Poor Thomas. Having led a life of devotion, faith, and loyalty, his name today is virtually synonymous with doubt… Doubting Thomas. Not only that – but the only time his name comes up in the lectionary is on a week when almost every pastor is on vacation – the week after Easter. Poor Thomas!

In many ways, we know too little about Thomas, and in other ways we know too much. I say that we know too much because we seem to add in some rather crucial details that are not in the text. Over the centuries, thousands of artists have illustrated the scene – and in virtually every one of those images, Thomas is depicted touching the wounds of Jesus. After all, he said that he would not believe that Jesus is risen unless he touched the scars on his hands and the wound on his side. But when John describes the scene, there is never any mention of touching. Jesus offers his body to be touched, but Thomas responds, not by touching, but by exclaiming “My Lord and My God.” The offer itself was enough. Thomas saw and believed.

In that sense, he is not actually any different from his fellow disciples. Jesus appears to them first, but Thomas wasn’t there. Apparently, he had to run an errand that evening. We don’t know what he was off doing. John doesn’t tell us.

It was Easter evening – the first Easter, so maybe Thomas was out gathering Easter eggs. Or maybe he was out grabbing some kosher Chinese takeout for everyone. We don’t know where he was. All we know is that the other disciples were hiding out, behind locked doors. Jesus appeared to them, showed his hands and side… he breathed on the them… he commissioned them, and then vanished again. Just like Thomas, they saw and they believed. When you think about it… they aren’t really any different from Thomas – but for some reason we isolate Thomas and say that he is the doubting one. Poor Thomas.

I know what some of you are thinking. Some of you are thinking – “No. Wait a minute. Thomas is different from the others. The other disciples told him that they saw JC, but he didn’t believe them. Well – look again… Just like Thomas, they had already heard the testimony of Mary Magdalene. She saw Jesus first. She spoke to him. After JC departed from her, she told the other disciples, but they didn’t believe her. Just like Thomas, they all doubted what Mary said. Just like Thomas… they heard but did not believe. Just like Thomas, they only believed when they saw Jesus.

Hearing Mary’s testimony should have been enough… but it wasn’t. They had to see for themselves. Hearing the disciple’s testimony should have been enough for Thomas… but it wasn’t. He had to see for himself.

Poor Thomas. He knew too little, so he didn’t believe. He knew too little because he did not know that he should believe his fellow disciples. If he had believed his neighbor’s testimony, then he would have believed without seeing. In fact, that’s what Jesus says to him: Blessed are those who have not seen, and yet come to believe. John then tells us that he has written these things so that we, who have not seen, might come to believe.

John’s point is clear: Even when we know too little… even when we don’t have enough information to decide what to believe, we should believe the testimony of our neighbor.
Poor Thomas, though. It is too late for him. He knows too much to have the kind of faith that comes from believing without seeing.

For those of you who don’t know me, you should know that I am entering my 12th consecutive year of full time graduate study in theology. No matter how you add it up, 12 is too many! When I met with my dissertation advisor last month, he actually told me, “Brad, you know too much.” Perhaps that comment needs a translation. What he meant was… Brad, you are filled with tons of useless information that make things far more complicated than they need to be. Believe me… that’s true. Over the years, I have come to know too much about dear Thomas, too. I know things that I just don’t know what to do with.

For starters, I know that his name is not Thomas. Our passage this morning reads, “Thomas, who was called the Twin.” Actually, the word “Thomas” is an Aramaic word that means “the twin.” So, the text actually says, “The twin who was called the twin.” That raises two questions… What was his name? … and… Whose twin is he? Well, what I am about to tell you is the kind of thing that we aren’t supposed to talk about in church. It is ok, though, because almost none of you are going to believe what I tell you – You are going to doubt my testimony, even though we all agreed a moment ago that the point of the story is that we should believe without seeing. ?

Thomas’s real name is actually Judas. No, he is not that Judas. John tells us explicitly that there are two disciples named Judas… one is Judas Iscariot, who betrays Jesus. Thomas the twin is the other Judas… you know… the Judas who is Jesus’ brother. Mark’s gospel (chapter 6, verse 3 if you doubt my testimony) tells us that Jesus had four brothers: James, Joseph, Judas, and Simon as well as some sisters who are, of course, un named. But what do we make of the fact that Jesus had a brother who is called the twin?

In the early centuries of the church, many Christians believed that Judas Thomas was Jesus’s twin brother. There are even ancient texts, including the Gospel of Thomas, which suggest that Thomas the twin was actually Jesus’ twin brother… See what I mean about knowing too much and knowing too little?

What do we do with that information? What does it mean? Should we believe it? Should we not believe it? What difference would it make, either way? Would it explain why Mary Magdelene, who was the first to see the risen Christ, didn’t recognize him? Well… may-be… Sort of.

When Mary saw the man by the tomb, she didn’t recognize him as Jesus – but she surely would have recognized Thomas. She wouldn’t have thought he was the gardener of the cemetery. But remember that John’s gospel makes no mention of a virgin birth. No mention of a divine child or childhood. For John, the story begins with Jesus’ baptism and it extends for exactly one year – from Passover to Passover.

As most New Testament scholars will tell you… from John’s perspective… Jesus was a fully human person who becomes the fully divine Christ at his baptism. Right at the very beginning of John’s Gospel, verse 12 of chapter 1, John tells us that whosoever believes in Christ can become a Son of God. So it doesn’t really matter at all to John if Jesus had a twin brother, a wife, a mortgage, or a bad credit rating. What matters to John is that WHEN Jesus was baptized… all of those things became a part of the past. He had a new life as the Son of God… and, more importantly, from John’s perspective, so can you.

