Parable of the Sower - An Alternative Interpretation

Ninth Sunday After Pentecost – Year A (Proper 10)
Isaiah 55:1-5,10-13; Psalm 65:9-14; Romans 8:9-17; Matthew 13:1-9,18-23
Sunday, July 13, 2008 – St. Alban’s, Westwood

[Note: I preached this sermon as written at the 8:00 service. At the 10:00 service, per Susan’s suggestion, I moved the Ampleforth Abbey story earlier in the sermon, placing it after my discussion of the conventional interpretation of the parable and my statement that I think there are alternative meanings of the parable. As a result, much of the sermon ended up being preached without notes, but felt far better than how I originally wrote it.]

Today’s Gospel lesson is the well-known parable of the sower. It’s pretty easy to follow, because unlike a lot of his parables, Jesus lays out the parable in the first nine verses and then, in the remaining six verses, proceeds to explain to the disciples what the parable actually means. While he does not specifically say so, Matthew implies that the sower is Jesus himself. The seed that is sown is the “word of the kingdom.” In the parable, the seed is sown in four kinds of soil – on the path, on rocky ground, among thorns, and in good soil. One could argue that the parable is not so much about the sower, who is given – it is Jesus. Rather, the real emphasis is on the various types of soil and what they mean to the nurture and growth of the seed – to the nurture and growth of the “word of the kingdom.” Since allegorical interpretation emphasized the four kinds of soil and what they mean, we are left “with the implicit homiletical question ‘What kind of soil am I?’” (Boring, 303).

In plain language, this is a parable specifically designed to allow us to address our faith, our response to the word of God, represented by the seed. We are asked to determine for ourselves whether we provide the right conditions to receive, nurture, and allow the word of God to come to fruition in our lives. We are told that if we provide the right conditions, the good soil, we will bear fruit that yields as much as a hundredfold. Given the realities of agriculture in Palestine, a harvest of four to tenfold would be considered normal. A harvest of fifteen-fold would be exceptionally good. A harvest of a hundredfold would be phenomenal, fantastically surprising, even miraculous (Boring, 303). In short, this parable is not about the “evolutionary progress of the kingdom of God, but portrays the mysterious, concealed work of God, who miraculously brings the harvest” (Boring, 303).

One commentator notes that “In its present form, the interpretation represents the meaning generated by the parable in a later typical church situation, as Christian interpreters reflected on the meaning of the Christ-event and the church’s experience in bearing witness to the gospel” (Boring, 305). Does that mean there may be other interpretations to this parable? I think so. I think many of Jesus’ parables are multivalent.

As I noted previously, the parable of the sower leads us to view and analyze the parable from the perspective of the soil, to ask the question, “What kind of soil am I?” But what would happen if we looked at it from a slightly different angle, from the perspective of the seed; if we saw ourselves as the seed being cast on differing types of soil? If we shifted to this alternative perspective, we would no longer be looking at what type of conditions we provide in our hearts for the nurture of the word of God. Rather we would be looking at what type of conditions nurture us. What are the conditions we require to be nurtured, to blossom and grow, as God’s creation? I believe we would be looking at what type of community nurtures us.

In this newly formed parable of the seed, the four types of soil would represent four types of community (or not), that nurture us and allow us to grow into what we are called to be (or not). The path, which is a compacted surface with no soil at all would be that condition where there is no community all. This is the condition of the loner, or of those who are marginalized, ignored, dismissed by society. Where there is no community, where one is dismissed by society, the seed, the individual, receives no nurture, has no opportunity to grow. The opportunity for living into one’s calling is minimized, snatched away before it can be realized, snatched away before the individual even knows that he or she has a calling.

The rocky ground, which has minimal soil would represent that condition in which one’s community is shallow, offers no depth, no meaningful relationships. Such a community, while appearing to be nurturing, would be superficial at best. The community and its members, likely do not truly care about one another, at least not in a deep sense. The members could probably be characterized as acquaintances. With the lack of deep, meaningful nurture from the community, it is highly unlikely that any significant or meaningful growth will occur in the individual. Here again, the opportunity for living into one’s calling is minimized, although there is a possibility that one may catch glimpses of what that calling may be.

The community represented by thorny ground is, in some ways, similar to that represented by rocky ground. While appearing to provide nurture, in reality it only provides superficial relationship. Yet, such a community is more insidious than the “rocky ground” community because of what it appears to be. It appears to be one in which an individual is welcomed for who they are, as they are. It appears to be a community that understands the individual, perhaps the only real community he or she may really have, the only place where the individual can truly fit in and feel a part. But in actuality, such a community is not about care and nurture of the individual. It accepts the individual on false pretenses, being only concerned with what the community or it its individual members may gain from someone welcomed into it. It is a community that is only concerned with using, even abusing, the weaker members, the ones most vulnerable who are only seeking to belong, to be nurtured, to be cared for. In such a community, the individual is not likely to have the opportunity to live into his or her calling.

The good soil represents a rich community whose primary purpose is the care and nurture of its members. It is a place where, like the thorny community, all are welcomed as they are, regardless of who they are. But unlike the thorny community, the good soil community does not seek to use the individual, to gain something from him or her. This community seeks to nurture the individual, to help the individual figure out who they truly are and what they are called to be, to help them discern who God is calling them to be. And then, the community seeks to provide a safe place where each and every member can grow into the fullness of who God is calling them to be. Such a community, while it may have a specific purpose or mission, is first and foremost concerned with providing the resources necessary to allow its members to grow and blossom, to bear fruit – not just fourfold or tenfold or fifteen-fold, but a hundredfold – to bear fruit beyond our wildest imaginations.

Perhaps a story will help illustrate what I mean.

In August of 1994, I was scheduled to do a two week study tour focusing on Benedictine spirituality. Our home base for the two weeks was St. Deiniol’s residential library in Hawarden, Wales. The program was scheduled to start on a Tuesday. The plan was that I would fly to London, arriving Tuesday morning, take the train to Chester, and then take a cab the last seven miles from Chester to Hawarden. That’s what was planned. I arrived at Heathrow as planned. And that’s when it all started to unravel.

Unbeknownst to me, my father was in London, returning from a business trip to the Middle East. He had arrived a few days before, but decided to extend his stay in London to meet me at the airport. A good thing. When he greeted me outside customs, he informed me that I was temporarily stranded in London. The British rail system was on strike and there was a 24-hour shutdown of the system that had started just a few hours before my arrival. Since I had no way to get to Hawarden, I had no choice but to stay in London until the next day.

Wednesday, the trains were running again, so I took the train to Chester, and then a cab on to Hawarden, arriving mid-afternoon, where I hooked up with the rest of the tour group. I immediately felt like an outsider. I had only missed about a day of the program, but that initial 24 hours had been crucial in building community. My traveling companions already knew a lot about each other. Bonds were already starting to form. I would have to catch up, but there was no way to regain that lost time, the lost experiences they had already shared in my absence.

The next few days went along fine. I did not feel like a complete outsider, but did feel like I was a little lost, at a bit of a disadvantage, not quite part of the community. Then about five days later, we made an overnight trip to Ampleforth Abbey near York. Following evensong at the Abbey, I remained in the chapel praying. While praying, I had such a profound experience of God’s presence. Through that experience, I became aware that God was calling me to monastic life. The next morning, after breakfast, I talked to Norvene Vest, one of our leaders, and told her what I had experienced. Norvene said it sounded like I was indeed being called and maybe I needed some time to do some discernment. She said she would talk to the Abbot about me staying on at Ampleforth for awhile and that she would have my things sent from Hawarden. It sounded like a great idea. But as I thought about it for a few minutes before giving Norvene an answer, a thought came to me – one of those thoughts that is in your own head but somehow does not seem to originate there. That thought, that realization, was, “no, I must continue on with the group.”

I knew that was where I belonged – with that group of people. That was the pivotal point in the whole trip. From that moment on, I felt like I was a full member of the group. When I came to that realization, and accepted them as my community, and allowed myself to be accepted into the community, everything was different. I felt supported and nurtured in a way that I had never felt before.

When I first arrived at Hawarden, I felt like a seed that had been cast on the path. There was no way I could take root in that community. I initially felt as if there was no soil for me to establish roots. But after a little while, I felt like I had been cast on rocky ground. As I started to get to know people, I felt a little more comfortable, but knew that there was no way I would have the same deep roots in the community that they had already developed. I had missed out on too much during that first 24 hours. But given enough time, and what I firmly believe was the prompting of the Holy Spirit, I came to realize that this was a comfortable and safe community, a community that would support me and nurture me. This was a community built on good soil, and God had cast me into that good soil, where I might take root and begin to grow in my understanding of myself and of who God was calling me to be. And as I shared my story of my experience at Ampleforth Abbey with my new-found friends, I realized that they were able to provide the support I needed to help me figure out what had happened to me, to help me start to live into my calling.

That was not my first experience of struggling with my sense of call. But I realize previous experiences did not contain the necessary soil, the necessary community to allow germination to really occur. In previous experiences, I was as a seed cast on the path, or on rocky ground. But at Ampleforth and in the following days back in Hawarden, I found the good soil I needed. It would take many more years for that calling to come to fruition, but in many ways, the seeds of that calling began to sprout in the good soil provided by those 20 people I met at St. Deiniol’s. (And I should probably note that one of those 20 was a dear friend of St. Alban’s – Bishop George Barrett, who became a particularly dear friend and mentor on that journey.)

