Matthew 25:1-13 - Choices

         Make no bones about it; the bridegroom was late in coming. That is what the parable clearly says. 

My husband Joe’s parents were late in coming to our wedding because they got lost on the drive from Westport, Connecticut to Montclair, New Jersey.  Two of his sisters missed the wedding ceremony completely because they did not leave on time and neglected to bring along the directions to the church.  

         But this was different.  The bridegroom was late in coming – not because his tuxedo didn’t fit, or he couldn’t find the cummerbund that would match the color of the bridesmaids’ dresses.  He was late because he and his friends were heading across town – as tradition dictated and the parable stated - to pick up the bride. 

         I suspect the custom was not unlike the procession which took our son, Tim, to his future wife’s home and the site of their wedding last year in India.  The tradition is called a barat, and the groom is seated on either a white stallion, an elephant, or in a white car.  Because this was a relatively simple Indian wedding (and because Tim is who he is), he was perched on the back seat of a convertible as he took the ¼ mile drive up the roadway to Viveka’s home.  

         Now, one would think that a ¼ mile ride would fly by, but this one took about 45 minutes, and the word from the bride’s mother was to hurry it up.  You see, at a barat, wedding guests cluster on the roadway to watch the spectacle, and the male family members and friends of the groom do whatever they can to stop the procession and keep the groom from meeting his intended.  That might involve sitting on the hood of the car, lying in the road, standing belligerently in front of the car, etc. Often there is music and dancing.  For example, Tim was accompanied by a drum corps.  Always there is much merrymaking.

         That, I believe, is why the bridegroom in our parable was late.  It was a no-holes-barred, unrestricted barat event – followed by an exuberant and disorganized parade through town once he had picked up his bride. Here is how Anglican priest Jeffrey Smead describes the scene, “When the bride was ready, she would be placed on the back of a riding animal, and the groom, with his friends…would take the longest possible route back to the (wedding site). (We would find them) deliberately wandering through as many streets of the village as possible so that most of the people could see and cheer them as they pass.” Quite the spectacle!

So much for the groom.  Now, back at the wedding venue….The guests have arrived. They are pouring out into the streets to await the immanent and expected arrival of the wedding couple.  The wedding planner has instructed the bridesmaids, and all ten of them are in position, their oil lamps already lighting the path of the bride and groom on their way to wedded bliss.  But the groom was late in coming.

The caterer is pulling out his hair because the iced champagne is getting warm, and the hot hors d’oeuvres are getting cold.  The wedding planner is nervous too because it is late, and it is dark (midnight) and the bridesmaids – all ten of them – are getting sleepy, and soon they are gently snoring in a friendly heap in the corner.  

However, at this point, it should be noted that, even though asleep, thank goodness, they are not unprepared.  They are doing their job.  Their lamps are lit – all ten of them.  But unfortunately, as the hours pass those lamps begin to flicker and extinguish themselves one by one. 

         Now, back to the goom….his parade continues to slowly wend its way through the village until, as Jeffery Smead picks up the story, “Finally the front of the parade enters the alley, and the cry goes out, ‘Behold the bridegroom. Come out to meet him.’

         Guests and the family still in the house rush into the street.  The ten young women arise quickly, recognize that some time has passed and begin to ‘service their lamps.’ The loose unattached wicks must be adjusted, and the oil reserves inside the lamps replenished.

         To their horror, however, five of the bridesmaids realize their lamps are almost out of olive oil, and they have no reserves.  The other five take out their little clay flasks and calmly replenish their lamps.  The five foolish ones crowd around them, demanding oil. 

         Politely and no doubt firmly, they are in effect told, "We do not have enough for you and ourselves.  Go to the dealers and buy more!" No doubt irritated and sputtering, the five stomp off to beg, borrow, or buy a bit of oil.

In the meantime, the groom and his new bride and the entire crowd sweep into the house, and the door is shut.  In the final scene of our parable, the shortsighted five women finally acquire some oil, get their lamps working again, and arrive back at the house. 

         "Sir!  Open to us!" they shout through the door, but the groom replies (ominously), "I do not know you."

         And that’s that!  Five of the bridesmaids are locked out, mascara running down their cheeks mixing with their tears. That is the story – except for Jesus’ equally ominous remark:  “Watch out, then, because you do not know the day or the hour.” 

The coming of God and the Kingdom will be like that, Jesus is telling the peasants, scribes, and Pharisees who listened to him preach.  The arrival of the Messiah will be like a fig tree blossoming in the spring as a sign that summer is near.  It will be like a master landowner who returns home from a long time away.  It will be like bridesmaids awaiting a bridegroom, so that the party can begin.  And you better be ready! Jesus warns.  You just better be ready.

         That is what we call apocalypticism – a big word that basically means a deep and abiding concern about the end times.  Many Biblical scholars believe that Jesus was an apocalyptic – someone who believed fervently that he was living at the end of the age and who was of the impassioned opinion that all of us could – and should – expect that a new day would soon – very soon - be dawning.  

The Gospel of Matthew is in fact filled with rhetoric from just that apocalyptic perspective.  For example, prior to the string of parables including the one we have read today that point to the coming of the Kingdom of God is a long and impassioned speech that Jesus gives on the Mount of Olives about the imminent end of the world and all the signs that point to it.  Jesus also makes it abundant clear that no one – including apparently himself – has any real clue as to when all this will take place.  

As Reformed pastor Scott Hoezee wrote: “Despite the cottage industry that has arisen around making apocalyptic predictions, Jesus says that all such speculation and calculation is wrong. And since Jesus himself indicates that even he doesn't know the date or time, it's a cinch that no one will calculate that date based on Jesus' words.”  There will be no missing it when it happens, but we don’t exactly know when that will be.  So you better be ready!  We better be ready!

That is the point of the parable, I think.  As blogger Marcus Curnow wrote, “it’s not really a story about (bridesmaids), or weddings, or lamps and flat batteries, or falling asleep. It’s not even about high or low intelligence; and it isn’t about not sharing what you have! It’s a story about choices. Jesus is telling a story about making choices.”  And the primary choice, of course, is whether to be ready – or not.

