It’s hard to believe that last Thursday marked forty days after Easter Sunday. To me, it seems like just yesterday that we were celebrating Jesus’ resurrection from the dead with all of the festive trappings of Easter Sunday. The 10-day period between the feasts of the Ascension and Pentecost used to be officially known as Ascensiontide. For some reason, the period of time known as Ascensiontide has taken a seat in the way, way back on the church bus and is all but forgotten in churches these days. But I think that we would do well to reclaim this period of significance in the Church’s tradition.

Among the many meanings that Christ’s ascension into heaven bears for us, I think that one of the most rich has to do with leaving. After forty days of being with the risen Christ, the disciples were probably beginning to think that he would never leave them. Perhaps they were even getting a bit comfortable. But the time came when Jesus was called to return to his Father in heaven. But when he left his disciples, he promised that he would be sending an Advocate (the Holy Spirit) to lead and guide them as missionaries of the Good News. 

Christ’s leaving is an incredibly significant part of his story and ours. No doubt his mother, his disciples, and the others who were in his wider circle of followers were not ready - even grieved - to see him go. And who could blame them? What would a life of discipleship look like going forward without Jesus in their midst? What identity would their community of believers take on once Jesus was gone? Who would be their leader and guide?

Christ’s ascension into heaven begs the question - What if one of the primary pillars of Christian discipleship is learning how to say goodbye to those we love, as well as how to move forward in a healthy, faithful manner? If we look at the stories in the Bible, so much of these stories involve the people of God saying goodbye to significant people in their community of faith - whether it was Moses, David, Elijah, or Jesus. The reality of life is - regardless of our context - we will have to say goodbye to those we love at some point. And as people of faith, we are called to do a good job of saying goodbye - as well as to do a good job of carrying on afterwards. 

In the past year or so, we at Christ the King have had to say a number of difficult goodbyes. We have had what feels like an inordinate number of our parishioners move away for one reason or another - most of whom were long-time pillars of this parish in terms of steadfast commitment and leadership. In addition to that, the covid-19 pandemic forced us to say goodbye to worship, formation, and fellowship as we knew and loved it. And sadly, we have had some of our beloved parishioners die in the past year or so, and due to covid, many of us were not even able to say goodbye how we would have liked to. 

For those who have been away for a while, when they return, it might, in many ways, feel like a very different parish than it did just two years ago. A lot of that has to do with some of the difficult goodbyes we have had to say. But goodbyes are an inevitable part of being a community. It is the communities that do this well that are able to move forward in a healthy, hopeful way. And I think that the brief season of Ascensiontide can help us live in the healthy, faithful tension between saying tearful goodbyes and welcoming with hope what God has in store for us next.

This coming Wednesday, we will have a celebration ceremony for our kindergarteners at the Tree House Episcopal Montessori School. And while I am proud of our graduating class, I will be sad to see them go. I have now been here long enough to see a group of 18-month old kids begin in the pre-primary class and make it all the way through kindergarten. And the transformation is nothing short of God’s many miracles. 

This is the sort of tension many of us have been and will continue to feel as this is the season of graduation ceremonies for our children, relatives, and friends. Part of us wants these young folks to stay around forever. But we know that it is time for them to move to the next phase of their journey. And I’ll chalk it up to God’s providence that these departures are happening during the season of Ascensiontide. Our scriptures and traditions of the Church give us the models and tools for saying goodbye and for moving forward. 

Our reading from the Acts of the Apostles today addresses one aspect of saying goodbye and moving forward - the commissioning of new leaders. The story of Peter and the other ten disciples praying to God - and then rolling dice- to determine who would join them as a new leader is simultaneously spiritual and pragmatic. I think that this story shows us that we can pray for God’s intervention to give us clarity and to raise up new leaders, and that is part of the process. But there also involves our initiative. I think this story tells us that the Holy Spirit helped them discern that both Justuss and Matthias were duly qualified to be the twelfth disciple. From there, they simply had to choose, and for them, they chose to cast lots, or roll the dice, to make their final decision. 

Jesus gives us a model for leaving and for “saying goodbye” because in the Ascension, he promises that though he is physically moving on, he will never truly leave his disciples. Through the power of the Holy Spirit, he is always with us, and we are never alone. So as our young folks begin to move on to new schools, new jobs, new cities, and new chapters in their lives, let us rest assured that they will never be alone, and neither will we. 

And as the beloved pillars of our parish family move on to new chapters in their journeys, let us rest assured that they will never be alone, and neither will we.  Through the power of the Holy Spirit, Christ never leaves us alone. The disciples had to form what we now know as the Christian Church without Jesus physically by their side to lead and guide them. Our being here today is living proof that they were up to the task. And my friends, so are we. 

But the disciples couldn’t do, and neither can we, without the power of the Holy Spirit. And that is who we wait for between the Feast of the Ascension and the Feast of Pentecost. Let us wait in faith and hope, trusting that Christ will be with us is his absence and in his presence. 

I don’t usually depart from the lectionary, but I couldn’t resist the temptation to preach on Proverbs 31 on Mother’s Day.  After all, this poem has been alternately titled: The Good Woman, The Good Wife, The Capable Wife, The Woman of Substance and the Woman of Strength.

In fact, the Hebrew word “Hayil” applied to this woman in proverbs literally does mean “strength” or success, and can refer to economic or military strength or strength of character.  In the Old Testament it is most often used to describe kings and heroic MEN. 

Interestingly, the only other time it is used to describe a woman is in reference to Ruth, a Moabite woman praised for her hard work and resourcefulness under difficult circumstances.

But I’ll be honest, this is a text that inspires some ambivalence in me as a woman.

On the one hand, the poem makes a noble effort to lift the woman up out of traditional patriarchal stereotypes.  Instead of focusing on her attractiveness or obedience or knack for bearing healthy children, it highlights her economic contributions to the household.  Far from home-bound, this woman is described as “like a merchant fleet, bringing her food from afar.” 

The poem encourages husbands to trust their strong, capable wives—trust them to use their gifts, to manage finances, to make business decisions, and to give generously to the poor. And the ideal wife described in this poem is no pushover. In v. 17, she girds up her loins—that’s military speak for getting ready for battle. 

In this poem, “fear of the lord” looks a lot like using your gifts and resources to their utmost potential to be a blessing not only to your family, but to the whole community. And at the end of the poem, the author argues that his wife deserves to be adequately compensated for her work—and publically recognized for it.

On the other hand, this amazing woman is still expected to manage the household, while her husband sits among the elders of the land, making the policies and decisions that will have the most impact on society.  Her “business” is still “women’s work”—making clothing—and she stays up all hours of the night to get everything done and wakes early to make sure everyone is fed. 

Is this woman for real? I want to ask. Or is it just some male fantasy of a wealthy super-mom? I mean, really, how happy can her husband and kids be if she’s working all the time and not getting any sleep?  

In the original language, this poem is an acrostic alphabet poem, which means that the first word of each line begins with a letter of the Hebrew alphabet, implying that the woman of strength, literally has it all—from A to Z. 

So is this poem just another piece of propaganda claiming that women—or any of us for that matter—can have it all?  Wealth, security, a good reputation, a thriving business, a happy and healthy family, and a conscience at-ease? Don’t you think mothers have enough pressure on them these days to do-it-all and be-all-things-to-all-people without the Bible and its preachers piling on?!!

What I keep coming back to is that question that opens the poem: a woman of strength, of substance, of value, who can find?  I think at its core, this poem is an invitation. An invitation to think of the strong women in our own lives and history and to, as the poem suggests in v. 31, give them their due praise for the works of their hands. Not such a bad idea on Mother’s Day either…

So…there is one strong woman, of great faith, that if you don’t already know about, I want to introduce you to today. The youth who came to our Dangerous Dozen Sunday school class on her a few weeks ago got to learn about her, but it didn’t seem fair to only share her with the youth and not the rest of the church.  She is such an inspiration to me, that I wanted to share her with you too.

