Views from the Valley

Pastor Mary Jo's Sermons from Charlotte Valley Presbyterian Church

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  • Behind Closed Doors — April 12, 2026

    John 20:19-31

             When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors were locked where the disciples were, for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.”

            But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.”

            A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.” Thomas answered him, “My Lord and my God!” Jesus said to him, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.”

            Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples that are not written in this book. but these are written so that you may continue to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.

    I received an email this past week from a cousin who lives in Selah, Washington, close to Yakima. She occasionally attends a church in Yakima, and received a letter from them which she shared with me. This particular church has a socially progressive outlook, advocating for groups of people who are targeted by discrimination. Because the church is located in the midst of a population of many people who hold a different perspective, church leaders have received threatening messages. The church officials were considering the possibility of hiring security for their worship services. Then an incident happened to reinforce that sense of caution. I’ll read what actually happened as it was described in the letter.

           “Security concerns became urgent when last Sunday an unidentified individual entered the building near the end of ECC’s Easter Service, went downstairs, and navigated to a back set of stairs to enter the stage and approach Rev. Love. He identified himself as a “Kingdom Warrior” and said he had been studying her and believed she was deceiving people. Rev. Love quietly offered to speak with him after concluding the service. After the congregation left, he seemed more agitated when one of the leaders came next to Rev. Love. He refused to give his name but asked for some of the Easter candy. He finally said he had to leave but would be writing about this place to warn people. He walked away and off the grounds. Most of the congregation was unaware that this was happening.”

           As a result, the church decided to hire an unarmed security guard on Sunday morning, and added protection features to the building, door locks, and security precautions on Sundays.

           Most of you know that several minutes after our service here has begun, our doors are locked. It’s a frightening world to live in. I find it so disconcerting that the times call for this, and I’ll bet I’m not alone when I say that I wish it didn’t have to happen, though I understand why it must be so. How wonderful it would be to attend church with open doors and not a single fear of anyone entering the church with harmful intentions!

           We come to our scripture text in which we find the disciples locked “behind closed doors.” It’s worth considering how the fears that led the disciples to hunker down behind locked doors might be similar to modern-day American congregations.

           We start by considering why the disciples were afraid. It was because of the religious authorities, and of their affiliation with Jesus, and what those authorities had done to Jesus. Who wouldn’t be terrified? Even though Jesus had reappeared, and they believed him to once again be alive, the authorities were still around, and who knows what they might still have in mind?

           As for the people in Yakima, very real events and threats had been made as well. Just like the religious authorities’ opposition to the words and actions and claims of Jesus that led to his crucifixion, so were people opposed to the ways in which the Yakima church was doing its ministry on behalf of marginalized people. They were doing Jesus’ work. The irony was that the man who entered the church in a threatening manner also believed the same thing: that he was doing Jesus’ work. Could we classify him in a category with the religious authorities of Jesus’ day?

           For us in this church, it’s the stories of people entering churches with the intent to kill that have hit close to home. In these cases, too, the reasons for the attacks might be similar to what was feared in Yakima: the anger of people who felt threatened by and strongly opposed the message and ministry of that particular house of worship.

           One difference between our day and Jesus’ time, however, is that in Jesus’ case, well-known religious authorities sanctioned Jesus’ crucifixion. Generally for us, this isn’t the case, though it’s clear that the people making the threats and committing the violence nowadays are taking authority upon themselves in the same way the chief priests and their cohorts did in respect to Jesus.

           But we might ask this question when we look at these situations: what kind of threat was the church in Yakima to the public and the welfare of this “Kingdom Warrior?” What harm did they present to anyone in their world, except to offer assistance and acceptance to people that the public did not want to accept?

           And we might ask this same question of Jesus. What kind of threat was he to the religious authorities of his day? What kind of harm was he doing by proclaiming God’s love and salvation for all? How was he hurting anyone while preaching forgiveness? What was problematic in his cleansing, healing and inclusion of people the church had proclaimed to be unclean, unforgivable, unacceptable? The threat to them was his proclamation that the precious laws to which they adhered so tenaciously were overridden by the law of love: the love of God and one’s neighbor as oneself, no exceptions.

           That was what led him to the cross. Jesus dared to do God’s work in the world, acknowledging that God was present with and in him, in order to bring humanity a better, newer, freer and more loving way to live. How dare he?

           And how dare people in the church today continue to worship and celebrate and proclaim this same Jesus? How dare they, too, seek to reach out to people of all kinds, welcoming the stranger, healing the sick, teaching forgiveness and love? I guess doing God’s work is risky business.

           Let’s switch gears and take a look at Thomas in our gospel lesson for a bit. Thomas wanted to be reassured of Jesus’ actual resurrection. He wanted proof that Jesus had been crucified and had risen. In reply, Jesus told Thomas to touch, and look, and said, “Do not doubt but believe.” And again, Jesus mentions “belief” for Peter as an affirmation that comes as a result of seeing, and adds what a blessing it is for those who believe without seeing.

           The Greek word for “believe” has layered meaning. This word is pist: spelled p-i-s-t. It can also be translated to mean “trust”. Let me substitute the word “trust” for the word “belief,” and read Jesus’ words again. Listen to how it sounds: “Do not doubt but trust.” “Have you trusted because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to trust.” At the end of the passage, John also says, “…these [signs] are written so that you may continue to trust that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through trusting you may have life in his name.”

           Does this second reading feel different to you? It certainly does to me. Substituting trust for believe strikes me in a helpful way. There are, to be honest, days when I wonder about the veracity of the Biblical story. There are so many things in it that seem so impossible, impractical, outrageous – and as a pastor and a Christian I find that instead of running away from my uncertainty, I have tried to face it all head-on. I confess it to God; after all, God already knows what I’m thinking! I’m sure I’m not alone when I think of how nice it would be to have him walk into this room and tell me, “Yes, I lived, taught, loved, died, and rose again. Here I am. Look at these hands, these feet, and this gouge in my side. Everything you know is true.” But even then, would I I find a reason to doubt?

