Fifth Sunday after Pentecost

Matthew 11:16-19, 25-30

[Jesus said:] 16 “To what will I compare this generation? It is like children sitting in the marketplaces and calling to one another,
17 ‘We played the flute for you, and you did not dance;
  we wailed, and you did not mourn.’
18 For John came neither eating nor drinking, and they say, ‘He has a demon’; 19 the Son-of-humanity came eating and drinking, and they say, ‘Look, a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners!’ Yet wisdom is vindicated by wise deeds.”
  25 At that time Jesus said, “I thank you, God, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and the intelligent and have revealed them to infants; 26 yes, God, for such was your gracious will. 27 All things have been handed over to me by God; and no one knows the Son except God, and no one knows God except the Son and anyone to whom the Son chooses to reveal God.
  28 “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.

29 Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30 For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

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Please pray with me this morning, church:

Holy God,

Your people are weary.

Their souls are longing for rest.

Lead us to abide in your restful grace today.

Help us to rest,

That we might be energized for the work to which you have called us.

Amen.

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For my very first Father’s Day this year, Tiffany and Oliver got me this wonderful contraption that straps up on my shoulders and lets Oliver sit up on top of them, which he really likes to do. It’s a carrier, but rather than strapped to my back or in front, this one puts him up, kind of up above everything where he can easily look around and see everything that’s going on.

We used it for the first time last Sunday when we went on a short hike over by our house. It works well, it turns out. It’s nice. It’s good. As I said, he likes to be up on my shoulders anyway, so this is a great thing for that.

But here’s the thing, once you’re all strapped up and in, there’s really no shifting around. You can take it off and on, take the kid out or put them back in, but it doesn’t really shift that well. So you’re pretty much stuck that way until you’re done. And we all know well that we’ve got a big kid, right…he’s growing, which is great and wonderful. But he’s like, close to 25 lbs now…so like, not the easiest thing to have strapped on top of your shoulders while you walk around for an hour.

That yoke is neither easy nor is that burden particularly light.

My shoulders really are just now starting to stop being so sore.

And it makes me wonder, church…what are you carrying around?

What burdens are you shouldering?

What aches and pains and soreness are weighing you down?

Maybe even what wounds are you bearing these days?

As we work our way through our summer series Unraveled, we’re exploring themes of the places in our lives and in our world where things have come unraveled, where things are in the process of unraveling, and where things are in need of becoming unraveled.

And this morning, we encounter Saul in this well-known story of his experience on his way to Damascus. And a little back story for you: Saul was from Tarsus, which is in modern south-central Turkey. He was Jewish—a Pharisee, actually—and from a devout Pharisaic family. He was in Jerusalem and he asks for letters from the high priest so that he could go to Damascus and bind and bring back any Christ-believers he finds on his way. Saul was a persecutor of the early Christ-believing communities and a somewhat vicious one at that.

See, Saul was present for the stoning of Stephen, the first murder of a Christ-believer…what, in the church, we call the first martyr of the faith. After that, Saul would also go into the houses of Christ-believers and take them away to prison. It seems that Saul derived some particular form of satisfaction from oppressing early Christ-believers.

Also, it’s important to note here that I’m using the term “Christ-believers” purposefully. Christians didn’t exist yet. The early Christ-believing communities were Hebrew and Greek people who had come to believe that Jesus was, in fact, the Christ…the Messiah. They were either Jewish Christ-believers or Greek Christ-believers. The earliest Christ-believing communities never really stopped being Jewish or Greek, they still maintained many of their customs. It wasn’t until later in Antioch that Christ-believers started being called Christians.

So, Saul’s on his way to Damascus to arrest some more Christ-believers, and he has this otherworldly encounter with the risen Christ. “Saul…why do you persecute me?” This encounter literally knocks Saul down—he fell to the ground…and it literally changed him—it blinded him and he wasn’t able to see.

Saul has a transformation—spiritual, physical, emotional—Saul is completely transformed and changed.

