A Pastoral Prayer for Mother's Day (adapted from the blog of St Paul’s United Methodist Church in Cherokee, Iowa)

Loving God and Parent of All,
We thank you for :

All mothers, everywhere - Strengthen them in their child-rearing ,grant them wisdom and discernment.

We thank you also for grandmothers, sisters, aunts, teachers, Sunday school teachers, adult mentors, big sisters, and anyone, everywhere, who plays a motherly role in the life of another.

We pause to remember those for whom Mother’s Day is a source of discomfort, even perhaps anxiety and pain:
For those who have lost their mothers, especially those for whom this loss is recent, grant them your peace and comfort.

There are those for whom Mother’s Day is a painful reminder of their own singleness, or their own inability to have biological children. Such women have always had a special place in your concern, especially throughout the history of the Bible. Give them your special care and love, and grant them your assurance that they are not alone; neither are they without ability to make a lasting impact on the world.

Finally, we pray for those whose experience with and memory of their own mothers has brought pain. Grant them the power of healing and forgiveness.
For all these things, we give you thanks, O God who is a loving father and mother to us all. In the name of the Holy and Undivided Trinity: One God.
Amen.

A Second Holy Week Ascension Sunday May 12, 2013

***THIS SERMON WAS PREACHED AT CHURCH OF THE ASCENSION TODAY. GOOD SHEPHERD HAD A BISHOP'S VISITATION TODAY.***
Within the 50 days of Easter there are three days of special significance: Easter Sunday itself, Ascension Day and the Day of Pentecost. For forty days we adjust ourselves to Resurrection living—for forty days we try to wrap our brains around Jesus being dead then not being dead: it’s quite the adjustment, kind of like walking out of the movie theater in the middle of the day...the brightness of the sun takes some getting used too. Likewise, it takes 40 days to realize that death has been once and for all defeated. Death is dead.
Jesus needed forty days too. It took 40 days for him to reach those doubting believers, it took 40 days to teach those ignorant believers, it took 40 days to make one last pitch for His message of uncompromising Love and never-ending Peace.
So, after 40 days, just as our adjustment to Resurrection Life seems almost complete there is another Divine surprise: Jesus leaves. He physically and boldly rises to heaven perched atop a cloud. Now we can debate whether Jesus’ leaving happened exactly like this, but doing that just distracts us from the effect Jesus’ ascension has on us.
In his remarks immediately before the ascension Jesus promises that if we’re patient, if we wait, the advocate will come and we’ll be “furnished with heavenly power.” The arrival of the advocate, the instrument through which we are all divinely empowered, will come next Sunday—the day of Pentecost.
This begs the question---what purpose is served making us wait another week (technically it’s ten days because Ascension Day was this past Thursday, on the 40th day of Easter season…but we commemorate  today, on the 43rd of Easter). Why do we have to wait in this period of limbo? Why doesn’t Jesus leave on one train and the Holy Spirit arrive on the next?
Because there is something very holy in the waiting. There is something very spiritual in the waiting.
There is something important—very very important in the waiting.
Brother Curtis Almquist is a monk with the Society of St John the Evangelist, an Episcopal monastery in Cambridge MA. Last Thursday he wrote a poignant, moving mediation on this period of waiting, this period between Jesus departure and the Holy Spirit’s arrival.
Br Curtis wrote:
“Ascension Day follows the high drama of Holy Week: the palm-waving crowds, the betrayals, the scourging, the crucifixion and resurrection.  All of those days are full of interpretation and meaning.  But Ascension Day is rather vacuous of meaning.  Jesus says to his followers, “Stay here.  Wait.  Wait until you have been clothed with power.”  Why the wait? “ Well, Br. cUrtis continues,” I think God is waiting for us, for me and for you, to say “yes” with our own lives: our read­iness or at least our willingness to co-operate with God for what God has in mind for our own lives…
God is waiting for us to say Yes to our lives, which will [then allow] God’s power [to] work within us and through us. ”
  Ok, now I understand why we spent all that time this Easter reading Gospel accounts from the first Holy Week….because the utter and complete absence we experienced then we experience again now. Because this week is another week of emptiness.
An emptiness that is felt deep within us as we read the  account of Mary and the other women taking that long sorrowful walk back to the tomb on Easter morning—they were completely and utterly spent, completely and utterly void, completely and utterly EMPTY, when they reach the tomb, only to find that it too is empty, it too is vacant. There’s great poignancy in the abundance of emptiness on Easter morning. It’s into that space, that empty broken, bereft and spent space that the Love, the Peace and the Joy of the Resurrection takes hold.
This waiting period between Ascension and Pentecost isn’t because God needs time to get God’s ducks in a row, the waiting period isn’t because the Holy Spirit has a time management problem. The waiting period isn’t for God in any of God’s forms. The waiting period is for us.
It’s for us to become receptive. It’s for us to become open. It is for us to become instruments of this Holy Power. The waiting period of this next week is for us.  For us to accept, to say yes to the forgiveness Jesus offers us for our mistakes, our blunders, our less than stellar moments.
The waiting period is for us. For us to accept that God’s Love, that inexplicable, overpowering and never ending Love is ours for the taking, it is ours to receive, it is ours to accept, it is ours to make room for.
The waiting period is for us. For us to accept the Peace that surpasses all understanding, the peace that Jesus showed on the cross, the peace that Jesus showed in the upper room, the Peace that Jesus showed in all he did and said.
The waiting period is for us to realize that Jesus has left this world and taken the fullness of the human experience into the realm of the Divine. The waiting period is for us to begin to understand that the human condition is no longer a concept to God, it is part of God.
The waiting period isn’t about us waiting on God, it’s about God waiting on us—not waiting on our ability to accept the Spirit, but on our availability to receive the power of the spirit, our availability to say yes to being Christ’s Body in this world.
And so we have another Holy week. Another span of time where we need to adjust and readjust to the new ways God moves in and through our lives.
May we spend this week adjusting our eyes to the brightness of God’s glory given to us in the Risen and Ascended One, Jesus Christ. May we spend this week preparing to receive the power promised to us and  may we spend this week shouting Alleluia Alleluia, Death is Dead, Love is in charge and joy is ours now and forever. Amen.

