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Why we must pray — Yesterday’s sermon

Filed under: Pastor Jeff's Sermons — Pastor Jeff at 12:59 pm on Monday, April 30, 2007

A sermon from April 29, 2007 based on Revelations 7:7 – 19 and Psalm 23, entitled, “Why We Must Pray”

One of the truly great souls of the past century belongs to Bishop Desmond Tutu, the Anglican priest who had such a strong hand in helping to overturn apartheid in his country of South Africa, and doing so with a constant commitment to non-violence. Long before apartheid was cracking in South Africa, whenever bishop Tutu would speak to the defenders of apartheid and the status quo, there was a constant, ringing theme of triumph in his words. His message was this:

“We must assert, and assert confidently, that God is in charge. You are not

God, you are mortals. It is God whom we worship and God cannot be

mocked. You have already lost. Come and join the winning side.”

We have already won. How could this be so?

Bishop Tutu was speaking out of his Christian faith, and central to this faith is the conviction that in the resurrection of Jesus victory has been won over the powers of death and evil. The victory is already accomplished in heaven, and it is only a matter of time before it will be worked out here on earth.

Our reading from the Book of Revelation speaks provides an image of this victory. The author writes from confinement on the island of Patmos during a time of intense persecution, when, Christians are being martyred for their refusal to worship Ceasar, a dangerous time indeed, full of violence and chaos and grief. He describes a great vision, something akin to an out-of-body experience he had, in which he was given a glimpse into heaven. And what he sees there is directly in contrast with what he sees here on earth: There is food and water a plenty for everyone, shelter from the scorching heat, and all the tears have been wiped away. And there is peace and harmony, with all races and cultures, united around a common center, the lamb upon the throne. The lamb is Jesus, the man of peace who has given his life upon the cross.

And so on Sunday mornings when we say here at the Parsippany UMC, “There’s always room in the circle,” it is important to keep in mind that we are not simply expressing a nice idea, as in, wouldn’t it be wonderful if there was room in the circle for everyone; rather, we are declaring ultimate truth. Though often there isn’t room in the circle in this world, though often the human family is torn apart by violence, suspicion, bitterness, greed, etc., this world is passing away, but there is a world that already exists that is eternal, and in this world there is room in the circle for everyone.

And so Bishop Tutu could say to the entrenched powers,

“You have already lost; come over to the winning side.”

Now all of this could be interpreted as giving us permission to turn our backs on this world, to focus on, as Karl Marx said, “the pie in the sky”, and let the injustice of this world stand unchallenged. But that is clearly not what Jesus would have us be about. And so the challenge now is to bring into being on earth that which already exists in heaven. Jesus would have us pray each day, “Thy will be done, on earth, as it is in heaven.” We are here to help bring God’s about here on earth.

I want to talk again about what it means to be a peacemaker in this world, because there isn’t anything more important in this world than to bring God’s peace into our world. Being a peacemaker isn’t easy, and to large extent this is because it is so eventually the world with all its violence and fear and anger and bitterness and greed takes over our hearts. And when this happens, even if we can manage to do some good deeds in this world, the fear and violence and bitterness and greed that is inside us undermines the good we would do.

A small example. As a father, it is a good thing for me to help my son with his homework, assist him in his learning. On the surface, this is a loving act, right? But if inwardly I am resentful and bitter about having to give this help, my kid is going to sense it on some level of his being, and the good deed will be undermined.

And on the other side, sometimes you don’t have to be doing anything at all, objectively speaking, in terms of “good deeds”, but if you have the bearing of God’s peace within you, your very presence will be a blessing to the people you are with.

So if we are going to be a peacemaker in this world; if we are going to do some good in this world that is so often marked by chaos and bitterness and violence, well, it is essential that we have God’s peace inside of ourselves — that we be living out of that victory already won in heaven. In John’s Gospel, on Easter evening, the disciples are described as huddled in fear behind locked doors. They have heard of Jesus’ resurrection from Mary Magdalene, but they haven’t experienced it for themselves; it hasn’t touched them on the inside. Suddenly Jesus stands in their midst and literally gives them his peace. “Peace be with you,” he says. Then he breathes on them: “Receive the holy spirit.” The resurrection becomes a reality on the inside. Now they are ready to leave the locked doors and go out into this world to do some good.

“So, preacher, tell me how to get the peace of God in my heart, right now?”

We live in the culture of “give to me right now.” Generally speaking, it doesn’t work that way. Living in God’s peace involves a commitment to a lifestyle, and it is not one that the world will give us much encouragement to undertake.

The Gospel writers make it clear that although Jesus was deeply engaged the world, he set aside a great deal of time to be alone to pray, to get away from the brokenness of this world, and simply be in the presence of “Abba”, Daddy. So have all the great saints who followed in his way.

These days we are pleased with ourselves if we manage to set apart 15 minutes for prayer. And we wonder why the world comes to possess our hearts with its anxiety and bitterness. The world we live in has gotten more sophisticated and insidious in its capacity to get inside us with endless hurry and an advertisement bombardments for the values of this world.

When apartheid did finally became unlawful in South Africa after centuries of violence and oppression, Bishop Tutu and others realized that if the nation were truly to be healed, there would need to be a way to truly hear the truth of the evil that had been perpetrated — name and confess it — and then, to the extent possible, forgive and move on — a painful and difficult process, the sort that we tend to avoid, thereby allowing the stuff to live on inside our hearts. For two years Bishop Tutu presided over what was called “The Truth and Reconciliation Commission,” where every day they would hear the torture and slaughter that had been committed by the victims of the atrocities.

(The following comes from Prayer, by Philip Yancey, pp. 123 – 124)

“The horror stories knew no end. He heard gruesome accounts of beatings, and electric shock torture, and the abuse of pregnant women, and ‘enlacing’ with burning tires. Day after day for nearly two years he listened to stories of deeds from hell acted out in his own country. In the midst of that time a reporter asked him, “Why do you pray?”

Bishop Tutu answered: “If your day starts off wrong, it stays skewed. What I’ve found is that getting up a little earlier and trying to have an hour of quiet in the presence of God, mulling over some Scripture, supports me. I try to have two , three hours of quiet per day and even when I exercise, when I go on the treadmill for thirty minutes, I use that time for intercession. I try to have a map in my mind of the world and I go around the world, continent by continent — only Africa I try to do in a little more detail– and after all of that to God.”

