"Blind"

They came to Jericho. As he and his disciples and a large crowd were leaving Jericho, Bartimaeus son of Timaeus, a blind beggar, was sitting by the roadside. When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout out and say, ‘Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!’ Many sternly ordered him to be quiet, but he cried out even more loudly, ‘Son of David, have mercy on me!’ Jesus stood still and said, ‘Call him here.’ And they called the blind man, saying to him, ‘Take heart; get up, he is calling you.’ So throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus. Then Jesus said to him, ‘What do you want me to do for you?’ The blind man said to him, ‘My teacher, let me see again.’Jesus said to him, ‘Go; your faith has made you well.’ Immediately he regained his sight and followed him on the way. 

Mark 10:46-52

"Blind"

This story of Bartimaeus, so often called Blind Bartimaeus by scholars and readers alike, is a story about many things—about a man who is desperately sick and sad and poor and left out and lonely, a story about a Savior who hears him and heals him. It is a story about being blind—both physically blind like Bartimaeus, a story about being figuratively blind, like so many of the rest of us. This story about Blind Bartimaeus is story of hope, a story of humility, a story of challenge for all of us who read and hear it. It is ultimately a story of restoration, restoration from a Savior who is walking his way towards his death on the cross.

Jesus and the disciples are leaving Jericho, winding their way towards the Palm Sunday processional waiting for them, when they pass by a man on the street. We aren’t told much about Bartimaeus, just that he is a blind beggar, but that description tells us enough. It is pretty safe for us to assume that he is lonely and outcast and poor, judged harshly because of his blindness. During this day and time, it is assumed that any physical ailment is a punishment for sin, and so Bartimaeus is not just seen, but judged as a sinner, someone unworthy of time, help, or love. Bartimaeus is sitting by the side of the road, more than likely by himself. He can’t see what is coming his way, but he senses that something great, something very important, is about to happen. Jesus is on his way—by this time, stories about Jesus and his healing have spread, and when Bartimaeus hears that it is indeed Jesus who is coming his way, he rightly senses that this is his chance for healing, for restoration. “Jesus, Son of David,” he says, “have mercy on me!” “Shut it, Bartimaeus,” you can hear the others who have gathered around them whispering. But he ignores them, knowing this is his chance, pleading again, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” Jesus is running short on time and has every right to keep on walking through Jericho, but he doesn’t. He hears those words—“have mercy on me”—and stops, stops himself, stops everyone around him, and calls Bartimaeus to come to him.

Without skipping a beat, Bartimaeus throws off his cloak and makes his way to Jesus. “What do you want me to do for you?” Jesus asks, as rhetorical question as has ever been asked. Jesus knows that Bartimaeus needs healing, needs love, needs restoration, but Jesus wants to hear it straight from him, wants to hear his faith, wants to hear his trust, his hope. “My teacher, let me see again,” the answer comes. “Let me see.”

“What do you want me to do for you?” I think this part of the story is fascinating, especially when compared to our Gospel story from last week. Last week, we heard from James and John, heard from them immediately after Jesus had predicted his death and resurrection for a third time. But instead of being true disciples and being concerned about walking with Jesus through this last part of his life, James and John are thinking only about themselves. With more boldness and stupidity than we could ever imagine, John and James say to Jesus, “Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you. Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory.” Instead of looking out for their friend, their Christ, their Savior, James and John are looking out for themselves, their legacy, their glory. Jesus rightly puts them in their place—“whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all.” These words echo Jesus’ words from chapter 9: “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and 

servant of all.”

The stories are so different here, the questions so different. John and James ask, demand really, for Jesus to do something for them—not something for their healing, but something instead for their glory. We want you to do for us whatever we ask of you. Their faith is shallow and childish and incomplete. They are figuratively blind—blinded by their ambition and need and desire. They demand to be first, not caring or thinking a bit about the last, the ones who need help the most. Which brings us to Bartimaeus. He is certainly the last, certainly the least, certainly the lost. Physically blind, not by choice or sin or circumstance, Bartimaeus comes to Jesus as well, but reaches out to him in deep faith and desperate hope. His faith is hopeful and deep and impeccable. Jesus knows that he is desperate for healing, desperate for restoration, desperate not to be last and least anymore. The demand of “Jesus, do this for us” turns into the question of “What can I do for you?” The reply is simple: “My teacher, let me see again.” And the teacher lets him see, heals blind Bartimaeus right there on the spot, brings him to new sight and new life.

You know, I think that is pretty tempting for us to stop here at this good news, this news of restoration, of sight for the blind. Jesus has healed this man, made him whole, brought him from being a nobody to being someone, called him from a life of lying prostrate on the street to standing on his own two feet, brought him from a life of desperation to a life of fullness. Jesus has done so, so much for Bartimaeus, and it truly is wonderful news. And he does the same for each of us. It’s so very tempting for this preacher to stop here at this wonderful, happy, fulfilling news and let us all go home with warm fuzzies in our hearts.

But there is more to the story. I have read this story so many times, heard many sermons on it—but something new jumped out to me this time. Bartimaeus does indeed regain his sight, but something more happens at the very end, something heard in the very last few words. Bartimaeus follows Jesus on the way. He follows him on the way. On the way to Jerusalem for the triumphal entry, on the way to Golgotha for the horrific ending.

Think about James and John one more time. Think about Bartimaeus one more time—the difference between them and their stories. John and James have followed Jesus from the very beginning of his ministry. Although it must have been hard for them to leave their families and livelihoods behind to follow Jesus in such an uncertain way and time, these disciples didn’t really know what they were walking in to. They hadn’t yet seen the full picture of what was going to happen; they walked into this new and fascinating and different life hopeful for something great, hopeful for an adventure, hopeful for a new way of life. And now, at the end, even though they have heard the predictions, they are still hopeful, not really understanding what these predictions mean, hoping that everything they have left behind and done in Jesus’ name means glory for them.

But Bartimaeus is different. After he is healed, after the blindness falls from his eyes, even though he has also heard the predictions about what will happen to the teacher, he still decides to follow. He could very easily and simply say, “Hey, thanks teacher. I am truly thankful for everything you have done. Now I’m gonna go home and hang out.” But he doesn’t. He has a choice of whether to simply be thankful or to be thankful and live thankfully. And he chooses the latter. He becomes one of them—a disciple, a follower. So many of them have followed Jesus from the very beginning, not truly understanding how hard it will be along the way, all the way to the end. But Bartimaeus chooses to follow Jesus almost at the very end of his life, a very bold and courageous and faithful move. He has heard the predictions. He has to know that following will not be easy, that it will be fraught with danger and peril and really hard stuff along the way. He has to know, especially now that he is no longer blind, that the stuff he will see along the way to the cross will be awful and ugly and quite gruesome. But Bartimaeus follows anyway—he has been faithful from the beginning and will be faithful until the end, all the way to the new beginning of resurrection. The lost one has been found. The one with the least has been given the most. The one who was blind now sees—sees more clearly than almost anyone else following Christ.

