The following is the sermon preached by Sarah Decker at St. Joseph's on the third Sunday of Easter, 18 April 2010. The text is John 21:1-19.
The Gospel according to John records three different days during which the resurrected Christ appears to his followers. On the first day, Jesus appears initially to Mary Magdalene and then later in the evening to his disciples, minus Thomas. A week later he appears to his disciples, including Thomas. Today’s gospel lesson describes Jesus’ third and final resurrection appearance in the fourth gospel.
The scene is the Sea of Tiberias, where Peter, John, and five other disciples went out at night into a boat hoping to catch some fish, but caught nothing. Just as the sun comes up Jesus (not recognized by the disciples at this point) calls to them from the shore, “Children, you have no fish, have you?” After they answer, “No,” Jesus instructs them to cast their net on the right side of the boat, saying that they will find fish there. Obeying the strange fishing advisor, the disciples cast their net on the right side of the boat and are overwhelmed by a net bulging, but not breaking, with 153 large fish. Perhaps after thinking something like, “Wait a minute… ,” John says to Peter, “It is the Lord!” Peter, who was naked, throws on some clothes, jumps into the sea, and starts swimming to Jesus while the other disciples drag the net of full of fish to land. On the beach the disciples find Jesus preparing breakfast, and after Peter contributes some of their fresh miracle fish, they all eat together around a charcoal fire. And none of them ask Jesus, “Who are you?,” because they know it is him. When they are finished with breakfast, Jesus addresses Peter. He asks him three times, “Simon son of John, do you love me?” Three times Peter answers ‘yes,’ and three times Jesus follows Peter’s response with an injunction to feed or tend his sheep.
In this conversation with Peter, Jesus tells us how we ought to love him: by tenderly caring for our neighbor. Jesus reminds Peter of the new commandment he gave earlier in the gospel, “Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another” (13:34) and repeated a chapter later with the added declaration, “No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” (15:13) Indeed, Jesus, who calls himself the Good Shepherd who lays his life down for the sheep, tells Peter in our gospel lesson that the love he thrice declares will lead to his death. Jesus says to Peter, “Very truly, I tell you, when you were younger, you used to fasten your own belt and to go wherever you wished. But when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will fasten a belt around you and take you where you do not wish to go.” And John comments that Jesus “said this to indicate the kind of death by which he would glorify God.” The expression, “stretch our your hands” likely refers to Peter’s crucifixion, and the language of being led unwillingly with a belt evokes the image of a lamb being led to the slaughter. Therefore, just as Jesus is not only called the Shepherd, but is also proclaimed by the Baptist to be, “the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world,” so too Peter is charged to imitate the love of Christ by caring for Christ’s sheep as a shepherd and by laying down his life for them as a lamb led to the slaughter.
When we hear the Risen Christ’s words to Peter and his call to him, “Follow me,” we also should hear a call to discipleship that is self-sacrificial love—laying down our lives for one another. This may indeed mean our physical death, as in the cases of the well-known modern martyrs Martin Luther King Jr. and Oscar Romero, as well as the four American church women who, like Romero, took up the cause of the poor in El Salvador despite the Salvadoran government’s persistent persecution of those working for justice. The day in 1980 before Maura Clarke, Ita Ford, Dorothy Kazel, and Jean Donovan were martyred, at the closing liturgy of an assembly of Maryknoll Sisters, Ita Ford read from one of Romero’s homilies given soon before his assassination earlier that year. Ford read, "Christ invites us not to fear persecution because, believe me, brothers and sisters, the one who is committed to the poor must run the same fate as the poor, and in El Salvador we know what the fate of the poor signifies: to disappear, be tortured, to be held captive - and to be found dead." The next day the women were captured by members of the Salvadoran military, were tortured, raped, and murdered because of their love for the poor and refugees of El Salvador. Many Christians, with names known and unknown, have loved Christ in care for their neighbor unto physical death. This is a present reality.
