First Sunday after Christmas Dec 31 2023

First Sunday after Christmas Dec 31 2023 at Sts. Luke and  John Episcopal Church

Isaiah 61:10-62:3, Galatians 3:23-25; 4:4-7, John 1:1-18, Psalm 147 or 147:13-21

John begins at the beginning; in the beginning was the Word. John, very intentionally, places us at the beginning. The first words of John’s gospel are quite similar to the first words of scripture in Genesis. These must have been words that John had on his heart, in the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth. And John very intentionally introduces us to one of the themes that for him shapes all of faith, the light that comes into the world.

John 1 from The Message reads, “The Word was first, the Word present to God, God present to the Word. The Word was God, in readiness for God from day one. Everything was created through him; nothing—not one thing!—came into being without him. What came into existence was Life, and the Life was Light to live by. The Life-Light blazed out of the darkness; the darkness couldn’t put it out.”

John’s beginning parallels Genesis 1. From the Message Genesis 1 reads, “God spoke: “Light!” And light appeared. God saw that light was good and separated light from dark. God named the light Day, and named the dark Night. It was evening, it was morning—Day One.”

How do we imagine this wondrous thing that God does? Creation, incarnation, resurrection. Sometimes it seems so huge I cannot even begin to reason it out, and yet, every year we try to reason it out by visiting again the story of the baby, born in a barn, attended by shepherds, and angels, and animals, his parents, and eventually the visitors from the East. But, as my favorite author Madeleine L’engle writes in her book, Bright Evening Star, it is not for reason that God comes into our lives, but for love. 

So, this is how I imagine it. I’m swimming, maybe snorkeling or even SCUBA diving in a beautiful, sun filled ocean. I dive. I dive deep. I dive to the depths of the ocean. It is cold, and dark, and beautiful. I see fish I’ve never seen before, and vegetation, but it is through the darkness of that ocean water. And I can see only what is in front of my face. My breath is shallow, not deep and complete. Not only are there beautiful fish, but there are fish that look like monsters. I return to the surface and the sun and warmth and light, but very slowly, because I must - having dived so deep. On my return, I see more clearly, breathe more deeply.

I think this is what incarnation is like, this is what resurrection is like, this is what life is like. God dives down deep into our dimly lit lives, our lives as we live them in the depths of God’s ocean. And this is what Jesus does, Jesus swims around and enlightens our underwater vision so we can see and care for all of the teeming creation. And Jesus picks us up off the bottom of the ocean and carries us into that sunshine, into that new life that we inhabit. You may love completely; in ways you could never have imagined before, feeling the warmth of the sunshine all over your body. 

Incarnation, resurrection, birthed out of the waters of creation, the waters of baptism, the waters of new life. Bathed in the light that dispels the darkness. John holds on to the hope that the smallest source of light might create the possibility of belief. 

John uses this theme of light and dark to try to show us something really important. For John, darkness represents the lack of relationship. God speaks the Word into this darkness, Jesus dives into our lives for light, for love, for relationship. John calls us to turn around and face the Light, to fall on our knees and be forgiven. And today John calls us to be partners with him in showing the way to the Light.

We are yet in the season of incarnation, God in the flesh meeting us in the flesh. God came to be with us in the flesh not to relieve us of the mess and the muck of this life, but in the flesh God stands by our side, takes our hand, sometimes even carries us, and loves us. And that kind of love changes us, we can't help but be changed. God in the flesh reminds us in our flesh that we don't need to be perfect because we are perfectly loved. We don't need to consume and acquire to possess worth; we are enough just the way we are created. God in the flesh reminds us in our flesh that we don't need to gain attention to earn God's love, God has already loved us into ourselves. 

Incarnation is a mystery, and yet it is not so hard. Incarnation, God in the flesh, is about love in a very real sense, it is about God’s commitment to you and to me to walk this journey with us, and it is about our commitment to love. Christmas is not about the presents; it is about God’s presence with us, and your presence with those whose path you cross.

Incarnation is about showing up, and showing forth the light that covers all darkness, and the love that wins. 

Love is born into human flesh. We are at the beginning, and we are at the end. And here in the middle, is where love turns us around, turns our world around. Here is our commitment to love as we have been loved.

I leave you with a poem today. Because Madeleine L’engle can always say it better than me. Madeleine L’Engle, First Coming, from A Cry Like a Bell, 1987, before we became concerned with pronouns.

He did not wait till the world was ready,
till men and nations were at peace.
He came when the Heavens were unsteady,
and prisoners cried out for release.

He did not wait for the perfect time.
He came when the need was deep and great.
He dined with sinners in all their grime,
turned water into wine.

He did not wait till hearts were pure.
In joy he came to a tarnished world of sin and doubt.
To a world like ours, of anguished shame
he came, and his Light would not go out.

He came to a world which did not mesh,
to heal its tangles, shield its scorn.
In the mystery of the Word made Flesh
the Maker of the stars was born.

We cannot wait till the world is sane
to raise our songs with joyful voice,
for to share our grief, to touch our pain,
He came with Love: Rejoice! Rejoice!

