I haven’t been posting my sermons online this summer not because I haven’t been preaching, but because I’ve been going it without a net. No text. Extemporaneously.
And that means no texts to post.
Which isn’t really fair, I know. Especially since summertime is upon us and some might not be making it to church and may want to hear snippets from the previous Sunday. So that’s what I’m doing today. Giving you the highlights, not the full sermon. Kinda like the Red Sox in 2. Except shorter.
This past Sunday the gospel text was from Matthew 13. Read it here.
Once upon a time there was a farmer, and one day he awoke to find his only horse had gotten out of the stable and run off. When the townspeople heard about they came to consul him, telling him how awful this was and that his horses fleeing must be so devastating.
“Maybe,” the farmer replied.
A few days later as he was out in his field, the farmer saw his horse racing back to the farm. With him were three other wild horses. When the townspeople heard, they came to him saying, “You must be so thrilled! How amazing that your horse came back and brought these three other horses with him! What a wonderful turn of events!”
“Maybe,” the farmer replied.
That weekend the man’s only son attempted to tame one of those new horses, and he fell and broke his leg. Upon hearing the news, the townspeople rushed to him, “How dreadful!” they said. “You must be so horrified to have your son injured this way. Truly this is downright awful.”
“Maybe,” he said.
Later that week, civil authorities came into town looking to take all the young men of the town off to war. The farmer’s son was left behind due to his broken leg. When the townspeople hear, they came to him. “You must be overjoyed that your son is not going off to war! This is unbelievable news!”
Jesus tells us a parable this morning about a farmer and some wheat. The farmer has done everything right, he’s planted the seeds, and is giving them lots of water and nutrients. However, sometime during the planting season, an enemy has come in and sown the seeds of some weeds, and done so without anyone knowing about it.
Did you catch it in our reading? It wasn’t until the grain began to appear that the workers of the field noticed the weeds. The Greek word is zizanion, and this type of weed looks exactly like wheat, that is until the grain head appears. And by that time, the weeds would have had their roots all tangled with the weeds. “Should we go and pull up all the weeds,” the servants ask. “No,” said the farmer. “Let’s wait.”
We like to make determinations about people and their status as wheat or weeds almost upon meeting them. We even use the same kind of language; “That girl over there, she’s a bad seed,” we’ll say. We make distinctions and tend to root people out right away from the field.
But Jesus says that that isn’t our job. We’re not called to judge.
A parishioner was telling me recently about a young man he met whose life had been turned around by Straight Ahead ministries. He was a former gang member, and had been shot at and stabbed. Through the ministry, he found Christ and his life was turned around. And now he was hoping to begin something new.
And he was terrified.
The parishioner looked at him and asked why, since he had been in a gang, and injured and all that. And he replied, “Because no one has ever believed in me. I’m terrified of this not working out and letting people down.”
We aren’t called to judge, that’s God’s work that will happen at the end of the age, by the angels no less. We “slaves” aren’t even inovlved in the process.
Instead, we’re called to tend the filed, to make conditions right for growing, and to go out and be wheat to the world. Wheat brings nourishment, and we’re called to be the body of Christ to a hurting world, to bring nourishment to them.
God wants to wait it out. God sees what we may think are weeds, and says, “Nope! That’s wheat. Watch what happens!” God is so patient with us. And when we say surely this person is wheat and that other is a weed, God looks down and says, “Maybe.”
I grew up in a pentecostal church, which meant that Pentecost was one of the few days on the liturgical calendar that we celebrated, although it often came out of nowhere and I wasn’t sure why we it was a big deal. My church experience has changed a lot since then, and that change began while attending a UCC church during my time in college. It was the minister there—Harold Bussell—who first preached about the idea of the Spirit controlling our tongues; that when the Spirit descended on Pentecost, the Spirit came in to our lives and began changing the way we speak.
That idea grabbed hold of me then and has never let go.
So this idea is not mine. But it is a very intriguing way to think about Pentecost and the idea of proclamation. With no further adieus….
I’ve heard of a marriage counselor that can predict in one session if a marriage will last or not. When he sits down to chat with the couple—whether they are already married or if they are engaged—he pays relatively little attention to what issues they are talking about–be it finances, in-laws, the kids, work, intimacy, whatever—and homes in on the way they are talking to one another. If there is any contempt in the exchange, he predicts that it will be an uphill battle at best for the relationship to last. Whether or not you agree with him, he’s on to something given his track record of prediction. How we talk to one another—how we make use of our tongues to communicate—is of vital importance to our relationships.
Tongues are funny things. They are, we’ve been told, one of the strongest muscles in the body. They control our speech, what we say, how we form our words. With the words our tongues form, we can do amazing things. And with other words formed by that same tongue we can destroy one another.
In his epistle, James writes about the tongue. He says, “A bit in the mouth of a horse controls the whole horse. A small rudder on a huge ship in the hands of a skilled captain sets a course in the face of the strongest winds. A word out of your mouth may seem of no account, but it can accomplish nearly anything—or destroy it! It only takes a spark, remember, to set off a forest fire. A careless or wrongly placed word out of your mouth can do that. By our speech we can ruin the world, turn harmony to chaos, throw mud on a reputation, send the whole world up in smoke and go up in smoke with it, smoke right from the pit of hell. This is scary: You can tame a tiger, but you can’t tame a tongue—it’s never been done. The tongue runs wild, a wanton killer. With our tongues we bless God our Father; with the same tongues we curse the very men and women he made in his image. Curses and blessings out of the same mouth! My friends, this can’t go on.” (From James 3, The Message Bible)
In the movie “How to Train Your Own Dragon,” the protagonist, a teen aged Viking named Hiccup, tries desperately hard to fit in with the other Vikings of his village. But he’s scrawny and weak, and while he tries his best to be a dragon hating person like them, he just can’t. Instead, he befriends a dragon that has been hurt and takes care of him like a pet. When his father, the chief of their village, learns that Hiccup’s been taking care of a dragon, he is overcome with rage. At the end of an angry diatribe, he looks at Hiccup before storming out and says, “You are not my son.”
He is crushed, of course, this teen-aged boy who longs for the acceptance of his father. As are any of us when someone spews angry words at us. No matter how many times we may repeat that rhyme from childhood, words hurt a lot, and often more than sticks or stones, because the damage can last a lifetime. I’m sure some of you can either recall words spoken to you, or words that you gave voice to, that you now wish you could remove from existence.
When the Spirit comes on Pentecost, isn’t it remarkable that after the rush of wind and the flames of fire alighting on the heads of all those there, the very next sign is that the disciples begin to speak in other languages as the Spirit prompted them. The Spirit controls their tongues. Immediately they begin to speak in other tongues, not unintelligible words, but they speak in the languages of each group gathered there, as the Spirit guided their tongues. They proclaim the message of God and God’s work of salvation in the world.
