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.

Luke 3:7-18

7John said to the crowds that came out to be baptized by him, “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? 8 Bear fruits worthy of repentance. Do not begin to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our ancestor’; for I tell you, God is able even from these stones to raise up children to Abraham. 9 Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.”

  10 And the crowds asked John, “What then should we do?” 11 In reply John said to them, “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.” 12 Even tax collectors came to be baptized, and they asked John, “Rabbi, what should we do?” 13 John said to them, “Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you.” 14 Soldiers also asked him, “And we, what should we do?” John said to them, “Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages.”

  15 As the people were filled with expectation, and all were questioning in their hearts concerning John, whether he might be the Messiah, might be the Christ, 16 John answered all of them by saying, “I baptize you with water; but one who is more powerful than I is coming, the strap of whose sandals I am not worthy to untie. This one will baptize you with Holy Spirit and with fire. 17 With a winnowing fork in hand, this one will clear the threshing floor and gather the wheat into the granary, but burning the chaff with unquenchable fire.”

  18 So, with many other exhortations, John proclaimed the good news to the people.

———————-

Please pray with me this morning, church:

God of joy,

So many things compete for our attention

In these days and seasons.

And it can be hard to find joy

In the midst of everything going on.

Root us, again, in you, this morning.

Center our joy in your unfailing love for us.

Help us extend that joy in our world.

Amen.

———————-

Blessed Advent, a merry Christmas season, and happy holidays, you brood of vipers!

The 3rd Sunday of Advent is traditionally known as the Sunday we talk about joy. That comes from back in the days of the Latin mass, when the 3rd Sunday of Advent was then, and in many places, still is, known as Gaudete Sunday—which means, “Rejoice!”—because both the Hebrew scripture reading and the Epistle reading both start off with “Rejoice!” It’s a bit of a break in the middle of the season marked by such watching and waiting and expectation…a bit of a reprieve from the hopeful anticipation of the not-quite-yet.

So it’s a Sunday that we lift up joy and we talk about joy…and here comes John the baptizer, weird clothes and wild hair and all, you can imagine him shaking his finger or running up to this crowd with a wild look in his eyes and maybe a little spit flying out of his mouth…”You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come?!”

Rejoice! — Brood of vipers…?

We might not find much to be joyful about being called names by a desert mystic who eats bugs.

But hang in there…

This season of Advent, we’re in our series from the wonderfully creative women at A Sanctified Art called Close to Home, where we’re exploring our longing for a sense of home and what it means that God has chosen to make God’s home here with us in the person of Jesus. The first Sunday of Advent, we talked about that feeling of homesickness and longing for a place that feels like home and the hope we hold onto in the midst of that longing. Last week, we talked about what we would need to start making God’s dream a reality in our own time and place, and needing to begin by laying a foundation of peace.

This week, we hear more from John the baptizer and we start to put a structure and a roof and doors and windows on this home and start to fill it with all kinds of furniture and art and pictures and all the items that make it feel like home, all the things that bring us joy, and what this home needs to look and feel like to truly have it be a home for all.

You’ve heard me say before, but Advent and Lent are really mirrors of one another. And if Lent is a time of spiritual house-cleaning, then Advent is a time of spiritual house-warming. Both require an attention to the small things, an eye and a desire to sort through what is needful, and the willingness to do away with what is not. But while the purpose of the Lenten spiritual housecleaning is the cleaning itself and the inspection and introspection of our spiritual lives and to strip away all the stuff we fill our spiritual lives with and get back to the core of our faith and make space for God…the purpose of the Advent spiritual housewarming is to make that space feel warm and homey and to create that welcoming space for the God who will arrive in Christ at the end of our Advent journey, the birth of Christ anew into our lives and into our world.

John the baptizer shows up on the scene in the Judean wilderness calling people to repentance and to be baptized for the forgiveness of their sin. These are all familiar words to us, but maybe you haven’t thought about them much since Confirmation. “Forgiveness of sin”…that’s fairly straightforward. I’ve done something wrong, I need to be forgiven for that wrong…boom, forgiveness. Baptism…again, pretty straightforward; usually involving water, a ritual washing, a kind of public declaration and demonstration. But “repentance” is the thing I think a lot of us tend to gloss over. Is it enough to recognize that I’ve done something wrong? Is it enough to be sorry for the thing I did or the person with whom I damaged that relationship?

Repentance acknowledges that there’s an intermediate step in between being sorry and receiving forgiveness. The Greek word for repentance, metanoia, means “to change one’s mind” but also you have to understand that for the ancient Greeks the mind controlled behavior, so to change your mind was to change your way of living. To change your mind means that you stop going in this direction and living in this way and you start down this other path. To repent is to start living a different way.

This is why, when pressed on the issue in these individual scenarios, John describes different ways of living for each of the groups of people who ask him. “What should we do?” “Well what about us? What should we do?”

“Bear fruit,” John says. But bearing fruit looks different for different individuals. The fruit of your repentance, the way you begin to live differently is going to look different depending on your situation.

But if it’s forgiveness you’re seeking, you recognize the places and the people in your life that you’ve wronged, you commit to living differently (that’s the key…), and then forgiveness is yours to receive. And then you memorialize and ritualize the whole deal with chilly dip in the river, and then you go on your way on this new path that you’ve committed to living.

What fruit looks like isn’t the same from person to person.

The fruit that you are called to bear in this season likely looks different for you than it does for someone who’s been out of work for almost 2 years…or more. The fruit you’re called to bear is different than that of the homeless veteran. Different than those in Arkansas, Illinois, Tennessee, and Kentucky this morning…those who woke up this weekend to their entire world changed and shattered and destroyed…less than 2 weeks before Christmas…

Your fruit might look like giving to Lutheran Disaster Response or the Red Cross. Their fruit might be to simply receive what other people of good will are willing to give to help them in their recovery.

