Finished and Begun

Do you ever feel just a little bit guilty that you're not as joyful on Easter as you are on Christmas? You're not the only one! My sermon considers the common tendency to get "stuck" on Good Friday and miss out on the joy of Easter. Maybe my thoughts will be familiar to you. And... Happy Easter! Christ is risen!

We have arrived at Easter, one of the two most joyous days in the entire year for Christians around the world. The other day, of course, is Christmas. We all know why Christmas is joyful. On that day, God came into our world as one of us. And Easter is joyful because on this day, Jesus lifted us up out of our world as children of God. Easter is the “bookend” to Christmas. One holiday isn’t complete without the other. They are both occasions of great joy!

So – if Easter calls for us to be just as joyful as we are at Christmas – why don’t we celebrate Easter more than we do? If you compare the way that we celebrate the two holidays, Easter really takes a back seat to Christmas festivities. Oh, Easter is certainly joyful. Folks wear their best clothes to church – and we did. The Christ candle is lighted again, in churches that do that kind of thing – and we did that. Worshippers sing “Christ the Lord Is Risen Today,” a song that is full of joyful alleluias – and we did that, too. But on Monday morning, the only reminder that Easter has taken place will be the Easter grass that has settled into the edge of the carpeting in the living room. And all the hard-boiled eggs in the fridge that we have to either use or throw out.

Have you ever thought about how little we celebrate Easter compared with Christmas? Christmas celebrations go on for months! Decorations are in the stores right after Halloween (if the stores wait even that long), radio stations begin to play Christmas carols 24-7 in early November, and holiday bargains are… well, everywhere! But Easter? It’s almost invisible. You might see a lily or two in the window of the local florist, but they aren’t hanging from the light fixtures in Wal-Mart. The Chipmunks haven’t recorded a version of “Because He Lives.” And I’ve never once seen a store offer an Empty Tomb sale! Although Easter is celebrates Christ’s victory over death itself, we just don’t get as excited about it as we do over Christmas. Why do you suppose that is?

I don’t know the answer for sure, but I have a suggestion. Could it be that Easter takes a back seat because we just can’t wrap our minds around Easter like we can around Christmas? After all, Christmas is full of images that we know well – images that we cherish. We all love newborn babies, with their chubby fists and their squished-up faces. We’re comfortable with farm animals in the stable. Even city slickers can relate to lambs and donkeys and brown cows. We can even imagine a bunch of smelly shepherds crowding around a manger in the middle of the night. But Easter doesn’t have any of that. We don’t know what to do with Easter! We’ve never experienced an empty tomb. We’ve never met an angel who proclaims that the dead is alive; and then asks why in the world we’re still standing in the graveyard. The Jesus that we know teaches and heals and comforts. He doesn’t appear unexpectedly in the middle of the room and walk through doors, as he does in the gospel stories of the resurrection. Easter is so foreign to us that when it rolls around each year, we do our best to celebrate; but while Christmas lives deep in our hearts, Easter stays in our heads. We know about it; but we just can’t relate to us.

That’s why I’m convinced that many people live their lives stuck in Lent. They never manage to make it past Good Friday. Even on Easter morning, they’re still hanging on to the old rugged cross that’s planted firmly on the hill of Golgotha. After all, that’s where their experience is. When most people wake up in the morning, they don’t open their eyes and think, “Alleluia! Christ is risen! Death and evil don’t have any power over me anymore! Because he lives, I will live, too!” No, they open their eyes and they worry about their aging parents; they face their own illnesses; or they mourn the loss of a loved one. They wonder how they will get the rent money; how they will put food on the table; and sometimes, how they will simply get through one more day. Those aren’t Easter thoughts. Those are Good Friday thoughts. During Lent, we look those experiences in the face and state confidently, “It may be Lent now; but Easter’s coming!” But all too often, we never quite make it to Easter; and we live our lives wishing for the resurrection that is ours already!

The reality is that it’s awfully hard for us to get Jesus down off that cross. We tend to be so focused on Jesus’ suffering that we never get to the triumph of his resurrection! We hear Jesus’ last words from the cross, “It is finished!” – and that’s where we stop, too. Because Jesus’ earthly life is over, we take his words to mean that the whole story is over! We’re like Mel Gibson, who ended his movie The Passion of the Christ with Jesus’ body being put into the tomb. That movie never got to Easter. But in the words of the famous radio personality Paul Harvey, there is a “page two.” And if we want to hear “the rest of the story,” we have to get to Easter morning.

After all, without Easter morning, Good Friday is meaningless. Without Easter, Jesus’ crucifixion is just an unjust execution; another example of corrupt authorities who intend to hold onto their power at all costs. Without Easter, Jesus’ crucifixion is just one more tragedy in a world that is full of them. Without Easter, Jesus suffers eternally, but never triumphs. Without Easter, the cross is merely a hideous symbol of human cruelty. But with Easter, it is the ultimate symbol of God’s amazing power, love, and grace. Easter is God’s eternal beginning that transforms all of the endings in our lives, no matter how cruel and unfair they may be. In Luke’s account of the Easter story, an angel asks the women who have come to the tomb, “Why are you looking for the living among the dead?” That angel is talking to us, too, you know. Why are we looking for the living among the dead? Why are we looking for the triumphant among the suffering? Why do we insist on staying in Good Friday?