And that is our choice, as well. In so many different ways, Jesus takes away the things that blind us, blind us from how he tells us to live, who he calls us to be. If we truly open ourselves up to listen to what Jesus says to each of us, our lives are bound to change. We are bound to be challenged about how we are living, about the stuff we have, about how we spend our time each and every day, about how we treat each person we meet, about how we forgive and love in a world that tells us to only look our for ourselves and our glory. This is the challenge that James and John had, the challenge that even blind Bartimaeus had, the challenge that we all have.  As hard as it can be, Jesus changes things for us—he pulls the blinders away from each of us and says, “OK. Now you have to see the world how it is. You can go back to your old way of life and ignore all of the pain and the hurt, all of the ways you can help, all of the opportunity around you to live and love. You can shut down if you wish. Or you can follow. It’s true that the following won’t always be easy or pretty or fun, but it is life giving, life altering, life sustaining.”

I love how Barbara Brown Taylor, a professor at Columbia Theological Seminary, puts it:

How will you have it? You can stay where you are. You can sit in your familiar dark, where all of the edges are rounded off so that you will not hurt yourself, where you need only concern yourself with what is within your reach...No sense getting your hopes up; no sense thinking of yourself as a person who might see. Stay with what you know. Or you can cry out, spring up, and ask for your heart’s desire. Damn the torpedoes and good riddance to caution, to propriety, to the fear that keeps you in the dark. Take heart! Get up, he is calling you! Are you willing to see or not? And if you are willing, are you willing to see everything there is, the good along with the awful, the lovely along with the monstrous—in yourself, in everyone you meet, in the world? Are you willing to bruise your shins…to bruise your heart? Then go your way, because your faith has made you well.

I love that! Go, Jesus says. Go on your way, because your faith has made you well. Whether we have been following from the very beginning or are just discovering and following now at the very end, we are called to go as faithful people—to see and follow and go along the way to Jerusalem, to the cross, to the resurrection and restoration that awaits each one of us. Go. Amen.

A Prayer for Children

Mark 9:30-37

They went on from there and passed through Galilee. He did not want anyone to know it; for he was teaching his disciples, saying to them, “The Son of Man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again.” But they did not understand what he was saying and were afraid to ask him. Then they came to Capernaum; and when he was in the house he asked them, “What were you arguing about on the way?” But they were silent, for on the way they had argued with one another who was the greatest.He sat down, called the twelve, and said to them, “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.” Then he took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms, he said to them,“Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.”

You know, it really all seems so petty, these inane arguments that the disciples always seem to have among themselves. They have been following Jesus for quite a bit now, listening to him, watching him, asking him, simply being with him. After all of this time, how do they seriously not get it, seriously not understand? He has been telling them about the kingdom, about what is waiting out there for them, but they just completely ignore it time and time again. You would think they would be talking about Jesus’ message of salvation, of love, of grace for all, but instead they are in la-la land, arguing about who among them is Jesus’ favorite, the greatest, the best. After all of this time, they are still completely oblivious to what Jesus has been doing in their lives. Instead of doing kingdom work, they are doing the work of the world—wondering who is the greatest

We wonder why they don’t get it. We ask why. But when it really comes down to it, don’t we do the exact same thing? Don’t we find ourselves arguing in petty, endless, inane ways? Don’t we belittle and compare and miss the point, just like the disciples did? We argue among ourselves about who is the greatest, who is the best. We argue and bicker, especially in this seemingly endless political season, about who is best equipped to lead, best able to cure our ills. We argue among ourselves about who has the best education, the longest experience, the most friends, who amassed the most stuff, who has made the most money. In so many ways, these are our measures of greatness. Who is the greatest, we also ask? We do the same thing.

We are just alike, the disciples from so long ago, and all of us today. We strive for the greatness of the world, and in doing so, fail to recognize and celebrate the message of Christ’s kingdom. We fight for the things that are finite, the things we can never take with us. We argue about the silliest things, completely ignoring what Jesus tells us to do and who Jesus calls us to be. And we do all of this somehow thinking that Jesus will never know what we are whispering to each other behind his back, trying to figure out who is the greatest among us. But he does know. He always does. And he is always ready to ask, “What were you arguing about along the way?”

Jesus is always ready to teach us once again, to turn things upside down, in his own topsy-turvy way; always ready to turn our long lasting arguments and long held notions on their head. You might waste your time whispering and arguing about who is the greatest, but my kingdom is about something else, Jesus says. You ask about who is the greatest, but in my kingdom, “Whoever wants to be first must be last and servant of all.” And then he takes a sweet child in his arms and continues: “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.” 

You see, in this biblical world, in this time, children are certainly the least of these; they are property, the lowest of the low, persons who really aren’t yet persons, those who are left out of the margins , those who are really never taken into consideration, possessions, really. These babies are really what the kingdom is about, Jesus says.

You are arguing about who among you is the greatest, but instead I give you the least of these, the least of these who are really set to inherit the kingdom. These children, the ones whom you would never really take into consideration for your arguments about who is the greatest, these are the ones to whom the kingdom belongs. These are the ones that I have lived for, the ones for whom I will die, Jesus tells them. 

I love that Jesus speaks of children when talking about the kingdom, and I see his point in a couple of different ways here. When I think about the child in this passage, I think about the sweet, funny, smart, innocent kids I was able to spend last weekend with. I think about my niece and her friend who came to my house for her 11th birthday spend the night party—how we did Auburn up in a few short hours, eating ice cream at Toomer’s, cheering with the band at the pep rally, buying out Claire’s jewelry store at the mall the way in the way that any 11 year old girl should, pigging out on way too much cheese dip at dinner, getting our hands dirty and sticky making a birthday cake, spending way too much money on barely drunk drinks and melty ice cream at the football game—giggling and smiling all along the way. I think about all of the kids who squealed at Toomer’s Corner after the game. As the adults fretted and worried about our football team who had barely won, the kids didn’t have a care in the world. All that worried them was grabbing the nearest roll of toilet paper, how high up they could get it in the trees. I think about last Sunday and the beautiful three year olds here, about Branson and Ella and Sarah Caroline and Noah and Madelyn, about how they stood up so proudly to get their Bibles, about how that was the most important thing in the world to them, about how one of them squealed, “I want my Bible!” 

In a lot of ways, I think this is what the kingdom of God is all about. I think we are called to come to Christ with open arms, with child-like wonder and awe, as children who giggle loudly instead of being weighed down by the adult pressures and expectations of the world, as children who never want to miss a thing in this world, as children who don’t yet know prejudice and certainly don’t let it get in their way, as children who would rather get a Bible over anything else in the world. You know, I think it probably made Jesus pretty happy to hear someone yell, “I want my Bible!” I think we are called to be the faithful ones who don’t let the expectations of the world, the needs and desires of the world, the petty arguments about who is the greatest, get in our way of serving our Lord.

