GRUMBLERS, NO MORE

A sermon for the 4th Sunday in Lent (Year B)

Today is already the fourth Sunday in Lent. And it actually has a name. It is called Laetare. This term comes from the Latin word “rejoice.” So we are right smack dab in the middle of the somber season of Lent and yet the word that describes this day is rejoice. Does that make any sense to you?

It may seem a bit odd since this is a season of penitence and sacrifice. It is a season so serious that we don’t even get to sing the Alleluia verses.  Yet in the ancient church, the prayers for this day always began with the word rejoice. Why? Because we have now passed the halfway point. Lent is more than half done and we are well on our way to the great joy of Easter. Today’s scripture lessons are filled with joy as well. 

The first lesson comes from the great Exodus, in which Moses leads the people of God out of slavery and into the freedom of the Promised Land. But as they are going, they to get tired of the road trip. They are like kids in the back seat whining: “Are we there yet?”  I was just introduced to a folk song from the 1920s called “Grumbler.” Since this story reminds me so much of the grumbler song, I’m going to sing you a verse. 

In country, town, or city some people can be found

who spend their lives in grumbling at everything around.

Oh yes, they always grumble no matter what we say.

For these are chronic grumblers, and they grumble night and day.

Oh, they, grumble on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday

Grumble on Thursday, too.

Grumble on Friday, Saturday, Sunday

Grumble the whole week through.

Yes, the people of God are, indeed, grumblers. They are on their way to the promised land but do they get excited about this? Do they cheer about the greatness of this destination? No, they grumble the whole week through. They just hate it. They are in the middle of the wilderness and the food stinks. It’s worse than airplane food, which you have to pay extra for these days.  So the grumblers get mad at Moses. Never mind the fact that he led them out of slavery and he has helped them find water, manna and has even argued with God on their behalf. No pity for Moses. The grumblers feel sorry for themselves and he’s the most convenient one to blame. They grumble: “Why have you brought us up out of Egypt to die in the wilderness?” 

As you might guess, God doesn’t really like their grumbling. So poisonous serpents show up and start biting and killing the Israelites. Um...excuse me? Where is the joy in this story? It sounds like a horror movie with Sam Jackson. In a 1999 poll, 40% of Americans listed snakes as that thing in life that they feared most. Snakes even beat out speaking in public and spiders. Now we have to deal with a snake story in the bible? But why!?

It certainly reflects our human nature to want to grumble about things. In our own “wilderness” experiences, we get impatient with God. We worry things won’t turn out the way wan want and so we get to grumbling. Often, we embrace negativity instead of hope.

But back to the Exodus. Despite the fact that the people brought the snake problem on themselves by their grumbling and ingratitude, God proves to be merciful. The people acknowledge their sin and ask for help. So God instructs Moses to make a bronze sculpture of one of the very serpents that had bitten them and mount it on a pole. Then, whenever someone is bitten, they should simply look up to the serpent and they will be healed. This is a great grace given to the grumpy grumblers.

Then, in the gospel lesson from John, we come in on the middle of a conversation that Jesus is having with a religious leader named Nicodemus. Jesus is trying to get through to this man that God is offering a new covenant through him. He says, “And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.” You see he is making reference to the story we just heard. In the same way that God provided healing for the people through the serpent sculpture, God was now providing healing for all through Jesus who would be soon be dying for all on the cross. This cross is not just for the “insiders” who already have a relationship with God, but for all. 

Then, comes John 3:16, the verse that everyone knows. “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.” It is known as the gospel in a nutshell. You see it written on the scoreboard and baseball games, on billboards and bumper stickers. I once saw a man holding a sign with this verse as he was protesting a concert of the Rolling Stones. It made me laugh to see him using it as a condemnation of those awful people going to see a rock band. I laughed because that is exactly the opposite point this scripture passage is making.

Look at the very next verse. Jesus says, “Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.” The message is that the cross is lifted up to liberate people, to draw them to God with the cords not of guilt or condemnation but of love.

For we are the grumblers. We are the ones who chose darkness over light. We are the ones, like the Israelites, who like to complain even while we are on the road to freedom. We tend to do this even when we don’t mean to. 

Saint Paul understood this internal wrestling when he wrote: “For I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want to do is what I do.” (Romans 7:19-21)  This is fondly referred to as the "do do" verse. But it really describes our sinful condition. 

Yet Paul also understands that while our nature is sinful, God’s nature is one of love and grace. “Where sin increased,” he writes in Romans 5:20, “grace overflowed all the more.”