This story is perhaps somewhat anomalous, as in it, I experienced community in multiple ways, as various types of soil. Yet, I’m sure that most of us in this room have our own stories and experiences with various types of communities and how they have, or have failed to, help us to discern who we are and what our calling is, and have, or have failed to, nurture us and help us grow into that calling. The Church is, or should be, such a place – a community that provides good soil in which we are nurtured and cared for, and allowed to grow into the fullness of who God is calling each and every one of us to be – to bear fruit a hundredfold. I pray that each and every one of us experiences St. Alban’s as just such a place. If, God forbid, that is not the case, we are not doing our job as a community. After all, we all need to do our part. We need to determine what kind of soil we wish to provide for ourselves and for others, and then to do our part to make our vision a reality.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.



References
Boring, M. Euguene. “The Gospel of Matthew: Introduction, Commentary, and Reflection.” In Vol. VIII of The New Interpreter’s Bible. Edited by Leander E. Keck, et al. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1995.

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St. Alban's Day Sermon

St. Alban’s Day
Jeremiah 20:7-13; Psalm 34:1-8; I John 3:143-16; Matthew 10:24-39
Sunday, June 22, 2008 – St. Alban’s, Westwood


This being St. Alban’s Day, the feast day of our patron saint, it’s probably worth a brief history lesson to remind ourselves who Alban was.

Alban is the earliest Christian in Britain known by name, and according to tradition, is the first British martyr. Before his conversion, Alban was a pagan, a Roman soldier, living near London, in the early third century. According to the Venerable Bede, Alban converted to Christianity while providing shelter to a Christian priest who was fleeing persecution by the Roman authorities. Alban was so touched by his guest’s piety and devotion to prayer that he began to follow the priest’s example of faith and devotion. After awhile, he asked to receive instruction in the Christian faith and was baptized. When the Roman authorities eventually tracked the priest to Alban’s home, Alban assisted the priest in his escape by switching clothes with him. When the soldiers arrived at Alban’s home, they found him dressed in the priest’s cloak, and believing him to be the priest, arrested him and took him to the authorities. His identity as an imposter was quickly discovered, but he was nonetheless tried for aiding the escape of the priest, as well as for abandoning the Roman religion in favor of Christianity. The Venerable Bede gives the following account of Alban’s trial:

When Alban was brought in, the judge happened to be standing before an altar offering sacrifice to devils . . . “What is your family and race?” demanded the judge. “How does my family concern you?” replied Alban. “If you wish to know the truth about my religion, know that I am a Christian and am ready to do a Christian’s duty.” “I demand to know your name,” insisted the judge. “Tell me at once.” “My parents named me Alban,” he answered, “and I worship and adore the living and true God, who created all things” (LFF, 294).

The judge ordered that Alban be flogged for his insolence and refusal to return to the Roman religion. Alban bore this torture with patience and even gladness. When the judge saw that no torture would make Alban renounce his devotion to Christ, he ordered Alban’s immediate decapitation. On the way to his execution, Alban performed several miracles. The executioner was so moved with what he saw that he threw down his sword and “begged that he might be thought worthy to die with the martyr if he could not die in his place” (Bede, 53). Both Alban and the first executioner were beheaded by another executioner. Astonished by the miracles experienced prior to and immediately following Alban’s execution, the judge called a halt to the persecution of Christians and himself became a follower of Christ.

In light of this story of St. Alban’s martyrdom, it’s easy to see why the Church has chosen today’s Gospel lesson as the appointed reading for today. Particularly when you consider the account of Alban’s trial, where the judge inquires about Alban’s family history, to which Alban essentially responds that his family is immaterial. The important thing about him is that he is a Christian, that he worships and adores the living and true God. Alban is saying that his faith is more important than his family or his nation.

In this vain, in the Gospel for today, Matthew tells us that Jesus said, “Do not think that I have come to bring peace on earth; I have not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I have come to set a man against his father, and a daughter against her mother, and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law; and a man’s foes will be those of his own household.”

Now I’m pretty sure that a lot of you have a problem with this particular part of Matthew’s Gospel. I know a lot of people who do. Frankly, it makes me a little uncomfortable. It doesn’t mesh with my own experience of reality. As some of you know, my father was in the military, and I spent the first 16 years of my life moving from one duty station to the next. With all this moving around, I really only had two constant things in my life. The first was my family. We were the only ones we could count on to always be there. And the second was the Church. Whenever we arrived at a new duty station, one of our first priorities was to find a new church home. Their faith is important to my parents, and so they attempted to provide that grounding, that stability, in the lives of me and my sister, as well. So for me, family and church were both of prime importance, the only constants I had during my early life. I cannot even fathom an experience like the one Matthew’s Jesus conveys – one that pits family member against family member over the issue of faith. That’s not my reality. And I would venture to say that most of you can make the same claim. Even if you don’t come from religious or Christian families, your choice to become a Christian or to attend a different church probably didn’t result in any significant division in your family. For Alban, yes. For others in the early church, yes. For us, not so much.

So how does this passage from Matthew speak to us? Well, first it should be noted that family in the first century did not necessarily have the same emotional meaning we attribute to it today. In the first century, the family had a more decidedly economic nature and function. Remember that in that day and age, women were little more than property. In many cultures, children were considered little more than animals. The family was more often than not, a means to an end. The family was the means of ensuring economic stability and continuity, usually through primogenitor. The family was a ready-made source of labor. And for some, it was a source of power. That’s not to say that families did not love and care for each other. Some did. But more than a sentimental love, the primary emotion attributed to relationship with one’s family was loyalty. Loyalty to the family was essential to its functioning and maintenance. Loyalty was mandatory. The wellbeing of the family depended on such loyalty – absolute loyalty in all things, including matters of faith.

I have to agree with contemporary Biblical scholar Holly Hearon who has speculated that Jesus’ use of familial imagery “likely refer[s] to more than just the domestic household; [it] speak[s] to the variety of relationships that hold society together” (Hearon, 122). So for Hearon, when Jesus talks about setting family member against family member, he is talking about disruption of the primary loyalties that hold not only families, but society itself together. He is saying that being his disciples, his followers, takes precedence over all other loyalties. And if necessary, discipleship requires the rejection of conflicting loyalties.

For me, this is the critical point. I don’t think Jesus is saying we have to abandon family, that we have to reject government, that we have to eschew society. But I do think Jesus is saying that if push comes to shove, if conflict arises between following him and following what is generally expected by our family, our government, our society, we need to be prepared to make a choice. As Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the twentieth century martyr, wrote in his book of the same name, the Cost of Discipleship is costly. Discipleship demands submission to the law of Christ, to the law of the cross. That law means abandoning attachments to this world in favor of Christ and his promise of a new and eternal life.

The lives of the saints, the lives of the martyrs, are meant to be an example for us of what it means to be so devoted to Christ that they would be willing to give anything, to pay any price, for their faith. Particularly in the case of the martyrs, they paid the ultimate price – the loss of their lives, for the sake of Christ, for the sake of new and eternal life. And yet, they make it look so easy. Alban had a choice. Stand up for his new-found faith, for his new-found God by rejecting the pagan religion of his birth, by rejecting the persecution of Christians by the Roman authorities, or to renounce Christ and be complacent to the persecution of his people. For him, it was seemingly an easy choice. He didn’t have to think too much about what to do. Dietrich Bonhoeffer had a choice. Stand up for his faith, to continue proclaiming the Gospel by denouncing Nazi tyranny, or to keep his mouth shut and go into hiding. For him, it was seemingly an easy choice. He didn’t have to think too much about what to do. Both men paid for their loyalties, for their choices, with their lives.

Today, we are not faced with such choices. We do not need to make such radical choices as between loyalty to our religion and loyalty to a repressive regime. Yet, for us, the choices may not be so clear cut. Nonetheless, as Holly Hearon notes, “the gospel can lead to conflict, even with the very fabric of society, as we struggle to live a true and genuine response to what we believe the gospel asks of us” (Hearon, 122). These struggles, these choices, can often be very subtle, and hence, very difficult to make.

Do we support a war on terror in a foreign nation that may save countless lives, yet puts our own men and women at risk of injury and even death?

Do we support policies that will provide additional energy reserves, boosting our personal and national economic conditions, but which may also result in increased degradation to the environment, or impact the food supply to the world’s hungry?

Do we support government farm policies that will provide us with cheaper food prices, while potentially harming family farms?

These are but a few of the choices we have to make in our day. The list goes on and on. Just open any newspaper and you will find them.

Wherever we turn, we are faced with such choices, with discerning how to balance the competing needs of ourselves and others with the gospel mandate for social justice and to love our neighbors as ourselves. If we make one choice, we risk harming one set of people. If we make the opposite choice, we risk harming another set of people. And regardless of the choices we make, we risk division within the fabric of society and our social institutions. We risk division within the family of humanity.

Unlike Alban, who paid the ultimate sacrifice for living the gospel, we do not face such consequences for our choice to live the gospel. But that does not mean we do not have to struggle with what it means to live the gospel. In some ways, we maybe have an even more difficult time of it, because we have to struggle with what it means to live the gospel day in and day out. As Parker Palmer writes, “Right action requires that we respond faithfully to our own inner truth and to the truth around us” (Palmer, 115). For us, that inner truth is informed by the Gospel, by the life of Christ, who calls us to be his hands and feet and heart in a broken and hurting world.

Unlike Alban, who was martyred for the choices he made, we are not martyred for the tough day-to-day choices we make as we live the law of Christ. It only feels that way, sometimes. The good news is that, unlike Alban, we have a community of faith with whom we can share in the struggle of what it means to live the gospel. We have this community, a safe place, a new family of our own making, of Christ’s own making, in which we can openly explore and discuss and argue and pray about what it means to live the gospel, about how we are to face the tough questions that may lead us to division within our families and the rest of society. And it is because of the strength of this community of faith that when we are asked about our family, about our loyalties, we are able to boldly say, along with Alban our patron,, “I worship and adore the living and true God, who created all things.”

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.



References

Bede. Ecclesiastical History of the English People. London: Penguin Classics, 1990.

Hearon, Holly, et al. New Proclamation: Year A, 2008, Easter to Christ the King. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2008.

