Year: 2017

Matthew 14:22-33   

10^th Sunday after Pentecost – Lectionary 19

Yesterday, Charlottesville, VA was filled with fear.  The alt-right community, which is a white supremacist, neo-Nazi community, protested the removal of the statue of the Confederate General Robert E. Lee.  Clergy, members of Black Lives Matter, along with others, gathered there to counter-protest, to confront, racism.  The event turned violent and deadly.  The pinnacle of violence, as of the time I am writing this, occurred when three cars plowed into a group of peaceful counter-protestors, and one driver then backed up, injuring more people.  One person has died from this event, two state police died in a related helicopter accident, and nineteen were hospitalized, thirty-five more were hurt.

At the heart of this prejudice and discrimination demonstrated by the alt-right is both ignorance and fear, fear of those who are different.  White supremacists fear the loss of their place of privilege. Fear can be contagious.  The alt-right’s fear, manifesting itself in violence, also brought fear to those who were there not only to confront racism and to condemn hatred, but to affirm God’s love.  Love is stronger than hate. God’s light will overcome all darkness.  We pray for both perpetrators and victims of violence.

On a larger scale, at the heart of the issue of discrimination of any kind are systems that promote evil against others, and rationalize that evil by blaming the victim.  But God created us all in God’s image.  What we heard this morning in  St. Paul’s letter to the Romans, he expands in his letter to the community in Galatia, “ There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus” (3:28). In our sinfulness, sometimes we refuse to acknowledge that.  Even worse, we knowingly or unknowingly participate in systems that contribute to and enable prejudice.  It is frightening.

Is it discrimination that scares you the most?  Is it nuclear weapons in the hands of North Korea?  Are you afraid for your children’s children and their children because our climate is changing?  Fear can also be deeply personal.  Maybe you are losing physical function, and worry because you don’t know what your future holds.  Maybe you are scared of being left alone.  What is it that you fear?

If you have been out in the ocean during a storm, or standing in the middle of a sea of hate-full and fear-full people, you may be able to identify with the disciples and Peter.  Our gospel story of tumultuous waves rocking the disciples’ boat follows another fear provoking event, that of John the Baptizer having his head chopped off by King Herod.  After hearing this news, Jesus tries going into the desert to be alone so that he could process his emotions, but over 10,000 people found him. When it was dinner time, he took five loaves of bread and two fish, blessed them, and gave the food to the disciples to feed the people, all the people.  There was more than enough.

Our reading begins with Jesus trying once more to be alone.  Immediately after feeding the crowds, he made the disciples get into the boat and go across the water ahead of him.  Jesus, in the meantime, went up the mountain to pray.  In the dark of the night, the waves became bigger and stronger, and, fighting the force of the winds and the water, the boat did not make it to the shore as expected. It must have been a restless night for the disciples.  By early morning, the boat and the people were still bouncing around. The disciples were soaked to the skin. Suddenly, they were terrified by someone walking on the sea.  They cried out, “It’s a ghost!” “It’s me!” Jesus said. “Don’t be afraid!”

Peter’s response to seeing Jesus is curious. He did not say, “Jesus, stop the storm!”  What he does say is, “IF it Is you, command me to come to you on the water.”  Peter, the one who will confess Jesus to be the Messiah, and then say he does not know the man.  Peter, the bold and brash disciple who speaks before he thinks.  Peter, the one who loves Jesus and yet disappoints him.  Peter, the one whose faith reminds us of our own.

“Command me to come to you on the water,” Peter says.  Jesus doesn’t respond, “Peter, don’t be ridiculous.”  Jesus honors his request.  “Come,” he says.  Peter moves forward, across the water, until he becomes aware of the wind. He looks at the boat behind him, Jesus in front of him, and the water underneath of him.  The more scared he gets, the deeper he sinks.  “Lord, save me!” Peter shouts.  Immediately, without any hesitation, Jesus reaches out.  As Jesus extends his arms, he says to Peter, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?”  Can you hear the lament in Jesus’ voice?  “Oh, Peter. Again?”

Have you ever been in a situation, and looked around, and began to feel as if you were sinking deeper and deeper?  Have you ever been in a place where you feel like the storm will never end?  Part of being human is living in the not-yet kingdom of God where storms come and go, some more quickly than others.  Storms take all forms.  Storms show up in chaotic and violent demonstrations of hatred. Tempests arise when systems of oppression are confronted. Personal storms come when unemployment compensation runs out, and there are no job offers coming in, and when a family member or friend is addicted to drugs, and cannot break free from the demons.  Storms intensify when illness changes how we live.

Despite the storms, we believe in God.  We cling to God. We pray for a miracle.  But, if we are honest, we will confess that fear and doubt creep in.  The sinking, and the fear, and the doubting,—which comes first doesn’t really matter.  The winds are so strong, the sea is so big, and they, along with many things in our lives, are beyond our control. “You of little faith, why did you doubt?”  Why?  Because as human beings, that is who we are.  We are people of courage, and people of fear.  We are people of faith and people of doubt.  Not just once, but over and over again.  “Save me, Jesus,” Peter cries. “Save us, Jesus,” we cry, too.

We are saved.  We are saved every day.  Martin Marty in his book, Lutheran Questions, Lutheran Answers, the book which is the object of our next book study, writes, “To be saved is to be appraised by God and found lacking—and then being picked up by God and placed in a new situation.  Whatever held me back— ‘sin, death, the devil, or the self,’ [or fear, or the hatred others have] has lost its hold and I am made free.” In both our life and in our death, “Whatever we picture and however we picture it, ‘to be saved’ means to be situated where God’s presence will never be revoked and where God’s light will shine.”[1]  To be saved is to be given God’s grace that empowers us to live our lives differently than we would have had we not been met by God in Christ Jesus.  To be saved is to stand witnessing to God’s love for all people despite our fear.

“Save us, Jesus!”  Save us from the storms that terrify us.  Hearing Jesus’ response, our ears sting. “You of little faith, why did you doubt?”  Then we remember Jesus telling us that a tiny mustard seed grows into the greatest of shrubs and becomes a tree in which birds will make nests.

If we could walk on the water in the middle of a storm all by ourselves and not sink, we wouldn’t need a savior.  But we can’t, and we do. In the chaotic waters of our lives, we realize both who we are, and whose we are.  “Save us, Jesus!” we cry, and immediately, Jesus reaches out his hand.

~Pastor Cheryl Ann Griffin

[1] Marty, Martin E.  Lutheran Questions Lutheran Answers.  Minneapolis:  Augsburg Fortress, 2007.  80-82.

