Westhampton United Methodist Church,

Richmond, Virginia

8/21/2016

Matthew 13:24-30, 36-43

The Weeds and the Wheat 

He put before them another parable: “The kingdom of heaven may be compared to someone who sowed good seed in his field; but while everybody was asleep, an enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat, and then went away. So when the plants came up and bore grain, then the weeds appeared as well. And the slaves of the householder came and said to him, ‘Master, did you not sow good seed in your field? Where, then, did these weeds come from?’ He answered, ‘An enemy has done this.’ The slaves said to him, ‘Then do you want us to go and gather them?’ But he replied, ‘No; for in gathering the weeds you would uproot the wheat along with them. Let both of them grow together until the harvest; and at harvest time I will tell the reapers, Collect the weeds first and bind them in bundles to be burned, but gather the wheat into my barn.’” Then he left the crowds and went into the house. And his disciples approached him, saying, “Explain to us the parable of the weeds of the field.” He answered, “The one who sows the good seed is the Son of Man; the field is the world, and the good seed are the children of the kingdom; the weeds are the children of the evil one, and the enemy who sowed them is the devil; the harvest is the end of the age, and the reapers are angels. Just as the weeds are collected and burned up with fire, so will it be at the end of the age. The Son of Man will send his angels, and they will collect out of his kingdom all causes of sin and all evildoers, and they will throw them into the furnace of fire, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth. Then the righteous will shine like the sun in the kingdom of their Father. Let anyone with ears listen!

It’s always dangerous for me to talk about farming in a sermon, since my farming expertise is best illustrated by something I did at about seven years old on my grandparent’s farm on the Eastern Shore of Maryland.  I was staying with them, and went with my grandmother to the store in nearby Seaford, Delaware, where I fell in love with a model of a Palomino horse, just like Roy Rogers’ horse, Trigger.  I asked my grandmother if she would buy me the horse, and she answered that I should ask my grandfather.  When we got back to the farm, I asked him, and he asked me what I was going to do to earn the money.  I had no idea, so he suggested I go hoe the soybeans in the field.

The next morning I got out of bed early, got a hoe out of the barn, and started down a row of soybeans behind the garage.  I had no idea how or what to hoe, so, after experimenting with several weeding techniques, I decided the most effective way to do the job was to swing the hoe like a golf club, taking out weeds and not a few soybeans in the process.  A few minutes later my grandfather came out to watch my progress.  When he saw what I was doing, he cried out, “For God's sake, STOP! I’ll pay you the money if you’ll just STOP!”

In the Parable of the Weeds and the Wheat, Jesus recognizes that sometimes it’s hard to tell the weeds from the wheat.  Although this story follows hard on the very similar parable of the sower and the seed, the stories have two very different destinations.  The sower and the seed addresses the question of why God’s outpouring of grace in the world receives such very different responses, from nothing to abundance.  The parable of the weeds among the wheat is a story about life within the community of faith – the church.  This is not the hard path or the rocky soil.  We thought this ground was well plowed and cultivated.  There was abundant growth in this field, but now it seems as though not everything here is godly.  In the midst of the church there are – God forbid – sinners.  And not just struggling-with-the-usual-stuff sinners, but people who seem to be genuinely destructive to the work of ministry.  People who keep ministry from coming together; people who unravel the fabric of community and ministry, people who are bad influences upon other people’s lives and faith.  Did God sow bad seed along with the good?  Should we go through and clear out the bad seed, to protect the good?

Like my seven year old self, trying to separate the weeds and the wheat can be dangerous for everyone.  That’s why Jesus says, clearly, that it’s not the job of the wheat – you and I – to separate the two.  The time will come for that, Jesus says.  Just as at the end of the soybean season when my grandfather pulled his Allis-Chalmers combine through the crop, cutting everything off at ground level and separating the beans from the weeds and the rest of the bean plant, so, Jesus said, the angels would come at the end of the world and separate the good from the bad.  It’s not the wheat’s job to judge – that is God’s job, and God’s alone.

There are at least two reasons why the wheat doesn’t make the judgment.  The first reason is because not everything that doesn’t look or act or think like us is a weed.  New Kent County farmer Jimmy Talley says that a weed is just something growing where you don’t want it to grow.  I can remember orphan corn stalks growing in the soybean field the year after that field had been planted in corn, and going out to those random stalks when the corn was ripe and bringing the ears back for supper.  Farmers who used to plow to the edges of their fields are relearning the Biblical principle of leaving hedgerows for erosion and pest control, and for pollination.  I am always impressed, watching the beautiful French countryside during the Tour de France in July, with the incredible diversity of French agriculture.  France is not Kansas or Nebraska or Iowa, with thousands of acres of corn or wheat as far as the eye can see – there is a field of corn next to a field of sunflowers next to a field of beans next to a vineyard. 

