Come and See

This sermon was heard at the First Presbyterian Church in Marshall, Texas on Sunday April 24, 2011, Easter Sunday. He is risen. He is risen, indeed.

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Jeremiah 31:1-6

Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24

Acts 10:34:43

John 20:1-18

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable to you, O Lord, our rock and our redeemer.  Amen.

I ended last week’s sermon,[1] with these words:

The powder keg is lit and it leads to Pilate and the glory of Rome. The fuse he lights also leads to the Temple, and the scribes and the Pharisees. The fuse is lit; the course of history has begun. Eventually the spark will reach the charge and an explosion the world has not forgotten will blow.

In the mean time, much will happen:

There will be prophecy, and there will be prophecy fulfilled.

There will be scrutiny, and there will be examination.

There will be a supper, and there will be a betrayal.

There will be a trial, and there will be a judgment.

There will be a torturous death.

Surely by now the people would have thought that the powder keg had blown. The people have seen the Lord’s betrayal on Maundy Thursday and his crucifixion on Good Friday. The unthinkable has happened, the Lord God is dead.  But that wasn’t the end of the sermon, and death was not the end of the Lord as we heard in today’s reading.

It’s early on the first day of the week.  The Sabbath is coming to an end, but it’s still dark. Until the sun rises it’s still the Sabbath and Jews don’t leave their homes until the Sabbath ends.

Not Mary Magdalene, she’s gone to the tomb. The Chief Priests wouldn’t be out and about yet, but the Romans would be. If she is found she could be in trouble. For violating the Sabbath certainly, but if she is found at the tomb they would assume she was one of Jesus’ partners in revolution. This the Romans would not take lightly.

When she comes to the tomb she sees that the stone had been removed from the entrance.  Scripture is silent, but perhaps she looked into the open tomb, for just a moment.  If she didn’t look in, she must have had a sinking feeling in her heart.  Either way, she had come to the correct conclusion.  Jesus’ body was not there.

She has come and she has seen and Jesus was gone.

The Lord is not there, how can this be?  Mary sees the open tomb, overwhelmed by grief and maybe by panic she runs to Simon Peter and the beloved disciple to tell them.  The Lord has been taken from the tomb and we do not know where they have laid him. 

Mary’s panic is shared by the two disciples.  They run together, Peter falling behind as they race to the tomb.  The other disciple arrives first, looking in he sees only the linen that had been wrapped around Jesus.  Peter arrives on his heels and we read that he is the first who dares to enter.  Peter too sees the cloths that had been around his body and the wrapping that had covered his head and face folded, set aside by itself.

After the other disciple entered the tomb, they saw and they believed.  They believed that he was gone.  Simon Peter and the beloved disciple; they had entered the tomb of their Lord and Master, and his body was gone.  Scripture is silent, but would I be wrong to think they were devastated?  He is tried, he is crucified, and now he is gone.

They have come and they have seen and Jesus was gone.

Logic says he was taken.  If the authorities thought that they had taken him, if they thought these disciples had taken this rabble rouser’s body to cause more religious unrest, then they would be next on the Pharisees’ and Pilate’s enemies list.

They didn’t understand what had happened.  They didn’t understand the scripture.  So they did what seemed sensible.  They needed to sort out what was happening.  They needed to mourn.  They may have needed to hide.  So they went home. 

Mary remains crying at the tomb.  Her Lord is dead and missing.  The two people she shares her worries with have abandoned her.  She is alone again.  She is lost.  She is distraught.  She cries and she looks into the tomb.  What else can she do?

Suddenly she finds two angels sitting in the tomb. They ask why she is crying.  She repeats her lament, “They have taken my Lord away, and I do not know where they have laid him.” Can you hear her heart breaking?  Flowery speeches are unnecessary. “They have taken my Lord away, and I do not know where they have laid him.” Then, she turns and sees a man she doesn’t recognize standing before her.  Who is this man? she wonders. Did he take the body of the Lord? 

He breaks the momentary silence repeating the angels’ question, “Woman, why are you crying?” adding “Who is it you are looking for?” Scripture tells us Mary supposed he was the gardener. This supposition would have given him the benefit of the doubt; she may have also thought he was a thief or a fool.  

Only a fool wouldn't know what had been going on in Jerusalem over the past week. The Passover was only a part of what was happening now. The Nazarene, Jesus came into Jerusalem triumphantly on the back of a colt. Later, he was tried as an enemy of the state or of the church depending on the accuser. Then he was crucified with two criminals. This was his crypt, and if this man was the gardener either he was oblivious to the events of the last week or he was the one who moved the body.

She answers his question without contempt toward its foolishness, but she is not above suspecting this gardener of taking Jesus. “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have put him and I will get him.” How Mary is going to carry the dead weight of a man is irrelevant. If this gardener knows where the body is, she will retrieve it and return it to its proper resting place.

