New Life: What's up your sleeve? Acts 9:36-43

I think we all know a Tabitha. Not the one who wrinkles her nose and tricks Darren on Bewitched, no – I think we all know a woman like Tabitha in Acts. She was the pillar of the church in the little city of Joppa, along the Mediterranean coast, and was beloved by all as a true saintly woman. And when I say all, I really mean all – everybody knew her in Joppa – the Jews and the Greeks, everybody knew her kindness and her generosity and her patience and her loving words. Everybody knew her, people on both sides of the tracks, so to speak, so when people called her by her name, they did it in their own language, and so this beautiful disciple had two names, an Aramaic Jewish name, Tabitha, and a Greek one, Dorcas. You get the sense that Tabitha was one of those folks who held the church together with her love, speaking to each person as they came to worship, and visiting folks throughout the day to pray with them and to see if they needed anything. Tabitha was one of those disciples that if you didn’t know her, you would soon, because she was one of the first to greet new believers and help them find a place in the community of faith. I think we all know a Tabitha. I can think of a few men and women like her in my mind, and I can think of a few right here with us this morning. I think we all know a Tabitha.

So when Tabitha gets sick and dies, it hurts. It is a painful shock not just to her family, but to her church, who had known her love and who loved her so deeply. They want to honor her, so they do the customary thing and wash her body and lay her in an upper room, so that friends and members of the community can come and say goodbye. They also send for the apostle Peter, who is in the neighboring town of Lydda, urging him to “come without delay.” It is a little unclear what the folks in Joppa are looking for from Peter, but it is not an unusual thing to invite community leaders to a funeral, maybe so they can pay their respects, or maybe even say a few words.

When Peter arrives, they usher him to the upstairs room where Tabitha’s body is lying. The widows of the church, the women who had been sustained by the prayers and attention of Tabitha, were there, too, weeping and showing tunics and other clothes that Tabitha (who they called Dorcas) had made while she was with them. “Oh, Julia – do you see this blue one? It is just like the blue one she made you last year – and now who will make such beautiful clothes? Who will help us find clothing when we can’t afford it? What will we do now?” And they begin to weep again, as Peter is standing there. “There, there,” he says, speaking a few words of comfort, as he gently escorts the grieving widows outside. Peter needs a moment or two with Tabitha, to say a few words of his own.

Peter kneels down beside Tabitha’s lifeless body and begins to pray. Can you imagine what that time of prayer was like? Here is Peter, simple fisherman of Galilee turned powerful apostle, a man impulsive enough to try to walk on water to reach his Lord, but fearful enough to deny even knowing Jesus when he was questioned. Here is a man who had left his old life behind on that lakeshore, with his nets and his boats, and had followed Jesus wherever he would lead. Here is a man who found himself holding the keys to the kingdom, with a promise from Jesus Christ that whatever he would bind on earth would be bound in heaven, and whatever he loosed on earth would be loosed in heaven. Now that is authority, but Peter also made some promises to Jesus, too. Jesus asked him: “Do you love me, Peter?” And Peter replied “Yes, Lord, you know I love you.” “Then feed my sheep, Peter. Tend my lambs.” I imagine that all of this swirled around in his mind and in his heart as he prayed there beside Tabitha’s body. “What would you have me do, Lord? He asked? What is your will? What does your heart, desire, God? What can I do in this dark, sad place?”

And Peter realized, sensed, knew, that he wasn’t alone in that room with Tabitha. He was, in that moment of prayer, surrounded and filled by the Holy Spirit of Christ, and the Presence of the Living One was with him and Tabitha. And in that moment, he knew in his heart that God’s desire was Life! New life for Tabitha, new life for Peter, new life for the whole world through the resurrection of Jesus Christ – God’s desire was Life, and that abundant, and full, and filled with love. And with the loving Presence of Christ so close, closer to him than even his own breath, and filled with the conviction that God’s desire was Life for Tabitha, Peter in that instant knew, despite himself, despite his fears and his doubts, that he was being called upon to speak a few words.

Peter turns to Tabitha’s body and says: “Tabitha, get up!” His prayer of discernment, his prayer of asking for God’s guidance, becomes a prophetic command, the words of Christ speaking through Peter’s mouth. And at once, it is not just Tabitha’s body, but it is Tabitha who is there again, and her eyes open and she sits up. Tabitha is Alive, raised from death! From Peter’s mouth come just a few words, but those few words are enough. God works a miraculous thing; opening the eyes of Tabitha again, restoring within her life; opening the eyes of Peter to what can be possible with prayer and a few words, what can be possible with God.

I think we all know a Peter. I think we all know a person who is just a regular guy or gal, just a simple fisherman, just an accountant, just a sanitation worker, just a homemaker, just a student, just a regular person, who opens up their mouth and out comes the Word of God, the power of the Holy Spirit. I bet you could think of a few folks like Peter, and I can think of a few right here with us this morning. I think the truth of the matter is is that we all have the capacity to be used by God, to have our mouths opened to speak God’s words. When our heart is connected to God’s heart, when we love what God loves, when our hearts are broken by the things that break God’s heart, we can’t help but say a few words. Like Peter, it might be words like: “Get up,” calling a lost and broken person to new life. We might be led to speak words like “No more,” calling for justice or mercy in a harsh world. We might be called to say words like “I forgive” or “Welcome home” beginning a new phase in a healed relationship. The words that we speak can curse and harm, the words that speak can bless and restore life. God is asking for our words, not demanding great long speeches, but just a few – because just a few words from ordinary folks can change the world.

In just a few moments, we will be blessed to welcome into the membership of this congregation , mom who has recently moved to Rockmart. When she joins this congregation, we will ask her if she pledges to support the ministries of this church by her prayers, her presence, her gifts, her service, and her witness – that last phrase is new in our denomination since 2008, so you won’t read it in the hymnal. Likewise, you will have the opportunity to renew your vows as a church to support the ministries of this congregation and Christ’s Church universal with your prayers, your presence, your gifts, your service, and your witness. When you become a member of the church, you aren’t just pledging your tithe or that you will show up to church – you are also pledging your words to be used by God, pledging that you will use your words to speak the truth of God that you have witnessed and seen, promising that you will speak if the Spirit calls you to speak. You don’t have to promise to give grand sermons or long speeches on Christian doctrine – you just have to promise to speak a few words when the time is right, words like “Get up,” words like “Forgive me,” words like “I believe.” Because a few words can go a long way, and God can use your words to work amazing miracles. God is asking for our words, my words, your words, because just a few words from ordinary folks can indeed change the world. And thanks be to God for that.

New Life: What Can You See? Acts 9:1-20

The wooden ship was heavy with its cargo. The waves and the wind tossed the English trading vessel, the Greyhound, to and fro on the waves, and below decks, the great bundles of wool and crates of beeswax for candles slid back and forth in the hold. Waves began to crash over the deck of the ship, and it began to take on water, a dangerous thing for trading vessels in the 1700s. John Newton, an English trader, cried out to God, pleading with the Master of the Waves for relief from the storm, for salvation from the danger of death for himself and his fellow crewmates. Newton made it through the storm, by God’s grace, and later, looking back, he would point to that moment in the middle of that raging storm as the beginning of his change, the beginning of his conversion, the beginning of his new sight, his new way of seeing the world through God’s eyes.