But I also think this passage tells us something about how Jesus reaches out to the least of these in the world, about how he stands in solidarity with the children of the world who are never given a second thought, the ones who struggle to know where their next meal is coming from, the ones who are abandoned and sad and lonely and know way too much about the brokenness of the world at way too early an age. I think about the children in Atlanta whom we met on our mission trips there—the ones who were standing in lines for food at homeless shelters, whose clothes were torn and ripped, the ones who already had dark circles under their eyes from malnutrition, lack of sleep, sadness. I think about the kids in our own community who are hidden from the happiness of pep rallies and tree rolling because their parents are working a 3rd job just to make ends meet and have no time for frivolous celebration. I think about some of the beautiful children we met in Haiti this past May—about Carline, a young woman who was hit by a car that damaged her physically and mentally, about how she was left on the streets of Port-au-Prince to die, probably sexually assaulted and used before she was finally discovered and taken to Wings of Hope for some healing. I think about Franc, whose body is so riddled with disease that he spends most of his days lying on his stomach on the porch of Wings, waiting for some to feed him and talk to him and play ball with him. I think about the sweet baby I held for three solid hours at the babies’ hospital, about how she laid on my chest trying to sleep, about how I could feel the congestion in her chest against mine every time she tried to take a breath, about how I tried to put her down only to hear her cry simply because she wanted to be held, about how she might not be able to get the medicine she needs although she could get it at the drop of a hat here in the states. These are the ones with whom Jesus walks in solidarity and grace and love; the ones whom Jesus welcomes, and calls us to do the same. These are the ones to whom the kingdom of God belongs.

Whoever welcomes these children, Jesus says, welcomes God into their midst. The kingdom is not about our inane arguments and the petty things that we so often let get in our way. It is about those whom we welcome and love in God’s name. The kingdom isn’t about how much stuff we can get, how much money we make, and it certainly isn’t about how great we think we are. It is not about the first and the greatest, but the least and last. The kingdom isn’t about how great we think we are, but it is instead about how much of a servant we are. The kingdom is about how we reach out to God with the wonder of a child, about how we squeal with delight, about how we live this life God has given us to its fullest. The kingdom of God is about a Lord who stands with the least of these on the margins, about how a Lord who walks and welcomes the most vulnerable, about a Lord who welcomes and loves and turns our expectations and beliefs and long-held notions upside down. “Whoever wants to be first must be last and servant of all . . .Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.” Thanks be to God.

Our prayer today is a lovely poem written by Ina Hughes in her book “A Prayer for Children.” It is so important for us to hear, especially as we hear about the children who are welcomed in Christ’s name. Listen again for a word from God:

We pray for children 

Who put chocolate fingers everywhere, 

Who like to be tickled, 

Who stomp in puddles and ruin their new pants, 

Who sneak Popsicles before supper, 

Who erase holes in math workbooks, 

Who can never find their shoes. 

And we pray for those 

Who stare at photographers from behind barbed wire, 

Who can't bound down the street in new sneakers, 

Who never "played tag,," 

Who are born in places we wouldn't be caught dead  in, 

Who never go to the circus, 

Who live in an X-rated world. 

We pray for children 

Who bring us sticky kisses and fistfuls of dandelions, 

Who sleep with the cat and bury goldfish, 

Who hug us in a hurry and forget their lunch money, 

Who squeeze toothpaste all over the sink, 

Who slurp their soup. 

And we pray for those 

Who never get dessert, 

Who have no safe blanket to drag behind them, 

Who can't find any bread to steal, 

Who don't have any rooms to clean up, 

Whose pictures aren't on anybody's dresser, 

Whose monsters are real. 

We pray for children 

Who spend all their allowance before Tuesday, 

Who throw tantrums in the grocery store and pick at their food, 

Who like ghost stories, 

Who shove dirty clothes under the bed, 

Who get visits from the tooth fairy, 

Who don't like to be kissed in front of the car pool, 

Who squirm in church and scream on the phone, 

Whose tears we sometimes laugh at and whose smiles can make us cry. 

And we pray for those 

Whose nightmares come in the daytime, 

Who will eat anything, 

Who have never seen a dentist, 

Who are never spoiled by anyone, 

Who go to bed hungry and cry themselves to sleep, 

Who live and move, but have no being. 

We pray for children 

Who want to be carried 

And for those who must, 

For those we never give up on 

And for those who never get a second chance, 

For those we smother. 

And for those who will grab the hand of anybody kind 

enough to offer it. 

We pray for children. Amen. 

You Did It to Me

Matthew 25: 31-40

“When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats, and he will put the sheep at his right hand and the goats at the left. Then the king will say to those at his right hand, ‘Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.’ Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?’ And the king will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.’

“Just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.” You did it to me, Jesus said, just as he was about to journey toward the cross, just as his life was about to come to an end. “Just as you did it to the least of these, these brothers and sisters of mine, you did it to me.” These were the most important words that Jesus could have used at the end of his life, this teaching that summed up his actions throughout his life. Jesus spent his ministry reaching out to those who needed help the most, love the most, reality checks the most, inspiration the most, grace the most. Jesus fed the hungry and gave drink to the thirsty; he healed those who had been struggling with illness, some for decades at a time. Jesus called people out for being judgmental, judgmental to the point that they were completely ignoring others in need. He welcomed people to his table, sinner and saints alike, and everyone in between. Jesus comforted those who mourned and forgave those who sinned; he preached about how we are called to give all that we have and all that we are to help our neighbor. Jesus baptized and welcomed and forgave and fed and healed—and then gave us this final message: “I have shown you. I have lived it out for you. And now it’s your turn to do the same. Just as you do it for your sisters and brothers, all who are members of my family, you do the same to me.”

These words echoed in my brain and in my heart the whole time we were in Haiti this past May--they came to life for me, came to life through the love of all the folks we met; came to life through the very raw and tough experiences we shared; came to life as we, most of us for the very first time, saw the poverty and devastation and illness that we could never have imagined; came to life as we were graced with complete hospitality; came to life as our faith was challenged and questioned and deepened.

As our plane landed on the runway in Port-au-Prince, my colleague from Alabama, James, and I shared a look together—a look that shared our common relief that we were finally taking this trip we had dreamed about for 2 years; a look that shared our common “Oh crap. We are both scared to death because we have no clue what’s about to happen” feeling. We spent the next 2 crazy hours, 2 of the craziest of my life, making our way through the insane airport, meeting men who were begging to take our bags for just a few dollars, finding our driver, packing into vans and watching our luggage take a different route with a  tap-tap driver, getting car sick driving through the pot-hole and rubble-filled streets of Port-au-Prince, seeing people on every part of the street selling goods because there was no other work to be found, ingesting diesel fumes, and sweating from the kind of heat few of us had ever experienced. It is an understatement to say that we were all a bit in shock, overwhelmed by it all, overwhelmed by the beauty and poverty we saw in the same seconds, overwhelmed by the suddenness and craziness of it all.

