"What Does Love Look Like?"
Acts 2:41-47; Psalm 23: John 10:1-10
On Good Shepherd Sunday, the
Fourth Sunday of Easter, the lectionary always gives us the Twenty-Third
Psalm. In times of loss or suffering—in
times when we face the illness of a child or a dear old friend, or the doctor
gives us a scary diagnosis, we can
turn to the witness of faith we find in the scriptures. The 23rd Psalm has been called one
of the psalms of trust, in which those who are praying proclaim their confidence
in God’s goodness—despite the very real difficulties they are
experiencing.
“The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want. “I trust in God to
provide what I need.
“Even though I walk through the valley of
the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me.”
The
Psalmist doesn’t deny the reality of evil, nor its capacity to wreak devastation. But he has adopted a resolute stance in the
face of real threat: “No fear.” Not
because the police and FBI are on the scene.
Not because our military has tools to exact vengeance so that
perpetrators can’t hurt anyone again.
No. Because “God is with
me.”
This
is a core claim of our faith: that there
is one God, the God of love, and that we can place our trust in God to be with
us, always. That doesn’t mean that we
will never have to face danger or hardship or sorrow. But it does mean that we will not be alone in
it, and that we will be given the strength to get through.
“You prepare a table before me in the
presence of my enemies. You anoint my
head with oil. My cup overflows.”
If
our first impulse is fear in the face of terror, the second impulse for a lot
of people is vengeance. Just as the
Psalmist doesn’t deny the reality of evil, neither does he ignore the reality
that
there are people in the world who mean him harm. But in the Psalm, the impulse to vengeance is
short-circuited by the deep awareness of grace, which re-directs the energy
that would have been drained to exact retribution—and channels it to gratitude
and joyful thanksgiving.
Our
Christian faith points us toward an alternative worldview that shuns reactive
violence and opens up possibilities for personal and social transformation.
We
are Easter people—people of the Resurrection.
In the face of violence and death, we hear our sacred texts speaking defiantly,
calling us to fearlessness in the valley of the shadow of death.
At
the end of the gospel lesson we heard, we hear Jesus making a clear statement
about his mission and ministry. In contrast
to all that would rob us of life—the thieves and bandits he mentions—Jesus
says, “I came that they may have life and
have it abundantly.”
What
I hear in this is that God loves us—loves the world-- so much that we are given
the possibility of eternal, abundant life.
This abundant life is contextual—it looks different in different places
and to different people. But it always
manifests itself as a response to whatever seeks to to rob God’s beloved
children of their inheritance of life… purpose… and joy.[1]Today’s gospel lesson from John follows the story of the healing of the man born blind. Jesus goes right into this discourse about sheep and gates and shepherds, as an interpretation of the sign that he enacted in restoring sight to the blind man.
The Pharisees who interrogated the blind man in John 9 are supposed to be the shepherds of Israel, those who care for, protect, and nourish the people. But they refuse to believe that Jesus and his healing work come from God. They’re more concerned about guarding their power and authority than about the well-being of the people. They expel the healed blind man from their community.
Jesus said, “I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.”
God
loves us so much that God wants to be present with us… and to give us what we need.
The
Easter story in ancient times and now is a story of new life, new possibilities,
boundaries being broken down, and transformation.
In
the passage we heard earlier today from the book of Acts, we have glimpses of new
life in the early church. Following
Peter’s Pentecost sermon, there were many people who had joined the Jesus
movement who may never have heard Jesus’ teachings. They were committing themselves to the
teaching of the apostles and to the fellowship.
The new believers were sharing their lives and anticipating a future
together.
It’s
a beautiful picture of community:
they’re living together as community, eating together, praying together,
doing theology together. They are
literally giving away everything that they have so that nobody will be hungry
or homeless. They’re filled with awe and
gladness and joy. And the community kept
growing.
But
we know from the Bible’s accounts that life in the early church had its
problems. Over the centuries, the church
did amazing and beautiful and loving things… and also terrible and violent
things, in the name of God. The bad news is that we often fail to live into the love and unity God intends for us. Someone will enter the congregation and they will be needy or messy in a way that we can’t cope with, or maybe beautiful and different in a way we can’t handle. Each one of us will come face to face with someone we will refuse to love.
Yesterday afternoon I was part of a panel discussion at a gathering of Episcopalians at the Church Cathedral of St. Paul. My friend Rabbi Dorit was on the panel, and two Muslim women who are Syrian-American. We were asked to address the question “Why Interfaith?” I shared some history of Littlefield’s history of interfaith work over the years, and talked about what the various traditions have in common.
My new friend Rouzana told her story. She told how she had attended a Catholic school in Syria, and had grown up hearing the priests pray to “Allah.” She said she’d never thought she was “doing interfaith” at the time, but she was.
During very dangerous times, their town was bombed and there were “death squads.” Her father got a warning that he needed to move his family to safety immediately, and he crowded them all into a car and drove them to the nearest Christian village. He knew the name of one Christian man, whom he’d never met. They found his home and knocked on the door. When the Christian man came to the door, Rouzana’s father told him where they were from. The man said, “Say no more.” And he invited them in and gave them shelter.”
Friends, this is what love looks like.
I had a deadline to decide on a sermon title, and I came up with “What does love look like?” Then I wondered how I was going to answer my own question.
It can be different in different contexts. It might look like a church deciding they could provide supplemental food for the weekend for the neediest children at our neighboring school, giving “blessings in a backpack.” It can look like welcoming someone into your home-- or your community or nation-- and providing safety and care. It could look like preparing a table in the presence of enemies.
We
live in this broken and fearful world.
As we live as Christ-followers together, we weep with God over what we
see--violence to humanity and creation
and, guided by the Spirit, we open ourselves to work with God for peace…
reconciliation… and justice. When we refuse to be silent in the
face of injustice and poverty and violence and terrorism and bigotry, we break
death’s ability to have the last word.
We are Easter
people. The good news is that Jesus came to us that we might have life and have
it abundantly. Christ is still working
in and among us through the Holy Spirit, leading us into new and abundant life,
teaching us to live as loving, generous, joyful people.
When we trust in the Shepherd God
of love and mercy, we can live confidently.
God gives us what we need… and restores our souls… and guides us in
paths of righteousness for God’s name’s sake.
We don’t need to be afraid, because
the God of goodness and love is with us, as we embody God’s love and goodness
and work toward restoration and wholeness.
God
is at work in us, in the Church, transforming us, helping us to become more
truly a Beloved Community.
Thanks
be to God!
Amen!
Rev. Fran
Hayes, Pastor
Littlefield
Presbyterian Church
Dearborn,
Michigan
May 7, 2017
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