I think I’ve often preached these verses and scripture like this as “Joy is found in giving up.” And while I do still think that’s true, I’m feeling a little differently this morning. I do think joy is found in giving up, but I think it’s because of the effect that it has on our neighbor, not necessarily because of the effect of unburdening on ourselves, although unburdening yourself is certainly a welcome side-effect. What I’m getting at here is that I think our joy is connected to, and perhaps even rooted in, the joy and the well-being and the flourishing and thriving of our neighbor. Friends, joy is found when you give something for the sake of your neighbor because of how it impacts your neighbor. When your neighbor thrives and flourishes, that’s what brings you joy, especially if you had something to do with it.

And if each of us is looking out for the needs and concerns of our neighbor, then you can absolutely trust that someone is looking out for your needs and concerns and is especially interested in your thriving and flourishing.

Again, think of those who have just lost everything this weekend.

Like hope…like peace…joy is a rugged thing. It’s tested and worn and gritty. Joy isn’t happiness. Happiness is conditional. Joy doesn’t deny struggle and hardship…joy persists in the midst of struggle and hardship.

This is what is means to build a home for all. A home where all have everything they need. A home where none are exploited or extorted. A home where justice and peace reign, where equity is the family mantra. A home where resources are shared freely and joyfully. A home where people are welcomed, invited, beloved, affirmed, and celebrated as the beautiful beloved children of God they are. A home with longer tables instead of higher walls. A home that is warm and loving. A home where joy is pervasive in every room and in every person.

Rejoice, you brood of vipers.

This home is starting to take shape.

John 18:33-38a

33 Then Pilate entered the headquarters again, summoned Jesus, and asked him, “Are you the King of the Jewish people?” 34 Jesus answered, “Do you ask this on your own, or did others tell you about me?” 35 Pilate replied, “I am not Jewish, am I? Your own people and the chief priests have handed you over to me. What have you done?” 36 Jesus answered, “My kingdom is not of this world. If my kingdom were of this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jewish leaders. But as it is, my kingdom is not of here.” 37 Pilate asked Jesus, “So you are a king?” Jesus answered, “You say that I am a king. For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.” 38 Pilate asked Jesus, “What is truth?”

—————

Please pray with me this morning, church:

Sovereign God,

On the cross you opened your arms to all.

And from the cross you reign over all.

Give us eyes to see where your reign

Of love, mercy, and justice is being established

In our world and in our midst.

Give us hearts, hands, and feet that yearn

To join in that work with you.

Amen.

—————

Some of the clearest moments I can remember of feeling really close to God were at summer camp, both as a camper and as a counselor. In fact, a lot of my memories of experiencing the wonder and majesty and awe of feeling like I was deeply in God’s presence happened when I was outside, in nature. Perhaps you can relate. There’s something about being away from buildings and cars and lights and noises…something about gazing out on an expansive landscape, something about beholding a towering mountain or a plunging waterfall that just kind of does it for you, right?

It does for me, too. Truly.

But then I also had this experience a number of years ago…a group of us were going to community meeting with one of our seminary professors, and as we were getting in his car and just as we were about to pull out, someone approached his window and asked him earnestly for money. Now, we were in a hurry, we were already going to be late, but my professor rolled down his window, talked to this woman, asked her name, asked her what she needed, and said, “You know, I don’t have much, but here’s $20 if that will help.”

The rest of us students in the car were astounded, honestly. “Professor Pickett…$20 bucks…?! That’s kind of a lot, isn’t it?”

“Well,” he said, “That won’t make a dent in someone’s rent bill, but it might buy a couple of meals, plus I didn’t need it tonight anyway. And we’re already going to be late anyway, so we might as well take advantage of the moments to encounter Jesus in someone when we can, right?”

I’m not sure who was being Jesus to whom that evening. All I know is that I very definitely saw Jesus. Maybe a couple of times.

I often trot out one of my favorite Lillian Daniel quotes when I talk about how often we say we see God in beautiful nature vs. how often we see God in the gritty and messy parts of life. She says something like, “Well anyone can see God in a sunrise or hiking trail or snowy peaks from 30,000 feet…it takes a completely different kind of vision to see God in concrete jungles, the unwashed masses, and the ones asking for a handout.”

She’s being a bit cheeky, but I take her point. How often do we claim to see God in one another? Or in the moments that make us late for that thing we were on our way to? How often do we say we see God in that jerk who cuts us off in traffic or the inconvenience of when they’re out of your brand of toothpaste yet again?

Being able to see and experience God in one another…that’s something that feels like we’ve forgotten how to do over the past couple of years. We’ve dialed up our discourse so much, I wonder if we’ll ever be able to bring it back down. We see people as issues or arguments or votes for their candidate…instead of as beloved creations and children of God. I wonder if we need to learn how to talk to each other again. People are so much more than who they vote for, you know?

Besides, if Christ is King, then the rulers of this world are not.

Reign of Christ Sunday is a relatively new addition to the liturgical calendar…well, relatively new in terms of church time. Instituted in 1925 by Pope Pius XI, the Feast of Christ the King or Reign of Christ was begun in order to combat, in his words, rising secularism and nationalism. Rising secularism…and nationalism. A fight against elevating worldliness and national identity over an individual’s identity as follower of Christ, disciple of Jesus, beloved child of God…and the collective Christian identity as children of God, instead of as one’s race or gender or country of origin. “My kingdom, my dominion, my reign…is not of this world…” Reign of Christ is an attempt to overcome and to counter the myriad false powers and principalities, rulers and empires that demand our allegiance and loyalty…allegiances to anything other than God in Christ.

At the time, divisions were deepening into chasms, not just between the church and society, not just between the people and those charged with leading them, but also among the people themselves, within society and the institution itself, even within families.

