The beginning of the good news

I’ve got some good news!
The beginning of some good news at least... as Mark says “The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.”


Starting with what we hear in 2nd Peter:
The day of the Lord will come like a thief
•the heavens will pass away with a loud noise
•the elements will be dissolved with fire
•the earth and everything in it will be disclosed

And in Isaiah
All people are grass
their constancy is like the flower of the field
the grass withers, the flower fades
when the breath of the LORD blows upon it:

The earth is fragile; all people are grass. We learn this as species become extinct, as salt water begins to inundate and swallow small islands in the Pacific, as storms change our coastlines and earthquakes level our buildings. We learn this whenever we're startled by how easy it is for people to die. John F. Kennedy, the astronauts in the Challenger, the people in the Twin Towers, people you've known personally who died. It is always a little startling how fragile life is.

I know that I am like grass. I discovered this undeniably when I went through a medical crisis. I suffered a severe and unexpected complication after a procedure to stabilize a brain aneurysm (the aneurysm procedure went fine), and I came very close to death.

Many of you know that you are like grass. You've had medical scares. You've also seen how fragile the balance of your life is economically, emotionally, relationally. Some of you have been through divorce, family turmoil. Some of you have lost jobs or are experiencing uncertainty about your finances and future employment. You've experienced how things that seemed solid and unchanging can evaporate out from under you.
Nothing is too big to fail, really.

So how is any of this good news?

By itself, the fact that we are all grass is not good news, but there's more to it than that. That’s why it’s just the BEGINNING of the good news.

Let's hear what Mark has to say.
John the Baptist comes preaching baptism for repentance of sins
Message: Repent, Make straight the way of the Lord
"Make straight the way of the Lord" implied the following:
- the king is coming to visit
- literally, you should fix the road so he'll have smooth travel (fill in the potholes, etc)
The beginning of the good news in Mark was a startling voice calling people to acknowledge their failings and go in a different direction, preparing for something better.

John’s message was some difficult news. Road work - literally or figuratively - is hard. Whether you actually fill in potholes and straighten out the road shoulders or you start filling in empty places and smoothing over estrangements and other things we've messed up in our lives, either way, it’s hard work. The types of effort it takes to repair and turn a life around are not easy - repentance, reconciliation, discipline - and a trusting openness to God. A lot of people give up on it after they’ve barely started.
As GK Chesterton said, "The Christian ideal has not been tried and found wanting; it's been found difficult and left untried."

Parts of our culture really don't like difficulty, because it can result in failure, which shows up our weaknesses. We don't want to admit to anyone, least of all ourselves, that we HAVE any weaknesses. Other parts of our culture like to embrace difficulty, though in very controlled environments, for a similar purpose – to showcase strength in order to rebut any charge of weakness. Marathons, triathlons, Iron Man events, multi-day bike races, and all kinds of strenuous and challenging physical feats have become very popular.
But our strength is very relative.

I would not be much of a match for a bear or a shark, for instance, much less an asteroid. Even in relation to other people, it's still not equal. I'm five feet tall, so unless I were playing basketball with second graders, I would not be much of a force to reckon with. And it's not only in external conflicts that our weaknesses appear. Some of the most serious are inside our own bodies. Consider your brain - physiologically. Very powerful - and VERY delicate. Thinking about the aneurysm I had - the weak wall of the artery that had ballooned out was maybe a fraction of a millimeter thick - and if that unimaginably thin tissue were to tear, my brain would react so strongly to coming in contact with the slight acidity of my blood that I would most likely die or become profoundly disabled.

And it's not just our bodies that are weak. Our relationships are fragile and require constant tending and strengthening; our emotions are difficult to understand, much less control; our minds are easily confused and disturbed; our wills are fairly easy to corrupt and require consistent training and scrutiny.
The fact is we are human.
Weakness is our PRIMARY reality, in every area of our lives.

And that's the good news!

Because God's strength is made perfect in weakness.
God's strength perfectly complements our weakness.
Our weakness showcases God's strength.

It's not the type of strength you may be used to - the strength of a predator who takes from the weak to increase its own strength - a lion snatching a sheep. This is the strength of the shepherd who fights off the lion. Trust that kind of strength.

God's strength rises to the challenge of our weakness to make both of us stronger. Think of the kid in the movie The Sandlot, who summons all his skill, more than was usually asked of him, and hits the ball right into Small's glove - so he'll have some confidence and start to get better.

Not only is God good; he's so good, he makes it possible for us to get better.

So when you pray, when you open the door of your weakness to God, and when you come to receive communion and healing, don't just look for comfort; look for strength.
And then, start looking for ways you can rise to the challenge of others' weaknesses, and in God's strength, begin to strengthen them.

