Do Not Be Afraid (Resurrection Sunday)

Matthew 28:1-10

1 After the sabbath, as the first day of the week was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb. 2 And suddenly there was a great earthquake; for an angel of the Lord, descending from heaven, came and rolled back the stone and sat on it. 3 His appearance was like lightning, and his clothing white as snow. 4 For fear of him the guards shook and became like dead men. 5 But the angel said to the women, "Do not be afraid; I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. 6 He is not here; for he has been raised, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay. 7 Then go quickly and tell his disciples, "He has been raised from the dead, and indeed he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him.' This is my message for you." 8 So they left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy, and ran to tell his disciples. 9 Suddenly Jesus met them and said, "Greetings!" And they came to him, took hold of his feet, and worshiped him. 10 Then Jesus said to them, "Do not be afraid; go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me."

            I was sitting on the old hardwood floor of the rent-house where we lived on North Hill Street in Enterprise. My step-brother, Phillip, was sitting next to me. We were staring at the screen of the console television that sat on the same floor against the wall in the living room. With gray, plastic controllers in our hands, tethered to a matching gray, plastic box, we were fighting each other in the imaginary scenery of Capcom’s Street Fighter II: Turbo (it was the only game we owned for our Super Nintendo). We were playing that game for what I am sure was at least the hundredth time that summer, when somewhere off in the distance there was a slow groan of thunder. I remember trying to look out the front window to see what color the sky was, to see if there were drops hanging in the torn metal screens. I dropped the game controller and sort of speed walked into the kitchen where I asked my mom (as seriously as I knew how) if the weather alert would still come on the TV over our video game. When she said “no” I began a brief campaign of trying to convince Phillip to switch it off so we could watch soap operas on the local channels…you know, because that’s what adolescent boys want to do when they’re stuck inside during the summer, watch soap operas.

            Now, I wasn’t interested at all in watching Days of Our Lives, All My Children (which was my mom’s favorite), or any of those daytime dramas with their almost always unbelievable plot twists. No, I wanted to be able to see that little map of Alabama in the bottom right-hand corner of the screen. I wanted to be able to see that little red band that came scrolling by whenever there was a hint of bad weather on the way. You see, as a kid, I was absolutely terrified of bad weather. I mean I had such a fear of the weather that I’d get nervous if there was even a 30% chance of rain! I’m not really sure why I was scared of bad weather, and I can’t remember when I stopped being scared, but it was such a real fear for me as a young kid that it would almost paralyze me.

            Fear does that to us though, doesn’t it? It can shut us down, lock us up, stop us dead in our tracks, or even make us do things we never thought we’d do. Fear can be a very powerful thing, and each of us is afraid of something—even if we try to pretend we’re not, even if we try to convince ourselves and everyone else we’re the personification of fearlessness, we are all afraid of something.

            That fear can keep us from enjoying the life God has given, from enjoying the works of creation all around us. It’s widely known the NFL legend John Madden has a fear of flying and hasn’t boarded an airplane since 1979.[1] That fear has kept him from attending and doing commentary for the NFL Pro Bowl in Hawaii along with any other NFL game outside of North America. If Madden can’t get their on the ground, he isn’t going. Despite having the means and the career to do so, John Madden will never see some of the most beautiful places on earth, and he’s missed the opportunity to call some of the most memorable plays in the history of the NFL. Why? Because of fear.

            While fear can keep us from doing things we want, it can also keep us from doing that which we know is right. In October of last year, a blind man was walking down the street in Philadelphia when he was suddenly attacked by another man passing by. While the blind mas was being assaulted, repeatedly kicked and punched while he lay on the ground in broad daylight, several other people simply walked by the incident without so much as a word. No one intervened while the helpless man was being beaten.[2] Psychologists refer to this phenomenon as “the bystander effect.”[3] Put simply, the more bystanders there are at the scene of an event (in this case, an assault) the less likely it is that someone will intervene. This is due partly to a dispersed sense of responsibility, and also to our fear of acting contrary to the crowd. Fear can keep us from doing the right thing.

            Along those same lines, fear can keep us from loving each other the way God calls us to love each other. On a Sunday morning in September of 1970, Twila Fortune and her mother decided to join the church they had been attending for some time. They filled out membership cards, came forward to join the church, and then waited for the church to officially vote on their membership. A majority of the members of the First Baptist Church of Birmingham, however, voted against letting Twila and her mother join. Why? Because they were black, it was 1970, and for a church in Birmingham, Alabama to do such a thing in those days would have likely drawn attention, caused rumors to swirl, and brought the criticism of those who still hoped for a return to segregation. While 250 people did the right thing in showing God’s love and standing up for Twila and her mother, they left the church. Those former members of First Baptist Church formed what is now The Baptist Church of the Covenant (one of our sister churches in Alabama CBF).[4] The fear of change kept one congregation from loving even those who had been in their midst for some time.

            Fear also keeps us from loving God. It’s the theologically fashionable thing to do in some circles of evangelicalism today, to emphasize the “fear of God,” to highlight those stories that speak of God’s grand power to shake the earth and to wipe out armies with the blast of His celestial nostrils. It’s become popular to speak of the God who can end our lives with little effort, to preach of a God who threatens us with the wrath-soaked pit of hell that waits for those who step one toe out of line. This was the God the Reformer Martin Luther came to know as an Augustinian monk, as a priest. In fact, Luther was so terrified of this God, the story goes, that during his first mass as a priest he could not utter the words of blessing when it came time for the Eucharist. Luther’s fear of God was so real that he confessed that he did not love God, for he could not love a God that seemed to only be waiting to judge him and send him to hell. It was only after Luther began to understand the love of God—not only the judgment of God—that his heart turned and he became the great theologian and reformer we know him as today. Fear almost kept Luther from believing in and loving God altogether.

            Fear is powerful, and one can only imagine the kind of fear possessed by those two women named Mary as they walked to the tomb in the pale, cool air of that early Sunday morning.  To think these women were fearless is to misunderstand the situation. After all, they were followers, disciples of Jesus; they had left everything behind in order to follow him. Their lives had been forever changed when Jesus crossed their paths, and now, after witnessing his horrific death, what could they do? Could they go back to their families, back their homes? Would they be welcomed or labeled as outcasts, fools who hitched their wagons to a dead messiah? What about those who put Jesus to death: would they seek out those who followed him in order to execute similar judgment? Were their lives at stake now? All the men who had followed Jesus were gone—at least they didn’t come with these women. What did that have to say to them about their situation? What kind of fear did it take to keep even someone like Peter from coming to the tomb that morning, to keep these men who had shared a last supper with Jesus from being there when he breathed his last? One can only imagine the kind of fear that gripped the heart of these women as they made their way to the tomb.

            One can only imagine the fear that must have come over them when the ground started to tremble, then violently shake. We’re told in verses 2 and 3: “suddenly there was a great earthquake; for an angel of the Lord, descending from heaven, came and rolled back the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning, and his clothing white as snow.” Now, for some of us, the thought of an angel appearing sounds downright wonderful. I can remember my maternal grandmother and her fascination with angels in her later years; there were pictures of motherly looking beings in long, white gowns with soft, blond hair and wings on their backs, plates hanging on the walls with fat, nearly-naked babies fluttering like bumble bees with their tiny angel wings. Those are the kinds of images I imagine come to mind for most of us when we think of angels: nice, cute, warm beings that have come to protect us or guide us or give us a message from grandma on the other side. But that isn’t the ancient understanding at all! While angels were messengers from God the message they often brought was that of death or destruction. Couple that with an earthquake and an gigantic stone simply rolling back from the entrance to a tomb, it shouldn’t surprise us that Matthew tells us verse 4, “For fear of him the guards shook and became like dead men.”

