Category: Sermons

Sixth Sunday of Easter – Bill Harkins

John 15:9-17

15:9 As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love.

15:10 If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love, just as I have kept my Father’s commandments and abide in his love.

15:11 I have said these things to you so that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete.

15:12 “This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you.

15:13 No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.

15:14 You are my friends if you do what I command you.

15:15 I do not call you servants any longer, because the servant does not know what the master is doing; but I have called you friends, because I have made known to you everything that I have heard from my Father.

15:16 You did not choose me but I chose you. And I appointed you to go and bear fruit, fruit that will last, so that the Father will give you whatever you ask him in my name.

15:17 I am giving you these commands so that you may love one another.

Good Morning, and welcome to Holy Family on this Sixth Sunday of Easter, and a day on which we consider what it may mean to call one another “Friend” as Jesus now refers to his disciples and, by extension, to each of us. In this passage from John’s Gospel, we hear again about the importance of abiding in love, and the core value of Christian fellowship as “friendship.” I believe Jesus is calling us to lives of integrity—and my favorite interpretation of this is “wholeness.” In responding elsewhere as he does to the Pharisees—and in referring as he does to the heart, thought to be the center of one’s capacity for courage and compassion—Jesus is asking us to consider the heart of our own faith and tradition, and the practices and disciplines that sustain it in “wholeness.” What activities, ritual and otherwise, help us be in “right relationship” with our neighbors, practicing hospitality, and grace, with a spirit of friendship? What allows us to maintain and deepen what theologian Paul Tillich referred to as “self-integration,” that process of finding our center of spiritual health and moral integrity? For Tillich this corresponded to a therapeutic model familiar to pastoral counselors…that one’s spiritual health is the wholeness of a person’s center, or “the ground of one’s being” as Tillich called it. What does it mean in this sense to call another one’s “friend”? What might be your examples of true friendship and, conversely, what might we learn when we miss the mark, and how might we seek forgiveness? I don’t know about you, but I can think of examples of both in my life.

In the synoptic gospels the concept of friend is not nearly as prominent as it is in the gospel of John. In Luke and Matthew, the concept is found in rather negative contexts. Luke refers to friends as handing over Christians in times of persecution (21:16). In Matthew, Jesus as friend is a source of criticism for his opponents. They accurately accuse him of being “a friend of tax collectors and sinners” (11:19). He is criticized for recognizing no boundaries in friendship, for disregarding ritual purity. (Ford, 108) I see myself in these less positive images too, and they call upon me to recognize times when I have not been the kind of friend I would prefer to be, but, I’ll say more about that in a minute.

The gospel of John is a different story. Here the word friend (philo) occurs six times. Jesus mentions the “friend of the bridegroom” in a positive context in 3:29. Jesus refers to Lazarus as “our Friend” (11:11). We are told that the good shepherd “lays down his life for his friends” (10:11). The disciples are elevated from servants to friends in John 15:13-15. The crowd taunts Pilate, calling him “no friend of the emperor”—if if he releases Jesus—in John 19. Then there is the verb to love: phileo. The Father loves the Son and shares his plans and purposes with him, which is what friends do (Jn. 5:20). Jesus loves his friend Lazarus (11:36). The one who loves his life will lose it (12:25).

In this week’s text, John 15:19-17, immediately following on the metaphor of the Vine and the branches, Jesus teaches the disciples that discipleship means friendship with him and with God. Discipleship is being a branch of the vine. It is ultimately relational. Hence Jesus’ use of the term “friends” for his followers: “I no longer call you servants . . . I have called you friends” (v. 14). Jesus distinguishes friendship from servanthood. To be a friend is to share a personal relationship and to be made aware of the plans and purposes of the other. And he states the core value of friendship in the community of followers: “No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends” (Jn. 15:13). In this love, we are understood as who we are without mask or pretension. The sometimes superficial and functional lies and half-truths of social acquaintance fall away; one can be authentic. Where we are understood, we are at home. And understanding nourishes belonging, and hospitality, values we seek to embody here. I wonder how thinking of ourselves as friends, gathered together as the Body of Christ that is Holy Family, might inform our understanding of hospitality. What might it mean to be a “soul friend” or, “anam cara” as John O’Donohue called it? In the early Celtic church, a person who acted as a teacher, companion, or spiritual guide was called an anam cara. It originally referred to someone to whom one confessed, revealing the hidden intimacies of one’s life. With a soul-friend, we could share our inner-most self, our mind and our heart. This friendship was an act of recognition and belonging. This art of belonging awakened and fostered a deep and special companionship. I would add here that one can be a soul friend to canine and other animal companions. They have certainly been among my best friends. And I wonder how we might be better friends to the natural world that, after all, nurtures and sustains the very lives we live. Say what you will about those who hug trees—and I have been among them—but trees literally eat sunlight, and in so doing produce oxygen that gives us life. Anam cara indeed.

Of course, there are precedents for this sacrificial notion of friendship. If we do a historical rewind, we encounter the notion of friendship in the Old Testament, in Jewish writings between the Testaments and in Greek and Roman philosophy. For these contexts, competition and rivalry have no place in friendship. Trust is essential. Falsehood is not to be born. Much of this Pythagorean thought was adopted by the Stoics and by the early Christian communities as well. Socrates viewed friendship as the most precious of all possessions, the greatest blessing that a person can possess. A friend shows generosity and courage in caring for her or his friend. Being an anam cara requires of a purposeful presence — it asks that we show up with absolute integrity of intention and often, without the need to “fix” or change the other. It means giving ourselves away in love and friendship. I am so grateful to call my wife Vicky my best friend, and my sons and daughters-in-law have become adult friends as well. They continue to teach me. I hope to live long enough to be friends with my grandchildren. And I’ve recently returned from Nashville where with three friends from graduate school where we working on a book about the friendships born there some 40 years ago. I continue to learn from all of these anam cara friendships. I also continue to learn from times when I fell short of true friendship. These, too, can be teachable moments.

In the fall of my senior year at Sandy Springs High School a new student arrived. He was from southern California, and he fit the stereotype perfectly. With blond surfer good looks and an easy manner, he quickly stole the hearts of the girls at school and was the envy of all the guys, only we didn’t want to acknowledge his presence among us. And when he asked for permission to join the football team, along with my teammates I was not happy. After all, he had not suffered through the 2-a-day practices in August; he had not been among us all those years of Gray-Y and Pop Warner football at Chastain Park; he was a stranger among us—he was the “other.” We felt it unfair for the coach to let this latecomer to our little kingdom on the team at this late date. Not this year. This was our year. And so the cadre closed its ranks in an effort to ignore his existence. He didn’t seem to mind this, and quickly made friends with others at school who, according to the proscribed rules of a football oriented society, were also social outcasts. Truth told; we were jealous. And when the coach let him join the team, it only made matters worse. Problem was, he was very good. Lightening fast with excellent hands, he was perfect for our power-I option offense at the position of flanker. This also happened to be my position. So we shared starting duties over the course of a very good season, and I came to admire and learn from him. But I would not let him in. I was a reporter for the school paper during basketball season, and admired from the stands the translation of his skills from the gridiron to the basketball court—a gift I did not share. When track season began in the spring he replaced a dear friend on the sprint medley relay team, of which I was a member, and partly due to his speed we finished third in the state at the GHSA finals in Jefferson, setting a new school record in the process. One afternoon, late that spring, I found him sitting alone in the locker room. He was crying. I sat down next to him and asked him what was wrong. Slowly, his story unfolded: his father was a prominent LA psychiatrist who was an inveterate womanizer. My teammate had moved with his mother to a religious commune in northern California—what we would now call a cult, after his parents divorced. Slowly her mental health began to unravel, and he was sent to live with his aunt and uncle in Atlanta. His mother had just that week been committed to a state mental health institute, and his father was divorcing, yet again. He worried about his younger sister, who was becoming involved with drugs and alcohol, and he did not really want to go to college. It meant yet another change. He missed home back in California. I sat there and listened, and stewed in the juices of my own self-righteous jealousy. I realized that his good looks and easy manner had hidden his pain and that we, all of us who might have been his friends, had been instead effective gatekeepers to his emotional prison. I felt deeply ashamed. I tried over the last weeks of school to befriend him, but it was too late. The forces of time and destiny swept us up in a river of change, and after graduation I never saw him again. When our only measure is friendship with those who think like us, look like us, share our history and context, we become, dear one’s, victims of the very idols we create in the service of this way of being in the world. We lose touch with a sense of God’s grace and compassion and hospitality. And these outward and visible signs of integrity are not about who deserves what; not about our envy which is, after all, nothing more than a mask for the fear that we aren’t somehow enough to obtain whatever earthly kingdom we seek to secure us in our anxiety. Jealousy does not allow for the abundant grace and radical compassionate justice of the kingdom of heaven, and it prohibits true friendship…true love expressed through friendship. A Friendship Blessing from John O’Donohue reads this way: May you be blessed with good friends. May you learn to be a good friend to yourself. May you be able to journey to that place in your soul where there is great love, warmth, feeling, and forgiveness. May this change you. May it transfigure that which is negative, distant, or cold in you. May you be brought in to the real passion, kinship, and affinity of belonging. May you treasure your friends. May you be good to them and may you be there for them; may they bring you all the blessings, challenges, truth, and light that you need for your journey. May you never be isolated. May you always be in the gentle nest of belonging with your anam ċara. May I live this day Compassionate of heart, Clear in word, Gracious in awareness, Courageous in thought, Generous in love.”Amen.

