Luke 7:1-10

After Jesus had finished all his sayings in the hearing of the people, he entered Capernaum. A centurion there had a slave whom he valued highly, and who was ill and close to death. When he heard about Jesus, he sent some Jewish elders to him, asking him to come and heal his slave. When they came to Jesus, they appealed to him earnestly, saying, "He is worthy of having you do this for him, for he loves our people, and it is he who built our synagogue for us." And Jesus went with them, but when he was not far from the house, the centurion sent friends to say to him, "Lord, do not trouble yourself, for I am not worthy to have you come under my roof; therefore I did not presume to come to you. But only speak the word, and let my servant be healed. For I also am a man set under authority, with soldiers under me; and I say to one, "Go,' and he goes, and to another, "Come,' and he comes, and to my slave, "Do this,' and the slave does it." When Jesus heard this he was amazed at him, and turning to the crowd that followed him, he said, "I tell you, not even in Israel have I found such faith." When those who had been sent returned to the house, they found the slave in good health.

Now, in this day and age, it can be theologically risky for pastors and preachers to wax patriotic in worship, so please bear with me, that is not my intention. We do not worship our country here. We do not worship our flag. We do not worship the war that makes a holiday weekend like Memorial Day necessary. I want to be clear about that. And, while we honor them, we don’t worship soldiers or military men and women, either – our own or those of any other nation.

But it is a holy kind of coincidence that this Gospel reading shows up for us on a Sunday like this – this weekend when our country calls us to remember and give thanks for the sacrifice of all the men and women who have died in military service to our country. Men and women who have lost their lives – we hope and pray and trust – for the sake of, and in the name of, peace and justice in this world. And I’ll come back to this and try to explain myself in a moment. But first, this Gospel story from Luke, which speaks for itself well enough if we know some of the things Luke assumes we know about the players in this story.

See, Jesus is summoned today to the home of this Gentile centurion, having been asked to heal his slave. And, because neither Jesus nor the centurion himself are supposed to be all that inclined to like one another – let alone expect favors or perform them for one another – all of this humility ensues, this “I’m not worthy,” “I’m not worthy,” stuff from the centurion. (Do you remember that old Saturday Night Live, “Wayne’s World” sketch?)

It started when the Jews who summoned Jesus in the first place, try to explain to him why this particular Gentile centurion is worthy of Jesus’ help. Unlike so many other Gentiles, this guy was one of the good ones they say – he loved the Jewish people, he cared about his sick, suffering slave, he even helped to build the synagogue in town. See? He’d earned it. He deserved it. And the Jews thought their recommendation would help his cause and matter to Jesus.

And then, the Centurion himself gets into the game. Once he finds out Jesus is on the way, he sends his people out to stop him, saying something like, “I didn’t want to bother you. Please know I’m aware I don’t deserve this. I wouldn’t presume to impose upon you. I’m not worthy. I’m not worthy. I’m not worthy.” Again, he stated his case. He was appropriately humble. He apologized for imposing and tried to lessen Jesus’ burden.

And the truth is, this Gentile centurion was as worthy by the world’s standards as he was unworthy in the eyes of the faithful Jews of his day. To so much of the world, he was powerful, after all. He had slaves and knew what it was to tell soldiers to come and they would come, or to go and they would go. To the Jews, though, he was as unworthy as any Gentile – he was a Roman pawn, an outsider, a non-believer, not one of God’s Chosen Ones, a sinner, by every faithful definition of the day.

But somehow – and only in the eyes of God’s messiah – he was worthy. And Jesus proves it by offering up the healing of his slave, just as he knows the centurion desires.

The point is, of course, none of us is worthy when measured by our own standards, or the world’s – Jew or Gentile; Centurion or Slave; Capitalist or Communist; Saint or Sinner, no matter how hard we try. And yet, by God’s grace – and by God’s grace alone – every one of us is worthy, Jew and Gentile, Centurion and Slave, Capitalist and Communist, Saint and Sinner. And God’s love in Jesus Christ means to feed us and fill us and love us with such overwhelming abundance and grace and mercy and more, that we are called to practice receiving it and letting it change us into men and women and children of God who long to love others in return.