But Jesus not only offered himself upon the cross for us, but also led a life that was characterized by self-sacrificial love, beginning with the incarnation of the Word of God who deigned to take on human flesh and to live among those who would reject him, and plainly expressed in Jesus’ washing of his disciples feet. Thus should our whole lives be marked by self-renunciating love. This may look like changing our plans in order to share a meal with someone hungry, getting a bad night of sleep in order not to cut short a conversation with a discouraged colleague, not purchasing the clothes we like the most because they were made in sweat shops, doing the nasty or boring cleaning tasks at home, suppressing our pride by withholding “I told you sos,” or even letting the other person eyeing the last box of Nature Valley Oat and Dark Chocolate granola bars at Target take home the object of desire.
Maybe each one of these examples does not represent something all that difficult, especially if we are just shooting to accomplish one such self-renunciatory act per day (perhaps with a Benjamin Franklin style check-list). Yet, for them to be mere examples of a way of life that is continual self-sacrifice or the sort of life that leads to the cross is very difficult, perhaps impossible. Even Peter, who zealously declared to Christ earlier in the Gospel of John that he would go to his death for him, could not so much as admit to knowing him when push came to shove.
Yet it is this very same Peter, after his three-fold denial, that Jesus commands to tend his sheep. And it is to this same Peter that Jesus tells that he will in fact lay down his life to glorify God. What is different about this Peter? Sure, he is humbled and repentant. But what gives him the strength this time to make good on his promise of devotion to Jesus? How is it that he is able to go to his death as a follower of Christ?
According to Saint Augustine, it is the resurrection of Jesus Christ that makes all the difference for Peter. He writes, “[Peter] would do, when strengthened by [Jesus’] resurrection, what in his weakness he promised prematurely.” No longer, Augustine maintains, does Peter have a false estimate of himself, but instead has the strength of heart to claim Christ graciously bestowed upon him and the courage to face death because the Lord’s resurrection illustrates the life to come.
Indeed, prior to the resurrection, when Jesus foretells his betrayal and departure, Peter questions him, “Lord, where are you going?” and Jesus replies, “Where I am going, you cannot follow me now; but you will follow afterward.” This is precisely when Peter makes his false claim to faithfulness, saying, “Lord, why can I not follow you now? I will lay down my life for you.” Peter did not yet understand that Jesus had to die for him before he could die for Jesus.
Jesus did die for Peter, and for us, and he rose from the grave three days later. And from his fullness, manifested by the resurrection, we receive, as the prologue to the gospel says, grace upon grace. When promising his disciples the Holy Spirit, Jesus declares, “because I live, you also will live.” And on the first day of his post-resurrection appearances, Jesus breathes on his disciples and says to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit.” Jesus’ resurrection from the dead means for us, as Jesus says in the Good Shepherd discourse, abundant life, and it means the presence of the Holy Spirit.
Thus it is the grace of the power of the resurrection that takes Peter from an overzealous coward with mere good intentions to one who, like Jesus, tends the sheep and ultimately lays down his life for them. Furthermore, what transformed Peter transforms us. Because of the resurrection, it is not silliness for us to aim to love one another as Christ loved us, by living lives of self-sacrifice. We have cause to hope that our lives may be shaped by self-gift such that if called upon to die for the Shepherd and the sheep for whom he shed his blood we would remain faithful to the end. We can pray and receive the Eucharist with the anticipation that God has provided the grace needed for our isolated efforts to love self-sacrificially to grow into habits and a way of life. We can answer Jesus’ call, “Follow me,” with the confidence that we, like Peter, have received the grace of the power of the resurrection. Amen.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Easter Monday breakfast
“Alleluia! Christ is risen! Come let us adore him! Alleuia!” Morning Prayer on Easter Monday was well attended and heartily spoken. Mick lead us through the new schedule of liturgy in this new season. The Pascha Nostrum, the Song of Moses, two enthronement Psalms, and readings on the exodus and the resurrection. Now we stand during the Prayers (though as a reflex I began to kneel at “The Lord be with you” and accidentally lead half the worshipers to their knees). This is the Easter position – Christos aneste – Christ is risen – but more literally “Christ stood up.” So we stand with him to proclaim that with him we are raised. What joy! What grace! What can we offer in return for such? Our very lives, which he has now redeemed (=bought! – They are his anyhow!). “Almighty God, we your unworthy servants give you humble thanks for all your goodness and loving kindness to us!” It is great to know, and to learn by the experience of the rhythms of the liturgy, that Easter follows Good Friday. I focus a lot on the cross – and rightly so – but it is good be reminded that after the long, hard toil of the Way, and the pain and torture of the cross itself, stands the inexplicable, illogical, and utterly unexpected glory and joy of resurrection life. We glimpse its reality, if only for a moment, as we gather with the angels in the heavenly choir.
