Procession

Matthew 21:1-11

Palm Sunday

As you might imagine, this day has me pretty conflicted.  Instead of parading around with my church family and waving palms like a crazy person, I’m sequestered in my house, literally becoming a crazy person.  But then again, this day and this week remind me that there’s a reality beyond our current reality.  That’s the part of all this that gets to me sometimes: our worship together has a rhythm to it that sees past whatever our circumstances are… and we’re not allowed to worship together!  So let’s remember: this is STILL HOLY WEEK!  

Today we remember Jesus triumphantly entering Jerusalem; today we remember an event that is almost Lent in reverse.  Here’s what I mean: all throughout Lent, we do a kind of pretending.  We pretend we are a solemn people (and lately we don’t have to pretend too much).  I mean, we’re not normally solemn people, but we try to act like it through Lent.  We begin by putting ashes on our foreheads and telling each other: “Remember you are dust and to dust you will return.”  And then we take on fasts and other disciplines in an effort to learn (among other things) from the sacrifices that Jesus made on our behalf.  In some ways it seems that we spend the season of Lent pretending that the glory of Easter hasn’t happened so that we might more fully appreciate the meaning of Easter when it finally comes.  Again, we don’t always pretend these things very well, but we try.  

But then, just before Lent ends, we celebrate Palm Sunday; and it is a celebration.  All throughout Lent we’ve been (kind of) pretending that the joy of Easter never happened, and then along comes this out-of-place day of celebration to start us into Holy Week; the most solemn time of Lent.  We’re still pretending on Palm Sunday, but now we’re pretending that we don’t know what’s going to happen to Jesus later on in the week.  So, like I said, Palm Sunday is like Lent in reverse. During the rest of Lent we pretend to set aside the joy we have as People of the Resurrection.  And then on Palm Sunday we celebrate, as though we don’t remember the suffering that Jesus endured to make us a Resurrection People.   

I imagine that this is bewildering to folks outside the church.  Because frankly, it confuses some of us inside the church too; at least it’s confusing to me at times.  It’s enough to make me wonder, “What exactly is Jesus doing by entering Jerusalem like this; because it doesn’t immediately help me to understand him better?”  I find that the more I look at the events of Palm Sunday, the more I am confronted by them.  And maybe that was Jesus’ point all along.  

One of my greatest sources of comfort as we look at Matthew’s version of Jesus’ triumphant entry into Jerusalem is this: I’m not the only one puzzled by what he does here.  We read in verse ten that “When Jesus entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, ‘Who is this?’”  We’ll come back to why they were troubled by it in a minute; but to start with, if you’re also troubled by this, you’re not alone.  The pew Bibles translate the Greek word by saying the people were “in turmoil” about how Jesus was entering the city, and that’s a pretty fair translation.  They were shaken by it; it worried and distressed them.  

Not exactly the theme we shoot for when we’ve paraded around with palms, right?  When we wave our palms around at the beginning of our Palm Sunday service, it’s supposed to be fun. We’re welcoming our Servant-King with joy because we know how this story ends, right?  It ends with a proof of God’s love that defeats even death itself.  This story ends with life, with salvation; there’s no turmoil in it for us, is there?  But maybe, if nothing else, this story teaches us that we miss some important stuff if we jump to conclusions too quickly.  You see, I think that Jesus knows exactly the kind of trouble he’s causing, and I think he’s doing it on purpose.  

Of course, all four gospel writers tell this story.  Each of them finds a slightly nuanced meaning in it, so the stories don’t all have the same details.  And in Matthew’s version, we find a couple of facets to it that make it unique: one I’ve already mentioned is the turmoil that is caused as Jesus enters Jerusalem.  But the other is that part about the two donkeys.  The way that Matthew describes it, it sounds like Jesus is somehow riding two donkeys at the same time, doesn’t it?  It’s a strange mental picture: he’s somehow sitting on both the mother donkey and her colt at the same time, or maybe taking turns.  And although I’m not sure how we’re supposed to understand this, I think I know why Matthew is telling it this way; and I think it has to do with the prophet he quotes from.  The prophet is Zechariah and the passage is chapter nine, verse nine: “Rejoice greatly, O daughter Zion!  Shout aloud, O daughter Jerusalem!  Lo, your king comes to you; triumphant and victorious is he, and humble and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey.”  

For those of us who weren’t there when Jesus rode into Jerusalem, Matthew helps us to make the connection between the prophet and this event; a connection that the people who were there seemed to obviously understand: that Jesus is this same king.  Zechariah goes on to say that this king would bring an end to all wars, bringing peace to even the ends of the earth.  But I don’t think that’s the part of Zechariah’s prophesy that the people were paying attention to.  Because Zechariah also says that God is going to take care of business, if you know what I mean.  There will be peace… but a peace that comes from God putting an end to all those who would oppress God’s people.  

On the one hand, I think Matthew wants us to know that Jesus is indeed the fulfillment of this prophecy.  But on the other hand, we also understand that this connection wasn’t made accidentally.  It’s not as though Jesus just happens to come riding into Jerusalem on one or more donkeys. “Oh no a parade?  For me?  You shouldn’t have.”  No, he stages this spectacle in order to point to Zechariah’s prophecy and proclaim himself king.  

It’s no wonder the people along the parade route respond the way they do, because this is how Jesus wanted them to respond.  He wanted them to see him as the king he was.  This was Jesus proclaiming the coming of his kingdom.  They are right to see in him the fulfillment of this prophesy because that’s why Jesus is doing it.  It was right for them to celebrate as Jesus entered Jerusalem because he is indeed the king they were waiting for.  And it is right for us to reenact that celebration today because he is that king and we are indeed subjects in his kingdom.  Only we must be careful, as we wave our palms and we shout our halleluiahs, to avoid making the same mistake they did.  

Matthew tells us that, when this parade got to Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil because of it.  And they had good reason to be in turmoil.   Remember, part of the prophesy Jesus was pointing to through this parade was about God conquering the enemies of God’s people; and at this point, the Romans were still in charge.  The people in the parade were celebrating the arrival of a new king, but the people in town were wondering what the current king might have to say about it.  

