Fourth Sunday of Easter 2020

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John 10:1-10

[Jesus said to some of the Pharisees gathered there:] 1 “Very truly, I tell you, anyone who does not enter the sheepfold by the gate but climbs in by another way is a thief and a bandit. 2 The one who enters by the gate is the shepherd of the sheep. 3 The gatekeeper opens the gate for the shepherd, and the sheep hear his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. 4 When he has brought out all his own, he goes ahead of them, and the sheep follow him because they know his voice. 5 They will not follow a stranger, but they will run away because they do not know the voice of strangers.” 6 Jesus used this figure of speech with them, but they did not understand what he was saying to them.
  7 So again Jesus said to them, “Very truly, I tell you, I am the gate for the sheep. 8 All who came before me are thieves and bandits, but the sheep did not listen to them. 9 I am the gate. Whoever enters by me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture. 10 The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.”

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Please pray with me this morning, church:

Good Shepherd,

When fear and worry consume us,

When doubt and anxiety overtake us,

When we feel lost in the valley of the shadow of death,

Call our name.

Lead us beside your still waters, and make us rest securely.

Restore our souls. Lead us to life.

Amen.

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Church, similar to last week, I want to give you a question or two for reflection. I’d like for you to write these down and sit with them and pray about them, think about them. And if you feel like sharing, put a comment up on Facebook, or comment on youtube, or send me an email. I’m really just trying to offer you something more and something deeper for your personal devotions or spiritual reflections.

This week, I’m wondering, what voices do you hear?

What voices are competing for your attention?

And what voices are you listening to and giving weight to?

What is the voice of Jesus saying to you in these times?

I want to encourage you to reflect on those questions this week.

Write them, journal with them, meditate on them.

What voices are you listening to?

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When we were much younger, my sister and I got a trampoline from Santa one Christmas. I don’t know about my sister, but I personally think it was a consolation present because what I really wanted was a swimming pool. And I guess trampolines are just a lot cheaper than pools…

Anyway, we enjoyed it. We jumped the heck out of that thing. Flips, jumps, trying to see who could double-bounce the other… The occasional twisted ankle or trampoline burn. The first time I ever got stitches was when I busted my chin open on my knee. There were a few legs put through the springs around the outside. Miraculously, only got bounced completely off a couple of times…

Many years later, some of our friends and neighbors have trampolines now. They haven’t really gone out of style. But they have this new thing that seems to come standard now that I don’t think they had back when we had ours. It’s like a netting…have you seen this…? So there are poles around the outside of the trampoline with a net that goes all the way around…I guess to prevent young ones from flying off the side…although, my experience shows that’s pretty unlikely… You know…safety I guess… And similar to the old school ball pits at Chuck E. Cheese or Discovery Zone or any of those places, there’s a place in the netting for you to go in and out.

One way in. And one way out.

I think of those trampoline nets when I hear Jesus talking about gathering sheep into the sheepfold this morning. The sheep are gathered together into a place to keep them safe. There’s a gate. One way in, and one way out. The sheep follow Jesus for safety.

And the sheep know the shepherd’s voice.

When I would inevitably be caught doing something I wasn’t supposed to be doing, often on that trampoline, I’d hear a sharp, “Chris!”—*oop*— didn’t mean to get caught… It was always strange to me how I would never hear the door open, no other indication that I was about to be scolded, often by my dad, always just my name. And if was something really bad, or magnificently stupid, I got the full name treatment: “Christian! What the heck are you doing?!?”

And now, with an almost-9-month old, I’m beginning to learn the art of the parent-voice.

You know the one I’m talking about. You’ve used this voice.

You know this voice.

It’s the voice that inevitably catches you when you’re doing something you’re not supposed to be doing.

But it’s also the same voice that holds you in their arms, rocks you gently, scratches your back, and tells you how much they love you…how you mean everything in the world to them…

You know this voice…

“The sheep hear this voice…and they follow because they know this voice…”

The sheep know this voice of love. This voice of safety. This voice of protection.

The truth is, church, we have many different voices competing for our attention these days.

They sound like fear. They sound like worry, and anxiety, and scarcity, and doubt. These voices tell you to do silly things like hoard toilet paper, close in even tighter than before and close yourself off from everything and everyone. These voices urge us to do these things in the name of security and safety, but what it actually does is seal us off from one another so that we can’t hear—or we choose not to hear—when our neighbor is hurting or in trouble.

Now, don’t hear me incorrectly…you should absolutely continue to take steps to limit your exposure and contact with others, you should absolutely continue wearing a mask when you go out to public places, you should absolutely continue washing your hands… This virus is still running rampant and the cases in Fort Bend County are still going up, but just because what’s needed from us right now is physical separation, what we also need now more than ever is to stay connected…we just have to use new and innovative ways to do that. We have to put forth the extra effort and pick up the phone, send that text, log in to that Zoom chat… Every Sunday, I tell you that it’s an extra effort to stay connected…I know it is…but every Sunday I also promise you that it’s worth it.

It is worth it.

Last week, we had an incredible Sunday morning conversation where we talked about fears and vulnerability and where we see God at work in the world. It was incredibly moving, and I just want all of you to continue to feel connected during these times. Burnout’s real…I get it. After this, I don’t even want to hear the word “Zoom”…but for now…it’s worth it. I promise you, it’s worth it.

Those voices of fear and anxiety and worry and doubt and scarcity…those aren’t the voice of Jesus the good shepherd. The good shepherd speaks words of comfort…and grace…and love…and safety…and peace. You know the good shepherd because you know the good shepherd’s voice.

The good shepherd leads you beside still waters. The good shepherd makes you to rest in lush verdant pastures. The good shepherd anoints your head with oil and feeds you with rich and good things.

The good shepherd restores your soul.

Given all we have from our good shepherd, how could we not share these gifts? How could we not, like the first disciples in the first communities in Acts, share all things and hold all things in common for the good of all? How could we not share our resources and give to all as any have need?

When we know our life is secure in the loving arms of the good shepherd, we can rest peacefully. And we can invite others into that rest.

Like you’ve found this refreshing oasis in the midst of a wilderness time…invite other sheep to experience that same rest and refreshment.