5th Sunday of Easter – Bill Harkins

John 15:1-8

15:1 “I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinegrower.

15:2 He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit. Every branch that bears fruit he prunes to make it bear more fruit.

15:3 You have already been cleansed by the word that I have spoken to you.

15:4 Abide in me as I abide in you. Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me.

15:5 I am the vine, you are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing.

15:6 Whoever does not abide in me is thrown away like a branch and withers; such branches are gathered, thrown into the fire, and burned.

15:7 If you abide in me, and my words abide in you,

ask for whatever you wish, and it will be done for you.

15:8 My Father is glorified by this,

that you bear much fruit and become my disciples.

In the Name of the God of Creation who loves us all, Amen. Good morning! And welcome to Holy Family on this 5^th Sunday of Easter, and blessings to those of you who in any way have given of themselves in the service of compassion, the Hebrew word for which is, after all, Rachamim, meaning “wombish” or womb-like. So whenever we reach out to another in the womb-like embrace of compassion, we are, each of us, abiding with the other, just as Jesus abides with us. Begging the question, what does it really mean to “abide” with someone? How do we recognize this quality in others and perhaps more important, cultivate it in ourselves and live this out in our commitment to Holy Family?

Some time back Vicky and I attended a clinical conference in San Francisco, and we visited Grace Cathedral for the early morning service. We were entranced by this remarkable place of worship high atop a hill overlooking the city. Inside, we explored its various chapels, a labyrinth, lovely murals depicting the history of the city, and stunningly beautiful stained-glass windows. One is invited to enter this holy space, and to allow one’s spiritual imagination to come alive. The last available window space has recently been filled with an incredible stained glass piece, depicting a spiral nebula—a lovely galaxy much like our own milky way, spinning beautifully deep in outer space. I was reminded again of the words of Eucharistic Prayer C—“the vast expanse of interstellar space, galaxies, suns, the planets in their courses, and this fragile earth, our island home.” Somehow the depth and expansiveness of the cathedral seemed to contain a hint of all that, and more—a kind of mysterious engagement with the holy, as if the Spirit blew gently, constantly, lovingly through the cool depths of the very soul of the building holding us in its embrace.     

After the celebration of the Eucharist we emerged into the brilliant northern California sunlight on a cool April morning. On a plaza just below the doors of the Cathedral is an outdoor labyrinth, encircled by Japanese Maples only now in full leaf, and luminous in the morning light. On the perimeter of the labyrinth nine or ten Cantonese women from a Buddhist monestary down the hill engaged in their morning ritual of Tai Chi, the lovely, synchronous form of worship, exercise, and meditation. We stood for a long while at the top of the steps, entranced by this rich, resonant sychronicity of worship and culture: our own celebration of the Eucharist, this labyrinth of ancient Celtic origins, and the deeply moving Chinese ritual of Tai Chi, all brought together by the grace-filled welcoming embrace of one of our Cathedrals.

My primary feeling was that of gratitude—a deep, abiding appreciation for the moment of Kairos we experienced. It was moment when the Spirit seemed so present, so close, so available. And that Spirit-time, that Kairos, points us to something that lies at the very heart and soul of who we are—what the world is, the very force that emanates from God and gives life to us all. This morning—in this light-filled space—we hear the remarkably poignant words spoken by Jesus, Abide in me as I abide in you. Put simply, Jesus’ incarnation of the ancient ideal of abiding, and love embodied in this term, was to become the pattern of how the disciples, and that includes us, were to love one another, the pattern, that is, of how we ought live our lives. St. Augustine once observed that Jesus loved each one he ever met as if there were no other in the entire world to love. He radically individualized and made incarnate the affection he acted out toward others. I was reminded on the steps of Grace Cathedral that morning that we are all made in the image of that extraordinary love—all of us—and this Holy space was an outward and visible sign, if you will, of the love which led Jesus to say that he would take us into himself.  

That is the place he prepares for us. Jesus’ love for us was not just a radically incarnate, individual love. It was also a universal love, and it includes this planet earth, our island home, and everything in it, including Grace Cathedral, and this sacred space, and each of us, who are called to be earthen vessels of that love. The eyes with which he looked upon the world were never filled with disdain or contempt. We must never forget that the opposite of love is not anger, but rather indifference. Jesus loved each of us as if we were the only ones in the world, and he loved all as he loved each. And this speaks to the wisdom of C.S. Lewis, who made a distinction between what he called “need love” and “gift love.” Need love, says Lewis, is always born of emptiness—a kind of possessive acquisitiveness that is the relational, spiritual equivalent of a vacuum, like a black hole in outer space, sucking everything into its dark center. Lewis acknowledges that many times when we humans say, “I love you,” what we really mean is “I need you, I want you…you have value to me that I desire to make my own, regardless of the consequences to you.” Over against this image, Lewis contends that another form of love is radically, ontologically different. It is what he calls “gift love.” Rather than being born of emptiness, or impoverishment, and the needs to which they point, this form of loving is one of fullness, and grace, and gratitude. Its goal is to enrich and enhance the beloved rather than extract value. Gift love moves out to bless and increase—to enliven, nurture, and sustain the other. It is more like an ever-flowing spring than a needful vacuum. Lewis concludes by saying that the uniqueness of the biblical vision of reality is that God’s love is “gift love,” not “need love.” He reminds us that, “we humans are made in the image of such everlasting and unconditional love,” we are created Imago Dei—in the image of God. Not only are we loved by God in this way, we can choose to live our lives this way. We are most likely to fall into “need love” when we are feeling scared, or vulnerable in some way—when faced with new situations or people who are different in one way or another. But even then, in the midst of our uncertainty, we can choose, with God’s grace, to grow into the wonder of “gift love.”

Sometimes the examples of this come from places we might not expect—sources that catch us by surprise, origins that fill us with awareness of the fullness of that “gift love.” On a summer day in 1998 more than 300 PBS stations across the nation aired a very special episode of Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood that featured KoKo, the sign-language-using gorilla. Mr. Rogers’ visit to KoKo’s home at The Gorilla Foundation helped launch a week of programming entitled “You and I Together” which addressed the confusion and fears of young children when confronted with new situations or people who are different. The weeklong theme of “inclusion” featured KoKo and helpful talks about feeling included, no matter the nature of one’s disability, infirmity, skin color, race, gender, religion, or sexual orientation. It turned out that “Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood” was one of KoKo’s very favorite TV shows. And when this gentle Presbyterian pastor, beloved by so many, entered KoKo’s room, she immediately embraced him in a gentle gorilla hug, and in sign language said, “Love you, neighbor, KoKo love.” KoKo then bent down to help Mr. Rogers remove his shoes, as she had seen him do every day, for so many years, on his show. She then helped him remove his sweater. So, you see, gift love is available to us all, and can come from unexpected sources. And with the grace of God we can choose to embrace that love, just as KoKo embraced Mr. Rogers. The Spirit of that love infuses and energizes and enlivens. It was present in the Cantonese women doing Tai Chi—and no doubt they will be there this morning. It was present in the seekers walking the labyrinth that day. No doubt they will be there again.

It was present in those who gathered for the celebration of the Eucharist, 2000 years ago, and at Grace Cathedral and all such places, and it is present for us, here and now, in this sacred space we have come to love. In some versions of our Eucharist the priest may say “Behold what you are…become what you receive.” This phrase goes way back to St. Augustine, who in the 5^th century preached a sermon in which he reminded us all that by our participation in the Eucharist we are transformed into the Body of Christ, broken and blessed, and given for the world. Like the bread we break this morning, each of us is broken too—we each have places of loneliness, fear, disappointment, shame…And so accepting and making friends with this part of ourselves, is a part of the journey of giving ourselves to something bigger than we are…we call this entrusting ourselves to God’s care, and allowing the Holy Spirit in Her wisdom to guide us. And when we know ourselves as God’s beloved, like KoKo and Mr. Rogers, we become the love we have received. With the help of that Spirit, and God’s ever-present and unfailing grace, we can grow into the deep mystery of loving each one as if there is no other in the world, and loving all, as we love each. As Wendell Berry has written:

The Incarnate Word is with us,

is still speaking, is present,

always, yet leaves no sign

but everything that is.Amen. 

3rd Sunday of Easter – Bill Harkins

In the name of the God of Creation who loves us all. Amen.

Good Morning and welcome to Holy Family on this the 3^rd Sunday of Easter! I’m so glad you are joining us today.       