Of course, we know that the kingdom that Jesus proclaimed was no threat to the earthly rulers of the day.  His kingdom is about the reconciliation of creation itself to God.  We know what Jesus’ kingdom is about, but that doesn’t mean that today’s celebration shouldn’t also cause us turmoil.  

When Jesus entered Jerusalem, they celebrated him as their king because of what they thought he would do for them.  As it turns out, he had something in mind to do for them that was much, much better; but that’s beside the point.  Because if you think about it, is that any way to treat a king?  Is shouting halleluiah at the arrival of the king really appropriate if you’re only doing it because of what’s in it for you?  Our society doesn’t have real kings, but I think we can imagine what it’s supposed to be like: who is supposed to be the servant in the king/subject relationship?  We don’t welcome a king because of what he can do for us, do we?  Shouldn’t we welcome our king by doing whatever our king commands?  

The people of Jerusalem abandon Jesus by the end of the week because he doesn’t seem to meet their needs.  But if he were truly their king, it seems to me that someone ought to have asked him what he wanted from his subjects.  And if they did, I wonder if they might have heard him say: “You know that the rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them.  It will not be so among you; but whoever wishes to be great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be your slave; just as the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.” [Matthew 20:25-28]

Friends as we enter this week, let us (at least virtually) shout praises to our king, for it is right and necessary for us to do so.  But let us proceed with caution: let us be careful to celebrate him, not just for what he does for us, but as our king; living in his kingdom, sharing his values, and serving as he has served us.  

Jesus and Weep

John 11:1-45
Fifth Sunday of Lent

One of the things I’m missing today is, other than not speaking this to a congregation, is not having a liturgist to share the worship experience with.  If you’ve ever played music with someone else (join the choir when we’re done with this stuff), working with a liturgist is a low-key version of that.  There’s improvising and adapting with someone else’s style; there’s a fun kind of danger to it… well, fun for me anyway. 

If I had a liturgist this morning, this scripture reading would be a workout.  Every liturgist has their own unique style and I’m wondering today how he/she would handle it.  We have recommendations and suggestions for how to do things, but there is a theological point to be made by also leaving certain things open to the interpretation of the individual: namely, we are all unique creations of God; each with our own uniquely God-given voice; and as different voices share the leading of worship, it reminds us that we all have a voice in the worship of God.  

So it’s perfectly natural and expected that each person does it a little bit differently; in fact, it’s hard to do it “wrong”.  Some bring a casual or even a comical style to it; but some are quite a bit more serious.  Some might add a liturgical phrase to begin and end a Scripture reading; but some might not say anything at all; and still some seem to throw in an entire commentary with it.  

I had a friend who liked to almost give a Bible study before the reading; it was more than usual, but appropriately her style.  She’d set a context for the reading that gave us a depth for what we were about to hear.  But one day—and I don’t know what got into her—her commentary was nothing more than about how long the reading was; like she was somehow put-out that the pastor had asked her to read all these words.  Now, I may have been the only one who saw the humor in it, but commenting on how long the reading is, may not be pertinent to the reading itself.  I mean, except for today; today it would have been totally acceptable and to the point; today, had our liturgist introduced the reading by saying, “Buckle in, kids; we’ve got a long ride,” that would have been an entirely-acceptable way to start.  Because today it matters: today it reinforces the fact that, among these words—and there are many—two stand out as more important than the rest.  Of all these words, the two that should matter most to us are “Jesus” and “weep”.  The rest of the words are “just” about Jesus raising someone from the dead.  

Lately, we’ve heard several longer stories from the Gospel of John.  First from John 3, where Nicodemus strains to understand who Jesus is; only to find that Jesus doesn’t desire understanding, so much as he desires a relationship.  Then in chapter four we found Jesus speaking to some strange woman by a well; we found Jesus breaking all the rules of decorum and even holiness just by talking to her; but in so doing, we found Jesus embodying the love of God that reaches out for us even before we understand or deserve it.  (We took a detour last week and looked to the calling of David, because I love that story.) And today we hear a story about Jesus raising someone from the dead, and it turns out, raising-someone-from-the-dead isn’t the central point of the story.  

Click the link and read the story again.  Did you notice that all of this could have easily been avoided?  John makes this point abundantly clear: between the waiting he does after hearing Lazarus is sick, and the time it takes him to get to Bethany, Jesus is profoundly late; Lazarus will already have been in the tomb for four days by the time Jesus gets there.  And John is very clear: Jesus is not distracted or being irresponsible; he does all this on purpose.  Yep, you heard right: he lets his friend die on purpose. 

We’re coming up on “April Fool’s Day.”  Given social distancing, I suppose pranks on others is out of the question, so maybe we can just play them on ourselves.  My favorite is the one where my brain sends me into a room and then won’t tell me why I’m there.  At any rate, our story today reminds us that some practical jokes are cute and funny, and some are not; some pranks are cruel and mean.  Although, in the end, we see the point Jesus is making—that he is indeed the Resurrection and the Life—what he does to Mary and Martha (and to Lazarus, I suppose), falls solidly in that second, cruel category.  He deliberately makes a point through their grief.  That’s not nice.  If you’re going to pull a prank like that, the punch-line had better be resurrection.  

There’s a question we ask of God sometimes.  We hear it asked when Martha points out that, had Jesus come sooner, her brother would not have died.  The implied question is obvious: why did you let my brother die?  We all ask questions like that sometimes; hopefully, not very often, but we all do.  It is natural, as people of faith, in times of grief and loss, to ask of God, “Why?”  I was counseling someone recently who was in one of those times, and she had a helpful insight: she said that, as she looked back on life, God’s plan was so clear, but not always in the moment.  I would also point out that sometimes the answer is not ever very clear.  Sometimes, even in hindsight, we ask God “why” and we get no answer because there is no answer.  

