The scandalous cross can only be understood relationally because its central message is about God’s redeeming love for the world in Christ.

Vicar Bristol Reading
The Feast of the Holy Cross
Texts: 1 Corinthians 1:18-24; John 3:13-17

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

When I first started the process toward ordination, my pastor gave me some advice to help me prepare for the essays I’d have to write and the interviews I’d have to do with my candidacy committee. I remember him telling me, “You’ll need to be able to say something about what the theology of the cross means in your life.” I dutifully wrote that down and filed it away mentally as something I’d need to figure out along the way. I thought I’d just spend some time thinking that one through, and then, I’d come up with a reasonable answer. Then, I’d understand what the cross means.

My approach was a little bit like that of Nicodemus in John’s Gospel. Nicodemus was really drawn to Jesus’ astonishing teachings about the radical new life that’s possible in the kingdom of God. But he couldn’t quite figure out the logistical details. So he finally mustered up the courage to approach Jesus and asked him, “I can’t quite make sense of this. How does new life actually work?” The Gospel passage we heard this evening is part of Jesus’ response to Nicodemus.

Now, if Nicodemus was looking for a logical explanation, this isn’t it. He’s trying to wrap his head around something that he needs to wrap his heart around. The new life that is possible in the Kingdom of God isn’t about analytical answers. It’s about relationship. It’s about God’s love for the world. Jesus tells Nicodemus this. He says, “God so loved the whole world that God made a way for the whole world to have life forever.” And the one standing right in front of Nicodemus is that way.

That’s not the kind of truth you can rationally understand like you understand a math equation or a financial transaction. Love is a deeper kind of truth. If you were asked to explain why you love the people you love – your children, your spouse, your friends – it might not make sense to someone else. But anyone who has ever loved or been loved knows how deeply powerful and true love can be, even when it doesn’t “make sense.” If we experience that in our human relationships, can you imagine how much more transformational the love of God can be? The new life that Jesus speaks about is the reality of being in that love. That’s where the life is – in relationship with God!

Anyone who believes in God’s great love for the world will have that eternal life, Jesus tells Nicodemus. This doesn’t mean ‘believe’ in a cognitive sense, as in something you know in your mind. This means trust, as in something you know in your soul, something you’d stake your life on. Jesus is saying, “Anyone who puts their trust in God’s great love for the world, will find life.”

And it is truly a trust-worthy love. God would give up everything for the sake of that love. Indeed, when the incarnate God lived as a human being in Jesus, God did give up everything for the sake of that love. God died for the sake of that love, a painful, humiliating death on a cross. That symbol, the cross, is a reminder of just how trustworthy God’s love is. God’s love is wide enough to hold the whole created world, faithful enough to give up everything for its beloved, powerful enough to bring life out of death. What good news!

But for those like Nicodemus who interacted with the person of Jesus, it was also surprising news. We don’t get to hear Nicodemus’ reaction to Jesus telling him that “the Son of Man must be lifted up” on the cross, but we can imagine that this was a confusing thing to hear. Impressed by Jesus’ miracles and drawn by Jesus’ message, many people expected the Christ, the Messiah, to embody a different kind of power. Surely, the savior of the world would be strong and in control. Surely the savior of the world would win, not lose. Otherwise, how would the world be saved? Even Jesus’ closest friends and disciples expressed concern and doubt as the shadow of the cross loomed nearer. Surely the savior of the world won’t be arrested and executed like a common criminal. As Jesus was hanging on the cross, dying, some were still saying, “If he is indeed Christ, the Messiah, let him save himself” (Mark 15:31). Even those who stood later in the empty tomb, who encountered the risen Christ, even they struggled to understand how God’s power was at work in the world. The self-giving love of Christ on the cross looked so unlike their expectations. God’s kingdom is not like the kingdoms of this world (John 18:26).

Thousands of years later, people still look at Christ and expect a different kind of power. Too often, we expect life made easy, pain taken away, problems triumphantly solved. We can lose sight of where the real power is, where the real life is. It’s found in the relationship of love that God has for the world. It’s found in the way of the cross. That’s the scandal of the cross: it disrupts all our expectations and definitions. Power in surrender. Victory through sacrifice. Life from death. The scandalous cross keeps us from ever getting too comfortable with our own intellectual understanding of God’s way. It will always keep surprising and confounding us.