Romans 8:26-39   Matthew 13: 31-33, 44-52

Lectionary 17 ~ 8^th Sunday after Pentecost 

If you were to design and create your own kingdom of heaven, what would it look like?  Would there be crystal blue oceans and diamond like sand?  Would mountains be made especially for hiking?  Would cookies always be served warm?  And would cats really be necessary?[1]

We have, over the past weeks, heard parables about the kingdom of heaven, to use Matthew’s terminology.  This kingdom has seeds falling all over the place—on rocky ground, on dry, sun-bleached earth, in the middle of thorns, and some fell on good soil, too.  While we would not let weeds into a kingdom of our own design, Jesus’ does, and those weeds are mixed right in with the good wheat.

This morning, we hear that the kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed, and yeast.  We diverge from the agricultural metaphors, and hear that the kingdom of heaven is like a treasure hidden in a field, a pearl of great value, and a net thrown into the sea, catching fish of every kind.

After saying these things about the kingdom, Jesus asks the people, “Have you understood all this?”  “Uh-huh,” they assure him.  How about you? Have you  understood all this?

Each “the kingdom is like” comparison is unique. Someone plants the mustard seed, which then grows to a shrub, and houses birds. Someone uses the yeast to make bread, which then feeds people.  The treasure in the field is found, bringing the finder tremendous joy, and so the finder sells everything to buy the entire field.  Like the treasure finder, a merchant finds one fine pearl, and sells all that he has to buy it.  The fishing net, which went out empty, came back full.

God has hidden the kingdom of heaven in ordinary things,– in fields, and seeds, and yeast, in things that are in plain view, where we don’t think to look. The kingdom of heaven is here, hidden in the everyday-ness of our lives.  It’s there in the bread, in the giggles of a child, and the smell of fresh cut grass.  This is where you will find the presence of God.  God is in our love for family, and for those whom we choose to be sisters and brothers.  God is in crocheting hats for children who might otherwise be cold in the winter, giving sneakers to children in need, and in our work, paid or unpaid.

There are places, though, where we think we will never find God. Because we live in the now-but-not-yet kingdom of heaven, not only are there platypuses, music by Mozart and cookies, there are also diseases, cancers, and dementia. Our chances of reaching God’s ultimate healing of death without first experiencing declining health are slim. That’s true not only for us, but also for those we love.  Serious illness can diminish the self, and challenge our dignity.  Relationships are impacted. Caregivers struggle to manage their exhaustion and emotions.  We come to the place where we don’t even know what to ask for, and need the Spirit to intercede with sighs too deep for words.   When the Spirit intercedes for us, in those dark places where the sound of sighs is deafening, in that place where we run out of words, the Holy Spirit is right there with us.  This is the promise of our baptism, that Christ is joined to us, and we are joined to Christ in his suffering.

What does this have to do with mustard seeds, and yeast and pearls, and treasure?  Our parables tell us is that things are not always what they seem.  Our parables tell us to look our everyday lives in that which is ordinary to find God.  In the case of illness, a smile, and a caring touch bring blessings to the one who gives and the one who receives.

Our parables of the mustard seed and the yeast teach us one more thing—to let go.  It is when the seed leaves our hands, and when the yeast is left to rise, that God grows them into something new.  We try so hard to hold on to what was, and how things used to be, and even the way we think they should be, that we may miss what God is doing this day, this hour, this moment.  In the case of illness, it is when we let go of who our loved  one was in health that we can see who they are now.

Live in the kingdom right here, right now.  God is present. Who will separate us from the love of Christ?  Will hardship, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?…  No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. We are more than conquerors. Because of, and through, Christ’s suffering, death and resurrection, what we experience today, and what we can expect of tomorrow, are transformed.

We have glimpses of the kingdom of heaven in those who overcome the challenge of addiction, and those who are struggling to be restored to wholeness. We find the kingdom  of God in the partner who faithfully cares for an ailing spouse.  We see the presence of God in those who are suffering, as they into the fullness of their baptism.

The kingdom of God is here, now.  It is here, in this promise:  Neither death, nor life, nor cancer, nor health, nor dementia, nor functionality, nor depths of depression, nor heights of joy, nor exhaustion nor great energy, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

~Pastor Cheryl Ann Griffin

[1] I actually do like cats.

Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43

7^th Sunday after Pentecost – Lectionary 16

It’s been called the mile-a-minute vine, and other things that I cannot say in church.  Yes, I am talking about Kudzu, the vine that ate the South. It came to the United States through the Japanese government, which had constructed a beautiful plant exhibit for the 1876 Centennial Exposition in Philadelphia, and this vine captured the attention of American gardeners.  We can thank our government for the plethora of Kudzu.  During the depression of the 1930’s, hundreds of workers for the Soil Conservation Service planted kudzu for the purpose of erosion control.  And it grew.  And it grew.  And it grew.  While the Japanese brought Kudzu to our country, they left its natural enemy at home.   In 1972, the USDA declared kudzu to be a weed.  Herbicides have actually been found to help it grow. Our only hope is goats.  Goats find Kudzu as delicious as a hot fudge Sundae made with coffee ice cream, topped with nuts, whipped cream and a cherry.

Jesus taught us that wise people build their house on a solid foundation, and foolish ones build it on sand (Matthew 7:24-27).  Jesus was a much better construction engineer than he was a master gardener.  “Keep the weeds!” Jesus says in our parable this morning.  Keep the weeds?

Just as there are only two kinds of engineers, civil and uncivil, there seems to be only two kinds of people, wheat or weeds.  To the overzealous weeders, Jesus says leave the weeds alone!  I will take care of them! Jesus says the weeds will be collected, and they will be thrown in the fiery furnace, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth. Our sense of justice gets great satisfaction out of hearing this.  We love to think that our enemies will get their due in the end. An eye for an eye, after all.   Don’t you just love eschatological vengeance?

Those pesky weeds!  Maybe Jesus’ parable makes us feel good, not just because “they will get theirs in the end,” but also because we think of ourselves as wheat.  Or maybe this parable scares us to death because we think we are the weeds.  Wheat or weeds, – sometimes it is hard to tell the difference.  You know, while some see Kudzu as an uncontrollable menace, others find the good in it. A woman named Nancy Basket makes paper from Kudzu, and then turns the paper into beautiful works of art.  Diane Hoots’ company manufactures delicious Kudzu blossom jelly and syrup. Henry Edwards makes Kudzu hay when the sun shines.  Regina Hines has discovered that Kudzu’s rubber-like vines can be woven into unique and functional baskets.  Medical researchers are working with a drug extracted from the kudzu root which may help in the treatment of alcoholism.

