You Are The Mystery

You Are The Mystery

After the destruction of the First Jerusalem Temple, the people of Israel, cut off from the center of all rituals and rhythms of life, growth, harvest, new birth and death, were described as a valley of dry bones. The Lord asked the prophet Ezekiel, “Can these bones live?” Zeke answered, “Lord, you know.” And together the breath and spirit of the Lord raised those bones to new life, new promise and new hope. It was a moment of Resurrection. Resurrection is the Promise of Life in the midst of crisis and death and destruction.

Jump ahead 500 years as Storyteller Luke describes two of the followers of Jesus leaving Jerusalem for their home in Emmaus after experiencing two body-blows: first, the brutal torture and crucifixion of the one they believed would ransom and redeem Israel from the scourge of Caesar’s Empire, and then the news that tomb where he had been laid was now empty. [Luke chapter 24] Like the others, these two had no doubt dismissed the report from the women that he had been raised and was alive as mere “women’s trinkets.” Never mind that the Lord himself had chosen these women as the Best Agents of Promise and Resurrection. Further, as Storyteller Luke narrates this story, the Second Temple now lies in ruins, and the bones are once again dry, desiccated and lifeless in both the Jewish and Christian communities who centered their lives in that place.

As the two sadly walk back out to the suburbs, a stranger joins them on the way asking, “What’s up!” The one named Cleopas, not recognizing that this is no stranger, responds, “Seriously! Are you the only one who has not heard what things have happened in Jerusalem these past few days?” Surely this is meant to make us laugh – for the stranger is Jesus himself. He knows better than anyone what has happened. Still, he goes along with it saying, “What things?” Perhaps thinking they might recognize him now. Yet, despite a message of Resurrection from the women,  these two are so wrapped up in their own grief, fear and despair they still don’t get it and proceed to tell him what he has been through, and about the women. It seems even the resurrected Jesus can become frustrated as he declares, “O, how foolish and slow of heart you are! Do I have to go over this all over again?” And he does.

When they get to their home he keeps walking, no doubt wondering what he can do or say that can put them on the right track. They beg him to stay for dinner. If there is one thing Storyteller Luke repeats over and over it is when there is food involved Jesus is on it. Richard Swanson once asked his students to imagine what Jesus looked like. A rather large defensive lineman sitting in the back who had not said a word all semester raised his hand and said, “He must have been large – I imagine him to be around 260 to 280 pounds!” Astounded at this, Swanson asks how he had come to this conclusion. “He was a big guy,” he repeated, “In the gospel of Luke he is always eating: Feeding the 5000, The Last Supper, eating with sinners, eating with Pharisees. It’s like the Emmaus thing. They only recognize him when he breaks the bread for the meal. It’s like he didn’t look like himself unless he had a chicken leg in his hand!” [Richard Swanson, Provoking the Gospel of Luke, p 141]

Indeed, it is the third time Storyteller Luke portrays Jesus taking bread, blessing it, breaking it and giving it to others. It’s as if Luke want us to understand that this is the shape of Christian Life and Mission. They are the very actions of Eucharistic (which means Thanksgiving) life: taking, blessing, breaking and giving bread. Of course, another take-away from this story is that Jesus is always with us if only we will get out of our own heads, our own lives and our own crises and see that.

He is here now. He is with you now as you stay at home in the midst of yet another crisis of life and death. Gaze upon this bread which for the time being we cannot share. We can, like the two companions on the road to Emmaus, mourn what we think we have lost. And we can feel like we are in Exile from our spiritual home that has been here since 1805.

Or, we can see and know and experience that the living God is with us even now in the midst of this terrible awful public health crisis and the extreme measures we need to take to save lives. Staying at home and Compassionate Distancing Saves Lives. And isn’t that what this bread represents even if we can only look at it? Saving Lives? Isn’t this Salvation?

And there are those who will remind us that this loaf of bread contains everything; that it represents all of life. For if we look at the bread we can see there is a cloud floating in it. Without the cloud there would be no water to moisten the earth and grow the seed. And there is sunshine in it, for without the sunshine it would not grow. And if we open our eyes and look deeper we will see not only the cloud and the sunshine and the water and earth and the seed, but everything is here: the bread that feeds the farmer who harvests the wheat; the truck driver who takes it to the mill; the millstones that grind the wheat into flour; the baker who bakes it; the driver who takes it to Safeway; the woman who puts it on the shelf; the teenager who checks it out at the register. It is all in the bread. Everything, all of life, everyone is in this loaf of bread. Christ through whom all creation is made is in the bread. He is here. Even when the bread is not.

