Sheep and Shepherds

By Thomas Murphy, Seminarian Intern

It's hard to believe that it's the Fourth Sunday of Easter already. It was a wonderful Easter celebration here at St. George's. I missed Maundy Thursday, but Good Friday was a powerful service and it was an amazing experience to enter the darkened church for the Easter Vigil. On Easter Sunday morning, I think the family service was my favorite with a very convincing Roman centurion outside telling all of us there was nothing to see here -- and then letting us in on some surprising information -- the tomb of Jesus of Nazareth was empty. And don't get me started on the release of the "Alleluia Bugs"! It was a wonderful, joyous time.

But then the weeks roll by and pretty quickly things get back to normal -- the usual challenges, messes and small joys of life. And even in church, although it's still the Easter season we can easily shift into cruise control and not pay much attention to what's happening week after week. And so it would be very easy for us to roll past Good Shepherd Sunday and not give it a second thought.

What we celebrate today is profound, beautiful and challenging. Jesus is both sheep and shepherd. And so are we. We are both sheep and shepherd.

I have to admit that much of the shepherd/sheep imagery in the Bible is a real problem for me. First of all, I find it difficult to relate. Having lived in the city my whole life, my encounters with sheep have been few and far between -- maybe just a couple of trips to the Turtle Back Zoo when I was a kid. Cats, squirrels, and pigeons I know -- sheep not so much. And I'm pretty sure I've never seen a shepherd in person.

Second, from the little I do know, sheep are inoffensive but not the brightest of animals in God's creation. Somehow, it seems a little insulting to be compared to a sheep. Just the other night I was flipping through the channels and came across a documentary about dogs. Part of the show focused on sheepdogs in England who have learned dozens of commands whistled by the shepherd. These clever dogs are able to move and corral the seemingly mindless sheep without a bit of trouble.

But, the sheep/shepherd imagery pops up throughout the Bible and is found all over Christianity. Obviously, it lives on in bishops' staffs and the title "pastor." Over at General Seminary for the past three years I have sat in the Chapel of the Good Shepherd and looked at the statue of Jesus the Good Shepherd which stands just behind the altar. In the statue, Jesus looks down lovingly at the little lamb that he holds in his arms. I've tried to warm up to the image, but even after three years it still seems too saccharine for my tastes. I don't like to think of myself as a little lamb or a dumb sheep.

So what's a seminarian to do? What's a Christian to do? Well, if like me, you struggle with the sheep image today's lessons powerfully show us that there's nothing saccharine about it. The author of Revelation writes "For the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd." If we're not paying attention, it's easy to miss what's being said here. Jesus is both sheep and shepherd. Jesus gives his life on the cross and Jesus leads us into eternal life. Jesus is both sheep and shepherd. And the truth is, whether we like it or not, we're sheep all right -- but we are also called to be shepherds.

In last Sunday's gospel lesson we heard, "Jesus said to Simon Peter, "Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?" He said to him, "Yes, Lord; you know that I love you." Jesus said to him, "Feed my lambs." A second time he said to him, "Simon son of John, do you love me?" He said to him, "Yes, Lord; you know that I love you." Jesus said to him, "Tend my sheep." He said to him the third time, "Simon son of John, do you love me?" Peter felt hurt because he said to him the third time, "Do you love me?" And he said to him, "Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you." Jesus said to him, "Feed my sheep."

And now today's reading from the Acts of the Apostles is sort of a sequel to last week's gospel lesson. Acts records a very powerful, miraculous way that Peter took up the work of feeding Jesus' sheep -- the raising of the disciple Tabitha from the dead. Peter has been a sheep, all right. We've seen Peter have trouble understanding Jesus' message. Most painfully, we've seen Peter abandon the Lord and deny him three times. And yet, Jesus the Good Shepherd never gives up on Peter, despite his stumbling and despite his failures. Finally, although Peter will indeed remain a sheep all his life, yet he is also called to be a shepherd. And the same is true for us -- you and I are both sheep and shepherds.

It is our arrogance that leads us to deny our sheep-like quality. Too often we like to think we're smarter than we are. We like to think that we've pretty much got everything figured out. Some of that fades as we mature -- but not all of it. Especially in our own time when science continues to push the boundaries of our knowledge, it's all too easy to fall into the arrogant trap of thinking we've pretty much got everything figured out -- that we're in charge. I would guess that sheep don't much consider that there is a big world beyond their own pasture -- to them they know all that's really worth knowing. They've got it all figured out. I suspect we're not so different- although we should be. This arrogance and sinfulness usually leads to at least embarrassment and at worst disaster.

