It's the End of the World as we know it

Twenty-fifth Sunday after Pentecost – Year B

November 15, 2015

Mark 13:1-8

As he came out of the temple, one of his disciples said to him, "Look, Teacher, what large stones and what large buildings!" Then Jesus asked him, "Do you see these great buildings? Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down."

When he was sitting on the Mount of Olives opposite the temple, Peter, James, John, and Andrew asked him privately, "Tell us, when will this be, and what will be the sign that all these things are about to be accomplished?" Then Jesus began to say to them, "Beware that no one leads you astray. Many will come in my name and say, 'I am he!' and they will lead many astray. When you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed; this must take place, but the end is still to come. For nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; there will be earthquakes in various places; there will be famines. This is but the beginning of the birthpangs."

Are you afraid? After the events in Paris two days ago, it's hard not to at least worry a little bit. The world seems like it's falling apart some days, doesn't it? You turn on the news and you hear about the latest shootings, the latest robberies, the latest drug arrests in the local area. The national news isn't any better. What's happening with our economy? Where are we at war? What's going on with pollution and global warming? What is the latest threat that has been made against us? Where did the latest terrorist attack? Who did it? Will they attack here? Are our children safe from kidnappers and molesters? Do we have enough money saved to retire comfortably? One thing after another, one news story after another; the bad news keeps coming. It's enough to make you not want to step out of your house. It's enough to make you really negative about the world, about our lives.

Fear has become big business for news media. If only the fear-mongering could be just on the news. But, we hear it every where. Even in many churches. One of the unfortunate things about many churches is how they often use fear and threats of danger to bring about a change in behavior or to explain why something happened. A hurricane wipes out a town, and the televangelist declares it is God's judgment against the town because of its acceptance of gay and lesbian folk. An earthquake shakes a region, and it's interpreted as being a result of people turning their backs on God's ways. A soldier is killed, and a church declares it was the fault of our country allowing women to do what they wish with their bodies.

Be afraid. Be VERY afraid. And then there is the greatest fear of all that the church likes to trot out: the fear of hell. Do the right thing, do what God wants or you will suffer the flames of damnation for all eternity. Turn away, the end is coming; can't you see the signs? I can still remember channel flipping back in the early 90's and running across the televangelist declaring that the Soviet Union was the Anti-Christ, that black army helicopters were the locusts in Revelation, that all signs pointed to Jesus' imminent return before the end of the century. And the broadcasting of fear, I'm sure, made him millions.

Preachers throughout Christian history have used human apprehension of the unknown to whip up fear, and add to the numbers of their followers. But if there was one phrase that Jesus said repeatedly, reported over and over in all four gospels it is this: Be not afraid. Fear narrows vision; it induces blindness; it causes a sense of isolation and abandonment; it leads men and women to act without thinking in an attempt to save themselves.

Jesus wasn’t speaking of wars and earthquakes to produce fear in his disciples. He wanted them to be alert. The flip side of fear is awareness. Not knowing what is coming means you have to pay attention to what is, you have to examine your situation and make your decisions as best you can. The flip side of thinking about The End is that it helps us focus on what is truly important in the present.

So, what if you knew your time was almost up? What if you had only one month left in your life? What would you do?

• Would you finish up important matters at work?

• Or would you quit your job and spend every remaining day with family or friends?

• Would you travel to a place you always wanted to go?

• Would you reconcile a fractured relationship?

• Would you pray more, go to church more, do that generous act you always wanted to do for others?

• Would you find ways to leave a mark on the world?

Here’s a harder question: What if we discovered that our congregation only had one more month to exist? Not that we as individuals would be gone but that, in one month, we would no longer be able to meet for worship or any other reason. No building, no worship, no community.

I’ll bet that the pews would be full. I’ll bet that many of our inactive members would show up to say good bye. I, for one, would want an entire worship service of just music: choir anthems, bells, children, some of our great hymns. Maybe we could have a candlelight service with communion, even if it wasn’t Christmas Eve. I doubt that we’d have many committee meetings; we could forget worrying about the budget and the roof and our next dinner.

By the end of the month we’d have to think about what to do with our assets. Let’s also say for the sake of argument, that we had the ability to decide what we were going to do with our real estate, our furnishings, our cash and our endowment.

• How would we decide what to do with the money? We wouldn’t have time to fight about it. We’d have to focus fast and get our priorities straight.

• What would we support and what would we want our final legacy to be?

• We could help start a new ministry where none currently exists.

• Or we could support an existing one.

• We could create scholarships, build a youth center, endow a program to provide shelter for the homeless.

We could do so much -- if we had only a month left! We could be really great stewards of our resources. In the intensity of last days, we would live better, be better. We would be more generous, less controlling, more focused on the most important things in life.

In the world of ecclesiological research – in other words, studies about the church – some people are seeing signs they believe point to an imminent end for the church as we know it. One out of five Americans now declares their faith belief as 'none.'. When you look at Americans under the age of 30, that number is one out of three. There are now more Nones than the largest Protestant denomination in America: the Southern Baptists!

However, those who say they have no religious identity do not necessarily have no religious beliefs. Two thirds of those who declare themselves 'nones' say they believe in God or some form of higher being. Half say they feel a deep connection with nature. 20% say they pray every day.

Which makes me ask, If so many of the 'nones' feel some religious interest or connection, what is it that’s causing them to leave the church? That’s a big question, and there is more than one right answer. Some say, “I didn't leave the church, the church left me.” A study by the Pew Forum a few years ago found that people unaffiliated with churches believe that churches are too concerned with money and power. 70% of them say that. Almost as many, 68%, say that churches are too involved with politics. The view of many from the outside looking in is that Christianity is judgmental, homophobic, hypocritical, and too political.¹

Is time up for the church? Should we shut the doors and put up a For Sale sign? I don’t think so. All those numbers and studies are important, and we should pay attention to them, but if we are followers of Jesus then we know better than to let fear narrow our vision and cause us to act without thinking. Jesus does not want us to be afraid of the future we cannot predict. He wants us to be alert.

Not knowing what is coming means you have to pay attention to what is happening right now. The disciples didn’t have people taking surveys or studying churches to give them statistics. They didn’t need statistics. They knew they were a minority religion. What gave them the determination to face the future with boldness? The knowledge of God’s compassionate love showed to them by Jesus; and the certainty of the unbreakable bond of that love made real for them by his resurrection from the dead.

