John 13:31-35

31 When Judas had gone out from the room, Jesus said, “Now the Son of humanity has been glorified, and God has been glorified in the Son. 32 If God has been glorified in the Son, God will also glorify the Son in God’s own self and will glorify the Son at once. 33 Little children, I am with you only a little longer. You will look for me; and as I said to the Jewish believers so now I say to you, ‘Where I am going, you cannot come.’ 34 I give you a new commandment so that you love one another. As I have loved you in order that you also love one another. 35 By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

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Please pray with me this morning, church:

God of love,

Love us back to life again this morning.

Call us again and lead us by your example.

Show us the breadth and depth of your love.

Give us courage to live out that love

In our lives and in our world.

Amen.

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It’s been a tough few weeks at the Michaelis house. Well, honestly, it’s been a tough few months, but it all kind of runs together, and eh, who’s really counting and keeping score, right?

One of the, shall we say, “blessings” of having a pandemic child, or at least a child who’s lived more of their life within than out of a global pandemic, is that the germs and stuff around your house largely don’t change. So when they start going to preschool and interacting with other kids and other houses’ germs…well…it does a number on their immune system. Throw in an oppressively bad spring allergy season, and the conditions are ripe for a sickness that just won’t end.

And when the 2-, almost 3-, year old isn’t happy…ain’t no one happy.

Now, full credit to my spouse who is apparently the only one who can do literally anything that the toddler will approve of…but, as I said, ain’t no one happy right now at our house.

Such is life, for this season.

It reminds me of something that I heard from a good friend and mentor that I usually fit in somewhere to most wedding sermons I’ve done: “Marriage isn’t something you do when you’re in love; marriage is what keeps you together until you fall in love again.”

In times of particular strife in our household, usually onset by a severe lack of sleep, when I find myself having less than charitable thoughts and being less than kind toward my spouse and our kid, I need to be reminded of the promises we made to each other, and the promises I made to her, that help sort of bring me back to a centered place, a place where my emotions and feelings and knee-jerk reactions and flat-out jerk reactions can level out, and I can remember that even in the “worse” parts of “for better or worse”, my commitment to those promises and this person has to be greater than my very strong desire for a couple more hours of sleep.

Although honestly, the two can run fairly close to each other, you know?

I say all this because in our gospel this morning, Jesus has some very particular words to say about love. And marriage is one of, though by no means, the only, place where love gets lived out in relationship.

Remember that we just heard these words from Jesus about a month ago on Maundy Thursday. Just before our gospel reading today picks up, Jesus gets up from dinner, ties a towel around his waist, and washes his disciples’ feet. A humbling act of love and tenderness and service, when a teacher and Rabbi and master submits themselves to their students and servants and friends.

Now, a couple of weeks ago, when Peter and some other disciples were fishing, and Jesus was cooking brunch on the beach, and Jesus asks Peter three times if Peter loves him…you remember this? I mentioned in that sermon to ask me some time about the differences in the words Jesus uses for love and the word Peter uses for love. Because, I said, that sermon was not about this, but this one kind of is, so permit me to get a little nerdy on you for a second.

Back a couple of weeks ago, after brunch, Jesus asks Peter, “Do you have agape love for me?” And Peter responds to Jesus, “Yes Lord, you know I have philia love for you.” Jesus says, “Feed my lambs.” A second time, Jesus says to Peter, “Simon, son of John, do you have agape love for me?” Peter responds, “Yeah Lord, you know I’ve got philia love for you.” Jesus says, “Tend my sheep.” A third time, Jesus asks Peter, “Peter, son of John, do you even have philia love for me?” And Peter, now quite upset since Jesus asked him a third time, “Do you love me?” responds, “Lord, you know…everything…you know I have…philia love for you…?” Jesus says to Peter, “Feed my sheep.”

On the surface, and certainly in English translations, this doesn’t sound like much of an encounter. As I said 2 weeks ago, I think the author of John is using poetic devices to have Peter respond to Jesus’ questions 3 times to mirror or account for the 3 times that Peter denies Jesus in the courtyard of the high priest on the night of Jesus’ betrayal. But the differences in the words used for “love” is important here.

See, the Greeks had 4 different words that they used, all to describe love. C.S. Lewis has a pretty good treatment of all of these in his book The Four Loves. It’s not perfect, but it’s pretty good. The 4 types of Greek love are storge, eros, philia, and agape. There’s not so much a hierarchy as it is they all describe different aspects of love. The exception to this would be agape which is seen as kind of the highest form of love, certainly and especially for Christians.