I was trying to think of who I could compare this “Strong Woman” to today, and the best I could come up with was Beth Moore, Ruth Bader Ginsberg, and Beyonce all rolled into one. 

Surprisingly enough, I’m talking about a MEDIEVAL saint, one that was finally in 2012 named a doctor of the church.  She wasn’t a biological mother with children of her own, but she was a Mother with a capital “M” in her role as founder and leader of two Benedictine convents in the Rhineland of Germany.  

She is known as Hildegard of Bingen. She is such a renaissance woman that I feel that almost anyone can relate to something in her story.  

Into theology? There’s a reason Hildegard was named a doctor of the church, along with Augustine and Thomas Aquinas. She wrote three major theological works, the first of which was over 500 pages and took her ten years to write.

More of a visual person?  Well, turns out she illustrated her visions, and they are fascinating. One of my favorites is one in which the Trinity is represented by what looks like a blue Christ, whom she calls the incarnation of divine compassion, being birthed from a womb.

Want to eat healthy or find herbal remedies fascinating?  Check out her books Physica or Causes and Cures. There’s even a website called “HealthyHildegard.com” that turns her writings on nutrition and healing into a kind of modern day health blog.  

Ever feel like going on a rant against the government or certain religious leaders? Well, if Twitter had been a thing in the 1100s, you can bet Hildegaard would have been tweeting up a storm.  Instead she wrote letters.  Over 400 letters in which she passed on the words and visions that she received from God, where were sometimes encouraging but more often critical of the religious and political elite.  In a sense, she lived up to her name, which means “place of battle” and carried on the prophetic tradition of speaking truth to power.

She also launched the first known preaching tour by a woman, preaching all over the region at various cathedrals and monasteries, even into her mid-seventies! Her messages were often calls to repentance, highlighting corruption in the church, which she pictured as a weeping mother in pain.  That’s a whole ‘nother mother’s day sermon!

Proverbs 31 closes by lifting up “fear of the Lord” above other attributes typically praised in women such as charm or beauty.  Well, Hildegaard took “fear of the Lord” to a whole new level, but for her it came to mean something empowering and freeing. Like the woman of strength in Proverbs, “fear of the Lord” didn’t mean holding back for fear of punishment, but obeying God’s desire that we use and share the gifts God gives us.  It meant obeying God even if that meant risking the anger or hostility of others.

Hildegard began having visions at an early age, and at first was afraid to share them. Yet her not sharing this divine gift began to make her physically sick. Her own body became a place of spiritual battle, until finally, in her early 40s, she received a vision from God in which the command to write was so clear that she finally obeyed, eventually winning papal approval to continue writing and sharing her visions with others. 

But theological and prophetic visions weren’t Hildegard’s only gifts. For many people, it’s her music that speaks to them the most.  Hildegard wrote the first surviving sung morality play and composed beautiful original liturgical music, which has in the last couple of decades been rediscovered and performed to award winning success. When you go home google “Hildegard of Bingen’s Symphonia” to listen to some of her hauntingly beautiful melodies.

For Hildegard, “music was necessary for salvation, because it was the best representation of the state of humanity before the Fall…”  

As she writes in her famous letter to the Prelates of Mainz: 

“Music stirs our hearts and engages our souls in ways we can’t describe.  When this happens, we are taken beyond our earthly banishment back to the divine melody Adam knew when he sang with the angels, when he was whole in God, before his exile.  

In fact, before Adam refused God’s fragrant flower of obedience, his voice was the best on earth, because he was made by God’s green thumb, who is the Holy Spirit.”  I love that image of the Holy Spirit: God’s green thumb!

Many of Hildegard’s songs reflect her belief that “all of creation is a symphony of joy and jubilation.”  They call attention to what Hildegard calls the “greening” power of the Holy Spirit, for which she coined the term “veriditas.” That idea of the greening power of the Holy Spirit has had a deep impact on the way I think about the Spirit and also how I experience God in creation.

I’m a poetry-over, so of course, I’m going to make you listen to one of her poems, which is also a prayer:

Holy Life-Giver,

Doctor of the Desperate

Healer of everyone broken past hope,

Medicine for all wounds,

Fire of love,

Joy of hearts,

fragrant Strength,

sparkling Fountain,

Protector,

Penetrator,

in You we contemplate

how God goes looking for those who are lost

and reconciles those who are at odds with Him.

Break our chains!

You bring people together,

You curl clouds, whirl winds,

send rain on rocks, sing in creeks,

and turn the lush earth green.

You teach those who listen,

breathing joy and wisdom into them.

We praise You for these gifts,

Light-giver,

Sound of joy,

Wonder of being alive,

Hope of every person,

and our strongest Good.

And yet, for all her creative productivity, Hildegard was often sick, stuck in bed, unable to move, and many think she suffered from migraines. She lived in a world that rarely honored the full spectrum of women’s talents and leadership potential or allowed them to find full expression. 

She spent the majority of her childhood and young adulthood literally locked away in an anchorite cell in a monastery with another woman who believed that “fear of the Lord” meant suffering and deprivation. Hildegard received no formal education.

And yet, she persevered, blossoming and finding her own way to lead and to shine and finding joy in God’s mercy and creative, restorative work in the world.  For her, the typical “mid-life crisis” was instead a “mid-life awakening.”  I’ll turn 40 this year, and I take great comfort in knowing that Hildegard’s most creative and productive period in her life didn’t start until she was in her 40s! 

I don’t know if the woman in Proverbs 31 was a real, live woman, but I know that Hildegard was.  She never gave birth to flesh and blood children, and yet so many called her “Mother” and what she “gave birth to” over the years still blesses the world today!

Hildegard was an artist, poet, theologian, healer, musician, preacher, leader, and prophet. 

She wrote theological books, medical books, poems, songs, plays, sermons, and letters.  She oversaw fundraising campaigns, annual budgets, daily worship, building projects, and protests.  

She fed, clothed, taught, guided, mediated between, and cared for the women at the two convents, crossing the Rhine River twice a week for over 14 years to make her pastoral visits at the second convent in Eibingen until she died at the age of 81.  

I hope you hear in her life, as well as in the poem of Proverbs 31, what I hear, which is a call to blossom and shine, with whatever seeds of creativity and goodness and mercy and passion God has planted within your own soul.  

And I hope that the story of her life gives you hope that God can help us overcome all kinds of obstacles in order for us to use the gifts that God gave us.

I hope that on this Mother’s Day you can answer the question of Proverbs 31: A woman of substance, who can find? by singing the praises of all the amazing women in scripture and history and in your own lives.  

And I hope we can all let the works of their hands and voices inspire us to live more fully into who God created us to be.  After all, wouldn’t that really be the best Mother’s Day present of all?

In a few moments, you will hear from Travis Meyer, who, along with his wife Rachel, is chairing our Rooted + Grounded in Love Giving Campaign. Today marks the day when we officially “go public” with the campaign, and Travis will tell you more about the event in Sandefur Hall that will follow the worship service today. So please plan on staying and joining us afterwards in Sandefur Hall.

What I’d like to do now is help us make the connection between this very crucial moment in our life together at Christ the King and our scripture lessons for today. A prevalent theme that runs throughout today’s readings is our call to abide in God, make space for God to abide in us, and consequently to bear fruit beyond ourselves. 

Our campaign steering committee chose the “Rooted + Grounded in Love” theme because more than anything else, we want this campaign to be about the scriptural call to abide in God’s love, and making room for God’s love to abide in us. I truly believe that when parish churches keep that as their missional and programmatic focus, they can’t help but to bear good fruit.  

Now, what I have said can come dangerously close to sounding sentimental or cliche. The word “love” gets batted around a good bit and has almost lost its power, particularly in the Christian context. But when I look around this wonderful parish church, Christ’s love is what I see, and Christ’s love is what I feel. And I know that many others feel the same sort of thing.

