Prayer: May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all of our hearts be pleasing and acceptable to you, O Risen Lord, our Rock and Redeemer.  Amen.

You may recall from the summer newsletter that we’re deviating a bit from the Revised Common Lectionary readings, which we have, by and large, been following faithfully since I took the pulpit in 2007.  And while the Lectionary is designed to give a comprehensive overview of our Scriptures over the course of its three-year schedule, there are many areas of the Bible which are left out.  The pitfall of using the Lectionary is that one ends up cycling over and over through the same readings, without ever turning to the other readings and stories of our faith heritage.

So, for the summer, we’re moving away from the Revised Common Lectionary, and instead using a grassroots project known as ‘The Year D Project.’  This group of Biblical scholars and theologians has put together a lectionary-format year’s worth of readings, choosing from the readings which tend to be looked over and ignored.  It just so happens that many of these readings are also the more difficult ones to address and discuss.  Regardless, they are part of our faith, and so I thought it would be a good idea to spend some time in those forgotten corners of the Bible, challenging though they may be.

And, true to that promise, our first Sunday following this neglected lectionary group has us in an aspect of Biblical literature that is often…glossed over, largely ignored: Apocalyptic Literature.  The writings that predict the end of the world as we know it, and are usually accompanied by stories of destruction and corruption.

Now, ironically enough, though these stories and readings are often passed over in the usual lectionary cycle, they are also the ones that seem to receive the most attention outside of regular worship gatherings.  For over a decade, authors have made a nice pile of money by writing fiction and non-fiction accounts of the end of the world, most notably Tim LaHaye, author of the Left Behind series.  Recently, self-proclaimed prophet Harry Camping received nation-wide and international press coverage for predicting the rapture, which was to have taken place back in May, but it appears that his calculations were, for a second time, a little bit off.

And even in casual conversation among all stripes of faithful believers have come the confessions that, though we many not be able to predict or define when the world will end, or specifically how, many of us who are familiar with Scriptures can’t help but look at the news of the world around us and wonder, “Are these the signs that the prophets, that Jesus himself even spoke of?”

For certainly, in light of what Micah says of rulers demanding gifts and judges accepting bribes, of the powerful dictating laws and edicts that fulfill their own desires, certainly in light of these signs we can look at the world around us and see similarities.  And when we augment those stories with the reporting of natural disasters over the past eighteen months – from the earthquake in Haiti to the tornadoes in the mid-west to the tsunami in Japan and the wildfires – with all of these various stories wrapped up together we can’t help but, in the quiet, dark moments of our days, look around scratching our heads and wondering, “Is this, Lord, what you meant when you mentioned these signs to Israel?  To Judah?  To the disciples?  Are these the things that you knew would happen?”

Now, there are any number of directions we could go from here, though the direction I’m least comfortable with is the one in which I stand here and emphatically say that this is the end of the world.  I don’t know that.  I do not have it within my capability to predict that.  And even according to Jesus’ own confession, the only One who does know is God, and God alone.  So while that is certainly a direction I could take, and perhaps even publish dozens of fictional books on, I’m not comfortable taking that path, and I’m not going to.

Another direction that we could follow is by engaging the question of theodicy, the fancy, theological term for wondering where God is in and during all these calamities, destructions and corruptions.  It’s a good question, and one that has dogged faithful believers for generation upon generation: If God is good and loving, then why do people and communities suffer, and where is God during those occasions?  And again, it’s one of those topics where, if I wanted, I could write a book or two on an answer or interpretation and make a very comfortable amount of money.  But it’s also a topic that many, many other people, who are much smarter and well-read than I, have already addressed by publishing books and making money off of.

So instead, on this morning, with you whom I love and walk faithfully in mutual relationship, instead I want to respond to the rumors of the apocalypse in the only way I do feel comfortable with, or have any real control over: my own reaction.  When it comes to witnessing signs and seals, interpreting predictions and events, the only aspect I have any control over is how I choose to faithfully respond.  And as I say all this to you now, it is not with the expectation that my response will become your response, that my ways will necessarily become your ways.  All I hope is to provide you with an example that I believe is faithful and which may be useful to you.

Now, as many of you know, last Monday for our anniversary Megan and I went over to the Chautauqua Institution and heard Tony Campolo speak during morning worship.  You may also remember that he is one of my favorite speakers and authors, so you can imagine how I felt when I got to meet him following worship, shake his hand and chat with him, and have him sign one of his books that I own.  Suffice it to say, there was some nervous giggling that took place, and it didn’t come from Megan.

But as much as that occasion will stick with me, what Tony said will stick with me more, especially in light of our readings this morning on being mindful of the end of the world as we know it.  During his sermon he reflected on a series of interviews done with a demographic made up only of people ninety-five years of age and older.  In asking them what they might do differently with their lives if they knew then what they know now, the responses fell into three general categories: That they would take more risks; That they would reflect more; and That they would do more to leave a legacy.

The reason that these insights Tony offered last Monday morning stick with me is that they come from people who are approaching their own personal end of times, the end of their own personal worlds as they know them.  And through the remainder of the week I wondered, “If these are aspects that people approaching the end of the world wish that they could do more of, can we apply that to our own understanding of the world around us, whether or not we’re living in the end times?”  And the answer I have come to is, yes.  Yes, we can apply these lessons to our lives, even now, today, and in the days to come.

We may not be able to keep our politicians and lawmakers from corruption or scandal.  We most likely are not able to accurately predict the day the world will end or Christ will return.  We do not have it in our power to stop the earth from shifting and moving; even if we address climate change, we can’t completely stop the earth from being the earth.  But we can respond with our own lives, lives understood as that of children of God, apostles of Christ, people of the Spirit, and we can do so by learning from the very people who have the wisdom of a lifetime.

We can risk more, moving outside what is comfortable, familiar and known.  In speaking with his disciples, Jesus told them not to worry about what to say when it comes time to evangelize and witness to others, whether one-on-one or in front of the courts.  Don’t worry about it, don’t plan it out ahead of time, don’t rehearse it or polish it; just let the Spirit guide and inspire you, and speak of what you know.  Friends, that is a great risk, to show up and simply open your mouth.  As you can tell from the turning of pages you see me do each week, that’s a risk even I don’t take here in worship, as we engage weekly in a practice that is very predictable and familiar to us.  But I can say this: on the occasions when I engage in conversation with someone, or teaching someone, and I feel the Spirit flowing between us, guiding the conversation and the words of my mouth – that is a good, good feeling!  Even to risk in so simple a way as to not rehearse what I’m going to say, such a risk is rewarding.

What are the risks we’re taking?  What are we willing to risk, to possibly give up, as we seek to be a faithful community in this town?  Are we willing to enter into conversation with a neighbor?  A stranger?  With no expectations or ulterior motives?  Are we willing to risk our lives?  Our property?  Are we willing to give up the things that are familiar and comfortable, seeking the Spirit?

Micah, in prophesying to the people of Israel, tells them of a time which heralds the end of times.  And in light of such situations as predicted, he offers up one simple statement: “But as for me, I watch in hope for the Lord, I wait for God my Savior; my God will hear me.”  This seems like so simple, so direct a statement, but in actuality it is much more profound.  Wrapped up in these words is the understanding that no matter what else is going on, Micah will view the world around him through the lens of being in a faithful relationship with the One who is truly faithful, God alone.  In short, Micah reflects on all of what is going on in the world, all that makes up the news, all that is good and not good, and to it all, he sees one thing: That he will wait for God, choosing to see the promise of God’s redemption and presence.  No matter how bad it might get, no matter what might be going on, Micah’s choice, his response, is to reflect time and again on the promises of a faithful God, and the continued presence of an ever-lasting God.  He doesn’t say that he understands how that will always play out, only that that way of viewing the world, of reflecting on the world, is his response.

But beyond that, he chooses to reflect God, and God’s promises.  He doesn’t simply keep such knowledge to himself, he shares with it with those around him.  As one who has received light, he chooses to reflect it to others who need it as well.  In what ways do we reflect God, either in seeing God present and at work in this world, or by reflecting God to others in need?  Is this something that we, individually and corporately, could be doing better?  What would it take to do more of this?

Finally, a legacy.  Now, when I was in seminary I was given an assignment for a class.  In fact, it was an exercise which I had done before, though it came out differently each time I did it.  I was tasked with writing my own obituary.  The purpose was not to have it written for that exact time in my life, but instead to write it as if I had lived to, say, eighty or ninety.  In doing so, it helped me to understand what I wanted to accomplish, what I wanted to leave behind, and mostly, what I wanted to be remembered for.  It was an amazing exercise, each time I did it, because it reminded me of my dreams, of what I felt was important to seek out in my life, of the vision I had for my life and ministry.