So… when Mary saw the man at the tomb and thought that he was the gardener – he very well might have been the gardener. It wouldn’t make any difference to John. What matters is that this fellow was now the Word of God, the Son of God, the risen Christ. When Mary looked at him, she only saw his body… and thought he was the gardener. But when he spoke to her – when she heard his Word –– She recognized the Risen Christ.

So… back to this crazy twin brother idea. Regardless of whether or not it is true – what does it mean? If by twin brother we understand biological brothers, then it wouldn’t mean anything at all as far as John is concerned. But if we understand “twin brother” to mean that this fully human fellow named Thomas became a Son of God by incarnating the Word and Spirit of Christ, then it does matter. It matters because it means that you and I can also become Christ’s twins. We can leave behind our old selves and become Sons and Daughters of God by living out the Spirit of Christ. This, from John’s perspective, at least, is what Easter is all about. Christ is risen. Christ lives – but only insofar as you and I become like Christ. We – you and I – are called to be the Resurrection and the Life.

Let’s get back to poor Thomas… the man whose name has become synonymous with doubt. As you might recall from the scripture reading a few weeks ago, Jesus said to the disciples – hey… let’s go to Jerusalem. They all responded – what? Are you kidding? If you go to Jerusalem, they’ll kill you. It was Thomas – and John reminds us here again that his name means “twin” … it was Thomas who said to the other disciples, “Let’s go with him, so that we may die with him.” Thomas was no skeptic… He was a loyal and committed follower. He was determined to follow Jesus – like a twin – even to death.

So, when I said earlier that John wants us all to become Sons and Daughters of God, that he wants all of us to incarnate the Word of God and live in the Spirit of Christ – it is helpful to also remember that the Gospel of Christ according to John begins at Passover… when Jesus is baptized and becomes Christ –– and it ends at Passover… when Jesus is executed.
John’s story ends where it began – for those who believe in Christ and become Sons and Daughters of God — Easter is another way of saying… hey –– it’s your turn.

But how do we know what to do? If we are supposed to incarnate the Word and become Sons and Daughters of God, how does that translate into action and service? … We always know too little.

As a parent, I always know too little. I never act with enough knowledge. I am almost always more than a little unsure how to discipline my children and how to encourage them.
One thing that I can say for sure… with absolute confidence is this…One day, when my kids grow up… move out of the house, and are living on their own – they will need to start seeing a psychologist to try and correct all of the mistakes that I’ve made… I know that I am making mistakes as a parent. There is no doubt about that. The problem is – I don’t know what mistakes I am making!

We never know enough to act… We doubt ourselves and our actions. We step carefully, trying to keep our mistakes minor and insignificant, knowing all the while that we cannot avoid making them. Poor Thomas. The doors were locked. The disciples were NOT expecting company. How was he supposed to know… when he ran out to grab some dinner – or whatever he was off doing that Easter evening – that Christ was going to show up three days after he died.

Regardless of whether or not Thomas was Jesus’ twin… there is no doubting that Thomas was Jesus’ brother.  Maybe Thomas wasn’t there that evening because he was with their mother. Maybe Mary needed consolation after witnessing her son’s terrible death. Or maybe Thomas just needed some space to try and deal with it all – an escape from the Friday that he did not know was supposed to be “Good.”

Thomas may not have been Jesus’ twin – there is actually plenty of evidence that he wasn’t… but in many ways, perhaps he is our twin. He knew too little. He didn’t know enough to act. He didn’t know how to react or what to believe. He didn’t know that he should have stayed in that locked room with the others. He didn’t know that he should have believed Mary and the other disciples. He just knew too little – just like we do.

On the other hand… Thomas knew enough. He knew that he should follow Jesus to Jerusalem even if it meant his death. He knew that he had been made an Apostle – one who is sent on a mission.

In these years of learning too much, I have managed to pick up another tidbit of information about Thomas. According to multiple traditions… Thomas became an Apostle sent to carry the Word of Christ to India. In the year 52 A.D., it is believed that St. Thomas landed on the shores of Kerala in southwest India and founded what became the Mar Thoma Church. Don’t take my word for it… there is actually a large Mar Thoma Church right next door in Maynard. They’ll tell you that Thomas spread the word of Christ across Southern India before he was finally martyred in Tamil Nadu. At the traditional site of his death in Madras, there is a church bearing a cross said to be chiseled by St. Thomas himself.

As you can see, there is an image of a dove descending – this represents the Holy Spirit, which descended upon Jesus at his baptism… Christening him – making him the Christ.
The dove also symbolizes the Spirit which descends upon us – making us spiritual twins of Christ. But notice especially that the cross depicted here rests upon a blooming lotus flower. Or, perhaps, the cross is emerging out of the lotus flower. Here in Massachusetts… we don’t see too many Lotus flowers.

It’s just not a part of our culture the way that it is in India, where poor Thomas spent his final days… In Southern India, though, you see lotus flowers all over the place. The lotus flower flourishes in still waters, where things are clam and peaceful. It absolutely loves murky, muddy pools.

Elizabeth and I lived in Bangalore, India, for two years. One thing about Bangalore is that it is growing far, far more quickly than its infrastructure… It is very common to see huge, high tech, state of the art buildings built by American tech companies like Intel or Cisco Systems – but these buildings will crop up in places that – quite literally – do not have roads built to them.