I'm reminded of how in the 19th Century supposedly there was a proposal to close up the US Patent Office because, well, pretty much everything had been invented. That kind of arrogance and short-sightedness is just funny now, but as we think about our own lives how many times has our own arrogance led us to embarrassment or led us to hurt others and ultimately hurt ourselves? The ancient Greek philosophers and writers understood this very well when they described how hubris -- excessive pride -- led to the downfall of so many.

But it's not just the idea that we've figured everything out -- many of us also suffer under the illusion of control. If you've been around a while you've probably learned that actually we have very little control, but we still seem to forget. Quite a few times I've visited people in the hospital who express great anger and shock that they have lost so much control of their lives. But really they've just been forced to recognize what's been true all along.

For me the road to ordination has been a vivid example of a lack of control. Step by step Chris Carroll, myself, all of us in the ordination process, have been at the mercy of others who say yes or no about our futures. No control, not always fun, often stressful, but a good lesson to remember. We sheep are not in control.

But, fellow sheep, the good news this morning is that the Lord is our shepherd. The 23rd Psalm -- which has comforted so many -- affirms that God is with us in our distress. God is with in the times that our stupidity and arrogance get us into trouble. God's rod and staff comfort us. The Good Shepherd's goodness and mercy shall follow us all the days of our lives. So maybe it's not so bad to be a sheep after all!

But, we are not just sheep. We are also called to be shepherds. Peter was commanded by Jesus to feed and tend the sheep, and so too we are expected to feed and look after one another. In the Episcopal Church this is actually fairly easy to remember because we have become so centered in baptism and the Baptismal Covenant. During a baptism everyone assembled promises to support the newly baptized in their life in Christ. We promise to be shepherds.

In the Baptismal Covenant we promise to proclaim by word and example the Good News of God in Christ. We promise to seek and serve God in all persons, loving our neighbor as ourselves. We promise to strive for justice sand peace among all people and to respect the dignity of every human being. We promise to be shepherds.

In our baptism we -- lowly sheep that we are -- are called to be shepherds. All of us -- not just bishops with their staffs -- not just people with the title pastor -- all of us sheep are also called to be shepherds. We are all called to take part in the work of Jesus Christ in the world. We are called to tend our fellow sheep. It is a daunting task, but we know that the Good Shepherd, the One Shepherd of All, is guiding our work and walking with us all the days of our life.

As this sheep gets ready to move on to a new, yet-to-be-known pasture, I've been reflecting on my too brief time here at St. George's. I've been in an interesting position of being part of the community -- you've been wonderfully welcoming -- but also still something of an outsider. And so maybe I can see you a little more clearly than you can see yourselves.

I have seen wonderful sheep-shepherds all over this church. One of the reasons I came here was to get a sense of suburban life. I could go on about all the things I've observed and learned in these past few months but most of all I've been impressed by your diversity -- in all sorts of ways. But, considering the disagreements that are causing so much pain in the Episcopal Church, I have been deeply moved and comforted by the bonds of care between straight and gay people here. Sexual orientation seems to make little difference -- the people of St. George's are all sheep-shepherds trying to serve God and take care of one another. The genuine care for one another in this place has been a joy and inspiration to experience. I am very grateful.

So on this joyous Fourth Sunday of Easter let us all pray that we open ourselves to the saving truth that we are all sheep cared for and loved by the Good Shepherd. And let us pray that we will open ourselves to the truth that we are all shepherds called to care and love one another.

Amen.

© 2007 Thomas Murphy

Feed my sheep

By The Rev. Bernard W. Poppe, Rector

In the Gospel stories, when Jesus was first starting out, he walked along the lake and came to some fishermen in the boats with their fathers. One of the boats was owned by a man named Zebadee and his sons were named James and John. Jesus walked up to them and simply said, "Follow me." The left everything and followed him. Further along the shore he came to another boat where the fishermen were named Peter and Andrew, they were also brothers. And again, Jesus said, "Follow me." They also left everything and followed him. Jesus told them that from that point on, they would be fishers of people.

And so it began, a ministry that lasted three years. During that time so much happened, so much traveling around, so many people, gatherings, challenges. There were miracles and wonders, healing and signs, but always Jesus there to make things right. Jesus was there to teach them, to guide them and love them. He loved them even when they were foolish, when they didn't get the point of his lessons, when they failed at their tasks, when they were ambitious and argued among themselves. He loved them when they ran off into the night and left him alone while he was arrested. He loved them from the cross as he hung dying, forgiving them for their desertion. Forgiving them for their denial and betrayal.

When he rose form the dead, it was another miracle and still they didn't really seem to get the point. It must have seemed like déja vu when the two sets of brothers returned to their fishing boats and a man walked up to them. He called out from the shore asking them if they caught anything. They replied, "No." He called out again, this time suggesting they drop their nets on the other side of the boat.

