Third Sunday of Easter

Acts 9:1-6
Psalm 30
Revelation 5:11-14
John 21:1-19

Prayer of the Day: Eternal and all-merciful God, with all the angels and all the saints we laud your majesty and might. By the resurrection of your Son, show yourself to us and inspire us to follow Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.

This week we have heard a lot of troubling news about developments on the Korean peninsula. The possibility of war, however remote it might be, is enough to send chills down anyone’s spine. But for some folks there is an even darker significance in these events. I am speaking of that particular brand of American Protestantism obsessed with the end of the world and convinced that the Book of Revelation holds the key to figuring out when and how the end will occur.  Already I am hearing speculation that North Korean ruler Kim Jong-un might be “the beast” spoken of in Revelation. I have heard similar speculation in the recent past concerning Saddam Hussein, Vladimir Putin and even Barak Obama. For the benefit of all you folks who may never have come into contact with this “end times” theology, the “beast” is a figure described in Revelation 13. It is an amalgam of fierce animals symbolizing a tyrant who rules over all peoples in a reign of terror and oppression. This ruler is particularly hostile toward the saints, imprisoning, torturing and killing them. Worst of all, the beast requires its subjects to worship it as “Lord.”

So, is Kim Jong-un the long awaited “beast”? In the most literal sense, my answer is “no.” The world dominating beast of which John of Patmos speaks in Revelation was an emperor of Rome. The most likely candidate is Domitian (81 C.E. to 96 C.E.), though some scholars maintain that the “beast” refers rather to a future emperor expected to emerge from the chaos and civil war convulsing the Roman Empire following the death of Nero in 68 C.E. John’s lurid images of cruelty, oppression and destruction of the earth set forth in Revelation accurately depict life under Roman occupation and more particularly, life for the churches in Asia Minor (modern day Turkey) at the end of the first century. Governmental persecution of the church, though not wide spread or focused at this time, was not an infrequent occurrence for disciples of Jesus who refused to acknowledge Caesar as “Lord,” a title they reserved for Christ alone. Exclusion from economic and professional opportunities was often the price of worshiping Christ alone. Christians were not the only ones to experience Rome’s oppression. It is not only for the death of the prophets and saints, but for “all who have been slain on the earth” that Rome (code named “Babylon”) and the beast come to judgment in Revelation Chapter 18. Significantly, all those who profited socially, politically and commercially from Rome’s unjust reign share in its judgment. In sum, it is safe to say that John of Patmos was writing about the imperial rulers of his day, not our present day rulers, however beastly they might be.

But that does not exhaust the subject. Rome may be long gone, but imperial oppression is very much alive and well. This point is made by Jorge Rieger in his book, Christ and Empire, (AugsburgFortress, c. 2007).

“Empire, in sum, has to do with massive concentrations of power that permeate all aspects of life and that cannot be controlled by any one actor alone. This is one of the basic marks of empire throughout history. Empire seeks to extend its control as far as possible; not only geographically, politically, and economically-these factors are commonly recognized-but also intellectually, emotionally, psychologically, spiritually, culturally and religiously.” Pp. 2-3.

The beast of empire is alive and well today exercising its murderous power through dictators that starve their people to feed their military machines; corporations that exploit labor, corrupt governments and destroy the environment for the sake of profit; governments that value balanced budgets over a balanced diet for their poorest citizens; and religious movements that encourage violence, prejudice and hate. The victims of the beast live in squalid refugee camps having fled the carnage of conflicts they wanted no part of. They are children employed at near starvation wages by manufacturers whose CEOs have made the cold (and heartless) determination that such “out sourcing” best serves the bottom line. They are the wounded men, grieving mothers and dead children who had the misfortune to be in the way of a drone attack-the folks we speak of in unfeeling clinical terms as “collateral damage.” We need to be careful not to define the beast too narrowly. Kim Jong-un is a mean hombre, no doubt about it. But he did not crawl out of the bowels of hell. He is the product of a tense political five decade standoff between two halves of a small nation long divided by cold war interests of the superpowers. The war that gave birth to his nation was a proxy fight between much bigger players with stakes much higher than the welfare of the Korean people. Those of you old enough to remember the comic strip Pogo may also recall the lead character’s immortal line: “We have met the enemy and he is us.” So also I think we can say that we have met “the beast” and he is us. Today’s nation states, military alliances and commercial entities (all of them) share in some measure the toxic nature of the beast.

Finally, I feel compelled to point out that the Book of Revelation is not all about “the beast.” It is about the “Lamb who was slain.” It is not about the destruction of the earth, but its salvation and renewal. Most importantly, Revelation is not a war movie or a spaghetti western in which the forces of good out gun the forces of evil. Understand that the final victory of God over evil does not come through an exercise of divine violence. Throughout the Book of Revelation, the powers of the empire are portrayed as fearsome beasts, dragons and warriors. But God’s son and God’s people are always portrayed as peaceful, vulnerable and weak. Israel is portrayed as a woman giving birth under the watch of a fearsome dragon waiting to devour her child. Revelation 12:1-6. The conqueror, the lion of Judah, God’s Messiah turns out to be, of all things, a lamb. Revelation 5:1-5. Not only so, but a lamb that was slain! When Christ returns to claim his kingdom, his title is “the Word of God,” and he slays his enemies with the sword that “comes out of his mouth.” Revelation 19:11-16. Just as the world began with God speaking it into existence, so by that same life giving (not death dealing) Word the world will be brought under God’s gentle reign. God triumphs through winning hearts, not battles. Thus, the churches in Asia Minor are comforted with the knowledge that by their faithful obedience to Jesus’ commands, their love for one another, their forgiveness of their enemies and their peaceful witness they are waging God’s battle against the powers of empire. This battle is fought not with weapons of war, but with the weapons of prayer, forgiveness and love for the neighbor-even the hostile one. The struggling churches are assured that the suffering love of God is mightier and more enduring than the violence of empire.  Caesar and his legions might look impressive today, but the smart money is on the Lamb.

Acts 9:1-6

This story fascinates me. It seems that Saul (later to be called Paul) has just made a U Turn in his fundamental beliefs and self understanding. From this day forward, he takes his orders from Jesus-a man he presumed dead and whose followers he has been busy exterminating. I am captivated by this story because I cannot say that I have ever had such an experience. My mind changes slowly. It changes direction like an aircraft carrier: in small increments that seem inconsequential at the time but ultimately alter my direction in significant ways. When I read my journal entries of thirty years ago I can see that I have changed my mind about a great many things, though I would be hard put to say exactly when that happened. I am not even sure there ever was a conscious turning point. I expect that conversations with family and friends, reading and study along with my life experiences have worked together in gradually shaping and re-shaping my outlook over the years. I hope that worship, preaching and prayer have also played a significant role. That seems to be the way most of us are formed most of the time.

But not always. There are “Damascus Road” moments that can turn you around. Perhaps one contemporary example is Senator Robert Portman, a conservative legislator representing Ohio who recently embraced marriage equality upon learning that his son was gay. I suppose there is reason to question the sincerity of the senator’s conversion, which many have dismissed as a classic political “flip-flop.” It is a little suspicious that this politician should experience his change of heart just following the release of poll numbers showing a clear majority of Americans favoring marriage equality. Still, I tend to believe that Portman’s turnabout was genuine. Discovering that your own son is among the folks you have been trying to exclude as inherently immoral cannot be too different from Paul’s discovery that the Jesus he was striving to destroy was actually the God he worshipped.

In approaching this text it might be helpful to begin listing some of the strongest convictions you hold. Then ask yourself what it would take to change your mind. What could make you see things differently? If you are convinced that your beliefs and opinions are so solidly based that nothing could change them, I would caution you with my mother’s oft repeated dictum: “There is no mind as weak as that mind which is too strong to change.” We will come up against this question of conversion again in next week’s lesson from Acts where Peter is confronted with what he probably assumed was not possible: faith among pagans.

