Second Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 7, Year B St. Martha and Mary, Eagan Enmegahbowh, transferred

Second Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 7, Year B St. Martha and Mary, Eagan

Enmegahbowh, transferred, Isaiah 52:1–6, Psalm 129, 1 Peter 5:1-4, Luke 6:17-26

If there is one thing I learned as a priest in the Diocese of South Dakota, it is to show up and listen. It’s an interesting thing to be a white woman priest in a Diocese in which 75% of the Episcopal population is Native American. One thing I learned in all that listening, is that showing up and listening is enough. Because showing up and listening imparts worth. So many have served the “Indians” in South Dakota, and believed that that was all about making them into Christians, Episcopalians, just like us. Or going to the reservation and “doing” mission projects for those poor people. But what that does is to devalue the person made in God’s image. You see, people, no matter where they’re from, what they believe, or their skin color, are already God’s beloved. Our job is to listen to the spirit already present, and that is enough. Sometimes, in that listening emerges a way forward, a partnership that may result in a project that is good and helpful to people. But, sometimes not, it is enough to be in relationship with God’s beloveds who are not us. 

So today, we observe the life of Enmegahbowh, in 1867 the first Native American ordained a priest. During the Dakota War of 1862, which began as treaty payments were due for distribution to the starving Sioux at Fort Ridgely, just north of Sleepy Eye, not to be confused with Fort Ripley, the Gull Lake Band of Mississippi Chippewa rose to attack Fort Ripley. Enmegahbowh prevented other Ojibwa bands from joining the Gull Lake Band, for which the rebels imprisoned him. Enmegahbowh escaped and traveled thirty miles at night to warn Fort Ripley. This discouraged the Gull Lake Band from attacking the fort. 

Enmegahbowh died at the White Earth Indian Reservation in northern Minnesota on June 12, 1902 at the age of 95, and is buried in St. Columba's churchyard. The people of St. Columba's honor him each June during the White Earth Pow-Wow. The Episcopal calendar of saints remembers Enmegahbowh on June 12. 

Chosen for this observation, is the beatitudes from Luke, and in Luke, the beatitudes are just a little different from Matthew’s sermon on the mount. Let’s listen to it again, from this translation by N.T. Wright, who is the former bishop of Durham, in the UK.

Blessings on the poor: God’s kingdom belongs to you!

Blessings on those who are hungry today: you’ll have a feast!

Blessings on those who weep today: you’ll be laughing!

Blessings on you, when people hate you, and shut you out,

But woe betide you rich: you’ve had your comfort!

Woe betide you if you’re full today: you’ll go hungry!

Woe betide you if you’re laughing today: you’ll be mourning and weeping!

Woe betide you when everyone speaks well of you: that’s what your ancestors did to the false prophets.

Part of the difficulty of this text is that it is hard for us to hear. It is hard for us, who are not really very poor, who are not usually hungry. Those of us who are not oppressed, mistreated, thrown away or thrown out. We don’t really know what to do with it. And Luke’s version has these woe statements. 

I remember sermons that tried to teach me about Be-attitudes. You know the ones, where we learned that these are all about having the proper attitude toward the challenges in our lives. If you just have the right attitude or do it the right way you can overcome the obstacles in your path.

I’m not sure that’s the correct approach, I think that misses out on the incredible grace these blessings offer, and the corrective the woes offer. The word itself, blessed or blessing, could be translated happy or fortunate, and has been so in many of the bibles we read. But even happy or fortunate does not come close to depth of meaning of blessed. Happy is a great word, a great way to be, but being happy is really up to me, isn’t it? It is much like having a good attitude. Fortunate is a word that makes me think of lucky, as in, “I was lucky that car didn’t hit me!” and maybe a bit capricious or arbitrary.

Blessed and blessing is not capricious or arbitrary. Being blessed is not a result of a transaction with God. Blessed is who you are, who every one of us is, especially those who are thrown out or thrown away. Blessed is who you are created to be. Blessed is connection and relationship. We are blessed, we are related, we are known. And that blessing is for all of us. Every part of God’s creation is blessed, the whole of God’s creation is blessed. 

So when I hear these blessings that are beatitudes, what I hear is blessings on you, all of you, even the poor, who society shuts out. Blessings on all of you, even you hungry people, yes even you, you people who are excluded from the finer dining establishments, you who are excluded from getting jobs that pay a living wage, even you are blessed. Blessings on you people who weep, even you, blessings on you when you close yourself off in your home and cry, thinking that no one wants to hear you. Blessings on your tears when you think no one can see you. Blessings on your broken heart. And blessings on you, even when you stand up for what is right, blessings on you when you stand for justice and peace, blessings on you who preach with your lives that God loves all of creation and weeps when this earth is mistreated. Blessings on all of you.

And in this gospel, blessings bestowed on all of God’s creation, even on those who are thrown out or thrown away, turn into anguish and grief for those who misuse wealth, money, and power. Woe betide you, aren’t those great words? This is not simply do or do not. Because it is not a transaction. This is a call to deep transformation, not just to doing good, no matter how good that is. It is a call to us who are blessed, to all of us, to participate with God in the healing of our planet, in the healing of our nation, in the healing of our hearts.

