All people and creatures are bound together in Christ in healing and life.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 28 C
Texts: 2 Kings 5:1-15c; Luke 17:1-11

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

They weren’t alone.

Sure, in one sense these ten suffering from a terrible, contagious skin disease were alone. They were banned from contact with loved ones, neighbors, the world, having to shout “unclean” when any came near.

But they had each other. They walked with each other, they made a community. Ten people who understood suffering and pain, loneliness and rejection, sadness and fear, and shared that life with each other when no one else could.

Naaman also had community. A servant girl, a hostage of war, who cared enough for him to suggest a possible cure. A king who valued his leadership enough not to exile him but to generously enable his cure attempt. Servants who loved him enough to insist that he consider trying the prophet’s treatment.

And so it is with us.

Our community here is made up of people suffering from many different things. This community embraces a deep sense that no one here is unbroken. We have no expectations that any here have it all together, that any have no sin, that any have no pain, that any here haven’t suffered rejection or loss or sadness. I’ve never heard anyone say about another in this community, “That’s just not normal.” We expect we’re all in need, and we love each other because of it.

It takes years of a community learning to love those who are hurting, who’ve been turned away elsewhere, who suffer silently, to understand that here woundedness is our normal. You don’t have to pretend you’ve got it together, not here. You don’t have to lie to yourself that people won’t love you if they knew the messes you made, not here. You don’t have to fear that if your truths were told you’d no longer be welcome. Not here.

Our shared sense of need for God leads us here, to this place.

Here is where we are healed, together. Here we meet a scarred, wounded Christ at this table and are given love and life, together. Our little band of sick people shows up here on a Sunday morning and together, like these ten, says, have mercy on us, God! Hear our prayer, and come heal us!

And the healing we receive here, God’s welcome, God’s love and forgiveness, teaches us to love each other, to band together with each other, to be Christ to each other.

And this, too: the healing you receive here, the healing I receive, teaches us to always be ready to welcome others into this group of wounded, sinful, needy people who seek God’s healing and life.

Today we see Syrians and Samaritans included in God’s healing, too.

Not just the chosen ones. All are beloved. Christ draws all people, all things, into the life and heart of the Triune God at the cross. No boundaries, no exceptions.

And the Christ who heals you asks you: what if you learned to see everyone – not just folks here, everyone – with the same understanding as those you know here, the same compassion, expecting all to be wounded as well, wanting to walk with them and help and be helped?

When you understand this breadth of God’s love and healing, all sorts of Jesus’ teachings become clearer. This is why you’re commanded to pray for and love your enemies. Then you admit they’re part of you, they belong, so they can’t be enemies. And empathy for their pain leads you to pray for the removal of their hate, so they can be whole and healed in God, too.

This is the heart of Christian life: all suffering belongs to all of us, all pain matters to all of us, all people are part of us because all are in God’s loving embrace.

And Jesus invites you to see healing is deeper than just physical health.

Jesus says to the thankful one, “your faith has saved you,” or, “your faith has made you well.” For Jesus, being saved is being healed in God’s love and in God’s community even if some ailments remain. God’s healing and wholeness is real even when individual pains aren’t taken away, because in Christ we find the healing of our spirit, our heart, our mind, our life, together.

So Paul can be content in any and all circumstances, even after praying that his suffering be removed and not having it removed, because he is part of Christ, part of Christ’s family, and knows Christ’s peace.

And so we, who know so many whose physical or mental illnesses aren’t removed, who know that everyone here, and all God’s children, are wounded, inside or out, who know that the pains and suffering of this world will not all be fixed in our lifetime, we find salvation and wholeness in the deeper healing of God’s love that has made us one and whole in Christ with all creatures.

We haven’t talked about gratitude yet. Maybe we don’t need to.

Naaman overflowed with gratitude for his healing. One of the ten who was healed broke from the group and ran back and gave thanks to Jesus. We don’t know about the other nine, but they’re not the point.

When you know the amazing gift of healing and wholeness you have in Christ and in each other, you don’t need to be reminded to be grateful for it. Not a day goes by without me being thankful to God for all of you, for this community of wounded people who walks with me in my woundedness, and are Christ to me, who, with me, gathers at this Table seeking forgiveness and life and wholeness.

