God shares our suffering, brings life in the midst of death, even if we think we’re abandoned by God: is that enough for you?

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
All Saints Sunday, year B
Texts: John 11:32-44 (adding vv. 17, 20-31 as well); Isaiah 25:6-9; Revelation 21:1-6

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

You know what our real problem with this Gospel story is, right?

The problem we have with this Gospel, the one we don’t talk about, the neighbors in Bethany name openly. They see Jesus weeping and say, “look how much he loved him! But how come if he healed that blind person we heard about, he didn’t keep this person he loved from dying?”

The problem we have with this Gospel, the one we don’t talk about, Martha and Mary both name openly. “Lord, if you had been here, my brother wouldn’t have died.”

The problem we have with this Gospel, the one we don’t talk about, is that secretly in our hearts, we agree with them all.

But somewhere along the line someone taught Christians never to criticize God.

I’ve worked as a pastor for over 30 years, and it is deep-rooted in us. Our first instinct might be to agree with Martha and Mary and their neighbors. But we can’t say that the Son of God blew it.

So we make theological excuses for Jesus’ behavior here. We try to explain away why he delayed coming.

And we keep quiet about what’s really on our heart when we see the suffering of our neighbors, or the death and dying of loved ones, or our own suffering and pain. We’re afraid to say out loud that if God really cared, God would do something, afraid to suggest God dropped the ball, or worse, doesn’t care.

But the folks in this story have a legitimate complaint. And you know it.

Three times in chapter 11, Jesus’ love for this family is named. The sisters sent Jesus a note that said “Lord, the one whom you love is sick.” Then John says, “Accordingly, though Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus, he stayed two days longer.” Last, the neighbors see Jesus weep and say, “He really loved him.”

But Jesus delayed coming for two days. This family he loved asked for help – a healing he’d done dozens of times to people he barely knew – and he declined. Whatever his reasons, none absolve him from this charge: if he loved Lazarus so much, why didn’t he prevent this death?

And we have the same, legitimate question when we see a suffering world, with persistent evil, or pray for healing that doesn’t seem to come, or long for God to intervene in whatever way. If “Jesus loves me, this I know, for the Bible tells me so” is true, and if God loves you, or our neighbors, or those who are poor, or those who are oppressed, or whomever, so much, why doesn’t God do something to prevent this pain and suffering?

But you’ve been sold a lie if you think you can’t criticize God. Just read your Bible.

God’s people regularly complain about God’s apparent indifference to their pain or suffering, especially in the Hebrew Scriptures. Even heroes of the faith do.

But look no further than today’s Gospel for permission. Martha hears Jesus is near and runs out to meet him in all her frustration and anger and fully lets him have it. “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died,” she rails at this one who supposedly loves her.

Mary isn’t Martha. Martha’s grief is seen in anger, Mary’s in overwhelming sadness. When Jesus finally gets to her, Mary chokes through her tears her feeling of being abandoned by this one who supposedly loves her: “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

Look at these sisters whom Jesus loved. They say to you, “Bring it to God if you have to. Your disappointment. Your sadness. Your anger. Your criticism.” Neither of them worried Jesus might be upset. They spoke truth to God-with-us, their Lord, the One who loved them and whom they trusted for life.

If you still doubt them, look how Jesus responds.

Jesus lets Martha rant, and responds the only way she wants: he engages her arguments. She wants nothing to do with his first try – don’t talk to me about my brother living again at the end, she says. What about right now? What about getting here on time to stop this?

Then Jesus – still not offended – offers himself to Martha. He says, “You know, I am resurrection and life for you right now. No matter what happens. I am your life and hope, and in that life you never have to feel death’s grip on your heart like you do right now.”

Then Jesus apparently asks, “how’s Mary?” He knows he owes both sisters. Martha gets Mary, and because Mary is not Martha, he’s different with her. He sees them all weeping and is deeply moved himself. Begins to weep himself. He shares her tears, feels her pain. Because he loves her. He loves Martha. He loves Lazarus. Why wouldn’t he weep with them?

So, is what Jesus does enough for you?

Take away the miracle at the end. It’s beautiful and all, but you and I and this whole world live on this side of the closed tomb, the side of death and suffering, where it stinks. Where people die and stay dead. Where people are oppressed, the powers that oppress seem unlimited, and suffering continues unabated.

If we live our lives on this side with Mary and Martha, before the miracle, is Jesus’ response enough?

