Sermon - 4th Sunday of Easter - Year B

John 10:11-18                                                                                    

       A Good Shepherd is Always a Good Shepherd

     “Good Shepherd Sunday” is as much a part of the liturgical calendar as “Doubting Thomas,” or “Mary’s Magnificat,” or “The Baptism of Jesus.”  You are going to have a Sunday every year when you get to hear these stories.  One of my favorite ways to observe “Good Shepherd Sunday is to spend the sermon time working to learn by heart the 23^rd psalm.  Did I have you all do that last year?

 Good Shepherd Sunday is a regular, as it should be.  Because the image of Jesus as the Good Shepherd is as powerful as it is moving.

 The image of Jesus as “The Good Shepherd” also serves a double purpose:

1-     The image brings great comfort to those of us who are followers of Jesus; and

2-     it sets forth an expectation for how Jesus’ followers are to represent Jesus in the world.

 In my faith life and in my professional life, there is no image, or theological concept, or doctrinal statement which is as meaningful as the depiction of Jesus as “The Good Shepherd.”

 While I often speak of how blessed my childhood was, there were also some dark days.  I didn’t understand it at the time, but my grandfather did meet many of the indicators for alcohol addiction.  My grandmother’s early death sent my mamma into a funk that lasted most of her adult life.  We became accustomed to repeating Daddy’s assertion that Mamma’s allergies were keeping her at home and in bed; but there were a lot of struggles with undiagnosed and untreated mood disorders.

 It was these same family members who formed my appreciation for Jesus as “The Good Shepherd.”  They demonstrated to me a confidence in a Jesus who could and would and did lift us in his arms, hold us close to his heart, and say, “There, there.  Everything will be alright.”  Everything was alright; and it is alright; and it always will be.

Why?  Because we have a good shepherd.  We are loved and cared for by the one of whom Peter speaks in Acts 4 – this shepherd is the one in whose name the “good deed is done.” 

 Everything will be alright.  Because this good shepherd is watching over us and is with us and will guide us.

 When asked to select favorite bible verses, one I am sure to mention is Matthew 9:36. Maybe some of you know this verse.  I sure talk about it enough.  The verse reads: “When Jesus saw the crowds, he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.”

 When Jesus saw the overwhelmed masses of his day, he had compassion on them.  When he looked upon them and what he saw were God’s children - harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.  And he lifted them in is arms, and he held them close to his heart, and said to them, “There, there.  Everything is going to be alright.” 

 And it was.  And it is.  And it always will be.

 It is my profound appreciation for the way in which Jesus has done this for me which undergirds my attempts to do this in the lives of others.  In a way which might be fool-hearted; which certainly allows for exploitation; and which many appropriately see as naïve – I try to imitate the pattern of that Good Shepherd.

 I did say “try.”  And you are free to gather with others in the narthex and point all the times when I failed – and failed miserably.  You are also welcome – encouraged – to bring to the attention of others the ways in which such an attitude has exposed me, this ministry, and the congregation to liabilities and accusations.

 I did say “try.”  Because I know that no attempts on my part will ever be worthy of mention in the same breath as the talk of the One who is The Good Shepherd.  I might attempt, but I cannot do it.  Who can?

 The image of Jesus as the Good Shepherd comforts me – and perhaps comforts you as well.  It can be – it ought to be – a driving force in our ministry.

 The image of Jesus as the Good Shepherd also confronts me – and perhaps confronts you as well.  It can be – it ought to be – a guiding force in how we live out our ministry in the world.

 How will we see inner-city kids, caught in a seemingly endless cycle of poverty and crime?  Are they hooligans and leeches on our society?  Or are they sheep (lost sheep) in need of a compassionate and caring shepherd?

 What is our attitude of addicts – be that alcohol or opioids?  Do we see morally flawed individuals, incapable of strapping on their armor and facing the world as it is?  Or do we see little lambs, so frightened by a world with plenty of work to do, but too little of it which pays a living wage?