You have to be some kind of fool to be able to trust in such a mysterious, paradoxical kind of power. Or at least that’s how Paul puts it: “The message about the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.” In other words, if you look at the cross from the outside, it looks like nonsense, but if you experience it from inside God’s love, you can see its salvation. You never totally “make sense” of God’s love in Christ; you trust it. You never really wrap your head around it, but you give your heart to it. You let it transform you, and you live out that sacrificial love in your own life.

To remind ourselves of this, we have hung that scandalous symbol in the central place of this holy space of worship. We bow to it in reverence. Because we are foolish enough to put our hope in it. Because we know that it is not a symbol of death but a symbol of life. Because we know that the most powerful force in the world is not dominance but self-emptying love. The kind of love Christ showed on that cross. That’s the kind of love could save the world. Indeed it already has, it still does, and it always will.

Amen.

Carrying the cross means committing to follow the way of Christ, recognizing that doing so will transform our lives and relationships.

Vicar Bristol Reading
The Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 23 C
Texts: Philemon; Luke 14:25-33

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

Have you ever been told that a physical or mental illness was “your cross to bear”? Or maybe it was a particular pain you were struggling with; an obligation that overwhelmed you; an injustice you’d experienced… Maybe you’ve been told that one of these things was “your cross to bear.”

Sometimes Christians talk this way about Jesus’ command to “carry the cross,” this idea that faithful people will accept trials and burdens passively and piously because “we all have our own crosses to bear.” Sometimes it even goes as far as to present suffering as necessary and spiritually redemptive.

But the God we know through Jesus’ words and actions in scripture focused on healing and alleviating people’s suffering,
not demanding it. Jesus provided for people’s needs, and protected the most vulnerable, even when it was scandalous or dangerous for him to do so. Even from the cross, Jesus speaks mercy and forgiveness. If we trust that Jesus, the incarnate word, reveals God’s heart, we can trust that God doesn’t desire for us to suffer. But God is with us when we suffer.

So what does it mean to carry the cross? Jesus gives this command a number of times across the Gospels,[1] and every time he connects it to discipleship, saying “Take up your cross and follow me.”

If we want to know what it looks like to carry the cross, it looks like Jesus. Not just Jesus’ suffering and death, but Jesus’ life. Jesus gives these teachings about taking up the cross long before he himself is executed on a cross. So the example he is calling disciples to follow also includes his life and ministry. To carry the cross, we need to practice the same hospitality, generosity, and compassion that we see in the life Jesus. We, too, need to provide for others’ needs, protect the vulnerable, speak forgiveness. To carry the cross, we need to live like Jesus… even when it’s challenging.

And it does get challenging. The Gospel is good news, but it isn’t easy news.

If we commit to following the way of Jesus, things will have to change. Not just on the inside, in our hearts, but on the outside, in our lifestyles and our relationships.

In the Gospel passage we heard this morning, Jesus adds some drastic language to the call to carry the cross. Worried that the crowds drawn by his popularity won’t take seriously the difficulties of discipleship, he says, “If you want to follow me, you have to hate your own family, your own life!” Whew! That’s a tough bar to clear! We know, of course, that Jesus doesn’t advocate hating complete strangers, let alone close family. But he wants to be sure that people get the message that living in the way of Christ will change their lives. It will shift even their most intimate relationships in unanticipated ways.

This is a lesson Philemon learned the hard way. His situation, which we encounter through one of Paul’s letters, is an example of how living according to the Gospel can challenge the status quo. Philemon is a Christian in the early church, and Paul is writing to him on behalf of Onesimus, who has also become a Christian. Onesimus is in serious debt to Philemon, but Paul urges Philemon to let it go. He should accept Onesimus back into his household – not as a debtor enslaved to a master, but as an equal, a sibling in Christ. Within the social structures of their day, Philemon had a right to demand reparation from Onesimus! But their shared commitment to Christ has changed their relationship to one another. Paul reminds Philemon: This is what you signed up for when you became a Christ-follower! Your life has to change! The world may think retaliation and punishment are fair, but the Gospel demands a different standard. For those who carry the cross, relationships are defined by love, not revenge; forgiveness, not resentment; and mutual respect, not coercion.

