I’m a great fan of bluegrass music. I like Bill Monroe and Ralph Stanley and Earl Scruggs, and all the old-time performers. I also like some of the current performers. I’ve actually heard Rhonda Vincent perform twice – the first time right here in the Ariel theater. One of my favorite bluegrass recordings is a two-CD set entitled, “O Sister,” which showcases some of the great women singers: Rhonda Vincent, Hazel Dickens, Maybelle Carter, Allison Krauss, and many others. If you know these artists, you know that their music is at best bittersweet. There are always a few Gospel songs, typically at the end of a CD or concert, but most of their songs, just like those of the bluesmen and the jazz singers, are about pain and loss of all kinds. In unforgettable songs like “Mama’s Hand,” Pathway of Teardrops,” or “It Rains Everywhere I go,” we hear of leaving home, unrequited love, failed relationships, loneliness, depression, dysfunctional families, even murder and imprisonment.
Loss, grief, execution -- isn’t that where we’ve been this week? From the first reminder of Jesus’ death last Sunday, in our painful last meal with him on Thursday, in walking with him to Jerusalem and in mourning his death on the Cross, haven’t we too experienced almost unbearable pain and darkness – literally and spiritually? And isn’t the pain and darkness of Good Friday where most of us live out our lives? Pain, loss, grief, death – we know that territory well. We too leave the comforts of home, our children grow up too fast, we see loved ones move away, we miss opportunities to do good, we make mistakes, we spend time in prison, we get divorced, we lose sisters, brothers, children, and spouses to sickness and death. Perhaps that’s why bluegrass music is so powerful. It speaks to who and where we are, right now, “in the midst of life.”
But here, in this place, there is another word. And isn’t that why you’re here, because you want to hear that word? Don’t you want to hope that pain, darkness, and death are not the whole story? Aren’t you looking for a different ending to the story of your life? My friends, the church offers us a very different story indeed. The church offers us resurrection. The church reminds us that, contrary to what everyone expected that first Good Friday, death was not the end of the story. The church carries us from the Cross to Jesus’ descent into hell, to an empty grave, to a risen Lord. The church tells us: resurrection happened. And happens. Those who witnessed that first Easter, those who experienced that surge of joy, those who delivered Jesus’ message to his disciples, those disciples who began to proclaim the good news to others realized that they were now living in a new reality – not the old reality of pain and death, but, because of what had happened to Jesus, a new reality of life, and hope, and resurrection.
Is that the word you came to hear? My friends, we don’t always want to hear about resurrection! Lutheran theologian Karl Barth reminded us that resurrection is “a difficult, dark truth, and a word that can scarcely be tolerated by our ears.” Indeed, Barth said, we are “threatened by resurrection,” by the very thought that we need resurrection. We don’t want to admit our own powerlessness, our sinfulness, the shortness of our lives. We don’t want to admit our poverty before God. We don’t want to admit that we need God’s merciful rescue. But God says to us, “Rise up! You are dead, but I call you to live. I have already acted, I have triumphed!” “This is the Lord’s doing, and it is marvelous in our eyes,” shouts the psalmist. “Don’t be afraid,” says Jesus, “accept my gift of new life.”
That new way of living, that new plane of life, that gift that Jesus offers is truly ours. “So if you have been raised with Christ,” Paul writes to the Christians at Colossae, “seek the things that are above.” Actually, the first part of that command is declarative. And the word “above” doesn’t so much mean “up in the sky,” as “beyond this world of pain and death” So what Paul is really saying to the Colossians is “Since you have been raised with Christ, fix your minds on where Christ is now, i.e., beyond this world of pain and death.” And why can the Colossians do this? This exhortation is part of a passage that addresses the consequences of baptism. Because they have been baptized into Christ’s death and, in baptism, they have been raised with Christ, the Colossian Christians are now empowered by Christ to live a life that is in some sense already “beyond” death. They are now an “Easter people,” and they can live differently, they can live knowing that pain and death are not the end of their story. They don’t have to live as if this life were all there were, they don’t have to numb their pain with addiction, they don’t have to be bound by outmoded rules and traditions, they don’t have to despair. Because their lives are now “hidden with Christ,” because they partake of Christ’s own risen life, they can live knowing that their identity is not bound up with this perishable world, and that earthly things do not demand their ultimate loyalty. They can live with hope, rejoicing in the knowledge that Christ has triumphed over all that would defeat them, and that they are now safe from the powers of darkness and death.
And so can we. We too as baptized people are heirs to the hope that was born that Easter morning. As we reverse our own descent into hell, as we too experience the shocking turn of events that occurred in that long ago dawn, we too can embrace that life-giving hope. We too can say, with the Colossians, “Yes, there is more to life than this earthly life.” We have been to Cross and the grave this week. Perhaps some of us are still carrying heavy crosses, or are still grieving painful losses. Two days ago, it was Friday. But now it is Sunday, it is Easter, and, once again we experience the miracle. Yes, there is hope, and there is resurrection. Our lives are now hidden with Christ in God. We no longer have to depend on our own efforts. We can trust in God’s saving power for the rest of our lives and beyond. We can sing “alleluia” with true joy.
And our Easter joy doesn’t end on the other side of the red doors. It doesn’t end with this day. The church gives us fifty days to celebrate the gift of our new life in Christ: from today, through our celebration of Jesus’ Ascension, to his gift of the Holy Spirit in Pentecost. But we can also celebrate Jesus’ gift of new life every day. In a sense, every day is a gift of God, and every day gives us an opportunity to praise God for all that God has done for us. Every day gives us a chance to live with the hope of resurrection.
E.e cummings is a poet whom some of you may know. I began reading cummings’s poetry as a teenager – even before I knew anything about bluegrass music. I’ve liked his poem “i thank You God for most this amazing” for a long time, but I realized only recently how well it expresses our understanding of Easter as a daily experience, how well it shows that resurrection isn’t something we experience once a year in church but is ultimately part of all of God’s creation. Hear cummings’s reminder that God is “everything that is yes:”
i thank You God for most this amazing
day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes
(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)
how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any--lifted from the no
of all nothing--human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?
(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
What could be more joyful news than God’s “yes” to us. This Easter day, may the ears of your ears awake to God’s promise, may the eyes of your eyes see God at work in your life, and may we all shout once again, “Alleluia, Christ is risen. The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia!”
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Friday, April 22, 2011
For I have Set You an Example
“For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you.”
Really? Jesus has just done a very odd thing. Although he was the disciples’ beloved teacher and master, he behaved as if he were a household servant, as if he were, in our day, the person who takes your coat at a fancy restaurant. He literally “took the form of a slave,” as the hymn in Paul’s letter to the Philippians puts it. He stripped down to his underclothes, took up a towel, and washed his disciples’ feet. He even persuaded hotheaded Peter to let him wash his feet by reminding Peter that unless he allowed Jesus to wash his feet, he would have “no share” with Jesus. Now the disciples are standing around open-mouthed. “Do you know what I have done for you?” Jesus asks. “No Lord, we have no clue,” they surely thought. Fortunately, it was a rhetorical question that Jesus goes on to answer: “I’ve given you an example of what you are to do for one another. If I have washed your feet, you should wash each other’s feet.”
