And Hope Does Not Disappoint Us - a Sermon

Holy Trinity Sunday

May 26, 2013

Romans 5:1-5

Today is Holy Trinity Sunday. It is a day in which we celebrate God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit, simultaneously three in one and one in three.  But as the confirmation students learned this winter, trying to understand how God can be three in one and one in three is like trying to make muddy water clearer by adding more mud.  It’s difficult and there are a lot of pit falls until we, at last, throw our hands up in the air and proclaim that the Trinity is one of the Holy mysteries that we need to take on faith. 

So I decided that maybe spending 8 to 12 minutes mudding the waters with the concept of the Trinity and dabbling with a couple of heresies was not the best idea. 

Instead, I want to talk about hope.  More specifically, hope that comes from suffering.

On February 23, 1945, an iconic photograph was taken on the island of Iwo Jima.  It captured five United States Marines and a Navy corpsman raising an American flag on the top of Mount Suribachi after the mountain was captured at the beginning of the battle of Iwo Jima during World War II. Despite the raising of the flag being a symbol of victory, the battle of Iwo Jima would continue on about another month as part of a greater island hopping campaign. However, the capture of Mount Suribachi and the raising of the American flag brought hope to the soldiers whose ranks had suffered and would continue to suffer significant casualties. 

As we observe Memorial Day this weekend, we do so keeping in mind the sacrifice of the men and women who have served this country in the military, many having given life and limb so that we could enjoy the freedoms that we have as citizens of this nation.  For many, though, this long weekend has become a time for vacation rather than a time of honoring those who have given their lives for the sake of country. 

I’m almost ashamed to admit that I never knew, until recently, that Memorial Day was originally a day set aside to decorate the graves of those who served in the military.  We did attend Memorial Day ceremonies as kids and as a brownie, we marched in the Memorial Day parade, but that was about the extent of honoring the original intent of the day as we got.  We jumped straight from suffering to hope…and for kids who didn’t get out of school until the middle of June, Memorial Day became a precursor of what was to come when summer vacation finally arrived two weeks later. 

It’s the process of getting from suffering to hope that we need to remember, however, if we are able to properly honor the day…to properly honor the sacrifice of war veterans, of teachers who stand in the way of gun men and tornadoes to protect their students, of first responders who come to the aid of victims of terrorist attacks.

I wonder, though, how Paul’s words to the Romans sound to us in the days after EF-5 tornadoes, terrorist attacks, and an increase in the visibility of intentional and accidental gun violence.  “We also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us.”  Now, this sounds like it would be a good verse for an athlete training for a race or an athletic event.  The training can be painful, but the more you train, the greater the endurance, which causes a change in character, and from this comes the hope that the sporting event will be completed without injury or too much soreness.   But what about when you’ve just come through a traumatic event such an EF-5 tornado having lost everything, possibly even a loved a one?  Or in the moments right after a cancer diagnosis? or when viewing images of a blood soaked street corner in London? Or hearing the number of soldiers and civilians dead in war zones? 

Do we even want to hear these words of Paul to the Romans?

It’s in these moments that it’s most tempting to jump right from suffering to hope, from pain to full recovery. 

But the reality of life is that it is not pain free.  The reality is that wars break out, tornadoes destroy, cancer develops, accidents happen, pain and mourning and suffering are a part of our existence.  And in the midst of suffering it can be difficult to see relief that is present on the other side.  It can seem impossible for rejoicing to happen and for hope to be sensed on the other side. 

However, it was to a suffering community that Paul was writing.  The Christians in Rome were living in a time where the taxes were high, oppression was carried out by the Roman military, and social pressure to worship the emperor instead of God was high.  Paul wanted to give these Christians in Rome encouragement in the midst of their suffering. And that is why it is important that this verse does not stand on its own. 

“Therefore,” he writes “since we are justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have obtained access to this grace in which we stand; and we boast in our hope of sharing the glory of God. And not only that, but we also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.”

In the midst of the suffering that we experience at various points in life, we also have the promise of peace BECAUSE our relationship with God is made right through our Lord Jesus Christ.  And this is not of our own doing that we are made right with God, rather, it is the gift which comes from God that gives us hope in sharing the glory of God.  Paul tells us that we can boast in this, though a better translation may be that we can rejoice in this hope we have in sharing the glory of God.  And it is because of this hope in sharing the glory of God that we can rejoice in the midst of suffering, because the suffering itself cannot put an end to our rejoicing.

