When folks who haven’t been to Christ the King since before Covid find their way back here, they emphatically observe how much has changed since they were last here. It’s a helpful perspective for us to have. The changes that have happened over the past few years – namely the new school building, the renovated education building, the labyrinth, and the large number of children and youth in our midst - are much more impactful when seen all at once.

But these changes have been a long time coming. When I arrived here eight years ago, the primary two priorities that Christ the King had articulated was a desire to build a new school building and to build a thriving children and youth program. But much structural, relational, and strategic work needed to be done for these two goals to be realized.

If we look at the two primary initiatives – the building of a stand-alone parish day school building and the establishment of a professionally-staffed and adequately funded Family Faith Formation program – three things had to happen. And it is interesting that the exact same “formula” was followed for both initiatives.

First, the wider parish community had to collectively articulate the desire and need for these initiatives. In 2016-2017, we undertook a parish-wide Strategic Visioning Process with the Episcopal Church Foundation to gain clarity in our sense of identity and mission. That process gave us data to help clarify and focus what we had already suspected - our school was going to need a new, stand-alone building in order for both our school and our Sunday and weekday Christian Formation programs to simultaneously thrive.

Then in 2018, we engaged with Ministry Architects to help us gain clarity and a strategy around our desire to grow our programming for children and youth. This was a parish-wide initiative, which was important to make sure that all of us – not just our young families – were committed to this ministry.

Once we achieved clarity of goals in these two cases, we had to have seed money in order for both of these initiatives to begin. In the case with the school building, we had already received the 10 acres and a matching $250,000 gift prior to my arrival. And we subsequently received another $2 million in seed money from generous donors who were committed to seeing this daunting project through. In the case with the Family Faith Formation program, we received a start-up gift of $100,000 to give that ministry a jump-start. Neither of these two projects would have been a possibility without those initial gifts.

But in order for both of these initiatives to be fully realized, we needed more money. So, we launched the Rooted & Grounded in Love Capital Campaign to close the gap. And this process was incredibly important for us as a parish family. On a practical level, it was successful. We raised over $700,000 so that we could accomplish the goals that we identified. But this campaign has been about much more than just closing a financial gap. It allowed us to cast a wider net, and invited a wider range of financial participation as it relates to the mission and ministries of Christ the King. The bottom line is that we wouldn’t be here today without the staggering generosity, leadership, and vision of many people who helped launch and sustain the ministries we are now enjoying. But in order for Christ the King to continue not only to survive, but also to thrive, we will always need to invite more people to invest their resources in the mission and ministries of Christ the King, regardless of how much time, talent, and treasure they are able to give. As such, the Rooted & Grounded in Love capital campaign was as missional and spiritual as it was practical. And for any future goals to be realized, we will need to continue to inspire participation from a wider base. I always like to say, “just as no gift is too large, no gift is too small.”

So, that is a snapshot of the past eight years here at Christ the King, and how we got to where we are today. I think it’s important for us to identify our previous pattern of (1) the community collectively and intentionally identifying a need; (2)  a large financial gift (or gifts) to serve as seed money for the project; and (3) the wider parish community rallying to close the gap and see the project through. I believe that this pattern or formula is how any future initiatives beyond our current ministries will be realized.

So, what’s next? Now that we have successfully achieved these important milestones, where do we go from here?

First, in the midst of our recent growth and expansion of ministries, I believe that we will need to continue to do the hard work of stabilizing the organizational infrastructure, systems, and protocol that will help our existing and any future ministries thrive. We will need to identify, invite, and train many more lay leaders within our parish to help us be more efficient and effective at nurturing and sustaining our ministries. These lay leaders will need support from our professional staff, which will take time and training from our already-busy schedules.

Second, as you know, Deacon Ed Richards recently retired. And due to a shortage of deacons in our diocese, we will not be assigned another one in the foreseeable future. In addition to serving in Sunday worship the primary ministry of deacons is pastoral care and outreach. Given that we do not have a staff person dedicated solely to pastoral care and outreach, we will need to explore what that looks like for us going forward.

Deacon Ed oversaw our Lay Eucharistic Visitor program, which lost its momentum during Covid and never rebounded. We currently have several parishioners who are shut-ins – either at their home or at one of the local Assisted Living Facilities. I would love for us to send out a Lay Eucharistic every Sunday after worship so that our shut-ins are able to receive communion once a month.

But the truth is, most of us are not shut-ins, having surgery or medical emergencies, or on hospice care. But all of us go through periods of loneliness, depression, or just an emotional or spiritual funk. All of us need to know that we are not alone, and that there are fellow parishioners are willing to come and visit, go out for a cup of coffee, or share a meal. All of us need to know that we matter to our fellow parishioners in our church family.

With this critically important need in mind, two of our parishioners were trained to be lay pastoral caregivers through a wonderful program similar to Stephen’s Ministry called Community of Hope International. And then Covid hit. And since then, life circumstances have prevented these two parishioners from resuming that ministry. So, as it stands right now, we have nobody who has been trained to serve in this sort of lay ministry role. I hope that some of you will prayerfully consider serving as a Lay Eucharistic Visitor and/or a lay pastoral care giver now that the emergency status of covid-19 has officially ended.

So, in terms of what is next for us here at Christ the King, my prayer is that we might be able to inspire and channel a collective desire, vision, commitment, and generosity for relational, connectional, and pastoral ministries here at Christ the King. In order for this vision to be realized, and for these ministries to be as successful and impactful as our previous initiatives, I believe that we will need to follow a formula similar to what worked for our other goals – (1) a collective desire and vision for these types of ministries; (2) a seed gift; and (3) a parish-wide commitment of time, talent, and treasure directed specifically towards this initiative.

But this is simply one idea for how we might focus our missional and financial resources in the coming years here at Christ the King. At our Annual Parish Meeting after worship today, we will break bread together as a community. And we will hear reports from various ministries of our parish. And you will have an opportunity to meet with various ministry leaders in our parish and discuss how you might get involved with what they are currently doing, as well as offer your ideas for new ministries that have yet to emerge.

Regardless of how and where we direct our energy and resources over the next few years, I strongly believe that the most important thing for us as a parish is for us to be a community that is grounded in God’s grace. Let’s not be too hard on ourselves or others. A community grounded in God’s grace is a community that gives one another the benefit of the doubt. A community grounded in God’s grace leads with gracious intentions and assumptions. A community grounded in God’s grace forgives one another often. To quote our bishop, “What we are doing here is serious stuff…but let’s not take ourselves too seriously.”

My prayer is for us to be a parish where laughter comes easy - in the pews, in the parish hall, in the office, and in the vestry room. There is enough thin skin, blaming, shaming, and finger pointing in this world right now. As Christians grounded in God’s grace, we are called to resist the urge to do the same. Our calling in much more radical than being nice to others; our calling is to be graceful to others.

