While It Was Still Dark

A Sermon inspired by John 20:1-18 for Easter Sunday 2020

While it was still dark. It’s always stood out to me that Mary Magdalene makes her way to the tomb under the cover of darkness. Yesterday morning right before dawn, I spent time outside in the crisp, cool spring air. I could still see the moon in the sky. I could hear the birds begin to sing in the trees around me. I could see in the distance the fog on the lake in my neighborhood. The earth, silent and still. Waiting for morning to come.

Yet for Mary, even if she had waited for the sun to rise, her sadness, her grief, her distress over the death of her close friend Jesus would have made the day like night for her. Her life had been continuous night, unending darkness since Jesus died two days ago. Indeed, even creation had joined in her weeping and wailing, covering itself in darkness, the sun refusing to shine, as Jesus hung on the cross, dying. For Mary Magdalene, for the other women, for Jesus’ closest friends, for his disciples, for those who had hoped Jesus would be the one to redeem Israel, the Messiah…that sun may have risen on that Sunday, but for them, the darkness had not ended.

One of the moments I cherish each Easter is watching the sunrise as I prepare to make my way to an early morning worship celebration of the resurrection. I’ve celebrated that Easter sunrise in many places. In the garden of home church, near a tree I planted with my Confirmation class as a sign of our faith in Jesus and our choice to spend our lives serving God. I’ve celebrated the Easter sunrise in a prison, gathered with women whose hope and joy are truly found in the Lord because, for some of them, faith in Jesus’ power over sin and death is the only thing have to hold on to. Last year, I celebrated the Easter sunrise with our community, with Christians from all over Adamsville and beyond, different denominations gathered together to proclaim the truth we all hold in common…He is risen! Hallelujah! Amen!

The Easter sunrise doesn’t feel like a celebration for me this year, though. I won’t see our sanctuary full with family and friends gathered together with bright smiles. I won’t hear your voices ringing out in song about Jesus’ victory. I won’t get to lay my hands on you, hold on to you, hug you as we celebrate the peace Christ brings into our lives this day. Even with the sun fully rising in the sky, there will still be this feeling of darkness covering the earth.

Yet, because this Easter will be different for all of us, because it will be unlike any other Easter we have ever experienced, we are getting a firsthand glimpse into what Mary Magdalene and the other disciples were feeling on that very first Easter morning. Jesus’ followers are scattered, grieving, living in fear. The disciples, well at least ten of the twelve, are locked away behind closed doors, afraid, petrified really, that the Roman authorities will be knocking down the door of their hiding hole at any moment now, deciding that Jesus’ death was just the beginning, and that to squash the insurrection they believe he was leading, they need to take out the next major threat—his followers.  And Mary is walking, alone, in the dark, towards death.

Even though John’s Gospel has told us twice that Jesus’ body has been prepared for burial, once when Mary of Bethany, Lazarus’s sister, anointed Jesus’ feet with expensive perfume, and again when Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus buried his body in seventy-five pounds of myrrh, aloe, and spices, wrapping him in linen cloths…still, Mary makes her way, alone, to the tomb to care for Jesus’ body, to anoint him again…because maybe she doesn’t what else to do. And it is still dark.

Perhaps, more than ever, we know how Mary is feeling in the garden that day. When death has become not only your intimate friend, but a visitor to your whole world, what else can you do? When your friend, your rabbi, your teacher, your hope has died, where else do you go, but to the place where his body has been laid, to the tomb, to the graveside, to check on the work that death has done?

For over a month in our own nation, and for more than three months across the world, we have been in the business of checking on the work that death has done. The death toll from this virus rises daily. We all know of someone, by now, someone who we can name who has passed away because of COVID-19 complications.

We may not know them personally. Maybe they are a family member of an acquaintance or a friend of a friend. For me, I have two friends who have had a family member or close friend pass away. A third friend has an uncle in ICU right now. This past week, we mourned as a nation the death of legendary folk singer/songwriter John Prine.

And, of course, deaths unrelated to this pandemic continue to come. Jack Coffman, a beloved, life-long member of Adamsville FUMC, and G.W. Turnbow from Mt. Vinson, a friend and supporter from afar, have both gone on to glory.

And the ways that we would normally process these losses, how we would gather to celebrate their lives, worship God, and comfort the families and one another have been significantly altered, doubling our collective grief.

Usually, I can run with joy towards the Easter sunrise, because I know there is more joy waiting on the other side. Yet when Mary runs away from the empty tomb the first time, she is not running towards the sunrise with joy.

Jesus’ body is gone! Grave robbers have taken him, or worse, soldiers have stolen his lifeless body to desecrate even further. How much more pain and grief and humiliation can Mary take?!

Peter and the beloved Disciple come and confirm what Mary has seen. Jesus’ body is indeed gone. They leave, having believed what Mary told them this time. But Mary…Mary, she stays. Full of grief and terror, she stays. She stays to be a witness to this tragedy like she stayed near the cross. Weeping and fully present to this moment, she stays.

And though, when the angels show up and Jesus comes to find her, they ask her why she is weeping, they don’t tell her to dry her tears. They don’t rebuke her grief. They join her and stay with her in her grief until she is able to recognize her risen Savior.

So, on this Easter Sunday, dear ones, you have full permission to feel both sadness and joy, anger and happiness, fear and relief. The Jesus who wept at the tomb of Lazarus doesn’t begrudge Mary her own tears and emotions as she now weeps by his grave. You don’t have to pretend that everything is okay, just because it is Easter. You don’t have to put on a brave face. You don’t have to grin and bear it. You can weep.

Weep for the empty sanctuary. 

Weep for the graduating seniors missing out on their last days and memories and celebrations. 

Weep for the loved ones lonely in nursing homes that we can’t visit. Weep for the healthcare teams and essential workers risking their lives. Weep for those who have died and for their families. 

Weep because you are angry. 

Weep because you are exhausted. 

Weep because you are bored. 

You can weep.

And the good news, the gospel promise, is that in your weeping Jesus will meet you and call out your name. Like he did for Mary, Jesus will come find you in your little corner of the world, and, beloved, HE WILL CALL OUT YOUR NAME!