It seems to be for Martha. She proclaims a beautiful statement of her trust in Jesus for life right now (because she’s clearly not expecting Jesus to do what he does at the tomb.) Mary’s the quiet one, it’s hard to tell if Jesus sharing her tears is enough.

But is it enough for you? To know that God weeps with you? That the Triune God’s face we see in Jesus shows a God whose love for you is real, and who shares your pain, the world’s pain? That even in the worst of circumstances God somehow offers you Jesus’ promise to Martha of being life in you?

And maybe we shouldn’t be so quick to stop before the end of this story.

True, none of us have ever been at a graveside where this happened. None of us expects that all of the systemic things that ail our world are suddenly going to go away and all God’s children are going to be singing Kumbaya together in the center of Minneapolis. But there are things you can rely on as certain:

First, God loves you enough to be with you wherever you need God to be. Not always acting as you necessarily want or hope, but with you. Listening to your anger with love and answering with a promise of life in the Spirit that can sustain you in a world of death. Embracing your tears and weeping alongside you.

And second, God does do miracles even now. The Triune God brings life in the midst of death in this world. Watch for it – in our world, in your life. God works through and in you and me, and God’s resurrection life in Christ will not be denied. Even if it takes years to raise our world to life out of the death it’s in. Or years for God to heal your heart and show you how loved you are.

And lastly there’s this hope, too, that we remember deeply today: there is life to come after we die. A life where, as Isaiah and John say today, God wipes away all tears and ends all dying and weeping forever. That is real and true and it is promised you and all creation by God-with-us, Jesus the Christ.

See how much God loves you? Loves the world? Can you trust it can be enough?

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

Trust God-with-us to give you and the world mercy and healing.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Twenty-second Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 30 B
Texts: Mark 10:46-52; Jeremiah 31:7-9; Psalm 126

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

Trust doesn’t automatically come with time.

Peter, James, and John have been with Jesus for three years, and in this last journey on the way to Jerusalem have witnessed Jesus’ glorious transfiguration and Jesus’ wondrous healings, have been taught and urged to follow the self-giving way of Christ, and yet, as we’ve seen, still don’t trust Jesus with their lives.

But this beggar, whose real name we don’t know, who hasn’t met Jesus before, only heard of him, finds a trust in Jesus that not only brings him healing, it sets him on the way of Christ.

Trust, for Bartimaeus, came in no time at all.

When he hears a big commotion and learns Jesus of Nazareth is passing by, he focuses on getting to Jesus if he can. This blind man sees more clearly than most in this Gospel.

He shouts over the crowd, “Son of David, have mercy on me.” He gives Jesus a Messianic title, saying “have mercy on me, Messiah.” Show me empathy and compassion and help me.

Others try to tell him to be quiet, maybe to protect Jesus from bother, or maybe they’re just mean, but Bartimaeus refuses to stop. He shouts more loudly.

That’s trust. To know that somehow God is working in this Jesus and can help. And to do whatever he can to get Jesus’ attention. To receive mercy.

Bartimaeus trusted God-with-us would listen.

And Jesus honored his trust. In the chaos of a noisy crowd traipsing down the road, he heard the cry for mercy and stood still. Listened. Jesus has a lot on his mind and heart, heading to his death in Jerusalem. But here, he stops and is still so he can hear a cry for help.

As it happens, God-with-us listens even if our questions are the wrong ones. James and John wanted Jesus to do them a favor, and he listened. In fact, as we heard last week, he asked them the same question he asked Bartimaeus: “What do you want me to do for you?”

They wanted privileged roles. They received a call to lose everything and serve others. Bartimaeus wanted mercy. Healing. That’s the blessing he received. God gives what you truly need.

We don’t need to knock down the others to admire Bartimaeus.

But at this point in Mark’s Gospel, it’s only this outsider who’d only ever heard of Jesus, who trusts Jesus with his life, not the long-time followers.

Peter, James, and John are trusted followers, even leaders. But they’re distracted. Maybe by that privileged position inside Jesus’ circle. Peter doesn’t trust Jesus’ plan to suffer and die. James and John don’t trust that they’re honored and want proof. We know what it is to be distracted by our privilege and status and find the path of Christ hard to follow.

Bartimaeus just knows his need, trusts in the One God sent, and asks for mercy. And he receives healing, and – this is really important – then goes “on the way” with Jesus after this. For the early Church, “the way” meant the path of Christ. Newly-healed Bartimaeus trusts enough to walk it with Jesus.