Out of God's unsurpassing love for us, Christ is lifted up on the cross. And this love is for the whole cosmos. The author of John’s gospel wants to make this clear. Love is the theme that dominates the whole book. We hear that God is love (1 Jn. 4:8), that the relationship between Jesus and his Father is love (Jn. 15:9-10; 17:23), and that the nature of discipleship is love (Jn. 13:34-35; 15:12-14). 

This love of God is all in all. That is why they call John 3:16 the gospel in a nutshell: For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. This is the reason we can rejoice today, even as our Lenten journey continues.

God woos us into a relationship through love and grace. In the book Surprised by Joy, the author C.S. Lewis claims that he came into Christianity kicking and screaming. He says that as a young man he was “very angry with God for not existing.” He had no intention of embracing faith in an unseen God. But the love of God drew him in against his own will and he became one of the greatest Christian writers.

As God offered healing to the Isrealites, God offers healing to all in Christ. The word “healing” comes from the same root as “wholeness” and “wellness” and they all refer to being “full” or “complete.” When we look at our own lives, we know that we are broken. Yet, Jesus comes to us in our broken state and offers healing and wholeness because of God’s great love for us. We are called to faith in Christ who heals us.

The theologian Paul Tillich wrote: “Faith is being seized by a power that is greater than we are...one that transforms us and heals us...Surrender to that power is called faith.” We are not required to heal ourselves, but simply to surrender to the Savior who can. Surrender to that power.

And so today, we hear again that powerful message of grace. Nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord. We are saved by grace through faith in him and set free to do the good things God has planned for our lives. That is why it is Laetare—a day of rejoicing. We rejoice in God's love. Let us stop being grumblers and surrender to this power called faith that we may be healed and know the joy of eternal life. 

Now, for the thrilling conclusion to this sermon, I’ve written new lyrics to the Grumbler song to remind us that by grace, we can be grumblers no more.

So stop your chronic grumbling and take a look around.

For you have got a Savior who’s waiting to be found.

Oh yes, He is ‘a callin; just listen for his voice.

Then you won’t be a grumbler, and he’ll make us all rejoice!  

Oh, we’ll, laugh on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday

Laugh on Thursday, too.

Laugh on Friday, Saturday, Sunday

Laughing the whole week through!

© 2012  Laura E. Gentry

TOTALLY FIRE: A SERMON FOR ASH WEDNESDAY

Grace and Peace to you from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

This evening we begin the season of Lent. But just what is Lent? I know you should know because we do the Lenten thing every year, but is is kind of hard to explain, isn’t it? Lent, we have been told, is a time of sacrifice for Jesus. It is traditional to give something up for Lent—like ice cream or chocolate. Lent, we have also been told, is time of preparation for Holy Week and Easter. It is a time of self-denial, repentance and prayer.  It’s a somber time when we don’t even get to sing “hallelujah!” in worship. That’s why we stuffed them all into that jar over there, where they will patiently await their release at Easter. That is, unless some kid doesn’t sneak over there and release them sooner. And while all of this may be true, I think it confuses people.

What I find to be the most helpful explanation of Lent is that it is a spiritual spring cleaning. Just like a house needs a good, deep cleaning every year, so do our souls.

I have a hard time convincing people of this, but Lent isn’t supposed to be a downer time. I know that goes against the prevailing ideas about Lent.  I was just listening to a podcast with Lutheran theologians from Luther Seminary in Saint Paul and even one of those heady professors admitted he didn’t like Lent because it was too much of a downer. But that’s just not so. If you are one of the many persons out there who thinks Lent is a downer, hear me out. I’m going to attempt to convince you otherwise.

The whole 40 day tradition came from the early Christian converts who would prepare themselves for Baptism on the vigil of Easter. In order to get ready, they would engage in repentance practices, like dumping a bucket of ashes over their heads. You know how in the cartoons when a bomb goes off, the dust clears and everybody is standing there totally black, covered in ash? I imagine that’s how they looked. 

That’s why we’ll impose ashes on your forehead tonight—it’s in keeping with that early repentance ritual. Yes, the ashes represent our mortality. When you are imposed with the ashes you hear the familiar words: “remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return.”  And then you’ll get to spend the rest of the evening with a big messy cross on your head.

But what I think we often miss is that the ashes symbolized something else in the ancient church: cleansing. Before they had soap and pear-ginger scented body wash like we have today, people used ash to wash themselves. Yes, ashes are about cleansing. They are about letting go of what keeps us from God—scrubbing that away so that we can turn around and run back into the loving arms of God.

No, this is not a downer season. In fact, I would argue it has the potential to be the most joyful time of all. We all need to clean our spiritual houses. All of those resentments and grudges and free floating anger hanging around inside us—these things aren’t helping us.  We know this. God knows this. But now’s our chance to really let it go—to draw nearer to God so that we can be cleansed and made new.