I wonder if they began to sense something at that point. After all, the first time they met Jesus, he said the same thing. "Drop the net on the other side." As though they didn't get the point the second time, the net filled again and they needed help to get the fish ashore -- just like the first time.

But this time, Peter did understand who it was and panicked. In a fairly comic scene, he was suddenly ashamed of being naked on this boat while he fished and in a fit of modesty both put on his clothes and jumped into the water. It seems to me either would have sufficed to deal with his modesty. The scriptures also tell of another man who was ashamed of his nakedness before the Lord. Oh yes, that was Adam. He had something to be ashamed of and tried to hide from his naked truth. God wasn't fooled then, and Jesus wasn't fooled by Peter's shame at his naked truth. Peter had to feel exposed, not so much by his nakedness from clothing, but even more so from the nakedness of the truth that he denied Jesus in the courtyard after he was arrested. He had to look Jesus in the eye knowing that he promised to stand by him, even to death if that was necessary, and only moments later ran away, hid, and then lied about knowing Jesus. The man on the shore saw Peter in his nakedness and shame. There were no clothes or amount of water that would have concealed that naked truth.

When they came to shore, Jesus asked Peter three time, "Do you love me." And three times Peter answered "Yes, you know I love you." And with each admission of love, Jesus told him to "Feed his sheep." Peter got agitated that Jesus asked him three times, "Do you love me." Again he seemed to miss the point. One question for each denial. With each admission of love, Jesus allowed him to erase the nakedness of the truth that Peter had betrayed him. With each instruction to feed his sheep, Jesus called him back into relationship and mission. And just like he did three years earlier on the shore by the boats, he said, "Follow me."

God calls us, and that's that. God loves us, and that's that. God sends us out, and that's that. We don't have to worry about being worthy, we're not. We don't have to worry about being the brightest in the boat, we're not. We don't have to be worried about our naked truth before God, he knows it, and if need be, heals it.

Peter didn't deserve a second chance, but he got one. Paul, in his zealous righteousness oversaw the persecution of the early Christian believers and he didn't deserve a second chance either. Imperfect, difficult men that anyone else would have fired, sued, or at the very least shunned. But here Jesus not only forgave, but sent them out on missions. He modeled compassion, he modeled love.

There is not a person among us that Jesus isn't calling. Each of us has our truths and realities that make us feel unworthy or unlovable, but the wonderful thing about Peter and Paul is that if God can love them, God can love us. There may be no accounting for taste, but there is the blessed news that God calls us to follow, and places in our care the most precious of gifts -- God's sheep. Feed my sheep. The lonely, the poor, the sick, the needy, the hopeless, the helpless, the fearful and the unworthy. Love as we have been loved, forgive as we have been forgiven, call as we have been called.

In the early 1960's there was a wonderful TV show imported from Britain called The Avengers. In the sophisticated world of Cold War espionage secret agents John Steed and Emma Peel kept us all safe from harm. Each adventure would begin with Mrs. Peel going about her daily activities, when she would be surprised by a note of some sort with the words written by John Steed saying, "You're needed." From that simple call emerged an adventure ultimately saving the world from some diabolical fate.

Well friends, we're needed. Jesus wants us to do something quite simple. It seems he wants us to feed his sheep. In a world where a troubled youth can kill over 30 people and wound almost as many on a college campus supposed to be safe, in a world where not even that can convince legislators of the need to regulate and ban guns more effectively, in a world of terror and fear, where politics plays loose with justice, we are needed. Far from the comic threats faced by the Avengers, our world reels in suffering of staggering proportion. And we are needed to answer Jesus' call. We are to witness God's love, to work in ways that reflect God's mercy, to give to the relief of God's people, to pray and to claim the healing that God offers all God's children.

Jesus told Peter that when he was old, someone would fasten a belt around him and take him where he did not wish to go. Like Peter, sometimes it seems like we are in places we do not want to be and called to do things we would rather not. But if we respond to the call to "follow" we must do so trusting that God will see us through to our journeys end.

Last week I told you that I was going to Washington DC at the invitation of the Human Rights Campaign, an advocacy organization for the rights of Gay and Lesbian people. I was one of 250 clergy from all faiths and denominations representing all 50 states. Each of us was grouped with the others from our states and scheduled to visit our senators and representatives and lobby their support for Employment non-discrimination and the inclusion of "Sexual orientation" among the list of those covered by hate crimes laws. Not having done this before, and being somewhat out of my comfort zone, I took some measure of relief in the knowledge that I was one of six clergy from New Jersey and that I would happily step to the back of the group in the role of supportive window dressing. (I'm not totally ignorant of the political process, and fully understand the importance of the ministry of silent presence.) Imagine my concern to discover that four of the six of us were absent due to the flooding from last week. Gulping hard, I looked to the other priest grateful that, given his earlier bravado, he would surely want this spotlight, and I would be very supportive. Imagine my panic when he, also a neophyte in this work, became overwhelmed and disappeared from our assembly without a word. I was gripped by the awful realization that I alone would carry the standard for New Jersey. Not even the staff person assigned to help me could go into the offices with me. I was on my own. Well, no one fastened a belt around me, in fact ironically I forgot to pack my belt, and felt very self conscious by this, believing that the eagle eyes of our legislators would see this missing accessory as a poor reflection of my credibility. In any event, even though there was no belt, they did take me where I did not want to go.