So our desire to follow Jesus’ command to his disciples on that last night is partly the reason why we are shortly about to do the same for each other. Even though this ceremony will be replicated in churches around the diocese, indeed around the world this night, the Book of Common Prayer doesn’t require us to do it. All it says is “When observed, the ceremony of the washing of feet…” follows the Gospel and homily. And it may be just as well that foot-washing never became a sacrament. If it had, priests would worry about the logistics of it – especially on a carpeted floor. Theologians would endlessly debate whether the feet should be sprinkled or immersed. Liturgists would argue about whether the left foot or the right foot should be washed first. As one commentator has noted, “It’s always easier to follow Jesus in our heads that it is to follow him with our feet on the Via Dolorosa,” the way to the Cross.
Even though it is not a sacrament, this ceremony has an ancient lineage. Bishops and priests have long washed the feet of the poor on this day. Abbots have washed the feet of monks, and kings have washed the feet of peasants. Even Queen Elizabeth I washed the feet of twenty poor women on Maundy Thursday. So recapturing our traditions might be another reason for doing the foot-washing ceremony. But there’s another even more important reason. Christianity, and especially its expression in the Episcopal Church, is an incarnational religion. We believe that the Word became flesh and lived with us, that God became human in Jesus. For that reason we also believe that we experience spiritual realities in our bodies. When we do something, the spiritual reality that it reflects becomes more real to us. That is why we wash each other’s feet, so that the commandment of Jesus becomes more real to us, and so that we can more truly reflect its meaning in our own lives.
But there’s more. The example that Jesus set for us in washing the disciples’ feet was what one commentator called a “paradigmatic example” of Jesus love. It stands for all the ways in which Jesus gave himself for us, all the ways in which he took the form of a servant. Jeremy Taylor, a seventeenth-century Anglican theologian reminds us that Jesus “chose to wash their feet rather than their head, that he might have the opportunity of a more humble posture, and a more apt signification of his charity. Thus God lays everything aside, that he may serve his servants….” What is more, all that the New Testament records of what Jesus did and said reflects that same self-giving love and becomes his example for us. All of Jesus’ reflections of self-giving love, his healing of the sick, his feeding of the hungry, his caring for the poor, and his welcome of sinners, become examples for us. Ultimately, Jesus’ self-giving love in being willing to die a criminal’s death on the Cross is the most powerful reflection for us of the depths of God’s love for us – deeper than anything we can imagine. Out of our immense gratitude for all that Jesus has done for us, we joyfully accept his commandment, we joyfully replicate with our own bodies our acceptance of Jesus’ self-giving love. We give this service to each other and receive it from each other in recognition that we are part of him and he of us, that we “have a share” with him. And we pray that God’s Spirit will help us to be more like him and empower us to do what he did.
So tonight we will follow Jesus’ commandment literally, as we wash each other’s feet. Out foot-washing may not be a sacrament, but it is a liturgy with real symbolic power. After we have experienced its power, after we have been at table with Jesus on his last night on earth, and after we have walked with him to Jerusalem, how we will continue to follow his example in the rest of our lives? How will we receive and share his self-giving love? Let me give you two examples. Anita and Michael Dohn were successful physicians in the Cincinnati area. Anita was an Associate Director at the St. Elizabeth Family Practice Residency Program in Edgewood, KY, and Michael was Associate Professor of Clinical Internal Medicine at the University of Cincinnati College of Medicine and Deputy Director for Clinical Care for the Infectious Diseases Center at the UC Medical Center. About twelve years ago they sensed a call to follow more closely Jesus’ example of self-giving love. After a period of discernment, they were accepted as missionaries by the Society of Anglican Missionaries and Senders and were assigned to work with the Dominican Episcopal Church. After attending language school in Costa Rica, they arrived in San Pedro de Macorís in the Dominican Republic at the beginning of May, 2000. They have been there ever since. Anita follows Jesus’ example by working in a clinic and community health program that especially addresses children’s and women’s health and treatment of HIV/AIDS. Michael serves as Medical Director for the diocesan clinic, which treats over 25,000 people a year.
How about an example closer to home? On the second Monday of each month, parishioners of the tiny Church of the Epiphany in Nelsonville join others in participating in a long running euchre tournament with prisoners at the nearby Hocking Correctional Facility. And even closer to home? Following our Eucharist on Easter day, members of St. Peter’s and other churches, having shopped and cooked, will serve dinner to members of this community who have no one else to serve them dinner. As surely as we will give to them, they will bless us in accepting from us a small reflection of God’s love for us and for them.
And so, as we prepare to accept Jesus’ love for us, as we allow our feet to be washed, let us also pray this night: Holy God, in washing his disciples’ feet, Jesus gave us an example of the dignity of service and of self-giving love. As we walk with him to the Cross, help us to accept and share his love for us and for all people, so that all may come to know the depth of that love. We ask this, as we do all our prayers, in the name of Jesus Christ our Savior. Amen.
Really? Jesus has just done a very odd thing. Although he was the disciples’ beloved teacher and master, he behaved as if he were a household servant, as if he were, in our day, the person who takes your coat at a fancy restaurant. He literally “took the form of a slave,” as the hymn in Paul’s letter to the Philippians puts it. He stripped down to his underclothes, took up a towel, and washed his disciples’ feet. He even persuaded hotheaded Peter to let him wash his feet by reminding Peter that unless he allowed Jesus to wash his feet, he would have “no share” with Jesus. Now the disciples are standing around open-mouthed. “Do you know what I have done for you?” Jesus asks. “No Lord, we have no clue,” they surely thought. Fortunately, it was a rhetorical question that Jesus goes on to answer: “I’ve given you an example of what you are to do for one another. If I have washed your feet, you should wash each other’s feet.”
So our desire to follow Jesus’ command to his disciples on that last night is partly the reason why we are shortly about to do the same for each other. Even though this ceremony will be replicated in churches around the diocese, indeed around the world this night, the Book of Common Prayer doesn’t require us to do it. All it says is “When observed, the ceremony of the washing of feet…” follows the Gospel and homily. And it may be just as well that foot-washing never became a sacrament. If it had, priests would worry about the logistics of it – especially on a carpeted floor. Theologians would endlessly debate whether the feet should be sprinkled or immersed. Liturgists would argue about whether the left foot or the right foot should be washed first. As one commentator has noted, “It’s always easier to follow Jesus in our heads that it is to follow him with our feet on the Via Dolorosa,” the way to the Cross.
