Jesus knows the ways we worry, but asks us to believe that our lives are more than the things we worry about. When we trust in God, rather than worrying about the things of this world, God reminds us of who we are, assures us of God’s faithfulness, and increases our capacity to love our neighbors.

Vicar Natalie Wussler
The Day of Thanksgiving
Texts: Joel 2:21-27; Psalm 126; Timothy 2:1-7; Matthew 6:25-33

Beloved in Christ, grace to you and peace in the name of the ☩ Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

“Do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food and the body more than clothes?” Jesus asks. And it’s a good question. Because while many of us here thankfully don’t have to worry about what we will eat, drink, or wear on a daily basis, unlike most of the people listening to Jesus, we do worry about a lot of other things–our financial security, our cars, our jobs, our homes, the state of the world and how it will affect us, our loved ones, and millions more. Jesus asks us, are our lives not more than these things? This question is hard for us, because these things are at the core of the ways we live our lives. Of course we need basic necessities like food, water, and shelter. But Jesus says that our life, our value, and our worth should not be in the things that give us earthly security. Jesus is rightly saying that once we value these things above God, worry often follows.

Because worry says that our security and identity are wrapped up in material things. It causes us to see our lives through a tunnel vision of all that we do not have and all the ways we are not enough. We start to believe we are nothing beyond what we have and what we produce. We hear these messages from our world all too often, and they strike fear and worry into our hearts, a worry that causes us to respond with fear, not with love. It provokes us to put our security in our wealth, in what we do, and how much influence we have. We begin to let the world forge our identity, instead of God.

Jesus knew how worry warps our lives, and so he says before all these things, before food, water, or clothes, to seek first the reign of God and God’s righteousness. God’s reign welcomes and loves the poor in spirit, those who mourn, the meek, those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, the merciful, the pure in heart, the peacemakers, and the persecuted. It makes room for everyone. No exceptions. God’s reign, not security in material things that are here one day and gone the next, is what we should seek. And in the seeking, you will find God and God will help you find yourself. 

You are a beloved child of God, above all else. You are loved beyond all reason or measure by the God who created the universe, who provides for the lilies and sparrows, who knows you and cares for you deeply. That’s the God who is with you. Your identity does not rest in material things, it rests in the love that God has first shown you. You can rest from the weariness of worry and trust in God’s love that is at work within you.

And when our identities are secure in God’s love, we’re reminded of God’s faithfulness, to us and to people throughout time. “Do not fear, be glad and rejoice, for God has done great things,” says Joel to Israel, after a major drought and plague of locusts ends. God’s faithfulness to the Israelites brought joy to their hearts and helped them move forward in courage and thanksgiving. We too are empowered by the ways God shows up in our lives. Even in the midst of the struggles of this life, we too can respond in thankfulness for all God has done for us. 

During my second summer trip with youth at my previous church, we were traveling to Whiteville, NC. Our first day landed us at a church in Dayton, OH. The next morning we woke up and hopped in our vehicles, only to find out the bus wasn’t starting. We were stranded with no shelter, no extra food, and no way to get all our students from Ohio to North Carolina. Worried is a bit of an understatement. How and when would we get out of Ohio? Where would we sleep that night? How would we give our students a good experience? Our anxiety made it hard to see a way out. But things started to shift. Our hosting church let us stay for an extra night, and made sure we had enough food and water. Some church members even got our students discounted tickets to a waterpark nearby. We found van rentals and had just enough adults to drive them. And, most miraculously, our students had positive, optimistic attitudes the whole time. They treated us and each other with grace and kindness. We were surrounded by generosity and saw God in every detail. We couldn’t help but thank God. And slowly our worries about the bus, getting to North Carolina on time, and keeping our students content disappeared. And we were on our way the next morning.
From droughts to buses breaking down, thankfulness helps us set our worries aside, because we have confidence in our God who has been with us and worked through us in all kinds of difficult times.

