Easter 6: Heaven is here

And in the spirit he carried me away to a great, high mountain and showed me the holy city Jerusalem coming down out of heaven from God. I saw no temple in the city, for its temple is the Lord God the Almighty and the Lamb. And the city has no need of sun or moon to shine on it, for the glory of God is its light, and its lamp is the Lamb. The nations will walk by its light, and the kings of the earth will bring their glory into it. Its gates will never be shut by day and there will be no night there. People will bring into it the glory and the honor of the nations. But nothing unclean will enter it, nor anyone who practices abomination or falsehood, but only those who are written in the Lamb's book of life. Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb through the middle of the street of the city. On either side of the river is the tree of life with its twelve kinds of fruit, producing its fruit each month; and the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations. Nothing accursed will be found there any more. But the throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it, and his servants will worship him; they will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads. And there will be no more night; they need no light of lamp or sun, for the Lord God will be their light, and they will reign forever and ever. (Revelation 21:10, 22; 22:1-5)

Jesus answered him, "Those who love me will keep my word, and my Father will love them, and we will come to them and make our home with them. Whoever does not love me does not keep my words; and the word that you hear is not mine, but is from the Father who sent me. I have said these things to you while I am still with you. But the Advocate, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, will teach you everything, and remind you of all that I have said to you. Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid. You heard me say to you, 'I am going away, and I am coming to you.' If you loved me, you would rejoice that I am going to the Father, because the Father is greater than I. And now I have told you this before it occurs, so that when it does occur, you may believe. (John 14:23-29)

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As a “welcome-to-Iowa” gift from my sister, she sent both Matt and me Iowa-themed t-shirts from a fantastically hip little t-shirt studio in Des Moines. My shirt is purple, is covered in standardized test bubbles, and those bubbles are strategically filled out to spell out the word “Iowa.” Underneath, the tag line says, “we test your basic skills.”

Matt’s t-shirt is far less complicated. It is black with white writing, and it quotes the movie Field of Dreams: “Is this heaven?” “No, it’s Iowa.”

“Is this heaven?” It’s an apt question for us in these days of Easter, while we bask in the glow of Christ’s resurrection and look for new life as it springs up around us, however slowly. Indeed, Christianity itself is oriented around a belief in life beyond life and the restoration and reconciliation of creation. And whenever we start talking about all of this stuff, we are really talking about the nature of this thing we call “heaven.”

We hear a lot of talk about heaven these days. In the last year, the media has clamored to tell the stories of two different people who claim to have seen beyond the veil of death into heaven.

Newsweek featured the testimony of Dr. Eben Alexander, a neurosurgeon whose brain was attacked by a rare illness, sending him into a sever coma. In this essentially dead state, Dr. Alexander reports catching a dazzling glimpse of a life beyond life, an existence beyond body and brain, something that he could only describe in terms of heaven and afterlife.

And all the morning shows plugged the book, Heaven is for Real, the account of a young boy’s near-death experience, where he came to and described an experience of being with family members who had passed away, sitting on the lap of Jesus, hearing angels singing to him, and seeing the Virgin Mary standing next to Jesus in heaven.

Both of these fantastic stories paint a picture of heaven that fits with a lot of popular Christian thought, that heaven is a far-off place which is waiting for us beyond death. Add to this understanding any cartoon depiction of heaven, and you get an other-worldly place filled clouds and harps and blue skies, and naked cherubs with fluffy wings.

A theology of a far-off heaven implies that heaven is an escape; it is something other than this existence, something detached and distant from this world. If you’ve spent any time with the books in the Left Behind series, you know that there is a strong strain of popular theology that understands heaven as a reward for suffering through this life, and a special, set-apart place for the truly faithful.

There is a skewed, sideways version of “good news” that comes out of this way of thinking about heaven. It goes something like this: “God has something good in store for you, you just have to make it through this life before you get to see it, so hold on, be strong, muddle through this life, and once you die, it will all be worth it.”

But is this really what heaven is all about? Is heaven truly someplace far off from here, and is it only a place that we can access after death? Is life in this world really just about biding our time until we get to go someplace better?

Our readings today seem to say otherwise. In fact, our readings from both Revelation and John throughout this Easter season have been pointing us in a different direction, where heaven isn’t a place we go to when we die, but rather heaven has begun here and now, and if anybody is doing the traveling, it’s God and not us.