If we know that God will not let us go, we can step out in faith, whether we are in the majority or the minority. In fact, being a minority gives us some freedom to claim who we really are: flawed, certainly; perfect, no. But neither are we the judgmental, homophobic, hypocritical or overly political organization that we appear to be to those who don’t know us.

Our time is up…not for our individual lives or our life together as a congregation, but for the days of relying on a superficial understanding of what the church is. No longer can we expect that church is a place you go to for an hour on Sunday mornings, plus the occasional wedding or funeral. Now is the time for us to really BE the church – to live as an outpost of God’s Kingdom, demonstrating the love of Christ by

• the way we live our lives,

• the way we use our resources,

• and the way we love the world.

Don’t let the wars and the rumors of wars alarm you. Don’t let the numbers or the research or the statistics scare you. We’re not at the end yet. In fact, this may just be the beginning of something new. It might be the birth of something we didn’t know before, something we hadn’t seen before. It might be the new advent of our God. Amen.

1The Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life. “ ‘Nones’ on the Rise” and “Sidebar: Some Theories About Root Causes of the Rise of the Unaffiliated.” Poll of October 9, 2012. http://www.pewforum.org/Unaffiliated/nones-on-the-rise.aspx and http://www.pewforum.org/Unaffiliated/nones-on-the-rise-sidebar.aspx   

Compassionately getting away

Eighth Sunday after Pentecost - Proper 11 – Year B

July 19, 2015

Mark 6:30-34, 53-56

The apostles gathered around Jesus, and told him all that they had done and taught. He said to them, "Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while." For many were coming and going, and they had no leisure even to eat. And they went away in the boat to a deserted place by themselves. Now many saw them going and recognized them, and they hurried there on foot from all the towns and arrived ahead of them. As he went ashore, he saw a great crowd; and he had compassion for them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd; and he began to teach them many things.

When they had crossed over, they came to land at Gennesaret and moored the boat. When they got out of the boat, people at once recognized him, and rushed about that whole region and began to bring the sick on mats to wherever they heard he was. And wherever he went, into villages or cities or farms, they laid the sick in the marketplaces, and begged him that they might touch even the fringe of his cloak; and all who touched it were healed.

It's been almost two weeks since my family and I returned from our vacation. It was the first vacation we've had as a family for several years. It was good to get away, to spend time together. But, as often happens, we returned from the 'break' more tired than when we left. And for the last two weeks we've been trying to catch up on the life that got piled up here, the laundry that needs to be done, the appointments and commitments that had to be scheduled for after our return. We just got back from a break, and could use a break from the work that the last break created.

When I was younger (and single with no kids) one of the joys I had in life was being able to get away by myself. I could jump in the car and drive, and in just a little bit I could be alone. I could walk into my apartment, lock the door and it would be just me and my cat until I decided to walk outside again. When I left work at the end of the week, it was actually possible for me to have the whole weekend to myself if I wanted to. Now, that's just a dream. Maybe after the kids have grown up and moved out on their own, it might happen. But now, no. There is almost always something demanding my attention, requiring me to leave my solitude and be with others.

That hour or two late in the evening after the kids have gone to bed has become a sacred time for Missy and I. It's time for just us. We can actually talk, we can relax, put aside the cares of the day. We can ignore the piles of laundry, the stacks of dirty dishes, the bills that need to be paid. For just an hour or two, the world can be kept at bay. Of course, the next morning it all comes crashing back down on us.

Do you ever feel like you can't have a moment to yourself? It's a feeling that most of us in our society can relate to. It seems almost impossible to really get away, to find a place by yourself. You have to work at it. You want some time alone: you have to get away, shut off your cell phone, figure out how you can create a space between you and the world. Does that mean going away from the city? Does it mean pulling the drapes and locking the door? It takes work to be alone. And, when you try to be alone, and the world suddenly invades your solitude, it can be frustrating, annoying, infuriating; it can even make you more than a little mad.

I don't know how many times I've found myself sitting on the couch in the fall, watching football, having a little time to myself on Sunday afternoon. Then the kids come running in. If it's just to make noise, or annoy me with a story or a question, I often get a little short with them. But, if they come running in crying, or bleeding, or hurt in some way, it could be best football game in history and I would turn away to respond to their need; out of duty, out of love, out of compassion. My own wants and desires set aside, so that I could address their needs.

Our text from Mark, seems rather out of place. It follows our reading from last week where Jesus hears of the beheading of John the Baptist. We read in our text that the apostle's give Jesus a report of their foray into ministry and that Jesus wants to get away with them for a while. Then we skip completely over the miraculous feeding of the five thousand and the story of Jesus walking on water! Our text picks up again after they have arrived on the other side of the lake. We skipped over two of the most powerful and amazing stories about Jesus. It makes no sense; or does it?

Often, when we think about Jesus, we think about the incredible things he did: the miracles, the feeding of thousands of people with just a few scraps of food, transforming water into wine, walking on water; the miracles. What we sometimes look past are some of the other things Jesus did: listening, caring, welcoming, having compassion. We focus on the god-like miracles, and look past the things that we could perhaps achieve on a good day. I think our lectionary, the schedule of weekly readings we follow, skips passages to help us to see that we can be Christ-like to our neighbors, even though we may not be able to walk on water or feed thousands of people out of a 'to go' bag, we can be compassionate.

So what is compassion? The word we have in Greek (σπλαγχνίζομαι – splanchnizomai) is rooted in the word for guts . So, compassion is that feeling we get in our guts. We see something, and our guts are wrenched, are hearts are torn, and we feel the need to reach out, to do something. That's compassion. The crowds surround Jesus, seeking healing and wholeness, and he has compassion on them. He sensed their pain and need and entered into it. That's the other part of compassion, the part we get in English. Compassion is a compound word, it has a prefix - “com”, which means 'with', or 'together'. The passion part comes from the Latin understanding 'passion', - to suffer. Compassion is to enter into another persons life, to identify with them to the level that you suffer with them, that their pain, their need becomes your own.

