For those of you who don't already know, my husband is a crazy cat lady.

I'm really not sure how this happened, since prior to adding Vinny and Yoko to our family back in October of 2010 he had never even held a cat before. But nevertheless, he quickly fell in love with the species, and is completely enamored with our two felines.


It is not uncommon for me to come home to find him reclining on the couch with both cats on top of him, or for him to walk into a room with, usually Vinny, in his arms, exclaiming "look how cute this boy is!" It makes me laugh, and I really love seeing this side of him. He spoils them rotten, and they absolutely adore him.


However, he is also one of those cat owners (and this is where the crazy part comes in) who take pictures of the cats and send them to other cat-loving friends on a regular basis. Yoko in the laundry basket. Vinny laying on his back. Vinny laying on his chest. Vinny... Vinny is his favorite, if you haven't caught on by now. He also likes to look at silly cat pictures, and we came dangerously close to adding the LOL CATZ Bible (yes, there is such a thing, if you want a good laugh, just Google it) to our collection of biblical texts.


So when it came time to get calendars for 2012 it was no surprise that we ended up with calendars that are adorned by cats.
We have two.
The one in the bedroom is a typical cat calendar, with pithy little sayings on it that we bought at Barnes & Noble for 50% off after the holidays. 
The second one is in the dining room. It is our statement calendar.

Cat Lovers Against the Bomb.

It's a great calendar, with interesting tidbits on the dates about either cats or social justice-y events that have happened. And of course, there are cats.


All this to say that, for January, there was also a prayer with the cat photo, a prayer that I wanted to share with you all.

All we ask, Oh Lord, is to be safe from the rain,

just warm enough in the winter

to watch the snow with a smile,

enough to eat so that our hunger will

not turn us to angry beasts,

and sanity enough to make a justice

that will not kill our love of life. 

                               - Joseph Pintauro

Do you have any unconventional calendars?

Creative Writing Exercise

One of the classes I took this past semester was called The Johannine Literature, otherwise known as the Gospel of John. It was taught by New Testament professor Stephen Moore at Drew Theological School. I entered the class disliking John's Gospel immensely; now I love it, and can't get enough of it. It has become my favorite of the four canonical gospels, and I would like nothing better than to go on studying and writing about it.

One of our options for our final paper was to do a creative re-write of a passage from John's Gospel. I chose to write an academic paper (and got an A+!), but decided to do the creative re-write for fun. It's a little long, but I hope you enjoy. 

The rain poured down from the dark sky in torrents as Mary pulled up to the funeral home. She did not know if they would be open or not, but she knew she had to see him. She needed some time alone with him, alone with his body... she glanced at her reflection in the rear-view mirror, making sure that her eyeliner and mascara had not smeared as she had rubbed her eyes.

Water-proof mascara was a wonderful thing.

With trembling hands she unfastened her seat-belt and opened the car door, wondering if her legs would support her as she crossed the parking lot to the sterile funeral home that was trying so hard to look inviting. She dashed across the parking lot, covering her head with her coat, regretting that she had not thought to bring an umbrella. Then again, when your beloved friend has been murdered, umbrellas are the last thing on your mind.

Thankfully the door was unlocked and Mary let herself in, immediately assaulted by the smell of flowers that permeated the air. Her coat dripped on the plush carpet, and she looked around for someplace to hang it to dry. Finding nothing, she nervously draped it over the back of a chair, then proceeded to the viewing room that had been reserved for his body. There were only several, very small bouquets in the room, but she was not surprised. Many of his friends could not afford the expensive floral arrangements that filled the other viewing rooms. He wouldn’t have wanted their money wasted on frivolities in the first place, even if they could afford it. It took Mary a moment to notice that something was wrong, but when her eyes finally fell on the empty casket, her knees went out from under and she collapsed to the ground, her hand flying to mouth. His body was gone. Choking back a sob, she struggled to her feet and wobbled over to the casket to be sure that what she saw was true. The casket was completely empty. Panicking, she bolted out of the funeral home, forgetting her coat, running through the pouring rain. Adrenaline pumped through her veins as she put the car into drive and peeled out of the parking lot. She didn’t know who to go to... she would have always gone to him!

She found herself driving on autopilot, and arrived at Peter’s home without even planning on going to him. Of all the people to go to, Peter was far from the top of her list, and yet here she was, banging on his door as her hair lay plastered against her face, rivulets of rainwater mixing with the tears on her cheeks.

“Peter!” she cried, as her knocking left the door unanswered. At the sound of his name he finally opened the door, his face haggard, dark circles under his eyes.

“Whaddya want?” he croaked, his voice raspy from his tears and cigarettes he had been smoking undoubtedly nonstop since Thursday night...

“Peter, please,” she begged, “let me in.”

Wordlessly he moved aside and motioned for her to enter. She stepped into the stale foyer and wiped the water from her face. Silently another figure appeared, handing her a towel, and she nodded to their other friend to thank him.

“What’s going on?” he asked, his arms crossed tightly against his chest as if he were trying to hold himself together.

“He- he’s gone!” They both looked at her skeptically.

“What do you mean he’s gone?” Peter said mockingly, taking a long drag from the cigarette smoldering in his hand.

“I mean I went to the funeral home, and the casket... it’s empty. Someone must have taken his body.”

