"Faith and Fear." A Sermon from Littlefield Presbyterian Church. Mark 9:30-37.

"Fear and Faith"

Mark 9:30-37

In last week’s gospel lesson, Jesus traveled to the region of Tyre and then to the Decapolis.[1]  In today’s text, he’s back in his home territory of Galilee, but “he did not want anyone to know it.”  The reason he didn’t want anyone to know he was there? He had some important teaching to do with his disciples.

            Some very important things have happened in the meantime.  In Caesarea Philippi, Jesus had asked his disciples, “Who are people saying that I am? Who do you say I am?” Then he began teaching the disciples about what awaits him in Jerusalem and about the cost of following him. Peter, James, and John had seen Jesus transfigured on a mountain.[2]  Later, Jesus cast a demon out of a boy.

            Now, as they’re passing through Galilee, Jesus is trying again to avoid being noticed while he continues to teach his disciples, saying, “The Son of Man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again.”  But the disciples didn’t understand what he was saying and were afraid to ask him. Maybe they don’t want to understand. This is a hard teaching about a Messiah who suffers and dies.

            I wonder what the disciples might have asked if they had not been afraid.  Are we really very different?

            I agree with David Lose that it’s important to ask good questions. But our fears can get in the way. What fears pursue you during the day and haunt you at night? What worries weigh you down so that it’s difficult to move forward in faith?”[3] Our fears have a way of sneaking into our very being, and robbing us of the abundant life Jesus came both to announce and to share.

            Did you notice? The disciples don’t ask Jesus any questions in response to his prediction of his crucifixion because they’re afraid. And the next thing you know they’re talking about who was the greatest, who was going to have a place of privilege and power in the coming kingdom.

            Fear can do that. It can paralyze you. It can motivate you to look out only for yourself.

            This isn’t the only time Mark contrasts and faith and fear. In the fourth chapter of Mark, after Jesus stills the storm that had terrified the disciples, Jesus asks them, “Why are you afraid? Have you no faith?” As he was restoring Jairus’ daughter, he tells the distraught father, “Don’t be afraid. Only believe.”[4]

            The opposite of faith is not doubt--but fear.  The kind of fear that can paralyze you… distort how you perceive reality… and drive you to despair.

            The disciples didn’t understand what Jesus was saying and were afraid to ask him.

            In the house in Capernaum, Jesus asked them, “What were you arguing about on the way? But they were silent, for on the way they had argued with one another who was the greatest.

            He called the twelve and said to them, “whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.  Then he took a little child and put it among them, and taking it in his arms, and he said to them, “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.”

             

            Now, in ancient times, a child was regarded as a non-person, or a not-yet-person, the possession of the father in the household.   When Jesus held up a child as an emblem of living in God’s household, and perhaps even as a stand-in for Jesus himself, he was challenging the social norms of the day.

            This child was as important to Jesus as the vision on the mountain. Jesus wanted his disciples to see the child…and welcome the child.  Not because the child is innocent or pure or perfect or cute.  No. Jesus wanted them to welcome the child because the child was at the bottom of the social heap.  In Mark’s gospel, children aren’t symbols of innocence or holiness. More often, they are the victims of poverty and disease. Jesus brings the child from the margins into the very center.

            But, surely, we want to think, we are different.  We value children in our churches and in society. And yet…

            In the United States of America--one of the richest countries in the world-- children remain the poorest age group. According to the Children’s Defense Fund, nearly one in five children--12.8 million in total-- were poor in 2017. Over 45 percent of these children lived in extreme poverty at less than half the poverty level.  Nearly 70 percent of poor children were children of color.  The youngest children are most likely to be poor, with 1 in 5 children under 5 living in poverty during the years of rapid brain development.

            Child poverty hurts children. Child poverty hurts our nation’s future. It creates gaps in cognitive skills for very young children, puts children at greater risk of hunger and homelessness, jeopardizes their health and ability to learn, and fuels the inter-generational cycle of poverty.

