there is no other plan

My sermon offered on the Third Sunday of Easter at First Congregational UCC in Eugene, Oregon.

Christianity has a long and curious relationship with technology, especially communication technology.

The book which has done so much to shape Western Christianity since the Reformation didn’t even exist when Jesus was teaching. 70 to a hundred years after his death, the Codex is mentioned for the first time in Hellenistic sources. This form of the book took root in the Christian community in the third and fourth centuries because it was portable, easily searchable and concealable. From our earliest times, it’s been important for our community to know and share our formative stories.

When I thought about it, I realized that every form of communication technology that’s been invented has been used to share the Christian story and build Christian community–letters, art, music, stained glass windows, the telephone, radio, television, and, of course most recently, the Internet.

As in other parts of our culture, the manifestations of Christian community on the Internet prompt a familiar question: “Is social networking online real?” Are we in real relationship with one another if we can only hear people’s voices, see their picture, or read their ideas?

The presence of the church online can be as simple as prayer requests sent by email or as complex as an entire congregation that exists only in a 3D virtual world. The online version of this sermon will include links to several examples to enhance your virtual preaching experience.

But that prompts another question: if you read this sermon on my blog or on our congregation’s website, have you experienced this sermon? Is a sermon a text or is it a sacramental moment that’s only a sermon if it’s experienced as a part of a whole worship service that’s created by every single person who is present in this room?

All of these questions about what makes the Christian community real are, at their core, Easter questions. Does it matter that we are present to one another in the flesh, embodied, incarnate?

My favorite Easter story is the road to Emmaus which comes immediately before the portion of Luke’s gospel that’s appointed for today. In that story, Jesus joins two of his followers who are walking to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem. The two don’t recognize him at first and start describing the events of the past week to him. After Jesus listens to their story, he begins to teach them all of the things that the prophets said about him and his ministry. When they reach their destination, Jesus starts to walk on, but the followers invite him to stay with them. During the meal, the followers at last recognize Jesus, as he takes the bread, blesses it, breaks it, and gives it to them.

While this story has been one of my favorites for a long time, the reason has changed over time. This story has spoken to me at times when I’ve met Jesus most vividly at the Communion table or at the dinner table– like those who walk with Jesus on the road to Emmaus, we too meet Jesus in the breaking of the bread.

There have been other times when the image of the journey itself drew me to this story. Recently, my imagination has been captured by the follower’s reaction after they recognize Jesus. They say, “were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road…?”

The followers quickly return to Jerusalem to tell the disciples that they’ve seen the risen Christ and so begins the story we’re called to consider today.

The disciples are sure they’re seeing a ghost when Jesus appears and bids them God’s peace. Perhaps, like the followers on the road to Emmaus, the disciples don’t recognize him right away. There seems to be something different about Jesus’ resurrection body that the Easter stories don’t share with us perhaps because transformation can’t always be captured well in words.

Jesus responds to the disciple’s terror by showing them his body. “Look at me,” I imagine him saying, “look closely and deeply.” “Touch me and see that I have flesh and bones.” When this doesn’t work he does what he’s done with them hundreds if not thousands of times, he eats with them. Eating with them not only demonstrates that he’s not a ghost, but also binds them together. Theirs was a culture in which eating together was symbolic of a deep bond between people. By eating with the disciples, the risen Christ says to them, “we are one.”

Once again, he teaches the disciples all of the ways he understands his life and ministry to be grounded in Scripture–in the law of Moses, in the prophets, and, interestingly, the psalms.

He ends his time with them by saying, “You are witnesses of these things.” The word Jesus uses that’s translated as “witness” means “one who bears testimony” as in the sense of being an eyewitness. In the case of these first disciples they were the eyewitnesses who could testify to the gospel. This was Jesus’ only plan for continuing the work of the gospel, for continuing his mission to bring heaven to earth: he left the mission in the hands of the eyewitnesses who could tell the story, who could continue to live the dream. There was no other plan. There still is no other plan.

There are several parallels between these two stories that the writer of Luke puts together at the end of his gospel…

• people don’t recognize Jesus after the resurrection
• Jesus eats with people
• Jesus interprets scripture
• Jesus’ followers have a deep felt response to what they’re experiencing that they’re called to act on

These parallels tell us important things about our Christian tradition and about the many ways we encounter God together:

• we will be transformed by being in relationship with Jesus and people might not recognize us when new life is resurrected in us as we move continually from Good Friday to Easter on our journey of faith.
• our Sacraments of Baptism and Communion–of washing and feeding and being fed–remind us that our bodies matter, our physicality matters. We are called to be tangibly present to one another as living, breathing, images of God.
• we are called to listen to our formative stories over and over again, struggling with them, and interpreting them to one another
• and we are called to be the witnesses in our time and place to the transformation God is working in our lives

I’m coming to believe more and more that the heart of Jesus’ mission was to teach us that the reign of God will come about, and it will be on earth as it is in heaven, when each and every one of us brings the gospel to life in our own unique way.