We wound our way up the mountain road and finally made our way to Wings of Hope, one of the homes of the St. Joseph Family. As we pulled up the steep driveway, we were greeted with the best greeting ever. One of the Wings boys, a young man living with severe autism, greeted every single 17 one of us with the biggest hug imaginable. I think he sensed that we were overwhelmed and scared, tired and nervous. He had never met us in his life, but he sensed that we were in need of grace and welcome and reached out to us. We weren’t strangers to him, but sisters and brothers in need of a warm welcome. Just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.

Over the next two days, we spent our time with the Wings kids, some of whom live with Cerebral Palsy, others with Down’s, others with severe autism. One young woman was even found wondering the streets of Port-au-Prince and was brought to Wings with the report that she had been brain damaged in a car accident, sexually abused by folks who knew they could take advantage of her, left for dead on the streets of Port-au-Prince. Some of the kids live with problems that will never be diagnosed. It was amazing to see our college students hanging out with these kids—the students played catch with them and brushed their hair, strolled with them in their wheelchairs and changed their diapers, helped them down their cryptic wheelchair ramp and danced with them, fed them 2 meals of rice and beans a day. The college folks helped lift the kids onto horses for therapy and lifted them out of their wheelchairs into vans with no handicapped accessability to drive them to lunch at the Baptist Mission. They picked them up when they couldn’t walk just so they could experience the thrill of dancing at our Friday praise party. The students smiled with absolute joy as they helped these beautiful children of God to smile and play and dance and sing. Just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.

We met beautiful Josephine, a 12-year-old with a smile as big as this room, a beautiful young woman with Cerebral Palsy. Somehow, in the midst of this third world country, she had learned to speak 3 languages—Creole, French, and English. She would take us by the hand, tell us to sit down in front of her, and she would brush our hair. She translated for us, helping us understand what the nurses were trying to tell us to do, helping us understand what the kids beside her needed. Josephine squealed with delight when the students picked her up to dance for the party. She taught us so much and helped us feel comfortable and showed us such absolute joy. Just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.

And then there was Steve. Steve loved every single one of us, and we loved him. We loved to watch him play, smile, and dance. He loved to take us by the hand and lead us right into the middle of the action, and he never wanted to miss a thing. It was an absolute holy moment to see him grab the hand of a college student, a young man who was mourning the loss of his dad only two weeks earlier, a young man with the big gaping wound of heartbreak—Steve grabbed his hand and pulled him into the circle to sing and dance and play and feel the joy that had been missing in his life for so many months. Just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.

As we made our way from the mountains down to the St. Joseph’s Home in Port-au-Prince, the folks at the home were waiting on us with hugs and a glass of water. They welcomed us with great hospitality, helping us get our bags in, offering us a place to sit and rest, inviting us to their nightly affirmations, where they thanked us for being there, inviting us into the stories of their lives. Bill, a boy who grew up at the St. Joseph’s Home and is now the manager, shared his life with us as he told us his story. He was given as a child to a family friend when his mother couldn’t take care of him—at least she thought she was giving him to a friend. The woman used Bill as a slave until he was finally turned over to the orphanage many years later. He had such a tough life, but he was welcomed into the home with open arms. Bill stood on the top of the home when the earthquake hit, and he tumbled as the home did, suffering a broken back and lots of internal injuries. Bill has so many reasons to be bitter and angry, but he loves God more than ever before. And he welcomed us, strangers who were soon to become friends, into the home just as he had been welcomed so many years before. Just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.

Over our last 2 days in Haiti, we met some phenomenal brothers and sisters—Catholic friends who work with the world’s poorest people for Mother Teresa’s Sisters and Brothers Charities. They are nurses and doctors and volunteers who work with some of the poorest children, some who suffer from incurable disease, others who are close to death with something that we be so easily curable here in the States with just one simple prescription. They work with teenagers and adults who are suffering from yellow fever and TB and full-blown AIDS. Their surroundings are meager at best, no air conditioning or screens to keep flies out, very small amounts of medicine, wards with 20 beds each. They welcomed us in not with smiles or instructions, but simply by motioning to beds and expecting us to jump in feet first—they didn’t need to spend their time with us, but instead spend their time with those who truly needed it. I have never been as proud of anyone as I was of our students, who were scared to death about what they were seeing, nervous that they had one pair of plastic gloves to go around, sickened by the smells of urine and blood and bodily fluids. But instead of shying away, they took those kids by the hand and played with them, held the hands and bodies of those older folks dying from AIDS, and lotioned their legs and shaved their faces. Just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.

At one point, I simply stopped what I was doing for a minute to watch one our students and a student from Bama spending time with a beautiful woman. She looked to be in her 80s, and she had the kind of wrinkles that come with a hard life. Her hands were simple and dainty, and she had stunning gray hair. As the girls held up fingernail polish and lotion to her, she simply nodded her head and they went to work. They put lotion on her body and painted her nails a bright shade. She seemed to relax a bit as they moved around her body, happy to be touched and soothed. These young women were total strangers to her and she could have told them to go away, but she opened herself up to them and welcomed them in such an intimate and holy way. When they finished painting her nails, she pulled her wallet out of a stack of the little belongings that she had, and she pointed to her children and grandchildren, smiling proudly as she showed off her loved ones. That beautiful woman welcomed these two young, healthy, privileged young women into her life. Just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.

There are so many more stories to share, so many that I could go on for days. I know that our students will take some time to share them with you over the coming years and months. We all came away with many questions about our faith, about how people could suffer so much in a God-made world. We are still being challenged by these questions in so many different ways. But we also came away from Haiti knowing, thankfully, that we had spent our time in mutual solidarity with our brothers and sisters—that Christ was working within us and through us, through us from Alabama and us from Haiti. In so many different ways, we saw the welcome and forgiveness, the grace and the love of Jesus Christ, our Savior and Lord. Just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me. Thanks be to God.

Doubting Thomas

Acts 4:32-35

Now the whole group of those who believed were of one heart and soul, and no one claimed private ownership of any possessions, but everything they owned was held in common. With great power the apostles gave their testimony to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus, and great grace was upon them all. There was not a needy person among them, for as many as owned lands or houses sold them and brought the proceeds of what was sold. They laid it at the apostles’ feet, and it was distributed to each as any had need.