The words came out more calmly than she could have ever imagined; suddenly she felt exhausted. She had no more energy to put into her grief; her well had seemingly run empty. Now a look of concern flashed through the men’s eyes, and they glanced at each other uneasily.

“Are you sure Mary? Were you in the right room?” Mary sighed.

“Of course I was in the right room, I’m not an idiot. Never mind; I just thought you guys might care...” She turned to let herself out, and it wasn’t until she was in her car that she realized it had stopped raining.

“Wait Mary, hold on!” Peter yelled, running down the steps after her, the storm door banging noisily behind him as he followed their friend to his car.

Once again Mary pulled into the parking lot of the funeral home; she watched as their friend jumped out of the car before Peter had even turned off the engine, leaving Peter behind as he dashed through the doors. Peter took off after him, his jacket flapping behind him as he ran through the puddles, kicking up water. Mary slowly climbed out of her car, unsure if she could bear to walk into that building again, but she forced herself to move forward; she had to see if the casket was still empty.

She silently let herself into the building and made her way to the viewing room. Their friend was standing in the doorway with his hands in his pockets, his jaw set grimly.

“I believe you,” her murmured as she stood beside him, his eyes unwavering as he stared at the empty casket.

“Where is Peter?” she asked softly, not knowing if she should touch him or leave him be.

“He went downstairs to see if he could find an attendant.” They stood perfectly still, the only sound the tick-tick-tick of the clock, until their silence was broken by the sound of a door slamming. Peter stormed into the room, his face flushed with anger.

“I can’t believe there isn’t a bloody soul working here!” he exploded, his fists clenched tightly by his side.

“There was nobody downstairs?” Mary asked, frightened.

“No! And there weren’t any f*cking bodies down there either!”

“Peter,” their friend scolded gently, but returned to being silent at the look Peter sent his way.

“I gotta get out of here,” Peter muttered, storming out of the viewing room and banging the outer doors open. Their friend sighed, and followed after him; Mary did not envy him and the ensuing conversation he would have with the hotheaded Peter.

Finding herself once again very much alone, Mary reverently walked to the casket and knelt on the kneeling rail. She tried to pray; it was what Jesus would have wanted her to do. Instead of words animal-life whimpers came forth from her body, and once again she found herself crying. No longer caring if anyone saw her, so consumed was she with grief, that she found herself curled up into a tight ball on the floor, rocking back and forth as sobs wracked her body. She didn’t hear the man enter the room; the carpet cushioned his footsteps. Through her moans came the sound of a gentle voice;

“Woman, why are you weeping?” It seemed an odd question, seeing as how they were in a funeral home, and Mary turned to see who would voice such a ridiculous query. A man stood in the doorway, and from the looks of him he worked at the funeral home. He was dressed in a well-cut, black suit, with a necktie tied sharply in a double-Windsor knot. His face was clean-shaven, and his dark hair was slicked back professionally. He was well-poised and polished, with his fingers interlocked together as his hands rested against his belt.

“May I help you?” he asked smoothly at the sight of her puzzled face. “Perhaps you are searching for someone?” Mary turned her face away, mouth gaping, speechless. She sniffed deeply and cleared her throat, then stiffly rose to her feet. She turned to him slowly, trying to keep her cool.

“Sir,” she began, and she noticed how her voice trembled, but how underneath there was a dangerous edge. “If you have taken him away, tell me where you have put him, and I will take him away. Tell me!” Unable to look at his perfectly composed face in the midst of her anguish she had to look away, clenching her jaw tensely as she waited for his reply.

“Mary...” At the sound of her name she jerked around, nearly losing her balance. How did he know her name!? She took several steps towards him, and then saw it. There were his eyes; there was the familiar lift of a brow.

“Teacher?” she gasped incredulously, and was rewarded with a slight nod and small smile. She laughed at the impossibility of it, and reached out to him, but he took a step back, unlacing his fingers to hold his palms out in front of him, keeping her at bay. She needed to hold him! To feel the warmth of his body, to smell his scent- why wouldn’t he let her touch him? He must have seen the pain in her eyes, because he smiled at her gently.

“Mary, my dear Mary,” he murmured lovingly. “You cannot hold onto me.I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go, to my brothers, and give them this message for me.” She nodded, listening carefully. “Tell them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and to your Father, to my God and your God.’”

Mary repeated the words silently to herself, committing them to memory. He gave her one last smile, then turned and walked away. With speed and energy she no longer thought she possessed, Mary gathered her things and ran to her car to go and tell the others.

As she sped through a stop sign on her way back to Peter’s, the sun came out.

2011-2012

Happy New Year!

It's that time of year where bloggers (even bad ones, like myself) share reflections on the past year or hopes for the new one... or both! Seeing as how I haven't posted anything, not even a single sermon, since August, you would think that I would have a lengthy catch-up post in store for you.

I don't. Feel free to thank me... you're welcome.

It was a rather routine, uneventful semester, for which I am extremely grateful. I loved my classes, and did very well in all of them (even Christian ethics, which I thought would be a miserable endeavor). I'll write some reflections on my classes later, once my brain has finished recovering from finals. Things at the church have remained the same, things at the admissions office have changed, and Evan and I celebrated 6 months of marriage on Christmas Day. Alleluia! We've beaten Kim Kardashian and that singer... whatshername? Oh yes, Sinead. So all in all, not a bad year. : )

BUT-

2012 is going to be even better!

