By Rev. Heather J. Blais, Rector Luke’s story of the empty tomb begins similarly enough to Mark's version that we heard on Easter Sunday, but he takes the story one step further. The female disciples had approached the burial tomb, found the stone rolled away and the tomb empty. This time there were two divine messengers, and they told the women that he was not there, he had risen. Yet the divine messengers make a point in telling them: “Remember how he told you, while he was still in Galilee, that the Son of Man must be handed over to sinners, and be crucified, and on the third day rise again” (Lk 24:6-7). The text goes on to say, “Then they remembered his words, and returning from the tomb, they told this to the eleven and to all the rest” (Lk 24:8-9). The messengers were making a point to remind the disciples that Jesus had told them - this was going to happen; there would be a resurrection. Yet this time around, the women do not flee in fear; they go and tell the disciples. The disciples seem to think the women are telling a tall tale, except for Peter, who runs to the tomb to see if there might be any truth to the story. He returned, “...amazed at what had happened” (Lk 24:12b). That same day, two of Jesus’ disciples were going to the village of Emmaus. They were feeling pretty downcast and defeated, because the man they thought had been the messiah, had been crucified and buried. While on the road, they encounter a stranger and share their troubling news. The stranger began to teach them the meaning of the scriptures, and when they drew near the village, they stopped and shared a meal together. And it was only then, when the stranger “...was at table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him; and he vanished from their sight” (Lk 24:30-31). They immediately returned to Jerusalem to tell the other disciples. When we reach today’s gospel lesson, these two disciples are in the midst of telling the other disciples they had just encountered the resurrected Christ. While they were talking, Jesus appeared before them, wishing them peace. Yet the disciples were scared half to death. He assured them they did not need to be afraid, and encouraged them to touch his hands and feet, in order that they might see this was really Jesus. Even still, it was too much for the disciples; it was too good to be true. Jesus then asked for something to eat, and they handed him a piece of broiled fish. It was only then that Jesus was recognizable to them, in this shared communal meal. Ghosts and angels do not eat, so indeed, Jesus lives. It was only after Jesus had calmed their fears, that he could then impart one final lesson before ascending into heaven. In both of Jesus’ resurrection appearances in Luke’s gospel, the disciples do not recognize him until they share a meal together. It is only then they know Jesus lives. As preacher Laura Holck wrote, “By eating fish with his friends, Jesus also demonstrates the pathway forward: we move into the realm of resurrection every time we eat together. And although resurrected life is always possible when we eat together, it only materializes when we get real with each other. It materializes when we share our wounds.”* In other words, it matters that we gather each week to worship God and share in our eucharistic meal together. It is how we are reminded that Jesus lives in our relationships, in our work, in our communities, and in how we care for ourselves.* In a world with a 24 hour news cycle full of discouraging and fearful stories, we need to remember the hope of the resurrection; of all that is possible when we gather together as the body of Christ and proclaim Jesus lives. Preacher Laura Holck goes on to write: “Too often people live in a privatized transactional religion, offering prayers and devotion hoping God will exchange them for resurrected life. But Christianity is much more than that. Christianity is living a communal life of shared pain, sorrow, and hope, where breaking bread together transforms everything and we experience resurrected life while we still live, where calling upon the name of Jesus in our midst brings healing and new life amid what formerly was only death, despair, and isolation.”* For Christians, the lifecycle of faith is not an individual, private journey. We can certainly try to go about it alone, but it will feel more like a half-life. Because in our faith tradition, we are meant to be in community, to recognize Jesus lives whenever and wherever we gather to be the Church. We experience the resurrection each and every week when we break bread together. We experience the resurrection as we witness our little ones joyfully and boldly singing along with the community, somberly carrying forward the bread and wine, running in circles in our sanctuary to remind us of our call to have a child-like faith, and as they recognize, better than many of us, that something very special is happening during communion. We experience the resurrection each and every time we gather together to witness and celebrate the baptism of a new member into the body of Christ. This means, Jesus lives not just on the day of resurrection, but Jesus lives right now, right here, as we baptize Max and Wendy. In the baptism liturgy, we promise as a community to walk with Max, Wendy, and one another through the highs and lows of this life. We, as the Church, are in this together, and we’ve got you. We may be an imperfect mess, but Gods’ Love is our North Star and we are in this with you, forever and always. The baptismal covenant, the promises we make in baptism and reaffirm again and again throughout our lives, are in a question and answer format. The first three questions ask us about our belief in God the Creator, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit. Then the questions shift from what we believe to how we will live. The first question of how we will live asks: Will you continue in the apostles' teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of the bread, and in the prayers? This may be the most important question about how we will live, as our answer will inform how we will respond to the rest of the questions. Because the Church recognizes that in order to keep remembering that Jesus lives in us and the world around us, we need to keep gathering in fellowship and worship, we need to keep breaking bread and praying together.