Maybe it would help if we added some Easter symbols to the cross that hangs so prominently in most Christian churches. During my time with the children, I’ve told them that we have three symbols for God on our altar – the Bible (symbolizing the Word of God), the cross (symbolizing Jesus Christ), and the candles (symbolizing the Holy Spirit). What resurrection symbol could we add to these others? Well, we might add a few colorful butterflies. Butterflies are an ancient symbol of the resurrection. They start out their lives as caterpillars, humble little critters who creep around on the tomato plants. And then, they spin a cocoon and they appear to all the world to be dead. But they’re not. Just when we think that ugly old cocoon will stay that way forever, out of it comes… a butterfly! It’s not too much of a stretch to make the connection between the newly-born butterfly and the risen Christ. A few butterflies might remind us that the cross is not the end. Or we might give lilies a permanent place on the altar. Lilies grow from bulbs, just like all the flowers that are decorating the sanctuary today. A lily bulb appears to be dead. But when it’s buried in the garden, out come little green shoots that eventually bloom as a beautiful flower. Out of death comes life. We could even surround the cross with empty plastic Easter eggs, just like the one that I used this morning in my time with the children. There’s no candy in them. They’re empty – just like the empty tomb! Any of these symbols would remind us that we are Easter people in the end; and that Christ is risen indeed. After all, the resurrection is the foundation of our faith!

On this Easter morning, I invite you to leave Good Friday behind. Oh, don’t forget about it altogether. The cross is a vital symbol of our faith. But remember that the cross doesn’t get the last word! This morning, take a joyful, confident step into Easter. Jesus isn’t on the cross anymore! Let’s not go looking for the living among the dead. He is risen! And because he lives, so do we!

Trusting

My Palm Sunday sermon this year focuses on Jesus' courage as he rode into Jerusalem in defiance of both the Romans and the Temple authorities. I consider his statement from the cross, "Father, into your hands I commit my spirit" as representative of his entire life. If you choose to read it, perhaps it will remind you of a time in your life when you committed your own life into God's hands.

In my opinion, one of the bravest phrases in the English language is “…and let the chips fall where they may.” Believe it or not, that phrase has nothing to do with dropping potato chip crumbs into the sofa cushions. It actually originated in the world of logging. When you chop down a tree using an axe, pieces of wood – the chips – scatter every time you hit the tree. But while you are cutting, you don't really care where those chips land. Your job is to stay focused on the task at hand — chopping down the tree. The phrase has come to mean accepting the consequences of taking an action that other people aren’t going to like very much. People say “…and let the chips fall where they may” when they’re going to confront the boss, or write a stinging letter to the local newspaper about city council, or join a group that’s protesting the inflated profits of Wall Street banks. Whatever it is that they plan to do, someone is going to take offense at them; and they know it all too well.

No one in the Bible ever used the phrase “…and let the chips fall where they may.” It’s a fairly modern thing to say. But the spirit of that phrase is there, over and over again. When Queen Esther resolved to plead for the lives of her people, she said, “I will go to the king, though it is against the law; and if I die, I die.” Let the chips fall where they may. When Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego were threatened with being thrown into a fiery furnace unless they worshipped a golden idol, they replied, “…we will not serve your gods and we will not worship the golden statue that you have set up.” Let the chips fall where they may. And when Gabriel came to the Virgin Mary and told her that she was to be the mother of the messiah, although it involved an out-of-wedlock pregnancy and scandal for her family, what did she say? “Let it be with me according to your word.” Let the chips fall where they may!

Jesus word from the cross, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit,” is representative of his life that was lived by a man who had the very same philosophy of life. If he had known the phrase, “Let the chips fall where they may,” I’m convinced that he would have used it. Jesus knew that he would face opposition as he taught the people, reinterpreting the Law of Moses. He went nose to nose with the religious authorities again and again. He challenged their wealth and political power, and condemned the religious traditions that oppressed the very people they were supposed to care for. He called them a den of snakes, coiled and ready to bite anyone who stood in their way. He compared them to painted tombs – beautiful on the outside, but full of rot on the inside. He even accused them of locking people out of heaven with all their rules and regulations. As Jesus confronted the religious authorities with their behavior, chopping down the tree of religious corruption, he let the chips fall where they may. The only way he could have done that is by giving his life into God’s hands. He trusted that God would be present with him no matter what happened.

I wonder if he said, “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit” on that first Palm Sunday morning. Surely he committed his life to God on that day, knowing that by the end of the week, the chips would fall in a very difficult place for him, indeed. Jesus’ ride into Jerusalem on that day was nothing less than a radical political statement. It was a breathtaking action that both offended the Jewish religious leaders and alarmed the Roman authorities. That first Palm Sunday took place at the beginning of Passover week, the most politically loaded time in the entire Jewish calendar. Passover celebrates the miraculous deliverance of the ancient Israelites from their Egyptian oppressors. Jewish tradition claimed that when the Messiah appeared – the one who would free them from their Roman oppressors – he would ride into Jerusalem by the east gate to the city, by the gate called Beautiful. Every Jew who knew the scriptures knew what to expect. The prophet Zechariah had written that the Messiah would arrive in Jerusalem “humble and riding on a colt, the foal of a donkey.” By riding into the city where and when and how he did, Jesus was claiming to be nothing less than the Messiah, the rightful king of the Jews. The only trouble was that the Roman emperor Caesar was the political king of the Jews; and he wasn’t about to allow any peasant from Galilee with a rag-tag bunch of followers to threaten his power. The Temple authorities knew what would happen when the Roman authorities got wind of Jesus’ action. He and all his followers – and quite possibly all the Jewish religious authorities – would be arrested and executed. And so, some of the Pharisees in the crowd told Jesus to keep his disciples quiet.  “Teacher, order your disciples to stop,” they said. But Jesus answered, “If these were silent, the stones would shout out.” His attitude is clear. “I have done what I have done. Let the chips fall where they may. Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.”