Storge is empathy. It’s the kind of love between family members and friends and neighbors. It’s a form of love that comes more naturally for us; it’s affection, but it’s pitfall, as Lewis saw it, is that people come to expect it irrespective of their behavior and its natural consequences.

Eros is romantic love. You could have guessed that. It’s where we get our word “erotic.” It’s passion, sometimes sexual in nature, but it can be blinding, making us act in ways that would otherwise be very out of character for us.

Philia is strong friend love, brotherly/sisterly/sibling-type love—philia actually means “brother” or “sibling” in Greek. This is probably the least natural type of love for us because it’s not instinctive—you choose your close friends. Philia was very well known and prized in the ancient world, and Lewis saw it as all but being forgotten in our modern times.

Agape, as you might know, is God love. Perfect love. It’s completely unconditional. It’s selfless. Completely. The Greeks and Lewis largely saw it as unattainable by humans.

Jesus asks Peter if Peter has agape love for him. Peter responds with, “Of course, Lord, you know I have philia love for you.”

For whatever reason, Peter couldn’t get all the way to where Jesus was in this expression of love.

I think we, like Peter, aspire to our Lord’s example and hope of embodying agape love in our lives…but imperfect beings that we are, we seem to always come up short of the mark.

In my best ideals about myself, I want to believe that the love I have for even my sick kid who upsets me when I just want to sleep or my spouse who gets annoyed when she, too, just wants to sleep is unconditional. I aspire for it to be, I want it to be. I don’t know that it is always.

Because the thing about agape love is that it is sacrificial.

There’s another line I include in almost every wedding sermon, and I said it in my sermon on Maundy Thursday when we last heard these verses from John, and that is “Love costs you something.” Love requires you to give something up. In my wedding sermons, I go on, “Love will cost you the need to always be right, and to win every argument. Love requires give and take and compromise. Love requires giving up your life for the sake of this new collective life.

Love will cost you not having the last say every time. It will cost you swallowing your pride and saying you’re sorry, unqualified and unasked for. Love will cost you the vindication of pulling all the blankets onto yourself because you’re so mad at the person that you think they shouldn’t get the blankets.

Love requires laying down your life.

Laying down the need to be right all the time. Laying down the need for the last word.

Laying down the need for vindication.

Love is costly.”

This is the kind of love that Jesus models for the disciples and the love Jesus asks his disciples to embody in the world.

“By this will the world know that you are my disciples, if you have agape love for one another, for your neighbor, for the world.”

Agape is sacrificial. It always seeks the absolute best for the one being loved, expecting and asking for nothing in return. It is completely turned outward. Agape is giving up of yourself. It is self-emptying—in Greek what is known as kenosis—literally, “being poured out.” Like water into a basin for washing feet. Like blood and water streaming out of a pierced and wounded side on the cross.

Emptying yourself for the sake of others and for the sake of the world.

Last week we talked about the love God has for you, how you are known and loved and named by God. And church, if God has such love for you, what kind of responsibility—what’s the call on your life—to embody that love in your relationships with others?

Church, what if we were a community that was defined and known by how well we cared for each other and our neighbors? What if our defining characteristic wasn’t our worship or our Sunday School or how many people call themselves members, but in a survey that asked “How well do you find yourself cared for, how well do you find your wounds tended and bandaged, how well do you find your joys celebrated and your sorrows held and prayed for at New Hope Lutheran Church?”…what if in that survey we could say that 100% of the people said 10 out of 10, I feel that I’m exceptionally well-cared for, and I feel like the people I worship with and share my life with are deeply invested in my life, and I in theirs.

What if we were a community of faith that our neighbors could say that about, as well? How many of our neighbors, church, do you think know how well we can love or how fervently we can show up in a time of need? Can you just imagine? Can you even imagine how much of an impact that would have, not just on you, not just on the people here…but the kind of impact it would make in a community and world that is desperate for good news?

May is Mental Health Awareness Month, and church, in so many of the conversations I’ve had with parishioners over the past couple of weeks, I need you to know that there are a lot of folks who aren’t ok. I also need you to hear me say that if you’re one of those folks if you’re someone who’s not feeling ok right now, that it is absolutely ok to not be ok. Your struggle matters. I am here during this time, God is here during this time, and I think and I believe that this church is here during this time. And if you need something, I am someone you can come to and I can try and get you connected with folks in my network who can help. But church, you need to know that a good number of people aren’t ok, they’re really struggling with any number of things. And overwhelmingly, it’s our young folks who are struggling. That might not be where you are. Things might be just fine in your life, but please hear me say that for a good number of our young folks, they’re really and truly struggling.