Ten years ago, the city of Bangalore had a population of about 6 million people – which was roughly 10 times the size of Boston. Today, it has a population of over 10 million people – nearly double. Suffice it to say that much of Bangalore does not have a high tech sewage system. What it does have is deep trenches alongside the road. I think you get the picture.
The thing about the lotus flower is that it has a waxy coating on it. Water, mud, and… well, other things… just roll right off of it. If you look in the deep trenches along the roadside in Bangalore, you will see them gloriously decorated with lotus flowers that are as colorful and vibrant as they are calm, majestic, and royal.

Each evening, their petals close around their bright yellow center. Each morning, they open and rise, stretching out of the muck to shine their colors towards the sun.There is an ancient Sanskrit verse about the bright yellow center of the Lotus, beginning “Om mani padme hum’… “O Jewel in the Lotus Flower… the divine is fully in you, just as you are fully in the divine.”

When we look at this image of the St. Thomas cross, emerging from the center of the lotus flower, we might recall that verse from earlier in John’s Gospel… “I am in the Father and the Father is in me.” When I act – as a father – I always act with too little information. I do my best. I love my children. Even on days when they drive me nuts… I love every little bit of them. When I look upon their faces… when I see them the way that Thomas saw Christ, and the way that Mary saw Christ – I remember that I am the gardener. It is my job – especially after Easter – to nurture them and guide them as they rise up, out of the muck, to turn their vibrant colors towards the sun.

I think to myself… and sometimes – not often enough – I say to them… Om mani padme hum… O jewel in the lotus flower… the divine is fully in you and you are fully in the divine.
Like the petals of the lotus flower, we are sheltered each night from the darkness, and we open each morning to face the sun (s-U-n) or perhaps to face the Son (s-O-n).

We face each and every day knowing far too little. We never have enough information to act… especially if we know too much about this world and its muck. But we are called each morning to open our petals… to let everything roll off of our backs, like the muddy waters roll off of the lotus flower… and to turn our vibrant colors towards the sun.

Sometimes we know too little… sometimes we know too much… but if we know that God is in us and we are in God… then we know enough. Thanks be to God.

~Brad

  John 11:1-45

It doesn’t happen just once. It doesn’t happen just once, this miracle we are preparing for at the end of the 40 days of Lent. It doesn’t happen just once, God coming and turning death into life.

The prophet Ezekiel tells us how God’s breath causes life to rise from a valley of dry bones. The prophet Isaiah writes about a new branch rising from the stump of Jesse. And the writer of the Gospel of John teaches us that Jesus raises his friend Lazarus from death after four days in the tomb. It doesn’t happen just once, God coming and turning death into life.

Now I will admit that this last story, this story of Lazarus, is a hard one. It’s hard, because Jesus does what so many of us have wished we could do. When he is the one grieving, when he weeps at his friend’s graveside, Jesus reverses the irreversible. He cries, “Lazarus, come out!” And Lazarus lives; Lazarus rises from the grave. Who among us has not longed to do this, to bring our beloved ones back to life? Who among us does not long for one more conversation, for one more embrace?

But we can’t do what Jesus did. As I mentioned several weeks ago, we almost never play the role of Jesus in these gospel stories. And besides that, it is in the natural way of things that life is limited, that bodies die and return to the earth. It is in the natural way of things that souls return to the heart of God. We cannot prevent it, and God does not prevent it, even when it happens much too soon, or much too sadly. No, it happens, and we weep by the side of the grave, and Jesus weeps with us.

Is it strange to say, then, that I trust that this odd story is somehow true? I trust that it is true, because I believe in the possibility of resurrection, which is not only for Easter Day, but for every day of the year; not only for Jesus, but scattered throughout our scriptures. Have you, too, experienced how God’s breath, God’s voice, God’s touch, can turn dryness and division and despair into strange and beautiful joy? Have you, too, come to trust in the miracle of resurrection, if only for a moment?

But let’s return to this strange story. There is something at the end I want to talk about. Because when Jesus calls out, and Lazarus emerges, Lazarus is not yet fully ready to join the living. His hands and feet are still bound with strips of cloth. And Jesus says to the crowd, “Unbind him, and let him go.” And the crowd comes forward to free Lazarus from these binding cloths that prevent him from fully entering into his new life.

Here is a place in the story where I can find myself, and this community. Because although we have not been in the grave today, we are bound as surely as Lazarus. We are bound by what the scriptures call the way of death. We are bound by fear, and false desire; by anger, and envy; by greed, and pride, and despair. We are bound; and here is the good news. The good news is that healing this kind of problem; liberating us from this kind of restraint; this is what Jesus does every day, for all of us. By his command, and with the help of all who follow him, we are freed from the ways of death, to discover a life of abundance and delight.

When we gathered on Sunday, I invited everyone to hold a strip of cotton cloth, and think of something that binds them. What in our heart, in our spirits, keeps us from the full life that God calls us to? Then as we were willing and comfortable, we bound ourselves with the cloth.  We imagined what it would be like for us if our bonds were broken, or even loosened.  We imaged Jesus helping us to loosen and break every bond within us, as he is.  And then we removed our bindings and connected ourselves to one another, instead.

What is binding you? Can you feel God and your community working to unbind you?

God, loosen and break every bond in us that keeps us from hope, from joy, from life.
Tie us instead to you, and to one another, one magnificent breathing body of love.
Amen.

John 4:5-42

What can we learn from this Samaritan woman?

