Anchorman was the first thing I thought of as I watched this interview with Moore, Oklahoma, tornado-survivor Barbara Garcia.

Now, I know it is not easy to think on your feet. It isn’t easy to ask the right questions and get that live soundbite to work at the right moment. The print folk have the luxury of being able to edit (and be edited) before their work was published. The live TV folk, well, they leave it all hanging out there, and often say some pretty dumb things just to keep the action going. About 1:20 into the clip, the reporter interrupts Barbara and does just that.

“Are you able to comprehend yet what happened here?” the reporter asks.

Barbara gets a little miffed at such a condescending question. The survivor had just finished telling the reporter that she “had a gameplan.” Barbara knew exactly what had happened. “Exactly,” she says pointedly.

And then, grasping for the next question, the truth comes out in a stutter. “What do you think about this? This is your neighborhood. I can’t imagine …” the reported says. You see, this isn’t about Barbara at all. This interview is now all about the reporter and her fears. It is about the reporter and the summation of her audience’s fears. And, for as much as I hate to admit it, this is not just because she’s a TV reporter. I do this, too. We all do this.

We all watch stuff like this and say, “Dear God, this could happen to me. But Barbara is so calm. She shouldn’t be so calm. She needs to feel our anxiety so we feel better.” And we’re thankful for the reporter’s questions, because they relieve us by taking our fear and piling it on top of the people who already lived through it.

Saturday, after participating in meeting to strategize on what United Methodists can/should be doing to stop the systemic violence that plagues Chicago’s streets, I was waiting for a bus back north when a man in his 60s asked me what had been going on. I shared some of the details with him, after which he told me that his grandson had been shot dead a year prior … just a block from where we stood. I was humbled to have him share such a personal story with me, a stranger. I wanted to hear more about his grandson, but before I could ask, another meeting participant chimed in, saying “Where do you go to church?”

He replied, indignant, “I don’t go to church. Church people ain’t done s-t to help make this right other than tell us this is happening ‘cause we ain’t there. F-k the church.”

Preach. Exactly.

When we, as Christians, find ourselves in the midst of tragedy … when we find ourselves as observers standing in the rubble, it makes good sense to just be quiet and listen. We don’t have the power to fix it. We don’t have the ability to turn back time.

When in the role of helper and comforter, “Tell me what happened” is the best, and only thing we should say.

The best part of Barbara’s interview is, of course, the appearance of her missing dog. He is alive. What is important to note is this: the dog doesn’t come out because of the reporter’s voice. The dog, and hope with him, emerges at the sound of Barbara’s voice. The survivor.

I believe that, all too often, we enter into situations as that reporter did: expecting that nothing good will emerge. We want to revel in the brokenness and grieve all our forthcoming, and long-past griefs. Like the well-intentioned person eavesdropping at the bus stop, we think we have the answers. But listening is the answer.

Because, when just listening, we might just hear some amazing things; things that should turn everyone’s fear into hope. And that is the story we all need to hear.

Peace,

Pastor Matthew

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Note: This is the first in a series of posts that seek to link popular music and Christian thought. Each Monday’s post will relate to a free Chicago concert on the following Monday. If you are interested in writing a reflection, or syncro-blogging, please contact Pastor Matthew.

by Matthew Johnson

October 17, 1991. That was the day I knew something wasn’t right with the world. I was more than a bit naïve about the world in those days but, in 1991, my eyes were slowly being opened. In January, I had an encounter with a pastor that made me wonder if God was real. Then, while on a mission trip to Puerto Rico in the summer, I witnessed the lingering colonialism that was practiced by the United States.

But in October, two events happened within hours of each other that rocked me to the core. The first was the report of a mass shooting/suicide in Texas that left 23 people dead after George Hennard drove his truck through a cafeteria window and opened fire. It came to be known as Luby’s Massacre, and was the deadliest act gun violence perpetrated in the United States until 2007 when Seung-Hui Cho murdered 32 people on the campus of Virginia Tech.

The second was a (then) relatively unknown band opening for The Red Hot Chili Peppers at Duke Ellington Ballroom in DeKalb, IL. I had been coaxed into going by a friend, though it wasn’t really my scene. I was a 70s rock kind of guy. The intricate sound of bands like Pink Floyd was my kind of thing in those days, but a free ticket to see a bunch of guys who had been known for performing while only wearing strategically placed socks was too strange an opportunity to pass up.