In this chapter of our lives at Holy Family, I find myself empathizing with the Disciples in ways perhaps new for me. Maybe you do so as well. We know they have been scared, and in the reading for today, they don’t recognize Jesus when he appears. Begging the question, when we are in a season of uncertainty and transition, can we recognize Christ in the face of the other, our sisters and brothers, and can we remain relatively non-anxious enough to lead with wisdom, and resilience? And, let’s remember we have only recently emerged from an unprecedented time of social distancing and quarantine, and we’ve all been on a post-pandemic journey of sorts. One of our daughters-in-law is an epidemiologist with the CDC, now working remotely from Houston, and so I pay attention to CDC notices of various kinds. Not only are we all still adjusting to life after the pandemic, we are also in what the Surgeon General has called an “epidemic of loneliness,” exacerbated by the pandemic and the real and ambiguous losses, as well as the anticipatory grief and anxiety we all feel to varying degrees. We are also in a season of political discord which, while not unprecedented, is quite real. The loss of life in Gaza and related conflicts add to our sense of dislocation. Let’s covenant to pray for one another, for the world, and for resilience and patience in this time together. And let’s seek to look for life-giving ways to contribute to Holy Family with love, and when needed, forgiveness. We need one another.

On Tuesday night of this past week our vestry and nominating committee met with Scott Kidd, an old friend of mine and rector at our neighbor church Resurrection, in Sautee Georgia. I’m so glad to be on this journey with you all, and I am grateful for those serving on these committees. I am also aware of being in a new leadership role among you. A few days ago I was walking out to the car with Andy Edwards after services. Now, Andy and Melinda were here many years ago, back when I was a Postulant at Holy Family, many years ago, and he said “Well, your priesthood has come full circle from here, to the Cathedral, and now back again.” And so it has. My first thought was one of deep gratitude for this parish, and for all it has meant to me and my family. I was also aware of a moment of anxiety, being as I am in a new role among you all.  Because of the overlapping relationships we have had, it has been a kind of developmental challenge. I am reminded of this continuity and overlap of life themes in the story of the mother who was getting breakfast ready for her son. She noticed that he not only had not appeared but he seemed to be making no sounds of preparation upstairs. She went to his room and, finding the door closed, asked if he was OK. He said he was fine but that he was not going to school today. The mother, being of the modern sort, decided to engage her son in reasonable conversation, and asked him to provide three good reasons why he should not go to school. The son obliged: “Number one, I don’t like school; number two, the teachers don’t like me; number three, I’m afraid of the kids.” “Okay,” said the mother. “Now I’m going to give you three good reasons why you are going to school. Number one, I’m your mother and I say school is important. Number two, you’re 40 years old and, number three, you’re the principal!” 

Well, truth told we are, each of us in a new role at Holy Family, and I am only one among many asked to step up in this season. As our beloved Katharine Armentrout said on the occasion of her retirement, lay leadership will be—for many reasons—increasingly important in the coming chapter. We’re not alone in this. The new mission statement in the Diocese of Colorado is “Lay Led…Clergy Supported.” This is the new zeitgeist in the church for many reasons. We will each have to discover in ourselves opportunities for leadership, and this may mean facing fears, uncertainty, and leaving our comfort zone to be an integral part of the Body of Christ in this place. We each have an opportunity to grow in new ways. Let’s covenant to do so, shall we?

And so, like the disciples in the Gospel for today, we are each walking, talking with one another about what has happened, finding some meaning in what we’ve been through, and trusting that God is listening to us and bearing witness to our concerns and fears. Carl Jung once said that the soul rejoices in saying out loud what we feel inside, just as our Psalms teach us to do, even when it is hard to do so. As the disciples experienced in this Gospel, Jesus is available to hear both, and we are called to do likewise.

Jesus invited the disciples tell about their anxieties and pains; he let them grieve and mourn. Jesus listened to them, as they poured out their fear, uncertainty, sadness and grief. Jesus patiently guided the disciples “from hopelessness and sadness to celebration, to hope, to relationship restored and renewed; in short, to resurrection.”    

And yes, we are living in a time of transition and change. Rabbi and family therapist Ed Friedman has reminded us that grief and loss that are not transformed get transmitted.  We’re also feeling anticipatory grief. Anticipatory grief is that feeling we get about what the future holds when we’re uncertain. Anticipatory grief is a general sense of unease. I suspect the disciples felt much the same as we do now, a king of not knowing with the sense of dislocation that attends it.

The author Rachel Naomi Remen has suggested that “The way we deal with loss shapes our capacity to be present to life more than anything else,” she says. And when we tell each other stories of hope and resilience, they tell us about who we are, what is possible for us, what and who we might call upon. They also remind us we’re not alone with whatever faces us and that there are resources available to us. But we must each be committed to hope, and compassion, and grace. As Goethe said, “Until one is committed, there is hesitancy concerning all acts of initiative (and creation) there is one elementary truth…the moment one definitely commits oneself, the Providence moves too.”  The Disciples believe Jesus to be a stranger, and their eyes were opened in the breaking of the bread. In this text and related passages, this is a common theme. What does it mean to really see? How often do we miss what is right in front of us and how often do we miss the face of Christ in the stranger whom we encounter on the road?  In the Gospel story for today we have a signpost of sort; a guide through the uncertainty in this season of transition at Holy Family.

Last summer a friend and I were hiking and trail running high in the mountains of Colorado, and at certain points above the tree line where the trails can become diffuse, cairns, towers of rock guiding the way, were so very helpful. “Inuksuk”—or little people—as the Inuit tribes call these signposts, can be like lighthouses on a distant shore, guiding us along. Jesus is just such a guide in the Gospel for today, and as such he helps the disciples move from grief and loss and despair to hope, and to compassion.  “My peace I give you.”

On Tuesday night this past week, our consultant gave us a list of things we must do together as we seek our new rector—and this list included coming to terms with our history; acknowledging the past, being honest about the DNA in that past… and dealing with both grief—letting go—and moving forward together…holding on; beginning to discover a new identity; allowing for and empowering new leaders among us; strengthening relationships and enriching hospitality; asking ourselves where we have been, and where we are going, and what kind of leadership is needed in this new chapter…and we are called to love one another with grace, and compassion. And with love.Well, some time ago a dear friend and clergy colleague died after a courageous, year-long struggle with leukemia. A priest for more than forty years, he was gifted in the areas of ministry he most deeply loved; contemplative prayer, spiritual formation, and liturgy. We served on the Cathedral staff for several years, both of us part-time, and in some ways we were very different…and we became close perhaps not in spite of this, but because of our differences. He was a wise and gentle mentor to those of us younger in “priest years,” and a gift to each parish he served. After several hospital stays, two extensive rounds of chemotherapy, and a joyful but short lived remission, the cancer returned with new vigor. My colleague, in consultation with family and friends, decided to cease all but palliative care, and to die on his own life-giving terms. In one of our last conversations on his back porch, with the birds singing in the early spring air, he said to me “Bill, I have had so much love.” I said “Yes, there are many who love you, and I am among them.” “That may be, “he replied, “but what I mean is that there are so many whom I have loved. I have so much gratitude for the love God has enabled me to give away.” Dear ones, we are given by God the freedom to love—and this requires release from any fears and the bondage of unnamed grief that would keep us from giving this love. It requires the peace of God, breathed on the disciples and each of us. We are rightly suspicious when we are called only to joy. Yes, and even amidst our struggle with various forms of loss and uncertainty, we can find life-giving possibilities, in conversation with each other, widening the circle of care, and guided by love. And remember, as Jesus taught us, that wholeness includes all of our wounds, just as it included all of his. It includes all of our vulnerabilities. This is the way we connect to one another. Our shared humanity allows us to be available to one another. In sharing his wounds, and in the breaking of the bread, Jesus was known to the disciples, and to us. Let us go and do likewise. Amen.

Second Sunday of Easter – Bill Harkins

The Collect of the Day: Second Sunday of Easter

Almighty and everlasting God, who in the Paschal mystery established the new covenant of reconciliation: Grant that all who have been reborn into the fellowship of Christ’s Body may show forth in their lives what they profess by their faith; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

The Gospel: John 20:19-31

When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.”

But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.”

A week later his disciples were again in the house and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.” Thomas answered him, “My Lord and my God!” Jesus said to him, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.”

Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.

In the name of the God of Creation who loves us all, Amen.

In the Gospel lesson for today we find the disciples behind locked doors, hiding together in fear in the upper room. No doubt the words of the women at the tomb were ringing in their ears, only worsening their isolation and fear: “They have taken away our Lord and we do not know where they have taken him.” Suddenly Jesus appears, and speaks those remarkable words; “Peace be with you”. And he breathes upon them and says, “Receive the Holy Spirit.” And in John’s version of the story Jesus says, “If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.” It may be that forgiveness is at the heart of today’s Gospel story, and this includes both forgiving others, and ourselves. These are parables of grace, and resurrection.