Now, you might be thinking that it is quite a relief that we aren’t in Jesus’ position here today. We don’t live under an oppressive Roman government . We practice our religion without any threat of arrest. We enjoy freedom of speech, and we can practice any religion that we like, as long as we don’t break any law while we’re doing it. We don’t have to worry about being persecuted for taking a stand. Do we? Unfortunately, if we are serious about following Jesus Christ, then sometimes we do. In every time and in every place, from Jesus’ time to ours, Christians have felt called to take unpopular stands, and to let the chips fall where they may.

All the way back in the time of the early Church, Peter was dragged before the Jewish high council and was told to quit preaching about Jesus. Peter said that he wasn’t about to stop preaching about Jesus; because he had to obey God rather than men. Father, into your hands I commit my spirit. In the year 1517, Martin Luther nailed 95 statements to the door of the church at Wittenberg, Germany – protests against Roman Catholic practices of his day. He was hauled into court, and was ordered to deny his beliefs and swear obedience to the Church, he famously replied, “Here I stand. I can do no other.” He might have added, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.” In our own time, Martin Luther King, Jr. endured all kinds of abuse as a result of his stand on civil rights. It is said that one evening, he sat alone in his kitchen after his family had gone to bed for the night. He considered the abuse that both he and his family had suffered – fire-bombs, bullets through his windows, and death threats. Was it worth it? Should he give up his quest for civil rights for all Americans, both white and black? His decision wasn’t easy; but once he made it, he never backed down. He was chopping down the tree of discrimination, and he wasn’t about to stop! The chips would fall where they may. Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.

During the rise of the Third Reich prior to World War II, the German theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote, “Who stands firm? Only the one… whose life [is] nothing but an answer to God’s question and call.” In every time and place, God calls faithful Christians to make a choice between what is right and what is easy. It may concern something very small – a family member, for example, who insists on telling offensive ethnic jokes. Or it might concern something much bigger – the threat of arrest for offering aid and sanctuary to illegal immigrants. Whatever it is – whatever the issue, whatever the circumstances – Jesus calls us to stand firm on behalf of the Gospel, and to let the chips fall where they may.

On this Palm Sunday, Father, into your hands we commit our spirits.

Looking Towards Paradise

Today was the third Sunday in Lent; and my sermon considers Jesus' third word from the cross: "Today you will be with me in paradise." Is that kind of promise just pie in the sky bye and bye; or is it something far more profound? If you choose to read my sermon, I hope it helps you to think about that question.

This morning, we consider the third word of Jesus from the cross: “Today you will be with me in paradise.” Like last week’s word (“Father, forgive them; they don’t know what they’re doing.”), this statement seems to be one that only God can make. How could a human Jesus state with such confidence that something good is awaiting him as he is hanging on the cross, racked by pain and taunted by those who executed him? Isn’t God the only one who can say something like that with such certainty? Actually, this statement of Jesus is a word of hope; and hope is a gift of God to all Christians.

Hope wasn’t a very common thing in Jesus’ time. The Roman Empire was in charge of things; and the Roman Empire didn’t really care much for the welfare of the common people. The people in power were only concerned with staying in power; and the people who resisted the government were crushed like bugs. Floggings, crucifixions, beheading… they were all common sights in Jesus’ day. No one had much hope that anything would ever get better. It’s not that different from today, is it? Oh, we may not see executions in the public square; but many people have precious little hope these days, either. Wherever we turn, the future is pictured as nothing but doom and gloom. The budget sequesters that have now gone into effect are predicted to turn our economy back on itself, and plunge millions of people into unemployment. Global warming is wreaking havoc with the climate worldwide, and may very well lead to the extinction of many types of animals. And if we manage to avert global warming, we still have the problem of overpopulation. All kinds of dire consequences are predicted from that – wars, famines, diseases, and death. Yes, many people look for those four horsemen of the apocalypse to ride out any day now! How we need the hope that Jesus offered when he said, “Today you will be with me in paradise.” Jesus uttered that courageous statement in the midst of a situation that should have led him to despair. But his words reflect a certainty that hate and oppression and suffering and even death don’t have the last word. God’s love has the last word. The end is not disaster, but renewal.

Now, there’s plenty of wishful thinking around today that masquerades as hope. We hear it all the time. “I hope that the weather will be nice tomorrow.” “I hope that I lose some weight so I can fit into this dress again.” “I hope that I win the lottery.” Those statements may use the word “hope,” but when we take their masks off, they aren’t really about hope at all. They’re just wishes that we make in the middle of bad situations. Hope is something very different. Hope isn’t a wish; it’s a certainty that God’s love, wisdom, and power will transform any situation into something good, even if we don’t see any evidence of it right now! Hope doesn’t deny that things are bad; but hope believes that the good will arrive someday. In the middle of the night, hope bravely declares, “This will not last forever. Even though I may never see the light, I believe that in the end, the darkness will be conquered.”

