" Beyond Visiting an Empty Tomb "

 

On Easter Sunday, most Christians are excited about the news that “Christ has risen!”  Each of the 4 gospel stories reflects that someone or someones go to the tomb and finds Jesus “missing”—err, I mean “risen.” 

 

But not so fast!  The women, we’re told, go “prepared” to deal with Jesus’ dead body.  The others, at least to “see” if what they were told, was in fact true—at least suggesting that they hadn’t believed Jesus when he told them he would be raised.  And apparently, Jesus told followers he was going ahead of them to Galilee—where they would see him; except, none of the believers are discovered after the resurrection “going to Galilee” where they would SEE Jesus.  Apparently, it was “good enough” to simply *SEE* that Jesus was not dead. 

 

I think at least part of the message of Easter is that Jesus is not dead, but that he has been “loosed” in the world.  Which means we will not find him in the tomb.  In Luke’s gospel, “two men in dazzling clothes stood beside [the women] …the men said to them, “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen.”  On Easter, part of the message should be that we are encouraged to get out of Church, and look for Jesus alive in the world. 

 

 

At first, the stories of Easter are about Jesus “appearing” to followers, demonstrating his “aliveness.”  Jesus—on the road to Emmaus, Jesus breaking bread at supper, Jesus walking through closed and locked doors, Jesus eating a piece of fish.  These are the “low-hanging fruit” stories where a risen Jesus interacts with believers. 

 

But Easter has other resurrection stories, too. 

 

In Matthew’s gospel, in the earthquakes after Jesus’ death, tombs are opened and people witness those who had died, walking around Jerusalem.  Believers have also known and seen “resurrection”—Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead, and restoring a girl to life.  But as we come to the third Sunday of Easter this year, in this Sunday’s New Testament reading from the Book of Acts pushes our boundaries even further.  Peter suddenly pushes people out of the room, kneels and prays, and tells Tabitha to “get up.”  It’s a surprisingly similar story in Mark’s gospel where Jesus says, “Talitha cum,” which means “little one, get up.”

 

It seems that “Jesus being loosed in the world” means more than simply Jesus’ appearing to people so that they might *see* him.  Jesus being “loosed in the world” appears to mean that Jesus appears with, or even within, other people …so that people might *see* him, or *see* his ministry.  But it’s through a third party! 

 

This should mean, I think, that if we’re waiting for Jesus to *appear* to us in Eastertide, he might.  But it also means that Jesus expects to *appear* within us and what we do, when we do for others. 

 

Resurrections mark new beginnings.  We’re not just waiting for Jesus to “be alive” again; Jesus’ resurrection means he is being made alive in us and through us—maybe in astonishing and surprising ways.  For Peter, that suddenly means even doing some of the same things Jesus did! 

 

You see, Peter believed Jesus and believed IN Jesus.  Peter followed Jesus.  In Luke’s gospel, and in John’s gospel—Peter even runs to the tomb to *see* Jesus was not there.  Peter doesn’t always get things right.  And Peter—does the works of Jesus after Jesus’ resurrection.  It’s almost as if Peter has his own resurrection-like-thing—he doesn’t die, but he does appear “changed.” 

 

We believe Jesus, we believe IN Jesus.  We claim to *follow* Jesus—we even dare to “look in the tomb” in our own way.  We haven’t always gotten everything right, in faith, and yet we persist in trying to “follow him.”  I believe we, too, have “resurrection-like-moments!”  Perhaps even beyond what we might expect!  …If we are willing to “step up” or step into them! 

 

 

But *stepping up* might also involve “stepping-out” in boldly living into our faith out in the world.  In trusting the Holy Spirit, in walking with God, in accepting the challenges of the life and lifestyle of Jesus Christ.  Even raising the dead?  …Yes.  Jesus was raised.  We are raised.  Others are raised. 

 

Thanks be to God! 

 

 

So, what are you doing for others in your risen-ness? 

 

I hope it’s not just visiting an empty tomb. 

 

 

 

 

 

 Dear Family in Faith,

I do not believe that Jesus walks out of the tomb.  Rather, something happens to Jesus while he is “inside” the tomb.  However Jesus was when he goes IN to the tomb—it’s clearly “different” AFTER the tomb. 