So, feeling improperly dressed, abandoned by my fellow clergy, poorly prepared for the rigors no doubt awaiting, I went into my first meeting like Daniel into the lion's den.

Well, I can attest to the power of prayer. No doubt the effectiveness of the Evening Prayer and vigil in support of this trip held in this church last week rescued me from the fate I had imagined as swiftly as God did save Daniel from the Lion. Each of the legislators and staff people that I met could not have been nicer or more receptive to my visit, even I must say in fairness, those of the party I did not support in the last election.

Each visit increased my awareness of the political process in a way I had not experienced before, and each visit increased my awareness of how quickly I still forget God's gentle call to follow. I don't have to be comfortable, I don't have to be dressed properly, I don't have to hide in the crowd or be fortified with all the possible answers to the myriad of questions I imagined. All I had to do was care and believe in what I was there for. "Feed my sheep," Jesus said. Wherever, whenever, comfortable or not, prepared or not, our faith and concern is all the armor we need to do the work God calls us to do.

I suspect that not all the challenges I face will be as easy as the one last week, but it's another example of God calling us and telling us to try something different, perhaps something as simple as dropping the net on the other side of the boat. But whether we face the greatest of tragedies, the greatest of challenges, or even those no where near as bad as we had imagined, God is with us and loves us and will see us through. We don't need to jump in the water, or hide, just follow. Amen.

© 2007 St. George's Episcopal Church, Maplewood, NJ

Easter Sunday

By The Rev. Bernard W. Poppe, Rector

Welcome Festival Day, the Easter hymn begins. And it is a welcome day. Wonderfully decorated, polished wood, beautifully arranged flowers, special music. And all of you, welcome. We come from all over, regular members, visiting neighbors and out of town guests. We are drawn to this wonderful day to touch the majesty and mystery of the day of Resurrection. No matter where we're from, it's important through our preparations to have a tangible expression of welcome to this ancient wonder made new through our celebration and worship.

Two thousand years ago, in the quiet of the morning, before anyone was awake, a man who had been killed brutally sat up and walked again. Legends would grow about what happened between the declaration of death on the cross and the discovery of the empty tomb. Wonderful tales of the victorious Christ marching through the gates of hell, destroying those gates and releasing the faithful captured by the power of destructive and hopeless death.

Other tales are of the rest, the Sabbath rest of the Messiah preparing for the next phase of his ministry. After Creation in the beginning, God rested. After the re-creation of the faithful, God rested again. No one saw him rise or leave the tomb, the witnesses arrived after sun up and found the tomb empty. In Luke's telling of the story, two men in dazzling clothes appeared and told them Jesus had risen. Tell the others, they were told.

Heads swirling with all this strange information, the women went back to tell the disciples of Jesus what they found. Luke tells us the disciples dismissed this as an "idle tale." I've always found that description to be very peculiar. An "idle tale" as though the women were in need of some mischievous fun and thought they would fool the disciples with a prank.

If there are any who have earned the right of credibility, it is these very same women who stood with Jesus at the most difficult of times. There was nothing mischievous or silly about their behavior that would have warranted such a frivolous dismissal. Perhaps it was just that the story was more than any of them could hope for and overwhelmed them into this denial. The implications of this story are immense, if it was actually.

Is it true? What do you think? You're here, aren't you? Did you come to listen to a two thousand year old "idle tale"? Is the truth of it so overwhelming as to be dismissed or denied? Is the ministry it draws us into also welcome? Because it most certainly does draw us in. God's resurrection is very tangible proof that death is not final, that hope survives even the most brutal of realities. Resurrection is love in action, it's love triumphant and justifies the truth of mercy and forgiveness as a way of life and a meaning of life.

We are drawn here, I believe, because the truth of God's love and the promise of it's power is so strong and alluring that still after all these years we are drawn to its irresistible, welcoming beckon. All of us in so many ways have borne the heat of the day. Along with the joy and promises of life, we've had our shares of pain, betrayals, mistakes and pitfalls. We've known temptation and given in, we've caused and received pain, we've aimed high -- and sometimes succeeded and sometimes failed, we've gambled -- sometimes won and sometimes lost. The pain of some realities is certainly offset to a large degree by successes we've accumulated, but it's my experience that no matter what gains we've made the pain of the past has a life of its own that lurks beneath the surface of our spirits and undermines the worthiness we feel or the confidence we need to move forward.