With her name, in one word, Jesus not only surprises Mary with the powerful work of God defeating death…he makes it personal for her! For Mary, for you, for me…Jesus went to hell and back. God battled Death and won! Jesus paid it all for our sins, but his love was too strong for the grave to hold him down. And so, even in our weeping, we sing because CHRIST IS RISEN! HE IS RISEN, INDEED! ALLELUIA!

In our rejoicing, we like Mary want to hug Jesus around the neck, to hang onto our Savior, our Hope, our Joy, our reason to sing through the tears. I imagine Jesus gently taking Mary’s hands, detangling her arms from around his frame, looking in her eyes as he says, “Mary, you can’t hold on to me. You have a job to do. You have a story to tell. You have hope to share. I am risen. I was dead, but now I am alive. Mary, go tell the world.”

And now, Mary runs from the tomb with joy that cannot be contained, with hope bursting at the seams, with purpose as a disciple restored. The empty tomb that caused her weeping now brings to her eyes what my mama calls happy tears.

Mary becomes the first preacher to preach the good news of the resurrection. Her sermon to her fellow disciples, “I have seen the Lord!”

And that is our good news to share, too, today. We have seen the stone rolled away. We have seen the tomb is empty. We have heard Jesus call our name. Just as Mary could not, neither can we remain in the garden, clinging to Jesus. We have a job to do. A story to tell. Yes, it will be difficult. Our world, filled to the brim with darkness and death in this moment, may not be ready to hear, to believe that there can be, that there will be life after death. The disciples didn’t believe Mary at first either. But, still, she went, and she was faithful to share the message the risen Jesus gave her.

So, share the good news, friends! 

Christ is RISEN FROM THE DEAD! 

Preach the gospel with your lives, because through the resurrection we know that the worst things that can happen to us—disappointment, disease, death—they will never be the last thing!

Christ’s victory is our story, now!

His love is our song!

Tell someone!

And, the world may not understand, they may not have the ears to hear the message we bring…but, take heart, friends, the sun is about to rise.

In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Palm Parade

A Sermon Inspired by Matthew 21:1-11

"Palm Sunday" by Evans Yegon

On a spring day in the year 30 AD, two parades made their way into Jerusalem. You and I—we are most familiar with one Palm Sunday parade, the one with Jesus, riding into Jerusalem on a donkey with Hosanna singing and palm branch waving. We hear the story every year as we begin the most holy week of the Christian calendar, the final stretch of Lent, the end of our journey with Jesus to the cross. But, in their book entitled The Last Week: What the Gospels Really Teach about Jesus’ Final Days in Jerusalem, biblical scholars Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan propose that Jesus’ palm parade wasn’t the only show in town that day.[1]

On the other side of town, Pontius Pilate entered the holy city of Jerusalem from the west, riding on a warhorse. Pilate, the Roman governor of Judea, was in town because it was the beginning of the Jewish festival of Passover. Passover is for our Jewish siblings one of the most holy weeks of the year as they remember God’s deliverance of the Hebrew people from slavery in Egypt. As the people of Jesus’ day gathered to celebrate this religious holiday of liberation in Jerusalem, insurrection would have been in the air. They knew what it was like to live under Pharaoh…his name was Caesar now. They knew what it was like to fear Egyptian slave drivers…they walked in fear of Roman soldiers who could legally steal the coat off their backs or force them to carry armor for a mile. They knew what it was like to live in a place where they had no power…they may have been in the Promised Land and not Egypt, but Rome was in control. 

And, just in case they forgot it, just in case the rituals of Passover with its rich symbolism made them dream of a modern-day Moses who would overthrow the emperor, just in case…Pontius Pilate had a Passover parade, complete with the gaudy glory of imperial power – mighty horses, shiny chariots, gleaming armor, and a full display of the man power of the Roman army in tow to remind the Jewish people as they entered Jerusalem on their Passover Pilgrimage…you are not in control here! Rome is.

There is a whole lot of stuff in my world right now that I do not feel like I’m in control of. While I can wash my hands and limit my contact with others, I do not feel like I can control whether I or the people I love will get sick with coronavirus. While I can work as hard as I can from home and be creative to show that the job can still get done, even if it’s in a different way, I cannot control if other workplaces adapt to help people keep their jobs. While I can only buy the groceries I need and give away any extra to those who I find out are in need, I do not feel like I can control if there are people who go hungry because they don’t know where to turn for help. While I can pray for a miracle and stay positive, I cannot control when this will end, when we will be able to gather again for worship, and what kind of spiritual and financial shape our church will be in after all of this.

But as I begin to worry about all the things I cannot control, I remember that there were two parades in Jerusalem that day so long ago. From the east, came another procession, more humble in nature than the parade of Pontius Pilate. No warhorses and weaponry followed by military troops marching in battle armor. Just Jesus, Zechariah’s prophesied king of peace, wearing an ordinary robe, with humble transportation – a borrowed donkey – surrounded not by warriors but by peasants shouting, “Hosanna! Save us!”

That is my prayer today. Hosanna, King Jesus! That is the cry of my heart – Hosanna in the highest! Hosanna literally means “Save us!” or “Rescue us!” And so I pray…King Jesus, save us from these days of discord, distance, death, and disease. 

King Jesus, save us from the fear in our hearts. 

King Jesus, save us from ignoring the facts offered to us by medical experts. 
King Jesus, save us from the crashing stock market that threatens the financial future of many. 

King Jesus, save us from the slow down of the economy causing people to lose their jobs now and worry about how to make it through today, much less tomorrow. 

King Jesus, save us from our boredom at being cooped up in our houses. 
King Jesus, save us from the stress of trying to be perfect as we help our children learn from home. 

King Jesus, save us from the pressure of being productive out of a desire to prove our worth to others. 
King Jesus, save us from coronavirus. 

King Jesus, save us from trying to control the things that are out of our control.

