People of the Resurrection

By Mary Davis, Seminarian Intern

I grew up in the Episcopal Church, and as far back as I can remember, I've known this Sunday, the Sunday after Easter, by its informal name, "low Sunday." And this year, my peers at General Theological Seminary have taught me another name for this Sunday - "Seminarian Sunday," for the large number of seminarians who are preaching this week while Rectors catch their breath and energy following Holy Week and Easter. It all sounds pretty dreary, doesn't it? But frankly, this year, I have welcomed the opportunity to learn more about this "low Sunday" and found out that this is not the official name for the drop in attendance following Easter Sunday. But in fact, the word "Low" is a derived from the Latin word "Laude", which means "praise," and the Sequence hymn of this day once read, "Let us sing praises to the Savior with humble voice."

Now, while this word-play exercise excuses some of the let-down of this day, I still find myself wondering why, in this season of the Resurrection, do we not joyously celebrate Christ's victory over death with more vigor and passion, with crowded pews of energetic believers? Surely, Christ's resurrection is worth more than one week's celebration, since it's ultimately the foundational message on which our church is based. As such, our Church, complete with its liturgical seasons and calendar, devotes 50 days to Easter, the time of Revelation in the form of Christ's appearances to his disciples following his resurrection, leading up to his ascension and then the day of Pentecost. We call it the "Great 50 days!" Yet it seems like the churches I've always been a part of pay an awful lot of attention to Lent: the self-examination, the self-reflection, Lenten studies, Lenten suppers, Lenten retreats. Among other things, Lent is the season we connect with the humanity of Jesus. But it's in this Easter season, all 50 days of it, that we connect to and celebrate the divinity of the risen Christ.

This second Sunday of Easter is also important because, in spite of our 3 year lectionary cycle, every year, today's Gospel reading re-introduces us to the disciple, Thomas. Thomas is forever known as "doubting Thomas," as if that's a bad thing. Frankly, Thomas should be the patron saint of those of us here in the pews today, the patron saint of modern people, people of both reason and faith. Thomas, who is remembered for saying that "unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe" (John 20:25) should not be a figure that we pity for his weaknesses, but instead, he is a disciple who teaches us a way to live into these 50 days of Easter, living into Christ's Resurrection.

I remember feeling quite prideful after hearing this Gospel lesson, when Jesus answers Thomas' doubt by saying, "Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe." (John 20:29) Yep, that is me, I'd think, better than the disciples. I wasn't there at the empty tomb. I wasn't there in the upper room, nor was I there on the road to Emmaus. And yet, I believe.

You know, it's funny, because the disciples are portrayed, at times in the Gospels, as being somewhat dense. It's almost easy to poke fun of them. But, recently, I have to admit, that the more I look at my own life and my own faith, being honest with myself, I have come to see myself in their folly more often than I'd like to admit. I came to identify with Peter in the Garden of Gethsemane on Good Friday, and now I realize that I identify with Thomas as well.

My experience on 9/11 is a prime example of this, one that allowed me a much better understanding of the disciple Thomas, and his doubting side. On September 11, 2001, my husband left for work in the usual way, taking the train into the city, and was headed for his office on the 62nd floor of the World Trade Center. He worked in the South Tower. But because he was scheduled to leave on a business trip later that day, he left home a little later than usual, carrying his luggage with him. On the way to work, a picturesque early fall day, he decided to take the ferry across the river, and when he did, he saw the plane fly into his building. At some point in the hours that followed, my husband was able to reach out to me by cell phone and assure me that he was safe, and headed for home. Sure, I heard his voice, but I also heard and saw everything else that was unfolding that day, and I needed more than that. I needed proof. I needed to be sure. "Until I see him," I thought to myself, I will not believe. And it was so – hours later, he finally made it off the train in the New Providence station, and it wasn't until then, when we were in full embrace, that I had my proof, knew he was alive, and my doubt for his safety dissipated. So much for faith without proof.