And so this is our exercise, our homework: To write an obituary.  But it is not for each of us as individuals, though if you’d like to do that for yourself, I would encourage you to.  No, this specific exercise is to write an obituary for our church community.  From the perspective of a church that has recently closed, recently died, so to speak, what would our obituary say?  What would it say about us?  Our ministry?  Of what we wanted to be known and remembered for?  Now, this is an assignment I want back, because what we write on this page will reflect the ministry on which we will focus our energies and resources in the weeks and months to come.

As we face the possible end times, whether for this planet or for this community, the only aspect under our direct control is how we will respond; everything is else is out of our hands.  I believe that there is still much we are capable of in our response, no matter how much time may remain, and my hope is that we will actively seek out these things we are capable of.  And as we do so, God will be with us, meeting us there, and we will join God in the work that is already ongoing.  Let us, then, seek God, and let us be guided by the Spirit in this time and place, and the times and places to come…Amen.

Prayer: May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all of our hearts be pleasing and acceptable to you, O Risen Lord, our Rock and Redeemer.  Amen.

“The sheep hear his voice as he calls his own sheep by name, and he leads them out.”

If the week before was a momentous one for many and varied national and global reasons, this past week has been likewise momentous for those of us in the Presbyterian Church (USA).  Which is, namely: us.  And while the events of this past week may end up having little to no immediate, direct effect upon us who gather here together Sunday after Sunday, these same events bear reflection.  But first, in case you have absolutely no idea what I’m referring to, allow me to catch you up.

At the 219^th General Assembly of the PC(USA) last July, several constitutional amendments were proposed and voted upon favorably by the delegates whom were present.  This bi-annual meeting is the space where our denomination-wide discussions take form and from which proposals and amendments are sent back to the regional presbyteries for final decision.  As a democratic denomination, any proposed and approved amendment must then be ratified by a majority vote of the denomination’s presbyteries.  If your head is spinning at this point, it’s ok – the short answer is that there are a number of amendments that need at least eighty-seven of our denomination’s presbyteries to vote in favor to go into effect.  Very similar to how a bill becomes a law on the national side of things.

One of these amendments in particular has been hotly debated and, understandably, been held in a controversial and divisive light.  As our constitution has read, in regards to who may be ordained to an office of the church – minister, elder or deacon – one of the standards is “fidelity within the covenant of marriage between a man and a woman or chastity in singleness.”  The proposed amendment, causing so much spark and debate, removes this language for wording which, in one application, allows for the possibility of people of same-sex orientation to be ordained to any office of the PC(USA).

Since this amendment was sent to presbyteries to vote on early last summer, much has happened.  Individuals and organizations on both sides of the debate have made a point of raising their voices, making their arguments known, and verbally sparring back-and-forth.  One group, known as the Fellowship, issued a letter to the effect that regardless of how the members of the denomination voted, they were going to hold an event this coming August to discuss ways in which to move the denomination back to the interpretation of Scripture they felt more comfortable with.  Our current vice-moderator issued a response, arguing that we were not misguided and errant, “deathly ill” as the Fellowship proclaimed, but rather we were traveling through the wilderness, seeking to live into the people God has created us to be.  Other individuals and congregations have threatened to leave all-together, and take their resources with them, this depriving the denomination, at least in their minds.  And these are just some of the remarks and arguments made; there are many, many more.

Now, as I mentioned earlier, this past week has been a momentous one for our denomination.  As of last Sunday, of the minimum eighty-seven votes needed in favor of the amendment to ratify it, eighty-six had been received.  Of the six presbyteries scheduled to vote on this amendment last Tuesday, two of them voted in favor, securing the minimum number of votes needed, and thus ratifying the amendment.  It will go into effect this coming July.

At news of such an event, not much changed in regards to the arguments, debates and mindset of those who have been following this process.  Those who were in favor were joyful that the church they loved and supported would now be open to the Holy Spirit at work through all, basing the standard on an individual’s faithfulness and gifts, as opposed to their orientation or status.  Those who were opposed mourned, continuing to feel that the church they loved and supported was going astray and drifting further into a realm that they felt was sinful and a hindrance to following Christ.  Even though the amendment has been passed, it seems that the church is still in the wilderness.

Now, all of this truly is meant to be an overview, and an introduction to any who may not have been aware of what’s been going on in the larger denomination.  And I pray that if you have further questions, or desire resources or conversation, that you’ll track me down.  I am willing to share with you any information I have.  My only requirement is that you seek to discuss this openly and respectfully.

But there is something else going on, something which lands much closer to home for us who gather here for worship each week.  Around mid-week, I received…a catalog.  Yes, a catalog, one of a dozen or so catalogs that come across my desk throughout the year, each one offering me any number of possibilities for curriculum and education in the church.  Outright scandal, no?  As I flipped through the pages of this particular missive, something became apparent to me: All of these resources are, essentially, the same.  And this hasn’t changed in years.

Oh, sure, the specifics of what’s taught and how it’s presented may change a bit from resource to resource, but all of these seek to offer the same thing: a quick, easy, programmatic resource to get people – young, old, older – into the church.  There are even resources for 6 month olds, alongside ones for 80 year olds.  Looking more closely at these resources, however, it appears that each one is “the thing” to get people interested in the church and on the path to a journey of faith, drawing ever closer to Christ.  And it occurred to me that, if accomplishing such a goal, achieving such a ministry, could be boiled down to a book, a simple program or resource, then we would only need one, and not the countless options that are out there.

And what ultimately happens, the reason I have been reluctant to sign on to any one of these to utilize here as we ourselves have sought to grow deep and wide, is that what most commonly happens is that a group of people which has offered one form of a program in the past, one which is no longer meaningful or has fallen to the wayside, then merely replaces it with some other program, hoping for similar results.  On the surface, that may even work for a time, but it will not produce the deep, relational need that individuals and communities desire, only the appearance of such.  It is nigh impossible to build up the kind of church we envision doing so only with some form or another of program.  “The sheep hear his vice as he calls his own sheep by name, and leads them out.”

Now, it seems to me that I’ve tossed a few of seemingly unrelated thoughts before you, and perhaps it feels that way to you, as well.  But here’s where they start to come together.  We are, in fact, today more a community akin to the early church, the gathering of apostles in that first generation after the resurrection, than we are the church as many of us are more familiar with her – the religious institution of Christendom, of movers and shakers from a few decades ago.  And it is in light of this dawning reality that our reading from Acts this morning, and the ones that will come between now and Pentecost, become so very meaningful and pertinent.  Because if we do understand ourselves to be a people of an early Church, a Church just beginning to take new shape, then there is no better resource than the book of Acts to help us in our mission.

As the disciples began to make the shift from being a group of people who were united by the One they followed into being a group of people who proclaimed near and far the One they knew risen and resurrected, there were in fact divisions, debates and arguments, differences of opinion and interpretation as to how they practically did this.  Who was allowed in?  Who was to be kept out?  What were the defining characteristics?  If they opened the door to the Gentiles, where would they draw the line?  What if they became Jewish converts first, and then they were let them in?

This profound change from being simply a group of devoted followers into those whom God would daily add to their number was more than a simple choosing of a curriculum to offer.  It was a deep change of their mindset, their perspective, their very psyche of how they viewed themselves.  In short, they had to become a people of the Spirit.

This was a long, drawn-out process.  It did not happen overnight, though there was a degree of the miraculous involved.  It took hours of  faithful discernment, listening to brothers and sisters who did not necessarily agree with them, but with whom they would later share prayers, food, and community.  And it is no different for us, today, here.

If we would desire our mission to be that of reaching out to people, proclaiming to those who hurt that the good news is actually better than they can imagine, that the story of their lives they currently live with is not the same story God has for them – if we are to be a people of the Good News, then we, too, must change our psyche, and perhaps even the very way we see ourselves.

The shaping of our identity as such a people cannot come from a curriculum or a book, though ideas can occasionally be gleaned from those resources.  Such a goal can only happen when we take seriously, to the very core of who we are, that the story of the identity we have recently lived with is not the story God has of our identity.  We may see ourselves as tired, damaged, hurting, overwhelmed.  And in terms of this world, that may be accurate.  But God sees us the same as God saw that community in the first century: as people who faithfully seek to remember the Good News of Salvation that has been proclaimed, as people who deeply and keenly know the love that God has for them and for this world, their neighbors and strangers, friends and enemies alike.  This is our story, as such a people of God.

And this was the mindset of the apostles in that first, early church.  It is why, I believe, God added to their number daily, even beyond the several thousand that joined on Pentecost.  But we’ll get to that story in a few weeks.  First, we must be in the mindset to hear, to truly HEAR such a story, and live into it as our own.

