Easter 3B
Listen to the Sermon for April 22, 2012
Read the Sermon for April 22, 2012
Category: Religion
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One Thing in the Universe That is Not Up to Us
Jesus himself stood among them and said to them, ‘Peace be with you.’ They were startled and terrified, and thought that they were seeing a ghost. He said to them, ‘Why are you frightened, and why do doubts arise in your hearts? Look at my hands and my feet; see that it is I myself. Touch me and see; for a ghost does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have.’ And when he had said this, he showed them his hands and his feet. While in their joy they were disbelieving and still wondering, he said to them, ‘Have you anything here to eat?’ They gave him a piece of broiled fish, and he took it and ate in their presence. – Luke 24:36b-42
An advertisement for a guest speaker at a Houston, Texas church announced that the speaker’s topic was “Activating the Presence of Christ.” That put me off and I’ll tell you why. The presence of Christ is not something that is “activated” by individuals or even groups of individuals. You don’t “make” Christ present in your home or workplace and I don’t “make” Christ present in the bread and wine at the Altar.
God’s presence isn’t dependent upon our subjective awareness. We can be grateful for that! In a world where we can control and manipulate so many things, it is really a comfort to know that God, the Creator, Redeemer, and Sustainer of all life, is constantly fulfilling the covenant promise to be with us no matter what. The divine presesnce is not dependent upon our consciousness. It may be the one thing in the universe that is never “up to us.”
Swiss psychiatrist Carl Jung discovered a statement to this effect among the Latin writings of Desiderius Erasmus. Erasmus, the Renaissance scholar and humanist, said the statement had been an ancient Spartan proverb. Jung popularized it, having it inscribed over the doorway of his Zurich home to remind those who entered that "awe of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom" (Psalms 111:10). The phrase is also inscribed upon Dr. Jung’s tomb. Vocatus atque non vocatus, Deus aderit. (Bidden or not bidden, God is Present.)
We are all aware of the idea that God in Christ never forces his way into our lives. That theme, and the related theme of the free will of the individual, are artistically expressed in Holman Hunt's famous painting, "The Light of the World." The latch on the door is on the inside, not on the outside where Christ, the bearer and embodiment of light, stands knocking. But note that Christ is present. His presence may be acknowledged, welcomed, resisted, denied, or ignored, but not “activated.”
Luke 24:36b-42 is one of several readings used in the Easter season that provide an account of the Resurrection appearances of Jesus to his disciples. Jesus stood among them and spoke to them. They were startled and thought they were seeing a ghost. There was no knocking at a door. There was no “activating” his presence. He was there by his own will. Moreover, this gospel writer and others go out of their way to make it clear that this was no ghost. He was corporeally present. He invited them to touch him, he ate with them, and they heard his voice.
No doubt by the time the epistles and gospels were written, several decades following the resurrection, it was important to the bearers of the apostolic witness to counter certain Christological positions that were gaining in popularity. The Gnostics and others believed in a docetic Christ. In their thought, Christ only appeared to have lived and died, since a god would never defile himself by taking on human flesh and blood. Others taught that the resurrection appearances were “spiritual” experiences and tried to reinforce the Greek notion of the immortality of the soul, wherein we are just passing through.
Christians believe in the resurrection of the dead, not into a spirit world. Luke’s resurrection appearance is a way of saying “no” to a spirituality that says the body and all things physical are inferior and evil. The resurrection completes the incarnation and declares in the clearest of terms that God values and loves all that God has created.
The Risen Christ continues to be present with us in physical ways, principally in the Eucharist. The season of Easter was always used in the early church as the time to instruct newly baptized people in the sacraments, which they were now able to receive. This practice is still carried on frequently in the contemporary church. It is helpful, because all of us need to be reminded of the meaning of our sacramental relationship with God in the Eucharistic Meal. We come here not to “activate” the presence of Christ, but to experience him in the table fellowship. Then, we are sent into the world to be an extension of the experience of Christ’s living risen presence to others in touchable, tangible, real ways that make a difference.
St. Augustine, a fourth century bishop in North Africa, put it this way in an Easter sermon: "You are the body of Christ. In you and through you the work of the incarnation must go forward. You are to be taken; you are to be blessed, broken, and distributed; that you may be the means of grace and the vehicles of the eternal charity."
