If You Only Knew

Have you ever said that?  “If you only knew.”  Have you ever heard it said to you?  Not fun, is it?  On either side, the saying or the hearing.  The phrase implies a breach, a lack of understanding, a miscommunication of some significant scale. It speaks of a brokenness that can lie between even the closest of companions, of friends or family or lovers.  If you only knew.

So, tell me.  That’s my response to “if you only knew.”  Tell me, I want to know.  I want to hear your words, I want to know your thoughts, I want to know you.  Tell me.  Speak to me, share with me, be with me.  Don’t expect me to read minds, don’t keep me guessing.  I need to know, want to know.  Tell me, show me.

I say this to folks all the time, to couples about to get married, to those already married and finding it more difficult than they realized when they were about to get married and now were wishing they had paid attention in those earlier conversations or at least remembered some of the things we talked about.  I point out the that ceremony doesn’t confer extra-sensory powers, that mind reading doesn’t come with the slipping of rings on fingers.  Tell them, speak up.  You want them to know something, tell them, for heaven’s sake.

“For heaven’s sake.  Tell me.”  I did tell you.  “Use words, I can’t just figure it out, you have to speak.”  I did tell you.  “I mean, I’m not ... wait, what?”

I miss stuff.  That’s the truth of it.  I get wrapped up my own thoughts, my own desires, my own self and forget to pay attention to what is going on around me sometimes.  I don’t think I’m the only one.  But that’s not really an excuse.  True, but not an excuse.  This outward focus thing is harder to sustain than we realize.  It’s like having to reorient our radar, it’s like having to step aside from being the center of your own world.  And that is hard, some would say impossible, especially living in a culture that says “I’m number one!”

You miss stuff.  Admit it, you do, I can’t be the only one.  Someone is longing for you to know something but you are missing it.  Someone needs you to know something, to be something, to respond to something.  To see something.  Open your eyes.  Can it be that simple?  No, but yes.  Open your eyes.  That what they want and need.  That’s what Jesus wants.  Really?  Yeah, really.

Luke 19:37-44  As he was now approaching the path down from the Mount of Olives, the whole multitude of the disciples began to praise God joyfully with a loud voice for all the deeds of power that they had seen,  38 saying, "Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!"  39 Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to him, "Teacher, order your disciples to stop."  40 He answered, "I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out."  41 As he came near and saw the city, he wept over it,  42 saying, "If you, even you, had only recognized on this day the things that make for peace! But now they are hidden from your eyes.  43 Indeed, the days will come upon you, when your enemies will set up ramparts around you and surround you, and hem you in on every side.  44 They will crush you to the ground, you and your children within you, and they will not leave within you one stone upon another; because you did not recognize the time of your visitation from God." 

To claim that Luke 19 is an emotional roller coaster is to grossly underestimate the plummet from the heights praise and glory to the depths of divine despair which then makes a whiplash turn to explode in righteous anger.  The chapter begins with the children’s song of Zacchaeus (“he climbed up in a sycamore tree for the lord he wanted to see”) and the parable of the talents (“you wicked slave!” At least you could have put it in a bank for my .001 % interest (sorry)).  But then it runs to the Palm Sunday event which is where we pick up the story.  We skipped the donkey-napping and moved right to the triumphal procession.  “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!”  They shouted and cheered and danced, flinging their coats and pulling branches off the trees.  It got so out of hand that the stodgy Pharisees told Jesus to tell them to keep it down.  You’re going to wake the Romans, and they get grouchy when roused.  But Jesus says it is time to praise.  This is the moment, this is the place, these are the voices that must be raised.  And then, he stopped.

I don’t know how you have pictured Palm Sunday, but it always seemed like a city thing.  He came bursting into the gates and everyone got excited.  A “rock this city” kinda vibe, a “dancing in the streets” spontaneous flash mod sort of scene.  But Luke says they hadn’t even gotten to the city yet.  They were coming down from the Mount of Olives and this event burst forth in the suburbs.  The Pharisees, who it seems were always hovering around letting their displeasure be known at every opportunity, were trying to stifle the exuberance before they got to the city walls.  So, they were sort of hop-skipping along side Jesus on his donkey telling him to put a cork in it and he was saying, no this is right, this is good, this is a God-moment.  And he comes around a bend.

You know those moments where you are just driving along and all of a sudden you come around a bend in the road and a vista opens up in front of you and it takes your breath away.  The mountains leap from the horizon and startle with their majesty and wonder.  The ocean rolls into view with all its endless power and relentless waves carving sculptures in the rock of the shoreline.  The city with its man-made towers like fingers reaching to the heavens and the lights making it sparkle out a dream of a better world.  And whatever conversation you were just wrapped up in is forgotten as you take in the view.

Maybe it was like that.  The Pharisees forgotten as Jesus gazes at the walls of Jerusalem and the sprawl of human habitation crowned by the magnificence of the temple a work or art and architecture unmatched by anything on earth.  And he began to weep.  The party winds down like a toy that loses its momentum, like a balloon that wasn’t tied tightly enough and they stand and stare in confusion as he weeps.

Then he speaks “If you only knew.”  Was it loud enough for everyone to hear or was it a whispered prayer, a last breath about to die exhalation.  Jerusalem, the city of Peace, it was in the name (shalom - salem).  “If you only knew the things that make for peace,” he breathed.  