As your rector, I am profoundly grateful for the grace you have shown me in our past eight years together. I know that it hasn’t always been easy. Y’all have offered me the grace to learn on the job, make mistakes, and keep moving forward. I tell people that serving as a Rector of a parish is the most challenging job I have ever had – but also the most rewarding. Through it all, it is such a blessing to have received God’s grace and yours. It is what sustains me in my ministry as a priest and as your rector. And it is by God’s grace that we will be empowered to go forward faithfully with inquiring and discerning hearts, the courage to will and to persevere, a spirit to know and to love God, and the gift of joy and wonder in all God’s works.

A theme that runs through our scripture lessons today is one of dwelling, habitation, and security. When it came time to choose a psalm for today, Sharon didn’t hesitate one bit. Psalm 91 was the one she wanted, and for good reason. Sharon has clearly prayed this psalm many, many times in her life, and it still brings her comfort in the midst of struggle.

In the very first line, we encounter this theme of dwelling, habitation, and security when the psalmist declares, “He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High, abides under the shadow of the Almighty.” And it goes on to say, “You are my refuge and my stronghold, my God in whom I put my trust.”

The psalmist isn’t telling us that if we believe in and follow God, that our lives will be easy, and free from heartbreak. Rather, he is saying that when we encounter the difficulties that life brings us, we have a God who calls us to dwell in his shelter and abide under the shadow cast by God’s infinite, expansive love. And within this shadow of the Almighty, in the midst of our struggles, we find refuge and strength.

Later in the psalm, the image of refuge is expanded to that of a mother hen, covering her chicks under her wings for warmth and protection. Given the fact that every person in this life will at some point experience pain, suffering, and heartbreak, I can only imagine, when the psalmist says that when we make the Lord our refuge and the Most High our habitation, that no evil or plague shall happen to us, he can only mean the evil of total separation from God. Otherwise, this psalm wouldn’t be true for anyone, even Jesus himself, who suffered evil. I am confident that Jim, in the midst of the joys and tragedies of his 82 years of life,  including his long illness, he never felt separated from God. And Sharon’s abiding presence helped remind him of that.

During the time I have come to know Sharon and Jim since they moved here in November of 2021, I have experienced their home as a place of refuge, even in the midst of Jim’s declining health. Sharon created a space of love, nurture, and refuge for Jim to live the last 18 months of his life. She was embodying the “steadfast love of the Lord [that] never ceases, [whose] mercies never come to an end” which we heard from in the reading from Lamentations. Sharon, you and Jim both courageously and faithfully modeled what we heard from Lamentations, that “The Lord is good to those who wait for him. It is good that one should wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord.” Jim’s illness was prolonged and debilitating. But you never quit caring for him, and he never quit graciously receiving your care. He always knew that he was abiding under the shadow of your loving, caring wings, while you both were abiding under the Lord’s.

When speaking with Sharon and Philip about Jim, the words that came up first when describing Jim was patient, gentle, and kind. And that is how I experienced him as well. Jim truly embodied the Fruits of the Spirit that we read about in Paul’s Letter to the Galatians – love, joy, peace, forbearance (patience), kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.

During Sharon and Jim’s 27 years of marriage, Jim loved Sharon’s children and grandchildren as if they were his very own. And as great athlete himself, Grumps loved watching his grandchildren play sports, and was always supportive and loving to them.

When I met him for the first time, it was in the hospital, and though he was very ill, he was extremely gracious and hospitable. I immediately felt the kindness of that Sharon and her family always spoke of.

When Jim died two weeks ago, he left the loving, caring refuge, shelter, and habitation that Sharon had provided him during his illness. But his soul is not left alone to fend for itself. He is now abiding in the dwelling place that Christ prepared for him, which we heard from our Gospel lesson today. So while we grieve his physical absence from us here and now, we can rest assured in our faith that Jim is abiding in a dwelling place where we too will abide one day.

So, as Christians, when we grieve, we do so within that faithful tension between missing our loved ones while also knowing that they are now resting in the holy presence of our living, loving, Triune God, along with the angels, archangels, and all the company of heaven. And we do so in the faithful confidence that, in the word’s of St. Paul, “neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” The love of God in Christ Jesus is what binds us together here today as we go forward from here in the sure confidence that for Jim, life has changed, but not ended. And it is the love of God in Christ Jesus that holds our everlasting bond with those who we love but see no longer. Amen.

Last Friday at our men's Bible study, Darold posed to us this question – “What, if anything, makes Christians different from others?” It stimulated a wonderful conversation – after all, eggs, bacon, and coffee were involved - and that question has remained with me all weekend. I think that our lessons today from the Acts of the Apostles as well as the First Letter of Peter can help us think about how we might respond that question.

To give a little context from our lesson from Acts, this is a post-Pentecost sermon that Peter is preaching. So, while the story from our gospel lesson today occurs on the same day as the story from last week- the day that Jesus rose from the dead -  today's sermon from Peter occurs no sooner than fifty days after Jesus rose from the dead. At this point in time, Jesus has breathed his Holy Spirit onto Peter twice. The first time happens in our Gospel story today, and many consider it to actually be the very first Pentecost. The second time happens on what we now refer to as the Feast of Pentecost, which was fifty days after the resurrection. So, the Peter that we hear from today is very different from the Peter that we heard about just ten days ago when he denied Jesus not once, not twice, but three times the evening prior to his crucifixion. He is also different from the Peter who was locked in the Upper Room with the other disciples, fearing for their lives.

This Peter that we hear from today in both lessons has experienced profound transformation and conversion. We hear so much about the dramatic conversion of Saul on the road to Damascus, but Peter had a dramatic conversion as well. And in this sermon that he is preaching, he is inviting his listeners – ourselves included - into that same life-altering transformation and conversion.

Now, if you are like me, when you hear this sermon, you bristle a little bit. Peter seems rather judgmental and heavy-handed in his approach to preaching the gospel to his fellow Jews there in Jerusalem.Perhaps that is why he felt bold enough to call them out publicly for directly or indirectly participating in the handing over of their Messiah to be crucified.

But we must remember that Peter himself was also guilty. He succumbed to fear and doubt when it mattered the most for Jesus. But in this sermon, I don't see Peter as hypocritically pointing his finger at his fellow people and blaming them for Jesus’ death. After all, he indicates later in the sermon that this was all a fulfillment of God's plan. Rather, Peter recognizes that he was just like they were. And yet he too - in spite of all of his flaws - was somehow a part of God's plan for salvation history.

So, the purpose of Peter’s sermon wasn't to cast blame and make his listeners feel ashamed or afraid. The purpose of this sermon was to invite his listeners into the resurrection life of Jesus Christ. He was inviting them to share in the same heavenly grace that he experienced more than once after Jesus rose from the dead. Peter very much recognizes that Jesus gave him a second chance... and really many more than that! And he wants those in Jerusalem to experience that the profound impact of that grace as well.