And the more we understand the connectedness God has made between us and all God’s children, and everything else in creation, the more we see the place of this broken, troubled, wounded world in God’s heart and life, gratitude comes pretty easily.

You belong, always, to this fellowship of broken ones. And everyone, all people, even the hard ones, do too. And in that community God’s healing comes. In this world, and even in a life that is to come.

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

Faithfulness, not faith, will be how you change the world in Christ.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 27 C
Texts: Habakkuk 1:1-4, 2:1-4; Luke 17:5-10 (with ref. to Matthew 8:23-27)

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

The storm terrified even these experienced sailors.

This couldn’t be the first storm they’d seen on the Sea of Galilee. These were home waters, but winds rose so high they feared they’d be swamped and all would drown. Meanwhile their beloved Teacher is sound asleep on a nice cushion, oblivious to the chaos and their terror. They wake him up, charging that he doesn’t even care if they perish.

And Jesus says, “Why are you afraid, ‘Littlefaiths’? and calms the storm. (Matthew 8:23-27, with some detail from Mark 4)

Normally translated “you of little faith,” it’s just one word, like a nickname: “Littlefaiths.” Maybe it’s a nickname he’s used before. It could be insulting. Except for Jesus’ words today.

He says the size of your faith isn’t relevant.

Maybe you are good old “Littlefaith,” afraid most days, doubting yourself, wondering if God cares about your life, this world. But today Jesus says “Littlefaith” is just enough.

With just a little faith you could move a mountain, Jesus says, as Matthew tells this story. Here, in Luke, Jesus says with just a little faith you could uproot a mulberry tree and fling it into the sea. When Jesus calls you “Littlefaith,” it’s a term of endearment, a nickname of hope: because if you had even a little faith, you could do amazing things.

Thing is, we’re in a world where a massive storm threatens to overwhelm everything, and it sometimes feels we’re in this mess alone, God isn’t doing anything. “Don’t you care that we’re perishing?” many of us have cried out to God in these days. Healing this world’s pain feels far more serious than tossing trees into the ocean.

Habakkuk agrees.

Habakkuk cries out just like the disciples did in the boat, wondering how long he has to call for help while God doesn’t listen. Destruction and violence are everywhere, he says, the law is slack, and justice never prevails. The wicked surround the righteous. And Habakkuk is frightened. Tired of asking God for help that never comes.

Once again it’s stunning that words written thousands of years ago seem to have been written and saved up for just this time, our world, this pain and oppression and violence and injustice we know. So we tiredly wait alongside a prophet most of us hardly remember is in the Bible, wondering what God will say.

And God’s answer sounds a lot like our Gospel reading.

There is a vision for the healing, God says to Habakkuk. If it seems to be delayed, wait for it, because it’s surely coming. And then God says this: the righteous will live by their faithfulness.

Now, Martin Luther loved this verse, and understood it to say the righteous will live by faith. He tied that into his deep insight that we are saved, made whole with God through faith alone, by God’s grace alone.

But the word is better translated faithfulness. That is, it’s not whether you have enough faith. It’s whether you’re being faithful. Which is exactly Jesus’ point today. It doesn’t matter what the master does or doesn’t do. All that matters is that you are faithful in your serving.

So for you and me, Littlefaiths all, it’s not about asking to have our faith increased, as the disciples did today. God’s answer is that we find just enough faith to be faithful. To do our calling in this world. Even if the storm is still raging. The mountain standing. The tree rooted.

See, that’s the challenging part. There’s no promise the storm will calm right away.

God tells the prophet that God’s healing is coming, but he might have to wait. The mountain of evil and oppression and injustice that we hope to remove from our world is a mountain. It will take time. The roots of racism, sexism, prejudice, self-centeredness grow deep into the heart of our world, and our hearts. That tree will not easily be uprooted and thrown out.

And worst, Jesus seems to treat slavery as normative here. Nothing in the parable says “end slavery now.” Words like these became powerful ways for white slaveholders to keep their feet on the backs and necks of the people they abused and oppressed.

But that’s not the end of the story.

The Way of Christ, the way of faithfulness, has changed the world profoundly.

Slaves certainly heard this parable when Jesus said it. He attracted people at the margins and loved them in God’s name. The early church drew heavily from people who were slaves, impoverished, oppressed. They found hope in a God who cared for them enough to become one of them, who called them beloved even if others saw them as dirt.

