The Journey of Holy Week is the Journey of our Lives Easter Vigil 2017 Trinity Hamburg

I have given a version of this sermon several times, each time adapted for the setting.

+ Several years ago, a 9 year old girl asked me why we go through Holy Week every year. After all, she said, we know it works out in the end! Of course we do know how the story ends and [this morning] tonight we stand at the dramatic and glorious climax of the Holy Week Drama—an empty tomb, a risen Christ—but, as I told that young lady a few years ago---we must walk through the drama of Holy Week each and every year because although the story doesn’t change, we do. We need the reminder, we need the journey. To paraphrase a history professor I had years ago, why does history repeat itself? Because people change. We need the same old story to guide us in the new, varied and divergent paths our lives take. We change, God doesn’t. We forget, God remembers. We stray, God remains steady.
And so we journey….from the triumphal march into Jerusalem, to the loneliness and despair of the garden, the bitter trial, the agony of the cross, the silence of death and finally, the joy of resurrection. What a walk!
Tonight we heard the story of salvation. From the first glimmer of new light we heard how God has, always and forever, saved us from our darker selves. From the Red Sea to the dry bones, from Bethlehem to Jerusalem, from Gethsemane to Calvary, from life to death and life again, God has reached out to us and for us.
Through the miracle of Easter we’ve been given, in clear and certain terms, A New Life in Christ. Well, more specifically, tonight we've been reminded of the new life in Christ given to each of us at baptism. In a few moments, when we baptize Zackary, we’ll be reminded that we’re marked, sealed as Christ's own. Forever. Then, strengthened by this knowledge we’ll go out from here committed to seeing Christ in all whom we encounter.
Why do we do this every year? Why must we repeat the history of the past two thousand years, year in and year out? Because we get lost. Because we forget. Because throughout life we all experience our own personal Holy Weeks, our own moments of doubt, despair, loneliness and fear.
I tried to tell that 9 yr old this; that her life will have ups and downs and that by remembering the lessons of Holy Week, she'll be better equipped to deal with the peaks and valleys of life, I hope she remembers it.
So, my brothers and sisters in Christ, what has Holy Week taught us?
What does this journey, from Bethany to Jerusalem , from Caiphas' prison to the hill at Calvary, from denial to doubt, from cross to tomb, from the death of Jesus back to life again,  teach us?
Palm Sunday: triumph has different meanings. I don’t think anyone really knew what to expect when Jesus marched into Jerusalem. No doubt many of the disciples thought that in Jerusalem, Jesus would topple the civic and religious structure of the day. I’m not sure any of them thought victory could come from the cross and the tomb. We cannot expect that the victory of  life will always look how we think it will. Sometimes victory comes swaddled in rags, born in a barn and killed like a common criminal.
Maundy Thursday. It’s important to take time for fellowship. Sit with family and friends—break bread together. The bonds formed over the dinner table are fierce and will hold, come what may. Sometimes, words are not needed. Sometimes those we love simply need someone to sit with them, to bear witness to the pain they are enduring. We can’t take pain away from others, but we can be a silent witness. My friends, never underestimate the power of your presence.
Good Friday: There will be times when our beliefs will be challenged, when we'll  be tempted to deny what we believe to be true and right because it isn’t popular or it’s too scary to stand up for what we believe. Folks, stand up for what is right as best you can, and when you falter-- and we all falter-- remember that God stands at the ready, waiting for you—for all of us-- to come to the home of God, where forgiveness always reigns.

Holy Saturday. Where is God?
There are days when we feel utterly alone and bereft. Know that deep within that sadness, at the very bottom of the well of loneliness there’s a small still voice weeping with us and for us, sharing in our pain. You may not feel it, but know that it is there and that you can count on it. None of us is ever alone, no matter what.
Easter—the Resurrection— Just as quickly as we find ourselves in the depths of despair we will be relieved and released from the pain. Suddenly it will be gone. The sadness will lift and joy will again reign. That's the journey of Holy Week, it's the journey of our lives---we will have ups and downs. We'll have our share of Easter joys and Good Friday losses. But---and this is the most important lesson any of us can take from our Christian journey----Holy week always ends in Easter, Darkness always gives way to light, and sin always loses out to grace and truth and love. Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia ---The Lord is Risen Indeed!+