I also think that Peter recognized that he had an advantage over his listeners. First and foremost, he had spent three years as one of Jesus 's disciples. But as we all know even that didn’t keep him from failing on that eve before his crucifixion. But Peter also had the advantage of receiving the gift of Christ's Holy Spirit on that first Easter evening and on the day of Pentecost fifty days later. Peter also had the advantage of being with the resurrected Christ during his forty days after his resurrection and prior to his ascension into heaven. He ate with Jesus and visited with Jesus, and most importantly, he was forgiven by Jesus. We know this because as we heard in our gospel lesson today, the first thing that Jesus said to his disciples that Easter evening when he visited them in the Upper Room was “peace be with you.” I think that Jesus led with that statement because he knew that they were terrified and ashamed. They were ashamed for their lack of faith and courage on the night before and the day of his crucifixion. When he appeared to them, was he going to chastise them - or perhaps do something even worse - for their betrayal? He ended that speculation by greeting them not once but twice with his grace-filled offer of peace.

So, just as Peter and his brethren received Christ’s offer of peace and his Holy Spirit, Peter was now offering this same peace to anyone who would listen… ourselves included. While we didn't deny Jesus three times and we didn't fall asleep that night with him in the garden, we too bring our shame and guilt with us here today. Most of us are not likely even aware of it, but the longer I serve as a priest the more convinced I am that anxiety, guilt, and shame are a large part of what plague us the most. And whether we realize it or not, most of us are here because we desperately long to feel and experience in a real way the peace of God that passes all understanding which is offered to us in Jesus Christ.

So back to the question that I led with from the men's Bible study last Friday – “What makes Christians different from everyone else?” Peter answers that by inserting a bit of a sidebar in his sermon - a sidebar about their ancestor, King David. Some scholars have proposed that this sermon was preached in front of King David's tomb, and I very much like that idea, and I hope that the writers of The Chosen portray it that way when they get to that part of the story!

And in this sermon, Peter is telling us what is different between those who we now call Christians and everyone else. And that difference is how we understand the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Standing in front of King David's tomb was a very visible reminder that as great a king as David was, he was now dead and in the tomb. Yes, they were in the city of David, and yes David was the greatest king Israel ever had. But Peter is proclaiming to the people in Jerusalem that King David, or any other king that would follow, would not be the answer for making Israel great again. King David was a part of God’s plan, but he wasn't the fulfillment of God's plan. And Peter was there to tell them who fulfilled that plan.

By standing in front of David’s tomb as he preached this, Peter was pointing out the fact that every political reign has a beginning and an ending. God's reign, on the other hand, has no beginning and no ending. There is something profoundly different between David and Jesus… between earthly reigns and heavenly reigns. And that difference is none other than resurrection. And that is why we were assigned this text on the second Sunday of Easter. Because during these Great Fifty Days of Easter we are being challenged to grapple with what it means to believe in the resurrection of Jesus Christ and how that makes us different from others.

The problem with relying on King David or George Washington or Thomas Jefferson or John Adams or Abraham Lincoln or FDR or JFK or Ronald Reagan or any other earthly leader is that the problems they were seeking to solve are political problems for which they are seeking political solutions. Yet Jesus came to address the human problem - the human condition of sin and death that the very first human beings brought upon themselves and every human being that came after them. The fact is, the human condition from which we suffer is that we are all sinners, no matter how hard we try to convince ourselves otherwise. And the human condition is that we will all die, no matter how hard we try not to. None of the leaders I mentioned before have been able to fix that. Only Jesus Christ can fix that. And that is what Peter was trying to communicate in his sermon that day. Peter was inviting his listeners – and us – to broaden the way in which we look at ourselves and the world about us. He is inviting us to go deeper. He is inviting us into resurrection life.

But where we go astray as Christians is that many Christian preachers will try to lead us to believe that Jesus seeks to solve all of our problems. And perhaps that is what many Christians believe makes us different from others. And so we hear a lot of self-referential, therapeutic, life-application sermons that try to address the age-old problem of the fact that living East of Eden is terribly difficult. But a life-application sermon series can’t address the human condition that plagues us all. King David, nor any other earthly king or politician or program can fix the truth that life is hard and then we die. The only way for us to make meaning out of this existential truth is the resurrection. Because when Christ rose from the dead, everything changed. When Christ rose from the dead, the age-old human condition of sin, death, and evil was destroyed. When Christ rose from the dead, God reminded us who is in control…and it is not we.

Much later after he preached this sermon in Jerusalem, Peter wrote a letter to the churches in Asia minor, and in it he acknowledges that this life is difficult, and in this case, especially for the followers of Christ. Actually, in this case, following Christ had made their lives much more difficult than before! He writes, “In this you rejoice… even if now… for a little while… you have had to suffer various trials… so that the genuineness of your faith… may be found to result in praise and glory and honor … when Jesus Christ is revealed.” 

That, my friends, is what separates Christians from others. Peter is saying that all our present suffering isn't the end of the story. And when we die, that also is not the end of the story. So as Christians, we believe that what is happening now as well as what happened in the past and as well as what will happen in the future is all pointing to something much deeper and broader and bigger than this earthly life. When Christ rose from the dead, the whole trajectory of salvation history changed.

In a few moments when we say “we remember his death, we proclaim his resurrection, we await his coming in glory” in the eucharistic prayer, we are reminding ourselves through prayer that we are different. We are reminding ourselves that we are people of the resurrection and as such we believe that in Christ all things will be made new again. We believe that in Christ what we are experiencing now is only a fraction of the picture. We believe that in Christ lies all our hope because we are audaciously faithful enough to believe that Christ rose from the dead and that he will come again to consummate all of God's creation and to once and for all solve all of the world's problems.

Please don't hear me as saying that this is an easy thing for us to understand or even believe. Our gospel lesson today reminds us that even the disciple Thomas struggled with doubt and needed tangible proof in order to believe. I know that I have a lot of Thomas in me a lot of the time. I'd rather have tangible proof and I'd rather have a tangible solution to all my problems. And yes, some of my day-to-day problems can be fixed through various means and solutions. And that is a good thing. But my existential problem of sin and death are only fixed by what we heard Peter preach about today and that is Jesus’ resurrection from the dead and our belief and trust that this event changes everything, and that we too will rise from the dead when Christ comes again. This isn’t about going to heaven when we die. This is about being raised from the dead in our new, earthly bodies when Christ returns, at which point the kingdom of God will be perfectly and finally fulfilled.

Peter, in his letter to the churches that we heard from today, says “by God's great mercy he has given us a new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead.” The Great Fifty Days of Easter is the season for us to either discover for the first time or renew and reinvigorate that living hope in the resurrection from the dead. And that indeed, is what makes us different from others. May we, in the spirit of St. Peter, be so bold as to abide by and invite others into this living hope.