You see, this is the sermon on the plain. In Luke’s good news, Jesus stands shoulder to shoulder, side by side, with the people who gather to hear him. In Luke’s good news, remember, at the very beginning, we hear Mary sing,

“My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord, my spirit rejoices in God my Savior; for he has looked with favor on his lowly servant. From this day all generations will call me blessed: the Almighty has done great things for me, and holy is his Name. He has mercy on those who fear him in every generation. He has shown the strength of his arm, he has scattered the proud in their conceit. He has cast down the mighty from their thrones, and has lifted up the lowly. He has filled the hungry with good things, and the rich he has sent away empty. He has come to the help of his servant Israel, for he has remembered his promise of mercy, The promise he made to our fathers, to Abraham and his children for ever.”

The words that Mary sings as she learns of her child, and this sermon that Jesus delivers in this field, form the foundation for Jesus’ teaching in this gospel according to Luke. For Jesus this life is not about what you have and who you are, this life is about empowering those without power. This life is about raising up those who have been cast out. This life is about filling the hungry with good things. I think this is why this reading of the beatitudes was chosen for the observation of Enmegahbowh.

This life is about standing together when our hearts are broken, and being filled with the only thing that can put us back together again, Jesus. This life is about loving no matter what, even when it seems absolutely impossible to love.

Jesus’ very life and death and resurrection shows that. On the cross, in the midst of the pain and anguish, Jesus gives his life, and Jesus forgives those who hate. Blessed are those who forgive when it is easier to hate. Blessed are those who love when it is so very hard to love. The good news of this sermon on the plain is that Jesus stands with us, all of us. Jesus stands with those who are hungry, those who are grieving, those who are downtrodden. And we are all joined on this plain because we are all in need. And, through our need, by God’s favor for us and all who are in need. “Jesus came down with them and stood on a level place, so that we might, too. So that we may be blessed to be a blessing.

MH May 25 2025, Ps. 84:1-4; Matt. 11:28-30

 

MH May 25 2025, Ps. 84:1-4; Matt. 11:28-30 (Proper 9A)

“Immerse in Sacred Spaces and Rhythms”

Creator God,

who makes the mountains rise and the valley low,

who makes the sea and all therein, 

You, lord God show us your power in creation, 

you show us your love in the lives we share with one another.

Give us vision, at this time in our collective lives,

when much seems so hard,

vision to see the burden that must be laid down.

Give us rest, so that we may hear your voice in the wind, the rain, and one another. Amen. 

We have heard these words from the gospel of Matthew so many times, “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. 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.” We’ve heard Jesus call the disciples, Andrew and Simon the fisher folk, and Matthew the tax collector. They dropped everything and immediately followed Jesus. But this passage extends that call, it is an expansive invitation from Jesus to all who can hear, including you and me, to follow. When these words fall upon my ears, I listen, but I am not sure that following Jesus is easy, or the burden is light. Sometimes, like you, I think this is really hard. It’s hard to step to a different drummer, when conforming to the values and morals of our culture seems like it would be so much easier. It’s really hard to be the voice in the wilderness that says, resist, resist all that would demean and destroy God’s creation, resist all that would raise the rich and the powerful over and above those who are poor and outcast. Resist the easy fix and the easy answers. Because when you do, when you follow Jesus, Jesus promises, I will give you rest.

And, you can do hard things.

Let’s step back just a bit and see what has happened to get us to this place in Matthew’s gospel. Matthew’s story begins with reporting the glorious works of God being done in Israel, and at this point shifts to focus on Israel’s failure to respond to those works. At the beginning of this chapter 11, Jesus was speaking to the crowds concerning John, the one we call Baptizer. Jesus was singing John’s praises at the very moment John was in prison awaiting his fate. At the same time, Jesus is railing against those who hold power, and who act against the common people. Jesus compares them to stubborn children who would not play well with others. Jesus castigates the people for being inhospitable and lacking repentance.

And then Jesus does something I hope we’ve all done, he stops what he's doing and saying, and he prays, Jesus giving thanks. In this, Jesus shows us that prayer, being present with God, is necessary especially when we are called to do hard things. It is what equips us to do hard things. Like Jesus, we are called to step away from all that is going on, to immerse ourselves in sacred spaces and rhythms. 

So what do sacred spaces and rhythms look like? In the world in which we live, a world in which information moves so fast; a world in which you can change a photo to be anything you want it to be and spread it so quickly people don’t have time to ask questions, or even know to ask - is this real; a world in which you can feed a few words into ChatGPT and get some really amazing results within moments; a world in which there is so much intentional noise to keep you distracted; in this world, what does it mean to step away? 

Many of you may have a rhythm of prayer and scripture study, individually and in community. But I would challenge you to first of all examine what your current rhythm is and how it serves your being present to God, and then wonder about the possibilities. Maybe it’s time to take a chance, to risk a messy path that may bring you to a place you’ve never been before, knowing that it’s not easy, that you can do hard things, and that immersing yourself in the rhythms of prayer is what equips you to do those hard things. 

Immerse yourself in sacred spaces and rhythms of prayer. I have a couple suggestions. 

1) Fast from the internet/looking at your phone when you are with people, because being with people is a sacred space. Remember Covid? Remember not being with people and how much we craved human interaction? Being with humans is sacred, put down your phone to be present with your people. 