There is a story that comes from the ancient desert fathers. It goes like this.

Abbot Lot came to Abbot Joseph and said:

Father, according as I am able, I keep my little rule, and my little fast, my prayer, meditation and contemplative silence; and according as I am able I strive to cleanse my heart of thoughts; now what more should I do?

The elder rose up in reply and stretched out his hands to heaven, and his fingers became like ten lamps of fire.  He said: Why not be totally changed into fire?

I have always been captivated by this story because it reminds us that the Christian life isn’t about following rules. It is not some simple prescription formula. What more should we do? Why not be totally changed into fire?

Imagine for a moment what life would be like if God took a hold of you—I mean really took a hold  of you—and transformed you completely. Picture what your life would be like if this happened. The fire of the Holy Spirit burns in you so brightly that everything in your life is different. 

Heartache about person who hurt you so many years ago and all those secret fantasies you have had about about telling them off or hurting them back? Gone. Burned away by the fire of God. Now all that’s left is love.

Distress over your financial situation? Worries about whether you can stay afloat? Gone. Burned away in the fire of God. All that’s left is trust that God will see you through. In fact, it is so solid that you have even the courage to share your resources.

Fear about death, especially because of your deteriorating health? Wondering if you’ll really be saved—if you have enough faith or you’ve done enough good? Gone. Burned away in the fire of God. All that’s left is peace—peace that passes understanding because you know you are saved by God’s grace and nothing can take that away from you. Come on, death, you say. You have no power over me. I am not afraid of you at all.

Wouldn’t it be amazing to have the capacity to love everybody—even those people who are so terribly hard to love? Wouldn’t it be incredible to be able to go about your daily business without any fears at all because you know God will care for you? Wouldn’t it be liberating to truly release your fear of death and simply live in the peace that death doesn’t matter, that Christ has saved us and that’s that?

Then why not become totally changed into fire? That’s my question for you this Lent. May the ashes on your forehead be the start of a whole new fire that will burn away all your old stuff. May the ashes remind you that this life is so important, so wonderful that you have to dive in and live even more fully than you’ve ever lived before. May the ashes give you a new bravery because they remind you that you belong to God and because of this, all things really are possible.

Now how can a journey to this kind of life be a downer? It’s not. Lent is an upper. It’s the time to leap to your feet and say yes! Yes, I want to be totally changed into fire. For the next 5 Wednesdays, we will meet here at 6:30 to invite the Spirit to do just that. We’ll have a time of song, of scripture, of some rich and meaningful silence and we’ll feast on the sacraments. We know that God is present to us in them and so we’ll remember our Baptism and partake in Holy Communion each week. This is going to be a unique format for worship and one that I think will help us change the way we live. I invite you to be a part of these services so that together, God can make us totally fire. Amen.

© 2012 Laura Gentry

3-POINT EASTER SERMON

A Sermon for Easter Sunday, Year A

April 24, 2011

Pastor Laura Gentry

Matthew 28:1-10

Grace and peace to you from God our Father, and from our Risen Lord, Jesus Christ.

In real estate, they say there are 3 rules to remember. These 3 things will determine whether the piece of property is going to sell easily or not. And the three rules are: location, location, location. It matters most where a piece of property is located. Even if it’s old and crumbling down or has out-of-date appliances, it will sell if it is in a desirable location. That’s what it’s all about. Do people want to live there? And conversely, you can have a beautiful property with everything perfect but if it isn’t in a good location, it won’t sell very well. Indeed, it's all about location, location, location.

And today, as you might have noticed, it is Easter Sunday. This is the highest, holy day of the church year and so I’d like to preach something really inspiring so you’ll be able to understand and appreciate this incredible day. In order to do so, I’m going to preach an old-fashioned 3-point sermon. That’s the traditional model of preaching, by the way. The pastor is supposed to fit every important scriptural matter into 3, easy-to-remember points. That way, the congregation will be able to hear it, go home and say: “Yes, I can still remember the 3 points of the sermon.” And then rattle them off to one another. Now typically, I don’t use this form because I usually have more to say than can be fit into 3 points.

But today—because it’s Easter—I’m sticking with the 3 points. I’ve got to tell you about the Easter message in a way you can remember. Here are the 3 points I’ve come up with after great contemplation on the Gospel text. Are you ready? There may be a pop quiz later in the service so you might want to take notes. They are: He is risen! He is risen! He is risen!

Each of these points is important so I’m going to start with the first one. The story begins on that first Easter morning. Mary Magdalene and the other Mary make their way to the tomb of Jesus. What do they expect to find? I suppose they expect what you would expect if you went to visit the grave of a friend: the grave would look like a grave. It would be undisturbed. Perhaps there might be flowers there, but generally things at graves look pretty much the same whenever you go to visit them. You don’t expect your friend to be risen!