Because, as I put myself in the story of Scripture, and I walk from the west side of Jerusalem to the east, as I join the palm parade welcoming the Messiah King into the holy city, I find that the difference in Jesus’ parade and Pilate’s parade is NOT that Jesus tells me I am now in control. No, both of these parades make clear that I am not the master of my own destiny. Jesus’ parade gives me no special power. Instead, I am reminded the triumph of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem is that GOD IS IN CONTROL!

And, as it so often is, the reminder that God is in control is a reminder that I am not. And, even when it doesn’t feel like it, that is good news! Because God’s ways are greater than my ways. What God can do is greater than what I can imagine. Where I would settle for a king who promises temporary safety and who rules with power and might, God sends a servant king to establish everlasting peace and to rule with justice, mercy, and love.

When it feels like the earth is shaking and the ground beneath my feet falls away, the solid ground on which I can stand is not the kind of king I would settle for. Our leaders, as wonderful or as worrisome as they might be, they are only human. They amount to sinking sand. Only Jesus Christ is rock solid. Jesus – the king NOT of the mighty but the king of fisherman and tax collectors. Jesus – the king NOT of the powerful but the king of Samaritans and prostitutes. Jesus – the king NOT of the wealthy and the well-connected but the king of people who were separated from their community, by blindness, by paralysis, by disease.

And because Jesus is that kind of king, his parade keeps on going even after the coats of onlookers are picked back up, the palm branches dry out, and the songs of hosanna fade away. Jesus chooses to enter a deadly situation without force or protection, a reminder that God put on skin and became vulnerable to show us the depths of his love. Because of love for you and me, God risked it all…just to get closer to us! Because of love, Jesus will keep walking his parade path all the way to the Golgotha, all the way to the cross, all the way to death. And when he dies on a Roman cross, a symbol of the empire’s power over human life, the earth will shake and the rocks will split open. It will look like death has won. But that’s not the end of the story.

And we can trust, that the shaky ground we find ourselves on now, as we celebrate Holy Week separated from one another, will not be the end of the story either.

So, today…will you join in Jesus’ palm parade? 

Will you follow the King who comes in the name of the Lord? 

Will you give up trying to control the future and trust in the One who is in control? 

Will you cast down your cloaks in worship before the Messiah? 

Will you wave palm branches high and sing “Hosanna! Save me, Jesus! Save me, even from myself.”? 

Will you walk with Jesus down the long road that leads to the cross? 

Will you be faithful and remain with him, even as he takes his last breath, and trust that death will not be the end of his story? 

It won’t be the end of our story either, friends. But, for now, we wait, we watch, and we stay close to Jesus, even in the face of suffering, of pain, of death.

In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

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[1] “The Roman procession is Borg’s and Crossan’s imaginary historical reconstruction based on non-biblical sources. However, it serves well, as they intended, the purpose of accentuating the political dimensions of…the ‘pre-arranged counter procession’ of Jesus and his followers.” From John Rollefson’s “Homiletical Perspective” article on Matthew 21:1-11” in Feasting on the Word: Year A, Volume 2 (Louisville, KY: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010).

Come into the Light

A Sermon Inspired by John 3:1-21

No, your eyes are not deceiving you. And, no, you have not clicked on the wrong sermon link. This is a Christmas tree, right here in the middle of a sermon on the 5^th Sunday in Lent…just two weeks before Easter.

In the upside down, topsy turvy world we are living in during the time of COVID-19, people are searching for little bits of hope and light wherever they can find them amid these dark, scary, and sometimes monotonous days of staying inside and keeping our distance from one another.

And…well, people have gotten creative!

At first, I just heard rumors, but then I started to see with my own eyes…pictures popping up from friends far and wide, from communities like Tupelo, MS and Elmira, New York,[1] pictures of Christmas lights on front porches, twinkling across hedges, shining bright through windows. Each Christmas light display a surprising oasis of hope and peace in the middle of the maddest March I’ve ever experienced.

But, Christmas lights are not the only way creative folks have begun to shine light and share love. There have also been community-wide bear hunts all across the nation. Maybe, you’ve heard about them?! Neighbors are placing teddy bears and stuffed animals of all kinds in their windows, near their mailboxes, some even on the roofs of their homes for children of all ages to “hunt” for as they count them on an afternoon walk or a joy ride in the car. We even have our own bear hunt happening in McNairy County right now![2] What an amazing way to help parents entertain their cooped-up kiddos with familiar cute and cuddly toys, small signs of hope and community even in this unusual and unfamiliar landscape for us all!

While we could choose to let the safe and necessary practices of staying home and social distancing isolate us from one another, we can also choose to be creative with how we show God’s love to our neighbors. If we have eyes to see, we will find the light even in these dark days.

Nicodemus comes to Jesus in the middle of night, under the cover of darkness, searching for a little light from this teacher he believes is sent from God. Nicodemus must have been watching from the background, or maybe he had heard through the grapevine, because he knows that this Rabbi Jesus has performed some miraculous signs, like turning water into wine. Nicodemus, a successful and self-confident leader in his community, approaches Jesus directly, curious to find out more about who Jesus is and what exactly he is up to. I imagine Nicodemus had all sorts of questions he was hoping to ask Jesus, but before he can ask any of them, Jesus is ready to dive headfirst into a conversation by answering a question Nicodemus didn’t even ask. Jesus loves to do this—answer questions people don’t ask, offer observations that seem to come out of left field and throw people off center.

And, so, Jesus tells Nicodemus, “I assure you, unless someone is born anew, it’s not possible to see God’s kingdom” (John 3:3). Your translation of the Bible may say “born again” or “born from above” or, like mine, “born anew.” These are all different ways of saying the same thing. Whatever words are used, we might be left feeling as confused as Nicodemus does. “How is that possible Jesus? What do you mean we must be born again?”

Jesus, always interested in offering light to the darkness of our human understanding, explains that to be born again is not a literal birth of womb and water but to be born of God’s Spirit. To be born of God’s Spirit is to believe in Jesus. And to believe in Jesus is to live into the promise of abundant and eternal life.

