We've Already Heard this Story

Sermon from April 8, 2012

(Easter Day – Year B)

John 20:1-18

St. Alban’s Episcopal Church, Waco, Texas

Alleluia! Christ is risen!

The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!

Believe it or not, I do still remember my first Easter as a priest.

I was the assistant rector at St. Mary’s Episcopal Church.

I was new and green and had bright ideas to try out on the lay people.

As a brand new priest, I was convinced that Sunday school for adults and children should not be cancelled on Easter Day.

So I proposed at St. Mary’s that we continue with Sunday school, even on Easter morning.

The program for Sunday school that I proposed was simple.

The adults who happened to show up for Sunday school on Easter would act out the Easter Gospel for the kids who happened to show up.

It actually was a pretty good idea.

On Easter morning, about 10 adults showed up for Sunday school in the parish hall.

And about 15 kids showed up for Sunday school in the children’s education room.

So I corralled the adults together and we practiced how we were going to perform the story of the Easter Gospel for the kids.

A woman volunteered to play the part of Mary Magdalene.

Another chose to play the part of Jesus.

And another chose to be John, to be Peter, etc.

We quickly grabbed a few props from the parish hall kitchen.

And after 10 minutes of practicing, we were ready for primetime.

We walked downstairs and entered the children’s Sunday school room.

I announced:

“Boys and girls, the adults have a special Easter gift for you.

We are going to perform an amazing story, just for you!”

We then dimmed the lights a bit for effect.

The woman playing the part of Mary Magdalene began to approach from stage left and the narrator began:

“Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb...”

Then a boy in the back of the room yelled out:

“We’ve already heard this story before!”

We have already heard this story before.

For many of us, we have heard the same story, again and again, every Easter morning.

We have heard about the stone covering the tomb being rolled away.

We have heard about the various combinations of women who discover the empty tomb.

We have heard about how God raised Jesus from the dead.

We have heard about how we are not to cling to Jesus but we are to go and tell the good news to all his followers.

We’ve already heard the story before.

For some of us here today, maybe we only heard this story for the very first time when Jimmy read it from the center aisle just a moment ago.

However, I doubt that anyone in this church today has not already received the information that Jesus Christ is risen from the dead.

We have heard the story before.

The question is what we are going to do with the resurrection story after we leave this church this morning.

The question is:

How are we going to live the story in our own lives: tomorrow and the next day and the next?

The resurrection story in the Gospel of John gives us a clue as to how we are to live the resurrection story in our daily lives.

After the risen Jesus appears to Mary Magdalene, after Jesus says her name, the first words out of the risen Jesus’ mouth are:

“Do not hold on to me…

But go to my brothers and tell them the good news.”

And so Mary Magdalene is the first very apostle, the very first evangelist.

Mary goes and tells the male disciples the good news, shouting:

“I have seen the Lord!”

For as many times as we in this church today have heard the story, there are thousands of people outside of these walls who do not fully know the story of the resurrection of Jesus Christ.

Unfortunately, there are others who have heard only a skewed or inaccurate version of the story.

Last week, I learned about the cancellation of the public Easter egg hunt for children in Colorado Springs.

The Easter egg hunt was also to be cancelled in Macon, Georgia, as well.

The reason why some communities are cancelling their Easter egg hunts is that parents of the children are so competitive that the parents actually storm onto the lawn, collecting the eggs for their children.

In some places, helicopter parents hover over their children, encouraging them to knock over other kids so that their children can gather the most eggs.

Obviously the good news of resurrection still needs to be proclaimed everywhere, including at Easter egg hunts.

The world is hungry for accurate good news, the good news that we were not made for competition, but we are made for community.

The world is hungry for good news, the good news that Jesus rose for us so that we can live a new life, a life not centered on ourselves, but centered on others.

The world is hungry for good news, the good news that Jesus is not about a strict code of regulations, but Jesus’ love is alive and actively at work in our world, today.

The risen Jesus’ first words to us are:

Do not cling to me.

But go.

Go outside these walls and be the good news by shouting:

“I have seen the Lord!”

You see, I don’t care how many times we have already heard the Easter story.

Yet I do care that we live the story, as Easter people.

So go and tell and live the story.

Go - and be good news, speaking out against a skewed gospel that presents Christianity as a judgmental competition.

Tell - and share with your family and friends how you have seen the Lord, in your life today.

Live - and approach each day as if it is your last - because if it is your last, you have the promise of resurrection.

Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb.

“We’ve already heard this story before!”

I know you have.

So go into the world – and live the resurrection!

AMEN.