The pain becomes spiritual and chronic. You know, I hear confessions all the time. In the old days we had special booths for that. Scary dark places that actually served a purpose in creating an environment reflective of where the secrets lurk in our souls and psyche, but we don't like those any more and we've changed our confessional formats. They can happen in my office on soft, comfortable chairs with a cup of coffee. Sometimes in restaurants over a nice lunch. Even sometimes at a party or other social occasion, there will be a simple question, "So what do you do?" Since I can't lie, I'll say I'm a priest and bam! I'll hear a confession. It usually starts out with the words, "I'm not religious, but I'm spiritual..." I used to cringe at that. I don't anymore. I see it as another opportunity to talk about things I like talking about. But the conversation will usually go one of two ways. Either there will all of a sudden be nervous fidgeting and the empty glass they're holding will need a refill, or a conversation will open up about some of the pain the person endured or caused and how that became an obstacle to finding a faith community to worship in.

In truth the church universal has done some wonderful things, brought ministry and hope to many. But in truth it has also been negligent or compliant with wrong-doing at the very least and aggressively abusive at most during it's history. There are a lot of amends to make and credibility to restore. If there is something in what I just said that you can resonate with, then listen closely to what I'm about to say. On behalf of the church or clergy which hurt or abused you, I'm sorry. I ask your forgiveness.

Forgiveness begins healing. Healing makes one strong and restores hope and the ability to love again. The church has, and in many places and ways continues to hurt the poor and helpless, women, children, people of color, gay and lesbian people, the weak. The church offends and becomes an obstacle to the faith of those same people who begin to dismiss the tale of the resurrected Jesus as an idle tale, since it's not lived out by the very people who preach it.

And yet, the power of forgiveness and reconciliation is strong medicine for any person of faith. The Truth and Reconciliation Commission in South Africa serves a powerful witness of the importance of public apology and acknowledgment of sin and abuse by one person to another, or one people against another. But I warn you, there is a price tag to seeking the apology of another, whether it's another person or a people as a whole. And that price tag is the commitment to find those you've harmed and apologize to them.

None of us can be the recipients of a grace we will not offer when called to do so. Jesus forgave the very people who brutally murdered him unjustly as he hung from the cross. He would not let the poison of anger or bitterness infect his soul and forgiveness was the healing remedy for that. He demonstrated for us the restorative power of forgiveness, and calls us to forgive the sins of others as we have been forgiven.

This day is so very important because it reminds us again of the life giving love of God. A love that cannot be destroyed or corrupted. A love that will rise when beaten down and live when killed. A love that forgives wrong and heals the broken.

We are all spiritual because we all have spirits. Our spirits are active and involved with the other spirits around us. This can be for good or ill, but it is most assuredly constant. Our religiosity is a function of our finding a faith community to share the growth of that spirit. Growth requires intention and thought, prayer and openness. It requires the ability to forgive and ask for forgiveness. It requires the courage to state beliefs out loud to someone else. To proclaim, not like a battering ram or as a litmus test for political acceptability, but as a statement of the heart and spirit of how God's love is known, heard and lived. It is not an idle tale. It is an invitation to life itself. It is a spiritual necessity.

Welcome Festival Day. Find in us the desire to greet you, embrace you and love you. Find in us the courage to walk into a world of uncertainty, certain of your love. Find in us the conviction to fight for justice, when injustice shakes us. And if you cannot find it there, in the power of the resurrection of Jesus, put it there.

Come, Festival Day, blessed Day that art hallowed forever! Amen.

© 2007 St. George's Episcopal Church, Maplewood, NJ

Easter Vigil

By The Rev. Deacon Christine McCloud

Come Holy Spirit: Touch our minds and think with them, touch our lips and speak with them and touch our hearts and set them on fire with love for you. In the name of the risen Christ who brings us life from the tomb. Amen.

"Why do you look for the living among the dead?" When the women left for the tomb on that first Easter Sunday morning they knew exactly what to expect -- or at least they thought they knew what to expect when they arrived at the tomb. Luke tells us in the Gospel that they carried spices with them that they had prepared. As was their custom, they were coming to carry out the task of anointing Jesus' body for final burial. At the end of their journey to the tomb, they fully expected to find the dead body of Jesus. We know of course what they will find -- but in their minds, they were going to the place of the dead. They were going to view Jesus in his death and not to rejoice in the glory of his Resurrection.