John 20:19-31

19 When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, "Peace be with you." 20 After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. 21 Jesus said to them again, "Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you." 22 When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, "Receive the Holy Spirit. 23 If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained." 24 But Thomas (who was called the Twin ), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. 25 So the other disciples told him, "We have seen the Lord." But he said to them, "Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe." 26 A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, "Peace be with you." 27 Then he said to Thomas, "Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe." 28 Thomas answered him, "My Lord and my God!" 29 Jesus said to him, "Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe." 30 Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. 31 But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah,the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.

"Doubting Thomas"

When I woke up in a room at the Glendale, Arizona Hampton Inn on January 11^th, 2011, I laid there for a few minutes as I got my bearings. “Did last night really happen?” this life-long Auburn fan, granddaughter of a former Auburn football team captain, orange and blue blood girl asked herself. “Did we really win the national championship only a few short hours ago?” And it all came flooding back—the images from the day before—of cheering for the Tiger Walk, of being surrounded by what seemed like hundreds of thousands of Auburn fans, of seeing an eagle fly before the game, of dancing to “All I Do is Win,” of seeing the band running out of the tunnel, of watching the best football game ever take place. I looked at my game ticket and thought to myself that it was true. And just to make sure, I reminded my friends in the bed next to me as they began to stir, “Hey y’all. We’re national champions!” You see, I’m not sure I would have actually believed it if I had stayed here and watched it on tv. I had to see it live, to hear the sounds and see the fans and cheer for the players and feel the tears stream down my face at the end. I had to, just to know and believe that it had really happened. I had to see if for myself, hear it for myself, smell and touch it for myself, all to know that one of my few life-long dreams had come to fruition. It was true. One of the best days of my life for this Auburn girl. It was true!

And on a much larger and deeper and more important scale so many years ago, Thomas was feeling the same way. Thomas, along with his friends, had just experienced one of the worst things they could ever imagine. They had spent so much time following Jesus, listening and learning from him, serving and healing for him. They had heard him say that he was soon going to leave this life, heard him predict it, but somehow never could believe for themselves that it could really be true. But the prediction came to reality—Jesus’ words about how he would soon die, soon leave the earth. It really must have been so incredibly hard for Thomas and the others, to see their friend, their Lord, crucified so cruelly on the cross, to realize that he was gone. If you, like I, have ever lost someone you loved so much, then you can feel their pain, their emptiness, their sense of loss, their devastation.

But just a few days later, new news was starting to spread—great news, news of new life. The others had heard it, seen it for themselves. Jesus, who had been so horribly killed just a few days earlier, appeared to those who were gathered. He greeted them with the best words imaginable, “Peace be with you.” I am here now. Your sadness and horror and grief can end. I’m here. But Thomas missed it, missed the boat, missed the news. They tried to tell him that Jesus was alive, that he had come to them and granted them such deeply-needed peace. But Thomas just couldn’t believe it for himself, couldn’t believe what he was hearing. And he certainly couldn’t allow himself to feel the joy that the others were feeling, the happiness, the peace. Not until he saw it for himself, anyway: “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands,” he said, “and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.” Unless I see it, I can’t believe it. Unless I feel the marks, I simply can’t allow myself to feel the happiness and the peace of new life.

Then, a few days later, Jesus, knowing how Thomas was feeling, appeared to him, granted the peace to Thomas for which he was so desperately yearning. “Peace be with you, friend. Here I am. Here are my hands, here is my side. Touch the nail marks. Feel and believe.” Thomas reached his hands out, touched, felt, felt the peace and comfort and new life that Jesus had brought. Thomas’ response was short and simple, “My Lord and my God!” It was true! The best and most wonderful news had triumphed over such horror and pain and devastation. Thomas had to feel it for himself, to sense and smell it for himself, to touch it for himself to know. Lord, indeed. Peace, indeed.

You know, interesting things have been said about Thomas over the years, about his reaction to Christ’s resurrection and appearance to those who were gathered those days. Some have called him faithful, some faithless. Some have called him skeptical and some stupid. Some have seem mystified about how Thomas could be full of such doubt, some have understood. And I wonder the same. Sometimes I read this story and think, “Thomas, how could you have not gotten it?” But, really, I think that I probably would have reacted the same way. Sometimes I can be skeptical, sometimes stubborn. I really want to think about the pain he must have been in when his friend was killed, how much despair he must have felt. And knowing that I have felt the same way a few times in my life, I can understand how much Thomas wanted to believe, yet struggled. Of how he wanted to celebrate but couldn’t allow himself to lest he get let down and hurt and devastated one more time if it wasn’t true. I get how Thomas had to feel the nail marks for himself in order to truly come out of his fog and believe the best news of all. Unless I see, I will not believe.

I love how gracious Jesus was with Thomas here. He could have smacked him over the head and said, “Really, Thomas? C’mon, dude.” But he didn’t. He slowly and graciously appeared to Thomas, holding out his hands, showing his side. He let Thomas touch him and take it all in. And Thomas believed that the news was true. They all did. They saw and believed.

Although the text doesn’t give us a sense of Jesus’ tone with Thomas here, I’ll be willing to bet that it was gentle, instructive, but gentle: “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” I think that Jesus was instructing Thomas here, but he was also saying something to us, to all of us who would come later. He was saying something to the audience of John’s gospel, those for whom John was writing but weren’t alive to see the resurrection for themselves. Jesus was saying something for them, saying something for all of us, all of us who would come long after Thomas, long after the hearers of John’s gospel. Thomas and the others got to feel the nail marks, see Jesus before them, hear the words come from his mouth. But not all of us. We didn’t get to see the horror and feel the pain of Good Friday when Jesus was murdered on the cross. We didn’t get to stand with the women with disbelief on our faces when as the tomb stood empty. We didn’t get to be locked in that room with the disciples to actually hear Jesus say, “Peace be with you.” And, unlike Thomas, we have never been able to feel the marks of the nails on Jesus’ flesh. Jesus said it to Thomas, and he says it to all of us: “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.”

So, how do we believe? And most importantly, how do others come to believe through us—through us who call ourselves followers of the risen Christ, through us who are called to share the gospel through word and deed? We are called to believe by hearing the Word, the Word found in Scripture, proclaimed in our lives as we gather to pray, to sing, to read, to listen, to think. Although Jesus Christ may not be standing live in front of us, live in front of us so that we can physically touch his flesh and his wounds, Jesus Christ comes to us through the Word, the living Word that is left for all of us. Jesus Christ comes alive for us as the Holy Spirit moves and breathes and winds its way through us, as it inspires and enables us.

Barbara Brown Taylor says that the story of Christ is the living word, that “the story is already alive, with or without us. God wants us to be part of it—to sob on Palm Sunday, to wash each other’s feet on Maundy Thursday, to fast on Good Friday, to laugh out loud on Easter Sunday—in these and a thousand other ways, to be part of Jesus Christ’s risen life on earth—so that the brave, fragile testimony goes on being heard: ‘We have seen the Lord!’ In the flesh? No. In the story? Possibly? In our life together? Absolutely.”

