God

Welcome to the Family

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Welcome to the Family” Mark 3:20-35

In October of 1892, the Presbytery of Champlain received an unusual gift: Johnson’s Island, a one-acre rocky isle in Upper Saranac Lake. The island was the dream of three of Plattsburgh’s biggest movers and shakers. Chief among them was Smith Weed, the one-time President of Plattsburgh and six-time state assemblyman, known for smoking as many as nine cigars in a day. Smith hoped to enlist the Champlain Presbytery in launching an ecumenical summer chapel to serve both visitors and year ‘round residents to the lake. There was a big string attached to the gift: the Presbytery would need to build a church on Johnson’s Island within the year. The trustees of the Presbytery met the challenge. After all, they were on a building streak, launching little mission churches across the Adirondacks, having begun with our church—this very sanctuary—in 1890. Soon Johnson’s Island had a new name, Chapel Island, and in 1893 the little summer church was christened the Island Chapel.

My introduction to the Island Chapel came in 2005, not long after my arrival at this church. The late John Fitch called me up and persuaded me to trade this pulpit on a summery Sunday for the one at the Island Chapel. John and Anne were longtime servants to the ministry there. In fact, as soon as the Fitches had returned from sunny Florida, the ice was out, and the water was warm enough, John had me out in their Crisscraft, circumnavigating Chapel Island. Most years, I preach at the Island Chapel. And when John, and then Newt Greiner, retired from the role of Clergy Coordinator, they drafted me to do the job for seven years. I found it fascinating that I could find folks to preach on Chapel Island for the ten Sundays of summer faster than I could find one minister to supply the pulpit on any one given Sunday in Saranac Lake.

Over the years, things have changed. In 1956, a picnic fire on Chapel Island bloomed into a major conflagration that consumed the original Victorian chapel. A new Adirondack-style structure rose from the ashes in 1958. With the decline of North Country population and the closing of small churches, the Presbytery of Champlain was forced to join forces with the St. Lawrence Presbytery to form the Presbytery of Northern New York in the 1960s. Yet things have stayed the same, the ecumenical ministry that shares the love of Christ on Chapel Island continues. Indeed, in 2014, the ministry received a Tauny Award for their longstanding commitment to living local cultural heritage. But even good things sometimes need to change. Three years ago, the Presbytery of Northern New York realized that their declining resources meant they could no longer sponsor the Island Chapel.

Change can be hard, whether we are talking about modern day churches or we are considering the changes that Jesus brought to his first century world. As Jesus healed, forgave sins, and preached the good news of God’s Kingdom, he faced increasing opposition. Last week, we learned of powerful enemies rising among the Pharisees and followers of King Herod. This week, we heard the story of two further conflicts, one with Jesus’ family and the other with scribes from the Temple in Jerusalem.

Let’s start with Jesus’s kin. It must have been tough for them when Jesus announced he was trading his carpenter’s hammer for a rabbi’s tallith.  In the first century, sons followed in their father’s footsteps. Mother Mary and the siblings had a host of expectations for Jesus as the oldest son, expectations that he was not fulfilling. Jesus belonged in Nazareth, running the family business.  He should have been out bidding on jobs and teaching his brothers building skills.  He should have been caring for his widowed mother and arranging marriages for his younger sisters. In addition to those failed expectations, Jesus had made enemies of powerful people who controlled the political and religious landscape of Israel.  Messing with King Herod, the Pharisees, and the scribes—was he crazy?

The family thought they were doing the right thing when they knocked on the door of the house where Jesus was staying, intent on restraining him.  The Greek word that Mark uses for restrain—krateo—means to lay hands on, seize, and forcibly detain someone. Mary and the siblings loved Jesus, so they were going to take him home, restore the right order, and keep him safe. The only problem, of course, was that Jesus had a higher calling, a different sort of family obligation to his heavenly Father. That holy purpose superseded any claim that the Nazareth clan could make. Discerning the intent of his family to derail his mission and God’s purpose, Jesus wisely declined their invitation.

In the midst of this family feud, Jesus had the biggest Bible scholars of the day on his back. The scribes didn’t like what Jesus taught, they didn’t care for the rabble who hung on his every word, and they couldn’t explain Jesus’s amazing miracles.  So, they decided to discredit him, accusing him of being in league with the devil. If Jesus sounded put out by this in our reading, it’s because the scribes were making the unforgiveable mistake of saying that God is the devil. Yikes! It’s this sort of essential difference of understanding that would split the family of first century Judaism. Traditionalists, who denied the new thing that God was doing in Jesus, would ultimately reject and cast out those who saw the holy power of Jesus and trusted that he was Messiah and Lord.

Over and against the cultural and religious expectations of kinfolk and scribes, Jesus described a new sort of family that would supplant the ties of Temple and blood. It’s the family of faith. Anyone who does the will of God, anyone who serves God’s Kingdom, can become a member. As Jesus looked around the home where he was staying, he saw men and women devoted to loving God and neighbor. They were like sisters and brothers. When Jesus was under attack by those powerful opponents, when he was at odds with his kin, he turned to God and his friends in the faith. There he found the support and encouragement that he would need to persevere in a gospel ministry that would ultimately send him to the cross. In the long years to follow, Jesus’ followers would likewise depend upon this new notion of kinship, as they faced rejection by families and persecution by Temple and empire.

At this church, we know the beauty and goodness of a family of faith, don’t we? Look around. These are the people who are in our corner when we feel at odds with the world. They show up with hot dishes when we are bouncing back from big surgeries or big losses. They give us a call when they haven’t seen us in a while. They get down on their knees and pray for us. They teach our children. They feed us in Coffee Hour. They join us in wrestling with the big questions of scripture and faith. They walk with us for CROP Walk, Sermons on the Trail, and through the darkest valley. Thank goodness for the family of faith!

Today we welcome to our family of faith our friends who minister at the Island Chapel. Last summer, as they came to grips with the Presbytery’s decision to part ways, I was visited by Ross Whaley and Will Main, who have served the Island Chapel for years. They wondered, would our church be willing and able to come alongside them as sisters and brothers in faith to fill the gap that was being left behind by the Presbytery? Our Session and the executive committee for the Island Chapel appointed a taskforce to discern together what a shared ministry might look like.

Thank you to Anita Estling, Pam Martin, Kim Weems, David Fitch, Will and Leslie Main, Ross Whaley, and Pam Werner, who served with me on the taskforce. We zoomed a lot. We thought about the finer points of Presbyterian polity. We developed a memorandum of understanding. We sought appropriate insurance, titles, and registrations. We dreamed about the Island Chapel finding in this church a new sponsor and supporter for their good news. We dreamed of this church embracing the Island Chapel as an ecumenical summer outreach ministry. We think we’ve got it figured out. Today, with a time of commissioning, we welcome and celebrate our sisters and brothers from Chapel Island.

Change can be hard, whether we are considering the changes that Jesus brought to his first century world, or we are speaking of the shifting networks of support that come in dwindling twenty-first century mainline denominations. Yet change can be a blessing as we follow Jesus and serve God’s Kingdom. As we celebrate a new kinship between the First Presbyterian Church of Saranac Lake and the Island Chapel ministry, may we find the same sort of support, encouragement, and holy purpose that Jesus and his friends found in one another. Welcome to the family. Amen.

Resources

C. Clifton Black. “Commentary on Mark 3:20-35” in Preaching This Week, June 9, 2024. Accessed online at Commentary on Mark 3:20-35 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary.

James Boyce. “Commentary on Mark 3:20-35” in Preaching This Week, June 7, 2015. Accessed online at Commentary on Mark 3:20-35 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary.

Matt Skinner. “Commentary on Mark 3:20-35” in Preaching This Week, June 7, 2015. Accessed online at Commentary on Mark 3:20-35 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Wikipedia Contributors. “Smith Mead Weed” in Wikipedia, The Free Encyclopedia, January 12,  2024. Accessed online at https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Smith_Mead_Weed&oldid=1195036261

Nathan Ovalle. “Lost in history: Smith Weed’s legacy fading with time” in The Press Republican, Dec. 14, 2014. Accessed online at Lost in history: Smith Weed’s legacy fading with time | Local News | pressrepublican.com

Seaway Abstract Corporation. “Abstract of Title to An Island, Town of Harrietstown, Franklin County #978” December 10, 1985.

Mark 3:20-35

20and the crowd came together again, so that they could not even eat. 21When his family heard it, they went out to restrain him, for people were saying, “He has gone out of his mind.” 22And the scribes who came down from Jerusalem said, “He has Beelzebul, and by the ruler of the demons he casts out demons.” 23And he called them to him, and spoke to them in parables, “How can Satan cast out Satan? 24If a kingdom is divided against itself, that kingdom cannot stand. 25And if a house is divided against itself, that house will not be able to stand. 26And if Satan has risen up against himself and is divided, he cannot stand, but his end has come. 27But no one can enter a strong man’s house and plunder his property without first tying up the strong man; then indeed the house can be plundered.

28“Truly I tell you, people will be forgiven for their sins and whatever blasphemies they utter; 29but whoever blasphemes against the Holy Spirit can never have forgiveness, but is guilty of an eternal sin”— 30for they had said, “He has an unclean spirit.”

31Then his mother and his brothers came; and standing outside, they sent to him and called him. 32A crowd was sitting around him; and they said to him, “Your mother and your brothers and sisters are outside, asking for you.” 33And he replied, “Who are my mother and my brothers?” 34And looking at those who sat around him, he said, “Here are my mother and my brothers! 35Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother.”

Heart Trouble

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Heart Trouble” Mark 2:23-3:6

Sunday mornings at the New York Avenue Presbyterian Church in Washington, DC can feel like a curious collision of reverent worship and human need. The church, just a couple of blocks from the White House, is in an area of the city with a burgeoning homeless population. The benches in the tiny triangle park outside the church are a favorite overnight sleeping spot. A mentally ill woman pushing a shopping cart inspects the trash for thrown away treasures. A down and out neighbor scrounges for cigarette butts on the sidewalk.

Before I went to seminary, when I was a young adult member of the church, I was often panhandled on my way into worship, “Sister, can you give a man a little help?” During worship, when the children and those feeling a little childlike were invited to the front of the sanctuary, there would always be at least one adult participant—Larry, a developmentally disabled man from a local residence who lived with mental illness. One Sunday, during Dr. Craig’s sermon, someone was snoring. It was loud—so loud that those of us in the pews spent the better part of the message craning our necks to see one of our homeless brothers, stretched out in a side pew. On another day, Dr. Craig told us that as he was locking up the church to head home, he fell, tripping over a homeless man who was sleeping in a corner of the doorway.

Churches are sacred places, built to glorify God with our worship and praise. Churches are serving places, where neighbors in need find “a little help.” Sometimes finding that right balance of worship and service can be tough.

Our reading from Mark’s gospel tells of two Sabbath controversies. First, Jesus was challenged by the Pharisees for the Sabbath day behavior of his disciples. As Jesus’s hungry friends walked through the fields, they plucked ears of barley, rolled them between their hands to remove the chaff, and ate the ripe grain. Next, Jesus was in the synagogue on the sabbath day when he noticed a man with a helpless, withered hand. Jesus provocatively asked his critics, “Is it lawful to do good on the sabbath?” Then, answering his own question, Jesus healed. The useless hand grew hale and able.

