Why Easter matters

 

 

I suppose it’s only natural to think of Easter as a miracle; after all Christ’s rising from the dead is clearly within God’s realm. But calling Easter a miracle excuses us from having anything further to do with it, since a miracle is God’s doing. We believe that God’s incarnation in Jesus and Jesus’ death and resurrection were for our salvation and benefit and not God’s benefit, making Easter more a sacrament than a miracle. A sacrament, requires our participation for its existence.  God performs miracles but man celebrates sacraments.  God may work a miracle apart from man. However, man is essential to the presence of a sacrament. 

If Easter is to be a sacramental event, we must represent it for each other with our own flesh and blood.  Easter is sacramental every time one of us makes our life a source of comfort and hope for another.  Easter is sacramental when our words heal, when we listen to each other and let transient worldly distractions be replaced by a God-centered life.

John Calvin wrote that becoming Son of man with us, he made us sons of God with him; that by his descent to earth, he has prepared an ascent to heaven for us; that by taking on out mortality, he has conferred his immortality upon us; that accepting our weakness, he has strengthened us by his power; that receiving our poverty unto himself, he has transferred our wealth to us; that taking the weight of our iniquity upon himself (which oppressed us), he has clothed us with his righteousness. (Kruger, The Shack Revisited, p. 197) 

Jesus became incarnate to not only teach us how to live our lives but to reside in Him through Jesus and lift us up into a life of communion, of participation in the very triune life of God. When we say “in him through him and with him” as we celebrate the Eucharist, we are reminded of our participation in his birth, death and resurrection. (John 20:1-9)

(Adapted from Dawn without Darkness, Anthony Padovano, p78)

Love One Another

 

If you knew you were about to die, what would you tell the people you love? What cherished hope or dream would you share? What last, urgent piece of advice would you offer?

In our Gospel reading this week, (John 13:1-15) we hear Jesus’s answer to this difficult question. Judas has left the Last Supper in order to carry out his betrayal, the crucifixion clock is ticking fast and hard, and Jesus knows that his disciples are about to face the greatest devastating challenge of their lives. So he gets right to the point. No parables, no stories, no pithy sayings. Just one commandment. One simple, straightforward commandment, summarizing Jesus’s deepest desire for his followers: “Love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.” And then, right on the heels of this commandment, Jesus adds an incentive, or maybe a warning: “By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

Jesus doesn’t say as his death is imminent  “Believe the right things.” He doesn’t say, “Maintain personal and doctrinal purity.” He doesn’t say, “Worship like this or attend a church like that.” He doesn’t even say, “Read your Bible,” or “Pray every day,” or “Preach the Gospel to every living creature.” He says, “Love one another.” That’s it. The last dream of a dead man walking. All of Christianity distilled down to its essence so that maybe we’ll pause long enough to hear it. Love one another.

New Testament scholar, D.A Carson says “This new command is simple enough for a toddler to memorize and appreciate, and yet it is profound enough that the most mature believers are repeatedly embarrassed at how poorly they comprehend it and put it into practice. What’s amazing to me is how badly we’ve managed to screw this up over the last two thousand years. 

In our Men's Group this morning we discussed among other things, transactional relationships vs true love relationships that are not governed by any "quid quo quo." In reflecting on our discussion I wonder why is it so hard to keep this simple commandment...Love one another? Is it because love makes us vulnerable and being  vulnerable is a sign of weakness? Love requires trust, and as humans we're naturally suspicious. Love has a way of spilling over into other compartments of our lives and we prefer carefully defined borders so we can avoid complications. Love requires an investment and takes effort, discipline, and the willingness to be transformed. But we're just too darned busy. 

Notice that Jesus didn’t say, “This is my suggestion.” He said, “This is my commandment.” Meaning, it’s not a choice. It’s not a matter of personal preference; it’s a matter of obedience to the one we call God. But what does it mean? Even if we put our culture’s literary and cinematically inspired love clichés aside, we know that authentic love can’t be manipulated, simulated, or rushed without suffering distortion. Jesus doesn’t say, “Act as if you love.” He doesn’t give us the easy “out” of doing nice things but doing them with a rigid heart. Nothing feels as hollow as a “loving” act performed mechanically out of some obligation. I doubt that the people who followed Jesus would have done so if they sensed that his compassion was thin or forced. He says, “Love as I have loved you.” As in, for real. As in, tall the way with authentic feelings, deep engagement and generously. Doesn’t it sound like he’s asking for the impossible?

G.K Chesterton once wrote that "The Christian ideal has not been tried and found wanting. It has been found difficult and left untried." Imagine what would happen to us,  to the world, if we took this commandment of Jesus’s seriously? 

And yet this was Jesus’s dying wish. Which means that we have a God who first and foremost wants every one of his children to feel loved. Not shamed. Not punished. Not chastised. Not judged. Not isolated. But loved.

