Sermon – John 18.1-19.42, GF, YC, April 19, 2019

Tags

broken, community, cross, darkness, disciple, find, God, Good Friday, humanity, identity, incomplete, Jesus, lost, passion, prayer, Sermon, sin

When I was in college, I would occasionally find myself sitting in the back of the enormous Chapel.  Sometimes I do not even remember actively choosing to go inside the Chapel.  Somehow my body seemed to know I needed something before my brain did.  The cavernous, quiet building rarely had large crowds.  Or maybe my late-night study sessions meant I was there after everyone had left.  Regardless, I would find myself on a hard, wooden pew, just sitting there.  I am not sure I was there praying necessarily.  At least not in the traditional sense.  More often I was sitting there in desperation.  Sometimes I was at the end of a semester, completely overwhelmed and feeling incapable.  Other times, I was feeling a deep sense of loneliness, despite being surround by tons of friends and classmates.  Other times, I simply felt lost, not sure about my purpose or what in the world God was doing with my life – if God was even there at all.  But mostly, when I sat on those pews, surrounded by magnificent beauty and architecture, I felt a profound hole in my heart.  That Chapel was sometimes the only place I could go and be honest about my profoundly weak humanity.

I think worshiping on Good Friday is a little bit like that.  Unlike other times of worship, we do not usually come to this service looking for praise and joyful singing.  Instead, this day is a day where we willingly come to acknowledge and honor those parts of our lives where we feel a profound sense of brokenness, sinfulness, and incompleteness.  We read Scripture that speaks to our deepest pain and suffering.  We say prayers that address the fullness of need for ourselves and the world.  And we venerate the cross – staring at the object that brings into sharp focus our weakness and humanity, and our need for something bigger than ourselves.

On a day like today, I am grateful for John’s Passion Narrative.  All the Passion Narratives from the gospels tell a similar story – the last moments of Jesus’ time with the disciples, his trial and crucifixion, and his death.  And despite the fact that the story in all four gospels is heart-wrenching, something about John’s version digs deeper – shines a light into those dark places we prefer to keep hidden from the light of day.  But in John’s gospel, there is nowhere to hide.  We experience a deep sense of being bereft of our own sinfulness as the sins of those in our narrative mirror our own.  These are not just the common, everyday sins of life.  The sins of the characters today are the sins of denying our very own identity.

Often when we talk about Judas, we think of his failure as a thing he did to Jesus.  But Judas’ sin goes deeper than betrayal of Jesus.  Judas denies his very discipleship.  After all those years of following Jesus, trusting the salvific work of the Christ, believing and proclaiming Jesus’ Messiahship, Judas denies his discipleship by no longer following and instead trying to control the work of God.  You see, Judas follows Jesus because he believes Jesus is starting a political revolution – is becoming the conquering Messiah.  Jesus is not living into that identity as much as Judas wants, so Judas gives Jesus a push.[i]  But when Judas brings all of those soldiers to the intimate place where he discovered his identity as a disciple, we see how deep Judas’ sinfulness goes.  The garden had been a home for the disciples – where they had gathered regularly, in intimate community.  To bring those soldiers there – to the place that defined his own discipleship – is the marker not of an indiscretion, but of a complete denial of who he is.  In John’s gospel, the last appearance of Judas is not of remorse, or suicide, or judgment of Judas.  John simply says, Judas stands “with them.”  With them is not just a physical location; with them is a theological one.  By seeking to control Jesus, by walking away from relationship with Christ, and by standing against Jesus in the very place of intimate identity-making, Judas takes a new identity.  He denies his discipleship, and instead stands with them.[ii]  And as much as we might want to judge Judas, we all know that there have been times when we were fed up with God, and decided to take matters into our own hands.  The more we think we know better, the further we step away from following Christ, denying our own identity in Christ.  The more we seek control, the further we step away from our intimate relationship with Jesus, and instead stand with someone or something else.