What could it mean for you to reach out? How could you give of yourself to extend a hand and invite them to coffee or lunch and let them share their life with you? How can you reach out in love and empty yourself for the sake of someone who just needs to know there’s a community of faith that cares deeply about them and truly loves them?

What if we were a community of faith that truly loved?

By this will the world know that you are followers of Jesus.

If you have self-giving, self-emptying, sacrificial love for each other.

For your friends.

For your neighbors.

For strangers.

And for the world.

John 10:22-30

22 At that time the festival of the Dedication took place in Jerusalem. It was winter, 23 and Jesus was walking in the temple, in the portico of Solomon. 24 So the Judeans gathered around Jesus and said to him, “How long will you keep us in suspense? If you are the Messiah, if you are the Christ, tell us plainly.” 25 Jesus answered, “I have told you, and you do not believe. The works that I do in God’s name testify to me; 26 but you do not trust, because you do not belong to my sheep.

27 My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me. 28 I give them eternal life, and they will never perish. No one will snatch them out of my hand. 29 What God has given me is greater than all else, and no one can snatch it out of God’s hand. 30 God and I are one.”

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Please pray with me this morning, church:

Mothering God,

Hold us. Reassure us.

In the midst of so much in our world,

Remind us that we are yours.

That we are known.

That we are loved.

Amen.

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One of my favorite and tried-and-true ways of clearing my head and doing a good amount of thinking is to go for a drive. Actually, before Oliver was born that’s how I would start my sermon writing process—pull through Starbucks, get the big coffee, and drive while thinking about the scripture lessons and what I might preach about. If I get super-stuck, I’ll still pull that trick out, but my schedule’s much different now and I don’t have the same time in the same way that I had before. All good, all things change.

That, and with the price of gas these days…sheesh…it would be a very expensive part of my process.

But the thing about driving for clarity and thinking is that if you’re trying to work something out in your mind, you can’t be super-worried about where you’re going. You either need to be willing to find your way back with a map, or you need to be on a road or a route with not a lot of variation. Too many twists and turns and you’re defeating the purpose. It can’t be too complicated.

And although it’s no longer part of my regular sermon writing process, I still do enjoy a good drive. It’s uncomplicated. I find it’s easy. And I don’t have to be so sure of the end result before I set off.

But again…gas prices, you know…

I’d be willing to venture a guess that you, too, could use a little less complication in your life. Am I right? A little bit easier. A little bit more clear and certain. Yeah?

“How long will you keep us in suspense? Are you the Messiah, the Christ? Are you the real deal? Tell us plainly.”

Make it clear. Make it uncomplicated for us. Tell us.

The Jewish believers in Jerusalem want certainty. They want what Thomas wanted from Jesus (…if we had heard about Thomas on the Sunday after Easter instead of me changing it the Road to Emmaus…) These people want from Jesus what I feel like most of us all want from Jesus. Certainty.

Tell me, Jesus. Tell me who you are. Reassure me that you are who people say you are.

Tell me, show me, that you really can do the things that people say you can, because truthfully, Jesus…things are starting to feel like they’re getting a little messed up around here, and I really need to know that you can do the whole saving and healing thing. I don’t know if faith is enough to sustain me in this current storm, so I’m gonna need you to do the thing everyone seems to believe you can do…I’m gonna need you to do some fixing…

Certainty.

We crave it.

Former Senior Pastor of Riverside Church in New York City, of blessed memory, the Reverend William Sloane Coffin said, “All of us tend to hold certainty dearer than truth.”

Wow…even if it’s not true, we’ll still believe it as long as someone tells us we can be sure about it. This is how we start taking investing and medical advice from facebook, by the way.

So how do we work it all out? How do we work out what’s true, what we can be certain about? What can make things a little less complicated than they are?

“I’ve told you, and you don’t believe,” Jesus tells the Judeans who are pressing him. “The things that I do in God’s name testify to me and testify to God…If you’ve seen me, you’ve seen God.”