Those who preceded us here - clergy and lay people alike - abided in God’s love, and made the space for God’s love to abide in them. And the result was the bearing of good, healthy fruit. We are sitting in the midst of and experiencing that faithful fruit right now. In our Gospel lesson today, Jesus speaks to this sort phenomenon - “Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me. I am the vine, you are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing.” So all that we have here at Christ the King is the result of steadfast, faithful Christians abiding in God and God in them, and the resulting fruit from that mutual abiding.

Some of you here - and tuning in via the Livestream - were a part of planting the seeds for this remarkable parish. But many - if not most - of us here are relative newcomers to Christ the King. And if you are like Emily and me, you have fallen in love with this church and the surrounding community. As founding member Alice Opielinski once said, when you drive down the driveway here, “don’t you just feel the love?” Emily and I find it to be an incredibly exciting place to be, and a wonderful place to raise, educate, and nurture our children. And as we approach our sixth anniversary here at Christ the King, it has become imperative that we not only enjoy the delicious fruit that Christ the King has produced, but that we also become productive, fruit-bearing branches ourselves. But not just for our own benefit at the present moment, but future generations as well. And that is why we have chosen to give sacrificially to this campaign. 

Perhaps one of the greatest challenges to Christianity today is the trend towards individualism, self-actualization, self-help, and self-everything else. One of the shadow sides of the Protestant Reformation was the disproportionate  focus on the individual’s personal salvation, personal relationship with Christ, and the like. Coupled with the American emphasis on one’s own personal rights, freedom, and liberty, you have a recipe for a highly individualistic, self-absorbed culture. Now don’t get me wrong - I think both the Protetsant Reformation and the founding of the United States of America were both good and necessary things. My life has been enriched by the results of both. Yet any large movement, culture, or institution ends up developing a shadow side. We just have to be aware of when the pendulum swings too far in the other direction. 

We simply have to remember that one of the foundational, essential, and non-negotiable tenets of Christianity is community. We - the community of believers called the Church - are Christ’s Body in the world. As St. Paul wrote in his first letter to the Corinthians, “For just as the body is one and has many members, and all the members of the body, though many, are one body, so it is with Christ.” 

But here is the challenging part - as I mentioned before - we are not called to be a community simply so we can get our own needs met. Quite the contrary - Christ calls us into communities so that we can bear good fruit - not just for our own nourishment, but for the nourishment of others, and for future generations. 

But this life-giving fruit cannot grow on its own. Jesus uses the metaphor of the vine and branches to communicate his point when he said to his disciples, “I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinegrower... Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me. I am the vine, you are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing.”

The faithful people who envisioned an Episcopal Church in Santa Rosa Beach a little over 30 years ago planted seeds that have continued to bear good, healthy fruit. Christ the King is a parish church that has abided in God’s love, and has made the space for God’s love to abide in them. And today we can see, hear, and feel the results of that good, faithful work. 

And now it is our turn to plant and nurture some new, fruit-bearing seeds for today and tomorrow. That is what the Rooted + Grounded in Love campaign is all about. We want Christ the King Episcopal Church and the Tree House Episcopal Montessori School to continue to be a place where God’s love can be experienced, tasted, heard, and seen. And most importantly, we want to be a place where we can bear witness to Christ’s love by the fruit we plant, nurture, bear, share. 

One thing I love about the 4th Sunday of Easter is that we are given the opportunity to reflect Psalm 23 in a context other than death, dying, and bereavement. It is rare that I preside over a funeral that doesn’t include Psalm 23, and for good reason. It is simply one of best scriptural passages to be read and reflected upon at the time of death.  It is remarkable- nothing short of a miracle - how Psalm 23 has carried countless numbers of folks – myself included - through times of seemingly inconsolable grief and trouble. 

But today, I’d like to look at Psalm 23 not as a text for death, but rather, as text for life. Let’s not relegate “the Lord is my shepherd” to only the hospital room, hospice facility, or funeral service. After all, I don’t know about you, but I need the Lord to revive my soul and guide me along right pathways now – today, tomorrow, and in the days, weeks, months, and years to come. I need Jesus now!

Since Easter Sunday, at our weekly Tree House chapel services, I have been greeting the children with “Happy Easter!” They are quick to correct me, saying, “It’s not Easter!” And I am just as quick to correct them by reminding them that Easter is not a day, but a season that lasts fifty days! So until we reach Pentecost, we are still celebrating Christ’s breaking the chains of death and rising to new, embodied, and eternal life. 

So in the midst of this season of resurrection, the Church has decided – on this 4th Sunday of Easter – to have us reflect on Jesus as the Good Shepherd. Our opening Collect of the Day calls upon God to grant us the discerning hearts to “know him who calls us each by name, and to follow where he leads.” It is so much easier for us to listen and long for the shepherd’s voice when we are near the end of our life here on earth, and as we approach our seat at the heavenly banquet table. That is why the last moments of our lives can oftentimes be so sacred and holy – because we truly feel like the Good Shepherd is guiding us home. So when I hear Psalm 23, I usually find myself imagining the sacred journey from this life to the next, the journey from suffering to healing, the journey from death to eternal life.   

But with the hustle and bustle of our over-hurried, over-programmed, sensory-overloaded lives, it is much more difficult to discern the gentle voice that calls us to follow while we live. But why should we wait for death to come upon us before we choose to be led to the green pastures, where we can lie down by the still waters? Why should we wait until we are at the “end” to have our souls revived, and to be steered towards right pathways for his Name’s sake? 

This past week, our nation watched and responded in various ways to the Derek Chauvin trial. My social media feeds were full of folks celebrating that justice had been served. There was a palpable sense of relief and rejoicing. But what struck me was the bravado with which many folks were celebrating. It was as if now that Chauvin had been convicted of murder, all is right in the world and we could go on about our business. 

Yes, Chauvin was held accountable in the court of law for his actions, and that is a good and essential thing. But as Christians, does all justice and righteousness begin and end with our secular laws and justice system? It is a good thing that I am not a murderer, or any other sort of criminal. That goes without saying. But I am a sinner who is in need of redemption every bit as much as Derek Chauvin is. God doesn’t love me one bit more than he loves Derek Chauvin, George Floyd, or anybody else. As such, with God’s help, I am called to ponder and work out my own salvation with humility, fear, and trembling. And in doing so, I must rely solely on God’s grace, love, and mercy. I need the Lord as my Shepherd as much as anybody else, even a convicted murderer. The minute I become my own shepherd because I think of myself as a “good person,” I am lost. 

Please don’t get me wrong - I was relieved that the Chauvin verdict turned out the way that it did. But more than anything, I felt sad this week. First and foremost, I felt sad for George Floyd and his loved ones. This verdict, while redemptive in many ways, doesn’t bring him back to life. They will still have to live with their grief, hurt, and possible anger. 

I felt sad for our country, which continues to be plagued by America's original sin of racism. You and I all know that it will be a matter of time before something similar to this happens again. 

I felt sad for law enforcement officers who selflessly serve and protect our communities, putting their lives at risk while simultaneously having to defend their own existence and vocation. And finally, I felt sad for Derek Chauvin, and I pray that he will seek God’s forgiveness for what he did. God is not done with Derek Chauvin, and I pray that Mr. Chauvin will respond to God’s offer of grace and forgiveness. 

All of us are in desperate need of the Good Shepherd to restore our souls and lead us in paths of righteousness. If we listen for and respond to the Shepherd’s call, we will be strengthened to face evil without fear. In the face of violence and hate we will be comforted. But, notice, that the Shepherd strengthens and comforts us not so we can triumph over our enemies. Rather, the Shepherd takes us on a shocking detour – to a table that is spread out in the presence of “those who trouble me,” or in the presence of our “enemies.” Yet, as we are led to sit at the table, directly across from our enemy, the Shepherd anoints our head with oil, and our cup runs over. 