Now the word that Matthew uses at the end of the parable when Jesus says to watch is a word that means to "wake up" from slumber, to "arise" from lethargy and waiting, even to "rise from the dead". Interestingly enough, the only other time that the Jesus uses this word "watch" is in the Garden of Gethsemane when he asks the three disciples that he has taken with him: “Watch with me; don't fall asleep! Wake up, could you not watch with me? Don't fall asleep at the wheel: watch!”

The word is a kind of shorthand for “get up, and be about what you are supposed to be about".  It is kind of like  "get up, let's get going, let your behavior today be of the kind that you would not be ashamed to be found doing by Jesus himself.”

         What Matthew is seems to be telling us is that what happens now – today – on this earth is what is important.  Whether some aspect of the Kingdom of God is in the future or not, from Matthew’s perspective it is most certainly in the present, in the here and now.  

That message was a fundamental one for the Gospel writer to get across to his first readers – and to us these millennia later.  Because for first century apocalyptics – like Jesus himself and certainly many in the early Christian church - the bridegroom was late, the end of the age was delayed. 

  And for the church today?  Well, it’s been a long time for us as well – more than 2000 years long – and too often that Gospel message of compassion, forgiveness, justice, and peace-making seems crazier – and riskier - than ever.

         I mean, who’s right – Israel or Hamas?  Can both be right but also be so wrong?  How are you supposed to forgive in a world of terror?  How can you be just when the economics of justice are so bound to the distribution of resources and to the interplay between scarcity and abundance, fear and trust?  How do you make peace when a war continues in Ukraine and tensions and decades of resentment seem ready to boil over in the Middle east?

         And yet, Jesus challenges us to be ready, to watch, to be prepared - and to have an oil can within reach.  “Having some extra oil, being prepared for the delay, may mean no more than that we just keep plugging away for the kingdom. It may mean no more than simple acts of compassion and kindness,” Scott Hoezee reminds us.  

         In short, to be ready, to be prepared is to learn to live – day in and day out –  and I know I have said this before – live as if the Kingdom of God had already arrived – like the bridegroom – better late than never - and the amazing thing is that when you do, all of a sudden, you are not just learning to live in the kingdom, you are in fact living in the kingdom. In short, surely the kingdom of God is among us when we are living the Gospel of Jesus.

         This parable then is a parable about readiness.  It is a parable about making choices, wise choices, compassionate choices, each and every day, whether we think God is watching us or not, whether we trust that Jesus will return or not, whether we believe that we have been given the tools to usher in the kingdom right now or whether it is only some future event.  The parable is about making the choice to be prepared – and understanding that every choice we make is a choice about the kingdom, is a choice about being wise in the eyes of God – or foolish in our misguided perspectives and priorities.

         And don’t get me wrong!  Being prepared and making those choices  have consequences and involve taking risks.  It’s like the poem entitled “Free” that I came across as I prepared this sermon. 

To laugh is to risk appearing the fool. To weep is to risk appearing sentimental. To reach out for another is to risk involvement. To expose feelings is to risk exposing your true self. To place your ideas, your dreams, before a crowd is to risk their loss. To love is to risk not being loved in return. To live is to risk dying. To hope is to risk despair. To try is to risk failure. 

But risks must be taken, because the greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing. The person who risks nothing, does nothing, has nothing, and is nothing.

As we prepare to enter the season of Advent then, may we prepare ourselves by making our choices – day in and day out - based on the message of Jesus, trusting that each one will bring us to the kingdom, the bridal procession, the party – because if we don’t, he warns us, we will be left with our mascara mixing with tears in a locked and darkened courtyard.  

Matthew 11:16-19, 28-30 " Rediscovering Sabbath"

         I remember when we first moved to Maine in 1983, blue laws were standard.  Perhaps you remember them.  Basically, they meant that stores were closed on Sunday, a legislated way of preserving the Sabbath.  Through the years though, the laws changed, and stores were allowed to be open seven days a week – though initially alcohol sales were still prohibited.  If you went into the grocery store on Sunday, the liquor aisle was roped off.  

         It was actually reminiscent of my childhood in New Jersey.  We went to church every Sunday morning, came home to a huge dinner featuring a roast or ham or leg of lamb and one of my mother’s delicious desserts.  Then we spent the rest of the day hanging out with family or doing homework.  It was truly a day to rest and restore.

         Now, of course, Sunday is hardly a day of relaxation or restoration. For many if not most people in Maine, Sunday is the busy catch up day.  We do our grocery shopping on Sunday or head to Home Depot or Lowes for the necessary supplies for the latest Do It Yourself project designed to keep us busy.  We rush to watch our children or grandchildren play soccer on Sunday morning.  We take our kids to their weekly voice lesson or a swimming meet.  

         In short, we have so lost the concept of Sabbath, having too long been pushed or pulled by our cultural norms or simply swept along. Sabbath is no longer a day to rest in God, a day to stop and smell the roses blooming all about us for no other reason than to stop for a moment and breathe in their intoxicating fragrance.  Sabbath has turned into a day just as stressful as the other six – and it is taking a toll on each one of us. 

In the United States – more so than in most nations – our culture measures success by how busy we are, the busier the better.  Always being on the go signifies that we are being productive, and that is good.  

         And so we feel naked without our smart phones.  We say we hate email but most of us still feel compelled to check it at least several times a day, so we will not miss anything important. We would be lost without the virtual connections social media is supposed to offer us.  We text in our cars and in restaurants.  We listen for the telltale jingle of a message when we sit with our families around the dining room table.  We are proud of the fact that we multi-task and even prouder if we only get five hours of sleep a night - though four would be better.  Not a single one of us would ever admit to watching soap operas in the afternoon as we sit around eating bonbons.

         Whether we are retired or still working, “a hectic pace” is an apt phrase to describe the way most of us have chosen to live.  And yet, as Mahatma Gandhi once observed, “There is more to life than increasing its speed.” 