In other words, Jesus says, see my body of work. See what I’ve done. Refer back to the blind beggar whose sight was restored. Refer back to the wedding at Cana when abundance was served up for the celebration. Healing. Wholeness. 5,000 people fed on a side of a mountain from 5 loaves and 2 fish, and oh, by the way, there were bushels of leftovers. Religious, gender, ethnic, social, and societal boundaries crossed and expanded at a well in Samaria.

Over and over and over again, Jesus shows us a God of abundance, of extravagance, of healing and wellness, of wholeness. Over and over and over again Jesus shows us God in the flesh, and yet we struggle to believe and trust in it because it flies in the face of everything the world tells you is the way things are supposed to work—scarcity, sickness, illness, dis-ease, conflict, war, outrage…

When we desire certainty, God refers us back to the times and moments in our lives that God healed or provided wellness or wholeness or lavished us with abundance.

God’s desire is always for life. Always, always for life, and life abundant.

It is God’s desire, and it is God’s promise.

It’s not complicated, it’s just difficult to trust.

I love that we have a baptism this morning because I don’t think there’s any clearer example of trust and faith in the face of so much uncertainty. There’s so much we don’t know about what our lives hold and what the world will be like. But for just a brief moment, God reaches into our world…heaven and earth touch…and in the simple, uncomplicated ritual of water running over her head, Ellie will hear the voice of God whispering in her ear, “My dear, sweet child…you are mine.”

And with any luck, church, you will have heard it, too.

The simple, clear, uncomplicated truth…that you are God’s. That God delights in you. That God desires life for you. That there is nothing in all of creation that can take you from God’s hand.

Because you, dear, sweet sheep, are known. You are known, and loved, and claimed, and named by God. You…are God’s.

You, Ellie, are God’s beloved. You, Augie, are God’s beloved.

You, Andy…you, Ashley…you, Joanne…you, Buddy…you, Dwight…you, Julie, Andrew, Danny, Jessica, Judy, Suzanne, Piper, Tim, Janelle, Brad, Karen, John, Beth, Abby, Mike, Wanda, Linda, Cheryl, Kim, Diane…mothers, motherly figures, stepmoms, grandmothers, dads, single parents, divorced parents, aunts, uncles, cousins…you with no kids, you who don’t want children, you who want children but struggle with infertility…you, who struggle…you…are God’s beloved.

Mother’s Day can be a complicated day, but this truth is not.

You are loved. So much. So deeply.

Please, hear me say that.

Amidst so much else going on, hear this…know this…you are known by God. You are loved by God. So much.

That’s true. That’s certain.

John 21:1-19

1 Jesus showed himself again to the disciples by the Sea of Tiberias; and he showed himself in this way. 2 Gathered there together were Simon Peter, Thomas called the Twin, Nathanael of Cana in Galilee, the sons of Zebedee, and two others of his disciples. 3 Simon Peter said to them, “I am going fishing.” They said to him, “We will go with you.” They went out and got into the boat, but that night they caught nothing.

 4 Just after daybreak, Jesus stood on the beach; but the disciples did not know that it was Jesus. 5 Jesus said to them, “Children, you have no fish, have you?” They answered him, “No.” 6 He said to them, “Cast the net to the right side of the boat, and you will find some.” So they cast it, and now they were not able to haul it in because there were so many fish. 7 That disciple whom Jesus loved said to Peter, “It is the Lord!” When Simon Peter heard that it was the Lord, he put on some clothes, for he was naked, and jumped into the sea. 8 But the other disciples came in the boat, dragging the net full of fish, for they were not far from the land, only about a hundred yards off.

 9 When they had gone ashore, they saw a charcoal fire there, with fish on it, and bread. 10 Jesus said to them, “Bring some of the fish that you have just caught.” 11 So Simon Peter went aboard and hauled the net ashore, full of large fish, a hundred fifty-three of them; and though there were so many, the net was not torn. 12 Jesus said to them, “Come and have breakfast.” Now none of the disciples dared to ask him, “Who are you?” because they knew it was the Lord. 13 Jesus came and took the bread and gave it to them, and did the same with the fish. 14 This was now the third time that Jesus appeared to the disciples after he was raised from the dead.

 15 When they had finished breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, “Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?” Simon Peter said to him, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my lambs.” 16 A second time Jesus said to him, “Simon son of John, do you love me?” He said to him, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Tend my sheep.” 17 Jesus said to him the third time, “Simon son of John, do you love me?” Peter felt hurt because he said to him the third time, “Do you love me?” And he said to Jesus, “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my sheep. 18 Very truly, I tell you, when you were younger, you used to fasten your own belt and to go wherever you wished. But when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will fasten a belt around you and take you where you do not wish to go.” 19 (Jesus said this to indicate the kind of death by which Peter would glorify God.) After this Jesus said to him, “Follow me.”