After Jesus talks with Nicodemus in Jerusalem in the passage we heard last week, Jesus goes to the Judean countryside. Then he decides to return to Galilee, but must pass through Samaria on the way. Jesus and his disciples stop at their ancestor Jacob’s well, and the disciples head into town to buy some food. Jesus, sitting alone, has a fascinating encounter with a stranger.

This meeting between Jesus and a Samaritan woman is different from Jesus’ meeting with Nicodemus in almost every way. Nicodemus is a highly respected, well-known Jewish leader; this woman is an unnamed foreigner of low social status. Nicodemus seeks out Jesus secretly, at night; while Jesus initiates his conversation with this woman in public, in broad daylight. Nicodemus asks a series of questions which Jesus answers, ending with a long speech. Jesus engages the Samaritan woman in a busier, more down-to earth conversation which ends with Jesus proclaiming that he is the one she has been waiting for, that he is the embodiment of the great “I Am.”

But the story is plenty interesting just on its own, without contrasting it with the one we’ve just heard. Why is Jesus so interested in talking with this woman of another culture, engaged in menial labor? Why does he want to offer her the gift of his presence, his teaching, his faith? Why is he so accepting of the differences between them? And how does she become such a powerful witness for him, after such a brief encounter?

From Nicodemus, we learn the importance of putting aside our assumptions, our power, our control, to make way for Jesus in our lives. But what can we learn from this Samaritan woman? The answer depends, I think, on where we put ourselves in this story.

This past week I read a story about a church, a predominantly white, suburban church, not so different from ours. This church longed to expand its ministry and to share the good news of Jesus. And they knew that Jesus often did what we see him doing in this story: he sought out those who were disrespected, those who were poor, and brought his message, his presence, to them. And so this church decided that it should act like Jesus, and plant a new congregation in a city. They decided to plant a new congregation in what is sometimes known as the “inner city” – by which they meant a place in the city that was full of people who didn’t seem much like them: people with darker skin and less money.

Now, these church folks had good intentions. They wanted to follow Jesus by connecting with people who weren’t very much like them. And they wanted to share what they had, both good news and money. But with all these good intentions, these folks made some tragic mistakes.

As it turns out, this particular area of this particular city already knew about the good news of Jesus. (Go figure!) There were leaders and communities already there, gathering in the name of Christ and working together in wise and wonderful ways. It’s not to say the folks there couldn’t use some help; some partners to bolster their fundraising and broadcast their message; some allies to amplify their efforts. But they didn’t need a new church, with white leaders, with their own agenda, arriving to introduce the neighborhood to Jesus.

At the heart of the tragic mistake that this majority white, suburban church made was misinterpreting who they were in the story. When they tried to reenact this biblical story, they imagined themselves into the place of Jesus. And here’s a helpful hint: when we’re exploring biblical stories and trying to find our place, it’s almost always safe to say: we’re not Jesus.

So if we want to learn from the mistakes of these folks, this suburban, majority white congregation, this congregation that shares so much in common with us, where should we look in the story? What is our part in this story of the Samaritan woman, if we’re there at all?

Some days, we may be the disciples: rushing back from our errands, and astonished to find out who Jesus is talking to. We may find ourselves just trying to keep up with God and all the crazy ideas God has about who Her good news is for and who might constitute the people of God. We may be surprised to find out what kinds of conversations Jesus is in with folks we didn’t expect to be teaching us: some of the new members here among us; or with some of the Christians we don’t always get along so well with; or folks from so-called “inner city” neighborhoods. We may be the disciples, just trying to keep our mouths shut so we don’t say something like, “Why are you speaking with her?”

Some days we may be the disciples. And some days we may be blessed to be the woman herself. Maybe we’ll discover that, oddly, Jesus wants to talk with us. We’ll discover that Jesus knows all about us and our sordid pasts. We’ll discover out that Jesus wants to offer us living water. We’ll hear him declare to us: I am the I am. And all that glory will send us off and running to tell whoever we can find, “Come and see! This Jesus knows all about me and loves me anyway! Can this be real?” We may be the Samaritan woman, suddenly brave enough to open our mouths and say, “Come, and see!”

Some days, we may be the disciples. Some days, we may be the Samaritan woman herself. And some days, we may be the people of Samaria. Maybe we’ll be so inspired by another person’s encounter, another person’s testimony, that we become willing to invite Jesus to stay with us for a while, to teach us, until we learn to believe.

Where are you in this story today? Are you confused and dismayed by the strange choices of Jesus? Are you full of joy and questions after a deep drink of living water? Are you curious to learn more about the one who’s caused such a fuss? What can we learn from this Samaritan Woman, from this fascinating story?

I hope, at least, we can learn this: we are not Jesus, and yet Jesus is always for us. Jesus is for us, whether we are privileged and powerful, or the object of gossip and ridicule. Jesus is for us, whether we are long-time followers or recent converts or renegades. Jesus is for us, whether we meet him face to face and hear him proclaim, “I am the I am;” or whether we always see his glory through the power of another person’s testimony. We are not Jesus, and yet Jesus is always for us: surprising us, inspiring us, and leading us deeper in to the mystery of faith. Thanks be to God.

~Hannah

“Beautiful things don’t ask for attention.“  That’s a line from the recent film The Secret Life of Walter Mitty but it could also be a description of Sunday Fellowship.

