"Peace be with you"

Most people think of Easter as a single day, but it for many Christians, including mainline Protestants, Catholics, the Orthodox Church, and other branches of the Christian faith an entire season - 50 days in all. The glorious celebrations of Easter morn mark on the tip of the iceberg. Commercially we have long-since passed Easter, and Mother's Day and are now stretching toward Memorial Day, even Father's Day. If you stop into a Cracker Barrel these days you'll be greeted by a table of 4th of July items prominently displayed at the front door. It is hard then to think that we are still in Eastertide when the culture is pulling us to engage in the trappings of the next big calendar event.

In fact, were it not for the assigned lectionary readings, that force the body of Christ to focus on the events and repercussions following Christ's resurrection, and left to our own devices, we might already be looking ahead to the happy manger. It is hardly a crime to wish to remain in the bliss of Christmas or the joy of Easter morn but it takes more that these two events to shore up the buttresses of a life of faith when the flood waters rise and strong winds threaten. A lot of life is lived between the manger and the cross. The faithful require a steady diet of a variety of biblical text to face the challenges of daily life.

One such text, from the second Sunday of Easter is John 20:19-31; sometimes called the account of "Doubting Thomas." When Jesus joined the disciples in the locked upper room he greeted them with the words, "Peace be with you." Unfortunately, we lack a proper way to interpret this. As is the case quite often when either biblical Hebrew or Greek is translated into English, something is lost. In this case, quite a bit is lost. So then while the words may be correctly interpreted, the meaning has not be captured. According to William Barclay, what Jesus says, more exactly is: May God give you every good thing. The disciples have been through a lot in recent days; they're tired, anxious and afraid. They've lost their direction, their purpose; the foundation of all their work swept away in a single day. How does one begin to say all the things that need to be said? Peace be with you, are words that do not fail. The repeat seems to stress Jesus' intent that they concentrate on what God has already and would provide, rather than what they have lost. It is how Jesus began to engage those he loved who were disoriented by the events of recent days - with the reminder that it is God who provides. When all is lost, when all seems beyond repair or redemption, it is God who will have the last word. This is what we too long to hear on the rough days we endure between Christmas and Easter.

It's been a hard Spring, weather-wise, in our nation. Last I heard the death toll was 339 from that terrible outbreak of tornadoes a few weeks ago. And as I write this, thousands await the cresting of the Mississippi River in a year of record-breaking flooding and devastation of land, crops and property. For so many everything they owned has been lost, heaping injury and insult to the loss of life. What do we say to people who have lost everything and are hanging on to the hope tomorrow might bring by a thread? Perhaps, "Peace be with you, " would be a good place to start.

In a recent bombing by NATO, it was reported that Gaddafi's youngest son was killed. Who will pay the price for the loss of his son? Eye for an eye . . . What do we say to the multitude who have already lost so many in the cruel attacks of Gaddafi's forces over the last few months? Sometimes it's easier to turn a blind eye; the pain of apathetic regret is soothing compared to the sight of such senseless bloodshed. After all, there is little you and I can do, but look to the worldly authorities to meek out justice, and pray. What then should be our prayer? When nothing comes to mind because the injustice is so great and the needs so immense let us begin with: Peace be with you.

Education has been the most recent target of budget cuts this year. Of course, the U.S. education system is far from perfect to begin with but the impact of such deep cuts for teaching staff and the marked reduction in students' exposure to the full spectrum of the humanities threatens to haunt us for generations. In this particular part of Pennsylvania, where the educational system employees a large number of people, cuts in staff and programs have immediate, local consequences. Even so, do not think for a moment that God does not have this situation in hand.

When Jesus appeared later in the week, when Thomas was again with the disciples, he said, once again, this time directly to the skeptic, to the one who no longer believed, "Peace be with you." The assurance to Thomas and of Eastertide is that ultimately God's redeeming work does not depend on our belief. God's love is far more powerful then how we might perceive or judge it. In these Great 50 Days we are reminded that even the seemingly final word of the cross was defeated by God's illogical, sacrificial justice. The Sunday texts throughout the whole Easter season assure the worshiping body of Christ that we truly can know the peace of God that surpasses all human understanding in the good things provided to meet our every need and beyond.

