Trust

Why? Why? Why?

Why? Why? Why?
Pastor Cogan

Matthew 16:21-28

From that time on, Jesus began to show his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and undergo great suffering at the hands of the elders and chief priests and scribes and be killed and on the third day be raised.

And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him, saying, “God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to you.” But he turned and said to Peter, “Get behind me, Satan! You are a hindrance to me, for you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”

Then Jesus told his disciples, “If any wish to come after me, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it. For what will it profit them if they gain the whole world but forfeit their life? Or what will they give in return for their life?

“For the Son of Man is to come with his angels in the glory of his Father, and then he will repay everyone for what has been done. Truly I tell you, there are some standing here who will not taste death before they see the Son of Man coming in his kingdom.”


I know I have said it, but I can’t say it enough. From all of my family, thank you for the generous gift of time you gave to us for my paternity leave. It was wonderful.

I thought it might be helpful to share a little bit about what our days were like. Yes, there were (and are) the diaper blow outs, the endless piles of laundry, the constant “Clive stop touching her”, and coffee, lots of coffee. But especially in those first few weeks, there would come a point nearly each day when Clive had had enough of being inside.

It might have been the running laps around the kitchen or chucking toys down the stairs, but something would tell us he needed to go outside. And since I am not a source of milk, He and I would go for walks, or adventures, as we call them.

There is this little path in our neighborhood that leads to a small pond behind some houses. It’s got tall grasses and wildflowers all around, with tall trees hovering above. I would tell him we were searching for turtles, knowing full well we wouldn’t see one. That wasn’t the point. We would walk, look around, but mostly Clive would ask questions.

Dad, why is that flower yellow? Why is there water here? Why are the clouds gray and not white? Why is uncle Chad taller than you?

Admittedly, I was more than a little tired on some of our walks and did not entertain this game well. On my better days though, I would do my best to answer. But when you get five or six why’s deep on any one question, you’ve got to be a wildlife biologist, an astrophysicist, or a mechanic to give the right answer.

For example: why does it rain? So that things grow. Why? Because most things need water and sunlight to grow. Why? At this point I remember something called photosynthesis, but that’s about all and we are only three whys in.

And lest you think I am exaggerating on the number of why’s Clive asks, one study from the University of Michigan found that on average, a 3 to 5 year old asks 107 questions a day! A day! Most of them being “why?”.

I researched a little bit more on why Clive asked why so much and there are a few reasons.

First, at age three kids have an explosion of neuron connections happening in their brain, more than three times that of an adult. Second, it helped me to know that kids ask lots of questions with someone they trust. They are thinking, “this person is helping me figure out the world”. And finally, kids aren’t seeking attention with the repeated why. Instead, they are just unsatisfied with the answers, which means Clive is unsatisfied with me most of the time.

Sadly, this barrage of questioning doesn't last forever. Tight at the time kids start school, ironically the questions start slowing down. By halfway through elementary school, they nearly stop altogether, perhaps because in both our schools and our society we’ve come to value correct answers much more than good questions.

In reading the gospel this week, I can’t help but wonder how this conversation between Jesus and Peter would have gone had Peter responded with a question. I wonder even more how Jesus would have answered… Instead, Peter thinks he has the right answer again. Just last week, Jesus praised him for his answer to the question who Jesus was. “You are the Messiah, the Son of the Living God”, Peter said. And he was rewarded with a title, the Rock, and keys to the kingdom.

Yet, today we see Peter had the right answer, but the wrong understanding of what that meant. For him and most of the Jewish community, the Messiah would be like David and Moses wrapped into one, but even greater. A military leader who would overthrow Rome and lead the Jewish people out of oppression and into a new kingdom.

So when Jesus says that he must suffer and be killed by the people Peter thought he came to defeat,

Peter can’t help but think he is right and Jesus is wrong. Can you imagine how the conversation would have gone had Peter simply responded why? Why must you suffer and be killed? Why must you be raised on the third day? Throughout the gospels, Jesus never scolds the disciples or others for asking questions. Think of Nicodemus and all his questions or the disciples wanting an explanation as to why Jesus taught in parables.

