Cries of Hope

Sermon preached Sunday, November 29, 2020, the First Sunday of Advent, at St. John’s Evangelical Lutheran Church in Littlestown, PA.

Our readings this week open with a powerful lament:

“O that you would tear open the heavens and come down,
so that the mountains would quake at your presence—” (Isaiah 64:1)

This is not a polite request. This is not a suggestion. This is a passionate, heart-rending, desperate cry for help.

“O that you would tear open the heavens and come down!”

I can really resonate with Isaiah. I bet you can, too.

If we think of all the fears, all the disappointments, all the rancor, all the destruction, all the pain, all the grief, all the death, all the stress, all the anxiety, all the questions…if we think of everything we’ve been through in just the last nine months, I think we all might resonate with Isaiah.

“O that you would tear open the heaves and come down!”

What would you have God do? How would you like God to act? Feel free to share in the comments.

“O that you would tear open the heavens and come down!”

Come down, and rid us of this plague.

Come down, and spare us from natural disasters.

Come down, and unite your people in love.

Come down, and fix this mess we’ve made.

It’s a fitting way to begin advent, although maybe it doesn’t seem that way on the surface. Advent is a time of waiting, of longing, of anticipation—and what are we anticipating?

“O God, that you would come down.” We anticipate God’s descent into our world and into our skin. We anticipate God’s presence in our world. We anticipate Emmanuel—God-with-us.

God-with-us then and God-with-us now. Because when we look towards Christmas, when we enter this season of waiting, we don’t just do it to pretend like we don’t know Jesus was born two thousand years ago…and we don’t do it to imply that Christ’s coming among us then didn’t matter.

No, we mark these weeks leading up to the celebration of the incarnation because we know that Christ is the one who was, who is and who is to come.

And so we look at the past and see Jesus’ life and ministry and death and resurrection.

And we look at the present and see the face of Jesus in our neighbor and the ones we love and feel the presence of Jesus among us.

And—and—we look to the future when Christ will come again and make all things new.

So even when we might be sitting in this time of disappointment and grief and loss and anxiety, we still have hope.

Hope for reconciliation.

Hope for health.

Hope for wholeness.

Hope for peace.

Hope for a new day.

Hope for new life.

Because without hope, what are we waiting for? Without hope, what are we longing for?

Even Isaiah had hope.

“O that you would open the heavens and come down!”

We, with Isaiah, hope for the new future God has in store.

Amen.

What Makes a Disciple?

Sermon preached Sunday, June 14, 2020, the Second Sunday after Pentecost, from my home in Gettysburg, PA, due to COVID-19 restrictions.

I want to share with you something I’ve been struggling with: what does it mean to be a disciple of Jesus?

Not a worshipper of Jesus or someone who believes in him as the Messiah. Not a person who believes that they have been saved by his dying and rising…but someone who follows his example and strives to live the way he is calling us to.

When asked what it means to follow Jesus, we too easily fall into vague ideas like “share God’s love” or “spread the Gospel.” Those ideas are right on—but they also lack specificity which makes them unhelpful when trying to define what a disciple of Jesus is called to do.

How do we share God’s love? How to we spread the Gospel? Who are we called to be in conversation with? What are the method’s we might use?

The truth of the matter is, when we say “Share God’s love” and “Spread the Gospel,” it sounds pretty easy. I can do that!

But in our Gospel reading today, Jesus makes it explicit that being his disciple is anything but easy. In fact, it can be dangerous or even deadly.

He tells them that they will cure the sick and raise the dead. They will cast out demons, but they are to take no money with them and receive no payment. He warns that they will be flogged and arrested and hated and persecuted because of the things they do in Jesus’ name.

Let’s look at what Jesus tells them to do: proclaim that the kingdom of heaven has come near by healing people in need and entering into relationships with the people they meet. That’s maybe a little bit vague, but not if we understand what Jesus means by “Kingdom of Heaven.”

The phrase refers to the time, or the circumstances, in which God will have full domination and all of creation is reconciled back to God. This means justice and equity. It means caring for the neighbor and stranger in our midst. It means living out God’s call to compassion and generosity and love. It means that everything Jesus says in the Beatitudes early in the Gospel of Matthew has come to pass. Those who mourn will be comforted. The meek will inherit the earth. Those who hunger and thirst for righteousness will be filled.