Certainly more stressful, but also much more eventful. Here is a brief list of all the things you can look forward to potentially hearing me write about (or not, since my studies and work will probably keep me so busy I don't have time to blog):

*fill out my CPE (Clinical Pastoral Education) application
*DO CPE
*write my provisional papers- this is ordination related, for those who aren't also writing the same things
*go before the District Committee to have said papers approved
*continue taking classes at Drew
*continue working at The United Methodist Church in Madison
*celebrate Evan's graduation, my youngest sister's graduation, and my father's 50th birthday!

Hmm- it seemed like there was a lot more going on than this, but really, it IS going to be a busy year. : )

So, happy new year to all! It's time for me to get writing.

Peace!

School begins tomorrow (well, actually, it was supposed to begin today but then Hurricane Irene happened), and I can't wait! I LOVE school- I always have. The first day of school, or classes, is always so exciting. I love getting my syllabi, and meeting my teachers, and seeing old friends. This first week of school will be a little bittersweet for me though, because for most of my friends and classmates it marks the first of "lasts". Their last fall semester. Their last year at seminary. For some, their last year in New Jersey before moving away. I have chosen for this to NOT be my last year, and I am still very happy about this. This decision, to stay an extra year, is something that I want to do, and am actually doing.

If you know me at all, there are about a gazillion hundred things that I want to do, but I often never get around to doing any of them.

I am also, once again, at that point where I am trying to figure out what I want to DO with the rest of my life. I'm not saying that I no longer feel called to serve as a pastor (or a pastoress, as some call me :) There are just so many other things that I want to do as well!

And so, if you would indulge me for just a few lines...

I want:
-to stay in school forever (!)
-to have pants that are just the right length (believe it or not, this is a challenge)
-to own a farm, with cows and goats and chickens, and a HUGE vegetable garden
-to make cheese from scratch with milk from the afore-mentioned cows and goats
-to continue baking bread and goodies for all sorts of people
-to FEED people, with vegetables from my garden, and bread from my hands, to give people a warm, home-cooked meal that they wouldn't otherwise have
-to teach Biblical studies, particularly the gospels- forget about Paul and the epistles, someone else can teach that, lol
-to learn how to weave

That's all for now. Thanks for listening.

One other things I want: a glass of wine.

And THAT is something I can have right now. : )

Peace!

Sunday's Sermon: August 14, 2011

*Note: I find this scriptural passage, as well as the parallel pericope found within Mark's gospel to be extremely difficult to interpret. We see a side of Jesus that we are uncomfortable, and all too often we try to blow off his uncharacteristic behavior by saying he was testing the woman's faith. I tried to move beyond this common interpretation, weaving portions of an academic paper I wrote on the pericope found within Mark with my own reflections on how we as Christians can relate to this story. I hope it gets you thinking. : )

Peace,

Amanda

Christe eleison

Matthew 15:21-28

Jesus left that place and went away to the district of Tyre and Sidon. Just then a Canaanite woman from that region came out and started shouting, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.” But he did not answer her at all. And his disciples came and urged him, saying, “Send her away, for she keeps shouting after us.” He answered, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” But she came and knelt before him, saying, “Lord, help me.” He answered, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” She said, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” Then Jesus answered her, “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.” And her daughter was healed instantly.

I have to begin this sermon with a confession of sorts.

One of the things that strikes me most when I go into New York City, or any city for that matter, is how cynical and down-right un-Christian I can be to those in need. I pass numerous people in need, slumped in door-frames or walking alongside idling cars, begging for change, their signs speaking for them: Homeless, need money, God bless. Leaving abusive relationship, hungry. Like most people that walk the city streets I find myself staring at the pavement as I quickly place each foot in front of the other, hoping against hope that they do not cry out to me,  “Have mercy.” It’s easier if you don’t look at them, if you pretend like you don’t see their signs or hear their often mumbled requests. Why do we do this? Is it because we are cynical and don’t feel like we can trust the need being presented? Is it because we are uncomfortable? Are we afraid of what might happen if we were to actually stop, and listen to their cries?

In our gospel story today we find Jesus, perhaps surprisingly, in this very same situation. He and his disciples are headed towards the city of Tyre and Sidon, Gentile cities. To say they have been through a lot is a bit of an understatement. Jesus had recently heard of the execution of John the Baptist- he has attempted to be alone to process these events, but that proves to be impossible as word spreads through the towns of his presence and the people flock to him for healing and to hear his teaching. He teaches, and preaches, and ultimately feeds the five thousand before finally being able to continue on his journey, although I have no idea why he was headed towards Tyre, a wealthy port city occupied by the Roman Empire. It is on this journey that Jesus encounters “the Other.” In Matthew’s telling of this tale the woman is labeled as a Canaanite, a member of the indigenous people that occupied that land. In Mark, however, she appears to us as a Syro-Phoenician woman, a woman of Greek descent. Regardless of which gospel we are looking at, she is “the Other,” and the way Jesus treats her sheds some ugly light on his all too human qualities. This woman is desperate. So desperate that she leaves the safety of her city to venture into Jesus’ own territory, crying out, perhaps holding a cardboard sign that states in crude, capital letters, “Have mercy on me!” Her words fall upon the ears of the Christ and his disciples, and then fall unheeded to the ground as Jesus walks on, ignoring her. She continues, running after them, crying again, begging for mercy, not for her, but for her daughter, and still Jesus continues on his way, as if he cannot see her, as if she is part of the landscape, as if she would disappear if only he walked a little faster…

Her pleas begin to wear on his disciples, just as the grumbling stomachs of the crowd had earlier, and they once again approach their fearless leader hoping he will solve their problem. Make her be quiet, they whisper, uneasy with this woman drawing attention to their attempts at ignoring her. The last time they asked Jesus to fix a problem his response had been, “You feed them.” This time he mutters, probably softly enough so that she cannot hear him, “I came only for the lost sheep of Israel.” 