This transformation is a lived experience. Contrary to how we approach our faith most of the time, this transformation is something physical and embodied. So often, we think exercises of our faith as having to do with our minds. Church, you can’t intellectualize a transformation, it’s something you feel, something you experience.

And this transformation, I think we could say it saved Saul. It certainly took him from this one road that he was on and picked him up and set him on an entirely new path. Saul would later be known as the apostle, Paul, one of the most prolific writers and ardent defenders of the Christian faith. I think we could say this transformation saved Saul. And as is true with us, church, you can’t intellectualize salvation, it’s something you feel and experience, something that happens to you.

Which is why I talk so much about liberation being about action. We can talk about issues and problems and discuss ways to address them, but until we lace up our shoes, get out, and actually do something about injustice, nothing will change.

It took an encounter with the risen Christ for Saul to do a complete about-face and transform from a zealous persecutor of Christ-followers to one of the most zealous proclaimers of Jesus the Christ as Savior and Lord. I think there’s a good argument to be made here for Paul’s zeal in proclaiming Christ as Messiah as being an attempt to make up for how brutally he treated the Christ-believing community before his encounter with Christ on the way to Damascus. I think Paul is trying to outdo himself for the years he spent viciously persecuting those who professed the name, Christ.

So, what’s been a turning point for you, in your life, church?

What has it taken for you to undergo this same kind of radical transformation?

How can we allow that transformation to move us from a place of intellectual understanding to an embodied faith? How can we be transformed from a passive discipleship to an active discipleship?

For me, it was moving to Chicago. It was leaving the North Texas suburb that I had grown up in and in many ways was all I knew and moving to a place where I could see injustice. It took people pointing certain things out to me, being patient with me, and explaining them to me. They didn’t have to do that, but I’m so incredibly grateful they did.

And ultimately, it took my willingness to change. Ultimately, people of God, transformation happens because you’re open to it…if you’re willing to have your hearts broken open and changed.

So, what does it take for you to be moved from a place of agreeing that an injustice has occurred to a place of actively working to right that injustice?

I would argue that’s what needed in this time we find ourselves in. We need to not only recognize the injustices present, but those who are being affected by these injustices need us who have been made uncomfortable to get to a place of joining in the work to correct these injustices.

This is the work of discipleship. It’s the work you were called to in your baptism.

It’s not easy work. taking on systems and structures and people in power…you will need every bit of energy you can muster for this work.

And that’s why the rest for your souls is important.

How can you pour into and fill others up, when you yourself are empty?

Rest is a holy and good thing. We need to be well-rested for this work. But we cannot remain at rest.

The yoke is easy and the burden is light—working to right injustice is the easiest…and the hardest thing you will ever do.

Easy, because it only requires you to recognize the image of God in someone else and their worthiness as a beloved child of God…

Difficult, because it requires you to give up something of yourself. Maybe it requires some unlearning on your part, maybe it requires some growth in understanding in some areas that you were previously so sure of, maybe it requires examining what you thought you knew and being willing to admit that you have been wrong…

Difficult, because it requires you to show up—a movement from passive to active discipleship.

The yoke is easy and the burden is light.

But it is a yoke, nonetheless. There is still some measure of burden to being a disciple of Jesus.

There is something required of you as a disciple.

Being a disciple of Jesus demands your life—that you lose your life in order to find it, that you give up your life for the sake of the other. The call to Christian discipleship is one of giving up…of letting go…of relinquishing. It’s a call to servanthood. A race to the bottom. There is certainly a cost associated with this discipleship.

There is a yoke. There is a burden.

But they are easy and light.

Find some time to rest this weekend, Church.

Find some time in your lives for rest and renewal.

God knows, your souls need it.

Rest up, because you’re needed.

Your voice. Your actions. Your very self.

You are needed in this moment.

Get some rest.

Then put that easy yoke back on your shoulders.

Palm Sunday 2020

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.”

 

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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.

 

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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.