It’s the least she can do. The Lord delivered Mary from her life in the world to life with him. The gospels tell different stories about Mary and her history, but there is one thing that is certain. Jesus finds Mary and then she becomes useful to his ministry. Carrying him to his final resting place is the least she can do.

Her world is shattered. Being useful in this small way is all she can think to do. It is all she dares to believe she can do. What else is there? 

Jesus then calls her by name. “Mary!” She turns and recognizing him calls out “Rabboni.” It’s amazing; she doesn’t recognize the Lord until he says her name and that makes all the difference in the world.

She has come and she has seen her Lord and her God.

She is flooded with emotion. The warmth must be glorious. Her tears of grief and fear become tears of joy and relief. The Lord reveals himself to her by saying her name. She has found him and the world is turning anew. She rushes to him, she clings to him. Then Jesus tells her this is not yet the time for he has not yet returned to the Father. Jesus tells Mary to tell the brothers, “I am returning to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.”

Mary does as she is told. She comes back to the place where the disciples are staying and she tells them what she has seen and what the Lord has shared.

There’s such a difference a moment makes in our lives. Mary’s world has been turned over three times in the last three days, the twice within the last hour or so. If she is running she is skipping. If she is walking she is walking on sunshine. Life is never going to be the same. Her Lord lives. And she is trusted to take the Good News to the others. “I have seen the Lord,” and life, which had all ready been turned on its ear, is turning again.

She comes and sees; then she says “I have seen the Lord.”

Come and see. It’s a recurring theme in the Easter story. Mary comes and sees the tomb. She then comes back to the disciples and sees them. Mary, Peter, and the beloved disciple come back and see the tomb. Then comes the glorious turn, Jesus comes and sees Mary. Mary finally recognizes him and sees her Lord.

This is the ebb and flow of scripture, we come and we see. We come and we hear. We come and we receive. We come and we receive the visible signs of God’s invisible grace. Today is no exception, today is the most glorious example.

There are so many other things I want to say today, so many things, but that’s not why we came. We came to hear the Easter Story. We came to celebrate Wilda Leigh joining this part of the Body of Christ. We came to celebrate the sacraments: Belle’s baptism and the Lord’s Supper.

We came because Mary came. We came because Peter came. We came because the beloved disciple came. And most of all, we came because Jesus came. This is why we come and this is what we see.

If you remember, there was more to last week’s sermon. After I said “There will be a torturous death.” I followed with these words:

And there will be a glorious resurrection.

Hosanna! The fuse is lit. Let it burn.

And I’ll see you next Sunday for the big explosion.

Today we have come and we have seen the big explosion.

He is risen. He is risen indeed.

---

[1] http://timelovesahero.blogspot.com/2011/04/lighting-fuse.html

Lighting the Fuse

This sermon was heard at the First Presbyterian Church in Marshall, Texas on Sunday April 17, 2011, the 6th Sunday of Lent, Palm Sunday.

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Isaiah 50:4-9a

Psalm 118:1-2, 19-29

Philippians 2:5-11

Matthew 21:1-11

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable to you, O Lord, our rock and our redeemer.  Amen

Saturday mornings means cartoons, and I hope it always will. People of different ages look at Saturday morning cartoons differently. There are the unnatural motions of the oldest “Popeye” and “Mickey Mouse” cartoons. These are great if for no other reason that they are the root of the tree from which all cartoons followed. Then again, these cartoons were made for the movie theaters, not for the small screen.

The next generation of cartoons, the first made for television was the old “Tom and Jerry” style cartoons. The plot was constantly recycled, cat chases mouse, but the imagination of the situations combined with some of the best Pre-Pixar artwork in cartoons made this generation of work special.

The Saturday mornings of my childhood wouldn’t have been complete without “School-House Rock” or “Fat Albert and the Cosby Kids” which always tried to teach something. These were great, but for me, the best was “The Road Runner.” Yes, it’s “Tom and Jerry” with a coyote and a bird, but there was something more to it for me. The Road Runner was a one-trick pony, speed and more speed; but Wile E. Coyote lived up to his name, he was wily.

The coyote is of course the lonesome loser, he’s never going to get the Road Runner, but he’s never going to give up either. He’s always plotting and conniving a new way to catch his prey. While I read Jesus’ triumphant entry into Jerusalem, there is one type of Road Runner scene that resonated with me.

The scene, reinvented in many different ways, is where the coyote lights a fuse on some sort of explosive. It could be a rocket or it could be a stick of dynamite. He lights the fuse and waits behind a rock waiting for the Road Runner to zip past at the exact moment of the explosion.

I always wondered what a stick of dynamite would do to a small bird but my parents would just tell me to go with it. Oh well.

