Rev. Jennifer Adams – January 19, 2020 – Epiphany 2, Year A

Epiphany 2, Year A: Isaiah 49:1-7, John 1:29-42

Isaiah 49:1-7

Listen to me, O coastlands, pay attention, you peoples from far away! The Lord called me before I was born, while I was in my mother’s womb he named me. He made my mouth like a sharp sword, in the shadow of his hand he hid me; he made me a polished arrow, in his quiver he hid me away. And he said to me, “You are my servant, Israel, in whom I will be glorified.” But I said, “I have labored in vain, I have spent my strength for nothing and vanity; yet surely my cause is with the Lord, and my reward with my God.” And now the Lord says, who formed me in the womb to be his servant, to bring Jacob back to him, and that Israel might be gathered to him, for I am honored in the sight of the Lord, and my God has become my strength— he says, “It is too light a thing that you should be my servant to raise up the tribes of Jacob and to restore the survivors of Israel; I will give you as a light to the nations, that my salvation may reach to the end of the earth.”

Thus says the Lord, the Redeemer of Israel and his Holy One, to one deeply despised, abhorred by the nations, the slave of rulers, “Kings shall see and stand up, princes, and they shall prostrate themselves, because of the Lord, who is faithful, the Holy One of Israel, who has chosen you.”

John 1:29-42

The next day John saw Jesus coming toward him and declared, “Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world! This is he of whom I said, ‘After me comes a man who ranks ahead of me because he was before me.’ I myself did not know him; but I came baptizing with water for this reason, that he might be revealed to Israel.” And John testified, “I saw the Spirit descending from heaven like a dove, and it remained on him. I myself did not know him, but the one who sent me to baptize with water said to me, ‘He on whom you see the Spirit descend and remain is the one who baptizes with the Holy Spirit.’ And I myself have seen and have testified that this is the Son of God.” The next day John again was standing with two of his disciples, and as he watched Jesus walk by, he exclaimed, “Look, here is the Lamb of God!”

The two disciples heard him say this, and they followed Jesus. When Jesus turned and saw them following, he said to them, “What are you looking for?” They said to him, “Rabbi” (which translated means Teacher), “where are you staying?” He said to them, “Come and see.” They came and saw where he was staying, and they remained with him that day. It was about four o’clock in the afternoon. One of the two who heard John speak and followed him was Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother. He first found his brother Simon and said to him, “We have found the Messiah” (which is translated Anointed). He brought Simon to Jesus, who looked at him and said, “You are Simon son of John. You are to be called Cephas” (which is translated Peter).

What absolutely beautiful readings we’ve been given this morning, the Second Sunday after Epiphany! They’re invitational readings. Hopeful readings. And we’ll take it. In particular, I want us to focus in on the Isaiah and gospel passages. They work well together – so let’s dive in and see how.

“You shall be a light to the nations!” God says. And this is actually God upping it a bit from what we’ll say were “previous understandings of calling.” The assumption was that this people would be the ones who were to essentially bring their own nation back together. They were called to a reunion of sorts where those had been scattered would be brought back together once and for all.

But what we hear in this passage is far more than that. “You will be a light for the whole world!” God told them. You will gather not only yourselves, but others too. “ You as a people will lead,” God said to the prophet, “and you, Israel, will give this world what it desperately needs, what it deeply hungers for you will offer to this world something of God’s dream as our Presiding Bishop Michael Curry would say. This is not just any family reunion, the is the pulling together of God’s family – finding each other, reaching across divisions – participating in reconciliation which is a few steps beyond reunion, right? It’s a related but different calling. Through Isaiah, the people were called to be light, grace not only for themselves but for the whole world.

Now note who it is whom God is saying this to. God is not speaking to the one who is perennially the victor or the biggest or the strongest or the fastest. It’s not the most powerful who were called to make this happen. God is speaking here to the one who is “abhorred” and “despised,” the one who was historically and repeatedly powerless, beat up, and on more than one occasion, lost. God is speaking to the one who had taken tons of hits, because of the horrible tendency to need someone to hit. So what’s happening in this passage and many others too is that the kid who is always bullied is called to be a light to the nations. The people who are enslaved are told they will shine. The smallest, weakest, slowest will lead us, according to the prophet Isaiah. And they are to do it with mercy, forgiveness, and love. And God will help it happen.

It’s a flip on its head of how we envision power, leadership, even light. And so when Jesus came on the scene he was tied into this dream of God, he had came to fulfill this promise of God, this dream of God who had dreamt and still dreams reconciliation writ-large. And in Christ, God invited all people into this light-filled mission and the hope it inspired. The author of the Gospel of John is clear from his opening chapter that Jesus is the light of the world, the one who has come to shine in a way the world so desperately needs.