Jesus and the Pharisees clearly had a difference of opinion when it came to interpreting what scripture had to say about sabbath observance. We tend to poke fun at the Pharisees, but Prof. Clif Black, who teaches at Princeton Seminary, reminds us that the Pharisees, a reform movement in first century Judaism, were well-regarded as upstanding and devout people. They were dedicated to “superlative” obedience to scripture in all walks of life. They liked things done decently and in order—that sounds downright Presbyterian.

The Pharisees had two problems with Jesus’s friends in the grain field. For one, they were traveling on the sabbath. For another, it was a slippery slope from gleaning to harvesting – if you let people glean on the sabbath, who knows what sort of work could happen next. And that man with the problem hand? More work. The man and Jesus should have had the good sense to wait until the sabbath was over to get their healing on. Jesus, with his disregard for their sabbath piety, put the whole community at risk. They needed to be holy as God is holy, and that meant their strict observance of the Torah.

Jesus disagreed. He looked at the big picture. Jesus considered God’s intent in instituting the sabbath as part of the rhythm of creation. God certainly didn’t need to rest after bringing the world into being, but humanity? We would need rest. In imparting the ten commandments, God mandated sabbath so that the people might be gratefully reoriented in God, might deepen their relationship with the one who created us—and deepen our connection to one another. What a radical gift for former slaves, who had never known the blessing of unfettered leisure! Sabbath should inspire our profound gratitude and reverence, yet it also helps and heals us. It promotes our wholeness. We might even say that on the sabbath day we are re-created.

“The sabbath was made for humankind, and not humankind for the sabbath,” Jesus taught. The choice to relieve someone’s hunger, the choice to end the suffering and disability of a neighbor, these beautiful, compassionate acts honored God’s original intent for the sabbath, every bit as much as the reverent worship of the Pharisees. Unfortunately, Jesus’s opponents were so invested in their own perspective that they could not hear Jesus or allow their hard hearts to be moved with compassion. Instead, only 79 verses into Mark’s gospel, Jesus’s adversaries began to conspire to discredit and silence him.

I am told that the New York Avenue Presbyterian Church struggled to find that right balance between sabbath day reverence and sabbath day service. In the early 80’s federal funding for mental health services saw big cuts, transferring responsibility for formerly institutionalized people to states that just weren’t ready.  The streets of cities like Washington soon teemed with folks who could not care for themselves. As the church’s triangle park became a de facto mini homeless settlement, they wondered, what do we do? Close the park? Work with law enforcement to encourage homeless neighbors to find someplace else to be on Sunday morning? Open up the church’s Lincoln Room for bagels and a gospel hymn sing?

The hymn sing won out, but still there was a weekly struggle to find enough volunteers to handle the loud, needy, and stinky mess that comes along with homeless neighbors. Members left the church. Those who stayed wondered if new people, who weren’t homeless, would ever come, would ever labor alongside them. They weren’t Pharisees, but they were Presbyterians with a longing for order and a good uninterrupted Sunday sermon. It wasn’t easy.

I think Jesus knew that faithful people would always live with this tension between our desire for holiness and the calling to meet the needs of our neighbors. That’s why his great command is an imperative to do both – love God and love neighbor. God is glorified by our overflowing love and heartfelt worship. Yet God is also glorified when we open our hearts and turn to the world with compassion, when we seek to make a helping, healing difference in the lives of those who need it most. We need both – worship and service. When we get it right, we are drawn ever deeper into the beauty of God and into the spirit of Jesus, who challenged his followers to see him in our neighbors who most need our love and care, every day of the week.

Sundays at this church aren’t quite like Sunday mornings in downtown Washington. I bet no one panhandled you on the way in. My old friend Larry doesn’t sit on the chancel with me for children’s time. While someone may fall asleep during the service, it won’t be because they spent last night sleeping on a subway grate. Yet we are mindful this morning of the need of our world. If you came in the side entrance, you saw the overflowing donation of paper goods for families that depend on Grace Pantry. You saw the pack basket that collects our Food Pantry gifts for hungry neighbors. You may have even noticed the learning stations in the sanctuary and Great Hall about the work of the Holm family to bring the gospel and sanitation to our Malawi neighbors. They may not be sleeping in the pews, but our vulnerable neighbors are with us this morning, and we can choose to make a helping difference. Today, we glorify God with our worship—and God will be glorified, too, as we love those who hunger and thirst for wholeness, good news, and good food.

If those Pharisees and Herodians had only wrapped their hearts around what Jesus was trying to teach them about the sabbath, they would have gotten blessed. So blessed! On that Sunday morning at the New York Avenue Presbyterian Church, when the homeless brother was snoring loudly through Dr. Craig’s sermon, the ushers in their blue blazers and ties marshalled forces in the narthex, devising a plan to wake the guy up. The very wise Dr. Craig stopped preaching and he waylaid their efforts. “Please, folks,” he said from the pulpit, “I’m sure it is the safest and warmest that the man has been all week.” As Dr. Craig’s words sank in, we realized that we had just heard the real sermon for that Sunday. We all thought about how truly blessed we were, to have homes and a church home, to have more than enough, to have people who love us, to have a wise pastor who called us to our better selves. It was one of those graced moments when we found the right balance between worship and service. It was one of those graced moments when we glimpsed Jesus, who told us he would come to us in our vulnerable neighbors. I can’t say for sure, but I suspect that God was, indeed, glorified.

Resources:

C. Clifton Black. “Commentary on Mark 2:23-3:6” in Preaching This Week, June 2, 2024. Accessed online at Commentary on Mark 2:23—3:6 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Matt Skinner. “Commentary on Mark 2:23-3:6” in Preaching This Week, June 3, 2018. Accessed online at Commentary on Mark 2:23—3:6 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

John Wilkinson. “Theological Perspective on Mark 3:1-6” in Feasting of the Gospels: Mark. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

William R. Herzog II. “Homiletical Perspective on Mark 3:1-6” in Feasting of the Gospels: Mark. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

Mark 2:23—3:6

23One sabbath he was going through the grainfields; and as they made their way his disciples began to pluck heads of grain. 24The Pharisees said to him, “Look, why are they doing what is not lawful on the sabbath?” 25And he said to them, “Have you never read what David did when he and his companions were hungry and in need of food? 26He entered the house of God, when Abiathar was high priest, and ate the bread of the Presence, which it is not lawful for any but the priests to eat, and he gave some to his companions.” 27Then he said to them, “The sabbath was made for humankind, and not humankind for the sabbath; 28so the Son of Man is lord even of the sabbath.”

3Again he entered the synagogue, and a man was there who had a withered hand. 2They watched him to see whether he would cure him on the sabbath, so that they might accuse him. 3And he said to the man who had the withered hand, “Come forward.” 4Then he said to them, “Is it lawful to do good or to do harm on the sabbath, to save life or to kill?” But they were silent. 5He looked around at them with anger; he was grieved at their hardness of heart and said to the man, “Stretch out your hand.” He stretched it out, and his hand was restored. 6The Pharisees went out and immediately conspired with the Herodians against him, how to destroy him.

Photo by Timur Weber on Pexels.com

The Pearl of Scotland

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “The Pearl of Scotland” Isaiah 6:1-8

Let me tell you two stories.

Margaret never wanted to be a queen. She was the granddaughter of Edmund Ironside, one of the last Saxon kings of England. Amid the struggle for succession that followed Edmund’s death, Margaret’s father Edward was sent to the protection of King Stephen of Hungary. When Margaret was only nine, the family returned to England, where the king, childless and aging, had resolved to adopt Edward as his heir. But within days of their return to English soil, Edward fell mysteriously ill and died. For the next twelve years, Margaret was a dependent of the royal court until her brother Harold could inherit the crown. Margaret had little appetite for court with its pomp, intrigue, and power. Instead, she led a quiet and devout life, finding comfort in prayer, the study of scripture, and meditating upon the life of Christ. She was befriended by a fellow exile, Malcolm of Scotland, whose father had been murdered by the usurper Macbeth.

Isaiah never wanted to be a prophet. Young Isaiah was worshipping in the Temple, surrounded by songs and prayers, sacrifice and incense, when he saw a vision of the heavenly throne room. So limitless was God that the Temple could barely contain the hem of God’s robe.  In a flash of spiritual insight, Isaiah realized that his earthly worship was only a dim echo of heavenly rejoicing. Six-winged seraphs thundered God’s praise, shouting “Holy, holy, holy!” Amid the overwhelming sanctity of the heavenly and earthly throne rooms, Isaiah heard an undeniable voice. The Triune God called, saying to him, “Whom shall I send?”

Margaret’s calling came in the year 1066 when she was twenty-one. William the Conqueror laid claim to the English throne and defeated the British at the Battle of Hastings. Margaret, with her mother and siblings, fled north and boarded a boat, intent on returning to the safety of Hungary. But as the boat got underway, a mighty wind blew them off course, driving them ever further north until they ran aground in the broad estuary where the Forth River empties into the North Sea. There, they learned that providence had brought them to an old friend: Malcolm of Scotland. Now king, Malcolm was widowed with a young son. By all accounts, when Malcolm again saw Margaret, he fell head-over-heels in love. Here was his new queen, sent to him by God. Within days, Malcolm proposed, but the exiled princess turned down the royal invitation.

When God asked, “Whom shall I send?”, Isaiah was reluctant to answer the call. Confronted by the earthshaking holiness of God almighty, Isaiah felt only his frailty and unworthiness. Every false or self-serving statement that Isaiah had ever spoken rang in his ears, forcing him to confess the painful truth of his sinfulness, “I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips.” But the reluctant Isaiah soon learned that God could work with that. A coal, plucked from the fire of the heavenly throne room, touched Isaiah’s lips, and his sins were refined by the holy fire. Isaiah’s overweening sense of unworthiness was replaced by a compulsion to speak God’s word to the people.

When the exiled Princess Margaret declined Malcolm’s proposal, the Scottish King persisted. He granted Margaret’s family his protection, and they came to live in his castle at Dunfermline. There Margaret saw a royal court far removed from the pomp and intrigue of England. Malcolm was illiterate. His subjects lived in poverty. Margaret’s love for the king began as she read to him from the New Testament, and she learned of his passion to improve the lives of his people. Margaret and Malcolm heard in the words of Jesus, an imperative to serve the “least of these.” More than three years after that fateful wind blew her north to Scotland, Margaret finally said, “Yes,” to Malcolm. She came to see that her royal marriage would allow her to serve two kingdoms, one earthly, the other heavenly.

Isaiah’s words of prophecy held a similar concern for the vulnerable of the land. He had seen the face of poverty and the indifference of the rich. They had failed to honor the words of God, ignored the plight of the widow and orphan, denied justice to the foreign worker, and ground the face of the poor into the dust. The prophet spoke God’s judgment against the Kingdom of Judah, pleading with them to repent. Time was short, Isaiah warned, but they could still learn to do good: to seek justice, rescue the oppressed, defend the orphan, and plead for the widow (Is. 1:17). If they failed, God would bring judgment against the people of Israel. Babylon would rise. Judah would be conquered and taken into exile.