Lesser Feasts and Fasts 2006. New York: Church Publishing, 2006.

Palmer, Parker. The Active Life: A Spirituality of Work, Creativity, and Caring. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, 1990.

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Building on a Strong Foundation

Third Sunday After Pentecost – Year A (Proper 4)
Deuteronomy 11:18-21,26-28; Psalm 31:1-5,19-24; Romans 3:21-25a,28; Matthew 7:21-27
Sunday, June 4, 2008 (8:00 am) – St. Alban’s, Westwood


To be honest, I have been struggling with the imagery Jesus uses in today’s Gospel lesson. I have no problems with the imagery of a house built on sand not withstanding a storm. That is obvious. What I struggle with is the imagery that a house built on rock, on a solid foundation, will withstand a storm. What does this imagery say to the people of New Orleans and the Gulf Coast as they look at row after row of homes and businesses destroyed by Hurricane Katrina? Their homes were built on solid foundations, yet did not bear up against a mighty storm. What does this imagery say to the people of Parsons, Kansas, my family’s home town, as they witness the devastation of 800 homes and the destruction of downtown when a tornado ripped through town on April 19, 2000? Their homes were built on solid foundations, yet did not withstand a mighty storm. Or closer to home – what does this imagery say to those of us in Southern California who have witnessed terrible destruction caused by such natural events as the Northridge Earthquake in 1994? Homes and businesses destroyed, freeway bridges collapsed. The homes destroyed in that earthquake were built on solid foundations, yet did not hold up under the assault of natural disaster.

How can we expect such imagery to be of comfort and consolation to the thousands upon thousands of people who every year in this country have their lives literally turned upside down by storms and other natural disasters? To say nothing of the millions worldwide who experience similar tragedies, such as recently occurred with the cyclone in Myanmar or the earthquake in China. For such people, this imagery of the safety and comfort of a home, of a life, built on a solid foundation is itself consolation that is built on sand. It does not hold up to real-life experience.

Now, to be fair to Jesus, this parable, which comes at the end of the Sermon on the Mount, is, strictly speaking, about the Last Judgment. He is letting us know what will be expected at that time. He is saying that to truly be his followers, for us to be admitted to the kingdom, we need to truly have lived a life of faith. Saying the words are not enough. We have to truly mean what we say, and demonstrate that in the way we live. Hearing the will of God is not enough. We must do the will God. For this to happen, we need a solid foundation, built on Christ.

So while the parable is really meant to be a guideline regarding what we can expect at the Last Judgment, it also gives us something to work on in this life, before the Last Judgment, in preparation for the Last Judgment. It’s like having a sneak-peak at what is going to be on the final exam so we know what we need to study, what we need to concentrate our efforts on.

I think this is little more evident in today’s Old Testament lesson. The lesson from Deuteronomy essentially says the same thing that the Gospel lesson does, only using different words. Deuteronomy tells us that we must put the word of God in our hearts and souls, binding it on our hands and on our foreheads. We must make the world of God part of who we are, not only within us, but on us, in a visible manner, for all the world to see. While this lesson conveys the same general message as the Gospel, it differs in its sense of timing. It places the timing not in the future at the Last Judgment, but in the present. This is not something we need to do eventually before the Last Judgment. It is something we need to do now. We need to be living the word of God, doing the will of God, now. In so doing, we are at work helping to build the foundation that will support us in the future.

There is also one other subtle difference between Deuteronomy and the Gospel lesson that is important to note. That is the result of our work. The Gospel tells us that a house built on rock, on a solid foundation, will withstand the storm, while the house build on sand, a less than solid foundation, will not withstand the storm. Deuteronomy, on the other hand, places the results, the consequences, in terms of blessing and curse. In this passage, God says, “See, I am setting before you today a blessing and a curse: the blessing, if you obey the commandments of the Lord your God that I am commanding you today; and the curse, if you do not obey the commandments of the Lord your God, but turn from the way that I am commanding you today.” I think this an important distinction. I think it is a more expansive distinction. The Gospel account of the consequences are personal – our house will stand or fall, depending on the foundation we chose to build on. The Old Testament account expands the potential impact. There will be blessing or curse, depending on what we choose to do. The way I read this, the blessing or curse will certainly accrue to us individually. But our actions can also be a blessing or curse to others.

Maybe an example will help pull it all together.

About a week ago, I was in a meeting of the Friday Pilgrims’ Way group in the Upper Lounge. One of the members had to leave the room to take a phone call. A couple minutes later, there was a loud, urgent pounding on the doors leading out to the patio. I thought the person may have gone outside to take the call and got locked out. I got up to go let her in. It turned out not to be our group member, but a homeless man. Before I could say anything, he said, “Please, you’ve got to help me! You’re my last hope.” Now I must confess, I was not exactly in the best of moods. But this guy sounded almost panicked. So I stepped outside, offered him a seat on the bench by the door, sat down, and asked him to tell me what was wrong.

He proceeded to tell me that he had an opportunity to turn his life around. He had a lead on a job, but needed to get cleaned up before this woman would hire him. All he needed was a little money so he could buy a razor and some toiletries, get a haircut, and go to Goodwill to get a new set of clothes. And if he got this job, he would be able to find a place to live and get off the streets. He was not asking for a handout. He was willing to do any type of work to earn the money. As he told me his story, I found my heart softening a bit. I sensed great sincerity in what he was telling me. Of course, I’ve been suckered before. People telling me sob stories, promising that they would return the money when they got on their feet, and never seeing them again. So, I was still a little skeptical.

He went on to tell me how his faith in humanity had been shattered. How he had been mistreated, verbally and physically, just because he’s homeless. This abuse had slowly destroyed his faith in other people. But he still had his faith in God, and that had helped him get through the rough times. Until that morning. He told me how earlier that day, he approached someone and asked her for help. She proceeded to tell him homeless people would be better off dead. That comment was the fatal blow to this man’s self-esteem and to his faith. How could one person say something like that to another? He had never done anything to her. She didn’t even know him. As a result of an insensitive comment, he had completely lost faith in humanity and was starting to think maybe she was right. Because of this, he was even questioning his faith in God and in the Church. He knew he was a child of God, but what if that woman was right? By this point, he was crying. He had been deeply wounded. His validity and worth as a human being had been called into question. His faith, the one thing he truly had, was crumbling before his eyes.

As I listened to David talk, I realized several things. First, that what Deuteronomy says is true. How we live our lives can be a blessing or a curse, not only to ourselves but to others. In his case, someone had not obeyed the commandments of the Lord, resulting in a curse. Not necessarily a curse on herself – only God can decide that. But it had certainly resulted in a curse on David – one that had demoralized him and caused him to call his worthiness into question, one that was calling his very faith into question. The second thing I realized was that all was not lost. There was hope. David still had a foundation. The house built upon it had fallen, but the foundation still seemed to be intact – maybe with a few cracks, but I could see hints that it was still intact, still salvageable.

In that moment, I realized that maybe David was right. Maybe I was his last hope. Now I don’t like thinking of myself in such absolute terms, in such grandiose terms. But I decided that I needed to do something to help this man. He was obviously in pain – emotional pain and spiritual pain. I had to try to do something to save him from spiraling deeper into despair. I told him to stay put and went to my office. I returned a minute later with a $20 bill. I sat down, took his hand, but the money into his hand and held it tightly in mine. I told him it wasn’t much, but it would help. I told him that he was a beloved child of God who deserved a chance, who deserved to be treated as a human being. I told him to get himself cleaned up, to get that job, and to prove that woman wrong. By this time, David was crying again. They were not tears of despair, but rather tears of hope, tears of gratitude that someone had a little faith in him.

He said he didn’t know if or when he would be able to repay me. I told him it wasn’t necessary. I told him the best thing he could do would be just to come back after he had gotten his life turned around and let me know how it all turned out. And if he could repay me, great. If not, at some point in the future, to remember this and to do something to help someone else in need. As he got ready to leave, I gave him a hug. One of the last things he said to me was that my faith in him helped restore his faith in humanity and his faith in himself. His foundation was indeed still intact. And he had already started to rebuild his house on it.

To some, David was a curse. But to me, he was a blessing. David was a living reminder that just because we have a solid foundation does not necessarily mean that negative things will not happen in our lives. As the people of New Orleans, Parsons, Northridge, Myanmar, or China will tell you, even with the most solid of foundations, something unexpected can happen to knock down your house, or at least cause it a little storm damage. But more importantly, David reminded me of a valuable insight – one that has been shown by the people of New Orleans, Parsons, and Northridge, as I have seen in the lives of many of you – that no matter what happens, as long as the foundation is strong, as long as the foundation remains, you can always rebuild.

In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

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Digrado-Michelle Wedding

Marriage of John Digrado and Lindsey Michelle
Song of Solomon 2:10-13; 8:6-7; Colossians 3:12-17
Saturday, May 31, 2008 – St. Alban’s, Westwood


When John and Lindsey first came to me to discuss getting married, I did what I always do with a couple. We just sat and talked and got to know each other a little. Developing relationship is incredibly important to the whole process of pre-marital counseling. Based on the initial conversation with a couple, I get an idea, an image, of who each person is individually, and who they are as a couple. I get an idea of what their marriage may be like and of what they may have to face and work on as they embark on this most sacred of unions.

I have to admit – after John and Lindsey left my office following that initial meeting, I had this overwhelming feeling that I was not going to be participating in a wedding as much as I was going to be facilitating a merger. Now, all of you who know and love John and Lindsey know that John graduated several years ago with his MBA from USC, and has put his education to good use working on the business end of the movie industry. And similarly, Lindsey just graduated a couple of weeks ago with her MBA. Put two MBAs together and you can’t help but talk merger, right?