And so today we hear about these two encounters with John the Baptist, which took place just shortly after Jesus baptism which we heard about last week. In the first encounter, John saw Jesus walking toward him and proclaimed him to be the “Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!” John then said a little more about how he had come to know this to be, how he, John had seen the Spirit descending on Jesus at baptism and went on a bit about how this is the guy for whom they have been waiting. John is like this huge, living arrow pointing to Jesus as THE ONE. THE LIGHT. THE LAMB OF GOD. THE SON OF GOD. There was nothing subtle about John the Baptist.

So then came the second encounter in which John ran into Jesus again, so presumably these guys were just wandering around town every day and “happened to bump” into each other. This second time John was with two of his followers. John again proclaimed Jesus to be Lamb of God, and in that moment his followers quickly shifted their attention from John to Jesus.

And Jesus did sort of an amazing thing. He didn’t exactly pick up where John left off. Given that there was this arrow-shaped-camel-hair-dressed- prophet shouting about how he, Jesus was LIGHT and LAMB and SON of GOD, Jesus could have run with that. Sort of filled himself up and risen to the occasion of the spotlight as perhaps many expected him to.

Instead, Jesus in that moment showed them how this light would shine, how this light would lead, how this light would reconcile and heal this world. “What are you looking for?” Jesus asked them. These were the first words he spoke to his disciples. Not “Sign up now!” or “Jump on the bandwagon of this hugely popular thing that will be great or mighty!”

Instead, Jesus opened with a question, an invitation really, a genuinely kind beginning for the disciples. And through this question they were given the privilege and also the responsibility to name their own searchings, their own seekings, their own hurtings and hungers. “What are you looking for?” is a big question, if we let it be. It’s a kind one too, an empathetic one, a loving one.

It’s a question that we can ask ourselves and allow to sink in in order to know how God is leading us. What are you looking for, individually and as Grace Church too – what are your/our searchings, seekings, hurtings, healings? Jesus then followed up with the phrase, “come and see.

“What are you looking for?” followed by “Come and see” was the flow. Those were the only two things Jesus said in this entire passage until the renaming of Simon. And so those phrases are linked and probably should be for us too. In those two phrases Jesus invited the now his disciples to an encounter, an encounter that would unfold over the next several chapters, for the rest of Jesus life including resurrection, and the rest of their lives too.

Perhaps this is the invitation at the heart of it all, the heart of the gospel anyway and perhaps the heart of reconciliation too. I’d go so far to say that it’s at the heart of evangelism done well, lovingly well. “What are you looking for?” is an offering of sorts. It’s an “I am willing to listen to you,” question. An “I am willing to listen with you,” question. And it was offered by the LAMB OF GOD, SON OF GOD, LIGHT OF THE WORLD.

So this whole evolving encounter – God with the world in Christ and then Christ in the world with all – was like one big open door through which light could shine, through which a profound mercy could flow, mercy that had the power to literally, miraculously transform not only the lives of the disciples, but the world too. Come and see! He said.

Martin Luther King Jr, whose memory and ministry we celebrate as a nation officially tomorrow knew well the words of the prophet Isaiah and spoke of light in darkness as he fought the injustice of racism as he invited us all into a vision that went beyond reunion into the life-giving grace of reconciliation. As he invited us all into the calling of the prophets the calling of the Body of Christ, “ Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that,” King said first in a sermon in 1957. A sermon on loving your enemies. “ Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that.” Into which King wove in the vision of the prophet Isaiah, a vision of reconciliation writ large, a vision that took on darkness head on and called this nation to a more just, merciful way. Called us all to a more just, merciful way.

Now I believe that there are moments in which such transformations takes hold in remarkable and noticeable ways – we’ll hear soon from the gospel of John about being born again – about personal transformation that take place in the blink of an eye. But for most of us this is a life-long experience of “come and see,” of allowing the question of What are you looking for to sink in over and over again, and to listening deeply for how others in this world answer this question, how other children of God answer this question. The work is not done. The calling has not been fully lived into by the Body. I can share data and stories and images but you already know we are not yet there. This is not the promised land. Because there are so many ways in which the question in this gospel is still being answered: I’m looking for…Freedom. Equality. Kindness. Shelter. Wisdom. Breakfast. Supper. Forgiveness. Friends. Community. Courage. Understanding…sometimes even the deeply honest, “I’m not sure what I’m looking for.”