Tell Me the Truth

Sermon from April 6, 2012

(Good Friday – Year B)

John 18:1-19:42

Delivered at

St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Waco, Texas

I can remember sitting on the floor, red-faced and with hot cheeks.

I can remember sitting Indian-style at one end of the living room floor.

And my younger brother sat on the floor at the opposite end of the living room.

And my mother sat in a chair between us - with her arms folded in front and with a look of disgust on her face.

My mother glared first at my brother and then she glared at me and exclaimed:

“You boys are not going anywhere –

Until one of you tells me the truth.”

I can’t remember now exactly what my brother or I had done.

Maybe one of us had knocked over a lamp and broke it.

Or maybe one of us had made a mess in the playroom.

Yet no matter what it was that my brother or I had done,

Neither one of us was willing to tell the truth.

So my brother and I sat at opposite ends of the living room floor, with my mother perched on the judgment seat.

After a few minutes, she repeated her direction:

“Tell me the truth.

Tell me now who did it.

Because you are not getting up from here –

Until one of you tells me the truth.”

Eventually, one of my mother’s sons broke down and admitted the wrongdoing.

One of us brothers broke down and told the truth.

And one of us was exposed as a liar.

Because my mother was always true to her word.

No one was going anywhere, until someone tells the truth.

When I hear the story of the passion of Lord Jesus Christ, as it is told in John’s Gospel, I am always intrigued by the encounter between Jesus and Pontius Pilate.

Pilate demands that Jesus tell the truth.

And Jesus answers:

“For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth.”

Pilate and Jesus sit at opposite ends of the living room floor.

One of them is a liar and one of them is telling the truth.

Yet Jesus was born into this world, to tell the truth.

Jesus walked on this earth, to tell the truth.

Jesus died on a cross, to tell the truth.

In fact, John’s Gospel is filled with evidence that Jesus is the truth.

In the opening words of the Gospel of John, we hear that:

“The Word became flesh and lived among us.

And we have seen his glory…full of grace and truth.”

In the Gospel of John, Jesus explains:

“You shall know the truth, and the truth will set you free.

In the Gospel of John, Jesus proclaims:

“I am the Way and the Truth and the Life.”

And then, on Good Friday, Pontius Pilate asks Jesus:

“What is truth?”

And Jesus answers with deafening silence.

But Jesus does answer the question -

By stretching out his arms upon the hard wood of the cross.

Jesus is full of grace and truth.

Jesus is the Truth.

Jesus tells the truth.

And the truth is love.

When I read my newsfeed on Google news, I am thirsty for the real truth.

When I read about the death of Trayvon Martin at the hands of George Zimmerman, I want to know the truth.

For those who don’t know what I am talking about, Trayvon Martin was the African-American boy who was wearing a hoodie.

And Trayvon was recently shot by George Zimmerman, a neighborhood watchman.

In my search for the truth, I wish that I could put both Trayvon Martin and George Zimmerman into opposite corners of the living room.

I want to sit on the judgment seat and ask them:

George Zimmerman: did you act in self-defense?

Trayvon Martin: were you an innocent victim of racial profiling?

I am thirsty to know the truth:

Which one of you is a liar and which one of you is telling the truth?

Yet, like Pilate, we are looking for the wrong answers.

Because no matter who was at fault,

The truth is that a life was tragically lost because we are a people of violence and prejudice and sin.

The truth is that we are a broken people who crucify others - rather than love others.

The truth is that Jesus exposes all of us as liars.

For the truth is love.

On Good Friday, Jesus looks squarely into our eyes and proclaims:

“For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth.”

And the truth is love.

On Good Friday and on every day, we sit on the judgment seat, trying to figure out what is a lie and what is the truth.

We are seeped in a culture that tells us that everything around us is ours.

We have been told that the cars that we drive, the houses that we live in, the jobs that we have, the debit card in our wallet –

These are all ours, gained by our hard work.

Yet that is a lie.

The truth is that heaven and earth are full of God’s glory and the stuff that we have is actually God’s, on loan to us so that we might use it to love others, rather than use it to love on ourselves.

On the cross, Jesus exposes that the god of consumerism and consumption is a liar.

And the truth is love.

We are seeped in a culture that tells us that violence and prejudice are the answer to our problems and differences.

We have been told that if someone looks black and is wearing a hoodie, then they must be up to no good.

We are told that if someone looks like a redneck, then they must be a bigot.

We are told that if we just had bigger bombs and better weapons and more crucifixions and just one more spiteful thing to say to put our meddling mother-in-law into her place,

Then we would be safe and secure.

Yet that is a lie.