It’s Not Finished Until Our Work is Done Good Friday Meditation on ‘It Is Finished’ St. John’s Grace 2017

Thank you for being here…I’m serious!
Holy Week isn’t particularly popular. And Good Friday? C’mon…
So THANK YOU for spending these hours to witness with Jesus as he slips from this life to eternal life, an existence promised to be so glorious and peaceful that at times, we long for it while at other times, most of the time, we fight against it, with all that we are and all that we have.
    And it is this very human of behaviors, fighting against the inevitability of death, that we witness happening to Jesus on the cross of Good Friday.
    I think this is what makes Holy Week in general and Good Friday in particular so unpopular----we are people of life, not people of death---we are people of hope not people fear---we are people of joy not people of despair.
Holy Week in general and Good Friday in particular brings us face to face with the one absolute guaranteed fact of life: death.
Now we know, those of us gathered here, that Easter will always follow Good Friday, that joy returns after despair, that hope will defeat fear and that out of death comes, always, glorious, glorious life.
But on this most holy of afternoons, during these three hours of darkness it isn’t Easter yet. Death has not been defeated, Pain is very real and the Savior of our world; our Teacher, our Hope, our Lord and our God has been nailed to a cross and life—his beautiful precious human life---is slipping out of his body. He’s in agony, he’s scared, he’s weakening. It looks---it feels--as if the despair, fear and death of the empire has won and that the joy, hope and life of the babe born in the manger has been utterly, thoroughly and completely beaten. That the love and light of Jesus has been snuffed out and the hate and darkness of tyranny has won.
But….and thank God for this BUT….our faith, the Faith given to us through the prophets of old, the Faith taught to us by the prophets of the not so recent past, give us what, to others must appear to be a foolish, outlandish, immature and absurd faith that death does not, and never will have the final word.
So when Jesus says “It is Finished,” this is not a proclamation of defeat, it is as scholars have said for generations, a proclamation of victory.
Jesus was proclaiming that his work as God taking on the flesh of this world, as the man Jesus, was finished.
And while that makes sense to me----haven’t you ever finished a long and painful task and although exhausted and maybe even in pain, you’re able to look at what you’ve accomplished and say, with satisfaction, “It is Finished!”----However, I can’t help but “hear” these words of Jesus as being tinged with less triumph than scholars would lead us to believe.
Look around the scene---everyone but a handful of women and the beloved disciple remain----Judas has betrayed, Peter denied and the others? Philip, James, Andrew, Thomas and all the rest have left. They’ve slipped into the temple crowds, hiding as best they can, denying all that has been, securing their place back into the status quo---can Jesus really feel victorious?
Yes, his earthly life is coming to an end: he’s taught all he could teach, he’s healed all he could heal, he’s challenged the temple authorities to the very end--- but the work?
The challenges to tyranny, the commandment to love one another, to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, comfort the broken-hearted…. that work?
It’s so very far from finished.
And so, on this Good Friday, we must admit that this work—this good and holy work is not finished and will not be finished, will not be complete—the victory of God will not be won until:
No one can walk into a school and kill an 8 year old boy who was simply in his special ed classroom, learning.
It won’t be finished, it won’t be complete, the victory of God will not be won until:
A young black man walking down the street doesn’t have to fear for his life at the hands of police officers simply because he is walking, or driving or hanging out while black.
It won’t be finished, it won’t be complete, the victory of God will not be won until:
The 130 million girls with no access to education will be able to go to school without fear and without reproach. That women will get paid an equal wage for equal work and that women and girls the world over will have full and complete control over their bodies. Always and forever.
It won’t be finished, it won’t be complete, the victory of God will not be won until:
The horror of climate change is accepted as fact and all the strength and wisdom of this world is given over to protecting what is left
It won’t be finished, it won’t be complete, the victory of God will not be won until:
The lost are found, the blind see, the naked clothed and the hungry fed.
It won’t be finished, it won’t be complete, the victory of God will not be won until:
We---you and me---go out into the world and do the work we have been given to do.
And what is that work?
To love.
Fully and Completely and Always.
To ask ourselves, not in the trite way of bracelets and t-shirts, but in the true and full way of Jesus on the cross, what would Jesus do?
For only in doing what it is that Jesus would have us do, only in loving everyone, everywhere, always, NO EXCEPTIONS—and that means NO MATTER WHAT---is it truly finished.
My friends, as Jesus breathes his last upon that cross, may we all be of good courage to do what we know is right. May we always walk the way of Christ crucified, the way of hope and faith and love.
The way that will lead us, at the end to sigh with our Savior, It is Finished, It is Finished, It is, indeed Finished…Thanks Be to God.