And so this takes time, all of it, but the question will hold us and guide us if we’ll let it, because the light of the world has us too. And them too. The invitation never goes away – come and see! This light never goes away. Darkness cannot over come it. We can’t extinguish it but we can help it shine. We can participate in helping create and recreate that which God would have us come and see. The work is in ourselves, here at Grace and out in the world too. The light of the world merciful, powerful, here and now, AND eternal.

So allow it to speak to us. This light has a voice! We hear it occasionally through prophets given this world as they help us hear what those who are other are looking for. We can hear it in each other too, and in ourselves if we’re willing to listen. Allow the question in this gospel to enter your hearts and the heart of Grace too. Invite others to come and see and know that Christ is calling us through open doors that lead us to that which we need, that which we seek. There is light and healing for all.

Amen.

The Rev. Jennifer Adams – November 18, 2018 – Proper 28, Year B

Proper 27, Year B: 1 Samuel 4:1-20; Hebrews 10:11-25; Mark 13:1-8

1 Samuel 4:1-20

On the day when Elkanah sacrificed, he would give portions to his wife Peninnah and to all her sons and daughters; but to Hannah he gave a double portion, because he loved her, though the Lord had closed her womb. Her rival used to provoke her severely, to irritate her, because the Lord had closed her womb. So it went on year by year; as often as she went up to the house of the Lord, she used to provoke her. Therefore, Hannah wept and would not eat. Her husband Elkanah said to her, “Hannah, why do you weep? Why do you not eat? Why is your heart sad? Am I not more to you than ten sons?”

After they had eaten and drunk at Shiloh, Hannah rose and presented herself before the Lord. Now Eli the priest was sitting on the seat beside the doorpost of the temple of the Lord. She was deeply distressed and prayed to the Lord, and wept bitterly. She made this vow: “O Lord of hosts, if only you will look on the misery of your servant, and remember me, and not forget your servant, but will give to your servant a male child, then I will set him before you as a nazirite until the day of his death. He shall drink neither wine nor intoxicants, and no razor shall touch his head.” As she continued praying before the Lord, Eli observed her mouth. Hannah was praying silently; only her lips moved, but her voice was not heard; therefore, Eli thought she was drunk. So Eli said to her, “How long will you make a drunken spectacle of yourself? Put away your wine.” But Hannah answered, “No, my lord, I am a woman deeply troubled; I have drunk neither wine nor strong drink, but I have been pouring out my soul before the Lord. Do not regard your servant as a worthless woman, for I have been speaking out of my great anxiety and vexation all this time.” Then Eli answered, “Go in peace; the God of Israel grant the petition you have made to him.” And she said, “Let your servant find favor in your sight.” Then the woman went to her quarters, ate and drank with her husband, and her countenance was sad no longer.

They rose early in the morning and worshiped before the Lord; then they went back to their house at Ramah. Elkanah knew his wife Hannah, and the Lord remembered her. In due time Hannah conceived and bore a son. She named him Samuel, for she said, “I have asked him of the Lord.”

Hebrews 10:24-25

Let us hold fast to the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who has promised is faithful. And let us consider how to provoke one another to love and good deeds, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day approaching.

Mark 13:1-8

As he came out of the temple, one of his disciples said to him, “Look, Teacher, what large stones and what large buildings!” Then Jesus asked him, “Do you see these great buildings? Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down.”

When he was sitting on the Mount of Olives opposite the temple, Peter, James, John, and Andrew asked him privately, “Tell us, when will this be, and what will be the sign that all these things are about to be accomplished?” Then Jesus began to say to them, “Beware that no one leads you astray. Many will come in my name and say, ‘I am he!’ and they will lead many astray. When you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed; this must take place, but the end is still to come. For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; there will be earthquakes in various places; there will be famines. This is but the beginning of the birth pangs.

Well we’ve entered those weeks when the gospel passages focus on “end times” which we heard more than alluded to this morning in the gospel of Mark.  Next week is Christ the King Sunday, the last Sunday on the liturgical calendar. Then we move into Advent and begin a new church year.  And as we end one year and begin the next, the passages are more “apocalyptic” in their tone and in their message.  We hear of wars and earthquakes and famines, the throwing down of buildings and the presence of false prophets. We’ll hear of Christ coming in the clouds, stars falling from the sky, and all of the tribes of the earth wailing!  And in the midst of all of that, we’ll hear the message, the promise that Christ himself is the alpha and omega, the beginning and the end.

So hang onto your hats! It’s going to be a bit of a ride in here for these next four weeks or so.