Proclamation. That’s what this day—this last day of the Great 50 Days of Easter —is about. Proclaiming the good news of Jesus Christ. And that good news can be summed up in one word: transformation.
But we cannot make these proclamations about how Jesus Christ transforms us if our tongues aren’t under control. We cannot be a messenger of Jesus’ good news if we are constantly spouting off at our mouths, saying why this person or group of people upsets us, or how ridiculous they are, or how that person is really just an idiot.
If we want to truly be a part of the kingdom, then we must allow the Spirit to control our tongues. And that means major transformation on the inside as well.
A friend of mine a couple of years ago underwent significant change in his life. He changed old habits and took on new ones. When I spoke with him about this, he wondered why it had taken him so long. “If I had known what a difference this would make in my life, I would have started so much earlier,” he said to me.
“Yes,” I replied. “But thank God that you began now.” What I was trying to say to him was this: Don’t shame and guilt yourself in the ways you have failed in the past. Deal with them, yes. Recognize why you did certain things. Learn from the past. But don’t beat yourself up because you didn’t have the courage to tackle them earlier, and didn’t ultimately trust then that God could bring about the change you so desperately needed. Rather, relish in the fact that God is working now. Take joy in the transformation that is going on now. Be joyful for the years ahead, now that you are changed and continue to be changed.
Transformation. That is the work of the Triune God. To break down the barriers of sin, to offer forgiveness, to shower us with mercy and grace. To help us become the people we are called to be, and to bring our tongues into alignment with that call as well. People that share the love of Jesus Christ with a broken world. People who are about the work of the kingdom of God.
And the question is this: Do you want the Spirit to bring transformation to every part of your being—to your tongue, your heart and your mind? Do you want to be about the work of the kingdom of God? Don’t worry about what you haven’t done up to this point, or how you might have been able to do more, or whatnot. What can you do now? How can you allow God to move in you? How can you more faithfully become a disciple of Jesus Christ?
We cannot become those who have visions or prophesy or dream dreams if we are always spouting off at the mouth. We cannot be the church unless we allow the Spirit to move in us and through us and to bring about change in us. And I would argue that our tongues—the very first thing the Spirit takes over in those disciples on that Pentecost Day so long ago—are where many of us need the Spirit’s leading, transformation and healing.
Perhaps you need to make amends with a family member or a friend over something you said to them that you now regret. Maybe you have hurt your spouse or children with words said out of spite. Perhaps you need Jesus to bring healing to a wound inflicted long ago when someone hurt you with their words. Possibly you’ve been feeling prompted by the Spirit to say something to a hurting co-worker or neighbor, but haven’t spoken to them because you are nervous about how they will respond. Or maybe you need to seek forgiveness from God because your words have been filled with contempt, especially toward those you live with and love.
If we are to be a vital part of Jesus’ kingdom work, then we must invite the Spirit to work in us and through us. To be counted among those of the kingdom, then we need to open ourselves up to the Spirit’s transformative power. When we do so, when we become willing to the Spirit’s leading, then we too can be like Peter, James and Mary and all the rest on that day who shared the message of Jesus with all those gather there, so that these others might also call on the name of the Lord, and be saved. That is the true gift of the Spirit. May we be empowered to proclaim the good news. Amen.
I’m really in awe of the Apostle Paul in the story from Acts 17. He’s in Athens waiting for some friends, but then he sees all the idols and altars the Athenians have made. What he does is look at their culture finding the good qualities. He engages with the culture he sees and uses it as a jumping point to talk about Christ. Rather than saying, “Hey, you need to worship like me, you heathens!” he commends them for their deep spirituality.
So, I’ve been pondering what he might say to us. This sermon is something of an outgrowth of that.
Paul does something pretty amazing in the story we heard from Acts this morning. While he’s in Athens waiting for his friends Silas and Timothy to arrive, he goes wandering around the city. We’re told he’s distressed that there are so many idols. But notice he doesn’t unleash rhetoric on why they are so bad about this or how they are disobeying God’s commands. Rather, he looks for their good qualities—their longings—and seeks to tell them about Christ through what they are already longing for.
He tells them he’s seen this altar with the inscription “To an Unknown God.” He knows that there are deeply spiritual people, that there is a longing deep within them to connect with the spiritual realm. And so he tells them, I want to introduce you to the Unknown God, who is, in fact, the Creator of the Universe. Paul shares with them the message of creation, how God made us, not how we fashion gods of our own devices. He tells them that the Creator doesn’t live in temples or shrines or other buildings, that God doesn’t need us to wait hand and foot on him, as if God somehow needed us to do that.
But what God does, Paul tells them, is gives us plenty of time and space in order to truly seek after God; more than just groping around blindly in the dark trying to find God. God longs to be known by us in order to bring about a better life for us and in this created world. God desires repentance, true life-change, and God will one day have us give an account of our lives, with Jesus the resurrected one as our judge.
We in this day and age live our lives with great passions as well. While we don’t erect shrines for idols as such—although on the week when the latest American Idol was crowned, it’s a little hard to make this statement—we do build massive stadiums to follow our sports teams—and what a great week it has been for that as well as the Bruins get back to Stanley Cup playoffs for the first time in over 20 years and the Red Sox have moved into first place after their ghastly start. We also honor education, and the arts, great food and spending time outdoors doing recreational activities. We do these things because of the longing for joy that we have. We think that if the home town team wins, or we hear a wonderful performance or hike a gorgeous trail or get the elusive degree, if any of those things happen then we will find what we have been searching for. Inner peace. Joy. Wholeness. When that inevitably doesn’t happen—when we didn’t find completeness after the Sox won not just one but two World Series—we go searching for something else. Maybe the answer would be found in weight loss or a new love interest or other pursuits.
But if Paul were here, I’d think he’d tell us that while our longings for some many things is noble—and in fact God-given—that what we don’t recognize is that we are truly longing for God. For God’s unconditional love for us. God’s deep desire to be known by us. God’s longing for us to not just grope around blindly but to truly seek after and find God and the life God always intended for us.
Whenever we talk about God, however, our defenses go up. We say things like, “Well, I’m spiritual but not religious.” Which is a code way of saying that we don’t like organized religion (or disorganized religion, for that matter). We don’t care for institutions, or the people who run them, because often such places are full of hypocrites or demand us to give them our money or make us live our lives in a certain way.
Yet, the reality is, that sentiment doesn’t actually make sense. You cannot be spiritual without being religious as well. You might try to have spirituality feed a longing in you, but soon you’ll tire of whatever you are trying and move on to something else. If you are truly spiritual, you’ll recognize that you cannot do that work alone, neither can you do it haphazardly. Being religious—that is, being dutiful in your commitments to the faith you desire—is best done (and I would argue, only done) in community. By connecting with others we can explore the deep longings we all have—seeing them as gifts from God, an innate curiosity to discover the goodness of God and to have fullness of life—and in doing so together, deepen our devotion to God.