Will things ever be the same?  “Will things ever be the same on the other side of an Easter when the churches stood empty, wondering where we’d gone?” This question was posed by a Bishop of the Episcopal Church in 2020, when churches all over the world were “closed” due to the Covid-19 pandemic. The longer that church buildings were closed, the more anxious we became. What if, by the time we re-open, folks never come back? Or what if, by the time we re-open, things in the church will be forever changed? What if it doesn’t feel like the church we knew and loved prior to the pandemic?

Well, here we are, three years later. And much of our anxiety was well-founded. Here at Christ the King, we have parishioners who never made it back to us after we re-opened. Some have told me that they prefer the convenience of the livestream option. Others decided to take advantage of the hot real estate market and sell their home at the beach and move somewhere where the dollar goes a little bit further. Others simply got out of the habit of going to church and have never come back.

So, the answer is no, things are not the same as we were prior to 2020. And a lot of that has to do with the covid-19 pandemic. Indeed, a lot has changed, but not all for the worse. For those of you who aren’t with us regularly, the minute you drove up and parked your car today you noticed that a lot has visibly changed here – whether it is the new school building, the labyrinth, or the bell tower, or many new faces that you don’t recognize. And a lot of things have changed in ways that aren’t as easily seen this morning – like the deep spiritual growth that is happening to those who have been participating in our children’s, youth, and adult Christian formation programs throughout the week and on Sundays. There has been notable spiritual growth happening in the lives of many of our parishioners – myself included - over the past few years. And it’s been exciting to witness and experience.

Again, things are not the same as we were prior to 2020 – as a church or as individuals. Some of the change has been heartbreaking; some of it has been life-giving.

So, if we return to the original question - “Will things ever be the same on the other side of Easter?”- the answer is “no.” And the thought of somehow remaining the same after any Easter – that first Easter or any that followed – seems odd to me. Nothing has ever been or is supposed to be the same after Easter.

One of the most prominent themes of the Bible is profound change. God’s people are always being called to transformation. Humankind was never the same after the Fall. God’s people were never the same after they experienced slavery in Egypt or exile in Babylon. And the world was never the same after God became incarnate in Jesus Christ and suffered death on the cross for our redemption. And the world was never the same after Jesus rose from the dead, asserting his dominion over the powers and principalities of the world; asserting his dominion over sin, death, and evil; asserting his dominion over the cosmos. Time and time again our scriptures tell stories of new, transformed life emerging from catastrophe, whether it be slavery, exile, or crucifixion.

For us as Christians, all transformation is rooted and grounded in what God did on that very first Easter. The Easter proclamation that Jesus Christ has risen from the dead so that we all might have life, and have it abundantly, is about things never being the same again.

Speaking of transformation in Christ - three of us here today – Garret, Whip, and Owen – will be forever changed after this Easter. Because today, through the sacrament of Holy Baptism, they will become a new creation. In this foundational sacrament of the Church, they will be grafted into Christ’s Body – our Body – the Church. They will have a brand new – and much larger family.

In the Early Church, baptisms only happened on Easter Day, because there was no better day to celebrate a person dying and rising into new life. The sacrament of baptism is first and foremost and Easter sacrament. It embodies what we believe to be true, and these candidates will, before our very eyes, reenact Christ’s death and resurrection at this font that holds in it both death and new life.

After Garrett, Whip, and Owen are baptized, everything will, on the outside, seem to be the same as usual. They will look the same, and on Monday they will go back to work and school or whatever their Monday routine is. But in a few moments, they are about to undergo the most transformational, important moment of their entire lives – past, present, and future. Because in a few moments, each of them will enter into the depths of the baptismal waters and die with Christ. I always say that babies who cry during baptisms are the ones who truly get it. The waters of baptism are harrowing, because in these waters we die…we join Christ in his death. We die to our old selves.

But they will not remain dead in the water. They will not remain in the tomb. Just as God parted the Red Sea waters for the Israelites, and just as God rolled away the stone of Jesus’ tomb, God will raise Garrett, Whip, and Owen out of the baptismal waters and into new life in Christ. Immediately after that, they will be “sealed by the Holy Spirit in baptism and marked as Christ’s own forever.” By the power of the Holy Spirit, the three of them – and those of us participating  - will never be the same after this Easter.

When framed this way, we are being invited to remember that the emptiness of the tomb – and the harrowing waters of baptism - lead to the abundance of new, transformed, eternal life. As an Easter people, our alleluias are proclaimed just as the echoes of weeping are fading. The empty tomb doesn’t mean that Jesus is dead and his body has been stolen. The empty tomb means that Jesus is alive, and everything has been changed forever. And one of the best ways that we remember and proclaim this great Good News is through the sacrament of baptism.

In our Psalm today, the psalmist proclaims “I shall not die, but live, and declare the works of the Lord.” Mary Magdalene lived into these words boldly and faithfully. She was never the same when she encountered her Risen Lord. She became Christ’s first preacher; Christ’s first evangelist; the first bearer of the Good News of the Risen Lord to the world.

 The Christian Church has faced persecutions, plagues, economic recessions, scandals, and countless other hardships. But the Church has steadfastly persisted through the ages. The Church, like the psalmist, has declared, “I shall not die, but live, and declare the works of the Lord.” And Garrett, Whip, and Owen are about to boldly join in that proclamation. They are choosing abundant life in Christ. Our foundational story – the truth upon which we stand and shout “Alleluia!” – is a story about death being overcome by life; evil being overcome by good; injustice being overcome by justice; hate being overcome by love. Indeed, ever since that first Easter, things have never been the same. Thanks be to God!

During the season of Lent, our adult Sunday School class has been exploring the Holy Week services in the Book of Common Prayer. One thing that we noted is that our current prayer book is the first one to include Holy Week services. In particular, the addition of a Maundy Thursday service was one of those additions that was met with some resistance. We have to remember that at that time, the addition of the exchange of the Peace prior to the Eucharist was scandalous. It was too colloquial and touchy-feely for most died-in-the wool Episcopalians. So just imagine the horror of adding a worship service that includes foot washing!

When new rituals or traditions are introduced to a community, after the initial resistance that comes with any sort of change, communities usually end up adopting them, albeit reluctantly. Then follows the usual revisions and adaptations that come about once the community has lived with the new practice for a while. And oftentimes, what ends up happening is that the new rites or rituals end up having a different effect than what was initially intended. They take on a new life and meaning of their own – sometimes for better and sometimes for worse.

And such is the case with the Maundy Thursday service. The worship service that begins the Holy Triduum – the three days that begin on the evening of Maundy Thursday and end on Easter Sunday – has become known by many as the “foot washing service.” Lest we forget that the foot washing occurred within the larger story of the Last Supper, which should always be the primary focus of how we remember the evening before Jesus’ crucifixion.

Now don’t get me wrong – the significance of the Last Supper has not been lost on the Episcopal Church. The 1979 Prayer not only added a Maundy Thursday service that included foot washing, but it also switched the primary Sunday worship service from Morning Prayer to Holy Eucharist. So, instead of celebrating the eucharist monthly, Episcopal churches now celebrate it weekly.