2) I know many of you have a practice of reading scripture and prayer. Do you need to renew and refresh that practice? One of the ancient practices of the church is "Praying the Hours". This refers to the practice of praying regularly throughout the day, following a pattern of prayers that mark specific times of the day. These prayers, also known as the Daily Office, include Morning Prayer, Evening Prayer, and other offices like Noonday Prayer and Compline, for before sleep. Steeping yourself in the prayers and scriptures they contain, immerses your spirit, your body, and your mind, in the rhythms of the sacred.

3) I brought with me today some prayer beads, another way to focus your spirit, your body, and your mind on your prayers. 

These are all things you can google for more information. 

Whatever your prayer and scripture reading entails, whatever your prayer practice needs you to do, I urge you to do it in community. Community is at the heart of our sacred spaces and rhythms. We are connected to one another, we are connected to this earth, we are connected to those who walked this way before us, and those who will walk this way long after we’ve gone. You are not alone, celebrate, pray, read, grieve, with each other. No matter what you do, you need to show up and make space for something holy to flow through.

And then Jesus makes this invitation, come to me, follow me, take my yoke upon you. Jesus knows this is hard, probably the hardest thing we ever do. Jesus is asking the people he encountered, and loved and cared about, to exchange the “yoke” they lived under, which is the control of the empire of Rome, for the “yoke” that Jesus offered, the yoke of love, the yoke of reconciliation, the yoke of forgiveness.

We don’t use the word yoke much anymore. In fact, some of you probably can’t picture a yoke in your head. It’s a device for joining together a pair of animals to do the farm work of making rows to plant the seeds, in the days farming was done without big machines. The yoke was a piece that went across the shoulders of two large animals, usually oxen, each enclosing the heads of the animals. The yoke was heavy, it kept the animals doing the job the farmer wanted them to do.

When we imagine that yoke, the image becomes clear. Jesus says, leave the heavy burden that is keeping you hostage, and take on a new yoke, the yoke of love, the yoke of reconciliation, the yoke of forgiveness. Jesus was asking the people of his time to do something very hard. Jesus was asking them to risk everything, their lives and their livelihood, to be free of the empire of Rome. Jesus promises that when we exchange the yoke of the powerful for the yoke of the one who is crucified, we will find rest.

I think we live in very similar times today. The burdens are huge and heavy. Can we even do that hard thing that Jesus asks? Some of our leaders are showing us that wielding power over people is much more desirable than working with each other to come to the common good. We see and hear those who are in power that the goal is to make as much money as possible for oneself. We live at a time and place where true joy, deep satisfaction, and the realization of what we were created for is to be disdained.

But is the hard thing really laying the burden down? Or is the really hard thing believing Jesus, who says, come to me and I will give you rest, my burden is easy, and my burden is light. You see, Jesus doesn’t simply call the picture of the way we think the world works into question. Jesus doesn’t simply call our expectations into question. Jesus gives us a different picture. God is the one who bears our burdens. God is the one who shows up in our need. God is the one who comes alongside us. Nothing demonstrates this more than the cross – God’s willingness to embrace all of our life, even to the point of death, in Jesus, to demonstrate God’s profound love and commitment, love and commitment that will not be deterred…by anything.

It’s not necessarily what we want. We often would prefer a God who takes away our problems rather than helps us cope with them, who eliminates challenges rather than equips us for them. It’s not usually what we want, but pretty much exactly what we need. That’s the rest Jesus is talking about. It’s not an easy rest, it’s not usually what we want, but it’s exactly what we need.

And we are reminded that God always shows up where we least expect God to be: in the need of our neighbor. We are reminded that God shows up in the violence and the protest: demanding that we face the truth that all people are truly created in God’s image.

In our estimation, growth and change are not easy. Seeing the world in a new and different way is not easy. But ease is not what Jesus asks of us. Jesus asks us to exchange the burden of the world for the relationship Jesus offers. It is hard, and we can do hard things. And it is what following Jesus looks like. But as we undertake this new yoke, we discover God in Jesus is already there. Waiting for us, encouraging us, forgiving us, bearing us, loving us. Which is what makes the burden light, the yoke not just easy but joyful. Pick up the yoke that Jesus offers, the yoke of love, the yoke of reconciliation, the yoke of forgiveness.

It is hard, but we can do hard things. It is joyful, and love does win. Amen.

Speaking of hard things, a point of personal privilege if I may.

Even though there has been much pleading and cajoling, today is my last Sunday as your interim for pastoral care. I want to thank you for giving me this privilege of serving God with you. As I came to the decision, with God’s help, to come by your side and accompany you through this liminal time, I did so with the confidence that the Holy Spirit is active, and that who I am, could be helpful to you. You have shown forth your best selves, you have received me with love and care. What I ask of you, is that you show each other that same love and care, that you give one another your best selves, always remembering that your best self is authentic and messy, not perfect. This building is filled with really lovely people, be church for one another, forgiving, healing, reconciling. It is now my time in life to do what I please, when I please, retirement. Let’s all have some fun!

"Risk the Messy Path of Faith" Meetinghouse Church, May 11 2025

Matt. 9:18-26; Mark 8:34

“Risk the Messy Path of Faith” 

Let us pray,

Beloved God, creator of all that is seen and unseen, 

meet us in all our messiness, meet us in our dis-ease and our health,

help us to walk your way, help us to walk your way with one another, 

even when we are unsure of the path. 

