Through Stained Glass: A Mid-Week Reflection--Sunrise

Sunrise

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you!

All of you, I am grateful for every one of you.

You all made this Lenten season, Holy Week, and Easter a meaningful journey that ended [but also just beginning] in such a beautiful way.

It is my hope you all have found the worship meaningful and the conversations before, during, and after any of the worship, education, and fellowship opportunities life giving and fruitful.

Again, our journey is just beginning. Eastertide is 50 days! That means we have 50 days of exploring and participating in the meaning of the Resurrection.

So, as we move forward, let us claim that same spirit of joy and courage that dwelt within our sisters on that first Resurrection morning.

With the days lasting longer and the earth turning more green, let us remember the invitation the women offered to us: to love Jesus with a perfect love and to believe in the power of the Resurrection. They have told their Resurrection story. So now it is our turn as a church, as a people of God, to tell ours.

See you at Kirk Night on Wednesday and church on Sunday [301 Pekin Street @10 am!]!

Christ is risen! Christ is risen indeed!

[Part of this week's post is the sermon preached at the Easter Sunrise Service at First Presbyterian Church.]

“Morning’s Resurrection Song”

Matthew 28.1-10

Easter Sunrise Service Year A

So what began in a wild wilderness ends in a green-ing garden. There was not an earthquake; there was no great light; nor was there a loud trumpet: instead, we have been brought here this morning by pure hope. Just when we thought there would be no more light in the Jerusalem sky, the Bright and Morning Star appeared, and the darkness has not overcome it.[1] Though sorrow may last through the night, joy inevitably comes in the morning. Rousing us from our slumber this early morning is not death’s hold on life, but the celebration of life made new; a new day, a new opportunity to seek and encounter the risen Christ.

The sun rose when we started singing our first hymn at
the sunrise service on Easter morning. 

We find ourselves here early in the morning, basking in the moment Christmas pointed to, the moment Holy Week obscured, the moment the tomb reveals. “On Easter morning we find the manger full of life; on Easter morning we find the tomb empty of death. We know the whole truth now, don’t we? We like Mary Magdalene on that first morning know that death is not the end, and that life as we know it is only the beginning of Life. In the events leading up to this moment— beginning with the Palms last Sunday, carrying through the foot washing on Thursday, into the death on Friday and the praying on Saturday— we have learned that there is no suffering from which we cannot rise.[2] It is the empty tomb on Easter Sunday morning that delivers this hope, saying to us, “You go and tell the others. Now!”

But before those words emerge, these words were uttered, first by the angels, then by the risen Christ himself: “Do not be afraid.” This calming command comes from an authority laden with power that is beyond the scope of world -- a messenger who, this story tells us, rolled a huge stone, sat on it (maintaining a rather matter-of-fact posture, to be sure), shone like electricity, engendered such magnificence that the guards swooned, and then had the audacity to assert that there was nothing to fear. With no need for fear, the women are then instructed by the angel to move into their lives with swashbuckling abandon. We, too, are so instructed. Because God’s power has overturned all expectations in our world, we have nothing from which to coil into self-protection.

            No longer is there reason to fear death; no longer must we hide from the darkness of life; no longer will we quake in anxious anticipation, awaiting the unknown.

            At the heart of the angel’s message, and central to Jesus’s bold assurance against fear, is the message of a new life—an unprecedented way of being and existing in the world. Thomas Merton articulated this sentiment well: “Christianity is a first of all a way of life, rather than a way of thought. It is only by living the Christian life that we come to understand the full meaning of the Christian message. The meaning of this message, the meaning of the Easter morning, is precisely that God has come to dwell in humanity and to show, in humanity, that the sorrows, sufferings, and defeats inherent in human existence can’ never deprive [our] life of meaning as long as God is capable of deciding to live as a child of God and consents to let God live and triumph in our hearts.” Thus, to be a Christian, to be an Easter people, is not only to believe in Christ, but to live as Christ, and in a mysterious way, to become united with Christ.

            Morning’s Resurrection song is a greeting call, an invitation to not be afraid, but to engage our privilege, bearing witness to the good news that God through Christ, by the power of the Holy Spirit, is making all things new, even now, even in me and in you.

The story of resurrection is happening all around us. Recognition may require us to get outside the church, get our hands dirty in the garden that is the world, but if we pay attention, if we practice waking up to the God who is doing new things, we will be overwhelmed by the abundance of life unfolding before us, even presently, in our midst.

            So friends, we come here, to the garden, not alone, but together, together in the promise and in the hope of the resurrection. We may have arrived tired and battered, holes worn through our shoes from walking through Holy Week, but we’ve made it. Waiting for us in this space and time is the very same person who met Mary then: the Risen Christ. This morning, together we hear the good news that Christ has been raised, not as an invitation to come to heaven when we die, but as a declaration that Christ himself is now living within and among us.