Then he would he would put on his judicial robes and take his seat before a commission that tried to bring truth and reconciliation to a morally strained land. The musician Bono once asked Tutu how he managed to find time for prayer and mediation. Tutu replied, “What are you talking about? Do you think we’d be able to do this stuff if we didn’t?”

I’ve been praying the 23rd psalm for years, but this past week as I read it over I realized more fully the context in which it is written. When we think of the psalm, we think what peaceful, reassuring words we have here. And that it is true. But it is easy to overlook the fact that the words are written in the context of extreme danger and difficulty. The clues to the situation the psalmist is dealing with are hidden in the middle of the psalm: “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death”, or, as another translation puts it, “the deepest darkness.” We’re talking about the very worst times in life. The psalm also refers to the presence of enemies: there are these people out there who want to destroy the one speaking these words.

Now realizing the context, I hear the first words of the psalm differently.

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures.

He leadeth me beside the still waters.

He restores my soul.

What is being described is a deep, rich prayer life. One of the things this world would do to us is turn us into “human doings” instead of “human beings.” It robs us of our humanity, our very life, our very soul. We feel pressed to be perpetually in motion, always doing, never simply being.

Prayer is first of all simply resting in the arms of God. The sheep would run itself until it dies of thirst and exhaustion, but the shepherd leads the sheep to the green pastures and makes it lie down, be still. The good shepherd takes the sheep to the still waters where it can drink. For us, as God’s sheep, this means having our very soul restored.

Here’s what developing a lifestyle of prayer means to us:

1) We allow ourselves to experience the simple fact that we already are loved. The Good Shepherd cherishes us. In this world, we tend to be so very desperate to be loved, and we end up doing some unfortunate things out of that desperate need. We end up driving people away. But in the quiet of daily prayer, we discover we already have that which we are most anxious to receive. It takes the desperate edge of our need away.

2) The values of this world begin to loosen their strangle hold on us. We recognize the lie the world would have us live that we must have more, more, more — never enough. We discover in prayer that in fact our cup is overflowing. We recognize other lies as well: that coming out on top isn’t important after all. That success is far less important than holding onto integrity. That image isn’t everything after all.

3) Death loses its sting. In this world we get sucked into this mindset that dying is the worst possible thing. It isn’t. Losing our souls is the worst possible thing, and people are losing their souls routinely in this world. In prayer we sense what John perceived from his prison cell: that there is a realm where all the tears are wiped away, and death is no more.

The violence at Virginia Tech; a sermon

Filed under: Pastor Jeff's Sermons — Pastor Jeff at 8:34 pm on Sunday, April 22, 2007

A sermon preached on April 22, 2007 based on Acts 9:1 – 20, addressing the violence that took place the previous week on the campus of Virginia Tech.

With the horror of the shootings that took place on the campus of Virginia Tech, we were once more reminded of how very fragile and vulnerable we human beings are in this world. In the aftermath of the shootings, there was the inevitable second guessing of the response by the police and university officials, but although the analysis is necessary, part of this second guessing arises from a need to cling to the illusion that with proper planning, we could make ourselves and our children invulnerable from such threats.

But the fact of the matter is, if someone with a fragile psyche and lots of rage — and there are times in the lives of most of us, if not all of us, when the description “fragile psyche and lots of rage” aptly describes us – if a person in such a state decides to get a hold of a gun and start shooting, well, there’s not much we can do except hope we are ready to meet our Maker.

Thirty three people died Monday. Reading over the brief bios published in the newspapers of those who lost their lives I note that the victims represented all possible races and ethnicities: white, black, Asian, Hispanic, Middle eastern, Eastern European, Indian. They represented various faiths: there was a 76 year old Jewish professor who survived the Holocaust but died trying to barricade the door to his classroom so that his students could flee, there was a born again Christian, a friend of a friend of Barb’s, there was a warm-hearted United Methodist from Illinois who went on mission trips with her church youth group to work on the homes of the poor in Appalachia, there were Roman Catholics, Moslems, Hindus, and God only knows what else.

The tragedy touched all sorts of folk; we are all linked together in sharing the fragility and the vulnerability that marks the human condition; we all share in the common grief that breaks our hearts.

I want to take note of the fact that the young man who pulled the trigger so many times was a very sick man. His brain chemistry didn’t work the way it was supposed to. This is not to excuse him of all responsibility for his actions; we all are accountable for what we do with the obstacles and opportunities presented to us in life. But it is to say that he suffered from a disease which in certain ways is more insidious, more brutal than all the afflictions we readily acknowledge as diseases: cancer, heart disease, and the like, because mental illness more often than not goes unrecognized as illness, and unlike other diseases, it directly affects a person’s capacity to perceive reality and make choices regarding behavior and attitude.

There have always been people who suffered from mental illness. In the New Testament, these people were described as being possessed by demonic spirits, acknowledging they had lost the capacity to choose their way in life in the face of the destructive powers that moved inside them.

There is a difference today, however. And that would be the fact that whereas in the past,

mental illness more often took place in the context of relatively stable social networks.

In the modern age, everything is in upheaval, and to a greater extent than ever before, the person suffering from mental illness is more likely to find him or herself alone, cut off,

without the social support that can keep them from disintegrating even further.

In the past, communal connections were a given of life. A person grew up as a part of a family, a neighborhood, a church — these networks simply were — they didn’t have to created. They were there, like the water a fish lived and moved within. There was, of course, a down side to this, but it did keep people connected.

Nowadays, extended families simply don’t exist the way they once did, nuclear families are taking a terrible hit. Most people know relatively little about who their neighbors are,

and most don’t grow up in a close church family like we enjoy here, where you can count on folks being there for you in your time of need.

And if the tragedy at Virginia Tech teaches us anything, it is that we truly do need one another. Simple care and concern for one another is more important than we know.

*****

For we who live in America, this violence that erupted on a beautiful, seemingly peaceful college campus touches us in a way that much of the violence of this world does not. I have felt on the edge of tears listening to the stories of heartbreak coming from Virginia Tech. There are other places in this world where violence is much more common place,

and I found myself this past week identifying more clearly with the pain felt throughout the world. These days in Iraq 33 deaths in a day would be a relatively quiet day; there was a bombing in Baghdad this week that took the lives of 180 people with each one of these persons killed leaving behind as much heartbreak as the people who died at Virginia Tech. The grief of this world is so great, and most of the time we succeed in shutting it out of our hearts. But this week it wasn’t possible.

And so in a week in which it was easy to despair regarding the violence and hatred that is so much a part of this world, once again, I am struck by the peculiar way that the Bible story in the lectionary assigned for this Sunday speaks to us where we are.