So, as it turns out, much of what happened on that Thursday evening prior to Jesus’ crucifixion ended up profoundly shaping the revision of our current Prayer Book, perhaps more than any other event. And one could argue that since we celebrate the Eucharist every Sunday, it’s not such a bad thing to shift our focus this evening to foot washing since it only happens once a year. Hence, our tendency to refer to it as “the foot washing service.”

But we make a mistake if we understand Jesus’ washing his disciples’ feet at the Last Supper in purely moralistic terms, namely, humbling ourselves in our service to others. But I can see how we have allowed ourselves to take the events of that Thursday evening as a call to a higher morality. After all, after Jesus washed his disciples’ feet, he said,

“So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you.”

It seems pretty clear that the takeaway is, “go and do likewise.” So much so, that I think that humble, servant-leadership is indeed an important part of this story.

But the story wasn’t and isn’t about foot washing. Or being humble. Or being kind to others. As was the case with the Last Supper, Jesus’ act of foot washing was a sacramental act that pointed beyond itself to something much deeper and more costly. Had not the crucifixion and resurrection followed that meal in the Upper Room, all that was said and done that Thursday evening would have been meaningless and forgotten. The crucifixion and resurrection gave meaning to the events that preceded it.

When John begins the story of Jesus’ last evening with his disciples with the foretelling the end of Jesus’ earthly life, we know that he has more in mind than only what happened that evening.

John begins the story by saying, “Now before the festival of the Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end.”

When speaking of “the hour,” we must remember that near the very beginning of John’s gospel, Jesus told his mother that his “hour had not yet come” when she asked him to help with the wine situation at the wedding in Cana. So indeed, in John’s Gospel, from the outset, we have been anticipating the moment of Jesus’ hour. And at the Last Supper, Jesus tells his disciples that the hour had finally come. All that had happened prior to this moment pointed to this very hour.

In reflecting on this passage, Joseph Ratzinger – known by most as Pope Benedict XVI – calls our attention to the significance of John’s focus on “the hour.”

Ratzinger points out that:

“With the Last Supper, Jesus’ ‘hour’ has arrived, the goal to which his ministry has been directed from the beginning. The essence of this hour is described by John with two key words: it is the hour of his ‘departing’; it is the hour of the love that reaches to the end.”

“The love that reaches to the end” that John is speaking of is not romantic, sentimental, kindness, or some other moral behavior.

Rather, Ratzinger asserts that the love Jesus speaks of:

“is the very process of passing over, or transformation, of stepping outside the limitations of fallen humanity… – in which we are all separated from one another and ultimately impenetrable to one another – into an infinite otherness.

‘Love to the end’ is…stepping outside the limits of one’s closed individuality, which is what agape is – breaking through into the divine.”

The hour of Jesus is the hour of the great stepping-beyond, the hour of transformation, and this metamorphosis of being is brought about through agape. It is agape ‘to the end.’

This end, this totality of self-giving, or remolding the whole being – this is what it means to give oneself even unto death.”

I know that is a long quote, and perhaps a bit dense. But in all my years of study, I have never been as impacted by a take on the Last Supper as I have this one. Ratzinger is pointing out that the meal and the foot washing – the sacramental actions – were both grounded in a deeper kind of love and a deeper story than what was happening right then and there. They pointed beyond the moment – they were pointing to the hour that had finally come.

Yes, Jesus was embodying servant leadership and humility by condescending himself to wash his disciples’ feet. He was modeling a new way of loving and leading. But in this action, he was pointing beyond it to the ultimate act of condescension, humility, and service. In this act of foot washing, Jesus was pointing to the ultimate cleansing and washing - not just of his twelve disciples, and not just Israel. In washing his disciples’ feet, Jesus was foretelling his cleansing of the whole world of sin – washing us all with the blood he shed on the cross. 

Initially, Peter didn’t feel comfortable having his feet washed by Jesus. He wasn’t worthy of such servitude from his master and Lord. We can hardly blame him for feeling that way. But Jesus was thinking beyond the moment at hand. He replied to Peter, “Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.” I think it’s clear that Jesus was using the washing with water to prefigure the washing with blood that would happen the very next day. In other words, Jesus meant that unless I die for you, and for the whole world, you have no share with me. My mission will be incomplete and meaningless unless it leads to the cross of suffering on the world’s behalf…unless I take the world’s sin upon and into my very self. Unless I become sin in order to redeem it.”

So, this intimate evening with his disciples was much more than a humble, sentimental, loving gesture. Far from it. And, if we understand it this way, it is all the more scandalous for us…and much more scandalous than washing one another’s feet in church or at a foot clinic at a homeless shelter. If we take this sacramental action by Jesus to be about more than foot washing – if we take it to be about his dying on the cross – then when he said, “For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you,” he was talking about more than foot washing. He was telling Peter and the disciples to take up their own crosses and follow him, no matter the cost. And he was foretelling their own deaths by martyrdom. They too, would shed their own blood for the sake of the Good News.

That, my friends, is far from humility, moralism, or being kind. That is the radical call to costly discipleship. When we understand it that way, washing feet in church doesn’t seem so scandalous or sacrificial. And whether or not we choose to participate in the sacramental act of foot washing that will follow in a few moments, we must remember the sacrifice to which this act pointed on that evening of the Last Supper. When we remember it that way, we remember that the meal that Jesus shared with his disciples that evening - and his washing of their feet that followed - weren’t so that he could teach them about table fellowship, camaraderie, hospitality, and service to others. If that is all that they were about, he could have and would have done it much sooner, and not on the eve of his death. The sacramental acts that Jesus instituted the evening were pointing his disciples – and us – directly to the cross that awaited him the next day.

As such, it is only through the cross that we can fully begin to make meaning out of what happened on that evening in the Upper Room. It is only through the cross that are we made clean -  washed by Christ’s blood poured out for the forgiveness of sins. Only then do can we understand what Jesus meant when he said, “Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.”

The Rev’d Richard Gillespie Proctor, OA

Christ the King Episcopal Church

Palm/Passion Sunday, Year A: 4/2/23

More than once since we have become parents, Emily has told me that one of my spiritual gifts is joy. I think perhaps a more accurate way to describe it is that I am better able to access my joy, particularly when I am with Julian and Madeleine. Being around them oftentimes makes me silly, playful, and just plain ridiculous.

That being said, I also carry quite a bit of sorrow in my heart. Most of the sorrow comes about when I read the news and am reminded of the seemingly endless violence that is prevalent in the world today. Whether it is on the international front or right here in our own back yard, violence still seems to dominate the headlines.

Just this past Monday, as I was arriving at a Trappist Monastery for a weeklong spiritual retreat, I heard the news of the school shooting at Covenant Presbyterian School in Nashville. One of the shooting victims was an acquaintance of one my fellow retreatants at the monastery. Later in the week, our school board at the Tree House met to discuss hiring an armed Resource Officer to serve at our day school. This is a sober reminder for us that the potential for violence can happen anywhere at any time…even in our little bubble here at the beach.