Theology never saved anyone: An Easter Meditation

"Theology never saved anyone" - my Brazilian colleague said to me. Considering that he was working on his PhD in Theology, this came as quite a surprise. It's one of those things you hear someone say and mentally put it to the side until you have time to think through all the ramifications of what that might mean - or think, I must have misunderstood. Two words in that sentence, theology and saved, traditionally go hand in hand. God saves. But of course that is not a correct interpretation. Theology is not a title for God, but rather the study of God and all things pertaining to God. Indeed, God does save, but theology, in and of itself, does not.

One might also say theology never kept anyone awake on a Sunday morning either. I happen to find theology totally engrossing and fascinating but totally understand why others do not: Because at the end of the day, theology never saved anyone.

Still, this is an ironic thing to consider on Easter morning given that the entire metanarrative of the Christian Church is built on the theological foundation of atonement theory; Christ's death atoned for our sins. That is why we go to church on Easter morning, yes? To celebration our new life, the one Christ provided for us, through his death and resurrection. In the fulfillment of the prophets, Jesus took on our sins and they died with him; hence, we are saved. It's a bit more complicated than that; actually there are four very distinct and different atonement theories, but I'm not going to explain them because, well, theology never saved anyone. God who is with and in Christ and who lives and moves in the Holy Spirit saves; but the theories of how that actually works do not.

The Gospel reading today does not contain theology. It is a story, a record of an event that someone witnessed and after the story had been told repeatedly in many communities and as part of worship in house churches over many years, someone we know as Matthew, wrote it down as part of his testimony to the resurrection of Jesus. It is not a theological treatise. It is a testimony to the truth. In 2000 years time, for good and for ill, we have burdened this truth with much doctrine and dogma; so much in fact that the doctrine stands out ahead of the story. It's like someone telling you the end of the movie before you've seen it. We know the point of this story before we've even heard it. We push to the finish, perhaps thinking, "Come on, cut to the chase, yes, yes, the tomb is empty, Jesus is risen. Yeah! Can we eat now?"

When I was in the Holy Land a few years ago, our group visited the tomb believed to be the one where Jesus was laid, the one found abandoned on that sabbath day by the two Mary's. Of all the places we visited, it was the most meaningful to me. Unlike the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in the Old City which was very crowded, commercialized, dark and dirty, the area around the tomb had been made into a lush garden and was under the care of an order of the Anglican Church. Visitations were strictly coordinated group by group, each with a guide. After we'd seen the tomb, actually been able to bend down and go into it, we spent some time in a lovely outdoor chapel where we prayed and sang Were you There. But I could not sing of sorrow having myself seen the empty tomb. I wanted to yell out - Why are you singing these sad songs? Shouldn't we be singing something more like, Alleluia! Alleluia! Give thanks to the risen Lord?

You see, theology never saved anyone. There is nothing to compare to the haunting witness of grace that one experiences in the sight of an empty tomb.

"Although [John Newton] had had some early religious instruction from his mother, who had died when he was a child, he had long since given up any religious convictions. However, [as a slave trader] on a homeward voyage, while he was attempting to steer the ship through a violent storm, he experienced what he was to refer to later as his “great deliverance.” He recorded in his journal that when all seemed lost and the ship would surely sink, he exclaimed, 'Lord, have mercy upon us.' Later in his cabin he reflected on what he had said and began to believe that God had addressed him through the storm" and that he had experienced God's saving grace. (from http://www.anointedlinks.com/amazing_grace.html) The hymn he would later write, Amazing Grace, about the experience was a testimony to his conversion, not a hermeneutic on the theology of grace. And thousands upon thousands have shared in that grace in the hearing of this simple, understated witness.

As should be our practice at all times, it is especially important that we do not limit ourselves to any one particular part of scripture, despite the fact that the lectionary writers have done so. Today is no exception. The part of Matthew assigned for today is Matthew 28:1-10 - but read on for six more verses, to the part where Jesus meets up with the disciples on a mountain in Galilee. There he commissions them to continue his work, not the work of intellectuals who argue over doctrine - but the hands-on work of being Christ in the world.

This year, instead of the lovely Easter line drawings I have in stock for the front cover of the bulletin I went with a scene from Haiti. Its a photo for public use courtesy of Church World Service. I don't know the story behind the picture, but it translates very effectively the paradox of the cross; defeat and triumph in the same moment. It is to me the closest I've gotten to actually seeing grace in black and white. It's a living reminder that in every catastrophe, tragedy and outright epic failure, ultimately, God will triumph. Said another way, grace is that place where worldly defeat and redemption live side by side in perfect harmony. Now we must be careful not to overwork or romanticize this notion or its relevance will dissolve. Grace is precious and fragile in that way. It's like making biscuits; if you handle it too much all you're left with are hockey pucks. Remember, theology never saved anyone.