Which brings me back to Memorial Day and this holiday we’re called to honor. Just like that Centurion wasn’t worthy, for so many reasons in the eyes of the world around him, to receive what Jesus showed up to offer, when I consider all the lives lost so that I can live more freely and more comfortably and more safely and more soundly than so many men, women, and children around the world, the only honest confession I can find is, “I’m not worthy. I’m not worthy. I’m not worthy.”

[And, as if the thousands who have died in battle, in the act of fighting or preparing for or engaging in war isn’t bad enough, I read this week that nearly 30 veterans out of 100,000 commit suicide each year, which amounts to something like 22 veteran suicides per day. The sacrifices we remember on Memorial Day are not confined to the battlefield, that’s for sure. And “I’m not worthy. I’m not worthy. I’m not worthy.” I don’t know who among us could pretend to be.]

So I guess what I’m feeling this weekend, and in light of this Gospel story, is a deep gratitude for the ways grace finds us, in spite of ourselves. And I wonder if we aren’t being called to look for ways – with humility and gratitude – to receive the blessing and love and generosity that finds us in ways we could never earn no matter how hard we try.

And I’m feeling called to let all of that be a reminder about… a witness to… a celebration of… just precisely how God’s love and grace and mercy and forgiveness come into my life – worthy or not. And then hope it inspires some ministry or service, some generosity, gratitude and humility, at least – in me and in each of us – that will share grace with somebody else – anybody else – who doesn’t deserve it any more than we do.

Amen

Luke 24:1-12

But on the first day of the week, at early dawn, they came to the tomb, taking with them the spices they had prepared. They saw the stone rolled away from the entrance to the tomb, but when they went in, they did not see the body.

While they were perplexed about this, suddenly there appeared before them two men, in dazzling white. The women were terrified and they bowed their faces to the ground. But the men said to them, “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here, he has risen. Remember how he told you, while he was still in Galilee, that the Son of Man must suffer at the hands of sinners, and be crucified, and on the third day, rise again.” Then they remembered his words and they left the tomb and told all of this to the eleven and all the rest.

Now it was Mary Magdalene, Joanna, and Mary the mother of James who told this to the disciples. But their words seemed to them and idle tale and they didn’t believe them. But Peter got up and ran to the tomb. Stooping and looking inside, he saw the linen cloths lying there. And he went home, amazed at what had happened.

As usual, I’ve been stewing about an Easter Sunday sermon or a few weeks now, wondering what new, different, noteworthy thing could be said about the Good News of it all, again, this year. I’ve been noodling this version of the story from Luke 24 around for days, wondering what word or turn of phrase would get my attention and be meaningful and have something to say for us. Words like “perplexed,” “dazzling white,” “terrified,” “amazed,” all have emotions and images attached to them that gave me some possibility, for sure. But, I imagine academic, exegetical, theological treatises and sermons and volumes have been written and preached and taught about all of that ad nauseam over the years. So, I wasn’t feeling particularly inspired to add to it.

And then I remembered something. If you were here last week for the 10:45 a.m. Children’s Sermon, with “The Box,” you might have noticed. Kyle Stamper had loaded “The Box” with super-heroes – Iron Man, The Hulk, Captain America, and Wolverine, to be specific. And it made a nice children’s sermon, I thought, about how Jesus is the real, surprising super hero in all of this, Lenten/Easter stuff, because he’s weak, not strong; he’s humble, not proud; he’s gentle, not mighty. In other words, Jesus’ superpowers aren’t anything comic books would consider powerful or mighty or worthwhile, in any way, really.