Peace, Shalom and Salaam Lighten our Load and Illumine our Path. Easter 6 2013

It was Christmas 1939, England was mired in the uncertainty of war, her citizenry was terrified and her monarch, King George VI, father to the current Queen, needed to find words of solace, words of hope for his faithful subjects in England and across the Empire.
The steadfastness of George and his wife the irascible Queen Mother was legendary. Against the pleas of all their advisors, the royal family stayed in London throughout the blitz, enduring the hardships and horror of war alongside their people. Their courage remains an example to other leaders: in times of trial, lead by example, rule with dignity and courage and never ever abandon those over whom you’ve been given charge.
And so, on that Christmas night, the King offered this simple message in his annual radio broadcast:
“A new year is at hand. We cannot tell what it will bring. If it brings peace, how thankful we shall all be. If it brings us continued struggle we shall remain undaunted.”
He went on to quote from Minnie Haskins’ poem “The Gate of the Year” (1908):
"I said to the man who stands at the Gate of the Year, 'Give
me light that I may tread safely into the unknown.' And he replied, 'Step into the darkness, put
your hand into the hand of God, and that will be to you better than a light, and safer than a known
way.'" King George VI during World War II
Step into the darkness put your hand into the hand of God and that will be better than any light, safer than anything you’ve ever known.
It was the Thursday of that first Holy Week. Supper was ending and the disciples were scared, the temple authorities were plotting and Jesus was resolute.
2000 years before George VI needed to offer his people encouragement, Jesus needed to find his own words of comfort, solace, hope and promise. And so we have one of the most famous sections of John’s Gospel: Jesus’ Farewell Discourse.
We’ve read from Jesus’ final sermon for the past couple of weeks. It’s a bit jarring to go from Alleluia Christ is Risen back in to the dark days of Holy Week!
Although on the surface this may seem dissonant, I think hearing Jesus’ farewell remarks in these, the last few weeks before Pentecost, makes sense. After all, Pentecost celebrates the birth of the Church, a church over which we have by virtue of our baptism, been given charge.
Being the Church in the world today isn’t easy, the path can be dark and the way forward unknown, so Jesus as he says good-bye, offers us encouragement:  Be courageous, be steadfast. The darkness will swirl about, but don’t be daunted. Step into the unknown with hand outstretched and God will grab your hand—I will grab your hand—and together we’ll tread safely and confidently into the unknown.
 Jesus says, Peace I leave with you, my peace I give to you. Take this peace, let it fill you and then pass it on. Allow the peace I have shown you, the peace I have given you, to surround, envelope and infuse you. And then go forward…
be the Peace of the Lord in this world. Don’t just share it, don’t just offer it….BE IT.
Jesus was no fool. He knew that once he was gone people were going to forget.
He knew once he was gone people would get scared.
people would get lost.
people would, as Minnie Haskins put in the poem George VI quoted, be afraid to step into the unknown and into the dark.
And so he leaves us with his Peace.
As I asked in my email blast on Thursday morning, Just what is Peace…is it simply the absence of war, or the absence of conflict, the absence of discord? Or is it more than that (or different than that)?
Is Peace a destination or a state of mind?
 a goal or a means to an end?
 Is it a constant or is it dynamic?
Yes.
Peace, like Shalom and Salaam, the Hebrew and Arabic synonyms for Peace is all these things.
Shalom and Salaam, like the Peace of which Jesus speaks, is a whole lot more---
Both words can mean
• To make amends
• To make good
• To restore
• To be or to lead the way toward Peace
More than a word, Shalom/Salaam—the Peace of today’s Gospel-- is a state of mind, a posture, an attitude. More than a word shalom and salaam is the way and the truth and the life. In other words, Shalom Salaam is the sum total of all that Jesus taught us, it is the sum total of all that Jesus calls us to be and it is the sum total of what the Kingdom of God on earth shall be. Shalom I leave with you, Salaam I give to you, says Jesus—go and be good. Go and do good. Be the light and shine the light. As Jesus bids farewell he leaves us with shalom, he leaves us with salaam he leaves us with peace flowing like a river, he leaves us with joy flowing like a river, he leaves us with hope flowing like a river, he leaves us with Love flowing like a river.
As Jesus prepares to leave the scene, we are called to embrace his mantel of Shalom; to be Salaam in this world. As Jesus departs and we become his body in the world, the words of King George spoken to a terrified nation on the brink of war,  take on a new resonance:
The new way is at hand; we cannot tell what it will bring. When it brings peace, how thankful we all shall be. When it brings struggle we shall remain undaunted because as we step into the darkness of the unknown the hand of God, full of love and joy and peace will be better than any light, and safer than any known way. Shalom, Salaam.
Amen.