Knowing that our lives are secure in the loving arms of the good shepherd doesn’t make the fear and worry go away. Knowing our lives are secure in the arms of the good shepherd won’t make this virus any less real or any less deadly. But it will help you find a moment of peace in the midst of so much uncertainty.

You’ll feel it…deep inside yourself…that this, too, shall pass…all will be well…your cup will overflow and you shall dwell in the presence of God your whole life long…you shall have life and life abundant…

The good shepherd cares for the sheep.

The good shepherd guards you’re going out and you’re coming in.

Jump, and frolic, and graze, and rest securely in the safety and love of your shepherd.

Third Sunday of Easter 2020

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Luke 24:13-35

13 Now on that same day when Jesus had appeared to Mary Magdalene, two of the disciples were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem, 14 and they were talking with each other about all these things that had happened. 15 While they were talking and discussing, Jesus himself came near and went along with them, 16 but their eyes were kept from recognizing him. 17 And Jesus said to them, “What are you discussing with each other while you walk along?” They stood still, looking sad. 18 Then one of them, whose name was Cleopas, answered him, “Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have taken place there in these days?” 19 Jesus asked them, “What things?” They replied, “The things about Jesus of Nazareth, who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, 20 and how our chief priests and leaders handed him over to be condemned to death and crucified him. 21 But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem us…to redeem Israel. Yes, and besides all this, it is now the third day since these things took place. 22 Moreover, some women of our group astounded us. They were at the tomb early this morning, 23 and when they did not find his body there, they came back and told us that they had indeed seen a vision of angels who said that he was alive.

24 And some of those who were with us went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said, but they did not see him.” 25 Then Jesus said to them, “Oh, how foolish you are, and how slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have declared! 26 Was it not necessary that the Messiah should suffer these things and then enter into glory?” 27 Then beginning with Moses and all the prophets, Jesus interpreted to them the things about himself in all of the scriptures.
  28 As they came near the village to which they were going, Jesus walked ahead as if he were going on. 29 But they urged him strongly, saying, “Stay with us, because it is almost evening and the day is now nearly over.” So Jesus went in to stay with them. 30 When Jesus was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. 31 Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized Jesus, and he vanished from their sight. 32 They said to each other, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?” 33 So that very same hour they got up and returned to Jerusalem, and they found the eleven and their companions gathered together. 34 The disciples were saying, “The Lord has risen indeed, and he has appeared to Simon!” 35 Then the two disciples told what had happened to them on the road, and how Jesus had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread.

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Please pray with me this morning, church:

Risen Christ,

Show us yourself again this morning.

Walk alongside us in our hurt and worry

And feelings of lost hope

And show up.

Help us to see you.

Amen.

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Church, I want to try something a little bit different over the next couple of weeks with this sermon time. I’m going to preach, but I also want to try and engage you a bit in this process. it’s hard to preach to a blinking light. So I want to give you some questions for reflection. I’d really like for you to write these down and sit with them and pray about them, meditate on them. And if you feel like sharing, put a comment up on Facebook, or comment on youtube, or send me an email. I’m really just trying to offer you something more, something deeper for your personal devotions or spiritual reflections.

So I’m wondering, where have you seen Jesus over the past few weeks, church?

Where have your eyes been opened and you recognized the work and the presence of Christ?

I want to encourage you to reflect on those questions this week.

Write them, journal with them, meditate on them.

Where do you see Jesus?

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Our first year in Chicago, my first year of seminary, Tiffany and I had the opportunity to visit a bunch of different churches. I say we had the opportunity…mostly I dragged Tiffany around to a bunch of different churches…and mostly she humored me, not every Sunday though, some Sundays I’d go by myself…because that’s what you do when you’re in your first year of seminary and you’re a church nerd…you go to a bunch of different churches to see how they do things…

So, one Sunday at the end of November we were visiting a church up on the north side, a community that I’d heard about from one of my professors…great service, great preaching, nice folks… They do the pretty customary walking out the doors, shaking the pastor’s hand, thing, like most of us do. And as we were walking out, the pastor recognized us as not having been there before. He introduced himself, asked our names, chit-chatted a bit, and then we went on our way. We stopped and grabbed brunch…gosh, I miss brunch…headed home, and that was that.

Fast forward about 2 or 3 months…it’s February, and I ask Tiffany if she’d want to go back to that same north side church. Reluctantly, I think, she agrees, and we go. Same deal…great service, great preaching, nice folks…filing out, shaking the pastor’s hand… “Tiffany! Chris! So great to see you again!”

I’m sorry…what…?!?

It’s been like…a minute, since we were here…like, Christmas has happened and a pretty gnarly snowstorm…and I know you’re got a ton of other things on your plate…and…but you remember our names?

I made a couple of promises that day: 1) that I would work as hard as I could on my name and face recognition so that I could make other people feel like I felt that morning, and 2) I figured the best way to learn how to do that was to learn from that pastor myself. So I basically begged and pleaded with him for his church to be an internship site, and 18 months later, I walked through those doors again as a Pastoral Intern…committed to soaking up as much as I could during my Internship that year.

I did work hard on my name and face recognition…I do work hard at it…and a lot of folks are impressed that I’m pretty good with names. I miss a couple of times, I don’t always get it right, but I work at it.

Because of the way it makes you feel…when someone knows you…

Because of the way it makes you feel…to be recognized…

Because of the way it makes you feel…to be seen…

So imagine Jesus’ utter disappointment when he comes up alongside the 2 disciples, Cleopas and the other disciple, disciples with whom he would have spent a significant amount of time, and they don’t have a clue. Like, not even a “You look familiar…” or “I think I’ve seen you before…I feel like I know you…”

Just…nothing… Like Jesus is wearing a disguise or something…

We’ve been doing a lot of mask-wearing these days. The guidance from local health officials is to cover up your nose and mouth when you go out, go to the store, go to Starbucks, whatever. And the thing is, the rules and encouragement really aren’t for your sake. Bandanas and coffee filters don’t do hardly anything to keep whatever’s out from coming in. But they do a great job at keeping whatever’s in from going out. See, the thing I think we greatly misunderstand is that as much as you have a right to go out and not wear a face covering, others have just as much right to go out without being fearful of the unchecked spread of an incredibly deadly virus.