In order to satiate our desires, we often pursue things that we think will make us feel fulfilled—we entertain ourselves, seek comforts, look for joy wherever we can find it—but in the end, many of us feel unfulfilled. And so we ask ourselves is this all there is? When we reach something we’ve been longing for and see that it doesn’t bring the serenity, we have deep questions.
I was a big fan of the TV series Lost, a drama that told the stories of the survivors of a plane crash who ended up on a mysterious island in the Pacific Ocean. We learn along the way that the characters—like Jack, the gifted surgeon with significant issues around his father, and Kate, a fugitive on the run—cannot get away from their pasts even on this island where no one seems to know them. Many of the survivors had achieved something they were longing for in life—a big pay off, the end to problems, marriage, success—yet even when they had, they still longed for something more. They were left searching for something else.
And so they were both literally and figuratively lost. They were searching for meaning, for something else that was more elusive in their life.
So are we. All of the pursuits we have and enjoy, all the hobbies, and the work and the things that delight us and entertain us, and those things that distract us, the addictions, the vices, all of it grows out of deep yearning from within. A profound ache in our souls.
That for which we long is wholeness. To be fully known. To experience true joy.
And that is found in following Christ. The God of Creation—the One who made us—knows our longings and wants to bring us wholeness, reconciliation and healing. God does this when we seek for him, when we turn our full attention to God and God’s work of establishing his kingdom.
It’s important for me to say this, because this is the work that I feel called to do as your priest. In a few days, I will officially be installed as your rector, and I want the focus of my ministry to be on inviting all of us into a more meaningful relationship with Christ, in sharing the good news with our neighbors, and working together in service to the world. I personally know that it is when I do these things that I find myself experiencing great joy in my life. While things I may pursue for myself in the world are fleeting, the things of God are lasting.
So that is why I desire to focus on faith formation for all ages, in outreach, providing opportunities to connect with one another, and above all else to live authentically as disciples of Jesus. I want to point all of us to the one we’ve been longing for, whether we know it or not. The God of the Universe is for many in our society the Unknown God, but that doesn’t stop God from reaching out to us. God is so full of love for us—we heard it again this morning in John’s gospel—and God wants us to become the people God created us to be. Our longings can indeed be satisfied when we actively pursue God through Jesus Christ.
Will we? Will we seek and find the God of Creation? Or will continue to push God aside as we follow after all that is short-lived in our world hoping to find contentment and joy? God longs for us, and whether we know it or not, we long for God too. May we, as we continue our journey forward both find God and be found by God. Amen.
It was a great day yesterday at St. Mark’s. I was given the great blessing to baptize 8 young ones and welcome them on behalf of the church into the Christian faith. And whenever I baptize someone I am reminded to think seriously about my own baptismal promises, and the desire I have to follow Christ on the way. Our gospel was from John 14 when Jesus tells his disciples that he is the way. As I mention in the sermon, since I’m reading Eugene Peterson’s book The Jesus Way with the vestry right now, I couldn’t help but to draw form it and make connections.
So, here it is. A baptismal sermon on the importance of following Jesus on the way.
I’ve been thinking a great deal about Jesus’ words that we heard this morning, especially when he says that his disciples know the way to the place where he is going. Thomas—always seeming to speak aloud what many of us are thinking—says, “Lord, we don’t know where you are going. How can we know the way?” To which Jesus responds, “I am the way, and the truth and the life.” Jesus is the way.
And the way of Jesus is always a way of humility, of peace, of love. A way of sacrifice and of giving, a way of reaching out to those on the margins. It is a way of life. Your vestry has been reading Eugene Peterson’s book The Jesus Way together this year, and in our reading so far we have looked at how the way of American culture—and even the way many churches operate in the US—is extremely different, if not downright destructive of, the way of Jesus. Peterson focuses on how our society and our churches have become places where consumerism is king. Our wants and desires need to be met and fulfilled, so we believe all that Madison Ave. has to tell us and go looking for salvation in a plethora of ways.
Peterson writes, “We Americans have developed a culture of acquisition, an economy that is dependent on wanting more, requiring more. We have a huge advertising industry designed to stir up appetites we didn’t even know we had. We are insatiable…. If we have a nation of consumers, obviously the quickest and most effective way to get them into our congregations is to identify what they want and offer it to them, satisfy their fantasies, promise them the moon, recast the gospel in consumer terms: entertainment, satisfaction, excitement, adventure, problem solving, whatever. This is the language we Americans grew up on, the language we understand.”
The problem is that the American way for church is downright more exciting to our tastes than the Jesus way. Especially when you have a story like the one we heard this morning about Stephen being martyred for his faith in Jesus. If the Jesus way leads to death, are we sure we want to follow this way?
And let’s make no bones about it: Jesus’ way does lead to death. Death to self, to our desires, to that which says “me first” in our lives. Jesus’ way is the way of the cross. And talking about self-sacrifice is not easy nor always appreciated. But it is the way of Jesus.
We’ll hear language about death as we go to the baptismal font today. Whey we gather there, we’ll pray, “We thank you, Father, for the water of Baptism. In it we are buried with Christ in his death. By it we share in his resurrection. Through it we are reborn by the Holy Spirit.” We die to sin and are led to eternal life.
And the life we’ll invite these eight children into this morning here at St. Mark’s is one that is challenging. We’ll welcome these young ones into a life of building relationships, of serving others. When we give our lives to the way of Jesus, while we aren’t promised riches or having all of our needs met, or even happiness at every turn, we are promised a deep and meaningful life. The way of the cross is, as our prayer book puts it, the way of life and truth.
To be fully alive means above all else that we live relational lives, that we live incarnationally. We can invest in the people who live with us and near us—our neighbors—and recognize that we can make a difference in this world right now. Just before Jesus told his disciples he was the way, he showed them what his way meant as he washed their feet at the last supper. Taking time to serve, to take someone else’s feet and gently wash them, to see that we all need support and care and that we can truly change each other’s lives.
That’s where the American way has fallen down. We have lost our connection with one another. We have grown further and further apart from one another, thinking instead that people are merely objects, they are the way to meet our desires. We tend to think that we are islands, as those who can live walled off from one another. We need to be reminded from time to time by the John Donne’s and the John bon Jovi’s of the world that none of us is an island.
So when these children take these vows, and when we all renew our baptismal covenant this morning, what we say is that we will follow the way of Jesus, no matter where it takes it, as best we can with God’s help. We will not put ourselves first. We will seek to share the good news of Christ. The news that the Christian life isn’t spent to be worrying about when judgment day is coming, nor how to get to heaven, but how to bring Jesus’ message of hope, love, and peace to a broken world, to our broken worlds.