            Ponder this: 3 million children in the U.S. live in families surviving on $2 a day per person.[5]  I hope you’ll take that statistic home with you and consider what $2 a day per person would buy and what it wouldn’t.

            Something else to ponder:  More than 400 children who were separated from their families at the southern border are still separated from their families.

            These are moral issues that reflect how we are living our values in our society. When we look at the federal and state budgets and see actions to limit access to medical services for lower income Americans including children, or cut-backs in nutrition programs for children, we need to see how these actions affect children’s lives.

            Do we see the children? Do we welcome them?

           

            Joyce Ann Mercer suggests that Jesus’ treatment of children shows his “struggle and resistance to the purposes of empire.” The politics of empire favors relationships of power and privilege, while the politics embodied of the kingdom of God lifts up the lowly, and those with no power or privilege. [6]

            Jesus came to live among us, full of grace and truth.[7]  He proclaimed the reign of God, preaching good news to the poor and release to the poor and release to the captives…teaching by word and deed and blessing the children.[8]

            Do we see them? Do we welcome them?  If we don’t, what are the fears that hold us back from fully welcoming them?

           

            Jesus called his followers to live out gospel values. He calls us to extending hospitality to those who were considered little more than property.  He healed when he wasn’t supposed to, touched people he shouldn’t have touched.  He taught that all our ideas about greatness mean nothing if we don’t stoop down low enough to see the little ones in our midst.

            That day in Capernaum, Jesus held a little child in his arms and brought the words of heaven down to earth. I imagine Jesus whispering in the child’s ear, “You are God’s beloved child.”[9]

           

            The good news is that God has named us all as beloved children and calls us to welcome children in Christ’s name. This isn’t as simple or limited as it might seem. It means caring for children-- not only our own children and grandchildren, but children of migrant workers and asylum-seekers, children of poverty in our cities and impoverished rural areas.

            The good news is that Jesus has promised to be with us always and has given us the Holy Spirit to lead and empower us.  In this broken and fearful world, the Spirit gives us courage to pray without ceasing, to witness among all peoples to Christ as Lord and Savior, to unmask idolatries in Church and culture, to hear the voices of peoples long silenced, and to work with others for justice, freedom, and peace.[10]

           

            Thanks be to God, through Jesus Christ our Lord!  Amen!

Rev. Fran Hayes, Pastor

Littlefield Presbyterian Church

Dearborn, Michigan

September 16, 2018
 

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[1] Mark 7:24-37

[2] Mark 9:2-8

[3] David Lose, “Faith and Fear,” at his blog In the Meantime. https://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=1619

[4] Mark 4:40; Mark 5:36

:

[5] Child Poverty, at Children’s Defense Fund website:  https://www.childrensdefense.org/policy/policy-priorities/child-poverty/

[6] Martha L. Moore-Keish, Theological Perspective, in Feasting on the Word: Year B, Volume 4: Season after Pentecost 2. Location 3408.

[7] John 1:14.

[8] “A Brief Statement of Faith” of the Presbyterian Church (USA), 1991.

[9] I’m grateful to the Rev. Dr. Barbara K. Lundblad for this image in “A Hopeful Fanatic.” http://day1.org/4049-a_hopeful_fanatic

    

[10] “Brief Statement of Faith.”

"Resurrection Doubt, Resurrection Hope." A Sermon from Littlefield Presbyterian Church on Luke 24:36-48

"Supper at Emmaus." Artist: He Qi

"Resurrection Doubt, Resurrection Hope"

Luke 24:36-48

“While in their joy they were disbelieving and still wondering…”

            New Testament scholar David Lose says, “If you don’t have serious doubts about the Easter story, you’re not paying attention.”[1]

            Think about it. The different gospel accounts have some interesting variations, but they’re consistent about one thing: nobody believes the good news of Jesus’ resurrection when they first hear it. And that includes Jesus’ own inner circles of disciples, who were closest to him and spent the most time with him.