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Please pray with me this morning, church:

Risen and living God,

When we find our ways frustrated,

call us to try a new way.

When our spirits are dried up and weary,

fill us with good things.

Call us again this morning.

Remind us of your call on our lives.

Amen.

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I spent this past week down in Rockport, taking a little break with my family, enjoying some time off and trying to rest a little bit. The beach is just one place that we enjoy for some time away. But especially after the lengthy pilgrimage through Lent and the marathon of Holy Week and Easter, some time to fill myself back up and spending some quality uninterrupted time with my people is needed.

One of my colleagues recently quipped, “Why is it that when we talk about God’s desire or God’s call or our call as disciples that it’s always that God wants us to ‘do’ something? Why is no one telling me that God might want me to rest?”

I’ve been reflecting on that this week, thinking about where I am, where we are as a community of faith, and where God might be calling us next. And while there’s certainly work to be done, there has to be an appropriate rhythm between production and rest. Amen? You’ve probably heard it popularly expressed something like, you can’t pour into others from an empty cup. Church, how are you filling yourself up so that you can be for others what they need?

“Come, have breakfast,” Jesus says.

My man…

I’m a sucker for breakfast.

The post-resurrection gospels are some of my favorites, and especially after I switched up our gospel reading last week, I feel like we’re getting some of what I personally feel are the greatest hits this year. Road to Emmaus last week, and brunch on the beach this week, plus we always get Good Shepherd Sunday on Easter 4 next week. It’s all really good stuff. I love them because post-resurrection Jesus doesn’t seem to take himself too seriously. Last week, I imagined Jesus sort of playing along with the disciples’ disbelieving as they were on the way to Emmaus—“Are you the only one who hasn’t heard…?” “No! What things?!” To a totally chill and relaxed vibe this morning—lounging on the beach, grilling some fish, eating some brunch, “Come and have some breakfast…”

Yeah, Jesus…this is totally my speed.

Contrary to what I feel like we’ve all been taught and the stew in which we’re all swimming, we can’t “go-go-go” 100% of the time. You are so much more than your output, dear people. We must have a balance between our doing and our resting.

Even fields need seasons to be fallow if they hope to produce good and abundant harvests well into the future. Did you know that if you only tried to grow things in a field all of the time, the crop would use up all of the nutrients in the soil and eventually the crops would dry up and wither away? Giving fields seasons to rest allows the soil to replenish nutrients that are drawn away by the crops and allows those fields to continue feeding their harvest for years and years and years.

Are you with me? Rest is necessary. In fact, it’s commanded. I think we forget that.

Tricia Hersey, known as the Nap Bishop, founded the Nap Ministry in 2016. She advocates rest as resistance. Amidst all the hustle and grind culture, and the pervasive attitudes of “go-go-go”, packed schedules, and calendars calibrated to the quarter-hour, the idea of slowing down is a revolutionary and counter-cultural one. She says, “As a Black woman in America, rest is a tool for liberation and healing…It’s about more than naps. It’s not about fluffy pillows, expensive sheets, silk sleep masks, or any other external, frivolous, consumerist gimmick. It is about a deep unraveling from violent and evil systems. Rest pushes back and disrupts a system that views human bodies as a tool for production and labor. It is a counter narrative. We know that we are not machines. We are divine.” Think about it, church, when was the last time someone told you to take a break? Not as something you earn, but as something you are inherently worthy of. Rest as righteous and holy protest against the powers and principalities, the empires that constantly tell you you are nothing more than your production.

Opt out of the rat race, dear children. Because this is not a race and you are not rats.

You are divine. Even God rested. Not as reward, but because it is necessary.

There is a rhythm to rest and production. Just as we can’t go-go-go 100% of the time, neither are we free to sit back on our laurels and do nothing at all all the time. The poet in Ecclesiastes reminds us, “To everything there is a season.” Just as the season of Lent journeys us toward the cross, and with purpose, the season of Easter journeys us to Ascension Sunday and Pentecost, the birth of the church, when the Holy Spirit moves mightily and propels us out from the doors we lock ourselves behind. The mission continues, the work goes on, the call to discipleship that God has placed on your life moves forward.