In this recent week, Amendment 10-A to the constitution of the PC(USA), though ratified, has continued to cause division among Presbyterians.  Though all of similar faith, and same denomination, the interpretation of one point has us bickering back and forth, trying to prove our right over their wrong.  This type of argument is nothing new; it has been ongoing since the beginning of the church, and the results of the argument are often the reason for a multitude of steeples.  In truth, I know for a fact that I do not see this change in the same light as some of you in the pews see it.

But my goal is not to convince you of my right, or you to convince me of my wrong.  Our common goal is to live into our common faith, together, despite our differences in this world.  The Kingdom of God is made known not through uniformity of believers and individuals, but through the capability of individuals and groups to put aside differences and recognize that which is overarching: simply this, the fact that we all hear the voice of Christ calling, that we recognize his voice, and we follow where we are led.  It is in finding ourselves following Christ’s voice, as our Shepherd, our guide in this wilderness, that we find our identity defined, and are able to share with others the truth of our stories.  This truth must be at the core of who we are, if we are to be the church.  Anything else is to make us less of who we are called to be, and will not effectively proclaim the gospel.  It will eventually help us understand what forms of programming and events we offer to our community in need, but we must do so from a standpoint of knowing who and whose we are, differences and all.

And in case your curious as to the new language of this recently changed ordination standard, hear it is: “Standards for ordained service reflect the church’s desire to submit joyfully to the Lordship of Jesus Christ in all aspects of life. The governing body responsible for ordination and/or installation shall examine each candidate’s calling, gifts, preparation, and suitability for the responsibilities of office. The examination shall include, but not be limited to, a determination of the candidate’s ability and commitment to fulfill all requirements as expressed in the constitutional questions for ordination and installation. Governing bodies shall be guided by Scripture and the confessions in applying standards to individual candidates.”  In essence, it becomes more important for a candidate and guiding committee to listen together for the voice of Christ and the leading of the Spirit, and less important to determine an individual’s orientation.  May we all seek to hear our Lord’s voice, and perhaps we should listen for a moment or two now…Amen.

It’s been a busy week.  A week in which something momentous has begun.  A week in which we begin to realize the culmination of something which has been a long time in the making, an event after which we wonder if life will ever again be the same.  And as momentous as this is, as busy a week as this has been surrounding this event, it was almost completely overshadowed in the media by the upcoming nuptials of a couple a quarter of the way around the world, which will have no direct impact on us in our lives.  But despite the best efforts of the media and the press, they could not completely block out what it is that has been happening in the past seven to ten days.
And while this is an event which I know not everyone in the world cares about, it is one that has swept over and helped define the lives of countless people on several continents.  It’s even possible that this event has escaped your attention, or that it belongs to this community of which you have no real desire to be a part of, but if you’ll indulge me for just a few moments I’d like to share my joy and excitement about it.
A little more than a week ago, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 1, was released to DVD!  I know, right?!  It’s exciting stuff!  And not just by itself, but because along with this DVD release has come some of the first images, even the first scenes, for the ultimate, climactic film of this series!  A movie release of this magnitude may never come again!  Folks, whether you’re Harry Potter fans or not, you can’t help but realize that these are indeed momentous times.
It seems like just yesterday that we were beginning this journey, that the first book was released to an unsuspecting market, that no one had any idea of what the next ten to twelve years would encompass.  But now here we are, approaching the end, and as we do so, I can’t help but go back to the beginning.
We began with an unsuspecting individual, going about life thinking that he had life all figured out, that he knew what to expect.  He suspected that there might be more out there, that he might be part of something bigger beyond his understanding, but he also thought it would be forever just beyond his reach, and so for now, he figured that he had it all figured out.  But then came the reality, the question before him that ultimately defined everything.  Now, yes, I am still speaking about Harry Potter – in the first chapters of the first book he comes to the realization that, though he thinks he knows who he is, and understanding based on the Dursleys view of him, he is in fact something else, and he has before him a choice.  It is the choice to accept and continue to be the boy the Dursleys have defined him as – the ‘no one special’ which they treat him as – or to be the boy that others know him as, and to thus live into the new world before him.  But while this goes for Harry, I’m also speaking of another man, and another beginning which is crucial to this point in the journey that we come to here this morning.
For it is also Easter.  Though it may be a bit cloudy, rainy and chilly, perhaps more so than we might anticipate for this time of year or imagine for this day, it is in fact Easter Sunday.  But before we move forward with this reality, I invite you to go back a bit with me.
Peter thought that he had it all figured out.  Going about with Jesus and the other disciples, he was unsuspecting of what he was about to face.  He, too, suspected that there might be something more going on, that he might in fact be part of something greater, but he was almost unprepared for what was about to happen on that afternoon, and he was surely unprepared for what it would ultimately represent.  For now, though, he was fairly comfortable with the life they were living, the ministry they were a part of, and he thought he could predict what would come next, what he could expect from day to day.
But then that changed.  Jesus put before him, and the other disciples, the question, “Who do you think I am?”  And in that question, in that one moment, Peter, too, had a choice.  He could proclaim Jesus to be the one that others said he was, Elijah or John or some other prophet.  Or.  Or Peter could proclaim Jesus to be whom he suspected him to be: the Messiah, the Christ, the One prophesied and proclaimed to come to herald in the Kingdom of God.  In that moment, as the question hung in the air, slowing time and catching one’s breath, Peter had a choice as to how he would, for himself, choose to see this Jesus standing before him.  Would he choose to go along with life as it was, believing Jesus to be just some other prophet?  Or would he choose to proclaim Jesus as the long-awaited, salvific Messiah, and from that moment on live into a new and different world?  The answer, perhaps, was on his lips before he was aware of it, his heart speaking over his mind, “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.”
And it is that proclamation, that answer to Jesus’ question which ultimately brings us here, to Easter morning, to the empty tomb, still carrying with us the pain of the cross just days ago.  For if we are to have any chance of making sense of what has occurred from Palm Sunday to this Sunday, then we must first answer for ourselves the question from Jesus, “Who do you say that I am?”
For as we gather this morning, the tomb in fact stands empty.  This is the first emptiness of Easter: the tomb in which Jesus – betrayed, crucified and dead – the sealed tomb in which he was laid now stands open and empty, with no bodily evidence of Jesus.  But the meaning of this reality staring us in our faces is determined by how we answer the same question Jesus posed to the disciples.  The same choice is now before us.
The one choice is to proclaim that Jesus is just another guy, perhaps even some other prophet.  This is similar to the view that the religious leaders of Israel at the time took of Jesus, that he was not, in fact, the Messiah, and therefore nothing for them has changed.  Which, for them, would be good; they don’t want anything to change.  They like their lives and their understanding of the world just fine the way it is.  They don’t want to see it altered.  And it is similar to the view the Durselys take of Harry – they don’t want him to be something else, someone else, part of something grander.  To accept such a reality would upset the way they view their lives and the world around them, and they don’t want to do that; they, too, would rather go about life as if nothing important is or has happening so close to them.  They want Harry to be plain and ordinary.  The authorities want Jesus to be plain and ordinary, someone that, after the events of this past week, they can now relegate to the forgotten corners of history.
And if we were to answer Jesus’ question in a similar fashion, then the emptiness of the tomb would mean nothing to us, and this day would, in fact, hold no special meaning.  It would be, simply, just another day.  The tomb stands empty, but in such an understanding of Jesus, so, too, does this day stand empty of any special meaning.  If Jesus is not the Christ, then nothing has changed, and we need not fear our own lives being altered in any way, shape or form.  Today, then, is just another day.  And if this is truly your heart’s answer to Jesus’ question of who he is, then I would not judge you in one bit if you decided to get up and leave and the first opportune moment.
But.  But if, on the other hand, your answer to Jesus’ question falls in line with Peter’s answer, that he is in fact the Christ, the Son of the living God, then the emptiness of this tomb changes everything.
In such an understanding, Easter morning and the empty tomb are not a culmination, an ending point to what we’ve been about in this past week and this past season of Lent, but this Easter morning and the empty tomb are in fact a new beginning to the epic journey that is life as Christ’s followers.  When Harry decides that his own answer to who he is is in line with the reality that there is more to his life than what he knows at the time, he begins an epic journey, which has since captured the hearts and minds of millions of readers.  At that moment, everything in his life was changed.  And the same holds true for us.  In this moment, if we do indeed answer, with all of our hearts that Jesus is the Messiah, then on this morning, staring into the empty tomb, even if it’s with a measure of incredulity, then we begin an epic journey of our own, and nothing will be the same.  On this morning, we find our lives changed, our understanding of life undeniably altered.
This morning is not the end of our season of Lent, or simply a day during the year to dress up in spring colors and eat ham.  This morning is in actuality the invitation into this new life, this new world.  It will be uncertain at times, unexpected at others.  It will even bring times of fear and perhaps even a desire to give it up and go back to what life once was.  But it will also be so much more than we can imagine, it will be Life with a capital ‘L.’  It will be exciting and momentous!  And all of this is because of one straightforward reality: This morning is an invitation into Love.
You see, the events of the past few days – the crucifixion, burial and resurrection – these are events born out of a depth of Love that is unfathomable and never ending.  It was for Love that God sent his Son Jesus into the world of creation and humanity in the first place.  It was out of Love that Christ agreed to the path that was set before him, and through Love that he found the strength to continue forward when he was tempted not to.  It is the supreme act of Love for all of humanity that we find ourselves again coming together at this empty tomb, even if it is removed from us by two thousand or so years.  And it is, again, the invitation to live into this life of Love.
Because if we do in fact proclaim Jesus to be the Christ, then everything has changed, and the path before us is now one defined by such sacrificial Love.  It is the journey that we are now on, as a people of God in this world, in this community.  It is not the instance of one day, but brings us together again and again throughout our lives, joining together as an Easter people, seeking together Christ in our lives.  It is not simply a ‘one and done’ Sunday.  Our lives are now defined by this Love, and it is before us to live as such people, allowing this Love to influence every aspect of who are, every moment of our lives and experiences, our relationships with one another, friend or foe.  This is now our reality, and we cannot undo it.  Once you’ve seen something, you can’t un-see it; once you’ve experienced it, you can’t take that away.  We now stand at the empty tomb, and that cannot be changed.  The only choice before us now, before each of us, is whether or not we proclaim Jesus to be the resurrected Christ.  Either way we choose, we choose emptiness.  It just so happens, though, that one choice is the emptiness of this being no special day, while the other is the emptiness of a tomb which brings us so deep into Love that all of our lives are now richer and more meaningful for it.  Two roads now diverge before us; I have always found it best, at such an instance, to pray for guidance.  If you’ll indulge me once more, let us pray again now…Amen.

