God, Life and Everything - Feeling Their Pain

I write a column called "God, Life, and Everything" for the Hudson Valley News. The title reflects the broad scope I want to take. Everything in life falls under the eye of God, and if we watch carefully, we can catch a glimpse of God in it all.

Someone asked me recently if I would comment on the recent troubles in the Roman Catholic Church. The troubles I refer to are, of course, the scandals surrounding pedophile priests and alleged claims of cover-up –that could include the pope himself.

My response: How stupid do I look?

First of all, it’s not my denomination, and although this is more than merely a denominational tiff, it seems the discussion of how to reconcile things belongs within the denomination itself.

What’s more, the structure of the Roman Catholic Church is not the same as that of my church, so the mechanisms they use to deal with crimes and other misconduct are not known to me.

Am I covering my tail? Certainly. In a small town, you want to measure your words carefully.

And yet, I have enough Roman Catholic friends who have shared some of their pain with me that I feel I can at least reach out a hand of comfort and say, in the words of one of our past presidents, “I feel your pain.”

What I have heard mostly are words of disappointment and uncertainty. Some have wondered if they can trust their leaders or if the institution exists merely to perpetuate itself rather than share the love of Christ.

I’ve heard it all before – in my own denomination.

In fact, I would also bet nearly every denomination has experienced the shock and heartbreak of realizing that their chosen leaders have not always lived the life they so piously proclaimed. You don’t have to go too far back in church history to see other examples: Bureau of Indian Affair schools run by our church that took children away from their families and forced them to give up their cultural heritage spring to mind.

More currently, we see the fights over ordination of women and gays. Those are still raising hackles around the world.

And, of course, it’s a good bet that every denomination has had plenty of sexual scandals. Even if we can’t relate to what has been going on in the hierarchy of Rome, most of us can recognize the pain, frustration, and yes, embarrassment of the parishioners

I’ve been on the listening end of the line with my mother enough times when the church – our church – has upset her to know that when the leadership messes up, it’s often the laity who have to do all the explaining to their friends and colleagues. They also often have to sort out the difference between faith and institution – theology and misconduct.

Just so I’m clear on this, pedophilia is bad. Making excuses or covering it up is bad. They cannot be ignored, and I suspect Roman Catholic leaders understand they must address the past even as they review their current policies and practices.

But as I said, that’s between them and – to whatever degree is required – the legal system. And of course, it's always between them and God.

I think it’s important for everyone else to remember that in some way, shape or form, we’ve all been there, and it’s no fun. Maybe this is a good time to just be a friend with a willing ear to those who want to unload some of their pain. Actually, when you come to think of it, that’s not a bad way to approach life most of the time.

S’mikhah - A Sermon for April 11, 2010

You know how a word gets stuck in your head and you can’t get it out? You go around all day saying it to yourself, hoping nobody notices? The writer James Thurber wrote about getting the name “Perth Amboy” stuck in his head when he was a boy. He spent an entire night saying Perth Amboy until his parents came to his room wondering if he had a fever and was delirious.

For me this week, that word is “s’mikhah.” Earlier this week I was teaching a class for Marist College’s Center for Lifelong Studies, about Jesus as rabbi. So there I am talking about the history of rabbis when I realize half the class is Jewish.

When I get to the word s’mikhah one little old ladies says, “Dear, that’s not how you say it. It’s s’mikhah.”

“ S’mikhah,” I repeat.

“No, s’mikhah.” Back and forth we go till she’s satisfied I can say it right. So for the rest of the week, I’m saying s’mikhah to myself.

Now, you have probably already guessed that s’mikhah is Hebrew and has something to do with rabbis. But what does it mean? It means “authority.”

Not just any authority, mind you, but a divine authority. It’s a word used today that means the authority given to a rabbi to teach and preach. In Jesus’ day, it was a word given to those sages who had authority to interpret scriptures. They were the traveling rabbis who went out into the world and took on disciples. They were the cream of the religious crop as it were.

This is the sort of authority we see bestowed upon the disciples in today’s Gospel. While most of the disciples are gathered together, Jesus shows up and sends them out. Remember, he has been their rabbi, their traveling sage, and they have been his disciples following him around. He has not only been teaching them but, in the model of those traveling sages, has been molding them into his own likeness.

Now they are ready. He has risen from death and is now preparing them for the day he will leave for good. So he comes to them and says, “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” Then he breathes the Holy Spirit onto them – remember, in John, there is no day of Pentecost. THIS is when they receive the Holy Spirit, the power to do God’s will.

This is their authority, the s’mikhah. As a mark of that authority, Jesus says, “If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them. If you retain the sins of any, they are retained.” That’s power. That’s authority. The fact that Jesus repeats this action later – so that Thomas doesn’t miss it – shows just how important it is. None of them should be left out, and this authority comes directly from the risen Christ himself.

You see this authority at work later in the Acts of the Apostles. There they are preaching despite the orders of the Sanhedrin, the legal counsel. So, the Sanhedrin have them arrested and they demand to know why the apostles are still evangelizing. Peter, the bold one, stands up and says, “We must obey God rather than any human authority.”

It’s like that old Hebrew National hot dog commercial: We answer to a higher authority. The authority of the Sanhedrin is not s’mikhah. It’s governmental – human authority. They are filled with a purpose given directly by God, and no human authority will stop them.

This is all wonderful, but who cares? You do. You care because you have s’mikhah. Not the same kind that a modern rabbi has, but you have authority all the same. Remember when we baptized those kids last week? Remember, we said, “Confess the faith of Christ crucified, proclaim his resurrection, and share with us in his eternal priesthood.”

By virtue of your baptism, YOU have authority to confess the faith of Christ crucified, to proclaim his resurrection and to share in his eternal priesthood. You are the priests of Christ. No human authority can ever take that away from you.

The only question is, will you embrace your s’mikhah? My guess is, some days yes, and some days no.

But now the word is stuck in your mind, just as Christ’s s’mikhah is stuck in your soul. It’s going to be awfully hard to let go of it. Amen.

God, Life and Everything - Now What?

I write a column called "God, Life, and Everything" for the Hudson Valley News. The title reflects the broad scope I want to take. Everything in life falls under the eye of God, and if we watch carefully, we can catch a glimpse of God in it all.

Happy Easter! Find your eggs? Your chocolate? Your basket?

If you are one who For the faithful, did you go to church Easter morning and celebrate the resurrection? Alleluia! Christ is risen!

Now what?

