Rats!

John 3:14-17

[Jesus said to Nicodemus,] “And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life. For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.”

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I saw a dead rat earlier this week … on a walk in the desert. I was in Phoenix, some of you know, and went for a morning stroll with my brother, his wife, my son Max, and two dogs. And there was a rat – dead and dried up, lying in the dirt and dust of the desert. Luckily, the dogs didn’t seem to notice it. Neither did Max, at first, who came this close to stepping on the poor thing.

I would just as soon NOT have seen the dead rat, in the first place – or kept imagining what would have happened had Max actually stepped on it. We took a different path home to keep the dogs from finding it on a second-pass. I didn’t want to keep imagining that, either. But I did. And I have. And now I am again.

And since I had to see the dead rat and be grossed out by it – and imagine all sorts of things about it – and Max’s shoe… and the dogs… I wanted to share that with you. So – fair warning – hide your eyes if you like – here’s a picture.

I’d bet a lot of dollars that’s the only dead rat shown as part of Good Friday worship out there in the world tonight. And I’m kind of sorry about that. But not really. There’s nothing more “LENT” or “GOOD FRIDAY” than a desert, dust, and death, if you ask me.

Because, you know what we’re here for tonight, right? It’s uglier and more unsettling and upsetting than any dead rat. It is dirty and dusty and ugly, for sure. And it’s meant to get our attention and to unsettle us, more than just a little bit – more, surely, than just a dead little rat.

And that’s why I thought about this bit from John’s Gospel – the bit before and after the popular stuff of bumper stickers I mean. “For God so love the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.” That’s great and all, but I want to talk about that bit where Jesus compares what’s coming for him on the Cross, to what Moses did – way back in the day – when he “lifted up a serpent in the wilderness.” Moses put a snake on a pole – he might as well have shown them a rat on Good Friday – and invited them to look at it as a reminder of what was killing them. And the people were healed by what they saw – healed from the very real snakes that had been killing them.

So that rat and those snakes made me think again about what we’re here for tonight, which is to be reminded about where our sinfulness leads – to death and dust, remember – kind of right back where we started this Lenten journey on Ash Wednesday.

And, throughout the season of Lent this time around, we’ve been hearing stories from the perspectives of people in Scripture who had a hand in this – who had a hand in getting Jesus to the cross, I mean. “By My Hand, For My Sake” was the name of the series we shared. And the point of it all was to remind us that what got God to the cross, in Jesus, were the sins – done and left undone – by the people who surrounded him: people like Peter, Pontius Pilate, Nicodemus, and more. And the point was to remind us, too, that we’re part of that mix, still.

See, the cross of Christ is a nasty, shameful picture of what it looks like when God’s people lose their way and when our sins – the things we do and the things we neglect to do – cause harm to God’s people, to each other, and to the world around us. The cross of Christ is meant to be hard to look at, and impossible to un-see once we really take it in.

The God who hangs there, in Jesus, died – not just as some kind of tit-for-tat trade-off for our personal salvation. Jesus didn’t die as a substitute for our own suffering and death – we’re all still headed for the grave, one way or another, people.

No, the God who hangs on the cross, in Jesus Christ, died there, in that horrible way, so that we could see what comes from our sins on this side of heaven – and so that we might be saved and save some others from the suffering of it all, right where we live.

So I decided to let the image of that dead little rat represent, tonight, all the ugliness that got Jesus crucified, nailed to a tree, and killed for our sake.

And, what got Jesus nailed to that cross is our greed and selfishness.

What got Jesus nailed to that cross is our pride and self-interest.

What got Jesus nailed to that cross is our rigid religious certainty and self-righteousness – like when we pretend this is all or only about our own salvation.

What got Jesus nailed to that cross is racism – 400 years or more, and 9 minutes and 29 seconds, too, of our systemic, institutional, and individual racism.

What got Jesus nailed to that cross is our unwillingness to beat our swords into plowshares, our spears into pruning hooks, and our guns into gardening tools.

What got Jesus nailed to that cross is our homophobia and our sexism.

