Jesus Christ the Apple Tree

SERMON - CHRIST THE KING SUNDAY
St. David’s Episcopal Church - Elkhart, Indiana

Jeremiah 23:1-6; Psalm 46; Colossians 1:11-20; Luke 23:33-43

One of my favorite places in the world is Mommaw’s farm. It’s where I will be on Thursday for Thanksgiving. It is where I spent most of my childhood, running through the field, picking Sweet Anne’s Lace or wild carrots, playing on the playground, planting beans and potatoes with my Grandfather, and fishing in the pond. It’s a beautiful place, with an old, old farmhouse built about 1911. We know this because when the refurbished the kitchen they found a piece of wood in the window on which someone had written, “Woodrow Wilson elected on this day.”

Down at the pond is my favorite place, my special place. My place to get away. My place of rest and relaxation. It’s where my Grandfather taught me to fish and where the old smokehouse now stands that we used to play in and around. And around this pond, there are three types of trees that are very special to me. There were the evergreen trees along the dam bank, then a row of locust trees, then a small orchard of four or five apple trees. 

You see, we got those evergreen trees because every year for Earth Day, the decades of grandkids and great-grandkids would grow a sapling in school and we all planted them down at the farm.  They aren’t all there anymore. A few of them were taken out by storms, a few taken out by my cousin, mowing. And I think one of them might have been taken out by me when I drove the tractor into the pond. They weren’t very strong. They were important to us but they were weak trees, saplings easily broken by wind and lawnmowers. 

Then there were those locusts trees. You know what a locust tree is right? They grow real tall, are kind of wild with really hard wood and they are usually covered in thorns and thickets. They are awful! Finally, last year a storm took out the last one and my father took such glee in cutting it up for firewood. They were finally down. They are a hard wood, a painful wood. But they are strong and tall.

Then there were those apple trees. They aren’t there anymore either. But they were throughout my entire childhood. Apple trees don’t get very big but they are good and strong. They are good for climbing. And they hang low so that it’s easy to pick their fruits. Good sweet fruit to turn into pies or jams or just eat raw on your way back to the house before the fish is cooked. They are strong and reachable and fruitful and are a blessing to everyone who comes into contact with them. 

All throughout the great story of our faith, there are also three trees. 

There’s the first tree in the Garden in Eden. It wasn’t very strong. It looked good, full and green. But easily broken by temptation. When Adam and Eve ate of the fruit that they were forbidden. The Fall of Man. The curse of God upon the ground. The expulsion from Paradise. It’s like those evergreens, easily taken out by somebody not watching, not being careful. 

Then there’s the second tree in our story. It was strong, tall, capable of holding a man. But it was a hard wood, full of pain, covered in thorns. A cross at a place called The Skull. Our second tree. Like most trees at this time of year that turns crimson and release their leaves. That tree too turned crimson. Not with the leaves of a season past, but with the leaves of the blood of our Lord, crucified for us. A blood poured out for us. He took on the pain of that hard wood and thorny cross. 

As we will learn in the book of Revelation there is another tree, a Tree of Life. It is fed by the Waters of Life that flow from the throne of God. This is a look back at Paradise - a look back at Eden - a look back at Creation - a time before the Fall. Its leaves are used for the healing of the nations. Its glory is the Reign of Christ, the overcoming of death, the overpowering of that hard thorny wood. It bears twelve fruits for the feeding of all the world - of all of creation. It hangs low so that it may be a blessing. 

This morning you see another tree before you. It is our Tree of Gratitude, our leaves of thanksgiving. This tree is like that last one. It reminds us of hardships. With each leaf, you filled out you could think of both the good and the bad, the pain that comes with life. But as those leaves hang there they show our gratitude. It is in our gratitude and in our thankfulness that we have our blessings. Our gratitude can be taken down and given to others through good works - the fruits of our labor - the fruits of our joy - the fruits of the Spirit. In our gratitude is the healing of the nations. How does your life with your neighbor change when you enter the world with a spirit of abundance and thanks rather than a spirit of scarcity and fear and pain? 

Three trees. One easily broken, one held tall, and one that gives. All of them are fed by the same seed. In our reading from Jeremiah this morning there is a prophecy, a promise of the Messiah. A promise of a King who will reign forever. “THE DAYS ARE SURELY COMING SAYS THE LORD WHEN I WILL RASE UP FOR DAVID A RIGHTEOUS BRANCH.” (Jer 23:5) 

Jesus doesn’t come in looking like a King. Jesus doesn’t come into the world like a great monarch. He is born in a crowded town, laid in a manger because there is no other room. He lives his life in the backwater of the country, wandering the wilderness. But doing good works. Proclaiming the message of God, the Good News. Bringing the Kingdom of God into this world - a restoration of creation. And then he is raised up on a cross, a tree watered with his blood - a throne to bring God down to earth. One that had to be fulfilled through pain and suffering. 

But then we have this final tree. This tree is fed from the living waters like baptism - a conquering of chaos to feed this final tree, flowing from the throne of God where now sits this servant king - this Jesus of Nazareth raised up by God for us. Who showed us a life of service and gratitude. There is an old Advent carol entitled “Jesus Christ the Apple Tree”. This king is not hard. This king does not stand tall. But this King - this tree lowers himself, lowers his branches to feed us from himself. Let me say that again. This king does not stand hard and tall above us, beating us back with thorn and briar. This King bends low so we can reach and feeds us from himself. How glorious is that? That is our victory. That is our return to paradise promised to the thief on the cross. Jesus says, come, taste, see. Eat of the fruit of these branches. Eat of my body, it is given for you. That’s the ultimate good news of this story. That is the overarching theme. Today we have those trees in mind.

So what kind of tree are you when you go out into the world? Are you the small evergreen - the sapling on the ridge. Easily take out by wind or somebody coming in and plowing through. Are you like that locust? Are you tall and strong? But do you gain that strength by pushing others away, by hurting others with your thorns? Or do you follow the example of Christ? Are you an apple tree? Do you bend low in humility? Do you give the blessings you have for others? Do you feed the world? Do you heal the nations? If you are a CHRISTIAN, I hope so. You know that word Christian was developed by Romans and Greeks who didn’t like us. It was a derogatory term. It means “little Christ” “the little anointed one” “the little Christian.” But that’s what we are called to be, little Christ’s to the world. Trees with low hanging branches, bearing much fruit. Feeding and healing the world. That is how the Kingdom of God breaks through. That is how the reign of Christ is seen. In us! In what we do! In the fruits that we bear! So what type do you grow?

TRINITY SUNDAY 2019

Today the church celebrates the Feast of the Holy Trinity or Trinity Sunday. Many a well-meaning theologian has tried to explain away the Trinity of God throughout the centuries only to find themselves caught by philosophy, reason, or nature. The best we can hope to do is say the Trinity is a mystery, folks, and that’s okay. For it is often in mysteries, that we gain the most wisdom and find new knowledge every day.

I may not be able to explain the mystery of the Holy Trinity but there are other triune mysteries whose stories can teach us much about ourselves and about God.

Once upon a time very long ago,
there were three sisters who lived together in a field.
These sisters were quite different from one another in their size
and also in their way they dressed.
One of the three was a little sister,
so young that she could only crawl at first,
and she was dressed in green.
The second of the three wore a frock of bright yellow,
and she had a way of running off by herself when the sun shone
and the soft wind blew in her face.
The third was the eldest sister,
always standing very straight and tall above the other sisters
and trying to guard them.
She wore a pale green shawl,
and she had long, yellow hair
that tossed about her head in the breezes.
There was only one way in which the three sisters were alike.
They loved one another dearly,
and they were never separated.
They were sure that they would not be able to live apart.

After a while,
 a stranger came to the field of the three sisters,
a little Iroquois boy.
He was as straight as an arrow
and as fearless as the eagle that circled the sky above his head.
He knew the way of talking to the birds
and the small brothers of the earth,
the shrew, the chipmunk, and the young foxes.
And the three sisters,
the one who was just able to crawl,
the one in the yellow frock,
and the one with the flowing hair,
were very much interested in the strange boy.
They watched him fit his arrow in his bow,
saw him carve a bowl with his stone knife,
and wondered where he went at night.

