John 11:1-45
Grace and peace to you.
Sometimes when stories, like this morning’s gospel, are character-rich, the pastor preaches a first-person account, imagining the story from the perspective of one of the lesser characters. It’s one thing to hear the story and place ourselves in the roles of Mary or Martha, but imagine being the messenger who brought the news that Lazarus was ill, full of expectation perhaps that Jesus would return with him to Bethany. Or being one of the disciples who cautioned Jesus against returning to Judea, preferring to stay out of sight and away from the attention of religious authorities.
What we hear, and see, depends largely on where we sit, or where we find ourselves in the story.
As I listened to the story this week, I found myself sitting with the ones who are grieving alongside Mary and Martha.
During these first two weeks of precautions to slow the spread of coronavirus, my grief has not been as immense as the grief that accompanies the death of a beloved, but it has been real grief all the same,
certainly for the loss of our in person gathered community and for the sacrament of Holy Communion, and for the absence of visits to congregation members in nursing homes and assisted living;
but also well beyond our congregation and ministry:
for the high school theater productions that won’t make it to the stage;
for grandparents who don’t get to visit newborn grandchildren as quickly as they planned;
for people living with illness or pain who are having to postpone medical procedures and operations;
for high school and college seniors whose plans have been disrupted;
for teachers who don’t know if they’ll see their students again this school year;
for employees who have lost work and pay, and for Shelby’s small business owners who have worked so hard to make uptown alive.
I expect you can add your own half-dozen or more laments.
And I want to give you a minute to do just that.
In the chat or comments, aloud from wherever you are this morning, or silently in your hearts, name something you have lost during this time of social distancing and staying at home.
In our grief it would be easy to join Martha and Mary in saying, “Lord if you had been here,” it would have been different. (v. 21, 32)
But Lazarus didn’t die because Jesus wasn’t there.
It’s true that Jesus stayed away and it’s true that Lazarus died, but there’s no cause and effect relationship between the two events. As much as we want to see one, because we want an explanation that makes sense, there isn’t.
Similarly, I have heard and read where people are saying the coronavirus is like God hitting a reset button, or that God is getting our attention by letting the virus spread, so that we will pay attention to first things and return to God.
I absolutely believe God is present in the midst of this disease and our community’s response, but I do not believe that God willfully let more than 30,000 people worldwide, each one beloved by God, die because we weren’t devoted enough.
“The way of Jesus doesn’t avoid death.” Facing the reality of human mortality and finitude, that death cannot be avoided, Jesus didn’t perform a miracle. Jesus knew that God’s future hope for the world is persistent, that God is at work even when all we can see is the death in front of us.
So when Jesus met Martha and then Mary away from their home, he didn’t hurry their grief or ignore the weight of their loss. He grieved alongside the sisters, weeping for the loss of their brother and his friend.
And then, together they waited for the Lord because, in the words of the psalmist, in God’s word is our hope. (130:5)
In John’s prologue we read, “And the Word became flesh and lived among us….”(John 1:14). In Jesus, God’s Word is alive for us even when all we can see is the death in front of us.
Grief is complex. There is grief for what we have lost, there is grief at our circumstances now, and there is anticipatory grief for what will be different in the months ahead. Martha and Mary bear witness to the complexity of grief and how we can hold anger, frustration or disappointment and faith at the same time.
Unnamed grief creates separation and distance, cutting us off from others. But Jesus embraces the sisters letting them name their disappointments and reminds them what they know about God’s saving power. Together at the tomb where Lazarus is buried, Jesus then calls out to him by name and commands him to come out, telling the people around him to unbind him and let him go.
Again this is God’s Word at work against death. God’s call restores us to community, whether we are buried by grief or entombed, behind heavy stones. God calls us to come out of the places where we have been stuck, even when the stench of whatever sin binds us still lingers. And God invites others to help us find freedom and new life.
“The way of Jesus doesn’t avoid death.” But it does defeat it. And that is Good News indeed.
Thanks be to God.
Showing posts with label COVID-19. Show all posts
Showing posts with label COVID-19. Show all posts
Sunday, March 29, 2020
Sunday, March 22, 2020
Fourth Sunday in Lent
John 9:1-41
Grace and peace to you.
Friday I was outside for most of the afternoon. The grass, and a whole lot of clover, is growing and I needed to mow it. While I was in the yard I was delighted to see buds on the branches of two volunteer Japanese maples I brought home from my grandparents’ place. My granddaddy planted the original trees and the small pointy maroon leaves make me smile.