Even though it is not a sacrament, this ceremony has an ancient lineage. Bishops and priests have long washed the feet of the poor on this day. Abbots have washed the feet of monks, and kings have washed the feet of peasants. Even Queen Elizabeth I washed the feet of twenty poor women on Maundy Thursday. So recapturing our traditions might be another reason for doing the foot-washing ceremony. But there’s another even more important reason. Christianity, and especially its expression in the Episcopal Church, is an incarnational religion. We believe that the Word became flesh and lived with us, that God became human in Jesus. For that reason we also believe that we experience spiritual realities in our bodies. When we do something, the spiritual reality that it reflects becomes more real to us. That is why we wash each other’s feet, so that the commandment of Jesus becomes more real to us, and so that we can more truly reflect its meaning in our own lives.
But there’s more. The example that Jesus set for us in washing the disciples’ feet was what one commentator called a “paradigmatic example” of Jesus love. It stands for all the ways in which Jesus gave himself for us, all the ways in which he took the form of a servant. Jeremy Taylor, a seventeenth-century Anglican theologian reminds us that Jesus “chose to wash their feet rather than their head, that he might have the opportunity of a more humble posture, and a more apt signification of his charity. Thus God lays everything aside, that he may serve his servants….” What is more, all that the New Testament records of what Jesus did and said reflects that same self-giving love and becomes his example for us. All of Jesus’ reflections of self-giving love, his healing of the sick, his feeding of the hungry, his caring for the poor, and his welcome of sinners, become examples for us. Ultimately, Jesus’ self-giving love in being willing to die a criminal’s death on the Cross is the most powerful reflection for us of the depths of God’s love for us – deeper than anything we can imagine. Out of our immense gratitude for all that Jesus has done for us, we joyfully accept his commandment, we joyfully replicate with our own bodies our acceptance of Jesus’ self-giving love. We give this service to each other and receive it from each other in recognition that we are part of him and he of us, that we “have a share” with him. And we pray that God’s Spirit will help us to be more like him and empower us to do what he did.
So tonight we will follow Jesus’ commandment literally, as we wash each other’s feet. Out foot-washing may not be a sacrament, but it is a liturgy with real symbolic power. After we have experienced its power, after we have been at table with Jesus on his last night on earth, and after we have walked with him to Jerusalem, how we will continue to follow his example in the rest of our lives? How will we receive and share his self-giving love? Let me give you two examples. Anita and Michael Dohn were successful physicians in the Cincinnati area. Anita was an Associate Director at the St. Elizabeth Family Practice Residency Program in Edgewood, KY, and Michael was Associate Professor of Clinical Internal Medicine at the University of Cincinnati College of Medicine and Deputy Director for Clinical Care for the Infectious Diseases Center at the UC Medical Center. About twelve years ago they sensed a call to follow more closely Jesus’ example of self-giving love. After a period of discernment, they were accepted as missionaries by the Society of Anglican Missionaries and Senders and were assigned to work with the Dominican Episcopal Church. After attending language school in Costa Rica, they arrived in San Pedro de Macorís in the Dominican Republic at the beginning of May, 2000. They have been there ever since. Anita follows Jesus’ example by working in a clinic and community health program that especially addresses children’s and women’s health and treatment of HIV/AIDS. Michael serves as Medical Director for the diocesan clinic, which treats over 25,000 people a year.
How about an example closer to home? On the second Monday of each month, parishioners of the tiny Church of the Epiphany in Nelsonville join others in participating in a long running euchre tournament with prisoners at the nearby Hocking Correctional Facility. And even closer to home? Following our Eucharist on Easter day, members of St. Peter’s and other churches, having shopped and cooked, will serve dinner to members of this community who have no one else to serve them dinner. As surely as we will give to them, they will bless us in accepting from us a small reflection of God’s love for us and for them.
And so, as we prepare to accept Jesus’ love for us, as we allow our feet to be washed, let us also pray this night: Holy God, in washing his disciples’ feet, Jesus gave us an example of the dignity of service and of self-giving love. As we walk with him to the Cross, help us to accept and share his love for us and for all people, so that all may come to know the depth of that love. We ask this, as we do all our prayers, in the name of Jesus Christ our Savior. Amen.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
The Worst Day of Their Lives
“Many women were also there, looking on from a distance; they had followed Jesus from Galilee and had provided for him.”
It was the worst day of their lives. The worst possible day, an unthinkable day, for these women: Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, the mother of the sons of Zebedee, Jesus’ own mother, and others who remain nameless. They were Jesus’ most faithful followers, who had come with him from Galilee and made sure that he had places to stay and enough to eat wherever he went. They were part of the band of disciples following behind him just a few days ago. They were there as the crowds shouted at him, hailed him as their triumphant king. These women were there, perhaps they sat on the floor, or at another table, in the upper room as he ate with all of them on that last night. These women were furious when the other disciples ran away. They watched as their friend and teacher was arrested and taken away by the Roman guards. And then there was Peter of all people, the leader of the community. Some of them heard Peter deny three times that he even knew Jesus. How could Peter do that? And Judas? “Oh, Judas, Judas,” they must have said, “what were you thinking?” And then they stood, towards the edge of the crowd around the cross, watching in silent horror, watching as all their worst nightmares came true, watching as their best friend, Mary’s son, was executed like a common criminal. They heard the mocking of the crowd, and they wondered, “How can we go on without him? How could this have happened? What went wrong? Where is God?”
Who hasn’t been where these women have been? Haven’t all of us passed through “the valley of the shadow of death?” Haven’t we all watched our own worst nightmares, or the nightmares of others, come wrenchingly true? Perhaps we’ve taken a job, a really good job, that starts out well. With growing dismay we watch our work change when the person who hired us leaves. A friend or spouse, whom we thought truly loved us, betrays us. After the initial excitement of retirement from a demanding career, a deep feeling of purposelessness engulfs us. A ride on a motorcycle or in a car, that started out as a wonderful adventure, ends up with a collision, a lost leg, and a shattered life. Who doesn’t have a relative or friend who seems to have taken a wrong turn in life, or is mentally ill, or abuses drugs or alcohol, or is in prison. Perhaps the son whose wedding we celebrated so joyfully only a few years ago, has now gotten divorced, separating us from a beloved grandchild. Our own beloved child contracts a sudden serious illness, or even dies. Perhaps a parent or spouse has died from a sudden stroke, at too early an age, while we stood by watching helplessly. In this broken world, our lives often take a sudden turn, and everything goes so badly. In our unbearable pain, in our sorrow we look for comfort, but friends and relatives provide little comfort or even scatter and desert us. Shattered in body and mind, we hear Jesus’ cry from the cross echo in our own hearts. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” And all we can do, like the women, is silently watch, wait, and pray, as events unfold around us, and the worst comes to pass.
And when the worst had happened, when their beloved friend truly was no more, the women still didn’t run away. Peter and the others may have found safe places to hide, but the women stayed with Jesus. To the bitter end. Then they helped do whatever else they could for Jesus. They took care of his body as best they could on the eve of the Sabbath. They consoled each other. And they continued to weep, to watch, and to wait as Joseph of Arimathea negotiated with Pilate, as Jesus’ body was put into Joseph’s tomb, and as the mouth of the tomb was sealed up, and he was gone forever. In their despair, they stayed together, and they watched, they waited, and they prayed. They didn’t know what would happen next. They waited.