It is the spirit of peace and hope that allows us to move from suffering to endurance to character and finally to hope…a hope which does not disappoint us because it is a result of the love that God has poured out into us through the Holy Spirit. 

But the question arises in the moment suffering happens…where is God when bad things happen?  Where was God when the bombs went off in Boston? Where was God when the children were killed in Newtown?  Where was God when Moore, Oklahoma was hit by a tornado for the 4^th time since 1999 and two elementary schools were destroyed?  Where is God when war breaks out and claims the lives of soldiers and civilians?

These questions have been asked for a long time…but they stem from another question, where was God when Jesus was on the cross?

And the answer is this: on the cross, where the suffering of God met the suffering of humans, God was both absent and fully present.  It may sound funny, but it’s true.  Jesus felt the absence of God as he cried out from the cross “my God, my God, why have you abandoned me?” and yet, God’s presence was felt by Jesus when he commended his spirit into God’s hands before his death. 

This simultaneous absence and presence that Jesus experienced is the same as what is experienced when tragedy happens.  God is absent from the tornadoes, the bombs, the acts of violence and terrorism, the cancer. And yet God is fully present in the teachers, the first responders, the doctors and nurses, all who come to the aid of those in need.  And as a community this physical embodiment of the love of God is what brings us hope in the midst of suffering. 

A group of brothers banded together in the island hopping campaign of World War II and brought hope to those around them by raising and American flag and signaling victory in the midst of great casualties.  On the cross, a man gave his life for the world and brought hope to those around him and those who had yet to come by being victorious over death and suffering, giving us access to the grace of God and faith in God and bringing us hope to rejoice despite suffering, remembering that suffering does not have the last word. Hope does.     

Entering the Three Days

I love the Triduum, the three holy days leading up to Easter.  It is the culmination of a Lenten journey that never ceases to teach me something new each year. 

But the Triduum itself holds a special place in my heart.  I never experienced the entirety of it until I was in seminary in 2006.  That year, on Maundy Thursday, I experienced foot washing and individual absolution for the first time.  I felt the Holy Spirit wash over me that day as one of my favorite professors spoke the words "In accordance to the command of our Lord Jesus Christ, I forgive you all your sins" to me.  Wow.  Weight off my shoulders that morning.  Then to watch the stripping of the altar for the first time...to move into Good Friday and Holy Saturday with the Easter Vigil at Holy Trinity in Wrigleyville.  The power of moving through those three days for the first time is something that I will never forget.

That year I got to do it from the pew, still an active participant, but getting to watch.

Now I have the privilege of  leading the foot washing, of speaking the words of absolution, of stripping the altar, leading the Good Friday and Easter Vigil liturgies.  And it is still as powerful of an experience for me as it was sitting in the pew.

And I bet you cannot tell which service is my favorite.

Yes, I love Good Friday and the Easter Vigil.  I yearn for that movement from Golgatha to the empty tomb, the steps from "Were you there when they crucified my Lord?" to "At the Lamb's High Feast we sing!"  There is something missing when when one of these days is missed.  Things don't seem right when I hear "Christ is Risen!" when I haven't heard the grief stricken "My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?" Which is why I had to make an extra pass by a church in Oklahoma one day when, at the beginning of Lent, the sign out front said "Christ is Risen!"  We had barely started lent, not even close to Gethsemane...and it felt like something was missing. There is no "Christ is Risen" without a crucifixion. 

But when it comes to the Triduum, there is something about Maundy Thursday that holds my heart more than the other two days.  There is the privilege of getting to wash feet and proclaim absolution.  But the greater privilege is getting to watch folks from the congregation wash each others feet. The gentleness of a parent washing his or her children's feet.  The love of life partners who have been together for years washing each others feet.  The humility of those who will wash any feet presented to them.  There is SO much power in this act, so much Holy Spirit at work when we allow ourselves to be vulnerable to each other and present our feet, manicured or not, scraggly nails, scars, and all, to one another to be washed - whether we need it or not - following the example of our Lord.