In the Gospel stories, the tomb is already opened when witnesses arrive, but Jesus was clearly gone.  More disturbingly—one of the details of the resurrection is that Jesus’ grave clothes are folded and “left behind.”  Which seems to imply, there is an escaped, resurrected Jesus with no clothes somewhere!  The reminders all point to Jesus having told his followers about his crucifixion and death, but that he would see them again, in Galilee. 

This is just one more way the news of Easter is disturbing, unsettling, and should clearly be alarming to us! 

But instead, we take it as if it is a fait accompli.  This was all “supposed to happen” as Jesus said.  So we really can’t say the news of Easter is surprising.  Right? 

I think this means we continue to remain mostly ignorant and naive about Easter’s raw power!  It is not just that the tomb is empty, or that Jesus was not there; or, that Jesus is risen, indeed.  Jesus was dead; and then …suddenly, he was not.  We know what this means for Jesus.  But what should it really mean for all of us? 

Jesus died and was raised.  The story of our faith is death AND resurrection.  One is not complete without the other.  Death does not have the last word; rather, as Paul writes to believers, “death has lost its sting!”  The trouble is death and resurrection is meant to change us.  It clearly changes Jesus.  We can’t die and rise and still be the same.  Resurrection is not a restoration of what once was.  Resurrection does not mean living again in the same way.  Resurrection will not put us back on an old timeline.  If we complete the pattern we are dying to our old life and being raised into a new life.  And a new life isn’t identical to the old; we are changed—as individuals and as a community. 

This should be “good news.”  But it’s not.  Research has well-established over years, now, that when patients are told by physicians that they need to make lifestyle changes, or they will die—less than 10% are successful at making the needed modifications and changes!  That is, given a straight choice to “change or die”—more than 90% of us are unable to change. 

Change guru Ronald Heifetz writes that “people don’t resist change, they resist loss.” 

Death is synonymous with loss. 

Though the Bible tells us over and over, “do not be afraid,” when the first step is death, we often can’t see our way to “death AND resurrection.”  Fear of loss required by change, fear of change imposed by death, fear that dying and rising isn’t certain—ends up driving our stories rather than the promises of God. 

Easter is meant to change this.  It’s meant to tip the scales back toward God’s power, fueled by love, life, and joy.  Easter is a performative moment in which death and resurrection become a steady, reliable, progression of dying and rising.  We’re all dying and rising.  We’re all being made new.  We’re being separated from what was and transformed into what will be.  It’s already taking hold.  And resistance is futility. 

But what does this really mean for us?  God is at work making all things new.  Even us.  Especially us.  And what will be, isn’t just a fait accompli.  It’s still a work in progress.  We are dying and rising every day.  It doesn’t mean we are losing.  It means some things we get to lay down, or leave behind, so that God’s promises are driving our stories more and more. 

God’s promises driving our stories, always.  The Bible is a big book; there are lots of stories and promises.  Easter is a big one.  When we declare, “He is risen,” it isn’t only for a day.  

SACRED. HOLY. MOMENTS. And Shouting Stairs

 Dear Family in Faith,

This Sunday, which is Palm Sunday, we’re celebrating a baptism during worship; and we’ll be reading the gospel story of Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem—as if he were taking the worldly throne away from Rome, and occupying it himself.  As if this were to be the great restoration of the great Kingdom of Israel!  No wonder both religious leaders and Roman occupiers might have been “nervous” about this Passover celebration and the power of God. 

Ordinarily, THAT story is followed in worship by another story—where Jesus’ “victory” includes his betrayal, arrest, denial, and eventual crucifixion and death.  This second story, known as the Passion story, is a witness to Jesus’ suffering and dying.  You know already, don’t you?  The shouts of loud “Hosanna!” on Palm Sunday morning are drowned out by shouts of “Crucify!  Crucify!” on the following Friday morning!  

It’s between “Hosanna!” and “Crucify!” that Jesus is arrested, bound, and taken to Caiaphas to be tried (err, falsely accused) in front of Jewish religious authorities.  The religious leaders are empowered to accuse Jesus; but they are prohibited from imposing a sentence of death.  They can order their thugs to spit in Jesus’ face; to slap Jesus and mock him; and Jesus can comfortably turn the other cheek, knowing they cannot take his life.  The zealous religious prosecutors seek witnesses against Jesus, but they can’t find a corroborating account to any of their accusations.  And while the religious court will ask Jesus question after question, he will remain agravatingly elusive, or silent. 

Before all of this, Peter tried pledging to follow Jesus, saying:

"Lord, I am ready to go with you to prison and to death!" 

