Tag Archives: Eastertide

Hope Is Not a Luxury: The Essential Anchor

According to the church calendar, we are in the season of Eastertide which marks the 50 days between Easter Sunday and Pentecost. I like the idea of Easter being more than just a morning or a day but a whole season in which we celebrate Jesus’ resurrection and what it means for our lives. There are many angles from which we can look at the topic of hope and explore what it means to live hopefully.

Let’s focus on a couple of verses in Hebrews 6 that use the symbol of an anchor to describe hope. “We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain,  where our forerunner, Jesus, has entered on our behalf.” (Hebrews 6:19-20a, NIV)

Maybe it would be helpful to touch on a definition of hope. Sometimes we can get a little fuzzy about the difference between hope and faith. Here are some definitions that help me keep them separate in my mind:

Faith involves trust. When we have faith, we are trusting in someone or something.  Having faith means that we trust God’s promises to be true, largely in part because we trust God to be true.

Hope is confident waiting. Hope allows us to wait confidently for God to keep his promises.

Here’s an example that all the teachers and students will like:

The last day of the school year is coming up. In my county it is Friday, May 21st. That is the day my home turns into a frat house. Teachers and students can have faith in that. It hasn’t happened yet, but they are confident it will. They have faith, based on the promise of the school calendar and a history of the county adhering to the calendar.  

Hope is what fuels the end-of-the-year excitement and planning. Hope is what drives students and teachers to countdown the days and plan what they are going to do first. Hope gives a vision of what summer life will be.

Hope turns the last few weeks of school from a march through time into a journey toward summer! Can you sense the difference I’m talking about?  Faith gets us there, but hope makes it a much fuller experience.

After sitting with this for a while, I wonder if we might be operating with a deficit of hope.  Maybe some of us are going through the motions of faithful living without the benefit of hope.

I want to share with you the story of how this sermon came together. I have a process of preparing. I wrote a sermon, but I didn’t like it. I started over. I stayed up late and wrote another version of the sermon which was a bit better – but still not great. Then, in the quiet of my house, I heard, “You struggle to hope. You are having a hard time communicating about hope, because you struggle to hope.” So I called it a night and went to bed. I woke up the next morning and while I was making sandwiches, I heard, “Tell them you struggle to hope.” You want me to begin a sermon on hope, by announcing that I struggle to hope?!  Yes!

So, I am telling you that I struggle with hope. It makes sense based on my story. Wounded by people who should have known and done better. It’s like I was programmed at an early age not to hope for things – things I should have been able to count on. 

God has healed me and is healing me, but I didn’t even realize until this week that life had snipped the wires in my soul that were connected to hope. The good news is when God shines the light on something in your soul, it’s usually because God is ready to work there.

The first thing I’ve learned while wrestling with hope is that hope is essential. Hope is not a bonus. Sometimes we are tempted to think hope is a nice extra or a soft emotion that feels like a luxury more than a necessity. But in reality, hope is a very powerful force that God gives to those who believe. It turns the Christian life from a heads-down march toward eternity into abundant life.

In his first letter to the Corinthians, Paul boils down the essentials of the Christian life to faith, hope and love – the big three. Paul writes that we can’t do the Christian life without hope.  By putting them together, he is saying that hope is as indispensable as faith and love. It’s not the “frosting on the cake” for those lucky enough to be predisposed to hopefulness. Hope is mixed into the cake batter. It can’t be separated out.

But here’s more good news. God has promised to provide everything we need. Just like faith and love, hope is a grace, a gift. God can restore the ability to hope.  We don’t have to work it up or manufacture it within ourselves. We can ask and God will give it. In fact, I believe God is always offering us what we need. So: is there something that needs to be healed so that you can receive God’s hope?

We don’t get the option of putting hope in the “bonus” category for super-Christians, or for naïve Christians who just haven’t learned to lower their expectations yet. We are all called to hope.

How might this happen?

You must be connected to the anchor.

Let’s go back now to Hebrews 6: “We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain,  where our forerunner, Jesus, has entered on our behalf.”

The Bible uses a lot of figurative language. Have you ever noticed how timeless most of these word pictures are? We still plant with seeds. We still care for animals. Potters still work with clay, and we bake with yeast. Those pictures would translate for thousands of years.

And here, Scripture offers us another image. Hope is like an anchor. The basic design and function of anchors have not changed very much since Hebrews was written. It’s not complicated. You find something heavy, tie a rope to it, and toss it overboard!

So when the writer of Hebrews mentions an anchor here, we all get an instant picture in our minds. It almost immediately begins to speak to us at a deeper level. Reading the “anchor” entry on Wikipedia was almost like reading a devotional! “An anchor prevents drifting due to wind or current.”  That preaches, doesn’t it? “Without an anchor, a craft will drift in whatever direction the current is going. Anchors allow a boater to stop rowing or park the boat. Anchors can be used as an emergency brake to keep from crashing into other vessels or obstacles.”

Here’s something that makes the anchor a great symbol for hope. It’s not enough to be convinced an anchor is a good idea, or even just to buy an anchor. It’s not enough to bring your anchor with you on your boat trip. You have to be connected to the anchor before it’s any use.

It would be ridiculous to toss an anchor overboard that wasn’t connected to the boat! The anchor would do exactly what it was meant to do – it would sink to the bottom and stay there. But without a connection, it does the boat no good.

You and I have to be connected to our anchor. And the writer of Hebrews wants us to know that we aren’t just connecting to the universe or some unspecified force of goodness as our hope.  Hebrews chapters one through five lay out the case for who Jesus is. By the time we get to chapter six, there should be no confusion. We are called to place all of our faith and hope in Jesus. Jesus is our hope; Jesus is the anchor.

Just believing that Jesus is Lord, though, is like buying an anchor and putting it in the boat.  But in order for an anchor to work, it has to be connected. And we have to be connected to Jesus through trust to receive the promise of anchoring hope.

What is your connection to Jesus like? Connection isn’t formed by having information about him. We must have personal trust. Think of the ways you are connected to the people you love.  You may anticipate what they are thinking. You recognize the sound of their voice. You are comforted by their presence. You enjoy just being together and look forward to seeing them.

We can be connected to Jesus in similar ways. If you are struggling with hope or anything else promised to believers, check the connection. It might be that you are tossing your anchor overboard without a rope attached. Your church family stands ready to help you form this connection. We love to walk with people as they form trust with God.

Sometimes, the first step is to disconnect from other things you’ve been using as an anchor.  Humans crave all sorts of things to provide security. It might be wealth, education, skills and abilities, health. Eventually, all these temporary anchors prove to be insufficient. At some point, our boat will get too big, or the water too deep, or the winds too strong, and these anchors will fail. 

What are you using as an anchor? Anything less than a living hope in Jesus won’t be strong enough.

When an anchor is connected by rope, a boater doesn’t attach it once and then walk off to never think about it again. Rope isn’t indestructible. It can rot if it’s not tended to. This connection between the boat and anchor needs care and attention just like anything that you want to last. Take some time this week to sit with that image; ask God to help you see what you need to notice about your connection.

And when that connection is strong, we can confidently throw our anchor overboard, knowing it will hold us in place even if we lose sight of it. Are you willing to lose sight of the anchor?

