Sermon for Easter Sunday, March 31, 2013

“Why Are You Weeping?”

 

A Sermon Preached by the

Rev. Jean Niven Lenk

Easter Sunday, March 31, 2013

First Congregational Church of Stoughton, MA

An Open and Affirming Congregation of the United Church of Christ

 

Text:  John 20:1-18

 

The Easter story begins not with the sunshine and joy of resurrection, but with the tears and despair of death.  It begins not in a sanctuary filled with fragrant flowers and jubilant singing, but in a cemetery with the stench and silence of death.

 

The Gospel of John tells us that Mary Magdalene goes to the tomb on that first Easter Sunday while it is “still dark…”  It is the darkest hour, the one just before the dawn.  It is the dark night of Mary’s soul; the darkness of her broken heart, her dashed hopes and dreams; the darkness of life without the Light of the world. 

 

When Mary gets to the tomb and sees that the stone has been rolled away and the grave opened, she does not even bother to look inside.  Through the blur of her tears and the haze of her exhaustion, Mary can only guess that grave robbers have stolen Jesus’ body.  Long after the disciples have seen for themselves and returned home, Mary lingers outside the tomb, weeping.  We can imagine that she is thinking back on all that has happened, the many lives that Jesus has touched and healed and transformed.  And – she is thinking that now it’s all over. 

 

As she stands there, remembering and lamenting, two angels appear and ask her, “Woman, why are you weeping?” 

 

“Why am I weeping?” she must be thinking.  “How can I not weep?  How can you?” 

 

Because Jesus is dead, brutally killed by people who felt threatened by him, by people who neither knew nor understood Him.  From the first day he appeared in Galilee preaching the Good News of the Kingdom of God, he dared them to imagine a different world, a world based on love and generosity in which the last would be first, the hungry would be fed, the lowly uplifted, the stranger welcomed, and injustice fought.  On the final night of his life, the disciples’ Master and Teacher washed their feet and broke bread at a Last Supper with them.  And then he gave them a new commandment: “Love one another as I have loved you.”  But then Judas betrayed him, Peter denied him, and the rest of his disciples deserted him.  And then he was arrested, flogged, crucified, and laid in a tomb. 

 

Why am I weeping?  Mary must be asking, “How can I not?” 

 

Mary’s weeping is a universal emotion.  Crying is the first sound out of our mouths when we are born.  And it is often the last sound we hear as we as we leave this earthly life.

 

And between birth and death, we weep a lot.  How can we not?  There is so much to weep about.

 

Maybe it’s financial hardships, health issues, tough times.  Maybe it’s grief and loss and despair. Maybe it’s a broken relationship or persistent loneliness or unrelenting hopelessness.  And if we aren’t weeping for ourselves, then we need only listen to the news for things to weep about.

 

A young husband and his pregnant wife are travelling from their home in Brooklyn to a Manhattan hospital in the back of a private taxi when they are struck by a hit-and run-driver.  The couple and their unborn baby die.

 

Why are we weeping?  How can we not? 

 

A tour bus carrying a college women's lacrosse team goes off the turnpike and crashes into a tree, killing a 30-year-old coach and her unborn baby.

 

Why are we weeping?  How can we not? 

 

A 13-month-old boy is shot in the head while in a stroller being pushed by his mother.  Two teenagers have been arrested.

 

Why are we weeping?  How can we not? 

 

Twenty children and six adult educators are shot dead at Sandy Hook elementary school in Newtown Connecticut.

 

Why are we weeping?  How can we not? 

 

Yes, so many of us are like Mary, walking in the darkness as she did, stumbling in the shadows of separation, sadness, suffering.  We, too, carry around grief and regret in our souls; the weight of our own actions and the bad choices we have made; the wounds of pain inflicted by others; the brokenness of illness and loss and devastating diagnoses. 

 

So many of us are stuck in Good Friday.  And all too often, we — like Mary — linger at the tombs of our failures and heartaches and disappointments, bewildered and paralyzed, unable to move beyond the fear and despair in our lives. 

 

But as Mary stands at the tomb, remembering and weeping, she sees a man, and he too asks the question: “Why are you weeping?”  In the dim light she cannot see his face and thinks he must be the gardener.  The Voice speaks again: “Mary.”  And suddenly she knows – it is him!  In that instant, everything changes.  Jesus is alive again – the foundation and fulfillment of her hopes, the face of God turned toward her in love.  Where there was brokenness, now there is wholeness.  Where there was darkness, now there is light.  Where there was despair, now there is hope.  Where there was death, now there is life.