Margaret and Malcolm had a happy, fruitful marriage. The exiled princess, now a queen, became the mother of eight children and the mother of the Scottish people. She saw herself as a steward, entrusted by God with the care of a nation. Each morning, Margaret left the palace at Dunfermline with her New Testament tucked under her arm. She took a seat on a rock outside the royal residence to receive guests who came to her for counsel, prayer, and help. The queen fed nine orphans every morning with her own silver spoon. Each evening, Margaret and Malcolm opened their table to 24 of their poorest neighbors. They instituted a series of feast days, in keeping with the church calendar, when 300 of their most vulnerable subjects were banqueted with royal splendor. Motivated by the love of Christ, they built schools and churches, opened hospitals and hostels, and rebuilt Iona Abbey, which had fallen into ruin. They instituted sabbath laws, giving workers a weekly day of rest. Margaret had special concern for prisoners and exiles. She bought the freedom of English and Irish slaves, returning them to their homelands.

When Isaiah’s prophecy was fulfilled and Judah fell to Babylonian invaders, Isaiah’s call shifted as the no-longer-powerful people of Judah became as vulnerable as the poor they had once oppressed. Isaiah spoke God’s words of consolation to a hurting people, “Comfort, comfort my people, says your God.  Speak tenderly to Jerusalem” (Isaiah 40:1).  Years later as the exiles returned home, Isaiah went with them, prophesying about God’s plans for a new beginning for the humbled nation, speaking God’s promise, “For I will create a new heaven and a new earth; the past events will not be remembered or come to mind” (Isaiah 65:17). Perhaps Isaiah’s greatest legacy, though, was the lasting impact that he would have upon all who pursue God’s call to serve the last and the least. When Jesus preached to his hometown crowd in Nazareth, he opened the scroll to the words of the prophet Isaiah and read words that were fulfilled in his ministry, “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”

In 1093, when King Malcolm and their oldest son were killed in a skirmish with Norman invaders, Queen Margaret, hearing the news in Edinburgh, fell sick. She died three days later; some say of a broken heart. But Margaret and Malcolm’s youngest son, David, would become Scotland’s most beloved king, pursuing his father’s royal rule and his mother’s passion for the least of these. One hundred and fifty years after Margaret’s death, those who remembered her life and legacy began to advocate for her canonization as a saint. The trouble was that she didn’t fit the traditional mold of sainthood. She was a devoted wife and the happy mother of a large family. She worked no miracles, other than the everyday miracle of loving her people and advocating ceaselessly for their health, justice, and care. The arbiters of sainthood in Rome came up with four posthumous miracles for Margaret, all related to her tomb and bones. Today Margaret is reverenced as the patron saint of service to the poor, learning, large families, mothers, and all those who are raising children. Margaret’s greater legacy is felt whenever we, who have privilege by virtue of our birth, education, or wealth, choose to generously use our resources for the good of our vulnerable neighbors.

In his biography of Margaret, her friend and confessor Bishop Turgot of St. Andrews, noted that the name Margaret derives from the Greek word Margaron, meaning pearl. Turgot wrote, “She was called Margaret, and in the sight of God she showed herself to be a pearl, precious in faith and works. She was indeed a pearl to you, to me, to all of us, yea, to Christ Himself, and being Christ’s she is all the more ours now that she has left us, having been taken to the Lord. . . and now she shines in her place among the jewels of the Eternal King.” Margaret has been known as the Pearl of Scotland ever since.

Resources:

Turgot, Bishop of St. Andrew’s. “Life of St. Margaret Queen of Scotland.” trans. Theodericus Monk of Durham and William Forbes-Leith. Edinburgh: William Paterson Press, 1884. Accessed online at https://archive.org/details/lifeofstmargaret00turguoft/lifeofstmargaret00turguoft/page/n9/mode/2up

Clerk of Oxford. “St Margaret of Scotland,” June 10, 2012. Accessed online at https://aclerkofoxford.blogspot.com/2012/06/st-margaret-of-scotland.html

Griffiths, Paul James. “Queen Margaret: the Pearl of Scotland” in The Middle Ages, May 7, 2021. Accessed online at https://www.christianheritageedinburgh.org.uk

Floyd, Michael. “Exegetical Perspective on Isaiah 6:1-8” in Feasting on the Word, Year B Vol. 2.  Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.

Ramsey Jr., G. Lee. “Homiletical Perspective on Isaiah 6:1-8” in Feasting on the Word, Year B Vol. 2.  Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009.

Isaiah 6:1-8

6In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord sitting on a throne, high and lofty; and the hem of his robe filled the temple. 2Seraphs were in attendance above him; each had six wings: with two they covered their faces, and with two they covered their feet, and with two they flew. 3And one called to another and said: “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory.” 4The pivots on the thresholds shook at the voices of those who called, and the house filled with smoke.

5And I said: “Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips; yet my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts!” 6Then one of the seraphs flew to me, holding a live coal that had been taken from the altar with a pair of tongs. 7The seraph touched my mouth with it and said: “Now that this has touched your lips, your guilt has departed and your sin is blotted out.” 8Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” And I said, “Here am I; send me!”

Santa Margarida da Escócia – Basílica de São Patrício, Montreal (Canadá) – Foto: Gustavo Kralj

In the Power of the Spirit

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “In the Power of the Spirit” Acts 2:1-13

The Adirondack spring has pounced upon us. After months of grey skies and mixed precipitation, the ice is out, the earth has thawed, and for some of us, our thoughts turn to gardening. Here at the church, our Jubilee Gardeners are thinking about the fresh vegetables that we’ll grow for the Food Pantry this summer. Yesterday morning, six of us gathered at the Community Garden to prepare the church’s beds for planting. There were weeds to pull and compost to spread. There were pole bean towers to string and a snow pea trellis to set up. We even sowed a few cold-hardy seeds.

Fourteen years ago this month, we had the organizing meeting for our Jubilee Garden project. It started with a fall book group. We read Shane Claiborne’s inspiring first book Irresistible Revolution, which tells the compelling story of Shane’s community The Simple Way. Inspired by a stint as a volunteer in Calcutta with Mother Teresa, Shane decided to try life in a blighted neighborhood in Northeast Philadelphia, living among the poor and working at the grassroots to meet community needs. Shane challenges Christians to find an impossible dream, to consider how the Spirit may be calling them to come alongside hurting neighbors in ways that make a difference. We wondered how God wanted to use us right here in Saranac Lake. We prayed about it.

By the spring, several of us felt that the Spirit was calling us to garden. Jan and Ted Gaylord had learned about organic gardening while they served at Jubilee Partners, and others among us were avid home gardeners, ever on the quest for the elusive Adirondack tomato. Our timing was perfect. A new community garden was starting on Old Lake Colby Road, where we secured two big plots. Our mission would be to grow fresh vegetables and bright flowers for the hungry and the hungry-of-heart. Soon, we had dirt beneath our fingernails and plenty of blackfly bites. We built raised beds and filled them with a fertile mix of topsoil and composted chicken manure. We planted, watered, weeded, and waited for the harvest.

In our reading from the Acts of the Apostles, the disciples were waiting and praying for the vision and power to launch an impossible dream. Then, on Pentecost, ten days after Jesus’ Ascension, came the rush of a violent wind. It filled the entire house where they waited. Tongues of holy fire flickered and danced among the people, resting upon each of them. As the Spirit filled them, they began to preach, all at once, in every language under the sun—speaking with boldness and joy about God’s deeds of awesome power. Before they knew it, the Spirit drove them out into the street, where pilgrims from every corner of the empire listened in bewilderment, wondering how a bunch of backwater Galileans could suddenly become such gifted cross-cultural communicators. Those who heard the Spirit-filled Apostles didn’t know whether to marvel or sneer, to shout “Alleluia!” or say, “Get lost!” But if we were to keep reading, past the end of our lection, we would see that the “Alleluias” won the day.  3,000 people were baptized and welcomed to the church.

When we hear the very familiar story of Pentecost, we like to focus on the sensational details: violent wind, tongues of flame, the sound of many languages, the astonishment of the crowd. But this year, I’ve been thinking less about the special effects and more about the disciples. Ten days earlier, they were anxious and visionless, waiting in Jerusalem to find out what was next. They hadn’t always excelled in their discipleship. They longed for greatness, expressed big doubts, and were generally cluelessness. They slept when they should have been praying. They ran away when the guards came to take Jesus into custody. Don’t forget Peter’s three denials. But when the Holy Spirit filled the disciples on Pentecost, they were galvanized in Christ’s purpose. On Pentecost, the disciples went from fearful failed followers to a dynamic force for good, propelled in God’s purpose by the power of the Holy Spirit.

In her book Sailboat Church: Helping Your Church Rethink Its Mission and Practice, former moderator of the General Assembly Joan Gray points out that the boat was the earliest symbol for the church. In the first century, there were two types of boats: rowboats and sailboats. Rowboats are driven by human power. Sailboats harness wind power. Joan Gray says that on Pentecost the Holy Spirit moved the disciples along as the wind moves a sailboat. The Spirit drew together a diverse group of men and women into a strong, unified community, capable of unexpected good. If the disciples had trusted in their own limited power to bring about God’s purpose, it would have been a recipe for failure; there would be no church. But with the Spirit’s help, great things could unfold.

Presbyterians tend to think that the Spirit doesn’t work with the bold force of Pentecost anymore, but Joan Gray says it does. The question facing every congregation is, “Will we row or will we sail?” If we row, we trust in our own strength, wisdom, and abilities to achieve our ministry. That’s a recipe for burnout and dwindling resources. I suspect that some of us, over the years, have known how that feels. But if we choose to be a sailboat church, if we trust that God’s Spirit can guide and empower us, then we find that we are able to do more than we ever could have dreamed. Pentecost begs the question, “Keep rowing or let the wind fill your sails?” I don’t know about you, but I’d much rather hoist the sail than man the oars.

What does sailboat ministry look like? I think our garden project is a good example. Fourteen years ago, the Holy Spirit took our prayer and discernment and launched us on a continuing adventure that has blessed us and our neighbors. A little like those who sneered at the disciples on Pentecost, not everyone thought our impossible dream was a good idea. In fact, when I approached the board of the Food Pantry, they said no one who comes to the pantry would eat our vegetables. Then, they told us that they wouldn’t distribute what we grew because they would just be throwing out a lot of rotting produce, week after week. If our impossible dream was going to happen, we would have to host our own free farm stand, outside the food pantry, on Saturday mornings. It was disappointing, but we didn’t let that dump the wind from our sails.

As we got underway, there were blessings that told us we were on the right path. It was a hot, sunny summer, and the harvest was wildly abundant. Those food pantry patrons loved the fresh produce. On most mornings, we ran out, and when we didn’t, folks at church on Sunday were eager to relieve us of our abundance. Some weeks, we even had extra to share at the DeChantal or Lake Flower Apartments. Hosting our own farm stand was the biggest blessing of all. We made new friends. Some came to the pantry week in and week out. They told us their stories. Others came in times of crisis. They told us their stories, too. All expressed appreciation for our care and concern, our willingness to meet them where they were at with the good news of fresh produce, God’s love, and an occasional fervent prayer.