The world seemed almost on fire. There was a light shining out of every leaf on every tree, a light not from the sun, but from within. The sky was so bright, the songs of the birds seemed so beautiful, even the grass seemed holy, and for the young man sitting there on a bench by a lake, it seemed like for the first time that God was real, a powerful and radiant Presence in his heart, and with new eyes he glimpsed how God sees the world: full of life, full of beauty, full of promise, full of possibilities.

Louise was the pillar of her church. She taught Sunday School, made the best quilts for the church bazaar, and never failed to read her Bible daily. She knew God’s Word, knew right from wrong, and knew sin when she saw it. But she wasn’t sure what she saw when the man walked in her church that Sunday morning. He was dressed in leather and in chains, his big black boots making lots of noise as he entered the sanctuary. “Oh, Lord” she prayed, “what is a man like this doing in my church? Does he mean us harm?” As she watched, the man went to the altar, knelt down and first began to pray, then began to weep. Louise felt compelled to get up and place a hand on his big shoulder, and in that moment, she saw this big, frightening, rough man as a fellow human being, hurting, in need of love and acceptance, a person in need of God’s care and her kindness.

Conversion. Turning from an old way to a new way, changing the way we see the world. The history of the church, the history of faith, maybe even your history is filled with stories of people who are converted – who see with new eyes and change the direction of their life. The thing about these stories is that they aren’t all the same – they are as different and diverse as the people who tell them. The reading for this morning is probably a familiar one – and if your Bible is like mine, it has the heading: The Conversion of Saul. This is a story of one the great apostles, one of the most influential Christian thinkers, the author of most of the New Testament – and how he came to faith in Jesus Christ. Saul was a Pharisee, a Jewish scholar who was filled with passion and zeal for his belief in God. He was so zealous, in fact, that he set out to destroy the early church. While his teacher Gamaliel, who we learned about last week, urged that the young movement of Christ-followers be left alone, Saul took a different approach. These Believers in the Way, as they were called, these Christians, were dangerous, challenging the authority of the Temple and teaching twisted things about their master, Jesus. Saul felt that his faith in God and his trust in God’s laws demanded that he fight back against this wayward group – and when Stephen, the first believer to die for his faith is stoned to death, it is Saul who holds the coats of the folks throwing the rocks. But beyond just being on the sidelines, Saul becomes an energetic pursuer of Christians, hunting them down, men and women alike, and hauling them off to jail, where they might face the same fate as Stephen. Saul isn’t content to crack down on the church in Jerusalem, and sets his sights 30 miles up the road to Damascus, where more disciples of Jesus had begun to set up shop. He is full of passion and energy to put a stop to this dangerous group, and the writer of Acts tells us he was “breathing threats and murder” when he receives letters from the high priest in Jerusalem authorizing him to arrest and bind any Christians he finds in Damascus and haul them back to the council for trial. For the church, Saul is dangerous, but he is not evil. Saul is not a thief, not a swindler, not a criminal – he felt that he was doing God’s work, defending the faith, preserving the traditions of God’s people.

But as he goes up the road from Jerusalem to Damascus, something happens. A light surrounds him, and he falls to the ground and a voice calls to him: “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?” Saul asks: “Who are you?” And the voice replies: “I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting. But get up and enter the city, and you will be told what you are to do.” Saul is blinded by this experience, and even though his eyes are open, he can’t even see to continue walking down the road, and instead of striding triumphantly into Damascus, ready to arrest the disciples of Jesus, he needs the help of his companions to even find his way into the city. Saul, a zealous man, find himself travelling down a new path because of the intervention of Jesus. Saul is converted from his old ways and becomes a new person in Christ.

But the story doesn’t end here. While Saul is being led into Damascus, the Lord is still at work, affecting another sort of conversion. A faithful disciple named Ananias receives a vision, in which Jesus tells him to go to a certain house on Straight Street and to lay his hands on a man named Saul of Tarsus. Ananias is not so sure this is a good idea: “Lord,” he says, “I have heard about this man, and about how he has done awful things to your saints. The reason he is even here is to arrest all of us!” But Jesus persists: “Go, for he is an instrument whom I have chosen to bring my name before Gentiles and kings and before the people of Israel.” So Ananias goes and does what the Lord asks of him, placing his hands on Saul, and immediately something like scales fall from his eyes, and he is able to see. He gets up, and is baptized, and begins to eat again and regain his strength.

When we think about the conversion of Saul, we remember the blinding light and the voice of Jesus calling to him. And we remember the great deeds of faith that he does as Paul, a new person completely changed from his old ways of breathing threats and murder against the church. But his conversion, his life change, his ability to see, both physically and spiritually, is tied up in the conversion of Ananias. Jesus interrupted Saul’s plans by shining the light of God, but it is Ananias who needs to be convinced that this Saul is really going to change. Ananias could have remained distant and fearful, could have been too caught up in Saul’s past to see what God would do with his future. Ananias had to be willing to see Saul the way God saw him – as a powerful instrument, a gifted person whose skills and talents would be used to share the good news of Jesus Christ throughout the world. Ananias is a believer, a disciple of Jesus, and his conversion is not about coming to faith in Christ for the first time. His conversion involves seeing past his fear and the things that Saul has done, and opening his eyes to the possibility of change, the possibility that God can do a new thing for the world by doing a new thing for a person.

And because Ananias is willing, because he listens to the voice of Christ, because he acts to lay his hands on this perpetrator of great harm against the church, the full conversion of Saul becomes possible. The story of Saul is the story of a person whose plans are halted on a roadside, but also the story of a man who is forgiven, blessed, and shown another chance in a house on a street called Straight. Without Ananias, Saul would just have been stopped from persecuting the church, blinded by the light, but would not have become the great apostle Paul, the great planter of churches and explainer of the gospel.

Conversion – there are as many stories of how God changes lives as there are changed lives. Each person has a different story to tell – some of us have dramatic stories of blinding lights and visions. Others of us have stories that are much quieter, of how we came gradually to understand the truth of God’s love for even us, of how our eyes were opened slowly over time to the way God sees the world. Some of us find new sight in a flash and some have our vision deepened over time. But the important thing to remember in all of these stories is that God is able to meet us where we are, is able to find us and to use us, no matter what our past. God is able to reach us, with a bright flash or a quiet whisper and to give us new eyes to see the world the way God sees it – worth working to save, filled with beauty and potential even when it seems darkest and most hopeless. And this is the common thread to all stories of conversion – not necessarily that a person had a dramatic experience, but that they saw the world through God’s eyes and were willing to live life in a new way because of what they saw. Saul goes from breathing threats and murder to being a completely devoted disciple of Jesus Christ, sharing the gospel passionately and creatively throughout the ancient world. Ananias goes from being mistrustful of an enemy to laying his hands and blessing his enemy so that he might receive sight and become an brother in Christ.