Amen.

Christmas Blessing

May the joy of the angels,

the eagerness of the shepherds,

the perseverance of the wise men,

the obedience of Joseph and Mary,

and the peace of the Christ child

be yours this Christmas;

And the blessing of God,

Creator, Redeemer, Spirit 

be with you today and always,

Amen.

 

3 Advent Yr B December 17 2023

 

3 Advent Yr B December 17 2023

Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11, 1 Thessalonians 5:16-24, John 1:6-8,19-28, Canticle 15

The light shines in the darkness. The Word becomes flesh. These are all ways the gospel writer John shows us who Jesus is, and what that means to us, the followers of Jesus. The gospel writer John, through the baptizer John, points us to Jesus, the light, God in the flesh.

John, the gospel writer, points us to Jesus, the light, God in the flesh, not as a nice idea, but as the real thing. John, the gospel writer, points us to John who is not a Baptist, but a witness, who gives testimony to the coming of the Word in the world. John is not I AM, and John points us to who is I AM.

We really live in Advent time most of the time. Advent is a time in between. It is liminal. It is waiting, and preparing, and anticipating. Most of our lives are spent waiting for the next thing, waiting in excitement or waiting in dread. Our son says that’s what the military is all about, hurry up and wait. We look back at our lives sometimes with regret for mistakes made and perfection not achieved. Often we look back with joy in memories of those we have loved and who have loved us. We look forward with longing to what we wish may be. And Advent calls us to presence. Advent calls us to live in this liminal time with purpose, with intention. In this Advent time, we wait, but in our waiting we don’t do nothing. Advent is being fully present to what it is God births in us. In Advent we pay attention to the now of not knowing, instead of the nostalgia of what was, and the wish of what may be. And at the very same time, we are enveloped by the stories that have informed us our whole lives, the stories that call us to justice, mercy, and love. The stories that teach us who we are.

Today we find ourselves at this third Sunday of Advent, with John who points us to Jesus, the Light of the world, God in the flesh, continuing in our wait, our preparation, our anticipation. What is it that John who does not baptize Jesus, point us to? What does John the gospel writer want to show us?

This third week of Advent, we, like John the Baptist, are called to know who we are, we are God’s beloveds, and to witness to the light so that all may believe and like John the Baptist, to witness to this light that continues to brighten the darkness. John is not the light, but points to the light, in our society today, that is rare and refreshing. John has zero-interest in making this about himself. We are so used to this character John the Baptist, that I think we don’t feel the extent to which he puts himself aside for Jesus. John has his own posse, his own band of followers. And here comes this upstart Jesus, preaching a new way. 

John stands as a model and example of what life lived in response to God’s call looks like. And what does that look like? You are God’s beloved, you are enough, you are what God made you to be. So many could be disappointed and frustrated with John not taking power and opposing Jesus. John is very clear in himself that he is the voice in the wilderness, the one that points to Jesus, but is not the long expected Messiah. 

As we consider John as a model and example of what life lived in response to God’s call looks like, we must also consider Mary, whose Magnificat we read together. This song of Mary is the oldest Advent hymn. It is also the most passionate, the wildest, and one might almost say the most revolutionary Advent hymn that has ever been sung. This is not the gentle, tender, dreamy Mary as we often see her portrayed in paintings. The Mary who is speaking here is passionate, carried away, proud, enthusiastic. There is none of the sweet, wistful, or even playful tone of many of our Christmas carols, but instead a hard, strong, relentless hymn about the toppling of the thrones and the humiliation of the lords of this world, about the power of God and the powerlessness of humankind. This is the sound of the prophetic women of the Old Testament—Deborah, Judith, Miriam—coming to life in the mouth of Mary. Mary, who was seized by the power of the Holy Spirit, and who speaks, by the power of this same Spirit, about God’s coming into the world, about the Advent of Jesus Christ. Like John, Mary puts aside her own self interest for this glorious impossible. 

She, of course, knows better than anyone else what it means to wait for Christ’s coming. Her waiting is different from that of any other human being. She expects Jesus. As his mother, Jesus is closer to her than to anyone else. She knows the secret of his coming, she knows about the Spirit, who has a part in it, about the Almighty God, who has performed this impossibility. In her own body she is experiencing the wonderful ways of God with humankind: that God does not arrange matters to suit our opinions and views, does not follow the path that humans would like to prescribe. God’s path is free and original beyond all our ability to understand or to prove.

All we can do is trust that Mary knows. She knows that this is a glorious impossibility, and she knows that she is not equal to the task, but with God’s help, with her cousin Elizabeth’s help, with her community’s help, she can be the God-bearer. She knows that this is not reasonable, but that Jesus did not come for reason, but for love. 

So with Mary and with John, who do we point to in Advent waiting?  I hope we point to the one who is Love. The  Love that breaks in, the Love that  bursts through. The Love that shows up. We are here, we are waiting, ever patiently, ever watchfully. And love is born. The Divine Love Story begins again. God so loves the world, that God breaks into our world to be with us. Emmanuel, God with us. 