           Then I think of the word “trust.” When I approach my faith from that perspective, there is a softening. I trust that these things happened, and I trust what they mean. That God loved you, and me, so much that God sent Jesus to die and make it abundantly clear, through the meaning of his death and resurrection, that God loves us.

           Belief involves an intellectual knowing. An assent of the mind. It can require physical proof; scientific reasoning. Trust involves a sense of relationship. An awareness, a feeling, an experience that is repeated, affirmable, and verifiable again and again throughout life. This trust is what I live and move and walk in every day. If I try to prove it somehow, and really zoom in on the details of what, where, when, why and how, I get stuck. Not that reasoning is bad; it’s also a blessing and gift from God. But what is most convincing to me is that sense of relationship.

           God has verified God’s presence and love in my life so many more times than I can ever count, through the relationship I have with God, in my prayers, study and thinking. God has verified God’s presence and love in this world countless times through other people. This church. My family. My friends. Strangers on the street. People who do wonderful things for others and make this world a better place. God reinforces my trust through words I read, ways in which I’m touched by nature, and the marvel of the world all around me.

           Trust is where it counts – beyond belief.

           Now let’s come back to where we started: in the room, behind closed doors, where fear abounded for the disciples, and is still present for churches all over the world and right here in Davenport. Don’t forget that locked doors didn’t keep Jesus out of the room where the disciples hunkered down. Just because there are frightening things out there doesn’t mean that we lock ourselves up and roll ourselves into a little ball of protection like a roly-poly bug. And, well, if we do lock our doors, we know that Jesus still manages to find a way in.

           Trust means relationship. Trust means we believe God is with us even, and especially, when we don’t feel safe. Trust remembers that Jesus and his disciples didn’t stay in that locked room. What happened after Jesus’ resurrection and ascension? They went out and proclaimed the message of Jesus for decades afterward, out in public, in rooms all over the area, where people gathered and prayed and experienced the magnificent power of the Holy Spirit. They opened up, spread out, and began to MOVE, because of their trust; because of their relationship with the risen Christ and with the Holy Spirit he breathed upon them to give them power to do what they went out and did.

           So we, too, may lock our doors. But at the same time we unlock our hearts and our hands in this community in trust, to proclaim the message of love we treasure. We care for others, accept, welcome them, acknowledging that sometimes being a bold Christian means quite a bit of risk, whether our doors are locked or wide open.

           May we know, here in this moment, that Jesus has entered our sequestered room, our sanctuary, and is with us now, living in a dynamic relationship that binds us all together as God’s people. He’s offering us peace, just as he did his disciples, every moment. Let us be willing to assume the risks involved in proclaiming our faith. Let us be living examples of that trust. Amen.

  • He Is Not Here – Easter, April 5, 2026

    Matthew 28:1-10

            1After the Sabbath, as the first day of the week was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb. 2And suddenly there was a great earthquake, for an angel of the Lord, descending from heaven, came and rolled back the stone and sat on it. 3His appearance was like lightning and his clothing white as snow. 4For fear of him the guards shook and became like dead men. 5But the angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. 6He is not here, for he has been raised, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay. 7Then go quickly and tell his disciples, ‘He has been raised from the dead, and indeed he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him.’ This is my message for you. 8So they left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy and ran to tell his disciples. 9Suddenly Jesus met them and said, “Greetings!” And they came to him, took hold of his feet, and worshiped him. 10Then Jesus said to them, “Do not be afraid, go and tell my brothers and sisters to go to Galilee; there they will see me.”

    They went to the tomb to see Jesus. Such a dark and dreary day, even if the sun was shining its brightest. The loss of their precious friend who meant the world to them was more than they could bear. They had to see the tomb. They had to be near him, even if he was lying lifeless in a cold grave in the absolute darkness. A chilly place, with walls that did not breathe, but emitted cold silence, a dry yet damp chill. Even there, in the finality of his death, would they still feel the power and loving presence that radiated from him in his life? Spectral wisps of all that made him so precious, like a person’s unique scent left in a room from which their physical presence has been absent?

           They wanted to know if he was really dead, or if it was all a dream. Their friend, in whose presence they felt so safe, was here. So vital, so energizing, so life-giving. How could he be dead?

           And so they went to see. And instead of a rock, or a cold, dark cave, they encountered a blinding light, a vision, terrifying, yet offering words of comfort. “He is not here.”

           He is not here? “He has been raised. He’s on his way to Galilee. Get his disciples and tell them.” Get … what? Who? Where? How? “This is my message for you.”

           For you. For YOU. The two Marys, brave women, ready to face the music and do what needed to be done to move forward into the future in their grieving, weeping, and wondering and questioning. Not Peter, James, John, other disciples…where were they, anyway? Off licking their wounds. Huddling in a state of shock. Hiding from the authorities wondering if they, too, might be next. Trying to make sense of everything that had happened since they took their first steps on the path of discipleship. They’d face that grave later. It wasn’t going anywhere. Who wanted to remember Jesus like that, anyway?

           Two women, whose names would pop up occasionally in the great, long account of Jesus’ life and ministry. First to know. Facing the facts. Finding out, before they’d barely had a chance to breathe after a long time of holding their breath in grief and denial and sheer pain, that the angel’s message to them, for them, was, “He is not here.”

