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 Even if it’s old and crumbling down or has out-of-date appliances, it will sell if it is in a desirable location.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

SPRING CLEANING

A Sermon for Ash Wednesday

March 9, 2011

Pastor Laura Gentry

Isaiah 58:1-12

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

I admit it: my basement is a mess. In England, they have an expression for a messy place. They say: “It’s a bit of a bomb site.” Yep, that would be my basement. Now the upstairs, living spaces are quite neat and some have been completely reorganized. But since I don’t live in the basement, it has become a dumping ground for all kinds of old stuff. And with my dad is emptying his house for sale, I’ve acquired even more stuff than ever. I know that I have to clean it. Why? Because it’s holding me back. I can’t find anything down there anymore. It’s just a source of stress.

Tonight we begin the season of Lent. Here in the church, we try to describe this ancient liturgical season in all kinds of ways. Lent, we are told, is a time of sacrifice for Jesus—to give something up, like ice cream or donuts. Lent, we are also 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. And while all of this true, I think it confuses the modern believer.

What I find to be the most helpful explanation of Lent is that it is a spiritual spring cleaning. Just like my basement needs a lot of sorting and emptying, so does my soul.

You see, Lent is not supposed to be a downer time. Maybe you were taught that as a kid. But believe me, it’s not. Really. The whole 40 day tradition came from the early 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. And they’d just keep doing it until they’d look like a walking dust cloud. Think of Pigpen from Peanuts and you get the picture.

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’ll 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 body wash and fancy, good-smelling lotions 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—cleansing that away entirely so that we can turn around and run back into the loving arms of God.

No, this is not a sad 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 basements. All of those resentments and grudges and free floating anger hanging around inside us is no good. 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.

This Ash Wednesday, I’m letting go of everything that keeps me from rejoicing in this life. How about you? I mean, this life is such an incredible gift. When’s the last time you really rejoiced in it? Children get this. But sometimes we adults miss it.

I painted a mural on the retaining wall in my back yard a few years ago. When my sister came to see it with her children, we walked through the yard together. I explained all of the bright and colorful images and symbols. Kathy and I were engaged in the whole intellectual discussion of it. Then, I looked down and noticed her son—who was probably about 3 at the time—and he was taking in the beauty of this gigantic painting with his whole body. How could I tell? Because he had broken into dance, like they do in musicals. There he was, oblivious to our adult conversation, whirling and wiggling—entirely immersed in the wonder of it. Kathy and I laughed with joy to see his childish energy. I said, “Ah, if we all had the capacity to dance at the sight of beauty!”

Well, my friends, God is in this place and our whole world is beautiful and full of grace. Do we perceive it? Can we take it in—casting aside our worries and fears enough to rejoice?

In the reading we heard from Isaiah tonight, the prophet calls us to be in this place of rejoicing over the abundance of the Lord so that we can share our bread with the hungry, invite the homeless into our homes, and give the naked something to wear. Then, he says, our will your light break forth like the dawn and our healing shall spring up speedily. When we joyfully care for our brothers and sisters, our light will rise and God will satisfy the parched places of our lives.

I don’t know about you, but I get what he means by parched places. It’s painful to have parched places where hope feels dried up and situations seem impossible no matter how hard you try. Well, parched places: be gone! Isaiah says that God will change all of that. We will be like a watered garden, like a spring of water whose waters never fail! Incredible.

Now who can't find time for that? Lent is not a demand to squeeze a little more time into an already overly busy life or give up some category of junk food. It’s much more important than that. This is an invitation to get our lives together, to do that spiritual spring cleaning we know we need. This is a chance for true healing. This is an opportunity to re-cultivate the childlike joy that is within us, so that we can feast upon the grace of God, share it generously and dance again at the sight of beauty.

So that’s exactly what I plan to do this year. That, and I might even get my basement cleaned as well.

SALT, LIGHT & PAPRIKA

A Sermon for Epiphany 5A

Pastor Laura Gentry

Matthew 5:13-20

I admit it. I used to hate paprika. I know, I know, it's hard to believe. But it’s true. I just couldn’t see the use for it. I mean, it’s pretty—especially if you sprinkle it on a nice little deviled egg—but if it doesn’t do anything for the flavor of it, what’s the point?

Once, when I was on a back country Boundary Waters trip with my sister and some friends, I reached into the food pack, which was prepared by the professional outfitters from whom we’d rented our canoes, and what did I find in the spice pack? Paprika! Paprika? Seriously? You never want to carry an extra ounce of weight when you go into the Boundary Waters. You have to portage—sometimes long distances with your packs and canoes—so you only want to bring what you absolutely need. And, in my opinion, paprika was a total non-necessity. Why in the world did they pack this for us?! I ranted and raved about it so much on that trip that everyone else ate it excessively just to torment me, saying things like: "Wow this paprika tastes terrifically good on pancakes, Laura. You are really missing out!" So in response, I jokingly formed an organization I called WAP—Women Against Paprika.

Well, it took me many years, but have changed my mind about paprika. Turns out, I was only tasting the really cheap, really old paprika. It had such a faint flavor that I didn’t even consider it a spice. When you buy good paprika and eat it before it gets old, however, it’s actually delicious. In fact, I recently bought some high-quality, smoked Spanish paprika and it has become one of my favorite spices.