I read this parable of the wheat and the tares, which seems to say that there are good people, and there are evil people, and the evil people will be thrown into the furnace, and I cannot help but wonder, was Jesus just having an off day when he told this story?  Or maybe there is another way to look at weeds among the wheat.  Wheat or weeds? There is good and bad in everyone.  We are, as Luther frames it, simul justus et peccator.  We are simultaneously both sinner and saint.

Think about Peter, Jesus’ disciple, the one to whom Jesus said, “Get behind me Satan!  You are a stumbling block to me!” [Matthew 16.23].  And yet the one whom Jesus called Satan and a stumbling block, he also called the rock, the one who would be foundational for building the church.  Then there’s Judas. Jesus washed his feet knowing Judas would betray him with a kiss.  There is Paul, who used to be known as Saul – the Jew who persecuted Christians. God used him to further God’s church.  The same Paul who declares in his letter to the Romans, “For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate” [7.15], is the same Paul who planted churches across the Mediterranean world the way Johnny Appleseed planted trees.

Weeds are not that cut and dry, pardon the pun.  Weeds can be useful in ways we do not understand.  We live among both wheat and weeds, but both wheat and weeds also live in us. God knows this about us, ever since Adam and Eve and the whole naked missing apple incident. There will always be weeds in the wheat field.

God never promised us that we would become so good or so wise that that weeds would find somewhere else to grow instead of in and around us.  Whether we like it or not, God made both wheat and weeds, growing together in the field, and Jesus tells us, Live with it.  Trust God to take care of it, in God’s time.  Things happen in our world and in our lives that are beyond our power to prevent, and beyond our power to fix.  But nothing is beyond God’s power. Through Christ’s life, his death, and his resurrection, God reaches his hand down into the muck and mire of our lives, forgives us, and purifies us, and makes us holy. What God does for us, God also does for our weedy neighbor. Through Christ, none of us is beyond God’s redemption.

~Pastor Cheryl Ann Griffin

 

 

Romans 6:12-23  Matthew 10:40-42    

4^th Sunday after Pentecost – Lectionary 13

 

Americans are celebrating 241 years of freedom this week.  We do it with picnics, fireworks and shopping the sales in stores.  Freedom always comes at a cost, and ours is no different.  One of the many stories from the Revolutionary war is the pivotal battle on Kings Mountain.  Patrick Ferguson led British Loyalists against the Overmountain Men. Ferguson was certain that the trees and rocks on top of the mountain gave him a military advantage.  It’s reported that Ferguson declared that, “he was king of that mountain, and God Almighty could not drive him from it.”’[1] What Ferguson had not taken into account was that his men needed to step out from behind the cover of trees and rocks and out into the open in order to fire.  The results were devastating.  This battle proved to be the beginning of the end for the British.

Americans became free from British rule, but there are many ways to be in bondage, and there are other types of freedom.  Not all people were set free as a result of the Revolutionary War.  The American Civil War in the 1860’s determined that the states would remain united in one nation, and that it would be free from slavery.  There are many types of freedom, and in the 1960’s Dr. Martin Luther King would work for the freedom of equality.  The sixties were about being free from many things, especially societal and moral rules.  Have you heard about Woodstock? Woodstock celebrated the breaking of boundaries, and burst the seams of freedom, yet Janis Joplin sang, “Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose.”

Freedom.  A six-foot tall monument of the Ten Commandments was recently erected at the state capital of Arkansas.   This past week, it was reported that a 32-year-old man drove his car over it.  Those who were watching it on FaceBook Live heard music, and then, just moments before he sped up, he said, “Oh, my goodness—freedom!”

Freedom.  We all want to be free, free from something— free from debt, free from illness, free from someone, free from doubt.  What is it that something for you? From what would you like to be free?

As the Declaration of Independence speaks to our freedom as Americans, Paul speaks of freedom in his letter to the Romans.  He explains that through his death and resurrection, Jesus fulfilled the law.  If Lutherans have a motto, it is, We are justified by grace through faith.  Paul writes, For we hold that a person is justified by faith apart from the works prescribed by the law (Romans 3:28).  What does this mean?  It means that we are made right with God. What is it that we must do go get on God’s good side?  Nothing.  We are saved by grace through faith.  Not only that, but that faith is the gift of God.  We are set free from having to prove ourselves worthy of love and free from having to earn our own salvation.  Joined to Christ in his life, death and resurrection through the word and waters of our baptism, we are set free from the bondage of sin and death.

We are set free!  Now what?  We know what to do with conditional gifts, if you do this, then I do that.  If you study hard and do your homework, then you will get good grades.  If you eat all your spinach, then you can have cookies.  With an if-then promise, we maintain some control. But God’s gift is free. There are no conditions.  The promise is not if-then, it is because-therefore.  Because Jesus died and was resurrected, therefore we are justified.  Because Jesus suffered the sins of the world, we are free from sin. Now what? How do we live in God’s freedom?

The theological term for this is sanctification.  What does that mean? It has been said that sanctification means learning to accept our justification. Sanctification and justification are intertwined. Lutherans and Luther don’t talk much about sanctification, however, Luther rightly tells us that we are both saints and sinners at the same time. While we are sinners, we are also being made holy. We are already and not-yet.  We are living into our baptism.  We are set apart for God’s use even while we are sinners.  Sanctification is learning to trust God. It is relational.  Sanctification is the work of the Holy Spirit.

Through God’s grace, we are set free from the power of sin and death. God’s grace is bigger than our sin.  God’s grace is more powerful than death. When we are set free from the law and from sin, the question then becomes, free for what.  The for what question relates to the process of sanctification.  Paul writes, But now that you have been freed from sin and enslaved to God, the advantage you get is sanctification. We are set free to be obedient to God, to do God’s will.  The results of our sanctification are, in Paul’s language, the fruit of the Spirit.

Hospitality is one of the fruits of the Spirit to which Jesus refers when he says, Whoever welcomes you welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes the one who sent me.  Jesus is telling us to bring the presence of Christ to everyone we meet, the same Christ who loves us unconditionally, who extends grace and mercy. What would that look like at the gym, or at work? What does that look like outside the walls of church, the borders of our neighborhood, or on the other side of our country’s borders?  What does unconditional hospitality look like inside the walls of our church?