           He is supposed to be here. He was so very much here, for such a very long time. While life went on in some ways as normal for the Marys and other women who supported and adored and learned and absorbed everything related to Jesus, in their preparations, their negotiations, their planning and their serving, it had not been the same since they first met him. He had become an anchor for them, a way in which God, who’d seemed so distant and uninvolved, was suddenly smack dab in the middle of all of their affairs. Jesus’ words were like nourishment coming from a highly power-packed, flavorful food. Small bites gave plenty for chewing. Satisfaction came from understanding and digesting. And yet, there was always room for more. Through Jesus’ words, they understood things that had made no sense before. He had become a part of their lives; a part of their being. And there was something about that presence, all that wisdom, all that humble power, that felt eternal. It felt like he would be with them always. How could it be that he had given himself so easily over to his captors? It was almost as if he had voluntarily, willingly, handed himself over. Why?

           They knew, based on experience, that once again, there was purpose in this sacrifice and surrender. Their morning trek to the tomb was only the beginning of the sorting process, the effort to understand, the questioning and puzzling as to what the meaning was of this final act that appeared to be the opposite of all the life-giving, healing acts and multi-layered messages that had been a part of his, and their, journey to the cross. Death!

           Even then, they believed – they truly believed – that something would come of it. They knew not what.

           But they did not expect to find out that he was not there.

           Jesus was not there, in that tomb, dead.

           How many times have we run to tombs in our lives, only to find that Jesus is not there? We all have things in our lives that we hope will finally bring us the joy that we want; things that will help us to settle down, be happy, and know peace.

           For some of us, wealth is our answer. With it, we can get the things that excite us: cars, electronics, homes, appliances, gadgets, conveniences, hobbies, trips, and big events. It gives us power: a knowledge that at the flash of a bill or two or the flourish of our signature, we can have what we want. But we soon find out that someone else has something better. Our stuff breaks, burns, and deteriorates. Our search for such things is like searching for Jesus in the empty tomb: he is not there.

           Some of us search for Jesus through substances and experiences. We know that drugs and alcohol can bring good feelings at the pop of a pill or a puff or a needle prick. Food feels good, too, and not just for nourishment. Oh, what joy a juicy steak brings, or a nice piece of rich chocolate cake. Life has many kinds of highs. And yet, after the highs wear off and the stomach is full, the consequences of overindulgence set in. Whatever satisfaction we might get through substances and activities, those highs are temporary, and it’s like searching for Jesus in the empty tomb. He is not there.

           Some of us search for Jesus in achievements. We can’t be satisfied unless we’re the best at what we do, or rest until we’ve gotten everything done. We have to be known and valued for doing virtuous things: working tirelessly, giving the most money, being on the most committees and organizations. But even then, it’s not always enough. Sometimes, even with all the recognition, our lack of self-esteem leads us to scramble toward an empty tomb, and, once again, we find that Jesus is not there.

           Some of us look for Jesus in relationships with a significant other, a family, friends, to the point where we feel desperation and despair if we don’t have them. We live our lives, reaching the tomb, looking for Jesus, and finding out that he is not there.

           What things exist in your life that are like this? What things in your life do you pursue over and over again, wrestle with, agonize over, and wish you could just FIX once and for all? And when you do achieve or acquire those things, do you find out they aren’t what you imagined or dreamed they would be? Or are you disappointed?

           I suggest that we all are looking for is actually Jesus himself. We’re looking for a relationship with God, inside ourselves, in our deepest hearts and minds. We crave an awareness and knowledge of a presence within us that holds wisdom, love, compassion and strength. One that extends far beyond our bank accounts, or reputations, our possessions, our desires, and our relationships with other people. Not that any of these things are unimportant – they are all gifts to us from God. Their purpose is good: to be used as tools for service and sharing, as a part of our journey toward that empty tomb. Of course, we don’t want to just arrive at the empty tomb and notice that he is not there.

           When we get there, we encounter the angel and the joyful news. Of course he is not here! He has risen again! He did not die, confined to the tomb. He rose again and is still alive, now more than ever, just as he was then, on his way to tell his disciples and the world that his death was not the end. He told them that while he would depart this earthly plane, he would remain with them, and in that way, he remained to also be with us, to help us to find the fulfillment in life we so desperately want. So instead of us searching for that fulfillment in him in all sorts of empty tombs, we would remember that it is in HIM that we find our rewards, our wealth, our achievement, the satisfaction of our desires and hungers, and our most fulfilling relationships.

           And so, this is the Easter message for us: that the tomb was not the end. Jesus, and the power, love, compassion and wisdom that he embodied and brought into the world, did not die, but he rose again and he lived. He still lives, in us. When we approach our tombs – the places in our lives where we think we’ll find fulfillment, and they disappoint us, they are empty tombs. Jesus, the one we really need, is not there.

           And so on this resurrection day, let us look to the risen Jesus, who lives again and, at our seeking and asking, enlightens our hearts, and provides us with all that we need for a fulfilling life. When we find ourselves striving and reaching for the things that ultimately do not satisfy us, let us remember to turn our sights toward Jesus, our risen savior.

           Let us go from the empty tomb, and share that good news, and see where this resurrection promise takes us. Amen.

  • What Were They Thinking? Good Friday, April 3, 2026

    Scripture: The Gospel of John, Chapters 18 and 19

    Our text for tonight is quite obviously a long one, involving many people coming from many places in the life of Jesus. Whenever I read it, I ponder each character’s involvement and wonder: “What were they thinking? How did they become who they were, and what led them to decide to treat Jesus in such a way?” Oh, if we could only crawl inside the minds of the characters; to follow the progression of events in their lives; to know their hopes and dreams and what meant the most to them. There’s one thing I believe we’d find out for certain: they were not much different than you or me in our fickle humanness.

           What was Judas thinking? Here’s a man who spent long months walking alongside Jesus as he taught, hearing word after word, watching miracle after miracle, absorbing everything a person could possibly take in after spending so much time with a teacher. A man who spent time in the presence of a person you and I would think might be a joy and inspiration to be around. But Judas isn’t the only person who appeared to follow Jesus and then turned away. People throughout the ages turn on the ones they once loved and adore.  Someone unhappy, looking for something different, full of motives we might never understand.