 And I would raise the touchy issue of refuges.  We know how often they are seen as a cover and shield for militants with every intention of destroying the way of life we have so pain-shakenly crafted for ourselves; illegals with no rights.  If the Good Shepherd is always a good shepherd, how does he see them?  And might his followers also act as good shepherd who will assist these sheep by helping them find the green pastures in which they might lie down in safety.

The image of the Good Shepherd makes it possible for me to get out of bed on those days when I had just as soon pull the covers over my head and insert ear plugs. 

 It is a comforting image. 

 It is the image which confronts me with need to speak to a hurting and distressed world the good news of this shepherd and his love.

It is the image which drives ministry and the mission of the Church in the world.  Remember the affirmation of our catechism – it was the whole world for which Jesus pays the price.  Not with silver and gold (those items so precious to us that we protect these chunks of mineral with all of our might and power.)  No, not with silver and gold but with his own precious blood.

 The good shepherd takes us in is arms, holds us close to his heart, and tells us, “There, there.  It will be okay.”  And it will be.  It is.  And it forever will be. 

May it also be so in the way we share with others that which we ourselves have first received.

Amen.

Sermon - 3rd Sunday of Easter - Year B

Luke 24:36b-48                

Being A Witness 

You are witnesses of these things. 

The role of witness is one with which we are rather unfamiliar.   We watch a lot of re-run episodes of Law & Order at our house.  After a few hundred or so, you begin to develop the impression that everyone is somehow involved in a legal case.  But I don’t think I have even known anyone who actually was a witness in a court case.  On a couple of occasions, over my thirty-eight years of ministry, I have offered myself as a witness in domestic cases – but to date I haven’t been deemed important enough to be called to the stand. 

The role of witness is one with which we are rather unfamiliar. 

 Why is it that so few of us have ever been called upon to testify?  Like myself, you know things, don’t you?  You have seen things, right?  And yet, like me, I assume most of you have never served as a witness.  Why is that?  Like me, I imagine you would be glad to tell what you know – if someone were to ask.  I would be more than happy to tell what I had seen – if anyone thought what I had seen was worth retelling. 

The role of witness is one with which we are rather unfamiliar.   Maybe that is why is tough for us to live out these final words of Jesus.  Perhaps that is why it is hard for us to truly be witnesses of these things.  There is a story here worth retelling.  We know something that others need to know.  The question set before us is whether we are going to re-tell it.  Will we witness to what we have seen and come to know? 

This is the third week of Easter.  It is the third set of lessons which are aimed at making it possible to believe that something worth telling has happened.  For three weeks, we have read of appearances (or absences) which have the capacity to instill faith.  Each of these readings has contained a pivotal point at which the initial participants (and those who read the story) are called upon to decide if we will believe what has happened - or dismiss it.  For three weeks, we have read these stories and been called upon to either throw out own hats into the ring or get up and walk away. 

Something has happened.  That something which has happened is worth retelling.  But these stories are merely repetitions on a theme unless something occurs as a result of their retelling.  Today’s reading attempts to set the hook.  These stories – written to make it possible for us to believe - also begin to demand of us that we take on the role of re-telling. 

I like the way this one develops.  The disciples believe they have seen a ghost.  Now if they had seen a ghost, they would have had an interesting story to tell.  But they aren’t seeing a ghost – they see a resurrected Jesus.  

I do not know how many of you have seen a ghost.  I am sure that all of us have heard someone speak of seeing what they thought was a ghost?  When someone “sees” a ghost, they can hardly keep their mouths shut.  Even a second hand re-telling of ghost sightings can get pretty animated.  Seeing a ghost loosens ones lips and demands of the “seer” the frequent and boisterous retelling of the tale.  If you had seen a ghost, you’d be pretty quick to tell someone.   Wouldn’t you? 

Seeing a ghost would be an amazing thing.  We would be quick to tell someone about it.  But we claim to have “seen” something which is far more amazing than a ghost.  Together, in this community of faith, we have nodded in agreement at the suggestion of “seeing” the resurrected Jesus.  We have confessed together having seen a resurrected Jesus in the faith of another; of seeing him in the beauty of scripture; or seeing him in the quiet confidence of a believer facing death.  If you agree that the resurrected Christ is seen in these places, then you need to agree with me here.  The agreement I am looking for is an acknowledgement that while seeing a ghost would be an amazing thing, seeing a resurrected Jesus is more amazing still. 

