How would you describe the Holy Spirit?

Of course, we have some ‘official’ definitions in the Creeds that Christians have taught each other for many years. I think it’s safe to say, though, that most of us don’t think in terms of creeds all that often.

In the Gospel lesson that we’ve read today, Jesus uses a particular, and kind of unique, word to describe the Holy Spirit. (The word is paraclete.) In our current version of the Gospel, it’s translated as ‘Advocate.’ Jesus says:

““When the Advocate comes, whom I will send to you from the Father, the Spirit of truth who comes from the Father, he will testify on my behalf.” (John 15.26 NRSV)

I’m not sure what Advocate means to you… to me, it sounds like someone who’s on your side, especially in a legal context. I can almost see the billboard: ‘Holy Spirit: For the people.’ So, there’s that part of the meaning. If you spent time with another version of the Bible, like the King James Version, you may remember a different translation. Instead of Advocate, it was ‘Comforter.’ Which is a nice word, too. It’s more personal than the legal-sounding Advocate, but it also seems less powerful.

The truth is that one single word, translated, could never really sum up the presence of God in the Holy Spirit. Today, we have three readings about the Spirit and each one describes a different character or emphasis for the Holy Spirit.

In the book of Acts, from our first reading, the Spirit comes on Pentecost like fire. It is felt like wind. It inspires the disciples together and gives them boldness and new abilities.

In the book of Romans, our second reading, the Spirit provides an intimate connection with God. It knows us, and prays for us, through us, even when we are speechless.

And in our Gospel reading, the Spirit, the Advocate, Comforter, comes to carry on the mission and presence of Jesus, leading us and guiding us even after the historical person of Jesus is gone.

I admit that it could be dismaying to try to absorb all these different definitions and images and theological arguments about who the Holy Spirit really is. Because this, today, is really the tip of the iceberg. And there are numerous books in my office to describe all the lovely nuances of the Holy Spirit, and it’s important work because it’s constantly helping us understand the breadth and depth of God —- but —- it can be overwhelming to try and make sense of the complexity. It’d be easier to grasp if the Holy Spirit could be summed up in a single word, or even a single sentence. But it can’t. And I think this is a good thing.

Don’t we need more than a one-sentence God? Don’t we need more than a God that is just comforting, or just powerful?

Think of the different stages of your life. You can probably think of times when you needed to be comforted…but also times when you needed a swift kick to the…well, you know where.

Our scripture and experience shows us a God, who through the Holy Spirit, does all this, and more.

The book of Acts is the story of the Holy Spirit creating the church, almost birthing the church. But more than just initiating and blessing the new movement which would eventually be called Christianity, the Spirit radically challenged the disciples and followers of this new way, and enabled them to do impossible things.

Even in the midst of strong resistance and persecution, in the midst of infighting and leadership confusion, in the midst of the church’s first (but not last) mistakes, the Spirit was there.

In fact, one of my favorite phrases for that word that Jesus uses —- remember the Advocate, the Comforter? —- comes from a translation of the Bible made for a language indigenous to Central Africa. It uses a single world that would probably be translated into English as the word helper but literally mean something like ‘the one who falls down beside us.’

As in, one who find us when we’ve fallen to the ground, falls down next to us, and helps us back up. In many ways, that is the work of Jesus that continues in the Holy Spirit. And the history of the church may be summed up likewise.

We are a church founded on falling down, and being led back up. Our hope is not in perfection. Our hope is in dying, and rising again. Ironically, we struggle most when we are afraid to fail.

In fact, maybe we need to fail. Or, really, we need to recognize our failures, and our need for God to fall down beside us, and help us back up.

As a church, we will fail either way. So one way of asking the question might be: would you rather fail hiding behind closed doors, afraid of doing the wrong thing, or would you rather fail in pursuit of boldly proclaiming a gospel of radical grace and hospitality to anyone who would hear it?

What might that look like for this congregation? What might that look like for you?

From Assistant to the Bishop and Director of Evangelical Mission Jim Graeser:

The word ‘paraclete’ is translated as, ‘one who comes alongside.’ And that’s the word we’re given for what the Holy Spirit is. The Holy Spirit comes alongside of us, and helps us complete missions that we probably couldn’t finish on our own. One of the things I’d like for you to consider for this month is: is your church attempting missions that are far bigger than it could ever accomplish on its own? Is there room that the Holy Spirit has to come alongside to help you complete the mission?

What might we be called to do at Good Shepherd that is bigger than we could hope to do on our own? What might we be called to do that necessitates the Holy Spirit to fall down alongside us?

Sometimes we feel like we need to have everything under control before we can take on our mission. Sometimes we feel like we have to learn everything and be skilled at everything before we begin.

I remember very clearly, a few years ago, when Leslie and I were talking about having a first child. We read a bunch of books. We talked about our friends’ families. We looked around our apartment. We took stock of our own patience and energy. And decided we were wholly unprepared to have a child. If we had to wait for the two of us to be prepared, we’d be 100 years old like the story of Sarah and Abraham.

However you’d like to translate it, I experienced the Holy Spirit giving me strength and help and comfort and boldness to become a parent, though on my own, I was utterly unqualified and inexperienced.

I think this is how the church was born. And I think it’s how it is constantly reborn.

In your life, however you spend your time, you will be called to do things that are bigger than you can handle on your own. Some days it may be an exciting new opportunity. Some days it may be just getting out of bed. We will fall down. But through the untranslatable gift of the Holy Spirit, God falls down with us. And comes alongside us to help us to be and do more than we ever could on our own.

The first thing to notice about these words of the Gospel —- as confusing as they might seem to be —- is their context: what kind of words are they? Who are they said by, and whom are they said to? When were they said? How do we receive them?

A quick answer to those questions would be: the words are part of a prayer, they are said by Jesus and they are said to God, his father. They are said on the night in which he was betrayed, the night before he would be crucified. And we know these words because we, as disciples, have overheard them.

