After a few minutes, we heard footsteps and looked up expecting to see another of our scholars, but in walked Kokomo Joe with a big smile and stage hands. He joined us at the table and the conversation became a bit livelier, with a lot more rhyme. Once Joe was settled and we began to eat our meal, another gentleman appeared in the Gallery. Pete was one dollar short on his CTA card and needed to get back to Hyde Park after a long day’s work. I just happened to have a few extra dollars on my pass left over from “Friday Free Grace for All.” As I searched my bag for the card, we showed him all of the extra lasagna and pizza (we planned for 10) and invited him to join us for a meal. After a bit of hesitation, he, too, pulled up a chair. I was smiling to myself recalling words from Field of Dreams, “If you build it, they will come.” If you cook it…

Just then, there were more footsteps in the sanctuary. I walked around the corner hoping to greet someone who had come early for Vespers; Pastor Matt was close behind me. It was there that we met Gene. You may have gotten to know Gene, short for Eugene, from Matt’s sermon on Sunday. A new resident of his retirement facility, Gene had wandered too far and was very lost and very tired. While we contacted the staff at his home, Gene, too, joined the table for some dinner. He especially liked Emily’s key lime pie and requested the recipe.

We talked about music, construction work and publishing for Steven King. We chatted about growing up in the Chicago area, what has changed and what has not. We compared used book stores and musical instruments. It was our own version of the Great Dinner from Luke 14. The intended guests were not available, and so those in need were invited “so that my house may be filled.”

I was touched by the way our best and organized intentions are sometimes replaced through grace by even better outcomes. I felt the privilege of communing with such a diverse and unique gathering of the children of God. I was struck, yet again, by the great potential of this space on Diversey at the El to be a true sanctuary, a safe place, a healing place to share the love of God.

We share the Sacrament of Holy Communion around a fabulous table several times each week. It is a symbolic meal, a tidy meal, pointing us toward God’s grace. For me, this Wednesday night supper was Holy Communion in all its messiness, the passing of drinks and the wiping of spills, the comments about too much green stuff in the food, and the small talk among strangers. I imagine this was a bit more like the meals Jesus shared with his disciples than our formal Sunday rituals. I am confident that Christ was present. God invites all to his table, and gives us the opportunity to do likewise. Let’s keep the invitations coming, and the doors open!

Polly Toner

Ministry Associate

P.S. By the end of the evening, there were not any leftovers!

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I’m still not a big fan, but I’ve softened a bit on choruses. Time has dulled my reactionary, know-it-all edge. I’m also aware that, while outsiders lob the same old criticisms at praise bands, sharper and more attentive internal critiques have been made and heard–resulting in some better, less individualistic, more substantive songs. Most importantly, I’m less prone these days to speak in restrictive terms about what worship is and isn’t. Instead, a decade of observing the liturgical calendar has formed me to think about worship as rightly containing sharply different ideas at different times–especially as defined by the church year’s cycles of seasons and readings.

So lately, I’ve stopped bemoaning the boyfriend/buddy Jesus of popular evangelicalism and thought instead about how there might be some value there. Some of the time. And expressed through better, less derivative music. While I’ve worked in church music in a wide variety of contexts, I’m fairly new to the idea of repurposing great, nonreligious music for worship. Andrew Collins, of course, is a pro at this–and I’ve been studying his past programming, along with going through my music collection for ideas.

Among other things, I’ve been seeing with fresh eyes the old trope of love songs directed to Jesus. I’m particularly interested in the sad ones, in songs of loss and lament. Maybe because these are a larger departure from the schlocky love-ballad choruses I left behind; maybe just because in general I find sad songs more interesting. But also because this reflects how I experience the life of faith: the highs I experience in community, at times when personal-relationship language seems inadequate. The lows I experience as personal abandonment.

This past Sunday, Matthew preached on my favorite story in the gospels, the road to Emmaus. There’s a lot going on in that story. (Friday night my wife Nadia preached on it and covered none of the same themes Matthew did.) When I read Emmaus, I’m struck by the two disciples’ sense of abandonment. So for offertory at the evening service, Nora, Josh and I played a sad love song, one of Hank Williams’ greatest hits.

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It’s a heartbreaking song. The lyrics reach toward the apocalyptic–dying wildlife, the sky turning colors–but they aren’t anxious or angry, just deeply sad. It’s how I feel when God seems far away.