         Is it any wonder then that most – if not all of us – deep down inside – or maybe at the surface - experience a weariness: a tiredness that wells up from all the crazy and complex intersections and twists and turns of our life journey – the physical frailties, all the emotional heartbreaks, what is going on with our children and grandchildren, and - no matter your political proclivities - even the despicable and divisive stuff going on in Washington these days.   

         Sometimes it is a blow that we do not even see coming that knocks us flat, but more often, it all just piles up.  We grow tired, deep soul tired. 

         To compensate, some of us turn to eating.  Others of us binge watch “Endeavour” or “Outlander" or "Bridgerton.”  Some of us turn to Amazon and shop.  Or we rely on the self-help shelves at Bridgton Books.  

         Maybe it is just because I am a pastor, but I do not believe that any of those solutions for our lives lived too fast work in the long term.  And so I turn to the last couple of verses of the Gospel reading.  

     Here’s one translation: “Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.”  

Sabbath rest no longer comes naturally to us, and so it takes practice.  But it is well-deserved practice.  As Christian author Tricia Hersey noted, “We must believe we are worthy of rest. We don’t have to earn it. It is our birthright. It is one of our most ancient and primal needs.” Consequently, she continues,  “We cannot wait for the perfect space or opportunity to rest. Rest is not an extra treat that we must run to but more of a lifelong, consistent, and meticulous love practice.” 

And so I suggest that we take her advice, turn to God, and commit to a truly lived Sabbath now – this summer – in order to find the solace that deep down inside we seek.  

         Beginning today and for the next few weeks of summer, I challenge you to experiment and spend some time actually resting in a Sabbath sort of way. I challenge you to seek a spiritual antidote for the busyness that leads to weariness that encroaches on our lives. 

 I challenge you to reflect on how you might re-connect to God, who, in the end, is so unhurried, who always has the time to love and to forgive.

         Let’s begin to answer that challenge together by reflecting on those couple of verses we just heard found only in the Gospel of Matthew, the ones that have ended up on countless prayer cards and been underlined in a boatload of Bibles. 

“Come to me all you who labor and are heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.”

Admit it:  These words sound like music to our weary hearts and souls.  This promise of rest from that family crisis, that impending surgery, or that scary medical diagnosis is so sweet, so hopeful, so refreshing!

         “Come to me all you who labor and are heavy-laden…”  You can bet that Jesus knew what he was talking about.  He understood this weariness business.  People were after him all the time – stripping him bare – needing healing, needing forgiveness, needing hope, needing courage, needing something.  He knew what it was like to live on empty. He can relate to our own lives – day in and day out.  

However, his promise does not end there.  Jesus continues:  “Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

But our schedules are so full – between work, family, summer guests, and other obligations – that the mere suggestion of a yoke that could be “easy” and a burden that could be “light” seems absurd.         

         In these few verses in the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus indicates that the yoke is what provides our needed strength.  Many Bible translations read that this yoke is “easy”.  However, a better translation is “well-fitting”.  This yoke is “well-fitting”.  That makes sense.  Even for an ox, a heavy burden is bearable if the yoke fits.  

         And so it is with us: Jesus offers us a yoke that fits.  As author Eric Eines remarks, “he offer(s) you the chance to do exactly the work that you were created to do – the work that brings you most fully alive. And he’s offering to help you.”

       That also makes sense because yokes are made for two.  When Jesus says, “take my yoke upon you”, he is inviting you to share his yoke.  He is in the other half of it, connecting with you in such a way that the two of you are working together. 

         That is what makes the yoke easy.  That is what makes the burden light.  When you are sharing the yoke, you cannot help but find your right tempo.  When you are sharing the yoke, you never face your life stressors alone. 

         If we take Jesus’ promise seriously, could this summer be a time to lighten our burden and intentionally close our eyes, kick off our shoes, and rest our souls?  Could this summer be a time to intentionally exhale the stress and inhale the goodness of life?  Could this summer be a time to more closely link ourselves to Jesus and deepen our relationship with the Holy One? 

I challenge you to slow down enough to reflect on that idea of the easy yoke - and experiment with it this summer.  Let’s intentionally put our lives on pause. Instead of multitasking and texting and checking our phone so frequently, let’s try being thoughtful about the life we are living right now and the life we want to live. Instead of accomplishing more, volunteering more, working more, let’s slow down long enough to find our right tempo and get into our unique groove. 

         It will not be easy, but let’s try to at least search for (if not find) our quiet center, our right tempo, our unhurried God.

Perhaps you will begin and end each day with the Serenity Prayer: 

God, grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change,
the courage to change the things I can,
and the wisdom to know the difference.
Living one day at a time,
enjoying one moment at a time;
accepting hardship as a pathway to peace;
taking, as Jesus did,
this sinful world as it is,
not as I would have it;
trusting that You will make all things right
if I surrender to Your will;
so that I may be reasonable happy in this life
and supremely happy with You forever in the next.

         Maybe you will set aside a specific place to pray – and intentionally go there once a day – if only for a few moments. 

Maybe you will turn off your cell phone and computer for a day – or just an evening - each week – or participate in one contemplative practice on a regular basis, such as Yoga, Qigong, meditative walking, or journaling.

Maybe you will make a summer Sabbath calendar with one “unhurried” activity for each day – like shutting your eyes for 5 minutes or imagining a restful nature scene.

         These suggestions may not sound like much, but if you commit to one small discipline this summer that will slow you down, release you from worry and fear, or help you to be more self-reflective, I am so sure that you will find your right tempo in this fast paced world we live in.  I trust you will rediscover your Sabbath.

         In closing then, let’s slow down right here – just to see what it feels like.  And so I invite you to close your eyes or soften your gaze.  I invite you to visualize what each line of this brief meditation might look like.

         Let’s begin by taking a deep breath in – and a long breath out....

Relax in the presence of God – cooling, refreshing, loving, embracing

Let the peace of Christ wash over you – like the waves of the ocean or the ripple of a mountain stream
Listen to the Spirit encouraging you to slow down and rest. It might be a whisper or a nudge.  It might be being conscious of your breathing in and out – lots of love in and lots of love out.
Let go of your expectations – and the expectations others have of you. 