If you’ve ever longed to know what Jesus might have been thinking or feeling at the most critical juncture of his life…if you’ve ever wished that you could be a fly on the wall when Jesus was really talking to God in that connection that he had… well this is it: the 17th chapter of John is us overhearing a prayer between Jesus and his father. Jesus starts out praying to God, and ends praying to God. At no point does he stop praying in this chapter in order to explain himself or teach the disciples a lesson. It isn’t a case study, or a ceremonial prayer… this is Jesus praying his heart out, just after being betrayed and just before facing the cross. This is one of those types of prayers.

You know that expression ‘no atheists in foxholes?’ —- Hallway prayers of hospitals / me on CPE

In some senses Jesus is in a foxhole here —- In other sense, though, Jesus is fully in control —-

Despite the confidence of Jesus, this is still, after all, the prayer of someone who knows he’s about to be assassinated. Of all the things that he might pray for, in this time of trial, in this final moment, the point of no return… Jesus prays for … us. His disciples.

Jesus knows the challenges we will face —- Discipleship is not easy —-

Altho the Resurrection will show once and for all that Love and Life get the last word… It doesn’t mean that pain is over. Pain is still a part of our lives.

Just as there were those who heard his message of grace and forgiveness and could not accept it, Jesus knew that there would always be a part of us —- of each of us —- that cannot accept God’s love as a gift; a part of us that will continue to fight for our preferred version of the world in which we are in charge, in which we compete and fight our way to the top.

This is the ‘world’ that Jesus talks about when he says that we do not “belong to the world, just as [he does] not belong to the world.” (John 17.16 NRSV)

The way of the world is violence, secrecy, hoarding. The way of the world just cannot stand the idea that we humans aren’t in charge. That we can turn the other cheek. That we can forgive others.

If you are like me, there is a part of you that gets angry every time the Prodigal Son returns from his mistakes and gets off scot free… a part of you that feels a tinge of envy every time something good happens to someone else and not you… that gets defensive when someone questions that image of yourself that you try to maintain.

In the world —- in us —- there is a resistance to God’s gift of Grace. There is a resistance to Resurrection and New Life.

Jesus knows about it firsthand. Jesus knows it will challenge his disciples. So Jesus prays for his disciples —- but —- he does not pray that the challenge will be taken away.

Jesus prays:

“I have given them your word, and the world has hated them because they do not belong to the world, just as I do not belong to the world. I am not asking you to take them out of the world, but I ask you to protect them from the evil one. They do not belong to the world, just as I do not belong to the world.” (John 17.14–16 NRSV)

If you were following along, overhearing this prayer —-

Why? —-

Because we are sent. Because we have a mission.

Because we are called to be followers of Christ —- to be crucified with Christ. To live out our lives for the sake of the world —- a world that is often challenging to live in. A world that is still in the grips of violence, secrecy, and hoarding. A world that is groaning in anticipation of new life. A world that God loves.

In our living, in our dying, and in our rising to new life, God continues to care for this world —- through us. You and me.

We are sent.

My favorite part? In this prayer that we’ve overheard, Jesus thanks his father for each disciple ‘given to him.’ That means you. Jesus seems to think that each and every one of you is a gift. Even if the world doesn’t always seem to think so. Even if you don’t always think so.

Each of us is sent to share the Good News —- the truth —- that we belong to God through Jesus Christ, who, on the night in which he was betrayed prayed for us, and then showed us that even death cannot separate us from the love of God.

There’s a neat moment, as recorded in our first reading from the book of Acts, when Jesus, who has been appearing to his disciples after being resurrected, does the next unexpected thing which is that he ascends into heaven — he’s taken up in a cloud, leaving the disciples firmly standing on the ground, but looking up in amazement. Jesus, their leader, had triumphed over death and had just been taken away from their presence — and in pretty dramatic fashion. So they’re just staring. But two men in white robes suddenly appear, look at the disciples and say,

““Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up toward heaven? This Jesus, who has been taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven.”” (Acts 1.11 NRSV)

The implication is: get to work! So how do they know what to do?

According to the witness of the book of Acts, there is a period of 50 days after the Resurrection and before Pentecost. That’s why, in the church, we celebrate the Easter season for 50 days before Pentecost. But after 40 of those days…that’s when Jesus ascends. 40 is a significant number in scripture… think of the 40 days Jesus was in the wilderness, or the 40 years the Israelites wandered the desert… Jesus appears to his disciples over the 40 days following the Resurrection, convincing them of its reality, teaching them, helping them to understand the Resurrection’s meaning for them, and then 40 days after Easter Sunday, we are told that Jesus gives a final blessing to the disciples and ascends to his Father, but not before leaving the disciples with the instructions to wait for the coming of the Holy Spirit, which we know comes 10 days after that on the day of Pentecost — which we celebrate in two weeks’ time.

Ok, so that’s the chronology…it seems boring, but there’s something going on in the timing of this…

40 days means a time of important preparation. And that’s what this time after the resurrection is… 40 days of preparation…a time that Jesus appears to the disciples as he did before the Resurrection, but now really preparing them for the reality of life without the regular, everyday, bodily presence of Jesus that they had gotten used to.

It’s a transition period. The most important event, the death and resurrection, has already happened. But now it’s time for the faithful to figure out what that really meant.

For example, some people, especially insiders, assumed that the Resurrection and Ascension to power of Jesus would mean the immediate end of the Roman occupation and the establishment of a new King of Israel. A political and military solution to restore Israel.

That is obviously not what Jesus had in mind. But, there is a plan. It’s not for political power, but it does involve a connection with the same God of Israel who created the world, who spoke through the prophets, who resurrected Jesus, and who was about to help the disciples give the world a real glimpse of the Kingdom of God.

The disciples ask Jesus about this.

“Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?” [Jesus] replied, “It is not for you to know the times or periods that the Father has set by his own authority. But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.”” (Acts 1.6–8 NRSV)

This is really interesting…the disciples are asking a ‘when’ question…when is this thing gonna happen, Jesus? Asking ‘when’ implies that the disciples will be passive recipients of the coming Kingdom of God, or maybe even innocent bystanders. This is a ‘when’ question. Jesus does not answer a ‘when’ question. Instead, Jesus answers with what the disciples are going to do, and how they’re going to do it. They are not passive recipients, they are active participants in the Kingdom of God

This, I think, is a really important text for us to talk about because we still find ourselves in this same transitional time period… we’ve heard all about the crucifixion and resurrection. We’ve heard the wonderful and challenging stories of Jesus’ life. We know that Jesus is right in the middle of this but yet, we live life without having the experience of going to listen to Jesus preach a sermon on the mount. Jesus is no longer present in the sense that we could find him walking from crowd to crowd and ask him a question. We talk a lot about Jesus, yet he isn’t here to confirm the historical accuracy of our stories.

Plus, we also live in a time with all kinds of ‘when’ questions…When will we start getting along in this world? When will this suffering end? When will Jesus come back like they talk about on the 700 Club ? …

But Jesus refuses to answer our ‘when’ questions, and instead calls us to be the church, and in many ways, to be the answer to those questions.

We can probably relate to this transition time, then. Stuck somewhere between the stories and Good News that we have heard, and the hope we have for their realization in our lives and in our world.

And so the way that Jesus prepares his disciples for this transition is also very useful for us, both personally and as a congregation, as we live in this in between time — between good news and hope. This is going to be a good old fashioned sermon, with three bullet points — three take-aways for what Jesus calls his disciples to do and be as he prepares to leave them. Three things to know about life after the Ascension:

It requires patience.

“And see, I am sending upon you what my Father promised; so stay here in the city until you have been clothed with power from on high.”” (Luke 24.49 NRSV)

• God has a mission, but we need to wait for the spirit
• It’s not about us / God directed
• Patience is not complacency

It requires us to stick together.

• worship and pray together
• there will be a time to spread out but it must be rooted in togetherness
  • even the early desert monks would find time to gather
• you’ll know the importance if you think about a time in your life that was difficult, but you were able to draw strength from your friends
• who isn’t here?

It requires changing minds and dropping grudges.

“Then he opened their minds to understand the scriptures, and he said to them, “Thus it is written, that the Messiah is to suffer and to rise from the dead on the third day, and that repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations,” (Luke 24.45–47 NRSV)

• changing minds and dropping grudges
• if we are to proclaim, we have to be able to do them
• a certain lightness — dropping our negative mindsets or stubbornness to see the new things that God is doing — dropping our grudges, all the ways we think we’ve been wronged, all the things that we think we’re owed, and let go. We are free because we are forgiven.

Have patience, stick together, being willing to change your mind and drop your grudges. This is what the disciples were taught. And this is how we operate, too.

…

After Jesus has completed his training of the disciples, 40 days after the Resurrection, he leads them out of the city, he lifts up his hands and he blesses them. And then he disappears.

You might think this would be hard or scary for the disciples. He was really gone. Their first test. Immediately, they return to the city following his instructions and they are filled with joy. Jesus had ascended; but Jesus was with them. And he still is.

I’m going to bet that you have a story about an amazing coincidence about some connection that you discovered between you and someone else. You know, a story that makes you saw, “Wow. Small world.”

[Milwaukee story]

I really like to find these connections when I talk with people — probably too much. I have to confess that sometimes when I should be listening to someone’s story or concern, I’m desperately trying to think, now… who do I know that also grew up outside of Pittsburgh? It’s a bad habit.

Connections, though, are much more than just something interesting as a hobby or a habit in scripture. The readings today remind us that connections are at the heart of what God is doing in our lives.

In the Gospel of John, that we’ve heard today, Jesus describes his relationship with his followers as being like a vine and branches.

Jesus is the vine. We are the branches. We don’t just know about Jesus, or simply decide that we on Team Jesus. We don’t just ‘accept’ Christ as our Savior, slap a Jesus fish on our car, and go about our merry way.

We abide in Jesus. We live in Jesus and Jesus lives in us.

And especially this word ‘abide’ sounds so nice and comforting that you may want to just dwell on this image for a nice long while. Take in the security and intimacy of living a life attached to God — there in God’s garden — and bearing fruit in the process.

Abiding in God is indeed a comforting promise. But the truth about the vine is a little more complex than just that.

We are the branches connected to the vine…along with all the other branches. Whether we like it or not. Being connected to the vine means being connected and belonging to all the other branches. The vine does not belong to just one branch.

Jesus is not just our little personal savior. Belonging to Jesus means belonging to the entire body of Christ. Maybe the reason I love those moments when it feels like a ‘small world’ is because, in fact, the world is large. Larger than I can imagine. Larger that I can control.

The truth is that being connected to the Vine is not always so comfortable. Because it means being connected to people and places of great pain. Places like Baltimore & Nepal.

I have to confess that I cannot stand to watch news on TV. It would be really easy for me to tune out and ignore my connections with hurting places. “Why would I want to watch or read or think about the devastation of an earthquake thousands of miles away?” If I was just my own potted plant, off in a shady part of the garden, then the anguished cries of people half way around the world wouldn’t have to mean much to me. But not so, connected to the Vine. As a branch, I am deeply connected to every other branch. When any of God’s children are threatened, so am I. I can turn off the TV, but I cannot turn off my connection to those who suffer.

Of course it’s not just distance that seems to separate. We are all connected to those who may live close to us, but have a different culture, or who speak a different language. We are connected to branches we didn’t think had anything to do with us:

The incredible story from Acts that we heard for our first reading today is an example of this. It’s the story of the meeting between the Ethiopian Eunuch & the disciple Philip, or as one of my professors described the different identities of these two, a …

… Greek gentile apostle Philip crosses paths with a black Jewish bureaucrat serving an African queendom. (Rev. Wil Gafney, Ph.D.)

Two people who might not think they had anything to do with each other. And besides this, this Ethiopian man that Philip meets was a eunuch, so in addition to the distance caused by their races and nationalities, he was in some ways — and you might have to think about this — literally cut off from the children of Israel, even though he worshiped the God of Israel. I don’t mean to belabor the point but I think it’s important to recognize this man from Ethiopia was not just a foreigner, he was also a racial and sexual minority in Jerusalem.