Often, we have diminished the fullness of Jesus’ words and limited our own understanding of being “born again.” For some of us, we use “born again” as a secret code, to count who is in and who is out, to mark who’s been saved and who still needs to get right with God. We condense all of the gospel down into one single verse—John 3:16—latching onto the promise of eternal life as we say the sinner’s prayer and, then, sit and wait around for heaven.

But, I’m not sure if that captures the fullness of what Jesus is saying to Nicodemus as he explains what it means to be born again, to be born of water and the Spirit, to be born anew by believing in Jesus. Jesus didn’t come to only offer us life after death. Jesus says in John 10:10, “I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.” Jesus came to bring life into the here and now, to give us meaning and purpose and joy where there used to meaninglessness. Life is not just a gift for after death! Life is a gift to the believer now!

Yes, now, even during this pandemic crisis where life as we know it is changing day by day. How are you experiencing the abundant life of Jesus in new ways in this strange season? Are you pausing to give thanks for the sunshine this week that certainly brought some much needed light to our dreary days? Are you enjoying seeing and waving to neighbors you know and some neighbors you may not have met before all of this as you walk your neighborhood? Hopefully from a safe, social distance, of course? Are you savoring the community that happens over a phone call as you talk with loved ones and friends, maybe some you hadn’t spoken to in a while? How are you living the life Jesus gives us to the fullest right in this very moment?

For me, I see abundant life in God’s creation all around us as spring blooms and buzzes. It may just be me, but there is something extra sweet in the song of the birds singing in the trees this spring. And, maybe it’s my imagination, but I don’t remember hearing them sing all day long before. But, this week, as I read my daily devotion, as I participated in more than one online meeting and Zoom video call, as I wrote this sermon, as I called and checked in on folks to see how they were doing, there always seemed to be the sweet melody of a robin or a mockingbird singing in the distance, a soundtrack to the beauty of God’s creation.

But it’s not only what we notice with our own eyes when life slows down a bit that reveals the abundant life Jesus has planned for us. If we are paying attention, the crisis of this pandemic is revealing just how directly our everyday actions affect another crisis that many of us have been willfully ignoring. For years scientists have warned the world about the catastrophic effects of global warming and climate change. Gradually shifting weather patterns resulting in more rain and more floods, rising sea levels, melting ice caps, more extreme weather like hurricanes, tornadoes, and wildfires are all signs of the crisis of a rapidly changing climate that will jeopardize the world’s food supply, threaten the livelihood of millions, and drive people from their homes in regions that will become uninhabitable. Unless the world’s nations agree to drastic measures to reduce greenhouse emissions significantly, scientists warn the rise in the world’s temperatures will create droughts that severely affect 350 million additional people around the globe and contribute to driving around 120 million people into extreme poverty. Last year, Time magazine named Greta Thunberg, a 16-year-old climate activist, their person of the year for 2019. In her interview, Greta shared, “We can’t continue living as if there was no tomorrow, because there is a tomorrow.”[3] A tomorrow for our children and grandchildren.

Yet, for many of us, we rarely, if ever, think about global climate change, much less how the daily decisions we make—like where we go and how we get there, what we eat and what we buy—contribute to the problem. Around the world, as we have stayed in to slow the spread of coronavirus, less cars have been on streets, less planes in the air, less factories running day and night…and something has happened. The air is clearer. In heavily polluted places like China, Italy, South Korea, New York City, London, and Los Angeles where the air is usually full of smog, there are instead clear blue skies.[4]  It is clear – human activity is the primary contributor to pollution and climate change. Perhaps Jesus is inviting us to see the benefits and possibilities of a simpler, more environmentally-conscious life…where we not only live life to the fullest but our life and our choices enable others, especially those most at risk to suffer from the ravaging effects of climate change, to experience abundant life as well.

Because, ultimately, whether we are born again and born of the Spirit is revealed in how we treat one another, especially the least of these. We witness to our trust in Jesus and our assurance in his promises when our faith goes public, when it changes our outward words and actions, when we move from the darkness to the light. In the Gospel of John, the themes of light and darkness are major symbols. Darkness represents unbelief, while light represents belief in Jesus and the new life he offers to those who believe. For Nicodemus, who first comes to Jesus under the cover of darkness, it’s never really clear whether he moves into the light. He shows up two other times in John’s Gospel, in chapter 7 where he seems to give a lukewarm defense of Jesus against the antagonism of other religious leaders and in chapter 19 where he joins Joseph of Arimathea, who is identified as a secret disciple of Jesus, to help bury Jesus’ body. What we can say is that Nicodemus isn’t ready to declare his faith in Jesus in the light of day when we meet him in today’s Scripture passage. In other words, Nicodemus isn’t ready or prepared for the new life Jesus is offering to actually change his life.

When you and I put ourselves into the story, in the place of Nicodemus, the question for us might be this: “Even if we declare our belief in Jesus in broad daylight, are we still hiding the shadows if our lives don’t change?”

A disciple sees God’s light shining in the darkness. A disciple finds meaning in confusing times. A disciple finds direction and builds community in a lost and lonely world. A “born again” disciple discovers the kingdom of God in Jesus’ actions and then changes their heart and life to follow Jesus and be like him in the way they live and love.

Perhaps the greatest test of the faith that God is growing in us through these days of distance and fear will be if we return changed to our lives the day after the crisis ends. Will we be more loving? More generous? Will we be kinder and more patient? Will we still say “Thank you” to grocery store cashiers and truck drivers and hospital custodians and really mean it? Will we invest in our closest relationships with meaningful conversation? Will we live more simply so that others may simply live? Will we care for the creation that cared for our souls with sunshine and blue skies when the world seemed to come crashing down?

You could hear Jesus’ words “be born again” as a command, a requirement to receive eternal life. Or we could see them as the loving invitation of a Savior beckoning us to abundant life now, an invitation to allow God to work in our life in surprising ways, so that we can come out of this darkness and into the light.