Before the Chili Peppers had a chance to perform, however, the supporting act stole the show and pinned my eyelids back as if to never let me turn away from the world again. That band was The Smashing Pumpkins. A mix of punk attitude, the relentless droning tones of metal, and screeching feedback of noise rock, the Pumpkins were my first real exposure to “alternative rock.” And the dissonant tension spoke to me. I remember standing at the back of the room as my jaw dropped toward the floor. Their sound mimicked the world I was seeing for the first time: a world full of pain that was taken for granted; a world that was occasionally startled by the shrill screams of those who could no longer bear to witness to that pain; a world that was laboring through something; a world that was waiting for someone to speak.

Thanks to the great work of bootlegger Henry Bent, you can listen to the Pumpkins’ set, just as I heard it, right here (songs will load individually, in order of performance).

Personally, I see this as a biblical experience … not unlike the one the apostles had on Pentecost. Inspired by the Spirit of God, they were sent from their sacred place and into the streets of their city. Eventually, the ended up in cities throughout the region. While in those places, they were intentional about listening to the rhythms of daily life and culture. They got neck-deep into custom, art, and sport, so they could experience enough of the world to transform it with the gospel. This summer, I hope that can happen for you in Chicago. Check out the new summer groups below!

Peace,

Pastor Matthew

Monday Night Music Club
7 weeks * Beginning May 20
Every summer, the Chicago skyline becomes the backdrop for some of the world’s greatest artists and performers. From the deceivingly simple blues it made famous, to lush layers of symphonic orchestras, Chicago may offer the best summer music scene in the world. Nearly every day, we can experience the euphoric rush of unbridled rock exuberance or the thoughtful melancholy of piano-accompanied poetry. What an amazing gift! Why ever would we want to just meet inside when all this is going on?

Each week, beginning with online discussions and ending with free concert meetups at Millennium Park, we will use scripture to see where God is in the music that makes up our personal soundtracks. Be sure to sign up now to get in on the discussion and alerts for all the meetups.

Art Walk
8 weeks * Beginning June 19
Chicago is renowned for all the art that is curated within the city limits, and much of it is outside. Join with your friends from “The Church with the Mural” as we travel around the city to Chicago’s unique public art inspire us as we look at it through the lens of scripture. Contact Pastor Matthew if you are interested.

One Book, One Chicago, One Church
8 weeks * Beginning July 17
The Chicago Public Library always chooses the most delightful and thought-provoking books for their “One Book, One Chicago” program. This year should be no different, as the city joins together in reading “The Warmth of Other Suns: The Epic Story of America’s Great Migration.” We will join with the city and read Isabel Wilkerson’s in tandem with the Exodus story from Hebrew scripture. Physical and virtual/Google+ discussion groups will be formed on demand. Contact Pastor Matthew if you are interested.

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What I hoped to find though was a community that was caring, accepting of new people, and that provided a safe space for an intern like me who was still somewhat new to the United Methodist Church. And that is exactly what I found. The love shown to me and the gentle guidance provided has been beyond anything I could have hoped for or imagined. After watching the events of the last General Conference before coming to Holy Covenant I had started to struggle to find hope for the future and hope for our Church. But my time at Holy Covenant has not only renewed my hope, but has also reinvigorated my passion to work towards helping bringing about change, both in the Church and in the world.

As I said in my last sermon, you will all be sending me out to love like Jesus did with his disciples. During this summer I will be taking my final required class to receive my certification in evangelism, along with working on several other academic projects to get a head start on some things for next year. I will also be working on some special projects for my field education site next year where I will be working with Bishop Sally Dyck and the Director of Communications for the Northern Illinois Conference, Anne Marie Gerhardt. I will be working with them on social media strategies, and other web and communication projects. It is a great opportunity and one that I am humbled to be able to engage in.

As I look forward to graduation and commissioning next year, I know that my time here at Holy Covenant has been transformative for me and will continue to influence my work in God’s ministry. Holy Covenant has been a blessing to me, and is a blessing to our Church and our world.

