treatment they received, the torture that they experienced, Frankl noticed that among his fellow prisoners, those that had a purpose beyond the immediate day to day were the ones who were able to endure torture, suffering and humiliation. He wrote that the greatest courage that a person can have is the courage to suffer. And, as he watched these other prisoners, he came to the realization that “those who have a ‘why’ to live, can bear with almost any ‘how.’”
Today’s Gospel is the conclusion of the Bread of Life Discourse. Jesus has fed people with miraculous food, shaken their understanding of the Messiah, and offered them freedom. The people tried to forcibly make Jesus their king, and Jesus ran away, because this is not how God intended to save the world. He offered them eternal life through his own flesh, and told them that they only needed to believe in him and follow his example. He would not become their king, because God had other plans.
And the people complained, and walked away. They quit being his disciples.
It is important to realize that they did not reject Jesus because of who Jesus was. After all, they had seen him turn water into wine, walk on water, and feed 5000 people with five loaves of bread and two fish. They had seen him heal people, and restore them to their lives within the community. They had watched him make the claim that he was the Messiah. And then, they tried to force him to become their king. They obviously were pretty excited about Jesus.
So what gives?
We know that from time to time, in this region of the world, religious zealots would arise and amass a following, and the people often believed that these leaders would free them from the oppressive Roman rule. These people would mount an uprising against the Roman overlords – and were routinely defeated. These leaders were the strongest men in the room, those who wanted to bring a hammer to the oppressors, those who wanted to free the oppressed, and restore Israel to its former glory. And so when Jesus comes in, heals people, performs miracles, and feeds a group of people the size of an army, they obviously think: this one is it – this is the right one to make it happen for us. Finally!
But Jesus tells them that they must eat his flesh and drink his blood. That if his body, the temple, is destroyed, he will raise it again in three days. That he will give his life as a salvation for many. That he will offer himself as a sacrifice. And he will do it out of compassion and love for all the people of the world. He would offer them freedom, if they just believed in him, and did as he did.
And the people said: “Nope! Not going to happen.” And they walked away.
To put this into Viktor Frank’s framework, they did not reject the “why” of this situation. They did not reject Jesus. They did not reject the “Why” of the Messiah. They did not reject the idea that a Messiah was to come, or the purpose of the Messiah. What they rejected was the “How.” They rejected “how” Jesus would offer the freedom and salvation he promised but not the “why.”
Or, to put it a different way, they did not believe that the “how” was worth the “why.” They did not believe that the extra effort was worth the gain.
By rejecting the “how,” these people were really saying, “We want to control how you provide for us, how you offer freedom, and how you save the world. We don’t want it to happen your way, we want it to happen our way.” And because Jesus was unmoving, because Jesus ran away from them when they tried to make him their king by force, because Jesus continued to offer his way, rather than theirs, they rejected his leadership and they left.
Last week we talked about all the ways in which we consume Jesus, with the ultimate goal being that we take his words and the example of his life as the ultimate model for our own. But, as one commentator puts it,
“The more we realize that faith calls us to consume the body and blood of Christ, to embrace his death and resurrection and to emulate his manner of living and dying for others, the more difficult the journey of faith becomes.”1
I’ve watched people make religion about rules and regulations. I’ve watched them reduce the entirety of the faith down to the task of upholding those rules. Because rules are easy. Rules tell you where the good stops and the bad starts. Rules tell you where you will find light and where you will find darkness. They make simple the distinctions between right and wrong.
And more importantly, the rules are easy to control. And when we can control the rules, we can control people. We can define what it means to follow Christ or deny him, and we can tell people when they are wrong, or welcome them when they are right.
But life is never that clear. It is a muddy mess. And the path to Jesus is never as clear as “do this and you’ll be right with God. Do that, and God will erase your name from the book of life.” Our lives are a twisted, convoluted mess of “hows” trying to move toward the “why” of Jesus. And we will never be able to uphold the entirety of any set of rules and regulations just by sheer force of will. And trying to uphold the “how” that we – or others – have set is why so many people look at our religion and say, “This is a difficult teaching. Who can accept it?” And they walk away. Not from God, but from that version of God that would ask them to conform exactly as we define it. Because that is the example we have given. When we choose a religion of rules over the sacrifice, compassion and love of Christ, we have done exactly the same: we have turned to Jesus and said, “This is a difficult teaching. How can we accept it?” and walked away. And people are simply following our example, because we have rejected the example of Christ, and instead have chosen an easy “how.”