In the midst of the horror we felt this week over violence, the scriptures bring us an encouraging word, a story of a man described at the outset as “breathing threats and murder”, and who is brought through a remarkable conversion that leads him to make peace with his enemies, and to devote his life to being a peacemaker of the grandest proportions. The scripture testifies to the presence of an extraordinary power actively at work in this world whose nature is love and whose purpose is the reconciliation of all creation — to God, to one another, indeed to creation itself.

And so in the midst of the violence of this week, and under the guidance of the scripture we have heard, I want to ask the question: What does it take for a person to become a real peacemaker in this troubled world? For nothing seems quite so important now as the creation of peacemakers.

And the first thing to be said is that the creation of a peacemaker requires the grace of God: with human beings alone, as Jesus said, nothing is possible, but with God all things are possible, and the story is an encouragement reminding us that the grace of God is actively out there in the world working in absolutely surprising ways, as when it took this violence-breathing Saul and turning him into a peacemaking Paul.

And the second thing I would say is that in order to become a real peacemaker an encounter with our shadow self is required.

We talked about the shadow self last week. The events of holy week ask us to look inside ourselves, to view our own darkness, as a kind of prerequisite of encountering the astonishing light that shines in the resurrection. As I said last week, “there is the self that we present to the world — that self we aspire to be; that self we allow others to see, and want them to see us as. And then there is the self that we try our best to keep hidden — the self that thinks thoughts we would be ashamed if others could listen in on — the self that does things in secret that we would be ashamed for others to witness;“ the self we even try to keep hidden from ourselves.

This past week the actor Alec Baldwin made the news in a way he never intended: apparently Baldwin, like Saul, breathing threats, if not murder itself, left a long, enraged message for his pre-adolescent daughter, (designed, of course, only to be heard by his daughter.) The message, however ended up on the web as well as on the news outlets for all the world to hear.

I listened to the recording, which, I realize says something about myself of which I’m not especially proud, and I had two reactions:

1) What an animal, what a despicable creep Alec Baldwin is! And

2) there are things I’ve said to my kids which I, too, would be deeply embarrassed and ashamed about if they were broadcast for the whole world to hear, and I expect that this is true for pretty nearly every parent who ever lived.

When we say such regrettable things, afterwards, if we have the good fortune of coming to regret them, we realize that when we were actually saying them, we felt justified, we felt righteously indignant. Which is precisely how Saul felt when he was breathing those threats, persecuting the first Christians, and which is how the mentally ill gunman felt when he was on his rampage (which, I admit, I also listened to on the web.)

Again the words of Jesus on the cross: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

So what happened to Saul? He is headed down the road to Damascus, feeling justified, righteously indignant in his plan to do violence to the Christians whom he considers blasphemers. Suddenly, there is a bright light from heaven, and a voice saying, “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?” “Who are you, Lord?” “I am Jesus, who you are persecuting.”

At which moment Saul began to realize that the violence and rage within him that he had assumed to be so righteous, was, in fact, evil.

It is only when we recognize the destructive capacities that are within our own hearts that we can begin to look at someone we have labeled enemy and see a brother or a sister.

****

Another thing I said in my sermon last week is that life has a way of humbling us over time. We grow up to be adults, and unfortunately along the way we tend to leave behind our humility. We come to think we know things we don’t. We come to think ourselves stronger than we are. We can make it through life without help. And then life brings us to our knees. And it can seem like the worst thing in the world to us, which is certainly how it felt to Saul that day long ago.

But in the humbling there is grace; the very presence of Jesus, risen from the dead, looking to transform us in to the real deal: into peacemakers, who are simultaneously strong and weak.

Saul starts off proud and strong, certain of what he knows, righteous in his rage. He ends up, blinded and helpless, lead by the hand, needing to rely on the kindness of strangers, like a child.

Jesus said, unless you turn and become like a little child, you will never enter the Kingdom of God.

Sarah Jernstrom shared a story with me recently that touched my heart, involving the children of our church. During one of my children’s sermons recently, six year old Eddie Cogan was talking to Sarah’s four year old Zak. Sarah was focusing on what I was saying, but Eddie’s insistence on saying something to her son finally caught her attention,

and this is what she heard Eddie saying. “Zak, your Daddy died.”

He kept repeating this to Zak, because Zak wasn’t really responding, until finally Zak said, “Yeah, I know.” At which point, Eddie turned his attention to Sarah and this is what he said: “Your husband died. Some people die young, and some people live to be 100, and we don’t know why. I’m sorry that your husband died.”

We don’t know why. We don’t know why on a whole lot of stuff. We are like children, like Eddie, humbled by the mystery of life. But with some simple kindness, with taking the time to say things like, “I’m sorry your husband died,” we will make it together.

Earth Day 2007: A talk by Sharon Coughlin

Filed under: Writings of the people — Pastor Jeff at 6:07 pm on Sunday, April 22, 2007

Flowers.  Trees.  Birds.  These are all gifts that God has given to us.  We might take them for granted, because we see them every day.  But, what would you think if these things were missing from our lives?

Increasingly, scientists are warning us that great disruptions in the world’s climate have been recorded. Melting of polar ice caps.  Severe heat in Europe during the summer.  Hurricanes without equal in the record books.  Why is this happening? Did anyone see this coming?  This seems like a big problem.
Shouldn’t the world governments be doing something?  And, if the government is not, what can we, as a community, do about it?
 
In fact, scientists have been warning us since the 1970s, predicting that if we do not change our use of petroleum, there may be dire consequences.  I remember learning in school that burning of oil and gasoline leads to increased amounts of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere.  Increased amounts of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere could increase the warmth that the earth retains.  Increased warmth could lead to increased global temperatures, with the possibility of severe weather and more hurricanes, stronger winds, and greater rainfall in certain areas.  Increased heatwaves and severe drought in others. Now I see those predictions coming true.
 
The earth really is delicately balanced.  Oxygen. Temperatures.  Rainfall.  The system is designed so that certain parameters are always maintained.  From our perspective, the earth and its climate seems like such a huge system, that few things could disrupt it.
We take things like constant air concentrations and predictable weather that varies with the seasons for granted.  We think that nothing can be powerful enough to affect the global ecosystem.  However, if we look just a little deeper, we discover hidden checks and balances that keep the system constant.
 