The buds have already burst into leaves on one of the trees, and the forsythia and azaleas are blooming but I really haven’t done much outside yet. I know it’s still too early for tomatoes, but I’m starting to play with the idea of having a real garden – the kind with raised beds and lots of dirt. And I am delighted at the idea of watching the transformation that is possible with some seeds or seedlings, some dirt and water and sunshine.
The beginning of our Gospel for this morning is a lot like that; Jesus uses a little bit of saliva and some dirt to heal the man born blind, and the man is transformed, and each time he has to answer another question about his encounter with Jesus, his understanding of who Jesus is deepens.
First his neighbors ask him, “How were your eyes opened?” (v. 10) and then the Pharisees question “how he had received his sight.” (v. 13) and then the Jewish authorities demand to know, “How did [Jesus] open your eyes?” (v 26).
There are no words of thanksgiving or praise recorded here, only skeptical questions and accusations, and ultimately, rejection. John tells us that when they weren’t satisfied by his answers, the Jewish authorities drove the man out. Because they could not explain what had happened to him or because his experience was outside their understanding, they sent him away.
I thought about this gospel on Friday when the local newspaper initially and in error reported that someone had tested positive for the coronavirus in our county. Like the characters in our gospel, readers commenting on the online story were asking all kinds of questions, demanding to know the person’s name and address and where the person had been. There were no words of compassion or prayers offered, only fearful demands for information.
While, thankfully, that report was mistaken and the person doesn’t live in Cleveland County, at some point, it’s likely we will have someone in our county who tests positive. What do we learn from this gospel about how we respond to our neighbors?
I believe the first thing we learn is that love draws near.
Please don’t misunderstand me. I recommend we follow the federal guidelines to help prevent the spread of the coronavirus. That’s why we are gathering online and on the phone. The recommendations now encourage us to keep six feet apart and limit groups to fewer than 10 people. Social distancing will help limit the reach of the disease and right now, for the sake of our neighbor and for the world, love for our neighbor looks like empty pews and church buildings.
But in the Gospel, when fear leads the other characters in the gospel to reject the man, Jesus responds with love.
Instead of casting blame or pointing fingers, we can draw near. And in this time of social distancing that will look different but it is more important than ever. We can draw near with our phone calls, with our letters and cards and with our prayers.
At Ascension we say one of our core values is prayer. As the people of God, I ask you specifically to pray, without ceasing and with confidence in God’s boundless love.
for the people in our congregation, perhaps even by name. It is hard to be apart and to lose the face-to-face community that we love. More than ever we must remember God is with us wherever we are and the church is not the building.
Nothing could separate the man from God’s love – neither the physical blindness he had been born with, nor the spiritual blindness of those in the community.
And isn’t that Good News for us today?
God’s love reaches us no matter where we are, and when we encounter Jesus, our lives are transformed.
There is a lot of uncertainty in our lives today especially as the world responds to the pandemic. We can choose to respond with fear, anger and frustration. Or we can choose to respond with faith.
Responding with faith doesn’t mean we don’t follow the guidelines for protecting our health and that of our neighbors. It means choosing to remember that no one and nothing is beyond God’s far-reaching love.
May we be alert to where God is still acting in our lives and those of our neighbors.
May we draw near to one another and share the hope that is in us because of Christ Jesus. (1 Peter 3:15)
And may our witness shine brightly in the darkness. (John 9:5)
Amen.
Grace and peace to you.
Friday I was outside for most of the afternoon. The grass, and a whole lot of clover, is growing and I needed to mow it. While I was in the yard I was delighted to see buds on the branches of two volunteer Japanese maples I brought home from my grandparents’ place. My granddaddy planted the original trees and the small pointy maroon leaves make me smile.
The buds have already burst into leaves on one of the trees, and the forsythia and azaleas are blooming but I really haven’t done much outside yet. I know it’s still too early for tomatoes, but I’m starting to play with the idea of having a real garden – the kind with raised beds and lots of dirt. And I am delighted at the idea of watching the transformation that is possible with some seeds or seedlings, some dirt and water and sunshine.
The beginning of our Gospel for this morning is a lot like that; Jesus uses a little bit of saliva and some dirt to heal the man born blind, and the man is transformed, and each time he has to answer another question about his encounter with Jesus, his understanding of who Jesus is deepens.
First his neighbors ask him, “How were your eyes opened?” (v. 10) and then the Pharisees question “how he had received his sight.” (v. 13) and then the Jewish authorities demand to know, “How did [Jesus] open your eyes?” (v 26).