Seriously, and forget about the eggs and chocolate – a little mayo and mustard makes lovely deviled eggs, and no chocolate lasts more than fifteen minutes in our house, so problem solved.

Now, what about the resurrection part? For many Christians, Easter is not just a day but a season, fifty days long. That’s the number of days Jesus walked the earth after rising from death. In those days, he taught the disciples his final lessons before sending them out to their respective destinies.

So in these fifty days of Easter, what instruction can we take? What destinies – or missions if you will – can we imagine for ourselves? What do we do with this risen Christ?

First of all, I think we can rest a little. Every pastor I know is breathing a collective sigh of relief that the manic pace of Holy Week and the hoopla of Easter morning are over. It’s kind of like the cast of a play after closing night. Job well done and rest well deserved.

Beyond that, rest in the risen Christ makes sense. As Christians, we rest in the knowledge that God really does love us, that nothing we do can make God stop loving us, and that Christ’s example shows us how death is merely a doorway through which we pass on our way to something more.

But you can’t just rest all your life. Aside from being boring, that would make a mockery of the gift. I used to play pickup hockey with some friends, and even though we kept score for most of the game, near the end someone would shout “All tied up!” – from that point on no score was kept, it was endless 0 - 0.

You might think that defeated the point of the game, but I think in those final minutes, players showed more creativity, used more energy and had more fun than in the rest of the game. Why? Because you weren’t penalized for messing up, so you could go out on a limb.

That’s how I see the resurrection. Now that we know the end of our story – we live, we die, we receive eternal life enjoying God’s love – we are free to experiment with that love. We can see what it’s like to forgive, to get out of our comfort zone and reach out to people who are not like us. We can play with new ways of healing broken relationships and broken justice systems. We can do it on a personal level and on a societal level.

That’s the gift of Easter – we can boldly go about trying to share God’s love knowing that if we screw up, nobody’s keeping score.

So, what do we do now that the resurrection has taken place? Rest, then Play!

　

　

The Egg - A Sermon for Easter

Note: This is more of a sermon outline. Sorry. Easter got kind of busy.

Did you go Easter egg hunting this morning? I did! See? I found one egg! See? It is a biggie, isn’t it?

The funny thing is, all it has for decoration is a big A. I figured, since I gave up chocolate for Lent, that A could stand for only one thing: Grade A Chocolate! I got so excited, I could hardly wait to open it, but I figured I’d save it to open it with you – you’d think an egg this big ought to have enough for us all, right? Let’s open. [opens]

It’s…empty.

You know. Not even a hint about what that A means. I come here expecting this thing to be full – and it’s empty. Have you ever heard of such a thing?

Oh. You have. And now that you mention it, so have I. Women, 2,000 years ago, came looking for something a lot bigger than an egg. And when they got there, they found it was empty, too.

But they weren’t disappointed. At first, they were terrified.

And I suppose you would be too if you were expecting to find a body and found it empty. Even more so if you then found a couple of angels (or at least guys in blazing white robes) standing before you.

Now, what did it mean that they found the tomb empty?

It means that Jesus is risen!

And that means several things:

a. Death did not defeat him

b. He is the Son of God

c. Everything he taught during his time on earth is true

d. His death shows God’s love for us as his resurrection shows its eternal quality

These are so big, so important, so wonderful that we greet them with a word that means …Praise the Lord! We haven’t said since Lent started – it begins with – A.

Wait a minute, this egg has an A – could it be? Maybe if we help it along, it’ll give us the rest of that word. Read? (open) Alleluia!

History Lesson - A Sermon for the Easter Vigil

If you’ve been following the news, then you’ve heard about the controversy over the Texas Board of Education’s changing history. They approved all sorts of changes that reflect their own political views rather than actual history.

I know, you’re shocked. On the other hand, is that really new? No. People have been doing that for eons. Why, look at the ancient Egyptian history columns called steles. They always manage to have a version of Egyptian history where the pharaoh is wonderful and strong and always victorious. Look at them, and you’ll see the pharaoh never loses a battle.

But history can be real – and true. The lessons you heard tonight -- our Salvation History for example. It was no less true before Jesus than it was after.

Look what we have.

Creation – God made the world maybe not exactly as it’s described here, but the point is that God made it and in doing so gave us everything we need to thrive.

Abraham/Isaac – If you know the story, you’ve got Abram who has no god suddenly called to be God’s guy – nothing asked of him at first, just faithfulness. I know this story, this test, sounds like a gruesome way to prove loyalty, but that’s not really what it was, is it? Here we have God showing how painful it can be to lose one’s child – especially when it means you are the one responsible for it. This is a precursor to God’s own sacrifice of his son. More than that, Abraham’s near sacrifice of Isaac makes it clear to the world that this sort of sacrifice is no longer necessary, that God provides all the sacrifice that is necessary.

Moses – brings his people into safety. Life is not easy, but at the right time, we are brought through the waters.

Dry Bones – When we think all is lost, God gives life.

These stories, our history, tell how God never makes it easy but never ever abandons us. That God’s love is the point of our being here in the first place, and that its reward is nothing less than God.

This is the same story we see and know in Jesus. In him, God is one of us. Loving us intensely. In him, we see that no sacrifice is ever necessary to earn God’s love – it is freely given and can never be taken away. In him, we are saved from the waters of despair and meaninglessness. IN him, we are given life – even as he rises again from death, so we are given new life when we feel we are lost.

The Salvation History tells us what we already know. God is love, we are loved. And that love is good.

The way the story is told may not be exact – but it is entirely true.

　

Passion - A Sermon for Good Friday

We read the Passion Gospel today. Every time I hear that phrase, “Passion Gospel,” my mind races to that Mel Gibson movie several years ago. You remember, “The Passion of the Christ.”

My recollection of it was that it was essentially a festival of violence by Romans against Jesus. If you saw it, all I can say is, there was very little in that movie that resembled the Passion Gospel.

If I can step away from that movie, however, then the word Passion holds all sorts of other images for me. Lovers. Crusaders. People who really love what they do – who have a passion for something.

That’s because for most of us, passion means a deep and abiding interest and even love for something. We think of being really into something. You’re passionate about it, whether it’s a hobby, a person or an idea. You give up a lot to do it.

There’s something else about passions. You will give up a lot in order to pursue that passion. You will give up money, comfort, even safety. That’s almost a prerequisite for passion – the willingness to suffer for your object of passion.