If you haven't tried it yet and you're feeling adventurous, give it a go.  Wash the feet of a loved one or a stranger tonight during worship.  Then take a look around you when we go to the table for Holy Communion and note how the spirit has been at work.

Blessings to you as we walk through the Triduum and on to Easter.   

An Anointing

Lent 5C

March 17, 2013

John 12:1-11

Imagine being present at the dinner party John has described for us in his Gospel this morning.  You’re reclining at the table in Bethany after having spent some of the day on your way to Jerusalem.  It’s the first time in a couple days that you’ve seen Jesus relax a little. You’ve noticed that he’s been a little stressed in the past few days since the raising of Lazarus, especially as you have begun to close in on Jerusalem for the celebration of the Passover.  You’ve heard rumors of threats against Jesus made by the temple authorities, so it’s good to be in a familiar place surrounded by friends and to see some of the tension come out of Jesus’ face. 

You sit at the table with Jesus and the disciples, as well as Mary, and her brother Lazarus, whom Jesus has just raised from the dead.  Martha, ever the able hostess and brilliant cook, is busy preparing and serving the meal. It may have been awkward sitting at the table with Lazarus…perhaps he was still a bit smelly from his days in the tomb before Jesus brought him back to life…maybe he still carried some of the signs of decomposition that occur when you’ve been dead for four days…or maybe it’s just that you’ve never sat at a table with someone who was dead but has been brought back to life.  You try not to stare…but you just can’t help it. 

But suddenly your attention is caught as a fragrance enters the room.  It’s not the smell of the meal Martha is serving or the smell of the formerly dead but now alive man sitting near you, but the smell of perfume.  It’s a pungent odor that has begun to permeate the whole house.  You realize that while your attention was on Lazarus, Mary has snuck out of the room and returned with a beautiful bottle of ointment scented with the oil of the nard plant.  It’s a costly ointment, one she must have saved up for for quite some time considering that bottle cost one years’ worth of wages for the average worker of that time. 

You watch as Mary kneels down at Jesus’ feet, pours some of the oil on his feet and wipes them with her hair.  You scan the room watching the faces of everyone else at the table as the room has fallen silent.  Martha has probably even emerged from the kitchen to check out what is going on. You can’t ignore the scent of nard, it’s just not possible.  Perhaps you feel awkward watching this moment, the intimate act of a woman anointing the feet of a man she isn’t married to and then using her hair to wipe his feet. 

What was she thinking?  Had she purchased the nard specifically for this moment? Why spend so much money on something to extravagant? Had it been purchased for Lazarus’ burial and then no longer needed?  You ponder for a second what exactly this act means.  And then the silence in the house is broken.

“Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?” You can tell from the expression on his face that Judas has been stewing over this since the scent of the nard first entered the room.  But you know that his concern is not genuine.  You’ve seen him take a couple denarii from the common purse and tell the other disciples it was to feed the poor, but then take what was left of the money and pocket it for his own gain.

Then you hear Jesus respond “Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”  What does he mean by that?  You wonder

What a complex scene John has created for us to enter into.  It is similar to the stories of the anointing of Jesus’ feet that occur in the other gospels.  But it’s also very different.  In Matthew, Mark, and Luke, Jesus is anointed by an unnamed woman who was only identified as a sinner.  In John, Jesus and his disciples are in the home of close friends, and his feet are anointed by Mary, a woman whom he knew quite well. 

In all four of the gospels, it seems that the one doing the anointing knew something that the others didn’t, but in this case, the close relationship that Jesus had with Lazarus and his sisters adds an extra layer of intimacy to this act.  As well as an added indication that Mary, and possibly Martha and Lazarus, knew something that the disciples didn’t about what was to come for Jesus.  Perhaps in the private conversations that Jesus had with Mary and Martha before he raised Lazarus from the dead, the sisters had realized that not only was Lazarus about to regain his physical life, but that Jesus was also preparing for something bigger than the resurrection of their brother.  

But the issue is that we have no idea what Mary’s motivation was behind anointing Jesus feet with such costly perfume.  John gives us no hints or clues that may help us to understand what exactly she was trying to convey in this act.  All we are given is a description of what happens.  She takes some expensive ointment, anoints Jesus’ feet and then wipes his feet with her hair.  That’s all we get. 