           Whom among us might be tempted, at times, to be like Judas in our unhappiness and our bitterness and our inability to understand? And yet, it was, ultimately, for Judas, that Jesus died.

           What were the soldiers and police who came to arrest Jesus thinking? “Just doing my job, sir, just doing my job.” They’d been a part of the Roman and Jewish legal establishment for a long time. Could be they thought of this man as a strange rabble-rouser. One of many itinerant preachers and prophet-types appearing out of the blue, shuffling his way through the crowds and magnetically drawing a band of followers along. A odd guy, who thought he knew about the almighty creator of the universe, and had some kind of mystical power, too. A man who said strange things that really didn’t make a lot of sense. And now here he was, stirring up trouble. What a royal pain. Now, at the behest of the chief priests and the Pharisees, it was time whisk him away to the authorities. Take care of this mess once and for all. We do what we’re told, sir, we just follow the facts, ma’am. It’s kinda fun, really, having this power to grab people, rough ‘em up, give ‘em hell. Make a crown of thorns, ‘cause he thinks he’s a king! We’ll show him! Here’s his tunic. Oh, it’s a nice one. Let’s cast lots – don’t want to tear that nice piece of cloth up; might make a nice warm coat for somebody.

           Who among us might find a certain pleasure in cueing up for a conflict, especially if it was our job to help enforce the law? To prove to our superiors that we are able workers. To do as we are told without question. To keep good old law and order.

           What were they thinking when they lost all their strength when Jesus spoke? “What just happened?” they wondered. And it wasn’t just one of them: all the soldiers and police around Jesus collapsed. It had to be some kind of strange anomaly. Something in the air. It could NOT have anything to do with the powers and abilities of this man, could it?

           What excuse might we offer in the presence of such power and authority that came not from the political or legal realm? How would we rationalize it away so that our safe, set beliefs about life could gain back their equilibrium? It was for people such as the slaves and soldiers and police that Jesus died.

           What was the high priest’s slave Malchus thinking when one of Jesus’ disciples cut off his ear? There would be shock, pain, incredulity and fear at such a loss; not much thought of anything else but that. Malchus surely tends to his wounds, and if they are healed, he still experiences the wounds of humiliation and dumbfounded amazement at this turn of events.

           Who among us have never been so preoccupied with our lives and our pain that we are unable to recognize the presence of God among us? It was for this surreal moment, and for this slave, captive to a high priest and his lot in life as a servant, that Jesus died.

           What was Simon Peter thinking? Simon Peter, of all people, who, like Judas, had spent hours upon hours and days upon days with Jesus! Who had declared with all certainty that he would never deny his Lord. And yet, perhaps like a person who detaches from themselves emotionally in a time of shock, they find themselves doing exactly the opposite of what they had promised to never do. Peter, who out of fear of death and recrimination, in a moment when the reality of his situation struck home, denied knowing his best friend. Surely he wanted to run and hide in shame.

           Who among us believes that we would never utter a denial of anyone, or any of our firmest beliefs and truths, in the face of death and recrimination? Do any of us really know what we would do if, in the midst of our pleasant lives of relative security and safety, we were approached with dangerous recrimination and consequences for our beliefs? And yet it was for Peter, even in his denials, that Jesus died.

           What was the high priest thinking about this upstart fellow who made a wild claim about being on some sort of equal footing with God? This Jesus, whose actions and words seemed to come from a greater power — actions and insights that the high priest himself had striven all of his life to achieve. Oh, he’d love to be a prophet, able to utter the truths of Yahweh that bypassed logic, as Elijah and Isaiah and others of old! He was the keeper of the Laws of God! Who was this fellow who appeared from some lowly little town where no one important lived and where nothing important happened? How dare he think that he had any kind of relationship with God, let alone anything useful to teach?

           Who among us prefers the status quo in our faith life, our church, our religion, even our world? Who among us, when someone presents a new viewpoint that challenges our long-held beliefs, would not want to put an end to the fly in the ointment, the buzzing mosquito, the pot-stirring troublemaker? How dare they come along and try to usurp our safe status in life? And yet it was for the high priest and his cohorts that Jesus died.

           What was Pilate thinking? Pilate, who felt the pressure of the religious authorities over whom he had power and whose respect he needed in order to keep that authority. Pilate, who couldn’t figure out what all the fuss was about: it was no skin off his back if this Jesus claimed to be a king; he felt no threat coming from this lowly man and his little cult of followers.

           Who among us has not also felt the temptation to care for people under our authority in the way they want us to, because if we don’t, we might lose their approval? Even while we just don’t see the necessity of doing what they want us to do? We feel the pressure, we hear their logic, it seems so rational to them. We feel trapped. Damned if we do, damned if we don’t. Where is the release valve? We have to find a way out of this: a compromise, an offer. Can we put this responsibility in their hands and hope for the best? And the pressure gets worse, and worse, until we finally give in. It is for Pilate, as well, that Jesus died.

           What were the crowds thinking, when they began shouting for the release of Barabbas in place of Jesus? Who among us has not followed the crowd, a crowd, any crowd, and are still following crowds this day? Yet for this crowd, Jesus died.

           What was Barabbas thinking, ready to be bound and nailed to a cross? Did he even know of Jesus and his innocence, and how Barabbas’s own freedom would come at the expense of a seemingly worthless death? And yet, we know that it was for Barabbas, that Jesus quite literally died.

           It seemed that day that the momentum, like an avalanche, had begun, and there was nothing that could be done to stop it.

           And that day, it was for everyone involved in this whole disastrous, tragic, traumatic scene: this death of an innocent man, for all of them — that Jesus died.