And yet that’s exactly what the Marys encounter! It’s highly dramatic in Matthew’s telling of the story. There’s a great earthquake, which shakes up their perspective and probably everything else in the surrounding area. And then an angel of the Lord descends from heaven before their eyes, and with superhero strength, rolls back the stone of the grave and sits on it. There he looks at them—dazzling like a lightning bolt!

Can you imagine how shocking it would be for these two women to witness all this? It’s incomprehensible, really. The guards behavior tells you how disarming it is. They panic so much they pass out—but the women, the women keep it together (perhaps that's why Jesus appears first to women in all 4 of the gospels). The angel, then, speaks to them and says: “Do not be afraid; for I know you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. He is not here, for he has been raised from the dead, as he said. Come and see the place where he lay.” So that brings me to the first point of my sermon: He is risen!

They have come to the place of death and found life! This is a game-changer for Mary and Mary. The fact that Jesus is risen completely changes their world. Not even death could defeat their Lord. He is risen. Though they are still afraid and unsure about what this means for them, they know that nothing will ever be the same.

Then, the angel commands them to go quickly and tell the disciples that Christ is risen. He explains that Jesus is going ahead of them to Galilee. And so they respond immediately—leaving the tomb, it says, with fear and great joy as they run to meet the disciples. Obviously, it is very emotional for them. It’s like when you cry and laugh at the same time. As humans, we can have a complicated mix of emotions. The women are afraid because this news is so new and so riveting, but they are filled with great joy at the same time.

Suddenly, Jesus meets them on the road and says “Greetings!” They are so elated that they come right up to him, take a hold of his feet—confirming that he is, indeed, risen bodily—and worship him. This brings me to my second point: He is risen. Not only have the women witnessed the empty tomb, the earthquake and the stone being rolled away by an angel, but now they have experienced the risen Jesus themselves. For them, it is completely clear that Jesus is risen.

Then he says to them, “Do not be afraid; go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me.” Go and tell, he commands them. Jesus wants everyone to know that he is risen. Death has been defeated for all who will believe. Resurrection is not just for Jesus, but for every one of us, which brings me to my third point: He is risen!

So the women go and tell and those they tell go and tell and those that they tell go and tell. And in this way, the message of Christ’s resurrection is passed down all the way through the generations to you and me today. We have been given the good news of all 3 of these important points: He is risen! He is risen! He is risen!

What does it mean for us? I mean, can we comprehend even one of these points? The fact that Christ is risen may seem confusing, unbelievable, and even irrelevant. But as Christians, we understand that in the resurrection, God turned everything around. Jesus was put to death but God said a resounding “NO!” to death by raising him. Sin and death were defeated and everlasting life was made possible for all who believe in him.

So yes, because he is risen, you and I have the assurance of heaven. That’s all well and good, you say, but what about the problems I'm facing right now? I need Jesus' help in this very moment. What does the resurrected life look like?

Well, let's take a look. For example, you say: what about the price of gasoline? If it hits $4 a gallon, I won't be able to afford to go anywhere. And your response to this should be: He is risen! He is risen! He is risen! The price of gas is important, but not nearly as important as the new life of Jesus within you. That's the thing that matters most. Everything else is secondary and you can trust that God will get you through it.

But what about that grief you’re facing? You say: This is the first Easter without my husband. I didn’t think grieving him would be so hard. Sometimes I wonder if I can even go without him. And your response to this should be: He is risen! He is risen! He is risen! Because of your faith in Jesus, you know you'll be reunited with your deceased loved ones. This separation, which hurts so much, is only temporary. Because he is risen, you are not without hope and healing.

Then there’s the economy. It’s so unstable, you say, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep my job. I can’t imagine how devastated my family would be if I lost it. And your response to this should be: He is risen! He is risen! He is risen!

There’s also health or lack thereof to think about. I know I’m failing, you say. I’m so afraid I’ll end up being a burden to my kids but I don’t think I can live alone much longer. And your response to this should be: He is risen! He is risen! He is risen!

Just as location makes all the difference in real estate, the fact that Christ is risen makes all the difference in our lives. I am not just talking about the hereafter. Easter starts now. Resurrection matters right in the midst of our troubled lives. Everything that you and I face—whether it’s mundane or catastrophic is resurrected with Christ. That means, God is with us—giving us new life to face whatever we have to face with confidence. If your location is with Christ, then nothing is impossible. You can hold your head high in faith and proclaim: He is risen! He is risen! He is risen!