Psalm 30

The title of this psalm is a little confusing. It reads: “A Psalm of David. A Song at the dedication of the Temple.” In the first place, the Temple was built by Solomon after David had died. If David wrote this psalm, it would not likely have been for the dedication of a building constructed well after his death. I should add, though, that Davidic authorship is not altogether impossible. According to the book of I Chronicles, David was heavily involved in planning for the erection of the Temple even though he took no part in actually building it. Thus, he could conceivably have composed psalms in anticipation of its dedication. This seems unlikely, however. A further difficulty is that the psalm itself is a personal prayer of thanksgiving for salvation. It does not even mention the Temple. One commentator suggests that the psalm, though composed much earlier, might have been used at the re-dedication of the Temple following its cleansing by Judas Maccabaeus in 164 B.C.E. (celebrated today as Hanukkah). J.W. Rogerson and J.W. McKay, The Cambridge Bible Commentary, Psalms 1-50 (Cambridge University Press, c. 1977), p. 133. That would explain the title linking the psalm to the Temple. The attribution of the psalm to David was likely a separate and much older title. It should be noted that the Hebrew preposition le translated as “by” in the Davidic title can also mean “to” or “in the manner of” or perhaps “in the tradition of.” Thus, actual Davidic authorship is not necessarily implied.

This psalm is one that Professor of Old Testament, Walter Brueggemann would probably classify as a “psalm of reorientation.” Brueggemann divides the psalms into three categories: Psalms of orientation, psalms of disorientation and psalms of re-orientation. I believe that is a helpful distinction because at any given time in our lives we find ourselves orientated, disorientated or re-orientated. There are times when all seems well with the world. The job is exciting and filled with opportunities for advancement. Marriage is filled with intimacy, spontaneity and delight. The kids are getting good grades and behaving themselves. There is not a cloud in the sky. A psalm of orientation, of praise and thanksgiving for God’s faithfulness and goodness is appropriate.

Then tragedy strikes. The company you work for goes out of business. A spouse proves unfaithful. One of the kids gets sick-really sick. Or that routine X-ray exposes something very wrong going on under the skin. That picture perfect life is thrown into disarray. The darkness seems impenetrable. At times like these, psalms of disorientation give expression to our feelings of panic and abandonment. A good example is Psalm 39 which concludes with a prayer that God would “look away from me, that I may know gladness, before I depart and be no more.” Yet even though the psalmist seems to have given up on God, the psalmist is nonetheless still speaking to God!

Psalms of re-orientation, such as Psalm 30, are songs of those who have fallen from a secure and well oriented life into disorientation, but have experienced the salvation of a God who has led them out of the darkness and re-orientated their lives. The journey has not been easy, nor does it bring them back to where they were before. Re-orientated people have been changed forever by their trek through the darkness. They now know just how dark and terrifying life can be. But they also know just how faithful and steadfast is the God who continues to lead them even as they pass through the valley of the shadow. See The Message of the Psalms, Brueggemann, Walter (Augsburg Publishing House, c 1984).

It seems that the psalmist was experiencing threats from his enemies as well as sickness. This psalm does not explain what caused the psalmist’s suffering. Nor does it suggest that the psalmist is somehow at fault or that his or her suffering is part of some greater plan. Sometimes suffering just is. There is no explanation for it, but one thing is clear. The psalmist knows that God has not deserted him or her throughout the dark times. God has been present all along the difficult journey from darkness into light. It is important to understand that this journey does not take the psalmist back to “the way things were.” Often, there is no going back. The scars of surgery remain even after a full recovery. Life after divorce can be filled with love, life and hope-but it does not restore the relationship that was lost. The psalmist recognizes in resolution of his or her trials the saving hand of God. Thanksgiving is the only conceivable response.

Revelation 5:11-14

In order to appreciate the full impact of this lesson, you need to read from the beginning of Chapter 4. See Revelation 4:1-5:10. John of Patmos is summoned to the throne room of God almighty. The throne of God is surrounded by 24 elders and four angelic creatures all singing praises to God. There is no description of God, but in God’s right hand is a scroll sealed with seven seals. An angel cries out, “Who is worthy to open the scroll and break its seals?” No one responds to this question and John is greatly distressed to learn that there is nobody in heaven or on earth able to open the scroll. But then one of the elders says to John, “Weep not; lo, the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, has conquered, so that he can open the scroll and its seven seals.” Now comes the drum roll. What will he look like, this Lion, this Davidic King who dares to break the seals and open the scroll? We expect Arnold Schwarzenegger to strut out onto the stage, bulging with muscle, armed to the teeth. But when we look up we see-a lamb! A lamb that has been slain, no less. Seriously? This is the Lion of Judah? This is the Root of David?

At this point the angelic creatures and the elders break into their song: “Worthy art thou to take the scroll and open its seals, for thou wast slain and by thy blood didst ransom people for God from every tribe and tongue and people and nation, and hast made them a kingdom and priests to our God, and they shall reign on earth.” Vss 9-10. In the lurid imagery that follows, John pictures for us the war of the lamb. This matchup between a leopard like beast with seven heads, ten horns, feet like a bear and mouth like a lion on the one hand, and a lamb on the other seems terribly one sided. The lamb doesn’t appear to stand much of a chance. Yet John would have us know that God is on the side of the lamb whose suffering love for humanity braves even death.

This lesson is filled with images similar to many found in the Book of Daniel, another apocalyptic work. Daniel 7:9-10 relates the prophet’s vision of descending thrones upon which sat “one that was ancient of days.” “Ten thousand times ten thousands stood before him.”  “The books were opened.” Dominion is given to “one like a son of man.” Some scholars suggest that John may have drawn his vision from that related in Daniel Chapter 7. Though possible, it seems unlikely to me. There is little in the way of actual textual similarity. There is virtually no correspondence between the two visions other than the assurance that the enemies of God’s people ultimately will be defeated by divine agency, a theme common to nearly all apocalyptic literature. John’s vision also bears similarity to divine appearances in Isaiah 6 and Ezekiel 1-2.

As I pointed out in my introductory remarks, it is critical to understand what John of Patmos is trying to accomplish with his work. That begins with reading the letters to the seven churches in Revelation 1-2.  Just as the lamb seems an unlikely champion against the beast, so the crucified Lamb of God and his beleaguered and persecuted followers’ struggle against the empire looks hopeless. John strives to assure the churches of Asia Minor that their struggles to remain faithful are not futile, but are of cosmic significance. The cross is mightier than the sword. Love is stronger than violence and will prevail in the end.

John 21:1-19

Of all the four gospels, I find the ending of John’s gospel to be the most satisfying. Unlike Luke, Jesus does not ascend into heaven and direct the disciples to wait for the outpouring of the Holy Spirit. Unlike Matthew, Jesus does not send his disciples out with a promise of his presence. We are not left wondering whether or how the disciples will ever hook up again with the resurrected Christ as in Mark. John’s ascension takes place at Golgotha where Jesus is “lifted up.” The outpouring of the Holy Spirit coincides with Jesus’ resurrection. Remarkably, the Gospel of John ends the way the other gospels begin: with the disciples leaving their fishing nets and boats behind to follow Jesus. Jesus’ last words in the gospel are, “follow me.”

John’s gospel challenges us to take seriously the presence of Jesus in the Church. I think this is the underpinning for our Lutheran insistence on the real presence of Christ which is not limited to the sacraments. We confess in the Nicene Creed our belief in the “One, Holy, Catholic and Apostolic Church.” If that only means that there exists an organization called the church, we would hardly need to include it as an article of faith anymore than we would need to confess that the sky is blue. But to say that the church is one just as Jesus is one with the Father; that the church is a holy people; that the church is catholic embracing all nations and true to the apostolic witness that birthed it-that is another thing altogether. It is not always evident that the church as we experience it is any of these things. Yet our confession is that the church, flesh and blood congregations with all of their shortcomings, failures and imperfections constitute the Body of the Resurrected Christ. That calls for a leap of faith! It also challenges us to think deeply about how we make our unity, holiness, catholicity and apostolic teaching more visible.

I think this appearance must have happened on a Monday. I don’t have an ounce of biblical support for that assertion, but it sure has the feel of going back to work at the beginning of another week. Commentators believe that this third appearance of Jesus to his disciples in John is a latter addition to the gospel. They suggest that this story comes from a different version of events similar to the sequence in Matthew. The disciples, scattered after Jesus’ crucifixion, flee to Galilee (or go there to meet him upon instructions from Jesus to the women) and there try to pick up their old lives. In so doing, they encounter the resurrected Christ who calls them back to a life of discipleship. However this might be, there is no question but that the disciples have turned their attention back to the more mundane yet urgent needs for survival. They turn back to what they know, namely, fishing. Yet they toil through the night taking nothing, echoing Jesus’ warning that “apart from me you can do nothing.” John 15:5. Not until Jesus instructs them to cast their net out on the right side of the boat do they find success, and that beyond expectation. It is at this point that the beloved disciple recognizes Jesus.