I am and we are God’s beloveds, and part of our call is to set ourselves aside and point to Jesus. Advent, and preparation for Christmas, has often been a time of stress, a time of expectation that cannot be met. But this time, we have the opportunity to name it all, and do it quite differently. Rather than hiding sadness and grief and loss from the world and from our friends, the gift is that we are all in it together. Rather than working ourselves into a frenetic ball of nerves about not getting it all done, we let go of our perceptions of control and affirm our call as god-bearers, and like Mary we receive the gift of new birth. And as those of you who have given birth know, it’s scary and joyful all at the same time. And with Mary and John at our side, we claim our voice to call out God is here.

Twenty-fifth Pentecost Yr A Proper 28 Nov 19 2023

Twenty-fifth Pentecost Yr A Proper 28 Nov 19 2023

Judges 4:1-7, Psalm 123, 1 Thessalonians 5:1-11, Matthew 25:14-30

Here we have another terribly troubling parable from Matthew. This parable is the second of three in this section of Matthew. Last week we heard the parable of the ten bridesmaids, and the last of the three is the parable of the sheep and goats. The three parables are related; they show us about living life ready and awake even in the complexity of life. 

The kingdom of God is like a man who was leaving on a journey. Upon leaving, he handed everything over to his servants according to their ability. After the man left, the servants did as they pleased with what they were given. The first two took what was given them, immediately went to work with it, and when the man returned, gave an accounting. Each of them had increased the original capital. The third man was a different sort of man. In contrast to the other two, he hid the money that had been entrusted to him. Now, this was a common way of hiding things. With no bank, no secure place to leave valuable things when going away, burying it was an accepted way to keep it secure. So the important thing for this man was that the money was safe and secure and that he could produce it when the time came. Keeping it in this way meant that there was no possibility of loss, but is also meant there was no possibility of gain.

Matthew makes a point to let us know that this master was a very rich man, and these amounts are huge, each talent may be worth about twenty years wages. And Matthew points us to a master who encourages his servants to use whatever they have been given for good, and to use it faithfully. The third servant was afraid, and did not use what he had been given for any purpose at all. The result of this fear was being consigned to the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.

So let's imagine today that in this parable the master is God who loves creation, who loves humanity. This is God in our midst, God who loves creation so very much that God is willing and wanting and yearning to be in relationship with God's people. God whose love is so deep and so wide and so broad. God who walks through this life with us, each one of us and all of us. In this kingdom God is like a man who was leaving on a trip. He handed everything over to his servants according to their ability, and then he left on his journey. It sounds to me like this is a relationship of trust and of grace. The man entrusts all he has to his servants. No instructions, no lists of what to do and what not to do, nothing. And yet this abundance doesn't belong to the servants. This abundance was not assigned to the servants based on who deserved what and how much, it was given over in trust. This abundance is not even dependent on anyone’s ability today, tomorrow, or any other day to do exactly the right thing with it.

It seems to me that the kingdom of God is this way. God leaves us with and trusts us with the entirety of creation. So much more than we can even see and experience. God entrusts us with the sea and the sky, with the animals and the vegetables. God entrusts us with all that is valuable, and God entrusts us with one another. And God lets go of the outcome, God does not control what we do with any of it. We can do what we want. That is what is at the very center of this relationship. God creates us and all of what is seen and unseen, God declares it good, and God loves us. God trusts us, what are we to do? 

This is the same God who loves us so very much and is willing to live and die as one of us to show us the very best way this life may be lived. Imagine a God who is the creator of all that is seen and unseen, and to whom each and every one of us matters. Imagine a God whose heart’s desire is to be in relationship with us. Imagine a God to whom justice matters, the kind of justice that includes everyone having enough to eat, everyone staying warm when it is cold, everyone being able to feed their families. 

We are to respond to this abundant and amazing grace with all of our heart and our soul and our strength. It's not about our trustworthiness, it's about God's trust and love and grace. It's not about our ability or inability to use the gift properly, it's about God's trust and love and grace. It's not about what we deserve or don't deserve, it's about God's trust and love and grace. It's not about our fearfulness, but it is about fearlessly being about God's business of love, and healing.

These stories about the kingdom are not about being safe and secure. This story, and the ones around it, are about being ready, awake and alive, not to be afraid.

You see, when it comes to serving Christ, when it comes to following Jesus, we can be bold and not be afraid of risks. Not so much concerned about securing our own lives but getting on with lives of self-abandon and witness, knowing that the grace of God in Jesus will more than compensate for any mistakes we may make. Instead, we behave more like the servant who hid his talent in the ground. It’s not a bad thing to do, but it isn’t living ready, awake, and alive, it is more like being afraid.

In these days it is so hard not to be afraid. These days I feel that there’s a darkness that hangs over us. A darkness that holds in its snare’s liars and bullies. A darkness made up of quips and snips. A darkness that covers rudeness. A darkness that feeds racism and misogyny. But you and I know the remedy to that. Hate and fear will not dispel the darkness, only love can do that. 