Blessings,
Michael

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But before we say the long goodbyes and thank you’s, mainly I’m talking to myself here, know that I am not going far. After a summer sabbatical of sorts, I will be coming back as a member of Holy Covenant, and look forward to building relationships in new ways. This summer I will be serving as an intern within the Urban Clinical Pastoral Education program, continuing to expand my call to ministry. I’ll also be resting on the beaches of Mexico and connecting with my family, visiting friends and old colleagues in Austin, and finding new places in Chicago for rest and adventure! As commissioning for the United Methodist Church is less than a year away for me, I know that this time of rest as well as my continued involvement with Holy Covenant will provide much needed nourishment and challenge for the ministry in my future. I am thankful for the ways we have grown together over the last year, for the ways you will extend the same hospitality and challenge to incoming ministry interns, and for the grace of God that will connect and go with us no matter where ministry takes us.

Blessings,

Britt

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John 13:31-35

As many of you already know, or may not know, the United Methodist Church has a large focus on missions. Many churches send their youth or a group of people out to somewhere in the world that needs help. And not just in response to major world catastrophes like Hurricane Katrina or the recent tragedies we witnessed last week. The Church does respond in these moments, but also in other moments of need. Moments where there is a need for support and a helping hand as the struggles of everyday life weigh heavily upon so many people around this world.

My home church in Lockport, Illinois that I joined not long after my wife and I married sends a group of youth and a few adults to Red Bird Mission in Kentucky every other year. When my wife was growing up she went several times and those who go do things like help repair roofs, replace windows on homes for people in need, and even dig ditches for various projects and needs. They have helped to fix homes in places where there may be no one else to help. A seminary friend and colleague has taken a group from the church he pastors in southern Illinois to Liberia and while there they have helped to build homes and even a school for the local children to have access to education.

Holy Covenant just this last November sent several people to Miami for a mission trip. And the United Methodists are not alone in these efforts. Almost every denomination of Christianity does this kind of work and sends people out to help. I never had those opportunities in the churches I belonged to growing up, but I continue to be impressed at the willingness of others to go out and help people they have never met before, all in the name of God and love.

In our Gospel reading today Jesus is again with his disciples and this time he gives them a new commandment. He tells them to love each other. Sounds simple enough right? I mean hadn’t Jesus told them awhile back before his death to “love your neighbor as yourself”. These people have been together for a while now and have formed a bond. So this should be simple right? The disciples got this one Jesus. No problem, they are on top of it.

But Jesus did not stop right there. His commandment was not just to love each other, but he continued on to say, “Just as I have loved you, so you must love each other.” Whoa, hang on there for a second. That is a much taller order. I mean think about it. Jesus had spent time with his disciples trying to tell them of the love of God and of the sacrifice he was soon to make for them. He had washed their feet and placed himself as a servant to them. Jesus died on the cross for their sins, for all our sins. All of these things he did out of love. And now He wants them to love each other in the same way?

Put yourself in this position for a second. Let’s freeze time right here in the Scripture. What’s going through their minds right now? Maybe something along the lines of, “Well there are only a small number of us. I guess that wouldn’t be too hard. We could probably pull this off right?” So maybe this will be doable for the disciples. I mean it’s not like he just asked them to go out and show other people that same kind of love right? Oh wait…hmm…might have spoken too soon…

As we unfreeze time here and start everything rolling again, they soon find out that Jesus is still not really done with his new commandment for them as he continues talking. He goes on to tell them that by the disciples loving each other like Jesus loved them that will be how other people know that they are followers of Jesus. By the disciples loving each other the way that He loved them, people will see something in their lives and something in them. He is telling them that they need to go out and be an example of the love of Jesus to others. He is sending them out to love, to create a new community of believers that will be expected to love each other just like Jesus loved them.

Doesn’t sound so simple now does it? Can you imagine what must be going through their minds now? Talk about raising the bar and expectations. I have to admit if it was me, I am not sure how enthusiastic I would be about this new task and way of life. Especially given everything that had just happened over the recent time with His crucifixion and death, hiding in fear of what might happen to these disciples. I mean the reality is that Jesus’ way of loving ultimately is what cost him his life. Can you blame the disciples if they were worried or scared? I have to wonder if I would I be ready to do what Jesus was asking? Do you think you would be ready?
And then I think about this new commandment to love set in today’s culture and in today’s world. Love each other the way Jesus loved us? I almost wonder if that is even harder to do now then it was back then. How do we even begin to do that? Is that even possible? We live in a culture and society that has taught us to be cautious of each other. One where the things we hear and see on the news and on the internet might make it hard to trust even our families and friends, let alone some stranger talking about love. How do we even get close enough to someone else to love them like Jesus loves them?