More and more I’m convinced that the power of worship is its ability to both go to such places and refuse to stay there too long. Like the psalms collected in the Hebrew Bible, Christian worship language can express the whole breadth of our good and bad experiences as the family of God. Perhaps at some point I’ll even find a place for the flimsy puppy love of the most stereotypical praise choruses.

Steve Thorngate
Evening Worship Leader

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Luke 24:13-35

I’ve often dreamt what it would be like to be in Jerusalem while the events that surrounded Jesus’ death and resurrection unfolded. A few years ago I was having coffee with a biblical scholar and archaeologist and shared that dream with her. She smiled at me and shook her head. “I’d imagine if you were there, you’d describe it as more of a nightmare,” she said with a chuckle.

What she went on to describe made Jerusalem during the Passover festival sound like Lollapalooza, the Marathon, the Pride Parade and Taste all rolled into one. Tight quarters on all the streets and in all the hotels. Markets so full that new merchants would pop up on residential streets to meet the demand of all the pilgrims. The line at the Temple would wrap around its walls. Walking the streets, one would hear many different languages being spoken, representative of all the cultures that the children of Yahweh had adopted as their own since the exile. “It was easily sensory overload, and likely bordered on chaos,” she concluded.

I get the feeling that may be how the two from the story we just heard from Luke’s gospel experienced it. How could they be in a place that was still partying after all that had happened? How could they even imagine celebrating God’s victory for their people when their cause was seeming over, their rabbi dead and his body now missing? While they were likely invited to stay with the other disciples in the city, Cleopas and friend had to put some distance between themselves and this mess.

In Jesus death, Cleopas and friend heard the trumpet call to retreat. Their family lost its lifeblood. The one who sat at the head of their table was gone. They had invested their life in Jesus for almost a year, and they saw all the hope they ever had for freedom and justice in his teachings and actions. They believed they understood their purpose in him. But now, there was no reason to continue the movement.

So they set their sights on Emmaus … a town about seven miles from Jerusalem. Emmaus was not nearly as far as the regions of Samaria and Galilee. Emmaus was just far enough away that they could breath … far enough away that they no longer see the city … far enough away that inns are not filled with pilgrims in for the festival. Far enough away that there was quiet.

A lonely stretch of road led them there … a road with a history of its own. 40 years prior, It was the road that the Roman Army used to parade into Jerusalem and begin its occupation of Judea. A week prior, it was the road that let Pilate and his entourage to a meeting with Jesus.

There is no clatter of chariots on this day, though. Instead, the only noise is coming from them … their voices. In this story, these disciples are not afraid like they are in John’s gospel. Instead, they come across a bit angry. I can imagine them raising their voices in disgust. Somewhere along the way, a stranger joined them in their journey. And they were so engrossed in talking about what had happened and what it had done to them, that they hadn’t even noticed his steps alongside them until he asked them a question:

“What is it that you are talking about?” The stranger interrupts.

To the pair on the road, The risen Christ is treated at first blush as ignorant. “Haven’t you heard?” they say to him. But he is patient, and listens to their lengthy explanation about that which he is already intimately aware.

As the distance grows between them and Jerusalem, the stranger lets them know he has a bit of experience with their subject matter … Luke tells us that, after rebuking them, the risen Christ “interpreted to them the things about himself in all the scriptures.” His words went deep into the past so these two could understand their present and future.

I would imagine they were somewhat surprised by this. Their grief had spoken for them earlier, but now they were hearing words of comfort from the Psalms. Now they were hearing words of hope from the prophets. Now they were hearing words of promise from the Torah. And with every step that they put between themselves and Jerusalem … with every step that the stones grumbled under their feet … these followers of Jesus could feel their hearts melting, and they began to feel like they weren’t alone.

Motivated by who knows what — danger of night travel, curiosity, or something their rabbi taught them — they invite him to stay with them as they stop for the evening. So he went in the house with them, they open their table to him and share their meal with him. And it was at that table they were just far enough away to finally notice the truth.

It is easy to let the chaos of the world engulf us as it did these disciples. And all too often, the grief of what could have been, the grief of expectations unmet, and the grief of what this means for the future … all too often the grief is too much to bear.

Sometimes we need to walk away from it all for a while. To take a break. I believe the Emmaus road story in Luke’s gospel should serve as a reminder that we can be surprised by hope with some distance … we can be delighted by joy with some space to breathe.

By Thursday of this past week, I was ready to distance myself from the chaos that had started as our denomination’s General Conference. I had hopes for progress. I had dreams of our sisters and brothers across around the world finally embracing the idea that God’s creation is diverse; that God’s gifts are many … that they are all good. That no person is made in God’s image and also “incompatible with Christian teaching.” That all are children of God. And that God’s love is unshakable for everyone. Sadly, the group that gathered there did not embrace this.