            Here is another source of fear for these women, yet the angel says to them in verse 5 through 7, “Do not be afraid; I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. He is not here; for he has been raised, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay.  Then go quickly and tell his disciples, ‘He has been raised from the dead, and indeed he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him.' This is my message for you." “Do not be afraid.” Perhaps those words are easier said than done, yet the angel gives the women the good news of Jesus’ resurrection, invites them to see it with their own eyes, and then sends them on to share the news with the rest of the disciples, to tell them to go on to Galilee. But we get the impression that their collective fear has not fully subsided, because Matthew tells us in verse 8, “So they left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy, and ran to tell his disciples.”

There is still a lingering fraction of fear. They’ve witnessed angelic power, laid eyes on the vacant tomb, received a command from a messenger of God, and still there is a hint of fear in their hearts. Why wouldn’t there be? Would any of us be free of such fear after experiencing all that these women had gone through? Would any of us be free of the lingering fear that this angelic experience might be another misdirection, another command that will only lead down another road of disappointment, maybe even death? After all, while they may have seen what they believed to be an angel, and while they may have viewed an empty tomb, would that be enough to convince a jury of disciples that Jesus was indeed alive? What if the others didn’t believe them when they got back? They’re still not out of the woods of fear just yet, but then something happens, something casts out every ounce of fear they may have still carried.

“Suddenly Jesus met them and said, ‘Greetings!’ And they came to him, took hold of his feet, and worshiped him. Then Jesus said to them, ‘Do not be afraid; go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me.’" The women meet Jesus on the way. They are so certain that it is him that they take hold of his feet and even worship him! And what are Jesus’ first words after greeting these two women? “Do not be afraid.” Jesus knew that these women still carried fear with them and in his first post-resurrection command he calls them to lay aside their fear. Because fear can be a very powerful thing in our lives; it can be the kind of thing that keeps us from hearing the voice of the resurrected Lord.

Christ’s words for those women on that first Easter morning were “Do not be afraid,” and this Easter morning he has those same words for us: “Do not be afraid.” Whatever it is that you may fear, know that there is power in the resurrection of Christ to overcome that fear. Perhaps your fear can be found in the reality of death, the seemingly inescapable truth that life ends and what lies beyond is unknown and mysterious. Do not be afraid, because the Christ who is alive today is the same Christ who called forth Lazarus from the grave and who himself walked out a tomb to leave his grave clothes behind.

Perhaps your fear is rooted in the unseen, the unknown, the inexplicable; maybe you’re afraid of those things that are out of your control. Do not be afraid, because the same Jesus who gave site to a man born blind is the same Jesus who gives you eyes to see and ears to hear all that God has for you and all that God calls you to do. The Savior who is resurrected in glorious power and mystery is the same Savior who will make all things new.

Perhaps you fear that which is different, those situations or people who are different from you, situations and people you don’t fully understand. Maybe you’re afraid of them because accepting them, loving them, will mean you’ll have to change yourself. Do not be afraid, for the God who sat and talked with an outcast woman by a well in a different place like Samaria is the same God who rose up from the grave for all people—all races, ages, nations, genders, and dispositions, ALL PEOPLE—regardless of how different, how strange they may seem to us or how uncomfortable they may make us feel. That same God grants us love and the Holy Spirit to overcome our prejudices, our fears, so that we may love our neighbors as ourselves.

Perhaps your fear is found in your relation to God. Perhaps, like that man who came to Jesus by night, you are hesitant, maybe even a bit ashamed, to show your love for God in a world where such love is poorly defined, in a context where perhaps such love is unrecognized or even unwelcome. Do not be afraid, for the Teacher who spoke to Nicodemus and called him to new birth from above is the same Teacher who calls you to new birth from above. The same Christ that called Nicodemus out of the dark cover of night is the same Christ that calls you to come out of the darkness of fear, shame, and doubt and to step into the light of faith, hope, and love.

This Easter, this Resurrection morning, may you hear the first, resurrected words of Christ, “Do not be afraid,” and may you take them to heart. May you allow the perfect love of God to cast out all the fear that may weigh your spirit down. May you let go of the fear that keeps you from loving God and your neighbor as yourself. May you hear the Good News that Christ is risen and not be afraid.

Let us pray…

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[1] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Madden#Fear_of_flying

[2] http://www.cnn.com/2013/10/08/justice/pennsylvania-blind-man-beaten/

[3] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bystander_effect

[4] http://www.myfoxal.com/story/24839673/chur

The Same Mind (Palm/Passion Sunday)

Philippians 2:5-11

5 Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, 6 who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, 7 but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, 8 he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death— even death on a cross. 9 Therefore God also highly exalted him and gave him the name that is above every name, 10 so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, 11 and every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.

            Here we are, just a few short days away from that morning when we will hear the proclamation of those women from two thousand years ago, telling us that a tomb which once held a corpse now stands empty. We’re within earshot of their words of terror and amazement. But we are also within earshot of those who shouted “Hosanna!” when the beast baring the Lord tread across palm branches on the way into the city of Jerusalem, the final stop on Jesus’ journey this side of resurrection.  We’re within earshot of that quiet, covert conversation struck up by the Sanhedrin and the one who would betray his friend. We are within earshot of the sound of pouring wine, breaking bread, and sloshing water as Jesus ate his last supper with his friends and washed their feet. We are within earshot of marching soldiers, the sounds of swords being drawn, of hands slapping faces, and chains dragging the ground. We’re close enough to hear the voices that on this day cry “Hosanna!” change their song to the crude chorus, “Crucify him!” We’re close enough to hear the crack of the whip, the tearing of flesh, the reverberating thud of timber being dragged and dropped, and the resounding, metallic clap of iron being driven through flesh and bone into wood. We can even hear the groans, the cries of those three whose bodies are raised up before a crowd of onlookers as the burdens of their bodies and the weight of their fates make it difficult to breathe. We’re within earshot of those words Jesus would utter from the cross, words that reach their crescendo in the recalled cries of the Psalmist: “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani/My God, My God, why have you forsaken me.” We are able to hear, even today, the last breath as it leaves the lungs of the Son of God.

            On this Palm Sunday, this Passion Sunday, we are within earshot of all of those things that will transpire this Holy Week, yet this morning we hear something different on the air, something that perhaps seems more at home in an hour of worship. This morning we’ve heard a hymn. Now, I’m not talking about any of those hymns we’ve sang together so far; I’m talking about one of the oldest known hymns of our faith, the hymn found in our passage from Paul’s Epistle to the Philippians. It’s a hymn Paul weaves so masterfully into his letter to his most beloved congregation at Philippi; it’s a hymn that speaks of the self-emptied Christ, of his endless obedience even to the point of death—the cruelest death. It is a hymn the highlights the exaltation of this selfless Christ, an exaltation that leads to universal worship, complete confession. It’s a grand hymn that has stood through the ages and languages of the Church, preserved in the words of one of Christ’s apostles to one of Christ’s churches. Scholars call it the kenosis hymn (kenosis is the word translated “emptied”),[1] and it is a hymn many of you have no doubt heard or read a time or two.

            As with many hymns we sing these days, too often we sing them or hear them, but we really don’t listen to them. Sure, we know the words, but have those words found a place to land in our hearts and minds, a place where those words will begin to transform us? Far too often the words of hymns, the power contained in their beautiful lyrics, is lost on us as we find ourselves simply singing along, as if the worship of God in song was little more than elevator music—a nice little melodic distraction to get us through an otherwise awkward period of time and out the door. But with this hymn (and I hope the hymns we sing together in worship) I want us to take a moment to really listen to the words. Allow them to be more than mere vibrations in the air, and find the eternal truth there in the words. Because you see, the words of this hymn in Paul’s Epistle to the Philippians are words that speaks to the truth of what transpires in the events of this week, in the events of that first Holy Week.

