Roy W. Howard

I was glad when they said, ‘Let us go up to the house of the Lord.’ We are glad, are we not?

Like the Psalmist we have a deep joy being back in this sanctuary to give praise and thanksgiving to the living God.

It’s not that God is worshipped no where else; of course we know that God is present in all place and at all times – sometimes frighteningly so! Truth be told, we are not always enamored of the fact that God is present at all times, in every place, in every action and in every conversation. Seriously. Occasionally we prefer a tamer, more constrained God; one whose ways we can control and comprehend.

It’s also true that either by accident or intention or habit, various things make us forgetful of God’s real presence. Incessant noise and relentless traffic capture our attention. So do work duties and family obligations, from fixing dinner to changing diapers to answering emails to hurrying to dance, soccer and music lessons. All of which may be good, but none of which is particularly conducive to concentrate the mind on worship. (Although there is a movement in that direction – everyday spirituality, it’s called; and it requires the spiritual skills that few of us have.) Is the Holy One present in everything? Yes, surely. Are we fully present to the Holy One? Not often and never without concrete intention.

And so the Psalmist declares our need for a sanctuary: “I was glad when they said, ‘let us go up to the house of the Lord.’ In a frazzled life with multiple demands on our attention, the sanctuary is a focal place to gather and be gathered as a community of God’s people. It’s a sacred place in which we offer ourselves to God. John Calvin, called this weekly offering “a sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving” to the living God. One might also think of this sanctuary as a place of rest, a place where one regains perspective on what matters most, is replenished for the work of living faithfully in a broken world, mending wounds in the name of the One who mends all wounds, finding light for the path by gathering in the light of the One who scatters the darkness. Even better, all of this happens in the company of our fellow travelers who return each week for prayer, study and service.

The early Celtic tradition described some sites as “thin places” where heaven and earth seemed to be palpably present. This sanctuary is designed to be such a thin place. Here we hope one discerns the presence of God as we offer ourselves in praise and thanksgiving. There is no other purpose than this one offering to the Holy One who is gracious and merciful unto us. I would be remiss if I didn’t mention an other Psalm that Rabbi Rudolph brought to my attention: “Except the Lord build the house, they labor in vain who build it.” And we have not built this sacred space in vain. Amen?

When the session took a look at the new sanctuary, one of our ruling elders said to me, “John Calvin would be pleased.” That, of course, brings joy to any Presbyterian pastor’s heart. It was not the comment I expected. “And why?” I asked. He said that the uncluttered plainness focused our attention rightly on God. I think he is exactly correct, and those who helped designed this new space many of whom are listed in your bulletin, with the architects, deserve our deep gratitude. I would call it an elegant simplicity that would please Calvin and our Reformed forebears, including those in the simple Congregational sanctuaries of New England. I think this elegant simplicity embodies one essential tenets of our Reformed tradition to practice “stewardship which shuns ostentation in favor of simplicity.”

The attention to such biblical and theological resonance enables us to what the Psalmist describes as “worshipping God in the beauty of holiness.”

Let me conclude with another comment made by a ruling elder during the session’s monthly bible study; one that also draws our attention to the reading from I John. “I hope our focus on the sanctuary,” he said, “will take away from God’s purpose for us. Then it would be just another idol.” Idolatry is an every present danger for humans. We have a great tendency to give allegiance to the wrong things and so become misguided in our actions. In a particularly dark mood, John Calvin described the human heart as “a manufactory of idols.”

So in the end we turn our attention to fruit of our worship in this sacred place. “Let us love, not in word or in speech, but in truth and action.” In his recent Jefferson lecture, Wendell Berry, borrowing a line from the novel “Howard’s End”, said “everything turns on affection” including the economy. Our scriptures remind us that everything turns on God’s love and that the evidence of such love in our lives is the love of neighbor, the sharing of our goods with those in need, and charity toward one another.

Jesus said the greatest commandment is this: that we love God with all our heart, mind, soul and strength. And the second is like unto it, that we love our neighbor as ourselves.

To this end we dedicate this sanctuary in hope that love with flourish among us and flow from us to our neighbors to the Glory of God whom we worship in Spirit and in truth.

Amen.

S. LeAnn Hodges, Saint Mark Presbyterian Church

April 22, 2012

Have you ever been involved in the laying of a brick wall?  If so, you are well aware of how critical it is to get the foundation row precisely level and straight.  Even the slightest variance in that first row can reap disastrous results down the line.