The beginning of the good news is that we are weak.
The rest of the good news is that he is strong.

Seventh Word

It was now about noon, and darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon, while the sun's light failed; and the curtain of the temple was torn in two. Then Jesus, crying with a loud voice, said, "Father, into your hands I commend my spirit." Having said this, he breathed his last. (Luke 23:44-46)

When it comes time for me to die, will I have the time, the opportunity, to choose to let go?

In the Great Litany (BCP p. 149), we pray:

"From dying suddenly and unprepared, Good Lord, deliver us."

But it's not dying that we pray to be delivered from; we all die - Jesus died. And if you had to choose the amount of time it took, some may prefer suddenly.
It's this idea of dying unprepared that's terrible.
- - But this is the thing you do have a choice about. There is no choice about whether you will die, and how you'll die is not really in your control either.
But preparing, you can do - and you can do it now, at any time.  That's the point of Ash Wednesday (BCP p. 265):

"Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return."

Jesus taught us everything we need to know about being human. He showed us how to love, how to serve, how to pray, how to suffer - even how to die:
"Father, into your hands I commend my spirit."

Most of our lives, we're learning to let go: of people we love, of places we leave, of things we don't need - and anyway can't keep, even of ourselves - who and what we have been.
When we die, it will be letting go of the last of what we're holding onto here and putting ourselves in God's hands.
When it comes time for you to die, will you be able to say this, to do it?

Do you realize that you already have?

As Paul said to the folks in Rome (Romans 6:3)

 "Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death?"

Remember our baptismal covenant (BCP p. 302) :

"Do you turn to Jesus Christ and accept him as your Savior ... Do you put your whole trust in his grace and love?"     I do.

And remember our prayer at the Eucharist (Prayer B - BCP p. 369):

"Unite us to your Son is his sacrifice, that we may be acceptable through him..."

From dying suddenly and unprepared, he has already delivered us.
At your baptism, you already commended your spirit into the Father's hands; His hands are already holding you.
Let go of everything else.

Bless the dying

5th Sunday in Lent, Year C - Readings

Mary anoints Jesus' feet with aromatic oil and wipes them with her hair; the house fills with the fragrance of the perfume. What is she doing? Jesus explains that she is anointing him for burial.

Not long before, Mary had rubbed the same kind of oil on her brother Lazarus's feet and helped wrap his body with spices in long strips of cloth before they buried him. Earlier, when Lazarus was sick, they had sent word to Jesus, but he hadn't come, and her brother died. She cried for days. Then finally Jesus came, and he raised her brother from the dead.

Now, they are all here together again, in Bethany, a small town outside Jerusalem, where Jesus knows his death is waiting. This evening, about a week before Passover, he has come to his friends' home for dinner. Lazarus is sitting at the table; Martha is serving the food. Judas is glaring at his weirdo little sister, who has now untied her hair, and perfume is filling the house.
Before we go further, I want to clarify some mix-ups that you may have about Mary and about this situation.
You are not alone (but you are also not correct) if you think this is Mary Magdalene. You're also wrong if you assume she is or ever was a prostitute. But this is not completely your fault; it used to be an official interpretation, articulated by Pope Gregory in a sermon in 591. Now, however, people officially agree this interpretation was wrong, but it's hard to change a story people have become so committed to. ("Mary Magdalene: Saint or Sinner?")

Why did the Pope say these women (Mary of Bethany, Mary Magdalene and another woman in Luke's gospel) were all the same? One actual theory is that there were just too many Marys and it was confusing, so the church combined them to clean up the story.
There are a lot of Marys in the Bible: there's Mary, the mother of Jesus, Mary Magdalene, Mary the wife of Clopas, Mary the mother of Joses and Salome, and "the other Mary" as well as this Mary – Mary of Bethany. But you can't just amalgamate them.
Imagine if we decided: It's too confusing to have three Carols in our congregation. From now on, let's just say they are all the same Carol. Won't that make things clearer?
We also have several Johns: we even have several Father Johns in our history. Why not, for the sake of economy, just combine them all into one conglomerate priest we could name "Fr. John William Bedingfield Sonnen" – "Fr. John" for short. And if there are priests whose names we don't remember, they can also be included as part of "Fr. John."


This is basically what happened to Mary of Bethany. But she is her own person, and who she is and what she does in this story are important in the Gospel, which is also part of our story.
We are Christians; Jesus is the Christ, and Mary of Bethany is someone who acted toward Jesus in a way that was exactly appropriate. As Episcopalians, we also strive to act in ways that are exactly appropriate in each situation – so it would be good for us to pay attention to Mary of Bethany.

