Wednesday in Holy Week: John 13:21-32

Sadao Watanabe, "The Last Supper", 1977

After saying this Jesus was troubled in spirit, and declared, "Very truly, I tell you, one of you will betray me." The disciples looked at one another, uncertain of whom he was speaking. One of his disciples — the one whom Jesus loved — was reclining next to him; Simon Peter therefore motioned to him to ask Jesus of whom he was speaking. So while reclining next to Jesus, he asked him, "Lord, who is it?" Jesus answered, "It is the one to whom I give this piece of bread when I have dipped it in the dish." So when he had dipped the piece of bread, he gave it to Judas son of Simon Iscariot. After he received the piece of bread, Satan entered into him. Jesus said to him, "Do quickly what you are going to do." Now no one at the table knew why he said this to him. Some thought that, because Judas had the common purse, Jesus was telling him, "Buy what we need for the festival"; or, that he should give something to the poor. So, after receiving the piece of bread, he immediately went out. And it was night. 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.

Being a disciple is a complicated business, it turns out. And never more complicated than when you're caught between your desire to follow Jesus and the incessant tug of your own human flaws and faults.

There are many things that happen in today's reading. First, Jesus declares that one of the disciples will betray him, alluding to Judas's betrayal. Already, we as readers feel confused, because we know that there will actually be two betrayals: Judas and Peter. Moreover, when Jesus says this, his disciples look at one another with uncertainty. Does this mean that they grew suspicious of one another? Or does it mean that each felt fearful that they would be revealed as the betrayer? It says something important about our sinfulness and our flawed humanity, that each of the disciples and each one of us recognizes that we are as likely to betray Jesus as each of the other faithful followers sitting near us. So, not surprisingly, the anxious disciples sitting near Jesus begin to pester him about who the guilty one is. We can imagine that they ask because they want the assurance that the betrayer is someone else and not them. Jesus refuses to point to anyone or to call out names. Instead, he puts on a cryptic charade of dipping bread into a dish and handing it to his betrayer. This gesture seems like an overly-elaborate way of sharing information that could have just as easily been shared with a pointed finger or a spoken word.

But Jesus chooses to identify his betrayer by handing over a piece of dipped bread. According to ancient eating customs, people eating together would eat from a common dish. Bread would become a utensil, of sorts, to scoop up and eat food from the common dish. For a host to dip his bread and hand it to another guest would be a sign of great honor, love, and esteem.

Jesus handing the bread to Judas is a striking symbol. It could, on one hand, be interpreted as the mother of all guilt-trips. "Here, Judas, to identify you as betrayer, I'm going to show you the biggest, best gesture of love and honor that I can." But it is more likely that Jesus identified Judas with this paradoxical gesture in order to remind all of us that his death and resurrection are loving gestures of God's grace toward sinners; Jesus didn't die because we are perfect - he died because we are all betrayers.

The disciples and their uncertainty remind us that we each can and do betray our faith on a daily basis. We fall short, and continue to fall short, and know that no matter how hard we try, we are destined to fall short. We may try to live good lives, but they will always fall short of being perfect lives. Nevertheless, Christ hands over the bread of his own body to even the worst betrayers among us, in order to show us that his death was for the lost and the least. When the church celebrates Christ's last supper tomorrow evening, let us remember that the bread and wine of communion are being given to us - simultaneously betrayers and guests of honor! - by Jesus, our gracious host.

Tuesday in Holy Week: John 12:20-36

Sadao Watanabe, "Jesus preaching", 1994
Now among those who went up to worship at the festival were some Greeks. They came to Philip, who was from Bethsaida in Galilee, and said to him, "Sir, we wish to see Jesus." Philip went and told Andrew; then Andrew and Philip went and told Jesus. Jesus answered them, "The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. Those who love their life lose it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life. Whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there will my servant be also. Whoever serves me, the Father will honor. Now my soul is troubled. And what should I say — 'Father, save me from this hour'? No, it is for this reason that I have come to this hour. Father, glorify your name." Then a voice came from heaven, "I have glorified it, and I will glorify it again." The crowd standing there heard it and said that it was thunder. Others said, "An angel has spoken to him." Jesus answered, "This voice has come for your sake, not for mine. Now is the judgment of this world; now the ruler of this world will be driven out. And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself." He said this to indicate the kind of death he was to die. The crowd answered him, "We have heard from the law that the Messiah remains forever. How can you say that the Son of Man must be lifted up? Who is this Son of Man?" Jesus said to them, "The light is with you for a little longer. Walk while you have the light, so that the darkness may not overtake you. If you walk in the darkness, you do not know where you are going. While you have the light, believe in the light, so that you may become children of light." After Jesus had said this, he departed and hid from them.