Meals occupy a significant place in the ministry of Jesus (and throughout the whole Bible for that matter). Jesus feeds five thousand hungry people; Jesus eats with outcasts and sinners-as well as wealthy religious leaders. Jesus’ last evening with his disciples was a meal and Jesus makes a point of sharing food with them after his resurrection. Jesus frequently uses the image of a banquet to describe the kingdom of God. So it is not surprising that he invites his disciples to breakfast on the shore and that it is within this context that Jesus reconciles himself to Peter.

The interchange between Jesus and Peter is moving and illustrative of Jesus’ way with his disciples. Ours is the Lord of the second chance-and the third and the fourth. But what I find remarkable here is Peter’s commission: “Feed my sheep.” There has been much debate over the centuries about what that means and what significance it has for how we understand apostolic succession. Without entering these treacherous waters, let me just say that what I find most intriguing is the content of the command. If Peter is being given a special task here, it does not seem to have anything to do with leading, oversight or primacy. His job is not to shepherd the sheep, but simply to feed them. At the recent ELCA Youth Gathering in New Orleans one of my young people elbowed me just as Bishop Mark Hanson was being introduced as “shepherd of the sheep.” “What happened to Jesus” she said. “Did he retire?” This clever if less than reverent comment reflects the basis for my discomfort with the term “pastor” which means shepherd. I am only too aware of the fact that I do not know where the green pastures or the still waters are. Like everyone else, I have to rely upon the Good Shepherd’s leading for that. At best, I am just the sheep dog that tries to keep the herd together or the farm hand in charge of seeing to it that the sheep are fed. Like my namesake, I can only lead by following.

Second Sunday of Easter

 Acts 5:27-32
Psalm 118:14-29
Revelation 1:4-8
John 20:19-31

Prayer of the Day: O God of life, you reach out to us amid our fears with the wounded hands of your risen Son. By your Spirit’s breath revive our faith in your mercy, and strengthen us to be the body of your Son, Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.

What is a pastor to do when a wealthy, prominent and powerful member of his congregation commits an unspeakable sin? That was precisely the dilemma facing Ambrose, bishop of Rome.  His parishioner was none other than Theodosius the First, emperor of Rome. It all started in April 390. Butheric, a Roman governor in command of Thessalonica, ordered the arrest of a popular charioteer on charges of rape. The sports loving populous demanded the charioteer’s release. When Butheric refused, a riot ensued in which Butheric and several lesser Roman authorities were killed. Enraged by news of the uprising, Theodosius ordered an immediate retaliation. The army units sent to Thessalonica indiscriminately massacred seven thousand civilians without regard to their involvement in the rioting.

Ambrose had options. It might have been prudent for him to ignore the whole affair and treat Theodosius as though nothing had occurred. What is done is done. There is no bringing back the seven thousand. So why risk offending a member whose support is critical to the ministry of your congregation? (Imperial support was, rightly or wrongly, viewed as critical to the wellbeing of the church).  Then again, Ambrose might have employed a little constructive engagement. He might have invited the emperor out to lunch and, after some light conversation about family and sports, brought up the Thessalonian affair in an off handed way. “You know, Theo, I noticed that you got a lot of bad press for your handling of that business in Thessalonica. What is the real story about that?” Theo squirms a bit in his chair. “As usual,” he replies, “the press put its anti-imperial slant on things. I can assure you that our response to the unspeakable crimes committed in that city was measured and restrained.” After an awkward silence, Theo goes on to say, “Of course, I understand there may have been some excesses in a few individual cases. I can assure you, Pastor, I will look into these claims and see to it that justice is done.” Congratulations, you have nudged imperial policy toward justice-slightly perhaps. Or not.

You could also take the “pastoral approach.” “Hey Theo,” you say to him after a game of squash (which you prudently let him win), “This thing with Thessalonica, that’s not like you. I’m seeing in that a whole lot of anger. Is something going on with you, buddy?” Theo collapses on a bench with his head in his hands. “It’s my wife. She’s spoiling that kid of ours. I am trying to teach him some responsibility. That’s important for a kid his age. He is going to be ruler of the empire for heaven’s sake! But every time he acts up, gets into trouble or starts slacking off, my wife makes excuses for him, takes his side and turns me into the bad guy. My own father was a real ball buster. Push, push, push. I swore I would never be like that with my own kids. But every day I see myself becoming more like my father. I hate it! But what can I do? Somebody has to be firm with that kid…” Theo has a good cathartic cry and feels much better. He thanks you for being such a sensitive and caring pastor. Now that he has had a chance to vent, he will certainly moderate his foreign policy, right? Dream on.

Or you could do what Ambrose did: excommunicate the emperor. According to church historian Theodoretus, when the emperor tried to enter a Milanese church where Ambrose was about to celebrate a mass, the bishop stopped him and rebuked him for what he had done to the people of Thessalonica refusing him admission. Only after Theodosius underwent a lengthy period of penance and promised to enact reforms ensuring due process for persons accused of capital crimes did Ambrose readmit him to the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper.

If you are wondering what any of this has to do with the lessons for this week, I am focusing here on the resurrected Christ’s injunction to his disciples in John 20:23: “If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven. If you retain the sins of any, they are retained.” This verse figured heavily into my ordination vows and is typically associated with what Lutherans call “the power of the keys.” This, according to Martin Luther’s Small Catechism, is “the peculiar church power which Christ has given to His Church on earth to forgive the sins of penitent sinners, but to retain the sins of the impenitent as long as they do not repent.” LSC, Part V. Luther goes on to cite the above passage from John in support of this assertion. I have no quarrel with the Catechism as far as the assertion goes, but for reasons I will come to later, I do not believe that this particular verse relates to the power of the keys as Luther defines it. Even so, the questions remain: at what point does the church resort to excommunication? Who makes the final decision to excommunicate? What sort of sins warrant excommunication?

Clearly, Ambrose was taking a courageous stand that might have gotten him killed. Still, historians differ over the extent to which the conflict really was between a pastor and his parishioner concerning sin rather than a battle of political will between leaders of the ever competing ecclesiastical and imperial estates within the Byzantine Empire. Therein lies the problem with excommunication. Christian congregations are nothing if not political. Is the sin of a troublesome congregational member who is forever impeding the march of progress likely to be measured with greater strictness than the sin of a team player who supports the congregational programs and policies? What kinds of sin merit excommunication? Often that depends on the cultural biases of the congregation. In some places, fornication warrants expulsion from the church. In other places, use of bottled water is a crime against the environment but sexual indiscretions are politely ignored.  How do you measure the severity of sin? When is excommunication the preferred or perhaps only appropriate remedy?

I think that St. Paul’s measure is the most helpful standard. In Paul’s view, a disciple’s conduct must be shaped by the understanding that s/he is a member of the Body of Christ. Sin is whatever injures the unity of the Body. That means ethical conduct is to some extent contextual. Whether a disciple should eat meat sacrificed to idols was a burning issue among the believers at Corinth. May a believer purchase such meat in the market and eat it-as long as s/he does so without taking part in the sacrificial rite in which it was slaughtered? It depends, says Paul. If consuming such meat can be done without giving offense to a fellow believer or compromising the witness of the church to Jesus, then there is nothing wrong with it. Meat is meat. Nevertheless, if eating meat offered to idols will damage the credibility of the church’s witness or give offense to another disciple of Jesus for whom such meat constitutes a sacrifice offered to false gods, then the disciple must refrain. See I Corinthians 8.  Similarly, when Paul discusses sexual immorality, his primary concern is not what and with whom, but the effect such behavior has on “the Body,” which I interpret as the Body of Christ. Because each disciple is a member of that Body, engaging a prostitute is not simply a matter of private immorality. It necessarily involves the entire church. See I Corinthians 6:12-20. Notorious sexual immorality also reflects badly on the church’s public witness and is therefore cause for excommunication in at least some cases. See I Corinthians 5:1-13. Thus, it seems there are two questions that must be asked before setting in motion disciplinary measures that might lead to excommunication. First, is the member’s conduct threatening the unity of the church? Second, is the member’s conduct compromising the church’s mission and witness? If the answer to either of these questions is “yes,” then discipline may be appropriate.