One of my favorite descriptions of hope is this poem that was written by the great American poet Emily Dickinson:

Hope is the thing with feathers

that perches in the soul
and sings the tune without the words,
and never stops at all.

Hope is like the little birds that come to my feeder in all kinds of weather. Sun, rain, or snow, little feathered bits of hope arrive every day to gobble up sunflower seeds or peanuts and to peck at cakes of suet. I am always amazed that, even in the most dreadful weather, they sing their songs. Oh, on some days those songs are very quiet. They don’t sing very much when the weather is bad. But they do sing; just as we have hope in both good times and in bad.

Hope is the thing with feathers

that perches in the soul
and sings the tune without the words,
and never stops at all.

 Just like the presence of God, hope stays with us no matter what the circumstances of our lives may be. And did you notice that the hope Jesus offered from the cross wasn’t just his own personal hope? No, his statement took the thief right along with him. Jesus could have declared, “I’m not worried! I know that I’m going to heaven when all this is over!” Instead, though, he included someone else. “Today you will be with me in paradise.” Christian hope reaches beyond itself to include all the folks around it who have no hope of their own! In a world that is often hopeless, we Christians can offer hope to others.

Now, sometimes, when we offer our hope to others, they ask, “How can you possibly have hope? Look around! Do you see any evidence at all that things are going to get better?” And in many cases, if we’re honest with ourselves, the answer to that question is “no.” Many situations in our world are very dark with no light to be seen anywhere, not even at the end of the tunnel. But that’s why hope is hope. Hope is the result of a faith that declares that God can and will redeem any situation, no matter how bad things may be. And there’s no way to prove that. No scientist can find God’s love in a test tube or in a Petri dish or under a microscope. We need faith to believe it. But if we do believe it, then we need not lose hope, not in any situation that we may encounter.

People who have hope are like the little boy who always found an opportunity for good, no matter what happened to him. When the weather was rainy, he reminded his family that the rain helps the flowers to grow. When he got a low grade on a test, he declared that his mistakes helped him know what to study so that he could improve. When a fellow classmate was rude to him, he said that the experience helped him to learn patience. His neighbor was not nearly as cheerful. He was a grumpy man who was annoyed by the child’s unfailing optimism. “That kid needs to grow up,” he declared one day. “I’ll show him that not everything in life is rosy.” So he ordered a huge pile of horse manure one day, and he had it dumped right in the middle of a vacant lot where the boy often played with his friends. When the child came home from school that day, his neighbor called to him. “Hey, I’ve got a present for you!” Leading him to the vacant lot, he showed him the enormous manure pile and said, “Here – this is all for you!” Without hesitation, the boy ran to the pile of manure and began to dig into it gleefully. The neighbor was astonished. “What in the world are you doing?” he demanded. The boy looked up with a huge smile, and answered, “Well, with a pile of manure this big, I know there must be a pony in here somewhere!”

Hope expects to find a pony some day. Hope believes that the sun will rise no matter how dark the night has been. Hope refuses to surrender to despair. Hope believes that God will redeem everything in his own time; if not in this life, then in the next. And when we hope, we are like Jesus in the certainty that God is sovereign.

“Today, you will be with me in paradise.” It’s the hope that Jesus offered to the thief on the cross.

“Today, you will be with me in paradise.” It’s the hope that we can offer to a world that has fallen into despair.
“Today, you will be with me in paradise.” It’s the hope that God offers to us, too, because of a cross and an empty tomb.

Forgiving

I preached this sermon on the second Sunday of Lent. The subject is forgiveness -- not Jesus' forgiveness of us, but our forgiveness of others. We all have a terrible time forgiving people who have hurt us. Maybe my sermon will help you understand why it's so important.

This morning, we continue our consideration of Jesus’ last words from the cross. Specifically, we continue to look at how those words reflect the human Jesus. For some words, that’s easier than for others When we considered his word of abandonment last week (“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”), it wasn’t hard to understand how a human Jesus could say such a thing. After all, we have all asked God that very same question during our own lives. But Jesus’ word of forgiveness from the cross is another story completely.

“Father, forgive them; they don’t know what they’re doing.” (Luke 23:34) Even while Jesus hung dying on the cross, he prayed that God might forgive the people who were killing him. That couldn’t have been an easy thing for him to pray. After all, remember what he had experienced. After Jesus was arrested in Gethsemane, he was taken before an illegal court session on a trumped-up charge. He was convicted on false evidence offered by liars. After being handed over to the Roman authorities, he was beaten and ridiculed. He was crowned with a circle of thorns, and forced to carry his own cross to the place of execution. Nails were driven through his hands and feet, and he was left to die suspended on a wooden crosspiece in the hot sun. What human being could possibly pray for the people who did all those things? It tempts us to believe that this prayer must be from a divine Jesus who loves with God’s infinite love. After all, his forgiveness includes everyone involved in his death – not just the Roman soldiers who nailed him to the cross, but also the Jewish council who handed him over to Pilate, Judas who handed him over to the Jewish council, and the disciples who ran away when the going got tough. It seems to us that only God could offer that kind of forgiveness.