Brows furrowed, questions came unbidden.  “Weren’t we just shouting for peace?”  “Peace in heaven,” they said.  Glory in heaven, they shouted.  But peace was in their midst.  Glory was riding a donkey down the hill right beside them.  They missed it and he knew it.  And it was about to get worse.  Much, much worse.

In years to come the Romans grew tired of trying to rule the unruly, and came and laid siege to the city, throwing up a rampart behind which they sat to starve out the inhabitants of the city of peace.  The stories from that time are gruesome and inhumane, worthy of the tears of a savior.

They missed it.  They were wrapped up in their own agendas, in their own hopes and dreams, and missed it when God rode into town, on a donkey, within reach, touching distance.  They missed it.  We miss it.  The offer of love, the moment of service, the gift of joy.  We miss it, Jesus who rides through our lives weeping at the many times we are too wrapped up in ourselves to see him.  We miss it.  And it breaks his heart, and ours.

But he keeps riding.  Keeps offering.  Keeps being present.  Open your eyes.  If you only knew.

Shalom, 

Derek

And Suddenly ... Peace

Let’s see if we can recount all the things that are piling on in these next few days.  Well, of course, it is Mother’s Day on Sunday.  Better put that one at the top of the list.  Then the kids come back next week.  Maddie is done on Tuesday and Rhys is done on Thursday (actually Wednesday, but says he needs another night to pack and recover - uh huh.)  Maddie’s 19th birthday is next Friday (19?  How in the world did that happen?  One more year and we won’t have teenagers anymore.  The mind boggles.)  Then the following Monday I leave for Minneapolis for a week of preaching and preachers, my very favorite Continuing Education event of the year.  Then I come back in time for our 34th Wedding Anniversary.  Hmm, better come up with something significant for that.  (Email your ideas to me, ASAP!)  After that is Annual Conference (not my favorite continuing education event of the year).  And somewhere in the midst of all of that the kids head off for summer jobs, Rhys back to DePauw where he works in the housing department all summer and Maddie off to Lakewood Camp where she is on the activities team for a summer-long series of elementary camps.

Not to mention that we are about to enter into the third week of the new Sunday morning schedule with Heartbeat worship at 9am in the Sanctuary and Genesis worship at 11am in The Street.  A radical and undoubtedly unsettling shift in time and style and setting that has gone - admittedly for only two weeks - amazingly ... well.

I almost hesitate to mention it for fear that I’ll destabilize the peace that has reigned since we made the switch at the end of April.  Like the sports commentator who doesn’t want to point out that the pitcher has a no hitter going, afraid that he will jinx it.  And yet it is an event worth celebrating.  We are moving forward.  We are still in one piece.  One peace.  I’m sure that there are those disturbed by the changes, and everyone is still adjusting, but no one seems to be talking about it at this point.  No, that’s not right.  No one is talking negatively, no one is complaining, there is peace at Aldersgate.

Surprisingly.  Startlingly.  Suddenly.  Peace.  Which is how I know that it has little to do with me or any of the other leaders, lay or clergy.  Suddenly peace isn't something within our capabilities.  Everything has changed, and yet nothing has changed.  The schedules, the plans, the busy work of the church is all over the place.  There are some folks who are working their ... well ... their selves off to accomplish the new things.  There are some folks who have always been hard workers who have had to shift what they are doing, re-energize, re-think, re-work what they have been doing in order to accommodate changes.  And that still continues.  There is excitement and fear in equal measures.  There is faith and doubt laboring side by side.  There is hope and there is caution vying for our attention almost constantly.  There is vision and uncertainty swirling around in all of us.

In other words, business as usual.  When has it ever not been like that?  When has it ever been calm and easy going, everyone content and happy little campers, without expending boatloads of energy and effort?  When have we ever been able to bring about more than a lull in the struggles, a cease fire in the antagonism, a temporary truce among combatants?

Well, never, really.  At least on our own.  We need something, or Someone to break in with good news of a great joy that we might have peace.  Wait, that sounds familiar.

Luke 2:8-14  In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night.  9 Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified.  10 But the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid; for see-- I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people:  11 to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.  12 This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger."  13 And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying,  14 "Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors!"

Suddenly peace.  It is an interruption.  It is a moment that stands apart, out of time, out of the box, out of the norm.  They were minding their own business those shepherds.  Well, someone else’s business actually.  They were laborers, workers in the field that had nothing invested except the need to make a living, to provide for themselves and their families.  It wasn't their flock, they were assigned.  But they were doing their job, whatever the people thought of them.  And the evidence is they didn't think much of them.  They were looked down upon, those shepherds.  But they didn't care.  They did their job, hung out in fields, maybe drank a little too much, maybe were a bit course for polite society, rough around the edges.  No big deal.  You try spending time with sheep, they are smelly and stupid and more trouble than they were worth.  Wasn't much of a job, but it was a job.  So, who cares what the city folk thought.  They didn't want to be friends with them anyway, they could all go to ... temple, as far as the shepherds cared.  Nothing to do with them, all this worship stuff anyway.