But really, that shouldn’t be too much of a culture shock.  Because it’s true out there too.  It’s a hold-onto-your-hat kind of world and so we need to know how to live in it, how to be people of faith in the midst of strong winds and changing skies.  Knowing how to interpret what appear to be life-ending or world-ending events and storms is an essential skill of faith. In response to those apocalyptic types of experiences, the gospel invites us to do a challenging but holy thing.

In all of these passages we’re being invited to see our endings as our beginnings.

The challenge is that endings can look to us like that’s all that there is. (Hence the language of “end.”)  But according to the gospels, an end is never all there is. There is always more to come. The other challenge is that when we’re living through one of our own perceived or actual endings, we’re inclined to try control it, to assume we know how the ending should go.

Now one of the things that I appreciate about these apocalyptic passages is their honesty.   Sophisticated folks (as we tend to see ourselves to be) often approach readings like these as “not meant to be taking literally.” We emphasize using our imaginations to engage these readings, in effect keeping them at a safe intellectual distance from us and us from them.  The problem with that approach is that we know wars and we know famines. They’re real. We know what it’s like to be led astray and need to regroup again.  That’s real too.  I haven’t necessarily seen stars fall from the sky, but technically, they do.  And if we’re listening at all, it doesn’t take much to know that the tribes of the earth are wailing, loudly, every day.

In fact the hard truth is that we can add to this list of apocalyptic images, because life often resembles these passages.  We don’t need imagination to engage that part of these texts.  We all have stories about one dimension or another of our lives, or several dimensions all at one time being completely shaken to the point of introducing an ending that we didn’t see coming – as if an earthquake had erupted in our living room.

It’s true of the world also. The images of boats overflowing with people as their nations struggle and ours does too; the news of treaties being shaken to their core; images of famine, hunger, and hurt are all around us.  And these stories are hard because they remind us of the fragility of it all. But they are also important to let in, because they make us honest about the fragility of it all.

If there is a positive to the last many years and I think there are many, it’s that we can no longer deny the presence of the kinds of very real earth shaking experiences that apocalyptic passages reveal.

What’s funny is how even given all of that, we still tend to be surprised when life takes a turn from the pastoral vision of green pastures and still waters into something that involves tumults and falling objects.  But remember that that vision of green pastures is a vision of heaven, not the world.  Which doesn’t mean that life here is completely devoid of green pastures and still waters, it’s just that those places and moments of calm and the occasional glimpse of eternal peace they give us, have a more limited place than they eventually will have.  Apocalyptic is perhaps more the norm.  And so, we need to be equipped for those things too.

And we can be! That’s the good news today. We are fragile and we break, but that’s never the end of the story.  We simply need to hone the skill of seeing our endings as our beginnings and we’ll be fine. We’ll be more than fine.  We will “be well,” in a way that is a holy well, as Julian of Norwich once said.

Which doesn’t mean that we’re called to deny the pain of the endings that come, just the opposite.  Apocalyptics are full of human anguish which is why they are so very hard to read. But they can also be comforting, because we know pain and being honest about it can help a process of healing begin.

Take Hannah, whom we heard about in the first reading today.  Hannah was living through the ending that was her not being able to birth a child which meant that the family line would come to an end.  There is a sermon here about the pain carried by many women who struggle to have children, and if that’s what has jumped out at you this morning, let me know and we’ll talk more.  That’s not the specific sermon I’m preaching today, but we can go to that place together. Just let me know.

Now in the face of this terrible loss, Hannah was ridiculed by “a rival” who for whatever reason, continued to kick Hannah while she was down.  There were no green pastures in sight and the waters were more like rapids going over a fall, than they were like stillness of any kind.   And so, one day, Hannah let it rip on the steps of the temple.  She “wept bitterly” the story says, and she also prayed.

This is a story of one individual’s apocalypse.

Hannah’s stars were falling and her entire world was quaking.  So much so that Eli the priest “thought she was drunk” based on the words she was uttering in prayer.  Note: prayers uttered while weeping bitterly don’t come out in fully coherent, collect or litany form.  And so, Eli’s first move was to confront Hannah about her supposed drinking problem.  Which was not the most pastoral of initial responses. But it was a good example of how the quakes that ran through living rooms then were no better interpreted than they are now.

But then when Hannah explained, Eli got it.  She shared her story with him and Eli was willing to receive it.  And then Eli did a beautiful thing.  He helped Hannah see that there was more to come, that there was hope to be had. And maybe that’s one the greatest gifts we can give to each other.