Recently, I've been reading the book Resurrection: Interpreting the Easter Gospel by Rowan Williams. The first section of this book is entitled, "The Judgment of Judgment: Easter in Jerusalem."

Here, Williams describes the complex relationships between victims and oppressors, coming to the conclusion that Jesus, as "pure victim," has through his death and resurrection not only reversed the victim-oppressor relationship, but has transcended it. It is an image of resurrection based on a particular variety of reconciliation in which "the Lord who judges is the Lord who saves; the Lord who vindicates his oppressed witnesses also comes, in their words and hands, to save their opressors - who are his as well" (Williams, 4-5). Williams describes the resurrection "as an invitation to recognize one's victim as one's hope. The crucified is God's chosen: it is with the victim, the condemned, that God identifies, and it is in the company of the victim, so to speak, that God is to be found" (5).

Williams makes a point of reminding us that at various points in life, we are all oppressors, and we are all victims; sometimes we are both oppressor and victim simultaneously. It is in this recognition that we can encounter true forgiveness:

the authentic word of forgiveness, newness and resurrection is audible when we acknowledge ourselves as oppressors and 'return' to our victims in the sense of learning who and where they are. It is the process in which memory becomes my memory, the memory of a self with a story of responsibility. And to remember in this way is to have restored to me part of the self that I have diminished. (14)Today's reading from John speaks to the particular paradox of glory in suffering; it is a paradox that recognizes humility, service, and even suffering as being the elements which, in the end, become glory for the faithful one. This is not to say that God prescribes suffering for the sake of glory; but it does say that through the cross, God identifies with the suffering of the world and of God's people.

John shows us many sides of Jesus: Jesus as glorious Son of Man, Jesus as judge, Jesus as victim, Jesus as victor, Jesus as human and fearing death, Jesus as divine and desiring to draw all people to himself in love. Through his life, death, and resurrection, Jesus transcends the powers of oppression, fear, and death that mar our human life. The resurrection brings us assurance that God intends to “bring men and women out of the slavery and deprivation of violence and mutual exclusion into a new creation, whose ‘law’ is Christ” (21). And we, who follow Jesus and live as people of faith, become part of a "penitent and a hopeful community...whose concern, in living under Christ's 'law,' is to stand against oppression, exclusion and violence, to stand for the kind of human relation - and human-divine relation - which transcends the oppressor-oppressed bond" (21).

We do not have a God who seeks to judge us in wrath, will us to suffer, or use divine power to oppress us. We have a God who sent Christ, the "pure victim," to communicate to us the depth of divine love and grace. We have a God who, through the cross, breaks all bonds, even the bonds of sin and death, in order that we might transcend the bonds of this world and be eternally reconciled to God and to one another.

Monday in Holy Week: John 12:1-8

Sadao Watanabe, "The anointing with oil and tears", 1979
Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus' feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, "Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?" (He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.) Jesus said, "Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me."

When last I worked at Hesed House, a troubling thought came to me while I was opening lockers and finding toiletries for guests as they awoke for breakfast. I wondered what all of these men and women, homeless for one reason or another, thought of me and of my situation; I wondered if they were as keenly aware as I was that at 7am, when my shift was over, I had the luxury of returning to a home - my own home - with my own private shower and my own queen-size bed with real sheets and blankets and a comforter. I was troubled by knowing that when I returned home, I could rummage around in my refrigerator and create whatever sort of meal I fancied, rather than being held captive to whatever type of dinner and breakfast the shelter volunteers decided to provide. I was troubled because I knew full-well that even though I would leave Hesed House and go back to my own self-sufficient life, the poor and homeless and hungry people in the world would still be there. And they would still be poor and homeless and hungry, no matter how delicious a breakfast I had helped make that morning.

When Jesus says "you will always have the poor with you," I squirm in my seat a little bit. There are myriad charitable organizations in this country and in the world. Plenty of people do good things, seek justice and peace, and work on behalf of the poor and hungry. The church takes on its own share of charity and advocacy. And yet, the reality is that despite all of our human efforts, we still have the poor with us. There are still hungry people. There are still people in need. There are still suffering people. The truth is that no matter how much I'd like to believe that the good will of broken people could relieve the needs and inequalities in our world, it is simply not possible. We are too flawed, and our world too marred by the power of sin. I don't say this to be pessimistic; I say this to remind myself that we and our world are forever longing for redemption.