Prayer: May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all of our hearts be pleasing and acceptable to you, O Lord, our Rock and Redeemer.  Amen.

This past week, as many of you are aware, we traveled to Williamsburg, Virginia, for vacation.  We hoped to find a bit of warmer and sunnier weather, and to that end, we were not disappointed.  We expected that we would indulge a little bit and be able to relax during our time away, and while we were able to do so, we did not expect how tired we would be at the end of each day!  And while the entirety of the trip was enjoyable, in light of our readings this morning there is one aspect that sticks out to me: How much hope is represented by those historic places.

In Williamsburg, we were reminded again and again of the hope for a new nation that was slowly growing as the people sought to govern themselves.  In Yorktown, the hope that the War for Independence was finally over, and that autonomy was achieved.  But what really struck me was the Jamestown Settlement.

In 1607, one hundred men sailed for four and a half months with the primary hope that they would be able to found a new colony in a new place.  The reality of how that hope sustained them didn’t sink in for me until I was walking the decks of the boats they sailed on, seeing the cramped quarters, hearing the tales of what such a voyage consisted of.  I have to wonder if, given a similar prospect of going through that kind of ordeal to come to an unknown land and pioneer a colony with only a hundred other men…well, I don’t know that I’d be able to do it.  It’s amazing what hope can see you through, and bring you to engage.  For those men, the hope of a new settlement, a new life saw them through a great deal of hardships, including a winter where 4 out of 5 died.  Hope is a wonderful, amazing thing.

For the disciples, and many more who were gathered in the area surrounding Jerusalem as the celebration of the Passover drew ever closer, their hopes led them to a different form of display.  As word of Jesus’ approach spread throughout the area, it represented so much more than the reality that an interesting subject would be passing near.  No, word of his arrival, of entering into Jerusalem at such a time, signified so much more – it spoke volumes to the faithful gathered that this might in fact be the entering of the Messiah into the Holy city to reclaim it from oppression and foreign rule, returning to Jewish ownership that they might be the people of God in the city of God!  Yes, it was indeed an exciting prospect!  And as we know, their hopes were at least half right…

But it was the power of this hope that led them to gather, cheering and celebrating, waving palm fronds in exultation, even though they knew the consequences of what might happen.  After all, they were still under Roman rule, and during this heightened festal time, the Romans were overly wary of large and exuberant gatherings of people, fearing what could be the beginnings of an uprising.  What’s more, with Caesar entering Jerusalem on the other side of the city, the military would be even more on edge, and more likely to use quick and decisive, violent action if they thought it was warranted.

And yet, despite such a time of heightened tensions, the Jews gathered there could not help but express their joy and hope that this triumphant entry into Jerusalem by this one named Jesus whom they had heard so much about already, this time it truly would be the Messiah riding in as a victorious leader to take back the city and all she represented to the people of Israel.  Their hope that the time had finally arrived could not be contained, and despite the possible ramifications, they gathered outside the city gate and cheered the arrival of this Jesus.

Now, hope can be an interesting thing.  By itself it is a wonderful virtue, one to be encouraged and practiced in faith.  We are exhorted to hold fast to hope, to gain strength from it, to let be a defining factor in our lives.  It is part of what gives our lives meaning in the first place, and helps us through difficult times.  But all too often we allow the general virtue of hope to elicit within us the specific nature of expectations.

Briefly, let me say, that I do not believe expectations are bad in and of themselves; it is only when we become narrow-sighted on one given expectation, and its fulfillment, that we tread on slippery slopes.  For instance: The hope that a loved one will again become well in a time of illness can lead us to expect that they will, in fact, that there is no other plausible outcome.  And certainly, we should hope and live as though they will, indeed, get well.  But if that becomes our sole expectation, then how disappointed are we if that isn’t the outcome?  We don’t like to think about it, but this example happens more often than we might like to admit, no?

Or what about the hopes of young adults who are about to graduate from college?  With the world before them at such an occasion, the hope can quickly become the expectation that they will immediately find a job, even though there are several paths which could be taken once their degree is conferred.  But what will happen if they lock in exclusively on this expectation of employment, to the point where it becomes an idea of entitlement, only to discover that the jobs simply don’t exist?  In such occasions, we find that the virtue of the hopes have been twisted into all-or-nothing expectations.

And this was the occasion of the settlers of Jamestown.  In the hopes of starting a new colony, they expected that they would be able to do so without any major setbacks.  Sure, it would be hard work, but they would ultimately be prosperous and successful.  Conversely, the tone of the survivors following that first winter was, bleak and despairing, as the reality they faced did not line up with the expectations that they held.  And similarly with the people of Israel, gathered outside of Jerusalem.  Their hope for the arrival of the Messiah, and their expectation that he would come as a conquering, victorious military leader ultimately led to disappointment, which kept them from realizing that their hopes had indeed been fulfilled even if their expectations had not, and led them to cry for the release of a criminal instead.

Our hopes are powerful, and elicit much good in this world.  They keep us putting one foot in front of the other, and enable to us to overcome great obstacles.  Our hopes are what give us meaning, and allow us not only to dream of but work for the world as it should be, and not to simply accept it as it oftentimes is.  But we must also be careful not to lock ourselves into an expectation of how these hopes will be realized – by us, by others, or by God.  There is a distinction between the two, and when we allow our expectations to replace our hopes, then we find, just as often, that we are stubbornly trying to bend God to our whims and desires, and that we are shutting our own selves out from participating in the transformative, redemptive work that is before us.

Because just as the crowd gathered outside the gate on that afternoon, we, too, have hopes.  The fact that we still carry palm fronds reflects the truth of this.  We have hopes for our own lives and for our families.  We have hopes for our community and our church.  We have hopes for this world in which we live.  And it is good to have these hopes.  We also live and believe in a God who is continuously at work in these aspects, seeking to make known the Kingdom of God present, and we can either allow our hopes to lead us into joining that work, or we can allow our hopes to become expectations, possibly blinding us to this work.  We can either celebrate and exalt our Messiah riding into Jerusalem to again remind us of the salvation that has been claimed and offered, or we can jeer him when he doesn’t meet our expectations.

Regardless, we come again to this gate, watching as Jesus rides in.  We know where he is headed, and what he will face, but that has not yet come to pass.  Right now, we are invited to simply celebrate once more his presence among us, and the hope he represents for us all.  Whatever choices and events this next week may bring, this is our reality right now.  And as we lift a hopeful eye to catch a glimpse of him riding in, as we wave our palms in joy and spread our cloaks on the road before him, let us also lift our hearts in thanksgiving for the one who is able to fulfill our hopes, and keep us from falling into the trap of our expectations…Amen.

Prayer: May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all of our hearts be pleasing and acceptable to you, O Lord, our Rock and Redeemer.  Amen.

