Grace in Galatia

a sermon preached at the Monroe Congregational Church
on May 21, 2017

An intro note: Last week we were the Jerusalem Council in Acts 15 as leaders tried to settle a conflict and figure out the identity of the early church. As the organization grew over time, tension was mounting between the "Judaizers" who believed all Gentile Christians should convert to Judaism first and leaders like Peter and Paul, who didn't think it was necessary. This letter was written BEFORE the Council occurred, and may be part of the reason why the Council was called in the first place. I tried to write a more conventional sermon, but my drafts sounded like a re-hash of what I presented last week, so I went with a reflection in the first person colored by recent experiences in the Holy Land. What WOULD someone reading this letter think about its contents?  

Galatians 1:13-17, 2:11-21

We received Paul's letter a few days ago. I don’t know quite what to think. Our friend definitely

Market (Souk),
Old City Jerusalem

sounds frustrated with us! 

I remember the days when Paul first came to visit. We were so caught up living our own lives. It’s not easy to get ahead in a province like Galatia! My family works at the market here in Lyssa, we have a booth to sell spices. Our children are trained to call out the prices and what we have available to sell. My job is to smile and greet the customers, try to talk them into buying more than they came for. And my husband, well let’s just say, he knows how to work the scale in our family’s favor. 

So there we were, right smack in the middle of our busiest sales day, when I heard this voice speaking about a new teacher, just a few feet away. It was Paul. He was in his own makeshift booth, stitching together fabric for a tent. As he worked, he told his story to the customer. 

It was the same story he hinted at in his letter… how he used to be a Pharisee and committed all types of violence against this group of people who followed this man Jesus who they believed to be the Messiah. But then he had this otherworldly experience one day on the Road to Damascus and met Jesus, which was pretty amazing since he had been crucified and died many so days before. It was compelling enough a story for me to lean out of our booth to listen.

That’s when I overheard Paul telling his customer how this encounter turned him around and changed him forever. And now he dedicates his life to spreading Jesus’ message of unconditional, radical, boundary breaking love. 

Later that afternoon, a few of us invited Paul back to tell us more. He gathered us together in the center of town after the market was closed. He convinced us that following the example of Jesus – his ways of loving God, our neighbor, ourselves, was a better way to live than what we had been doing. 

Paul had a past, a violent one. We heard all about how zealous he could be. He told us again how that one fateful day on the road to Damascus changed his life forever.

And then he told us that if we too could learn to trust in Jesus, our lives would change. We listened, and learned that devoting ourselves to living the kind of life Jesus did meant we were already right with God! We could be forgiven for the mistakes of our past (which, for some of us, was a pretty long list). We too were promised a place in God’s family as a beloved child! Because of this love, our very lives would be forever transformed. 

Then he looked right at my family and told us that cheating our customers was wrong, but that it’s not too late to make it right. How did he even know? Imagine, a God that doesn't measure out grace like it’s a precious spice sold to the highest bidder. Forgiveness is possible. Love changes everything. 

Pretty hard to believe, isn’t it?

And it was hard to accept, too, at first. We didn't understand grace. We couldn’t fathom how a God we didn't know and couldn’t see would want to give us a gift we clearly didn't deserve and couldn’t earn. None of us could live up to what Jesus did and none of us deserved the grace that comes with following him. It's just all so different than what we've grown up with.

We were used to going to the Temple of Artemis to make sacrifices and participate in rituals. For us, it was about a half day’s journey to Ephesus. You’ve heard of Artemis, haven’t you? She’s the fertility Goddess, the Huntress. The Romans call her Diana. Devotees like us come from all over the world to celebrate her. There are huge processions honoring her feast days with music, dancing, singing, dramatic presentations with priests and priestesses chanting their allegiance. I’m sure that Artemis makes a lot of money for the city, too. In fact, the largest bank in all the world right now is housed in her temple!

From the time when we were young children we were told if we didn’t worship her the way she liked she would use her mighty power to take away all the things dearest to us. Whenever something bad happened, our first thought was “I wonder what that person did to anger Artemis?” None of us wanted to be on her bad side. Who knew what might happen! 

That goes for all the other gods and goddesses too. It was so complicated keeping track of all the festivals and holy days and obligations. All to avoid being destroyed. To be honest, we lived in fear.

Then along comes this Paul to tell us about a God that is the exact opposite of the one we think we know. A God we couldn’t see, or touch. One that didn’t have a temple we could visit or statue we could worship. 

We were excited and intrigued by what Paul had to say. A few of us organized a group that got together regularly to talk about his words and pray. We’d gather at someone’s house and eat a meal together, sharing what we could. My family was happy to contribute the spices: rich zaatar, bitter herbs, precious salt all the way from the Dead Sea. Others brought roasted lamb, fresh pressed olive oil, bread or wine. 

Men, women, children – all levels of privilege and wealth sitting at the same table, gathering as equals. Can you imagine? The first time we ate together, it was terribly awkward. Who got the first pass of the hot dish? Who would say the blessing over the food? In time, we got used to it. Paul taught us that eating together was a reminder of God’s grace, and it wasn’t so important to do it the right way as it was to eat with the people God loves – which it turns out, looking around our table, is pretty much everybody. 

And we took up a collection to help those who were struggling: the widowed, the orphaned, the disabled and diseased who begged on the streets. The funny thing is, I knew the poor had always been there. My family and I were accustomed to walking past them quickly on our way to the market. But something about living as a follower of Jesus kept me from looking away now. I felt compelled to contribute, to help. Maybe it was all the love.

Sounds pretty ideal, doesn’t it? Well, it was, as long as life was good and bad things didn’t happen. But eventually, they did. People in the community had the same challenges they always had before they followed Jesus: loved ones still got sick, a neighbor’s house burnt down, our good friend was unfairly arrested right in front of our booth as a threat against the Pax Romana. 

And Paul, by then, had moved on to Syria with his missionary friends Prisca and Aquilla. He wasn’t around to counsel us, to tell us what we were doing wrong that would cause so much sadness and pain. 

I guess that's why we started listening to those traveling teachers from Jerusalem who stayed with us that one time. They too were followers of Jesus, but they told us that Paul’s teachings were incomplete. The only way we could be right with God was to give ourselves to the laws of Moses first. For some of us, that meant the next step was a painful surgery. Until then, we had to stop this custom of eating together until all were clean under the law. And forget about having women at the table, they should eat at a separate location in the kitchen, away from the men. 