We do know what happened next. On the other side of Easter, we know that the same women who wept, watched, and waited discovered that tragedy had turned to triumph. They discovered that Jesus really was a king, and that the shouts in the parade last week were real, even though the people shouting at him didn’t understand what kind of a king he really was. To their amazement, what they never thought possible actually happened. Though they had watched him die, though they cared for his body, he was alive again. Inexplicably, crucifixion had turned into resurrection. Miraculously, from the worst day of their lives had come the best day of their lives.
And so, because we know a part of the story that these women didn’t yet know, when we enter into the darkest places of our own lives, we do so with hope. When we watch, wait, and pray, as we will this week and all the weeks of our lives, we know that death and darkness are not the end. We can continue to hope that the conflicts in our workplace will resolve. We continue to hope that out of the tragedy of a car wreck and a lost limb will come redeemed new life. We continue to hope that our daughter will confront her alcoholism, that our daughter-in-law and son will reconcile, or at the very least that we will find a way to show our love for our grandchild. We continue to hope that our loved one will be free of pain, and we continue to hope that death is not the end for our loved ones or for ourselves. And, while we are in the dark places, when all those who might comfort us have fled to their own places of safety, while we struggle to nurture our tiny flame of hope we share with others who suffer. Like the women, we watch, wait, and pray, and we console each other. And we also know that on the Cross God has experienced everything that we are experiencing. And so we share with others our trust that out of death God will bring something new.
This is our task for this week. Today we have heard one reading of the death of Jesus. On Wednesday we will lament what we know is coming on Friday. On Thursday we will join Jesus in the upper room for that momentous last meal. We will let him wash our feet, and we will receive a new commandment from him. On Friday we will stand with him at the Cross, ourselves watching, waiting, praying, perhaps even dying inside, or perhaps waiting hopefully, expectantly, for Jesus’ triumph over death.
I encourage you to invite others to join the church in watching with Jesus this week: watching the parade into Jerusalem, watching the events at Calvary, entering into the darkness and hope of this week, and walking with Jesus in his final hours. And then, watching deep tragedy turn into triumph.
And so let us pray. Lord, we come to you with broken hopes and broken dreams, with broken relationships and broken hearts, with broken promises and broken trust. We come to you as shattered people. Lord, broken on the cross for us, we bring all our pain and suffering, all our hopes, to you. And we trust that you will make us whole. Amen.
It was the worst day of their lives. The worst possible day, an unthinkable day, for these women: Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, the mother of the sons of Zebedee, Jesus’ own mother, and others who remain nameless. They were Jesus’ most faithful followers, who had come with him from Galilee and made sure that he had places to stay and enough to eat wherever he went. They were part of the band of disciples following behind him just a few days ago. They were there as the crowds shouted at him, hailed him as their triumphant king. These women were there, perhaps they sat on the floor, or at another table, in the upper room as he ate with all of them on that last night. These women were furious when the other disciples ran away. They watched as their friend and teacher was arrested and taken away by the Roman guards. And then there was Peter of all people, the leader of the community. Some of them heard Peter deny three times that he even knew Jesus. How could Peter do that? And Judas? “Oh, Judas, Judas,” they must have said, “what were you thinking?” And then they stood, towards the edge of the crowd around the cross, watching in silent horror, watching as all their worst nightmares came true, watching as their best friend, Mary’s son, was executed like a common criminal. They heard the mocking of the crowd, and they wondered, “How can we go on without him? How could this have happened? What went wrong? Where is God?”
Who hasn’t been where these women have been? Haven’t all of us passed through “the valley of the shadow of death?” Haven’t we all watched our own worst nightmares, or the nightmares of others, come wrenchingly true? Perhaps we’ve taken a job, a really good job, that starts out well. With growing dismay we watch our work change when the person who hired us leaves. A friend or spouse, whom we thought truly loved us, betrays us. After the initial excitement of retirement from a demanding career, a deep feeling of purposelessness engulfs us. A ride on a motorcycle or in a car, that started out as a wonderful adventure, ends up with a collision, a lost leg, and a shattered life. Who doesn’t have a relative or friend who seems to have taken a wrong turn in life, or is mentally ill, or abuses drugs or alcohol, or is in prison. Perhaps the son whose wedding we celebrated so joyfully only a few years ago, has now gotten divorced, separating us from a beloved grandchild. Our own beloved child contracts a sudden serious illness, or even dies. Perhaps a parent or spouse has died from a sudden stroke, at too early an age, while we stood by watching helplessly. In this broken world, our lives often take a sudden turn, and everything goes so badly. In our unbearable pain, in our sorrow we look for comfort, but friends and relatives provide little comfort or even scatter and desert us. Shattered in body and mind, we hear Jesus’ cry from the cross echo in our own hearts. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” And all we can do, like the women, is silently watch, wait, and pray, as events unfold around us, and the worst comes to pass.
And when the worst had happened, when their beloved friend truly was no more, the women still didn’t run away. Peter and the others may have found safe places to hide, but the women stayed with Jesus. To the bitter end. Then they helped do whatever else they could for Jesus. They took care of his body as best they could on the eve of the Sabbath. They consoled each other. And they continued to weep, to watch, and to wait as Joseph of Arimathea negotiated with Pilate, as Jesus’ body was put into Joseph’s tomb, and as the mouth of the tomb was sealed up, and he was gone forever. In their despair, they stayed together, and they watched, they waited, and they prayed. They didn’t know what would happen next. They waited.
We do know what happened next. On the other side of Easter, we know that the same women who wept, watched, and waited discovered that tragedy had turned to triumph. They discovered that Jesus really was a king, and that the shouts in the parade last week were real, even though the people shouting at him didn’t understand what kind of a king he really was. To their amazement, what they never thought possible actually happened. Though they had watched him die, though they cared for his body, he was alive again. Inexplicably, crucifixion had turned into resurrection. Miraculously, from the worst day of their lives had come the best day of their lives.
And so, because we know a part of the story that these women didn’t yet know, when we enter into the darkest places of our own lives, we do so with hope. When we watch, wait, and pray, as we will this week and all the weeks of our lives, we know that death and darkness are not the end. We can continue to hope that the conflicts in our workplace will resolve. We continue to hope that out of the tragedy of a car wreck and a lost limb will come redeemed new life. We continue to hope that our daughter will confront her alcoholism, that our daughter-in-law and son will reconcile, or at the very least that we will find a way to show our love for our grandchild. We continue to hope that our loved one will be free of pain, and we continue to hope that death is not the end for our loved ones or for ourselves. And, while we are in the dark places, when all those who might comfort us have fled to their own places of safety, while we struggle to nurture our tiny flame of hope we share with others who suffer. Like the women, we watch, wait, and pray, and we console each other. And we also know that on the Cross God has experienced everything that we are experiencing. And so we share with others our trust that out of death God will bring something new.