So, in the land of the living - both here and beyond, the Good Shepherd leads us to green pastures and beside still waters. In the land of the living, the Good Shepherd comforts and protects us. But the scandalous news is that in the land of the living, as we follow the steady call of the Good Shepherd, he will lead us to our enemies. But rather than going to battle against them, we will sit down for table fellowship, with Jesus - Good Shepherd - as our Host. There, we will all be anointed, and our cups will overflow. In the land of the living, George Floyd and Derek Chauvin will share a meal together with the Lord as their host. And that is when justice will be fully realized.

When interpreted like this, Psalm 23 sounds like the ole Bait & Switch. Everything is beautiful and perfect and then “bam!,” I’m sitting face to face with my enemy with Jesus looking on. But if I am honest with myself, I know how difficult it is for me to willingly choose to sit down and eat with an enemy of mine. So, I need guidance from the Good Shepherd, even if it involves a bit of a Bait & Switch. And I truly believe that as long as we allow ourselves to stop and listen for that Holy Voice, and follow where he leads, his goodness and mercy will follow us all the days of our lives – not just at the end of our lives. As such, let us follow God’s call for us to dwell in the land of the living - to dwell in the house of the Lord forever.  

Stephen Covey, the author of the best-selling Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, once said that “The main thing is to keep the main thing, the main thing.” I think that celebrating the Great Fifty Days of Easter is one of the Church’s means for keeping the main thing, the main thing. After all, the main thing of the Christian faith is the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead. Without the bodily resurrection of Jesus from the dead, we have no Christianity. We’d have a story of a remarkable Jewish man who attempted to lead a religious movement, and died a tragic, horrific, unjust death in the process. There’d be some wonderful sermons, healings, and parables. But that is it. There’d be no Christianity had Jesus not risen from the dead. 

So during the Great Fifty Days of Easter, we are invited to keep our sights on the main thing - the resurrection of Jesus from the dead. The resurrection encounters and narratives don’t stop on Easter Sunday. Last week, we heard about Jesus’ two appearances to his disciples in the Upper Room as told by John. This week, Luke tells us about a snack and conversation Jesus had with his disciples. 

These varied narratives of Jesus’ appearances to his disciples told by the different evangelists remind us, in our moments of doubt, that Jesus’ resurrection from the dead wasn’t just some sort of spiritual, warm feeling that his followers experienced in the days and weeks following his death. Today’s text tells us that at first his disciples were startled and terrified. After that, they became committed evangelists and martyrs for Christ. That to me is a far cry from having their hearts strangely warmed by Christ’s spiritual presence.  I don’t know anybody who would die a martyr's death over having their heart warmed. 

Many folks might say that they come to church for the community, the music, or the programs. But can’t we experience community from our neighborhoods, book groups, Bridge groups, 12-step groups, sports, and any other number of sources? Can’t we hear and support excellent music at The Panama City Symphony Orchestra, the Northwest Florida Ballet, or the Mattie Kelly Arts Center? Can’t our children be nurtured and entertained through countless extracurricular activities? Can’t we volunteer and help those in need at Caring and Sharing, the Point Washington Medical Clinic, and many other places?  In this growing area of ours, the possibilities are endless for community, fellowship, entertainment, and community service. And these are all good things in which we can participate and support.

But none of these things, places, or organizations offer what the Church uniquely offers - the Good News that Jesus’ suffering, death, and resurrection brought and continues to bring about reconciliation, healing, and forgiveness of sins for the whole world. The Church is Christ’s Body in the world, through which we are offered reconciliation between God and humankind. And when we as Christ’s Body fail to keep the main thing the main thing - when we fail to first and foremost proclaim the Good News of the forgiveness of sins through Christ’s suffering, death, and resurrection, we have grievously missed the mark.

This past Thursday morning, this Good News of Christ’s resurrection struck me in an unexpected, surprising, and deeply profound way when I was praying Morning Prayer. In this service, during the Great Fifty Days of Easter, we say the Christ our Passover - the Pascha Nostrum - immediately before we read the assigned psalms for the day. On this particular day, I was in the church by myself, and when I recited the Pascha Nostrum, I was overcome with emotion. I have said those words countless times, but for whatever reason, at this moment, I heard and experienced this Good News differently.  Listen here to the lines that nearly swept me off my feet that morning:

Christ being raised from the dead will never die again; *

    death no longer has dominion over him.

The death that he died, he died to sin, once for all; *

    but the life he lives, he lives to God.

So also consider yourselves dead to sin, *

    and alive to God in Jesus Christ our Lord. Alleluia.

It’s not that I didn’t believe these words prior to last Thursday morning. But I am not sure if I have ever believed them as intensely as I did at this moment. To use Stephen Covey’s terminology, these words taken from Paul’s letters to his churches in Corinth and Rome are “the main thing.” And they sum up the message that we as Christians are called to proclaim. We can have the best worship, music, children’s and adult programs, outreach ministries, and facilities in the world, but if we aren’t keeping the main thing the main thing - that we are “dead to sin, and alive to God in Jesus Christ our Lord” - we are indeed off course. 

When I have read and studied today’s gospel story in the past, I have tended to focus on two things - the actual appearance of Jesus to his disciples - no small detail - as well as Jesus’ rather humorous and pragmatic request for a snack. 

But a closer look shows that this encounter also included a profound teaching moment for the disciples. It comes when “[Jesus] said to them, ‘...everything written about me in the law of Moses, the prophets, and the psalms must be fulfilled,’ after which “he opened their minds to understand the scriptures…”.  
During this encounter, not only did Jesus reassure his disciples that he indeed had risen from the dead, he helped them connect this truth with the scriptures that they had grown up hearing. Jesus was pointing out to them that his resurrection from the dead wasn’t some sort of random surprise in the story or twist in the plot. It had been foretold in the scriptures and in his three years of ministry with them. At this moment it was important for Jesus to help his disciples make that connection - to place Jesus’ resurrection within the arc of salvation history. He wanted to make sure that they understood that the main thing had been the main thing all along. 

And here’s the thing - once Jesus had “opened their mind to understand the scriptures,” he didn’t command them to go be kind, inclusive, affirming, or welcoming. He didn’t even command them to feed the hungry or heal the sick or build a new building or start a new program. Not that those are bad things. And not that we shouldn’t do those types of things. But what follows instead was simply Jesus’ command “that repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations.” Repentance and forgiveness was the primary mission that Jesus assigned to his disciples, and as such, it should be our primary mission. Proclaiming, in Jesus’ name, repentance and forgiveness of sins to all people was and still is the main thing. And it is out of this “main thing” that all Christian ministries should flow. 

The bottom line is, if we, like so many other churches, choose to proclaim an “I’m ok, you’re ok, we’re all ok” gospel, or a “come as you are and don’t seek to be transformed because you are just fine the way you are” gospel, we might as well remove the cross that is hanging on this back wall, change our name, and quit being a church. We will have become disciples of the Moral Therapeutic Deism movement that is so prevalent in so many liberal mainline Protestant churches today. Jesus didn’t die a horrific death on the cross to affirm how good we are.

One of my favorite ways I have heard this articulated was by the Rev’d Frank Limehouse from the Cathedral Church of the Advent in Birmingham. One Sunday a lady approached him in the handshake line and thanked him for his message. She said something along the lines of her being a bad person for a long time and was ready to come back to church and turn her life around. He said to her, “Well, I have some bad news and some good news for you. The bad news is that as bad of a person as you think you are, you are actually worse. I know this because all of us are in desperate need of God’s grace. The Good News is that Christ’s grace,  mercy, forgiveness, and love are available to us all - each and every one of us - not because of who we are or what “good deeds” we do but because of who Jesus is and what he did and continues to do for us. The goal here isn’t to become “good people.” The goal is much more profound than that. The goal is to be reconciled to the God who created, redeemed, and sustains us, and in that reconciliation, we get a foretaste of the Kingdom of Heaven.

The Great Fifty Days of Easter help remind us of the “main thing,” and invite us to keep the main thing, the main thing. And that is why we are here today, and why we keep coming back. We don’t come because of how good or bad we are. We are here to see, hear, taste, smell, and experience the Good News of Christ’s redemptive mercy, forgiveness, love, and grace for all people. And then we are called to go out into the world and proclaim repentance and forgiveness of sins in Christ’s name to all nations. Or in the words of the Apostle Paul, “ consider yourselves dead to sin, and alive to God in Jesus Christ our Lord.” Alleluia!