There are no words of thanksgiving or praise recorded here, only skeptical questions and accusations, and ultimately, rejection. John tells us that when they weren’t satisfied by his answers, the Jewish authorities drove the man out. Because they could not explain what had happened to him or because his experience was outside their understanding, they sent him away.
I thought about this gospel on Friday when the local newspaper initially and in error reported that someone had tested positive for the coronavirus in our county. Like the characters in our gospel, readers commenting on the online story were asking all kinds of questions, demanding to know the person’s name and address and where the person had been. There were no words of compassion or prayers offered, only fearful demands for information.
While, thankfully, that report was mistaken and the person doesn’t live in Cleveland County, at some point, it’s likely we will have someone in our county who tests positive. What do we learn from this gospel about how we respond to our neighbors?
I believe the first thing we learn is that love draws near.
Please don’t misunderstand me. I recommend we follow the federal guidelines to help prevent the spread of the coronavirus. That’s why we are gathering online and on the phone. The recommendations now encourage us to keep six feet apart and limit groups to fewer than 10 people. Social distancing will help limit the reach of the disease and right now, for the sake of our neighbor and for the world, love for our neighbor looks like empty pews and church buildings.
But in the Gospel, when fear leads the other characters in the gospel to reject the man, Jesus responds with love.
Instead of casting blame or pointing fingers, we can draw near. And in this time of social distancing that will look different but it is more important than ever. We can draw near with our phone calls, with our letters and cards and with our prayers.
At Ascension we say one of our core values is prayer. As the people of God, I ask you specifically to pray, without ceasing and with confidence in God’s boundless love.
for the people in our congregation, perhaps even by name. It is hard to be apart and to lose the face-to-face community that we love. More than ever we must remember God is with us wherever we are and the church is not the building.
- for the residents in nursing homes, patients in hospice and the hospital, inmates in prisons and for their families who are not able to visit.
- for the people who cannot self quarantine or isolate or for whom home is not safe and food is not secure.
- for the essential services and workers who continue to collect the trash, deliver mail and provide food, gas, medicine and healthcare.
Nothing could separate the man from God’s love – neither the physical blindness he had been born with, nor the spiritual blindness of those in the community.
And isn’t that Good News for us today?
God’s love reaches us no matter where we are, and when we encounter Jesus, our lives are transformed.
There is a lot of uncertainty in our lives today especially as the world responds to the pandemic. We can choose to respond with fear, anger and frustration. Or we can choose to respond with faith.
Responding with faith doesn’t mean we don’t follow the guidelines for protecting our health and that of our neighbors. It means choosing to remember that no one and nothing is beyond God’s far-reaching love.
May we be alert to where God is still acting in our lives and those of our neighbors.
May we draw near to one another and share the hope that is in us because of Christ Jesus. (1 Peter 3:15)
And may our witness shine brightly in the darkness. (John 9:5)
Amen.
Sunday, March 15, 2020
Third Sunday in Lent
Exodus 17:1-7
Grace and peace to you.
This Sunday, the wilderness we are in is the one we hear about in the text from Exodus. Moses led the people of Israel out of slavery and they were singing praises to God, saying, “The LORD is my strength and my might, and he has become my salvation; this is my God, and I will praise him, my father's God, and I will exalt him. (Exodus 15:2)”
And almost as soon as the words of praise left their mouths, they began complaining. And the Lord heard their complaints.
The water was bitter, so the Lord made it sweet.
The food was scarce, so the Lord provided manna.
In the reading this morning, the Israelites are in an unfamiliar place with a lot of uncertainty ahead. They are unmoored and they are quarreling with Moses.
I expect they were quarreling with each other too, sharing the bits of information and stories they had heard from each other. I expect their patience was wearing thin and they were questioning everything they were hearing and wondering what to do next.
It sounds a lot like where we find ourselves this Sunday morning, where we are experiencing new and unfamiliar circumstances because of concerns about COVID-19 or the coronavirus. It is unsettling to live in the midst of uncertainty.
And it is easy to become quarrelsome, frustrated and even fearful. It is our very human response.
The third time the Israelites wonder aloud whether Moses intended to kill them by leading them into the wilderness, Moses challenges them to see that their complaints are actually a test they are placing on God.