In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

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[1] https://www.mytwintiers.com/twin-tiers-strong/christmas-lights-shining-hope-for-people-amid-the-covid-19-pandemic/

[2] McNairy County Bear Hunt Facebook Group, https://www.facebook.com/groups/719039758632311/

[3] https://time.com/person-of-the-year-2019-greta-thunberg/

[4] https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2020/mar/23/coronavirus-pandemic-leading-to-huge-drop-in-air-pollution

https://www.nbcnewyork.com/news/coronavirus/satellite-images-show-pollution-levels-dropping-in-u-s-cities-amid-coronavirus-pandemic/2344733/

Lost and Found

A Sermon inspired by Luke 15:1-10

"Lost Sheep - Lost Coin" by Kazakhstan Artist Nelly Bube

Like a sheep and coin that have gone missing, I imagine we all might feel a bit lost this week. We aren’t able to meet together in our church for worship. Schools have closed. The lobbies of many fast food joints and local restaurants have closed. Grocery stores had bare shelves at times, and more and more of us are following the government’s requests to stay at home. New information emerges each day about this novel coronavirus and the disease it causes, COVID-19. The numbers of cases in Tennessee more than tripled this week, and just on Friday, March 20, Hardin County announced its first confirmed case. For the foreseeable future, life is going to be different and business will not be as usual for all of us, in one way or another. This is hard. This is sad. This is painful. Our normal has been disrupted, and, so, it is normal to feel lost.

Today, in Luke’s Gospel, Jesus tells us a story about two things that are lost. Well, more than a story…Jesus tells us a parable. In her book Short Stories by Jesus, Biblical scholar and my professor from divinity school Amy-Jill Levine tells us this about parables:

“Jesus was requiring that [his disciples] do more than listen; he was asking them to think as well….What makes the parables mysterious, or difficult, is that they challenge us to look into the hidden aspects of our own values, our own lives. They bring to the surface unasked questions, and they reveal the answers we have always known, but refuse to acknowledge.”[1]

In a conversation with my friend Bettie this week, we talked about how this crisis in our nation is opening up all sorts of new experiences for many of us as Americans. We are used to being able to go where we want when we want, buy what we want when we want, and so on and so forth. But this week was different. As panic set in this past week, some people, certainly acting out of fear, rushed to the stores and snapped up hoards of hand sanitizer, toilet paper, and pantry stables, like milk, eggs, bread, and meat. And when some bought too much, store managers and employees did their best to set household limits but, still, some went to buy just a little of what they desperately needed and found out they were too late – it was gone! If this past week was a parable, the question that it might bring to the surface for us who call ourselves Christians could be, “Did I buy more than I needed this week because I was worried there wouldn’t be enough or did I choose to trust in God’s promise of abundance that God would provide?” Or, the question might be put a little more directly, “Did I cause a shortage for someone in need because I was scared?”

Ouch! That question stings a little for some of us. There is an oft-quoted statement repeated so many times by pastors and Bible teachers that I’m not sure anyone knows who said it first. It goes something like this: “Faith is meant to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable.” Certainly, this is true of Jesus’ teaching, perhaps especially his parables.

But, this past week, at least for me, these categories of comfortable and afflicted, they overlap, they bleed together, it gets messy. What I do think is true is this – there is a word of comfort and a word of challenge for each of us as we consider how Jesus is trying to turn the way we see our world upside down even as the world around us feels turned inside out.

After the week we’ve all had, I think we desperately need to hear God’s words of comfort. If one of the questions that this parable of a week has unearthed for you is, “Where is God in all of this?” then hear these words of comfort…God is right here! God has not abandoned us! If you feel lost during these strange and confusing days, know that God will always go looking for you. When we are lost, there is always some One who is searching, who is seeking us. The comfort of these parables is this – God is like a shepherd who values each individual sheep in his fold. God is like a woman who takes care to account for every silver coin in her purse. You, dear child, are treasured by God!

One of the things I learned this week is that sheep are highly social animals,  and they develop strong, instinctual bonds within their flocks. So when one sheep is separated from its flock, it is a severely stressful event that causes panic.[2] Sound familiar? We, too, under stress, might like a solitary sheep lost and cut off from our flock, curl up, lie down, and try to hide from the awfulness of everything happening in the world. But, when you feel lost, trust this – you are loved by a God will go beating through the bramble bush to pull you out of the hole you are hiding in. That doesn’t mean that the awful stuff going on around us will disappear. But what it does mean is that through it all, we are not alone!

In fact, just as the shepherd and the woman call their friends and neighbors together to rejoice in the parable, God can use this terrible situation for good. Now, hear me right. God did not cause this virus. God does not delight in the isolation, hardship, depression, disease, or death that the world and its people are facing. Yet, we are promised in Romans 8:28 that “All things work together for good for those who love God,” and I would add for those whom God loves. One question we might start to ask is, “What is God revealing to me through this experience? What am I noticing now that I didn’t before? How can I make my heart ready to hear what the Spirit is sharing?”

At the beginning of this year, we spent six weeks together focusing on some basic spiritual practices that help us grow in our walk with Jesus. If there was ever a time that we needed to go deeper and wider in our faith, this is it! When we are feeling lost, actively engaging in our faith opens our hearts to the voice, presence, and peace of God, and we realize that we were always found!  

Later this week, I plan on sharing with you all some thoughts on how we can continue to strengthen our faith through the spiritual practices of worship, study, service, giving, and sharing even in this season of social distancing. But today, I’d like to invite you to join me and others in our congregations in a shared practice while we are worshipping in our own homes. I first saw this idea shared by Rev, Jathaniel Cavitt, who is the senior pastor of Colonial Park UMC in Memphis, and as we here at Mt. Vinson and Adamsville have been focusing on the story of Jesus through the eyes of different Gospel writers this Lent, I thought this would be a perfect way for us to stay connected while we are physically distant. Beginning Monday, March 23, I invite you to read with me and our churches one chapter of the Gospel of John every day. By reading one chapter every day, together we will finish John’s Gospel, reading the final chapter on Easter Sunday, April 12. What might we learn from God’s Spirit as we walk with Jesus through John’s Gospel and anticipate the promise of resurrection?