But where was Thomas? Perhaps he needed to be alone. He needed time to think, to question, to ponder the events swirling around him. Maybe he went to that place we all may go, in the midst of deep grief and confusion, where we believe that no one can reach us, even if it is not true. It’s easy to be drawn to Thomas because he seems so human. After all, it was Thomas who asked Jesus how they could know the way. Jesus replied “I am the way, the truth, and the life”. But Thomas needed proof. He was perhaps among the first purveyors of the scientific method. His hypothesis in this instance was that unless he saw “the marks of the nails in Jesus’ hands and unless he put his hand in Jesus’ side, he would not believe.” The elegant beauty of the scientific method is that it allows us to test one hypothesis against others. And this is how we learn. Jesus understood this, and was not critical of Thomas. Rather, he affirmed Thomas in his doubting, and helped him recognize doubt as part of our faith journey. I’ve never understood those who vilified Thomas for doubting. Martin Luther King, who died 56 years ago this month, said that “Faith is taking the first step even when you don’t see the whole staircase.”

It’s easy to have empathy for Thomas because we may recall times in our own lives when we felt the same way; times when it seemed that we wandered lost, and scared, and we questioned our faith. Sometimes we don’t know what we don’t know. The world of Jesus’ followers had been turned upside down and was in utter chaos. And yet, Thomas possessed two great virtues: he absolutely refused to say that he understood what he did not understand, or that he believed what he did not believe. There was an uncompromising honesty about him. He refused to respond to the anxiety of his own doubts by pretending they did not exist. Thomas, like the other disciples, was lost. And he had the courage to name his disorientation. As Wendell Berry said so well, “It may be that when we no longer know what to do we have come our real work, and that when we no longer know which way to go we have come to our real journey. The mind that is not baffled is not employed. The impeded stream is the one that sings.”

In today’s Gospel Jesus is reminding Thomas, and by extension all of us, that it is often relationship that heals us when we no longer know what to do or where to go. Relationship is where the real work begins. Jesus reaches out to Thomas in his isolation and his questions. It is not doubt that is the enemy my friends. Rather, it is responding to it by cutting ourselves off from others that is most risky. And we are most likely to do this when, like the disciples, we are scared, sad, angry, and lost, and we hide ourselves behind closed doors. Often, what locks us in are our fears, insecurities, illnesses, compulsions or addictions, past hurts we have experienced and hold inside, and hurts we have caused. The social scientist Brene’ Brown has said that faith communities, in order to be safe containers for beloved community, must be “shame free.” They must create safe spaces for honest, authentic transparency in relation to those things that would keep us in the bondage of disconnection. In striving towards hospitality, excellence, and grace we seek to create that safe space here at our beloved Holy Family parish, each connection born of relationships. Jesus gives us an alternative to being cut off from ourselves, and others, and from God.

The grace and forgiveness in today’s Gospel may assist us when we have had to piece our lives back together after they have been turned upside down, and our doubts prevail. And we have similar examples. The story is told that the Great Window at Westminster Cathedral was destroyed during WWII. After the war, pieces of glass of all shapes, sizes and colors were collected from the dust and rubble, and lovingly fixed together and placed in the frame of the old west window, bringing the Cathedral to life again. Careful examination of the window would reveal the faces of angels, disciples and kings, all jumbled up with pieces of colored glass; small fragments of writing in Latin, next to drawings on glass of clothes, hands and feet. Bit by bit the window space was filled in with old glass until the most amazing window was completed, a feast for the eyes, and a thing of beauty. It didn’t tell stories from the Bible exactly as it had originally, but told a different story. This story was of good overcoming evil, of sadness turning into great joy, of conflict replaced by forgiveness and peace. It put the words of Jesus into action by showing what could be done when people worked together to do good things. Today’s Gospel is just like this, and our lives can be like this too. Thomas understood this well.

Well, some time ago I attended the “birthday” of a friend who was celebrating his 10^th year of sobriety. I first met him in 1978 when we began working together as counselors on the adolescent psychiatric unit at Peachford Hospital. Just out of college, a little scared and uncertain what to do next, I learned so much from my colleagues, and from the patients and families with whom we worked over the next two years. My life and that of my friend took different paths, but we kept in touch. I knew he had struggled with alcohol, but I did not realize the depth of his addiction. And so on a cold and rainy night some 35 years after we met, I drove up to Cherokee County as he picked up his 10-year chip. I walked into a room filled to capacity—maybe 70-80 souls in recovery. Dressed like the seminary professor I was, I felt a little out of place when the first person to greet me was a leather clad member of “Bikers in Recovery,” who welcomed me with gracious hospitality rather than suspicion and with a bear hug so fierce it awakened an old football injury. I will never forget his warmth and sincerity. That night I heard the testimonies of those who knew my friend, and stories of life—his and theirs—before and after sobriety. I was moved by their openness, shared vulnerability, and honesty. I noted the utter lack of shame in that safe space. I heard my friend recount how drinking almost killed him, and how he had said to those gathered in that very room, some ten years earlier, “I am lost. Tell me what to do, and if you tell me, I will do it.” And then, through tears of one who has come back to life from the edge of the abyss, “You saved my life, you know… I asked, and you gave, and you told me to work each step, and that you would be there with me each step of the way. And you were. I was among the living dead, and I slowly came back to life. I am here tonight, standing up here talking to you, because you people saved my life.” As I listened, a phrase came to mind from St. Augustine: “In the midst of life we are in death, and in Christ, in the midst of death we may find life.” Here was a perfect example of a man whose life had in many ways ended…who was no longer fully alive, and who had come back to being fully present in the world, freed from the numbing distraction of alcohol abuse. And so it was that those gathered that night were practicing resurrection; It was Thomas’ story of grace and forgiveness, and ours.

And so you see, dear ones, those souls had chosen not to remain trapped and hidden behind the locked doors of their addictions—a living death cut off from relationship, but rather to be in community, out in the open. In so doing, they had to face with brutal honesty—a searching, fearless, and unrelenting moral inventory— as they say in the recovery community, the truth of what had kept them imprisoned. I found myself inspired by this connection of relationships, and I understood my friend better too. And, I understood the power of the Paschal Mystery of Easter a bit more clearly: that in the phrase “one day at a time” we see the truth of that new life. It was as if we placed our hands in the wounded brokenness of my friend’s soul, and we believed. In Christ, darkness and death have been overcome—are overcome—one day, one moment at a time, here and now. Jesus wanted the disciples to see his wounds so that they could understand the resurrection hope those scars represented. The Easter miracle of this Gospel passage is that Jesus comes again and again to these confused, frightened disciples, and offers himself in relationship. And like Thomas and his brothers we are called to move through times of doubt to moments of grace. To move, that is from Good Friday losses, to Holy Saturday ambiguity, and on to Easter. To give of ourselves, our stories of doubt, grace, and forgiveness, we must know ourselves—that’s the fearless moral inventory. “Practice Resurrection,” the wonderful writer Wendell Berry says to us, and every time we choose to do this, the grace-filled Easter story continues. When I got home that night, I sent my old friend a message thanking him for the gift of his story, and for inviting me into that sacred space. He sent a text message that read like the Holy Week Triduum we just observed: “Life and Chaos; Recovery and forgiveness; New Life and Gratitude.” And I realized that is almost like…I would say is exactly like the Holy Spirit had been breathed upon us in that locked room, the doors of which had been flung open by the grace of my friend’s story. And when that happens, because we have asked for it, we can participate in the compassionate, hospitable, beloved community, yes, one day at a time. Amen.

Easter Sunday – George Yandell

One day, three men were walking along and came upon a raging, violent river. They needed to get across to the other side, but had no idea how to do it. The first man prayed to God saying, “Please, God, give me the strength to cross this river.” Poof! God gave the man big arms and strong legs, and he was able to swim across the river in about two hours.

Seeing this, the second man prayed to God, saying, “Please, God, give me the strength and ability to cross this river.” Poof! God gave him a rowboat and he was able to row across the river in about three hours.

The third man, seeing how things had worked out for the other two, also prayed to God, saying, “Please, God, give me the strength and ability and intelligence to cross this river.” And poof! God turned him into a woman; she looked at the map, then walked across the bridge.

Humor aside, the prominence of women as the initial ones to experience the power of Easter cannot be denied. Mary Magdalene and the other Mary were the first to hear the angel say, “Do not be afraid; I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. He is not here; for he has been raised”.

These two Marys were among the brave women who had watched Jesus die his agonizing death. They had followed his lifeless corpse to mark the place where it was entombed by Joseph of Arimathea. A legitimate question follows: where were the men at the same time? Where were his bravest, closest disciples—Peter, James, and John—the “pillars” of the community? Where were the “Sons of Thunder,” Thomas, and Matthew? Where were Andrew and Philip? Had all of them scattered like frightened sheep after Gethsemane and Golgotha? When Jesus had needed them the most, had they left him completely in the lurch? Why hadn’t they the courage and loyalty to suffer with Jesus, as had the women from Galilee?

Jesus had told his disciples that he would be crucified and raised on the third day; but despite what Jesus had predicted of an ultimate vindication, none of his followers could envision a personal resurrection.