Look at Hebrews again: “It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain where our forerunner Jesus has entered on our behalf.”

This is a reference to the Old Testament temple design that created a space called the Holy of Holies, where only the High Priest would enter to meet with God on behalf of the people. It was separated from the public space by a curtain. What happened behind the curtain was hidden. The writer of Hebrews says when we lower our anchor of hope in Jesus, we lose sight of it. It enters into the inner sanctuary where the High Priest – Jesus – is at work.

I hear two things in this description:

First, we don’t always get to see what God is doing. It may be hidden out of sight from us. What’s the question we deal with the most – why? Why expresses our desire to see what’s happening under water or behind the curtain. But this image of the anchor helps us. Boaters learn to trust the anchor is working, even though they can’t see it. Only in the most shallow, clear water can you see your anchor.  But who wants to stay there? The good work happens in the deep places.

The same is true in our life of faith. The good work happens in the deep places: the places where we can’t see the bottom. That’s where we begin to trust the mystery of God’s work.  God challenges us to learn to live in the unknown of the deep. Don’t get nervous, lose hope, and move back to the shore.  Hope reminds us of what is happening beneath the surface that we can’t see.

Second, we need to be willing to move our anchoring spot from where we want to be to where God wants to go. Here’s a tough question one writer asked: “Are we hoping or merely wishing?” 

Wishing is focused on getting what we want. Hoping is anchored in what God is doing. 

One commentator writes, “The wings of hope were given not that we might flutter near the earth, but that we might rise to God. Do not let yourself be so absorbed by anticipations of what you are going to do and where you are going to be tomorrow that you have no space to think of what you are going to do and where you are going to be through eternity.”  (Alexander MacLaren, Expositions on Holy Scripture)

Wishes just “flutter near the earth.” Wishing wants things. Hope connects us to Jesus – who he is and what he is doing.  What will it look like to hope more deeply? To release our anchor beneath the water line – into the “Holy of Holies” – where God dwells?

This is what it means to have an anchored soul. And what does an anchored soul look like? It looks like Jesus.

We watch him as he walked from the deprivation and temptation of the desert all the way through the abandonment and suffering of Holy Week. The winds blew and the current pulled. He was hungry. He was harassed by Satan. His friends betrayed him. He was misunderstood and falsely accused. He suffered pain and humiliation. Not robotically: he wasn’t numb or immune to reality. He asked questions. He needed comforting. But his anchor held.

We contrast that with Peter. His was an unanchored soul until the Spirit came to rest on him at Pentecost. Jesus had shared with him God’s plan, but he couldn’t wait confidently. When the winds picked up around him, he swung from violence to deceit to despair. He was all over the place. He was an unanchored soul.

An anchored soul may face challenges without rethinking the whole plan. An anchored soul waits gracefully. An anchored soul doesn’t panic when God’s plan doesn’t come with a briefing manual. An anchored soul holds steady.

To hope for something can feel very vulnerable. We all know what it feels like to be disappointed when things we hoped for didn’t work out. Maybe you’ve had the wires cut to the part of your soul that hopes.

Are you willing to trust God to reconnect them? To hope isn’t a sign of weakness or naivete. It is a courageous choice. This is the point where we decide how we are going to respond.

Maybe you didn’t know God has offered to anchor your life.

Maybe something about your connection to your anchor needs attention.

Maybe God is inviting you into deeper waters and you’re testing the unknown.

Community is a great gift when we are struggling to hope. That’s one reason why God invites us to gather together. Sometimes we need the community to hold us while we struggle with hope.

Can you let someone pray for you? I’m going to. I’m going to respond to my own teaching. I feel like God invited me too while I was making sandwiches. I want to be more hopeful. I want to receive the grace of hope, and this feels like a good place to start.

Featured image courtesy Grant Durr Photos via Unsplash.

Edgar Bazan ~ Fishing through the Disappointment of Empty Nets

It was after Easter. The disciples were told to wait for Jesus in Galilee. But did they have to wait by sitting and doing nothing? “I’m going fishing,” said Peter. And why not? It made perfect sense. Fishing was their livelihood. They may as well make some money while waiting. So they all piled into a boat and shoved off. The disciples were out on the water all night, but they didn’t catch even one fish. They weren’t using poles, hooks, and worms; they were dragging their net through the water. If there were fish in those waters, their net would have caught them. But nothing was caught; not one fish.  

Consider the account in the Gospel of John:

“After these things Jesus showed himself again to the disciples by the Sea of Tiberias; and he showed himself in this way. Gathered there together were Simon Peter, Thomas called the Twin, Nathanael of Cana in Galilee, the sons of Zebedee, and two others of his disciples. Simon Peter said to them, ‘I am going fishing.’ They said to him, ‘We will go with you.’ They went out and got into the boat, but that night they caught nothing. Just after daybreak, Jesus stood on the beach; but the disciples did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to them, ‘Children, you have no fish, have you?’ They answered him, ‘No.’ He said to them, ‘Cast the net to the right side of the boat, and you will find some.’ So they cast it, and now they were not able to haul it in because there were so many fish.” – John 21:1-6

It was early dawn, and they were tired, likely exhausted, when a voice from the shore calls out: “Do you have any fish?” We know this was Jesus – but they didn’t. So come on, Jesus, really? He didn’t ask because he didn’t know; was he messing with them? Maybe. I can see the frustration of the disciples having to answer this question, forced to admit their utter defeat: “No!” they called back, certainly with disgust.

Friends, you and I have fished in those same waters, haven’t we? When we put everything into a marriage to make it wonderful, but in the end, our net came back empty. When we invested blood, sweat, and time into a job, but the company downsized and our net came back empty. We have fished all night in those very same waters – building relationships with family members only to be hurt, putting our money into “safe” investments only to learn they weren’t as safe as we were told, putting our time and energy into building up our congregation only to see the numbers and giving drop.

In many ways, this is our story too. Our moment of “fishing” happens when we are trying our best to make a living, raise a family, and do good. But just like the hard-working disciples, our nets come back empty.

It is hard, it is discouraging, and it is understandable, even fair, to get upset.

But that’s when the miracles happen: when we are prime to listen and do whatever it takes to make things right.

Back to the story. As Peter and the others just kept casting the nets, again and again, Jesus finds them. They weren’t looking for him, nor did they know it was him when they heard his voice. The disciples did not recognize him. In their defeat, frustration, anger, helplessness, and whatever else was there with them in the boat, Jesus comes to them and gives them instructions on what to do to make things right.

You see, their eyes were closed, but not their ears; even if they couldn’t recognize, see, or feel Jesus’ presence, they were able to hear his voice. “Cast the net on the right side of the boat, and you will find some fish.” Had they known that it was Jesus, they certainly would have done as he told them. But they didn’t know. And so we see their faith taking over.

Here is the key to this particular situation: Jesus gave them both command and promise. “Cast the net…and you will find.” They acted in faithful obedience because that’s what faith does. It hears and obeys, even when that which is called out seems utterly foolish. And Jesus basically said, “if you do what I say, you will be blessed.”