But as I said, all of this could have easily been avoided: all Jesus had to do was show up on time; Lazarus would have been healed; we would still see the power of God revealed through Jesus, but without all of the tears.  And perhaps, in hindsight, there is a sub-lesson to be learned here about our tears: that in this life at least, we will still have them; even after the Resurrection, even after the promise that Jesus is the Resurrection and the Life, we will still grieve.  Grief is, at least, normal; even for those who can see past it.  

But then the strangest thing happens: “Jesus began to weep.”  Now, I know that sounds like four words, but really, it depends on your translation: many English Bibles just say, “Jesus wept.”  Although, in the Greek, if you include the definite article, it’s three words; but still, the two words that are important here are “Jesus” and “weep.”  This will always strike me as the most remarkable part of this story; even more remarkable, I’m afraid, than Jesus raising someone from the dead.  Jesus knows what he’s about to do: we’ve already seen how all of this is premeditated and orchestrated.  Why, then, is he sad?  If ever there was a time for someone to give a platitude like, “Don’t worry,” or “Everything will be okay,” or “God’s got a plan,” this is it; this is the only time that a phrase like that would be an appropriate response to someone’s grief.  But instead of jumping right to the miracle, Jesus stops and weeps with them.  

This season (and remember it’s still Lent), we remember and in stories like this, we find a glimpse both of who Jesus truly is and what he wants from us.  We already know the presence of God that is in Jesus: we know there’s a miracle coming, right?  We’ve seen it before.  As the embodiment of God among us, even death is not going to be beyond the power of Jesus.  It’s “lesson one” of what we learn at this table: that by the power of his life, given for us, we now have eternal life.  But ironically, what may not be as immediately clear to us is his humanity.  That is, until he weeps.  Here we see not only – in the raising of Lazarus – the power of God in Jesus, but also that he was one of us as he weeps with us as well.  

Again, the obvious question we might ask is, “Why did God let this happen?”  But the answer, through his tears, that Jesus gives answers a more-important question: “Where is God in this?”  The answer is, in Jesus, God is with us.  Our tears are his tears.  Our grief is his grief.  Our pain is his pain, just as his resurrection and life is our resurrection and life.  But even in the moments before calling Lazarus back to life, the thing that is more important to Jesus – even more important than the miracle – is the relationships.  And here we are reminded of the second lesson of this table: that we are called together to be his Body.  Bound together and sent by his Spirit, we are called here to be his abiding presence to one another and to the world around us.  We are indeed called to proclaim the life that we now have in him, but we also testify to his presence as we stop sometimes to weep with those who weep.  

May we continue to embody and proclaim our Risen Savior in all we do and say.

Speaking from the Heart

1 Samuel 16:1-13 
4th Sunday in Lent


As we continue in our Lenten journey, we’re going to step out of the New Testament for today.  We’re going to step away from the life of Jesus and his journey toward the Cross, and look to the life of King David.  Now I know this may seem like an odd choice, but as one of my favorite Christian authors (Eugene Peterson) has put it: “If we're going to get the most out of the Jesus story, we'll want first to soak our imaginations in the David story.”  

You see when we think about Jesus, we might know and profess that Jesus was fully God and fully human; but if we’re honest, we still have a hard time thinking of Jesus as fully human.  I mean, look at his life: we believe he never sinned, he had control over nature, he healed the sick, he cast out demons, he spoke the word of God, he befriended the outcast and the sinner, he raised people from the dead, and in fact he was raised from the dead.  We may believe and profess that he was fully human, but that’s not the stuff we’re the most interested in.  

But it’s not the same way with David.  Although he was a king, he was clearly more like one of us.  He had good days and bad days.  He was persecuted and he had victories.  He was a sinner, and yet he wrote psalms that reached out to the very heart of God.  And indeed as we remember today, although he was called by God to be the king of Israel, he was first called to be a shepherd.  

In other words, as followers of Jesus we strive to be like him: we aim to be as obedient, faithful, compassionate, and self-giving as our Savior; we aim for that same intimacy with God.  We aim to be like Jesus, but even at our best, we're probably more like David.  And this is not at all a bad thing!  David does more than just remind us of ourselves, he reminds us of that earthy humanness that came with the one who was God-with-us.  He reminds us of a part of Jesus we sometimes have a hard time understanding.  

Our story today takes place in Bethlehem.  Bethlehem was, and in some ways still is, a small town.  Today it's got a little over 25,000 people living there; not huge by some standards, but certainly bigger than it was when David grew up there or even when Jesus was born there.  I mention this mainly because I think I’ve learned a bit about living in a small town.  And I can just imagine the kind of craziness that came when Samuel visited your town.  

You know that everybody knew about it, right?  I’m sure they were talking about it in the Bethlehem equivalent of Brenda’s for months after!  That's why Samuel had to come up with that cover story: “Oh, just coming to make a sacrifice.”  A visit like this from the king's prophet would have been a big deal.  Not only would people tend to freak out (as if they were in trouble with God) but a random visit to some out of the way village would probably get back to the king as well.  It was a big deal.  

One time, when I was a pastor over in Del Norte, Oprah Winfrey visited a local Dairy Queen.  Everybody knew about it; the Dairy Queen had “Oprah ate here” on their marquee for months.  It was huge.  I got calls from people in other states about it.  I knew about her visit and I don't care about Oprah in the least!  It was a big deal.

When I picture Samuel's visit to Bethlehem, that's what I imagine it was like: I imagine helicopters flying overhead; an entourage; I imagine a film crew following him around.  I bet someone even put up a “Samuel ate here” sign.  

But this was no mere silly road trip for Samuel, was it?  For the second time in Samuel's career as a prophet, God had called him to anoint a king.  God had rejected Saul for reasons that are, as they say, another story.  So Samuel came here looking for a king and what happens next is more like a livestock show than a sacrifice, right?  They trot out Jesse's sons and parade them around the arena for Samuel to judge.  