And God is still at work, calling to you and to me, working with us and in spite of us to help us see the world as God sees it. Just as Louise felt an urge from the Holy Spirit to go and reach out her hand to the man so different from her, just as the young man on that bench saw the beauty of God’s creation even in the tiniest thing, even as John Newton felt a need to change his life, God is still at work in our lives, calling us to see even more fully the potential in each person, the value of each created thing, the love God has for all of us. Because Louise stretched out her hand, the biker found a new home and a loving community of faith, and invited his friends to join him. Because that young man had his eyes opened to the brilliance of God’s light, he decided to dedicate his life to sharing the message of God’s love as through a lifetime of service. Because John Newton felt the movement of God’s hand even as his boat was tossed on that storm, he rejected his life trading goods like wool and wax for human slaves in Africa, became an Anglican priest, and began to write hymns. You may not know all of them, but just about everyone knows his most famous hymn: Amazing Grace. Because John Newton felt the presence of God, his life was changed, and he in turn penned a hymn beloved by billions of people the world over. As we sing these beloved and familiar words, listen to them in a new way. Give thanks to God for the way God is able to use all of us, even when we are lost – and to give us new direction and new purpose. It is never too late to open your eyes and your heart and your mind to the light of God. If you feel you are in special need this day to come and pray, to come to the altar and have a special moment with God, you are invited and welcome to come as we sing this rich song of praise. God’s grace is indeed amazing, and whether you are an enemy of the church, or just lost in the world, God wants to show you what can be possible in the future. And thanks be to God for that.

The tomb in church...

The kids at church put on a Passion drama, and made a huge paper mache tomb. The parents who made it asked if we should take it down, but we decided to keep it around, like the elephant in the room for Palm Sunday and Holy Week. We follow Christ wherever he will lead, even to the cross, even to the tomb. Sometimes the tomb shows up in church: a witness to the cost of discipleship.

Two Parades...Luke 19: 28-40

At the risk of sounding like the Sesame Street character Bert, I love a parade. From a parade through the canyon-esque streets of a big city to the amazingly creative parades that small towns put on, the energy and excitement of a parade is attractive for just about anybody. One of the towns close to where Anjie and I lived in Virginia had a Christmas parade every year that featured all of the fox hunt clubs in town, complete with riders in red hunting coats and packs of hunting dogs. One year, they invited one of the farms that raised alpacas to bring a few of the long-necked pack animals to participate in the parade – a nice idea, except for the fact that alpacas are stubborn and ended up stopping in the middle of the road, bringing the whole parade to a halt for about a half hour! I know for a number of years AUMC has participated in the Rockmart and Cedartown Christmas parades with creative floats, and Anjie and I had a great time with the kids and adults this past Christmas as we participated in the parade through town. Parades bring people together, make people excited about a cause, and help a community celebrate the things that are important for it.

Well, most parades do this. To be completely honest, there are other kinds of parades, too. These are the parades that are designed to flex the muscles of power, to show who is in charge and who is holding the sword or the gun. The images that pop into my mind of these kind of parades are the parades of Nazi Germany or of Soviet Russia that featured a solitary leader at a balcony with thousands of troops marching past, and tank battalions, or missile launchers. These are a violent sort of parade, designed to keep folks in line and to show anyone who is paying attention that this country or that leader has a great deal of power at his disposal and isn’t afraid to use it.

Today is Palm Sunday, the Sunday where we remember the day Jesus rode into Jerusalem in a kind of parade – we usually call it a procession, which means about the same thing. This is a day where we wave palm branches and sing or shout “Hosanna!” which is Hebrew for “Save us, we pray!” According to Luke, this parade was not made up of just anybody, just bystanders in town for the Passover festival – no, the way Luke tells it, it is the disciples of Jesus, the crowd of his followers, those who have seen and witnessed the great deeds of power performed by Jesus that accompany his arrival in the Holy City with shouts of praise and acclimation. They say “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!” This is a parade made up of Jesus, riding on a donkey, and those who have seen the power of God in his words and deeds telling anyone who would listen of the goodness and glory of God.

If you are paying close attention, though, you begin to see that this parade of disciples, this parade of the Christ, is not the only parade in town that day in Jerusalem. Just as Jesus arrived with his disciples for the celebration of the Passover festival, so did just about every other observant Jew from the region, filling the city with thousands of people from all over the world. Now Passover is the celebration of God liberating the Israelites from slavery in Egypt – you remember the story, don’t you – Moses and Aaron, with God’s guiding, bring down 10 plagues on Pharaoh, the last being the most devastating, the death of every first born male in Egypt. But because the Israelites had been warned by God to place the blood of a lamb over their doors, the angel of death passed over them, thus the name, “Pass-over.” Moses then led the people out of slavery into freedom. So just imagine – thousands of people are in one place to celebrate the victory of God over an oppressive king, and the liberation of God’s people from slavery. It had gotten so that this was the season of the year not just for ritual meals and prayers, but also for riots and revolt against the Romans, who were by all accounts pretty nasty overlords. Jerusalem at the Passover festival was a powder keg of religious and political energy, and every year at this time, Pontius Pilate would process from his comfortable seaside palace in the Roman city of Caesarea Maritima up to Jerusalem with a full contingent of Roman soldiers, with all of the symbols of imperial power, including trumpeters, flags, standards, and banners, and Pilate always rode into Jerusalem on a huge, powerful warhorse. Riding up from the west, up from the coast, Pilate and the Romans had come to Jerusalem to assert their power and control, to let anyone watching know that the Romans were in charge and they were going to stay that way, Passover or no Passover.

But riding up from the east, cresting over the Mount of Olives like the rising sun, is Jesus, riding on a donkey, arriving the way the prophet Zechariah said the Messiah would: “Lo, your king comes to you, triumphant and victorious is he, humble and riding on a donkey.” Note that the disciples are shouting: “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord” – they are proclaiming that this Jesus, humbly riding on a borrowed donkey, is a king, and not just another brutal king, but a king who comes with divine authority and power, a king who comes in the name of the Lord. This parade of palms and shouts of “hosanna!” is not just another spectacle, but a challenge to the power and might of the Romans, of Herod, of all principalities of the world as we know it. When Jesus rides into Jerusalem, he is riding in not just as a teacher or a prophet, but as King, but a different kind of king that any other – the King of Glory, the King of the Kingdom of God. This king does not come with armies or with warhorses, or with signs of power and strength – no he comes with humility, surrounded by regular, ordinary folks, healed lepers and forgiven sinners, heralded by children, and those in his parade are not proclaiming violence, but instead peace. “Peace in heaven,” they cry, echoing the songs of the angels over Bethlehem all those years before, “Peace on earth.” “Peace” they cry, “peace to all of God’s children, God has come to reign. Peace in heaven, because God’s chosen is on the throne.”