If we look around our community, around this great big ball on which we all live, we can all see many things that punch us in our gut, that makes our hearts ache, that causes compassion to flower in our souls. All of us are responding to that compassion that is created in our own ways. We may be volunteering our services, we may be collecting donations, we may be financially supporting different efforts, we may be spending time on our knees in prayer. We are doing things. Because, that's the other part of compassion. Compassion isn't just a feeling, it's a doing. It's a doing that we are individually doing, and it's a doing that we are called to as a church, as a community of God's people.

We all know that Zion is a small church in numbers. We cannot do the same service projects and mission outreach of some of the larger congregations in the area. Serving hundreds of meals each week like the Urban Mission is simply not possible for us. Putting together a Vacation Bible School program that would be open to dozens of children would be nigh on impossible for us. Making a call for a special offering for a mission in Central America, and being able to send tens of thousands of dollars in response to that call is a pipe dream. No, as a church our ability 'to do' will be different than what other churches may be able to offer. So what can we offer, how do we respond compassionately to the needs in our community as a church?

We can offer our welcome. We can welcome people into our midst, into our church, into our community of faith who have not been welcomed elsewhere, who have felt the sting of rejection or exclusion. Right now in this country there is a lot of conversation about marriage, specifically about the recent ruling that two people of the same sex have the constitutional right to marry. Here at Zion, the vote was made over two years ago that we would welcome and embrace people regardless of who they loved. Part of that welcome will be offering them the opportunity to covenant with their loved one in marriage, here in the church. It's part of our extravagant, compassionate welcome. It's part of our practice of trying to minister to, to welcome others as Jesus did.

Jesus ministered to all people. He accepted everyone who would love God. He associated with and ministered to the most scorned and lowly persons of his time. Many of these people had chosen or found themselves in occupations or activities disdained by most of the people. They had made lifestyle choices that put them in disrepute. If he would love those who lived in unpopular circumstances created by their own free will, wouldn’t he have loved those born with identities beyond their choice? I think so! It was never recorded how he felt about homosexuality. We can only guess how he felt based on the inclusive message of love and acceptance in his ministry. In a world forever full of violence and hate, how could he not fully accept his brothers and sisters living and loving in committed same sex relationships?

We all would love to live in a world free of hate and discrimination. Right here in Steubenville, today, most of us would say, of course, anyone who wants to worship with us is welcome. Then why do mainline churches need to have labels like the Open and Affirming of our UCC, Reconciling Congregation Program of the United Methodists, Reconciled in Christ of the Lutherans, Welcoming & Affirming Baptists, etc.? Why can’t we simply be judged by our actions and forget the labels?…. The reason is we must have the courage to say to those outside our church and within our own community that not all Christians are exclusive; not all Christians are judgmental; not all Christians discriminate and preach hate. Our church, Zion United Church of Christ of Steubenville, celebrates our human diversity. We believe in social justice. We need to tell our message loudly and clearly to our neighbors…. And, sometimes, we need to remind ourselves just what we stand for.

We are a place of welcome for all people. Young and old people. Single and married people. Tattooed and pierced people. People with purple hair and people with no hair. People we totally understand, and people who leave us feeling confused. People that are straight, people that are gay, and people every place in between. People who fit our understanding of being men or women, and people that are creating their own gender identities. People that are poor, and people that are financially comfortable. People who grew up in the church, and people who have never stepped into a church. People who have never said a swear word in their entire life, and people whose language would make a sailor blush. We are a place of compassion, where we strive to understand and feel in our guts what it is the other person feels. We are a place of welcome, where you do not need to be alone, where you can get away from the struggles of this world and find the hope, wholeness and welcome that we all desire. Will our message of love and acceptance be a beacon of hope…or will our silence be just another insult? Unconditional love of all people is our charge and our challenge as we walk in the compassionate path of Jesus Christ. May we be that place where people can be touched by God, and made whole. Amen.

We Are Family

Second Sunday after Pentecost – Proper 5 – Year B

June 7, 2015

Mark 3:20-35

And the crowd came together again, so that they could not even eat. When his family heard it, they went out to restrain him, for people were saying, "He has gone out of his mind." And the scribes who came down from Jerusalem said, "He has Beelzebul, and by the ruler of the demons he casts out demons." And he called them to him, and spoke to them in parables, "How can Satan cast out Satan? If a kingdom is divided against itself, that kingdom cannot stand. And if a house is divided against itself, that house will not be able to stand. And if Satan has risen up against himself and is divided, he cannot stand, but his end has come. But no one can enter a strong man's house and plunder his property without first tying up the strong man; then indeed the house can be plundered.
"Truly I tell you, people will be forgiven for their sins and whatever blasphemies they utter; but whoever blasphemes against the Holy Spirit can never have forgiveness, but is guilty of an eternal sin" — for they had said, "He has an unclean spirit."
Then his mother and his brothers came; and standing outside, they sent to him and called him. A crowd was sitting around him; and they said to him, "Your mother and your brothers and sisters are outside, asking for you." And he replied, "Who are my mother and my brothers?" And looking at those who sat around him, he said, "Here are my mother and my brothers! Whoever does the will of God is my brother and sister and mother."

I'm not sure exactly how old I was when I first became aware of it, but I'm sure I wasn't more than 10 years old. Aware of what? Well, of my embarrassment about my parents. We've all been there. We suddenly become aware of our parents. We suddenly discover that in some way they aren't the awesomely cool people we thought they were. They are sometimes downright weird and strange. And suddenly, the people that we have wanted to spend as much time with as possible, are the last people in the world we want to be seen with. The way they dress, the music they listen to, the jokes they tell, where they shop, the car they drive. It's just so uncool. So, we hang our heads, walk 15 feet behind them, ignoring them in public places trying to separate ourselves from them.

Of course, the shoe can also be on the other foot. As parents we too can sometimes be embarrassed by the things our children do. We gather together at a family function, everyone is having a great time. Then suddenly, our beloved child decides to walk into the middle of the room and do a striptease for their aunts and uncles. They come home from the mall with a haircut that looks like it was done by Freddy Krueger and colored by Rainbow Brite. We wonder about letting our children out the door because of the outfits they are wearing, or the color combinations they have put together.