And as we are held together by God’s faithfulness, seeking God’s justice and love for all in the world, we walk with so many other beloved children of God. This reign of God is a community, bound together in love for our neighbor and thanksgiving for God, a community that is salt and light to the earth, where people live in humble service to one another. Where God’s will is done on earth as in heaven. And as security in the things of this world becomes trust in our good God, we are assured that God gives us what we need for this journey. And as worry is replaced with God’s love, we are reminded that we draw from an ever-flowing spring that increases our capacity to love our neighbor. And in our abundance that first comes from God, we pour out to all those in need, inviting them to the ever-growing table that ensures all are satisfied. And then people are fed, given drink, and clothed, given more than enough. That’s when tears transform into shouts of joy. That’s when all these things are added to us.

In the name of the ☩ Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

Our texts give remind us that faithful people have lived through times of anguish, and as we live through times of great unraveling, we are called to be Christian community with one another. This gives us the strength to move through difficult times.

Vicar Natalie Wussler
The Twenty-sixth Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 33 B
Texts: Daniel 12:1-3; Psalm 16; Hebrews 10:11-14 [15-18] 19-25; Mark 13:1-8

Beloved in Christ, grace to you and peace in the name of the ☩ Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

It’s Scripture like this that we don’t want to hear in times like today. They paint bleak pictures that don’t feel like good news to our weary souls. We read about times of anguish, wars and rumors of wars, famine and temples crumbling. Jesus’ words here terrified the disciples. All they’d ever known would soon come tumbling down around them. At the oppressive hands of Rome, the very dwelling place of God on earth would be leveled to the ground, with not one stone left. It’s an absolutely devastating scene. And consider Daniel’s context–set during the Babylonian exile experiencing their own time of anguish with everything the Israelites knew turned up-side-down. 

These writers are speaking into their current-day realities, but they feel far too close to home. Because all around us, things feel like they’re crumbling down. That grief, fear, and anger from last week has not disappeared. As the reality of our years to come set in, there’s lots crumbling down all around us. Trust in our leaders, trust in our fellow Americans, our hope, systems and structures that do their best at providing for the most vulnerable around us. The grief, fear, and anger does not stop at the political landscape. Today you might be carrying a crumbling relationship or you may have just received some news that upends your world or you may just be feeling hopeless. The truth is, we’re often in the midst of something crumbling down around us.

And that’s exactly why we need these Scriptures. They remind us that we’re not the first or the last community of faith living in a great unraveling. We follow in their footsteps–struggling in times of anguish and wondering where God is in the midst of it, searching for hope in the rubble and proclaiming good news in impossible times–carrying on as children of God. Because in the chaos of this world, we’re doing the same things in the desolation. We’re striving to build toward the world that Jesus has been teaching about–a world that uplifts vulnerable people, recognizes the widow’s gift as precious, and treats all with love and compassion. These texts remind us that faithful people have lived through times of anguish and figured out ways to live as Christ to one another. So the question is – how will we continue to live as Christ in the turmoil? How will we respond in the midst of the crumbling?

As Jesus speaks with the disciples, he first tells them these two things–Beware and do not be alarmed. Or “stay alert” and “do not be afraid” in some translations. Jesus is not saying all this to scare the disciples, but, instead, to warn them and prepare them to be the church in times of upheaval. “Stay alert,”  Jesus says, to not be misled by those who want to take advantage of the chaos. Don’t let these kinds of people lead you away from God and one another. Stay alert to what God is actually doing during these exhausting times. And do not be afraid when you hear of wars and rumors of wars and when you see the fallout of the chaos. What Jesus says may feel like a tall order for us in times of anguish. Because while we want to have a total faith and trust like our Psalm professes, seeing temples toppled and hearing of wars and rumors of wars, earthquakes, and famines, provokes fear. But Jesus never promised that our lives would be free from pain and fear. Instead, Jesus promises to be with us in the middle of it. Later in this chapter, Jesus says that the Holy Spirit will be with the disciples through all they will experience, an assurance for us that we are not alone.