 

Good Friday makes us weep.  But Easter bids us to dry our tears. 

 

Are you weeping because you have lost hope?  Easter says, “Keep on going.  There are better days ahead.”

 

Are you weeping because you are consumed by guilt?  Easter says, “You are forgiven.  Today you have a fresh start.”

 

Are you weeping because you feel insignificant and unloved?  Easter says, “You are a beloved child of God.”

 

Are you weeping over a frightening diagnosis?  Easter says, “Be not afraid.  God is with you every step of the way."

 

Are you weeping over the death of a loved one?  Easter says, “Death does not have the final word.”

 

Easter happens every time a glimmer of hope breaks through the darkness of our despair.  Easter happens every time the light of God’s healing love carries us out of the shadows of loss and grief and disappointment.  Easter happens every time we can find the courage to let go, to stop clinging to the past, and turn toward a new beginning and a hope-filled future.

 

 

When Mary finally recognizes her beloved teacher, she reaches out to him, wanting to hold on, but he tells her that she must let go of the old life so new life can take place.  And then he tells her – and all of us – to dry our tears and go – go, to share what we have seen, go to invite others to experience this Easter joy, go and be instruments of Christ’s healing grace, go and be conduits of Christ’s boundless love.

 

We’re no longer in Good Friday.  Today we celebrate resurrection.

 

And so on this beautiful Easter morning, go and spread the news that the tomb is empty, and Jesus lives again!  Go, because the world is weeping.  The world is waiting.  

 

Let’s dry our eyes and go tell the Good News:  death does not and will not have the final word.

 

Christ is risen!  Christ is risen indeed!  Amen.

 

 

 

 

 

Sermon for Palm Sunday, March 24, 2013

“Jesus’ Triumphal Entry in Jerusalem” 

 

A Sermon Preached by the

Rev. Jean Niven Lenk

Palm Sunday, March 24, 2013

First Congregational Church of Stoughton, MA

Text: Mark 11:1-11

 

Let us pray… Holy God, we praise you for your son, the Christ, who came riding into the city of Jerusalem on a lowly beast, victorious through love rather than violence.  As we hear your Word this morning, open our hearts that we might grasp the meaning of Christ’s passion and death and the new life his resurrection promises to each of us.  Amen.

 

What comes to your mind when I say the name Lance Armstrong?

 

How about Tiger Woods?  Pete Rose, Barry Bonds, Kobe Bryant?

 

All of these sports figures have something in common, and it’s not what you think.

 

All of these athletes have been public figures idolized by kids.  And all of them have disappointed us in one way or another.  All of them failed to live up to our expectations.

 

Now, perhaps the problem was not with the person him- (or her-) self, but rather with our expectations of the person.  We come to expect – unrealistically, perhaps -– that our heroes, including sports figures, will be perfect role models of behavior; that they will be held, and will hold themselves, to a higher standard than the rest of ordinary humanity.  And then we are disappointed when we find out that they are frail and fragile human beings, just like the rest of us.

 

Isn’t that the paradox of celebrity?  After reading and hearing about famous people, we develop expectations of who we think they should be… what they should look like… how they should act.  And then we’re disappointed when these human beings do not live up to our idealized expectations. 

 

Today’s story of Jesus entering Jerusalem is also a story of expectations that were not met.  I invite you to turn to page 47 in the New Testament section of your pew bible to Mark’s version of Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem – chapter 11, verses 1 through 11.

 

^{11 1}When they were approaching Jerusalem, at Bethphage and Bethany, near the Mount of Olives, he sent two of his disciples ² and said to them, “Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately as you enter it, you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden; untie it and bring it. ³ If anyone says to you, ‘Why are you doing this?’ just say this, ‘The Lord needs it and will send it back here immediately.’” ⁴ They went away and found a colt tied near a door, outside in the street. As they were untying it, ⁵ some of the bystanders said to them, “What are you doing, untying the colt?” ⁶ They told them what Jesus had said; and they allowed them to take it. ⁷ Then they brought the colt to Jesus and threw their cloaks on it; and he sat on it. ⁸ Many people spread their cloaks on the road, and others spread leafy branches that they had cut in the fields. ⁹ Then those who went ahead and those who followed were shouting,

 

“Hosanna!  Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!  ¹⁰Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestor David!  Hosanna in the highest heaven!”