I believe at least one way to follow this new commandment to love is to do exactly what Jesus did in being a servant leader. Last October I stood here and preached on another Scripture text about that very idea. I spoke to you about leading with love and being different than the dominate culture in which we live. And I believe those same things apply here. Jesus told his disciples to love in a radical way, the way he loved. And He sent them out to love. We need to do the same thing. We need to be sent out by Jesus to love each other the way that Jesus loves us. In this church and this community, I believe that we have already begun to do just that.
Over the years Holy Covenant has sent out many people to love. From hundreds of interns that have been sent out after completing their time serving and learning in this space to the probably thousands of congregants that have also gone on to other places from this church and community. This church has sent out people to go and love around the world. And it has been happening for a very long time and I believe will continue to happen for a very long time as well.

Just like Jesus sent out the disciples to love, so also will this church and community soon be sending out Britt and myself to go out and love as we continue our work in God’s ministry. And just like Jesus, this community today is sending out Kristin to go out and love and continue her work in God’s ministry. This church, this community is being the body of Christ for the world. And it happens in an amazing way almost like a loop. People have come to faith in Christ Jesus in this church and in this community. And people have been sent out by Christ Jesus through this church and community. Holy Covenant is almost like a spiritual recycling center in a way if you think about it.

Now I have to admit that before coming to the United Methodist Church, or my church in Lockport, and even more so before coming to Holy Covenant, I did not know love in this way. The very first church service I attended with my wife at Lockport I had to ask her what the lay leader was talking about during the announcements when he mentioned the mission committee. I never belonged to a church that had a whole group of people who worked on and planned for mission. The most I think I ever saw was a canned food drive and one of those trees some places have at Christmas where you can buy a gift for a child who is orphaned or in need. That was about it.
I had not been exposed to this radical love of going out and spreading the love of God with others through the very action of loving them like Jesus did. I never really heard anyone talk about being active outside of the walls of the building we gathered in every Sunday. I can remember maybe two instances of missionaries our church supported coming and telling us about their work. But there was a distance there and never any kind of challenge or encouragement even to do something similar.

But I began to see love in a new way from the church and community at my church in Lockport, and from the community of those I am learning with in the classrooms at seminary. And also this church and this community have shown me love in a new way, ever since the first day I stepped through those doors for the first time. I have seen a love here like the love that Jesus showed to the disciples. I have seen a love here that is radical and different than the dominate culture that surrounds this church and community. I have seen a love that has been transformative for me and I believe has been transformative to everyone who it has touched.

My friends I know that today as we send Kristin out, and in the coming weeks when you will send Britt and I out, that these moments can be both joyous of the memories we have made and sad as people move away from this sacred space, only to return from time-to-time. But I would urge you to see this as a time of celebration. Once again, as has happened so many times before, this church and this community are sending out people to go forth and love like Jesus, just as he did with his disciples. You are sending people out to bring God’s love to world. And there is no greater gift that the love and grace that God so freely gives.

Amen.

Acts 9:36-43

That was a week. By the pure volume of news about things blowing up, flooding, people dying, and now earthquakes, this past week will be one that is not easily forgotten. Weeks like that make me happy that I am not a part of the constant, always-on news cycle anymore. They remind me why I got rid of cable.

Yet, even while getting all my news from two-minute YouTube clips and the Chicago Tribune’s tweets, I got enough exposure to know this was going to be a week when I was going to have to prepare something else for my Sunday sermon. And, for as much as I may have like to, I couldn’t just sigh. I had to say something different.

It didn’t start that way though. On Monday night, I wasn’t planning on changing my direction at all. Because we are still in the Easter season … the season of new life.

And I could still talk about the power of resurrection that was seen in those people ripping away at the mess of scaffolding left by the two bombs that went off at the finish line of the Boston Marathon. I could talk about the goodness that was seen in all the first responders and ordinary people that ran toward the broken windows and bodies.

On Monday night, I wasn’t planning on changing direction out of principle. Because, in too many places in the world, Monday’s events alone wouldn’t have been enough to require a change.