But thankfully, that is not the “how” that Jesus envisioned. Jesus did not make a set of rules and tell us we had better – or else.
Instead, as our eucharistic prayer says:
“when we had fallen into sin and become subject to evil and death, you, in your mercy, sent Jesus Christ, your only and eternal Son, to share our human nature, to live and die as one of us, to reconcile us to you, the God and Father of all.
He stretched out his arms upon the cross, and offered himself, in obedience to your will, a perfect sacrifice for the whole world.” (Eucharistic Prayer A)
Jesus came not to be the strong man, he came to be the lamb. He didn’t come to destroy the world. He didn’t come to conquer, but to sacrifice. All so that he could reconcile the world to God.
God, through Jesus, defined not only the “why,” but also the “how.” Jesus said that the life that he would give for the salvation of humanity is his own, and his life is all about sacrifice, compassion, forgiveness and reconciliation.
This is the model of “how” and this is the way in which we are to approach the world. We are to offer our own lives as a sacrifice for others, we are to show compassion, forgiveness, and seek reconciliation where possible. Our lives are to be a beacon of light in a dark world, and our words, actions and attitudes are to be the bread of life to those around us – through the example of sacrifice that Jesus set for us. Because that example leads to eternal life. But more importantly, that example leads to abundant life, and it leads to peace and joy in this life as well.
This is what the disciples understood. When Jesus asked if they would leave him too, Peter’s response was less of a “We don’t have anywhere else to go,” and more of a “Now that we see and understand, we can do nothing else but follow you.”
I’d like for you all to imagine yourself sitting in a doctor’s office exam room, waiting to speak to a new doctor about an upcoming surgery. As you glance around the room, you see all the medical posters about the internal organs, the skeletal system, and a poster displaying the inner workings of the heart. The exam room is clean, and professional looking, and everything about the staff that brought you in, and the ambience of this room puts your mind at ease. This new doctor, you think, will definitely be able to take care of me.
Then there is a knock at the door, and in walks a young man wearing scrubs and soft, comfortable shoes. Something at the back of your mind sparks up a bit, and you think he looks vaguely familiar. Is this the doctor? Or an assistant?
“I thought that was you! It’s Tim,” the young man says, “It’s so good to see you again!” He shakes your hand and says, “I used to hang out with your kids all the time, back in elementary school.”
And suddenly you recognize him. Timmy? The same Timmy that couldn’t figure out how to use a can opener? The same Timmy that used to knock things over in your house all the time because he was so incredibly clumsy? The same Timmy that flunked 3rd grade? The same Timmy that would ignore what adults told him and do what he wanted to? The same Timmy that lied whenever you caught him doing something wrong? That Timmy!?
Doctor Tim sits down in the chair, and says to you, “I’m so happy you’re here. You’re in good hands with me. Let me assure you that I will do my absolute best with your open heart surgery!”
I’m sure that your immediate reaction at that point would likely be – “My surgery is a bit more involved than using a can opener. Not gonna happen, Timmy.”
Just like with Timmy and his amazing ability to break things, the people that knew Jesus were saying things like:
“I remember his parents, and how he got lost in Jerusalem when he was 12! They had to come back and find him!”
“I remember one time he built a table with one short leg, and it used to wobble constantly!”
“Come on now! This cannot be the Messiah! I used to babysit him!”
And they started to grumble among themselves. Those who were opposed to Jesus, because of how they knew him way back when.
Two weeks ago, we heard the story that set up this entire talk about the Bread of Life, the feeding of the five thousand. It was there that we learned that this entire conversation is set within the context of the Passover. And that Passover setting was intended to evoke the ideas of freedom from slavery, and a new promise of God’s provision. The reference to Manna from heaven in last week’s Gospel passage also brings the readers of John’s Gospel back to the idea that something new is going on. Something big is happening.
We learned last week that by calling himself the Bread of Life, Jesus had upended their view of the Messiah, and shifted their thinking from seeing God’s provision as merely physical and for their present reality, to thinking of God’s provision for all eternity, and seeing that God’s freedom and provision is intended for all people, for the entire world. All that people needed to do was to believe in him.
But here’s the problem – at least for some of the people. To believe in Jesus meant to give up control, to give up power, and to give up the hope of future power. And we all know that people in power never want to relinquish that power willingly. This is why they start grumbling amongst themselves. They heard the claims that Jesus made, they followed his logic about eternal life, and they recognized that Jesus’ way of saving the world would require that they surrender their current power, and any hope of future power – because a Messiah that refused to be made king by force would be a Messiah that would require them to make sacrifices. And so, of course, they grumble.