We can offer a presence in grief that allows whatever needs to flow to flow, but also communicates a gentle hope that this ending is not all there is, it’s never all there is.  This isn’t the kind of presence that denies another’s pain, but that through a kind and loving presence offers another piece to it all.  Now I want to be careful here not to imply that that’s why this story moved in the direction of Hannah having a son.  Not every story moves that way.  What I want us to hear is that Hannah’s ending was not an ending.  There was a new beginning on its way.  It’s that birth of “more” that I want us to hold onto.

“Birth pangs” are actually what Jesus called these apocalyptic kinds of experiences in today’s gospel passage.  Something is ending, but something is getting born, and this side of heaven, both of those things are true all of the time.  We’re always ending, sometimes more obviously and blatantly than other times, but it’s always true.  And when we come together, we’re even more aware of that then when we’re alone, which is an important reason to come together. There are those among us who have an earthquake running through their living room right now.  And there are those among us welcoming new life right now. And many of us are trying to integrate either end of that spectrum.  And all of that is true out in our world too.

The gospel reminds us in these stories that because we are held in hands greater than our own, while things may appear to be an apocalyptic mess, something, someone, maybe you, maybe me, maybe all of us are always trying to be born.  The end is simply never the end.

Padraig O’Touma, one of my current favorite theologians put it like this in a poem:

And I said to him:

Are there answers to all of this?

And he said:

The answer is in a story

And the story is being told.

And I said:

But there is so much pain

And she answered, plainly:

Pain will happen.

Then I said: Will I ever find meaning?
And they said:You will find meaning

Where you give meaning.

The answer is in a story.

And the story isn’t finished.

What we are invited to do as community of faith is a beautiful thing.  We’re being called to hone the skill of holding our endings as beginnings, letting the anguishes we know also be heard as pangs of birth.  It’s easier said than done, but it gets easier if we remind ourselves that the story isn’t finished, yet. Yours, mine, ours – not done.  It never is.  And as O’ Touma says, we can “find meaning.” We can always find meaning, because we can always find love.  And with love no matter at what point in our stories it comes, there is hope to be had.

Paul said this in the Letter to the Hebrews, “let us approach with a true heart in full assurance of faith… Let us consider how to provoke one another” (which are great words,) “let us provoke one another to love and good deeds, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day approaching.”

As wars rage and earthquakes abound, as nations rise against nation we’ll gather on the temple steps with those who weep.  We’ll embrace one another in the living rooms we know.  And we’ll meet the boats overflowing with those seeking hope on our shores. And together, alpha and omega holding us all, we’ll help birth a new day for us all.

Amen.

The Rev. Jennifer Adams – November 4, 2018

Now a certain man was ill, Lazarus of Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister Martha. Mary was the one who anointed the Lord with perfume and wiped his feet with her hair; her brother Lazarus was ill. So the sisters sent a message to Jesus, “Lord, he whom you love is ill.” But when Jesus heard it, he said, “This illness does not lead to death; rather it is for God’s glory, so that the Son of God may be glorified through it.” Accordingly, though Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus, after having heard that Lazarus was ill, he stayed two days longer in the place where he was. Then after this he said to the disciples, “Let us go to Judea again.” The disciples said to him, “Rabbi, the Jews were just now trying to stone you, and are you going there again?” Jesus answered, “Are there not twelve hours of daylight? Those who walk during the day do not stumble, because they see the light of this world. But those who walk at night stumble, because the light is not in them.” After saying this, he told them, “Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep, but I am going there to awaken him.” The disciples said to him, “Lord, if he has fallen asleep, he will be all right.” Jesus, however, had been speaking about his death, but they thought that he was referring merely to sleep. Then Jesus told them plainly, “Lazarus is dead. For your sake I am glad I was not there, so that you may believe. But let us go to him.” Thomas, who was called the Twin, said to his fellow disciples, “Let us also go, that we may die with him.”

When Jesus arrived, he found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb four days. Now Bethany was near Jerusalem, some two miles away, and many of the Jews had come to Martha and Mary to console them about their brother. When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went and met him, while Mary stayed at home. Martha said to Jesus, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. But even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask of him.” Jesus said to her, “Your brother will rise again.” Martha said to him, “I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day.” Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?” She said to him, “Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world.” When she had said this, she went back and called her sister Mary, and told her privately, “The Teacher is here and is calling for you.” And when she heard it, she got up quickly and went to him. Now Jesus had not yet come to the village, but was still at the place where Martha had met him. The Jews who were with her in the house, consoling her, saw Mary get up quickly and go out. They followed her because they thought that she was going to the tomb to weep there. When Mary came where Jesus was and saw him, she knelt at his feet and said to him, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

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

Many of the Jews therefore, who had come with Mary and had seen what Jesus did, believed in him. (John 11:1-45)

Well we have a beautiful passage to reflect on today, which is All Saints Day on the Liturgical Calendar, one of the high feast days of our church.  This passage has got just about everything going on in it, so let’s fill up with some of its pieces and then I’ll offer some reflections.