Peter denies his identity in a slightly different way.  When we read John’s gospel, we can easily conflate John’s version with the versions from Matthew, Mark, and Luke.  In those gospels, Peter is asked whether he knows Jesus.  His response is he does not know the man.  But in John’s gospel, the question to Peter is different.  He is not asked if he knows Jesus, but whether he is Jesus’ disciple.  To say, “I am not,” is not just a denial of knowledge.  Peter is denying his very identity.  As Karoline Lewis asserts, “In the Gospel of John…Peter’s denial is not of Jesus but of his own discipleship.  …To deny discipleship is to deny one’s relationship with Jesus and the intimacy that makes Jesus and his followers virtually inseparable.  Peter does not deny Jesus, but denies being a disciple.”[iii]  Because we live in a time when we are rarely asked about our identity as people of God, we think of ourselves as immune to Peter’s temptation or somehow incapable of such identity denial.  And in some ways, we may be right:  our denial of identity is not usually as straightforward as Peter’s.  But that doesn’t mean we do not regularly reject our identity.  In small, everyday ways, we find ourselves making accommodations that fracture our intimacy with Christ – decisions that we can rationalize at the time, but when we look back realize have become of slow pattern of denying whose we really are.  And before long, we get so far from discipleship that no one even knows we are Christ’s disciple.

But the denials of identity are not just limited to Christ’s disciples.  Even the religious authorities lose themselves in their attempt to squash the Jesus movement.  The leaders of the faith community are so convinced that Jesus is wrong, they negotiate with a secular leader to get what they want.  And when Pilate, who knows what they want is wrong, pushes them to recognize they are wrong, the religious authorities say something that seems innocuous enough.  But saying, “We have no king but the emperor,” is the ultimate denial of their identity as a people of God.  The people of faith, who were once freed from a king over them, who journeyed forty years, claiming God as their king, who have an everlasting covenant with God, deny the covenant to get what they want.  By claiming the emperor, they deny their very identity.  The people of God, who are about to prepare the Passover feast – the feast that celebrates their release from Pharaoh, “embrace a latter-day Pharaoh whose overthrow the Passover is intended to celebrate.”[iv]  Although we like to demonize the chief priests, we too have pledged loyalties to things other than God.  Perhaps not as dramatically as the religious authorities, but we have all known those moments when a declaration slipped out of our mouths that we later come to realize was denial of everything we claim to be.

On this most holy of days, we can journey so far into the darkness of humanity, of the ways we deny our very own identity, that we can walk out of this beautiful historic chapel feeling lost – having received no encouragement for our bereft hearts.  But I do not think the point of Good Friday is to walk with us into the darkness without giving us a sliver of light to hold onto in these next hours.  Though our reading ends with the finality of Jesus in a tomb, where we are better left is at the foot of the cross.  At the foot of the cross is where we find identity again.  At the foot of the cross, we find a new community being formed.  Jesus gives his mother to the beloved disciple; and to the beloved disciple, he gives his mother.  In other words, Jesus creates a community of mutual care – a new family, a place of forming identity in Christ, even as Christ is departing.[v]  The very reason we gather in community on Good Friday is because we need this group gathered here – this group gathered at the foot of the cross – to bring us back from the denials of our identity, and help us reclaim whose we are.  Today is certainly a day for claiming how deep our own betrayal of God is, but today is also a day of claiming a community who can help us walk back.

I think that was what I was doing all those years ago in college as I sat on those cold, hard pews of the Chapel.  I knew I was lost, that my angst was not just the anxiety of tests and deadlines, but was a much deeper angst about identity.  And although that Chapel was mostly empty, that Chapel reminded me of all the times I had gathered in sacred spaces with the community of the faithful.  Even when the Chapel was empty, the Chapel was somehow a reminder of the mothers and brothers who gathered with me at the foot of the cross.  The only difference today is you do not have to imagine a community gathered with you at the cross.  We are right here with you.  We are struggling right along with you on this journey called discipleship.  Together, starting at the foot of the cross, we will find our way.  Amen.

[i] Jim Green Somerville, “Pastoral Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009),300, 302.