Good thing, too, because the Latin root for passion (and patience, by the way) means to endure or suffer. So passion connects two seemingly incompatible things – Love and suffering.

That’s why we call Jesus’ crucifixion his Passion. It is suffering, but it’s suffering for a reason, something God feels strongly about. That something is Us.

Let’s not pretend that Jesus did not know what he was getting in to. He understood the politics of the Romans and the Sanhedrin. He understood the powder keg that was Jerusalem during Passover. He understood what it meant to be the Passover Lamb.

But he also understood God’s great love for this imperfect group of people he calls his children. He understood the separation we had allowed to grow between us and God. And he understood that a selfless act of sacrificial love was pretty much the only way for us to grasp how much we mean to God – and how God hopes we will relate to him.

Jesus had – has – a passion for us. And for us, he was willing to give up a lot – comfort, safety, life itself.

Today we remember the passion. Let us remember that it is an abiding passion for us, and that we are invited to have it, too. It could conceivably cause us discomfort at times, but like every passion, we can put up with the sacrifices because what we love is so very worth it. And we know this because Jesus led the way. Amen.

The Yuck Factor - A Sermon for Maundy Thursday

As a young father, I found myself often repeating this little mantra: “I am not afraid of poop.” At that point in your life, there is nothing quite so real as a dirty diaper. It engages pretty much all your senses, especially if the diaper is still wrapped around a squirming, screaming baby.

If you’ve ever changed one, you know what I mean. You are going to smell, see, and probably hear, and yes, feel that poop. This is the Yuck Factor. I still have nightmares about it.

You might ask yourself, “Why do it if it’s so yucky?” Of course, you would only ask that if you never had children or perhaps if you were my father who grew up in a family where men did not do such things. All other people know why I would change that diaper: Because that is my child, and my child needs my help.

Seriously, am I going to let a little poop stop me from taking care of my child? No. Neither would you. We don’t because we love our children. When you have someone you love, you do whatever is necessary to keep them safe and healthy. When kids get older, sometimes that means letting them make horrendous messes so that they can learn how to do get along in the world.

The point is that the yuck factor does not rule us when we know what we have to do for those we love. Tonight’s lessons are about overcoming the yuck factor for real and big reasons.

Look at the Old Testament – the Passover. Slaughtering lambs, spreading their blood on the doorpost. That’s not normal even for back then. The first born sons all dying? Not normal? It’s beyond yuck – it’s disturbing. But Moses and the people of Israel do it because it is necessary to preserve the lives of their loved ones. They get beyond the grossness. And each year afterward, they reenacted that night, yucky as it might be, to remind them how much God loved them.

The same might be said of the washing of the feet. That’s a little more immediate because we will wash feet tonight. But even then on that night when Jesus wrapped that towel around his waist and washed his disciples’ feet – even then, they were appalled. That was the work of slaves – because it is yucky, gross work. Why should he, the master, do it?

His answer? Because he was showing them how they should live. They should get beyond the yuck factor so they can serve the children of God. They would have to learn to spend time with lepers and the poorest of the poor, to raise the dead and generally spend their lives with those who are looked at in polite society with one hand holding the nose.

Jesus was saying something very simple: You are here to serve. Get used to it. Don’t be squeamish – are you going to let a little dirt and smell stop you from caring for the people God puts in your path? No!

You might consider overcoming your yuck response tonight and have your feet washed. It’s not a soap-and-water thing – just a reminder that we are called to overcome our fears of yuck – and many other things – in order to serve.

There’s just one more thing in tonight’s lessons that can elicit that yuck response in some. While they were at table, Jesus took bread and broke it, and he took the cup and shared it. He said, “Take, Eat, this is my body and blood.” Body and blood? Yuck.

In fact, early Romans used to think Christians were disgusting because of the bread and wine. Today, the yuck factor usually comes from the idea of drinking out of the same cup. Eww. Germs!

But this is different. It is not something we are doing for others but God feeding us. Aside from the studies that show it’s safe, wouldn’t it be a shame to forego such food and drink, such a sign of God’s love for us?

The word for tonight, then, is Yuck. And overcoming. Because when we do, we can not only share God’s love but be fed by it. Amen.

　

God, Life and Everything - Holy Week

I write a column called "God, Life, and Everything" for the Hudson Valley News. The title reflects the broad scope I want to take. Everything in life falls under the eye of God, and if we watch carefully, we can catch a glimpse of God in it all.

Maybe it’s just me, but some of my best memories of Holy Week as a child have a lot to do with using palms (from Palm Sunday) as swords to whack my brothers. Sober piety? Not so much.

In my parents’ home, we went to all the services of Holy Week. Palm Sunday with our procession around the block – yes around the entire city block with the entire congregation – before re-entering the church. Maundy Thursday with that most embarrassing ritual called Washing the Feet. Good Friday with its boring readings.

We even went to the Easter Vigil which, at midnight, was too late for me to remember much of – only that once I poked my brother in the ribs and said, “Hey, look! It’s tomorrow!” I believe his response was a well placed dope slap.

For me, despite all that church, it was the palm sword fights and coloring Easter Eggs. I know, the eggs have nothing to do with Christ’s resurrection, but we had a large family, and it was a tradition so we, like many, mixed our Easter Message. We still do, and I don’t care. The eggs are fun, so there.

But I digress.

As I grew, one of the most powerful moments of my adolescence was the night I was allowed to sit vigil on Maundy Thursday. In our tradition, we watch in the church from just after the evening’s service through the night and up to the time of Jesus’ crucifixion the next day. People take it in turns to sit and pray in the church.

The year my parents allowed me to go with my brother, palm swords flew right out of my mind. In fact, that time nearly alone in the darkened church, with those few others sitting there in silence, may have been the time when Holy Week came alive for me. There was something terrible and beautiful about waiting there. Waiting for what we knew from Sunday School would come next. Jesus would be whipped and spit upon and killed in a horrifying manner.

But in that waiting, I felt a calmness, too. It was the sense that all was well despite the sadness of Good Friday and the chaos of the world around us (Vietnam was just ending). Sitting there with Jesus gave me the sense that entertained and safe all the time was just not so important anymore. There were things worth going out on a limb for.

I would not say my whole life changed in that darkened church that first time I sat vigil. Easter came, and we flowered the cross and hunted for eggs. My brothers and sisters were still alternately heroes and villains. I still got in trouble far more than I deserved (says I, not my parents). But I would say that Holy Week changed for me from Palm swords to a cross. And maybe, just a little, I began to understand God’s love.