Help us to risk doing the next right thing.

What would it be like to not be well for twelve years? Some of you have some experience with this, some of you know those who have chronic illness and have good days and bad days. Some of you are there yourselves. What would it be like to be a woman in Jesus’ time and bleed for twelve years, without relief? She’d spent any money she had on physicians, and she continued to grow worse. I imagine a body exhausted, listless, unable to really get up and do much of anything; and certainly unable to go far from home. What would that be like when you are a woman who must take care of a household, as well as caring for children and most likely for your parents. Would everyone leave you? What would they do with you?

And added to the misery of exhaustion and the inability to really do anything, she is unclean. To preserve the holiness of God’s people, Jews in Palestine avoided contact with lepers, menstruating women, corpses, and Gentiles, among others. Such contact defiled a person for a period lasting from one to seven days, until purification, ritual washing, and enduring a waiting period. So on top of her exhaustion, she was prohibited from participation in festivals, certain meals, and Temple functions.

So what was she doing there? She should not have been there. At the end of her hope, she must have sensed something about this man Jesus and decided to take the messy path of faith. A crowd of people had gathered around him. One of the leaders of the synagogue came to Jesus and asked him to come and see his daughter who had died. This leader was confident that all Jesus had to do was lay his hands on her and she would live. So Jesus went with him. This crowd followed Jesus and pressed in on him. Those kinds of crowds make me jittery. Hot sticky people, oh so very messy, craning their necks, looking for the rock star or the sports star, trying to get a glimpse of the hero. But she had nothing left to lose. All she had was a flicker, a glimmer, of hope. She was at the end of her rope, at the end of her life, at the end of his cloak. She touched it.

You know when your car battery is dead, and you jump it from another car, and it roars back into life? Or when your favorite song comes up on your playlist and you just gotta get up and dance? Or when you can’t get out of bed because you’ve got the worst sinus infection of your life, and you finally get the antibiotics you need and you feel like you can live again? She felt his power surge through her giving her new life. Jesus felt it too. It was as if they were the only two people alive in that crowd -  connected by an umbilical cord of life and power. 

Jesus moved on to the leader's house and pronounced life for the little girl, she is not dead, but sleeping. 

Jesus’ life and power is connected to us too, giving us all we need. Are we willing to risk this messy path, like the woman in our story?

Sometimes, when I am reading the newspaper, listening to the news, or talking with people, I hear hopelessness, faithlessness, despair, in our community, in our country. I hear people wondering what is next. Where or what is the next way people are disrespected, mistreated, and distrusted? What is the next means of exclusion, violence, hatred? Why are we having so much trouble making space in our communities, our lives, our country, for people who are unlike us? Why are we having so much trouble risking this messy path of following Jesus?

I think it may be because of the blood. This woman’s blood flowed out of her, through no fault of her own, making her unacceptable in the neighborhood in which she lived, and, they believed, unacceptable to God, yes, to God. These rules were to keep God’s people holy, and to keep God holy as well, maybe even to keep God from getting messy.

We continue today with boundaries and barriers that keep us apart, outward appearances that are no fault of our own, inward realities that are no fault of our own. But because some are certain there is a particular set of rules one must follow, they are unwilling to risk the uncertainty, or to risk the messy path of love.

But Jesus changed those rules. Jesus said, the commandments now are, love God, love your neighbor, no exceptions. And yet we keep doing it. We keep people away, we put distance between us, we inflict animosity, because they are not like us. It is as if we need to keep ourselves unaffected, clean even, and it is as if we need to keep God in our box of holiness, orderliness, surely not messiness.

But we needn’t worry about God; God can take care of Godself, much better than we can. God is found in all sorts of objectionable places, places where hungry people live, places where unhoused people live, places where boundaries are erected and walls are built. And yet, we see God in those places, in the faces of all of God’s beloveds. We see God in those places, in the faces of the helpers, those who go running toward trouble, those who go running toward violence and sadness. We see God in the faces of those whose color, language, and culture is unlike our own. 

In Jesus’ life, and in Jesus’ journey to the cross, and in Jesus’ love on the cross, Jesus crossed boundaries. Jesus risked the messy path. Jesus heals any who need healing, regardless of their status, regardless of who they are, regardless of who they even believe in. And on that cross, Jesus healed the one who hung next to him, who uttered the words, “remember me, when you come into your kingdom”, and who does the same for us, regardless of our status, our holiness, our orderliness.

Jesus’ life and power is connected to us too, just like that woman who touched his fringe. We are connected to love, we are connected to healing, we are connected to dignity by that same umbilical cord of life and power. We see God in one another, in our hurts, our messiness, our vulnerability. We are connected to each other, Jesus not only reaches out to touch us, Jesus embraces us. 

We follow the one who makes people free, the one who unbinds, the one who heals. We follow Jesus who crosses boundaries, who goes to the margins, who overcomes obstacles in the service of the kingdom of God. Who comes to us in the muck and messiness of our lives. We are the followers who cross boundaries to proclaim the good news to the ends of the earth, and the mission is urgent, it feels more urgent every single moment.

