Sermons are better when you listen to them, I promise.
Grace, Mercy, and Peace to you from the Holy Trinity. Amen.
Approximately one year ago, I joined a Facebook event called “post rapture looting” or something while toasting the end of the world with some friends. We figured a toast was a reasonable way to end the world, because if we were raptured, we’d be appropriately celebrating, or if we were “left behind” we’d have something to numb our sadness at not being one of God’s chosen.
Obviously, there was no rapture, and I didn’t get to loot any of those fancy mansions of the really good Christians like those prosperity gospel TV preachers. Such is life. But moments in history when people are sure the apocalypse will happen are nothing new. Just in my life time the world was supposedly going to end several times already.
The guy who wrote the book of Revelation, who we call John of Patmos, had a vision in a jail cell about what the end of time was going to look like – and we heard part of that vision today in our readings.
But…there is a big distinction between the vision John had, and the vision the Left Behind series had, and that difference has to do with heaven.
Today, thanks to the Left Behind book series, pop Christian theology, and the ever present praise song, society and the church have both gotten into this mindset that heaven is somewhere you go after you die. There’s some sort of pearly gates you pass through and you get a mansion, and a gardener, and someone to do your ironing...if you’re one of the lucky ones who had enough faith or prayers or spirituality. Heaven seems like a great timeshare you get to fly to after you die with no limit on how long you can stay, because there’s magically room for everyone who is worthy of entry.
On the other hand, this view of heaven means that earth is not the place you want to be, it’s just a place to pack your bags while you wait for the eternal life of something much better and less crowded.
And I get it. I get why heaven being a place that is far off in some distant galaxy far far away is appealing to people. It’s appealing because, at least right now, earth doesn’t seem like a very good place to live. Given the choice, I think we’d rather have paradise than shootings at pot rallies and schools and movie theaters in our own hometown. I think we’d rather choose living with God than living with no one. I think we’d rather have eternal mental health than a lifetime on earth with depression. I would rather live in heaven where I wouldn’t have to ever think about what it will be like to leave a community I love.
It’s so appealing. To think about that day when we all fly up, up, and away to something better, something shinier, something more fulfilling than what we have on earth.
But, unlike preachers and pop christian lyric composers who want to see heaven as anything but here and now, John of Patmos, in Revelation, shows us a different heaven. John shows us a heaven in light of the resurrection. And that heaven is here, on earth. God’s home is not somewhere far off, among the stars. Revelation tells us “the home of God is among mortals. God will dwell with them; and they will be God’s peoples, and God himself will be with them.” And while I hope for the life we have after we die to be a life with God and each other, somehow glorified and made new, the details of how that will work are unknowable on this side of everlasting life. But what we do know for certain, what John of Patmos is saying to us is that God has chosen to dwell with us here. God has chosen this place as God’s heavenly home. Heaven is in Boston. Heaven is in Texas. Heaven is in the 16th Street Mall. Heaven is in the places the media doesn’t pick up on, deportations, white people murdering people of color, school bullies, workplace bullies. Heaven is in these places. Our tears are in these places too. Tears that fall for ourselves and our situations, and tears that fall for others in our lives, and tears that fall for people we don’t even know. Tears that fall and cloud our vision, blocking our view of God’s mercy, sometimes making us unable to see our lives as they are: with God in them.
And yet our God promises to make all of these things new. God promises to wipe away your tears. God’s promise to wipe away tears doesn’t just confine itself to tears you may have shed about how messed up our world is, a world where children can get assault rifles and single moms can’t feed their babies. God’s promise to wipe away tears is so broad that God even wipes away tears of anger, curbing our need for revenge against Dzhokhar Tsarnaev (jo-khar Sar-nye-ev). God wipes away tears of hatred you shed toward yourself when you look in the mirror, or read that poem you wrote that just doesn’t fit together correctly, or think about how often you find yourself clearing your browser history.
God wipes away tears and promises to make all things new. A new heaven, a new earth. A new heaven where God will dwell with us and in us, a new heaven where God will raise the dead and unite them with the living. A new heaven where God comes to us, disregarding our overcrowded earth with dwindling resources, because when God comes to dwell with us, God doesn’t care about space.
With God present in our lives and in our world, there is always room. There is room for people who have never gotten a speeding ticket and there is room for people convicted of felonies. There is room for those of you who have families that love you, and room for you who have families who have cast you out. There is room for all of you who like Doctor Who, and room for all of you who would rather watch Here Comes Honey Boo Boo.
There is room for everyone, because in God’s world, here....with us...God makes all things new, which means God creates space for all things. God resurrects the parts of the world and the parts of our lives that we’d rather bury and not have space for. God resurrects those parts, and not only brings them alive in us and in the world but God makes them new. Our God is not a God of stagnation, of sludge covered pools, but our God is a God of new life, like a mountain stream gushing water from the rocks around it. Cool, and refreshing. Our God is a God of Easter, not content to be confined to a tomb for eternity, but only content wiping away our tears, bringing our dead back to life, and redeeming the unredeemable.