That means not allowing injustice to pass in front of us without doing our best to stop it. That means not allowing a few people to hoard the earth’s resources with others starve. That means listening to the stories of others and trying to understand their point of view. That means put our own egos and our own defensiveness aside and finding ways to work together.

It’s hard work. And, as Jesus says, it’s work that can get us killed. If we think back through history and think of figures who challenged injustice or who proclaimed God’s word in a more expansive and inclusive way…we’re typically talking about people who either were killed or had their lives threatened more than once. Here are just a few examples: Some were put at risk because of their faith, others because of their political advocacy against discrimination and oppression that was deemed legal under the law.

All of the disciples.

Paul.

Martin Luther.

Essentially all of this country’s founders who would have been hanged for treason.

Frederick Douglas.

Abraham Lincoln.

Susan B. Anthony.

Deitrich Bonhoeffer.

Martin Luther King, Jr.

The list does not end there, but I think you get the point.

God does not give us a spirit of timidity. Niceness is not discipleship, love is, and sometimes love means saying things that others don’t want to hear.

Being a disciple is not easy and Jesus never says that it will be…but he does promise hope. He does say that he will be with all who are persecuted in his name. We trust and we believe that God will guide us and carry us and uphold us, even in the midst of struggle or even death. God does not leave God’s people to fend for themselves.

So, think about it: are you someone who only believes in Jesus? Who only worships Jesus? Or are you someone who also strives every day to be a disciple of Jesus, no matter the cost?

Amen. 

Out of God’s Heart

Sermon preached Sunday, May 31, 2020, Pentecost Sunday, from my home in Gettysburg, PA, due to COVID-19 restrictions.

Pentecost definitely ranks up there with my favorite feast days. What’s not to like about a day filled with fire and wind and the chaotic sound of many different languages and the baptism of three thousand people? It’s just a really great story that has inspired the church for two thousand years!

When this day comes up each year, when this reading from Acts is appointed, it is our job as the church to think about what the Holy Spirit would inspire in us if we were in that room? What is the Holy Spirit trying to inspire in us today? The Church now looks very different than it back then. A variety of languages is not what’s needed to spread the Word today, although we do need some translations.

We need to find ways to translate the love of God in tangible ways: in love, in service, in generosity. And the only way we can do that is by the Holy Spirit working in us and through us to make it happen.

Today’s gospel reading sees Jesus standing up in the middle of a noisy and chaotic festival, declaring, “Let anyone who is thirsty come to me, and let the one who believes in me drink. As the scripture has said, ‘Out of the believer’s heart shall flow rivers of living water.’” (John 7:37b-38)

During this festival, the festival of Sukkoth, the harvest festival, water would be poured out in thanksgiving for water that had nourished the crops. Jesus takes this moment to let all who can hear know that the real sustaining water, the real living water, comes from him—and that anyone who is thirsty may drink.

Then he follows that up by stating that “out of the believer’s heart shall flow rivers of living water.” It’s a little confusing here, but it doesn’t sound like he’s talking about himself It sounds like he’s talking about someone who believes in him—someone who has taken a drink of the water of life…and that living water is now overflowing through them.

I imagine it like one of those cliché champagne towers, right? Where you pour the champagne in the top glass and it fills up then overflows and spills out into the cups below it? That’s kind of how I see this living water, this metaphor for the Holy Spirit, working.

From God, the Spirit comes to us and fills us. But that’s not enough. The Spirit keeps working in us until we can’t contain it anymore and it spills out of us into those around us.

And the quote Jesus cites says that it comes from “the believer’s heart.” That’s not really a full translation. This word can mean heart, or stomach, or even womb. It’s a person’s innermost being, the very central part.

And so, we receive the Spirit from God’s most central part, God’s innermost being. What an intimate thing to share with us! And then God, through the Spirit, moves into our innermost being and fills us so that we can share the love and peace and grace of God with others.

The Spirit, after all, is never static, any more than the wind is or any more than our breath is. God’s Spirit is constantly on the move, taking the church into unexpected places where God is ready to meet us.

Take a deep breath with me. Feel for the Spirit.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

This Pentecost Sunday, I pray that God continues to surprise you and fill you with this gracious and Holy Spirit.

Amen.

“I Will Not Leave You Orphaned”

Sermon preached Sunday, May 17, 2020, the Sixth Sunday of Easter, from my home in Gettysburg, PA, due to Covid-19 restrictions. 

