Chocolate Eggs and Jesus Risen

In his lovely reflection on the Psalms, C. S. Lewis remarks on the talent that children have to conflate the religious significance of a holiday with the “merely festal” He tells that one Easter Sunday someone overheard a child muttering to himself “Chocolate eggs and Jesus risen”. The child, bless his heart, cannot disassociate the miracle of the Resurrection from the miracle of candy.

There is a stage in a child’s life at which it cannot separate the religious from the merely festal character of Christmas or Easter. I have been told of a very small and very devout boy who was heard murmuring to himself on Easter morning a poem of his own composition which began ‘Chocolate eggs and Jesus risen’. This seems to me, for his age, both admirable poetry and admirable piety.*

Lewis goes on to say that we eventually grow out of this tendency. For an author who manifestly never grew out of anything, Lewis makes a wondrously naive claim. Can he be so un-self-aware? I appreciate that he had many spiritual gifts; I have benefited over the years from these gifts in his writing. But I find it hard to believe that he didn't, in his very poetic imagination, join the appearance of daffodils and chocolate eggs with the risen Christ.

Ancient festivals, both Jewish and Pagan were magnificent mixes of physical delights, music, food, dance, celebration and sacred observance, the sacrificial offering, the reading of holy texts, chanting. 

I submit that we are not so different today. Those communities thus worshiping/celebrating would have been hard pressed to distinguish what part of their observance was “religious” and what part was “secular,” assuming they even perceived this distinction which historians claim they did not.

We gather in church on Easter Sunday; the organ whips itself into a frenzied prelude. The congregation rises looking proudly on each other in their Easter finery. We grin knowingly at the bouncy children, already enhanced by a few chocolate eggs. The choir marches in and we burst into song.  “Jesus Christ is risen today”

Can you separate this moment of music and joy from the truth of the risen Christ? For me, they are all one. I have no interest in paring away the “fleshly” delights of the holiday. The Puritans tried that and ended up in a dead end.

Our faith teaches us on many levels. We are taught through Scripture. We are taught through homilies. We are taught in the repeated attendance at the Eucharist. We are taught by prayer, by our life’s journey, by each other, and we are taught by creation. It is human to celebrate, to make festivals, to enhance our special moments.

People shake their heads over the increasingly secular treatment of Christmas (mostly) and Easter. I have certainly shaken mine. But maybe it’s not as bad as we think. Maybe someone is eating a chocolate egg and realizing that Easter is behind it. Maybe without that chocolate egg, that person wouldn't have thought about Jesus at all.

I’m not usually an optimist. There are too few disciples of Christ. Churches are too empty. Our elected leaders are too focused on their own re-elections to do what’s best for the country. People have too much money, or much too little. Nothing is right. 

Certainly, there is money to be made at Easter and Christmas, and people are not shy about exploiting the season to line their pockets. I’m just not sure that the proliferation of secular trappings, of chocolate eggs, detracts from the significance of the Resurrection.

We are human. Who made us human? Who sustains our human lives? Who dwells in our human selves? I think that little boy from Lewis’ book grew up, had a nice family, went to church and died in the arms of our Savior. I also think – actually I know – there is someone right now, who certainly wouldn't dare read this post, but who is eating a chocolate egg and wondering about the Resurrection, about Jesus, about himself. 

*Reflections on the Psalms pp 48-49

Pleadings for Holy Week

This post appears a day earlier than usual because it applies to all of Holy Week.  Not every pleading is tongue in cheek. All are offered with a sense of the wonder at this magnificent time of the Christian Year. 

We all make excuses for backing out of this, that or the other observance in Holy Week, but I hope that you will bring it all to the “table” so to speak. How many weeks are like this? How many more do we even have? 

Please contribute to your Easter Flower fund, if it’s not too late.

Please don’t let your children sword fight with the Palms.

   Please let yourself off the hook for slipping up on your Lenten discipline.

   Please don’t think Jesus died for “your sins.” He died to free us from SIN. Be free.