Before you judge us, you have to understand that when Paul moved on, we all felt a little bit like a newborn colt standing on shifting sand. Wobbly.

It seemed like a good idea at the time, after all, Paul told us that Jesus himself was an observant Jew. We were desperate, and this was something tangible that we could do.

It makes sense why sounds so upset with us in this letter. He heard the news. We were trying to fix it, which meant that with our actions we were trying to regulate God’s grace. None of us, being Greek and Roman, knew how to follow all those laws. In learning and adopting them, our focus and energies were being exhausted. Why did we take something so simple, and make it so complicated? I don’t have an answer. Do you?

We were even more shocked in that section of his letter where Paul calls Peter out. Right in front of everyone! I’ve never met the man, but I’ve heard that Peter-Cephas-The Rock isn't someone you go up against. Paul did just that. Peter was acting like us, not honoring the good news of Jesus. Sure, it was OK for him to eat with us when he arrived in town, but as soon as James and the other leaders showed up, he was too good for us. Or we were too unclean for him. I guess if a man like Peter can make a mistake, we can too.

This much is clear to me now: we're not made right by things we do but by what God does in us. We can't be made right by even our own piousness or faithfulness or the hours we spend in prayer – even though those things can be lifegiving. God’s love is a gift – given freely. I may never understand how God could be full of that sort of Grace but I'll take it! Amen.

Conflict In Community

Conflict happens!

A sermon preached
at the Monroe Congregational Church
on May 14, 2017

Acts 15:1-21

Jesus never said it was easy to be a disciple. At least he left them tools to work with, friends and community to share the sacred work, rules intended to build up the community. It’s not that surprising that one of the very first conflicts in the early church was about who was in and who was out. The apostles, disciples and elders had to decide whether to stretch the body to include those who did not share their religious heritage, or draw a sharp distinction and create two levels of membership: Jewish Christian and Gentile Christian.

Scripture says this caused no small amount of tension, as more and more of those Gentile newcomers began showing up to worship and participate in community. The tension morphed to outright verbal conflict, with everyone picking their side of the debate. The conflict was important enough for Antioch to send a delegation to Jerusalem to try and settle it once and for all, which seems like a very expensive way to come to a decision. Eventually, as the story goes, the early church settled on grace, mercy and inclusion as shared values.

To be honest, I am conflicted about conflict. 

On the one hand, I know from experience that some measure of disagreement can be healthy. When conflict is managed from a place of love and respect it can become an impetus to change. As people come together, discuss their differences with warmth and empathy they might learn something important. Reconciliation has a sacred quality when it helps us to restore relationships. Friendships can heal. Marriages can be saved. Partnerships can be strengthened.

On the other hand, conflict also carries with it the possibility of becoming entrenched, abusive, long lasting and soul crushing. I was reminded this week of the infamous Hatfield and McCoy’s family feud. You may or may not know it began in 1870 as an argument about which of the two families owned a particular hog. What could have been managed as a tiff between neighbors became a decades-long family war, with many acts of violence committed on each side. PF learned this summer that to this day it is still being grumbled about by modern day descendants living on the Kentucky/Tennessee border!

Transforming conflict can sometimes feel darn near impossible. I want to believe that humanity can pull together to create a new, sacred world where there are no enemies. I want to believe that we can come to some agreement on the big issues that seem to fracture and divide us. But I’m not so sure anymore. The Cold War has been over for almost 30 years, but we’re still afraid of Russia. Democrats seem to be the sworn enemy of Republicans and vice versa.

Is there something in our humanity that requires us to have an enemy, a scapegoat to blame, or at the very least someone to disagree with? I wonder.

Jesus taught that humanity could expand beyond hatred and conflict into a state of justice, peace, and love.

But it’s not just Jesus who says this. Most world religions try to get us to step out of the hating our enemies and into loving them. This is not an easy task for those of us who haven’t yet reached the Buddha’s enlightened state, or felt something of Jesus’ personal connection to the Creator, or had flow through them Gandhi’s inward peace that led him to non-violent protest.

Their ideas about love were radical and stood in the face of political and economic powers that saw the need for enemies, scapegoats, and continued conflict. Seeing love as a power greater than the Empire eventually got Jesus, Gandhi, and Martin Luther King Jr., among so many others, killed.

This “love your enemies” thing that Jesus talks about so much is difficult. Remember the beatitudes? “Blessed are you who are reviled and persecuted for righteousness sake.” I think Jesus was speaking to any one of us trying to expand our love toward those with whom we are in conflict.

Love your enemies. That doesn’t mean work on changing them or even necessarily agreeing with them. Love means that you see their humanity at its core and understand that we all share something in common, even if it is not ideology. Love their humanity so that together you might collaborate on bringing God’s kin-dom to reality.

Collaboration can only happen after we see the simple similarities both sides can agree on. Of course, this means that both must be willing to even sit in the same room together. What do we share, what is it about you that is the same in me?

A conflict over resources means that we might need to stop talking about ownership and instead focus on our shared values. If we can’t agree on our values, then maybe we can agree on our identity as children of God or that we are both part of something greater than ourselves.

And if we can’t quite get there, we might go back to the basics and just take time to breathe. At that point, we are biological beings needing the same thing—air to fill our lungs and flow through our blood bringing fresh oxygen to the whole body.

Studies show that deep breathing lowers blood pressure, reduces the fight or flight instinct, and gets us into a more peaceful frame of mind. One of the pastoral counseling tricks I’ve used with struggling couples is to have them look into each other’s eyes for five minutes in complete silence. Their bodies will do something extraordinary, they will start to breathe in sync with each other. Afterwards, couples report feeling hopeful that whatever they were struggling with can be worked on as a team.
Next time you are locked in battle with your significant other, try it!

In fact, I’ll bet you can love someone – anyone - at that level.

In a deep and profound way, this can help us to see the other as human, not just as our adversary. Which can help us step out of the need to win the competition and be right.

At our core, we share biology, the need for oxygen and water and food and shelter.
At our core, we love our children (both our biological ones and the ones we encounter in this community).
At our core, then, maybe we can agree not to hurt each other, out of love for our children.
At our core, we might remember that you are beloved of God, just as I am, and God’s love is not a scarce limited commodity owned by one person or group of people; it is an abundant, impartial, ever-expanding, miraculous gift that is our responsibility to share.

It is all too human to want to call forth our enemies to try and challenge them, change them, win the argument or hurl out a good insult. But when we do, it’s a challenge to our faith.