We can choose in small ways and in large ways how God's amazing gift is made available by our lives and by our love. Choose love. Choose to be a steward of all of God's gifts. Choose not only to care for creation and all you have been given but do something great with it. Don't bury it out of fear, but share it knowing that it was never yours in the first place. Choose to be a part of relationships that do what Jesus asks us to do, feed those who are hungry, love your neighbor. Share your hearts and your lives and your treasure, not because of what you will get, but because of what you have been given. Love. 

Twenty-forth Sunday after Pentecost Yr A Proper 27 Nov 12 2023 (Third Sunday before Advent)

Rev. Dr. Kathy Monson Lutes at Sts. Luke and James, Minneapolis MN

Twenty-forth Sunday after Pentecost Yr A Proper 27 Nov 12 2023 (Third Sunday before Advent)

Joshua 24:1-3a, 14-25, Psalm 78:1-7,1 Thessalonians 4:13-18, Matthew 25:1-13

Last Sunday, the Feast of All Saints and All Souls, we gathered in the midst of so much memory and joy, we remembered those who walked this journey before us, and we baptized those new humans who are just beginning this journey, and we recommitted ourselves to following Jesus. We are surrounded by the cloud of witnesses. The baptismal promises we make for ourselves and on behalf of those new to the journey with Jesus, call us to bear a light, into what can be a dark world, a light  that illuminates justice and mercy, respect and dignity, love for our neighbor.  And as we wonder what that looks like for each of us and for our community of faith, we are confronted by this parable in Matthew, one in a series of really hard stories contained in this gospel.

As I thought about this story, this parable, I wondered about this wedding. Weddings then were not what we think of weddings now. Today, one person asks the other to marry, an answer is given, a date set, preparations made, guests invited. There is much planning, anticipation, and expectation. At the appointed time on the appointed day, everyone shows up, the vows are made, and the party begins. Not so much at a wedding such as we have before us. A marriage was a transaction between two property holders, one property holder, the father of the woman, selling said property to the family of a man. The man and the woman, or the bridegroom and the bride, may never have even met prior to the wedding. The deal has to be struck, and the negotiations may be quick, or may be drawn out, with no way to determine the time for the wedding to take place, people came, milled about, and waited until the deed was done. So in our story today, everyone fell asleep while waiting, and as they awoke, some discovered that they had no more oil in their lamps, and went off to get more. In the meantime, the door to the wedding banquet was opened, and those who were there were let in, those who went away to gather more oil, missed out. Keep awake, they were told.

What are we to gather from this? What does it mean to keep awake? What does it mean to be ready? What does Jesus ask of us? Those are the questions I think are at the center of what we hear today. And, since I believe that it is Love at the center of the gospel,  and I don't believe Jesus ever closes a door forever and always on anyone, what can this mean? 

We all have our "bucket list." Travel, and adventure, that list of things to do and accomplish by the time you kick the bucket. Now, granted all that is a lot of fun, but even if this passage from Matthew is about being ready for the end of our lives or being ready for the end of time, I don't think checking items off our list is what Jesus asks of us, or calls us to do, to be ready. 

Getting ready is something I'm really good at. I make lists, I accomplish tasks, I think of more things to do so I make more lists. I plan ahead, my calendar for next year is already getting filled in. I do research so I know what to expect. I already have my winter emergency stuff in the car, my sleeping bag, an extra hat, extra mittens and scarves, if I get caught in a storm, I'm ready. If I were one of those bridesmaids, I'd have enough oil and then some more, just in case. I know that preparation is the key to success.

But, being ready is different than getting ready. Getting ready implies accomplishing things, being ready is much more about staying awake, paying attention, letting go of distractions. And that is what I wonder if this passage is really about. I wonder if this passage is about being fully present to each other, being fully present to creation, being fully present to wonder and surprise and love. I wonder if this passage is about not just waiting for the door to open when the party is beginning, but living completely in the fullness of our humanity, in all of its joy and all of its pain. 

I wonder if this passage may be about bringing your authentic self to Jesus? Maybe staying awake is not being perfect or full, but it is about bringing your most authentic, vulnerable, true self to the door. Jesus wants us to bring all of who we are, warts and vulnerability, hurts and joys, our perfect masks removed, our thick wall of protection torn down, the entrails of our addictions that we think fill us, laid aside. Maybe Jesus wants to open the door wide to who we really are, not who we pretend to be, and not even who we strive to be. Maybe Jesus wants to open the door wide to who we really are, not who we present for inspection. I think sometimes we spend so much time running around filling up our lamps, filling up our time, making our lists and checking them off, we completely miss the really important things of staying awake, like loving and healing; like forgiving; like being marked as Christ's own forever; like reaching out to take Jesus’ hand.

It is that primal person, that naked heart, that vulnerable and authentic self whom Jesus loves, that's who Jesus yearns to throw his arms around and welcome to the party. Your self, ready and waiting, bathed in the love of your creator, just as you are. You, no need for primping or planning, no questions of not being good enough, or not having accomplished enough, or having enough oil in your lamp. Just you, absolutely and abundantly loved. And what a party it will be. Just like at this table, room enough and food enough for everyone. Only better. 