 Let them roll off of you or be lifted from your shoulders.  For a moment, throw away your to do list. And give your body time to heal.
Enjoy the companionship of God – embracing, enfolding, loving, forgiving -
and be confident that nothing more is necessary.

Now slowly open your eyes and whisper to yourself:  'This is my Sabbath – and I deserve every moment of it.'

Amen and Amen.

 

 

 

John 14:1-14 "My Way or the Highway?"

As I looked over the lectionary lessons specifically for today, my eye instead was drawn to the Gospel lesson from a couple of weeks ago.  So – if that passage from John that we just read seemed like a déjà vu, be assured that you in fact heard your pastor read it.  

However, he linked it to the story from Acts about the stoning death of St. Stephen and preached a wonderful sermon about that early Christian martyr that I listened to on your YouTube channel. Tim chose to focus on a courageous Biblical character that we often find ourselves skipping over. 

 I suspect, however, that he mulled over where to take you in worship two weeks ago because all the lectionary passages for that Sunday offer rich and challenging fodder for preacher and congregation alike. So – I like to think that I am picking up a theme that maybe he wished he could have preached on as well – but knew he could not give it justice in the hour or so that you spend in worship. 

You see, we are certainly not let off easily in this passage from the Gospel of John!  There is no pat, cut and dried lesson here that we can automatically and without much thought assimilate into our already complicated lives.  

Instead we are confronted with one of the most difficult New Testament passages to understand and reconcile in today’s world.  In short, to all but the most conservative church goer, these verses are problematic.

First of all, they are from the Gospel of John, which makes deciphering them a formidable task at the outset.  You see, this Gospel, on its face, is so different from the other three Gospels, Matthew, Mark, and Luke.  It was the last of the four to be written,  penned around 90 or 100 CE  - as opposed to the earliest Gospel of Mark which was written 20 or 30 years before.  

There is also no clear answer about the audience to whom John was writing.  However, many Biblical scholars agree that he focused on a broader group of people, including Gentiles who were those men and women that had always been considered non-believers and therefore outside of the Jewish tradition.  

 Though some of those details are murky at best, we do know that the Gospel writer of John had a narrative style unlike Matthew, Mark, and Luke.  Metaphors, symbols, and downright difficult to figure out language characterize John’s prose.  

That is the first reason why these verses are problematic.  They leave us scratching our heads and muttering, “What??” 

The second reason centers on that phrase that John attributes to Jesus – “No one comes to the Father except through me.” Surely those words make us moderate/progressive Christians who at least flirt with the idea of inclusiveness a bit hesitant to fully consider its meaning and import.  

I mean, it all sounds beautiful until, as Baptist pastor, Dan Chambers, writes, “you fall in love with a Jew, marry a Muslim, or are spiritually restored by the practice of Zen Buddhism. Then it is not so beautiful to read the words, "no one comes to the Father except through me." 

(Certainly) then (he continues) the text becomes deeply disturbing…At the very least, (it) becomes challenging to each of us in a time of interfaith dialogue and a worldwide quest for peace and understanding among people of different faiths.” And then add to that sentence the bit that prefaces Jesus’ proclamation - “I am the way” – well, that is a pesky verse as well.

However, before we turn reflexively to a theologically fundamentalist or progressive camp and start finger wagging at one another about what John had in mind when he wrote these confusing verses, let’s look at the story he was narrating.

The setting is Jerusalem, and Jesus is about to embark on the final leg of his death journey.  Feet have been washed. The Last Supper has been shared.  Judas has left the scene to do his betraying.  Jesus has told a disconsolate Peter that he will do his trifold denying before the cock crows.  Only Gethsemane and its aftermath remain.

At this point in John’s Gospel, we find Jesus sitting around the table with the remaining disciples having an after dinner conversation which we call the “Farewell Discourses.”  In these four chapters of the Gospel, Jesus prepares the disciples for his immanent death.  

And, guess what?  They are more than a little confused by this disconcerting turn of events. 

There in the upper room on a side street in the Holy City, Jesus has just finished telling them something about a mansion with many rooms and going to the Father and places prepared for them – and something about their knowing the way.

His friends eye each other nervously.  What is he talking about now?  It makes no sense.  However, by the tone of his voice, they know beyond the shadow of a doubt that he is serious – and so they better listen and do their best to understand him this time. 

It is Thomas – the one we will later call the Doubter, bless his heart - who has the nerve to audibly clear his throat and ask the question that is on everyone’s tongue. "Lord, we don't know where you are going, so how can we know the way?" 

Without missing a beat, Jesus responds, "I am the way…and the truth…and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me."  

Well, the disciples had nary a clue what to make of that statement, and I would suggest that we, a couple of millennia later, do not know either.  I mean, how many times  in our complex world have we asked Thomas’ question?  How many times have we lamented our own spiritual situation: We do not know where to go, God?  We do not know the way.  

Our culture tells us 50 ways from Sunday how to live – how to be expedient, efficient, rational, affluent, and popular.  The world tells us how to end up on top and avoid being trampled on by others trying to do the same.  God only knows that it is a dog eat dog world, and we cannot escape it.  

But even in the midst of all the dissonant advice, we dimly hear our hearts faintly beating to a different drummer, telling us something else – that what the world says just does not seem right.  

Do we sense that because we are Christian?  No – we sense it because we are human – created in the image of the Holy One - and, along with all of humanity, are seeking God and God’s dream for the world on so many different paths.  

Our prime purpose in this life is to help others. And if you can't help them, at least don't hurt them. That’s the Tibetan Buddhist Dali Llama.

Acts of kindness are superior to charity…Charity can be performed only with one's money, while acts of kindness can be performed both with his person and with his money.  That’s from the Jewish Talmud

 

The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the service of 

 

others. That’s the Hindu Mahatma Gandhi.