The interesting thing to note here, is that the word that John uses for “grumbling” is the same word that is used in the Greek translation of the Hebrew Scriptures for when the people “grumbled” to Moses about not having bread to eat. They “grumbled” about being hungry, and they wished that God had let them die in Egypt instead of bringing them into the wilderness. And so, God provided manna – that is, bread from heaven – and their ancestors ate from it. John is trying to make a direct correlation between the people of Israel on their exodus out of Egypt to this moment in time, when some of the people confronted with the true Bread of Heaven in the person of Jesus grow skeptical.
Which makes Jesus’ response about manna so much more poignant and direct.
He had already told the people not to work for the bread that perishes, but to work for the food that endures for eternal life. And now he takes their comment about their ancestors ate Manna from heaven, and says:
“Yes. Your ancestors ate manna from heaven. But guess what? They still died.”
Which is to say, “All that you are working for, this earthly power, this earthly wealth, this desire that the Messiah comes and does what you want – all of that is still just thinking about the here and now, this present age. Don’t do that. Work for the things that are eternal and will carry you through more than just this life by believing that God has sent me.”
And the people grumbled.
One of the phrases that may be going through your mind right now is, “Familiarity breeds contempt.” And that is definitely what is going on with Jesus and those who opposed him. Just like we wouldn’t want a clumsy little oaf like Timmy doing our open heart surgery, these people didn’t want to wrap their heads around the idea that the future of their faith revolved around a carpenter’s son, someone they had known all of his life.
For those of us who come to church, we may be thinking, “Oh good! I already believe in Jesus. I’m not opposed to thinking of Jesus as the spiritual manna from heaven.”
But there is more to the Bread of Life than just the belief that Christ died and rose again to begin our reconciliation with God. There are the promises that Christ made for those that follow him, such as peace, joy, love and patience. There is the matter of life, eternal life, and even, the promise that Christ came that we have “abundant life.”
What is this abundant life?
Every Sunday, here at St. Alban’s, we sing the song, “Let there be peace on earth,” right before the Passing of the Peace. And the words within that song state that if God is our creator, then we are all siblings, and all of us are children of God.
What that means is that the promise of abundant life, the promise of peace, of joy, of patience and forgiveness of sins has been inherited by all of us. We are all living members of the body of Christ and heirs of God’s eternal kingdom.
In Paul’s letter to the Ephesians, our New Testament passage today, he says:
Put away from you all bitterness and wrath and anger and wrangling and slander, together with all malice, and be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ has forgiven you. Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children, and live in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us, a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.
God has offered all these promises through believing in Jesus, the Bread of Life, and you, and I, and each of us, has become an heir in God’s kingdom because of it. And if each of us is an heir, then we ought to treat each other as royalty and respect the dignity of everyone. It is when we are imitators of God, that this abundant life begins to take hold, and this blessed ideal of peace, love, forbearance and tolerance starts to take shape in our minds and we can almost touch and feel and see how an abundant life could form among a community of believers. We can smell the sweet fragrance of love, joy, peace and gentleness wafting through the room, as we imagine what a life of sacrifice for God and each other can manifest in our lives and community.
And then Timmy walks in. Clumsy, oafish, not-so-bright Timmy. Timmy, whom we know just a little too well, and whom we cannot trust to do the right thing. Timmy, who irritates us at our core, and makes us not just skeptical, but whose actions grab our heart and harden it, so that we directly oppose the idea that anyone should show any sort of love and patience to him. Timmy, whom we wish could be taught a lesson.
For Timmy’s sake, of course.
This response is the exact same response that those who opposed Jesus had. Just like them, we do not wish to give up any kind of power, and we most certainly do not want to imitate God, and offer ourselves as a sacrifice and fragrant offering for God’s work of reconciling the world to himself. Especially if the person who needs to see our sacrifice is Timmy.
But this is precisely the work that is needed.
And this is why we too, sometimes, grumble and complain, and stand in opposition of the work that God is doing in this world.
We all have at least one Timmy in our lives. Sometimes multiple Timmys. We need to identify the Timmy in our life, and recognize that they are just as much a child of God as we are. That they have inherited eternal life and forgiveness of sin, just like we have. That they have the promise of eternal life, just like we do. And we need to try and understand why we are so opposed to them and what they do – because our opposition is often more based on what’s going on inside of us, than what’s going on with Timmy.