One thing I love about the 4th Sunday of Easter is that we are given the opportunity to reflect Psalm 23 in a context other than death, dying, and bereavement. It is rare that I preside over a funeral that doesn’t include Psalm 23, and for good reason. It is simply one of best scriptural passages to be read and reflected upon at the time of death.  It is remarkable- nothing short of a miracle - how Psalm 23 has carried countless numbers of folks – myself included - through times of seemingly inconsolable grief and trouble. 

But today, I’d like to look at Psalm 23 not as a text for death, but rather, as text for life. Let’s not relegate “the Lord is my shepherd” to only the hospital room, hospice facility, or funeral service. After all, I don’t know about you, but I need the Lord to revive my soul and guide me along right pathways now – today, tomorrow, and in the days, weeks, months, and years to come. I need Jesus now!

Since Easter Sunday, at our weekly Tree House chapel services, I have been greeting the children with “Happy Easter!” They are quick to correct me, saying, “It’s not Easter!” And I am just as quick to correct them by reminding them that Easter is not a day, but a season that lasts fifty days! So until we reach Pentecost, we are still celebrating Christ’s breaking the chains of death and rising to new, embodied, and eternal life. 

So in the midst of this season of resurrection, the Church has decided – on this 4th Sunday of Easter – to have us reflect on Jesus as the Good Shepherd. Our opening Collect of the Day calls upon God to grant us the discerning hearts to “know him who calls us each by name, and to follow where he leads.” It is so much easier for us to listen and long for the shepherd’s voice when we are near the end of our life here on earth, and as we approach our seat at the heavenly banquet table. That is why the last moments of our lives can oftentimes be so sacred and holy – because we truly feel like the Good Shepherd is guiding us home. So when I hear Psalm 23, I usually find myself imagining the sacred journey from this life to the next, the journey from suffering to healing, the journey from death to eternal life.   

But with the hustle and bustle of our over-hurried, over-programmed, sensory-overloaded lives, it is much more difficult to discern the gentle voice that calls us to follow while we live. But why should we wait for death to come upon us before we choose to be led to the green pastures, where we can lie down by the still waters? Why should we wait until we are at the “end” to have our souls revived, and to be steered towards right pathways for his Name’s sake? 

This past week, our nation watched and responded in various ways to the Derek Chauvin trial. My social media feeds were full of folks celebrating that justice had been served. There was a palpable sense of relief and rejoicing. But what struck me was the bravado with which many folks were celebrating. It was as if now that Chauvin had been convicted of murder, all is right in the world and we could go on about our business. 

Yes, Chauvin was held accountable in the court of law for his actions, and that is a good and essential thing. But as Christians, does all justice and righteousness begin and end with our secular laws and justice system? It is a good thing that I am not a murderer, or any other sort of criminal. That goes without saying. But I am a sinner who is in need of redemption every bit as much as Derek Chauvin is. God doesn’t love me one bit more than he loves Derek Chauvin, George Floyd, or anybody else. As such, with God’s help, I am called to ponder and work out my own salvation with humility, fear, and trembling. And in doing so, I must rely solely on God’s grace, love, and mercy. I need the Lord as my Shepherd as much as anybody else, even a convicted murderer. The minute I become my own shepherd because I think of myself as a “good person,” I am lost. 

Please don’t get me wrong - I was relieved that the Chauvin verdict turned out the way that it did. But more than anything, I felt sad this week. First and foremost, I felt sad for George Floyd and his loved ones. This verdict, while redemptive in many ways, doesn’t bring him back to life. They will still have to live with their grief, hurt, and possible anger. 

I felt sad for our country, which continues to be plagued by America's original sin of racism. You and I all know that it will be a matter of time before something similar to this happens again. 

I felt sad for law enforcement officers who selflessly serve and protect our communities, putting their lives at risk while simultaneously having to defend their own existence and vocation. And finally, I felt sad for Derek Chauvin, and I pray that he will seek God’s forgiveness for what he did. God is not done with Derek Chauvin, and I pray that Mr. Chauvin will respond to God’s offer of grace and forgiveness. 

All of us are in desperate need of the Good Shepherd to restore our souls and lead us in paths of righteousness. If we listen for and respond to the Shepherd’s call, we will be strengthened to face evil without fear. In the face of violence and hate we will be comforted. But, notice, that the Shepherd strengthens and comforts us not so we can triumph over our enemies. Rather, the Shepherd takes us on a shocking detour – to a table that is spread out in the presence of “those who trouble me,” or in the presence of our “enemies.” Yet, as we are led to sit at the table, directly across from our enemy, the Shepherd anoints our head with oil, and our cup runs over. 

So, in the land of the living - both here and beyond, the Good Shepherd leads us to green pastures and beside still waters. In the land of the living, the Good Shepherd comforts and protects us. But the scandalous news is that in the land of the living, as we follow the steady call of the Good Shepherd, he will lead us to our enemies. But rather than going to battle against them, we will sit down for table fellowship, with Jesus - Good Shepherd - as our Host. There, we will all be anointed, and our cups will overflow. In the land of the living, George Floyd and Derek Chauvin will share a meal together with the Lord as their host. And that is when justice will be fully realized.

When interpreted like this, Psalm 23 sounds like the ole Bait & Switch. Everything is beautiful and perfect and then “bam!,” I’m sitting face to face with my enemy with Jesus looking on. But if I am honest with myself, I know how difficult it is for me to willingly choose to sit down and eat with an enemy of mine. So, I need guidance from the Good Shepherd, even if it involves a bit of a Bait & Switch. And I truly believe that as long as we allow ourselves to stop and listen for that Holy Voice, and follow where he leads, his goodness and mercy will follow us all the days of our lives – not just at the end of our lives. As such, let us follow God’s call for us to dwell in the land of the living - to dwell in the house of the Lord forever.  

Reading the Gospel accounts of the post resurrection appearances of Jesus sometimes reminds me of watching old movies of the Keystone Kops. In virtually every narrative, the serenity of Jesus stands in sharp contrast to frenetic activity among followers of Jesus. The chronological sequence of what happened immediately following the resurrection of Jesus is as difficult to determine as is the nature of the various personal reactions to Jesus by the disciples who encountered him.

After the resurrection of Jesus, people who were as familiar with Jesus as they were with members of their own families failed to recognize him. Others saw him and knew his identity from a distance. Some individuals spoke of Jesus’ physical traits – his scars, his hunger, the look in his eyes. Others told stories about his mystical nature – here one moment and gone the next, moving in and out of a room with closed doors. Participants in the same event with Jesus frequently reported different accounts of what happened. 

Some people find the conflicting reports of the resurrection disturbing. Fearing that cynics may charge, “Why, the whole thing is made up – you Christians cannot even agree on one story,” many believers labor tenaciously to reconcile all of the accounts, to impose order where there is confusion, to create uniformity out of diversity. Such people seem to fear that others will not believe in the resurrection of Jesus unless they can prove the resurrection by offering harmonized accounts of what Jesus said and did.

Personally, I am not of that mindset. I find the confusion and the contradictions in the resurrection stories of the Gospels profoundly reassuring. Obviously, what we have in the Gospels is not a carefully choreographed presentation of Jesus developed out of a studied strategy. No. What we read in the Gospels are the disparate accounts of numerous individuals writing out of the excitement and wonder born of experiencing a totally new reality – the resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth, dead on Friday and alive on Sunday and in their midst during subsequent days. 

Think about the dynamics here. If three people who watch a serious automobile accident cannot agree on the details of what happened when talking with a police officer only a few minutes after the accident, why should we expect hundreds of people to speak of their experiences with the resurrected Christ with words and interpretations that are exactly alike? The affirmations of the resurrection of Jesus that pervade the Gospels are not the product of mob psychology, an imposed doctrinal orthodoxy, or a strategy to convince the world about this stupendous event. They are the product of hundreds of different personal experiences. In the diversity of numerous individuals’ reports related to the risen Christ resides great promise for us.