We gather each week in this safe harbor, for an hour or so, to rest in the peace of God’s love. I don’t know about you, but I need a safe place where I can drop anchor, away from the fiery storms of Facebook and Twitter and the evening news, away from bickering partisanship, scapegoating and sworn enemies.

The good news is that all of that isn't the way that God wants things to be.  Once, we were fractured by resentment.  Once, we defined ourselves by fear.  Too often, we still do.  But we are God's people and we have been made to be so much more.  In Christ, we are already so much more. 

Our human tendency towards division is strong, but the roots of our God’s love is stronger.  Through the power of the gospel, we come together as one, as a people knit together by the experience of God's grace. Once we were strangers, but now we know that through God’s mercy, we can treat one another as sisters and brothers.

And because we have received mercy, it is incumbent on us to show mercy to others.  Like Peter, Paul, Barnabas and James insisted, we have been freed to love those people whom the world in all its divisiveness tells us every day we should hate.  That love doesn't make our differences and disagreements fall away, but it allows us to hear each other despite them. Simply put, we can refuse to be enemies.

Yes, that’s pretty counter-cultural. Even fantastical, and people tell me sometimes that it's maybe just a little naïve. And it certainly takes work.  Real work.

It would be so much easier to ignore the people with whom we have fundamental disagreements, to avoid them at all costs and cover our ears. It’s a challenge to honor the humanity of those who might not recognize the humanity in us. It's much harder to journey alongside people who have a different understanding of the world than we do.  But the God who called us out of depths and into the light empowers us to be a place and a people to take just this on.

Monroe Congregational Church, how are we, together, going to put LOVE to work? Amen.

You’ve Got to be Carefully Taught

Al Bustan neighborhood, Silwan, Jerusalem

Sermon preached at the
Monroe Congregational Church, UCC
On May 7, 2017

Acts 8:26-39
This is my first Sunday back with you after a sabbatical as a short-term missionary with the World Council of Churches in the Holy Land, and my head is still fresh with memories. I hope you’ll indulge me in sharing a moment that reminds me of the scripture story Gary just read for us.

One of our daily routines was to provide protective presence for Palestinian high school students attending the Al Bustan Municipal School in a village outside of Jerusalem known as Silwan. It sounds like something grand, but our work was really just to stand there with our vests on, greet the children and watch them walk up the hill to school.

That doesn’t seem hard, does it? Why travel halfway across the world to become a glorified babysitter? Why did our presence there matter?

Studies show that non-violent protective presence decreases the level of violence; people behave better when other people are watching.

And there had been a lot of acts of violence lately… teens throwing rocks at soldiers, soldiers throwing tear gas canisters and shooting rubber bullets in return. If you are a teenager who regularly walks past soldiers who you consider to be foreign occupiers you might be tempted to tell them to get the hell out. And on the flip side, if you are an inexperienced young Israeli soldier just a few years older than the students, you might retaliate in any number of violent ways.

So our non-violent, international presence was supposed to help everyone within this system of violence and retribution be a little less reactionary. That was the goal, at least.

So there we are in this village, we’re kind of new and the teens don’t know us yet. For all they know we could be Israeli settlers, come to take control of their land. We didn’t do a great job introducing ourselves, because none of us spoke much Arabic at the time. And that’s on us.

The morning started off pretty quiet, soldiers had not yet arrived. A group of teens began to gather about 20 feet away from us, whispering, laughing and looking sideways at each other. That’s when an older boy, probably about my son’s age, picked up a small stone and threw it in our direction. His friend picked up another and followed his example. The first thrower missed. The second one hit my right foot (not hard enough to hurt).

Right in that moment is when I heard the still, small voice within me say “go talk to them”.

“Hey!” I called out. “Saba Ilher” (which is Arabic for good morning)…

And I began walking up the hill towards the group of kids. When I reached them, told them what my name was “Isme, Jennifer”, that I was from America. I asked them who they were, and they responded with laughter and smiles at my faulty Arabic.

Most importantly, they put the stones down.

Now, I could have left the moment that boy aimed the stone at us, hopped on a municipal bus and returned in safety to our placement house. But listening to that inner voice, going to talk with them, was exactly what was needed to break the cycle of violence and fear.

Not forever, mind you, but at least in that moment.

In order to follow that inner voice, I had to put away my fear. Maybe that’s easier for me because I work with youth. For some reason, most middle-aged people like me usually get a little nervous around teens. Maybe that fear ramps up when the teens are Muslim and come from a rough neighborhood that has seen too much violence and poverty.

Fear fuels prejudice.

There are many kinds of prejudices that mess up the world. There is nationalist prejudice. Today there are children who will be carefully taught to hate Israelis, to hate the Palestinians, to hate the Arabs, to hate the Iraqis, to hate the Iranians, to hate the Russians, to hate the Japanese, to hate the North or South Koreans.

There is racial prejudice. People have been taught that blacks are inferior to whites, that First Nations people are lazy, that Mexicans are dirty, that Asians are taking our jobs. There are religious prejudices too.

From the time he was a little baby, Philip had been taught to be prejudiced against Gentiles like the Ethiopian Eunuch.

Just like the classic Roger’s & Hammerstein song from the musical South Pacific…

You've got to be taught to hate and fear,
You've got to be taught from year to year,
It's got to be drummed in your dear little ear
You've got to be carefully taught.

You've got to be taught to be afraid
Of people whose eyes are oddly made,
And people whose skin is a diff'rent shade,
You've got to be carefully taught.

You've got to be taught before it's too late,
Before you are six or seven or eight,
To hate all the people your relatives hate,
You've got to be carefully taught!

Philip was carefully taught by his parents, grandparents and great-grandparents. He was carefully taught by his friends and classmates. He was carefully taught by his rabbis who quoted selected scripture that made it seem as if his prejudice was God’s will.

But all those little tiny boxes that we keep trying to separate ourselves with, God continually tries to pull us from. Philip is led by God into relationships with people who don’t know Jesus Christ, and he winds up sharing his faith. I was led into friendship by God with a group of scared Muslim teens, and we wound up sharing laughter and joy.

In the Bible reading for today, we don’t discover yet that Philip had four daughters who become prophets. Imagine their family dinners… four preachers! My poor parents just have the one, that’s more than enough suffering for one family.

Philip had been carefully taught what the role and position of women was to be. Women were property, like farm animals that were to be obedient. He was taught that women should know their position in life and accept it, that they should not speak unless they were spoken to – except in church when they should be silent. But his daughters had been anointed to spread the gospel in public.