In all four gospels, the first evidence that Jesus has overcome death is the empty tomb. Although the details of the Easter narratives vary, in all of the accounts the women are first to arrive at the tomb and to proclaim the miracle of Easter. Mary Magdalene is a principal witness to the resurrectionin all four Gospels.

With dramatic details unique to Matthew, we read that when Mary Magdalene and the other Mary arrived at the tomb at dawn on the first day of the new week, there was a great earthquake. The shaking earth underscored the apocalyptic nature of the event. Then an angel of the Lord appeared and rolled back the stone at the entrance. The soldiers standing guard were terrified at the sight of the angel, whose appearance was “like lightning,” and whose clothing was “white as snow”. The angel reassured the women as he told them that Jesus “is not here; for he has been raised”, just as he had foretold.

As proof of this astonishing news, the angel told them to see for themselves that the tomb was empty, and gave them a message to take back to the other disciples. “He has been raised from the dead, and indeed he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him”. This was to fulfill the promise that Jesus had made on the night of his betrayal that “after I am raised up, I will go ahead of you to Galilee”.

As the women ran “with fear and great joy” to tell the others, Jesus appeared. The women immediately bowed down and held his feet, showing that the proper response to the Risen Lord is to worship him. Jesus told them not to be afraid and repeated the message that the disciples were to meet him in Galilee.[Adapted from “Synthesis: A Weekly Resource for Preaching”, April, 2014.]

In John’s story of the resurrection, Mary makes a second trip to the tomb, after she had seen it empty when she first visited. She looked again inside the empty tomb and saw something neither Peter nor the other disciple saw—two angels in white sitting at either end of where the body had been.

If angels are going to scare us out of our wits like Mary experienced, at least give us information about where to meet Jesus and directions to the meeting place. But in John they just ask a really obvious question: “Woman, why are you weeping?”

I wonder if Mary felt a momentary flash of irritation? I wonder if she felt like saying, “Well, angels, why do you think I’m weeping? I’m weeping over the crucifixion of my most cherished hope in life. My eyes are wet with the tears because I’m grieving to my core. Why do you think I’m weeping?”

One might suspect that the angels, while Mary is explaining about weeping, might be pointing behind her as if to say “turn around, turn around.” They might well have come to give directions, after all. To a Resurrected Lord who, from now on, is always standing right behind her, whose presence doesn’t depend on whether she feels him there or not, whether she’s ready or not. Because, according to John’s story, Christ rises in the dark. Christ rises for everyone. Easter is precisely for those who are not ready for it. Easter is for Peter, too absorbed in the pain of his past to take it in. Easter is for the Beloved Disciple, who believes in Jesus’ resurrection but needs time to process what difference it makes. Easter is for Mary, weeping over her loss while her Lord stands right behind her.

According to the story, Easter is for each of us who is all of them. [from Alyce McKenzie in “Ready or Not: Reflections on the Unexpected Easter” from Patheos.com (4/17/11).]

Here we uncover the paramount nature of undeserved love revealed in the Resurrection of Jesus. Call it the Gospel of Easter. Deserving the worst, the disciples were given the best. God raised Jesus up into their community despite their cowardice, despite their betrayal. Whereas in human relationships desire is the cause of love, here in the Resurrection, we see that love is the cause of desire. God’s love is the cause of desire. God’s love reigns, regardless of human failure.

The disciples, therefore, were not anticipating the Resurrection of Jesus. Why else would they have been such reluctant believers? Why else would they have dismissed the report of the women about the empty tomb as “an idle tale”?

Reginald Fuller, the noted New Testament scholar and professor of mine at seminary said: “Even the most skeptical critic must posit some mysterious ‘X’ event to get the Christian movement going.” Think about it. How did any kind of a beginning come out of such a disastrous end—let alone a beginning that would change the face of the world? How did this Jesus—executed as a heretic and as a seducer of the people—come to be known as “Lord”? How could a condemned criminal and a disowned prophet become revered as “Savior”? How could this blasphemer come to be called “the Son of God”?

Lastly, how could such an utterly defeated group of hammerheads emerge proclaiming not only the Gospel of Jesus, but Jesus himself as the Gospel? [King Oehmig in “Synthesis: A Weekly Resource for Preaching”, April, 2014.] Because God intervened in history, directed the angels to the women and changed the destiny of humanity. God’s love reigns, regardless of human failure.

Easter unlocks the power of new life, of life transformed into love beyond fear, beyond death. That’s why we are here. That’s Jesus resurrected, right behind us, urging us to live, fully live, for one another and for God’s reign in this world.

Good Friday – George Yandell

Forty years before the birth of Jesus, Rome’s first heated swimming pool was built on the Esquiline Hill, just outside the city’s ancient walls. The location was a prime one. In time it would become a showcase for some of the wealthiest people in the world.[From Dominion: How the Christian Revolution Remade the World, Tom Holland, Basic Books, New York, 2019, pp. 21- 24]

Not far from the Esquiline, it took a long time to reclaim the Sessoriumfor gentrification. Years later the vultures still wheeled over that site. This remained what it had always been: The place set aside for the execution of slaves. Exposed to public view like slabs of meat hung from a market stall, troublesome slaves were nailed to crosses.

No death was more excruciating, more contemptable, than crucifixion. To be hung naked, ‘long in agony, swelling with ugly welts on shoulders and chest’, helpless to beat away the clamorous birds: such a fate Roman intellectuals agreed, was the worst imaginable. This was what made it so suitable a punishment for slaves. Lacking such a sanction, the entire order of the city might fall apart. Luxury and splendor such as Rome could boast were dependent on keeping those who sustained it in their place. [ibid]

As Tacitus wrote, “After all, we have slaves drawn from every corner of the world in our households, practicing strange customs, and foreign cults, or none—it is only by means of terror that we can hope to coerce such scum.”

The Romans were reluctant to believe crucifixion had originated with them. Only a barbarous people could have developed such savage, cruel torture. Everything about the practice of nailing a man to a cross, a crux, was repellant. Order was what counted. 

Such was the opinion of the Roman governor of Judea and Galilee in Jesus’ day. Herod Antipas, the “King of the Jews”, collaborated with the Roman authorities. He supported Pontius Pilate’s attitude. That’s why on the road leading up to Jerusalem there were permanent wooden pillars with crossbeams on which the bodies of the crucified were displayed.  Just as on the Esquiline Hill in Rome. The message was clear- follow the rules of the empire, keep order, or you too could wind up here. Terrorists, beware.

The two men crucified with Jesus were not bandits, as we sometimes translate the text, but insurrectionists, freedom fighters, or “terrorists”, depending on the point of view. Crucifixion was used specifically for people who systematically refused to accept Roman imperial authority. Ordinary criminals were not crucified.  Jesus was executed as a rebel against Rome between two other rebels against Rome. [Borg/Crossan, The Last Week, p. 147] How to comprehend the horror, the stench of that road- it’s beyond understanding. Yet that’s what the friends of Jesus did- they braved the stench.

They watched, some closer by, others from a distance, as Jesus was nailed to the crossbeam which was in turn raised and fastened to the pillar. The Roman guards nailed his feet to the pillar. Everywhere around him was the stench of death, the cries of those already crucified ringing in his ears. His body on the cross was not high above the onlookers, but just above eye-sight level of those watching him. So close.

Not crucified as a slave, not as a bandit, but yes, crucified as an insurrectionist. Rome couldn’t tolerate anyone who was acclaimed as the Son of God- that title was reserved to Caesar Augustus and to the emperors who followed him. 

His friends were in a macabre theater of death. To see someone you love suffering in great pain and to be unable to make it go away is one of the greatest agonies we endure as humans. It can be worse than actually suffering ourselves. Physical pain damages and wounds our bodies, but watching someone you love suffer goes deeper. That is emotional pain born out of love. It cuts right to the heart of you…. We can alleviate the pain of the dying one, but no pill can ease the pain of grief of those who survive him. [Some of this from an article “Grief is the Price We Pay for Love” by Kevin Morris in The Anglican Digest, Spring 2016 issue.]Most of the disciples of Jesus could not stand by and watch their teacher and friend suffer. They loved him greatly. But they ran off. They hid. Maybe they were afraid they’d get arrested too. But they couldn’t bear watching their beloved mentor die in such excruciating pain. [Adapted from the article above.]

At the end, the only ones standing by, present near the cross, were women and one man. John’s gospel tells us they were Jesus’ mother Mary, his aunt, Mary wife of Clopas, and Mary of Magdala and the beloved disciple. Luke says there were other women as well.

Where were the other disciples and friends of Jesus? Where were the crowds of people he had fed and healed? All gone away. Afraid to face the pain, afraid to look into the eyes of someone whose agony they could not relieve. Those who stayed by the side of Jesus were few, but they probably loved him more than the others. 