Until worship came and found them.  Until the skies lit up and voices rained down and their guts turned flip flops and their ability to speak deserted them.  Until they looked up and saw the immensity of the universe.  Until they felt about as small as they ever had and still wished they could get smaller.  Until they began to get the sense that maybe all that immensity was on their side, was for them.  And then they began to feel bigger than they ever had.  But it was a bigness that had to be shared.  A bigness that needed community, needed connection.  It was good news of a great joy.  So, they ran off to make peace.  To bring the peace that was in them to anyone and everyone, and especially the one they were sent to find.  The one that was the source of that peace.  The one who looked like any of a number of other poor kids born to parents too poor to buy him a bed.  And yet this was the one, somehow this was the one who came bringing peace.

Into our midst has been slipped a present.  No, a presence.  Something beyond us and yet within us.  Something from someplace alien to us, and yet our true home.  Something that is so unlike us and yet is what we long to become.  This Something, or Someone, is like us, is in us and yet is still far from us.  And that gap wounds us, that distance is like an ache that we need to soothe, a wound we need to heal.  And sometimes we lash out in anger or frustration because we are not whole, because we are hurting and it feels like this world is what is keeping us from healing.  We look for someone or something to blame.  We cover ourselves with stuff, with activity, with going and doing so that we won’t have to think anymore.  Because when we do, we think of what is missing.  We think of what isn't ours.  We think of the sadness of our soul.

Then suddenly.  I wish I had a better way to describe it.  I wish I had a formula for making it happen.  A three step process to bring you peace, a four word code that would fill the hole in your heart, a ... but I don’t have one of those.  Because it doesn't come from me, or from you.  Or from anything you can do or stop doing.

Except listen to the angel voices.  Except look up into the immensity that is the universe in which we live.  And believe.  Believe that it is for you.  For us.  For the family of God, the community of faith, the body of Christ.  And trust that someday, maybe someday soon, maybe suddenly peace will come and enfold you, it will bring you home.  And your calendar will be just as full.  But it will be full of peacemaking, peace living.  It will be full of love and joy and peace.  Suddenly.  Wow.

Shalom,
Derek

Like a Wrecking Ball

No, not that one.  Sigh.  I was thinking of Bruce Springsteen’s Wrecking Ball.  It is a song about defiance, about standing up the face of destruction and decay, about valuing what is good and right, about protecting home and heritage.  And besides I like Springsteen a whole lot better.  A whole lot.

But then I did the research.  Yeah, pop culture research, sounds almost oxymoronic, I know.  But there it is.  And dang it if that other one didn’t fit better than the one I wanted.   Dang it.  

I came in like a wrecking ball / I never hit so hard in love / All I wanted was to break your walls / All you ever did was wreck me

Dang it.  It could have been written by St Paul.  No, I can’t picture him swinging in seated on a giant wrecking ball wearing what he came into the world with, can’t imagine him twerking in the acropolis, but the idea in this chorus sounds hauntingly like the words he wrote in our passage for this weekend.  At least a central point.  Don’t believe me?  Don’t believe that Miley Cyrus could stumble across some scripture truth?  Well, me neither.  But here it is.

Ephesians 2:13-22  But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ.  14 For he is our peace; in his flesh he has made both groups into one and has broken down the dividing wall, that is, the hostility between us.  15 He has abolished the law with its commandments and ordinances, that he might create in himself one new humanity in place of the two, thus making peace,  16 and might reconcile both groups to God in one body through the cross, thus putting to death that hostility through it.  17 So he came and proclaimed peace to you who were far off and peace to those who were near;  18 for through him both of us have access in one Spirit to the Father.  19 So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God,  20 built upon the foundation of the apostles and prophets, with Christ Jesus himself as the cornerstone.  21 In him the whole structure is joined together and grows into a holy temple in the Lord;  22 in whom you also are built together spiritually into a dwelling place for God. 

So many things that jump out at us in these verses.  But running through it all like a .. well, like a wrecking ball is the image of the wall.  There is division in this passage, separation.  There is us and them, there is then and now, there is the in and the out, the strangers and the citizens, the aliens and the members of the household.  Makes you wonder what a word like peace is doing in such a setting.  Makes you wonder if peace is even possible when there is so much division.  It would take a monumental effort to overcome those divisions, to tear down those walls.  It would take something that seems beyond us.  

A set up?  Well, maybe.  But we have come to accept Jesus as the answer so much that we’ve forgotten what the questions are.  We have come to see the easy solution to problems that we’ve forgotten just how pervasive and how immense those problems really are.  We think walking with Jesus is a stroll in the park when in fact it is a long hard climb up insurmountable peaks.

He is our peace.  We love that idea.  We lean into that comfort, that joy.  We beg for a little bit of peace.  Jesus is the comforter who pats us on the head in the quiet moments of our lives before sending us out to survive in the moral fray that surrounds us.  If we can just hold on, we think, if we can just stay clean and undaunted by the struggles all around us then we can retreat back into the loving arms of Jesus who will love us back into health, who will wipe away our tears and bind up our wounds.