By Monday night, more people had been murdered by guns in Chicago than had died in Boston in the same 24 hour period.

By Monday night, more had been murdered in bombings in Iraq and Syria in 24 hours than were killed by guns in Chicago all of last year. And, if I’m honest, I wouldn’t have changed direction because of either of those Mondays.

Wednesday came, and I got caught up in the industrial explosion in Texas, but wasn’t going to change direction for that. I didn’t figure you’d want to hear me talk for 20 minutes about the need for us to hold the owners of that fertilizer plant accountable in the same way we would those who set off the bombs in Boston.

And then there was the storm that began that night and kept on going until well into Thursday. And then there were the floods that followed.

And I pondered changing the text to the story of great flood in Genesis, to point to the faithfulness of Noah and family as they endured the rain and the months of wondering. I figured that would be how long we’d have to wait before anyone was identified in the Boston bombings. And I would have tasked us with remembering the good news that a rainbow is coming. Because, let’s face it, at Holy Covenant we love rainbows.

But as Friday unfolded I knew that rainbow sermon was going to have to go in the shelf. It wasn’t months. It was days. And the suspects were not hardened criminals, but children. One of them was dead along with a police officer. And with that, the genetic code in us that has craved everything from gladiatorial combat in the arena to God of War on the Playstation kicked in.

And though we were weeks out from Easter morning, I felt like I was journeying to the cross all over again. Calls for crucifixion poured down in digital waves. Rage. Vengeance. The desire for more death.

It made me ask: How fragile is our life that death can come so quickly? How fragile is our humanity that we find killing one another so desirable?

So, on Friday I knew that the illustrations and stories I had prepared on Monday would have to wait the three years until today’s [tonight’s] reading from the book of Acts came up again in the lectionary cycle.

But I kept the scripture. I kept it because I still believe there is a good word in this story for us. There is hope for us in this story of Tabitha and Peter. And that is because there is a lot of Jesus in this story. And Jesus is the kind of good news we need after weeks like this.

And that may end up making this story of Tabitha and Peter the best thing we can we can hear, because I’d say this story is all about Jesus. Now for those of you who were listening closely as Shirley read this story from Acts 9, you may be scratching your heads as I say this, because Jesus is never explicitly mentioned.

If you didn’t notice that, you may know that, by this point in the book of Acts, Jesus has ascended into heaven and is far from anyone’s sight. This is book that is supposed to be about the apostles. But this story is all about Jesus.

It has been a few minutes since you heard it, so I will give you a refresh. A disciple named Tabitha (whose Greek name is rather the unfortunate Dorcas) has died, and they send for Peter since he was nearby.

They probably wanted him to come and offer a little sympathy, some care, a few comforting words. Maybe something from the 23rd Psalm. And Peter arrives in the room and all the widows are crying … both for her and for the deaths that have left them alone.

And they showed Peter some of the things she liked to sew, and they probably told stories about what was their favorite … maybe remembering the parties to which she wore them.

But then, quite rudely, Peter interrupts their grief and emotional healing and tells them all to get out of the room. And then it gets stranger.

And he says to this dead woman, like an idiot, “Tabitha, Get up!” In the aramaic that Peter spoke, it was “Tabitha, Koum!”

This is absolute lunacy, isn’t it? If I did this at a funeral I was officiating, I’d likely get assaulted by the family and funeral director. But this is the moment where the presence of Jesus is as thick as can be. This is the part that is all about Jesus.

“Tabitha, Koum!” The writer of Acts is intentional in letting us know that the apostles are picking up right where Jesus left off. “Get up!”

You see, in none of the gospel accounts does Jesus ever go to a funeral without disturbing the grief with new life. Never does Jesus encounter a death that he doesn’t end. In John’s gospel, Jesus raises Lazarus. In Luke’s gospel, he raises a widow’s only son. And in Mark’s gospel (which is repeated by Matthew and Luke), he raises the daughter of a man named Jairus.

In that story, Jesus was called to Jairus’ house to heal the daughter, but upon arrival, they discovered that she had died. So there they are, the family embracing the lifeless body of their dead child, crying tears of sorrow for their little girl who was now no more. And in the middle of all this, like somebody who clearly has no sense of decorum, Jesus shouts, “Talitha, koum! … Little child, get up!”