It’s another marathon reading, and there’s more than enough encapsulated into these short forty-five verses to make an entire sermon series.  And as much as there is, when we approach it with a focused eye, we find that all of it orbits around a central concept, a concept which is very close to us where we are today.

Five weeks ago we began again our journey through Lent, this time with the focused understanding that we were not simply journeying through an annual season, but that we were in fact making the journey from living death into living Life.  We discussed the ways in which we, in general as a society and even as a church, are living in a state of death – instead of seeing and claiming the true Life which has been offered.  We reflected on how we allow our lives to be dictated by the mundane routines of our daily grind, of how we so often allow our spirits to be worn down by relentless machine of despair and dismay which inundates every news source, of how in many ways, without even realizing we have done so, we have forgotten about the rich and meaningful Life which is offered us through our relationship with God through Christ.  We began our journey with the honest confession that all too often we go along from day to day with our spirits worn down by life, weighed down to the point that it is almost too difficult to raise our heads and look around us.

Now, certainly, this is not EVERY day – there are days which are better than others.  But it was an acknowledgment that we were not living in the fullness of Life that we as disciples of a risen Lord should.  And so our journey through these six weeks of Lent was in fact a spiritual journey – personal and communal – into this understanding that we are, in fact, a people of life, or rich, meaningful, true LIFE.

And now we’re almost all the way through it.  This is the fifth week, and we are cresting the final hill before the last push to the empty tomb and the resurrection which so defines us in this world.  And as we make this final approach, we come to not one but two readings which bring us in a very real sense from death into life, and in these stories, we find what we need to finish out our journey strong, the final help to keep us moving forward even when tired and ready to lay down.  The point we are now approaching is the end of our Lenten journey, a point to persevere to the end, but even more so a point where we begin again our life-long journey, living as fully as possible into the Life that we are offered.  With such a point before us, the question then becomes, do we have what is necessary to continue forward?

I believe we do.  I probably wouldn’t be standing here if I didn’t.  What’s more, I believe we find what we need in our readings this morning.

This first tip we have regarding our journey is that our journey is, in fact, rarely as straightforward or as peaceful as we might wish.  At the beginning of our gospel reading, we find Jesus and the disciples receiving the call to come to Bethany, where Lazarus is at this point lying sick.  The only problem is, Bethany lies in the region of Judea, which has not been kind to Jesus.  If we need any further reminder of this, we find it in the words of incredulous disciples, exclaiming against Jesus’ remark that they should travel to the home of Lazarus, “But Jesus, a short while ago the Jews tried to stone you, and now you want to go back there?”

It has never been promised that our journey would be easy, or that life would be fair.  Those words are not to be found in our Bibles, despite what anyone might tell you.  In fact, on multiple occasions we read of how difficult life can be, how often we will face trials and temptations, how it will be a struggle at many points to go on.  Jesus continues to remind this disciples of this reality, even though they desperately want him to be the Messiah they have in mind, the one who will make all things right, and justify them over their enemies.

So why then, do we do this?  Why does Jesus decide to return to the home of Lazarus, even though it lies squarely within a region which would happy to see Jesus go?  I think we already know the answer to this, and it is the same answer which keeps us moving forward through our own trials and difficulties: We know what it is that we journey toward, and we know that it is ultimately worth more than anything we might encounter along the way.  Jesus knew that he was needed in Bethany, both to be present with those he cared about, and so that the glory of God would be made known.  He knows that the end result of this little journey is well worth whatever danger he may face from the people there.  Oftentimes in our lives it is the same: We will face trials, temptations and dangers, but the outcome is far greater than any of these, and so we journey on.

The second tip comes to us from both of our readings this morning.  As Jesus arrives on the outskirts of Bethany, perhaps not too far from where the dead were laid and his friend Lazarus now resided, he is met by the first of the two sisters, Martha.  This is the same Martha who, later in our story, will come to Jesus berating her sister Mary because Mary is sitting around while Martha does all the work.  But for now, she meets Jesus in the road, before he even comes into the village proper, and shows the extent of her grief and inability to understand.  “If you had only come earlier, he would not have died.”  But instead of being answered with an excuse or a reason as to why he did not arrive sooner, Jesus instead draws her deeper into her own theological journey.  Putting before her a question related to her faith, “Do you believe that the dead will rise?  Do you believe in me?”, we find the first true faith statement in John’s gospel: “Yes, Lord,” replies Martha, “I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world.”

Ezekiel, caught up in a state of the divine, finds himself placed in a valley which is full of dried bones.  It is akin to place of pre-burial, in which the bones of the deceased are dried out so that they may, at a later point, be taken by the living and stacked neatly, making room for other family members in the plot.  Only there are no more living, there is no one left to take care of these bones; they belong to all the people of Israel, and the people of Israel are no more.  At least, that is how they see themselves.  They believed themselves to be as this valley of nothing but bones, no one left living to take care of them, no future generation to carry on the work that was begun.

As Ezekiel looked at the dry, lifeless, hopeless bones which filled the entirety of the valley, the sense of despair, of inability to find true Life once more was almost palpable.  And as he stood there, God spoke to him.  “Son of man, can these bones live?”

Now, I don’t know about you, but I sometimes wonder if would be able to give the response to such a question that Ezekiel did, if I were in a similar position.  It’s very possible that my first, instinctive answer would be, “Nope.  Not a chance, God.”  Which just goes to prove, once more, how much better Ezekiel was at this than I am, for he responds instead with the head-on statement of, “You alone know, Lord.”  When faced with a question that is truly a question of faith and not of practicality, Ezekiel is able to respond in faith, stating that he will go along with whatever it is that God chooses to do, and that God is capable of seeing that choice become reality.  The life or non-life is not based on Ezekiel’s ability to raise them, but on his ability to faithfully believe that God can, if God so chooses, bring Life to them.

And this is our second tip: If we are to see this journey through as we approach the end of Lent, if we are to continue this journey throughout our lives and beyond this finite season, then we must remember that it is a journey of faith.  Ultimately, we must be willing to honestly answer the question, “Do we believe?  Do we trust?”  “Do you believe that your brother will rise again from the dead?” Jesus asked Martha.  “Son of man, can these bones live?” God asked Ezekiel.  “Do you believe that I can, indeed, bring you into the fullness of Life, and that this is my hope for you?”  The successful journey will bring us to this question, and force to answer it, if for no one else than for God and our own selves.  “Do you believe…?”

Finally, our journey finds its culmination exactly where we anticipated that it would: the glory of God revealed and the gift of true Life made known.  It does not imply that we shall escape physical death in this world, for lives must eventually die.  Rather, the glory of God is revealed in the understanding and proclamation that, though we die in this world, we live in God, and in fact, are unable to die to God.  This is the truth that both of our readings this morning hinge on: That we shall never die to God, and in God, we shall always find the truest sense of Life.  We may face trials and temptations, a road that is not always easy to travel.  We will be required to step out in faith, and journey in the dark, so to speak.  But ultimately, we will find ourselves in the true Life of God, and we will indeed make God’s Kingdom known.  This is what we find when we finally approach the empty grave, two weeks hence.  This is what we find in our risen Lord.  This is what we are reminded of each and every Sunday in which we gather, for we are ultimately an Easter people, and our weekly gatherings are meant to remind us of this reality.  And this is what we journey toward our whole life long.

But first, we must journey through and past the cross.  This will be the ultimate test of our faith, the instance which all of our previous journey of the last five weeks has been leading us to and preparing us for.  May we indeed face it with faith, and remember the promises of our God, who is good.  As we begin to crest the final hill, and that cross begins to come into view, let us continue on with singing, and let us pray…Amen.

Prayer: May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all of our hearts be pleasing and acceptable to you, O Lord, our Rock and Redeemer.  Amen.

Wow.  We have quite the reading here this morning, don’t we?  There’s a lot going on there, enough for an entire season of Lent.  But before you start squirming in your pews, wondering how long past noon I’m going to carry on, let me assure you that I’m keeping it simple this morning.  I’m sure that there will be plenty of other opportunities to delve into all of what we were just faced with in this reading.  So let’s get into it, shall we?

For all of the forty-one verses which we just proclaimed, when we boil it down to it’s least common denominator what we are left with is really one, somewhat straight-forward question: Do we have eyes to see?

Now, for being straight-forward – one could argue that either one has the eyes to see or one does not – it actually sets us on a very slippery slope.  Do we apply this question physically?  Do we apply it theologically?  Do we use it in the context of recognition of faults or truths?  We could look at other instances in which Jesus brings up a similar statement – “Let those with eyes, see.” – but then we find that this doesn’t really help us at all.  “What are we seeing, Lord?  What is it you want to us to look at?”  Although our text from John this morning leaves us with a straight-forward question, ‘Do we have eyes to see?’, we quickly discover that addressing this question and seeking an answer is anything but simple.