It is a wonderful thought, and it is often what sustains us.  It is often just what we need.  The Jesus who soothes and comforts.  The Jesus who tells us that all will be well.  The Jesus who cleans up the messes we have made with our lives.  With this Jesus at our side, then we can sing with Springsteen “Bring on your wrecking ball!”  We know that hard times will come, we know that hopes and dreams will be dashed, we know that all our youth and beauty will be given to the dust.  But we also know that this isn’t the whole story.  We know that there is more, there is eternity, there is something beyond the horizon and no matter how many hard times come, there is always God’s time, God’s reign, God’s Kingdom still to come.  And Christ will welcome us home.  We can hold on knowing that.  Jesus will welcome us home.

That is the real Jesus.  Trust me on this. The real Jesus, but not all of Jesus.  Why Paul writes “He is our peace” he doesn’t have the quiet, gentle, comforting Jesus who just wants to give us some time to ourselves.  No, he has something bigger in mind, something louder, more transformative.  He’s been listening to Miley, I’m afraid.  I came in like a wrecking ball / I never hit so hard in love / All I wanted was to break your walls / All you ever did was wreck me  

This wrecking ball Jesus is about knocking down walls, the walls that divide us, the walls of hostility.  In love he hit so hard that all the things that keep us separate, all the measures we use to rise above another, to be better than, to be more important than, have all been knocked down.  Not just knocked down, but reduced to rubble.  Destroyed.  Eliminated.  

It wasn’t an easy battle.  It took blood, it took death, it took all that he had to pour out for us.  But he did it.  Came in like a wrecking ball, and got wrecked in the process.  But the walls came down, because of that love, the walls came down.

But here’s the funny thing.  Well, maybe not so funny.  Maybe tragic would be a better word to use.  Here’s the tragic thing, the terrible thing, here is the horrible reality.  We still think we are living behind those walls.  We still think we are defined by those walls.  We still think we are to keep to ourselves, to keep to our own kind, as herded behind those walls.

The walls are down, but we still live as though they were not.  As though there are still strangers and aliens.  As though there are those in and those out.  As though there are those near and those far.  And the result of that is that sometimes we are the outs, we are far away, we are strangers and aliens.  As long as we believe there are such divisions, we will continually find ourselves on the wrong side.  We build the walls that Christ destroyed and find ourselves not protected but imprisoned, not released to a better life but cowering behind the very divisions we reestablish.

He is our peace.  He is what binds us together into one body, into one family.  This peace is not an inner peace to keep us sane in an insane world.  This is a wrecking ball of peace that knocks down the insane divisions, the madness of superiority, and binds us together with those who are just like us, surprisingly just like us.  Those we thought were so different, are reflections of the same God that we try to bear in our hands and hearts and words and deeds, are really brothers and sisters.  We sit at table with them in defiance of a world that wants to build more walls.  And when we encounter those divisive construction projects, then we, like him, come in like a wrecking ball.  We strike hard in love.  We tear down those walls.  Even if we get wrecked in the process.  Even if.  Because if we don’t, if we let those walls stay up, then we will never know peace.  We will never know him.  Like we long to.  Like we need to.  Because he is our peace.

Shalom, 

Derek

But Soft

Four hundred and fifty years after the man who first penned those words was born, we still recognize them.  But soft.  Some of you can even continue the monologue: But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? / It is the East, and Juliet is the sun! / Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, / Who is already sick and pale with grief / That thou her maid art far more fair than she.

Ah, that Romeo, he had it bad.  This is the 450th anniversary of the birth of William Shakespeare. Which has nothing whatsoever to do with this week’s bible text, but I thought I’d through that in.  Just for a literary reference.  Just for a little culture.  And because when I thought of our Eastertide theme, those words are the ones that came to mind, oddly enough.  But soft.

We are moving on to the third Fruit of the Spirit that Paul enumerates in Galatians 5:22: Peace.  “The fruit of the Spirit is love”, we knew that, have experienced that.  “Is love, joy,” well, duh, joy tumbles along after love.  The end result of loving is joy, even in the midst of the heartache which also comes from loving.  Joy is there because a sense of rightness, of being brought out of yourself long enough love something, someone else.  Joy is the out come of other centered love.  “Is love, joy, peace ...”  Really?

I’m on board with love and joy being partners, of one leading to the other.  But peace?  It seems the more we love the more we lose our grip on peace.  Even when the object of our love is God, it seems we are driven to more action, more activity - good as it is, joyous as it is, it just seems like stirring more things up.  The opposite of peace, don’t you think?  I mean, isn’t peace about kicking back?  About letting it ride, about not getting worked up, about no conflict, no agitation.  Isn’t peace like a Sunday afternoon nap?

But soft!  That’s peace, isn’t it?  Soft stuff, easy stuff, gentle stuff (I know gentle is coming up later, we’ll get there.)  How in the world can peace be much of a hope in these troubled times, in these busy times.  Even we who have things going in our favor seem to still be struggling to get through each day.  How can that be peace?

How about it James?

James 3:13-18   Who is wise and understanding among you? Show by your good life that your works are done with gentleness born of wisdom.  14 But if you have bitter envy and selfish ambition in your hearts, do not be boastful and false to the truth.  15 Such wisdom does not come down from above, but is earthly, unspiritual, devilish.  16 For where there is envy and selfish ambition, there will also be disorder and wickedness of every kind.  17 But the wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, willing to yield, full of mercy and good fruits, without a trace of partiality or hypocrisy.  18 And a harvest of righteousness is sown in peace for those who make peace.  