The good news of these parables is the comfort that we are never truly lost when it comes to God! But what if the even greater news is found in the challenge from these stories of Jesus? Luke tells us that the crowds are pressing in on Jesus. His disciples are eager for his teaching. The religious insiders like the Pharisees and legal experts are keeping an eye on this radical rabbi. And crowds of people who don’t really belong anywhere else, who are used to living life on the fringe, the tax collectors and others who had been written off as sinners and, therefore, who don’t really count in the eyes of the respectable, upstanding folk…they are there, too. When the religious inside crowd questions Jesus’ habit for hanging out with the riffraff, these people who don’t count, who don’t matter in their eyes, Jesus launches into a story about repentance. And, you and I, we just assume that Jesus is talking about how heaven rejoices when one of those tax collectors or garden variety sinners sees the error of their ways and comes home to God…because those are the folk who need to repent, right, Jesus?

But, what if, the sinner Jesus is speaking to is the religious insider, the preacher, the church member who needs to repent? The person who has “found God” but who still thinks that they get to say who is in and who’s out, who does and who does not count? Who thinks there are people who don’t really matter because, you know, Jesus, they’re sinners?

Amy-Jill Levine helps us see the challenge of Jesus’ parable about who counts with God in this reflection:

“We need to take count not only of our blessings, but also of those in our families, and in our communities. And once we count, we need to act. Finding the lost, whether they are sheep, coins, or people, takes work. It also requires our efforts, and from those efforts there is the potential for wholeness and joy.”[3]

The question God might be asking our congregations right now is “Who’s gone missing?” These past few days of crisis have certainly exposed who has been forgotten and who is most at risk in our nation. The children who depend on school meals to eat each day . The senior citizens and people with compromised immune systems who have already been isolated at home this flu season many times because the rest of us don’t stay home when we are sick. The dollar store and grocery chain workers who risk losing a job if they stay home with their families. The people barely scraping by from week to week who have and will continue to get laid off as business grinds to a halt. The truck drivers who transport the food we eat and the toilet paper we use. The first responders, nurses, doctors, and medical staff who show up on the front lines even in the face of great danger. The janitors and custodians who keep things clean and help contain the spread even with little thanks and recognition.

What we are learning is that we belong to each other. We always have. We just haven’t always seen it as clearly as we do right now! When someone in our community is lost, is alone, is afraid…we are all affected. And when someone is found, is restored, is welcomed in, we are all better off. That’s how it is in the family of God.

While this past week has been tremendously difficult, I have also been proud to witness how we are continuing to be the church outside of our walls and go searching for those who feel lost. As I spoke with members of Mt. Vinson church this week, I heard how they were checking in on each other and their neighbors, making sure everyone had what they needed, offering to run errands for one another, grateful for the community that can be experienced even over a phone call. At Adamsville First Church, I witnessed church members rally together, while standing six feet apart, to feed people in our community who are hurting or alone, passing out meals safely at the Drive Thru Soup Kitchen or delivering to the porches of homebound individuals and senior citizens. Our churches know…every person counts in the kingdom of God.

Last Sunday was a hard day for me. Out of an abundance of caution and concern for our congregations and our neighbors, I suspended worship when not many other faith communities in our area did. I believed it was the right call, but it didn’t make it any easier to not gather with my people, to see your face in the pews, to hear your voice as we prayed together. But, then on Sunday, one by one, the text messages from church members began to roll in sharing, “May the peace of Christ be with you.” And I felt a little less lost. And I began to believe the words I wrote to you all last week even more. We can be the church. In the midst of this crisis, we can be the church for each other and for our neighbors. 

And we will. 

With or without walls.  

In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

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[1] Levine, Amy-Jill. Short Stories by Jesus: The Enigmatic Parables of a Controversial Rabbi. New York: Harper Collins, 2014.

[2] Landsberg, Gary M. “Social Behavior of Sheep.” https://www.merckvetmanual.com/behavior/normal-social-behavior-and-behavioral-problems-of-domestic-animals/social-behavior-of-sheep.

[3] Levine, Short Stories.

No Ordinary Man

This Sunday, I had planned to preach a sermon entitled “No Ordinary Man” on the miracle recorded in Mark’s Gospel of Jesus healing a woman who had been bleeding for twelve years and raising Jairius’s daughter to life again after death (Mark 5:21-43). Yet as I consider what is happening in the world around us and the important but difficult decisions our congregations made to cooperate with the advice of our conference leadership and government to practice social distancing, I find myself drawn to another story about Jesus’ power over sickness, disease, and—yes—death.

In Luke 7:1-10, some Jewish elders approach Jesus on behalf of a centurion, a soldier in the Roman army who was responsible for commanding 100 men. The centurion has a servant who is very important to him who is on death’s doorstep. Because this centurion, a military official put in authority over others by the occupying Roman government, has been kind and gracious to the Jewish people living in Capernaum, these elders request for Jesus to use his extraordinary power over the forces of nature, such as sickness, to do a favor for the centurion and heal his servant. So far in Luke’s Gospel, Jesus has healed Simon’s mother-in-law of a high fever (Luke 4:38-39), healed groups of people suffering from all sorts of diseases (Luke 4:40), cast out demons (Luke 4:41), helped Simon Peter catch more fish than his nets could hold (Luke 5:1-11), healed a man with skin disease (Luke 5:12-15), made a man who was paralyzed able to walk again (Luke 5:17-26), and healed a man with a withered hand on the Sabbath (Luke 6:6-11). WOW! What is clear from the Gospels’ witness is that Jesus has great power! Certainly, this centurion has turned to the right place for help and healing.

But, as Jesus makes his way towards the centurion’s home on a healing mission, this Roman official seems to have second thoughts—not about Jesus’ ability to help but about his own worthiness to have a man of such power and authority in his homeplace. So, sending friends out to meet Jesus, the centurion requests, “Just say the word and my servant will be healed.” Jesus is impressed with this man’s faith—a faith even deeper than the most faithful in Israel—and that’s a high bar to pass![1] By the time the friends make it back to the centurion’s home, the servant has been miraculously restored to health.