Unlike Mary, we are told exactly what Judas is thinking when he opens his mouth and scolds Mary for her gift.  We know that it wasn’t out of concern for the poor that he spoke out, but rather for his own financial gain since he was one to steal from the common purse.  So it can be easy for us to say “oh, shame on Judas, let her be.” 

What if John hadn’t revealed to us the true motivations behind Judas’ comments about the ointment, though?  Would we have joined in with him about the extravagance of Mary’s gift? How often are we moved to offer up an entire year’s worth of wages simply as a gift to our Lord?  Is that a prudent fiscal move?  Wouldn’t it have been better to invest that for a rainy day, when we or someone we knew really needed it? 

But let’s not forget about Jesus’ response.  It may be the most jarring statement in the story.  “Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial.  You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”  The one who was and has always been the champion of the poor is now making a comment as curious as the act that Mary performed.  But we who sit on the other side of the cross and the empty tomb know that Jesus is aware of what is to come, that there is little time left before the walk to Golgotha, and what time is left needs to be savored…this gift needs to be savored.

And whether or not Mary’s thinking behind the act of anointing Jesus’ feet is known to us, it doesn’t need to be, for it is known to Jesus.  Jesus knows that the temple authorities are out to get him.  He knows that he only has a couple of days left.  He knows that once he enters the city limits of Jerusalem, he will not leave them until after he rises from the dead.  And so he is grateful for this gift from Mary….a gift that indicates that she realizes what’s going to happen…for you only anoint the feet of a dead man. If you were anointing a living man, you would anoint their head.

So this act of Mary, as strange and as awkward and as intimate as it may have been, was a sign of something bigger.  Just as the oil was poured in preparation for a burial, a cup is about to be poured out…and this time for the life of the world.  Victory will come in the form of seeming defeat as the master becomes the servant in an act of extravagant love that cost so much that in comparison, the nard would seem to cost only pennies.   And though the nard would eventually run out, the cup which is about to be poured out for the life of the world will always have an abundant supply.   

Christ Our Mother Hen

Lent 2C

February 24, 2013

Luke 13:31-35

At the end of the movie Gran Torino, Clint Eastwood’s character confronts a group of gang members who had been involved with the assault of the young woman who lived next door to him.  After an exchange of some obscenities between Eastwood and the gang members, he reaches into his pocket and grabs a cigarette, then he asks if anyone has a light.  After receiving no response, he responds that he has a light and then reaches into his coat pocket while quietly reciting a Hail Mary, knowing what is going to happen next.  Bullets fly from the guns of the gang members, killing Eastwood, who falls backwards and lands on his back, with his arms open and a lighter in his right hand.  But in this act of giving his life, he saved the lives of his next door neighbors, whom he originally despised but had later come to see as his family.

Clint Eastwood would probably not be thrilled with me for this, but in this scene, he acts as sort of a mother hen.  He knew when he pulled up to the house of the gang members that he would not return home, but his sense as a protector of his neighbors overrode any sense of self preservation.  And that’s what a mother hen does.  When confronted with a dangerous opponent, such as a fox, a mother hen’s first instinct is to protect her chicks.  She knows that against the fox, she will not be victorious, but she gathers her chicks under her wings, puffs out her chest and spreads her wings, and fights until the death to save her children.  It’s a natural instinct that she doesn’t have to think about, she just does it with no thought of saving herself. 

It’s a valiant trait.  And yet, in a society that has become so masculinized with the Clint Eastwoods, and the Bruce Willises, and in a church where the “good ol’ boys club” still reigns in some places, to hear a man, particularly a divine man like Jesus, refer to himself as a mother hen, or any other feminine image, seems off.  But it shouldn’t be that way, God should not be kept inside of a box of masculinity.  For many times in scripture, God is referred to in the feminine sense, as a mother comforting her child (Isa 66:13), as a mother bear (Hosea 13:8), as the one in whose image woman was made alongside man (Gen 1:27).   So it shouldn’t cause a double take when we hear Jesus’ words in this Gospel text: “How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!” 

How often have I desired to protect you from each other and from yourselves…and yet you ran away.  