The good news is right here. In the midst of that hot mess of a market square, in the midst of the hot mess of our lives, Jesus brings new life, to make people whole, to heal, to empower, through you, and me.

Just like that woman of so long ago, Jesus’ life and power is connected to us too, The good news is right here. Do you feel it? Can you feel it? “She is not dead, she is alive!” Jesus says the same thing to us. Get up, be a part of the Jesus Movement. Stand up, be counted as one who is connected to Jesus; whose blood courses through our veins, whose body is broken for us. Stand up, be counted as one who is connected to Jesus. Stand up, be counted as one who loves God, loves others, and and shows that love to the world. 

Second Sunday of Easter Yr C April 27 2025 St. Martha and Mary, Eagan

Second Sunday of Easter Yr C April 27 2025 St. Martha and Mary, Eagan

Acts 5:27-32, Revelation 1:4-8, John 20:19-31, Psalm 150

"It is one of the cosmos' most mysterious unsolved cases: dark matter. It is supposedly what holds the universe together. We can't see it, but scientists are pretty sure it's out there." I read that on the Internet, so it must be true. And I also read or heard, can't remember which, that we know about 3% of all there is to know.

We want to know so desperately, don't we? We want certainty, we want proof, we want it all. And yet, in faith as in science, the story we tell really only touches the mystery of the universe every once in a while. Our science and our faith are only as good as the questions we ask. And yet the story we tell, whether it is the story of faith, or the story of science, does a darn good job of pointing us in the right direction, describing the reality in which we live. The story of faith, and the story of science, are not mutually exclusive stories, they are stories that describe different things, and yet, they dance together.

Jesus died, didn't he? The incarnation ended on that cross, that we know. And yet Mary, who stood weeping at the tomb, returns to the disciples and says, “I have seen the Lord.” And we claim that God entered time and space and did something absolutely new, something so amazing that all we can do is sing and dance and shout alleluia! All we can do is try to describe it, try to paint pictures and make music; we can't come close to knowing it. And that amazing thing that God continues to do changes us, transforms us, like Jesus, we are made into something completely new and different.

The doors of the house where the disciples met in fear were locked, and Jesus came and stood among them. Jesus came and stood among them, but until Jesus said, Peace be with you, they did not even recognize him. Well, would you? He was dead, why on earth would Jesus be standing among them. Remember the women who came running back from the tomb? The disciples didn't believe them, they didn't believe even Jesus himself until Jesus said these familiar words, Peace be with you. Only then did the disciples realize this was Jesus in their midst. My grandson’s favorite question, at 2 ½ years old, is how. I think he has the mind of a scientist. That is the question we ask of this story before us, how could this be? 

But we don’t answer that question with science, we answer it with a story. You see, this story about Jesus appearing to the disciples after the crucifixion and resurrection, this story about Jesus coming back to appear to Thomas, who missed it the first time around, serves to try to show us what resurrection looks like. It tries to show us what this amazing thing that God does, looks like.

Imagine yourself there. You are in that room, it is hot and smelly and so close, the doors are locked, the windows are barred. You are so frightened, the same authorities who just killed Jesus are after you. You can't eat, you can't sleep, your stomach is in knots. And then, suddenly, without any warning, this man, whom you do not recognize, shows up in the room. How did that happen? There's no way he could have gotten in, you locked those doors yourself. Everyone is shaking in their sandals. And then he speaks. "Peace be with you." His hands and his feet were torn from the nails driven into them; his side was pierced. You knew it was him when he spoke again of peace, and forgiveness, when he breathed on you and you felt his spirit.

Thomas wasn't there that day, and just like you, couldn't believe it until he saw it. So a week later, when Thomas was there, Jesus showed up again. The hands, the feet, the side. You knew you had to tell this story; you knew that God had done something so amazing you just had to tell everyone.

Here you are, on this day, the Sunday after Easter, your 60th Easter, your 45th Easter, your 20th Easter, your 10th Easter. We gather here, in this place. Our doors are wide open, we hope and pray each time we gather that God will show up, that God will send us people to whom we may introduce God. The reality is that God is here, God is showing up. The question is how do we recognize God? How do we recognize Jesus in our midst? This story we hear today points us to the ways we recognize Jesus in our midst. Peace be with you. Receive the Holy Spirit, forgive the sins of any, blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe. This is the way we recognize Jesus; this is the way we serve Jesus, this is the way we follow Jesus. We listen to those around us, we listen to their stories, we listen to who they are, and when we do, Jesus shows up.

When people tell the story about Thomas, they tend to end with the admonition to believe without seeing. Somehow, believing without seeing gets equated with certainty and faith. But I think one of the mistakes that is made in Christian talk is that belief and certainty become synonymous, they are conflated. Certainty is never a pre-requisite for belief, and certainty is not a product of belief. There is a place for all our doubt and uncertainty, all our questions. Even Thomas shows us that. Certainty actually is not really very important at all. The reality in which we live, and the place I began all of this today, is that reality in which we see and experience very little of the total that is possible in human experience. We place our faith in the story that is true, not in the certainty of being right. We place our faith in the story of life, joy, pain, suffering, death, and resurrection, and the God who walks with us in the midst of it all. The God who collects all of humanity's pain, fear, and hate, and takes it into Godself through love. That is not about certainty, but it is about love.