Despite all of the cries of peace, despite the evidence that here, after centuries of waiting, is the Promised One, the Messiah, the King, riding to Jerusalem, all of this does not bring immediate acceptance. Instead, some Pharisees approach Jesus as he enters the city and plead with him to silence his disciples: “Teacher, order your disciples to stop.” They are afraid, afraid of a clash between the two processions, afraid that the arrival of the King of Heaven will provoke the wrath of the Romans, bringing down death and destruction not just on the people, but on the Temple as well. They desire peace as well, not peace from God, but peace from the status quo, peace from avoiding conflict, even the conflict that comes when good challenges evil. These Pharisees, and so many others after them, are content with the way things are, and are afraid when God’s peace comes to challenge their comfortable lives.

But Jesus will not order his disciples to be quiet. He replies: “I tell you, if they were to be silent, even these stones would shout out.” There is so much more at stake here than making too much noise, so much more happening than a man riding a donkey, and Jesus declares that all creation, even the stones would cry out in celebration of the arrival of God’s Messiah if the disciples did not. It has always been the disciple’s joy and delight to proclaim the Kingdom of God and the power of Christ to reign. Because for those who follow Christ, for those in Jerusalem two thousand years ago, for those today, we recognize a different kind of king. Our king is not like other kings, brutal and petty, violent and oppressive – our king is a Lord of love, a king of mercy, a prince of peace. We have seen him at work, and know of his goodness and grace, and can’t keep quiet about all the things he has done! The old gospel song “Ain’t no rock” captures this attitude perfectly: “Ain’t no rock gonna cry in my place, as long as I’m alive I’ll glorify His holy name.”

We are the people who have experienced Life and Love in Jesus Christ and who join the long and noisy parade of people singing praises to our King as we go through life. But this doesn’t mean that our path goes unchallenged, that our voices don’t “disturb the peace” of the world. Quite the opposite - if we are being faithful, our parade does present something of a problem for the powers of the world, because when Christ is our king, we live life differently, under the rules of a different kingdom. Christians since the very beginning have lived in a different way, a way in which Christ is Lord, and this has both brought them praise and persecution.

In the Epistle to Diognetus (written around 130 AD), the writer tells how Christians of that day occupied a strange in-between place in their society:
"For the Christians are distinguished from other people neither by country, nor language, nor the customs which they observe. For they neither inhabit cities of their own, nor employ a peculiar form of speech, nor lead a life which is marked out by any singularity... As citizens, they share in all things with others, and yet endure all things as if foreigners… They marry, as do all [others]; they beget children; but they do not destroy their offspring… They pass their days on earth, but they are citizens of heaven. They obey the prescribed laws, and at the same time surpass the laws by their lives. They love all people, and are persecuted by all… When punished, they rejoice as if quickened into life…"

When we join into this Christ parade, when we raise our voices wherever we are to bless the name of Jesus and declare God’s peace to the world, we will also face resistance and persecution. But our strength and grace and patience comes from God, and we have chosen to follow God and to live a new way, even if we are challenged. We remember the story of what happened to Jesus in the last week of his life, of how quickly the joyful shouts of “Hosanna” turned into murderous cries of “Crucify him!” Jesus, at the head of this Kingdom parade, rides on despite the challenges, and we follow him to difficult, trying places, but also beyond them, to mercy, to love, to life everlasting.

One of the best small town parades I can remember was in the town of Oxford, GA. I went to school there, but so did my parents, and one year we went over to Oxford for a Fourth of July parade they were having. It was the kind of parade that had Shriners on go-karts, homemade floats, clowns on the back of trucks, that sort of thing. And then as the parade finished, people stopped just watching the parade, and began to join in it, walking behind the floats and trucks and go-karts, becoming a part of the parade themselves. The Kingdom parade led by Jesus Christ is this kind of parade – an inviting parade, that reaches out to draw in all of those who are paying attention, welcoming all who will come to join into the celebration of the goodness of God and the power of Christ. This parade was not stopped by those Pharisees long ago, and will not be stopped by even the horror of the cross, Christ keeps going, and so do we. This parade is still moving, still processing out into the world, proclaiming Christ as Lord and King of Heaven. The parade is drawing close, my brothers and sisters, can you hear the shouts of “Hosanna!” Listen, it is inviting you, me, all of us: “Blessed is the King who comes in the name of the Lord. Peace, Peace, Peace, in heaven, peace on earth.” You are invited, my friends, to join into this holy praise parade, invited to raise your voice in praise of Christ not matter what, because Christ loved us no matter what. Won’t you join in the parade?

A generous response...John 12: 1-8

Some of the most enjoyable moments in life are spent with friends. Now I don’t know about you, but I love a good dinner party, and if it were up to me, I would spend every evening surrounded by good friends, cooking a great meal together, sitting around chatting, telling stories. One Christian artist, Sara Groves, has a wonderful song called “Every Moment” that has this verse:

“I wish all the people I love the most

could gather in one place

And know each other and love each other well.

I wish we could all go camping

and lay beneath the stars

With nothing to do and stories to tell”

Being able to have the people you love in one place together sounds positively heavenly to me, and the sharing of good food and time together and watching your loved ones interact with each other brings so much delight and joy that it can strengthen you to face the next time your life isn’t so blissful – the next day at work or the next big challenge in your life. Having your friends and loved ones around you is such a blessing, a blessing from God, and it is a blessing that can empower you to take on whatever the world throws at you.

John tells us that six days before the Passover, that is, six days before Christ is nailed to a cross, six days before the Son of Man is lifted up for the salvation of all people everywhere, his friends throw him a dinner party. Martha and Mary and their brother Lazarus give a supper for Jesus in their home in Bethany. Martha, ever the worker, served the meal, and Lazarus sits with Jesus at the table. The disciples are there, too – can’t you just see Jesus accepting the dinner invitation: “I’d love to come, y’all – is it ok if I bring these 12 guys with me? They follow me wherever I go these days.” So around the table are all these folks, presumably carrying on a lively conversation.

Now in and amongst all of this celebration of the basic joys of life, this lively dinner party, there is a kind of elephant in the room. Just a few weeks before, Jesus’ friend Lazarus had been dead. Yes, really dead. He had been sick, horribly ill, and had died before Jesus had been able to get to his side to heal him. Lazarus was dead, wrapped up in linen and anointed with fragrant oils and spices, and placed in a tomb like his ancestors before him. He lay there for four days, and the good smells of the perfumes wore off, and the natural stench of death and decay began to take hold. When at last Jesus arrives on the scene, he is cornered by Martha, Lazarus’ sister, who with tears in her eyes tells him: “If you had been here, Lord, he wouldn’t have died.” Jesus looks at her and says: “Your brother will rise again.” Caught up in her grief, Martha gives that stock Sunday School answer: “Yeah, yeah. I know her will rise again in the resurrection on the last day.” Martha is responding with a stock answer: “Yes, I know that we will all rise again to meet God on the judgment day – but that isn’t much help to me right now, is it?” And Jesus looks her in the eye and says earthshaking words: “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?” Jesus says to Martha – “What I am talking about is a right now kind of thing: I am the resurrection and the life, and through trust in me, belief in me, relationship with me, Lazarus and everyone else will experience a new and living way now and a new life after death. Do you believe this, Martha?” Jesus asks. “Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God. I believe!”