I wish for you a similar Holy Week of mysterious moments where God’s love becomes real and powerful.

Most churches have services throughout Holy Week. Check your congregation’s schedules. And join the combined churches of Hyde Park on Good Friday at 10:30 AM as we walk the stations of the cross together. We start at Regina Coeli, walk throughout town and end up at Hyde Park Reformed Dutch Church.

Perfume and the Poor - a Sermon

A friend and I have been trading jokes on Facebook lately. Here’s his: A Viking goes away to discover the new world. After years he returns, only to discover that there is no record of his ever having existed. He can’t even vote in Viking elections. Indignant, his wife goes to the Viking in charge of records. He searches through everything and finally, embarrassed, says, “I’m sorry. I don’t know how I did this. I must have taken Leif off my census.”

My response. A Mystic at the monastery goes to his spiritual director one days and says he’s leaving the monastery to get a job at a garage. The spiritual director is stunned and says, “But why? You’re a mystic!” He replies, “I know. I want to have an auto body experience.”

Now, I’m not telling you this because I enjoy bad jokes, only because jokes are in the air this week.

Back in1980 on Palm Sunday, the novelist Kurt Vonnegut preached a sermon – as far as I know his only time in the pulpit – at St. Clement’s Episcopal Church in New York. But he didn’t like that day’s passage, so he preached on today’s.

Know what he said? He said it was a joke. He said Jesus was joking when he told Judas, “You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”

What kind of joke is that? Well, typical Vonnegut humor, gallows humor. The kind of joke you tell just before facing the executioner. It’s a joke because they have had all their lives to care for the poor, so why start now? But if he’s so interested in the poor, he can always start caring for them after Jesus is dead because there will be a rich supply of them.

Kurt Vonnegut was no theologian, but he was onto something here because humor tends to highlight the distinctions between opposites. Between logic and the absurd, beauty and ugliness, good and evil. And John’s gospel loves opposites. Just look at what he’s put into this little passage.

You’ve got the remarkable smell of this perfume versus the stench of death (both from her now resurrected brother Lazarus and in anticipation of Jesus’ death). You’ve got the extravagance of the perfume – if you judged by today’s minimum wage, it would cost somewhere in the neighborhood of $12,000 – versus both the poor and Judas’ stinginess. You’ve got Mary’s disturbingly intimate but true expression of love versus Judas’ seemingly appropriate but false love.

John loves those opposites because in the end, he’s going to lead us to a bigger one: an instrument of hate and death will become a sign of love and eternal life.

But I get ahead of myself.

This is happening shortly after Lazarus is raised from the dead and before Jesus makes his final entry into Jerusalem. He’s maybe a week from being crucified. And in this quiet house, Jesus finds rest before the agony.

It is apparently a rather lavish meal – Passover hasn’t started yet, so there’s no austerity in their meals, and you can imagine Mary, Martha and Lazarus might want to put on a nice spread, given what Lazarus has just experience. By the way, Judas does not seem to be complaining about the food.

But then Mary does something unusual and unseemly. She breaks the jar of perfume over Jesus’ feet and anoints his feet with it before drying his feet with her hair. Talk about engaging the senses! The aroma had to fill the house. The sight of her kneeling there had to evoke emotions. The soft touch of her hair against Jesus feet – how did that feel to him? This is extravagance in every sense, and I can imagine everyone there felt uncomfortable.

Which probably encouraged Judas with his pious outrage. After all, righteous indignation is easy, and it has the side benefit of riling up the crowd. There’s nothing like righteous anger to get people going – and that makes the agitators feel very powerful.

So he says, “How dare she do that?” Perhaps he felt uncomfortable mentioning the intimacy of her act, so he focuses on the only thing he can grasp (or think about?), the money. Either way, he intends to sound righteous and ends up sounding – to us at least – like a jerk. Even if John didn’t go overboard by saying he was really a thief, we would get it. Judas appears as someone who knows the right words but not the heart.

Even if he is being honest, he still mistakes discipline with discipleship. Because Jesus makes it clear that following him does not mean we stop being human. We have senses to use, to enjoy.

More importantly, when something big, something life-changing happens, we employ our extravagance to honor the moment. Could you imagine someone stopping a wedding and saying, “We could have spent this money on the poor!” Yes, there are lots of wedding jokes out there, but the point is, it’s a moment that celebrates life-changing love. So, it’s okay to go a bit overboard.

And if a wedding is an expression of love to celebrate, how much more is Jesus’ love for us, a love that will be put to the biggest test, a love that we are on the verge of seeing at its most powerful. This moment deserves lavish attention.

Besides, if we put ourselves in Judas’ place, we would realize that we probably spend lots of money on ourselves without anything monumental to recognize – just because we want something. A fancy new car, new phones with all the services and apps, a bigger house than necessary, dinner and a show. Not to make anyone feel guilty about it, just to help us see that we spend a lot without a big occasion, so why not let Mary do for Jesus such a beautiful thing?

After all, spending that money on the poor would not have stopped poverty. But it did signal this most crucial moment in humanity where life overcame death – and did so with the cruelest instrument of death.

John loves to contrast those opposites – which makes Jesus’ defense of Mary very serious, but also a pretty good joke. Amen.

God, Life and Everything - Break In

I write a column called "God, Life, and Everything" for the Hudson Valley News. The title reflects the broad scope I want to take. Everything in life falls under the eye of God, and if we watch carefully, we can catch a glimpse of God in it all.

This has been an interesting winter for the church. We had a break in last month. All the intruder got was some communion wine, but they broke an expensive window and damaged a wall in the process.

The worst part isn’t the physical damage; we have insurance to cover those sorts of things.

The worst part is the fear that such an attack instills, the feeling of violation. It’s hard not to fall prey to feelings of vulnerability and anger when someone damages you like that.

One of the immediate (and temporary, I hope) results is that we began locking the church all the time now. And the police patrol the area more often. And altar guild members are thinking twice about arriving early to set up the altar for worship. In other words, the damage is far greater than just a broken window and some missing wine.

But let us consider how else we might respond. As the church, we are intended to be an example of what it means to live in Christ. Living like Christ often doesn’t seem to make sense to the rest of the world. Jesus is the person, after all, who said love and pray for your enemies, turn the other cheek, give your shirt to the person who steals your coat. Not what your insurance company wants to hear.