But that’s not all. Jesus follows his commandment with a spiritual litmus test: “By this everyone will know.” Meaning, love is the hallmark of Christianity. Our love for each other is how the world will see, taste, touch, hear, and find Jesus. Such is the power we wield in our decisions to love or not love.

But here’s our saving grace: Jesus doesn’t leave us alone and bereft. We are not direction-less in the wilderness. He gives us a road map, a clear and beautiful way forward: “As I have loved you.” Follow my example, he says. Do what I do. Love as I love. Live as you have seen me live.

Wash each other’s feet. Hold each other close. Tell each other the truth. Guide each other home. In other words, Jesus’s commandment to us is not that we should wear ourselves out, trying to conjure love from our own easily depleted resources. Rather, it’s that we're invited to abide in the holy place where all love originates. We can make our home in Jesus’s love — the most abundant and inexhaustible love in existence. Our love is not our own; it is God’s, and God our source is without limit, without end. 

“Love one another as I have loved you.” For our own sakes. And for the world’s.

Adapted from Debie Thomas, 12 May 2019.

The Power of Love VS. the Love of Power

 

Every year the Roman army would come marching into Palestine during Passover. It was Pilate in the time of Jesus, who riding a white stallion, led the parade as a symbol of Rome’s dominance and oppression. It was a reminder to “nobodies” not to cause trouble during the Passover. So what does Jesus do? In a seemingly mocking parody, he rides a donkey (Mark 11:1-10), a lowly beast of burden in the opposite direction and enters through the gate from which Pilate exited.

While Pilate needed a whole legion to demonstrate his importance and control, Jesus’ “power” was rooted in relationships and the everlasting love of God and in God’s desires for the good of the world and all its creatures. It was the power of love vs. the love of power on parade. The gospel writers tell us that this event was not accidental. Jesus planned it ahead of time. He knew what he was doing and he knew he was risking the wrath of Rome by provoking the authorities. And eventually they caught up with him.

God did not plan Jesus’ death. God did not desire it. God did not need it for God’s salvation of the world and all its creatures to work out. Contrary to some long held beliefs, Jesus was not ransomed for us, but rather, he took and continues to take our place, not for our sins, but for the trials of our human journey. Jesus resurrection fulfills the promise of our resurrection with him as our souls shed our mortal vessels and we are raised up with Christ. 

So then, why the cross? The Cross was used by the Romans to not only destroy the identity of the one who was crucified, but to erase his mission and send a warning to any of his followers. Ironically, in the early century it was reviled as an image to be kept out of sight as it, on the surface, was a grim reminder of the despicable event. In time, however, the cross became and endured as the central symbol for our faith…a symbol that reminds us that we pick up our cross so that we may follow His journey through life and become another  "nobody" who is raised up on the very cross we endured through life into eternal glory with him. No one would expect a nobody to be resurrected. 

The cross reminds us that our world is still a “risky” place, and that much will be asked of us. Yet it reminds us that death has no power over us because we live in the light of the resurrection of a nobody who was raised up as will we. The cross reminds us to stand up for those who need to be rescued and to stand with those who work for the common good even when it seems to be hopeless or dangerous. We know and have known people like Gandhi, Martin Luther King and Rosa Parks, who at the very least put themselves at risk for the sake of others. This exchange is God standing with us as we face our reality and its dangers. God is in the midst of our human experience. We don't need to go back to Palm Sunday two thousand years to see it all played out again. This past year in the time of Covid has taught us that we can live in a time of trouble with joy.  How many "nobodies" just going about their ordinary lives to the extent that they were able, quietly entered through the back gate without fanfare and helped lead us back to a new beginning so that our lives could be restored. On the other hand, how many chose to exploit the event and assert their dominance and control to purposely polarize our country for the love of power and personal gain as millions suffered?  

Jesus challenged the love of power and lived for the power of love. His marching into the "back" gate of Jerusalem on a lowly beast of burden as Pilate gloriously entered the "front" gate serves as a dramatic pageant orchestrated to stage the love of power vs the power of love. 

Now, I understand what you tried to say to me
And how you suffered for your sanity
And how you tried to set them free
They would not listen, they did not know how
Perhaps they'll listen now.

 

The Hour Has Come for the Son of Man to Be Glorified

 

 

 

As Jesus' ministry draws to a close the profound message in John 12:20-33
 is that the torch is passed. It is now up to us to carry on Jesus’ ministry and transform the world in his name. The tiny grain of wheat falls to the earth, dies, is reborn and eventually bears much fruit. Through us, His Word is brought fully into the world, even by just one individual who touches those around him. They will be transformed, and the stories that they in turn will tell, will transform others, for generations to come and continue to work “miracles” in the lives of those who aspire to be Christ-centered . 