            Christ, the Incarnate God, “though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited,  but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness.” Jesus was not simply some mortal man with the bad luck of being singled-out by God for a holy suicide mission. No! Jesus was God in the flesh! The second person of the Trinity, yet rather than divinely hovering above the filth of this world, God in Christ walked upon the ground the same way you and I do. Rather than some cosmic show of power and might, rather than some grand spectacle of destruction of all that is wicked, God in Christ quietly arrived in a barn in some backwater town called Bethlehem. He lived the life of one born into the lower class of society; he knew the taste of sweat, the sting of sore and cramped muscles, and the feeling of a hard day’s work. He felt joy and sorrow. And he did all of this despite being the eternal Creator of the universe in the flesh.

Being in the flesh, Jesus was obedient to the call of God, the work of the kingdom he proclaimed as he lived, moved, and ate among the sinners of this world. And rather than taking some hidden, heavenly highway off of this rock, Jesus’ obedience to God’s call led him straight to death, death in the cruelest fashion. In short, “being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death— even death on a cross.” In his humility, in his self-emptying, Christ was obedient to God to the point of death! This is no all-powerful deity flexing his planet-sized muscles in order to avoid the pain and torment of crucifixion. This is a benevolent God, unequaled and unopposed in the universe, who willingly lays down his life for the sake of the world he created, the world he loves.

The result of such obedience, the result of Christ’s selfless death is exaltation. The result of Christ’s self-emptying act for all of humanity is the uplifting and magnifying of his name: “Therefore God also highly exalted him and gave him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.” Jesus does not deserve this sort of exaltation, worship, and confession because he has used godly powers in order to strike fear into the hearts of human worshippers. Jesus has not gained a name worthy of universal confession because he has put sinners in their place. Jesus has a name worthy of such confession because he has put himself in the sinners’ place—in our place! Christ is not exalted because he sits on a cloud, lightning bolt in hand, waiting to strike us down at the first sign of misbehavior. Christ’s name is not lifted above every name because he is God that separates the good, clean, wholesome folks from the bad, dirty, unpleasant folks. Christ is exalted, given the name above every name because he is the God who shows power in humility, grace in excess of our sins, and unending, unfailing, unfathomable love.

With that kind of power in such a short hymn, it’s a wonder we don’t set it to music and sing in every church on every Lord’s Day. Perhaps we should. But before we call for a benediction, there is something we’ve overlooked, something in these verses of Scripture before us we’ve yet to address. You see, this hymn in Paul’s letter is a wonderful word on the self-emptying power of Christ; it is a glorious hymn expressing the glory of the God whose power lies in humility, whose strength is found in human weakness. It is a hymn praising the God whose love for us is so deep, so wide that that same God would take on flesh and all the trappings that come with humanness and suffer torture and the cruelest of deaths. Yet what I’m afraid we miss, what we so often overlook, especially as privileged, comfortable people, is Paul’s small introduction to this portion of a hymn in verse 5: “Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus.”

You see, we’ll sing hymns about the wonderful grace of Jesus; we’ll read Scripture about the humble way Jesus encountered people like Nicodemus, the Samaritan woman at the well, or all those who had come to mourn the death of Lazarus. We’ll rejoice in the light of Resurrection morning and the power that came through the death of Christ on a cross, and we’ll praise all the wonderful things we claim God has done for us or will do for us. But I wonder…in the midst of all that rejoicing, all that praising, all that hope for bigger and better things for ourselves, do we heed Paul’s command? “Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus.”

It’s easy, I suppose, to get caught up in what this season, this act of salvation from God means for YOU. I suppose it’s an easy thing to get lost in all that Christ has done for YOU and see it as some eternal transaction that benefits YOU in the end. I suppose it may even be easy for some to look upon what Christ has done and think to themselves, “I’m glad he did that so I don’t have to do anything.” There are, however, the words of Holy Scripture, words from the Apostle Paul, calling us to more than mere gratitude, words that call us to more than a simple recognition that God has decided to give us a chance to get out of hell.

“Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus.” These words from the apostle Paul are words that command us to live a life that mirrors the mind of God. In other words, while this is a lovely hymn about all that Christ has done for us, it is a hymn that calls us to the kind of life Christ desires from us. Far too often, Christians approach their faith as some sort of one-and-done transaction. It is as if they say, “Jesus paid it all, so I’m on a gravy train with biscuit wheels; no need for me to worry about anybody else but me now!” Too often I’ve seen so-called Christians who show up for church, sit on committees, give their money, and show up for Sunday School, yet still act as if the only person in the world that matters is themselves, as if Christ’s life, death, and resurrection serves as some sort of substitute for our responsibility to strive for a selfless life fit for the kingdom of God.  

“Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited,  but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death— even death on a cross.”  It is the mind, the heart, the spirit of this Christ that we are called to have. It is awful difficult to have the mind of Christ when you are so consumed by your own pride, your own arrogance, or your own agenda. It is awful difficult to have the mind of Christ when you seek to undermine the work of the kingdom of God, or when you strive to create turmoil in the lives of others simply because of your own sense of superiority. It is impossible to have the mind of Christ when you are anything but self-emptying, humble, and obedient to the love of God.

The call to Christian discipleship, the call to be “born again from above” is a call to selflessness, a call to empty yourself—your whole self—for the sake of others, not for the sake of glory, recognition, exaltation, or power. The call to follow Christ is the call to love others, not because you want their admiration, not because you want their love in return, but because the immeasurable, unmerited love of God overflows from your spirit. Because when the love of God abides within you, when you have the mind of Christ, you cannot help but have a selfless love for others.

            So, “Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death— even death on a cross. Therefore God also highly exalted him and gave him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.” May you empty yourself of all those self-serving ways that keep you from experiencing the fullness of God. May you be obedient to the call of love, even if it leads you through difficulties, even if it brings you to the point of death. May you seek to leave more of you behind as you take hold of more of who Christ is, and may you have the same mind that was in Christ Jesus.

Let us pray…

  

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[1] Amy Plantinga Pauw, “Sixth Sunday in Lent (Liturgy of the Passion), Philippians 2:5-11: Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word. Westminster John Knox Press: Louisville, KY (2010) pp.170-174.

Unbound and Let Go (Fifth Sunday in Lent)

John 11:1-45

1 Now a certain man was ill, Lazarus of Bethany, the village of Mary and her sister Martha. 2 Mary was the one who anointed the Lord with perfume and wiped his feet with her hair; her brother Lazarus was ill. 3 So the sisters sent a message to Jesus, "Lord, he whom you love is ill." 4 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." 5 Accordingly, though Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus, 6 after having heard that Lazarus was ill, he stayed two days longer in the place where he was. 7 Then after this he said to the disciples, "Let us go to Judea again." 8 The disciples said to him, "Rabbi, the Jews were just now trying to stone you, and are you going there again?" 9 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. 10 But those who walk at night stumble, because the light is not in them." 11 After saying this, he told them, "Our friend Lazarus has fallen asleep, but I am going there to awaken him." 12 The disciples said to him, "Lord, if he has fallen asleep, he will be all right." 13 Jesus, however, had been speaking about his death, but they thought that he was referring merely to sleep. 14 Then Jesus told them plainly, "Lazarus is dead. 15 For your sake I am glad I was not there, so that you may believe. But let us go to him." 16 Thomas, who was called the Twin, said to his fellow disciples, "Let us also go, that we may die with him." 17 When Jesus arrived, he found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb four days. 18 Now Bethany was near Jerusalem, some two miles away, 19 and many of the Jews had come to Martha and Mary to console them about their brother. 20 When Martha heard that Jesus was coming, she went and met him, while Mary stayed at home. 21 Martha said to Jesus, "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died. 22 But even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask of him." 23 Jesus said to her, "Your brother will rise again." 24 Martha said to him, "I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day." 25 Jesus said to her, "I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, 26 and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?" 27 She said to him, "Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world." 28 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." 29 And when she heard it, she got up quickly and went to him. 30 Now Jesus had not yet come to the village, but was still at the place where Martha had met him. 31 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. 32 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." 33 When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who came with her also weeping, he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved. 34 He said, "Where have you laid him?" They said to him, "Lord, come and see." 35 Jesus began to weep. 36 So the Jews said, "See how he loved him!" 37 But some of them said, "Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?" 38 Then Jesus, again greatly disturbed, came to the tomb. It was a cave, and a stone was lying against it. 39 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." 40 Jesus said to her, "Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?" 41 So they took away the stone. And Jesus looked upward and said, "Father, I thank you for having heard me. 42 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." 43 When he had said this, he cried with a loud voice, "Lazarus, come out!" 44 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." 45 Many of the Jews therefore, who had come with Mary and had seen what Jesus did, believed in him.