In the movie Jurassic Park, there is a scene in which one of the scientists finds broken egg shells from recently hatched baby dinosaurs. Amazed, he is reminded of being told early on that the dinosaurs could not reproduce because they were genetically engineered to be sterile. As the scientists stares at the shell remains, he smiles and says, "Nature found a way." In the burial rite there is a line at the time of the commendation that goes, "Even though we die and go down to the grave, there we will sing this song, Alleluia, Alleluia." God has found a way, and we call it grace.

The Blank Page: A Good Friday Meditation

I have a love-hate relationship with writing. I hate a blank page. I love having words to edit, lots and lots of words. I hate having to write a lot in order to begin to feel creative. I love when the river of prose is flowing. It hate that what I write never seems finished. I love it when I actually like something I've written.

I have a love-hate relationship with gardening. I hate the fallow plot in early spring that so closely resembles a blank page. I love planting seeds and young plants and watching them grow. I hate weeds. I love mulch. I hate dead plants that didn't winter over like the label promised. I love to see the bushes and trees with buds bursting with renewed life and vigor. I hate killing frosts in late spring. I love cold hardy plants. I hate that by mid July, with little time to tend it, my garden will have gotten away from me. I love the growers market where I can buy the vegetables I only wish I'd been able to grow.

I have a love-hate relationship with Good Friday too. I love the liturgy for this day. I hate that so few people participate in it anymore. I love the drama and music that sweeps us up into the story and makes it real again, even though we've heard it a million times. I hate that is has the longest reading of the church year. I love that God was willing to go to such lengths to claim us as his own. I hate that once Jesus has died, we're left with a blank page.

Blank pages: empty, stark, white lined pieces of paper that hold nothing, they reveal gardens not yet planted, and make pronouncements of death - the ultimate blank page.

Blank pages stare back of us, and can, ever so briefly and in the oddest way, have power over us. They simultaneously hold both the promise of what could be, but is not yet, and the reflection of our deepest fear, that the future could be as empty as these pages.

The pages of our life are gifts from God. They were not intend for mischief. They were created to be filled, read, torn, crumpled, retrieved from the garbage, filed, folded, sent, received, returned, buried or burned. The possibilities for blank pages are endless, as are the possibilities for us.

But on this day, Jesus has left us with only a single blank page; and the possibilities for it are both ended and endless. His death reminds us of many things of which we do not wish to be reminded. And the absurdity of the events that drove him to the cross seem bizarre to us: Do they not? How bizarre that Jesus' acts of mercy and kindness, healing and restoration, or that his proclamations of truth and wisdom, could end in this way. Isaiah frames it well:

"By a perversion of justice he was taken away. Who could have imagined his future? For he was cut off from the land of the living.... although he had done no violence and there was no deceit in his mouth."

We are vexed, stunned; bewildered by the speed at which injustice is dispensed. And in the same moment, we, ourselves, by our inaction and muted voices, insure the smooth running of the machinery of injustice in every quadrant of the earth. That we play a guilty hand in these events rings in our ears and we are crushed by the horror of it. We are crucified by it.

Easter is another day yet to come, and not tomorrow either. In this moment, we are not left with the promise of new life, or eternal life; from here we cannot see the empty tomb. All we have is a blank page. We must do with it what we can: love it, hate it, ponder it, wonder about it, use it to scheme, to justify, to get real, to get a new perspective, upon it write a letter or plan a garden, embellish it with lovely drawings or silly doodles, sit with it and hear what we had not heard before, or dare to touch it and know the anguish of God.

Food and Drink: Participating in the Mystery

This week is the one year anniversary of the Deep Water Horizon Oil Rig explosion in the gulf. All week there have been documentaries retelling the story of the five months we watched in agony as the crude oil billowed up from the sea floor, the rescue of the thousands of birds and turtles, the mismanagement and ethical criminality in the bureaucratic aftermath, and human toll of the crisis.

This year also marks the Tenth Anniversary of 9/11. St. James will soon begin planning a musical/liturgical tribute to mark an event that continues to affect our nation on a daily basis. As September draws near we will watch replays of video footage, documentaries and reports of where we are now, ten years later.