They had accepted God’s assurance that God would free them and deliver them from slavery, trusting in God’s redemption and judgement against the Egyptians. (Exodus 6)
They accepted God’s Word that said, “I will take you as my people, and I will be your God.” (Exodus 6)
And they believed in the promise God gave them to bring them into the land that God swore to give to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. (Exodus 6)
But they still wanted God to perform, to demonstrate God’s providence on their timetable and for their comfort. As Old Testament professor Terence Fretheim wrote, “Israel’s testing of God [said] “if we are to believe that God is really present, then God must show us a concrete way by making water materialize.” …[They] made their belief contingent upon such a demonstration.”[i]
It reminds me again of the old joke about the religious man that I’m sure you know. It goes this way:
There will be some who will insist God will save them from infection or disease, and refuse to take precautions, but God is not a servant at our beck and call.[ii] Public health, medicine and science are part of God’s good creation, as well, and the people who are called to those vocations are working for the public good.
After issuing his challenge to the Israelites, Moses leaves the quarreling crowds and asks God what to do. Periodically, I need the reminder, too, not to complain or worry or ask my neighbor their opinion, but to seek God first, and ask God for help.
And God hears Moses and responds. God appeared to Moses and the elders of the tribe and made water appear out of the rock at Horeb. God satisfied the human longings - both the very real and material need for water and the Israelites’ need to see that God was still with them, even in the wilderness.
The text tells us that Moses then named the place after the quarreling Israelites whose question and test had been, “Is the LORD among us or not?” (Exodus 17:7)
It’s a question I believe many of us carry through our days. “Is the LORD among us or not?”
The Good News is the answer is a resounding “Yes!” The Lord is among us, always.
Even when we cannot worship together on a Sunday morning.
Even when we cannot share supper and evening prayer on a Wednesday night.
Even when we are grieving the loss of what is familiar and the potential loss of what we have hoped for in the next few weeks or months.
The Lord is among us when we call the person we usually sit near, or send a text or a smiley face emoji to someone we haven’t seen, or mail a card to someone who isn’t able to have visitors right now. I am especially concerned for people who are already physically and digitally isolated, but I have confidence that the Lord is among us and we will find other ways to connect.
Yesterday I was in a meeting with volunteers who are planning to serve together at the Kairos Outside retreat later this spring, and we were talking about finding gratitude even in the midst of rapidly changing news and evolving plans. It is hard to choose gratitude and thanksgiving when we are grieving loss or we are afraid or frustrated. But we began naming the places we could find gratitude even in the pandemic:
the opportunity to stop the busy-ness of our lives and rest
the ways we can connect by phone and technology
the time families will spend together because school and activities have been canceled
The psalmist today echoes Moses’ own song that I quoted earlier, telling us, “let us shout for joy to the rock of our salvation.” (Psalm 95) The Lord is our salvation and is among us in this wilderness.
Even in the uncertainty of this wilderness, we remain both a human family and the body of Christ and our relationships, our care for each other and our love for our neighbor are not canceled.
Believing the Lord is among us frees us to love our neighbors, and right now, that love looks like empty pews. But it also frees us to look for ways to show up for one another when we cannot show up in the church sanctuary. May we see God in those very places.
Amen.
[i] Terence Fretheim. Exodus. 189.
[ii] ibid
Grace and peace to you.
This Sunday, the wilderness we are in is the one we hear about in the text from Exodus. Moses led the people of Israel out of slavery and they were singing praises to God, saying, “The LORD is my strength and my might, and he has become my salvation; this is my God, and I will praise him, my father's God, and I will exalt him. (Exodus 15:2)”
And almost as soon as the words of praise left their mouths, they began complaining. And the Lord heard their complaints.
The water was bitter, so the Lord made it sweet.
The food was scarce, so the Lord provided manna.
In the reading this morning, the Israelites are in an unfamiliar place with a lot of uncertainty ahead. They are unmoored and they are quarreling with Moses.
I expect they were quarreling with each other too, sharing the bits of information and stories they had heard from each other. I expect their patience was wearing thin and they were questioning everything they were hearing and wondering what to do next.
It sounds a lot like where we find ourselves this Sunday morning, where we are experiencing new and unfamiliar circumstances because of concerns about COVID-19 or the coronavirus. It is unsettling to live in the midst of uncertainty.
And it is easy to become quarrelsome, frustrated and even fearful. It is our very human response.
The third time the Israelites wonder aloud whether Moses intended to kill them by leading them into the wilderness, Moses challenges them to see that their complaints are actually a test they are placing on God.