I love how she ends it—“In our life together? Absolutely.” In our life together. That is why it is so important that our lectionary reading from Acts goes along with the story of Jesus Christ and Thomas today. The disciples, the ones who had seen the resurrection and touched Jesus’ side, had to live life together. The very first Christians, the ones whose story is told in Acts, weren’t able to touch Jesus’ side, but they were probably able to hear the story first-hand—they had to live life together. And so do we, more than 2000 years later. Even though the story of Christ has been recorded for us over the years, we are also called to live life together, to live as Christ told us, to love as Christ commanded us. And our story from Acts tells us how to do that. As the whole community is gathered together, they share their story with one another, and then they share what they have with each other—I love that the story tells us that there was not a needy person among them. Those who were fortunate enough to own their own homes or land sold them and gave the proceeds to those who had nothing to their names. The money was laid out and distributed to any who had need. Everyone, EVERYONE, the poor, the rich, and the in-between, was taken care of. Just as those first Christians weren’t able to touch Christ’s side, they tried their best to retell his story, to show his story, to live as Christ lived, to share as Christ shared, to love as Christ loved. And we are called to do the same—to live as Christ lived, to share as he shared, to love as Christ loved. To live life together. To live life together as people of the resurrection, to live and share and love as Easter people. Thanks be to God.

Love Came Down

“Love came down at Christmas,” the lovely Christmas poem, the lovely Christmas carol goes, “love all lovely, love divine. Love was born at Christmas, stars and angels gave the sign.” In the gift of Jesus Christ, Jesus the baby born in a manger, love came down. Love came down as God’s greatest gift ever imaginable.

Love came down at Christmas to Mary, a young, petrified, innocent, and faithful woman, a teenager who could have run the other way when she heard the news, but stood strong and sang a song of faithfulness and love instead. Love came to this teenager who felt called to give up her life for this miracle, this little baby she had been carrying for so long and had just welcomed into the world. Love came down at Christmas to Joseph, also very young, also very scared, to this man who had so much that society expected him to do, to be. Love came to this man who had every right to walk away, but instead chose to stand by the side of his beloved, to trust her and care for her and welcome this baby into the world. Love came down at Christmas to the animals who probably wanted to get the heck out of the way when the normal quietness of their night was pierced by the cries of a newborn baby. Love came to them as they stood watch over him that night. Love came down at Christmas to the shepherds, the poor and destitute souls in the fields charged with keeping watch over the sheep knowing that their livelihoods were at stake if even one sheep was lost. Love came down as the angel sang the best news of all: “Do not be afraid; for see—I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.” Love came down as they left all that they had every known, as they risked their lives to go and find this newborn babe.

Love came down at Christmas to everyone who was there—to the folks Mary and Joseph had passed on their long journey to Bethlehem; to the innkeeper who had turned them away, to the people who had comfortable rooms at the end of their journey. Love came down to the folks who would soon hear the good news of this beautiful baby; to the kings who would soon see the star and make their way to the newborn babe; and, yes, even to the king who would be so threatened by this little one that he would soon live in fear and rage. Love came down for all of them that night, for the faithful and the faithless, for those who lived in love and those who lived in fear, love for the saints and sinners alike.

And on this night, this dark and wintry night, love comes down for each of us. Love comes down for those of us who are joyful and those of us who are mourning. Love comes down for those of us who are scared and those of us who are hopeful. Love comes down for those of us who are surrounded by love and those of us who feel lonely. Love comes down for those of us are searching for peace and those of us who have found it. Love comes down for those of us who are wounded and scarred and for those of us who feel whole.

Love came down that Christmas night, and love comes for us again on this night. God’s great and ultimate gift of love comes down into our world, our world that too often seems too dark and scary and violent and overwhelming. In the darkness, there is such a great light, such a great gift—and that gift is given to us by God. That gift of love is a baby, our Christ. Love came down at Christmas, love all lovely, love divine. Love came down at Christmas, love for each and every one of us, the greatest love imaginable: "For a child has been born for us, a son given to us; authority rests upon his shoulders; and he is named Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace." And he is born to us, for us, for our salvation, for our life. Thanks be to God for this unimaginable, unfathomable, overwhelming, life-giving love. Amen.

Stumbling Blocks

Matthew 16:21-28

21From that time on, Jesus began to show his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and undergo great suffering at the hands of the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised. 22And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him, saying, “God forbid it, Lord! This must never happen to you.” 23But he turned and said to Peter, “Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me; for you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”

24Then Jesus told his disciples, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. 25For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it. 26For what will it profit them if they gain the whole world but forfeit their life? Or what will they give in return for their life? 27“For the Son of Man is to come with his angels in the glory of his Father, and then he will repay everyone for what has been done. 28Truly I tell you, there are some standing here who will not taste death before they see the Son of Man coming in his kingdom.”

It’s an interesting story, a very interesting relationship—this relationship between Jesus and Peter which winds its way through our Gospel story. At the very beginning of his ministry, Jesus was calling, calling folks away from their nets and their fish, calling them away from their families, calling them to new life. “’Follow me, and I will make you fish for people,’” Jesus said, calling them and equipping them to fish in a new way, calling and equipping them for a new life of discipleship. Andrew and Simon were the first to be called, and Simon was even given a new name, Cephas, which is Greek for “rock,” translated in our tradition as Peter. Jesus called someone to be his rock, the cornerstone upon which this foundation of ministry could stand, the cornerstone upon with this new life could be built. And those disciples did follow Jesus that day, followed Jesus as he healed the sick and spoke from the mountain, followed him as he blessed and cleansed, followed him as he brought people back to life and gave them food, followed him and learned from him.

Peter, the constant, faithful, and loving disciple of Jesus, thought he got it, thought he understood it all. In the passage preceding ours from today, when Jesus asked, “’Who do people say that the Son of Man is . . . [and] who do you think I am?” Peter excitedly and correctly replied: “’You are the Messiah, the Son of the Living God.’” And because of that answer, Peter got his own blessing, his own beatitude of sorts:

Blessed are you, Simon of Jonah! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father in heaven. And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build my church, and the gates of Hades will not prevail against it. I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.

Seriously, could there have been anything better for Peter to hear from Jesus, his friend, his companion, the man he had called “the Messiah?” I mean, Peter had been so inspired by this man that day on the lake that he gave it all up, right then and right there. He left the fishing life, the only life he had ever known, he gave up his livelihood and his family and his ambition—all because this man said, “Come.” And now Jesus was acknowledging to Peter that he was indeed the rock, was indeed the man on whom this new church would soon stand. Jesus was giving Peter the keys to the kingdom, the keys to open so many doors and do so many great things. Surely, if Peter had been following Jesus so closely, he would know how to treat his sister and brother, know how to welcome, know how to give food and drink, know how to heal, know how to deeply love. The time was near—the time to open the doors of heaven—the doors of healing, of welcome, of relief, of love. He had the keys in his hands.