The angel commanded the Marys to go and tell the good news. May we be filled with their joyful enthusiasm and go and tell it too. And I think we can cover all 3 points of the resurrection: He is risen! He is risen! He is risen!

Amen!

LAUGHING WITH LAZARUS

A Sermon for the 5th Sunday in Lent, Year A

John 11:1-45

You know how in a race, runners often get a second wind and sprint to the finish line? Well, that’s what we’re doing liturgically. Here we are, just about to the end of our Lenten season with Holy Week starting next Sunday and suddenly, it’s more Lenten than it’s ever been. Though we’ve got daffodils and crocuses blooming outside, spring is not in today’s readings—at least not at the beginning of them. They start with death.

In our first reading, we’ve got dry bones and not just one set of them—a whole valley of dry bones occupy Ezekiel’s vision. These bodies are so long dead that there’s no more rotting flesh, they’re just dusty bones. The people of the exile feel very much like these long-forgotten valley of bones. “Our hope is lost!” they cry out. “We are cut off completely!” Death and hopelessness.

Even today’s Psalm, 130, comes from a place of sadness. It is often read at funerals. “Out of the depths I cry to you, O LORD. Lord, hear my voice!”

And the gospel lesson centers around the death of Lazarus who has now been dead four days. A rotting corpse, he is buried in the tomb. Like the exiles, it seems clear that hope is gone for those who love him.

These themes of death and hopelessness are all too familiar to us. This has been a season of death with international news of natural disaster in Japan to war in Libya and increasing violence in Afghanistan. Death is always in the headlines. It’s touched and reshaped our lives too. We know all to well the pain of losing a loved one to death. Mortality is not just a theory—it is a harsh reality for us. Smelly corpses, dried up bones, prayers of anguish and desperation—these scriptures cry out the hardship of our own lives. They remind us or our own difficult Lenten journey.

So Jesus continues his Lenten journey by going to see his friend Lazarus. He’d gotten word that his old pal was sick, but for some unknown reason, he dilly dallies for two more days before making his way to their house—just a couple of miles outside of Jerusalem. It seems almost careless of him to be so tardy. Understandably, when Jesus finally does arrive, they seem a bit upset with him. Many of the Jews had come to Martha and Mary to console them about the death of their brother. You cannot imagine this scene without the sound of weeping. Not only would the sisters be weeping—along with the friends who have come—but there would also be the presence of professional mourners. In Jesus’ day, the bereaved would hire people whose job it was to give dramatic expression to their grief. Their theatrical and ritualistic cries would bring everyone to emotional catharsis. Needless to say, Jesus is walking into a house of death and deep sadness.

Jesus taps into this emotional energy and takes it one himself. It says that he becomes “greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved” (John 11:33). In the original Greek language, this description is even more visceral. It says Jesus snorted like a horse. English translations can’t quite seem to capture the depth of Jesus’ pain. But as he makes his way through the crowd of mourners, Jesus is grieving openly and he seems shaken to the core.

It does seem odd that Jesus would react this way, especially since this story comes from the Gospel of John. In this book, Jesus is always in control. He knows ahead of time that Lazarus would be dead—it’s not like he’s surprised to find him entombed. And Jesus always knows the end of the story, so he has full knowledge that death only has a temporary hold on Lazarus and that he will very shortly call him out of the grave so there’ll be a “happily ever after,” fairy-tale-type ending. And as for all those weeping mourners—I’m sure Jesus knows they are for hire so they wouldn’t upset him. Why, then? Why is Jesus so upset?

As we have made our way through John’s Gospel this Lent, we’ve seen Jesus reveal himself to be many incredible things including God’s Word, bread, living water and light. In this story, we see that he is even more than these. He is himself the “the resurrection and the life” (John 11:25). As the resurrection, he has come to put an end to death. We come to realize in this story that Jesus doesn’t much like death. The two of them go together about as well as oil and water. Jesus detests death because he is the opposite of it. Just as we hate death, Jesus hates it. Here in the context of his dear friendship with Lazarus, Jesus’ passion is stirred. He snorts like a horse and he weeps openly. We can picture the tears streaming down his face as he faces down death. He can’t even stand the fact that it has temporary power over his friend. And so he demands the stone be rolled away and he calls Lazarus forth—as he calls us forth—from death to life.

The playwright Eugene O’Neill wrote a fictional account of what happened to Lazarus after this dramatic resurrection. I mean, the bible doesn’t tell us. But he must have been different after that. Four days in the tomb and then his death is reversed. O’Neill’s conclusion is that Lazarus laughed. He experienced death and found out—first-hand—that it has no sting. From then on, he is so free of fear that he constantly laughs. The chorus sings of him:

Lazarus laughs!