And St Augustine tells us that we are in the mystery of the bread we place on the altar. “…you are the mystery that is placed upon the Lord’s table. You receive the mystery that is yourself.

To that which you are, you will respond, ‘Amen.’ [St Augustine, Pentecost Homily]

This is what we are: Resurrection and the Promise of New Life, All Life, in the midst of what the world calls crisis and death. This is what happened in Emmaus. Eyes were opened to the presence of the Lord who was there all along; who is with us always to the end of the age. Something needs to break us open like the bread for us to see it is all here. Within us and without us. This is Resurrection Life. This is the mystery of dry bones coming to life again. This is a reminder to listen to the Agents who come to announce Resurrection and Promise.

We finally notice that the two companions on the road race back to become agents of resurrection and promise themselves. And only one is given a name. Because, my sisters and brothers, the one without the name is you. You will be broken open and you will see that the Lord is with you. And you will go and tell others with your companion, Cleopas – which means “glory of the father.” You who are the mystery that is placed on the Lord’s table will join Glory of the Father to tell others your own stories of Resurrection and Promise. Amen.

…you are the mystery that

is placed upon the Lord’s table.

You receive the mystery that is

yourself.

To that which you are,

you will respond,

‘Amen.’

St Augustine, Pentecost Homily

The Snow Storm

These words are written for you, writes John Storyteller: the doors were locked out of fear, yet still the Christ appeared. The One who had said to them, ‘Peace…Shalom…Peace I leave with you, my Peace I give to you…I do not give to you as the world gives…let not your hearts be troubled…” he had told them before the crisis struck. Yet still, the doors were locked for fear of whatever lay outside the safety of those locked doors. [John 20:19-31]

Weeks ago, at the beginning of what we, for lack of better words, now call the ‘new normal,’ I had opened the tailgate of the car, and was putting on a mask and the now ever useful nitrile gloves, preparing to go into CVS looking for things like hand sanitizer. When I turned around to shut the tailgate, there she was. An Asian woman perhaps in her 50’s, hands outstretched as if about to receive communion, looking at me with pleading eyes, and said, ‘Hands…gloves….?’ It was a moment in time that broke open and through the routine and mundane dimensions of what we were there to do. Her words cut to my heart at its deepest place. We were no longer two people in a CVS parking lot. We were two people who despite our physical location were hiding behind locked doors out of fear. And in that moment Christ appeared. All calculations that had begun to flood my mind about how many gloves are in this box and how many days will I need to put them on and how long will my supply last evaporated in the real presence we were experiencing. My head immediately nodded yes, yes of course, and I turned to take another pair out of the box, walked over to her and handed them to her outstretched hands, and in that gesture it was Holy Communion with a new sacrament, a new understanding of the Peace he gives that is not like the world gives, and for just that moment our troubled hearts were stilled. It was a moment of At-One-Ment. We were one and the One who comes to unite us was there as well. There was Shalom, there was Peace as her head bowed in thanksgiving for a simple pair of nitrile gloves that could for now still the fears of what might be lurking inside CVS that morning. And I remember thinking at the time, this is where we are headed – a world where a pair of gloves is in such short supply that we will all, ordinary people, care givers, first responders, nurses, surgeons, respiratory therapists, be standing in ordinary parking lots, hands outstretched, fear and pleading in our eyes, able to only manage two words, “hands…gloves”?

Perhaps it has settled in by now: we have been wounded. All of us. I never understood those Zombie Apocalypse movies until now as I venture out from behind the closed doors of Stay At Home and see people avoiding one another with gloves, masks, bandanas and every other contrivance, out foraging and searching for things we have always taken for granted would be on the now empty shelves. I think of Thomas who missed the appearance of his risen Lord the night of that first Easter. The others tell him, “We have seen the Lord!” Thomas wants physical evidence. "Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe."

Thomas is fearless. Wherever he was that first Easter evening, he was not hiding behind locked doors! And now a week later he is still fearless. Jesus appears and again says, “Peace be with you.” Then turning to Thomas, he says, "Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not be unfaithful, but faithful." Thomas sees the wounds and declares, “My Lord, and my God.” Storyteller John says these words are written for us. They are written for all of us who face the woundedness that surrounds us on all sides – and then like Thomas, remain faithful. Remain Hopeful. Remain One with he who has been raised and returns to raise us with him. Emmanuel. God with us.