A few of us were able to hear our Presiding Bishop, Michael Curry, over the weekend. It was the first time he was speaking after recovering from surgery this summer. He was as energetic as usual, and reminded us again, that if it isn’t about love, it isn’t about God. And our Bishop Craig Loya, encouraged us to splash in the water, just like we splashed last week in the waters of baptism, and to reach out in love to all those who need a healing, loving word. 

Be ready, love God, love yourself, love others. 

Thanks be to God. 

Fourth Sunday of Easter Yr A April 30 2023

Fourth Sunday of Easter Yr A April 30 2023

Acts 2:42-47, 1 Peter 2:19-25, John 10:1-10, Psalm 23

 

On hot summer nights, when every kid in the entire neighborhood was out playing kick the can, my mom would yell out the back door, Kathy! and I’d come running. I heard my mother’s voice and recognized that I wanted to come running into her wide and wonderful and protective embrace. Jesus is like that in this passage we have from John. Jesus calls our names, and we come a runnin. And Jesus is not just holding the door open wide for all of us, but Jesus is the door through which we find love and life. 

 

So when we look at this passage about the shepherd, we also need to look at where it sits in John’s discourse. The story right before this one in John is the story of the man born blind. How long was he blind? Blind from birth, a long, long, time. The man, blind from birth, hears the voice of Jesus, recognizes who Jesus is, and is healed. Jesus asks the man who was formerly blind, “Do you believe in the Son of Man?” And the no longer blind man answers, “And who is he, sir?” Jesus responds, “You have seen him, and the one speaking to you is he.” The formerly blind man proclaims, “Lord, I believe.”

 

Lord, I believe. This man, blind from birth, and no longer blind, has a whole new life, he can see, the world before him and around him is opened up, the landscape of his life is completely changed. No longer does he sit on the margins, he can see, no longer does he beg, he can see. His life is completely transformed, this is new life indeed.

 

And immediately we hear another story, really a continuing story, that the abundant life the no longer blind man received, is available to us as well.

 

Jesus the shepherd, calling my name, calling your name. What is that like, hearing Jesus the shepherd calling our names? How do we recognize that voice? Kathy, I love you, come to me, let me embrace you, let me give you all you need, let me fill that hole in your heart with life, with love. Come, come with me, walk with me into this amazing place, run into my arms, into my embrace, this place of love, this place of life.

 

Jesus says, I am the door, come through me, here is a place of protection, of nurture, of sustenance, this is a dwelling place created for you. And when our eyes are opened, when we hear and recognize the voice of the one who creates us, and comes to be with us, and loves us, we run through that door.

 

And what’s more, is that Jesus does this again, and again, Jesus calls his followers by name, but not just you and me, Lazarus as well. You remember, Lazarus had been dead for four days. Jesus arrived at the tomb of his friend, and Jesus wept, and Jesus called to Lazarus, Lazarus, come out! In hearing his name, Lazarus came out, and was unbound, set free. Lazarus, the one who was dead, is now alive.

 

But it gets even better! It’s not just you and me and Lazarus, Mary as well. Mary stood weeping at Jesus’ tomb. She bent over to look into the tomb and saw two angels in white, sitting where Jesus should have been lying dead. She did not know where Jesus had been taken.

 

She turned around and Jesus was standing there, but she didn’t know him, she thought he was the gardener. Until he spoke to her, until he called her name, Mary! She turned and saw him, teacher! Mary went and announced to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord!” I have seen the Lord!

 

The abundance of the life Jesus invites us into is shown to us by the healing of the man blind from birth. Being blind from birth is being blind for-ever, and yet this man can see! He recognizes Jesus. This is an abundance that is immense, over the top. The man who was blind, now is saved from darkness. The man who was blind is brought from the margins of the community, into the community. 

 

The man who was blind, has new and abundant life. Lazarus lives! Mary proclaims. We hear Jesus call our name, we recognize Jesus is the door through which we too can see God’s presence with us, making us into a beloved child of God. Giving us sight that enables us to see Jesus in our midst, in ourselves, in one another. Giving us sight that enables us to proclaim, like Mary, I have seen the Lord!

 

And what’s more, what’s even more over the top, more abundant, more amazing, is that Jesus, the door into God’s embrace, God’s love, is not exclusive or judging. This is not about keeping people out, this is Jesus inviting people into new life, abundant life. “I am the door” is to invite people in, to recognize God in the flesh that is Jesus’ new and abundant life. To hear the voice of the shepherd, to walk through the door that is open, is to follow Jesus into Life, abundant life. Life in the here and now and life eternal in the resurrection. Life in the here and now and life even when Jesus leaves us. You are enough, see Jesus, recognize Jesus is God with us, walk through the door, and receive life, abundant life.