In these words I see the face of a parent whose child has just uttered the words “I hate you” after the parent has made a decision or issued a consequence that is in the best interest of the child, but in that moment the only child sees a parent out to get them and keep them from having fun.

Now imagine that on a divine scale.  Instead of just one child uttering the words “I hate you” or “I’m not listening” or “I’m never trusting you again,” imagine thousands upon thousands saying that simultaneously.  Meanwhile, other children pretend to listen, but are acting out in unimaginable ways, doing unthinkable things, things that are the exact opposite of what they should be doing.  And all of them live in one city.  Now, to be fair, there are the good and faithful ones…there always are.  But quite often these are the ones who have been bullied and beaten, some even killed.  “How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!” Jerusalem, Jerusalem. 

Jerusalem was a chosen city, one that God promised to the ancestors.  But it was also a broken city.  It had suffered great hardship, been the place where prophets had been killed for bringing the word of God to a people that didn’t want to hear it.  It was a place where many evil things happened, where people turned away from God and towards idols that they thought could do a better job than God was doing.   

And with Herod as a puppet ruler stationed there by Rome, and known for his fox-like slyness and cunning…as well as his cruelty, life on the whole wasn’t going to get any easier. 

But, you know, as often as the people of Jerusalem threw out God’s expectations in exchange for their own…as often as they kicked God to the curb…God never abandoned Jerusalem.  When the people killed the prophets, God sent more, when the city was sacked and destroyed, God sent folks to rebuild and bring the people back together.  And though the people continued to stray and turn their backs on God, God herself went into that city, knowing exactly what happened to prophets and others sent to it, determined as ever to meet the sinfulness of that city with the fullness of God’s grace.  God knew and knows that the most genuine form of love cannot force anyone to love you back, but God kept on and keeps on loving, knowing that not all of the chicks are gonna come running to the warmth and security of mother hen’s nest.  Some are going to prefer the false security of the fox.

When the Pharisees warned Jesus that Herod desired to kill him, it became pretty clear that things were not going to end well for Jesus.  They never seemed to for prophets going into Jerusalem on a mission from God.  The only way it could have ended well would have been if Jesus had fallen prey to the Pharisee’s test and walked away, leaving it all behind and saying good riddance. 

But he didn’t.

Jesus knew what God knew and his face had already been set towards Jerusalem.  There was no turning back.  Jesus was determined to be the vehicle through which, once again, God’s faithfulness and grace would meet the people’s sinfulness square in the face and overcome it.  And though he laments over Jerusalem, he does so with the determination of a parent who will stop at nothing to protect his children…fighting to the death so that the children could have a fighting chance at life.  There was no sense of self-preservation, just an instinct to protect as a mother hen protects her chicks…knowing that that kind of love means coming to terms with acknowledging that you can’t force the chicks into the nest no matter how hard you try. 

In just less than 5 weeks, we will become witness to the full extent of the mother hen for her children as we will bear witness to a crucifixion.  And we will see as the mother hen spreads her arms and exposes her chest, inviting her chicks to come and seek protection in the nest.  And we will watch as many of them run away, preferring the perceived safety of the fox to the actual security and life found in the mother hens nest. 

But this mother hen isn’t defeated, not even by death itself.  And she will keep loving and keep the invitation open to all the chicks, even and especially the ones that have fled, until each and every one are safe in the nest, away from the foxes and wolves, clothed in the warmth of the mother hen’s embrace.

  

Slowing down as a lenten discipline

People who know me really well know that I have a hard time taking time to slow down. I like to have things planned and having a schedule.  My husband has complained on occasion that I don't know how to really take a day off because I'm always finding something to do that keeps me from slowing down and taking Sabbath.  I've been this way for a while. If I have a lot scheduled, it keeps my head in the game and helps me to focus on what my next task is.  So seasons like Lent are seasons that I love because there is plenty on my schedule to keep me busy and keep my mind focused on what is next on the to do list. 