We don't want to admit that that's our brother, or that's our sister. We deny being related to them. The last thing we want to admit is that our relative is the one on the front page of the paper, or the talk of the town. It would be one thing if they were the captain of the winning football team, or had won the lottery, but president of the chess club just doesn't have the same prestige. We've all experienced some of level of embarrassment about a family member, now think about how we would feel if the town was saying our brother, our son, our father, our cousin was insane; maybe even possessed of demons. What would we do then?

Before I was a full-time pastor, I worked in a jewelry store as a goldsmith. In a retail job like that, you tend to meet all kinds of people. Some of them you get to know pretty well. They come in regularly to get their jewelry cleaned, to buy a gift for their wife, or sometimes just to look around at all the shiny, pretty stuff. One of our customers, I came to know had a rather notorious parent. Her father was so notorious that she had left town for more than 20 years after his crimes had become known, she had only returned after changing her name, getting married. And even when she did return, she lived in a neighboring community, she avoided all the people who had known her before. She wanted nothing to do with the family name she had been born with. It didn't seem to matter how wonderful she was, how her laughter could light up a room, how her daughter was as cute as a bug, how well she did her job. She was terrified of how she would be treated if it became public knowledge that her father was the mass-murderer John Wayne Gacy.

Families are important, relationships with our siblings, with our children, with our parents are important. Family is one part of the multitude of things that shape who we are. Often, we learn our first morals, our first ideas about how we treat other people from our families. We learn to live with others. We learn to work with another person, how to help and give a hand when necessary. We learn to care about the lives of another person, we learn to celebrate another persons successes and support them in their disappointments. But, we also feel like our families are reflections of ourselves and vice versa. We feel what we do reflects on the family, and what members of the family do reflects on us.

Our passage from Mark this morning is from the beginning of Jesus' ministry. He was just getting going. His reputation was just getting made. People were coming to hear and see him more out of curiosity than because he had gained a reputation as a teacher and healer (but that reputation was building.) Of course, Jesus being Jesus, meant that he did things his way. Most of the time he didn't care about the effect his actions would have on his reputation, or on his families reputation. If he saw someone in need, if he saw someone in pain, if he saw someone who had been excluded or cast out, someone who had experienced the sting of injustice, he acted. And, that wasn't a good thing.

There were standards. There were expectations. There were traditions that just weren't ignored. You couldn't just heal people and send them on their way, they needed to be examined by the priests at the temple. You didn't just reach out to those unclean people, you don't associate with people like that. What happens if some of their 'yuck' got on you? And demons? Everyone knew that once you had a demon, that was it; the story was over, there was nothing that could be done. And here comes Jesus, doing things in a different way. Touching people. Reaching out to people. Healing them. Restoring them. Loving them. Accepting them. “But, darn it, we've never done it that way before!”

“The religious leaders are calling Jesus all sorts of names, and his family feels it has gone far enough. They want to protect him, and they are worried about him, but they, like the religious leaders at the time, cannot see the good that Jesus is doing. They do not see the people who have been healed, the oppressed who have been lifted up, the marginalized who have been brought in.”¹ They don't see that; all they see is the possibility, the danger, the risk that in Jesus bringing people in, he could in fact be putting himself (and them) out. Jesus was redrawing boundaries with his actions, and they could end up on wrong side. That had to be stopped. The family stepped in, and stepped in it.

“Jesus, stop for a second. Think about what you are doing, what people are thinking. Think about your family!” “My family? Oh, you mean the people that are doing the will of God. I am thinking about them. They are my family.” Jesus doesn't say family isn't important. Jesus doesn't throw his birth family to the curb. Jesus redefines family. It is not based on blood or other allegiances, it is based on the way in which we look to one another, and treat one another. It doesn't matter who your mother or father is, or what you've done in the past. It doesn't matter if you're male or female, gay or straight, old or young, rich or poor, completely able-bodied or not (most of us are not), one race or ethnic group or another. "Looking around him at the crowd of misfits, crazies, and his relentlessly undiscerning disciples he says, 'This is my family!'…[this] diverse mess of humanity, with all of its moral, physical, spiritual beauty and imperfection".²

Those who challenged Jesus, those who challenged his way of doing things, those who stuck to their way of doing things are not rejected or excluded, but they do fail to open their eyes and hearts to what Jesus is saying and doing, and they are gravely mistaken when they choose not to see goodness right before their eyes. They have created their boundaries, they have drawn a line in the sand, and find themselves on the outside of the circle of grace.

The church is often called the family of God. We are family. We call each other sisters and brothers in Christ; we seek to do the will of God. And yes, that mean that sometimes we are pulled aside by others and challenged, questioned, called names. I've been called a 'fake Christian' because of the way I welcome and embrace people that are different. I've lost friends because of the positions I've taken on issues of human rights and equality. I have family members that think I've gone off the deep end because of some of the things I have chosen to live my life according to. But, as much as I have lost, I have gained so much more.

The family that I have found, the family that God has surrounded me with is worth the price of admission. It's worth the stares and accusations, it's worth the questioning and ridicule. There have been times for all of us when we have been embarrassed by our birth families, by our siblings, by our parents, by our children. But, we should never be embarrassed by our family of faith, by the family that God has created and given us. We should never be embarrassed or ashamed to declare that we stand on the side of love, that we expand God's welcome rather than limit it, that we can declare with confidence that God's grace is more than enough to make us family. May we be that family, may we listen to our still speaking God, and seek to do God's will. Amen.

1rev-o-lution.org/2015/05/29/worship-resources-for-june-7-2015-second-sunday-after-pentecost/

2Feasting on the Word Year B, Vol. 3

Of Sheep and Shepherds

Fourth Sunday of Easter – Year B

April 26, 2015

John 10:11-18

"I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. The hired hand, who is not the shepherd and does not own the sheep, sees the wolf coming and leaves the sheep and runs away—and the wolf snatches them and scatters them. The hired hand runs away because a hired hand does not care for the sheep. I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father. And I lay down my life for the sheep. I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice. So there will be one flock, one shepherd. For this reason the Father loves me, because I lay down my life in order to take it up again. No one takes it from me, but I lay it down of my own accord. I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take it up again. I have received this command from my Father."