A sound foundation is critical when it comes to construction, and it is critical when it comes to the building blocks of faith.  The story of creation is one of those biblical building blocks that defines the foundation of our faith, and the final product will differ greatly depending upon how we understand what the creation stories teach us about God and our place in the order of things.

This is a story that anyone who has attended Sunday School as a child, even briefly, would have at least a passing understanding of.  And if you were to ask someone outside of the Christian faith to recount a biblical story, there are good odds that they might recall this one, given all the controversy over the creation stories over the years, especially as they relate to modern science.  The perhaps slight variations in the interpretation of this story of creation have resulted in many divisions within the greater body of Christian faith, and I dare say is at the root of a good bit of questionable and at times destructive theology.

Just this past week my husband Ray was telling me about a conversation 3 of his high school freshmen students were having about the creation stories, and I must say, he was not at all impressed.  The conversation took place among 3 boys, one of whom had no knowledge of the Judeo-Christian traditions.  The other two had experienced at least some time within a Christian faith community, but apparently had not paid a whole lot of attention.

The two boys “in the know” were explaining to their friend what the Bible says about how the world was created.  The first fallacy (which is a common one) was to merge the 2 stories into one.  (They really are two different stories with more than a few internal contradictions, most likely to have originated by two different sources, intended for two different communities!)  This is somewhat understandable, but then they continued to recount that first off God created Adam and Lilith, the first woman, but she didn’t work out so well and later God took one of Adam’s kidneys and created Eve, who was much more acceptable.  That is why men only have one kidney now…  Apparently Sunday School isn’t the only class where these young men failed to pay attention!  Ray did offer them a corrective account and suggested that perhaps they go read it for themselves, and that maybe they would do better to focus on the assignment at hand!

While either theologically shaky or down right inaccurate, claims have been made with respect to this passage that have caused a world of confusion and at times damage to our human community and our relationship with the natural world.

Lynn White wrote an infamous paper back in the late 60’s that held the Judeo-Christian tradition to blame for escalating the crisis of the environment, centering his argument on these two creation stories from Genesis, which he suggested created a scenario of an absent God and a human-centered faith that views all of creation as existing merely for our use and pleasure.  He said…

God created Adam, and, as an afterthought, Eve to keep man from being lonely and gave them dominance over all the animals.  God planned all of this explicitly for man’s benefit to rule: no item in the physical creation had any purpose save to serve man’s purposes.  Especially in its Western form, Christianity is the most anthropocentric religion the world has seen.  Christianity not only established a dualism of man and nature but also insisted that it is God’s will that man exploit nature for his proper ends.

While I disagree with much of White’s assessment of my faith, and would counter that much of this dualistic mindset of Western influence could more accurately be dated back to the early Greek philosophers and the Gnostics than to holy scripture, I can see where one might come to this conclusion when observing our banter and general behavior within the greater context of Christianity, especially as it plays out in the public arena.

From this one Genesis passage, White is correct that there has been an historic tendency to justify an anthropocentric view of creation with MAN being created in God’s image, thereby implying a masculine gender to God from the get-go, and setting up the foundational building blocks for a hierarchical system of domination that begins with God on top, then man a little lower, then woman below that, and the rest of creation below that. When played out this becomes the heart of the justification for generations of the subjugation of women and the abuse of creation.

Rather, I would challenge that in these early creation narratives, God created a more egalitarian system of shared power.  God named our role as stewards of creation, intending for us to live in this world as a reflection of the divine image.  God chooses to share power, to invite us into partnership, to grant us the gift of free-will, even though we have time and again proven that we are not up to the task.

If we understand God as a domineering, controlling manipulative divine force, it would make sense that we, then, would play that out in the world, in our relationships with each other, and in our relationship with creation.  But that is NOT the predominant testimony of scripture.  Scripture portrays a God of great compassion, mercy and restraint.  Slow to anger, abiding in steadfast love.

What would change if we let go of the foundational building blocks that affirm a human-centered creation, and let go of the construct of an absent or domineering God?  What building blocks might we put in their place?

What if we understood creation in the context of the sacraments?  Creation as an outward sign of God’s inward acts of beauty, grace, and mercy?  Jesus used common elements from creation – bread made from wheat, wine made from fruit – took them to represent the sanctifying mystery of Christ’s body and blood.  When we lift this up on the Eucharist, the feast of Thanksgiving, we claim that God is at work in, through, and with created matter. The bread and the wine could be understood as a microcosm of how we are to relate to all of creation – with reverent praise, offering both the fruits of creation and our very selves as a holy and living sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving to our extravagant, generous Creator.
In affirming this view of creation, we can more easily comprehend God as present within creation, which is therefore to be treated with reverence, respect, and gratitude.  Creation becomes a web of inter-dependent relationships bound together in the Covenant which God, the Holy Trinity, has established with the whole earth and every living creature.

