Stay Connected (Reflections on Easter 5, Year B)

 

“Abide in me as I abide in you. Just as the branch cannot bear fruit unless it abides in the vine, neither can you unless you abide in me.” (John 15:4) 

It’s been all about connection these last thirteen months, hasn’t it? How do we stay hooked up when we’re told to keep our distance, when we cover our faces with masks, when our churches and schools and neighborhood watering holes have been shut down? 

Let’s hope that vaccinations and good pandemic practices will bear some fruit soon, because—believe me, I know—we’re all pretty tired of this situation. I think one of our most basic human desires is to be connected, to abide with one another in some way, to be part of the larger whole. Even the snarkiest of introverts wants to have a good conversation at some time, right?[i] All of us want to find some kind of Crazy Glue to stick us to other people—be it through blood ties, similar interests, religious beliefs, politics, or whatever. We humans are always finding a way to stretch the definition of family and create unique and cozy little clans. It’s what we do. 

It really sucks when those pods in which we find so much comfort are split apart. Fortunately, we’ve had the internet to help us slog through this drizzly, depressing COVID morass. When folks can’t come to church, Facebook Live has enabled us to bring church to them. Imagine how delighted your pastor is to see that a bunch of members I only expect to see at Christmas and Easter are now watching church at home online in their pajamas![ii] This phenomena is not unique to our congregation. At last week’s Southeastern Pennsylvania Synod Assembly, Bishop Pat rejoiced that churches all over the five county region are suddenly reconnecting with long-lost Gen-Xers and Millennials whose butts, for whatever reasons, would not normally find repose on our church pews. 

What’s even cooler is that we’ve been able to keep connected with distant friends. Those who prayed and sang with us every week but now live in different parts of the country are still tethered to this worshiping family via the internet. We now have it within our power to branch out across the miles. 

I don’t know what church is going to look like in America in the next few years, but I am optimistic that American Christianity will not shrivel up into a pathetic, decaying demise as long as we have the ability to stay connected. We now have the means to overcome Sunday youth sports, gig economy schedules, the burdensome cost of maintaining physical buildings, and changing local demographics. Technology has granted us the ability to transcend time and distance. The only questions are: Do we have the desire to connect? And do we desire to connect with Christ? 

In this Sunday’s Gospel (John 15: 1-8) Jesus reminds us that apart from God we can do nothing. One of the biggest lies our culture and our sinful nature love to tell us is that we are self-sufficient. We just love to flatter ourselves that we don’t really need connection. We love to think we’re so friggin’ special we don’t require something as quaint as the church to connect us to the Eternal. Once we get that notion into our heads, the con game of our own merit and ability, we cut the wire which connects us to the source of power. We soon neglect fellowship with others, prayer, and knowledge of Scripture—all the things which energize our spirits. 

One of the dumbest things we can do is cut ourselves off from the Vine. I’m not just saying this as a self-serving preacher trying to salvage an anachronistic institution. Lonely people die faster. Martin Luther believed that isolation was the place where the devil attacks. When we get the idea it’s all about us, that we’re self-made and independent, it will be easy for us to dismiss our fellow creatures. We’ll curl into ourselves and say, “I’ve got mine. If you can’t get yours then it’s too bad for you.” I think a lot of bad public policy in this country comes out of selling people the snake oil that says “You’ve got the right to be free and independent. No one should tell you what to do. You’ve earned everything you’ve got, and you don’t need to share it with anyone.” 

But the truth is, we’ve never really “earned” anything. Everything is a gift from our gracious God. Jesus came to teach us about loving one another, about the first willing to become the last, and about seeking the lost and the lonely. Jesus came that we might be one—that we might not only feel but celebrate our interconnectedness. That means staying connected, and branching out, too. Praise God that our technological world has given us the tools to fulfil what we’ve been taught by Christ. 

Of course, I should end this essay by noting that there are some branches which do, from time to time, get cut off. Some connections can be harmful for us, and some connections are intended to be temporary. In the First lesson for Easter 5, we see that great story of Philip and the Ethiopian eunuch. The Holy Spirit sends Philip to the Ethiopian, and just as quickly snatches him away again to branch out somewhere else. God puts people in our lives for different reasons and different seasons. Nevertheless, if we are connected to Christ, we are always connected to our family—near or far, on earth or in heaven. And that’s nice to know.

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[i] I mean, what good is it being aloof and judgmental if you can’t tell somebody about it?

[ii] By the way, you pajama-clad worshipers, you can make your offering online, too. Just go to www.faithlutheranphiladelphia.org  and click the “Give” button on the toolbar.

Grace By Way of Sin (Reflections on Easter 3, Year B)

 

“…repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations…” (Luke 24:47)

After twenty-two years of teaching confirmation classes, I sadly confess that I have not yet unearthed the pedagogical Rosetta Stone which will enable me to translate Luther’s Second Use of the Law into a language comprehensible to middle-schoolers. They have no trouble understanding the First Use—that God gave us the Law to keep us from cutting each other’s throats—but the idea that the knowledge of sin can lead us back to the grace of God is something thirteen-year-olds don’t seem to want to grasp. Maybe it’s because they don’t want to grasp the knowledge of sin. I can’t say that I blame them. I’ll admit in theory that I’m as guilty of sin as everybody else, but actually enumerating my faults and taking hard look at my character is not at all pleasurable. 

Recently I noticed that someone had clicked on an old post I wrote back in 2018 for my “Old Religious Guy” blog. It was a eulogy I’d written when I learned that an old and, alas, forgotten friend had died. I hadn’t seen my friend Patrick since 1994 when I moved to Philadelphia, and, as things happen, I just lost touch with him. One day I took it into my head to “Google” him, and I learned he’d died about a dozen years earlier. As I thought about our friendship, I realized what a lousy friend I actually was to him. I started to recognize my condescension, my judgmental attitude, and how often I’d joked at his expense. I didn’t like realizing that. The really rotten thing is he’s not around for me to ask his forgiveness. 