Anniversaries play an important role in our lives. They mark the passage of time in an orderly way. They inform the metanarrives of our human existence and give reverence and meaning to particular parts of our lives. Some anniversaries carry the joyful weight of hope and expectation - like wedding anniversaries and the birthday celebrations of children. Others, like the death anniversaries of those we have lost are at times almost too heavy to bear.

The Christian calendar marks the passage of God's time and our place in it. The observance of Maundy Thursday is one such anniversary, albeit bittersweet. We remember the camaraderie of Jesus and the disciples, the bonds of love and loyalty that ran as deep as the fathoms of the oceans. The foreknowledge of the betrayal of Judas that is to come seems a tragedy unfolding before our eyes. We are powerless; it is beyond our reach to prevent or stop. All of the anniversaries observed in Holy Week remind us of both the power entrusted to us and the limits of that power. We have the power to create the conditions for intractable catastrophes and then stand powerless in the face of their aftermath. And when we have run out of fixes and options, when there is no where to turn but to God - for mercy; to forgive our misguided displays of strength, to make right those things over which we, finally, have no power at all.

Almighty God, have mercy upon us, for we are sinners in your sight.

As a perpetual reminder of God's enduring mercy, the messiah whom God sent on our behalf instituted the Eucharist; a word which simply means 'thanksgiving.' Christ broke bread in thanksgiving for all God's gifts: manna from heaven, and water from a stone, for bread and for wine, for free will and for forgiveness, for life and for life after death. We gather each week at the Lord's table to be reminded not of our God-given self-sufficiency but of our dependence on God. It is God who has the final word; God, who in Christ and with Christ, gave to us this holy meal of refreshment and renewal, strength and pardon.

Almighty God, have mercy upon us, for we are sinners in your sight.

My father, who is a priest as well, gave me some advice when I was first ordained. He made a strong suggestion that I do not fail to offer the sacraments as often as possible to the sick, shut-ins, prisoners, and the dying. He felt that we must not underestimate or any way discount the importance of this holy meal, especially to those who were physically or spiritually weakened by unfortunate circumstances. Now, having had some years of experience in pastoral matters, I too would conclude that the sharing of this meal of thanksgiving, in the privacy of homes, in the anxious environment of hospitals, and at ICU deathbeds, is to extend the mercy and love of God where words, however reverently crafted and elegant, would certainly fail. How does one begin to explain this mystery?

I recently connected with old friend via facebook. After some initial messaging, I was so surprised to hear his voice when he called me last week. One of the first questions he had was, "So what made you want to become a pastor?" In ten years, I have yet to find one simple sentence answer to this question. I usually say something like, "Well, I tried everything else first, and at the end of the day, there just was no other choice left." But the real answer to that question, and I think it is universal for those of us who have been entrusted charge over the sacraments, it that it was by bread and wine that our souls became bound to Christ. It is at the Lord's table that the call is initiated. It begins with an irresistible need to be fed heavenly food and great longing when separated from it. It grows into an irrepressible need to serve at the table at every possible opportunity. And it ends in an overwhelming desire to serve as God's hands in the distribution of what is holy food and drink; to participate in some tangible way in the sacramental mystery of invisible, inward grace extended through outward and visible means.

Tonight we are bound together in the remembrance of our Lord's last supper by the retelling of the story. In its telling we recall the sweetness of the ties that bind and the bitterness of the betrayal at hand. With foreboding we are distracted from the fullness of this holy and precious moment between Jesus and those who love him. But let us not forget that the institution of this food as holy and substantiative, was done in love and not in regret. Unlike acts of terrorism and oil rig explosions, the anniversary we observe this night is not a tragedy; that being a situation in which all parties experience terrible, irredeemable loss. Rather, the anniversary we observe is one of perpetual hope; just ask someone who has received the holy sacrament when they were very ill or very depressed, or very sad. It first fed the twelve who loved and served him, including the one who would betray him and the one who would, not once, but three times, deny him. Through the centuries it has fed millions of others, many of lesser faith than Judas and Peter, including us. This very night hundreds of thousands are observing this anniversary. Many are washing one another's feet, acknowledging that we who claim Christ as the head of the church and the author of our salvation, are bound together, not by means of mutual admiration, but by this celebration of praise and thanksgiving, by this holy food and drink of new and unending life in him.

Repentence: so not cool

It's true. Just try and mention the word 'repentance' to a congregation and watch the eyes glaze over. It is so not cool. It is word totally out of touch with current culture, therein totally irrelevant. Unfortunate, regrettable and simply wrong, yes. Nonetheless, this is where we are.

