Remembering the Innocent (Reflections on Christmas 1, Year A)

“Now after they had left, an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said, ‘Get up, take the child and his mother, and flee to Egypt, and remain there until I tell you; for Herod is about to search for the child, to destroy him.’” (Matthew 2:13)

After all the joy and festivity of Christmas, the Revised Common Lectionary leads us out of the calendar year with this disturbing story of jealousy, oppression, and mass murder (Matthew 2:13-23). I’m not sure I really blame the folks who decide to sleep in on Christmas 1. This story, known as The Massacre of the Innocents, is really a buzz kill, isn’t it? After “Peace on earth, good will to men,” we end the year getting reminded that this world we live in is still a pretty sick place.

Now, should it make you feel any better, I could tell you that the story of King Herod murdering all these little boys under age 2 in order to wipe out Jesus as his competition is believed by many historians to be apocryphal. Of course, it’s not that hard to believe that a ruler might use his governmental power to destroy a rival, is it? And we know historically that Herod the Great had no trouble murdering members of his own family in order to secure his throne. It’s not very hard to believe that he’d want Jesus dead, too.

The Gospel isn’t going to let us off easy with just a message of Joy to the World. Christmas 1 reminds us that suffering still abounds, and innocent children are still victims. This past year alone 100 children have been victims of gun violence in the city of Philadelphia. Between 2009 and 2018 there have been over 180 shootings in K-12 schools in the United States, resulting in 356 youngsters killed or wounded, and countless others scarred by the experience. Over 400,000 children are in foster care in this country. At this moment there are still over 700 children separated from their parents and detained at the US border. 35 million children are living in the world as refugees from violence, war, persecution, and starvation.

Our Gospel lesson should remind us of these suffering innocents because the Most Innocent, was, according to this story, a refugee from violence and oppression himself.

It’s kind of hard to know how to preach on a passage like this, so I’ll defer to the great Henry Wadsworth Longfellow who penned this poem (which later became a Christmas carol) during the bleak days of the Civil War:

I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
and wild and sweet
The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along
The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And in despair I hung my head:

"There is no peace on earth," I said

"For hate is strong and mocks the song

Of peace on earth good-will to men."

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:

"God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;

The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,

With peace on earth, good-will to men."

Then ringing, singing on its way

The world revolved from night to day--

A voice, a chime, a chant sublime

Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And in despair I bowed my head;
"There is no peace on earth," I said;
"For hate is strong,
And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!"

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The Wrong shall fail,
The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men."

Our Gospel lesson tells us two things: the world is sick, but God is still active in healing it. God desires wellness in our land, in our world, and in ourselves. It’s appropriate that we at Faith Lutheran of Philadelphia observe a healing liturgy on this last Sunday of the year. As the sands ebb out on 2019, we can come before God with all that troubles us and all that troubles God. We can pray for deliverance, but we can also recount how we, like the Holy Family, have been delivered and rescued. We can take that deliverance as a source of strength as we go forward to do our part—however small that may seem—for the healing of the world.

The poet said, “God is not dead, nor doth he sleep.” Take heart. Have hope. Go on.

May God give you courage and peace in the New Year.

A Word About Fathers (Holy Trinity & Fathers' Day 2025)

 

“All that the Father has is mine. For this reason I said that he will take what is mine and declare it to you.” (John 16:15)

Holy Trinity is a pain. Yeah, I know it’s one of the six major festivals of the Christian liturgical calendar, but it’s a feast which celebrates a doctrine and not an event. There’s no story line here, so it’s hard to make Holy Trinity dramatic—or even interesting. It’s just this confusing teaching about the way we understand God—and that’s assuming we actually understand God at all! Trinity sermons are the benzodiazepines of homiletics. Nothing can put a congregation to sleep faster.

Fortunately, this year Holy Trinity falls on the American secular holiday of Father’s Day. The Father is the first person of the Trinity, so if I preach about fathers I won’t be straying too far from the appointed readings and I won’t get in trouble in case there’s a liturgy Gestapo.

As you can imagine in heavily Roman Catholic Northeast Philly, I often find myself being addressed by the neighbors as “Father.” I don’t mind. Even though I have no biological children of my own, I feel great kinship with dads everywhere. A parent and a parish pastor share one important attribute: we are both completely responsible for something over which we ultimately have no control.

It’s not easy to be a dad. I think my own father did the best he could, given that his dad died just two months after my father was born. My father didn’t have much in the way of guidance. Many people, boys and girls, grow up with absent fathers or fathers who are shining examples of how not to parent.

I hate to say it, but the Bible isn’t much help. The Scriptures are crawling with examples of inept fatherhood and dysfunctional families. Look at Adam. His son Cain was a murderer. I guess if your dad has sinned against God, been put out of Paradise, and blames it all on your mom you might grow up with some issues.

Then there’s Noah. He saves his family in the ark, but (in a story we don’t tell in Sunday School) he later drinks himself into a stupor, passes out buck naked, and then curses his son Ham for discovering him sleeping it off in the nude.

Fast forward to the Patriarchs of Israel. Abraham banishes his oldest son Ishmael because Ishmael is illegitimate. Abraham also attempts to cut his legitimate son Isaac’s throat and offer him as a human sacrifice. Neither of these acts speak very well for Abraham as a dad. Isaac and Rebecca split their sons apart with favoritism, and Jacob isn’t any better. Eli, the prophet and judge of Israel in 1 Samuel, is an overly permissive father whose two sons, although priests of the tabernacle, couldn’t seem to keep their hands off the serving girls or out of the collection plate. God smites both sons for their wickedness and also knocks off Eli for being a bad parent.