And that is ultimately what the Jesus way is about. Life. Healing. Restoration. Renewal. When we die to ourselves, we find life in Christ. We find a life that is based in the here and now and not just some time in the future. May we find Jesus to be the way we follow. May we see that the way to God entails self-sacrifice and extravagant love. May we become aware of Jesus’ desire to bring reconciliation, and may we bring his reconciliation to others. And may we, on this day, remember that we have been marked as his followers, and may we have the courage to follow wherever he leads. Amen.
We’re on Day 22 of our Great 50 Days of Easter, and our lessons turn from Resurrection Appearances to how we are to follow Jesus. We got the great lesson from Acts 2 where we hear that tons of people began to follow the Way of Jesus and devoted themselves to this endeavor.
It’s enough to make any clergy person giddy.
So that’s what I talk about in my sermon. Here you go.
Easter 4A—Acts 2:42-47
If you talk to clergy about the reading we heard from the Acts of the Apostles this morning, you will probably encounter some good old- fashioned envy. What we clergy know as well is that in the previous verse we hear the results of Peter’s first sermon on the Day of Pentecost. Luke, the author of Acts, writes, “So those who welcomed his message were baptized, and that day about three thousand persons were added. They devoted themselves to the apostle’s teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers.” It’s a pastor’s utopia, with the people spending much time at the temple, with their generous hearts sharing their possessions with one another and the Lord adding to their number each day. A priest could sit and daydream about such a place for hours.
But then something in our heads pops up and says, “Wake up and smell the coffee. Such a place doesn’t exist, at least not today.” It’s easy to give in to this “nostalgia for those biblical days,” as one pastor put it. But, he warns, “from there it is a short step to nostalgia for our own church’s better days, when pews were full, programs were exciting and we had an impact on the large community.” We don’t live in those times anymore, for better or for worse. We live in the here and now, and longing for the past will leave us blind to the present. It will so shade our understanding of things that we will lose our focus and mission in the present day.
So I want to assure you that this is not a sermon in which I ask why you all can’t be more like those first converts a couple of millennia ago, which would lead to me pointing a stern finger and having you all feel guilty and also questioning your desire to ever come back here again. I want to live in the present day, and see it for the blessing and challenge that it is. “Holding all things in common,” and pooling all of our money won’t work today, and in fact, it wasn’t even something that happened in other churches throughout Acts.
Yet I don’t want to go on as if there is nothing to learn from this text either. This is a challenging piece of scripture if we allow ourselves to hear it. Rather than imagining clergy nirvana, what might these verses be saying to us in 2011—this post-modern, fragmented, overly-busy world that we live in?
Personally I am not really struck by the sharing of money here, but by the deep building of community that happened. We’re told that these new converts “devoted themselves to the apostle’s teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers.” Those words may sound familiar, since it is the first of five questions asked of us when we renew our baptismal covenant or baptize someone for the first time. “Will you continue in the apostle’s teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of the bread and in the prayers?” we are asked. “I will with God’s help,” we respond whole heartedly.
They did this, these first followers of Christ. They devoted themselves to this. They spent much time, day by day, together. In worship, in sharing meals. In living their lives in community.
If I had to speculate about what keeps many of us from this kind of life—that is a life centered on our faith, building community, saying the prayers—I would say quite certainly that for many it is one thing. Time. We are so mind-numbingly busy in our day and age that we hardly have time to rest, let alone fully putting our faith into practice. We are overly scheduled. Both us and our kids. Even those who are retired will often say that they have never been busier in their lives. Often in social settings this topic comes up, and we talk about our over-loaded schedules almost with a sense of pride, each trying to outdo the other. We think it makes us important. Or we don’t know how to say no. Or we are scared to face the demons of our inner life so we keep ourselves busy so that we never have to.
I promised not to head down the road of nostalgia to a time when 24 hours was magically longer than it is today, nor would I stand up here and point a finger saying that you must add more things to your overly-extended calendars. So how do we do this? How do we devote ourselves to the life Jesus wants for us as his followers?
If there were easy answers, I could write the book and make a bundle. Many have tried, of course, and the results are all somewhat unsatisfying. There aren’t magic bullets in the spiritual life, no pill we can take that will somehow make everything better. It is, I think, as Eugene Peterson puts it, a long obedience in the same direction. I think it takes intentionality and perseverance. Without either of those two, our faith life will take a back seat to the other distractions in our lives. And for many of us—a great deal in fact—it’s because we don’t know how to live into this life. We haven’t been taught how, or given a reason to see its importance. And that, if I am honest, is because we who are clergy have failed you. We have for too long felt as if we needed to hold the information to ourselves and give it out in palatable doses, or we think that you aren’t mature enough or intelligent enough to handle such a life, or we think that you won’t listen to us anyway so why should we bother. Or, if I am even more honest, it’s because many of us haven’t been really taught how to live this type of life ourselves. And for that, on behalf of all the clergy you have known and let you down, I am truly sorry.
You see, I think Jesus invites us into a better life. The way life is meant to be. Peace in our homes, deep and lasting friendships, time set aside for prayer, caring for one another, enjoyment of God’s many blessings, compassion for those who face injustice, having generous hearts, finding fulfillment in the work we do in this world. But this life often gets lost in the busyness of our days.
I’ve recently discovered a blog written by Michael Hyatt, the chairman of the board for Thomas Nelson Publishing. He writes a great deal about productivity and the things that steal our time, and about intentionality. He says that many of us spend more time planning our vacations than we spend on planning our lives. We live from moment to moment, crisis to crisis, experience to experience. And so we may, like I have been doing this weekend, give hours of our time to watching the Red Sox and Yankees, while also feeling as if we have no time to devote to the life we desire. If you desire a certain type of life—and I hope you’re like me and desire the life that Jesus wants for us—you have to make a plan.
That sounds so much like a First World problem, but in my understanding of things, I cannot think of any other way to put it. If we start with the reality of our overly-busy lives (also a First World problem), then most of us cannot address our desire for a new life without intentionality. If we desire authenticity in faith and devotion to Jesus, we must begin somewhere. And we begin best of all by making a covenant to look at our lives honestly to see where we spend our time, and then finding a way—even if it’s small—to begin living the life Christ calls us to.
Imagine if each person at St. Mark’s covenanted to spend 10 minutes each morning and each evening in prayer and reading of scripture. 20 minutes a day. The average adult watches somewhere between 3.5 to 5 hours of television a day. You may not be the average adult, but I suspect you could find that pocket of time for prayer if you wanted to.