But Jesus said,

"I tell you, Peter, the cock will not crow this day, until you have denied three times that you know me." 

Rather than the false witnesses the religious leaders line up, rather than Jesus himself, enter a fowl to become the star witness in this drama!  And though Peter has been told how this story will end, he remains dedicated to any ending but the one Jesus shared with him!  Until …that cock crowed. 

In Jerusalem, there’s a set of stairs rising stately up an incline toward a Church that now sits atop what many people believe was the location of Caiaphas’ house, outside the Jerusalem walls, in the old City of David, in one of the most ancient parts of the holy city.  The stairs are said to have ascended to the courtyard where Peter would arrive to stand around a fire to warm himself.  Where Peter would be accused of being one of the men with Jesus; one who knew Jesus; even one who believed in Jesus.  Yet unlike Jesus, Peter did not remain silent. 

On this night, Jerusalem was in the hands of the Romans, whose military might and authority had arrived to be especially stationed in the religious capitol during the celebration of the Passover—the proclamation of the story of the Hebrew liberation from Egypt.  The Romans were guarding against any attempt to reprise the story for real.  And the Jews were necessarily gathered secretly, out of sight of Roman spies and Jewish bystanders—because what they were talking about involved whispers of messiahship as well as blasphemy, sedition, and the possible overthrow of Rome.  About which, Jesus says nothing. 

This set of stairs now sits in a less-popular neighborhood, despite its historically significant surroundings.  We quickly and easily identified the poorer residents who lived in nearby homes as as our group began to climb the stairs and arrange ourselves for worship.  Then, someone read a psalm.  Another prayed a prayer.  Another took out a bible and began to read from the gospel account central to this location …when it began …crowing.  At first, each of us seemed to believe we must have been “hearing things.”  But the cock just kept crowing …and crowing.  Eventually, gazing into one another’s faces we could see—we were all hearing it.  The cock.  Crowing.  And crowing, and crowing, and crowing, and crowing.  As if Peter’s denial had been unleashed like the flooding rain of a summer thunderstorm, over and over and over.  Annoyingly persistent, the crowing kept up, until all we could do was stop worship …and just listen. 

Sacred.  Holy.  Moments.  And even those stairs seemed to be shouting. 

Come this Sunday.  Add your voice to the shouting choruses—carry a palm, profess your faith, submit yourself to follow Jesus to the cross through the crowds and with the deafening cock-crows that might dissuade you.  It’s time to join the parade of faith, to remember your own baptism, to voice your own promised following, and wait, listening in hope .  …God is rewriting our stories.  See you in Church!  

It's Happening Again: Resurrection is not Resuscitation

 

It’s happening again.  Two years ago, the same thing was happening.  A pair of cardinals were building a nest in the shrubbery outside of my bedroom window.  We’ve watched them do this for years.  You see the cardinals around, and then one day, mamma cardinal is nervously watching me dress through the window pane.  We’re almost certain it’s the same pair.  But each year, the nest ends up in a different part of the shrubbery. 

Two years ago, as COVID was just beginning, it was an amazing distraction.  Desiree and I spent hours one morning just watching the nest during feeding time.  But this year … nest build day number two, is slated on a day with a pretty mean weather forecast.  And as I’m writing this, I’m wondering once again if they’ll make it.  …And I hope these birds will make it one more year—building a nest, hatching some eggs, feeding some babies, and some more cardinals in the neighborhood.  But …we can’t know today what the outcome will be. 

Our first year, a bad storm flooded the nest right after eggs were laid, the nest hung sideways for days until gravity finally had its way.  Another year, the baby birds in a nest low in the shrubbery, disappeared suddenly before they fledged.  Two years ago, we accounted one new baby bird for each egg we’d seen in the nest, and they grew big and fat over the summer and into the fall.  One chance in three? 

Two years ago, as we were trying to wrap our brains around this new thing called COVID-19 that had interrupted all of our lives, I wrote this:

Resurrection is not resuscitation--we’re not going back to what was before COVID-19 when all this is over, to restart our lives.  We’re going to live in new ways because COVID-19 happened to us, like a storm flooding out a bird nest.  And sure, we need COVID-19 to die and all that; but there are still other things about us, in us, that need to die so that love can rise.  And in the midst of this storm around us--that’s a gift. 

Can we live through this?  How long will it last? When will it be over?  How will we know? 