My question never needed an answer of course because the Road Runner would rush past before it could explode; then the coyote would always have to go and take a closer look at his contraption. Sometimes it was immediate, sometimes the coyote would have enough time to strike a pose to dash off, but always the bomb would explode right underneath ol’ Wile E.  Then the look of disgust would be on his face while I laughed.

These scenes aren’t parallel, but as we’ll see; on the triumphant entry into Jerusalem Jesus lit the fuse; and there’s going to be a big, big bang that will change the world.

So how is the fuse lit? It begins as Jesus gets ready to enter Jerusalem. The preparations begin as Jesus commands two of his disciples: “Go to the village ahead of you, and at once you will find a donkey tied there, with her colt by her. Untie them and bring them to me.”

A reminder: Matthew’s gospel was written to the first congregations of Jewish Christians. So to Matthew, it was important for the writer to connect the Hebrew Scriptures to the life of Jesus. This connection was important to the listeners too. This is why Matthew follows these instructions with this commentary, “This took place to fulfill what was spoken through the prophet,” the words of Zechariah 9:9:

“Say to the Daughter of Zion,

‘See, your king comes to you,

gentle and riding on a donkey,

on a colt, the foal of a donkey.’”

Matthew’s version of the triumphant entry is silent about whether or not the disciples had to tell the owner of the beasts that the Lord needed them, but since we are told they did as they were instructed we can assume they did if it was necessary.

It is spectacular the way the crowd is assembled. The knowing and the curious surround the Messiah.  They come from all around to be a part of the scene.  People are climbing trees and cutting down branches.  Others are taking off their cloaks and spreading them on the road.  This part of the city was in turmoil, the simple entry of this one man stirred the pot of Jerusalem.  Everything was being shaken up by Jesus’ entry into the city of David.

This part of Jerusalem is shaken by the entry of he who comes fulfilling the word of the prophet. The end of our reading reminds us that while these crowds knew who Jesus was, most of the city didn’t. Considering the number of visitors who were in Jerusalem for the Passover, the height of the religious tourism season, this shouldn’t be unexpected. While most of the 40,000 locals probably knew who Jesus was, many of the 200,000 visitors may never have heard of him until this moment.[1]

But then again, this Messianic entry may not have been completely unexpected; Jerusalem has a history of parading kings.

The people of Jerusalem had long expected the coming of the Messiah, the Christ, the anointed. They expected the coming of the one who would save Israel from its oppression.  Egyptian, Babylonian, and now Roman, the people anxiously waited for the one who would save them from their enemies.

They waited for the new David who would ride triumphantly, a warrior king who would come on a great war horse to save the people from their oppressors.  They were waiting for someone like Moses who took them from Egypt to the Promised Land.  They were waiting for a political leader to restore the nation to its proper place in the land.

The history of the Jews is steeped with parades of Kings entering Jerusalem.  In Ancient Israel before David was king, the Philistines had captured the presence of God, the Ark of the Covenant.  After David became king, after the Ark was regained by the Israelites, the king danced at the front of the procession leading its return to Jerusalem.  A parade of 30,000 men accompanied the Ark on its return to Jerusalem.

After a false start, the parade started and once it did, it stopped every six steps so that David could make an offering of an ox and fatted calf.  David led the procession of men and the Ark wearing a linen ephod and dancing with all his might.[2]

While Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem wasn’t as spectacular as David’s, it was a spectacle. The triumphant entry had people hanging from the trees and throwing their clothes everywhere.

Yet Jesus does not come dancing in his like David with the Ark. Jesus doesn’t lead a procession of 30,000 men. Who the people received in Matthew’s gospel was the vision of another ancient leader, one who rode a donkey because they had better footing on the rocks and hills of ancient Israel than a war horse. Today’s procession features the one who rides a colt, a symbol of humility.

Then again, Jesus doesn’t bring the Ark of the Covenant back to Jerusalem. He is the New Covenant coming into Jerusalem.

The Messiah who comes to town was no conquering hero; he was the ancient image of the humble leader. He is the leader who would die for his people, not one who would send millions to die in his stead.

Our reading is different, instead of the Ark of the Covenant that holds the presence of God; Jesus, the true presence of God, comes to Jerusalem.  Fully human and fully divine, God comes to town as the person of Jesus Christ.  In David’s time, God is returning to Jerusalem as the glorious center of the pageant.  In our reading from Matthew, Jesus, the Son of God, the Son of Man, God in flesh on earth, comes to Jerusalem humbly for the Passover.

This is the lighting of the fuse, the fuse that leads to a powder keg.

Two biblical scholars, Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crosson provide another side to this story; the story from the other side of town. They imagine that while Jesus and all the crowds are celebrating his triumphal entry; on the opposite side of town the Roman Governor of Palestine, Pontius Pilate, is entering town himself.[3]

Pilate, like every other political leader, never travels without his entourage, but this time his party is large and well armed. The Passover was traditionally a time of political uprising in Palestine. This year there was talk of a new prophet in the hills north of Jerusalem. A man named Jesus from Nazareth. If he came to town there could be trouble and like any good Roman Governor, Pilate would be ready for trouble.