God in the flesh, in Jesus, scripture tells us, came to us out of love not just for us but for all of the world… the cosmos… ALL of creation.  And through Christ, God draws all things to God’s self, reconciling all things through Christ.

Thinking about how throughout the Gospels Jesus sought out the most persecuted and powerless, restoring them to the fullness of life; recognizing the practices of the early church in the Book of Acts, where they worked to diminish the importance of the individual’s wealth by requiring the needs of all in the community to be met, and all goods shared equally; recalling the numerous times when Jesus’ very disciples argued among themselves about who the greatest among them would be and Jesus repeatedly reminded them that it was not about who was in the winner’s circle, but rather who was in a position of service that mattered; this all stacks up nicely upon the foundational building blocks of a created order intended for the good of ALL creation, not just humanity, not just a specific gender, not just one specific race, not just the one who currently has the most toys… a created order intended for the good of ALL of creation.

When THIS is our foundation, it is easier to live as though the church were called to strive for the good of all, modeling love for God and neighbor, plant and animal.  As a community of faith, we are challenged to find the strength and vision to look beyond ourselves to see the reflection of the divine in all things, and respond with reverent praise and thanksgiving to God our Creator, Sustainer, and Redeemer.

In the beginning, God created.  And God saw that it was good.  And it was good.  That seems to be a solid foundation upon which to build our faith.

a lab, a cathedral and a believing skeptic

April 15, 2012  – Second Sunday of Easter

Roy W. Howard

Let’s face it: Thomas gets a bad rap. Ever since someone named him Doubting Thomas he has been on the end of finger wagging against those believers who might on have a question or two or maybe even a troubling doubt that undermines their faith. The finger waggers may be right and I may have it all wrong, but I don’t think that chastising Thomas and his kin for their doubt is the only takeaway from this gospel story nor the best one. It seems to me that he is like the unlucky one at a stargazing party. While everyone has their eyes turned to the skies, you bend down to scratch a mosquito bite just as they all scream in unison, “Wow! Did you see that; amazing!” You missed it all. Thomas is like that. I call him the unlucky one.

Years ago I heard the great writer Annie Dillard ask a question that still intrigues me and seems to bear on the plight of Thomas. “What’s the difference” she asked, “between a science lab and a Cathedral?” The scientist in the lab follows questions in pursuit of the truth, experimenting, verifying and probing and seeking in the hope that the answer will appear, either the one that is expected or something else unexpected. In research, doubt is not evidence that the pursuit is wrong-headed or the answer impossible. Doubt is the essential question that drives one to press on even when the evidence is not readily apparent.  I’m not a scientist but many of you are and you can verify whether this is right.

I am a pastor and a theologian, or at least a pastor who loves theology about as much as baseball. (Which is saying a lot.) I believe what connects the Cathedral – or the sanctuary – to the lab is the pursuit of truth that requires faith and is often driven, if not haunted, by doubt. The believer enters the sanctuary listening, asking questions and seeking truth. Sometimes the answers come in expected forms and other times in ways least expected. The life of faith for a believer is a pursuit of the object of faith – God – in much the same way that a scientist pursues the object of her research, which when you think about it is a form of faith. Anselm called this “faith seeking understanding.” Doubt occurs in scientific research and it occurs in discipleship – or at least hard questions. If one runs too rapidly away from those questions or resists them too reactively, it may in fact cut off prematurely a deeper understanding of the object of one’s pursuit.

In our time, I’ve noticed that militant atheists are the mirror image of militant fundamentalists. Neither is open to any doubt that their position is absolutely right. Both are rigid.

Thomas on the other hand is a disciple of Jesus. He has walked the walk with the others, committing his life to Jesus at considerable personal sacrifice more than most people. He is not a belligerent unbeliever. He is a believer bewildered by what he can’t understand; and this is not the first time. Before Jesus died, he sought to comfort his disciples by telling them that they would not alone even when he departed. “You know the way to the place where I am going.” Of all the disciples, Thomas is the only one to raise any question. Does that mean the others had no questions? Maybe, but I don’t think so. I think Thomas was the one who had the courage to ask the question that would help him know the truth. “Lord,” he says, “we don’t know where you are going, how can we know the way?” That, of course, is the question that leads the greatest discovery.