This was Peter’s chance for glory. He had those keys in his hands. But he dropped them. He dropped the keys to the ground when he listened as Jesus predicted his death, when realized that the stuff of Messiahship isn’t easy. You see, it was easy for Peter to proclaim the Messiah when he was following that Messiah around, walking with him, eating and healing with him, talking with him, living life with him. But Jesus then started to bring up this death and resurrection stuff, saying that he didn’t have much time left on this earth, saying that he would soon be put to death. And that’s when things started to get really hard.
Frederick Buechner tells it this way:

. . . if Peter was the only one Jesus ever gave a beatitude of his own to, he was also the only one he ever gave Hell to, at least in quite such a direct way . . . Jesus was saying that to be the Christ, the Son of the living God, wasn’t going to be a bed of roses all the way, and the time wasn’t far off when he’d suffer the tortures of the damned in Jerusalem and be killed. Peter couldn’t take it. “God forbid, Lord. This shall never happen,” he said, and that’s when Jesus lit into him. “Get behind me, Satan,” he said because the rock that Peter was at that point was blocking the grim road that Jesus knew he had to take whether he or Peter or anybody else wanted it that way or not because God wanted it that way, and that was that. “You’re not on God’s side but human’s,” he said. “You’re a rock I’ve cracked my shins on.”

I love that image--Peter has become a rock for Jesus to crack his shins on. It seems that, just as quickly as Jesus had begun to praise Peter the rock, Peter the rock on whom Christ’s church would be built, the rock in Peter’s life just as quickly turned from a cornerstone into a stumbling one, from a rock of foundation into rocks upon the path that can so easily trip folks up. “Please tell me this isn’t so, Jesus, friend, Messiah. This can’t be the way. This can’t be what I, what we have all been doing this for, what we have given everything up for.” You know, I don’t know why Peter so quickly dropped those keys, why he so quickly turned into a stumbling stone. Perhaps he was angry that he had given everything up to follow this man who was now saying he was going to leave. Perhaps he was frustrated because he, himself, wanted the glory that Jesus was sure soon to get. Perhaps he was confused, not truly understanding what Jesus was telling him, or not wanting to understand, anyway. And if he did get what Jesus was saying, perhaps he was sad and distraught at the idea of losing his friend, this Messiah. And perhaps that sadness led to the fear of losing his own life in the same way. Perhaps it was one of these things, perhaps it was all of them combined that led Peter to drop the keys of heaven that day as he stumbled along the blocks of the pathway to heaven.

And Jesus, probably irritated, frustrated, probably angry and sad himself, didn’t let Peter off the hook. “’’Get behind me, Satan!’” he yelled, “’You are a stumbling block to me; for you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.’” The Greek word used for “behind” here has the same root for the word for “follow” in chapter 4, when Jesus first called Peter to follow him, so “behind” doesn’t necessarily signify a place or a location, but a posture. “Come, follow me,” Jesus said then, and “Come, get behind me and follow me,” Jesus said again. Jesus was calling Peter once again, admittedly a little bit more harshly this time, but still calling nonetheless, calling Peter to set his mind on the divine, calling Peter to stop stumbling over himself and his human ideas, calling Peter to remember the divine, to remember why they were doing all of this.

And that reminder to Peter signified that his relationship with Jesus would continue. And although that relationship continued throughout our Gospel story, it was still a rocky one, one filled with more stumbling blocks along the way. Even as they shared their last meal together before the death that Jesus had predicted, Peter promised Jesus that he would never abandon him, never desert him. But that’s exactly what he did. When push came to shove, when faced with the choice of life or death for associating with Jesus, Peter denied that he had ever met this man, his friend, his Messiah. Denied him not just once, but three times. And when he realized what he had done, he wept, wept bitterly. It’s kind of heartbreaking to know that, even at the end, Peter was still a stumbling block standing in Jesus’ way.

You know, I think it’s easy for us to read this story of Jesus and Peter today, to watch their relationship to play out, to wonder how Peter could have been so loyal and some points and disloyal at others, to wonder how he could have been so smart some days and so dense on others. I, too, have often thought to myself, “Gah, Peter! Why in the world did you do that? How could you have been so stupid?” It’s so easy for us to sit back and judge, but, really, isn’t Peter just like us? When we really stop to think about it, would we have been so different from Peter if we had been the ones called from the boat that day? Would we have followed if we were called? Would we have left our livelihoods and our families, our worlds behind, to follow Jesus? What would we have done if this man who we loved so much had told us that we were the rock upon which this church would be built? Wouldn’t we have been thrilled to receive the keys to the kingdom? Wouldn’t we have promised our faithfulness to this Messiah, but then turned on him when things got tough and scary and dangerous and even deadly?

You know, Jesus didn’t just call Peter and his brother out of the boat that day to follow him. He does exactly the same for all of us. Simply because of the fact that each of us has been created in the glorious image of God, we are called to do God’s work in the world, to be the hands and feet of Christ in the world. Because we have been created in the image of God, each of us has the potential to be called the rock, to become the cornerstone for something great and beautiful and peaceful in the world. But because we are also part of a sinful creation, there will be stumbling blocks along the way, just as there were so many for Peter. There will be stumbling blocks that trip us up and keep us from proclaiming and celebrating that Christ is the Messiah. Perhaps fear is our stumbling block—the fear of proclaiming God’s Word because we are scared about the judgment from others; the fear of giving up what we cling to and what makes our lives comfortable--our stuff and our money and our time; the fear of truly having to give up our lives to save the lives of others. Perhaps we stumble because of intimidation—intimidated that we don’t have the adequate words or experiences worthy enough of proclamation. And on the other side, perhaps experience is the stumbling block—maybe we have spent time praying or working in the world and haven’t seen anything evolve from it; maybe we have experienced something so sad or horrific in our lives that we have lost our faith. Perhaps we stumble because we think we have everything that we need, and that we don’t need anything else, especially God. And perhaps we stumble because it all just seems to be so much sometimes—because there is so much violence and fear in the world, so much poverty and injustice, so many natural disaster and human-made ones, so much hatred and sadness that we just really don’t know where to start and shut down as a result.

There are so many ways that we drop the keys to the kingdom, so many ways that we stumble and fall, so many ways we end up blocking the way of Christ, just like Peter did. But the good news is that Jesus never gives up on us. Even though Peter gave up so often on him, Jesus never gave up on Peter. As John’s gospel reminds us, Jesus appeared to Peter and the others after the resurrection—he joined them for breakfast on the beach. After such betrayal, Jesus would have and should have every right to have given up on Peter, but he didn’t. “Peter,” he said, “do you love me?” “Of course I do,” was Peter’s reply. “Then feed my lambs.” Jesus said this three times, echoing Peter’s three time denial of Jesus. Feed my lambs. Tend my sheep. Feed my sheep. And then, Jesus said this, “Follow me.” Just as the Messiah was resurrected to new life, new life was give to Peter, to each of us. That is the great news of resurrection.