The powerful meaning of the resurrection of Jesus for our lives is lost if the resurrection is considered only a doctrine to which every individual must give a thumbs-up or thumbs-down reaction. The resurrection of Jesus is not a theory to be proven or a creedal statement to be repeated so much as an experience. And this experience is to be realized by individuals in their own respective experiences by means of a personal relationship. Note what eradicated the doubt of Thomas and pushed a confession of faith across his lips – a personal experience with the risen Jesus.

Because Jesus provides our best insight into God, the new reality of the resurrection of Jesus gives us confidence regarding the certainty of the promise, “You need never be alone; God is with you.” One Gospel writer placed such assurance explicitly on the lips of Jesus: “Where two or three are gathered in my name,” Jesus says, “I am there among them.” The implications of this promise energize our participation in worship, to be sure, but those implications stretch far beyond corporate worship.

The resurrection narratives make up a relatively small percentage of the material in the Gospels. However, that small amount of material provides us with a large amount of truth. The risen Christ appeared in the midst of a small group of fearful, discouraged disciples. Jesus appeared on the shore of a lake in which some of his followers were fishing. As reported in the text for today, Jesus appeared to a man who questioned almost everything and doubted reports of the resurrection of Jesus. In a familiar place, Jesus shared a meal with some of his followers. Not long after that, Jesus joined two travelers reeling from shattered dreams to walk with them, talk with them, encourage them, and then to break bread with them. Jesus appeared to individuals who knew him well enough to avoid the use of titles and call him “Jesus.” But Jesus also showed up among people who had never enjoyed a one-to-one conversation with him. Jesus appeared among people who spoke boldly of their faith. Jesus also appeared among individuals struggling with the possibility of faith.

Do you sense a truth running through all of these observations and pulling them together like a golden thread? No one was, or is, left out! The risen Christ comes to all people – the confident, the disturbed, the discouraged, the self-assured, the doubting, the grieving, the rejoicing, the fearful, the hopeful. No time or no location – geographically or spiritually – falls outside the reach of the risen Christ. We can experience the divine presence when worshiping, working, playing, or struggling, whether we are in a sanctuary or an office, whether it is a festival day or a miserable day or in the middle of the night. The risen Christ comes to us, and stays with us.

When we speak or write of our personal encounters with Christ, the story of the resurrection grows and continues. Each installment that we bring to the story is as peculiar and particular as those in the Gospels. Now, as in the Gospel narratives, diversity marks our varied encounters with Jesus. However, that diversity gives way to unity when, even in different voices, we speak of the rock-bottom reality at stake here – Christ comes to us!

The truths that spring from the affirmation of the Gospel writers and our personal experience are overwhelming. We are never alone; God is with us. The closer we are with God, the closer we are drawn to each other. There is no challenge that we cannot meet and negotiate together.

We serve a risen Savior! God is alive and among us. You ask me how I know. You inquire as to the reasons for my faith in the risen Christ. My answer, not unlike the answer you might have heard from Thomas, draws from many sources, but this one is primary – I know Christ lives because he lives within this fellowship and he lives within my heart! Amen.

After Jesus had died, Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, Salome, and Joseph of Arimathea were in such a hurry to get Jesus inside the tomb before the sabbath that they hadn’t had an opportunity to properly anoint his body for burial. So after the sabbath day was over, the three women got up and went. They got up and went to buy some spices. And then they got up and went to the tomb. 

On their way to the tomb, it occurred to them that what they had set out to do might be impossible. They wondered aloud how they were going to move the stone that was blocking the entrance of the tomb. Who might they ask to move the stone? Would anybody be closeby to help? If so, would they be willing to help? After all, opening a tomb that contained a dead body - and the stench that came with it - would be a rather harrowing task. 

These pragmatic questions didn’t stop the two Marys and Salome from going to the tomb. There was absolutely no way that they would be able to accomplish their task without moving the stone. And there was absolutely no way that they could move it themselves. And they had no idea who - if anybody - would be there to  move the stone for them. But they still got up and went, and they kept going until they arrived.

And because they got up and went, they were the first people to bear witness to the initially terrifying Good News of the resurrection of Jesus’ body from the dead. All because they got up and went to the tomb to carry out a rather mundane task. 

If they had avoided going because they knew the stone would be impossible to move - or if they had waited until they found someone to help them - they would have missed the whole thing.

On that very first Easter Sunday morning, the two Mary’s and Salome got up and went to the tomb. And that “get up and go” is what enabled them to transition from deep grief, hopelessness - and then fear - to what presumably was profound joy and transformation. And for one reason or another, today you did exactly what the two Marys and Salome did on that very first Easter Sunday morning - you got up and went. And I am grateful that you did.

A large part of the popularity of Easter is sensory and nostalgic. After a long, dreary season of Lent with no flowers, no alleluias, and subdued music mostly in the past and the other day that a minor key, we are greeted with the beauty of Easter flowers, alleluias, and triumphant, joyful music to help us celebrate the highest holy day of the Christian year. And since we were unable to gather in person for Easter Sunday last year, today is especially meaningful. All of these things that help make Easter Sunday so joyful, meaningful, and popular are a part of what helped us “get up and go” to church today. And hopefully today’s Easter experience will be all that you hoped that it would be. And if your decision to “get up and go” results in your being inspired, encouraged, and overjoyed, then getting up and going to church was worth the effort. 

That being said, my deepest hope is that perhaps somebody here might leave having experienced something in addition to the typical joy of Easter. My abiding hope is that somebody might actually experience the earth-shattering, stone-moving miracle of the resurrection. Might one of us, in a new and even perhaps terrifying way, be profoundly changed by the Good News that “Christ has been raised from the dead, the first fruits of those who have died.” Might some of us see and hear in a new way what we’ve heard so many times before - “for since death came through a human being, the resurrection of the dead has also come through a human being; for as all die in Adam, so all will be made alive in Christ.” What might it be like for us to be surprised - and to hear and believe this shockingly Good News differently this year? 

Am I being a bit too grandiose? We must remember that the two Mary’s and Salome didn’t get up and go to the tomb that morning expecting the miracle that they experienced. They got up and went to accomplish the rather mundane task of anointing a dead body...and look what God had in store for them. When we expect or even demand a miracle, they rarely happen on our terms. But we can and should hope for them. That is the call of Christians in a world marred by despair. 

Yet, most of what we do as Christians is rather routine and sometimes perhaps even mundane at times. We set the altar and arrange the flowers for worship. We serve on committees. We volunteer at medical clinics, food pantries, and thrift stores. We participate in Bible Studies and other classes and groups. We attend worship on days that are not as exciting as Christmas and Easter. And that is part of the faithful, steadfast life as a Christian.

That being said, I do believe that our getting up and going can result in an earth-shattering, stone-moving, miraculous turnaround, revelation, or experience. But we have to get up and go. When we do so, we are creating an opportunity for our hard heads and our hard hearts can be softened. Our apathy, disinterest, and boredom with Christianity may be converted to a newfound passion. Our hate may be converted to love. Our anger may be converted to forgiveness. Our despair may be converted to hope. Our disbelief may be converted to belief. 

An abiding hope that this sort of transformation - made possible by Christ’s resurrection from the dead - awaits us all. That is why I am here. And that is why we are here. That, my friends, whether we know it or not, is why we got up and went to church today.

As Christians, we must be driven by an abiding hope for what is possible for ourselves, for others, and for God’s whole creation. That hope is not naive, pie-in-the-sky wishful thinking. Rather, it is a resurrection-informed hope in God making possible what the world tells us is impossible. 

The two Mary’s and Salome got up and went, trusting that their getting up and going wouldn’t be in vain. And as a result, they became the first witnesses to the resurrection of Jesus from the dead. They were the first to proclaim that Jesus, though he had died and had been buried, “was raised on the third day.” This is the same Lord for whom we got up and went today. In the words of the prophet Isaiah, “Let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation.”