Now, Peter, James, and John will learn to trust Jesus with their lives. Will learn to ask for mercy themselves, and, healed, will walk faithfully with Christ in their healing. But for now, Bartimaeus is the one to model yourself after.

So, can you find his honesty inside? Look into your heart and see what you need?

What would mercy from the Triune God look like in your life? Can you let go of whatever façade you want to put between you and God and be honest with God and yourself? And trust God’s Messiah to have mercy on you?

You might need to keep asking God for mercy even when others tell you to stop. Folks will tell you God doesn’t care, or that your problems aren’t as bad as someone else’s so you shouldn’t bother God. It takes a little trust to shout over that, “have mercy on me, O God.”

But know this: just as Jesus, God-with-us, stood still to listen to Bartimaeus’ cry and called him to his side, so the Triune God will stop and stand still to hear your cry and call to you. If you trust enough to let go of yourself and call out.

Be ready for the question, though: What do you want me to do for you?

Bartimaeus knew exactly what to answer: “Let me see again.” If you have prayed and thought about what mercy and healing you need from God, name it when God asks. Speak it aloud. Trust God will hear and answer.

But don’t forget that God-with-us is in this world for all creation, not just you. You can ask mercy for yourself and find the trust to ask for more. Today Jeremiah promises that God will heal a whole nation, bring back the scattered exiles to their home, on a straight, safe path. The psalmist sings that God’s whole people went out planting with tears, but are harvesting in joy because God restored them.

All the suffering that fills our world, the structural sins and systems we decry and want dismantled but also participate in because we live in this world, all this God will heal, too. God will work in us to bring all people home and end all the things that cause us and so many to fear and despair.

What do you want me to do for you? God asks. Bartimaeus says: don’t be afraid to answer. Jeremiah says, “and don’t be afraid to think big, too.”

Do you doubt that God will heal you? Heal this world?

That’s fair. It’s a big ask. But, before he met Jesus, in all the years he sat by the roadside, how confident was Bartimaeus that he would see again? How confident were the Jewish exiles, decades after being ripped from all they knew and dragged into bondage in Babylon, that they’d ever see home again?

But Bartimaeus got his sight. And the exiles were gathered and brought home. God-with-us brings healing and mercy. Trust that. And you, too, will be made well. Along with the whole creation. So all may join Bartimaeus on the way with Christ, and know abundant life.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

Christ our Servant shapes us in our lives as servants, helping us every step of the path of Christ, for the sake of the world.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Twenty-first Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 29 B
Text: Mark 10:(32-34) 35-45

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

We’ve finally come to the place Mark’s been leading us in his Gospel for weeks now.

There’s one more story in chapter 10 after today, a healing we’ll hear next week. Then Mark enters Holy Week, the palms, the betrayal, the death, the resurrection. We walked that with Mark last spring.

Ever since Jesus started traveling to Jerusalem and we joined him in chapter 8, he’s been telling his followers, telling us, telling you, that he’s heading there to be beaten and killed. And to rise from death. And he’s been calling his followers, calling us, calling you, to take this same Christ path of self-giving love, letting go, losing for the sake of others.

And his followers, including me, including you, have been struggling with this. We’ve seen Peter and John fail to get it, and frankly, it’s hard for us, too.

Today, after all this, days from Holy Week, two of his trusted leaders still don’t get it. They respond to Jesus’ latest warning of his imminent suffering by asking for the honored seats when he comes in glory. Clueless.

Maybe the fact that these two important ones still struggle after weeks of instruction and guidance from Jesus should make us feel better. But it doesn’t change that we are also struggling with Jesus.

It’s really hard following someone who leads on such a challenging path.

The writer to the Hebrews calls Jesus the “pioneer” of our faith. Pioneers go ahead, blaze a trail, lead. Jesus leads the path of Christ for all of us, modeling the self-giving love, facing suffering and death ahead of us.

But following someone who’s that focused on a path is not easy. I once was traveling in tandem with someone who drove through a yellow light that changed to red for me. We were supposed to drive together for 8 hours. Instead, I spent 8 hours wondering if I’d ever catch up.

That’s what following Christ on this path feels like sometimes. Like we’re children following a long-legged, determined parent, always trying to catch up. Stumbling, getting tired. Not really handling the path well. Frightened of the next steps, and our leader is so far ahead and has done it so well, we’re alone in this. It’s lonely and frightening and confusing and daunting and overwhelming to always feel behind.