            Easter Sunday was only two weeks ago, but it feels like longer to me. But the verses we just heard are a continuation of Luke’s account of the first Easter day.

            In the first story, the women went to the tomb, they found the tomb was empty. Heavenly messengers opened the scriptures to them, explaining that Jesus had been raised from the dead. But when the women returned to the Eleven disciples and the others, they dismissed what the women said, calling it “an idle tale.”

            Actually, the word Luke used-- leros-- is the root of our word “delirious.” So, the disciples may have been saying the women were extremely excited and joyful, but also incoherent…irrational…or mentally confused. Delirious.

           

            Well, is it so surprising that the disciples had their doubts? Jesus had died on the cross and been buried. The testimony they heard from the women that Jesus who died has been raised upsets the natural order of things and everything they’ve always believed about how things work in the world.

           

            The story continues. Peter gets up and runs to the tomb to see for himself and he’s amazed.

           

            In the second story, on the same day, Cleopas and another disciple were walking toward Emmaus and talking about what had been happening. Jesus came and started walking with them, but they didn’t recognize him, even as Jesus interprets the scriptures for them. When they invite Jesus to dinner and he took bread and blessed it and broke it and gave it to them, their eyes were opened, and they recognized him, and Jesus vanished from their sight.

            That same hour, the two got up and returned to Jerusalem, and they found the eleven and other disciples, who were talking about how Jesus was risen and had appeared to Simon Peter. Then Clopas and his companion told about their encounter on the road and how Jesus had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread.

            The story continues in the verses we heard this morning. While they were all talking, all of a sudden Jesus was standing among them, saying, “Peace be with you.” They were startled and terrified, and thought they were seeing a ghost.

            Imagine having to explain to your closest friends, over and over again, that you’re not a ghost or a figment of their imagination, that you are real and alive, approachable, and trustworthy.  What would you say or do to calm their fears?

            Jesus doesn’t scold them or reprove them or shame them. He sees that they’re still struggling, even though he’d predicted all these things three times, and they’ve already heard the testimony of the women, and Cleopas and his companion, and Peter.

            Jesus meets them where they are.  He asks them, “Why are you frightened, and why do doubts arise in your hearts? Look at my hands and my feet. See that it is I myself. Touch me and see--for a ghost doesn’t have flesh and bones as you see that I have.”  Jesus showed them his hands and feet, which bear unmistakable signs of his crucifixion and vulnerability.

            But that isn’t enough. “In their joy, they were disbelieving and still wondering…”

            So, Jesus says, “Do you have anything to eat?” They gave him a piece of broiled fish, and he took it and ate in their presence.

            Then he said to them, “These are my words that I spoke to you while I was still with you--that everything written about me in the law of Moses, the prophets, and the psalms must be fulfilled.” Jesus’ whole life, death, and rising were about what God is doing in the world--reconciling the world to God’s self. It has always been about God and God’s purposes and agenda for creation-- repentance that leads to forgiveness and the wholeness of creation.[2]

            Then he opened their minds to understand the scriptures.” He said to them, “Thus it is written, that the Messiah is to suffer and to rise from the dead on the third day, and that repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem.”

            He opened their minds to begin to see that death is not the final word. He sets them free from those bonds and commissions them: “You are witnesses of these things.”

            I love how Luke’s account of the resurrection story shows us that joy and disbelief, wonder and understanding, fear and courage are all part of our experience. Apparently, we don’t have to have it all together to be a witness to “all of these things.” Our Christian faith takes root in the tension.  Jesus meets us--all of us-- where we are in order to embrace our wonder, disbelief, and joy and gather us into the amazing, surprising grace and newness of God.

            Today’s gospel lesson brings the work and ministry and teaching of Jesus full circle. At the very beginning of his gospel, Luke tells us that Jesus is the fulfillment of God’s plan to redeem all of creation.