Did you notice? Jesus offers hope to the centurion and healing to his servant—not to mention countless others impacted by this miracle—without ever seeing them or touching them. What an amazing reminder of the strength of Jesus’ power! Jesus is, indeed, NO ORDINARY MAN!

Now, I know that not everyone is happy about my pastoral decision, made in consultation with other church leaders and at the advice of our bishop and medical experts, to suspend worship for two weeks.  I also know some are relieved, some are neutral, and some are more worried now. When the world is frightened and people are hurting or hoarding, when we need each other the most, when our hearts ache to sing and pray with the Body of Christ, it seems like this is the last moment we should be asking people to stay home from church. To not gather for worship is sad. It’s painful. I have cried tears and lost sleep over whether or not this is the right thing to do. But, this decision was not made in fear. Rather, it was a decision made trusting in the God-given wisdom of medical experts and spiritually mature leaders. So, while I could spend hundreds of words trying to explain the scientific and spiritual reasoning not to mention hours of prayer behind this decision, I don’t think that is helpful or pastoral in this moment.[2]

Instead, I’d like to return to the Scripture story, and see what wisdom we might glean from God’s Word and what hope it offers to us in this strange moment in our lives and the world. The centurion in Luke’s Gospel had lived with an authority that gave him the power to order the movements and actions of others. But, now, he suddenly finds himself facing the reality that a person he cares for is in danger of dying, and he is powerless. He has no authority over this situation. And so, he turns to an unlikely source. No doubt, the centurion had heard the stories about Jesus. How he has been traveling around the countryside and healing folks left and right. In terms of the social customs of his day, it would have been unheard of for someone of higher social status, like a centurion, to ask someone of lower social status, like Jesus the nomadic rabbi, for assistance.[3] Yet, because someone he loves is in danger, this man of status and stature lays aside his authority, power, and privilege to ask another—to ask Jesus—to do what he cannot do for himself or for the person he loves. He chooses to trust in Jesus’ power of healing and his mission of helping, and he is rewarded as one who has not seen yet believes (John 20:29).

No matter whether you are scared about the COVID-19 virus, you’re staying calm and cautious, or you think the whole world has gone crazy and is overreacting, what is true is this – Jesus is bigger than all of it! We, like the centurion, are facing a situation over which we have little or no control. No one knows, except the Lord, what will happen in the coming days. But, of course, that’s not new. “You don’t really know about tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for only a short while before it vanishes.” (James 4:14). What we can do is, like the centurion, turn to One who is in control, the One who is bigger than our human fear, the One who is greater than our human pride and boastfulness.

If we trust that Jesus is powerful enough to heal a servant sight unseen from across town, could we also trust that Jesus is powerful enough to weave our hearts, our songs, our prayers together even when we do not physically gather? What if the true power of the church as the Body of Christ might be revealed in what happens when we choose, for the sake of our neighbors and the vulnerable, to not gather for a short period of time? WE ARE THE CHURCH when we check on an elderly loved one with a chat over the phone. WE ARE THE CHURCH when we respond with compassion rather than condescension when others in our community are scared. WE ARE THE CHURCH when we share the resources we have with those who do not have enough. WE ARE THE CHURCH when we love our neighbors, and maybe…just…maybe that looks like not gathering inside our four walls for two weeks. 

But we never needed those walls to be the church anyway.

In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

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[1] “Finally note that Jesus does not say in this story that the faith of Israel is faulty, bad, or small. In fact, when Jesus praises the centurion, he uses the faith of Israel as an example of the highest kind. Jesus says, ‘This Roman, Gentile, politically advantaged military man, outsider has more faith than even the most faithful in our day.’” from Vaughn Crowe-Tipton’s article on Luke 7:1-10 in Feasting on the Word: Year C, Volume 1 biblical lectionary commentary (WJK Press, 2009).

[2] If you are interested in the scientific reasoning behind decision to hold off on social gatherings, please read this. If you are interested in another view about the spiritual reasoning for this choice, please consider this article. If you would like to read Bishop Bill McAlilly's pastoral letter concerning the church's response to COVID-19, you may find it here. As always, you are invited to call me and have a conversation about the prayer and discernment that went into this decision, as well as to receive pastoral prayer and counseling in this uncertain season. My number is 901-483-3592.

[3] “An ancient reader would have expected the centurion to use his position to coerce Jesus into helping this servant. Modern readers gloss over this act. In the ancient world, those of higher stature would never ask those of lower stature for assistance.” ” from Vaughn Crowe-Tipton’s article on Luke 7:1-10 in Feasting on the Word: Year C, Volume 1 biblical lectionary commentary (WJK Press, 2009).

Yesterday

“What is that?” Adam asks. Even though I know he is yelling, I can barely hear him over the downpour as I wait in the car. He’s frozen in his tracks on our back porch and no longer moving towards the back door where he was headed to collect a last few items before we head to the first night of revival worship at Mt. Vinson where I serve as pastor. He asks a second time, and because he still hasn’t started moving I jump out of the car fearing my good luck of never having to deal with a snake at my beautiful country parsonage has just run out. Rounding the corner I see it, sitting there right in front of our back door, blocking the entrance into our home.

Whew! Not a snake. Just a cat. I scold Adam for scaring me to death, and we walk together to shoo the cat away. Its insistent mewing tells us it is not moving anywhere anytime soon. Fair enough. I wouldn’t want to walk home in the rain either. So, we open the garage door to offer a little refuge, leaving it cracked open, trusting that when the storm lets up our little feline visitor will find its way home. We head off to revival, and I don’t really give it a second thought.

A two-hour worship service and Ruby Tuesday dinner later, we pull back into the garage, turn off the car, open the door, and “Meow!” I think, “You have got to be kidding me!” The cat darts around our feet, follows us to the door, and—even though I know you don’t feed a stray cat unless you want to have a new pet—I tell Adam to go get some water. Maybe the kitty is just scared from the storm. Rain is still falling. It’s dark now. A little water is the least we can offer. Adam comes back with water and milk. We place the bowls in the garage, keep the door cracked. I pray that a snake won’t make its home on the warm cement floor and trust our cat crasher to return our kindness by playing garage guardian overnight.

