...But there is no not noticing Jesus. We don’t know exactly how it happens. Does someone who had traveled to Galilee recognize Jesus? Does the homeowner share just enough information with a neighbor for whom it rings a bell, that wandering preacher everyone is talking about. Maybe a household servant—an enslaved person—tells a friend—a surefire way for news to travel, and fast. Or maybe, as one writer puts it, Jesus will always be noticed because of his divine identity and his power. We can try to put ourselves there, in the scene. We can imagine what it would be like to see Jesus, without introduction, without preparation, if he didn’t look like all the paintings and stained-glass windows. Would we guess it was him? Would we know...?

Image: Tihanyi, Lajos, 1885-1938. Gipsy Woman with Child, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=55594 [retrieved August 9, 2024]. Original source: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Tihanyi_Gipsy_Woman_with_Child.jpg.

I have never once preached on this passage, not in almost twenty-one years as an ordained minister, nor in the opportunities I had to preach in the fifteen or so years prior to that. I just couldn’t see my way clear to preaching on a passage where Jesus gets mad about hand washing. How do I defend that? This was an era when people ate with their hands, and did everything else with them, too. It's unimaginable, especially post Covid era. I remember going into a public restroom in a Massachusetts theater, in March 2020, where there were pages taped to the mirror in front of each sink. The pages contained lyrics from different showtunes—each amounting to twenty seconds worth of singing, so that we’d all sing and wash our hands long enough to fight off this new, terrifying virus. Each of us was told by our parents over and over again: You need to wash your hands before supper. Because little kids will pick up everything including cat poop if they get the chance. We all need to wash our hands.

I’ve never preached on this passage before. But in there, beyond everything that makes me squirm and say, “Ew,” is a message that is important. A message that is central to the gospel, to scripture itself: What we put out into the world, whether our words or or actions, matters. Even more important, where they come from matters. Where they come from, what matters, is the human heart...

Image: Van Dyck, Anthony, 1599-1641. Christ and the Pharisees; verso; Christ and a Pharisee, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=57935 [retrieved August 9, 2024]. Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Christ_and_the_Pharisees;_verso;_Christ_and_a_Pharisee_MET_DP802093.jpg.

Years ago, I led a study of a terrific book from the Upper Room called Companions in Christ. During one of our sessions, we read this passage from the Gospel According to Mark. We were a small group—just four women and me—and, like most readers, we found ourselves deeply moved by the story—especially the faithfulness of these four friends of the unnamed, paralyzed man. Their commitment to getting him to Jesus—that it extended to their climbing up on the roof of the house—is amazing. That they got up on the roof and removed the mud and tiles that would have been attached to wooden beams, and then, let down their friend on the mat, so that Jesus could heal him. Which, he does. The chapter encouraged us to end this session by taking turns sitting on a chair, with the rest of the group gathered around the chair, mimicking the action of the story. Each of those standing around the chair took turns praying for the person in the chair.

By this time in our study, we really were a group of friends. We knew so much about one another. Each of us knew the prayers the others needed. The experience of being prayed for in that way was humbling, and it was beautiful. It was an unforgettable experience.

All of which is to say: I love this story, and I love the interpretation of this story that tells us these were friends of the paralyzed man. I love that Jesus saw the faith of the friends. It is a moving story. And there’s another way to read it…

Image: Koenig, Peter. Paralytic at Capernaum, 20th Century, Parish of Saint Edward, Kettering, U.K., from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=58524 [retrieved August 9, 2024]. Original source: Peter Winfried (Canisius) Koenig, https://www.pwkoenig.co.uk/.

A funny thing happened the other morning. I was having breakfast with a group of clergy women, friends and colleagues from different denominations, who have been meeting for breakfast for something like 15 years. I’ve been away, and it was my first time back. We were talking about communion, the Lord’s Supper. One of my friends, Lisa, said that she remembered as a child walking into a room where her younger cousin—maybe five years old—was holding a small ceramic bowl, and lifting it over her head, eyes gazing up. I said—"Oh, my brother and I played mass!” simultaneously with the other two women at the table chiming in. Apparently, we had all played “Communion” at home when we were very young. Rose said, “Oh yes—we used Nilla Vanilla wafers!” Janet said, “We used Sweet Tarts!” And I said, “Oh man, I wish my brother and I had thought of using cookies or candy. We squished white bread flat and cut it into circles.”