So Borg and Crosson write that as Jesus comes to town, Pilate comes loaded for bear. Pilate would be ready for the nearly quarter-million residents and visitors and any rabble they carried in their wake. There would be more than enough soldiers, there would be more than enough arms, and Pilate rode at the head on his war steed to show that he meant business.

You’ll never find this story in the bible because it’s based on extra-biblical sources, histories written outside of the church.  It’s not in any church history or anything else I’ve ever read, but as we discussed this during the Thursday bible study, I said it was plausible.

This is when Tom Malcolm added this insight. It was probable that the Roman garrison had some sort of maneuvers daily.

As soon as Tom mentioned this I knew that he was right; and Borg and Crosson were right too. Everyday in Jerusalem and in every other town that held Roman troops, there would be some sort of military procession. Not that this is a Roman thing, this is how conquering armies behave in occupied lands. They’re the boss and they continually show who’s boss, and the parade is one very good way.

So while there would be the daily parade, on this day, right before the Passover, in front of a quarter million Jews, the Romans come to town to show just who’s in charge. They come in armor, they carry state of the art arms, they will even march their provisions along with the rest of the parade to show that they’re in it for the long haul and they mean business. And again, Pilate rode at the head on his war steed.

So there we are. Jesus has lit the fuse as he rides into Jerusalem on the colt and the donkey. The crowds on this side of Jerusalem praise him laying their cloaks and branches before him crying “Hosanna to the Son of David!  Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!  Hosanna in the highest heaven!  This is the prophet Jesus!”

In the meantime, on the other side of town, Pilate and the power of Rome come into Jerusalem in their own parade. They come into town to keep the peace, whether by right or by might, they will keep the peace. It doesn’t matter how many are killed, they will keep the peace. If they have to kill thousands they will keep the peace. If they have to kill just one man, they will keep the peace.

The powder keg is lit and it leads to Pilate and the glory of Rome. The fuse he lights also leads to the Temple, and the scribes and the Pharisees. The fuse is lit; the course of history has begun. Eventually the spark will reach the charge and an explosion the world has not forgotten will blow.

In the mean time, much will happen:

There will be prophecy, and there will be prophecy fulfilled.

There will be scrutiny, and there will be examination.

There will be a supper, and there will be a betrayal.

There will be a trial, and there will be a judgment.

There will be a torturous death, and there will be a glorious resurrection.

All of this will happen as the fuse burns, but those things happen this week, not today. Next Sunday we’ll read about the big, big bang that changes the world. As for today, we hear the cry of the people in the streets. We hear the people cry out “hosanna!” We hear the crowd crying, “Hosanna to the Son of David!  Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!  Hosanna in the highest heaven!  This is the prophet Jesus!”

Hosanna—what a wonderfully glorious call, by the time of Matthew’s gospel it had become a sort of a “holy hurrah.”  But let us remember what Hosanna truly means: “Lord, we beseech you. Lord we beg of you.”[4] Lord, we beseech you, come. Lord, we beg of you, come, come again, and take your rightful place in creation and in our very lives.

Hosanna! The fuse is lit. Let it burn.

And I’ll see you next Sunday for the big explosion.

---

[1] Rollefson, John, “Feasting on the Word, Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary.” David L. Bartlet and Barbara Brown Taylor, Editors. Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010, page 154

[2] 2Samuel 6

[3] Ibid. Rollefson, page 153.

[4] New Interpreters Bible, vol VIII, Keck, Leander, Editor. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1995, page 403.

Sorrow of Death--Joy of New Life

This sermon was heard at the First Presbyterian Church in Marshall, Texas on Sunday April 10, 2011, the 5th Sunday in Lent.

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Ezekiel 37:1-14

Psalm 130

Romans 8:6-11

John 11:1-45

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable to you, O Lord, our rock and our redeemer.  Amen

During this Lenten journey, several members of the congregation have been enjoying a study called “Fearless: Imagine Your Life Without Fear” by Max Lucado.[i] The lesson from last Tuesday was about the fear of our mortal demise. It’s easy to understand why this is such a tremendous fear in our lives. In death we lose people we love and care for. Often in death things are left undone. In death we lose all control. From our very human point of view we lose all we know and that’s very scary.

Lucado shares what some philosophers say about death.[ii] Aristotle calls death “the end of everything.” Jean-Paul Sartre teaches death “removes all meaning from life.” American agnostic Robert Green Ingersoll calls life the “narrow vale between the cold and barren peaks of two eternities.” François Rabelais made his final words “I am going to the great Perhaps.” Shakespeare gets pessimistic in “Hamlet” dreading “something after death, the undiscover’d country from whose bourn no traveler returns.”