 

And do good; indeed, Allah loves the doers of good. That is from the Muslim Koran

Jesus also has an answer to this question about what path to take in our quest to find God and to ground ourselves more deeply in love. “I am the way,” he simply says.  But not I would suggest - and this is important – not “I the man Jesus am the way.”  

You see, this phrase is another one of those “I am” symbolic sayings scattered through the Gospel of John.  “I am the bread of life” did not mean that Jesus was a loaf of bread.  “I am the light of the world” did not mean that Jesus was a lightbulb.  On the face of it, such literalism would be foreign to the John because he was the writer of metaphor and hidden meanings, always challenging us to dig deeper to the truth.  

And so I would say that Jesus never intended us to interpret his person as the way.  As progressive theologian Marcus Borg has postulated, might not Jesus mean – “I am the way.  My life is the way.”  

I whose life has been about a relentless passion for justice for the downtrodden and unending compassion for the ones who have been trampled upon am the way.  I whose life has been about love for the sparrows and the lilies and all the world created by the Creator am the way.  I whose life has been about living the Beatitudes, turning the other cheek, and challenging the powers-that-be am the way.  I whose life has been about withholding judgment and forgiving the unforgivable am the way.  I am the way.  My life is the way.  

“No one comes to the Father except by me,” Jesus continues.  How daunting and exclusionary that sounds - until you realize that the word that Jesus uses for Father is abba, which is like papa and is about as familiar as you can get.  We are THAT close, Jesus says.  God and I are THAT close.  And to press the point home once and for all, he goes on to say that “the Father and I are one” and "Whoever has seen me has seen God."  My life – my way - embodies God’s dream for the world.

Of course, by now none of this makes any sense to his followers scratching their heads in that upper room in the Holy City, just as most of the time all this does not make sense to us either.  When it comes to this particular passage, we, like the disciples, end up caught in a web of literalism.

         But Phillip comes to their rescue (and ours), for he cannot take hearing this confusing mishmash any longer.  And so in an attempt to put an end to all the mumbo jumbo, he demands an explanation. "Show us God, Jesus, and we will be satisfied." 

Jesus’ patience must have been immense. "How long have I been with you, and you still ask such a question, Philip?” he queries.  “Everything I say, everything I do discloses God." I am a window to the Almighty.  Understand me, and you will understand God.  Look at me, and you will look at God.

And what does God look like?  As Dan Chambers asks, “What does the good Samaritan look like? What does compassion look like? What does healing look like? What does acceptance of those pushed aside and shunned by society look like? What does the face of love look like?” 

 You want to know what God is like?  Look at what Jesus was like.  Put another way, a Reformed pastor Scott Hoezee said so simply and eloquently: “Jesus is the autobiography of God.” And so I ask you - What else do we need to know about the way? 

The Gospel writer John gave us such a gift in this often deeply misunderstood passage, These are words of such hope and such promise – not words that exclude and divide.  

I agree with Dan Chambers when he says. “For us, as ones who follow Christ, Jesus is the way. We need no other way. In Christ we sink into the depths of God. The way of Christ is a way that leads us…deeper into the mystery of the divine. And on that way, we are not alone; and those who journey with us into the depths of God's love are not only Christians. The road to God is shared by many. 

When you look into the faces of those (on the way with you), you may well be looking into the face of a Buddhist, a Jew, or a Muslim. Each follows her or his own way. The way of love and compassion, the way of a heart open enough to embrace all people and care for the earth…this is a way known to countless people through countless ages.”

“In my Father’s house are many rooms” Jesus tells his disciples. Does it make any more sense now? 

A man arrives at the gates of heaven.  St. Peter asks, “Religion?” 

The man says, “Methodist.”  St. Peter looks at his list and says, “Go to room 28, but be very quiet as you pass room 8.”      Another man arrives at the gates of heaven.  “Religion?”  “Buddhist.” 

Go to room 18, but be very quiet as you pass room 8.

A third man arrives at the gates.  “Religion?”  “Jewish.”

“Go to room 11, but be very quest as you pass room 8.”

The man says, “I can understand there being different rooms for different religions, but why must I be quiet when I pass room 8?”

St. Peter says, “The Jehovah’s Witnesses are in room 8, and they think they’re the only ones here.”  

I don’t think so.  When Jesus said, “I am the way”, I think he meant, well, like in Alice in Wonderland when Alice talks with the Cheshire Cat: 

'Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?' asked Alice.

'That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,' said the Cat. 

'I don't much care where----' said Alice. 

'Then it doesn't matter which way you go,' said the Cat. 

'----so long as I get somewhere,' Alice added as an explanation. 

'Oh, you're sure to do that,' said the Cat, 'if you only walk enough.'

Deep down inside, whether we are Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, Hindu, we know there is someplace we need to be in order to be whole, and that is indeed the point of the journey we all take. We are indeed on the Way, and it is the right way because it is God’s way – and in the end, that is what matters most.  

So as you go forth, walk beside, well, walk beside whoever ends up next to you - rich or poor, (and in our politically charged environment particularly) conservative or progressive (but I digress…), as you go forth, walk beside beside whoever ends up next to you - rich or poor, conservative or progressive, Muslim or Jew – and, as a Christian, remember these words : first of author Steven Covey who said “seek first to understand, then to be understood” and also the words of theologian Frederick Buechner who wrote: A “Christian is one who is on the way, though not necessarily very far along it, and who has at least some dim and half-baked idea of whom to thank.” Le those words set you pace on the way.

 

Luke 24:13-35: "Tomb and Table"

Can you believe that Easter Sunday was just two weeks ago?  Here at Faith Lutheran, was it a wonderful day?  Did you see friends in the sanctuary that you have not seen for a long time?  Were there people you had never met who just seemed to wander in for the occasion?  Were the Easter lilies fragrant, the sermon inspiring, and the music uplifting and joy-filled?

I attended First Congregational Church in Bridgton on Easter, and worship was all of those things I just mentioned.  I suspect it was like that at most churches – even the ones that are dying and have given up any hope of a bright and thriving future.  Easter seems to do that.  Even in our deeply skeptical and secular age, many people still come out of the woodwork for Easter Sunday - either from habit or under duress or because they are wishing – consciously or not -  that the event of Easter will mean something new and different this year.   

