Good Shepherds Unleashed!

Easter 4B; Ps. 23; 1 Jn. 3:16-24; Jn. 10:11-18; St. Paul’s, Smithfield, NC 4/26/15 Jim Melnyk: “Good Shepherds Unleashed”

It might be said that we live in a world where the Gospel has become domesticated – where, according to theologian Walter Brueggemann, it has become “easily assumed, slotted, and conveniently dismissed –” a “truth widely held, but a truth greatly reduced…flattened, trivialized, and rendered inane” (Finally Comes the Poet, Walter Brueggemann, 1989, p. 1).

Perhaps nowhere can that be more clearly seen than how the modern day church addresses the shepherd imagery offered throughout scripture and especially in the Gospels.  And while our modern day imagery of shepherds and their work might seem somewhat tame, the domestication of the deepest truths of our faith began even as far back as the fledgling church and the formation of the Gospels. 

For instance Luke’s “blessed are you who are poor,” and “blessed are you who are hungry now,” (Luke 6:21-22) both of which have life and death implications about them, become Matthew’s “blessed are the poor in spirit,” and “blessed are those who hunger and thirst after righteousness;” (Matthew 5:3, 6) which though still vital statements about our lives on a more holistic level, certainly don’t carry the same life and death urgency about them all.  And those changes are much more acceptable within circles of cultured folks who don’t want to think or talk about people who are poor or people who go to bed hungry every night. 

Then there’s the disciples’ admonition in Mark’s Gospel, “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” directed toward Jesus, which (4:38) becomes “Lord save us!” in Matthew (8:25), and “Master, Master, we are perishing!” in Luke (8:24); because after all, how would it look for the disciples to speak so rudely to the Son of God?

The great challenge for the church today is that it’s too easy to become complacent – too easy to become comfortable – with a domestication of the Gospel – with a domestication of our faith – and quite frankly, it can bore the living daylights out of us!  As Brueggemann says, even our pastoral prayers and our love letters begin to sound like interoffice memos! (Brueggemann, p. 3)  And all too often we’re willing to put up with a tame version of our faith because the alternative can scare the living daylights out of us – and perhaps most of us would rather be a little bit bored than a whole lot scared by what our faith commends within us.

When we shake out all the ways we’ve quieted down the stories of our faith we should see them as they are – coming at us with all the abrasiveness of a Nolan Ryan fastball and all the surprise of a Mariano Rivera cutter – breaking upon us and shattering our complacency (Brueggemann), but then we – meaning the Church as a whole – then we work hard to turn those stories back to anything but the life-changing, world-shattering parables they are meant to be.

Jesus tells his listeners that he is the Good Shepherd, and all sorts of images from the scriptures should be leaping to mind – Many of them are images of strong, compassionate leadership in their ancient lives, and others are quite challenging. 

David, their icon of kingship and the one with whom God makes an everlasting covenant, was first a shepherd – who became a king – with mixed reviews, we might add.  Just ask Uriah – oops, can’t do that because David had him killed. 

Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and Isaiah each speak about disingenuous shepherds – those who lead Israel astray (Jeremiah 23:1-6, Ezekiel 34:23-24, and Isaiah 56:11-12).  On the other hand, Isaiah likens God to a compassionate and good shepherd who feeds God’s flock, Israel, and gently carries them in God’ arms (Isaiah 40:11).

Jesus tells his listeners that he is the Good Shepherd and his listeners stop like one of those old E. F. Hutton commercials – waiting to see where Jesus will take that image.  For those looking for a bit of edginess, Jesus doesn’t disappoint. 

Like his parables of the lost sheep in Matthew (18:12-14) and Luke (15:3-7) the first images that come to mind might echo Isaiah’s image of God as a good shepherd.  It sounds idyllic – it sounds the way we want the world to be – peaceful, beautiful, and comfortable – no danger on the horizon at all.