God’s grace is hospitable and inclusive.  Whoever gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones, Jesus says. It is that simple. Care for others in helpful ways.  Visit someone who cannot get out.  Drive someone who can’t drive themselves.  Listen with a compassionate heart to someone who is grieving. During worship, help a visitor find their place in our worship book, walk with them to the communion rail.  Find out if you can help them navigate Williamsburg’s many gems.  Graciously let others sit in your self-assigned seat in the pew. Remember, those in our church every Sunday may need a glass of water, too.  The hospitality of welcome includes calling someone who was not here, and telling them you missed them. Wherever you are, make Christ’s presence known in things you do and the words you say.

One cup of water to one person can bring life.  This is beautifully illustrated by the story of the Star Thrower.  Maybe you have heard it.  There was a man walking on the beach.  As he looked along the shoreline, he saw a boy reach down and pick up a starfish.  The boy then threw it into the ocean.  As the man came closer, he called out, “Hello!”  The boy looked up, and the man, now standing next to him, asked, “What are you doing?”  The boy looked up and answered, “I’m throwing starfish into the ocean.”  “I see that, but why?” asked the man.
The tide has stranded them.  If I don’t throw them back into the water before the sun comes up, they will die,” the boy answered.  “Surely you know that there are miles and miles of beach, and thousands of stranded starfish.  You’ll never throw them all back.  There are too many.  You can’t possibly make a difference.”  The boy listened quietly, and then picked up another starfish.  As he threw it back into the sea, he said, “It made a difference for that one.”[2]

~Pastor Cheryl Ann Griffin

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[1] http://www.learnnc.org/lp/editions/nchist-revolution/4272

 

[2] Written by Loren Eiseley.  https://starthrowerfoundation.org/about-starthrower-foundation/the-star-thrower-story/

Romans 5:1-5    

Pentecost 2

 

You can find this sign above the door of a resident’s room in an assisted living community, “This is not the life I ordered.”   There seems to be no end to the different ways that we have experiences we would never want.  Post-traumatic Stress Syndrome altars the lives of those who endure our worst nightmares.  Serious illness, either our own or a loved one’s, challenges our functioning, and even our faith.  Unemployment takes more than a financial toll.  Infidelity, physical and emotional abuse, drug dependency,–the things we suffer can leave us hopeless.  This is what makes Paul’s letter to the Romans hard to understand.

“We boast in our sufferings,” Paul writes, “knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope.”  What kind of logic is this?    Are we to brag when our eyes can no longer see, and we have trouble remembering where we put the car keys?  Are we to boast when the bills that have come in this month exceed the money we have in the bank?  Should we sing our own praises because we have broken a bone and can’t walk, let alone drive?  Should we speak with pride when we find that the person who makes our heart flutter has been involved with someone else? I don’t know about you, but my suffering produces anxiety, grief and despair.  We would much rather get a raise in salary than to lose our job.  We would rather take a cruise than take a beating.  We would rather say, “Thank God!” than “God, why me?”

Yet Paul writes, “We boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope.”  Paul says this with confidence because, he explains, “…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…”  In other words, we are brought into right relationship with God as an undeserved gift.  It doesn’t matter who we are, what we’ve done or what we haven’t done, God wants a relationship with us. God loves us.  God does not desire suffering. Hear this clearly.  God’s desire for us is wholeness and peace.  God’s desire for us is not suffering; God’s desire for us is shalom. Sin has brought suffering into our world, and life presents us with challenges.  While that is not what God wants for us, God promises not to abandon us in our suffering.

What do you do when things don’t go well?  To what, or to whom, do you turn?  When life is dark, where do you place your hope?  From where does your hope come?  Maybe you tell yourself to pull yourself up by your own bootstraps.  Sometimes, we think we can handle difficulties all on our own, but self-sufficiency is an illusion.  Self-sufficiency, at best, stunts development of relationships, and can even shut people out.  At worst, it denies God.  Maybe you avoid painful issue by going shopping, or consuming alcohol or drugs.  We buy lottery tickets in hopes of an escape.   Maybe if someone causes us to suffer, we retaliate in hopes that they will suffer just as we do.  As there are myriads of ways we suffer, there are also thousands of ways in which we try to escape it.  We are searching for quick magic, when what we really need is God.

“Suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope.”  How does this happen? Suffering strips us of our pretenses, and leaves us vulnerable.  It reminds us that we are in need of relationship.  It drives home that we cannot exist without God.  We search for the presence of the God who is already with us, and open ourselves to possibilities. The only hope we have is holy hope.  Our hope becomes grounded in God.

On our own, we can get stuck in despair. By ourselves, we can become paralyzed with grief.  But the God who heals the sick, forgives the guilty and raises the dead will do more.  The God who turns our bondage to sin into freedom from sin, the God who turns death into life, the God who turns despair into hope will do more.  Good Friday is not the end.  As has been said, it’s Friday, but Sunday’s coming.  Through Christ, we do not remain victims, trapped in our suffering.

Therefore, Paul boldly writes, 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. Biblical scholar Walter Brueggemann points out that these are words of people who refuse to give in, and who refuse the present loss as the last truth.  These are the words of people who know that God is not finished. He reminds us that “in the face of evil, disorder, social chaos, and imperial abuse:  God has not quit; God will make it right, because God will yet do what God has already done.”[1]

 

What has God already done?  Through Moses, God led God’s people out of slavery in Egypt, God brought the exiles home, and restored the temple in Jerusalem.  God’s own son, Jesus Christ, nailed to a cross, suffered a violent death. God raised Jesus on the third day. God’s word does not fail. Even when suffering leads to death, death does not have the last word.  Through God, victims become victorious.

This faith, this trust, empowered Dr. Martin Luther King in 1963 to speak to African-Americans exiled in their own land, and to a nation in turmoil, saying in faith and holy hope, “I have a dream today!”  King dared to dream that injustice and oppression would be transformed into freedom and justice.  “With this faith,” King proclaimed, “we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope….  With this faith, we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.”  Through God, victims become victorious.

God sows seeds of compassion into hearts of stone, turns anger into forgiveness, and brings people into our lives to help and to guide us.   God brings light into our darkness.  More than that, God promises to be with us through all that is and all that is to come.  St. Paul writes, Through the death and resurrection of God’s son, Jesus Christ, God promises that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.[2]

God’s promises are unconditional, and God’s word will not fail.  Through God’s love for us, made known in Christ, God turns our bondage to sin into freedom from sin. God turns us from suffering to hope.  Because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us, we stand in God’s grace.  This is our sure and certain holy hope.  We are no longer victims; through Christ, we are victorious.