And yet the Vine connects him and Philip. The Spirit sends Philip to him to join in conversation about Jesus, about how Jesus can be found among suffering, among violence and humiliation. And about how Jesus can be found between the two of them, tying together these seemingly separate branches of the vine.

In the same way, the Spirit is calling us into connections, real connections, with people who are far away from us, and people who are different from us. It begins with prayer, or course, but I think it pulls us further — into conversations with newcomers and strangers. Into working together for justice in our nation and relief efforts for those suffering from natural disasters, just to name a few.

The Spirit continues to pull us because the Vine’s connections are deep. It’s a connection deeper than can be grasped through our TV’s … For now the news brings pictures of unrest in Baltimore, but because we abide in Jesus the vine, we don’t just ask about riots, we ask about everyday violence and the lived experience of every branch of the vine — even when they aren’t televised. We are called to encounter these branches. Maybe especially the branches — the people — that are pushed down or called names. Maybe especially the people that make us uncomfortable.

But there, even there, out on a limb, still the promise remains: Jesus abides in us. Jesus feeds us and nourishes us with the words of life, and Jesus nourishes us with himself, his own sacrificial love, so that we might bear fruit. And together, we do. In our denomination, the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, alone we have connections with people who are already working on the ground in Nepal, bearing fruit by drawing on an established partnership with the Nepal Evangelical Lutheran Church to provide emergency supplies to those affected by the earthquake. That’s a branch of the vine I didn’t know existed before this week. We are also connected to the branches in the city of Baltimore where, this week, members and clergy of Lutheran congregations hosted prayer vigils and met with local leaders to discuss positive change in their neighborhoods. Together we can bear fruit.

I’m going to bet that you will come across someone in your life this week or next with whom you have absolutely no coincidences. No shared family members or alma maters. You won’t watch the same TV channels, and you may not even agree on the weather. I’m going to bet that you’ll encounter someone with whom you will seem to have nothing in common — except you will be connected.

Just as miraculous as any small world coincidence, God has grafted us together as branches on the Vine. Our interconnectedness may be uncomfortable and unfamiliar sometimes, but it is God’s doing. It’s how we bear fruit. It is how God nourishes us. It is how God abides in us.

I’ve had shepherds on my mind for a little while now. I guess it all started a few months ago when I began to prayerfully consider accepting a call to Lutheran Church of the Good Shepherd. Names are always interesting to me…I like to think about what role they have in our identity. Would we be a different congregation in mission and vision if our name was Bread of Life Lutheran, or Resurrection, or Living Water rather than Good Shepherd? How is the name part of our character?

It is certainly not an accident that Jesus chooses the name Good Shepherd to describe himself. For his first followers, there would have been a wealth of images and meanings that came along with the idea of a shepherd.

• literal
• Prophets Ezekiel & Jeremiah warned about bad shepherds
• Psalm 23 & King David

Jesus takes this (biblical) image of the shepherd and does something different…

Two different bad guys…hired hand (bad shepherd) and the Wolf! Snatches & Scatters. Scatters: one of the ways the Wolf works is to separate, scatter, isolate the sheep from the flock. Together, the flock is living out its purpose, but apart…it is weak.

(Out of the blue, Jesus mentions this mysterious and unexplained thing about other sheep that are not a part of this fold…other people that belong to Jesus, but who aren’t yet here… even for the Good Shepherd, the work of gathering in others is never done.)

The Good Shepherd, like the true shepherds of the Bible, like King David led the people, like God led the people — the true shepherd always acts out of concern for the flock. And Jesus is right there, in line with the true shepherds of old, concerned primarily with his flock.

But then Jesus tells us what it truly means to be the Good Shepherd, and it’s this: the Good Shepherd, he says, lays his life down for the sheep. (!)

Wait. Now, I understand that the role of a shepherd is dangerous. And that fulfilling this job can put your life into danger. (Crab fisherman…)

… lay down life for job… … lay down life for the sheep…

For those he was sent to be a teacher to. For that flock that constantly gets this wrong. For those people that can never ever hope to repay him…Jesus lays down his life. This is a different kind of Shepherd.

Pablo Picasso’s Man with a Lamb. … like Good Shepherd icon … but different. Lamb: ears raised, eyes wide open, mouth open wide in terror.

From a distance the statue looks like the Good Shepherd, but it’s not. In this statue, Jesus is not the shepherd…Jesus is the lamb.

This is the tension that is always present in this Christ that we follow. At the same time, we follow Jesus who is the Good Shepherd: teacher, savior, Lord — but also Jesus who is the lamb, servant of all, suffering with all who suffer, found among the least of these.

Scene in Revelation in which the scroll of life is waiting on the throne. And all of heaven and earth is standing before it and an angel asks, “Who is worthy to open the scroll?” And who indeed is worthy? Who among us is strong enough, smart enough, pure enough to take that place? Any takers? The author of Revelation was moved to tears that there was no one to take the scroll. But then he is told, “Do not weep. See, the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, has conquered, so that he can open the scroll…”

And finally, this is what we’ve waited for. Almighty God is ready to take control of heaven and earth. This is the Shepherd who’s rod and staff comfort us. This is the shepherd who speaks softly and carries a big stick. This is Rambo Jesus. The Lion of Judah. This is the king.

All eyes now turn to the throne to see the hero take the scroll. And maybe you’ve guessed who is there. A lamb. Sitting on the mighty king’s throne is a little lamb. A slaughtered lamb. A suffering lamb.

This is the identity of the Good Shepherd. This is the lord that our congregation is named after. A God who’s mighty strength is not in conquering, but in selfless, sacrificial love.

A Shepherd that knows the voice of each and every member of the flock. A shepherd whose only concern is for the abundant life of the flock. And that the flock have that life together.

A friend whose love is so strong, in fact, that his ultimate expression of love for us is to join us in suffering and death so that we may join him in life.

See, Jesus doesn’t die for being right, … for being strong, … to prove a point; he dies for us.

In a choice between having the right answer and loving us… Jesus chooses us. And what happens is, it changes the right answer: no longer about what we think is fair, or what we think is right: it is always about loving our fellow wayward sheep.