Evelyn Underhill wrote that it was interesting to her how the time that Jesus wanted to offer his followers peace was when they were on the threshold of the most tumultuous time of their lives together.  “Peace I leave with you, peace I give to you.  I do not give to you as the world gives.  Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.”  Then he went out a died a most painful death.  Then we was betrayed and denied and abandoned.  Then he was beaten to a bloody pulp and hung on a cross to suffocate and die, to be mocked and spat upon, sneered at and ignored as one more example of how not to live in peace.  “Not as the world gives.”

Maybe that’s our problem.  Maybe we just don’t understand peace. Maybe we’ve defined peace as the absence of something, of conflict, or worry, of trouble, of doubt; but Jesus wants us to define peace as a presence.  Peace is not what we’ve emptied from ourselves, but what we’ve filled ourselves with.  And what we’ve not filled ourselves with is ourselves.  At least according to James.

James doesn’t like all this hanging around waiting for stuff to happen.  He wants to get to work.  James is a doer, a worker.  And he says we are going to fill ourselves up with something, we are going occupy ourselves with something, it might as well be the right things.  There are the heavy things, says James, the things that weigh you down, the things that are never satisfied, never enough, the things that always want more, that measure your worth not by what you have but by what you don’t have, or what someone else has.  We can occupy ourselves with filling that bottomless pit in our souls that is never content but will use any means, will break any bond, will step on any toe to get what satisfies that gnawing hunger that won’t ever go away.

Or, James says, praise be to God there is an or, we can make peace, sow peace.  We can work peace, says James.  The peace that says I am not the center of the universe, even the universe of my own understanding and experience.  The peace that says while I am loved and valued, I understand that best when I love and value others, when I act out of respect and hospitality, when I cede center stage so that I might applaud another, when I give aid and comfort, when I bind up and heal, when I mentor and teach, when I pour myself out in the name of God into lives of those I love around me.  

The harvest James mentions is not peace.  Did you notice? Peace is not an end.  I know we pray give me peace.  Jesus even said there in the Gospel of John, I give you peace, my peace I give to you.  But it isn’t so that we can become peace hoarders, so that we can stock up on peace for the lean times, the difficult times.  Peace is the mode of action.  Peace is the methodology by which we choose to be at work in the world.  We sow in peace, we make peace, we bring peace, we toss peace around like seeds, like cool drinks of water on sweltering days, we plant peace in hearts - our own and everyone else’s.  

It sounds like work.  Kind of the opposite of what we thought peace was, once upon a time.  The kicking back not really caring kind of peace. No, this peace is the enemy of apathy.  This peace turns the tables on injustice.  This peace brings a sword that cuts through pretensions and falsehood, through prejudice and oppression.  Yes, it is work.  Sowing in peace is an all consuming enterprise.  But it does have an end.  A harvest James calls it.  A result.

Righteousness.  That’s what James calls it.  A harvest of righteousness.  Which is what exactly?  Well, Jesus called it the Kingdom of God.  It is the body of Christ living as though they were a body.  It is a community of faith and faithfulness that lives in love together and builds a sanctuary against the life that tears down and separates.  Righteousness is about being faithful to our relationships, about honoring the covenants, with God first of all, but then also with brothers and sisters - those in the faith and those not yet there.  Righteousness is about living as though God was the determiner of who was worth loving and who wasn’t.  

Peace, like joy then, is an outcome of love.  When we learn to love God we will know peace.  When we learn to love like God then we will make peace, we will sow in peace.  

Now whether we will compare the ones we love to the moon or not is open for discussion.  But soft.

Shalom, 

Derek

Hush

Why is it that some moments and some places just seem to call for quiet?  There are times when loud voices just seem out of place, offensive, insensitive.  When even speaking at all seems like telling an off-color joke at church, like tromping muddy rain boots across clean white carpets, farm boots in a ballroom.  Like ... well, like something that makes you shiver.  

There must have been a lot of shivering on the first Holy Saturday.  Which, I am sure, felt anything but holy to those who had to endure it.  The silence had to weigh upon them, like an unbearable burden that nonetheless had to be borne.  Trudging through the hush like waist deep in mud, every movement an effort, every action a strain.  

Every beat of their hearts pounded out the wrongness of all that had come to be in the past few days.  Every unspoken word that died on their lips shouted at the cruelty of the world they now reluctantly had to inhabit.  Every tear that rolled unbidden down numb faces bore silent witness to an inner agony of body and soul.  

The hush was a shield that kept the broken reality at arms length.  It was a full body armor that shut out those who couldn’t possibly understand; a cave within which to lick wounds too raw to expose to the elements.  It was protection as well as the pain of emptiness, it was small comfort in an experience of discomfort.  

We are uncomfortable with silence, even when that is all we have.  We feel inadequate in the face of the hush.  “I just didn’t know what to say,” we complain, we confess.  We wanted to fill the silence, but didn’t have any words.  

On the other hand, there is silence and there is silence.  There is silence that hurts, the beats down, that reveals inadequacies and there is silence that heals, that gathers up, that binds hearts.  Easter comes in silence.  Don’t think so?  Take a look.