Clearly, not all sin calls for disciplinary action. The church is made up of recovering sinners who are called to live as family under the umbrella of God’s forgiveness in Christ. Thus, if a sister or brother sins against us numerous times in one day, the appropriate response is forgiveness, whether it is requested or not. Forgiveness is always the remedy of choice when it comes to dealing with sin. Discipline is exercised only when a member’s sin threatens the unity or witness of the church. Excommunication is a radical step to be used sparingly and only when all other disciplinary measures have failed. Finally, it seems that excommunication is far too weighty a matter to be left in the hands of any single individual. In the Gospel of Matthew Jesus places this decision in the hands of the whole church. See Matthew 18:15-20. Paul also indicates that discipline must be exercised by the whole church on the basis of competent evidence. See I Corinthians 5:3-5; II Corinthians 13:1-4.

 Acts 5:27-32

Peter and his fellow apostles are in trouble again. At their last hearing, they were warned not to teach, preach or heal in the name of Jesus. Note well that the prohibition is not against teaching, preaching or healing generally. Some years ago a colleague of mine told me about how the churches in her city were hosting a statewide breakfast program for low income children. To qualify for participation in the program, churches were compelled to cover up or remove all religious images such as icons, crosses and statues. This was necessary, she explained, to avoid running afoul of the First Amendment prohibition against government establishment of religion. My colleague did not seem to have any problem with the conditions for her church’s involvement in the program. From her perspective, the important thing was that the kids were getting breakfast. If covering or removing images of Jesus was the price to be paid for cooperation in a venture that was surely in the spirit of Jesus, it was well worth the cost.

Is that really the case? Were the apostles being stubborn and pig headed? Why not continue the good work of teaching, healing and caring for the poor without bringing up Jesus? Does it matter whether the church is publically associated with Jesus in its work? Is the public proclamation of Jesus indispensable to doing God’s will in the world? Can you do works in Jesus’ name without mentioning that name?  As long as you are doing what Jesus requires, why does it matter whose name is on the final product?

At the risk of sounding ruthlessly sectarian, I believe that the name of Jesus is indispensible to the church’s mission. Thus, were I in the place of my colleague, I would with great sorrow let the breakfast hosting opportunity go. To those who would fault me for my seeming lack of concern for hungry children, I would reply that children do not live by bread alone but by every word that proceeds from the mouth of God. Words and actions are not as easily separable as we moderns imagine. In fact, if you take the Gospel of John at all seriously, Word and action are entirely inseparable. That is the reason why Peter and John could say last week that “we cannot but speak of what we have seen and heard.” Acts 4:20. The proclamation of Jesus simply was not negotiable. The apostles’ actions were grounded in the Word they were preaching. We call that Incarnation.

As an attorney, I understand and respect the legitimate concern of the government to avoid entanglement between state services and the promotion of religion. I also understand that the circumstances in which my colleague found herself were vastly different from those of the apostles. In her case, she was working with a friendly government to achieve a common humanitarian objective. The apostles were struggling to be faithful under the weight of persecution by a hostile government. Yet whether the state employs threats of violence, entices us with promises or appeals to us on the basis of the common good to abandon Jesus, the net effect is the same. As church, we are not motivated by some vague notion of the common good (which is always less “common” and frequently less “good” than is claimed).  The church lives and acts out of its relationship to Jesus and its call to bear witness to God’s salvation in his name. Apart from that relationship, we are no longer the church.

Psalm 118:14-29

The psalm for this week is a continuation of the same one used for Easter Sunday. I therefore refer you to my comments from last week’s post.

Revelation 1:4-8

These verses serve as an introduction to a series of messages addressed to the “seven churches that are in Asia.” The reference here is actually to Asia Minor, what is now modern day Turkey. The seven churches are later identified as those of Ephesus, Smyrna, Pergamum, Thyatira, Sardis, Philadelphia and Laodicea. The number of “seven” is symbolic of completeness or perfection and therefore may be a literary device. Thus, it could well be that the letters were meant for general circulation as a group throughout Asia Minor rather than individually addressed to the seven specific churches mentioned and that the matters discussed with these congregations were actually issues common to most or all of the churches in the area.

Much speculation has been given to what the “seven spirits” of God represent. Again, the symbolic meaning suggested by use of the number “seven” implies that John is simply referring to the manifold energies of the one Spirit of God. It is also possible that the “spirits” are simply another designation of the “angels” of each of the seven churches referenced throughout the balance of chapter 1 and chapter 2 of Revelation. Some ancient commentators have identified the seven spirits with the seven aspects of the Spirit to be conferred upon the “shoot from the stump of Jesse” referenced in Isaiah 11:2. Frankly, I think this latter interpretation is a bit of a stretch.

The reference to the Son of Man coming in the clouds echoes Jesus’ testimony before the Sanhedrin. Mark 14:62; Matthew 26:64 and Luke 22:69. These passages, in turn, point back to Daniel 7:13. Also referenced in this verse is Zechariah 12:10. The alpha and omega are the first and last letters of the Greek alphabet respectively; hence, the Lord God is the beginning and end of all things, “the one who is, who was and who is to come.” Vs. 4.

This introduction sets the stage for John of Patmos to deliver the message of his widely misunderstood and woefully misinterpreted book of Revelation. He seeks to impress upon the churches of Asia Minor that their struggles to live faithfully are of cosmic importance and eternal significance.  He accomplishes this objective by projecting those struggles upon the screen of apocalyptic drama in which good and evil engage each other as fantastic beasts, angels and spirits. These characters are pregnant with symbolic meanings, many of which are now lost to us. Still, the rich poetry of Revelation has always been and continues to be a rich fountain for inspired and hopeful preaching. The refrain of this book, sounded in so many different keys, is the promise that God’s gentle reign will be implemented not through the violent ways of human empire, but through the patient and persistent love of God manifest in the crucified Lamb of God.

John 20:19-31

Something is different about Jesus after his resurrection. He appears, disappears, and is able come into a room that has been locked up tight without breaking down the door. Yet he is no mere spirit. You can touch him. He still bears the wounds of the cross and this is important. The incarnation is irreversible. Jesus became human and remains so. God, having become flesh, will never shed his humanity. The body of Jesus was not just a clever disguise. Jesus’ body is Jesus. The resurrected Christ is still wounded and bleeding, still suffers the pain of a broken humanity and continues to struggle toward the promised reign of God. Now, however, it is clear that not even death can extinguish God’s incarnate love.

John’s Pentecost occurs on the day of resurrection. Jesus breathes on his disciples the Holy Spirit and commissions them to go forth even as he was sent forth from the Father. The life of the disciples is to be a continuation of Jesus’ ministry. As Jesus embodied the Word of God, so they are to embody that same Word now through the power of the Holy Spirit. What Jesus prayed for in Chapter 17 is now being implemented. Jesus will be in his disciples just as he is in the Father. By the agency of the Holy Spirit they will be made one and by their love for one another the love of God will be made known to the world.

“If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.” Vs. 23. Exactly what does this mean? As I indicated in my opening remarks, this verse has always been associated with the “office of the keys,” the peculiar power of the church “to forgive the sins of penitent sinners, but to retain the sins of the impenitent as long as they do not repent.” LSC, Part V. But is that really what John had in mind here? In my view, the context makes that interpretation extremely doubtful. The focus is not upon the internal workings of the community of disciples but upon the disciples’ mission to the world. Undoubtedly, the two are related in this gospel. It is through the disciples’ love for one another that they will be identified as followers of Jesus. John 13:35. But the principal emphasis is on the disciples’ witness to the world, not to their relationship with one another. So what can it mean to “retain” sins?