But it's not as easy to keep up at 33 weeks and 5 days pregnant.  My growing belly and baby have forced me out of the rushing around and into taking time to get where I am going.  I also am taking extra care so I don't get too worn out. So I've decided to make my lenten discipline giving up some of the busyness and taking time to slow down and appreciate sabbath time.  Some of the busyness is essential and life giving, there's worship and sermons and Wednesday evening activities, there are hospital calls and pastoral visits, there's final preparation of the nursery and washing of baby items and house cleaning to do.  But there's some of the busyness that I've brought on myself, busyness that is not essential to my ministry, my marriage, or getting ready for my child.  So I've decided to let some of that slide and to push away any guilt that hits as a result.  Because this time it's not just self care that is involved, but also care of the little one growing away inside of me and of the most important human relationship in my life.

Late winter and early spring have a tendency to be very busy times of the year.  Between school and work and sports and band and other extra curricular activities, it can be hard to get some time in edgewise to slow down and take sabbath time.  But sabbath time is essential. 

Think about flying: during the pre-flight instructions, the steward/ess always says that if there is a drop in cabin pressure and there is someone who needs assistance with their air mask sitting next to you, you need to put on your mask first...otherwise you're going to be rendered useless.  The same can be said for the rest of life. If we don't slow down to take care of our selves and the most important relationships in our lives, we're going to wear down and become of little use to those who depend on us.

Jesus knew this, we hear many times in the Gospels that he went away from the people so he could pray.  When he did this, Jesus took the time to tend to his own well being as well as the most important relationship in his life, his relationship with God.  It's not selfish, it's following the example of both Jesus, and of God, who rested on the 7th day after spending 6 days creating a world that was and is Very Good.  And it's obeying the commandment to honor the sabbath day and keep it holy.  As one of my seminary professors said quite frequently, God created us to pray and to play...to recreate and re-create.

So, to be honest, I carry no guilt for having a new friday afternoon routine that includes a nap and some time relaxing on the couch catching up on a favorite tv show or movie series.  I don't feel bad for taking some time during a day to lay low so that I can be on my game the rest of the day. What needs to be done will get done, but for a little while it's good to have a time out to relax and to thank God for sabbath.

What is your lenten discipline?      

A Sermon for Ash Wednesday

Ash Wednesday 2013

I had my first experience with the imposition of ashes ten years ago.  I was a sophomore in college and attended Ash Wednesday worship with some classmates at the Roman Catholic church which also served as campus ministry for Kalamazoo College and Western Michigan University.  I remember feeling nervous, I remember the ashes feeling gritty on my forehead as a stranger reminded me that I was dust and to dust I would return.  I remember not really knowing what to do with myself after worship that night, if I should run back to my dorm and wash the ashes off, or go straight to meet up with my friends at the snack shop back on campus.  But I also remember those concerns being wiped away as I was welcomed at the table of a congregation where I was not a member.  No questions asked. 

In 2006, I experienced Ash Wednesday for the first time at seminary.  It was the second time in my life I had ashes placed on my forehead…and it was different.  I had struggled with God and God had won, I had surrendered to a plan that was totally different from my own and in the three years since the first time I had been told I was dust and to dust I would return, my heart had changed. 

I now treasure this day.  It is one of my favorite days of the year.  It’s a day on the church calendar where it is socially acceptable to be sad, to lament, and to cry out to God from the depths of our sin and despair and really claim who we are as broken children of God.  We don’t have to put on false pretenses with hosannas and alleluias if we’re feeling the weighed down by our shortcomings or the general weight of the world around us. 

And it has a different meaning this year.  There’s something that feels heavier this year than in the past.  Last night we heard news that an ex-police officer’s rampage through California had most likely come to an end.  We still hear echoes of the shootings in Newtown, Connecticut and Aurora, Colorado, the bombing in Benghazi, the numbers listed of people murdered in 2012 and the first weeks of this year. 

It seems that death is surrounding us and demanding that we pay attention to it, and then we hear those words as ash is placed on our foreheads “you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” Somber words for the beginning of our Lenten journey.  Naming the reality of death and our own mortality, forcing us to remove those masks that we so often use to hide our true feelings from the world and get back to what it simple, what is basic…life and death. 