The truth is that Jesus goes willingly to the cross –

Never, ever retaliating or acting out of self-defense.

On the cross, Jesus exposes that the god of violence is a liar.

And the truth is love.

Love is the only truth.

Love is the only measure by which we are judged.

And Love is on the Cross.

For God is Love.

On Good Friday, Jesus and Pontius Pilate sit at opposite ends of the living room floor.

And my mother was always true to her word.

No one is going anywhere, until someone tells the truth.

So from his cross, Jesus finally confesses:

“For this I was born, and for this I came into the world,

To tell the truth.”

AMEN.

John the Pointer

Sermon from December 11, 2011
(Advent 3 – Year B)
John 1: 6-8, 19-28
St. Alban’s Episcopal Church, Waco, Texas

Learning how to be a preacher can be a scary thing.
In learning how to be a preacher at the Virginia Theological Seminary, the introductory course in preaching is a scary class called Homiletics 101.
At one end of the classroom is a pulpit, the pulpit in which students preach their very first sermon.
At the other end of the classroom is a video camera, where seminary student’s first sermons are taped, to be critiqued and graded by the professor.
And fellow students sit in rows of chairs, facing the pulpit, becoming the very first highly critical congregation for baby preachers.

Of course, there are many techniques to learn in preaching.
But one of the tips that I was given by my homiletics professors is not to point with one finger.
For when a preacher gets out his or her index finger and points, the congregation can feel as if they are being scolded or judged.
Instead of pointing with one finger, my preaching professors suggested that if we wanted to make such a gesture, to use the whole hand, which is less judgmental and less accusatory.

Most people do not like to have a bony finger pointing into their chest, accusing them.
Most people do not like to have their preacher pointing in their direction, convicting them.
Yet preachers - and all Christians - are sent by God to point, to point to Jesus Christ.

In the Gospel of John, we hear about a man named John, a man sent by God to point to Jesus.
This John and the writer of the Gospel of John are two different people.
Yet the writer of the Gospel of John says this about the other John:

“There was a man sent from God, whose name was John.
He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him.
He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light.”

In the Gospel of John, this man sent from God, whose name was John, is not referred to in this Gospel as John the Baptist.
Yet this man named John is same man as John the Baptist.
This man named John is not only John the Baptist.
This man is also “John the Pointer.”

For there was a man sent from God, whose name was John.
This John came as a pointer, to point to the light.
He himself was not the light, but he came to point to the light.
For the true light who has come into the world is Jesus Christ.
And John the Pointer, also known as John the Baptist, wants us to make sure that we are truly pointing our index finger to Jesus.

In this season of Advent, in this season of preparation for the feast of Christmas, it seems that everyone is pointing at someone or something.
Some people are pointing to the struggling economy, asking us to buy more things to boost up a shaky economy that depends heavily on the success of retailers in December.
Others are pointing to “put Christ back in Christmas” – yet they don’t give us a compelling vision of who this Christ really is.
Others are pointing to the Republican primaries and the 2012 election, looking for the next presidential Messiah.
Others are pointing to the Tea Party movement or the Occupy movement - telling us how these populist movements are either compatible or incompatible with Christianity.

My facebook newsfeed, especially in December, seems to be filled with people who are all pointing with their index finger at someone or something that will save us from a whole host of ills and complaints.
During December, we are quick to point our finger at the economy, at politics, at families - and even point our finger at what is wrong with the way we celebrate Christmas itself - looking for something to save us from our current world.

But there was a man sent from God, whose name was John.
This John came as a pointer, to point to the light.
He himself was not the light, but he came to point to the light.
For the true light who has come into the world is Jesus.
And we are to point to Jesus Christ.

Preaching professors might advise against pointing the index finger at a congregation - because pointing can make people in the pews feel uncomfortable.
Yet in all four of the Gospels, John the Baptist, John the Pointer, makes people uncomfortable.
And it is my belief that when we are truly pointing to Jesus, then we will make people uncomfortable.

Last Thursday night, Susan and I decided to stop by Wal-Mart on Hewitt Drive to pick up a few strands of Christmas lights that we needed to complete the lighting of our Christmas tree.
Of course, we also made a few impulse purchases, picking up a 12-pack of Diet Coke and finding a new kind of coffee cake that we wanted to try and choosing a new plush toy for our dog, because our precious dog truly does deserve an early Christmas present.

In the checkout line at Wal-Mart, we were assisted by a cashier who felt it was necessary to point out and comment on each of the items in our shopping cart.
The cashier was slow and seemed to have a slight mental disability.
His pointed comments about each of our purchases made me uncomfortable.
He made a point to complain about having to work the late shift all this week, which also made me uncomfortable.
I was secretly hoping that he would just hurry up - so that we could get the heck out of there.