But in fact, Jesus wanted us to do the very same thing. He talked more than once about the importance of forgiveness. If someone wrongs you, Jesus told Peter, forgive that person even more than seven times. Forgive them seventy-seven times. (Matthew 18:22) Forgive that person so many times that you lose count! And do you remember Matthew’s parable of the unforgiving servant (18:23-35)? He refused to forgive a fellow servant a tiny debt even though his master has just forgiven an enormous debt that he owed himself. He was condemned for his callous actions. “Forgive,” says Jesus (Luke 6:37) “and you will be forgiven.” Forgiveness isn’t only something that God does. Jesus expects us to do it, too.

But forgiveness is a very hard thing to offer. It’s a lot easier to dwell on the hurts that we have suffered than to accept what happened and move on. The trouble is that if we don’t offer forgiveness, we become trapped in a spider’s web of anger, resentment, and hate. We might even start to think about revenge in the name of justice. We don’t see the people who hurt us getting their just desserts, so instead of trusting that God will deal with the situation in God’s time and in God’s wisdom, we decide to take matters into our own hands. And in the process, we only hurt ourselves. Revenge is a dish that always comes back to poison the one who serves it. But hate is so easy. Revenge appears to be so sweet, and forgiveness is so difficult. Sometimes it even seems to be impossible. How could we possibly forgive someone who intentionally hurt one of us or one of our loved ones?  Surely no one could do that!

But, in fact, we’ve seen that kind of forgiveness not that long ago. Back in October of 2006, a deranged gunman entered an Amish schoolhouse in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. He shot ten young girls in the back of the head before committing suicide. The response of the bereaved parents was almost unbelievable. Instead of calling for revenge, the Amish community chose to forgive. The grandfather of one of the victims insisted, “We must not think evil of this man,” while one of the fathers reminded us, “He had a mother and a wife and a soul, and now he’s standing before a just God.” When the media asked for an explanation of their reaction, one of their members said, "I don't think there's anybody here that wants to do anything but forgive; and not only reach out to those who have suffered a loss in that way, but to reach out to the family of the man who committed these acts." And that’s exactly what they did. Amish community members comforted the shooter’s wife, parents, and parents-in-law. One Amish man reportedly held the shooter’s father for over an hour while he wept uncontrollably. 30 of the Amish community attended the funeral of the shooter; and they set up a charitable fund to benefit his family. In an open letter to her Amish neighbors, the shooter’s wife thanked them for their forgiveness, grace, and mercy. She wrote, "Your love for our family has helped to provide the healing we so desperately need. Gifts you've given have touched our hearts in a way no words can describe. Your compassion has reached beyond our family, beyond our community, and is changing our world, and for this we sincerely thank you." “Love your enemies,” said Jesus, “and pray for those who abuse you.” (Luke 6:27-28) That’s what the bereaved Amish community did; and they set an example of forgiveness for all of us.

In his word from the cross, Jesus not only set a model for our own forgiveness; he even gave us a reason that we should forgive others. “Father, forgive them; because they don’t know what they’re doing.” That deranged man who shot Amish children in cold blood probably didn’t know what he was doing. He wasn’t thinking rationally. And although we may not be mentally ill, we don’t know what we’re doing most of the time, either. Usually it’s not a big thing, and we don’t even realize what we’ve done. When a new mother brags about her baby to a young couple, she may not know that they are struggling with infertility issues. She doesn’t see them weeping together in the night because the child that they want so desperately can’t be conceived. They are deeply hurt; and the one who caused them so much pain never even knew it. No, we don’t know what we’re doing. So if we expect people to forgive us for the hurtful things that we do to them, then we have to forgive them for all the hurtful things that they do to us.

In the end, forgiveness is our response to the realization that we are all imperfect human beings who live in an imperfect world. We don’t know everything. And so, with the best of intentions, we do things that are hurtful instead of helpful. We give in to temptations so easily. Because we want power and status, we step on people who are in our way. And because we’re often busy or rushed or just plain lazy, we don’t take the actions that we should. While we strive to get what we want, we neglect people who don’t even have what they need.

“Father, forgive them; because they don’t know what they’re doing.” Jesus has forgiven us so often! Maybe during this season of Lent, we could so some forgiving ourselves.

Forsaken

As Lent begins, my sermons will consider the words that Jesus spoke on the cross. They are part of any Good Friday service; but Good Friday services are no longer three hours long at midday. They may be an hour long on Friday evening. Some churches don't hold them at all any more. That means that these days, Jesus' words from the cross are seldom sermon topics. And they deserve to be! This sermon considers the first word -- the word of desolation and abandonment. If you choose to read this sermon, maybe it will give you a different way to look at that word from the cross.

The season of Lent is here once again. You can tell that with one look at any sanctuary. In our church, the cloths on the altar, pulpit, and lectern are now purple. A crown of thorns is sitting on our altar. And a rough wooden cross draped with purple is hanging on the wall, reminding us that, although Jesus is our King, our sin led to his death on a cross. That is, of course, ultimately where Lent leads – to a cross on a hill. We have to face that cross before we can celebrate the glad news of Easter morning. It shows us the worst of humanity and the best of the divine. Jesus was crucified because of human power and politics, but was raised by God so that we might have eternal life.