And Samuel's first reaction is, “Wow that was easy,” because the first son they trot out is Eliab.  We don't really know exactly what it was that impressed Samuel so much about Eliab, but he must have been something; king material if ever Samuel had seen it!  But before Samuel could anoint him God says, “Slow down Sam; it's that kind of thinking that got you into trouble with Saul, remember?  You don't see what I see.  You see an impressive young man who can get what he wants with the flash of his smile, but I can see his heart.”  God tells Samuel, “I can see past what you can see and I can see that this one won't work out.”  

Jesse has eight sons all together and the pattern continues: we look at Abinidab then Shamah... then we stop naming them because it starts to get a little tedious.  I imagine this was kind of a humbling experience for Samuel; maybe the great prophet was getting rusty.  Son after son after son was trotted out and son after son after son was rejected by God as king.  Finally, Samuel asks, “Are these all the sons you've got?”  But maybe he was thinking, “Am I at the right address?”  

But then they trot out David: as the youngest of Jesse's sons, he misses all the excitement because he’s had to be out with the sheep.  But as soon as David walks in the room, Samuel is told that this is Israel's next king.  And the ironic part is that, when he shows up, he is actually good looking.  Samuel's first instinct to anoint the good-looking son was, in a way right on.  He just didn't have every good-looking son of Jesse in front of him at the time.  

But then again, David isn't just handsome is he?  There is something more about him that only God can see.  But what was it that made God choose this boy to be Israel's king?  We know by his life's story that he wasn't exactly perfect, so that wasn't it.  He certainly wasn't very kingly at the time, right?  He was just a little shepherd boy; not even his father thought to bring him in from the field to meet the great prophet.  What did God see?

Well, of course we can't see specifically what God saw, but Scripture tells us that what God saw was his heart; a heart that we learn elsewhere in the Bible, “Sought after God's own heart.”  What I take that to mean is simply that he wanted to please God.  They knew each other already.  It tells me that he didn't just seek to obey God; he didn't just seek to keep out of trouble; but he wanted to make God happy.  This tells me that he had a relationship with God; perhaps he had already begun writing songs for God while he was out there in the fields.  But at any rate, you can't seek after God's heart unless you know something of that heart in the first place.  What I think God saw in David was, in a sense, familiarity.  

In short, I think that the thing God saw in David was much the same thing that God sought for us in Jesus.  God wants to be known by us in the same way that God knows us.  In Jesus, we know the depth and breadth of God's love for us.  In him we know that God has done and will do whatever it takes to bring us home.  God wants to be in relationship with us so much that God would become flesh and then be broken for us.  And our knowing God’s love in this way, we are then fully known; God looks into our heart.   

Last week we heard about the woman at the well and, looking into her heart, Jesus knew everything she’d ever done.  But this week we learn of a different kind of knowing: a knowing that comes from a relationship with our Creator; a knowing that sees us for who we are and then calls us to a level of greatness far beyond what our outward appearance might suggest.  As we continue through this Lenten season, let us seek to know our loving God more and more.  Let us, like that shepherd boy hear the voice of God calling us to do our Savior’s work.  Because God sees us from the inside out, let us seek to be transformed from the inside out, as we seek that closer walk.

Everything

John 4:5-42
Third Sunday in Lent

I've known people like this woman all my life, and I bet you have too.  Of course, I work in the church and people like this just kind of show up from time to time.  But I've lived next to them too.  It's always something with them, isn't it?  It's always some new crisis; it's always some new angle that's going to make all of the old problems magically go away... and they never do.  In fact, their problems have a way of piling up in the yard.  If you're not careful, their problems can somehow become your problems.  If you are careful, you can act just interested enough not to be rude, but not so interested that they'll keep talking.  

Yeah, I've known people like this woman all my life.  I've met her so often, I can even hear them talking about her as she comes panting back from the well: “Uh, oh.  Somebody's in a hurry... and she's headed right for us.  How much do you want to bet, she's in love again?”

“Come. See. A. Man. Who. Told. Me. Everything. I. Ever. Did.  Could this... be the Messiah?”

“Hold on. What?”

“Come and see... the Messiah.”

“No, no, no; that middle part.”

“He told me everything I ever did.”

“Everything?”

“Yeah, everything.”

Did they go out to see him?  Of course they did.  They knew everything she'd ever done... and probably avoided her because of it.  He knew everything she'd ever done and welcomed her home; just like he welcomes people like us every day of our lives.  

Come and see the Savior of the World.  Come and see the one who knows everything about you (yeah, everything) and loves you and accepts you beyond your wildest imaginations.  

I don't know that a pastor is supposed to play favorites with Scripture passages... but I love this story.  The first sermon I ever preached was about this woman at this well.  It is, at its heart, a story about not being where you’re supposed to be; it’s about being off of the main highway, as it were.  Jesus leaves the highway on purpose, here in Samaria: in the first line of chapter four, Jesus hears that the Pharisees have started keeping score between him and John the Baptist.  Instead of hearing the Message, or even recognizing that something amazing is going on, they start counting baptisms between Jesus' and John's followers.  So Jesus says something like, “I've got to step out for some fresh air,” and heads off for Galilee.  

But even his departure from Judea gets sidetracked: the gospel says that Jesus had to go through Samaria.  But Samaria wasn’t a place proper people really went.  Proper people believed that Samaritans were, at best, only kind of Jewish.  And the Samaritans didn’t really care for the Jews either: they kept making the audacious claim that the true place of worship was there in Samaria, and not in Jerusalem (the place Jesus just intentionally left). Samaria was a place of dispute; a place that proper people didn’t really go.  

If they had trains back then, the whole of Samaria would be on the wrong side of the tracks.  And yet the gospel writer tells us that Jesus had to go there, and I'm not entirely sure what John means by that: it could be that John is simply making some kind of excuse for this less-than-respectable act on Jesus part.  In other words, it could be that he’s saying, “For what Jesus was up to and where he was going, he couldn't have done this trip without going through Samaria; after all, it was the quickest route.”  