So, while part of me is full of joy, and has a lot to celebrate in this blessed life of mine, there is another part of me that is full of despair. And while having children has deepened my potential for joy, it has also deepened my potential for sorrow and fear, especially when I hear about school shootings. And until the day arrives that violence isn’t “just the way the world works,” this profound potential for despair will remain.

One thing that I am certain of is that the only way that I know to live in this sort of tension is to rely solely on my Christian faith. God’s grace, mercy, and love are truly what sustain me in times of grief, fear, or anger. Our scriptures and tradition give us a framework for making meaning out of our lives as we reside East of Eden and await Christ’s coming again.

One thing that we can certainly say after hearing our scripture lessons for today is that what I am struggling with is nothing new. Violence is as old as humankind – for the Bible tells us so. The gospel readings we have today address the issue of violence in a way that forces us to re-think 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 to the Son of David!
Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!
Hosanna in the highest heaven!

The Jewish people 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. Power and might through violence once again got its way. 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?

 After all, one look at the budget of the United States reveals that we as a nation have chosen the way of Caesar. We seek to assert control and we police the world through our superior military, economic, and political power. When dealing with outside threats at home or abroad, we have bought in to the myth that the only way to defeat the violent forces of the world is to be more violent than they are. Of course, we’re not the only guilty party on the global scene; we’re just the biggest and the most powerful.

So 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 I am, it’s a hard pill to swallow. Because if you’re like I am, you don’t feel safe unless you know that the good guys have more power and might than the bad guys. If you’re like I am, 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 I am, you struggle at times to feel joyful when it seems like violence is having its way in the world around us.

And, if you’re like I am, you’ve come to realize that there’s not a thing that you can do about it apart from the grace, mercy, love, and hope of the God we know in Jesus Christ. There is not a political party, military force, country, or leader on this planet who can save us from the real enemy, which is our own capitulation to the Power of Sin. This has been the human predicament since the beginning of time. 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 the Power of Sin is not the power of this world, but the saving grace and Power of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

If you’re like I am, you find yourself asking, “What does this saving Power look like? And how can I get some of that?” The Apostle Paul gives us the sobering answer. I say sobering because the call for us to imitate Christ is none other than the call to dying to our old selves and rising anew in Christ Jesus. As Paul writes,

“Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus,

who, though he was in the form of God,
did not regard equality with God
as something to be exploited,

but emptied himself,
taking the form of a slave,
being born in human likeness.

And being found in human form,
he humbled himself
and became obedient to the point of death--
even death on a cross.”

This Lenten season more than ever, I have truly felt the pang of not only my own personal sinfulness, but the sinfulness of the society in which I participate. And because of this, when I arrive with you a week from today at the empty tomb, I imagine that the experience of true Power will overwhelm me more than it ever has before. This Power is none other than the power of resurrection, of Jesus Christ dying and rising again, defeating Sin, Evil, and Death not on their own terms, but on God’s terms. “Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that.” May the God of the cross and the God of the empty tomb bless us the faith and courage to humble ourselves…to empty ourselves…so that we may be filled with his Power rather than the Power of this world.

The Rev’d Richard Gillespie Proctor, OA

Christ the King Episcopal Church

5 Lent, Year A, 2023

The assigned lessons for today just might be the most powerful in all of the 3-year lectionary cycle…including, dare I say, the high festivals of the Church year. As we are nearing the end of our journey through Lent, and as we approach Holy Week, today we get a stirring glimpse of what is to come; today get a stirring glimpse of the power of God.

Given the powerful imagery and testimony found in both the Valley of the Dry Bones and the Raising of Lazarus, I’d be willing to bet that very few – if any – sermons being preached throughout the Church today will focus on our lesson from Paul. But tucked in between today’s two remarkable stories lies what I think is the key to interpreting them. Chapter 8 of Paul’s letter to the Romans is the climax - or the fulcrum upon which Paul’s magnum opus turns. So, it is a shame that Romans 8 will rarely get preached on due to where it falls in the lineup today. But it too, like our other lessons, gives us a glimpse of the power of God – namely, the power of the Holy Spirit.

The dichotomy that Paul draws between spirit and flesh is also present in the Valley of the Dry Bones and in the Raising of Lazarus. In both stories, we are reminded that the human body – the flesh – is corruptible. Our bodies are mortal. We get a metaphorical expression of this from Ezekiel, and a literal one from John. But whether we are metaphorically talking about the spiritual death of the nation of Israel, as Ezekiel is, or speaking about the physical death of a particular person, as John is, in both cases, the power of God is able to bring these dead bodies back to life. The scandal of both of these stories is that the power of God is even more powerful than death itself. And even more scandalous is the fact that the power of God didn’t depend on the Israelites or Lazarus – thanks be to God.

Isn’t it great to be reminded that God’s ability or choice to breathe new life into us – to raise us from the dead - doesn’t depend on how well we keep up with our Lenten disciplines or whether or not we recycle and compost? Isn’t it refreshing in our achievement-oriented world today that in God’s economy, our “success” doesn’t depend on our behavior?

“Flesh” is the English word that is most often used to translate the Greek word sarx. This is important because there is an awful lot of sarx in Romans 8. And for that matter, there is a lot of sarx in the Valley of the Dry Bones and the Raising of Lazarus. But as Christians, we make a mistake if we understand Paul’s dichotomy between flesh and spirit as being a call for us to work, serve, or achieve our way into God’s good favor.

Nothing could be further from the truth. But if Romans 8 isn’t about good behavior being rewarded, then why does Paul write,

“To set the mind on the flesh is death, but to set the mind on the Spirit is life and peace. For this reason, the mind that is set on the flesh is hostile to God; it does not submit to God’s law—indeed it cannot, and those who are in the flesh cannot please God.”?

Is setting our mind on the Spirit a “good work” that God will reward? I think the key lies in the first five verse of Romans 8, which we added on to the beginning of today’s reading. In case you forgot it after hearing 45 verses of John’s gospel, here it is again:

“There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus has set you free from the law of sin and of death. For God has done what the law, weakened by the flesh, could not do… For those who live according to the flesh set their minds on the things of the flesh, but those who live according to the Spirit set their minds on the things of the Spirit.”

In Paul’s mind, one manifestation of setting one’s mind on the flesh is to depend on external, human-made rules or codes for one’s salvation. He was very familiar with this religious worldview because as a former Pharisee, he understood God’s economy of salvation to be grounded in adherence to the Mosaic Law.

But before we assume that this doesn’t apply to us because we are not Jewish, and we have never been tempted to rely on the Mosaic Law for our salvation, we need to take a deeper look at ourselves. And the season of Lent is a great time to do that. We Christians have our own version of the Mosaic Law, and it is the works-righteousness understanding of God’s economy of salvation. Put simply, it is the belief that God rewards good deeds and good behavior; our righteous standing with God depends on our actions. It is the belief that God keeps track of our good deeds and bad deeds on a sort of heavenly ledger, and on the final day of judgment, as long as we were mostly good, we will have eternal life. It is the belief that Mother Theresa’s ledger with God is in better shape than yours, mine, or any other ordinary Christian’s. It is the belief that all the power lay in our hands to seal our eternal fate.