Air is composed of many elements, including carbon dioxide and oxygen.  These elements are found in concentrations that usually do not vary much.  We all know that oxygen is important for our survival.  However, how many of us realize that oxygen can also be lethal?  At concentrations of about 20%, the amount in our global atmosphere, we can live, and breathe, and not worry about chemical reactions that could be
damaging to our health.  However, at concentrations of 25%, only a small percentage more, oxygen is powerful enough to cause spontaneous burning of the plants and trees around us.  This is an example of how delicately balanced our environment really is. 
 
We are very fortunate for these checks and balances in the earth’s natural system that allow oxygen to stay at a consistent 20% concentration, allowing human life to exist!
 
Temperatures vary only a few degrees in each season.  In New Jersey, daily spring temperatures range from the 40s to the 60s.  During the summer, the daytime temperature may range from roughly the 70s to the 90s.  In the fall, we experience an average temperature range of the 40s to the 50s during the
day.  In the winter, we expect temperatures in the 20s to the 40s during the day.  This constancy of temperatures allow plants and animals native to New Jersey to successfully survive, reproduce, and return again, year after year.  What would happen if New Jersey’s seasonal temperatures, which have remained constant for hundreds of years, began to change?
Humans may be able to adapt to any abrupt, unusual changes in the weather.  But, one can only predict what plants and animals, who must live outside every day of the year, might do. 
Regular, predictable amounts of moisture fall in our state each year.  Snow falls during the winter, and melts in the spring.  Winter snowfall protects hibernating plants from the cold air and dry winter winds.  Melting snowfall in the spring provides a
gentle supply of moisture to growing trees and plants. Gentle rains come during the spring, allowing plants to grow and bloom.  Summer arrives, with its longer days, humid air, and possible thunderstorms.  Then, comes autumn, with its shorter days, cooler temperatures, and falling leaves.  We see this pattern year after year, season after season.
We might be inconvenienced if more rain falls than usual, or less snow falls and prevents us from enjoying winter sports.  But, take a moment to think about how this might affect the environment around us.
  
Change the parameters a little bit, and you will see populations of certain species start to decline.  Change it a little bit more, and you will see species start to die off.  Everything is in a delicate balance.  It is the constancy of weather and conditions that allows the variety of plants and animals we see to exist.
________________
Today is earth day.  Earth day was first held on April 22, 1970.  Senator Gaylord Nelson passed a bill designating April 22 as a national day to celebrate the earth.  It was a nationwide event, with well-known speakers and performers lending their support for the growing environmental movement.  Senator Nelson was motivated to create this day after witnessing a terrible oil spill off the coast of Santa Barbara, California in 1969.  He was disgusted with the apparent lack of regard for the country’s natural resources, and wanted to demonstrate that people did care. 
 
That first Earth Day in 1970 was an important day.  It was a very popular event with the public, with 20 million Americans (brought) out into the spring sunshine for peaceful demonstrations in favor of environmental reform.   It showed the overwhelming support of the public for protecting our
natural world.
 
Almost forty years later, this enthusiasm has continued on.  Today, Earth Day is observed in 175 countries around the world; it is the largest secular holiday in the world.
Senator Nelson credited the first Earth Day with convincing the United States’  politicians that the public was deeply concerned about the health of the environment, and would support environmental legislation to protect it.  Congress listened, and the Clean Air Act, (Clean Water Act), and laws to protect wild lands and the ocean were passed.  The public acted, and the politicians listened.
 
Maybe now is the time to show our overwhelming support
for the protection of the natural world once again.
 
So, what can we, as a community, or as individuals do? Learn as much as we can.  Become educated.  Donate to reputable nonprofit organizations that are working for change.  Vote for politicians who are concerned about the local and the global climate, and will listen to our views.  Follow suggestions on how to cut our usage of petroleum products.  Support research into
renewable sources of energy.
Our earth.  God’s gift to us.  Scientists have yet to find another planet like it.  Don’t you think it is worth the effort to protect this gift that God has given to us?  I think it is.

Reading for Easter

Filed under: Lent 2007 Daily Readings — Pastor Jeff at 12:15 pm on Sunday, April 8, 2007

Today is Easter! The tomb is empty! Jesus has risen! Without this message, the church would not, could not, should not, exist. If we truly took the resurrection seriously as the cornerstone of our lives together, how might we live?

My Easter Sermon

Filed under: Pastor Jeff's Sermons — Pastor Jeff at 12:13 pm on Sunday, April 8, 2007

Before I preach my sermon, I want to properly recognize my sources, lest I be accused of plagiarism, or for that matter, making this stuff up. My sermon this morning draws heavily from a book written some time ago by a man named Luke (no last name). It comes under a genre known as “Gospel”, which means literally “good news“, and it is found in a larger collection of works referred to as the “Holy Bible.” You might actually have a copy on your bookshelf at home — many people do. If so, you might want to take it down from the shelf when you go home, and have a look-see to check the accuracy of my references.

A common story-telling technique used these days in movies is to place the end of the story at the beginning of the movie, and from there work back from the beginning to show the audience everything that lead up to the ending, putting the ending in context, making sense of it all. Coming to church on Easter can be a little like coming to see one of those movies, watching the beginning, and then leaving, because — hey, we already know how it turns out, right?

So I thought this Easter I would focus on the background story, because it is my contention that you can’t really understand what Easter means if you don’t pay attention to who this guy was who got raised from the dead.

His name was Jesus. You know that. There was scandal and mystery surrounding his birth; conceived in the womb of an unwed peasant girl named Mary from a small town in Galilee called Nazareth. His actual birth took place in a town called Bethlehem, in, of all places, a barn because his family was homeless at the time. His first visitors were poor shepherds who weren’t welcomed in the circle of respectable townsfolk, but they came visiting because they claimed to have seen angels who told them about a great joy given to all people in a baby wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger.

Little is known about this Jesus’ childhood. The one story we have of his childhood suggests he might not have been the easiest kid to raise. It tells of how, at the age of twelve, he wandered off from his parents, scaring them half to death, spending several days in the Temple in Jerusalem. When they finally found him, he seemed perplexed by all their worrying: “Didn’t you know I must be in my father’s house?”

Nothing else is known about Jesus until around the age of thirty, following an extended wilderness fast, and a baptism with thousands of others in the River Jordan by a revival preacher named John, Jesus suddenly returned to his hometown of Nazareth, having apparently been away for some time.

He showed up in church on the Sabbath, and stood up to read from the prophet Isaiah: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,” he read, “Because he has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives, and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty those who are oppressed, and to proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord.”

And then with what struck some present as extreme brashness, Jesus declared that this very day these words of prophecy were being fulfilled in him.