Breakfast followed, of course, in the Parish Hall. The weather was really nice so we are going to have to start eating outside on the picnic tables. All the usual suspects were there – I think we had about 15 total – including about five who spent the night sleeping in the back yard or around town but who then come up for breakfast. One of our usual friends, C, who lives across Durham out in the (comparative) boonies was around for some construction work he did last week. “You going over by my place at all?,” he asked Mick. “No, but I can be,” the good Warden replied. S got out of his tent and came in for a glass of juice and announced that he was going back to bed. “Hibernation,” I think Luke called it. But S didn’t leave before he had announced that (unbeknownst to me) everyone was welcome over at my place tonight to watch Duke play for the national title. We all enjoyed a brand-new egg casserole this morning and quite a good (as usual) one at that. I gobbled up more than my share.
Every week is a new adventure.
--Colin
Breakfast followed, of course, in the Parish Hall. The weather was really nice so we are going to have to start eating outside on the picnic tables. All the usual suspects were there – I think we had about 15 total – including about five who spent the night sleeping in the back yard or around town but who then come up for breakfast. One of our usual friends, C, who lives across Durham out in the (comparative) boonies was around for some construction work he did last week. “You going over by my place at all?,” he asked Mick. “No, but I can be,” the good Warden replied. S got out of his tent and came in for a glass of juice and announced that he was going back to bed. “Hibernation,” I think Luke called it. But S didn’t leave before he had announced that (unbeknownst to me) everyone was welcome over at my place tonight to watch Duke play for the national title. We all enjoyed a brand-new egg casserole this morning and quite a good (as usual) one at that. I gobbled up more than my share.
Every week is a new adventure.
--Colin
Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia!
Is it me, or did Lent seem like more than six weeks this year? Surely it was much longer ago that we celebrated Shrove Tuesday at our Pancake Supper, cooked for us by our friends from the Episcopal Center at Duke? Was it that we were celebrating the Daily Office by using the not so familiar Rite I? Perhaps it was due to the fact that I felt more penitent?
Whatever the reason, Palm Sunday and Holy Week did come and were welcomed.
Here at St. Joe’s we have, what I think is a pretty unusual family. I’ve talked before about our wonderful fellowship, but it goes much further than sharing a meal with like-minded committed Christians.
Our table fellowship that follows each weekday Morning Prayer gives an opportunity to talk, laugh and yes sometimes cry with a wide variety of people, some homeless, some not, but nevertheless needing more than that plate of breakfast casserole, eggs, cereals, toast and coffee. Loving thy neighbor is not always easy believe me. I struggle daily with doing just that. There are challenges to our faith on a daily basis, but I know that with God’s help we can overcome them.
Returning to the Easter theme, the eve of Palm Sunday saw seven of us weaving palm crosses. Sharing conversation, experiences, humor and of course food. I’ll be the first to admit that my crosses were not as artistic as A’s, who hails from Lebanon and was teaching us beginners with wonderful patience. But what a gratifying experience it was – nothing technical, nothing sophisticated, but enjoying the four thousand year art (or attempted art in my case) with, as A proudly says, “Our nearest neighbor to the Biblical lands”.