Late in the summer of the first coming of the boy to their field,
one of the three sisters disappeared.
This was the youngest sister in green,
the sister who could only creep.
She was scarcely able to stand alone in the field
unless she had a stick to which she clung.
Her sisters mourned for her until the fall,
but she did not return.

Once more the boy came to the field of the three sisters.
He came to gather reeds at the edge of a stream nearby
to make arrow shafts.
The two sisters who were left watched him
and gazed with wonder at the prints of his moccasins in the earth
that marked his trail.
That night the second of the sisters left,
the one who was dressed in yellow
and who always wanted to run away.
She left no mark of her going,
but it may have been that she set her feet
in the moccasin tracks of the little boy.

Now there was but one of the sisters left.
Tall and straight she stood in the field
not once bowing her head with sorrow,
but it seemed to her that she could not live there alone.

The days grew shorter and the nights were colder.
Her green shawl faded and grew thin and old.
Her hair,
once long and golden,
was now tangled by the wind.

Day and night she sighed for her sisters to return to her,
but they did not hear her.
When she tried to call to them
her voice was low and plaintive like the wind.

One day when it was the season of the harvest,
the little boy heard the crying of the third sister
who had been left to mourn there in the field.
He felt sorry for her,
and he took her in his arms
and carried her to the lodge of his father and mother.
Oh what a surprise awaited her there!

Her two lost sisters were there in the lodge,
safe and very glad to see her.
They had been curious about the boy,
and they had gone home with him to see how and where he lived. They had liked his warm cave so well
that they had decided now that winter was coming on
to stay with him and his family.
And decided to do all they could to be useful.

The little sister in green,
now quite grown up,
was helping to keep the dinner pot full.

The sister in yellow sat on the shelf drying herself,
for she planned to fill the dinner pot later.

The third sister joined them,
ready to grind meal for the boys entire family.

And the three were never separated again.
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This is a story well known to many of the ancient tribes of North America. Although each telling has its variants the tale is meant to give us knowledge and teach us to respect the mysteries of the land. The Three Sister’s are the basic crops of native life.

The youngest sister, the one in green who only crawls, She is the squash, whose great vines shield the soil as she creeps along the ground spreading her fruits around the mound.

The second sister, the one who moves with the wind and the sun, she is the bean, who spreads her tendrils toward the sun climbing whatever sturdy stalk she may find.

The eldest sister, the one with flowing yellow hair, she is the maize, or corn, who stands the tallest, unbending in the wind.

They were always planted together because they always helped each other, Grown from one mound,  they formed the basis of native cuisine.

The corn provided a stalk for the beans to grow on. This kept the beans from growing along the ground where they were susceptible to being eaten or moisture rot. The vines of the beans also helped support the corn, keeping it from bending too easily in the wind and providing much-needed nitrogen to the soil. The squash was shaded from the scorching heat by the shadow of the stalk and leaves growing skyward. It only crawled, but as it spread it’s leaves kept weeds from growing up and choking its sisters and the shade it provided kept the soil moist and fertile.  Although they were three very different crops in the field, they formed one living being always supporting each other by their love and helping each other to grow.

In the harvest, they become the sustainers of life. The squash can feed in the early months. The beans are dried and cooked in the winter. And the corn is ground to meal,
providing daily bread for the whole year long.  Together in the field, they give life to each other, and out of the field, it is only together that they give life to the family. This knowledge was a mystery sustained by myth and legend and only recently understood by science.

So is it with the Trinity, three in one an example to us of the community in love. The God who stands tall and sturdy when we are in need of strength to live by faith and hope and not to be so easily tossed by the winds of change. The God who teaches us to climb toward the sun and to be lead by the breath of God following in the steps of Jesus, the boy who came to the garden to teach us how to live. The God who shields us “hiding us under the shadow of His wings” as the psalmist says and protecting us from danger, And the God who becomes our sustainer, providing for us through our darkest times. God giving of Godself in sacrifice to feed our weary souls.

It may be a mystery, but that’s okay. We can see this mystery move throughout creation and continue to show us how to live the sacramental life with each other and invites us to dig into the soil of this mystery to find the fruits of wisdom.

Each day there is an opportunity for a new harvest. Come and learn Come and see Come and be fed.  AMEN.

THE SONG OF THE SPIRIT

PENTECOST 2019

Something I understood from a very early age was that music is the one thing in this world that can cross nearly every border and tear down every barrier.  It may sound a little different, the instruments may be strange and the beats may be unusual but music is the only truly universal language.

Music transcends both time and space. It can muster whole armies to battle and aid in the grieving of the lost. It can calm the savage beast and turn our passions to thoughts of peace Music tells us when to be afraid (Jaws theme) there be sharks in those waters;
and when to think on love (Bridal March). Music has the power to unite even the fiercest of enemies. Have you ever been to a ball game when the DJ begins playing Sweet Caroline? It doesn't matter what team you're rooting for, everyone's going to jump up and (bum bum BUM) at the chorus. Music unites the world. Music is the universal language.

This last week I had the opportunity to attend a Preaching Conference. There is nothing more fun and more nerve-racking, then to spend a week with talented preachers from across the country and watch as we all try to bum ideas off each other on Thursday night for the Pentecost sermons, we all have yet to write. As I stood in conversation and reviewed the scripture I began to recognize the song of the Holy Spirit in the various tongues spoken by the peoples gathered in Jerusalem but I had yet to understand the lyrics. If you stick with me this morning,  we might be able to learn them together.

Luke’s account tells us that as the people were gathered in one place there was a sound of a mighty rushing wind. An echoing whirlwind as if the doors of heaven had suddenly been flung open and a new breath of God had come crashing into the room. A flame appeared above each head as if the Divine spark was ignited anew, and the light of creation was being birthed in the universe for the first time all over again. And they began to speak in strange tongues just as creation began with a word.

The marketplace outside had been filled with babble and chatter that morning as visitors from all around the known world were looking to buy their breakfast. Each with a different dialect, a different culture, a different language. As the Spirit moved over the followers of Christ like the waving hands of a great conductor, they began to hear the same song. The disjointed fervor fell into harmony and suddenly all became one. The story of Christ; the story of God was now for all. 

Back in the summer of 2008, I was living in Michigan working as a counselor at Blue Lake Fine Arts Camp. One of the many benefits of working at Blue Lake besides inspiring a love for music in the lives of young people was the opportunity to perform some really wonderful music with some exceptionally talented musicians. That year I sang with the staff choir and we had invited a chorus from Germany for a very special performance late in the summer. Beethoven’s 9th Symphony was on the bill and I was super excited.

Even if you’ve never listened to classical music or known it was from Beethoven’s 9th and final symphony I am fairly certain that you know the driving theme of this masterwork. It pervades our collective psyche. From the radio to tv commercials,
movies to hymns, you have heard this simple melody at some point in your life.

Although he was far from being the only composer in 19th century Vienna, Beethoven’s music was a cut above the rest and often far ahead of its time.  Hundred’s of symphonies had already been written and there were choruses upon choruses in operas and sacred oratory, but there was nothing written before that was quite like this new work by Maestro Beethoven. For starters, at the time of its performance, the composer of the work was nearly completely deaf only hearing the music playing in his own head. AND this audacious musician was including a choir and lyrics into the fourth movement of his symphony a style of music usually reserved for instrumental circles alone. –––––––––

The day finally came in late July for us to perform this greatest of works at the end of season concert. The two choirs and a huge orchestra took our places on the outdoor stage in the center of camp. The wind blew through the trees and songbirds called to their mates as the horns held a single note over pulsating cello’s and the symphony began. For forty-two minutes the orchestra flows through the first three movements transporting the audience through a myriad of emotions, opening on a risky gambit, followed by a confusing dance,  and then the listener is lulled into a pastoral scene
and a false sense of security. All the while the choir is sitting on the risers, breathing together and waiting. The serenity of the third movement is as if the bustle in the market has calmed. Everyone has their breakfast and sits to enjoy the warm morning sun. Suddenly, the fourth movement literally breaks in. The drums are beaten, the strings vibrate with violent fervor and all the horns blast in discord. It is like the sound of a mighty rushing wind ripping through the plain as shutters flap and trees come crashing down.

