On the Bridge (Sermon from 4/26/20)

Luke 24:13-35

          In the past, when I have approached this Gospel reading, I have looked at the ways it highlights the significance of the Eucharist.  Only when they break bread with Jesus can they see that it is truly him, the resurrected Christ.  Their eyes are opened in the breaking of the bread, like how we know Christ to be present in the breaking of the bread at the Eucharist.  But, given our current circumstances, that just feels sad.  Preaching about the beauty and importance of Communion to a bunch of Episcopalians stuck at home, missing Communion does not feel hopeful, grace-filled or where God is calling us today.  So I looked at this text again, this famous passage often referred to as the “Road to Emmaus.”  It occurred to me that what we most often remember about this text is the road part, the journey, when the disciples are unknowingly discussing scriptures with Jesus. 

          I feel like that speaks more honestly to where we find ourselves today.  Luke Timothy Johnson[1] points out that this passage acts as a bridge between “the shock of absence” or the crucifixion and empty tomb and “the shock of full presence” or the appearance to the gathered community.   Is this where we are today?  Are we somewhere between the shock of absence and the shock of full presence?  The shock and trauma of a world completely changed, routines upended, plans cancelled and emptiness- empty streets, empty churches, empty playgrounds, empty schools.   And the shock of full presence, the many emotions and adjustments of a life lived together again.  I sometimes imagine the tears and nervousness that will accompany our next full gathering as a church. 

         So here we are on a bridge between two worlds, like those confused, traumatized, heartbroken and disappointed guys walking to Emmaus so long ago.  Some days I find myself thinking about the place I came from.  Life before all of this, the faces I miss, the routines that brought me comfort and the plans I made.  I also find myself replaying those moments when the reality of this situation began to dawn on me.  I vividly remember picking up the kids from school on that last day in March.  All we knew at that point was we would have an extra week of Spring break, but the world was shutting down quickly.  Announcements about churches cancelling services, the NBA and NCAA cancelling games and borders closing were coming in quickly.  It was a cloudy, cold and gloomy day.  When I picked up my 2^nd grader I looked into his backpack and what I saw shocked me.  It was his pencil box.  I knew that they only bring that home on the last day of school.  I thought “do they think they might not come back for the rest of the school year?” but I dismissed that thought as unlikely. 

          I will also always remember youth group that Sunday.  We gathered in the upstairs youth room after an emotional worship service of nervous people carefully spaced apart and random tears of longing for those not with us and not knowing when we would meet again.  As the teens shared their “check-ins” with the group it quickly turned into the most emotionally intense youth group I have ever been part of.  Would they have graduation?  Would their play be cancelled?  Would they get to say good bye to friends?  Did they do all the things they hoped during this chapter of their lives?  The anxiety, sadness and deep care for one another was palpable as we did our closing prayer without our usual way of holding hands and instead a decent space between each of us. 

           The shock of absence.  That eerie awareness of a piece of you missing as you say goodbye.  Surely this is what the followers of Jesus were experiencing as they walked away from Jerusalem and all the violence and heartbreak they experienced there on Good Friday.  An empty tomb did nothing to stop that.  It just furthered their feelings of loss, anxiety, unknown and … absence.  The shock of absence, when the thing that was always there no longer is. 

          That’s where they were both psychologically and physically as they walked from the pain of Jerusalem to what they would find when they gathered together.  It was an in between moment, a journey between two places and yet … Jesus was right there with them, right where they were. 

         This space we are in is in many ways a place of waiting, wondering, looking back, looking forward and standing between two realities and yet … Jesus isn’t waiting for us at the end.  He is right here with us.  I know this to be true today as I preach to you and every Sunday when we say to ourselves “what is this weirdness of recording services from our house and will it be enough?”  As I recorded our children following  my husband around the front yard with pine tree branches for the Palm Sunday service I wanted to both cry for the traditions, people and spaces I was missing and laugh at how absurd it must have looked to the neighbors.   And yet, when we light our candles, quiet our hearts, see your names pop up on the screen and pray through the recorded service together on Sunday morning Jesus is there, the Holy Spirit shows up and it is more than enough, it is grace that spills from our hearts. 

