The Holy Spirit, the One called alongside us, accompanies us by strengthening us, guiding us, bringing us to faith, transforming us to be Christ, and revealing Christ in our midst. Today, the Spirit calls us alongside others so that we, too, may accompany a world that longs to see Christ. 

Vicar Emily Beckering, the Sixth Sunday of Easter, year A; text: John 14:15-21.

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

If you have ever served as an accompanist to a soloist, ensemble, or congregation, then you know that there is a great difference between accompanying and performing on your own. It is a difference that is essential for musicians who are new to the art to learn. Even if we have not been an accompanist, we all know what difference the cantor makes as we worship together. The accompanist is sensitive to the needs and gifts of the other musicians, supporting them in phrasing and expression, prepared to bring them back in if they get lost, leading yet moving along with them, thus strengthening and empowering those whom she or she accompanies.

In the gospel today, we hear just what difference the Holy Spirit, whom we have received in our baptisms, makes for our daily lives. The work of the Holy Spirit, and in turn the work that the Holy Spirit equips us to do, is not unlike the work of the accompanist.

Today Christ promises, “The Father will give you another Advocate to be with you forever. You know him because he abides with you and will be in you.” 

“Advocate” could also be translated “Comforter, Helper, Counselor.” The trouble with each of these names is that there is not a single English word that encompasses the full meaning of what Jesus tells us about the person and work of the Holy Spirit. Each of these names gives us a glimpse of the Holy Spirit but ultimately falls short of expressing the full extent of the Holy Spirit’s power.

The Holy Spirit is an advocate in the sense that the Spirit speaks for us when our own words fail us, for we know from the gospels that we can be confident when we witness because the Holy Spirit will give us just what we need. We know from Paul that the Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words when we pray. The Spirit is not only an Advocate, but also a Comforter who encourages us in times of distress and gives us faith when we doubt. And the Holy Spirit is also a Counselor who guides us along the path that God desires for us, reveals to us when we are living contrary to how God would have us live, and teaches us to follow Christ.

The Spirit does all of this, yet even more because the name that Jesus gives to the Spirit here literally means “the one called alongside.” Here is where the image of the accompanist helps us: the Holy Spirit is called alongside us for the journey, accompanying us, not guiding from far away, but right there with us in the very midst of the journey, working for and through us.

The Holy Spirit is sent to dwell with us, to accompany us along the way because God the Father will not be separated from us and God the Son refuses to leave us orphaned or abandoned. The very presence of the Holy Spirit makes communion with the Triune God possible: we are invited into an intimate relationship with the Trinity where we are brought into the very presence of God. Just as Jesus promises, the Holy Spirit reveals that Christ is in us and we are in Christ. In this relationship, we are never without our Lord. We never journey alone, but are always accompanied because the Triune God so desires to be with us. In that accompanying, the Spirit will comfort, and counsel, and speak for and through us.

Perhaps the most important aspect of Christ’s promise to us today is, in fact, that it is a promise. 

The power and presence of the Holy Spirit is not a condition based on our own abilities. The Spirit’s effectiveness in us or in the world does not depend on us. It is the Spirit’s power, not our own. The Spirit’s ability to reach us, to guide and transform us, extends beyond our feelings, beyond our intelligence, our limited perspectives, our tendency to miss how God is at work, and even beyond our sin which causes us to get in the way. The promise of the Holy Spirit’s dwelling with us, coming alongside us, assures us that God will be with us and at work as we seek to make decisions, to follow Christ, and to live as faithful servants.

Because the Spirit’s work and presence are promised, we need not fear as the world fears. We do not need to live in a state of worry, feeling the pressure that it is all up to us to figure everything out. All the “what-ifs” in this world have no power over us: what if we don’t know enough, have enough, aren’t enough? The truth is that we aren’t, but Christ is, and the Holy Spirit unites us with him.

Now we can actually live with hope: with the hope that the Spirit who dwells within us is always beckoning us, always opening us up to one another, always guiding us and transforming us to live as Christ in the world. We do not live with fear, but with expectation: every moment could be a moment when the Spirit leads us to someone, brings someone whom we need to us, shapes us to live anew as Christ, or reveals how Christ is already at work in the world around us. We live listening and on the lookout.

If we are oriented to view all of life this way, wondering how God is at work in us and in the world, then the question naturally becomes: what does it look like, sound like, feel like when the Spirit is moving in our midst? How do we know when, where, or into what the Holy Spirit is calling us?

Recognizing how the Holy Spirit is working may not be a matter of having an intense spiritual experience or of knowing something with absolute certainty. We may not always feel the Holy Spirit’s presence or know exactly which decision to make, which is why we cling instead to Christ’s promise that the Holy Spirit accompanies us, is by our side working through and for us—even when we make mistakes—and will be there to call us back when we go astray.

Sometimes this happens in the form of a gentle tugging, or a nudging: like when someone is continually brought up in our minds and hearts and we know that we need to reach out to them. Other times, the Spirit’s voice comes to us through our brothers or sisters in Christ when they encourage us, remind us what is true, or tell us honestly when we have been going down the wrong path. We know for sure that the Spirit speaks through scripture, the preached word, and the bread and wine in order to reveal Christ. The Spirit, however, is not limited to these mediums; God finds many ways to reach us. We cannot control or predict how we will be reached; we only know that the Spirit will find a way.