I now hold a whole new respect for Thomas and his powerful doubts, and I've realized that my doubts extend infinitely further than just that day of 9/11. Thru this and other life experiences, I have realized that my faith is far from some neat and tidy package. I have loose ends hanging out all over the place. These are my places of my doubt, my bundles of fear, and my collections of conflicting information. It's a messy container which makes for an uncomfortable faith at times. But, just the same, I have also experienced times of great Revelation, fleeting but still very real, and Jesus reveals himself to Thomas in this very way; not in a blaze of glory or with flashes of light or sounds of trumpets, but as the wounded and loving savior. This love accepts Thomas' doubts, and accepts my baggage of loose ends as well, and Jesus reveals himself to us and brings us peace in that act of Revelation, enabling us to see.

While I'm sure that it would have been easy for the disciples, Thomas included, to hang out in that upper room and wait for Jesus, their beloved teacher and Lord, to appear time and time again, they did not. In fact, the disciples with Jesus at the Transfiguration wanted to hang out there too. Jesus' appearances were brief but powerful, and the strength of these encounters empowered and compelled the disciples to tell about their encounters with the Risen Christ. Thomas, after he reaches out and experiences the Risen Christ, boldly proclaims, "My Lord and my God!" This was his Christ-experience, his name for the Easter Revelation, his statement of faith.

Thomas' bold proclamation, which sprung up out of his places of both doubt and faith, invites us to ask ourselves, what is it about our own Christ-experience, including both places of doubt and places of faith, about traveling this annual road to the cross and then finding the empty tomb at Easter, which enables us to discover new life? What is it?

In my family, we have a saying, which comes out of military service, "RHIP" – Rank Has its Privileges. Usually this applies to the one who has to clear dishes from the table, or who gets to sit in the front seat of the car. But right after "RHIP" comes "RHIR" – Rank has its Responsibilities. So along with the front seat on the car ride, comes the obligation to help me out with various chores and errands along our way. We learn from the disciple Thomas that his experience of the Risen Christ comes with a responsibility to proclaim. He tells his story of the resurrection, his story of faith when he says, "My Lord and My God!" What can we proclaim about the risen Christ? We aren't meant to remain here, huddled closely within the walls of this church, reveling in the power of Christ's resurrection. No, we are to tell the story to those outside this place, tell what it is about the Easter celebration that keeps us coming back year after year. But before we can tell a story, or before we can tell THE story, we have to think about what it is that is important to us. Why is Christ's resurrection so meaningful for us? To what situations does Christ's life bring new life? In what ways are we strengthened by our experience of the risen Christ?

So, let these Great 50 days of Easter be a time of examination, transformation and then proclamation. The power of Christ's resurrection will transform us, just as it did Thomas, and allow us to move in rhythm with our questioning selves, pushing our faith in new directions. Our transformation is the living part of us which makes us alive in Christ and our call to live into that resurrection is to tell that story. Live this story of resurrection during these 50 days, and when we greet the new season of Pentecost, we will be just like the disciples who were empowered to proclaim in every language their powerful Christ story. We too, will be able to share, each of us, in our own language, words of hope, grace and love with the world. We thank God for Thomas today, our patron saint of this Sunday after Easter, who reminds us that we are real people, people of faith and doubt, who can touch the marks of pain, grow in love and service in the name of Christ, and then boldly proclaim that we are people of the Resurrection. Amen.

© 2008 Mary Davis

Good Friday

By Mary Davis, Seminarian Intern

Good Friday has always been a tough day for me. I think Bernie smelled my fear when he asked me to preach tonight. It comes on the heels of my favorite service of the entire liturgical year, Maundy Thursday, and takes me to a place where I'd really rather not go. Things go from bad, in the silent darkness at Tenebrae, to worse, during the solemn stripping of the altar last night, and just when you think things can't get much worse, they really do. And now, with it so early in the calendar year, it seems like we've raced from the cradle to the cross at record speed. I'm not sure that I'm really ready for it, and I would much prefer to tiptoe around this Friday night, pretending that it's just another Friday, a day to dye Easter eggs with my boys and dream of some early warm spring weather. Trouble is, ready or not, Good Friday is here, and the heaviness of this day, the sorrow of Jesus' painful and lonely death, always call out to me; So, like it or not, Good Friday is a day that we, as Christ's followers, cannot ignore.