You’re being asked to wear a mask when you go out, not for your own safety…but for everyone else’s.

This is, like, the clearest example I can think of regulating completely selfless interest…of codifying of the prioritization of the well-being of others.

This is it, church. This is what we’ve been hearing and learning from Jesus our whole lives. That to live for the sake of others is the way to abundant and everlasting life for all.

What a revelation. It’s like having your own eyes opened, right?

Like a light bulb goes off, something clicks, and you realize you’ve been walking with and looking at Jesus the whole time.

Which is a tremendous relief for these weary travelers this morning. Because, just as much as they don’t recognize Jesus, do you also hear the despair in their voices? As they’re walking along, telling about all the things both marvelous and miraculous that Jesus did during his earthly ministry, “This Jesus of Nazareth…he was a mighty prophet who did all kinds of wonderful things…but our religious leaders handed him over to be condemned to death and be crucified… But we had hoped…that he would be the one to redeem us…to redeem the world…to restore our situation… But it’s been 3 days, and some women from our group went to the tomb and the body’s gone…and some others from our group went found the tomb just like the women had said, and they didn’t find the body either…”

We had hoped…

Do you hear the despair and longing?

How much have our own hopes and dreams and plans and desires been put on hold because of this pandemic? How much have you had to restructure and rethink the way things are to account for this current new normal of sheltering in place, limiting your exposure, and reducing the potential for contact with others?

I sent an email earlier this week to our young adults and young families just seeing who’d be up for maybe a digital gathering over Zoom or something like that sometime soon. A great many of them, maybe 50%, I’d guess, came back with “You know, it’d be great to see everyone…but I just don’t have the bandwidth for another disembodied video call…”

Church, our people are hurting. You…are hurting.

We long for connection, but we’re working twice as hard as before, trying to figure out how to homeschool our kids, trying to get out and get some air and work out while staying far away from other people, trying to cobble together some passable resemblance of a self-care routine when all of our previous ways aren’t available to us right now…

Church, I hear this lost hope. I hear this despair.

I recognize it.

And our gospel this morning tells us that Jesus hears that lost hope and despair, too.

Jesus recognizes it, and Jesus walks alongside us as we name that, and Jesus doesn’t try to solve it, but in the midst of the journey, Jesus sits at our table, over a simple meal, offers us something small yet sustaining, and says, “Here. I’m here. See that is me. I hear you. And I see you.”

Jesus walks alongside you in your times of despair.

Jesus walks alongside you in your moments of doubt, and worry, and anxiety, and your feelings of not being enough.

Jesus walks alongside you when hope feels lost and distant.

And we may not be able to recognize it right away, but as we go along, as we make our way through our feelings of fleeting hope and moments of doubt and anxiety, all of a sudden, something clicks, a light bulb goes off, our eyes are opened, and we recognize we’re walking with Jesus.

We recognize that Jesus has been walking with us the whole time.

Maybe in utterly unexpected ways…but we look at the road we’ve just trudged and we notice the moments that Jesus has been there.

And we find Jesus in simple meals with our loved ones, maybe shared in new ways over facetime.

And we find Jesus in words of scripture that restore our weary hearts, that are a balm for our worn-out souls.

And we find Jesus in acts of kindness, and moments of selfless love, and images of beauty in the midst of hurt and suffering.

We find Jesus because we feel like someone recognizes us…recognizes our joys and our hurts.

We find Jesus because we feel like someone sees us…sees us for all of who we are…good and bad.

We find Jesus because we feel like someone knows us…knows us better than we know ourselves.

Church, this is the good news of Christ’s resurrection.

Jesus shows up.

Along our journey.

In our moments of happiness and joy and our times of grief and doubt and feelings of lost hope.

Jesus is there.

Jesus is here.

Jesus has never left.

Easter Sunday 2020

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Mark 16:1-8

1 When the sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought spices, so that they might go and anoint Jesus’ body. 2 And very early on the first day of the week, when the sun had risen, they went to the tomb. 3 They had been saying to one another, “Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?” 4 And when they looked up, they saw that the stone, which was very large, had already been rolled back. 5 As they entered the tomb, they saw a young man, dressed in a white robe, sitting on the right side; and they were alarmed. 6 But the young man said to them, “Do not be afraid; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here. Look, there is the place they laid him. 7 But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you.” 8 So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.

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Alleluia! Christ is risen!

Christ is risen, indeed! Alleluia!

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Please pray with me this morning, church:

Risen Christ,

We rejoice in your resurrection dawn.

Call us out of our tombs, this morning.

Take us by the hand and raise us to life with you.

Amen.

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Alleluia! Christ is risen!

Christ is risen, indeed! Alleluia!

What a strange feeling, dear church… What an absolutely unusual, unnerving feeling…

Is this Easter…?

Is Christ raised…?

We opted for Mark’s telling of the resurrection account this year…it just felt more appropriate to our circumstances. See, the author of Mark’s account is by far the shortest of the resurrection stories…but it also leaves this massively wide black hole at the end… Like, you’re not really sure what’s actually happened. We’re told that Jesus is raised from the dead by the author, but we’re left wondering who told the writer because the ones that came to the grave…the ones who came with their spices and anointing oils and fresh linens…the ones who were certainly still trudging along because of the weight of their grief……they fled because terror and amazement had seized them…and they said nothing to anyone because they were afraid…

And for the love of God, who could blame them…?

Nevermind that a young man in a white robe is sitting where their dead Rabbi was supposed to be laying…supposed to still be dead. A young man who says, “Do not be afraid…” Listen, the surest way to get me to be terrified is to show up where I least expect to see you and say something ominous like, “Do not be afraid.” You don’t say, “Do not be afraid,” unless you know that your presence is going to cause people to be…like, you know…afraid.

It’s like telling me not to be afraid in this time of pandemic…

It’s like telling me not to be afraid, but insisting that it’s much safer if I go grocery shopping with a mask.