Questions don’t frustrate Jesus. Insistence that someone has the right answer, or the right theology, does… Especially when that right answer or theology harms someone else.So if Jesus welcomes our questions, why are we so hesitant to pose them? Maybe because we are afraid of what our questions will lead to or we’ve been told we shouldn’t.

Like our schools and society, our churches and denominations place a premium on having the right answers or believing the right thing. And it has harmed people, especially women and our gay and queer siblings.

My hope is that this community is a place where we create space for and encourage good questions.

As we start this new program year, there will be many opportunities to learn together. My prayer is that not only will you commit to coming to one of them: Wired Word, Giving the Sense, Graceful Parenting, or others, but that while you are in them you are not afraid to ask questions of your neighbor, your pastors, your faith, and the holy words of the Word.

When we do that, we’ll make new connections and gain deeper understanding about each other and our God. We will grow in trust, helping one another figure out our faith and the world around us. We will also be, and likely have already been, unsatisfied with some answers you get: from us, from popular theology, or from your past church experience. And that’s okay!

One of the best pieces of advice I read about Clive’s constant questioning is that he's likely unsatisfied with my answers because they are causal, not functional. In other words, I am explaining what causes something and not its function. He asks why the flower is yellow and I say because of the pigment in its petals. That is useless to Clive. But if I say, so that bees and butterflies can find it, now we’ve got something. Preschoolers want an answer that is functional, that explains what something does, not just what it means. And that’s beautiful, it’s also very Lutheran.

If you have asked “Why did Jesus have to die?” and someone responded with “because that was God’s plan” or “because of sin”, that’s a causal answer likely leading to many more whys. I am much more interested in a functional answer of why Jesus died and was raised. That answer is perhaps more simple, but no less profound.

Jesus died and was raised for you, and for me and for the whole world, so that we might receive grace and forgiveness here and now, and that all creation will one day be raised to new life, just as Jesus was.

That’s why.

Until then, ask all the questions you can about this faith we share, about this God we worship, and about this grace we’ve received. It will help us learn together, trust each other more, and above all, get a deeper understanding of this Jesus we follow. We might not be satisfied with all the answers we get, but I bet one day we will be.

Amen


Good Friday - Gethsemane Prayers

Good Friday - Gethsemane Prayers
Pastor Cogan

Mark 14:32-42

They went to a place called Gethsemane, and he said to his disciples, “Sit here while I pray.” He took with him Peter and James and John and began to be distressed and agitated. And he said to them, “My soul is deeply grieved, even to death; remain here, and keep awake.”

And going a little farther, he threw himself on the ground and prayed that, if it were possible, the hour might pass from him. He said, “Abba, Father, for you all things are possible; remove this cup from me, yet not what I want but what you want.”

He came and found them sleeping, and he said to Peter, “Simon, are you asleep? Could you not keep awake one hour? Keep awake and pray that you may not come into the time of trial; the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.”

And again he went away and prayed, saying the same words. And once more he came and found them sleeping, for their eyes were very heavy, and they did not know what to say to him.

He came a third time and said to them, “Are you still sleeping and taking your rest? Enough! The hour has come; the Son of Man is betrayed into the hands of sinners. Get up, let us be going. Look, my betrayer is at hand.”

Thursdays are the roughest mornings in my household. On Thursdays, Clive, my three-year-old, goes to “school” for four hours. As soon as he wakes up and realizes what day it is, he starts: “I don’t want to go to school. Please don’t make me go. I want to stay here with you.”

The other days of the week he’s spoiled rotten by a mix of grandparents who watch him. So Thursdays have become the hardest day of the week. Who knew playing with friends, eating snacks, going outside for recess, and painting was so tough.

When we pick him up, he gleams about his day and the fun he’s had. But drop-off… that’s another story. A few weeks ago I took him, and the whole car ride he kept saying what he had started earlier that morning: “Please don’t make me go. I don’t want to go. You can take me with you.”

Finally we got into school, walked to his classroom, and said goodbye, or tried to. Clive gripped me tight, saying again, “Please don’t make me do this.” I peeled him off me, told him it would be okay, and left. And as I walked away, he threw himself on the ground like only a toddler can do and wailed.