            The power of the resurrection is the power to plant the seeds of transformation and new life. The hope of the resurrection is grounded in the experience of those first disciples, whose closed minds were opened.

            Just when we think the story is over, God has something new to say.  It has always been about God, and it still is. 

            As witnesses, we are called to declare in our words and deeds the presence and power of God in the midst of tragedy, despair, and death. They are not ultimate, because God’s goodness is stronger than evil and death.

            The good news is that we do not witness alone, as we are part of a community of fellow believers. We do not witness alone, as the Spirit is indeed coming. In a broken and fearful world, the same Spirit who inspired the prophets and apostles gives us courage to pray without ceasing, to witness among all peoples to Christ as Lord and Savior, to unmask idolatries in Church and culture, to hear the voices of peoples long silenced, and to work with others for justice, freedom, and peace.[3]

           

            Thanks be to God!

           

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[1] http://www.davidlose.net/2015/04/easter-3-b-resurrection-doubts/

  

[2] Barbara J. Essex, in “Homiletical Perspective,” in Feasting on the Word: Year B, Volume 2: Lent Through Pentecost. Kindle Edition, Loc 15076/

[3] Brief Statement of Faith of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.), 1990.

"Not the End of the Story." A Sermon on Mark 16:1-8 on Easter Sunday.

"Not the End of the Story"

Mark 16:1-8

         The Sabbath day has passed and it is the dawn of a new day.  Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome are bringing spices to anoint the body of Jesus.  For the disciples, it has been a long and painful Sabbath.  The women had seen Jesus’ body placed hurriedly in the tomb late Friday afternoon.   Now the three women are headed back to the tomb, wondering among themselves, who would roll back the large stone that covered the door.

            Their relief at finding the stone rolled back turned to fear when they get there. Jesus’ body was gone.  Instead, there’s a young man, dressed in white.

"Don’t be alarmed;" he says, "you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth who was crucified.   He has been raised.  He is not here.      Now, go and tell the disciples and Peter that Jesus is going before you to Galilee.  You will see him there, just as he told you."

            The women flee from the tomb, filled with terror and amazement.  They say nothing to anyone-- for they are afraid.   Mark’s gospel ends here.

            This unfinished story bothered people in the early church enough that they wrote two different endings to tack on.  It's bothered a lot of scholars over the years-- so much that some of them developed theories about how the last page of Mark's gospel was lost…  or how it wore out and fell off.

            However, the consensus of biblical scholars today is that Mark did indeed end his gospel with verse 8.   In Mark’s gospel, there are no joyfully amazed women rushing back with news of the empty tomb…no awestruck exclamations to the disciples that “he is risen!”   There are no reassuring appearances by the risen Christ himself.   We have to read the other gospel accounts that were written later to find these things.

            The three women are filled with grief, and overwhelmed with amazement and terror.  On this Easter Sunday in the year 2018, can you relate to their response? What do you feel when you hear the news of the resurrection? Are you confident and joyful? Are you ready to go and tell?

            Maybe. Maybe not. I suspect that there are a lot of people in the pews of churches-- and outside the church this Easter Sunday who feel like they’re living in a Good Friday kind of world. 

            If you feel like you've been living in a Good Friday world, maybe you can relate to the women who went to the tomb that first Easter morning.  They'd hoped that Jesus was going to be the Messiah who would liberate them from the Roman oppressors.  But things haven't turned out the way they'd hoped.

            The women didn’t expect to Jesus to be resurrected, even though Jesus had told his disciples three times that he would suffer and die and then be raised again. But they hadn’t understood.

             The women had seen Jesus executed on the cross with their own eyes, and they thought death had won the day.  They’d come to anoint his body for burial.

            As far as they knew, nothing had changed. They were still living under the oppression of the Roman empire. The empire had executed Jesus because they saw him as a threat to the stability of the Palestinian region of the Roman empire, because he dared to disturb the peace of the “Pax Romana” by causing the ruckus at the Temple, calling out the hypocrisy of the temple leaders, seeking to cleanse it and reclaim it from those who were colluding with Rome.