These words are written for us. Now. Here. Today. We are those who are fearful hiding behind locked doors. Yet, Jesus comes to us to be with us, to offer us Peace, to breathe on us the breath of new life and the spirit of God. And we are Thomas, courageous enough to face into the immensity of the crisis, look at our wounds and still declare his faithfulness – the fulness of his faith. A faith grounded in Hope and Love. A faith that calls us to reach out our hands to reveal our wounds. A faith that calls us to reach out our hands in Faith, Hope and Love, and to find ways to be Sacrament for one another, even if is in an ordinary pair of nitrile gloves.

I keep seeing that woman at CVS with her hands reaching out for something to calm her fears. In this time in which we are separated from receiving The Sacrament we are now to become sacrament for one another, and all others. And I keep reading this poem by Marie Howe which somehow manages to see this moment we share with Thomas in the ordinary – while walking through the snow, seeing deer tracks and somehow hearing these words that were written so we will know Jesus is the Christ and that remaining faithful like Thomas we do and will and will always have life in its fulness in his name.

The Snow Storm by Marie Howe

I walked towards the river, and the deer had left tracks

deep as half my arm, that ended in a perfect hoof

and the shump shump shump my boots made walking made the silence loud.

And when I turned back towards the great house

I walked beside the deer tracks again.

And when I came near the feeder: little tracks of the birds on the surface

            of the snow I’d broken through.

Put your finger here, and see my hands, then bring your hand and put it in my side.

I put my hand down into the deer track

            and touched the bottom of an invisible hoof.

Then my finger in the little mark of the jay.

[from The Kingdom of Ordinary Time, W.W.Norton, New York:2008]

A Coda: A white dove, a pigeon really, has been coming to visit at home since the beginning of the Stay At Home order. White Bird comes two or three times a day. I toss out a little seed and she comes running over for more. I hold out a handful of seed and she pecks at it in my hand. I cannot reach out to touch others, but I can reach out to this beautiful and quite mysterious bird. Just as Marie Howe reaches into the deer track to touch “the bottom of an invisible hoof.” Sometimes our only contact with the Holy is in moments like Howe describes. When the “shump shump shump” of our boots make “the silence loud.” Faith, Hope and Love in the Time of Coronavirus. Here’s the paradox. Our healing lies in our woundedness which has been touched by the One who says, “I am with you always, to the end of the age. My Peace I give to you.”

Why is this night different from all other nights?

Why is this night different from all other nights?

Our first lesson for Maundy Thursday from Exodus 12 gives instructions for celebrating Passover, the foundational event for the entire Bible. At the traditional Passover Seder Meal today, a guest, usually the youngest person at the table able to do so, asks, “Why is this night different from all other nights?” As the story of the Passover and the story of Jesus are inextricably linked throughout the gospels and our liturgies, the question for this year’s Maundy Thursday: Why is this Maundy Thursday different from all other Maundy Thursdays?

As we gaze upon the stripped altar, all decoration removed from the sanctuary, lights dimmed, even for this Spiritual Pilgrimage we call Covid-19 Coronavirus it all looks stark and spare. Which may not be a such a bad thing. We usually end up at this place, tonight we start here. We usually listen to the lessons, a sermon, wash each other’s feet, and celebrate Holy Communion. In this time of Coronavirus, we hear the lessons and move directly to Stripping the Altar.

We start here because the things we usually do that we think “require” all the things now missing we cannot do in the reality of our virtual worship while we self-isolate, self-quarantine and practice Compassionate Distancing: the ritual washing of feet and Holy Communion. We are reminded of that night before Good Friday in storyteller John’s account of the Last Supper, where all focus is on Jesus washing his disciple’s feet, insisting, against Peter’ s protest, that he must do this, taking the form of a servant. Foot washing was the job of the youngest household servant or slave.

John’s account in chapter 13 and following is unique in that although it is comprised of several long chapters there is not one single mention of bread and wine, body and blood. Which is precisely where we find ourselves on this night and where we will be until Governor Hogan lifts the Stay At Home regulations. So, this night is different than all other Maundy Thursdays in that we can neither wash feet nor share in Holy Communion. What we can do is ponder just why John and Jesus feature the washing of feet so prominently?