And I knew he would be fine. The teacher texted later and said he was having a blast within minutes. But as I walked down that hallway, hearing him sob, it hurt my heart. I kept thinking, this is awful. Maybe you’ve experienced this as a parent, hearing your child plead, “please don’t make me do this.” Or maybe you were the child pleading.

Whether you have been the child pleading or the parent walking away, you have stood closer to Gethsemane than you realize.

All throughout Lent we have been listening to prayers from Hebrew Scripture and the people who prayed them. Again and again we discovered that many of those prayers were our prayers too. Prayers we have prayed without realizing it. Prayers we wanted to pray but weren’t sure we were allowed to pray. Tonight is no different.

Because Jesus’ prayer in Gethsemane may be the most relatable, honest, raw, and human prayer in all of scripture.

Up until now, Jesus has never wavered in his journey to Jerusalem. He never hints that he wants things to go another way. And so we begin to imagine a Jesus who isn’t afraid, a Jesus who wants the cross, a Jesus who is somehow different from us. But at Gethsemane we discover something important.

Jesus is afraid. He hopes there is another way. He does not want to die. Because he is human, as human as you and me.

After the meal they shared together and with Judas gone to do what Judas does, Jesus takes the eleven disciples to Gethsemane, which in Mark is more like an olive grove than a garden.

He takes his closest companions, Peter, James, and John, a little further in among the trees.

And something happens to Jesus there.

He begins to shake. He is overwhelmed with sorrow and fear, so much so that he tells his friends, “I am so sad I feel like I could die.” And going a little further, he throws himself on the ground, like a child at drop-off, and he prays: “Father, I know you can change this. Please don’t make me do this.”

It is an honest prayer; probably one Jesus hesitated saying out loud because it meant Jesus still had some hope: hope it won’t happen. Hope there is another way. Hope that my Father will save me, because I don’t want to do this.

And I wonder what it was like for God to hear that prayer. To hear your child begging you to stop what is coming. To hear your beloved pleading with you to save him. I wonder if it hurt God’s heart, infinitely more than mine on that Thursday. I have to believe it did. And I have to believe God’s heart hurts too when we pray this same thing today.

This is the prayer of anyone who has cried out, “Save me.” It’s the prayer of the young couple who finds out for the 10th, 15th, or 20th time that the pregnancy test is negative. It’s the prayer of the cancer survivor driving in for another first round of chemo. It’s the prayer of anyone who has needed friends, desperate for support, for care, only to find them asleep, indifferent to your suffering, leaving you alone while you cry and shake in fear and despair on the ground.

Everyone eventually prays in Gethsemane. In desperation we all say to God, “Please don’t make me do this.” “Please don’t let this happen.” “Please take this away.” And sometimes the cup does not pass. And that is why we need Good Friday.

Because Jesus’ prayer does not end there. He also says, “Yet, not what I want, but what you want.” I don’t want to do this, God. Yet, I trust you. I am scared, God; yet I will do it.

The prayer does not change what is coming. The cup does not pass. But Jesus trusts God anyway. It is the most sacrificial and divine prayer we get in all of scripture, showing us again Jesus is fully God, too. It is a prayer of obedience, yes. But more than that it is a prayer of trust.

Not the kind of trust that says everything happens for a reason or don’t worry God’s got a plan. But the kind of trust that says, even here, even now, against all logic and reason, I will trust. Having said his deepest hope, the secret he didn’t want to utter, sharing his greatest fear, Jesus can now trust God with all that is about to happen.

I don’t lift this nevertheless part up as something to emulate, as if we just need to be obedient like Jesus was. That’s not the good news of this prayer nor this day.

The good news is that this prayer leads Jesus to the cross. Jesus gets up from the ground, walks out of gethsemane, and walks toward suffering, toward abandonment, toward death:

for you, for me, and for everyone who has ever prayed this prayer and the cup didn’t pass. Jesus has stood where we stand. Jesus has prayed what we pray; feared what we fear; and suffered what we suffer.

And because of that, there is no place of suffering we can go where he has not already been. That’s the good news of Good Friday. That on our roughest day, when we throw ourselves to the ground and plead with God to take the cup away, we remember that Jesus has already drunk from it. The cup may not pass. But we are not alone.

Amen.