            Disneyland. I suspect a great number of you in this room have been to Disneyland at some point in your life. Then again, there are those in this room (myself among them) who have never been to that magical land ruled by the mouse called Mickey. There are other places like Hawaii, where some of you may have been before and others may never get the chance to go. Some of you may have had the opportunity to see Elvis live in concert, while some of us weren’t even alive during his lifetime. Some of us love the taste of sushi, while others won’t go near the stuff. You see, not all of us have been to the same places on this earth; not all of us can say we’ve seen the same sights or tasted the same foods or heard the same music. We all have different experiences, different stories that have shaped us, brought us to the place we are today. These different experiences make us who we are as individuals. There is, however, one experience I think we all share, one thing I think each of us in this room has in common, and I’d venture a guess to say that each of us has gone through such an experience more than once.

The settings may be different: most of us have probably experienced these sorts of things in rooms that look a lot like this one, with a raised platform (chancel) and a couple of rows of padded pews or benches. Then again, many of us have probably had these sorts of experiences outside, under a tent, while standing on grass or two-by-fours hidden by a plastic, green covering made to look like grass. Sometimes these events involve friends and family we haven’t seen for ages. Sometimes there is a central piece of pottery or metal jar, and sometimes there’s a wooden or metal box…and a hole in the ground. Sometimes there’s food afterward, dishes provided by a church or a group of friends. Sometimes it rains. Sometimes the sun shines so clear and warm that the air itself feels at peace. Sometimes it is an expected experience, and sometimes it catches us so off guard that it leaves our hearts broken and our minds filled with questions. No matter the setting, ceremony, or circumstance, I think I can safely safe we’ve all experienced it, the loss, the grief, the sorrow that comes with death.

It is precisely our experiences of death that make us who we are—not as individuals, but as the greater family of humankind. Every generation of every race, tribe, and tongue has experienced death, and each one has its own way of dealing with the dead, its own burial practices and grieving rituals. Whether we’ve stood by the graves of grandparents, parents, siblings, children, or friends, each of us, in our own way, has felt that common heartbreak that comes with the loss of one we love. And it is precisely because we share that heartbreak that we can so readily empathize with these two sisters, Martha and Mary, as they mourn the loss of their brother, Lazarus, in the eleventh chapter of the fourth gospel.

In the village of Bethany, about two miles from Jerusalem, Martha and Mary were tending to their sick brother Lazarus. Now, we’re not told what illness Lazarus had, but we’re told that it was of the sort that his sisters became concerned enough to send for Jesus, One whom they knew to be capable of healing. We’re told, however, that when Jesus gets word that Lazarus is ill—that his dear friend is sick—he doesn’t do anything! He doesn’t even seem concerned! His friend (whom we’re told he loved) is ill and close to the point of death, yet Jesus doesn’t seem to care! In fact, the gospel tells us in verse 6: “after having heard that Lazarus was ill, he stayed two days longer in the place where he was.” Jesus doesn’t seem the least bit concerned about his friend Lazarus, and in the midst of his seeming nonchalance, Lazarus dies.

Lazarus is dead. After being all mystical and cryptic, Jesus just puts it bluntly to his disciples in verse 14: “Then Jesus told them plainly, ‘Lazarus is dead.’” It’s only after Lazarus’ death, when it seems there is nothing to be done to heal him, that Jesus and his disciples head back to Judea, back to Bethany. From the time of Lazarus’ death to the time Jesus arrives in the village, Lazarus has been dead and sealed in his tomb for four days, leaving no doubt that the man was in fact dead. And when Jesus did arrive in the village, and Martha caught wind of his arrival, rather than waiting back home, seated in the proper way of ancient Judaic grief, “she went out and met him, while Mary stayed at home” (like she was supposed to do).

Can’t you really feel the irritation, the hurt, the frustrated grief in Martha’s voice when she speaks to Jesus in verse 21? "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” How many times have we had similar thoughts when it came to prolonging the lives of those we love most? “If the doctors had only tried a different treatment…if we had just gone to a different hospital…if she hadn’t taken that last drink…if he had just quit smoking years ago…if God would have been there to stop him from getting in the car that night…if…if…if…” We can drive ourselves mad with that little word “if.” You get the sense that Martha is remorseful, wishing that Jesus had been there to lay hands on Lazarus, to spit in some mud and rub it on his face, to say the right holy words, whatever it took to make her brother well, or at least prolong his life, if only for a little while longer. One can sense even in the tension of her frustration that Martha is trying to yield to Jesus’ power, to his divine abilities when she says, “But even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask of him." It almost sounds like Martha is attempting to flatter Jesus, perhaps in order to persuade Jesus to stay a little longer in Bethany, to explain himself and his tardiness. Whatever the case may be, it doesn’t seem like she expected what was about to take place, for when Jesus says to her in verse 23, “"Your brother will rise again," she all but interrupts him and says, “"I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day."

Martha has her theology in order; her eschatology is correct. The general resurrection would take place in the culmination of human history, and there and then her brother Lazarus would be raised. But Jesus, in the fifth “I am” (ego eimi) statement of John’s gospel, clarifies what he meant about Lazarus’ coming resurrection: "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?" Jesus wasn’t talking about some general resurrection of the dead to take place on an unknown day in the distant future. No, the reality of resurrection, the One with the power to bring it about, was there, in the present, right in front of Martha. And you get the sense that she just can’t quite comprehend what he said, because when asked if she believes it, she says, "Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world." It’s a good answer, but one gets the sense that Martha is giving a big, generalized answer about what she believes about Jesus, without fully understanding what Jesus means by saying he is the “resurrection and the life.”

Immediately after Martha’s confession, she went back to her house to tell her sister that Jesus was asking for her. Mary, repeating the earlier actions of her sister, “got up quickly and went to [Jesus],” and when she finds him, she says the exact same thing her sister said, “"Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died." It’s almost as if the tow of them had been talking about Jesus’ absence during their brother’s illness, as if they had rehearsed exactly what they were going to say when the eventually saw Jesus. But rather than repeating his divine proclamation to Mary, Jesus observes her grief. He is moved by her tears and the weeping of those mourning with her. Jesus asks, “Where have you laid him?” (words that foreshadow that coming morning when a different Mary[1] would be searching for the body of another), and the response is “come and see” (words that serve as a sort of call to discipleship throughout the fourth gospel). Then, in what I find to be one of the most powerful verses in all of Holy Scripture, we are told, “Jesus began to weep.” Jesus’ heart breaks for Mary and her sister Martha at the loss of their brother, Jesus’ beloved friend, Lazarus.