Yet as we were pushing our shopping cart out of Wal-Mart, Susan said to me:
“I am glad we had that nice conversation with that cashier.
So many people are looking for a job these days and I am glad that he has a job and was so personal and friendly, taking the time to make conversation with us.”

I felt like crawling under a rock – because I realized that my wife had just pointed to Jesus, while I was so busy pointing to my own selfish concerns.
Like John the Baptist, like John the Pointer, when we are truly pointing to Jesus, we are uncomfortable.
We are uncomfortable because Jesus comes to us, each and every day, in the people who are the last and the least.

In my experience, we are pointing to Jesus when we are truly concerned about the poor, by making a difference - not just by giving lip service to the poor.
We are pointing to Jesus when we point out injustice, when we point out inequality, when we point out that the true light that comes into the world shines a beam on love and justice and a fair living wage and adequate health care and other subjects that make us uncomfortable.

You see, I don’t care if people say “Merry Christmas” or “Happy Holidays” at Dillard’s.
Yet I do care if we are using our index finger to point to Jesus, by pointing to the people that Jesus cares about the most.
For Jesus cares the most about the poor and the lonely and the unemployed and the uninsured.

There was a man sent from God, whose name was John.
This John was not the light, but he came to point to the light.
For the true light has come into the world.
And we are to point to Jesus Christ.

For I don’t care what my preaching professors said.

{pointing to a person in the congregation}
It’s okay - to point.

AMEN.

Peace

Reflection on September 11, 2011
(A Service for Peace)
John 14:27
St. Alban’s Episcopal Church, Waco, Texas

Jesus says to us:
“Peace is my last gift to you, my own peace I now leave with you;
Peace which the world cannot give.”

Ten years ago this morning, I was searching for peace.
I was searching for the peace which the world cannot give.
On September 11, 2001, I was 37 years old with a wife and two small children, all of whom I had just uprooted 4 weeks before.
I had just resigned my position as the CFO of a benefits and trust company.
And a moving van had just recently carried all of our possessions away.

Ten years ago, I was a brand new student at the Virginia Theological Seminary, near Washington, DC.
I had never preached a sermon in my life.
I had never performed a baptism or gone on a hospital visit.
Yet I was searching for peace, the peace which I knew, I knew, that the world could not give me.

On that clear sunny Tuesday morning, a classmate told me that a plane had crashed in New York City.
With other classmates, I huddled around a tv set in the student lounge.
Then a large sonic boom shook the buildings and the windows.
We ran outside, searching the skies, not realizing that we had just heard the Pentagon explosion just a few miles away.
The sound of sirens filled the air and all of us headed into the seminary chapel for prayer and for hymns.

On that day, Susan had students in her classroom with parents who were in the Pentagon.
My sons, who were 10 and 7 at the time, remember being at their classroom desks, feeling the sound of Flight 77 shake the windows.

Desperate to find my peace and to give sacrificially, I drove frantically around Washington, DC, trying to give blood.
I drove down I-395 with my windows down, with the smoke from the Pentagon filling my car.

When I finally got to Susan’s school late that afternoon, I cried.
I cried for two reasons:
God had turned the interior of our lives upside down by calling me to be God’s priest.
And now it seemed that the exterior of our lives was being turned upside down as well - as God had moved our family into the epicenter of this horror.

Yet Jesus says to us:
My peace I give to you.
Peace which the world cannot give.

In the last 10 years, I have found an interior peace that I did not have on September 11, 2001.

In the last 10 years, my marriage has grown stronger and deeper, as I have found great peace through my wonderful wife – my wife who has sacrificed so much for me.
In the last 10 years, my sons, whom many predicted would grow up to be screwed up “preacher’s kids” - are now incredible young men.
In the last 10 years, I have discovered that I am a pretty good priest - who can actually preach a decent sermon, on occasion.
In the last 10 years, I have discovered an inner peace, a peace which our suburban dream house never gave, a peace that my job never gave, a peace that I cannot receive from things.

And this inner peace only comes - from Jesus living within me.

Today I remember the smoke, the sirens, the sonic boom of that September morning.
But most of all today, I give thanks.
I give thanks that Jesus has given me his last gift.
I give thanks that Jesus has given me something that the world cannot give.
I give thanks that Jesus has given me - his peace.