It is true today. As we know Christ we understand that we are to make Christ known when we walk out of the church into the mission field at our doorstep. We have been fed so that we can feed others who are hungry, as are we, for that which satisfies the deepest hungers of our lives.
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Epiphany Through Doubt
The Reverend Ken Kesselus, a colleague in Texas, tells the following story:
Once when a certain preacher launched into a children’s sermon, she was confronted by a visiting child, an eight-year-old friend of a regular member. The boy was new to this church, but was a regular attendee at another congregation that did not have children’s sermons. Nevertheless, the visitor tried his best to follow the line of the preacher’s effort to connect with the children. Attempting to hook the children with something familiar before making her point, the priest asked the children to identify what she would describe. “What is fuzzy and has a long tail?” No response. “What has big teeth and climbs in trees?” Still no response. After she asked, “What jumps around a lot and gathers nuts and hides them?” the visiting boy could stand the silence no longer. He blurted out, “Look, lady, I know the answer is supposed to be ‘Jesus,’ but it sure sounds like a squirrel to me.”
Human beings usually want to give the “right” answer, the answer others expect. The eight-year-old boy had more courage than most of us might have had. He acknowledged what he thought others might want him to say, but he found a way to express his doubt.
Each year on the Second Sunday of Easter, we read the gospel account of St. Thomas the Apostle in which he expresses his own doubt about reports of the Resurrection of Jesus (John 20:19-31). He had not been in the company of the other Apostles when Jesus appeared to them that first Easter. When the others told him they had seen the Risen Savior, he couldn’t believe it. He may have wanted to “go along in order to get along” with the others, but he was compelled to express his doubt. He might have said, “I know the answer is supposed to be that I believe you saw Jesus, but it sure sounds like a ghost to me.”
A week later, Thomas had the opportunity to see for himself and confirm in his own experience that the Risen Christ was not a ghost. But for a period of time, he was skeptical. His questioning and doubting must have been as hard for him as it was for the little boy trying to understand the illustration about the squirrel. Because we too struggle with what may seem clear to others and with accepted norms, we can identify with Thomas and the little boy.
I am grateful to be a part of a Church where it is safe for people to express their doubts and ask their questions and challenge accepted norms. It is a Church where we don’t have to mindlessly accept what seems to be the accepted answer or point of view. It is a Church where it is okay to be doubtful, confused, and skeptical. It is a Church where we can remain in the company of others as we struggle with matters of doubt and faith. It is a Church where from childhood we are encouraged to ask questions and to wonder as we journey toward faith.The example of Thomas’ honesty and forthrightness fosters hope in us and empowers us in our seasons of doubt. We need that kind of faith community as we wonder where God fits in with harsh and frightening realities of life and death. We need a faith community where we can be encountered by the Risen Christ who can lead us to the truth, just as he led Thomas. In such a community, we can work through our uncertainties and emerge on the other side with an even stronger faith, just as Thomas did.
The story of Thomas affirms that doubt can give way to faith, just as death is overcome by life. It assures us that the God we worship can handle our doubts and fears. It tells us that honesty is necessary in our relationship with God and God’s own people in times of uncertainty as well as in times of confidence.
The Apostles were blessed because they saw the Risen Christ and believed. Their subsequent ministry was to nurture faith among others who had not seen. Jesus said to Thomas, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” The ongoing work of this Church is to continue the ministry of the Apostles and foster the even greater blessing that comes from walking by faith and not by sight. And for every generation of Christians since the first one, if we are honest about it, we have to admit that faith in Jesus Christ requires at least some struggle with doubt.
That’s really what Easter is all about. We are Easter People, traveling together on a marvelous journey toward those faith-filled moments when we discover the Risen One at work in our lives and in our world – moments so profound that we can only exclaim with Thomas, “My Lord and my God.”
P.S. Here's an old hymn based on this gospel passage and sung to a new tune by Marty Haugen.
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An Epiphany From a Tall Ship
Today is Maundy Thursday among Western Christians. It is the day we recall the experience of Jesus Christ with his Apostles in the Upper Room on the evening before his death. Because they were gathered there to celebrate the Passover Seder together, we mainly associate the day with the institution of the Holy Eucharist.