Honestly, who wants to live where this is the last word on death? Going off to the “great perhaps” would surely take meaning not just from death but as Sartre put it from life too. Individually these points of view are utterly depressing. Together, they make life seem completely futile.

The story of Martha, Mary, and Lazarus is not a story like this. The story of Martha, Mary, and Lazarus gives us what it means to mourn and what it means to rejoice in the life of Christ.

Before we get started into the meat of this passage, I would like to serve an appetizer. There are some who say “If your faith is strong enough, there is no reason to mourn. If your faith is strong enough you will know that the dead have gone to a better place. If your faith is strong enough you will rejoice that the dead have gone to be with the Lord.” But I am not one of those people. I would not say that.

Rather, I would remind you of what Jesus said in Matthew 5:4, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.” Not only does Jesus say that mourning is normal, he blesses those who do mourn.

So when Mary and Martha sent the message to the Lord that his friend and their brother Lazarus was ill, they prayed that Jesus would come immediately. They prayed that the Lord would come and heal their brother.

Based on the first eleven chapters of John’s gospel, this wouldn’t be out of line. The first part of John’s gospel presents many signs of the Lord’s divinity. The signs in John’s gospel begin with the wedding in Cana where, even though it was not his time, Jesus made the finest wine. Two weeks ago we heard the story of the Samaritan woman at the well whose life was laid open like a book. Last week we heard the story of the man who was born blind whose eyes were opened. Today Jesus reveals that Lazarus’ “sickness will not end in death. No, [this sickness] is for God’s glory so that God’s Son may be glorified through it.”[iii]

Now this is where it gets sloppy. Scripture plainly tells us that Lazarus, Mary, and Martha love Jesus. It also says Jesus loves them. Yet he stayed where he was. In John 11:18 we read that it’s less than two miles from Jerusalem to Bethany, so it wasn’t very far at all. Jesus and the gang could have made it in less than an hour stopping to smell the roses along the way, but he didn’t. Jesus did not go immediately. Jesus stayed where he was.

Imagine if you will. A loved one is sick, deathly ill, and the only one who can heal, the only one who can bring peace, the only one who can give new life, isn’t coming. You’ve sent for him. It isn’t a long drive to the house or the hospital. He knows the way. He could be there in a moment. You’ve even sent a text.

The one you love is sick and just getting sicker, and the one who can save him is no where to be seen. Yes, you got the message; this sickness will not end in death. Yes, you got the message; this sickness is for God’s glory so that God’s Son may be glorified through it. But even when that word comes from the Lord, the only person you have confidence in; the only thing you really seem to know for sure is that one you love is dying.

Yes, we have confidence in the Lord. Yes we know that the Lord will make everything right. Yes we have confidence in the Lord. And sometimes we say these things because if we say them often enough we might begin to believe them ourselves.

It’s as the father of the spirit possessed boy cried out, “I believe; help my unbelief!”[iv]

Well, the disciples aren’t too upset that Jesus hasn’t hit the road. After all, the last time they were in Judea Jesus was nearly killed by the Scribes and Pharisees. This is why Thomas puts in his two-cents saying, “Let’s go too—and die with Jesus.”[v] Gee, thanks Thomas. You’re so cheery Aristotle and Shakespeare are now depressed.

Finally, two days later, four days after the death of Lazarus, Jesus makes his way toward Bethany. By this time many of the Jews had come to console Mary and Martha on the death of Lazarus.

A note about the Gospel of John: When it says “The Jews” in John’s gospel what it means is “The leaders of the Jews.” It’s a code. Generally speaking it’s like in Tehran and Baghdad where the crowds cry “Death to America” while listening to American pop music. They don’t want to kill Justin Bieber and Beyoncé; they want to kill our government’s leaders.

So it could well be that some of the Jews with Mary and Martha were some of the same leaders who tried to kill Jesus the last time he was in Judea. I don’t wonder if some of the “mourners” were slinging mud at the name of the Lord while “comforting” the sisters. “Oh, where could he be?” and “Couldn’t he have come in time?” followed by the sarcastic rendering of “Oh, what a friend we have in Jesus.”

I need to share another cultural note that is important to this passage, this one about burial practices in the first century: In Hebrew society four days dead meant dead-dead.  There was no mistaking that he was put in the tomb while in a coma to awaken later. Lazarus was in the tomb four days dead and there was a bad odor.

So two days later, four days after the death of Lazarus, when he was dead-dead, Jesus is on his way. While he is on the road, word makes it back that Jesus is coming. Martha leaps up to meet him while Mary stayed at home.

“Lord,” she cries, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” Racked with grief, mourning the loss of her brother, I can’t imagine her voice without anger. “Lord, if you had been here my brother would not have died.” Anger is natural. Anger is normal. Peace and understanding in this moment are not signs of strong well adjusted faith. They are signs of overmedication; too much Lexapro and too much Valium.