But maybe, it was like when the Spirit led Jesus into the wilderness to be tempted; maybe this was someplace Jesus just had to go.  Maybe one morning Jesus looked at the disciples and said, “Boys, we've got to go to Samaria.”  Now this is just speculation on my part, but I like that idea; that sounds like something my Jesus would do.  That sounds like the Jesus who would go off the main road, into scandalous places, just to show us how to truly love.  

But of course, Jesus is not the only one who's wandered from the main highway in this story, is he?  Soon we meet a woman who is so out there, I have a hard time knowing where to start.  Well, we meet her in Samaria, so why not start there: she is, of course, a Samaritan.  We know this because it comes up kind of frequently in the story.  The gospel writer brings it up a couple of times and even points out that there were specific rules about this kind of interaction.  The women herself mentions it as well. And even the disciples, although they're smart enough to keep it to themselves, at least noticed when they got back from the store.  

Whether we like to admit it or not, when we tell our kids not to talk to strangers, we usually have specific strangers in mind.  And in Jesus' day, the Samaritans were those strangers.  If at all possible, they should be avoided; and you certainly don't want to be sharing their water cups! 

But she wasn't just a Samaritan, she was a woman.  There were similar rules of propriety that kept respectable men from interacting with unknown women.  But of course, Jesus breaks those rules too.  

But then there is that one other thing too.  Leaving behind the bigotries and silly customs of the day, she was still that kind of woman.  This is a fact we don't learn about until later in the story, but Jesus seems to have known it all along.  As the story goes on this point is made all the more scandalous because it's Jesus who starts up the conversation.  He knows who she is.  He knows that she’s a Samaritan.  He knows that she is a woman.  He even knows what kind of Samaritan woman she is… and it’s Jesus who breaks the ice.  It’s Jesus who breaks all the rules of proper, acceptable behavior… and asks her for a drink.  

At this point, I’d like to point out that he never does get his drink, does he?  He never does get his drink of water, but then again, he wasn’t really after water in the first place.  He asks her for a drink, but that’s not really what he wants.  What he wants is really to offer her something.  She came to this well, with all her baggage and a jar to draw water with; what she found was a deeper well with Living Water flowing freely from it.  What she found was Jesus.  

And then something happens: we might otherwise miss it because it seems to happen just about the same time the disciples come back, but something definitely happens.  When this story starts out, these two are perfect strangers at a well. When it ends, this woman is so excited that she leaves without the very thing she came to the well for in the first place.

The way the Gospel writer puts it is, “Then, leaving her water jar, the woman went back to the town and said to the people, ‘Come, see a man who told me everything I ever did! Could this be the Christ?’”

She leaves behind what brought her there in the first place because she had found something she wasn’t actually looking for; and isn’t that just like Jesus?  Isn’t it just like Jesus to find us, whether we’re looking for him or not?  Isn’t it just like Jesus to find us, to know everything about us, and love us and accept us when we least expect it?  

So she leaves the water, she leaves the jar and she heads back to town with the most compelling testimony any of us can ever offer: he knows me completely; come and see.  And soon, this is no longer just a story about a woman who meets Jesus; it’s a story about a whole town full of people meeting Jesus.  The implications for us are both terrifying and thrilling.  

Christ sees us completely.  Our Savior knows everything about us – it isn’t that he doesn’t see it, he just sees past it – and then he asks us for a drink in spite of all that.  But what he’s really asking of us is that we drink of his Living Water and then take it with us to share with our thirsty neighbors.  What he’s really asking is that we first see ourselves as fully known by him – and therefore fully accepted and fully forgiven – and then let us be fully used by him, calling all those around us to come and see the one who knows everything we’ve ever done.  And when they ask you, “Everything?”  You just answer, “Yeah, everything!  Come and see.”  

New Tricks

Genesis 12:1-4 & John 3:1-17
Second Sunday in Lent

As many of you probably already know: I have a dog, a cat, three children, and a degree in psychology.  This to say: around my house, I’m always working some angle of the behavioral part of my undergraduate degree.  There are rewards and there are punishments (we call them “consequences”), and they are all designed to keep everyone healthy and getting along.  

If you also have an undergraduate degree in psychology, you know that the crowning achievement comes when you can teach a rat to push a button to get a treat.  People have asked me, “Brian, does your degree in psychology help you in your ministry?” The answer is “no”; that’s not how God works; that might be how religion often pretends it works, but a life of faith is vastly more than learning to “pushing God’s buttons the right way.”  But my degree in rat training has taught me this: the phrase “you can’t teach an old dog new tricks” is probably not true.  

As far as I know, you can actually teach an old dog a new trick.  Even better: people can learn new tricks at any stage of life, old or not.  We are God’s people; created, valued, and loved.  We are not seen by God as dogs.  In fact, according to our Scripture lessons today, we are loved so much that God is teaching us new tricks all the time; even if we're old!  We don't know how old Nicodemus was, but he certainly calls himself old; and looking at Abraham, God doesn't establish this covenant with him until he's seventy-five!  So yes, it does seem that God may have a trick or two for us whatever our age.  

I love alliteration—the occurrence of the same letter or sound at the beginning of words.  Some well-organized pastors do it on purpose: I’ve seen sermons or even an entire sermon series put together like that.  When I do it, it’s usually an accident that I don’t notice until later.  That being said, I totally meant to have a “T” theme going lately: two weeks ago we heard about the Transfiguration of Jesus; last Sunday we heard about his Temptation; and this week the theme is Trust.  Abraham's whole story—as he is called to leave his home and family to an unknown land—is really about trust.  And I think that it’s trust that leads Nicodemus to seek out Jesus as he is called to be reborn.  

And “trust” is really what those “new tricks” God has for us are all about.  Because, if you are going to teach your old dog a new trick, your old dog better know you pretty well.  Learning a new thing is all about the proper motivation (again, you can thank my work with rats for that little insight).  