Which is a reality that we, perhaps, should have realized as we moved into the Gospel of John for the latter half of our Lenten journey.  For a bit of Biblical Studies trivia, I’d like to remind you that John’s gospel was recorded somewhere in the neighborhood of 150 A.D., a little more than one hundred years after the events of Jesus.  During this time, the early Christian disciples and believers had the opportunity to begin forming their understanding and theology of what God was up to in Jesus, which we find throughout John, and they also discovered some of the myriad trials that were present in the life of believers in that time.  All of these reflections can be found in John, which sometimes make John puzzling to read and study.

Which actually brings us back to the question at hand: do we have eyes to see?  This question is everywhere in the reading of this morning – does the blind man have eyes to see; do the disciples see the miracle; can the Pharisees see past the breaking of Moses’ law to do nothing on the Sabbath; are the parents able to stand with their son even if it means being sent out of the synagogue… We find that almost every level of application can be applied to our question in these short forty-one verses.  And if we were to try to make sense of all of that, in just a few minutes on a Sunday morning, then I don’t think any of us would have the eyes to see, and we’d be walking out of here more confused than when we entered.

But as I said, we’re going to try and keep it simple this morning, and thankfully, it is not up to us to try and puzzle out every last thing that’s going on in this reading.  Our question, in broad strokes is, do we have eyes to see?  But for our sake this morning, and for our continued journey from death into Life, I propose a slightly different question, similar in substance with a hopefully clearer perspective, and that question is this: What do we choose to see?

Now, I don’t think I’m far off to raise this question – when we look, we see it at play throughout John’s story of the man born blind.  The disciples look at him, and see sin, although they aren’t sure whether it was the man’s sin or the sin of his parents.  The Pharisees look at him, and see the sin of Jesus who broke Moses’ law by healing on the Sabbath, although they too are confused and divided, wondering how such a sinner can perform signs like this.  The friends and family of the man look at him and aren’t sure whether they see the man that they knew as being blind, or if they see someone else.  Contrasting to all of this, Jesus looks at him and proclaims that what he sees is yet one more instance in which the glory of God will be made manifest.

And all throughout all of this, the man himself is jumping up and down, trying to get the attention of everyone, saying, “I am that man!  I was blind, but I can see now!  Who cares about any of this other stuff – I can see!  That’s all I know, and that’s all that’s important!”

And that, truly, is the question at play for us.  What do we choose to see?  The sins of others, perhaps in the hopes that we won’t see the sins within ourselves?  The  brokenness of the world?  The ways in which our hopes and expectations are routinely not met?

Or will we choose to see the glory of God at work, and the Kingdom of God proclaimed?

This is the question we are brought to as we finish out our journey through Lent.  This is the question that helps us to truly live into Life, instead of dwelling in death.  This is the question that we strive to answer all our lives as believers and disciples in the twenty-first century: Do we choose to see the things of this world, the sins, shortcomings and brokenness?  Or do we choose to see the Kingdom of God, the mysteries of the risen Christ, the beauty and glory of God proclaimed by the ongoing work of the Spirit?  This is our question today, and everyday.  What do you choose to see?  Let us pray for eyes this morning…Amen.

Prayer: May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all of our hearts be pleasing and acceptable to you, O Lord, our Rock and Redeemer.  Amen.

The woman stood in the shadow of the doorway, grateful for the cover it brought, both from the glaring heat of the sun and from the even more glaring gaze of her neighbors.  Looking to the jar to the side, she hoped it would be full, but instinctively she knew without looking that it wasn’t.  She had no choice, she would have to venture out to the well if she wanted to survive.  She figured she would wait a few more moments.

The street outside her door was emptying.  Approaching the hottest time of the day, people who were normally out and about were seeking the refreshing cool of their own homes.  Her own life was the exact opposite – she stayed in during the best business hours, and as much as possible went out only when everyone else had gone in.  Her life was all of her own making, but she envied and resented everyone else, regardless.

At last deciding that she could not put the task off any longer, the woman hoisted the jug to her shoulder, and giving one last glance up and down the street from the safety of her own home, she stepped over the threshold and out into the blazing afternoon.  It was hot, but it was always hot at this time of day.  Given the way the rest of the townsfolk thought of her, this was the only time she could go to the well to draw water, though.

In any other time or place, under different circumstances, she would be able to go to the well at daybreak, when the sky was barely turning color from the sunrise, and the heat was not yet overwhelming.  She would gossip and talk with the other women, making their way to replenish their houses’ water for the day.  If life had been different, she would be able to do all these things as other women did, and she wouldn’t be the outcast, accepted for nothing.  If only…

But she had given up on wishing a long time ago.  Now, all that was left was the resignation that if she wanted to draw water from the well of her ancestors, she had to go when no one else was foolish enough to be around.  Making her way to the well, she kept her eyes down, on the path before her.  It was too bright to look too far ahead, and she knew the path well enough not to be tripped up.  She certainly didn’t expect to come across anyone else on the path, at least not now.  Finally coming around the final bend of the path, approaching the well, she looked up to find a man sitting there, all alone and with no jug.  What was worse, though, was the she could tell this man was a Jew, and relations between Judea and Samaria had not been good recently.

If she had had a choice, she would have turned around and returned home.  But she had no choice, save risking death from dehydration if she did not draw water now; by tomorrow she would be too weak to make the trip again, and knew that there was no one else who would go on her behalf.  She resigned herself, now, to approaching the well, even with the foreign man sitting there, just as she had resigned herself to almost everything else life sent her way.  But then the man spoke to her, and everything changed…

Friends, as we continue our own journeys in the wilderness of this Lenten season, as we move from death into life, then at some point we must face up to the ways in which our own lives resemble that of the Samaritan woman.  And to do that, we need to understand better what she was facing, having to go to the well in the heat of the day.

Her situation in life, most probably connected to the fact that she had had give husbands and was no connected with someone who was not her husband, made her an outcast in her own village.  She was not accepted, not welcomed to be in the same place at the same time as the other women.  The kind of stigma she carried would be the only reason she would be traveling to well alone, at the hottest part of the day.  For comfort and for protection, the practice was normally that all the women in town would travel together at dawn, keeping each other company.  The fact that this woman was not able to do that says much about her situation as an outcast, and if we are to continue in our own journeys, then this is valuable information.

Because when we learn more about this woman, we begin to understand better that her solitary journey to the well represents not just her thirst for water, that necessary thirst which physically exists in each and every one of us, but so much more.  Her thirst goes beyond that basic need to the desire to be accepted again, the desire to be valued member of the community, the desire to be made whole once more.  As we realize this, we are left with the question to ourselves: What are we thirsty for?  What, in life, is keeping you from feeling whole, feeling slaked?

It’s usually at about the half-way point in a journey or a hike that one truly begins to feel thirsty.  For the first half, we tend to do fairly well – making good time, progressing along the path, using up the energy we had stored from before we started out.  But around the half-way point we begin to realize that we need replenish ourselves if we’re going to make it all the way.  We pause for a water break, whether we brought the water with us or we happen to be at a water source.  And for all intents and purposes, our spiritual journey is no different.  As we come to the about the half-way point of our journey through Lent, our journey from being a people in death to being a people in Life, then we, too, must rejuvenate ourselves.  Only, if we are to accomplish this, then we must know what we are truly in need of, what we are truly thirsty for.

The people of Israel came up to Moses in the wilderness and complained to him that he, and therefore God, did not have their best interests at heart when they were led out of Egypt.  After all, there they at least had food and water for them!  Here in the desert, there was nothing – no water, no food, no place to settle and be their own people.  There was nothing but wandering, traveling, day after day.  They may have been thirsty in their bodies, but spiritually, they were drowning under all that kept them from trusting God or accepting Moses’ continued leading.  They may not have been aware of this, but their inability to trust or to accept what was going on, their need to voice their complaints and be justified in their thoughts was drowning their spirits to the point where they could not continue to enter into the very life they were being led into.

And just as this was the case for them, so the Samaritan woman was unable to enter into the fullness of life because she was drowning under her resignations and the notions of her life’s worth imposed by others.  They all may have been thirsty in their bodies, but in their spirits they were drowning under the never-ending torrent of doubts and opportunities to give up.  And it is precisely into this situation, this sense of hopelessness that anything will ever change for the better that God acts.  The half-way point is not just the point where we tend to become physically thirsty, but it also the most common point in our journey when we begin to question if we’re really doing the right thing, and whether or not we should continue, or just turn around and go back to what we used to know.  It is at this point that we either give up, or that we continue to have our thirst slaked.