We practice love and God shows up. That is what this life and this faith is all about. We practice peace and Jesus shows up. That is what serving others is all about. We practice silence and the spirit shows up. That is what prayer is all about. Open the doors, let all who would enter come in. It is Love that wins. Amen.

Maundy Thursday April 17 2025, Meetinghouse, John 13

Artwork by Jon McNaughton

Maundy Thursday April 17 2025, Meetinghouse, John 13

We enter John’s gospel tonight. John points us to the intimacy of Jesus’ relationship with us, God’s beloveds, Jesus followers by using words like dwell, abide, remain. These are words that help us to not just understand this intimate relationship, but also to feel this relationship. You abide with Jesus, like a hen protecting her chicks, you abide with Jesus like the grapes on a vine, you abide with Jesus like the disciple who rests his head on Jesus shoulder during the last supper you share together. Imagine this relationship as you place yourself in the story before us.

The story we have before us on this most holy night, takes place in a gathering of Jesus followers, Jesus’ disciples, Jesus’ beloveds. They are all there. Imagine having been at this particular meal. Hordes of people are arriving in Jerusalem for the Passover festival. The actual Passover meal takes place two days hence. Our celebration this night conflates the Passover meal with this particular meal that John writes about. Indeed, it is the last supper that Jesus and his friends will have together. 

Jerusalem is crowded, and everyone is clamoring for a place to eat the meal. You, being a friend of Jesus, are in this room, with these people, reclining at this table. Bartholomew, James, Andrew, Judas, Peter, John, Mary, Thomas, the other James, Joanna, Philip, Matthew, Susanna, Thaddeus, Simon, and all the other men and women and children who were gathered that night. The meal is spread before you, the unleavened bread, the roasted lamb, and the bitter herbs. The hour has finally come, the hour that was introduced to us at the wedding at Cana. 

One of Jesus disciples—the one whom Jesus loved—was reclining next to him.  Actually, they were all reclining. Unfortunately, DaVinci’s portrayal of the Last Supper does not give us the picture of how this really looked. All who were gathered for this last meal, though they didn’t yet know it was, were reclining, on pillows and cushions. The beloved disciple was reclining next to Jesus, with his head on Jesus’ breast. 

I want you to put yourself in the place of the beloved disciple, reclining next to Jesus, maybe even laying your head on Jesus. Can you feel that love? That intimacy? In that moment everything was all right. Can you imagine yourself as that beloved disciple? You are! 

Everyone is together, sharing a meal. And in the middle of the meal, Jesus gets up, he takes off his robe and ties a towel around himself, and washes their feet, an incredibly intimate gesture that demonstrates Jesus’ ultimate love. And in this context, the foot washing comes from love, the love that Jesus has for his own. Jesus loved them to the end. This is an act of love and of compassion. 

The foot washing actually takes center stage in John’s gospel. It is Jesus’ final act before his arrest. 

And yet, included in those gathered for that meal on that night, who are gathered for the foot washing, are Judas, who will betray Jesus, and Peter, who will deny Jesus, and the rest of the disciples who after the crucifixion flee in fear. Humans, all of them. This is the truth in this story. Jesus has been with them for three years, Jesus who is incarnation, God in the flesh, God in human skin. The end of incarnation, Jesus’ death, is front and center in this act of love, this foot washing. This lavish loving on the disciples who are also fully human, fully a hot mess, fully dysfunctional, fully alive, fully flawed, fully who they are.

Who are we on this night? Are we the one who betrays Jesus, the one who walks out of the room where it happened? The one who breaks the relationship with Jesus? Are we the one who denies Jesus? Are we the one who reclines on Jesus? Where will we be at the end of this, will we stay in the relationship or not, this difficult relationship. 

The foot washing is framed by the last meal. This last meal in which Jesus gives us the words that make real Jesus’ love for us. 

Sometimes life's events feel so big, and wide, and broad, and overwhelming. The pain and the joy of life bring us soaring to the mountaintops and to the depths of despair. And much of life is lived somewhere in between, in the mundane sacramental moments of making dinner for those we love, or driving our children to dance and music class, or doing our taxes, or taking a bath, washing feet or dreaming dreams. It is in the ordinary that Jesus shows us the sacred. In the muck and mess that is washed from our feet.

In the ordinary meal, our cracks are filled, our fissures healed, we are made whole. In the mundane washing, we overflow with mercy and compassion. Jesus seeps into our very being, washes us, feeds us, heals us. Jesus shows us who God is, and Jesus teaches us who we are, and then we may show that love to others.

Let me wash your feet, take this bread, and you will be healed. Jesus offers love, and forgiveness, healing and compassion. And Jesus shows us how to do what we are called to do.

On this night, the night Jesus is handed over to be tortured, betrayed by his friend, Love really does win. 

The violence perpetrated on Jesus is hard to hear, hard to watch, because you and I are implicated in it. We have not been perfect. We have judged, we have bullied, we have missed the mark. We have offered ridicule when mercy was called for. We have fallen asleep when we should have paid attention. But, we are loved perfectly. Love still wins. 

The gift we are given this night, mercy and compassion, foot washing and food, washes over us, nourishes us, puts us back together. We are re-membered. Come and receive the gift. Come, and remember who you are. Jesus, is here, in our midst, walking with us. Come, be filled with the love that gives everything and takes nothing. And you will know what love looks like. 

