weird love

Acts 11:1-18

Psalm 148

Revelation 21:1-6

John 13:31-35

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Who are your teachers? Your favorites from grade school, or college? The people you currently admire as mentors and role models? How do you choose who you follow, who you study, whose words you listen to?

I guess another way to ask the question would be: who are your heroes? Lots of people this week have been talking about the beautiful gift of Prince, and the terrible loss when he died. Stories all week of the way he gave charitably, the way he was as a performer, the freedom of self-expression he afforded others who didn’t quite fit into pre-conceived boxes of how to be male or female. I saw a post on Facebook listing the amazing artists who have died recently, including Prince and David Bowie, and noting that since these icons are gone, it now falls to the fans, to the rest of us, to continue their work, to continue to inspire and create and celebrate the weirdness of every weird kid who might not know how incredible they are.

Now, being a disciple is so much more than being a fan, even the fans who claim Prince or Bowie changed their lives. And yet there are still a lot of similarities. Knowing all the lyrics is a bit like knowing all the miracles and teachings. Telling others how one song or another was so life-changing, or sharing your experience of the first concert, is bearing witness of a sort. So when we read this last line of the Gospel today, there’s a sense of a great final farewell to the fans: “By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.” Jesus is sharing this last meal with his disciples before his crucifixion, reminding them of the basics of what he is to mean to them. One of his disciples has only just left the room to gather the soldiers and authorities to arrest Jesus, night has fallen, darkness is now all around, and their life together is about to get really ugly and really scary.

The only way the disciples will be able to survive this mess is by loving one another. If they are to really be this Rabbi’s disciples, to continue in his work and in his example of faith, they are going to need to refuse the violence of the establishment and love one another despite all evidence telling them that it just isn’t worth the pain.

Peter later on gets a reminder of what this love really looks like, the work Jesus was really up to, when he is praying on the rooftop and has his vision of the sheet full of animals. The voice from heaven tells him to ‘kill and eat,’ even though these animals have been on the forbidden list for ages. It’s a preparation for the coming encounter with the Gentiles, the ministry to those who have been outside of the law, outside of the community. The vision Peter receives, and the conversations that follow about that vision, it’s like a flash of memory of someone who has been long dead. When you’re cleaning house and smell that smell which brings grandma right back to mind so clearly, or are reminded of a joke or a story that friend loved to tell, it’s hard to say sometimes how we even forgot those things in the first place. But we forget the depth and breadth of the love of Jesus so easily, even Peter who walked with him needed that reminder of what it means to be a disciple of this particular Rabbi.

Because this Rabbi, this Jesus, washed the feet of his disciples knowing the betrayal that was to come. He wrapped a towel around his waist and knelt and did the work of a servant, bearing his heart to them when it would have been so much easier just to go on with supper and say some nice things and let that be that. Jesus chose to give away his life out of love for this frightened crowd, and that love was the center of all of his ministry.

Now, we are not Jesus. We are his disciples, and that is an important distinction. When I was in High School those “WWJD” bracelets were a huge hit, and asking how Jesus would love is a great question, but when the answer we come to is ‘let them kill him instead of fighting back,’ we need to remember that we call Jesus the Son of God in a very different way than knowing ourselves to be children of God. Loving as Jesus loved will often make us uncomfortable, but loving is not the same thing as letting someone get away with abuse. Love is difficult sometimes, but love does not require us to let others throw us away or negate our created goodness. God alone is the source of all love, we are not, and that is where the Gospel lies today.

Because if it were all about what we have to do now to prove ourselves as disciples, that’s only going to lead to score keeping and shaming, and Jesus knows we are already good at that game. We don't need any help ranking people in a lineup of saintliness and sinner status. That’s what’s going on in Peter’s vision, after all. The ranking system is being dismantled. The ‘clean/unclean’ wall that we build so well between us is being taken down. That’s what the love of Jesus does, what disciples wrestle with, what abundant life in Christ looks like. His own closest friends just handed him over to death, for crying out loud, and Jesus knew what was going on, and he loved them anyway! He fed them anyway! He washed their feet and offered comfort anyway! Being a disciple of Jesus starts there, starts in being loved, with listening to this voice of love over and above all the other voices that seek to tell us who to be and how to live.

Love is the heart of our identity now, not occupation, not salary, not family of origin or medical history. All of those differences between us make no difference to how deeply God loves us, all those people we would rather not deal with are people Jesus died for, too, just as he died for us. When Jesus tells his disciples ‘love one another as I have loved you,’ we cannot forget how deep and far-reaching that love is, because we will all have days when we feel unlovable. We will all have days when we feel forgotten, or inadequate. But the love of God does not require us to be anything other than who we are. And whoever we are, single moms, heroin addicts, teachers, nurses, homeless, jobless, struggling or blissfully comfortable, God’s love has gone to the cross for the whole world, God Incarnate has gone through life and death to be with us, God’s promise of faithfulness remains true to us even when we can’t find it in ourselves to be true to anything.