In the Wilderness of Zin, God instructs Moses to strike the rock with his staff, and from that, streams of water come rushing out, satisfying the bodies of the Israelites, and putting their questions, their spirits at rest.  At Jacob’s Well, Jesus looks the woman in the eye and proclaims to her, “Do not be satisfied with this water, which will just leave you thirsty again.  Drink of the Living Water, and once more taste life!”  Here in this sanctuary, on this morning of the Third Sunday of Lent, we are left with a similar question: What are we thirsty for in our lives, and what are the things under which we are drowning?  And even more importantly, are we willing to continue our journey, and to seek out the Living Water which has been offered to us?  It is a question that every traveler must face, and it is the one we come to this morning.  Are we going to turn back, or are we going to continue, with Christ, toward the cross and then the empty grave?  Are we going to seek the True Life which has been offered?  Will we let our thirst be satisfied by the One who alone is capable of doing so?

I pray your answer will, again, be ‘Yes.’

Lord, we thank you…Amen.

Prayer: May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all of our hearts be pleasing and acceptable to you, O Lord, our Rock and Redeemer.  Amen.

I have to say, Lent is probably the liturgical season I most anticipate and look forward to.  No other season in the church represents as much, or is to me as rich and meaningful as is this season which we entered into just a few days ago.  It is, in our understanding, something of a mini-pilgrimage, a six week journey during which we travel with our Lord from the Transfiguration on the mountaintop to Jerusalem, betrayal and the cross.  It is, for all intents and purposes, an annual trip from death to life.

That seems counter-intuitive, to think of it in such terms, moving from death toward life.  Most of the time we think of our existence, our journey as the trip from life to death.  After all, our consciousness begins when we’re born, and every day brings us closer to that earthly terminus of when our biological functions cease.  Many times, when we discuss our lives, it is in terms of how much life is left, or how close we are to death.  More often than not, life is seen as the beginning point, and death is the end point.

And for the average person, who considers little of their relationship with Christ, of their being in respect to God, this is perhaps accurate.  But for us who are gathered in community and spirit this morning, this is backwards.  Life may be living, but we understand also that we only live to the fullest when we do so in following Christ.  Anything less than that is to prematurely embrace death.  It is our journey, from the time we enter into relationship with Jesus, from the time we recognize our lives intrinsically touched by the Divine, to move away from death and into true Life.  This is what we begin at our baptism – the journey from death to life.  Which is why the baptismal font is now located where it is, where most of us will literally have to walk around it to enter into worship – it is there to remind us that we move from death to life.  And Lent is the season each year in which this is truly before us.  This is the annual journey, the yearly mini-pilgrimage to remind us of and strengthen us for our life-long journey to the Divine.

But it is not an easy journey, this one that we undertake, and it doesn’t matter if we’ve gone through one season of Lent before or one hundred – the journey is never easy.  It requires something of us.  It puts us through trials.  We will find the path of our journey going over rocky ground, up steep inclines, along narrow ledges.  It will challenge us.  We may at times even wonder if we have the stamina and ability to make it through to the end.  And in my attempts to be honest, I’m also hoping that I’m not scaring anyone off from this journey!  Because it truly is one of the greatest journeys we can undertake, and Lent helps us remember the promise toward which we journey: the end of death and the embrace of true, deep Life.  For make no mistake, Life is the end of this journey.  Life, which has already been claimed on our behalf and offered to us.  Life, which can truly be found in the risen Christ, each and every time.  Our journey through the season of Lent is indeed our journey from Death to Life.

And during this journey, we have both insights from Scripture and shared experiences to help us along the way.  Today we recall that, in some form or fashion, each of us will be tempted along the way, tempted to stray from the path or perhaps even give up all together.

Temptation is a near inescapable aspect of our lives, especially if we are to journey toward true Life.  Once we have committed ourselves to God in our baptism, there is no way in which we cannot sidestep the reality that each of us will face temptation in our lives.  Today we will take some time to look at the ways in which we might be tempted, but also how we can draw strength from the lessons we have read to surpass temptation.

We have two very different stories, both of which I would argue are well-known to this community.  In the first, we read of the first man and woman, enjoying the garden of creation, knowing that they are in a place of God’s design and caring vision.  They have every need provided for them, they have no struggles or difficulties, they are in a state we would argue is as close to paradise on earth as it can get!  And we wonder: What could they possibly be tempted by?  Sure, we see that they are tempted in curiosity to find out what would happen if they ate of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, that they are tempted to become as God in regards to understanding and comprehension.  But on a deeper level, this curiosity is not simply to know like God, but to be God, to see if they can overcome the boundaries that were placed upon them and surpass death.  Eve and Adam did not eat of the forbidden fruit because they were sinful.  They ate of the fruit because they were human, like we are, prone to temptation, like we are, and were unable in that moment to trust who they knew God to be in relationship with them.

But that isn’t the only temptation story we have this morning.  Jumping from the first humans to the first fully human, fully divine savior, we find Jesus being led into the desert following his baptism, and in preparation for the journey of his ministry.  Again we see where all of this begins in baptism, in recognizing ourselves before God, in opening ourselves to the driving of the Spirit.  Now, we remember from last week that the wilderness is not a place we tend to go to willingly – it is dangerous, sometimes scary, and will always leave us changed from the person we were before, though oftentimes for the better.  Jesus moves, by the urging of the Spirit, into the wilderness so that he, too, might encounter God and be changed, equipped and enabled for the ministry before him.            And expecting an encounter with God, he finds first an encounter with the devil, the ultimate tempter.  Jesus is tempted three times, as we read, and each time he chooses not to succumb to the temptation.  Now, this is not because Jesus carried within himself the very nature of the divine that he was able to deny the temptations – such a choice to deny or succumb is before each of us in every time of temptation, including our Lord.  No, Jesus was able to deny the temptations because he recalled the reality of God with him, and the aspect that played in his life.  Unlike the first humans, Jesus, in his moments of temptation, was able to remember and trust who God is in with relationship with him.

Friends, this is ultimately what we each have before us in our times of temptation: Do we recall and trust who we know God to be in relationship with us?  We see before us two stories of very similar temptations, and similar to the ones many of us face in our own lives, at least on an inherent level.  Sure, the particulars of our own temptations will be different from our neighbors and from these stories, but the essence of the temptation will remain the same: To try to be god for own selves, and not to trust who God is for us.  The temptation before Eve and Adam of the forbidden fruit, the temptations before Jesus to rule and perform needless miracles, the temptations before us as we journey from death toward Life, all temptations have their roots in whether or not we trust God in and with our lives.  The temptation to be like God reflects our inability to trust God with what is best for us, and proves time and again the desire for our own need to be in control.

But the sense of control of our own lives, the sense of being god for our own selves which is offered through the temptations we face…this sense is only a shadow at best.  When we choose to succumb to our temptations, we are not actually gaining what we think we will.  We are, in actuality, gaining nothing, and are merely traveling the wrong direction on our journey from death to Life.  Ultimately, this is what temptation does to us: It distracts us from our journey toward God, and keeps us from drawing closer to the Divine.  And if that isn’t death, then it’s true we’d have nothing to worry about.  But it is a form of death, or at least, it is the choice not to embrace Life, deep, meaningful Life for which we have been created.

There is no way in which we can completely avoid temptation in our lives.  We are human, imperfect beings in an imperfect world.  It is not always the most glamorous lesson, but the season of Lent helps us remember this truth so that we might in turn be better prepared, so as not to be ensnared by the temptations we face.  Lent helps us to put our trust and faith back where they truly belong, in God alone, who is able to provide for us what we need.  Lent helps us remember that we must always be working to make progress in this journey, moving away from death and into Life in Christ.  Lent is the time of year when we are perhaps the most honest with ourselves, most willing to look at our lives and decide how we could live them better, and get rid of the dross which holds us back.  Lent is the marvelous opportunity to move away from the life that was, and when we meet our risen Lord at the empty tomb, to embrace again the Life that should be.

This is the path we have before us.  The remaining five or so weeks will bring us further and further along it, as we journey with Christ.  I can’t promise that it will be easy, but it will be good, and it will be rewarding.  And you don’t have to journey alone; each week we’ll be spending some time journeying together.  As we set out this morning, let us pray with and for each other…Amen.

Last Sunday, as I stood to read the Gospel lesson of Jesus on the mountain with Peter, James and John, I mentioned that for a few moments I was on the verge of scrapping the prepared sermon and going off the cuff.  I opted not to do that, but did promise to share some of those thoughts with anyone who was interested.  And keeping to that, here they are.

Sunday I spoke of how this recollection of Jesus on the mountaintop with the disciples again invites us into the wilderness, especially as we begin again the season of Lent, a time which recalls Jesus’ temptations for forty days as he stood on the threshold of his ministry.  That invitation still stands, and will stand for all time.  Even though the wilderness can be a daunting and scary place, it is also a transforming and necessary place.