Last week, we saw in Revelation a vision of God’s new heavens and new earth, and the new Jerusalem coming down from the heavens, and we heard the voice from the throne proclaiming, “see, the home of God is among mortals, and he will dwell with them.”

Today, our Revelation reading continues the story. The holy city, our apocalyptic vision of God’s restoration of the world, makes its way to earth. And there is no more temple mediating access to God, for God is here and in all and through all. And in holiness of the new creation come to earth, the gates are always open, there is no fear, no longer is there evil or falsehood or brokenness. And this new creation is full of life. A tree of nourishment and healing, a river flowing with the water of life, and God as the very light and life of all.

This vision is everything we hope heaven to be – a place of peace and wholeness, a place of life and abundance, a place of closeness to God. But notice that this place is not far-off. This place is here. And this place is not just sometime in the future. This place is unfolding among us, right before our eyes. From the moment of Christ’s resurrection, God has begun his new heavens and new earth, and we catch glimpses of resurrection all around us.

Jesus, in today’s gospel, gives us a hint about what heaven-on-earth looks like. It looks like love - love for our resurrected Lord and love for our world through acts of service and compassion. It looks like peace beyond the peace of this world, peace in our hearts that brings us wholeness. It looks like companionship with God, who lives in us and breathes through us. It looks like divine inspiration and comfort from the Holy Spirit.

And so the good news for us goes something like this: “Heaven is already here, coming to birth among us. God is shaping and reshaping the world, and at the end of all things, God’s new creation will come to completion. There will be resurrection later, but there is also life and new life here and now.”

So how would your life look different if you were always keeping your eyes open for glimpses of heaven? What would it look like to wake up every morning seeing your own life and breath and the sunrise as miracles of God’s new creation? What would happen if you saw resurrection and redemption in the eyes of every person you meet in your day? How might your soul leap for joy if, every day, you recognized God breathing newness into your spirit, even as you continue to long for the day when you, too, will see the new Jerusalem coming to earth?

Because I don’t think that the right answer to “Is this heaven?” is “No, it’s Iowa.”

I’m pretty sure that the only right answer to “Is this heaven?” is “Yes. Yes, heaven is here, in Iowa. And it’s all around the world. For God is dwelling among us, and new life is spring up all around. Thanks be to God!”

Easter 5: New creation

"before & after" by funcrush28, on Flickr

Now the apostles and the believers who were in Judea heard that the Gentiles had also accepted the word of God. So when Peter went up to Jerusalem, the circumcised believers criticized him, saying, "Why did you go to uncircumcised men and eat with them?" Then Peter began to explain it to them, step by step, saying, I was in the city of Joppa praying, and in a trance I saw a vision. There was something like a large sheet coming down from heaven, being lowered by its four corners; and it came close to me. As I looked at it closely I saw four-footed animals, beasts of prey, reptiles, and birds of the air. I also heard a voice saying to me, 'Get up, Peter; kill and eat.' But I replied, 'By no means, Lord; for nothing profane or unclean has ever entered my mouth.' But a second time the voice answered from heaven, 'What God has made clean, you must not call profane.' This happened three times; then everything was pulled up again to heaven. At that very moment three men, sent to me from Caesarea, arrived at the house where we were. The Spirit told me to go with them and not to make a distinction between them and us. These six brothers also accompanied me, and we entered the man's house. He told us how he had seen the angel standing in his house and saying, 'Send to Joppa and bring Simon, who is called Peter; he will give you a message by which you and your entire household will be saved.' And as I began to speak, the Holy Spirit fell upon them just as it had upon us at the beginning. And I remembered the word of the Lord, how he had said, 'John baptized with water, but you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit.' If then God gave them the same gift that he gave us when we believed in the Lord Jesus Christ, who was I that I could hinder God?" When they heard this, they were silenced. And they praised God, saying, "Then God has given even to the Gentiles the repentance that leads to life." (Acts 11:1-18)

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, "See, the home of God is among mortals. He will dwell with them; they will be his peoples, and God himself will be with them; he will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away." And the one who was seated on the throne said, "See, I am making all things new." Also he said, "Write this, for these words are trustworthy and true." 6Then he said to me, "It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. To the thirsty I will give water as a gift from the spring of the water of life. (Revelation 21:1-6)