In his ministry, Jesus refused to let death be the answer for anyone he encountered. No matter how out of place it made him look. And the love that motivated this refusal … this value of life … became contagious. Death listened to him.

At the cross, God refused to let death be the answer for Jesus. And death listened. And Peter saw this. He was witness to God’s denial of the power of death. It pulled him aside. It set him to work.

So, after being a part of that … after seeing Jesus give new life to all those people, and after seeing God give new life to Jesus, there was no way that Peter is going to let death go unchallenged. “Tabitha, Koum!” One letter is different, but the result is the same. And the power of Jesus transforms another life.

Through Peter, we see the way resurrection comes among us. It disturbs our apathy. It disrupts our ways acceptance of death. Resurrection, believed and practiced does not create a space for death to be celebrated, accepted, or tolerated. It tells us to get up.

Whose bloodlust was it that infected those boys in Boston? Because somewhere along the way, they picked it up; they learned it. It was not treated. It was encouraged. So how did they contract this bloodlust? Was it from the nation they fled? Or was it from the nation in which they found asylum? Friends, it is time to get up.

Whose bloodlust continues to infect the kids on our streets that keep shooting at each other? Did they inherit that from a city that believes in resurrection? Or was it from a city that tolerates death? Sisters and brothers, Jesus says it is time to get up.

I remember my Monday disregard, and wonder if Friday would have been different had I not become so accustomed to death. I remember my Monday acceptance, and wonder if Friday would have been different had I not been silent.

And I wonder if Monday would have been different if we all refused to be silent … if we refused to be contained in the tombs of apathy … if we let resurrection change us the way it did Peter … if we let the love of life live in us the way it did in Jesus.

Today is the first day of the week. And another Monday is coming. What it will hold depends on how much we, and all our sisters and brother, let the spirit of resurrection take hold of us.

Monday depends on how our beginning of the week beliefs change our end of the week practices. It depends on us defying the laws of tradition and apathy. It depends on us valuing every life as if it were our own.

It is time to get up.

Children of God, the good news is that we can still get up. Jesus himself is calling us to rise above the darkness. To say to those enamored by the power of death that there is another way. Jesus was defiant of it. Peter was defiant of it. And we can be, too. That this is not who we are. We are alive, and we are to celebrate life.

Chicago, it is time to get up and live, believing that peace is possible. St. Louis, it is time to get up and sing with even greater conviction that new life can come. Deerfield, it is time to get up and greet the spirit of violence in our homes and classrooms with a defiant love.

It is time for us all It is to get up and speak things that people will likely perceive as inane. Things like hope. Things like love. Hope in everyone. Love for everyone. Because wishing the death of one is inviting the death of us all; because it is defying the direction of God.

Today is the first day of the week. And Monday awaits.

May it be met by the resurrection in you.

Amen.

Nate, Lindsay and Talinn Wickman live in Lakeview. They have been attending Holy Covenant for more than a year now. Nate works as a trader downtown, while Lindsay stays at home with Talinn, their two-year-old son. They are expecting another son at the end of July.

The Wickmans love to travel and often visit their families, which are based in Connecticut and Colorado. They love to take advantage of the great outdoors whenever they can, whether that’s biking around the city or hiking in the Rockies.

***

Annaliisa Ahlman

Annaliisa Ahlman was introduced to Holy Covenant two years ago by Georgette Kelly, and she is happy to now be an official member of this dear community. Liisa loves teaching high school theatre and English in the northern suburbs. In all of her free time, she practices yoga and dance, explores the city, and perfects her gluten free baking.

Then we, along with that bed and couch, moved to Chicago. In the city, everybody wants to crash on your couch. We could have different people here every night of the week. I can’t even recollect the number of people who have slept in that bed or on that couch. Some have been just for an hour’s nap. Others have been for a few months. The latest trio just left on Wednesday afternoon.

I’ve been wondering what this says about the differences between urban and suburban life. Certainly, Chicago has more going on than the suburbs. I doubt my house guests this week, The Pinkerton Raid, would have traveled all the way from Durham, NC, to play a show in Elgin. But the longer I’m in the city, the less I believe this is the sole reason the pleather on our couch is starting to crack.

