Monthly Archives: March 2018

Undeniable Fear: A Good Friday Meditation on Mark 14:66-72

Holy Week, Lent, Mark

A Good Friday Meditation on Mark 14:66-72

I love the stories of Simon Peter in the gospel. In Christ’s call to Peter to tend my sheep, I hear my own call. We hear so many stories about Peter in the gospels – about his well-intentioned excitement, his yearning to be close to Jesus. To do things like be the first to walk on the water – and then overthink things and get scared. But today, we hear that this same person, who was so desperate to be close to Christ and embrace every step – this same person denies Jesus three times.

The fear around Jesus’ arrest, all that fear about what was going to happen next, can so easily through our whole selves. In these times of fear, it’s easy to let that fear overwhelm us and permeate everything, every little bit of us.

Before that night, Peter never would’ve imagined he’s chose fear and deny Jesus not just once but three times. If someone with as much love and devotion and knowledge of Christ as Peter had can fall prey to that fear, then we’re all capable of that too.

God, on the Good Fridays of our lives, it’s hard to see beyond the immensity of our fear and sadness, help us remember that your love is always – and undeniably – bigger.

Palm Sunday 2018: Looking Back on to the Moment of Triumph

Eucharist, Holy Week, Lent, Palm Sunday, Sermons, Year B

Year B Palm Sunday
Jesus’ Triumphal Entry into Jerusalem
The Teaching of Jesus in the Temple (adaptation of Mark 12)
Preach at Christ Church Christiana Hundred in Wilmington, Delaware

Three years ago, I spent Holy Week as a seminary intern at a small church plant in Brooklyn. I processed with palms through Bushwick, prayed through the night after Maundy Thursday, walked the Stations of the Cross on Good Friday, and embraced the joy of Easter. Being too far away to make it home to my family, I met up with some friends, lay leaders and clergy alike, for a festive Easter feast, full of exhausted laughter than rang out into the streets of Chelsea late into the night. The next morning, our Easter Monday sabbath, I embraced the resurrection triumph by sleeping in and then started to play on my phone to procrastinate getting out of bed. And I got a message. A picture popped up of one of my dear friends and housemates during my year in South Africa, someone I’d shared many laughs with, crowded around our kitchen table. My friend, my sister in Christ, Tylenia had died, suddenly, at 23 in some senseless car accident. I dropped my phone onto my chest, and it felt like a punch. All the glory of Easter vanished and suddenly I felt like I was back walking the stations of the cross. It was finished. Again.

The most important thing to remember about the gospel stories we’ve just heard is that these are the lessons that Jesus wanted to focus on conveying before his arrest and crucifixion; in these teachings, we hear what Christ knew was most important for us to remember as we begin our journey into Holy Week. Jesus’ knew that there were dark times ahead for the disciples and for all of his followers; he knew his death was coming even though they did not. Jesus called them – and still calls us – to do our part to stay in right relationship with God, so we’re prepared for whatever life throws our way. We’re beginning our journey through Holy Week and Christ is giving us a roadmap to follow. The story of Jesus’ teaching in the temple and the story of the Last Supper follow Jesus’ triumphant entry into Jerusalem but foreshadow the journey we’re embarking on as we begin Holy Week, and the story of the Passion that we’ll hear later in the service.

First, when we hear the summary from Mark 12 of Jesus’ teachings in the temple, we hear several rapid-fire stories of different teachings, with one common thread: to draw us closer to the kingdom of God. Jesus tells us which commandment is the greatest: to love the Lord our God with all our heart, and all our soul, and with all our mind, and all our strength. And to love our neighbors as ourselves. Then, Jesus praised the widow for giving all the had to God. God isn’t after the contents of our pockets: Chap Stick and credit cards. God wants us to offer up our whole hearts, our whole selves. Our Heavenly Father wants our whole trust. To love God with our whole hearts – to give all that we have like the widow did – we don’t only have to focus on God, we have to focus on loving each other, too. In real love, we let our guard down, which is why when we lose someone we love, we grieve. When I lost Ty, I remembered our laughs at the kitchen table in our home, our first University of Cape Town rugby game, our adventures traveling around the city. All the times we shared in joy and commiserated with each other in sadness. Grief longs for the community of shared joy as well as shared support in times of sorrow.