This is why Jesus brings the focus back to himself, and to the extravagant display of love and honor shown by Mary. The poor will be with us as long as this world remains. It is surely our calling as people of faith to continue to serve the poor and help the needy. But in all of our service to others, we first need to keep our eyes focused on Jesus. Because the only lasting hope of relief and redemption for our world is the hope that comes from the cross. Our efforts help soothe sufferings in a temporary way; the promise of ultimate redemption and restoration shown through the cross of Christ will soothe sufferings once and for all, in that day when God will come to earth, to dwell among mortals in a redeemed and reconciled new creation, where there will be no more sorrow, no more hunger, no more want or need, but where Christ will be our all.

Palm Sunday: Today we Celebrate

Sadao Watanabe, "The triumphal entry", 1968

After [Jesus] had said this, he went on ahead, going up to Jerusalem. When he had come near Bethphage and Bethany, at the place called the Mount of Olives, he sent two of the disciples, saying, "Go into the village ahead of you, and as you enter it you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden. Untie it and bring it here. If anyone asks you, 'Why are you untying it?' just say this, 'The Lord needs it.'" So those who were sent departed and found it as he had told them. As they were untying the colt, its owners asked them, "Why are you untying the colt?" They said, "The Lord needs it." Then they brought it to Jesus; and after throwing their cloaks on the colt, they set Jesus on it. As he rode along, people kept spreading their cloaks on the road. As he was now approaching the path down from the Mount of Olives, the whole multitude of the disciples began to praise God joyfully with a loud voice for all the deeds of power that they had seen, saying, "Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!" Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to him, "Teacher, order your disciples to stop." He answered, "I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out." (Luke 19:28-40)

Growing up, the 4th of July always began with “American Salute,” Morton Gould’s orchestral variations on “When Johnny Comes Marching Home.” My parents would blast it from the stereo as our wake-up call, our signal that it was time to get out of bed, eat breakfast, decorate our bikes with red, white, and blue crepe paper for the police station’s 4th of July bike rodeo – an obstacle course, of sorts – and then, after lunch, our town’s annual 4th of July parade.

My father, a police officer, was often the lead car in the parade. He’d ride down the closed streets slowly, setting the pace for the rest of the parade, and, of course, stopping for a moment when he reached the place where my sisters and I were sitting, so that we could run up to the side of the car and say hello through his open window.

Our parades were like any other town’s parades. Girl scouts would ride in open-air trailers hitched up to one of their dad’s pickup trucks. Men from the VFW marched with flags, the whole crowd standing and saluting as they passed. Village board members would ride in convertibles and wave. Boy Scout troops would march along, sometimes tossing candy into the crowd, sometimes dousing us with Super Soakers. Volunteer marching bands played patriotic favorites, local churches would collect canned goods along the parade route, and we’d all cover our ears as the fire trucks brought up the rear of the parade, blaring their sirens and blasting their horns.

It was the festival of Passover, the annual commemoration of the night years prior when God spared the lives of the Israelites’ firstborn children. During this festival, Israelite men were expected to make the pilgrimage to Jerusalem so that they could bring offerings of thanks to God in the temple. With so many extra people coming into Jerusalem, the atmosphere might have felt like our 4th of July celebrations: cheering crowds, music, laughter, noise, and celebration.

And there was probably at least one extravagant parade: the procession of the Roman governor Pilate into the city. See, during a crowded and significant festival like Passover, Pilate would have been expected to come to the city to keep order. Someone of his esteem would have entered the city with his own entourage, displaying his power and his wealth. Think of it as presidential motorcade meets 4th of July parade.

Jesus’ triumphal entry into the city, however, looks nothing like this. Pilate comes with wealth and power, and a fitting parade to display it. But Jesus, the king, enters the city in a very different manner. We join Jesus and his disciples on the fringe of Jerusalem, with Jesus sending a couple followers ahead to a nearby village to borrow a colt.

Notice that he doesn’t send them to fetch a triumphant white steed, or a majestic Clydesdale, or even a regular old workhorse. He sends them to fetch a colt: a small, young horse, certainly unridden – an animal that would have probably made Jesus look sort of silly or pathetic. This gives us a clue that Jesus is not riding into the city as a majestic warrior or military victor. He’s not riding into the city like Pilate, full of power and might. He is instead riding into the city humbly, as the prince of peace and the lamb being led to slaughter.

And then once they get to Jerusalem, notice that in Luke’s gospel, there is as a conspicuous lack of both palms and people. There are no children shouting “hosanna,” and no crowds lining the streets waving branches as Jesus passes. The humble vision of Jesus riding on a coat-strewn colt is noticed only by the disciples, who are doing their best to make some noise, and the Pharisees, who out of frustration or fear, try to hush them up.