In two years’ time, now, we’ve suffered through disease, dark and darker days, at least two Hurricanes and a wicked winter storm; now, there’s added war in Ukraine.  First there was COVID, then there were surges, and different forms of the disease; …and now, none of us are the same.  We’ve all been changed from what we were back then, in ways that make it impossible for us to “return” to whatever we knew before. 

Two years ago, Sarah Howell-Miller invited me into this question about my life during that Lent: “What needs to die in order for love to rise?”  Because resurrection isn’t resuscitation.  Jesus died; love arose.  And as we walk the road toward Jerusalem and Jesus’ death we should never be expecting that what happens after Good Friday is that we just return to whatever “normal” was or might have been before Good Friday.  Good Friday happens.  Easter morning happens.  And none of us are the same. 

These cardinals.  They build a nest.  They do their best to keep safe and keep others safe in their world.  And sometimes, what happens is a storm blows the whole thing out, or drowns them out, or predaters are more crafty or an individual is careless.  …But there’s a new nest each year, not always in the same part of the shrubbery, some lessons are learned or retained—no individual seems just the same, though they remain similar. 

Jesus never said life was or would be easy.  Jesus does say, over and over and over, that he will be with us.  And he does say over and over and over and over—that we should not be afraid.  He even says rather famously, for the wind and the waves to “cease” and to “be still”—and they obeyed him.  So …can we risk dying so that love can rise? 

If I were a cardinal, I’d have given up years ago!  No use trying, if the end result is always in peril.  Farmers in Nebraska used to say there was no use speculating if the weather was going to be your friend—the only part that was certain about the weather was that it was going to change  …We’re all being changed.  I suppose our hope should be that every day we’re able to look and be more like Jesus—who is love risen. 

There are people whose lives we will touch …and they and we are changed forever.  There will be chances to serve and be served.  There are parts of us that will die, so that more love rises.  We will witness transformation in our little neighborhoods that make life better for our neighbors—and ourselves.  This is the secret of the Lenten journey.  It happens every year—come what may.  This year, it’s happening again.  It is a blessing, again.  It is salvation, again.  It is just what we need …again.  And none of us will be the same. 

See you in Church! 

 Dear Family in Faith,

This is the day the Lord has made. 

Let us rejoice and be glad in it!

This is the sentiment of many faith-filled people.  Each new day is God’s gift of re-creation and opportunities abound to see and experience God’s goodness and love.  Or, as the Apostle Paul writes to the Phillippians, “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice.”  In the next verse over, Paul says, “do not worry about anything.” 

Yet, we also live in a world of tragic consequences and outcomes. 

I shared with our Session that one of the experiences I’m having in the continuing education course I’m involved in online is that eight of us in a small group took about three minutes and were able to name more than a dozen pieces of trauma affecting our church-lives these days—and none of them were related to COVID. 

There’s lots of “stuff” that affects us in different ways at different levels.  With the storms this week there were tornadoes near Round Rock, Texas and in New Orleans. Several of our churches in Texas sustained damage to their buildings, including one roof being lifted up and and set back, meaning it’s now unstable; one church family lost their home but each person and their pets were uninjured; and there was home and neighborhood damage in New Orleans where some of our churches there are.  Aside from the weather, there was another shooting incident at a community event in Dumas, Arkansas with at least 27 victims at last count.  You cannot turn on the television or open the newspaper or look online or at your phone—without being reminded there’s a war in Ukraine; and the toll of broken buildings and cities being reduced to rubble affects all of us. 

My mother’s sage advice anytime things were difficult was and is, “this too shall pass.”  I know that.  I believe that.  It’s just that I’d rather skip over the having to live through it part, that none of us like.  I want to get to the passed part! 

That’s the view of the Psalmist, who writes, “This is the day the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it”      (Psalm 118:24), writing out of real, lived-in experience of having to call on God out of suffering great distress.  “I was pushed hard, so that I was falling,” says the Psalmist, and gives God credit for bringing salvation.  The Psalmist’s declaration of this being the Lord’s day …for our rejoicing and gladness, comes from the experience of having lived through trauma.  And by the end of the psalm, rejoicing and gladness has turned again to a refrain of gratitude. 

Psalm 118 begins with “give thanks,” and a breath prayer, repeating: “[God’s] steadfast love endures forever” as a refrain three times.  But then it’s more clear.  Distress.  Hardship.  Difficulty.  And the outcome justifies this confidence that God is steadfast and delivers and saves.  “This, too, shall pass.” 