Sunday Fellowship has been a ministry of this church to developmentally delayed adults for over thirty years.  We sing, we pray for one another, we worship and we have snack.  It’s pretty simple.  But it’s also transformative.   As anyone who comes to Sunday Fellowship will tell you, its’ a community where God’s grace and love is palpable.

I’ve witnessed many large and small moments of grace at Sunday Fellowship.  My favorite of late is when we were singing and half the room got up and started dancing.   Before I knew what was happening someone grabbed me by the hand and was twirling me around.  That’s when I realized that I am not the one in charge.  It may be my job to choose the songs and scriptures, but the Spirit blows where it will.  My job is just to hang on for the ride.

That’s pretty much what Jesus says to Nicodemus in John 3.  If we want to enter the kingdom of God we have to become more like water and wind which flow in whatever direction the current takes them.  This can be difficult for people like Nicodemus and I who are so used to being in charge that our ability to trust has become paralyzed.  We need help learning how to let go and trust.  But Sunday Fellowshippers are experts at this and offer their wisdom to anyone with the ears to hear it.

I wish more churches had the vision to offer a ministry like Sunday Fellowship.  The potential for mutual transformation is boundless.

If you haven’t yet had the opportunity to experience one of our gatherings firsthand, I hope you will consider coming one day.  Because the most beautiful things don’t ask for attention, you just have to experience them for yourself.

~Melissa

Matthew 4:1-11

This season of Lent we have just entered into is a season of preparation. It’s a season usually marked by prayer, confession, fasting, and self-denial.  It’s a time for us to name our wrongs, and to try to make them right.  It’s a time for us to shorten the distance between us and the heart of God. So why is Jesus here?

You remember Jesus.  Jesus, that baby whose birth caused angels to sing and stars to appear in the sky. Jesus, that man whose baptism caused the Spirit to descend like a dove and God to proclaim, “This is my beloved son, with whom I am well pleased.”  Jesus, whom Christians have identified in our creeds as God from God, light from light, true God from true God, begotten, not made, of one being with the Father. Surely Jesus doesn’t need prayer or confession, fasting or self-denial.  Jesus is already as close to God as any human can get.

But Lent begins with this story:  Jesus, still dripping from his baptism, is led out into the wilderness by the Spirit.  He spends forty days and forty nights praying and fasting.  And while he is in the wilderness, the devil appears, to tempt him with bread and power.

Why is Jesus here, with us, joining in prayer and fasting, facing temptation, as we begin Lent?  Perhaps this story is here to help us understand who Jesus is, and who he isn’t. We know that Jesus is the son of God, full of a holy power, capable of miracles.  But he will not turn stones into bread, even when he has gone forty days without food.  And so we learn that Jesus’ gifts are not for himself alone, and that hunger will not be the ruling passion of his life. We know that Jesus is the son of God, a beloved child of the creator of the universe.  But he will not throw himself off the temple in Jerusalem for an angelic rescue.  And so we learn that Jesus doesn’t need empty spectacle, he’s not here to create a cult of personality. We know that Jesus is the son of God, we call him King of Kings and Lord of Lords. But he will not worship the devil in return for world domination. And so we learn that earthly power is not his ultimate goal, that he is not that kind of King; he is not that kind of Lord.

Why is Jesus here?  Maybe Jesus comes out to the wilderness to help us understand who he is, and who he isn’t.  Or maybe he’s here to be a model for us. Maybe, because Jesus would not turn stones into bread, we can learn to resist the temptation to use our resources only for ourselves.  We can learn to share more fully with our neighbors, and tend more carefully to the earth. Maybe, because Jesus would not throw himself off the temple, and create a spectacle, we can learn to resist the temptation to make an idol of ourselves or any one else.  We might free ourselves from our obsession with self-perception, liberate ourselves from the cult of celebrity. Maybe, because Jesus would not worship the devil in return for world domination, we can learn to resist the temptation to sell any piece of our souls in the pursuit of power.  We might gain the wisdom to dismantle systems of racism and privilege.  We might gain the courage to recover from our cultural addition to violence and weapons and preemptive strikes.

Why is Jesus here, with us, in the wilderness?  Is it to tell us who he is?  Is it to help us understand who we should be?  Yes.  And also – Jesus is here, because we are here. In Jesus, God is with us in all human experience.  Jesus is with us, we remembered at Christmas, in human birth and childhood.  Jesus is with us, we will remember on Good Friday, in suffering and death.  So during Lent, it is only right that we should remember that Jesus is with us in times of wilderness and solitude and prayer and fasting and temptation.  There is nowhere we can travel that he has not already been.

At the top of this post is an icon.  This same image is at the front of our sanctuary, where it will stay throughout the season.  Icons are image created as an invitation to draw closer to God.  Just like a beautiful poem or a scripture passage, icons and other images can help us to pray.  So this icon is meant as a help for all of us, this season.

This particular Icon is known as the Icon of Friendship, and it comes from the Coptic Christian church in Egypt, from the 7^th century. In this image, Jesus stands with Menas, an early saint; but the Icon is known as the Icon of Friendship because Menas stands for everyone one of us.  You may notice that while Jesus carries a large book, the whole of scripture, Menas carries only a small scroll – representing the small but important part of God’s message that each of us can understand.  Notice also their gestures.  Jesus has his arm around this believer, embracing him, while Menas raises his hand in the sign of blessing usually reserved in Jesus.  Through the blessing of the love and support of Christ, Menas, the believer, is able to bless others.