As you and I hear the call to follow the Shepherd, it is a call both to be known and loved and uplifted by the Good Shepherd. But it is also a call to join and share with others who suffer, whose eyes are filled with fear and sadness.

It is a call to join in this ministry of leading others beside still waters, finding hope even during difficult times, setting a table in the presence of our enemies. And it is also our call to be the bread served at that table. To give of ourselves so that others may know abundant life.

We are the church of the Good Shepherd, and we are the church of the Lamb of God. We are sent out to love — and we are loved.

You, my friends, are witnesses of these things. So, let’s examine for a bit the things that we are meant to be witnesses of.

The words that I just read aloud from the Gospel of Luke describe the first disciples of Jesus, and what they were thinking, feeling, seeing, and doing that same Sunday evening after they discovered the tomb of their Lord was empty. And what a day it had been… ever have one of those days that feels like it begins in one month and ends in another? That very morning, early, at dawn, some of the women who had been followers of Jesus had arrived at the tomb to anoint Jesus’ body and instead they had found the empty tomb. When they told the other disciples about this the first reaction was … psshh … disbelief. But then Peter and then other disciples saw for themselves that the women were right. Some disciples stayed in Jerusalem in shock, but at least two disciples left town. Those two disciples, walking towards Emmaus, which was basically a day’s walk away, found themselves talking a stranger…processing the mind-boggling events, and grieving the events leading up to the crucifixion of their master. When it was almost dark, they broke bread with this stranger only to discover they had been speaking with the Risen Lord the whole time. After Jesus then disappeared, they raced back to Jerusalem, even though it was already dark to share with the others.

It must have been pretty late, then, by the time these two disciples make it back to gather with the disciples in Jerusalem. And this is where today’s Gospel picks up. And after a full day of leaving Jerusalem in shock, encountering Jesus in a surprising way, racing that same day’s journey back to Jerusalem in the night with the purpose of sharing this amazing thing that had happened … then … they find out that Jesus has also appeared to others. And then … Jesus appears to them all. There, in that room.

The first thing that Jesus says is “Peace be with you.” And you have to know why, right? They all probably looked as if they’d seen a ghost. Imagine their mixture of emotions:

Jesus, their teacher and Lord, betrayed. Unable or unwilling to talk or fight his way out of the allegations against him, and then his punishment on the cross. His brutal, shameful death. The surprise of finding his body missing. Then, his body showing up, not missing. Not dead, but bearing the wounds of his death. This is probably more than you and I would normally want to process in just one day’s time. Especially with very much alive figure of Jesus standing right there.

Can you feel the conflicting emotions in that room? The Gospel of Luke describes the disciples as being first started and terrified — which is understandable. But then it says that ‘while in their joy’ they were disbelieving and wondering. At the same time, the disciples were filled with joy because of the resurrection, they could not believe what they were seeing, and also they were wondering, imagining what it could mean for their lives.

Between the lack of the sleep they’d gotten, and the events of the day, the disciples found themselves feeling basically all of the emotions all at the same time. They were scared and hopeful. They were joyful, but questioning: is Jesus alive? Or is Jesus a ghost?

This is not a trivial question for those of us who now live in the 21st century. You and I are called to be witnesses to these things…yet, aren’t witnesses of these things. In many ways, we too, after hearing the news of the empty tomb, and the resurrection, may only be able to think of Jesus as … a ghost. After all, many of us have heard since we were young that the regular world is this one, that we can see and touch and taste. The one that we can measure with science and observation. A world in which everything that matters is, well, matter. And many of us have been taught that there is this other realm. The religious world. Where there are souls, and where God is the ghost in the machine, so to speak. The invisible, unknowable force. This is a convenient way to explain the mixed and conflicting emotions that we deal with…but if you think about it, this explanation of God pretty much describes God as … a ghost. Mostly invisible, mostly powerless, and kinda spooky.

How can Jesus help me or anyone else deal with the complex emotions of life and the scars and wounds that come along with it, if he is just a ghost?

The thing is, though, that if you spend any time reflecting on this text, you see that Jesus is the farthest thing from a ghost.

Now, it is true that Jesus is somehow different after the resurrection — for one, he can apparently enter into homes without using the door or windows. Although, to be fair, Jesus could do some pretty amazing things before the resurrection. But… when he appears to the disciples after rising… he is still Jesus. He still has a body. And it’s not like a hazy, see-through spectre that maybe wears a white sheet over its head. Jesus is very much still a person — in fact, Jesus still has the scars and wounds that he bore in the crucifixion. The resurrection didn’t take him out of the regular world into some other spiritual world… at least for now, his resurrection was into the same world that the disciples lived in. A world of matter and emotions and scars and wounds. And then, in the middle of this amazing moment in which the disciples have come face to face with the Risen Lord, in their midst, comes one of my favorite moments in scripture. Jesus looks at these, his disciples, struggling to understand the meaning of this most amazing event, and Jesus looks at them, sees their emotional upheaval and says to them: “Do you all have anything to eat?”

And then, he eats in front of them. Jesus is no ghost. Jesus is a part of the world that the disciples are living in. A world that can be scary and cause mixed emotions and beliefs. But a world that is real. And the power of the resurrection, the power of new life, the power of eternal life is for this real world. Snacks, scars, and all.

The power and good news of the Resurrection is for our real world, too. And just like in today’s Gospel, the place where resurrection matters is among people who struggle with mixed emotions. Maybe you, too, have had the experience of wondering what God is up to in the middle of plan, boring moments. Like eating a piece of fish. The place where resurrection matters is among people who struggle to understand meaning in their lives. The place where resurrection matters is around everyday moments like eating food. Going to work. Playing a game. Talking to a friend. Resurrection matters for matter like you and me.

There is not one world for normal life and another world for God stuff. There is just the world that God loves. The world that you and I live in. The world the first disciples lived in. The world that Jesus lives in; one that we can touch, and see, and taste. As we live our lives, as we share meals together, as we comfort one another in our wounds, as we encourage one another in our fears, as we do that crazy thing of forgiving one another in our mistakes, we find ourselves in the presence of the Risen Lord who lives in this world.