When he had gone out, Jesus said, "Now the Son of Man has been glorified, and God has been glorified in him. If God has been glorified in him, God will also glorify him in himself and will glorify him at once. Little children, I am with you only a little longer. You will look for me; and as I said to the Jews so now I say to you, 'Where I am going, you cannot come.' I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another." (John 13:31-35)
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This week, I attended a gathering that involved a number of area clergy, of many and various denominations. And as we introduced ourselves, there were at least a few folks who blinked a few extra times and forced polite smiles when I, a woman, introduced myself as a pastor. I generally have two reactions to moments like this. First, I feel a little defensive and defiant, and square my shoulders up as if to say “Yup, I’m a girl. What are you gonna’ do about it?” And then I get over myself, and my second reaction is to remember that I am hitting against a longstanding boundary, one borne out of faithful people trying to live faithfully according to their understanding of who God is and how God works, and that people of faith come to different conclusions about all sorts of things, and that crossing or giving up certain boundaries is really difficult.

This recent encounter of mine is not entirely unlike the disciples’ reaction to hearing that Peter, a Jew, entered the house of Cornelius, a Gentile. They, too, blinked a few extra times, and raised their eyebrows, and then went one step further, openly criticizing him for crossing a longstanding – and yes, even God-given! – boundary, a boundary that was, for them, a mark of faithfulness.

To combat the criticism, Peter tells them the story of what happened to him; the story of the sheet and the clean and unclean animals, the voice of God speaking directly to him, changing his own rules about who was “in” and who was “out” of salvation, the story of Peter’s own new revelations about the gift of the Holy Spirit. And Peter closes his testimony with one hard-hitting, humbling, knock-out punch of a question: “If then God gave [the outsiders] the same gift [of the Holy Spirit] that he gave us when we believed in the Lord Jesus Christ, who was I that I could hinder God?"

Having grown up in a church that emphasized the consistency of God, and that took comfort in a God who never changed, today’s passage from Acts blew my mind the first time I read it all the way through. Because this story, perhaps more than nearly any other story in the Bible, reminds us that our greatest comfort is not a God who remains static and unflinching, but a God who reacts and responds to the world around us, who is willing to be a little bit unruly and do unexpected things and even change course if it means bringing more people into his kingdom. It tells us that God is far more interested in making us new than he is in sitting back, hands-off, just observing creation from afar.

This is the whole point of Christ coming to earth - that the world might change course, that God might offer us the new news of resurrection and life instead of the old news of sin and death.

Paul writes to the church at Corinth, “If anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!”

The good news? You are a new creation. In Christ, God has birthed his new heaven and new earth in you and for you.

The bad news? You are a new creation. And so you can no longer simply rely on your old ways of being. The former things have passed away and you are now an agent of newness and transformation in the world, whether you like it or not.

The philosopher Soren Kierkegaard writes, “The matter is quite simple. The Bible is very easy to understand. But we Christians are a bunch of scheming swindlers. We pretend to be unable to understand it because we know very well that the minute we understand, we are obliged to act accordingly. Take any words in the New Testament and forget everything except pledging yourself to act accordingly. My God, you will say, if I do that my whole life will be ruined. How would I ever get on in the world?...Dreadful it is to fall into the hands of the living God.”

And I would add, “Dreadful it is to fall in with a God who is constantly making things new!” Because once we’ve been made new, then we are a part of making the world new, and real, deep, lasting newness is hard.

It is so much easier to buy into the world’s small, false, or shallow images of newness than to live into God’s overwhelming, sweeping promise of a new heaven and new earth.

It’s easy enough to walk down the cleaning supply aisle of the grocery store and grab the spray bottle of tub and tile cleaner that has a “new formula!” sticker on it. But it’s hard to advocate for opening up the arms of the church to new people that the church has historically left out of its mission or ministry or leadership.

It’s easy for most of us to go out to eat and try something new off of the menu that we haven’t tried before. Bt’s hard to let God lead us to new depths of sacrifice for our neighbors, like the hard sacrifices of our time or our money, or the especially hard sacrifice of giving up our egos and our desire always to be right (not that I know anything about this one...).

It’s easy to buy a workout DVD or subscribe to a nutrition plan that promises us a new body in sixty days or our money back. But it’s hard to cling whole-heartedly to God’s promises not just of health but of wholeness, for our bodies and for our creation.

It’s easy to buy a new novel and read an enthralling, romantic love story. But it’s hard to live out God’s new and alternative definition of love that isn’t bound to romance, emotions, or likability…but rather to commitment and action.

This, my friends, is why Jesus gave us the directive to love, not just as a nice suggestion, but as a commandment. “A new commandment I give you,” Jesus says, “that you love one another as I have loved you.”