On the day of Pentecost, Peter stood in the market to preach to the masses. He tells all who are able to hear that the prophecies have been fulfilled. Jesus who was crucified has been raised from the dead and on this day God has poured out his Spirit upon all flesh. There is no need to fear. Instead, rejoice! The barriers that separated humanity from the Divine have been torn down and the joy of salvation is now gifted to all of creation.

For his fourth movement, Beethoven chose a text by the poet Schiller. I think the ‘Ode to Joy’ fits very well with this theme of Pentecost and is almost like the sermon of Peter has continued and is proclaimed anew out of the pens of a 19th-century poet and composer. After the initial crash, the strings begin the common theme then enters a solo tenor like Peter in the marketplace gathering the audience and literally preaching to the choir.

Oh friends, not these sounds!
Let us instead strike up more pleasing
and more joyful ones!

Suddenly the choir and a quartet join together with shouts of Joy! Joy!

And in harmonies old and new they sing the message for all to hear.
Joy, beautiful spark of divinity,
Daughter from Paradise,
Heavenly being, we enter your sanctuary,
burning with fervour.
Your magic brings together
what custom has sternly divided.
All men shall become brothers,
wherever your gentle wings hover.

Every creature drinks in joy
at nature's breast;
Good and Evil alike
follow her trail of roses.
She gives us kisses and wine,
a true friend, even in death;
Even the worm was given desire,
and the cherub stands before God.

Be embraced, you millions!
This kiss is for the whole world!
Above the canopy of stars must dwell a loving father.

On the day of Pentecost, we might wonder if the disjointed babbling ceased because all the sudden they were no longer speaking AT each other but singing together. Whatever cause there was to divide themselves was now gone and all were filled with the same spirit. Their hearts beat as one as they sang out the common refrain, God’s love is for all and God’s abundant joy has finally broken through and become available for all to hear.  The Spirits power did not stop on that day of Pentecost but continue still to vibrate the air around us and set our hearts ablaze.

When the performance at Blue Lake came to a close the campers and the visiting audience sat in silence for a brief moment. On the wings of the wind, the final notes continued to ring in echo across the waters and through the canopy of trees. It felt as if our song would continue forever had it not been interrupted by the shouts and applause that broke out from the floor below.

Like that ringing, our song of Pentecost can still continue. Millions are welcomed to sing the theme as we join the song of creation. We hum the tune of God’s love and joy whenever we uphold each other in prayer and give ourselves to service. We teach others the lyrics when we share the simple truth that God’s love is available to everyone we meet. If we live by faith and follow the Spirit we may be blessed to hear the whole of creation singing all because we shared our tiny bit of the chorus.

In a world disrupted by evil and riven by strife where many ears fall deaf to the love of God and can only hear babble where harmony should dwell remember that music is the universal language remember to evangelize and keep the melody going.   

RESTRICITON AND LIBERATION!

EASTER VII, 2019

Restriction and Liberation! These are the themes we sit with this week. Last Thursday was forty days after Easter, when the church around the world celebrates the Ascension. Christ’s leave-taking of this world to the Father.

More than a missional proclamation and a long goodbye, the ascension is in itself an example for us of liberation from restriction. The great theologian William Temple, who served as Archbishop of Canterbury from 1942, until his death in 1944, described the Ascension of Our Lord as liberation in this way,

“The ascension of Christ is his liberation from all restrictions of time and space. It does not represent his removal from earth, but his constant presence everywhere.”

In leaving the confines of the temporal, and entering the space of the spiritual, Jesus is true with us, always and everywhere. There is perfect freedom.

Luke’s account in the Act’s of the Apostles gives us other accounts of restriction and liberation. They may not always be found in the obvious.

Paul, and his new mission companion, Silas, have answered God’s command through a dream, and traveled to Philippi of Macedonia, now a coastal Greek town on the Adriatic. It was a fairly large city in the first century. While on their way to the diaspora community of Hellenised Jewish families, they meet a girl with a spirit of divination, meaning she can see into the future. A fortune teller. This “gift” is being exploited. She is enslaved. And the way her master’s are treating her is a prostitution of the mind. Her powers are being sold and all the money is going to the men who oppress her. She is enprisoned by this spirit and more importantly by the system that uses her for the economic gain of others.  As they pass her by, she begins to follow them and shout out to the people I think by her words, she is the first evangelist to the Macedonians.

“These men are slaves of the Most High God, who proclaim to you a way of salvation.”

Notice the interplay of themes. “These men are SLAVES who proclaim SALVATION”

Well, this goes on for a while, many days in fact, and without being asked Paul does something radical. And I love how Luke puts it, Paul, very much annoyed, turned and said to the spirit,  “I order you in the name of Jesus Christ to come out of her.” In that very hour, this spirit left her and she was free. Not from any pain caused by the spirit, but from the chains of her master’s who were becoming rich through exploitation.  The slaves of the Most High God have set her free.

Now our themes continue. The businessmen of town do not like how Paul and Silas through there preaching have stirred up the establishment, changed the economy, and begun proclaiming liberation. 

What do we do to such liberators? We cast them in prison throw chains around them and clamp fetters of iron to their feet. These slaves of the Most High are now prisoners of the state. But this has little effect on Paul and Silas. Because they are slaves to God, they have perfect freedom. Their liberty is not bound by temporal restrictions but is free in the spirit because their freedom is in the Christ who died rose again, and ascended to the Father.  So while in the midst of prison, with chains and fetters and iron bars, Paul and Silas are still able to sing. Their bodies may be bound but their souls are free to soar.

It makes me think of that old hymn by Robert Lowry,

My life flows on in endless song;

above earth’s lamentation,

I catch the sweet, though far-off hymn

that hails a new creation.

Refrain: No storm can shake my inmost calm

while to that Rock I’m clinging.

Since Christ is Lord of heaven and earth,

how can I keep from singing?

Mr. Lowry is said to have written this text  because of the influence of another prolific hymn writer,  Fanny Crosby, who was famous for such well-known texts as  Blessed Assurance and To God be the Glory. You see, Fanny Crosby was blind. She never saw the beauty of creation but she could capture God’s Glory and works through her words. She was restricted by the temporal, but her spirit was always free.

So what happens while Paul and Silas are singing? For one, the chains mean nothing because their souls are free. But then while they are singing  the earthquakes, the chains fall off, and the prison doors are open. Through there song, the guard at the prison has also found freedom of the soul and brings the two to his own house, where they proclaim the good news of salvation and the guards entire family is baptized. For letting the prisoners escape, it is possible that the guard could be executed and his entire family sold into slavery. But that is only temporal, they have found perfect freedom through Jesus Christ. Even when things seemed at their bleakest, the storms rage and this world began closing in, it was in their song that Paul and Silas lifted others out of slavery and into the glory of God.

The last few days I was in Ohio attending a conference on Food and Faith, exploring the role of ministry in the time of climate change. The week had begun with me hiding with my cat beneath the stairwell as tornado sirens whirled throughout the county. There was destruction all around us in Delaware, Ohio. And on the last day, I sat in the humid morning air, waiting for the day to start, and seeking from God some type of hope in the days to come.

As I looked up, I noticed that there was no wind. The kinetic art piece was perfectly still  and the leaves on the trees lay flat as ever. And then I heard the birdsong and the Spirit filled my heart. Sometimes in life, there is no wind to rustle the leaves or turn the whirligigs. Sometimes there seems to be no evidence of the breath of God, no presence of the Creator, no hope in the thick heaviness of our current age. But still, the birds will sing. And on their notes the entrapped spirit is freed to take flight and all of Creation is lifted to the Glory of God.

We need not be bogged down by the changes and chances of this world. Because our God is Alpha and Omega the beginning and the end the Creator and Fulfiller of all things. We are slaves, given wholly over to the source of our salvation. And in our song and the song of creation, we are liberated from the restrictions of this world and free to move about proclaiming the good news of salvation. Go and listen to the bird song. Sing the notes that are in your heart. And proclaim freedom to all of creation. AMEN. 