Today is Good Shepherd Sunday. The theme for our readings today is that of sheep and shepherds. So, we have listened to what is likely the most beloved chapter in the Bible: Psalm 23. If you're like me, it's one of the larger passages in the Bible that you have memorized. It's a passage I return to regularly to remind myself of God's presence with me in times of turmoil and despair, and to remind myself of how God has so richly blessed me. It would be impossible to count the number of times that Psalm has been read at the bedside of someone in the hospital, the number of times that it has been read at a funeral. It's words are full of comfort and promise. In it's words we find hope to cling to when we feel like all hope is lost.

Today is also the Fourth Sunday of Easter. In a little under a month we will be celebrating God's bestowing of the Holy Spirit on Pentecost. But, now we are in the midst of the celebration of Easter, the celebration of Jesus' incredible act of love for all of us. So, it might be a bit confusing as to why we have readings today that celebrate the shepherd and comfort the sheep. It might be a bit of a mystery, unless you looked at verse 11, where Jesus declares that the good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. That is the reason why we read this passage in the season of Easter, why we celebrate Good Shepherd Sunday at this time.

Jesus is the good shepherd, the one who gave his life for the sheep. Through his death and resurrection we have all been set free. We have been set free so that we might have life through the good shepherd. One of the things that we don't get the full impression of in our English Bibles is the full meaning of the word we translate as good; as in the good shepherd. The Greek word is kalos, and it does mean good, but it goes beyond that, it carries with it the idea of 'model'. Jesus is the good shepherd, he is the model shepherd, who taught and demonstrated with his own life what it was the good shepherd does.

Jesus is the Good Shepherd, the model shepherd, our model. When we wish to be part of Jesus' flock we follow. I'm not sure how many of you have spent much time around sheep. But they are an interesting animal. One of the things that is most fascinating is how sheep need to be guided. With many animals, you gather them together, get behind them and beside them and coax them forward. Many animals are guided from behind. Not sheep. If you get behind sheep, and try to guide them from that position, they will do all they can to circle around and get behind you. Sheep, by nature are guided not from behind but from the front. Sheep do not take the lead, they follow the shepherd. And we sheep of the Good Shepherd cannot lead, we too must follow. We must follow the voice of the Shepherd. We listen for the voice, calling us, coaxing us, leading us, and we follow.

But, according to our text, it's not just us that hear the voice. In the middle of this passage we find verse 16, “I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. I must bring them also, and they will listen to my voice. So there will be one flock, one shepherd.” This verse seems to me to be one we like to skip over, focusing instead on the image of the Good Shepherd. We don't really want to think about or contemplate those other sheep. Yet, Jesus says the Good Shepherd lays down his life for the sheep, not just his sheep, the sheep; which includes those other sheep.

So who are the other? In the context in which John's Gospel was written, it is clear that what is meant is Gentiles, non-Jewish folk. In the beginning, the people that followed Jesus as the risen Messiah were Jews. It was only after a few decades that the Gospel message began to be preached and shared with non-Jews. It was through the mission of the apostle Paul that the church grew dramatically in the Gentile lands. And it was at the time that John was writing his gospel that the church was most heavily embroiled in discussions and often heated arguments about whether or not it was right to include non-Jews within the fledgling Christian flock. Jesus' words were a reminder that there were other sheep that heard and listened to his voice outside of the Jewish flock. There were not separate flocks, there was one flock and one shepherd.

I'm a gentile. Chances are you are as well. The reality of the church today is that there is only a minority of people in the Christian church that can declare they are not Gentile. All of us are the 'other' that Jesus was speaking of, so you would think that the issue has been settled. Yet churches tend to spend a lot of time worrying about and trying to determine who is in the flock and who is not. “The Christian world is rather diverse, with thousands of different versions. Down through the ages attempts have been made to determine who is “orthodox” and who is not. But who gets to decide? If we say Jesus, which works for me, on what basis he decide? If you listen to “conservative” Christians, it’s the liberals who are beyond the pale. If you listen to liberals, it’s the conservatives who simply don’t get it. In other words, it’s my job to determine whether you fit my criteria of what it means to be a good Christian. It would seem that God dislikes the same people I dislike! And yet, there are those other sheep who belong to Jesus.”¹

There have always been people seen as other that Jesus saw as part of his flock. Think back to his time of teaching throughout Israel; how he spoke with the Samaritan woman who challenged his understanding of belonging. The tax collectors and others who were despised and looked down upon whom Jesus associated with and ate with. The stinky, unclean fishermen that he called to be his first disciples. The many women who seem to have been attracted to his words and ministry. And of course there are the blind, the lame, the sick, the possessed, the lepers who came to him from their places of exclusion and aloneness; came to Jesus and found not only healing but a place in the flock. Over and over again, we find that Jesus welcomed into his flock those that had been refused entry or acceptance and belonging in another flock because they were 'other'.

Who are the 'others' that are not here in our midst? Like most churches, we tend to look a lot alike, and have a shared cultural heritage, and when we have attempted to become more diverse racially and culturally we have discovered how difficult it can be to overcome those differences of background. Think about the differences of economic status, the differences of levels of education, the differences in our faith journeys that can keep us divided one from another. And we all hear the shepherd's voice.

One of the things that I have come to understand in life is that as important as our individual faith is, it is truly only possible to live it out when we are in community with one another; when we are the church. There has been a trend in Christianity over the last few generations to focus on the importance of our individual faith. We can thank our more theologically conservative sisters and brothers for this important refocusing on personal belief. There was a tendency to place greater emphasis on faith than on the church, in fact it was sometimes said (in reference to faith and attending a church) “just because you are in a garage doesn't make you a car.”

The focus became on the person' relationship with God. But, let me ask you, what is the singular form of sheep? If you have 100 cats, you have a single cat. If you have 100 geese, you have one goose. If you have 100 sheep, you have a single sheep, not shoop or shap, sheep. Is it possible to be a singular sheep, or is it that because we are sheep, we are meant to be in community with one another, meant to be together in a single flock, following the Good Shepherd despite our differences. Because, what makes the flock? It's not what we are, because different types of sheep, even different animals can come together and form a flock. No, the flock is not determined by its members, but by its listening for the voice of the shepherd.