~Pastor Cheryl Ann Griffin

[1] http://www.icjs.org/clergy/walter.html

[2] Romans 8:38

 

Acts 2:1-21, 1 Corinthians 12:3b-13, John 20:19-23    

Pentecost

Did you ever receive a gift that you did not know what to do with?  Or even a gift that you didn’t know what it is?  Once my father asked me if I could use some parfait dessert glasses that he had received for his birthday.  He said that the gift was very confusing to him.  The glasses had been shipped directly from Neiman Marcus, but from whom?  And why would he want parfait glasses?  The mystery was solved when he received a note from his long-time friend asking him how he liked the champagne flutes that he had sent.  What gifts have you received that were questionable? Have you ever gotten a work of art created by a three-year-old?  “I made this for you!”  “Thank you!  It’s beautiful!  I love the colors!”  “Do you know what it is?”………… “A magic unicorn?”  “No!  It’s a picture of you!”

The gift of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost is like a gift that we do not recognize or know what to do with.   To begin with, it comes to us wrapped in a way unlike any other gift.  It comes with the sound of the rush of a violent wind.  It comes looking like the flames of a fire and divided tongues. Picture them resting on people’s heads. The whole scene was fantastic, like it was created by Stephen Spielberg. This is God’s way of saying to us, “Pay attention!  What is coming is like nothing you have ever seen before!”  Then the people were filled with the Holy Spirit, and they began to speak in other languages.

What is this gift of the Holy Spirit?  What do we do with it?  Even the Apostles Creed offers only the statement, “I believe in the Holy Spirit.” Martin Luther in his Small Catechism offers this clarification:  I believe that by my own understanding or strength I cannot believe in Jesus Christ my Lord or come to him, but instead the Holy Spirit has called me through the gospel, enlightened me with his gifts, made me holy and kept me in the true faith, just as he calls, gathers, enlightens, and makes holy the whole Christian church on earth and keeps it with Jesus Christ in the one common true faith.

Is everything clear now?  The Holy Spirit is difficult to define.  Even when we see the effects of the Holy Spirit, we may not recognize them.  In Luke’s recording of the day of Pentecost, people spoke in various languages and others heard in their native tongue.  It was a wild and crazy gathering.  Some people were amazed and perplexed, but others said, “They are filled with new wine.”  Peter explained that they could not be drunk, as it was only 9:00 in the morning. (He should listen to the stories told at an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting!)  Peter then went on to quote the prophet Joel, to explain Jesus’ death and resurrection, and to share King David’s foreshadowing of this.

Peter was the disciple who more often than not, got it wrong. Peter is the one who opened his mouth before his brain kicked in.  The gospel of John reports that before the Holy Spirit came, the disciples, including Peter, were hiding in a locked room, trembling with fear.  Yet Peter became a leader, and through the disciples’ testimony, many came to believe in Jesus.  What started out as a few followers has grown to over 2 billion Christians world-wide.  This is most certainly the work of the Holy Spirit.

This morning, three of our young people will, of their own accord, affirm their baptism.  For the past two years, instead of sleeping in, or playing soccer, they have chosen to attend classes to learn about God and Jesus, the Bible and Luther’s Small Catechism.  To say “yes” to God’s call is a counter-cultural decision.  This is most certainly the work of the Holy Spirit.

Look around you.  Here we are together, differing in our political alliances, in our economic statuses, and even in the finer points of our theology.  Without regard for race, gender identification, or sexual preference, we come together to the table to receive Christ’s body and blood, and take in God’s forgiveness and love. It’s as wild and crazy as that first Pentecost!  This is most certainly the work of the Holy Spirit.

We cook meals together for those who have no permanent home and for those in congregation who are recovering from illness or families who have just had a baby.  We take time from our days to help build ramps for building accessibility and improve a playground for an economically challenged community.  We volunteer to organize clothes and food for those in need.  We make beautiful quilts, only knowing that recipients need them.  We give of ourselves to those who cannot repay us.  This is most certainly the work of the Holy Spirit.

Our world needs people who can build, who can teach, who can manage money, who can listen and who can pray.  Our world needs people blessed with all kinds of gifts.  As St. Paul writes to the Corinthian community, To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good.  Hear carefully the part of that statement that says, for the common good. To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good.  The Holy Spirit comes not to remove challenges and difficulties from our lives, but to strengthen and equip us to rise above those challenges so that God can work through us for the good of others.  Our purpose is to share God’s love, to leave our earth and each other better for us having been here.  The Holy Spirit comes as a gift to us so that we can bring hope into the brokenness of our world.

Repeating the words of the prophet Joel, Peter reminds us of God’s promise:  I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh, and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams.  Do we know what to do with the gift of the Holy Spirit? What dreams and visions do you have?  Are your dreams big enough?

Thomas Long tells a story from his days as new pastor in a small church.  He advertised a class on the basics of the Christian faith.  At the first class, he was disappointed to find only three elementary school girls.  He nonetheless continued, explaining to them about Pentecost.  ‘“Pentecost was when the church was seated in a circle and tongues of fire came down from heaven and landed on their heads and they spoke the gospel in all the languages of the world,”’ he said.  “Two of the little girls took that rather calmly, but one of them got her eyes as big as saucers.  And when she could finally speak, she said, “Reverend Long, we must have been absent that Sunday!”’

Pastor Long continues, “The beautiful thing about that is not that she misunderstood.  The beautiful thing is that she thought it could have happened in our church, that God’s Spirit could have come even to our little congregation and given us a word to speak that the world desperately needs to hear.”[1]

This morning we heard people speaking the story of Pentecost in different languages. Watch out for tongues of fire landing on your heads! This can happen in our church!  May our dreams exceed our expectations, because the Holy Spirit sure does!  This is most certainly true!

~Pastor Cheryl Ann Griffin

[1] http://day1.org/3822-whats_the_gift web. Accessed May 30, 2017.

1 Peter 2:19-25; John 10:1-10

Fourth Sunday of Easter 

 

For it is a credit to you if, being aware of God, you endure pain while suffering unjustly, we hear this morning from 1 Peter. I conducted an informal poll of the various ways that people suffer.  Here’s what you told me:

• Working in kindergarten the last day of school before Christmas break during a full moon.
• Law school.
• Having your finger caught in a beaver trap spring and having to call the fire department to get the finger unstuck. What you should know about this is that it was written by a fireman.
• Listening to my pastors preach. (And yes, this one is from one of our parishioners.)
• Being a Phillies fan.

There were serious answers to the question of how you have experienced suffering:

• Thinking I could fix someone.
• The loss of my son still hurts, 20 years later.
• That I often think I have a better plan for my life than God.
• Watching your children suffer, and not being able to help.