And as I was doing my best to share all of that with the kids during the Children’s Sermon last week, Kyle kept interrupting me and talking over me and adding his own two cents in the cutest, most profound and persistent way. He just kept saying, “but guess what…” “but guess what…” “but guess what…” (It’s much cuter when Kyle says it.)

And I decided, in some ways, there’s nothing more or less than that to Easter’s good news.

“BUT, on the first day of the week, at early dawn, they went to the tomb.”

If you didn’t catch it the first time around, that’s how our Easter Gospel begins for today…that little three-letter word…and that’s how Easter’s Good News is always supposed to sound for us. “BUT, on the first day of the week, at early dawn, they went to the tomb.” And guess what…

See, that little three-letter word matters, because just before what we heard this morning some horrible things had happened, right?

Jesus was betrayed. Jesus was arrested. Jesus was denied by his friends. He was whipped and crowned with thorns and spit upon and pierced and crucified and left for dead on the cross. Jesus was wrapped in linen grave clothes and buried in some stranger’s tomb. The disciples were likely in hiding, afraid for their lives. The women left him in that tomb and went home to rest on the Sabbath, because that’s what good, faithful Jewish women were supposed to do, even in their grief.

“BUT, on the first day of the week, at early dawn, they went to the tomb.” And guess what?

This is the good news of Easter, people: “But, guess what…?” “But, guess what…?” “But, guess what…?”

There’s been another terrorist attack in Belgium. Dozens have died. Hundreds are injured. BUT… on the first day of the week…they went to the tomb. And guess what?

Our country is confused and confounded about who our next President should or should not be. It seems at least half of us are going to be disappointed, no matter which way this all goes. BUT…on the first day of the week…they went to the tomb. And guess what?

He still can’t find a job… her relationship is failing…the cancer won’t go away… … the addiction seems to be winning…they lost the baby. But, guess what…? But, guess what…? But, guess what…?

Now, don’t get me wrong. None of this is that easy. I don’t mean to minimize or simplify or pretend that the struggles of our daily lives and the fears that keep us up at night can or should be dismissed with a simple “but…” because we all know things are never that easy.

But, guess what? It’s always been that way. And that’s been faith’s story and God’s promise and humanity’s hope, since the beginning of time.

The story of Adam and Eve tells us they were banished from the garden, but guess what? God wouldn’t lock them out forever. The flood happened in the days of Noah, and all hell broke loose, but guess what? God promised never to let that happen again. The chosen ones wandered in the wilderness for a really long time, but guess what? God fed them and led them and showed them a way home. And then there was Jesus – again crucified and left for dead – but guess what? He wasn’t/he isn’t in the tomb any longer, and we don’t have to be either.

God’s good news for us at Easter is as persistent and as earnest as a child’s best intentions: “But, guess what?”

It’s not trite. It is the Truth.

In response to our darkest days, our greatest fears, our deepest misgivings, our loneliest moments, our ugliest sins, our most profound failures – and we all have them – we are invited to show up at the empty tomb and hear God say, “But, guess what…?”

Guess what…none of that is here – not the darkness any longer, not the fear, not the sins, not the failure. Guess what? It’s been obliterated, forgiven, undone, raised – as far as God’s concerned – and it doesn’t need to hold sway over your life anymore.

So let’s consider Good Friday’s cross in the light of this new day. Let’s remember or see there all the ugliness that was heaped upon God’s very own self, in Jesus. Let’s acknowledge the sadness and shame of whatever that means for each of us – and let’s acknowledge the death – literal and figurative – that it leads to for all of us. And let’s be as surprised and as amazed and as filled with joy as those women, and as Peter, and as the first disciples, too, once they finally received the news: because guess what… God always wins. Love always wins. Light and life and forgiveness and mercy and second chances always win, in Jesus Christ our Lord, crucified and risen for the sake of the world.

Amen. Alleluia. Happy Easter.

"I'm Not Worthy" – Luke 7:1-10

"But, Guess What?" - Luke 24:1-12