   Please be especially kind to the clergy and staff of your church this week. They are exhausted.

   Please don’t think Judas went to hell.

   Please wash someone’s feet this week, literally or figuratively.

   

   Please stay awake one hour with Jesus and pray.      

   Please let your heart break, just once this week.  

  

   Please don’t think that eternal life starts when you get to heaven. It’s already started. Live it.

    Please make sure that every child finds an egg at your Easter Egg hunt.

    Please sing your heart out on Easter. That’s what it’s for.

Do You Believe This?

Ezekiel 37:1-14: It has a dream vibe for me.  The hand of the Lord came upon Ezekiel and brought him to the valley of the dry bones. Under direction from the Lord, Ezekiel causes the bones to reassemble and gain flesh and sinew and skin. Finally the prophet breathes life into them and they live. It is the house of Israel he is told and the people who lost hope will live, will inherit the land and know the Lord.

Hearing this passage as a follower of Christ, the foreshadowing of the Resurrection and Christ’s kingdom come to earth is plain. 

An even plainer foreshadowing of the Resurrection is the raising of Lazarus. John 11:1-45 Jesus deliberately waits before returning to Bethany where he has been called because of the grave illness of his dear friend. He waits until Lazarus is dead before going.

It just about kills him to see his friends in such grief. He is rebuked by both Mary and Martha for his delay. Even bystanders remark “Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?”

In this story, for me, Jesus’ purpose becomes stunningly clear. Yes, he heals people, teaches people, corrects wrong ideas and priorities. He feeds the hungry, blesses children, acknowledges the outcast and on and on. But none of these are his purpose. These are happenings along the way.

His love for humankind overflows into great acts of generosity and kindness. His love finds a voice in parables and in the beatitudes. But Jesus came to earth to redeem humankind, to fulfill God’s promise to Abraham, to restore us to grace, to conquer sin and death.

By raising Lazarus in this heart wrenching way, he focused his followers on death and resurrection. The raising of Lazarus provides the structure, the support, the stage setting, so to speak, for the Resurrection of our Lord. One empty tomb. Then another empty tomb.

Martha says that she knows her brother will rise on the last day with everyone, but Jesus stops her. No, he will rise today. Jesus says “I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.”

“Do you believe this?” he asks her.

“Do you believe this?” he asks each of us. It's a hard thing to believe.

Everything Jesus has done points to this one thing: life. Jesus, “without whom not one thing came into being” is here on earth to restore his creation to life. He does this by dying a hideous death on a cross and then rising on the third day.

This is a physical action in the physical world. Just as raising Lazarus was a physical action in the physical world. Jesus wanted his followers to see Lazarus come back to life so they would have a frame of reference for his own resurrection. There would be no doubt for them. There should be no doubt for us. The Son of God did not incarnate to tell stories or to make blind folks see or to make lame people walk.

He came to save us. Our Savior.

I know there are people who don’t believe in the physical resurrection of Christ. I know there are Christians who avoid that particular issue. I understand that a “spiritual resurrection” through building of the church and gathering faithful followers is a “thing”.  And I’m not drawing a line in the sand or throwing down a marker or whatever people do when they want to start a fight.

If Jesus died and rose from the grave, if he redeemed all mankind, as I believe he did, then it matters hardly at all how many people actually believe it. Redemption happened without our consent, without our support, without our faith. We benefit from it, but our testimony is not required. Jesus died for believer and unbeliever alike. He died for people who never heard of him and who will never hear of him. He died for people who actively work against his kingdom.

God works in each of us whether we are aware of it or not. When, however, we are open to belief, to faith, to the miracle of our creation and redemption, we enjoy a different experience of life. The kingdom is real and we are in it. Eternal life is true and we are living it.

Believing or not, we are redeemed. Following Christ or not, the kingdom has come. The wedding garments are hanging on hooks in the hallway. It’s our privilege to put one on or just wait outside. The grace - and it is amazing - of belief blesses. It opens. It comforts. It waits. Do you believe this?