[ii] Karoline M. Lewis, John (Minneapolis:  Fortress Press, 2014), 218-219.

[iii] Lewis, 222.

[iv] C. Clifton Black, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009),303.

[v][v] Lewis, 229.

Sermon – 1 Corinthians 12.12-31a, EP3, YC, January 27, 2019

Tags

affirm, body, church, community, convict, Corinthians, essential, gifts, honor, incomplete, needed, Paul, rejoice, Sermon, spiritual

Last week, Paul talked to us through his first letter to the Corinthians about spiritual gifts.  He talked about how there are a variety of gifts, and although they are all different, they are all activated by God.  As Charlie talked about this lesson last week, he encouraged us to reflect on our own spiritual gifts, and then to use that discernment to determine how we might support the ministries of Hickory Neck.  In fact, today we will gather our Time and Talent forms, blessing our discernment and our offering of those spiritual gifts.

If the portion of Paul’s letter last week affirmed that we all have gifts, the portion of Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians we hear today tells us how the use of our gifts within the church is not just a nice thing to do – like bringing someone flowers.  No, today Paul explains to us the sharing of our gifts is critical to the operation of the church as an organism.  In other words, without each of us giving our gifts to the church, the whole church either limps along as an incomplete body or does not function at all.

Any of us who have had an injury or are currently suffering through a portion of our body not working knows how this works.  A couple of weeks ago, my hands got really dry and a little crack developed on my thumb.  Literally, the crack was about an eighth of an inch in size.  And yet, it was one of the most painful experiences.  Over the next few days, I realized the pain wasn’t going to stop and the cut wasn’t going to heal until I put on a Band-Aid.  The first challenge is figuring out how to make the Band-Aid stick when the cut is not on a flat surface.  Then, of course, do you know how hard keeping the thumb dry to maintain a Band-Aid is?  Suddenly, you find you are washing your hands and your face in super awkward contortions – sometimes electing to use only one hand while washing your face, or giving up altogether so you can help give a bath to your little one.  And once you have the Band-Aid on your thumb, you do not have the same kind of grip on things like jars and bottles you are opening.

This drama is the same for any part of us that is damaged.  We never realize how important one of our body parts is until we lose or have limited use of the part.  For a brief period of time, once the body part is healed, we find ourselves thanking God for our thumb, or kidney, or heart.  But we are a pretty forgetful people, and eventually, we stop thanking God for the incredible parts of our body.  We walk, eat, talk, ponder, laugh, exercise, and breathe without thinking about all the tiny parts needed to make those functions possible in the first place.  Everyday, we could easily pray through hundreds of parts of our bodies, thanking God for each part that works.  And yet, I know very few healthy people who engage in such thanksgiving and gratitude.  Even folks who were once ill or injured seem to forget the painful reminders of not being whole once wholeness is restored.

Paul uses the classic metaphor of the body to help the Corinthians see that the body of the faithful is no different.  Once the community has done a spiritual assessment, once those Time and Talent forms are turned in, we are not done.  We do not take those forms and say, “Okay, we got an usher, someone willing to adopt a church garden, a Sunday School teacher, and someone to make meals.  We did not get someone to operate the sound system, or deliver welcome baskets to newcomers, or help layout the newsletter.  Ah well, we’ll be fine.”  Paul knows we cannot operate the body of Christ this way in the same way that anyone with a broken toe or someone with fluid in their lungs or ears cannot operate at full capacity.  As Paul familiarly says, “The eye cannot say to the hand, ‘I have no need of you,’ nor again the head to the feet, ‘I have no need of you.’”[i]