Easter 5 Yr C What's Love Got to Do With It? Everything

+In 1984 Tina Turner had a blockbuster hit song called “What’s Love Got to Do With It?” Now she wasn’t speaking about today’s readings, but the tag line sure fits. For what does Love have to do with it?
Everything.
Absolutely Everything.
In today’s Gospel Jesus has just finished washing the feet of his friends following the Last Supper. The disciples’ heads are spinning, their hearts are racing, their worry, doubt and fear is building. Jesus’ return  to Jerusalem is coming to a head…His message of love and peace is about to collide with the world’s message of fear turned to anger and hate.
Instead of plotting his escape, instead of assuring his followers that he has a plan to overthrow the Romans and establish his reign on earth, instead of getting ready for the fight, Jesus drops to his knees, lovingly washing the feet of his friends and giving us a new commandment to Love One Another.
What’s Love got to do with it?
Everything.
In our reading from the Acts of the Apostles Peter blows everyone’s minds by eating with people who are not Jewish. Now remember, in the Jewish faith then (and still with the orthodox and Hasidic Jews of today) non-Jews—gentiles, goyim—are considered unclean. The daily ritual of an observant Jew includes extensive purification rites, ritualistic washing before meals.
But, all the washing in the world can’t purify someone who eats with the “other.” But before the temple authorities in Jerusalem could get organized for a stoning of Peter, he explains why he ate with Gentiles---because God told him too. Because God said, “I’ve begun an altogether new thing here, it’s all about Love. It begins in Love, it abides in Love, it ends in Love.”
What’s Love got to with it?
Everything.
Our reading from the Book of Revelation is familiar; it’s very often read at funerals. The reading is full of promise, a comfort for those who are experiencing great loss and sadness. The promise? The promise is this: God came to dwell among us and remains with us through the Holy Spirit. God dwells among us to wipe every tear from our eyes; in other words God is with us in every single thing. God is with us in our suffering and our doubt as well as our celebrations and our hope. God cries with us and laughs with us, God is with us, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, for better of for worse.
What’s love got to do with it?
Everything.
The spiritual teacher, lecturer and author Marianne Williamson remarked: the way of the miracle worker is to see all human behavior as one of two things: either love or a call for love. If you believe, as we profess in Christianity, that God is Love, this comment fits in nicely with today’s readings and our faith in general: the actions of humanity are either expressions of God’s Love or pleas for God’s Love. Think about how profound this simple statement is: all our behavior is either loving or in some way a request for, a demand for, a plea.  For Love.
We see examples of this all over the place.
Like in the profound story of the Man in the Cowboy Hat. You probably heard it:
Carlos Arredondo was at the Boston Marathon finish line handing out American flags. When the bombs went off he ran…not to safety as most of us would instinctually do, but, much like the 12 volunteer first responders in West Texas who lost their lives fighting the massive inferno at the fertilizer plant, Carlos ran toward the carnage.
As he knelt comforting a young woman who was injured he saw Jeff Bauman who had lost both his legs in the blast and was bleeding profusely and, I might add, fatally. That is until Carlos and several other rescuers wheeled him to safety. Jeff never would have survived the transport to the ambulance, let alone the hospital if Carlos hadn’t pinched his femoral artery, stopping the fatal flow of blood.