It is at this most human moment in the life of Jesus, that his divine power becomes most known, for after Jesus weeps for his friends, he commands that the stone be rolled away from the tomb (language that ought to call our hearts forward in time to another stone, rolled away from another tomb), and despite the warning from Martha about the stench of death, “they took away the stone.” Jesus offers a prayer of thanksgiving to God in order to make known the source of the power about to be displayed, and then…

“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 one who was once dead—four-days-dead—is now alive again. The one over whom so many tears had been shed, so many prayers prayed, the one whose illness had seemingly ended his life, came forth from the tomb that once sought to hold his rotting corpse. The graves clothes still clung to his body, perhaps a sign that this resurrection wasn’t the final say, so Jesus commands those standing by to untie the once-dead man and let him go. Unbind him to set him free, let him go to live, walk, and talk in the way of life after death, for the man who was once dead is now alive again! The one for whom the casket had been bought, the plot picked out, the flowers arranged, and the meat trays ordered, was breathing and walking and seeing and talking again. Death did not have the final word when it came to the life of Lazarus. Death never has the final word. No, only the Word incarnate, Jesus the Son of God, has the last word when it comes to life and death!

And while we may say “Amen!” to such a deep, theological sentiment, do we not still live a world much like the world of Martha and Mary before Lazarus’ resurrected recovery? Do we not still grieve when a loved one dies? Do we not still mourn when the casket sinks below the dirt? Do we not still feel that emptiness in our lives, that hole in our hearts where the ones we loved once occupied? Do we not still weep? Of course we do! Like Martha and Mary before Lazarus’ resuscitation, we live with the mystery of the unknown after death; we live with the graves of our friends and family in real, marked strips of earth; we live without those who’ve died.

But death is not the final word, and that is the power of the gospel. Death, despite our deserving it, despite our deserving of the grief and sorrow and pain that comes with the death of those we love, despite deserving death ourselves, it is not the final word! When Jesus raised Lazarus from the grave, it wasn’t simply some sign to demonstrate his power of the created elements; it was a sign foreshadowing his own death and the power that would come in his own resurrection. On this fifth Sunday in Lent, we’ve pulled back the curtain to get a glimpse of the glory, of the power that is coming on Easter morning, and that glory, that power is rooted in the divine, unending, unmeasurable love of God that says to us, while God may weep with us in the depth of our grief and pain, there is joy—unimaginable joy—in store for us who call on his name. There is life—eternal, joyful life—for those who trust in his love. And the greatest thing about this joy, this eternal life, this resurrection, is that it is not some far off promise, to be realized on some unknown day in the future. Resurrection is real, here and now, and it is made real by those of us who have already been unbound and let go to share that hope, that love with the world. We live in the reality of resurrection, and that means while death still lingers in this world, we have an amazing hope that goes beyond death, a hope that is made real in the Christ who promised new birth from above, a hope that is made real in the Christ who promised living water and sight to the blind.

May you be unbound and let go today: unbound to live in the joyful hope that death is not the end; let go to share that hope with the world. May you cling to that hope, and if that hope is not real in your life, may you hear the voice of Jesus calling your name this morning, and may you come out of death and into new, resurrected life.

Amen.

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[1] It is unclear whether Mary of Bethany and Mary Magdalene are one in the same.

Blinded by the Light (Fourth Sunday in Lent)

John 9

1 As he walked along, he saw a man blind from birth. 2 His disciples asked him, "Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?" 3 Jesus answered, "Neither this man nor his parents sinned; he was born blind so that God's works might be revealed in him. 4 We must work the works of him who sent me while it is day; night is coming when no one can work. 5 As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world." 6 When he had said this, he spat on the ground and made mud with the saliva and spread the mud on the man's eyes, 7 saying to him, "Go, wash in the pool of Siloam" (which means Sent). Then he went and washed and came back able to see. 8 The neighbors and those who had seen him before as a beggar began to ask, "Is this not the man who used to sit and beg?" 9 Some were saying, "It is he." Others were saying, "No, but it is someone like him." He kept saying, "I am the man." 10 But they kept asking him, "Then how were your eyes opened?" 11 He answered, "The man called Jesus made mud, spread it on my eyes, and said to me, "Go to Siloam and wash.' Then I went and washed and received my sight." 12 They said to him, "Where is he?" He said, "I do not know." 13 They brought to the Pharisees the man who had formerly been blind. 14 Now it was a sabbath day when Jesus made the mud and opened his eyes. 15 Then the Pharisees also began to ask him how he had received his sight. He said to them, "He put mud on my eyes. Then I washed, and now I see." 16 Some of the Pharisees said, "This man is not from God, for he does not observe the sabbath." But others said, "How can a man who is a sinner perform such signs?" And they were divided. 17 So they said again to the blind man, "What do you say about him? It was your eyes he opened." He said, "He is a prophet." 18 The Jews did not believe that he had been blind and had received his sight until they called the parents of the man who had received his sight 19 and asked them, "Is this your son, who you say was born blind? How then does he now see?" 20 His parents answered, "We know that this is our son, and that he was born blind; 21 but we do not know how it is that now he sees, nor do we know who opened his eyes. Ask him; he is of age. He will speak for himself." 22 His parents said this because they were afraid of the Jews; for the Jews had already agreed that anyone who confessed Jesus to be the Messiah would be put out of the synagogue. 23 Therefore his parents said, "He is of age; ask him." 24 So for the second time they called the man who had been blind, and they said to him, "Give glory to God! We know that this man is a sinner." 25 He answered, "I do not know whether he is a sinner. One thing I do know, that though I was blind, now I see." 26 They said to him, "What did he do to you? How did he open your eyes?" 27 He answered them, "I have told you already, and you would not listen. Why do you want to hear it again? Do you also want to become his disciples?" 28 Then they reviled him, saying, "You are his disciple, but we are disciples of Moses. 29 We know that God has spoken to Moses, but as for this man, we do not know where he comes from." 30 The man answered, "Here is an astonishing thing! You do not know where he comes from, and yet he opened my eyes. 31 We know that God does not listen to sinners, but he does listen to one who worships him and obeys his will. 32 Never since the world began has it been heard that anyone opened the eyes of a person born blind. 33 If this man were not from God, he could do nothing." 34 They answered him, "You were born entirely in sins, and are you trying to teach us?" And they drove him out. 35 Jesus heard that they had driven him out, and when he found him, he said, "Do you believe in the Son of Man?" 36 He answered, "And who is he, sir? Tell me, so that I may believe in him." 37 Jesus said to him, "You have seen him, and the one speaking with you is he." 38 He said, "Lord, I believe." And he worshiped him. 39 Jesus said, "I came into this world for judgment so that those who do not see may see, and those who do see may become blind." 40 Some of the Pharisees near him heard this and said to him, "Surely we are not blind, are we?" 41 Jesus said to them, "If you were blind, you would not have sin. But now that you say, ‘We see,' your sin remains.”

            It all started with a question…and what a question it was! It was the kind of question you have no doubt asked in one way or another at some point in your own life. It was the kind of question that comes loaded with all sorts of preconceived notions, all kinds of pre-packaged answers created by so-called certainties held by those for whom the unknown and mysterious are too uncomfortable. It was the kind of question a student might naturally ask a teacher, the kind of question a disciple might ask a rabbi when traveling in Jerusalem in the first century[1] when they come upon a man blind from birth: "Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?"

            “Whose fault is it?” That’s what they want to know. Who’s to blame for this man’s apparent disability? Don’t we ask the same kinds of questions? I mean, they may sound different, involve different circumstances, use different words, but the questions we ask are essentially the same, and can usually be boiled down to three little letters: W-H-Y. “Why...Why did this happen to me…Why does this keep happening to my family…Why do those people get the things I want even though they obviously don’t deserve it…Why isn’t life fair?” We ask these kinds of questions all the time. In fact, for many of us, it is those kinds of questions that bring us to places like this on days like today; we’re looking for the answers to life’s biggest questions, the biggest of which is “Why?”