That’s God’s promise to us–to be with us. In the crumbling, God promises us presence through the Holy Spirit, who abides in our very souls. When we fear, panic, or grieve, we can call on the Holy Spirit to give us wisdom and strength to carry on. This same strength carried the disciples through their own persecution–it is sufficient to give you the hope you need to journey through whatever chaos you may face. God’s presence provides you refuge, counsel, and joy, says the Psalmist. And in God, you will find the strength to not be shaken. God gives you what you need to survive and continue to spread God’s transformative love through the world. God makes Godself known, even during times of turmoil. 

And God shows up for us in one another. The writer of Hebrews knew this. Just listen to these invitations: 

let us approach with a true heart in full assurance of faith, Let us hold fast to the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who has promised is faithful. And let us consider how to provoke one another to love and good deeds, not neglecting to meet together.

Us, you and me, together with God. God gives us God’s presence through each other. 

This life of faith is meant to be lived together, especially in times of anguish and turmoil. We need each other. Because in each other, we see the face of God. We find the strength and the hope to carry on, together. We remind each other that God is faithful. As we come before God and confess our hope as one body, we are encouraged to do the work of God in this weary world–to uplift poor and vulnerable people, to live as Christ with one another, prioritizing love and compassion. 

When we are baptized, we are woven into the tapestry of God’s grace, into the family of God, and we are so much stronger collectively than we ever could be separately. With the communion of the saints, we face whatever this world throws at us, trusting that God is with us and holding us together. Let’s not allow our fear, grief, or anxiety to isolate us as it often can, but rather, let’s press into the community of faithful people we are blessed with. Let’s lean on each other and support one another. All while continuing to provoke each other to find courage to act as the body of Christ, because we all have a part to play in God’s good work in this world.

So beloved, let’s keep showing up for each other, trusting in God’s love which connects us all in a tapestry of grace. As we look toward these next years, we may feel overwhelmed at the enormity of what may crumble before us.

But take heart, dear friends. God is at work. In you, in me, in this community, and in millions of people provoking one another to do good things. To work for justice and compassion. To act in love in a world that seems so full of hate. With each good deed creating a ripple that can change tides toward something good.

And church, that is something worth hoping for.

In the name of the ☩ Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

Our fear never excludes us from participating in God’s mission on earth. Jesus affirms this grace by saying “you will” to James and John when they, out of fear, make a seemingly power-hungry request.

Vicar Natalie Wussler
The Twenty-Second Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 29 B
Texts: Isaiah 53:4-12; Psalm 91:9-16; Hebrews 5:1-10; Mark 10:[32-34] 35-45

Beloved in Christ, grace and peace to you in the name of the ☩ Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Here we go again… Jesus for a third time predicts his death and for a third time, the disciples somehow completely miss the point. And now, James and John make a seemingly power-hungry move and ask for places at Jesus’ right and left hand when he comes in glory. Haven’t they got the message yet? Has Jesus not embraced enough children or said “the last shall be first” enough times to let the disciples know they should uplift vulnerable people and be servants to everyone? I’ll admit it, this was my first reaction to this passage. But let’s take a more empathetic look at their position.

Because it’s easy to understand why James and John make this ill-timed request. They left all they’ve ever known to follow Jesus. They’ve listened to Jesus’ words as if their lives depended on it. They’ve seen Jesus heal the sick, cast out demons. And here Jesus is for a third time warning the disciples of his impending death and, this time, he brings the details. There is a who, a what, a where, and a how to Jesus’ death, and from what he’s saying, it will happen in just a few days when they enter Jerusalem. Jesus is their friend and a trusted teacher. James, John, and the disciples believe Jesus is the long-awaited Messiah. James and John focus on the glory they want Jesus to come into. Because remember, the followers of Jesus are still functioning under the idea that the Messiah will come to forcefully overturn the empires that oppress people. The Messiah is not supposed to be crucified at the hands of the empire. Think about the terror the disciples feel at the idea that Jesus would be killed by powers beyond their control.  It’s no wonder why fear is creeping in. And when we frame the disciple’s reaction as a response to fear, it makes a little more sense. Perhaps James and John are trying to gain positions of prestige as a way to control one aspect of the impending chaos. Maybe they want to preserve whatever status they think they have, from being two of the three disciples who witnessed the Transfiguration. Perhaps they aren’t hearing Jesus’ prediction of his death because they worry the same fate awaits them. And so they seek security. And maybe the disciples grow angry with James and John because they wish they’d been able to gain control for themselves in the chaos they fear as well. Fear takes them over and distracts them from what really matters and the example Jesus is trying to set for them. 