Perhaps the most egregious example of lousy fatherhood is King David himself. David committed adultery and lost all moral authority over his sons. His oldest, Amnon, was guilty of sexual violence against his half-sister, Tamar. David couldn’t bring himself to punish his crown prince, a fact which angered David’s other son Absalom, Tamar’s full brother. Absalom subsequently murdered Amnon and led an armed rebellion to overthrow his father. The rebellion failed and Absalom was killed, proving that dads who set bad examples and/or fail to teach their sons right from wrong stand a pretty low chance of seeing their boys grow up to be men they can be proud of.

It's not until we get to the New Testament that we see a dad we can admire. You have to love Joseph. He’s not actually Jesus’ father, but he’s a righteous man and he really loves Mary and is willing to be dad to the Son of God. Luke actually has Mary refer to him as “your father[i]” when she’s talking to Jesus. Sometimes being a dad has nothing to do with biology. It has to do with being present. We know Joseph was a great dad. After all, Jesus turned out alright.

But Jesus gives us an even better example of fatherhood. In the famous parable of the “Prodigal Son[ii],” Jesus draws a picture of a father who is generous, understanding, forgiving, and loving. No matter what kind of bozo sired us, in our hearts we all long for a relationship with a father like the one in Jesus’ parable—a father who inspires our love, admiration, and trust. This is a concept of fatherhood which, even if we haven’t experienced it, we can imagine and desire. It’s the fatherhood we believe in when we call God our father. Martin Luther wrote of “pure, fatherly, and divine goodness and mercy” as the attributes of God. He encouraged us to pray Our Father, which art in heaven “boldly and with complete confidence, just as loving children ask their loving father.[iii]”

No earthly dad is ever perfect or completely lives up to the ideal which we yearn for in our hearts, but many try to be the best they can. Our heavenly Father knows this, forgives them their shortcomings, and inspires them to do better. God also provides us with substitute fathers—stepdads, coaches, teachers, bosses, and other men who see both our needs and our potential and can speak to places in us our own biological fathers can’t always reach.  

As I said above, being a father isn’t easy. Dads are called to be protectors and providers and instructors in the way of the world. They can never be sure of the fruits of their labor, and even the best dad is willing to have his heart broken by a wayward child. If you’re a dad or stepdad, I honor you. If you had a great dad, be grateful to God for that relationship and for the patience, love and sacrifices that man made for you.

As the hymn says, “Thank you, O my Father, for giving us your son and sending your Spirit ‘til the work on earth is done.[iv]”

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[i] Luke 2:48

[ii] Luke 15:11-32

[iii] See Luther’s explanation to the Lord’s Prayer in the Small Catechism.

[iv] From “There is a Redeemer” by Keith Green, Birdwing Music 1982.

She's With You (Reflection on the Day of Pentecost 2025)

 

“Peace I leave you; my peace I give to you. I do not give as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid.” (John 14:27)

Don’t let your hearts be afraid? Have you watched the news lately? There’s plenty in this world to be afraid of. There’s climate change and war and run-away inflation. There’s plastic in our drinking water and all kinds of crap in the air and a possible loss of the social safety nets we Americans have relied upon. If you’re a young person—like those making their Confirmation on this Day of Pentecost—there’s the very real fear that your prospects for a comfortable lifestyle exceeding that of your parents might be slipping away from you. And, if that’s not enough, let’s remember the fear of gun violence. In my day, there was no such thing as an “active shooter drill.” You guys are dealing with a lot—and yet, Jesus in our Gospel (John 14: 8-17, 25-27) is telling you not to be afraid.

That’s where the Holy Spirit comes in. Today I’m asking you—Confirmands and the already confirmed and anyone else who reads this—to remember the promise of your baptism. You are washed in the promise of God. That’s a promise that you will never be left alone or abandoned. It’s a promise that you serve a God who is more powerful than all the powers of this world combined. I can’t (and won’t) promise you that nothing evil will ever happen to you. I certainly won’t promise you that if you live a godly and righteous life God will reward you with material blessings and safety and health. I will, however, repeat the promise of your baptism: You are sealed with the Holy Spirit and marked with the cross of Christ forever.

This promise and anything related to spiritual things may not be that important to you today with all the other things that are crowding through your life. But someday, the meaning of your life, the existence of God, and the perplexity of righteousness will be very much on your mind—just as it has been and will be for all of us. I’ve often joked that Confirmation has been considered “Graduation from church.” What I’m hoping and praying for is that it might only be “Vacation from church.” I pray you’ll be back because a spiritual life only matures with spiritual discipline.

On this holy day we celebrate the coming of God’s Holy Spirit to Jesus’ confused and often dumbfounded disciples. In honor of this, I will place my hands on your heads (you Confirmands, that is) and ask God to send the Holy Spirit into your lives. Actually, since God tends to pay in advance of the work, God’s loving spirit is already with you. I’m just going to pray that you come to see and know her.

Jesus told the disciples that the Spirit will be a Spirit which will let you see the truth. She will live with you and be part of you. She’ll give you wisdom and peace to navigate all the freaky, crazy stuff this world throws at you, because she’ll remind you of the things Jesus taught all of us: love of God and neighbor, forgiveness, compassion, generosity, humility, hope, honesty, and courage.