And the call, mission, and ministry is what it always has been: love the people. Love them.

As easy…and as difficult…as that.

Lord knows it isn’t always easy. But when we find our way or our path frustrated, perhaps God is calling us to try a new way. Like the disciples who had fished all night, Jesus told them to simply try the other side of the boat, and they found what you’ve heard from this pulpit countless times, that God is a God of abundance. What new direction is God calling you this morning? What new direction is God calling New Hope? We just have to be attentive and responsive to God’s call.

Paul receives this call on his way to Damascus…turned from zealous persecutor to prolific disciple. Peter gets this call from Jesus on the beach. Three times Jesus presses Peter. Peter is essentially given the opportunity to undo what he had done just a week before, and the author of John is being extremely poetic in doing so. After Jesus’ arrest in the garden, Peter and another disciple go with Jesus to the courtyard of the high priest. Peter finds himself beside a charcoal fire, denying Jesus three times. This morning, on the beach, Peter once again finds himself beside a charcoal fire, and Jesus asking him three times, “Do you love me?”

A three-fold denial…a three-fold affirmation of love.

These questions are much more for Peter’s sake than Jesus’. Peter finds himself in the abundance of God’s mercy and compassion.

I won’t spend time this morning with the Greek words, because that’s not what this sermon is about, but ask me sometime about the words Jesus uses for love and the words Peter responds with. It’s a fascinating study. But suffice it to say, the call on your life, dear disciple, is to love. To feed lambs, to tend sheep, to feed sheep.

Your call is to love.

A lot of times that call will find you standing alongside the oppressed and the vulnerable, advocating for fair systems, and taking on the many injustices in the world. That will always be true.

Sometimes loving others will find you taking some moments to restore yourself, to renew your own spirit. Because you can’t pour into others from an empty cup.

Make time and find opportunities to rest and restore, church.

Take moments to fill yourself up so you can be for others what they need.

Come. Have brunch.

Come. Be nourished at God’s table of grace.

Take delight and rest in God’s abundance for you, dear child.

Receive God’s love for you, that you would be God’s love for the world.

John 18:1—19:42

The Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ

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Please pray with me this evening, church:

Holy God,

Hold us in our hurt and suffering.

Draw us close to you.

Draw us to the cross.

Draw us in as we behold your suffering and death,

And in so doing, behold our salvation.

Amen.

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Love is costly, dear friends.

As we enter into this night of longest shadows, it’s worth remembering that love led us to this place. Love brought us here, and love will lead us out of here, but for now, they believe they have succeeded in putting love to death.

They did put love to death. Love did die. And so, for now, the powers of this world have succeeded in silencing love. And so we’ll sit here, rest here, in this nighttime of the soul, this gloom of doubt and despair. We won’t rush out of the tomb just yet. We’ll stay here. Watch. And pray.

We’ve been talking throughout this Holy Week about participation. And mostly about our participation in this narrative. Where do you find yourself in the story…how will you make space and be involved in these liturgies…what’s your role here… And Good Friday is about participation, too.

But in addition to our participation and our role in this story, Good Friday is a love story about God’s participation with us.

See, I think it’s good and worthwhile to explore the parts of ourselves that often come up in the Passion story of Jesus. It is true…that there are sometimes when I’m not as awake and attentive to the suffering in the world as Jesus has asked me to be. There are times that I do deny ever knowing the name Jesus…or at least, times when Jesus doesn’t get my full-throated endorsement, or I’m less than forthcoming about the faith that is in me. There are times I’m tempted to trade off extravagant and scandalous love for a few bucks.

What about you? Do you ever find yourself so offended by radically inclusive love that you’d just as soon see that love and inclusion put to death and buried away so you wouldn’t have to look at it or think about it again? Have you ever ridiculed love for being weak and not able to stand against the powers and personalities of this empire that tell you to be tough, have thick skin, and be strong, no matter who you have to step over or step on or crush underfoot to get ahead?

We do participate in this Good Friday story.

But redemption comes in recognizing that this is still a story about God. Good Friday is God’s deepest participation with us and our story…with you and your story. In the crucifixion and death of Christ, God demonstrates the height and depth and length God will go to be in solidarity with humanity…with you, dear child.

There is no place God won’t go, no human experience God wouldn’t go through, to show you just how much God loves you. There is nowhere God won’t go to be in relationship with you.