Jesus knew all too well the Pharisees who believed that anyone who didn’t look or act or think or believe as they did were wrong, needed to be corrected, or even excluded.  Jesus had been the victim of that theological monoculture, harassed by the Pharisees when he befriended sinners and tax collectors and Roman collaborators and Gentiles and children and women.  The Pharisees were purists, trying to restore Israel to a glory they imagined but which history never revealed: they wanted to make Israel great again.   But Israel had always lived in the tension between what was and what might be, and her greatest days came, in fact, from unlikely combinations of people and circumstances:  Joshua’s triumph was aided by Rahab the Canaanite prostitute; King David was the great-grandchild of a Moabite undocumented immigrant named Ruth; God used Assyria and Babylon to punish his people and a Persian to redeem them; Jesus was born out of wedlock in a barn.  Sometimes what we think doesn’t belong is in fact a gift from God.

A few years ago I had a conversation with a pastor from a different denomination about who is welcome in the church, which ultimately became a conversation about who is a child of God.  He comes from a denomination – oh, heck, he is a Baptist -- which was founded in the sixteenth century specifically to purify what was believed to be a corrupt Christianity.  This pastor recognizes that we are all sinners, but he also believes that certain behaviors disqualify people from church membership.  We’re not talking about anything in the Ten Commandments, or in anything that Jesus taught, mind you.  He doesn’t seem to mind people eating shrimp, or wearing blended fabrics, or associating with women at certain times of the month, or with people who store up treasure in ever-expanding barns while ignoring the needy at their gate, all of which are prohibited in the Bible.  The conversation really came down to who is a child of God.  He believes that only Christians – and, I would suggest, only his kind of Christians -- are God’s children.  He believes everyone else is made in God’s image, but is not a child of God until they personally accept Jesus as their Lord and Savior.  I agree that people should accept Christ as Lord and Savior, but I also believe that when the Letter to the Ephesians says there is one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of us all, who is above all and through all and in all, all means everyone, not just those who recognize it.  But then, this pastor doesn’t believe in one baptism, either.  I believe that children who die in utero or in infancy, and the mentally challenged who can never make a profession of faith, and people who have never heard the gospel, are all children of the same Father, who loves them all just the same.  God is not our Father and we are not God’s children because we say so – we accept it because it’s already true.  And that’s why I believe this parable is telling us to be very careful about whom we call wheat and whom we call a weed.

The second reason why it’s not our job to separate the wheat and the weeds is because eternal judgment belongs to God and to God alone.  We are expected to be discerning – not everyone in the church can be treasurer, or can work with children, or be a musician, or preach.  But the first and most important act of faith is to say that Jesus Christ is Lord, which means we are not Lord. The judgment of the world is not our call.  Who is saved and who is damned is not our call.  Who is in and who is out is not our call.  Yes, we live amongst the weeds.  We need to put our energies into producing fruit with which God can feed a literally and spiritually starving world, not waste our efforts pointing out the weeds.  The weeds will get taken care of, at the right time, more surely than we ever can manage.  Stop playing God, deciding who is saved and who isn’t.  Make room for all God’s children, and let God do the sorting.  You might discover that that plant next to you, which you thought was a weed because it didn’t look like you, might be wheat and you’re the weed.  Or you might just discover it’s a different strain, and the mixture makes the loaf all the more healthy and delicious.

Every ounce of energy we put into judgment is energy diverted from being fruitful for God.  Yes, there are weeds among the wheat.  That’s not our problem.  Instead, grow and shine and be fruitful for your Heavenly Father, who alone is Lord of the Harvest.

Christmas Eve, 2013: Signs In The Night

Isaiah 9:2-7                                                                                                  

The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness— on them light has shined. You have multiplied the nation, you have increased its joy; they rejoice before you as with joy at the harvest, as people exult when dividing plunder. For the yoke of their burden, and the bar across their shoulders, the rod of their oppressor, you have broken as on the day of Midian. For all the boots of the tramping warriors and all the garments rolled in blood shall be burned as fuel for the fire. For a child has been born for us, a son given to us; authority rests upon his shoulders; and he is named Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. His authority shall grow continually, and there shall be endless peace for the throne of David and his kingdom. He will establish and uphold it with justice and with righteousness from this time onward and forevermore. The zeal of the Lord of hosts will do this.

Luke 2:1-20

 In those days a decree went out from Emperor Augustus that all the world should be registered. This was the first registration and was taken while Quirinius was governor of Syria. All went to their own towns to be registered. Joseph also went from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to the city of David called Bethlehem, because he was descended from the house and family of David. He went to be registered with Mary, to whom he was engaged and who was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for her to deliver her child. And she gave birth to her firstborn son and wrapped him in bands of cloth, and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.

In that region there were shepherds living in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. This will be a sign for you: you will find a child wrapped in bands of cloth and lying in a manger.” And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying, “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors!” When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us.” So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the child lying in the manger. When they saw this, they made known what had been told them about this child; and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds told them. But Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart. The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them.

