Sermon for Lauren

I thank David Lose at Working Preacher, as is so often the case, for the inspiration for this sermon.

Text: Luke 8:26-39

Dear Lauren,

Today is God’s good day.

A good day to baptize you.

Unconditional love, declared for you

God crossed all boundaries to make this day happen

To call you Lauren, my child, beloved

You are Mine

God made you, Lauren Lyn

And says, “She is good”

Gave you a sweet smile

Calm demeanor

A big sister who likes to teach

Though some days you won’t want to learn

You’ll challenge, stretch and bless your family

Your parents will ask, “Why us?”

Some days this will be a pleading question

When you pace them to exhaustion with questions

Sticky furniture, whiney dissatisfaction and nap-neglect

Sister-shenanigans

At the same time they ask, “Why us?”

With awe and reverence for the girl you are

All of you—your quirks and blessings

Created and claimed by a loving and faithful God.

God in Jesus did the same, long ago

Crossing the sea to Gentile land

For one act

To meet and free a man

Called Legion

Named after the demons who possessed him

At least 6,000

No one knew his real name anymore

They spoke for him

Ran from him

He was trapped in the tombs

Wandering in a graveyard

No clothes to protect him from scorching sun or sandy wind

Breaking the shackles with great, heaving seizures

Running frantically into the wilderness to spare others his sight

Empty, devastated, no one

Dangerous, separate

Heartbreaking.

Bound.  Chained.

Legion.

 

Bound. Chained.

The world tells us:

We’re never good enough

Skinny enough

Smart enough

Organized enough

Joyful enough

Rich enough

Talented enough

Friendly enough

Strong enough

Nice enough
Happy enough.

Worth enough.

Worth anything.

We tell ourselves

I lack.

I’m deficient.

I fail.

I’ve failed a lot.

I disappoint.

I can’t.

I’m not.

Legions of issues.

Depressed.

Anxious.

On medication.

Screwed up.

Addicted.

Fired.

Let go.

Broken up.

Denied.

Aren’t I worth keeping?

Lauren,

The world may tell you

Convince you

Worse yet--

You’ll convince yourself

You’re nothing but a patchwork

Of what you lack

Mistakes you’ve made

Talents you don’t possess

A body that doesn’t fit the right type

You’ll say, I’m Legion

Identified by my 6,000 problems and wrongs

You’ll ask

Aren’t I someone?

Aren’t I worth keeping?

Oh yes.

Jesus crossed the waters for you.

JUST for you.

He takes your sin and perceived lack and throws it into a herd of swine, 
hurling themselves off a cliff, 
shattering your chains, 
removing bounds

We don’t lack. 

We ABOUND

Abound in God’s love

Child of God

Washed clean and cherished

So much more than our failures and disappointments

So much more than our addictions and health issues

So much more than our insecurities and egos
Not more, but through
Not lacking, but whole
God taking our weakness, our sin, and making something good out of it
For God knows how to work with weakness and make it powerful.
You are good.
All of you.

Clothed in a warm robe of righteousness

Grafted onto the tree of life so we grow from God like branches from a Redwood

Sturdy, ancient

Part of a long, long story

Rooted in our identity as children of God

When you’re lost

Forgotten who you are

Think of this warm, rainy, sticky summer morning
When the waters of baptism flowed over your head

When God drew you into God’s community
Sealed you with the Holy Spirit
Marked you with the cross of Christ
Forever.

Ground yourself in the ancient tree of God

Deep roots

Nothing can shake you

Nothing else has the last word

The bonds are shattered

Deficiencies,

Silenced.

Demons,

Silenced.

Evil, 

Silenced.

Only God's voice left to tell you through the sheer silence:

You are beloved

Child of God

Blessed and claimed for all you are

Abundant and full

Let your light so shine!

Lauren. 