Only. 

Only for the Jews. 

Only for those who are oppressed the same way I am, only those who look or sound or act like me… 

only.

Why would Jesus be so cruel? So insensitive? Why is he acting so un-Jesus-like?

Perhaps he is tired, or stressed; maybe he is lashing out at this woman because he hasn’t been able to process the murder of his cousin, and what that could mean for his future. Or perhaps he is lashing out because this woman is not like him; she is of a different race, a different class, a different faith. Her people are not his people. If we were to go with the identification given by Mark, that of a Syro-Phoenician, not only is she not of his people, her people are oppressing his people. The Jewish people of that region suffered terribly under the rule of the Herodian government, which was exasperated by an economic drain stemming from Tyre’s purchase of the food grown by Galileean farmers, leaving the people unsettled and resentful. This situation could be compared to the potato famine in Ireland during the mid-19^th century, or the hunger issues that exist throughout central and South America as land is used to grow food not for the people of those countries, but for us in the United States. Perhaps Jesus’ harsh response to the woman’s request stems from the economic tensions of the area; her request may be seen as “an inappropriate one to make in light of the disproportionate share of the region’s resources her people had been exploiting.”[1] Within this context of economics, the woman holds more power and influence than a wandering, Jewish carpenter. Perhaps he sees the opportunity for some minor retribution for his people by ignoring his oppressor’s need.

And yet, she is persistent. Persistent to the point that she catches up to Jesus and his followers and bows at his feet, submitting herself before him, begging for mercy. Rather than the merciful, loving Jesus that we so often picture in our minds, we encounter a man that, rather than providing words of peace, slings racial slurs, further degrading the already prostrate and vulnerable woman by calling her a dog. Rather than enter into a debate with him regarding her racial, ethnic, religious identity, she accepts his hateful words but then turn them on him. I may be a dog, she says, but even dogs get the crumbs that fall from the table. Even dogs can receive the life-giving bread that he brings to the lost sheep of Israel.

Even those who don’t look like us, or sound like us, or smell like us are worthy of compassion and mercy.

We often don’t stop on the street to listen to a response after our initial no’s, if we even pause long enough to wave them aside. I find hope in this story, even though it shows a side of Jesus that I often think we would rather not think existed. Jesus was human. He was tired, he was cranky, and for at least a moment he was willing to ignore the need of another based on sight alone. I think most of us, if not all of us, can resonate with that. And yet, despite his initial resistance, Jesus listens. Her words sink in, and he changes his mind. He hears what she has to say, and then says, “you know what? You’re right. Because of your faith your daughter will be healed.” Who knows how this woman’s life was changed because of this encounter; certainly her daughter’s life was changed, because the author of the gospel tells us she was healed instantly. Things change even for Jesus. His vision of ministry expands beyond his own people to include a broader vision of humanity; no longer is his message only for the ears of his people. His ministry expanded, to include Jews, Gentiles, and even you and me. He realized that there was enough life-giving bread to share with those outside the Jewish faith. Maybe, if we can allow ourselves to be a little uncomfortable, we too can see that there is enough love, and grace, and mercy to go around. If we can change our minds about others, then maybe we can change the world, one face-to-face encounter at a time. I pray that it may be so. Amen. 

---

[1] Ringe, pp. 90

Honeymoon Continued

Sooo....

I had planned on writing each day about our adventures on the island, but obviously that didn't work out so well.

We have really enjoyed our time here on PEI, and there are still two days left!
We spent the last two days exploring the eastern part of the island, bopping around the lighthouses- there are 6 that we found, plus the elusive, or perhaps no longer existent, 7th "Beach Point" lighthouse.
We also did what any seminary couple would do on their honeymoon- look at historic churches! We found 5- we may have found more if there were better directions, but that's ok. : )

And what, you may ask, is the other thing any seminary couple would do on their honeymoon? Well, maybe not any couple, but us at least... visit a winery and distillery!

Today we had lunch at a quaint little restaurant called "Higher Grounds". Just about everything they serve is locally produced, from the turkey and fish to the bread that they bake fresh every morning. We had the best fish and chips and turkey/gravy sandwich we've ever had! Absolutely delicious!

One final update- there is a really cool store called "The Magik Dragon". The owner travels around the world during the off-season and brings back really unique things from places like Thailand. There was a quilt that was (we assume) hand-made in Thailand that we both fell in love with. It has a little wear and tear, but we bought it anyway, and I spent this evening patching up a few torn seams. It is so beautiful, and unique- I can't wait to see what it looks like on our bed when we get home. : )

Tha's all for now! Peace!

Honeymoon! Day 3

Good morning!