Stephen Covey, the author of the best-selling Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, once said that “The main thing is to keep the main thing, the main thing.” I think that celebrating the Great Fifty Days of Easter is one of the Church’s means for keeping the main thing, the main thing. After all, the main thing of the Christian faith is the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead. Without the bodily resurrection of Jesus from the dead, we have no Christianity. We’d have a story of a remarkable Jewish man who attempted to lead a religious movement, and died a tragic, horrific, unjust death in the process. There’d be some wonderful sermons, healings, and parables. But that is it. There’d be no Christianity had Jesus not risen from the dead. 

So during the Great Fifty Days of Easter, we are invited to keep our sights on the main thing - the resurrection of Jesus from the dead. The resurrection encounters and narratives don’t stop on Easter Sunday. Last week, we heard about Jesus’ two appearances to his disciples in the Upper Room as told by John. This week, Luke tells us about a snack and conversation Jesus had with his disciples. 

These varied narratives of Jesus’ appearances to his disciples told by the different evangelists remind us, in our moments of doubt, that Jesus’ resurrection from the dead wasn’t just some sort of spiritual, warm feeling that his followers experienced in the days and weeks following his death. Today’s text tells us that at first his disciples were startled and terrified. After that, they became committed evangelists and martyrs for Christ. That to me is a far cry from having their hearts strangely warmed by Christ’s spiritual presence.  I don’t know anybody who would die a martyr's death over having their heart warmed. 

Many folks might say that they come to church for the community, the music, or the programs. But can’t we experience community from our neighborhoods, book groups, Bridge groups, 12-step groups, sports, and any other number of sources? Can’t we hear and support excellent music at The Panama City Symphony Orchestra, the Northwest Florida Ballet, or the Mattie Kelly Arts Center? Can’t our children be nurtured and entertained through countless extracurricular activities? Can’t we volunteer and help those in need at Caring and Sharing, the Point Washington Medical Clinic, and many other places?  In this growing area of ours, the possibilities are endless for community, fellowship, entertainment, and community service. And these are all good things in which we can participate and support.

But none of these things, places, or organizations offer what the Church uniquely offers - the Good News that Jesus’ suffering, death, and resurrection brought and continues to bring about reconciliation, healing, and forgiveness of sins for the whole world. The Church is Christ’s Body in the world, through which we are offered reconciliation between God and humankind. And when we as Christ’s Body fail to keep the main thing the main thing - when we fail to first and foremost proclaim the Good News of the forgiveness of sins through Christ’s suffering, death, and resurrection, we have grievously missed the mark.

This past Thursday morning, this Good News of Christ’s resurrection struck me in an unexpected, surprising, and deeply profound way when I was praying Morning Prayer. In this service, during the Great Fifty Days of Easter, we say the Christ our Passover - the Pascha Nostrum - immediately before we read the assigned psalms for the day. On this particular day, I was in the church by myself, and when I recited the Pascha Nostrum, I was overcome with emotion. I have said those words countless times, but for whatever reason, at this moment, I heard and experienced this Good News differently.  Listen here to the lines that nearly swept me off my feet that morning:

Christ being raised from the dead will never die again; *

    death no longer has dominion over him.

The death that he died, he died to sin, once for all; *

    but the life he lives, he lives to God.

So also consider yourselves dead to sin, *

    and alive to God in Jesus Christ our Lord. Alleluia.

It’s not that I didn’t believe these words prior to last Thursday morning. But I am not sure if I have ever believed them as intensely as I did at this moment. To use Stephen Covey’s terminology, these words taken from Paul’s letters to his churches in Corinth and Rome are “the main thing.” And they sum up the message that we as Christians are called to proclaim. We can have the best worship, music, children’s and adult programs, outreach ministries, and facilities in the world, but if we aren’t keeping the main thing the main thing - that we are “dead to sin, and alive to God in Jesus Christ our Lord” - we are indeed off course. 

When I have read and studied today’s gospel story in the past, I have tended to focus on two things - the actual appearance of Jesus to his disciples - no small detail - as well as Jesus’ rather humorous and pragmatic request for a snack. 

But a closer look shows that this encounter also included a profound teaching moment for the disciples. It comes when “[Jesus] said to them, ‘...everything written about me in the law of Moses, the prophets, and the psalms must be fulfilled,’ after which “he opened their minds to understand the scriptures…”.  

During this encounter, not only did Jesus reassure his disciples that he indeed had risen from the dead, he helped them connect this truth with the scriptures that they had grown up hearing. Jesus was pointing out to them that his resurrection from the dead wasn’t some sort of random surprise in the story or twist in the plot. It had been foretold in the scriptures and in his three years of ministry with them. At this moment it was important for Jesus to help his disciples make that connection - to place Jesus’ resurrection within the arc of salvation history. He wanted to make sure that they understood that the main thing had been the main thing all along.

And here’s the thing - once Jesus had “opened their mind to understand the scriptures,” he didn’t command them to go be kind, inclusive, affirming, or welcoming. He didn’t even command them to feed the hungry or heal the sick or build a new building or start a new program. Not that those are bad things. And not that we shouldn’t do those types of things. But what follows instead was simply Jesus’ command “that repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations.” Repentance and forgiveness was the primary mission that Jesus assigned to his disciples, and as such, it should be our primary mission. Proclaiming, in Jesus’ name, repentance and forgiveness of sins to all people was and still is the main thing. And it is out of this “main thing” that all Christian ministries should flow. 

The bottom line is, if we, like so many other churches, choose to proclaim an “I’m ok, you’re ok, we’re all ok” gospel, or a “come as you are and don’t seek to be transformed because you are just fine the way you are” gospel, we might as well remove the cross that is hanging on this back wall, change our name, and quit being a church. We will have become disciples of the Moral Therapeutic Deism movement that is so prevalent in so many liberal mainline Protestant churches today. Jesus didn’t die a horrific death on the cross to affirm how good we are.

One of my favorite ways I have heard this articulated was by the Rev’d Frank Limehouse from the Cathedral Church of the Advent in Birmingham. One Sunday a lady approached him in the handshake line and thanked him for his message. She said something along the lines of her being a bad person for a long time and was ready to come back to church and turn her life around. He said to her, “Well, I have some bad news and some good news for you. The bad news is that as bad of a person as you think you are, you are actually worse. I know this because all of us are in desperate need of God’s grace. The Good News is that Christ’s grace,  mercy, forgiveness, and love are available to us all - each and every one of us - not because of who we are or what “good deeds” we do but because of who Jesus is and what he did and continues to do for us. The goal here isn’t to become “good people.” The goal is much more profound than that. The goal is to be reconciled to the God who created, redeemed, and sustains us, and in that reconciliation, we get a foretaste of the Kingdom of Heaven.

The Great Fifty Days of Easter help remind us of the “main thing,” and invite us to keep the main thing, the main thing. And that is why we are here today, and why we keep coming back. We don’t come because of how good or bad we are. We are here to see, hear, taste, smell, and experience the Good News of Christ’s redemptive mercy, forgiveness, love, and grace for all people. And then we are called to go out into the world and proclaim repentance and forgiveness of sins in Christ’s name to all nations. Or in the words of the Apostle Paul, “ consider yourselves dead to sin, and alive to God in Jesus Christ our Lord.” Alleluia!

It never fails that when the time comes for me to wear this red chasuble, somebody will tell me how pretty it looks. Whether or not we think that it looks pretty, we must remember why we adorn our clergy, altar, and pulpit in red during Holy Week. The red symbolizes blood - the salvific blood of Jesus that he shared with his disciples at the Last Supper and the salvific blood that he shed the next day on the cross. 

In our rather sanitized, dignified Episcopal world, we don’t talk a lot about blood. We are certainly more apt to focus on the blood of the Eucharist - the wine that we drink -  than we are the blood of the Cross, which the wine points to. And you will not find “Washed in the Blood of the Lamb” in our hymnal. 