Who Sinned? The Man Born Blind John 9

This is not an easy story. Right in the middle of John’s Gospel account, Jesus has already locked horns with the powers that be. He has moved from private miracles, like the one at the wedding at Cana to more public displays such as the Sabbath day healing at the Beth-zatha pool. He has fed the five thousand. He has been confrontational and abrasive. He is controversial. Our Savior.

Escaping a stoning attempt, Jesus and his disciples see a man who was born blind. “Who sinned?” the disciples want to know. Nothing this dire could happen unless it was in retribution for some sin. Who sinned? The man himself in his mother’s womb? The man’s parents?

Jesus performs a multi-step healing. He spits, he mixes, he spreads, and he bids the man to go to a pond and wash away his blindness. Of course, it is again the Sabbath. Jesus breaks the law by healing, by mixing the earth and by bidding the man to travel to what was probably (scholars aren’t certain) beyond the 1000 yard permitted distance.

Who sinned?

Jesus and the disciples then step away from the narrative and a drama unfolds. Neighbors can hardly believe this is the man who used to beg. They take him to the Pharisees who cross examine him relentlessly about his healing and his healer. The man’s parents become involved and they clearly want no blame for any of this attached to them. 

Do we judge them for distancing themselves from their son, or do we sympathize with them for their inability to share the magnificence of his healing?

Who sinned?

The Pharisees then question the man again, reminding me of a thousand police interrogations that I've seen on TV. “Tell us the what you know. That man is a sinner. We already know everything about him. Your best bet is to turn him in as the sinner that he is and get off with a warning.”

Who sinned?

The man finally stands up for himself and answers the Pharisees as snarkily as I could possibly wish. The Pharisees revert to the original premise and tell him he was born in sin and they don’t need his kind anyway.  Out of the synagogue he is cast.

Who sinned?

Cue the reappearance of Jesus who asks the man for a declaration of faith. The man declares and he is now a part of a new community. Jesus remarks on the difference between seeing and not seeing, of thinking you can see and knowing you can’t. There endeth the reading.

John loves Jesus and makes him the hero of every scene. This is a heavy-handed story in the middle of a heavy-handed Gospel. Even knowing the outcome, it’s impossible not to be nervous about Jesus’ increasingly provocative behavior.

This man was sent out to beg by his parents, we presume, on the first day he was old enough. His life was closed down, dead, dark. Then comes Jesus into his life and suddenly, light dawns. He can see. He has a future. He even finds his voice, his confidence.

Jesus is not going to compromise. His job is to redeem humanity and that is what he will do. He is not shy about announcing himself. There is no “messianic secret” in John’s Gospel account. Jesus is loud and proud. He is so intent on bringing people into the light of his grace that he gladly risks everything in order to make just one more disciple.

John’s Gospel clearly states that this man was born blind so that “God’s works might be revealed in him.” Does this trouble you? This sad story has a happy ending; at least it does from my perspective. He loses his parents and his synagogue but he gains Jesus. No comparison.

But did God give him his blindness just for this story to take place? Are all the good things and bad things in the world purely the means to our various salvations? Could we stand to know that?

Who sinned?

In my life and work I have seen people in very grievous situations. I've seen people in extremely fortunate situations. I've known people with pure hearts and inner happiness, and, of course, I've known people with tormented souls and nothing but rage. Why is this so? Who makes the call? I have no idea.

The only thing I do know is that whatever state we’re in and however deep our joy or profound our sorrow, Jesus is waiting to walk into our life and turn on the lights. He will give us our voice; he will open his arms and the arms of others. He will be waiting for us. And it will be beautiful.

The story of the man born blind is followed immediately by Jesus’ teaching of the Good Shepherd. We don’t hear it in Sunday’s reading for the Fourth Sunday in Lent. We get the sense of it when we read Psalm 23 and possibly sing “My Shepherd Will Supply My Need”. After the harshness of this story, the reassurance of “I know mine and mine know me” is just what we want to hear.