Today we hear another excerpt from Jesus’ last night with his disciples before his arrest and execution. He is trying to cram so much into this final discourse: teaching and reassurance and farewells. This section of the Gospel of John has some of Jesus’ most well-known phrases and, just like last week, one phrase in particular really stood out to me.

Jesus tells his disciples, “I will not leave you orphaned; I am coming to you.”

“I will not leave you orphaned.”

Orphaned is such a visceral word, isn’t it? What are the images that come to mind for you? I think about all the fictional orphans in novels and theater and movies like Oliver Twist, or Annie, or even Anna and Elsa from Frozen. We don’t use the word “orphan” too often today, but there certainly are children in this world who are without parents, who either grow up in a group home with other kids like them or who are raised by other family members or guardians.

Orphaned obviously means parent-less, but it can also have connotations of abandonment, intentionally or otherwise. I also hear it as “left behind.” It’s not a choice that parents make, but orphaned children are left behind when their parents die.

What does it mean that Jesus won’t leave us behind?

Perhaps Paul is a good example of this. In the reading from the Book of Acts we hear this morning, Paul is talking to a large group of people in Athens. They are not Jesus-believers. They haven’t heard the Word yet. And yet Paul works to not leave them behind.

He could have started out talking about his vision, about all the Old Testament prophecies, about the ways Jesus fulfills all the promises God has made…but he doesn’t—because he knows the people aren’t ready for that. If he started out that way, he would leave all kinds of people behind.

Instead, he changes tack. He goes to where the people already are and meets them there and brings them along, using their own language to teach them about Christ. He sees that they already have an altar to an “unknown god” and explains that the God he proclaims is that same unknown God! He finds ways to connect with them.

This is the kind of thing Jesus is promising: to always meet us where we are and to never move so far or so fast as to leave folks behind.

I’ve been especially preoccupied with this idea as we talk about how our community will transition when the time comes. How can we be sure not to leave people behind? Not everyone will feel comfortable being in public with other people, even in small groups, even with masks, even with good physical distancing. We cannot simply leave these people behind. We are called to find ways to continue to keep people connected and together, despite very real fears and concerns.

I will be honest with you: nothing keeps me up at night more than the concern that I might inadvertently pass something along to one of you because we are too eager to see each other face to face. We cannot leave people behind, pretend like their concerns don’t have merit. We must find a way to be with folks where they are.

God promises to not leave us orphaned and there are lots of ways that plays out. We are not orphaned in regards to our salvation, or forgiveness, or God’s love…and we are not orphaned in our ability to care for one another—so we should take care that the church and our community does not inadvertently “orphan” members of Christ’s  body by decisions we make in haste.

“I will not leave you orphaned,” Jesus says. There is beauty in that promise. There is hope. There is love.

No matter where we are or what situation we are in, God will be with us.

Amen.

Troubled Hearts

Sermon preached Sunday, May 10, 2020, the Fifth Sunday of Easter, from my home in Gettysburg, PA due to COVID-19 stay-at-home orders.

Today’s Gospel reading is most commonly heard at funerals. In fact, if I went back through every funeral I’ve ever presided over, I’d be willing to bet that over half, if not closer to two thirds or more, have used this excerpt from the Gospel of John over any other passage found in our four Gospels.

These verses are comforting. When we are forced to look death in the face, it’s helpful to hear this promise from Jesus that we are not alone. God is with us and God has prepared a place for us when we breathe our last.

But because I’m so used to preaching on this text at funerals…I spent a lot of time pondering what good news these words might be to us when we aren’t as emotionally raw. What do these promises mean to us when we aren’t mourning? What is the Word we need to hear today?

Jesus says, “Let not your hearts be troubled.” Jesus says this and I want to respond, “Easy for you to say!”

Let not your hearts be troubled.

I don’t know about you, but my heart has been plenty troubled lately. It is troubled with the stress of trying cram more than a normal amount of work into naptimes and the hours I trade off with Andrew in watching Owen.

It’s troubled with feeling guilt that maybe we’re not doing enough to stimulate his learning and development.

It’s troubled with a long list of tasks that never seems to get much shorter, as one thing gets crossed off and another is added.

It’s troubled by concern that we will see a second wave of this virus that will be worse because it will be a long time before we have a vaccine or hit herd immunity.

It is troubled by the realization that even when we are able to worship in person, we won’t be able to commune or sing together for some time.

How about you? Any of that sound familiar?