But if you endure when you do right and suffer for it, you have God’s approval.  For to this you have been called, because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example, so that you should follow in his steps….  When he was abused, he did not return abuse….

On Monday, a James City County man was arrested on charges of felony child abuse after his 3-month old daughter died at VCU.  Our reading this morning has been misinterpreted by some to justify abuse.  Abuse is never justifiable.

Statistics of abuse are jarring.  In the United States, 2.3 million children received care through Child Protective Services.  Four out of five abusers are the child’s parents.[1] Nearly 12 million men and women a year are victims of rape, physical violence or stalking. [2] Financial exploitation is the most common form of elder abuse, which is on the rise. The majority of elder abuse is committed by a family member.[3]

Avalon Center, our local organization that works to end domestic violence, states that there are warning signs that help identify an abusive relationship. Ask these questions:

Do you avoid certain topics out of fear of angering your partner?  Does your partner humiliate, criticize, or yell at you?  Does your partner act excessively jealous and possessive?  Does your partner criticize you for little things? Do you feel emotionally numb or helpless?  Does your partner threaten to harm your children, or to harm him or herself? [4]

Physical violence is never okay.

Those of us here today either suffered abuse or know someone who has been abused. Listen again to the words of 1Peter, listen with the heart of someone who has suffered.  But if you endure when you do right and suffer for it, you have God’s approval.  For to this you have been called, because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example, so that you should follow in his steps. No wonder some people misunderstand!  Our passages are proof that we need informed Bible study!  Nowhere does this text say that God sanctions abuse. We are not being urged to suffer.

Obedience to God and the gospel is at the heart of this passage.  The circumstances of suffering referred to in this passage stem from standing firm in our faith.  Think about standing against societal pressure. When we love our neighbor, our gay neighbor, our black neighbor, and our Muslim neighbor, we are going to incur anger from some people.  When we give financially to those in need instead of buying the latest and greatest, we slide down on the societal success scale. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was killed for his stance on equality and non-violence.  Hold fast to love, Jesus tell us.

This is exactly what Jesus did.  Jesus came and loved poor people, sick people, and people of other ethnicities.  He was changing the system, and we killed him for it.  Let me explain.  God does not demand blood and suffering as the just punishment for sin. God does not need a payment of a debt for our sins by means of a death that satisfies divine justice. Jesus did not die because God demanded a sacrificial lamb to take our place in God’s punishment.

David Lose, president of the Lutheran Theological Seminary in Philadelphia,[5] explains Jesus’ suffering and death:

We live in a world where only some people are fed, and so Jesus feeds the hungry.  We live in a world where people are sick and die needlessly, and so Jesus heals them.  We live in a world where strength is honored over compassion, where wealth is the measure of importance rather than integrity, where power is measured by what you can destroy rather than what you can create, and so every act of grace, every sign or miracle of compassion, every act of healing, every time Jesus embraces someone the system has declared an outcast, he is calling the whole system into question….

The Gospel stories, in the end, …[are] telling us the truth that all of us participate in a system that crucified Jesus….Confessing our failure and need, and becoming dependent on God’s grace and mercy [is  dying]….Death doesn’t have the last word.  …Once we hear the first truth the cross tells us—we can hear and believe the second truth that God has love us all along and desired life for us all along.  And that’s being raised again.[6]

God came to us in flesh and blood because God loves us, all of us, regardless of whether we can understand or accept that love.  God did not send Jesus in order to make us lovable.  Because God created us, we are worthy of dignity, and love.  Some people still can’t accept and live into that much love.  Those are the ones who are thieves, and the ones who are perpetrators of abuse.  Jesus himself tells us, The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy.  I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.[7]

Just before the Israelites crossed over the river Jordan into the Promised Land, God urged them, saying:

I call heaven and earth to witness against you today that I have set before you life and death, blessings, and curses. Choose life so that you and your descendants may live, loving the Lord your God, obeying him, and holding fast to him, for that means life to you and length of days…[8]

Choose life!  If you were abused, you can choose not to become one who abuses others.  If you grew up with racism, you can choose to advocate for equal rights for all people. You who have been attacked can choose not to strike back.  I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly, Jesus tells us.[9]  You who are loved beyond any measure by the one who created you, choose life!

~Pastor Cheryl Ann Griffin

[1] http://www.nationalchildrensalliance.org/media-room/media-kit/national-statistics-child-abuse

[2] http://www.thehotline.org/resources/statistics/

[3] https://ncea.acl.gov/whatwedo/research/statistics.html

[4]  http://avaloncenter.org/what-is-abuse#About%20Abusers

[5] The Lutheran Seminary at Philadelphia is in the process of combining with the Lutheran Theological Seminary at Gettysburg to form United Seminary.  Rev. Dr. Theresa Latini is the current president of United Seminary.

[6] Lose, David.  Making Sense of the Cross.  Minneapolis:  Augsburg Fortress, 2011. 176-177.

[7] John 10:10.

[8] Deuteronomy 30:19-20a

[9] John 10:10.

 

Luke 24:13-35    

Third Sunday of Easter

In Paris, a week ago Thursday, a man got out of a car, and shot directly at a police officer.  ISIS claimed responsibility for the attack that also wounded two others.  On Tuesday, there was a national ceremony to honor the slain officer.  In the silent courtyard, the officer’s husband, Etienne, spoke to his partner, Xavier.   ” Xavier, on Thursday morning, as always, I left for work, and you were still sleeping. Over the course of the day, we talked about our plans to go on holiday to a country far away. You told me that you were excited, and that you had never been so far away. I returned home that evening without you, with an extreme and profound pain that maybe one day will weaken.  I don’t know. When the first messages appeared that warned Parisians that a serious event was ongoing on the Champs Élysée and that a police officer had lost his life, a little voice told me it was you…. I want to tell you that you will stay in my heart forever.  I love you….”[1]

Now on that same day, we are told.  It was the same day that Mary Magdalene and several others had gone to Jesus’ tomb with spices and ointments to anoint Jesus’ lifeless body, but the body was not there.  Cleopas and another person were headed from Jerusalem to Emmaus.  A stranger joined the two disciples as they were walking, and asked them what they were talking about.  They told him about all the recent events–Pilate wanting to release Jesus, and the people shouting “Crucify him!”  They spoke of Jesus on the cross, with a criminal hanging to his left and another on his right, how at noon the sun’s light failed, and Jesus took his last breath.  But we had hoped, they said.