I'm not particularly convinced the theme of repentance was ever well received, truly. I mean who wants to be reminded that they need to be forgiven? It points to the fact that, well, we've done something that we need to be forgiven for. Umm, bummer. I do think this concept was at least tolerated to a large degree, in fact for all of the centuries of monotheism leading up to this moment. And as the beloved hymn, Amazing Grace, testifies, a great many people have found tremendous spiritual renewal in asking for God's help in loving both God and neighbor more fully, more rightly, and for forgiveness for having not done so. But in the last few decades, even the smallest opening in that window has been shut tight. Perhaps its as simple as a language problem, but I think it might be something on a grander scale.

I read an article recently ("Missing the signs," Christian Century, April 5, 2011, p. 28) that made the case that the Gen Y segment of the population (and I would argue many Gen X and Baby Boomers as well) are fundamentally, not inclined to subscribe to metanarratives, that is, stories that give universal meaning and purpose to life. Further, it is essential to understand that such people have not suddenly stopped putting stock in existential themes, they never have. Rather, meaning and purpose is found relationally; individualism is out, communal values and venues are in. Metanarratives have traditionally held religious communities together by providing central and unifying stories on which to hang meaning, but they tend to be strongly individualistic. Metanarratives that support themes such as incarnation and resurrection, redemption and repentance, have largely focused on the needs of individuals to obtain and claim such things. This accounts, in part, for why Gen Y'ers are missing from church pews, they have no desire to obtain or claim, dare I say it, such things.

But what about the folks who are sitting in the pews? The Christian directive is to influence the surrounding culture by living out, teaching and preaching a Gospel of love and forgiveness (of sins, ie., repentance) largely through traditional metanarratives. But could it be that the culture that surrounds the Christian body on every side has influenced its life far more than has been acknowledged? Could it be that the people sitting in the pews are being so transformed by culture that the metanarratives that for so long provided succor and cohesiveness to Christian congregations is as corroded as the Titantic after decades of exposure to the natural forces of its environment? The institutional church finds this alarming, even with limited insight as to its root cause, and has mounted many a campaign to buttress and redress its shrinkage and absorb the inevitable deaths of so many congregations. This is understandable, though, realistically, not terribly helpful. Were it better for Christiandom to repent and return to the Lord?

Most people, regardless of when they were born, truly regret the wrongs they commit. And research shows that not being affiliated with religious order does not correlate with atheism. Most of us want to make the wrongs we have done, which directly or indirectly affect our neighbor, to be set right, and hope that at the end of the day, we too, are set right with that Holy One for whom there are many names. And lots of people, many of whom are not affiliated with any religious body, work tirelessly for justice, peace and the relief of human suffering. They are doing the work of repentance, but apart from the framework of the metanarrative of Christian repentance. They recognize, as should we all, that the wrongs we commit are not isolated to our own lives, but have far-reaching effects on local, even global communities. Through the huge leaps of technological advances of the last two decades, the concept of neighbor has been made real and tangible in a way incomparable with any other time in the history of the world. Is it any wonder that a nuclear accident in Japan sent the people of the US, 3000 miles away, into a panic to protect themselves? The reality of the threat is debatable, but the point is not. Our wrongdoings, intentional and unintentional, require us to consider the value of the relationships we have with one another, communally as well as globally; and invite us to experience a change of heart (the definition of repentance). Ironically, this move away from overarching metanarratives is moving us all, including the Christian community as well as the unsuspecting non-believer, toward the essential work of repentance. If this is indeed the case, what then can serve to unify and affirm this work of repentance without its doctrinal baggage?

For those who, in increasing numbers and for the most part silently, struggle with the metanarratives of Christianity, but understand the love God and neighbor through the life and redemptive ministry of Christ, can, and do, find comfort and help in the texts of holy scripture. Regardless of the winds of culture and change, of ebbs and flows of the building up and the erosion of the "church," of what's in and what's gone by the wayside, of the generations of Builders, Boomers, Gen X's and Y's alike, the inspired words of God remain foundational to any understanding of God we possess. Its prose, poetry, stories and parables draw from the timeless fiber of humanity and divinity and the relationship between the two. It has the power to move not just individuals, but whole communities, toward a change of heart, toward our hearts deepest and most hidden desire, to repent and return to God.