Sometimes, we gloss over details of the Resurrection story because we've already heard the story so many times. Let's be honest with one another, why waste time on the old news -- the unimportant details. Tom reminded us in his Good Friday sermon that there is a danger in skipping over the suffering of Jesus of the past three days and wanting to move right into the salvation part of the story. Oh, we're clear about Jesus' suffering, but we need to remember that those closest to him suffered too. Not the physically cruel suffering that Christ endured for our sakes, but nonetheless, a deep emotional suffering brought on by witnessing the crucifixion of the one that they loved deeply. But the Apostles and the women missed some important details that Jesus shared with them before he died. They were so busy living the life of salvation that Jesus offered them that they forgot that his suffering and death was going to be a BIG part of Jesus' message. They simply did not want to hear this part of the story -- these were the details they wanted to overlook and avoid.

"Why do you look for the living among the dead?" In our own ways, we too, look for the living among the dead. We don't look to the new life that is offered to us, but instead, we often look first to what is totally contrary to what God wants and wills for us. We know the story so well that we often miss the transformative power of the Resurrection that is ours to live into fully. I know, all too well for myself, how easy it can be to miss the message, to forget the essence of what the Resurrection can really mean for me on a deeply personal level. Why? Because I've heard the story; I know the ending and forget that I make a choice -- whether consciously or unconsciously -- to live into my fears, my anger, my own created sense of hopelessness instead of looking to the obvious -- the Risen Christ who is available to me, and you, every hour of everyday and not just during the Easter season.

When things go awry for us, most us run into our own tombs of fear, distrust and aloneness. Somehow, it feels safer to live into the darkness of our lives instead of living into the light of our lives. Again, I know all too well about personal tombs because I've been to my own personal tomb far too many times not to admit it. All of our tombs are built rather securely on the foundations of our fears and inadequacies, and it engulfs us and gives us a false sense of safety and a peculiar sense of comfort. But what do we really find in our tombs: utter emptiness. We spend endless hours and days looking for the living -- that would be US -- amid the emptiness and deadness of our lives.

Setting aside our reserved Episcopal nature for a moment, let's wrap our thoughts around this -- Jesus, my friends, LIVES! Now, I want you to say this with me, LOUDLY and with ASSURANCE. We seem to have such difficulty saying Jesus' name unless it's in the context of the liturgy. I want you to feel JESUS right now. JESUS LIVES! That's right. Jesus is alive, he is well and he is with us and he loves each and every one of us. He is here, right now at this moment in time, in this place, and at every other moment we invite him to be with us. Jesus comes to give us a new life, to pull us out of our personal tombs so that we can carry His light of life into the world. He calls us to be His Light in the world; to be the living among those who are the walking dead.

Our Risen Christ comes to take the deadness of our lives and transform them into new lives. It doesn't matter how bad or how good we think our lives are right now, Jesus is ready and willing to take our lives, resurrect them, and make them whole in the spirit of His love for us. St. Paul reminds us that we are invited to put our old self to death, the self that is enslaved by our fears, so that we might be raised with Christ into the fullness of God's eternal life. And our baptisms and the renewal of our baptismal covenant give us the opportunity to drown the oldness of our lives so that a newness of life can emerge in us.

And so, on this is the night we gathered in our collective darkness and waited for the light to emerge for us and in us. This is the night where we gathered with water to welcome Elissa, our newest member of the faith and to reclaim for ourselves our own baptismal covenant faith. This is the night of our own resurrections. We no longer need to fear our personal darkness or the darkness of the world. It is the night where all things are made new and where we are reminded that death did not have the final say after all.

As we leave this place tonight, let us remember that Easter is not just a single celebration or a season of 50 days. It is the starting point for us to always keep close in our hearts and minds that our God is the source of all life and liberation. That He is the one who leads us out of the land of darkness and chaos into a place of inner freedom and peace. That our God, who gives to us His son, Jesus Christ who redeems us through his glorious resurrection and makes us all new by giving us transformative life outside of our tombs.

Alleluia. Christ is risen. The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

© 2007 The Rev. Deacon Christine McCloud

Good Friday

By Thomas Murphy, Seminarian Intern

Over the past week a few people from our diocese have been exchanging emails on the topic of salvation. It's been a very interesting conversation. The discussion really boils down to the question, how exactly are we saved? How does Jesus save us? A very appropriate topic for Holy Week! I've been following the emails back and forth and thinking about the question.

In the discussion, some people have supported the traditional understanding that God requires Jesus to pay for our sins on the Cross. Since we could never redeem ourselves, God sent his only Son to substitute for us, to take on our sin. In other words, Jesus was a blood sacrifice -- the Lamb of God -- that sets things right between God and us. Jesus pays our debt to God and we are saved.

Others reject that explanation, saying it turns God into a bloodthirsty monster, willing to brutally sacrifice his own innocent Son. Instead, they suggest that we are saved by the example of Jesus' life. They argue that in Jesus we see who we are supposed to be and how we are supposed to live. Jesus lived his life in loving self-giving and so we are made, we are called, to be like Jesus.