Martin Luther taught us in the Small Catechism that Spirit “enlightens (us) with (her) gifts.” You all have been drenched in marvelous blessings which some day may make an awesome, earth-shaking change in this weird, broken, and limping world.

God’s Holy Spirit can be a spirit of peace, but on this festival day we are reminded she is also the Spirit of whirlwind and fire. She can lead you into calm contemplation, but she can also drive you into the wilderness to face the devil. She can lead you into combat with the powers of this world that value wealth and power and fame over love and acceptance and respect for all of God’s creation. I don’t imagine you’ll start speaking in other languages, but, as Peter tells us in the First Lesson (Acts 2:1-21) you may just prophesy—that is, you’ll proclaim in your own words the Word of the Lord. And you may just see visions of a new society, a new mission, and a new way to be the people of our great and loving God.

May the Holy Spirit of God confirm our faith, guide our lives, empower our serving, give us patience in suffering, and bring us all to eternal life. Amen!

Somebody's Praying for You (Reflections on Easter 7, Year C 2025)

 

“The glory you have given me I have given them, so that they may be one, as we are one.” (John 17:22)

Don’t you love being part of a family? Not just a family that swims in the same gene pool, mind you, but a group of people with common goals and interests who love and trust one another and have each other’s backs. I’ll bet Jesus’ first disciples were that kind of family, and the early church must’ve felt much the same way.

Lately I’ve been reminiscing about my old seminary buddies. Thanks to the miracle of social media (which didn’t even exist the year we graduated from the Lutheran Theological Seminary at Philadelphia![i]) I’ve been able to keep up with some of them. One has become the bishop of Upstate New York Synod, one is on the synod staff down in Florida, one is now a seminary professor in California, and one is a hospice chaplain in South Dakota. Some have changed denominations, some have retired (one retiree lives on a boat with her husband and sails the Caribbean), and a few—alas!—have gone home to the Lord. The Church and the Holy Spirit have sent us each on our own journeys, but I like to think there’s a common bond between us which, should we ever sail into each other’s lane again, will make us feel like we’ve never been apart.

I’m grateful to my “Pastor School” classmates for many things and many sweet and wacky memories, but one thing I recall today is the way we promised to pray for one another. In our last semester each of us, in order to be ordained, had to appear before his or her home synod’s Approval Panel—an experience we acquainted with answering to the Spanish Inquisition. Each day, as we sat at lunch in the seminary refectory, we’d ask, “Who’s got an Approval today?” and we’d say a prayer for that fellow student. My home synod was Southwest California, which necessitated I fly back to LA in order to be grilled by the wise potentates who would decide my fate. My appointment was at 9:00 AM, just the same time, given the three-hour time difference, when my buddies in Philly would be sitting down to lunch. I remember feeling strangely calm (which is really strange, since I’m almost never calm) and at peace about the whole business. I felt safe and wrapped in a blanket of prayers coming my way from those who cared about me and wanted me to succeed.

In the Gospel lesson for Easter 7, Year C (John 17:20-26) Jesus is praying for his little family which he’s about to leave. Not only is he praying for them, but he’s praying for us too:

“I ask not only on behalf of these but also on behalf of those who believe in me through their word, that they may all be one.”

This is Jesus’ great prayer for his followers, that we become a family as tight with one another as he is with his dad. I’ll admit, that’s a pretty tall order. From the very first Christians have had some family dysfunction. Our egos and jealousies have made it hard for us to sit down together at the Thanksgiving dinner table and rejoice as siblings should. We love to bicker over details about what the Trinity means and the nature of sin and the right way to worship. We’re all set to be martyrs for our own opinions and burn heretics at the stake for disagreeing with us. Let’s just face it: being a family is hard. But here we are, all the same.

I think what Jesus was trying to do on that night in which he had his last supper with this little family was give them a master class on how to be the Church. He got down on hands and knees and washed their feet, demonstrating how we are to be present to help and serve each other. Then he prayed for them like a parent would pray for his or her children, asking God to keep them safe and help them get along.

Jesus is praying for us. He’s asking that God’s love would be in us so we can love one another. Maybe the best way to access this love is to be in regular and disciplined prayer for one another. I think there is something amazingly comforting in knowing that another is actively, lovingly praying for you. Perhaps our discipline should be spending a few minutes each morning in intercessory prayer for someone whom the Holy Spirit is putting on your heart. If you’re praying for that person, you might then want to reach out and contact them. Who knows? Your connection might be just the thing someone else needs at this very moment.

Christian legends tell us those first disciples were swept by the Holy Spirit to distant lands from which they never returned. They didn’t have Facebook or Instagram or smart phones to keep up with each other. But I’ll bet they prayed for one another all the same.

Somebody you know needs a prayer today. Send on up for that person, won’t you?

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[i] Now part of the United Lutheran Seminary, a merger between the Lutheran seminaries in Philly and Gettysburg.

Times Change, Love Doesn't (Reflections on Easter 5, Year C 2025)

 

"Peter's Vision" H.D. Northrop (American 1894)

“I give you a new commandment, that you love one another.” (John 13: 34a)

As Bob Dylan reminded us, “the times they are a-changing.”