            The empire executed Jesus because he had been proclaiming a rival empire-- the Kingdom of God.[1]

            As Roger Wolsey points out, those who worshiped Caesar as god executed Jesus because his followers were describing him with the titles they reserved for Caesar: “Lord,” “Son of God,” “Lord of lords,” Prince of Peace,” and “King of kings.” 

            Jesus lived a life of radical, self-giving, unconditional love, teaching subversive and counter-cultural things that challenged the empire’s authority.[2]  He preached the kingdom of God. The confession of the earliest Christians was “Jesus is Lord,” which means Caesar is not.  

            So much had happened that first Holy Week, and the women were overwhelmed and terrified.  The young man at the tomb says, “Don’t be alarmed. Don’t be afraid.”  That’s easier said than done. “You came looking for a crucified Jesus, but he isn’t here.  He has been raised. Go and tell his disciples and Peter-- even Peter, the one who denied Jesus three times. Tell them that you all need to go back to Galilee, and you will see him there, just as he said.”

            I think maybe Mark knew that no story about death and resurrection could have a neat and tidy ending. One of the themes throughout Mark’s gospel is how the disciples just don’t get the meaning of a lot of his teachings. We keep hearing Jesus ask, “Don’t you understand?”

            Three times the disciples had heard Jesus predict that he is going to have to suffer and die and then be raised again-- but they end up dazed, confused, and arguing about who’s the greatest.   Peter confesses that Jesus is the Messiah-- but completely misunderstands what that means, and actually rebukes Jesus when he explains.  

            Judas betrays Jesus.  Peter denies him 3 times.  All of the disciples desert him at the time of the crucifixion, except some of the women who followed him.     

            Finally, even these women, who up to this point had proved to be faithful disciples, are too afraid to go and share the good news. And so, Mark ends here, with failure, with an invitation to pick up where the gospel leaves off.[1]

            Maybe this is Mark’s way of telling us that Jesus meets us at the point when we are broken, when we have failed, when we’re afraid, and turns what seems like an ending-- into a new beginning.  

            The story isn’t over.  With the first disciples, we need to leave the empty tomb and go back to Galilee.   Like the first disciples, we can’t understand the story the first time.  We need to go to the cross and to the empty tomb… and then read the story again and find ourselves in the story.   We need to go back to “the beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.”[2]   This time, we need to hear the gospel with post-resurrection eyes. 

            When we go back to Galilee, we see Jesus healing and teaching and casting out demons, but always being misunderstood, even by those closest to him.  Mark is telling us that the saving action of God in the world is always hidden and ambiguous. 

            We go back to Galilee, and the second time around every story in the Gospel of Mark is a post-resurrection appearance.  What we see is a God who surprises us at every turn in the road, a God whose power is expressed finally in weakness.[3]

             Mark wrote an open ending to his gospel in order to invite the disciples and everyone who reads it to jump in and take up our part in continuing it.   You see, the story of what God is doing in and through Jesus isn’t over at the empty tomb.   It’s only just getting started.  

            Mark’s Gospel is all about setting us up to live resurrection lives and to continue the story of God’s redeeming work in the world. 

            Mark intentionally left the story unfinished-- because it isn't just a story about something that happened long ago.  It's the story of the church, and the story isn't finished.   That first Easter, the whole urgent, world-changing story was hanging on the testimony of witnesses who run away in fear and silence.   

            Yet, they must have gone out and told. They must have gone to Galilee and seen the risen Christ. They must have proclaimed the good news to the others-- or we wouldn’t be here today. 

           

            We live in a world can be a frightening place.  Sometimes we can feel overwhelmed by all the pain and suffering... hatred and evil we see.

            The women came to the tomb expecting to see a place of death and defeat.    They thought the powers of this world had had the last word.