How many times has it happened to you – you’re traveling down a dark, lonely road you’ve never been on before, not sure where you are or if you’re heading in the right direction?  Either you don’t have GPS in your car or it’s not working.  You’re looking, desperately, for a sign – a town sign, a road number, a direction. 

At the beginning of my third year as a student at UVa, I took a group of students to a Christian retreat at Smith Mountain Lake.  I’d never been there before, I hadn’t driven in Virginia very much, and I was following the directions to the retreat center carefully.  We got there just fine, but somehow, on the way back to Charlottesville, I got lost.  I finally saw a sign for Interstate 81 and, with great relief, headed for Charlottesville.  Speeding along at 70 miles per hour, the five of us crammed in the Datsun talking at full volume, we were in great shape.  Until a sign loomed in the twilight:  Blacksburg, 10 miles.  Sometimes the signs don’t say what you want them to say.

Sometimes you can see the signs, but you can’t figure out what they mean.  Winter storms shift the channels in the shallow creeks on the Eastern Shore, often in directions inconsistent with the official channel markers.  Early in the spring, watermen head out in their boats and stick saplings in the mud to show where the edge of the channel really is.  One spring early in my sailing career we headed out Nassawadox Creek, carefully watching the saplings to stay in the channel.  Suddenly we ran hard aground, right where I thought the channel was supposed to be.  A waterman came by in his boat and offered to give us a tow.  “I don’t understand it,” I yelled to him.  “I was following the markers you guys put down.”  “Yeah,” he yelled back.  “You’re just on the wrong side of them.”

We’re all looking for signs.  Some read the astrology column in the newspaper, some pay attention to the fortune in the cookie, some use their birthday and anniversary to play the Mega Millions card.  We take vocational preference tests, we watch the Dow Jones, we listen to the talking heads on radio and TV.  We play with the Ouija Board or the Tarot Cards, we go to the palm reader, we study our tea leaves – all just for fun, of course.  We’re all looking for signs.  Is this the person I can love, and who will love me for the rest of our lives?  Is the job where I can finally not just earn a decent living but actually enjoy going to work?  Is this the person I can vote for who will finally bring some hope to the mess in New Kent, or Richmond, or Washington?  Is this lump, this cough, this pain, a sign?  Is this comet, this political event, this crazy weather, this change in the culture a sign?  We’re all looking for signs.

Two thousand years ago in Israel, there were plenty of people looking for signs.  They were looking for them in the usual places – the same places we look for them yet today.  They were looking for them in the palaces in Rome and in Jerusalem.  They were looking for signs among the leaders of church and state.  They were looking for them among the movers and shakers in the economy.  They were looking for them in the scriptures, debating ceaselessly about symbols and numbers and hidden meanings.  Everyone was looking for a Messiah – a Savior to rescue the people from their oppression by the Roman overlords.  Caesar and Herod, the kings, were watching for a Messiah, so they could kill him.  The religious leaders were watching for a Messiah, because they wanted to use him to consolidate their power.  The poor were looking for a Messiah because they believed he would make them rich.  The sick were looking for a Messiah to make them well.  Everyone was looking for a Messiah, and looking for a sign, in all the places any sane person would look for something they expected.

Signs are wonderful.  But if you’ve already made up your mind what sign you’re looking for, you might miss something much better along the way.  Years ago Vicki and I were coming home from Philadelphia, and instead of taking I-95 got off on old Rt. 1.  We were cruising down the road when suddenly Vicki pointed to a sign and said, “West Grove:  I think that’s where the Red Rose Inn is.”  We’d been reading about country inns, and the Red Rose has a long history dating back to William Penn.  We took the road to West Grove, found the Red Rose, and went in for lunch.  We were the only people in the entire restaurant.  It was a wonderful meal, and the service was -- as if we were the only people in the restaurant.  If we’d been focused on getting back to Virginia, we probably wouldn’t have noticed the sign to West Grove.  Instead, we were open to something happening that we never expected.

The shepherds on the hillside above Bethlehem weren’t looking for signs of a Messiah.  They were looking for signs of rain, signs of wolves, signs of thieves, signs of straying sheep.  Messiahs were the business of the rich and the powerful, of the holy and the righteous.  Shepherds were at the bottom of Israelite society – the dishwashers, the migrant farmhands, the construction laborers of their time.  Not only could they not see the signs pointing to the Kingdom of God, they couldn’t even see the signs pointing to a road headed there.  They were not looking for signs of a Messiah that night.

And because they hadn’t made up their minds about what the sign would say, or where it would appear, or what it would look like, maybe the shepherds – the poor, confused, clueless shepherds – were the only people in Judea that Christmas night with their hearts open enough to see the angels.  They saw the angels because they weren’t looking.  They heard the angels because they hadn’t made up their ears what the angels would say.  And they were able to leave their sheep and go to Bethlehem and see this thing that the Lord had made known to them precisely because they hadn’t decided what a Messiah would look like.  They were able to see the signs in the night because they weren’t looking.