In the Book of Acts, we find stories about men and women whose hearts are filled listening to the indwelling Still-Speaking Spirit of God inside of them. Being filled with the Holy Spirit, Philip was sensitive to the Holy Spirit’s voice inside of him: “Get up and go Philip. Philip, go to Samaria. Philip, go to Gaza. Philip, go to the black man. Philip, go to the eunuch. Philip, go to your four daughters who are prophets.”

And he listened to that inner guiding voice, too. It wasn’t merely his conscience. It wasn’t an angel with flapping feathery wings; it wasn’t an auditory hallucination; a dream or a nightmare. It was the inner guiding voice of God, the Spirit of Jesus.

Like Philip, we too can listen to the inner guiding voice as God talks with us about our marriage, our kids, changing careers, or being on the swim team. Listen. What do you hear? Amen.

Lessons from the Early Church Part Three: Love is a Verb

Acts 2:42-47 For the past two weeks we have been considering together what life might have been like for the early church. The Raising of Lazarus reminded us of the resurrection hope of the community then and the new life we embrace together today. Stephen’s bravery last week suggested to us that we too can be bold in our living and our giving as a faith community.

In today’s final installment, we will hear a little bit about how the early church got along with one another, how they held all things in common and supported one another. How the strength of their love for one another helped them spread the gospel to a world that desperately needed to hear the Good News.

But first, I just need to ask you: Seriously? Are we to believe these early church folks were really like this? Especially that bit about the selling what they owned to give to those in need. Do you feel even a little bit skeptical that life for them was really that way?

On the western shores of the Sea of Galilee, at the foot of Mount Arbel facing the Golan Heights lies the kibbutz at Ginosar. Founded in 1937 by the Young Socialist Party, a kibbutz is an experiment in communal living. Once an active farm, the site has become a tourist location featuring a museum which houses the 2,000 year old “Jesus Boat”.

Here on the kibbutz, young Israelis and Jews from all over the world gather to live and work together in community. Presently there are about 106,000 people living on the 256 different Kibbutzim. Residents share everything they own, and hold all property in common with one another. No one earns a paycheck, but they do earn food, clothing and housing.

During my visit at Ginosar I had the opportunity to meet some of the young people who live and work there. They spoke to me with great optimism about the community and its many benefits, and the depth of friendship among its members.

They told me things like:
…“I always know that my sisters and brothers here have my back.”
…“It’s wonderful to live closely together, sharing these experiences with one another.”
… “Each new person arrives with their life stories. We stay up late learning from and listening to one another.”
… “Holding everything in common helps us to keep the peace, no one has any more or less than he or she needs.”

I have no idea if these statements the youth shared with me were really true or not. These outgoing young people might have been from the Kibbutz Welcoming Committee for all I know, trying to get me to sign up and live there with them.

It’s a tempting thought, but I am not so sure my family would be into the move.

Speaking with these earnest, happy young people reminded me of my youth and the time I spent living in community at Silver Lake Conference Center. A part of me longs for those teenage years when I had such a close group of friends and the world was bright and beautiful every day.

Sometimes when we remembering times gone by we forget all of the bad stuff we’d muddled through. When I think about those years living at camp with so many others,
… it’s easy to forget that I shared a bathroom with nine young women for the summer,
… or that we argued about whose turn it was to use the washer/dryer,
… or which one of us borrowed another’s sweatshirt

It’s far easier for me to remember that we shared a common space, that when one of us received a care package we shared it equally, that when one of us cried we dropped everything to comfort that person, and that we covered for one another when we were exhausted. When I think back to the memories of my summers living at camp, I remember best the moments when we were a blessed community.

I wonder if being young has something to do it. Is it harder for adults to pull off living in community well? I mean, we’ve got – well – stuff! Most of us bring years of emotional baggage which we either suppress or use to keep others away. We’re established in life! Adults are concerned with who is in charge, and who has the authority in the system.

Both of these communities I describe: the kibbutz and Silver Lake are filled with mostly idealistic young people who are ready to change the world. But young people in any community, when they can be real with one another, share their sorrow as well as their joy. Just because you’re young doesn’t mean that you haven’t felt pain, rejection and grief.

Christians, and Congregationalists in particular, have always had a bit of an idealistic streak. We want peace in our church community, without any tension or arguments. We try and balance our ministries so that everyone has a share of resources according to their needs. We serve in places like Monroe, Bridgeport, Sharon, South Dakota and Cleveland so that all God’s children might have food, shelter, education and friendship. And we go on living our regular lives here in this regular town striving for a higher love.

What is clear is that at the heart of this church community is relationship. How we treat one another as brothers and sisters is the way we live out the commandment to “love one another as we love ourselves”. Those words we say each week from our covenant: “in Christian Love, we will care for and support each other” mean something real.

At coffee hour last week, I wandered over to say hello to some of our church school children. They were eating a quick lunch between church and Junior Choir rehearsal. I approached one of them and remarked about what a yummy lunch she had. And so, this child offered me half of her sandwich. What a loving heart that child has (for the record, I settled for a carrot stick)! For me, in that moment, the love of God here in this place was tangible.

Love is really what life in community is all about. Today’s text is a snapshot we who are shaped by the Christian tradition are meant to be. Our ancestors in faith took their meals in common, because there is nothing more satisfying than breaking the bread of life with those you love. They shared their possessions and resources, so that no one would be left out. All were welcome at the table. There was always room for one more. This, dear friends, is the realm of God!

I hope that this short sermon series has been helpful to you in considering our lives together. It isn’t easy living in community, but that’s what we are called by Christ to do. May we here at the Monroe Congregational Church learn to:
… Live as a community of resurrection people, with hope and possibility;
… Speak with courage as disciples;
… Remember that God’s love is the center of all that we do and all that we are.  Amen.

Lessons from the Early Church Part Two: Costly Faith

Faith costs something. Depending upon your perspective, that is either so obvious that it is trite, or a powerful reminder that discipleship is not without a price. Last Sunday we addressed the resurrection of Lazarus as a defining event in the Christian faith, a story that gave those early communities great hope and our community a sense of the possibilities of a faith life together today. In this the second week of our sermon series we turn to a story about the first Christian Martyr, Stephen.

Many of us enjoy being first in line, first in a race, or first to be promoted, but few of us wish to place first in martyrdom. It is too high a price to pay for faith. Acts tells the story in the style of great legends, and in the words of his speech it is clear that Stephen must have been considered a person of bold faith. After all, his ability to speak with unwavering conviction led to the confrontation that ended in his death.