Though it happens many ways, one thing is clear from Jesus’ words for us today: when the Holy Spirit is at work, it always looks like Christ. This is why we often don’t recognize the work of the Spirit until after the fact, until the presence of Christ has already been revealed. The reason that the Spirit is “another Advocate” is because Jesus was the first. We see the Spirit at work whenever someone acts like Jesus, shows Christ’s love, offers forgiveness, gives of themselves for the benefit of someone else: every time that Christ is seen.

This is what the Holy Spirit is always at work doing, always beckoning us into, and always transforming us to be: Christ. 

Jesus tells us, “If you love me, you will keep my commandments.” And what is his command but to love one another and the world as he loves us. The Holy Spirit makes that possible. The work of the One who is called alongside us is to call us alongside the world in order to be Christ’s presence, to show Christ’s love, and to offer Christ’s forgiveness.

We are not sent to quiet people’s fears by dismissing them or avoiding them, thus saying “Peace, peace” when there is not peace. We are not sent to speak for our neighbors without taking the time to listen to them. We are not sent to help our neighbors by attempting to solve their struggles our own way.

Being called alongside is very different from any of these approaches.

An accompanist neither overpowers nor abandons the soloist or ensemble when it is struggling, but instead strengthens them by moving with them and giving them the support that they need. God does not deal with our brokenness or our suffering by punishing us, avoiding us, abandoning us, or taking us out of harm’s way. Instead, the Triune God enters into the very midst of our struggle, strengthening us, guiding us, and transforming us from the inside out. As God dwells with us, so we are to dwell with one another.  As the Holy Spirit accompanies us, so we are sent to accompany one another and all of our neighbors: to walk alongside each other, to stand in solidarity with each other, to enter into one another’s pain, to listen so deeply to each other and the Holy Spirit who speaks through us, that after we have listened, we all understand ourselves and God’s desires for us all a little more clearly. We will even be accompanied as we accompany, for it is the Spirit who empowers us to love this way.

And so the Holy Spirit looks like you, dear sisters and brothers, when you accompany a broken, hurting world. 

Every time that we meet evil and injustice with unwavering love and peace, every time that we seek unity out of division, ever time that we are turned from commending ourselves or getting our own way and turned toward listening to the needs of those around us and lifting them up, every time that we choose forgiveness instead of revenge, and offer relationship in the face of rejection: the Spirit is at work to show Christ. The Holy Spirit poured out onto us in our baptisms, who is called alongside us, will be at work, forever opening our eyes to see Christ again, and transforming us to be Christ for all whom we are called alongside.

This peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard and keep our hearts and our minds in Christ Jesus.

Amen. 

The promise of life in God’s house after we die is only part of Jesus’ message and call to us: in this life we are to live the way, reveal the truth, and share the life that we have in Christ Jesus so that others may also know that they are known and loved by God.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen, the Fifth Sunday of Easter, year A; texts:  John 14:1-10 (add 13:33-38); 1 Peter 2:1-10

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

One of the certain signs that our nature is broken and bent is that human beings – alright, let’s just say it, we – tend to want to respond to security, love, grace, all sorts of good we receive, by restricting it, clinging to it, believing it’s our possession alone.  Almost as if we think if we don’t, there won’t be enough to go around.  So siblings play the game of “who was Mother’s favorite” with each other well past adulthood, sometimes in fun, but often with an undercurrent of genuine anxiety or insecurity.  People who belong to groups which give them a sense of companionship and family become concerned about letting others into their group, about rules for joining, as if the companionship is lessened if others try to share in it.  Christians certainly do this on a regular basis.

We don’t just restrict, though.  We often warp the whole message of the Son of God so that all we hear is the promise that we are saved and given eternal life after we die, and we hear none of the rest of what our Lord taught.  So we sometimes act and live as if the whole point of the salvation the Triune God brought into the world through the Son was to save us.  End of story.

This isn’t new.  The people of Israel are the chosen people of the Lord God, creator of all.  At various times in their life as such, they have sometimes believed that being chosen was for themselves, to be set apart from the rest of the world.  Most religions, in fact, bend toward this sinfulness and self-centeredness.  As long as we know we’re loved by God, that’s all that matters.

In some ways these words of Jesus today have served as rationale for such thinking by Christians.  These words are often read at funerals, and of course the implication is that the one who has died has died in the confidence that he or she has a room prepared in the Father’s house for them.  That’s a good promise to hold, a true comfort, and it is truth.  Where we’ve taken it too far, however, is to read these verses as simply that, a promise that I can hold that I will have a place prepared for me.  That the whole point of Jesus’ words here is to give each of us comfort in life after death.

But in context, and that’s why I began reading the Gospel in chapter 13 and not where the lectionary asked, in context there’s a completely different feel to these words.  If we hear everything Jesus says at this moment, it’s clear that the promise of eternal life is only part of what he wants them to hear.  The greater message is what he needs of them now, in this life, while he’s gone from them.

You see, all of these words, and the many to follow in John, come on the night of Jesus’ betrayal, his leaving just ahead.  That’s important.

Jesus is about to head to his death, and for three chapters John gives Jesus’ words on this night.  But they’re not typical “last words” kind of speech.  We’d expect the comfort of John 14:2-3, the words about the Father’s house and that Jesus is coming back for the disciples.  If he’s going to die, and even after rising only stay for a little over a month, giving them the promise that he’s making a place in the Father’s house for them is important.  He’s telling them to trust that all will be well, even if it looks like things are going terribly wrong.  That’s a good promise.