Luke records these events at the time Jesus breathed his last: “darkness came over the whole land until three in the afternoon, while the sun’s light failed; and the curtain of the temple was torn in two.” John Dominic Crossan says the tearing of the temple curtain was symbolic- God tearing his clothes in grief. Think of Mary, his mother. She was the first to hold him when he came into the world, and she was likely one of the last to hold him when he went out of it. Her presence there at the cross fulfilled the words the priest Simeon had said to her when Jesus was born, “A sword will pierce your own soul too.” And now it had happened. The centurion could have pierced her own side with the lance and it would have hurt less. [ibid] And so we grieve with Mary, with all the friends of Jesus. The horror pierces through 1990 years to us, today. The Lord of Life is crucified.

Maundy Thursday – George Yandell

I’d like to offer a distinction, tiny in some ways, earth-shaking in others. The distinction comes from comments Marcus Borg made on a pilgrimage to Turkey that I took in 2006 with 40 other pilgrims. What would it be like for us instead of saying “We have faith in Jesus,” to say “We have the faith of Jesus?” Do you hear the fine distinction? To claim the faith of Jesus makes me, for one, sit up, take notice, and feel woefully inadequate. On this holy night, the faith of Jesus drives him to offer the most poignant goodbye in religious history.

In everything he did, Jesus disclosed the character of God. Having the faith in God Jesus himself had means we have the passion for doing God’s will, as Jesus did. It means having the confidence in God that Jesus demonstrated the night before he was cruelly tortured and executed by the Roman Empire. It means we participate in the passion for justice Jesus lived each hour of his ministry. Having the faith of Jesus implies the same loyalty to God that Jesus lived up the moment of his death.

There are many overlays in our remembering the last night before Jesus’ crucifixion. First, there was the foot washing. Peter balked, as we heard, at having his feet washed by Jesus. Peter thought it was too embarrassing, too demeaning for Jesus to do so. But as he washed the feet of his closest friends, Jesus symbolized the whole of his message and ministry. Kneeling at their feet acts out: THIS is what it means to do God’s will, THIS is what it means to have faith in God like God’s own Son. The new commandment says in words what Jesus acted out in the foot washing- “Love one another as I have loved you.” Live the love God intends.

Jesus planned well for the Passover meal with his disciples. It continued and culminated the open, common meal-sharing Jesus practiced with undesirables and marginalized people. The religious significance of the open table fellowship meant including those who were excluded- excluded by religious leaders from a society with sharp social boundaries. The last supper carried political significance- it affirmed a very different, countercultural vision of society. (Some of this borrowed from The Last Week by Borg and Crossan.)

The body and blood of Jesus in the bread and wine of the Last Supper echoed the killing of the first Passover lamb as the Jews fled Pharaoh and the Egyptian empire- Jesus’ impending death has clear connections to the lamb sacrificed at the first Passover. It is possible that Jesus said the words linking his body and blood to the bread and wine many times at common meals before Maundy Thursday. (From Rabbi Jesus by Bruce Chilton) Why would he have done this? In his radical table fellowship, it would have been a prophetic overlay to the meal; it may have been an in-your-face action against the Jewish temple leaders collaborating with Roman authorities. It made rabbi Jesus a target not only of the Empire, but of those Jewish leaders who’d sold out their own people. But on this evening, the poignancy must have overwhelmed him.

If you’re like me, Maundy Thursday hits hard every year. I really can’t imagine the pathos in Jesus’ heart, nor the reactions of his disciples when they heard him say, “This is my Body, this is my blood poured out for you.” Jesus summed up his passion, confidence, participation and loyalty in and to God in his last love-feast with his friends. Now it falls to us to continue the disciples’ tradition: Come to the table, share the love of God Jesus lived. It is by living the faith of Jesus that his followers were to pass through death to resurrection with Him. And so it is for us followers tonight. Have the faith of Jesus- we’re the ones on whom Jesus depends to live the love God intends for all of God’s children.

Palm Sunday – Year B – George Yandell

Every year the assigned readings for Palm Sunday split the day between the triumphal entry of Jesus into Jerusalem then move to the passion gospel and Jesus’s crucifixion. I’ve had problems with that program for a long time. So today we’re going to focus on Jesus entering Jerusalem and leave the crucifixion to Good Friday.  

Two processions entered Jerusalem on a spring day in 30 CE. It was the beginning of Passover week, the most sacred week of the Jewish year. One was a peasant procession, the other an imperial procession demonstrating the Roman Empire’s occupation and domination of Jerusalem and Israel. From the east, Jesus rode a donkey down the Mount of Olives cheered by his followers. Jesus was from the peasant village of Nazareth, his message was about the kingdom of God, and his followers came from the peasant class. My friend and colleague Bowlyne Fisher would have called them ‘the great unwashed.’ Jesus and his companions had journeyed from Galilee, 100 miles going south to Jerusalem. [The above adapted from The Last Week: A Day-by Day Account of Jesus’s Final Week in Jerusalem, Borg and Crossan, Harper San Francisco, 2006, p. 2]  

Mark’s story of Jesus and his kingdom of God movement has been aiming for Jerusalem. It has now arrived.  

On the opposite side of the city, coming from the west, Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor of Idumea, Judea and Samaria, entered Jerusalem at the head of a column of imperial cavalry and soldiers. Jesus’ procession proclaimed the kingdom of God; Pilate’s proclaimed the power of empire. Those two processions embody the central conflict of the week that led to Jesus’ crucifixion.   

Pilate demonstrated Rome’s imperial power and its imperial theology. The emperor was divine. It was the standard practice of the Roman governors to be in Jerusalem for the major Jewish festivals. They were in the city in case there was trouble. They augmented the standing deployment of legion soldiers on the grounds of the temple. They had no regard for the Jews’ religious devotion. There often was trouble at Passover- that festival celebrated the Jewish people’s liberation from an earlier empire, that of Egypt.  

Pilate’s procession had cavalry on horses, foot soldiers, leather armor, helmets, weapons, banners, golden eagles mounted on poles, sun glinting on metal and gold. The sounds of marching feet and hoofs, the creaking of leather and the beating of drums emphasized their dominance and power. The dust swirled around them.   

That procession displayed not only imperial power, but also Roman imperial theology. According to that theology, the emperor was not simply the ruler of Rome, but the Son of God. It began with the greatest of emperors, Caesar Augustus, who ruled Rome for 45 years, from 31 BCE to 14 CE. His father was the god Apollo, who conceived him in his mother, Atia. Inscriptions refer to him as ‘son of God’, ‘lord’ and ‘savior’. He has brought ‘peace on earth’ or the pax Romana. After his death he was seen ascending into heaven to reign with the other gods. For Rome’s Jewish subjects, Pilate’s procession embodied not only a rival social order but also a rival theology.  

So to Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem. Although it is familiar, it holds surprises. As Mark tells the story it is a ‘counter-procession.’ Jesus planned it in advance. As Jesus approaches the city from the east he had told two disciples to go into the village nearing Jerusalem and get him the colt they would find, a young one never before ridden. They do so, Jesus rides the colt down the Mount of Olives to the city surrounded by a crowd of enthusiastic followers. They spread their cloaks, spread leafy branches on the road and shout, “Hosanna! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord. Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestor David. Hosanna in the highest heaven!” It is a planned political demonstration. [ibid]  

It’s meaning is clear. Using symbolism from the prophet Zechariah, it foretells that a king would be coming to Jerusalem ‘humble and riding on a colt, the foal of a donkey.’ In Mark’s gospel the reference to Zechariah is implied. Matthew’s gospel in telling the same story, makes the connection explicit: “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.” Zechariah’s passage continues, “He will cut off the chariot from Ephraim and the war-horse from Jerusalem; and the battle bow shall be cut off, and he shall command peace to the nations.”  

This king on a donkey will banish war from the land- no more chariots, war-horses or bows and arrows. Commanding peace to the nations, he will be a king of peace.  

Jesus’ planned procession deliberately countered what was happening on the other side of the city. Pilate’s procession embodied the power, glory and violence of the empire that ruled the world. The forces of that empire had squelched Jewish peasant revolts in years prior, the last one in 5 BCE when Jesus was born. Jesus’ procession embodied an alternative vision, the kingdom of God. That contrast, between the kingdom of God and the kingdom of Caesar is central to the gospel of Mark and to the story of Jesus and early Christianity.   

The confrontation between these two kingdoms continues through the last week of Jesus’ life.  

The Church also calls Holy Week, Passiontide. As we enter this week of passion and pathos, we do well to root ourselves in the audacity, the courage and the drive that led Jesus to create that counter-procession. He must have known his caricature of Pilate would not sit well. He egged on the legion with his deliberate pantomime of Pilate. And he sealed his own fate. To what purpose? To honor his father in heaven. To fulfill Zechariah’s prophecy. But mostly, to follow the lead of the Holy Spirit poured into him at his baptism, with the voice of heaven booming out, “This is my son, the beloved. Listen to him!” Pay attention, God declared, this is the One I’ve anointed finally to liberate my people from bondage and tyranny. And so the Holy Spirit’s lead continues today. Jesus has come to bring peace even now, to a world torn with hatred, strife and pandemic. The anointed one anoints us to proclaim the true kingdom of God today.