And Jesus proceeds to the tomb, offers a prayer to God, and says: “Lazarus, come out!” And Lazarus, dead for four days, comes out of the tomb still wrapped up in the linen strips. Lazarus becomes the evidence of the power of God in Christ Jesus to bring life where there is death, to bring a way where there seems like no way.

And it is this same Lazarus, who just a short time before had been dead and buried, covered in a shroud, that now sits next to Jesus, sharing delicious food and lively conversation, very much alive. It is Jesus who has brought him back to life, and here they all sit together: he who is resurrected; He who is The Resurrection and the life; and the witnesses to all of these events, having dinner.

I want you to think for a moment with me: if it was your brother, or spouse, or child, who had been raised from the dead by Jesus, if it were you who had been given new life, how would you say thank you? How would you express your gratitude to Jesus? Would it be with simple words of thanks and praise? Would it be with great shouts, telling the whole world of the power of God in Jesus Christ? I suspect that Martha, ever the hard-working servant, is expressing her thanks by throwing this dinner party for Jesus, offering her best service, her talents for hospitality to Jesus and her family and friends. But Mary, passionate, devoted Mary, knows that words by themselves will not do to express her gratitude. She arises and takes a container of nard, an incredibly expensive kind of perfume imported from the Himalayan mountains in India, and in the middle of the dinner party, she takes an entire pound of this incredibly fragrant oil and anoints Jesus’ feet, wiping his blessed feet with her hair. Her way of thanking Jesus, of responding to the presence right there in front of her of the One who is the Resurrection and the Life, is to offer him everything she has to give – a touching and personal gift of her most valuable material gift, yes, but also her love and her devotion, and indeed, her worship. She knows that words alone would never be able to express her gratitude to Jesus for bringing her brother back from the dead – and so she responds with a gift that goes far beyond words, she responds with an overwhelming and extravagantly generous gift.

And her gift is so much more that simply making Jesus smell nice – it is also a deeply meaningful act, particularly in that she is anointing Jesus’ feet with nard. If she had poured it on his head, this would be something that would indicate the kingship of Jesus. The prophet Samuel, back in the Old Testament, poured oil, or anointed, first Saul and then David to indicate that they were God’s chosen king. The very word “Messiah,” which in Greek is translated “Christ” means “anointed one” – the chosen and anointed king. In some Gospel accounts, this fragrant oil is poured on Jesus’ head, indicating that Jesus is the Christ, the one anointed by God for kingship. But here, in John, the story is slightly different. Mary pours the oil on Jesus’ feet – an act that was performed for kings in preparation for their burial. She literally pours out everything she has to give on the feet of Jesus, and her act of devotion and worship points to the time that draws closer and closer when Jesus would die, suffering on the cross to save a broken and lost human race. She gives her all to Jesus, marks him as the Christ, and also is showing the disciples and anyone else within range of that fragrant perfume that Jesus would soon die. Her gift is a thank-you gift, but it is also a good-bye gift, and she pours out everything because she knows that Jesus’ time with them is short, and grows shorter by the minute.

The lavish and extravagant generosity of Mary is not immediately appreciated by everyone in the room, most notably Judas, the disciple who would betray Jesus and who often would steal from the disciple’s joint checking account. As everyone is watching this beautiful, tender, worshipful and holy moment between Mary and her Lord, Judas gets a little huffy. “What is she doing?” he begins. “Why was she holding out on us? This perfume could have been sold for 300 denarii – almost a year’s salary – and that money could have been given to the poor. What a waste!” Judas sees the nard, the costly perfume being literally poured out on Jesus’ feet, poured out on the floor, and he doesn’t see what is really happening – all he sees is the silver coins that he could be holding in his hand slipping away. Judas wants to put a price on Mary’s gift, and thinks he knows a better use for the money – in theory, helping the poor. Judas sees the world as a place with a finite amount of resources -money, materials, what have you – and what is given to Jesus in devotion and worship can’t be used for the poor. What a waste, Judas says, what a waste to anoint the feet of Jesus with this expensive stuff. What a waste to spend our time and money and efforts in worship and praise of Christ, when those energies could do some good to help people!

But Jesus puts a stop to that line of thinking. “Leave her alone. She is doing this in preparation for my burial. You will always have some among you in need, you can help them anytime you like, but you will not always have me.” Jesus knows that Mary’s gift is a personal and extravagant gift that points to his impending death. It is not a waste, it is a blessing, and honor and gives expression to the deepest feelings and thoughts of gratitude and praise. My friends, think on this: how would you respond if Jesus were right in front of you? How could you begin to express your thanks for the life that is in you because of him and his death, because of his Resurrection and Life? We are people looking to follow him, looking to serve him with our whole lives, we are people who have experienced the new life that Jesus Christ offers to us if we will just believe and trust in his goodness and love. We are the ones, my friends, who regularly gather at the table of the Lord to break the Bread of life and to share in a holy meal with Christ and each other. We are the ones who have tasted and seen the goodness of God, who know Christ to be the Resurrection and the Life, who have experienced the power and the encouragement of the Holy Spirit. How do you say thank you to a God who has created us and who has redeemed us and who sustains us? How can mere words begin to express the depth of our gratitude? We must respond to the extravagant goodness and love in Christ Jesus with extravagant generosity – with the gifts of our whole lives, with the gifts of our prayers, our presence, our times, our treasure; with everything we are and have. Like Mary, we spend our lives living in grateful response to the Life in Christ, living in a new way with him and through him.

And there still may be a few Judas’ out there who don’t quite get it. They see money and time as an either/ or thing – either I give my time and treasure to Jesus, or I give it in service to the poor. We can’t do both, can we? We can’t lavish our generosity on Christ and transform the world on behalf of the last, the lost, and the least, can we? Christ is no longer among us in the flesh, my friends, so we don’t have the opportunity to pour out everything we have at the physical feet of Jesus the way that Mary did – at least not until he comes again or we see him in the next life. But the good news is that he did leave us a way to continue to honor him and show our care and devotion to him in this world. As Matthew tells us in chapter 25 of his gospel: “For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.” And we will ask: Lord, when was it that you were hungry, or sick, or in need and we helped you? And Jesus will reply: “just as you did it to the least of these, you did it to me.” The good news is that we have the opportunity to respond to the extravagant love and amazing Resurrection life that we experience in Jesus Christ by responding with extravagant generosity to the mission and ministry of the church, to respond to the needs in our community and our world with everything we have, our time, our treasure, our service, our lives. Because while Jesus isn’t with us in the flesh, the poor and those in need are, and whatsoever we do to the least of these, we do to Jesus.