A friend of Jesus’ was ill, his name was Lazarus and he was the brother of Mary and Martha.  And because of this illness, the sisters sent a message to Jesus who was moving about various towns with his disciples and the message said, “The one whom you love is ill.”  And so Jesus made his way to Bethany and when he arrived, he found that Lazarus had already died, and that he’d been in the tomb for four days.

Martha met Jesus on the road as he approached their home and said, “Lord, if you had been here my brother would not have died.”  Martha then, after a brief but significant theological exchange proclaimed to Jesus, “I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world.”

Martha then went and got her sister, Mary.  Mary came out of the house to meet Jesus and many followed her because they thought she was going to the tomb to weep there.  When Mary got to Jesus, she opened with the same line, “Lord if you had been here my brother would not have died.” And at this moment Jesus was “disturbed in spirit and deeply moved” and Jesus wept.  Which was also a theological conversation of sorts, just without words.

They all went to the tomb and Jesus told them to take away the stone. Martha (who had just proclaimed him the Messiah) reminded Jesus of the practical reality that Lazarus had been in the tomb for four days and that there would be a stench. And so Jesus reminded her of their earlier conversation. And they took away the stone.  Then Jesus cried with a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!”  The dead man came out, his hands and feet bound with strips of cloth, and his face wrapped in a cloth. Jesus said to them, “Unbind him, and let him go.”

The dead man came out, his hands and feet bound with strips of cloth, and his face wrapped in a cloth. Jesus said to them, “Unbind him, and let him go.”  And I find that last line to be one of the most powerful in all of Scripture.

Now part of why I love this passage and find it perfect for today is that running throughout the entire story there is this beautiful presence of that which is human alongside of, even woven together with that which is holy.  This gospel story is both messy and miraculous all at the same time.  And so is life!  And so this story resonates in profound ways.

There was the death of someone who was brother and who was also friend.  We know that story, each of us knows that story of grief and loss.  And in the midst of weeping, there was the embrace of those who had become family to each other. We know that story too.  When love meets loss. There is that beautiful moment when the whole community followed Mary and they followed her “to weep with her at the grave.”  They followed before they had any idea that they were actually processing their way into a miracle.  We know that story of “being with.” And we need to also go beyond my own story or our story with this, because this week when I hear about communities and loss and love, I think about the people of Tree of Life Synagogue who have spent the week processing and weeping and mourning, after the deaths of their brothers and sisters too.  And I think of the embrace offered them by the Muslim community in that city who raised tens of thousands of dollars to care for their Jewish neighbors, and in their gifts vowed to process forward with them.

I also know as this gospel story laid out what it’s like to proclaim the presence of the Messiah one moment and then later that very same day feel concern about the stench that could be released if we open our tombs.  I know what it’s like to be called out of a place that feels like death, to take the risk of walking forward and to allow others to unbind me.  I know the story too where we all come together to unbind one who needs to be set free.

We know this story, the mess and the miracle of it all, the profound integration of that which is human with that which is holy.  And maybe saints are the people who remind us of this. They manage in extraordinary ways to shine light on the messy and the miraculous all at the same time. And saints help hold us in those places, because saints know or at least trust that in those places there is amazing grace to be had.

A few weeks ago I read an article about an extraordinary person.  He’s not on the calendar of saints.  I don’t actually know what religion he followed if any, but this man was a saint in this world.  I’ll close with his story.

His name was Chiune Sigahara.  He was born in Japan and he ran the Japanese Consulate in Lithuania during World War II.  And as the article I read stated, “He saved 6,000 Jews with his handwriting.”

Soon after arriving in Lithuania in 1939, Sigahara was confronted with Jews fleeing from German-occupied Poland. His country discouraged him from offering what would very literally be life-saving visas.  Sugihara talked about “that refusal to receive” with his wife, Yukiko, and their children and decided that despite the inevitable damage to his career, he would offer these people safety and freedom.

The author of the article described it like this, “Most of the world saw throngs of desperate foreigners. Sugihara saw human beings and he knew he could save them through prosaic but essential action: “A lot of it was handwriting work,” he said.

