What Are You Afraid Of?

Mark 16:1-8

When the Sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, Mary, the mother of James, and Salome, went and bought spices so they might anoint him. And very early on the first day of the week, after the sun had risen, they went to the tomb. They had been saying to one another, “Who will help us to roll back the stone from the entrance to the tomb?” But when they looked up, they saw the stone, which was very large, had already been rolled back. When they entered the tomb, they saw a young man there, dressed in a white robe, sitting on the right-hand side, and they were alarmed.

But he said to them, “Do not be alarmed. You are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised. He is not here. Look at the place where they laid him. But go and tell his disciples, and Peter, that he is going ahead of you, to Galilee. There you will see him, just as he said.” So the women got up and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement seized them, and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.

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So what are you afraid of?

When was the last time you asked… were asked… or answered that question?

It reminds me of something I think my parents asked me – and that I have asked my own boys – when they couldn’t sleep, thanks to a bad dream. “What are you afraid of?”

In fact, it seems like something I ask my own boys whenever they don’t want to do something or try something new. “What are you so afraid of?”

And when I read and hear about Mary Magdalene, Mary, the mother of James, and Salome, “fleeing from the tomb, for terror and amazement seized them” and that “they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid,” it’s tempting to think they were scared of something like ghosts, or zombies, or of seeing dead people – like I used to be afraid of the basement when I was a kid; or of scary movies; or of things that go bump in the night. (As a boy, I could take the stairs four at time, with my blood pumping and the hairs on my neck standing on end, if I was alone in the neighbors’ basement after someone had turned out the lights.)

But these women weren’t children. It was daylight. The sun was up. And they were together, not alone.

So, I’m inclined to imagine that the Maries and Salome – the first women to hear the Good News of the resurrection – where amazed and terrified for more than we give the story credit for. I’m inclined to think they were afraid because the fullness and truth of God’s promised love was actually being revealed; because it really was coming true; because what Jesus had been telling them all along was fulfilled, “JUST AS HE SAID” it would be, in spite of what happened the Friday before.

See, I think maybe they were scared, not of ghosts or goblins; or of darkness or the walking dead, even. I think maybe they were scared, instead, of God’s grace and good news; about this new life and light that was about to shine itself into the world in a way that would change everything. And I wonder if they were scared because all of that was more than they bargained for; more than they had prepared for; more than they were ready to live into, no matter how true they wanted it to be.

And I wonder if we aren’t scared enough by all of this, enough of the time.

Because this Good News is more than we bargained for, it seems. This news goes against our better judgment, most days. This forgiveness of sins, this resurrection of the body, this life ever-lasting stuff changes everything – or it should – if we receive it and believe it, full-stop. And I wonder if it shouldn’t scare the hell out of us – in a good way – more often than it does.

Because it is a terrifying proposition to live in the light of God’s love.

It is a frightening thing to welcome the stranger, and mean it; to forgive a sinner, and mean it; to turn the other cheek, and wait for what’s next.

It is terrifying to love your enemy, rather than to take up arms against them – so we build bombs, stockpile weapons, and pack heat, instead.

It is scary to speak the truth in love and to deal with the consequences – so we keep quiet.

It is risky and unsettling to give our things and our stuff and our money away – so we keep more of it for ourselves.

It is scary to admit fault, to ask for forgiveness and to change your ways – so we don’t.

It is frightening to see God in the face of those who live and behave and believe so differently from what is comfortable or familiar or safe to us – so we keep to ourselves.

It is terrifying to get old, to get sick, to creep closer to the grave and all that comes with it – so we do all sorts of things to pretend or deny what cannot be avoided.

So, I think it’s okay – and faithful, even – to be unsettled, if not scared, terrified, and frightened of this good news – like those first women were – because that would mean we were believing it… embracing it… receiving it… and letting it have its way with us, in some new way.

So what are you afraid of? And what would it mean to engage it, embrace it, face it head-on on the other side of Easter’s empty tomb? And what if you did that – running scared, if need be – but trusting Easter’s good news that God’s ways win every time, much to our surprise and in spite of our fears. Weeping may last through the night, but joy will come in the morning. Light shines in the darkness. Dying leads to new life.

So what are you afraid of? Jesus has been there and done that… Jesus – and the love and grace of God – will be there, on the other side of the whatever scares you most… just like he said, just like he did, just like that love and grace was and is and always will be… 

Amen. Happy Easter.

Eat Together - Maundy Thursday - John 13:1-17, 31-35

John 13:1-17, 31-35

Now before the festival of the Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end.  The devil had already put it into the heart of Judas son of Simon Iscariot to betray him. And during supper Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going to God, got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself.  Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him.  He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, “Lord, are you going to wash my feet?”  Jesus answered, “You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand.”  Peter said to him, “You will never wash my feet.” Jesus answered, “Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.”  Simon Peter said to him, “Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!”  Jesus said to him, “One who has bathed does not need to wash, except for the feet, but is entirely clean. And you are clean, though not all of you.”  For he knew who was to betray him; for this reason he said, “Not all of you are clean.”