So, I think that Paul is using the flesh vs. Spirit dichotomy as another way of speaking about Law vs. Grace. In other words, Paul is asserting that if we set our minds on the Law as a means for earning our salvation, we are living according to the flesh. As such, we are choosing death over life. We are choosing the Valley of Dry Bones.

But if we walk according to the Spirit, recognizing that it is by God’s grace alone that we are made righteous, we are choosing to be called out from the tomb and into resurrection life. It is recognizing that in Christ, God has done what the Law - or our good deeds - cannot do. And we can simply rest in the Good News of God’s unmerited, abundant grace.

The Spirit of the One who breathed new life into the dry, dead bones of Israel, and the Spirit of the one who raised Lazarus from the dead – and who himself was raised from the dead by the Spirit – is the Spirit that gives life to our mortal bodies. Understood this way, Paul tells us that, “[we] also must consider [our]selves dead to sin and alive to God in Christ Jesus.” In other words, dead to the Law and alive to God’s grace. Dead to heavenly score-keeping and alive to the God who frivolously and scandalously chooses to breathe life into our dead, broken bodies.

Being “dead to sin” does not mean that our mortal bodies must die in order for the Spirit to raise us up to new life. Being dead to sin means that in Christ, we have a God who promises to, “Open our graves, and bring us up from our graves.”

To riff off of our passage from Ezekiel, when we are able to live according to the Spirit, recognizing the saving power of God’s grace, “we shall know that Christ is Lord, when he opens our graves, and brings us up from our graves. Christ will put his spirit within us, and we shall live, and Christ will place us on our own soil; then we shall know that… the Lord has spoken and will act.”

As we draw closer to the great Paschal mystery of Easter, and as we seek to live our lives according to the Spirit, we can rest assured that in Christ, God will

“Cause breath to enter us, and we shall live.” That, indeed, is the power of God.

I recently read an article in which David Harrison, a retired priest in the Anglican Church in Canada said,

“Lent invites us to clarity of vision — about ourselves, the state of our physical, emotional, and spiritual being — and how we can grow and change to be more consonant with God, in whose image we are made. That is a life’s work, and Lent is the particular time of the Church’s year when our attention is called to this work.”

Our lessons from Paul and John both address this Lenten theme of clarity of vision, and how we can grow and change to be more consonant with God, in whose image we are made. In Paul’s Letter to his church in Ephesus:

“Once you were darkness, but now in the Lord you are light. Live as children of light— for the fruit of the light is found in all that is good and right and true. Try to find out what is pleasing to the Lord. Take no part in the unfruitful works of darkness, but instead expose them. For it is shameful even to mention what such people do secretly; but everything exposed by the light becomes visible, for everything that becomes visible is light. Therefore it says,

“Sleeper, awake!
Rise from the dead,

and Christ will shine on you.”

This invitation to expose our inward darkness reminds me of the Collect for Purity:

“Almighty God, to whom all hearts are open, all desire known, and from whom no secrets are hid. Cleanse the thoughts of our hearts….”

The purpose of Lent – this season where we are invited into a deeper clarity of vision – is not to “expose our unfruitful works of darkness” so we can feel bad about ourselves. And it’s not even to try to make us better people, or, dare I say,  even better Christians.

The purpose of setting aside a 40-day season to spend time in intentional self-examination, prayer, study, and almsgiving is to steer us towards Christ, in whose image we were made. It is to steer us towards the divine image that we will one day fully and wholly reflect in our resurrected bodies.

You’ve heard me say this before, but the purpose for all these things that we do in Church is – at the end of the day – to simply to come to know and love Jesus more fully and deeply. And out of that love will flow good fruit. But the true good fruit is always rooted and grounded in an intimate knowledge and love of Jesus Christ, who reveals himself to us in a myriad of ways.

In the remarkable story of the healing of the blind man, clearly there is a literal and spiritual healing that takes place. If we ignore either of those truths, we miss the power of the story. I think perhaps the most powerful part of this story for me is at the very end, where Jesus tracked the formerly blind man down and had a final conversation with him. Here is the encounter:

“Jesus heard that they had driven him out, and when he found him, he said, “Do you believe in the Son of Man?” He answered, “And who is he, sir? Tell me, so that I may believe in him.” Jesus said to him, “You have seen him, and the one speaking with you is he.” He said, “Lord, I believe.” And he worshiped him. Jesus said, “I came into this world for judgment so that those who do not see may see…”.

What did the formerly blind man say and do once he realized that Jesus – the man who healed him – was the Son of Man? He did two very fundamental things in the Christian faith that we ourselves are called to do – he believed that Jesus was who he said he was. And in response to that belief, he worshipped him.

The text doesn’t tell us that he dropped everything and followed Jesus. It doesn’t say that he ran to the village to tell everyone what had happened to him. It simply says that he believed and he worshipped. I imagine that later on, the formerly blind man, in the words of Paul “live[d] as a child of light— and the fruit of the light that emanated from him was good and right and true.” I imagine that he shared the Good News of the gospel with others. I imagine that he did good works and served those who were in need since he himself had been on the receiving end of such charity.

But we must remember that all the extra things that we do during the season of Lent are rooted and grounded in one, primary purpose – that we might be able to see, know, and love Jesus more clearly and intimately. And, if and when that happens, our first, most basic response is simply to believe that Jesus is indeed the Messiah – the one who God sent to save us; that this Jesus who we are coming to know more fully is the one is whom lies eternal life. And, our second action is, in grateful response, to what we are doing right now. We are gathered here to worship the God who has brought light into our darkness; the God who has invited out of our blindness and into the light of his son Jesus Christ.

Believing and worshipping are two of the fundamental aspects of our lives as Christians. They are foundational parts of our Baptismal Covenant. And they are also much more meaningful when we do these two things together as the gathered Body of Christ. Because the reality is that most of us don’t always fully believe all the time. We struggle to believe all that we encounter in our Holy Scriptures. We struggle to believe everything that we have learned to be true about God, particularly in those moments when God feels absent from our lives. And when we find ourselves to be in one of these seasons of aridity, it can be all the more difficult to offer our sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving in worship.

And when we find ourselves struggling to believe and worship, that is what the Body of Christ is for. Our brothers and sisters in Christ are here to believe for us when we can’t bring ourselves to believe. Our brothers and sisters in Christ are here to worship alongside us (or in place of us) when we don’t feel like offering praise and thanksgiving to God.

That, my friends, is the blessing of Christ’s Body, the Church. Together, we gather to believe and worship with one another and for one another.  As such, in the words of Paul, we are invited to awake from our sleep, “Rise from the dead, and [let] Christ will shine [upon us].”