This is our task for this week. Today we have heard one reading of the death of Jesus. On Wednesday we will lament what we know is coming on Friday. On Thursday we will join Jesus in the upper room for that momentous last meal. We will let him wash our feet, and we will receive a new commandment from him. On Friday we will stand with him at the Cross, ourselves watching, waiting, praying, perhaps even dying inside, or perhaps waiting hopefully, expectantly, for Jesus’ triumph over death.
I encourage you to invite others to join the church in watching with Jesus this week: watching the parade into Jerusalem, watching the events at Calvary, entering into the darkness and hope of this week, and walking with Jesus in his final hours. And then, watching deep tragedy turn into triumph.
And so let us pray. Lord, we come to you with broken hopes and broken dreams, with broken relationships and broken hearts, with broken promises and broken trust. We come to you as shattered people. Lord, broken on the cross for us, we bring all our pain and suffering, all our hopes, to you. And we trust that you will make us whole. Amen.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Signs and Wonders
How many of you have travelled in another country? How many of you travelled by car and were either the driver or the navigator? How many of you travelled by public transportation? When my husband and I drove around the UK some years back, I was struck by the differences between UK and US road signs. The Brits use more diagrams than we do, but even the English itself is different. For example, British drivers are warned against “soft verges,” that a “dual carriageway” or “motorway” ends, and that they are to “give way” to other traffic. How many of you have travelled in non English-speaking countries? Haven’t you been grateful for the multi-language signs, as you’re trying to navigate subways, railroad stations, or airports? And then, of course, there are the common pictographs. Whether the octagonal red sign says “Arrêt” or “Alto,” we recognize it as a stop sign. And who hasn’t been led to the restrooms by two stick figures, one triangular and the other straight, or been glad to see an emergency exit sign of a stick figure running down the stairs? We know only too well, for our comfort and safety in unfamiliar places, how much we depend on good, well-placed signs.
Today we have just heard a story that is also intended to be a sign, a sign that is even more important to us than stop signs or directions to the rest room. Actually, the first half of John’s Gospel is often called the Book of Signs, and the story of Jesus bringing Lazarus back to life is the last of several similar incidents that are meant to be signs to us. In our yearly lectionary we hear many of those other stories. John’s Gospel closes the story of the wedding at Cana, where Jesus turns water into wine, by informing us that, “Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory….” Two chapters later, Jesus’ healing of the royal official’s son who is on the point of death, is a second sign. Jesus’ feeding of the five thousand and Jesus’ healing of the man born blind, which we heard last week, are also intended as signs to us.
As we hear all these stories, we might be tempted to ask, “Could that really happen? Could Jesus really do that?” Of course, where God is involved anything can happen! But that question misses the point of all these events. The miracles in all of these events, and many others in John’s and the other Gospels, including the restoration of Lazarus to life, are not important in themselves. Yes, individuals benefited from Jesus’ actions. But that is not what makes these events important, either for the people who witnessed them, or for us. What makes these events important is that they show clearly that God is at work, that God has revealed Godself in Jesus. They establish Jesus’ true status and identity as the Messiah, as someone “sent” by the Father, as the Word made Flesh and come among us, as God’s Son. And they demonstrate, for those who have eyes to see and ears to hear, that in Jesus God is fulfilling God’s promises to us.
But there’s more. In the story of the restoration to life of Lazarus, we see not only a sign that Jesus is God’s Son. What is more important we get a glimpse of what that event might mean for us. Actually, the Gospel gives us a clue to the meaning of Lazarus’s restoration even before we see it. The evangelist wants to make sure that we get it! To begin with, did you notice that both Martha and Mary greet Jesus in exactly the same way? “Lord,” they say, “if you had been here my brother would not have died.” Even before anyone sees what Jesus will do, Martha and Mary acknowledge Jesus’ ability to give life. Ironically, even one of Jesus’ detractors says almost the same thing: “Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?” What is more important is how Jesus answers Martha when she proclaims her faith in the general resurrection of the dead on the last day. Jesus 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.” Hear it again. This is the theme of John’s entire Gospel: “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.” Here is what Martha – and we – hear in Jesus’ words. “Those who believe in me, even though they die will live,” i.e., physical death no longer has power over all those who commit themselves, give their hearts, to Jesus. And “everyone who lives and believes in me will never die,” i.e., all those who put their trust and confidence in Jesus experience eternal life, life on a new plane, in the present, now. Our life here and now is lived in a new dimension of nearness to God. Having elicited Martha’s trust in these promises, Jesus goes on to demonstrate their truth for one person, their beloved brother Lazarus.
Don’t you wonder what Lazarus felt as he hobbled out of the tomb, his hands and feet bound and his face swathed with cloth? Don’t you wonder what the rest of his life was like? Of course, he must have eventually experienced physical death again at some point, but what was his life like between the end of this story and his final physical death? We will never know. Having shown him restored to life on earth, the gospel now ignores him. However, we do know how the witnesses to this extraordinary event responded. In the response of some of them, Jesus’ fate was sealed. The Gospel goes on to tell us that some of the witnesses went to the religious leaders and told them what Jesus had done. The religious leaders then met secretly at night to condemn Jesus to death. No doubt afraid that Jesus’ movement would pull down punishing Roman reaction, their rationale for sacrificing Jesus ironically described exactly what Jesus’ death accomplished: “It is better for you to have one man die for the people,” they said, “than to have the whole nation destroyed.” However, many of those who had come with Martha and Mary had a different reaction. Like many others in this Gospel who had seen the signs, seen what Jesus did, they committed themselves to him. And, as the Gospel tells us, some of these same people were among those who welcomed Jesus into Jerusalem soon thereafter waving palm branches and shouting, “Hosanna!”
Don’t you sometimes wish you had been in Bethany that day and seen Jesus restore Lazarus to life? I do. And yet, if our Lenten goal is ultimately to deepen our trust in Jesus, to give our heart to him more truly, then we don’t have to go to Bethany. There are signs and wonders all around us, signs of God’s presence, signs God’s love and care for us everywhere. Some participants at a conference on Christian education wanted their children to take part in the daily Eucharist. When Chaplain Robin Szoke heard the children’s stories, she decided to help them plan a healing service. During the service, five seven and eight year-olds, with the younger ones standing by, laid hands on the adults. “Every one of the children called the adult by their name, invited a question as to what they would like prayers for, laid their hands on them and prayed in the most beautiful way extemporaneously.”1 The service was such a powerful experience for the adults that it literally stopped the conference. And for those adults, the children’s prayers became a sign. Jesus was powerfully present, the adults’ trust in him was greatly strengthened, and God’s love for them and their children was powerfully manifest.