Her next sentence is the one that takes her anger and adds faith with a plaintive plea, “But I know that even now God will give you whatever you ask.” She knows, despite her sorrow, despite her anger, she knows that Jesus is the Lord, the long awaited Messiah.  She knows that her brother will rise again as Jesus promises; she just assumed that it would happen at the resurrection. She doesn’t quite understand what Jesus was really saying, not yet.

Jesus tells her “I am the resurrection and the life.” Martha praises him. Jesus tells her “He who believes in me will live, even though he dies.” Martha praises him. Jesus tells her “whoever lives and believes in me will never die.” Martha praises him. In her sorrow and her grief, she knows and she believes Jesus is the Christ, the Messiah, the Son of God, the one who has come into the world, but she is overwhelmed.

Martha then leaves and goes home. I can only begin to imagine what she was thinking and feeling at this moment. She has the sorrow of death and the promise of new life racing through her head like mice in a maze.

She goes to tell Mary “The teacher is here and he is asking for you.” Martha is shutting down; she’s deflecting attention away from herself and onto her sister.  When she gets the news Mary leaps seeking her Lord. The Jewish leaders, the fellow mourners thought she was on her way to the tomb to wail like a shill there. As is so common in their dealings with Jesus, they were mistaken.

Mary cries to the Messiah, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” Her sorrow was deep. She wept and all around her wept also. Her sorrow was so powerful that the Spirit of the Lord Jesus was deeply moved and he was troubled.

Jesus wept.

Is there a more emotional sentence in scripture? Nothing greater has ever been said in fewer words: Jesus wept. Jesus shares our human pain. Jesus mourns with us. In this single moment, the fully-human fully-divine Lord has never been more human. Jesus wept.

After a brief interlude where the Jewish leaders both praise the grief of the Rabbi and doubt his dedication to his friends, Jesus begins to do something. Jesus tells them to remove the stone. Yes, there are some objections since according to the New International Version there was a bad odor. Times like this I prefer the New Revised Standard Version’s rendering that says there was a stench. Stench is a much better word for a four day dead-dead Lazarus.

Jesus tells Martha and Mary specifically, and all who were there in general “Did I not tell you that if you believed you would see the glory of God?” Then Jesus gives glory to God for what was about to happen. He tells the Father and all who are eavesdropping on their conversation that what he does he does for their benefit so that they may believe that he was sent by God.

Then he says in a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out” and he does.

Now imagine the joy. Imagine the surprise, imagine the shock! Lazarus was dead. He was four days dead. He was dead-dead. First there was a stench and now he’s alive. Lazarus is well. Jesus tells everyone to remove the bands of cloth, the remnants of death, they aren’t appropriate anymore. There is joy in Judea. There is joy in Bethany. The family of Lazarus is complete again. Lazarus lives. The sorrow of death is replaced by the joy of new life; new life that comes from the voice of Jesus Christ.

Our reading ends that because of this, many “put their faith in Jesus.”

I want us to know one thing from our reading; one very special thing. Jesus didn’t take away the sorrow of death. Jesus doesn’t take away our mourning. Our lives will continue to be filled with sorrow that brings mourning. In truth, Jesus promises those who do mourn will be comforted. What Jesus brings is new life. Our mourning is comforted because our comfort lies in new life in Jesus Christ.

Jesus weeps with us. Jesus dies for us. Jesus returns for us.

Philosophies, culture, and such teach us that life is fleeting. Media teaches us that plastic surgery and Botox will keep us young forever, or at least looking young. We see that medicine has extended our life by years. We have learned that life is something to be held onto with a vice-like grip.

Jesus teaches us that this life is fleeting, and its loss brings sorrow. Beyond teaching this he promises and he shows us that eternal life has been given to us through his hands. Jesus puts his Spirit in us. His pierced hands bring us new life, a life the old dry bones of Ezekiel know well.

As Ezekiel prophesies, in the joy of new life “you will know that I the Lord have spoken, and I have done it.” In this new life and in the joy of new life in Christ we know that Jesus is Lord. The Lord has spoken.

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[i] Lucado, Max, “Fearless: Imagine Your Life Without Fear.” Nashville, TN: Thomas Nelson Publishers, 2009.

[ii] Ibid page 117. More detailed source information on page 220.

[iii] John 11:4b New International Version (NIV)

[iv] Mark 9:24b New Revised Standard Version (NRSV)

[v] John 11:16 New Living Translation (NLT)

Sloppy Faith

This sermon was heard at the First Presbyterian Church in Marshall, Texas on Sunday April 3, 2011, the 4th Sunday in Lent.

