You’re afraid, we all are, but the women at the tomb show us we can still look up, hear the good news, and bravely share our lives – still afraid, but filled with joy in God’s life in us.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Resurrection of Our Lord, Easter Day, year A
Text: Matthew 28:1-10

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 were so scared, they looked dead.

These tough guards at the tomb, armor-clad, carrying weapons, were terrified. They shook and fell to the ground. Like dead men.

Give the benefit of the doubt. Earthquakes are scary. And an angel of God showed up in the earthquake. That sent them into hysteria, dropped them like trees. Here this being from heaven sits, on the stone that used to cover the tomb. The tomb they were supposed to be guarding.

They were, instead, frozen with fear, curled up on the ground. Like dead men.

We know about being frozen.

This pandemic has paralyzed the entire planet. Whole countries are locked down, businesses and schools closed, hospitals filled to capacity. All of us are staying at home, only going out for essential things. We know we’re trying to save lives by this. We’re helping the government and health care systems to catch up with supplies and beds for when the peak hits. But here we sit on Easter, in our homes. Unable to move.

We’re not frozen by fear of seeing an angel or experiencing an earthquake. We’re frozen by what we can’t even see. Is it on my clothes after the grocery store? Is it in the air? Did I wash my hands? Did my neighbor walk too close to me on the sidewalk, and now I should worry? For something invisible to the naked eye, fear of this little virus has immobilized us. Almost like we look dead.

But something else freezes us.

Even if we were all together in worship this morning, there would be this other fear. We’ve just walked with Jesus through these Three Days and have seen him demonstrate with his own body and blood what the path of God’s love, the path of Christ, will mean. He talks about it all the time; you can’t read a teaching of Jesus and not encounter it.

But we’ve just seen it means literal servanthood toward others, on our knees. It means sacrificing ourselves in love for others, and losing things dear to us. We’ve seen that even Jesus struggled with this when he prayed in Gethsemane. And we saw it led him to a brutal and horrible death.

We don’t really expect to die for following. But there’s a reason many Christians in every generation reduce the faith to simply believing the right things, having correct theology. That comes from fearing the alternative: that Jesus meant Christian faith to be a life fully engaged in a relationship of love, vulnerability, and self-giving, with God and neighbor, that costs us.

We might have to face our own prejudice and privilege and lose some comfort. We might have to dare to allow ourselves to live on less so others can live. We might have to have our dearest opinions and convictions and biases challenged and broken open. We might have to risk being hurt.

It’s much easier to curl up inside, immobile, and act as if faith is thinking things right, and not being someone new. When we do this, we look dead.

But there were others experiencing that earthquake, seeing that angel.

There were some women there. Disciples, followers of Jesus. Unlike the other disciples, they came out of hiding to go to the tomb and be near Jesus’ body, early. Before dawn.

And they’re terrified, too. But they don’t fall to the ground like they’re dead. They keep their eyes open. They stay standing.

And so they hear this frightening angel tell them news they never could have hoped to hear: Jesus has been raised. He is alive. The angel shows them the place, and sends them out to tell the others.

They keep their eyes open still. They start walking. And they meet Jesus on the way! Wonder of wonders, they get to hold him. Love him. Even worship him.

These women were just as afraid as the guards, just as afraid as you and I. But they held it together long enough to see what God was doing in this frightening moment. To see news of great joy for all people.

But they don’t get to freeze in this moment of joy, either.

Both the angel and Jesus send them to go and tell the others. They can’t go home and celebrate this news, live with warmth in their hearts, knowing God raised Jesus. This faith in Jesus isn’t something you keep inside, immobilized from acting in the world.

No, they are sent out to be vulnerable, just as Jesus always said. They’ll risk being disbelieved. They’re women, so they’ll also risk being discounted and ignored. They’re sent to witness with their vulnerable, self-giving lives that servanthood and sacrificial love, even to death, always ends in resurrection and abundant life. That this path they’ve all been called to walk looks terrifying, and filled with loss, but it ends in the earthquake of God restoring life that has been freely given for others.

Of course you and I are also sent. If you want to follow Jesus, it means taking this joy of God’s Easter life and letting it break your immobility. It means going into the world to be Christ. To be self-giving love.

Whether it’s in this health crisis or dealing with all that ails our society or dealing with your neighbor, your friend, your loved one: you have learned the path of Christ in these Three Days, and it is frightening. But it always leads to resurrection and abundant, new life. Jesus promises you that.