After he had washed their feet, had put on his robe, and had returned to the table, he said to them, “Do you know what I have done to you?  You call me Teacher and Lord—and you are right, for that is what I am.  So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet.  For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you.  Very truly, I tell you, servants are not greater than their master, nor are messengers greater than the one who sent them.  If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them.

When he had gone out, Jesus said, “Now the Son of Man has been glorified, and God has been glorified in him.  If God has been glorified in him, God will also glorify him in himself and will glorify him at once.  Little children, I am with you only a little longer. You will look for me; and as I said to the Jews so now I say to you, ‘Where I am going, you cannot come.’  I give you a new commandment, that you love one another.  Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another.   By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

So this is a Canadian grocery store commercial, for their “President’s Choice” brand of groceries. They’re mission is to “#eattogether” because, as they say, “so much good happens when we do.”

Eat together, because so much good happens when we do. Indeed.

And, on a night like tonight, I think we’re supposed to remember that this is more than a little bit of what God had in mind and what God has in mind for the Church, and for how we do what we do as God’s people in the world. I think so much of the time it’s meant to begin around the table – eating and drinking together, because so much good happens when we do. And I think too much of the time we’ve done just the opposite with the celebration of Holy Communion.

Unlike the commercial – cell phones and technology are not our biggest problem when it comes to what keeps us separated where the church is concerned. (I actually saw this commercial for the first time on my cell phone several months ago, so there’s that.)

But you know what I mean, right? Some of you have experienced it. Yes, it’s a special meal… a sacred feast… body and blood… bread and wine… broken and poured out for the forgiveness of sins; given for you, given for me; given for the sake of the world. There couldn’t be more weight or meaning attached to it all.

And because of that, too many people have gotten protective of it all. Too many people put up too many barriers about what this meal is or could be for God’s people – and for the world.

I had a conversation recently with one of our people who was laid up in the hospital. Very sick. Waiting for test results. Anxious. Afraid. So that when the hospital chaplain stuck his head in the door to ask if he was up for communion, the patient was glad to say yes and invited the chaplain in. After a brief conversation, though, the chaplain found out the patient – one of our people – was a Lutheran flavored Christian, and without much more to say, very little apology, and a quick prayer, the chaplain packed up his things and excused himself, because he wasn’t allowed – and Lutherans presumably weren’t worthy – of sharing the sacrament as far as his piety is concerned.

And I don’t mean to throw stones. We might do the same sort of thing in our own way, if we’re honest. There are some who question that children as young as those who will celebrate their “first communion” tonight should be able to… that maybe they shouldn’t be allowed to partake of the sacrament at such a young age. (Nevermind that most of these young people have been doing this for years, already.) People new to Cross of Grace are often surprised to see us offering the bread and wine to children and toddlers who sometimes have to take the pacifier out of their mouth to make room for the body and blood of their savior.

Still others worry about women presiding, about the un-repentant receiving, about the unbaptized, the unconfirmed, the uninitiated, the un-whatever having a place at the table. Welcome to why the Church is dying around us in too many ways and in too many places, as far as I’m concerned.

But what if what we did around the table of Holy Communion looked more like an invitation to dinner… to conversation… to friendship… to relationship… to joy and laughter and comfort and more. What if, we see what Jesus does for us in the giving of this meal, as something like setting up a table in the hallway of our lives? A table that gets in the way of all the things that get in the way of our willingness to look one another in the eye, to listen to one another, to love one another the way we have already been looked at, listened to, and loved by the God of our creation?

Because what Jesus does, in giving us this meal, is share it first with everyone in the room – even with Judas, the one who was fixing to betray him at that very moment. (If Jesus shares it all with Judas, his betrayer, and Peter, who would deny him, who are we to keep it from anyone?) What Jesus does, in giving us this meal, is humble himself – ultimately – by washing the feet of his friends and by teaching them what it means and what it looks like to love one another at all costs. What Jesus does, in giving us this meal, is offer himself – his body, his blood, his life and the love of God – for the sake of the world.

And I think our call is to get better at this. In our homes… in our neighborhoods… in our schools… where we work… And I think our call is to start here – in church, at worship, in the name of Jesus – who gives us permission in a way the world doesn’t always. And Jesus gives us more than permission. Tonight reminds us that Jesus gives us a command people, to love one another, to make room, to extend invitations, to remove barriers, to wash feet, to serve and to sacrifice in surprising, counter-cultural, rebellious ways so that the love of God can’t be avoided or denied or withheld for one more minute.

So let’s eat together tonight, because so much good happens when we do. And let’s let that goodness find us and fill us; to change us and to change the world by the grace we will see hanging on the cross and walking from the tomb, soon enough.

Amen