One thing that has struck me differently this year during this season in Lent has been how much we have been hearing about God’s mercy and grace. Of course, the predominant theological theme that we all have come to anticipate as Lent approaches is sin. And Ash Wednesday, The Great Litany, the Exhortation and the Lenten Collects of are all liturgical means for drawing attention to our sin-sick souls, and our desperate need for redemption. And the remarkable story of the grace-filled, merciful redemption in Jesus Christ is what we anticipate as we move through Lent towards Holy Week and Easter.  

But just recently I have noticed and appreciated that there is every bit as much emphasis on mercy and grace as there is on sin in the liturgies of Lent. We don’t have to add it in to try to the “lighten the mood.” The very first words I say each week in our worship service for the Call to Worship during Lent are “The Lord is full of compassion and mercy.” So, whatever we hear later in the service, we must remember that it is framed by our belief in a compassionate and merciful God.

Our opening acclamation is more of the same. I say, “Bless the Lord, who forgiveth all our sins,” to which your reply is “His mercy endures forever.” Again, the idea is that whatever comes next – whether it be in our scripture lessons, homily, hymns, or prayers – we must always remember that this God who we are speaking of is a God whose forgiveness and mercy endures forever. These opening sentences serve as a fundamental reminder of who we believe God to be.

Today’s scripture lessons point to a God whose mercy, grace, and compassion are overflowing in abundance. As I was preparing for today’s worship this week, I was struck by how uplifting and hopeful it all felt to me…right smack dab in the middle of Lent. And it made me wonder if, in our literal and figurative practice of burying the alleluias during Lent – we run the risk of burying God’s mercy and grace along with it. We must remember that in Christ, our relationship with him doesn’t end with him declaring that we are sinners, and leaving us to fend for ourselves. Actually, it is the exact opposite – our relationship with him begins with our brokenness and ends with our healing in Christ. Christ didn’t come to affirm us for who we already are – he came to save us.

In our Exodus reading, Moses and the Israelites are journeying in the wilderness, and they are tired, angry, and dying of thirst. Kind of like how we might begin to feel as Lent wears on, and we grow weary of our fasting. So, in a fit of desperation and angst, they lashed out in anger at their leader, Moses. And Moses then did the same to God. What did God do for his moody, temperamental, faithless followers? In an act of compassion and mercy, He sent them to a rock in Horeb that would overflow with an abundance of water to quench their thirst. God was not rewarding their steadfast faith and perseverance. God was not rewarding their good behavior or eloquent prayers. They did nothing to deserve the living water that flowed from that rock. But that is who God is and the sort of thing our grace-filled God does.

The living water theme carries over into our Gospel lesson today, where we hear the magnificent story of Jesus’ encounter with the Samaritan woman at the well. In this conversation between Jesus and the Samaritan woman, we learn that the abundant mercy, compassion, and grace of the kingdom of heaven will extend far and wide – much more so that God’s people could wrap their heads and hearts around. Even Samaritans – even this Samaritan woman with her checkered past – will have citizenship in God’s kingdom being ushered in by Jesus the Messiah.

But I think that they key to interpreting these two stories from Exodus and John lies in our lesson from Paul’s letter to the Romans. As I mentioned last week, I will always prefer a good story – like the ones we heard from Exodus and John this morning – to a sound bite. So how does God respond to my opinion on sound bites? God sends me one of the Bible’s greatest sound bites! This one is from the Apostle Paul, and it helps crystallize today’s incredible stories about God’s saving grace.

In this letter Paul proclaims to the Christians in Rome that “Christ died for the ungodly.” When we hear that, we might say, of course! That’s why we love Jesus so much. He died for the ungodly – like the moody, complaining Jews in the wilderness who grumbled at God who had previously rescued them from slavery in Egypt. Or the Samaritan woman at the well with the checkered past. Or the former prostitutes and drug addicts from Becca Stevens’ Thistle Farms ministry whose stories we heard last week at our diocesan convention. We have a God who is so grace-filled and merciful that he would die for ungodly folks like that.

But guess what, my friends? We too, are the ungodly for whom Christ died. You and I are among the ungodly who need God’s grace, mercy, compassion, and forgiveness every bit as much as the disobedient Jews, the wayward Samaritans, prostitutes in Nashville, or the death row inmate we spoke to on the phone in Sandefur Hall a couple weeks ago.

And I know that for us well put-together, law-abiding, church-going Episcopalians, that can be sound like pure nonsense. And in this age when people come to church wanting to be affirmed about how ok we really are, being reminded that we are among the ungodly can be a tough pill to swallow. But I’m here to tell you this morning, that for much of my life, when Paul was speaking of the ungodly, I assumed he wasn’t speaking about me. And when I fall back into that space, it robs me of the depth and breadth of the scandalous Good News that “while we still were sinners Christ died for us...For if while we were enemies, we were reconciled to God through the death of his Son, much more surely, having been reconciled, will we be saved by his life.” How is that Good News for me if, deep down, I feel like it I really don’t need Christ’s saving grace because I’m already a pretty good person? Was Christ’s salvation only intended for those who hit rock-bottom in their lives? Is my vocation simply to try to help Christ in his mission to the ungodly? Not hardly. Until we experience the radical power of Christ’s saving grace for ourselves, it will be difficult for us to share it with others with any sort of authenticity or integrity.

Our Collect of the Day says that we have no power in ourselves to help ourselves. The multi-billion-dollar Self-Help industry believes otherwise. But I have recently experienced some incredible moments of grace when I have finally been able to simply rest peacefully in the grace-filled Good News that I don’t have the power in myself to help myself. It is incredibly liberating for me when I remember that God is actually better at fixing things and people than I am. And it is incredibly liberating for me when I am able to remember that there is nothing I can do to make God love me any more or any less than the most “ungodly” person I can think of.

What if all of us ungodly folks were able to simply recognize that our ungodliness is the one thing that we all share, and rejoice and be glad that we have a God who loved us enough to “reconcile [us to him] through the death of his Son?” It can be quite liberating, and the story of Samaritan woman at the well is a great illustration of what that liberating, life-giving grace can feel like. She could finally rest in her salvation. Her past didn’t change. Her ethnicity didn’t change. But her heart and mind changed after her encounter with Jesus. The burden of all the regrets she had from the past had been lifted. And she could simply rest in God’s Good News.

Marking a season to examine ourselves, our lives, our relationships, and our priorities is one of the great gifts of the Christian tradition. I think that is why I love Lent so much. It draws me in to a place where can take an honest look at myself, and do the difficult work of staring my own sin and ungodliness in the face. But I can do this with the assurance that God has already stared at my sin and my ungodliness. And God didn’t blink or turn away. God, in his grace, compassion and mercy, while I was still a sinner, sent Christ to die for me. And God did the same for the disobedient Jews in the wilderness, the Samaritan woman at the well, and countless others, including you.

The Lord is full of compassion and mercy: come let us adore him.