Maybe Mary was chosen to be the mother of the Messiah because she was the one girl in all of Israel who didn’t expect it.  And all Jesus’ life, the only people who get what he’s doing are the people who haven’t already made up their minds about what the Messiah is supposed to do and say and be.  Every time somebody tries to make Jesus fit their own signs – God forbid, Jesus, that you should go to Jerusalem and be crucified – Jesus smashes their signs and their directions.  And on Easter morning, God gives another sign to the disciples and to the women that they weren’t expecting in any way.  We can only see the signs when we stop looking for them.

One Christmas when our children were small, Vicki and I managed to get everything on our daughter’s wish list.  We were so proud of ourselves, and watched her, on Christmas morning, as she opened requested gift after requested gift.  When they were all opened, she seemed disappointed.  “But we got you everything you asked for!” we said.  “I know,” she answered.  “But there were no surprises.”  Since then we’ve never asked her what she wanted for Christmas, and she’s been much happier.  And so have we.

We’re all looking for signs.  We are desperately looking for signs of healing, for signs of love, for signs of hope, for signs of life.  But on Christmas, the most glorious signs come to the people who haven’t made up their minds what the signs are going to be.  It’s when we’re out on the hillside, staring into the darkness, expecting nothing, expecting anything, expecting everything, that we’re free enough, open enough, faithful enough to see and hear when the skies open, hosts of heaven break forth, and choirs of angels lift a song of eternal love.

We’re all looking for signs in the night.  Tonight, don’t.  Just look, and listen, and be still.  Love will come exactly when and where you least expect it. 

Living As Easter People: Walking in the Light

1 John 1:1-2:2   

We declare to you what was from the beginning, what we have heard, what we have seen with our eyes, what we have looked at and touched with our hands, concerning the word of life— this life was revealed, and we have seen it and testify to it, and declare to you the eternal life that was with the Father and was revealed to us— we declare to you what we have seen and heard so that you also may have fellowship with us; and truly our fellowship is with the Father and with his Son Jesus Christ. We are writing these things so that our joy may be complete.

This is the message we have heard from him and proclaim to you, that God is light and in him there is no darkness at all. If we say that we have fellowship with him while we are walking in darkness, we lie and do not do what is true; but if we walk in the light as he himself is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus his Son cleanses us from all sin.

If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. If we confess our sins, he who is faithful and just will forgive us our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness. If we say that we have not sinned, we make him a liar, and his word is not in us.

My little children, I am writing these things to you so that you may not sin. But if anyone does sin, we have an advocate with the Father, Jesus Christ the righteous; and he is the atoning sacrifice for our sins, and not for ours only but also for the sins of the whole world.

John 20:19-31

When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.” But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.”

A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.” Thomas answered him, “My Lord and my God! ”Jesus said to him, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.

It’s usually hard for we 21^st Century Americans who live on the outskirts of a city to grasp what a first Century writer meant when he used images of light and darkness.  Until about seventy years ago, when the sun went down, the world changed.  Candles and oil lamps and other forms of artificial light were expensive and not very bright, so they were used only for emergencies or long enough to get people to bed.  Work happened in the daylight, which was abundant and free; the night was dark indeed, and was the time when crime and evil reigned.  When a first Century writer like John talked about living in the light, he meant to live as we live in the daytime, when all can see who we are and what we do.  To live in the darkness meant to embrace secrecy and evil.

Like virtually every letter in the New Testament, the first letter of John addresses a problem in the infant church.  No one who seriously reads the Bible can be under any delusions that back in the good old days -- whether before Jesus or after Jesus – people of faith lived in trouble-free relationships with each other or that theology and ethics were unblemished.  Romans is written to a church divided between Gentiles and Jews, the Corinthian letters are addressed to a church imploding from spiritual pride, Galatians is sent to a church arguing about the relationship between faith and works.  In this first letter of John, which we will be looking at for the next several weeks, there has already been a split in the church and people have left.  Imagine that!  The particular issue here concerns the humanity of Jesus.  There’s no problem with Jesus as the Son of God – the whole Johannine church understands that Jesus was divinity come to earth.  Some in the congregation, on the other hand, insisted that Jesus wasn’t really human in the same way that you and I are flesh and blood.  He only seemed to be human, they said, like a really good actor playing a part.  The fancy theological name for this belief is docetism – from the Greek word for to seem.

Now, docetism is alive and well two millennia later, mostly within the Christian church.  We see it every time someone is talking about how Jesus struggled with temptation and doubt and grief and loneliness and pain and the full range of human experience, and someone else says yes, but that was Jesus.  In other words, it wasn’t the same for Jesus as it was for us, because he wasn’t human in the same way you and I are.  That’s docetism:  Jesus only seemed human in the way you and I are human.  Jesus was more like Superman, because, after all, he was God.