For example, I’ve taught my cat a new trick; she’s not an old dog, but she’s certainly an relatively-old cat.  She has something of an eating disorder.  She was not a kitten when we got her, so it might stem from early trauma.  With some cats, you can just leave out food and they’ll eat when they’re hungry.  If you did that with my cat, she would eat all of it and then come crying that afternoon because her dish is empty.  So, we feed her a measured amount twice a day… and apparently the first thing I taught her was tell time, because she never lets me miss it.  And when I put the food in her dish, she attacks it like she’s never eaten before.  So, to keep from getting my hand bitten off, I’ve started doing this new thing: I will kneel down near her dish, holding her food in one hand and holding out my other hand off to the other side of my body.  She has learned that, if she wants the food to be dropped into her dish, she needs to push her head into that hand (a little like pushing a button).  My point is: if you can, with the proper motivation, teach an old cat a new trick, you can probably teach an old dog… and maybe even us.  

When Abraham was seventy-five, God asked him to leave just about everything he knew behind: God told him to go to a new, and unknown place and begin a new life.  For a person (of any age) whose identity was grounded in specific place, among a specific people, and with a well-worn way of life, this was a risky move.  Think about the trust it must have taken to obey what God said to do.  Even more than that, we talk about Abraham's faith, but what about Sarah?  One day Abraham announces that God has called them to leave their country, their land, and their family, and she doesn't seem to say a word about it.  If your spouse came home and announced that God had called you to just up and leave our life here, you’d probably look into having some “special medicine” prescribed, right?  But again, what is important is Abraham’s motivation.  I hate to say it to you faithful church-goers, but I don’t think it was his religion.  

Like I said, I also have a dog.  If you also have a dog, you’ve probably noticed that we’ve had a rather extended muddy-season this year… which has led to us having a somewhat strained relationship between me and my dog.  I wish I had the behavioral psychology skills to teach her to wipe her feet when she comes in the house.  Instead, after I notice the mess she’s making I'll start yelling, “Ah! Crate! Crate! Crate!” (It’s what we call the mudroom.)  Her response is almost a religious response: she’ll look at me with her head and tail down, looking guilty, as she trots back to her proper space.  She assumes she’s in trouble, but the truth is, sometimes she has no idea what will make me happy.  

Now my guess is, she'll get less “religious” as she gets older.  I think that, as she becomes an older dog, she'll learn something better: she’ll start getting to know me.  She may never learn how or why she should wipe her feet, but she may learn that it's not okay to run around the house with dirty paws.  You see, even better that teaching an old dog a new trick is letting an old dog get to know you; and in that knowledge, trust you even when it doesn't understand why.   

Abraham goes when he’s sent; not because he’s crazy, not because of some religious duty, but because he’s heard his Master’s voice—because he has a relationship with God.

One of my favorite parts of the Lenten season is hearing about the practices and disciplines that people take on.  No one here requires you to so it shows a person's honest desire to deepen their relationship with God.  These practices and disciplines, among other things, are ways that God can help us to become these kinds of old dogs.  These things deepen our relationship with God, and by that deepened trust, we find a deeper obedience.  

In away, Nicodemus seems to have a similar “old dog” attitude Abraham had.  He comes to Jesus under the cover of night with curiosity: Jesus has just violently shaken things up in the temple; he called people names and knocked them around; he made a mess of their fellowship hall.  So even though Nicodemus doesn’t seem to want anyone to know about it, he’s also not quick to call Jesus a criminal.  And why do you suppose that is?  I think its because his “old dog” relationship with the Master put him in an awkward spot: on the one hand he hears something familiar in what Jesus is saying; but on the other hand, this guy is dangerous; this Jesus could get him into trouble.  

But with obedience that almost defies logic, he goes to hear more from this dangerous teacher.  And of course his obedience pays off.  He obeys and finds an even deeper knowledge of the God who so loved him that he would send his own son.  He obeys and finds a deeper relationship with a Creator who is not interested in condemnation, but salvation and relationship.  And although Nicodemus seems to have a hard time getting his head around the metaphors, I think he learns from Jesus some things he may have already suspected.  Because it seems that this “old dog” already knew how to trust in the Master.  

I suppose what I appreciate most about these “old dogs’” stories, even more than that their obedience paid off in their own unique ways, is that it couldn’t have been easy for either of them.  The “new tricks” of trust and obedience that they were learning, must have been difficult and confusing.  But no more so than the “new tricks” of trust and obedience that we are called to learn throughout our lives.  As we seek godly ways of dealing with illnesses, loss, broken relationships, disappointments, and global tragedy and unrest, we see that it’s not a simple thing to trust that God knows what God is doing and to simply obey.  

And so we seek to trust like “old dogs.”  I think Lent teaches us something about this trust.  If we take on this journey—ending at the foot of the cross—then we seek to discover that God can be trusted; that the promises of God are always kept.  Of course the empty tomb at the end of Lent’s journey is the last word, but I think it makes more sense when we first seek this other, more difficult Lenten journey.  

So as we continue to travel through this season, let us, like Abraham and Nicodemus, listen to the ways that God is calling us to learn new tricks.  Let us make this difficult journey and learn that our trust can only continue to grow, as we follow where our Savior leads us.    

Testing in Progress

Matthew 4:1-11
First Sunday in Lent 

My baby boy is turning six in a couple of weeks.  He’s at that age where he loves to help… especially around the kitchen and especially if someone is making goodies. (There’s a story there that I’m not going to tell right now, but you can ask me privately.)  Anyway, it reminds me of another story I heard once about a different boy who was turning seven.  Like my kid, he was very interested in “helping” while his mother made cupcakes for his classroom.  

He was interested, as she mixed and baked, but he seemed particularly interested when she was frosting the cupcakes.  Knowing what goes through the mind of a soon-to-be seven-year-old boy, she reminded him that the cupcakes were for his class and he wasn’t supposed to touch them.  

She needed to leave the kitchen for a couple of minutes, and when she returned, she saw her son staring intently at the cupcakes.  He didn’t even seem to notice her come back into the kitchen so she just watched him for a while, but all he did was stare at those cupcakes.  She asked him, “Do you need help remembering the right thing to do?”  