Holy Week was busy for us. Jokes were made about “our car is on auto-pilot”, or “perhaps we should bring our beds to church,” but seven liturgies marking Christ’s death and celebrating his resurrection between Wednesday evening through Easter Sunday have to be the highlight of the year.
After our short, but moving, Holy Saturday morning service, I was seconded to help our wonderful Altar Guild. I didn’t have much choice (only joking) as I am married to one of their members. But after an hour or so of cleaning and polishing, especially the church brasses, I realized what another important example of fellowship this was.
After six flowerless weeks and veiled crosses, our sanctuary became alive again. A resurrection no less. As later in the day we commenced the Great Vigil, being led into a darkened church by the paschal candle, we knew, all of us, that hope, with the light, would soon spring from Christ’s resurrection. After renewing our baptismal vows it was my task to turn on the lights. Never has Alleluia been shouted with such gusto (well, not since last Easter at least) and a wonderful feeling of joy and yes, relief, swept over the congregation who knew that Christ had risen indeed.
Easter Sunday, without doubt, my favorite day of the year, saw a packed (for St. Joe’s) church enjoy and praise the resurrection of our Savior. I was on acolyte duty and admit that together with the relief and joy I could feel tears of emotion – tears of joy especially at what was something new for me. T, a regular at Daily Office and a professional choreographer and dancer, enriched our celebration with his liturgical dancing. Thank you T. Indeed thank you to our music director, choir and musicians. And a big thank you for Altar Guilds everywhere, but especially to ours at St. Joe’s, who tirelessly work to prepare God’s church for worship and the Lord’s table for us to share in the resurrection throughout the year.
Thanks be to God. Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia!
--Mick
Whatever the reason, Palm Sunday and Holy Week did come and were welcomed.
Here at St. Joe’s we have, what I think is a pretty unusual family. I’ve talked before about our wonderful fellowship, but it goes much further than sharing a meal with like-minded committed Christians.
Our table fellowship that follows each weekday Morning Prayer gives an opportunity to talk, laugh and yes sometimes cry with a wide variety of people, some homeless, some not, but nevertheless needing more than that plate of breakfast casserole, eggs, cereals, toast and coffee. Loving thy neighbor is not always easy believe me. I struggle daily with doing just that. There are challenges to our faith on a daily basis, but I know that with God’s help we can overcome them.
Returning to the Easter theme, the eve of Palm Sunday saw seven of us weaving palm crosses. Sharing conversation, experiences, humor and of course food. I’ll be the first to admit that my crosses were not as artistic as A’s, who hails from Lebanon and was teaching us beginners with wonderful patience. But what a gratifying experience it was – nothing technical, nothing sophisticated, but enjoying the four thousand year art (or attempted art in my case) with, as A proudly says, “Our nearest neighbor to the Biblical lands”.
Holy Week was busy for us. Jokes were made about “our car is on auto-pilot”, or “perhaps we should bring our beds to church,” but seven liturgies marking Christ’s death and celebrating his resurrection between Wednesday evening through Easter Sunday have to be the highlight of the year.
After our short, but moving, Holy Saturday morning service, I was seconded to help our wonderful Altar Guild. I didn’t have much choice (only joking) as I am married to one of their members. But after an hour or so of cleaning and polishing, especially the church brasses, I realized what another important example of fellowship this was.
After six flowerless weeks and veiled crosses, our sanctuary became alive again. A resurrection no less. As later in the day we commenced the Great Vigil, being led into a darkened church by the paschal candle, we knew, all of us, that hope, with the light, would soon spring from Christ’s resurrection. After renewing our baptismal vows it was my task to turn on the lights. Never has Alleluia been shouted with such gusto (well, not since last Easter at least) and a wonderful feeling of joy and yes, relief, swept over the congregation who knew that Christ had risen indeed.