The account we have in Acts has all of the elements of a Hollywood classic where a hero-figure is the object of injustice and evil. I mean, honestly – who would you cast as Stephen? Surely one of the best lines in this story is when he calls those who have gathered to judge him “stiff-necked people”! I need to remember that line when I become frustrated. And how interesting is it to know that Saul is waiting in the wings about to have an amazing transformation of his own?

Stephen, we know, ultimately pays the price for his strong convictions. Depending on where you live, religious persecution is still very real today. This past week, the Jerusalem Post published an article about the thousands of Palestinian Christians denied access to the holiest of Orthodox Easter sites by the Israeli authority.   In Nigeria, a suicide bomber killed 36 people and injured 13 others in Kaduna on Good Friday this year, after church security workers turned him away from the church they were guarding.  Perhaps even today Bibles are being smuggled into regions of Columbia where many outspoken Christians have been imprisoned for their beliefs by the FARC, a Marxist paramilitary group.

Granted, these situations I mention have a multitude of other social, economic and political issues to deal with. And I’ll also agree that there have been plenty of times in our history and when Christians have committed atrocities and persecuted others. Sometimes we Christians even persecute one another because we may have deeply held convictions or interpretations that conflict with one another.

What I do want to suggest to you is that no matter where we live or who we are, eventually our faith will cost us something.

When the 1992 Los Angeles riots broke out, 15 year old Karla was on the bus heading home from school. She could smell the smoke and see the fires. When she looked out the window she would see looters running down the streets, their arms full of things they took from vandalized stores. In fear and terror she was let off the bus to run home from safety that day. It was about a week later that Karla worked up the bravery to leave her family’s small apartment.

Her neighborhood was like an abandoned warzone, everywhere she looked were piles of burnt rubble, twisted metal, and smashed concrete. The streets around her looked nothing like southern California, but more like her native El Salvador which her family had fled when she was a child. The city and its people seemed lost, unable to begin putting the pieces back together. Everyone was afraid.

Karla’s high school biology teacher, Tammy, was deeply upset about what was happening to her students and how they had suffered during the riots and their aftermath. She wanted to empower Karla and the others and help them regain their sense of community with one another. Before the riots, you see, students easily crossed racial, ethnic and religious boundaries. But now, that kind of coexistence was shattered. Tammy wanted her students to know that they could live peacefully together again.

So this teacher had an idea. Behind their classroom was a cluttered, weed-filled vacant lot. Tammy invited her students to farm this quarter acre plot of land and plant a community garden. The students pulled the weeds one by one, creating a place for new life to grow. They planted herbs and tomatoes. Next came cabbage, lettuce and carrots. Soon the vacant lot was transformed from wasteland to wonderland.

The students were thrilled to donate 25% of their first harvest to their local homeless shelter. They sold the rest to farmer’s markets. Eventually, the profits from this adventure in urban gardening became a scholarship fund which sent many of those inner city kids on to college and successful careers.

In November of 1994, Prince Charles accepted an invitation to come and visit the program they now called “Food from the Hood”. And guess who gave him the walking tour? Karla. The young woman afraid of leaving her house after the Los Angeles riots was now the one that was chosen to lead the way. Karla’s faith in her community, after experiencing such devastation and fear, led her to a life of commitment, service, humility, and sacrifice.

When we respond to any great love there will be calls for our time and energy, as well as our money and resources. Just as any significant relationship can stretch us and challenge us to grow as a person, so our relationships here in this faith community stretch us as Disciples of Christ. One of the opportunities for that to happen here is when we gather in worship.

Some of you come to worship to be comforted, something in your life is causing you sadness or pain. Others want our time together to challenge their assumptions and beliefs; they want to be inspired, to have something to think about going out into the week ahead. Some of you want to know that your contribution to this community matters, and others are waiting to hear an invitation to serve. To follow through on such connections requires us to be bold.

There are other ways in which we are bold together. When I think of the cost of faith here in this community, I am reminded of our commitment to OCWM – Our Church’s Wider Mission. Every year around budget time we ask ourselves why we are being so generous. It costs so much to be in relationship with the wider church. Why do we do it?

We give to OCWM so that churches like ours have help in times of transition and conflict. MCC needs help to find our next Associate Pastor. Our regional minister, who spends countless hours helping us sort through resumes, is paid through OCWM. We give so that new churches can be planted, so that God’s love may be shared in a dry and weary land. We give so that missionaries in conflicted places like the ones I spoke about earlier can help existing Christian communities live and worship without fear. We give so that young lives may be changed at Silver Lake Conference Center. All of these bold witnesses for our wider church are supported through the generosity of churches like ours with OCWM financial support, and yes, it has taken a lot of courage in lean years to make such a costly gift.

In this congregation, we hold in front of us both a personal and communal discipleship that is rooted in love and grows through faith. This sense of discipleship compels us to move out of the shallow waters of daily living and into the depths of true life. This much we have in common with Stephen: Our lives are not always made easier by being a disciple; but they are made more fulfilling when we are together, moving into the deep waters of faith.

Lessons from the Early Church Part One: Unbound

Today I will be preaching the first of three installments of a short sermon series called “Lessons from the Early Church”. I hope to lead you through three different stories from this era. The themes of death and resurrection, the cost of faith, and the necessity of love are among the most important messages that Jesus shared with those who had ears to hear. Together we will look at how some of the themes they wrestled with back then and relate them to our covenantal life together today.

The period of time that I am calling ‘early church’ is from the sacking of Jerusalem in 70 A.D. until Christianity became the official religion of the Roman Empire in 313 A.D. The apostles and other followers of Jesus had scattered following the first Jewish Revolt. Many of them became martyrs and died for their faith, others founded religious communities in far-flung places like Antioch, Alexandria and Rome. At first, these communities followed the Jewish Law and the Prophets of the Hebrew Bible and some of the Psalms. There were no formal creeds or confessions. They began to use simple affirmations of faith, such as "Jesus is Lord". Worship was unstructured, held in secret locations throughout the Mediterranean, and existed in a variety of forms.

This early community anticipated the imminent return of Jesus Christ, and yet the first generation of believers had begun to die. So they decided to write down all the stories that were being told in their communities, those that had been passed down by their apostolic founders. The Gospel of John which we read from today came together around 90 AD. Sometimes I think we forget how radical a story the Raising of Lazarus might have been to those who heard it first. Given the very real problem of living in a violent time of religious persecution, I imagine that hearing these words brought comfort to those who feared for their lives. I also think that telling a resurrection story about one of Jesus’ closest followers gave them a lot of hope. I think it opened the door of possibility for them, it unbound them from the expectations of death and turned them towards life.