I can’t bring myself to imagine a God that doesn’t make his home among mortals...removed...enjoying his celestial mansions and golden brick roads, and cloud pillars, and calorie-less chocolate. But, I don’t have to imagine a God like that...because I know a God who does live among us. I know a God who picked a peasant girl to give birth to Christ, God’s son who came to live among us. I know a God who is present with us in bread and wine and the forgiveness of sins. I know a God who wipes away our tears, a God who destroys death, and a God who makes all things... both earthly things and heavenly things new. Even us.
Amen.
Monday, April 29, 2013
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
A Maundy Thursday sermon about letting yourself experience love
Sermons are better when you listen to them:
Grace, Mercy, and Peace to you from the Holy Trinity. Amen.
I remember going into the grocery store with my mom when I was a little kid, thinking each time I passed through the doors, that the sign “No shoes, no service” was a bit odd...I mean, who would walk into the grocery barefoot. And who cares? It’s not like they are going to rifle through the broccoli heads with their feet.
Turns out, it’s a health code.
But ultimately, it’s not very hospitable. And that’s sort of the clencher of Maundy Thursday. You see, today is a day when we hear the story of Jesus washing the disciple’s feet and giving them a new commandment, to love one another just as Jesus had loved them. Which is kind of a tall order, considering there are a lot of people I would like to not have to love. I can maybe get over my doubts about loving others and get behind it if loving one another means being welcoming and hospitable, but I still have my doubts about the whole foot washing bit. But as I was researching the origins of footwashing (because it’s sort of a weird tradition for us), I discovered it was about hospitality.
Washing people’s feet before they came into your house was done by servants as a sign that you wanted them in your house (and back in the first century, feet were pretty gross, so they had to be clean to walk around houses.) If you didn’t want to invite someone into your house, you could just refuse to wash their feet and then they’d be out of luck. It’s sort of the first century equivalent to not sending a facebook event invite to people you don’t like. Or refusing a friend request from the person who you know only posts memes and rumi quotes.
And tonight, we will hear about Jesus washing every single one of the disciples' feet. We will hear about Jesus saying to each disciple 'you are welcome here, come join in this life with me.' And not just the disciples whom Jesus loved most. Not just the ones who flew under the radar. Jesus serves and loves even Judas, the one who will betray him. And even Peter, the one who protests. Peter thinks it's humiliating for Jesus and would never want to put himself in the position of being served by the one he follows so he tells Jesus "you will never wash my feet."
I resonate with Peter. The writer of the Gospel doesn’t tell us why Peter reacts so strongly to Jesus’ offering of love. But I know how hard it is to accept love. It’s easy to resent those who don’t know how to love us well, and maybe we should. But I also need to remember that it is just as big of a shame when I cannot let myself experience love from the people who do know how to love me well. I need to remember it is just as big of a shame when I don’t want to let myself experience the love of God from those around me.
Because, when I don’t let myself be loved well, by God or others…I end up isolating myself.
Feeling isolated is not God’s desire for us. Instead, God’s desire for us is to experience Grace. And sometimes that means receiving grace, or being loved or served by those whom we’d just as soon not be loved by Which makes hearing the words of Christ…the words he told Peter pretty uncomfortable . Unless I wash you…unless I show you grace, Jesus says,…Unless you let yourself be loved…you have no part of me.
It’s pretty easy to see why Peter then gets super greedy. If the only way he can share in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus is to have his feet washed…then why not wash everything…you know, just to make sure. And this is where Peter just doesn’t quite get it. He doesn’t get that the point isn’t to go have a celestial spa day. He doesn’t get that the point of Jesus washing his feet is that it’s a visible symbol of Christ’s love for him. And that he should just shut up and experience Christ’s love because then Peter will be living into what God wants for his life...to know, viscerally, the love God has for him.
And so, we will wash each other’s feet. We will show love for each other in washing each other’s feet. But we will also experience love in letting our feet be washed. We are called to love and serve others in response to the death and resurrection where God served all of creation with eternal life. And as much joy as that should bring to us, it brings God even more joy. Our God is not a God that wants people separated into heaven and hell (if that even exists). Our God is a God that wants all people joined with God. So God’s joy, brought on through the resurrection of Christ, reminds us that it’s not always just the people who get served who experience love or joy or peace. And I know, it can be awkward and clunky to participate in this ancient ritual. The point isn’t about washing feet. The point is about letting ourselves live into Jesus’ command…love and serve others.
Remember though, you are an ‘other’ to everyone else in this room. So the unspoken commandment of Jesus is to let ourselves be loved and be served by others. Let yourself be cared for by friends while you are mourning difficult illnesses. Let yourself hear words of encouragement when you want to quit school. Let yourself come to the table that is open not just to those who are pious, and perfect, and ‘religious’ but is open to all. This table you are sitting at is open to all of you who, like Peter, won’t let yourself feel the love of God or your neighbors. This table is open to all of you, like Judas, who betray God for far less than 30 pieces of silver. This table is open to all of you who are somewhere in between, or feel like you are nowhere.
This table, this feast of love is open to you.