I believe that John is emphasizing the importance of the commission that Jesus has just given to his disciples. It is through them that the life giving Word of forgiveness is to be made known to the world. It is “in” them that the Spirit now resides. If the disciples of Jesus do not make known God’s forgiveness of sin, the world will remain in the grip of sin. Those sins will be retained. But if the Word is spoken, it will be accompanied by the Spirit of God that inspires faith and breaks the bondage of sin. I believe that is what commentator Raymond Brown is saying in the following quote:

“In summary, we doubt that there is sufficient evidence to confirm the power of forgiving and holding of sin, granted in John 20:23 to a specific exercise of power in the Christian community, whether that be admission to Baptism or forgiveness in Penance. These are but partial manifestations of a much larger power, namely, the power to isolate, repel, and negate evil and sin, a power given to Jesus in his mission by the Father and given in turn by Jesus through the Spirit to those whom he commissions. It is an effective, not merely declaratory, power against sin, a power that touches new and old followers of Christ, a power that challenges those who refuse to believe. John does not tell us how or by whom this power was exercised in the community for whom he wrote, but the very fact that he mentions it shows that it was exercised.”  The Gospel According to John, XIII-XX1, Raymond E. Brown, The Anchor Bible, Vol. 29a, (Doubleday, c. 1970) p. 1044.

Poor Thomas gets a regular drubbing whenever this lesson comes up. I say it is time to give Thomas a break. For the last two millennia he has had to live with the shameful moniker “Doubting Thomas” even though he sought nothing more in the way of proof for the resurrection than the other disciples had already received. I think that too much emphasis has been placed on Thomas’ faith or the lack thereof and too little upon the wounds in the Body of Christ that demonstrate God’s continued suffering love for a rebellious world. This will likely be the focus of my sermon if I wind up preaching on this text.

Easter Sunday

Acts 10:34-43
Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24
1 Corinthians 15:19-26
Luke 24:1-12

Prayer of the Day
O God, you gave your only Son to suffer death on the cross for our redemption, and by his glorious resurrection you delivered us from the power of death. Make us die every day to sin, that we may live with him forever in the joy of the resurrection, through your Son, Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.

“Do you believe the resurrection really happened?” That question has been put to me “gun to the head” style on many occasions. Most recently it came from one of my acquaintances with strict biblical literalist leanings. He went on to tell me that he just wanted a “yes or no” answer. In one sense, we can answer this question with a clear “yes.” Something must have happened two millennia ago to convince Jesus’ disciples that their crucified teacher was now alive. But I have a feeling my friend wants more of an answer than that. He was looking for me not merely to affirm that “something happened,” but to confirm his particular view of what happened. The question of “what” happened cannot be answered with a simple yes or no. Our response requires a close look at what the New Testament witnesses are saying to us.

Let’s start with the obvious. When the women reached the tomb on Easter Sunday, it was already empty. Jesus had already risen. As far as we know, nobody witnessed that event. We have no way of knowing what the video camera would have shown. The resurrected Christ appeared to several of the disciples for some time after Easter. The stories of these appearances make clear that Jesus was bodily present. He ate with his disciples; he breathed on them and several of them touched him. My literalist friend therefore draws the conclusion that the resurrected Jesus was a fully revived corpse and that his body was taken up to the right hand of God in heaven where it will remain until he comes again in glory. But that says both too much and too little. Though Jesus comes to his disciples in bodily form after his resurrection bearing the wounds of the cross, something is clearly different about him. He is able to penetrate locked doors, appear and disappear from sight. The resurrected Jesus is often not recognizable to his disciples. All of this leads us to conclude that Jesus’ post Easter presence among his disciples is different from his relationship with them before his crucifixion. The resurrection therefore cannot be understood as the resuscitation of a corpse. Indeed, such a view of the resurrection is far less than the New Testament witnesses claim for Jesus. According to the Gospel of Luke, Jesus ascended to the right hand of God. This is not a literal place, but a literary way of saying that Jesus is everywhere present and that whenever and wherever God acts, God acts through Jesus. A resuscitated corpse could hardly fill heaven and earth no matter how thin you stretch him. So where does that leave us, exactly?

I suspect that questions like these reflect a deep anxiety about our own postmortem fate.  Perhaps the insistence on what my friend would call “the bodily resurrection” anchors his hope that there will in fact be a resurrection for us and that Jesus’ story is not just a literary metaphor for something like “authentic existence” or the “validation of radical commitment to the Kingdom of God.”  There is something to that concern. Marcus Borg, a teacher and theologian I greatly respect, argues in one of his recent books that Christianity is losing members and influence because its preaching and teaching are mired in antiquated language and a world view that no longer makes sense to Twenty-First Century people. “Heaven” is one of the concepts he finds unintelligible to modern thought. Borg declares that he has no need for the promise of personal resurrection from death and that “We die into God…that is all I need to know.” Speaking Christian, Borg, Marcus, (HarperCollins Publishers, Inc., c. 2011), p. 201. Is that really enough?

One of the characters in John Updike’s very first novel, The Poorhouse Fair, felt much the same way as Professor Borg on the matter of eternal life. Updike’s story takes place in a state run home for the destitute elderly overseen by prefect Stephen Conner. Conner is a product of the New Deal. He believes in the inevitability of human progress through social evolution and the perfection of governmental institutions. Conner becomes engaged in a conversation among the residents about the afterlife. He shares his vision of “heaven on earth” formed in a future society where illness is overcome by advanced medicine; pollution eliminated through harnessing of atomic power; and oppression defeated through the spread of democracy. Mrs. Mortis, one of the residents, asks him whether this heaven on earth will come soon enough for her to see it. Conner responds: “Not personally perhaps. But for your children, your grandchildren.”

“But not for ourselves?”

“No.” The word hung huge in the living room, the “o” a hole that let in the cold of the void.

“Well, then,” Mrs. Mortis spryly said, “to hell with it.”

I side with Mrs. Mortis over against Professor Borg and Mr. Conner. I share Paul’s sentiment that “If for this life only we have hoped in Christ, we are of all people most to be pitied.” I Corinthians 15:20. It seems Jesus’ declaration that God is God of the living and that all live to him (Mark 12:26-27) can only mean that “dying into God,” is at the same time being “united with Jesus in a resurrection like his.” Romans 6:5. The New Testament promise of eternal life includes the assurance that all who live under God’s reign in this age beneath the sign of the cross will share in its consummation in the age to come. That means a bodily existence in a renewed and reconciled world. What does that look like? The New Testament gives us neither the specificity my literalist friend requires nor the neat rational fit with our modern scientific sensibilities that my more liberal friends seem to need. When questioned about how the awkwardness of reunion between a wife and her several husbands would be dealt with at the resurrection of the dead, Jesus simply replies that people at the resurrection “are like the angels” and thus do not marry. Given how very little the Bible tells us about angels, that isn’t very helpful. Perhaps that is Jesus’ way of telling his questioners that their question is not answerable. St. Paul is less diplomatic. When the church at Corinth asks what sort of body we will have at the resurrection, he replies that the question is stupid. Still, he goes on to answer it-after a fashion. He compares the resurrected body to a mature plant that springs from a seed analogous to the earthly body. While there is continuity of identity between the seed and the full grown plant, the plant is vastly different and much more than the mere seed. It is no more possible for us to comprehend our resurrected existence than it would be for a person who has never seen a sunflower to figure out what it looks like full grown from examining the seed alone. The bottom New Testament line seems to be that we just have to trust God on this one.

Acts 10:34-43

Unfortunately, the context is not discernible from the section of text we have in this lesson. Peter’s sermon here is part of a larger narrative in which the disciple is confronted with his prejudices, smallness of heart and the grand sweep of God’s good news in Jesus that reaches across national borders and ethnic divides to include all who respond to that news in faith. On another day, I might preach a sermon on what I believe to be one of the most damaging idolatries of our age, namely, nationalism. One way to ask the question “Who is your God?” is to ask “What are you willing to die for?” I find it very telling that in this country many of us will proudly send our children to die in our nation’s wars, but often object to taking them out of a sports program for church on Sunday. I recently heard a Christian preacher declare at a civil ceremony, “We may be Christians, we may be Jews or we may be Muslims. But the important thing is, whatever our religious differences might be, we are all Americans.” Understand that nobody believes more firmly than I do that disciples of Jesus should live peacefully with everyone of every faith. I also have a profound respect and appreciation for the cultural and religious contributions of faithful Jews and Muslims to American society. But is it really the case that our commitment to the United States of America is deeper and more fundamental than our baptism into Jesus Christ? If God shows no partiality among nations, how can we? Do I love my country? Of course. There is nowhere else I would rather live than in the United States of America. But I love Jesus and his church more. So if and when it comes to choosing between duty to country and loyalty to Jesus, “We must obey God rather than human authority.” Acts 5:29.