When I think of what it means to be unbound from limitations I am reminded of my son Zack. Before I go any further, it’s really important to me that you know I have his permission to talk about him today. If he had told me even ten minutes ago that he changed his mind, I promise you that I would stop. Many of you know Zack as a sensitive, tall, twelve year old boy. What you may not know about him is that when he was a small child we began to suspect something was different about him. Most babies begin babbling at about a year, but Zack didn’t really speak until he was three. He had sensitivity to light, sound and touch, so much in fact that when we would go see a movie I knew to cover his ears during the sound test because he would panic. When he did finally speak, he could tell you with amazing clarity everything there is to know about dinosaurs, bugs and spiders whether you wanted to know about them or not. But when he spoke he couldn’t look you in the eye. We began taking him from one specialist to another when he was five. They ran a battery of tests to try and understand what it was that was causing some of his social skills to be delayed. His behavior seemed to slip further and further behind his peers.

Finally, in Kindergarten, we were given a diagnosis. Zack lives with a very mild form of autism called “Aspberger’s Syndrome”. Some of the characteristics of ‘Aspies’ include: delayed speech, trouble with reading facial cues and emotions, obsessive behavior and clumsiness. Our next job as his family was to learn everything we could about how our son related to the world. We found out that autism is a spectrum that presents itself differently in each individual. Although he would have to work hard to learn things that many of us take for granted, there was hope. We advocated for special education at his school and enrolled him in social activities that he could handle. We taught him very specifically how to communicate with another person. We even quizzed him on things like sarcasm and metaphor – which to his logical mind is still a little bit like learning a foreign language. Possibly the very best thing we did for his development was to enroll him in a martial arts program. I remember in 2008 when he took his first Tung Su Do class he was unable to do a jumping jack. He struggled that first year, but kept up with it. Zack practiced at home and attended 2 or 3 classes a week. He studied his Korean terminology and forms. He even demonstrated his progress at last year’s MCC coffeehouse!  In a few short weeks he will test for his black belt. When I think about how far Zack has come, and how hard he has worked, I am overcome with gratitude for all of the people who have helped us. We know that he will always have to work a little harder in social situations, but there are also gifts to be found in someone living with Aspberger’s. Delayed speech can become thoughtful response. Obsessive behavior can become a thirst for knowledge. Being taught to interpret emotions can lead to a deep sense of empathy. I can’t wait to see what is possible in his life as he continues to grow.

I think that when the early church told the story about Lazarus being raised from the dead by Jesus they were speaking about new life and possibility – same kind of possibility I see in my son. Jesus says to the crowd surrounding Lazarus at the edge of the tomb: “Unbind him and let him go”. Just when his family thought there was no hope, Jesus is there. Just when the disciples felt their faith had been in vain, they discover that hope never dies when God is involved. Lazarus becomes for them, and for us, a symbol of new beginnings, of hope and possibility, not just for an individual but for the entire community.

We know that many churches like ours are facing overwhelming difficulties. Shrinking mission budgets, apathy, overwhelmed lay leaders, interpersonal conflict, power struggles and a desire to “keep things the way they have always been” are just some of the struggles we face. We say that we are “resurrection people” one moment, but that “our hands are tied” the next. I want to suggest to you today that our life together need not be this way. We belong to God; we belong to one another. In his book, Reaching Out, Henri Nouwen tells of a reunion with a former student, an experience that revealed to him the meaning of community: “It is the Christ in you, who recognizes the Christ in me… From now on, wherever you go, or wherever I go, all the ground between us will be holy ground.”

Let us be a community that walks on holy ground, practicing the radical hospitality Jesus modeled. Starting with our most personal relationships and moving through expanding circles – of friends, relations, church family, co-workers, and others with whom we come in contact. And then, let’s widen our circle, reaching out to unknown neighbors. As a center of hope and transformation, of possibility… let us be a church that shepherds people onto holy ground. There is life and hope. There is joy and love. There is compassion, and generosity, goodwill, energy, and passion. All these things are gathered here, in this community of faith. And there are people outside our walls that need to know that MCC has these things to offer. They need to hear that in this place we have been unbound, set free, able to lead a new life of bold possibility.

What Do You Expect to Find?

It occurred to me as I was reflecting upon these Easter texts that it was only about a month ago that I was in Jerusalem, visiting the locations where pilgrims believe Christ’s resurrection to have happened. I say ‘locations’ because Christianity has never been an exact science. In the Holy Land there often are at least two places that an event described in scripture might have taken place. In the beginning of my time there, this really bothered me. I wanted some kind of historical or archeological proof to be sure that the place that I was visiting was really the place it claimed to be.

Annointing Stone

The first location that claims to be the place where Jesus was crucified, died, was buried and then resurrected is the Church of the Resurrection in the heart of Old Jerusalem. This is the traditional site that the Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox Churches believe to be the true location.
Just inside the main entrance of the church is a large, smooth stone. This stone is reported to be the remains of the stone table where Joseph of Arimathea would have prepared Jesus’ body for burial. Any given moment of the week modern day pilgrims bring their burial shrouds and rub them on the stone and pray.

To the right and up a narrow flight of stairs is Calvary. Lines of the faithful file past to see the place that held Jesus’ cross. They speak many languages, many carry rosaries and medals and other religious items. Ancient icons, glimmering with gold leaf, stare down from the walls. Frankincense burns and fills your nose and mouth with its sweet pungent scent. Here in Calvary I was able to kneel down and place my hand in the spot where it is thought that the cross stood. In the center of the Church is the Sepulcher, believed to be the tomb of Jesus. I tried to gain entrance to the sepulcher a number of times, but the throngs of pilgrims pushed me back. In fact, the noise of the crowds and the busyness of the place was almost too much for me, and both times I visited the church I had to find a quiet hallway in which to gather my thoughts. I had expected to find peace there in the church, but instead found myself enthralled by the great expanse of humanity I encountered. If I was looking for Christ in the faces of other pilgrims, this was the place to be.

Golgotha at Garden Tomb

The Garden Tomb is the second location that claims to be the execution, preparation, burial and resurrection site for Jesus Christ. It is located about a block outside the old city gates. It was discovered by an archeological dig in the 19^th century. A cliff face was found here that, if you squint and turn your head, looks like a skull. There is what appears to be a first century tomb, and a garden with an ancient wine press. It’s the very image of what you’d expect it to look like if you’ve ever seen a picture in a Children’s Bible. And it has a great gift shop.