HAVE SOME FISH & GET TO WORK

Easter III, 2019

A lot has happened. Jesus was arrested, crucified, buried, but three days after the rushed funeral his tomb is empty. Peter has denied that he even knew who Jesus was, Judas Iscariot has hanged himself out of grief, this band of friends has scattered to the winds for fear that they might be next. Then two disciples are walking from Jerusalem to Emmaus when they are joined by a stranger. He quietly shares a conversation with them before sitting down to some supper at their behest. As he breaks the bread they recognize him to be Jesus, raised from the dead. Then just as quickly as he appeared, he is gone from their sight. After sharing this story with their friends, the remaining group starts to come back together. They lock themselves in a room because they are still afraid of what all this means, when Jesus appears in the midst of them, and quietly offers them Peace, instead of fear. After he leaves again, the group realizes they are one man short. Thomas was off visiting his twin sister perhaps, so when he returns to Jerusalem, Jesus comes again, this time moving the resurrection beyond words, to touch. Showing himself to not be a ghost but sanctifying the human body even with all its wounds and scars. After all, why should it not be holy? The human body was molded by God and made in the image of God. They don’t know how to deal with resurrection. Jesus just keeps showing up, eating some food, and going away again. I’m sure the question crossed their minds, “what do we do now?

A lot has happened and it is a lot to handle. All this ordinary suddenly becoming extraordinary is almost too much to bear. So what do the disciples do? They try to go home again. Well, as anyone who has endured a transformative experience can tell you, you can never really “go home” again. They try to find some sense of what they knew before. They try to “return.” So just as my father and grandfather would do to figure things out, a way to untangle the messy nets of the mind, they put out a boat and decide to go fishing. Night fishing in fact. I don’t know if in their stress they are casting the nets too hard, or they have spooked the fish with all their talk about the last week's events, but for some reason, they don’t catch a thing. The first ribbons of the dawn are peeling over the mountains and they have no fish.

In the haze of morning light, Jesus is standing on the shore. As they are bringing the empty boat back in, he calls out, “Didn’t catch anything, did you?” “Why don’t you try throwing the net on the other side of the boat?” Being raised by avid fishermen,  I know exactly how the unwritten reply would have gone. It’s unwritten because John doesn’t know how to translate Aramaic cusses into Greek. I am sure a little grumbling took place under their breaths, “Don’t you think we tried that already?” Nevertheless, they cast their nets one more time. Suddenly the net is bursting and they can hardly pull it into the boat.

This is a bit like the breaking of bread in that roadside tavern. The scene should have been a familiar one to most of those in the boat. But Peter, so deaf to the now after the grief of his denial is a little slow on the upbeat, till one of the others points out to him, “look, its Jesus.”

Suddenly the memories come flooding back in. The scales have fallen from his eyes, his ears are unblocked, and Peter remembers that first day so many years ago. He was in a boat with his brother and partners, possibly this very same boat. They had been out all night fishing and not caught a thing, when this strange guy from Nazareth, a landlocked town, says “try casting the nets on the other side.” It is after this first miraculous catch that Jesus says, “Come follow me, and I will teach you what it means to fish for people.” Being someone who finds comfort in food and cooking, I love these post-resurrection scenes because nearly all of them involve food. The men in the boat have been out all night and not caught a thing, but here is Jesus on the shore, charcoal fire on the beach, with some fish already cleaned and roasting. “Come have some breakfast, and let’s talk.”

They still struggle with what resurrection means. They still have no idea what they are supposed to do next. So Jesus takes them back to where it all began, in an almost Wizard of Oz-like moment, to show them that they knew what to do all along.

When they had finished breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, 
“Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?” 
He said to him, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.” 
Jesus said to him, “Feed my lambs.” 

A second time he said to him, “Simon son of John, do you love me?” 
He said to him, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.” 
Jesus said to him, “Tend my sheep.” 

He said to him the third time, “Simon son of John, do you love me?” 
Peter felt hurt because he said to him the third time, “Do you love me?” 
And he said to him, “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.” 
Jesus said to him, “Feed my sheep.

Here we have another hearkening back. For three times Simon Peter denied that he even knew who Jesus was. Now, three times he makes his contrition, three times he is forgiven, and three times he is told what to do. So now the scene comes to a conclusion, Not with any earthquakes or trumpet blasts, not with any great moment of ethereal enlightenment, but with Jesus and his friends sitting around a campfire, as he whispers those familiar words through the smoke, “Follow me.” Maybe that is where you find yourself. We all still struggle to understand what resurrection means. We forget that we are a resurrection people and we allow ourselves to be bogged down with worry because we have trouble seeing the signs all around us.

Yesterday morning a dear friend, and a beautiful Christian soul left this world. Rachel Held Evans, through her books, her humor, and her personality had such a profound impact on my life, as she did on many that I know. In the first moments after receiving the news, my heart broke. I was stunned, and I didn’t really know what to do next. I needed a trumpet blast to wake me from the fog. I needed an earthquake to shake me back into existence.  In the darkness of this news, I needed a little light. So I began looking back to quotes of hers that I had underlined. I began scrolling through pictures my friends had with her and Dan as I read their memories and transformations. I still hadn’t fleshed out this mornings sermon and I didn’t know what to do next. I didn’t go fishing, but instead walked inside to the Diocesan Camp Planning meeting I was attending, and I worked with my friends to prepare for the work of the Kingdom.

When I got home last night, I got some food and began re-reading my favorite book by Rachel, Searching For Sunday. It was this book that had helped me through my summer of hospital chaplaincy. It was this book that had confirmed my transformation in God. It was this book that had solidified my calling into ministry  through my experiences with God. Still thinking of this morning's Gospel, and recognizing my own struggle with resurrection  in the darkness felt at the loss of such a bright and loving light, I read the final page and heard a whisper, “her work may be done, but yours is just beginning.” So I will let her words on the role of this post-resurrection church close us out.

Sunday morning sneaks up on us––like dawn, like resurrection, like the sun that rises a ribbon at a time. We expect a trumpet and a triumphant entry, but as always, God surprises us by showing up in ordinary things: in bread, in wine, in water, in words, in sickness, in healing, in death, in a manger of hay, in a mother’s womb, in an empty tomb. [And I would add, in a campfire and some fish]. Church isn’t some community you join or someplace you arrive. Church is what happens when someone taps you on the shoulder and whispers in your ear, ‘pay attention, this is holy ground; God is here.’

God is truly, and is always here. So let us recognize the holy ground and resurrection. Let’s go fishing. Let’s feed the sheep. Let’s get to work.

AMEN

BORROWED TIME TO BORROWED TOMB

EASTER SUNDAY 2019

Alleluia! Christ is Risen! The Lord is Risen Indeed! Alleluia!
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What a week?

We rode with Jesus into Jerusalem, waving palm branches and shouting Hosanna! Hosanna! SAVE US! You are the promised King! The Messiah! Save us! Save us! As he did not bring military might but rather showed us a way of love in remembrance of God and service to each other we had the realization that this salvation did not fit into our molds. So we turned on him. Handed him over to Pilate. Called for his crucifixion! And followed him out of town to the wood of the cross.

After he died at the place of the skull his body was taken down laid on the lap of his mother, who opened her heart and offered him to all of us. Two faithful members of the council Nicodemus and Joseph of Arimathea saved his body from being thrown into the garbage heap. Nicodemus brings one hundred pounds of oils and spices to anoint the body and Joseph gives up what was meant to be his tomb. So great was there love for this Rabbi that they went to extraordinary lengths making an extraordinary financial and physical sacrifice to care for his body. Perhaps they didn’t quite understand resurrection yet either. After all, Nicodemus is still reeling over the idea of being BORN AGAIN. Anyway, Jesus body is placed in the tomb of another. The stone is rolled over the door to protect it from wild animals and to mask the smell of decomposition. Then Jesus is left alone

So now we come to the in-between. the moment of tension between death and resurrection. The part often skipped in our Easter celebrations. For that part of our story, I offer you this Icon of the Anastasis (meaning - the raising) It is also often called The Harrowing of Hades or The Conquering of Death.