I first heard this possibility in these words spoken by the 14th century mystic and reformer, Theresa of Avila:

Christ has no body but yours,
No hands, no feet on earth but yours,
Yours are the eyes with which Christ looks
Compassion on this world,
Yours are the feet with which Christ walks to do good,
Yours are the hands, with which Christ blesses all the world.

So tell the Easter story how ever you can, using whatever technology is available. This, too, is part of our Christian tradition, but most of all, embody the Easter story as only you can for there is no other plan to keep the gospel alive and bring heaven to earth. There is no other plan.

a new symbol for a new season of faith

I’m doing so much deep and careful reading of celtic and creation spirituality these days that I recently discovered that I needed to take a break from exclusively wearing a cross as a daily reminder of my faith. In fact, my two favorite crosses to wear remind me more of the pilgrimage on which they were gifted to me by my love than they do of Jesus.

I didn’t imagine that I’d find a new image quickly, but a beautiful celtic tree of life pendant quickly came to my attention. It’s made Wellstone, a family owned company that states as its mission, “to provide various symbols of truth and transformation with authenticity, power and beauty.” I was also impressed with the profound way in which they described the symbol of the tree of life.

In both symbol and reality the tree holds deep meaning and many lessons. The roots of the Celtic Tree of Life are in the darkness of the soil, Mother Earthy. Its crown is in light, growing toward the sun. As it is above, so it is below with half of its being in light and the other half in darkness, half in air and fire, and half in water and earth, half male and half female. Life is represented here in the Tree of Life as a whole that cannot be divided.

I’ve been looking at trees differently ever since I read this. All trees are trees of life in so many ways.

kindling new fire

This year more than many I can remember, my symbolic Lenten journey and my life journey have been in step. I’ve spent a lot of energy during the past forty days looking at what I believe about ultimate things, what I believe about my call, and what I believe about the setting in which I do ministry. I read Cynthia Bourgeault’s Wisdom Jesus as my Lenten book this year. Thanks to her, I’ve even examined whether or not believing is even the point of Chrstianity. I’m increasingly discovering that the contemplative stream of Christianity is a not a path of believing per se, but a path of transformation in response to our beliefs.

As we approach the end of our Lenten fast tonight, it’s the image of kindling new fire that is capturing my imagination. The first activity of the Great Vigil of Easter is to kindle new fire, sanctifying it with this prayer:

O God, through your Son you have bestowed upon your people the brightness of your light: Sanctify this new fire, and grant that in this Paschal feast we may so burn with heavenly desires, that with pure minds we may attain to the festival of everlasting light; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

For the first time ever, I feel ready to submit to the fiery will of the Spirit and risk burning with heavenly desires! I’ve never really understood the cleansing and renewing power of fire until living in the Northwest and being called to a new appreciation of Creation by its beauty. I’ve tended to be more comfortable with the watery images of the Spirit in birth and baptism, leaving the fire for braver souls.(My otherwise fairly formal and academic ordination paper included the phrase, “the Spirit freaks me out!”)

In truth, both of these images of the Spirit are risky. Water can destroy just as easily as fire and both are life-giving if we are in right relationship with them. We have the illusion of being able to tame both fire and water, but both are wild things that defy mastery. I still question why these elements of risk and danger must be a part of our relationship with the Living God, but that’s a question for another reflection.

My hope on this Easter eve  for myself and for those with whom I minister is that we will be granted the ability to kindle new fire that we may burn anew with heavenly desires. Thanks be to God.

Signs of Spring

“native” daffodils

Originally uploaded by greeningwood

As the earth tips towards spring here in the northern hemisphere, there’s lots of greening here in our little wood. One of my favorite signs are the daffodils that were naturalized here and there before we arrived. This little plot of land is such an odd mix of care and neglect. We took it into our hearts when we first saw it much the way people might a stray animal, knowing we could re-home these stray acres and love them into something beautiful.

This weekend’s projects included hauling off two more loads of branches, transplanting a wayward cedar tree from my parent’s yard to ours, and finishing up a blueberry patch on the sunny side of the house. All of this work was done in the sunbreaks between rain showers and snow squalls.