Over the past fourteen years of gardening, the Spirit has continued to fill our sails in ways that we never could have imagined. We developed a close relationship with the Food Pantry, those same people who sneered at our impossible dream. In fact, a number of our members now serve on the board of directors. That growing bond found fresh expression as we welcomed the pantry to a beautiful new space in our building, where the number of people who are served has doubled. Beyond the Food Pantry, we’ve connected with local gardeners and commercial growers who sometimes contribute their own veggies to our efforts. The latest dynamic of our garden mission isn’t about the veg. It’s the flowers. Last summer, we sent an abundance of bouquets out into the community every Sunday to bless our homes and our neighbors. 

I’m not saying that the garden isn’t hard work. We’ve had aching backs. We’ve been bitten by bugs. We’ve struggled with slugs. But by the power of the Holy Spirit, we have been blessed and been a blessing, more than we ever could have imagined when we first dreamed our impossible dream.

Shane Claiborne, who wrote The Irresistible Revolution and inspired our gardening efforts, says that the Spirit is always calling Christians to new dreams. Beyond his community organizing in NE Philly, Shane has launched initiatives that address some of the most significant moral issues of our time: toxically partisan politics, gun violence, Christian nationalism, and the death penalty. If Shane were with us this Pentecost, he might ask us, “What’s next?” How does the Spirit continue to call us to come alongside hurting neighbors in ways that make a difference?

Come, Holy Spirit, come! Fill our sails, and send us forth in your purpose.

Resources:

Joan Gray. Sailboat Church: Helping Your Church Rethink Its Mission and Practice. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

Shane Claiborne. The Irresistible Revolution: Living as an Ordinary Radical. New York: Harper Collins, 2006.

Frank L. Crouch. “Commentary on Acts 2:1-21” in Preaching This Week, May 24, 2015. Accessed online at Commentary on Acts 2:1-21 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Amy G. Oden. “Commentary on Acts 2:1-21” in Preaching This Week, June 9, 2019. Accessed online at Commentary on Acts 2:1-21 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Debra J. Mumford. “Commentary on Acts 2:1-21” in Preaching This Week, May 31, 2020. Accessed online at Commentary on Acts 2:1-21 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Acts 2:1-13

2When the day of Pentecost had come, they were all together in one place. 2And suddenly from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. 3Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. 4All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability.

5Now there were devout Jews from every nation under heaven living in Jerusalem. 6And at this sound the crowd gathered and was bewildered, because each one heard them speaking in the native language of each. 7Amazed and astonished, they asked, “Are not all these who are speaking Galileans? 8And how is it that we hear, each of us, in our own native language? 9Parthians, Medes, Elamites, and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, 10Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from Rome, both Jews and proselytes, 11Cretans and Arabs—in our own languages we hear them speaking about God’s deeds of power.” 12All were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, “What does this mean?” 13But others sneered and said, “They are filled with new wine.”

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A Time to Wait

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “A Time to Wait” Acts 1:1-11

for all the Moms out there

Waiting isn’t easy. Just ask any Mom. She waited through nine months of pregnancy. The first trimester brought big changes. Breasts tender. Taste and smell heightened. Early morning nausea. Hormone-induced mood swings, headaches, and even acne. Don’t forget the digestive challenges – bloating, gas, and constipation.

The second trimester was better. But, oh, the appetite! Eating for two or sending the spouse out for late-night ice cream and pickles. The leg cramps, stuffy nose, and heartburn kicked in. An ever-growing abdomen turned an innie bellybutton into an outie. Big ligaments in hips, groin, and abdomen stretched uncomfortably to accommodate the growing womb. The stretch marks appeared, no matter how much cocoa butter was applied.

The third trimester was the homestretch. The baby’s kicks felt like an internal tap dance. Sleep was hard to come by. Every restroom was a welcome pitstop. The wall of exhaustion followed even simple efforts, like walking the dog or shopping for groceries. Braxton Hicks contractions launched a torrent of worry—is this it? We won’t even go into the final week or the actual delivery. Suffice it to say that Moms can affirm the words of the late rocker Tom Petty, “The waiting is the hardest part.”

In today’s reading from the Acts of the Apostles, Jesus told his followers to wait in Jerusalem for the promise of the Father. Jesus didn’t even give his friends a timeline. He just told them to stay put and wait for God to take action.

I’m sure that the disciples didn’t like the prospect of waiting any more than a pregnant woman does. In the forty days since the resurrection, Jesus had been with his friends, interpreting the scriptures, and helping them to see his suffering and death as part of God’s ultimate plan for salvation.  Jesus’ friends had gotten accustomed to having the risen Lord around. Perhaps they even hoped he would stay forever. That’s why they asked, “Is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?” They hoped that Jesus would use his holy power to rout the Romans and restore David’s Kingdom. Jesus put a damper on their hopes and ambition.  The only power the apostles would get was the holy power that the Spirit would bring. Until the Spirit’s arrival, they needed to stay put and wait – without him.

According to our reading, as Jesus ascended to the Father, the disciples stood around looking up. The Bible scholars like to say that the exaltation of Jesus’ ascension vindicates the humiliation of the crucifixion. But for the disciples, I suspect that watching their friend disappear felt just as frightening and uncomfortable as it was exhilarating and awe-inspiring. Returning to the upper room and waiting for an unspecified period of time for the next big thing may have made the disciples feel as restless and anxious as a Mom in her thirty-ninth week of pregnancy.

Of course, we don’t like waiting any more than our pregnant Moms or the post-Ascension disciples did. To be human is to wait. There’s the incidental waiting of every day: for the microwave to finish cooking the popcorn, for the cashier to ring us through at the Grand Union, for the last night of frost so that we can plant the garden. And there is tougher waiting: for responses to our college applications, for our savings to reach that perfect point for retirement, for the doctor to call with test results. Then there’s existential waiting: We wait for the nations to beat their swords into plowshares; We wait for the world to wake up to the growing climate crisis; we wait (like the disciples) for the coming Kingdom, when we shall at last live into God’s perfect plan for creation. To live is to wait, even though we don’t like it very much, even though it can make us impatient and frustrated, annoyed and angry.

We don’t like to hear that waiting is part of God’s plan. Scripture is filled with stories of folks forced to wait, not very patiently. Abram and Sarai were a couple of childless Arameans when God told them to head to Israel so that God could make a great nation of them. God didn’t tell them that they would both be old as dirt and good as dead by the time baby Isaac arrived. When God led the Israelites out of slavery in Egypt, the people had visions of soon settling in a land of milk and honey. No one told them it would take forty years to get there. David, who would become Israel’s greatest king, may have been anointed for leadership as a shepherd boy, but he would be a grizzled veteran of many battles before he would wear the crown. The Hebrew people had to wait through half a century of exile in Babylon. That’s why Isaiah had to remind them, “Those who wait on the Lord shall renew their strength. They shall rise up on wings like eagles; they shall run and not grow weary; they shall walk and not grow faint.”

If waiting is part of God’s plan, then it stands to reason that it must have a purpose. Maybe Abram and Sarai needed to be that old before they trusted God to provide. The Israelites needed forty years in the wilderness to learn those ten commandments and leave the ways of Egypt behind. David needed all those years of struggle and persecution to unite the tribes of Israel into a mighty nation. The exiles needed a long time-out from the Promised Land to understand the generosity of God and the goodness of a life lived in righteousness.

So, when the disciples were told to wait without Jesus for what God would do next, the most discerning among them may have thought, “Aha! There’s a reason for this.” If we were to continue to read in the Acts of the Apostles, we’d learn that the disciples followed Jesus’ instruction to return to Jerusalem. They headed to the upper room where they were staying. There they did a lot of praying, along with the women. They realized that, without Judas, they weren’t complete. They needed a twelfth disciple. After much debate and the casting of lots, they chose Mathias.

We can trust that there were other things that happened in those ten days of waiting. There were shared meals and the goodness of community. There was the telling of memories and the joy that came with remembering all that Jesus had said and done. They realized that without God’s will and work, they would never fill those big sandals, but they trusted that somehow God could be at work to make them more. By day ten, they had stopped being disciples and they had become something new. Something poised on the edge of action. The waiting was hard, but it was important.

On this Mother’s Day, the Moms among us can testify to both the challenges of those nine months of pregnancy and the importance of the waiting time. Yes, their bodies needed to change to prepare for the monumental task of giving birth. Yet those nine months were also filled with dreaming and planning. There was news to share, first with that inner circle of family and confidantes and then with others. There was work to do: a nursery to prepare, clothes to buy, little sweaters to knit, the huge supply of diapers to squirrel away. There were childbirth classes, lessons learned from their own mothers, and all the doctor’s visits. There was the deepening bond of marriage as the two who had been made one would soon become a family. There were prayers, many, many prayers. Somewhere along the way, those women stopped being whom they had always been. They changed; they transformed into something more. They became Moms. The waiting was hard, but it was important.

We don’t like waiting any more than our pregnant Moms or the post-Ascension disciples did, but I think the convergence of Mother’s Day and Ascension Sunday can help us to see our waiting times in a new light. As we do, we just may feel a little less impatient and frustrated, annoyed and angry. Yes, the waiting is the hardest part; yet, maybe we need to wait. Maybe we aren’t ready yet. There may be a lesson we have still to learn, a self-understanding that is yet to develop, a worldview that we cannot see, a God-view that is yet to be disclosed. One day, we’ll get it. We’ll trust more and grumble less, knowing that God is faithful. We’ll be transformed, even as we wait. We’ll grow—slowly, achingly, beautifully—into the people God created us to be. May it be so.

Resources

Nicole Harris. “Your Pregnancy Symptoms Week by Week” in Parents, October 23, 2022. Accessed online at Your Pregnancy Symptoms Week by Week (parents.com)

Kristi Walker. “What Does It Mean to Wait on the Lord?” in Christianity.com, June 24, 2022. Accessed online at What Does it Mean to Wait on the Lord? (christianity.com)

Frank L. Crouch. “Commentary on Acts 1:1-11” in Preaching This Week, May 5, 2016. Accessed online at Commentary on Acts 1:1-11 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

F. Scott Spencer. “Commentary on Acts 1:1-11” in Preaching This Week, May 9, 2024. Accessed online at Commentary on Acts 1:1-11 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

William Barclay. Acts 1:1-11 in The Acts of the Apostles (The New Daily Bible Study). Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2015.

Acts 1:1-11

1In the first book, Theophilus, I wrote about all that Jesus did and taught from the beginning 2until the day when he was taken up to heaven, after giving instructions through the Holy Spirit to the apostles whom he had chosen. 3After his suffering he presented himself alive to them by many convincing proofs, appearing to them during forty days and speaking about the kingdom of God. 4While staying with them, he ordered them not to leave Jerusalem, but to wait there for the promise of the Father. “This,” he said, “is what you have heard from me; 5for John baptized with water, but you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit not many days from now.”

6So when they had come together, they asked him, “Lord, is this the time when you will restore the kingdom to Israel?” 7He replied, “It is not for you to know the times or periods that the Father has set by his own authority. 8But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.” 9When he had said this, as they were watching, he was lifted up, and a cloud took him out of their sight. 10While he was going and they were gazing up toward heaven, suddenly two men in white robes stood by them. 11They said, “Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up toward heaven? This Jesus, who has been taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven.”

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A Wider Welcome

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “A Wider Welcome” Acts 10:44-48

Judy Woodruff is a seasoned journalist with five decades of experience, reporting for NBC, CNN, and PBS. In the early days of her career during the Carter administration, Judy recalls dinner parties in Washington, with elected officials from both parties in attendance. There would be lively debate over policy and platforms, but there were also deep friendships and mutual concern that bridged divides, with conversations about school-aged kids, family traditions, beloved sports teams, and great books.