          Jesus is in our homes, in our anxious prayers, in our troubled hearts, even when we, like those two disciples on the road, can’t see him.  Henri Nouwen writes, “If we could just be, for a few minutes each day, fully where we are, we would indeed discover that we are not alone and that the One who is with us wants only one thing: to give us love.”[2]  Just a few minutes, not a year’s long journey into the desert, not a 24 hour fast, just a few minutes each day where all you have to do is nothing- just be.  That is how close God is. 

        I’ve heard many say how this experience these past 6 weeks has given them a new appreciation of simple gifts, like watching a squirrel dance around in a tree.  I too have found this to be true.  In the time that I might normally be taking a kid to practice or signing permission slips or planning an event, I am taking time to do ridiculous things like watch the clouds separate in the sky.  I even bought a hammock and rigged it up between two trees in our back yard.  When I lay down in it I can look up and see straight to the top of a big pine tree and all the secret busy-ness inside its stillness.  When I see the way the sunlight sparkles on its needles or hear a crow chatting above my head it is so stunningly clear to me that indeed God is near and God wants love for us.  Like the disciples finally opening their eyes to the presence of Christ with them, I can see the presence of Christ so near to me, and there all along. 

        The interesting thing about how this passage ends is that it isn’t an end at all but rather the beginning.  It is the beginning of a worldwide movement that would stretch across thousands of years and into eternity.  It starts with a story.  The women had told their story to the disciples, and now at the end of this passage the disciples are all sharing what they experienced.  The two on the road to Emmaus talk about their hearts burning and their assurance that Christ has been raised and then they share the news that Simon too has experienced this.  It is a story-telling session that will change the course of history.  It is a story-telling session we are all invited to join in. 

         This is how we keep the church going, how we feed our faith and the faith of our brothers and sisters.  This is how we keep our eyes open to the work of Jesus all around us and the love of God sustaining us.  We tell about those moments of awareness of God’s presence in the big moments and simple gifts.  We tell the children and the graduating seniors and college students about times in our lives when we grieved or when things were taken from us or when we felt overwhelmed or when we couldn’t say good bye and our hearts broke but God showed up.  We tell the story of how we are never really alone to the nurses, doctors and grieving family members with loved ones in the hospital.  We tell about times when our eyes were closed and we couldn’t see any hope or any possible way out or any light at the end of the tunnel but then they were opened and we saw that Jesus was there with us the whole time. 

        In an article in Christian Century[3] a youth pastor tells the story of how her life and work was completely transformed.  In the midst of trying to get teens to show up for big fun events and collecting permission slips and setting up parties, one of her teens got very sick, so sick that for several days it wasn’t clear if the teen would survive.  The youth pastor sat in the hospital waiting room with the mother and slowly other teens, parents and people from the church trickled in and took turns sitting there with them.  One day a part time custodian who wasn’t active in the church showed up, a teen asked him why he was there and he told the story of when his daughter died twenty years ago and he wasn’t there with her.  After his vulnerable sharing others began to share their stories of loss, grief and regret.  Sitting there in the waiting room they cried together and bonded in a way that was genuine and deep. 

        The sick teenager recovered and that experience completely transformed their youth ministry.  They started a weekly gathering called “the waiting room” where people of varying ages were invited to come and share their story as they reflected together on a passage of scripture.  It went from a struggling ministry of keeping everyone busy and trying to stay exciting to a ministry of faith stories and witness of the resurrected Christ in the world over and over again. 

          We don’t have to be in our building, or have the right kind of Biblical knowledge, or the right depth of intellect or the time devoted to deep thinking to open our eyes and see the living Christ beside us.  Jesus is here.  We didn’t leave him behind in the past with our filled calendars and covid free lives; he isn’t waiting for us in the future- to be perfect people without anxiety or fear.  Jesus is with you right here in this strange time.  Open your eyes and see. 

         

---

[1] Johnson, Luke Timothy.  Sacra Pagina: The Gospel of Luke. Liturgical Press, 1991.  Pg. 398

[2] Nouwen, Henri.  Here and Now.  Crossroad, 1994. Pg.  20

[3] Root, Andrew.  “Youth ministry isn’t about fun” The Christian Century.  3/25/20.  Pg 26-31

Home

Where is home for you? This question has so many answers for me. Every now and then I have a series of dreams about the house I spent my childhood in, and I still haven't figured out what it represents for me. Now the place I call home is this lovely house I share with my husband and two kids. There are other places that I have called home and places that always bring me a sense of home when I recall them; like the chapel at the seminary I graduated from, the church I grew up in or gatherings with extended family. But over the years there has always been one place that week after week I have come home to no matter where I lived or what I was doing with my life. From the time I was born church has been that place for me. The prayers, the altar, the cross and of course the Eucharist are my home no matter what building they are in. My middle school years were particularly difficult for me. Everything I new to be normal was changed: family, house, friends, how I looked, etc. It was during that time that I really dove into my faith. I asked questions like crazy during confirmation classes and soon felt a calling to be an ordained pastor. When everything was changing that place was home and I knew it would always be there. It was where I could be me, ask any questions I had and be accepted.