Up to this point we liturgical Christians have been celebrating the joy of Jesus’ resurrection. At least that’s the theme of the first three Sundays in Easter in the Revised Common Lectionary. Then, on Easter 4, we got the obligatory “sheep Sunday[i],” and this week, on Easter 5, we hear the disciples getting the warning that Jesus has already packed his bags and booked his flight home to the right hand of the Father. He’s telling these guys to put on their big boy pants and get used to doing mission on their own without him. As he says in verse 33, “Where I am going, you cannot come.” Stuff is going to be different going forward.

The gospel lesson for Easter 5 (John 13: 31-35) comes on the night of the Last Supper just after Jesus has done the wacky, counter-cultural thing of washing the feat of his disciples. He’s basically turned the social order ass-over-tea kettle by taking the slave’s subservient role for those who had been following him around and hanging on his every word. This, he tells us, is how we love one another. We serve without making distinctions.

Unfortunately, being human, making distinctions is one of our favorite things to do. It’s how we spend our weekends and holidays. We’re not real keen on Jesus’ “the last shall be first” thing. We want to be first. Of course, if we’re first, that means others have to be behind us, and we’re generally cool with that. As the late Kris Kristofferson once so eloquently said,

'Cause everybody's gotta have somebody to look down on

Prove they can be better than at any time they please

Someone doin' somethin' dirty, decent folks can frown on…[ii]

 

Jesus has given us a pretty tough order: Love one another without regard to prestige of place and without judgment. That’s just not how we roll most of the time.

But it’s not impossible, either. Even Simon Peter took a while to get this “love without distinction” thing figured out. Just look at the first lesson assigned for Easter 5, Year C (Acts 11:1-8). God might’ve been a little too subtle for a numbskull like Peter to get what he was after in the dream he sent him. Peter didn’t quite catch on to the metaphor at first, not quite grasping God’s point that, just as there are no unclean animals, there are no unclean people. I’ll bet it was a test of his faith to believe that God could love and bestow the Holy Spirit on Gentiles—and the same Gentiles who had occupied Peter’s homeland, crushed his people with taxes, threatened them with violence, and hung his buddy Jesus up on a cross. Nevertheless, he went and preached to them and prayed with them and saw that, underneath it all, they were just the same as he. Some other good Christians gave Peter a load of grief for welcoming these uncircumcised foreigners, but Peter finally got it that in God there is no such thing as “them” and “us.” There’s only us. And that must’ve been a shocking adjustment for Peter and the early Christians to make.

It's a pretty shocking adjustment for us, too. It upends our whole idea of ministry. Why do we spread the gospel? The answer used to be to save souls. We had an “I’m saved and you’re not” attitude. We could define who we were by contrast with who we were not. But what if winning the world for Christ doesn’t mean getting everybody to share our exact same theology or point of view? What if it just means loving everyone as our equal? Even people of different faith traditions or no faith tradition at all. Even people who have different sexual or gender orientations. Even people who’ve come from or live in other countries or people who belong to a different political party. Or people who have wronged us in the past. Loving without a pecking order. Without desire for place or prestige. Without judgment.

On May 24 the ELCA commemorates the Christian mathematician, astronomer, and Roman . Catholic canon Nicolaus Copernicus, who died on that day in 1543. It was he who made the rather shocking—and to some, disconcerting—discovery that the earth isn’t the center of the universe. No. The earth actually revolves around the sun, and not the other way around. Not everything is about us. The world is changing and so is the Church. Perhaps, in ten years, we’ll no longer be at the center of American culture. Perhaps America will no longer be the dominant power in the world.

Maybe that’s what Jesus in John’s gospel is trying to tell us. Forget order and hierarchy and differences in culture or opinion. These things will always change anyway. Just love indiscriminately and let God do the rest.

Practice compassion this week, my friend. And do come and see me again.

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[i] Why a Sunday which always references sheep and shepherding you may ask? If you find out, let me know.

[ii] From “Jesus Was a Capricorn” from the 1972 album of the same name.

Who Was Your Shepherd? (Reflections on Easter 4, Year C 2025)

 

“The Father and I are one.” (John 10:30)

The last thing Jesus told Saint Peter—and us—in last week’s gospel from the Revised Common Lectionary (John 21:1-19) was “Follow me.” This always seems to be our evangelist’s point. You want to know God? Look to Jesus. He’s the way, just as John has him say in John 14:6. The whole freaky, wonderful, mystical, “I AMness” of God is too far beyond our puny brains’ ability to comprehend it. I don’t care if you’re a MENSA scholar, God remains a mystery. The clue we have as Christians to living with this mystery is the person of Jesus Christ.

On the fourth Sunday of Easter, we always get these “Good Shepherd” reading in our lectionary. Our gospel is John 10:22-30 in which Jesus promises eternal life to his “sheep.” If you know anything about sheep, you may take a certain amount of umbrage at being compared to a critter renowned only for its fluffy coat and notoriously low IQ. What’s more significant, I think, is that Jesus compares himself to a shepherd. That’s his way. Shepherds don’t drive sheep like cowboys drive cattle. Shepherds lead sheep. Jesus is always leading us by his example. A fun little detail about the Easter 4 gospel reading is that we encounter Jesus in the act of devotion. He’s a good Jewish boy, so he’s in the temple for the Festival of the Dedication—Hannukah. He’s being observant of his faith tradition, taking time to celebrate an historic act of God’s goodness and love for God’s beloved people. Just like we all should do, right?

But what else does a shepherd do? Looking at the appointed Psalm (one which everybody’s grandma probably knew by heart back in the day), we see that a shepherd keeps the sheep safe, provides food and drink, and makes sure they go where they’re supposed to go. Who in your life has been the protector, the provider, and the guide?