But sometimes, it’s hard to breathe in, “All will be well,” and not turn around and exhale, “are you sure …all will be well, God?”  The Psalmist offers a reminder that God says, “it shall be well …keep breathing.”  Eventually, the storm is over, and we open the door and go outside and we look to see what happened and we even find ways of helping those who suffered damage, or who had to endure the elements without protection.  Yes, we sometimes get to help make things well for others. 

But part of that conversation in my class about all the traumas we’re faced with, individually and collectively, was meant to help us become more aware and being mindful that resilient people and resilient communities are grounded in gratitude.  It’s not just knowing that when times are hard, God helps us; but also living into that experience of knowing what it is that we have to be grateful for.  That our gratitude gives us concrete evidence—like the Psalmist does—for God’s goodness and joy.  And that investing ourselves in the work of gratitude and thanksgiving is a key ingriedient not only to surviving, but overcoming; not just making it through to the other side, but thriving.  And when we invest ourselves in thanksgiving, we are also led to the places and people where what we might have to offer can be used. 

The Psalmist is right.  God is saving us.  This is the day God has made.  It’s not always joy and celebration—but also being aware of what we can be grateful for and how our lives are written into the fabric of the story God is making when worldly chaos is transformed.  What are your three best examples of the “steadfast love of the Lord enduring in your life?  We need each other.  We need Church.  Come share your stories of salvation. 

See you in Church! 

Connections with Ukraine

 Dear Family in Faith,

Presbyterians are connectional.  We believe our churches, our presbyteries, and our people are “connected” in powerful ways—sometimes by design, but oftentimes, just because.  A few days ago, I participated in one of these ubiquitous “Zoom calls” being introduced to a task force that will be planning worship for an upcoming meeting.  One of the people on the call lives in Lexington, KY—where my dad grew up—and lives in the same part of town where some of my dad’s family still does!  …But I digress. 

In the weeks since the Russian invasion of Ukraine, as the whole the world has been struggling to figure out how to respond, we’ve been waiting for news about how Presbyterians can make a difference, seeing so many people in need—and being able to offer ways YOU can help.  …It’s about connections. 

In turns out that 25 years ago, a couple in Palo Duro Presbytery (think the northwest part of Texas) had been called and led through child adoption to begin an amazing ministry with people in Romania, working with Romanian orphans.  Fred and Carolyn White helped start what is now known as NOROC—“New Opportunities for Romanian Orphaned Children,” the letters also come from a Romanian word that means, “God bless.”  This important ministry is headquartered in Tolcea County in Romania along the Danube River—just before the river empties into the Black Sea, near the now-famous incident between Romanian military and a Russian warship on Snake Island—a part of Romania that borders a small part of Ukraine between Moldova and the Black Sea.  This has been a “ground zero” location for Ukranian Refugees in the days since the Russian invasion began. 

NOROC was started in response to a Romanian orphan crisis that began with the end of the cold war and the fall of communism.  A state-sponsored program requiring families to have five children or more forced families into economic crisis being able to support so many children financially, led to huge numbers of abandoned children needing adoption.  Overwhelming numbers meant children were being neglected and suffering horrific consequences.  NOROC began sponsoring a program for women to help children be fed and get physical attention and “play.”  Today, NOROC’s work has expanded, now serving families and helping families support themselves and truly creating “new opportunities” for Romanian children and their families.  It’s a wonderful success story! 

But now …in the aftermath of the invasion …needs and responses have shifted again.  NOROC is in a unique position to respond somewhat immediately to the crush of mostly women and children fleeing the violence in Ukraine.  NOROC’s network of programs and staff and volunteers are already in place to help respond to the crisis and WE are able to support their work by way of being “connected” through our Church.  People we know and trust are directly connected to work happening on the ground; and in addition, NOROC is a licensed NGO (non-government organization) in Romania and a 503(c)3, not-for-profit organization in the United States.  Which means we can make donations here in the United States and have the funds flow directly to needs on the ground—almost in real time. 

You can learn more about NOROC by going to their website.  And here’s the link to their “how to help” page: 

http://www.noroc.org/how-to-help.html

You can make your donation or make a donation safely and securely online.  The “donate” button on the page will take you to a secure webpage used in conjunction with the Presbyterian Foundation; you are asked to indicate that your gift is to be used for Ukraine, or Ukranian Refugees, to ensure your gift gets used exclusively for those purposes. 