I am still pondering this. I didn’t check out this theory, but I have a feeling we all did this before we were permitted to take communion. I had my First Communion at age seven. For my friends, they were probably anywhere between seven and twelve or thirteen years old. But we, all of us, witnessed the adults or older siblings in our lives walking forward, or being served in their seats, and receiving bread that we knew was somehow special, different, more than the regular bread our parents used to make our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

Something about this special bread called to us, even before we’d had it ourselves. Something made us long for that bread—and, whether we knew it or not, to long for Jesus…

Image: “The Gathering of the Manna,” by James Tissot (1836-1902), Public Domain. Courtesy of Wikimedia.

…It all started with a trellis covered with morning glories. I’ve always loved morning glories, probably because my mother, who disliked receiving flowers as a gift, nevertheless loved various flowers and was genuinely excited to see them growing. I remember her oohing and ahhing on a day trip to Cape May, when we came upon a fence covered with sky-blue morning glories. Years later I came across just such a fence on a vacation in the Berkshires, and my heart squeezed in recognition and delight. They were amazing. Their color was visual joy. Their abandon—the way they created a living wall of color—was thrilling.

Imagine my surprise in my adult life when I found out that there are people who hate, loathe, despise, and abominate morning glories. It’s ok. You’re looking at someone who bought her house because there was a stained-glass window and a trellis covered with morning glories. The heart wants what it wants.

Anyway, fast forward thirty years, and it turns out morning glories also have hearts, and they want what they want, and what they want is the entire world. The trellis long gone, I’ve cultivated them on a fence along my driveway. They cooperated at first, but then jumped to the other trellis, where the clematis were minding their own business and not hurting anybody. Then they apparently jumped right over my car and started growing on the other fence, at which point they decided their job was to make their way into and among all the other flowers—the clematis, the cosmos, the daisies, the black adder, and the peonies.

The kingdom of God is like a packet of morning glory seeds…

My friends, welcome to this Sunday in Ordinary time. The seasons of Lent and Easter are past, as well as the festivals of Pentecost and Trinity Sunday. So, it’s fitting that Jesus and his disciples, too, are just trying to have an ordinary Sabbath.

The Sabbath is important for all three Abrahamic faiths—for Jews, Muslims, and Christians. We all agree that God commands us to observe a day of rest. Jews and Muslims observe sabbath on Saturday, the seventh day of the week: “sabbath” means “seventh.” This is according to the commandment as we read it in the book of Deuteronomy:

“‘Observe the Sabbath day and keep it holy, as the Lord your God commanded you… Remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt, and the Lord your God brought you out from there with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm; therefore the Lord your God commanded you to keep the Sabbath day.” ~Deuteronomy 6:12, 15

In Jesus’ day, according to one scholar,

From sundown on Friday until Saturday’s sunset, Jews encouraged one another to enjoy a day of delight (Nehemiah 8:9–12; Isaiah 58:13–14), worshiping the Lord (Isaiah 66:23; Ezekiel 46:3), laying aside ordinary work (Amos 8:5), and fighting only in self-defense (1 Maccabees 2:29–41).[i]

Yes, you heard that right. Sabbath is supposed to be a day of delight. A day of joy, rejoicing in God and in the goodness of life and love. And this has not changed for Jews. These are still the tenets that keep the day holy, a day set apart…

Image: Healing Mural, Hospital Teodoro Maldonado Carbo, Guayaquil, Ecuador, 1970, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=57939 [retrieved May 25, 2024]. Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Mural_en_el_Hospital_Teodoro_Maldonado_Carbo.jpg.

Welcome to the only Sunday in the church calendar dedicated to a tenet of our theology as Christians: Trinity Sunday, the Sunday when we ponder what it means that we claim faithfulness to a Creator who is One God, and yet, somehow, three Persons.

It’s hard to talk about the Trinity—it’s complicated, it’s speculative, and impossible to grasp, so let’s all rest in that knowledge at the outset. It is impossible to grasp, the truest definition of a mystery. Something experienced, and yet, somehow, still unknown. Our small minds can’t fathom it.

But after perusing the website, “Art in the Christian Tradition,” this week, I would venture to say it is even harder to paint the Trinity, to depict it visually…

Image: Rublev, Andreĭ, Saint, -approximately 1430. Hospitality of Abraham, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=58465 [retrieved May 25, 2024]. Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Angelsatmamre-trinity-rublev-1410.jpg.