There are people like that. People who see danger and run smack dab into the middle of it. Why?
Love.
That’s why.
What’s Love got to do with it?
Everything.
Last Sunday hundreds of people gathered in Delaware Park for a run, a run of solidarity with those in Boston. Did they run for the exercise? Did they run for the companionship, did they run for the fun of it? Sure. But they also ran for the Love of it.
What’s Love got to do with it?
Everything.
Perhaps you heard this story as well:
Cameron Lyle, a University of New Hampshire track and field athlete who has given up the rest of his collegiate athletic career to help someone else. A stranger. You see Cameron is registered on the national bone marrow registry and a few weeks ago, he was notified that he was a perfect and
rare match for a 28-year-old with acute lymphoblastic leukemia, an aggressive often fatal cancer.
When asked if he thought about all he was giving up for this perfect stranger, Cameron admitted that yes, he did think about it. But, as Cameron said, the stranger, the ill man? Well he’s DYING.
What’s Love got to do with it?
Everything.
Yes there is evil in this world, darkness fueled by fear that is manifested as hate. There is intolerance, there is horror and there is tragedy. But for every intolerant comment, for every experience of horror, for every tragedy that befalls us individually and corporately there is Love.
How do we respond to heinous acts that, as Marianne Williamson posits, are calls for love?  We respond with Love. We respond in Love, we respond as Love.
From Newtown to Columbine, from West Texas to the lower 9th ward, from Fallujah to Baghdad, from North Korea to Syria, from Gaza to Nazareth, from Buffalo to Boston, love has EVERYTHING TO DO WITH IT.
Amen.

Deacon Pete's Sermon for 4th Sunday of Easter 21 April 2013

I don’t preach all that often, just once a month, and this is the second time in 5 months that I’ve had to rethink where my Sunday sermon would go, adjust what I thought I would say.  The first time was after the school shooting in Newtown, Connecticut and now as a response to this week’s events in Boston.  It says a lot about our world that twice in 5 months most preachers have had to throw out their sermon drafts in order to address our reactions to violence, evil and darkness.  

I was going to talk about dirty, smelly sheep.  I was thinking about what a great image we are given for Jesus in today’s readings, but claiming the Good Shepherd image for Jesus implies that we are the sheep.  And sheep, although they certainly have their uses, are not all that cool.  I’m sure you all have one or two wool sweaters and that you’ve experienced, as I have, the “lint magnet” qualities of wool.  Sheep are balls of walking wool, Velcro in motion.  Whatever they lie down in sticks to them, grass, twigs and other matter we won’t mention in polite company.  Hence, the dirty and smelly part.  Sheep are also slow to learn, unpredictable, stubborn, restless, dependent and all too likely to stray and get lost.  Making connections between us and sheep is easy and unflattering; I know I have had all too many moments in life when I have functioned as a two legged sheep, moments I wish I could take back.  

Sheep are also easily frightened, they will huddle together, baahing and baahing, bewailing their circumstances if you will, unable to see a way out of whatever situation they find themselves in.   And certainly, we can clearly identify with those feelings of paralysis, hopelessness, and fear, especially this week.