It all relies upon our belief in the story of God’s love in creation and in Christ, our faith in one another, and our shared communal worship and life together. Whether we were baptized as a little one, as Max will be, or as an adult, as Wendy will be, baptism is a choice to put love of God’s creation, love of God’s children, and a belief in a better world before all else. It is making the choice to engage in a life of love, joy, hope, and healing. We all come from a variety of spiritual backgrounds, and maybe you’ve been baptized, and maybe you’ve not made that choice yet. As Jimmy noted last week, as Anglicans we gather around the book, font, and table, which informs how we live our lives out in the world. With that in mind, know that this baptismal font, along with our altar and scriptures, are here to symbolize God’s standing invitation to abundant life. If you would ever like to explore being baptized, let’s make it happen. And for those who have been baptized for decades, may this font always symbolize the life we choose in God, and God’s invitation to commit ourselves, again and again, to a life of love. Whenever we gather around this font, and around this table; as we listen to the scriptures; may we remember that Jesus lives. As we prepare to baptize Max and Wendy today, and to renew our own baptismal vows, I would invite each of us to do some reflecting:
* Laura Holck in Sundays and Seasons: Preaching, 2024, p.139.
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By Rev. Heather J. Blais, Rector
Alleluia! Christ is risen! The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia! How did we get here? On Friday we remembered Jesus was crucified by the most powerful empire of his day, and then laid to rest in a tomb for his eventual burial. No burial preparations could happen on the Sabbath, so it was not until the following day that the tomb was found to be empty. The women, who had come to anoint Jesus' body for burial, found a divine figure who commissioned them to go and tell Peter and the disciples that Jesus had gone on ahead of them to Galilee. There they would see Jesus. Yet instead of doing as they were asked, “...they went out and fled the tomb for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.” Again, I can’t help but wonder, how did we get here? How was the Good News ever shared or heard? In Mark’s gospel, the disciples' unfaithfulness is a recurring theme. It is especially prominent in Mark’s passion narrative.