Like telling me not to be afraid, but there’s this virus you can’t see, and you don’t really know if your have it or not, and like maybe you’ve already had it, but the symptoms were mild, but you could also be asymptomatic for 2 weeks…oh, and by the way, we’re running out of personal protective equipment for our first responders and ventilators are on short supply and they’re working 120-hour weeks and this virus is taking at least as much of a toll on them and their families and if you do, God forbid, end up in the hospital, your family can’t come to see you…

“Do not be afraid…”

Ok… Sure…

Here’s the thing, church. Angels are more accurately translated as “messengers of God” throughout the Hebrew and Christian scriptures. And every time a messenger of God shows up in the Bible, the first words out of their mouths are……”Do not be afraid…,” right… Because the messengers of God understand. They know that their showing up on the scene is definitely cause for alarm…but the messengers have a message to deliver and so they need you to not run away in fear and terror before they give you that message.

  • “You’re looking for Jesus of Nazareth. You know, the one who was crucified. Yeah, he’s not here.”
  • Uhhhh…yeah…I can see that… What happened to him? Dead bodies don’t get up and walk away.
  • “Yeeaahhh…except when they do… He’s been raised. He’s going on to Galilee, just like he told you. You’ll see him there.”

Throughout this Holy Week, we’ve been rummaging around in the question, What does Love look like? We’ve talked about love that looks like serving our neighbor and the least of these, while also staying physically distant and apart from one another…a love that looks like an empty sanctuary. We’ve talked about a love that is broken and poured out for the sake of the world on the cross…a love that stands in solidarity with all of humanity by dying our death.

Because if God is Love and Jesus is the incarnate Word of God, then Jesus is the very embodiment of Love itself. Love died on Good Friday. Love was buried on Good Friday.

But not even the tomb, not even death, could keep Love locked away.

On an Easter morning in quarantine, we proclaim that Love won’t stay dead.

Love triumphs over the tomb, Love tramples death underfoot, and Love rises because Love lives.

And that’s a hard thing to really believe, to really trust, in these days of physical distancing and stay-at-home orders. That’s a hard thing to truly believe deep in your bones in this time of the pandemic. Because in many ways, our homes feel like tombs. For many of us, being asked to stay far away from people, particularly people we love and care about, feels like the grave is doing a pretty good job at winning.

It’s hard to believe in life…amidst so much death.

And yet…Christ is raised.

And yet…Christ is alive.

And yet…Love lives.

Love lives because love is persistent. Love is scrappy. Love gets down in the dirt and overcomes that which seeks to hold it back and keep it dead, keep it locked away in its tomb. Love will go through hell and back to show you just how much you are treasured.

Love lives.

It can be difficult to trust such good news of resurrection in these days. Life overcoming death feels a little silly in these extraordinary times. But this is our hope. Take a look out your window. Flowers are blooming, birds are chirping, the grass is growing… Life is breaking forth.

This is the hope we cling to. This is the hope we stake our lives on.

That in spite of death…life—and love—finds a way.

Jesus didn’t rise immediately.

Sometimes resurrection takes a while.

In Jesus’ case, it took about 3 days. Our resurrection might take a little longer, but dear church, resurrection is on the way.

Resurrection is coming.

Resurrection is here.

The fled and ran away because terror and amazement seized them…and they said nothing to anyone…because they were afraid.

We know fear. Intimately.

But we must not stay silent.

We must witness and testify to the resurrection we see. Nature persisting. People sewing masks for family members, friends, and first responders. Nurses and doctors pulling triple shifts. Running errands for others. Meals being delivered. Kindness shown on a walking path. Messages of hope and love written in chalk on a sidewalk, or painted in stained glass on a window.

We must not stay silent…but even if we somehow could, even the stones would cry out.

Because, dear friends, resurrection is coming.

Resurrection is here.

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

Christ is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Amen.

Good Friday 2020

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John 18:1—19:42

The Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ according to St. John

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Please pray with me tonight, church:

Holy and Crucified One,

Behold us, your children.

Fix our eyes on your suffering and anguish.

Strengthen us to behold your death,

That we might behold our life.

Amen.

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We have a tendency to avert our eyes.

We don’t like to look upon things that make us hurt. Or uncomfortable. Or uneasy. Or nauseous.

We don’t like to look upon pain. Especially if it’s pain that we may have had a role in causing.

We see hurt and pain all around us, maybe especially more so in this time of pandemic. We see news reports and pictures and videos of death…of hospitals being overrun…testing sites being slammed beyond capacity…ventilators on their last legs…masks and goggles and face shields getting reused…nurses and doctors and surgeons trudging through halls barely able to stand…

Oh Lord, we know pain this year…

We know fear…and hurt…and anxiety…and worry…

The Great Three Days…the Triduum…Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and the Easter Vigil…invite us deeply into the betrayal, suffering, death…and too, the resurrection of Jesus. These Three Days implore us to look…or maybe more appropriately, one of my favorite biblical words, to behold.

The last words in our service tonight beg us to that same reflection: “Behold, the life-giving cross, on which was hung the Savior of the whole world.”

It is in looking upon the pain and suffering of Christ, in not averting our gaze, that we begin to understand within our innermost self…at our most cellular level…the pain, suffering, hurt, injustice, and brokenness that Christ died in order to overcome.

Don’t look away. Don’t avert your eyes.

Behold…the life-giving cross.

I mentioned yesterday that all of the incredibly profound stories we hear throughout Holy Week beg the question of us: What does Love look like?

Last night we heard of a self-giving love that takes the lower place and washes the feet of those who are beneath them.

Tonight, we hear of a self-giving love that suffers death so that you would have life.

Tonight, we hear of a self-giving love that dies. A love that dies…for you.

Lutheran pastor and great theologian Gerhard Forde said that “Jesus doesn’t die instead of us…Jesus dies in our stead.” Jesus doesn’t die in place of us…Jesus dies in our place…that is, the place where we all die. Church, Jesus doesn’t take our place as a recipient of God’s wrath against our sinfulness…our sin is crucified with Jesus to show us that not even our sinful rebellion against God is a barrier to our being in the right relationship with God.