And those followers of the Way, with their faithfulness, eventually broke slavery around the world in most places where they lived. It took centuries. Far too long, many would say, and they’d be right. But the tree was uprooted nonetheless.

So you look at a deeply rooted tree and say “how could anyone make that come out of the ground and fly into the ocean?” But notice: Jesus never says you can’t use tools. He never says how much time it will take or how much patience it will need. He just says with a little faith you can do amazing things with your faithfulness.

God’s way of healing the world needs God’s people. That’s how God works.

And if you have just a little trust, enough faith to say, “I’ll try to be faithful as Christ today, work at those roots, dig at the problems however I can,” you will see things change. Even if very slowly.

But you know that already. Over hundreds of years, so many mountains have been moved, so many trees uprooted for the life of the world.

Now we’re facing our own. And when you focus on faithfulness as your way you will find hope. And you, beloved Littlefaith, will be a hope that others can cling to.

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

Jesus tells a powerful parable that leads us to reconsider our relationships to one another. Jesus’ image of the chasm speaks into our lives, as a terrifying symbol of all our divisions and separation. God’s Word reminds us that God desires to close the chasm, bringing reconciliation to the whole creation.

Vicar Erik Nelson
The Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 23 C
Texts: Amos 6:1,4-7a; Psalm 146; 1 Timothy 6:6-19; Luke 16:19-31

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

This story used to terrify me. When I was little, I had awful dreams about the fires of hell and eternal torment. When I heard this story, I would get caught up on this horrible vision of hell that I missed what Jesus was trying to say. We’ve let Dante’s inferno overshadow Jesus’s whole point here.

The point of the story is not flames or eternal torture or the topography of the afterlife. The point is the chasm. The separation.

Christian tradition has talked about hell as separation from God, but as we see from this story, it’s more than that. Hell is also separation from each other.

In a way, the rich man was already living in hell. His wealth made him feel insulated from the suffering of the world. He heard the message of the prophets that call us to care for the poor and scriptures that reject the love of money. He heard those lessons, but let his heart become hardened because of the gilded cage in which he lived. He saw Lazarus every time he walked through his gate. He encountered Lazarus enough to even know his name, and yet his love of riches kept him from seeing Lazarus as a fellow child of Abraham, another bearer of the Image of God.

Even before he had died, the rich man separated himself. He chose the chasm.

When we look at the headlines today, we see countless examples of people choosing the chasm … choosing the void. We see school and church shootings. We see rising political violence, in our own city and far beyond. We see families divided, father against son, brother against sister.

As I look at the world, my heart hurts to see us choosing the chasm. I see all the ways, big and small, we choose our own way over the way of God.

All the readings this week, together, tell us about the way of God. In this passage, we see Lazarus named, but not the rich man. In our Psalm, we hear that God “keeps promises forever,” “car[ing] for the stranger, sustain[ing] the orphan and widow, … frustrat[ing] the way of the wicked.” Throughout the Bible, God names the poor and lifts up the lowly. To this day, God sides with the outcast and the forgotten.

There are times that like the rich man, our hearts become hardened, and we choose the wrong side of the chasm. Rather than following God into a world of justice and mercy, we choose our petty kingdoms and gilded cages.

As we hear the parable this week, we hear the voice of God offering us the opportunity to follow God’s way. Hear God say that it’s not too late. Jesus’ hyperbolic parable isn’t intended to terrify us into compliance, but it’s an invitation to God’s way. To reject the chasm.

I’m convinced that more than anything, God wants to close the chasm. The reading says “a great chasm has been fixed,” but it doesn’t say by who. Contrary to what you’ve heard, this story doesn’t say that eternal separation is God’s desire. I believe with all my heart that God wants to close the chasm. God wants to end all division and separation. The will of Christ is that all would be reconciled in him. 

There are parts of this text that still terrify me. I no longer think of hell as the place where God torments us forever. But what scares me is the idea of the rich man staying on that side of the divide. Even when he sees Lazarus finally receiving comfort and rest, the rich man’s only thought is “what can I get out of Lazarus?” He asks Abraham to send Lazarus as his servant to the rich man’s household. He still doesn’t get it.