As Philemon learned, the Gospel life can involve letting go of things we might prefer to keep: things like status, power, comfort, wealth.

Discipleship can be costly. But it’s not about losing just for the sake of loss. It’s about losing for the sake of love, as Jesus did.

Jesus went all the way to losing his life for the sake of love. And, in doing so, modeled sacrificial love for us. When we choose to follow the way of Jesus, we choose to follow that way. Our “cross to bear” is the burden of love – for ourselves and for one another. That burden is not light. We have to let go of some things in order that we might carry it. We may think we know what we’ll have to lose. But, like Philemon, we will find that the Gospel continually changes our lives in ways that will surprise us and challenge us. That’s the hard work of discipleship that Jesus warned about. When we agree to follow Christ, we will be continually transformed, like clay in the Potter’s hands.

But we can trust that the Potter is making us into something new, something good.

The change might feel painful, but it’s the kind of pain that leads to growth, not the kind of pain that wears us down or destroys us. Bearing the cross of Christ-like love is a way of life.

Every time you make the sign of the cross on your body, remind yourself that you are marked with the cross from your baptism, and your baptismal calling is to carry the cross. Which means your baptismal calling is to live your life with the radical love we see in Jesus. And when that burden feels heavy, remember that it is also life-giving. And the life it brings is stronger than anything: stronger than suffering, stronger even than death. We share in the cross of Christ, yes, but we also share in the resurrection of Christ.[2] And thanks be to God for that! Amen.

[1] Mark 8:34; Matthew 10:38, 16:24; Luke 9:23, 14:27.
[2] Philippians 3:10-11.

The path of Christ is having God give you the humility of Christ – not a false humility, not self-abuse, but true joy in seeing all, and yourself, as the image of God.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 22 C
Texts: Luke 14:1, 7-14; Hebrews 13:1-8, 15-16; Jeremiah 2:4-13

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

Be careful, very careful, with this Gospel reading.

Once again, Jesus is speaking of life in the reign of God, something we’ve heard all summer. But today’s Gospel is as tricky as any we’ve had. There are side paths that are easy to stumble into, paths which lead away from the path of Christ, if you’re not paying attention.

Jesus doesn’t intentionally set a trap here. In fact, he’s very consistent with the flow we’ve heard from him for months.

The problem is human nature. The particular thing he’s talking about, humility, cuts really close to a nerve in how we live, and makes it hard to hear and follow. Judging by the common way people usually talk about these verses and live them out, most of us have gotten lost on these side paths.

So listen carefully. Keep an eye on Jesus’ lead as closely as you ever have.

Now, our problems with social order and class are a little different from this story.

We don’t have a strict social and class order that’s reflected in how people are seated at the table, but we do have deep problems with social order and class. We’re very familiar with judging and with jockeying for position.

But when Jesus says take the lowest seat, and let others go before you, or, those who humble themselves shall be exalted and those who exalt themselves shall be humbled, we seem to consistently miss the point and take the side paths.

The first is the path of false humility and expectation of reward, one of the main Christian responses to this. Let others go first and pretend you’re humble. But inwardly, we hope someone notices, hope to be invited forward, to be commended. We can even be ridiculously proud of how humble we are. This isn’t a path of humility, it’s a path of pride and deceit. Please hear this clearly: do not leave worship today believing humility means Jesus wants you to pretend to be lower than others, hoping to be commended, resenting when you’re not. Nothing is further from the truth.

The other side path of Christian response is the path of self-devaluing. To hear Jesus saying you have no value, your gifts are of no account, you’re worthless. Everyone is better than you, you deserve no attention. This response has been drilled into the faithful for centuries, particularly by the powerful onto the marginalized and the powerless. This isn’t a path of humility, it’s a path of self-hate, of self-abuse. Please hear this clearly: do not leave worship today believing Jesus says being humble means you have no value, you aren’t worthy of a seat at the table. Nothing is further from the truth.

To find truth, we need to overturn our understanding of the word “deserve.”

So, some believers think they deserve more praise, more attention, are more important, but act as if they’re not because they think it’s how the game is played. The truth is, it may look nice to let someone go ahead of you, but if inwardly you think you deserve more attention, you’ve missed the whole point.