(Don’t you like the way I handle this segue?)

For a lot of us, our mothers served a shepherding role. Moms make sure you’re fed and clothed and they try to teach you to grow up as a decent, contributing member of the human race. When I taught a diakonia class in my synod, I asked the students who was the most important religious influence in their lives. Just about every student replied that influence was their mother or their grandmother.

Although my dad was a big influence on my faith, it was my mother who said nighttime prayers with me and my sisters, who taught us the dinner grace, and taught us the words to “Jesus Loves Me.” Dedicated Lutheran that she was, my mom was also my Sunday school teacher. I learned the doctrine of justification by grace through faith from mom, not my pastor or my seminary Confessions professor.

My wife was a single mom for many years. I know she did a terrific job because my stepdaughter didn’t grow up to be a jerk. Rather, she’s one of the most accomplished people I know, and she credits her mother with being her inspiration.

Moms don’t have to swim in the same gene pool with us, either. Sometimes God puts other shepherds in our lives like teachers or Girl Scout leaders or coaches or aunts, grandmoms, foster moms, or bosses. The mom who raised you had the duty of leading you to the green pastures and beside the still waters, but another shepherdess might’ve seen your talents, inspired you, corrected you, and made you see something about yourself you didn’t know was there. I will always be grateful to my grad school thesis advisor, a little English lady named Dr. Sybil Robinson. She was very patient with me, always good-humored, and she encouraged me to be a teacher. My seminary theology professor, Dr. Margaret Krych and my Clinical Pastoral Education (CPE) supervisor, Sr. Aine Garvey, were mature ladies whom I thank for their inspirational wisdom. I’ve also “borrowed” moms like my very cute late mother-in-law Mary Meidhof and older ladies from the congregation who always made me feel welcome and valued like a visiting son.

John’s gospel points us to the sacredness and mystery of God through the person of Jesus, our good shepherd. We know we follow Christ so we may live in relationship with God. But I believe the way of Jesus, through the Holy Spirit, is manifest in the brothers and sisters around us. Let’s thank God for our mom/shepherds, and keep looking for the way of Christ in others so we, ourselves, may be that way of Christ for others.

A Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms out there. Thanks for leading your sheep.

PS - Prayers and blessings to Pope Leo XIV. May our two communions join together some day as one.

 

Breakfast with Jesus (Reflections on Easter 3, Year C 2025)

 

He said to him the third time, “Simon son of John, do you love me?” Peter felt hurt because he said to him the third time, “Do you love me?” And he said to him, “Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.” Jesus said to him, “Feed my sheep.” (John 21:17)

I love breakfast. I love cooking it and I love eating it. I love that first cup of coffee at a Denny’s or a Waffle House when I’m road-tripping. I love my “Breakfast of Champions,” 16 oz. Wawa Cuban roast and a sleeve of Tastykake[i] little chocolate doughnuts I eat in the car when I’m late for something. I love dicing onions and other goodies to put in scrambled eggs and have them with bacon and a toasted bagel when I have time to cook for myself. I love sharing breakfast with other people. It’s a cozy kind of meal. That’s why I love this story in the gospel appointed for Easter 3, Year C in the RCL (John 21:1-19). What could be better than having breakfast with Jesus?

In this story, the evangelist tells us, Jesus appears for the third time to his disciples. These boys have gone off on a little fishing trip. After all, what do you do when your rabbi and Messiah has miraculously been raised from the dead and you’re not quite sure what the next move should be? Sometimes it’s just comfortable to go back to what you know. So, Simon Peter takes the lads out on the boat. They’ve fished all night and caught bupkis. They row back to shore, and there’s a guy there with a charcoal fire making some toast. Yup. It’s the Lord alright. What’s he up to?

Jesus is making the guys some breakfast. He gives them a little advice on where to catch the fish, but he’s already got the fire going to roast some kippers. Kippers and toast sounds like a pretty good breakfast to me. I’m sure Jesus enjoyed it with them, further demonstrating that he wasn’t a ghost or phantasm[ii]. Maybe that’s what he intended to show them through this homely, impromptu picnic by the lake shore. He was real. He rose. Life is eternal, death is conquered, and they have no need to be afraid of anything ever again.

I imagine these old boys felt pretty good sharing each other’s company while munching their toasted fish sandwiches. When I think of this moment, I can almost feel the soft breeze coming off the Sea of Galilee and see the smiles on the faces of the disciples as they relax in the faith and surety that God is in control, Jesus is back, and they just caught 153[iii] fish, most of which they can sell at a profit. It’s a pretty good morning.

That’s another thing Jesus has shown them. They’ve spent a long night and come up empty, but joy came in the morning. God provided for their needs. Maybe they were just looking in the wrong place. Maybe they were impatient. The fish were always there. Jesus wanted them to have faith, to know that God provides. Beside reassuring them of eternal life, Jesus wanted them—and us—to live fearlessly because fear is an instrument of the devil. We’ll be afraid of what we don’t understand, and we’ll learn to hate what we fear. But God calls us to know his goodness and providence and to live lives of trust and faith.

When I see this story in my mind’s eye and imagine Jesus standing with the fork over the barbeque, I’m reminded of John’s version of the Last Supper. Jesus demonstrated his love and ministry by washing the feet of the disciples. Here, in this passage, he’s again taking the servant role. He’s the host and they’re the guests (even though they brought most of the breakfast). He’s leading by example, reminding his buddies their job is to be servants—not leaders—to a hungry world. He’s slowly preparing them to be the Church.