But in context, there’s so much more.

He has washed their feet, acted the role of a servant, and told them to take on this role.  So even though he is leaving, he is going to die, he needs them to start acting as servants.  Life will go on after his death and resurrection, and this he needs them to do.

He deepens the command just after Judas leaves them, with the words we heard today, that they have a new commandment to love each other as he has loved them (and will love them in dying on the cross), that this will be the only sign of their being disciples.  So even though he is leaving, he is going to die, he needs them to start loving sacrificially, even to the point of dying if needed.  Life will go on after his death and resurrection, and this he needs them to do.

And just after these words of comfort about his Father’s house, he tells these frightened and confused disciples that they will do great works in his name, greater even than his works. So even though he is leaving, he is going to die, he needs them to expect that there will be ministry to be done, even great things to be done in his name.  Life will go on after his death and resurrection, and this he needs them to do.

Taking these words of promise in eternal life as our possession and the end of the story misses the tremendous call to follow and serve that Jesus is speaking in these words.

Think about it: we know the whole story.  We know that he’s hours away from a brutal death.  We know that Peter’s hours away from a humiliating betrayal.  And his first thought, after telling Peter that he will deny him, is to calm Peter’s heart, calm all their hearts: “Do not let your hearts be troubled; believe in God, believe also in me.”

But this is not just a comfort to hold on to when they see him die the next day.  Because he almost immediately says that belief in him will empower them to continue his ministry, regardless of what happens tomorrow, and do even more amazing things.

That is, serve others even more deeply than he does.  Love each other and the world even more sacrificially than he does.  And bring God’s love enfleshed into the world by their lives even more than he has.  This isn’t last words that are intended to make them, or us, feel only comfort.  These are last words that are giving us a job to do, and the power to do it.

And the only way we can hear it is to stop thinking that “the Way, the Truth, and the Life,” and the rooms in the Father’s house, are a private message for us to cherish and hold and keep locked in our hearts until we need them.

When Israel turned in on itself as chosen people, God told the prophet Isaiah to change their direction.  Now Jesus is doing the same to us.

In an astonishing sentence, the prophet, in speaking of Israel as God’s servant, tells them they have a new job.  “It is too light a thing that you should be my servant to raise up the tribes of Jacob and to restore the survivors of Israel,” the LORD speaks through Isaiah.  “I will give you as a light to the nations, that my salvation may reach to the end of the earth.”  (Isaiah 49:6)

Isn’t that breathtaking?  Saving Israel isn’t enough for God; they are chosen to bring light to the whole world.

And that’s absolutely what Jesus is about.

At Pentecost Luke says there were about 120 believers gathered, so in the course of Jesus’ three years he developed a core group of 12 and about ten times that in other followers.  That’s not insignificant.  But if his promise in John 14 was only for those 120, it’s a pretty paltry promise.

Of course, for Jesus it was never just that.  His coming was for the whole world, John says in chapter 3, and Jesus himself says in chapter 12 that when he is lifted up on the cross he will draw all people to himself.  All people.  That’s a few more than 120.

And now we see part of what he means by our doing greater things than he did: in our embodying the love of God in the world as his followers, serving as he serves, loving as he loves, sacrificing as he sacrificed, we will reach all people.

Given that there are well over a billion people alive today who find life in the risen Christ, the Son of God, I’d say that was a greater reach than 120.  And if all of those well over a billion stopped thinking it was all for them, and heard this call to a greater vision, that all people would know God’s love in Christ Jesus, can we imagine what that would do in the world?

What this might mean is that we hear these words of Jesus as a job description instead of a doctrine of entrance.

Our call is to live into the One who is the Way, the Truth, and the Life, instead of claiming that exclusively as if we controlled who is loved by God in Christ.

So if we follow the One who is the Way, that means we begin walking the Way with him.  The early Christians called the Church “the Way.”  We might want to return to that.  To live our lives of faith as if they are primarily a way of life, a way of journeying, shaped and guided by the teaching of our Lord and Savior, and a way to life in this world that is abundant and whole and radiating with grace and love.

So we aren’t seeing Jesus as “the Way” and thinking “ticket to heaven,” we’re seeing Jesus as “the Way” as our pilgrim guide in our journey of faith.  And in our walking, we begin to accompany the rest of the world on their journey, and perhaps, because we have learned something of what this Way of life means, we can be of help to them, be guides ourselves.

And if we follow the One who is the Truth, that means we begin to live as Truth with each other and the world.  This is a big change from seeing Truth as a thing to be owned, a thing to fight over, a thing to beat other people up with who don’t believe what we believe.

If our Lord Christ is the Truth, then he is the voice who speaks the truth about us to our inmost hearts, to those locked places we’ve been talking about, and calls us out to see not only the truth about our lives but the truth about God’s love that can change our lives.

When we begin to hear that truth about ourselves, then as we walk the Way with each other and the world, we can become truth-tellers to each other, helping each other deal with the ugly and the beautiful truths about us, and always living the great Truth of God’s undying love for the whole world that will end even the power of death over this world.  If in our walking that Truth radiated from us, think of the difference God could make in the world through us.