Lent IV A Grace Lockport How Dirt 'n Spit 'n Love Lead to Amazing Grace

[This is a recast of a sermon given three years ago. But it was, once again, what I wanted to say, so with a few tweaks, here it is]

+Theologian Rick Morley refers to the story of the Man Blind since birth as the "Dirt n' spit n' love Gospel." He's right, it is a dirt n spit n love Gospel...written about a dirt n spit n love savior who established this, our dirt n spit n love faith.
 Being Christian is far from neat and tidy. It's a messy business following this Savior of ours, the one born in a barn, the one who violated the mores of the day, who pushed the temple authorities to their limit, who got down in the dirt and the spit of life in order to show that everyone, everywhere, forever, is loved. Ours is a very real, very accessible, very dirty, messy and muddy faith.
That’s been the message these past few Sundays, that without the dirt ‘n spit ‘n love of God as given to us through Jesus Christ, we don’t live, we simply exist. Without the dirt ‘n spit ‘n love of God our eyes may be open but we don’t really see. Without the dirt’n spit ‘n love of God we may hear the noise, but never listen to the message. That without the dirt ‘n spit ‘n love of God our thirst—no matter how much we drink-- will never be quenched.
Today, John continues this message of dirt n spit n love with the story of the blind man who is healed on the Sabbath.
As Jesus is walking along he sees the blind man, he notices him. The man isn’t asking for healing, he isn’t, as far as we know, drawing any attention to himself. Nothing we read today tells us that this man, in any way, was seeking Jesus out. All we know is that Jesus, realizing it’s a healing moment… a teaching moment … a ministry moment, takes action-- regardless of the fact that it’s the Sabbath, a day no observant Jew worth his salt would be doing anything akin to work—. There’s healing to do and love to spread, and Jesus didn't care what day it was.
Now Jesus could have healed the man without the mud and the washing ……all he needed to do was say the word and the man would have been healed…..but for Jesus, it wasn't about the healing of one, it's about the healing of all. And so Jesus and his companions stop.
The disciples immediately step in it by asking a numbskull question about whose sin caused this man’s blindness---as if any of us deserve to be blind, or deaf, or disabled in any way! Instead of rebuking them directly for assuming that God is some sort of spiteful hateful Deity—Jesus says, “watch, listen, and learn. What I'll do for this man I'll do for everyone. "
Through the love of God, as given to us in Jesus Christ all of us, everyone, everywhere, will be cured of blindness, all of us, everyone everywhere who are lost will be found, and all of us, everyone and everywhere who are thirsty will be quenched with living water. And that all of us, everyone and everywhere who feel unlovable will, indeed, be loved.
So Jesus prepares his healing paste, with dirt ‘n spit ‘n love, slathers it on the man's eyes and lo and behold, after a quick wash, the man can see!! Of course, the dirt didn’t heal him. It wasn’t the mud, it wasn’t even Jesus’ touch, or the man’s desire ….it was something else.
Something unquantifiable and indescribable.
What happened was beyond the blind man’s comprehension, it was beyond his neighbors’ comprehension, it’s beyond our comprehension.
And for Jesus, that’s the point—it’s not about practicing religion in a certain "right way." It’s not about crossing the t's of our faith and dotting the "i's". It's about moving from simple belief to deep knowing. It’s about that shift from simply professing faith to living it: lock, stock and barrel.
 That transition, that transformation requires something more than dirt, something more than spit and something even more than love. It requires grace. Amazing, miraculous and incredible Grace.
      The miracle of the man who once was blind and now could see, the miracle of that dirt n spit n love of God that Jesus formed into a healing paste was in a word, Grace.
Grace--it’s what’s been coursing through our readings these past few weeks. An amazing, limitless, grace.
It’s what gave Nicodemus the courage to go and see Jesus, it’s what gave the woman at the well a voice to be heard, a strength to convert those who once shunned her. It’s what caused Jesus to see the blind man, it’s what carried the man to the pool to be washed free of darkness, to be bathed in light.
It’s what makes firefighters run into a burning building, it’s what led Keith Palmer, a Parliament police officer, to stand between a knife-wielding lunatic and the people Keith had sworn to protect, it’s what makes all first responders go toward disaster while everyone else runs from it.
It’s what allows us to forgive those who’ve hurt us so deeply, it’s what compels us to reach to out to those with less, it’s what peaks the longing we feel for justice, what makes us fight for causes others have long forgotten, what keeps you working to make this church—your church…Grace church—a place of healing and hope for all who enter.
It’s what makes us be better people than we ever thought we could be.
It’s called Grace.
It takes us from blindness to sight, from wretchedness to worthiness, from darkness to light, from lost to found.
The work of God, the work of Jesus, is full of the dirt ‘n spit ‘n love that leads us to Amazing Grace.
A grace which when we believe it, when we trust it, when we embrace it, always leads us home.
Amen.
[Please stand and turn to Hymn 671.]