           That momentum, which we would only know one day in the future, was love, and it was like an avalanche. It began at Jesus’ birth and led Jesus to the cross. With all that power, Jesus could have saved himself, but he did not. He did not resist, fight or argue. He did not offer scathing words to Simon Peter at his betrayals and sore attempts at violence. He did not shout curses at the people who spat in his face and took his clothes and slammed a spiky, thorny crown onto his head.

           This momentum came from a love that allowed him to speak the truth all the way to the end. This love enabled him to never betray his convictions, even when others did. It was a love that caused him to give his life in order to liberate all those around him from their bondage to their humanness, their need to fight, to betray, to deny; from their fear, their mocking, their pompousness, their fickle following of the crowd, their yielding to the pressures of their constituents in order to keep their power.

           They didn’t know it yet. But he gave his life for them anyway.

           Jesus died for all of them: all failures, bitter, angry, confused, and totally oblivious to who he really was. Because of love. He died for all of us, too, in spite of and in the midst of all our failures, our bitterness, anger, confusion, and total oblivion to who he really was and who he still is.

           How amazing.

           In spite of all of it.

           Tonight is our night of that cross, that death, that giving up of power, that solidarity with us in our darkness. Jesus, though he had the power, did not escape it, and he did it on our behalf, because of God’s love living within him.

           Let us consider this tonight. Let us feel the darkness of it, but let us also feel that darkness as love, enveloping us even in the bleakest moments. Even in the darkness, there is love. Let us receive it, feel it, and know it. Amen.

  • Stirring Things Up — Palm Sunday, 3/29/26

    Matthew 21:1-11

    Don’t you just love it when people come along and stir things up? Well, maybe you do and maybe you don’t. I must say that in just about every group, there’s someone who likes to stir things up. And though stirring is necessary to keep things from becoming too predictable and unchallenged, there are times when I don’t particularly appreciate the intrusion into what I think ought to be a calm, unperturbed situation. Peace is so nice. Pleasant conversation, agreement, soothing words, grins, chuckles and affirmations are all so very, very desirable.

            But think about it. You’re cooking a tasty stew with all sorts of delectable ingredients in it – your veggies, your liquids, your proteins, your spices, your starch. You throw them in the pot at various points, make sure the heat’s on, and you let things cook. But you don’t just let things sit in the pot in a lump. You don’t let the carrots burn on the bottom of the pan, the meat sit to one side, the spices on the other. It would make a terrible stew. Even if the simmering action did its magic, some parts of the mixture would be overcooked, while other parts were too crunchy or chewy. Stirring is good. Never forget that.

            But even though we laud the man we hail as the Prince of Peace, we must face the reality that wherever Jesus went, things got stirred up. We might argue that he didn’t do it on purpose, perhaps. He just said what he said and he did what he did, right? He told his truth. It resonated with some, and it rankled others. That’s the way it was wherever Jesus went. People wondered who he was, or who he dared to think he was. Others were drawn to him like magnets, and among them he had made some very close friends. Jesus told his truth, and it stirred things up.

            This is the atmosphere surrounding Jesus’ trip into Jerusalem that day. Turmoil. Agitation. Rattling. Trembling. A whole lot of shakin’ goin’ on. I dare say that the parade that entered the city wasn’t solely a happy little party born from the joy of the quintessential Palm Sunday group of cheerful children, skipping up and down the dusty roads to the grins and delight of their parents, the disciples, and Jesus himself.

            So often we look at the stories of Jesus through the hindsight that is colored and tempered in liturgies, interpretations, artistic renderings, songs and good old David C. Cook Sunday School lessons. We might want to consider that they are, at best, simply re-tellings through the lenses of the lives we now live, and how me might experience them today. Think about how short the scripture stories are: how little information they actually convey to us about the actual day the events occurred, if they even occurred exactly as portrayed. Over the years, many of our interpretations have become more powerful than the true meaning buried inside the text and the teaching.

            Jesus’ entrance into Jerusalem that day wasn’t a parade.

            I think in the last two or three sermons I have said this, and I’ll say it again: everything Jesus did had a purpose. Of course, the gospel compilers and writers had a limited amount of time, perhaps, and information, with which to compile a rendering of Jesus’ life that fit their purpose. Surely Jesus’ actual life was filled with more purposeful actions and wise statements and pithy truths than we will ever know. It’s important to realize that of the scraps and bits of writings that have been uncovered over the centuries that date back to Jesus’ day, very few have actually been used and passed along to us. There are plenty more writings about Jesus that, for whatever reasons, were not included in the Scriptural canon, and had they been included, how we see Jesus may be quite a bit different from what we see right now.

            Here I go, stirring things up. But it’s true – it’s important for us to realize that the depth and breadth of the man Jesus that’s given to us generally through the scriptures we use and the teachings of our faith — while sufficient for us as we view all that we’ve built in the church throughout the ages – is actually limited. It’s a humbling thing, to ponder the likelihood that we don’t have all the answers, and that God is far greater than a book and a set of ideologies that humans piece together. At the same time, it’s reassuring to realize that in spite of these limitations, God has done, and continues to do, amazing things in the world.

            And that is what Jesus did. He used what was known by the people of his day, and told them there was a lot more to know. He came to the world, and requested the donkeys, to teach. This “parade” was symbolic. Tradition was in those days that kings rode along on horses in times of war, and in times of peace, they rode on donkeys. Jesus chose to climb on a donkey and ride into Jerusalem as a symbolic act. To actually proclaim his kingship, which we know was not the typical kind of rulership that people expected. A king on a donkey, with maybe a small number of area citizens lining the streets, though the gospel portrays the entire city in a state of agitation because of this one man.