And last, if we follow the One who is the Life, that means we begin to live abundant life and be bearers of that divine Life in the world.  Think of the world if we were people who not only knew that the Way of Christ was the way out of death which only truth can reveal, but was a way to abundant, full life in the face of whatever happens, think of what the world would be.

If our response to death and evil and pain and suffering was to be Life in that place for others, and not to add more of the death and evil.  If our way of being brought life into the pain of this world, then in our walking the Way we could be part of God’s abundant life spreading to all people.

I know there’s a possibility that this all sounds too good to be true, and that a realist ought to have lower expectations.

I only know that Jesus told us this the night before his death, when he was fully aware of what he was going to, and fully prepared to do it.  I can’t imagine anyone more in touch with reality than our Lord at that moment.  And still, knowing what pain and confusion lay ahead for his beloved followers, he felt he needed to give them hope in what he would be able to accomplish through them.  And call them to that ministry.

Anything they ask, he said, he will accomplish.  Anything.  That’s the promise that comes with the call.  That we live the Way, live the Truth, live the Life we know in Christ Jesus, and that such living will do amazing things.  That we, as Peter says today, realize we are called and set apart not for ourselves but to declare the mighty acts of the One who called us out of darkness into his marvelous light.  So that all can see that light.  And through us, with the working of the Holy Spirit, even greater things than these will be done.

It might sound too good to be true.  But that’s only because it’s the most true thing we have ever heard.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

Christ Jesus offers us abundant life, which is found following him into the world and opening our hearts to his transforming, both of which can be frightening; but we are in the care of our Good Shepherd, always.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen, the Fourth Sunday of Easter, year A; texts:  John 10:1-10; Psalm 23; 1 Peter 2:19-25

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

There seems to be a difference of opinion in our readings today and it’s troubling.

Jesus says that he came that we might have life, and have it abundantly.  So why does Peter tell us that the actual example Jesus gave us to follow as disciples was suffering for doing what is right?  How is that abundant life?  And the Lord our Good Shepherd leads us on right paths for his name’s sake, paths which go to still waters and green pastures, but paths which also lead through the valley of the shadow of death?  If we are following God our Shepherd, and our Shepherd is Good, what on earth are we doing walking in the presence of our enemies and in valleys of shadows and death?  Shouldn’t a Good Shepherd guide us on safer paths than these?

Do you see the problem?  We are told we are safe and yet we are told we will suffer.  We are told we are guided and yet we are told we will go through dangerous places.  We do not fear, we say, because we are in the care of the Good Shepherd.  But it sounds like our Good Shepherd may need us to go places that aren’t always in the safe confines of a sheepfold.

So our question is: is it truly safe to follow this Shepherd after all?

It’s a question we need to answer since in at least three of our readings the call we hear is to know and listen to the voice of our Good Shepherd, and follow.

The first of Jesus’ images today is that of a group of flocks sheltered together near a village.  All are gathered into a common fold, with a gate and gatekeeper shared by all.  So when the shepherd is ready to go out in the morning, he or she calls to the sheep, and only the sheep belonging to that particular shepherd perk up and follow.

Jesus’ implication is pretty clear: do you know who your shepherd is, and if so, will you listen for his voice?  And if so, will you follow?  Or whose voice are you following in your life?  Peter’s letter says that discipleship is all about returning to our shepherd and guardian, and the psalm implies that we hear our Good Shepherd’s voice and follow always.

This may seem obvious, but is it?  We can seek comfort and hope from God, and find it in Christ Jesus, who reveals the love of the Triune God for us and for the world.  We can come here and confess and hear that we are forgiven.  We can come here and hope to hear that we are always in the love and care of God.

What we seem to find difficult is knowing what to do when our God calls us to follow.  As long as we can do what we want and live how we live, we’d like relationship with God.  But a call to follow implies change in us of any number of kinds: change of heart, change of behavior, change of lifestyle, change of mind.

It is impossible to encounter Christ Jesus and not hear this call.  Sometimes it’s a call to repentance: to turn around from where we’re going and go a different direction.  Sometimes it’s a call to love: to set aside our feelings and inclinations and offer love to those whom we find it hard to love.  Sometimes it’s a call to lose: to let go of what we cling to so we can be open to new life.

And none of these are easy.  This is part of the suffering for doing what is right Peter speaks of.  It’s not torture, as happens to many who follow Jesus in this world, it’s only a change of heart.  But it will be painful, and somehow we seem afraid of that.  I realize we seem to be talking about this a lot lately, but it’s hard to avoid that this is where the Scriptures are taking us, and always have been.

So when and how do we take it from our head and our knowledge and let it change our hearts and lives?  When and how do teach each other to we lift up our heads, in other words, when we hear our Shepherd’s voice, and start to follow?  Instead of following all the other voices we’ve been following.

This image of a protected sheepfold sounds an awful lot like the locked upper room in which the disciples placed themselves Easter week.  You can stay locked in the sheep pen and think you’re safe, locked behind closed doors.  But we’re not.

The disciples were met by the risen Christ inside their locked room, and he led them out into new life.  As a shepherd leads sheep out to pasture.  They couldn’t stay locked away, and not just because they were needed out there to reach others with the Good News.  The locks they really needed opened were the locks of their hearts behind which they were hiding in fear.

The real Easter transformation of the disciples wasn’t as much their going out and preaching.  It was their inner change that led to that.  The Spirit of God made them new people, changed people.  From the inside.  It wasn’t just the room that got unlocked.