So how can Jesus tell us to not let our hearts be troubled?

These stresses and anxieties aren’t going anywhere but, with the help and grace of God, we can make it through.

When Jesus says, “Let not your hearts be troubled,” we often hear it in such a way that it actually adds to our troubles. “Oh no!” we think, “Jesus says to not be troubled so I better stop being troubled right now!” And then, just like that, we’re more stressed or bothered than we were before.

But I don’t think that’s his intent. I don’t think God offers us words of comfort only to make us concerned about whether or not we’re good enough at accepting that comfort!

No, I think Jesus is acknowledging that troubled hearts are a part of who we are as human beings. Lots of things will trouble us.

But, in the end, God is holding us all together in a loving embrace. Our hearts may still be troubled, but they don’t have to stay that way.

When we begin to feel overwhelmed by working in a new way and feeling the need to prove our worth, God reminds us that we are worthy just as we are.

When we feel like we are falling short as parents or partners, God reminds us that we are enough.

When the dishes are still in the sink and the laundry hasn’t made it out of the hamper for several days, God reminds us that it is enough that we take care of ourselves.

When we look to the future and feel a growing sense of dread, God reminds us that we are not alone and that God will be with us every step of the way.

When we return to worshiping in person and mourn the loss of our voices raised in song or sharing bread and wine at the table, God reminds us that the Body of Christ is still strong and will return in full strength once again.

We’ll still struggle, I’m sure. We’ll still have days when we worry, days when we are too hard on ourselves or when we are too focused on a bleak outlook. …but God is there to remind us that these troubles are not all there is.

Maybe a better way to hear Jesus’ words is, “Let not your hearts remain troubled.” Pray. Talk to God. Let these promises buoy you and sustain you in this season of uncertainty.

Amen.

The Good Shepherd’s Community

Sermon preached Sunday, May 3, 2020, the Fourth Sunday of Easter, from my home in Gettysburg, PA due to COVID-19 Stay-at-home orders. 

Today is Good Shepherd Sunday, as it always is the fourth Sunday of Easter. It’s a day when we are reminded how Jesus cares for us like a shepherd and a day when we usually end up comparing ourselves to sheep.

Usually, that comparison is not super flattering. Someone brings up how sheep are stupid; how they’re always getting lost. Sheep don’t have minds of their own. Sheep need someone to look after them, or else they’d never survive! Sheep appear to be pretty lousy creatures and we, as humans, are given likeness to them.

Some of it, sheep deserve. And some of it we certainly deserve in the comparison. We do get lost. We do need someone, especially our God, to look after us. But sheep are also much smarter than we give them credit for.

And perhaps even more important for us to realize this time around is how sheep are herd animals. They thrive in community! They do their best work when they are working together. And, so do we.

I don’t mean to say that all of us enjoy being around lots of other people all the time. That’s obviously not the case! We have introverts and extroverts, who get their energy and recharge their batteries in different ways—and even extroverts like occasional alone time and introverts enjoy social gatherings from time to time! But when we are functioning in a healthy way, we are often connected to a community: a faith community, a work community, a civic community.

In a community, the best traits of individuals are highlighted. Since people with all sorts of different abilities and strengths are pooling their abilities, you can find a place where your gift is needed and where you can do your best.

In a community, your joy can multiply. When you have a birthday or anniversary, people are there to remind you over and over again that it is a special day, worthy of observance and celebration. When something great happens—a new job, a new child, a wedding—this community can gather around you and rejoice with you. There is support here that as joyful things happen, the community will walk with you through it.

And that community will walk with your through the bad times to. In a community, your sorrow can find a place to rest. Others’ shoulders can take on some of your burden to remind you that you are not alone. Tasks that you may no longer be able to do can be taken care of by the community. When it is time to pray and the only words you have for God are words of anger or hurt, the community can praise God for you and remind you of the promises God has made.

Right now, it’s a lot harder for to feel that community. We aren’t able to physically be together in the same ways. But I’ve been blessed to see the ways in which we are still managing to make community happen—and see it happen in really innovative and remarkable ways!

Through phone calls and video chats and cards, we’re staying connected with the people we care about. Through signs on people’s yards thanking healthcare workers and delivery drivers, we’re encouraging the folks who are making our self-isolation possible. Our masks and six-foot radius might make us seem more alone, but it’s a signal that we are concerned about the health of the people we come across.