The thing is, Jesus isn’t actually ahead of us on the path.

The last word of Jesus in these chapters about losing like Jesus we heard today: “For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.”

Christ Jesus, the Son of God, is your servant. Not ahead of you, making you fear you’ll be left behind. At your feet, washing them. At this table, offering you food for life. It’s not just suffering coming next for these disciples in Holy Week. Jesus will show them he’s there for them on this path. As their servant. As our servant. As your servant.

What Hebrews fully says is Jesus is the “pioneer and perfecter of our faith.” (Heb. 12:2) The one who completes your faith, helps your discipleship, shapes your servant life.

All this self-giving love, this servant path of Christ we keep hearing about, is made possible by the Great Servant, our God-with-us, who completes in us, in you, this life of faith.

He does this as he did for these disciples, first by teaching.

All this time as they walked to Jerusalem, Jesus prepared them for what was ahead for him, and for them if they follow. But this whole journey Jesus wasn’t impatiently running ahead, chewing them out for not keeping up. He just kept at it, teaching them, helping them understand his way. Correcting them when they misunderstood.

Yes, it was hard sometimes when he corrected. Ask Peter. But his love was always there. Look at James and John today. They’re asking for a ridiculous thing, they’re completely disconnected from Jesus’ focus. But Jesus is gentle with them. He just says they don’t know what they’re asking. And they don’t – they think they can handle what he’s facing, his cup, his baptism.

Of course they don’t know Jesus will struggle with that cup himself in Gethsemane, and in the baptism of his crucifixion will cry out in abandonment. But Jesus just says, “Yes, you will experience the same as I.”

That’s your Servant Teacher: firm, clear, never wavering from the path, but constantly trying to reach you with different images and words, always loving you, even when you struggle repeatedly with the lesson.

That kindness comes because Christ also has empathy for your weakness, not just lessons.

Even human priests can have this gift, Hebrews says today, but Christ Jesus does completely. He lived as one of us, knew how hard it can be to be faithful. He will soon undergo a great trial of his path in Gethsemane. He knows what it is to fear, to wish to avoid painful consequences of sacrificial love.

So, Hebrews says, he “is able to deal gently with the ignorant and wayward, since he himself is subject to weakness.” Your Servant Christ is at your side fully understanding your fear, your weakness, your confusion as you seek to be faithful. Empathizing with you, and even more, strengthening you. Healing you, as Hebrews says.

And Christ your Servant knows the full pain and suffering of loving as God loves.

In fact, he knows it far worse than most of us ever will. A few days after this promise, he goes to the cross. To find power in powerlessness, healing in self-giving love, grace in losing himself for everyone.

The Servant who walks by your side has experienced it all. When you suffer trying to be faithful, when you are hurt because you refuse to hurt others, when you lose because you won’t live a life that defeats other lives, you are always upheld by the Pioneer who did it first, who now completes your faith by strengthening you in your suffering and difficulty.

James and John didn’t know what they were facing, but Jesus did.

And Jesus knows the same about you and me. In baptism we are joined to Christ’s path for the sake of the world. Anointed and set apart to be servants to the world on behalf of God, bearers of God’s love and mercy and justice. It’s a costly path, as we follow Christ and walk alongside others as servants ourselves. Empathizing with their weakness and struggle, because we know weakness and struggle. Sharing their suffering because we know that it costs to let go in order to follow.

But grace upon grace: your Servant, God-with-us, is always at your side, walking beside you. Helping complete your faith and your discipleship. Every step of the way.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

With God all things are possible: even the changing of your heart to let go of all things and follow Christ in love for God and neighbor.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Twentieth Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 28 B
Text: Mark 10:17-31

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

Do you dare to ask God to change your heart?

That’s your question today. For weeks now in our Gospel readings we’ve walked between Jesus’ predictions of his suffering and death and we’ve heard Jesus call us to follow in drastic terms: Take up your cross. Lose your life. Be last, not first. Serve everyone else. Chop off whatever trips you up from following. Sell everything you have, give it away, and follow.

But hard as those actions are, drastic as they sound, impossible as they might seem, Jesus gives great hope today: Whatever seems impossible for us is possible for God.

So – do you dare to ask God to make the impossible possible?