As a Lutheran pastor and theologian Nadia Bolz-Weber notes, “The message of Good Friday is that God would rather die, than to be in the sin-accounting business anymore.”

Look upon the cross.

Behold your sin taken upon Christ’s own self and crucified.

Behold your salvation.

Love looks like God dying.

The cross was where enemies of the state were executed. The cross was a highly visible reminder to everyone exactly who was in the dominant position of power and what would happen if you tried to subvert the established rule of “the way things are.”

Love looks like God’s solidarity with those who die. Those who die unjustly. Those who have been falsely accused. Those that have been called “treasonous,” “seditious,” “trouble-makers,” “rabble-rousers,” “enemies of the state,” or any other manner of nasty words.

The crucifixion and death of Christ demonstrate completely God’s solidarity with those that are dying and those that are executed for pointing out the ways that the “way things are” disproportionately harm the vulnerable and marginalized populations and those who are on the underside.

The cross is God’s ultimate act of solidarity with the ones who are hurting, injured, in pain, fearful, worried, and anxious.

The cross is God’s ultimate act of solidarity with the marginalized and the oppressed.

The cross is God’s ultimate act of solidarity with those who are dying…with those who have a positive diagnosis.

The cross is God’s ultimate act of solidarity with the sick and the immuno-compromised.

The cross is God’s ultimate act of solidarity with humanity.

This is what love looks like.

Love looks like God dying.

And…in that glorious paradox that is somehow always true with God…the Lutheran understanding of a theology of the cross asserts that God is somehow most present…where God appears to be most absent.

It is in the suffering and death and dying…that God brings forth life.

Out of pain and hurt and suffering, God brings healing and restoration and wholeness.

Out of your pain and hurt and suffering, through the cross of Christ, God dares to bring healing and restoration and wholeness.

God would die before God would let you remain in bondage to your sin—to the ways in which you separate yourself from God and from your neighbor, from the stranger, from the other.

God takes what is intended for destruction, and uses it for salvation.

God takes what is meant for execution, and uses it for resurrection.

God transforms the means of death into the means of life.

Behold…the cross.

Behold…life given for you.

Behold…your salvation.

Behold…love.

Behold.

The life-giving cross.

On which was hung the Savior.

Of the whole world.

Maundy Thursday 2020

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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 Jesus 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 He 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 Jesus, “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 Man has been glorified, and God has been glorified in the Son of Man. 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 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 a love for one another.”

 

—————

 

Please pray with me this evening, church:

Holy God,

Teach us love again tonight.

In water and washing, show us what love looks like.

Help us receive love.

So that we might be love.

Amen.

 

—————

 

This is not how I thought Maundy Thursday was going to go this year…

When we began our Lenten pilgrimage way back at the end of February with Ash Wednesday, this is not where I thought we’d end up. I didn’t envision myself inviting you to gather your family around a meal. I didn’t think that I’d be streaming into your homes on your TVs or iPads or phones. Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined that I’d be preaching to an empty Sanctuary…

Yet here we are…

 

A few days ago, on Palm Sunday, I noted that there was going to be some grief associated with Holy Week for me this year. Because I so value the getting together, that gathering, the being in-person…there’s something about the very physical and tactile nature of the worship services of Holy Week that are really difficult to be approximated.

We do our best. And it will be good. It will be excellent.

And through it all, God will be praised. Which is really the only thing that matters.

But still…there’s some sadness in this for me this year.

 

But…I think this is what love looks like this year.

The stories of Holy Week—the triumphal entry and shouts of “Hosanna!”, the washing of feet and the sharing of a meal, the betrayal, the arrest, the false accusations, the cooked-up fabricated charges, the torture, the shame, the execution—all of these stunning details in this incredibly poignant, magnificently holy story all invite us to examine the question: What does Love look like?

 

How is love expressed most clearly by God through the person of Jesus, and particularly in the final days of Jesus’ life?

How is it that love is most clearly expressed by God through the betrayal, arrest, crucifixion, and death of Christ?

 

It’s appropriate that tonight when we hear Jesus’ mandatum novum—the new commandment—“That you love one another, just as I have loved you,” that we take time to reflect on this love in a time of the pandemic.

What does love look like under quarantine?

What does a physically-distant, stay-at-home love look like?

 

A reflection that’s been making the rounds in clergy circles, but that I heard from Bishop Kevin Strickland, Bishop of the Southeastern Synod of the ELCA, is that this year…this Maundy Thursday in the year of COVID-19…love looks like an empty church.

That is, the most loving thing we could do in a time of pandemic…is stay home.

As much as that pains me. As much as that grieves me. You worshiping from home, me preaching to an empty room…this is the epitome of what love looks like this year.

 

And, I think it’s awfully close to the kind of serving-others-type of love, what we call this self-giving-type of love, a love that gives of one’s self, that Jesus models here in our gospel this evening. It’s a sacrificial love…a love that sacrifices one’s self…to the benefit of others.

 

See, the thing is, love isn’t an emotion. We talk about love that way, but it isn’t really. You can’t love passively, or love in theory. You “do” love…you embody love.

Love is an action verb.

I say this in literally almost every wedding sermon I’ve ever preached, love requires something of you. Love is costly. Love always seeks the absolute best for the one being loved…which means that sometimes you’ll have to sacrifice something of yourself for the best of the one whom you love.

 

And I think we understand this sacrificial love in a very real way this year…as we trudge our way through this pandemic. We’re making choices to keep our distance and stay at home right now not for our own sake…but for the benefit of everyone else, particularly the most vulnerable in our communities. We benefit from these choices, too, absolutely…but the reason we’re staying home and not gathering together is so that we don’t put one another at risk.

Church, this is sacrificial.

 

I’m reminded of Philippians 2 that we heard read just a few days ago on Sunday: “Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus.” Right? St. Paul writes about having “the mind of Christ.” And this is what it means to have the mind of Christ…Luther would say, this is what it means to be Christ… Paul goes on, “Let each of you look not to your own self-interest, but to the interests of others. And in all humility, regard others as better than yourselves.”

This is what it means to love like Christ.