They spoke their grief.  We had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel.  We had hoped to go on holiday to a country far away.  We had hoped to get pregnant.  We had hoped our marriage would last all of our days. We had hoped the tests would come back negative.  But we had hoped she would stop drinking.  But we had hoped.  It is a statement of loss.  But we had hoped speaks of shattered dreams, and a future that will never be.

What have you lost?  How have you mourned that loss? Loss comes in all shapes, and colors, and sizes.  While we all will experience loss, we are not always ready to experience grief, either our own or someone else’s.  Our culture is much better at hiding our emotions than revealing our vulnerability.

We don’t know what to expect and how to respond. “I know what you are going through” is a false statement; no one person grieves like another person does.  There are people who cry uncontrollably and others who don’t cry at all.  Some people stay in shock for a while, unable to process what has happened. Although we all cope in our own way, you can expect someone suffering from a loss to be forgetful, and not as adept to handle stress.  Many people find comfort in talking about their memories of the one who died.

Contrary to a popular theory, grieving is not a linear process, passing through one stage on to another. There is no standard time-table for grieving.  There is no moving on, no getting over a significant loss as if it never happened, as if a door is shut and there will be closure. There is only moving forward, incorporating your loss into your present reality. Death is a loss that can leave a hole in our heart for the rest of our lives.

Sheryl Sandberg, who is ranked by Fortune Magazine as one of the 50 “Most Powerful Women in Business,” was on vacation with her husband in Mexico when he suffered a heart event that caused him to fall and hit his head.  He died at age 47 years, leaving behind his wife and two young children.  A few months after his death, Sheryl wrote about her experience:

I have learned that I never really knew what to say to others in need. I think I got this all wrong before; I tried to assure people that it would be okay, thinking that hope was the most comforting thing I could offer. A friend of mine with late-stage cancer told me that the worst thing people could say to him was “It is going to be okay.” That voice in his head would scream, How do you know it is going to be okay? Do you not understand that I might die? I learned this past month what he was trying to teach me. Real empathy is sometimes not insisting that it will be okay but acknowledging that it is not. When people say to me, “You and your children will find happiness again,” my heart tells me, Yes, I believe that, but I know I will never feel pure joy again. Those who have said, “You will find a new normal, but it will never be as good” comfort me more because they know and speak the truth. Even a simple “How are you?”—almost always asked with the best of intentions—is better replaced with “How are you today?” When I am asked “How are you?” I stop myself from shouting, My husband died a month ago, how do you think I am? When I hear “How are you today?” I realize the person knows that the best I can do right now is to get through each day.[2]

While they were talking about all that had happened, and still looking sad, Jesus drew near. They did not know it was Jesus walking with them in their grief. And Jesus remembered the tears he wept when his friend Lazarus died.  He thought about the pain in his mother’s eyes as she watched his life drain out of him on the cross. But we had hoped, the two travelers confessed to this stranger.  The crucified Jesus, the resurrected Jesus, stayed with them.

At the table, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them.  This is my body given for you. Their eyes were opened, and they knew.  They knew God’s love for them.  Their eyes were opened and they saw that, joined to Christ in the waters of baptism, they were, we are, clothed in God’s mercy and forgiveness.  They knew that nothing would ever separate them from God’s love, not death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation.[3]

But we had hoped, the disciples said, not realizing that God had done something better than they could ever hope for.  We are Easter people!  He is risen!  He is risen indeed! Alleluia!

[1] http://digg.com/2017/paris-policeman-eulogy, accessed April 19, 2017.

[2] http://www.businessinsider.com/sheryl-sandbergs-essay-on-dave-goldbergs-death-and-grief-2015-6 accessed April 17, 2017.

[3] Romans 8:38-39

John 20:1-18

Easter

An interesting news story caught my attention the other day.   I must say, It warms my heart for a three-year-old to want to know more about Jesus and the Easter Story.  Isla was having this deep theological conversation with her dad. “I just don’t understand what Easter is all about.  Why do you give me chocolate?” “I don’t get the Easter characters either. Are Easter Bunny and Jesus best pals?” Isla wants to know. “Is Easter Bunny in the Bible?” “Does he carry a large basket of eggs?” Isla asks. A woman after my own heart, Isla comes to her own logical conclusion.  “Does Jesus totally love chocolate then?”[1]  Yes, he does, Isla.  Yes, he does.

Isla isn’t the only one who is confused about Easter.  Mary and the disciples had some difficulty, too. Mary Magdalene was the one from whom Jesus had cast out seven demons. Jesus had loved Mary back into life, and she followed him. Mary was one of a few women who had stood at the foot of the cross, watching Jesus slowly die.

Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea wrapped Jesus’ lifeless body along with spices in linen cloth, and laid it in a new tomb.  It had been a few dark days.  While it was still dark, Mary went to the tomb. All her hopes and dreams were locked up in that tomb, and she went there to grieve.  That’s what you do when someone you love dies.

As she approached, Mary saw through the early morning shadows that the stone sealing Jesus’ grave had been moved.  The first to discover the empty tomb, she ran to get Simon Peter and the beloved disciple. Then the two men ran to see. They were neck in neck for a while, but the other disciple got there before Peter.  There’s nothing like competitive discipleship!  The beloved disciple bent down to look inside the tomb, and saw the grave cloths lying there and the cloth that had been on Jesus’ head rolled up and put aside. Peter went into the tomb, and saw for himself.

When the beloved disciple entered the empty tomb, he believed.  Peter would come to believe when he resurrected Christ came into the house despite the locked doors and showed the disciples the wounds on his hands and feet.  Our Gospel writer, John, tells us that neither Peter or the beloved disciple understood.  Mary didn’t either.

While the two disciples returned home, Mary stood crying outside the tomb.  Finally, she bent down and peaked in.  She saw two angels, and confessed that she didn’t know where Jesus’ body was.  Turning around, Mary saw someone she presumed was the gardener.  It was when Jesus called her name that she recognized him.  “I have seen the Lord!” she proclaimed to the disciples.

When Mary finally recognizes Jesus, she calls him, “Teacher,” which was who she understood him to be.  Jesus responds immediately, “Mary don’t cling to me; don’t hold on to me.”  This is what Easter says to us.  Whatever it is that you think you know about Jesus, don’t hold onto it because it is not enough.  Whatever you think you know about Jesus, there is more. The Gospels don’t ask us what we understand about Christ’s suffering and death and resurrection, or how we would formulate it into a systematic theology.  What they ask is, “Have you encountered the risen Christ?”[2]

We cannot nail Jesus down for good.  We cannot keep him in a tomb. We cannot hold onto him.  We can only surrender when Jesus calls our name.  We are to let go so that he can take us where he is.  Don’t hold onto me, Jesus tells us.   Don’t lock me inside your church.  Don’t box me in with your creeds. You didn’t expect God to become flesh and blood, but I did.  You didn’t expect a savior to enter into human suffering, and to be nailed to a cross, but there I was.  You did not expect the tomb to be empty, but it is.  I am where you least expect me to be.  