Woodruff says that spirit of respectful disagreement and abiding friendship has practically vanished in the nation’s capital. We might agree that the same is true for us. Nowadays, it feels like our nation and our communities are divided on almost every front, with bitter disagreement ready to explode at any moment, whether we are speaking of guns, the southern border, the books our children read, the state of our economy, or the war in Gaza. We don’t dare to have thoughtful, adult conversations about tough topics for fear that we will be attacked, shunned, or maligned. We don’t like it. In fact, 93% of us feel that our national divisions are a major problem, and we aren’t very optimistic about our ability to bridge those barriers.

Today’s reading from the Acts of the Apostles tells a story about the power of the Holy Spirit to overcome divisions and forge a new community. It begins with two dreams.

In his duty as a centurion of the Roman Empire, Cornelius had been deployed to Israel, an often-fractious outpost where the Jewish locals resented and sometimes rebelled against occupation. With the one-hundred-man cohort under his command, Cornelius had sailed across the Mediterranean to Caesarea Maritime, the Roman capital of Israel. They settled into imperial housing. They trained, drilled, and were sent out, from time to time, to put down civil unrest, like in Jerusalem at the Passover when Jewish dreams of freedom ran high. Cornelius had not only moved his men across the sea, he had also uprooted his whole family with their servants, slaves, and dependents. All now lived as strangers in a strange land.

But Cornelius, who was raised as a pagan, had fallen in love with the God of Israel. He studied the Torah and offered his prayers to God Almighty. He got to know local Jewish leaders and shared many acts of kindness and charity with the community. Then one day, as he was praying, Cornelius had a vision. An angel appeared to Cornelius, saying that God had heard his prayers and seen his good works. Cornelius must send immediately for the Apostle Peter, who had a message that needed to be heard.

We have all had times when we have been Cornelius. Work or school takes us to a new community. Uprooted in a place that does not feel like home, we make the best of it. We do our job or attend to our studies. We settle ourselves and our family. We try to make connections in the community. But underneath it all, we may feel like strangers in a strange land, unsure and a little homesick.

Meanwhile, Peter had his own dream. Resting and praying in the heat of the day at the home of his friend Simon the Tanner, Peter had also seen a vision, not once but three times. Something like a sheet was lowered by its four corners from the heavens. When Peter peeped inside, he was shocked to see unclean things: scuttling crabs and snapping lobsters, squealing pigs and hopping hares, awkward ostriches and clacking oysters. What really horrified Peter, though, was what God said next, “Get up Peter, kill and eat. What I have made clean, you must not call profane.” Eat all those disgusting, unclean foods that were forbidden by the Torah? Peter was still puzzling over his repeated vision when there was a knock on the door, the delegation from Cornelius arrived to take the apostle to meet the Roman centurion.

Peter began to wonder if his triple vision was really about food, or if God had something else in mind. Peter was not excited about the invitation to meet with the household of Cornelius; those foreign occupiers were about as appealing to Peter as Oysters Rockefeller. Peter’s travel to Caesarea must have been filled with big worries and huge doubts. He struggled with questions, “Didn’t the Torah and the tradition of the elders say that contact with Gentiles was unclean and undesirable? Was he really going to meet with the very worst kind of Gentile – a Roman occupier, the very people who had hung Jesus on a cross?”

We have all been like Peter. We feel pretty clear about what God expects of us. We don’t share Peter’s bias about kosher foods, but we do have opinions about the company we keep. We swing the door of welcome wide for family, friends, and those who seem like us. We’re not so sure about the town drunk or the mentally ill man who is waiting for the alien invasion. We’re not so sure about the colleague who tells racist jokes in the break room or the neighbor whose yard is posted with partisan placards. We might not want to open the door at all to the skinhead or the zealot.

When Peter finally arrived at the home of Cornelius, his apprehension soon vanished. The powerful Roman military officer fell to his knees, humbled that God had brought a human messenger to satisfy his spiritual hunger. As Peter helped his host to his feet and the two men shared their strange and unexpected dreams, Peter came to a new realization. Looking at Cornelius and the eager assembly of Gentile family and friends who had gathered to hear his message, Peter said, “I finally get it. God has shown me that I must not call any person profane or unclean.”

What happened next, was a little like God’s big stamp of approval for the whole barrier breaking encounter. As Peter shared the story of Jesus, his helping, healing ministry, his unselfish suffering on the cross, and his resurrection that broke the earthly powers of sin and death, something remarkable happened. Before Peter had even finished his sermon, the Holy Spirit arrived, falling on those uncircumcised Gentile outsiders. The house erupted with songs of praise and gifts or prayer, with the sound of ecstatic language and words of prophecy. It was a Gentile Pentecost that tore down every barrier that the Roman Empire, the people of Israel, or the Apostle Peter might want to build up.

It began with two dreams. But I wonder if we could add a third dream, one of our own. We won’t have a knock on the door this week, summoning us to Caesarea Maritime. Yet I trust that we will have moments of uncomfortable encounter, moments when we will find ourselves dealing with other people who stir our natural biases and preferences. It will be tempting, perhaps even second nature in this time of deep divisions, to set them straight, write them off, or turn our backs entirely. But what if those moments of aggravation and irritation that punctuate our days are actually moments of grace? Could we even imagine that those encounters are divinely appointed moments in which the Spirit can work to overcome differences and bridge divides?

Judy Woodruff, the seasoned journalist whom I mentioned at the start of my message, is in the middle of a two-year project that she calls “America at the Crossroads.” Her goal is to meet with and listen to as many Americans as she can, to try to understand why we’re so divided. In the first eleven months of her reporting, she visited fourteen states and put together twenty-one reports. She’s still dismayed about our divides, but she sees signs of hope where community members overcome their differences to work together to address local needs.

It reminds me of our local ecumenical council. As congregations, we have some big differences. We can’t agree on whether to take the Bible literally or to read it through the lens of scholarship and social historic research. We can’t agree on the sort of music we should play on Sunday mornings—pipe organ or praise band? We can’t agree on how we pray—liturgy, the words of the pastor, or the ecstatic sound of tongues? We can’t even agree on whether or not women can actually be pastors. But if you present us with a community concern, like hunger or homelessness, the Spirit prompts us to set aside our differences and get busy for the common good, launching the Food Pantry and Grace Pantry, the Community Lunchbox and Samaritan House.

So, if Peter could move past his natural bias to welcome Cornelius, if local churches can overlook our differences to meet human need, then maybe there is hope for our nation yet. It can begin with us. The next time we want to turn away from those whose beliefs and practices are unlike our own, we can remember that they aren’t necessarily evil. It just might be that our discomfort stems from the stretching of our preconceived notions and natural bias. We can dare to remember that God’s welcome is always wider than we imagine. God may be calling us to try something new, to welcome someone new, to build a world where the words “us and them” are heard less, and the words “we and us” are heard more.

We may not be able to singlehandedly overcome America’s divisions, but we can trust that the Holy Spirit can. May we live into the Spirit’s leading and dare to practice a wider welcome.

Resources:

Judy Woodruff. “This is what political division looks like in the U.S. right now” in PBS News Hour, Dec. 19, 2023. Accessed online at  This is what political division looks like in the U.S. right now | PBS NewsHour

Sara Machi. Nine in ten Americans say overcoming divisiveness is now more important than ever before in IPSOS, April 27, 2021. Accessed online at Nine in ten Americans say overcoming divisiveness is now more important than ever before | Ipsos

Richard Jensen. “Commentary on Acts 10:44-48” in Preaching This Week, May 17, 2009. Accessed online at Commentary on Acts 10:44-48 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Jacob Myers. “Commentary on Acts 10:44-48” in Preaching This Week, May 13, 2012. Accessed online at Commentary on Acts 10:44-48 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Jerusha Matson Neal. “Commentary on Acts 10:44-48” in Preaching This Week, May 9, 2021. Accessed online at Commentary on Acts 10:44-48 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

F. Scott Spencer. “Commentary on Acts 10:44-48” in Preaching This Week, May 5, 2024. Accessed online at Commentary on Acts 10:44-48 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Acts 10:44-48

44While Peter was still speaking, the Holy Spirit fell upon all who heard the word. 45The circumcised believers who had come with Peter were astounded that the gift of the Holy Spirit had been poured out even on the Gentiles, 46for they heard them speaking in tongues and extolling God. Then Peter said, 47“Can anyone withhold the water for baptizing these people who have received the Holy Spirit just as we have?” 48So he ordered them to be baptized in the name of Jesus Christ. Then they invited him to stay for several days.

“Baptism of Cornelius” by Francesco Trevisani, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

Abiding in Christ

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Abiding in Christ” John 15:1-8

Last week, our gospel reading invited us to consider Jesus the Good Shepherd. This week, John’s gospel brings us another of Jesus’ bold statements of identity, “I am the true vine.” Herding sheep and tending a vineyard are tasks far removed from our daily experience, but these agricultural metaphors would have been familiar to Jesus’ listeners. In Jesus’ world, vineyards were an essential part of the landscape. Grapes were eaten as fresh fruit, dried into raisins, and mashed into jams. Grapes were turned into wine, sweet syrup, and vinegar. Vineyards passed from generation to generation within families. As fruit ripened, whole communities pitched in with all-hands-on-deck to bring in the harvest.

When Jesus told his disciples, “I am the vine, you are the branches,” he was alluding to grafting, a vineyard practice that is as important in the wine industry today as it was for first century vine growers. Brent Young, a viticulturalist at Jordan Vineyard and Winery in Sonoma, CA, gets animated when he describes the work of grafting new varieties of grape onto old root stock. First, old grape vines, which are well-established and especially suited to the soil, are cut off, leaving a stump that is allowed to freely bleed and weep for about a week. Then a specialized team is called in. The vinedressers move along the row of cut vines, scoring each stump with a sharp knife. Next, the vinedresser slips a few small budding branches or scions into the scores. The scions are then carefully wrapped to secure their new home in the old vine. Over the following weeks, something wonderful happens, the old root stock gives life to the new scion. It grows, branches, and eventually bears new fruit.

Jesus’s words, “I am the vine, you are the branches,” were meant to comfort and exhort his friends. As Jesus spoke, it was his last evening with the disciples. He had washed his friends’ feet and shared a special meal with them. Judas had already slipped away to betray him. The disciples needed a word of wisdom to guide them through the terror that would soon grip them. Jesus was the true vine, his life revealed God’s will and word for humanity. His death would demonstrate God’s limitless love. Soon the true vine would be cut down, yet the disciples could endure because Jesus was an essential part of them. He would always be with them and, grafted into him, they could put forth miraculous new life and branch out in his purpose.

In viticulture, if the budding scion that the vinedresser attaches to the root stock loses its connection, it withers and dies. Separated from the vine, no life-giving sap can nurture and sustain it. Likewise, Jesus reminded his friends that they would need to abide in him. The Greek word for abide that Jesus used here, meinate, means to stay or remain, to live, dwell, lodge. Abiding in Jesus means cultivating an ongoing, inward, personal bond with the Lord that imparts nurture, meaning, and purpose for our lives.