This is the way questions function in the pursuit of faith. If Thomas had not asked the question, he would remain befuddled and bewildered unable to walk forward in the life of faith that Jesus put before him. This is one way that doubt and questions can function for faithful Christian believers who desire to go deeper in the pursuit of the truth.  In this case, Jesus declares himself as the very Way that Thomas is wondering about, and the Life and the Truth that will guide Thomas into an uncertain future. Without the questions, the answers don’t always arrive on time or arrive at all.

In his memoir, I and God, the late Lewis Smedes said, “Sometimes I hang on to faith by my fingernails; when the dream of a new world of Jesus’ peace and love is more than two thousand years old and still shows no clear sign of coming true, anybody’s faith is bound to turn to doubt”, at least occasionally.

Yet what I find even more remarkable than Thomas’ doubt, is Jesus’ grace and mercy. First he comes to the disciples locked in fear. He neither chastises nor rebukes them for their fear. Instead he breathes his Spirit upon them and empowers them to carry on his own mission of forgiveness. This is pure grace. And he repeats this grace one week later for the one left in doubt, who bent down to tie his shoes when the star appeared.

Jesus receives Thomas’ questions with an invitation to touch him, which I take as Jesus’ invitation for Thomas to pursue his search until he discovers the One who loves him. Isn’t this the true heart of this tender Gospel story: not to shame anyone into belief by citing Thomas’ doubts but to remind us that Jesus will not forsake us even in our questioning, when our faith falters and our doubts threaten to overwhelm?  The One who is risen is no longer bound by barriers of locked doors and broken hearts, faltering faith and fears of death. He comes breathing peace upon his disciples and calling them to a new vocation forgiving the sins of others in the name of the One who forgives all.

Where does Thomas search lead him? His willingness to follow his question lead him to true and abiding faith formed in the depths of doubt. He ends in faith. In the end, Thomas cries, “My Lord and my God!” He joins the other disciples in the mission of Jesus proclaiming forgiveness and freedom.

Yet, Jesus’ lovingly implies that Thomas missed out on something greater. The greater blessing is when one can live with a faith that has no security – nothing to touch, nothing to stand on – only the invisible God of love. “Do you believe because you see?” asks Jesus. “Blessed are they who do not see and yet believe.”

This Word of the Lord addressed to us who live in a post-modern, post-Christian age of technology: Blessed are they who do not see, but believe.

The Lord is risen! (He is risen, indeed.)

SourceURL:file://localhost/Users/elliehagner/Desktop/John%2020.19-31.2012(1).docx

John 20:19-31

a lab, a cathedral and a believing skeptic

April 15, 2012  – Second Sunday of Easter

Let’s face it: Thomas gets a bad rap. Ever since someone named him Doubting Thomas he has been on the end of finger wagging against those believers who might on have a question or two or maybe even a troubling doubt that undermines their faith. The finger waggers may be right and I may have it all wrong, but I don’t think that chastising Thomas and his kin for their doubt is the only takeaway from this gospel story nor the best one. It seems to me that he is like the unlucky one at a stargazing party. While everyone has their eyes turned to the skies, you bend down to scratch a mosquito bite just as they all scream in unison, “Wow! Did you see that; amazing!” You missed it all. Thomas is like that. I call him the unlucky one.

Years ago I heard the great writer Annie Dillard ask a question that still intrigues me and seems to bear on the plight of Thomas. “What’s the difference” she asked, “between a science lab and a Cathedral?” The scientist in the lab follows questions in pursuit of the truth, experimenting, verifying and probing and seeking in the hope that the answer will appear, either the one that is expected or something else unexpected. In research, doubt is not evidence that the pursuit is wrong-headed or the answer impossible. Doubt is the essential question that drives one to press on even when the evidence is not readily apparent.  I’m not a scientist but many of you are and you can verify whether this is right.

I am a pastor and a theologian, or at least a pastor who loves theology about as much as baseball. (Which is saying a lot.) I believe what connects the Cathedral – or the sanctuary – to the lab is the pursuit of truth that requires faith and is often driven, if not haunted, by doubt. The believer enters the sanctuary listening, asking questions and seeking truth. Sometimes the answers come in expected forms and other times in ways least expected. The life of faith for a believer is a pursuit of the object of faith – God – in much the same way that a scientist pursues the object of her research, which when you think about it is a form of faith. Anselm called this “faith seeking understanding.” Doubt occurs in scientific research and it occurs in discipleship – or at least hard questions. If one runs too rapidly away from those questions or resists them too reactively, it may in fact cut off prematurely a deeper understanding of the object of one’s pursuit.