 

3 Lent March 23 2025 Meetinghouse, Mark 10:35-52

3 Lent March 23 2025 Meetinghouse, Mark 10:35-52

Rev. Dr. Kathy Monson Lutes

Help us lord to hear your words of mercy and healing, compassion and grace, and 

Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart

   be acceptable to you,

   O Lord, my rock and my redeemer.

Teacher, we have something we want you to do for us, James and John ask Jesus. And Jesus responds, “What is it you want me to do for you?” Arrange it, they say, so that we will be awarded the highest places of honor in your glory - one of us at your right, the other at your left. James and John ask Jesus for something Jesus has shown no desire to give, placing some above others. Or giving some more or better attention. 

James and John are not ill-informed or ignorant. They’ve witnessed Jesus’ miracles and listened to his teachings. James and John are doing what humans do so well, hoping and praying that the world has not and will not change as much as it already has and as much as they know it will. The society in which they lived was built on a structure in which those who had much got more, and those who were like fisherpeople 

scraped for whatever they could get. They really did understand the world as a limited quantity, like that pie, if you get a bigger piece, I get a much smaller piece. And James and John wondered if what Jesus was saying about how the kingdom of God worked, not a pie, but overflowing love, more than enough for all, really was true.

 

This misunderstanding follows the third time in Mark’s story that Jesus tells the disciples the Son of Man will be handed over to the chief priests and the scribes and will be condemned to death. The disciples, even though this is the third time they’ve heard Jesus say this, find this news astounding, alarming, and frightening. And equally as astounding, I think it causes James and John especially, and the others as well, to be confused about their own calling, their own part in this story, and confusion about who Jesus is. James and John seem to think this is about seating order at a party, not life in God's kingdom. They don’t seem to remember that Jesus has just taught them about laying down their life, or about what greatness looks like, or the words about being last of all and servant of all. And so Jesus has to tell them again. Jesus says, this is hard, are you willing to accept that? Are you willing to drink the cup I will drink? Are you willing to be in this all the way to the end? Are you willing to participate in this earth shaking change? Are you willing to receive my love, my gift, for your freedom? You see, Jesus’ love for us, God’s beloveds, washes over all of us no matter what.

 

For James and John and the other disciples, and for us, there is no going back to life before they met Jesus. For us, there is no going back to life before the realities of hurt and dismemberment in this church and in the world. In our civic lives, there is no going back to any good old days. 

But we try. And we have been trying. Hoping and praying that everything will just get back to normal.  We are more like James and John than we care to admit. We fall back on what we know—what’s comfortable; how the world always worked. The “used to be’s”. For James and John, that meant glory as hierarchy and power as prestige. For the 21st-century church and world, it’s no different, with a bushel of denial of the truth 

and a doubling down on a kind of privilege our culture never should have exercised in the first place.

 

But the world changed for James and John. Jesus went to the cross. The world has changed for us. What once was, is not working anymore. What is happening now, is not working either. We know that. Deep in our hearts and souls. What we do know, is that Jesus’ love for us, God’s beloveds, washes over all of us no matter what.

 

And we are a lot like James and John. I imagine Jesus saying to James and John, since when did you think this was about you? Since when did you think this is about your power, your prestige, your privilege? You see, it’s about Jesus’ love for us, and we are God’s beloveds. It’s about Jesus’ call to us to love our neighbor. Sometimes I think we have lost our way. We get frightened and confused about our calling as citizens of God’s kingdom, and we forget who Jesus is.

 

Jesus’ love for us, God’s beloveds, washes over all of us no matter what. The call that James and John seem to be missing is right there in front of them, and is really good news, whoever wants to be great must become a servant. In the household of God, 

no one can claim privilege of place; we are all adopted children by our baptism. Jesus asks James and John if they are willing to dive into the water with him. "The cup that I drink you will drink; and with the baptism with which I am baptized, you will be baptized." 

Jesus’ journey in the gospel of Mark began in the waters of the Jordan, in baptism, and that journey will be to the cross and resurrection. The grace in this story is that Jesus is the one who comes and shows the way of love, Jesus shows the way of vulnerability all the way to the cross. You see, speaking and acting in terms of who deserves what, who deserves health care or housing or hospitality, who deserves eternal life, who deserves to be on Jesus’ right hand, misses the point that all are worthy in God’s kingdom. The grace in this story is that Jesus, with his very life, death, and resurrection, puts himself in our place, in your place, and in my place, and says, every one of you is worth my love.

 

Jesus’ love for us, God’s beloveds, washes over all of us no matter what.

 

You are God’s beloved. You are baptized into Jesus' life, suffering, death, and resurrection. 

Taking Jesus' cup is about diving into the waters of our own baptism, waters that bring the dead to life, waters that fill an empty soul, waters that give a heart the only thing worth living, and worth dying for. We get completely wet in these holy waters. There is grace in diving into the waters of baptism, and receiving the unconditioned, undeserved, underrated love that is God’s love. When we take the cup that Jesus drinks, 

when we are washed with the waters of baptism, we, God’s beloveds, are called to respond to Jesus’ love, with love. We are called not to the seat of power, but to the posture of service. And our lives are made new, our lives are transformed, our lives become the wave of change. The wave of change, the wave of love, the wave of mercy, the wave of kindness.