You are witnesses of these things.

I was once at a workshop on legal advice for clergy, and the speaker was a former attorney who had become a baptist pastor. He was disgusted by a recent article that he had read about pastors who secretly admitted to being what the article called “secret atheists.” So, these were pastors who professionally administered their job of leading people of faith but at the same time secretly expressed doubts about their own faith. I don’t know if it had anything at all to do with the workshop topic, but our presenter spoke about being very concerned that these secret atheists might be out there leading our churches.

I remember feeling kinda sorry for him and wishing that he was a Lutheran, because then he might share my fairly radical belief (and I always get in trouble for saying this) that we are all secret atheists, that by our very nature as humans we disbelieve in God every chance we can get. If, for example, you could spend a typical day in my brain, based on the uncharitable thoughts that I have toward others, and the time and attention that I pay on my own selfishness, you might surmise that I spend a lot of time as a secret atheist, or maybe you’d sense that I do believe in God… But that I believe that God is me.

This strikes me a very human condition that we at the same time find we can believe and trust in God while doing and thinking things that suggest that we actually don’t. This is part of what it means to be both saint and sinner as Luther would say. Or, as one biblical character cries out to Jesus: “I believe; help my unbelief!” The truth is that unbelief is our default state, and we need God’s help even to believe. In other words, we are all atheists until that point that God gives us faith.

This is why we baptize infants like McKinlye. She hasn’t passed any test. She isn’t able yet to recite the Apostle’s Creed. Her relationship with God is all about what God does.

In the Gospel we have heard today, the first disciples, too, seem to exhibiting signs of secret atheism. They have now witnessed the crucifixion. They have seen or heard that Jesus had been raised exactly as he said. Between Jesus’ life, death, and the empty tomb, you might think that they have seen enough to believe. Look, they’ve seen more with their eyes than we have. Even though they have spoken with, eaten with, pledged allegiance to the Son of God, on the night after the resurrection, they are hiding. And afraid. Acting as if it wasn’t God’s work all along. Acting as if God had forsaken them. Even the closest followers of Jesus struggle with secret atheism.

Thomas says out loud that he needs to see to believe. But it sure seems to me like all the disciples are struggling in their faith, locked in hiding, still afraid of what the death and resurrection of their Lord meant for their lives. After all, the world didn’t look much different. The same people who were shouting ‘crucify, crucify’ were still out there. Pain and anger were still out there.

Because of Thomas, we have the phrase ‘seeing is believing,’ but I wonder if it doesn’t work the other way. For the disciples, for us, maybe believing is seeing.

Maybe the faith that God creates in us, the trust that fills our lives with hope, helps us to see differently.

You don’t have to be an accomplished theologian to realize this world post-easter doesn’t look a whole lot different than it did before. In the same week that Christians around the world celebrated Easter a man was shot in the back by an police officer. Children went to bed hungry. Christians and others worshiped behind closed door because their faith is against the law.

But even still we are given faith for seeing life where it looks like death. Seeing strength where it looks like weakness.

This is not just spinning the story or re-framing the same picture, but becoming the new creation that we see.

You will see new life because you will have new life.

As we heard from the 4th chapter of Acts, not long after the resurrection, after the disciples experienced a new kind of life, they gathered and attracted all kinds of people that saw a new way of living.

“Now the whole group of those who believed were of one heart and soul, and no one claimed private ownership of any possessions, but everything they owned was held in common.” (Acts 4.32 NRSV)

See, those who believed, those who were given faith, saw the world in a new way. They were a new creation. They saw their sisters and brothers not as competitors but as part of their own body. They saw gifts and resources not as things to horde or protect, but to share with one another. Where before they saw scarcity, now they saw abundance.

What a promising beginning for the church. A body of people that saw life where others saw death. Can we be that body?

A know a guy who has lived a long and accomplished life. From the time he was about 8 years old, he’s lived on his own. He learned early on that if you want to make it in this world, you have to be strong. And he was. And even now in his mid eighties, he is a big, strong man. Even though he’s spent most of his life in the church, he has told me that he’s also spent a lot of time doubting his faith, unable to reconcile Jesus, who tells us to turn the other cheek, with his life experience which has told him that ‘might makes right.’ But this year, as he worshiped through Holy Week into Easter, he told his pastor something was different. Not that he lost all doubt, but that he saw the story of resurrection with different eyes. His pastor told me he told him he was cramming for finals at the end of his life. But actually, I think he had already tasted new life.

No one is too old, too stubborn, too skeptical to experience resurrection. No one is too comfortable, too knowledgeable, too strong to experience the surprise and renewal of new life.

The same is true for congregations. We aren’t the newest or biggest church in town. You don’t have the snazziest pastor in town. But resurrection happens here. Faith happens here. As a body of people, we can — together — see the world with new eyes. Strangers and newcomers become friends. Guilty people become forgiven people. Sad and disheartening things in our world become opportunities to imagine new life. Resurrected life.

Where is resurrected life in your midst? When you are held tight in that loving relationship with God called faith, what around you looks different? If you could fully believe that the pain in your life and the lives of others will never get the last word, how will you see things differently?

Through our baptism, we have been named by a faithful God, made into a new creation, and then given a different way of seeing. Instead of ourselves, we see others and the world God made. Instead of enemies around the world, we see work for justice and peace. Instead of locked doors keeping others out, we see doors that open out towards our neighbors.

Instead of wounds, we see love. Instead of a cross of violence, intended for fear, we see a symbol of new life, and a promise from God that we will never be forsaken in fear, and never be alone in pain.

They said nothing to anyone for they were afraid.

You must be wondering, “Is that it?” I mean, it’s Easter, isn’t it? Of all the Sundays of the year, shouldn’t today’s Gospel end on a happier note? I once had a congregation member come to me before Easter Sunday worship and say, “Pastor Keith, there are a lot of people here. You’d better not mess this up!” Tomorrow might be Opening Day for baseball, but today is the World Series for the Church. So did I just mess it up by reading a Gospel lesson that ends with terror and silence?