This is very similar to what Jesus said in Luke 6:46-49:

“Why do you call me ‘Lord, Lord,’ and do not do what I tell you? I will show you what someone is like who comes to me, hears my words, and acts on them. That one is like a man building a house, who dug deeply and laid the foundation on rock; when a flood arose, the river burst against that house but could not shake it, because it had been well built. But the one who hears and does not act is like a man who built a house on the ground without a foundation. When the river burst against it, immediately it fell, and great was the ruin of that house.”

The teaching here in Luke is that if we do what Jesus says, even as we face challenges, we will outlast them and become fruitful. If you build your life on my commands and teachings, you will be blessed. This is a promise for all who hear and follow Jesus’ teachings, the same kind of teaching we find here with the disciples. They have empty nets but then act out in faith according to what Jesus asked them to do.

In the same way, Jesus gives us both command and promise. “Cast your net,” he commands, “on the right side of the boat and you will,” he promises, “find some fish.”

This is an amazing word of hope for each of us today. You may be ready to abandon all hope, pack up, and leave. You may be ready to give up on your spouse, your children, your faith, or whatever else may be empty right now. But if it is God directing you to do something about it, God will do a miracle. If God is directing you to approach your challenges in a different way, then listen and follow through, because you are *this* close to a breakthrough.

I understand that sometimes you just have to move on from the empty nets, but I also know that often we miss the blessing of having full, packed nets – healed relationships, successful jobs, fulfilling lives – because we give up rather than act on faith on what God is asking us to do.

If God is directing you to act, it is because there is a promise on the other side. God does not make empty promises. The nets may come up empty from time to time, but God’s Word is never empty and always accomplishes its purpose.

You may be asking, how do I know what to do? I can see the disciples wondering the same thing when Jesus told them to throw the nets on the right side. The right side, where is that? Haven’t we been fishing correctly? What does he mean by, “the right side of the boat”? The right side is where Jesus directs your life and has attached his promises. To fish on the right side of the boat is to live following the footsteps of Jesus.

Here is the thing about God’s promises and the reason why sometimes we have a hard time receiving them: it is not just about faith but alignment. It is not enough to believe right but to live right. For many, lack of faith is not the issue, but alignment with God is. Perhaps the challenge is not that we don’t know how to believe, but that we don’t know how to follow.

You see the point here? Perhaps our nets are empty not because we lack faith but because our actions are not reflecting of it. We may say we believe and love God, but we may treat others with contempt, and that is where the lack of alignment causes us to come up empty time and time again. That is why we lose opportunities in life for success. That is why we lose people we love. That is why we keep going from relationship to relationship, job to job, church to church, because we are not doing what we are told. We keep fishing on the left side, doing the wrong thing.

So when Jesus says, throw the net on the “right side of the boat,” it is about both believing and realignment. And the beautiful thing is that, once we take action, we will find the blessings in our lives.

I finish with this.

There isn’t a marriage here, a relationship here, that cannot be strengthened, benefited, saved by following the instructions of Jesus for our lives. There isn’t a financial crisis, a health problem, a job issue, a concern of any kind that God will not lead us through as we faithfully listen to his voice and act on his wisdom.

The bottom line is that God’s promises stand sure and steadfast, but they are not given just anywhere and everywhere. Had the disciples let out their net on the left side of the boat, it would have come back empty.

In the same way, our nets will continue to come back to us empty until we learn to trust the call and invitation of the Risen Christ. God’s true blessings for your life, marriage, and family will grow as you build your life on Jesus’ teachings.

My friends, the invitation today is to listen to Jesus and follow his instructions. No more empty nets.

Featured image courtesy yue su on Unsplash.

Suzanne Nicholson ~ Which Story Will You Tell?

Sometimes you just know that life will never be the same. When you fall deeply in love. When your parent dies. When you land your dream job. When you hold your newborn for the first time.

Other events, however, are more ambiguous. Will the neighbors who just moved in next door be a blessing or a bane? Will a new Congress actually accomplish anything? Will the college degree you just received be worth the tuition you paid for it? The answer may vary depending on whom you ask.

 The same is true in the resurrection narrative. In Matthew’s version, various witnesses have to decide what to do with the empty tomb. On the one hand, the women who arrive looking for a corpse discover that everything has been turned upside-down. The big, burly Roman soldiers who are guarding the tomb look like corpses themselves. Despite their normal valor and brutality, these men are completely unprepared for the shaking ground, blinding supernatural power, and vacated tomb. Like the ground they walk across, the soldiers shake uncontrollably until their fear overcomes them and they faint dead away.

The women, however, demonstrate the greater courage as they speak with the angel who already comprehends their motives: “I know you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. He is not here, for he has been raised, as he said.” Those simple words cut through their grief and fear, and the women recall that Jesus had predicted this. And now they realize that Jesus had not been speaking in a parable! The blazing angel further astonishes the women by commanding them to proclaim to the disciples that Jesus has risen and will meet them in Galilee.

The women now have a decision to make. They are unlikely to be believed—after all, most rabbis did not consider the words of women to be reliable enough to use as testimony in court. And everyone had seen the brutality and completeness of Jesus’s death. Who would believe their tale? Is it worth the ridicule?

They have a decision to make.

So, too, do the soldiers. Although they did not register the words that the angel spoke while they were passed out from fear, the guards remember the earthquake, the lightning-like appearance of the angel, and the angel’s incredible power to single-handedly roll back the enormous stone that had sealed the tomb.

And the guards know the tomb is empty. That’s a huge problem. The soldiers don’t know how to explain it, but they are desperate to keep Pilate from finding out they failed in their guard duties. Otherwise, the next cross they see might be their own. They run into the city and tell the chief priests everything they experienced.

And now the chief priests have a decision to make. They had heard the amazing stories of Jesus’s miracles during his lifetime—and some of them had been in the crowd to witness these signs. The priests also know the Scriptures that promise a messiah will come to set the world right. But everything that Jesus did upset their power and teaching and the status quo in general. The priests had been sure that the devil was using Jesus to manipulate the Jewish people. But now the chief priests hear the soldiers’ report of earthquakes and angels and an empty tomb. Could it be true? They discover that change is too hard for them. Overturning all of their theological assumptions and relinquishing their power is simply too costly. Instead, the priests and the elders decide to pay a great deal of money to the guards to spread the story that the disciples stole Jesus’ body while the soldiers were asleep. The religious leaders—the moral example for the people—devise a lie to make sure that nothing changes.

And the soldiers—the protectors of civil order— decide to bury the truth. They take their bribe and the promise of protection from Pilate’s wrath, and they toe the party line. They protect the power of a broken world.

But the women—the ones with little influence, the ones who are least likely to be believed—they run from the empty tomb with great joy. It is only as they are obedient to the angel’s command that Jesus himself appears to them. They worship him, grabbing hold of his feet, the scars reassuring the women that they are not hallucinating. Jesus repeats the angel’s command; the risen Lord himself tells the women to proclaim his truth to the other disciples. Clearly, their testimony is effective, for the disciples go to Galilee and see Jesus there, where they are commissioned to carry on his work.

And so the story continues. As we experience the power of the risen Christ in our own lives, we too must decide what to do with his story. Do we fear that others will not believe us? Do we worry that our whole lives will be turned upside-down? Are we afraid that the authorities of this world will condemn our testimony? Will we have to change our theological assumptions or the power we wield?