Lent 1 Yr A March 5, 2017

So, I had a sermon written for this morning. There was nothing wrong with that sermon at all. BUT ever since Ash Wednesday, something has been nagging at me. And then two separate Bishops got involved. First I read Bishop Audrey Scanlon's (Central Pennsylvania) weekly blog (http://compasspointsmappingtheway.blogspot.com) in which she shared Jan Richardson's poem Rend Your Heart: A Blessing for Ash Wednesday (more on that in a bit). Second, our Presiding Bishop, The Most Rev. Michael B. Curry, visited the diocese this weekend. As I said  good bye to him on Saturday night, he put his hands on my shoulders and said (referencing today, Sunday), "Preach well, my sister." As my seminary professor the Rev. John Colacino was fond of saying, his words convicted me. I could take the written sermon and preach it. Or I could stand in the midst of you and preach. Preach that which was on my heart and in my soul. And so...here we go. [what follows is my memory of what I said, since I did the two sermons at 8 and 10 , without notes, except for the Book of Common Prayer and the text of Jan Richardson's poem.]
Lent is not a time for dreariness, and wretchedness. Lent is a time for tearing open our hearts, reaching deep into our souls and laying all that weighs us down in front of our Creator. It is a time to get honest with ourselves--really honest---and to shed light on those things that linger deep within us, things that cause us shame, things that disgust us, things that sadden us, things that embarrass us.
Lent is time for freeing up space and time for God to enter in--some of us do this by removing (giving up) something for Lent, some of us do this by adding a practice (reading morning prayer or evening prayer, or some other devotional). I doesn't matter how we do it, it matters that we are intentional about doing it.
So...why do this? Why take this time to "change things up?" Well, it all began with the scene in the Garden of Eden. Our reading from Genesis this morning is commonly referred to as the Fall of Humankind. People tend to think that Adam and Eve's behavior surprised and angered God. Well I don;t think God gets surprised...and while God may get angry I don't believe that our God exacts revenge upon us in response to that anger. I think God knew that we--humanity--had the capacity for free will...I believe that God knew we would be drawn toward doing things on our own instead of partnering with God. Was God surprised at how quickly we succumbed to the cravings of THIS world? Perhaps. Was God saddened, was our Creator grieved at our turning away from God and TOWARD power and immediate gratification? Yes, I believe God grieved (and grieves) deeply at our insistence on doing things our way instead of God's way. I think God is horribly grieved when we hurt one another. And I think God is especially grieved when we hurt ourselves.
Why do we rend our hearts and souls open before God during Lent? Not because we need to be forgiven (but of course we always need forgiveness), not because God likes to see us suffer (no God NEVER wants us to suffer), not because it is good to deny ourselves. No we rend our hearts and souls open to God during Lent as a cleansing act to free us, to lighten us, to open ourselves up enough to fully receive the new life presented to us on Easter morn. In the ancient church, Lent was a time for those who desired baptism to study and pray as a way to ready themselves for receiving new life in Christ through baptism. We only get baptized once, but Lent, for us, allows us a time to be ready to be born again at the empty tomb. Lent is a time to free up space within us to receive the glory and the wonder and the awesomeness of resurrection life. The more room we open up the more glory has room to roam within our hearts and souls.
You see, my friends, this is why I actually think Lent is awesome, because a well-done Lent allows for an incredible Easter. A well done Lent guarantees us a depth and breadth of joy on Easter morn beyond anything we've ever experienced.
A well-done Lent opens us to a Love that is stronger and a Peace that is greater than we can ever ask or imagine.
A well-done Lent opens us up to the fullness of God. And the fullness of God? Well that is all that God has every wanted for us, the fullness of Love itself. The fullness of Peace itself.
A well-done Lent leaves us empty of resentments, empty of guilt, empty of shame and empty of despair.
A well-done Lent leaves us empty enough to be filled---absolutely FILLED---with resurrection light, resurrection love and resurrection life.
So as we are invited to the observance of a Holy Lent, remember that Lent is not something to endure, it is something to participate in--fully and completely--not because God is making us, but because we are sick and tired of hiding, of denying, of shunning the darker parts of us. Through the observance of a Holy Lent we take all that weighs us down, those things we've stuffed into the recesses of our hearts and lay it down.
The observance of a Holy Lent requires that we dig deep.
To do this we must Rend our Hearts as described by Jan Richardson in the poem,
Rend Your Heart: An Ash Wednesday Blessing
To receive this blessing,
all you have to do
is let your heart break.
Let it crack open.
Let it fall apart
so that you can see
its secret chambers,
the hidden spaces
where you have hesitated
to go.