How did Jesus love? By smashing through boundaries and limits to touch the unclean and to eat with tax collectors and sinners. By widening the circle to include women and slaves and outcasts and children and fishermen as leaders and disciples. And to what end? That the ends of the earth might be a part of God’s kingdom of newness and life, a kingdom that transcends all the human divides that plague our existence.

And so in this post-Easter world, on the far side of the resurrection, God has set a challenge before us. That we take a risk with Peter in believing that God is really, truly, honestly making all things new. That we take a chance on love that transforms the world, even as we ourselves have been transformed.

Let me tell you. It’s hard work.

You know it as well as I do. I mean, think for a moment about your own life. Where are the places in your life where you would rather draw boundaries than tear them down? Who is that one person or group of people that you struggle to reach out to in love? What is one piece of tradition or history that you are reluctant to give up in order to let God widen the circle?

Stepping fully into God’s new heaven and new earth means taking a risk. It means taking a leap of faith.

And this is precisely why we keeping coming back to this place to worship and study, and why we read and re-read our Bible, and why us preachers keep preaching, and why we keep repeating confessions and creeds and keep coming back to this holy meal: because we need help entering again and again into the flow of God’s new and living water. We need help trusting that God is making our world new. We need assurance that we too can be bearers of this newness.

My friends, each one of you is a beautiful child of God. And each one of you is a new creation. May God continue to refresh and renew you, may Christ guide you to love as he loved, and may the Holy Spirit carry you on the rush of the wind to new places, smashing through old boundaries, that you might come face to face with the new heavens and new earth that God is creating in and among you.

Arriving: "New" as opposed to "better"

"Arriving" is a continuation of the blog series "Leaving," which reflects upon my process of transitioning out of my first call and into a new call; leaving St. Timothy Lutheran (Naperville, IL) and moving to First Lutheran (Decorah, IA).
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I am preaching this weekend on texts that all have to do with newness. Peter figures out that God is heading in a new direction, opening up the movement of the Holy Spirit not just to the "insiders," but to all. Revelation talks about God's plans for a "new heaven and new earth," where death and mourning and crying will be no more. And Jesus talks about the new commandment that he gives us, his disciples: to love one another as he has loved us.

And right now, my head and heart are bearing the weight of what newness means...and what it doesn't!

What they don't tell you about leaving a congregation and beginning with a new congregation is that you will spend more time than you'd like second-guessing yourself, feeling uncertain, and feeling guilty.

Back in December, I weighed lots and lots of things in deciding whether it was time to transition from a first call into a next call. I did more soul-searching that I've ever done before (or so it seems), and I opened my ears and heart to my closest and most trusted confidantes as I sought counsel. And when all the hopes and dreams and opinions and prayers had been weighed, I trusted the feeling deep in my gut that God was drawing me to this new thing, and that God was drawing me to a new thing that was for good and not for harm.

And I feel, consistently, that this new call is good. This new home is good. This new way of life in a small town and not in a suburb is good.

But what I have a hard time fending off are the more worldly voices in my head that try to ask me, "Is all of this newness BETTER?" It's a trick question. A false pretense.

In many other careers, you make decisions based on upgrades, on moving up a ladder, on moving forward. But in this peculiar calling to ministry, you make decisions based on moving sideways and throughways and all sorts of other crazy directions, based on where you truly believe God is calling you to be, for any number of purposes and plans.

And so how do I explain to those "upward mobility" voices in my head that this new call isn't about being someplace "better" than before, or that following the movement of the Spirit isn't about making comparisons of worth or notoriety. I came from good and entered into good. I came from fulfilling expressions of ministry and have entered into new fulfilling expressions of ministry. I gave of myself and my gifts to one beautiful and appreciative congregation, and I am giving of myself and my gifts to a new beautiful and appreciative congregation.

And when those misunderstanding voices creep into my head, the ones that would want me to frame my transition in terms of "better or worse," and want me to feel uncertain or guilty, I fend them off by remembering one particular, profound, important detail:

God doesn't talk in terms of making us "better." God talks in terms of making us NEW. And God loves the pieces of us that are old, and the pieces of us that are new. God isn't interested in talking about "self-improvement," but rather calls us to love and service for the sake of our own newness and the newness of the world.

And so I am here, in a new place, to love and to serve, and to bring the light of God to this place, in this time, just as I was called to love and serve and to bring the light of God to a different place in a different time, and just as I imagine God will call me to bring light and love and service to some other, future places at some other, future times.