Day and night, he wrote visas. He issued as many visas in a day as would normally be issued in a month. His wife, Yukiko, massaged his hands at night, aching from the constant effort. Maybe she was a saint too.

“When Japan finally closed down the embassy in September 1940, “Sugihara took the stationery with him and continued to write visas.  When the consulate closed, Sugihara had to leave. .. and while leaving, he literally threw visas out of the train window to refugees on the platform. At least 6,000 visas were issued for people to travel through Japan to other destinations, and in many cases entire families traveled on a single visa. It has been estimated that over 40,000 people are alive today because of this one man.”

After the war, Sugihara was dismissed from the foreign office. Not suprising.  He worked at menial jobs for the rest of his working life and it wasn’t until 1968 when a survivor, Yehoshua Nishri, found him that his contribution was recognized. Nishri had been a teenager in Poland saved by a Sugihara visa and was now at the Israeli embassy in Tokyo.

The author speaks of “moral courage” in this article, but I think can be described by us today as “what saints do.”  Sugihara saw the mess all around him and the miracle that was being asked of him.  He saw the life-saving unbinding that was being asked of him. And the ability to respond in the way that he did requires what this author called, “mysterious and potent combination of empathy, will and deep conviction that social norms cannot shake.” But I would add, communities of faith can help teach and nurture

“How would Sugihara have responded to the refugee crisis we face today, and the response of so many leaders to bolt the gates of entry? There is no simple response adequate to the enormity of the situation,” said the author. “But we have to keep before us the image of a single man, overtaxed, isolated and inundated, who refused to close his eyes to the chaos outside his window. He understood the obligations common to us all and heard in the pleadings of an alien tongue the universal message of pain.”

Finally from this article says its author, ‘When I was telling this story to college students I told them that there would come a time in their lives when they would have to decide whether to close the door or open their hearts.”

Saints help us decide which of those options to take.  They remind us of what is possible when we process together with empathy and love.  The don’t pull the shades, they look out their windows and notice the mess and the miracle, the human and the holy.  And they give whatever gift they have to the ones seeking to be unbound.  They embrace the neighbors with whom they are faced and offer the gift of presence, joining in the procession that longs to bring us all into miracle.

For Sugihara it was handwriting. For Martha it was proclamation.  For Lazarus it was allowing himself to be called out and unbound.  For Mary it was a quiet embrace and a community that gathered with her.  Years after the war, Sugihara spoke about his actions as natural: “We had thousands of people hanging around the windows of our residence,” he said in a 1977 interview. “There was no other way.”

May there be no other way for us.  May that mysterious and potent combination of empathy find its way into our hearts and out through our actions.  May we be the saints God is calling us to be.

Amen.

The Rev. Jennifer Adams – October 7, 2018 – Proper 22, Year B: Job 1:1, 2:1-10; Mark 10:2-16

Some Pharisees came, and to test him they asked, “Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?” He answered them, “What did Moses command you?” They said, “Moses allowed a man to write a certificate of dismissal and to divorce her.” But Jesus said to them, “Because of your hardness of heart he wrote this commandment for you. But from the beginning of creation, ‘God made them male and female.’ ‘For this reason a man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh.’ So they are no longer two, but one flesh. Therefore what God has joined together, let no one separate.”

Then in the house the disciples asked him again about this matter. He said to them, “Whoever divorces his wife and marries another commits adultery against her; and if she divorces her husband and marries another, she commits adultery.”

People were bringing little children to him in order that he might touch them; and the disciples spoke sternly to them. But when Jesus saw this, he was indignant and said to them, “Let the little children come to me; do not stop them; for it is to such as these that the kingdom of God belongs. Truly I tell you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will never enter it.” And he took them up in his arms, laid his hands on them, and blessed them.            (Mark 10:2-16)

So one of the ways that I’ve come to think about Jesus’ message, is that he came to reset the ground rules, the ground rules for how we operate here.  Here being “in the world,” and for that matter, “in the church” too.  Now that’s a pretty basic interpretation of Jesus, and I have more to my Christology, should anyone out there be concerned about heresy. I do believe that the Son of God offered eternity in beautifully holy and life-giving ways. But deeply related to that vision and that salvific promise was Jesus’ presence and voice; alongside the gift of forever was his deep concern and compassion for the here and the now. Because the here and the now wasn’t working very well.