You can learn more about this unique connection to Presbyterians in our Synod, by listening to a recent podcast with an interview between Valerie Young (our Synod Leader and Stated Clerk) and Rich Schemph, former Executive Presbyter for Palo Duro Presbytery (now honorably retired but who is involved directly with NOROC) here:

https://www.synodsun.org/sunspots

Pick/click/play the episode on Ukranian Refugees from March 1^st. 

There are other ways to support the response to so many human needs in and around Ukraine—including Presbyterian Disaster Assistance, the Red Cross, etc.  …this one comes with some “connection” to people in our region who are connected to real people who’ve been doing good work for a while—and are making a real difference right now!  It’s a chance to do something faithful but also bring the world a little closer together. 

See you in Church.

We Might Have Forgotten Lent

 Dear Family in Faith,

By all appearances last Sunday, we seemed to forget that it was Lent.  Two Christmases ago, we didn’t assemble our Chrismon tree; one of these years, we ordered Easter lilies, but no one ever saw them.  We’ve all had the struggle of wanting to be normal, of trying to function as we were once accustomed, and in the myriad of ways we’ve been forced to change and adapt means our memory is a little off.  Our staff, individually and collectively didn’t remember or failed to realize we hadn’t prepared our sanctuary with the usual Lenten adornments—our cross and crown of thorn wreaths were missing, and I think we missed updating the bulletin cover.  There were questions about flowers still being in the sanctuary during Lent and lots of people have been asking about Holy Week services, too. 

So, I’ve been wondering since last Sunday—like, “how did we forget about Lent decorations?”  The signs and symbols of our Lenten season?  …But I confess, I know how this can happen since any Lenten season comes with challenges we don’t always want to “welcome.”  Lent can be sobering—with its eye toward Jesus’ death; it’s encouragement to repent, confess our sin, and think about our mortality; its journey following Jesus all the way to the cross, where we’re encouraged not to shut our eyes but even to watch his being tortured and a cruel execution.  That Mardi Gras, or “fat Tuesday” is such a big celebration as the last day before the six weeks of Lent with it’s “giving up” or “going without” as spiritual discipline also indicates we don’t always appreciate the dark or stark nature of the season in relationship to the rest of our lives.  And while many people choose willingly to “give up” things—as signs of their sacrifice or spiritual disciplining—some of those choices are things like coffee, or soda, fasting at mealtimes, or quitting smoking—while good for “improvement of life” or spiritually, can also come with negative consequences that leak out around the edges (people are grumpier without their morning coffee or skipping meals, etc.). 

On Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent, one of my colleagues posted: “My first words to Holly today: ‘Good morning, sinner.  Death awaits you’.”  The traditional wording at the imposition of ashes is, “You are dust, and to dust you shall return.”  Yet, all this talk about death, leaves some people feeling dark and dreary.  In fact, another colleague who recently came to our Presbytery in retirement, who spent forty-some years in ministry, never once celebrated Ash Wednesday—he doesn’t believe in it!  Of course, in more liturgical traditions, there are other aspects of worship that change for Lent—not saying or singing any “Alleluias,” singing particularly Lenten hymns often in minor keys, covering all crosses in fabric, even covering over stained glass windows or pictures of Jesus—all meant to be reminders of Jesus’ death.  Sometimes, I think these liturgical traditions end up pushing people away, especially when they might not know the reasons why those observances can be spiritually important.  It’s also why some of us found it disconcerting and disorienting to be missing OUR usual spiritual signs of the season last Sunday, too! 

Not everyone we encounter will know the reasons for our symbols and practices; and while WE find them important, others can experience them differently.  For example, many people love the hymn, “Amazing Grace;” but I’ve met lots of people who refuse to sing it, who even find it “offensive” because they don’t believe that they or anyone else should be called a “wretch.”  The hymn is deeply moving for so many; they are often completely unaware of the pain it is for others. 