 

And, it’s not as if we don’t care about our own self-interest, but here’s the thing… if each of us looks out for the interests of others, we don’t have to worry so much about our self-interest, because we trust that someone else has our interest at heart. If everyone is looking out for the interests of others, I can look out for your best interest without worrying so much about my own best interest, because I trust that you’re looking out for my best interest. Does that make sense?

This is that sacrificial, self-giving-type of love.

 

If everyone is looking to the interests of others, we recognize something of what we’re learning from this pandemic, which is that we’re so much more interconnected than we realize. This virus and the ease with which it spreads have laid that bare in a really painful and really terrible way. Our whole lives are wrapped up together. “[C]aught up in a inescapable network of mutuality…tied together in a single garment of destiny…,” as the Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King, Jr. writes.

 

But if our pain and our suffering is tied up together…so is our healing.

If our hurt and worry and those things that oppress us are tied up together…so is our wellness and our liberation.

 

Church, this is the sacrificial, self-giving love of Christ.

And this is the kind of love Christ commands of us. “This is my commandment…that you love one another…just as I have loved you…”

Love looks like an empty sanctuary.

Love looks like reaching out with a phone call or a text.

Love looks like offering to grab groceries for your neighbor.

Love looks like sharing a meal together.

Love looks like washing each other’s feet and hands.

 

This is what love looks like.

 

Palm Sunday 2020

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Matthew 21:1-11

1 When Jesus and his disciples had come near Jerusalem and had reached Bethphage, at the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two of his disciples, 2 saying to them, “Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied, and a colt with her; untie them both and bring them to me. 3 If anyone says anything to you, just say this, ‘The Lord needs them.’ And they will be sent immediately.” 4 This took place to fulfill what had been spoken through the prophet Zechariah, saying,
 5 “Tell the daughter of Zion,
 Look, your king is coming to you,
  humble, and mounted on a donkey,
   and on a colt, the foal of a donkey.”
6 The disciples went and did as Jesus had directed them; 7 they brought the donkey and the colt, and put their cloaks on them, and Jesus sat on them. 8 And a very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. 9 The crowds that went ahead of Jesus and that followed were shouting,
 “Hosanna to the Son of David!
  Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!
 Hosanna in the highest heaven!”
10 When Jesus entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, “Who is this?” 11 The crowds were saying, “This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in the Galilee.”

 

—————

 

Please pray with me this morning, church:

Holy God,

As we conclude our Lenten pilgrimage

And begin our journey through Holy Week

Go with us. Be our companion.

Walk with us through these abnormal days.

Amen.

 

—————

 

Welcome to Holy Week, friends.

 

A week unlike any other in the life of the church. The most important week in the life of a Christian. And…in this time of a pandemic, truly a week that we’ve never experienced in this way before.

 

The thing is, I’m not exactly sure how to do this Holy Week… See, Holy Week—Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, the Great Vigil of Easter, and finally that glorious Easter Sunday—the point of Holy Week is to gather together. And not just to gather together, but to experience these liturgies together. The worship services of Holy Week and Easter are so tactile and experiential…they’re meant to be a feast for our senses. The reason we pack all these worship services into an 8-day stretch is so that we tell the old, old story together…so that we hear the familiar story in new ways…so that we enter once again into God’s story and find ourselves changed and transformed by it.

Because the truth is, we’re not the same person year after year, so even though the story stays the same, we’re the ones who are different, so we hear and we experience and we’re changed by the story in new ways.

 

But what to do in a year and a time that is so far outside the lines of what anyone reasonable might consider to be “normal”…? How can we experience these worship services, when part of what’s keeping us safe from the spread of this virus is a limitation on what we can truly experience together? How can we hear and experience and be transformed by the familiar old, old story in new ways, when the people we are today, the people experiencing a pandemic, have fundamentally changed…have been so completely altered at our most basic level…? Yes, we’re the ones who are different year after year, but…is this year too different? Have we gone too far beyond the expected rate of change to be impacted by this story this year?

 

Maybe so. You might feel like this year is just too different, too unusual, that you find it difficult, if not nearly impossible, to enter into this story in a meaningful way this year. Maybe the options for gathering together as the communal, yet physically distant and separated, the body of Christ leave just too much to be desired. Perhaps trying to enter into the story through your device or computer or TV simply doesn’t do it for you.

Look, I get it. There’s nothing about this that feels natural or normal to me. I adore Holy Week. I love the long 8-day trudge through this story because of the commitment it demands. I love that for me to truly grasp the significance of what’s taking place, it requires me to show up every. single. day., to gather together with people whom I love deeply, and viscerally and completely immerse myself in the experience of these holy days.

 

But I don’t get to do that this year….we don’t get to do that this year.

And honestly I think that’s ok. I’m at peace with this situation.

And actually, I’m beginning to think that the unusual-ness…the abnormality…of this year might be more true to these sacred stories anyway.

 

Stick with me…the author of the gospel of Matthew has Jesus sending 2 of his disciples to a village to grab a donkey and colt, and then to bring them both back. Then they put their cloaks on the donkey and the colt, and Jesus sits on both of them…and then enters into Jerusalem. The gospel of Matthew is the only one who does this, both Mark and Luke have Jesus riding a much more manageable singular hoofed-creature. The author of Matthew, who’s using the gospel of Mark as a source, misreads or misunderstands the prophet Zechariah, chapter 9, where it says, “Rejoice greatly, O daughter Zion! Shout aloud, O daughter Jerusalem! Lo, your king comes to you; triumphant and victorious, humble and riding on a donkey…on a colt, the foal of a donkey.” Notice there’s no “and” there. Just one donkey. But I do love Matthew’s version because I get to imagine Jesus standing up and donkey surfing during this triumphal entry and parade.

It’s completely absurd. Totally not normal. 

 

But this parade is farcical. It’s mocking the long-established Roman custom of the victorious war hero riding into town on a white horse, flowers and petals and olive branches floating down and flying everywhere, all the townspeople shouting, “Hail, glorious ruler! Praise be to the savior! Praise be to our messiah! Praise to the Caesar, the son of god!”

 

Jesus’ parade and entry into Jerusalem were a mockery of all of that. Jesus is a different kind of ruler, a different kind of hero…a different Messiah.