As we enter this great Three Days of paschal mystery, let yourself wash. Let yourself be washed. Let yourself love. Let yourself be loved. Let yourself be joined to Christ in this Holy Week, for when we are joined to Christ through service and being served, through love and being loved, we are joined to Christ’s kingdom and the freedom that comes through the depth of the cross and the joy of the resurrection.
Grace, Mercy, and Peace to you from the Holy Trinity. Amen.
I remember going into the grocery store with my mom when I was a little kid, thinking each time I passed through the doors, that the sign “No shoes, no service” was a bit odd...I mean, who would walk into the grocery barefoot. And who cares? It’s not like they are going to rifle through the broccoli heads with their feet.
Turns out, it’s a health code.
But ultimately, it’s not very hospitable. And that’s sort of the clencher of Maundy Thursday. You see, today is a day when we hear the story of Jesus washing the disciple’s feet and giving them a new commandment, to love one another just as Jesus had loved them. Which is kind of a tall order, considering there are a lot of people I would like to not have to love. I can maybe get over my doubts about loving others and get behind it if loving one another means being welcoming and hospitable, but I still have my doubts about the whole foot washing bit. But as I was researching the origins of footwashing (because it’s sort of a weird tradition for us), I discovered it was about hospitality.
Washing people’s feet before they came into your house was done by servants as a sign that you wanted them in your house (and back in the first century, feet were pretty gross, so they had to be clean to walk around houses.) If you didn’t want to invite someone into your house, you could just refuse to wash their feet and then they’d be out of luck. It’s sort of the first century equivalent to not sending a facebook event invite to people you don’t like. Or refusing a friend request from the person who you know only posts memes and rumi quotes.
And tonight, we will hear about Jesus washing every single one of the disciples' feet. We will hear about Jesus saying to each disciple 'you are welcome here, come join in this life with me.' And not just the disciples whom Jesus loved most. Not just the ones who flew under the radar. Jesus serves and loves even Judas, the one who will betray him. And even Peter, the one who protests. Peter thinks it's humiliating for Jesus and would never want to put himself in the position of being served by the one he follows so he tells Jesus "you will never wash my feet."
I resonate with Peter. The writer of the Gospel doesn’t tell us why Peter reacts so strongly to Jesus’ offering of love. But I know how hard it is to accept love. It’s easy to resent those who don’t know how to love us well, and maybe we should. But I also need to remember that it is just as big of a shame when I cannot let myself experience love from the people who do know how to love me well. I need to remember it is just as big of a shame when I don’t want to let myself experience the love of God from those around me.
Because, when I don’t let myself be loved well, by God or others…I end up isolating myself.
Feeling isolated is not God’s desire for us. Instead, God’s desire for us is to experience Grace. And sometimes that means receiving grace, or being loved or served by those whom we’d just as soon not be loved by Which makes hearing the words of Christ…the words he told Peter pretty uncomfortable . Unless I wash you…unless I show you grace, Jesus says,…Unless you let yourself be loved…you have no part of me.
It’s pretty easy to see why Peter then gets super greedy. If the only way he can share in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus is to have his feet washed…then why not wash everything…you know, just to make sure. And this is where Peter just doesn’t quite get it. He doesn’t get that the point isn’t to go have a celestial spa day. He doesn’t get that the point of Jesus washing his feet is that it’s a visible symbol of Christ’s love for him. And that he should just shut up and experience Christ’s love because then Peter will be living into what God wants for his life...to know, viscerally, the love God has for him.
And so, we will wash each other’s feet. We will show love for each other in washing each other’s feet. But we will also experience love in letting our feet be washed. We are called to love and serve others in response to the death and resurrection where God served all of creation with eternal life. And as much joy as that should bring to us, it brings God even more joy. Our God is not a God that wants people separated into heaven and hell (if that even exists). Our God is a God that wants all people joined with God. So God’s joy, brought on through the resurrection of Christ, reminds us that it’s not always just the people who get served who experience love or joy or peace. And I know, it can be awkward and clunky to participate in this ancient ritual. The point isn’t about washing feet. The point is about letting ourselves live into Jesus’ command…love and serve others.
Remember though, you are an ‘other’ to everyone else in this room. So the unspoken commandment of Jesus is to let ourselves be loved and be served by others. Let yourself be cared for by friends while you are mourning difficult illnesses. Let yourself hear words of encouragement when you want to quit school. Let yourself come to the table that is open not just to those who are pious, and perfect, and ‘religious’ but is open to all. This table you are sitting at is open to all of you who, like Peter, won’t let yourself feel the love of God or your neighbors. This table is open to all of you, like Judas, who betray God for far less than 30 pieces of silver. This table is open to all of you who are somewhere in between, or feel like you are nowhere.
This table, this feast of love is open to you.
As we enter this great Three Days of paschal mystery, let yourself wash. Let yourself be washed. Let yourself love. Let yourself be loved. Let yourself be joined to Christ in this Holy Week, for when we are joined to Christ through service and being served, through love and being loved, we are joined to Christ’s kingdom and the freedom that comes through the depth of the cross and the joy of the resurrection.
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