 

The world has changed forever, there is no going back to life as it may have been, as it once was. But remember that when the heavens were ripped apart, the Spirit was let loose into the world, descending from firmament’s fissure and into Jesus.

 

It would be that same Spirit who would be present with Jesus in the wilderness, on the cross, and in that cold, dark, and seemingly hopeless tomb.

 

It would be that same Spirit who would stir the hearts of Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome to go back to that grave and look death in the eye once again.

 

And it is that same Spirit who is in and among us, with us and beside us, calling us to change our perspective, to see what can be, to trust that the kingdom of God has come near and still is.

 

It is that same Spirit who is inspiring God’s church once again to lead from and preach the gospel we know to be true: our God is here. Believe in the good news.

 

And then we continue with the gospel of Mark in the shadow of Jerusalem, on the way to the cross. We've been on this road for a while now, partners with those in the story who are also on the way. Before the followers of Jesus were called Christians, they were, as we are, people of the way. This story of the blind Bartimaeus is the last story of Jesus’ ministry before the cross, the passion, and resurrection. I think this story of Bartimaeus is in stark contrast to the story about James and John. James and John ask Jesus for power and status, Bartimaeus asks Jesus for healing. God lavishes love on them all, Jesus calls them as followers, and yet each of them must let go of something they’ve been holding on to, to live fully free, fully alive.

 

"What do you want me to do for you?" Jesus asks Bartimaeus, it’s the same question that Jesus asked James and John only a moment ago. But the gulf between the request that James and John make, and the request Bartimaeus makes is cavernous. 

James and John were somewhat confused, they ask Jesus for power, they think the kingdom is about a seating chart at a party. But Bartimaeus, Bartimaeus asks to see. 

Nothing like the power and status, the place at the table that James and John were all about.

 

Imagine Bartimaeus, sitting in the road, probably at the main gate of Jericho, day after day, all day, in the hot sun, begging. Bartimaeus knows who Jesus is, he’s listened to the talk, he calls out to Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me. Let me see.

 

One thing here that is so unlike the James and John story; the request, have mercy on me, heal me. Have mercy on me, Bartimaeus asked, mercy. You know what mercy means? A heart for other people’s troubles. Bartimaeus was asking Jesus to have a heart for his troubles. That’s all, hear me, see me, and if you’ve got it in you, heal me. 

And that’s what Jesus did, Jesus heard him, Jesus saw him, and having a heart for his trouble, Jesus healed Bartimaeus.

 

So once Bartimaeus is healed, what does he do? Bartimaeus’ profession is begging. Once he is healed, his life is changed, he can’t go on begging anymore, so he follows Jesus. Just like the others, he gets up and follows. Bartimaeus exchanges a life of begging, a life of blindness, a life of being on the margins, for this life of following Jesus. And you and I know where that’s going, straight to the cross.

No matter how much we think we have, no matter our wealth, our status, our power; or no matter what we think we don’t have, our lack of health, our lack of wealth, our lack of support, we leave it all behind when we follow Jesus, none of that matters. We get so wrapped up in our own shortcomings, or we spend so much time valuing our worth 

by what others think is important, that we forget that we are God’s beloveds, and we forget to have mercy, a heart for other people’s troubles.

 

Jesus calls us to follow, Jesus calls us to surrender things that poison us, or things that keep us from seeing what is around us, Jesus calls us to be merciful, to have a heart for other people’s troubles. Jesus' call to us, the call to be followers, is to open ourselves up, to surrender the stuff that insulates us from our neighbors, to let Love win.

 

You see, I believe the healing in Bartimaeus’ story is not so much regaining sight, but in being restored to the community. In every one of the healing stories, that is the point. 

Jesus calls people from the margins back into the community. Bartimaeus is called, and healed, and follows Jesus. 

We are called, healed in obvious ways and not so obvious ways, and we follow Jesus. Not in a transactional sense, but in a deepening sense. The journey to the cross is as difficult as it is exhilarating; following Jesus is not for the faint of heart. But the good news is that we are all in this life together. When we are in this life together, the burden of a broken heart and a broken body becomes a bit lighter. Hope is born in and among us, Jesus is born in and among us.

 

And that is where mercy and love grow. Mercy and love and compassion grow out of the broken places. It’s like when you are hiking on the granite rocks of Lake Superior, and in the middle of all that hard rock, there is a fissure, a crack, and out of the crack there grows a tree. The good news is seeing, seeing, the grace, the joy, the wonder, in all that life throws at us. And unlike Bartimaeus and the others, we know the end of the story. We know that resurrection happens. We know that life always wins over death. We know that we are part of resurrection. 

There is hope.

How about you? Now that you have embarked on this journey with Jesus, taken up your cross, even been healed, what do you do?

Let us pray,

Beloved God,

Help us to lay down our desire 

to be at the head of the table; 

help us to invite all of God’s beloveds

to the table. 

Help us to have a heart for people’s troubles,

help us to merciful. 

Help us

reach out to your beloveds, 

those who sit with us in these pews 

and those who are not yet in these pews 

and show forth your love, and mercy, and compassion.

Oh God of grace,

we pray this in your most holy name.

Amen.