What got Jesus nailed to that cross is our partisan politics that only pretend – or neglect altogether – to be informed by the principles and practice of our faith.

What got Jesus nailed to that cross is our denial and our blind eyes, our unwillingness to see, acknowledge, or admit any of this to such a degree that it ever seems to change.

Yes, what got Jesus nailed to that cross has to do with God’s willingness and ability to save and redeem and raise us to new life on the other side the grave, but it’s about so much more than that, too.

So let’s let it all be as ugly as it is. Let’s let it all be as scary as we can stand for it to be. Let’s let it be as shocking and shameful as possible … just for tonight.

And let’s leave it for dead. On the cross. Let’s leave it in the dust. Like so many rats… and snakes… and Sin. Let’s leave it all for dead.

And please … in the name of Jesus … let’s pray and hope and trust and see what God will do – with us… and through us… in spite of us… for the sake of us – and for the sake of the world – come Sunday.

Amen

Merry Christmas, For Real

I’m tired of virtually everything virtual, these days.

Don’t get me wrong, I have been so impressed by the generosity and tech-savvy ways our musicians who have created fantastic pieces of music and video for our worship week after week this year – a lot like what you’ve seen already tonight. But, boy, would I like to just sit and listen – and see the faces of others sitting and listening – without worrying that the computer is about to glitch or that the sound might be just a little bit better if we were together in the sanctuary.

And it’s been convenient, in some ways, to log in to our Bible Study classes or small group discussions – via Zoom – from our home offices or kitchen tables or under the covers in bed with a glass of wine (you know who you are). But it’s also hard to be sure everyone is engaged and for some Pastors to figure out how in the heck to get his PowerPoint presentations to work.

I appreciate that we can livestream a funeral service both to keep people safe and to allow those who can’t make the trip to be part of it from wherever they live. But I’d much rather have family and friends together in the same sacred space for those occasions.

And I really enjoyed our outdoor worship services this summer, I have to say, “socially distanced” as we were out there on the lawn or sitting around in the parking lot. But I can’t wait until we are safe again to break real bread and pour actual wine together instead of taking communion from those self-contained, individual coffee-creamer contraptions!

And I know this is about more than just our life in the church. I loved watching the Indigo Girls on Facebook Live every Thursday night for a few weeks in a row this Spring, but there’s nothing like seeing them in person, among a gathering of other fans who sing every song together like hymns on Easter Sunday.

I’m grateful for the way teachers and schools have been able to keep on keeping on, but online, distance learning can’t compare to what happens in the classroom.

And there have been board meetings and team meetings online. And virtual family reunions, birthday parties and Happy Hours. Online therapy appointments and doctor visits are all of a sudden a thing like they never were before. And it can be hard to wrap our heads and our hearts around those virtual nursing home visits, from the other side of a window, let alone the many – too many – final farewells that have been made from death beds, by way of an iPad, or text message, or social media somehow. It’s all too much – too sad and too exhausting.

(I’m using my imagination, since I can’t see you at the moment, and I trust you’re nodding and smiling on the other side of your phone or computer or television screens right now, because you know where I’m coming from.)

And God knows this, too, people. Christmas reminds us that the creator of the universe is as sick and tired of these close approximations of the real thing as the rest of us are. Don’t get me wrong, I believe God understands why we’ve been doing what we’ve been doing – and would ask us to keep on keeping on until it’s safe to do otherwise. But I believe God is as exhausted by all of this “virtual,” “distanced” living as the rest of us.

And I believe it, because God has grown tired of it before.

There was a time when God led the people of Israel around the wilderness with a pile of clouds by day and a pillar of fire by night, remember. It wasn’t nothing, but…

There were generations when God spoke to the people through the prophets – people who preached and proclaimed some amazing things about love and mercy; equity for the poor, freedom for the captive, justice for the oppressed. Those prophets were nothing to sneeze at, but…

And there have been examples throughout time when God would show up in some strange ways to reveal grace, guidance, and inspiration for the world and its people – socially distanced, “virtual” ways you might say – close approximations of the real thing, it seems to me – in the form of Smoke… Fire…Whirlwinds… Angels… Dreams and Visions… Burning Bushes…, according to scripture, anyway.