The story of the risen Christ confronts our basic expectations about life and death, power and weakness, tragedy and triumph. Yet experiencing the power of the empty tomb is not enough: the soldiers saw, but they were not transformed. We must choose daily whether we will cling to the lies of a broken world or obediently run down the path where the power of Christ meets us, transforms us, and sends us out to spread the good news. 

Which story will we tell today?

Wesleyan Accent ~ Not Yet Fully Awake: Dr. Matthew Milliner

Note from the Editor: As Christians continue into Eastertide, Wesleyan Accent is pleased to share this profound Easter sermon by art history professor Dr. Matthew Milliner, which was preached in All Souls Church in Wheaton, Illinois. You can see more from him here.

He is risen! He is risen indeed!

It’s exciting news when the most brilliant disciple of the atheist Sigmund Freud sees the need for belief in God. As many of you know, the name of this student was Carl Jung, and there is a lot one can learn from him. But here is one thing he really got wrong: “It is funny,” Jung tells us, “that Christians are still so pagan that they understand spiritual existence only as a body and as a physical event. I am afraid our Christian cannot maintain this shocking anachronism any longer.”

And so having cited this unfortunate remark of the great Swiss psychiatrist, please indulge me again, maybe with an Alleluia at the end this time.

He is risen. He is risen indeed! Alleluia!

The field of Biblical studies is wonderful. You can learn all kinds of things about the Ancient Near Eastern and Graeco-Roman contexts in which the Biblical books were originally written, you can learn the original languages. But as in any field, some people in Biblical studies make some miscalculations. I speak of the Biblical scholar Gerd Lüdemann: “A consistent modern view must say farewell to the resurrection as a historical event.”

Having heard that, please indulge me once again.

He is risen. He is risen indeed, Alleluia!

The notion that you can keep Christianity without resurrection has aged about as well as pay phones, in-flight ash trays, spitoons, hoop skirts, zuit suits, and those massive televisions that we used to have to cram in our living room and the gargantuan pieces of furniture we used to hide them before the flat screens came along.  You still sometimes see those huge TVs on the curb, usually with five garbage stickers on them because no one wants them!  And who would want a Christianity without resurrection either?

It’s often said if the resurrection isn’t true, don’t go to church, go to brunch. Well I was at one of those Chicago brunch meccas just this week and I overheard the bartenders planning the cocktail menu for this Sunday – Easter morning. And they said, “We need to mix up our menu to bring people in.” One employee said, we could change up the Bloody Mary with a bloodless Mary, which I guess is some kind of cocktail. And how I wish I had had the courage to say then and there, “Sounds like perfect cocktail for someone without resurrection hope on Easter Morning! Bloodless Mary.” But because he is risen we’re not at brunch, we’re here instead to drink from the veins of the risen Christ, and today at least we’re throwing in brunch too. 

I’m sure you know the great John Updike poem, Seven Stanzas at Easter:

Make no mistake: if he rose at all

it was as His body;

if the cell’s dissolution did not reverse, the molecules

reknit, the amino acids rekindle,

the Church will fall.

Let us not mock God with metaphor,

analogy, sidestepping, transcendence,

making of the event a parable, a sign painted in the faded

credulity of earlier ages:

let us walk through the door.

Or better than Updike’s poem is this bald statement of fact in 1 Cor. 15; “If for this life only we have hoped in Christ, we are of all people most to be pitied. But in fact Christ has been raised from the dead, the first fruits of those who have died.”  Or Acts 10: “We are witnesses to all that he did… They put him to death by hanging him on a tree; but God raised him on the third day.” That is not a pious sentiment, a clever aphorism, haiku or a sonnet – it’s journalism. They killed him, God fixed it, says St. Peter.

One reason that resurrection matters is because it addresses our root anxiety. There are a lot of surface anxieties in our lives, and some that cut a good bit below the surface. But if you follow those anxieties to their root, and ask yourself, “what’s the worst thing that could happen?” The answer tends to be: “somebody could die.” That’s about as bad as it could get. And that root anxiety of our impermanence is what drives so many of our worries, agendas and sins – and so the root anxiety is the one Jesus addresses this morning not just by his words but with his body, by conquering death and replacing it with the root peace of the risen Christ.

That root peace is why Roger Persons, a member of our congregation, when his wife Jean died while they were watching TV together, was able to address her then and there and say, “Walk with the king.” That root peace is why Jason Long and I, sitting at the top of Central Dupage Hospital with Brett Foster as the sunset beamed into the hospital room so strongly that I had to put on my sunglasses, felt strangely, in retrospect, like Brett was preparing us for our own deaths as well. When I think of Brett, my memory now skips from that hospital room to his funeral where we heard these words from the Orthodox poet, Scott Cairns, about the resurrection – not Jesus’ resurrection, but mine and yours. 

…one morning you finally wake

to a light you recognize as the light you’ve wanted

every morning that has come before. And the air

itself has some light thing in it that you’ve always

hoped the air might have. And One is there

to welcome you whose face you’ve looked for during all

the best and worst times of your life. He takes you to himself

and holds you close until you fully wake.

And in our gospel passage, Mary of course – like all of us on this side of death – is not yet fully awake. She makes first contact with the resurrected Jesus, and it’s about as awkward as Peter embarrassing himself by trying to pitch a tent on Mount Tabor. Mary’s problem is that she thinks Jesus is dead, and when she sees that he’s gone, she consoles herself by saying, “they have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.”

I wonder if it’s her root anxiety in the form of a sentence. It signifies confusion, frustration and maybe even a little panic. I almost imagine her wandering off in a daze reciting those words in some kind of stupor. “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.” Then the disciples show up, Peter and John. And of course, the best illustration I know of that moment in all the world is a train ride away at the Art Institute of Chicago. It’s by the African American painter Henry Ossawa Tanner. It shows Peter kind of concerned, almost twiddling his thumbs because he knew he blew it – and John, the beloved disciple has this beaming look on his face, as if to say, “I knew it!”  Tanner suffered from racial prejudice all his life – he believed in resurrection. Still, in our passage, neither Peter nor John stick around.

But Mary wanders back, still clinging to the best she can do under the circumstances. Call her the Bloodless Mary, wringing her hands as she repeats, “they have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.” And then she gets what we all think would work for us if only it would happen: an angelic visitation. “She bent over to look into the tomb; and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet.” I hope you’re catching that this is a reference to the ark of the covenant – two angels surrounding a void of presence – the absence that signifies that God cannot be contained. And the angels, puzzled, say to her, “woman, why are you weeping?”

And her reply? “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” The presence of the angels doesn’t clear up her confusion, so the Lord himself explains it to her. “She turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, “woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” Now that is a reference to the mystical treaties the Song of Solomon if there ever was one – God’s pursuit of the soul. “Whom are you looking for?” God asks this to all of us this morning.

But it doesn’t work! Mary thinks he’s the gardener. And she offers her good intentions and pious objectives one more time. “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.”  She still clings to her pre-resurrection agenda. On Friday one of our speakers said that Jesus was LOUD on the cross and I think he’s loud here too.  He has to be loud enough to snap her out of her pious plans to anoint his corpse. And so he shouts with a smile, “Mary!”