We call Pentecost Sunday “the Birthday of the Church.” And so, it is! Following the resurrection, and Jesus’ fifty days with the disciples, something strange happens, and they can’t see him any more. He seems to be gone, vanished into heaven. This is a hard moment. So much trauma and loss, followed by such a startling and miraculous return to life, followed again by loss. He is gone. Where is he?

Image: Kraut, Ronald. Pentecost, Our Lady of Pentecost Church, Quezon City, Philippines, 2003; from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=56950 [retrieved April 4, 2024]. Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:0329jfOur_Lady_of_Pentecost_Parish_Church_Quezon_City_Loyola_Heightsfvf_25.jpg.

Let’s set the scene.

It is the night of the Last Supper. Imagine with me, just for a few moments: We are there. We are the disciples. We are in an upstairs room in a building somewhere in Jerusalem. It is night, so the room is lit by oil lamps. Supper was over some time ago, but we’re lingering at the table, which still has remnants of bread, pitchers of wine, the smell of the delicious food still in the air. A while ago, we were all talking. First, Judas left, abruptly; it seemed to be something between him and Jesus. The word, “betray” was hanging in the air. It caused a stir. Then Jesus told us, he would only be with us a little while longer, which caused an even louder stir. But we quieted down when Jesus said, “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, so also, you should love one another.” 

Peter broke the silence. “Where are you going?” he asked. Then, Jesus said a strange thing. “Where I am going, you cannot follow me. Not now. But you’ll follow me later.” Then Peter got up and asked, “Why can’t I follow you? I’ll lay down my life for you.” But Jesus shook his head. Not only won’t you follow me, he told Peter, before this night is over, you will deny me three times. Peter sat down again, hard. He looked like he’d been punched.

Then everyone was quiet. Jesus began to speak. The first thing he said was, “Don’t let your hearts be troubled. Don’t be afraid…”

Image: “Jesus of the People,” copyright 1999 Janet McKenzie www.janetmckenzie.com.

I think, with very rare exceptions, it’s a universal experience: being the one left out. Don’t we all remember a moment when we felt or realized, we didn’t belong? On the playground, when sides were being chosen for kickball. In class, when we didn’t know what was going on, or we knew too much. At work, when the buzz around the watercooler quieted as we came near. For me, one evening in high school stands out—a Friday night when the girls I had gone to the dance with decided to leave early, and they were all clearly gathering at one girls house—but I wasn’t invited. Being on the outside, not belonging, leaves a mark on the heart, but not the good kind. Leaves memories that last, but not the good kind. Leaves Taylor Swift to write lyrics like, “Some day, I’ll be living in New York City. But all you’re ever gonna be is mean. Why you gotta be so mean?”

Image: Philip Catechizes the Ethiopian Eunuch, Exeter College Chapel, Oxford, University, U. K. from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=58595 [retrieved April 4, 2024]. Original source: https://www.flickr.com/photos/paullew/5712497198/.

… Baptism unites us with Christ in his resurrection. We are a risen people, living the risen life. What does that mean, exactly? In the Sundays we have together between now and the day of Pentecost, I’d like to explore this. What is the risen life? How does it affect us? How do we live it? How do we share it?

Today’s psalm and gospel passage offer us some very specific ideas of what the risen life means…

Image: Dupre, Julien, 1851-1910. The Good Shepherd, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=54256 [retrieved April 4, 2024]. Original source: http://www.flickr.com/photos/thomashawk/2202377733/.

… And this chapter finds seven of the disciples, and Peter most particularly, in a kind of mood. Hard to say what mood, exactly. But scripture and tradition tell us that Jesus was with the disciples—as many as 500 of them at one time—for almost fifty days following the resurrection. We are still within that timeframe. It is the first resurrection season. But here are the disciples. They’re not in Jerusalem anymore, they’re in Galilee. And it’s a beautiful day on the Sea of Tiberius, also known as the Sea of Galilee. So Peter announces, apropos of nothing in particular, “I’m going fishing.”

On the surface, this feels odd. It feels like there is a restlessness in Peter, one the others join in. It feels like they’re not sure what to do next, so they go back to the thing they still know best: fishing…

Image: “Feed My Sheep” by the Rev. Nicolette Peñaranda, A Sanctified Art | sanctifiedart.org

This passage from the gospel according to Luke might be called “A Tale of Two Resurrections,” by which I mean, the Easter morning experience of the women versus the Easter morning experience of the men.

Of course, each of us has our own Easter morning experience, don’t we? Whether we are awakening early because of the riotous birdsong, or wrangling very excited children, or waiting for our carpool to pick us up, each of us comes to this day with our own experiences and sense of anticipation. So it was, with the women and men who were Jesus’s disciples….