What’s worse, one of Jesus’ favorite commands to us is, “Don’t be afraid.” For him, not being afraid doesn’t mean getting a bigger gun than your enemy, nor does it mean building an impenetrable fortress. Losing the fear means trusting that nothing that anyone does to us can ever separated from the Love of God.

It’s a crazy way to live, naïve in the eyes of many because it’s never based on getting even or even giving anyone what they deserve. It’s based on opening our hearts to God and each other – and not coincidentally, opening our arms to the same. This necessarily means sticking your neck out – but then, consider the turtle that never goes anywhere without sticking its neck out.

My point is, we are the church, commissioned to live fearlessly in a world where bad things happen. Churches have been targets of theft, vandalism and worse since the earliest days. The first church I served at in Peekskill recorded its first break-in before the American Revolution. To be the church means to make ourselves vulnerable if that serves the purposes of the Gospel.

So what do we do? Well, the first thing we did as a congregation (aside from calling the police) was to pray for the burglar. Our primary prayer was that he find a healthier way to get what he needs. Perhaps for a re-evaluation in his life of what he really needs, too.

Now we have to consider whether or not we will remain locked up all the time, or whether we will find a way to fulfill one part of our mission: to be a place of prayer and rest to those who come to us.

There are no easy answers and angles to consider. For everyone who experiences this sort of violation, they know it forces you to re-consider so many aspects of who you are. We will work on this for some time – and in the meantime, we will remember that nothing, not even a break-in, can separate us from the Love of God.

　

No Attaboys? - A Sermon

I learned a new word last week. It’s “Boastamonial.”

A Boastamonial is a the story that a speaker tells to an auditorium full of teenagers about how their life was so messed up that nobody could imagine. Sex, drugs, alcohol… They were on a one-way ticket to hell until – you guessed it – they found Jesus.

These stories used to be called testimonials, but my friend – a protestant pastor who’s been to quite a few of these – said that over time they all either sounded the same or sounded like they were trying to one-up each other. “Nobody was worse than me – No, I was the worse sinner, totally lost…” The farther down they went, the more excited the crowd gets, you see.

Boastamonials have been around for a long time. Remember the apostle Paul? “I am the chief among sinners.” They have power because you don’t know if a life can always be saved, so it’s good to hear that they can be.

Then my friend said something else. He said, “I’m really glad for these folks because they turned their lives around and seem happy, but then I look at my youth group kids and I think, I don’t want these kids to have to go through this stuff. I just want them to grow up with a strong faith and a quiet life. Even if it means never getting to stand up in front of an adoring audience.”

That’s the catch, isn’t it? The ones who live self-damaging lives get the attention, especially if they turn things around. And everyone else? We’re the audience.

It’s like that shepherd with his sheep: One sheep wanders off, gets itself lost, possibly injured, open game for the wolves – and the shepherd leaves everyone else alone to go search for it. Now the other sheep get to watch the shepherd rejoice when that dumb sheep is found. I’m not sure what emotions sheep feel, but I can’t imagine they’re all that excited by the slacker.

But if you go to the story of the son who left home – we call it the prodigal son – we see something going on that might strike close to home. We see the prodigal son – the younger son who is rude, he takes all his inheritance and wastes it on illicit living, then comes to his senses and comes home. It’s a boastamonial. He gets to tell his adoring father how bad he was, then the father gets to rejoice over his being saved.

So, why is the older son so ticked off? Why isn’t he part of that adoring crowd?

Perhaps because he’s asking that very legitimate question: Why does someone who does everything wrong get all the attention, and those of us who always do everything right don’t even get an “attaboy.” You know what attaboys are, don’t you. That pat on the back people get at the office for coming up with a new idea or a cost-saving plan. When you do something good.

What the older son is asking is, “Why doesn’t good behavior get rewarded?”

Why indeed?

Of course, you might also ask, why does it matter? Why do we live a “good” life? Why do most of us labor away in the fields like the older brother? Is it for attention? Is it for the reward of the party and adoration? Is it so everyone around us will say, “Oh, he’s so great!”?

Maybe a little. And to be fair, it’s nice to receive a little acknowledgement of doing a good job once in awhile. But if you want the angels to stand up and rejoice, well, living a quietly faithful life isn’t the way to do it.

When the father goes to the older son and implores him to join the party, he says, “Listen, your reward is that you’ve been with me all along.

“Attaboys” aren’t necessary because you know I love you. You’ve always known it. This younger brother of yours – he didn’t. He went through much of his life not knowing what it was like to be loved – not because the love wasn’t there but because he couldn’t see it. Now he can. And for this little moment in time, we’ll rejoice.

Celebration means marking a change in life – usually to something better. We don’t celebrate when it remains the same. We just live. And to be honest, just living is plenty.

Most of us may at most get the occasional “Attaboy,” but we’re not going to get adoring crowds praising how we brought ourselves back from the brink. How we were “saved.” That’s okay. Because to live quietly in the house of God knowing God’s love for us is joy and peace all by itself. All we have to do is open our eyes and see what we’ve got. Amen.

Chocolateness - God, Life, and Everything

I write a column called "God, Life, and Everything" for the Hudson Valley News. The title reflects the broad scope I want to take. Everything in life falls under the eye of God, and if we watch carefully, we can catch a glimpse of God in it all.

It’s day 21 of my chocolate withdrawal. So far, I’ve held strong, but I feel trapped. The wolves of Hershey and Mars are circling, circling, tempting me to come out for just a nibble. Their powers are strong, and if I venture toward them even a step, they will have me in their jaws.

So, I resist and wait throughout these cold, hard days and nights called Lent. Someday, relief will come. Either I the pangs of chocolate withdrawal will subside, or this season of chocolatelessness will pass. The only question is, will I survive until then?

Of course I will. Giving up chocolate for Lent is no big deal, when you think about it. It’s just something I tend to consume rather thoughtlessly far too much of the time, and I wanted to use this period of self-examination and self-denial to become a bit more intentional about what I consume.

I’ll bet there’s someone asking right now, “Do people still give things up for Lent? I thought that went out with Disco.” In fact, throughout much of my youth, it was fashionable to say, “Don’t give something up, take something on for Lent. It’s much more meaningful.”

While I won’t deny that taking on a spiritual discipline like bible reading, or extra prayer time, or service to others is valid and valuable, that is something that’s appropriate any time of year. Why wait for Lent to do that? Scripture reading, prayer, service, among a whole host of other positive actions are things we are even called upon to do all of the time. That’s the bulk of our lives as people of faith.

But to give something up? That’s Lent.