Four of the six Lenten candles were lighted this morning on the altar at church. The pastor reminded us in her sermon that “Lent” comes from the Old English word for “lengthen.” Our faith lengthens during this season along with the days. All of this–the light, the unpredictable weather, and the new life that’s growing–are all signs of hope for me. This, ultimately, is resurrection: hope in a dark world for another year. Alleluia! Alleluia!

sitting shiva for CPE

A week ago we learned that our Clinical Pastoral Education program will be closed in August due to hospital budget cuts. We’ve had a week of mourning both for our education program and for the many ways the global economic crisis is impacting our community both within the hospital and around it. My friend and colleague who blogs over at Extreme Thinkover wrote an eloquent reflection in a recent post that is also a letter to Sen. Max Baucus in support of his plan for universal health care.

God’s guts

We set up our new canvas labyrinth today at church for the first of a series of Lenten labyrinth walks. The 2nd and 3rd grade Sunday school class walked and then offered their reflections. One boy said, “I felt like I was walking around in God’s intestines!” All in all, this isn’t a bad image for being drawn more deeply into the body of God. The labyrinth is a tool that helps us reconnect with our body and with movement as a form of prayer. It’s only natural that we’ll be reconnected with the body of God in the process.

Listening to the rain

Earlier today, I loaded up another truck load of branches and hauled them off to Lane Forest Products. Most of our neighbors burn the branches and other debris from their property, but we’ve chosen to do what we did in town–haul it off to be recycled into mulch. The branches I’m gathering up came down during the winter, or rotted in the creek, or were cut to make room for the power lines coming into the house. I dream of a day when the bulk of this stuff is gone and my task will simply be to gather up what’s fallen. This, perhaps, is wishful thinking!

I pass Lane Forest Products every day as I drive to and from work. In the morning, in particular, the giant mulch piles look wonderfully rich and steamy as the stuff of life gets recycled into new life. It’s satisfying to know that a bit of our Greeningwood is making  a tiny contribution to the steamy, mulchy greening that I breathe deeply of as I head off to the house of healing.

Spring cleaning…

As we move more and more into spring, my thoughts are turning back to reclaiming Greeningwood. Our new yard tool is a used Dodge Dakota pickup truck which will be invaluable for helping us bring some shape to this property. We picked up a load of plants at a local nursery today and dropped off a load of branches for recycling. It’s so satisfying to be able to begin getting some of this work done!

belief or trust: part 2

While I’m having all of these thoughts about belief vs. trust, I’ve been reading Matthew Fox’s classic theological work Original Blessing. This isn’t a recent work and it’s been on my “to read” stack for far too long. Simply put, I’m captivated.

Fox offers a systematic theology of what he terms the creation-centered spiritual tradition which stands as an alternative or a corrective to the fall/redemption Christianity we’ve all been schooled in formally or informally. This tradition, he writes, is grounded in scripture and the pre-Augustinian tradition. The core element of his theology being that humanity is created and remains in a state of original blessing, not original sin. From there he demonstrates how a Christianity that’s centered in creation and original blessing is a healthier, more mature, less self-centered, peace and justice oriented, hospitality rich spirituality that is fed by energy from the prophetic future. Wow.

Fox rejects dualisms such as belief and unbelief, favoring a spirituality that is a journey of trust.  The communion of saints of the creation-centered spiritual tradition include Irenaeus, Hildegard of Bingen, Meister Eckhart and others of the mystical tradition. This is one of the few times I’ve opened a book to find a theological world view that pulls together so much of the journey of transformation I’ve been on for the past eight years and which I see so many Christians in my faith communities hungry for. I’ve pulled out a folder and a yellow pad, taking notes and making lists of books to read. This will teach!

belief or trust?

A man stopped me after worship on Sunday and said, “You’re an optimist, aren’t you?” We’d been in an adult education class together earlier in the morning and I must’ve said something that gave him that impression of me. “I do believe that one of the most important things our faith gives us is hope” I said, “ so, in that way, I suppose I am an optimist.” His question has stayed with me throughout the week.

One of the questions we were considering in the adult ed class was Nietzsche’s statement “God is dead.” While the existence of God isn’t what Nietzsche was commenting on, his statement does beg this question. Curiously (or not), this has never been an issue for me. It’s always been easy for me to accept the existence of God. This is only a problem when I’m with Christians for whom it’s very important that we all have a road to Damascus experience in which we first became a “believer.” How do I tell my faith story when I don’t speak this language or have this experience?

What I realized one morning this week as I drove into work is that my spiritual journey hasn’t been about belief, it’s been about trust. I don’t identify with the struggle to keep believing in God, but I do identify with a journey of trust. So, for what it’s worth, that was my road to Damascus experience this week.