And where they found life, so will we.  But not locked away in the sheepfold.

Abundant life from Christ Jesus is only found when the locks are off and the doors opened.

This just makes sense: how can we find real life if we’re always locked away?

And it’s really important that we see this as a first step toward discipleship, the beginning.  It’s easy to get distracted by the serving, by “what we should do.”  But it’s no good running a food shelf if our hearts are still locked away and our lives unchanged.

So we really want to begin with our hearts and with how we are with those closest to us.  If we have locked away any possibility of Christ Jesus calling us to a new way of being with those who are closest to us, how can we begin to think about loving our neighbors in the community or in the world?

If it is off limits, locked away, for God to ask us to give up being self-centered in our daily lives, how can we become like Jesus, how can we follow?  If it is off limits, locked away, for God to ask us to change how we react to people in our families, how we treat others in our congregation, how can we become like Jesus, how can we follow?

If it is off limits, locked away, for God to ask us to give up getting our own way, to ask us to let it go when others seem to disregard us, how can we become like Jesus, how can we follow?  If it is off limits, locked away, for God to ask us to adjust to others and make allowances for them instead of resenting that they don’t adjust to us and make allowances for us, how can we become like Jesus, how can we follow?

And if none of this happens, what would the point be for us as a community to talk about bearing the love of Christ into this neighborhood?  Diapers and meals are important and good.  But what if our Savior, our Shepherd actually wants us to change inside as well?

It seems that’s what his voice keeps calling to us.  Abundant life is when we unlock our hearts and are changed by the Holy Spirit.  When we are made new, then we really don’t have a lot of difficulty seeing where to serve, starting with those closest to us whom we love.

When we unlock the doors and let the Spirit change our inmost ways, then how we will live in the world – in our families, in our congregation, in our neighborhood, in our country and world – will become obvious.  Because we will be living in the joy of a new, abundant life.  Or at least on our way to it.  And we will want to share it.

There are two things that we absolutely need to remember about all of this.

First, Jesus comes in through our locked doors.  As much as we think we’ve locked away all our problems and the things we don’t want to change, Jesus is already there.  He’s good at coming through locked doors, is our Shepherd.  So he’s already inside us, wanting to give us peace.  Wanting to fill us with the Spirit.  We can no more keep him out than not breathe.

But second, we cannot go out through locked doors.  And out is the way to life.  That’s why our Shepherd calls to us.  He can and does come to us.  He can and does give us the key to open the doors.  To leave the sheep fold.

But our Shepherd will not force us out.  He won’t force us to be different.  He will not force us to follow.  Our Lord and Shepherd would have us hear his voice and come, willingly.

And maybe that’s the whole point of the Bible’s insistent witness that our Shepherd is Good.  Because there’s a lot that doesn’t seem safe in all of this, and could be frightening.  But if we know ahead of time, as we do, that the risen Christ, our Lord, is a Good Shepherd to us, then, then there’s no reason we wouldn’t want to learn to hear his voice.  And no reason we wouldn’t want to follow.

So do not be afraid.

You are loved by the God who made all things and who cares for you as a shepherd cares for her sheep, and who is known to us in our Good Shepherd, our risen Lord and Savior.

He is calling to you, to me, and asking us to follow.  But we do not fear, because even though this path will lead to loss and change and through frightening places, even in our own hearts, we are walking with and behind our Shepherd, who faced all such pain and suffering already and is risen.  He will keep us safe: from our enemies – both those inside us and outside of us – and safe even in valleys of shadow and death.

We have to leave what we thought were safe places because they actually aren’t safe, and we cannot live in them.  We can only live where our Shepherd shows us, and we can only have abundant life when he transforms us.

But let us not be afraid.  Because this is our Good Shepherd we are talking about.  Even death cannot stop his love for us, for you.  All will most certainly be well when we follow his voice.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

Together in our journey we meet Jesus – in worship and in each other and everywhere we journey in our lives in the world – and our eyes are opened to God’s way in the Scriptures and to God’s presence among us.  And we are changed.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen, the Third Sunday of Easter, year A; texts:  Luke 24:13-35; Acts 2:14a, 36-41

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

Two disciples are walking the seven or eight miles from Jerusalem to their Emmaus home, talking about the incredibly strange events of this day, following a deeply painful week.  A walking journey of that distance with that burden to bear is lightened by such companionship.

They had left the main group of disciples in Jerusalem, in the upper room, struggling to comprehend what some of the group – some of the women disciples – had claimed, that their master Jesus was raised from the dead.  A spiritual journey of faith and doubt of such import is lightened by such companionship.

When Jesus was talking to his disciples about life in the community, he said, “where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.” (Matt. 18:20)  In a little house in Emmaus that was literally true, though the couple didn’t see it until he broke the bread.  In the upper room in Jerusalem that was also literally true.

We can easily see how this story of Emmaus is a story that encapsulates our worship life.  We gather together to worship and our Lord Jesus, the Son of God, comes to us.  He opens our eyes to God’s Word, we have fellowship with him and each other, we speak to him in prayer, and in his Meal he opens our eyes to the grace and presence of the Triune God in our midst.  We see him, literally, in the breaking of the bread.  We embody his promise that where two or three, or two or three hundred, are gathered in his name, he is there.  Each Eucharist here is our Emmaus story, every week.