So in this Easter season, this side of resurrection hope and promise, we practice this love. We pray for each other. We are fed at this table and feed others. We share words of peace and comfort. And when we fail, no matter how often, Jesus still feeds us and offers us peace and love. Because that’s what love means, how love works in the world, breaking down the barriers of shame that we build up around ourselves and others, reminding us that God has redeemed the whole of the world, made all of it holy, called it all in the beginning very good. All of it. Including you, wherever you are coming from and wherever you are going. This is how God is glorified, when we begin to grasp how deeply we are all loved.

Losing our grip

Acts 9:36-43

Now in Joppa there was a disciple whose name was Tabitha, which in Greek is Dorcas. She was devoted to good works and acts of charity. At that time she became ill and died. When they had washed her, they laid her in a room upstairs. Since Lydda was near Joppa, the disciples, who heart that Peter was there, sent two men to him with the request, “Please come to us without delay.” So Peter got up and went with them; and when he arrived, they took him to the room upstairs. All the widows soon beside him, weeping and showing tunics and other clothing that Dorcas had made while she was with them. Peter put all of them outside, and then he knelt down and prayed. He turned to the body and said, “Tabitha, get up.” Then she opened her eyes, and seeing Peter, she sat up. He gave her his hand and helped her up. Then calling the saints and widows, he showed her to be alive. This became known throughout Joppa, and many believed in the Lord. Meanwhile he stayed in Joppa for some time with a certain Simon, a tanner.

Psalm 23

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not be in want. The Lord makes me lie down in green pastures and leads me beside still waters. You restore my soul, O Lord, and guide me along right pathways for your name’s sake. Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil, and my cup is running over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

Revelation 7:9-17

After this I looked, and there was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, robed in white, with palm branches in their hands. They cried out in a loud voice, saying, “Salvation belongs to our God who is seated on the throne, and to the Lamb!” And all the angels stood around the throne and around the elders and the four living creatures, and they fell on their faces before the throne and worshiped God, singing, “Amen! Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be to our God forever and ever! Amen.” Then one of the elders addressed me, saying, “Who are these, robed in white, and where have they come from?” I said to him, “Sir, you are the one that knows.” Then he said to me, “These are they who have come out of the great ordeal; they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. For this reason they are before the throne of God, and worship him day and night within his temple, and the one who is seated on the throne will shelter them. They will hunger no more, and thirst no more; the sun will not strike them, nor any scorching heat; for the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd, and he will guide them to springs of the water of life, and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.”

John 10:22-30

At that time the festival of the Dedication took place in Jerusalem. It was winter, and Jesus was walking in the temple, in the portico of Solomon. So the Jews gathered around him and said to him, “How long will you keep us in suspense? If you are the Messiah, tell us plainly.” Jesus answered, “I have told you, and you do not believe. The works that I do in my Father’s name testify to me; but you do not believe, because you do not belong to my sheep. My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish. No one will snatch them out of my hand. What my Father has given me is greater than all else, and no one can snatch it out of the Father’s hand. The Father and I are one.”

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I've just got to put this out there right off the bat: sometimes the lectionary makes me cringe. Don't get me wrong, Good Shepherd Sunday is a beautiful thing, but the timing for my own life with these texts is just a bit… awkward. In case you haven't seen the Facebook or Table Talk, and no need to feel worried if you haven’t, I’ve just come back from my mother’s funeral in Ohio. She died in the middle of Bible Study just ten days ago, which is where she wanted to be, but it was so completely unexpected that everyone there is still in a sort of shock. I was able to drive back to Toledo instead of flying to my retreat last week, and arrived in time for Sunday worship with a very tearful congregation, a Tuesday visitation that was full of people from across the city, some whom I haven’t seen since the 1990s, and a funeral which brought everyone to tears multiple times… you know, as funerals tend to do. But then I took a look ahead to what I get to preach on when I get back from all of that, and it’s the lovely story from the Book of Acts, the raising of Tabitha called Dorcas. Devoted to good works and charity, as was my mother, Tabitha was loved by all the women, as was my mother, and they were in terrible grief when Peter showed up, as were we all for the entire week. 

So, where was Peter for my family last week? Where was the miracle raising of the woman who died unexpectedly so she could continue in the good work to which God had called her?