Your entire life
is here, inscribed whole
upon your heart’s walls:
every path taken
or left behind,
every face you turned toward
or turned away,
every word spoken in love
or in rage,
every line of your life
you would prefer to leave
in shadow,
every story that shimmers
with treasures known
and those you have yet
to find.

It could take you days
to wander these rooms.
Forty, at least.
And so let this be
a season for wandering
for trusting the breaking
for tracing the tear
that will return you
to the One who waits
who watches
who works within
the rending
to make your heart

whole.

May God bless our rending, our emptying and then our receiving. Amen. 

Sometimes, God Can’t Be Contained Transfiguration, Last Epiphany 2017

Have you ever been transfigured-- so affected by an experience that your actual appearance—how you look, how you carry yourself, changes? It can be negative—when something horrible happens and the wind is taken out of your sails--or positive, you’re in love, you’ve gotten your life back on track after some rough spots.
Something about how you appear, how you present yourself to the world changes.
But sometimes the causes of these transformations, these transfigurations aren’t as clear-- they’re more mysterious.
Mary Oliver describes such experiences in her poem, Mysteries, Yes:
“Truly, we live with mysteries too marvelous to be understood”----or even explained. These mysteries are experiential and describing them, let alone understanding them, is impossible ----but the affect? That’s life-changing.
In Celtic spirituality these are known as Thin Places.
Thin Places are those moments when we feel especially close to the Divine. When one feels, simultaneously, incredibly small and yet larger than life; one with God, one with all of Creation.
Maybe  it occurs when witnessing a gorgeous sunset, or witnessing the birth of a child.
Or in the midst of an ordinary day—driving the car, washing the dishes, balancing the checkbook. Thin Places are available to all of us at any time and in any place.
Thin places occur when we let the guard of our humanity down long enough for the fullness of the divine to breakthrough.
I think that the Transfiguration was a Thin Place for James, John and Peter. I don’t know exactly happened on top of that mountain, but I do know that something happened. Something transfigurative for Jesus, transformative for his friends and sacred for us all.
It helps to set the stage a bit: After weeks of hearing from the Sermon on the Mount, today we skip ahead in Matthew’s Gospel, to the 17th Chapter….Jesus is trying to get the apostles ready. They’re headed to Jerusalem and all that will happen there. Jesus needs his friends with him for this journey. He needs them to get it. He needs them ready for the increased scrutiny, for the arrest, for the torture, for the death, for Jesus being gone. They need to feel all of this, for only in feeling it---really feeling it---will they be open to the ultimate Thin Place: the glory wonder and awe of the Resurrection.
And they aren’t getting it.
 Maybe they don’t want to, maybe they simply can’t. And so they go up the mountain. Jesus needed to get away and in his wisdom Jesus knew they—James John and Peter needed to get away too.
It’s only then, when they shut off all the other noise, that this thing happens. Jesus’ appearance, his countenance changes. One commentator describes what happened like this:  “The indwelling Deity darted out its rays through the veil of Jesus’ flesh; His face shone with Divine majesty, like the sun in its strength” (citation lost). At that transfiguring moment, God’s glory could no longer be contained within Jesus…it burst forth.
Sometimes, God’s glory just can’t be contained. Sometimes it over flows, overwhelming our senses.
That’s what happens in Thin places: we’re overwhelmed by God’s Glory. In Thin Places, God’s Glory can no longer be contained.
Gabriel’s annunciation to Mary was a Thin Place, as was Christmas morning, Jesus’ baptism, and the Presentation of Jesus in the temple. Each of these moments were times when, in the course of a routine action---Mary going about the household duties of a young Galilean woman, the birth of a baby to a poor traveling couple, the baptism of a follower of John, the fulfilling of  purity laws by a devout Jewish couple, and the quick trip up a mountain for some retreat time with friends----in the course of these ordinary events, God’s radiance bursts through, our efforts to shut the Divine out of our lives, the noise of daily life which tries to outshine the radiance of God, fails, and we are overwhelmed with what is pure and holy and sacred.
Our humanity can’t manage a steady diet of this radiance. We spend a lot of time and energy layering “life” upon the in-breaking of the Holy—the radiance of God. Therefore, moments of the Holy, Thin Place experiences, are usually fleeting—not because God retreats, but, being overwhelmed, we reach back into the familiar—the noise of daily life--to ground ourselves in the routine, the ordinary, the familiar and unchallenging ebb and flow of our days.
This is why we read the story of the Transfiguration right before Lent. We’re embarking on a stripping down, a quieting, a simplifying of our daily life. We’re preparing ourselves for an encounter with the Divine and this story, , plants something deep within us. Something transformative, that, as we settle into the barrenness of Lent, marinates, stirs, grows. So that, like James, John and Peter, when we walk that walk to Calvary, when we weep with Mary at the foot of the cross, when we linger in the seeming finality of death on Holy Saturday we are strengthened. Strengthened to feel that loss, to realize what life is like without the Divine Radiance of God through Christ. So that, just when the rigors of Lent, the nakedness of the desert, and the restriction of discipline becomes too much, when our senses long for stimulation, we stumble upon the empty tomb….overwhelmed –not by the sights and sounds of our daily world-- but by the radiance of the Divine which, this time, will burst forth from our own skin, crying out Alleluia, God is alive, Alleluia, we are alive.
Amen.