Who sinned? Does it even matter?

The Woman at the Well John 4:5-42

Beloved of feminists, dear to the hearts of those who strive for justice and understanding among races and nationalities, the story of Jesus and the Samaritan woman has long been a great favorite of mine and many other folks as well. Like so many stories about Jesus, there is an unexpected, even inappropriate, encounter which results in a great teaching, a great conversion, and, most of all, a great story.

Twice the Samaritan woman pulls the “race card” on Jesus. Once asking how he dares speak to her and then reminding him that they have different religions, different ideas about proper worship. Twice he bypasses this provocation. Jesus doesn't care about this stuff and neither should we.

Dating to the division of the tribes after the reign of Solomon, the tribes of Judah and that of Ephraim (both named for the most populous tribes in their division) never got along. That is, in fact, putting it mildly. There was deep seated, and multi-generational hatred between the groups. That is why the story of the Samaritan helping the Jew was so startling.

But Jesus approaches this woman nevertheless, asking for a drink of water. He is not bound by tribal loyalties. He is unmindful of gender roles. His agenda is to bring the Kingdom of God to the people, all people. It’s the flesh and spirit lesson all over again.

Last week Jesus told Nicodemus that he would be born of the spirit. This week he claims to have living water, water that forms a spring inside us, continually renewing itself. “Eternal life” is mentioned for the second time in John’s Gospel.

The woman, believing him to be a prophet, reminds him that they have very different forms of worship. It is as if she is saying: no matter how holy you are, we are irrevocably different in faith and I can’t receive your doctrine. Jesus tells her that soon all forms or worship will be relinquished, that the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth. Then he reveals himself to her as the Messiah. If the Hail Mary Pass had been invented back then, that’s what we’d call it. And it works.

When she leaves to tell her neighbors about this man, wondering aloud if he can really be the Messiah, the disciples return from their trip into town. They have food and urge it on Jesus, but he is too wound up over this stunning exchange to think about food. He says that his work is his food (reminder for fasters in Lent). He then goes on, in his enthusiasm, to use an agricultural metaphor to explain his mission and this surprising success. 

The Gospel accounts never mention Jesus laughing or being happy or dancing around excitedly after a big triumph. But his enthusiasm is palpable in this passage. Who needs food when you have souls to win?

Much has been written and said and preached about flesh vs spirit. Jesus is clearly intent on bringing people to faith in the spirit. First Century Palestine was bogged down in flesh. For one thing many, many people were poor. Moreover, hereditary ties, tribal loyalties, and inherited class status determined a person’s life. Last, but never least, the Law was the mainstay of their connection to God. It was what they had of God. Daily, weekly, seasonally, they enacted their worship through the practice of the Law.

Jesus had to dive into this atmosphere and teach people about the spirit. No wonder he got frustrated so often. No wonder he was so overjoyed by the woman’s belief that he no longer wanted food, or even water. Don’t waste time eating lunch; we have a whole town to save.

The life of the spirit is hard to realize. Hard then. Hard now. Terms like “born again” “bread of life” “living water” are familiar to us. We aren't so hungry any more, or so thirsty, or so tribal. But we are bogged down by possessions, activities, ambitions, worries, responsibilities. The language might be easier for us to hear than it was for our friends from two thousand years ago, but the understanding can be just as hard.

I wish I had an easy answer. I wish Jesus had had an easy answer. But I know there is an answer and I know we glimpse it every now and then – in a prayer, a song, a sight, a touch. 

Let’s look once more at the Samaritan woman. Let’s consider the bucket. First, she wonders how Jesus can offer her any water at all as he has no bucket. Then she leaves her own bucket (OK, her jar) at the well to go and tell her neighbors about Jesus. Probably just a literary flourish from John.  Probably a simple indication that, yes, she does get it now. Surely we can’t be a tougher audience than she was.