The core of this phenomenon, I believe, is actually about space. Space is virtually meaningless in the suburbs and the countryside. Nearly everybody has it. Its abundance makes it an afterthought. Yet in the city, space is a luxury. Like squirrels burying nuts, we spread our belongings throughout our neighborhoods because there isn’t enough room for it in our homes. Building towards the heavens to claim the dimensions that are left, we end up living on top of one another. We trade our claims on intimacy and privacy for a few square feet in the center of this accumulation of human life.

With space at such a premium, what does it mean to have an extra bed go unused in Chicago? What does it mean, then, to have a church building empty for much of the day and night? Or a table that goes unset? Or a stove that is typically cold?

When the resurrected Christ left the tomb, he entered the space of others. Sometimes he was invited. Sometimes he invited himself. I have learned from all those who sleep on my couch, or walk into the church uninvited, or pull up a chair at table where I’m occupied with something else, or squeeze their way into a circle of conversation without welcome, that space goes from being valuable to sacred when you stop claiming it as your own. That is when the Resurrection and the Life looks you in the eye and you know the blessing of love and grace. That is where Easter continues … in the space where you thought nothing else could fit.

May Jesus squeeze his way into your space this week. And may we continue to conceive ways for our community to make the space for this to happen to others.

Pastor Matthew

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John 20:19-31

You know what the Sunday after Easter is called? Besides Pastor Matt’s day off and Intern Britt is in the hot seat? The Sunday following Easter is also known as Low Sunday, who knows maybe because we are all feeling the sugar low from the massive amount of neon colored peeps we consumed last week; or because of Easter’s record attendance across churches that the Sunday after feels a bit different. But maybe also because of where we left off in the resurrection story last week.

Last week the energy of Easter Sunday had begun to spread from the women who saw Jesus outside of the tomb to now the disciples who he has just appeared to behind the locked doors while they are in hiding. It wasn’t necessarily this big collective experience that we all shared last week, but a one by one spreading of the resurrection; and it seems like the disciples had to see it face to face even after hearing from the women. There are some who just really needed to see to believe.

One of these being Thomas. Poor Thomas. While he’s been given the nickname Doubter, to me it just seems that his situation is one of just not being in the right place at the right time. For as his friends are telling him that while he was gone getting groceries, or taking a walk around the block, that they have seen Jesus. He can’t seem to imagine Jesus the they are describing for what he can’t get out of his mind is his dear friend Jesus, pierced in his side, stakes driven through his hands, flesh torn open.

I can imagine that this haunting memory was the only thing he was thinking about, experiencing sleepless nights were with waking terror, and the debilitating fear that caused them to retreat behind closed doors. So while the disciples are singing praises of seeing Jesus with their own eyes, for Thomas the only song he hears is the ballad of death being replayed on the phonograph in his mind.

While we call him Doubting Thomas, for me it’s not his very human doubt that I feel connected to, it is the deep pain that is truly present in his voice. All Thomas wants is some answers to very big questions that Jesus’ death and apparent resurrection have brought… to know that the rumors are true… to know that his own raw pain has not been looked over, but is beginning to heal.

And this is all WE really want isn’t it? To know that hope is possible, tangible, living, rather than just rumor or lip service? While we celebrated Easter last week, there are still crosses on our street corners, threatening experiences that tempt us to stay behind locked doors, those that are crucified and made as examples to what can happen when the powers that be are agitated. So while we celebrated the risen Christ last Sunday, we as humanity continue to wake up the reality of pain. We find ourselves a bit miffed, if hope has risen where has it gone?

My 5 year old cousin Sadie is the most inquisitive person I know. Sadie, her brother Asher and their moms Andrea and Rene live up in Highland Park and I love getting away from the city to visit them. Sadie always has a question AND an answer for everything! Why do squirrels walk like that? How do you make a jellybean? How old are you? No I think you’re 40, you’ve got to be 40, you look 40. Her questions are often so very silly and we often laugh about how silly both of our answers can be. When we were together a couple of summers ago blowing bubbles in the backyard, the usual firing of who can ask the silliest questions began, but after a few rounds she threw a zinger in there…
“Do you have a scar?”