In our time, I’ve noticed that militant atheists are the mirror image of militant fundamentalists. Neither is open to any doubt that their position is absolutely right. Both are rigid.

Thomas on the other hand is a disciple of Jesus. He has walked the walk with the others, committing his life to Jesus at considerable personal sacrifice more than most people. He is not a belligerent unbeliever. He is a believer bewildered by what he can’t understand; and this is not the first time. Before Jesus died, he sought to comfort his disciples by telling them that they would not alone even when he departed. “You know the way to the place where I am going.” Of all the disciples, Thomas is the only one to raise any question. Does that mean the others had no questions? Maybe, but I don’t think so. I think Thomas was the one who had the courage to ask the question that would help him know the truth. “Lord,” he says, “we don’t know where you are going, how can we know the way?” That, of course, is the question that leads the greatest discovery.

This is the way questions function in the pursuit of faith. If Thomas had not asked the question, he would remain befuddled and bewildered unable to walk forward in the life of faith that Jesus put before him. This is one way that doubt and questions can function for faithful Christian believers who desire to go deeper in the pursuit of the truth.  In this case, Jesus declares himself as the very Way that Thomas is wondering about, and the Life and the Truth that will guide Thomas into an uncertain future. Without the questions, the answers don’t always arrive on time or arrive at all.

In his memoir, I and God, the late Lewis Smedes said, “Sometimes I hang on to faith by my fingernails; when the dream of a new world of Jesus’ peace and love is more than two thousand years old and still shows no clear sign of coming true, anybody’s faith is bound to turn to doubt”, at least occasionally.

Yet what I find even more remarkable than Thomas’ doubt, is Jesus’ grace and mercy. First he comes to the disciples locked in fear. He neither chastises nor rebukes them for their fear. Instead he breathes his Spirit upon them and empowers them to carry on his own mission of forgiveness. This is pure grace. And he repeats this grace one week later for the one left in doubt, who bent down to tie his shoes when the star appeared.

Jesus receives Thomas’ questions with an invitation to touch him, which I take as Jesus’ invitation for Thomas to pursue his search until he discovers the One who loves him. Isn’t this the true heart of this tender Gospel story: not to shame anyone into belief by citing Thomas’ doubts but to remind us that Jesus will not forsake us even in our questioning, when our faith falters and our doubts threaten to overwhelm?  The One who is risen is no longer bound by barriers of locked doors and broken hearts, faltering faith and fears of death. He comes breathing peace upon his disciples and calling them to a new vocation forgiving the sins of others in the name of the One who forgives all.

Where does Thomas search lead him? His willingness to follow his question lead him to true and abiding faith formed in the depths of doubt. He ends in faith. In the end, Thomas cries, “My Lord and my God!” He joins the other disciples in the mission of Jesus proclaiming forgiveness and freedom.

Yet, Jesus’ lovingly implies that Thomas missed out on something greater. The greater blessing is when one can live with a faith that has no security – nothing to touch, nothing to stand on – only the invisible God of love. “Do you believe because you see?” asks Jesus. “Blessed are they who do not see and yet believe.”

This Word of the Lord addressed to us who live in a post-modern, post-Christian age of technology: Blessed are they who do not see, but believe.

The Lord is risen! (He is risen, indeed.)

Easter Sunday April 8, 2012   the shocking truth of it all

Emily Dickinson wrote, “Tell all the truth but tell it slant/ [...] as lightening to the children eased with explanation kind/ the Truth must dazzle gradually or every man go blind.” You can be sure the poet meant women too -  anyone who sees the Truth not slant, but straight on in all its blinding radiance. The women who arrived at the tomb in the early morning light that first Easter morning are fine examples why Dickinson’s wryly cautioned us to tell the truth slant.

In Mark’s gospel, these women get the Truth – Jesus is alive! – in their face full bore, not slant, and they are terrified. Well, I guess so! That the news came from the lips of a young man dressed in white as angel might, sitting in the tomb, didn’t reduce the terror one bit. “Don’t be amazed.” He says calmly.