Are you still afraid? Do you fear this sending Jesus gives you?

That’s OK. Take one more look at Matthew’s Gospel. Do you see how the women left the tomb to witness? They went “quickly, with fear and great joy.”

They were still afraid. But they were filled with joy. They didn’t know what the future would be for them, and it still frightened them. But they now knew this path was filled with God’s abundant life and love, a life that cannot be stopped by death, a love too strong to stay in a grave. And that gave them great joy.

It’s the joy of God’s Easter life that swings the balance for you, gives you just enough courage – it doesn’t take much – enough courage to outweigh the fear you have of being out there, vulnerable, as Christ, in the world.

If you want to follow the risen Christ, just follow these women. They’ve got the right idea. Fear and great joy, with enough resurrection courage to get moving.

Just move, the angel says. Move, Jesus says. Move, and I’ll help you with all the rest.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

Stay awake with Jesus tonight, and learn to follow his path not only through trial and sacrifice, but to the life God brings through this path to you and to the world.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
Maundy Thursday
John 13:1-17, 31b-35; 1 Corinthians 11:23-26; all seen through the lens of Matthew 28:36-45, Jesus in Gethsemane.

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

All Jesus wanted was that they stay awake.

In the olive grove outside of Jerusalem, late on Thursday night, he took Peter, James, and John into the trees, where he prayed. He hoped they’d stay awake with him. They didn’t.

Maybe we can. There is so much of today’s liturgy we can’t do this year in our separation. We can’t confess our sins together and each receive individual absolution at the altar. We can’t wash each other’s feet, though you can at home if you’re with others. We can’t gather together as Christ’s body and share the Meal Jesus gave tonight, and that hurts most of all. And we can’t experience together the starkness of stripping down the chancel at the end of this liturgy.

But we could try to stay awake with Jesus tonight. We don’t hear the Gethsemane story Thursday when it happens, only on Passion Sunday. But that time on the Mount of Olives later this evening offers a vision of how we might walk with Jesus, not just through the next few days, but the rest of our lives.

Let’s go to Gethsemane now.

³⁶  Jesus went with his disciples to a place called Gethsemane; and he said to them, “Sit here while I go over there and pray.” ³⁷ He took with him Peter and the two sons of Zebedee, and began to be grieved and agitated. ³⁸ Then he said to them, “I am deeply grieved, even to death; remain here, and stay awake with me.” ³⁹ And going a little farther, he threw himself on the ground and prayed, “My Father, if it is possible, let this cup pass from me; yet not what I want but what you want.” ⁴⁰ Then he came to the disciples and found them sleeping; and he said to Peter, “So, could you not stay awake with me one hour? ⁴¹ Stay awake and pray that you may not come into the time of trial; the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.” ⁴² Again he went away for the second time and prayed, “My Father, if this cannot pass unless I drink it, your will be done.” ⁴³ Again he came and found them sleeping, for their eyes were heavy. ⁴⁴ So leaving them again, he went away and prayed for the third time, saying the same words. ⁴⁵ Then he came to the disciples and said to them, “Are you still sleeping and taking your rest? See, the hour is at hand, and the Son of Man is betrayed into the hands of sinners.”    (Matthew 28:36-45)

Gethsemane is a return to the beginning of Jesus’ ministry.

Some of his first words as a preacher were “follow me.” We don’t often think of them tonight, or during these Three Days. But they’re central to everything happening here. Jesus called people to follow his path, the way of God’s love. He told them it would mean taking up a burden like a cross. It would mean the loss of things dear to them. Maybe even their life. We’ve softened his call to follow over the centuries, but in these Three Days the implications of “follow me” become clear.

If you follow Jesus, it means going to the Upper Room and learning to do what he did there. It means going to Gethsemane and learning how that will be yours to endure. It means going to that forsaken hill of death outside Jerusalem and learning how it’s your hill. But it also means going to a garden early Sunday morning and being awake for God’s promise.

For Jesus, and for those who belong to Christ, these days are all about learning to follow. And for that, you need to stay awake.

If you stay awake, you will see a path of servanthood for you in the Upper Room.

Watch closely this moment that centers our worship tonight, when Jesus strips off his robe and, dressed as a slave, kneels and washes the feet of his followers.

After he does this, Jesus is absolutely clear: I did this so you would follow me in the same. Be willing to stoop down in love and do the most menial task for another person. Or, just do this commandment: love one another as I have loved you.