And if that sounds familiar, you’re catching my drift. Fundamentally the Feast of the Reign of Christ was, and still is, a question of trust.

What do you place your trust in, church?

“What is truth?” Pilate asks Jesus.

It’s why I included verse 38 in our reading this morning. That, and it’s one of my favorite lines in, like, all of scripture. Such a vulnerable question…

In what do you place your trust, church? To what, and to whom, do you declare your allegiance?

What is true for you? In what and in whom do you place your faith?

What do you truly believe will save you?

The truth is, we place our trust in all kinds of things. And I think at some level we actually believe they will save us. And a good number of them that have nothing to do with God.

We place our trust in our bank accounts, in wealth, in our homes, and in our stuff. We place our trust in things like security, the judicial system, our leaders, elected officials, our friends and our family…

We have a tendency to place our ultimate trust in these human-constructed systems of power and empire, and ultimately, all these fall short. They all fail us. They all fail to save us, fail to deliver on their promises, fail to bring peace, fail to bring unity, fail to bring justice.

They all fail.

The Reign of Christ recognizes the failings of all these systems and asserts that they were never intended to save you anyway.

The Reign of Christ promises that the One who sits far above all earthly power and authority, the One who sits above all peoples, and nations, and languages is actively bringing about God’s justice. The Reign of Christ means that if love and peace aren’t ruling the world, if the sweet fragrance of merciful compassion isn’t infusing the entire universe we inhabit, then we aren’t yet living in the realm of God. It means that God hasn’t yet finished God’s work.

But the good news is that dominion, that realm is accessible. We catch glimpses of it, right? There are moments in your life where you experience grace, moments when love and peace win out, moments when compassion and justice are shown…the reign of Christ is among you, it’s just there, accessible. And you have a thousand choices every single day to live into that reality…or not.

The good news of Reign of Christ Sunday is that you are not the object of your worship.

It’s not about my preferences. It’s not about what I want. We worship God.

Our worship is directed toward the crucified and risen Christ—a God who chose death, rather than to allow us to continually try and prove our worthiness to God. A worthiness we could never measure up to anyway.

Your role, your call, Christian…is to continually be pointing others to Christ. Continually be embodying the self-giving love and sacrificial living of Jesus. Through your words, your actions, your thoughts…everything you do, is to be a reflection of Jesus in the world.

And when we continually show up in love and service in the world…when you continually strive to embody the compassionate love of Christ…those moments when the dominion of God are actualized in our world become more and more frequent, more and more lasting, more and more present.

How will you show up as Jesus to someone today, church?

How will you point someone to Jesus this week?

How will you be the hands and feet and heart of Christ in a world that is desperately longing for a measure of that good news?

The Reign of Christ is here. It’s among you.

Live into it.

Let the world see God reflected through you.

John 6:56-69

[Jesus said,] 56 “Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them. 57 Just as the living God sent me, and I live because of God, so whoever eats me will live because of me.

58 This is the bread that came down from heaven, not like that which your ancestors ate, and they died. But the one who eats this bread will live forever.” 59 Jesus said these things while he was teaching in the synagogue at Capernaum.
  60 When many of Jesus’ disciples heard it, they said, “This teaching is difficult; who can accept it?” 61 But Jesus, being aware that his disciples were complaining about it, said to them, “Does this offend you? 62 Then what if you were to see the Son of humanity ascending to where he was before? 63 It is the spirit that gives life; the flesh is useless. The words that I have spoken to you are spirit and life. 64 But among you there are some who do not believe, who do not have faith.” For Jesus knew from the first who were the ones that did not believe, and who was the one that would betray him. 65 And Jesus said, “For this reason I have told you that no one can come to me unless it is granted by God.”
  66 Because of this many of Jesus’ disciples turned back and no longer went about with him. 67 So Jesus asked the twelve, “Do you also wish to go away?” 68 Simon Peter answered him, “Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life. 69 We have come to trust and know that you are the Holy One of God.”

—————

Please pray with me this morning, church:

Living God,

Amidst all the worries, horrors, and difficulties

We see in our world,

It can all feel like too much.

We can feel like not enough.

Give us food that nourishes.

Feed and sustain us to be your body—

Your hands, your feet, your heart—

Broken, given, and shared

For the world, for our neighbor, and for each other.

Amen.

—————

There is very little that I enjoy about seeing the numbers 5, 4, and 5 on my watch and on my phone, most especially when they have an A and an M next to them.

I am not a morning person. But most mornings, that’s when I drag myself out of bed. Except for Fridays and Saturdays when I sleep in until whenever Master of the House, Oliver, decides it’s time for the house to be awake, and except for Sundays when those numbers read more like 4:15.

I hate early mornings. But I get up anyway, and I exercise every single morning for at least 45 minutes.

This is a new thing for me.

I’m not big on tooting my own horn or throwing my own party, so I’m not going to dwell on this, but maybe you’ve noticed, I’ve lost a little bit of weight since the pandemic started. It’s something I’m proud of and something that’s taken a long time and will continue to take a long time, but it’s a journey I’m grateful to be on. But since last summer I’ve exercised every single day and I started watching and tracking what I eat, and it’s really helped me with my journey.

In the midst of so much craziness in our world, focusing on my health has been a small thing that I feel like I have a certain amount of control over.

Again, not tooting my own horn, but here’s what I want to say about all of this…I’m still not sure if this is a habit for me. Like, I still don’t really like to do this. I don’t think I would necessarily choose this for myself, and if left to my own devices, I think I’d rather not do these things. I’m still not one of those people who enjoy running or even enjoys working out. But at this point, I’ve got quite a bit of a streak going, and I think my fear of breaking the streak is stronger than my desire to not exercise and eat well.

I don’t know if I would call any of this a habit…but I would say that exercise and watching what I eat and paying attention to my health are practices that I’ve taken on and continue to work at.