And many people who read this story are still not going to get it. I think of people whose faith becomes entirely about who’s in and who’s out. That’s how we usually interpret this story, right?

I think when we see how vast and wide God’s love is, a love that encompasses the whole universe, an embrace that welcomes in the people we most hate … I am scared that that might feel like hell. When we see others receive what we think we deserve … when we realize the worthlessness of our little empires … that might feel like hell.

I’m afraid that that is the torment on the other side of the chasm. That’s the offense of the gospel — that it’s not the know-it-alls who go to heaven or the people who always do the right thing or have the nicest clothes. The ones who do get there, the ones who rest in God’s embrace, are there because they’re the ones who God loves. Not because of anything they did or any of their own deserving, but because of God’s scandalous love.

And that’s true for me, and you, and it’s true for the people we like, and the people we love, and it’s especially true for the people we most hate.

That’s a hard word for a world that loves the chasm.

God’s will is that the chasm be closed. And God invites us to join in the healing work. And we don’t do it alone. We do it together.

We do it, following Christ, who in his dying on the cross, stretched out his arms to show us how wide his embrace is, wide enough and deep enough and high enough to embrace the whole world.

In his rising from the dead, Jesus shows us that even death cannot separate us from God’s love.

And in his ascension and promise to come again, Jesus reminds us that our divisions, our chasms that we choose now, are not forever. He will return and make all things right, closing the chasm, once and for all.

Thanks be to God.

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

The Triune God loves you and welcomes you and invites you into the feast of love that is in God’s life. Come and see.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
Feast of St. Matthew, Apostle and Evangelist
Texts: Matthew 9:9-13 (and referencing Matthew 11:2-6)

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

Jesus just said, “Follow me.”

He didn’t ask Matthew to confess his dirty tax collecting secrets. He didn’t ask Matthew to promise never to cheat again. He didn’t give a talk on honesty.

He just said “follow me.” No preconditions. No lecture. No criticism. Just welcome.

That’s what made the leaders angry. Jesus didn’t just eat with tax collectors and that group lumped together as “sinners.” He welcomed them, spent time with them. Treated them as God’s beloved. No preconditions. No lectures. No criticism.

And when the leaders challenge Jesus, he can’t hide his irritation. He brusquely dismisses them, basically saying “go do your homework before wasting my time talking about what God wants.” See, he quotes Hosea 6 to these biblical scholars (who should have known it), and says “Go and learn what this means, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’” And he turns away from them and goes back to the party.

But it wasn’t just Jesus’ opponents who were unsettled by his open welcome and love.

John the Baptist was pretty concerned. In prison, nearing execution, John sent some of his own disciples to ask Jesus if he really was the One from God, or whether they should look for another. John’s whole job was to point out God’s Christ, and at the end he’s worried he messed that up.

Because John preached with heat and anger. He talked about axes ready to chop down fruitless trees, and fires ready to burn those branches. He preached repentance first, and never seemed to get to God’s welcome. He assumed the religious leaders who came for baptism were hypocrites because he couldn’t imagine they’d be repentant. So he called them a family of venomous snakes.

But Jesus offered love and welcome. He healed people. Proclaimed a reign of God that was here now and that was for all. Invited people to follow, commanded people to love, even their enemies. Welcomed all kinds of people, even ones others thought sinful. Ate with them. Often broke God’s law. How could Jesus be the One? John fretted.

Jesus’ reply? Tell John what you see here – blind people now see, deaf people can hear, lame people walk again, and the poor find Good News from God. Don’t be offended at me, John, Jesus said. If I’m doing these things, who do you think I am?

Know this, though: your life depends on Jesus being who he says and how he acts.

You can only be certain of God’s love for you if it’s given to you freely. Your only chance is to stand with Matthew and realize the Son of God is looking you in the eyes, loving you, and saying “follow me.” No preconditions, no lectures, no criticism.

Maybe you never feel you’re good enough. A lot of us are in that boat. But God loves you fully and sees you as more than good enough. Even if you can recount your failures and your sins and assume God does. God sees you and loves you, period. Not in spite of you.

Others of us feel as if they’re different from everyone else and no one can understand them. Well, God does and God loves you, period. Some of us need lots of affirmation to feel as if they’re good, and God affirms you every moment of the day with love. Others fear the challenges of the world, whether they’ll be able to withstand them, and God promises to walk with you through fire and flood always, you’re never alone.