There have been a lot of good stories about Notre Dame de Paris this week, but here’s the best one I know of. Denise once told me that when she was there with her mother and sister, they were touring the Cathedral which was packed with tourists, when a mother lost her son. And my wife Denise knows the name of that boy, as does everyone who was in Notre Dame that day because the mother started to shout it. Dimitri!  After three shouts the packed cathedral fell silent but she kept shouting, no – screaming, “Dimitri! Dimitri!” until he was found. And that, after all, is what Notre Dame’s architecture is – it is the risen Christ shouting to you through beauty. Shouting your name and mine, trying to snap us out of our own agendas, even our own ambitions to serve him. That’s what beauty does, what pain does, what tragedy, suffering and joy do. They’re all the risen Christ shouting our name again and again in the Cathedral of this cosmos while the cathedral lasts.

And like Mary, we wake up, “Teacher!” and we cling to him, as any of us would. That’s what coming to church is about. But then comes Jesus’ famous lines to Mary: “Don’t hold onto me.” He does not mean back off. He tells her to stop clinging to him because he has something for her to do. Not her agenda this time but his. Namely, go tell the boys. In all four gospels the women are first, the only difference is the number of women who are present. And each gospel, the mission of the women is the same – and it is from them that we get the message with which we began.

He is risen: He is risen indeed. Alleluia!

Tammie Grimm ~ Keeping the Feast and the Fast

It is Easter. Alleluia! Or, more properly, it is Easter-tide. Palm fronds saved from Sunday’s service a few weeks ago are woven homemade crosses drying on the kitchen windowsill or (in my case, on the pile of mail stacked on my desk). The signs and symbols of Lent and Holy Week – along with the bins of empty plastic eggs – are packed up as we savor the last morsels of Easter chocolate many of us denied ourselves for lo those 40 days. Refreshed by caffeine enjoyed anew with gusto, we put decorations into storage till next year’s Lenten fast returns and we begin the ritual again by asking ourselves, “What to give up for Lent this year?”

To be honest, I did not give up chocolate or caffeine for Lent this year. Or last year for that matter. And as long as I have plans to travel to England during Lent I will not give up chocolate or caffeine as my Lenten discipline. I will not purposefully cut myself off from the widely available British treat of chocolate-covered digestives with a cuppa Yorkshire tea during my travels. But traveling hasn’t stopped me from being more creative and circumspect about my choice of fast. This year I fasted (with varying degrees of struggle and success) from dependency on social media, so that I might grow more mindful of my dependence upon God.

For the last several weeks, I have contemplated the rhythms of fasting and feasting as a part of Christian discipleship. How does the experience of fasting help shape us when we finally break it and enjoy the feast? In what ways are our daily lives punctuated by choices we make to abstain from certain pleasures so we might be more conscious of our need for God? And, conversely, how do we share the joy we receive in the presence of God with one another so we seek to extend it further into our communities? How and why should fasting and feasting be a part of our discipleship, our way of living that is meant to help us grow in Christlikeness?

While in England, I had the opportunity to read the manuscripts of early Methodist pioneer Mary Bosanquet Fletcher housed in the John Rylands Library of the University of Manchester. Having taken requisite Methodist history classes in seminary, I knew Mary Fletcher was the first woman John Wesley permitted to preach in the 1770s. Later, she became the wife of John Fletcher, who is often considered the theologian of the Methodist movement. They were married for four years before his death and she continued their ministry in the same parish for the next 30 years before her death. Her journals, diaries, private thoughts, and letters embody the largest collection of Methodist papers in existence with the sole exception of John Wesley’s papers. Though I had research purposes relating to my doctoral thesis, the experience of reading her handwriting ministered to my heart and soul in ways I never could have imagined.

It wasn’t the words that Mary Fletcher used that illustrated something fresh to me about discipleship. It was the ebb and flow of her journal entries among the occasions she regularly recorded over the decades. There were times in which her entries were considerably more sparse contrasted by other times in which her entries were especially numerous.

But without fail, on holy days, significant birthdays, and anniversaries, she journaled about her experiences in private prayer, public worship and the holy conversation she had with persons she knew through her ministry. Journaling was an indelible feature of Mary Fletcher’s life. Other writing projects she authored and published for the Methodist movement may have diverted her from her personal journaling at times, but I am convinced that journaling was as much a part of her discipleship as Bible study, regular Eucharist, tithing, and participating in regular class and band meetings.

The spiritual disciplines help us establish a way of living our lives for Christ. Mary Fletcher, like John Wesley, called spiritual disciplines “means of grace,” which are the regular things we do as Christians that open us up to God’s grace and the activity of the Holy Spirit in this world. Discipleship is living in those daily moments, submitting ourselves regularly to God so divine grace can make us more Christlike.

Holy fasts and holy feasts are special events which offer perspective to the ordinary everyday. Fasts and feasts ebb and flow throughout the year to help transform the everyday experience. These holidays (or holy-days) highlight our regular disciplines, transcending them from the daily fabric of our existence, which in turn gives back to the ordinariness of our lives as we grow in Christlikeness.

There are times I’ve wondered if a Lenten fast is nullified by Easter feasting. But in reading Mary Fletcher’s journals, noting the ebb and flow with which she made journal entries, I understood her seasons of profuse writing were not negated by the seasons of terseness. Nor did periods she lapsed in writing void those periods of profusion. She was consistently journaling, reflecting on God’s goodness and allowing divine grace to transform her to become a worthy example to many as she became more and more like Christ. Like a tide that ebbs and flows upon a shore, the disciplines are like waves, ever-present with the rising and falling of the water.

Discipleship is a life-long endeavor, regularly punctuated by the fasts and feasts we keep, consistently renewing and transforming us so we might be worthy vessels to offer the life-giving water of Christ to a parched and weary world.

This piece from our archives originally appeared in 2014.

Jeff Rudy ~ What Good Is a Dead Shepherd?

The texts for this sermon come from Psalm 23 and John 10:11-18.

In the middle of the Easter season every year is what some call “Good Shepherd Sunday,” which falls on the fourth Sunday of Easter. The revised common lectionary readings for this Sunday are always related to the image of the shepherd – Psalm 23 is the psalm all three years, and the Gospel reading always comes from the 10th chapter of John’s Gospel, which prominently displays Jesus’ referring to himself as the “good shepherd.”

Good shepherds develop a sort of bond with their sheep. Some say that the bond is such that the sheep consider the shepherd as one of their own. This can shed a little light on the idea that not only is Jesus our “good shepherd” but is also deemed as “the lamb of God.” The bond of trust between sheep and shepherd is confirmed by David’s meditation on how God is the shepherd of God’s people and by Jesus’ use of this analogy: “I know my own and my own know me.” The sheep know the shepherd by the sound of the shepherd’s voice.

My father concurs with this. Until he suffered a heart attack, my Dad had a flock of about 100 sheep. I talked with him a few weeks ago, reminiscing on those days and pondering on this beautiful metaphor. He said that Jesus’ statement that the sheep know his voice is right on target.