            But the God we worship and serve hears the suffering of marginalized and oppressed people and cares… and “acts with justice and mercy to redeem creation.”  The Living God will have the last word, because love is stronger than evil.  That’s part of the good news of Easter.

            Jesus came to live among us, full of grace and truth[3]… and “proclaimed the reign of God… preaching good news to the poor and release to the captives… teaching by word and deed…and blessing the children…healing the sick and binding up the brokenhearted…eating with outcasts… forgiving sinners… and calling all to repent and believe the gospel.”[4]   

            When Jesus challenged the religious authorities and the empire with his vision of love and justice and transformation, the empire executed him.

            Just as surely as that first Good Friday was the domination system’s “no” to Jesus, Easter is God’s “yes” to Jesus and his vision… and God’s “no” to systems of domination and oppression. 

            Our Easter faith assures us that in Christ's death on the cross and his resurrection, God has already overcome the power of death and evil.  The old life is gone.  A new life has begun[5]—a life of gratitude and joy...  a life in which the Holy Spirit sets us free to accept ourselves and to love God and neighbor, and binds us together with all believers in the one body of Christ, the church. 

God's redemptive purpose for the world will prevail through those who answer Christ's call to follow him and carry on his purpose and work.

            The good news is that we are not alone.  In a broken and fearful world, the Spirit gives us courage to pray without ceasing, to witness among all peoples to Christ as Lord and Savior, to unmask idolatries in church and culture, to hear the voices of peoples long silenced, and to work with others for justice, freedom and peace.[6]

            That’s how the rest of the story continues.

            Giacomo Puccini, who wrote such great operas as Madame Butterfly and La Boheme, was stricken with cancer in 1922.  He decided to write one more opera entitled Turandot. 

            One of his students said, "But suppose you die before you finish it?"

            "Oh, my disciples will finish it,"  Puccini replied confidently.  

            Puccini died in 1924, and his disciples did finish the opera. Puccini's best friend, Franco Alfano, worked from sketches left by the composer to complete the opera, which many consider it to be his best work.

            The premier took place in Milan, Italy, at La Scala Opera House.  Arturo Toscanini, one of Puccini's best students, was the conductor.  The performance began and continued to the point at which Puccini's work had abruptly ended.  Toscanini paused and said to the audience, "Thus far, the master wrote...   and then the master died." Then he picked up the baton and shouted to the audience, "But his disciples finished his music!"[7]

            As disciples of Christ, we are called, as individuals and as Christ's church, to be about the task of finishing the music whose melody and direction we can discern in the acts of God in history   and in the life and teachings of Jesus.

            God calls us to live beyond our fears and doubts.  In the resurrection, God showed us his amazing, life-giving power.  We know that the story of our life with God has a joyful ending.

            Go.  Tell.  As Christians, we are called to take risks...  to make ourselves vulnerable in love...  to share with strangers...  and to dare to challenge unjust power.  

God, in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus the Christ, is making all things new, and we are called to be a part of this new life.   So, go.  Tell.

Christ is risen!  Alleluia!

Rev. Fran Hayes, Pastor

Littlefield Presbyterian Church

Dearborn, Michigan

April 1, 2018

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[1] Roger Wolsey, “Why They Killed Jesus”, in Patheos (2015) at http://www.patheos.com/blogs/rogerwolsey/2015/06/why-they-killed-jesus-2/

[2] Wolsey, “Why They Killed Jesus.”

[3] John 1

[4] “Brief Statement of Faith,” Presbyterian Church (USA), 1990.

[5] “The old life is gone; a new life has begun” is part of an assurance of forgiveness that we hear often during the corporate act of confession in Presbyterian worship.

[6] “Brief Statement of Faith.”

[7] I’ve read several versions of the story of how the opera Turandot was finished after Puccini’s death, which agree on most points. One source says the premier performance stopped at the point where Puccini died, and that it was followed the next day with a performance of the completed work. In any case, the disciples carried on and completed the work.

"Hard to Imagine:" A Sermon on Matthew 16:21-28 from Littlefield Presbyterian Church.