The Power of Apology

Sermon for 6-16-13

Text: Luke 7:36-50

One of the Pharisees asked Jesus to eat with him, and he went into the Pharisee’s house and took his place at the table. And a woman in the city, who was a sinner, having learned that he was eating in the Pharisee’s house, brought an alabaster jar of ointment. She stood behind him at his feet, weeping, and began to bathe his feet with her tears and to dry them with her hair. Then she continued kissing his feet and anointing them with the ointment. Now when the Pharisee who had invited him saw it, he said to himself, ‘If this man were a prophet, he would have known who and what kind of woman this is who is touching him—that she is a sinner.’ Jesus spoke up and said to him, ‘Simon, I have something to say to you.’ ‘Teacher,’ he replied, ‘speak.’ ‘A certain creditor had two debtors; one owed five hundred denarii, and the other fifty. When they could not pay, he cancelled the debts for both of them. Now which of them will love him more?’ Simon answered, ‘I suppose the one for whom he cancelled the greater debt.’ And Jesus said to him, ‘You have judged rightly.’ Then turning towards the woman, he said to Simon, ‘Do you see this woman? I entered your house; you gave me no water for my feet, but she has bathed my feet with her tears and dried them with her hair. You gave me no kiss, but from the time I came in she has not stopped kissing my feet. You did not anoint my head with oil, but she has anointed my feet with ointment. Therefore, I tell you, her sins, which were many, have been forgiven; hence she has shown great love. But the one to whom little is forgiven, loves little.’ Then he said to her, ‘Your sins are forgiven.’ But those who were at the table with him began to say among themselves, ‘Who is this who even forgives sins?’ And he said to the woman, ‘Your faith has saved you; go in peace.’

Let us pray:  God of grace, help us to admit our need for your grace and forgiveness, and to receive your forgiveness with gratefulness that leads to transformation.  Amen.

This morning, Luke gives us a beautiful story of forgiveness and transformation.  Jesus is invited to dinner at the home of a Pharisee named Simon.  Simon’s role as a Pharisee means he's part of the religious elite.  This dinner is a formal affair.  It’s a gathering of powerful men in the community for conversation and debate. That’s what makes the entrance of the bold woman so surprising—even though privacy was different then and people were used to strangers coming in and out of their homes.  She clearly doesn’t belong.  She’s identified as a sinner.  We don’t know her specific sins, but that’s not important.  What’s important is everyone seems to know about her sins.  Her sins have become her identity in the community.

Her actions are shocking.  She intends to anoint Jesus’ feet with oil, but first she washes them with a river of her own tears.  She wipes them with her hair, which meant she had to take her hair down—another politically incorrect move.  She covers his feet with kisses, and finally gets out her oil to anoint them.  Her actions—inspired by her overwhelming gratitude—are absolutely outrageous!

This story provides a wonderful sense of balance.  Simon is the woman’s counterpoint.  For every appreciative gesture she makes, Simon makes an equally cynical move.  She shows gratitude and he shows judgment.  He can’t believe Jesus is allowing a sinner to act in such a way—in his home!  Why isn’t Jesus admonishing her?  Simon says to himself, “If Jesus really knew what she has done, he wouldn’t let her near him—much less touch him.”

Some interpret the woman’s actions as a plea for forgiveness and think she is anointing Jesus out of repentance.  But I tend to agree with those who think she anoints him because he has already forgiven her.  This changes our view of her actions, and we are left with her sheer and total gratitude.  Her gratefulness knows no bounds. She’s so overwhelmed by what Jesus has done for her that she can’t hold back.  She breaks all the rules about politeness and manners to express her thanks.

Simon, her opposite, sees himself as the righteous one. We often judge Simon as the bad guy in this story.  We like to think of ourselves as more like the woman--but we relate to Simon.  We know Simon’s hardness of heart, for how can we live life without a developing a few callouses?  Often we can’t see our own need for forgiveness.  Jesus turns all of Simon’s (and our) assumptions upside down. The woman had a great need for forgiveness and so she feels the most gratitude.  Someone who knows no need for forgiveness loves little.