 

¹¹ Then he entered Jerusalem and went into the temple; and when he had looked around at everything, as it was already late, he went out to Bethany with the twelve.

 

Expectations.  They are running high with the new Pope.  In the week and a half since his election, Pope Francis has indicated that he will throw off the opulent trappings of the papacy and settle for a simpler, humbler lifestyle.  He has raised hopes that he will work to protect God’s creation and the world’s poor.  If these expectations are not met, a lot of people are going to be disappointed. 

 

Expectations.  The crowd that welcomes Jesus into Jerusalem that day 2000 years ago certainly have them.  They have suffered under hundreds of years of oppression and are now ruled by the Romans who have brought unfair taxes, brutal sentences, and quick, sure retribution to any and all who dare defy them.  For half a millennium, they have kept an eye out for King David’s successor to gallop into town on a stallion and assume the throne – a new king who would be the one to bring justice, righteousness, salvation and peace.

 

And they think that new king is Jesus. 

 

And so, when he rides into Jerusalem on that first Palm Sunday, he is received like a conquering hero; people from all over line the streets and cheer wildly; the crowds shout “Hosanna” which means “save us.”  They want to believe that Jesus will destroy their enemies and renew God’s children as a free, honored, and chosen people.

 

They don’t seem to notice that he is riding into town on a humble donkey, not exactly an animal befitting a war general.  They don’t understand that he comes not as a powerful, conquering hero but rather as God’s son, to break the power structures of oppression and hate and death. 

 

No, the crowd that cheers Jesus' arrival has wrong expectations of him and what he has come to do.  But he has said that Jerusalem will be the place of his rejection and death, and all the hosannas and all the palm branches can’t hide the fact that he is redefining their concept of a Messiah.  He is from backwater Nazareth.  He walks to work, sleeps beneath the stars, lives among the poor, and fills his calendar with the kind of people kings don’t have time for.

 

Jesus is a different kind of sovereign.  His Godly kingship is not about might, but about mercy; not about power, but peace; not about retribution, but redemption.

 

And that is the paradox of today – it is divided by the expectations of the crowd and the holy calling of God, divided by joy and pain, divided by the religious and political agendas of the world.  It holds at once arrival and departure, celebration and despair, embrace and betrayal, alienation and union. 

 

As the week unfolds, Jesus’ preaching will become more pointed, his words and actions more radical.  He will overturn the tables of the moneychangers in the Temple, threatening the powers that be, and his actions will unite the religious and business leaders against him.  He will make the temple a house of prayer for all people; he will proclaim God’s acceptance and life-changing love to the blind and lame; and he will welcome the tax collectors and prostitutes into God's Kingdom ahead of the priests, scribes and Pharisees.  Jesus will fail to live up to the expectations of the crowd and, in response, it will turn on him.  Slowly at first, and then with increasing rapidity, the cheers will turn to jeers.

 

Jesus will stand silent amid trumped-up charges, first before the council and then Pilate, as he is mocked and beaten.  He could have turned from his path of radical obedience to God’s will, from his self-giving love of us.  Right until the end he could have avoided suffering and death – having been abandoned by his followers, he could have abandoned us; having fought the good fight and labored long and tirelessly to bring a prodigal people back to God, who could blame him for calling it quits on those who had quit him?  And yet, Jesus chooses to endure it all so that we might know the full height and breadth of God’s love for us, a God who would stoop to take on our common lot and endure what it means to be human -- right through to the end, a God who would model for us radical obedience and self-giving love.

 

And so today is both Palm and Passion Sunday, because Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem turns out to be not a parade for a king, but a death march for the Son of God.

 

Behind him are his sermons; ahead is his suffering.

Behind him are his parables; ahead is his passion.

Behind him are his suppers of fellowship; ahead is his last supper of betrayal.

Behind him, Galilee; ahead, Gethsemane.

The new monarch will be crowned with thorns.

 

No, Jesus does not take an easy path, nor do his followers.  Because following Christ means living against the grain.  It means telling the truth in a world that lies.  It means giving in a world that takes.  It means loving in a world that lusts, making peace in a world that fights, serving in a world that waits to be served, worshipping in a world that entertains.