Greenfield

Jesus teaches us: “Look around you, and see how the fields are ripe for harvesting. (John 4:35)”

Last year, Bishop Doyle asked me to lead an exciting new venture, a “Greenfield Initiative,” by chairing a new Greenfield Commission. I have been leading this Greenfield Commission, a creative bunch that includes 8 clergy from all over our diocese. Yet our name - “greenfield” - brings about many questions as to the meaning of that word.

Evangelism in the greenfield means looking around you and seeing how the fields are ripe for harvesting. Greenfield evangelism does not mean knocking on unknown doors and passing out paper pamphlets about Jesus. Greenfield evangelism does not mean staying inside our churches and waiting for people to come to us, just because we have an attractive sign out front with our worship service times.

Greenfield evangelism means looking around at the places where you gather right now – and then seeing how the field is ripe for harvesting. Your greenfield might be a yoga class that you have attended for years. Your greenfield might be the group of guys that you go deer hunting with every fall. Your greenfield might be: a book club, the parents on your son’s football team, the college students on the floor of your dorm, the early risers with whom you power walk with every morning, the people who you meet for happy hour after work.

These are the greenfields that are ripe for the harvest. Then, in your greenfield, just open your mouth and share your story. And the harvest will come, in ways that we could never ask for or imagine.

Bishop Doyle is hosting a Conference on Evangelism at Camp Allen for the Episcopal Diocese of Texas. The conference will be Friday, November 11 – Saturday, November 12. Jimmy and I will be there; please come and join us. You can register at www.campallen.org. If you come, I believe that you will learn to look around you, to find the greenfields in your life. You will learn how to share your story more effectively, so that the harvest of Jesus’ message of love will come, in ways that we could never ask for or imagine.

A video will be shown at the conference, highlighting the exciting challenge of the Greenfield Initiative. Our St. Alban’s Bible Study at Barnett’s Pub (the study begins again on Tuesday, September 27!) will be featured, an example of harvesting outside of the church buildings and into the ripe fields.

Where is your greenfield? Just look around you, and see how the fields are ripe for harvesting.

The Way, the Truth and the Life

I have found it interesting that the reading from the Gospel this Sunday is the most requested reading (other than Psalm 23) at a burial service. The passage begins with comforting words, as Jesus says: “In my Father’s house there are many mansions, many dwelling places.” However, the passage then goes on to one of the more puzzling and emphatic verses in the New Testament: “I am the way, and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.”

Fifty to a hundred years ago, it would be unusual for Christians to know Muslims or atheists. Today however, in our more pluralistic society, the idea that Jesus is the way - and that no one comes to the Father except through Jesus - brings many questions.

For me, the Way of Jesus is the Way of the Cross. And the Way of the Cross is a unique way to live an abundant life. I do not think that the statement is exclusive, but rather descriptive. The statement is a description of the paradoxical Christian life, that you must lose your life to save it.

I invite you to walk this Way; and to discover, with me, that Jesus is the way, the truth and the life for you.

Bi-Lingual Gatekeepers

Sermon from May 15, 2011
(Easter 4 – Year A)
John 10:1-10
St. Alban’s Episcopal Church, Waco, Texas

In 1990, the Americans with Disabilities Act was enacted by Congress.
This act was designed to make buildings and other public places accessible to all.
At the time that the Americans with Disabilities Act was passed, I was working in the business world.
And one of my job duties was functioning as the manager of the 75,000 square foot office building that our company owned and occupied.

Looking out for the economic concerns of our financial partners, I was disturbed that the Americans with Disabilities Act would cost our real estate partnership thousands and thousands of dollars to comply with the new regulations.
However, in order to understand the Act better, I was sent to a training seminar.
At this training seminar, I learned a whole new language.
In managing our office building up to that point, I only knew the language of dollars and cents.
Yet this seminar taught me the language of those people who live with disabilities.

I learned that our office building was filled with gates, gates for people with sight disabilities.
Therefore, our elevators needed buttons on them in Braille.
Our building was filled with gates, gates for people with hearing disabilities.
Therefore, our fire alarms needed visible flashing strobe lights, in addition to audible alarms.
Our building was filled with gates, gates for people with mobile disabilities.
Therefore, ramps were installed and bathroom stalls widened to facilitate those in wheelchairs.

At this training seminar about the Americans with Disabilities Act, I learned that I was a gatekeeper, a gatekeeper who must learn to be bi-lingual.
In order to be a good gatekeeper of our office building, I had to know two languages:
The language of finance - and the language of the disabled.

In John’s Gospel, Jesus proclaims:
“I am the gate for the sheep.
And the gatekeeper opens the gate.”