Well, that whole business of the “acceptable year of the Lord” – that was a reference to “the year of Jubilee“, referred to in Leviticus 25:10, where every 50 years, all land was to return to the original owner, in order to keep folks from becoming landless and destitute while the rich just keep getting richer. But, of course, just because it was in the Bible didn’t mean anybody actually paid any attention to it. And when it sunk in what exactly Jesus was saying, well, it made folks mad, and they tried to kill him right then and there.

But somehow he slipped away.

He went from there to other towns throughout Galilee, and there he continued preaching to whoever would listen, and it was discovered that he had remarkable healing powers — that maybe there was something to that “Spirit of the Lord has anointed me” business – because he would lay his hands on lepers, and demon-possessed folks, and people who couldn’t walk or see, and sure enough his word and his touch would make folks whole. When Jesus was around, it was absolutely clear that God didn’t want people sick or maimed; God wanted people whole.

Often he would declare God’s forgiveness to people; which was radical stuff, because up until then folks had to travel to the temple in Jerusalem at great expense in order to experience a little bit of God’s forgiveness. But Jesus kept saying it straight out to people: “My child, your sins are forgiven.”

He started calling people to follow him, and amazingly, people would just up and leave whatever they were doing, whether it be working as fishermen or tax collectors; whatever — they’d just get up and follow him, as though it made all the sense in the world leaving everything to be with this strange and wonderful man as he set the world free from all the stuff that was oppressing it.

Pretty soon, though, he started to incur the wrath of some folks, and funny thing was, it was generally the professional religious folk — holy people — who were getting mad at him. These were people who had devoted their lives to knowing inside and out what God’s Law required, and they didn’t like the new way this Jesus was doing things.

But he kept on doing it though.

And although he didn’t seem especially concerned with obsessing over all the little dots and dashes of the Law, in certain ways he made it clear that God was expecting a whole lot more out of people than even the Lawyers were calling for.

He said God wants you to love your enemies — pray for those who persecute you, he said. Share all your stuff; I mean, all of it. Don’t judge, don’t condemn. That’s none of your business! Leave judgment to God. Just be merciful, because God is merciful.

A lot of people didn’t know what to make of him, because he didn’t act the way holy people were supposed to act: For one thing, he laughed a lot, which everybody knows holy people don’t do. He simply had too much joy for a holy person. He loved parties more than a holy person should. Sometimes he got accused of being a drunkard.

The other thing that didn’t fit the with the way holy people were supposed to act was the company he kept. He would hang out with pretty much anybody who welcomed him, and sometimes this involved some folk with some real bad reputations. It didn’t seem to bother him in the least what this kind of company was doing to his reputation. If invited to a dinner party, he’d go, no matter whether the invitation came from a some sinner or from a Law Keeper — it made no difference to him. And along the way, the lives of folks were getting healed: physically, emotionally, spiritually — the whole shebang. They’d never seen anything like it. And so more and more people were being drawn to him all the time.

One time this huge crowd of like five thousand people was following him as he going from town to town, teaching, and the sun was starting to set, and his followers started to freak, worrying about how all these people were going to get some supper, and he said to them, “You give them something to eat.” And they looked at him wondering whether he was kidding, or crazy, or what, but he just kept smiling, as though to say, “go on!” so they handed over all they had brought — which wasn’t much: only five little loaves of bread and two fish — and he looked up to heaven and said thanks to God, and blessed the food, and broke it, and gave it back to them to hand out, and something weird and something wonderful happened that day, everybody got plenty to eat, and to this day, nobody knows for sure how it happened, whether the bread just multiplied, or whether people just started sharing, or maybe it was both, but one thing was sure, at that particular moment everybody seemed as concerned about their neighbor eating as they were about eating themselves, and nobody forgot how it felt.

Now as time passed and his followers saw all the wonderful things that were happening when Jesus was mixing with people, well, they began to suspect that maybe, just maybe, he was the one, I mean, the messiah, the one all the folks had been waiting for. And when they finally got up the nerve to say this to him, well, his response was curious. He didn’t say yes, and he didn’t say no, but what he did keep saying was, “Follow me. Do like you see me doing.”

And not long after that Jesus took three of his followers to get away from the crowds overnight, and they went up on a mountain to pray, and suddenly his whole body was shining a bright light, and two the ancestors were there, straight from heaven, Moses and Elijah, and suddenly a cloud overshadowed the mountain, and the followers fell on their knees in holy terror, and they heard a voice — God’s voice they were sure — and the voice said, “This is my beloved son. Listen to him.” And suddenly the cloud was gone, and they looked up, and Moses and Elijah were gone, and there stood only Jesus.

“Listen to him,” the voice had said.

And he led them back down the mountain, and immediately they met up with this poor distraught father with one very sick boy, and Jesus took the boy in his arms and healed him, and they were all amazed.

Now these were heady times for his followers, I mean with the huge crowds and such. They felt a little like rock stars (or at least the back up band members of a rock star) and before you know it, there were these arguments going on between them about which of them was the greatest. Jesus just seemed to know what they were thinking about it and he brought to them this poor little child, this nobody kid, with tangled hair and snot running down her face, dirty, you know what I mean, and he said, “You see this kid? You want to know what real greatness is? Treat this child like she’s the most important person in the world, which she is. You do that, and then maybe you’ll be catching hold of what true greatness is.”

Now with all the attention Jesus was generating, the lawyers and such were getting real nervous, and by now there was usually a couple of their spies on hand to keep an eye on him, maybe argue with him a bit. One time this lawyer said to him, “Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” “You tell me,” said Jesus, “What does your reading of God’s law tell you?” And the lawyer answered, “Love the Lord your God will all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind,” and, “Love your neighbor as yourself.” “Bingo!” said Jesus. “Sounds good to me.”

“But wait,” said the lawyer. “Who’s my neighbor?” And so Jesus proceeded to tell this story in which this guy is walking down the road to Jericho and these other guys jump him and beat the crap out of him, and take all his stuff and leave him half dead at the side of the road. A priest comes by, but doesn’t stop, and then a minister walks by, and he doesn’t stop either, and then this Samaritan…” (And with that all his listeners said, “Oh my!” because Samaritans were people that nobody liked.) And this Samaritan comes along and he gets off his donkey and goes to the man and baths his wounds and puts bandages on the wounds and then he gently lifted him up on his donkey and took him to an inn where the man could rest and eat and slowly get his strength back. And the Samaritan picked up the bill, goes the poor succor had had all his money stolen. “Now who do you suppose was neighbor to the man who got the crap beat out of him?” asked Jesus. “Ah, I guess the one who showed mercy on him,” said the Lawyer. “Bingo!” said Jesus. “Go and do likewise.”