Crosses for pilgrims to carry as they walk the Via Dolorosa in Jerusalem

"Hard to Imagine"

Matthew 16:21-28

One minute, Jesus is telling Peter “You’re the rock on which I will build my church” and the next minute he’s calling him “a stumbling block.”  Can you imagine? Maybe, as David Lose suggests, that’s the difficulty. Peter couldn’t imagine. 

            In last week’s gospel lesson, Jesus asked his disciples who the people were saying he was, and they repeated what they’d been hearing: that Jesus was one of the prophets. Then Peter said, “You are the Messiah, the son of the living God!”  And Jesus sternly commanded the disciples not to tell anyone he was the Messiah.

            Many Biblical scholars believe that when Peter declared that Jesus was the Messiah, he was imagining a warrior-king, like David-- who would drive out the Roman occupiers and liberate the Israelites. When you think about it, that’s a reasonable hope. The Romans were foreign occupiers. They imposed Roman law, and they taxed the people to pay for the occupation.  They enforced the occupation and taxation by violence. So many people hoped that God’s Messiah--the “anointed” would set them free from the Roman Empire, transform the world and set things right.

            The problem with Peter’s expectation isn’t that it’s unreasonable--but that it doesn’t really change anything. Rome is holding Palestine by force and violence. If Jesus were a warrior-king, he would have to use greater force and violence to drive them out. Eventually, another empire with even more force or willing to do even greater violence could come along and take over. So, who’s in charge might change-- but the cycle of force and violence keeps going.

            Jesus knows this.  In his preaching and teaching about God’s kingdom of forgiveness, mercy, and love-- rather than retribution, violence, and hatred-- he’s challenging the powers that be.  And he’s challenging their understanding of how the world can be, if God’s will is done.

            Jesus tells his disciples that some of their religious leaders will inflict great violence upon him and kill him. When you step back and remember the gospel story, it isn’t surprising that Jesus was killed. From the time of his birth, Jesus was such a threat to the rule of force and violence that Herod was frightened “and all of Jerusalem with him.”[1]. Herod was willing to slaughter all male children under the age of two in and around Bethlehem, to try to destroy the one who might someday replace him as Rome’s puppet king. Herod counted on the chief priest and scribes to cooperate with his agenda and that of the Empire.

            Peter hears all this talk of suffering and death. Clearly, this isn’t what he’s imagined or hoped for. He’s sure this is no way to be the Messiah or to successfully build the kind of organization he had in mind, so he takes Jesus aside and rebukes him.   “Listen, Jesus, this can’t be what God intends for you. There must be a different way. Our deliverer is supposed to save us from our enemies and rule the nations with power and might.! That’s what we thought we were signing on for--not a cross!”

But Jesus turns and looks at his disciples, and he sternly rebukes Peter, saying, “Get behind me, Satan!  For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”

Then he says, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.  For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it.” 

             

            Can we imagine what that means? What does that look like?  I think it looks different in different times and contexts.

            Many of the leaders of the movements to abolish the slave trade and the institution of slavery in Great Britain and the United States were Christians who felt called to speak truth to power, to work for the cause of God’s justice for all.  Those who were part of the Underground Railroad and helped fugitive slaves to escape to freedom faced personal danger and legal consequences.

            During the most terrible years of World War II, when inhumanity and political insanity held most of the world in their grip and the Nazi domination of Europe seemed irrevocable and unchallenged, a miraculous event took place in a small Protestant town in southern France called Le Chambon-sur-Lignon. There, quietly, peacefully, and in full view of the Vichy government and a nearby division of the Nazi SS, Le Chambon's villagers and their clergy organized to save thousands of Jewish children and adults from certain death.  The story of “how goodness happened” there is told in a beautiful book entitled Lest Innocent Blood Be Shed.[2]

            Also during World War II, ordinary Danish Christians who saw their Jewish neighbors being rounded up by the Nazis and sent to concentration camps… and responded by ferrying many of them by night to safety in Sweden.