Evan and I are in Prince Edward Island (no, we have not seen Will and Kate ; ) on our honeymoon! Yay!

We arrived on Saturday evening, and spent all day yesterday sitting on the porch, reading, and getting a little sun-burned. It is absolutely beautiful here, and we are very isolated. We're in a small town, more of a village really, called Murray Harbor. We are in a little cottage that overlooks an inlet, and although we have neighbors, the only companions we have had thus far are the crows, Canadian geese, and a blue heron.

Can I say how nice it is to just sit and read? Especially when the book is a fiction book, and not required reading for anything? For those looking for a good book to read, I highly recommend People of the Book. More about that later.

We're off, to brave the imminent rain storm and to explore this part of the island.

Peace!

Resurrection Sermon

This sermon was prepared and presented for my final preaching assignment in The Church at Worship: Preaching class at Drew Theological School.

John 21:1-19

After these things Jesus showed himself again to the disciples by the Sea of Tiberias; and he showed himself in this way. Gathered there together were Simon Peter, Thomas called the Win, Nathanael of Cana in Galilee, the sons of Zebedee, and two others of his disciples. Simon Peter said to them, “I am going fishing.” They said to him, “We will go with you.” They went out and got into the boat, but that night they caught nothing. Just after daybreak, Jesus stood on the beach; but the disciples did not know that I t was Jesus. Jesus said to them, “Children, you have no fish, have you?” They answered him, “No.” He said to them, “Cast the net to the right side of the boat, and you will find some.” So they cast it, and now they were not able to haul it in because there were so many fish. That disciple whom Jesus loved said to Peter, “It is the Lord!” When Simon Peter heard that it was the Lord, he put on some clothes, for he was naked, and jumped into the sea. But the other disciples came in the boat, dragging the net full of fish, for they were not far from the land, only about a hundred years off. 

When they had gone ashore, they saw a charcoal fire there, with fish on it, and bread. Jesus said to them, “Bring some of the fish that you have just caught.” So Simon Peter went aboard and hauled the net shore, full of large fish, a hundred fifty-three of them; and though there were so many, the net was not torn. Jesus said to them, “Come and have breakfast.” Now none of the disciples dared ask him, “Who are you?” because they knew it was the Lord. Jesus came and took the bread and gave it to them, and did the same with the fish. This was not the third time that Jesus appeared to the disciples after he was raised from the dead. 

When they had finished breakfast, Jesus said to Simon Peter, “Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?” He said to him, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my lambs.” A second time he said to him, “Simon son of John, do you love me?” He said to him, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Tend my sheep.” He said to him the third time, “Simon son of John, do you love me?” Peter felt hurt because he said to him the third time, “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my sheep. Very truly I tell you, when you were younger, you used to fasten your own belt and to go wherever you wished. But when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will fasten a belt around you and take you where you do not wish to go.” (He said this to indicate the kind of death by which he would glorify God.) After this he said to him, “Follow me.”

The fishers of men have returned to their boats- and they can’t catch a single fish. It would seem that they are trying to move on with their lives. It is interesting that John never really identifies the disciples as fishermen like the authors of Matthew, Mark and Luke do, and yet this epilogue to John’s Gospel echoes the accounts found within the synoptic gospels where Jesus calls those first disciples away from their nets, away from the sea- when he calls them to fish for people. Perhaps, the disciples feel that, after the events leading up to and during the crucifixion, the people don’t want to be caught. Perhaps, even though they have seen the risen Christ at least twice now, they feel as if their work is done. Despite the fact that Christ has risen, perhaps they feel like his works and teachings are still buried in the tomb. Maybe this is why they go back to their boats.

I think moving on with your life can be a tricky thing. Whenever we experience great loss or disappointment, if we ever go through a traumatic experience, we need time. Time to move through stages of grief, from shock or denial, to anger, to bargaining, depression, and, finally, acceptance. I think all too often people don’t allow themselves the time to go through these stages; instead, they sometimes throw their energy into something else, be it home renovations, aggressively advocating for an unrelated cause, or even going fishing. I don’t know that the disciples really had the opportunity to fully experience and work through their grief. It really doesn’t matter if you know death is coming or not; even when a person is in their nineties, or have been struggling with a terminal illness, their death still seems to come as a surprise. You never seem ready for it. It doesn’t matter that Jesus continuously told the disciples he was going to die and rise, that he was going to suffer; they never really seemed to understand it. And then it happens.

Betrayal.

Public torture.

A political execution.

The death of a friend, a teacher… the death of a mission.

Mission? Impossible.

Where could God possibly be working in all this pain, and fear, and despair?

The disciples gather together and hide, afraid, and I imagine try to fathom the events that have just transpired. But before they can even begin to work through their grief Jesus is with them! Jesus is standing among them! He blessed them, and anoints them with the Holy Spirit, and sends them out… to what?

Maybe this is all too much for Peter; he hasn’t had time to think, or feel, or figure out what all this means. Wouldn’t it much easier to just go back to the boat? How often do we think it would be better to just get back in our boats? To go back to the way things were before?

The thing is, even when the disciples couldn’t understand, or when we feel like we’ve been given a burden to heavy to carry, or when it feels like the Jesus we know is ripped away from us and replaced with a Jesus we’re not sure we understand or even like, Christ comes to us.