If you stay awake for this hour in the Upper Room, you see what following looks like for you. It means being a servant in your love, just as Jesus was a servant in his.

And that means sacrifice for you.

When Jesus changed the Passover ritual dramatically, it must have shocked those at the table. Mary, Peter, Thomas, what did they think? The Passover bread is passed, and he says, “Take this, it is my body for you.” The Passover wine is passed, and he says, “Drink this, it is my blood poured out for you.” What on earth was he doing?

If you stay awake, you’ll see he’s saying following me means taking my whole life into you, my sacrificial love and suffering. When you eat this bread and drink this wine you are joined into what I am going to do tomorrow. You become part of my suffering and death, and it means forgiveness and life for you and the world.

Because now you are my body. That’s what Paul taught us, but Jesus says it here. He takes you, he takes me, breaks us open, and hands us to the world, saying, “Take this one, she is my body for you.” “Take this one, he is my blood for you.”

In this Meal, in your following, you become Christ’s Body and Blood for the world, your body and blood broken, poured out, in your sacrificial love, for God’s healing of the world.

Go to Gethsemane tonight and stay awake. You’ll need help for such hard following.

Jesus wanted the disciples to stay awake because he knew he was going to struggle with this path. He knew he’d be talking to the Father, in the mystery of the Triune Life, about this cup he was to drink. This sacrifice of his own body and blood, the sacrifice of God’s life for the world.

And he didn’t know if he could follow this path. That’s what you need to stay awake for. See how hard it was for Jesus. Learn that even the Son of God struggled with the costs of a servant life, a life of sacrificial love, a path that led to even losing his life.

If you’re awake and following Jesus this far, on this path, you’ve already realized it’s going to be very hard. But now you see you’re following someone who knows how hard it is, who agonized over this path as much as you do. And who ultimately said, “Not my will, but yours.” Who found the spiritual strength to be God’s life for the world, and who offers that strength to you.

But please notice something about what Jesus asks you tonight.

What he commanded you, and me, was to serve the person in front of us. One person, before whom you kneel and wash feet. One person, to love as you have been loved. One person, where you will sacrifice yourself out of love.

Don’t fret about following Christ’s path “for the sake of the world”. Just imagine what it would be to follow Jesus for the sake of that one person you’re with right now. And to keep doing it for all you meet. That’s where you’re called to be a servant. To love. To sacrifice. It will mean Gethsemane moments of prayer and you’ll need the help of God’s Spirit.

But let Jesus handle the whole world. Just follow where you are.

And remember who has stayed awake with you in these days.

Mary Magdalene and some of the other women who were followers, disciples, apparently had trouble sleeping Friday and Saturday night. They were up well before dawn Sunday morning. They were awake. And they wanted to follow where Jesus was.

So they went to the tomb. And they saw that God’s love is too strong to stay in a grave.

That’s where the path of Christ finds its joy, in resurrection on the other side of servanthood and sacrificial love. We’re not there yet this Holy Week.

But stay awake. Watch Jesus and learn. Pray for the strength to follow. And in the early morning darkness very soon, you’ll see something astonishing about God’s love and life.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

 

We hear the Passion story anew amidst these unprecedented circumstances that have us celebrating Holy Week in our homes. The death we face – in this story and in our world – is real, but the God who loves us accompanies us into the suffering.

Vicar Bristol Reading
The Sunday of the Passion, year A
Texts: Psalm 31:9-16; Matthew 26:14-27:66

Palm Sunday looks a little bit different this year. Even your palm leaves might look a little bit different this year. These are dark and scary times to be moving into the celebration Holy Week, a beloved and special time in our church year. It feels strange to be hearing the story of Jesus’ passion from our own homes, instead of in the sanctuary together.

But as is so often the case, the scriptures meet us right where we are. The realities of this moment seemed unimaginable just a few weeks ago, and yet these ancient texts from thousands of years ago can reach across time and space and speak God’s word to us today.

Perhaps the Psalmist’s words could be your own: “Be gracious to me, O Lord, for I am in distress. My strength fails me.” (Psalm 31:9-10, ESV) This Psalm is a lament: it cries out in need to God. But laments don’t end with grievance; they also includes expression of praise and trust in God. In the midst of pain and fear, you can declare, as the Psalmist does: “My times are in your hand, God.” (Psalm 31:15)

“My times are in your hand.” Jesus actually says something very similar at the opening of the Passion reading we heard today. As he arrives in Jerusalem, he says to his disciples: “My time is near.” (Matthew 26:18) Jesus accepts each day as it comes, continuing to trust that his time is in God’s hands. Jerusalem has been pulling him like a magnet, even though he knows what trouble awaits him there.