So as I looked into the shocked and overwhelmed faces of the teens I work with as a youth pastor it was difficult to tell them in addition to everything else in their life: school, sports, friends, work, the church would also be closed. I know, I know that the church can never be closed as the people are the church and of course the Holy Spirit is not contained in the walls of that fancy building, but it still totally sucks that this place that has been so steady and constant in our lives isn't there at a time when everyone is freaking out.

That first week after the schools closed it was a flurry of zoom schedules, facebook live plans, tripods, webcams, video editing software and phone calls. I felt energized by the opportunities God was calling us to as a church. The truth is all of us (like all of us in the entire world) were in shock and just trying to figure out our way through all of this.

Now it is week four and I find myself thinking again about home. Many of us are stuck in our houses in a way we have never before experienced. So in a sense we are home, yet the ways in which we have built our lives, made meaning and planned our days are completely upended. Everything is different and there is no definite end date.

I believe the best way to get ourselves through this time is to find our way home. I came across the phrase in a book discussion I am in (on zoom of course). We are reading “Love Heals” by Becca Stevens and at the end of the book she lists twenty-four spiritual practices that guide her staff and community in the rehabilitation work that they do. The twenty third spiritual practice listed is “Find Your Way Home.”

I asked the others in the group what this meant to them and one woman shared that her heart aches for those who are younger and have not yet had the life experience to help them find home within themselves. I thought about that a lot. It is true that in all of the panic, worry, uncertainty and heaviness of these days I am relying on the resources I have developed within myself. I have had some lovely realizations that have brought me great comfort. One of those is realizing that I am not the same person I was when I experienced post-partum depression, one of the most difficult things I have ever gone through. Now I can see how I learned and developed inner resources of strength from that.

Through other stressful events these past few years I have found myself wanting to go to my room, lay down and quiet my mind. When I am looking for peace I look deep within and find it. For me, this is the presence of the Holy Spirit within me. It is a church that I can never be separated from no matter what life brings.

These days have been hard, every time I cough I have a pang of worry that I “have it.” I feel out of control, I worry for others, I wonder how long it will last and some days feel heavy, but I do know and trust that I can always find my way home to that healing presence within.

And I know that the young people I work with are building up those resources and finding confidence in their own ability to find peace within through this experience. I never want to diminish their pain, but I do see that this situation is an opportunity to look for a steady and lasting peace, one that is best felt in times of deepest need. A place that is home, no matter what happens.

Updated Holy Week Devotions

I updated the devotions for Holy Week from the Lenten devotional I made.  I made them more relevant to our circumstances.  I hope you find them meaningful ...

Monday, April 6

Collect: Almighty God, whose most dear Son went not up to joy but first he suffered pain, and entered not into glory before he was crucified: Mercifully grant that we, walking in the way of the cross, may find it none other than the way of life and peace; through Jesus Christ your Son our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

Reflection: Yesterday was Palm Sunday and Passion Sunday.  That means that we began the worship service hearing about how the people shouted “Hosanna” and waved palm branches while Jesus entered Jerusalem.  They treated him like royalty.  We wave palm branches and process outside to remember this, but then our worship turns toward the cross as we read the passion, or the story of Jesus’s death on the cross.  What do you think it was like for Jesus to go from hearing shouts of joy and “blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord” to then being put on trial and hearing the people yell “crucify him?”  Try saying both out loud “blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord” and “crucify him!”  What does that feel like?  Humans are capable of such kindness and love and also such anger and meanness. How do you balance the two in your life?

Read through (or listen on your streaming service) these lyrics from Coldplay’s “Viva la Vida.”  Do you hear that same juxtaposition of having power and then being despised or tossed aside?  Have you ever felt both of these things in the same month … week … day … hour?  How can we find strength in the steadiness of Christ during these times?