And so sometimes I need to go basic, and maybe you do too. I need to remind myself that God-who-so-loved-this-world (and loves it still,) responded to human pain and human need and human desire and capacity for joy.  God sent Jesus into the world with ideas, and suggestions, some of which were given as commands or even offered as actual manifestations about how the here and the now could be better. And not just better but there here and the now could be more loving, more holy, more good in the way that “God saw it to be good” in the first place.  Jesus came in part to reset the ground rules so that we could operate better here.

And today’s gospel is one of the passages that does just that.

Now I’ve printed copies of a sermon I preached a few years ago that addressed the issue of divorce head on. I’ve preached on that several times, because all of us whether directly or indirectly have been touched by divorce as children of divorced parents, or parents of divorced children, or as couples who have lived through divorce, or as friends or family of a couple who have, or simply as people who have remained married for entire adult lives yet have walked through extremely challenging times and know what it’s like to wonder.

Both life and this text have more going on than may initially appear.  And so if you have questions or personal experiences that were touched by divorce and would like a sermon explicitly dedicated to that experience and this text please pick up that sermon and let me know if you’d like to talk some more. And remember that ultimately whatever your journey happens to be, this church community is committed to healing and offering faithful support.

In this passage, it was the question about divorce that Jesus used as the means by which to offer a reset. And that’s the approach I want to take today. The Pharisees, asked Jesus “Is it lawful for a man to divorce his wife?”  Note first that they were trying to set Jesus up, and sometimes understanding the motivation behind the questions matters. The Pharisees didn’t come to Jesus asking how to build healthy marriages, or how to strengthen them.  They didn’t come asking how to care for people who were struggling with marriage, or how to help people heal when marriage broke, because sometimes they did.

The Pharisees were trying to trap Jesus and Jesus knew that and so in good Jesus fashion, he gave the question right back to them. “Well, what did Moses command you?” he asked.  And they responded, “Moses allowed a man to write a certificate of dismissal and to divorce his wife.” And that’s when Jesus said No.  And he offered an opportunity to reset.

Because to divorce a woman was to cast her out, to exile her from her family, her community of faith and any means of support she had – financial, communal, spiritual. A woman literally had no means of recourse in the society nor in the religious community. She had no power in the decision-making process. It was very simply, legally and in terms of religious contract a process of dismissal.And that’s what was wrong. I really want us to hear that.  There’s a lot to talk about in all of this, but this morning we can go right at the heart of this gospel.

Through this conversation, Jesus exposed the truth that there was a legal and a religious means by which one human being could dismiss another and to that Jesus said, “No”  And he offered a reset.  And he talked about belonging to each other, being created for each other and then he talked about being one flesh.

It’s a No we need to hear, not because divorce can never be a healing option. Not because to be divorced is to be placed on the list of “outside of love and God and church.”  There is no such list – that’s part of the point.  And sometimes, rarely, but sometimes in order for two human beings to stop dismissing each other, they need to stop be married to each other.  But Jesus’ point is actually bigger than the question the Pharisees asked, and Jesus was in his response, crying out for them to let it be.

Because in some ways, we are all one flesh. I actually think that’s the point of this gospel.  I think that’s the understanding that is the reset being offered by Christ.  And that is a reset that we so very deeply need today, and so we should probably take up his offer.

We are all one flesh.  Explained through covenant and new covenant if we speak in the language of our faith. Explained by the deeply intertwined realities of action and effect if we speak in terms of quantum physics, (which I obviously don’t.)  Explained by the innate drive for human connection, if we speak in terms of secular humanism.  I can go on and on with the list of religions, and areas of study, the bodies of people, and the deep longing for wholeness that proclaims not only a vision but an argument for this “one-flesh” insistence and why we hunger for it and really should live that way.

I can also make lists of what happens when we don’t function that way.   But I don’t want to add to that list, because every day adds to that list.

What Jesus says in this passage is that we have options for how we understand the relationships we have with each other.  We always have options and in today’s passage Jesus offered an option to what was so very wrong.  And we need to hear it to. There can be no dismissals.  Of any kind.

Which means that the questions themselves change.  It is no longer “Who has a right to dismiss whom?” Instead the question is, “What can we do to strengthen the relationships we have, and establish those that we don’t, and heal those that are broken.?” And the “one flesh” idea might help us.

Because then one person’s hurt is ours too.  Another person’s life is ours too.  A brokenness in one body is a brokenness is ours too.  And together being one flesh we can create something new.  Something this world desperately needs but has not yet come together to make.

May the dismissals stop now, the inward and outward dismissals we make.  It’s time to be one flesh, to create a new way together.  With God’s help it can be so.

Amen.