There are things in our lives that are difficult things, hard things…and we may not particularly like to do them, but we recognize that they’re good for us. We derive a benefit from them, and the benefits outweigh the costs, and so we work at these practices.

Friends, worship…is one of these practices.

Not that we don’t enjoy worship, or that worship shouldn’t be fun and uplifting…it should be those things. But gathering together for worship, whether in-person or online, it’s something we have to choose with intentionality.

As we come to the end of our worship series for the second half of the summer called Bread of Life, focusing on Jesus’ words that “I am the bread of life,” and discerning difficult questions about what feeds and nourishes and sustains us…I bet you’re ready for a break from bread. It’s like the breadstick basket at Olive Garden or the cheddar bay biscuits at Red Lobster…you’re not exactly sure how much is too much, but you definitely know when you’re there. And maybe by now, you’re feeling that way with these bread texts. And like the loaves and fish on the side of the mountain, Jesus is just the breadbasket that keeps on giving.

But take heart, friends. This indeed is the end of all these weeks of bread. And maybe in some ways you’ve needed to be reminded of the nourishing and sustaining presence of Christ in your life. It’s so easy to get caught up in the news cycle or news feed, and so maybe it takes something repetitive over and over and over again to finally breakthrough before we truly grasp it. Like a habit…or a practice that’s not yet a habit…but it just takes doing or hearing something again and again and again before we recognize and truly see its benefits.

I said it last week, worship together is what has fed and nourished and sustained us so far through this pandemic, and worship together is what will feed and nourish and sustain us going forward, through the end of this pandemic and beyond it. Like Christ feeding us with Christ’s very own body and blood, we, too, feed one another. Whether here or for your neighbor or for someone you don’t know yet, you are the body of Christ, broken, poured out, and given for the sake and for the life of the world.

And worship together isn’t just something we picked up, or something that we like to do on occasion when we feel like it, worship is a habit, it’s a practice. And you have to be committed to practices. They require intentionality. They require…practice.

Even when we might not feel like it.

“This teaching is difficult, Lord. Who can accept it?”

There are things in our lives that are difficult things, hard things…some of these things we may not even particularly like to do them, but we come to recognize that they’re good for us. We derive a benefit from them, and the benefits outweigh the costs, and so we work at these practices.

But wait, work at worship…? What about my coming to be fed, what about my enjoyment, my coming to feel good and be uplifted?

I’m so glad you asked. Not that worship isn’t those things, but worship is also more than those things.

18 months ago and long before that, worship used to be inconvenient. Largely, communities of faith hadn’t really adopted live streaming or online ways of gathering together, at least not in a super widespread way, and so for most folks, including us here at New Hope, you would have to make a conscious decision whether or not you were going to come gather together for worship. You’d have to get up, get ready, get dressed, get in your car, drive here, and show up to worship. It was a very inconvenient thing, not generally something you just woke up and decided, “Oh, I think I’ll go to worship this morning.” Worship used to require forethought and planning.

But then the pandemic hit and communities of faith everywhere, including us, scrambled to figure out how to provide a worship experience that our folks could tap into while we were being urged to stay home, keep safe, and not gather together in-person. And I’m probably biased, but I think we did a pretty good job of doing that. And I think we continue to do a pretty good job of providing multiple ways for folks to gather together in worship regardless of their vaccination status, regardless of their level of comfortability with being in close contact with other people outside of their household, even regardless if they’re physically in town or away on vacation. The pandemic forced our hands in a lot of ways and we’ve made it very convenient to worship. In-person, live stream, recorded virtual worship that you can watch on Tuesday afternoon with a glass of wine in your hand if you want… Something that used to be done in one very specific way, now broadened and made very easy and convenient to gather together…if you want.

Because see…there’s still quite a bit of intentionality behind gathering together for worship. You have to decide whether or not you’ll engage with what’s going on here, whether or not you’ll come in-person for worship or join online via the live stream or our recorded worship.

You still have to make a choice about how much you’re willing to engage. That’s always been true.

But this global pandemic laid that decision bare even moreso.

Because until the past few months, you only had a virtual option available to you, and you had to decide whether or not you were going to push play on that worship service. You had to decide if you were going to log on for Zoom Faith Formation on Sunday mornings or the Zoom Happy Hour Conversations midweek.

And the thing is, those that did, those that chose to engage and be connected, went through a lot over the past 18 months. And it wasn’t just the pandemic.

Maybe you’ll recall. Amidst a global health crisis, we also lived through an ongoing national reckoning and conversation on racial justice and #BlackLivesMatter. We went through an incredibly contentious political season and election. We witnessed a historic attack on one of our country’s great institutions of democracy.

And to be completely frank, some people opted out of the conversations that we had together as a community of faith in the midst of all these events. Some folks chose not to engage in these conversations. And that’s ok. Truly. Zero judgment at all. But those who did…those who did engage these difficult events and even more difficult conversations…they grew together. They grew, and were changed, and were transformed.

We are not the same community of faith that we were in March of 2020 before this pandemic started. And honestly, we will never be that again. Something has changed in and with this place. Values have been clarified, people have been drawn closer together, the mission we are called to by God in this place has become more focused. Friends, it’s becoming clear to those of us in leadership here at New Hope exactly what and to whom God is calling us in these times.

And this mission field looks an awful lot like our immediate neighborhood. It looks like the 41.9% people of African descent population of Missouri City, the 31.6% people of Hispanic descent population of Stafford, and the 36.6% people of Asian or Indian descent population of Sugar Land. Friends, we live in the most diverse county of the United States. How can our worship, how can our expression of faith, the very heart of who we are, our very identity, reflect our neighborhood?

These are the clarifying questions that we’re asking as Leadership and as Staff. This is what we’re working on and what we’re excited about as New Hope is resurrected out of this pandemic.