            That my friends, that is where we leave this morning, staring a new reality in the eye, encountering a gaze that warms the heart, and a look that lavishes love on our weary souls. The story of Christ’s resurrection makes us mindful that every moment and every event of every person’s life on earth plants something in our soul. For just as the wind carries thousands of winged seeds, so each moment brings with it germs of spiritual vitality that come to rest undetectably in the minds and hearts of all people.

            Let us then live together in resurrection, acknowledging the return of joy, the echo of God’s life, as it walks among us.

           

           

---

[1] Lines inspired from a poem by Ann Weems:  Easter

[2] Joan Chittister.  “The Liturgical Year.”  (Nashville:  Thomas Nelson, 2009), 164.

Through Stained Glass: A Mid-Week Reflection--Sent

Sent

We are halfway through the week. As we read in the Gospel today during Morning Prayer, things are getting tense for Jesus.

On Monday after Palm Sunday, he went to the Temple, chasing the commercial vendors out of the Temple precincts.

On Tuesday, Jesus was teaching again. Unsurprisingly, the parables proved problematic for the theologians and professors of his day.

Today, Wednesday, Jesus offers his longest and final parable in the Gospel of Mark. His teaching is truth: he tells the story about how God longs for all of us— for you and for me— to be planted in the vineyard. Jesus was sent so all would know that they are welcomed.

MARK 12:1-11

¹Then he began to speak to them in parables. "A man planted a vineyard, put a fence around it, dug a pit for the wine press, and built a watchtower; then he leased it to tenants and went to another country. ²When the season came, he sent a slave to the tenants to collect from them his share of the produce of the vineyard. ³But they seized him, and beat him, and sent him away empty-handed. ⁴And again he sent another slave to them; this one they beat over the head and insulted. ⁵Then he sent another, and that one they killed. And so it was with many others; some they beat, and others they killed. ⁶He had still one other, a beloved son. Finally he sent him to them, saying, 'They will respect my son.' ⁷But those tenants said to one another, 'This is the heir; come, let us kill him, and the inheritance will be ours.' ⁸So they seized him, killed him, and threw him out of the vineyard.⁹What then will the owner of the vineyard do? He will come and destroy the tenants and give the vineyard to others. ¹⁰Have you not read this scripture: 'The stone that the builders rejected has become the cornerstone;¹¹this was the Lord's doing, and it is amazing in our eyes'?"

Mark told stories so they could easily be understood. Deciphering the allegories of this particularly narrative is relatively simple:  God is the vineyard owner; the tenants are the present religious leaders; the beloved Son is Jesus; and the earlier servants are the prophets, including (probably) John the Baptist. Framing the passion narrative, this narrative ultimately explains: why God sent Jesus and the prophets before him: [an invite us to turn around, to work toward justice and peace]; what will happen to Jesus [to be falsely accused and to be put on death row for a crime he didn’t do]; who will bring this evil about [pastors—respected clergy who pound pulpits on Sundays]; and what the failure of this last chance to repent will mean [to remain hateful will only prevent the presence of God to be noticed by our neighbors].

Jesus was hospitable.

Perhaps, too hospitable for some.

The shadow of the cross is growing larger by the day.

Thursday will come and we’ll say, “Not just my feet, but my head as well.”

Then, it will be Friday. Do I need to say anymore about Friday?

Even so, let’s not rush.

Instead, let’s use this time to attend to the text and listen to the questions it asks of us.

Let us listen to the text, to hear God’s voice calling us to return to the way of Love.

Let us tune into this call to inclusion: a call to rid ourselves of dictating doctrines that determine who is “in” and who is “out.”

Note about the picture:  This picture is of the quote in
Rev. Bruce Allison's book Links. If you would like
a digital version of this beloved classic, please email
the church.

Let us hear the text not as one about a God who takes pleasure in drenching tenants with destruction, but rather, gain a glimpse of a God who wants everyone in the vineyard.

May we, as articulated by the Reverend Bruce Allison, come to know on this Wednesday of Holy Week, as we stand in the vineyard and nearing the end of our travels, that “Our deepest joy and our greatest satisfaction comes from what unites us to all people, the love of God for us and for everyone. And it is that, too, which reveals more and more of who we are meant to be.”

Amidst the procession to the gallows of Good Friday, love continues to pave the way. Soon we’ll receive a new commandment. Soon we will be asked, “Whose feet are you going to wash?”

Soon, we’ll be sent to love until the end…

Through Stained Glass: A Mid-Week Reflection--She

She

She must have noticed my books about the Bible on the table. If that wasn’t a give-away, surely the bow-tie was. Whatever the ‘tell,’ she felt the inclination to ask: “So, are you like a pastor or something?”