Whenever the sheep got out and Dad was at the farm store several miles away, one of the neighbors would call him to let him know the sheep were out of their pen. The question became, how would he respond? If he wanted the task to not consume the whole day, he couldn’t dispatch one of his employees…the hired hands, if you will…but would have to go down to the farm himself. There was a powerful combination of the sound of the feed hitting the trough along with the unique sound of his voice that would be the key to fully inviting and bringing them back home.

The 23rd Psalm, Jesus’ comforting words, and experiences like my dad’s that confirm these truths evoke a sort of pleasant rural image. But other than these pleasantries, the picture of a shepherd is one that, frankly, we have overly romanticized when in reality, the life of a shepherd, especially in the ancient world, was anything but warm and fuzzy. It wasn’t glamorous; it was messy, risky, tedious, and dangerous. It was really a thankless job, but think about this: shepherds were tasked with caring for the very animals that would be slaughtered as the sacrificial offerings of the worshiping community. Because of the value of the commodity of sheep in the ancient middle east, whenever a sheep or a lamb had been attacked or killed by a predator, the shepherd would have to bring proof by retrieving a part of the sheep, which meant fighting the wolves or whatever the predator was.

And this is the part of the analogy. Jesus said, memorably, that he is the good shepherd, and that means that he is willing to lay down his life for the sheep. This, of course, speaks to a sort of quality that is hailed as wonderful – sacrificial, self-giving, love. It’s a simple picture that emerges really – the sheep face danger; the shepherd goes out to meet the danger, and, if necessary, takes upon himself the fate that would have befallen the sheep. “I lay down my life for the sheep.”

But all of this begs the question about the nature of this good shepherd, which is this: “What good is a dead shepherd?”

“I lay down my life for the sheep.” If that is where Jesus’ analogy had ended, then this question would be even more puzzling. This is more than a theological question; it’s a practical one. If a predator kills the shepherd, what is to stop that predator from destroying the sheep? At the very least, as the prophecy said, when the shepherd is struck down the sheep will scatter. At worst, the wolf eats the flock.

The tragic scene of Aslan’s death in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe and what the evil witch says to him as she slays him speaks to this very problem that makes a sacrificial shepherd seem so pointless. The lion Aslan, in the fashion of the good shepherd, had gone to meet the witch and had agreed to trade his life in exchange for the life of Edmund Pevensie who had betrayed the Narnians by leading the witch to them. Edmund regretted his traitorous action, but his punishment was supposed to be death. However, Aslan stepped in and appealed to an ancient agreement that would establish the balance of justice. An innocent life (Aslan, in this case) could be given so that the guilty party (in this case Edmund) wouldn’t have to be condemned to death.

But for the witch, this was more than just about an exacting of punishment or a balancing of the scales – it was a battle in which she was seeking to rule the whole world and destroy or enslave all her enemies. So, after Aslan is tied up, his mane is completely shaved, and he’s beaten to within an inch of his life, the witch drew near to the lion’s ear with an attempt to crush his spirit in defeat as she dealt the death blow. She said this:

And now, who has won? Fool, did you think that by all this you would save the human traitor? Now I will kill you instead of him as our pact was and so the Deep Magic will be appeased. But when you are dead what will prevent me from killing him as well? And who will take him out of my hand then? Understand that you have given me Narnia forever, you have lost your own life and you have not saved his. In that knowledge, despair and die.

What good is a dead Aslan? What good is a dead shepherd? What is to stop the wolf from destroying the sheep too? The answer to these questions is, nothing.

Unless…The shepherd’s not actually dead anymore. Did you hear? The shepherd’s not dead anymore!

As he did in Matthew, Mark, and Luke, so also here in John, Jesus gives a premonition of his death – “I lay down my life for the sheep.” But once again, he also follows it up with the glimpse of hope on the other side of that valley of the shadow of death. “I lay down my life…in order to take it up again.”

This is why this passage finds its way into the season of Easter. Because what’s good about the dead shepherd is that he isn’t dead anymore and, in his return, has brought in a bigger flock of sheep than what had been known before. Jesus speaks of another flock to add to the fold – a way of speaking about salvation being not only for those inside the Jewish community, but also for the rest of the world. It was after the resurrection when this reality would come into being. The shepherd’s not dead anymore…and he’s even more powerful than before.

In Narnia, Aslan was resurrected as the White Witch went to battle against the good Narnians led by the humans who were all loyal to Aslan. When Aslan came back to life, the first witnesses were two girls, who laughed and danced and played with him until it was time to gather more troops for the battle. So while the battle is out on the field, Aslan stormed the witch’s castle, breathed upon the creatures that the witch had frozen and they thawed, coming back to life. They then ran out to defeat the witch and sent her comrades into full retreat. In describing his resurrection, Aslan appealed to the “deeper magic from before the dawn of time,” which said, “that when a willing victim who had committed no treachery was killed in a traitor’s stead, the Table [on which Aslan was killed] would crack and Death itself would start working backwards…”

What’s good about the dead shepherd who has taken up his life again? The sheep who aren’t in the flock yet but are waiting to come alive are seen as the shepherd to be potential sheep.

Jesus was trying to get them to see that the Gentiles were not really their enemies: they were sheep who weren’t in the fold yet.

And maybe that ought to speak to us about our role in relation to the mission of the good shepherd. The once dead, but now resurrected good shepherd, I would suggest, is telling us – I have other sheep…potential sheep outside of your fences, outside of your walls, that are waiting for the life-giving word, for the life-giving witness, for the life-giving invitation of the good shepherd, whose voice we are called to bear in the world.

Will we introduce them to the good shepherd or will we run and hide like the hired hand?

Cole Bodkin ~ Eating a Meal: Nourishment for Resurrection Life

While they were talking about this, 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. And see, I am sending upon you what my Father promised; so stay here in the city until you have been clothed with power from on high.

There goes Jesus eating again. Eating fish with fisherman. Have you ever read through the Gospels and noticed how often Jesus is eating? Why is that? With the exception of birthday parties and my wedding, I really don’t think I would have anyone include meals in my biography. So why waste the precious ink?

Believe it or not, I think eating was central to Jesus’ mission. That’s right, the mundane and ordinary routine of sharing fellowship over a meal was a staple to Jesus’ missional diet, and I think this carries forward to the church today as well. In fact, I think there is a missional motif in Luke’s Gospel revolving around the word “fish.” So we shouldn’t be surprised to find the fisher of men eating fish with his fishermen disciples in this scene. Yes, we could spend all day talking about eating the fish and the significance of it for Jesus’ physicality of being raised from the grave. But, I think the fish points to something else, a sign, a symbol, a reminder of who the disciples are called to be and what they are called to do.

Besides our passage, there are three other places where we find the word “fish” in Luke’s Gospel.

Back in Luke 5 there is a crowd surrounding Jesus while he’s teaching God’s Word when all the sudden he sees some fishermen washing their nets. They are a little down because they worked hard all night and couldn’t land a catch. You know how the story goes. Jesus gets into Peter’s boat, continues teaching the crowds, and tells Peter where to cast the nets. They pull in the motherlode, so much so that the large quantity of fish causes the boat to sink. Swept off his feet, Peter falls down at Jesus’ feet and says, “Go away from me Lord, for I am a sinful man!” James and John, likewise, were frozen in fear. Jesus tells them, “Do not fear, from now on you will be catching people.” Fishing for people, eh? They drop everything and follow him.