            These people knew that taking up the cross and following Jesus would be a way of sacrifice and risk.  And yet, in the book about what happened in Le Chambon, when villagers were asked about what they did, they were rather matter-of-fact about it. The people needed to find sanctuary and safety, they were able to work together and do it, and they seemed to do it with hope and confidence. Someone even shrugged their shoulders and said, “It was our hobby.”

            A few months ago, I re-watched the movie “Selma”, which shows how the march to Selma, along with the larger struggle for civil rights was filled with confrontation and suffering and sacrifice. And yet the theme song sings of “Glory.”

            Why?

            I agree with David Lose when he says, “Precisely because we find glory—and for that matter power and strength and security—only in those moments when we surrender our claims to power and strength and security in order to serve others.”[3]

            I think we know this--though sometimes we forget and need to be reminded.  Every time we let ourselves be vulnerable to the needs of those around us…every time we give ourselves in love to another…every time we get out of our own way and seek not what we want but what the world needs, we come alive, we are lifted up, we experience the glory of God made manifest.

            We do this most naturally as parents, sacrificing all kinds of things in the hope of caring for our children. But we also do it as friends and partners and neighbors. 

            But sometimes it’s hard for us to believe or to imagine.  It’s counter-cultural. So much in our culture wants to make us believe that we’ll be secure and happy if we have certain things. But none of the things on offer has the power to make us feel more complete or accepted or loved. The only thing that does is connection to others, in community, and a purpose beyond ourselves. And this requires sacrifice.

            The good news is that--when we move beyond being preoccupied with ourselves and look to the needs around us, and others begin to do the same, we discover more life and joy and acceptance and love than we could have imagined.

            And so, we work to feed the hungry at the school down the street and in our region and throughout the world.  We send help to those whose lives have been devastated by Hurricane Harvey. We pack bags of school supplies for needy children. We work to dismantle racism and other injustices. We do these things because the needs are great. But we also do these things because we need to do them, as we follow Jesus on the way of the cross… as we set our minds, not on human things, but on divine things.         

             

            On both of my pilgrimages to the Holy Land, we walked the Via Dolorosa-- the way of the cross.  Near the beginning of the Via Dolorosa, I saw a group of crosses propped up against a wall, where pilgrims could take up a cross and carry it as they walked the Via Dolorosa.

            Paul Shupe suggests that perhaps what we need is a multitude of crosses, one for each of us, at the doors of our sanctuaries, to be taken up as we return to the world of home and family, work and commerce, service and play—symbols of the call to discipleship that we have heard-- for us to accept anew.[4]

            When we prepare to celebrate the Lord's Supper, we proclaim one of the great mysteries of our faith:  Christ has died.  Christ has risen.  Christ will come again."

            We believe in a God who is powerful to overcome sin and death in the resurrection.  We believe in a God who keeps promises.  We believe that, in the fullness of time, Christ will return.

            If we really believe in the resurrection, deep in our bones, it changes the way we see everything.   When we pick up the cross and follow Christ, there may be darkness and death on the road.  But we know that the darkness does not overcome the world, because we have God's promises.           

            The cost of discipleship seems high.  And it is. 

            But we have Jesus' promise:  Those who lose their lives for his sake-- will save their lives. 

            Thanks be to God!

            Amen!

Rev. Fran Hayes, Pastor

Littlefield Presbyterian Church

Dearborn, Michigan

September 3, 2017

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[1] Matthew 2:3-4.

[2] Philip Halle, Lest Innocent Blood Be Shed, 2008.

[3] David Lose, in “The Theory of Everything,” at http://www.davidlose.net/2015/02/lent-2-b/

  

[4]  David L. Bartlett; Barbara Brown Taylor (2011-05-31). Feasting on the Word: Year B, Volume 2, Lent through Eastertide (Kindle Locations 2623-2625). Westminster John Knox Press. Kindle Edition.