Whenever I’m asked this question, I intentionally delay my response. I do this not because I’m ashamed of either my faith or my status as clergy, but because I’m hesitant about what follows my answer: “Yes I am; a Presbyterian pastor, actually.”

“Oh that is cool,” she replied, as she continued wiping down the table.

“Like, is that the same as a priest? Because I am a Christian. Actually, I was. I mean, I haven’t gone to church in a long time. Also my church is in Springfield. You might know what it is. It is that really big one. I think the name is…”

She stood trying to think of the name of her church.

“Oh this is awful and embarrassing.”

I assured her it wasn't. “I understand. There are a lot of churches in Springfield.”

Stopping what she was doing, she looked at me and said,

“You are right on that.”

We returned to the tasks at hand: I went back to researching and “sermonizing,” and she to sweeping and wiping surfaces, though not venturing too far from my table.

Just as my coffee was turning cold, the question behind her lingering presence emerged, “So, like, do you baptize babies? Like, I have a child.” She gazed away from me for a second, before adding: “This is awful, but, he is already 1. And I know his daddy would want him baptized. I do too. But, like, where or how do I do that?” After explaining that they’re separated—that they aren’t even married— she added that she wishes she could go to church

but

The Sacrament of Baptism, the sign and seal of God's grace
and our response, is the foundational recognition of
Christian commitment...[W-3.3600--Book of Order]

she

doesn’t

have

a

church

home.

To her, because of her "situation," she has nowhere to worship.

I sat with that for a second as she continued to tell me her story.

But what stopped me in my tracks; what made me hang that coffee mug just before touching my lips; what made me both excited and sad was this question:

“So, if I want my baby baptized, like, how much does it cost?”

What an interesting question.

This quandary stopped me in my tracks, pondering the meaning and measurable “cost” embedded in this sacred mystery, this sacrament of our faith.

So, what does it cost?

I wanted to say this: it costs everything.

Baptism costs time— not as a repetitive event, but through participation in a community committed both to one another, and perpetuating the reign of God through acts of kindness, mercy, and peace. It costs abandoning the lies society tells us by believing in the good news that in life and in death, we belong entirely to God.

Baptizing your child will cost you the assumption that you are alone in this life, but will give you the security of knowing that you have gained a family, to teach, to love, and to care for your child.

Her question made me wonder how much the church (lowercase ‘c’) twisted this reality for her. It made me wonder when community was replaced by transaction where outsiders to our worship spaces feel like they need to “pay” for the privilege of fitting in.

Baptism, as a “cost,” is shared by the community. When your baby is baptized, we as your sisters and brothers enter into covenant with you, and God, making this promise: “We are here for you. We will always be here for you. Even if it means losing our lives for you!”

That is what I didn’t say.

Instead, I asked her to clarify.

She meant money.

I told her the truth: that most churches don’t charge, but welcome your participation in the life of the community.

She responded with a suspicious, “Oh really.” 

She cleaned.

I wrote.

Both sitting in that awkward silence before she thanked me for being so polite and helpful.

As she walked away, she added: “Maybe I’ll come visit you some time.”

I took a sip of coffee and said, “We would love it.”

Through Stained Glass: A Mid-Week Reflection on Stopping

Stop

“Breath is the bridge which connects life to consciousness, which unites your body to your thoughts. Whenever your mind becomes scattered, use your breath as the means to take hold of your mind again.” 
― Thích Nhất Hạnh

Take a second and take a deep breath.

How do you feel?

Rested?

Tired?

Joyful?

Anxious?

Take another deep breath.

How about now?

Is your mind racing?

or

Is your mind peaceful?

Breathe deep again.

Look around.

Are you at home?

or

Are you at work?

or

Are you on the go?

Regardless, wherever you are—that is where you need to be.

and

Wherever you go, there you are.

Breathe deeply again.

Stop.

Set down your phone.

Put away your pen.

Place your lunch back into your lunchbox

and breathe.

You are doing so well at the task you’ve been given. Reward yourself with a moment. Honor your work by letting it rest.

Breathe in again.

“We shall not cease from exploration

And the end of all our exploring

Will be to arrive where we started

And know the place for the first time.” ~T.S. Eliot

Where have you been today?

Is it where you wanted to go?

How will your day end?

Listen to your breath.

Slow your mind and feel your heart. You are alive and that is a gift.

There is joy in today. It may be clear as day. Or we might have to struggle to find it. But it is there.

Look for it.

Attend to it.

Breathe it in.

“My heart swells that the Universe

like a fiery cascade may enter.

The new day comes. Its coming

Leaves me breathless.

I sing. Like a cavern brimming

I sing my new day.” ~Gabriela Mistral

Lent is ending. The road to Jerusalem is becoming more daunting as destruction looms. The cross is nearing. Our days not only are filling up with the sun, but also, responsibilities and obligations.

We are already preparing…

Breathe deeply.

All will be well.

For God is as close as your breath….