 

Yes, following Jesus is hard.  Because it means pouring out our love, as did the woman who anointed Jesus.  It means staying awake and praying with a loved one who is in despair.  It means being faithful to a friend, rather than denying or betraying or slinking away in his or her hour of need.  It means reflecting the heart of God that is forever laced with grace and forgiveness.  It means trusting that Christ walks with us, wherever we find ourselves.  And it means knowing in our heart of hearts that even in the shadows that fall between now and next Sunday, even in the darkest times of our own lives, we belong to God and to one another. 

 

And so, let us join the parade and shout “Hosanna” to welcome him into Jerusalem.  But he asks us to stay with him through this coming week, all the way to cross.  And each one of us has to look deep into our hearts and ask:  will I follow? 

 

Will I follow Jesus to the Upper Room and Gethsemane? 

 

Will I stand at the foot of the cross? 

 

Or will I lay down my palm leaves and return home to business as usual? 

 

 

Sermon for Fifth Sunday in Lent, March 17, 2013

“Jesus Washes His Disciples' Feet”  

 

A Sermon Preached by the

Rev. Jean Niven Lenk

Fifth Sunday in Lent, March 17, 2013

First Congregational Church of Stoughton, MA

               

 

Text: John 13:1-20; 34-35

 

Let us pray… Holy God, as we hear again the story of your Son’s last night on earth, open our hearts that we might receive with open hearts your message of love and servanthood and be moved to follow Jesus’ example in word and deed.  In Christ’s name we pray, Amen.

 

This morning’s story takes place in an upper room somewhere in Jerusalem.  Jesus has asked his disciples to meet him there for one last meal together.  They arrive in small groups from all over Jerusalem – and they are dirty and dusty from their travels.  They are also disgruntled, for they have been arguing with each other about “who is the greatest” among them.  As they enter that upper room, we can almost see them pushing and shoving their way in, intent on sitting in the places of honor at Jesus’ right and left hands [Matthew 20:21-23]. 

 

 

We can only imagine that they hurry past the pitcher and basin of water set by the door.  In a show of hospitality from the host, a servant would normally be present to wash the dusty feet of guests as they entered, and walking in sandals on the filthy roads of Palestine in the first century made it imperative that feet be washed before a communal meal.

 

But on this night, no household servant is present, and none of the disciples are willing to do the job.  After all, they are trying to climb the Kingdom ladder; none of them wants to look like a servant and perform a task that is considered so lowly that not even a Hebrew household slave can be forced to do it.

 

As Jesus watches his disciples jockey for position, he knows what lies ahead of him.  He knows he is going to be betrayed by one of his own, and he knows the hour of his death is fast approaching.

 

And yet, what concerns Jesus on that final night is how can he teach his disciples – probably for the last time – the meaning of servanthood.  They have been with him for three years, traveling with him, hearing his sermons, witnessing his healings and miracles.  But on this evening, none of them are heeding his message that “the first shall be last, and the last first”  [Mt 19:30, 20:16; Mk 10:31; Lk 13:30].  None of them are remembering his words that “whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first must be slave of all” [Mk 10:43-44].

 

And so, in the midst of all the arguing, Jesus gets up and does something that shockingly flouts the boundaries of social and cultural convention.  I invite you to turn to pages 107 and 108 in your pew bibles as I read from the Gospel of John, chapter 13, verses 1 through 20 and 34-35.

 

13 ¹ Now before the festival of the Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end. ² The devil had already put it into the heart of Judas son of Simon Iscariot to betray him. And during supper ³ Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going to God, ⁴ got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. ⁵ Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him. ⁶ He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, “Lord, are you going to wash my feet?” ⁷ Jesus answered, “You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand.” ⁸ Peter said to him, “You will never wash my feet.” Jesus answered, “Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.” ⁹ Simon Peter said to him, “Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!” ¹⁰ Jesus said to him, “One who has bathed does not need to wash, except for the feet, but is entirely clean. And you are clean, though not all of you.” ¹¹ For he knew who was to betray him; for this reason he said, “Not all of you are clean.”

 

¹² After he had washed their feet, had put on his robe, and had returned to the table, he said to them, “Do you know what I have done to you? ¹³ You call me Teacher and Lord—and you are right, for that is what I am. ¹⁴ So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. ¹⁵ For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you. ¹⁶ Very truly, I tell you, servants are not greater than their master, nor are messengers greater than the one who sent them. ¹⁷ If you know these things, you are blessed if you do them. ¹⁸ I am not speaking of all of you; I know whom I have chosen. But it is to fulfill the scripture, ‘The one who ate my bread has lifted his heel against me.’ ¹⁹ I tell you this now, before it occurs, so that when it does occur, you may believe that I am he. ²⁰ Very truly, I tell you, whoever receives one whom I send receives me; and whoever receives me receives him who sent me.”