But the name for this day is derived from something else that happened in that Upper Room. The English word Maundy in the name for this day of Holy Week is derived from the Latin word mandatum, the first word of the phrase Mandatum novum do vobis ut diligatis invicem sicut dilexi vos ("I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another."), the statement by Jesus in the Gospel of John 13:34 by which Jesus explained the significance of his action of washing the feet of the Apostles.
What kind of love has to be commanded? Obviously, the kind of love Jesus expects us to show for one another, which is a reflection of the kind of love Jesus shows for us. We sometimes call it "Love Divine" because it is the kind of love that is natural for God. It is not so natural for humans, so we have to be made conscious of the importance of it. We have to be commanded.
In today's ecumenical Holy Week service at Calvary Church in Ashland, Kentucky, our preacher was The Rev. Garrett Bugg, Pastor of Ashland's First Presbyterian Church. In speaking about the Great Commandment, he referred to Jesus as "the Commander." It is intriguing to think of Jesus Christ as "the Commander."
An analogy formed in my mind from my experience sailing on Elissa, the official Tall Ship of Texas. Elissa is a three-masted, iron-hulled sailing ship built in 1877 in Aberdeen, Scotland by Alexander Hall & Company. She carries nineteen sails covering over one-quarter of an acre in surface area. Her home port is Galveston, Texas and from there she sails from time to time during the year, usually on day sails, with a crew of dedicated and sturdy volunteers.Originally, her crew consisted of about five or six. These days, the ship's crew is made up of about twenty-five. Twenty four crew members sail her and one crew member is the cook. The Captain of the ship is usually brought in from some other part of the country to command the crew. He stands above the deck in a place where he can see where the ship is headed, where the crew members are deployed, and the position of all the sails. From that vantage point, he shouts commands such as "on the main," "on the fore," "batten down the hatches," and "come about." After the command is given, the crew members responsible for carrying it out shout it back to the commander, indicating that they not only heard the command but are carrying it out. This amazing litany of command and response onboard a massive sailing vessel makes it possible for the ship to sail on course and safely reach her destination.
Jesus Christ, our Commander, gives the command to love one another just as he has loved us. The response he awaits is for us not only to let him know we have heard the command, but to carry it out. "If you know these things," he promises, "you are blessed if you do them" (John 13:17).
Although it is a very long way from the image of Jesus bending down to wash the feet of his crew to the image of a naval commander shouting instructions to his, I believe there are many similarities when it comes to fulfilling a mission. Jesus issued the Great Commandment with a clear vision from a unique vantage point. The cooperation and welfare of his crew on their journey and safe arrival at a particular destination were his primary concerns. His own obedience to the mission was an inspiration to those from he sought obedience. Teamwork, cooperation, and oneness are necessary to complete the mission of a sailing vessel as well as the mission of Jesus Christ. His Great Commandment is still essential in carrying out his Great Commission.
If we want the world to believe in our Savior, we have to learn to fulfill his command. The way his love is lived out among his followers in word and action is our most authentic and believable witness. If doing for one another what he has done for us were so simple, he would never have put it into the form of a command.
Now that we know these things…
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The Way of the Cross – The Path of Obedience
During the first week of April we will observe the last week in the life of Jesus. One of the most poignant passages we will read during this Holy Week is from St. Paul’s Letter to the Church at Philippi:
Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death – even death on a cross.
Therefore God also highly exalted him and gave him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father. – Phil. 2:5-11
I am struck by the description of the depth of Jesus’ obedience “to the point of death – even death on a cross.” His journey, especially during the days leading up to the Crucifixion, was a journey of obedience. That gets right to the heart of Holy Week, doesn’t it?
We know that the journey was not without its moments for Jesus. He prayed about it until he sweated blood. The temptation to take another path, to escape, to avoid the cross, was always there. But he knew his mission and was obedient to the One who had set this path before him.
By his obedience to that higher vocation, Jesus was able to overcome his inner conflict. By his commitment to the mission entrusted to him, he was able to remain steadfast until he fulfilled it. By his discipline in the midst of confusion, he was able to discern the way forward toward his redemptive objective.