Who was Mary of Bethany, and what allows her to respond to Jesus in a way that is so fitting?
Mary of Bethany is that same Mary of Mary & Martha fame – she sat a Jesus' feet while her sister was busy in the kitchen, and when Martha complained to Jesus that he should make her help with the work, Jesus said, Leave her alone; she's doing the right thing.

One thing I learned from Bishop Doyle's scripture reflections this week was that some scholars say Mary is also Judas Iscariot's sister. Imagine that! What a family group: Mary & Martha, Lazarus, and Judas. And their dad is Simon the Leper.
In this story, Judas is complaining about his sister's behavior. She has basically just poured a year's salary down the drain as far as he's concerned, so he complains to Jesus about the waste. Like he'd said to Martha, Jesus tells Judas, Leave her alone - she's doing exactly the right thing.


A lot of commentaries make what I consider to be a patronizing and idiotic assumption that when Mary poured the perfumed oil on Jesus feet, she had really no understanding of what she was doing or why.
I think she knew what she was doing. There is a long tradition of people, particularly the prophets, acting out messages: Jeremiah wearing a yoke to illustrate Israel's enslavement, Hosea marrying a prostitute to show how God is faithful to his unfaithful people, Ezekiel making a tiny model of Jerusalem and besieging it, and on and on – and they all did these things intentionally, putting the meaning into words later.
In the same way, Jesus put into words the meaning of Mary's actions, to clarify what she was doing and why. Every week, we do something similar when we participate in the Eucharist to remember Jesus' sacrifice for us and the new life we have in his new life: "We remember his death. We proclaim his resurrection…" Actions help us remember, and the words explain the meaning.

When it comes to memory, the senses are the best triggers - and the most powerful is the sense of smell. Nothing can pull you so powerfully or so quickly back into a particular time or place as a familiar smell. In this story, it's clear that people remembered the smell of the perfume filling the hosue, because they specifically wrote that into the story. The smell was a powerful part of their memory of what happened there. What might it have triggered for them on that night?

If people at that time were familiar with preparing bodies for burial, those smells would already be associated for them pretty powerfully, but especially for that particular family. Remember, it was not long ago that Lazarus had been raised from the dead – but before that, he died and had to be anointed for burial.

Lazarus himself was at the table that night; what would the smell have triggered for him? He was the one who had been embalmed in those oils and spices. As he sat there, maybe he smelled their sharp scent stinging his nostrils and was back in the dark of the tomb again, waking up bound head to toe, trying to suck air through layers of linen cloth around his face, struggling upright and pulling at the shroud, lurching forward and suddenly blinking in the sunlight. And now, with that same smell filling the air, Lazarus watches his sister anoint with embalming perfume the feet of the man who brought him back from death.
Martha stands nearby, the smell taking her even a few days further back, to the day of her brother's death: no time to grieve, too much to do, but then working together with her sister to prepare his body for burial, closing his beautiful eyes and then finally binding his face in white linen cloth. When Lazarus came out of the tomb four days later, restored – it was like a dream. After Jesus brought her brother back, it seemed impossible to imagine that smell ever coming into their home again – but here it was, filling her with fresh grief, even though her brother was sitting at the table in front of her, alive. How is it possible to equate that smell with Jesus? How could it be possible that he would die?

This is a family very recently acquainted with death, so it may be that not everybody needed to have it explained. Except Judas – all he could smell was money. But possibly for the others, a much deeper realization was settling in. Just because Lazarus had been raised, that didn't mean death would never touch them again. It would – very soon.
Mary paid attention and knew Jesus well enough to realize that this man, whom they loved and who had done so much for them, was preparing to die. As impossible as that seemed to be to imagine or accept, she had already accepted it and she had made preparations. Now, though she didn't want it to be, the time was right, and the house began to fill with the fragrance as she poured out her offering of love and grief.

Some of the most beautiful and mysterious works we perform as a Church are our prayers and service for those who are dying. Many of you have experience of offering this kind of service to those you love.
Mary of Bethany blessed Jesus in this way. May we take her as a model for how to "bless the dying, soothe the suffering and pity the afflicted." (BCP p.134 from the service of Compline in the Daily Office)
Amen.
Given to St. John's, Silsbee on March 21, 2010

Seventh Word

"Father, into your hands I commend my spirit."

Henri Nouwen wrote, "Dying is trusting in the catcher. To care for the dying is to say, 'Do not be afraid. Remember that you are the beloved child of God. He will be there when you make your long jump. Don't try to grab him. He will grab you."