But then the worm turns.  “The Good Shepherd lays down his life for the sheep,” says Jesus.  Shepherding is a risky calling, and unlike the hired hand, who may flee when a pack of hungry wolves or a band of marauding bandits descend upon the flock, shepherds stand in the way and if necessary, fight for the lives of their the sheep.  The Good Shepherd is not tame, nor are shepherds meant to be tame, domesticated people – and they do not live in a tame, domesticated world – and neither do we.

The Good Shepherd comes into a world where there are thieves and wolves.  The Good Shepherd comes into a world where there are major earthquakes and avalanches, where there are school shootings, drug problems, and struggles to be treated with the same simple dignity and justice that everyone else experiences – and the Good Shepherd risks his life – lays down his life – for his sheep. 

And I’m guessing we want to smooth over the abrasiveness, the shock, and the anxiety that comes with any expectations that the Good Shepherd might be calling us to be anything like him, risking our comfort or even our lives, in the overwhelming places of this world.

When we hear – and listen to – and allow ourselves to be challenged by – the author of First John, we realize just how difficult this following of Jesus can be.  “We know love by this, that he laid down his life for us – and we ought to lay down our lives for one another.  How does God's love abide in anyone who has the world's goods and sees a brother or sister in need, and yet refuses help?  Little children, let us love, not in word or speech, but in truth and action” (3:16-18).  

We are called to confront the gulf that exists between thought and action – starting with one another, but extending to the world around us – extending God’s love and mercy to all – no matter the cost (Michaela Bruzzese, Preaching the Word, Sojouners On Line, 4/26/2015).  Jesus says, “My sheep listen to my voice; I know them, and they follow me” (John 10:27).  And I think: “Really?” I didn’t quite hear you, Jesus – the TV was too loud! And the game went into extra innings!  And we had company for the weekend…and soccer practice!  Live our lives as a reflection of the Good Shepherd?  Lay down our lives for one another?  I – I think I’m busy that weekend!

When our faith becomes the sweet, sappy stuff of cute little kitten or puppy memes, we’ve lost our way – and perhaps even the ability to be energized, challenged and motivated by that faith.  Even our most beautiful, idyllic, and pastoral Scripture passages carry with them the edgy reality of life. “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want…” begins a glorious hymn about green pastures and calm waters – but doesn’t get by without reminding us of the “valley of the shadow of death,” or reminding us that God sets a table for us “in the midst of – not away from – our enemies” (Psalm 23). 

No, even in our most hope-filled passages of scripture there is nothing tame about a God who stands in the breach for and with us – and who calls us, as followers of the Good Shepherd, to do the same for one another. And so, we’re left with the struggle with what it means to be a follower of Jesus – we’re left to struggle with an undomesticated, sometimes abrasive and surprising faith, and decide how to emulate the Good Shepherd – becoming good shepherds unleashed upon the world.  We get to decide how to go about living out a faith that is anything but trivialized and tame – but a faith that is always accompanied by Jesus, the Good Shepherd.

Sacramental People

Easter 2B, John 20:19-31; St. Paul’s Smithfield, NC 4/12/2015

Jim Melnyk: “Sacramental People”

I am willing to bet many of you are hoping I’m not going to preach about today’s lesson from Acts, “Now the whole group of those who believed were of one heart and soul, and no one claimed private ownership of any possessions, but everything they owned was held in common” (Acts 4:32-35).   Don’t worry – I’m not.

Episcopalians, like many of our sisters and brothers in other denominations, are a sacramental people.  Sacraments, as you may recall, are outward and visible signs of an inward and spiritual grace given to us by God in Christ as signs of God’s certain favor toward us.

Sacraments, then, on an outward level, are tangible experiences.  During Holy Eucharist, our principle feast of thanksgiving, we can see and taste the bread (though wafers don’t have all that much taste in my thinking). If we are quiet enough at the fraction, we might even hear the priest’s host snap when it is broken.  And if we were using a loaf of bread instead of wafers, as some churches do, we might even smell the yeast as the loaf is torn apart, or as the portion of bread is placed in our hands and brought to our mouths.