The answer lies in the name for this night in Holy Week: Maundy comes from the Latin mandatum, which means commandment. Jesus issues a new commandment: I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. It may not seem so new. We have heard it so many times we have domesticated it and neutered it of its power. As we ponder this command and gaze on the stark rawness of our marble altar we begin to see that this New Commandment takes us beyond the Second Great Commandment to love our neighbors as we love ourselves. The newness lies in the words “as I have loved you.”

Can we begin to understand just how much God in Christ, how much the Word made flesh, loves us? I say ‘us’ since the Greek word for “you” in the text is plural, not singular. English fails us at times like this, and our cultural bias toward individualism takes over. In the American South this might sound something more like this: Just as I have loved y’all, y’all also should love one another!

There is a similar text in Matthew chapter 11 that captures another sense of what was going on around that dinner table the night before Jesus was executed: “28 Come to me, all you that are weary and are heavy laden, and I will give y’all rest. 29 Take my yoke upon y’all, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30 For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

As it is with the current pandemic, we are to be reminded that so it was that night long ago as Jesus got on his hands and knees and washed our feet: we are all in this together. And what we are in is God’s love, God’s agape love and charity. Faith, Hope, and Love abide these three; the greatest of this is Agape Love – Agape Love is the Love of God for humankind, and our Love for God. We are to be washed into loving all humanity with the same charitable love God has for all of us – all of us who make up “y’all”!

Though we often forget that God’s Agape love is for all of us, the revealed strength of this marble altar upon which we fix our gaze means to remind us that God’s love for all is steadfast, immovable, and unyielding. So it is that the priest strips off all adornments that seek to soften our view, to reveal the solid strength that lies beneath all the decoration we think makes it more pleasing to the eye. Lest we forget, this night is different in that we reveal the essence of what stands before us night and day, week after week: the solid rock of a sacrificial altar. Jesus is that Sold Rock. As Bob Dylan sings it,

“Well, I'm hangin' on/

To a solid rock/

Made

 before

the foundation

of

the world/

And I won't let go, and I can't let go/

Won't let go and I can't let go/

Won't let go and I can't let go no more!”

And tonight is not like all other nights and Sunday mornings in that instead of using the water and wine for communion, we wash the altar with the water and blood that storyteller John will tomorrow describe as pouring forth from our Lord’s pierced side – a sign of his final emptying of himself to take the form of a servant as Paul describes it. Marble altars often have crosses engraved in surface of its top in all four corners and in the center. The priest pours the wine and then the water on those five crosses as a reminder to us all the length to which God has gone to say, I love you – I love all of you – Love one another as I love all of you. I empty myself this night and hand over the love I have for all people to all of you to convey to all the others – all others – the Agape Love I have for all people everywhere throughout all time.

We see the wine and water poured, but this night there is no bread. Once again as on Palm Sunday, the altar is revealed for what it really is – a place of sacrifice, not a dinner table. When looking on altars such as ours we are to be reminded of the sacrifice made in Christ’s ongoing attempts to unite us as one people – his invitation into At-One-Ment with the source of God’s Agape Love. For we all come from the source of God’s Agape Love, and we all return to the source of God’s Agape Love – just as during this supper Jesus knew that he had come from God and was going to God – and so he invites us to be the ongoing source of this Agape Love throughout all the world throughout all time. We Come from Love. We Return to Love. And Love is All Around.

My sisters, my brothers –

We are the Love that is all around!

Jesus calls us to follow him

so that we might do something beautiful with our lives

and bear much fruit.

The World needs us.

The Church needs us.

Jesus needs us.

They need our power and our light.

Know that there is a hidden place in our hearts

where Jesus lives.

This is a deep secret we are called to live.

Let Jesus live in among us.

Go forward with Him.

Let him wash your feet tonight.

Feel just how good it feels to be touched by Jesus.

To have him pour water over your tired feet and dry them with a towel.

And know that when the Sacrament of His Body and Blood is not available as we travel virtually through this Spiritual Pilgrimage,

He is still present with us

As he promises

To the end of the Age.

“For we, sisters and brothers, are the Body of Christ.

His broken body is our broken body upon which others feed.

His blood spilled is our blood shed to rejoice the hearts of all.

His tomb is ours, and in it others die to rise again.

Even now we are becoming him.

When once again you hold his body in your hand, it is to this we say “Amen,” before we receive what we have become.” *

For this night is different from all other nights!

And we are made different and new being here together,

Gazing upon The Solid Rock of our Existence:

Christ the Lord.

Amen.

*Aidan Kavenaugh, Christ, Dying and Living Still