And I want to covenant with you that I will be a priest that provides you with the tools you need to live this life. I will spend my days by giving you ideas and tips for living this way, in deepening relationships with you, in providing opportunities for you to devote yourselves to the apostle’s teaching and fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers. And I will invite you to walk alongside me, and share in this leadership. I cannot do this work alone–that is a damaging fallacy that has run its course much too long in our churches. All of the disciples, and apostles were lay people. They were folks like you who had families and day jobs and had to pay their taxes and all the rest. The Way Jesus invites us into is not only for those who are seminary trained. We are all called to walk in this way, to grow and deepen in our faith and to share that faith with others.
If as a community St. Mark’s lived in this fashion, I bet we would see the same sorts of things happening here that they saw in the Early Church. That we would worship together, sharing meals with one another with a spirit of generous hospitality, praising God for our many blessings and caring deeply about the goodwill of all people. This is the life Jesus holds out before us. I pray that we intentionally desire this life for us and for others in this community, and that we devote ourselves to authentically following Christ. Amen.
 Gary Neal Hansen, “Acts 2:42-47 Theological Perspective,” in Feasting on the Word: Year A Vol. 2, eds David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor. Pg 424.
I’m behind a bit in posting my sermons. This was the one from last week. And this week I preached without a net, as a friend puts it, more extemporaneously and not using a written text. I thought about recording it, but left my iPhone at home.
So, here’s a sermon to reflect on about Thomas. Check out the passage here: John 20:19-31.
Easter 2A—John 20:19-31
I think Thomas gets a bad rap. I mean our reading starts out with Jesus showing up, saying “Shalom” and the other disciples not knowing it was Jesus until he showed them his hands and his side. Once he does this, John tells us, then the rejoiced. It took the whole “hands and side” business to get them to believe it was really Jesus.
But Thomas wasn’t there, for whatever reason, so he missed out. When the others tell him that they’ve seen the Lord, he declares that he won’t believe unless he sees Jesus’ hands and side, too. In other words, if he sees what they have already seen, then he’ll believe. Thomas does have a flair for the dramatic with his desire to place his finger in the actual wounds, but in the end, he wants what they already got.
Rather than focusing on the doubting aspect of this, I can’t help but notice once again John using the words “see” and “seeing” in this context. “Seeing” is all over John’s narrative; he made a point of it right from his prologue about the incarnation “We have seen his glory” he writes at the beginning of the gospel. When he meets some of the disciples, he tells them to “Come and see.” And of course, we had the story about the man born blind and how the Pharisees couldn’t really see even though they thought they could.
Now, at the tail end of this gospel, we get Thomas. When Jesus does show up again on the next Sunday evening, Thomas is in the room. Jesus greets them all the same way, “Shalom” and then immediately addresses Thomas. “Put your fingers here in my hand. Reach out your hand and place it in my side. Don’t doubt but believe.” Thomas replies with the most direct statement of faith in John’s gospel, “My Lord and my God!” To which Jesus replies, “Do you believe because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet come to believe.”
If we are honest, we can admit that there are many times in our lives when we are like Thomas. There are times when our faith in Jesus wanes because we do not see him as one who lives and works in our lives. Instead we hear the accounts of others, how Jesus has appeared in their lives, and we stand off in the distance alone. We have seen the cross, we know that Jesus died, and we think that resurrection and transformation might be a cruel joke. We don’t see. And unless we experience Jesus ourselves, unless we see real proof and not just hear the words of others, we won’t ever believe.
The children’s book The Polar Express tells the story of a young boy who is lying awake on Christmas night hoping to hear the sound of bells from Santa’s sleigh. As he lies awake waiting, he finally hears something, but it isn’t the ringing of bells, it is the hissing of steam and the squeaking of metal. He jumps out of bed to see a train waiting in front of his house. He sees a conductor get off the train, look at his pocket watch and wait. The boy tiptoes downstairs and runs to the train, as the conductor shouts, “All aboard.” “Where are you going?” the boy asks. “The North Pole,” he replies, “This is the Polar Express, are you coming?” Excitedly, the boy gets on the train.
It is filled with other children all still in their pajamas and robes, and they are served the best hot chocolate the boy has ever tasted. They join together singing Christmas carols as the train continues to travel. They look outside to see the trees of forests, and the lights of towns in the distance. After coming over high mountains, they began to travel across the Polar ice cap, and the boy can see the North Pole in the distance, the lights glimmering in the night. The children learn that the elves are gathering in the center of the city to see Santa give the first gift of Christmas. “Who gets the first gift?” the boy asks. “Santa will choose one of you,” the conductor replies.
Upon arriving at the stop, all the children climb out to see the most wonderful spectacle before them. Hundreds and hundreds of elves are gathered together, with Santa’s sleigh in the middle of a circle. The reindeer are impatiently moving around and their bells make a magical sound. Santa walks over to the group of children, and says, “Let’s have this one here,” pointing to the boy. The boy comes to Santa, they walk to his sleigh, and then Santa asks him, “What would you like for Christmas?” The boy knew he could ask for anything in the world, but what he really wanted was one of the bells from the sleigh. Santa smiled at him and asked one of the elves to cut off a bell. He then held it up, and exclaimed, “The first gift of Christmas!” and gave the silver bell to the boy, who put it into his pocket.
Almost immediately, the boy was helped down from the sleigh and Santa took off, as the children were led back to the train. When they had gotten back on, the other children clamored around the boy, asking to see the bell, and when he reached into his pocket he felt nothing but a hole. The bell had slipped out. Just as they were going to go out and look for it, the train lurched, and began to move. They were going home.
The boy was devastated. When he the train finally reached his house, he said good-bye, and walked sadly to his house. “Merry Christmas!” the conductor shouted, and the Polar Express let out a whistle blast, and the boy waved from his open door.
The next morning, the boy and his sister, Sarah, opened their gifts. When they had opened all that were there, Sarah found a small package by the back of the tree. It was addressed to the boy. “Found this on the seat of my sleigh. Get that hole fixed! Mr. C.” Inside was the silver bell. The boy was ecstatic, and he rang that bell so he could hear the magical sound again. “That’s a pity,” said his mother. “It seems to be broken. It’s not ringing at all.” The boy learned that when he shook the bell he could hear it, and so could Sarah, but his parents didn’t hear a thing.
He writes at the end of the book, “At one time most of my friends could hear the bell, but as years passed, it fell silent for all of them. Even Sarah found one Christmas that she could no longer hear its sweet sound. Though I’ve grown old, the bell still rings for me as it does for all those who truly believe.”
And in the end that is what it comes down to for us. Jesus can offer us wholeness and peace, but only if we believe. Jesus can transform us into being Easter people, into people who live in and help bring about resurrection in our lives and in the lives of others through his power, but only if we believe. Jesus is here each week, and when we come we are given the chance to see him, we are given the chance to reach our hands out and touch him. We have the opportunity to see him standing here before us for what he is, our Lord and our God. But to see him, we must truly believe.