As I fall asleep Sunday night, I think fleetingly back to my sermon that morning, and I just have to laugh. Since I first started preaching in 2011, God has never let me preach or teach about the Good Samaritan without an accompanying opportunity to show mercy sometime in the next few days. Seriously…not once! And I haven’t always passed the test.

Biblical scholar AJ Levine, who I was lucky enough to have as my New Testament professor at Vandy, teaches about the parable in this challenging way:

“We should think of ourselves as the person in the ditch and then ask, ‘Is there anyone, from any group, about whom we’d rather die than acknowledge, “She offered help” or “He showed compassion”?’ More, is there any group whose members might rather die than help us? If so, then we know how to find the modern equivalent for the Samaritan.” (Amy-Jill Levine, The Misunderstood Jew (San Francisco: Harper Collins, 2006), 148-149).

My Samaritan is a cat. That sounds flippant, and…really…it is. But it’s also not not the truth. I’ve only loved one cat in my entire life, and I didn’t have a choice. She was part of my family before I was. And while I loved Boo, she definitely got a pass. At a birthday sleepover in 1^st grade, I’m pretty sure I almost got sent home because I was following the family’s cat around on all fours barking at it like a dog rather than spending time with the other partygoers. And sometime between 3^rd grade (when Boo died) and 8^th grade (when at another sleepover at a friend’s house I finally realized my itchy eyes, runny nose, and scratchy throat were all her cat’s fault), I developed a cat allergy, and that sealed the deal. #dogpersonforlife

Monday morning dawns, and I walk into the garage. Look around. No cat in sight. “Thank you, Jesus,” I pray, “I hope it found its way home.” Just as I reach down to pick up the bowls of water and milk and begin to break into a praise dance…“Meow.” From behind some boxes under the built-in shelves, two little green eyes peer out at me. Hmph! Dear kitty, you are overstaying your welcome. Returning with fresh water, I decide…if this cat is still here this afternoon when there have been hours of clear skies for it to finds its way home, that’s when we can find it a cat-loving foster home or a safe place at a shelter. I share my plans with Adam, and we both head off to work.

On my drive home, Adam calls, “Cat’s gone.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Just double check. Look behind the boxes on the…”

“MEOW!”

Adam hangs up and coaxes the cat from its hiding space. As he starts to take pictures to send to some friends whose hearts need a kitty, he sees it. Gaping wounds on the cat’s side. At least, that’s what he tells me. To be honest, I don’t believe him. Adam, the love of my life, can catastrophize situations. It comes from the love we share. Loyal till the day he dies, Adam just wants to protect the ones he loves. He imagines all the worst-case scenarios, building defenses to keep us safe…just in case. So, when he says “gaping wounds,” I hear “a couple of scratches.”

When I get home, I see for myself. He wasn’t catastrophizing this time. If anything, he undersold it. I see poor kitty’s insides through the wounds some other predator ripped in its side. But it’s late, and I don’t know anywhere open to take it. So, Adam and I go buy a can of salmon cat food and a cat carrier we’ll only use once. We go to bed, and I’m already dreading tomorrow.

In the morning, Adam stops by the vet on his way to work. They confirm what I already know. There’s only one thing to do. I tell Adam to tell the vet I won’t be able to make it there until the afternoon. I’m already crying.

“I have back-to-back client sessions. Do you want me to cancel and come to be with you?”

No. That doesn’t seem responsible. I can do this. I don’t even like cats. I’m allergic.

When I finally get home again to pick up the cat, I can barely see through my tears. What I do see is that the cat is already dying. I realize he’s been dying since he showed up Sunday. The cat that darted around our feet just 24 hours ago now wobbles to his own when I walk into the garage. His back legs aren’t responding to the signals his braind is sending to stand and walk. He’s tired. He’s weak. He’s worn.

I guide him into a cardboard box, having left the stupid cat carrier I bought in Adam’s trunk the night before, exhausted. I put him in the front seat. I don’t know how I make the drive. His meows join in symphony with my prayers of “I’m so sorry, kitty” and “Help me, Jesus” as my tears rival the rains of the past few days.

As I walk into the vet office, everyone stops in their tracks. They know something is wrong. I squeak out, “My husband came by this morning…”

“Westmoreland?” the lady behind the desk asks.

I shake my head yes. I set the cat and the box down. I make out a check. Not quite two days’ wages. More like half a day’s wages. (Well, at least before Uncle Sam gets his cut.) But I played innkeeper for two days, so maybe God gave me a Samaritan discount.

They ask if I want to sign a waiver to leave, but how can I leave now? They show us to a room. It feels like it takes forever. Every time the vet comes in, he reminds me that this is the right thing to do. I keep saying, “He’s a stray. I don’t even like cats. I’m allergic.” After the kitty falls asleep from the first shot, they try and try to find a vein. I realize they won’t. I’ve been giving the cat water, but I know how much he’s left behind. He’s too dehydrated. The vet tells me they will have to inject the medicine directly into his heart. “Is that okay?” he asks.

No, none of this feels okay, but I shake my head yes.

A few moments later, the vet checks with his stethoscope. He nods his head. It’s finished. I stand to leave. “Don’t charge her,” he tells the vet tech. I just keep walking. I don’t stop to collect my check. I don’t even care if they still cash it.

I don’t know how I survive the drive home. I feel myself curling inward, embracing the emotions rising in me, my own sadness that I so quickly, so often push back down. But not today. I play the Enneagram songs by Sleeping At Last, knowing the songs will help me feel my sadness more fully. Walking in the house, I let Adam hold me as I sob. I crawl into bed. Not my bed, but the guest bed that still smells like my mommy from her 4^th of July visit. I pull my dog Hadewijch close to my chest, feel her beating heart.

Soon, I’ll have to get up. I’ll have to dry my tears. I’ll have to put my big girl panties on, get in the car, and drive to the last night of revival.

“It’s just all so ridiculous,” I think. “I don’t even like cats. I’m allergic.”

I’ve only loved two cats in my life. I didn’t have a choice.