In Holy Baptism, we can see the water poured into the font, and hear it splash.  We feel the coolness of it as Christ’s name is writ upon our brows, and we can feel and smell the chrism oil on our foreheads as we are sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked as Christ’s own forever.  The list goes on: the feel of a human touch during prayers for healing, the laying on of hands at confirmation – as we witnessed last week – or during an ordination.

As Episcopalians, we are a sacramental people, and we celebrate our faith with tangible actions that signal our deepest held religious beliefs: Christ’s real presence in the bread and wine of Holy Eucharist, God’s Holy Spirit filling us in Baptism, and empowering us when sick, or dying; when confirming our faith, or being set apart for holy orders.  Holy mystery at a level where we can taste, and touch – holy mystery we experience with our senses.

Yet, here we come to the perfunctory Second Sunday of Easter story about Thomas – who tradition has labeled as “Doubting,” and doubt becomes front and center in most people’s preaching because, after all, isn’t the story about good old Doubting Thomas?  But yet as Sacramental People, we can understand Thomas’ desire to touch, can we not?  After all, our lesson from 1 John begins with “ we report to you that which we have heard, and seen, and touched…” (paraphrased) – that which is tangible!

But Thomas with his quest for assurance – the same assurance experienced earlier by his peers, by the way – Thomas with his quest isn’t meant to be front and center in today’s gospel lesson – at least not the way we usually portray it all.  The story is not meant to separate Thomas from the other disciples, as someone whose faith is somehow less true – just as it isn’t meant to chide us when we struggle with our own doubts.  “At the heart of the story is Jesus’ generous offer of himself to Thomas,” and by extension, Jesus’ generous offer of himself to all who follow throughout the ages – even to us (Gail R. O’Day, The New Interpreter’s Bible). 

The story we call “Doubting Thomas” in John’s Gospel is about a Jesus who comes to us where we are and how we are – not demanding acceptance, but inviting belief.  It’s a story about Jesus telling us there will be a time when we have to move beyond our senses to make sense of what God does for us in the mystery of Easter. 

This story is about a Jesus who honors Thomas’ needs – a Jesus who meets Thomas where he must meet him – so that Thomas, along with his companions, will be able to proclaim the wonder and power of Easter.

Now, I can no more prove the Resurrection than I can prove much of what I believe about this world and my life.  But what I have found over the course of my short time on this planet is this: The same Jesus who appears to Thomas and the others in that Upper Room makes himself known to me time and time again in ways, which I cannot prove, but are as real to me as any of you.  It makes no sense on any sort of provable level – but it makes plenty of sense in my gut and in my heart.  And though I’d never be mistaken for, or claim the title of “mystic,” I will embrace the reality of those experiences as holy mystery. 

In the end, it’s not our doubt or our skepticism that matters most – it’s the willingness of God in Christ to be present with us and for us in the midst of those doubts – that matters most: in the touch of a friend; a helping hand; in taking a stand for justice; in welcoming the stranger; in serving and accepting someone who looks, acts, or believes differently from us; or in something as simple as offering an encouraging word, or something as complex and challenging as the early followers of Jesus and their response outline in today’s lesson from Acts!

When I see someone choose a path of compassion and grace instead of the easier, and often more alluring path of self-service, lack of care, exclusion, greed or hatred – I sense the presence of the Risen Christ.  For you see, Easter is about more than the ongoing presence of Jesus in this world – though it is that.  Easter is also about God’s vindication of Jesus and his Gospel that proclaims God’s passion for this world.  “Easter,” writes Borg, “is God’s ‘yes’ to Jesus and God’s ‘no’ to the powers that killed him” (Borg, p. 276).

Easter is about finding one’s breath when the world around us feels like the deep vacuum of outer space.  Easter is about finding wholeness after a great loss; it’s about finding truth in face of the world’s lies; it’s about finding courage in the midst of fear.  Easter is about finding hope in the midst of despair and justice where there has been only oppression. Easter is about finding life where before there has only been death.