“This teaching is difficult. Who can accept it?”

Heck yeah, it’s difficult! But when has being disciples of Jesus and followers of Christ ever been easy? This is the same Jesus who says, “Give up your life to gain it.” The same Jesus whose love was shown most clearly on the cross, through the death and resurrection of Christ. Church, you don’t get to the joy of Easter Sunday without going through Good Friday…and my LORD have these past 18 months been a Good Friday!

But hear me say this…Easter. Is. Coming.

I don’t know when, I don’t know exactly what it looks like, but I trust and I have faith that it is coming. Because I trust Jesus. I have faith in Christ. I have faith in Christ who says, “I am the resurrection…and the life. I am…the bread of life.”

To which my response can only be, “To whom else can we go, Lord? You have the words of eternal life.”

It’s difficult to see the difference that’s been made. It’s difficult to see the transformation while we’re still in the midst of it. This is where faith comes in.

Council was surprised to hear that our worship numbers now are 75% of what they were pre-pandemic—which, honestly, is pretty dang good—but you wouldn’t know that if all you saw or experienced was in-person Sunday morning worship. But we have folks joining us on our live stream, folks joining us later in the week as their schedule allows through our virtual worship services…we have folks joining us from across the state and across the country, people who have never stepped foot through those doors, but they found Jesus here. They found something to love and trust, something that called them beyond themselves, into their neighborhood, living for their neighbor.

The pandemic has launched us into a completely new reality where we are wrestling with what it means to be a community of faith. How do we welcome and show hospitality to those that we can’t necessarily see? How can we ensure that we’re connecting with one another, making folks feel like part of this community, even though we might not see them as regularly?

Referencing the ones who struggle with his difficult teachings, Jesus asks the twelve, “Do you also wish to go away?” Let’s be honest, there will be some who leave…there are some who have already left… Oh, but what of the ones who stay…?! What of the ones who are new and are caught up in this vision of what we’re doing?!

Have you seen them? Have you seen the new faces who have walked through that door over the past couple of months? Have you greeted them? Welcomed them? Extended them hospitality?

The Gospel in all of these “bread” texts from Mark and John is a kind of trust—a faith—that the bread is somehow more than bread.

Christ feeds us, yes…but it isn’t just our physical hunger that is satisfied.

Christ gives us one another.

So that our spiritual and our mental and emotional needs are met, as well.

This is a faith that takes intentionality.

A faith that requires commitment.

Like a muscle that needs to be exercised.

This is a faith that takes practice.

John 6:51-58

[Jesus said,] 51 “I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.”
  52 The Judeans then disputed among themselves, saying, “How can this man give us his flesh to eat?” 53 So Jesus said to them, “Very truly, I tell you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of humanity and drink his blood, you have no life in you. 54 Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal life, and I will raise them up on the last day; 55 for my flesh is true food and my blood is true drink. 56 Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them. 57 Just as the living God sent me, and I live because of God, so whoever eats me will live because of me. 58 This is the bread that came down from heaven, not like that which your ancestors ate, and they died. But the one who eats this bread will live forever.”

—————

Please pray with me this morning, church:

Nourishing God,

When we are hungry, feed us.

When we are weary, sustain us.

Fill us with yourself,

And send us to feed, nourish, and sustain a weary world.

Amen.

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“It’s like if chemistry and cooking got together and had a kid.”

Now, I do enjoy cooking, and I was terrible at chemistry, but the marriage of the two kinda grabbed my curiosity. That, and I really enjoyed the end product, so I thought, “What the heck, I’ll give it a shot.”

It was 2011 or so and one of our friends had told me that you could make 5 gallons of beer for a fraction of the cost per bottle, and it was the economics that ultimately pushed me over the edge.

I never really went all-in on brewing my own beer, but it was a fun hobby for a good number of years. One that I keep telling myself I need to get back into, get together with some of my friends, and really just something for me to do.

Hobbies are good for us. We need things outside of work and family, things that inspire us, that challenge us, that make us feel good.

A lot of folks picked up new hobbies a little over a year ago, toward the very beginning of this global pandemic. Did you? Anyone pick up baking or breadmaking? Anyone with their own little jar of sourdough starter sitting on your kitchen windowsill? How about knitting or crocheting or quilting? Any Tom Daley fans here this morning?

When this virus was very new and we really didn’t know anything about it, the world kind of shut down. Stay at home orders went into effect, restaurants and grocery stores almost shut down, people were quarantining away from one another. It was a really strange time. It all felt very isolating. Do you remember this? Do you remember that feeling?

We had to pivot and change the way we worshiped together as well. We went from live and in-person worship to worship on a screen in less than a week. We went from an assembly gathered and nourished and sent, to a scattered assembly, brought together in worship, though still feeling disconnected, isolated, even, from one another. It’s like we had the sense that we were worshiping together with those same folks we sat in the pews with just a few weeks ago, but we couldn’t really see them, we didn’t know for sure whether or not we were worshiping together with them.

It’s been a really long 18 months, church. And I’m sorry to say that we’re not done with it yet. Whatever we will be, ultimately, on the other side of this pandemic, is still a bit of mystery. The process of coming out of a pandemic is more like a faucet that you turn a little bit at a time, from a trickle to a full flow, rather than a light switch that you just flick on to full blast.

But what an opportunity we’re presented with. What an opportunity to take stock of and analyze our ministry together and ask tough, discerning questions about how we can best be the disciples that God is calling us to be.

But here’s the thing, this is an arduous journey. This is a kind of pilgrimage that you need to pack a lunch for. Maybe a few lunches. This process of reemergence and resurrection requires sustenance. You need to be well-fed for this journey.