As with all icons, there are many aspects and lessons they try to teach us through the metaphor. First, we are drawn to the figure of Jesus. He is dressed in dazzling white and often surrounded by a mondorla of light representing the Glory of God. This part of the image should draw our memories back to the scene on Mt Tabor, where Christ is transfigured to his Glory in front of Peter, James, and John. Beneath his feet are the Gates of Death itself. They do not look like normal gates because they have been broken by Christ. Death can no longer contain creation forever. As fourth-century Spanish poet Prudentius painted the scene,  “The door [of hell] is forced and yields before Him;  the bolts are torn away;  down falls the pivot broken; that gate so ready to receive the inrush,  so unyielding in face of those that would return,  is unbarred and gives back the dead. . .”

On either side of Jesus are those who have died. The crowd surrounding Christ seems mostly unfamiliar in iconography besides John the Baptist with his memorable camel hair tunic. These others are the righteous of the the passed. Those who have given us our heritage.

 In the most basic icons, on Christ’s right hand we see Christ’s family including John the Baptist, as well as King David and King Solomon with their crowns. on Christ’s left-hand we see those who prefigured him:  Abel (the firstborn human, who was slain by his brother Cain, and was thereby the first human dead), along with the prophets from the Transfiguration, Moses, and Isaiah. They have all been awakened from their long slumber, likely at the sound of those gates crashing down. They now stand ready for what is to come, the hope the prophets promised for generations.

Underneath the gates of Hades,  which have been broken and now lie in the form of a cross,  we find a figure that is tied up in the dark area where the keys and locks are found;  this represents Death,  being bound up he no longer has dominion over us.

Lastly, our gaze is drawn to the two figures below. They are a much older man and woman. They have been lying in stone boxes these are their sarcophagi.  The two figures are Adam the ‘adam or dust and Eve the ‘chava or life giver Together they are the dust given life the first of humanity. They have been so long in their shame that they are almost reluctant to leave death. Therefore Christ is literally yanking them from the tomb.  Often you will see Eve’s hand covered, the hand, so the story goes, with which she plucked the forbidden fruit.

In the totality of this image we see that Christ as taken control of the grave. Not only his grave but all graves. Death for Jesus was only a borrowing of time. And Jesus burial is only in a borrowed tomb. Because Christ has conquered death and brought the Resurrection. As with Joseph’s tomb, Jesus makes all our graves his own.

The three women with their spices were the first to witness this fulfillment. And in their joy, they do not keep this news to themselves. We are the inheritors of this Gospel, the GOOD NEWS. Christ has made our graves his own. Christ has conquered death, therefore we need not fear death. So go and tell your sisters and brothers, the tomb is empty. Tell the world that it is life, not death, which will come to us all. ALLELUIA!

REMEMBER THE GARDENER

The Triduum - The Great Vigil of Easter

Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him.”

☩ May I speak to you in the Name of Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

At the beginning of Lent in 2018, my friend, Charlie Edholm, visited from Tenessee and gave a lovely concert of Classical Guitar here at St. Davids. As part of that concert, he showcased a song he had just composed for the new album. It was inspired by a painting he had seen while visiting the Museum of Art in Atlanta. The words are beautiful, poetic, and fit well with the Feast of Easter, especially this year. You see, the story begins just as our story begins . . . In the beginning . . . The Creator brought order to the chaos. And filled this new creation with light. We re-created this drama tonight with the lighting of the new fire.

Then the Creator separated the waters of the chaos and held them in their place. The dry earth brought forth became known as land, and the separated waters became the sea. We show this in the waters of baptism, still dangerous to us but ordered by God.

And not by coincidence, these are the first to things you had to pass in order to enter this place tonight. Into this new creation, the Creator planted a Garden which was called Eden, and into this garden the creator placed humanity, the ‘adam which He had formed from the dust of the earth, so that this ‘adam might tend to creation, cultivating its fruits, and guarding its fragility.

So we find the first stanza of Charlie’s song:

Two lovers in the garden holding close,
The breeze in her hair and his winter coat,
With nothing but a care for love in the air
Each had the other to keep them warm.

But then something goes wrong. Humanity falls short on our job and we are banished from the beauty of the garden.

Two lovers left the garden close to dawn
Never to return once they had gone
Eternity had passed, each shot a glance back
And left the garden they called their own.

But here there is a promised hope as God never leaves humanity and reminds us time and again through the prophets that He will come and help.

Restless hearts, find peace from your wandering,
One day we will return to the garden.

At Christmas and in the Passion, we look to that promised hope. God comes to us to be with us. God puts on human flesh, human frailty, human pain, human grief, human suffering, human shame, All to show us how to love God by truly caring for each other and for creation. Jesus points us back to our original relationship. Back to the garden.

Charlie puts it this way:
A man came to the garden on his own,
He took off his jacket far from home,
With no one to notice where he had gone
He wonders if he should carry on.

We remembered this on Thursday night. Jesus gives his final lessons of love to the Apostles and charges us all to remember what this looks like. He gives us towels and water, bread and wine, ordinary things found in ordinary homes so that every day we might be drawn back to God and to each other.

After supper and the final lessons, Jesus goes to one of his favorite places. John says: “as was his custom” He and His followers go out to THE GARDEN. In this Garden of Gethsemane, he wrestles with what is to come. He must dig deep to where the roots of love are buried in order to have the strength to continue.

God must follow humanity’s course all the way to the grave. It is a pattern the Gardner knows well. The grain must first be planted, taken into the darkness of the earth and broken before the green blade can rise again.

The agony is real, but still, the refrain returns to remind us,
Restless hearts, find peace from your wandering,
One day we will return to the garden.

Then because we could not accept the love of God, because we are unwilling to do the work necessary to live in The Garden, we called for the death of Jesus. He is taken to a stony hill, opposite Gethsemane and is raised up on a dying tree. Naked as Adam he looks down from the cross at the mockery and into the garbage pit of Jerusalem, another sign of our reluctance to cultivate and guard creation. From this vantage, he still offers hope and shows us, LOVE. In the fullness of grace, he looks down from the cross and says a small prayer advocating for the humanity he loves and still has hope for. “Father forgive them, they do not know what they are doing”

It is said that the bones of the old ‘adam are buried in this rocky hill, giving it the nickname “the place of the skull” In a moment of deepest pain and deepest sorrow, Eden is slowly returning. The gospel writers tell us  that near the place he was crucified there was another Garden. In this Garden is a brand new tomb. The broken flesh, the dried up grain of our Lord’s body  is taken down from the cross prepared with oils and spices, and just like at his birth, wrapped in bands of cloth. It is then placed in this tomb, buried in the darkness of the earth. Tonight we find ourselves in the story. We entered a darkened tomb in which we heard the story’s of God’s great deeds for humanity beginning with the story of creation.

We continue to dramatize the great and ancient story. Into this early morning scene comes Mary, finding the earth has been opened, the stone has been moved, and the tomb is empty. Forgetting for a moment what Jesus had taught her, she runs to tell the others of this news. They come to see for themselves, but not understanding fully what resurrection means they return home, back to the safety of their current situation. But Mary remains . . . and weeps. She sees the garden all around but does not understand what all this means. The buds are beginning to bloom as new life breaks from the ground.
The trees stood in the garden watching all,
Many came and went as their leaves did fall,
Though branches are bare, the sweet springtime air
Restores the garden to life of old.

Soon she hears a mans voice “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?”  Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him,  “Sir, if you have carried him away,  tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.” When he calls her by name “MARY” she suddenly recognizes him as her Teacher, who just three days ago was very dead, buried in the earth, but now is alive and standing before her.

Now we find ourselves in the early hours of resurrection. Jesus has taken on the roles of the ‘adam.
Christ is the new Adam, now placed in a garden to cultivate and guard it. He is easily mistaken as the Gardner because that is who he truly is. The Head Gardner, raised from death to new life to continue the lessons and draw us back to the garden. But this is not the end of the story.