Still, doubt is real and will always be a part of who we are as human beings – who can ever be absolutely sure of everything?  In many ways we’ve come to live in what Bishop Anne called an “If I cannot see it and feel it, it couldn’t have happened world.”  She went on to say we’re all too ready to doubt everything – everything, that is, “except our wireless internet.”  Reminds me of a meme that goes around on Facebook from time to time saying, “Ninety percent of what we read on the internet is made up – according to Abraham Lincoln.” 

“As Frederick Buechner has so aptly said: ‘Doubts are the ants in the pants of faith – they keep it alive and moving’” (Understanding the Sunday Scriptures, p. 80).    Doubt may be real, but no matter how much we don’t like to doubt – no matter how much we frown on doubt – doubt is really just the beginning of faith.  And while some preachers even make a living off of people’s doubts, that’s not the way of Jesus.  Rather than demand acceptance, Jesus invites belief, and meets us where we most need to be met.

The wonder and power of Easter is in Christ’s risen presence in our hearts, in our lives, and in our actions – in the way we live and move and have our being in the world around us.  Our Easter celebrations are the outward and visible signs of the Risen Christ who comes among us offering the gift of peace – the gift of wholeness and life – and even in the midst of our most serious doubts that wholeness and life can sustain us. 

The Risen Christ comes among us and offers a wholeness that calls upon us to be a transformed people who are then called to transform the world.  Jesus breathes on his disciples and we are reminded of the Spirit of God (Ruach, meaning spirit, breath, or wind) the Spirit of God moving over the waters of creation.  We are reminded of God’s breath breathing into the nostrils of the first human – painstakingly shaping that first being out of the clay of the earth and then bending down and putting lips to lips – and breathing life into that first being.   We are reminded of the wind or breath of God filling the once dried out, dusty, cracked and broken bones of Israel stretched out before the prophet Ezekiel.  “Mortal, can these bones live?”  Yes!  Yes they can and they do!

The breath of Jesus breathed upon his disciples is the sacramental promise of God’s presence in our lives – it is the transforming and empowering breath of God – it is the breath of life.  It is God’s gift to each of us.  It is Easter!

Unsatisfactory Endings?

 Easter Day, Yr. B Mark 16:1-8 St. Paul’s Smithfield, NC 4/5/2015

Jim Melnyk: “Unsatisfactory Endings?”

Years ago storyteller Garrison Keillor told one of his tales from Lake Wobegon that left his listeners quite unsettled and rather frustrated.  His tale was about a youngster who went behind his parents’ back to buy tickets to a rock concert several hours away.  He and his parents had gone round and round about the concert, with the parents finally putting their foot down saying “absolutely not,” and the teenager ignoring their wishes and buying the tickets. 

But not only did he buy the tickets, he also left the house without them knowing and headed to the event.  The story ended with the parents discovering that he had made the purchase and was at the concert.  That’s how it ended: the teen off in another town having ignored his parents’ demands, and his parents standing in his room, looking at the receipt.  As you may know, this is not the way tales from Lake Wobegon ever ended.  No resolution.  Frustration and pain – and perhaps fear on the part of the parents.

The following week Keillor came on the show and reported on the number of emails, phone calls, and letters he had received by frustrated listeners.  Apparently there were a lot of listeners who just could not deal with such a lack of resolution.  They wanted an ending – not any kind of ending – but most of all a happy ending.  They wanted to know how the story ended. 

And so Garrison Keillor, in response to the hue and cry, left everyone hanging again.  Ambiguity.  The audience chuckled – but I seem to recall it being a rather uneasy chuckle.  We want to know the rest of the story.

Mark’s version of the resurrection concludes – as best as we can tell – with verse 8: “So they [the three women] went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid” (16:8).

What?  Really, Mark?  Really?  That’s how you’re going leave us hanging?  We want an ending that tells us the rest of the story – we like the endings of Matthew, Luke, and John much more, because in their stories we actually get to see Jesus raised from the dead. Mark – well Mark – he just leaves us wanting more.