Through it all, Jesus spent a lot of time praying, and taught his followers to do the same: and in doing so, to trust God, like little children, knowing that God really was on their side. And never give up. He talked about this poor widow who had nothing in this world but who just kept coming to this unjust judge until finally the unjust judge gave in and heard her plea. Keep praying, Jesus said — keep the faith baby — just like that poor widow!

He said the Kingdom of God is breaking out all over the place if you can just keep your eyes open to see it. When they doubted this, he said, that all they really needed was just a tiny little mustard seed of faith, that’s all, and that mustard seed would grow into this enormous bush where all the birds could come and find shade. He said the Kingdom of God was this great party where people from all over the world — east, west, south, and north — were welcome, and especially the little people, the wounded people, the poor people. He said, when you throw a party, go out and invite all the street people to come, and then you’ll get a taste for what heaven is like. He treated women with kindness and respect — like they were equals of men — which in those days, just wasn’t done.

He did get mad sometimes. He got mad at religious folks who were hypocrites, putting on a big show of being religious on the outside, but inside they had no real love and mercy in their hearts, placing heavy burdens on the poor folks. He got mad at the people who would try to keep other people out of the kingdom party.

He said wealth was dangerous. He said it was easier for a camel to get through the eye of a needle then for a rich person to enter the kingdom of God. He talked about some rich guy filling this big huge barn he owns with all the grain he could possibly want and more. “Now what’ll I do?” asked the rich guy. “I know, I’ll build bigger barns!” “Fool!” said Jesus, “Don’t you know that this night your soul is demanded of you, and what good will all your barns do you?” “What does it profit a person,” he said, “to inherit the entire world but forfeit their soul?” He talked about this poor guy named Lazarus who spent his days sleeping on the doorstep of this rich guy, starving for a bite of food, but the rich guy never once lifted a finger to help him. They both died. The poor guy went to rock in the bosom of Abraham, but the rich guy, he had hell to pay. Another time this rich guy came running up to him, sincerely looking for some way to experience God, but with major attachment issues to his wealth that were getting in his way. Jesus looked at him, loved him, and said, “Go, sell all your possessions, give it to the poor, and come follow me!”

He said that in general folks worry way to much about stuff: their money, their clothes, their house. “Be not anxious,” he said. “Look at the lilies of the field, all that incredible beauty without spending a dime. Look at the birds of the air. God looks out for them, and they don’t even have bank accounts!”

One time when the holy people were complaining about the company he kept, Jesus rolled off this riff of stories, all about the lost being found: a lost sheep, and a shepherd who goes searching, searching, searching, until the sheep is found, and about a lost son, whom a lovesick father welcomes home after the boy’s done some really bad stuff.

He ended both stories with parties — big raucous, happy parties — saying it’s like this in heaven when a sinner comes home to God. God gives second chances, and third chances, and on and on. And he told his followers to do the same with one another. “How many times should we forgive somebody?” one of them asked. “Seven times? Seven times seventy times!” he answered.
He came into a town one time with a huge crowd of people on hand, and the one person he singled out to invite himself over for lunch was this little rich taxcollector guy that nobody liked named Zacchaeus, stuck way up in a tree. It caused a scandal, but after their little lunch together, Zacchaeus was moved to give a big hunk of his money away to the poor.

And so finally Jesus arrived in Jerusalem, and the poor folk welcomed him with palm branches and great excitement, and he went directly to the place he had once referred to as “My Father’s House”, and proceeded to throw out all the people who were making profits off the poor folks. And sure enough, just as he had been predicting for some time now, he got arrested by the temple authorities, and handed over to the Romans, and beaten the crap out of, and finally nailed up on cross, where in his dying breaths he said, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

And then he died. And that would have been the end of it. Nice sentiments, all these things the wandering preacher taught and lived, but hey — in the end, it just doesn’t hold water in the “real world.”

Now everybody knows that people stay dead once they’re dead. But the story ends with folks claiming they’d seen him up and around again, saying and doing the same sort of stuff he’d been saying and doing before. People were so adamant in their conviction of his resurrection that they were literally willing to stake their life on it.

Now if God was looking to simply make the point that yes, there is life after death, so don’t be afraid of death, well, pretty much anybody would have done well enough. But Jesus wasn’t just anybody. Now the point that I’ve been leading up to here is that it makes all the difference in the world who God chose to raise from the dead.

It was Jesus, a man with a message. He taught it and he lived it and he died it.

And when God raised him up, the point being made was: This man’s message is the real deal! It’s not just a nice thought, a lovely sentiment. It’s truth! This really is the way the world is designed to operate. So “listen to him!”

Lenten Reading for Holy Saturday

Filed under: Lent 2007 Daily Readings — Pastor Jeff at 11:11 am on Saturday, April 7, 2007

On this day the disciples honored the Jewish Sabbath, keeping still. Nothing to do to fix the problem. Just be still. Wait. Be empty. On this holy day, let us seek to empty ourselves.

What did Jesus say on the cross (Good Friday Sermon)

Filed under: Pastor Jeff's Sermons — Pastor Jeff at 3:10 pm on Friday, April 6, 2007

Most of us are aware that there are four separate Gospels recorded in the New Testament: Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. They were all written at least 40 years after Jesus was crucified. The stories vary, as you might well expect, given the amount of time that had elapsed, and the fact that any traumatic event is going to be remembered by different people quite differently.If you think about it, the decision that was reached to include four gospels rather than one definitive Gospel expresses an appreciation for the mystery of the one who is the focus of the Gospels.

Regarding the death of Jesus, the four Gospels agree on: that he died on a cross at placed called Golgotha; that he hung between two other men, and that a sign was placed above his head that read, “King of the Jews.” The charge was treason against the Roman empire and the method of execution was the one favored by the Romans for this crime. People divided his clothes while he hung there on the cross. He was offered sour wine to drink, and he died shortly before sundown and the start of the Sabbath. And Peter wasn’t present, having denied him three times the night before.

What was going through Jesus’ head while he hung there on the cross, we can only wonder and imagine, which seems to be what the Gospel writers did when they described Jesus speaking as he died. It is here that the four Gospel writers accounts varies greatly. What we have in these accounts is the church, lead by the holy spirit, using their imaginations based upon what they knew about Jesus and the kind of person he was.