If it seems like I’ve spent the last few columns musing on the nature of Lent, it’s because I have. There’s a part of me that resists the speed with which we live our lives. Like Advent, this is a time to slow down despite the frantic pace of the world. Yet, here we are in Lent, packing on extra meetings, classes, retreats, planning for the summer. If there’s anything we need to do in Lent, it’s step back a bit and look at our lives.

To do that, I’ve given up chocolate, which is always around – at the grocery store, the convenience store, the hospital gift shop – as a little reminder of what I need and what I don’t. I thought about giving up meetings, but I realized that wouldn’t be a sacrifice at all. I thought about giving up my cell phone, too, but I’m not that strong.

The wolves of chocolate still circle but with help and a renewed sense of priorities, I’m sure I can hold out till that blessed day in April when the thing we’ll be reminding ourselves of isn’t self-denial but joyous life that knows no bounds.

Pesky Plants - A Sermon

Well, Spring is coming. I could tell not only by the melting snow but by the buds on the branches. Unfortunately, most of those branches were broken off their trees from the snow a couple of weeks ago. Even the forsythia was flattened and hasn’t bounced back.

All those plants are so much trouble. Well, they had pesky plants in the bible, too, but judging from today’s readings, it would seem there are two types of plants.

The first plant we encounter is a burning bush. Not something you see every day – and certainly not something Moses had ever seen before. Of course, if I had been him, I would have turned and run the other direction. If he had known what was coming, he probably would have, too.

What came was demands. This burning bush, awesome as it appeared, turned out to be the most demanding, powerful, persistent – and yet empowering thing he had ever seen. It told him to go back to Egypt – remember, that’s the place he ran away from because he had killed someone and was now wanted for murder – and not only that but go to Pharaoh and tell him to release hundreds, thousands, of his slaves. The bush has heard the cry of the people and has compassion.

Thanks, bush.

Moses, of course, said, “No, I can’t do that! I stutter! I’m weak. I’m just a shepherd. I’m wanted. I don’t even know who you are.” Every objection was met with an answer – this plant was not going to take No for an answer.

God said, “Yes you can – and I will empower you for this ministry.” And he did.

The second plant type we encounter in the Gospel. Jesus tells the parable of the fig that would not or could not produce fruit. The landowner wants to just get rid of the thing, but the gardener pleads to give it one last chance. He’ll prune, water and fertilize the tree for a year, and if after that time it still hasn’t produced fruit, then the master can chop it up.

Where the burning bush is fiery and powerful as well as compassionate, the fig tree is weak, prone to giving up, clueless how to survive – seemingly hopeless.

You might think the burning bush is an obvious symbol for God but might wonder about the fig. Are we really that bad?

Well, remember that just Jesus has dealt with two stories of people trying to find reasons to condemn others – victims of horrific tragedies. It would be like blaming innocent victims of an earthquake or hurricane.

Their motivation for this? Largely, it’s so they will feel superior to others. If someone else is really bad, then nobody will notice my faults. And in a world like first century Israel where bad things only happened to bad people, victims of horrific crimes were easy targets.

That’s what Jesus was dealing with, and he responded by saying: You are in the same boat. You all are.

Then to emphasize the point, he tells the parable of the tree. They may be no good, as good as dead, hopeless and worthy of impatience, but with Jesus as gardener, there’s always “one more time.” Always another chance.

That’s a pretty harsh picture of God – that is the land owner. And let’s face it, it’s not a very flattering picture of us, either. But the gardener gives us hope. With him, not only do we get a chance to live another year, but we get the best care that can nurture us to full health.

Actually, we get better than that. The gardener feeds this fig, feeds us, with his lifeblood so that we become part of him – and therefore part of the burning bush. In short, we are one with God.

Maybe we’ll never quite become a burning bush (but who knows?) – yet certainly a healthy, fruitful, empowered, compassionate and persistent plant that will make any farmer glad.

That is what is within us, potential that Jesus sees even if we don’t. All it takes is a heart filled with love – an infusion of God. Then we’ll see how much of the world we can feed, clothe, comfort, etc.

There are two types of plants, but there’s nothing that says we can’t graft one onto the other. It’s better than just manure anyway. Amen.

The Fox and the Hen -- A Sermon

You know, the Pharisees get a bad rap, always yelling at Jesus and complaining about him. But look how nice they are today. They go to him as he’s head to Jerusalem and say, “Stay away! Herod’s out to get you!”

Awfully nice behavior for people who hate Jesus, don’t you think? And they have made it abundantly clear that they hate him throughout Luke’s gospel. On the other hand, Herod is a baddy, so their warning is logical.

But is it sincere? More likely, this is an attempt on the Pharisee’s part to drive Jesus away NOT with arguments, which is their usual method, but with fear. “Run away!” they say. “You’ll get hurt!”

Jesus’ response? “Tell that fox I have work to do first.”

Jesus knows what awaits him in Jerusalem. Prophets die in Jerusalem. Of all the gospels, Luke makes it clearest that Jesus marches inexorably on to Jerusalem and death, because that is how he will accomplish his task.

Moreover, by calling Herod a fox, he has named their supposed concern for what it really is: fear mongering. He will not fall prey to their fear.

Then Jesus breaks into what I can only describe as a lament. “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, how often I have longed to gather your children together as a hen gathers her chicks under her wing, but you were not willing.”

The Pharisees probably understood: Jesus has already made their attempt at fear into a FOX. Now he is calling himself the protective hen and the children of Jerusalem the hapless chicks.
Before we go on, I just want to make sure we all know how well foxes and hens get along. We all know what foxes can do, especially to panicked chicks who run loose unprotected? Good.

So now we have the Fox which is Herod but which is even more powerfully that big F-Word, Fear. The Fox equals Fear.

The Hen is Jesus, and by extension, God. The chicks are the Jerusalemites, and by extension the Israelites, and by further extension, us.

In Jesus’ lament, he is not afraid, as the Pharisees had hoped. He is sad. Sad because he knows that the fear which could NOT entrap him WILL catch many of his children.
It is fear of Herod, fear of shame, fear of the Romans, and maybe especially fear of God which will cause them to turn their backs on Jesus despite their initial excitement about him. He’s foreshadowing that day which we call Palm Sunday when he will enter Jerusalem to shouts of joy, “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord,” only to have them shout for his death a few days later. He knows they will act out of fear more than anything else.
Fear is the Fox that kills. And the hen cannot protect her children from fear if they do not come to her protective wings.