There’s also this little chat Jesus has with Peter around the charcoal fire. Bible scholars think it’s significant that Jesus’ breakfast barbeque pit is described the same way (a charcoal fire) as the fire which warmed the slaves and police outside the home of the High Priest the night Peter denied three times that he even knew Jesus[iv]. This time, Peter gets to tell Jesus three times that he loves him, thereby erasing the shame of his earlier cowardice. Of course, Jesus could simply have forgiven Peter, but Peter is the kind of guy who needs to feel he’s worked off his mistakes. This is another lesson for the Church. Jesus doesn’t just teach forgiveness; he teaches us to respect the emotions of those who are penitent.

And Jesus makes clear what he expects Peter, who will, someday in the not-too-distant future, give his life on a cross in Rome, to do. Feed the sheep. Love the people of God and see to their needs.

The lessons we read in the Revised Common Lectionary during the 40 days between Jesus’ resurrection and ascension are mostly about the way Jesus transforms his disciples from followers to ambassadors of the Good News. Faith is certainly key but so is love. As Christians, we come to the breakfast table every Sunday morning right in front of the altar. We come to enjoy a celebratory meal with one another, to know—as Peter knew—our sins are forgiven, and to remind ourselves of Jesus’ love for us.

Bon appetit!

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[i] For my international or non-US East Coast readers, Tastykake is a Philadelphia-based bakery producing delicious confections sold at most convenience stores and grocery marts. Wawa is a chain of convenience stores and gasoline stations located in the eastern part of the Central States, Virginia, and Florida. They have a rich variety of coffee flavors and make any kind of sandwich imaginable on savory French rolls. They usually play classic rock music, and, for my money, they beat Disneyland as the happiest place on earth.

[ii] See Luke 24:40-43.

[iii][iii] Bible scholars ponder the significance of this number, but nobody knows for sure why John included this exact count. It’s possible the fishermen always counted the number of their catch for tax reasons since fishing was a commercial venture.

[iv] John 18:18.

Holding Out a Wounded Hand (Reflections on Easter 2, Year C 2025)

 

Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.” (John 20:27)

It looks like we’re catching the Apostle Thomas at a bad moment in the Gospel appointed for Easter 2, Year C in the Revised Common Lectionary (John 20:19-31). This is where he gets that unflattering nickname “Doubting Thomas.” Prior to this, Thomas gave every appearance of being a pretty gung-ho kind of guy. When Jesus was warned not to go back to Bethany even though his good buddy there, Lazarus, was deathly ill, Thomas wasn’t afraid of the death threats his rabbi was receiving. He was all set to go and die with Jesus if it came down to that. [i]

Christian legend and that classic gore fest Fox’s Book of Martyrs tells us that after Pentecost, Thomas headed east and spread the gospel in what is modern day Iran and even got as far as India where, it seems, he got on the wrong side of some pagan priests and was put to death by being impaled with a spear. You have to hand it to the old boy, he certainly had zeal for the gospel.

But you can’t be too hard on him for having his doubts right after the crucifixion. Let’s figure Thomas has just spent three years following Jesus around. He hasn’t always picked up on everything Jesus is trying to teach him. When Jesus tells the disciples that he is preparing a place for them in his Father’s house and that they all know the way he is going, Thomas takes this a little too literally and has to have it explained to him.[ii] He seems to be a pretty plain-spoken kind of guy, and you can’t fault him for being sad and disappointed when one of his buddies turns out to be a traitor and his rabbi gets nailed to the cross. Even someone who has been all in for a cause might get discouraged and just want to go back to Galilee and get his old job on the fishing boat back when things end as badly as they appear to have ended for Jesus. Even if ten of his old gang tell him Jesus is raised from the dead, he’s not going to buy it unless he can see it for himself and actually see the nail scars in Jesus’ hands.

But he does see them. Jesus comes and holds out his hands and shows Thomas those wounds. Thomas sees the real human Jesus and sees the marks of the anguish Jesus suffered. He experiences the flesh and blood reality which moves him with empathy and with pity and brings him back to a place of faith.

“My Lord and my God,” Thomas says. And it’s the first time someone expresses what John has been trying to teach us with his gospel—the Father’s divine presence is manifest in Jesus.

Now here’s some wonky back story: In 1945 an Egyptian peasant name Mohammed Ali[iii] was digging around out in the desert and discovered a giant stone jar containing thirteen ancient books hidden in the sands for centuries and dating back to the early Christian era. One of these writings is known as The Gospel of Thomas and is a collection of the sayings of Jesus. Some of the sayings appear in slightly altered forms in the gospels of Matthew and Luke, but some others seem really wacky and arcane. The Gospel of Thomas didn’t pass the smell test for some of our early Christian ancestors, and so it’s not included in the Bible that’s come down to us today.

We know historically that there were some early Christians who believed Jesus had passed on some mystical, secret teachings (similar to the Jewish Kabbalah tradition) to his disciples which might’ve left average believers scratching their heads and saying , “Say what..?” The sayings in The Gospel of Thomas might be a reflection of this sect and its teachings. It’s possible that John’s gospel was written in opposition to this mystical school of early Christianity[iv]. John always locates the holiness of God in the person of Jesus. There’s no secret mystery here. If you want to know God, John seems to be saying, just look at Jesus. There is, perhaps, a bit of poetic irony in John having Thomas, the guy whose gospel is so esoteric, make the confession that Jesus is Lord and God.