But it wasn’t so much that both the bride and the groom have MBAs that made me think of the merger analogy. It was more the way Lindsey and John interacted – with each other and with me – that brought the analogy to mind. And throughout the premarital counseling, this analogy was continually reinforced. In the course of pre-marital counseling and preparation for marriage and the wedding ceremony, the priest and the couple discuss virtually every topic under the sun. We look at issues, perspectives, and perceptions surrounding such varied topics as finances; child-rearing; communications; conflict resolution; use of leisure time; division of labor within the household; family history; time spent individually, as a couple, and with family and friends; and much more. Throughout all of our conversations and discussions, Lindsey and John approached each topic systematically, carefully analyzing every aspect of their individual responses, determining how these individual responses fit together, and then examining the ramifications of the resulting collective responses. I half expected one of them to pull out a spreadsheet to analyze and track the results of the work they were doing on examining and shaping the course of their relationship. For all I know, when the left my office, they went home, sat down at the computer, and did just that.

It may not sound very romantic to some, but as a man with a planning and engineering background, the process was beautiful to watch. And don’t think it was a cold, calculated process. Beneath the analytical, there was obviously a deep, abiding love and passion that was truly driving the relationship. Unlike many business mergers which are motivated by pure profit or other economic or commercial considerations, this merger was motivated by a heartfelt commitment that cannot be analyzed or measured.

And while John and Lindsey are the principle partners in this merger, it is obvious to me that there is also a silent partner who is at work behind the scenes, in the form of God and the Church. This is a silent partner that forms a foundation on which this merger, this marriage, is supported. It is, therefore, appropriate that we turn to Holy Scripture for insight as John and Lindsey embark on their marriage. Today’s Scripture readings speak of the important qualities required for marriage, particularly for Christian marriage.

The Old Testament reading from the Song of Solomon speaks of the romantic aspects, of the passion and the desire that is embodied in a loving relationship between man and woman – of the passion, desire and love that bring a man and a woman together, that have brought John and Lindsey together in the bonds of marriage. Such passion and desire are necessary for love to blossom and grow, and are necessary for marriage to occur. And passion and desire are necessary for a marriage to last. (Give her the latest project management software for Valentine’s Day, and she’s your’s for life. That, and the chocolate.) Those marriages that do last are filled with romance, with passion and desire that enrichen the relationship, and make it always fresh and always new. But the romantic alone does not a marriage make – at least not a marriage that will last.

Today’s New Testament reading from Colossians speaks of the other part that is needed for a long-lasting marriage. This passage is part of a longer section in which Paul exhorts the Christian community at Colossae to holiness of life, specifically in terms of what it means to be a community of believers and how to live into that life – a life in union with Christ that is not static but which is seen in terms of growth leading to perfection or spiritual maturity. These words outline the virtues that promote harmony and unity in relationship. While written to a community 2,000 years ago, this passage provides words of wisdom as to how to live into a life in the bonds of holy matrimony. These words provide insight into what a man and a woman need to do in order to live together as one.

First off, Paul exhorts them to “clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience.” These are all important virtues to be exercised in any relationship, but particularly so in one as close as that of husband and wife. In compassion and kindness, one partner has sympathy for the situation and circumstances faced by the other. In addition, each partner takes as their focus the consideration of the needs and interests of the other. In humility, one partner considers his or her spouse as better than himself or herself. In meekness, one partner is willing to cede his or her rights to those of the other, rather than being concerned with personal gain – again, the needs and interests of the other partner are made top priority. And in patience, one partner is willing and able to make allowances, not excuses, but allowances, for any shortcomings of the other, and is thereby able to tolerate the ways in which those shortcomings may be manifest.

Paul goes on to exhort them to “bear with one another,” further lifting up the virtues of compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience. In addition, he is pointing out the realistic nature of relationship – that it is inevitable that there will be complaints and conflicts. And when one partner is not able to live up to these virtues and falls short, or is the subject of a complaint or the instigator of a conflict – and this will happen from time to time – Paul urges that they “forgive each other.” And the example to be followed is that of our Lord – “just as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive.”

“Above all,” Paul then writes, “clothe yourselves with love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony.” It is your love for one another that has brought you to this point in time. It is your love for one another that will bind you together in the many times of joy that you will share. And it is your love for one another that will give you the strength and the courage you need to work through any challenges you may face. It is that love that will guide you and enable the perfect harmony that you are called to. That will not always mean perfect agreement. But it will mean a sense of wholeness. Through your love for one another, with that love as your guiding principle, you will be able to establish a harmony in your relationship that will make you whole as a couple.

And finally, Paul provides the means by which you may accomplish that sense of wholeness that you seek in your partnership. It is something that you have already found through your shared faith in God and in Christ. Paul admonishes, “let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts . . . [to] let the word of Christ dwell in you richly . . . and whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus.” Your love for one another is what binds you together, but it is the example of God’s perfect love made manifest through the gift of his son, Jesus Christ, that makes your love possible, that strengthens your love, and helps you to become whole. You have already experienced that in the journey that brought you together and in the journey that has brought you to this glorious day. Every day, give thanks to God for the gift of love and for the gift of each other. In your joy together, remember that God has made this possible and rejoice in what has been provided to you. And when you experience challenges, pray to God for strength and guidance, and that through those experiences, your love may be strengthened.

John and Lindsey, keep these words always in your hearts and your minds, for they will provide you with what you need as you embark on this journey called marriage. They will serve you well in both times of joy and in times of challenge. If you let them, and with God’s help, they will not only guide your relationship, but they will also be the means by which your relationship continues to be strengthened and brought to wholeness. Or in terms you will more likely understand, this enterprise will be extremely profitable, resulting in extraordinary dividends.

In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

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Jesus' Management Style (aka Jesus Doesn't Micromanage)

Seventh Sunday of Easter – Year A
(Sunday After the Ascension)
Acts 1:(1-7)8-14; Psalm 47; I Peter 4:12-19; John 17:1-11
Sunday, May 4, 2008 – St. Alban’s, Westwood


[Following is the manuscript I prepared for the sermon. However, at both the 8:00 and the 10:00 services, I preached it without notes, so what was actually said was a little different, although the message was the same.]

During the last couple of years of college, I worked as an intern for a transportation planning consultant. When I graduated, Terry, the principal of the firm, offered me a professional position, which I accepted. The prospect of being a transportation planning professional was a bit overwhelming. As an intern, all I was doing was crunch numbers. As a professional, I had to have a fuller understanding of the issues I was examining, how to develop the data needed for analysis, the appropriate methodologies for conducting analysis, and then how to present the analysis results in a written report. I knew that a lot was at stake, so my work had to be absolutely correct. If not, there could be serious ramifications for our clients, not to mention the firm’s reputation.

Initially, I was so unsure of my abilities, so afraid of failure, that whenever I ran into a question, or came up against an issue that I was the slightest bit unsure about, I would go into Terry’s office to get guidance. At first, he was very patient and would tell me what I needed to know to resolve the problem. After a while, he changed his tactic and would not directly answer my questions, but rather asked me what I thought the right answer was and why. He would then confirm my assessment, or provide corrections when necessary. And then, one day, when I went into his office to ask a question, he looked up at me and told me that if I was going to be a professional, I would have to start figuring things out for myself instead of constantly asking for direction. At first I was crushed. I felt like a failure. But when I stepped back and thought about it, I knew Terry was right. If I was going to really learn the ropes, I had to be willing to take some risks and figure out things for myself instead of constantly relying on him. And besides, he would be there to check over my work and make sure it was correct before it ever went out.

Years later, I was finally in a position to have a staff of my own to supervise. My first go at supervising was not very good. I was so used to doing things myself for so long that I micro-managed John’s work to make sure it was just how I wanted it. Admittedly, he was not very good at technical analysis, but because of not being very good at management, I never really gave him a chance to improve beyond the most rudimentary skills. Ultimately, I had to let him go. When I hired a replacement, I realized I would have to change the way I supervised my staff. I remembered my early days in the profession and realized I had to take that lesson Terry taught me and turn it back on myself. I realized I had to back off and allow Steven, my new employee, to figure things out on his own and learn from his own mistakes. As a result, Steven was able to excel at his work and expand his technical expertise and the overall capabilities of the firm, becoming a valuable asset not only to me, but to our company and to our clients.

As long as I was around micromanaging, my staff would not be able to move forward. But when I got out of the way, my staff was not only able to move forward, they were able to excel, living into the fullness of what they were called to do.

In a way, that’s what Ascension is about. It’s about Jesus getting out of the way. Jesus had to get out of the way so his disciples could get on with doing the work they were called to do. Now I certainly don’t mean to imply that, like my early attempts at supervision, Jesus was a micromanager. Quite the contrary. The reason he had to get out of the way of his disciples is a little different.

Before we go any further, let’s look at what we know about the Ascension. And to be quite honest, Scripture does not tell us a whole lot. What we know is that before his ascension, Jesus gave his disciples their final instructions in the form of the Great Commission – the most common form being that recorded in Matthew: to go forth and “make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always to the end of the age” (Mt. 28:19-21). This commission is summarized in the beginning of the portion of Acts we heard this morning “you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth” (Acts 1:8). In giving the disciples the Great Commission, Jesus reiterates his promise that they will receive the Holy Spirit to empower them in their work. And then, he physically ascends into Heaven.

But did Jesus need to get out of the way for the disciples to be able to do the work they were commanded? It’s hard to say. Maybe today’s Gospel lesson can shed a little insight.

The portion of John’s Gospel that we heard today is part of Jesus’ Farewell Discourse to his disciples. The part we heard today is the beginning of what is commonly referred to as the High Priestly Prayer, in which Jesus has just finished talking with his disciples about who he is, of God’s love for him, and of his love for them, and concludes with this extended prayer to God. In this prayer, Jesus not only prays for himself, but he also prays for his disciples. But it’s important to note that in praying for his disciples, Jesus is not only praying for those who are presently his disciples, the twelve gathered with him for the Last Supper, but also for future disciples, which would include us.