Actually, that’s a pretty simple message, and one that rings true for us today. We live in an age where fear is more easily disseminated than ever before. We have television, radio, newspapers (for the moment), magazines and most powerfully of all, the internet.

Everywhere you turn, there are stories of robbery, murder, kidnapping, and so on – way out of proportion with reality. Whether they are true or not is irrelevant. How many of you have received forwarded e-mails warning about some dire virus that will instantly destroy your computer? Most of them are hoaxes or urban legends with just a bit of truth – and most of them are not there to provide useful information but to make you afraid.

This fear has two major effects. It paralyzes and it panics. Like little chicks, we simply freeze when we get frightened of life. Like with the internet, some people will simply never touch a computer, they’re so afraid. Or they go to the other extreme and buy every anti-virus program known to man. This is most harmful when that fear is of God himself. How many of us were told by earnest sounding Christians that God is to be feared, and sinning will get us condemned?

That’s the fox speaking. And our response? We freeze. We’re overwhelmed. We stay at home so we don’t have to hear it. We do nothing or maybe become obsessed with our own comfort.
Or we panic. Like chicks who run every which way except toward the hen’s wings, we scatter into endless activities that momentarily divert our attention but provide no help. Maybe we run from belief to belief or become fastidious about having the right sacraments, the right actions – always trying to achieve safety from an angry God. All the while, Jesus is calling out, “Come to me and I will help you live without fear.”

There is a third option. Fear can cause us to sink into great evil, to turn into foxes so that we have the illusion of power. Most of us stick to the first two., but it’s better to live without fear altogether, as Christ desires for us.

But here’s the catch. Living without fear does not mean living without pain or sadness or death. Those are part of life, things Jesus expresses so poignantly in this one little passage. The hen, in fact, often dies in her effort to protect her chicks from the fox. And we all know what happens to Jesus when he reaches Jerusalem.

But pain, sadness, death – they are not to be feared so much as to be approached with a deeper knowledge. They do not have the power to kill us. Jesus has seen to that. Only fear will kill us eternally because it will drive us away from God’s loving embrace.

In a world where fear is so readily available, so attractively presented, Jesus still reaches out to us and says “Come to me.” The question is, are we willing?

Amen.

Ode to Chocolate - A Sermon

ODE TO CHOCOLATE

I think that I shall never see,

A sight so yummy as Hershey

And also I shall never eat

A food that ever tastes so sweet.

And yet, I’ll take what I can get,

As long as it is chocolate.

Hershey, Snickers, even Lindt:

They all are just as heaven-sent

And M&Ms? Both plain and peanut,

I’ll eat them all, I really mean it.

Chocolate, chocolate, it’s so good,

It tastes the way that all food should.

Which is the very painful reason,

I’ll give it up this holy season.

This Lent, though I may plead and beg,

I won’t even eat a Cadbury egg.

Going without this little sweet

Is harder for me than skipping meat

And Lent is meant to help us see

What is and is not necessary.

And in my life, what I need most

Is Father, Son and Holy Ghost

Which is to say that all we need

Is God, the Holy Trinity.

I hope you liked that. Because, as you can tell, I’m giving up chocolate for Lent.

1. Now, giving things up for Lent is not required, not a religious act of obligation – but the act of self-deprivation does have benefits. If nothing else, it lets you face temptation.

2. That reminds us how Jesus faced temptation during that 40 day period in the wilderness. Temptations, really.

3. First it was hunger – 40 days is a long time. You may ask why he fasted in the first place. Fasting – deprivation – has a way of focusing you on where you are right now. Focus on the hunger, and you forget everything else. Then once you get past thinking about the hunger, lots of insights can open up to you.

4. Jesus’ first temptation then is to get past the belly – taking care of one’s own needs.

5. Next, after Jesus is done and really wants to get on with things, not to mention get some food, Satan comes along. This is that moment of clarification for Jesus, when he discovers what he came to the wilderness to learn.

6. What he learns is the purpose of his mission, and the manner in which he will achieve it. You might say, wait a minute, all that happened was that Satan came and tempted him.

7. Exactly. And what did he tempt him with? Food, Power, and Safety. The things we crave most.

8. Satan says, if you are really who you say you are, turn these stones into bread. You are hungry after all. And here, Satan sows that seed of doubt. What if this whole mission thing is just craziness? What if Jesus is delusional? He’d better prove it.

9. And he can prove it by food. Provide food. Not just for himself but for everyone. Why should the world endure hunger anyway? Why should people starve to death. What kind of God would allow that?

10. Jesus rejects this argument by telling us that food is not the thing by which we truly live. Not in the soul, anyway. He knows he is not here to feed the whole world eternally.

11. Next, Satan promises power. Jesus can come in and be the good king of the world everyone has been looking for, the one who will set all things right. Who hasn’t felt – at least from time to time -that they could do a better job of running the world than the clowns who are in charge right now? Just give me the chance, and I’ll make it all work.

12. Satan says, well, here’s your chance; all you have to do is pledge allegiance to me. But Jesus rejects that, too. He says, God alone is the king. He alone is to be worshiped and obeyed. So, he knows, he is not here to have that kind of power.

13. Then Satan offers safety. Throw yourself off the temple tower, and angels will protect you. In fact, if you’re the son of God, making people safe ought to be your priority. What kind of God lets people get killed and maimed the way we do?

14. Jesus rejects this, too. He says, do not put God to the test, but he could just as easily say, “Don’t play God.” We are created from dust – as we were reminded on Ash Wednesday – and we will return to dust. Safety is not all it’s cracked up to be. If we are eternally safe, then we do not live. If we try to avoid death all our lives – to play God – then we miss the roles we are meant to play on earth. God’s mortal but beloved children who leave this earth to return to the Father.

15. No. Food, Power, and Safety were never what Jesus came to provide.

16. Not that they are BAD in and of themselves, mind you. Jesus fed people, he displayed awesome power, and he even raised the dead. But they are inadequate if what you want is real life.

17. The temptation that Satan brought was to have Jesus settle for worldly stuff instead of the one most important thing he came to bring. A loving relationship with God.

18. He was tempted to take the easy route, because to love people is hard. But that was his goal. And it is ours.

19. Giving up things in Lent, facing little temptations, reminds us that they do not define us any more than food, power, and safety defined Jesus. So, I think, much as I love chocolate, I can do without it for a few days. Amen.