Right. The One who was crucified, whose broken, battered, blood drenched body we saw with our own eyes, and whose wounds we are here to tend, is not in this tomb but alive in this world? And, you are telling us so calmly, “don’t be amazed?” Maybe that’s the way they do things where you come from buster, but not here. Don’t be amazed? Who are you kidding? Our knees are buckling, our hands trembling, not to mention our hearts beating wildly trying to keep pace with our brains straining to comprehend what is on the edge of our understanding.  He is risen from the dead! What do we do with our spices? We might as well explode here and now. No, that won’t help – so let’s just run away from here as fast possible and figure it out later.

Let the scholars debate over this strange ending of Mark’s gospel, with the women racing away afraid to say a word to anyone. They can puzzle over the various endings that later editors attached to the original to make matters conform with joyous evangelists. I, for one, take comfort in Mark’s original ending  because it tells a very human response when confronted, straight on, not slant, by something so astonishing as the resurrection of Jesus from the dead. As our translation put it, the first witnesses left in a state of shock. The traditional translation says they were trembling with astonishment.

Trembling with astonishment. How about that for a honest appraisal of how to live with the news of the resurrection? It is, in fact, something that I can’t comprehend as calmly as the white robed man suggests. Everything about the resurrection fills my life with amazement, wonder and renewed hope that things are possible in this mortal life that I can neither control nor predict or even imagine. The resurrection of Jesus tells me that while the sting of death is real and the powers of death will crucify love, death is not the only story to be told. The resurrection of Jesus invites me to believe that life, God’s life, rises up even in the places of death, that crucified love is still God’s love and it will find a way overturn hatred, enmity and bitter despair. It’s this news of Life Eternal that I cling to in the face of my parishioners and  friends who battle with cancer.

Don’t be amazed, said the white robed young man to the women. What? I am constantly amazed by the power of the resurrection that leads believers to practice mercy for the merciless, forgive those who have harmed them, offer hospitality to strangers and immigrants, and generally behave in a way that causes hard boiled cynics to grind their teeth at such foolish, random acts of love and kindness.

Nor do I believe the resurrection of Jesus is merely another fact that we must reduce in size to fit into a scientific paradigm that insists everything in our experience conform to it. Insisting on the scientific facticity of the resurrection is only one way to approach the Christian faith and not necessarily the best way. These are things Emily Dickinson said we must tell slant or they will blind us with their light. The resurrection of Jesus is one of them. It is a fact that will not lie down on the examining table long enough for you, or me or anyone else to do an autopsy.

We can forgive the women at the tomb for being reduced to silence and fear, trembling with astonishment on the edge of the impossible. They were the first to hear it and adjust to a whole new reality.

Today, you have heard the news again, and probably not for the first time.

Let me conclude with short video that may speak to you in a fresh way.

Easter video

Christ is risen! I dare you to be astonished today.

Alleluia. Amen.

April 1, 2012 Palm Sunday

Roy W. Howard

About Palm Sunday the poet John Leax commented “this seems the strangest holiday of the year, a celebration of misunderstanding.”

His comment startled me into thinking afresh about this day that marks the beginning of Jesus’ most public processional, which wonderfully falls on April Fool’s Day this year. It starts with a makeshift parade – the kind children conjure up on a bright spring day, playing in the backyard, lining up after each other, wearing funny hats, blowing kazoos and appointing one of their own a king. What would this parade be without a donkey to carry the triumphant king? A donkey? Seriously? Yes, a donkey shall carry this king. Then who, pray tell, will find a donkey at this late hour? Why you, faithful disciples, ever ready to serve, will find the donkey that will carry our king. So, off you go looking for a donkey to haul into this parade, simply because he said so and after all you are his disciple aren’t you? That’s all you need to say to the fellow whose jaw drops when you start to steal his donkey off the street in broad daylight. Negotiating a donkey so the messiah can ride in glory? For this I’ve been enlisted to bring in the kingdom of Glory … on a donkey? Oy vey!

 You would think it’s an April Fool’s joke, only it isn’t. So, just what is it Mark would have us ponder in this story of Jesus triumphal entry into Jerusalem?

Prepare the way of the Lord, you said. Great, I said, but it comes down to this?

Some scholars think the two disciples sent out to find the colt were James and John, which is hilarious because a few days earlier they were asking Jesus to put them in the best seats in house, on the left and right hand when he comes in glory. Now it comes to this: finding a suitable animal for a makeshift parade! Tom Long comments about this mundane chore of the disciples, “Never once is it mentioned that serving the people with energy, imagination and love often boils down to stuff like ordering bulletin covers, changing light bulbs in the bathroom, visiting people in nursing home who aren’t quite sure who you are, and as, two of Jesus’ disciples found out, finding a suitable donkey at the last minute.”