Whatever the reason, there is a part of me that wonders just why that is.  Why are churches more crowded than usual on Easter?  I mean, all Easter Sunday is about is an empty tomb and a foolish, ridiculous, cockamamy story told by either one or several women (depending on the version of the story you read), women who didn’t know what to make of the whole thing.  

The original ending to the Gospel of Mark has the women saying nothing to anybody because they were terrified – as were the Roman guards who, we are told, trembled and became like dead men in Matthew’s Gospel.  In the Gospel of John, Mary Magdalene tells the disciples about the empty tomb, and they simply scoff at her tale over their second cup of coffee – just as they do in Luke’s version of the story.  Peter does not know what to think when he arrives at the tomb, the disciple whom Jesus loved is hoping for the best, and Mary is left crying her eyes out to the cemetery caretaker.

Of course, if any of them really believed what Jesus had told them in the first place about dying and rising in a scant three days’ time (and I highly doubt they did. I mean – be honest now - would you had you been there?), I think the disciples, if they were anticipating anything at all, were anticipating a resuscitated Jesus who would pick up his ministry where it had so tragically ended.  In short, they were looking – as I think many of us do - for an event that first Easter morning.  

However, I think that resurrection is less an event and more an experience.  And maybe that is why Easter is not just a day in the liturgical calendar.  In fact, Eastertide is a season of 50 days. 

         And that is why I wonder why people flock to our churches on Easter Sunday.  If they want to celebrate resurrection and the hope that it cannot help but bring to even the most jaded and cynical among us, they should be filling the chairs and the pews today and next week and all the weeks that follow when we learn how Jesus appeared to his disciples, how their lives were transformed by his presence, how one by one they experienced – not an empty tomb, but a resurrected Christ, how we can have the same experience too.       

In other words, God knows that most of us need more than a day before we can shamelessly and confidently shout out alleluia. We need a season - as the disciples certainly did.

Take Cleopas and his unnamed companion that we meet on the road to Emmaus.  Did you know that archeologists have never found a city, town, or even village that might have been Emmaus, seven miles from the Holy City of Jerusalem?  

And so we are left to believe that Emmaus might just be a metaphor.  Emmaus is where you go when you feel like those two followers of Jesus.  Emmaus is where you head when all hope is gone.  You’re on the road to Emmaus when there is no place left to go, when the journey itself is only about grief and loss.  Presbyterian pastor Stan Gockel tells us that Emmaus is “the place where we go to escape from the cruelty of life and forget our pains, fears, and failures….. Emmaus is the place where we go when we feel like throwing up our hands and saying, ‘To hell with the whole dang thing.’”

That is why the two men were going to Emmaus – because nothing made sense any more.  People like Mary were going crazy, and they felt themselves close to spinning out of control as well – but here they were talking about it anyway.  Were they losing their minds?

“Are we losing our minds?” they asked the stranger who had joined them on the road.  And why were they talking about this to a stranger in the first place?  And when had he showed up anyway?        

        "Shalom! What's up, friends?" 

        “What’s up? Doesn’t everybody know the latest?!

        "Where have you been?" they ask. "You must be the only one in the whole area who has not heard." 

But then again, Jerusalem is a big city – and bursting at the seams right now with Passover pilgrims. To Cleopas and his buddy, it might have been headline news, but to others, as Reformed pastor Scott Hoezee observed, it was just another Roman crucifixion, a side story buried on page 3 of the Jerusalem Gazette.

Hoezee mused that clearly this stranger was one of the clueless ones, and so the two men on the road explained it all as best they could but mostly how they had hoped that Jesus of Nazareth would be the one to stop Roman oppression and make life bearable for the poor, the laboring, and the peasant class in general. 

For a while it had seemed so right.  They had actually believed all that blessed is the so-and-so rhetoric, all those stories about make love, not war, peace and flowers in your hair.  Yes, they had hoped that Jesus would triumph, but since dead people cannot achieve much, they had to deal with the depressing fact now that they had made a mistake. 

But then, as Hoezee described the incident, the stranger goes from listener to Scripture ace and launches “into a quite serious and thorough Bible study. And after that, the rest of the trek to Emmaus just flew by! With breathtaking sweep and exegetical precision, this anonymous fellow traveler re-tells Scripture's story. It is Israel's story, all right, but the stranger tells it in a quite new way. The last time they'd heard anyone talk about the Bible in such an invigorating a fashion was . . . well, never mind. 

Before they knew it they were standing in front of the Hotel Emmaus. With a slight wave and a nod the stranger says, "Nice talking with you" and keeps walking.  Then Cleopas pipes up, "Sir! Look, the sun is setting which means the thieves along the highway will be coming out soon. It's not safe to travel alone—stay with us at least tonight." 

The man agrees, and after having washed the dust of the journey from their faces, hands, and feet, the three find a place to eat. Before they know what's happening, the stranger reaches for the flat bread, lifting it up in a strikingly familiar way. He then gives thanks, breaks it just so, and hands it to Cleopas and his friend. They know instantly who he is but just as they are ready to cry out, ‘Jesus!’ he is gone.” 

Maybe it was seeing the scarred hands as he lifted the loaf to heaven.  Maybe it was the way he held the bread.  Maybe it was the blessing that he said. 

Or maybe, just maybe, they remembered the last time that they had shared a meal with Jesus.  Oh, it seemed so long ago – the loaf of bread, the cup of wine, do this in remembrance of me.

None of the disciples knew where to look for a sign of the promised Risen Christ. They were all lost, each one trying to cope as best he could.

And so Cleopas and his friend had walked the grief-strewn road to Emmaus.  Peter and a couple of the other disciples went fishing.  A bunch of the followers returned to the Upper Room where they had shared the ritual of Passover together.

And they all encountered Jesus, and each time it was over a meal – or in a place of a meal remembered.  But that is not so strange really because Jesus’ most memorable moments of ministry were experienced  over meals – loaves and fishes shared with a huge crowd on a hillside, a wedding at Cana when the wine flowed as abundantly as water, tables shared with whores and tax collectors and the other assorted dregs of Jewish society, a last supper and a new commandment to love one another.