As I said, though, that sermon is for another day. The focus of this lesson is necessarily dictated by its placement in the liturgical calendar. This is Easter, the queen of seasons. So I am looking at this text today through the lens of the resurrection of Jesus. Notice that in this sermon Peter welds the faithful life of Jesus to his death. Jesus died precisely because the life he lived led him into conflict with the powers that be. Moreover, he died a shameful death; the death of a criminal. Yet God raised Jesus from death. Understand the emphasis here. The remarkable thing is not that God raised Jesus from death, but that God raised Jesus from death. Unlike us moderns who struggle with the very concept of resurrection, the people of Jesus’ day had no doubt that God could raise a person from death. A miraculous resurrection would not have strained credibility in the ancient world. What proved to be such a scandal and cause of incredulity for the gospel message was the claim that God would bestow such a favor on a man whose life and career had ended in failure and shame. If you accept the proposition that God raised the one who spent his life associating with sinners, the unclean, the sick and the outcast only to die naked on an implement of torture, then you have to reconsider everything you think you know about God and divine power and salvation. The nature of God’s reign over creation is not demonstrated by the fact that God raised the dead, but by who God raised from the dead. If God had raised Augustus Caesar, Napoleon Bonaparte, General Patten or President Kennedy we could then go on believing in a God who reigns more or less like any other human ruler-but with more clout. God, however, raised Jesus whose life was spent serving the least of all people and who was put to death under the laws of the empire. God is not Caesar on steroids. God is Jesus, the crucified one.

Luke (who also wrote the Book of Acts) makes a point of letting his audience know through Peter’s sermon that Jesus ate and drank with his disciples after the resurrection. Vs. 41. Eating and drinking is a big part of Jesus’ ministry (and the whole Bible for that matter). Jesus fed crowds of hungry people. He broke bread both in dens of iniquity among notorious sinners and in the homes of respected religious leaders. His last meal with his disciples forms the heart of the church’s worship. The consummation of God’s reign is frequently described by Jesus as a banquet. Though food is a rich metaphor in Jesus’ teaching and ministry, it is never just that. Starvation resulting from barbaric inequality was a brutal fact of life for the world in which Jesus lived. 97% of the wealth was owned or controlled by 5% of the population leaving the remaining 95% of the population to survive on the remaining 3%. This stark reality is the subject matter addressed in Jesus’ parable of the rich man and Lazarus. Luke 16:19-31.

Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24

This psalm contains many verses that are quoted or alluded to in the New Testament. Because the psalmist switches from singular to plural, addressing God at one point, the assembled worshipers at another while some passages seem to be addressed by God to the psalmist, many Old Testament scholars believe this hymn to be a compilation of several different works. Verse 14, “The Lord is my strength and my song, and he has become my salvation,” is nearly identical to Exodus 15:2 which, in turn, is taken from the Song of Moses celebrating Israel’s salvation from Egypt’s armies at the Red Sea. Exodus 15:1-18. Whether the psalm commemorates the victory of one of Judah’s kings in battle or a procession bearing the ark of the covenant into the temple and regardless of when it reached its final form, fragments of this hymn have ancient roots in Israel’s worship pre-dating the Babylonian Exile.

The Exodus clearly stands at the heart of Israel’s worship and history. It was the paradigm for God’s saving acts. As we have seen throughout Second Isaiah (Isaiah 40-55), God’s victory for Israel at the Red Sea and God’s guidance and protection as Israel made her way through the wilderness to the promised land provided a rich supply of images for prophets seeking to encourage the people in their darkest hours. Not surprisingly, then, Luke refers to Jesus’ passion in Jerusalem as his “Exodus.” See Luke 9:28-36. The context given for the last supper in Matthew, Mark and Luke is the Passover meal commemorating the Exodus. So the selection of this psalm for use in celebrating the Easter Eucharist is appropriate.

1 Corinthians 15:19-26

This text is but one small part of Paul’s extended discussion of the resurrection throughout the whole of I Corinthians 15. I encourage you to read it in its entirety. Here Paul makes the very important point that Jesus’ resurrection is not simply his own, but the beginning of a general resurrection of the dead in which all believers participate even now. Jesus is the “first fruits” of the dead whose resurrection follows. The end comes when Christ “delivers up the kingdom to God the Father after destroying every rule and every authority and every power.” Vs. 24. This is precisely the claim that ultimately got disciples of Jesus into big trouble with the Roman Empire. As far as Caesar was concerned, there was only one kingdom and that was Rome. Suggesting that there might be another kingdom to which allegiance was owed could get you nailed to a cross. Asserting that all other kingdoms, including Rome, must finally be brought under the reign of such other kingdom was a direct shot across the imperial bow. These letters of Paul were considered subversive material in the First Century and would be equally so in the Twenty-first Century-if we really paid attention to what Paul is saying.

A word or two should be said about the destruction of death. This is not a distant hope to be fulfilled only in the indefinite future. Death is destroyed even now-if we understand that it is not the last word. I must say that one of the greatest disappointments I have experienced throughout my life in the church is our inordinate fear death. I cannot honestly say that I have found in the church any less denial of death, inability to discuss death or acceptance of death than in the public at large. Now I am not suggesting that death should be treated lightly or that anxiety about dying is unnatural or suggests a lack of faith. But I do believe that disciples of Jesus ought to know how to die. Like all other disciplines, the art of dying well is learned and practiced in a community of faith. The church should be a place where a person can discuss the deterioration of health, life threatening sickness and the effects of chronic pain in comfort and without awkwardness. We should all be assured that no one of us has to die alone. People in hospice should be comforted by visitors who read psalms to them, pray over them or simply sit at their bedside. A disciple’s funeral should be in the sanctuary where s/he worshipped. The casket should stand in the presence of the baptismal font and be surrounded by the symbols of faith. The Lord’s Supper should be celebrated as a testament both to our resurrection hope and the communion of saints that even now transcends the grave. The church should then accompany the casket to the cemetery where the body is placed in the earth like a seed awaiting the life giving Spring of the resurrection. None of this makes death pleasant. But, as Paul tells us, it can take the sting out of it. I Corinthians 15:54-58.

Luke 24:1-12

Archeological research has revealed that burial in First Century Palestine consisted of two steps. The body was placed into a shelf like compartment cut into stone. For the rural poor, these compartments were made in the soft rock of cliffs and hillsides. Families that could afford it purchased space in burial caves. These caverns occurred naturally or were excavated. They typically contained many such compartments. The body would be wrapped, anointed with spices to alleviate the stench of decay and placed in a compartment. Sometimes a slab of lime would be placed over the mouth of the compartment. After a period of years, the body would decay. When only the bones remained, these would be collected and placed in a large jar made of stone or clay called an “ossuary.” The name of the deceased would be inscribed on the jar which would then be placed in another part of the burial cave. Because the Sabbath began on Friday at sunset on the day of Jesus crucifixion, the women were unable to apply the customary spices to Jesus’ body until after Saturday. That explains why they came as early as possible on Sunday. This entire process and the archeological research through which it has come to us are discussed at length in a fascinating book jointly authored by John Dominic Crossan and Jonathan L. Reed entitled Excavating Jesus, (HarperCollins Publishers, Inc., c. 2001).

The men appearing to the women at the tomb on Easter morning are introduced into the narrative with the words, “Behold, two men stood by them in dazzling apparel…” vs. 4. It may be that Luke is drawing a parallel here between the resurrection and the transfiguration story where we are told that, as Jesus was praying, “the appearance of his countenance was altered, and his raiment became dazzling white. And behold, two men talked with him, Moses and Elijah who appeared in glory and spoke of his “departure” (literally, “exodus”). That great act of salvation Moses and Elijah foretold on the Mountain of Transfiguration has now come to pass in Jesus’ resurrection.