While this question seems pretty easy to answer, I knew what she was getting at, because of course any rambunxious child got a few bumps and bruises. But what I knew what Sadie was getting at was when she was born her heart was not fully developed. This little muscle found it difficult to pump much needed blood through 2 defective valves at the same rate that yours and mine do. So the past 5 years of her life have been filled with 6 open heart surgeries, six times of her moms and brother saying goodbye at the OR door, six times piercing her little body and six times sewing her back up. So when she asked me this question, and her little hand made its way to touch the incision that marked the entire length of her 5-year-old chest, I had to take a breath, close my eyes to hold back the tears. I softly began to go through the inventory of marks where I had fallen, pierced, and bruised my own body.

As I exposed each mark on my wrist, up the length of my calf, the underneath of my chin and told the story of each of their beginnings, she reached out her hand and touched each sign of healing that had taken place over time but had still left their mark on me. She then shared with me her own tale of bravery, the bravest story I have ever heard, while her hand returned to her chest to retrace its steps. She opened up about her journey, of pain both physical and emotional from the 6-8 hour long surgeries, current fear of doctors and nurses even for routine check ups, sadness for not being able to play with her brother when her heart makes her tired, and the endless seeking for 5 year old answers to life’s very very big questions.

While she’s only 5, that moment was special for the both of us talking about ways we had survived the adventures of life, some bigger than others, opening up about our deepest fears and dreams, pressing against each others wounds and finding healing just by being cousins in the back yard that evening.

I have a feeling the moment between Jesus and Thomas was just as special, where the vulnerability of both human and divine met and retraced the paths of where love triumphed over hate, where the cross could not hold down hope, where healing and transformation begin. Thomas is invited to press up against to the scars of Jesus and his own broken soul is transformed, his own story is known and he exclaims, “My Lord, My God.” The postmortem visit from Jesus was more than just exchanging of scar stories but a transformative moment that emboldened Thomas and the rest of the disciples to fling open wide the doors of fear and spread the good news.

The last surgery that my cousin Sadie had was last fall, right after our summer time conversation while blowing bubbles in the backyard. I went to visit her in the hospital and couldn’t even recognize her, she was hooked up to so many tubes and machines, the scar, which had defined her, was bandaged up from having been opened again. She was in a lot of pain, but on a lot of drugs and her little chest was rising and lifting in odd patterns to cope with the trauma that she had encountered. To help her get the life giving oxygen she needed her moms would take turns holding her up against their own chest to set the rhythm for breath to come into her lungs. As the days passed on many people sat in the same chair, her godparents, people from their church, even her 2 year old little brother. Finding ways to bring life to her pain and as the days passed we slowly began to see more of her whimsical and silly 5-year-old spirit come back. And while I believe in the miracle of modern medicine, I also know that the community that was formed from many places in her life brought life beyond her little body.

While I’ve only heard Jesus being seen through burnt toast, in the flash of polaroid cameras or with the help of hallucinogens we know we don’t need a physical face to face encounter to walk the path of resurrecting hope. Because it is this path of hope restored that the Easter story calls us to gather round in community and continue its paving.

By beginning to open ourselves up to press up against the wounds of the world we stop the bleeding, the healing starts, and we breathe in new life.

We know there are still stones to be rolled away, scars to be gently caressed and doors to be flung open and we are called to be present in those places. While there are stones blocking those who need affordable housing we breath a new rhythm of life for those who block opportunity so they may sway towards economic justice. While gun violence continues to pierce the innocent, we breathe a new rhythm of healing by calling for peace in this city. While the closet doors are barricaded shut by even by our own denomination to LGBTQ persons, we breathe a new rhythm of vulnerable and authentic love to widely open the way of life-giving wholeness.

As Jesus breathed new life into the disciples through the Holy Spirit, God too holds us close and presses up against our wounds, whispering in our ears that hope has come. And as we feel that holy breath seep into our hearts it transforms our fragmented selves to come together as community. Not as a community huddled together in fear, but of one opening the doors of possibility and hope so all may know the moment of vulnerable love that Thomas found. Authentic community that like Jesus drove out fear and went to wounded people and places to bring transformation and healing.

So as you press up against the wounds of others may you find healing in your own places of pain.

As you breathe in life where you have felt the grip of death, may you breathe out a new rhythm of healing upon the world.

And as you break open the doors of fear may the possibility of hope spill out into the streets so that we may live the message of the resurrection fully into being.