One of the major problems I have with Good Friday is that there is so much mystery wrapped up into this one day. I've researched and read volumes on the meanings behind Jesus' death on the cross, yet still, I can't make any sense of it. Some sources hold to the belief that Jesus' suffering and death were offered as a sacrifice for the sin of humanity. Others say that we are "saved" through the example of Jesus' life without sin, and still, there are others who suggest that Jesus' life and death were God's subversive attempt to outmaneuver or outsmart the devil. I just can't seem to wrap my head around any one of these ideas, no matter how many scholarly books I study or how many years I experience this Good Friday liturgy. But, as Bernie so often reminds us, when a biblical reading or theology leads us into a difficult place, a place of discomfort or confusion, we are best served by moving directly into the storm, as disciples who wrestle and struggle with the discomfort.

So, move we do, into this night of Good Friday. Now, I don't know about you, but as a child, I remember wondering, why the word "good" in front of this Friday. As a matter of fact, my own children have asked me that very same question. I have never really heard a satisfactory answer to this question either - some sources say that perhaps it was once called "God's Friday," and the word "good" is morphed out of the word "God," but that explanation doesn't do anything for me. So, regardless, insufficient explanations aside, the title "Good Friday" has stuck, and perhaps we should search for the "good" which lies in the midst of all this unexplainable, unfathomable mystery.
Certainly, at first blush, there's not too much "good" about it: Jesus' betrayal by Judas first, and then by Peter, Jesus' lonely walk to Golgotha and his agony in the crucifixion. Even though John's passion narrative, which we heard today, presents Jesus as being in calm control, all of us have probably heard other Gospel accounts of Jesus' crucifixion, which paint quite a different picture, one of despair, abandonment and suffering.

But in spite of Jesus' agony, we do, find a Jesus portrayed in John's Gospel, that loves right up until his last breath. Jesus never betrays his mission of love, even in the midst of questioning and torture by the High Priest, by Caiaphas, by Pilate or even by the mob of people calling for his death. Jesus' unwavering and radical love, now this is "good." Additionally, even while on the cross, Jesus sees his despondent mother and deeply loves her, placing her in the care of the "beloved" disciple. This unending and caring love, again, this is "good."

The revelation we find through the cross is that God's love is radical, eternal and mysterious. Jesus' life was ultimately a life of radical love, and His love was so pure and boundless that the world couldn't possibly allow it to continue. This perfect Love, which was nailed to the cross, beckons to us today, and calls us in, as disciples.

Now, as you know, a disciple is a student, a follower, a believer. One seeking to learn, but far from one who has it all figured out. We are disciples, called as believers just like Peter, who was unquestionably one of Jesus' closest friends and in Jesus' innermost of inner circles. But, the same disciple Peter, who dropped his fishing nets to follow Jesus, who stood on the mountaintop to witness Jesus' transfiguration, was the same disciple that was so consumed by discomfort and fear that he denied even knowing Jesus, three times, a betrayal of (as we say) biblical proportions. We, too, are disciples of Jesus, and we, too, come to this day of Good Friday as both believers and betrayers. [1]

The fact that I am in seminary, right now, might suggest to you that I can easily claim the title of "believer." But in fact, my call to ministry has certainly not shielded me from deep suffering. And in the midst of my distress, I have to admit that I quickly settled in as a "betrayer." A little over a year ago, my youngest son, then almost 6 years old, was diagnosed with a form of autism. This was coupled with the fact that my 15 year old son already suffers from the disorder. Because of this diagnosis, I experienced the effects of grief, and almost literally heard the window of hope for my son slam violently shut.

So, I, being a "believer," went to the seminary chapel. I was searching for God and for a source of hope, but could find nothing. Instead, I was greeted by what I took to be a rather glib recitation about how good God was all of the time, and how all the time, God was good. I wasn't so sure. Then, during the prayers of the people, the worship leader invited members of the congregation to call out attributes of God, which they were feeling at that moment. So from the chairs came words like "awesome!", "holy!" and "loving!" All of a sudden, up from my gut, probably the same believer's gut which forced the words of denial out of Peter's mouth, came the word "mean". I shuddered, did I really just say that??? I had, and it was precisely how I was feeling. At that moment, my suffering made me wonder, "My God, My God, have you forsaken me?" I had, so quickly, turned from a believing disciple into a betrayer, just like Peter.