What I wonder is this: are we neglecting the rest of our lives when we consider this hope, this promise, and limit it to this nave, this chancel, this holy ground?  We come here expecting that our Lord will be with us in this gathering, hoping to be enlightened by the Holy Spirit, our hearts’ eyes opened, trusting that we will be fed by the Bread of Life.

But we have much of our life’s journey, our faith journey, that happens away from this sacred space, these holy things.  It turns out we are more like the Emmaus couple than we might know, then.  They weren’t at worship or going to worship.  They were walking a familiar road to get to their home.  They were talking with each other, and then with this stranger on the road.  As evening fell they invited him in, and so learned it was their Lord.  But essentially, they were living their lives.

And that’s where Jesus met them.  Into the midst of their life came the Son of God.  What might our lives be like if we were looking for this beyond what happens here every Sunday morning?  What might it do for our lives if we took seriously the promise that wherever we are with even one other believer, our Lord meets us there?

We are all on a journey in faith and life, and we need each other.

This has been a mark of the Church since the beginning, and it’s essential.

It’s no accident that the disciples gathered together in the upper room.  And look what happened.  They gathered for mutual support and comfort.  But then Jesus came to them.  And Thomas missed it because he was by himself.  He wasn’t with the others.  Until the next week.

And then they kept coming together, and one day, fifty days after Jesus rose, the Holy Spirit was poured out on all of them, together.  Then, when they went out as witnesses, they went together.  And our Emmaus friends, they took this long walk together.

In our journey of faith, as we seek to be disciples, companionship is absolutely essential.  We need sisters and brothers on our faith journey to support and encourage us.

We need them to speak the truth to us so we can grow and confess and become new people.  We need them to help us listen to God and look at our paths so we can choose paths of life and not death.

If we are ever going to grow and deepen as disciples, we will do it with each other.  And that’s because when we gather together with others, Jesus comes to us.  This promise of “two or three” is a profoundly important promise.

Jesus is not saying God will not fill our hearts when we are alone, of course not.  Certainly the Spirit moves in us always and in all places.

But what Jesus has said is this promise: that if we have even one companion to help us in our faith and life, he will guarantee that he will be with us.  We will meet Jesus on our journey when we journey together.  That’s a promise.  And it’s not just a promise of when we come together here for worship.

So when we meet Jesus together, what happens?  He opens our eyes, feeds us, is with us.

It was with the two on the road that Jesus opened the Scriptures to them so they could understand why this cross and resurrection was God’s path all along.  And it was with the whole group of disciples in the forty days after Easter that Jesus continued his teaching and eye-opening.

So it is today.  When we gather together, we listen to God’s Word better.  And our Lord opens our eyes and hearts.

But not just in this room.  When we are with each other on our roads, the same thing happens.  Together we can correct and guide each other in God’s Word in ways we can’t do by ourselves.  Together we can help understand and explain.  At any given time any one of us can be confused, and having another sister or brother to help is immeasurably important.  And because our Lord comes to us when we gather, we have the added blessing of the presence of Christ in our midst, guiding, teaching, leading.  Wherever we are.

And it was also when the disciples were together that Jesus fed them with love and life.  At Emmaus he broke the bread, and they saw him.  In the upper room he ate with them and they knew he was truly alive again.  On the shore of the Sea of Galilee he made breakfast for them and showed them his love and grace for them.

And so it is with us, that when we are together we are fed by the grace and love of God.  Certainly as we gather for the Eucharistic meal each week.

But on our ordinary roads, too, we are fed when we meet together.  As we meet each other’s needs, we feed each other.  As we embody the love of the Triune God for each other, we feed each other.  It’s much harder to sense the nourishing love of God without another person there to embody it, and together that gift is given us.  Wherever we are with each other.

But remember what also happens after meeting the risen Christ: everything changes.

The Emmaus couple are getting ready for the end of the day.  After Jesus, they run eight miles to tell others.  The same thing happens to all of the disciples.

Mary Magdalene’s weeping at a tomb.  She meets the risen Christ with her sisters and they all run to tell others.  The disciples are locked in a room.  They meet the risen Christ and go out to proclaim the Good News.  Again and again, after meeting the Lord, disciples leap up and go out to change the world.

But notice that these are all changed, too, not just sent out.  Their experience of meeting Christ together changes them.  They are no longer fearful, but bold and joyful witnesses.  They lose their old habits of distrust and caution and live lives trusting God’s grace in all circumstances.  They change how they live with each other, how they act in the world, how their community is formed, how they go out into the world to bring God’s grace and love.

Look at the Acts story today: people are convicted by Peter’s sermon and ask what they should do.  Repent and be baptized, Peter says, be changed.  And 3,000 do just that.  And the Church explodes into existence.  They are, Paul will say twenty years later, new creations.

And so it will be for us as well, if we take this seriously.

What we have been longing for for so long is a connection between our Sunday worship and our daily lives.  The connection has always been there: that as we gather together, journey together, we meet our Lord and are changed.

And the whole world becomes God’s house, where we constantly expect to meet our Lord.  As we walk our faith journey together, looking to be met by our Lord, we begin to see everything as holy, all ground as sacred, all things as vessels of God’s grace.

Was not that ordinary road to Emmaus holy ground, as Jesus opened their hearts and minds?  Their hearts were burning within them as he spoke.  And they weren’t even in a church!  And wasn’t their little kitchen sacred space as he broke bread and blessed them?  Their eyes were opened to the presence of God in their midst.