Christian writer Diana Butler Bass noted that the end of Holy Week and Easter takes us from table to trial to tomb (for burial) to tomb again (for resurrection) and finally to table once more. We have come full circle and so perhaps should not be surprised when the stranger takes the bread, then gives thanks, breaks it just so, and hands it to Cleopas and his friend. And they know instantly who he is.

 None of the disciples returned to the cross or pitched tents by the tomb waiting for something to happen. They might not have been the brightest bulbs in the chandelier but they were smart enough not to go back to places marked by death and tragedy but instead to gather where they had once known joy and abundance – around a table, sharing a meal together.

And it was in those places that their lives began to take on a new meaning.  It was not the event of the empty tomb that did it, but rather the experience of encountering the Resurrected One, breaking bread, drinking wine, even sharing fish.

In closing, I would suggest that it may not the tomb, but rather the table, that makes all the difference.  My pastor in Bridgton, Emily Goodnow, raised this question – which I pass on to you.  Now I am not saying that we should do this – just asking you to shift the paradigm for a few moments and see what happens.  But - what if the symbol of our faith was not the cross (albeit empty) but seen by many as a symbol of death (and an excruciatingly painful death at that), but rather what if the symbol of our faith was a table, with a place for everyone, with more than enough food to go around, where life was joyously and abundantly celebrated?  Would we live our lives differently?  Would we express our faith in a different way?

I think the power of Easter, of the empty tomb, is only made manifest around the table – this table to be sure but also wherever bread is broken and wine shared, wherever the hungry are fed, wherever abundance is known, wherever joy and love are experienced. So – ponder that change in perspective as we gather to share in communion later in our worship this morning. Bread broken.  Wine poured.  Do this in remembrance of the Resurrected One – and all the joy and love and extravagant welcome that he stood for.

Colossians 1:11-20:Thanks Be to God!

Colossians 1:11-20 

            The signs are everywhere.  If you walk into any retail store these days, you will see them emblazoned in all shades of red and green.  Home Depot and Lowe’s have rows of artificial trees adorned with angels and snowflakes.  Foot tall (or taller) Santa figures nod their heads and wave benevolently when their cords are plugged in.

            In short, the Christmas season is upon us.  And for yet another year, we are about to short-circuit Thanksgiving because we are barreling down a course aimed directly at December 25^th. Observe, if you will, the seasonal aisle at Shaw’s or Hannaford – or any area party store. Know that the ghoulish masks, wigs, and costumes of Halloween were still in their 60% off bins even as the candy canes and stocking stuffers took their place on the shelves.

            Each year, all this pre-Christmas rigmarole makes me ever mindful of the fact that Thanksgiving seems to get the short end of the stick when it comes to American holidays.  And I wonder if, in our heart of hearts, we are not a bit embarrassed by Thanksgiving.

            You see, I think the holiday deals with a part of us that we are a bit uncomfortable talking about.  I mean, at Christmas, we can give someone a gift that says, “I love you.” 

We do not have to say it ourselves.  As the merchants tell us, we can say it with candy – or flowers – or a diamond.

            But Thanksgiving is different. To really celebrate Thanksgiving, we have to look someone in the eye and say, “Your laughter everyday makes my heart sing.  I am thankful for you.”  “You helped me through a rough year.  I could not have done it without you.  I am thankful for you.”  

Overtly expressing gratitude is hard for Americans, and so some of us watch football instead and overindulge when it comes to the turkey and pumpkin pie – neither of which is bad or wrong, but I wonder if those things touch at the heart of Thanksgiving – most particularly when Thanksgiving Sunday falls on a special day, as it so often does, on the church calendar.  

Coincident with Thanksgiving Sunday this year – and most years - is a feast day that Pope Pius XI established in 1925 that we call Christ the King or Reign of Christ.  It is the final Sunday of the church year before we begin anew in the liturgical season of Advent.  

               Next Sunday we will begin to remember Jesus once again as the Incarnation, as God’s dream for the world in human form.  We will remember the baby born in a ramshackle stable on the outskirts of Bethlehem, the one who will grow up to teach us the ways of God, to proclaim to us the Good News of God’s grace, to be an example and role model for us by showing us what it really means to forgive, to reconcile, to love, to be peacemakers.  

            But we are not there quite yet – and that is what Christ the King/Reign of Christ Sunday is all about.  As Christine Sine wrote in her blog, Godspace, Christ the King Sunday is “a day to celebrate and remember Christ’s kingship over all creation, as well as to remind us that all humankind must submit to Christ’s rule.”  Perhaps a less intimidating way to put it is that we are called to accept Christ’s invitation to the Kingdom.

She goes on to say  -  “As you can imagine, this celebration, especially in recent years, has been a somewhat controversial day among those Christians who consider the language of kingship outdated or oppressive. For many, the images of kings and kingdoms conjure up thoughts of tyrants. But the kingship of Jesus takes on a very different form than does the kingship of earthly rulers… Jesus comes to us not as a great conquering military leader who oppresses and abuses the conquered. Rather, he comes as a servant king, the Prince of Peace, the One whose reign proclaims peace, justice, liberation, and above all, service. Jesus turned the whole concept of lordship and kingship on its head.”  And surely that deserves our gratitude.  Thank God that the Kingdom draws near!

               Such a melding of Thanksgiving and Christ the King Sundays! Might it serve to remind us that we cannot truly rejoice in the human part of our Savior until we can also understand – and be thankful for - the divine?

               And so today we remember Jesus as the one who comes to us not only as the itinerant preacher, the story-teller, the wide-eyed lover of life but also as the one who comes in glory, the one who is, in the Apostle Paul’s words that we just read, “the image of the invisible God, the firstborn over all creation…the one who is before all things, and in him all things hold together…the head of the body, the church (our inheritance – remember those words because they are important), the...the beginning and the firstborn from among the dead, so that in everything he might have the supremacy.”  Wow!  In short, today we remember Christ as the King. 