I don’t mean to sound trite, and I know my living so far away from my parents for so long means my grieving will be very different from that of the rest of my family, but, still. Could there be any more awkward Bible reading to come to today?

But any of us who have experienced death know this question: where was God? Where’s my miracle? Where does this resurrection promise make any sense in my sudden, or not so sudden, loss? And, why on earth are people allowed to die in the season of Easter when we’re supposed to be happy and joyful and full of new life?

It's times like this when we join with the Jews around Jesus in the colonnade, circling him like vultures: Why keep us in suspense? If you are the Messiah, tell us! We're tired of waiting for an answer. We need to know who you are and why it matters.

Of course, we might be only half asking the right question.

Asking Jesus if he is the Messiah, we’re wanting desperately for him to be the one we are waiting for, the one to heal our wounds, to carry our hurts, to make the pain go away and the dark world grow bright again. We want a Messiah to cure addiction, to eradicate illness, to wipe out poverty, to destroy whoever is the enemy of the moment. We are wanting, demanding, a lot from a Messiah, and by making these demands on God we are being faithful to the relationship God began with us. We are being faithful by being honest. We are also, however, missing the point.

Because if we are asking for a Messiah, a Savior, a Redeemer, we probably have a particular image in mind of the way a Messiah operates, the sort of triumph a Savior will bring, the best possible outcome we can imagine a Redeemer providing.

If we have been paying attention to the way John writes his Gospel, though, we find that time after time this Jesus character upsets the story as we would write it. We try to grab hold of who Jesus is and what it means, and we cling so tightly that our fingers go numb, our arms get tired, and we start to lose our grip.

This happens a lot in life, losing our grip. Sometimes it’s a stressful job. Sometimes it’s the feeling of grief striking out of nowhere. Sometimes it’s too many obligations at once. Sometimes it’s feeling like we need to make a drastic change in our lives and yet nobody else seems to understand our decision.

This is usually a pretty scary thing, to lose our grip. On the other hand, it can also be a beautiful thing, to lose our grip. To let ourselves go. How often do we enter freewill willingly? How often do we sit with our emotions, our fears, our joys, without making them socially ‘acceptable,’ without boxing them up, or adjusting them to protect ourselves from conflict? How often are we able to wander, without fear of guilt or judgment when we turn out to be lost a little while? Because it’s okay when we lose our grip awhile, when we know we’re not ultimately in control, when we see that we cannot always determine the outcome of all of our planning and working.

After all, it is precisely in these places where we fall that Jesus catches us. It is when we are lost and alone that Jesus comes after us to return us to the fold. It is when we lose our grip that Jesus reminds us of the promise of God: “My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish. No one will snatch them out of my hand. What my Father has given me is greater than all else, and no one can snatch it out of the Father’s hand. The Father and I are one.”

Wherever in our lives we need resurrection and new life, wherever we might lose our grip, lose our way, God’s grip on us never falters. Never. We are sheep of God’s flock and fold, and our shepherd is good and gracious, compassionate and forgiving. Our shepherd prepares a table before us in the presence of our enemies and our cups run over with goodness and mercy. The promise is true for each and every one of us, rich and poor, old and young, living and dead.

As John saw in his vision of God’s kingdom: “They will hunger no more, and thirst no more; the sun will not strike them, nor any scorching heat; for the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd, and he will guide them to springs of the water of life, and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.” This is most certainly true, because, after all, Christ is our Messiah, the one we need, the one who restores us, the one who was crucified and now lives again. The one who will never, not ever, let us go.

Oooof. Proof?

Acts 5:27-32

Psalm 118:14-29

Revelation 1:4-8

John 20:19-31

Christ is Risen! He is risen indeed, Alleluia!

Yeah, but really? I mean, really, are you sure? 

We are still in the season of Easter, it’s a 50 day party after our 40 days of Lent, but it doesn't always make sense. Like grief, rejoicing can be a surprising interruption, but it can’t be mandated or scripted. Even though our liturgy is full of Alleluias at the moment, the faith we hold does not require us to fake good and happy feeling. I mean, for crying out loud, it’s April and we just got a ridiculous amount of snow overnight! How does that make anybody feel good about the state of our ecosystem? Even though we have been telling this story for two thousand years, as though the resurrection is a given, it doesn’t always feel like a true story, does it? Or maybe we’ve gotten so used to it we don’t look for it to challenge us any more, as it first did.