Our communities come in so many different forms and facets, but there is one thing that they all share:

I can only understand these communities being brought together by the grace of God. In my view, these communities are only created and given life because the Good Shepherd has brought them together—brought these people into the flock.

Today is Good Shepherd Sunday. The Good Shepherd who makes us one people, one community of people on this earth. The Good Shepherd who brings us together in one body, who feeds us with one meal of bread and wine, who washes us in one baptism.

Jesus said, “I am the Good Shepherd” and he will hold us together in spirit, if not in body.

Amen.

 

 

 

We Had Hoped

Sermon preached Sunday, April 26, 2020, the Third Sunday of Easter, from my home in Gettysburg, PA during the COVID-19 Stay At Home Orders. 

Way back in February, I looked ahead to see what accounts of the resurrection we were going to get this Easter season. Obviously, there are the different Gospel’s stories of what happened at the empty tomb. And I knew we would hear about Thomas last week. …but I wanted to know if we’d get one of the other, less told, stories. I saw that we would have the Road to Emmaus story today and I got really excited.

I love this story. I love how two disciples of Jesus, not part of the Twelve, just faithful disciples, are leaving Jerusalem and going to Emmaus. On their way, they have this whole conversation between them about everything that’s happened. It reminds me of times that I’ve gone on walks with friends and we’ve just sort of rehashed everything that happened earlier in the week or in a conversation that we had—and then through those conversations that we kind start to sort everything out. That’s what I think this conversation between these two disciples is: trying to sort through the whirlwind of events in the past few days and figure out what the next step is.

And it’s in the middle of this conversation that Jesus shows up—only they don’t know it’s Jesus. I mean, imagine you’re having this deep conversation with a good friend and all of a sudden, this person comes up alongside you, and interrupts you to ask just what exactly you’re talking about.

Like, it’s bad enough that a stranger interrupts you, but he has no idea what’s going on. They’re incredulous. They basically say, “Are you serious? You’ve got to be the only guy who doesn’t know what’s been going on in Jerusalem. They take the time and try to explain it all to him Their conversation carries on for some time—for so long that the disciples arrive at their destination. They arrive at the place where they’re gonna stay and Jesus, who they think is still this stranger who they’ve never seen before, starts to keep walking and they say, “Well, why don’t you at least come have dinner with us? We’ve spent this whole time walking and talking; come and have dinner with us.”

Jesus, of course, does and it’s at the table when he breaks the bread that they finally realize that it has been Jesus the whole time. The disciples look back at the whole encounter and come to a realization. “Haven’t our hearts been burning this whole time?” they ask. It’s such a beautiful story, isn’t it?

I love it and I was so excited and so ready to preach this great sermon about communion and about how Jesus meets us at the table and how Jesus is revealed to us in the breaking of the bread…but, alas, like so many other things it is not to be. We aren’t having communion and I’m not breaking any bread that I can tie into the text.

I had hoped that we would be back in the sanctuary by now, but we’re not. And there’s something so bittersweet and heavy and almost tangible about hopes that don’t come to fruition. I mean, isn’t that a lot of what the disciples are grieving about on their walk to Emmaus? As they are talking to the stranger they say, “We had hoped that [Jesus] would be the one to redeem Israel.” We hoped that this was the guy and now he’s dead, now he’s gone, and we don’t know what to do next. Our hope is gone.

This is a feeling we all know really well right now, don’t we? The feeling of hopes and expectations not coming through, or not jiving with reality. What are some of the things that we had hoped for that now we don’t see?

Originally, we had hoped that we would be back in our sanctuary for worship services by Easter. College and high school seniors hoped that they would still be able to have their commencement ceremonies or their prom or all the other senior activities they were looking forward to. Athletes had hoped they’d still be able to play their season. Musicians had hoped they’d still be able to perform their concerts. Families hoped they’d still be able to take that vacation they’ve been saving and planning for. Couples hoped they’d still be able to hold their wedding. Mourners hoped they’d be able to have a funeral to mark the death of a loved one. Pregnant women and new moms hoped that they would be able to have the birthing experience they’d been planning in dreaming of. And all of these hopes are now gone. There will be a time in the future when they’ll be able to return, but for now, and for some indefinable period to come, they’re gone.

So, what do we do now? Do we give up hope? Do we just stop ever hoping for something new?

The disciples say to the stranger we know to be Jesus, “We had hoped that he would be the one to redeem Israel.” They think their hope is gone but, in fact, their hope is standing at right next to them, walking alongside them.