 

Where is the voice of the shepherd, assuring you of abundant love? I hear it in the laughter of my neighbor children playing in the dandelions in the park behind my house. I will miss that. I hear it in the calls and notes from all of you, encouraging, caring. As our eyes are opened to new ways of being with one another, can we see that we are all hurting, and we are all doing our best. Can we see Jesus among us, in those we like and dislike, in those who hurt us and make us mad. We are being called to a new communion, a new way of being, one in which the old barriers are being broken; a new world in which our blindness is healed, a new door is opened. 

 

Whether we are graduating from high school, or getting our master’s degrees, or moving onto new adventures, the shepherd calls our name and welcomes us with open arms. Amen.

 

3 Easter Yr A April 23 2023

3 Easter Yr A April 23 2023

Acts 2:14a,36-41, 1 Peter 1:17-23, Luke 24:13-35, Psalm 116:1-3, 10-17

 

Risen Lord, be known to us in the breaking of the bread. From the moment my journey in the Episcopal church began, this is the scripture, the prayer, the action, that made the presence of Jesus Christ real for me. There is nothing about church, about community, about family, about faith, about compassion and justice, about baptismal promises, about a passion for the gospel of Jesus Christ, that is not contained in this little collection of words, if only we can recognize. Risen Lord, be known to us in the breaking of the bread.

 

As a child, I lived in a community of people. I am five of eight. There were most always people around, and the liveliest times of the day were our dinner meal. We would scrunch around our kitchen table, someone would have to sit on a stool at the counter, actually, the bread board, remember bread boards? in order to get us all in. I wonder if then I recognized the wonder in all that chaos. When my extended family would gather for holidays, there were 23 of us grandchildren. We would enjoy a meal together, but not much quiet. Often many of us little ones would end up staying the night wherever we were, eating breakfast and lunch together the next day, and playing of course. I think the seeds of understanding Jesus’ real presence were planted in those gatherings.

 

In the summer of 2013, Rick and I, and Tom and Amanda, and Willie went on an incredible journey, and among many amazing things we did, we met some of our Norwegian relatives. They were as happy to meet us as we were to meet them. A cousin, Jan, took us to see the land on which our ancestors farmed. We were profoundly moved as we stood on that land, and felt the timeless connection to those who came before us, and those who will follow us. We recognized that connection, that story that joins us all together. At Jan's home, we ate a wonderful meal of Norwegian porridge, and pork, and cheese, and bread, of course. The next day we gathered with my cousins Kjell and MaryAnn and had heart shaped waffles with cloudberries.

 

Risen Lord, be known to us in the breaking of the bread.

 

It makes so much sense, as we journey together through this life, that breaking bread together is the central activity for us, we come from farmers after all. The most radical activity that Jesus engaged in was to invite people to a meal. And everyone got that invitation. Not only were there religious leaders, there were tax collectors, there were women, single women at that, women who were protected by no one. At table Jesus taught about the kingdom of God. At table Jesus disrupted the social order. At table, Jesus nourished not only the body, but the spirit and the soul as well.

 

When we gather at the communion table we come from home and work and school; we come from far away and down the street, we come and we tell our story, and we tell the story of God’s activity in our lives; we tell the story of creation, blessing, turning away, God loving us back into relationship, repentance, reconciliation and restoration. We tell the story of life, death, and resurrection. We tell the truth.

 

The story that we know and we tell, is about how God saved God's people from the flood waters, and God freed God's people from slavery in Egypt. God brought God's people out of exile back into their land and God came to live and die as one of us, Jesus is in our midst.

 

We read and we study and tell these stories. We listen and talk about what God did and continues to do in this world. We tell these stories to our children. And we do because they help us remember who we are. We remember who we are and we recognize one another and we are recognized in the breaking of bread and the prayers. We give thanks for our blessings; we ask for healing for ourselves and others, we eat together.

 

That is what happened with the two in our story today, who were walking away from Jerusalem, dejected, alone, afraid. Wondering what it was all about, wondering how it all went so very wrong. And the One who told the story of Moses and all the prophets, who told them the story of Jesus, joined them. They invited him to stay, he did, they ate together, and they recognized him.

 

We recognize Jesus in the people with whom we gather to share and tell our stories, and the stories of our faith; we recognize Jesus in the breaking of bread, we see Jesus in the hands, and in the eyes, and in the faces of the people who are at our table.

 

But we also recognize Jesus in the stranger, and the alien, and the immigrant. We see and hear Jesus in those who are out there, those who continue to live in isolation, in loneliness, in hurt, in this broken world. We recognize the freedom, the peace, the community that can be theirs as well.

 

Risen Lord, be known to us in the breaking of the bread. But it's not just in the baking of the bread, or in the breaking of the bread, the bread broken for you and for me. Our wholeness comes from brokenness, our healing rises up out of broken hearts that are mended by God’s love. Humanity is made whole once more by the real presence of Jesus in our midst, in our lives, in our brokenness, the broken bread.

 

Risen Lord, be known to us in the breaking of the bread. Help us to recognize you in word and sacrament, in story and in food, help us to see you in the midst of community. Help us to be agents of your new creation, standing on the ground that you have already won in your resurrection.