Because newness is mostly a matter of giving in to God's call for the sake of faithfulness. And in that mindset, there is no more guilt, or fear, or second-guessing. Just trust that I am here, exactly where I am supposed to be, exactly as God wants me to be for many and various purposes.

Easter 3: Feed my sheep

"Feed My Lambs" by withrow, on Flickr

Acts 9:10-16
Now there was a disciple in Damascus named Ananias. The Lord said to him in a vision, "Ananias." He answered, "Here I am, Lord." The Lord said to him, "Get up and go to the street called Straight, and at the house of Judas look for a man of Tarsus named Saul. At this moment he is praying, and he has seen in a vision a man named Ananias come in and lay his hands on him so that he might regain his sight." But Ananias answered, "Lord, I have heard from many about this man, how much evil he has done to your saints in Jerusalem; and here he has authority from the chief priests to bind all who invoke your name." But the Lord said to him, "Go, for he is an instrument whom I have chosen to bring my name before Gentiles and kings and before the people of Israel; I myself will show him how much he must suffer for the sake of my name."

John 21:1-19
After these things Jesus showed himself again to the disciples by the Sea of Tiberias; and he showed himself in this way. Gathered there together were Simon Peter, Thomas called the Twin, Nathanael of Cana in Galilee, the sons of Zebedee, and two others of his disciples. Simon Peter said to them, "I am going fishing." They said to him, "We will go with you." They went out and got into the boat, but that night they caught nothing.

Just after daybreak, Jesus stood on the beach; but the disciples did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to them, "Children, you have no fish, have you?" They answered him, "No." He said to them, "Cast the net to the right side of the boat, and you will find some." So they cast it, and now they were not able to haul it in because there were so many fish. That disciple whom Jesus loved said to Peter, "It is the Lord!" When Simon Peter heard that it was the Lord, he put on some clothes, for he was naked, and jumped into the sea. But the other disciples came in the boat, dragging the net full of fish, for they were not far from the land, only about a hundred yards off.

When they had gone ashore, they saw a charcoal fire there, with fish on it, and bread. Jesus said to them, "Bring some of the fish that you have just caught." So Simon Peter went aboard and hauled the net ashore, full of large fish, a hundred fifty-three of them; and though there were so many, the net was not torn. Jesus said to them, "Come and have breakfast." Now none of the disciples dared to ask him, "Who are you?" because they knew it was the Lord. Jesus came and took the bread and gave it to them, and did the same with the fish. This was now the third time that Jesus appeared to the disciples after he was raised from the dead.

When they had finished breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, "Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?" He said to him, "Yes, Lord; you know that I love you." Jesus said to him, "Feed my lambs." A second time he said to him, "Simon son of John, do you love me?" He said to him, "Yes, Lord; you know that I love you." Jesus said to him, "Tend my sheep." He said to him the third time, "Simon son of John, do you love me?" Peter felt hurt because he said to him the third time, "Do you love me?" And he said to him, "Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you." Jesus said to him, "Feed my sheep. Very truly, I tell you, when you were younger, you used to fasten your own belt and to go wherever you wished. But when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will fasten a belt around you and take you where you do not wish to go." (He said this to indicate the kind of death by which he would glorify God.) After this he said to him, "Follow me."

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Some of my favorite summertime memories as a child are traveling up to Door County, Wisconsin each summer. We stayed in a small cabin on Whitefish Bay, right on the water. A highlight of these trips were the nights when we cooked dinner on the beach over a campfire. We’d set up a picnic table with hot dogs to roast, or we would assemble tinfoil dinners to bundle up and cook in the coals. And after dinner, always, s’mores for dessert. There was nothing better than eating there by the fire, with sand under our bare feet, with no extra lights besides the fire and the moon, and no extra sounds but the waves and our family conversation. There was always an intimacy around that fire, and a simplicity.

And this is where the heart of our gospel story begins today.

The resurrected Jesus comes to the edge of the water to join his disciples for breakfast. He stands on the shore and gives them a little fishing advice, and then he cooks their catch over the campfire. They eat and talk together in the pale light of morning, warmed by the fire and by their friendship. After the stress of Jesus’ arrest and the tragedy of his death, and the baffling mystery of his resurrection, on this morning, there is finally time and space to relax and decompress. There’s nothing left to prove. Jesus simply feeds his disciples with loaves and fishes, hangs out with them, shows his love for them by taking care of them and feeding them and eating with them.