A month ago, we launched into our worship series for the second half of the summer focusing on bread and feeding and nourishing, and anchored in this declaration from Jesus that “I am the bread of life.” And since then, we’ve been exploring the questions about what feeds and nourishes us, what sustains us in difficult times, and ultimately, what is it that we truly hunger for.

We’ve talked about the bread of life that we encounter in communion that sustains us, the sustaining presence we can be to one another, how generosity can feed and sustain us, and how it is we are called to nourish each other and especially people who we might not know.

This morning, Jesus gets very specific and even a little oddly morbid in his description. “Feast on me,” Jesus says, “Eat my flesh and drink my blood.” We talked a little bit last week about how we are called to sustain one another as the body of Christ, and this week, we’re going to take that idea a little further and how one of the ways we are sustained and sustain one another as the body of Christ is through worship.

Worship together is what has fed and nourished and sustained us so far through this pandemic, and worship together is what will feed and nourish and sustain us going forward, through the end of this pandemic and beyond it. Like Christ feeding us with Christ’s very own body and blood, we, too, feed one another. Like I said last week, whether here or for your neighbor or for someone you don’t know yet, you are the body of Christ, broken, poured out, and given for the sake and for the life of the world.

Worship together isn’t just a hobby we picked up, or something that we like to do on occasion when we feel like it, worship is a habit, it’s a practice. And you have to be committed to practices. They require intentionality.

And we don’t always get that intentionality right. Sometimes we need reminding. Like the promises we make a newly baptized member of this body and their parents. Promises to pray for, support, nurture, and lift them up at all times, but especially when things are difficult. Church, these are promises you made to Ryan, and Samuel and Megan and Lanie. You promise to love and care for and nurture them as part of this body.

They’re the same kinds of promises we make to our young ones this morning. These tags on their backpacks aren’t just cute little keepsakes…although they are cute. Church, these are tangible reminders for them that they have an entire community of faith rallying behind them, praying for them, blessing them, praying for their success, promising to do what we can to support and encourage them in their journeys.

Friends, this is what it means to be a community of faith. It’s a purposeful and intentional commitment to one another. It’s a purposeful and intentional commitment to our neighborhood. And to the world.

Like the promises of Jesus throughout all these bread texts over the past month, this commitment, this intentionality, these promises…this is what gives life. We can feed and nourish and sustain one another because we were first fed and nourished and sustained by the one who gives himself again and again for the life of the world, given so that you would have life, and life abundant.

Hobbies are a great brain break. They’re fun, you don’t have to think very hard about them…hobbies can be rejuvenating for us.

Hobbies are good for us.

But those things we bring ourselves fully to? Those things we invest ourselves into?

Those things we do with intentionality and purpose?

Those things to which we make promises…and do with commitment?

That’s what gives life.

That’s what feeds and nourishes and sustains.

That’s what abides.

Especially when life gets difficult.

John 6:35, 41-51

35 Jesus said to them, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever trusts in me will never be thirsty.”
  41 Then the Jewish faithful began to complain about Jesus because he said, “I am the bread that came down from heaven.” 42 They were saying amongst themselves, “Is not this Jesus, the son of Joseph, whose father and mother we know? How can he now say, “I have come down from heaven’?” 43 Jesus answered them, “Do not complain among yourselves. 44 No one can come to me unless drawn by the one who sent me; and I will raise that person up on the last day. 45 It is written in the prophets, ‘And they shall all be taught by God.’ Everyone who has heard and learned from God comes to me. 46 Not that anyone has seen God except the one who is from God; this one has seen God. 47 “Very truly, I tell you, whoever trusts has life everlasting. 48 I am the bread of life.

49 Your ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness, and they died. 50 This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die. 51 I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will have life everlasting; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.”

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Please pray with me this morning, church:

God of hope,

Our hearts and our spirits are weary.

We yearn for something sustaining.

Feed us with yourself.

Strengthen and nourish us

And call us again and send us to

Strengthen and nourish our neighbors.

Amen.

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Last week marked 4 years since Tiffany and I bought our first house. It’s a great home and we love it, and it’s certainly seen a lot in just 48 short months. I mean, less than a month after we bought it and 2 weeks after we had completely moved in, a little sprinkle, a little event named Harvey…maybe you remember…our first hurricane experience turned those quaint little side yards into something resembling the Colorado River with Class 4 rapids. And 2 years ago, we went from an occupancy of 3—us plus a cat—to an occupancy of 4…which brought with it all kinds of extra stuff—toys, a changing table, a crib, more toys, books, trucks, animals, more toys, and now a toddler bed…and now after a birthday this weekend, even more toys…

But it’s still home.

We love our home.

And I, for one, especially love our home as a place that’s ours where we can spend time together as a family, have our friends over if we want, talk with our neighbors, a place to tend to and try our best to steward well… But for me, I’m especially grateful for our home of 4 years because for the first 7 years of our shared life together, Tiffany and I lived in apartments…our first apartment in North Texas, our apartment in Chicago, and the apartment we lived in when we first moved down here. And it was a bit of a process of growth each time. We started out in a 1-bed, 1-bath 800-some-odd square foot place, but it was enough for us then. Then in Chicago, we upgraded to a 2nd bedroom, still just with the 1 bath. And finally a 2-bed, 2-bath place when we first moved to Sugar Land.

But the thing about apartment living is that you’re so close to your neighbors. Maybe there’s a shared stairwell or a few shared walls…you always feel somehow very connected to your neighbors, whether you want to or not. But we were blessed in our first 2 apartments, in North Texas, and in Chicago, because we lucked into a top-floor unit. It meant we had to go up more flights of stairs, but blessedly, we didn’t feel like the ceiling was about to come tumbling down.