We know that our ultimate hope is in God. We know that God is our only hope for joy, love, peace, and salvation. So as our lives are filled with these other things that continue to disappoint us, we know that we have constancy in what God has to offer. Our God who meets us not only around bread at a table but on whatever road we happen to be walking on. Our God is a god of hope.

Amen.

Self-Doubt and When It’s Too Easy to Compare

There’s something I’ve been struggling with since just about every pastor I know went digital a month ago: doubt.

I second guess myself all the time, in ways I didn’t before stay at home orders forced us to make our ministry more public than it’s been. That’s not to say I never doubted myself before, but it’s happening now on a much grander scale.

Under “normal” conditions, I would plan a service for my congregation and would lead it in that context. It didn’t much matter what the pastor down the road was doing because I wasn’t really exposed to it unless I went looking for it.

But now, my timeline is filled with daily devotions and just about every version of online worship you can think of. It runs the gamut from very low-tech and casual, to slickly produced and super professional looking. And a lot of these are from friends and colleagues who I admire and respect and whose preaching and leadership usually serve to encourage me to be the best pastor I can be.

But I’ll be frank: nowadays it all just makes me question myself.

Am I not doing enough in the worship I am providing?

Am I doing too much? Should I pare down the service more?

Am I responding to the needs of my people or the needs that I think they should have?

Should I have done x, or y, or z instead?

Am I connecting enough or am I bombarding folks who are already burnt out on digital content?

It goes on and on…and with every new post on my timeline I feel it again. And I know I’m not alone. Most of the pastors I’ve been in touch with during this time feel the same way. We’ve never been this aware of what everyone else is doing and it’s human nature to compare–and compare I do!

But then I take a deep breath. I remember that I am called by God to where I am because of the gifts that I bring to the table. I remember that the congregation I serve has a mission and that mission can be served by the people and resources already in place. It’s not perfect. We’ve had to learn new things and adapt on a weekly, if not daily, basis…and, yet, the Holy Spirit has been able to pull off some incredible feats of creativity and ingenuity.

Somehow, someway, in all these varied ways, God’s Word is still being preached. God’s love is still being proclaimed. God’s grace is still being offered.

And I can trust that God is working through whatever I do, making it enough.

What Will This Time Reveal?

Sermon preached Sunday, April 19, 2020, the Second Sunday of Easter, from my home in Gettysburg, PA, due to the COVID-19 Stay at Home order.

This is one of those recurring Sundays that you can always count on. No matter what, the Gospel reading on the Sunday after Easter, the Second Sunday in the Easter Season, will be the story of Thomas wanting to touch Jesus’ wounds before he will believe in the resurrection.

It is equal parts comforting and unexciting, at least to me. It is comforting because, in this time of upheaval, we can always count on those familiar texts that we have heard year after year. But to my mind it is also a little unexciting. I craved something different this time.

Luckily, I remembered this cool little thing called the REST OF THE READINGS!

And as I read through and discussed these readings with other pastors in our weekly text study, I felt like I was smacked in the face with the reading from First Peter.

This letter states: “In this you rejoice, even if now for a little while you have had to suffer various trials, ⁷so that the genuineness of your faith—being more precious than gold that, though perishable, is tested by fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed.” (1 Peter 1:6-7)

In this midst of this large trial, the pandemic as a whole, we are all also facing lots of smaller trials: the events that have been cancelled; the loved ones we haven’t been able to see in person; the mundane rituals that made up our lives that have now been altered or removed from our lives completely. When we start to catalog all the ways in which our lives have changed, it’s hard to stop. But to simply name “coronavirus” and stop there doesn’t quite capture it.

This epistle assures us that the trials we face can result in “praise and glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed.”

This doesn’t mean that we are being tested. God is not punishing us or trying to see how faithful we are. …but that doesn’t mean that our faith won’t increase through this. That doesn’t mean that we won’t come out the other side having a deeper relationship with God. …but any instance of that is a happy result—not some motivating factor of God’s.

What if the trials we are facing now reveal new truths? New truths about us? New truths about our relationships? New truths about our world? New truths about God?

If there is one thing that is evident now, it’s how many of us tend to live on the brink of disaster. One, or maybe two, paychecks away from not being able to pay bills or buy groceries. What does that say about the kind of communities and lifestyle we encourage? What does it say when someone who works full-time still doesn’t have enough leftover after a rent payment and utilities and groceries to put something away?