Jesus is the gate, the way that leads eternal life in his sheepfold.
Jesus is the gate, the open access to the loving embrace of our heavenly Father.
And we are the gatekeepers, the gatekeepers who make Jesus accessible to everyone.

And at the training seminar that we know as St. Alban’s Episcopal Church, we learn that we must be gatekeepers who are bi-lingual.
In order to be a good gatekeeper of Jesus’ sheepfold, we must speak two languages:
The language of God - and the language of our culture.
As good gatekeepers, we must bust open the gate to Jesus Christ, by becoming bi-lingual translators of his good news.

As a priest, I believe that one of my primary duties is to be bi-lingual.
One of my primary duties is to be a translator of the Gospel.
Therefore, I learn the language of God’s good news by studying my Bible and praying about what the words of scripture mean in my own life.
Then I step into this pulpit and I strive to be a good gatekeeper, translating the good news of Jesus using the language and the images of our culture.
This is why I have stood in this pulpit in the past - and impersonated Oprah Winfrey and Ricky Bobby.
This is why I have used images of an unopened bottle of Cabernet and packets of fake honey at Bush’s Chicken.
This is why, on Easter Day, I sang the song that doesn’t end, as if I was Lamb Chop, the children’s puppet.
I do all these silly and foolish things as your preacher, because I want to be bi-lingual.
I want to be a good gatekeeper, making the good news of Jesus completely accessible for everyone.

And Jesus teaches us how to be gatekeepers.
For Jesus himself was bi-lingual.
Jesus did not drone on in a monotone, like some boring theology professor.
But Jesus knew how to translate his message to the culture around him.

To people who were farmers in an agrarian culture, Jesus translates his message by saying:
“The kingdom of God is like a tiny, tiny mustard seed that a farmer plants in the ground.
And from that tiny, tiny seed grows a giant tree.”

To desperate housewives, Jesus translates by saying:
“The kingdom of God is like a valuable coin that gets lost on the floor.
And the woman sweeps and sweeps the floor with her broom until she finally finds it.”

And Jesus translates the wideness of his Father’s love, by opening wide his arms on the hard wood of the cross, to draw the whole world into the saving embrace of his gate.

This morning, Jesus proclaims to us:
“I am the gate.
And the gatekeeper opens the gate.”

And Jesus teaches us how to be bi-lingual gatekeepers of his good news.
Jesus teaches us how to translate his message to the culture around us.

If you speak the language of cooking, you can translate a passage from the First Letter to the Corinthians.
Using the language of cooking, you can translate by saying:
“Knowledge puffs up, like a soufflé that comes out of the oven and falls.
But love builds up, like a tall wedding cake that is built with upon layers and layers of love for others.”

If you speak the language of NASCAR, you can translate the story of Pentecost, when the Holy Spirit came down with a roar from heaven.
Using the language of NASCAR, you can translate by saying:
“The roar of the engines at the Texas Motor Speedway makes my heart pound in my chest.
And the Holy Spirit roaring through the people in this church makes my heart pound with excitement, as well.”

If you speak the language of gardening or facebook or baseball or American Idol,
If you speak the language of teachers or bloggers or lawyers or plumbers,
Then you, too, can translate the good news of Jesus and be a bi-lingual gatekeeper.

However, we are not good gatekeepers when our faith and our churches are inaccessible to others.

We are not good gatekeepers when we use our faith to alienate others.
Therefore, we should not alienate others by asking:
“Have you been saved?”
Instead, we should translate our faith, using the language of God - and the language of our culture - to invite others by saying:
“Come and see.”
And our own authentic faith will light the way to the gate, like a pulsating strobe light on a fire alarm.

We are not good gatekeepers when our churches are filled with gates, gates of Episcopalian code words, words such as “narthex” and “eucharistic visitors.”
Therefore, we don’t need to get rid of the unique words of our rich tradition.
But we make our church accessible for all when we install Braille buttons in the elevator, to translate and patiently explain our funky Episcopalian language.

We are not good gatekeepers when our churches are filled with gates, gates designed to keep people out.
Therefore, we make our church accessible for all, installing wide ramps of welcome that enable everyone to come into Jesus’ sheepfold.
And we open our mouths to spread the great news that it doesn’t matter if you are bi-polar - or have been in prison - or have a drinking problem - or are divorced - or don’t own a necktie:
All, all, are welcome at God’s Table.

Jesus proclaims today:
“I am the gate.
And the gatekeeper opens the gate.”

And in this coming week, you will have an opportunity to be a good gatekeeper.
Using the language of God - and the language of your missionary context, you will have an opportunity to use your bi-lingual skills.
By translating the best news in the world, you will have an opportunity to make Jesus fully accessible.