But our last apartment in Sugar Land, there was just no swinging a top-floor apartment. They didn’t have one. And I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal…I met our neighbor, she was a tiny, young woman, her and her partner. They were nice, they seemed quiet… Friends, I don’t know if you’ve ever heard a family of elephants parading around in high heels before…but that’s the only explanation I can come up with for what was going on on the floor above us some days. That, or our neighbors picked up Irish dancing in Dutch wooden clogs. I don’t know…but it was cacophonous.

Which is to say, I’m very grateful for our nice, quiet, lovely single-family home.

If there’s any Irish dancing happening, it’s going to be me in my own wooden clogs, thank you very much.

Living together is hard. Living with others, in close relationship, is difficult.

It’s tough work.

It requires give and take, compromise, and intentionality.

It requires you to be open and engaging and communicative and a little bit vulnerable.

Being a good neighbor, and living well together, requires that you bring your fullest self to the relationship.

If we’re going to have and enjoy the kind of life God intends for us, we have to bring something to that table, as well.

In our Gospel reading this morning, the local folks get incensed with Jesus for suggesting that he himself is somehow comparable to the manna that came down from the heavens and sustained the Israelites in their 40-year sojourn out of Egypt and to the Promised Land. “I am the bread…of life,” Jesus says, “Those who come to me and trust in me will never be hungry or thirsty. I’m the bread that came down from heaven.”

“Ummm…we know your mom, and your dad…you didn’t come from heaven,” the folks reply.

But Jesus presses, “Your ancestors ate that manna in the wilderness, and they still died. I am the living bread from heaven. Whoever eats this bread will have life everlasting, whoever has faith in me will have life everlasting.”

It’s interesting, your Bible translates these phrases as “eternal life” or “living forever” but that’s not actually what’s going on here. It’s not that simple of a translation. We’ve become so preoccupied with this idea of living forever that we get caught up in this pattern of death-avoidance. We’ve become so focused on what happens after we die that we neglect to truly live in the present.
But I want to suggest to you that everlasting life has more to do with a kind and quality of life here and now, and has much less to do with the state of your souls for eternity. Because what if everlasting life is the kind of life in which all have their needs met, all are fed, and all are able to live life in such a way that their life isn’t cut short before they’ve had the opportunity to live a full life? What if the zoen aionion—what gets translated as “eternal life” but is perhaps better translated as “the life of the ages”—what if Jesus is talking about what and how we live in the here and now, and not some far off distant place after our bodies are decomposing in the ground?

Because that’s the kind of bread that makes a difference, church. That’s the kind of bread that feeds and nourishes. That’s the kind of bread that sustains weary bodies and spirits.

Jesus says, “The bread that I give for the life of the world is my flesh, is my body.” It is the body of Christ that is given for the life of the world.

And if your ears are perking up, church, you are the body of Christ. You are Christ’s flesh and blood. You are the hands and feet and heart of Christ that is given to and for the world.

And when seen this way, then, church, your responsibility is to the world, is to your neighbor. Your obligation is to be broken, poured out, and shared with those who are in need. To be a disciple of Jesus is to allow yourself to be broken and shared and given so that those in need and the whole world would have life everlasting, life in all it’s fullness.

Living well together is difficult work. It requires compromise, give and take. “We are members of one another,” the author of Ephesians writes. Living well together requires us to be vulnerable with one another, naming our needs, naming our hopes and our desires. And I think when we do that. what you’ll find is that we share much more in common with one another than what seeks to drive us apart…certainly when we name and share our hopes and dreams. Just in these times alone, what each of us wants is to feel safe, is to be healthy, is for our families to be safe and healthy and well. And if we can be vulnerable enough to name those hopes and dreams, we can start to see that a shared life together means making certain choices, giving up certain closely-held convictions in the interest of the health and safety of our neighbors. Are you following me, church?

It’s not a question of political opinion, church…it’s doing what is needed from us by our neighbor because that’s what we are called to do, by God, as disciples of Jesus.

You are the ones given to feed and nourish one another. We sustain one another as we are broken and poured out, given to and for one another.

It’s a difficult thing, living well together, but we are fed, nourished, and sustained by the one was first given, broken, and poured out for us.

When we share communion, it’s so much more than a meal done in remembrance of Jesus and the meal he shared with his friends. Communion is an act of nourishing and strengthening. Communion is a reminder that we—this community—we are the bread that is broken and the wine that is poured; we are the ones given for the life of the world.

In this meal, you are invited to receive that which you are called to be.

And you are called to be that which you have received, the very body of Christ, given for the life of the world.

Friends, be nourished and strengthened here.

So that you will be fed and sent to nourish and strengthen others.

John 6:24-35

24 When the crowd saw that neither Jesus nor his disciples were beside the sea, they themselves got into the boats and went to Capernaum looking for Jesus.
  25 When they found Jesus on the other side of the sea, they said to him, ‘Rabbi, when did you come here?’ 26 Jesus answered them, “Very truly, I tell you, you are looking for me, not because you saw signs, but because you ate your fill of the loaves. 27 Do not work for the food that perishes, but for the food that endures for eternal life, which the Son of humanity will give you. For it is the Son of humanity upon whom God has set God’s seal.” 28 Then they said to Jesus, “What must we do to perform the works of God?” 29 Jesus answered them, “This is the work of God, that you trust, that you have faith in the one whom God has sent.” 30 So they said to him, “What sign are you going to give us then, so that we may see it and have faith in you? What work are you performing? 31 Our ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness; as it is written, ‘The one sent by God gave them bread from heaven to eat.’” 32 Then Jesus said to them, “Very truly, I tell you, it was not Moses who gave you the bread from heaven, but it is God who gives you the true bread from heaven. 33 For the bread of God is that which comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.” 34 They said to him, “Sir, give us this bread always.”
  35 Jesus said to them, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.”

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Please pray with me this morning, church:

Nourishing God,

Our stomachs ache and we hunger.

We hunger after things that fill, but do not satisfy.