It is nothing new, I suppose. We’ve been waiting for 40 years. There has not been a time in my life that we haven’t been waiting for the Spirit of God to break our global church free from the bonds of bigotry and selfishness. But many of us hoped this year would be different. We had hoped that our connection would be redeemed.

So by one o’clock on Thursday, I decided it was time for me to hit the road … to intentionally remove myself from the misery. Some of you agreed to join me, and I am eternally grateful for your companionship on the road. Together, in about 18 hours, we created an itinerary for a journey from Jesus’ table out into the community. Nineteen of us from four different United Methodist Churches in Chicago took to the streets with communion bread and cup in hand and spent the day declaring what we believed … that God loves everyone, no matter what. It was a Friday “Free grace for all.” And it was beautiful.

We walked to El stops, to Daley Plaza and Evanston which is — wouldn’t you know it, about seven miles as the crow flies. On the way to each, we encountered strangers who affirmed our love. We prayed with them, we talked with them, we shared smiles with one another. My face hurt from all the joy. By the time the day was done (as many as/more than) are here shared in communion with us. Hundreds received God’s blessings from our lips. And thousands saw the signs that read “God loves everyone.”

Holding those signs was when I finally knew that everything was going to be OK. That justice would come for all of my sisters and brothers who cry out for it. You see, the signs were stapled onto the cardboard we had used to keep the prayers you wrote for General Conference from bleeding onto the tables.

While the world saw “God Loves Everyone” on the front, I saw the echoes of your prayers … the partial characters that pushed through … on the back. And I couldn’t help but smile. It was those prayers that had provided witness to our hope in Tampa, and it was those prayers that pushed us beyond these walls and into the streets of our city.

“We are the church of Jesus,” I said to myself. How could I be so foolish as to not see God at work before? How could I be so drawn into the work of a select group of individuals that I forgot who we are? The votes of a simple majority in Tampa, Florida cannot change the nature of God. The backroom politics cannot negate God’s love, not can they negate the way we live it here. Our mission is still our mission. Our community is still open and affirming of all persons. God still loves everyone, the sky is still blue, and we are still here.

Our doors will always be open, and so will our table … because that is one of the places we know Jesus to have shown up again and again. There is God power in being at table together. We see things. We hear things. We feel things. And we know we are not alone. As bread is broken, each crumb hitting the table sings with a forceful rhythm. I … AM … WITH YOU. It is the risen Christ who says so. It isn’t a bunch of people elected and manipulated. It isn’t an advocacy or lobbyist group. It isn’t a bunch of church bureaucrats. It isn’t your boss or your ex. It isn’t the family you are estranged from or the friend you can’t bear to speak to.

I AM WITH YOU. It is the risen christ who says so. And that is the final word. Thanks be to God for the road. And for the table. And for the love.

“We affirm our unity in Jesus Christ while acknowledging diversity in applying our faith in different cultural contexts as we live out the gospel. We stand united in declaring our faith that God’s grace is available to all — that nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus.”

The second sentence, which was offered as an amendment, drew extensive debate. As I watched the streaming broadcast, I couldn’t believe it. “Are were really going to debate grace?” Apparently we were. When it came time to vote on that sentence: … that God’s grace is available to all — that nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus … it should have been unanimous. It’s in Romans 8 for Paul’s sake! And our traditions founder, John Wesley, built his whole theology around it.

Yet, nearly 44 percent of the delegates did not believe in prevenient grace enough to include it the preamble. Almost half of us could not agree on grace — what may be the central idea of Wesleyan theology. Thank God for the 56 percent who did get it, but it is obvious we are not of one mind.

I am part of the 56 percent. It is why I am a United Methodist and why I am a Christian at all. I know the same is true for you. And it is all the more important in my mind that we continue to embody in our life together: in our worship, in our study, in our prayer, and in our service. God’s grace is available to all, and that nothing can separate us from it. It is why we are open and affirming to all people. It is why “Love all people” is firmly planted in the center of our mission statement. And as long as we continue to live it, there will be a witness to that truth

We cannot let our absence of apathy let what God is doing here perish. We cannot restrict our stewardship of the property and ministry. Even if grace falls out of favor with the simple majority, we will stand defiant in radical love. After all, that is how Jesus lived. This community, which is all about Jesus, couldn’t do it any other way.