            While Jesus’ disciples use a different interrogative in their question to Jesus, the gist of the question is the same: “Why was this man born blind?” They have two answers already lined up, so surely Jesus would clear the air for them; he’d sort out the truth between these two, religiously and culturally approved answers. You see, in the first century it was understood that if a child was born with some malformation, some imperfection, then it was either the result of that child performing some sort of pre-natal, pre-existent sin, or its parents had committed some sort of sin that was either transferred to the child or the child’s imperfection was a punishment for the parents’ sin. Likely, the disciples knew of these two commonly held understandings, but they wanted Jesus to tell them which one it really was—at least in the case of this one blind man. Unfortunately, Jesus doesn’t really give them the sort of clarification they wanted.

            In verses 3-5, Jesus seems to speak over the disciples’ question, not providing the sort of answer they wanted, but going farther to speak words about the disciples themselves—not the blind man:  “Jesus answered, ‘Neither this man nor his parents sinned; he was born blind so that God's works might be revealed in him. We must work the works of him who sent me while it is day; night is coming when no one can work.  As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world.’" Now, I don’t want any of you to get the wrong idea here. Too many times this passage has been used to justify the belief that God is somehow responsible for all the terrible things that cross our paths on this side of eternity, but understand this: when Jesus says “this man was born blind so that God’s works might be revealed in him,” this isn’t some universal declaration that all the tragedies of life are somehow miraculous instances waiting to break forth on the world. No, Jesus is speaking of that particular instance and (more specifically) the reactions that follow Jesus’ restoration of sight to the blind man. After all, to hold to such a view of tragedy (that God is going to use every case as some miraculous occurrence) all too often leads us down a road of disappointment in the divine; it leads to the kinds of accusations of blame that Jesus’s disciples had in the first place. That isn’t the point of Jesus’ response.

            After Jesus’ unanticipated answer to his disciples, he does something even more surprising. Unsolicited, Jesus spits on the ground, mixes the dirt and saliva together to make a little mud, places the mud on the eyes of the blind man, and then tells him to wash in the pool of Siloam. Seems a bit odd doesn’t it? Perhaps we’ve grown so used to the gospel story that its strangeness is lost on us, but imagine for a moment what it must have been like: a band of strangers, passing through a neighborhood, and when they come upon the local blind beggar, one of them spits on the ground and rubs it in the blind man’s eyes and tells him go wash his face! That almost seems like a cruel joke! But we know something more, something divine, takes place, because we’re told the man comes back and can see! The change that has come over the man is so complete, so powerful that the people in the town (people who have likely passed him by dozens of times) aren’t even sure if it’s really the same man who used to beg for their pocket change! If the story ended here, it would be amazing. It would be the kind of story we’d tell over and over again at vacation Bible schools; it would be the kind of story that we’d see illuminated with stain glass or painted on the ceilings and altars of cathedrals. Of course, we do tell this story at VBS, and we do see it in church art from time-to-time, but we only see and hear a part of the story; we need to hear (as Paul Harvey was famous for saying) the rest of the story, the story of what happens after the man comes back from Siloam with the ability to see, with the ability to walk in the light and no longer grope in the life-long dark of blindness.

            What started with one question leads to many more questions. When the man returns, able to see, those who knew him kept asking him, "Then how were your eyes opened?" They want to know how, by what manner was this man who had been born blind now able to see. And he gives them the straightforward answer in verse 11: He answered, "The man called Jesus made mud, spread it on my eyes, and said to me, ‘Go to Siloam and wash.' Then I went and washed and received my sight." Straight, to-the-point facts about how he received his sight. But his answer only leads to more questions.

They ask him where Jesus is; he doesn’t know. They take him to a group of Pharisees, where he is asked to recount the whole ordeal again. These Pharisees dismiss Jesus as a sinner, but that only leads to more questions that lead to division among the Pharisses: "How can a man who is a sinner perform such signs?" That only leads to more questions directed at the formerly blind man: "What do you say about him? It was your eyes he opened." He said, "He is a prophet." When they weren’t satisfied with the man’s answer they called his parents! (You can imagine his possible shame and embarrassment at this point.) His parents, out of their fear of what might happen to them if it even looks like they might support Jesus, defer back to their son, who is, after all, a big boy and can answer his own questions! So, they call the man out on the carpet a second time and say “Give glory to God! We know that this man is a sinner." They have moved past trying to understand how this man received his sight and have focused their energy on debunking Jesus as a prophet, as one from God with the power to restore sight to the blind.

But it is the man’s response to their demand in this second round of interrogation that turns this story around. In verse 25, He answered, "I do not know whether he is a sinner. One thing I do know, that though I was blind, now I see." Can you hear what he’s saying? "I do not know whether he is a sinner. One thing I do know, that though I was blind, now I see." This is no grand confession of orthodoxy, no theological creed or divine proclamation. This man’s words are words spoken from experience; this is an announcement of lived transformation, not a statement of bulleted theological points, but a pronouncement that comes directly from this man’s experience with Christ!

His interrogators, however, are unimpressed, so they continue with the same line of questioning: they said to him, "What did he do to you? How did he open your eyes?" You can almost hear the irritation in the man’s voice in verse 27: He answered them, "I have told you already, and you would not listen. Why do you want to hear it again? Do you also want to become his disciples?" Put off by the sheer notion of being disciples of Jesus they respond to the man’s bold reply: "You are his disciple, but we are disciples of Moses. We know that God has spoken to Moses, but as for this man, we do not know where he comes from." What follows in verses 30-34 is an exchange between the man and his questioners that leads to the man’s expulsion from the synagogue, a socially and culturally disastrous outcome, even for one who had already been on the margins as a blind beggar. For all intents and purposes the recently-blind man has become an outcast in every sense of the word, all because a man he had never met, rubbed some mud in his eyes, and now he can see.

What happens in the final verses of our text this morning helps to shine a light on all that has taken place up to this point: Jesus heard that they had driven him out, and when he found him, he said, "Do you believe in the Son of Man?" He answered, "And who is he, sir? Tell me, so that I may believe in him." Jesus said to him, "You have seen him, and the one speaking with you is he." He said, "Lord, I believe." And he worshiped him. Jesus goes out to find the man—the man who was exiled because of Jesus’ unsolicited healing—and when he finds him, he reveals his identity to the man (just as he had done to Nicodemus and the Samaritan woman at the well), and John tells us “he worshipped [Jesus].” The man recognized there was something more, something greater behind his renewed sight; there was the gift to see what even those who’ve had 20/20 vision their entire lives were unable to see—the presence of God.

In verse 39 Jesus said, "I came into this world for judgment so that those who do not see may see, and those who do see may become blind." Then, in verse 40: Some of the Pharisees near him heard this and said to him, "Surely we are not blind, are we?" And Jesus said to them, "If you were blind, you would not have sin. But now that you say, ‘We see,' your sin remains.” Just as in the nighttime visit with Nicodemus and the midday conversation with the Samaritan woman by the well, Jesus has used a real, temporal metaphor to expose the mysterious, eternal ways of God. Like birth and water, sight is something many of us take for granted, and when we hear Jesus’ words about being born again from above, words about living water, or words about receiving sight we just assume that we’ve figured it out, that we’ve got it down pat because we’ve been in places like this our whole lives, or because we’ve memorized a few cherry-picked verses of Scripture, or because we have power, influence, and authority in our community, in our church, or both. We can hear Jesus’ words with the ears of the Pharisees and think, "Surely we are not blind, are we?" Surely Jesus isn’t talking to me; surely Jesus is talking to all of “those” people (and you all know who “those” people are in your lives), but then Jesus does what Jesus does best: he strips away our arrogance and our pride and makes us face the truth, just as he did to those Pharisees: "If you were blind, you would not have sin. But now that you say, ‘We see,' your sin remains.”