If we would be eager to tell someone about having seen a ghost, why are we so hesitant to tell someone about seeing the resurrected Jesus?  Isn’t this an even more marvelous sight?  One worthy of retelling? 

We are unaccustomed, unprepared to tell the story.  We are unfamiliar with the role of witness.  We would be more than happy to speak - if someone asked us.  But we seldom (if ever) put ourselves forward and take the responsibility to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. 

I think the metaphor of a witness can be milked one more time.  We would be willing to serve as a witness, should someone ask.  Trapped in this mindset, we begin to think that if our speaking would serve some purpose, then someone will ask us; someone will contact us; probably serving us with a subpoena.  Some Police Officer or Lawyer will track us down and ask us, please, to tell what it is that we know. 

This is exactly what we do when it comes to witnessing to the resurrected Christ.  We believe, if someone wants to know about Jesus, they will ask.  We assume that there is no need for us to tell the story until someone asks us to share what it is that we have come to know. 

You can hear the irony in this, can’t you?  Hopefully, you are beginning to see how ridiculous it is to wait for someone to ask?  Might you even nod your head in agreement with me as I point out that those who have never experienced the depth of God’s love will never, ever be able to ask for it?  Grace comes.  It isn’t requested any more than it can be demanded. 

One of the fears associated with witnessing is the mistaken notion that witnessing begins with criticism.  The witnessing we have experienced all too often fits the pattern of, “Here is where you have screwed up your life – now get right with Jesus.”   That may be our experience, but it is not the style employed by the witnesses in the Bible. And it is not the kid of witness Jesus is asking us to be.  Look back again at today’s reading from Acts 3.  Peter tells the crowd where it is that they went wrong.  But unlike the images in our negative stereotypes, he does not use their past to condemn or accuse.  He speaks to them of the love which overcame and overcomes any wrong that we might do.  Peter witnesses to them because unless he speaks, they will remain forever ignorant of the marvelous thing God has done.  They will never know how close they have come to receiving from God the abundance of His grace and love. 

They need to know.  And they will never know unless someone tells them.  They cannot ask for that which they have no idea exists.  Those who have never experienced the depth of God’s love will never, ever be able to ask for it.  Grace comes.  It isn’t requested any more than it can be demanded. 

Don’t make someone come looking for you, searching you out and begging you to take the witness stand.  You know something that needs to be repeated.  You are aware of things that must be told.   Speak of what you know.  You are witnesses of these things.  Speak of them so others may come to know, too. 

Amen.

Sermon - Easter Sunday - Year B

 Mark 16:1-8                               

                                      Providing the Missing Part 

Something is missing, at the end of Mark’s Gospel.  I don’t mean the resurrection part.  That part is complete.  Friday night’s reading from the Gospel of John reminds us that it is Jesus himself who announces from the cross, “It is finished.”   And it is.  The work he came to do is done; it is over; all things have been accomplished. 

That is not the part missing in Mark 16.  What is missing is what happens next – after Jesus has done his part.  What is missing is some idea of how this, the most amazing thing to have ever happened on the face of the earth, becomes the greatest story ever told among those who live on planet earth.  Something is missing. 

Early on, in the history of the Church, folks realized that something was missing.  The oldest, most original copies of the Gospel of Mark end where we ended today, at the 8^th verse.  But many contemporary Bibles will contain two other, optional endings.  A Study Bible will always note that these alternative endings are that – alternative endings – added at some point later in time.  These other two alternative endings were added for the sake of a Church which realized that an explanation would be expected.  But that isn’t the way Mark told the story.  He ended here.  He left something, intentionally, missing. 

At least two things are missing:  First, some accounting for how the news slips out.  If the women are too terrified to speak to anyone, how does what they saw finally get shared?  Second, this ending is lacking any of the credible characters who have figured so heavily in all that has come before.  Where are the heavy hitters?  Where are Peter, James, and John?  None of the names quickly recited by Sunday school children are found here.  Three relatively unknown women are the only witnesses to the most amazing thing to have ever happened on the face of the earth; to the greatest story ever told among those who live on planet earth.  And they, out of terror, say nothing to anyone. 