This is what got Jesus in trouble.  Not his healing acts or teaching or feeding thousands.  It was his forgiving (or more accurately, his boundless forgiving).  His willingness to touch known sinners and those who thought forgiveness was out of reach is what stirred up controversy.  He identified with the lost and that is what led him to the cross.  Those in power didn't want to look deeply at their own hearts and actions, and Jesus forced them to time and again.

The themes of apology and forgiveness still ring true today.  There was an powerful story about forgiveness in sports news a few years ago. Umpire Jim Joyce blew a call that cost pitcher Armando Galarraga a perfect game. Yet the amazing part happened after the game—Joyce actually admitted he was wrong and asked for forgiveness. Bill Geist covered the story on CBS Sunday Morning.  He tells it like this:

…It was looking like just another depressing news story when something shocking occurred:  the umpire admitted his mistake and … and apologized.  “It was the biggest call of my career and I kicked the s--- out of it. I just cost that kid a perfect game," he said.  He didn't make up excuses, didn't say the devil made him do it, didn't announce that he was going into umpire rehab.  How old-fashioned!  Nobody takes responsibility and sincerely apologizes anymore (often on advice of their attorneys).  But what about the victim?  The wronged pitcher?   He forgave the umpire, saying, "Nobody's perfect.  You don't see an umpire after the game come out and say 'Hey, let me tell you I'm sorry.' He felt really bad," said Galarraga.  Such an act of grace, class and maturity is so rare in these contentious times no one quite knew what to do! General Motors presented Galarraga with a Corvette.

Before the teams' next game, Joyce and Galarraga met at home plate, the umpire wiping away tears, and many Detroit fans cheering them both … even the fans were showing sportsmanship! One man admits his mistake, the victim forgives him. That shouldn't be news … but these days it is.

It may be a stretch to compare Jim Joyce with the woman in our story from Luke, yet when is the last time you saw a MLB umpire cry? His display of emotion, regret, and gratefulness at being forgiven by Galarraga hits us in the gut.  

As Christians, we feel pressure to forgive and often feel guilty when we can’t muster up a truly forgiving heart.  But we don’t talk much about the transforming power of apology.  The Jewish faith lifts up the power of apology and claims forgiveness only happens after a heartfelt apology.  When an apology is perceived to be honest, forgiveness is mandated.  Rabbi Shraga Simmons says, "It is usually excruciatingly difficult for people to admit explicitly that they have done wrong. We excuse ourselves. We refuse to admit the truth. We shift blame. We deny the obvious. We excel at rationalizing. But the person who wrenches from himself the unpleasant truth, 'I have sinned,' has performed a great and meaningful act."

Maybe our gospel text speaks to our hardened hearts—hearts that refuse to see our need for forgiveness.  I’m don’t want to confuse this with shame—thinking you’re bad to the core.  Rather, I hope apology opens up acceptance of yourself and transforms you.  There is power in apology.  AA certainly tells us apology and taking responsibility for one’s actions are essential for transformation. 

So I ask you all to participate in an experiment with me.  Throughout the next week or two, think of someone who needs an apology from you.  It may be God or someone living or dead—only you can identify that person.  If you can, act on that apology and tell me about it.  I don’t need any details, but I’m interested to know how the act of apology transforms or changes you.  I want to know about the experience.  I’ll take your stories and include them in some future writing so you can see the thread of apology weaving through our community and beyond.     

The first step to knowing God is knowing we need God.

Amen.