Some believers feel they deserve no praise, they’re worth nothing, deserve being sent to the bottom. This also may look humble, but if inwardly you think you have no value, you’ve also missed the point.

Instead, Jesus is describing an entirely new upside-down world order. Everyone deserves love, everyone deserves praise. From chapter one of Genesis to now God has tried to tell you that all are created in God’s own image. Are worthy of the love of the Triune God who made all things.

Jockeying for position isn’t the problem. Believing there is such a thing as position, that there are people who rank higher, are more important, that’s the problem. Jesus calls for a complete transformation of the heart’s values. Seeing everyone as precious in God’s eyes, including yourself, including the ones who are outside your empathy, those you look down on. Having the mutual love for all Hebrews talks about today, and welcoming strangers not because they might be angels, but because they are the image of God.

Jesus told a parable to show this reversal. But they already had the only parable they needed.

The eternal Word of the Triune God, one with the Father and the Spirit from before creation itself, was at this dinner. The One whom all creation should honor and adore and kneel before watched other people scramble for the important seats.

Jesus is the parable. The One who created billions of galaxies, worthy of all honor and praise, did not, as Paul reminds you in Philippians 2, cling to divinity, but this Son, the Word, humbled himself and took on human flesh, and by this said, “You are beloved, and precious, and worthy.”

That’s Jesus’ vision of God’s reign. It removes any distinction between people. If the God of all time deigns to become a human being, then simply being a human being made in God’s image is glory and honor enough for anyone. For each and every one.

Why have social order and class when we can look at each other in equal joy, recognizing God’s face in each other’s faces?

But going from where we are to living this vision can’t be done in an instant.

That’s where we get lost. There’s no switch to flip that we suddenly know in our hearts we’re all equal, or instantly care for the people whom we don’t care for, or think better of the people we disdain. We can’t suddenly see as Jesus sees, love as Jesus loves, live as Jesus lived. It takes God time to shape us.

So today Jesus names just the first steps toward this reality. Think of what he’s saying this way:

When you were a child and you hurt someone, your parents likely told you to say you were sorry. But if you’re like most children, you might not have truly felt it. There might have been a touch of sullenness and reluctance to your “sorry.”

But one day, the goal is you’d become a person who genuinely felt sorry when you hurt someone, who said, “Can you please forgive me?” Not sullenly, not because you were told to, but because that’s how you viewed the world and all people. Because you loved this person.

Likewise, Jesus says humility’s first steps are: “take the lower seat. Be humble. Don’t put yourself above others.”

But this isn’t the end of the path, the goal of Christian life. These instructions aren’t full life in God’s reign. They’re just the first baby steps of following Christ’s path of humility, a path that leads to the cross.

Sadly, the Church is and has been full of adults of all ages who live frozen at these baby steps. Who never let the Spirit transform their heart and eyes to feel and see as Jesus does. Who are forever children when it comes to this truth of God’s reign. So they – we – toddle off on the side paths of immature humility that only lead to death and pain and sadness. Remaining at the basic level of Christ’s humility for one’s whole life is unhealthy, even deadly, because is shows a dry, empty heart. It’s rejecting God’s fountain of living water, Jeremiah says today, and building yourself a cracked cistern that holds no water.

It’s time to start growing up. To move to solid food, real nourishment, and a deeper understanding of the life in Christ.

Once you leave today’s baby steps and take full, grown strides down Christ’s path, you’ll find the true glory of God’s reign.

It’s a chaotic joy of a table that has enough seats for everyone, and everyone’s getting up and switching seats, sharing food and laughter, telling stories, embracing tears, rejoicing in good news. A reign of God with no hierarchies, no privilege, no rankings, where all look at each other with glad and shining faces, recognizing the image of God in the other because all see it in themselves, too.

That’s what Jesus was hoping to get started at that dinner party, a path that opens up to such chaos and delight and wonder.

To see this in your life, you’re going to want to pray today’s prayer of the day often: Give me, O God, the humility of your Son. Make this joyful reality, this new heart, these new eyes, mine always. Because God delights to give that to you.

And if this is what God models in Christ, and what God wants to make happen in you, and in all God’s children, why on earth or in heaven would you want anything less?

In the name of Jesus.  Amen