In typical Johanine fashion, John uses repetition, expansion and elaboration to highlight key themes. In the portion we read this morning, there are two key points that Jesus emphasizes. The first is the concept of glorification and the second is eternal life.

According to a number of commentators, Jesus’ constant use of “glorify” in this prayer means the revelation of the true nature of God and/or Christ (Allen, 65). Throughout his life, Jesus has been revealing God to humanity – the nature of God and the very person of God – the nature and person of the heretofore unknowable – has been made known. Even though divine, Jesus was still also fully human. He could only reach a limited number of people. To gain maximum benefit, to achieve the maximum possible exposure, others are needed to help make God known. The only way for this to happen would be through the witness of the disciples. While they had not experienced God first-hand, they had experienced Jesus first-hand. If they could convey to others their experience of Jesus, who had conveyed the nature and person of God through is own being, then God could be known to a multitude of people. So, in turn, his followers glorify Jesus, and in so doing, glorify God.

Jesus preached a message of love for one another, of a community of love and inclusivity. That was the way Jesus communicated who he was and who God is, by loving those who were in community with him. To adequately convey the message about Jesus to others therefore requires community. “For Jesus to be glorified in the community means that the identity of Jesus is made visible in them” (O’Day, 792) – the identity of Jesus is made visible when they love one another as he loved them. As the old hymn goes, “they will know we are Christians by our love.” The identity of Jesus is made visible and real when we love each other as he loves us. And when the identity of Jesus as the personification of love is made visible to us, the nature and person of God, the originator of love, is likewise made known and visible to us and through us.

Jesus had to get out of the way so that the love he had for his small community could be allowed to extend outward, to reach others, to reach to the ends of the earth, and not be limited to those who had direct contact with him. The disciples needed to be free to risk, to try it on their own, so that they could ultimately live into the fullness of what they were called to do and who they were called to be – professional messengers of God’s love, not merely interns.

The second key point lifted up in this part of the High Priestly Prayer is eternal life. We tend to think of eternal life as future-oriented, as something that will happen in the future when we die and are taken to our heavenly home. Rather, eternal life is directly tied to glorification – to God and Jesus being glorified, made visible, through us. It is through our glorification of God and Jesus that we have eternal life. From this perspective, eternal life is not future oriented, but rather, is present oriented. As biblical scholar Wesley Allen notes, “the primary emphasis is eternal life as the quality of current existence” (Allen, 65). He goes on to note that “It is not that knowledge of God and Christ leads to eternal life; knowledge of God and Christ is eternal life itself. This knowledge is the gift. Eternal life for John is less about lengthening the duration of one’s life (a chronological, quantitative claim) and more about participating in God’s eternal love and thus radically transforming life (an existential, qualitative claim)” (Allen, 65).

Our lives as Christians, and hence, eternal life, are shaped by the knowledge of God as revealed in Jesus. And again, that knowledge is based on a message, on an experience, of love. Eternal life is about the participation in God’s eternal love. It is this eternal love that allows us to grow and become partners with God through Christ in the work of the Kingdom – the work of glorification, the work of sharing eternal life.

Could we have participated in the glorification of God and Christ if Jesus had not gotten out of the way? Maybe. Could we have participated in the eternal life as a present reality and quality of our existence if Jesus had not gotten out of the way? Maybe. But I think like any good boss, Jesus knew that his disciples, including us, would learn far more, would excel at their task, if they were given the room to risk, if they were given the space to make their own mistakes. But like any good boss, even though he has stepped out of the way, he is not gone. He is still accessible. He is available to help us when we need it, and to provide the encouragement and resources we need to do what he has asked of us. With such support, with such resources at our disposal, we cannot fail.

In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.


References

Allen, O. Wesley, Jr., et al. New Proclamation: Year A, 2008, Easter to Christ the King. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2008.

O’Day, Gail R. “The Gospel of John: Introduction, Commentary, and Reflection.” In Vol. IX of The New Interpreter’s Bible. Edited by Leander E. Keck, et al. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1995.

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Memorial Service - Margaret Ross

Memorial Service – Margaret Ross
(August 23, 1933 – March 18, 2008)
Isaiah 25:6-9; Psalm 23; John 14:1-6
Tuesday, April 29, 2008 – St. Alban’s Westwood

As we gather to say our farewells and to honor the life of Margaret Ross, I think it is particularly appropriate that we have this Gospel reading from John. This passage that we just read is the beginning of Jesus' farewell discourse to his disciples. In this discourse, Jesus sums up the purpose for his completed ministry on earth and tells his disciples about what is to come – about his death and resurrection. More importantly, for them, and for those of us gathered here today, he tells about what it means for humanity that he will be resurrected and ascend to Heaven.

When Jesus talks about going to his Father’s house, he is not just talking about location, but also about relationship (O’Day, 740). “The imagery of the dwelling places points to the inclusion of others in the relationship with God and Jesus. Jesus uses the domestic imagery to say ‘My return to God will make it possible for you to join me in the relationship that the Father and I share’” (O’Day, 741). For him to go, through death and resurrection, to his Father's house, with dwelling places for all, was to prepare a place of permanent fellowship. This Gospel passage is, therefore, not about separation, but about deeper fellowship.

Jesus promises to take his own to himself. This is a “promise of the arrival of the hoped-for age, which is marked by reunion and reconciliation with God, by inhabiting one’s ‘place’ in God’s home” (O’Day, 741). Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection provide us with the certainty that we are God’s beloved children and that God wants nothing more than for us to be reconciled to Him in this life, and to spend eternity with him when our lives on this earth are completed. His life, death, and resurrection provide the means by which this can and will happen for each and every one of us.

As evidenced throughout scripture, our Judeo-Christian faith is all about relationship – our relationship to our God and our relationships to one another. Ours is a story of a God who created us in his image. Ours is a story of a God who continually seeks to be in relationship with us. Ours is a story of men and women who seek to be in relationship with one another. Because of our story, we know that it is through relationship that we ultimately seek to know and be known by the One who created us. We accomplish this through community – through our communities of faith, and through the communities that are our families and friends. This importance of community, the centrality of relationship, was particularly evident in the life of Margaret Ross.

Various adjectives have been used to describe Margaret – elegant, stylish, gracious, dignified, thoughtful, loving, loyal, energetic, generous, dedicated, determined, and courageous. When applied to some people, many such adjectives can seem to be self-centered, even selfish. When applied to Margaret, these same adjectives point to qualities and characteristics used selflessly, purely for the benefit of others.

This is perhaps most evident in her family life. Family was incredibly important to Margaret. Early on, Margaret gave up a promising career in publishing to devote herself to Gordon – the rather footloose medical student she married and who later became a successful physician and instructor – and to her children. She spared no effort to care for her husband and support him in the demands of his career. Although by nature a very private person, she used her God-given talents and schooled herself in the skills required to meet the public demands of being the wife of a physician and faculty member. Likewise, she spared no effort to care for and improve the lives of Helen and Andrew, her beloved children. And in the last decade of her life, the same effort and devotion was extended to the newest joy in her life, her grandson, Matthew.

Despite being a private person, Margaret’s love for humanity took precedence. She used her considerable organizational skills and personal elegance and charm to further the programs of such organizations as the UCLA Faculty Women’s Club, the Medical Faculty Wives, and the UCLA Patients’ Library. She had a particular passion for music, and devoted a significant amount of time to the Los Angeles Philharmonic Orchestra, serving as a member of the Westside Committee of the Philharmonic for more than 30 years. She was especially committed to programs involving children, particularly Symphonies for Youth, Symphonies for Schools, and youth scholarship programs. She was so devoted to these causes that even after falling ill and becoming debilitated not only by illness, but also by the subsequent chemotherapy, radiation therapy, and surgeries, she concealed her symptoms and continued her volunteer efforts.

The community of faith was also incredibly important to Margaret, from her early days as a child in England. Her parents were pillars of the local Anglican Church in the town where she was born and raised. Her father was a lay reader, and both parents sang in the choir for decades. Her parents’ dedication to the church and to lives of faith undoubtedly rubbed off on Margaret. Upon leaving her native England to move to Los Angeles, she immediately made St. Alban’s her church home, attending services regularly for 40 years. So firm was her faith that she met her end with a calm confidence in an afterlife. Her dying wish, which is fulfilled today, was to have a brief memorial service held here, in this very chapel.

In everything she did, Margaret exhibited – she embodied – unconditional love and devotion to her community – the community of those who knew and loved her, the community of those whom she so selflessly served. If unconditional love and devotion to community are the hallmarks of the Kingdom of God, Margaret will fit right in in Heaven. And I think it’s safe to say that she certainly provided a foretaste of that Kingdom while she was here. Margaret lived the Gospel and proclaimed it to all she met through her actions – through her very presence.

Remember, today’s Gospel is not about separation, but about deeper fellowship. When Jesus opens his discourse by saying “Do not let your hearts be troubled,” he is exhorting his disciples “to stand firm in the face of his departure, when the events [of his death] may look to them as if evil and death are having their way. It is a rallying cry for strength” (O’Day, 740). These words and their intended meaning ring true for us here today, just as they did for the disciples. In this time of grief, and in the days ahead when the loss of Margaret’s life and her absence will be most painfully felt by you, her family and friends, remember this rallying cry. Yes, Margaret is no longer here physically, but that does not mean she is gone. She is still with you. She lives on in your hearts – in the memories of your time together and the joy you feel when you think about them, in the lessons that she taught you, in how she touched your lives to help form the persons you are today.