Ocean-side Faith

A couple of weeks ago I spent some time in the magical little town of North Wildwood, NJ.  Granted, I may love the town because I spent my time there with dear friends I haven’t seen in person in three years.  We spent our time together talking (and talking and talking), reading for hours at the beach and exploring the local delights.  We found a bagel shop where local residents (and those who’ve owned vacation homes there for years) could walk in on a quiet morning, sneak into the kitchen, and dress up their own bagel.  While playing trivia at a local establishment one evening, the local handyman haggled us from the opposite corner of the bar.  Everyone was friendly as we walked down the street or on the sea wall next to the ocean.  The conversations with strangers rarely stopped at hello—they all seemed to genuinely want to know about us and introduce us to their beloved town.  Their extraordinary friendliness almost made me wonder if I’d return home to a new slew of Facebook friend requests and wedding invitations.  Not to be, although I’m sure if I crashed their parties they’d welcome me in without any questions.

And oh, the ocean.  Our first morning there it was sprinkling and windy, yet I pulled on my shoes and set out for my first-ever ocean-side run.  The waves were active while I ran, crashing against the shore with insistence while whitecaps waved frantically.  A ship settled far off the coast in the fog and seeing it made me feel lonely as it sat in the vast empiness.  The ocean’s power is in its ability to make us feel simultaneously frightened and calm.  There’s peace and comfort to be found along with a reminder we’re only a small part of God’s good creation.

One of my friends kept saying, “The people here love it so much, and they want us to love it just as much.”  Their passion was contagious.  I’m still thinking about North Wildwood as I enter back into my patterns of leading worship and talking about the mission of the congregation I serve.  I know mission and evangelism are about more than hospitality and getting people into the building.  I know it’s about listening (and listening again) to the community around us as we look to reforming for the present and future.  I know it's not about making our congregation welcoming enough.  Even if we built a perfect building, others may not come.  I know it's about finding our unique mission.   

Yet I can’t get North Wildwood out of my head.  The people there drew me in by their passion and their genuineness.  As we walked past a neighbor of the condo we rented, each time he’d tease us about helping him wash his driveway.  A man sat by us as we watched the ocean, talking about the recent rise of the tide.  The people noticed us and treated us like we were worth a bit of conversation.  Their friendliness was contagious and heartwarming.

What if we, people of God, displayed such unabashed passion for our faith and our congregations?  We may not have a beautiful ocean-licked town, but we do have a bigger-than-the-ocean God who claims us at a font full of water made holy.  We want people to walk into our church kitchen to dress their own bagel (or coffee) as they talk with local friends and neighbors.  Our faith brings us such joy, peace and comfort.  We can speak of our faith the way the people of North Wildwood talk about their little piece of the ocean—with pride and welcome, hoping people will become part of our community and come back again and again.  Day-to-day life is different than a vacation at the ocean, yet we need to remember people are at a congregation for only moments--a vacation from and for life each Sunday.

I don't have answers, but I know my experience of hospitality was powerful enough that I'm still thinking about it.  So I'll continue to ponder what hospitality will look like in our changing churches and culture.   

                                            The view from my first ocean-side run.

A Revelation Sermon

Sermon for 5-12-13

Text: Revelation 21:1-6

Dear friends in Christ, grace and peace to you from the one who is, who was and who is to come.  Amen.

The rapture seems to be everywhere these days.  Every time we turn around we hear of another group trying to pinpoint the day of Jesus’ return.  Last fall we watched as the supposed date for the end of the Mayan calendar arrived…and nothing happened.  Many of you have read the Left Behind series and watched the movies, both of which depict the rapture event. 

If you aren’t aware, the rapture describes when a small group of faithful and chosen Christians will be quickly whisked up to heaven (leaving behind eyeglasses, watches, jewelry, etc.) and those who aren’t faithful enough will face seven years of tribulation before Christ’s final return and judgment. 

Those who believe in the rapture don’t know when it will happen, so they’re always looking for signs that it’s beginning.  There’s a website called www.raptureready.com and each day it’s updated with possible new signs of the coming of the rapture. 

The rapture is in our collective conscience.  Armageddon and tribulation are now household words.

The rapture is based on a theological system, not solely on the book of Revelation.  This system takes selected verses from Daniel, Ezekiel, 1 Thessalonians, 1 Corinthians and Revelation (along with other Biblical books) and pieces them all together to create a timeline for how the world will end.  This idea was brought into popularity in the early 1800s by an English writer named John Darby, and some Christian groups claimed it with a fiery passion we still see today.