If you hear “take up your cross, lose your life, let go of everything,” and don’t get nervous or anxious about what that would mean for your life, hoping for unchallenging ways to understand Jesus’ description of the path of Christ, you might emerge from these weeks of Gospel readings unscathed. But probably not faithful.

That’s our great challenge. We’ve learned to hear Jesus’ drastic calls and put them in a box called “Sayings of Jesus” that we occasionally open, but only to admire them, not be challenged by them. You could go through these thorny bushes of what Jesus says it means to follow him and avoid ever getting your clothes caught on the branches. You can hear Jesus and not be changed, or concerned about your life.

The rich man today didn’t take that option. He heard Jesus exactly as Jesus intended, and knew he was being asked to let go of everything he owned if he wanted to follow. No exaggeration. No metaphor. And he had enough integrity to say “I can’t follow you with all my heart, soul, mind, and strength.”

If you dare, things will change. This man knew that.

We make Jesus’ calls comfortable by imagining Jesus is talking about getting to heaven with God when we die, not about this life. We hear Jesus say today it’ll be hard for rich people to go to heaven, rather than hear him call you and me to let go of all we have to follow him.

Today Jesus is clearly talking about God’s reign now, in this age. The disciples left family and friends, their homes, their fields and work, for the sake of following Jesus. Jesus says they are receiving all that back in abundance right now, in the community of those who follow Christ alongside them. All the family, home, wealth, and work they need they have in each other.

But that’s why following Jesus is hard for people with wealth. Like us. The more you have to lose, the harder it is to let go.

When we shift Jesus’ clear words from this life to the next, we utterly change the intent of God coming among us.

If the Triune God’s only goal in Christ was to end the power of death and bring all whom God loves into life after death, God could have done that any way God wanted. God created the universe.

But if the Triune God’s goal in Christ is to draw all whom God loves into relationship with God and with each other, a relationship of love that transforms lives and the creation, then God had to finally become one of us, speak our language, show us a face and a voice we could hear and trust and learn from.

Even in today’s Gospel Jesus promises life with God after we die. It’s just a separate thing from his call to lose everything to follow him. It’s a question of who can do what. Only the crucified and risen Christ can give you and me life after we die. You and I can do nothing to make it happen. We can only trust Christ’s promise to do it.

But only you and I can live the life of Christ here, in our lives, today, and so change the world. Learn to love God and neighbor with all our heart, soul, mind, and strength.

So what do we do with today’s call?

The question might not be whether today you divest all of your retirement, or sell your house, or take your Social Security check, and give it all away. We could argue that if everyone sold everything and gave it away, who would grow the food, make the homes, if everyone has nothing? The question really is whether you listen to Jesus with enough seriousness that his call makes you squirm. Causes you discomfort. Makes you wonder if you are actually being faithful.

So, you could start to ask, every day, what you hold that keeps you from loving God and neighbor fully. It could be everything. But start somewhere. It might be wealth that holds you back, and you decide to give away a lot more than you have before. It might be habits that harm others, that you decide to change. It might be ways of thinking, prejudices, fears, you try to get rid of.

But you and I would do better to share the integrity of this man today and walk away if we’re not willing to consider what we need to lose, let go of, cut off, for the sake of God’s Good News reaching all.

But also remember: God makes what seems impossible possible.

You and I hear these calls and know it’s going to be really hard to know what to do. Even harder to have the courage to try. Hardest of all, to fail and have to start over again.

But, do you dare trust Jesus’ word and ask the Triune God to change your heart? To make possible in you what you think is impossible? Because God will. The Spirit is in you right now, pulling you as you hear Jesus’ words, waking you at night with calls to love and care for your neighbor. God’s ready and willing to change your heart and so change your life. If you don’t walk away in sadness but give God a chance, you will find all you need to follow Christ faithfully. Even with stumbles and sins along the way.

And remember this, too: Jesus loved this man, even as he called him to risk everything.

Even as he walked away. Jesus loved the disciples even when they struggled on this path.

And Jesus – God-with-us – loves you as you are. You are God’s beloved child, a precious gift in God’s eyes. The God who loves you says, “Follow me. Let go of what keeps you from it. Even if it’s hard. And let me make it possible for you to do it.” That’s the joy of this path.

And that’s what God’s reign is all about. God’s beloved children living in love with each other and God, learning to let go of all that prevents that love, to embrace losing everything for each other in order to find everything in each other. So the whole creation can be healed.

Do you dare to ask God to make you a part of this?

In the name of Jesus.  Amen