The small-scale nature of the scene reminds us that Jesus’ journey into Jerusalem was not that of a triumphant warrior or political hero, but rather that of a humble servant. It reminds us that Jesus entered the city in order to journey to the cross. And so, we need a different image of the parade into Jerusalem, something that reflects the humble and tragic quality of the triumphal entry, rather than the racaus celebration that we want it to be. Perhaps a fitting image would be something like the last scenes of the movie “The Mission.”

The movie tells the story of a Spanish Jesuit Priest, Brother Gabriel. He travels to the South American jungle to build a mission, and to try to convert the natives to Christianity. Throughout the movie, Brother Gabriel remains a firm but peaceful presence as he mentors and shows love to the native people and remains faithful to his mission, even as political turmoil between Spain and Portugal threaten the future of the mission that he worked so hard to build.

And at the end of the movie, when Portuguese colonial soldiers attack the mission, Brother Gabriel and the natives who have chosen to stay with the mission start walking toward the troops. Brother Gabriel carries a cross, and they all march peacefully and unarmed, singing, into the soldiers’ fire. For Brother Gabriel, the mission was not just a place. The mission was his own personal mission, to show the love of God in the world, at whatever cost was demanded of him, even if that cost were his life.

Jesus enters Jerusalem, knowing that he, too, is walking directly into the line of fire. He enters Jerusalem with his face lifted to the cross. His parade into Jerusalem is a celebration of the king who comes in the name of the Lord, not in the name of power or of prestige. This is the king who will be worshiped not for his strength, but for his weakness and his self-emptying. This is the king who is worthy of praise because of his humility, even in the face of those who would strike him and disgrace him. This is the king who would give up his life in order to save the lives of God’s people.

The triumphal entry today is just the beginning. It is the beginning of the good news of the cross and the resurrection. It is the joyful beginning of a week that will detour into suffering and grief before we are able to rejoice again. There will be a time for grief and tears as we move through Holy Week and recount Jesus’ passion, but for today, we celebrate:

We celebrate, for our king has come into our midst. We celebrate, for this king is Jesus, who cared for the poor, healed the sick, and preached forgiveness. Today, we celebrate, for a feast has been spread before us: bread enough for all to eat, wine enough for all to drink. And at this meal, we will echo the words of the disciples: “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!” For today, we gather around a table where we receive in our hands God’s assurance of forgiveness and salvation. We taste the bread of grace and the cup of salvation, welcoming Jesus, our savior, fully into our midst.

So let us lift our hearts and celebrate, raising our voices in praise. For if we were silent, God would raise up the entire creation around us to proclaim the good news of our king, who is highly exalted, who has been given the name that is above every name. And so, at the name of Jesus, our knees and all knees should bend, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and our tongues should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father. My friends, our eyes might be cast ahead toward the cross, but today, we celebrate.

Lent 3: Your Wild and Precious Life

“Everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and you that have no money, come, buy and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without price. (Isaiah 55:1)

At that very time there were some present who told [Jesus] about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices. He asked them, "Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish as they did. Or those eighteen who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them — do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others living in Jerusalem? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did." Then he told this parable: "A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came looking for fruit on it and found none. So he said to the gardener, 'See here! For three years I have come looking for fruit on this fig tree, and still I find none. Cut it down! Why should it be wasting the soil?' He replied, 'Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig around it and put manure on it. If it bears fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.'" (Luke 13:1-9)
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There are many perks to being a parent, but one of the most powerful one is the ability to say “no.” And not just “no,” but the dreaded “No…because I said so!” It is the frustration of teens everywhere:

“Mom, can I go to this party Friday night with my friends?”
“No.”
“But why?”
“Because I said so.”

It’s infuriating! When we hear someone tell us “no,” we want them to give us an explanation, or a reason, or some sort of insight into their logic. It’s hard to accept a simple “no” as sufficient, especially when we’ve asked a hard question.

This is where we begin in today’s gospel. Jesus is answering lingering questions about whether tragedy is God’s punishment for sins, and if worse sinners are punished more severely.

Jesus answers, quite simply, “no.”

No, God doesn’t punish sin with tragedy. No, suffering isn’t a matter of unrighteousness. No, Haiti and Chile weren’t hit with terrible earthquakes because of anything they did. No, people near to us and far from us don’t have their lives stripped from them because God was trying to punish them or punish us.