The services of the Christian story are elemental by nature. (pun intended) Earth is placed on our heads at the beginning of Lent Remember that you are Dust, and to Dust, you shall Return Water and Fire permeate the Triduum And Pentecost, at the end of Eastertide, will bring wind to the forefront of our minds. The Air brought forth by The Word, The Spirit and the Breath of God. All of these point us to . . . our Creation, our Birth, our Life, our Death, and our Resurrection Used in this way, the elements point us toward a vision of a God revealed in creation and to our own origins in the dust of the Earth, a dust (an ‘adamah) which is being cultivated and guarded by the New Adam. This very Jesus Christ our Lord, who established the garden in the beginning, who worked in the garden at his resurrection, and who will one day bring us all back to The Garden.

Restless hearts, find peace from your wandering,
Lift your weary eyes towards the sunset skies,
When morning dawns that day, darkness fades away,
One day we will return to the garden.

So sing your Alleluia! Get your hands dirty as you learn from the garden. And always remember the Gardner. AMEN.

ECCE! BEHOLD!

The Triduum - Good Friday
Isaiah 52:13-53:12; Psalm 22; Hebrews 4:14-16; 5:7-9; John 18:1-19:42

Ecce! is a wonderful Latin word. It means “Behold”

This word holds a very special place in my heart. The motto of the University of the South at Sewanee, where I completed my seminary studies is ECCE QUAM BONUM! It is the opening line of Psalm 133. Ecce quam bonum et quam iucundum habitare fratres in unum – Behold how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell in unity. A line, specifically chosen for an institution founded in the midst of the Civil War. On the Domain of the University, we know it simply as EQB! And for me, it brings to mind, verdant bluff views, the light streaming through stained glass windows in All Saint’s Chapel, and the haunting simplicity found in the architecture of the Chapel of the Apostles at the seminary.

In the Latin Vulgate, the translation of holy scripture compiled by St. Jerome, this word, ECCE, gets used quite a bit in reference to the life of Jesus.

It first appears in Mary’s response to the angel Gabriel when she is told that God has found favor with her and that she is to be the vessel through which “The Son of God,”  The Messiah enters this world. ecce ancilla Domini – Behold the Handmaid of the Lord. In this moment as Mary consents her own body becomes the tabernacle in which God will dwell. Her womb becomes the Holy of holies the sanctuary of the Lord. It is by this ECCE that the Holy Spirit begins to knit in her the flesh of a baby who will grow up to be Prophet, Priest, and King by whose steps the creator of all things will walk again with the created.

Many years later, her own nephew would use this Ecce in reference to Jesus. John, the son of Elizabeth and Zechariah will become a prophet of the wilderness; calling the people to repentance, baptizing them into a new purity, and preparing the way for the coming Messiah. One day he will look up from the river's bank, and being led by the Spirit he will point his disciples toward this Jesus of Nazareth with the proclaiming word Ecce Agnus Dei – Behold the Lamb of God. LOOK, BEHOLD! This is the one I have been talking about. He is the promised Lamb of God. It is he who will take away the sins of the world. Go! Follow him!

This Holy Week, this passion scene in our story is not without its own ECCE moments. Jesus has been arrested, tried, and found guilty of blasphemy by the Sanhedrin for affirming that he is the longed-for Messiah, the Son of God. And proclaiming himself equal with God by forgiving sins. He is sent before Pontius Pilate, the Roman Procurator who has this “Son of God” this “King of the Jews” stripped naked and flogged. The soldiers mock him, dressing him in purple raiment and placing a crown of thorns upon his head.

In this famous scene at Gabbatha, so beautifully depicted by Antonio Ciseri in the painting, Pilate presents the beaten and scourged Jesus to the crowds and strips him of all the divinity just proclaimed before the Sanhedrin. This bleeding shell of skin and bones is introduced to the masses with those famous words Ecce Homo! Not behold the king, no behold the God, but ECCE HOME -  Behold the Man!

Giving in to the demands of the crowd, Pilate hands Jesus over to be crucified. Here he is degraded even lower from his divine rank, being raised up, naked, on the wood of a Roman Cross.

Among the last phrases he utters from this place of shame and torture, Jesus offers his own ECCE moment. Looking down at his mother, Mary standing with the Beloved Disciple, he says to her ecce filius tuus – Behold your son, and to the Beloved Disciple, he says ecce mater tua – Behold your mother.

Here, Mary, who at the beginning of the story becomes the tabernacle of God, the mother of our Lord, in this moment she becomes Mother to all of us. And being her children we come to know her sorrow. As the words of the Stabat Mater read
Who on Christ’s dear mother gazing, 
pierced by anguish so amazing,
born of woman, would not weep?
Who, on Christ’s dear mother thinking, 
such a cup of sorrow drinking,
would not share her sorrows deep?

In the last two months, many in the church have found our own hearts burning with such sorrow. Beginning in late March, over a ten-day span, three predominately  African-American churches in St. Landry Parish in southern Louisiana, were all set ablaze by arson.

Then on Monday, I watched in horror with the rest of the world as the nearly 900-year old roof and the spire of La Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Paris caught fire and filled the Parisian skyline with a hell-scape of towering flames and thick black smoke. This beautiful and storied cathedral is dedicated to Notre-Dame––Our Lady, Our Mother and The Mother of our Lord. This translation should be no surprise to any of us here as thirty minutes away, a statue of Our Mother the Blessed Virgin Mary, stands vigil atop the Golden Dome of Main Building at the University of Notre Dame.  And even in the shadow of that golden dome, students and staff were glued to the news on Monday as flames engulphed the great basilica for nearly fifteen hours. We each kept our own vigil, waiting to see what might remain of “the soul of Paris.” I, along with many of my pastoral colleagues could not escape Jesus own words in Matthew 24, as these Houses of Worship, were being reduced to ash.

Jesus came out of the temple and was going away, his disciples came to point out to him the buildings of the temple.  Then he asked them, “You see all these, do you not? Truly I tell you, not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down.”

It was hard to escape that. He was speaking of the Temple in Jerusalem, which was brought down by the Romans in 70 CE. But we have built for ourselves many temples since that day. Whether they be a mud hut on the Serengeti, a wooden Kirke on a Norwegian fjord, a stone arched masterpiece of gothic beauty, or a brick and cinderblock hall to the east of Baton Rouge, they all mean something to us but often become just walls we build around our God. We sometimes hold them up as sacred calves over our care for God’s own people and God’s own creation.

This leads me to the final ECCE!

If you are anything like me, the first thing you did on Tuesday morning, was roll over,
find your glasses and check your phone for any update of the damage in Paris. One image hit me right in the gut. The shot was taken,  pointing east toward the apse,  over which the fire supposedly began. In the foreground lay a pile of blackened timber and ash; the remains of the mighty spire which collapsed through the ceiling bringing glowing cinders down to the transept floor.

Just beyond this charred mess, shon the golden cross of the high altar. And here is the crux, the poignant scene. Adorning this space, unharmed, is a statue of the PIETA. The lifeless body of Jesus, recently taken down from the cross and laid in his mother's arms. It is an apocryphal scene, but one that never-the-less has plucked at the hearts of the faithful for centuries.

For us today, this pieta image is the ECCE unspoken. As Mary sits silent in her grief her expression seems to say ECCE––Behold the Body broken for you. The joy of Easter is never more difficult to see then behind the smokey haze of Good Friday. Yet in this image our Mother offers us some light.

Mary has become the paten, holding the body on the altar of our lives. The tabernacle is now opened to all of us.  In his death, her son no longer belongs to her but to the entire world, to all of creation. It may be difficult for us to see at times but the Good News of Jesus Christ is not for a select few but for all who need to hear it.  This is why the destruction by arson of three historic African-American churches in Louisiana and the devastation at Notre-Dame de Paris are heartbreaking, yes,  but they can not diminish God.

God is not contained within stone, brick, wood, or flesh. God is not frozen within bread and wine. God is not contained, NOT EVEN BY DEATH. God can not be confined, so God is free to be with us all, a true Emmanuel. This is the gift of God. Godself given up, broken, spilled out and opened for all to eat, all to drink, and all to behold. Behold your God. NOT only in the Blessed Sacrament, NOT only in beautiful architecture or solemn hymns BUT in the very chaos and mess of our lives, on the wood of the cross, on the lap of Our Mother, and on the Altars of the World. God can be found in the ashes.

So take the ECCE with you. And when you come, AND when you go, Behold the Lamb! And point him out to others. Behold the Man! And in that clay, witness the sparks of the divine. Behold your God in both the beauty and in the sorrow!