You see, a good spice needs to make a difference. You should be able to put it on your food and taste an immediate change. It should bring out the flavor of your food. If not, why bother using it?

Jesus uses spice as one of his metaphors in the Sermon on the Mount, which we read in the Gospel of Matthew this morning. He climbs a mountain and sits down to teach his followers, which in ancient times meant that he was serious. He wants to engage his students. He, then goes on to give them a series of spiritual teachings. In fact, some scholars say that these things were not delivered as one sermon. Instead, they are a collection of the important things he preached frequently about the coming reign of God. You could think of it as his “greatest hits” sermon. Clearly, everything in it is important and so it serves us to take a closer look at what was written.

First, let’s look at the students gathered around Jesus on the mount. Like any good preacher, Jesus is delivering a message to his specific audience. So what were these people like? Well, this was a time of oppression by outsiders for Israel. It’d actually been a problem for them since the Exile 600 years earlier. They’d been wondering why God would let this happen to them. They weren’t sure how to handle their suffering. They were tired of being outsiders and desperately wanted to obtain political freedom so that they could preserve their religion and culture.

These people who have gathered around Jesus don’t know him as resurrected Savior as we do. For them, he is just one more voice in this debate about what to do politically. Yet, he is a challenging voice with much to say to them in the midst of their oppression.

In the “beattitudes” section of this sermon, which we heard last week, Jesus lifts up some fairly unlikely people – the poor in spirit, the meek and the merciful, those who mourn and those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, the pure in heart, the peacemakers, and the persecuted – and calls them blessed, which also means happy. He tells them that God’s reign is breaking in and they can be happy even in their present bleak circumstances, even in the midst of their oppression.

Then Jesus calls the people—and that includes you and me today—two things: "the salt of the earth" and "the light of the world." These are everyday images, yet they are packed with meaning.

Salt of the earth. What does Jesus mean by that? Well, as I explained in my opening discussion, flavorless paprika is worthless. So is salt that has lost its saltiness. Even today, we can appreciate that salt has to stay salty to be worth anything.

But in our modern world, salt has been given a bad name. Since we typically use overly processed salt and it’s so prevalent in prepared foods, it has come to be associated with high blood pressure and heart disease. This was not so in the ancient world. It was used not just as a zesty seasoning and as a preserver of food, but it was a disinfectant, it was rubbed on newborn children, used to seal covenants, sprinkled on sacrifices, and understood as a metaphor for wisdom. Salt was so important that it was regarded as a miraculous substance associated with God's gracious activity. Keeping your saltiness, then, is a big deal in this metaphor.

Light of the world. What does Jesus mean by that? This metaphor seems a bit easier to grasp. Jesus recalls the words of the prophet Isaiah that "the people who sat in darkness have seen a great light." For those who were lost or in despair, on them "light has dawned." Jesus is himself this light. He illuminates our way. He gives us hope and direction. When we baptize people, we recall the words of Jesus from this Gospel passage: “let your light so shine before others that they may see your good works and glorify your Father who is in heaven."

To be the light of the world is a daunting task. We can’t do it on our own. We must be a channel of the divine. We must allow God’s light to shine in and through us by the things we do. We are to valuing those who are dispossessed, care for those who suffer loss, seek to do justice, show mercy, have integrity, be peacemakers, and courageously stand up for what we believe. That’s being light to the world.

However, the church has been challenged for some time, even before the global economy veered toward collapse. Just about all the major denominations in the US have lost numbers and influence in recent years. It’s difficult to make Christ known in this fast-paced, digital age. As Christians, we are not understood or appreciated by our world. In the face of this opposition, it is not easy to remain steadfast. It is not easy to keep on keeping on, to hold fast to what we believe, to love all people and continue to work for justice on behalf of those in need.

But this difficulty is nothing new. Back in Jesus’ day it was a problem. That’s why he told them implicitly that they were to be the salt of the earth and the light of the world. This is and always has been our mission as Jesus’ followers. This is exactly why we are here and we don’t need to expect that task to be easy. It never was.

Yet as the salt of the earth, as the light of the world we are different from our culture. We have faith. We have hope. We are called to live the new life that we’ve been given by God. Like salt changes the flavor and dynamics of the food it’s placed on, we are to make changes in our world. Like light illuminates its surroundings, we are to illuminate and change our world. We are to be active—not just talking about love and mercy, but doing it. And if we neglect to do this, we are like salt that has been rendered unsalty. We are like a flashlight whose batteries have grown dim. Perhaps you could even say we are like flavorless paprika that doesn’t deserve to be carried out on a wilderness trek and against whom organizations like WAP could form. If we neglect our mission, we are worthless.

Jesus has given us quite a challenge. We must remain salty. We must remain bright. How? It seems the only way this is possible is for us to plug into our source. We must know Jesus. Really know him. We must sit as his feet—as the people did on the mount— so that we can learn from him. Our entire Christian life hinges upon our relationship with Christ. This is why prayer, scriptures, worship and the sacraments are so important. They deepen our relationship with Jesus. And when this connection is deep and strong, then we can simply allow his light to shine through us. Doing God’s work is a natural desire placed in our hearts. So in this season of light, let us pay special attention to God’s light—that in drawing near it, it may shine more brightly through us. Amen.

© 2011 Laura E. Gentry