Lent 5 Year B – George Yandell

I’ve been mulling over what I can offer you as we prepare for my retirement. I keep coming back to how grateful I feel being with you at Holy Family since August 1, 2010. It has been an incredible blessing to serve with you and my clergy colleagues. I’ve asked them to send me some of their recollections.  

When Susan and I were in town house-hunting before I started as priest-in-charge, the clergy invited us for a meal at Byron and Anne’s house. Susan recalls that Scott and Katharine drove us with Ted and Debbie to the Tindall’s. I had some apprehensions about being the new kid on the block with a team of clergy that devoted themselves as volunteers and had kept worship and pastoral care alive after Mary had left. We were so delighted as we talked and shared a wonderful meal- I thought as we were going home- what a tremendous gift to have such sharp and devoted colleagues! And in the years since that first engagement, I’ve only grown in my respect and love for you all.  

Byron offers these recollections:  
Approximately 14 years ago, the Search Committee at Holy Family was in the process of interviewing priests for the position of priest-in-charge of our parish. As “retired” clergy and members of Holy Family, Katharine, Ted and I were afforded an opportunity to have some private time with each of the candidates. For some reason, I wasn’t available to spend any time with George when it was his turn to meet with the Search Committee.  

By this time, Katharine and Scott, Ted and Debbie, and Anne and I had developed (and still maintain) an extremely close friendship among ourselves. Shortly after George had been called to become our priest-in-charge and had accepted that call, he and Susan came to the Jasper area to look for a place to call home.  

I don’t remember which one of us had the idea, but Anne and I invited Susan and George, Katharine and Scott, and Debbie and Ted to our house for brunch. It was with a little bit of “fear and trembling” that I awaited the arrival of the group to our house in Lake Arrowhead. “Would George and Susan fit in our established group?” “Would I come to like and love them as much as I did the other members of our group?” “Would Susan and George like us?” “Would they be comfortable associating with our antics?” More importantly “Would their philosophies align with ours?”  

It didn’t take long for me to realize my uneasiness was entirely unnecessary. Susan and George fit right in. Things went along nicely in the ensuing years as friendships deepened and a pattern of interdependence among the four-clergy developed.  

Then came 2019. Covid appeared on the scene. Suddenly everything we considered normal as far as our worship together went out the window, along with most everything in our everyday lives.  

Worship began in the Covid 19 era as a recording made on a smart phone in the memorial garden. The video was uploaded to various social media sites. We graduated to worshipping together as long as we were outside and remained six feet apart. That was great, so long as the weatherman cooperated.  

Then we returned to the nave, with 10 as the maximum number of people allowed. By this time, we contracted with a video production crew to broadcast our Sunday morning Holy Eucharist via our website and Facebook. The tables in the narthex with what looked like miles and miles of cable all over the floor were staffed with three masked outsiders. That left 10 members of Holy Family to try to make the service something familiar for our members and any others who ventured onto the services as they were broadcast.  

During this time, George and the lay leadership of Holy Family had to do a lot of thinking “outside the box.” Their efforts brought us through those trying times with flying colors, as the expression goes.  

When George accepted the call to be “upgraded” from priest-in-charge to rector, we all knew the day would come when we would have to bid George and Susan farewell. Farewell my friend. I hope you enjoy your retirement as much as I’m enjoying mine.  

Katharine’s recollections:  
George and I celebrated Paula Womack’s Memorial Service – The first time we served together. He stayed with Scott and me because Bob Womack’s house was overloaded.   

The Pastor’s Pots with you and Jacques winning the prize and delighting the community with fabulously flavored food. Helping CARES along the way! A “2-fer.”  

Our Wonderful Wednesdays – Always filled with a sense of the presence of the Spirit and the high spirits of those who came to worship in the outdoors and share a meal.  

Covid – You standing in the Memorial Garden conducting the service with Allan DeNiro and others on their cellphones filming so that we would have an online service. The continual efforts we made to make the services better and better technically. The cold, cold parking lot: but we managed to gather as a congregation! Ultimately the wonderful broadcast booth was finished and we were able to produce and engage more and more people in our services.  

The Easter Vigils –with all its beauty and joyousness.  (One time we forgot the Paschal candle and had to run get it!)  

The teaching times you gave us with your joy in weaving together history with scripture.  

The hilarious and delicious Clergy Dinners auctioned to support Parish ministries– never were there such a group of priestly gourmands!!  

Standing at the altar with you and Ted and Byron on All Souls Day, solemnly reading the names of those who had died.  

The gift you and succeeding vestries gave the congregation by faithfully working to reduce and then eliminate the mortgage. It has given Holy Family the freedom to look hard at more outreach to our community and makes us more attractive to a new rector. You took care of the tough stuff!  

The joy of serving at the altar with you and Byron and Ted and Bill, offering the Eucharist to our congregation.   

Bill Harkins:  
Prior to ordination it was necessary that I complete the Anglican Studies Program at the Candler School of Theology at Emory. One component of this program was a season of Postulancy, typically a year or more serving in a local congregation. Rev. Dr. Ted Hackett, whom we all know and love, was the Director of this component of the program. I met with Ted who said to me “You’re already a professor and licensed therapist…I’m not exactly sure where parish ministry will fit in for you, but I’ll send you up to Holy Family.Jerry Zeller can help you figure that out, since he’s always been bi-vocational too.”  

This was a profoundly wise and informed decision on Ted’s part, for which I am eternally grateful. Jerry, and Frank Wilson, who was an Associate Priest at the time, were a Godsend.   

Holy Family was in its own season of transition as it sought to find its way after a season of challenges. I served during those years as Holy Family moved from the Conference Center to the glorious new sanctuary we now enjoy. After my Postulancy I completed a Diaconate year at St. Jame’s, Marietta, and Jerry invited me to return as a Priest Associate. After two years at Holy Family, I was called to the Cathedral of St. Philip as Canon Associate for Pastoral Care.   

Thus, in many ways Holy Family gave birth to my priesthood, and Jerry Zeller became a wise mentor, and eventually a deeply valued friend and colleague. Among the aspects of my time as a Postulant was that Jerry asked me to design a project based, in part, on the needs of the congregation and in light of my own gifts and graces for ministry. The result was the formation of the Lay Pastoral Care Committee, after teaching an Adult Education course. This committee flourishes even now with devoted and compassionate lay leadership from Winship Durrett, Jan Braley, and a host of others. And that brings us to today, where Vicky and I are blessedly, once again, at home. I am so grateful for Jerry, and Ted, and this wonderful parish who in concert with the Holy Spirit in Her mischief led us here, sent us out into the world, and welcomed us back again!  

Ted’s recollections:  
Liturgy at “Our Lady of the Double-Wide” and was informal to say the least. It was “audience participation”. Mass was a cross between a public town-hall meeting and a Liturgy…but folks seemed to like it. It had the flavor of a new congregation’s enthusiasm for achieving great things….and under Jerry’s tutelage …it was forming its identity as a socially-involved parish with the service undertakings we now take for granted. For instance, a food pantry was housed in the old barn up by the office. Jerry’s next accomplishment was building the church we now have. For me, surprisingly, it was a nice mixture of tradition (sort of Gothic) and contemporary “mountain.” My two main objections to the new church design were the big clear window behind the altar which meant on a sunny day the whole sanctuary became virtually invisible. The other was the Rube Goldberg altar with “wings” like a salad-bar arrangement. Under George, we fixed that. More about the Liturgy later.   

After Mary’s departure the calling committee recommended George. He accepted, and a new era began. I acted as a kind of elder counselor cautioning George about some “land mines” he needed not to disturb. The Vergers for instance…even though a parish of the size of H.F. often doesn’t have vergers, Holy Family was devoted to ours.  

George and I have lived in a kind of brotherly tension. I nearly always wanted a more Anglo-Catholic ceremonial and George (often, not always) resisted. We compromised for the most part and we got new vestments and hangings, a side oratory, a Holy Water stoop, a lovely Nativity scene and a gorgeous Aumbry and light for the Reserved Sacrament. I think George actually either did like (or came to like) all that stuff. Incense was another matter. Some parishioners found it a bridge too far (people who have never, ever had throat problems cough at the mention of incense. I told a disgruntled parishioner at another parish that at one point and she harumphed and didn’t speak to me for 6 months!). We, nevertheless, got a thurible etc. and used the pot for High Feasts and the Bishop’s visit (Bp. Alexander liked smells and bells). But when our Thurifers moved on we didn’t/ couldn’t recruit more.   

That said (with tongue in cheek), George has been a consistently good colleague. He has not been competitive with his clergy associates, has listened and unleashed each of us to “do our thing”. This is, in my estimation, the mark of a good rector who is managing a multi-clergy church. We all have a tendency to control and micro-manage…it is a vulnerability of most clergy. George has it, but much to his credit he kept it in check and took full advantage of what each of us had to offer. The parish is, I think, healthier for it!  When I look back on our relationship over the past years I realize that George is not only a good friend, a reliable boss but a fine yoke-fellow in Christ….and a fun friend with whom to have a good drink …Scotch or wine.   