Whatever it is that makes you feel you can’t be loved by God, God doesn’t even see that. God looks at you and says, “I love you so much. You are my child and I am well pleased with you.”

Most of us have been sold a bill of goods about this.

We’ve been taught by Christians who feared that Jesus could just sit down with sinners and eat with them, laugh with them, love them. Even well-meaning Christians fear that open welcome with no preconditions, lectures, or criticisms just leads to people keeping on doing bad. No one learns, they say, if you don’t first tell them to straighten up.

Don’t believe that for a minute. Look, it’s a normal human fear. We especially bring it out when we think of others. We offer Jesus’ welcome, but with preconditions, lectures, criticisms.

Well, I’m going to take my stand with Jesus. My only hope of God’s love is that God loves me for who God sees I am, no matter what I’ve done or what I haven’t done. So I’m going to the party. I’m going to eat with Jesus here today and rejoice that he welcomes everyone, even ones others label as “sinners.” I’m going to trust God’s love can never be taken from me, and I’m going to try to offer God’s love as freely to others. Because frankly, the other way is death. And I’ll take Jesus’ way of life every time. Christ who died and rose from the dead to show me and all of you God’s love. Christ who loves me and doesn’t see sinner. Just beloved child of God.

Here’s my challenge to you: try trusting that joy for just two hours.

For two hours just keep repeating “I am God’s beloved, I am in God’s welcome” without asking “what about how I live and act? What about sin?” Just take Jesus at his word and actions without the fear and the judgment and the other stuff. Then if you can do that, see if you can learn to hold it for longer and longer.

It’s not that Jesus doesn’t call you to love, to be Christ. To love enemies and persecutors, to care for those who are hungry and sick and thirsty and naked and imprisoned and strangers. Jesus just has no interest in lecturing you into that, or making that a precondition to God loving you.

What the Triune God trusts is that if you start trusting you’re a beloved child of God, feeling God’s welcome, eating with God at your side, embraced by God who sees you as precious, when you actually trust that, the rest will come, the loving as Christ.

Jesus says to you, “follow me.” “Come to me.” “Let’s have dinner together.”

If you need any love from God, rejoice! You’re invited to the party. God doesn’t see “sinner” when looking at you, and God isn’t holding the divine nose over your stink when God embraces you.

The Triune God simply loves you. As you are. Sees only beloved and good. And says, come to me. Be with me. Follow me.

So, what if you ignored all the Christians and their piety and just listened to Christ for once? Might it change your life? Transform you into God’s powerful love in this frightened, broken, hate-filled world? God thinks so. And what do you have to lose? Only your fear and anxiety.

Get up and follow. And see for yourself.

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

God’s only way is to draw you into the cross, to become that sacrificial, self-giving, non-violent, peacemaking, world changing love. And things will be healed.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
Feast of the Holy Cross
Texts: 1 Corinthians 1:18-24; John 3:13-17; Numbers 21:4b-9

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

Easter really did a number on us.

Because of Easter we’ve created a serious misunderstanding of the cross.

We know the women and men who followed Jesus were stunned, dismayed, almost broken by the cross. But then he rose from the dead and it seems clear they thought it was back to business as usual. As if the cross was just an unpleasantness best put in the rear-view mirror.

Because before the Ascension they asked: “now will you restore Israel?” It’s as if they admit they made a mistake not expecting the cross, but now that he’s alive, “back to plan A, right? Destroy Rome, make us number one?”

We’re the same, though. We’ve made the cross into a logo to put all over our things and we think of it as a past event. For centuries the Church taught that in the cross of Christ we are forgiven and given life after we die, and that’s the end of it. As if Good Friday is a one-off thing, that if you believe in it you’ve got your ticket to salvation. Many think that’s exactly what Jesus is saying today in John 3.

Paul begs to differ. For Paul, the cross is still real and active. Good Friday is every day for those joined to Christ.

Paul’s words today make no sense in the way we usually think of the cross.

Paul believes it’s the current stumbling block and scandal of the cross that’s the threat. The current foolishness of the cross that drives people away. Not what Jesus did long ago, but what God is still doing today and what we’re called to do today.