Easter Sunday, without doubt, my favorite day of the year, saw a packed (for St. Joe’s) church enjoy and praise the resurrection of our Savior. I was on acolyte duty and admit that together with the relief and joy I could feel tears of emotion – tears of joy especially at what was something new for me. T, a regular at Daily Office and a professional choreographer and dancer, enriched our celebration with his liturgical dancing. Thank you T. Indeed thank you to our music director, choir and musicians. And a big thank you for Altar Guilds everywhere, but especially to ours at St. Joe’s, who tirelessly work to prepare God’s church for worship and the Lord’s table for us to share in the resurrection throughout the year.
Thanks be to God. Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia!
--Mick
Witnessing to Resurrection Life
The following is the sermon preached by The Rev. Karen C. Barfield, Chaplain of the Episcopal Center at Duke, at the Great Vigil of Easter celebrated at St. Joseph's by the two missions. The texts were Romans 6:3-11 and Luke 24:1-12.
“Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death?” (Romans 6:3)
The last congregation I served in Memphis before coming to North Carolina was a fairly large Episcopal Church. On average there were several hundred people there each Sunday morning.
On the day of the bishop’s visitation there were several folks lined up to be baptized.
In one family both brother and sister were to be baptized that morning. The little girl was about 2 years old, but her older brother was about 10 and was very inquisitive and excited.
As the bishop met with those to be baptized during the Sunday school time, this boy sat right next to the bishop and asked all kinds of questions. He was excited about his baptism and was all ready to go.
During the service when it was time for him to be baptized, the bishop called him over to the font, but the boy clung to his mother’s side for dear life.
He looked at the bishop and said, “I don’t want to be baptized.”
As the bishop tried to coax him over, it was clear that he would have to be peeled away from his mother’s skirt.
The bishop, in his wisdom said, “Your baptism is supposed to be a time of joy. If you don’t want to be baptized, you don’t have to be.”
And that was that.
Later in the service when the boy and his family came to the altar rail for Communion, as the bishop approached him, the boy said, “Well, I guess I blew my chance, huh?”
The bishop smiled and said, “No, you have another chance. Meet me at the font after the service, and I’ll baptize you then.”
The boy, smiling, received his blessing and returned to his pew.
“Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death?”
That Sunday morning did that boy cling to his mother’s side out of embarrassment or stage fright before the large crowd gathered in the church?
Or did he have some inkling that what he was about to do was as frightening as being buried with Christ in his death?
Did he know that his life was about to change forever –
that new demands would be placed on him that he might not be able to meet?
Perhaps a little of both.
In my experience, children “get it” – they understand things we barely begin to comprehend.
How many times have we heard stories of young children – 3 and 4 years old – saying to their parents on the way back from the altar rail:
“Boy, I really needed the bread of Jesus today.”
__________________________________
Tonight we gather together on the most Holy of Holy nights –
to hear the story of salvation history:
to hear the story of creation,
of rebellion,
of redemption.
We gather here tonight to celebrate that God became human,
walked among us,
suffered as we suffer,
died
and then rose from the grave.
And here is the key (in the words of Paul):
“Therefore we have been buried with him by baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life.
“For if we have been united with him in a death like his,
we will certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his.”
We have been buried with Christ so that we, too, might walk in newness of life.
Clarence Jordan, founder of the Koinonia Community in Americus, GA, said,
“The crowning evidence that Jesus was alive was not a vacant grave,
but a spirit-filled fellowship.
Not a rolled-away stone,
but a carried-away church.”
In reflecting on this statement, Lutheran theologian Christoph Blumhardt comments:
“It is not enough to celebrate Easter and say ‘Christ is risen.’ It is useless to proclaim this unless at the same time we can say that we have also risen, that we have received something from heaven.