We have all been the beneficiaries of one of the great gifts Holy Family has enjoyed during George’s tenure: assisting clergy. The mix of Byron, and me…and especially Deacon Katharine (who handled so much of the pastoral work with empathy, practicality, perseverance and good sense) amounted to at least a full-time staff of two priests. We all had a different set of interests and complemented each other well. It was serendipity. George recognized this, kept us on a long leash and encouraged us. When a new Rector is called I hope something like us can happen again! Bill is perhaps, a good omen.    

Which brings me to Liturgy. Before I retire I would like to have incense again (to beat that horse one more time). I loved it for my wonderful 50th anniversary celebration…which I shall cherish for the rest of my life…and hopefully for eternity! George not only encouraged that celebration, but largely organized it. It was a deeply emotional experience for me…so much so that I could not say anything when Bishop Whitmore invited me to. I would have choked up! Thanks (Fr.!) George…for that, for all you have accomplished and for your friendship. Va in paix et profite de la vie, cher ami!  

Some of my recollections:  

Steve Franzen and I teaching the youth confirmation class in fall of 2017. Got to know of his patience and persistence, which provoked me to seek him to be Sr. Warden.    Driving into the church parking lot finding Phil Anderson on his knees- I thought he was praying. He was stenciling the numbers for 6 feet-apart outdoor Covid worship- the numbers corresponded to the assigned spots for reservations folks had made in advance.  

Learning how to attend parishioners’ surgeries in the hospitals in greater Atlanta. Leaving Jasper long before dawn to beat the traffic. I got to know Veronica who served the breakfast line at Piedmont Hospital- she was a member of a Roman Catholic parish in southeast ATL- she always called me father and asked if I needed extra hot sauce for my eggs.  
Proclaiming early on in my time here that we don’t cancel Church services for snow. Christmas 2012- driving home with Susan after the Christmas eve service with sleet and snow coming down. She was laughing about my snow rule. Got up early, hiked Old Grandview down to Grandview Road in the dark 4.3 miles in 6 inches of snow. Got near Cove Rd. when an SUV pulled up behind me- it was Tom and Jo Tyson. They asked me if I wanted a ride the last few hundred feet to the church driveway- I said through Tom’s open window, “Hell no. I’ve walked this far, not stopping now.” So Jo got out of the car and walked the last few hundred feet through the snow. Do you remember that Jo?  

After we got things set for the 9:00 a.m. quiet service, I was standing in the gallery looking at the beauty of the snowfall when a couple hiked up to the door- I opened it and the man said, “Are you having Church- can we join you?” The five of us had one of the most meaningful Christmas day services I can recall.   

(They were grandparents of a family who live across Cove Rd. Their daughter regularly walks the dog I got to know as a puppy when she and her sons brought him over in a wagon as a little guy. The sons have gone on and she gets to take care of the dog. We always share a word.)  

A few years later snow had fallen, same drill, but was able to drive. 4 men showed up for the service. Palmer Temple, Murray Van Leer, do you remember?  

So after all these reminiscences, what’s the point? We clergy folk have been attracted to serving Christ with you.// You attract us- and in turn we gladly work side by side with you in bringing the good news of Jesus to this beautiful area in God’s world. You all are powerhouses that make all our programs thrive.  

It must have been that way with the Jesus fellowship. Peter, John, James and the other young men and women were attracted to Jesus, and in turn attracted others to serve Christ with them. This is the domain of God spreading across the globe. I’m so grateful I have gotten to serve Christ alongside you. And whoever rises to the top of the heap in your search process and is called as rector, she or he will very likely feel the same way. Attracted by you to serving Christ alongside you.  

Lent 4 – Year B – George Yandell

I like the word ‘oxymoron’. It means expressing two contradictory things at the same time. The word itself is an oxymoron – it’s a compound made up of two Greek words meaning “sharp” and “dull.” So oxymoron = sharp/dull. Some good examples are: bittersweet, original copy, jumbo shrimp, and a true Southernism—“pretty ugly”. I have often thought that having a firm handle on the concept of an oxymoron is vital to understanding the Christian faith. Is God oxymoronic? Does the Bible express truths about God that are mutually contradictory?  

Dom Crossan has said: You can read the Bible all through and find evidence for two quite different, conflicting ways God acts. [How to Read the Bible and Still Be a Christian, Harper One, 2015, p.17] In one way – God is harsh, judgmental, strict; a god of law and punishment, of revenge and retribution, even violence; a god who keeps a careful tally of our sins and metes out appropriate penalties. In the other way – God is gentle, loving, forgiving, and indulgent; a god who condemns violence and loves us with a prodigal, spendthrift love. [Adapted from a sermon by the Rev. Dr. Delmer L. Chilton on The Lectionary Lab, March 15, 2015]  

How do we hear and respond to the dialogue of Jesus with Nicodemus in today’s gospel?  In shaping our responses, key words in today’s gospel demand some decoding and recasting. I think it requires us to re-mystify our understandings of the work of Jesus. Not de-mystify, but RE-Mystify. To move beyond the literal meanings often used to decode this passage, and enter the mystery of the gospel’s intent.    

Key words #1 The world: We all think we know what ‘the World’ means. But the Greek expression used in John’s gospel is very special: we find Jesus referring to “the world” 3 times in the 17^th verse alone, and again in the 19^th verse. “God did not send the son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.”  In fact, John uses “the world” 67 times in his gospel. He usually contrasts ‘this world’ with the heavenly world. It’s a Greek word: cosmos. The cosmos does not refer simply to the earth on which we humans live. It also refers to the spiritual order that prevails among humans and is often opposed to God’s will.  

The people of Jesus’ time and place believed there was a prevailing spiritual attitude that was opposed to God’s purposes. Many identified the Roman Empire and the Jewish temple cult as that opposition. That’s what Jesus means when he says, ‘the world.’ In the modern era in the 1930’s in Germany, a malevolent consciousness prevailed throughout the citizenry. So in ancient times and now, ‘the world’ is a combination of opinions, limitations on human thought, and ego-driven pretense that are enshrined in the culture. Jesus contrasted ‘this world’ with the world of a higher consciousness that God seeks to bring about. [Some of the above paragraph adapted from Mystical Christianity: A Psychological Commentary on the Gospel of John, John A. Sanford, pp. 93-93, 1993, The Crossroad Publishing Co.]  

Key words #2 Serpents: The gospel passage recapitulates the story from Numbers- John compares Jesus with Moses’ serpent. Just as the serpent was lifted up on Moses’ rod, “so must the Son of Man be lifted up [on the cross], that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.”  Even as the sight of the serpent healed the people, so all those who see and comprehend Jesus on the cross will be healed. The healing from the serpent only cured people from poisonous bites, while the healing of Christ crucified leads to eternal life. The serpent has dubious roles in Hebrew scripture: tempting Adam and Eve is paramount. The snake has been evil. For that reason it may come as a surprise that Jesus was called “the good serpent” by many of the Fathers of the early Church. This serpent was a symbol of God’s power of healing. [ibid, p. 94]    

#3 Son of Man: The gospel uses this term for Jesus to help its readers understand the relationship between the historical Jesus and God. The historical Jesus can be understood as a person who was uniquely aware of the image of God within the soul. From that understanding a radically unique consciousness emerged in him that transcended all others of his time. It is clear from his parables and sayings in the other gospels–Jesus was a man who could read the Spirit of God directly. In him the human and divine natures were distinct, yet intimately related into one being. [ibid, p. 99]  

Key words #4 Darkness and light: The discourse of Jesus with Nicodemus concludes with the important images of light and darkness- they were set forth in the prologue of the Gospel: “The Word was God- in Him was life, and the life was the light of humankind. The light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it.” Today’s passage says, “This is the judgement- that the light has come into the world, and people loved darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil.”  

In John’s gospel, light and darkness refer to spiritual matters. The words are metaphors that on the one hand signify the light of truth and spiritual illumination– and the principle of moral and spiritual darkness on the other. The passage tells us then that it is vitally important for our souls to be conscious where we stand in the tension between the two. The passage makes it clear that both the principle of light and the principle of darkness exist in the cosmos. They struggle with one another. They constitute a pair of moral opposites that require us to choose between them. We cannot follow both the light and the darkness. [ibid pp. 100-101] The judgement John refers to is making the choice- not once for all, but in every moment of our discipleship with Jesus. When we choose light as our spiritual principle, it brings us illumination, higher consciousness, deeper knowledge, and finally, en-lighten-ment. As the gospel passage ends, “Those who do what is true come to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that their deeds have been done IN GOD.”   Deeds done in God- mystical knowing yields deeds of light.  

The next time you see someone in a sports telecast holding up the placard, “John 3:16”, tell yourself and your companions- it’s not as literal or simple as it seems. The whole passage calls us to an ever-deepening relationship with the Son of Man, at once in the cosmos and beyond it. The Son of Man was lifted up for our healing. Lifted up for us to thrive in the mystical drama of darkness vs. light, choosing the light more and more in our passage into the heart of Jesus. Tell your friends about the good serpent, Jesus. And may all our deeds be done in God, to the glory of God’s Son.