The good news in all of this unsettling irony lies yet another mystery. The mystery of God's love. The power of my pain, which had enough strength in it to snuff out my awareness of virtually everything else, was met by God's love. My suffering was not some evil from God's hand, not a test of endurance, and certainly not sanctioned by God. Instead, I was held by God, even as a disciple so quick to betray this very love, and God loved me. God did not turn away from me; just the opposite, Perfect Love kept calling me back. And that, again, on this Good Friday, is "good."

This evening, as we come up in a moment to venerate the cross where Jesus held the sin of the world in love, we stand before the cross as disciples; disciples who can't completely understand, but are on a journey nonetheless. We are participants in this never-ending story of Christ's death and resurrection, drawn year after year to this day of "Good Friday." No, it's not just another Friday, not just a day of dyeing eggs and enjoying the coming of Spring. It's a day when we come to the cross, questioning, not just as believers, but also as betrayers, trying to make sense out of the perfect Love that suffered on the cross. And in the presence of that perfect Love, we meet a God who, through the presence of Jesus, loves us all unconditionally.

So, come to the cross today, seeking the fullness of this unconditional love, which holds us in our suffering, overcomes death, and offers us life. The mysterious fullness of God's love is here today, love both human and divine, and that love is offered today to us, all of us: seekers, believers and betrayers. Jesus, who shows us that a life of love is not out of our reach, is calling us on a journey to life. And that way to life is Love. And that Love is very "good." Amen.

© 2008 Mary Davis

[1] Rev. Dr. William Danaher, General Theological Seminary Ethics Professor.

Palm Sunday

By The Rev. Bernard W. Poppe, Rector

The Palm Sunday story sets up a contrast between the love people expressed which cloaked their secret hopes and the tragic betrayal that came when those hopes were not made real.

The people greeted Jesus in the streets of Jerusalem hailing him as the new king with shouts of "Hosanna." What they hoped for bore little to no resemblance to what they actually got, and within a week, the love and adoration would unravel to chaos and death.

Literature and entertainment media give us various images of kings and queens that depict as close as we can come to reality all the way to satire, and then to simple fantasy. When the movie staring Helen Mirren came out with her portrayal of Queen Elizabeth II we saw a dignified and almost tragic figure trapped in the tight confinement of her role. From controlled expressions to actions dictated by tradition, place and decorum, we saw a woman of deep conviction and love for her country trying to deal with the mystifying world outside her palace walls clamoring for her to be something she didn't know how to be.

In another entertainment venue we see a depiction of Henry VIII in a show called "The Tudors." Here we have political complexities mingled deliciously with soap opera energy and beauty.

Further down the ladder we have Mel Brooks in his comedy "History of the World -- Part II" making outrageous and silly decisions, capriciously saying, "It's good to be King."

The list of images goes on and on, but I wonder what was the image the people of Jerusalem had in mind when Jesus approached? No doubt a warrior to lead an uprising against Rome seeking independence. But how could they have expected someone who preached healing and peace to be their instrument of war? People of all times have a tendency to hear what they want to hear, and somehow put their words in the mouths of those they choose as leaders. Quite often the same energy that places people on pedestals will be used to tear them down.

The events of that Holy Week will be recounted through liturgies and sermons this week. But today I'd like to spend some time on the side of the road with the people meeting Jesus at the gate of Jerusalem. They laid down garments and once those ran out, found palms. I mused about this for some time in a stream of consciousness and wondered if what they did made much sense. Why throw your clothes on the road? It's a waste of good clothes that'll only get dirty and might get ruined. They should have started with the palms which are much better suited to the purpose, clean up easier and are bio-degradable. If they were trying to impress Jesus what else might they have given? As I mused about what I would like to give I came up with a very different list.

First I'd give my ears to listen to what Jesus was actually saying and try to refrain from putting into his mouth the words I'd like to hear from him.

Then I'd give him my eyes. I'm a visual kind of person. I like to see someone when they talk so I can read their body language. I'd try to see his face and expressions and how they matched the words I heard. Some of what he said is strange to my ears, so my eyes would have to check it out too. Was there a wink in his eye or a smile no one else caught, you know the kind that says he's pulling your leg and not even he can keep a straight face. But I have to see the face that says the words so I can tell for myself. How about you? I'd give him my eyes.