If we think we’re “out of the woods,” if we think we’ve figured it all out, if we think that we’re the ones with every answer and everyone else needs to get on board with us…then Jesus’ words are sharply pointed directly at us. You see, it all started with a question, one, simple, little question, and Jesus quickly shows us that there aren’t always simple answers to our questions, that the universe is filled with the deep mystery of who God is, and that Jesus is calling us to follow him into that mystery, to leave behind our assumptions and our absolutes, to be totally dependent upon the God who gives sight to the blind, water to the thirsty, and new life to all who seek it.

Perhaps you’ve come to this place this morning with your own questions. Perhaps you’ve come hoping for answers. I hope rather than finding answers, you’ve found something more, something more mysterious, something that requires more than a boiled-down theological proclamation. Maybe you’ve found more questions, questions that will provoke more questions and a desire for a deeper relationship with God. Perhaps you’ve come this way this morning with questions and now realize that the answers you hoped to find are wonderfully small in the presence of an all-loving God. And maybe you’re in this room this morning and God is inviting you out of the darkness, out of your blindness, and into the sight-giving light of the love of Jesus. May we all respond to the Light of the World as it shines on us this day.

Let us pray…

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[1] Gerard Sloyan, Interpretation: John. Westminster John Knox Press: Louisville, KY (1988) p.112.

Thirsty No More (Third Sunday in Lent)

John 4:5-42

5 So he came to a Samaritan city called Sychar, near the plot of ground that Jacob had given to his son Joseph. 6 Jacob's well was there, and Jesus, tired out by his journey, was sitting by the well. It was about noon. 7 A Samaritan woman came to draw water, and Jesus said to her, "Give me a drink." 8 (His disciples had gone to the city to buy food.) 9 The Samaritan woman said to him, "How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?" (Jews do not share things in common with Samaritans.) 10 Jesus answered her, "If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, "Give me a drink,' you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water." 11 The woman said to him, "Sir, you have no bucket, and the well is deep. Where do you get that living water? 12 Are you greater than our ancestor Jacob, who gave us the well, and with his sons and his flocks drank from it?" 13 Jesus said to her, "Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, 14 but those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty. The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life." 15 The woman said to him, "Sir, give me this water, so that I may never be thirsty or have to keep coming here to draw water." 16 Jesus said to her, "Go, call your husband, and come back." 17 The woman answered him, "I have no husband." Jesus said to her, "You are right in saying, "I have no husband'; 18 for you have had five husbands, and the one you have now is not your husband. What you have said is true!" 19 The woman said to him, "Sir, I see that you are a prophet. 20 Our ancestors worshiped on this mountain, but you say that the place where people must worship is in Jerusalem." 21 Jesus said to her, "Woman, believe me, the hour is coming when you will worship the Father neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem. 22 You worship what you do not know; we worship what we know, for salvation is from the Jews. 23 But the hour is coming, and is now here, when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth, for the Father seeks such as these to worship him. 24 God is spirit, and those who worship him must worship in spirit and truth." 25 The woman said to him, "I know that Messiah is coming" (who is called Christ). "When he comes, he will proclaim all things to us." 26 Jesus said to her, "I am he, the one who is speaking to you." 27 Just then his disciples came. They were astonished that he was speaking with a woman, but no one said, "What do you want?" or, "Why are you speaking with her?" 28 Then the woman left her water jar and went back to the city. She said to the people, 29 "Come and see a man who told me everything I have ever done! He cannot be the Messiah, can he?" 30 They left the city and were on their way to him. 31 Meanwhile the disciples were urging him, "Rabbi, eat something." 32 But he said to them, "I have food to eat that you do not know about." 33 So the disciples said to one another, "Surely no one has brought him something to eat?" 34 Jesus said to them, "My food is to do the will of him who sent me and to complete his work. 35 Do you not say, "Four months more, then comes the harvest'? But I tell you, look around you, and see how the fields are ripe for harvesting. 36 The reaper is already receiving wages and is gathering fruit for eternal life, so that sower and reaper may rejoice together. 37 For here the saying holds true, "One sows and another reaps.' 38 I sent you to reap that for which you did not labor. Others have labored, and you have entered into their labor." 39 Many Samaritans from that city believed in him because of the woman's testimony, "He told me everything I have ever done." 40 So when the Samaritans came to him, they asked him to stay with them; and he stayed there two days. 41 And many more believed because of his word. 42 They said to the woman, "It is no longer because of what you said that we believe, for we have heard for ourselves, and we know that this is truly the Savior of the world."

            This Sunday morning, I want to do a little mental exercise with you. First, I want you to close your eyes. Go ahead; I promise there’s no funny business going on. Now, I want you to imagine a person, but not just any person. I want you to imagine the kind of person you first think of when I say the word “Christian.” What kind of person do you see? If I had to guess, I’d say most of you probably see a man (most of you women might see another woman), and that man is white, probably middle-aged, likely wearing nice clothes (probably slacks and a button-down shirt), and even though you can’t necessarily see it, I’d venture a guess that the person you’re envisioning is likely an English-speaking American.

            Now, without opening your eyes, I want you to imagine a different person. This time, I want you to imagine a girl—probably in her late teens to early twenties—with dark hair and dark skin. Her clothes are well-worn (we’d call them rags) and there aren’t likely to be shoes on her feet. She doesn’t have an email address or a cell phone, can’t drive a car, probably doesn’t even have a relative who owns a car. She likely can’t read, and she definitely doesn’t speak English. Chances are she’s the kind of person whose face you’d only see on the international news, the kind of person who inhabits those parts of the world south of the Equator. Well guess what: that girl you’re seeing now, in your mind’s eye, she is what most of the world sees when they hear the word “Christian.” She represents the majority of Christians in the twenty-first century, and most of you will likely never meet anyone like her.[1] You can open your eyes now.

            All of us in this room today are products of our environment—our twenty-first century, American, Southern, Evangelical, Christian environment. So it really isn’t all that surprising to see someone who looks like us when we try to imagine what a typical Christian looks like. In fact, I’d dare say that most people in this world, throughout history, when they imagine someone, regardless of the type of person they’re trying to imagine, they most likely envision someone like themselves. For example, if a fifteenth century Italian was told to imagine a butcher, that person would imagine someone very much like himself—a fifteenth century Italian butcher. Or, let’s say a first century Jew, from the region around the Sea of Galilee, one who followed Jesus around from the beginning, was asked to picture another follower of Christ in their mind. I wonder what they would have imagined. Chances are they would have pictured another man, a Jewish man, with a pretty decent reputation, maybe even a curious Pharisee on the verge of conversion. Maybe that first century follower of Jesus would have imagined someone not too unlike that nighttime visitor we ran into last week—Nicodemus.

            Nicodemus would have made a great candidate for a follower of Jesus, especially given the context of John’s gospel: he was a man (just like the twelve most notable disciples of Jesus); he was Jewish (again, just like those first disciples of Jesus); he was educated; he was a man of influence with his position on the Sanhedrin (the Jewish high council); and he had a good reputation (seeing as how he didn’t risk tarnishing it by coming to Jesus at night, in the dark). Yes, Nicodemus would have surely been in the running for Jesus’ “next top disciple.” He fit a certain mold.  But the writer of John’s gospel left us with Nicodemus last week still covered by the darkness, still holding back from following Jesus and accepting the full truth of who Jesus is. In the fourth gospel, we leave Nicodemus in the dark and move on to sit by a well in Samaria, in the bright light of the noonday sun.