Our hearts grow happy!

Laughter like music!

The wind laughs!

The sea laughs!

Spring laughs from the earth!

Summer laughs in the air!

Lazarus laughs!

Lazarus himself declares to the confused on-lookers: “Laugh! Laugh with me! Death is dead! Fear is no more! There is only life! There is only laughter!”

This dramatic story in John’s gospel foreshadows, rather dramatically, Jesus’ own death, burial in a cave tomb, and subsequent resurrection. All of the scriptures for today point us to Easter. The psalmist finds hope in God, the the prophet Ezekiel’s vision ends with the resurrection of the whole valley of dry bones. The Spirit of God comes upon them and they grow flesh and are brought back to life—a vast army that stand up on their feet!

So yes, there’s no denying this Lenten journey is leading toward death. There are more weeping women to come, a body to bury, a stone to roll before the tomb. But death will not have the last word. On this Sunday when the scriptures stink of death, we still acknowledge the “little Easter” that each and every Sunday is. They point us to the great victory of the Resurrection. Soon another stone will be rolled away and, snorting at death, the one who is the resurrection and the life will himself be resurrected. And because he is our savior, his resurrection will be our own.

So let us laugh with Lazarus. Even as we sprint on into Holy Week—a somber time in which we must hear again the story of our Lord’s death. We know that death is dead. Jesus snubbed death and gave us victory over it. Death is dead! There is no more fear! There is only life! There is only laughter! Amen.

© Laura E. Gentry 2011

LET THE SPIRIT BLOW WHERE IT CHOOSES

A Sermon for Second Sunday in Lent

March 20, 2011

Pastor Laura Gentry

John 3:1-17

In our Gospel text for today, we get to overhear a conversation between Jesus and a rabbi called Nicodemus. It’s not a very long conversation, but like everything in John’s gospel, it is layered with meaning. So let’s dive in and see what we can find that will nourish us on our 40 day Lenten journey.

Nicodemus comes to Jesus as night. Why at night? Theologians like to puzzle over details like this. Maybe he was afraid his fellow rabbis would see him so he wanted to sneak to Jesus under the cover of darkness. Or perhaps he was a really studious man who studied all the time—you know, like a college student who stays up all night reading. Then again, John’s gospel has a lot of symbolism with light and dark so this may be a way of illustrating that Jesus’ teachings are the light that illuminates the darkness of the religious establishment. He offers them enlightenment.

In any case, Nicodemus shows up and tells Jesus that he knows he’s from God because of all the signs he’s been performing. Nicodemus is not very humble but he’s at least recognizing Jesus as a teacher on par with himself.

Then Jesus then offers him the vision of God's kingdom. He says “Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above."

Now this is a powerful statement, but it confuses Nicodemus. He takes it quite literally. He wonders how in the world a person could enter his mother’s womb to be born again. We don’t even want to consider the logistics of that! But before we go thinking Nicodemus is a dense character, we have to realize that he’s a Jewish teacher and this whole idea of being “born from above” or “born again,” which is another way to translate it, is a foreign concept. This rebirth idea is a Greek, not a Jewish one.

Yet, Jesus, this young Jewish teacher from Nazareth—the one whom they believe had come from God—tells him he must be born again, born from above, born anew. Of course, this kind of language isn’t about literally redoing natural childbirth, but it is about God literally redoing our lives, literally transforming us.

You see, Jesus was telling Nicodemus that just being religious wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to for him just study and follow the law—though he was probably a great leader. The Kingdom of God is not attainable on our human terms. It is God’s grace through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, not our good behavior, that makes entering the Kingdom possible. Being “born again” is not amending of a part of our lives, but renewal of the whole nature, a total renewing that only God can initiate.

But how does the Spirit do so? Jesus explained this to Nicodemus by saying, “The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.” This metaphor of wind is a powerful one. Consider the power of strong winds: windmills move, cars swerve on the road, huge trees can be uprooted, power lines thrown downed, rain gutters bent out of shape or in the case of a tornado, whole towns leveled—winds can suddenly reshape the whole landscape. You cannot see the wind, but you can feel it, and you can see all the powerful changes that the force of the wind brings. To everyone but meteorologists, the wind seems very mysterious—the way it erratically comes and goes with great force, blowing as it chooses. You just can’t control it. And Jesus says, “So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.”

The author Annie Dillard thinks that churches should be required to issue worshippers with crash helmets, life preservers and seat belts, just in case God shows up. God’s that powerful, you know. That’s what Jesus is saying here. The Spirit blows where it pleases and it whisks you off on it’s wings even if you’re not ready.