Mary Magdalene we know – or at least we think we know.  Luke, chapter 8, references her as the one from whom Jesus casts out seven demons.  One of those alternative endings to Mark picks upon this and repeats the reference.  But Mark does not mention Mary Magdalene at all until we get to Golgotha.  She is not a character in Mark’s story, until we get to the crucifixion.  

Sometimes Mary Magdalene is confused with the woman in the city, who in Luke, chapter 7, baths Jesus’ feet with her tears and wipes them with her hair.  The two characters are often confused.  But there is nothing in the Bible to support this widely shared misunderstanding.   Mary of Magdalene we know – or we think we do. 

The other Mary, the mother of James, is such a minor character that even Mark knew we would need clues to her identity.  In writing the story, Mark makes sure to tell us that she is the mother of James.  (Mark’s earlier reference, in 15:40, notes that she is the mother of James the younger – not James the son of Zebedee.  There are lots of Mary’s in the Bible.)  Who is this Mary?  And why is she one of the blessed three to witness the empty tomb? 

I spent more time that I should have trying to figure out who Salome is.  Quite honestly, I still didn’t know.  There are lots of conjectures, but little in the way of hard Biblical evidence.  Tradition says that she is the wife of Zebedee.  This, then, would mean she is the mother of James, and of his brother, John.  Tradition – but not scripture.  In the Gospel of Matthew, the mother of James and John is identified with a different name.  Want to guess what that name is?  You go it – Mary. 

Present at the empty tomb on the morning of the resurrection are these three relatively unknown women – Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James the younger, and Salome.  Missing are the heavy hitters.  Missing are the persons who will later preach all those great sermons on what it is that God accomplished on this day.  Missing are those who are well-known – well-known to the early church and well-known to you and me.  

Missing is some indication of how the news traveled from these three terrified and frightened women to the millions and billions who would come to trust in this story and make it the pivotal event in their lives.  Missing.  There is no clear link.  There is no outline for how this is to happen. 

Sometimes, what is missing is the most important part of all.

Sometimes, what is missing is the most important part of all. 

This is certainly true for Easter morning, right?  The thing which is most essential to the story is a missing corpse.  Jesus is not there.  He is gone.  He has been raised.  He has been removed from the place of death.  Gone.  Missing.  The most important part of Easter morning is what isn’t there. 

Perhaps the same is to be said for this seemingly defective story, recorded for us as Mark’s 16^th chapter.  Missing here is the clear delineation of how this story spreads.  Missing are the hot-shots, the big names, the go-to guys.   Missing.  Not present.  Maybe, just maybe, this absence serves a purpose other than confusing us.  This void identifies where the story is to go from here.  Missing is even the slightest suggestion that someone else is going to take care of all this.  The absence leaves the future in our hands.  If this story is going to be told, it is going to be up to us.  If this news is to make it beyond the three who run away terrified, it will be because those who know what happened to them decides to tell someone else.  Getting the Good News out is your job, and my job.  We can’t sit back and wait for the heavy-hitters to do the job – they are nowhere to be found. 

Most of the time, we feel like add-ons, to the end of the story.  Too often, we read what happened and we think, “That is nice.”  Mark’s story of the first Easter Morning is designed to jolt us into action.  It is written in such a way as to make it clear that if this, the most amazing thing that has ever happened on the face of the earth is going to become the greatest story ever told it will be because you and I tell the story.  The only way that the good news heard and witnessed by Mary, and Mary, and Salome will be repeated is if you and I repeat it. 

It is absolutely as a result of COIVD that we designed this worship service to be partially indoors and mostly outside.  But there is a powerful symbol here – for too long we have suffered from the notion that the aim is to get folks inside the church while the true measure of a faithful congregation is how well the message is carried out and into the world. 

As we sing our next hymn, make your way to the front, pick up a cross, and let us proclaim to a hurting and broken world the message of redemption and renewal. 

Christ has risen!  Christ has risen indeed!  Jesus has finished his work.  Now is the time for us to get down to ours. 

Amen.