ECCE––BEHOLD––AMEN.


Rev. J. Nelson - Good Friday - April 19, 2019
St. David of Wales Episcopal Church - Elkhart, Indiana

Community, Communion, and Feet

The Triduum - Maundy Thursday
Exodus 12:1-14; Psalm 116:1, 10-17; I Corinthians 11:23-26; John 13:1-17, 31b-35

During WWI, trench warfare was a standard tactic in waging battle. Digging long trenches – some nearly 2 miles long - allowed for a strong defense against enemy small arms fire and artillery. But high groundwater tables and cold, wet weather meant that soldiers would find themselves slogging knee deep in mud and slush. Boots would be overtopped and fill with frigid, dirty water and eventually lead to the condition we know as trench foot. In the winter months from late 1914 to early 1915, over 20,000 British soldiers were treated for the condition and it is estimated that trench foot killed around 2,000 American and 75,000 British troops throughout all of the war.

It starts with “...a little tingling, an itching sensation. Then pain, swelling, cold and blotchy skin, numbness, and a prickly or heavy feeling in the foot. The foot may be red, dry, and painful after it becomes warm. Blisters may form, followed by skin and tissue dying and falling off. In severe cases, untreated trench foot can involve the toes, heel, or the entire foot.” [from the CDC website] and at its worst, it can lead to gangrene, sepsis, and death. Now, preventing trench foot is relatively simple. The feet just need to be exposed to the air regularly and kept clean and dry. In an attempt to keep it in check, soldiers were ordered to check their feet every day, to keep them clean, and to change into dry socks. But it wasn’t that simple. In its early stages, it was relatively easy to ignore and the soldiers, busy with the urgency of battle, neglected these simple practices. The men in the trenches continued to fall not just to the enemy across the battle lines, but to the quiet enemy gnawing at their feet.

The tide didn’t start to turn until a subtle, but revolutionary change was made. The soldiers were paired off - and each was made responsible for inspecting the other’s feet daily. If you were responsible for your buddy, you were less likely to neglect the task. Protecting the feet became no
longer an individual effort, but a COMMUNITY effort. This simple act of servanthood, of looking out for one another, caused a drastic drop in the instances of trench foot and many, MANY lives were saved.

How terribly mired we can become in our relationships with our families, friends, co-workers, and neighbors as we get bogged down in resentment, guilt, anger, and unforgiveness. Little things about each other nag at us -- the perceived slights or the thoughtless acts. If we are not mindful, they can slowly and almost imperceptibly eat at us. Like trench foot, there’s a little itching and tingling and we try to not think about it too much. Maybe we can just let sleeping dogs lie, bite our tongues. But, if we do, those little things insipidly take hold, often before we are aware of the damage they
are doing. The anger and hurt are internalized and pushed down as we try to ignore them. But these small irritants, if allowed to continue, will eventually reach critical mass and rage out of control, threatening entire relationships, not to mention our own spiritual and mental health.

“Simon Peter said to [Jesus], ‘Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!’ Jesus said to him, ‘He who has bathed does not need to wash, except for his feet, but he is clean all over.’”

Our baptism into Christ means that we are clean all over. God has forgiven our sins - all of them - but that does not mean we stop sinning. Our relationship with God has been mended and sealed in Jesus, but our relationships with each other still require effort, communication, servanthood,... foot washing. As much as we try not to, we will sometimes hurt each other with thoughtless words and actions, perhaps never aware of the level of hurt we have inflicted. Likewise, we will be hurt by others who may or may not realize what they have done. We can be hurt by our spouses or significant others, by our best friends, and by fellow parishioners or clergy. And we cannot handle these hurts on our own.

“After he had washed their feet, had put on his robe, and had returned to the table, [Jesus] said to them, ‘Do you know what I have done to you? You call me Teacher and Lord—and you are right, for that is what I am. So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you.’"

Note that Jesus does not merely say that we ought to keep our feet clean – take care of ourselves - but that we ought (and this is more of a command than it is a suggestion) to wash each other’s feet. We must serve each other. Like soldiers, we are responsible for each other’s well-being. We are to care for each other’s wounds, especially those we have caused. But more than that, we must look to prevent them. We have to look for the small beginnings that lead to bigger wounds and get them out into the open, washed away before they become toxic. We must regularly do the unpleasant work of exposing these hurts to the open air – of “Airing our grievances,” and confessing our faults. And this is not an individual undertaking. Like preventing trench foot, it is a group effort. It requires communication (and note that the root of the word “communication” is the same as in “community”).

Talking to each other is what brings us together and what allows us to understand each other’s pain. We have to be prepared for tough conversations that might sting at first, like salve on a blister, but that will prevent the wounds from getting deeper and more dangerous. Talking and listening are the beginning of healing. Many ruined friendships or failed marriages owe their demise to a lack of communication. Every act of partisanship or of war started with the failure to listen or to speak up about what was wrong. But every mended friendship or marriage, every reconciliation, and social healing comes from a willingness to do the often unpleasant work of talking and listening to others who are estranged from us. And this takes great humility.

Very shortly, we will act this out as a parable, literally washing each other’s feet in warm water and Epsom salts. The feeling of that warm water on our feet can be quite pleasant - even if the ritual itself can seem kind of weird. But the real work of which it is a figure often is not pleasant at all. Like the scrubbing of blistered feet and scraping away of dead skin, it can seem more painful than just leaving it alone. But it MUST NOT be left alone. It has to be done or things will only get worse. And it’s not just an occasional act - like bathing once a month whether we need it or not - but something we must do every day to keep ourselves and our relationships alive.

“I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. -- Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.”

As daunting as all this might seem, Jesus has empowered us with an example of holy humility, of self-giving love, love that lays down its life for the beloved. It is this kind of love alone that can revive what otherwise would die. The gift Jesus gives us in this act of love is the gift of healing. In his love, we can restore each other. We can bind up one another’s wounds. Just as he did, we can take relationships that were torn to pieces and bring them back to life, stronger than before. With this gift, we are empowered to carry out the Church’s mission – our mission - “to restore all people to unity with God and each other in Christ.” May we use this gift well and may we use it often. Let it be so. AMEN.

Rev. Deacon Clay Berkley - Maundy Thursday - April 18, 2019
St. David of Wales Episcopal Church - Elkhart, Indiana

WHAT DOES SALVATION LOOK LIKE?

Passion Sunday - Palm Sunday
Luke 19:29-40; Isaiah 50:4-9a; Psalm 31:9-16; Philippians 2:4-11; Luke 23:1-49

And so it begins. Another year, another Holy Week. Our journey commences with Jesus, as we relive the drama: the triumph and dissolution, the glory and the shame, the ecstasy, and the agony. We play out the parts in a pageantry of sound and color which has been re-enacted by millions since at least the 4th-century in Jerusalem and this morning by countless Christians all around the world. We find our own Bethphage from where to start the parade, a place to gather and hear that Jesus is coming. We take up our palms and coats to follow our Lord to the sanctuary our own little bit of Jerusalem. We proclaim that he is our King with songs and shouts, and we catch the fever of the moment as a strange but familiar word passes our lips. HOSANNA! Because of our years of Sunday School and Passion Plays, because of the bright red and verdant leaves, after so many weeks of violet and ashes, we find ourselves associating this strange word with praise and adulation, with great honor and great hope. But that is because the word and the gravitas of this day have lost some of their meaning. Hosanna is a greek and Latinized version of an ancient Hebrew phrase. הושיעה-נא (Hosh’ya - na). The root is the same as my name or Jesus’ Yehoshu'a - which means, “God Saves” Adding the ‘na, gives us a much different phrase, a pleading command even, Hosh’ya-na ––– SAVE NOW, O GOD! We first see it in the works of the Psalmist. 118, verse 25. It comes stuck between lines of praise, 24 This is the day that LORD has wrought. Let us exult and rejoice in it. 25 We beseech You, LORD, pray, save us. We beseech You, LORD, make us prosper. 26 Blessed who comes in the name of the LORD. We bless you from the house of the LORD. This is a festival hymn for a procession to the Temple. Quite well known at the time. Quite appropriate for the journey to Jerusalem to celebrate the Feast of the Passover. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if hosh’ya-na, “Save us now” was the cry of Israel in Egypt as they awaited deliverance from bondage. The deliverance remembered in Passover. So here we find ourselves. With branches at the ready to welcome the long-awaited Messiah, the anointed King who has come to set us free. But wait a minute, something is wrong here. He doesn't look like a king. Where are his armies? Where is his sword? And for that matter, where is his mighty steed? Jesus comes over the ridge riding a baby donkey. He has no army, no sword in his hand. In fact, he almost disappears in the crowd.