It’s not hard to understand where disciples are coming from, because we all fear in our own ways. Fear is one of those universal human experiences. It invades our minds and our hearts. Sometimes we fear that we’re not good enough or that we will fail. Sometimes our fear tells us that things will never get better. Sometimes we fear the state of this world and think we can do nothing to change it.  And in the face of our fear, we can act like James and John and move toward self-preservation. To make sure that the “me” and the “mine” of it all is secure. Sometimes our fear keeps us from speaking truth at the risk of retaliation or saying something wrong. And sometimes our fear of doing the wrong thing causes us to do nothing at all. Our fear can lead us down a path of self-centeredness and isolation. Assumed safety, yes, but at the expense of our lives becoming smaller and more lonely. Instead of engaging in the abundant life of service where the last are first and we’re servants to all, we can retreat, hoard, and stay silent.

In response to James and John’s request, Jesus asks them if they’re able to drink from the cup Jesus will drink from and be baptized as he is baptized. Naively James and John affirm their ability and readiness to do so. Now, Jesus has said a lot of things when the disciples miss the point, and some of them are pretty harsh, but not here. “You will,” Jesus says. “You…will.” These two words are an invitation to continue on the path Jesus is setting for them. Even while they are acting out of their own fear and ignorance, they will drink the cup that Jesus drinks out of. Jesus tells James and John that they don’t know what they’re asking for, and I think that if they did know what they were signing up for, they might rethink their excited “we are able.” Because this cup that Jesus drinks from and the baptism Jesus is baptized with is no easy feat. It’s one of self-sacrifice, of dying and rising, of service to others. This cup and baptism is a path that leads to the cross. It’s a cup and baptism that elicits fear, even for God incarnate. In the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus himself will ask for this cup to be taken away from him. Luke’s gospel has Jesus sweating blood out of distress. Jesus felt fear in the face of this cup and this baptism, and yet, he walked it in love and in prayer.

And here’s the grace: not even our fear can exclude us from God’s mission on earth. Jesus was afraid, but it didn’t stop him. The disciples lived in fear all the way through Holy Week and abandoned Jesus after the last supper. But, there was grace for them. On Pentecost they were anointed with the Holy Spirit and started the movement of the church, and they lived in service to all people, walking in love and in prayer. Their fear did not exclude them. We, too, act in fear in a multitude of ways, and yet we are not excluded. God gives us grace too and assures us that we are still loved and still wanted. God still wants you on God’s team. Through all the ways you may believe you are disqualified, God still wants you and welcomes you to do God’s work in the world. You can live into God’s call, drink from the cup Jesus drank, and you can do it while you’re still scared. You will never be excluded from God’s mission on earth. 

Walking in love and in prayer, you can follow the path Jesus walked first. The writer of Hebrews says this path was marked with weakness, tears, and love. It’s a path that makes abundant life accessible to all people and excludes no one from the love of God. It’s a path that might feel scary, but Jesus’ answer of “you will” to James and John tells us that we don’t have to be fully fearless. We don’t have to wait until we have no fear to follow Jesus’ path for us. And even in the face of our fear, Jesus says to us “You will.” You will be able to follow Jesus, even if you are scared.

I don’t think Jesus said anything to the disciples that day that made them less fearful. But this invitation and assurance Jesus gives them is a promise that they are included in God’s mission, with whatever baggage they may carry. This invitation and promise is for you, too. And as you walk this cross-shaped path, you’re likely to encounter fear. But in your daily drinking from the cup, in daily dying and rising with Christ, God transforms your fear into courage and affirms that you will be able to do the things that scare you–to say the hard truths, serve your neighbor, live authentically as your beloved self.