Where are the signs for us? Perhaps you’ve had an experience something like that of the Christian education conference adults. Perhaps you see the signs of Jesus’ healing presence in the “Lazarus Effect,” a documentary film about life-giving anti-retroviral medications that give life and hope to people with HIV/AIDS. The film is part of a project of the church that seeks to address the HIV/AIDS pandemic and to persuade those of us who believe in the resurrection to help prevent needless death and suffering among God’s people. Perhaps it is even possible that you are a sign of God’s presence for someone else. As we prepare to follow Jesus to the Cross and beyond, I ask you to ponder how you personally and we as a parish can be a stronger and deeper sign of God’s healing reality. Whom can we draw into the circle of God’s grace, into the light of deeper, richer, eternal life? To whom will we be a sign of the reality of God’s love? Where do we need to go to find others who need to experience God’s love?
There’s an Advent hymn that begins, “Signs of ending all around us, darkness, death, and winter days shroud our lives in fear and sadness….” The good news is that there are also signs and wonders all around us, signs of God’s grace and love surrounding us and leading us into life. Perhaps all we need is “to be a good audience for whatever kind of experience reveals itself” to us.
1. Sharon Sheridan, “Praying with Children,” Episcopal Life, Nov. 2004, as quoted in Synthesis, April 10, 2011.
Today we have just heard a story that is also intended to be a sign, a sign that is even more important to us than stop signs or directions to the rest room. Actually, the first half of John’s Gospel is often called the Book of Signs, and the story of Jesus bringing Lazarus back to life is the last of several similar incidents that are meant to be signs to us. In our yearly lectionary we hear many of those other stories. John’s Gospel closes the story of the wedding at Cana, where Jesus turns water into wine, by informing us that, “Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory….” Two chapters later, Jesus’ healing of the royal official’s son who is on the point of death, is a second sign. Jesus’ feeding of the five thousand and Jesus’ healing of the man born blind, which we heard last week, are also intended as signs to us.
As we hear all these stories, we might be tempted to ask, “Could that really happen? Could Jesus really do that?” Of course, where God is involved anything can happen! But that question misses the point of all these events. The miracles in all of these events, and many others in John’s and the other Gospels, including the restoration of Lazarus to life, are not important in themselves. Yes, individuals benefited from Jesus’ actions. But that is not what makes these events important, either for the people who witnessed them, or for us. What makes these events important is that they show clearly that God is at work, that God has revealed Godself in Jesus. They establish Jesus’ true status and identity as the Messiah, as someone “sent” by the Father, as the Word made Flesh and come among us, as God’s Son. And they demonstrate, for those who have eyes to see and ears to hear, that in Jesus God is fulfilling God’s promises to us.
But there’s more. In the story of the restoration to life of Lazarus, we see not only a sign that Jesus is God’s Son. What is more important we get a glimpse of what that event might mean for us. Actually, the Gospel gives us a clue to the meaning of Lazarus’s restoration even before we see it. The evangelist wants to make sure that we get it! To begin with, did you notice that both Martha and Mary greet Jesus in exactly the same way? “Lord,” they say, “if you had been here my brother would not have died.” Even before anyone sees what Jesus will do, Martha and Mary acknowledge Jesus’ ability to give life. Ironically, even one of Jesus’ detractors says almost the same thing: “Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?” What is more important is how Jesus answers Martha when she proclaims her faith in the general resurrection of the dead on the last day. Jesus 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.” Hear it again. This is the theme of John’s entire Gospel: “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.” Here is what Martha – and we – hear in Jesus’ words. “Those who believe in me, even though they die will live,” i.e., physical death no longer has power over all those who commit themselves, give their hearts, to Jesus. And “everyone who lives and believes in me will never die,” i.e., all those who put their trust and confidence in Jesus experience eternal life, life on a new plane, in the present, now. Our life here and now is lived in a new dimension of nearness to God. Having elicited Martha’s trust in these promises, Jesus goes on to demonstrate their truth for one person, their beloved brother Lazarus.
Don’t you wonder what Lazarus felt as he hobbled out of the tomb, his hands and feet bound and his face swathed with cloth? Don’t you wonder what the rest of his life was like? Of course, he must have eventually experienced physical death again at some point, but what was his life like between the end of this story and his final physical death? We will never know. Having shown him restored to life on earth, the gospel now ignores him. However, we do know how the witnesses to this extraordinary event responded. In the response of some of them, Jesus’ fate was sealed. The Gospel goes on to tell us that some of the witnesses went to the religious leaders and told them what Jesus had done. The religious leaders then met secretly at night to condemn Jesus to death. No doubt afraid that Jesus’ movement would pull down punishing Roman reaction, their rationale for sacrificing Jesus ironically described exactly what Jesus’ death accomplished: “It is better for you to have one man die for the people,” they said, “than to have the whole nation destroyed.” However, many of those who had come with Martha and Mary had a different reaction. Like many others in this Gospel who had seen the signs, seen what Jesus did, they committed themselves to him. And, as the Gospel tells us, some of these same people were among those who welcomed Jesus into Jerusalem soon thereafter waving palm branches and shouting, “Hosanna!”
Don’t you sometimes wish you had been in Bethany that day and seen Jesus restore Lazarus to life? I do. And yet, if our Lenten goal is ultimately to deepen our trust in Jesus, to give our heart to him more truly, then we don’t have to go to Bethany. There are signs and wonders all around us, signs of God’s presence, signs God’s love and care for us everywhere. Some participants at a conference on Christian education wanted their children to take part in the daily Eucharist. When Chaplain Robin Szoke heard the children’s stories, she decided to help them plan a healing service. During the service, five seven and eight year-olds, with the younger ones standing by, laid hands on the adults. “Every one of the children called the adult by their name, invited a question as to what they would like prayers for, laid their hands on them and prayed in the most beautiful way extemporaneously.”1 The service was such a powerful experience for the adults that it literally stopped the conference. And for those adults, the children’s prayers became a sign. Jesus was powerfully present, the adults’ trust in him was greatly strengthened, and God’s love for them and their children was powerfully manifest.
Where are the signs for us? Perhaps you’ve had an experience something like that of the Christian education conference adults. Perhaps you see the signs of Jesus’ healing presence in the “Lazarus Effect,” a documentary film about life-giving anti-retroviral medications that give life and hope to people with HIV/AIDS. The film is part of a project of the church that seeks to address the HIV/AIDS pandemic and to persuade those of us who believe in the resurrection to help prevent needless death and suffering among God’s people. Perhaps it is even possible that you are a sign of God’s presence for someone else. As we prepare to follow Jesus to the Cross and beyond, I ask you to ponder how you personally and we as a parish can be a stronger and deeper sign of God’s healing reality. Whom can we draw into the circle of God’s grace, into the light of deeper, richer, eternal life? To whom will we be a sign of the reality of God’s love? Where do we need to go to find others who need to experience God’s love?
There’s an Advent hymn that begins, “Signs of ending all around us, darkness, death, and winter days shroud our lives in fear and sadness….” The good news is that there are also signs and wonders all around us, signs of God’s grace and love surrounding us and leading us into life. Perhaps all we need is “to be a good audience for whatever kind of experience reveals itself” to us.