And so John, writing the most years away from the actual events, puts three different sayings on Jesus’ lips, each with something to say for them: First, he has Jesus looking out for his mother in his death, which is a sweet and touching thought, that here, with his dying breaths, Jesus is providing for his poor mother’s care: “Woman, here is your son. Here is your mother.”

John goes on to have Jesus say, “I thirst.” He probably would have been thirsty, but John seems more concerned about fulfilling prophecy, strengthening the sense that what was happening was all foreordained.

And finally, the triumphant, “It is finished!” announcing his death and the completion of the work accomplished here.

Luke, writing somewhat earlier than John, also depicts three sayings coming out of the mouth of Jesus, all different from the ones that John describes. “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they did.” Extraordinary, powerful words, perhaps my personal favorite — words that seem to speak from the very heart of Jesus’ message. Luke is the only Gospel writer than includes the story Jesus told of the prodigal son returning to his father, who, in extraordinary graciousness, forgives the son his cruelties. Likewise, Jesus declares forgiveness for those who have killed him.

It is Luke that has a conversation take place between the two thieves and Jesus, and in doing so makes wonderful points. The two thieves, approaching the moment of their death — one chooses to reject the grace of God, the other throws himself onto the mercy of God, thereby driving home the choice each of us must make for or against the grace of God. To the thief who seeks mercy, Jesus gives tender reassurance: “This day you will be with me in paradise.”

Luke’s final words he has Jesus speak are, “Father, into they hands I commend my spirit”; poignantly beautiful, Jesus simultaneously in total submission to God, and triumphant.

As I said, these saying are all inspired by the Holy Spirit and the memory of the sort of person those who had known him experienced him to be, and as such, they are all true. But if you were to ask me if I thought the words recorded by John and Luke were true in the sense of being historical — that on that horrible afternoon long, long ago these words were actually spoken by the lips and the tongue of Jesus, well I would have to say, no, I don’t think so.

Part of why I think this is simply the nature of crucifixion. The Romans used this form to execution precisely because it was so severe, so incredibly painful.

They intended the agony of these deaths to serve as a warning to anybody else who might get it into their head to rebel against the emperor’s authority.

It was suffocation that would usually take a person’s life in crucifixion. They died slowly, a instinctive panic arising from the fact that they weren’t getting enough oxygen into their lungs. It was, quite simply, absolutely horrible, and if truth be told, in such a situation as this, edifying words don’t get spoken.

Which is why Mark’s version of what Jesus said on the cross seems the most plausible of all. Mark, writing down his Gospel first, describes Jesus saying only one thing, and not particularly original at that: Jesus quotes a verse of scripture

that he would have learned early in his childhood, and repeated throughout his life as part of his prayer life, a verse from the very beginning of the 22nd psalm:

“My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” Matthew writing several years later than Mark, figured he shouldn’t mess with Mark’s version. He too, records Jesus crying out, “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?” This and nothing more. Nothing edifying, just raw emotion: the feeling of being absolutely abandoned by God.

The very same man who had taught that God was abba, daddy, and said what daddy, if his son asked for a fish to eat, would ever give him a stone? At this moment, however, a rock seems to be precisely what the son is getting.

So what are we to make of these words? Only this: that this, too, is a part of the life of faith. There are moments that come to each of us when utter abandonment is what we feel, whether it be brought on by excruciating physical pain or by heartbreaking grief, or by severe depression brought on my brain chemistry, or an overwhelming sense of guilt or fear.

And so there is comfort in the simple fact that even Jesus experienced this, so that when we experience the same sort of thing, it doesn’t necessarily mean that we have somehow lost our way — that we’re being punished — that this is happening to us because of something we did, or because there is something terribly wrong with us.

No, it happened to Jesus before us, and it happened to him precisely at the moment he was following the path God had called him to walk.

We tend to think of the Bible as being this edifying book that expresses assurance and confidence on every page, but that is not so. Within the Bible the whole range of human emotion is expressed as part of the life of faith.

And it is striking that at the moment of his death, Jesus falls back on a verse of scripture he learned in Sunday School, a verse of scripture that expresses the very darkest side of life.

So this too is part of the journey. And the one hopeful thing that can be said, is that it is not the end of the journey, even though that is precisely what it feels like.

I mentioned last night that I was struck by certain words Luke alone has Jesus say, at the end of the Last Supper:

“Simon, Simon, listen! Satan has demanded to sift all of you like wheat, but I have prayed for you that your own faith may not fail; and you, when once you have turned back, strengthen your brothers.”Our reaction to this might be, well, Simon Peter’s faith did fail, didn’t it?

Maybe there is subtle but big difference between stumbling and failing in the faith walk. The spiritual agony that Peter went through after he abandoned Jesus; well I do not think it is a stretch to say that it mirrored the same darkness that Jesus experienced upon the cross. At some point, I’m sure, that when Peter was sitting in his stinking pool of self hatred and self-condemnation, knowing that out there on Golgotha, Jesus was hanging on a cross, if Peter had been given a choice, he would have taken physical pain of the cross over the utter abandonment he was feeling.

But Jesus was with him in that experience of his abandonment. And Peter stumbled, but his faith didn’t fail.

On Easter Sunday it would rise again. And having know, with Jesus, the experience of absolute abandonment, he was indeed in a better position to encourage those who would similarly path through the dark valley.

Reading for Good Friday

Filed under: Lent 2007 Daily Readings — Pastor Jeff at 3:08 pm on Friday, April 6, 2007

Today is Good Friday. As we go into the world, let us carry with us the words of Jesus upon the cross: “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” How does holding these words with us effect the way we encounter people?

The Seduction of Evil — Maundy Thursday

Filed under: Pastor Jeff's Sermons — Pastor Jeff at 10:56 pm on Thursday, April 5, 2007

As we listen this evening to the old, old story as told by Luke, there are some things for which I would invite you to listen. First, at the very outset the presence of evil is mentioned. Luke succinctly tells us:  “Then Satan entered into Judas…”  Evil took possession of Judas.

Evil is real, and it is powerful, and all of us are susceptible to the seduction of evil’s power.   To think that we are not susceptible is a very dangerous thing indeed.  “Good” people, can do very evil things, and we are particularly vulnerable to evil’s seduction when we are convinced that we can’t do evil because we are one of the “good guys.” 

I read an interview in the New York Times Science Section this past Tuesday with a social psychologist named Philip Zimbardo who has written a book entitled:  “The Lucifer Effect:  Understanding How Good People Turn Evil”.  Back in 1971, Dr. Zimbardo ran an experiment with college students in which 23 male volunteers were randomly divided into two groups:  half were assigned the role of “guards” and the other half the role of  “prisoners.” 