Then perhaps my head. I might give that if my ears and eyes told me it's ok. To think about what I heard and saw. To weigh these things, and see how they made sense to me. I'd think about what he said and if I could live with it or do without it. Or if I need to do with it and can't live without it. My head might tell me. But my head doesn't always get it right.

I'd need to give my heart. My heart is always right, but it's the thing that I try to hold onto. That's the puzzle though. Unless you give it, you don't know who's going to take care of it. We have to trust. I like my heart and I don't like when it hurts, but I trust Jesus. I think I'd put my heart out there.

They called him a king. That's not what he called himself. They didn't use their ears. They wanted him to be something he's wasn't. When we don't see who someone is, we miss out on who they are. They did that to Jesus, and I wonder how often I do that, or how often others who proclaim him as king still do it.

After these rambling and strange musings, I continued and began to wonder why he rode the donkey into town in the first place. He knew what they were up to. But he went anyway. He wasn't going to let false expectations stop him from going where he needed to go. Jerusalem, death and resurrection. Long trip down a short road. He walked through their hopes and fears. He led the way but they missed the point. Funny how people can see different things in the same place. But they got him. Or thought they did. I guess he got them in the end. That's what he wanted in the first place. To get them. He did it through their false ears, their blind eyes, their muddled heads and their stone hearts.

That's not what a king would do, but it's what God would do and does. Reaches into us where we are, through what is false and what is good and lets us know that he is life and love and peace in his own way. Part of Holy Week is to meditate, muse if you will, on the gifts God gives us through promise and action. It's also a time to muse about who it is that we follow and the gifts we offer in order to do so.

We finished a series of study and worship with St. Andrew's and Holy Communion this past week, and this week we'll combine in some of the services. In a segment I taught on the early church and the issues leading up the creation of the Nicene Creed, I talked about "competing Christianities." The teachings had gotten very far apart to where Christians in one place couldn't even recognize the Jesus described by other Christians. Since part of the purpose of this series was to see how ancient issues get played out in today's world, it's not hard to see that Christians today preach very different "Jesuses." All the more reason Palm Sunday is so important to recognize who it is that we welcome into our hearts. Take time to listen, to see, to think and to love. Oh, and don't throw your clothes in the street. It's really a waste, it's a short sighted decision on the spur of the moment. Rather, give yourself. Amen.

© 2008 St. George's Episcopal Church, Maplewood, NJ

The Valley of Dry Bones

By The Rev. Bernard W. Poppe, Rector

In the book of Ezekiel we read, "The hand of the Lord came upon me, and he brought me out by the spirit of the Lord and set me down in the middle of a valley; it was full of bones..."

Every clergy person who has ever had to preach a sermon has at one time or another said the phrase "That'll preach!" It's an exclamation like "eureka!" to signify that the fortunate clergy person has come across an illustration, story, anecdote, life situation or joke that will fit perfectly into a sermon to convey a point or lesson. There are times when this illustration may in fact not even have a particular sermon to be attached to, but the industrious preacher will make a note or a file to contain them to be drawn out for some future sermon. (Don't ask me if I have such a file, because I won't tell.)

I wondered if Ezekiel had that moment of "eureka" when he was walking through the valley and saw these dry bones. It's easy to speculate that Ezekiel simply happened upon the site of an ancient battle where the fallen soldiers remained uncared for until their bones lay bleached in the sun. There they lay until that day when Ezekiel walked through the valley. I imagine he paused looking at them. Perhaps he felt sorrow at the waste of life for some battle fought long ago and forgotten as well. What could have been so important that these soldiers fought and died? I wonder if even in his sadness he said to himself "That'll preach." These bones were to him like the people of Israel who suffered through their existence without the spark of life in them that gave them joy or meaning. The people that had suffered under foreign rule and wanted better lives for themselves and their families.

The ears of his faith heard God tell him to prophesy to the bones, and as he spoke to them they rattled and came together but still remained lifeless. He spoke to them some more and the flesh came on, but they were still without movement. And finally he spoke to the winds, the breath of the earth, and the bodies were filled with life giving breath, the breath of God and they stood.