My time at the Garden Tomb was spent mostly sitting at on a stone bench, listening to the birds, feeling the sunlight warm my face. What I had hoped to find, when I visited both of these places, was something that would deepen my faith. I wanted to feel the presence of Christ. Witnessing the devotion of the pilgrims at the busy Church of the Resurrection and sitting quietly outside the Garden Tomb both brought me deeper into the mystery of what this Easter story is all about.

It’s a harder story to tell than the Christmas story. Instead of a bunch of shepherds joyfully racing across the fields to see a newborn child, here at Easter we have only a small group of women who timidly head off early in the morning to care for a dead body in a cold, damp tomb. Instead of a sky full of singing angels, here at Easter we have only one angel, at least we guess he’s an angel since he’s wearing a white robe. When those women went to the tomb early that Sunday morning, they were going there to finish the burial procedure which had been put on hold because of the sabbath. They went, expecting to find a dead man. But what they found was a little bit of cloth and a whole lot of hope. Just like those first women, we come with little or no expectations. We come to honor a man who lived up to his teaching, to honor someone who died a horrible death on a cross. But as we huddle around the grave, that lone angel comes to us and says: “He is not here. He is risen.”

Today, the living resurrected Christ stands before us. He knows us and He knows our fears. We’re afraid of economic hardship, we’re afraid of debt, we’re afraid of diminishing resources, and environmental destruction. We’re afraid of racial tensions and the increasing gap between the rich and the poor. We’re afraid of the hurt between men and women, between people of different nations, and we’re afraid of endless war. We fear for ourselves and those we love. Like those first disciples, we’re afraid of the power of the systems of the world with their armies, their courts, their prisons, and their threats. Like them, we fear our own powerlessness, weakness, and sense of inadequacy. We’re insecure, frightened by our feelings, and wary of trusting each another. We feel both the guilt of our sin and the vulnerability of our broken places. Above all, we fear pain, suffering, and death. Like those first disciples we too are hiding behind locked doors, afraid to come out. Jesus lived and died to liberate us from our sins, our doubts, our fears, and the addictions we use to medicate and numb ourselves. And now, Jesus calls us to boldly pick up our crosses and follow Him! But He wants us to do so knowing that no matter what, God will make things right in the end!

So, what about us? What about you and me today? Does Jesus’ way of love make much sense in this modern, competitive, might-makes-right world? Do we think this kind of “suffering servanthood” can make a difference or transform our world? I believe that every time we act and follow his teachings, every time we operate from a place of love, every time we put our faith into action, we’re demonstrating Jesus’ resurrection. Every time we love our enemies; stand with the poor; forgive those who’ve wronged us, or resist the violence of the nations by acting for peace, we’re demonstrating the realm of God. The hope of the resurrection is that this world is not just where Jesus died - this world is where Jesus lives! And because Jesus lives, because God has broken the power of sin and death, we have been set free to live as well. Sometimes that is hard to believe. Some days it is hard to see with eyes of faith. That is why we need one another, so that in those times when our sight is blinded by tears, we can hold on to another's faith. This is a day to celebrate, for we find that we have been set free! Even though the tears may stream down our cheeks at the atrocities of this world, we can get up and follow our leader, running through the cemeteries and the streets, the Pentagon and the Capitol, the hospitals and clinics, the board room and the back alleys, thumbing our noses at death. For Christ is risen - Risen Indeed!

I Thirst

When one is hanging on a cross, not only the body, but time stretches out too.

A cross is not a quiet death, over in an instant in one glorious moment of martyrdom like being torn apart by lions, or meeting the swift sword of a soldier.

A cross is as much an instrument of torture as it is a gallows from which to hang.

It is there to make a statement, to warn others, to set fear in their hearts.

And as the day wears on, seconds stretch into minutes, which stretch into hours 
until there comes a point when time can no longer be measured

except in the circling birds of prey, and the gradual weakening of the body,

and its ever more insistent demands for that substance which is so vital to life,

so foundational to all living things, so basic to existence as we know it: -- water.

Water to moisten a parched mouth,

Water to free a swollen tongue,

Water to open a sore and rasping throat that cannot gasp enough air,

Water to keep hope alive, to stay with them just a few precious moments longer.

Water, to a crucified man, is life.

Jesus was cradled in the waters of Mary’s womb,

Baptized in the waters of the River Jordan by his cousin John,

Became living water to a woman at the Samaritan Well,

Washed the feet of the disciples on that last night he was together with them,  

And now, in this moment, when he craves it the most,

All this man is given is sour vinegar.

"O God, thou art my God, I seek thee, my soul thirsts for thee; my flesh faints for thee as in a dry and weary land where no water is."

Who can tell if these words from Psalm 63 went through Jesus’ mind?

A thirst for water is a thirst for life,

and a thirst for life is a thirst for God,

A God who promises streams in the desert, mighty rivers in the driest of lands,

and living water to wash away every tear.

Here, at the end of it all, those promises from God seem so far, far away… distant. And yet Jesus, broken in body, still clings to the memory and the hope of life.

"I thirst."

Have You Seen Him?

The earliest memory I have of him was his birth. His cry was clear and loud, even though his body was so small. As a child, he would make fortresses out of blankets and branches and involve all of the neighborhood boys in games of war. So normal, so much like the others. How was I to know?

As a youth, he seemed to grow overnight – both his limbs and his mind. When my son was 13, we lost our ancestral homeland. Soldiers came one night in the dead darkness and took it, just took it! The army had taken notice of our olive grove, and needed it (they said). Suddenly, his passion for playing war became all too real. He knew there would be no inheritance – it had been taken from him, from us. 

At 14, he met a group of young men who were as frustrated as he was. Zealots, they called themselves. Riff-raff was what I called them. These men would gather at night and plan violent acts of insurrection. They used our religion to stoke the fires of rebellion in the hearts of other young men. Dangerous stuff.  Their weapon of choice?  Rocks. My boy and his friends would sneak up behind the Roman garrisons and throw stones at them. What were they trying to prove?

I remember in those years he would come home in the morning, a few fresh bruises on his face, and I would dress his wounds.  I know he had his reasons, we all do, but why did he have to get involved in something so dangerous?

Something changed in him when he was 22. He met a healer and teacher, from Nazareth (of all places), who had been travelling throughout Judea with a small band of loyal followers. My son heard him speak and decided to leave the Zealots, he told me it was because they were “thinking too small”. This new teacher, this Jesus, was preaching about the realm of God that was to come.