In the name of the ☩ Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

While the culture of the world moves us to crave more, Jesus says “the first shall be last.” This word encourages us to go to the margins of society and live a life of service to others.

Vicar Natalie Wussler
The Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 25 B
Texts: Jeremiah 11:18-20, Psalm 54; James 3:13-4:3, 7-8a; Mark 9:30-37

Beloved in Christ, grace and peace to you in the name of the ☩ Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

It’s the water we swim in, woven into the fabric of our society. More. This insatiable desire for more. We can see it everywhere we go. More money, more power, more status, more stuff. More. We’re caught by a selfish kind of ambition with never-ending cravings, forcing us into a rat race to the best places in society, not settling until we reach the top, and all the while looking over to see if what we have measures up to what our peers have. We have unlimited access to all the ways we can be more or become enough right at our fingertips! And it’s exhausting. Looking around, it seems like our culture is governed by the philosophy of “more”. James sensed this in his 1st century church. James observed his people ascribing to a self-centered earthly wisdom that fosters selfish ambition and envy. A quote, unquote “conventional” wisdom causing his people to look around at others and covet what they did not have.

And what was the fruit of this selfish ambition and envy? James says, disorder and wickedness of all kinds. Conflicts and disputes between people. Does this sound familiar to anyone else? What James talks about feels eerily similar to the conditions of our current society that run us all ragged in pursuit of more. Now this is not some tirade about ambition in our earthly existence. James makes an important distinction here. Selfish ambition that leads to envy is what we should flee from. An ambition that takes our eyes off of God and those around us and centers squarely on the self. This ambition hoards in pursuit of more, it does not share. This ambition envies the success of others. It’s a systemic, competitive struggle that leads to disputes that break down communities. It makes no space for those who can’t keep up in the race. This race to the top distracts people, leading some to say “pull yourself up by the bootstraps” to those who have no boots. Selfish ambition ultimately lets vulnerable people of all kinds fall through the cracks, leading some to feel like lambs led to the slaughter, like an uprooted tree cut off from the land of living, like someone who has been forgotten completely, Jeremiah says. This is what happens when the pressures of this cutthroat culture move us to crave more.

The disciples seem to get caught up in this same self-centered culture of “more”. While Jesus is trying to explain to women and men following him for the second time that he will be like a lamb to the slaughter, the disciples are confused and in fear, they don’t ask any clarifying questions. Maybe it’s because they don’t want to look stupid in front of each other and potentially lose their imagined superiority among the group. Or maybe it’s because the last time someone made a comment about Jesus’ death prediction, that person (Peter) was called Satan, and that would be super embarrassing, right? We’ll never know what caused their silence. But their fear to ask Jesus for whatever reason was greater than their desire to draw close to him. Their confusion soon turns into competition. 

They fall into selfish ambition and begin to dispute who among them is greatest. And in their squabbling, they once again miss the point and their hearts are hardened toward the reality of Jesus’ prediction. Their useless pursuit of more not only creates interpersonal strife, but it distorts their understanding of God’s mission on earth. This is what can happen to us when we follow the world’s conventional wisdom–we, like the disciples, can miss what is truly important about a life following Jesus. We can become too caught up in our own accolades instead of drawing closer to God and to each other.

And Jesus, knowing all along what the disciples are quarreling about responds: “Anyone who wants to be first must be the very last, and the servant of all.” This is a radical word, both in Jesus’ time and now. It’s hard to imagine a world where the first are last when the world we know is built on the power of a few so-called “firsts.” Jesus flips the world’s hierarchies around and prioritizes those considered “last.” And as an illustration, Jesus embraces a child and calls the disciples to do likewise. Welcoming children wholeheartedly, in this time, gained you nothing, as the Romans believed the only value children carried was that one day they would be adults.  This isn’t just a cute message about embracing children. Jesus is asking the disciples to welcome those who will gain you no earthly notoriety, no medals of honor, no promotions. But will mean everything in heaven. Jesus is directing his disciples to stoop to the lowest places and serve all. That’s our call today. 