What do we say in the face of the violence that so often has accompanied April, frequently the month of Eastertide?  April is not unfamiliar with violence; it is the month when Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated, the month that 32 students were killed at Virginia Tech, the month of the Branch Dravidian siege at Waco, the month of the Oklahoma City bombing, the month of the Columbine High School shooting.  

The 23rd psalm and the Revelation reading both treat death in a defiant manner, urging us to be fearless in the valley of the shadow of death and telling us God will wipe away the tears of those who have gone through the great ordeal. It is the verses from Acts though, that I think give us information on how to live in violent times as people to whom Easter matters, how to live with evil and darkness as people of the resurrection.  

The widows of Joppa were stricken by the death of Dorcas.  She is the only woman in the bible who is called a disciple, her good works and acts of charity must have been legendary for Luke to so name her.  She was devoted to the widows, women who without her would have had nothing.  Remember, in that culture, a woman without a man was practically invisible.  She had no property, no income, no standing.  

First, the community takes care of Dorcas' body.  They are so devastated by her death that they call for  Peter.  Then the widows gather, weeping and telling her story.  it would be easy at this point to focus on the resurrection of Dorcas.  To link her goodness with her coming back to life.  To somehow see her resurrection as a reward for her discipleship.   But, surely there were others who did similar work, others who had committed their whole lives to being disciples.  But, Peter did not bring her back to life as a reward, nor did he bring her back so that she could continue doing good works.  Dorcas, or Tabitha as Peter called her, was raised so that those present could see that nothing, not even death, could stop the work of His disciples.  She was not raised because the community needed her, but because the community needed the resurrection, they needed resurrection hope.  Resurrection hope says that nothing can stop the work of Jesus, not even death.  And this my, friends, is the hope that the we as the church are called to live out and the hope we are called to be.

Perhaps it is no coincidence that April is a month of such great tragedies, the anniversary month of such monumental losses, such overwhelming violence, the month when so much evil has appeared.  Eastertide is a time of great light, and great light attracts great darkness.  We even have a prayer in our service of compline that  asks our Lord Christ to shield the joyous, a corporate awareness that great good can attract great evil.    

We can choose to look at great evil, at all the heartbreaking damage we do to one another and to our earth and we can choose to have no hope.  We can point fingers and lay blame, bemoan the presence of terror and fear and death in our lives. We can huddle together like sheep, baahing and baahing as we feel lost and alone. We can focus on the dirty, smelly nature of our sheepiness. We can perseverate on our all too human fallenness, our tendencies to be stubborn, dependent, and slow to learn.  We can dwell on our feelings of having strayed or of being left behind.  Or, we can remember Tabitha and the hope we are called to live in to.  We can express in works of compassion and caring the hope of the resurrection.  We can claim the promise that we will hunger and thirst no more, the sun will not strike us nor the scorching heat.  Jesus is the Good Shepherd who will wipe away every tear from our eyes and we will dwell in the house of The Lord forever.    Amen.