I’ll never forget the time when I had just arrived to serve as the Associate Rector at St. Mark’s in Jacksonville, a parishioner asked me if she could make an appointment to come pray with me. When she arrived, she said that rather than having me pray for her, God had put it on her heart for her to pray for me. I gladly accepted the opportunity to be prayed for, but what came next startled me. She prayed something along the lines of this: 

Dear Jesus - Cover your servant Richard in your blood. Soak him in your blood. Wash him in your blood. Feed him with your blood. Pour out your blood all over him so that he may faithfully live into his call as a priest in this parish. May his ministry be a blood-soaked ministry. And may his flock be covered in your blood as well. Amen.

I must say that I was terribly uncomfortable during this prayer. I had never heard such a prayer as this. Had I not known the very loving, faithful, pillar of that church who prayed this prayer over me, I definitely would have been praying with one eye open, looking for the exit.

When I reflect back on the visceral discomfort I felt during that prayer, I can think of at least two reasons why I felt that way. First - that is not typically how we pray in the Anglican tradition. It felt foreign to me - like it was almost a totally different language. Perhaps it’s similar to why you wouldn’t hire a Mariachi band for an Irish wedding reception. But sometimes an unfamiliar genre is what we need to shake us loose from our comfortable habits, routines, and world views.

The second reason I think I felt uncomfortable was because, as I said before, I have almost always lived in a rather privileged, safe, sanitized, non-violent bubble. I’m not accustomed to witnessing violence. I see it on the news. I see it in movies. But not in my home, my neighborhood, or even my community. Not only do I not see a lot of blood in my everyday life, it actually makes me queasy.

Ironically, I’ll never forget our son Julian’s first introduction to violence was in his children’s Bible. The story of David and Goliath captivated him, and it still does to this day. His next favorite story? The Exodus narrative where Moses defeats Pharaoh. It was the Bible that introduced our children to violence. So while we may do our best to sanitize the Bible for our children and even for ourselves - the weekly Lectionary does it all the time - the fact remains that if we read the Bible, we will encounter violence and death. We will encounter blood.

This harrowing truth comes into full focus every year during Holy Week - the week when we adorn our church and clergy in red to remind us of the blood that was shed for us. So if we plug our ears or stare out the windows during the gospel lesson, we still have to see the blood of Holy Week.

The reason we are given the entire Passion narrative prior to Good Friday is because of the reality that this day and age, most people skip Good Friday services. So the Church decided that folks who only attend worship on Sundays shouldn’t be able to avoid the horror of the cross. So we are assigned the crucifixion narrative on the Sunday before Easter. We are being invited to grapple with the mysterious truth that our salvation was won by the violent, bloody death of Jesus Christ. 

In the Passion narrative, we are reminded that even the Messiah experienced the horror of a violent death.  And our gospel readings today - both the Palm and Passion narratives - address the issue of violence in a way that invites us to rethink how we might choose to deal with conflict.  

When the bystanders waved their palm branches and laid their cloaks on the dusty road for Jesus as he was entering into Jerusalem, they shouted “Hosanna! Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestor David!” The Jews who were shouting this had had enough of being oppressed by their Roman occupiers. Caesar had had his way long enough. Caesar used military, political, and economic power to keep things orderly in the Roman Empire. As long as the Jews and other occupied people paid their taxes and remained obedient to the emperor, everything would be ok.  

But the Jews were growing tired of paying their taxes to Caesar, and they were growing tired of being ruled by the pagans from afar. So they began to hope and pray for deliverance. They began to hope and pray for a new King David to pick up his slingshot and slay the Goliath they knew as the Roman Empire.  

So when word got out that this Jesus of Nazareth was performing miracles, healing the sick, raising the dead, and announcing that the Kingdom of Heaven was near, they were sure that this was the moment that they had been praying for. Now was the time for a revolution, and Jesus was their leader. He was coming to Jerusalem not only to celebrate the Passover, but also to take Jerusalem back from the bad guys. 

So imagine not just the letdown, but also the sheer horror when what started as Jesus’ Triumphal Entry into Jerusalem ended with Jesus hanging dead on the cross five days later. The bad guys had won again. Apparently Jesus wasn’t the savior that they had hoped for. 

Of course, we now have the hindsight to know that the story doesn’t end on the cross, but let’s not jump ahead to Easter just yet. Let’s live for a moment in this awful tension between what we think will solve our problems and what God believes to be true. Because if we’re honest with ourselves, we’re just like the Jews who were shouting “Hosanna” when Jesus came to town. The Jews believed that the only way to defeat Caesar was to beat him at his own game – to finally give the bully a dose of his own medicine and punch him right in the mouth, just like David did to Goliath. 

If you think about it, it’s easy to read our own nation’s story through the lens of the David and Goliath narrative. We have read this story every Palm Sunday since the founding of this great nation of ours – this great nation that had had enough of paying taxes to the Caesar we knew as the King of England. Yet the ironic thing is that one attribute of oppressed people is oftentimes if they ever land in a position of power, they simply imitate the very people who oppressed them. In other words, they end up using the same means for wielding power that were used on them. This is what the Jews were hoping to do to the Romans. And is this not what we are doing today? 

As Christians, what are we to make of the biblical witness of Jesus Christ, who subverted the “eye for an eye” means of achieving justice and peace. Jesus shows us a different way, but if you’re like me, it’s a hard pill to swallow. Because if you’re like me, you don’t feel safe unless you know that the good guys have more power and might than the bad guys. And if you’re like me, you think that we just happen to be the good guys. If you’re like me, you feel safer knowing that our military is the most powerful, sophisticated, and well-funded military in the world. If you’re like me, you can’t for the life of you figure out why Jesus would allow himself to be nailed to a cross and suffer the most horrific death imaginable rather than fight back, even though he had the power and might to do so. 

And if you’re like me, you struggle at times to feel joyful when it seems like violence is having its way in the world around us. Once again we have had a senseless, unexplainable, tragic mass shooting in our country. This time in a supermarket in Boulder, Colorado. Once again, we read about blood being shed not on the battlefield, but in a neighborhood. And once again, once the carnage is cleaned up, the divisive rhetoric begins to fly - whose fault was it? What legislation should we pass to prevent folks from being able to buy assault weapons so things like this won’t happen in the future? What legislation should we pass to allow folks to arm themselves so they can feel safer when they go to the store to pick up a gallon of milk?

While I am all for sensible legislation that will make our neighborhoods and communities safer, I also recognize that violence is as old a humankind. Even Julian’s children’s story Bible doesn’t avoid that difficult truth. There is not an elected official, political party, political action committee, or weapon on this planet that can save us from the real enemy, which is that human beings are infected with sin. We have been infected with and affected by sin since the beginning of time. Our disobedience - our lust for power - got us in trouble in the Garden of Eden and it’s still got a hold of us today. And the only thing that can save us from sin, death, and evil is not the power of this world, but the saving grace, power, and dare I say, blood, of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.  

As we begin our Holy Week journey today, and we see the beautiful red vestments and altar appointments, let us ponder the harrowing, ironic, mysterious beauty of Christ’s blood. Let us ponder Christ’s saving blood that was shed for you and for me and for the entire world as we listen to the words of a hymn that may or may not be familiar to you:

Have you been to Jesus for the cleansing pow’r?
Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?
Are you fully trusting in His grace this hour?
Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?

Are you walking daily by the Savior’s side?
Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?
Do you rest each moment in the Crucified?
Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?

When the Bridegroom cometh will your robes be white?
Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?
Will your soul be ready for the mansions bright,
And be washed in the blood of the Lamb?

Lay aside the garments that are stained with sin,
And be washed in the blood of the Lamb;
There’s a fountain flowing for the soul unclean,
Oh, be washed in the blood of the Lamb!

Refrain:
Are you washed in the blood,
In the soul-cleansing blood of the Lamb?
Are your garments spotless? Are they white as snow?
Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?