It's the image of a small child at the edge of the swimming pool, and Dad's in the water, holding his arms out, saying, "Come on, I'll catch you. Don't worry. I'll catch you."
You look at the water, you look at your dad, and you open your eyes wide and jump.

We don't have to try to jump far enough. He's going to catch us, even if we just lean over and fall in. And that moment doesn't have to be just when we die. It's whenever we make a trusting movement towards Him, and the moment we do that, his hands reach out and catch us.
I don't think distance is an issue, because I think there's never a moment when he's not paying attention, when he's not right there.

It might be, too, like learning to float on your back. Your dad's telling you he's got you, that he's not going to let you sink, just take a deep breath and lean back...
It's hard to let go and let your feet up, not touching anything solid, but you try to trust him, even if you're afraid.

I think dying is a little like that - I think there is a moment when we let go of everything else. A moment when I realize God's with me - when I feared he wouldn't be, and I know that He has me, and He's not going to drop me, and whatever else happens, it doesn't depend on me. He's got it under control. So finally, I trust Him, lean back, and let go.

Fifth Word

"I thirst."

I'm hungry.
I'm tired.
I'm sad.
I'm angry.
........... I'm human.

In Hebrews, we read "We do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who in every respect has been tested as we are, yet without sin. Let us therefore approach the throne of grace with boldness, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need." (Heb 4:15-16)

Sometimes, in my time of need, I can't even say what it is I want - sometimes, I don't even know.
I can only say what's happening. Here's how it is with me - I'm upset. I'm scared. I don't understand. I don't want to do this. It hurts.
I'm thirsty.

To make these kinds of statements is to make ourselves more vulnerable. To say something like this, I'm telling about my weakness - and whoever hears it has the opportunity to use it - either to help - or to ignore - or to hurt.

And this is something Jesus understands about what it is to be human - what it is to be weak, to ask others for help... to be disappointed by their response.
As he was dying, Jesus said, "I thirst," and the people who heard him gave him vinegar to drink...

The night before, he told his friends he was very distressed and asked them to stay up and watch with him - But they fell asleep.

He asked his Father, if it were possible, not to have to go through all this, but his Father didn't change the plan.

Jesus knows what it is to be scared, to be sad, to be in pain, to die.

Again, Hebrews says, "Since, therefore, the children share flesh and blood, he himself likewise shared the same things, so that through death he might destroy the one who has the power of death, that is, the devil, and free those who all their lives were held in slavery by the fear of death. ... Because he himself was tested by what he suffered, he is able to help those who are being tested." (HEb 2:14-18)

Third Word

"Woman, behold your son." ... "Behold your mother."

Did you ever try to comfort a child who's upset because their pet died? Parents sometimes try this:
"We'll get you another fish..." "I don't want another fish! I want my fish!"
Similar is not the same.

'Better' is also not the same. 'Better' even if it is better, mainly just feels 'different' at first, and 'different' feels about the same as 'bad.'
People sometimes tell parents who are marrying off their daughter and watching her leave home and move away, "Don't think of it as losing a daughter; think of it as gaining a son."
Maybe in the future, they'll have a great relationship with the son-in-law also and maybe grandkids who bring a lot of joy to their lives, and that will even be better, but there's no way to know at the time how it will be in the future.

What about a mother sending her son off for military service?
You can see the group of them walking through the airport - him, his mom, his younger sister and his good friend from school.
He's in his uniform, has a bag, really short hair. They come up to the line for security. He sets his bag on the floor. They're all looking at him. He leans down and hugs his mom; her eyes are starting to well up. She shakes her head; she can't say anything.
He looks over at his friend and back at her.
"Mom, Jake's your son now, till I get back. Take care of her, man."
He picks up his bag and walks over to the line, shows his ticket and ID, puts his bag on the conveyor belt and walks through. On the other side, he picks it up, looks back, waves, and goes through the revolving door. They're standing there watching him. She's really crying now. The friend steps up and puts his hand on her shoulder.

What do you say to her?
"Don't think of it as putting your son in danger; think of it as protecting our nation."
It doesn't matter whether or not that's true. It doesn't change the grief and fear of letting him go.

Mary stood, looking up at her son. He says to her, 'Woman, behold your son," and to his friend and disciple, "Behold your mother."
Mary doesn't speak. But what may her heart have been saying?

YOU are my son; I don't want another son.

Don't think of it as losing your son, Mary;
think of it as gaining the whole world...

I don't want the whole world -

I want my son.