What Margaret means to so many people, the impact she had on so many lives, can best be summed up in the words of one of her dear friends: “Margaret was a bright, gracious spirit who warmed our world and infused it with a gracious love. May her light shine through generations. She was a blessing.”

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.



References

O’Day, Gail R. “The Gospel of John: Introduction, Commentary, and Reflection.” In Vol. IX of The New Interpreter’s Bible. Edited by Leander E. Keck, et al. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1995.

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Mere Coincidence, or Hand of God?

Okay, God really does seem to work in weird, mysterious, and wonderful ways!

Last Saturday, I received an e-mail message with the subject line “Did you attend Havelock High School?” In the brief message, Annette, the sender, introduced herself (including maiden name) and noted that she went to school with a Mike Fincher, who moved away after the sophomore year (1978). She then asked if I was that Mike.

While the name sounded vaguely familiar, I was a little puzzled by the fact that the e-mail was sent to the account associated with my blog. I figured that she was Googling the names of former classmates and under my name found my blog.

I sent back a response that I was indeed the Mike Fincher who attended Havelock High, and left at the end of sophomore year to move to California. I noted that while her name sounded very familiar, I really couldn’t place it. I went on to note that, unfortunately, I no longer have my Havelock High yearbook, so I was not able to look up a picture to jog my memory.

Back story. Last August I finally decided to get clean out the storage unit that had serves as the repository for most of my worldly possessions while I was in seminary. After three years of seminary and another year of living in LA, I decided I no longer needed, nor missed, most of the things in the storage unit. I called Salvation Army and they came and took away most of the stuff (some things I did move to the shed in my parents’ back yard). That evening, I realized that I had inadvertently gotten rid of one or more boxes of things I actually wanted to keep. I had packed the stuff up over a year before and had not remembered what was in the box(es). When I did a quick check on the clean-out day, nothing jumped out at me as being worth saving. If I had dug a little deeper in the box(es), I would have discovered that there were indeed treasures I wanted to keep. Among the items I determined to be missing were some novels, a few photo albums, and my high school yearbooks.

Back to the present. Yesterday I received a follow-up e-mail from Annette. She said she and I didn’t know each other at Havelock High, but I knew her brother and her brother’s (now) sister-in-law. She went on to explain that she was recently on a nostalgia trip about high school but could not find her yearbook. So, she Googled “Havelock High yearbooks.” E-Bay happened to have a 1978 Rampage (the name of the Havelock High yearbook), so she bought it. It turned out to be my copy. Apparently, through more Googling (what did we do before Google came along?) she found me.

In her response, Annette wrote, “I do not believe in coincidences...I believe in God Almighty and that He always has a reason for doing things. Needless to say, I am now wondering what His plans are. I know one thing...it has to do with you and your yearbook. I would like to offer to send it to you or maybe my husband, David and I could meet you for dinner sometime and we could exchange it that way.”

Of course, I responded back, amazed at the way things are turning out. In her return response this morning, Annette told me that she lives in Buena Park! It’s amazing to me that a treasure from my past, carried for 30 years, from North Carolina to California to Illinois and back to California, only to be lost in act of stupidity on my part, was found by a classmate from North Carolina who now lives less than an hour away. Mere coincidence, or hand of God?

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CSI Thomas

Second Sunday of Easter – Year A
Acts 2:14a,22-32; Psalm 118:19-24; I Peter 1:3-9; John 20:19-31
Sunday, March 30, 2008 – St. Alban’s, Westwood


One of my favorite television shows is CSI – the original one set in Las Vegas, not the spin-offs set in New York or Miami. For those of you who aren’t familiar with the show, it is about the CSIs, or Crime Scene Investigators, who investigate crimes, usually murders, to obtain the clues that will be needed to identify, apprehend, and ultimately convict, the perpetrator. In a lot of the cases, before the perpetrator can even be identified, the CSIs must use the clues gathered to first identify the victim. In almost every episode, there is some sort of twist. Things are not quite what they appear. Either the CSIs see something and take it at face value, sometimes providing false leads or erroneous assumption, or one of the CSIs may get emotionally wrapped up in the case, becoming blinded to what is being seen. In all such incidents, Gil Grissom, the CSI supervisor, invariably cautions, “trust the evidence.” In Grissom’s eyes, only the physical evidence, that which can be seen, touched, smelled, or heard, can be trusted. All else is extraneous. Anything else could potentially get in the way of the investigation, cloud judgment, and ultimately lead to erroneous conclusions, thereby jeopardizing the case. You’ve got to look at the evidence to get to the truth.

I think Thomas, as portrayed in today’s Gospel lesson, would have made a pretty good CSI. When the other disciples tell him, “We have seen the Lord,” Thomas responds, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.” Now, we generally come down pretty hard on Thomas because of this statement. We often attach the adjective “doubting” to him, so that he has become known as “Doubting Thomas,” as if that is his given name. And the appellation is not viewed positively. When we talk about poor old “Doubting Thomas,” there is almost a tone of condemnation. In fact, calling someone a “Doubting Thomas” has even become a sort of put-down or accusation in contemporary parlance. I think it’s about time we redeem poor Thomas and restore his honor as an ever-faithful disciple.

When you think about it, Thomas was just exercising due diligence. Yes, he heard his friends proclaim that they had seen the risen Lord. And when Christ appeared to him directly, he could see that there were wounds in his hands and side. But that really didn’t prove anything, at least, not with absolute certainty. After all, before he died, Jesus told his disciples to beware of false messiahs. In both Matthew and Mark, Jesus tells them, “False messiahs and false prophets will appear and produce signs and omens, to lead astray, if possible, the elect. But be alert” (Mk 13:22-23, Mt 24:24). Luke has Jesus putting his warning a little differently: “Beware that you are not led astray; for many will come in My name and say, ‘I am he,’ and, ‘The time is near.’ Do not go after them” (Lk 21:8). How did Thomas know that the person appearing before him, even though he had what appeared to be the requisite marks of the crucifixion, was not just such an imposter? He needed to be sure before he could embrace and swear allegiance to this person.

That shouldn’t be too hard for us to understand. After all, we do live in a society that has been heavily influenced by the Enlightenment – by the advent of scientific method. In virtually anyone else, we would consider such skepticism as healthy, even necessary. Many professionals rely on skepticism, discovering the truth, and having proof, in the course of their work – scientists, police, attorneys, journalists, educators, just to name a few. So why do we condemn poor old Thomas for having a trait that many of us exercise on a regular basis, even rely upon?

I think part of it is that we tend to compare Thomas with his peers – with the other disciples. After all, they believed in the resurrected Lord, didn’t they? Why should Thomas have been so quick not to believe? Well, the historical record probably needs to be set straight on that perception, as well. In the Markan and Lukan accounts of the resurrection, the disciples did not believe that Christ has been resurrected when Mary Magdalene first told them. They had to see and experience Christ for themselves before they would believe. And even in today’s Gospel lesson, the implication is that the disciples were a bit apprehensive. As John tells us, Jesus appeared to the disciples (sans Thomas) and spoke to them. They did not seem to realize who he was, so Jesus showed them his hands and his side. “Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord.” What is not specifically stated but strongly implied, is that the other disciples needed proof before they were willing to accept that the person standing before them was indeed their Lord. Yet, we don’t question their faith. Why question Thomas’?

Now in all fairness, it is our translation of Scripture that is at fault. What we translate in verse 27 as “do not doubt but believe” uses the Greek words apistos and pistos. We translate apistos as “doubt” and pistos as “believe.” But in actuality, apistos is the opposite of belief, which is not necessarily doubt. The verse in question should actually be translated as “do not be unbelieving (apistos) but believing (pistos)” (O’Day, 850). Now it may be splitting hairs on the meaning. But I am always reminded of The Very Rev. Alan Jones, Dean of Grace Cathedral in San Francisco, who frequently quotes a nameless English monk who once said “the opposite of faith is not doubt; the opposite of faith is certainty.” Certainty is rigid, unyielding. Faith, on the other hand, is flexible, open to reinterpretation as new evidence is revealed. Thomas was not unyielding in his approach. He was open to a change in perspective. He just needed something to go on. He needed a little more information.

In actuality, when Thomas makes the statement “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe,” he is actually saying to the other disciples “To believe as you believe, I need to have the same experience of the risen Jesus you had. I need to have the Spirit breathed into me. I need to see what you saw.” (Wesley, 23). “So Thomas was not asking for anything that was not a basis for the other disciples’ claims” of seeing or belief in the risen Lord (Wesley, 24). And, in fact, as the Gospel story progresses, we find that Thomas does indeed experience and see what the disciples experienced and saw. The following week, Jesus returns, specifically to see Thomas. Jesus says to Thomas, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side.” Presumably, Thomas does as he said he would do, and as Jesus asked. Presumably he touched the nail marks on his hands and the wound in his side.

In his words, in offering himself to Thomas, Jesus is not attempting to shame Thomas as is so often thought, but rather to give him what he needs for faith. Just as the other disciples needed to see Jesus for themselves to believe, so too, Thomas needed some proof. He was open to the possibilities, but just needed a little more to go on. That is not to be condemned but admired, because Thomas allowed himself to be vulnerable enough to ask for help in understanding. Jesus allowed himself to be vulnerable to being touched. Both Thomas and Jesus gave of themselves in this tender moment.

Upon accepting Jesus’ tender offer of breath and touch, Thomas exclaims, “My Lord and my God!” Thomas’ confession “My Lord and my God” is the most powerful and complete in the Fourth Gospel, and affirms what Jesus had previously said: “If you know me, you will know my Father also” (Jn 14:7), as well as affirms the central truth of the Gospel, as stated in it’s prologue: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God” (Jn 1:1). In that moment, “Thomas sees God fully revealed in Jesus” (O’Day, 850). But it is important to note that “It is not touching Jesus that leads Thomas to this confession of faith, but Jesus’ gracious offer of himself” (O’Day, 850). Thomas did not believe in the resurrected Christ because he saw him and touched him. He believed because Jesus, the resurrected One, offered himself to Thomas – offered to help him believe, offered to give him new life through his death and resurrection; and offered to be present to him following the resurrection.