1 Epiphany 7A Trinity Hamburg 2.19.17 Our Enemies are Our Friends

 +There's a great children's book called Let's Be Enemies. The story is all about James and John, two boys who had been friends but because John found James to be a bit too bossy, are now enemies.
You can’t be enemies, in the true sense of the word, without first being friends.
“Enemy” is derived from the Latin inimicus, “In,” meaning “Not” and “amicus” meaning friend. An enemy is someone who is, decidedly NOT A FRIEND.
Now I know we toss the term enemy around when referencing less personal relationships---Isis is our enemy, but when considering the true meaning of the word---enemy as in notafriend---we get closer to what scholars believe Jesus meant in this part of Matthew's gospel.
In Let’s Be Enemies, John, the narrator, is ticked off at his former friend and current “notafriend,” his enemy, James.He spends most of the story talking about retaliation-- what he isn’t going to let James do now that they’re enemies-and what John is going to do to James---revenge.
John engages in what Jesus is telling us to avoid---retaliation and revenge in response to being betrayed, violated, cheated or in some way disgraced.
In the days of Jesus, this code of conduct, as outlined in the Book of Leviticus, was the law of the land.
In The Message a contemporary English translation of today’s Gospel, the last verse, “Be perfect as your heavenly father is perfect” is translated to read: "In a word, what I'm saying is, Grow up. You're kingdom subjects. Now live like it. Live out your God-created identity. Live generously and graciously toward others, the way God lives toward you."
John in Let’s Be Enemies is acting like a child. Which is appropriate since he IS a child, but to us, Jesus is saying---“enough with revenge and retaliation—an eye for an eye will just make the whole world blind (Ghandi) Love is the way forward. It’s the only way forward.”  
Now, Jesus isn’t telling us that we should be some type of doormat for abusive behavior. Nor is He telling us that we must passively accept the misfortunes of life. Today’s Gospel is telling us that when we’re treated badly, when our feelings are hurt, when our trust is broken and when our faith in another is betrayed, we shouldn’t “beat them at their own game” or give them a taste of their own medicine.” That’s the behavior of the playground, of children, of immaturity. The behavior of the grown up, the behavior of one mature in the faith of God is to respond to betrayal, lies, and hurt feelings with Love. To realize that the one who is behaving badly is the one who’s hurting, the one who’s lost, the one who’s stuck on the playground of retaliation and revenge. We are to the best of our ability, treat “our enemies,” like God treats us, with love and patience, in generosity and graciousness.
[Now hear me loud and clear, I’m not saying that we should stay in dangerous situations. People in situations of physical, sexual, economic or emotional abuse need to first treat themselves with love, and get into a safe place surrounded by trusted people. God does not want us to be martyrs.] But, outside of these abusive situations it’s pretty clear: we are to love our enemies.
I get it…this isn’t easy. Who wants to love the very person/people that has hurt or infuriated us? But, as we all know, being followers—authentic followers---of Jesus Christ isn’t always easy.
But it is pretty simple. All Jesus asks us to do is to be like him and he---even when he was hanging on the cross---had one clear and consistent position when it came to other people: he loved them. He didn’t always like them, he didn’t always agree with them, he didn’t always enjoy them. But he loved them. Doing this isn’t easy, but it is necessary, because it’s the foundational principle of our faith.
In Let’s Be Enemies, James and John learn that not being friends is a lot harder than being friends, so they make up:
After walking away from each other for a time, John approaches James and says:
“Hey James?”
What?”
“Let’s roller skate.”
“OK. Have a pretzel, John.”
“Thank you, James.”
There’s a lesson here----as children of God we have a responsibility to rise above pettiness, to rise above reacting out of anger, to rise above retaliation. We are Children of a God who will give us all the love we need, who will soothe our wounds with a love which is beyond all understanding. And, just like the child who finds solace when wrapped in the arms of a loving parent, we too find solace in the loving arms of our God, who will—who does-- make everything better. So better that, once the sting of our anger, our hurt and our betrayal is washed away by that Love, we can, like John, turn to the James’ in our life and say, “want to go roller skating, want a pretzel” Because, through the grace of our loving God, I am able to forgive you, you are able to forgive me and together we can move on.
So Let’s be Enemies, Let’s Be Friends, remembering that we are the children of a God who gives us the grace to turn the other cheek, to love the unlovable and to leave the playground of revenge and retaliation behind.
Amen.