            Jesus, knowing his scripture, his tradition, and the words of the prophets before him. Rankling the Jewish leaders and teachers, claiming to be a fulfillment of prophecy.

            As I read commentaries about this passage, it was noted that Jesus actually asked for two donkeys: a mother and her colt. There was a lot of speculation about this. How could one person ride two donkeys? Some say it was a misunderstanding of the way the words were written originally: that the writer quoted in Matthew from the Old Testament meant to repeat, or further explain, the use of one donkey by saying something like, Jesus rode on a donkey; indeed, it was a foal or colt. Thus it was a misinterpretation in the gospel of Matthew.

            Others speculate that the reason was practical: he rode a strong burro to traverse rocky, hilly areas, but then when he reached flat ground, he rode the young donkey.

            Some add symbolism, by saying the mother represented the Jews as the “mother” faith, and the colt symbolized the gentiles, who were later included as the story of Jesus and the faith that grew from it progressed.

            And some see the use of the foal as a miracle, owing to the general fact that, like horses, young donkeys won’t let anyone climb on their backs without some significant protest. This foal would have allegedly never been ridden before, yet Jesus, the prince of peace, was able to climb on without any braying, kicks, or a stubborn refusal to move.

            We know Jesus was a man of miracles, so I suppose anything’s possible in terms of how he managed to ride on two donkeys at the same time. But while the story points to the fulfillment of scripture, the final point to be taken from the passage doesn’t have a lot to do with the number of donkeys Jesus rode that day.

            It was the turmoil. The crowds. The hope that came from the people in their willingness to throw their cloaks on the ground so that Jesus could be honored and recognized and celebrated as he came into the city.

            It was the turmoil, too, of people shouting “hosanna,” a word that many claim actually meant, “Save us!” To some interpreters, they praised and lauded the one they believed had saved them, and to other interpreters, their cry was a plea. Regardless, it indicates that the people were in turmoil and believed they needed saving. People wanted this. They wanted political deliverance and salvation from the oppressive rule of the Romans. Someone like the venerated King David. Life for them wasn’t a picnic and this wasn’t a parade to celebrate a sunny day. They wanted something better: someone to come and lead them out of their plight.

            This is what they believed about Jesus.

            They lived in this turmoil, and it was boiling all around them that day, and it would intensify as the days went on. We know that following this day, things would deteriorate, and people would scatter, some clinging tightly to Jesus, yet running scared, hiding away as best they could from potential trouble. Others would turn in opposition, drawn by the magnetism of the crowds around them, seeing Jesus as someone to be despised.

            This day might have been sunny, but clouds were on the horizon.

            As we turn our sights this day towards palm branches, donkeys, cloaks, and parades along the road, we pause also to think of the week ahead: Holy Week. The steps that Jesus took leading to his crucifixion.

            We begin first by thinking of the times in which we live, which are filled with…what? You guessed it. Turmoil. We are struggling as a people, living in a world where we, too, wish for salvation in respect to our personal lives and hearts: the troubles we have that we wrestle with every day, even if they might seem trivial in comparison to others. We all have our burdens, our fears, our griefs, our pain.

            We also are struggling in a time in our lives for salvation in respect to our experience as citizens: politically, just like the Jews, wrestling under the weight of decisions made on our behalf by our government. And while we try with all our might sometimes to wish for our faith and our politics to be separate, we can’t really separate ourselves from the land in which we live and the laws under which we operate. From the beginning until now we have always wrestled with these things. We want laws that favor us and our needs; we want fewer of them, we want more of them, we want things to make our lives feel smoother and safer. We may or may not like the ways our government is operating at any given time.

            And from our constant struggle with such turmoil, we want salvation. We want someone to come along who is finally going to bring us, and our country, some real, abiding, and lasting peace.

            What causes the turmoil is often the reality that our vision of what it means to live in peace differs from the vision of others. Our views might be almost diametrically opposed. It seems to me that it is so starkly, vividly true in the days in which we live, more than ever.

            And no matter where any one of us stands on that amazing spectrum of beliefs and the ways we hope and pray our lives will be governed, we all are experiencing turmoil.

            And though we may want to separate our faith from all the chaos that is going on in the political and social realm of life, Jesus still enters and wants to save us here. And though Jesus is known as a man of peace, he still manages to stir things up. And though Jesus may not have made proclamations about the political issues of the day, he spoke to them. He spoke of the poor, the outcast, taxes, money, health, and how to live in relationship to one’s neighbor. He touched the untouchable, challenged people to a new relationship with wealth, and spoke with mercy and respect to outsiders and foreigners.

            He shook things up and made the religious hoi polloi mad.

            Jesus calls us to recognize the turmoil in our world. It exists. It’s inescapable. We, the privileged, can easily pretend it doesn’t, I suppose, if we wish. We can stop reading the news, watching TV, and surfing social media. But then, if someone points out to us that we, and others, live in a world of turmoil and need salvation, does that stir us up? And if it does, does it mean we have joined the ranks of the religious hoi polloi, getting angry because someone has pointed out to us the frustrating truth? We see where Jesus’ resistance to the religious who’s who led: to the cross.

            Jesus’ trouble-stirring led to a different kind of salvation, a different empire, a different commonwealth, a different realm, not of this earth. And yet we live here on this earth just the same. Jesus lived among us just the same. He did not ask us to exit our lives and not be involved or care so that we could feel cozy and safe.

            He walked into Holy Week, stirring things up, by just being himself: God’s presence in the world; one who loved all sorts of people; taught lessons about wealth and security; healed, welcomed, invited, warned, and let people know a different sort of salvation was at hand.

            And so we, too, can live in the turmoil of our times, following Jesus to the cross, knowing that if we stand for what we believe, and are guided by the one we love – the one who loves us beyond imagination – we will encounter challenges. People might not like what we say, or do, or what we stand for.