In fact, we hear nothing else about any of Jesus’ followers until he has taken his final breath. Then, Mark tells us that several women were standing off in the distance. Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome, who had followed him and provided for him while he was in Galilee; along with many other women who did the same for him in Jerusalem. Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of James watched as Joseph of Arimethea took Jesus' body down and placed him in a tomb for burial. The morning after the Sabbath, these three women from Galilee bought the necessary spices so Jesus might be anointed for his final burial. They were worried about who would move such a heavy stone, and were shocked to find the stone moved, and the tomb empty. And just as they were given an important task, they too, fled. So how did we get here? If the disciples fled in fear? If the women who discovered the empty tomb fled in fear? How did we get here? Well, thanks be to God - the Jesus Movement, the dream of God is bigger than any of us. Bigger than our fear. Bigger than our insecurities. Bigger than the unrealistic expectations that we put upon ourselves and others. Bigger than every mistake we have ever made or yet will make. Better yet, bigger than any nation or empire that has ever been or yet will be. The women found an empty tomb with a divine messenger, not because Jesus successfully died for our sins in some final act of atonement. The God of Love would never demand an innocent man’s death. As Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan write in The Last Week: “God has vindicated Jesus. God has said ‘yes’ to Jesus and ‘no’ to the powers who executed him. Easter is not about an afterlife or about happy endings. Easter is God’s ‘yes’ to Jesus against the powers who killed him…Jesus is Lord. And if Jesus is Lord, the lords of this world are not. Easter affirms that the domination systems of this world are not of God and they do not have the final word.”* They go on to write, “The story of Holy Week as Mark and the other gospels tell it enables us to hear the passion of Jesus - what he was passionate about - that led to his execution. His passion was the kingdom of God, what life would be like on earth if God were king, and the rules, domination systems, and empires of this world were not. It is the world that the prophets dreamed of - a world of distributive justice in which everybody has enough and systems are fair. And it is not simply a political dream. It is God’s dream, a dream that can only be realized by being grounded ever more deeply in the reality of God, whose heart is justice. Jesus’ passion got him killed. But God has vindicated Jesus.”* How did we get here? God got us here. In the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ, God has proclaimed then, now, and always: Jesus lives.**
Mark’s resurrection account is the earliest story of Easter in the Christian Scriptures.* It is the only story that does not have an explicit resurrection appearance. Instead, the appearance is implied. The divine messenger tells the women, “...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.” There have been times in my life where this ambiguity has made me uneasy. Typically, it has been when I have craved certainty, and when I have yearned for clear cut answers. In a scary world, sometimes we want something straightforward to hold onto. Yet there is something absolutely fantastic about Marks’ gospel ending. It is unfinished. Just like us. Just like the Church. Just like the work of bringing about God’s dream for this world. It is all in process. We are all in process. And while the guarantee may be lost in the overall ambiguity of the ending, Mark’s gospel does offer certainty if we can be patient and look for it. The divine messenger tells the women: You will see him. Yet this message is not just for these three women. They were commissioned to tell Jesus' disciples and Peter.Or as the Common English Bible translates: “Go, tell his disciples, especially Peter, that he is going ahead of you into Galilee.” Especially Peter. Especially the one who thought he could never deny Jesus, but did. He especially needs to hear this message. Just as we do, when we lose our way. That is when we most need to be reminded that we, too, will see him. We will see him - and nothing can separate us from the Love of God.
When we have aligned ourselves with the Kingdoms of the World instead of the Kingdom of God - we will see him. We will see him. And there is nothing we can ever do that will keep us from the Love of God. Jesus is all around us. Because Christ lives in each of us.
So how did we get here? By the life changing love of God, who is turning this world upside down and right side up again. Our call, our invitation, is to commit ourselves to the work of Love made known in God’s dream for this world. And when we flee the empty tomb, or deny seeing Jesus in the eyes of our neighbor, we must remember that God is bigger than our mistake and nothing can ever keep us from the Love of God. We will see him. We will know God’s love. As we prepare to make our way back into the world, I urge us each to not let this day go quietly by without asking ourselves:
Amen. * Marcus J. Borg and John Dominic Crossan, The Last Week, p. 205-206, 212-213, 194. ** Theme of Jesus Lives discussed by Borg & Crossan p. 204-205. By Rev. Heather J. Blais, Rector
There are many names for Good Friday.* In Greek Christianity, today is called ‘the Holy and Great Friday’. In Romance languages today is ‘Holy Friday’. In German it is ‘Sorrowful Friday’. Our own English ‘Good Friday’ may derive from ‘God’s Friday.’ Each one of these names captures some essence of the meaning of this day. This year, ‘Sorrowful Friday’ seems most appropriate to me. In an immediate sense, there is a real devastation, cruelty, violence, and oppression happening in our world that must make God weep. We know our neighbors in Gaza and throughout the Holy Land, Ukraine, Russia, and Sudan are having basic human rights and dignity ignored and violated. Closer to home, we witness neighbors divided by politics in a way we have not seen in generations, and a growing concern of whether our democracy will be able to endure this chapter in our nation’s history. To speak nothing of our neighbors plagued by poverty; hunger; inadequate housing and healthcare; discrimination; and living with the environmental ramifications of the climate crisis. Sorrowful Friday, indeed. Another reason this day is ‘Sorrowful’, is that historically it has been ripe with anti-semitism. As Bishop Fisher wrote in a letter to clergy in March 2023: “…acts of violence in synagogues and threats of such violence are on the rise. It is more critical than ever to renounce the historic antisemitism that has endangered our Jewish sisters and brothers since the foundation of Christianity…. Repentance is not just sorrow for sin, but a willingness to change. It is time for us to change how we pray on the day in which Jesus showed us the depths of God's love.” On this day, more than any other, as a Church we need to renounce the role of Christianity in anti-semitism by being willing to change how we think about this day, the readings, and the liturgy itself. In the Anglican tradition, we believe that ‘praying shapes believing’. To this end, our parish is joining many others for a second year in using an Alternative Good Friday liturgy approved for trial use in the Episcopal Church. In John’s Gospel, the culpability of a few religious leaders aligned with the emperor has been transferred to all Jews, always. This is reflected again and again by references to ‘the Jews’. As you probably noticed, on this day we shifted to saying ‘the Judeans’. This shift moves away from holding an entire religion responsible for Jesus’ crucifixion. While there’s been some conversation about making similar changes throughout John’s Gospel, Jewish scholars like Amy Jill-Levine caution the Church against eliminating ‘the Jews’ altogether. Primarily because it would risk Christians not realizing that Jesus and his disciples were Jewish themselves. Our own Good Friday liturgy has historically exasperated anti-Judaism, which is a general aversion to the Jewish religion, whereas anti-semitism is aversion towards Jews as a racial or ethnic group. Early versions of the Solemn Collects addressed Jewish unbelief, altogether forgetting the Jewish people have been and continue to be in covenant with God. In the revised version of the collects that we will pray today, we recognize Jesus was a faithful Jew, that God’s covenant with Jews remains, and pray for the continuing flourishing and safety of Jews. The collects also acknowledge Christian harm done to Jews, and envisions Jewish and Christian cooperation for the sake of the world. While there is much to be ‘Sorrowful’ about the Church’s role in perpetuating anti-Judaism and anti-semitism, these changes are one small way we can repent, changing our ways and perspective. In the most familiar sense, it is ‘Sorrowful Friday’ because Jesus died on the cross. Not because God required the sacrifice for our ‘sinfulness’ in an act of atonement. Rather, because of our corporate human brokenness. Scholars Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan describe it as ‘human inevitability’. They write in The Last Week: “Was the death of Jesus the will of God? No. It is never the will of God that a righteous man be crucified. It might have turned out differently… But for another reason the execution of Jesus was virtually inevitable. Not because of divine necessity, but because of human inevitability - this is what domination systems did to people who publicly and vigorously challenged them.”* The Roman Empire is merely one of many domination systems throughout human history that has used violence and oppression to suppress communities into submission. They were not unique or particularly horrible compared to other empires. What they were was another example of what it looks like when power and greed override compassion and neighborly love. A small group of Jewish leaders aligned with the Roman authorities. By becoming local collaborators, they were given the benefit of a small military force, and joined Rome in oppressing the Jewish people. Jesus was a nonviolent revolutionary passionate about God’s dream for this world. The vision he upheld for God’s world inherently stood against dominant systems of oppression and violence. Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan put it this way: “...if one lives for divine justice in a world that belongs to God, one will usually die a violent death from human injustice in a world that refuses recognition of such ownership.”* In other words, Jesus was a rebel working for divine justice and stood against imperial authority. It is for this reason his death was by crucifixion, which was a form of capital punishment generally held for rebels who did not accept Roman authority. The passion narrative itself is full of sorrow. The sorrow of Judas’ betrayal and Peter’s denial. The sorrow and helplessness of the women standing by the cross, bearing witness to a young man’s life being stripped away from him and those he loved by imperial authority. The pain and grief of Jesus bidding his mother farewell, and asking his disciple and friend to care for her as his own mother. The mixture of sorrow and gratitude Joseph of Arimathea must have felt that Jesus’ body was intact enough to be taken down for burial. So often those who died by crucifixion were placed lower to the ground, giving birds and wild dogs access, and leaving the remains unrecognizable. The love and sorrow of Nicodemus as he anointed Jesus' body for burial in a manner fit for a king. Sorrowful Friday, indeed. As we continue our way through this evening’s liturgy, I would invite us to reflect:
Amen. * The points made in this paragraph are referencing Marcus J. Borg and John Dominic Crossan book, The Last Week, p. 137, 161, 118. By Rev. Heather J. Blais, Rector
How do we live and work together as a faith community? Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians is directed to an early Christian community undergoing some growing pains. His letter offers clear instructions on how to correct many aspects of communal life. At the same time, his letter begs certain questions still relevant to Christian communities today, such as:
In today’s passage, he is especially concerned with the community’s practices around the eucharist. In the early Church, the eucharist was more than a simple meal of bread and wine. It was an all out feast, that was more akin to the Dinner Church services led by Jimmy this Lent. People brought what they could, and the food was equally available to all. The eucharist has always been grounded in a theology of God’s abundance, generosity, and love. Except, something had gone awry in Corinth. The Corinthian community had been following Roman and Jewish dining customs of the time, which involved reserving the best seats and finest foods for the most esteemed guests.* This resulted in the poorest and least influential members of the community receiving inferior treatment.* In the verses that precede tonight’s lesson, Paul actually says, “Now in the following instructions I do not commend you, because when you come together it is not for the better but for the worse” (11:17). In other words, if that’s how you are going to celebrate the eucharist, it would be better if you didn’t bother at all. He goes on to say, “For when the time comes to eat, each of you goes ahead with your own supper, and one goes hungry and another becomes drunk. What! Do you not have homes to eat and drink in? Or do you show contempt for the church of God and humiliate those who have nothing? What should I say to you? Should I commend you? In this matter I do not commend you!” (11:21-22). Ouch. Paul argues that the social stratification happening in Corinth is corrupting the very meaning of the eucharist. This is particularly offensive to him, as he was the one that initially instructed them on the practice of the eucharist. Clearly, they had not understood. In the section of his letter that we heard today, Paul is offering a correction. The practice of the eucharist comes from Jesus himself, when on the night he was betrayed, he took a loaf of bread, gave thanks, and said to his disciples: “This is my body, that is for you. Do this in remembrance of me” (11:24) Then in the same way he took the cup, saying: “This cup is the new covenant in my blood. Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me” (11:25). Paul is reminding Christian communities that each time we share in the eucharist, we are sharing in God’s story of love and redemption as made known to us in Christ. He also tries to help the community understand there is a difference between a shared communal meal of the eucharist and eating because we are physically hungry. He tells people if they are so hungry they can’t wait for everyone to have some food, they should eat something at home before coming to worship. In other words, have a snack if you must. Paul also reminds us that prior to sharing the eucharist, we are meant to be examining our conscience, our behaviors, and our relationships. It can be easy to let this element of sharing the eucharist slip our minds. Because this aspect is hard.It’s one reason why this Lent, we’ve been regularly using one of the alternative offertory sentences prior to celebrating the eucharist together: “If you are offering your gift at the altar, and there remember that your neighbor