But we frequently forget something during Lent. We are so focused on Jesus as God’s divine son that we forget that Jesus was also very human. Fully human and fully divine – that’s what we confess about the person of Jesus. And nothing shows Jesus’ humanity more than the words he spoke from the cross. They reflect suffering… trust… compassion… and victory. So, during this Lenten season, my sermons will focus on these words – words that are very much like words that you and I have spoken at some time or other in our lives. Jesus’ words from the cross offer us reassurance, comfort, and strength as we deal with the circumstances of our own lives.

The very first word is a word of despair. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

It’s a desolate cry, the cry of someone who is utterly abandoned. It’s the cry of someone who is tempted to lose all hope.

The cross wasn’t the first time Jesus had been tempted. He and the Tempter were old acquaintances from way back at the beginning of his ministry. Fresh from his baptism in the Jordan River, after the Holy Spirit had descended on him like a dove, Jesus went into the wilderness. During his stay there, Satan tempted him three different times. (Luke 4:1-13) I’ve often wondered if Jesus felt abandoned by God during those temptations. But back then, God’s words that he heard at his baptism were still ringing in his ears: “This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.” Jesus resisted those wilderness temptations, seemingly with very little effort. And then Luke tells us that Satan left him – but only until “a more opportune time.”

Satan found that opportune time on Good Friday. Jesus had no words from God echoing in his ears that day as he hung on the cross. He heard only denials by his friends, accusations by the Pharisees, and taunts by the Roman soldiers. Abandoned by every earthly support, he cried in despair, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Where was God, anyway, the God who had called him the “beloved son”? Hadn’t Jesus done everything that God had asked him to do? Who could blame him if he lost hope in the God that he called “Father”?

Satan finds many, many opportune times in our own lives, as well, to tempt us to lose hope. We don’t need to be hanging on a cross to be driven to despair. When the phone rings late at night and the voice on the line says, “This is the Highway Patrol. There’s been an accident,” then despair is standing right outside the door. When your beloved turns to you one day and says, “I’m sorry, I just don’t want to be married anymore,” then despair taps you on the shoulder. When the doctor shakes her head and says gravely, “I’m sorry, there’s nothing else that we can do,” then despair stares you right in the face. What else can we do at times like these except cry, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Where can we possibly find any hope when hope seems to have vanished?

Maybe Jesus’ own words give us the answer. His first word from the cross – that word of despair – is a quote from the 22^nd Psalm. The first half of that psalm foreshadows Jesus’ experiences on the cross. It says things like: “O my God, I cry out by day, but you do not answer. (verse 2a) I am scorned by men and despised by the people. (verse 6b) All who see me mock me. They hurl insults… (verse 7) I am poured out like water. All my bones are out of joint. (verse 14a) My strength is dried up like a potsherd. (verse 15a) A band of evil men has encircled me. They have pierced my hands and feet. (verse 16) They divide my garments among them, and cast lots for my clothing.” (verse 18) No, there is precious little hope to be found in the beginning of Psalm 22.

But then… suddenly… miraculously… the tone of the psalm changes from despair to praise, as suffering is replaced by triumph. “I will declare your name to everyone!” the psalmist proclaims. “In the congregation I will praise you! (verse 22) God has not despised or disdained the suffering of the afflicted one. He has not hidden his face from him, but has listened to his cry for help. (verse 24) Dominion belongs to the Lord!” (verse 28a) This psalm that Jesus quoted may have begun in despair, but it certainly didn’t end there. Although it begins with suffering, it concludes with thanksgiving for God’s power over all the nations.

Did Jesus quote this psalm not only because it described his own suffering, but also because it proclaimed the hope that is ours in God’s promises? Is it possible that even from the cross, Jesus saw the sunrise of Easter morning? If that is the case – and I believe that it is – then Jesus’ cry of desolation, coming as it does from this powerful psalm, can remind us of two things. First, it reminds us that, during his life, Jesus went through everything that we go through. Jesus knew what it meant to be abandoned, to suffer, and to lose hope. And because he did, we need never say that God has forgotten us in our despair. God does not forget us any more than he forgot Jesus. But it reminds us of something else just as important. It reminds us of Easter morning. Psalm 22 is a witness that hope stands just beyond the shadow of despair. Despite suffering and fear and loneliness and pain, hope is as eternal as God’s love for us.

The cross is real. If the season of Lent has anything to say to us, it says that. We can’t avoid the cross in our lives. It comes with the territory of being human. But Easter is just as real. Even though we experience the despair of the cross, God promises us the glory of the resurrection. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Jesus said it; and we say it, too. But don’t despair. Don’t lose hope. Psalm 30, another great psalm, affirms that “Weeping may linger for the night; but joy comes with the morning.” Yes, indeed it does. It’s waiting for us with hope -- right outside the door of the empty tomb.

Dreaming

Last Sunday was Transfiguration Sunday, the day that the scripture reading is about Jesus transfigured on the mountain top. Luke gives this story a special "spin" by mentioning that the disciples were snoozing as Jesus was transfigured. Was their vision of him a dream? If you choose to read this sermon, you might be reminded of times in your experience that a dream influenced the rest of your life.