Keep loving, friends. It is the only way.

Pastor Matthew

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John 20:24-31

Let Us Pray:
Startle us, O God, with your truth,
And open our minds to your Spirit.
That we may be one with Christ our Lord,
And serve as faithful disciples through
Your grace, Amen.

So, our neighbors had lots of thoughts about doubt this week. Enough, in fact, that I could have done an entire sermon series on the topic after chatting with some of them. In the tradition usually attributed to Karl Barth, I am guided in my sermon writing to hold the Bible in one hand and the newspaper, or something like it, in the other. So, looking for the Word out in the World, on Diversey, on Clark Street, and in Tampa, Florida (where the Methodist Church General Conference is taking place) helped me to meet our friend Thomas again this week in today’s scripture. It is with an awareness of the current doubts, fears and anxieties of our community then, that I attempt to join Thomas in that room on that evening so long ago.

I love that we come from a tradition where doubting and questioning the Lord is not only acceptable, it is scriptural. Thomas joins a long list of biblical figures who questioned, argued with laughed at and doubted God. Moses, Sarah, Jacob, and Jonah, even Jesus himself from the cross cried out “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” Thomas is not alone in his doubt. And, I am confident that each one of us here joins the enormous cloud of witnesses who have wondered about the Truth, questioned divine omnipotence, disagreed with texts from the Bible, and been frustrated with our brothers and sisters in faith.

In the passage for today, Thomas is with the other disciples; locked into their room “out of fear of the Jews” the text tells us. They are isolating themselves, out of a perceived need for protection. This implies some fear, some anxiety. Twice, in this story in John, Jesus appears to the disciples in this room- and in spite of the doors being locked, he enters. It seems to me, that if Thomas was merely seeking a physical sign that this intruder was in fact Jesus of Nazareth, and that this Jesus was in fact, Lord, then his mysterious ability to pass through the walls might have sufficed.

I suspect though, that Thomas didn’t really need just physical evidence of Jesus’ presence. I think his doubt, his anxiety, was more existential, more all encompassing than a question of “who is the man in the room.” I appreciate Jesus’ compassion and understanding of Thomas’ human doubts and longing for sensory proof- here, see and touch me, put your hand in my side. And, we will return to this in a few moments…

But, Thomas’ questions were likely much deeper, much wider in scope.

He was likely thinking not so much about the MAN in the room- but the proverbial ELEPHANT in the room. Thomas was one of the 12, he had given his life to follow this Jesus, had encouraged the other disciples to follow when they hesitated. He had dedicated his whole being to this Jesus movement. He had been taught of God’s kingdom, of a new kind of faith, a new way of living…and then? Jesus died… ….and now they are alone, in a room, with the doors locked. Now what? What does that mean for me? What is my life’s work if my savior is gone, and perhaps wasn’t even a Lord after all? And all that I believed about the love and forgiveness and grace of God…was that all a farce, too? And what of these 11 men I’m now here with in this room-they are all claiming to have seen dead Jesus alive and in person, of course during that one moment while I happened to be out.

If there is a dark night of the soul, a time of questioning the meaning and purpose of life and of feeling all alone, Thomas had pretty good reason to have a dark night, no? Touching the physical wounds on Jesus’ flesh might have helped convince Thomas that Jesus had risen from the dead…but it still doesn’t answer all the tough questions.

And, it still doesn’t today. In 2012, as we sit in Chicago, praying for our brothers and sisters in Florida and all around the planet, clinging to hope that God’s love and grace will win in the end, we have questions and doubts and fears, too. Jesus died, and rose for us, Easter music still rings in the air- but here we sit still with some pain and some anguish…some directly related to the General Conference going on in Tampa, and the future of the denomination, and our roles in it, some because of the violence and poverty and injustice in the world… and others just because human life is hard.

There is another way. Yep. There are Christians, even some Methodists, who stave off the discomfort of doubt and anxiety. Many people are successful at blurring the line between faith and certainty. There are other church communities we could hang out with who don’t spend so much time in the ambiguity, with the wrestling.