And then, we offer them the Bread of Life through the same compassion and love, through the same grace and mercy that Jesus offered us when he offered his life for our sake.
Because then we will in fact, begin to smell the sweet fragrance of Christ in our midst.
And we will recognize that the Bread of Life is food for everyone.
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 healedas 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.
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.”
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 losesomething. 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.
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 alreadyministers 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.
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.
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 diesfor us.
Book of Common Prayer, Catechism: Sin and Redemption, p. 848
“But God proves his love for us in that while we still were sinners Christ died for us.” Romans 5:8, NRSV
This Sunday in the lectionary usually brings up all sorts of sermons that deal with fishing, and you’re likely wondering if I’m going to reel you in with a tall tale about the one that got away. But you’ll be disappointed. I’m not going to spend very much time talking about fish or fishing at all. Instead, I’m going to talk about hooks. Not fishing lines, or fishing nets. Not reels and boats, or bait and tackle. I’m going to talk about hooks.
Why hooks?
Because when we look at the Gospel reading today, we see that Jesus comes proclaiming the Good News of God. The Time is Fulfilled! Jesus says. But more than that, Jesus says that The kingdom of God is near! All the hearers needed to do was to repent, and believe in the Good News he was preaching.
If you want to talk about a hook, that’s one that really works. Jesus is saying to his hearers That which you have waited for, that which you have hoped for, it’s here! The kingdom of God is here! This was indeed Good News. For those hoping for an earthly kingdom and release from subjugation to the Romans, it was hope. And this hook brought people in. Then, when Jesus fulfilled God’s plan on the cross, for some people, the hope of God’s Kingdom shifted from earthly power and a temporal kingdom to the Second Coming of Christ, an event that brings with it the Hope of newness of life, the communion of the saints, reconciliation with God, and everlasting life.
We see how well it worked when we read Paul’s letter to the Corinthians. The early Christians believed very much in the hope of the return of Christ in power and glory. They were ready for it. And Paul is telling them to live as though it would be happening so soon that they could even quit thinking about their earthly responsibilities.
Over the centuries, several people have done the exact same thing as what Paul was suggesting, selling their possessions and camping out on a mountain top, waiting for the second coming of Jesus. These people made a decision that was guided by some form of hope, even within a life that is filled with daily responsibilities and duties. Partly because they saw it as a salvation from their present struggles. For them, futurehope bested their present reality. And because of that, their hopecame with a sense of urgency.
Some of you may have seen the recent uproar over the bubblegum pink and cherry red 40 oz double-walled vacuum-insulated stainless steel tumblers. A collaboration between Starbucks and Stanley, these cups were only sold at Target stores, and caused long lines, with people camping out for hours to try and get their hands on one of these cups. Why? Perhaps for the hope that their coffee would stay warm for up to 11 hours?
Maybe you haven’t heard of this viral sensation, but I’m sure you’ve heard of some of the others over the last several decades: Pokemon, Furby, Tamagotchi, Cabbage Patch Kids, Tickle me Elmo. The list could go on and on.
The one thing these viral trends all had in common was a sense of urgency, because of a false sense of scarcity. A fear that you would be missing out if you were not one of the first ones to get the new and latest craze. The other common factor was a false sense of hope that this product would bring with it happiness, comfort, peace, joy, you name it. If you only had this toy, or this thing, then all your hopes would be fulfilled.
And then, months later, after each of these crazes had ended, the garbage bins started filling up because the promised hope had all been something based on dreams. Whether a parent thought it would bring a child closer to them, or restore a broken relationship between spouses, or whatever it was, the hope was built on a thing, a product, providing some form of salvation in a broken world.
There’s another bible story that we touch upon here today, though only tangentially. The story of a very big fish, and a very little man named Jonah. He himself did not do any fishing in that story, and the fish didn’t even get away. In fact, we can say that in this whale of a story, the fish was the fisher of men, and Jonah was the one that didn’t get away.
Jonah, a prophet, was called by God to go to the city of Nineveh, a city about which someone might say, “You’ll never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy.” And he didn’t want to go. But when he finally went, he walked about 20 miles into this huge city that was about 60 miles across, and said one simple sentence: “Forty days more, and Nineveh shall be overthrown!” That’s it. That’s all he said. One sentence. And yet, the whole city, from the commoner up to the king were all gripped by a sense of urgency, and they all believed God, and repented. Then God spared their lives because God saw that they had turned from their evil ways, and God did not bring upon them the planned calamity.