As I've thought and prayed about this I've decided that neither description of our salvation is satisfactory. It is wrong to select one moment or one element of Jesus' life as the cause of our salvation. We are saved by Jesus -- we are saved by God becoming fully present in Jesus -- we are saved by the entire sweep of Jesus' life -- from the manger in Bethlehem to the Cross on Calvary to the empty tomb on Easter morning. We are saved by this life of perfect love, this life of perfect self-giving, this perfect sacrifice for the whole world.

And in our church we are blessed indeed to have liturgies that reflect the indivisible mystery that is Jesus Christ. Over these three holy days of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and Easter we live into the truth that there is no separation between death and resurrection. There is no separation between suffering and salvation. From the washing of the apostles' feet on Maundy Thursday to the empty tomb on Easter morning we celebrate the one great act of love that is Jesus Christ. The love of God poured out for the world in Jesus Christ. We are saved.

The earliest church understood this indivisible mystery so they celebrated Christ's life, death and resurrection all at once. Although a nightmare for the Altar Guild, there's something to be said for that, because the danger for us is that we skip over the suffering. The danger is that we skip over the suffering and move right on to salvation. And that's why we have Good Friday. That's why we're here today.

We gather not to get ourselves worked up over the suffering of one man who lived two-thousand years ago, especially if we're not worked up by the many thousands of people suffering in even worse ways right now. No, we gather today and remember the death of Jesus on the Cross because the Cross is the end result of loving service to the world. The Cross is part of the great sweep of Christ's life. The Cross is part of the great act of love that is Jesus Christ. Jesus -- and we -- can't separate suffering from salvation. And so even though we know how the story ends, we must not skip over the suffering.

I have to admit that in the past I have been impatient with Good Friday. I remember my first Good Friday at the seminary when it came time for the veneration of the cross. I hadn't seen that done before, and I thought it was a little… excessive. The service was long already and one by one seminarians and faculty knelt before the cross, heads bowed in prayer. I remember thinking this is a bit much -- can't we move it along a little? I have to get back to Jersey City! And, let's stop pretending. After all, we know that this story has a happy ending!

Last year, though, I had no choice but to stop and venerate the cross. I had no choice but to reflect in a tangible way on Christ's suffering. Some of you know that each year the churches along Broad Street in downtown Newark participate in a Good Friday walk. The crowd stops in each church where a member of the clergy gives a homily on one of the seven last words. The walk begins at my former field placement parish, House of Prayer.

Anyway, last year I just barely got from the seminary to House of Prayer on time. I was wet from the rain. I had had enough of Good Friday and was ready to move on to Easter. After all, we know how the story ends. Just as the service was beginning someone leaned over and told me that I was going to carry the cross from House of Prayer to the next church a few blocks away. No one had warned me. I hadn't had a chance to lift the cross. How heavy was it anyway? Was there a certain way I was supposed to carry it? I looked at the Stations of the Cross on the wall of the church and saw how the artist depicted Jesus carrying the cross over his shoulder and I thought, well, that's what I'll do too.

The time came and I led the congregation out of House of Prayer and onto Broad Street. The cross was heavy enough that I could feel its weight on my shoulder. I could feel its rough texture on my hands. As I made my way through the drizzle and down Broad Street people stopped in their tracks and looked at the cross on my shoulder. Cars slowed and drivers and passengers stared. Their expressions were a strange mix of curiosity, sadness, and understanding.

Finally we arrived at the next church and I handed off the cross. I can't say that I remember much of the homilies I heard that day but I vividly recall the feel of the cross on my shoulder and in my hands. It was the most powerful Good Friday of my life. In some small way I understood the real, physical suffering of Christ -- suffering that was the end result of loving service to the world. Suffering that was the end result of healing the sick, forgiving sinners and challenging hypocrites. We cannot separate suffering and salvation. We cannot separate death and resurrection.

So, what about us here today? What does Good Friday mean for us? We are called to take up the work of Jesus Christ. In a real sense the Church is born at the foot of the Cross. We are called to live our lives in loving service. We are called -- in our own way -- to be like Jesus -- to be broken and poured out for the world. Listen to the prayers that are next in the service. You'll hear that we are now taking up the work of Jesus Christ. In his life, death and resurrection Jesus has shown us the way. We are called to love and called to serve. We know that a life of love and service means that, like Jesus, we too will experience suffering. But we need not be afraid. After all, we know what happens next. Thanks to the one great act of love that is Jesus Christ -- we are saved.

Amen.