The important thing is not whether Thomas initially believed in the resurrected Lord or not. The important thing is not on what grounds Thomas came to his belief – be it through the word of others, seeing Jesus, or feeling his wounds. The most important thing is that he came to belief. The end result is that he ultimately had faith. This tells us that “It is not physical sight and signs that are decisive for faith, but the truth they reveal” (O’Day, 852). The truth that is revealed through the resurrection is Jesus’ identity and relationship with God. The truth that is revealed is that Jesus Christ is the Son of the living God. He lived among us. He died for our salvation and the forgiveness of our sins. He was resurrected to give us new and eternal life. It was this truth, this promise, that Jesus offered to Thomas.

Christ makes the same offer to us. He offered his life for ours. He offers us salvation and new life, eternal life, through his death and resurrection. He offers to be present with us, if we would only accept. To this end, what follows next in the Gospel lesson is not so much spoken to Thomas as it is spoken to us. After Thomas makes his confession of belief, Jesus says to him, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” Jesus’ final statement “is John’s way of praising those who have different (distant) experiences of the risen Christ and yet still have faith beyond the time of seeing Jesus in any literal fashion” (Wesley, 24). Jesus’ words reach across time to speak directly to us, to encourage us, to praise us for our willingness to accept him on faith without benefit of a physical sighting, without benefit of physically touching him. His statement points to Jesus’ continued presence and care for his flock following the resurrection, and giving us the Holy Spirit to sustain is in the mission we are charged with.

This is not a story of judgment against Thomas or anyone who is not quick to believe. It is not a reprimand. Rather, it is a story of hope and promise. It is a message to us that Christ is waiting to offer himself to us. Some, like Mary Magdalene, will accept that offer on pure faith, based only on a word. Others, like Thomas, and like the other disciples, will require a little more evidence before being willing to make a final decision on the matter. Regardless of where we are, Jesus will to be patient with us. He is willing to be vulnerable and open to us “so that [we] may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing [we] may [all] have life in his name.” Like Thomas, we just need to trust the evidence.

In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.


References
Allen, O. Wesley, Jr., et al. New Proclamation: Year A, 2008, Easter to Christ the King. Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2008.

O’Day, Gail R. “The Gospel of John: Introduction, Commentary, and Reflection.” In Vol. IX of The New Interpreter’s Bible. Edited by Leander E. Keck, et al. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1995.

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Flesh-to-Flesh Connection

Great Vigil of Easter – Year A
Vigil = Exodus 14:10-15:1; Isaiah 55:1-11; Ezekiel 37:1-14
Eucharist = Romans 6:3-11; Matthew 28:1-10
Saturday, March 22, 2008 – St. Alban’s, Westwood


[Following is the sermon I wrote for the Great Vigil, although I actually preached it without notes.]

About a week and a half ago, my friend Moki was in town for a visit. One afternoon, we decided to go to the Los Angeles County Museum of Art. After spending a couple hours at LACMA, we decided to walk to The Grove to do a little shopping and have some dinner. As we walked down Wilshire Boulevard, a man came walking up behind us. I was unaware of his presence until he spoke, commenting on how the weather was finally turning warm, a nice change from previous weeks. I looked back over my left shoulder to see who spoke. I saw that he was rather disheveled with rather dirty, unkempt clothes and a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Despite his appearance, he had a pleasant voice and a kind, smiling face. My initial reaction was that he was probably homeless and wanted something from us.

Not wanting to be rude, even if he was a homeless person, I replied that the weather was very nice and a welcome change. Moki and I continued walking and the man came up beside me. I just knew that at any moment, he would ask us for money. I was surprised when he said, “you know, it’s not that governor’s fault. All those politicians do it. He just got caught.” This was the day after former New York governor Elliot Spitzer admitted to involvement in a prostitution ring. The homeless man was obviously referring to the Spitzer case. I don’t really remember how I responded, but I made some comment of agreement. I was a little uncomfortable because I really didn’t know what to say, and kept wondering what he really wanted. The man walked silently beside us for a few more yards, and then as quickly as he appeared, he pulled over to the edge of the sidewalk, stopped, and wished us a good day as Moki and I continued on our way. I returned the sentiment and we continued on down Wilshire.

Through the rest of the day and into the next, I periodically thought of our encounter with this gentle, well-informed, companion. Some how, I found it interesting that he was aware of the current news and even more so that he wanted to talk about it. I was also a little intrigued that he did not ask for money or any type of assistance. And it finally occurred to me. We humans are social creatures. We long to connect with others. All this man wanted to do was connect with someone, with another human being. And what better way to do that than to strike up a conversation about such ordinary things as the weather and current news stories?

As I pondered this experience, this man’s attempt to connect with someone other than himself, to be in some sort of relationship with another person, I saw a great metaphor for our relationship with God. We are made in the image and likeness of God. It stands to reason that God, too, longs to connect with us. That’s what salvation history has been all about – God's longing to connect with us. Throughout salvation history, a portion of which we heard read during the Vigil, God has been attempting to connect with his people – the people he made in his image and likeness. The trick is, how can the divine, the Almighty, connect with mere mortals? He tried speaking through a burning bush. To weird. Too scary. He tried speaking through other people, such as prophets. Again, too scary, but in a different way. And besides, there was not the direct connection. We just thought those prophets were a little off their rocker.

God needed a way to directly connect with humanity, face to face, flesh to flesh. So God sent his Son to become human as we are, so that through that humanity, the divine might know what it means to be human; so that through his Son, the human and the divine might be united, in one person; and so that that one person, fully divine, yet fully human, might be connected with the rest of humanity. God made flesh, providing the flesh to flesh connection that we humans require to be in relationship. In this act of incarnation, God was finally able to physically touch, and be touched by, humanity.

But how can one man, even one who is fully human and fully divine, touch more than a handful of people? In his own time, he could only touch a limited number of the people who lived on Earth. And with a limited human lifespan, he would only be able to touch a small fraction of the people who would ever live. God’s connection through this one man would be fleeting at best, just as man on Wilshire’s connection with me was momentary and fleeting. No, this experiment of the incarnation, of God made flesh, would still not be enough to reach all the people who might live on this planet. Something more was needed if God was going to be able to connect with all of humanity. Something far more radical than even God incarnate was needed if there was to be an on-going, eternal connection between God and his beloved children – the children he so longed to be in relationship with.

For this to happen, Jesus, God made flesh, would need to be able to live forever. He would need to live for all eternity so that all humans who came into being might have the opportunity to know him and be touched by him, to be in relationship with him. But alas, Jesus was human. Humans do not live forever. For this to happen, Jesus would need to die and be resurrected into new life, a life that would be eternal. That’s what the last couple of days have been about. That’s what this night is all about – Jesus being resurrected to new and eternal life, so that through his eternal life, we might connect with him, know him.

We share in that eternal life, in that connection to God through Jesus Christ, through the sacrament of baptism. In baptism, we share in Christ’s death. In baptism, we share in his resurrection, being reborn to new and eternal life, cleansed of sin.

Tonight, we welcome into the family of faith, into full relationship with Jesus Christ, into full relationship with God, three new members. Mira, Mattea, and Johnny come on this most holy of nights, offering themselves to God. In the waters of baptism, they will be washed, they will be made new, they will be assured of eternal life with their Savior. God has longed to be connected with them, just as he longs to be connected with all of us. And tonight, that longing will be fulfilled.

But baptism is not just a personal act of devotion, a private, feel-good, moment in which we are connected with Christ and with God. Baptism carries with it an awesome responsibility. In baptism, not only are we connected to Christ, but we become the Body of Christ, living in this world, doing his work. Our lives are no longer our own. They belong to him, who is the head of the Body, guiding us, directing us, to continue the work he began 2,000 years ago. In this way, Christ does indeed continue to live in this world, in this time. In this way, Christ continues to be connected to humanity.

Through baptism, we are not only connected to God and to Christ. We are also connected with one another. We are connected with all of humanity, not just those in the church. Not just those who profess faith in Christ. But with all humanity. Just as Christ came into the world to minister to all, so we, as his Body, are called to minister to all, and to be a witness to the saving power of Jesus Christ – the power that was realized this day, through his resurrection.

We all long for connection with our fellow human beings. Just as my brief traveling companion on Wilshire Boulevard sought connection in any way that he could, so God seeks connection with us in any way possible. That way is provided through Jesus Christ, the one who was resurrected this day, to provide eternal connection with us. We enter into that connection through baptism, the outward sign in which we say “yes” to relationship with God through Christ. But unlike my connection with the man on Wilshire, which was momentary and unsubstantial, our connection with God, Mira’s connection with God, Mattea’s connection with God, Johnny’s connection with God, and God’s connection with each and every one of us, will last forever, and carries the promise of new and eternal life.

Alleluia! Christ is risen. The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia!

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The Raising of Lazarus - One Image, Two Pictures

Fifth Sunday in Lent – Year A
Ezekiel 37:1-3(4-10)11-14; Psalm 130; Romans 6:16-23; John 11:(1-17)18-44
Sunday, March 9, 2008 – St. Alban’s, Westwood


As we approach the end of our Lenten journey, we can look back over the last four weeks at the Gospel lessons from John – the story of Jesus’ encounter with Nicodemus, Jesus’ encounter with the Samaritan woman at the well, Jesus’ healing the man born blind, and today, the raising of Lazarus – and see that John has been painting an intricate picture. But this is no ordinary picture. This picture is not like da Vinci’s Mona Lisa, or his Last Supper. Those pictures depict a specific person or a specific event at a particular point in time. Regardless of where you stand, what you see is what you get, even if you don’t understand particular elements, such as Mona Lisa’s enigmatic smile.