It used to bother me that John’s gospel made Jesus so God-like with all of those “I AM” sayings, but I now see how John also made Jesus more human than had the authors of the synoptic gospels. It’s in John’s gospel that Jesus cries. It’s here that Jesus humbly washes the feet of his friends, that he arranges care for his mother, and that he openly tells his disciples that he loves them. God’s divinity is displayed in Jesus’ humanity.

It's easy to be like Thomas at times. We try and try, and then we just want to give up. But sometimes, just when we think we’ve had enough, Jesus comes to us and reaches out his wounded hands. In the hurt or need or courage or compassion of another flesh and blood human being, Jesus comes back to us and says, “Here I am. And I am not finished with you yet. Do not doubt but believe.”

I hope you had a blessed Holy Week and Easter. I know I did. Thank you for reading this week, and please come back again.

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[i] See John 11:16.

[ii] See John 14:5.

[iii] Not to be confused with the great heavyweight!

[iv] We Christians can’t ever seem to agree on everything. We’ve been splitting into denominations for centuries.

How Would You Feel on that Morning? (Reflections on the Resurrection of Our Lord 2025)

 

“…he went home, amazed at what had happened.” (Luke 24:12b)

How would you have felt on that Sunday morning so long ago? A whole lot of stuff got packed into that one Passover week in Jerusalem. Just a week before Jesus rode his little donkey into town and was greeted by cheering fans throwing off their cloaks and waving palm branches like he’d just won the Super Bowl. Then he went into the temple and confronted the myrmidons of the corrupt regime which, under the guise of religion, was kneeling on the necks of the people while picking their pockets at the same time. Chasing money changers out of the temple was a really daring act of civil disobedience. But what was even more audacious was the fact Jesus got away with it! Nobody arrested him. The Pharisees and Sadducees were all too chicken of the crowds who gathered around Jesus and seemed to adore him. He spent the next four days teaching in the temple, and nobody even tried to stop him.

But then came Thursday night. If you were one of the twelve gathered around the table at Jesus’ Passover seder, you might’ve felt some tension. Jesus knew it. Something was about to go down. Things started to get a little weird when Jesus told you he wouldn’t be eating this meal with you again. They got weirder when Judas Iscariot got up and left the room for no reason. After dinner, when you all went out for a stroll, it happened. Judas had ratted the boss out to the authorities. They came at night when the crowds were nowhere around. Few witnesses. Sneaky. The way they always do things.

How would you feel if you were Simon Peter? First, when they come to take Jesus, you do the macho thing and grab your sword. But Jesus doesn’t believe in violence. He tells you to put your weapon away. Then you see the size of that cohort that’s come to drag him in, and you start to lose your nerve. In a little while you’ll be telling people you never met this Jesus dude.

On Friday, the religious bigwigs, who have been looking for any excuse to get rid of this popular preacher, send him to the Roman governor. They can’t come right out and say they’re jealous of the guy, so they gin up a charge that he’s been corrupting the people, telling folks not to pay taxes, and claiming that he’s the rightful king of the Jews. None of this is true, but that doesn’t matter. The lie will get the job done.

And it does. Jesus is crucified.

So how do you feel now, Peter? You talked big, but when it came down to it, you wimped out. Your teacher and friend is dead. Another guy you thought you could trust like a brother betrayed everyone. The grand movement is over. Looks like the powers of darkness have won. Are you in mourning? Are you realizing you gave up a good job as a fisherman and walked around with Jesus and these other guys for three years for nothing? Or are you thinking the authorities might be coming for you next? How do you spend that Friday after Jesus’ body is taken down from the cross? I guess you’re hiding somewhere, defeated, ashamed, afraid, and in shock.

But then there are the women who have been following your little band. How do they feel? Their hearts must be breaking. They were there at the end. They saw Jesus die. They’d be honored to do the last thing they can do, the women’s job of anointing his body, but religious law has forbidden them to do even that last act of love because he’s died too near the Sabbath. So, they gather their spices and wait. First thing Sunday, before the sun is even up, they head to the tomb. It’s not an easy task to anoint a body, even if it’s the body of someone you love. The task is made more disagreeable when the loved one has already been dead two days. Still, it’s better than doing nothing and being left alone with the helplessness that always come to us when there’s a death.

As the women reach the tomb they are greeted with an astonishing sight. It’s open. And it’s empty. And two dazzling gentlemen have come out of nowhere to tell them Jesus is risen from the dead. The women are scared spitless, but once they recover, they race off to find Peter and the others and tell them what’s happened.

The trouble is, of course, no one wants to believe them. Would you? These guys have been through enough. They’ve lived on faith and hope for three years and it’s all turned to crap before their eyes. Their leader is dead. Their movement is over. Their livelihoods are gone. For all they know they might be wanted by the police. All they want is to sneak away back to where they came from, live in peace, and try to rebuild their lives like soldiers who’ve seen too much of war or addicts who’ve finally gotten sober. They don’t have time to listen to unreliable witnesses telling them something which is too good to be true. They’ve had enough of that.

And yet Peter somehow finds the courage to go and check it out. And he’s blown away. He’s astounded. He’s gob-smacked and freaked out. He has no idea what has just happened or what it’s going to mean. Not yet. And that’s where the story cuts off—for now.