We’ve done our best this week to put our sanctuary “back in order” for Lent.  Our hearts and minds might still be a little out of sorts, but the reminders of God’s grace and love are everywhere.  For me, personally, sometimes I like turning Lent on its ear—I prefer seeking the signs of life and hope and grace, knowing that there is a Good Friday, but that Easter is also coming.  Sometimes, I also need some joy to take me toward Easter, too, but that’s usually out of step with our liturgical season that imposes penitence and death as the road to making Easter resurrection even better.  Sometimes, I have to have one foot in joy and life, because the other things in life are too overwhelming.  I confess, I’ve had to try and wear the clothes of being positive and hopeful, wanting to help stave off death with my mother’s recent illness, and for others I know who’ve also been battling disease and setbacks, too.  I know that when death is near, so is resurrection; but I can do without the death for a while.  I know you can’t have resurrection without a death.  And too often, we all just want to avoid death, hoping to prolong our days: rather than using the time God’s given us. 

I also know that the promise of Lent is that death is met by life; that even though we die, we will live.  I believe that all is not lost, that joy comes with the morning, that the rhythm is life, death, and resurrection, and that death loses its sting.  Which is ultimately how we can greet someone with, “Death awaits you.”  Because the life that is coming …is even greater.  “See you” in Church.  

About Our Enemies

 Dear Family in Faith,

When I was a child I remember asking my mother, “Who are our enemies?”  We lived in southeastern Kentucky; we often were aware of the evening news; I distinctly remember the “watch parties” for the 1976 Winter Olympic games.  And I was asking so I could know precisely who I should hate. 

My mother, the preacher’s wife, who had grown up in a religiously Lutheran household, whose faith was firm, who seemed to know the struggles of life—including living through the daily realities of Vietnam and by that time the Cold War—seemed to squirm.  As I pressed, and she seemingly was mulling over all her worldly options, she eventually blurted, “Well, maybe the Russians, I guess!” 

So, if the Russians were to be our enemies, we should at least beat them at ice hockey!  And …figure skating …and bobsledding …and whatever else!  Right?

Even as a child, a younger child, I wasn’t going to *hate* the Russians.  It wasn’t because I totally believed Jesus and always followed his instructions to “love my neighbor” and “pray for my enemy.”  Nope.  I wasn’t doing that.  It’s probably, that my most ardent prayer then until now, has always been “for peace on earth.” 

But …I’m not shaped by peace.  Like any young boy, despite not growing up around weapons, I’ve been shaped by dreaming of battles and wars, fighting and bravery, and blowing up enemy weapons and bunkers.  I love John Wayne movies.  I like seeing the bad guys getting what’s coming to them.  I’ll take almost any Clint Eastwood movie before I’ll consider watching the Disney channel.  Yet even in all the glorious victories of war—I also see the agonies of defeat. 

War and violence are not easy.  Though we talk about pinpoint accuracy and surgical airstrikes—the dangers to our bodies and souls are more than bullets, artillery, tanks, and aircraft.  Talk to any brave drone pilots, who deliver weapons from half-a-world away, with a coffee cup and a lunch break, in non-descript office buildings; not to mention those who are sent for live action.  There are times that require brave and honorable action of the highest order because there are always realities of the worst order.  But even for our enemies, it’s always someone’s son or daughter in harms way—even for the very best of reasons and intentions.  

And, like other times, in the images of the violence that unfolded last week in Ukraine, I struggled mightily between my heartfelt desire for “peace on earth” and what seems at the same time, the necessity of taking up arms.  I sat in the crosshairs of daring to believe in Jesus’ love for neighbor being made manifest and my readiness for someone to give the order to put troops on the ground.  And the daring willingness to risk everything for the cause of peace, even war. 

The love of Jesus doesn’t release us from that passion or consequence.  I just hope and believe that our passion for life and love means we take the steps of faith daily, and often, so that peace always has a chance—before, during, and after, what we feel compelled to do in the name of righteousness and for justice and ultimately, for love itself.  And I don’t ever doubt that God is with us in the midst of the messiness of our feelings, of our loves and desires, of life itself, and even when violence is chosen. 

Jesus doesn’t lay down in front of violence.  Jesus doesn’t give in either.  He even dies by violence, so that violence may also be defeated. 

…I think I wanted to know who our enemies were, because I knew at some point, enemies have to become friends. 

…I think that enemies are enemies; but we can become friends—and that changes the world!  And Jesus has a hand in that, too.  He helps us get through the messiness between us, and helps us see it’s clearly more fun being friends! 

…And friends: can build what was broken, and mend what gets knocked down, and can see the world from a better place known as restoration, or resurrection, or wholeness—instead of broken promises and broken realities. 