I remember my frustration at a funeral several years back where I sat near a Christian who was very certain in his faith. I heard someone remark in acute grief and sorrow that he hoped the deceased was in a better place now. In what I, personally, found to be way too quick of a response, the very certain one patted his heart and said he didn’t have to hope-because he KNEW that Jackie was better than ever right now- sitting right with Jesus. “I KNOW it is so” he repeated. A surge of anger went through me at this moment because my mind wanted to argue – no, you don’t KNOW. It’s not that easy. If you KNOW it isn’t faith anymore. And secondly, and more importantly, I think, I was absolutely livid that all discussion had been cut off by this one comment. If this guy “KNOWS” how it is, and has declared it so publicly- than there is really no more space for further sharing, not polite sharing anyway. There is no longer room for grieving together and being honest about pain, wounds and vulnerability, about fears and doubts , questions, hopes and wishes. The community has been cut off from one another by one well intended statement of ….…faith? It was the end of discussion, literally.

There are people of all religious persuasions who are raised and trained and comfortable living within the confines of certainty. There are “Christian glasses” we can wear, and through whose lenses our questions and doubts have been addressed. Period. Fundamentalism seems on the rise in our rapidly changing world- at a time when very little can be counted on to stay the same, individuals and communities are clinging to something they can call black and white, everlasting, never changing, infinite and yes, divine. There are days when I wake up envying those folks.

But, God has called me to live in the gray space of reality. And, most of you would not be sitting in this particular church if you hadn’t heard a similar call. Holy Covenant is not a place of certainty- this is true on SOOOOOO many levels these days-whether considering leadership changes, financing changes, committee membership changes…even the silly chairs get rearranged several times a Sunday. And, the people of Holy Covenant have been willing to live in the questions and the changes throughout history, challenging the status quo, taking the often lonely and uncomfortable road- aiming for authenticity of faith rather than the simpler lens of certainty.

As I pursued my own call to ordination- and it was a very long and uncomfortable road indeed, I was blessed with the opportunity to write my own personal Statement of Faith….and to edit it, over and over and over again. Honestly, now, it is an exercise I am ever grateful for, really, and I hope to make time continuing to edit it throughout my life. See, I hope that my faith grows and changes, and that next year, next decade, my faith will not be the same faith it is today- just as it is not now as it was when I wrote that first draft of my Statement of Faith. That is part of the purpose of the exercise, you see. Faith is about living, it is not about merely affirming a list of beliefs. Even in the confessional or creedal tradition from which I come, it is expected that our faith will grow and change, and that we will need to re-write, it is a living faith…ever reforming. Our Presbyterian book of confessions and creeds, statements of what generations have apparently believed over time, is well over 300 pages long- and even that is not all-inclusive. We change and grow and disagree….Don’t worry, this isn’t Presbyterianism 101- I have a very Methodist point I’m getting to…Faith isn’t a list of beliefs- it is a relationship with God- our maker and our sustainer. Just as the Bible was not intended to be a history book full of factual events (I think I can say that in this crowd?)- it is a story of the relationship between people and God in particular times and places- our faith is not a mere checklist of statements we can affirm- but a trusting way of being in relationship with God. It’s gonna change and its gonna grow- or it will become stagnant and useless.

I’ve spent time with those people who emphasize their certainty in God more than their trust in God. That certainly doesn’t hold up so well in tragedy, during pain, in the face of injustice, persecution. It may look easier some mornings, but I don’t really want to trade in my faith in for that model. As a hospital chaplain, I very often found myself saying to people in moments of horrific pain, “God has a lot of explaining to do, huh?”

Though this may have sounded a bit unorthodox to some of them, in reality, it was really a sincere statement of confidence that, first of all, there is a God, and secondly that in some time or space, by and by, we will see God more clearly, and that I expect that same God has some sort of answers to what is incomprehensible to you and me right now. It was an attempt to express all that faith without calling it knowledge, without suggesting my certainty, and without diminishing the reality of the very tragic and painful. And for people who lived out of a model of certainty, I hope it made some space for their questions, I hope it at least gave them permission to question, and I hope it allowed them to challenge some of their presupposed ideas about suffering.

At many of the committee meetings I sat in during my ordination process- I was asked why and how I had continued along in the face of a really messy ordination journey. “Why haven’t you thrown the towel in?” “I can’t believe you’re still a Presbyterian”, several of them said (and God bless them for being so real to me and honest during the process). My answer was pretty short. I trusted God. All the studying in the world had only sensitized me to how little I know about the ways of God and the influence of faith. All of the practice of ministry I had done had only further confused me about which way God was calling me to serve. All of the questions I could produce about my own life would and will only lead to more questions. But what had not been damaged, but rather was strengthened in all of that, was that I trusted God.