What’s the problem with Jesus being more divine than human?  (By the way, when you think of Jesus being both divine and human, it’s not 50/50 – half human, half God.  That’s what leads to docetism.  Jesus is fully human and  fully divine:  100/100.  Yes, Jesus is 200%.  How can that be?  That’s called  the mystery of the incarnation, that Jesus is completely human and also completely God.  But more about that later.)  The problem with Jesus being more divine than human is that if Jesus isn’t fully human, then his life really doesn’t apply to how you and I live our lives.  If Jesus is primarily spiritual, then what he did and what is said is about spiritual, non-material reality, not about how we treat each other and how we live in a very physical and real world.  So, when Jesus says that we shouldn’t lay up treasure on earth, he means that in a spiritual sense:  you can accumulate all the stuff you want, as long as you aren’t spiritually attached to it.  Or when Jesus says that to follow him means taking up our crosses and dying, that means we should be spiritually free, but Jesus doesn’t really expect us to literally suffer for our faith.  Do you begin to see how docetism is alive and well in us?

John’s answer to the people who have left the church because they insisted that Jesus was a matter of spiritual but not physical truth is that he and the other disciples had literally heard and seen and touched Jesus.  In this morning’s gospel lesson, Thomas says he won’t believe this resurrection nonsense until he has touched the physical body of Jesus.  The Gospel of John is addressed to people like the troublemakers in the Johannine church, who saw physicality as evil and incompatible with true spirituality.  The Word became flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth the Gospel of John begins.  At the end of the Gospel, Thomas touches Jesus’ wounds and Jesus eats breakfast by the Sea of Galillee.  Following Jesus isn’t just about what we do in our heads and hearts – it’s about what we do with our hands and mouths and feet and time and money.  When Jesus tells Peter, at the end of the Gospel, to feed his sheep, he’s not just talking about sharing esoteric spiritual truths:  he is telling Peter to fill people’s stomachs.

The false believers in John’s church insisted that what they did with their bodies was irrelevant to following Jesus, as long as their minds and hearts were pure.  They had no sin to confess, because their spirits were right with God.  That, John said, was like people who lived honest lives in the daylight, but who robbed and murdered and raped under the cover of darkness.  If we are going to follow Jesus, the first requirement is for us to be honest – honest with God, honest with others, and honest with ourselves.  Honesty is bringing everything into the light, not hiding anything in the dark.  To be honest is to be one whole person, not two, just as Jesus is one whole person, wholly God, wholly human.  To be faithful, said Martin Luther, is to tell it like it is.

If we’re going to be honest, we need to confess the division between light and darkness in who we are.  Even though we now live in a world where it’s difficult to ever find a place with no lights shining in the dark, we’ve developed sophisticated ways of creating our own darkness.  I recently changed the internet browser I use on my computer to Google Chrome.  I discovered that Chrome has something called an Incognito Window, where you can visit websites and not be tracked.  I’ll leave it to your imagination what kind of websites might be visited anonymously.  People can establish completely false identities in chat rooms and on social networking sites.  Hardly a day goes by without us hearing lurid tales of predators luring victims under false pretenses.  But darkness doesn’t require a computer:  some politicians campaigning for office will say anything to win votes, making impossible promises.  Our taxes are due on Tuesday:  how many of us have been really honest about everything we’ve spent and earned? 

How many of us will live our faith in the light this week?  When a neighbor is in need, or when the weak are being picked on, or when a classmate or co-worker attacks God or faith, will we stand up for Jesus?  How much of our time this week will be spent talking with others about sports or television or politics, and how much will be spent talking about God?  We need to pay for the new building we built, and this week we learned we’re going to have to do some significant work on the twenty year old HVAC system for the fellowship hall: does following Jesus a matter of our hearts, or our wallets?  As the political campaigns shift into high gear, will we ask questions about how a policy affects the poor, the children, and the elderly, or will we worry more about ourselves?  We need you to step forward to teach our children and our youth in Sunday School, to advise our youth program, to staff our nursery.  Are you going to pray for someone else to do it, or are you going to put your time, and your energies, and your bodies on the line?

God is light and in him there is no darkness at all. If we say that we have fellowship with him while we are walking in darkness, we lie and do not do what is true; but if we walk in the light as he himself is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus his Son cleanses us from all sin.  To walk in the light means putting our faith on the line, openly, publicly, without shame and without compromise.  If Jesus was 100% human, then the only way to follow him is with 100% of our humanity.   John says there will be no forgiveness without living that way.

We need you.  The world needs you.  Stop hiding in the darkness:  come, live in the light.

What Christians Believe – and Why: Did Jesus Really Rise?

Acts 10:34-43

Then Peter began to speak to them: “I truly understand that God shows no partiality, but in every nation anyone who fears him and does what is right is acceptable to him. You know the message he sent to the people of Israel, preaching peace by Jesus Christ—he is Lord of all. That message spread throughout Judea, beginning in Galilee after the baptism that John announced: how God anointed Jesus of Nazareth with the Holy Spirit and with power; how he went about doing good and healing all who were oppressed by the devil, for God was with him. We are witnesses to all that he did both in Judea and in Jerusalem. They put him to death by hanging him on a tree; but God raised him on the third day and allowed him to appear, not to all the people but to us who were chosen by God as witnesses, and who ate and drank with him after he rose from the dead. He commanded us to preach to the people and to testify that he is the one ordained by God as judge of the living and the dead. All the prophets testify about him that everyone who believes in him receives forgiveness of sins through his name.”