“We must feel appalled when the tremendous events that took place, the death and resurrection of Jesus, are proclaimed again and again and yet actually nothing happens with us. It has no effect.” (from “Christ Rising” in Bread and Wine, Orbis Books, 2003, p. 350).
As Paul says, “if we have been united with him in a death like his,
we will certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his.”
However frightening that plunge into Christ’s death may be:
whether a literal immersion under the waters of baptism
or a turning from the ways of sin and death we encounter daily,
we celebrate with Christ the newness of life that awaits.
As the new fire, the new light, emerges in the darkness,
we remember that the darkness never overcomes the light.
May the fires of God’s love and grace burn within us
so that our lives may be a witness to resurrection life –
casting aside all fear.
God is doing a new thing in us –
birthing God’s kingdom through us
right here and right now.
So, this day and every day let us shout
“Christ is risen”
not only with our lips
but through our very lives.
Amen.
“Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death?” (Romans 6:3)
The last congregation I served in Memphis before coming to North Carolina was a fairly large Episcopal Church. On average there were several hundred people there each Sunday morning.
On the day of the bishop’s visitation there were several folks lined up to be baptized.
In one family both brother and sister were to be baptized that morning. The little girl was about 2 years old, but her older brother was about 10 and was very inquisitive and excited.
As the bishop met with those to be baptized during the Sunday school time, this boy sat right next to the bishop and asked all kinds of questions. He was excited about his baptism and was all ready to go.
During the service when it was time for him to be baptized, the bishop called him over to the font, but the boy clung to his mother’s side for dear life.
He looked at the bishop and said, “I don’t want to be baptized.”
As the bishop tried to coax him over, it was clear that he would have to be peeled away from his mother’s skirt.
The bishop, in his wisdom said, “Your baptism is supposed to be a time of joy. If you don’t want to be baptized, you don’t have to be.”
And that was that.
Later in the service when the boy and his family came to the altar rail for Communion, as the bishop approached him, the boy said, “Well, I guess I blew my chance, huh?”
The bishop smiled and said, “No, you have another chance. Meet me at the font after the service, and I’ll baptize you then.”
The boy, smiling, received his blessing and returned to his pew.
“Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death?”
That Sunday morning did that boy cling to his mother’s side out of embarrassment or stage fright before the large crowd gathered in the church?
Or did he have some inkling that what he was about to do was as frightening as being buried with Christ in his death?
Did he know that his life was about to change forever –
that new demands would be placed on him that he might not be able to meet?
Perhaps a little of both.
In my experience, children “get it” – they understand things we barely begin to comprehend.
How many times have we heard stories of young children – 3 and 4 years old – saying to their parents on the way back from the altar rail:
“Boy, I really needed the bread of Jesus today.”
__________________________________
Tonight we gather together on the most Holy of Holy nights –
to hear the story of salvation history:
to hear the story of creation,
of rebellion,
of redemption.
We gather here tonight to celebrate that God became human,
walked among us,
suffered as we suffer,
died
and then rose from the grave.
And here is the key (in the words of Paul):
“Therefore we have been buried with him by baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life.
“For if we have been united with him in a death like his,
we will certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his.”
We have been buried with Christ so that we, too, might walk in newness of life.
Clarence Jordan, founder of the Koinonia Community in Americus, GA, said,
“The crowning evidence that Jesus was alive was not a vacant grave,
but a spirit-filled fellowship.
Not a rolled-away stone,
but a carried-away church.”
In reflecting on this statement, Lutheran theologian Christoph Blumhardt comments:
“It is not enough to celebrate Easter and say ‘Christ is risen.’ It is useless to proclaim this unless at the same time we can say that we have also risen, that we have received something from heaven.
“We must feel appalled when the tremendous events that took place, the death and resurrection of Jesus, are proclaimed again and again and yet actually nothing happens with us. It has no effect.” (from “Christ Rising” in Bread and Wine, Orbis Books, 2003, p. 350).