            Imagine facing that sort of challenge. To be willing to stir things up, knowing that it might get us into some trouble, and taking the risk.

            As we enter Holy Week, just as Jesus entered Jerusalem, let us face forward into the turmoil. Let us let God stir things up in us. Let us stand fully, and boldly, as Jesus’ followers in this world as he heads toward the cross, and as we move forward in our lives, be willing to stir things up, too. Amen.

  • See How He Loved Them – Sunday, 3/22/26

    John 11:1-45

    What a tender story we have here of a family of people who clearly loved, and were greatly loved, by Jesus. People who were close to the man, and as family among themselves, were also family to Jesus. We see Jesus moved and disturbed, crying real tears, in ways we have never seen before. Before this, Jesus taught and touched and healed many, but we see little emotion coming from him, save for the earnestness and conviction in which he was preaching and living.

            We have a story of two sisters and a brother, living in the same home, caring for one another. Martha, who just following this event in the next chapter of the gospel of John would serve Jesus at a dinner she and her sister Mary would hold. Mary, who was already referred to in our passage as the one who anointed Jesus and wiped his feet with her hair. This, too, would be reported just following the text we’ve read today. And we have Lazarus, their beloved brother.

            These were people who got close to Jesus when he was in their area. People who missed him, though they knew, along with the disciples, that due to his teaching, he was no longer welcome in Bethany, where they lived. How heartbreaking it would be to draw close to someone, to long for their nearness, their wisdom, and their challenging words, knowing that everywhere their beloved Teacher went, people hated him!

            People, really, like you and me, who have friends. Who love wise people and listen to them as much as we can. Who would really be fascinated with a person who had such wisdom and did such wonderful things as Jesus. A person who really cared about us; who showed us special attention. Whose presence we could feel even after they left our home. Someone who had more to say than the average person, and who had a power that took us to places we never dreamed we’d go in our lives.

            We’d want that person around. And how amazing to think, and know, that that person really loved us!

            Lazarus was ill. Very ill, to the point where things just didn’t look good for him. Mary and Martha had already seen and heard of the things their blessed Teacher and friend did, and perhaps though they knew he wouldn’t be safe back in their town, they had to let Jesus know about their beloved brother, a man they knew Jesus treasured in a special way.

            And so they sent a messenger to Jesus. And they waited.

            I wonder how long they had to wait. Days? It was the plodding nature of time in those days – no instant messaging, no phone. Send word and wait. The message got delivered. “Lazarus, the man you love so much, is very ill.”

            And what did Jesus do? Oh, it would seem like such a huge betrayal! Instead of rushing off to check in on his beloved friend, he seemed to shrug and say, “No worries.” Something about glorifying God and the Son of Man. That was Jesus, being symbolic, being cryptic. Everything had a purpose for Jesus. One more lesson to teach for the Son of God; one more lesson to learn for humankind.

            And so they waited, and Lazarus, beloved friend of Jesus, beloved brother of Mary and Martha, deteriorated. Perhaps they thought he had days, or hours, or minutes, and they wrung their hands and wept and hoped. The messenger returned. “I told him, but he didn’t seem in any hurry.” How disappointing. How could it be? How could he be so calloused?

            The disciples, too, were aware of this. Poor Mary, poor Martha, poor, poor Lazarus. But oh, so much was going on, so many healings, so many upset people, so many miracles, so much conflict! Two days passed, and some of them, perhaps those not so close to Mary, Martha and Lazarus, forgot all about the folks from Bethany.

            Then Jesus declared, “OK, it’s time to head to Judea. Back to Bethany. Again.”

            And the disciples’ chins dropped. “You have got to be kidding! You just escaped a bunch of angry Jews there, ready to throw stones, and you want to go back?” Oh my. This Jesus. Such a puzzling fellow, full of vigor and certainty, and all manner of strange ideas. In reply, he taught, using imagery about light. Something for them to hear, and to wonder about. To consider later on and say, “Oh! He was talking about himself: the message and understanding he brought – about action when the lights are on, about striking when the iron is hot – about courage and conviction and the fact that there is something greater out there than we timid mortals generally realize. Something that gives us a sense of urgency and bravery, because what we’re all about, what we’re learning, and what is being poured into us, is greater than rocks and stones and screaming religious leaders.”

            And so, breaking from the flowery, cryptic speech, he spoke of a sleeping Lazarus and a trip to wake him up. What? A jaunt to Bethany to dodge stones and shake a guy awake? Jesus knew what they were thinking. “Time for some plain truth, friends. Lazarus is dead.”

            Shock, with heads shaking. Someone wanted to say, “We should have gone back then,” but knew better. No one else wanted to go back into the lion’s den. But Thomas, bold, questioning, enthusiastic, unique Thomas, said, “Well, then, we may as well be prepared to die.” Thomas, a man of the worthy cause. And apparently, the disciples agreed, for they headed back to Bethany.

            As they approached, here came beautiful Martha. Some likely peered at her as her form grew ever clearer and her pace quickened as she saw the traveling crew. Word got around about people’s travels, for she aimed to meet them before they could make it all the way to where she was. And they likely scanned her demeanor for tears of anger and rage. She could have spat out her words, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died!” Blame. You are too late, Lord! You waited! Why, oh why? And yet the words were more pleading than angry, and she continued, looking at the man with love. “But even now, I know God will answer your prayer.” Even now, Martha believed, even after what appeared to be a huge betrayal. She loved Jesus, and he loved her, and there was something in that love that was soaked in trust, in something greater than the reality of the immediate moment in front of them.

            At Jesus’ declaration that Lazarus would rise again, Martha professed her belief in a resurrection to a life beyond death. A beautiful hope. One to which we all cling. We’ll see our loved ones again someday on that beautiful shore. It’s in our hearts. We believe there is more to life beyond that veil, because we just do. This life just can’t be all.