Preparing the way of the Lord is not as grand as most of us expect. Perhaps we are better off not thinking about it, just do it, because preparing the way of the Lord often comes down to the small gestures, the chores no one is interested in but everyone wants, making the arrangements behind the scenes that allow for other to be present to the Lord’s presence. It’s like the street sweepers who labor unseen at two in the morning never hearing the people who marvel that the streets are so clean.

The second misunderstanding has something to do with the entry itself. What kind of triumph is this? The entry into Jerusalem is boisterous for sure, and there is no question that Jesus is welcomed with glad hosanna songs, the traditional messianic acclamation. But there is also something weird about this triumphal entry; maybe even foolish. Where are the stallions, symbols of a warrior’s grand triumph? Where are the public leaders – both religious and political? Attending to other business; like how to handle the unpredictable crowds on the outskirts of town who are gathering around this humble prophet who is approaching the city. What are they to do if things get out of hand, out of control, and Jesus begins to challenge them? If one where listening to the soundtrack, the dark music would enter the background just under the exuberant shouts of the crowds, hinting just barely of the ominous events of the days ahead.

I strain to see Jesus face as he rides through the crowd. I cannot see it but I imagine those merciful eyes. Is that a sad smile or a determined grimace? I wonder what he is thinking, watching and listening as the crowds sing his praise and welcome his entourage of rag tag clumsy disciples. Does anyone have a clue who he is and what he intends to do now that he has entered the city of power and might? They welcome him as one who will bless them. Yes, but they do not yet understand that he will confront their political leaders, challenge their customs and even suggest the core of their religious practice is corrupt, empty and without mercy?

No, they don’t understand and neither do I. When I do, I resist as long as possible until it is no longer in my power. They don’t understand that his kingdom – the kingdom of God – is not about blessing things as they are presently arranged, but changing them until the present arrangement reflects the one God intends. So everything is at risk when Jesus begins his triumphal entry into Jerusalem. Political arrangements were at risk, the ones that ensured the poor would remain so, the dissidents would be silenced and brute force would be deployed when necessary to maintain order. Religious arrangements were at risk, the ones that secured the positions of corrupt leaders who distorted their practice for personal gain, and allowed themselves to merge with the political powers of the day. Everything was at risk when he came slowly into town riding on a donkey. He knew it, his sad, merciful eyes proclaimed it. But no one else did.

Just so, I believe, everything is at risk when Jesus begins his entry into your life, and mine. The arrangements I make and the compromises I create to secure my status, my comfort, my position, my way of life: all of it is at risk of being overturned when I allow him to come riding into my life. That is an unsettling thought and every time I contemplate it, I flinch at the implications. Yet, I also believe putting everything at risk by opening my life to Jesus’ entry is the Good News, because his arrangement is much wiser, more merciful than my own. I arrange things by making accommodations to a world that crucifies the prophets and fears the stranger, puts comfort over compassion and status over service, makes entertainment the highest value and love a sentimental convenience.

This one, Jesus of Nazareth, who comes riding into your life and mine, promises to arrange our lives differently than this world’s arrangement. My life is at risk, just as the crowd lining the streets of Jerusalem and their leaders. We know what happened, how God’s folly we call Easter turned misunderstanding, rejection, even crucifixion into the occasion for the healing of creation. The most important question is whether you and I will remain with him when the hosanna of today is all over and the real work God’s foolish kingdom begins.

Amen.

Once upon a time we had a garden. It was not large by any means, but it was big enough to allow for several rows of peas and squash, cucumbers and cabbage and a couple of rows of corn. The corn didn’t grow that well, but the rest did pretty well. All in all, the garden was a delight and we enjoyed the fresh food.  Actually, as much as we enjoyed the fresh vegetables, what I really love – and miss –  is the planting of seeds in the little holes in the dirt. Looking back I think I even enjoyed pulling weeds or at least having a beautiful garden. (But that’s for a different sermon – -the wheat and the tares.) Anyway … walking the rows with seeds in my palm, I carefully place them in the ground, cover them and then walk away with the anticipation of little plants breaking the surface in due time. I would check it every day. Eating the produce was sheer pleasure too but not anymore than the planting; the joy of eating was the culmination of the whole process. It’s all so very simple, of course, but I took great delight in it; perhaps because I’m a novice gardener and certainly no farmer. The seed going into the dark ground to produce abundant food in a short time is simply a joy.