In the story Ninety-three, Victor Hugo tells of a ship caught in a violent storm. When the storm was at its height, the frightened crew heard a terrible crashing below. A cannon they were carrying had broken loose and was banging into the ship’s sides, tearing gaping holes with every smashing blow.
Two men, at the risk of their lives, managed to secure the cannon again, for they knew that the loose cannon was more dangerous than the storm. The storm could toss them about, but the loose cannon within could sink them.
So, too, the outside storms and problems of life aren’t the greatest danger. It’s the terrible destructiveness of a lack of obedience to the highest, best, and noblest dimensions of life that can send us to the bottom.
The cross could have destroyed Jesus. But it didn’t because in humility he submitted himself to a discipline that kept him within the Divine Will. We could use some of his obedience in our own lives. Maybe some will rub off on us as we walk with him in the Way of the Cross during Holy Week, through the Crucifixion, into the Tomb, and into the glorious Resurrection on Easter. Let’s do it together!
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There’s a man on the cross!
Several years ago, a friend and I were driving on a freeway that passes along one side of downtown Houston, Texas. As we approached the downtown area, there was a traffic jam and all the lanes of the freeway were almost at a standstill. Since it was not during either of those times of the day we have misnamed “rush hour,” I was puzzled as to why there was congestion.
I was concentrating on the cars ahead of me, but my friend was not and it was he who discovered the reason for the traffic problems. Off to the right of the freeway is Annunciation Roman Catholic Church, one of Houston’s historic landmarks. High atop that church’s spire is a beautiful gold cross. When we were passing that church, my friend cried out, “There’s a man on the cross!”
A workman was repairing the cross and everyone who passed was stopping to see. It was my companion’s exclamation and my own first glance rather than the subsequent explanation that left an indelible impression in my mind. I recalled the words of scripture, “If I am lifted up, I will draw all people to me” (John 12:32). Think of it; there’s a man on the cross and the city stops to see!
Why do we stop? Why do we come to the church during Lent and Holy Week and fill our souls with thoughts of the sorrow and death of Jesus?
We come because in Jesus we see a courage we would make our own in the face of trouble.
He went to the cross after a long period of inner struggle, after his friends denied and betrayed him, and after mockery and scourging at the hands of God’s elect. It was not easy. There was pain both of the spirit and of the flesh. Recognizing that we too must face times of pain and death, we come to see this man on a cross and draw courage. This sort of courage is necessary to live the life he calls us to live. It is more than we can call forth from within ourselves. We need our portion of his in order to take up our own crosses.
We come because in Jesus we see one who leaves an indelible imprssion on our lives.
Throughout our experience, the really tough decisions are wrought in prayer and deliberation. The choices and commitments we make call forth the greatest energies of the spirit. Bishop Walpole knew this when he counseled a friend about his ministry, “If you are uncertain about which of two paths to take, chose the one on which the shadow of the cross falls.” He was saying, “Christ died for you so that your life would count. Choose the way that has the impression of the cross on it. We know in our own experience how indelible this impression is when we encounter Jesus Christ on his cross.
We come because we still marvel that God has chosen this peculiar manner to bring salvation to the world.
We’d love to clean it up a bit. We’d like to think it wasn’t so messy, but it was. A man died in agony at a place outside Jerusalem. George McLeod’s famous words describe the place so well:
I simply argue that the cross be raised again
at the center of the market place
as well as on the steeple of the church,I am recovering the claim that
Jesus was not crucified in a cathedral
between two candles:But on a cross between two thieves;
on a town garbage heap;
at a crossroad of politics so cosmopolitan
that they had to write His title
in Hebrew and in Latin and in Greek . . .And at the kind of place where cynics talk smut,
and thieves curse and soldiers gamble.Because that is where He died,
and that is what He died about.
And that is where [the Church] ought to be,
and what [the Church] ought to be about.This is the strange story of salvation. It is a story filled with pathos and irony and paradox. It is a story in which the Sovereign of the Universe becomes the Paschal Lamb. And, through this one act of self-offering, the gates of salvation are permanently opened for all people to enter.
There’s a man on the cross – drawing all people to himself.
That’s why we come.