But there is something else that this remembrance of Jesus on the mountain brings to our minds, standing there before Peter, James and John, talking with Moses and Elijah, another question we are again brought to: Where in our own lives have we been transformed by the presence of Jesus?  What has this meant for our lives since that time?

For me, especially as we sang “Pass It On” and I was reminded of countless campfires, the answer to the first question was very easy: Camp Duffield.  Through all my years associated with this place and ministry, through all the summers and weeks wandering those paths and walking with my fellow campers and counselors…I have come to know that it was in this place and through these relationships that I have seen the face of Jesus, and have been transformed by it.

The answer to the second question is really the attributing of who and where I am in life to those experiences. I have little doubt that, were it not for my time at Duffield, I would not be in ministry (and hence, would not be here with you today).  Were it not for that time in my life, I would not know Megan, and we would not be a family.  My life today would not be what it is were it not for meeting the transforming Jesus in that place.

This is the effect the Transfiguration of Jesus has had on my life: because he was on that mountaintop, and underwent this experience, I have had my own experience on him, and have been changed.  I would argue that this has been for the better.

But that is not to say that these two questions, answered once, have been answered completely.  They still hold current in our ‘today.’  Where do you still find yourself transformed by the presence of Jesus? What does this mean for your life, and what will it mean in the days and weeks to come?  The ways in which you answer these questions truly have an impact on how you move through this season of Lent, and how you find yourself anew before God.

Anyway, these are my thoughts.  I hope that you find peace in light of the answers you come to for these questions.  I pray you again see Jesus, calling you deeper into transformed and renewed life (we are never too old for this!).  I look forward to continuing with you this journey through Lent, on our way with Christ to the cross, and all that means.

Prayer: May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all of our hearts be pleasing and acceptable to you, O Lord, our Rock and Redeemer.  Amen.

There are many benefits to living in the Western world, many aspects of life which our society does pretty well.  At almost any instant, we can reach out through our phones, computers or mixture of the two and connect with another person or persons who are thousands of miles away.  It no longer takes days, weeks or months to get news to another individual.  Likewise, we can cover vast distances within a few hours time.  Sometimes it takes longer to get your ticket and get through security than it does for your actual flight, and we tend to view that as an inconvenience.  And we have more information at our fingertips than we actually need.  Some of it is even accurate, but that’s not up to me to decide for anyone else.  There are many things in life that we do pretty well here in the Western world, living where and when we do.

But one thing that we don’t do well at all anymore is wilderness.  Think about it: we used to be a society that accepted and adapted to the vast wilderness that was all around us.  A person couldn’t even travel from his own house to his neighbor’s house without some anticipation and preparation for what might be encountered.  But within a very short period of time, cities grew and expanded, and more and more people dwelt in them.  Fairly quickly, we forgot how to interact and relate to the wilderness of the world around us, seeking the seeming safety and security that bigger and bigger cities offered.  Sure, we have state and national parks, but even these are threatened by city expansion, and reflect an understanding that we can enjoy the wilderness so long as it’s been tamed and enclosed in specific bounds, following our rules.  And while it’s true that the wilderness has always held some danger, more and more youth are scared of the aspects that shouldn’t worry them, and are more and more unaware as to how to actually relate to wilderness.  No, we don’t do wilderness very well anymore in our part of the world.

And if I may, here’s one reason that I would offer for this new reality: People nowadays are scared of wilderness because of what it might do to them.  I don’t mean that in the sense of what might happen to them if they walk in the wrong place or run from a bear that they come across; those are aspects of knowing how to interact respectfully with wilderness.  No, people are scared of wilderness because it is uncomfortable, and it is uncomfortable because it has the potential to bring about deep, transformational change, the likes of which cannot be found in other areas of life.  And perhaps that’s why we sometimes are so uncomfortable with our pair of Scripture readings this morning.

In both readings, just in case you nodded off for a moment, we have the recounting of people in the midst of wilderness, ascending the mountain and thus moving deeper into the heart of the wilderness.  And while both of these individuals, and the people who were present with them, watching them, were well aware of what could generally happen in the wilderness, the understanding that something more momentous and possibly terrifying was at the same time occurring.

It has long been known that if an individual desired a meeting with the divine, then he or she was going to have to climb the nearest high peak in order to do so.  In such a worldview, mountaintops were the homes of the gods, or of God, depending on your particular religion.  It was the place where clouds and storms collected, even when it was sunny where you were down in the valley.  It was the place that afforded a three hundred sixty degree view of the world at your feet.  It was the closest on earth one could get to the heavens.  Yes, if one wanted an encounter with the divine, to meet God as close to face-to-face as possible, then one went to the mountaintop.

But meetings with God were also fraught with peril, for who knew what such a divine being was capable of?  There was a very good reason a rope would be tied around the ankle of the High Priest went he made the annual trip into the Holy of Holies to meet with God.  It was needed to pull him back out again if the mere presence of God struck him dead!  It was always viewed as a fifty-fifty chance, at best, that the individual in question would make it back down off the mountain after such an encounter.  No questions about it – when an individual ascended the mountain and drew nearer to the presence of God, he or she always came back transformed.  A trip into the wilderness often meant that change was imminent, and let’s be honest: people fear change.  I believe that we no longer know how to embrace the wilderness in our world, that we fear it and attempt to sterilize it, because we fear the change within ourselves that comes with it.

Now, with that in mind, let’s return to this recounting of Jesus on the mountain with Peter, James and John.  As Jesus is making his way toward Jerusalem for what we know will be the last week of his life, he makes a detour, and decides to head up the mountain for a little alone time.  There’s nothing new about this, we have seen him do this several times in his ministry – after or before some event, going off to be alone and re-center himself.  This time, he just so happens to bring along a few of the closer disciples.

Now, there’s always been something that has nagged the back of my mind about how the disciples are approaching this little soirée.  Having the benefit of being able to look back through two thousand years of study and reflection, I’ve always had difficulty understanding why these three disciples were so excited to set up a camp on the mountaintop, making it at least a semi-permanent dwelling site.  But I think that understanding has finally come to me, at least for now.  Peter and the others were so ready to set up tents, to take this little side trip and extend indefinitely because they figured that they understood where Jesus was going with all these miracles he was performing and teachings he was giving.  I think they figured that Jesus was going to, eventually, call upon the power of God and start re-ordering the face of the planet in one, momentous occasion. After all, it fits in what we understand the Jewish mindset of the time to be regarding the coming of the Messiah as a conquering warrior.  I think that, seeing Jesus conversing with Moses and Elijah – two of the most well-known and powerful figures of Israelite history – Peter and the others figured that their expectations were finally coming to reality.  Of course, then, they would set up camp on this mountaintop!  Where else would it be?

But if this expectation truly did reflect their understanding, then there’s something deeper going on: They thought that they had Jesus all figured out, and could predict what he would do next.  Friends, in all the history of the church, from the time God called Abraham to strike out in the direction of Ur to today, there has never been a more misleading fault of humanity than to think that we have the capability to predict and anticipate God.

Looking at Peter, James and John, we see that they are comfortable with Jesus, and believe that nothing out of the ordinary was going to happen.  In short, they believe they are on top of things, and the fact that they were invited up the mountain to witness the meeting with Moses and Elijah only proves their thinking.  This wilderness experience, because they are with one whom they think they understand, has become tame.  And this makes me wonder, how many times do we fall into this same line of thinking, that we so understand Jesus, and are therefore separate from the radically life-altering power of the Divine?  How often do we go about our lives, thinking that there is no chance that our daily routine or way of viewing the world will change, while at the same time deep down avoiding the invitation into spiritual wilderness for an authentic encounter with God?

We are, again, on the threshold of Lent, a season marked by self-reflection and honesty in how we relate to God and each other.  It is a season in which the invitation is before us as it is at no other time in the year to deliberately seek out God, and let our lives be transformed in perhaps unknowable ways.  I know it is scary, and uncertain, because deep down I think we do understand that we can never truly predict what might happen to us in such an encounter.  But I also believe it is what we yearn for, even as we seek to bolster ourselves against such a possibility.  I encourage all of us to use this season of Lent to daily step into the invitation to meet God in the wilderness, whether it means going for more walks in the woods or setting time apart each day to be open to God within you.  It may be frightening, moving into such a place beyond our comfort zone, and it will most likely bring about change if we’re honest to this encounter.  But I know it will be good, because it will be of God, and our lives are made better by seeking Christ in our lives.  Let us all be caught up in the presence of the One who can transform us into the people we are called to be.  Let us all accept the invitation into the wilderness, where we will meet God again.  And as we do so, let us lift up our hearts anew…Amen.