Christ comes to the disciples, but only half way. He doesn’t appear in the boat with them, and at first, they don’t even recognize him. Sometimes Christ comes to us on the sidelines while we’re running, not putting himself in our path but rather asking, “How’s that working out for you?” And when we realize that it’s Christ, when they realize that it’s Christ, Peter throws his clothes on and jumps the ship he was so eager to re-board, swimming to shore to meet Christ where he and the others are welcomed with hospitality and a warm meal. This is a special breakfast, a reunion breakfast, a sacramental breakfast. And we may think that making it to the table is enough; that meeting Christ in the breaking of bread is the goal. But it is after we have eaten that the real challenge comes.

“Do you love me?” The question is asked, three times; I imagine Peter coloring with shame as we remember his three denials of Christ. “Yes, Lord, I love you. You know that I love you.” Yes, Jesus, we love you with all our hearts, and all our minds, and all our souls, and with all our strength we cry, trying to erase those times that we too have denied Christ. Then feed my sheep. Tend my flock. 

And the mission continues.

Feed. 

My. 

Sheep. 

You have been fed, so that you might feed others.

It is on the beach that Jesus once again calls his disciples to ministry. On the beach they learn that their work, Christ’s work, is not finished. All the work that had been done, all the trouble they had gotten into, all of the revolutions that had been started- it had all seemed to disappear when Jesus said those final words, “It is finished.” But it is in the resurrection that we learn, no, it is not. And it never will be. As followers of Christ we will always be called to heal the sick and feed the hungry. We will always be called to give voice to the voiceless and show those in power that there can be a different way to live. We will always be called to tend the least, the last and the lost. Even when all hope seems to be lost, we can find the strength to go on, because even death cannot destroy God’s great love for us and the mission we are called to by Christ. Christ is alive, and continues to live, in us.

 AMEN.

Donkey Tale: Palm Sunday Reflection

I am nothing special. Up until yesterday, I had served no great purpose. I was simply a beast of burden, put to work day in and day out hauling my master’s wares back and forth from home to the city. It’s hard work, but that’s what we donkeys do- we carry things.

I was not working yesterday; I was tied to my master’s home, with my baby by my side, minding my own business. It was good to have a day of rest! Suddenly, out of nowhere, these two men appeared; they walked right up to me and my baby as if we belonged to them. My baby was frightened- he doesn’t really like strangers yet- he can be quite shy. I was perturbed- who did these men think they were? They started to untie me and my master came running out of the house; he seemed upset. “Stop!” he called out, waving his arms wildly. “What do you think you are doing? That’s my donkey!” The men seemed very calm. They said, “The Lord needs it.” My master seemed to relax; he shrugged his shoulders and went back into the house. I was upset! Who is this Lord? What could he possibly want with me? This was my day off, after all- I didn’t want to go work for a stranger! But I wanted didn’t matter- I am, after all, just a donkey.

The men untied me and led me away; thankfully they brought my baby too, who stuck by my side as if we were glued together. They led us out to a stand of trees, where there were more men, all of them strangers to me. One of the men was kind; he stroked my muzzle and ran his hands over my baby soothingly. He butted the man playfully and the man laughed. It was a beautiful laugh, but when I looked at his eyes they were sad. Some of his companions put their cloaks on my back; I had carried many loads of cloth in my day, but never actually worn any! My baby laughed at me and I shushed him; he needed to be on his best behavior, or the men might not let him stay with me while I worked. The gentle man climbed on to my back and I shifted my hooves under his weight. He was heavy, but it was nothing I hadn’t carried before. One of his companions took the rope from my halter in his hand and clucked at me to move; we began our journey.

I plodded along steadily, carefully watching where I put each hoof, feeling the weight of his body shift and sway along with my steps. I was paying so much attention to where I was walking that I barely noticed the group of people beginning to form around us. They seemed to come out of nowhere, and as we walked along they started shouting, “Hosanna!” As they shouted more people came, and as we drew closer and closer to the city the people began to cut palm branches from the trees, waving them excitedly and cheering.  Some of the crowd ran ahead of us, and they took their cloaks and spread them on the ground. I tried to stop; I didn’t want to get their clothes dirty by stepping on them!- but the man urged me forward, and I had no choice but to walk on the cloth and palms that were being laid at my feet. My baby began to enjoy this attention; he pranced along as if he were a stallion, not a donkey, and I worried he would break away from me and get lost in the crowd. They were beginning to press against us, and I noticed that the man’s companions were forming a circle around us, keeping the crowd from swarming over us. “Hosanna in the highest!” they cried; the noise was deafening. “Hosanna to the Son of David!” Ah, I thought, so that’s who this is! I didn’t know David had a son…

We reached the city and now it was almost more than I could bear. People kept shouting, calling out, “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!” and “Hosanna in the highest! Hosanna!” Palms were waving, cloaks were being strewn on the ground, people were reaching out trying to touch him, trying to touch me- I kept my head down, uncomfortable with all this attention.

I am, after all, a humble donkey.

As we passed into the city and the crowd grew larger, more and more people came, but instead of praising the man, they looked worried. “Who is this?” The question rippled through the crowd, growing stronger and stronger as leaned out their windows or stood in their doorways to watch our procession into Jerusalem. “Who is this?”