This image reminds us, just as our scripture does, that Jesus is here, travelling with us through the season of Lent.  And just to make that sense of companionship even more real, surrounding the icon at the front are some pieces of origami paper.  I invite you to write your prayers on these pieces of paper throughout the season, and put them in the box in front of the icon. Then members of this community, our sisters and brothers in Christ, will pray over our prayers as they transform the piece of paper into something beautiful, to decorate our sanctuary in the Easter season.  We will act as Christ to one another, traveling together in prayer.

Jesus is here, today, with us.  He knows the bleakness of the wilderness.  He knows the pangs of hunger.  He knows the struggle and blessed relief of prayer.  He knows temptation.  In this season, may each of us feel his presence with us, his example before us, his arm around us.  May it be so. Amen.

~Hannah

Matthew 5:38-48

Just for fun, let’s go over what Jesus asks us to do in this passage:
1. Give to everyone who begs from us.
2. Lend to everyone who wants to borrow from us.
3. Love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us.
4. Do not resist an evildoer.
5. Be perfect, as our heavenly Father is perfect.
Does anyone want to join me in saying, “No thank you “?

Jesus seems to have adapted some extreme sport version of our faith. His enthusiasm is wonderful. But why should we lie down and get walked on? Why should we go bankrupt, and collaborate with criminals? Why should we aspire to spiritual perfection, especially if it looks like this?

These strange and challenging words from Jesus come from his Sermon on the Mount. Jesus is expounding and exploring the law of God shared with the people by Moses (who, by comparison, seems very reasonable). Moses spoke to a community that had a fresh slate. He established rules and habits for a people newly freed from Egyptian enslavement. But Jesus’s original audience was Jewish peasants, and Jewish leaders, and gentiles, and even Roman soldiers, all people with a particular place in a giant colonial empire. He was speaking to people who lived in an entrenched system of division and oppression. Jesus tries to show us how we can follow God within that kind of society. Jesus tries to tell us how we can begin to transform that kind of society into one where love of God and neighbor is fully expressed.

It pains me to admit that I believe we live in a society all too similar to the one in which Jesus first shared these words. Yes, there is unprecedented freedom and wealth in our democratic nation. There’s a lot for us to be proud of. But within our country and our communities are deep divisions caused by differences in wealth, power, education, culture, and privilege. And our presence on the global stage has often been polarizing, rather than peaceful.

How are we to gain traction in our attempts to become more neighborly towards our neighbors, both domestic and foreign? How can we begin to bridge the divisions among us? According to Jesus, it doesn’t happen just by being fair, or even by being generous. We have to go further than that, because of where we’re starting from. Jesus proposes that we simply refuse to be anyone’s enemy anymore. If we are separated by great wealth, we should give until wealth no longer divides us. If we are separated by injury, we should offer forgiveness or confession. We should reach out with compassion and prayer to everyone, especially those from whom we are most divided. We should do this, not out of stupidity or passivity, but out of radical, non-violent love.

I do not mean to pretend that this is easy. It is, perhaps, almost impossible. Those of us with privilege and wealth are terrified of casting any part of it away because we have seen how cruel this world can be. Those of us who have experienced violence and discrimination are terrified to trust those who have hurt us. All of us have become accustomed to our roles as oppressor or oppressed or, perhaps, a bit of both. We have become wonderful fence builders and trench diggers for our own protection in a harsh, antagonistic, greed-driven world.

Jesus’ teachings are almost impossible. And yet, sometimes, through the power of God, we manage to transform conflict into peace, and pain into promise, and enmity into hope.  You may have your own favorite story about this. On Sunday I shared the story of Lucia McBath, a grieving mother who has found the strength to pray for the man who murdered her son.

It is not because Jesus’ teaching is impossible, but because it is in some times and places somehow possible, that people gather in communities of faith all around the world. We gather to remind ourselves of the vision that Moses and Jesus shared: a vision of a just and loving society. We gather to remind ourselves of our own capacity for holiness, and even perfection. We gather to practice, to take baby steps towards, the outrageous, Olympic-sized generosity and non-violence and humility and trust that Jesus calls us to.

God, this teaching is so hard, we want to say, “no thank you.” Help us to see that when we lay down all that we have: our wealth, our power, our privilege; our pride, our resentment, our righteous anger; only then can we discover the freedom you desire for us and the love you desire for all your people. Help us to find a way towards your strange way, and the joy we will discover there. Amen.

I call heaven and earth to witness against you today that I have set before you life and death. Choose life so that you and your descendants may live, loving, obeying, and holding fast to the Lord your God. Deuteronomy 30:19-20

Moses has come a long way. He led his people out of Egypt and across the Red Sea. He travelled up Mt. Sinai to meet God face to face. He came back down and shared God’s word with the people. He survived 40 years of wilderness travel and has come close to the Promised Land. Now, nearing death, Moses has one more chance to say something to the people of God.

If you look up this text in a bible, you’ll discover that Moses has been preaching for a long time. Moses has shared what many of us know as the Ten Commandments and the Great Commandment. He has conveyed God’s instructions on worship and food; tithes and sabbaticals; war and murder; marriage and divorce; parenting and ploughing. Moses preaches for a long time, and miraculously, the people are still listening. Now, at the end of his speech, at the end of his life, Moses tries to drive his point home. He urges the people to reject the ways of death, and choose life: loving, obeying, and holding fast to God.