And without turning his attention from the cupcakes, he said, “No.  I need help doing it.”  

Our theme today is obviously “temptation.”  A word that can just as easily be translated as “testing.”  And most of the tests that we receive in life are not complicated.  In fact, most are true/false tests.  Occasionally, we'll get a multiple-choice.  But when you find yourself answering one of life’s tests in the form of an essay… there’s a good chance that you've already flunked it.  

We are all tempted, we are all tested, so sermons about it seem almost pointless.  We already know the right thing to do: obey God and don’t sin.  The answer to temptation is obedience; end of sermon; amen; go in peace…  

Except that knowing the right thing to do isn’t the end of the sermon, is it?  Sometimes it’s more about doing what we know we should do; and sometimes don’t just hit us when we’re alone and staring at that proverbial plate of whatever is tempting you.  Sometimes these tests, if you will, come at all of us together.  

So how does one preach about an issue which won’t go away and whose point never changes?  I thought about making this one of those “reminder sermons”: a sermon about a thing you already know about, but it’s good to be reminded of from time to time.  

But then I thought: there is another angle here that we may not have thought about.  What if we look at this story about the temptation of Christ from the perspective of the Body of Christ? 

So first: in this very familiar story, after being baptized by John into the wilderness, Jesus goes out to be tempted… not something I’d recommend—why ask for trouble—but it’s what Jesus does.  

The text tells us that Jesus was there for forty days… an important number in Scripture.  In this case, I think the number forty is supposed to remind us of the forty years the Israelites were tested by God before they entered the Promised Land.  It’s interesting: we are also reminded of their testing through that journey every time Jesus says, “it is written.”  Because every time Jesus quotes Scripture here, it is from the same place: Deuteronomy.  At every test, Jesus answers with a reminder of the Covenant.  And at every one of his tests, the answers Jesus gives are not just answers given to individuals but answers to an entire faith community… like ours.  And the answers that were learned through the testing of that community are the same answers for the testing of this community: trust in God… and in that trust obey.  

So yeah, the answer to testing is still going to be obedience, but we’re also given a reason for that obedience: because God can be trusted.  But I’m getting ahead of myself.  We haven’t even talked about the test yet and here I am giving you the answers.  

The first test Jesus is given is literally to the body of Christ: it  comes after forty days of fasting… and guess what, he’s hungry.  We should also not be surprised that the test he receives is about food.  The tempter takes advantage of the most obvious source of weakness.  The tempter uses Jesus’ obvious hunger to try to get him to turn stones into bread.  Now this, like most temptations, doesn’t seem like such a bad thing until you look at it more closely… especially when you look at it as a lesson for us, the church.  

What the tempter wants the Body of Christ to do is let circumstances dictate how the Body of Christ will use its resources.  Now sure, there are times when the Body needs to be fed; but it's God, not the circumstances, that determines those times. 

For example, if receiving new members were to be seen as one of the ways that the church is fed, then you might say our church is not exactly starving, but we’re certainly not overeating either.  We receive new members from time to time, but not in great multitudes.  So some might think we're hungry.  And it’s probably good for us to be hungry; it’s good for us to want to grow.  But here's the tricky question: how does God want us to be fed?  

I know that sounds kind of strange, but how does God want us to grow?  Are we trusting in what God wants for us, sharing the treasure of Christ's kingdom; or are our desires based on our circumstances?  Perhaps we yearn for new members so that we can teach them how to tithe.  But is that really why God wants people to be a part of this community of faith?  

Jesus answers this temptation with the reminder that it is not simply by bread that the Body of Christ survives, but by the Word of God; which not only nourishes us but also inspires and guides us as well.  If we let our circumstances determine when and how we are fed, then we are not trusting in God to meet our needs.  And this test, as any test, is answered by trust and obedience.  

The second test that the Body of Christ faces is much like the first, but from the other way around.  Again, the tempter begins with the taunt, “if you are the Son of God.”  But this time, rather than preying upon the Body’s circumstances, the tempter seeks to create a crisis.  “Jump off this ledge,” he says.  “God will take care of you.”  And perhaps God would, but that's hardly the point, is it?  

Sometimes the Body of Christ makes its own crises. Sure, we say and do things that hurt the members of Christ's Body all the time, but God would never let us actually break it, right?  I honestly don't know.  I like to hope that the work God has for us is more important to God than the damage we might do to it, but is that a risk we should take?  Jesus says, “Do not put the Lord your God to the test.”  And the temptation here is to create a need for God to meet that wasn’t there before you created it.  And this test, as with any test, is answered by obedience.  

In the final temptation, we find the tempter has given up subtlety.  He offers a deal: everything there is… for one low price.  Not such a bad deal.  I mean Jesus was going to be King of kings either way, right?  With one small compromise Jesus can gain all this without all of the messiness of the cross… all right, it’s not such a small compromise.  And maybe being the King of kings wasn’t the only reason Jesus came.  

This test, like all the others that the Body of Christ faces, comes down to trusting God.  Trusting that the plan God has for this Body, with all its messiness, is really what is best.  In this test we are faced with a compromise that seems to get things done quickly and efficiently.  But in that compromise, we not only forget that there is a purpose in the messiness, but we also turn our worship and service away from God.  

When Jesus says, “Worship the Lord your God, and serve him only,” we are reminded that there can be no compromise.  No matter what splendor we are shown, our calling is to worship and serve God alone.  Which sounds simple enough, but this is a nasty little temptation.  Because there’s a lot of splendor out there and we want it… presumably for God’s glory.  We look out at a world more prosperous and efficient than the church and we think, “Why can’t that be us?”  Sometimes we even look out at the success of other churches and wonder, “Why can’t that be us?”  

Except that is idolatry.  When we turn our attention away from the worship and service of God and set plans for ourselves that may not be from God, that is idolatry.  When we are tempted to compromise who God has called us to be, we are tempted to worship things other than God.  But this, like all temptations, can only be answered by obedience.  