It is the shepherd that defines us. Not the specific things we believe or don't believe about God. It's not whether we find God in organ music or rock and roll. It's not whether we are married, single, divorced, or widowed. It's not whether we wear pants or a skirt, whether we like heels or flats. It's not about whether we eat meat, or are vegan. It's not about how attractive or athletic we are. It's not about the people we are attracted to or are in a relationship with. It's not about whether we are men or women or somewhere in between. It's not the things that make us different that define us as part of the flock.

We can spend a lot of energy trying to sort out who’s in and who’s out in this world. We circle up our flocks with doctrine and belief systems and rules, we plant our signs, and we build our fences to shut out the not only the wolves, but also the sheep we fear will lead us astray. I wonder if we don’t spend so much time baa-ing to ourselves and at each other that we stop listening for the voice of the shepherd, who calls us to sacrifice and welcome, to presence and generosity, to humility and love. That voice calls us to remember who we are and whose we are; it calls us to attention, to following, to trust and not fear so that we may live and live life abundantly. And that voice reminds us, lest we forget, that we are not so very different from one another. We are just sheep…sheep belonging to one shepherd, one flock. Our time is fleeting, too short to spend fearful of one another, arguing points of difference rather than enjoying the living streams and bountiful pastures of this good life we have been given to share.

As followers, as seekers, as people on a journey of faith, we can agree on things. We can also disagree on things. We make mistakes. We do things that make the world a better place. We do things that make the world a little worse. We are part of a vast flock – unconditionally and undeniably enfolded in God’s love. So – let’s live out that love. Let’s give each other a break. Let’s live knowing that every person is worthwhile and every person is someone that is precious to God. May we flock to Jesus the Christ, and let our lives be about love: radical, abundant, courageous, sacrificial love. Let’s love God. Let’s love everyone. And let’s follow Jesus, the model shepherd, the Good Shepherd. Amen.

1http://www.bobcornwall.com/2015/04/one-flock-one-shepherd.html

Place at the Table

Third Sunday of Easter – Year B

April 19, 2015

Luke 24:36-48

Jesus himself stood among them and said to them, "Peace be with you." They were startled and terrified, and thought that they were seeing a ghost. He said to them, "Why are you frightened, and why do doubts arise in your hearts? Look at my hands and my feet; see that it is I myself. Touch me and see; for a ghost does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have." And when he had said this, he showed them his hands and his feet. While in their joy they were disbelieving and still wondering, he said to them, "Have you anything here to eat?" They gave him a piece of broiled fish, and he took it and ate in their presence. Then he said to them, "These are my words that I spoke to you while I was still with you — that everything written about me in the law of Moses, the prophets, and the psalms must be fulfilled." Then he opened their minds to understand the scriptures, and he said to them, "Thus it is written, that the Messiah is to suffer and to rise from the dead on the third day, and that repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem. You are witnesses of these things."

One of my favorite movies that has a religious theme to it is Jesus of Montreal. It tells in a modern setting the story of Jesus, his time with his disciples, his teachings, and finally his death and resurrection. It's a powerful movie. I strongly recommend it, if you can find it. But, fair warning, it contains strong language and images some might find disturbing; it's not a movie for younger children or for people that are unable to see Jesus portrayed in ways that may challenge what we think about him and who he was.

One of the biblical themes that is part of the life of Jesus in the Bible that the movie does a wonderful job of presenting is the importance of food and eating in Jesus' ministry, theologians and scholars refer to it as his table fellowship. It's one of those things that we can easily look past, yet it has a tremendous power when we take the time to see it. Over the course of his ministry, Jesus spends a lot of time with food. His first miracle turned water into wine. He is famous for the feeding of the multitudes – 5,000 people in Luke's gospel, and 4,000 in Mark's. He was labeled a glutton by the religious elite, and criticized for eating with tax collectors and prostitutes. He eats with Pharisees and a sinful woman. He shares the Passover with his disciples, and institutes the Lord's Supper. Following his resurrection, he has a fish bake with his disciple's on the beach. It is in the breaking of bread that his disciple's recognize him. Throughout his ministry, Jesus offers a welcoming table and instructs his followers in the nature of hospitality with the words, “when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind” (Luke 14:13).

For us, the act of eating with another person is something we look on as being fun. Having someone over for dinner, cooking out with friends, a pizza party for the kids. It's all about having a good time; it's hard, perhaps, to see the radical statement that was being made by Jesus when he sat down to eat with people. In Jesus' time, when you sat down to eat with someone, you were making a statement about your accepting them. A shared meal was a declaration of community. If you were the host of a meal, all those who were your guests were also under your protection. If you shared a meal, in a culture like Judaism where purity and cleanliness was of importance, all who ate together walked away from the table having shared not just food, but their purity. If one person was impure, then all of them became impure. To share a meal was to declare solidarity with another, to say, “you're all right with me.”

Jesus' ministry whether revolving around food or not, focused on opening up the table, inviting more and more people to the table, rather than seeking to keep people away from the table. On a regular basis in the church, we gather around our Lord's table, and recreate a meal he presided over. If the life of the church is to follow in the path of Jesus, in the practices of Jesus, then the invitation should be one of opening up the table, rather than seeking to limit who can join us for dinner.

Jesus came to knock down the walls that threaten to divide us, to widen the circle of inclusion, rather than to draw strict theological and moral lines in the sand to further divide us one from the other. This is not to say that Jesus had no standards, that Jesus was “fine” with everything. He spoke out strongly against divorce, and was very critical of those who neglected walking in God's ways of justice, mercy and faith. But, Jesus mission was not focused on telling people what was right or wrong, his mission was focused on opening up the Kingdom of God to more and more people.

Following his resurrection, when the disciples were gathered together in the upper room, terrified, unsure of what was going on, unsure of what was going to happen, Jesus came to them and said, “Peace be with you.” He shows them his hands and side, then to prove that that he was really alive and not a ghost, and anxious to resume his table fellowship with them, Jesus asks for food and eats a piece of fish with them.

Then Jesus speaks, “everything written about me in the law of Moses, the prophets, and the psalms must be fulfilled.” He opens their minds to the scriptures so they might understand that what was written has indeed come to pass. And with that change, “repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations”. All nations, you don't get much more open than that. Jesus didn't say, all nations except those crazy ones in the Middle East. He didn't say, all nations except those in the Axis of Evil. He didn't say, all nations except the ones we don't like. All nations.