You may know that many years later, Jesus relied on the words of Moses as he preached his first sermon (Matthew 5-7). Like Moses, Jesus uses the strongest possible language when talking about the importance of God’s law. Neither speaker wants to take any chances about whether we’ll understand what’s at stake. They provoke us to discover the distance between ourselves and the divine, the distance between ourselves and our neighbors, the distance between our habits and practices that truly honor all life. They provoke us, so that we might begin to liberate ourselves from death and despair, and choose, or choose again, a path of life.

I like to think of God’s law as a valentine for us: a letter of love, designed to help us live fully and well. When we are able to live this law that Moses and Jesus share with us so urgently, we  become Valentines, too: messengers of life, messengers of love, God’s awkward and aging cupids.

Consider looking up what Moses and Jesus had to say about a life well lived. What might a way of life look like for you? How can you choose life today?

Source of all life, teach us your ways, and help us to be messengers of love in the world. Amen.

~Hannah

Isaiah 58:1-9a    Matthew 5:13-20

Sometimes I think that the gospel is one giant jigsaw puzzle and it’s up to us to fit all then pieces together.

My father had jigsaw puzzles made of wood which  he ordered  from a company called PAR. Each puzzle came in a plain, dark green box; but there was no picture on the cover, only a name,  “Haying Time” or “Country Fair” which gave some idea of the subject but really no clue what it would look like when finished. The pieces were all hand cut, the shapes intriguing to a small child, because some of the pieces were cut to look like hats or mermaids or shovels. Later, when I had my own puzzles, Dad wouldn’t let me look at the picture on the box. “Too easy” he said. So, over time, I would have to wait for the picture to emerge as I got closer to finishing it; and as I saw what it was going to be, it was easier to fit in the pieces.

Often there were surprises: what I had imagined was a part of a flower turned out to be an ear, or a strawberry became a clown nose. Then there was always the piece that I was just sure had migrated from other puzzle by mistake; it just didn’t fit anywhere; or, the opposite, that famous “missing” piece. Look and look until you’re cross-eyed, it’s just not there, until, of course, it suddenly shows up towards the end, looking not at all as you had expected.

Each week, here, we spend time with one piece of the gospel, taking time to hear the words and gain some insight into the meaning. Each week we look at one part of this amazing picture. And, over time, as is true when solving a puzzle, we begin to see how the pieces fit into the larger picture. It may, seem, at first that a particular verse or event doesn’t seem to fit, until we read on or study more and it becomes a part of the whole. Or what we thought meant one thing, when joined with another section, becomes something quite different. But since this happens week after week, year after year, we have become quite familiar with the finished product. Thus, unlike my father’s puzzles, without the picture on the box, we know what it’s going to look like before we start.

But what about those people gathered on the mountainside? They had no idea how things were going to turn out. Some of them may have seen Jesus before that day, perhaps they had been there on the banks of the Jordan at his baptism, and were curious to know more about this mysterious stranger. For them, a piece or two of this puzzling character had begun to fall in place. Others, perhaps, had come late and had to sit far back in the crowd. It was hard to hear him, easy to misunderstand, wonder what the excitement was all about.

Or suppose you were one of those who knew Jesus fairly well. You had been with him as he taught in the synagogues, walked with him through the villages, seen him heal people of various illnesses. You were Andrew, Mary, James, and you believed in his power, you believed God was in him and now you wait, with the crowd, to hear what he will say to them. At first, the words coming out of his mouth sound like the man you know;  promises of blessing for all those who suffer now, a place of honor at God’s side, assurance that the hungry will be fed, the most lowly will reap the greatest reward; Jesus on the side of the forgotten, the oppressed, the poor. Yes, it’s all fitting together.

But then … something you didn’t expect, doesn’t quite seem to fit. To date, the Jesus that you have known has been all about healing, blessing; hope for those who have waited a long time for someone like him. You have bathed in the light of his presence, found solace in his words of comfort. Yet he says, “You are the light of the world”. Wait, what’s this? We thought he was the light! “You are the salt of the earth.” What in the world does that mean? And then, then, “unless your righteousness exceeds that of the Pharisees”…the Pharisees?  

We’re going to need to look more closely at this piece, see how it fits into the big picture.  “Righteousness” is the key word, but what exactly does it mean. It’s one of those words sprinkled throughout the Bible, most often attributed to God. In fact, the word righteousness, or righteous, appears more often in the Bible than “power” and even “love.”  Which means it’s pretty important.

God’s announcements to Israel in the words of Isaiah seem almost mocking: “Day after day they seek me and delight to know my ways as if they were a nation that practiced righteousness.” As if. As if the ritual shows of fasting, putting on sackcloth and ashes is practicing righteousness. But, says Isaiah, that is not what God desires, requires. That is not righteousness. Rather; to loose the bonds of injustice, break every bond that binds the oppressed, give food to the hungry, house the homeless, shelter and clothe those who are forgotten; that is righteousness.

Jesus exhorts his listeners to exceed the righteousness of the scribes and the Pharisees. The Pharisees are faithful Jews known for study of Torah, day after day, as they seek to understand its words and follow to the very letter of the law. “And so do not think,” Jesus tells us,” that I have come to abolish the law, no, I have come to fulfill it, not one letter not one stroke of a letter will pass from the law until all is accomplished.” There is no condemnation of the Pharisees in those words; Jesus as a faithful Jew, has great respect for the law. But he is saying, they don’t go far enough. They may talk the talk better than anyone, but, you; we; are called not only to talk the talk but to walk the walk … share our bread, embrace the lost and forgotten, provide shelter and hospitality, free those imprisoned by hatred, or abuse, addiction, discrimination.