 

³⁴ I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. ³⁵ By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

 

To truly appreciate the radical nature of Jesus’ actions in this passage, it is important to know that one’s status in the Roman Empire was everything, and what you could do for a living, where you could sit at the dinner table, even what you could wear was determined by your rank in the social pecking order.  The upper echelon was made up of the wealthy and powerful, and below them were the “nobodies.”  But then the “nobodies” were divided into ranks, and at the very bottom rung were slaves.  The upper echelon and most of the nobodies could wear togas, but the slaves could not; they wore towels wrapped around their waists. 

 

In a society so focused on rank, everyone was expected toot their own horn; humility was neither an admired nor desired quality.  Even capital punishment was divided by status; decapitation and burning alive were much less shameful than crucifixion, which was reserved for slaves.  So you see where this is going… Jesus was offering a radically different way of thinking and of being, an alternative view of greatness.

 

In the midst of the disciples’ arguing about “who is the greatest” among them, Jesus offers a direct contrast by silently getting up, removing his outer garment, and wrapping himself in a towel just as a household servant would do.  And just as a servant would do, he makes his way to the basin and fills a bowl with water, and goes to the end of the table and kneels down.  Without a word he takes the feet of one of the disciples, brushes the dirt off, and washes them with water, one foot at a time.

 

This servanthood Jesus displays is neither subservience nor servility.  It does not flow out of a condition imposed by someone in power, nor does it come from a low sense of self-esteem, an attitude of “I’m just a lowly servant.”  Rather, it flows from Jesus’ knowledge that he is of God and is doing God’s work. 

 

Think about this scene for a moment.  Jesus, God in the flesh, goes from disciple to disciple, over and over kneeling down and gently performing the humble task of washing their feet.  Imagine the faces of those who are gathered.  There is Peter who, that very night, will fall away and deny Jesus.  There is Andrew, Peter’s brother, who will also disappear into the night, as will James and John, the sons of Zebedee.  Imagine the expression on the faces of Philip, Bartholomew, Matthew, the former tax collector, and Thomas, the doubter.  They too will all desert Jesus, as will James, the son of Alphaeus, along with Thaddeus and Simon the Zealot.  And finally, there is Judas Iscariot, the betrayer.

 

Jesus serves his disciples – even to the extreme of washing their feet – because he loves them.  He loves them, in spite of everything he knows about them, in spite of knowing that they have been arguing about who is the greatest, in spite of knowing that they are about to forsake him and flee for their lives.  It is one thing for people to love us who do not know all of our shortcomings, thoughts, and motivations.  It is another for someone to love us, in spite of knowing us fully, warts and all.  Jesus washes the feet of his disciples in a symbolic act that shows the extent of his love for them, and it is a foreshadowing of the love he shows all of us on the cross.

 

But as you have heard me say before, when we receive the grace of God, we must respond.  And Jesus is very clear about the response he expects from his disciples.  He says to them, “I have set you an example that you should do for one another as I have done for you.”  Jesus’ model of servanthood is to become the pattern of life within the Christian community; as he has served his disciples, they are to serve each other, and so are we.  Jesus demands of them – and of us – the same reversal of cultural and societal values that he has preached with his word “the first shall be last,” and “The son of Man came not to be served but to serve,” and “those who want to save their life will lose it.”

 

Jesus said those words to his followers 2,000 years ago, and he says them to us now.  And he commands us to “love one another as I have loved you.”  Consider who you might serve; who might be waiting for you to show them love through a kind act or compassionate word.  That person may be a familiar face or a total stranger.  That person may be at your workplace, in your school, or even in your own home.  That person may be sitting right here in this church.  There’s no shortage of people in this world, in this community, even in this church, dying by inches for lack of love.  What they need is someone to be a conduit of God’s love, someone to serve them in the name of Christ.

 

That basin and towel that Jesus picked up in that upper room so long ago are powerful symbols of every deed of love, every act of service, every mark of mercy, done in the name of Christ.  As Christians, may we kneel before neighbors and strangers alike, showing them God’s love and serving in Christ’s name.  Amen.