Matthew 28:1-10  After the sabbath, as the first day of the week was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb.  2 And suddenly there was a great earthquake; for an angel of the Lord, descending from heaven, came and rolled back the stone and sat on it.  3 His appearance was like lightning, and his clothing white as snow.  4 For fear of him the guards shook and became like dead men.  5 But the angel said to the women, "Do not be afraid; I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified.  6 He is not here; for he has been raised, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay.  7 Then go quickly and tell his disciples, 'He has been raised from the dead, and indeed he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him.' This is my message for you."  8 So they left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy, and ran to tell his disciples.  9 Suddenly Jesus met them and said, "Greetings!" And they came to him, took hold of his feet, and worshiped him.  10 Then Jesus said to them, "Do not be afraid; go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me." 

Matthew says the women went to see.  No, carrying of baskets of spices, no task awaiting them, no conversation about the weight of the stone that covered the entrance to his tomb.  They went, with silence clinging to them, to see.  To see if this terrible dream was in fact reality.  To see if all they had come to believe in was now rubble.  To see the stone of death and darkness so that they could dash their hopes against those rocks.  

Matthew the seismologist says there was yet another earthquake.  Were they standing there before the tomb weeping in the silence when the ground began to shake?  Did they see that figure, that embodied light, roll back the stone as though it had no more substance than a dream?   And did he, she, it then proceed to sit on it like a wrestler announcing victory over vanquished foes?  When he spoke did it sound like lightning slashing through the air?  Did her voice make their hair stand on end?

“I know you are looking for Jesus who was crucified.”  Were they?  Were they looking for him?  Or were they hoping not to see him?  Or were they just putting one foot in front of the other, trying to find a starting point for the rest of their lives?  But then you can see their brows furrow in confusion as the glowing figure announces that they’ve come to the wrong place.  There’s no one here by that description, he tells them.  No one lying decaying on a slab of stone that you might have at one time recognized, that you might have at one time loved with your whole being.  No, not at this address.

But wait, he grins into their confusion, he left a forwarding order.  He left an invitation, she smiles toward them.  First of all, take a look, since I can tell you aren’t with me yet, then go, gather up the gang, and get on the road.  He’s on his way.  The one you came to pay your respects to, the one you thought was lying on a stone slab behind a rock door, that one is up and about and on his way.

And they haven’t said a word.  Did you notice that?  In all this wondrous encounter, the silence still grips them.  They stumble away from the lightning clad being and start to hightail it out of there.  Going to tell, as they were told, perhaps.  But just getting away from a place of death that wasn’t anymore toward a place of hope they thought they’d lost.  But they didn’t take two steps, maybe three, who’s counting? And a suddenly happened.  Suddenly Jesus.  Suddenly death no longer had the last word.  Suddenly the end wasn’t the end.  Suddenly the certainties of living in this world were no longer so certain.  So they did the only thing that made any sense in that moment.  They fell down.  No, wait, there’s more.  They fell down and grabbed hold and they held on for dear life.  Or they held on to dear life.  The life that had been with them until it was nailed so cruelly to a cross and left to die along the side of a road.  The life that had defined them, had remade them, had claimed them.  That’s the life they clung to on that dusty road that first Easter morning.  And they worshiped.  Him, they worshiped Him.

But what did they say?  What hymns did they sing, what prayers did they pray?  What anthems rang out on that cemetery road, what sermons were proclaimed to the feet of one who died yet lives?  Nothing.  Well, nothing was recorded.  It could have been babbling, or it could have eloquent.  It could have been remembered psalms and prayers, it could have been impromptu praise.  Or, it could have been silence.  The hush of wonder and awe.

Why is it that some moments and some places just seem to call for quiet?  Because words fail us.  As much as we rely on them, as much as we need them to put shape to our experiences and to invite others to know us and be with us, there are times when they fail us.  When there aren’t words to define, to border, to shape our experience so all we are left with is silence.  But not a silence that drags us down, that burdens our hearts.  This is a silence, this is a hush that lifts our spirits and ushers us into the presence - no, the Presence -  of the Holy.  

Oh, there is a time for shouting, and it is right around the corner.  They will get to their feet in a moment and will run with the wind shouting the disciples’ names and the news they’ve been given.  But for now, in this moment... be still and know.  Hush.

Shalom, 

Derek

Parade

I've never been in a parade. Watched a few up close, tuned in the Macy’s Parade on Thanksgiving (which, by the way, my brother was in this year, or last year.  He was the really tall one walking behind the Sesame Street float.  Couldn’t miss him.  If you were watching.  For the couple of microseconds that they showed the people walking behind the Sesame Street float.  He was wearing a hat. Remember?  No?  Oh, well.) I’ve never been in a parade.

Doesn’t bother me all that much.  I mean who wants all the attention.  The adulation of the crowds, the cheers and the waves, the throng lining the streets, wanting to be you.  In that moment you are the center of attention, the brightest star in the firmament, the man of the hour, the woman of the year.  Who wouldn’t want to be in a parade?

Do you think that was why he did it?  For the attention, for the adulation.  Knowing what was to come, did he just want to soak up a little bit of honor before subjected to the shame and suffering that was to be his lot?  Who could blame him if it was the reason?  And yet it doesn’t seem quite right, that even here on this threshold, the one who would soon be on his knees washing the dust of the city streets of the feet of those called his followers, would be so self-serving on that first Palm Sunday.