We are all connected in ways that we don't fully understand but in a world in which there are no coincidences. His Blessings seem to be meted out in just the right dose and time. I know we are "lucky" to know this, but luck has nothing to do with it? And in reflecting on this "inspired knowledge," I wonder if am not giving myself too much credit and wallowing in self-gratification? Jesus is my personal mentor and my personal way to the Father. How dare I take so much of His Time I thinks? I want to believe that the more He gives, the more He wants me to take. To understand this in the context of our human nature and "good manners" and not feel "greedy" about it are not easy to reconcile.  Why is that?
 

God does not want to be a part of, or at the periphery of our being; He wants to be centered in us as our sustenance. And if He is centered in us and we in Him, than we are inter-connected as one with the universe. Our interconnectedness as part of the Body of Christ in which we exist "with Him, in Him and through Him," comes alive in John's gospel, in which Jesus tells us that "I am the Bread of Life"...without which we will die.

Jesus went beyond superficial divisions and called for a culture of compassion…Compassion changes everything. Compassion heals. Compassion mends the broken and restores what has been lost. Compassion draws together those who have been estranged or never dreamed they were connected. Compassion pulls us out of ourselves and into the heart of another, placing us on holy ground where we instinctively take off our shoes and walk in reverence. Compassion springs out of vulnerability and triumphs in unity. . (Judy Cannato, Field of Compassion, P 8)

The Power of Love vs The Love of Power

 

(John 3: 14-21)

If we gave it any real thought, our world and quite often our lives operate according to the more traditional belief that security comes not through vulnerability and sacrifice but through power and might. For we live in a world that seeks security not only through power but also through wealth and consumption, and we are taught from a very early age to avoid true vulnerability – and the truly vulnerable – at all costs. So, sacrifice? Sure, when we can afford to. Love our enemies? Maybe if everything else is taken care of first. Vulnerability? Only if there is no other choice. 

The kind of self-sacrificing love Jesus offers is frightening to such a world. No wonder some run and hide, as it requires us to trust nothing other than God. And most of us find it impossible to embrace Jesus’ example…except when we ourselves have been brought low by illness, or loss, or a broken relationship, or disappointed hopes or some other way by which the world taught us that no matter how hard we try, no matter what position we may achieve, no matter how much money we may save, yet we cannot secure our destiny or save our lives. Only God can do that. Only love can do that. And it’s frightening to be so utterly dependent on God. 

In addition, notice that God doesn’t ask our permission first before sending Jesus to die for us. I know, I know, that may seem like an odd detail to point out. But think of the claim a person – any person – has on us once they’ve saved our life, let alone died doing it. In the face of such love, such sacrifice, we must surrender all of our claims. 

Years ago I preached a sermon about the offensive nature of God’s grace, suggesting that we might add four words to the end of our service of baptism, saying, “Child of God, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit…like it or not.” A few weeks later, a friend shared a bedtime encounter he’d had with his then six-year-old son. Upset that his father was putting him to bed earlier than he wanted to go, Benjamin said, “Daddy, I hate you.” Benjamin’s father, exercising the kind of parental wisdom I'd hope for, replied, “Ben, I’m sorry you feel that way, but I love you.” Benjamin’s response to such gracious words surprised his dad: “Don’t say that!” “I’m sorry Benjamin, but it’s true. I love you.” “Don’t,” his son protested, “Don’t say that again!” At which point Ben’s father, remembering the words of the sermon, said, “Benjamin, I love you…like it or not!” 

Why was Benjamin protesting his father’s love? Because he realized he could not control his father’s love and twist it to his advantage. Indeed, in the face of such love there is no bargaining and, ultimately, no control whatsoever. If his dad had said that if he ate all his vegetables he could stay up, or agreed that Ben could stay up later this night if he went to bed earlier the next, then Benjamin would have been a player, he would have exercised some measure of control over the situation and, indeed, over his dad. But in the face of unconditional love we are powerless. Yes, perhaps we can choose to accept it or not, perhaps we can run away from it, but we cannot influence it, manipulate it, or control it. In the face of this kind of love, we are powerless. And only when we’ve died to all of our delusions of actually being in control do we realize that such loss of perceived freedom and power is actually life.

God’s love, you see, is tenacious. And so God’s love will continue to chase after us, seeking to hold onto us and redeem us all the days of our lives, whether we like it or not. So maybe this is a verse, if we took it more seriously, that might terrify us in how it renders us powerless in a world literally hell-bent on accumulating and exercising power. Then again, maybe as we remember God’s tenacious love we might also realize that, precisely because this is the one relationship in our lives over which we have no power, it is also the one relationship we cannot screw up. Because God created it, God maintains it, and God will bring it to a good end, all through the power of God’s vulnerable, sacrificial, and ever so tenacious love. (Adapted from David Lose, “Partner in Preaching,” 3/9/15.)