The practice of the imposition of ashes is not a new practice…in fact it is quite old.  In the bible, people put on ashes as a sign of repentance or mourning.  In the book of Esther, the Jews put on sackcloth and ashes when they learn that their lives are in jeopardy.  Job sits in a pile of ashes after his children had been killed and Job had been afflicted with painful sores.  In the writings of the prophets, the people are told to put on sackcloth and roll in ashes. Daniel pleads to God for the sake of Jerusalem with prayer and fasting, dressed in sackcloth and ashes. And although the church did not begin the practice of Ash Wednesday until over 900 years after Christ’s death and resurrection, even in the earliest days of the church, the beginning of Lent marked a period of intense preparation for baptism which included fasting, almsgiving, and prayer. 

For those in the midst of preparation for baptism at the Great Vigil of Easter, these words from Matthew spoke to them in a way that is different from how they speak to us now.  It’s not about the question “what” but rather about the “why.”  Why the fasting, why the almsgiving, why the prayer?  Is it so that people will see you and praise you for what you are doing?  Or is it so that your heart is opened and prepared to cast aside the things that got in the way of your relationship with God so that God can enter your heart and fill it?   

Today, as we join the mourners and repentant of all times and places as we too put on ashes and hear the words, “remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return” there lingers that question “why?”  Why participate in an act that visibly marks us as we go out into the world?

Isn’t this something that Jesus warned about?

But again, it’s about the why, not the what.

Are we allowing ashes to be placed upon our foreheads simply so that people will know that we identify as Christians and will praise us for our piety?  Or are we allowing ashes to be placed upon our foreheads as a visible reminder to ourselves of what Lent is about?

Ashes are a reminder that life is fleeting and that no matter what we do our how hard we try, our bodies will get used up, burnt out and they will become lifeless.  It is also a reminder of our sinful nature.  Adam and Eve were not the only two that have strayed from God. We all have, at one time or another turned our backs from the one who created us from the dust and breathed the breath of life into our nostrils.  Finally, these ashes and the words “remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return” is a reminder that we are fallen and broken and it is only by the grace and love of God that we are picked up, dusted off and sent back down the path that God has laid out for us.

Being reminded that we are dust, we are sinful and we are fallen and broken is not the happiest of reminders.   But then again, we are beginning a journey that will transform us into witnesses of a crucifixion.  It is a reminder that we need, however, because it brings us back to center and reminds us that no matter who we are or how hard we try, in the end we are all the same.  And it is a reminder that this is all we would be if not for the death and resurrection of Christ.   

And so we embark on this journey of forty days, this journey of lent.  We do so carrying a mark on our foreheads, a mark that we are sinners, a mark that we are fallen, a mark that we are dust.  But the shape of that mark is reminiscent of a mark we received at our baptism when we were addressed with other words: “child of God, you have been sealed with the Holy Spirit and marked with the cross of Christ forever.”  It is a mark that we wear everyday and though it is not a visible mark, it is one that reminds us of who we are, whose we are, and why we are on this journey.  It is a mark that gives us the boldness to put on ashes and go out into the world to serve God and others not only in this journey of lent, but the journey of life.

Today we set out on our Lenten journey.  We start here by removing our masks and getting back to what’s basic.  We hear words of reminder that we are dust, which are also words that remind us that we dust people have been given life through the breath of God and the water of baptism.  We are invited to the table to receive bread and wine, without price, without condition, no questions asked, so that we may receive nourishment for the journey.  And then we are sent out on the journey, bearing the sign of the cross on our foreheads, proclaiming to the world who we are and whose we are. 

Word of God, Word of Joy - A sermon for Epiphany 3

Epiphany 3

January 27, 2013

Nehemiah 8:1-3, 5-6, 8-10

If you were to watch any television programs or read any news articles about the City of Detroit in recent years, you would hear that the city is a mess.  The city itself is teetering on bankruptcy from years of bad politics and people leaving the city in droves.  There are neighborhoods where fires break out and no one seems to care because the homes affected are all abandoned and dilapidated.  In fact, if you were to drive through some neighborhoods in Detroit, you might wonder why all of a sudden you were in a ghost town when you intended to travel to the home of Motown, the Motor City.  One journalist from Time Magazine has even said that if you were to look at the city, you would think that a natural disaster had hit on the scale of Hurricane Katrina.  But in the midst of the abandoned homes and businesses and the general state of disrepair of the city, there is a glimmer of hope….a renaissance of sorts is occurring in Detroit.  Young adults who grew up in this area are returning to the city bringing their art, their music, their culinary skills, and their passion to see one of the greatest cities in America make a comeback.