Christ’s participation in the fullness of our story, in the fullness of our human experience…by dying, God joins God’s self to your human story. God experiences the very deepest parts of human pain and anguish…so that you would know that no matter what your story, no matter your suffering, no matter how grim and gloomy and despairing you feel, no matter your circumstances…God has been there, too.

God knows your pain and hurt. It’s a knowledge that cost Love its very life.

It’s a knowledge that cost Love everything.

But it’s a cost that came along with a hope that you would know just how much God loves you and cares for you…that you would know that even when you feel furthest from love, that God remains by your side…holding you, embracing you, walking with you through this valley of the shadow of death.

Love is costly, dear friends.

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In a moment, you’ll be invited to reflect on this love. We’ve set up Stations of the Cross around our Sanctuary and we invite you to get up and move around, as you are able. You may wish to visit the stations in turn, or you may feel free to visit them in whatever order you like.

I invite you to reflect on this mystery of love incarnate. The mystery of a love that chooses death. Reflect on your participation in this narrative. I bet you’ll find more in common than you think.

We’ve had similar experiences, too.

When have you felt betrayed? When have you betrayed someone else or someone else’s trust?

When have you denied knowing the name Jesus? When have you refrained from inviting someone to experience God’s love? When have you withheld your own love from someone else?

When have you been mocked? When have you been the one doing the mocking?

When have you stumbled under a heavy burden? When have you neglected to help someone who you’ve seen struggling with their own burdens?

When have you felt close to death? When have you looked away from pain and suffering because doing so would have made you responsible for trying to do something about it?

This story is your story, church.

It is the story of your salvation.

Love is costly.

Love does die.

But love can not stay buried away.

Love can not and will not stay dead.

John 13:1-17, 31b-35

1 Now before the festival of the Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to God. Having loved his own who were in the world, Jesus loved them to the end. 2 The Tempter had already put it into the heart of Judas son of Simon Iscariot to betray Jesus. And during supper 3 Jesus, knowing that God had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going to God, 4 got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. 5 Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him. 6 Jesus came to Simon Peter, who said to him, “Lord, are you going to wash my feet?” 7 Jesus answered, “You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand.” 8 Peter said to him, “You will never wash my feet.” Jesus answered, “Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.” 9 Simon Peter said to him, “Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!” 10 Jesus said to him, “One who has bathed does not need to wash, except for the feet, but is entirely clean. And you are clean, though not all of you.” 11 For Jesus knew who was to betray him; for this reason he said, “Not all of you are clean.”

 12 After Jesus had washed their feet, had put on his robe, and had returned to the table, he said to them, “Do you know what I have done to you? 13 You call me Rabbi and Lord—and you are right, for that is what I am. 14 So if I, your Lord and Rabbi, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. 15 For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you.

16 Very truly, I tell you, servants are not greater than their master, nor are messengers greater than the one who sent them. 17 If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them.

 31b “Now the Son of humanity has been glorified, and God has been glorified in the Son. 32 If God has been glorified in the Son, God will also glorify the Son in God’s self and will glorify the Son at once. 33 Little children, I am with you only a little longer. You will look for me; and as I said to the Judeans so now I say to you, ‘Where I am going, you cannot come.’ 34 “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. 35 By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

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Please pray with me this evening, church:

Holy God,

During these holy days, we confess

that there is a lot about ourselves that feel unloveable.

As we wrestle with pain and anger and cruelty in our world,

pattern a posture of love for us.

Love that offers healing where there is hurt.

Love that offers service where there is derision.

Love that overcomes even the grave.

Amen.

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The culmination of this Holy Week—the beginning of the end of Jesus’ earthly ministry and life—begins as one should begin every important undertaking in one’s life…with a meal.

Even Jesus seems to recognize that you gotta eat. And for all the eternal and cosmic significance we ascribe to Jesus’ final days on this earth, Jesus certainly spends this Holy Week doing very human, almost ordinary, things: touching, healing, riding, chasing, eating, washing…dying… As much as the 4th gospel is not my favorite, for all the all-knowing and all-powerful characteristics that the author ascribes to Jesus, the gospel writer of John does account in meticulous detail the life and ministry of Jesus, and particularly this final holy week. The author of John goes to great lengths to capture the fullness of the culmination of this earthly ministry.

The beginning of the end begins…with a meal.

I remarked on Palm Sunday that our Lenten Midweek Services were some of the most worshipful moments I had experienced in a long, long time. And I mean that. Worship in our Sanctuary with all you fine people is always wonderful, but there was something about being gathered together in our Fellowship Hall around tables and around food and drink and music and sacred story…something about that time together that just touched a part deep within myself, it felt really holy. And I’m grateful for that.