With the ears and eyes of faith Ezekiel heard and saw this wonder and knew that God would give the people back their lives -- their hope, their meaning and their homeland. It's an illustration that preaches.

In John's Gospel, the story of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead echos the miracle of God's life giving spirit when hope is gone. Martha was the plain speaking sister of Mary and Lazarus -- all friends of Jesus. Martha, you may recall is the one who had some sharp words to say when she was stuck making dinner and cleaning up while Mary sat and listened to Jesus some time before this event. Her complaint went unheeded then and her implied criticism of Jesus also went unheeded when she told him that if he had only been there Lazarus would not have died. When it became clear that Jesus intended to raise Lazarus from the dead, Martha was the first to say "No" because after four days the body would be already be engulfed in a stench. Still, beyond the hope of any present, Jesus brought life to his friend Lazarus and in doing so restored the life of his other friends Martha and Mary.

God has the power to restore life. It's that simple. Whether it's people who have been termed clinically dead or the spiritually and emotionally dead who are healed through prayer or divine breath flowing through their hopeless souls, God restores life.

People have a tenacious ability to live. There are amazing stories of people lost in wilderness environments who survive impossible odds, or live through operations or life threatening illnesses on what appears to be sheer force of will. The will to live. And conversely there are people who have given up and seem determined to die no matter what. One of the sparks of life that keeps even the most hopeless going is joy. Without it we are lifeless. Joy in family and friends, joy in ones life and meaning. More than money, power or prestige, joy in relationships and personal meaning. That is life giving and life saving. Love is the breath of God that brings life. Love is not easy, it often takes work, but it is a holy work and produces far more than we can imagine.

In our opening collect this morning we prayed for God's help to keep our eyes fixed where true joys are to be found. And I ask you to consider, where is your joy to be found? Where are you happiest, what are you doing or who are you with that brings you joy beyond all else? Take a moment and consider. When is the last time you took a deep breath knowing that what filled your lungs and heart was the deepest joy you have ever known? Is it a person, an activity or a place that you can identify readily? Is it a recent memory or one so old that its bones are gleaming in the long forgotten battles of your life?

It is vitally important to find our joy and live into it. That is where our lives radiate the most and where we find God most clearly. Unfortunately, we sacrifice our joy for so many things. However, it's worth trying to sacrifice many things for our joy. Not the capricious shallow enjoyments, but the deep soul joy. God opens channels of opportunity as we seek our deeper selves and that deeper joy. We've often heard it said that God helps those who help themselves. I believes that's true. For as powerful as God is, God is no match for our ability to shut off our access to God's grace. Like Martha we have often so much given up on what seems impossible that we close our eyes to what God is able to do.

The NY Times Magazine this weekend has done a series of articles trying to understand what makes people give. And by this, they mean give charitably. They speculate is there really such a thing as "altruism?" Isn't it a fancy word for a form of selfishness that gives one a "warm feeling" or even a competition with one's friends to see who's the noblest of us all?

Spiritual teaching is that giving is a form of gratitude for what we already have. It's a way of participating in the cycle of love that gives life to the world and indeed, life to ourselves. Cynics will dismiss charitable giving if one gets a warm feeling because they get something out of it, so it's not really freely given. Since when did "joy" become suspect motivation? What's wrong with joy? Are our values so backward as to suggest that if we feel any kind of joy or satisfaction in our work, businesses or giving that we are somehow cheating? There seems to be an acceptable level of martyrdom that places one's long suffering as the true nobility of life. In John's Gospel, Jesus once told his disciples that he came that we might have joy, and that our joy may be full. If giving is tied up with joy, then the fullness really seems to be a good thing. During our stewardship campaign one of our members often quotes the saying, "don't give til it hurts, give til it feels good." There is a joy in giving that should be cherished and explored. There is life in that joy and death in the cynicism that would find joy suspect.

Whether in giving or living, the presence of joy and love is the essence of life and that is the very breath of God giving life to our bones or flesh covered, otherwise lifeless forms. Joy and love are to be found, nurtured and shared. Now that'll preach! Amen.

© 2008 St. George's Episcopal Church, Maplewood, NJ