We’ve come around to the parade again.  That odd little celebration marked by palm leaves and shouting in church.  Maybe if you are one of those go all out kind of churches you even bring in a donkey to parade up and down the aisle of your sanctuary, while the trustees keep a wary eye on the trailing end, just in case.  

Here is what we’re remembering this weekend.  Here is Matthew’s remembrance of what took place that day.

Matthew 21:1-11  When they had come near Jerusalem and had reached Bethphage, at the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two disciples,  2 saying to them, "Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied, and a colt with her; untie them and bring them to me.  3 If anyone says anything to you, just say this, 'The Lord needs them.' And he will send them immediately. "  4 This took place to fulfill what had been spoken through the prophet, saying,  5 "Tell the daughter of Zion, Look, your king is coming to you, humble, and mounted on a donkey, and on a colt, the foal of a donkey."  6 The disciples went and did as Jesus had directed them;  7 they brought the donkey and the colt, and put their cloaks on them, and he sat on them.  8 A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road.  9 The crowds that went ahead of him and that followed were shouting, "Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest heaven!"  10 When he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, "Who is this?"  11 The crowds were saying, "This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee." 

So many questions come to mind as we read this story.  Was this prearranged or was it somehow mystical, or did the disciples commit grand donkey larceny?  If the crowd was really large as Matthew says, then who was the “whole city” asking the identity question from the fringes of the parade?  Or was this the first instance of a “preacher estimate”?  And how did Jesus manage to sit on a donkey and its colt at the same time?  What the crowd drawn by some sort of divine balancing act?  And did the home owners lining the impromptu parade route complain about the crowd pulling branches off the trees?

More importantly, however, the real question was did they get it?  This was a message Jesus was trying to send.  Matthew got it.  It may have taken him some years after the fact, but he got it.  That’s why he dredges up Zechariah’s words to help us get the point.  The king who comes, not on a war horse, but on a donkey of peace.  Did they get it?

They shouted Hosanna, that implies they got it.  Hosanna translates as “Save us!”  So maybe they got it.  Matthew says the crowd was large.  Maybe they got it, or wanted to anyway.  But then the city was clueless, who is this?  And maybe the city and the crowd were marching side by side, maybe the crowd was large but was made up of followers and city dwellers, some who got it many who didn’t.  Maybe they were marching along waving their branches and shouting Hosanna (which scholars tell us came to mean Hooray, or even Howdy by that time, not the prayer of petition that it once meant. Sort of like the word Goodbye, which was originally a blessing - God be with you - but now is nothing more than a wave, a signal, a cipher), but their brows were furrowed and they would turn to the one beside them and say “why are doing this again?”  And maybe the response would be a shrug.  Maybe it would be “That’s Jesus, the guy from Galilee.”  “Oh, right” they would say pretending to know who in the world Jesus from Galilee was.

Did they get it?  It is hard to say.  One thing Matthew is clear about is that disaster was right around the corner.  If there was any hope that Jesus was using this event to soak up a little good will, it would be shattered by the very next verse.  The parade didn’t end with handshakes all around and a few high fives for a job well done.  No, it trundled all the way from the gates of the city to the temple where Jesus turned over some tables and knocked over some dove cages.  It ended with a rumble.  The self proclaimed king of peace engages in an act of violence that left them shocked and confused.  What peace was he announcing?  What peace was he bringing?  And if you are going to strike a blow, why not strike against the foreign oppressors and not the economic machinery of our own people?  

Especially when that machinery will strike back.  Wouldn’t it have been better to keep a low profile?  Couldn’t he have just left a note, made a speech, wrote an editorial for the Sunday Jerusalem Times about the proper use of the Temple?  Wouldn’t that have been better?  Safer, anyway.  Why did he have to provoke?

All kinds of questions come to our minds when we pay attention to the parade on Palm Sunday.  Questions which, if you join us for worship this weekend, we won’t even attempt to answer.  Caught you with that one, didn’t I?  No, this is a listening Sunday.  And experiencing Sunday, not an answer Sunday.  Come and hear what the parade turns into.  Come and hear what steps are taken once he dismounts that donkey.  Come and pick up a branch and see if you want to walk along in this parade, come and see if you have it in you to shout Hosanna, or if the word gets caught in your throat.  Or mixed up with another word, one of frustration and anger, one of despair and hopelessness.  

Listen to his story and to yours.  “Who is this?”

I love a parade.

Shalom, 

Derek

Always

A teaching day today.  So now I’ve made the trip to Indy and back, sharing with a group of pastors exploring this thing called preaching.  It was a good day, a long day, but a good day.  I am often inspired by those training for ministry.  No matter their age, and many of them are second career and some are even older than me.  My daughter would have trouble with that last statement.  “Older than you?” I can hear her exclaim, incredulous.   Yes, it is possible.  Anyway, I enjoy and often, as I said I am inspired by them, their calling, their passion, their drive.  Often.  Not always.

Always is a hard word.  In many ways an inhuman word.  Always.  Who says that?  How do we guarantee always in a temporary kind of world?  Who knows what might be next.  I heard tell some years ago of a wedding couple that wanted to change the vows from until death do us part to “as long as love shall last.”  Now it is possible that they meant always.  That they were confident in that love.  It was an Irving Berlin kind of love (yes, Maddie I AM old) “I’ll be loving you Always / with a love that’s true Always / when the things you’ve planned / need a helping hand / I will understand Always.”   