As I think about it—and as I dwell on the lessons in the RCL assigned for Ester 3 this year—I’m reminded of the first of Luther’s  95 Theses: “When our Lord and Master Jesus Christ said, ‘Repent,’ he willed the entire life of believers to be one of repentance.” I’m sure it’s good for my soul to recognize the micro-aggressions I committed against my late friend. I suspect the people of Jerusalem acted much the same way towards the lame man at the Beautiful Gate mentioned in our First Lesson (Acts 3:12-19). “Poor slob,” they must’ve thought. “Obviously God despise him or he wouldn’t have been born lame.”  “Sucks to be him,” they might say to themselves as they tossed him a few pitiful shekels and strode on their way into the temple. 

Then along comes Peter and John, and the man is miraculously healed in the name of Jesus Christ. Suddenly everybody is paying attention to this formerly forgotten man, and Peter has the opportunity to take them to task—not for neglecting or despising the poor and the lame, but for rejecting the Author of Life, Jesus Christ. But Peter, so it seems, is a soft-hearted guy. He’s willing to bet that this bunch acted out of ignorance (v.17), and he encourages them to repent and know the forgiveness of God’s love. 

The problem, of course, is that we need to repent honestly and truly before we can know the peace that comes from forgiveness. Sometimes our ignorance is bliss. We can blithely go our way thinking we’ve caused no hurt, minded our own business, and haven’t contributed to anyone’s pain. We’re happy to be ignorant of our own arrogance or neglect. 

I think at times that our sinner’s tendency towrds subtle, smug, self-justification in our individual relationships is just a microcosm of everything that’s playing out in the streets of America this year. Wounded and neglected communities are responding with violence and anger to what they’ve perceived as a callous disregard for their humanity. Unless there is some kind of recognition, confession, and contrition there will never be any peace in this land. 

In our Gospel Lesson (Luke 24:36b-48) as well as in the First Lesson, we are reminded of the most important principles of our faith. Jesus died and rose so that repentance and forgiveness may be proclaimed. It is the knowledge of sin which brings us back to our need for grace. The knowledge may be painful, but the grace is healing.

The Power to Share (Reflections on Easter 2, Year B)

 

“There was not a needy person among them…” (Acts 4:34) 

It’s pretty amazing what a group of folks led by the Holy Spirit can do. When I read the First Lesson assigned for Easter 2 in the RCL (Acts 4:32-35), I’m always blown away by the selflessness of those early Christians. In our current climate, however, I imagine there might be some who would view this passage with alarm and think the Bible is preaching socialism. To my way of thinking, the Bible is preaching the power of faith in the resurrected Lord. 

If ever an Easter message were needed, this would be the one, I think. Haven’t you noticed how the church was always full on Easter with folks you hadn’t seen since Christmas showing off their finery? Then, the very next Sunday—as if the story of the resurrection was no more impacting than an installment of Game of Thrones,—the church emptied out again. What a shame that so many people don’t come back to hear what faith in the resurrection is capable of doing. 

We’ve all heard of the faith of the early Christian martyrs who were willing to become lion chow in the Roman arena rather than forsake their belief in Jesus Christ. I don’t know if we concentrate enough on the other sacrifice these nascent believers made—the sacrifice of their possessions, status, privilege, and security. If you ask me, I think it’s one heck of a testimony to the power of Jesus’ influence on them that they were willing conform their lives so closely to his. You have to admit, it was a pretty big ask. I mean, would you be willing to do it? To give up all you had and trust yourself to a sharing community in the hope that no one would ever go without? 

In case you haven’t noticed, sacrifice has been a big part of our American national conversation this past year. Since March of 2020 we’ve been asked to do things and go without things we’d rather not do or rather not sacrifice. Many of us have done it in the spirit of supporting others and the society as a whole. Often, our better nature wins out. 

Here’s an example: A few years back my old buddy from the Midwest, Rich, was working in the media department of a community college. He was chosen to be something of a shop steward for his public employees union. When the college had to make some cutbacks, they asked the union members to take a voluntary pay cut. This proposal was about as popular with the workers as passing gas in church; nevertheless, Rich encouraged the union members to accept the cut. How? He pointed out that, should the college not reduce its payroll, some employees would have to be let go. “How’d you like it,” Rich asked, “if you ran into one of your former co-workers at the grocery store and he was paying for his stuff with food stamps? How good would you feel about your decision then?” The image of a co-worker reduced to public assistance made the situation real for union members, and they voted that each should sacrifice some so that some didn’t have to lose all. 

I’m not proposing that we should all sell our possessions and create a commune. But I am asking us to consider what a resurrection faith really means, and how such a faith should play out in our world. Thomas, in our Gospel lesson (John 20:19-31), demanded proof before he was willing to commit himself to believing. Are we asking for proof that our sacrifices in Christ’s name will accomplish what we want them to accomplish? Do we doubt the God who raised Jesus from the dead is capable of caring for us should we risk a bit of what we have in order to aid others? 

The story we read in Acts should make us look with awe at the Early Church and yearn for the kind of zeal which created a community dedicated to compassion, a community that desired service to other human beings more than it feared privation, a community which could step out of the constraints of its culture and create a new way of seeing the world. 

Of course, many in that community of disciples saw the resurrected Jesus in the flesh. Blessed are we who have not seen, and yet have come to believe the awesome things our God is capable of doing through us. 

Christ is risen. Alleluia!