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In the second part of Mark 12, we hear the story of the Passover meal: the narrative of the bread and wine that the disciples shared at the Last Supper and that we retell every Sunday. When we share the bread and the wine – Christ’s body and blood – we take in his life so that we can live in him. Part of the Eucharistic prayer is the retelling of the story. We say together: “Christ has died. Christ is risen. Christ will come again.” (Book of Common Prayer, 363). In our prayer together, the bread and the wine become the body & blood of Christ. They become a sacrament, a vessel of God’s Grace. For there to be a sacrament – any sacrament – the faith of the people is required. A priest alone in a room cannot consecrate bread and wine. Just like in the first half of Mark’s gospel: we love God better by loving each other. We’re all in this together

When I was on pilgrimage to Jerusalem last month, one of the great joys of my time there was the people, both my fellow pilgrims as well as the people we met along the way. On our last day in Jerusalem, we visited the site where the procession of palms began. Then, we made our way to Gethsemane, the garden where Jesus and the disciples went on the night before his arrest and crucifixion. There is a beautiful church where we prayed, and outside is a beautiful garden of olive trees. But if it weren’t for the evangelizing of one of my dear fellow pilgrims, I would’ve missed the very best part. If you stand in just the right spot, in the middle of all of those twisted trees, where Jesus prayed, awaiting the grief he knew was coming. If you stand in just the right spot, you can look through the trees, towards the walls around Jerusalem and see the Messiah’s Gate, the gate Jesus rode through in the triumphant entry we just read about at the beginning of the service. You can see the glorious gate framed by the knotty olive trees of Gethsemane.
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Isn’t always just so that you can see the place of triumph so clearly – and yet just out of reach – from the place of grief? It’s a summary of the full spectrum of human emotion that we go through during Holy Week. Between the triumphant entry of Palm Sunday and the joy of the resurrection at Easter, we have the grief of Holy Week, the grief of Jesus’ passion and death. What makes the griefs we experience in lives so powerful – what made my grief for my friend so powerful – is that amid the darkness of grief like twisted olive trees, we can see – just out of reach – our own Messiah’s gate – our own place of great triumph, and – more importantly – great love. In Holy Week, we experience the ways God is with us through all of that – which makes coming out the other side in Easter even more powerful! The people I’ve grieved live on in me, Jesus’ teachings live on in us.

One of the hardest parts about grieving Ty from so far away was that there was no one around me who knew her, nevertheless loved her. I don’t think I was able to completely accept losing my friend until 10 months later, when I went to South Africa and had lunch with two of our other housemates, who could sit in Gethsemane with me and acknowledge how much we still miss her, and look back longingly at the Messiah’s gate, our glory days just out of reach. To fully appreciate the joy of the resurrection, we have to acknowledge the grief of the passion and crucifixion. I invite you to join us this week on that journey, for our Maundy Thursday and Good Friday services. Jesus’ glorious entry into Jerusalem led into the teachings we heard today in the summary of Mark 12. Part of loving God with our whole hearts is loving each other with our whole hearts, and sharing in the sacramental life together. And we need all the connection points to God – all the love and glory and laud and honor – we can get when the moments of triumph in our lives give way to experiences of grief and hardship. So, let us live that teaching and sow love with each other as we gather around the table today, and sacrifice our praise and thanksgiving to God, having faith in that love to be our daily bread, next time we get caught spending a long night in Gethsemane, with our glory days just out of reach, we can endure because of the love that keeps watch with us.

Something Better Than Gold

Lent, Sermons, The Psalms, Year A, , , , ,

Year A, Lent 3
Psalm 19
Christ Church Christiana Hundred, Wilmington, DE

This Lent, my colleagues and I committed to preaching on the psalms, an exciting challenge for all of us. More than usual, this sermon evolved over the course of the morning’s services, so the video does not include the Jordan River bit that I prayerfully extroverted, then added to the script below.

Sunday Sermon – March 4, 2018 from Christ Church Christiana Hundred on Vimeo.

One of my practices at the end of the day is to recount the things that I am grateful for. Sometimes, my gratitude for the riches of the day blinds me from my gratitude for my journey to the day. I’m grateful for my education. In high school, I always knew I would go on to college. I was quiet, but I did well in school. Generally, I was quite a rule-follower, too; I wanted to do the right thing, you know? Even if my vision for my life didn’t always line up with my parents’, I didn’t want to let them down. And though I went to high school in a post-Columbine world, I felt safe. I can’t imagine what it feels like for high schoolers now. I am overwhelmed by the violence and the pain it causes. It sounds like the youth of our nation are fed up, too, as they vocally cry out and peacefully march. Some schools are threatening suspension or loss of prom or graduation for students who walk out. In an age where competition for college is greater and greater, no one wants a stain on their application. How can they choose between securing their future and securing their present safety – our future? It’s challenging enough to do the right thing when the answer to the problem is clear; what happens when we can’t figure it out?

In the heart of today’s psalm, Psalm 19, the psalmist tells us about the glory of doing things “God’s way.” He spends three verses – verses 7-9 –  on the Lord’s law, testimony, statutes, commandments, fear, and judgements; many of which are fairly synonymous. Together, these things make up the God’s will, for our world as a whole and for God’s call in each of our lives. When we say the Lord’s Prayer – the prayer Jesus taught the disciples –  God’s will on earth is what we’re praying when we say “Thy Kingdom come.” Praying for God’s kingdom is praying for a world that follows God’s call as a community and as individuals. The Psalmist describes following each piece of the way of the Lord as reviving the soul, giving wisdom, rejoicing the heart, and always enduring.