From a child’s point of view, it would seem that burying a seed in the ground would be the end of it. Dark, dirt, and death: it’s all over. But no; wonders of wonders, little shoots appear and soon enough a bright yellow squash begins to form and little pea pods, too. I love it all.

And I love that Jesus takes this wonder-filled process as a metaphor to describe God’s way with the world.  He breaks down to our level what is very difficult for us to comprehend.

Listen to Jesus’ description of redemption in today gospel reading.

Death is death, period. To our ordinary way of thinking this seems matter-of-fact. Jesus though says the opposite. Death is real – and often terribly sad – but it’s not the conclusion; Life is the final word, not death. This is Jesus’ great reversal that he will enact in his own life. Death yields to resurrection. How is this possible?  Remember the garden?

“Well,” Jesus says, “it’s like a grain of wheat that must die, be tossed to the ground, that it will rise and produce abundant life. If it doesn’t die, there will be no life. Yet, if it dies, it will rise bringing life upon life.” In this metaphor – which Jesus enacted in his own life – we see the whole of the Christian gospel – the good news of God for the world tangled in the patterns of death and destruction.

In last week’s text and sermon, LeAnn encouraged us to explore the profound mystery of God’s love for the world in Jesus, who came among us fully human, fully God, given for the salvation of the world. This is the Christmas story in Lent, reminding us of the full purpose of God who came to us as a child that culminates his death and resurrection for the redemption of the world.  “God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son that whoever believes in him may have life eternal. God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the entire world would be made whole.”

I think we would do well to sing a Christmas carol in Lent if only to remind us that the death of Jesus on a cross is not a gruesome event isolated from the rest of the story of God’s redeeming love for the world. It’s actually the culmination of love – so amazing, so divine. This is the main problem with movies like Mel Gibson’s “The Passion of Christ.” They give the mistaken impression that the cross of Christ is disconnected from the birth of Christ, and misses the point that both – death and life – are expressions of God’s profound love for the world that will not be deterred by death, anymore than a seed will be destroyed by the dirt that covers it. The cross of Christ is about the sublime beauty of God’s love from beginning to end and beyond the end. Rather than the cross being the source of the salvation of the world, it is a demonstration of relentless divine love that risks everything for us, even fully embracing the most damming, cruel, death dealing practices of humanity gone awry. This is love that will not let you go, even if you choose to hang him up to die.

“What looks like the perfect proof against Jesus’ authenticity – his execution – proves by longer exposure to it to be the supreme argument for, and the major display of God’s profound love for the world.” (Dale Bruner)

If that is not shocking enough, there’s more: this seed-in-the-ground-God says his death is the necessary prelude to life, just like that grain of wheat tossed in the ground. As that seed wondrously brings food to all, so all of humanity will be raised to life when seed-in-the-ground-God springs forth in resurrection. And this is the point of it all: abundant life for all humanity.

At this point you might say with all honesty – what’s not to like about this love story of God with us?

Perhaps that is the real scary scandal of this story. There are those who love the self-destroying, buzz-killing ways of this world so much that they reject the love of God that brings abundant life. It’s easy to misunderstand this business of “hating ones life in this world” unless one understands that “this world” is John’s code language for all the hurtful, neighbor-killing, self-promoting practices of this fallen world that bring human misery. As Jesus puts it, “as long as you hold on to that life, you will lose everything; but if you let go of that self-promoting, me-first way of life to embrace my counter-cultural death-defeating, neighbor loving way, you will find life eternally.”

How is this possible? How does one actually let go of habits, desires, practices that are embedded in our way of life but fail to satisfy at the deepest level? Jesus is not naïve about the question nor should we be; there is a cost of discipleship. But neither does Jesus make it a complicated as it often appears. He says simply – follow me. As one commentator puts it “Do you want to be where the life really happens? “Then come on,” Jesus is saying, “walk as closely to me as you possibly can, and I promise that you will be right there where life’s deepest events and issues are, in fact, taking place.” (Dale Bruner)

We follow Jesus from whose death flows life and liberation for all, so that life will flow from our lives, too. This is the strange and wonderful way of God – the great reversal – death brings life. Just so: we follow Jesus, clinging day by day to him rather than to ourselves, so that joy and love may be come to our neighbors as abundantly as a field of wheat shimmering in the summer sun.