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1Samuel 16:1-13

Psalm 23

Ephesians 58-14

John 9:1-41

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of our hearts be acceptable to you, O Lord, our rock and our redeemer.  Amen

I believe in action. I believe in living faith. This is why I believe our sacraments are important to who we are as Christians. Sacraments are the visible signs of God’s invisible grace. This is why when I share the invitation to the table I will say, “This is the Lord's table. It is our Savior Jesus the Christ, not I, nor this congregation, nor this denomination, who invites those who trust him to share the feast which he has prepared.”[1]

The invitation is open to all who have faith in Christ as their Lord and Savior. It is for those whose faith is in Christ; not just those who ascribe to Presbyterianism. This is why I will also say:

Every time you eat this bread and drink this cup,

you proclaim the saving death of the risen Lord,

until he comes.

Remembering God’s gracious acts in Jesus Christ,

we take from your creation this bread and this wine

and joyfully celebrate his dying and rising,

as we await the day of his coming.[2]

We can’t see God’s good grace, we can see instances of grace and we can see the effects of grace, but we can’t see grace. It’s like the old Billy Graham saying, I can’t see the wind; I can see effects of the wind but I can’t see the wind. And of course, we have no more control over where God’s grace blows than we have over the wind. Our gospel reading is the glorious story of how this wind of faith blows.

Jesus was going along and saw a man who was blind from birth. So the apostles asked “Who sinned; this man or his parents that he was born blind.”  Short of anything resembling grace, this question is couched in traditional Jewish speculation about the relationship between illness and sin.[3] In this time and place, being born blind was considered more than a physical malady; it was seen as a spiritual malady too. But Jesus’ response tells the disciples that their question, shrouded in rabbinic tradition and Jewish history, isn’t the question.

Jesus answered, “Neither this man nor his parents sinned; he was born blind so that God’s works might be displayed in his life.”  John’s gospel offers sin differently from Jewish tradition.  Sin is not a moral category; it is a theological category about how we respond to the revelation of God in Jesus.[4] Jesus teaches that this man was born blind for God’s glory, not as a punishment for sin.

So Jesus took a step back and spit on the ground making a poultice of wet clay that he placed in the man’s eyes. He then told the man to go to the Pool of Siloam to wash. When he did, he came home seeing.

By the way, notice that after Jesus told the man to go, the Lord isn’t in the story until its very end. Hold that thought.

Now, if you think I used a lot of water on Cindy’s baptism in January, imagine walking through town from wherever Jesus found the man born blind to the Pool of Siloam. There always seemed to be a crowd around the Lord, so it wouldn’t be much of a stretch to imagine that a bunch of people saw him spitting on the ground, rolling it around into a paste, and packing it into the man’s eyeballs.

Anyone who isn’t saying “Ick” right now has gone to the end of the story. I want us to pause here for a moment.  I’ve made my fair share of mud pies, but none of them with my own spit. I’ve thrown some mud, but I’ve never packed it into anybody’s eyeballs. I’ve been dirty before, but I’ve never had anybody’s muddy spit ooze down my face. Friends, let’s admit it, as the miracles of Jesus go, this ranks up as one of the grossest. Glorious, yes, but still, it’s gross.

It’s said that Jesus could have done this miracle without all of the spit and mud, and that’s true. He healed Peter’s mother in law. He healed the little girl saying “Talita, cum.” He saved the Centurion’s slave with a word; Jesus wasn’t even in the neighborhood for that healing. So Jesus didn’t have to make the balm they wouldn’t make in Gilead, but he did.

To say that I know why he did this is beyond arrogance, it’s ignorance. Still, I’m going to give it a guess because it’s a part of my vocation to ponder the things of God. I believe Jesus finds value in symbols. I believe God finds value in symbolic action. Jesus didn’t have to create the saying “Here’s mud in your eye,” but he did. There was something of value to him creating the pumice and the man wearing it until washing it off in the Pool of Siloam.

Was it the man’s obedience that cured him? Was it Jesus making magic mud? Was it something else? I don’t know. What I do know is that Jesus asked a man to participate in his miracle when it could have been done with a snap of the fingers. Jesus wanted him involved in his miracle.

This is the point of the story when we go from icky sloppy to sloppy because of what happens next. We’re not half way through with John’s gospel and the Pharisees are coming at Jesus with both barrels. Of course like any good mobster movie, they don’t go at him directly; they go after the one he cares about. They dissect the man so recently given sight.

The neighbors ask the man who now sees “Where is he?” Where is Jesus? His relpy: “I don’t know.” I love that. “No, I don’t know where he went, I was blind, hello!”

This is where his newly blooming Christian bud is tested. The Pharisees quiz one another, is this healer a saint because he can do such miraculous signs or is he a sinner because he does them on the Sabbath? The man who now sees really doesn’t have an opinion on the learned matters that belong to the scholars; he just knows that the one who can do such healing is a prophet.