It’s a path we do not take alone. Jesus, himself, took this path. We worship a God who was willing to be last of all and servant of all, a God who stoops down to us. Jesus spent his ministry in the low places with the sick, the grieving, the prostitutes, the tax collectors; those relegated to the low places in Roman society. Jesus stooped low to wash the disciples feet, a job typically only for the last, the forgotten people. And his message? “I have given you my example, do as I have done for you.” This is where God’s love is realized, serving in the low places.

And that’s our invitation. Jesus invites us to follow his example: get off of the earthly ladder to success and serve. To make ourselves low so that all be served and experience God’s love made manifest for them, whether they be poor, sick, houseless, grieving, abandoned, or forgotten. We can take our focus off of our endless pursuit of “more” and onto the needs of those who society puts down. In setting aside our earthly honors, we can dwell in a community where the lasts are firsts and the vulnerable are embraced. When you welcome these people wholeheartedly, Jesus says, you are welcoming the very presence of the Triune God. And as we bring ourselves low, God reminds us that we are beloved without anything we’ve gained in this life. That our value is not in our accomplishments, but instead in our identity as children of the Living God. As we are made last we gain everything. More community with less strife. More confidence in our enoughness in the face of God. More. This is the good fruit of the heavenly wisdom that James talks about. 

When we stoop to the places where our earthly titles and possessions carry little value, we can look at each other not as competitors, but as siblings in Christ, the greatest servant of all. We can set our selfish ambition and envy aside, quit the rat race, rest, and sit at a table where all are welcome, served, and loved.

In the name of the ☩ Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

Jesus Christ on the cross tells us that the present pain, death, and shame is powerless. But when the pain of this world feels too heavy, His scars tell us that’s okay.

Vicar Natalie Wussler
Holy Cross Day
Texts: Numbers 21:4b-9; Psalm 98:1-4; 1 Corinthians 1:18-24; John 3:13-17

Beloved in Christ, grace and peace to you in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

Hungry, tired, longing for rest, the Israelites did what many of us might do, they complained. They said their chains back in Egypt sounded like refuge compared to this wilderness. And instead of getting a solution to their problems, they received snakes. Snakes that bit and killed many Israelites. These people felt scared. Their lives were in danger. Some felt hopeless and believed that these snakes would be their end. But others turned to God, declaring their trust that they could be delivered. 

And God, in love and mercy, did. A bronze serpent lifted high offered healing to all those who had been bitten by just looking at it. God didn’t take away these snakes, their venom or even the pain from the bite. What God did do was take away the snakes’ capacity to kill. These snakes still bit and it still hurt, venom did still enter the people’s bodies, but with the bronze serpent lifted high, the Israelites had found a saving grace. Perhaps now, in the presence of these snakes, the Israleites felt less fear. Maybe when the serpents bit, the Israelites didn’t panic and fear imminent death as they once did. God gave them the promise that these snakes would not be their demise. Through God, the Israelites no longer had to fear their death by snakes, and were assured that God would sustain their life another day.

Cut several thousand years in the future, and Jesus is doing a similar thing. With God’s love for you and for me fully realized, Jesus Christ, the word of God incarnate, was lifted high on a cross, and died a criminal’s death. He rose from the grave, and all at once defeated death. Our gospel reading today says that all people who believe in Jesus will not perish, will not be lost, will not truly die, but will live eternally. Like the sting of snake bites having no hold over the Israelites, because of Christ crucified and risen, the sting of death has no hold over you. Yes, your body will die and you will feel pain in this life, but, if you look to Jesus and believe in Him, you too will be healed, from death, from sin, and all that separates you from God and from your neighbors.

You get to enjoy the resurrection, and once this life passes onto the next, you will have a seat at the feast that has no ending. AND, while you live this temporary life, you get to live in relationship with the Triune God. God’s spirit dwells within you, giving you a new nature. Daily you can lean on the Holy Spirit to direct your path, rather than relying on your own self-serving inclinations. Your new nature directs you to an abundant life of love for God and for all people.