The rapture is not a Lutheran idea.  If you remember very little from this sermon, I hope you remember that.  

Rather, Lutherans (and most mainline churches) rejoice in the entire book of Revelation.  We don’t worry about the rapture.  Revelation isn’t a mysterious code to be broken.  Rather, it’s meant to reveal to us the character of Jesus, what our future holds, and the sense of urgency that exists as we live in a clearly broken world that needs our help.

Revelation is a letter written to give persecuted people hope.  John wrote it to seven different churches who struggled with many of the same challenges we do.  They knew persecution, violence, great poverty and suffering.  Other churches were wealthy and apathetic--a theme that may hit a little too close to home for some of us.

It’s easy to get swept up in the sensationalism and anxiety that gets drummed up by Revelation and the idea of the rapture.  Yet it’s important to view Revelation as a whole.  Rather than getting caught up in the visions of the broken seals, the bowls, the dragon, the beast, the horsemen, and the creatures with human faces and countless eyes, it’s helpful to look at the pattern and the overall themes. 

Revelation isn’t chronological, but cyclical.  It moves from visions of despair and violence to gorgeous and expansive visions of the heavenly realm over and over.  Every time we feel we can’t take any more terrible and disturbing images, John moves to a vision of worship and glory.  The book ends, as we read this morning, with the most beautiful future vision in all of Scripture.

Revelation doesn’t tell us about the rapture when we might be chosen as the lucky ones who escape the seven years of tribulation.  Instead, Revelation depicts how (as one commentator writes) God “raptures” down to us.  Salvation is not us going to a mysterious place called heaven, but God coming to us.  The book begins by telling us how Jesus Christ is in our midst.  Jesus’ presence is a huge theme in Revelation—as is Jesus’ sacrificial love.  Revelation is ecological.  God has a commitment to the earth, and the earth is where salvation will occur.  God embraces all of creation and changes it for the better.  What we know and love is not abandoned, but transformed.

Revelation 21 tells us of the heavenly city of Jerusalem descending from heaven to the earth.  Everything is transformed and made new—not annihilated, but changed.  In this changed city, there will be no more dying and pain, no more tears, and no more hatred or persecution.  There will be no more injustice.  God’s holy city is made new.  It’s wonderful how this newness is located in the city—a place of community, where all God’s people live together.  This speaks directly against our temptation to live narcissistic lives, and calls us to embrace our community and creation itself.

The tears that are wiped away are not only the tears we have shed, but the tears we have caused.  God will wipe away the pain of sin throughout time, not only now but throughout history.  As another commentator writes, “God will not just comfort us and help us to forget the bad things, but God will redeem the whole sorry story of human history.”

This vision has given hope and life to Christians throughout the ages—from the hymn “Shall We Gather at the River” to Dr. King’s “I Have a Dream” speech:  

“With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.”

This is the ultimate hope of the resurrection—when the lion will lay down with the lamb and creation itself will be completely renewed.

The following is a video of chimps seeing creation for the first time after being in laboratories for many years.  Many of the chimps were in the wild before they were put into research, so seeing the world for the first time is at once familiar and transforming—just like God’s ultimate resurrection of us and all of creation illustrated in John’s Revelation.

To be released from the anxieties of the rapture frees us for life.  We're free to love, to transform, and to work for justice.  We're free to care for creation and to begin God's transformation of the earth today.  All the while, we cling to hope and find strength in what is to come.  

There's a story often told about Martin Luther.  When he was asked, "If Jesus were to return today, what would you do differently?"  He responded, "I'd finish planting this tree."  In other words, the best way to prepare for the coming of the Kingdom of God is to live our lives, caring for creation and one another.  Amen.