Palm Sunday ("I am with you")

Year C, Palm Sunday
Liturgy of the Palms - Gospel: Luke 19:29-40
Liturgy of the Word - Passion Gospel: Luke 22:39-23:56


At the beginning of this service, we heard about Jesus' triumphal entry into Jerusalem. People were singing, "Hosanna!" "Save us!" In the Passion Gospel, this tune changed to "Crucify him!"
The Passion means so many things, but one thing it means is that Jesus knows what it's like to be hurt - really, really hurt. He even knows what it's like to die. One of our beliefs as Christians is that Jesus' suffering and death can offer comfort to us, but it's not perhaps the kind of comfort we'd prefer.

Passion
What does it mean to describe this part of the gospel story as 'the Passion' ?
The way it's most commonly used, you'd think passion means long, slobbery kisses in romance movies. There's nothing like that in this story, though - there's a lot of shouting and hitting and pushing and crying; a man gets his ear cut off, and a whole group of people kill someone who's innocent and a couple other people who are probably guilty, but there are no passionate love scenes.
There is a sense in which passion means love, and so Jesus' Passion also means love, but it's a complicated kind of love. Real love, though it can involve kisses, also often involves tears - pain, sadess, confusion and other very difficult things - that's when the idea of passion gets closer to its real meaning.
The word passion comes from a Latin word that means 'to suffer.' And Jesus suffered - a lot. So it's called the Passion because it's about Jesus' suffering.

Suffering
The fact of suffering is one of the most difficult things we have to deal with in life, both because it hurts so much and because it doesn't make sense. Most of our hardest questions for God have to do with suffering.
Jesus' interactions with different people in the story illustrate, I think, questions people still have about pain.
The soldiers blindfolded Jesus and hit him, saying, 'Prophesy! Who is it that struck you?' It's like they were saying, 'If you're God, you should know everything, so where does pain come from?'
The chief priests and elders say, 'If you are the Messiah, tell us.' Jesus says, 'If I tell you, you will not believe...' I think this mirrors the confusion and frustration many of us feel at the fact that God is not tangible in ways we want or expect him to be, and we have to act so often on faith, hoping in things we can't see.
Even if he thinks they won't believe, why won't he tell them? I think because the whole point of his coming here, the whole point of the Incarnation was not to tell them a message anymore but to show them, because they hadn't been able to believe the message they were told.

Two Criminals
Perhaps the most important interaction occurs between Jesus and the criminals executed with him. One of the criminals questions him sarcastically: 'Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us!'
The second criminal denounces him, saying, 'Do you not fear God?' He then says, 'Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.'
The first criminal's question is really a hard one. Why would Jesus, if he's God's Son, not use his power to get himself - and us - out of our pain?
I don't fully know the answer.
But I think Jesus' response to the second criminal gives us some idea. 'Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise.'
It seems to me these two criminals are both saying essentially the same thing - the same thing everyone had been shouting on the way into Jerusalem the week before - "Save us!" They, and the crowd, and Pilate and the chief priests and elders and everyone else there, and we today, all want relief.


What relief?
What relief does Jesus' suffering offer for our suffering?
I think the 23rd Psalm, which has so often provided comfort in sorrow, offers part of the answer, and one passage particularly: "though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me."
One message of Jesus' Passion was this: I am with you .... I am with you in your suffering.

There is no attempt to answer our 'Why?' with any sort of 'Because...' He simply says, 'I am with you.'
The meaning of compassion, literally, is to 'suffer with' someone. Their pain is your pain. Because of his Passion, his suffering, Jesus is able to have true compassion for us, to suffer with us - our pain is his pain. I am with you in your suffering.

The corollary comes next week, at Easter, when we say that his victory and his joy will also be ours - I am with you in suffering, and you will be with me in Paradise.

In the film, Shadowlands, about the life of C.S. Lewis and particularly his marriage to Joy Gresham, Joy contracts cancer not long after they get married. Though she is dying, there are periods of relative health, and during one of these, they go on a belated honeymoon. While on a walk in the countryside, it begins to rain and they run for cover under an awning. Joy turns to Lewis and begins to talk about what will happen when she dies; she wants him to look after her son. He doesn't want to talk about it, though. A minute before, they had been laughing, and it had almost seemed possible in that moment for him to forget she was dying.
'Don't spoil it,' he says.
'It doesn't spoil it,' she says. 'It makes it real. The pain then is part of the happiness now.'

I think that is also part of the message of the Passion.
God is with us in suffering - and we will be with him in Paradise.
The pain now is part of the happiness then. It doesn't spoil it. It makes it real.
Amen.

----------------------------------
Given to Vidor Presbyterian
Palm Sunday, 2007