This isn’t just some blessed assurance for after you die. It’s an invitation to daily die to the inclinations of this world and rise in Christ until you finally return to your heavenly home with the Triune God and all the saints that have gone before. 

Though death, sin, and the pain of this world might sting now, they truly have no power, against the backdrop of Christ crucified and risen. 

And, that sounds great, right? 

Until we feel pain. 
Until someone we love dies. 
Until we feel the shame of our sin. 
Until we feel betrayed by a friend, or receive life-shattering news. 
Until life hurts.

Yes, God’s promises through the cross of Christ are true, but in the face of a tragedy or any kind of trial this world throws at you, a victorious Christ might not feel like the balm for your wounds. If in the midst of a personal crisis, someone said to you, “Oh, the present pain doesn’t matter, because it has no power. Rejoice! Christ is victorious over everything. You’re going to live forever,” this kind of statement might feel they’re minimizing your pain, because even though we do have those promises, and they can sustain us, life still stings. Sometimes, we can feel like the Israelites in the wilderness being bitten by the snakes prior to the bronze serpent–alone, scared, hopeless, hurting, and in the midst of a whole lot of suffering. And, church, that’s okay. 

Jesus definitely has something to say about this. Jesus, God made flesh, lived a human life and experienced the world as we do. He felt weariness, anger, despair, and anxiety. Jesus was denied and betrayed by his closest friends. He died a human death, an excruciating one. The life and death he led left their marks on him, even after the resurrection. Fully redeemed and resurrected, Jesus’ body still bears the scars of the crucifixion. If Jesus’ very life was restored to his body, don’t you think the holes in His hands and feet and the wound in his side could have also been healed, too? Maybe, just maybe these wounds were meant to show us that life’s pain is not outside of the eternal, abundant life God has for us on earth. We can be risen with Christ, and attentive to the ways we and others hurt. 

God does not need you to check your pain at the door. God wants all of you. Yes, Jesus defeated sin and death, but death still scarred his body. It’s by touching these scars, and bearing witness to the trauma Jesus endured that the disciple Thomas comes to believe in the resurrection and good news, and it’s by believing in these same scars on the resurrected Christ that we can come to know God’s love for us. Jesus’ scars show us that he has been through the most difficult parts of life. Jesus knows pain. The word of God made flesh knows what a human life feels like. Through Jesus, the Triune God understands and empathizes with the way the world hurts. The Triune God understands and empathizes with the way that you hurt. Your pain matters to God. The Triune God cares so deeply about you and is with you through your hardest moments. There is nothing that you could ever experience that God won’t understand.

And in the midst of your hardest moments, God assures you that though pain may wound you, it is not the end of your story. Because to every Good Friday moment, we have a resurrection on Easter Morning. We still have hope that sustains us through this life. We have hope to live a life centered on Christ, hope that we can learn to walk in Christ’s ways better everyday, hope that we will live after our bodies die, hope that our present suffering doesn’t have the final say. It’s a hope that does not deny suffering. In fact, it looks suffering straight in the face, and assures us that this is not the end for us. As people of Christ, we can affirm our pain and Christ’s promises at the time, discounting neither. We can be bearers of this same hope to others. Sitting with people on their Good Friday’s, so that Easter morning’s hope might come.

Some days, you may need the image of a victorious Christ, who lives now and forever, who went to the grave and came out the other side, who redeems all your pain and declares it powerless, who sustains you until you’re on the other side of eternity. Yet other days, you might need the image of a suffering Jesus, the one who was lifted high on the cross, with his blood and agony visible for all to see; whose body, though resurrected, is still scarred, and sits with you in your pain. Yet other days, you may need a Jesus that lives in the liminal spaces between resurrection and suffering. Our resurrected yet scarred savior abides in all these places, declaring that there is hope for wherever you are. Look to Jesus Christ lifted high on the cross.

 

In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g3G3xMgPX2I