I used to rule the world
Seas would rise when I gave the word
Now in the morning, I sleep alone
Sweep the streets I used to own

I used to roll the dice
Feel the fear in my enemy's eyes
Listen as the crowd would sing
Now the old king is dead! Long live the king!

One minute I held the key
Next the walls were closed on me
And I discovered that my castles stand
Upon pillars of salt and pillars of sand

I hear Jerusalem bells are ringing
Roman Cavalry choirs are singing
Be my mirror, my sword and shield
My missionaries in a foreign field
For some reason I can't explain
Once you go there was never, never a honest word
And that was when I ruled the world

It was a wicked and wild wind
Blew down the doors to let me in
Shattered windows and the sound of drums
People couldn't believe what I'd become

Revolutionaries wait
For my head on a silver plate
Just a puppet on a lonely string
Oh, who would ever want to be king?

I hear Jerusalem bells are ringing
Roman Calvary choirs are singing
Be my mirror, my sword and shield
My missionaries in a foreign field
For some reason I can't explain
I know Saint Peter won't call my name
Never an honest word
But that was when I ruled the world

Tuesday, April 7

Scripture: Psalm 71:1-14

1 In you, O Lord, have I taken refuge; *
let me never be ashamed.

2 In your righteousness, deliver me and set me free; *
incline your ear to me and save me.

3 Be my strong rock, a castle to keep me safe; *
you are my crag and my stronghold.

4 Deliver me, my God, from the hand of the wicked, *
from the clutches of the evildoer and the oppressor.

5 For you are my hope, O Lord God, *
my confidence since I was young.

6 I have been sustained by you ever since I was born;
from my mother's womb you have been my strength; *
my praise shall be always of you.

7 I have become a portent to many; *
but you are my refuge and my strength.

8 Let my mouth be full of your praise *
and your glory all the day long.

9 Do not cast me off in my old age; *
forsake me not when my strength fails.

10 For my enemies are talking against me, *
and those who lie in wait for my life take counsel together.

11 They say, "God has forsaken him;
go after him and seize him; *
because there is none who will save."

12 O God, be not far from me; *
come quickly to help me, O my God.

13 Let those who set themselves against me be put to shame and be disgraced; *
let those who seek to do me evil be covered with scorn and reproach.

14 But I shall always wait in patience, *
and shall praise you more and more.

Reflection: This Psalm refers to God as a “refuge.”  During these times of social distancing and isolation we are forced to take refuge in our homes.  A refuge is meant to be a safe space/a shelter, but home is not always that for everyone.  Often in life our refuge can be found inside ourselves, the light of Christ deep in our soul, dwelling in our heart.  What spaces and places feel like a refuge for you?  How can you find refuge within when everything outside of you feels chaotic?  One of my favorite Lenten disciplines is to keep a journal.  Not the kind where you write about your day so you can remember it later, but the kind where you write your deepest thoughts for no one else to read.  Maybe writing isn’t your thing, drawing works too.  For your devotion today reflect on the word “refuge” and draw whatever comes to mind.  You don’t need to put your name on it or label it, it’s only for you and God to see. 

Wednesday, April 8

Scripture: Hebrews 12:1-3

Since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, who for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross, disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God.

Consider him who endured such hostility against himself from sinners, so that you may not grow weary or lose heart.

Reflection: We are almost at the end of Lent.  Perhaps this has been a time of resisting temptation.  Maybe it has been a time to think about how weak humans can be and how much we need God.  Maybe it has been a stressful time of getting through school assignments and hoping for a normal routine again.  Have you heard of the “It Gets Better Project?”  It was started as a way of combating the hopelessness that many LGBTQ+ young people may feel, particularly in their teenage years.  It is a collection of inspiring stories of hope from people who went through difficult times and found joy on the other side.  Sometimes people forget how hard high school can be, they get nostalgic and say it is the best years of your life.  I never say that.  I think it is hard and I wish I could go back to some of those difficult moments and whisper in the ear of my younger self “it gets better.”  How might this scripture reading from Hebrews bring someone encouragement in dark times?  When you look back at your life is there a time you wish you could have told yourself “it gets better?”  When?  People are saying that this pandemic we are experiencing is historical, that we will tell our children and grandchildren about it.  When you tell the story of this time period, what are some happy endings you hope for?  In times of struggle try to listen for that voice from your future self.  It does get better …

Maundy Thursday, April 9

Scripture: John 13:1-17, 31b-35

Now before the festival of the Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end. The devil had already put it into the heart of Judas son of Simon Iscariot to betray him. And during supper Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going to God, got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. 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. He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, "Lord, are you going to wash my feet?" Jesus answered, "You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand." Peter said to him, "You will never wash my feet." Jesus answered, "Unless I wash you, you have no share with me." Simon Peter said to him, "Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!" 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." For he knew who was to betray him; for this reason he said, "Not all of you are clean."