And it’s also evident that we can be church in new and different ways. Given our druthers, I’m sure most of us would prefer to be back in the sanctuary. I miss it. I miss all of you! I look forward to when I can see you in person again! But at the same time, we’ve found ways to connect online, through the mail, through phone calls, to an extent we didn’t do when we were meeting for worship in person. What does that mean? How can we continue to explore and embrace technology and new ways of being church together?

And it’s evident that we are dependent on one another. I suppose perhaps a survivalist could make it through, or at least try, on their own. But for the rest of us? We are dependent on farmers, food producers and manufacturers, and distributors. We are dependent on the people who must keep working so that we can continue to buy groceries or medicine or gas. We are dependent on our hospital staff, both medical and otherwise. Where would we be without the folks who do the laundry or who clean every imaginable surface?

And, finally, it is evident that God is still with us and that the Risen Christ still meets us in our anxieties and fears.

In that locked room, Jesus came to the scared disciples, breathed on them, and gave them his peace. The next week, he arrived again, giving Thomas a chance to see and feel his scars. In that uncertain time, Christ was present.

And in this uncertain time, with advice and numbers and expectations changing every day, God is present with us, holding us together and bringing us peace. God stays, in the words of First Peter, “unfading.” God’s presence is just as rich and tangible as it has ever been.

Thanks be to God.

Amen.

How Do We Know It’s Easter?

Sermon preached Sunday, April 12, 2020, Resurrection of Our Lord, from my home in Gettysburg, PA due to the COVID-19 Stay at Home order.

Alleluia! Christ is Risen!

I don’t know about you, but I am sooo glad to be celebrating Easter. There’s a meme going around right now that said, “This is the Lentiest Lent I ever Lented,” and I have to say I agree. Lent is already a time of introspection and some degree of somberness in our worship, but when we layered on top of it all of the anxiety and stress and isolation of this pandemic, it’s been especially muted.

But today, finally, we can say “Alleluia!” and rejoice and celebrate and remember the resurrection of our Lord!

It does look different, though, doesn’t it?

Another pastor asked the question: “How do we know it’s Easter?”

How do we know it’s Easter when none of the trappings we’re used to are here? We’re not in the sanctuary with flowers crowding the chancel and the organ playing those familiar Easter hymns and everyone dressed to the nines and eating our breakfast together in Karns Hall. I’m not wearing that heavy white and gold chasuble and welcoming you to the Lord’s table.

So how do we know it’s Easter?

Because the calendar says so? Because it’s the first Sunday after the first full moon after the Spring Equinox? (Did you know that’s how we decide when Easter is?)

Or do we know it’s Easter because it’s something we feel in our bones?

Yes, this Easter is different from those in the past. There are no large family gatherings. I mean, we might decide to get dressed up, or we might just move from our sleeping PJs to our lounging PJs. This is a much more casual celebration than many of us are used to—and that’s okay!

If we go back and look at the resurrection account from the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus is a little more casual, too!

Mary Magdalene and the other Mary arrive and the tomb and it’s a BIG EVENT. There’s an earthquake! There’s an angel descending from heaven and rolling back the stone! His appearance is like lightning and the guards at the tomb are so scared they shake and are paralyzed. WOW! Compared to this, our big blow-out Easter festival celebrations are nothing!

But after the women flee the tomb, Jesus meets them on the road. It’s simple. He says, “Greetings,” the Greek form of “Hey.” No earthquake. No descending from heaven. No blinding white clothes or lightning-like appearance. Just a simple, “hey,” and instructions to pass along to the rest of his friends and followers.

The women are afraid. The disciples are afraid. Everyone who loved Jesus is grieving and worried about whether or not the Romans or religious authorities will come for them next. They’ve gone into hiding. They are isolated and don’t know what the future holds.

But on this day, Jesus meets two of them and makes plans to meet the rest.

Because that’s the thing, we can certainly meet Christ and celebrate the resurrection with big worship services that blow the roof off…but we can just as certainly meet Christ when we are alone, when we are afraid, and when we are unsure of what lies ahead.

As you embrace an Easter unlike many you’ve probably had in the past, keep that in mind. We know it’s Easter by the presence of the Risen Christ, not by any other thing we’ve attached to the day.

Alleluia! Christ is Risen!

Happy Easter.

Amen.