There are many ways to be lost.

We can be lost, literally, as in, not able to find our destination, just like the time when J. was driving, with the help of a GPS, which in its digital wisdom directed us through the woods and up a dark hill, to a deserted neighborhood, instead of to the restaurant we were trying to find.

We can be lost emotionally, like someone who is struggling with inner turmoil, or a difficult choice, or the untimely death of someone one we love; or with memories that traumatize us, memories like those so many people have of September 11, which was a bright, clear, crisp day, until tragedy struck.

We can be lost spiritually, like someone who strains to hear but cannot seem to discern the voice of God; or like someone who has replaced the risky business of trying to hear the voice of God with addictive processes or substances, or material possessions or even amusing people; or like someone who uses religion as a cudgel to beat others into spiritual submission.

We can be lost like a sheep that has munched its way over a hill, and looks up to find it is nowhere near those other familiar sheep.

We can be lost like a coin that has rolled behind a bureau and found a crack between the molding and the floor, where it lives now.

There are many ways to be lost. I haven’t named nearly all of them.

Your eyes beheld my unformed substance.

In your book were written

  all the days that were formed for me,

  when none of them as yet existed.  ~ Psalm 139:16

This intimacy is deeper than logic can account for. God knows all of it, knew all of it, even before any of us existed. We were written in God’s book of life, even before we were the proverbial twinkle in our parents’ eyes. God’s knowledge of us transcends time...

All three of our passages this morning depict the voice of God, in one way or another. In the passage from Jeremiah we get a glimpse of a pivotal moment in the life of a young person—“Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, and before you were born I consecrated you; I appointed you a prophet to the nations.” And Jeremiah replies, in effect, “Are you kidding? I’m not even grown up yet. I’m just a boy.”

Eric Elnes, the author of Gifts of the Dark Wood, asks, “Have you ever experienced a sudden flash of insight or awareness that rocked your whole world?"

Jeremiah has. Jeremiah is thunderstruck.

If the people we instinctively think of as good—people like the Levite and the priest—the people we look up to, if they don’t do the right thing, where does that leave us? It leaves us empty. If the people we have suspected, or reviled, thought of as not-us, not-like-us, not-our-neighbors—if they become the heroes of the story, where does that leave us? It leaves us empty. If someone is just trying to live their lives, to do their job, and they are left for dead, and it makes no sense… where does that leave us? It leaves us empty, so empty we don’t even know what to say or how to pray any more...

He’s a military man. A general… and a famous one, at that. The Ancient Near East’s equivalent of an Eisenhower, maybe a Patton. He is accustomed to issuing a command, and watching as his order is carried out to the letter. He is successful, wildly so—a “great man,” in “high favor” with the king, because he is victorious.

And yet…this mighty warrior is suffering from something our bibles translate as “leprosy,” but which might be any one of a number of skin diseases lumped into that category. He has a spreading affliction of the skin, one that can be so serious that, in some cases, the afflicted person is shunned, and has to live outside the community. He is not there yet. But Naaman is enough of a man of the world to know what might lie in his future. It’s terrifying.

Naaman has entered what author Eric Elnes would call the Dark Wood...

God, created each of us, and God made us, mysterious and beautiful and perfect, just as we are. God loves us. God loves you. And God does not require you to become someone you are not, in order for God to continue loving you.

Suddenly, there was music, and the lights rose—beautiful colored lights, strung all over the ceiling—and people got up and began to dance...

You are needed. The one Spirit of God has given us so many gifts, spread out among us like the fibers and blood cells and veins and arteries and organs and appendages that, together, make us whole, wholly, beautifully human. You are needed for the true beauty of this human and divine creation that is Christ’s church to be made known: the fullness of God’s blessings, God’s love, God’s gifts, poured out for all of us, through each of us...

So here we are, on this day on which much of the Church Universal pauses to take note of it, this doctrine of Three-in-One, or One-Yet-Three. Here we are, we who claim, along with Judaism and Islam, to be a monotheistic faith, we who claim—there is just one God, God is One. In your worship bulletin, you have a short list of Trinity words, as I’ve called them, some traditional and some very non-traditional words to help us think, connect, imagine, what, exactly this is, that we are trying to talk about.

Father, Son, Holy Spirit…

Creator, Redeemer, Sustainer…

Mother, Maiden, Crone…

Lover, Beloved, Love…

Earth-Maker, Pain-Bearer, Life-Giver…

God Who Creates, God Who Saves, God Who Guides…

Source, Word, Wisdom…

And all of it leads me to ask you a question: What difference does it make? How has the Trinity made a difference in your faith, in your life?

When the Spirit of truth comes, you will be guided into all truth.

Now I would remind you, brothers and sisters, of the good news that I proclaimed to you, which you in turn received, in which also you stand, through which also you are being saved, if you hold firmly to the message that I proclaimed to you—unless you have come to believe in vain. For I handed on to you as of first importance what I in turn had received: that Christ died for our sins in accordance with the scriptures, and that he was buried, and that he was raised on the third day in accordance with the scriptures, and that he appeared to Cephas, then to the twelve. Then he appeared to more than five hundred brothers and sisters at one time, most of whom are still alive, though some have died. Then he appeared to James, then to all the apostles. Last of all, as to one untimely born, he appeared also to me.  ~ 1 Cor. 15:1-8

There are some problems in the Corinthian faith community. Actually, there are a lot of problems, a lot more than Paul reveals in this little section. The church is mired in conflict. If you read the entire first letter Paul writes to this church he helped to found (and we are going to read passages from it for the next three Sundays after today), you will find that the people are at odds over:

~ sexual immorality (a relationship between a man and his mother-in-law: chapter 5);

~ whether or not it is ok to eat meat that was used in sacrifices to pagan idols (chapter 8);

~ the problem of class divisions as they are played out at the celebration of the Lord’s Supper (chapter 11);

~ who exactly are the most “gifted” Christians; what gifts are the most important for sharing with God’s people? (chapters 12-14);

~ and what the people believe about resurrection (chapter 15).

These are not insignificant issues. They go to the very core of the identity of the faith community. But Paul chooses to start at the very beginning (a very good place to start): he begins with the sacrament that is our entry to life in the church. He begins with baptism.

Arguing. Fighting. It’s everywhere, and it starts early. First, it’s about who gets to play with the new set of pretty-colored blocks at the preschool, or which toys are mine only and which I have to share. Eventually it’s about who gets picked when choosing sides for teams, and then who gets picked to be Yearbook editor, or who gets in the starting lineup. Eventually we are arguing over everything from parking places to immigration reform, from who can use which bathrooms to who can be made to produce birth certificates. And, inevitably, it cycles back to what I get to claim as mine and what I have to (or should) be willing to share...

So many people, and communities—here, and everywhere—could really, really use a miracle. Every week people come to worship—here, and at all kinds of houses of faith—feeling their brokenness. The fragility of their human bodies. The fear of their diagnosis. The persistence of their grief. The reality of their addiction. The weight of their history. Every week, we show up. Many of us could use a miracle.

But it seems sometimes as if this is no longer an age of miracles. We place our hope in prayer, of course, but also in medicine, in therapy (physical and otherwise), in diet and exercise and sheer willpower. And we hope. We hope and we hope. But, in a certain way, I think we don’t dare hope for a miracle...

The Easter story as we heard it last week left us on the edge of our seats, trying to imagine together: What happened next?

Our passage this morning attempts to pick up where we left off...

As they entered the tomb, they saw a young man, dressed in a white robe, sitting on the right side; and they were alarmed. But he said to them, “Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here." ~Mark 16:5-6