Paul’s letter today reminds of a few things.  First, we are not fully honoring our own bodies when we do not offer our gifts to the church.  When I was trying to figure out what I wanted to be when I grew up, I tried out many things.  I remember a Marketing department tried to convince me that I would be a great asset to their team.  And, I probably would have been pretty good at the work and the team did seem to have a lot of fun.  I remember how I loved working at a Food Bank and my awesome boss, even though most of my fellow volunteers were not people of faith.  I remember being thrilled when I landed at a Habitat for Humanity affiliate, serving a good cause, talking about our faith, even praying at staff meetings.  And yet, something still felt unbalanced.  And so the church became my playground.  I learned how to lead Morning Prayer, I fumbled my way through an adult bible study, and they even convinced me to co-lead the Middle School class!  What Paul would remind seekers like you and me is the church is the place where we can find a sense of wholeness by using all the parts of our bodies.  The church may be the place where the teacher by weekday brings his gifts to the Sunday School classroom on Sundays; or the church may be the place where the teacher by weekday finds her gifts are better utilized organizing a portion of the Winter Shelter.  The Church is the place where our head and our hands, our bodies, are affirmed.

The second thing Paul’s letter does is remind us how essential each person in the body is.  When other ancient writings used the metaphor of the body, they used the metaphor to determine social or political status; whomever was the head had power over the hands, feet, and legs.[ii] [iii]  Not so with Paul.  Paul says the head is just one part of many.  In fact, those parts we often forget about are usually the essential missing link to powerful ministry.  So, you may have been at home this week thinking, “Meh!  Hickory Neck has nine toes, they will be fine without me.”  Today, Paul asserts ministry does not work without you – whether you are the pinkie toe or the big toe!  Not all of us are great lectors, are handy with a wrench, or are tech savvy.  But we are all good at something – and when that “something” is not offered, the body of Hickory Neck is not whole.  Each of us, even the littlest one who goes to the nursery on Sundays, or the homebound member who rarely gets to join us, has an ability to make us better.  In fact, Paul might argue that those two individuals should have the highest honor in the community.  In other words, even if you do not think you have a gift special enough to give, the church needs you.[iv]  Hickory Neck is not whole without your offering.

The final thing Paul’s letter does is a little more subtle.  Even when all of us fill out our Time and Talent forms, and even when we make that stretch and agree to lead Children’s Chapel, take communion to a parishioner, or help with marketing, Hickory Neck will still not be complete.  There will always be parts of the body that are not operating at full capacity because not everyone is here yet.  This is why whenever a newcomer decides to become a member, we encourage them to look over the Time and Talent form – even if they join at a time well past stewardship season.  Each new person who enters through our doors has something new and fresh to teach us – something we as the community of Hickory Neck were missing until that fateful day you walked through our doors.  But if each new person makes us more whole, that means there are a lot of other holes in our body from all the people we have not yet invited into our fold.  For every neighbor, friend, and stranger who was looking for wholeness and yet we did not invite to church, our community suffers.  For every person whose socioeconomic status, skin color, or sexual orientation is not like ours that we did not invite to church, our community suffers.  For every person who is not my age, does not have my physical or mental abilities, or does not agree with my politics that we did not invite to church, our community suffers.  When we read Paul’s letter and when we look at our Time and Talent forms this week, we will invariably see the people we forgot to invite to church who would make us so much better as a community.

Today’s word from scripture is both affirming and convicting.  Paul wants us to know that each us has the capacity for wholeness when we use all the gifts God gives us.  Paul wants us to know that our Church needs us, in all our unique, odd, loveliness.  Paul wants us to know that the Church is the place where everyone has a place.  But Paul also wants us to know that we are not done.  We have sometimes not affirmed our own beautiful selves, we have sometimes held back our gifts from the church, and we have sometimes avoided welcoming in the very people who would make Hickory Neck a fuller version of her fantastic self.  Our invitation this week is to say yes:  say yes to honoring our own bodies with all their fabulous gifts; say yes to trying new adventures at church that will bless us in ways we cannot imagine; say yes to inviting a person who we might not even consider compatible with our image of who Hickory Neck should be.  Paul promises God will arrange the body so that we can all rejoice together.  Amen.

[i] 1 Corinthians 12.21

[ii] Lee C. Barrett, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, vol. 1 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 278.

[iii] Troy Miller, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, vol. 1 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 279.

[iv] Raewynne J. Whiteley, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, vol. 1 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 283.