And in their companionship, and the companionship of the disciples in the upper room, they met the Lord together on the road, found sacred ground together, and were changed.

Because Christ is risen, we are always on holy ground, in sacred space, with holy things.  When we listen to each other and speak truth to each other in our journeying, we open each other’s eyes to God’s Word and God’s way, and our hearts burn with the light of the Spirit.  Everything is holy now, now that Christ is risen and has sent the Spirit into the world.  And we, together, live in that holy space where our Lord always comes to us, wherever we are together.

And we are changed on this journey for the better, for the good, for life.

We find the keys to our locked rooms together so we, too, can burst out and live these new lives, unafraid, filled with the joy of life in God.  We find the strength and energy together to get up and go out of our homes and run the road so we can tell others “we have seen the Lord,” we can witness to God’s love that has changed us.

Everything we need to become we find together as we journey together, because we meet our Lord together.  This is how what we know in our worship here each week becomes what we live and believe in our daily lives in the nave that is the world.

This is the grace of our Emmaus journey, that we walk this together and with the Spirit’s grace help each other’s eyes open and hearts burn.

But it would be worth a word of warning here: if you don’t want to be changed, if you don’t want to see the world differently, if you don’t want to be called to make God’s kingdom and justice happen in the world, if you don’t want to become someone new, stay away from the risen Christ, and for goodness’ sake stay away from his friends.  Don’t invite him or them into your home for supper, or you might find yourself transformed and going out into the world with life and grace.  Don’t ever let him or them into the locked rooms of your heart because you might be blessed not only with the peace of God but also the Spirit of God and you’ll find yourself turning into an actual disciple and witness in the world to God’s love.

If, however, that’s your dearest and deepest hope and desire, as frightening as such a thing might be, then this is very good news indeed.  For Christ is risen, and he’s here for certain.  But he’s also walking out on the roads of your life, looking to meet you, meet me, and change us, together.

Let us go from here in joy.  Because everything’s holy now.  And wherever we go together, we will meet our Lord, that’s a promise.  And together we will be led into new life.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

The risen Christ bared his wounds so that Thomas could believe. As the body of Christ, we are now sent to witness by bearing our wounds so that we and the world may see how the Triune God is at work, bringing all to faith by Christ’s wounded body.

Vicar Emily Beckering; Second Sunday of Easter, year A; texts:  John 20:19-31; 2 Corinthians 4:7, 10-11 

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

Poor Thomas; he gets such a bad reputation. His very nickname labels him according to his weakness: Doubting Thomas. No one remembers Thomas as the one who, when Jesus told them that he was returning to Judea, proclaimed to the other disciples, “Let us also go, that we may die with him.” Instead, we remember Thomas only as the one who doubted: the one who needed to see and to touch his Lord for himself.

Yet, what Thomas offers us in this is a great gift. He openly admits that he is hurt: the loss of his Lord to crucifixion has wounded Thomas deeply. He finds it difficult to trust; he cannot believe unless he touches his Lord’s wounds. Because Thomas shows his wounds by telling his friends that he could not believe unless he encountered Jesus, those first disciples—together with the whole church—get to hear what Jesus does for Thomas, and for us all.

Despite our common characterization of this story, its emphasis ought not to be on Thomas’ doubt, but on Jesus’ consistent appearance to those who are in need of him. 

Jesus says, “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe,” which he says for our sakes. Yet, as he did for Thomas, Jesus does find ways for us to see him. He does this most often through wounds: by encountering us in our pain.

Throughout the entire gospel of John, Jesus reveals himself to those who are hurting, to the wounded, and the way in which he encounters them is in direct response to that woundedness. He meets them in their brokenness and offers them what they most need.

We see this in each of the gospel stories that we heard during this past Lent.

Jesus first reveals himself as the Messiah, the Son of God, to the Samaritan woman at the well: he knows the depths of her wounds, the history of relationships, her disappointments and weariness. All of those things about herself that she might rather hide, Jesus brings to the forefront, so that he may show her that he is offering what she most needs: a relationship with her savior.

Jesus does the same for the man born blind. Jesus returns to the man a second time when he discovers that the man has been driven out from the community. In the midst of his pain of being rejected and his witness not being taken seriously, Jesus goes to him and confirms the man’s witness by revealing that he is the Son of Man, the one promised to this man and to all of Israel.

Then we heard of Martha, Mary, and their brother Lazarus. Jesus meets Martha in the midst of her pain of losing her brother to death and reveals himself as the resurrection and the life; he weeps with Mary, and he raises Lazarus from the dead.

In each of these cases, and every single time that Jesus uses an “I am” statement in the Gospel of John in order to reveal himself as God—“I am the bread of life,” “I am the good shepherd,” “I am the vine”—each of these revelations are directly related to what the witness most needs. One who is thirsty needs everlasting water. One who cannot see needs light: the light of the world. One who is dead needs resurrection and life. By their wounds, Jesus encounters them. By their wounds, they know who he is for them.

The same pattern continues even after Jesus’ resurrection. Each of the witnesses to Jesus’ resurrection gets their own intimate encounter with their risen Lord based on what they most need, and he comes to them precisely when they are hurting.

As Mary weeps over the loss of her Lord, Jesus comes to her, calls her by name so that she can recognize him, and gives her what she is most longing for: to be with him again.