 

It is in the bread, broken for us and for all, that we recognize the Love that wins. Amen. 

Easter 2023 John 20:1-18

Easter 2023 John 20:1-18

 

They found the stone rolled away from the tomb, but when they had gone in, they did not find the body. The men they saw said to them “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here but has risen.”

 

We have had quite a journey to get to this place, this joyful morning. We followers of Jesus, along with all the characters who populate this amazing story of love, Peter, Mary, Joanna, have accompanied Jesus into Jerusalem with the shouting of Hosannas. We have watched with horror as the events turned violent. We have been implicated in the apathy that allowed Jesus to be condemned and killed. We sat in the silence and waited as we believed with those very first followers, that Jesus, the one who stood for love, the one who healed others, was dead. That was the end. It looked like failure. It looked like the light went out. It looked like evil won. But evil does not have the final word, the Word of God has the final word, Jesus.

 

So let’s take a look at Mary and what she has to say to us and to the world. She comes to the tomb, after watching and witnessing Jesus’ death on the cross, believing this was the end of the run, the end of the story, the end of her life as well as Jesus’. Imagine her there. Mary, the outlier. Mary, scorned by most of Jesus’ friends as well as the culture in which she lived. Mary, who when she was with Jesus, mattered. When she was with Jesus her life held value and meaning. This Mary understood heartbreak. Many of us have watched a loved one die, but none of us have watched a death so violent as this death on the cross. Her sadness and grief were tremendous. We meet her here, at the tomb. She had come early in the morning after what must have been a sleepless night, only to discover that the body, the one she loves, was not there. She ran back to tell the others, they arrived at the tomb and confirmed what she had seen and yet, they returned home.  

 

Mary stood weeping. Mary stood weeping. Three little words, three little words that encapsulate so much of our reality. It could be any one of us, we have wept. We have wept for our loved ones, we have wept because our hearts have been broken as we have been absent, one from another. We have wept in disappointment. We have wept in frustration. We have wept in loneliness. We have wept at the oppression and mistreatment of people of color. We have wept as we have watched the people of Ukraine be violently attacked. We have wept. These are holy tears, and they recall for us Jesus’ tears at the grave of his friend, Lazarus. 

 

Together with Mary we stand in this space that is filled with sadness, and with hope, and joy. Why do you weep? Who are you looking for?

 

Name them, name them as Jesus named Mary. Name those who we love but see no more. Bring joy and love into your heart as you see them, as you remember them, and you learn to fill your broken heart with their memory. Revel in the tears and the heartache.

 

And then, listen. Listen for the one who calls your name. In the darkness of that morning, Mary saw those angels in the tomb, and they wondered with compassion about her tears, she named her grief, they have taken him away, I do not know where he is. Crying in the darkness of that tomb, Jesus, stands before her, unrecognizable, and breaths, Mary. Mary. 

 

As you hear this, remember the other time we heard Jesus calling our names. When we are lost and cannot find our way. When we are broken and hurting and in need of healing. When we feel like we’ve come to the brink, and Jesus calls our name and brings us home. The shepherd calls our name, and we hear the voice of compassion and love. We stand with the woman at the well, and Jesus sees us, Jesus calls us, we belong to Jesus. This is what Mary hears, this is what we hear. And contained in that name, Mary, is all of Jesus’ love for her, and for us. Jesus’ love saturates our grief. Mary is filled with the assurance that Jesus is right there with her, we are filled with the assurance that Jesus is right here with us, can we hear? Can we see?

 

Mary wants to hold on to Jesus, isn’t that what we want to do? When those we love die, we want to hold on in our grief. But Jesus is very clear with Mary that he will go, and after this very real resurrection Jesus will not leave her, or us, alone. And Jesus does not want Mary to hold on to him; he tells her to go and tell the others. And she announces to everyone, “I have seen the Lord”. 

 

There is power in these words of Mary. Power born of grief, power born of compassion, power born of brokenness, power born of love. Mary, beautiful Mary Magdalen, was an outlier, her power was not as a result of authority or control, her power, maybe even her super power, was in compassion and sight, born out of derision. 

 

Mary’s words are spoken to those who follow Jesus, those who gathered in fear in the early hours of that first morning, and us, who gather in joy on this most beautiful Easter day. “I have seen the Lord.” The light is breaking through, the dark does not win. 

 

This is the way of Love, this is the path we are on, the path from darkness to light, the path from death to life. 

 

As we look back at where we have been, where have you seen the Lord? Who are the Mary’s who have called out to you, “I have seen the Lord?” Where have you seen compassion and love? Who has called your name? Is there someone who has grabbed your hand and pulled you back, and said, “you are loved, you belong.”

 

Mary’s words are stunning, they are filled with hope. You see, not only do we look back, and see all the times when we have seen the Lord, we stand in God’s presence today. I look out on all of you, and I can say, “I see the Lord.” I see the hands and feet of the one whose love causes us to love the Mary’s, the outliers. I see the hands and feet of the one whose love causes us to love one another. And I see the hands and feet of the one whose love causes us to say to all who have ears to hear, Alleluia, Christ is Risen. The Lord has risen indeed. Alleluia. 