Friends, the tests that are put to the Body of Christ all try to draw our trust away from our trust in God.  Rather than being distracted by our circumstances, let us obey the God that does meet our needs.  Rather than creating needs where there are none, let us trust in God to guide our ministry.  Rather than compromising who we are as the Body of Christ, let us trust in God’s plan for us.  And, trusting in the God who meets our needs, let us respond to all temptations with the answer we knew when we started: let us answer with trust and obedience.

Super

2 Peter 1:12-18 & Matthew 17:1-9
Transfiguration of the Lord

We don’t usually notice it, but we are constantly being transformed into someone else.  We start life with a certain genetic code and then start changing immediately.  From a word our parents said to us as children, to the friendships we make, to what we eat and drink, to how we slept the night before; everything has subtly shaped us into the people we are this morning.  

And yet, there are some things shape us more than others.  There are those moments we can name; moments in our lives that we look back on, and know that we are no longer who we once were.  We each have those moments in our lives (some good, some bad) when we see how we have been changed forever.  Perhaps those around us don’t see it as well as we do–things others can’t perceive them just by looking at us—but we know that inside, we are not the same.  

I’ve shared the story of my daughter’s birth before (if you haven’t heard the story, ask me about it, it’s a good one).  Her birth was an event like that for me.  I know that I am not the same because of it.  I have a very different perspective on God's plan than I did before.  If I seem sometimes unusually confident that God loves us and cares for us forever, it might have something to do with that event.  

But my point is this: suppose you were on that mountain with Jesus—suppose you saw his radiance and the appearance of Moses and Elijah—do you think that be one of those moments for you?  Do you suppose there is any way that you could walk back down that mountain the same person you were on the way up?  Would that be a memory you carried with you everywhere you went?  

I believe that God gives us those moments for that very reason.  I believe that God gives us these life-changing moments, so that our lives will be transformed and that we will go out into the world sharing this transformation in what we do and say.  

So, to answer my own question, “Would this experience of witnessing the transfiguration of Jesus change you as a person?”  The answer is clearly, “yes.”  We read this morning the words of that same Peter who was one of the three with Jesus that day.  Many years later (now looking at the very-soon end of his ministry) we see that he is still looking back to that amazing day.  Eugene Peterson, from the Bible translation The Message, says: “We weren't, you know, just wishing on a star when we laid the facts out before you regarding the powerful return of our Master, Jesus Christ.  We were there for the preview!”  

Of course this event changed Peter!  Of course this was a day that he would look back on as a day that shaped who he would then become.  The gospel writers tell us that the three disciples kept this event a secret until after the Resurrection, but you know they talked about it after that!  Wouldn't you?  I know you would!  Some of us repeat the same stories to each other again and again.  Part of it is probably age, but part of it is that they’re good stories.  I know you’ve heard some of my better stories in sermons more than once, but none of them are anywhere near as interesting as the story of the transfiguration!  Maybe that's why it comes up in the seasons of the church every year: to remind us, as Peter says, of things we already know; to remind us that this Jesus, that we worship and follow, was the very glory of God; that by his transfiguration we know that we are transformed as well.  

I’m noticing that Hollywood has figured out that they can make money, hand over fist, with superhero movies.  I don’t know your feelings on the genre, but clearly somebody is watching these films.  For me, I’m not as interested in the explosions and the fighting as I am in the characters themselves.  What would it be like to be one of these superheroes? 

I’ve noticed that there are two major types of superheroes: those that put on a costume and those who take one off.  Here’s what I mean: look at superheroes like Batman or Spiderman.  Batman is really Bruce Wayne… he puts on a costume to become Batman.  Spiderman is really Peter Parker… he puts on a costume to become Spiderman.  But then you have heroes like Superman: Superman is Superman… he’s got to put on a costume to become Clark Kent.  Wonder Woman is Wonder Woman… she’s got to put on her Diana Prince costume to blend in and hold down a job.  

So what kind of superhero is Jesus? Is his glorious appearance on that mountain the superhero costume that Jesus put on for that moment, or was that Jesus taking off his alter ego and revealing who he truly was?  Was the Jesus that the disciples walked with every other day the real Jesus or was that the costume that he wore to hide his true identity?  

As I think about it, I’m not sure it’s either: I don't think the transfigured Jesus is Jesus in a superhero costume and neither do I think that the everyday Jesus was his mild-mannered alter-ego.  In fact, what I think this shows us about Jesus, is a little mind blowing.  Because I think that when Jesus was transfigured, we saw him for who he truly was.  This was the glory of God, shining into the world in order to save us from ourselves.  But unlike Superman, this was not his superhero costume!  Jesus didn't do his work in spandex and a cape, his outfit... actually blended into a crowd pretty well.  He dressed like everybody else.  He lived where normal people lived.  He did many of the things that normal people do.  In many ways, he didn't look very much different than anyone else.  And yet, it was in that outfit that he did the most for us.  

I am struck this morning by the fact that although Jesus at the Transfiguration was Jesus at his most impressive (aside from the resurrection), this is not Jesus saving the world.  This vision of Jesus was so impressive that Peter wants to move in—so impressive that Peter never forgets the vision, yet this is not the Jesus that does the most good.  That Jesus—the Savior Jesus—frankly looked a lot like us.  

Now why do you suppose that was?  Why do you think Jesus' Superman costume... looks a lot like our costumes?  Do you think that it might have something to do with the fact that Jesus calls people who look quite a bit like us, to carry on his work?  Maybe this story of his transfiguration does more than just remind us that we have been changed too.  Maybe it also reminds us that, as we get dressed in the morning, we're really putting on our superhero outfits before we go out and save the world.  

Now, you may not be stronger than a locomotive or faster than a speeding bullet or able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, but you can do things that the people in this world need quite a bit more.  You can bring that same healing and hope that Jesus brought to us.  For we are no ordinary people: through Jesus our Savior we are transformed into the Body of Christ himself.  

And so he now calls us to put on our superhero suits (which look surprisingly like our own clothes) and go out and be the transfigured people that we truly are.