1. Sharon Sheridan, “Praying with Children,” Episcopal Life, Nov. 2004, as quoted in Synthesis, April 10, 2011.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Surely We Are Not Blind
What an interesting drama is played out in today’s Gospel lesson! A man born blind has received his sight, and no one around him, including the man himself, can explain or accept what has happened. The unnamed man is clearly confused: he repeats what Jesus said to him, but has no idea who or where Jesus is. Shortly before this incident the disciples heard Jesus proclaim, “I am the light of the world,” yet none of them seems to realize that they have just witnessed an example of Jesus’ power to bring light. The man’s neighbors, who have presumably known him all his life, don’t seem to recognize him once he is no longer blind. His parents, who seem to have abandoned him to a life of public begging, disclaim any responsibility or even interest in what has happened to him. The religious leaders are completely at sea, as they repeatedly question the man and finally drive him out of the synagogue. What is going on here? Can’t anyone understand what has just occurred?
It’s possible that if something similar happened among us, we might also be confused and unbelieving. However, I’m particularly struck by how the evangelist has portrayed the religious leaders here, and especially their negative response to the man’s receiving of sight. Remember that the Pharisees are among the most learned of the religious leaders. They would be most likely to know the Hebrew Bible and all the commentary on it. They would be most likely to remember the many stories of God’s healing power made available to people through the prophets. The story, for example, of Elijah’s instruction to Naaman, to immerse himself seven times in the Jordan to cure his leprosy, comes especially to mind. Similarly, they would certainly know that God works through very unlikely people, seemingly almost inconsequential people. They would remember that God chose Samuel when he was just a boy serving in the temple. They would certainly remember how God instructed Samuel to anoint as the next king the least likely of Jesse’s sons, young David, who was out tending the sheep. As learned as they were, and as devoted to the law as they were, don’t you wonder why they were not able to understand the importance of what was happening right in front of them?
The Pharisees seem to be the villains of John’s gospel. Remember that by the time this gospel was written, in the early ‘90s, the lines between the followers of Jesus and those loyal to the old traditions had begun to harden. Tensions between the communities were increasing, partly because of the inclusion of Gentiles into Christian communities. The Pharisees were not especially evil men. Rather, they were probably only men who were trying to preserve what they understood to be a God-given way of life, a way of life that was anchored in the law of Moses, and that followed the law as closely as possible. However, as the evangelist portrays them here, they are confident that they know what is right, especially what it is lawful to do on the Sabbath. They are unwilling to cede control of the community’s religious life to other questionable religious communities. They know that change is difficult. They find it especially hard to change spiritually and to consider that God might indeed be doing a new thing in Jesus. Most important, they are unable to read the “signs,” the signs that demonstrate clearly that Jesus is indeed the “light that enlightens all” come among them in the flesh. Perhaps the most plaintive line in this whole drama is the question posed by some of the Pharisees, “Surely we are not blind, are we?”
Of all the actors here, if we’re being honest, we know that we are most like the Pharisees. Actually, I resonate with them. As a clerical leader, I understand how it feels to have a vested interest in religious institutions. It’s almost comforting to know that, even in the first century, folks were arguing about ecclesiastical authority! But wouldn’t most of us, maybe all, of us here be confident that we know what’s right? Fill in the blank. Wouldn’t most of be able to say, “I’ve been a lifelong……, and I’m not about to change now.” And aren’t we sure we know how to order our spiritual lives? After all, we’re Episcopalians! We have the Book of Common Prayer to tell us how to conduct worship, and we have bishops and canon law to govern ourselves. Wouldn’t most, if not all of us, like the Pharisees, be unwilling to change? Many of us are still living in the middle of the twentieth, if not the sixteenth century, still expecting the church to be what it was when we were younger. And wouldn’t most of us be just as unable to see God at work in an unlikely person? Wouldn’t we think, for example, that the people who come to Loaves and Fishes or who attend the “anonymous” meetings downstairs would have little to say to us about God? Wouldn’t Jesus pronounce the same judgment on us that he pronounced on the plaintive Pharisees: “If you were blind, you would not have sin. But now that you say, ‘We see,’ your sin remains.”
Unquestionably Jesus will judge us. But the good news is that, by God’s grace, we don’t have to continue to be the blind, stubborn, sinful people that, in our heart of hearts, we know we are. We don’t have to remain stuck and resistant to change. We don’t have to judge and dismiss those who don’t meet our criteria of social status or political persuasion. We can change and grow. We can have our eyes opened. Because Jesus, in order demonstrate God’s great, amazing grace, continually offers us a chance to change. Ultimately, we can pray to be the blind man in this story, the one to whom Jesus offers a promise of a completely changed life. We know turning our lives around will be hard. Are we really willing to endure what the blind man endured when Jesus came by? Just picture it: there he was with mud on his eyes crawling to the pool of Siloam. Since he was born blind, when he received his sight he had to learn how to see, grow all those axons and neurons that govern sight, learn all his colors, recognize his friends and relatives, then endure the indifference and hostility of those around him. Would you choose to go there?
Going where the blind man went doesn’t take “faith.” It takes willingness, and perhaps courage. Where is our pool of Siloam? Where is God in Christ calling us to go, so that we can wash away our blindness? Where is that sacred place where we can experience God’s amazing, healing grace? The answer for each of us will be different. But for almost all of us, our “pool of Siloam” will be some person or place, or discipline that brings us in closer contact with Jesus, that deepens our belief in Jesus, that enables us to say, with the newly-sighted man, “I believe.” Did you know that the root meaning of the Greek and Latin words that we translate as “believe” really is to give one’s heart? Where is the pool of Siloam where we will truly be able to “see” Jesus and to give him our heart, fully, truly, and confidently.
Who is that person who enables you to see Jesus more clearly? Is it one of the saints? Perhaps a pool of Siloam for you might be the biography or collected writings of one of the many holy women and men who have inspired countless generations of Christians. We remember many of them in our Tuesday evening Eucharists. Perhaps it is someone like Helen Keller. Rendered both physically deaf and blind at the age of nineteen months, Keller nevertheless learned to communicate and experienced the beauties and mysteries of life so deeply that she was able to share her spiritual awakening with others. Or perhaps your pool of Siloam is someone whom you serve, someone from among “the least of these” who shows you Jesus’ face. Where is that place where your relationship with Jesus can be deepened? Have you ever been on a silent retreat? It is truly God’s amazing gift of grace that, when we turn off our cell phones and TVs, when we let go of our own chatter, when we sit in relaxed silence, we can hear Jesus more clearly. We might even hear him say to us, “You have seen him, the one speaking with you is he.” Consider a day, or even a week, away, or perhaps just a quiet morning at church.
Could your pool of Siloam be a particular discipline? Could it be reading daily morning or evening prayer, or Compline? Could it be daily reading of the Bible or another book? Could it be daily centering prayer? Could it be letting an icon lead you into deeper relationship with Jesus? Could it be reading and thinking deeply about the social issues facing us, and entertaining the possibility that God might be asking you to change some of your life-long positions and prejudices? Could it be volunteering in a place that enables you to look others in the eye and ask Jesus’ healing blessing on them? Where is your pool of Siloam? Where will Jesus enable you to see more clearly?