Next we encounter another miraculous event, Jesus feeding the multitudes the 5,000. Prior to the miraculous feeding, Jesus sends the disciples out on a mission. After a quick debrief, the disciples ask Jesus to send away the crowds so that the crowds can find lodging and food. Jesus snaps back, “You feed them.” Baffled, the disciples say they only have five loaves and two fish, which cannot possibly feed everyone. Jesus tells them to set the people in rows of 50, then he gives thanks to God, blesses it, breaks the bread, and kept handing them to the disciples until all ate and were satisfied. The broken pieces that were leftover were picked up, which were 12 baskets full. Sounds eerily similar to God providing manna in the wilderness to the Israelites. Mary’s prophetic prayer that Jesus “has filled the hungry with good things” seems to have been fulfilled. Fishing and feeding.

The last reference to fish is with regard to prayer. Jesus compares praying to God, like a son asking his father for a fish. Of course the parent isn’t going to give the son a snake instead of a fish. Who would do that? Then Jesus says, “How much more then, will your heavenly Father give you the Holy Spirit to those who ask him?” Fishing, feeding, and the gift of the Holy Spirit. Hmm.

Fast-forward to the Emmaus Road. Our congregation loves the “Walk to the Emmaus” so I’ll trust you are familiar. In that scene Cleopas and his fellow companion are walking on the road to Emmaus when a guy interrupts and decides to join them. They do not recognize that the person travelling with them is Jesus until he breaks the bread. Like Jesus breaking the bread before feeding the multitudes, or breaking the bread for the Last Supper, it is in the breaking of bread in which their eyes were opened and they realized that Jesus was in their midst. Strangely enough our passage follows the Road to the Emmaus. After Jesus eats the fish he opens their minds to Scripture, and how he is revealed in it so that the disciples might be His witnesses. Bread and Fish. Hmm. Sounds familiar. Anything in our passage about the Holy Spirit? Well immediately after our passage Jesus tells the disciples to wait to be clothed on High, that is, filled with the Holy Spirit at Pentecost before they go out. Hmmm. Do you see a pattern here?

If I am losing you, let me try to reel you back in: the disciples are fed in order that they may go out and feed the multitudes. You know the saying, “Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day; teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime.” A huge proportion of Jesus’ ministry was teaching these fishermen how to fish for God’s kingdom. And guess what, it’s not as complicated as you might think. Preparation for effective ministry comes through studying God’s Word and being empowered by the Holy Spirit through prayer. Simple enough. You don’t have to be an apostle to do that.

Sometimes I think we make church way more complicated than it has to be. What if it was as simple as studying God’s Word, Spirit-filled prayer, and going out and feeding people physically, emotionally, and spiritually? We should all take seriously Jesus’ command before the miraculous feeding: “you feed them.” He’s equipped us. What are we waiting for?

Remember how much we see Jesus eating with people all the time in the Gospels? The simple and uneventful act of eating with people was central to his mission, and it’s not that difficult. That’s what the early church did. They met with one another in their homes, breaking bread, and telling others about Jesus. Likewise, when we invite others to share a meal, this is extremely meaningful cross-culturally. When we eat together, we discover the inherent humanity of all people. We share stories, hopes, fears, and disappointments. People open up to each other. And we can open up to them to share the same things, including telling them about the truly human one…

Hear this letter from the 4th century Emperor Julian to his officials about those pesky, atheist Christians, their hospitality, and the fear that they will take over the Roman Empire with their meals:

We must pay special attention to this point, and by this means affect a cure [for the “sickness” of Christianity]. For when it came about that the poor were neglected and overlooked by the [pagan] priests, then I think the impious Galileans [Christians] observed this fact and devoted themselves to philanthropy. And they have gained ascendancy in the worst of the deeds through the credit they win for such practices. For just as those who entice children with a cake, and by throwing it to them two or three times induce them to follow them, and then, when they are far away from their friends cast them on board a ship and sell them as slaves…by the same method, I say, the Galileans also begin with their so-called love-feast, or hospitality, or service of tables—for they have many ways of carrying it out and hence call it by many names—and the result is that they have led very many into atheism [i.e. Christianity]. (from Michael Frost’s Five Habits of Highly Missional People, p. 12)

Imagine that? Sharing meals and sharing Christ with others was subversive to the Roman Empire. They feared that the Christians would take over.

Michael Frost in his Five Habits of Highly Missional People helps us out with the who, what, and how of eating meals with others. It’s really pretty simple, and not complicated. Look, most of us eat 21 meals a week. Let’s be honest. We Memphians might have even more. But dedicate at least three meals with others a week. That’s not too hard. Get into that rhythm, and then it becomes a habit.

So what does a meal look like? Well it can be as grand as an ornate, elaborate dinner party or the bare minimum of coffee and a donut.

Whatever it may be, sit across the table from three people this week and talk. Who should we eat with? Frost suggests that we missionally eat with one person who is not a church-goer. If you want to take this further, eat with someone who may or may not be able to repay you. But, don’t be surprised if people invite you over for a meal, in return. And don’t be surprised by their eating habits.

Also, eat with fellow disciples. I recently started something called “Table Groups.” This is a young adult initiative where we meet and eat together. We share life. We pray. We encourage one another. There are various components that I try to incorporate into our time. One might call it a table liturgy. I’d love to see this implemented on a church-wide scale. It would foster community and intergenerational fellowship, and guess what? It’s modeled after the early church. It’s not complicated. We can grow as a church by doing the simple act of eating and sharing our lives with one another around a table. If this is something that you might be interested in doing, please talk to me after the service, or email me. I’d love to see us get to know one another on a more personal level by just being human and connecting through breaking bread.

So, let’s feed people physically, emotionally, and spiritually. Let’s get in a habit of eating with at least three people per week, one being a non-churchgoer. Let’s grow in fellowship so that we can mutually encourage one another as we go fishing.

I still find one of the most fascinating things in the world to ponder about is that when Jesus wanted his disciples to reflect on his death, he didn’t give them a theory, but a meal. Let’s now prepare ourselves for his meal: may our eyes be opened to Jesus in the breaking of the bread. May our minds be opened to the Word we just heard, and may we be fed so that we can go out and bring more people to feast with us here.

Tammie Grimm ~ Daily Discipleship: to Keep the Feast and the Fast

It is Easter. Alleluia! Or, more properly, it is Easter-tide. Palm fronds saved from Sunday’s service two weeks ago are woven homemade crosses drying on the kitchen windowsill or (in my case, on the pile of mail stacked on my desk). The signs and symbols of Lent and Holy Week – along with the bins of empty plastic eggs – are packed up as we savor the last morsels of Easter chocolate many of us denied ourselves for lo those forty days. Refreshed by caffeine enjoyed anew with gusto, we put decorations into storage till next year’s Lenten fast returns and we begin the ritual again by asking ourselves “What to give up for Lent this year?”

To be honest, I did not give up chocolate or caffeine for Lent this year. Or last year for that matter. And as long as I have plans to travel to England during Lent I will not give up chocolate or caffeine as my Lenten discipline. I will not purposefully cut myself off from the widely available British treat of chocolate covered digestives with a cuppa Yorkshire tea during my travels. But traveling hasn’t stopped me from being more creative and circumspect about my choice of fast. This year I fasted (with varying degrees of struggle and success) from dependency on social media so that I might grow more mindful of my dependence upon God.