The first disciples, who walked and talked with Jesus each and every day, hid away in a locked room after the resurrection, afraid of their own church, traumatized by another brutal public murder, this one of someone they knew and had pinned so many of their hopes on. As followers of Jesus, then, their lives could also be hung up on public display. In the years that followed, almost all of them met death as martyrs, bearing witness to the story of new life that they had lived. But this first week was not so glamorous as all that. This first week was fearful, doubtful. No small wonder the first thing Jesus said to them, and said to them twice that first night, was ‘peace be with you.’ Their teacher was reported missing from the tomb, had shown up alive as he said he would, and they were terrified.

It didn’t add up. It didn’t compute. It didn’t make any sense, but they knew they had to stay together for safety’s sake, so they locked themselves away to try and make heads or tails of it all. Who knows where Thomas was that first night. Maybe off daring the officials to kill him, too. Maybe weeping alone. Maybe he was in the garden standing vigil at the empty tomb trying to figure it out. But then the disciples told him they had seen the Lord, and we give him a hard time for wanting proof. The others got Jesus with skin on in their presence, why shouldn’t Thomas want the same as they? 

Do you ever feel like that? Like everyone else has it all together, has their faith figured out, has their life figured out, and you’re just hitting a wall? “Try this new thing, it’s great!” they say, but you’ve tried so many things and can’t imagine it getting any better. “Oh, you’ve just got to look on the bright side,” they say, or “believe in the power of positive thinking!” and you can only think that positive thinking didn’t stop that drunk driver from getting behind the wheel, that the bright side doesn’t account for getting laid off and being overqualified for any of the open jobs.

When we look at Thomas, we see our own twin in a lot of ways. Where’s the proof? Where’s the place where the rubber hits the road? Where’s the connection between these dreams of heaven and the large negative number on my tax return, or my child’s behavior at school, or the current election news? We’re not asking for any more than the other disciples got. “Blessed are those who have not seen, yet have come to believe,” says Jesus, because so many of us have not seen, and yet so many, for some reason, refuse to give up on believing. Even when institutions have pressed hard against us from every side. So many have been abused by the institutional church, have been abused by other Christians, have been bullied and beaten down and thrown away by their own faith family, why in the world would anyone who belongs to a minority group want to be part of this culture which has held the majority authority for so long? We are in a far different world now than Thomas and those first apostles were. And yet in many ways we are in the same world, because human nature is pretty consistent across history, and Christian faith has never been a guarantee for an easy life. If anything, it makes life more complicated, more difficult, because passion and compassion open us to all kind of injury and heartache. We might just end up equally scarred as our Lord.

Thomas demands proof. Where in my life today does this whole ‘Christ is risen’ thing actually make a difference? Why does it matter to me and my family that some guy was killed two thousand years ago and reportedly rose from the grave three days later, and is also called the Son of God? Why did Thomas leave this locked room to become a missionary to India, traveling so far from home to tell this story? What was it about this man with the scarred hands and side that led so many hundreds of thousands of millions to make the decision they would rather die than either kill or deny Christ? What is it about Jesus the crucified and risen one that compelled my friends Emily and Joe to sit in vigil for 24 hours at the State Capital building from Monday until Tuesday, to encourage those passing a state budget to include a living minimum wage for all? Why does this mystery of the Word made flesh inspire so many to fight for justice, to feed the hungry, to care for the sick and dying? Christians were, for our first generations, known as the people who would care for widows and orphans without expectation of payment, who would bury those dead otherwise left by the side of the road, who would joyfully sell everything they had and live together in community to take care of one another.

Our proof of the resurrection in the here and now comes in those moments where grace takes on flesh and does not leave the suffering alone in their pain. We are, after all, worshiping a God who bears our wounds and does not shy away from our struggle. The risen Christ lives again and will never die, but he lives as one who has already died, who has carried in his body the shame and fear of humanity at war with its own created goodness. This is our ‘proof,’ if and when we must have it, that life continues, that, as Desmond Tutu has said, ‘goodness is stronger than evil, love is stronger than hate, light is stronger than darkness, life is stronger than death.’ 

And each and every time we give of ourselves, we are living proof for others that the resurrection is true. And each and every time we are broken and someone else holds us while we fall apart, we are living proof that the resurrection is true. And each and every time we are able to forgive, and each and every time that community is restored, and each and every time that love wins out over fear, coming to us even when we have locked the doors and hidden ourselves away, those ongoing waves of Christ’s resurrection reach out into history with promise and new life, with new hope and with peace.

It doesn't have to make sense, it doesn't have to add up. Love isn’t a reasonable thing, it just happens to be the main thing, the central thing, the everlasting thing, the reality to outlast all of our ups and downs, summers and winters, living and dying. Love enters our locked rooms to speak peace, bring forgiveness, and send us forth to bear witness to love. There is nowhere love will not come to find us, because, believe it or not, Christ is risen.