God was going virtual long before 2020 gave us anything to complain about.

And when God got sick and tired of it – “going virtual,” I mean – God did something about it, in Jesus. Which is what calls us to worship, wherever we may be, on this Thursday evening in December: because God desires to be as real for the world as the problems and struggles of the world can be for God’s people. So God showed up in Jesus.

But, sadly, too many problems and too much struggle still surround us. This world is still hurting and so broken and this year, in particular, has reminded us, relentlessly, that there is nothing “virtual” about the needs that remain.

There is nothing virtual about the racial inequity and injustice that plague our nation.

There’s nothing virtual about the climate change that threatens our planet.

There’s nothing virtual about the virus that has killed more than 1.7 million children of God – and counting.

And there’s nothing virtual about the economic crisis that threatens to leave too many evicted, or hungry, or jobless, or worse in the days to come.

Our struggles and challenges couldn’t be more real these days. But so has God’s presence among us been.

… there has been nothing “virtual” about the work that teachers and professors have offered up on behalf of our kids – it has been innovative, creative, monotonous, at times, I know – but real and present and fruitful and hard-won.

… there has been nothing virtual about what our kids have learned in all of those strange ways, either. They have learned from and practiced how to adapt to obstacles, crisis, and change; they have benefitted from a whole lot of concern and compassion, patience and persistence extended in their direction.

… there was nothing virtual about the baskets of gifts we shared with our friends at Agape, downtown; nothing virtual about the thanksgiving meals we passed out a couple of weeks ago to local families; nothing virtual about the pile of gifts I delivered, on behalf of many of you, to a family on the eastside on Tuesday; nothing virtual about the houses our money keeps building in Fondwa, Haiti.

And there’s nothing virtual about the worship we bring – even when it happens online – because it is Word and sacrament … where God’s grace is proclaimed and God’s forgiveness is promised and God’s love is shared, and received, and multiplied, too.

And those hospital and nursing home visits from behind glass matter. They are smiling eyes and encouraging words. They are proof of life and evidence of love for those who are blessed and better because of them.

Those deathbed farewells aren’t what any would ask for or desire. But I believe, if the God of the universe can bring life from death, then that same power can speak love and comfort and compassion, even through the pixels of a computer screen or in the unfamiliar voice of a nurse, or doctor, or hospital chaplain. And, for what it’s worth, I believe that strange voice – from wherever it comes – sounds surprisingly familiar when we need to hear it most.

And from a personal perspective, let me say, there has been nothing “virtual” about the cancer that has weaseled its way into my wife’s body and into the center of our family’s life this year – and I know that’s true for so many others, too. But there hasn’t been anything more real than the love and generosity and encouragement that has showed up in more ways than we can count, because of it.

And all of that is how and why God took on flesh and bones; blood and a body; hair and hands; feet and fingers. God stepped into skin, mustered a voice, took a breath, and began to experience life from the perspective of God’s most prized possessions and most cherished creations: people, like you and me.

And God did that, in Jesus, so that the love of God would be as real as the rest of us. In Jesus, the love of God was … IS … no longer “virtual” in the way it had seemed before he choked on his first breath, stumbled through his first steps, offered up his first miracle, forgave his first sinner, or loved his first enemy.

And God did all of that so that we would too – embody the divine, I mean; love one another, I mean; forgive sins, turn the other cheek, befriend the friendless, love our enemies, find neighbors in strange, scary, unfamiliar people and places, do justice, love kindness, walk humbly, and all the rest.

So, starting now, with Christmas, let’s stop using the word “virtual” when it comes to anything connected with the God we know in Jesus. Our worship is real. Our ministry to others in his name is real. The grace we promise, the love we share, the forgiveness we receive, the hope we proclaim – every bit of it is as real as the nose on your face; as your face in the mirror; as the sound of my voice – and of your voice, too.

So let’s be the voice and the presence and the power of God’s love – you and I – because Jesus is born to show us just exactly what all of that looks like, for real… in the flesh… so that the world would be changed and blessed and better because of it.

Amen. Merry Christmas.