In verse 10, the Psalmist summarizes of God’s law and testimony as more desirable than gold and the sweetest of honey. An important thing to know to fully understand this verse is: During the Old Testament times, honey was a rare enough commodity that it was considered a luxury, more on par with gold than it is by today’s standards. So, for all the soul-reviving, wisdom-granting, heart-rejoicing, and always-enduring aspects of the Lord’s commandments – the way of life we pray for – these things are not only associated with items of the highest value but with items that are rare.  See, even for knowing that God’s will for our lives is best, most enlightening way of life that offers for the greatest reward: we get to verse 12 and the psalmist says “Who can tell how often he offends? Cleanse me from my secret faults”

The Psalmist, just like us, struggles. The Pslamist knows that God’s law is the best way to live – something better than gold – but he also knows that it’s hard to figure out how to do the right things.  Do any of us know how often we offend? How many secret faults do I have that I am blind to? When we join together in saying the confession there’s that line about “things that we have left undone.” When I say the confession, I’m more comfortable in naming ways that I may have fallen short than I am in having to acknowledge that I might have some blind spots. The first two thirds of today’s psalm are all a set up for the last third: the psalmist is asking God for help to do the right thing. “God, please keep me from making the same mistake again, and while you’re at it, please help me make fewer new mistakes.” Sometimes, part of the challenge of doing the right thing means knowing what the right thing is.  Our lives are filled with some pretty murky waters.

Last month, during my pilgrimage to Israel, I had the great joy of renewing my baptismal vows while standing in the Jordan River. While the way of life that these promises calls us to remains clear, the waters of the Jordan River are actually quite murky. Standing knee-deep in that river, I couldn’t see my feet, but I could still recommit myself to my baptism, no matter how much lack of clarity surrounded me.

Lucky for us, our Lord and Savior is Jesus, who spent a good portion his earthly life wandering around healing people because of their faith or the faith of those around them. I’ve heard the story of Jesus restoring the sight of the blind beggar; it helps me keep the faith the Christ can restore my sight to the blind spots in my heart that keep me from seeing which is the right decision.

Thomas Merton, a twentieth century theologian and writer, penned one of my favorite prayers, which is known at the “Thomas Merton Prayer.” I couldn’t help but think of it, when I read today’s psalm. It begins; “My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going” and continues “the fact that I think that I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does, in fact, please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing.” Don’t we all want that desire? When I struggle to discern God’s will, I take comfort in believing that that desire to please God does please God.

For all the psalmist’s pleas to God to help him discern God’s will and follow God’s law,  he is clearly aware of God’s presence. This whole journey of declaring the glory of God’s will and begging for strength to follow it begins with the psalmist reveling in the glory of God’s creation; “The heavens declare the glory of God and the firmament shows God’s’ handiwork.” Every day. Every corner of the earth. Every glorious sunrise and sunset. God is visible in God’s creation. God reveals Godself in Creation. While the psalmist makes it clear the glory of following God is even greater, these first verses provide us a roadmap that Creation is the first place we are to look for God: the trees and the flowers and howling wind and the warm rain… and us. Humanity. We are a part of Creation. There is a piece of Christ in every human heart. We get to know God better by getting to know each other. We are agents in helping to manifest God’s transformation at work in all of our lives; thy kingdom come, indeed!

One of the reasons our life together as a Christian community is that when we share our faith with each other – whether it’s in a church, in a Growth Group, on a night ride home, or sitting on a rooftop in some strange city – it makes us vulnerable. When we are vulnerable with each other, we reveal Christ to each other and get to know God better.  One of the promises we make in our Baptismal Covenant is to “continue in the apostles’ teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of bread, and in the prayers.”  All of these things are connected: apostles’ teaching and fellowship. Because learning about God and being in community together are inextricably linked.  When I am struggling to do the right thing, I can ask for help. When I can’t see what the right thing is from where I am, my friend can tell me how things look from her perspective. We’re all in this together, and I am so grateful. I don’t know about you, but I can’t imagine figuring it all out on my own.

We all know the right thing is usually not the easy thing. It’s made harder still when we can’t even identify the right thing. But we have us. Our community. When I say the “Our Father,” I take comfort in the our, in the prayer’s line  to “forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive.” There are no I’s in the Lord’s Prayer, or the Confession of Sins. We need the support of everyone in the church to welcome someone in Baptism. Our Sunday mornings are filled with this communal language because we are all in this together. One step at a time. It’s the only way we’re going to navigate God’s law and live a life richer than gold. Thy kingdom come, indeed.

 

My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going.
I do not see the road ahead of me.
I cannot know for certain where it will end.
Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that
I think I am following Your will does not mean that I am
actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please You
does in fact please you.
And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing.
I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire.
And I know that, if I do this, You will lead me by the right road,
though I may know nothing about it.
Therefore I will trust You always though I may seem to be lost
and in the shadow of death.
I will not fear, for You are ever with me,
and You will never leave me to face my perils alone.

-Thomas Merton