Feed us this morning.

Nourish us with your self, that which is sustaining,

And strengthen us to share you, to share our selves,

With a starving world.

Amen.

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I’ve told y’all the story before about I’m a percussionist, but I wasn’t really supposed to be a percussionist. Do y’all remember this? I was going into 5th grade and they were essentially just asking who wanted to be in which sections and play which instruments. And I know this will come as a shocker to all of you, but I was talking and goofing off with my friend and not paying attention, so I missed the opportunity to raise my hand to play the instrument I actually wanted to play, which was trumpet. But I also didn’t want to play trombone or tuba, so I ended up stuck with percussion because it was either that or nothing.

Have you ever been given something that was intended as a gift, but you weren’t really sure about it at first, but then later the gift you were given turns out to be way better than you could have imagined?

That was this for me. I didn’t really want to play percussion, but I ended up liking it pretty well, and then I kept doing it, I kept playing percussion in junior high, and high school, and even in college, and it ended up being something that I fell in love with. I really love playing drums.

But not only that, but if I hadn’t found a passion for drums and music, I wouldn’t have been in band in college, and I wouldn’t have met Tiffany, and we wouldn’t be married.

But not only that, but if I hadn’t met Tiffany and we wouldn’t have married, we wouldn’t have Oliver.

So, see…this one tiny decision…this one seemingly insignificant thing…ended up being an incredible gift that is so much better than I could have even imagined.

I thought I wanted to play trumpet, but having ended up playing and finding a passion for percussion continues even 30 years later to have incalculably profound effects on my life.

The people in our gospel this morning, the crowds in John’s gospel, are experiencing this same phenomenon of not being sure if the gift they’ve received is actually a gift.

Last week, Jesus sat them down in a clearing on the side of a mountain and taught them and fed them, and then Jesus went away. But that gift was so incredible, that bread was so good, they wanted more. “Give us more of this, Jesus.” So they chased down Jesus and the disciples and demand that he do it again. “Do the thing, again, Jesus…make the bread into more bread. We’re hungry…do it again…feed us. We want the gift you gave us before.”

“I’m all out of loaves,” Jesus says, showing them his empty hands out of his pockets. “I don’t have any more dinner rolls and fish, but I’m here. You can have me. I’m the bread of life.”

“Ehhh……I don’t really know what that means, so if you could just give us more bread, that’d be great, and then we can go.” If you remember last week, the people wanted to take Jesus and make him their Bread King. See, food was really hard to come by in 1st-century Palestine under Roman imperial occupation, so someone who could make food just appear was the kind of gift you wanted to keep around. “Do the thing again…the thing with the bread.”

But Jesus says, “I’m not that kind of king. This isn’t that kind of gift.”

We’re in the thick of our worship series for the second half of the summer called Bread of Life, focusing on these bread verses, and especially on what Jesus says in our Gospel this morning, “I am the bread of life.”

It’s an unusual declaration and one that we’ll spend the next few weeks unpacking. But there’s bread…like the bread given to all those people on the side of the mountain…the bread that fills hungry bellies…and then there’s this other bread, the bread of life…the bread that fills…something else…you get the sense that this bread is for satisfying some kind of deeper hunger.

What do you hunger for, church?

What do you really hunger for?

What does your stomach groan and ache for?

The thing is, I think a good many of us would lift up stuff and things. We hunger for that raise. We ache after that extra bedroom or that pool or that new gourmet kitchen. We yearn for a promotion or to be noticed or fancy friends who invite us over to their house full of things we only dream about.

Look, I do, too. I’m no different.

But what if we take Jesus at his word to hunger after something else?

“I’m the bread of life,” Jesus says, “Hunger after me.”

Ok…yes…great… What does that mean…?

What if hungering after Jesus means to allow our stomachs to ache for the same things that Jesus hungered after? What if our hungering after Jesus means to follow Jesus into those places of the world that make us uncomfortable, that challenge us, and that demand something of us? What if hungering after Jesus pushes us into a deeper relationship not just with our neighbors that we know well, but those we don’t know well, our neighbors at the grocery store, the ones who live around us, the ones who don’t look like you, think like you, speak like you, or vote like you?

What if hungering after Jesus means that you have so much care and concern for your neighbor’s wellness and well-being that you’d sacrifice your own preferences and desires if it meant that your neighbor could safely enjoy the life God intends for them, life and life abundant.

Last week, Jesus gave all those people food, yes, but he also reminded them that they are given to each other. Last week loaves and fish were multiplied into a feast of abundance, but the people who were gathered on that mountainside shared what they had with their neighbor until all were fed. Not only did everyone have their needs met, Jesus’ multiplying miracle inspired such generosity that there were baskets full of leftovers.

One of my biggest learnings over the past 18 months of this pandemic is the same thing I’ve preached as long as I’ve stood in pulpits, which is that we are so much more interconnected and interdependent on one another than we realize. We try and pretend as if my decisions affect me and me alone, and nothing I do has any bearing or impact on you. Church, this is a lie. This pandemic, and especially the way the decisions of one or a few have such far-reaching ramifications, have laid that bare in an extraordinary fashion. And it’s astounding to me that it feels like we still struggle to grasp this truth.

Your choices, your decisions, your actions affect your neighbor in profound ways. Does your stomach ache for your neighbor’s well-being as much as it does for your own?

The author of Ephesians pleads with you: “I beg you, lead a life worthy of the calling to which you have been called. With all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another…in love…making every effort to maintain the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.”

The gifts God gives to God’s people are for the building up of the body of Christ.

These are surprising gifts.

The gift of your neighbor is a surprising gift.

The gift of giving of yourself for our neighbor is a surprising gift.

Because what you’ll find as you pour yourself out and give of yourself for the sake of your neighbor, is that in emptying you are filled…in giving up, you gain.

What a gift.