God, Life and Everything - The Sporting Mind

I’m loving the Olympics. Of course, we don’t have TV at home, so the best I can do is watch some of the events in part on the internet. Still, we get to see some of the best moments, and I am particularly enjoying the men’s and women’s hockey teams, which are performing very well indeed.

Less enjoyable viewing has been the rancor that has infected our political system in recent years. Even here in Hyde Park, it feels as if cooperation is neither desired nor possible. Sometimes, it feels like our local politics is a hockey game. You know, “I went to a fight and a board meeting broke out.”

Wonder why that is? It’s complicated, but I suspect you don’t have to look much farther than the sports page. Yes, the sports page. David Brooks recently wrote a column in the New York Times on how good sports is, how it brings people together. At the same time, he noted that there have been four societies that have understood their moral code through the eyes of sports. The ancient Greeks, the ancient Romans, the British Empire, and the United States. Each used sports as a metaphor for their way of life.

Now, I love sports, and David Brooks is right that our fascination with sports tends to draw us together, sometimes in bizarre ways. We watch the local school team, we root for whatever professional team is closest to us. And you know we’re rooting for Team USA in Vancouver.

You might also argue – as many have – that taking part in sports can teach positive values like sportsmanship, hard work and fair play.

But there’s a down side, especially with how Americans approach sports. Life is reduced to a win/lose proposition, a zero-sum game. You can win or you can lose, but there can’t be any in-between. We hate the in-between so much that even hockey and soccer are doing away with tie games. Now they have sudden death overtime and shoot outs. In our world, someone must win, and that means everyone else must lose.

That’s how we view politics here – as a game to be won. We don’t try to reach consensus on complex issues, we try to win the vote. The real reason we don’t have bipartisanship is because we see members of other political parties as opponents, not partners. It would be like the Indianapolis Colts and the New Orleans Saints saying, “If we work together, we can get this ball across our goal line and then across yours. We can just keep racking up points for both teams because, hey, there’s plenty of them out there for everyone.”

Throwing the bums out or “sending a message” isn’t going to change things, either. That’s just beating the other team until the next game – er – election.

Business is often the same way. Competition is good. Beating the others by winning customers is what it’s all about. Granted, with the Chamber of Commerce, there is far more cooperation, but go to the higher levels of corporate life, and they’re trying to take each other down.

I’ve even seen different religions – different denominations within the same religion, for Pete’s sake! – trying to beat each other. We “win souls for Christ.” We tell people ours is the only way to heaven, and everyone else is out – a loser.

But what can you do? That’s just how things are. If you’ve ever played a sport you know that even when you’re ahead by a mile, there’s this irresistible pressure to get even more ahead. We can only understand life in terms of beating others or getting beaten.

Or can we? Most religious roots actually do not approach life as a competition – and Jesus certainly does not. The entire scandal of Jesus, in fact, was that he refused to set up an “us –vs- them” paradigm. For him, life wasn’t about beating the others, it was about loving even those who hated you. All it took to be at one with God was a heart filled with love for God and each other.

I still want Team USA to win the hockey gold, but if Jesus is any indication, that’s no way to live the rest of our lives.

Plugged in, Changed, and Back - a sermon

We went to go see Avatar last night – very cool, especially the beautiful 3-D. It’d like you’re almost there. Then I thought, hey! Let’s get some special glasses and do church in 3-D! That will bring people in!

It’ll be like you can almost touch people – everything will seem so real. Oh, wait a minute – everything IS real here. You can touch each other here.

There goes another brilliant idea.

But the movie had another connection with church. In a way, it was all about connecting with God – or at least the divine. In this movie, where humans invade another planet (called Pandora) and try to overwhelm the native inhabitants (who are giant blue people) so we can extract their resources, the natives can literally plug part of themselves into the planet.

When they do this, they are at one with their ancestors and their god Eywah.

The hero is a human who is given a native body to inhabit – an Avatar – so he can spy on them. He learns their ways and is finally granted the high honor of getting to plug into the planet. At that moment he has an eye-opening experience that changes him forever. He sees that what the humans are doing is wrong and becomes one with the Pandorans.

In a way, this is like the Transfiguration. The disciples aren’t spies, but they are plucked out of their daily lives and asked to follow Jesus around in a very different world than what they knew before. They spend months – years – learning a new way of life.

And then they are granted this powerful moment of plugging in to the divine in a way most of us can only dream of. They see Jesus illuminated. They see Moses and Elijah. The voice of God speaks to them from heaven. They are changed forever even if they don’t understand.

If the passage ended right there, you’d think, “Wow, they were really great.

But right after they come down from this tremendous experience, things fall apart. The disciples once again are unplugged from the divine. They are just guys who can’t figure out how to connect with God’s power to heal a boy.

You can see Jesus’ frustration – he wants them to finally get it so he can finish his mission here. I can only imagine him thinking, “Even after the transfiguration, they don’t get it? They have no faith?” He sees that they have not been changed at all, or at least not nearly as much as he would have hoped.

We are a slow and stubborn people.

I say we, because the disciples are pretty much like the rest of us. We also get these moments of plugging into the divine – maybe not as dramatic as the transfiguration or as direct and repeated as plugging our bodies into the earth – but we get them.

We get to see miracles in our daily lives if we look. Just last week I witnessed an improbable healing. Look back at your life, and I am sure you will see times when the veil between you and God has been pushed away if only for a moment. God is more real than ever before, and all things seem possible. WE are empowered to see and hear more clearly.

God is not as hidden as we want to think.

And yet, just like the disciples, once that moment is over we tend to forget about it.

We come down from that mountain and immediately get overwhelmed by the demands of everyday life. You can call this our flip flop experience, where suddenly things don’t seem so clear anymore. Suddenly, very few things beyond the usual seem possible. We go from enlightened to in the dark.

Now, if we left the story at that, this would be depressing. And in fact, the Gospel does NOT end like a movie where the hero gets to permanently turn into a blue giant (and get the giant blue girl). It passes through the crucifixion and to the resurrection – another “plugging in” moment for the disciples – and keeps on going.

Where it goes is into the daily work of living as a child of faith – a child of God.

We understand how they had to deal with mundane organizational issues as well as internal and external conflict. We know how their story – our story – keeps going on.

And what we learn from this moment of transfiguration is that like those blue people on Pandora, we, too can plug in. We are doing it right now, right here. When we pray together, when we receive the body and blood of Christ. Christ is revealed here, and we are empowered. Here, now, we know that all things are possible.

This is your mountain top. You can return again and again – it’s better than 3-D. It’s real. Amen.