And when we try to ask “why,” we don’t get an answer. Jesus doesn’t give us any explanations or insight into God’s mind. He wants us to be satisfied with the simple “no,” the plain knowledge that suffering is not a part of God’s plan. Jesus, in his own way, is saying “no, because I said so.” In the gospel reading, he turns the questions around so that they are focused not on the mysteries of God’s will, but rather on the inner workings of our own minds and hearts.

For Jesus, why tragedies happen is far less important than what those tragedies teach us. Jesus wants us to see tragedies and catastrophes as a wake-up call; an awareness of the frailty of life and an awareness of our own sinfulness. Those who have suffered and died by tragedy are no worse sinners than you or me. And those of us who live comfortable, secure lives are no better people than anyone else.

We know this, but when is the last time you found yourself quietly blaming yourself or someone else for grief that has befallen them? “If only he had been wearing his seat belt…” “If only you had better values…” “If only I had gone to the doctor sooner…”

But Jesus cuts off our blame and our rationalizations with a sobering word: We are all sinners. And as sinners, we should all deserve death. Not tragic death or catastrophic death, but death nonetheless. We are all sinners, and we are all mortal. And in this season of Lent, we ponder our sinfulness, which needs redeeming, and our mortality, which needs saving. We hear clearly Jesus words: “repent or perish.”

The good news in Jesus’ words, as strange as it may sound, is that we are all sinners and we are all called to repent; that is, to reorient and re-incline our lives toward God, knowing the fragile nature of our lives. And how is this good news, you may ask? It is good news because, though we are all sinners, God is yet gracious! It is good news because we who are sinners have been given a second chance. It is good news because, though we are all mortal, God’s grace in Christ gives us new hope and purpose in this life, and an eternal feast with all the saints in the next. God says in Isaiah,

“Everyone who thirsts,
come to the waters;
and you that have no money,
come, buy and eat!
Come, buy wine and milk
without money and without price.
Why do you spend your money for that which is not bread,
and your labor for that which does not satisfy?
Listen carefully to me, and eat what is good,
and delight yourselves in rich food.
Incline your ear, and come to me;
listen, so that you may live.”

It’s hard to hear this text from Isaiah without glancing away from the pulpit over to the font. We celebrated a baptism here last night, and celebrated all of the promises that God made to little Ava – and to us. Promises of grace and love, promises of life. Baptisms are a stunning picture of God’s grace. Little Ava, eleven months old, can do nothing and has done nothing to earn God’s grace and love. And yet, God is gracious, promising her and promising us good things, not because we deserve it, but because God is love.

God promises food and drink to all thirsty people. God has promised redemption to you and to me, sinners that we are. We come to the waters of baptism and we come to the table of our Lord as people thirsty for redemption. We come to the font and table as people hungry for grace. And God tells us that in those waters and at this feast, we will be washed and clothed and well-fed.

But when we take Jesus seriously when he says “repent or perish,” and when we reorient our lives toward God’s values and God’s will, we are urged one step further – to live redeemed lives that bear fruit in the world.

The parable of the fig tree tells us that we have all been given the grace to “live another year,” fertilized and watered so that we might bear fruit. The fig tree reminds us that we live only by the grace of God, and that by the cross, we have been given a new chance to bear fruit in the world.

Movies like “The Bucket List” and books like 1000 Places to See Before You Die tap into the collective urgency to make something of this life while we still have it. This is the urgency in Jesus’ message today. Tragedy reminds us that life is temporary and fragile. The parable of the fig tree reminds us that life is a gift from God, and that God gives us a second chance to bear fruit. This is now our challenge, as people redeemed, to bear fruit in the world.

In the words of the poet Mary Oliver,

I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
(from “The Summer Day”)

What is God calling you to do with your one wild and precious life? When tragedy hits, are you called to bring relief and comfort? When poverty and despair threaten your neighbors, are you called to seek justice on their behalf? When children need love, are you called to embrace them? When hopelessness weighs heavy on the hearts of your brothers and sisters, are you called to bring God’s love and peace to them? When life too quickly fills with cares and worries, are you called to become idle and blessed, seeking God’s peace in creation?

God does not give up on us. God cleanses us and feeds us, tending to us as a master gardener tends to his vineyard, never giving up on us or on this world, but giving us the strength to bear fruit in the world. God has given us a wild and precious life, a life redeemed, even in suffering, by the suffering of the cross. By water, word, and feast, we taste and see the wild extravagance of God’s grace, and we are spurred on by this grace toward love and good deeds. So tell me, what will you do, this day and every day, to bear fruit in your wild, precious, redeemed life?