Of course the Pharisees decide to check their facts. Was he blind from birth? Really? If he wasn’t then there was no miracle. So they go to his parents who confirm blindness. But they know that this sloppy bit of religiosity can blow up in their faces. They could be put out of the Synagogue and cut off from their faith and social lives and that won’t do. They throw their son under the bus instead. Hey, you want to know what happened to him, ask him. He’s a man. He’s responsible for his own actions. In effect they say “Leave us out of this.”

They try to get the man who now sees to throw Jesus under the bus this time and this time he wades head long into the slop of his new faith. He doesn’t know who was a saint and who was a sinner, but he does know he was blind but now he can see. He doesn’t know who the Pharisees are or what they want, but he knows that Jesus has done what no other prophet has ever done, give sight to a blind man.

Finally, the Pharisees can’t take his disrespectful behavior another minute. By disrespectful I mean earnest, honest, and loving. They throw him out of the Synagogue for no doing of his own. He was thrown out because he did something foolhardy, he was healed.

Well, as the old song goes, if loving you is wrong, I don’t want to be right.

This is when Jesus reenters the story. He shares his identity with the man who now sees in front of the temple rulers who are blinded by their own inflexible faith. The man believed and worshipped. Those whose neck remained stiff rested in their own sin.

The man who now sees is living in the sloppy faith where he is healed with spit and clay on the Sabbath. He is thrown out of the Synagogue, which was the center of his faith. He is evicted from the community that he had called his own; thrown out into the muck and mire of the world without the faith of his fathers. The faith taught that his blindness was the result of sin, now we discover that the removal of blindness leads him to the new way God is working in the world.

Faith is often sloppy. Often faith is not always easy and straight forward like we want it to be. Often it’s like this man who now sees. The glory of God reigns making our old way of life impossible, and that gets sloppy. Often it’s like David’s kingship, established in danger over seven older brothers.

People want a good solid list of things we can be for and things we can be against. It makes sense, yet no matter how we rebel against it, we long for structure. Unfortunately, life in Christ doesn’t always lead us down the straight line we want. Sometimes like with David and the man born blind it puts us at odds with our own families.

Frankly, it’s easier to stand against something than it is to stand for something. The Westboro Baptist Church has made a mission out of standing against America in the guise of standing for God. It’s easier to say no than it is to say yes. No limits our boundaries, yes opens them up to places we may not be comfortable.

I guess this is where I should apologize to Cindy. For a denomination renowned for baptism by “sprinkling,” I used a lot more water than she expected, than anyone expected.  Now, I’m not apologizing for using a lot of water, I won’t ask to be forgiven for that. I do pray Cindy will forgive me for not warning her or having a towel ready. That was bad form on my part and I apologize for that. For everyone else who was surprised about the amount of water I used, don’t worry. It’s alright in the eyes of the Book of Order and the Directory for Worship. The amount of water I used is Presbyterian kosher.

What’s true is that water is the symbol we use in baptism. Baptism itself is the symbol that represents the grace of our Lord who was himself baptized. We are baptized for remission of sins. Baptism also represents a bath, a bath that cleans our skins and our lives. The waters of our baptism also represent the fluids of our first birth. In our birth into faith we are reminded of our birth into life. The sacrament of baptism in the Presbyterian Church represents a welcoming into the community of faith; this is why it is as proper to baptize infants and children as it is to baptize adults. Since one of the responsibilities of baptism is that the community helps care for and instruct all of the baptized, it is actually good for children to be baptized as soon as the parents desire.

So if water is a symbol, then the amount of water used is also a symbol. We can use as much or as little as we want. We can dunk or dab people. The symbolic action God wants is represented either way. But there is a reason I choose to make people drip with water when we are baptized, and that’s that our faith can be sloppy. Since our faith can be sloppy, our baptism shouldn’t be a dainty little affair, it should be sloppy too.

We live a faith that can be sloppy, a faith where God says yes. Yes gets us healed on the Sabbath, even though every stitch of the faith tells us just to wait until after sunset. Yes introduces us to people we wouldn’t associate with in a million years. Yes puts us in situations we never dreamed to imagine. Yes puts David on the throne. Yes puts us outside the Synagogue with Jesus and the man who now sees.

No puts us with the heroes of the orthodoxy, which isn’t always bad but often lacks elbow room for the Holy Spirit. No gives us the Alcoholics Anonymous definition of insanity, “When you do the same thing over and over again expecting a different result.”

Our God is the God of “Yes.” Our faith should be the faith that says “Yes.” Say yes to God, say yes to the sloppy faith that is faith in Christ, and let us remember the waters of our baptism, and the sloppier the better.

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[1] This is a part of what I say in the “Welcome to the Table” before celebrating the Lord’s Supper.

[2] Book of Common Worship

[3] The New Interpreter’s Bible, Volume IX, Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1995, p 653.

[4] Ibid.