So my friends, we are given an opportunity, each and every day, to respond to goodness and mercy we have experienced in Christ. How will you respond? With indignation, with stern words, like Judas, thinking that there is only so much to go around? Or will we respond to God’s generosity with generosity of our own, laying all we have at the feet of Christ, and in so doing, reaching out to the needs of the world, reaching out to the last, the least, and the lost? With God, in Jesus Christ, there is the powerful mystery of the Resurrection, and an amazing new life, and that abundant and overflowing. When we give to the needy, when we work to change the world, we do this to Christ and in his name. There is abundance, not scarcity in God. My brothers and sisters, it is right and a good and joyful thing to respond to God with all we have, to lay it all down at the feet of Christ.

The sounds of celebration... Luke 15: 11-32

I was a four year old runaway. My cousin Erik and I were tired of waiting on our moms after a full day of preschool - they were talking with other grown-ups or doing something else boring - so we, thinking logically, ran away. We didn’t go far really, as the crow flies, but in the eyes of a small person we went miles. We ran out of the first floor doors of the church that housed our school and dashed down the block to the corner, took a right, then dashed another block - past the front doors of the church - took another right - and more slowly this time - ran another half block to a stairwell and crouched down. We had run to the completely opposite side of the church and it was thrilling at first - the adrenaline running through our veins, the sweet taste of being bad in our mouths, visions of our new exciting lives as runaways dancing though our heads. But as we crouched in the small stairwell, the excitement began to fade. As we sat, the sky began to grow dark, and the light jackets we were wearing were not warm enough to keep the chill of the evening air off our small, huddled, now fearful bodies. We were runaways now, and we surely couldn’t return to our moms without severe punishment - so we shivered, contemplating our fates in a dirty trash-filled stairwell.

I am sure the younger son felt something like this as he sat in the pig sty, surrounded by the mud and waste and slop of the hogs. This place, this stinking, filthy, dangerous place was not where he had intended to end up. It had all seemed like just a game at first - he had never really intended to run off with his share of the inheritance. He was just curious to see what it looked like - and to count it and see what exactly his share would be when the time came. But after he saw the glint of the gold and got to thinking, he began to dream bigger and bigger dreams of all the luxuries he could possess with the chest of money to which he would one day lay claim. Eventually, like so many others, the love of money - or the lust for the potential that money provides - got the better of the younger son and he split with the cash under the cover of darkness. It was thrilling at first - the adrenaline of leaving home for places unknown, the sweet taste of the finest wine and most expensive gourmet dinners, and the visions of all the dancing girls that provided the most willing company money could buy. But soon - too soon - the money dwindled until there was nothing left and the thrill of the new and different place quickly faded. The young man had made many friends with his money, but now that it was gone, he was left all alone, eventually forced into that pig sty, staring at the rotting husks the pigs were gnawing on with a hungry and desperate eye.

It was at that moment, though - the darkest moment of shame and despair - that the son “came to himself.” It was as though up until that moment he had been in a trance: a zombie under the control of the money, or the wine, or the lust, or his pride - maybe all of it - but the sudden awareness of the darkness in which he had been living sparked a need to find a light - a way out. He came to himself and realized exactly where he was: in a muddy pit with a dead-end job, with no friends, no family, and no hope. In coming to himself, he realized that there was little of his old self left to cling to, and so he let go of it all - his pride, his fear, his broken dreams - and resolved to start over as a humble servant for the fairest boss he’d ever worked for - his father. In coming to himself, he let go of himself and returned to his father in humility.

But the father hadn’t forgotten about his youngest son. His dear, darling child had been gone so long, and every night he drifted off to sleep praying that he would be able to see his son one more time before life left his tired bones. It hurt him that he had taken so much of the family fortune - but all of that was in the distant past, and what the father wanted more than gold was to hold his son once again. One bright morning, when he was out surveying his vineyards, he happened to look down the road as had become his habit. But this time, something was different - there was a familiar shape approaching the family home and before he could think twice, the father dropped his tools and ran - faster than he had run in years - towards the figure that he could see now was his long lost son. The son stammered as his father embraced and kissed him- something about being a servant - but before he could even finish, the father shouted in a tear-strained voice - “He’s home! He’s home! Praise God in heaven - my son who I thought was dead is home! Let’s celebrate as no one has ever celebrated before!” And at once the father’s servants brought out lavish things - not the wine and women of the far away land, but the robe and ring of the family, of the home, of the connection and comfort the son had longed for for so long. They broke open the dusty chests that held the family’s musical instruments and struck up a marvelous, joyful tune right there in the dining room in the middle of the afternoon. The sounds of celebration poured out of the windows and doors of the house into the roads and fields all around.

To the tax collectors and sinners gathered around Jesus listening to this story, it must have sounded like unbelievably good news. And for us, who so often come to ourselves to find that we have wandered a long way off from God it is also good news. God is waiting, eager, expectantly watching for us to turn from ourselves to God. And when we do turn and draw near to God, before we can utter a word of confession or even form a thought of repentance, God draws us close, embraces us, and wraps us in hope and peace and love, which surround us like robes and encircle us like rings. In the kingdom of God - that always present, but not yet fully visible state of being present to the Presence of God and God’s future - there is joy overflowing when even one of God’s beloved children returns from the distant land of self-centered struggles. In the kingdom of God, there is dancing and singing and celebration that is contagious and inviting, calling out to all of creation to join in the dance and add even yet richer harmony to the song of return.

A friend of mine is the pastor of a large church in Atlanta, in a part of town that once was a white suburb, but what is now a hodgepodge of struggling folks of all races and nationalities. In fact, many members of the church were born outside of the United States and any church function is filled with the delightful cadences of every accent imaginable. This community has struggled with gang violence for many years, but through God’s grace and vigorous outreach several young men who had been involved with gangs have begun to worship with the church and have even invited others to do so as well. One young man attended for a few months and then began to bring his mother to church - a woman who worked as an exotic dancer. The first few times she came to church, she wore tight and revealing clothing. But the pastor, and others in the church, saw past the outer attire and saw her presence in worship as a move towards God and welcomed her with open arms. On Easter Sunday, she came to the church in a beautiful new dress, and the pastor greeted her warmly. The woman said: “Pastor - what do y’all do with those beautiful lilies that are all around the church? I don’t think I have ever smelled anything so beautiful.” The pastor replied: “Oh, well some folks have ordered them, but I happen to have an extra one that you can have.” The woman teared up - she very rarely had anything green and alive in her home and she had very rarely been given a gift that had no strings attached. She had found herself in a dark place in life where no one gave her anything for free, but here, in a church filled with God’s children from every nation on the Earth, she had been given a gift of beauty. She had been given hope for the future by the gift of a flowering symbol of new life and resurrection. I’m not sure if the pastor heard it - but as the woman took the lily in her hands, there was for a moment the faint but celebratory sound of music and dancing.

But unfortunately for the Kingdom of God, not everyone who hears the celebration joins in. The story of the prodigal son does not end with the celebration. Instead, there is another son, an elder son who had always done what was asked of him. He worked long and hard in the fields, content to do anything and everything his father had asked of him. That is, until he is asked to come into the house to join in the celebration over the return of his long lost brother. This he refuses to do, and sits outside of the house in barely contained rage.