The two men repeat to the women the same message Jesus has been giving his disciples since Chapter 9 of Luke: “The Son of man must be delivered into the hands of sinful men, and be crucified, and on the third day rise.” Vs. 7. It is hard to gage the extent to which the women understand this message which has eluded the rest of the disciples throughout the narrative. In the Gospel of Mark, the women flee from the tomb in terror without telling anyone about what they had seen. According to Luke, the women make their report to the rest of the disciples only to be met with skepticism. The gospel narrative then adds in the final verse (vs. 12) that Peter went out to the tomb, looked in, saw the linen burial wrappings and returned home puzzled over what had taken place. Some of the earliest New Testament manuscripts do not contain verse 12 and the old Revised Standard Version omits it from the text referencing it only in a footnote. Whether or not we include the verse, however, the narrative theme does not change. The empty tomb, even when augmented by the announcement of the two men in dazzling apparel, is not sufficient to evoke understanding, much less belief.

The women and, if we accept vs. 12 as part of the text, Peter are looking for Jesus in all the wrong places. They are seeking the living and resurrected one among the dead. It is hard to be too critical of them. The promise of resurrection is pretty radical and difficult to grasp. At my first council meeting at my first congregation someone asked me, “Pastor, what do you think we can do to get all of our former members to come back to church?” We took a good hour or more going through the membership directory to determine just who these “old members” were. At the end of this exercise, it was pretty clear that getting the old members back would require kidnapping expeditions into the Sunbelt or grave robbery. I then launched into my standard speech about how the days of Lutherans coming into the neighborhood looking for a church to join were over and that if we were going to grow, we would need to start doing what Jesus has always told us to do-make disciples of all nations. We would need to start deepening our own discipleship and sense of call so that we could reach our neighborhood with the gospel. This we could do because the resurrected Christ has promised to be with us until the end of the age. When I was finished, the same council member said, “OK, well that’s interesting. But I was really wondering what we could do to get some of our former members to come back.” At this point I would have been ripping my hair out if I had had any. But I learned a valuable lesson just the same. People tend not to hear until they are ready to hear. That means we have to move according to the Holy Spirit’s schedule faithfully witnessing to the good news of the resurrection until, by that gracious Spirit’s work, it finally sinks in.

The disciples finally will believe the good news of Jesus’ resurrection. They will discover that, while the days of having Jesus among them as their teacher in the time of his ministry are over, Jesus will still be with them in a more profoundly intimate way. Jesus will now lead his church through the outpouring of his Spirit. For that chapter, you need to read the Book of Acts. For now, though, the disciples remain too shell shocked from the crucifixion and the bitter memory of their failures to recognize that a new day is dawning.

Fourth Sunday in Lent

Joshua 5:9-12
Psalm 32 
2 Corinthians 5:16-21
Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32

Prayer of the Day
God of compassion, you welcome the wayward, and you embrace us all with your mercy. By our baptism clothe us with garments of your grace, and feed us at the table of your love, through Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.

There are more ways than one to be “prodigal.” That term, synonymous with “wasteful,” usually gets applied to the younger of the two sons in Jesus’ well known parable. The role of lead character is given to this restless and impulsive young man who demanded from his father his rightful share of the family inheritance, left home and promptly squandered it on “riotous living.” At least that is how it was told in Sunday School. But there were two sons in the parable and thus two stories. Lately, I have been drawn to the lesser known elder son. Here was a boy who did everything a good boy should. He was obedient and hard working. He never talked back, stayed out past his curfew or got into trouble with the law. He put his whole heart into helping his father run the farm, but Dad never paid him any attention. His eyes were always turned down the road where he last saw the image of his other son disappearing over the horizon. So the boy worked harder than ever, harder than anyone of his father’s servants. He kept on working even when there was no more work to be done. Still, his father didn’t even seem to notice.

Then one day, as the boy was coming home from his work in the field long after sunset, he heard the sound of singing, dancing and celebration. “What does this mean?” he asked one of his father’s servants. “You haven’t heard?” he replied. “Your brother has come home! And your father has slaughtered and roasted the finest calf in the herd to celebrate!” This was more than the poor boy could bear. He fell to his knees, slumped over and wept. What will it take to make his father see that he has two sons? What will it take to make him understand that he needs to be loved and cared for as much as his wayward brother? What more can he do to earn the love his father lavishes so freely on his brother?

Jesus brings the parable to a crescendo with a confrontation between the elder son and his father. The last word we hear is the father’s plea for his eldest son to join in the feast of celebration which is, after all, for him as much as his brother. “We had to celebrate,” he tells the boy. This day belongs to all three of them. So ends the parable.

I must say that the conclusion is most unsatisfying. I cannot help wondering what happened to this family going forward. Did the older son ever hear the ocean of grace in the words of his father, “Son, you are always with me and everything I have is yours?” Did he finally join the party? Did he ever learn to stop trying to earn his father’s love long enough to receive it as a gift? Did he ever come to understand that love is not a finite resource that diminishes as it is shared?

I also wonder about the younger son. I am not convinced that repentance is what turned him back home to his father. His decision to return seems driven more by a calculated analysis of his situation: “I can stay here and fight the pigs for a share of their slops; or I can go back to my father’s farm. Even if he treats me as one of his servants, I will be better off there than here.”  I don’t know whether beneath his well rehearsed speech there was any true sorrow on the part of the younger son for all the pain he had inflicted upon his father. So I have to wonder, did his father’s lavish and generous welcome have any effect on him? Did the younger son ever come to appreciate the love he had so carelessly thrown away and had now so marvelously received back again? Is the heart of this boy melting with thankfulness or is he smugly congratulating himself for having once more pulled the wool over the old man’s eyes?

Jesus doesn’t give us much closure here, but that is not surprising. Jesus is not big on closure. His parables are layered and textured. They draw us into stories where judgment, grace and redemption are made possible. There we are left to struggle with our wasteful efforts to win praise, approval and recognition at the expense of love. We are confronted with the pain our self centered choices have inflicted upon those who love us most faithfully. But most importantly, we are left with the image of a God who loves us desperately in spite of all the obstacles we keep throwing in the path of such love. That’s where Jesus leaves us: not with closure, but with hope.

Joshua 5:9-12

Sunday’s reading from the book of Joshua marks a significant transition in the story of Israel. Moses, the man who led Israel through the wilderness for forty years is dead. Israel’s nomadic existence is ended. No longer will she eat bread from the hand of God and water from miraculous springs. She will now get her bread from the good earth God has given to her-and therein lurks the next temptation. Israel has no experience with agriculture. Though the God of Israel is clearly competent when it comes to leading nomads through the wilderness, what does he know about farming? Can Israel manage to transform herself from a nomadic society into an agricultural society without losing her soul to the Canaanite gods of fertility? Her new Canaanite neighbors’ entire culture is founded on farming and fertility. Where religion permeates all of life, it is nearly impossible to separate the mechanics of planting, growing and harvesting from the mythical underpinnings and cultic practices that accompany these tasks. It is hard to download this new agricultural app from the surrounding culture without importing the designer’s malware into your spiritual hard drive. The tales recounted in the much older book of Judges suggest that Israel’s transition was a rocky one. The conquest narrative in the book of Joshua reflects the gravity of the issues involved and the stark choices Israel must face every time she finds herself in a new cultural context-whether that be Canaanite, Babylon, Persian or Roman.

I sometimes wonder whether the internet and the cornucopia of communication media it makes available does not pose some of the same problems for the church. I have heard terms like “virtual church” and “liquid church” tossed around in some circles. Online discussion groups consisting of faceless monikers and online IDs can sometimes approach a sort of closeness that resembles intimacy. Yet how, I wonder, can intimacy exist in such a medium where you cannot even be sure that the people you are communicating with really exist? (Ask Monti Te’o about that!). More to the point, how can a church professing to be the Body of Christ, claiming that the Word of God became flesh and asserting that the body and blood of Christ are truly present in bread and wine exist in a virtual universe? How do you share the peace of God in a chat room?