Over the centuries we have found ways of domesticating Easter – perhaps because we already know the ending, and have heard it all our lives.  We turn it into a yearly renewal of new life – like the crocuses and daffodils that break through the last of the winter’s snows.  We turn it into a Hallmark event with Easter Bunny cards and new outfits.  Our sacraments become chocolate eggs and jellybeans – both of which I like – but not as sacraments of resurrection!

This morning we’ve heard both the oldest written account of the resurrection – from Paul’s letter to the Corinthians, and our oldest Gospel account of the resurrection – from Mark’s Gospel.  There is nothing very domesticated about either account.  Paul is rather straight-forward.  This is what happened.  No dialogue.  No visions.  No passing through locked doors.  No breakfast on the beach.  No “feed my sheep.” Just the resurrected Jesus. 

 

Mark is even less domesticated.  As the Rev. Lorraine Ljunggren writes for this morning, “These three first century women [we encounter once again this morning] are about to receive news as earth-shaking as the earthquake they experienced the day Jesus died. They are about to receive news which challenges everything they know about death and about life.”

In Mark’s Gospel, Jesus doesn’t even come on stage.  A young man in a white robe tells the women that Jesus has been raised – and that they are to proclaim the resurrection to the other disciples – and send them back to Galilee where it all began, and where the risen Christ will be waiting for them.  The undomesticated Gospel ends with the words, “So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.”  Period.  End of sentence.  End of Gospel. 

And had we been first century followers of Jesus we would have been tweeting, and messaging, emailing and calling Mark to give us more – and later writers did just that – gave us more – adding another twelve verses to the Gospel at some later date.

Is this any way to run a resurrection, we might ask?  Perhaps the answer is yes.  The story with its sharper, more ambiguous, unresolved ending is a witness to the fears and anxieties of not just the disciples who fled Jesus’ arrest – the ending is a witness to the fears and anxieties of the women who witness the crucifixion from a distance – the ending is a witness to those who were constantly amazed, awed, and agitated at the teachings of Jesus throughout his ministry. 

And perhaps – just perhaps – the unresolved ending is a fitting response to the witness of Jesus, who spends at least part of the final moments before his arrest feeling distressed and agitated while waiting in the garden.

Mark’s brief ending also allows us to feel a little better about our own struggles with faith – our own struggles with seeing the resurrection as something beyond the stuff of Hallmark Cards and metaphor. “Had the women kept to themselves this remarkable news,” writes Lorraine, “we would not be here today. Obviously something happened which inspired them to go and tell. To share the news that Jesus is raised from the dead. That death itself bends its will to God, to the Divine Creator of All That Is, to the One embodied in the life and ministry of Jesus.”  And for that we give thanks.

In 1963 John Updike published a series of poems that included the work Seven Stanzas at Easter.  Updike also struggled with a domesticated resurrection even back then. 

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.

It was not as the flowers,

Each soft Spring recurrent;

It was not as His Spirit in the mouths And fuddled eyes of the eleven apostles;

It was as His flesh; ours… (from Telephone Poles and Other Poems)

This is my experience of Jesus – not a Hallmark Jesus with crocuses and lilies blossoming up around his feet.  Rather a Jesus who has harrowed the gates of Hell – a Jesus who proclaims life where death has reigned.  This is a Jesus who tells us to love God with all our heart, soul, mind and strength and who tells us to love our neighbor as one like ourselves.  It’s a Jesus who tells us blessed are the poor, and the poor in spirit; blessed are those who hunger and thirst after righteousness; blessed are the peacemakers – for they shall be sons and daughters of God. 

It’s a Jesus who tells us to love our enemies and pray for those who seek to do us harm – who tells his disciples to go back to Galilee.  Go back to where it all started – to where they were baptized.  Go back to where the Gospel began – go back and make a choice.  Go back to your nets and tax booths – or roll away the stone and follow me!