 I am at the hospital holding the baby crying out in pain as the chemotherapy drugs swarms through his veins.  I’m whispering words of love into the ear of the husband who is washing the feet his wife who no longer knows who he is. You can find me at the homeless shelter.  I’m the one whose entire belongings fit into a backpack. I am where enemies become friends, and war turns into peace.  You will experience me in forgiveness you don’t deserve, and in love that surprises.  I am grace in the wilderness.  I am light in the darkness.  I am in the dying and in the rising.

Where have you encountered the risen Christ?  “No one is ever ready to encounter Easter,” writes Craig Barnes, “until he or she has spent time in the dark place where hope cannot be seen. Easter is the last thing we are expecting. And that is why it terrifies us. This day is not about [chocolate] bunnies, springtime and girls in cute new dresses. It’s about more hope than we can handle“.[3]

Easter is only the beginning.  Because the tomb is empty, everything is possible. There is no need to hold on to the past, and the future is full of hope.  I have seen the Lord!  And you know, he wasn’t where I expected he would be!  He is risen!  He is risen indeed!  Alleluia!  Amen!

~Pastor Cheryl Ann Griffin

[1] http://www.today.nhely.hu/news/confused-3yearold-has-some-serious-questions-about-easter-traditions accessed April 13, 2017.

[2] I am indebted to Craig M. Barnes for this insight.

[3] http://www.christianitytoday.com/ct/2002/april1/3.46.html?start=2

John 13:1-17, 31b-35    

Maundy Thursday

 

You can smell the pot roast simmering as soon as you step through the door. The rolls baking in the oven instantly return you to the last time everyone showed up for dinner.  The kitchen is slightly warm and humid from the potatoes boiling on the stove. Joe’s brought a fruit salad, and Sue her famous salted caramel bars.  You quietly hope that Aunt Karin isn’t going to be the one to make the gravy.

Gathering for meals is something that we do to celebrate birthdays, retirement, Christmas, Easter or simply because.  “Let’s do this again,” we say as people head out the door.  Reflecting on the blessings of being together, we look at a calendar to find the next date.  There’s always a next time.  Until there isn’t.

Most of us don’t know when our last dinner together will be.  Jesus knew that this night would be his last gathering to break bread with the twelve.  They were the ones who had been his constant companions, who watched Jesus cry when Lazarus died, and stood in shock when, in anger, Jesus turned over tables in the temple.  They prayed with him, and learned from him.  Jesus had turned their lives upside down.  Tonight would be memorable.  Jesus knew.

Now before the festival of the Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father.  Well aware that his death was imminent, Jesus asked himself the questions that we also ask at significant points in our lives: Who am I?  What am I here for?  What matters most?[1] Then he composed his last will and testament.  I don’t know what is sadder,–for Jesus to know that it would be his meal with his disciples, or for the disciples not to know that there would be no other supper together again.

Jesus’ last meal with these disciples,–what an opportunity! Can you imagine what you might say if you were Jesus?  What is wrong with you guys?  You just don’t get me!  Especially you, Peter!  Thomas, you do nothing but doubt me.  Bartholomew, have you ever thought about changing barbers? And you, Judas!  I know more than you think I do!   Or Jesus could, like Pilate will do, wash his hands of them!  But Jesus is not like us.  According to John, here is what really happened….

And during supper, Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going to God, got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself.  Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him.  The Father had given all things into Jesus’ hands, and with his hands full, he lovingly held people’s feet.  With his hands, he washed the dirt out from between their toes, and washed their sins out from their hearts.  Instead of exposing their sin, Jesus poured out his love.

If you know anything about Peter, it comes as no surprise that he struggled with this.  Lord, are you going to wash my feet? You will never wash my feet! It was easier for Peter to help Jesus serve bread and fish than to let Jesus wash him. Unless I wash you, you have no share with me, Jesus answered.   Unless you let me touch you in this intimate way, I cannot help you.

It was difficult, embarrassing, and way too humbling to receive this grace from Jesus. So, Peter put himself back in charge of the situation, telling Jesus in a way that showed his misunderstanding, what to do.  Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head! Peter couldn’t see the Messiah in the form of a servant, or conceive of forgiveness contained in something so common as water and words.  How hard it is to be totally dependent on something we can’t possess and we cannot control.

After he had washed their feet, had put on his robe and had returned to the table, he said to them, “Do you know what I have done to you? Do you know, do we know, what Jesus has done?  Jesus has crossed the bounds of cultural animosity, healed little people and big people, gave sight to the blind, and asked, Do you want to be made well? He calmed the stormy seas and fed the hungry. Instead of demanding we serve him like a king, Jesus bends down and washes our filth away, and tells us to do the same. Wash not just the pedicured feet, but the calloused feet of the one who walks all day and night because there is no home to go to  to lie down.  Wash the dark skinned feet and the wrinkled feet. Wash the feet of those who misunderstand you.  Wash the feet of those who betray you.  Wash the wounded feet.

His forgiveness set us free from the garbage that stops us from loving each other with the kind of love that can only come from God.  That’s the kind of love Jesus had for Peter, Bartholomew, Judas, and the love Christ has for you and for me.

For I have set for you and example, that you also should do as I have done to you, Jesus tells us.  Ministry does not come from our own strength, but from God’s. We need to receive before we can give.  Before we can be the face of Jesus to others, we need to receive from Jesus. In the cleansing waters, our self-reliance, our being in control, our paradoxical sense of both pride and unworthiness give way to God’s passionate love for us.

Look at my hands and my feet, Jesus will say, showing us his wounds from the nails driven through his flesh to fasten him to a wooden cross. This is my body given for you. As Jesus has taken our scarred feet into his hands, so now we take into ourselves his wounded body in the bread and his blood in the wine.

In this humble act, Jesus answers those questions that we all ask:

Who am I?  I am the one who loves you, the one who saves you from sins.

What am I here for? To show you God.

What is most important?  That you love others as I love you.

The truth of who we are is who we are in Christ, baptized and washed clean, loved, scars and all.

~Pastor Cheryl Ann Griffin

[1] These questions are found in a book I am currently reading:  Kelly, Matthew.  Resisting Happiness.  Erlanger, KY, Beacon Publishing, 2016.  46.