            And to this, instead of saying “You’re right, Martha,” he launched into metaphorical, metaphysical, spiritual teaching mode again, and in it, he pointed to himself. “I am the resurrection and the life. Everyone! Believe in me, and you will live!”

            But Jesus did NOT say that he would one day, someday, in some blue beyond, bring resurrection life to people like Lazarus and Mary and Martha and the disciples and those who believed him. He said, “I AM the resurrection and the life.” I AM. The resurrection and the life is IN ME. It IS ME. Not “was,” and not “will be”. He said, I AM. Now.

            And then he encouraged them to believe. In him. In whatever ways Jesus was, and lived, resurrection. In whatever ways Jesus was, and lived, life. Believe. What does it mean to believe?

            Martha showed it, and is known to be, in John’s gospel, the first person to utter a declaration of faith. Little credit do we give to the women of the gospels, whose statements of faith hold so much power and understanding in only a few words. How often do we hear, when we speak of the “faith of our fathers,” that what we rest on as a foundation is the “faith of our mothers,” too – not just of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Peter, John, and Paul, but the faith of Martha and the Marys: the women who were present in utterly crucial moments of the life of Jesus and the early church. The women’s appearances in the stories may seem sporadic and few, but each time they occur they hold within them a punch of great power. A lot is said about the nature of life and faith and God when spoken to, and through, women. Martha’s statement of faith, one that many repeated and still believe, was this: “Yes, Lord, I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, the one coming into the world.”

            What an amazing thing to say. She didn’t say, “Yes, I believe you are a special man who has healing powers.” She recognized Jesus. She loved him, and he loved her and her sister and brother very much. It wasn’t just because Jesus did nice things for people. There was a relationship there, where she knew him from her heart, and she knew that he knew her, too. And it was in that, and beyond that, that she believed. Martha, our mother in faith.

            She took off to get her sister. Jesus was here, and it was time to experience, if nothing else, his presence, his love, his wisdom, and his comfort. If this was all there was to receive from him, it was enough.

            And yet also came Mary, full of regret at the missing presence of the healer who surely would have touched their brother and made him whole. She bowed before him, moistening his feet with her tears as she would very soon moisten his feet with oil. She did not reach out and slap Jesus or grab him by the shoulders. “If you’d been here! Oh, if only you’d been here!” An open sorrow, an open grief, in the presence of her friend. Somehow, even if there was anger, there was still so much love.

            And in that love, Jesus was moved.

            Jesus, a compassionate man, healing, touching, teaching. But rarely moved to tears. Jesus, a man with deep molten well of love within. Jesus, while enlightened on his path, wisdom coming from the deep river of God’s power, surely seeing the greater picture, knowing the glorious end and BEING the resurrection, BEING the life, could have felt perhaps a sympathetic neutrality in light of what he knew to be the ultimate truth. But he felt deeply. Like the depth of pain and suffering that led to Lazarus’ untimely death, and the depth of pain and suffering of Lazarus’ sisters and friends. About this we can be comforted, knowing that God, in Jesus, knows just as well what that is like, at the moment of our deepest losses. He sees the bigger picture, yes, but he also weeps with us because he feels it with us, as we lay in our tombs of trouble, consternation and despair. He does not trivialize our trials.

            And thus, Jesus went to see where Lazarus was. The women invited him. No bitterness. Not saying, “Why bother, Lord? It’s too late now. He’s been dead too long; it won’t be pleasant.” They knew it wouldn’t be pleasant, and they warned him. But they took him. Because they loved him and he loved them.

            And then it was that he showed them the purpose of the darkness through which they had gone: the darkness of Lazarus’ illness, his failing health, the hope that Jesus would come, the deterioration, the sending of the summons, and the death. He prayed, calling attention to the people and to God, that all of it, every moment, had a greater purpose, and that purpose was for them to see that in Jesus there was a greater power. A greater love. One that overpowered death and brought a man back to life, even after seemingly impossible circumstances.

            And because of this, many believed. Many believed, and because of this, they – Lazarus, Mary, and Martha, knew, and celebrated, and shared this presence of God among them through the man Jesus. Perhaps Martha’s statement of faith would have stood strong, even had Lazarus not been raised from the dead.

            But in this instance, in this moment, Jesus’ loving miracle foreshadowed his own death and resurrection, and proclaimed that the darkest tomb, under the nastiest of circumstances, was not dark or nasty enough to prevent new life. Resurrection. A resurrection of Jesus, in that moment, not in some future by and by, some future last day.

            That day.

            What does that story say to us?

            First, we must know that Jesus loves us. Oh, how he loves us! We must pray to have the faithful trust of Martha and Mary who loved and declared their faith in spite of the tragedy that befell them. Martha declared that faith before Jesus raised Lazarus, not after. She was the mother of our faith, miracles or no miracles.

            We also must know that we have our own moments in tombs. In tombs of discouragement and frustration, where we feel minutes stretch to hours and hours to days and days to weeks with no light in sight. Where we feel we may never be restored or refreshed. And yet Jesus comes. God comes, and takes that experience, those moments, and calls us out into the light of day, even if strips of burial cloth still cling to us.

            And in all of these things, God is made known. Resurrection is now, you see. Not someday, but now. In every Lazarus moment, as you trust like Martha and Mary, know that you will walk out of that tomb, unbound and free, in the light of the day. Resurrection is NOW, and God is here now, and you are made well and whole now, and you can follow Jesus and be guided by him NOW. Just as you are, even if the stench surrounds you.

            Hearing the voice of Jesus, let us trust, and let us come out of our tombs, and live in the resurrection and the life right now, knowing that in all our moments in the tomb, God is alive in us and we shine in the brightness of God’s glory, now and always. Amen.