Lent is a great time to leave your bucket at the well, just for a while. If you want to be surly, call Jesus’ bluff, remind him how different he is, how irrelevant he is, do so. But listen to the answer you get. It just might make you do the happy dance yourself. 

Promises

I have no problem with the over-use of the word “love.’ I love my morning cup of Earl Grey. I love my cats. I love Motown. I love the Episcopal Church. I love the sky. The more things I love the happier I am, the better person I am. But all this love is just a tiny hint of the love that God has for me, for us.

In today’s readings, God makes a promise to Abram. He will make a nation of Abram; he will bless him. More than that, Abram will be a blessing to all the families of the earth. In other words, every man, woman and child on this planet is blessed by Abram (later Abraham). Genesis 12:1-4.

Abram did nothing to deserve this blessing, this promise. He had not yet even been circumcised, so he was nothing at all. Yet God decided for God’s own reasons to build up a family through this one man. At this spectacular attention, we can only shrug our shoulders.

Moving ahead to the time of Christ, after many more promises from God, we arrive at the realization of God’s plan. Matthew takes pains to remind us of Jesus’ genealogy. The first 16 verses of the Gospel according to Matthew are not read in church; they are not part of the Lectionary. They were there to assure early disciples that Christ, indeed, belonged to this long line that started with Abraham and God’s promise.

If Abraham had been another sort of person, he might have wondered what God intended by this great promise. What was the point? 1800+ years later, the product of that promise arrived. God’s work takes time.

Nicodemus, an upright Pharisee, calls on Jesus in the night. In the Gospel according to John, images of night and day, darkness and light are never accidental, so we may assume that Nicodemus is “in the dark” about Jesus. He tells Jesus that “we know you are a teacher who has come from God”. If Nicodemus had a “so” or a “but” ready after this assertion, we never hear it. Jesus seizes on this bit of nascent faith to tell his visitor that he must “be born from above.” John 3:1-17.

Do not underestimate the importance of birthplace and condition in first Century Palestine. It was everything. (See again first 16 verses of Matthew’s Gospel) Being born again or born from above or born of the spirit was a much more startling notion than it is today. In the parlance of our time, organizations, celebrities and we ourselves experience new life/rebirth all the time. We hear the phrase “new birth” in the Sacrament of Baptism. We’re used to it. Nicodemus was not.

Jesus bombards Nicodemus with unfamiliar concepts, bizarre scenarios and a double reference to the Book of Numbers and the Book of Daniel. Poor Nicodemus! All his life spent following the torah is now null and void. His head must have been spinning.

He must be born anew. The spirit will make this happen, unexpectedly, like the wind. A life in the flesh is not like this new life in the spirit.   Jesus is from heaven and must be lifted up like the bronze serpent that healed the dying Israelites in the desert. Numbers 21:5-9.

Did you ever see the episode of The Simpsons when the family were at a huge stadium for some event and someone in the crowd held up a John 3:16 sign? It got a lot of laughs in my house and in many houses, I’m sure. Or this is even better. 

I have a hard time not remembering that and other comic moments around that quote. Such is our modern age. Do I just a little bit judge people who seem to have such a simplistic approach to the Gospel? Do I think they're doing more harm than good?

Perhaps I’m as stymied by the true meaning of “God so loved the world…” as Nicodemus was by the idea of being born from above. But there is nothing so important, so absolutely crucial to a true life in the spirit as grasping that verse.

God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not die but may have eternal life.

I had to sit with that for a while.

At study group, we stayed with that verse for a while, too. We had to let it lose all its silly, pop culture references, all its false simplicity and pull out its true simplicity. God loves the world. It makes him smile. It gives him joy. He’d do anything for it. He’d run into a burning building to pull it out. He’d wait for a thousand years for one phone call.  He cherishes any wee scrap of love he gets in return. It’s beautiful. He can’t take his eyes off of it.

The promise given to Abraham and the promise made by Jesus are because of that love. 

Temptation

           

Each week during Lent, this space will be given to a summary of what the members of my study group from church concluded in our meeting on Sunday afternoon. We’ll be concerning ourselves with the Lectionary readings from each Sunday.