There is a place somewhere between waking and sleeping where our dreams seem to be very real. It’s that time when we are just surfacing from our sleep, but when we are not yet fully awake. During that time, our dreams can be more real than the reality we experience after we have shaken the clouds away from our heads and rubbed the mist out of our eyes.

Those dreams can have a profound effect on our lives. Maybe that’s because they are free from the usual limits of reality. In our dreams, we can envision the world as it might be instead of only seeing the world as it is. Our dreams can fill us with visions of beauty that inspire us for the rest of our lives. Martin Luther King, Jr. talked about a dream like that when he said, “I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at a table of brotherhood. I have a dream that my four children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a desert state, sweltering with the heat of injustice and oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.” Dreams like that can change our lives.

The disciples experienced something like that when they accompanied Jesus to the mountain top in this story from Luke (9:28-36). As Jesus was praying, his clothes became as bright as lightning, and his face glowed with the very glory of God. Moses and Elijah, those two Old Testament patriarchs, even appeared to talk with him. Jesus didn’t look like a typical human being; he looked like the Son of God himself. And the disciples saw all of it! They saw Jesus’ glory; and they saw Moses and Elijah with him. But they weren’t sure that it was real. The disciples had dozed off as Jesus had been praying; and they saw him in all his glory just as they were waking up. Was it real or was it a dream? They weren’t really sure.

What they were sure of as they gazed on Jesus in his glory is that they wanted to stay on that mountain. They were tired of walking the long, dusty roads of Galilee. They were tired of being stopped by lepers and paralytics who wanted to be healed. They were tired of being accused of being sinners by the Pharisees. They wanted Jesus to get some glory for being the Messiah; and there on that mountain, he certainly had it! Why did they ever need to leave? Couldn’t they just stay? They were like the character Caliban in Shakespeare’s play The Tempest. Caliban lives on an island where the drama takes place; and at one point in the play, he describes his experiences there. “This island is full of noises,” he says, “strange sounds and sweet melodies that make you feel good and don’t hurt anyone. Sometimes I hear a thousand twanging instruments hum at my ears… I dream of clouds opening up and dropping such riches on me that when I wake up, I cry because I want to dream again.” Dreaming can be a comforting, uplifting experience. So let’s just stay here, Peter suggests. “Master,” he said, “it is good for us to be here. Let us put up three shelters – one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” Peter wanted to make the vision of Jesus’ glory permanent. He was ready to build a church up on that mountain so that they never had to leave.

But that wasn’t what Jesus had in mind. Jesus knew that we can’t stay inside a dream forever. Dreams can comfort us… reassure us… even inspire us… but they don’t last forever. Our dreams on the mountain have to give way to life in the valley. The next thing the disciples knew, the voice of God was speaking to them out of a cloud – a cloud that appeared out of nowhere and surrounded the disciples like a fog. “This is my Son, whom I have chosen,” they heard. “Listen to him.” And when the cloud disappeared, their vision was gone. Jesus was alone, looking the way he had always looked. No Moses. No Elijah. No shining face or bright clothing. Jesus again looked as ordinary as he did every other day. The disciples had no doubt that they were fully awake once again.

Luke tells us that they didn’t tell anybody about their vision; at least, not for a long time. They had to process it a little bit first. They had to come to grips with some questions that they had. Was Jesus’ glory real – or had they imagined the whole thing? If Jesus really was the glorious Son of God, why did he keep talking about taking up a cross? And why did they have to leave the mountain? Shouldn’t glory like that be worshipped apart from daily life? Those aren’t easy questions – not for Jesus’ disciples, and not for us. It takes a long time to understand that Jesus’ glory isn’t the glory of privilege, but the glory of sacrificial love. It is hard to accept that God came to us not as a conquering hero, but as a sacrificial lamb. And it takes time to realize that God’s glory mostly shows itself not on a mountaintop, but in the middle of our messy, imperfect, twisted-up world. The dreams that we dream on the mountain aren’t meant to keep us there, but to sustain us when we go back to the valley to serve others in Jesus’ name.

Sometimes we don’t understand those things any better than the disciples did. And the mountain top is a very comfortable place to be. We like it when we’re up there. We can have magnificent dreams of glory and envision a world without any violence or pain or suffering. We can imagine the banquet that God will one day spread out for us; imagine the lion and the lamb playing together; even see the little child taking care of everything. But if we stay on the mountain top, those dreams will stay just what they are – dreams. If our dreams are ever to turn into reality, we have to come back down the mountain into the valley with Jesus. We have to do what God told the disciples to do and listen to Jesus. We have to be ready to take up our cross and follow him. We have to be ready to serve in his name.

But when we do those things – when we live lives of love and service and sacrifice – then Jesus’ glory will truly shine. It will shine in our lives, as we are transformed, too, into people who are truly his disciples. We might even be the dreamers who inspire other dreamers!

And wouldn’t that be a dream come true?

Revival

What do we do about the declining membership in our churches? Is it a sign that God has abandoned us -- or a sign that God is actually working in our midst to free us from the social privilege that we once enjoyed? This sermon might make you think more deeply about the answer.