So hold open the door to Jesus,
And be a bi-lingual gatekeeper.

AMEN.

Back Gate Wide Open

When I was a kid, I always got in trouble for not closing the back gate. The back gate separated the back yard from our driveway. If someone left the back gate open, during the night the wind would blow and you could hear the gate open and shut with loud banging noises. Upon hearing this, my parents would yell out: “Who left the back gate open?”

In this Sunday's Gospel reading from John, Jesus tell us that he is the gate. Jesus protects his sheep by closing the gate and enfolding us in his loving embrace. Jesus is our security. Jesus is the shepherd and the guardian of our souls.

Today in the church, I feel that we have taken the gate metaphor too far. To many people in the world, the church is just full of too many gates: Who can take communion? What do I have to wear? What if I am divorced? Would the church welcome someone who doesn’t know the rules?

Sure, Jesus is the gate, the protector of the flock. Yet Jesus, through his Holy Spirit, is also the one who blows the gate wide open. Jesus has provided clear and open access to the Father of us all, through Jesus’ death and resurrection.

I love thinking that our closed access to God is now banging in the wind, because “someone” has left the back gate wide open.

Born Again

Nicodemus comes to see Jesus at night. In John’s Gospel, Nicodemus is cautiously curious about the message and the identity of this man named Jesus. Jesus tells Nicodemus: “Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above (3:3).”

In our study of the Gospel of John, one of the nuggets that I learned is that, in John, ‘seeing’ has two meanings. We can see with our physical eyes - and we can see with our hearts. Jesus is telling Nicodemus how to see, to see with his heart. To see in a new way involves transformation, renewal and change in the ways we view the world.

We are born from above, born again, when we see people and things in new ways. We are born again when we see a homeless man not as a statistic, but as a son of God. We are born again when we see our problems not as struggles, but as opportunities for personal growth.

During this Lent, I hope that we may see with our hearts. I hope that we may be born again, from above.

The Road Less Traveled

When I was in the fifth grade, and just about to leave the comfortable confines of elementary school to move on to the big, bad world of junior high school, the school librarian, Mrs. Marks, read us a poem. The poem that she read to us was Robert Frost’s famous, “The Road Not Taken.”

“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.”

When I entered into junior high school, I was certainly faced with choices, choices regarding classes and cigarettes and drugs. Throughout my life, I have been aware that there are two roads that diverge in the wood. And I have discovered that the road less traveled has made all the difference in my life.

In the Gospel of John, Jesus proclaims to his followers that he alone is the Bread of Life, that we must eat this bread, that we must believe in him, that we must consume him and eat him and feed on him in order to live an abundant life. This teaching is too difficult to swallow; therefore, many of his followers choose the road more traveled and leave Jesus behind.
Yet a small group of followers choose the road less traveled. His closest followers ask Jesus: “Lord, to whom else can we go?” They realize that their options are limited; there is no better option in life than to believe in Jesus, for by choosing that road, it has made all the difference.

Each and every day, we see two roads that diverge in the wood. And we must make a choice: do we take the road that the world says leads to life? Or, do we take the road less traveled, the road where Jesus’ teaching is difficult, the road that asks us to give up everything, the road that calls us to lay down our life for our friends, the road where we eat the flesh and drink the blood of Jesus so that the Bread of Life may dwell in us, and we in him?

As your pastor, I have promised God and you that I will show you that there are two roads that diverge in the woods. You do have a choice. Yet as your spiritual leader, it is my joy when I see you choose the road less traveled.

When I see you choosing to study the Gospel of John, when I see you opening the Bible with your teenager in the youth room, when I see you washing dishes in the parish hall kitchen after a Sunday lunch, when I see you singing in the choir room every Wednesday night, when I see you pulling into the parking lot every Sunday to eat the bread of heaven that gives life to the world, when I see you taking the road less traveled, then it is my joy to know that you are choosing the road to abundant and eternal life.

Take the road less traveled by. Choose Jesus. For he has made all the difference.

Something Better

Sermon from January 16, 2011
(Epiphany 2 – Year A)
John 1: 29-41
St. Alban’s Episcopal Church, Waco, Texas

What are you looking for?

In the Gospel of John, the first thing out of Jesus’ mouth, the very first words that are uttered by Jesus in this whole Gospel, is this question:
What are you looking for?

John the Baptist glances at Jesus walking by and John tells two of his own followers:
“Look! Here is the Lamb of God!”
And those disciples then follow Jesus.
To which Jesus turns around and asks:
“What are you looking for?”