For the last several weeks, I have contemplated the rhythms of fasting and feasting as a part of Christian discipleship. How does the experience of fasting help shape us when we finally break it and enjoy the feast? In what ways are our daily lives punctuated by choices we make to abstain from certain pleasures so we might be more conscious of our need for God? And, conversely, how do we share the joy we receive in the presence of God with one another so we seek to extend it further into our communities? How and why should fasting and feasting be a part of our discipleship, our way of living that is meant to help us grow in Christlikeness?

Last month, while in England, I had the opportunity to read the manuscripts of early Methodist pioneer Mary Bosanquet Fletcher housed in the John Rylands Library of the University of Manchester. Having taken requisite Methodist history classes in seminary, I knew Mary Fletcher was the first woman John Wesley permitted to preach in the 1770s. Later, she became the wife of John Fletcher, who is often considered the theologian of the Methodist movement. They were married for four years before his death and her continuation of their ministry in the same parish for the next thirty years before her death. Her journals, diaries, private thoughts, and letters embody the largest collection of Methodist papers in existence with the sole exception of John Wesley’s papers. Though I had expressed research purposes relating to my doctoral thesis, the experience of reading her handwriting ministered to my heart and soul in ways I never could have imagined.

It wasn’t the words that Mary Fletcher used that illustrated something fresh to me about discipleship. It was the ebb and flow of her journal entries among the occasions she regularly recorded over the decades. There were times in which her entries were considerably more sparse contrasted by other times in which her entries were especially numerous.

But without fail, on holy days, significant birthdays and anniversaries, she journaled about her experiences in private prayer, public worship and the holy conversation she had with persons she knew through her ministry. Journaling was an indelible feature of Mary Fletcher’s life. Other writing projects she authored and published for the Methodist movement may have diverted her from her personal journaling at times, but I am convinced that journaling was as much as her discipleship as was Bible study, regular Eucharist, tithing and participating in regular class and band meetings.

The spiritual disciplines help us establish a way of living our lives for Christ. Mary Fletcher, like John Wesley, called spiritual disciplines “means of grace” which are the regular things we do as Christians that open us up to God’s grace and the activity of the Holy Spirit in this world. Discipleship is living in those daily moments, submitting ourselves regularly to God so divine grace can make us more Christlike.

Holy fasts and holy feasts are special events which offer perspective to the ordinary everyday. Fasts and feasts ebb and flow throughout the year to help transform the everyday experience. These holidays (or holy-days) highlight our regular disciplines, transcending them from the daily fabric of our existence, which in turn, gives back to the ordinary-ness of our lives as we grow in Christlikeness.

There are times I wondered if a Lenten fast is nullified by Easter feasting. In reading Mary Fletcher’s journals, noting the ebb and flow with which she made journal entries, I understood her seasons of profuse writing were not negated by the seasons of terseness. Nor did periods she lapsed in writing void those periods of profusion. She was consistently journaling, reflecting on God’s goodness and allowing divine grace to transform her to become a worthy example to many as she became more and more like Christ. Like a tide that ebbs and flows upon a shore, the disciplines are like waves, ever-present with the rising and falling of the water. Discipleship is a life-long endeavor, regularly punctuated by the fasts and feasts we keep, consistently renewing and transforming us so we might be worthy vessels to offer the life giving water of Christ to a parched and weary world.

Matt Sigler ~ Our Hearts Burning Within Us: Eastertide

With the lyrics of “Christ the Lord is Risen Today” still ringing in our ears we enter into the season of Eastertide. The joyous proclamation of the hymn is not “Christ the Lord was risen two-thousand years ago;” we sing in the present tense, “Christ is risen today!” Charles Wesley captures in his lyrics the mystery that we often gloss over when we participate in worship: time is a blurry thing in Christian worship. While the past events of scripture are not repeated literally; by the Spirit, time collapses as we engage the Story of God—hence, the lyrics “Christ is risen today.”

The trans-temporality of Christian worship is important to embrace as we enter into these fifty days of Eastertide. Often the weeks after Easter can seem like a letdown. With our energies expended on Easter sunrise services and the other events of the day, we trudge into the following Sundays frequently missing the richness of the post-Easter Day season. The Story does not end with Easter morning and the empty tomb. We have broiled fish to eat and sheep to feed. We need to hear Christ’s voice say “peace be with you” as we’re caught off-guard when he unexpectedly shows up in our midst. Like the disciples, we need to encounter the risen Christ as we continue on the journey. Here are a few reasons why the season of Eastertide is so important.

Verifying the Resurrection

Confusion leads to disbelief, doubt is shattered by encounter, and in the presence of the risen Lord, fear dissolves into unbounded joy. We struggle with many of the same concerns that the disciples struggled with in the weeks following Easter. Inevitably, CNN or the History Channel will run their one hour documentaries giving alternative possibilities to bodily resurrection. If Eastertide does anything, it forces us into the narrative where we encounter a very physically risen Lord—one who eats with us and invites us to touch his wounds. In worship we also are given the opportunity to encounter the same risen Lord in our midst.

Manifesting the Already-But-Not-Yetness of the Kingdom

For forty days the disciples lived in swirling awe of the risen Christ. One can’t blame them for taking some time before finally asking in Acts 1, “Lord, are you at this time going to restore the kingdom to Israel?” Jesus’ answer takes them by surprise and it does us too: it’s not for us to know the times set by the Father. What the season of Eastertide does allow us to know for certain is that our current age is temporary. The resurrection validates all that Jesus taught about the kingdom of God: a kingdom that has already been established, but has not yet fully come. It also shows us our destiny in Christ, the first fruits of this new creation.

Pointing Us to the End of the Story

At the end of the forty days following the resurrection the disciples stand gazing up into heaven and are immediately given the promise that the ascended Christ will return one day. Ten days later they receive a down payment on that promise at Pentecost. During Eastertide we also are (re)oriented to the end of God’s story of salvation. We renew our hope in the sure and certain return of a King who is making all things new.

Sending Us on Mission

Similarly, Eastertide is also a season where we are called to mission. “Feed my sheep,” “Go and make disciples of all nations,” are words of commission for the followers of the risen Lord. We cannot stand around gazing at the heavens because we have encountered the risen One and know how the Story ends. These fifty days simultaneously remind us of the good news we proclaim as well as our deep need to be infused with the Spirit’s power for this mission.

Our Hearts Burning Within Us

As someone who plans and leads worship, I find my biblical imagination is captivated during this season of Eastertide for all the reasons noted above. And then there’s Emmaus. It’s no wonder why so many have read this text as model for worship—Jesus opens up the scriptures and manifests himself in the breaking of the bread. Regardless of your exegesis on this passage, the text stirs a desire to feel our own hearts burning within us as we encounter the Lord in the Story. The same Lord who met the disciples on the road to Emmaus longs to meet us during this season of Eastertide. As we seek him, he opens his Word to us, meets us in the breaking of the Bread, and stirs our hearts with his holy love in a way that makes it impossible to contain the news of his resurrection.