“Easter Sunday,” He Qi, copyright 2021, All Rights Reserved.

Come, thou fount of every blessing,

tune my heart to sing thy grace.

Streams of mercy, never ceasing,

call for songs of loudest praise.

For the past six weeks we’ve been following the journey of Peter, which also happens to be the journey of Jesus. And all through this time, we’ve been taking lyrics from this hymn, “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing,” and seeing Peter’s experience reflected in those words. Tonight, the first part of the first verse of this hymn comes together. These lyrics, penned by a newly-converted man in his 20’s, roughly 20 years before the American Revolution, come together in these passages of scripture, and in this night and all that it signifies, and all that we remember together here.

Image: “The Golden Hour” by the Rev. Nicolette Peñaranda, A Sanctified Art | sanctifiedart.org

…This morning Jesus is in a kind of parade—one he takes part in deliberately. Peter, who has been the focus of so much of our reflection this Lent, is nowhere to be seen. He has no dialogue. He asks no questions. But he is definitely there, of course, as are all the disciples, witnessing Jesus’s triumphant entry into Jerusalem. And it’s easy to imagine that they are all overwhelmed, probably filled with anxiety, and wondering, on some level, what is going on….

Image: “Then They Remembered” by Rev. Lisle Gwinn Garrity, A Sanctified Art | sanctifiedart.org.

They said this of me: "She has cracked," they said. Like an egg thrown at a wall. The smooth comfort of the home that was my own mind, gone. Instead, bits of what-was-me splattered, scattering, running down the wall and into the waste pile. Sharp-edged fragments lost in the dusty roads that run through my village…

Image: Mary Magdalene by He Qi. Copyright 2021, All Rights Reserved. Artist’s website: https://www.heqiart.com/store/p158/24_Mary-Magdalene_Limited_Edition.html..

And now, for Jesus’ reminder that faith communities are made up of human beings, and we don’t always get it right. This morning finds Jesus talking with his disciples, and Peter in particular, about conflict and forgiveness….

Image: Seventy-seven times by Lauren Wright Pittman, | A Sanctified Art | sanctifiedart.org

In Paul’s letter to the Corinthians, the apostle provides one of the most beautiful (and accurate) descriptions of love that can be found in the New Testament. His first words (describing what he calls “a more excellent way”) reference angels—specifically, the tongues of angels. Paul is saying that someone who approximates the most sublime creatures, with the most sublime voices, saying the most sublime words, is nothing, without love being the foundation of those words.

But first, he is saying, that when angels open their mouths, it is a beautiful thing to hear, beyond all telling. The sounds angels make when they communicate are exquisite.

This may be the closest the scriptures come to telling us that angels sing…

Eyck, Hubert van, 1366-1426; Eyck, Jan van, 1390-1440. Altar of the Mystical Lamb - Angels Singing and Making Music, from Art in the Christian Tradition, a project of the Vanderbilt Divinity Library, Nashville, TN. https://diglib.library.vanderbilt.edu/act-imagelink.pl?RC=49624 [retrieved February 20, 2024]. Original source: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Hubert_van_Eyck_017.jpg.

This is serious.

We’re at a serious moment in Peter’s journey with Jesus. Jesus has just said something to Peter that would have been unimaginable only seconds earlier. 

We’ve picked up this morning immediately following last week’s passage from the gospel according to Matthew. Last week, all was joy and hope and Peter being verbally anointed by Jesus into a new sense of leadership by virtue of his powerful statement of faith: “You are the Messiah, Son of the Living God.”

And now, Jesus has started to explain to Peter and the disciples what all that really means…

Image: “Beseeching” by Hannah Garrity, courtesy of A Sanctified Art | sanctifiedart.org

…The disciples have told Jesus exactly what the people think of him, in a kind of shorthand. They believe he is a breath of fresh air in the face of the brazenly corrupt Herod, and the dreadful Roman Empire. They believe he has come to call out the mighty for the ways they oppress the little people. They believe he has come to give his vision of what God’s law means (nicely outlined in the sermon on the Mount, chapters 5-7) a law of love for neighbor and forgiveness of enemies, a law of humility instead of braggadocio, a law in which love of God is lived out through our love of neighbor, a law in which we trust that God is love….

Image: “Who do you say I am?” by Lauren Wright Pittman, | A Sanctified Art | sanctifiedart.org