            In chapter four of John’s gospel we are told that Jesus “had to go through Samaria,” but Samaria was not the ideal place for a band of Jews in the first century. Not because it was necessarily any more dangerous than other parts of Judea, but because it was the territory of the Samaritan. In fact, Jews in the first century despised everything about the Samaritans. They saw them as half-breeds; a people whose history may have had roots in the same soil as the Jews, but whose branches were tainted with the presence of foreign blood. You see, the Samaritans of the first century were descendants of those Israelites who still occupied the territory of the ten tribes of Israel that made up the ancient, northern kingdom of Israel. After the Assyrians conquered the northern kingdom in 722 B.C.E. some of the Israelites remained in the territory and intermarried with the Assyrians and other people groups who were brought there. The offspring of all of this intermarrying became the Samaritans, and since they were rejected by the Jews, they founded their own, central place of worship, grounded in their own understanding of the God of their shared ancestors.  The Jewish exclusion of the Samaritans led to the seclusion of the Samaritans from the Jews.[2]

            Jesus “had to go through Samaria” not only because it was a more direct route to get to Galilee, but because there was something—someone—Jesus had to show his disciples, someone he had to show us. Unlike the nocturnal story of chapter three, we find Jesus “tired out by his journey…sitting by the well. It was about noon.” It’s the middle of the day, the time of day when the sun is straight overhead and there are no shadows to be found: there’s no darkness in which to hide, no shadows in which to take cover. We’re told in verse 7, “A Samaritan woman came to draw water…” Great! A Samaritan! A half-breed, and a woman no less! You see, Jewish men were taught not to speak to women in public—even their own wives![3] But now a woman—a Samaritan woman—has come to draw water from the well where Jesus—a Jewish man—is sitting in the middle of the day…in the open…where they might be seen. The disciples, we are told, have gone into the village to buy some food, so Jesus and this woman are virtually alone, vulnerable to scandal: he is vulnerable to being seen interacting with a Samaritan woman in public, and she is vulnerable to be seen interacting with a Jewish man. It would be great tabloid fodder today: “Traveling Rabbi caught in the act of conversing with awful Samaritan woman in broad daylight!”

            The culturally and socially correct thing for both of them to have done would have been to simply ignore each other, for the woman to either come back at a different time or draw her water quickly and get out of sight, and for Jesus to simply look the other way or take a lazy stroll down the road until she was gone. But Jesus—oh, Jesus—he has a knack for ignoring what is “socially acceptable,” and beginning in verse 7, he begins a conversation with this woman that is not to unlike the conversation he had just a few verses before with Nicodemus. He asks her for a drink, and the first thing the woman says to him in verse 8 is “How is it that you, a Jew, ask a drink of me, a woman of Samaria?” She gets it. She knows the rules. But Jesus being Jesus gets to the point of this sacred encounter and begins to tell her about the true gift of God and the source of living water.

            Like Nicodemus before her, she is a bit confused by Jesus’ weaving of eternal truth in temporal metaphor: she wants actual water (H₂0) that can quench her thirst so she’ll never have to be seen out at the well again. Then, Jesus tells her in verse 16, “Go, call your husband, and come back.” Finally, it appears as if Jesus is getting with the program of proper social mores…except for one thing…maybe five things. The woman tells Jesus in verse 17, “I have no husband.” To which Jesus responds, “"You are right in saying, ‘I have no husband’; for you have had five husbands, and the one you have now is not your husband. What you have said is true!"

            Now, I want to pause right here for just a moment to salvage this woman’s reputation a bit. You’ve likely heard something to the effect that this woman’s having been married five times is somehow an indication of her poor life choices, or her immoral living. To think in such a way, however, is to see her through the lenses of our own time and context, a time when divorce is an entirely different thing. In the first century, a woman had no more control over her marital status than she did over the rising and falling of the tides; a woman could not divorce a man. Likely this woman was either put out by the men she had been married to (an action Jesus elsewhere equates to adultery on behalf of the man[4]), or she was a widow several times over. If she was an adulteress, then it would have been unlikely that she would have been remarried.[5] Either way, her life would have been one of pain, grief, and embarrassment.

            Jesus tells this woman something about her that no stranger—especially a Jewish man—could know, and in her amazement, she continues her conversation with Jesus, calling him a prophet. Jesus goes on in verses 21 through 25 to tell her that God is not a God who separates the Jews from the Samaritans, or any other nation from another. In fact, Jesus says, “the hour is coming, and is now here, when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth, for the Father seeks such as these to worship him. God is spirit, and those who worship him must worship in spirit and truth." God’s people will not be defined by their race.

When the woman says in verse 25, “I know that Messiah is coming…When he comes, he will proclaim all things to us,” Jesus responds with the first of the great “I am” statements of the fourth gospel: “I am…the one who is speaking to you” (the pronoun “he” is not in the Greek).

The disciples return, shocked, but too apprehensive to question Jesus about the woman’s presence. She is so overcome by what she has heard that she leaves her water jar—the very thing that brought her to the well in the first place—to go and tell others what she has just experienced. In many ways, this Samaritan woman became one of the very first evangelists. Meanwhile, Jesus has this deep exchange with his disciples that, in many ways, mirrors the conversation he has had with this woman, and before too long, “Many Samaritans from that city believed in [Jesus] because of the woman’s testimony.”  The gospel tells us that Jesus “stayed there two days. And many more believed because of his word.” The woman’s words, her testimony, brought others to hear Jesus’ words, and because of her words, many came to believe.

But no one would have ever pictured this woman, this Samaritan woman, this five-time-divorced-shacking-up-with-another-man Samaritan woman as an evangelist, a proclaimer of the good news of arrival of the Christ.

All around us, in our community, in our workplaces, across our state, nation, and across the globe, there are people who we would never imagine to be bearers of the gospel. Whether it’s their long hair, shaved scalps, dark skin, tattered clothes, tailored suits, native language, political affiliation, nationality, gender, relationships, physical abilities, physical disabilities, intelligence, ignorance, tattoos, or piercings we may tend to take one look at them and dismiss them as one who needs to hear the gospel in order to change, rather than seeing within them the truth of the gospel proclaimed. We may see those who are unlike us—or better yet, those we don’t like as those who need the gospel, those whose lives need to be changed by the gospel as we see it, but they just might be our sisters and brothers in Christ already!

What’s worse (and I hate to think this, but I know it is true) is that there are those people with whom some of us refuse to share the gospel. We see them as too dirty, too vile, too far gone. We judge them based on a system of rules and doctrine that we hold to be true, yet they may have never heard the whole story. We see them as the Jews of the first century saw the Samaritans, as second-class citizens who are better off kept on the margins, out of sight. We prefer to ghettoize them, to draw boundaries around them and label them a “lost cause.” Friends, this is not the way of God!

If we are to learn anything from this Samaritan woman’s story, let it be this: God is not a God who draws lines and builds walls; God is a God who brings people together through the saving grace of the Son, Christ Jesus. And God calls us to be that kind of people, the kind of people who do not draw lines and build walls, the kind of people who seek to bring others together, to bring others into our lives, with the gospel. God is calling us to take risks, to step outside of our comfort zones, to live and love those people whom we’d rather just ignore.

May we be those people. May you see the gospel in others, and may you strive to take risks, to step outside of your comfort zone, to love those you’d rather ignore. After all, isn’t that what God has done for us? God risked the life of Christ in order to show God’s love for us, a love that is universal, a love that is for all of those who choose to accept it, no matter who they are.  May you be one who accepts God’s unconditional love, and may you be one who shows God’s love without condition.

Let us pray…

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[1] David A. Livermore, Serving with Eyes Wide Open. Baker Books: Grand Rapids, MI (2013) p. 33.

[2] Deborah J. Kapp, “Third Sunday in Lent, John 4:5-42: Pastoral Perspective” Feasting on the Word. Westminster John Knox Press: Louisville, KY (2010) p. 92-96.

[3] George W. Stroup, “Third Sunday in Lent, John 4:5-42: Theological Perspective” Feasting on the Word. Westminster John Knox Press: Louisville, KY (2010) p. 92-96.

[4] Matthew 5:31-32.

[5] Karoline M. Lewis, “Third Sunday in Lent, John 4:5-42: Exegetical Perspective” Feasting on the Word. Westminster John Knox Press: Louisville, KY (2010) p. 92-96.