Indeed, the beatitudes, the blessings?…they are not ends in themselves. They are the means, the equipment in order for us to be instruments of healing; to shine the light of God’s love in the world and to salt the earth with goodness. This and even more…  This, and even more, Jesus tells us, will be needed to fulfill God’s vision. This, and even more, is needed to follow me.  This, and even more, is needed to complete the picture.

And what will that picture look like when all is said and done, when the time comes that all the hungry are fed, and the yoke lifted from the necks of the oppressed, when the guns and the swords and the words of hate are silenced forever? Who really knows? It’s a very big picture, with lots of pieces; and we’re still putting it together. But I do know one thing.  Somewhere in there, will be the face of Jesus.

~Polly

Matthew 5:1-12

Jesus faced many challenges as a preacher. He had to capture the imagination of a diverse crowd. He had to rely on his natural vocal abilities to project his message.  This resulted in occasional confusion, according to the British comedians Monty Python – did he say “Blessed are the peacemakers” or “Blessed are the cheesemakers?” Jesus faced many challenges, but he knew how to draw a congregation and how to keep their attention. People followed him all the way out up to a mountain with only the promise of a sermon – no choir, no organ, no coffee, no childcare, no well-known beloved community. And once they were there, Jesus transfixed these people with words of hope, words of challenge, words powerful enough to change hearts and minds.

This passage from Matthew is the beginning of the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus’ most famous sermon.  Perhaps you have heard it before. Maybe you have heard it so many times that it fails to confuse you anymore. But it is a strange text, and one that commentators are still arguing about.

The controversy centers on the translation of the first word in this string of statements, the Greek “makarios.” Should we translate it: “Happy are” (happy are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven)? Or “fortunate are” (fortunate are those who mourn, for they will be comforted)? “Blessed Are” (blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be satisfied)? This is the most common translation, but hard to interpret. According to my sources, the best translation may be, “How honored are” (how honored are the pure in heart, for they will behold God).

Why does it matter? Jesus is trying to tell us something. He’s giving us words of hope, words of challenge, words that are meant to change us. What is it that he’s trying to say?

It’s not that those who struggle are happy or fortunate. There’s no need to romanticize poverty, sickness, or violence. And God doesn’t give us challenges just so that we can gain character, or prove our worth. Let’s let go of that translation. And it’s not that those who struggle are being punished or have been abandoned – a misunderstanding of our culture and sometimes, also, the church.

No, Jesus has a more revolutionary idea to share with us. God blesses and honors the poor, the grieving, the meek, the desperate, and the persecuted. God lays her hands upon them, and dwells within them, and lifts them up –  these beloved sisters and brothers, and we ourselves.

We, as followers of Jesus, are part of the body of Christ. And we try to follow the teachings Jesus offered on the mountain. We try to bless and honor those who might otherwise be only gossiped about or pitied, ignored or avoided. One of the ways we do it is through prayer shawls. These shawls are knit by and prayed over by members and friends of this community. We give them to folks who, for one reason or another, may be having trouble feeling the love and blessing and honor of God. We give them to be a visible reminder, a physical reminder, of the love and blessing and honor of this community.

Holy one, come now, and bring your presence and power among us.  May we feel how you honor and bless us. May we be among those who bless and honor others in Jesus’ name with a kind word, a compassionate act, a laying on of hands, a prayer-filled shawl. Amen.

“Come,” my heart says, “seek his face!” Your face, Lord, do I seek.  Psalm 27:8
Jesus said to them, “Follow me, and I will make you fish for people.” Matthew 4:19

The psalmist cries out with longing to see God’s face. Through these words, Jews and Christians have expressed our desire to encounter God for thousands of years. But how do we fulfill that desire? How can we find God?

The bible is full of stories of divine encounter, each of them different. Sarah and Abraham unwittingly host angels when they open their house to three strangers. The prophet Elijah finds God in a still, small voice.  Jonah meets God in the belly of a fish.  Everyone experiences God in a different way.

This week, we read about how Simon Peter, Andrew, James, and John encounter God in a stranger named Jesus, who calls to them while they are casting and mending their nets. Ever since then, Christians have discovered that we can glimpse God through Jesus, too.  We can’t see Jesus’ face in the same way that the disciples did. Still, we can learn about him in our scriptures. We can encounter the presence and spirit of Christ in prayer.  And we can meet Jesus in one another.  “Now you are the body of Christ, and individually members of it,” the Apostle Paul writes (1 Corinthians 12:27).

Paul’s idea may seem farfetched. Other Christians we meet may not particularly remind us of Jesus. And we ourselves may not always magnificently resemble the one we call Word, Light, Lord, Liberator.  Moreover, the church has not perfectly embodied Jesus by any stretch of the imagination.

But the followers of Jesus who gathered on the feast of Pentecost after the resurrection received a glorious calling that is our precious inheritance. They were called to be, together, the body of Christ in the world. This is one reason to get up on Sunday morning, and get ourselves to church. One reason to stick around with a faith community, giving money, giving time, opening our hearts. We’ll witness many mistakes, and make plenty ourselves. But then we’ll look up from our work because we hear the voice of God; we’ll look up and we’ll see the face of God; God will be speaking to us, and shining through to us, through the voices and faces of our sisters and brothers in Christ.

God, I give thanks for the Christ in those around me.  I give thanks for the Christ in me.  I give thanks for the Christ in all of us, and in the church universal.  Call us again to resemble you more closely, healing ourselves and the world with your love. Amen.