And what makes a nation? People. People gathering together, coming together to live with one another, to share with one another the burdens and joys of life. This last week Hillary Clinton declared her candidacy for President. I think we can all remember her comment that, “It takes a village.” Now, this is not an endorsement of her presidency, but it is an endorsement of her comment.

From the very beginning, the Christian faith has been driven by more than one person, it has always been dependent on the village, on the gathered community of the faithful. On the evening of the very first Easter, the disciples gathered together to share their stories, their hopes and fears, the incredible experiences they had of the risen Christ. As soon as one of Jesus' followers experiences him, they go and tell others. Mary sees Jesus, and runs and tells. On the road to Emmaus the disciples encounter Jesus, and that very night they return to Jerusalem to share with the other disciples their experience. One experience after another, stories are shared, accounts are made, faith is found, encouraged and strengthened. As we have all come to see, resurrection is not so much a fact to be believed as it is an experience to be shared with others.

Faith does not grow and flourish in isolation. Jesus himself says as much when he declares, “where two or three have gathered together in my name, I am there in their midst.” (Matthew 18:20) Catholic theologian and all-around spiritual guide Henri Nouwen says it this way, “Christian community is the place where we keep the flame of hope alive among us … .That is how we dare to say that God is a God of love when we see death and destruction and agony all around us. We say it together. We affirm it in each other.”¹

It takes a village, it takes a community, it takes an open invitation to the table. It takes the experiences of others to open our eyes to see God active in our lives. It takes the faith journey of others to guide us in our own faith journey. In the ways in which the community of faithful people welcomes, accepts and affirms others, they experience the welcome, acceptance and affirmation of God. As the community opens up the table of God to others, they experience and come to know that God loves and accepts them in spite of who or what they are. As they experience that acceptance, they come to accept themselves. The acceptance and love they have experienced encourages them to also love and accept others. Through the open invitation to the table, through the welcome of the community, they discover that their value has already been determined by God, as priceless.

Faith is rarely easy. I don't think I need to go into detail about how challenging it can be to be a person of faith today, how challenging it can be to declare that our strength is found not in ourselves. It takes a village, a community, a crowded table for us to sustain, more than sustain, to support a thriving, growing faith. It takes a community to hold on to the faith that God is working to bring grace and peace and mercy and love and life to every life in the midst of all the suffering and heartbreak and cruelty and hypocrisy of this world.

Here at Zion, we have made a commitment to be a place of welcome to all people, to be a place where the openness and acceptance of God's Kingdom is not only proclaimed but lived out. In the words of our Open and Affirming statement, we declare our, “commitment to extend God's Extravagant Welcome to persons of every gender, age, race, nationality, ethnicity, sexual orientation, gender identity and expression, mental and physical ability, social and economic status, faith background, political and theological beliefs, marital standing and family structure.” That is the vision, the hope and promise that Jesus proclaimed in his welcoming to the table all who came seeking nourishment and community. It is a vision that when lived out will produce fruit.

There is plenty of space at God's table, there is more than enough space in God's Kingdom, the invitation is broad. May we stand ready as a community to reflect the welcome we have received, to reflect the love we have experienced, to declare that in this place we are family, we are a community, we are a village that can gather together, regardless of our differences. We can gather together to share our faith stories, our struggles, our triumphs, our experiences of the Risen One, and in so doing our faith, our community, will grow and be strengthened, and our hunger will be satisfied. Amen.

1Henri Nouwen, Finding my Way Home, 105

The Rules Have Changed

Easter Sunday – Year B

April 5, 2015

Mark 16:1-8
When the Sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome bought spices, so that they might go and anoint him. And very early on the first day of the week, when the sun had risen, they went to the tomb. They had been saying to one another, "Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?" When they looked up, they saw that the stone, which was very large, had already been rolled back. As they entered the tomb, they saw a young man, dressed in a white robe, sitting on the right side; and they were alarmed. But he said to them, "Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here. Look, there is the place they laid him. But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you." So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.

Death sucks. Pure and simple. Death sucks. Yesterday my dog, Luther, died. Last year Missy's dad died. If there is one thing that each and every one of us has in common other than being born, it's that death is a part of our lives. We lose friends, we lose spouses, we lose parents, we lose children, we lose pets. We suffer through loss, and we do the best we can to be there for those closest to us as they also grieve the loss of those they love. There is no way to sugarcoat it, no way to make the pain go away, death sucks. We all know it. How does the saying go? “There are only two sure things in life: death and taxes.” Death is one of those rules of life.

There are, what are sometimes called, 'the rules of the universe'. For example: when we throw a ball into the air, we expect that it is going to come back down. There's this thing called gravity, and we expect the ball to play according to the rules of gravity. What goes up, must come down. If you get a deep cut in your finger, you expect it to bleed. If you spin around in circles fast enough, you will get dizzy and maybe even fall down. As you get older, you expect to get bigger and stronger as you move into adulthood; then as you enter into older stages of life you expect your body to not work quite as well as it once did. There are expectations, rules that we expect to be followed, that go along with life and with death.

For the women in our Gospel text today, there were rules about death they expected to be followed. In first century Judaism, there wasn't agreement among the religious elite about what happened when you die. The Sadducees did not believe life went on after death. Life was life, death was death; when you died that was the end of the story. The Pharisees believed in resurrection, but for them resurrection was a part of the end times, the coming of the Messiah. At the end, when the Messiah came, God would create a new state of affairs in the space-time world, bringing about justice, overthrowing oppression and wickedness; God would raise the righteous to be the citizens of this new world. They expected a large-scale, simultaneous opening of the graves.

On that morning, the two Marys and Salome go to the tomb, understanding the rules. Dead is dead, and even if they believed as the Pharisees did in resurrection; there had been no opening of the graves; Abraham, Moses and David were not wandering the streets of Jerusalem. No, they went to the tomb that morning knowing the rules. Jesus was dead, and his body was lying on the cold stone of the grave table. They were dealing with the rules they knew. They had purchased spices to anoint the body, to try and keep the stink of the dead body from becoming overwhelming as it rotted in the grave. They were worried about being able to move the large stone that sealed the tomb. The last thing they were expecting was an empty tomb. It went against the rules.