Shouting Alleluia in the Mundane of Daily Life April 14, 2013

Last week while we were taking a few days off post-Holy Week, Pete and I watched a slide show of our wedding. Now we’d seen it before, but last week in the peace and relaxation of time off, I really SAW it for the first time, really felt it. I saw it and allowed it to soak in. Somehow in the ordinariness, in the normality of daily life, sitting around on a Friday morning playing on the computer, I was able to notice the enormous beauty of that weekend. Suddenly, the pictures of my family all pitching in to get Ascension sparkling before the wedding, the pictures of both our families gathered at the rehearsal dinner, photos of the wedding itself and pictures taken at the reception made quite an impact: the weekend really was something special.
I think that’s how it works---at least for me---the resonance of an event doesn’t hit me until later...some time must pass before I NOTICE the extraordinary perched atop the ordinary of daily life. The same thing happened to me last Sunday as I baptized Oliver. I really thought I’d fall apart during the service, that the action of baptizing my great-nephew would cause me to lose my composure—but I went through the liturgy just fine, thank you very much. It was still really neat to do, but in the moment, I wasn’t emotional.
But, once I’d returned to Buffalo Tuesday night, Pete and I watched the DVD of the baptism. That’s when I cried. That’s when—back in the ordinary of daily life back in the routine, back in the regular--- the full impact of that very sacred event took hold. Only then was I was able to feel the awesomeness of being granted the privilege to anoint my own great-nephew as one of Christ’s own, forever.
There’s something about the routine—the mundane, the ordinary that puts us in a place of open-ness—open-ness to the work of God through the Spirit. I guess we need to be in the mundane routine of daily life for our guard to be dropped…. it’s in that opening that the Spirit can really do her work, it’s in that opening that the miraculous work of God, as given to us in the risen Christ, really gets down to business.
It’s seems that when we return to the routine, the amazing can really and truly take hold.
That’s what our readings on this third Sunday of Easter teach us. As many of you know, our Sunday Readings are on a three-year cycle. Year A B and C.   In Year A we hear the story of Jesus revealing his risen self to two disciples as they walk back to their “regular lives” on the road to Emmaus. In Year B we hear the end of the Emmaus story as Jesus appears to the apostles as they are huddled in hiding just after the resurrection. In the first story, Jesus is revealed to the men after he breaks bread with them—after sharing a meal with them. In Year B Jesus appears to the apostles on Easter Sunday evening. The apostles recognize Jesus right away, but they’re terrified…they only settle down after Jesus has some bread and fish with them. After they share a meal. We’re in year C so today we hear the story of Jesus’ breakfast BBQ for the disciples. It seems important to the evangelists, to the authors of the Gospels that we understand that the post-resurrection Jesus is encountered—and understood—in the context of regular daily life.
In other words, the appearances of Jesus, the recognition of the resurrection seems to take hold, to make sense, to be noticeable only after his friends have shaken off the shock of the crucifixion and are “moving on” with their lives.
When in the midst of the extraordinary—like the  shock of the resurrection, or while in the midst of joy and celebration like a wedding or a baptism, it’s difficult to make room for God. There’s just so much going on we are super-attuned to every last detail….and in our obsession, in our concentration, we can miss God’s nudges. You see, God understands that we expect to encounter the Holy in the big, in the dramatic, in the amazing. But God doesn’t work that way. God isn’t all that interested in seeing us only in our Sunday best. God is much more interested in our regular-ness than in our spectacular-ness. Now don’t get me wrong, God loves a great big party, like our wedding, or the simple wonder of new birth and a new life in Christ as portrayed in a baptism, but God does most of God’s work in the regular and in the routine. Like fishing off the coast, sitting in the family room on a vacation Friday morning, or in the sharing of a meal, in the breaking of the bread.
This is the lesson in today’s Gospel: make room in your daily life for God!
At our Thursday morning Eucharist this week we commemorated the Annunciation, that is the visit of the Angel Gabriel to Mary, announcing that she would be the mother of Jesus. In my homily I mentioned that the thing I so love about Mary is her regular-ness, her normal-ness, her being utterly ordinary, a young peasant girl who simply and profoundly says yes to an angel of the Lord who pays her a visit on an ordinary day while she is engaged in an ordinary task—doing laundry. What makes this event EXTRAORDINARY is Mary’s reception of God’s message. How often does God speak to us in the ordinary, in the routine, in the mundane? Are we receptive enough to receive God’s message? Are we aware enough to hear it? And are we brave enough to heed it?
Our Easter task, brothers and sisters, is to listen for God in the whispers of daily life.
Our Easter task is to hear God.
Our Easter Task is to see God.
Our Easter task is to be God ‘s hands and feet in the world. To follow Jesus. And to take care of Jesus’ lambs. Each and every day.
Our Easter message then, is this:
God speaks to us in the ordinary.
God speaks to us in the mundane.
God speaks to us.
May we all hear, see and be God in the world.  For when we do that, God joins our Easter song of Praise:   Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia.
Amen!