has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your neighbor, and then come and offer your gift.” - Matthew 5:23, 24 Everytime we celebrate the eucharist at Saints James and Andrew, we say: “This is God’s table, and all are welcome here, no exceptions.” What we do not say so straightforwardly is: “This is God’s table, and walking the Way of Love is the hardest work we will ever do. So come; come and be spiritually nourished in our shared communal meal, so we might go out into the world to keep growing, and striving for reconciliation, for justice, mercy, and kindness in God’s world.” Yet another reason why eucharist is not a private meal, but rather a communal meal. We need one another as a community to walk this Way of Love. It’s easy to see why Paul was so upset about the social stratification at play in Corinth, for the ways it disrupts community and creates inequality at God’s table. It’s equally easy to scoff at another community when they make this kind of mistake. What were those foolish Corinthians thinking? Well, probably the same thing churches thought when they started selling pews. Likely some committee in some church looking to raise capital had the great idea that if we sold pews to members, it would help balance the budget. It would allow members to choose their own pew, and to fuss over who might be sitting nearby. But what about those who couldn’t afford a pew? Well, the solution was a poor man’s pew. Our church once had such a pew, located in what is now the Littles’ Corner. While churches eventually began to realize selling pews was bad form in Christian communities, the culture of owning pews persisted long after payment ceased. Many lifelong church goers have had the misfortune of accidentally sitting in ‘someone else’s pew’ and receiving a rude glare or unkind words in return. I’d like to think that kind of behavior has largely gone by the wayside, as we do not actually own pews anymore. (And if this is new information for you, I am sorry to be the bearer of such difficult news this evening.) But I have to say, thank God we stopped such foolishness. Because holding a special place at God’s table for the wealthy and prominent is exactly what Paul is so worked up about in today’s passage. Social stratification can sneak into communal life in all sorts of ways if we do not keep God’s Love as our North Star. Which is likely why Paul makes a long and beautiful speech about love a few paragraphs beyond today’s passage. While 1 Corinthians 13 is often read at weddings, it’s not actually about romantic love. It is about the communal love that guides our life together as the body of Christ. It’s no mistake that the creators of the lectionary choose this reading for Maundy Thursday. This passage helps Christian communities as we walk through Holy Week to remember that the Eucharist grounds our common life together, and that it actually matters how we go about breaking bread as a community. Whatever our social status may be out in the world, at God’s Table, we are siblings in Christ, cherished and beloved children of God, equally welcomed. Because the Eucharist is inherently about God’s love:
God sent Jesus to teach us what it means to love. The eucharist was one of the primary tools that Jesus gave us, to guide and ground us in God’s love as a community; sustaining us as we strive to love and serve God’s world. As was, the footwashing. I’ve been your priest long enough that y’all know I love the foot washing ceremony. I know we all have insecurities about our feet, and our bodies in general. These insecurities make us uncomfortable, and the thought of others washing our feet can leave us feeling vulnerable in ways we’d prefer not to feel vulnerable. But that was Jesus’ point. In community, we are meant to be vulnerable with one another, to take risks, and help one another to grow in love. Doing so strengthens the body of Christ and our mission. There is a reason, this is the action focused on in John’s gospel on the eve of Jesus’ arrest. Jesus was teaching his disciples that loving one another means serving one another. But we can’t serve one another if we are not willing to be served. Many of us are eager to jump in and do the serving. We will get our hands dirty. We will go where God sends us. At the same time, the idea that God may be sending us to have our feet washed may make us deeply uncomfortable. The idea of allowing our feet, with all the insecurities and vulnerabilities they represent, may leave us wanting to say thanks, but no thanks. And again, that is the point. To walk the Way of Love, we need to be willing to serve and be served. I’m not saying we need to be there today, tomorrow, or the next day. If you are not ready to partake in the foot washing this evening, that is okay. What I am saying is that God longs for us to know what it means to serve and be served in community. We will spend our whole lives growing and being changed by God’s reconciling and redemptive Love. So, this night, this particular worship, is especially for the Church. To gather in our local worshiping communities, and reflect on our communal life:
Amen. * Jewish Annotated New Testament, p. 341. |
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