This meal of bread and fish on the beach is a post-resurrection Eucharist, another meal where Jesus gives himself to and for others. It is a sign for the disciples, and for us, that Jesus nourishes us in body and in spirit. Every Eucharistic meal that we share reminds us that we are never far from Jesus’ presence. We eat and we drink to remember that we are never outside the scope of Jesus’ love and forgiveness.

But this meal is also something bigger than fellowship and forgiveness. It is also a commissioning. The breakfast on the beach and our shared Eucharistic meal are intended nourish us to go forward into the world to share in Jesus’ mission and ministry.

When Jesus and the disciples finish eating their campfire breakfast, Jesus turns to Peter and asks,

“Do you love me?”
“Yes,” Peter says.
“Then feed my lambs.”

Jesus asks a second time, “Do you love me?”
“Yes,” Peter says.
“Then tend my sheep.”

And then a third time. “Peter, do you love me?”
And Peter feels frustrated and hurt. “Lord, you know that I love you.”
“Then feed my sheep.”

Peter, the disciple who has always been so eager to please, can’t understand why Jesus won’t believe him when he says he loves him. He doesn’t understand that Jesus is asking of him something deeper and bigger than merely devotion. Jesus is trying to tell Peter that loving him is a matter of action. That the true way to love Jesus is to serve others, following his example.

Remember Jesus’ last supper with his disciples before his arrest? At that meal, he got up from the table, wrapped a towel around his waist, and washed his disciples’ feet. He then went on to tell them that they should wash one another’s feet, and that this is how all people would know that they were his disciples, if they loved one another in this way.

To love Jesus is to serve. To love Jesus is to act.

Do you love me? Wash each others’ feet.
Do you love me? Feed my sheep.

This is how we most deeply love the savior who first loved us. Not by shutting ourselves away in personal prayer and devotion, though those things are certainly important. But loving Jesus is primarily a public act. To love Jesus is to go out into the world, doing acts of mercy and service in his name.

Sometimes those acts of mercy and service are, quite literally, acts of feeding. Like our food pantry. Or our community meal, which has been so successful that we’ve now started doing it twice a month. Or serving Meals on Wheels. Or dropping off dinners for a new mom or a grieving family.

And sometimes these acts of mercy and service take on a whole other range of forms, from showing kindness to a stranger to offering a helping hand to a neighbor, from watching a friends’ children so they can have a night off to standing up for somebody who is being bullied or insulted.

And sometimes, our love for Jesus calls us to do really hard things, like loving our enemies, and blessing those who curse us.

Ananias knows something about this.

In our first reading today, Saul has been blinded along the road. He stumbles into the city, refusing to eat or drink. The Lord speaks to a man in the city named Ananias, saying “Ananias, disciple, you are the one whom I have chosen to find Saul, and to lay hands on him, and to heal him.”

Ananias, however, knows who Saul is – a dangerous man with who persecutes the faithful – and he tries to talk God out of the task. Ananias has a really legitimate reason for resisting God’s call. But God will have none of it.

“Do it anyway,” God says, in so many words.

This is the hardest part about loving Jesus. Because if loving Jesus means feeding his sheep, then loving Jesus means feeding even the sheep that we don’t like or can’t understand. It means serving those who we think are undeserving. It means showing love to those who have made mistakes, even huge, unforgivable mistakes. It means demonstrating the wideness of God’s mercy even to the criminal, the unethical, and the delinquent.

Because Jesus loved us even when we weren’t very likable. He served us though we were undeserving. He showed love to all of us despite our mistakes, even our huge, unforgivable mistakes. He stretched out his arms on the cross to demonstrate the wideness of God’s mercy for all.

Jesus even showed up on the beach to feed breakfast to a flock of disciples who had deserted him, denied him, fled in panic, locked themselves away in fear, forgot everything Jesus had taught them and empowered them to do. He fed them and cared for them and called them friends.

Likewise Jesus feeds us here at this table, at our own “breakfast on the beach.” He serves us bread and wine, and words of grace and forgiveness. He tells us that he loves us and the whole world that God has created. He calls us friends and commissions us as disciples.

And from this meal, he sends us out with very simple instructions:

“Feed my lambs. Tend my sheep. Show love and do mercy. Follow me.”

May this meal and God’s grace give us the strength to go into all the world, showing love, even as we have been loved.