Mary’s Eyes Reveal Our Truth The Presentation, tr. February 5, 2017 Grace Lckprt

+ Today we’ve transferred the Feast of the Presentation from Thursday to today. The Presentation commemorates 40 days after Jesus’ birth which, in ancient Judaism, was the day when parents brought their first born son to the temple for a ceremonial sacrifice of thanksgiving.
The Presentation is also a turning point in the church year--as our focus shifts from the manger to the cross, from the wonder of "God among us" to the wonder of the “He is Risen.”
 Several years ago when Pete and I were serving at Good Shepherd in Buffalo, one of our parishioners liked to paint paintings of favorite Bible stories. He knew I loved the story of the Presentation so he painted me his depiction of the story. I love it and I can tell you what I love about it: Mary’s eyes. They show a combination of surprise, fear, and wonder. When I look at them I imagine that she was hoping all the strange events: the angel, the magi, the heavenly hosts, had ended, and that life would return to normal.
But of course, there's nothing normal about the Savior of the world.
Now things did settle a bit: The angels went back to normal angel activity. The shepherds continued to pasture their flocks....  Jesus did what babies do—he ate, he cried, he slept, he grew----life continued its usual course as if nothing had happened. Joseph and Mary did what parents of a newborn do—they oohed and ahhed, they had sleepless nights and on
the fortieth day they traveled to Jerusalem to complete the purification, presentation and sacrifice traditions expected of them... it was the normal thing to do.
But there's nothing normal about this story, is there?
Now, the trip down to Jerusalem was unremarkable---no one noticed them, no one paid any attention to the baby they held.
The baby who will save the world. They entered the temple and offered the usual sacrifice for poor people, two doves.  The priest approached them and automatically laid his hands on Jesus, as if this was just another first born son. He noticed nothing special about this child, Jesus was just one among many, it was a regular, ordinary day.
 But then an older priest, eccentric at best, crazy at worst, burst onto the scene and headed straight to Mary and Joseph. He knew who this child was! He knew, deep in his bones, that this was the One for whom he yearned, the one for whom all of Israel had yearned: the Anointed, the Messiah.
For decades, Simeon had been praying that he would live to see the coming of the Messiah and every day Simeon heard God say, "not today, but soon." On this particular day, Simeon didn't hear "not today", on this particular day Simeon heard-- "go and see, He’s Here!" Rushing to the Temple, Simeon zeroed in on the Holy Family. And, without even realizing how bizarre the whole scene was, Mary offered the baby to Simeon.
Simeon, overcome with joy, with Jesus in his arms, praises God by singing the hymn we use during Evening Prayer, the Nunc Dimittis:
"Lord, you now have set your servant free to go in peace as you have promised. For these eyes of mine have seen the savior, whom you have prepared for all the world to see; a Light to enlighten the nations, and the glory of your people, Israel.”