They had accepted God’s assurance that God would free them and deliver them from slavery, trusting in God’s redemption and judgement against the Egyptians. (Exodus 6)
They accepted God’s Word that said, “I will take you as my people, and I will be your God.” (Exodus 6)
And they believed in the promise God gave them to bring them into the land that God swore to give to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. (Exodus 6)
But they still wanted God to perform, to demonstrate God’s providence on their timetable and for their comfort. As Old Testament professor Terence Fretheim wrote, “Israel’s testing of God [said] “if we are to believe that God is really present, then God must show us a concrete way by making water materialize.” …[They] made their belief contingent upon such a demonstration.”[i]
It reminds me again of the old joke about the religious man that I’m sure you know. It goes this way:
There once was a very religious man who was caught in rising floodwaters. He climbed onto the roof of his house and trusted God to rescue him.In this period of living differently in response to the pandemic, people have quarreled about who is at fault and questioned whether the response is too extreme.
A neighbor came by in a canoe and said, “The waters will soon be above your house. Hop in and we’ll paddle to safety.”
“No, thanks,” replied the religious man. “I’ve prayed to God and I’m sure God will save me.”
A short time later the police came by in a boat. “The waters will soon be above your house. Hop in and we’ll take you to safety.”
“No, thanks,” replied the religious man. “I’ve prayed to God and I’m sure God will save me.”
A little time later a rescue services helicopter hovered overhead, let down a rope ladder and said. “The waters will soon be above your house. Climb the ladder and we’ll fly you to safety.”
“No, thanks,” replied the religious man. “I’ve prayed to God and I’m sure God will save me.”
All this time the floodwaters continued to rise, until soon they reached above the roof and the religious man drowned. When he arrived at heaven he demanded an audience with God and he said, “Lord, why am I here in heaven? I prayed for you to save me, I trusted you to save me from that flood.”
“Yes, you did my child,” replied the Lord. “And I sent you a canoe, a boat and a helicopter. But you never got in.”
There will be some who will insist God will save them from infection or disease, and refuse to take precautions, but God is not a servant at our beck and call.[ii] Public health, medicine and science are part of God’s good creation, as well, and the people who are called to those vocations are working for the public good.
After issuing his challenge to the Israelites, Moses leaves the quarreling crowds and asks God what to do. Periodically, I need the reminder, too, not to complain or worry or ask my neighbor their opinion, but to seek God first, and ask God for help.
And God hears Moses and responds. God appeared to Moses and the elders of the tribe and made water appear out of the rock at Horeb. God satisfied the human longings - both the very real and material need for water and the Israelites’ need to see that God was still with them, even in the wilderness.
The text tells us that Moses then named the place after the quarreling Israelites whose question and test had been, “Is the LORD among us or not?” (Exodus 17:7)
It’s a question I believe many of us carry through our days. “Is the LORD among us or not?”
The Good News is the answer is a resounding “Yes!” The Lord is among us, always.
Even when we cannot worship together on a Sunday morning.
Even when we cannot share supper and evening prayer on a Wednesday night.
Even when we are grieving the loss of what is familiar and the potential loss of what we have hoped for in the next few weeks or months.
The Lord is among us when we call the person we usually sit near, or send a text or a smiley face emoji to someone we haven’t seen, or mail a card to someone who isn’t able to have visitors right now. I am especially concerned for people who are already physically and digitally isolated, but I have confidence that the Lord is among us and we will find other ways to connect.
Yesterday I was in a meeting with volunteers who are planning to serve together at the Kairos Outside retreat later this spring, and we were talking about finding gratitude even in the midst of rapidly changing news and evolving plans. It is hard to choose gratitude and thanksgiving when we are grieving loss or we are afraid or frustrated. But we began naming the places we could find gratitude even in the pandemic:
the opportunity to stop the busy-ness of our lives and rest
the ways we can connect by phone and technology
the time families will spend together because school and activities have been canceled
The psalmist today echoes Moses’ own song that I quoted earlier, telling us, “let us shout for joy to the rock of our salvation.” (Psalm 95) The Lord is our salvation and is among us in this wilderness.
Even in the uncertainty of this wilderness, we remain both a human family and the body of Christ and our relationships, our care for each other and our love for our neighbor are not canceled.
Believing the Lord is among us frees us to love our neighbors, and right now, that love looks like empty pews. But it also frees us to look for ways to show up for one another when we cannot show up in the church sanctuary. May we see God in those very places.
Amen.
[i] Terence Fretheim. Exodus. 189.
[ii] ibid
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