And I began to wonder; who is this man that draws these people, who is treated like a king, who is exalted by the people but is riding on me, a donkey? Who is this man that makes the religious leaders look nervous, and makes the people look hopeful? Who is this man, and where am I taking him? What is his purpose at this time, in this place?

Finally my questions are answered; this is Jesus. Ah, yes- I have heard of this man. And now I wonder how I could not have recognized him. I have heard of this man Jesus; the people in the market would talk to my master about the wonderful things he had done, of what he teaching. I even heard he had made blind men see, and made lepers clean! I also heard that the religious leaders did not like him, even that they were hoping to trap him in his teaching in order to punish him.

And now I am worried.

I am worried because, once we were in the city, we went to the temple. The man climbed off my back and patted my head. His hand was warm on my neck; he thanked me for the ride. My baby pushed against him, seeking praise from this man who brought hope to the city. We watched as he entered the temple; I heard shouting, and the sound of tables being overturned. Birds flew out, free from their cages, and I thought, for a moment, if he had freed them, why couldn’t he free me too? But the one who was leading me took us away, out of the city, the cloaks and palms now trampled into the dirt, unsalvageable. I was so tired. We journeyed home, my baby and I, back to our master. The man left the cloak on my back, a souvenir from our journey.

I do not know what will happen to the kind man, but I little time to think about it. Perhaps I will find out the next time we go into the city. If we see him, will he remember me? Will the people recognize me? Probably not. I am, after all, only a donkey.

Transfiguration Sermon

Matthew 17:1-9

Six days later, Jesus took with him Peter and James and his brother John and led them up a high mountain, by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became dazzling white. Suddenly there appeared to them Moses and Elijah, talking with him. Then Peter said to Jesus, “Lord, it is good for us to be here; if you wish, I will make three dwellings here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” While he was still speaking, suddenly a bright cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud a voice said, “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!” When the disciples heard this, they fell to the ground and were overcome by fear. But Jesus came and touched them, saying, “Get up and do not be afraid.” And when they looked up, they saw no one except Jesus himself alone.

As they were coming down the mountain, Jesus ordered them, “Tell no one about the vision until after the Son of Man has been raised from the dead.”

Jesus went up the mountain. Well, to be perfectly honest, this is not the first time Jesus has gone up a mountain. Jesus had been going up and down mountains, and back and forth across lakes, and has walked through deserts and cities all throughout the Gospel of Matthew. Jesus has been going up mountains, preaching, teaching, and resting. Jesus has been going up mountains, but it is on this mountain that everything changes.

When Robb asked me what Sunday I would like to preach, I immediately jumped on Transfiguration Sunday. This is a great text! There is so much going on in this passage that one could speak about. Here is Jesus, taking his three closest disciples, on a special trip. Special trips are always fun and exciting, aren’t they? This four-some go on this long hike up a big ole mountain, for no apparent reason at all. We don’t know what was said on that hike up the mountain, maybe Jesus did some more teaching, maybe they talked about what was going on in their lives and their mission; maybe their conversation was similar to conversations we have when we go hiking; oh look at that beautiful shrub, isn’t this view fabulous? Quickly turning to, my knees hurt, my feet hurt, when are we going to get to the top… and then there is that point in the hike when all talking ceasing, when all we are looking at is where are feet need to go next, and the only sound is that of our labored breathing. I don’t know what was said on that long hike up the mountain, but once they reached the top, Peter, James and John were in for more than just a great view of the surrounding countryside. What they encounter is perhaps one of the greatest special effects moments in the Bible: Jesus is transfigured! His face shines like the sun! His robes, which were probably really dirty, and grimey, and sweaty, especially from that hike he just made, become dazzling white! I imagine a bright light surrounding his entire body, nearly blinding the poor trio, and THEN, the two greatest prophets of the Hebrew people appear! Moses and Elijah! Holy smokes! And THEY’RE probably all dazzling white too, and they start talking to Jesus! Woah! This is big stuff! These three are probably thinking, wow, we knew Jesus was important, but he must be really something for Moses and Elijah to come down from heaven to talk him! And Peter –I love Peter, he’s always saying putting his foot in his mouth or doing the wrong thing at the wrong time- gets super excited and interrupts the conversation that is happening between Moses, Elijah and sparkly Jesus- Can we stay? Let me build you houses! This is great, let’s keep this going! And then his excitement is turned to fear as a loud booming voice, from inside a cloud, of course, declares those words that were first spoken at Jesus’ baptism, that “THIS is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; LISTEN to him!” And of course, in true dramatic fashion the three fall to the ground in fear and awe, quaking, I imagine as the Cowardly Lion so quaked as the Great and Powerful Wizard of Oz shouted at him, and then- suddenly- everything returns to normal. Moses and Elijah are gone. The great cloud is gone. And when Jesus goes to his friends, he is no longer dazzling; it’s just Jesus. Dirty Jesus in his grimey robes, consoling them, telling them not to be afraid. They go back down the mountain, back to reality, back to the other disciples, changed. Changed, and charged with a secret: Tell no one of this until after the Son of Man has been raised from the dead.”

Wow! Talk about Hollywood-esque! We’ve got lights, sound effects, and our poor actors have to cover a spectrum of emotions within a short period of time. The message? Jesus is Divine! Jesus is the Son of God! Hallelujah!

If only it were that simple.