We long for the meaning and purpose that come with abiding in Christ. But unlike the viticulturalists at the Jordan Vineyard and Winery in Sonoma, we don’t have an expert team of vinedressers to ensure that we keep our connection with the lifegiving true vine of the Lord. I’d like to focus on three ways that we can abide in Jesus the true vine.

Abiding in Christ means feasting upon his words in scripture, whether listening to Sunday sermons, reading the Bible, or participating in Christian Education. The late Fred Craddock, who taught preaching and New Testament at Emory University, once shared that the most influential person in his life was his Sunday school teacher, Miss Emma Stone. She gave him his first Bible and taught him to memorize scripture verses, saying “Just put it in your heart.” Miss Stone taught Fred a verse for each letter of the alphabet. Years later, Craddock reflected upon the importance of those twenty-six verses of scripture that he learned as a child, saying “I can’t think of anything, anything in all my life that has made such a radical difference as those verses. The Spirit of God brings them to mind time and time again.”

We have likewise been sustained by the abiding promises of scripture. In our bleakest moments, we find ourselves praying with the words, “Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for thou art with me” (Psalm 23:4). When we’ve made a mess of things and lost our way, we hold to the promise that “God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son so that whosoever believeth in him may not perish but have eternal life” (John 3:16). When we are feeling vulnerable or overwhelmed, we remember the words of the Apostle Paul, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me” (Phil. 4:13). What are the holy words that help you to abide in Christ?

We also abide through prayer. We all have stories of learning to pray. Sometimes we learn in church. Author and spiritual director Jane E. Vennard writes that although she came from a family of staunch church goers, they never prayed together. Yet every Sunday in church, she was inspired by the beautiful prayers of her pastor. He had survived childhood polio, which left him partially paralyzed, but on Sunday mornings he stood in the pulpit with the help of crutches, stretched out his arms, and lifted his face to pray with a look of pure joy. The beauty and ardor of those prayers inspired Jane to her own lifetime of prayerful connection with God.

Others among us learned to pray from family members. One woman tells the story of learning prayer from her German grandmother. Every night, she would run up the stairs to her grandmother’s room, climb into bed with her, and snuggle under the blanket while her grandmother prayed. An adult now, she says, “I don’t know what she was saying, but her words seemed full of love, just like her arms around me.”

We have similar stories of parents, grandparents, or caring friends who modeled for us a prayer-filled life. As we’ve grown, we’ve learned to make prayers of our own. We share table graces with our families. We recite the Lord’s Prayer each morning as a daily devotion. We find holy refreshment in centering prayer. We may even resort to what author Anne Lamott says are the only two prayers we will ever need to know, “Help me, help me, help me. Thank you, thank you, thank you.” How has prayer equipped you to abide in Christ?

Abiding in Christ comes naturally when we are part of a community that loves and serves the Lord. I think about this church’s United Presbyterian Women, women like Evelyn Outcalt, Anna Ferree, Jan Bristol, Carroll Dixon, and Gert Bickford. They were the heartbeat of this church for many years. Most of them were already in their eighties when I came to Saranac Lake almost two decades ago, yet they still gathered monthly for fellowship and spiritual friendship. They had been woven together by years of rummage sales and potlucks, births and celebrations, family tragedies and deaths. They were there for one another with prayers and casseroles, Hallmark cards and simple kindnesses. In that faithful fellowship, they knew the abiding presence of Jesus.

The UPW may be no more, but we continue to find Jesus in this church community. We abide in Christ as we gather each Sunday morning to praise and worship him. We abide in Christ with singing as harmonies are learned and voices blend to the glory of God. We abide in Christ when we grapple together with the big questions of faith in Bible and book studies. We abide in Christ with the fellowship of Coffee Hour, camp outs, and picnics. We abide as we merge our gifts for leadership and care as elders and deacons. How have we abided, growing closer to God and one another in the body of Christ?

Jesus taught his friends that as they abided in him, they would bear fruit. Our growing identity as branches of the true vine is revealed in fruitful works and ministries that reveal the love of Christ to others. When we are grafted into the true vine, we work together to serve others. We find ourselves teaching Sunday School, extending Coffee Hour hospitality, and cooking healthy meals for friends in tough times. When we are grafted into Christ, we serve our vulnerable neighbors. We grow produce in the church garden and share it at the Food Pantry. We pray fervently for folks in every kind of need with the prayer chain. We support neighbors in crisis with the Deacons’ Fund. We help vulnerable world neighbors, like the widows of Mzuzu, through the Women of Grace. As we abide in Christ, his ministry finds new life in us, and the world is blessed by that good fruit.

We may never be viticulturalists, but we have been grafted into the true vine. We are the branches. May we abide in Jesus with scripture, prayer, and the blessing of Christian community. And may we bear good fruit to the glory of God and for the good of our neighbors.

Resources

Jane E. Vennard. “Learning to Pray,” The Alban Institute at Duke Divinity School, July 24, 2006. Accessed online at alban.org.

Brent Young. “Field Grafting Grapevines,” wine education video, 2012. Jordan Vineyard & Winery. Accessed online at Field Grafting Grapevines | How Grapes are Grafted to Change Varieties | Wine Education Videos (youtube.com)

Robert M. Brearley. “Homiletical Perspective on John 15:1-11” in Feasting on the Gospels, John, vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press), 2015.

Luis Menendez-Antuña. “Exegetical Perspective on John 15:1-11” in Feasting on the Gospels, John, vol. 2 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press), 2015. Karoline Lewis. “Commentary on John 15:1-8” in Preaching This Week, April 28, 2024. Accessed online at Commentary on John 15:1-8 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

John 15:1-8

15”I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinegrower. 2He removes every branch in me that bears no fruit. Every branch that bears fruit he prunes to make it bear more fruit. 3You have already been cleansed by the word that I have spoken to you. 4Abide in me as I abide in you. Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me. 5I am the vine, you are the branches. Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit, because apart from me you can do nothing. 6Whoever does not abide in me is thrown away like a branch and withers; such branches are gathered, thrown into the fire, and burned. 7If you abide in me, and my words abide in you, ask for whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. 8My Father is glorified by this, that you bear much fruit and become my disciples.

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Good Shepherds

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Good Shepherds” John 10 and 1 John 3:16-24

There are 35.3 million refugees in our world, global neighbors who have been forced to flee their homes and cross borders in search of safety and a future. A further 62.5 million people are internally displaced, still residing within their country of origin but homeless. 10 million people are asylum seekers. For them, going home would mean certain death. Last year saw the largest single-year increase in the forced displacement of people in modern history, more even than in the chaos of the Second World War.

4.5 million people of Sudan have been forced to flee amid civil violence. Awad decided to flee to the neighboring village of Mafot when fighting erupted in his hometown. His 80-year-old mother Dawa was too frail to make the two-day journey by foot, so Awad hid her in the bush for three days while he moved his wife and nine children to safety. Awad returned for his mother and carried her to Mafot. After several months, the artillery shells again began to fall. Awad’s family fled further. For 15 days, Awad carried his elderly mother and his daughter Zainab on his back, until they reached the border crossing into South Sudan. Awad’s family now lives with 56,000 other refugees in the Gendrassa camp. Awad knows he will never go home, but he hopes for a day when he will again farm.

The civil conflict in Syria is now in its 14th year. Syrians account for 20% of the world’s refugee population with 6.5 million people hosted in 131 countries. Within Syria, 13.5 million people, more than half of the population, are displaced. Yehia is a Syrian farmer, who raised wheat and barley near the city of Hama. Before the civil war, Yehia says that the family had “the best life.” But in 2017, fighting destroyed their family home. Yehia’s 10-year-old son and one-year-old daughter were killed along with five other family members. Rescuers pulled his four-year-old girl Shahad from the rubble and rushed her to a local clinic, where an overworked medic stitched her badly lacerated face. They then fled for the border. On the way, they were stopped at dozens of checkpoints, where they feared being detained and imprisoned. Seventeen hours later, after midnight, they arrived in Lebanon with nothing but a suitcase. Now at a refugee camp in Lebanon, Yehia is doing what he can to support the surviving members of his family.

In its first year, the Russian invasion drove eight million people out of Ukraine. Almost four million Ukrainians are internally displaced, driven from their homes by violence. Elena Yurchuk worked as a nurse in the northern town of Chernihiv. She tended the injured in a hospital that overflowed with the wounded and dying, even as the Russian bombs fell around them. When the hospital was reduced to rubble, Elena, like many of her neighbors, fled for her life. In a hastily packed car, Elena and her family set out for the Romanian border town of Suceava. Along the way, a car with a young family that followed them was blown up. Elena says, “I don’t know if I have a home or not. Our city is under siege and we barely escaped.”

In a world where 108 million people live the precarious life of refugees and the displaced, the promise of a Good Shepherd sounds especially sweet. When Jesus chose the metaphor of the Good Shepherd to describe himself and his ministry, he drew on a favorite image from the world of the ancient Near East. Kings, emperors, and religious leaders were characterized as shepherds of the people.  Good shepherds protected their people from foreign invaders, provided food in times of famine, took particular care of vulnerable widows and orphans, and maintained justice in the land.  Bad shepherds were more like wolves.  They profited at the people’s expense by conscripting men for endless warfare, taxing villages to pay for imperial luxuries, neglecting the widow and orphan, and selling justice to the highest bidder.  The Hebrew scriptures, whether we are reading the twenty-third psalm or the Prophet Ezekiel (34), affirm that God is the best shepherd, and God longs for a world where people are shepherded with compassion and infinite care – with abundant pastures, flowing streams, protection from enemies, and safety even in the presence of death.

Jesus tells us that he is the Good Shepherd, sent by God to care for God’s people.  Jesus’ life was an object lesson in good shepherding. He worked miracles of healing that brought new life to even the most hopeless of cases.  He fed hungry crowds abundantly, multiplying scanty provisions to satisfy multitudes.  Jesus specially cared for the most vulnerable members of the flock, widows and children, lepers and demoniacs.  Jesus sought and saved the lost. He dined with social refugees, like sinners, tax collectors, and prostitutes. In Jesus, we saw the perfect fulfillment of God’s promise to raise up a messianic Good Shepherd to redeem the lost, lonely, hurting, and oppressed people of Israel. 

Perhaps Jesus’s good shepherding was strengthened by his own experience of vulnerability. As refugees, Jesus’s family fled Bethlehem for the safe haven of Egypt, just one step ahead of Herod’s death squad. A homeless rabbi, Jesus lamented that foxes had holes, birds had nests, yet he had no place to lay his head. A target of powerful religious and political enemies, Jesus endured the criticism of scribes and Pharisees, elders and priests. He suffered the insults, torture, and injustice of Herod and Pilate. Jesus, our Good Shepherd, knew first hand a world where bad shepherds called the shots, and he longed to set it straight.

In a world where refugees and displaced people abound, the Good Shepherd reminds us that we cannot turn a blind eye to the suffering of our global neighbors. We belong to one another, just as we belong to God. Jesus told his friends that he had other sheep, that did not belong to their fold. Those other sheep listened for his voice, and he longed to welcome them. Whether we call Saranac Lake our home, we shelter like Awad in the Gendrassa Camp of South Sudan, we seek safety like Yehia in Lebanon, or like Elena we are on the run from war-torn Ukraine, we are a single global flock, loved by a sovereign God. Professor Gennifer Benjamin Brooks of Garrett Evangelical Seminary says that we cannot love the shepherd without loving the flock, in all the diversity of our world.

