Through Stained Glass: A Holy Week Word

(this is a sermon i wrote for the Holy Wednesday service at FPC lincoln and didn't end up preaching. it is a little longer. may you be washed clean by the Christ who welcomes all at the table!)

“A Foot Washing Word”

John 13.1-18, 31-35

We want to get to the main event, don’t we?

The point in the evening when all the awkward greetings are over and the small talk has gotten past the weather, the Cubs, and how the kids are doing.

The point in the evening where you and your spouse forget about the argument you had over the bottle of Pepsi you brought instead of the wine as you walked up the sidewalk.

The point in the evening where you stop worrying if so-and-so will be there because, well, she tells the same stories over and over and if you have to listen to Mr. Know It All’s take on the candidate you’re most annoyed with that you might just rip his toupee off and tell him to shut it.

The point in the evening when you’re more than half way through the night and you are just 45 minute away from taking off this tie or those heels, and you can slip back into those tired sweatpants, let your hair down, and watch reruns of your favorite TV show.

We want to get to the main event, don’t we?

Some of us are perfectly fine with the small talk and rarely argue with the significant other, don’t worry at all about who will be there, and find a night in watching Netflix a bit too boring.

Some of us see the whole night as the main event and are saddened when even the trivial celebration comes to an end.

            If you’re thinking I am being a bit trite in my generalizations, you are absolutely right.

            Something needed to set us up about our foot washing experience.

            Like going to parties or events, some of us could care less about what our feet look and smell like. While there are some of us who washed our feet three times before we came and powered them with some of whatever Mary used on Jesus when she anointed his feet.

            And, there are those of us who absolutely will not let you or anyone, for that matter, near our feet.

What an extreme generalization bout foot washing, right?!

            In the story of Jesus washing the feet of the disciples, an event that happened before the last supper, there are extremes in what takes place as well. Imagine this:

            Jesus is at the table with his disciples, all of them reclining, propped up on their elbows, dipping pita bread into bowls of savory hummus and smacking their lips; licking their fingers. The sounds of conversation fill the room, punctuated from time to time by loud laughter or the clink of one clay cup against the other. Oil lamps flicker, their light reflected in the shining eyes of the disciples, and while all of this is going on…

            Jesus gets up from the table…

            Strips off his outer robe…

            Wraps a towel around his waist…

            Pours water into a basin…

            And begin to wash the disciples’ feet.

            An extreme, unexpected action that causes a bit of a ruckus amongst the disciples. As we all know, it was the role of the house servant, not a person such as Jesus, to wash the feet of the disciples. In fact, the disciples had probably had their feet washed before. However this is different. This isn’t some servant or even one of their peers but instead this is Jesus. Their teacher. Their Lord.

            As he makes his way around the room, the disciples fall silent, until all you can hear is the splash of water being poured into the basin over dusty, callused feet.

            This is when another extreme takes place in the story. While foot washing was normal, it was expected, what Peter does was a bit over the top. Peter objects, saying “You will never wash my feet! But if you insist, wash not only my feet but also my hands and my head.”

            Jesus persists in washing only the feet and asks, “Do you know what I have done to you?”

            There is but silence.

            Jesus speaks again, “I have set you an example. If I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet.” Despite Peter’s best attempt to be holier-than-thou or attempt to wiggle out of Christ’s intimate act of service, Jesus washes his feet.

            What do we do with this story?

            Some of us hear this story and think, “This is a story about social justice and action, putting feet to our theology.” We want to ask questions such as: “Where is it that people are broken and bruised from war, poverty, drugs, abuse, and discrimination and are in need of a healing bath?”

            Some of us might say this story is not about doing but about being. This is a story that reminds us as people of God who are committed to serving the poor in many capacities that this is a story about letting Jesus tend to us. Just as baptism inaugurates us into Jesus’ ministry of tending and washing the wounds of a broken world, we, too, are in need of the ongoing washing of Jesus and the bathing of our own weary feet if we are to have the strength, compassion, and Spirit to continue that ministry in the world.

            But because I know you all, I know what you are thinking now:  Pastor, it isn’t either/or. Mission is a healthy balance between action and theology, contemplation and justice, mission and meetings.

            There is no disagreeing with this sentiment and truth. But let me plant a seed. Let me stir the waters in the basin a little bit.

            Perhaps this foot washing in John 13 is not just a thought exercise. It isn’t simply a scene we re-create each year because “it’s just what we do.” Instead, this scene is essential not only to the identity of God in Christ but ours as a church as well.

            Jesus doesn’t just talk about love.

            Jesus doesn’t just philosophize and theologize about loving one’s neighbor and setting up benevolence funds to assist those who are “less fortunate” than us.

            It isn’t proverbial.

            Rather, it is service.

            Jesus actually kneels down and washes the disciples’ feet—and then tells them to do likewise.

            Which might be the real reason Peter objects to Christ’s washing of his feet. Jesus was showing Peter that discipleship was not only about humble service, but also about being, as one theologian has put it, a “community of equals.” No servant is greater than his master…and to be the greatest, the master must become like the servant.

            All are welcome. All are needed.

            Some of us like parties, some of us don’t.

            Some of us don’t mind getting our feet touched; others would rather sit through a three hour opera…in German…than have our feet touched.

Wherever it is we find our selves in the either/or, both/and, all things in moderation, conversation, we are all in this together. We are all invited to the table.

Tonight is a night where we look around the table and we see not only Jesus, but also Peter, who denies Jesus; Judas, who betrays Jesus; John and James, who fall asleep while Jesus is praying in the garden; and a whole lot of other misfits who will forsake him in his darkest hour of need. It is a scene that reminds us of the posture that the church is supposed to take: one of selfless service; even if it means making a scene. It is story that reminds us that the church, that the communion table, is a place where we can come—time and time again—to have our own ugliness lovingly touched and washed clean by Jesus. The reality of this story and the good news for us is this:  Jesus washes everyone, even those who are as beloved as John or as troubled as Judas.

No questions asked.

The fact that Jesus spends his last night with his friends, pleading with them to love one another in spite of their own differences and disagreements, is compelling to say the least.

Thus, to ponder what foot washing might look like—not only in relation to the word, but also in relation to those in the church who have hurt us and those we love—might take us very close to the heart of the gospel tonight.

When Christ washes the feet of the disciples, he continues what God started.

Jesus enacted love.

We are commanded to do the same.

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…