Palm Sunday Procession on the Mount of Olives

James Tissot (1896)

We have set up for ourselves an expectation of what it means to be rescued, to be saved, to be delivered. We have heard all that Jesus has done in the Galilee and the Jordan. Now we expect him to come armed at the ready. We are geared up for a fight to destroy our enemies and free us from bondage. But Jesus throws that all on its head. After an initially good show and clearing the temple of extortionists, Jesus spends the next few days teaching in the Temple. Telling us to love our enemies. Well, this just isn’t right. This isn’t how it's supposed to be. Over the next few days, our fever of triumph turns to dissolution. We spiral from the glory of the moment to shame as we realize that this is not playing out how we expected. It takes five days for us to go from “Hosannah!” to “Crucify Him!” It only takes five days to go from “Save Us!” to “I don’t know him.” What does Salvation look like to you? We still want a God of power and might. Deep down we all still want the armies and the pageantry. We want the fire from heaven to burn up our enemies. We cry out to be saved from the other. We cry out to be saved from the evil that lurks around the corner. We cry out to be saved from the enemy at the gates. But in reality, we really need to be saved from ourselves. We have to change our thinking. We have to embrace the paradox. Your king comes riding on a donkey. Glory is found in humility. Love your enemies and do good to those who hurt you. Forgive, when you want to take revenge. The King of kings is foremost a servant. The first will be last and the last will be first. And perhaps the greatest paradox of all, In order to live, you only have to die. This is all too much to handle. We do not understand the love of God. We are not willing to take on the challenge He lays out. Since God has not saved us like we thought God would or should, we find ourselves calling for the death of God. And because God loves us so much to come to us in human flesh, riding on a donkey, he listens to our cries and gives himself up to death. So what does salvation look like? not an army and not a sword, but a teacher on a donkey and a cross.

Hosh’ya-na! Save us, O God. Let us pray. And teach us how to be saved. AMEN.

Rev. J. Nelson - Passion Sunday - April 14, 2019 St. David of Wales Episcopal Church - Elkhart, Indiana

Mary's Last Supper

The Fifth Sunday in Lent
Isaiah 43:16-21; Psalm 126; Philippians 3:4b-14; John 12:1-8

The theme for us this season of Lent has been threefold: REPENT, RESTORE, RENEW. Lent 1 and 2 we focused on Repenting of those moments when we fall short. Lent 3 and 4 focused on the restoration of relationship with God through the work of Christ and restoration with each other by our own hard work. This week, Lent 5 our focus prepares us for Holy Week and the final renewal of life in resurrection.

In this weeks Gospel reading, we have a beautiful scene in the home of Lazarus and his sisters. Jesus has just raised Lazarus to life, who had been dead for four days. His friends unwrapped his burial cloths, and John says, “they gave a party for him.” It doesn’t exactly tell us which HIM the party is for, but my guess is for Lazarus. After all, four days is an awfully long time to go without any food or drink. Into this scene, Mary brings a bottle of expensive perfume and she begins to clean and pour the fragrant oil over Jesus' feet.

Mary of Bethany anointing Jesus' feet with nard and wiping them with her hair 

by DANIEL F. GERHARTZ, 1965

I want us to come back to that intimate moment, but first, let us explore the complexity and poetic symmetry of this entire scene. John is clear to tell us that it is six days before the Passover. Exactly a week before those beautifully terrible events of Christ Passion would change the history of mankind forever. Jesus is aware of what is to come. Aware of his own death which must take place once he comes to Jerusalem. How at the center of all things, at the remembrance of God’s mercy found in the celebration of this feast to mark the Passover in Egypt and deliverance from death, that the people would reject life. We would reject the love of God so much that we would find ourselves calling for the death of God himself. But now at this moment, he has gathered with his friends.

At the table is a reminder of resurrection; Lazarus sitting up and eating. But also here is a reminder of death; Mary with her nard, a balm of oil and spices often used when preparing a body for burial. In this almost mirror of what will be known to us as The Last Supper. And just as he will later kneel down to wash the feet of his disciples preparing them for life without him; showing them how to serve each other. Mary, the Apostle to the Apostles, the one to always get there first. The one who will actually stay with him through all the ordeal. This is Mary’s goodbye meal with the LORD. This is Mary’s Last Supper. So now she takes the role of the servant kneeling before Jesus and pouring this nard, this burial ointment on his feet. But why? He is very much alive at this point. Why waste this perfume she was supposedly saving for his burial and use it on his feet alone. Why not pour it over his head like the Kings and the Prophets? Because that is not the purpose here.

I never fully understood the beauty of this scene until I was in Jerusalem. You may know that I really dislike wearing socks. I used to practice marching band in bare feet and like to wear sandals as long as possible. For this reason, visiting the aired Mediterranean climate around the Holy Land was perfect for me because I got to wear sandals. After all, that's what Jesus wore. In one way you feel closer to the land, to the earth that Jesus trod because there is less of a barrier between your skin and the sacred dust beneath your feet. But every night I would get back to my room at the college and cringe as I took my sandals off. My feet were dry. Caked with dust. Broken in the desert heat and split by the friction of sandal straps. The cool feel of the linoleum flooring helped a bit but what I really needed was water and oil in the form of some lotion.

I would take a shower, washing away the dust and sweat of that day's experience, and then I would sit and let my feet soak.  Always in cool water. After a good soak, I would have to rub them down with lotion, being careful not to slip as I walked from the shower to the bed where I would put them up to rest for the night. If for some reason I did not follow this nightly ritual I would be miserable all the next day. The pain would shoot up my legs with each step as the nerves in my feet fought back against my urging to move on.

Not only is Mary anointing Jesus here, but she is preparing his feet for the journey. She is renewing his body so that it may be ready for what is to come. In just a weeks time he will have another supper this time he will be the servant preparing his disciples feet for the road they would soon walk. But today Mary has prepared his feet for an even greater journey. God will give himself to death and those beautiful anointed feet will have to walk the hardest road anyone has ever walked. In just a weeks time, these feet will tread the hard flat stones of the Roman road which cuts through Jerusalem from the Pavement to the Skull. From condemnation to execution. From life to death.

Although not fully in mind, Mary knows this all in her heart. She is there to help Jesus walk the way of death to prepare him for his burial so that we might walk the way of life and be prepared for resurrection. This is a journey which is required of all of us. It is impossible without preparation and regular renewal.

Fortunately for us, God provides a regular form of renewal in our weekly partaking of the Eucharist. In being fed on the Body and Blood of our Lord we are renewed in spirit for the next steps of our journey. Like the scene in Bethany, this meal has both reminders of suffering and resurrection of death and life. But because we are human, this alone is not enough. None of us should ever have to make this journey alone. This is why the Eucharist is also called communion and we are called to live into that fellowship of renewal. It is in communion––in a community where we become servants to each other. It is our role as equal travelers on the way to bring renewal to each other. We are called to love and serve each other. We are called to anoint each other, to encourage each other, and to prepare each other for the next steps whatever and where ever they may be.

The path through Holy Week is difficult, that is why we have prepared for the last forty days. This road we walk through life is a difficult one but with each other’s help, we will make it through. The oil we pour is the oil of gladness. The fragrance is one of Good News. For the path that we walk is one that will ultimately lead to the renewal of life it will lead to the resurrection.

The oil is poured and the table is set. The end of this season is upon us, and the next steps of the journey are about to begin. Come and walk with me.

AMEN.

Rev. J. Nelson - 5 Lent C - April 7, 2019
St. David of Wales Episcopal Church - Elkhart, Indiana