Look at they way our gospel text from this morning ended: “So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.” Seriously, that's our gospel message of hope for Easter? Fleeing in terror? Happy Easter! Run!

Yet, that is exactly the way the writer of Mark's gospel ends his account. The verses that continue from this point were added on at a later point by someone who didn't like the way he ended his account. The account started pretty good though, it has a beginning we can understand, a beginning we could expect. The women go to the tomb, early in the morning, with their spices. Deep in grief, few words being exchanged, other than wondering about the stone, and likely a few words about how death sucks. They arrive at the tomb and are surprised to find the stone has been rolled away – what's happened? Was someone expecting them? Had another of Jesus' followers arrived ahead of them? Had the tomb been desecrated?

Yet, they go right in. Upon entering into the tomb, they encounter a young man dressed in white. Now they are alarmed. Now?!! A little late ladies! This is a story about dead bodies, taking place in a graveyard, with things happening that shouldn't have happened. If it was a movie, lot's of popcorn and pop would have been spilled all over the floor when the young man appeared. Alarmed?? I might have peed my robes. Then we hear the declaration, the words we may have memorized, the words we associate with Easter: “Do not be amazed, don't be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here. Look, there is the place they laid him. But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you.”

Now, that's the Easter message we came this morning to hear, right! 'Do not be afraid, he is risen. He is not here.' That's the story we know, that's the comfort we seek, the hope we want to hear proclaimed. But, that's not the way the story ends in Mark. Even though they have seen the stone rolled away, even though they have seen the empty tomb, even though they have heard the declaration of the messenger dressed in white, even though they had been instructed to 'go and tell', in spite of all this, they fled from the tomb in terror and amazement, and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.

Happy Easter! Seriously, is this any way to write a resurrection story? Is this any way to end an Easter proclamation?

But, if you have ever encountered death? And, who among us hasn't? If you have ever stood at an open grave gazing into the damp and dark earth, you know that two emotions are twisted up together inside of you: terror and amazement. And you also know how hard it is to talk about. How hard it is to share with another how the one who you love is dead, yet lives. Death sucks.

The women in our gospel text come to the tomb, knowing just that: death sucks. The spices they carried was the proof. They were not expecting a stone rolled away, an empty tomb; they lived in world where death was a sure thing, and the tombstone was the proof. They came perhaps to give Jesus the burial they thought he deserved, maybe they came to pay respects, maybe they came to share some final memories, maybe they came out of duty, maybe they came to try and make sense out of all that had happened in those crazy, chaotic last days. One thing, I'm sure is they didn't come expecting that all they had ever known about death had been turned on it's head. None of them came with the expectation of resurrection.

Why did you come this morning? Why did you come here, today on Easter? Did you come out of habit? Did you come out of duty? It's Sunday, it's Easter – it's what we do. If that's why you came, great! I'm fine with that. Maybe you came this morning to reconnect. Maybe you grew up in this church, or another, and have drifted away in the years since. Maybe you felt the church was a place you no longer felt welcome at. Maybe you came seeking to fill an emptiness, a need. Since Easter last year, life has changed for you. You lost a job, the love of your life died, a family member died, you or a loved one faced terrible illness. Maybe you came, hoping that the sights and sounds of Easter morning might fill the emptiness you feel. I'm okay with that, too. Maybe you came this morning to try and make peace with, to find answers for all the things happening in your life, and in the world.

I don't know why the women went to the tomb that morning, and I don't know why you came this morning. I don't know if you came this morning knowing that the rules you have lived by, the rules you have died by, have changed. Did you come this morning morning ready to hear that everything you thought you knew about life, everything you thought you knew about death was overturned in the night? Did you show up this morning ready to deal with the new reality that the rules have changed, that you have a resurrection coming?

“You are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here.” The grave is empty, and the rules aren't the rules anymore. In a world where death is the promise, and graves are the proof, there is a new promise in play, a new rule in effect; in the church we call it resurrection. Resurrection isn't just about some reward for a life you never had, but a restoration of the life you always wanted. Resurrection is the promise of God that the life you have always wanted, will one day be the life you will always have.

Easter is the confirmation, the proof, that God is able, and not just able, willing and desires to fix a broken world, and a broken you. Resurrection isn't just a nice sweet metaphor, a nice idea we can look toward; that's not what this is about. We are talking about the reality of hope. Not a vague hope, but the reality that death has no power to take you from the reach of God. Guilt cannot separate you from God. Whatever bad news you face is transformed by the news that you have a resurrection coming.

You who are aging, or facing an illness or disease; you don't have to live in fear of your health failing. You who are facing the reality that the love of your life didn't work out the way you had hoped, you don't have to live with that heartache. You, the parent whose child has wandered far from home, falling into the trap of drugs or depression, jail or death, you don't have to live with the blame or shame anymore. You anxious about your job, your retirement, about food prices, and gas prices, about terrorists or the threat of war, you don't have to be anxious anymore. You lonely, walking alone through the dark valleys, seeking and hoping to find that lasting love, that sacrificial love that we all hope for; I want all of you to hear the promise of God this morning: the rules have changed, you have a resurrection coming.

There is a new reality at loose in the world, it is called the risen spirit of Christ. Where once the promise of death was a gravestone, now the promise of life is a new reality. No event in your life can imprison you. Wherever you are in this journey of life, you have a resurrection coming.

The women left the tomb terrified and amazed, and said nothing to anyone. But they were not alone. There is one other person who has heard. There is one other person who has seen. There is one other person who journeyed with Jesus, hearing his words, experiencing his miracles. There is one other who heard his predictions of death and resurrection. There is one other person who experienced his betrayal and crucifixion. There is one other who sees the empty tomb, and heard the command to, 'go and tell.'

Do you know who that is? It is you, it is I. The story didn't end on that first Easter Sunday, with the women fleeing terrified and amazed. Someone told. Someone told about the new reality that had been set loose in the world. Someone, in spite of their terror and amazement, someone told, someone shared, 'he is not here, he is risen', and because of that there is a new reality in the world, the rules have changed, and you have a resurrection coming.

Friends, we all of us have a resurrection coming. Go and tell; if not you, then who? If not now, then when? Go and tell. The rules have changed. Christ is risen, Christ is risen indeed. Hallelujah! Amen.