It’s fair to say that the Christian church has survived many challenges during its 2000 year life on earth. It has survived the challenge of persecution, when Christians were killed in the Roman arena rather than deny Jesus as their Lord. It has survived heresies – distortions of the Gospel that sound good at first glance, but that ultimately lead to a denial of the gospel. And it certainly has survived hate of all kinds – people who hate the Church; and people in the Church who hate others in the name of God. But no challenge has been more pervasive than the challenge that doesn’t seem like a challenge at all. I’m talking about the challenge of privilege.

The church’s privilege started about 1700 years ago when the Roman emperor Constantine made Christianity the official religion of the empire. Constantine had accepted Christianity as his own faith early in his reign; and almost immediately, he made it a legal religion so that the persecutions ended. But he didn’t stop there. He wanted to bind his empire together – and it was a vast empire that stretched from the British Isles almost all the way to India and including a vast number of cultures, languages, and traditions. A common faith seemed to Constantine the way to hold it together. And so, in the year 333, he declared that every person in the Roman Empire would from that day forward be a Christian. The persecuted church had become the privileged church. And in much of the world, it has been that way ever since.

Now, that may not seem to be much of a challenge. In fact, it seems like a pretty good thing. But privilege always brings problems; because with privilege comes power. You know what they say about power: “Power corrupts; and absolute power corrupts absolutely.” That even applies to the Church. Although it was begun by Jesus Christ, the Church is still a human institution. And because that is the case, its power has led to some actions that were definitely not Godly! The Crusades… the Inquisition… the amassing of huge amounts of wealth in the name of God… These were just some of the consequences of the fact that during the years, the Church has enjoyed more power than was good for it.

Now, the Church in the United States hasn’t had quite that much power. Our Founding Fathers saw the consequences of marrying political power to religion; and they divorced the two in our Constitution. But since World War II, Protestant churches have enjoyed quite a lot of social privilege. Many of you will remember the “golden age” of the 1950s and 60s. Church membership skyrocketed as veterans of World War II came home and started families. Sunday schools were overflowing with well-dressed, well-scrubbed children who memorized the Ten Commandments and the Lord’s Prayer. On Easter Sunday, many churches had to set up folding chairs to hold all the worshippers! Anybody who was anybody belonged to a church – the right church, of course. That’s where the businessmen and the society ladies got to know one another. Some churches looked a lot like the Country Club on Sunday morning!

All that, of course, has changed. Church membership is dropping like a rock. Some churches have no children at all in their membership. And on Easter Sunday… well, attendance at an Easter service is about what attendance at a typical Sunday service was 50 years ago! What happened? Doesn’t anybody know how to fix things? Can’t somebody tell us what in the world is going on? The truth is that no one knows exactly what happened. Oh, there are plenty of suggestions. Lots of people are crunching numbers and writing books. Even more are sponsoring pricey workshops on how to lure people back to church. But despite enough new books to fill a small library, and a workshop somewhere on every single weekend of the year, nothing is changing. The Church has lost the privilege that it once had.

And maybe that’s a good thing. An essay in the Christian Century magazine (Vol. 129, No. 26, December 26, 2012, pp. 28-30) recently suggested that maybe – just maybe – this decline in church privilege is actually a sign that God is at work among us. Authors L. Roger Owens and Anthony B. Robinson turned to an ancient Christian mystic, St. John of the Cross, for insight into what God might be doing. John of the Cross is famous for an experience called the Dark Night of the Soul. During the Dark Night, God seems to have gone on an extended vacation. We can’t feel God in our lives in any way at all. But what is really happening is that God is working through the Dark Night to free us from all worldly attachments so that we might draw spiritually closer to him. “This night,” said John, “frees the soul from all its vices by quenching all its earthly and heavenly satisfactions.”

Is that what is happening to the church now? Is God taking away the social privilege that we once enjoyed so that we can embrace something much better? Is God prying us away from the security that comes from power and inviting us to a renewed relationship with him – which, in the end, is the only security that really counts? Is God reminding us that our real identity is not “Grand Offerer of Programs” but the Body of Christ? If that’s the case, then it’s a blessing! Privilege and power, after all, distract us from what we ought to be about. When we enjoy privilege, we’re like a little boy whose mother motivates him to practice the piano by offering him a Snickers candy bar after he has finished. But as long as he practices only for the Snickers, he’ll never learn to play that piano really well. Only when he cares more about making beautiful music than about getting the candy will he begin to play with the love that marks a real musician. American mainline churches have had too much candy for way too long. Our candy hasn’t been Snickers bars, but church members on city councils, and civic leaders on church boards. Our treat bags were filled with big cradle rolls and overflowing Vacation Bible Schools. We got fat on years of successful youth programs.

And now we’re on a diet. But if, indeed, God has put us here, it is a diet that might well lead to some real blessings. It might refocus us on the real purpose of the Church – to worship the God of Jesus Christ in a culture that worships all kinds of other gods. It might lead us to proclaim God’s grace through the way we live our lives. It might force us to the realization that if anybody is going to change the world for Jesus Christ, it’s going to have to be us – not government programs or economic policies. But that’s OK. Jesus only had 12 followers, and look what they accomplished! If this Dark Night of the Church can help us to focus on what’s really important, to reaffirm our commitment to live our faith, and to renew our desire to live for Christ and for Christ alone, then the Church will experience a revival that will be like nothing we’ve ever seen before – a revival not of numbers, but of spiritual power.

Maybe if we let go of who we used to be, we’ll discover who we really are. What a revival that would be!