© 2007 Thomas Murphy

Palm Sunday

By The Rev. Bernard W. Poppe, Rector

One of the earliest Gospel stories in the Lenten season is the temptation of Jesus in the desert by the Devil. In that story, the Devil tempts Jesus to make bread out of stone, he takes Jesus up to the top of a mountain and tempts him to jump off so the angels will catch him to prove how much God will take care of him and protect him, and then he takes him to the top of the temple offers him power over all the cities below if Jesus will worship him.

Each of these tests Jesus passes because he knows who he is and is confidant in the authority he possesses. He's confidant of his relationship with God and knows that his service to God is unique. He answers that we don't live by bread alone, but that are nourished by God's love. He knows that God's love for him is unconditional and doesn't need to be tested. He knows that his authority is from God and that power is a false god for those who don't know how to claim the authority within.

Three years later Jesus enters Jerusalem in the humble way described centuries earlier by the prophet Zechariah, namely on a donkey. It's a sign of humility and it was a message to those who knew what to look for. Yet as he was entering the city gates, people gathered about him with their own expectations and their own desires for him. Much like his experience in the desert they were tempting him to claim power. They offered him, very much like the devil, a crown. But also like the devil, that crown came with a price tag. The devil's price was for Jesus to compromise himself and his integrity -- his very humanity and divinity by worshiping the devil. Evil was the price tag for power.

Similarly, there was a price tag for the crown offered by the people waving the palm branches. They wanted him to lead them against the Romans. They had an agenda all set for him to walk into. The message they were sending was very clear and the price tag was do their will. And in exchange they would follow him. But deeper than the price tag they charged was another price that reached into his very soul. Again, the temptation to put aside his own mission of love and justice for power. The temptation to compromise the very ideals and values that he preached his whole ministry. Sadly, this was the moment his own disciples were waiting for. This was their dream too. To take the city by storm, set themselves up in power and usher in a golden age. Or so they thought.

Jesus fulfilled the prophecy of Zechariah, not out of false humility, but sincere humility. He rejected their notions of power and was again secure in his own authority to witness God's love and forgiveness of the deepest of sins, even the ones they were committing by looking at him and seeing a king they made in their own image rather than the God who made them in his.

This act of humility was bearing their sins. Knowing that the deepest part of those people, even his own disciples misunderstood him. They decided to project their wishes on him and expected him to comply, the way they would carve an image out of stone and pray to it, putting on it all their wishes. Their sin was to make him like one of their gods, not knowing that the One true God was in their very midst and they still didn't see or understand. The One who once healed the blind was confronted with the blindness of all of them.

The events of Holy Week re-enact the Passion story. Our Confirmation Class just read the familiar passages and our services play them out liturgically in scripture, song, symbol and re-enactment. The drama is as deep and ancient as any between God and humanity. The struggle between the God who made us and the desire humans have as lesser gods.

From the Garden of Eden to this very day, we see God in the actions of humility and want to take him hostage to serve our needs for power even at the cost of justice and peace. Humanity is insatiable in the need for power and it's always to fill an emptiness, to reach a height, to quench a thirst that is ultimately impossible. Ironically we seek to be gods because we don't know how to be in relationship with God.

God became human to show us how. To demonstrate through love, justice and forgiveness how to build that relationship with the divine. The drama of Holy Week is the reminder of how humanity failed. But it's also the story of God's love even through the failure. God's love through the misunderstandings, the betrayal, even the murder. God's love which knows no bounds.

Our nation and our church still fight these same battles over power rather than authority. Sacrificing dignity and integrity at the expense of the poor and powerless. The nails we've passed out these last few years after communion serve as reminders of our human failings when we place our faith in those to whom we offer power, rather than faith in God whose authority is love.

Perhaps one of God's temptations from the Devil is to leave us in the midst of our own failings. Let us destroy ourselves by our own greed and fear of each other, and start over. Yet it seems God did not yield to this temptation either. The love of God demonstrated so often in his life and ministry culminates in the knowledge that not even death can separate us from God's love. The overwhelming power of God's love reaches out to us as strong as ever.

The witness of the Biblical characters show time and again that God's love is genuine and constant no matter what. I don't care who we are or what we think we may have done to lose God's love. We're no worse than some of those characters in the Bible, and if you haven't read about them, it's high time you do. They're in there for a reason. It's so that we cannot say that God's promise is false. God loves us so much that he came to Earth and bore our sins, and loves us through our failings and that's the Good News of the Gospel.

Wars, politics, bigotry, fear and cruelty are human inventions. God's love calls us out of those temptations to claim our full humanity and the divinity in each of us. We've abdicated them long enough. When we gather on the road that Jesus travels, may we not be blinded by the false gods we create out of our own fears and needs, but open our eyes fully to see the God who calls us, and loves us. Amen.

© 2007 St. George's Episcopal Church, Maplewood, NJ