What are we to take from this story? Is the message that people need to be scared into changing their lives? After all, it seems that the Ninevites only changed their ways because of the threat of danger, the threat of death and destruction. Was that what caused the urgency?
Or … should we take from this story the fact that a prophet of God was called to reconcile gentiles to God? That is, people outside the covenant of God were asked to change their ways so that they might be reconciled to God and live in God’s favor? Was the change in the people of Nineveh because they saw that the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob had come to them, and desired to show them mercy? Were they motivated not by fear, but by the hope of new life, and reconciliation to a merciful God?
This idea of Nineveh’s change coming from the hope of reconciliation based on a merciful God seems to be supported by the portions of scripture we didn’t read today. The king told everyone to cry, repent and turn from their evil ways, because, he says, “Who knows? God may relent and change his mind; he may turn from his fierce anger, so that we do not perish” (Jonah 3:9). And, just a bit later in the next Chapter, we find Jonah complaining that he didn’t want to come to Nineveh, not because the city was so wicked, but, Jonah says, he knew from the beginning that “that you are a gracious God and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and ready to relent from punishing” (Jonah 4:2).
Hope. There may have been an element of urgency around the possibility of destruction, but the overriding motivator of the King and his people was the hope of forgiveness, the hope of reconciliation to God, and the hope of salvation.
If we return to the Gospel today, we see that the disciples in the story “immediately” left their nets because they saw a hope in the person of Jesus. True, for them it might have been the hope of salvation from an oppressive colonizing force. But, if we accept the possibility that the Ninevites turned not because of fear, but because of hope, then we can see a connection between the words of Jesus, and the words of Jonah: the Ninevites saw hope in repentance and being reconciled to a merciful God, and the Disciples saw hope, also accompanied by belief and repentance.
The gospel is about mercy instead of punishment, of the hope of reconciliation with God, and of a true hope of newness of life. It is not about the fear of imminent destruction, but about life in relationship with God, with all those who also believe, and with all the rest of creation.
The disciples may have started out hoping for the salvation of their land from the occupying forces. And by the time of Paul’s letter to the Corinthians, that hope may have shifted to the second coming, a more escapist motivation in a broken world.
But what about now? With us? These motivations, these hopes for a brighter future may have worked almost 2,000 years ago. But, living in a country that is prosperous and free, where we do not face any persecution, or threat of destruction; living in a time where the promised return of Jesus has apparently failed to materialize, what do we say about hope? What is the hook that we share to help people understand the joys of knowing Jesus?
The answer to that lies in the word, fulfilled.
In the Gospel, Jesus comes proclaiming the Good News, saying that the time is fulfilled, and that the Kingdom of God is near. For those of us who have the Gospels to read, we know that at that moment that Jesus had not yet died on the cross or risen from the dead. But the simple fact that Jesus was on the earth, speaking about the plan that God had for humanity meant that all the future purposes that God has in store for all creation were set in motion the moment that the Christ child was born in the barn.
So when Jesus says, the time is fulfilled, he means that All of God’s desires for the world and all creation have already been accomplished. And if they have been accomplished, then that does not mean that we need to wait for the future to experience the promises. Whether Jesus’ return happens in our lifetime or not is inconsequential, because all of God’s plans for humanity are available to us right now. Immediately. In this moment, we have newness of life, we enjoy the communion of the saints, we live in reconciliation with God, and we already know that we will have everlasting life in the presence of God.
The Kingdom of God truly is near.
When we come to this realization, this understanding that in God’s timing, all has already been accomplished, but that in our sense of time, we still have things to experience; when we internalize this idea of everything has been fulfilled, but has not yet completely happened to us, then we begin to feel an urgency not because we fear destruction, but because we want everyone else to feel that same joy, to experience the same freedom, to live in the present reality of a future already accomplished.
When we realize this we become infectious. We go viral. And people see in us a hope that is not just a speculation, but a hope that is realized in the here and now. And they want what we have. And they want it immediately.
Our lives have, at that moment, become a Tickle me Elmo doll, or a pink 40 oz vacuum insulated stainless steel tumbler.
We have become the hook!
But our lives do not peddle false hopes like these fleeting fads and viral sensations. Our lives are witness to a true hope, are witness to an ever present joy of living in a world where our future hope is actually our present reality.