Even the tiniest child knows the story of Adam and Eve. Why are we so keen to tell our kids about this? What does it have to do with Christian belief? Are we simply handing them a warning about disobedience, maybe hoping they’ll take it to heart and go to bed on time?

The Old Testament reading for the first Sunday in Lent (Genesis 2:25-3:17) is paired neatly with the story of Jesus’ temptation in the desert (Matthew 4:1-11) in much the way a Cabernet is paired with a hearty beef stew. They complement each other. They reveal each other.

In the desert story, Jesus is in a bare and desolate place and is fasting for 40 days and nights. The Satan wants Jesus to prove himself by changing stones into bread, prove God’s faithfulness by jumping off the pinnacle of the Temple, and, finally, take command of the world by worshiping him. The Satan’s clear intention is to derail Jesus’ purpose. Well, it would be, wouldn't it? If Jesus succeeds, the Satan’s rule is over. If the Satan succeeds we aren't redeemed.

Jesus, as we know, doesn't bite. He dismisses the tempter with a quote from scripture (Deuteronomy)  each time. When it’s over, angels come to minister to him.

Contrast this with the scene in the Garden. Adam and Eve are in a lush setting, with everything they could possibly want. They are engaged in work, caring for God’s creation. But it is when Eve is alone that the serpent approaches her.

The Satan’s lure is oddly similar to his effort with Jesus; he promises a way to be like God. Eve attempts to repeat God’s directive about the forbidden fruit, but she gets it wrong. She misquotes God. Is this a big deal? I think it is.

In an oral society where histories and laws are memorized, quoting things exactly has more weight than it does today. We paraphrase all the time; not then. I believe that the first people to hear this story would have been shaking their heads at Eve as soon as she failed to repeat God’s directive exactly. Adam and Eve’s fates were sealed at that moment. The writing was on the wall.

The serpent tells Eve that the fruit will make her like God. Of course, in the desert, The Satan is basically goading Jesus to prove and demonstrate his godliness. What Eve did not grasp was that she and Adam were ALREADY like God. They bore his image. Jesus is, obviously, not fooled into thinking he can be more like God. He knew who he was. Sadly Adam and Eve did not.

In the end the angels ministered to Jesus, but for Adam and Eve, the angels stood at the gates of the Garden with flaming swords.

I was surprised to learn that the story of Adam and Eve, such a mainstay in our church and catechetical life, was barely mentioned throughout the Old Testament. If ever there were a people who repeated their history, it is the Jews. There is a slight reference to Adam in the Book of Job; after that, nothing. The stories the Jews told each other began with Abraham and God’s promise. (More about that next week)

It was Paul who revived this early story and he had his reasons. Paul saw Jesus as the reverse of Adam and Eve. Whereas they had a life of ease and joy, Jesus had a life of pain and want. Whereas they were unsure of their identities as children of God, he knew exactly whose image he bore. Whereas they were disobedient, he was obedient, all the way to the cross. Whereas they stained God’s creation; Jesus restored it.

“As sin came into the world through one man, and death came through sin, and so death spread to all because all have sinned -- sin was indeed in the world before the law, but sin is not reckoned when there is no law. Yet death exercised dominion from Adam to Moses, even over those whose sins were not like the transgression of Adam, who is a type of the one who was to come.” Romans 5:12-13

It wasn't until I looked at these two temptation stories together that I actually bought into Paul’s premise. Before then, it just seemed like an abstraction, a fanciful construct. Increasingly, I believe that God’s plan for the world is shown in this long, long history.

But what does this mean for us, for our temptations? Are all temptations lures to get us to be what we’re not? Is the big lie that we can be better, grander than we are, when, in fact, we are made in God’s image? Is sin at bottom, simply our refusal to be what we are made to be? Whether it’s pride, lust, dishonesty, greed, meanness, or impatience, is all sin simply this: our refusal to show God to the world and be our true selves?