Where is the place where we too will be emboldened to sing Charles Wesley’s wonderful words, “Hear him, ye deaf; ye voiceless ones, your loosened tongues employ; ye blind, behold your Savior comes; and leap, ye lame, for joy”? Pray God, lead us all there.
It’s possible that if something similar happened among us, we might also be confused and unbelieving. However, I’m particularly struck by how the evangelist has portrayed the religious leaders here, and especially their negative response to the man’s receiving of sight. Remember that the Pharisees are among the most learned of the religious leaders. They would be most likely to know the Hebrew Bible and all the commentary on it. They would be most likely to remember the many stories of God’s healing power made available to people through the prophets. The story, for example, of Elijah’s instruction to Naaman, to immerse himself seven times in the Jordan to cure his leprosy, comes especially to mind. Similarly, they would certainly know that God works through very unlikely people, seemingly almost inconsequential people. They would remember that God chose Samuel when he was just a boy serving in the temple. They would certainly remember how God instructed Samuel to anoint as the next king the least likely of Jesse’s sons, young David, who was out tending the sheep. As learned as they were, and as devoted to the law as they were, don’t you wonder why they were not able to understand the importance of what was happening right in front of them?
The Pharisees seem to be the villains of John’s gospel. Remember that by the time this gospel was written, in the early ‘90s, the lines between the followers of Jesus and those loyal to the old traditions had begun to harden. Tensions between the communities were increasing, partly because of the inclusion of Gentiles into Christian communities. The Pharisees were not especially evil men. Rather, they were probably only men who were trying to preserve what they understood to be a God-given way of life, a way of life that was anchored in the law of Moses, and that followed the law as closely as possible. However, as the evangelist portrays them here, they are confident that they know what is right, especially what it is lawful to do on the Sabbath. They are unwilling to cede control of the community’s religious life to other questionable religious communities. They know that change is difficult. They find it especially hard to change spiritually and to consider that God might indeed be doing a new thing in Jesus. Most important, they are unable to read the “signs,” the signs that demonstrate clearly that Jesus is indeed the “light that enlightens all” come among them in the flesh. Perhaps the most plaintive line in this whole drama is the question posed by some of the Pharisees, “Surely we are not blind, are we?”
Of all the actors here, if we’re being honest, we know that we are most like the Pharisees. Actually, I resonate with them. As a clerical leader, I understand how it feels to have a vested interest in religious institutions. It’s almost comforting to know that, even in the first century, folks were arguing about ecclesiastical authority! But wouldn’t most of us, maybe all, of us here be confident that we know what’s right? Fill in the blank. Wouldn’t most of be able to say, “I’ve been a lifelong……, and I’m not about to change now.” And aren’t we sure we know how to order our spiritual lives? After all, we’re Episcopalians! We have the Book of Common Prayer to tell us how to conduct worship, and we have bishops and canon law to govern ourselves. Wouldn’t most, if not all of us, like the Pharisees, be unwilling to change? Many of us are still living in the middle of the twentieth, if not the sixteenth century, still expecting the church to be what it was when we were younger. And wouldn’t most of us be just as unable to see God at work in an unlikely person? Wouldn’t we think, for example, that the people who come to Loaves and Fishes or who attend the “anonymous” meetings downstairs would have little to say to us about God? Wouldn’t Jesus pronounce the same judgment on us that he pronounced on the plaintive Pharisees: “If you were blind, you would not have sin. But now that you say, ‘We see,’ your sin remains.”
Unquestionably Jesus will judge us. But the good news is that, by God’s grace, we don’t have to continue to be the blind, stubborn, sinful people that, in our heart of hearts, we know we are. We don’t have to remain stuck and resistant to change. We don’t have to judge and dismiss those who don’t meet our criteria of social status or political persuasion. We can change and grow. We can have our eyes opened. Because Jesus, in order demonstrate God’s great, amazing grace, continually offers us a chance to change. Ultimately, we can pray to be the blind man in this story, the one to whom Jesus offers a promise of a completely changed life. We know turning our lives around will be hard. Are we really willing to endure what the blind man endured when Jesus came by? Just picture it: there he was with mud on his eyes crawling to the pool of Siloam. Since he was born blind, when he received his sight he had to learn how to see, grow all those axons and neurons that govern sight, learn all his colors, recognize his friends and relatives, then endure the indifference and hostility of those around him. Would you choose to go there?
Going where the blind man went doesn’t take “faith.” It takes willingness, and perhaps courage. Where is our pool of Siloam? Where is God in Christ calling us to go, so that we can wash away our blindness? Where is that sacred place where we can experience God’s amazing, healing grace? The answer for each of us will be different. But for almost all of us, our “pool of Siloam” will be some person or place, or discipline that brings us in closer contact with Jesus, that deepens our belief in Jesus, that enables us to say, with the newly-sighted man, “I believe.” Did you know that the root meaning of the Greek and Latin words that we translate as “believe” really is to give one’s heart? Where is the pool of Siloam where we will truly be able to “see” Jesus and to give him our heart, fully, truly, and confidently.
Who is that person who enables you to see Jesus more clearly? Is it one of the saints? Perhaps a pool of Siloam for you might be the biography or collected writings of one of the many holy women and men who have inspired countless generations of Christians. We remember many of them in our Tuesday evening Eucharists. Perhaps it is someone like Helen Keller. Rendered both physically deaf and blind at the age of nineteen months, Keller nevertheless learned to communicate and experienced the beauties and mysteries of life so deeply that she was able to share her spiritual awakening with others. Or perhaps your pool of Siloam is someone whom you serve, someone from among “the least of these” who shows you Jesus’ face. Where is that place where your relationship with Jesus can be deepened? Have you ever been on a silent retreat? It is truly God’s amazing gift of grace that, when we turn off our cell phones and TVs, when we let go of our own chatter, when we sit in relaxed silence, we can hear Jesus more clearly. We might even hear him say to us, “You have seen him, the one speaking with you is he.” Consider a day, or even a week, away, or perhaps just a quiet morning at church.
Could your pool of Siloam be a particular discipline? Could it be reading daily morning or evening prayer, or Compline? Could it be daily reading of the Bible or another book? Could it be daily centering prayer? Could it be letting an icon lead you into deeper relationship with Jesus? Could it be reading and thinking deeply about the social issues facing us, and entertaining the possibility that God might be asking you to change some of your life-long positions and prejudices? Could it be volunteering in a place that enables you to look others in the eye and ask Jesus’ healing blessing on them? Where is your pool of Siloam? Where will Jesus enable you to see more clearly?
Where is the place where we too will be emboldened to sing Charles Wesley’s wonderful words, “Hear him, ye deaf; ye voiceless ones, your loosened tongues employ; ye blind, behold your Savior comes; and leap, ye lame, for joy”? Pray God, lead us all there.
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