And we know what trouble awaits him there, too. The Passion story is so familiar that you might have to intentionally invite yourself to hear it in a new way. Perhaps the unprecedented circumstances we’re in might help you do that. The seemingly mundane aspects of this story might resonate with those of you who are sheltering at home for days on end right now.

The story opens with Jesus and his friends celebrating a holiday,  not in a temple or synagogue, but in a home. There are no elaborate rituals, only a shared meal made with everyday food and drink, made with what they had on hand. Bread and wine. These ordinary things become extraordinary in the hands of Christ, who transforms them into vessels of God’s grace. Bread is body, broken open that it might feed all. Wine is blood, the sign of a covenant with God, a promise sealed and kept forever. It is only Matthew’s Jesus who specifically mentions “forgiveness” being poured from the cup. A well of mercy that will never run dry. At the end of the celebratory meal, Jesus and the disciples sing hymns and pray together. (Matthew 26:30)

This Holy Week, as you gather around your tables to share a holiday at home, remember those parts of the story. Remember Jesus’ body and blood; remember Jesus’ promise and love. Notice the sacramental coming alive in your own hands. Sing the hymns you love, and pray the prayers you know. Trust that Christ is present right where you are, even in a Holy Week that looks unlike any other.

Of course, despite its ordinary moments, the Passion is an extraordinary story. It is full of the unexpected and inexplicable. It is full of sacred mystery.

In this Passion story we proclaim that Emmanuel, God who has come to be with humanity, will die for humanity. No failure, no sin, will change that. And this story is full of human failure: betrayal, abandonment, denial, torture, execution. None of these can undo God’s love in Christ. That love is poured out for all people, in all places, at all times. That cup of forgiveness always overflows.

In this Passion story we proclaim that we do not worship a God who conquers or punishes but a God whose victory is in sacrifice and mercy. This is a God in solidarity with those who suffer, because this is a God who suffers. In this story we see that God knows what it is to be human, like me, like you. God knows your pain, your sickness, your grief, your death. God goes with you into the dark.

So Holy Week might look different, but the truth of this precious story that we tell every year, that truth does not change. Your God does not change. Your God still comes to you, right where you are, and still speaks to you, right where you are. And the Word God speaks is one of love, even in the face of death.

That death isn’t theoretical. It’s real. This week, we encounter that death directly – in the story of Jesus’ journey to the cross. And in our own world, right now. Holy Week, even this Holy Week, has space to hold our grief in that. Even the Light of the World, dies. That’s where the Gospels story ends for today.

Except for one last detail. After Jesus’ death, his body is taken down from the cross and put in a rock-hewn tomb. Perhaps the officials who had ordered Jesus’ execution felt like justice had been served, a threat had been neutralized, the law had been upheld. Perhaps they felt like this marked the end of the story of Jesus, the supposed Messiah.

But something kept nagging at them. The Gospel writer tells us that they just couldn’t stop thinking about something Jesus had said when he was still alive: something about rebuilding a destroyed temple; something about the dead being raised to life; something that had sounded crazy at the time.

A heavy stone is rolled in front of the entrance to Jesus’ tomb, and soldiers are sent to seal it shut, just in case. A guard is put on 24-hour watch outside. But still, it just doesn’t feel secure enough. They’re just not sure death can hold Jesus.

And everyone is left to wonder: What if there’s a crack that’s just enough to let the light in? Or maybe to let the light out? What if Jesus was telling the truth all along? What if death is not the final word? What if, somehow, the story doesn’t end here? Friends, this Holy Week, may you live into these mysteries even in the midst of the mundane.

Amen.

With Ezekiel, Paul’s Romans, and Mary and Martha, the disciples, and the crowd, we wait for God’s promised life to come, and see God’s face saying, “Do you trust me to watch for this and give you life?”

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Fifth Sunday in Lent, year A – recorded for preaching online during COVID-19 restrictions
Texts: John 11:1-45; Ezekiel 37:1-14; Psalm 130; Romans 8:6-11

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

My soul waits for God more than those who keep watch for the morning. More than those who keep watch for the morning.