Being a member of the Good Shepherd’s flock becomes a call to action, to work for the help and healing of our world. We are summoned to the task of shepherding, of living with and for the best interest of others. Jesus tells us that the Good Shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. Indeed, on a lonely cross, stationed between two common criminals, beaten and bloodied, subjected to the verbal abuse of jeering crowds, the good shepherd laid down his life for the flock and reconciled us to God and one another.

In his first letter, the Apostle John characterized the Christian life as living for others, writing, “We know love by this, that Jesus laid down his life for us—and we ought to lay down our lives for one another. How does God’s love abide in anyone who has the world’s goods and sees a brother or sister in need and yet refuses help? Little children, let us love, not in word or speech, but in truth and action.” That imperative to act has prompted this church to give generously to One Great Hour of Sharing, lace up our sneakers and stride out for CROP Walk, and advocate for humanitarian parole for the Hamidullah Family languishing in Kabul, Afghanistan. All are ministries that serve the most vulnerable members of the world’s flock. The more we listen to and follow the shepherd’s voice, the more we live with his care and compassion, the more our world begins to resemble that holy Kingdom where the Good Shepherd reigns triumphant and eternal. 

We, who follow the Good Shepherd, seek a different kind of future for the exiled and displaced. We long to build a world where the global flock knows its belovedness and belongingness. It will be a world where Awad plants fields of green and his family puts down roots. It’s a world where Yehia and the war-ravaged people of Syria go back to ancestral homes amid the blessing of peace. It’s a world where Elena returns to the mundane duties of nursing in Ukraine, safe from the blast of bombs. May we make it so.

I’d like to close this message with “A Prayer to the Shepherd” written by Andrew King, who blogs at “A Poetic Kind of Place.”

O Lord our Shepherd,

may your flock not want

in the refugee camps

of Yarmouk, of Darfur, of Dadaab.

May life-giving pastures of nourishment be theirs

in Sudan, in Niger, in Chad.

May waters of peacefulness and healing flow

in Somalia, in Syria, in Ukraine.

And may souls be restored in our own cities and towns

where violence and hunger still live.

O Lord our Shepherd,

death shadows the valleys

and the houses and hills of our lands.

May the strength of your grace and

the assurance of your love

ever with us and ever embracing,

bring comfort to the grieving and alone.

May there be a table of reconciliation prepared

where enemies may sit down in peace

and may the cup of joy overflow for those

whose suffering has been their drink.

Let your goodness and mercy attend your flock,

O Shepherd, our Lord,

and may all your flock dwell

in the unity of your love

as long as life endures.

Resources:

Andrew King. “A Prayer to the Shepherd” in A Poetic Kind of Place, April 10, 2016. Accessed online at https://earth2earth.wordpress.com/tag/the-good-shepherd/

USA for UNHCR. “Refugee Statistics” in Refugee Facts 2024. Accessed online at Refugee Statistics | USA for UNHCR (unrefugees.org)

–. “Refugee Stories: Mapping a Crisis.” The Choices Program, Brown University Department of History. Accessed online at www.choices.ed

Stephen McGrath. “Ukraine refugees tell harrowing tales even as numbers ease” in The Associated Press, March 13, 2022. Accessed online at Ukraine refugees tell harrowing tales even as numbers ease | AP News.

Lucy Lind Hogan. “Commentary on John 10:11-18” in Preaching This Week, April 29, 2012. Accessed online at Commentary on John 10:11-18 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Gennifer Benjamin Brooks. “Commentary on John 10:11-18” in Preaching This Week, April 25, 2021. Accessed online at Commentary on John 10:11-18 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Susan Hedahl. “Commentary on John 10:11-18” in Preaching This Week, May 3, 2009. Accessed online at Commentary on John 10:11-18 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

John 10:1-26

10“Very truly, I tell you, anyone who does not enter the sheepfold by the gate but climbs in by another way is a thief and a bandit. 2The one who enters by the gate is the shepherd of the sheep. 3The gatekeeper opens the gate for him, and the sheep hear his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. 4When he has brought out all his own, he goes ahead of them, and the sheep follow him because they know his voice. 5They will not follow a stranger, but they will run from him because they do not know the voice of strangers.” 6Jesus used this figure of speech with them, but they did not understand what he was saying to them. 7So again Jesus said to them, “Very truly, I tell you, I am the gate for the sheep. 8All who came before me are thieves and bandits; but the sheep did not listen to them. 9I am the gate. Whoever enters by me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture. 10The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly. 11“I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. 12The hired hand, who is not the shepherd and does not own the sheep, sees the wolf coming and leaves the sheep and runs away—and the wolf snatches them and scatters them. 13The hired hand runs away because a hired hand does not care for the sheep. 14I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me, 15just as the Father knows me and I know the Father. And I lay down my life for the sheep. 16I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice. So there will be one flock, one shepherd. 17For this reason the Father loves me, because I lay down my life in order to take it up again. 18No one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord. I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it up again. I have received this command from my Father.”

19Again the Jews were divided because of these words. 20Many of them were saying, “He has a demon and is out of his mind. Why listen to him?” 21Others were saying, “These are not the words of one who has a demon. Can a demon open the eyes of the blind?”

22At that time the festival of the Dedication took place in Jerusalem. It was winter, 23and Jesus was walking in the temple, in the portico of Solomon. 24So the Jews gathered around him and said to him, “How long will you keep us in suspense? If you are the Messiah, tell us plainly.” 25Jesus answered, “I have told you, and you do not believe. The works that I do in my Father’s name testify to me; 26but you do not believe, because you do not belong to my sheep. 27My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me. 

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Start Where You Are At

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Start Where You Are At” Luke 24:36b-48

Krista comes to church on Sunday mornings feeling worn out. She works full-time. She and her husband are raising three very busy school-age children. Last year, Krista’s Mom died unexpectedly. Krista has been helping her father prepare to sell their family home. Krista is constantly on the move. Working, grocery shopping, cooking, and taxying children to extra-curricular activities. Cleaning out the attic at her Dad’s place, running a yard sale, and making many runs to the dump. She misses her Mom.

Charlie comes to church on Sunday mornings feeling stressed out. It’s his only day off from a job that gets bigger every year. So many people depend upon him. His boss expects him to work miracles of productivity and profit, even when he is desperately short-staffed. His colleagues count on him to cast the vision and manage the team. With a big mortgage and kids soon headed to college, his family needs the substantial paycheck. At some point, a job that once felt interesting and fulfilling began to feel like a recipe for burnout, and there doesn’t seem to be much that he can do about it.

Rita and Nate come to church on Sunday morning feeling worried and afraid. Retired now, they are committed to a legion of community concerns: volunteering at the soup kitchen, caring for pets at the animal shelter, helping out for Winter Carnival, and more. Being retired, they spend a LOT of time together, more than ever before in the course of their long marriage. Between annoying habits and differing opinions, it isn’t always easy. Now, one of them has a health crisis. They are on a long journey through the scary, inhospitable realm of healthcare. It feels overwhelming.

Luke tells us how the disciples felt on Easter evening: filled with fear and doubt. They had made a Passover journey to Jerusalem with their friend and rabbi Jesus, whom they believed to be the Messiah. They entered the city feeling hopeful, triumphant even. Yet, their week had taken a foreboding and sinister turn. Tension mounted, day by day.  Powerful opponents waited in the Temple courts to challenge Jesus’ authority, seeking to entrap and discredit him. When they could not best Jesus with deceitful words, they put a price on his head. For thirty pieces of silver, one of them had betrayed him. A kiss sent Jesus to the cross while everyone ran for their lives, all love and loyalty forgotten. Beyond fear and doubt, Jesus’ friends were filled with despair, grief, and the bitter self-recrimination that comes when we know that we have failed those whom we love most.

They were ready to give up and go home, slipping out of the city in anonymous pairs as soon as the time was right. But Easter morning brought confusion and anxiety. Some of the women returned from the gravesite, telling a curious tale of an empty tomb and heavenly messengers. “He is risen!” cried Mary Magdalene, trying to shake them from the stupor of grief, but they could not listen and did not believe. Later, Cleopas and his companion returned with an equally implausible story of Jesus on the road, opening the scriptures to them and sharing an evening meal. In our reading from Luke’s gospel, the disciples had their own terrifying encounter with the risen Lord. Despite the locked door and the secrecy of their location, Jesus found them and stood among them with the greeting of peace.

When Lucy Lind Hogan, who taught at Wesley Seminary in Washington for many years, teaches about today’s scripture reading, she likes to use five “e” words: encounter, explanation, eating, enlightenment, and exit. It begins with encounter, that sudden appearance and shocking greeting of peace in the upper room. Then there is an explanation: visible wounds are shown and touched to assuage fear and doubt. Next comes the eating; after all, Jesus loved to break bread with all kinds of people, even fearful, failed disciples. As Jesus patiently used the Hebrew scripture to reveal that his suffering, death, and resurrection were all part of God’s plan for the Messiah and the salvation of the world, the disciples found enlightenment. Their minds were opened and they understood. Lastly, Jesus vanished, making an exit, but not before giving his friends a mission that would bring meaning and purpose to their lives.

When we come to church on Sunday mornings, our experience is a lot like the disciples on that first Easter evening. We come filled with a weight of experience and feeling. Like Krista, we may be worn-out, stretched thin, and grieved. Like Charlie, we may be stressed-out, over-worked, and under-supported. Like Rita and Nate, we may feel worried and afraid, ill-equipped to face the crises that come, especially as we age. Take a look around. There’s a lot going on inside us on Sunday mornings. We come to church hoping for whatever it may be that we need to send us back out there into a new week.

Somehow on Sunday mornings at church, we find those five “e’s” of Easter evening. We encounter Jesus. He’s here in the smiles, handshakes, and hugs of those who worship alongside us. We feel his mercy and grace as we confess our sins and know that we are forgiven. Through scripture read, the word proclaimed, and the sharing or prayers, we find our explanation and grow in understanding. At least once a month, we eat with Jesus, breaking the bread and lifting the cup that are his body and blood for us. As worship ends, we go forth enlightened. Even though we arrive feeling worn-out, burned-out, or down and out, we trust that we are loved and we are not alone. As we make our exit, the risen Christ walks with us into a new week, and we find what is needed to begin again. Thanks be to God.

Jesus hoped that his friends would go forth from Easter evening with the willingness to do for others what he had done for them. There was a world of people out there who needed his mission, and the Lord trusted that the men and women who followed him would go forth in his purpose. There were outsiders who needed to be welcomed and children who could use a blessing. There were sick people longing for healing. There were sinners who dreamed of forgiveness, and everywhere so many people needed to know that God loved and accepted them in all their frailty. The disciples could handle that mission. They could simply start where they were at, right there in Jerusalem, extending to one another the mercy that Jesus had extended to them and trusting that Jesus would be known through their witness.