Yes. I recognize the irony involved in making an argument like this on a blog. Obviously, I am not a Luddite rejecting all things digital. The internet brings together people and perspectives that might not otherwise meet. Online discussions may lack the warmth and humanity of a face to face discussion. Still, they enable persons who might otherwise lack time or mobility to engage in conversation with others about things that matter. Moreover, I tend to think online discussions give introverted persons who usually get shouted down and talked over in face to face meetings a better shot at being heard. This blog, Trinity’s Facebook presence and our webpage provide valuable links to folks we might not otherwise reach. Still, I am fully aware that whatever else I might be doing here, it is not church. The folks who regularly interact with me on these posts might arguably be classified in some sense as a community, but they are not the Body of Christ. For that you need to be physically present at 167 Palisade Avenue on Sunday at 9:00 a.m.

For some good background information on the book of Joshua, see the article by Kathryn Schifferdecker, Associate Professor of Old Testament at Luther Seminary, St. Paul, M.N. on enterthebible.org.

Psalm 32

This is one of the seven “penitential psalms” so classified in the commentary of Flavius Magnus Aurelius Cassiodorus Senator written in the 6^th century C.E. (These include Psalms 6, 32, 38, 51, 102, 130 and 143). Not surprisingly, it was a favorite of Augustine and Luther. The psalmist speaks eloquently about the joy and relief found in forgiveness of sin and the futility of denial and self justification. The psalmist does not disclose the nature of his or her sins, but indicates that it was some illness that brought him or her to an acknowledgement of sin and the need for confession. There is no question but that guilt induced stress can bring about illness, but it is far more likely in this case that the psalmist’s illness was the catalyst for guilt. Sickness was almost universally understood in ancient cultures as an affliction from God intended to punish sin. As such, its onset naturally drove the psalmist to introspection and self examination.

In this case, the psalmist’s self examination led to the discovery of sin that the psalmist had been trying to hide from God and perhaps even from the psalmist’s own self. In the confession and acknowledgement of sin, the psalmist found healing and relief. The psalmist therefore instructs fellow worshipers not take the path of sin and self deception that leads to illness and misfortune, but to “come clean” with God and cry out for deliverance. Mulish stubbornness will only lead to grief. As Augustine puts it, “much is he scourged, who, confessing not his sins to God, would be his own ruler.” Moreover, “it is right to be subject unto [God], that so you may be placed above all things beside.”  Augustine’s Commentary of Psalm 32 published in The Nicine and Post Nicine Fathers, Vol 8, (Erdmans, 1979) p. 71.

This advice is good as far as it goes, but the psalmist’s experience, valid and instructive though it may be, must not be elevated to a universal principle. As the case of Job illustrates, illness is not always the result of sin. The preacher from Ecclesiastes points out that in many cases justice and right do not prevail and all seems like “vanity.”  As last week’s gospel makes clear, sometimes tragedy happens for no apparent reason. There are psalms to address these circumstances as well. See, e.g. Psalm 39.

2 Corinthians 5:16-21

A few introductory words about the Second Letter of Paul to the Corinthians are in order. The church in Corinth, you may recall from previous weeks, was a congregation only Paul could love. See Post for Sunday, January 20th. Paul’s first letter makes clear just how divided, conflicted and scandal ridden this church was. Paul evidently made a visit to the church in Corinth after writing his first letter. This visit was “painful” and did not result in any reconciliation of differences between the apostle and his congregation. Rather than attempting another visit that he feared would also be unsuccessful, Paul wrote a “letter of tears” to Corinth sent by the hand of Titus. Fearing the effects of this severe letter, Paul left Troas in Asia Minor where he had begun a successful mission and returned to Macedonia in search of Titus. Paul rejoined Titus in Macedonia and was greatly relieved to learn that the Corinthians had indeed responded favorably to his “severe” letter with a change of heart toward him. Paul wrote his second letter to express his gratitude to the Corinthians and to encourage them in their faith.

For centuries biblical scholars have puzzled over the abrupt change in tone between II Corinthians 1-9 and 10-13. Most scholars now agree that these two sections represent different letters, though both authored by Paul. To further complicate matters, there is a fragment at II Corinthians 6:14-7:1 that seems to have no bearing on what precedes or follows suggesting that we might have part of a third letter in the mix. Some scholars believe that chapters 10-13 constitute all or part of Paul’s “letter of tears” while chapters 1-9 constitute a letter of thanksgiving written in response to Titus’ favorable report. If that is in fact the case, the reading for this Sunday comes from Paul’s letter of thanksgiving.

“From now on, therefore, we regard no one from a human point of view.” To fully understand the import of this sentence, you need to back up and read verses 14-15: “For the love of Christ urges us on, because we are convinced that one has died for all; therefore all have died. ¹⁵And he died for all, so that those who live might live no longer for themselves, but for him who died and was raised for them.” To regard no one from a human point of view is to regard everyone from God’s viewpoint-as people for whom Christ died. Consequently, I believe when we read that “if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation,” or, as some translators put it, “when anyone is in Christ-new creation,” Paul is not talking about some inward individual spiritual renewal. We are talking about a radical reorientation in terms of how we see the world and the people in it. Because Christ has died, all have died. Because all have died, all are reconciled. It is the task of the church to live as an embassy of God modeling and proclaiming the reconciliation accomplished in Jesus.

From a human point of view, our enemies are defined for us by the U.S. Department of State. Our interests are defined by national borders and international treaties. Our neighbors are defined by accidents of geography, demography and history. But from the perspective of God in Christ, these are distinctions without a substantive difference. The starting point for viewing every individual is the conviction that such individual is reconciled to God in Christ. Whether he or she knows it is entirely beside the point. We know it and that knowledge shapes our thoughts and actions. The implications of this text are subversive to say the least. Reconciliation is a fine objective-as long as it applies only to neighbors with nothing between them but white picket fences. Take it into the arena of geopolitics and you could get yourself crucified.

Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32

I have expressed my reflections on the gospel lesson above. Here are some interesting points that may or may not influence your understanding of the story.

A father could dispose of his property in one of two ways: 1) by a will that is probated after his death; or 2) by a gift made during his lifetime. Though there is no specific provision for disposition of an estate prior to the testator’s death in the Old Testament, there is some evidence that the practice existed even if discouraged. The book of Sirach written in the early 2^nd Century B.C.E. contains the following admonition:

“To son or wife, to brother or friend, do not give power over yourself, as long as you live; and do not give your property to another, in case you change your mind and must ask for it. While you are still alive and have breath in you, do not let anyone take your place. For it is better that your children should ask from you than that you should look to the hand of your children. Excel in all that you do; bring no stain upon your honor. At the time when you end the days of your life, in the hour of death, distribute your inheritance.” Sirach 33:19-23.

In any event, it would be highly irregular, to say nothing of presumptuous, for a younger son to initiate the settlement of his father’s estate with his living father. The parable tells us nothing of the son’s motives in making such an unusual request or those of the father in acquiescing. At first blush, it might appear as though in “dividing his living between them” the father had made a complete disposition of his estate between his two sons. But it is obvious from the balance of the story that, at the very least, he maintained control over his property. His gifts to the returning prodigal, slaughter of the “fatted calf” and preparation of the lavish celebration all indicate that the balance of the estate remained under the father’s control.

The degree of the younger son’s reinstatement is a matter of dispute. Some commentators see in the provision of the robe and the ring an echo of Pharaoh’s elevation of Joseph, the implication being that the younger son was being included once again in the father’s inheritance. I think that is something of a stretch. The father assures his older son at the end of the parable that “all that is mine is yours.” In view of this assurance, the only conceivable complaint the older son might have is that the lavish party for his brother was diminishing his future inheritance. I am not convinced that the legal framework of the transactions in the parable can be reconstructed or that doing so would give us any clearer picture of what is going on. Like the ungrateful guests who refused the royal wedding invitation, the circumstances of this parable appear to be exaggerated for literary effect. No one could imagine a son so blatantly disrespectful and imprudent. Nor could anyone imagine a father forgiving and receiving back such a son, much less with so lavish a reception. Against this seeming madness, the elder son’s protests come across as the single voice of sanity.

The one constant in this parable is the father whose love pursues in unrestrained measure both of his wayward sons. The lavish party is given not because the younger son deserves it, but because he needs it. The elder son must learn that his father’s love for him cannot be earned but only received as the free gift genuine love always is. We cannot know how these two sons will respond to their father’s love, but it is clear that their father is determination to continue loving both his sons, come what may.