If I had counted on sensory information for my faith- what I can touch and feel and see and hear in the world…in those newspapers…in my church committees, on the streets, at the bedside, I just may have thrown in the towel- and the rags, too! But faith; by which I mean trusting and believing in God- not fully “getting it all” or liking it all; faith is a gift I’ve been given through God’s grace. The ability to trust and grow in the questions, because of the questions, helps us to reform and reflect, to prune and nurture our thoughts and feelings about this life, and to then be transformative in the world.

God has granted me trust that allows for that, and has granted it to at least many of you as well, and I hope that we are good stewards of that trust, that we don’t shy away from the doubting and the wrestling- because God works through us when we are willing to let go and tolerate, sometimes suffer, through change.

So true for the Church as a whole, and the United Methodist Church in particular. Were it not for doubting, questioning, wrestling with God and each other- I certainly would not be preaching here today. Faithful people, with perhaps too much “certitude” have used our tradition and our Bible to defend the correctness of slavery, to limit role of women, and to attempt to decide of which flavors of LOVE God approves. It is uncomfortable and painful and messy. People get hurt and wounds are formed. But, I wouldn’t trade it for the alternative.

Back to those wounds, Jesus did let Thomas touch his wound. In doing this, yes, Jesus was alluding to our human craving for physical evidence. He was sharing his vulnerability with Thomas, a good example for us, and I’m thankful for that. He was also, I think, acknowledging the elephant in the room that Thomas really struggled with. Life still hurts. Humans bleed. Jesus was crucified. And he did rise again, but God’s Kingdom is not yet complete. The church is far from perfect. And yet, Christ is still present. We are still called to follow.

“Thomas, have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” Blessed are those, then, who are NOT certain. Thomas was given a gift of an amount certainty by his very place in history- he had evidence that we don’t, and yet as a disciple he still doubted and wrestled. Blessed are we who have not seen, who are not certain, who are honest about our doubts, our vulnerabilities, our fears, but who trust nonetheless. And if we continue to allow our doubts to travel on our faith journey with us, we might uncover what Erik Kolbell has called “stale prejudices,” portions of the status quo that we carry with us today not yet realizing our own blind spots, not yet aware of the pruning God has yet to do in our lives and in the life of the Church. Even at Holy Covenant. Long after this General Conference, other people will be wrestling over different issues, they will be aiming to discern God’s will and at the same time treat one another with love in spite of huge differences. As the world changes and people evolve, so, too, the Church will need to be transformed. In order for the Church to change, we need to learn from Thomas, ask questions, raise doubts, look for the elephants.

As many of our neighbors on the video reflected on “doubt”, they looked inwardly, rather than doubting a higher power, they referred to self doubt, insecurity, lack of preparation, hesitancy, their own lack of self knowledge. Part of the gift of trusting God, is that we can do that right in the midst of doubting ourselves and we can trust God right in the midst of doubting our church. Part of the challenge of faith in God is remembering that it is a gift that we must receive. Blessed are the uncertain, may our doubts lead us to being transformative in the world, may our doubts draw us ever closer to one another and may our doubts draw us ever closer to our God.

Amen

Come, Holy Spirit. Set us free by your grace. Set us to proclaim your good news. Set us to work for your mercy and justice. Come, Holy Spirit.

Pastor Matthew

Northern Illinois Conference Delegation and Supporting Staff:
Charla Antrobus
Rachel Birkhahn-Rommelfanger
Lonnie Chafin
Irma Clark
Roger Curless
Daniel Diss
Elisa Gatz
Anne Gerhard
Gregory Gross
Ouk-Yean Kim Jueng
Hee-Soo Jung
Martin Lee
Alka Lyall
Michael Mann
Harriet McCabe
Melissa Meyers
Christopher Pierson
James Preston
Luis Reyes
Jack Ryder
Rita Smith
Tracy Smith Malone
Daniel Viana
Bonnie Beckonchrist
Will Ed Green
Lois Parr
Wendy Witt
Chris Winkler
Katie Voigt

Those Related to the Holy Covenant Community:
David Braden (Reconciling Ministries Network)
Allison Chaplain (Witness)
Britt Cox (Legislative Page)
Lynda Davis (Witness)
Rachel Harvey (Reconciling Ministries Network)
Dale Jones (General Board of Pensions and Health Benefits)
Audrey Krumbach (Reconciling Ministries Network)
Kristin Kumpf (General Board of Church and Society)
Joey Lopez (Delegate, Western North Carolina Annual Conference)
Todd Peacock-Preston (Witness)
Troy Plummer (Reconciling Ministries Network)
Shells Stephens (Reconciling Ministries Network)
Katie Wickman (Witness)