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Mark 16:1-8

When the sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought spices, so that they might go and anoint him. And very early on the first day of the week, when the sun had risen, they went to the tomb. They had been saying to one another, “Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?” When they looked up, they saw that the stone, which was very large, had already been rolled back. As they entered the tomb, they saw a young man, dressed in a white robe, sitting on the right side; and they were alarmed. But he said to them, “Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here. Look, there is the place they laid him. But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you.” So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.

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That’s it.  That’s how Mark, in the most ancient manuscripts, ends the story.  Later, scholars think, as the original manuscript of Mark was copied over hundreds of years, the last twelve verses were added, telling about encounters by Mary Magdalene, and then two disciples, and then the eleven with the risen Jesus.  But the stronger evidence is that Mark’s gospel ended as I’ve just read – with an empty tomb, instructions to head north, and three very confused women.  The story has an open ending.

There are some very good stories that end that way.  Gone With The Wind ends with Scarlett’s skirts waving in the breeze as she stands under a tree at Tara, gazing into the sunset.  Or is it a sunrise?  Will Rhett ever come back?  Will she keep Tara, or turn it into a subdivision?  In the 1990’s Alexandra Ripley tried to answer those questions with her widely panned sequel, Scarlett.  It didn’t work, because there’s a reason why some stories have open endings.

The book and movie The French Lieutenant’s Woman, by John Fowles, has two – or, depending how you count, three – endings.  The TV show Seinfeld ended its nine-year run with Jerry, George, Elaine, and Kramer in a jail cell having been found guilty of criminal indifference, which was the point of the whole series.  What happened to them from there?  And, the most recent case of an open-ended story was the finale of The Sopranos on HBO, where the mobster Tony Soprano, whom everyone expected to be rubbed out in the last episode, is seen eating onion rings with his wife and son in a New Jersey restaurant.  No machine guns, no concrete overshoes.  Just onion rings.

Why would an author, especially the author of a gospel, leave the ending of this story open?  Scholars generally agree that Mark’s gospel was the first one written – wouldn’t it have been more helpful for him to put forth evidence that Jesus had risen from the dead? For two thousand years, Christians have argued proofs for the resurrection – that neither the Romans nor the Sanhedrin produced a body; that believers don’t die for things they know to be untrue; that the tomb was guarded; that the disciples are transformed from frightened sheep to great lions of God.  Believers in the shroud of Turin say that the image of the crucified man on the cloth could only have been produced by a brilliant light from within him “photo-copying” onto the fabric.  Why wouldn’t Mark leave us with something besides terrified women fleeing the scene?

Fred Craddock, who has been the great model for preaching for the last generation, delivers a sermon the way Mark wrote his gospel.  The first time I head Fred preach was at Minister’s Convocation at Blackstone.  Fred was weaving together a story about a trout stream in the mountains of North Georgia with the story of Abraham and Sarah looking for the Promised Land.  He drew us deeper and deeper into the stories, and I found myself literally sitting on the edge of my seat in the balcony as the sermon rose to its climax.  Just at the point where a run-of-the-mill preacher like me would say, “Now, this is what all this means, and this is what you need to do,” Fred turned from the pulpit and sat down.  I almost fell off the front of my seat.  I turned to my neighbor and said, “WHAT?”  But Fred wants the congregation to work out for themselves, with fear and trembling, what they’re supposed to do.  Because, Fred says, what he believes God is saying to him might not be the same thing God is saying to me, or to you.  He believes that the gospel story is so powerful, and the work of the Holy Spirit in that story so moving, that if we listen with open hearts, then God will help us find our place in that story.

Maybe that’s what Mark’s doing, too, with this story about women running from the tomb in terror.  He wants us to figure out for ourselves what the empty tomb means for us.  Sure, he could tell us about the road to Emmaus, or about Thomas doubting, or about Jesus cooking breakfast on the seashore like Matthew, Luke, and John do.  Mark knew those stories, too, as did the scribes who added them in verses 9 through 20.  But the proof that Jesus rose from the dead on Easter morning isn’t there.  There is proof, but it’s somewhere else.

A couple of years ago I was having a discussion with a man who is not a Christian about what I believed.  His belief system, he admits, revolves around himself:  everything he believes comes from within his heart and mind.  He believes that religion is about ideas and spirit, not about anything physical.  I said that, as a Christian, I didn’t believe in a disembodied spirituality – that we couldn’t separate body and soul and spirit, which is why when Jesus rose from the dead, people could touch him, he carried his wounds, and he cooked and ate fish by the Sea of Galilee.  “So,” this man said, “do you believe God has a body?”  I thought a moment before answering, “Yes.”  He raised his eyebrows and asked, “Do you mean, a physical body that you can touch?”  Without hesitation, I replied, “Oh, yes.  Absolutely.  And I’ve touched, and been touched by it, many, many times.”  “Well,” he responded, “that’s very interesting.”  And that was the end of the conversation.