As we come to this table to receive his body and blood, we are able to hold him in our hands, and to receive him again. “Peace be unto you,” he says to us. “Shalom, completeness, wholeness be yours.” If we believe he can do his work in our lives, we can become the people he has called us to be. People of the resurrection. People who live transformed lives. And in this way, he can send us out to continue to do his work in the world through the power of the Holy Spirit.
We are told at the very end of our Gospel lesson that Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples which aren’t written down. And in the next chapter, John says the same sort of thing, claiming that if they were written down that the world itself wouldn’t be able to contain the books that could be written. I think one of those reasons is because Jesus is still working signs in the presence of his disciples. Jesus is still working in us and there continue to be signs of his work. We see it in our lives and in the lives of others. With Easter comes true peace and wholeness for those who believe and declare Jesus to be both Lord and God. May we always be blessed as those who truly believe because we have seen the very presence of Christ working among us, and may we always go from this place sharing the message of Christ’s peace with others. Amen.
We celebrate the resurrection of Christ anew this day, and it was wonderful to share this first Easter with the good people of St. Mark’s. Great day with wonderful weather this morning, an amazing egg hunt outside, and great joy! He is risen, indeed!
Easter Day 2011 — John 20:1-18
It’s early on Sunday when Mary goes to the tomb where they buried Jesus only a couple of days before. They had already wrapped his body with linen cloths and spices, so there was no reason for her to come to the site, except of course because she was mourning the loss of this one she loved so much. She did what many of us have done after a death, she went to the grave, to touch the place where his body lies, thinking about all the things that had filled her life before, wishing she could have it all back.
When she gets there, things aren’t as they were. The large stone has been pushed back, and immediately she thinks the worst, that grave robbers have done their evil work. In a rush of fear and uncertainty, she turns around and runs to the place where the disciples are staying, and tells them that someone has taken Jesus’ body.
Immediately, Peter and John—that disciple whom Jesus loved—spring up and run to the garden where Jesus was buried. They sprint, probably hoping to catch the perpetrators of this crime, or because they don’t believe Mary’s words. Maybe she got it wrong, went to the wrong place, or just imagined this due to her grief. They get to the garden, and find the stone rolled back. John hesitates a moment or two outside the cave, but Peter runs right into the tomb. He sees the linen cloths lying there, but nothing else. John then comes in to, and sees the head cloth rolled up, the wrappings just lying there, empty. Our gospel writer says he believed, but we don’t know what he believes. Is it Mary’s story? Is it something else? We don’t know. We just know that after they saw this, the two disciples turn around and leave the tomb and go home.
But Mary stays behind, standing near the tomb, weeping. The rush of emotion she is feeling would have been incomprehensible. She watched as this teacher she followed was put to an excruciating death, and she probably took part in preparing his body for burial. There is denial and anguish in just losing him, but then to come and find that his body has been stolen, that was just too much to bear. She is overcome by it all and breaks down.
In the midst of all this, she bends down to see for herself. She looks into the empty tomb, and surprisingly sees these two men in white. “Why are you weeping?” they ask. “They’ve taken away my Lord,” she stammers, “and I don’t know where they have taken him.” Then turning around she notices this man, probably the gardener coming to do his morning work. He asks her the same question, “Why are you weeping?” She thinks he may be the one who did something, and says, “Sir, if you’ve carried him off, tell me where you have laid him and I will take him away.”
He looks down with compassion on her and utters a single word: her name. Immediately the recognition of this word washes over her. He knows her name; she can’t believe but it’s true, the one she’s been looking for is standing before her. He is very much alive. He is risen. “Teacher!” she exclaims, and she rushes to give him a huge hug, so glad to have him back.
But Jesus won’t let her touch him, “Do not hold on to me,” he tells her. He has yet to ascend to his Father. Surely she’s confused about this since she just wants to grab his hand and run back with him to the disciples to show them that he is alive.
Instead, Jesus instructs Mary to deliver a message to the disciples, and say that he is on his way to the Father. We aren’t told if anything else is said, or if Jesus just disappears or walks away. We only know that Mary makes her way back to disciples and ecstatically proclaims that she has seen the Lord.
It is at that moment that Jesus’ resurrection truly happens. The mysterious event that took place in the tomb happened without any earthly witnesses. Peter and John and Mary all came to the tomb after the fact. If all they had seen was the emptiness, they cloths just lying there and nothing else, they would have assumed that Mary was right, that someone had come and stolen the body. The shell of what was left behind didn’t explain anything. It only left unanswered questions.
Barbara Brown Taylor writes, “What happened in the tomb was entirely between Jesus and God. For the rest of us, Easter began the moment the gardener said, ‘Mary!’ and she knew who he was. That is where the miracle happened and goes on happening — not in the tomb but in the encounter with the living Lord.” If we came here this morning looking for the resurrection by peering into an empty tomb, we will miss it all together.
The resurrection plays out in ten thousand places, when we encounter the risen Lord. It’s in the daily living, in sharing a cup of coffee with a friend, or biking a trail, or reading a book that impacts your life, or writing a letter to a child you sponsor in Africa. It’s in the time of quiet reflection and prayer, in helping out at the homeless shelter, or putting an extra box of Cheerios in your cart for the food bank. The resurrection happens when you help an elderly neighbor with her yard work, or you seek to be reconciled with someone you love. Resurrection takes place in all the big and small ways we share the love of Jesus Christ with a broken and hurting world. It happens when we come to this place and listen to God’s word, and break the bread and drink from the cup. It happens when we live as his disciples and are about the work of his kingdom, living lives of repentance and joy.
Some come to Easter morning expecting just the opposite of Mary. Some come expecting the empty tomb and the stone rolled back and the body gone. But that isn’t where the resurrection is. Sometimes we hold on to the notions in our minds about the way things are to be with Jesus and us, the way our interactions with Christ have been before, primarily on our terms, and think that that is the resurrection in our lives. We may like the way things have been and want to keep everything the same. But when we encounter the risen Christ—when we encounter the resurrection—things change. “Don’t hold on to me,” he says to Mary and to us. “You can’t keep me the way I was before. Things are changed, and you are changed as well.”
You see when one story ends, another story always begins. We cannot hold onto the earthly Jesus anymore than Mary could. Nor can we hold on to the earthly memories about the way things were before in our lives, whatever we use to mark that time before. Before my wedding, or the start of my new job. Before the accident or the day I graduated, or before my world fell apart, or before my children were born. No matter what happened before, we cannot hold on to it, nor onto the way we encountered Christ at that time. Rather we must look ahead. We need to see that the resurrection is not a return to the past, but a movement to the future.
What will resurrection look like in your life now? Will this season of Easter be the time when you recognize the risen Lord in a new way? He comes to us today offering us life—forgiveness and joy and hope and love.