Read more about General Conference Events

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John 20:19-23

About a month ago, I reached the end of everything I could possibly want to watch online through the services to which I subscribe. I saw every movie I wanted to see. I blew through every television series I had any interest in … recent and classic. I watched a few of them multiple times. But now, I am at the end. And I knew the end had come when the only thing they were recommending to me was season upon season of Mighty Morphin’ Power Rangers. This has left me in a bit of quandary, though, as these subscription services have been our family TV provider for almost three years. Now, to get my pop culture fix, I am back to buying my video entertainment ala carte. Breaking Bad. Mad Men. And my latest find is The Walking Dead. If you haven’t seen it yet, it is about zombies (and the people who love them). It is one of those shows that I don’t want to watch because it is so frightening, but I can’t stop watching because there are all these beautiful moments of humanity and questions of faith that show up in between.

I can’t stop watching. I watch episodes of it into the wee hours of the morning when all the lights are out (even though it has me jumping out of my seat, and sometimes looking away from what takes place between the redemptive moments). I am four episodes in, and I am beginning to get the feeling that recommendation was right … that I should be watching Power Rangers instead. Because watching all this zombie stuff has got me spooked. Like extra-spicy-food-nightmare kind of spooked.

Over the past week, I have been hyper aware of my surroundings at night. I listen to all the groans that the building makes with more discernment. Shadows that would normally breeze on by now startle me. The creaking of the floor under my own feet makes me turn around more often than I would care to admit. It all prompts me to check the locks on the doors a few times.

“Red Ranger wouldn’t do this to me,” I say, fighting back the urge to scream like a child. But then I press play on another episode, and cue the ominous trilling strings. I fall asleep, only to be awakened by weekend partiers with their drunken shouts. And for a nanosecond, I wonder if they are after my flesh. I check the doors again. I close my eyes, only to be awakened by voices in the silence in between trains. It is murmuring from the upstairs neighbors. It is my daughter talking in her sleep. She’s saying something about the circus. I check the doors again because now they aren’t just zombies anymore. Now they are worse. Now they are zombie clowns.

Your mind can play tricks on you. Especially when you plant things there. It is a fertile place for ideas to grow. Paralysis by thoughts and dreams. Reality triggering archived moments of fantasy, and all of it convincing us to check the doors.

I often wonder if this is really why the disciples had the doors closed in our scripture reading from John. I wonder if the disciples were gathered out of fear of the authorities, like John says, or just fear of their own making.

We join the story on Easter evening … Peter and John have just returned to the upper room after finding the tomb empty. They share what they saw. And as they do so, one by one, the faces of the others 8 lost all their color. A rapid knock at the door sends them all scurrying into the corners. It is Mary.

“I have seen him! I have seen Jesus!” she says from the outside. She had gone mad, they thought.

And they become afraid that the powers which emptied the tomb (whatever powers their imagination dreamt up) might come for them next. So they check the doors, shutter the windows and extinguish the lanterns. They could not face reality. Things were not the way they supposed to be.

This is not the beginning of any Easter evening we know. Instead of running around on a chocolate buzz, making deviled eggs, or dozing on the couch with a half-eaten ham sandwich in their hands, the disciples are in hiding.

The drapes are drawn, nobody has once yet said “he is risen,” or offered up an “Alleluia” or some other exclamation in a foreign tongue. Instead they check the doors. A new day and a new reign has come, but fear has overcome them all.

Now, by forgoing the door altogether and just “appearing” in the middle of them, Jesus doesn’t really help things a whole lot. It is kind of funny that he does that, and then the first words out of his mouth are “Peace be with you.”

Jesus then shows that he is the same. (The holes in his resurrected flesh should be proof enough.) And then he breathes on them. He doesn’t blow air on them like a kid blowing out the candles on a birthday cake. He breathes on them. Think about how close he has to be to do that. Put your hand in front of your mouth and see how close it has to be for you to feel your breath.

And now realities are blurred. What they couldn’t imagine now stood among them. It stood inches from their skin. Not the dead but the living. Not the defeated but the victorious. Not the crushed but the elevated. Not fear but peace.

“Receive the Holy Spirit,” Jesus says after breathing on them. And then he gives them an amazing responsibility. “If you want to, forgive sins. If you don’t want to, let them be.”

This is the redemption that shows up in the middle of their nightmare. A glimpse of hope, and then he disappears. They are left wondering if what they saw and felt was real. They are left confused if what they heard was true. And, as this section of scripture ends, the doors remain closed. Nobody runs out and starts forgiving people. They don’t start knocking on doors, or visiting the edges of the city looking for those who need to be released from sin.