How does that happen for you and me? We can get pretty discouraged with ourselves. It reminds me of a Peanuts cartoon in which Charlie Brown shows up at Lucy’s therapy booth and she says: “Discouraged again, eh, Charlie Brown? You know what your whole trouble is? The whole trouble with you is that you're you!"

Charlie looks at her in great earnest and asks, "Well, what in the world can I do about that?"

Lucy answers, "I don't pretend to be able to give advice...I merely point out the trouble!"

Yes, we can feel Charlie Brown, tired of being ourselves. We may be life-long church-goers and yet we’re still not where we want to be spiritually. We’re still not loving or patient enough. We know that our sins encumber us in so many ways.

Nevertheless, Jesus' revelation is clear. We are transformed by God's spirit. We are transformed and given the gift of a new life. We have the opportunity to start again—to be different, act different, live in community in a different manner.

When Nicodemus began to allow himself to be born of the wind, things changed for him, too. In the chapters which follow, we read that Nicodemus, later spoke up for Jesus, publicly questioning those in authority who would judge Jesus. Then after Jesus' death on the cross when all the disciples had fled, Joseph of Arimethea and Nicodemus came forward to prepare Jesus' body for burial. Nicodemus was no longer intimidated or afraid. Nicodemus had come to realize that he was born from above not by his own doing but by the love of God who birthed him anew and gave him a life of boldness.

The theologian Bruce Epperly states that “if we affirm that God is moving through our lives, filling us with the divine presence even when we are least aware of it, then we can learn to open our lives to be more open to these moments of divine inspiration.”

Are we open to God’s inspiration? It’s like the little fish who asked his mother "Where is the ocean?" She laughed and said "It's all around you!" So it is with the Spirit of God. It’s all around you! Do you notice? Do you let it transform you? Because the Spirit blows where it pleases and it wants to change you.

We always want to place limitations on God, though. In his autobiography Saint Augustine explained how in his early life, he really didn’t want God transforming him. He prayed to God: "Give me chastity and continence, but not just now." Not just now. Have we been saying that to God?

Paul Tillich once wrote: "Only the fulfillment of what we really are can give us joy.” The fulfillment of what we really are. That’s where true joy is to be found. And that’s exactly what the Spirit aims to do.

The prophet Ezekiel spoke God’s word to the people in ancient times. He said: “A new heart I will give you, and a new spirit I will put within you; and I will remove from your body the heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh. I will put my spirit within you.” (Ezekiel 36:25-27)

Yes, that is what God has always been doing. Our salvation is not about our action, but about God’s. We have been given a savior and we’ve even been given the faith with which to believe him. God’s Spirit is constantly working to put a new heart in us, to put a new spirit in us, so we can be the fulfillment of who we really are. That’s what it means to be born again.

As we proceed on our Lenten journey, may we intentionally open ourselves to God’s all-powerful Spirit. Let the wind of the Spirit blow where it pleases and transform us entirely. We need a new heart. So let’s fling open our hearts so the spirit may blow where it chooses.

As Dag Hammarskjold said, "For all that has been, thanks. For all that will be, yes."

© 2011 Laura E. Gentry

GRACE ABOUNDS

A Sermon for First Sunday in Lent

March 13, 2011

Pastor Laura Gentry

Romans 5:12-21

There’s a lot of talk about sin in our texts for today. Genesis tells us how our ancestors, Adam and Eve, chose the way of sin and death instead of the joy that was theirs in the garden. The Psalm cries out in penitence from a state of despair and sin. Paul talks at length about the nature of sin and in the Gospel, we hear that familiar story of Jesus being tempted by the devil himself to fall into a state of sin.

But what is sin anyway? We use this word so much that perhaps it is difficult for us to really understand it. I mean, it’s a strange word—a churchy word. And in our modern society, it’s been shunned. Some churches have done away with the confession of sin part of the liturgy—fearing that the whole talk of sin might be too much of a downer. Others have tried to re-brand sin with another word to help people better understand it. Still, the word hasn’t gone out of use because it really is the most accurate word to describe, well, sin.

We tend to think of sin as an act—something bad that we do or some particular character weakness that we have. Just this week, my 8 year old niece, Erin, came running into her mother’s room, wracked with a metaphysical dread. “I’m so afraid!” she said as she threw herself into her mom’s lap.

“It’s ten o’clock. You’re supposed to be asleep. What are you afraid of?” my sister patiently asked.

“I am afraid I’m not going to heaven. I sin so much—I am always pinching and hitting my brother and I really want to stop but I can’t! I just do it all the time.”

And this is a very child-like view of sin as a naughty act. Advertisers tend to play upon this childish understanding that many adults still hold. How often have you seen an ad presenting some sugar treat as “sinful” or “tempting”?