Nothing about Jesus’ parade and triumphal entry were normal. In fact, they were backwards, subversive, flipped upside-down.

 

Very much like I believe many of our lives feel right now…out of sorts, backwards…turned inside-out…flipped upside-down…

This virus is no joke. It’s serious. This time we live in is scary. We’re in need of saving. We’re crying out, reaching out, grasping for something to hold onto, something solid. Grasping for something—anything—to save us.

 

There are just a handful of words in the gospels that aren’t translated into Greek. They’re words that are untranslated Aramaic, which is likely the language Jesus spoke. Anyway, Hosanna is one of these words. Hosanna is an Aramaic word which means, very literally, “Save us.”

Those people waving palms in Jerusalem weren’t just shouting praises, they were crying out for Jesus to save them. And when Jesus showed them what it would cost them…that the way of following Jesus is the way of giving up your life, of giving of yourself for others, the way of nonviolent resistance, the way of peace…they turned their cries of “Save us!” to shouts of “Crucify!”

Which, for us who sit on this side of Easter…who know that the cross was God’s act of salvation for all of humanity…know that they might have been using different words, but they were still crying out to be saved…

 

At our most basic and fundamental, we’re still crying out “Save us!” If you’re being honest with yourself, you know you cannot do this on your own.

…And deep in your heart of hearts, you know you don’t have to…

 

“Behold! Your king—your Savior—comes to you humble and mounted on a donkey…”

Behold…your Savior looks down to you from a cross…

 

Nothing about this Holy Week feels normal.

Church, it’s not supposed to. Holy Week isn’t normal.

 

It isn’t normal for us to be proclaiming that our Savior comes to us riding a donkey…or two.

It isn’t normal for us to be insisting that rather than taking the highest place of honor at the table, that our Lord stoops down to wash our feet.

It isn’t normal for us to be looking up to a king who gets lifted high on a cross and crucified.

It isn’t normal for us to be worshiping a Messiah who dies.

It isn’t normal for a Christ who dies to be raised to life.

 

And yet…that’s precisely what we do.

Every year. Every time we gather, whether together in-person or together online.

We proclaim the absurdly abnormal truth about our God who brings life from things that are dead, and who raises we who are dying to new life…whose intent for us is that we have life, and life abundant.

 

This Holy Week in a time of pandemic is anything but normal, church.

But that might make it the most true Holy Week any of us have ever experienced.

 

Lent V – 2020

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John 11:1-45

1 Now a certain man was ill, Lazarus of Bethany, which was the village of Mary and her sister Martha. 2 Mary was the one who anointed the Lord with perfume and wiped his feet with her hair; it was her brother Lazarus who was ill. 3 So the sisters sent a message to Jesus, “Lord, the one whom you love is ill.” 4 But when Jesus heard it, he said, “This illness does not lead to death; rather it is for God’s glory, so that the Son of God may be glorified through it.” 5 Accordingly, though Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus, 6 after having heard that Lazarus was ill, he stayed two days longer in the place where he was.
  7 Then after this he said to the disciples, “Let us go to Judea again.” 8 The disciples said to him, “Rabbi, the Judeans were just now trying to stone you, and are you going there again?” 9 Jesus answered, “Are there not twelve hours of daylight? Those who walk during the day do not stumble, because they see the light of this world. 10 But those who walk at night stumble, because the light is not in them.” 11 After saying this, he told them, “Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep, but I am going there to awaken him.” 12 The disciples said to him, “Lord, if he has fallen asleep, he will be all right.” 13 Jesus, however, had been speaking about his death, but they thought that he was referring merely to sleep. 14 Then Jesus told them plainly, “Lazarus is dead. 15 For your sake I am glad I was not there, so that you may come to trust. But let us go to him.” 16 Thomas, who was called the Twin, said to the other disciples, “Let us also go, that we may die with him.”
  17 When Jesus arrived, he found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb four days. 18 Now Bethany was near Jerusalem, some two miles away, 19 and many of the Judeans had come to Martha and Mary to console them about their brother. 20 When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went and met him, while Mary stayed at home. 21 Martha said to Jesus, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. 22 But even now I know that whatever you ask of God, God will give you.” 23 Jesus said to her, “Your brother will rise again.” 24 Martha said to him, “I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day.” 25 Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who trust in me, even though they die, will live, 26 and everyone who lives and trusts in me will never die. Do you believe this?” 27 She said to him, “Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world.”
  28 When she had said this, she went back and called her sister Mary, and told her privately, “The Rabbi is here and is calling for you.” 29 And when Mary heard it, she got up quickly and went to him. 30 Now Jesus had not yet come to the village, but was still at the place where Martha had met him. 31 The Judeans who were with Mary in the house, consoling her, saw Mary get up quickly and go out. They followed her because they thought that she was going to the tomb to weep there.

32 When Mary came where Jesus was and saw him, she knelt at his feet and said to him, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” 33 When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Judeans who came with her also weeping, he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved. 34 He said, “Where have you laid him?” They said to him, “Lord, come and see.” 35 Jesus began to weep. 36 So the Judeans said, “See how he loved Lazarus!” 37 But some of them said, “Could not he, the one who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?”
  38 Then Jesus, again greatly disturbed, came to the tomb. It was a cave, and a stone was lying against it. 39 Jesus said, “Take away the stone.” Martha, the sister of the dead man, said to him, “Lord, already there is a stench because he has been dead four days.” 40 Jesus said to her, “Did I not tell you that if you trusted, you would see the glory of God?” 41 So they took away the stone. And Jesus looked upward and said, “Father, I thank you for having heard me. 42 I knew that you always hear me, but I have said this for the sake of the crowd standing here, so that they may believe that you sent me.” 43 When Jesus had said this, he cried with a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!” 44 The dead man came out, his hands and feet bound with strips of cloth, and his face wrapped in a cloth. Jesus said to them, “Unbind him, and let him go.”
  45 Many of the Judeans therefore, who had come with Mary and had seen what Jesus did, believed in him.

—————

Please pray with me this morning, church:

God of resurrection,

Call us out from our graves.

Unbind us.