The miracle of Easter that began in the garden continues on. It happens to us when we hear the gardener say our name—Mark! Laura! Rebecca! Tom! We experience the mystery of this day when we turn to Jesus, recognizing him as our Lord, and joyfully exclaim, “Teacher!” We experience the resurrection when we let go of the way things should be and run to those who share our lives with us, and ecstatically proclaim that we have seen the Lord. That is the beauty of this day. That is why we gather on this morning to celebrate. That is why we are here at this table, so that we too might experience the risen Christ.
Alleluia! Christ is risen!
 Barbara Brown Taylor, “Escape from the Tomb” Christian Century. April 1, 1998, Pg 339. Online at http://www.religion-online.org/showarticle.asp?title=640
 Eugene Peterson, Christ Plays in Ten Thousand Places.
My take on the perennial question via my sermon for Good Friday.
Good Friday— John 18:1-19:42
It’s a question that gets asked every year, I suspect. Usually the younger ones are able to verbalize it, but I know that many of the adults are thinking the same thing. It was my 7 year-old niece Lily who asked it this year to my sister. “Mom,” she said, “why do we call it ‘Good Friday’? It doesn’t really seem ‘good’ at all.”
Quick answers won’t do. They leave too much unsaid. A story is better.
A long time ago the Hebrew people came to live in Egypt because there was a drought in the land where they had been staying. The man in charge of preparing for this famine was named Joseph, a Hebrew himself, brought to Egypt ahead of his family through very difficult circumstances yet by the will of God. Many, many years later a Pharaoh came into power who didn’t remember Joseph. That Pharaoh hated the Hebrew people, and he put them in bondage. He made them his slaves, and he wanted all the baby boys that were born to the Hebrew women to be killed.
Except one of those boys wasn’t murdered. His name was Moses, and when he grew up, God asked him to come before Pharaoh and ask that Pharaoh release the captive Hebrew people. But Pharaoh refused. God showed God’s power by sending plagues upon the people of Egypt, and each time, Pharaoh refused to release the Hebrews.
Until one night when God told Moses to get the people ready. They were to take a lamb and after killing it, they would take some of the blood from that lamb, put it on a branch of hyssop and mark the doorposts of their homes with that blood. Then they were to roast and eat that lamb along with unleavened bread that night, being sure to stay indoors. During the night, an angel of death passed through killing the firstborn of every family in the area that didn’t have the blood of the lamb on the doorposts. Death passed over the homes of the Hebrews who had done what Moses said.
And on that night—the night of the Passover—God delivered the Hebrews. They were never again under the bondage of Pharaoh. And they left Egypt forever.
Many, many years later, Jesus came into the world. And when John the Baptizer first saw him, he said, “Behold the lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world.” And when John said this, those gathered around him couldn’t help but think about the Passover lamb, and the deliverance from bondage in Egypt. And they got excited, these descendants of the Hebrews, because while they weren’t in bondage to Egypt anymore, they were under the oppression of the Romans. Some of them thought that Jesus would be the one to free them from the tyranny of the Romans; some began to wonder if Jesus was the Messiah.
Jesus taught about a new kingdom and he did miracles, and he showed people God’s love. He forgave people their sins and healed them, and this made people in authority—both the Hebrew leaders and the Roman leaders—get anxious. And they decided that Jesus was better off dead than alive. So they conspired together to kill him.
They waited for a time to do this, and they worked with one of his disciples, Judas, who had become disillusioned because he thought Jesus would overthrow the government, but Jesus didn’t do that. So Judas betrayed Jesus.
And it was at the time of the Passover.
The Gospel writer named John wanted to show the connection between the Passover lamb and Jesus as closely as he could. He reminded his readers about the Baptizer calling Jesus the lamb of God when Jesus was first introduced. He writes that the day Jesus was crucified was the day of Preparation for the Passover, the very day the lambs were slaughtered in preparation for the festival. And he told them as well that when Jesus was offered a drink of water from a sponge while he hung on the cross, bleeding and so very thirsty, the stick used by the guards to give him that drink was hyssop, just like the stick used at the first Passover.
And as soon as he had taken a drink from that sponge—when his bloodied lips had touched the sponge on the hyssop—he said, “It is finished,” and he bowed his head and died.
“It is finished,” Jesus said. His last words before he died. And I think what he meant was that his work on this earth was finished, that he had done what he was supposed to do. More so, I think he also meant that in his becoming the Passover lamb he would free his people forever from bondage. Not in the sense that some thought about freedom from earthly powers—like the Romans—but freedom from those things that bind us and put in slavery. Evil, and death, Satan and all the spiritual forces of wickedness that rebel against God, and those sinful desires that draw us away from the love of God. Jesus finished that work through his death. In giving himself on our behalf, he was victorious. And he gave to us freedom forever.
We gather on this holy night to remember the things Jesus did for us through his life and death. He came, as another Gospeler penned it, “not to be served, but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.” The ransom of his life opened up for us a way of freedom from slavery, oppression and bondage. While we are indeed sorrowful to see our Lord, broken, beaten, despised, alone, we cannot also overlook the freedom and release offered to us. He gave his life a ransom that we might live. We gather on this holy night, this good night, to remember, and to seek God’s love and God’s desire for our lives. So that we may no longer live as those in slavery, but as those who have been freed forever. May we remember, and may we seek repentance and life, and always see how deep God’s love is for us. Amen.
I often get asked where the “Maundy” of Maundy Thursday comes from. It’s taken from the Latin “Mandatum novum” or New Commandment. We get our word mandate from that origin. It’s the night Jesus instituted Holy Communion and on that day he got down and washed his disciples feet.
Foot washing is a really important part of this service, and so last night I (re-)introduced it to the St. Mark’s community with great success. It was a wonderful and solemn service that led to the stripping of the altar.
My homily on John 13.
Nine months after the wake of Hurricane Katrina, I traveled with a group of adults from the church I was then serving to the Gulf Coast in Mississippi that had been ravaged by the storm. Before we left, we received a list of things we would absolutely need. Heavy gloves, bug spray, sleeping bags and pillows, ear plugs since we would be sleeping in a large gym area and, most important of all, sturdy work boots. The good people at Camp Coast Care—the organization we’d be working with—reinforced this last one. “Tennis shoes and flip flops will not work.” Too many hazards were lying on the ground. Too many things that could cut your feet.
So I went out and bought a new pair of work boots. And I was glad that I did. On the second or third day I was there working among the wreckage at a house, I stepped on a nail. Thankfully, because of the boots, I could barely feel the prick of it. So I took a moment, grabbed a pair of pliers and pulled out that nail, thankful I hadn’t worn sneakers and had avoided a trip to the doctors.
One of the houses we worked on that week was owned by a man named Gerard. He and his wife had spent the past nine months living in a motor home in their backyard. They lived a few miles in from the Gulf, yet much of their home had been filled with over 3 feet of water. Gerard was in limbo; he hadn’t done much to his house as he waited for insurance monies to come in. A group of us came that day to begin the demolition of much of the interior in order to get it down to the base structure. But before we began, we needed to clean out their belongings.