It is a fitting way to end this part of the story, I think. We are left wondering: “Did they receive the Spirit?” Would we? Would we open the doors if we were them? Do we open the doors now? By not saying what needs to be said, by not forgiving with the same wide embrace as Jesus, by letting our limited imagination be what motivates us, we leave the doors closed. By thinking it is enough for us to do good yet hide in our bubble, we leave the doors closed. By pretending that we have the strength to hold on to all those sins of others … to hold on to the brokenness of the world and never offer forgiveness like Jesus does so graciously, and we leave the doors closed.

But John tells us that closed doors are not enough to keep Jesus out.

The resurrected Jesus still comes in. He stands with us face to face.

Jesus places upon all of us what the reality will be when we choose to open the doors that enclose us in our fears and walk out into the day that was yet to be born. “The spirit of God is with you,” Jesus says. With it comes power. And with it comes responsibility. It is the same power that Jesus had exercised … a power that he saw as his responsibility … forgiveness of sins … and it was the one thing he did that made his detractors most furious. That is the power those in the room were all given when he invited them to receive God’s spirit. And that is the power we are given as well. This is the sum of John’s gospel.

Jesus comes into our midst, breathing life into the places where the air is stale with argument and dissent. Will you receive it, or will you be a martyr … carrying indifference and the weight of the sins of the world instead?

“Receive the Holy Spirit … the comfort of God … my presence … my challenge,” Jesus says. He appears in the center of arguments in our home and breathes. He comes as a light that blots out the shadows that haunt us and he breathes. His is the voice that keeps repeating “peace” over all the others until we can hear only his, and he breathes. Receive the holy spirit, friends. And know that it is upon you.

For those of you who work in the hard places on the hard problems of justice, equality and inclusion: remember the breath of Jesus, remember the power he gives you, and keep opening the doors.

For those of you who are challenged by your job when profit comes at a great cost: remember the breath of Jesus, remember the power he gives you, and keep opening the doors.

For those of you who are challenged by your family and the things the things that are swept under the rug: remember the breath of Jesus, remember the power he gives you, and keep opening the doors.

For those of you who feel stuck and cannot muster the strength to go it alone: remember the breath of Jesus, remember the power he gives you, and keep opening the doors.

May we all claim the gift that is ours. For Christ is risen. He is our new reality. Everything else is just accidents of our imagination. And so are the doors. May we all be liberated from them … the doors we close on ourselves and the doors we close on others … the fear of our own making. And may Jesus keep appearing in the room until we all are. Amen.

There is celebration in the resurrection, enough that should keep us singing hosannas all year through, right? But, there’s still that empty tomb. We are now to navigate what God is calling us to do in the world with this Good News this year. And even though we get the message that life and love win in the end, the journey now still has its aches and pains.

Before leaving his disciples, Jesus promised us the gift of the Holy Spirit. Wherever we may find ourselves this week after the hoopla, eggs , candy and music, we can trust that we are not there alone. Prayer is often the way to connect and engage with God’s spirit along life’s journey. I believe that prayer can take infinitely many forms- in words aloud, or silently; prepared and thought out, or a mishmash of what is on our hearts. Prayer can be music, or art, or dance, preaching, reading or the very work that we do. Prayer is often silent. To me prayer is an attitude, a pointing of ourselves toward our maker, our sustainer- I don’t believe there is one correct or proper way to do that.

I was reminded recently that there is no one correct or proper result of prayer, either. In a discussion of her new book, Love Unknown, Ruth Burrows discusses people’s perceived failure at prayer because of a lack of emotional feeling, or an intense psychological experience. Burrows states that if we trust that God is always present and always accessible, and we make an authentic effort to turn toward that God, “how can it matter that we do not feel it is happening.” She reminds us that prayer is essentially “God’s business” not our own, and we must position ourselves open to receive from God, not to control the interaction from our end of the deal. Sometimes prayer is about learning to be quiet and listen. And, Burrows is honest about the wide range of results we might get, “true prayer reveals us to ourselves in our sinfulness and spiritual inadequacy” she continues “and at the same time enables us to accept it humbly and peacefully.”

So wherever your road leads you this week, whether the Alleluia chorus still rings loud in your head, or whether you’re amidst the dark shadows of crosses, may you remember to simply position yourself to receive God’s presence, and trust that God will not show up, for God has been there all along.

Polly Toner
Ministry Associate

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