Maybe that is what they meant when they wanted to change the vows to as long as love will last.  Maybe they were proclaiming an Irving Berlin kind of love.  Always.  Too old for you?  How about a Jon Bon Jovi love?  “And I will love you, baby - Always / And I'll be there forever and a day - Always / I'll be there till the stars don't shine / Till the heavens burst and / The words don't rhyme / And I know when I die, you'll be on my mind / And I'll love you - Always.”

Either way, Berlin or Bon Jovi, it is still a big word.  A romantic word, not a very practical word.  Always.  Not a very doable word.  Always.  For now, that fits, that works.  For a while, we can handle that.  But who has the capacity to say always?  Not me.  And, I suspect, not you.  Am I right?

Philippians 4:4-8  Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice.  5 Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near.  6 Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God.  7 And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.  8 Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.  

Dang it Paul.  Why’d you have throw that word in there?  That unreachable, impossible word?  That always word.  Take that word out and this is a nice little passage about being happy, about finding your joy, about walking on the sunny side of life.  It’s got a nice beat and you can dance to it.  A spoonful of sugar, all that sort of stuff.  But, no you weren’t happy with that.  You wanted something more, something deeper.  You wanted something, (dare I say it?), eternal.

Cover one eye and read this without that scary word.  Just for a moment.  “Rejoice in the Lord.”  Well, of course!  Who would say no to that.  Again I say rejoice.  Sure, keep reminding me, I need the boost.  I also need reminded of the source of this joy - rejoice in the Lord.  Certainly, I can do that.  I have done that.  I remember a time when there was joy in the Lord, in worship, in fellowship.  Sure, it happens.  Been there, done that.

And then, Paul says, let it spill out.  That joy in the Lord is not just for you.  Not just so that you get a boost, a lift, a skip in your step.  Let it come out.  “Let your gentleness be known to everyone.”  Gentleness?  Hmm.  Not sure that’s the best word, actually.  A good word, but not the best.  Doesn’t quite convey what Paul is getting at here.  Patience, some say, forbearance if anyone uses that word anymore, magnanimity if you want a real tongue twister.  Peterson’s The Message says, “Make it as clear as you can to all you meet that you’re on their side, working with them and not against them.”  I like that.  An earlier paraphrase said “Let all the world know that you’ll meet them half-way.”  It’s about hospitality, about welcome, about inclusion, about the fact that we are the judge, we don’t point fingers, we don’t accuse, we dropped our stones long ago, even since Jesus told us that only the sinless can throw them.  We aren’t looking to pick fights, to call names.  What we have to share is joy.  Joy in the Lord.  Let your gentleness be known to everyone.  Everyone? Paul almost slipped in an always there, didn’t he?  Everyone.  Hmmm.

Don’t worry about anything.  Yeah, ok, thanks Paul.  But no thanks.  I mean, how in the world are we going to do that?  It’s one thing to know we aren’t supposed to worry, but how do we stop?  And then because we can’t stop we end up worrying about worrying.  

I guess that’s why there is a comma there and not a period.  “Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God.”  Don’t worry, says Paul, but get on your knees.  Don’t worry, but pour it out.  Don’t worry but beg and plead and pound on the doorways of heaven with both fists, even as you know - not hope, not assume, but know - that you are heard and that answers are already all around you when you open your eyes again and put one foot in front of the other.  Don’t worry because you don’t have time to worry, you are so busy bending God’s divine ear.  Don’t worry because your life is now a prayer and the answers are coming fast and furious and surprising.

Don’t worry because from somewhere comes this sense that maybe, just maybe you are not alone in the universe.  This sense that maybe you do have a place, a home, an identity, an existence right here and right now that is meaningful, useful, transformed and transforming.  From somewhere, who knows where, God, it must be, comes a peace that even on your best days you can’t define or even describe.  It just is, passing all understanding, or your understanding anyway.  Where does it come from?  Stay tuned, that’s our Eastertide theme.

But for now.  Choose joy.  Rejoice in the Lord.  Always.  We’ve come back to that.  It is still there.  We can only squint it away for so long.  We can only ignore it for a time.  Rejoice in the Lord, Always.  Maybe we could negotiate with Paul.  Rejoice in the Lord, when it is convenient.  Rejoice in the Lord when we’ve got the time.  When we’re in the mood, when the world hasn’t taken yet another sideswipe at my confidence.  Rejoice in the Lord when I’ve run out of excuses not to.  Rejoice in the Lord ... Always.  Always?

How in the world do we do that?  Focus on the next one?  No, focus more deeply on this one.  Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.  Think on, dwell on, meditate on, take your cue from, be obsessed with these things.  Look at the list: True, honorable, just, pure, pleasing, commendable, excellent, praise-worthy.  What is that?  Who is that?  Implied in the directive is the confidence that there is enough of this out there in the world to fill us up.  And not only fill us up but give us joy.  Real joy, In the Lord joy.  Always joy.  Paul says go find Christ in the world.  Go find the one you love, the one who loves you, focus on that and you will know joy.

The fruit of the Spirit love that then brings us into joy, the joy of the Lord, always.  Always.

Always.  

Shalom, 

Derek