Jesus comes to the disciples while they are locked away in fear and doubt. These followers, who had begun to fear that everything that they had believed in, hoped for, and trusted in was now false, need peace, peace that only comes from being in their Lord’s presence again. Jesus knows this, and this is what he offers.

When Peter is hurting out of guilt for having betrayed Jesus, Jesus cooks him breakfast, welcomes him back in, and offers him the forgiveness that Peter most needs.

So it makes sense then that when Thomas is the one who needs Jesus, Jesus comes back just for him so that he may encounter his risen Lord as well.

Jesus knows each of these witnesses: their brokenness and their deepest needs.

What they and we all most need is Christ himself, which he has given wholly and completely to all on the cross. 

It is no insignificant detail that the resurrected body of Jesus still bears wounds; we can only know him as the crucified and risen Lord. The healer became the wounded, and by his wounds, we are all healed.

The cross is where we know who God is for us: our God is this Jesus, who on that cross, set us free from sin and death, offers forgiveness and life in a never-ending relationship with the Triune God, and now reveals himself to Thomas and to us all in the midst of our woundedness, bearing his own wounds so that we might be healed and believe.

It is by these wounds that we and the disciples recognize him, by these wounds that God is revealed, and by these wounds that all will come to believe.

It was by these wounds that Kiana came to believe.

In the summer of 2007, I had a camper named Kiana. Nine-year-old Kiana wasn’t really sure what she “believed” about God. She went to Sunday school, and she came to Bible camp because her mom said that she should, but she had a really hard time believing what she heard there. During the week, it became clear that Kiana did not really want to talk about God. She wanted to talk about her dad. She had never met him, she missed him, and she was jealous of her friends who had dads. “Do you think he maybe still loves me?” she asked me.

That Thursday evening at worship, Jesus gave Kiana what she most needed, and he came to her through the wounds of the preacher, Samuel. Samuel shared his own pain of growing up without his father: the wounds of feeling unwanted, unloved, and cast aside, how he longed for his father, hoping that he would return. Then he witnessed how through Jesus, he met his heavenly Father, the God who loved him, wanted to be with him, and came to earth as Jesus Christ so that he could know this God and died so that Samuel might never be separated from or doubt that love again.

After hearing this, Kiana looked up at me through a teary smile and said: “I never knew that Jesus came for me. Me!  I never knew that God wanted to be that close to me, as close as a dad. I want that too. Jesus is real, Emily! It was like that man spoke just for me because Jesus knew I needed him.”

Because Samuel was willing to share his pain, how Jesus had been wounded for him, and how Jesus met Samuel in his own wounds, Kiana was able to see how Jesus was at work for her.

That night in worship, Jesus came to her through Samuel’s wounds, and through her own to meet her deepest needs saying, “Kiana, come. Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.”

When Jesus became real for her, when she knew that God wanted this relationship with her, she shared it with me. And because she shared her wounds with me and how Jesus met her in them—because of her witness—I could say, “Ah, that’s where God is at work. There you are my Lord and my God.”

Kiana, Samuel, Thomas, and Jesus himself all witness to us today that God can take our most painful wounds and use them as some of our most fruitful places of witness. 

We are called to face death, to share our pain, to show our wounds, expecting that the risen and wounded Lord will meet us there because we know from the cross that the Triune God is with us in our suffering and encounters us in death, in despair, in wounds. God is made known in the brokenness of the body of Jesus.

Now we are that body, the body of Christ, and through our brokenness, Christ will make himself known, for he tells us, “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.”

There are daily deaths, daily losses in our own lives: we still sin, we have weaknesses. As Paul writes in his second letter to the Corinthians, “We have this treasure in clay jars, so that it may be made clear that this extraordinary power belongs to God and does not come from us…[we are] always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be made visible in our bodies.”

We are the clay jars, broken and fragmented, worn by time, and weathered by storms. We are Christ’s body, wounded, yet carrying this good news of the resurrected Christ who sets all people free and offers life to all.

As long as we pretend that we have it all together, and hide our wounds, we keep ourselves and the good news locked away behind closed doors. We deny that the crucified and risen Lord has power to bring healing out of brokenness, hope out of suffering, and life out of death.

Even the resurrected body of Christ had wounds: this tells us that we can finally stop pretending to be invincible and instead be vulnerable like our Lord, who, though equal with his Father, emptied himself, came as a baby and ultimately poured himself out for us on the cross.

Rather than hide our wounds in embarrassment, thinking that they make us less-than, we may share them openly and honestly, trusting that the Triune God will transform our wounds, us, and all of our relationships as we encounter Christ together in our brokenness.

That is how we bear Christ’s death as his body. If we will dare to share our deepest wounds with one another, if we will be willing to face deaths by giving of ourselves in order to freely care for and love those in our lives, then we will have our eyes opened and discover that our Lord has been there all along, working in the midst of those wounds, working for healing, working to be revealed. God is bringing life out of these deaths so that more may believe and have life in Christ’s name.

When we dare to admit how we have been wounded and how we have wounded one another, the Triune God opens doors for people to see Jesus at work in our wounds and in their own.

Doubting Thomas witnesses to how Jesus brought him to faith. When our Lord sends us to give ourselves away in love by showing our wounds, we witness to just what God can do with a broken, wounded body. Then together, all may say, “Ah, there you are, my Lord and my God.”

Amen.