"I Have Redeemed You"

But now thus says the Lord, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you.

Isaiah 43:1-2

Then Jesus came from Galilee to John at the Jordan, to be baptized by him. John would have prevented him, saying, "I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?" But Jesus answered him, "Let it be so now; for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness." Then he consented. And when Jesus had been baptized, just as he came up from the water, suddenly the heavens were opened to him and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him. And a voice from heaven said, "This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased."

Matthew 3:13-17

I always get so excited when our students are asked to lead a retreat for groups in our presbytery, as they were asked to last weekend. It is incredible to see the group come together, talk through the theme, think about Scripture, and walk through keynote times together. Once we have done that, though, I just kind of sit back, let go, and watch them plan individual keynotes as smaller groups. It was such a joy last weekend to hear and see and watch what they had come up with, to watch as they interacted with the junior highs, to watch them get nervous and get emotional and get excited as they led the groups.

We talked about love last weekend, it being Valentine’s Day weekend and all—we talked about love, the philos or brotherly love that Christ calls us to show for each other. The students led us through the story of the Good Samaritan, challenging us to always show our love for each other as we serve each other. We talked about the eros kind of love, the erotic love formed as flirting commences and relationships first begin, the bond of love sowed deeper as folks get to know each other, get to know each other’s hearts and souls. And we talked about agape love, the unconditional love that God shows for every one of us, the love shown in creation, the love shown in God’s community, the love shown in the grace, forgiveness, and reconciliation in Christ.

Wyatt and I worked together last weekend, and we focused on the imagery of water, water that reflects God’s unconditional love for us—the water that was first used to shelter Moses from certain death as his mom laid him in the basket to float to safety, the water that carried him to the Pharoah’s daughter, as she rescued him and loved him as her own. That water reflected the incredible, deep, and unconditional love that these two women had for this little baby. That water of unconditional love carried him to safety and new life.
As we continued to talk about the idea of unconditional love, we talked about the water imagery shown to us through the story of Jesus’ baptism. This story of Jesus’ baptism really is a great one, one of my favorites. I love that Jesus asks John to baptize him, and that even though we are told that John is the one who prepares the way for Christ, prepares all of us for Christ, John is still nervous, indignant, really. “Whoa,” he says, “Don’t I really need to be baptized by you? Shouldn’t it be the other way around? Shouldn’t you be the one doing the baptizing?” But Jesus responds, “No, it has to be this way. You baptize me. This will be the first sign of the righteousness that I will be speaking about soon.” So they go down to the Jordan, and John baptizes him, cleanses him, washes him, shows Jesus that he is indeed welcomed into the kingdom. But it doesn’t stop there. As Jesus is washed with the water, the heavens open up. A voice descends like a dove (I really, really love that imagery of the voice soaring and landing like a majestic and beautiful bird). And that voice graces us with beautiful words: “You are my Son, my Beloved, and I am so very pleased with you.” I am so pleased with you.

Those are the words of unconditional love. No matter what, NO MATTER WHAT, you are my Son. My daughter. My child. And I am so very pleased with you. God claimed Jesus that day in the Jordan River, claimed him as a beloved and special Son. And God does the same for us. Baptism is a sign that we are claimed, that we are incorporated into the body of Christ, a sign that we are united with each other, that we are made one in the body of Christ. Baptism reminds us so greatly that we are loved and forgiven and graced unconditionally, that we are beloved. It reminds us that, no matter what, God is with us, walking beside us, welcoming us, loving us.

Whether we are baptized at 8 months or 8 years or 80, even, it is a reminder that God is with us and loving us, that God was with us when we were being formed in our mother’s womb, that God was with us when we came into the world. One of the greatest joys in my life was that I got to baptize my niece—my very first baptism as a minister. I already knew that I loved her unconditionally, that I would do anything for her, that I would live for her or even die for her if I had to, but wow, it really was incredible to baptize her, to say those words to her, that she is loved so greatly. That she is truly one of God’s beloved children. That she will experience such great and deep unconditional love in her life. That she is welcomed into the kingdom of God. What a special day that was!

But these waters of unconditional grace and love are not just given for us at the beginning of our lives—they are waters that wash through our lives each and every day, though every good time and bad time alike, throughout all of our years. The waters of God are there at the beginning of our lives, and they are waters that welcome us home at the end. I love the words from our Old Testament reading today:
But now thus says the Lord, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. 2When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. 3For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.

These words from Isaiah have always been very special to me, but they became even more special to me in the wake of Drew Whitten’s death a few years ago. For those of you who are new to our church family, Drew was one of our students—he lived here at the church, was very active in our college group, even served on the committee that called me here. He was kind and humble and generous and faithful and funny and loving. But, unbeknownst to those who loved him so, he was also sad and depressed—so much so that he took his life. As I was sitting in my office right before our prayer service on that awful Saturday, the day after his lovely life came to such an awful end, one of the other students came in my office and said, “Rachel, can I ask you a question? I’ve always heard that someone who takes their life won’t go to heaven. Where do you think he is right now?”

My heart broke all over again, for Drew, for her, for all of us. But I reached out for my Bible and read this passage for her from Isaiah, really because it was the only way I knew how to answer her question. “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you . . . when you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you.” I said to her that I really believe that God would not go through the trouble of creating someone and loving them unconditionally—and then not redeem them. I said to her that he had obviously passed through some really dark and overwhelming rivers, but that God was with him all along the way. I said to her that I could not imagine a God who would take away unconditional love during Drew’s worst time of despair. I’m not sure that I had actually ever said those things before, but I know that I believed them.

Because, friends, I truly believe that the waters of God run deep and wide. Those waters run deep and wide for all of us. These waters of great, unconditional love are waters that carry us to safety, waters that cleanse and nurture us, waters that wash us to something new, waters that carry us from dark times to bright ones, waters that carry us to forgiveness and grace, waters that welcome into God’s family and welcome us home when the time comes. I truly believe that those waters that Moses floated through were waters of salvation, that those baptismal waters in the Jordan that day were waters of grace and welcome and love. I love how one theologian puts it:

Nothing in creation has the power to remind us so fully of the work of our Lord as the common substance of water. This our Lord gives us at baptism as a token of his saving grace, so that from the time of our initiation onward we may be reminded of all our Lord has done for us, so that we may see ourselves as a people united to Christ and to one another [through Christ.]
I love that description of baptism: these waters remind us of God’s enormous, incredible, overwhelming love for us—in good times and bad, over the highest peaks to our lowest, deepest valleys, from the beginning to the end, and everywhere in between. Thanks be to God.