Easter Vigil 2023

Easter Vigil 2023

Matthew 28:1-10

 

After the sabbath, as the first day of the week was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb. And suddenly there was a great earthquake; for an angel of the Lord, descending from heaven, came and rolled back the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning, and his clothing white as snow. For fear of him the guards shook and became like dead men. But the angel said to the women, "Do not be afraid; I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. He is not here; for he has been raised, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples, `He has been raised from the dead, and indeed he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him.' This is my message for you." So they left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy, and ran to tell his disciples. Suddenly Jesus met them and said, "Greetings!" And they came to him, took hold of his feet, and worshiped him. Then Jesus said to them, "Do not be afraid; go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me."

 

 

Mary Magdalene and the other Mary heard the angel of the Lord, Do not be afraid, Jesus is not here, he has been raised as he said, go and tell everyone.

 

We have had quite a journey to get to this place, on this night. We followers of Jesus, along with all of the characters who populate this amazing story of love, Mary, Joanna, Peter, have accompanied Jesus into Jerusalem with the shouting of Hosannas. We have watched with horror as the events turned violent. We have been implicated in the apathy that allowed Jesus to be condemned and killed. We sat in the silence and waited as we believed with those very first followers, that Jesus, the one who stood for love, the one who healed others, was dead. That was the end. It looked like failure. It looked like the light went out. It looked like evil won.

 

This evening began with the affirmation that indeed the light did not go out. There was flame enough to kindle the new fire, and together we sang it back into a roaring flame. We took solace and strength in hearing stories of salvation history. Reminding ourselves of God's creativity, reminding ourselves of God's liberation, reminding ourselves that God puts us back together again after we have fallen apart. Baptizing Milo and Eleanor, and remembering our own baptism, when Jesus claimed us as God's own forever, and we were marked as God's beloveds. And here we proclaim the Alleluias. The Alleluias that fill our hearts and our minds with the love of God and each other, the alleluias that ring through eternity, and that shimmer in our own breath and blood. 

 

With the words, He has been raised from the dead! Mary, and the other Mary knew what until that moment, they had only hoped to believe . They knew that this man that they had known in life, defeated death. They knew that this man they had loved, was all that had been promised. The temple would be destroyed and raised in three days, on the third day rise again. They knew what it meant. Jesus was where the God they had worshipped since they were children, lived now. Jesus was where God walked, and loved and healed. Jesus whose body was broken on that cross, now is the one who puts our brokenness back together again. The women realized that death does not have the final word. They knew that it is in dying that there is new life.

 

Our sadness and grief of Holy Week, our brokenness in life, is put back together in this Easter hope. We are Easter people. And like Mary Magdalen and the other Mary, Jesus’ mother, on that first Easter morning, our lives sing with the love that created us, the love that calls us into being, the love that puts us back together when we break apart, when we miss the mark, the love that changes our very hearts and souls into a new creation. And on our hearts, with the cursive of the healed scars, is inscribed the words, you are loved, broken, healed, love one another.

 

As Easter people we don't ignore the reality of our lives, in all of the happiness and hurtfulness, in all of the care and chaos, in all of the tenderness and terror. It is never one way or the other, it is always a dance of pain and joy. But we do live this life fully embraced and empowered by this Easter reality, your life matters, it matters now. The reality of the cross and the resurrection shows us that our relationships matter, that dignity and respect matter.

 

As Easter people we live in the reality that changed the way we are related to one another. Power doesn't win, love wins. Darkness does not prevail, light shines through. Brokenness doesn't end our lives, it only creates the fissures into which God's love can seep.

 

And as Easter people, as people who have been named by Jesus, we are marked and claimed as God's own. Our hearts and our lives are claimed by the love that heals us, the love that puts us back together, the love that wins. And from that love flows the ministry that God calls us to, love one another.

 

Now, Jesus dwells with us, and together we are about the business of kingdom building, as Jesus did and does. It is a kingdom in which all are loved, a kingdom in which all are fed. A kingdom in which mercy and compassion rule. A kingdom in which a broken body makes us whole, a kingdom in which the body of Christ makes us a body of Christ.

 

As we walk out of the doors of this church this evening, our work begins. The body of Christ is at work with God's mission of healing and reconciliation in the world. It is our work of bearing God's love to those who, like us are broken, it is our work of bearing God's love in all places and all times. It is our work of feeding those who are hungry, because we have been hungry. It is our work of mercy and compassion, because we know what it is like to miss the mark.

 

We are Easter people. We walk this journey of life knowing the amazement of resurrection, and the pain and suffering that precedes it, and like the women at the tomb on that first Easter morning, with fear and great joy, and run to tell the others.

 

We are Easter people. We are nourished by the bread and the body that is broken for us. We are Easter people, made whole by the love that wins. Alleluia, Christ is risen.