Prayers for Boston

What a world we live in.  So many of us suffer from tragedy fatigue--for me, it manifests as a slow realization to the extent of the suffering in Boston.  It's been hard for me to absorb what's happened.  This afternoon I noticed a flag flying half-staff at the house across the street from the church (I have a good view of it from my office window).  My first thought was, "I wonder why it's flying so low?..."  Moments later the sadness of Boston enveloped me once again.  This fatigue connects me to those living in places experiencing continual and unpredictable bombings--I can't imagine the terror and sheer tiredness of it.

In the midst of all of the news coverage (don't get me started on the press reporting premature predictions just because they don't have anything else to say and need to fill air time!) I have found solace in--of all places--Facebook.  I see comforting quotes from Mr. Rogers and Patton Oswalt tick through my news feed and it makes me feel better.  Others have connected me with great reflections and stories.  I have few words this day, so I share the words of others.  Prayers fill my heart, even as I feel afraid to pray--just as it feels counterproductive to get too hopeful about a new job possibility or longed-for pregnancy (and no, that's not self-disclosure).  May God open our hearts to trust and daring hope.  May we be compassionate and may it make a difference.

Here are two lovely reflections from two local pastors: John Keller and Glenn Berg-Moberg.

The Blue Room has some wonderful links.

Holy anger and affirming life.

And this:  

May God's peace and hope reign.

Goodbye, Mr. Ebert

I remember Roger Ebert's Movie Yearbooks sitting on the bottom shelf of an end table in my grandma's basement.  I leafed through them, amazed this man had seen and reviewed what seemed like countless movies every year--and giggled every time I came across a turkey symbol next to a hated film.  Siskel and Ebert felt like regular visitors in my childhood home, and I watched At the Movies each week as Ebert struggled through various surgeries and valiantly tried to return to his seat next to Richard Roeper.

Roger Ebert launched his internet presence about a decade ago, and his website has been on my favorites bar ever since.  Every Friday I looked forward to checking for his new reviews.  Soon he began writing his blog, which became more and more autobiographical as his illness progressed and took his ability to speak.  His writing was candid, breathtaking, wise, and heartbreaking. His perspective on life was empathetic and inspiring.  His 2010 cover photo and article in Esquire made me stand up and applaud.  I was awed by his resiliency and hope in the face of his illness, and the courage it took to reveal his true face to the world.  I feel like I lost a good friend and mentor on Thursday.

Goodbye, Mr. Ebert.

2013 Easter Sermon

Sermon for Easter Sunday, 3-31-13

Text: Luke 24:1-12

Alleluia!  Christ is risen! 

Christ is risen indeed!  Alleluia!

Kevin Kling is a wonderful local storyteller.  I recently heard him talk about a serious motorcycle accident he was in 10 years ago.  The accident left him with a paralyzed right arm and required surgery to reconstruct his face.  A man who witnessed the accident was so convinced Kevin had died that he started telling people about his death.  Even after this man read in the paper about Kevin's survival, he still couldn’t believe it.  Kevin likes to joke that whenever he sees this man on the bus in Minneapolis, the man still turns white and looks as if he’s seeing a ghost.

Resurrection is almost impossible to believe.  It’s outside of our experience.  Death always seems to have the last word in this life.  How can we believe it?

Luke gives women a big role in his gospel.  He has the most women (at least five, possibly more) on the scene when they go to Jesus’ tomb on Easter morning.  The women are perplexed when they find the stone rolled away and no body present.  The first thing the angels say to them is, “Don’t you remember?”  “Don’t you remember Jesus said he would rise from the dead?”

The women remember, and they believe.

The women don’t see Jesus’ resurrected body.  They only have a story, like us.

But they remember.

The women run to the disciples to tell them the news.  Even though there are at least five women claiming they saw the empty tomb, the disciples don’t believe them.  Instead, they think the women are telling an idle tale.