Hope, even on the tip of a spear?  I believe that too, if for nothing else, Jesus dies on the cross—a public execution, a war-time sign, with the promise of better days are coming.  If death is near, resurrection is not far.  And we don’t know which one or what moments those might be until we see them and choose them for ourselves.  And with God’s help. 

In some of the darkest worst days of the first World War, soldiers paused and sang to one another on Christmas.  It was a start.  Jesus loves us.  Because he does, enemies become friends and we change the world.  We believe all is not lost, that we can all be parts of a solution, and the gathering of joy, and love.  …I’m not shaped by peace, but I believe in it.  I think you do, too.  ”See you” in Church.  

 Dear Family in Faith,

This Sunday, in what would appear to be an ironic twist of fate, we will read a Bible story about Moses putting on a kind of “face mask” in the presence of God’s people—on the very Sunday, that after two years of an un-holy COVID pall over us, WE are beginning to take our masks off! 

Our Session has decided that--coinciding with changes in positivity rates, case counts, and the downward trends in COVID infection, as well as practices in businesses and other houses of worship-- this is the season to adapt our mask policy.  Starting this week, come to worship, please observe social distance, wearing masks will be optional, at your personal discretion.  And those who wear masks are likely doing so because they love you, and don’t want any harm to come to you—however slim the chance may seem.

When Moses dons a veil, it is because his shining face is the sign that Moses has been talking to God and has particular words for God’s people.  Moses’s face, lit up like a light bulb, is the evidence that Moses is taking words directly from God’s mouth to the people’s ears.  Another irony is that, because Moses’s appearance was so changed because Moses had been talking with God, the people were afraid! 

Do you ever wonder why people were afraid when Moses had been talking with God?  Or, do you ever recognize that everyone who truly encounters God is *changed* by that experience? 

But if we believe God truly loves us—of what is there to be afraid? 

Oh. Right. Of course.  The answer is always in the riddle: “How many Presbyterians does it take to change a light bulb?”  

Change?

The Israelites knew that, when Moses had been talking with God, Moses was changed.  They could *see* it.  I suppose, even though the word Moses brought was the life-giving covenant, rather than feeling “loved” God’s people felt scolded?  Rather than a pathway to life—abundant life—is it really the case that any “rules” feel oppressive?  Do we all drive past the speed limit sign, give it the middle finger and set the cruise for 5 miles per hour over because any limit must be bad news?  No.  We set the cruise control 5 miles per hour more because we believe it’s reasonable, that it’s not so excessive that we should get a ticket, even though we’re well aware we’re violating the letter of the law.  “Well, Officer, my speedometer must be a few mph’s off; I don’t speed.” 

And yet, the astonishing thing to me is that anyone who has been in the real presence of Almighty God or who receives God’s words or messages—is changed.  Any person who has been in the real presence of God—changes.  Yet, we all seem to have this expectation that our relationship with God doesn’t have to CHANGE us—we can talk to God and nothing has to change.  We can read the Bible and our life can proceed as normal.  The meek don’t have to inherit the earth, the rich get to buy their way into heaven, and loving our enemies is optional.  We can “love God” and still act as if it doesn’t require any transformation. 

It's as if we want to see God—but it won’t matter at all if we do.  And things can still be the same, whether we see God or not.  But in the Bible, this simply isn’t true.  See God?  You’re changed.  And people can see it on you! 

Can you name a story in the Bible where a character *sees* God and nothing changes about them? 

Yet, somehow, we all would like to *see* God and not be changed by it. 

I believe God is changing the world.  I believe that God is changing us.  I believe that happens because we truly *see God* in ways that are sometimes mysterious, sometimes challenging, sometimes hard to perceive or understand.  Nonetheless, when we see what God is up to, when we can grasp anything God is doing  . . . We. Are. Changed.  It is visible on us, in us, and through us.  We can see it in each other’s faces—if for no other reason that we are made in God’s image (each of us) and therefore, we are each a window of God’s love and intention.  Or, do we not want to trust scripture’s truth? 

Our masks have made it harder to *see* one another and God in each other—yes?  It will be special to *see* one another “uncovered” again.  Let’s be honest, many of us have already been able to do it in other places, too.  But don’t think for a moment that seeing our faces is “business as usual.”  It’s extraordinary!  We bear the image of God for each other, we each are the reminder of the Creator.  And the world should see it on us.

Jesus loves us.  This story can change the world, because it changes us.  When we catch people up and can love them, because God loves them, we change the world.  ”See you” in Church.