The disciples of John the Baptist now seem ready to switch their allegiance to Jesus, and these new disciples ask Jesus an odd little question:
“Rabbi, Teacher, where are you staying?”
And then Jesus answers:
“Come and see.”

So the first two disciples do come and see what they have been looking for, something better than they could ever imagine.
The writer of the Gospel of John tells us a seemingly unimportant detail, a detail that it is four o’clock in the afternoon.
This means that it was far too late in the day to begin the journey on to the next town.
So Andrew and the other new disciple stay with Jesus through the night, sitting down to a long meal over a bottle of wine, telling jokes with Jesus late into the night and waking up to a leisurely breakfast of pancakes and warm maple syrup with the Lamb of God, the Messiah.

Jesus asks his first followers:
What are you looking for?
And after a day and a night with Jesus, they discover what they are looking for.
They discover something better.
They discover the Word of God made flesh.

So Andrew runs to tell his brother, Simon:
“We have found the Messiah.”
We have found something better.

What are you looking for?
I know that I am always looking for something better.

For starters, I am looking for better weather on Sunday mornings!

I also know that when I am at my house and lying on the couch watching TV in the den, Susan just hates it when I am in-charge of the remote control.
She and I will settle in to watch a good movie that we are both enjoying.
Then a commercial comes on the screen, and I immediately begin to flip through channels using the remote.
Susan chastises me for this behavior, yelling:
“What are you doing?
I thought you were liking that show!”
To which I respond:
“I’m liking the movie.
But I just thought I’d see if there was something better.”

What am I looking for?
I am looking for something better.

In 1863, in the depths of the American Civil War, the people of the United States were killing each other in the deadliest war ever fought on American soil.
People with black skin were held in slavery.
Years of sectarian thought and violence had ripped this country into shreds.
We were looking for something better.
So in the midst of dead bodies on the Pennsylvanian fields of Gettysburg, Abraham Lincoln rose up to give us a vision of something better.
Abraham Lincoln preached about a vision, a vision of a better people, a nation that “shall have a new birth of freedom,
[Where] government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.”

One hundred years later, in 1963, the people of the United States were still treated unequally, based upon the color of their skin.
Violent terrorism and fearful prejudice reared its ugly head.
We were looking for something better.
So on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, Martin Luther King, Jr. rose up to give us a vision of something better, a vision of a better people, “a nation where [people] will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.”

Last week, the city of Tucson, Arizona was devastated by the attempted assassination of Gabrielle Giffords and by the killing and wounding of 19 by-standers.
Partisan rhetoric quickly filled the airwaves.
We were looking for something better.
And in response, last Wednesday night, our current President Barack Obama rose up to give us a vision that we can be better, a challenge “to sharpen our instincts for empathy” and to not be driven by reactionary politics on both the extreme left and the extreme right, but to be a better people who are driven by kindness and love.

What are we looking for?
The people on the battlefield of Gettysburg were looking for something better, a better world where people are not divided into slave and free and Yankee and Confederate.
The people on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial were looking for something better, a better world where people are not labeled as blacks and whites.
The people in Tucson and across this great land are looking for something better, a better and healthier world that is not molded by extremists or Rachel Maddow or Glenn Beck or the relentless news cycle.
And the people who followed John the Baptist’s message of repentance from sins were looking for something better,
A better world that is not centered on sin and the law, but is centered on love and forgiveness and grace.

Why are you here this morning?
What are you looking for?
You must be looking for something better - or else you wouldn’t be here today.

As for me, I here this morning because I am looking for something better.
I am here this morning because I am looking for an abundant life that is greater than my sins and shortcomings.
I am here this morning because I am looking for inspiration to sharpen my instincts for empathy and love toward others.
I am here this morning because I want to encounter this man named Jesus, the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.
I am here this morning to worship and pray and learn and stay and abide with Jesus, the Messiah, the loving Word made flesh.
I am here today because my family and my friends and you – all of you – have told me:
We have found the Messiah.
Come and see.

Yes, my friends, I am here this morning because I am looking for something better - and his name is Jesus.

And each and every day, we find and are found by him whose first question to us is this:
What are you looking for?
Each and every day, we find and are found by Jesus, who gives us life, an abundant life that is so much better than a life of violence and discrimination and political posturing and addiction and loneliness and materialism.
And each and every day Jesus invites us to stay with him, to abide with him, to sit up at night with him over a beverage and to receive a vision of something better, a vision of a better world filled with grace and truth and love.

What are you looking for?
We have found the Messiah, the loving Word made flesh.
So come and see
Something better.

AMEN.