Why does our focus shift, after today, from Christmas and the manger to Good Friday, the cross and the tomb?
Because of one clause in this hymn: "a savior for the whole world--- A light to enlighten the nations.” This messiah was not just for Israel, no this Messiah was for all the world to see. This simple phrase in a song of praise sets in motion all that leads to Calvary--- Jesus came for everyone, always, no exceptions. Not just Jew, but Gentile too(if this was written in modern parlance it would read “not just Christian, but Muslim, not just Jew, but Sikh…). Not just us, but them. Not just you, but me, not just some but all. Simeon professed what Mary would learn, what she would endure, what she would see. Simeon announced what the world was not yet able to bear: Love had arrived. For everyone, forever.
In the painting, Mary's eyes reveal the truth: Through this child the strong will weaken and the weak will strengthen. The world will get turned inside out and upside down.
And her precious Son, God in the flesh, will be nailed to a tree.
Young Mary knew what Simeon predicted was true: the world that had longed for the Messiah, yearned for Him would, in the end, be unable to bear the reality of Him. That the darkness that feeds our fear, fuels our doubts and tries to deaden our souls would kill that Love and pierce her heart on the darkest Friday of all time.
How she must have longed to keep that knowledge buried for a while longer, how she must have longed to get out of that temple and home to Nazareth where Jesus could be just another boy.
But, before they could leave another character enters the scene: the 84 year old widow and permanent resident of the Temple, Anna. Although she may not have known what she was looking for, when Anna saw Jesus she knew she'd found it. Anna, like Simeon, sang about this great wonder, but, unlike Simeon, who wandered off to rejoice in private, Anna told everyone she met that the Messiah was finally here.
On this day 2000 yrs ago and today, the word is out, the die is cast. The strong will weaken, the weak will strengthen and Love will take its earthly journey until, overcome with fear and doubt, we will do everything we can to snuff it out, to stop it, to stop Him in his tracks. It's a reality none us like or want to admit. But it is a fact of our faith that we join the crowd and shout “Crucify Him!” And, thanks be to God, through God’s amazing, outrageous and abundant grace, we’re also part of the throng shouting, “Alleluia, He Is Risen,” on Easter Morn. Buckle up my friends, the ride of faith is bumpy!
We, along with Mary and Joseph, along with Anna and Simeon, along with Jesus, have embarked on a journey that began at the manger, travels to the temple, the shores of Galilee, the gardens of Gethsemene, the dusty despair of Calvary, the depths of death to emerge, at the last, into the amazing victory of Light, Life and Love on Easter morn.  This journey we are on not easy, but by taking it we, along with Simeon and Anna will, at the end, be truly free.
Amen.