I never explained to him what I meant by that.  But Mark’s open ending to the Easter story tells me that the proof for Jesus’ resurrection from the dead isn’t in a shroud in Italy or in a missing body or in arguments about the placement of grave cloths.  The proof for the living Body of Christ is all around us this morning.  Hold the hand of the person next to you:  we are the Body of Christ.  Like Jesus, we are scarred, we are damaged, we are broken and weak.  But this Body has outlived every nation in history, it has outlasted every political and economic philosophy, it has survived every attempt to kill it and to mangle it and to render it irrelevant and useless.  It continues to work miracles of bringing dead hearts and minds to life, it feeds the hungry and heals the sick, it gives speech to the speechless, sight to the blind, and helps the lame rise and walk.  It loves the unlovable, forgives the unforgiveable, cures the incurable, gives hope to the hopeless, and life to the dead.  Did Jesus rise from the dead?  Look around you. 

Do I believe that somehow, by the power of God, the crucified carpenter of Nazareth came back to life on Easter morning, appeared to his disciples, walked to Emmaus, cooked breakfast by the lake, ascended into heaven, and appeared to Paul on the road to Damascus? Absolutely.  But the proof, for me, and, I would suggest, for the world, isn’t in the gospel stories.  It’s the other way around:  the proof for the gospel stories is in the very much risen and living Body of Christ that we touch every time we hold each other, weep with each other, rejoice with each other, eat with each other, work with each other, study and pray and sing and sacrifice with each other.  The proof is that for all our scars and brokenness, the world has been transformed more by that one solitary life living through us, than by all the kings and queens and soldiers and politicians and teachers and philosophers and athletes and actors who have ever lived.

Did Jesus really rise from the dead?  The world is hungering to know.  Look around you – there’s the answer.

What Christians Believe – and Why: Did Jesus Have to Die?

Philippians 2:5-11

Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death— even death on a cross. Therefore God also highly exalted him and gave him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.

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Mark 11:1-11

When they were approaching Jerusalem, at Bethphage and Bethany, near the Mount of Olives, he sent two of his disciples and said to them, “Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately as you enter it, you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden; untie it and bring it. If anyone says to you, ‘Why are you doing this?’ just say this, ‘The Lord needs it and will send it back here immediately.’” They went away and found a colt tied near a door, outside in the street. As they were untying it, some of the bystanders said to them, “What are you doing, untying the colt?” They told them what Jesus had said; and they allowed them to take it. Then they brought the colt to Jesus and threw their cloaks on it; and he sat on it. Many people spread their cloaks on the road, and others spread leafy branches that they had cut in the fields. Then those who went ahead and those who followed were shouting,

“Hosanna!
Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!
Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestor David!
Hosanna in the highest heaven!”

Then he entered Jerusalem and went into the temple; and when he had looked around at everything, as it was already late, he went out to Bethany with the twelve.

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"Mythbusters," on the Discovery Channel, features two ex-Hollywood stunt men and their team of helpers, who every week test the truth of urban legends, popular beliefs, internet rumors, or other myths.  They've tested whether using a cell phone will cause an explosion at the gas pump, whether someone with a tongue piercing is more likely to be struck by lightning, and whether you can actually find a needle in a haystack.  One episode tested a story about a driver who left the cement in his cement truck sit too long and it hardened.  The driver supposedly loosened the cement by throwing a stick of dynamite in the drum.  Mythbusters proved a stick of dynamite wouldn't do the job, but they kept increasing the explosives until they completely demolished the truck.  Cement left in the truck is useless:  it's only good when it's poured out.

The highest price ever paid for a bottle of drinkable wine was for a bottle of 1945 Chateau Mouton Rothschild bordeaux:  $ 114,000.  The most ever paid for a bottle of any wine was $ 160,000 for a bottle of 1787 Chateau Lafite bordeaux that is certainly vinegar now, but the bottle was from Thomas Jefferson's wine cellar and had his initials scratched on the glass.  No matter how old the vintage, wine is only good if it's poured out.

Hetty Green only owned one dress and wore it every day until it wore out.  She never turned on the heat and never used hot water.  She did not wash her hands and mostly ate pies that cost fifteen cents.  When her son, Ned, broke his leg as a child, she took him to a charity hospital.  When the hospital staff recognized her and refused to treat him as a charity case, she took Ned home and vowed to treat him herself.  The boy's leg developed gangrene and had to be amputated.  When Hetty died in 1916, her estate was valued, in today's dollars, at approximately three billion dollars.  All the money in the world is of no use unless it's poured out.