“Idle tale” is a tame translation of the Greek word leros.  This is the only time leros appears in Scripture.  It’s the root of the word delirious.  The disciples think the women are delirious—crazy—out of their minds.  To translate it crudely, the disciples think the women are full of crap—that their story is bull*^%#.

To dare to believe in the resurrection is an act of courage and faith.  If you have trouble believing it, you’re in good company.

Yet Easter is more than simply saying yes to the resurrection; it’s saying no to the power of death and destruction that surrounds us.  By accepting hope we say NO to the darkness. The resurrection puts darkness and death in their place.  When Jesus rose, death’s power was destroyed.

Last week I talked with someone about time he spent in the hospital several years ago.  He was there due to a serious health issue, and he told me his fondest memories are of the overnight nurses and attendants.  They were often immigrants and people he didn't connect with on a regular basis.  The hardest part of being in the hospital is often during the night, when there is time to think and worry and the visitors go home.  The compassion of the people who cared for him carried him through those fearful hours.  They brought him life and hope and pushed the darkness away.  They walked with him into the light of dawn.

The darkness was put in its place, and it was replaced with hope.  

Don’t you remember?

If you’re in the midst of death, stress, grief, depression, anxiety, darkness, self-hatred, disappointment…

Don’t you remember?

Jesus said he would die and would rise again on the third day, for you.  Don’t you remember?  Alleluia!

Don’t you remember the times in your life when death seemed like the only reality, the only option?  And somehow, somewhere, you found life and hope?  Don’t you remember?  Alleluia! 

Don’t you remember?  Someone reached out to you, or you reached out and found someone, and you recognized each other and found compassion and support together?  Don’t you remember?  Alleluia! 

Don’t you remember?  A warm spring day suddenly appeared in the midst of a seemingly endless winter?  Don’t you remember?  Alleluia!      

Don’t you remember? When new green shoots appeared in the middle of miles of the charred and sooty remains of a forest fire?  Don’t you remember?  Alleluia! 

Don’t you remember?  The time the right dosage was found and the medication finally lifted the depression and anxiety?  Don’t you remember?  Alleluia! 

Don’t you remember?  Death and destruction are in their place, and the hope of the resurrection stands firm!  Don’t you remember?  Alleluia!      

WE SAY NO to the powers of death and destruction, even though they surround us, nip at our feet, and try to tell us they have the final word.  WE SAY NO.

WE SAY YES to the power of the resurrection and hope.

WE SAY YES to the resurrection, here and now.  Eternal life is lived out each day in our acts of compassion, recognition and laughter.  Alleulia!

In 2003, the Massachusetts Mental Health Center was about to be demolished after almost 100 years in operation.  Artist Anna Schuleit was asked to create an artistic exhibition to honor the building before it was torn down.  Throughout her work in various hospital settings, she was saddened by the lack of flowers in psychiatric hospitals and centers.  For her exhibition, she filled the old building with 28,000 potted plants and flowers.  The building was opened to the public for four days during the exhibition. 

She left the building as it was, but filled it with new life.  It was the same, but transformed—just like Jesus—just like us.

And my favorite--she took the basement hallways and covered them with sod, which was raked and watered throughout the day and continued to grow:

Some people found great healing in that building, and they found her exhibition to be a testament to their experience there.  Others had suffered greatly in the building, and found profound hope in her expression of joy.  They were given a new remembrance of the building.

She then donated all the flowers to psychiatric hospitals, general hospitals, halfway houses and homeless shelters throughout New England.

Darkness was put in its place, and new life created hope and joy.

We are a resurrection people.  That’s why we’re here this morning.

It’s easy to only see death in the world.  It’s much harder to say no to it and claim the hope and life of the resurrection.  There are days when it all seems like bull*%&#.

But in the midst of all of it we dare to be courageous and have faith.

Yes, the resurrection happened.  AND WE HAVE STORIES TO TELL.

Don’t you remember that Easter morning, when Jesus rose and the powers of darkness and death were destroyed?  Don’t you remember?  Alleluia!!

Amen.