For Paul the cross is still the main thing. The only thing. The point of it all. The cross is God’s love, period. The cross is the love you are asked to love, period. It’s risky, self-giving, vulnerable, sacrificial. It makes no sense to people who want to protect themselves at all costs, it’s foolish. It’s offensive, a scandal, to people who want to believe God dominates with power, and so should they.

For you, then, is the cross a symbol of a past event, a logo you carry and wear? Or is it your reminder, your job description, your mystery, your calling? The current and only word on God’s love? Whether you wear it, bow to it in worship, make its shape on your body or not, the only thing that matters is if the cross is still real to you. Still active. Still the only thing worth knowing about the Triune God, and the only way God works even now.

That is, is the cross is your idol, or your marching orders?

If we weren’t celebrating Holy Cross today, we’d have heard the story of the golden calf as our first reading. Israel wanted less of a relationship with God and more of something controllable. Less of a God who scared them and gave out commandments and more of a beautiful gold thing they could hold and pray to, but didn’t ask a lot of them.

And Moses’ bronze serpent that Jesus also mentions? Six or seven hundred years later King Hezekiah of Judah, reforming after a number of evil kings, had to destroy it. Israel had kept it all those years. But instead of seeing it as a reminder of God’s grace, they came to worship it as an idol.

Yet Jesus still links himself to that story. Maybe he’s giving another chance to focus on the God who comes to heal and save, so that no one will perish, instead of on a symbol or a statue.

If we make the cross our idol instead of seeing a constant reminder of the love of God that is broken for the world, the love of God that draws all people and all things into God’s heart, the love of God that you and I are called to bear and live and be in the world, we’re just playing the same old game. We’d be better off tearing down our crosses and destroying them.

Find the foolishness and you’ll see. Trip on the stumbling block and you’ll see.

Please do trust that at the cross God’s love is for you and brings you healing and salvation in this world and after you die. That’s absolutely your promise and the promise for all God’s children.

But if that’s the end of it, you’re no better off than before you heard that promise. You’re like those who paint the cross on shields and armor and warplanes, who wear it visibly while doling out violence and oppression and hatred. Who use Christ’s cross as their own personal talisman which, they believe, makes them strong and leads them to disdain the weak.

But you can hold the cross as sign of your salvation and also focus on the cross as your guide, your calling, your only job. Then you’ll see. You’ll see how foolish it feels to let go of things you cling to for the sake of loving others. You’ll see how quickly you’re scandalized that God loses in order to win, and asks you to do the same. How easy it is to trip over your fears, your anxieties, your need for security, your prejudices, and not love as God loves.

But when you find that foolishness, that scandal, rejoice. It means you’re on the right path. You’re finally hearing the cross, seeing the cross, embracing the cross. The cross that shows God forgives all your stumbling and rejection, and then constantly carries you forward to more foolishness and scandal.

But what’s the good of all this? How does this help this world?

Will it stop the bloody proliferation of guns and violence in this country? The hatred spilling from our leaders for the weak and vulnerable? The terror of so many on the margins here that their lives are in danger? All the pain and suffering we see? Not immediately. But all the pain and suffering we’re experiencing comes from a world in love with violence and power and domination. That seeks self-interest above all things. A country increasingly devoted to might makes right. That’s how we got into this mess.

And God says the only way out is to draw you into the cross. Draw me into the cross. Draw God’s children, one by one, into the cross. So that we become that vulnerable, self-giving, non-violent, peacemaking, world changing love. And things will be healed, eventually.

Starting with those closest to you. Begin with what’s foolish about this love, scandalous about this love when you’re asked to love those closest to you, or at work, or next door. You’ll see how hard that love will be. But you’ll also be amazed at the healing it brings when you just do it.

There’s nothing wrong with Easter, by the way.

Easter is the promise that when you risk the cross, live the cross, embrace the cross as the shape of your love and life, nothing can stop that love. Not even pain and death. Easter says the path of cross-shaped love always ends in life, even if most of the time it feels like losing. Christ’s resurrection is the gift of life in the Spirit that empowers you to go back to Good Friday every day and learn what you can learn there from God. See what you can see. Find the path to that hill that is your path.

And don’t be afraid. Look to the shape of God’s love and be drawn into it for your life and the life of the world.

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