This is the image that I have when I think of the state of the city of Jerusalem when Nehemiah, Ezra and their people return from exile.  Nehemiah was granted permission to go on this journey by King Atraxerxes of Persia after he learned that the walls of the city of Jerusalem had been destroyed and the city had been torn apart.  Nehemiah was working as the King’s cupbearer at the time and when news of the destruction of the walls of Jerusalem came, he knew he had to do something.  Nehemiah had probably never lived in Jerusalem, but it was still home.  It was the place that God had given to Nehemiah’s ancestors…and Nehemiah felt called to return to the Holy city and rebuild it.  And rebuild they did.  When he received permission from the King to go to Jerusalem, Nehemiah assembled a traveling party and after the 500 mile journey from Susa, in what is now Iran, to Jerusalem, Nehemiah led the people in rebuilding the walls of Jerusalem and in the restoration of the gates around the city.  This project was completed in 52 days, even in the midst of some interference from enemies who lived around Jerusalem.

But rebuilding the city wasn’t enough, Nehemiah also felt that the people needed assistance to get back on the straight and narrow in the eyes of God.  He saw how the people had strayed from the laws of Moses and had disobeyed God’s commandments and so he assisted the priest Ezra in setting up a revival of sorts.

On the first day of the 7^th month, which is now Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, the people of Jerusalem gathered together by the Water Gate, which was one of the places where there were no restrictions on who could be there…men, women, children, those who were ritually unclean could all be in this place together.  The people had made a request that Ezra bring with him the book of the law of Moses.  And so, for about six hours, Ezra read from the Torah while the Levites circulated through the crowd and helped the people to understand what was being spoken to them from scripture.  The people listened intently for those six hours, and many of them began to weep and become distressed.  We don’t know exactly what part of the law was read in those six hours, but it was something that really hit home with the people who were gathered together that day.  In the reading of the law, there was a realization of just how far separated the people were from God. 

But in the midst of their despair, Ezra won’t have any of the sadness.  It is a time of renewal and rebuilding…a time of reconnecting with God.  It is not a time to mourn or be distressed, for there is so much going on around them that is new.  Instead it is time for them to rejoice because of the renewal and rebuilding and reconnection with God.  So go, eat the fat, drink sweet wine and celebrate that God is giving us a chance at something new.  And we see this in the reading of the Torah, God’s gift to the people. 

In the Torah we find God’s word…yes in the Torah there are laws…but also contained within the Torah are the stories of God’s promises to the people and how God has made good on those promises.  We hear the stories of Abraham and Noah, of Joseph and of Moses, how God was faithful to the promises that God made. But even more than that, we hear in the Torah of God’s faithfulness to the people and willingness to give second chances even when the people were unfaithful.  Adam and Eve ate the fruit from the one tree that they were told not to touch, but God remained faithful and protected them.  Cain killed his brother out of jealousy and God remained faithful and protected him from retribution.  The people in the wilderness turned to a golden calf, but God remained faithful. Much like when a child disobeys a parent, there have been consequences when we have disobeyed God…but God has remained faithful and loving…so much so that God brought his word into our realm and made it flesh in the person of Jesus Christ. 

In Jesus we see God’s word and God’s faithfulness in action…giving sight to the blind, setting the captives free, healing the lame…and giving of himself in our places so that we could have a clean slate and the chance to live in a reconnected and renewed relationship with our God. And throughout it all, God has never tried to force us to follow orders or demanded that we do anything to receive God’s love…instead God gives and gives and gives, waiting for us to make up our own minds as to how to respond.    

When we hear the words “the law” in relation to scripture, particularly in the first five books of the bible which make up the Torah, it’s easy to think only of the things that we should and should not do…and when we screw up on one of those items, it can be easy for guilt to set in.  But the word of God contained in the law of Moses, which was fulfilled in the Word made flesh, are words of promise and of renewal.  There are reminders that God rejoices in God’s creation.  There are reminders that our God makes good on his promises.  And there is joy which comes from the Lord.  A joy which gives us strength in the midst of distressing and despairing times.  A joy which inspires us to live lives as God’s children.  A joy which gives us the passion to renew, rebuild, and reconnect relationships with God and one another.