But the father has not forgotten about his eldest son. He notices the absence of his beloved firstborn son and comes out to beg him to join in the celebration. But this time it is the son who interrupts the father - “You know dad, I have done nothing but work my butt off for you and I never disobeyed anything you told me - but where is the celebration for me? This son of yours has been off living it up and now he is back and your first thought is to throw a party? This is the last straw, dad. There is nothing here for me.”

Churches are filled with folks like this elder brother. We do what is asked of us, and it seems like there is very little reward in doing the work of the Kingdom. We often cannot remember, because of the passing of time, the celebration that was made over us when we first turned to God. Sometimes we sound like Martha when Jesus comes to visit - “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work?” We forget that our work is the work of love - it is hard and its fruits are often never seen. And when wayward souls come back to great fanfare, it doesn’t seem right! We have done what was asked and they have not! We had to get up early on Sunday to get to Sunday School after we were up early on Saturday to feed the homeless - when do I get to rest? When do I get to celebrate the fruits of my labor?” But this attitude forgets that the celebration over the lost is the fruit of the labor. The joy and delight and music and dancing of the Kingdom is the reward for the long hard work of faith. The eldest son couldn’t see what was really going on - the party was for the youngest son, yes, but it was also for him. When he refuses to join the party and cuts himself off from the family - he is speaking up for himself, but the self-centered, proud, and bitter part of himself. He cannot see, in that moment, that his fate is eternally linked to that of his brother. He cannot see that everything here is for him, too. It seems that these brothers are dancing a family dance - when one brother is in the center of attention, another feels the need to run away - to exclude himself from the joyful life of the family. The younger brother ran to a distant land and wound up hitting rock bottom before he came to himself and returned home. The older brother ran to the backyard - and the story ends without us knowing what becomes of him. Jesus, the Incarnate Word, had a way with words and knew how to weave a good story. I believe he left us hanging here so that we would be drawn in. We are left asking: “Wait - what happens to the older brother? Does he listen to the pleading of his father and join the celebration? Or does he refuse to listen and remain outside?” This is exactly the point, for us church people. Will we hear the kingdom sounds of music and celebratory dancing and join in, adding our bodies to the cruciform dance and our voices to the cosmic song of celebration? Or will we react to the sounds of the kingdom with bitterness, rage, or even worse - silence?

After my cousin Erik and I huddled in that stairwell for a few minutes, our mothers came rushing around the corner, worried out of their minds. We had only run a total of about 50 yards, but for that brief time, for them it was as though we had run 50 miles. They spotted us, ran towards us and grabbed us, sobbing and alternating between holding us tight and holding us out to scold us. My mom, in between her sobs, said: “Never do that again - never run away from me again!” But I have, and I probably will again. But I know my mom and my dad will not forget about me and I know they will always search after me and wait for me to return.

And our heavenly Parent has not forgotten about us, either. The grace and good news of the words of Christ are for all children, the wayward and the weary and God is waiting, eager, expectantly watching for us to draw near. Whether we are still far off or just in the backyard, God has a joyous party ready and waiting - with good food, music, and dancing. All we need to do is show up and come on in.

The one about the chickens... Luke 13: 31-35

My dad’s brother Rick has quite a sense of humor. He is a quiet man, but when he does speak, he is usually saying something pretty funny, even if a little twisted. He lives in Alabama, and isn’t able to drive, so for Christmas this last year, he mailed a present to our family here in Georgia. We opened the small package on Christmas morning and found a DVD, a documentary entitled “The Natural History of the Chicken.” Now I don’t know what your reaction might be if you got something like this as a Christmas present, but most of us said: “hunh. A movie about chickens. Well, it doesn’t sound too thrilling, but we’ll check it out.” So the next evening, as the day was winding down, we gathered around the tv to watch this movie all about The Natural History of the Chicken. I will tell you what – this was a fascinating movie, with some really wonderful stories in it – stories about a town in Ohio that had so many roosters that people couldn’t sleep from all of the crowing, stories about a woman in Maine who found a chicken frozen solid in a snowstorm that came back to life after thawing for a while on the kitchen table, stories of folks who keep chickens as pets, grooming and manicuring them like you would a French poodle. Chickens are funny animals, always moving around and pecking things, and generally when we think of regal and majestic animals, chickens are not at the top of the list.

But here in our reading, we find Jesus comparing himself, of all things, to a chicken, to a mother hen. “Jerusalem, Jerusalem” he cries, “the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing.” What is Jesus talking about? Why is it that the Messiah, the Lion of Judah, the Holy Lamb of God, here takes on a different image for his mission and ministry? What is Jesus up to when he calls himself a chicken?

All of this begins when some Pharisees, the holy rollers of the day, approach Jesus and clue him in to a threat on the horizon: “Get away from here” they say, “for Herod wants to kill you.” Now Herod was the king, of course, but this is not Herod the Great, the Herod who reigned when Christ was born. No, that Herod had passed away, and at his death the Romans, the imperial overlords who really ran the show in Judea, divided the territory of Herod the Great among his sons and other family members. The Herod in our story this morning is Herod Antipas, the tetrarch, which was a Roman title that meant “quarter king.” Herod wasn’t even allowed to be a real king, a full king, he was just a petty tetrarch – sort of like your daddy being governor and the only office you could hold was county commissioner, important, yes, but without the reach of your predecessors. So this King Herod was a petty ruler, always trying to grab and hold whatever power he could, politicking left and right and up and down to maintain his fragile grasp on his influence. He sends some messengers, some Pharisees to Jesus to tell him to scram, to try to scare Jesus out of Herod’s territory. Jesus, with his teachings about the kingdom of God and the miracles he was working was a threat to the petty king Herod, and so Herod sends some Pharisees to threaten Jesus, to tell him that Herod was out for his life.

But Jesus doesn’t skip a beat – “You go and tell that fox for me, ‘Listen, I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow, and on the third day I finish my work. Yet today, tomorrow, and the next day I must be on my way, because it is impossible for a prophet to be killed outside of Jerusalem.” Jesus calls Herod a fox, a crafty, wily predator, an animal generally regarded as untrustworthy and fierce. And Christ faces this wily threat with a firmness, with an unwavering determination to his mission to heal and to cast out demons and to go to Jerusalem and face his destiny there. Jesus will not be distracted from his ministry, his reaching out to the last and to the least and to the lost, and maintains a position of quiet, firm strength in the face of opposition, in the face of threats and attempts to manipulate and divert him. In the face of the fox, Christ is strong and firm, and does not flee, but continues on with his mission, even though he knows it will cost him his life.

But Herod is not the only fox on the prowl. There are still wily and craft folks out there, looking to preserve their power, looking to derail the ministry of Jesus, looking to protect their own petty kingdoms of me, myself and mine. This can be a visible attempt to bend things to our own way, along the lines of sending a messenger to Jesus to tell him to get out of town, that his sort of kingdom interferes too much with the kingdoms of our own making. Or our challenges to Christ can be subtle, with an unkind word against a neighbor, or by telling stories and twisting the facts to try to twist an argument to our advantage. Our challenges to the mission of Christ might be unintentional, or emerge out of a deep hurt from some long-past injury, a hurt that causes us to lash out against our fellow human beings with surprising ferocity. We end up doing all kinds of harm because we want to control our lives and the lives of others, and whether we are always aware of it or not, our words and actions are like the actions of that wily fox, Herod, challenging the mission of Christ to gather together the children of God like a hen gathers her chicks.