So we did that, our group of volunteers from Camp Coast Care. We carried out photo albums, and towels. We took out books, and clothes. We dug through everything in their house, exposing Gerard and his wife’s entire life and placed it on the front lawn. Their life’s belongings were there for anyone to take a peek at. Their lives were completely exposed.
Tonight we’re asked to do the same; we are asked to show our vulnerability.
I know that foot washing hasn’t been done much here in the past. But Jesus gives us an example and then asks us as his disciples to do likewise. We like walking around in our heavy boots, keeping our feet well covered and insolated from the world. But Jesus says, “Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.” Unless we become vulnerable, and take off our heavy shoes, we cannot be his disciples.
Jesus shows what he means in his giving of himself. What he does is take the role of the servant; he makes himself vulnerable, and lays down his life. When we take off our shoes, we lay down the notion of our perfected image. We look somewhat foolish. We show our weaknesses.
And we acknowledge our imperfections and need of grace. God’s grace comes to us in the way Jesus washes his disciples’ feet, in the way we wash each other’s feet. He shows his love in giving of himself. Trust is needed. He shows how we are to serve one another, to let down our own guard and be the people he calls us to be.
The question is will we do this? Will we acknowledge our own vulnerabilities or will we keep our heavy boots on? Will we open ourselves up to the example that Christ gives us to show our love to one another? “If I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you.” Amen.
Palm Sunday is a hard one liturgically. You get 7 minutes or so on the triumphal entry and then get whisked all the way to Good Friday with the reading of the Passion. The general consensus is that most people who show up on Palm Sunday won’t make the return trip for Maundy Thursday or Good Friday, so if you want to preach about the crucifixion, you’d better do it on Palm Sunday.
In spite of this collective wisdom, I did more with the triumphal entry this year. I’ve always been struck by Matthew’s rendering of it, so it caught my fancy.
And I hope you’ll be attending church this week for Holy Week. This is an amazing journey for us, and one that is not to be missed.
Palm Sunday—Matthew 21:1-11
I’ve always been fascinated by Matthew’s retelling of the Triumphal Entry, simply because of the great detail he goes into regarding the donkey and the colt those two disciples are to find. Matthew, unlike the other Gospel writers, informs his readers that there is both a donkey and a colt that the disciples are to find for Jesus. Mark, Luke and John all say that it is a solitary animal. And I can’t help but be amused at the seemingly odd description when Matthew tells us that once the donkey and the colt arrived, some of the bystanders threw their cloaks on those animals, and Jesus sat on both of them. It’s almost comical, and I’ve always chalked it up to the way Matthew plays with numbers and numerology throughout his gospel when compared to the other writers; he seems to say, if one is good, two is better.
I clung to the amusement, that is, until I read a comment about that verse this past week. John Dominic Crossan writes that Matthew “wants two animals, a donkey with her little colt beside her, and that Jesus rides ‘them’ in the sense of having them both as part of his demonstration’s highly visible symbolism. In other words, Jesus does not ride a stallion or a mare, a mule or a male donkey, and not even a female donkey. He rides the most unmilitary mount imaginable: a female nursing donkey with her little colt trotting along beside her.” Military leaders would often ride into their cities in a display of power—which is hinted at in the reference to the prophet Zechariah that Matthew records. The entire context from the prophet is this: “Rejoice greatly, O daughter Zion! Shout aloud, O daughter Jerusalem! Lo, your king comes to you; triumphant and victorious is he, humble and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey. He will cut off the chariot from Ephraim and the war horse from Jerusalem; and the battle bow shall be cut off, and he shall command peace to the nations.” (Zech 9:9-10) Jesus, the Messiah, the Christ, would come not in a display of power, but in humility. He would come to bring peace to the nations while the Romans would continue to ride in on their chariots with their military might blazing, bringing anything but peace.
And we know what happens when people come in humbly promoting non-violent peace. We have a tendency to kill those people. We heard it this morning in the Passion, and we’ve seen it in stories we know like the assassinations of Martin Luther King, Jr., Ghandi, and Archbishop Romero. But it’s also in the lesser known stories, like Brother Roger of the Taize community killed during a service at that ecumenical community in France, or Rachel Corrie who was killed by a bulldozer while simply standing in front of a home trying to stop the bulldozer from destroying that house in a refugee camp in Ramalah. Jesus came exemplifying peace, he rode in on a mother donkey that had yet to wean her foal with that little one trailing alongside, and he was ultimately crucified.
He was crucified because when he came preaching about love, about transformation, about peace, about new life and the forgiveness of sins, people got anxious and did away with him. We joined with the crowd this morning on both ends: we yelled out “Hosanna!” which means “Save us!” and we also cried out “Crucify him!” What they didn’t notice then, and which we often don’t see even today, is that the two shouts are inescapably linked. Jesus saves us through his crucifixion and the resurrection that is to come. He brings about salvation and peace and offers it to us and to any who are willing to accept it.
But we, along with the rest of the world, often do away with those who bring peace. You might be hesitant to accept this as true for yourself, but I certainly know it in my own life. I see the struggle that sometimes takes place when, although I am drowning in the circumstances of my life—be they the chances and challenges of the world or sins of my own devices—I often refuse to grab hold of the life preserver offered to me either by those who love me or in the life offered by Christ. I’ve seen it in others who are dealing with addictions and can’t take it upon themselves to follow through and get support. I’ve watched it unfold in married couples who are heading down the road toward divorce and can’t bring themselves to seek out help. I’ve seen teens get further and further disconnected from those they love rather than take the hand that is held out to them. I’ve noticed it in those who are widowed and cannot imagine a new life so they shrink away into lives of quiet disappointment.
And I want to say to us all that Jesus comes wanting to bring peace to the tumult and chaos of our lives. He entered into Jerusalem that day in humility, and a few days later was ultimately killed, so that he could bring us life. While we are inclined to reject him, to push him away, to even kill his presence in our lives, he is triumphant and victorious, as the prophet, Zechariah declares it. He was betrayed, and beaten and killed for us, so that when he completed his work in the world and on the cross, he might bring us peace and hope.
As we wait this week for that work to be completed, as we walk these last days with Christ and place him gently in that tomb, I hope that we will ultimately see that he is the Prince of Peace and he so desperately wants to share that peace with each one of us in order that we may experience transformation. Hosanna, dear Christ. Save us.
 Qtd in http://www.patheos.com/community/carlgregg/2011/04/08/lectionary-commentary-%E2%80%9Cjesus-a-donkey-and-jon-stewart%E2%80%99s-rally-for-sanity%E2%80%9D-for-palm-sunday-april-17-2011/ Accessed 4/12/11