This picture being painted by John is a little more mysterious. It does not present a single view of a single subject. Rather, depending on where you’re standing when you look at the picture, you see something different. It’s rather like the beautiful picture that René Rowland did – the one hanging in the hallway just to the right of the sacristy. If you look at the picture up close, all you see is a collection of squares made of fabric of differing patterns, laid out in no particularly discernable arrangement. There may be some sort of patterning in the way the cloth squares are laid out, but what it means is not readily apparent. Overall, it makes a pretty abstract image, although one that is beautiful in its own right. But, if you step away from the picture and look at it from a distance of 15 to 20 feet, what you see is completely different. From that distance, the picture becomes one of two serene figures: Mary, Mother of Our Lord, and the infant Jesus, leaning against her chest, apparently sleeping.

The same physical image, revealing two different pictures, depending on the position of the viewer. In this fantastic image created by a number of squares of fabric, we see close-up, an abstract image. From a more distant perspective, we see a beautiful image of holy mother and holy child. Without the close-up, seemingly abstract picture, we would not have, when we step back a little, the beautiful picture that delights our imaginations.

So what are the different pictures revealed in the one image of John’s Lenten Gospel lessons? First, let’s consider the “close up” picture – the one that we see when we stand very close to the Gospel lessons, examining the words as they are presented on the page. How do the pieces of the stories of Nicodemus, the Samaritan woman, the man born blind, and Lazarus all fit together? Just like René’s artwork, looking at the image presented up close merely seems to reveal an abstract collection of pieces. There may be some discernable pattern in the way the bits of the various stories are laid out. And, in fact, there is. Within this abstract mass, we begin to see that John has provided a picture of who Jesus is. In the Nicodemus story, Jesus talks about the Son of Man, subtly implying that he is that person. In the story of the Samaritan woman, Jesus says in no uncertain terms that he is the Messiah. In the story of the man born blind, Jesus again talks about the Son of Man and this time definitively states that he is indeed the Son of Man. And then, in today’s story of the raising of Lazarus, we have the most abundant and most definitive statement about who Jesus is. He himself says “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.”

And throughout this close-up picture of who Jesus is, the other principle characters provide increasing witness to and verification of who Jesus is. Nicodemus is a bit ambivalent. The Samaritan woman is willing to accept that Jesus may just be the Messiah. The man born blind does accept that Jesus is the Son of Man based on the proof of the miracle of his healing. And in today’s Gospel account, Martha responds with “Lord, I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world” – the strongest and most extensive affirmation to date, based solely on her knowing Jesus and not on any visible proof such as the performance of a miracle.

But what do we see in this image when we step back to get a different perspective? Like René’s artwork, looking at the image from a distance, from a different perspective, we see that the various, seemingly abstract pieces viewed together create a new, altogether different picture. It is a picture that reveals something of human life, and more specifically, of the life of the faithful. In the story of Nicodemus, Jesus talks about birth, new birth, new life, through being born of the Spirit. The story of the Samaritan woman at the well shows some of the conditions we may face in life – potentially being ostracized, being a social outcast, being alone. But this story also shows that through our lives of faith, reconciliation is possible. And not only reconciliation with the other, but also reconciliation with our selves. The story of the man born blind shows other conditions that we all face at one time or another in our lives – infirmity and dis-ease, be they congenital, or be they brought on through the inevitable effects of aging. But this story also shows that healing is possible, that our Lord desires for us health and wholeness. And in today’s lesson, we see what awaits all mortals – death. But this story also shows us that death is not the end, but only the beginning; that through Christ, we are promised new life.

In this fantastic image created by the selections from John’s Gospel that we have read during this Lenten season, we see close-up, the revelation of who Jesus is. From a more distant perspective, we see who we are, as human beings and as people of faith. We see birth, we see what troubles and hardships may beset us in our lives, and we see death. But more importantly, we see what our lives can be like by placing our faith in Jesus. Both pictures are part and parcel of the same base image. Without the close-up, seemingly abstract picture of who Jesus is, we would not have, when we step back a little, the beautiful picture of who we are and who we can become through Christ.

While the whole picture, both the close-up and the more distant, provide a fundamental truth about our Lord and our lives of faith, our lives in him, it is the components that we add to the image today that are of critical importance in completing the image. For today we remember some of Jesus’ last moments before he begins his final journey to Jerusalem, where he will be arrested, tried, convicted, and sentenced to death. In these last moments, we are witnesses to Jesus’ last miracle, and with the exception of private conversations with his closest disciples, we hear his last public proclamation of who he is. To understand this last miracle, we need to understand this last public proclamation.

When Jesus approaches Bethany, he is met by Martha. Rather than words of compassion from Jesus, or words of relief from Martha, she instantly lays into him. “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask of him.” In other words, “Because you delayed coming, Lazarus is dead. So do something to fix it.” There is a definite edge of complaint and even accusation in her opening comments. But like any good teacher, Jesus uses this as a teaching moment. He engages Martha in a practical and theological discussion about resurrection. And then just as she is beginning to understand what resurrection means, he hits her with the truth about who he is – truth with a capital T – “I am the resurrection and the life.” “I am the resurrection and the life.” As biblical scholar Gail O’Day notes, “Jesus’ self-revelation as the resurrection and the life is the decisive eschatological announcement of this Gospel” (O’Day, 693). It is probably the most significant thing that Jesus says in the entire Gospel According to John. The whole Gospel story has been building to and is built around, this very point.

But Jesus doesn’t stop there. He also tells Martha the significance of his statement. “Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.” He is affirming his sovereignty over the present and future lives of those who believe in him. He is saying that physical death has no power over believers. For those who believe, the future is not determined by their death. Rather, the future is determined solely by their faith in Jesus. This is “the most far-reaching promise anywhere in the Gospel of what relationship with Jesus offers those who embrace it” (O’Day, 694). O’Day notes that these “are not idle words of hope, because they name the greatest threat to full relationship with God: death” (O’Day, 694). These words “invite the believer to a vision of life in which one remains in the full presence of God during life and after death” (O’Day, 694).

Jesus’ proclamation that he is the resurrection and the life sets the stage for the miracle that is to follow shortly – the raising of Lazarus. But even with all the theological groundwork he has just laid with Martha, she is still a little skeptical. When Jesus tells those at the tomb to take away the stone covering the entrance, Martha protests that Lazarus has been dead four days and that there would be a stench (or, as put so poetically in the King James Version, “he stinketh”). Jesus chastises Martha, saying “Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?” and then proceeds to reveal it. The stone is removed, and after praying to God, Jesus commands, “Lazarus, come out!” In her commentary, Gail O’Day eloquently describes what happens next. “Lazarus arose still dressed in the clothes of death, dependent on the voice of Jesus to achieve his freedom from death” (O’Day, 692). Jesus has proven that he is indeed the resurrection and the life. And Lazarus has proven that all we need to do to gain our freedom from death is to listen to Jesus’ call to us.

In today’s Gospel lesson, we see once again dual pictures created by one image. Close-up, we see Jesus’ proclamation that he is the resurrection and the life. We see the truth of Martha’s affirmation that Jesus is “Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world.” In the final days of his life, we witness the truth about Jesus, the truth that the Gospel has been building to, the truth that the Gospel was meant to proclaim.

And as we step back to gain a different perspective on this image, we see not the abstract concept of Jesus being the resurrection and the life. We see not the miraculous event of a man, dead four days, brought back to life by a simple command from Jesus. At a distance, we see a wholly different, a wholly beautiful picture. We see our own resurrections.

Granted, no one since the time of the New Testament has been resurrected as Lazarus was. No one has verifiably died, been buried, and then been brought back to life. We trust that such resurrection will eventually occur, before the Judgment Day. As we proclaim every week in the Nicene Creed: “We look for the resurrection of the dead, and the life of the world to come.” For the time being, resurrection of those who have physically died does not occur on a regular basis.

But that does not mean that resurrection does not occur on a daily basis, for those of us who still live, who live lives of faith in Jesus. He made a promise in his proclamation “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.” This is a promise that we who believe remain in the full love and care of God not only after death, but also before death, during life. This being the case, Lazarus is the archetype for our own lives. Yes, we will die. Our only hope for eternal life comes through Jesus, as he promised to Martha.

But our hope is not limited to the time after our own death. The hope and the promise also apply to our every-day lives. In our every-day lives, we all face dark times, moments of personal death – illness, defeat, rejection. We are all subject to sadness, depression, loneliness. We all succumb to anger, frustration, bitterness. These are moments of personal death that beset us, either occasionally, or on an ongoing basis. These are moments in which we may feel as if we are wrapped in a burial shroud, separated from the world, walking through it, but feeling somehow disconnected from it. At their worst, such moments, which can extend into days, weeks, even years, may cause us to feel as if we are in a tomb, completely cut off from life around us.

If this happens – when this happens – we have two choices. We can go it alone and live in a shroud of darkness, just as Lazarus is wrapped in a burial shroud. We can live in a tomb, sealed off from the rest of humanity. Or we can turn to Jesus, who calls us to come out of the tomb, who calls us to life in him, who through his own death and resurrection, makes all things new, who gives new life.

As we prepare to wrap up our Lenten journey, as we prepare to make that final trip with Jesus to Jerusalem and into Holy Week, as we prepare to face the cross, let us remember that the image before us may not be what it seems. During these final days of Lent, take a close look at who Jesus is – the resurrection and the life – and then step back and see how who he is forms the picture that is your life.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.


References
O’Day, Gail R. “The Gospel of John: Introduction, Commentary, and Reflection.” In Vol. IX of The New Interpreter’s Bible. Edited by Leander E. Keck, et al. Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1995.

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