As Paul says, “if we have been united with him in a death like his,
we will certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his.”
However frightening that plunge into Christ’s death may be:
whether a literal immersion under the waters of baptism
or a turning from the ways of sin and death we encounter daily,
we celebrate with Christ the newness of life that awaits.
As the new fire, the new light, emerges in the darkness,
we remember that the darkness never overcomes the light.
May the fires of God’s love and grace burn within us
so that our lives may be a witness to resurrection life –
casting aside all fear.
God is doing a new thing in us –
birthing God’s kingdom through us
right here and right now.
So, this day and every day let us shout
“Christ is risen”
not only with our lips
but through our very lives.
Amen.
A Meditation for Holy Saturday
Hope against all hope, when hope looks not only foolish but impossible: this is the call of Holy Saturday. It is an incredibly challenging call to us, to inhabit the tomb with the crucified, lifeless body of Jesus, where the power of death can be palpable, even suffocating. In the face of the death of the Lord, our lives stand still, numb, silent. It is as if the whole world has been sealed up in the tomb with him. Nothing more can be said, nothing can be done. Our future is now completely bound up with his future; our future now rests in him.
From all appearances, though, there is no future for him: this is the reality of Holy Saturday. Jesus has been executed. His life has ended shamefully, horrifically. He did not save himself from the cross or tomb; now he is beyond saving. What shall become of him? What can become of another dead would-be Messiah? What shall become of us who staked everything on him? What can become of us?
The only hope for him, for us, for the whole world, lying in the tomb is God: this is the revelation of Holy Saturday. The future of Jesus is for God to decide. In the realm of death, there is no hope, no security, no foothold, no ray of light; the death of Jesus erases even the tiniest sign upon which we may have based our faith. In the tomb, we are confronted with the sheer absurdity of hope, of waiting for God when all reasons for waiting, for hoping, have fallen short. In the dead body of Jesus, we come face-to-face with the disarming truth of Christianity: the only future we possibly have lies with God because our future lies in Jesus. Easter Sunday does not abolish this truth; it makes it more glaringly obvious.
While it is still dark in the tomb, however, where there is no guarantee of Sunday, let us ponder the lament of Psalm 130: “Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord. Lord, hear my voice! Let your ears be attentive to the voice of my supplications!...I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in [the Lord’s] word I hope; my soul waits for the Lord more than those who watch for the morning, more than those who watch for the morning.” Let us wait in silence and openness for the coming of our God, our future and our hope.
--Jodi Belcher
From all appearances, though, there is no future for him: this is the reality of Holy Saturday. Jesus has been executed. His life has ended shamefully, horrifically. He did not save himself from the cross or tomb; now he is beyond saving. What shall become of him? What can become of another dead would-be Messiah? What shall become of us who staked everything on him? What can become of us?
The only hope for him, for us, for the whole world, lying in the tomb is God: this is the revelation of Holy Saturday. The future of Jesus is for God to decide. In the realm of death, there is no hope, no security, no foothold, no ray of light; the death of Jesus erases even the tiniest sign upon which we may have based our faith. In the tomb, we are confronted with the sheer absurdity of hope, of waiting for God when all reasons for waiting, for hoping, have fallen short. In the dead body of Jesus, we come face-to-face with the disarming truth of Christianity: the only future we possibly have lies with God because our future lies in Jesus. Easter Sunday does not abolish this truth; it makes it more glaringly obvious.
While it is still dark in the tomb, however, where there is no guarantee of Sunday, let us ponder the lament of Psalm 130: “Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord. Lord, hear my voice! Let your ears be attentive to the voice of my supplications!...I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in [the Lord’s] word I hope; my soul waits for the Lord more than those who watch for the morning, more than those who watch for the morning.” Let us wait in silence and openness for the coming of our God, our future and our hope.
--Jodi Belcher
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)