In its defense — or maybe this makes it worse — the ending of our Gospel lesson today is actually the ending of the entire book of the Gospel of Mark. Depending on the Bible you have, there is probably more that comes after verse 8, where we ended, but it might be in brackets to show that the earliest manuscripts that Christians have found of this Gospel, actually end there at verse 8 with terror and silence.

If that seems wrong to you, you’re not alone, and from very early on, Bible experts added a little bit to bring the Gospel of Mark to more of a conclusion. In some bibles that little bit has the title ‘shorter ending of Mark.’ And then, after that, an even longer ending got tacked on, and is sometimes called ‘the longer ending of Mark.’

But why would the earliest versions of this most important story end without resolution, and with the very first witnesses of the Resurrection unable to share what they saw?

Well, first of all, try to imagine their shock.

All along in the Gospel of Mark, Jesus is misunderstood by his enemies and by his closest followers. All throughout his life and ministry, Jesus seems to defy expectations about what the authorities and his disciples expect him to be and to do. And when Jesus does these things, it is always both alarming and liberating. It is terrifying for those who encounter Jesus to find out that God is up to something that they don’t fully understand. Something that cannot be contained within the rituals and patterns of religion as they know it. But there is also something freeing, something life-giving in the newfound abundance of God’s love that seems to break into the everyday lives of people in the Gospel of Mark. Jesus announces a power of God that is out of control, like a grace bomb that is ready to release radical forgiveness upon everyone around — ready or not. It is scary, yet it holds the promise of life. Now at the empty tomb, Jesus is at it again.

In his death and resurrection, Jesus confronts the most powerful expectation there is.

Early on that Sunday morning as Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome brought spices to anoint the body of Jesus, they fully expected to find Jesus dead, just as they left him. Although Jesus led them so convincingly as their Rabbi, ultimately he was betrayed by his own friends and handed over to powerful forces. In the end, they must have expected, fear and death had won out. Jesus brought such hope, but then that hope had to catch up with the real world. Maybe you know how they felt…

But, of course, Jesus defies their expectations one more time, because as they arrive at the tomb — the place where reality should have held Jesus in place — he wasn’t there. Imagine the simultaneous fear and amazement to find out the one most inevitable thing there is — death — was not as they expected.

And instead of the lifeless body of Jesus, they discover in the tomb a young man, dressed in a white robe. Surprising. And apparently, Jesus is already so far ahead that a angel messenger has to stay behind to help the followers of Jesus catch up. The white robed angel tells the women to share with the rest of the disciples what Jesus had already told them, that after three days he would be raised and would meet them back in Galilee. Galilee, the place where Jesus began his ministry. The place where so many were healed. So many fed, reconciled, and given the good news of the forgiveness of their sins.

They were called to go back to the place where the disciples first learned from their teacher. Back to the place where they first struggled to understand where Jesus was heading and what his ultimate mission was.

But now as Jesus calls them back to Galilee… now they know. Now, even as their hearts are filled with surprise and fear, they know that in Jesus, God has done the impossible. As Jesus goes ahead of them to Galilee they know that everything has changed. And now there is absolutely nothing that can stop the liberating good news of Jesus. Not the tomb, not the cross, not the religious authorities, … not the betrayal of his friends:

The angel in the empty tomb tells Mary, Mary, and Salome to share the news with the disciples and then specifically mentions Peter. In Greek, the language this Gospel was first written in, the words “and Peter” can also be translated “even Peter.” The angel tells them to share the news with the disciples … even Peter. Even the disciple that denied knowing Jesus. Even the disciple that failed when it mattered most.

But go, tell his disciples even Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you.

And entrusted with this news of hope and forgiveness, the Gospel ends with the women at the tomb fleeing in terror and silence.

It’s not so much that the Gospel ends with sadness or defeat. The Gospel ends with a question. The angel tells Mary, Mary, and Salome to go tell the disciples and to go ahead to Galilee. But the Gospel also tells us they were so terrified by what had happened that their initial response was to say nothing to anyone. So the question the Gospel leaves us with is… so… what did they do?

If the Gospel were just an idle tale, or if the message of the Gospel was just a historical recollection, then an ending like this would be perplexing.

But… this is not just a story of the Good News for the disciples and for the first followers of Jesus. This is not just vindication for those who lived through the trauma of seeing their teacher and messiah be handed over to die.

This is good news for me and for you. You and I are part of this Gospel story. And that means that your life and mine are wrapped up in answering this question… the question about whether fear and death get the last word, or whether God’s grace and abundant life do.

In some ways this story has no end. Together we continue to live out the resolution to whether fear — or grace — wins in our lives and in our world. In some ways Jesus is still ahead of us, still defying our own expectations and releasing grace into the world as we try and catch up.

But see, now we know. Even as our hearts waver between joy and anxiety. Even as the Good News of Jesus Christ both comforts us and challenges us. Now we know that in Jesus, God has done the impossible. Everything has changed. Now there is absolutely nothing that can stand between you and God’s love — not evil, not suffering, not death.

And the love of Christ will stop at nothing to give life to each and every child of God. No matter what they think or feel. No matter what they have done or left undone. God’s love is stronger than fear, stronger than the grave. It is for all.

Even me. Even you.

On Good Friday, we draw near to the cross by telling the story of the Passion from the Gospel of John. There is a balance to this. On this darkest day on the Christian calendar, as we approach the lowest point in human history, the Gospel of John, more so than any other, reminds us that even in death — Jesus is Lord and King. John’s passion emphasizes that at what seems like rock bottom, Jesus has overcome evil with good. In John’s telling of the Gospel, Jesus never flinches. He faces off with soldiers, the chief priests, and Pilate without having to raise a finger. He carries his own cross. He allows himself to die. We hear this not to prove that Jesus was a really macho guy, but we hear this to know that even during moments of evil, God is still working. When the Gospel of John was recorded, later than the other Gospels, the disciples more clearly understood that the Way of the Cross was God’s plan to save the world.