After he 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? You call me Teacher and Lord--and you are right, for that is what I am. So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another's feet. For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you. Very truly, I tell you, servants are not greater than their master, nor are messengers greater than the one who sent them. If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them.

"Now the Son of Man has been glorified, and God has been glorified in him. If God has been glorified in him, God will also glorify him in himself and will glorify him at once. Little children, I am with you only a little longer. You will look for me; and as I said to the Jews so now I say to you, `Where I am going, you cannot come.' I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another."

Reflection: I’ve led several week long mission trips with teens and on the last night we always had a foot-washing. The leaders would grab a plastic bin full of warm water and a towel and we would wash the feet of the teens.  Every single time the room filled with tears.  Once I asked them “why the tears?”  They couldn’t explain it and I regretted asking because it was a beautiful Holy Spirit moment not meant to be explained.  Our church does a foot-washing every year at the Maundy Thursday service.  Have you ever had your feet washed by another?  What was it like?  If you do not want to have your feet washed, why do you think that is?  Imagine what it would be like for Jesus to wash your feet.  How has the practice of “social distancing” changed the way you look at touching others?  How can we love, serve and comfort others when we can’t be near them?

Good Friday, April 10

Scripture: Psalm 22

1 My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? *
and are so far from my cry
and from the words of my distress?

2 O my God, I cry in the daytime, but you do not answer; *
by night as well, but I find no rest.

3 Yet you are the Holy One, *
enthroned upon the praises of Israel.

4 Our forefathers put their trust in you; *
they trusted, and you delivered them.

Reflection: In her book Inspired, Rachel Held Evans writes:

“Often I hear from readers who left their churches because they had no songs for them to sing after the miscarriage, the shooting, the earthquake, the divorce, the diagnosis, he attack, the bankruptcy.  That American tendency toward triumphalism, of optimism rotted in success, money, and privilege, will infect and sap of substance any faith community that has lost its capacity for “holding space” for those in grief.  As therapists and caregivers explain, to “hold space” for someone is to simply sit with them in their pain, without judgment or solutions, and remain present and attentive no matter the outcome.  The Psalms are, in a sense, God’s way of holding space for us.  They invite us to rejoice, wrestle, cry, complain, offer thanks, and shout obscenities before our Maker without self-consciousness and without fear.  Life is full of the sort of joys and sorrows that don’t resolve neatly in a major key.  God knows that.  The Bible knows that.  Why don’t we?

        It is telling, and extraordinary, that in his most vulnerable moment, Jesus himself turned to the Psalms.  Hanging from a Roman cross between two thieves, while his mother and loved ones watched in shock, he cried, “Eli, Eli lema sabachthani?”

        “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” (Matthew 27:46).   It’s a cry straight from Psalm 22, the God to whom these words were first spoken, speaking them back in human form.  Three days later, Jesus would rise from the dead, but in that moment, when all hope was lost and the darkness overwhelmed, only poetry would do.” (pgs 110-11)

When have you experienced a time when “all hope was lost and the darkness overwhelmed?”  When was a time you “held space” for someone?  When was a time someone “held space” for you? 

Holy Saturday, April 11

Today is a day of darkness.  The church is dark, Christ has died, the altar is stripped as a sign of his abandonment.  We know what will happen tomorrow.  We know the good ending at the end of this story, but for now we sit in darkness.  Try to sit with the darkness for a moment.  Sometimes when unpleasant thoughts come into our mind we grab our phone or turn on the tv or find a way to distract ourselves.  Try to refrain from doing that and let the thoughts pass, almost like you can watch them move through your mind, just sitting with them, finding a word from God in the darkness.  What does it feel like to sit in darkness?  What are we afraid of in the darkness?  What observations, feelings, knowledge or wisdom have you gained from this season of Lent?