               Now, most of us in the United States do not know much about kings or monarchs.  They seem foreign and out-of-place in our individualistic and traditionally democratic society – no King Charles or Queen Elizabeth for us, better the characters of fairy tales and once upon a time in lands long ago and far away.

               And yet (and here is the religious rub), in spite of a disturbing tendency these days to wrap Old Glory around the cross, the kingdom of God is not a democracy.  It is a monarchy.  In the Kingdom of Heaven, God is the source, and the Gospel message of love proclaimed by Jesus is that to which we pledge our allegiance. 

               You see, when we made our choice – by baptism or confirmation or simply by becoming part of this faith community – when we made our choice to become followers of Jesus, we were sworn in as citizens of the Kingdom.  A serious business that, not to be taken lightly, especially when the values of our culture and the values of God’s Kingdom do not always mesh – and we are often uncomfortably pulled in opposing directions.  

               I mean, what’s a good citizen of the Kingdom to do when the culture says to shop until you drop because the one with the most toys wins, and the Christ the King says not to lay up treasures on earth?  

               What’s a good citizen of the Kingdom to do when the culture says to take care of yourself first when it comes to food and energy because there may not be enough to go around, and Christ the King says to share what you have and trust that God will provide all that is necessary for your wellbeing?  

               What’s a good citizen of the Kingdom to do when the culture says to fear your enemies and even destroy them if that will keep you safe, and Christ the King says to turn your other cheek, to love your enemies, and to be, above all, a peacemaker?  

               What’s a good citizen of the Kingdom to do when it seems like, in William Butler Yeats’ words, “things fall apart; the center cannot hold,” in short, when the world is going crazy?  

            What’s a good citizen of the Kingdom to do?   I think that the Apostle Paul has something to say about all this in the verses we read in his letter to the Colossians – 

even if at first glance they seem a bit out there, airy fairy, convoluted, and difficult to understand.   

As theology professor Mariam Kamell wrote, “I fear often that we read Paul’s “inheritance” language and think, “yeah, yeah, heaven, future, spiritual, other, but I have to live now,” when Paul clearly uses it for definite encouragement for the here and now. This change of identity and promise of an inheritance was meant as very real encouragement for the here and now, and I think we lose something of our enthusiasm and confidence when we over-spiritualize it or leave it solely as something for the future that doesn’t affect us now. Paul meant it to embolden and encourage his hearers,” not leave them scratching their heads, confused by his words, figuring he must be referring to something down the road, years or decades away.

            Kamell goes on to say, “By inviting us into his (Christ’s) kingdom, we are partners and co-inheritors of all things made right, and so we should work for justice and the righting of wrongs; we should work for peace and reconciliation, but we do these things because we know that all of this will be done in Christ.”

               That is what Christ the King/Reign of Christ Sunday is all about.  It is a day when the church reminds us that – fear not - there will be a time when the center will hold, and things will no longer fall apart because someone greater than us is in charge, showing us the way.  And surely that deserves our gratitude.  Thank God that the Kingdom draws near!

               But there is more!  As theologian Richard Fairchild wrote,  “We, with Paul, are meant to name Christ not only as the King of the Universe, but also as King of our lives - of our hearts.”  

               But how?  How do we live with that unfamiliar image of royalty?  How do we live as if Christ the King is alive and well in our hearts?

               The story is told of a Guru meditating in his mountain cave.  When he opened his eyes he discovered an unexpected visitor sitting before him - the abbot of a well-known monastery.

                "What do you seek?" asked the Guru.

               And the abbot recounted his tale of woe.  At one time his monastery had been filled with many brothers doing God’s work. But hard times had come.  

People no longer flocked there to nourish their spirits, the church was almost silent, and there was only a handful of monks who went about their duties with heavy hearts.

               "Is it because of a sin that the monastery has been reduced to this state?" asked the abbot.

            "Yes", replied the Guru, "because of a sin of ignorance."

            "And what might that sin be?"

           The Guru replied with a question of his own.  "Do you not know that one of you is the Messiah in disguise, and you are ignorant of this?" Then he closed his eyes and returned to his meditation.

               Throughout the long journey back to the monastery the abbot's heart rejoiced that the Messiah himself had returned not only to earth but to the monastery.  How was it that he had failed to recognize him?  And who could it be?  Brother Cook?  Brother Sacristan?  Brother Prior?  

               No, not any of them, for they all had too many defects.  But then, the Guru had said the Messiah was disguised. Could those defects be part of his disguise?  Come to think of it, everyone in the monastery had defects, but one of them had to be Messiah.

               And so, on his return, the abbot assembled all the monks and told them the excellent news. They looked at one another in disbelief.  The Messiah?  Here?  Incredible.  But, they realized with heavy hearts, he is disguised.  But they looked around them anyway, wondering….So, maybe.  What if it was him?  Or him over there?  Or...

               One thing was certain.  If the Messiah was in disguise, it was unlikely that any of them would recognize him.  So they began treating everyone with special respect and consideration.  "You never know",  they said to themselves, "maybe he is the one."

               The result, of course, was that the monastery became vibrant and vital again, and the church echoed with the holy and joyful chant of monks who were aglow with the spirit of love.Imagine the world some day when all of us will look at everyone and say, as Christian author Thomas Troeger wrote:  "Why, I'd know that face anywhere. It is the very image of the God who made us all." It is Christ the King – in disguise as one of us.  And surely that deserves our gratitude.  Thank God that the Kingdom draws near!

And so, as you gather around your Thanksgiving tables this week, be thankful for turkey and mashed potatoes, be thankful for the folks you’re sharing that meal with.  Even be thankful for football – if you must!  

But be most thankful that there is a Kingdom of God with Christ as its head, its king.  Be thankful that we have chosen to be citizens of that kingdom through the church, through THIS church.  Be thankful that no matter how crazy the world gets, things won’t fall apart. Through Christ the King, the center will hold – and we will help to make it so.  Thank God that the Kingdom draws near! Thanks be to God!