There was so much about this man that kept my son spellbound. Every time they encountered the hungry, Jesus would compel the crowd to care for them. When the sick and diseased came to him, Jesus didn’t run away like one of our priests, but he prayed over them – and somehow people got better! He was always telling stories; they made you think about what it means to be a child of God.

So my son became one of them. He put down the rocks and picked up a pair of sandals. Not much to go with, but Jesus told him that somehow the Lord would provide for them. Eventually he was given the huge responsibility of taking care of the group’s modest travelling purse. As a young man without an inheritance, this trust placed in him was extraordinary. And that wasn’t all – because Jesus taught them so much about what it means to forgive someone, to minister to them – his father and I thought this would become his life’s work. We have been so proud of Judas lately.

Were he and the others always successful? No, I heard plenty of stories about them getting kicked out of villages. I know that part was frustrating. But for a mother to see her son grow from a hooligan to what he was becoming was a gift.

Which is why, on this night, my heart is breaking. The stories that keep flooding in tonight, betrayal… deception… treachery! I don’t know what I could have done differently, or where his father and I went wrong. We didn’t raise my son to be a thief and a liar and a sell out!

Are you judging me?

Something had to change his heart, what it was I may never know. Maybe it’s true that Jesus is taking longer than he though to usher in the realm of God.  My biggest fear tonight is that Judas has done something horrible. 

If it is true, if he has betrayed Jesus, something had to have snapped.  There must have been a reason. He loved him! I know he did! He would talk about him all the time. He must not have done what they are saying, it’s all lies. My stomach is churning, and I don’t know where to find my son. Have you seen him?

Jesus & Geography

One of the most thoughtful gifts I ever received was given to me by my father: a GPS. This little electronic miracle on my car’s dashboard not only gives me to most efficient way to find someone’s house or a meeting location, but it also shows me the approximate time I’ll arrive at my destination. It gives me great peace of mind to have that kind of control. As a new minister, my dad knew that I’d have to find my way around town and he knew what he was doing when he gave it to me (thanks Dad!).

I’ve come to realize that without the GPS I’ve got a little problem with my sense of direction. If I have to guess where I am going, I am often one hundred and eighty degrees off. If I choose to go right, I should have gone left.

Before leaving for Jerusalem I studied a number of maps just in case I became separated from the group and unable to find my way back to the dorms. My GPS doesn’t work in a foreign country. I hoped that studying my surroundings carefully would make a difference, because I didn’t want to get caught looking like a tourist with my nose in a map. Sometimes, the geography around me can be misleading, and I’ve learned that just because a road looks like it should go somewhere, doesn’t necessarily make it so.

I wonder if that happened with Jesus too. Today is Palm Sunday, a day that we remember Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem. In our minds eye we picture crowds shouting “Hosanna” (go ahead, wave your palms!) as Jesus and his followers wind their way down then up the cobble street road to enter the city from the Eastern side through the Golden Gate from the village of Bethany.

Most people who watched them go by wouldn’t have guessed that in a week he would be dying on a cross. Maybe the ones who followed him closely had an idea, whether they could bring themselves to admit it or not. But everyone else? They didn’t know where Jesus’ road was leading. Their hope was that it was leading to a marvelous kingship, that this Jesus of Nazareth would overturn the rule of Rome and usher in the realm of God.

Geography matters because it determines the road you are on.

Over on the western side of Jerusalem another parade is entering through the Damascus Gate. This assembly is altogether different; it’s a Roman garrison, ordered there by Tiberius Caesar to back up Pontius Pilate during the season of Passover. Drums beat out a marching rhythm, horses prance in formation, thousands of soldiers on foot and mount display power and might and strike fear in the hearts of those assembled. The crowd is ordered to bow down in reverence and obedience, some willingly, others under duress.

There were two different parades, on two different roads, for two very different reasons, headed in two different directions. The Roman army was there to “keep the peace” and order of the domination system, which was always tricky during time of religious pilgrimage when the city would expand with visitors. In a society dominated by political oppression, economic exploitation and religious justification this public showing of brute power and force kept chaos at bay, at least for a time.

But the other parade, the one with the Nazarene teacher riding a small donkey, the one with the crowd of peasants shouting “Hosanna! Save us!” - that parade was there to redefine what peace could be for God’s people. The road Jesus’ was on quite literally had a fork in it. Had he taken the turn to the north, he would have been in the path of the military parade on their way to the Antonia Fortress. Instead, he turned southwest and towards the temple, indicating that the work that was to be done began in the place where they worshipped and learned about God.

Jesus, of course, knew where the road was headed – according to Mark’s gospel he warned his followers three times that there would be trouble ahead, that they would not be well-received. But they kept on going, despite the fear and trembling, even though they could hear the war drums sound a few blocks away. What would you have done?

I know how I would have responded, because in addition to being somewhat directionally impaired, I have a great fear of being lost. The road that Jesus was on would have looked like "lost" to me. I wouldn’t have been able to turn that donkey around fast enough!

Yet, we don’t get any hint that Jesus wants to head his donkey in a different direction. Mark Twain said, "The two most important days in a person’s life are the day he is born and the day he finds out why." Jesus knew why he was born: to confront the domination system and show these people who followed him and kept messing up over and over that life, not death, is the final word.

What looks like "lost" to us looks like a purpose for being to Jesus. Perhaps you remember Robert Frost’s famous poem "The Road Not Taken," which paints a picture for us about two paths in a wooded area. We get the impression that Frost stands at a fork in the path for a while and calculates which one he should take. One seems to be well traveled; one is still grassy because it has not yet been trampled down. Perhaps one is safe, but the other is beautiful and wild. Maybe he knows exactly where one of the paths comes out, but the other could take him in a direction that is new and exciting and beyond his control. It’s a difficult choice indeed. In the poem, Frost chooses between safety and beauty, between known and unknown. Frost ends his poem this way: “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.”

Jesus makes an undeniably harder choice: between life and death, between security and purpose. Maybe what we are celebrating today is simply the notion that Jesus chose the path that few others did, the path paved with mercy, love and compassion. The small, insignificant gathering of pilgrims and peasants who followed him believed it just might be possible to change the world for the better, to usher in the realm of God. And that was why they were on the road with him.

The question that Jesus asks us today is “what road are you on?” Is it the road that leads to restoration and wholeness, to a society shaped by grace?