Sharing a meal together is a very intimate act. You can learn a lot about someone by eating with them. You can pick up on their habits—for good, and for bad… There’s something disarming about food, I think. People tend to open up a little bit more when there’s a table that serves as a kind of buffer between you and food spread around between you able to be shared together. In my experience, agreeing to share a meal with you indicates that this person, at some level, feels safe with you.

Sharing a meal together can be a tender, intimate act.

Knowing that the hour was coming to depart and go to God, Jesus shares a meal with his friends…his closest friends, the inner circle. So very ordinary, and yet so profoundly holy. An intimate and tender moment between disciples and Rabbi, “Having loved his own who were in the world, Jesus loved them to the end.”

And then Jesus interrupts this tender time together and breaks in with another tender act. He gets water and towels, stoops down, and begins to wash their feet.

In the ancient world, in the first century, washing one’s feet was common, even having one’s feet washed by someone else was common. There weren’t paved roads and sidewalks, you walked on dirt and dust everywhere. And mostly you wore some version of a sandal. All of which is to say, your feet took a beating. And they got incredibly dirty. And before you would enter a house, you would shake off the dust from your feet, but there would always be some dirt caked on and so you would need to wash your feet. And mostly people had servants who would do this for them, hired servants, servants of the house…but this was a servant’s job, a role for some of the very lowest in the societal ladder. Certainly not the posture of a Rabbi, of a teacher.

Jesus continues to demonstrate the upside-down and backwards nature of the way God intends, the same upside-down and backwards nature we saw and heard about a few days ago on Palm Sunday. The dominion of God, God’s vision for how the world should work, is a subversive inversion of the way things are set up. Both then, in the Roman Empire, and now, in this secular empire of our time.

Love one another. Serve one another.

Don’t get even, turn the other cheek. Eat with all the so-called wrong people. Break bread with the outcast and the vulnerable. Give to those who can never pay you back.

Place yourself in close proximity—stand alongside—the ones who have never been given a fair shake, the ones who are told by the world that they are less than human, the ones who have laws written about them that deny their humanity…the ones who get called ugly things like “foreigner,” “alien,” “illegal”…be found standing with and alongside these most derided and devalued because it to such as these as the kingdom of God belongs.

If you want to live into the reign of God and God’s dream and vision for our world, go to where God tells us that God is to be found.

Love costs you something. Always.

It costs part of yourself. Love will cost you the need to win every argument, or the need to feel superior to other people. Love will cost you a certain amount of respectability by asking you to stoop down and take the posture of a servant. Love will cost you the perfectly manicured façades you feel like you need to display to the world by finding you hanging out with, serving, and loving all the so-called wrong people.

I said it on Sunday morning, Holy Week is about participation. The worship services are experiential, the liturgies beg your involvement…the sacred story, though familiar and unchanging, demands to be heard anew and with fresh insights.

Jesus models this participation. Sharing a meal. Having your feet or your hands washed. These intimate and tender actions are at the heart of what it means to share and have love for one another.

“One who has bathed does not need to wash, except for the feet, but is entirely clean. And you are clean, though not all of you are clean.”

The author of John goes on to insert their interpretation of what they think Jesus meant by saying that Jesus was talking about Judas Iscariot…and that might have been the case…but as I’ve been thinking about these words, I got to reflecting that there are parts of me that feel unclean… There are parts of myself that I’d rather keep hidden from Jesus. There are parts of me that betray Jesus, that are less than the ideal follower of Christ, that don’t always live as God wants me to live… There are parts of me that feel unloveable by God…

Perhaps you, too.

“You are clean…though not all of you…is clean.”

Be honest, church, about those parts of yourself.

Be truthful about your need to wash up.

Difficult as it is, be honest about them.

Do you really think God doesn’t know those parts of you already?

Your participation is invited.

Bring your dusty and weary souls to be washed.

Bring your dusty and weary selves to this feast of mercy and grace.

Welcome to these most holy days. Welcome to the Triduum—the Great Three Days.

The beginning of this end has begun.

First, we wash. Then, we share a meal.

Find compassion here.

Hold love in your hands. A costly love.

Be renewed, strengthened, and nourished to love a world wrestling with its own unloveable places.

Come, beloved.

This gift of love is for you.