As I wrestled with this text I had to put aside this Technicolor version of the Transfiguration that we are probably all so familiar. As I did, I found myself asking questions. So let’s walk through this again. Six days later- six days after what? If we start to read backwards in the text we soon find the answer: six days after Peter has declared “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God” (Matthew 16:16). Now, Peter has been with Jesus almost since the beginning; after Jesus was baptized by John, and after he fasted in the wilderness for forty days and was tempted by Satan, he comes across these two brothers who are fishermen, Simon who was called Peter, and his brother Andrew, and he said, “Follow me.” So they did. Next Jesus comes across two other brothers, James son of Zebedee and his brother John, and he says to them, “Follow me.” So they did. This Peter, who joins up with Jesus in chapter four, who hears all the sermons, witnesses all the healings, is there when Jesus calms the storm, who tries to walk out on the water with Jesus (Matthew 14:28), it takes this Peter until chapter 16 to come to the realization that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of the Living God. I suppose we can be a little easy on Peter; none of the disciples are every very bright, no matter what Gospel you are reading. But this makes me wonder; if Peter has just figured out who Jesus is, and Jesus knows he knows this, then why bring him up on the mountain? If Peter clearly knows this, why does he need to be reaffirmed? Couldn’t this mountaintop experience have better served one of the other disciples? Why is it Peter, who is witnessing this miraculous revelation, also the one who is naïve enough to think that we can prolong these mountaintop experiences indefinitely?

Maybe I should be gentler with Peter. After all, don’t most people want to keep living in their own personal moments of transfiguration? When we first see our children and realize that our lives will be changed forever? When we get into the college or career field we have felt called to, and suddenly doors seem to be opening? When we get that promotion, with all the new authority and perks that come with it, and we see life only moving up from this point? When our hearts are strangely warmed, and feel closer to God or Christ than we ever have before in our lives and we can say, without a doubt, that Jesus Christ is my Lord and Savior and that I am a beloved child of God? Don’t we think these mountaintop moments will last forever? But then, just as Peter, James and John had to come down the mountain, so do we.

They came down that mountain, and returned to life as usual, but with some changes. Jesus had already been teaching, and healing, and the Pharisees had been plotting against him as he “broke” the Jewish laws, especially regarding the Sabbath. After the transfiguration Jesus continues healing and teaching, and being tested by the Pharisees and scribes; he also begins telling the disciples how he will die, and that one of them will betray him. The light that shone so brightly on the mountain is starting to get a little darker, and the disciples begin to get nervous, and to doubt, and to fall even deeper into misunderstanding. The storm brews even thicker once they enter Jerusalem, and we see a different side to Jesus, as the disciples do as well. Jesus becomes filled with righteous anger, throwing merchants out of the temple, overturning tables, and publicly speaking out against the scribes and Pharisees, saying over and over “Woe to you scribes and Pharisees!” Surely this is not what the disciples thought they were getting into; surely this was not the direction their mission had been headed… They descend into that valley of doubt, but some descend further than others. And there is one who descends so far, one who had NOT been to the mountain, who had not heard the voice of the Living God cry out “This is my Son the Beloved,” who becomes so lost that he betrays his leader. “Then one of the twelve, who was called Judas Iscariot, went to the chief priests and said, “What will you give me if I betray him to you?” They paid him thirty pieces of silver. And from that moment he began to look for an opportunity to betray him” (Matthew 26:14-17).

As the events of Holy Week unfold, all of the disciples descend from the mountain; Judas betrays Jesus, many of the disciples, scatter, and even Peter, Peter who should know better than anyone else, denies his relationship with Jesus. Are there not times when we too come down from our mountains, when we walk through valleys of trials, and doubts? Are there not times when we suddenly feel so far away from God that we can no longer remember that moment on the mountain, when we can no longer remember that feeling of love and closeness, when all we feel is alone and deserted? Are there not times when we, too, are tempted to deny, or flee, or even betray our God?

We don’t often talk about what happened to Judas. Judas moved beyond doubt; he moved to despair. “When morning came, all the chief priests and the elders of the people conferred together against Jesus in order to bring about his death. They bound him, led him away, and handed him over to Pilate the governor.

When Judas, his betrayer, saw that Jesus was condemned, he repented and brought back the thirty pieces of silver to the chief priests and the elders. He said, “I have sinned by betraying innocent blood.” But they said, “What is that to us? See to it yourself.” Throwing down the pieces of silver in the temple, he departed; and he went and hanged himself” (Matthew 27:1-5). So deep was his guilt, and his despair, so deep was the chasm he felt between himself and his God, that even the words of the psalm “if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there…If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me, and the light around me become night,” even the darkness is not dark to you” (Psalm 139) could not resonate within his soul.

This Sunday is a turning point, not only in Matthew’s gospel, but also in the seasons. We celebrate the divinity of Christ, we recognize that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and then we descend the mountain, to journey together through Lent, through this season that ultimately leads up to the crucifixion of Jesus. We journey with the disciples through their doubts and fears, and we observe as they mourn the loss of their great teacher.

But hear the Good News: because we stand on this side of the resurrection, we need not descend into despair. Because we stand on this side of the resurrection we know that the tomb will be empty, and the Christ is alive! And because we stand on this side of the resurrection, we can fully place our trust in God, who never deserts us, who is always beside us, up the mountains and down the valleys that make up our lives.