In the midst of our fears and worries and anxieties and doubts,

Help us to breathe.

Amen.

—————

Church, how are we doing?

If you’re keeping score at home, we’re on Day 4 of the Fort Bend County “Stay Home to Save Lives” order. Day 15 of CDC-recommended social—or as I prefer to call it, physical—distancing. (Because really the idea is to stay physically distant, but in truth, we really must maintain our social connections to one another as best we can…) And Day 20-something of feeling truly under threat from this COVID-19 pandemic…

So how’s your quarantine going, church?

If you’re like me, quite honestly, you feel a bit like Lazarus…stuck in a tomb. Whether the tomb is your house, or the gazillion things you find on your to-do list, or even if it’s just the threat of this pandemic that has you feeling like you’re holed up and sealed off with only your own fear and anxiety to keep you company…I bet the tomb feels real to you this morning. I bet you can imagine what being sealed off in darkness looks like and feels like.

And…depending on how seriously you’re taking your hygiene habits during these days of quarantine and distancing and isolation from others…because let’s be honest, who are you really going to interact with during a quarantine??…depending on your habits during this quarantine, maybe you feel, or at least smell, like Lazarus…like you’ve been dead for 4 days… I love the King James Version’s translation of Martha in verse 39. The KJV says, “My Lord, he stinketh…” I wonder if your new co-workers would say that about you. “My Lord, they stinketh…”

Seriously though, take a shower. Stay clean and healthy and hydrated. And for the love of all things holy, wash your hands!

The thing is, I think we know very well what a tomb feels like these days. Maybe you feel like the dry bones from Ezekiel—dried up and like you’ve lost all hope…cut off completely… Uhh, hello…? Quarantine and isolation, anyone…? I think we know what that feels like. I think we’re acquainted with the grief shown by Martha and Mary, and even Jesus. I think we can identify with that pain. If not the grief and pain just yet, certainly the fear and anxiety…which lead to grief and pain…they’re sisters, you see?

I mean, do you hear the agony and pain in Martha’s and Mary’s words? “Lord…if you had been here…our brother would not have died..” If you had come when we first sent word…we told you he was sick…what did you think was going to happen…?

I feel like I’m always saying that this is my favorite bible story or that’s my favorite bible story…but I really like this story from the gospel of John. Because talk about complicated family dynamics. Mary, Martha, and Lazarus…they were really close with Jesus, the author writes that Jesus loved them, they were all really close friends. And so when Martha lobs this accusation at Jesus, it didn’t just glance off. It couldn’t have. I mean, these were words meant to wound and injure, and I think they probably did. “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” The meaning behind these words being, of course, “How dare you walk up like everything’s ok. We told you Lazarus was dying and you stayed where you were and you didn’t come here immediately, and Lazarus died because of you.”

How often do we use words that are meant to wound and injure with our family members? How often do we use words to try and make others feel as hurt and as pained as we do?

As we live into our new normal of sheltering at home and severely restricting our interactions with others, do you find yourself getting short with your family members? Are you managing your anxiety and fear so that you don’t put all that stuff on your family who you suddenly find yourself spending a lot more time with?

And so, it’s in the midst of this grief and anger and pain, that Mary and Martha and Jesus and all the folks gathered with them, they go to the tomb and Jesus stands outside it, and then the shortest verse in the Bible, John 11:35: “Jesus wept.”

Over and over again, the gospel of John tries to convince you that Jesus has it all together and there’s this great plan and Jesus knows exactly what he’s doing and exactly what he has to do…but here, in this moment, you get a peek behind the curtain. This death—Lazarus’ death—pains Jesus. He was greatly disturbed…deeply moved… Jesus has to be wondering if what Martha and Mary said was true…”If I would have been here…would Lazarus still be alive?”

That’s the thing about pain, we’re pain-averse creatures…we don’t like it. And so when we experience pain and hurt, we feel very strongly that the ones who caused us this pain and hurt should feel exactly like we feel…worse even, they should feel worse than we do.

When we operate out of a place of pain, we seek to transmit that pain and put it on others. The same is true of fear and anxiety…when we don’t manage them well, we bring others into our cyclone of fear and anxiety, we actually catch others up in this really damaging spiral, and it ends up hurting them.

So how do we manage these things? How do you make sure that when you’re feeling well acquainted with the tomb, when you feel like your fear and anxiety have kept you buried for 4 days or even longer, how can you be sure not to catch others up in this?

Well, for starters, I think breathing is essential.

Fort Bend County’s stay-at-home orders explicitly mention that getting outside and going on walks are not prohibited. In fact, they’re encouraged. It’s the breath—God’s breath—that gives life to the dry bones in Ezekiel. It’s the wind…the Hebrew word Ruach—interestingly Ruach means both wind and breath and spirit—it’s God’s breath…that will restore life to your worn out and dried up bones. Go outside and breathe deep. Take in the spring pollen. Let it fill up your eyeballs and nostrils. Let it fill up your lungs. Notice your breath.

Unbind yourself. Lazarus didn’t come out of the tomb looking like a spring chicken, and he certainly didn’t smell like one. Jesus said, “Unbind him…and let him go…” Church, cast off your grave-clothes. Loosen and shake off those things that bind you up, those things that keep you locked away and sealed up in your graves. Set down those things that are not yours to carry. Lighten your load.

And connect. Be drawn together like muscles and tendons and sinews laid upon bones that are being joined back together. We keep emphasizing connection and cultivating and nurturing these relationships, because, by God, they’re important. We need people who love us…who deeply love us…who will call us out of our graves. Who will help pull us out of the dark places we find ourselves…who will help unbind and loosen our grave clothes…who won’t care too much that we stinketh…but who will lovingly encourage us to go take a shower and wash our hair. It’s the point of all these check-ins we’ve scheduled and the phone calls and texts I’m encouraging you to make and send…because we are connected, and I need you to realize that.

I need you to trust me that this, too…being and staying connected…is vital to your health and well-being.

Call someone.

Text them.

Reach out.

Join our Zoom chats.

Go outside. Walk.

Wave to your neighbor from at least 6 feet away.

You are the body the Christ…and we are being broken open for the sake of the world.