On the second day of the experiment, the “guards” came to the doctor and said, “the prisoners are rebelling; what should we do?“  Dr. Zimbardo answered:  “It’s your prison, short of physical violence, do what you want.” 

Dr. Zimbardo described what then took place:  “In the ensuing days, the guards became every more sadistic, denying the prisoners food, water and sleep, shooting them with fire extinguisher spray, throwing their blankets into dirt, stripping them naked and dragging rebels across the yard.”

 This little experiment of playing “prison” was supposed to go on for two weeks, but after five days a female graduate assistant came by to see how things were going.  She was horrified by what she saw happening to the “prisoners.”  She “witnessed the guards putting bags over their heads, chain their legs and march them around.”  The graduate assistant burst into tears, ran to Dr. Zimbardo, and said,
“I’m not sure I want to have anything more to do with you, if this is the sort of person you are.  It’s terrible what you’re doing to those boys.”

Dr. Zimbardo’s reaction was, “Oh my God, she’s right.”  He suddenly realized that in eerie way his administration of the experiment mirrored the very cruelties the guards were perpetrating on the prisoners. 

He abruptly ended the experiment.  Dr. Zimbardo says he has no idea how much worse things might have gotten if he had allowed the experiment to go the full fourteen days.  The conclusion the experiment lead him to was that, given the right circumstances, we’re all capable of evil. 

There are obvious correlations between what Dr. Zimbardo saw happen in his experiment, and the atrocities we heard about in the prison in Abu Ghraib, where American soldiers oversaw Iraqi prisoners.  When the story first broke, the Pentagon tried to blame the whole thing on “a few bad apples”.  Dr. Zimbardo said that this didn‘t adequately explain what happened in Abu Grahib. “I knew from our experiment,” he said,
“if you put good apples in a bad situation, you’ll get bad apples.”

When Jesus taught us to pray, he included  these words:  “Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”  We pray not to be lead into temptation, because we know we are weak, and the lure of evil is strong.
It doesn’t take much:  some old resentments that we haven’t dealt with; a bit of fatigue, some subtle enticements to our ego. 

The second thing I would call your attention to in the passion story is that evil most often does its work in secret.  Judas had a secret meeting with the Temple police, and the Temple police looked for a time when they could arrest Jesus in secret, when the crowd wasn’t present to witness what they did. 

It’s the stuff we do in secret, when nobody is watching, that gets us into trouble.  If the American soldiers serving as guards at Abu Ghraib had known that mom, dad and everybody else back home were watching them, well, they would never had down what they did.  But under the severe stress of their situation, and the lack of clarity in their orders, they committed acts of cruelty that otherwise they would not have committeed in part because it was hidden away from view. 

The third I would have you listen for as you listen to Luke tell the story is the ambiguous way Jesus announces the betrayal:

“‘The one who betrays me is with me, and his hand is on the table…’ 
Then they began to ask one another which one of them it could be who would do this.” 

Unlike other Gospel writers — John in particular — Luke doesn’t put it all on Judas.  The question of which one of them could be the betrayer is left an open question — hanging in the air.  The implication is that all of the disciples share to some degree in the betrayal. 

To drive home this point Luke immediately goes on to tell us of a dispute that breaks out among the disciples over which of them was to be regarded as the greatest.  Matthew and Mark both place this dispute much earlier, well before they ever reach Jerusalem.   By placing the dispute here, Luke calls attention to the great irony:   at the very moment in which Jesus, in great humility,  offers his life up in confrontation of the powers that oppress — the conspiracy between the Romans and the Jewish elite who defending their place atop of the power chain) himself as a sacrifice for all people –  at this very moment we find the disciples consumed with their own status and recognition — their own place in the pecking order.    They too are unable to shed themselves of the old wretched dynamic that Jesus has come to Jerusalem to challenge.

And so the point is made clearly:  The problem isn’t just out there, in the Romans and the temple authorities;  nor is the problem just in Judas.  The problem is also inside the very ones who imagine themselves providing the solution to the problem.  

(Human history records an endless cycle in which would-be reformers come sweeping into power to throw out the corrupt oppressors, and before long, they have become themselves corrupt oppressors, because there is something about possessing power that tends to corrupt us.) 

Fourth, listen again for the old story of Peter and his betrayal.  There aren’t many stories that all four Gospels include:  Simon Peter’s three time denial of Jesus is told in every one of them.  Something very important is at stake here:  that this central disciple, the one we are invited to identify with — the one who will become the first Pope, the rock, upon which the church is built  — this same Peter,  when push comes to shove, denies his Lord and runs for cover. 

There is something extraordinarily humbling about this story.  Just because we bear the name of Jesus doesn’t mean we won’t betray him. 

Luke adds some words addressed to Peter that are not found in the other Gospels:  “Simon, Simon, behold, Satan demanded to have you, that he might sift you like wheat, but I have prayed for you that your faith may not fail; and when you have turned again, strengthen your brothers.”  Satan, the evil one, is intent on having Peter’s soul.  Jesus, however is praying for him, that his faith may not fail.

This is curious, if you think about it.  We might say:  Jesus’ prayers didn’t work so well, did they?  Peter’s faith did fail, didn’t it?  He succumbed to his fear and ran and hid.  But maybe there is a more “human” view of what faith involves is being offered here:  Having faith doesn’t mean never stumbling, nor does it mean never experiencing doubt or fear.  Rather, it is faith that allows us to get back up after we have fallen. 

And those who have first hand experience of falling can better serve others who likewise will stumble and will need help rising again. 

And finally, it is Luke who records these words on Jesus’ lips as he hangs on the cross, dying:  “Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing.”

How deceptive is the power of evil.  Many people are conspiring here to commit evil, but they do not know they are committing evil.  They think they are simply doing something expedient:  putting this one man to death, this troublemaker, lest he stir up the people into rebellion and cause the death of thousands others.

It leads us to wonder:  what evil might we be committing, unknowingly? 

 Let us pray this night to be delivered from evil.

Lenten Reading for Maundy Thursday

Filed under: Lent 2007 Daily Readings — Pastor Jeff at 10:53 pm on Thursday, April 5, 2007

On this night, long ago, Peter insisted to Jesus that even if the other disciples would betray him, he would not. Jesus knew that this was not so. Peter, it seems, was relying on his personal power — his self-confidence. What is the difference between self-confidence and faith in God? In what ways do we need to let go of self-confidence, and find, instead, confidence in God?

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