But here is where we hear a word of good news: even though we might behave like a bunch of crafty foxes, on the prowl for little chicks, on the hunt for the mother hen, Jesus reminds us that God sees us as God’s beloved children, and sees us foxes as confused and frightened little chicks. When Jesus cries: “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those that are sent to it. How often have I desired to gather your children together…” he is including all of the children of God, including Herod, including Pilate, including the Pharisees and the scribes and the priests in his loving concern. Even when we challenge the ministry and mission of God in Christ Jesus, even when we act like wily foxes, with our sneaky plans and crafty schemes, Christ sees us as worthy of love, worthy of being gathered into the protective care of God.

In the interesting little movie my uncle sent us, “The Natural History of the Chicken,” one story in particular stood out to me. A farmer raised chickens of all sorts of varieties, white ones and brown ones and golden ones – and every so often, usually in the spring, the hens would brood and sit on their nests and after a few weeks out would pop a new little family of baby chicks. One hen in particular, a fancy ornate kind of chicken that was different than all the rest was never able to successfully hatch any young – she was so small, and her eggs were even tinier, so they would get crushed by other chickens or roll through the nesting box and break. But the farmer was fond of this chicken, so he built her a special henhouse, with a specially designed nesting box just for her. This chicken laid eggs and sat on them and amazingly in a few weeks out popped a little brood of tiny chicks. The chicken was very pleased and the new little family emerged from the special henhouse when it was time and began to explore the world the way that chickens do.

One day, a few weeks after the chicks were born, the farmer noticed out his window that the farmyard grew quiet. All of the chickens were scurrying about to find some hiding place, and when he looked up to see what their concern was, he saw a hawk circling not too far above. Again looking at the yard, he saw something that made his stomach drop – the only little chicken family that hadn’t found shelter was the little chicken that he loved so much and her brood of tiny chicks. As he watched in horror, too far away to do anything, the hawk swooped down. The new mother hen stretched out her wings, and all of her chicks ran underneath her wings, finding shelter underneath their mother. The hawk struck, and the mother hen collapsed, her chicks underneath her. Watching all of this, the farmer ran out of his house and chased away the hawk, and ran to the side of his fallen favorite chicken. As he watched, the little chicks began to poke their heads out from under their mother’s body. They had survived the attack because of the fearlessness of their mother, because of the unflinching love of the hen.

And it is this kind of love, this kind of selfless, sacrificial love that Christ is offering to the children of God, to the brood of the mother hen. To the foxes, to the confused chicks, to all of us whether we are proud and self-centered or lost and afraid, Christ is opening his arms, welcoming us, calling us to draw close to him, to find shelter in the shadow of his wings. It may seem strange for Christ to call himself a chicken, a mother hen, but what Christ is pointing to is to his vulnerable strength, to his mission and ministry to draw all of us to God, regardless of the cost to him. Jesus offers his life that we might live, walks to the cross, faces the challenge of the foxes, and dies to save each of us, indeed the whole world.

But the story doesn’t end in that farmyard. As the farmer watched with amazement, the lifeless body of his favorite chicken began to stir. The hen, that had seemed to be dead, began to move with life, hopping up onto two feet and moving around to make sure each of the chicks was unharmed. The mother hen had only been stunned, and her act of selflessness had saved her babies. And the miracle of Jesus Christ is that he suffered for us, died for us, but was also raised for us, for the salvation of the foxes and the baby chicks, for all the children of God. He is alive, my brothers and sisters, alive and calling, and it is his desire and his delight to gather together all of God’s children, to hold us in his arms, to care for us and shelter us from the hawks and foxes of the world. Jesus is offering his life to us, and it is up to us whether we will come to him or not. Will you continue to challenge Christ, telling him to depart from you, content to rule over your own petty kingdom, or will you come to his loving arms, giving up your hold on your life and placing it in the hands of Christ, the one who has created us and the one who loves us, even at the cost of his own life.

"Keep awake therefore..."

This year, the lectionary, or set of Scripture verses that lots of denominations use to guide the flow of the Christian year, focuses heavily on Matthew for Advent. I don’t know if you have ever read all the way through Matthew – all at once like it was the script of a movie – but if you have a free afternoon, I would recommend it. (Here’s a hint: just breeze over the first chapter. Its good, but it can be yawn inducing.) The texts we hear for Advent come from close to the end of Matthew: we begin our season of preparation by hearing the words of Jesus as he prepares to face the cross. Towards the end of the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus lays down hard and heavy words about turmoil and persecution and judgment that provide a harsh counterpoint to the too-early Christmas hymns and joy and cheer that we see in the stores and on the radio. The twenty-fifth chapter of Matthew can be, frankly, fear inducing. There are no snowflakes or shepherds or angels singing; but there are floods, and the separation of sheep and goats, and wailings from the outer darkness. Yowza – what a hard way to get ready for the coming of Christ!

But really, isn’t preparing for Christ about taking a good, long look at our world, and even harder, at our own lives? The path we are called to as disciples of Christ is a hard one. And Jesus, as Truth Incarnate, was a truth-teller, and didn’t sugar coat what a life of preparation and waiting would be like. Yes, there is hope and joy and love greater and richer and deeper than we could ever imagine in this life of faith, but there is also heartache and pain and persecution – and, as a wise man once said, “anyone who says differently is selling something.” We ought to live as ones awake, with our eyes open. It is prickly, and can be harsh to our ears, but as we travel through Advent and into Christmas this year, we must be open to the honesty and truth Matthew brings us – that the world is still covered in horrifying darkness where bad things happen to good people, but that God’s power is not like the power of this world, and that God can bring life where there is death, God can bring hope where there is despair, and that God can bring light where there is overwhelming darkness. And for the coming of our surprising and unexpected God, we prepare with hope and joy and thanksgiving.

waiting for the night

I am sitting at my desk, waiting for the sun to go down. Being about 4:45 pm at the end of November in Northern Virginia, that will be in about 2 minutes.

Tonight, I am helping a group at our retreat center do some stargazing. They have worked up a cool program linking astronomy and Advent - a kind of "Study the Stars to Prepare for the Coming of Christ" kind of thing. Very wise, man.

I know Advent doesn't technically begin until Sunday, but it feels like tonight is the beginning of it for me. I'm doing Advent stuff with church people and that will start tonight - so here I am waiting for the waiting to begin. I feel like this is New Year's Eve - counting down to the beginning of the counting down.

Anyway, I am looking forward to studying the light tonight. The dim light of the winter stars - the pale light that does not allow the darkness to overcome it. It feels appropriate to sit in the dark, looking for the light, in whatever form it comes, as a way to begin my waiting and hoping for The Light.

Happy waiting y'all.