Jesus had it all.  He was adored by the common people, he could raise the dead, heal the sick, feed the hungry, change water into wine.  The nation was looking for a king and wanted to make him that ruler.  More than that, before his birth, he had been enthroned in heaven at God's side.  He had been present at the birth of the cosmos, he was surrounded by angels to do his bidding, he enjoyed unbroken fellowship with his Father, he existed in glory and honor and majesty.  Literally, he had it all.

But, like billions in a bank account, like cement stuck in a mixer, like wine on the shelf, it made no difference.  What does the glory of God mean when God's Creation struggles, suffers, and dies?  Jesus needed to be poured out.

So, says St. Paul to the church in Philippi, Jesus pours himself out.  Though he was in the form of God, he did not consider equality with God as something to be held on to.  Instead, he emptied himself -- poured himself out -- taking the form not of a master but of a slave, born in human likeness.  And being found in human form, he lowered -- humbled -- himself, and became obedient to the point of death -- even death on a cross.

Jesus is poured out into a manger in Bethlehem, born among the poor of the world.  He is poured out into the streets of Nazareth and Capernaum and Tyre.  He is poured out weeping for his friend Lazarus, poured out restoring dead children to life, healing lepers and paralytics, exorcising demons, feeding thousands of people.  He is poured out explaining the love of God to people who cannot understand what he means.  Jesus empties himself, over and over and over.

That's a crazy way to live.  Life is supposed to be about gathering in, not pouring out.  We go to school so we can gather knowledge, so we can go to work and gather money, so we can go to the store and gather food and furniture and clothes and toys.  We accumulate friends, we acquire property, we increase in fame and reputation.  Yes, we are willing to part with some of our accumulated money and knowledge and time, but only so we can trade it for something else we'd rather have.  Even our time is traded for something else that we want, probably something that promises, in the long run, to save us more time.  We work hard now so we can retire earlier and better, and have more time.  We save and invest now so we will have more later. 

It's all a matter of balance, we like to preach to each other.  Balance your time, your energy, your money, your desire, your gifts.  Don't spend more money, time, or energy than you get in return.  Don't empty yourself.  Keep the wine in the bottle, the cement in the mixer, the money in the bank.

Jesus, it seems to me, lives an utterly unbalanced life.  He is always giving away infinitely more than he receives.  And today, Palm Sunday, begins the final draft on Jesus' life, taking it down far past bankruptcy.  This week Jesus will pour it all out, in the Temple, in the Upper Room, in Pilate's palace, in the court of the Sanhedrin, and, finally, on a cross.  There's nothing balanced about this week.  Jesus' blood flows like an overturned bottle of wine, and his life is demolished like an exploded cement mixer.  By three o'clock Friday, there's nothing left.  There's no glory, no peace, no praise, and no breath.  Jesus is empty.

Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, Paul writes, who, though he was in the form of God, did not hold on to his equality with God, but emptied himself. 

Agnes Bojaxhiu was a young Albanian girl who felt called to become a nun.  She went to Ireland to learn English, so she could then teach in India.  After teaching in Calcutta for seventeen years, she went on a retreat in Darjeeling, and was overwhelmed by a call from God to serve the dying poor.  Begging in the streets, she raised money to found a hospice.  Beginning with 13 nuns, by the time of her death the Missionaries of Charity numbered 4,000 nuns operating hospitals, schools, and refugee centers.  Agnes poured herself out into the streets of Calcutta:  you probably know her by another name:  Mother Theresa.

Butch Nottingham is a farmer on the Eastern Shore of Virginia.  In 1982 his pastor invited him to hear a program on responsible lifestyles and hunger issues.  When the leader of the program said that millions of pounds of food were being thrown away and could be used to feed hungry people, Butch questioned the figures.  Butch told the leader that if he got a group of people together with bags, they could walk behind his potato harvester and have all the potatoes they wanted.  Ray Buchanan, the leader, took Butch's bet, and they gleaned behind Butch's tractor that fall.  In the twenty-seven years since the Society of Saint Andrew began their gleaning network, 400,000 volunteers have gleaned over 152 million pounds of food to be distributed to the poor.  All it took was one farmer willing to give away what was left behind his tractor.

All the glory in heaven cannot save the world from its sin.  But Christ surrenders his heavenly glory to be born and to live among the poor and forgotten people of the earth.  He pours out his life, emptying it on the hill of Calvary.  And, not from his glory and power and equality with God, but from his emptied life, come love and hope and resurrection.  His Lordship comes not from his authority but from his servanthood.  His power comes from his obedience.  His life comes from his death.  His fullness comes from his emptying.

Hetty Green, who died with billions in the bank, is remembered only for her eccentricity; Mother Theresa, who died a pauper, changed the world.  Hundreds of thousands of dollars spent on undrunk wine make headlines; food rescued from behind tractors feeds millions.  Cement left in a mixer gets dynamited; lives poured out for God and for neighbors build the New Jerusalem. 

Like wine, money, and cement, life is meant to be poured out. Have the same mind in you that was in Christ Jesus . . . who emptied himself.