Today the psalmist has such longing within, such waiting for God, that it needs to be sung twice or it’s not enough: My waiting is like sentinels who sit for hours in darkness watching for the sun to come up. Like sentinels who sit for hours in darkness watching for the sun to come up.

And so is our waiting. We wait for when this “stay at home” order will be lifted. We wait for when we might be able to gather together again for worship, even gather with our families and friends. We wait for these things more than those who watch for the morning. More than those who watch for the morning.

But we wait for so much more. We wait for the relief from other pain and suffering we or those we love endure, beyond this virus. We wait for when our society will be just and whole for all. We wait for when our national government will serve all people and honor the rule of law. We wait for these things more than those who watch for the morning. More than those who watch for the morning.

And everyone we meet in God’s Word today shares our painful longing.

Ezekiel and the other Jewish exiles long for God to bring them home. Paul longs for his Roman churches to experience the truth of being Christ together and so heal their divisions, set aside their self-righteousness. Mary and Martha wait for Jesus with pain that we can still feel 2,000 years later.

When will morning come? Can you see it?

Well, there is a glimmer of the dawn in today’s Word.

The psalmist assures Israel that with the God who is named I AM WHO I AM there is steadfast love and redemption.

Ezekiel sees a vision of a field full of dry bones. No hope, no possibility of life, and he’s asked: “can these bones live?” And he sees a possible new life for God’s people, a making of living, breathing, bodies from the bones of their exile.

Paul sees what being the body of Christ could be for his Roman friends, bringing different cultures together not by diluting into sameness, but by honoring and loving their differences in the deeper truth of their being one in Christ.

Jesus does show up for the Bethany sisters. He asks, “Do you trust me? I am Resurrection and Life, right now, for you.” He asks what God asks Ezekiel: do you think the dead can live?

My soul waits for God more than those who watch for the morning, more than those who watch for the morning.

Today there is a promise of something worth watching for.

Today God’s word asks you: can you trust the GOD WHO IS to give you life?

Three times Ezekiel is told that by God’s restoration “you shall know that I am the ONE WHO IS, who has spoken and who will act.” If they will trust God, Ezekiel and his people will know God’s life.

Paul is convinced the Spirit who raised Jesus from death lives in his people, has made them the body of Christ. Even in their mortal bodies, in this life. Right now. If they will trust the Spirit in them, they will know God’s life.

Jesus invites the disciples, Mary and Martha, and the crowd today, to see in him the life the Triune God is pouring into the world. Martha already trusts what you and I trust, that her brother will live again on the last day. But Jesus says, “right now, I can be abundant life for you.” If they all can trust Jesus to be that, they will know God’s life.

My soul waits for God more than those who watch for the morning, more than those who watch for the morning. God’s Word tells you today if you watch for what God is doing, right now, you could trust not only that morning is coming, but that even in the darkness you can have God’s life in you. A life that restores dry bones, knits a community together, even raises the dead.

What will it take for you to trust that God is worthy to watch for, that morning is coming, that even in the night you are not alone?

Before you answer, notice that in today’s Word, knowing and trusting are invited before any healing happens. Ezekiel’s people are still in exile, and all Ezekiel has is a vision. The Roman churches are still divided, and all Paul has is a vision. Martha and Mary are still in mourning, the disciples and crowd are still confused, and Jesus stands before them as a vision of God’s life.

If you are waiting for God more than those who watch for the morning, more than those who watch for the morning, know this: you’re like all people of faith everywhere. You’re asked to trust that your life, the world’s life, is in the Triune God’s loving hands, even if there’s little evidence yet.

That’s where you are, where we all are, on this day.

So hear this: The Triune God is the GOD WHO IS. Who has spoken love and acted love for you and the creation. Christ is alive, death has no power and God’s Spirit lives in you. You are loved forever by God.

So keep watch. This health crisis will abate, and we’ll be back together. Your other pains and sufferings may last the rest of your life, but they are held in God’s compassion and grace. Our society and world are being healed and brought together through God’s people of many faiths, through you acting as Christ. You may not see the full morning of any of this now. But if you look, there’s a glimmer on the horizon.

And yes, that glimmer can be as hard to see some days as a path out of exile. As hard to hope for as the healing of a community in division. As hard to trust as life when a loved one dies.

But the Triune God’s face looks at you through the eyes of Jesus, and says, “I can be life for you now, even in this world filled with death. I can fill you with morning light even in the darkness of your reality. Do you trust me, dear one?”

In the name of Jesus.  Amen