Easter 2013: Never an Idle Tale

+An idle tale. This is what the apostles thought when they first heard the women announce the empty tomb.
It seemed outrageous, absurd, ridiculous and unbelievable. Angels saying that the Lord was raised—that he was alive? No way.
The apostles saw the crucifixion, they witnessed the hasty burial. They knew dead when they saw it and Jesus was definitely dead.
Can’t you hear the guys? “Poor women, they are so overcome with grief their minds are playing tricks on them.”
Who can blame them?
Let’s face it; this whole Resurrection thing is pretty difficult to imagine, to understand. To accept.
How many of us here this morning, deep down (or maybe not so deep down) wonder if this, the miracle of Jesus’ Resurrection, isn’t after all, simply an idle tale?
I mean, really? Resurrection? He was dead and now he’s not? Let’s be clear, this isn’t a case of dying and being resuscitated through some type of Divine CPR, no this was a return to life after complete and utter death, up to and  including burial and the sealing of a tomb.
Go ahead, try and explain this to someone who has no understanding of the Christian faith---at best you’ll sound confused, at worst, you’ll sound NUTS.
But the truth is, the Resurrection of Jesus Christ, his defeat of death, ISN’T an idle tale, it isn’t a story; it’s the definitive narrative of our faith.
But that doesn’t make it any easier to understand or to explain.
Now I know this is Easter Sunday and that there are quite a few of you sitting here this morning who aren’t here…well…voluntarily.
You’re not here to praise the Resurrection or to re-connect with your faith, no you’re here this morning to please your parents, your grandparents, your spouse, your sibling or your friend. Coming to church is just part of the whole package---church, Easter baskets and brunch.
For you this story we just heard may indeed sound trite, for you it may be just an idle tale. But it isn’t.
The Resurrection is completely true--
AND it’s impossible to explain.
 It’s impossible to explain because we aren’t supposed to explain it--it isn’t some concept to master, it isn’t some theorem to prove.
The Resurrection of Jesus Christ: a man arrested, tortured, killed and buried may be impossible to explain…
…But it’s not impossible to believe. And believing, rather than proving, is what faith is all about. This is where people get hung up. They want to figure it all out before saying that they believe, they want all the answers before they commit.
But that’s not how faith works.
Faith doesn’t ask for proof and faith doesn’t expect lock step adherence.
Faith can’t be explained, faith can’t be proven, faith can’t be diagramed.
Faith can only be lived.
Faith is a journey, a journey filled with steps….some small, some giant, some forward and some back.
Everyone’s faith journey is chock full of fits and starts, ups and downs, good times and bad.
It’s normal to doubt, to question, to wonder.
Just ask Jesus’ closest friends. The apostles believed in Jesus and then, they didn’t. Peter proclaimed Jesus as Lord and Savior and then denied him three times. Thomas followed Jesus faithfully for three years but missed Jesus’ initial resurrection appearances so he---a man who had seen the miracles of Jesus up close and personal-- refused to believe the resurrection until he placed his own fingers into the wounds of his teacher, his friend, his rabbi. Everyone has doubts now and again.
I think it’s difficult for people with a lot of questions to feel comfortable in a church because they mistakenly assume that we have all the answers, that our way is steady and sure. It isn’t! We doubt, we wonder, we worry. We wrestle with our faith each and every week. But we don’t give up, we persevere, we slog ahead and bit by bit, step by step, we start to get it.
Peter and John ran to the tomb when they heard the women tell of it being empty…and when they saw it empty, they started to get it. And then, when they saw Jesus, wounds and all, they understood some more. The more they encountered Jesus, the more their faith was strengthened.
For some it was touching his wounds, for others it was hearing Jesus’ voice, for still others it was sharing a meal with him. Belief in the resurrection came to Jesus’ most ardent and loyal followers step by step.
Belief in Jesus isn’t a one-time event and faith in his teachings doesn’t come to us in one neat little package.
Belief and Faith don’t have on/off buttons.
Faith operates more like a dimmer switch.
There are days when the light of faith burns brightly and fully in our hearts and minds and souls. There are other days, other moments in time, when the light of faith is dimmer, when it burns a little less brightly…there are times when our faith is reduced to the embers of a long ago burning fire.
Faith isn’t linear, it isn’t straightforward---our faith is a moveable, ever changing, always evolving thing.
Martin Luther King Jr said:
“You don’t have to see the whole staircase to take the first step.” You take a step and then you take another.
The point isn’t to get to the top of the staircase faster than anyone else.
The point is to start the climb, one step at a time.
So whether you’re here today to please someone else, or whether you’re here today because you’re always here, or whether you’re here today because you are searching, searching for something, anything to make you feel whole again, I have an invitation for you….
Step up and step out in faith because the miracle of Christ, crucified and risen is yours for the taking. So, grab hold and start on your way, the climb may be long and it may be difficult. But the climb, your journey of faith will never ever be an idle tale.
Alleluia, Christ is Risen!
The Lord is Risen, Indeed. +
* the Idle Tale Focus is taken from Rick Morley: A Garden Path @ rickmorley.com