But sin in the biblical sense, is not defined like than that. It doesn’t have to do with how many snack treats you have.

I think the best clue we can get as to the meaning of this word is that a substitute word for it is “separation.” Separation is an aspect of the experience of everyone. To be in the state of sin is to be in the state of separation. And our separation is three-part: there is the separation from our own selves, separation from our fellow human beings, and separation from God—our very ground of being.

This separation our heritage. That’s what the story from Genesis tells us. In our hearts, we know this. We “get” the depth of our separation. We feel our estrangement and this causes us to suffer. Sadly, we know that our separation isn’t a one time event—it is our whole reality. Not only that, but we understand that this separateness is something we participate in, that we feed into. We do not fully love ourselves, we do not fully love our neighbors and we certainly do not fully love God. This gives us a growing sense of guilt. This is our existence, from birth to death. The bible tells us that even in our mother’s womb, we were separate, we were sinners. Indeed, sin is our existence. Existence is separation! Before sin is an act, it is a state.

As Saint Paul explains in our second lesson for today, we can say the same things about grace. For sin and grace are bound to each other. We do not even have a knowledge of sin unless we have already experienced the unity of life, which is grace. And conversely, we could not grasp the meaning of grace without having experienced the separation of life, which is sin. Grace, however, seems just as difficult to describe as sin.

What is grace? We like the word and the idea. We like the hymn “Amazing Grace” but do we really know what grace means? It has always been an enduring name for a baby girl. In fact, in 2010 it still ranked 29 in the most popular girl names. So what is grace? For some people, grace is the willingness of a divine king to forgive over and again the foolishness of his subjects. This is not exactly grace. For other people, grace is about utilizing the gifts we have so that we can be in service to society. But grace is more than gifts. In grace something is overcome; grace occurs in spite of something; grace occurs in spite of separation and estrangement. Grace is the reunion of life with life. Grace is the acceptance of that which is rejected. Grace transforms guilt into confidence and courage. There is something triumphant about grace. In spite of the abounding of sin—grace abounds much more.

That’s what my sister explained to her daughter, who was so caught up in the fear of her own sin. She said, yes, we do sin and it is even part of who we are. We make choices that God doesn’t like. We could never earn our place in heaven. We are sinners. But God knew that and wanted to save us anyway so that’s why Jesus came. He showed us the way to live and he went to the cross for us so that we would no longer be separated from God. This made Erin so happy that she woke her little brother up and apologized to him. Dazed and confused, his hair sticking up, Michael sat quietly. Then, he offered her forgiveness. The two of them hugged. There, in the dim light of the child’s bedroom, my sister witnessed the miracle of grace. Just as sin is separation, grace is reunion. It reunites us with ourselves, with our brothers and sisters and with God.

So what does this mean for us today, in the midst of our Lenten journey? We know full well our sinful nature—our disgust for our own selves, our indifference, our weakness, our hostility, and our lack of direction and composure. We often feel our own selves are intolerable. We realize that the longed-for perfection of our lives isn’t here yet. Despair over this threatens to take away our joy.

And in the midst of our sin, a light breaks in. The gospel message sings to our longing ears, saying "You are accepted—accepted by God. Yes, accepted! This is a pure gift. Do not seek for anything; do not perform anything; do not intend anything. Simply accept the fact that you are accepted!"

This is the experience grace. After such an experience we may not be better than before, and we may not believe more than before. But everything is transformed. In that moment, grace conquers sin, and reconciliation bridges the gulf of estrangement. And nothing is demanded of this experience, no change in behavior is needed, nothing but acceptance.

In the light of this grace we perceive the power of grace in our relation to others and to ourselves. We experience the grace of being able to look frankly into the eyes of another, the miraculous grace of reunion. We experience the grace of being able to accept the life of another, even if it be hostile and harmful to us, for, through grace, we know that it belongs to the same God to which we belong, and by which we have been accepted. We experience the grace which is able to overcome the many barriers people place between themselves. Grace can truly reunite us with those to whom we belong.

How wonderful are these moments where we feel the full reality of God’s grace! For it is such moments that make us love our life—that make us accept ourselves, not because we’ve done anything incredible, but because we’ve been accepted by an incredible God. Grace empowers us to say "yes" to ourselves. And when we do, peace enters into us and makes us whole. Then we are reunited with ourselves and all of life and we know for sure that grace has come upon us and yes, it abounds.

"Sin" and "grace" are strange words; but they are not strange things. We find them whenever we look into ourselves with searching eyes and longing hearts. They determine our life. They abound within us and in all of life. May grace more abound within us!

© 2011 Laura E. Gentry