Also by the time John’s Gospel was recorded there had been a break between Jewish people who accepted the story of Christ and those that did not. Those that did not are who John simply calls, The Jews. This explains some of the language used in this telling of the Gospel. Now people who came along much later used the depiction of the Jews in John’s Gospel to discriminate against an entire race of people. That is not what is meant here. A Jew and a follower of Christ in John’s Gospel could have been brother and sister. A father and a son. When you hear, the Jews in John’s Gospel — think: those that resisted the Way of the Cross. And this, of course, is not a Jewish problem, this is a human problem. It is our problem. It is why we gather around the cross now to hear again this mystery: that in this darkest of days/nights, God draws nearest to us.

It’s not a time for us to pretend that Easter isn’t coming. This is not a time for us to try and make ourselves feel bad. For anyone who has experienced the senselessness of suffering and loss — there is enough of that going around. This is a time, instead, to take a cue from those early disciples and gather around the cross. This is a time to hear again the Good News: that even in loss, even in suffering, and even in death, God is with us to the very end.

Welcome to the Great Three Days.

Today/Tonight begins this time together that we turn our attention to the central story of our faith — the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

The three days are Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter which form a whole… They are connected. Together they tell a story. Tonight’s portion of the story includes the betrayal of Jesus and his final meal with the disciples.

Here’s the thing, though: we do not come to Maundy Thursday as a reenactment of the Last Supper. If you think of, for example, Civil War reenactments — they aren’t actually battles. They help dramatize events from long ago. They bring the events to life in our minds. They don’t actually bring the events to life.

Christians don’t reenact the Last Supper. We enact it. After all, it’s our commandment. (That’s where Maundy Thursday comes from, by the way. From the word for commandment. Think mandate Thursday.)

And this is the commandment: at the first Last Supper, Jesus is preparing the disciples — and really the church — for the event and the aftermath of the crucifixion and resurrection. He gives them — and us — a new commandment: “to love one another.” As simple, and as radical as that. This is The Way. This is how the disciples will live after Jesus is gone. This is how we are called to live. Love one another.

Jesus sets an example of The Way, the standard for Christian life. And Jesus sets the bar really really low.

…

Now, here’s what I mean by that:

As the disciples share in the passover meal with their teacher, Jesus affirms that the disciples are right to call him Lord and teacher. Disciples have that kind of relationship with their teacher…they look up to their teacher, they are not greater than their teacher. You might think that Jesus, as Lord, would set the bar high. Because Jesus is Savior and Lord of the universe, it stands to reason that his followers, his proteges, would get a pretty high place. (Crowd — followers — disciples — Peter, James, John, etc.)

Instead, Jesus sets the bar so low, it’s literally on the floor. He, the master, takes the feet, the lowest part, of his own disciples and lowers himself to wash them. Their feet, remember, were their primary mode of transportation. Their feet had covered a lot of rough ground since they met Jesus. They may have looked more like the tires on our cars than our feet.

So much for raising the bar. If this is where the master is — at foot level — where do the servants belong?

Whatever else happens, whatever fear and trauma happens in the next few days for the disciples, Jesus has shown them where Love is to be found. It’s down on the ground. Under the table. At the disciples’ feet.

Even though people will soon stand up in the crowds and look down on Jesus…Even though people in high places will judge Jesus and condemn him to die. The real power, the real home for Christ’s followers is down among the dirty, aching feet under the table. Love lives there.

As Christians we face a constant temptation to gravitate towards the glory. The Easter celebration ahead lifts us up to heights of beauty with flowers and song and eggs. Those things are wonderful signs of God’s glory in Jesus. But it’s so easy to start believing that the glory belongs to us. Little by little we can lose our taste for the ground floor view. We aspire to live in the penthouse where we can be removed from the day to day struggles of others. But that image does not fit well with the Jesus that commands his followers to love one another at foot level.

What kind of life do we expect to find under the table? How could we hope to find anything good amid unwashed feet, stale crumbs, and a distinct lack of hand sanitizer? If Jesus wants us to live a life of abundance, why are we called to live like lowly servants?

…

Around that table that night for Passover was Judas, the disciple who would betray Jesus. His feet were washed by Jesus. He shared bread with Jesus. He was entrusted with their shared money. All the while, Jesus knew what was in Judas’ heart. It seems crazy that he should even be at the table at all — but he was.

Judas is known as the disciple who betrayed Jesus, but he won’t be last one to do it. Just a quick survey of the Gospels reveals quite a few shortcomings amongst the disciples. And to this day, Christ’s followers also enact this betrayal portion of the Last Supper in our own lives, don’t we?

That’s why this commandment, this Way of life, ‘love others as Jesus has loved you’ begins with forgiveness. Crazy forgiveness. The way that Jesus has forgiven us. Even the Judas parts of us. Even the betray-our-friend parts of us. Even the ignore-God-and-do-things-our-own-way parts of us. The parts of us that totally fail at being even adequate disciples of Christ.

The forgiveness of Christ heals our broken relationships, heals our disconnections from one another by placing our feet into our neighbors hands, and theirs into ours — forgiving our neighbors and asking their forgiveness we are brought back into wholeness.

The peace and meaning that we long for in our lives is found as we are drawn into the body of Christ: the bread and wine of God’s forgiveness, and the circle of servants around it, loving and forgiving each other. This simple way that Jesus taught his disciples is enacted over and over in our lives. It doesn’t require great heights of knowledge, training, or spiritual expertise. For Jesus, it began with some water, his neighbor’s foot, and a servant heart. We have all of those things. For Jesus, of course, it doesn’t end in the upper room. This simple way of loving our neighbors takes Jesus much much further. As we follow Jesus to the cross over these Three Days, this commandment should still be ringing in our ears: love one another.

If our Lord lowered himself to the ground, where should we be?

This is God’s story. This is God’s mission. Jesus calls the church to humbly reach out to each and every foot, every low place of God’s kingdom. Today/Tonight we enact love. We enact forgiveness. Not historical, but real bread, real wine, real forgiveness … right here on ground level. But it doesn’t just happen here around the table. It happens throughout God’s kingdom. It’s as close as a servant’s heart and your nearest neighbor.