Perhaps we can follow in the footsteps of the disciples this morning. Redeemed and renewed by the risen Lord, we can start where we are at, simply carrying the love, grace, and peace that we find on Sunday mornings out there, to a world that is worn-out, stressed-out, and down and out. For us, taking the love of Christ and the good news of repentance and forgiveness to all nations might look like sharing the faith with Bible stories for our children and grandchildren or inviting a neighbor to come to church.  We can tell the story with more than words. We can share it with helping hands and caring thoughts, inviting someone who struggles to join us for a home-cooked meal or meet us for a cup of coffee.  We can sow the seeds of Christ’s love by choosing to love our hard to love neighbors with patience and compassion. We can bear witness that healing and forgiveness are always possible with God, when we dare to let go of old hurts and allow the past to be the past. We share the hope of new life and the life eternal as we help others begin again – whether that new beginning comes after divorce, or as a new career path is undertaken, or as the slow tide of grief that comes with loss ebbs and flows.  How will we start where we are at? How will we pursue Christ’s mission this week?

I trust that as we go forth in Jesus’s purpose, the world will begin to feel a little less burned-out, stressed-out, down and out — and so will we. People like Krista, who are stretched thin and weighed down by grief, will find helping hands and solace for sadness. People like Charlie, caught in big workplace commitments, will find conversation partners who listen, encourage, and help them to set healthier boundaries. Friends who are struggling, like Rita and Nate, will find caring presence, good advice, and timely help with healthcare and counseling resources. As we pray alongside others and remind them that God is powerful when we are not, we can trust that Christ’s mission continues. The world will know those five “e’s” of Easter evening and experience the blessing we find on Sunday mornings. May it be so.

Resources

Michael Joseph Brown. “Commentary on Luke 24:36b-48” in Preaching This Week, April 14, 2024. Accessed online at Commentary on Luke 24:36b-48 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Lucy Lind Hogan. “Commentary on Luke 24:36b-48” in Preaching This Week, April 22, 2012. Accessed online at Commentary on Luke 24:36b-48 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Jacob Myers. “Commentary on Luke 24:36b-48” in Preaching This Week, April 19, 2015. Accessed online at Commentary on Luke 24:36b-48 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Luke 24:36b-48

36While they were talking about this, Jesus himself stood among them and said to them, “Peace be with you.” 37They were startled and terrified, and thought that they were seeing a ghost. 38He said to them, “Why are you frightened, and why do doubts arise in your hearts? 39Look at my hands and my feet; see that it is I myself. Touch me and see; for a ghost does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have.” 40And when he had said this, he showed them his hands and his feet. 41While in their joy they were disbelieving and still wondering, he said to them, “Have you anything here to eat?” 42They gave him a piece of broiled fish, 43and he took it and ate in their presence. 44Then he said to them, “These are my words that I spoke to you while I was still with you—that everything written about me in the law of Moses, the prophets, and the psalms must be fulfilled.” 45Then he opened their minds to understand the scriptures, 46and he said to them, “Thus it is written, that the Messiah is to suffer and to rise from the dead on the third day, 47and that repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem. 48You are witnesses of these things.

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Rise Up!

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “Rise Up!” Mark 16:1-8

In three weeks, when we traditionally celebrate Good Shepherd Sunday, our cousins in the Orthodox tradition will commemorate the Sunday of Myrrh-bearing Women. They have been doing so since the fifth century when John Chrysostom, the Bishop of Constantinople, first honored those women who went to the tomb, armed with burial spices and anointing oil. In Orthodox churches on the Sunday of Myrrh-bearing Women, censers will be filled with smoking incense, and the priest will swing them with a practiced arm, venerating all four sides of the altar, the congregation, the bread and wine of communion, and the church itself. Prayers will remember the faithful witness of the women. The sermon may even make the connection between the myrrh-bearers and the long history of women who have served the church. The hymn of the day will be introduced with the words, “The women disciples bring myrrh unto Christ. And I bring a hymn as [if] it were myrrh unto them.”

Our Orthodox cousins also remember the myrrh-bearing women with a long tradition of iconography, sacred art that is used as an invitation to prayer and reflection. Perhaps you have seen the icons. Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome are depicted at the tomb. The holy messenger in dazzling white points to the empty graveclothes, proclaiming that Jesus has risen. The women, with heads covered and flowing robes, carry ceramic flasks of oil. Their faces are wide-eyed with fear and lined with tears. One of the women is often painted with her back to the angel, as if poised to run. She looks back over her shoulder, torn between learning what has happened to Jesus and succumbing to holy terror.

After the sabbath, when the myrrh-bearers rose early, purchased spices, and walked to the tomb, they were well-acquainted with death. In first-century Israel, tending the dead was women’s work. It fell to women to prepare bodies for the grave: washing, anointing with oil, and wrapping in a simple linen shroud. For three days, women accompanied the body, walking to the tomb each morning, singing psalms, and sharing tears and cries of mourning. The myrrh-bearers had buried many people and tended many bodies: elderly parents, aged husbands, dear friends, solitary neighbors, and in a world where only one in five children lived to adulthood, they had buried children, many children.

Jesus warned the disciples that death waited in the Holy City. But the week before the women had rejoiced and danced into Jerusalem. Filled with hope, they sang and played their drums, waved palm branches and rejoiced to be in the company of the Messiah. That week the city turned hostile, even murderous.  On the night of the Passover, the women saw Jesus betrayed, abandoned, and led off like a lamb to the slaughter. On Friday, the women followed their bloody, broken Lord as he stumbled beneath the terrible burden of the cross. From a distance, they watched while soldiers gambled and the mob taunted and mocked. As the sun failed and darkness covered the land, they saw Jesus surrender his spirit. As the day grew late and the sabbath neared, two of the women followed Joseph of Arimathea.  They watched him claim the body, wrap it in linen, and hastily stow it in a rock-hewn tomb. All through the Sabbath, the women sat with their grief and loss. They weren’t sure who they were anymore, what their purpose was, or how they could go on. But as the rosy promise of a new week crept above the eastern horizon, they found the courage to do what women always did when a beloved one died. They purchased their burial spices and anointing oil and walked to the tomb.

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We are not myrrh-bearers in the traditional sense of the word. We leave it to the mortuary or the crematorium to tend to the bodies of our dead. Yet we are not strangers to death. We know what it is like to walk to the tomb, to face squarely our loss and pain, our disbelief and defeat. We know the untimely death of our beloved ones. We know the death of our endeavors: the marriage that flounders and fails; the business that goes under; the degree we never finish. We know the death of friendships and kinships: the forgiveness we never extend, the trust that is betrayed, the selfish interest that drives home the killing wedge. We know death writ large upon the world stage: our planet groaning beneath the burden of our abuse, the blood of Palestinians and Israelis crying from the ground of a broken land, the lament of refugees longing for welcome and home. In the dark hours before dawn, we know how the myrrh-bearers felt. We know the unbearable grief. We may even wonder who we are, what our purpose is, or how we can go on.

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When the women arrived at the tomb, the stone was rolled back. They hesitated in fear outside, each too frightened to go in alone, and so they decide to venture in together, a fearful little band bound by their love for Jesus and their common duty as myrrh-bearers. Mary Magdalene, Mary the Mother of James, and Salome entered the tomb, anticipating death. But there in the cold stone crypt, still smelling of blood and suffering, the women were shocked to find life. A holy messenger shared the good news that God could take all the evil of their world and work from it a miracle of life.

In the hours before dawn, as the earth rolled on to meet the morning and the last stars faded from the western sky, Jesus rose. He stretched and stood, testing his bruised body.  He stepped out of the tomb and into the garden, breathing deep the cool of the dying night. God’s amazing love had broken the power of sin and death. 

Mary Magdalene whispered, “Jesus is alive,”

Mary the mother of James gasped, “Jesus has been raised, just as he promised.”

Salome dared to hope, “Jesus has gone ahead to Galilee. We’ll see him there.”

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On Easter morning, we dare to imagine that if God can raise Jesus from dead, then surely there is hope for us and all the ways that we are well-acquainted with death. We can trust that, just as God was at work to overcome the world’s sin and hate to raise Jesus, God is at work even now to help and to heal, to raise up the promise of new life.

Yes, we know the grief that comes with the death of our beloved ones, but we also trust that we are raised with Christ. The promise of the life everlasting and the heavenly shore awaits. Rise up!

Yes, we are well-acquainted with failure, but God is faithful and a new day dawns. One day we may love again, or find fresh purpose, or hear the knock of opportunity. Rise up!

Yes, we know the death of friendship and kinship, but if God can win the victory over sin, then maybe with the Lord’s assistance we can pick up the phone or write that letter or ask for help. Rise up!

Yes, we know global death and destruction, but if Jesus is raised, then maybe there is hope for our world yet. We can learn to tread lightly on God’s good earth. Peace can break out in the midst of war. The homeless poor can find home at last. Rise up!

We are well-acquainted with death, but on Easter morning, we join the myrrh-bearers, with great hope and holy fear, for with God the last word is always life.

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Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome came to the tomb in the traditional women’s role of myrrh-bearer; yet, they soon had a new vocation. Commissioned by God to be the first gospel-bearers, they rose up. They dropped their flasks of oil, lifted their skirts, and fled back into Jerusalem. Somewhere along the way, they overcame their fear and found their voices. They shared their good news with Peter and the disciples, saying, “Death does not have the last word. God has won the victory! Jesus is risen!”

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I suspect that our cousins in the Orthodox tradition are right. Those myrrh-bearers are worthy of our gratitude and remembrance on at least one Sunday a year. They may even have something to teach us. If three women can overcome their fear to rise up and launch a tidal wave of hope and love that laps the shores of today, then think what we can do. We may be well-acquainted with death, but oh the life, sweet life! Let’s trade our myrrh for the gospel, my friends. There is good news to share. Rise up!

Resources

C. Clifton Black. “Commentary on Mark 16:1-8,” in Preaching This Week (Narrative Lectionary), March 27, 2016. Accessed online at Commentary on Mark 16:1-8 – Working Preacher from Luther Seminary

Greek Orthodox Diocese of America. “Learn: Sunday of The Myrrhbearers.” Accessed online at https://www.goarch.org/myrrhbearers-learn

Kaufman Kohler. “Burial” in Jewish Encyclopedia. Accessed online at https://www.jewishencyclopedia.com/articles/3842-burial#anchor6.

Nelson Rivera. “Theological Perspective on Mark 16:1-8” in Feasting on the Gospels: Mark. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

John Sanidopolous. “Sunday of the Myrrhbearers Resource Page,” Orthodox Christianity: Then and Now, April 30, 2017. Accessed online at https://www.johnsanidopoulos.com/2017/04/sunday-of-myrrhbearing-women-resource.html

Oliver Yarbrough. “Homiletical Perspective on Mark 16:1-8” in Feasting on the Gospels: Mark. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2014.

Mark 16:1-8

16When the sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought spices, so that they might go and anoint him. 2And very early on the first day of the week, when the sun had risen, they went to the tomb. 3They had been saying to one another, “Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?” 4When they looked up, they saw that the stone, which was very large, had already been rolled back. 5As they entered the tomb, they saw a young man, dressed in a white robe, sitting on the right side; and they were alarmed. 6But he said to them, “Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here. Look, there is the place they laid him. 7But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you.” 8So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.

“The Holy Myrrh-bearers.” Accessed online at https://www.allsaintstoronto.ca/services-events/soo-gdthh-2ptfc-lng35-c8gjx-xaf3p