Like Peter, we don’t understand God, and it often takes us a while to feel God’s purpose for us. But just like old Peter, we’re all called to get up and check it out.  Faith never comes instantly. It has to grow over time. The “why” of Easter may not be apparent, but the empty tomb tells us the story isn’t over. Out of death can come new life. Out of pain comes strength and love. Out of loss comes hope. Out of sin comes forgiveness. Out of despair and cynicism comes curiosity and expectation. As Christians this is what we embrace—lives of hope and trust and joy seeking the will and way of Jesus.

The story isn’t over.

“Because he lives, “the old hymn says, “I can face tomorrow. Because he lives all fear is gone. Because I know he holds the future, and life is worth the living just because he lives.[i]”

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

 

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[i] From “Because He Lives” by Gloria and William Gaither. Copyright 1971 by Wm. Gaither.

Let's Wash Some Feet (Reflections on Maundy Thursday 2025)

 

“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.” (John 13:13-14)

If I haven’t told you so before, I guess you should know I really love Holy Week. I think it’s the old actor in me that loves the ritual reenactment of the last week of Our Lord’s earthly ministry. During these precious eight days we in the Church, through our solemn liturgies, act out the old, old story. We wave the palms, we wash the feet, we eat the meal, and we shudder in the darkness when the Light of the World breathes his last upon the cross.

At Faith Lutheran of Philadelphia Maundy Thursday, the feast which commemorates Christ’s Last Supper, is also the time we welcome first-time communicants to the Lord’s table. We have a really cool ritual (which I stole from my vicariate parish, Grace Lutheran of Yorktown Heights, New York—shout out to you guys and the Rev. Dr. Tim Kennedy who wrote the liturgy) in which the first-timers and their parents promise to live in the covenant of their respective baptisms, confessing to each other and granting forgiveness in remembrance of the forgiveness granted us all through the body and blood of Jesus.

I also wash the feet of the kids who are about to receive the sacrament for the first time. This, as you might imagine, tends to make third grade boys a little squeamish; nevertheless, with gentle coaxing from their parents, they usually consent to let me do it. This is the reenactment of the Gospel lesson for this feast (John 13: 1-17, 31b-35). I never grew up with this practice in the church myself, but now I find it one of the most meaningful things we do all week.

Lutherans usually prefer the term Maundy Thursday to Holy Thursday. Maundy is a word which comes to us via a tortuous journey through Middle English and Old French from the Latin mandatum which means a commandment. Jesus gave us a couple of pretty good commandments on this night when he ate the Passover meal with his disciples. The first was that we should also eat this meal to remember him—his love, his suffering, his death, and his resurrection every time we come to the table. The other commandment he gave after he’d taken the slave’s job, the job of the lowest personage in the household, and washed the disciples’ feet:

“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.” (John 13:34-35)

If you had been at that Passover seder you might’ve freaked out the same way Peter did. It just wasn’t kosher for your rabbi to get down on the floor and tend to your dirty, stinky feet. But in Christ there is no distinction. We are all brothers and sisters, and we are all to be servants to one another.

Today in America there are some Christians who may not have gotten the memo. There’s this thing called the New Apostolic Reformation (NAR). It’s a Christian supremacist theological belief and controversial movement advocating spiritual warfare to bring about Christian dominion over all aspects of society, and end or weaken the separation of church and state[i].

I don’t know how widespread this movement is or how many followers it has. That doesn’t matter. It will make no difference if Christians gain control of the government or control of the whole world. Things will only change for the better if we can humble ourselves enough to let Christ be in control. And on this night, he taught us to take the slave’s job. He taught us to remember his self-denial and sacrifice. He taught us his blood was shed for all people. He never said a word about gaining governmental power because, as he’d tell Pontius Pilate the next day, his kingdom is NOT of this world[ii].

No. Jesus taught us to love and serve and be servants. He taught us to care for the least and the lowest, the teacher to honor the students, the wealthy to feed the poor, the able to tend to the disabled, and the respected to welcome the despised, the stranger, and the outcast. That is the command of Jesus.

If you’d been a disciple at that final seder meal, you probably reached the point where nothing Jesus did could surprise you. When he told you to break with the norms of your culture and share this meal—his body and blood—with everyone, you’d know he meant it. There were some whom the culture decided were not ritually pure or righteous enough to sacrifice the body and blood of their livestock on the altar of the temple of Jerusalem, but Jesus’ sacrifice would exclude no one.

We call this meal the Eucharist, a word which means thanksgiving. Indeed, whenever we share it, we share it in joy for who our Savior was and still is for us. But on this particular night, we hit the pause button on our joy. We remember that, before this meal was over, one of those whom Jesus loved would betray him to his enemies. Judas would abandon Jesus for the false god of wealth or power, or prestige, or who knows what. The authorities would come for Jesus at night, when the crowds couldn’t see what they were doing. Jesus would order his followers not to use violence to protect him. He would be arrested, abused, mocked, and falsely convicted.

Tonight, Jesus is with us in the bread and the cup. But he is also with all who have been bullied, all who have been betrayed by others or by governments, all who feel lost and abandoned, all who have been wrongly persecuted, and all who have felt spit upon and ridiculed. May they be in our hearts tonight as well.

 

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[i] For more information on this movement click NAR.

[ii] I guess the New Apostolic Reformation and Christian Nationalist folks didn’t read that far in their Bibles.