4 Easter

 Good Shepherd Sunday

April 20, 2024

 

Psalm 23; John 10.1-10

 

+ Since the last time I stood here and preached, I have traveled quite a few miles, flown on quite a few planes and talked to a wide variety of people.

 

And I have seen some truly beautiful things.

 

Invariably, whenever I talked with someone, whether they be seated beside me on the plane or at a luau or just in regular conversation, when they invariably asked me what I do, I pause a bit.

 

Saying I’m an Episcopal priest elicits a variety of responses.

 

One of the responses I get is from people who have been hurt by the Church or religion as a whole.

 

And there’s a lot of those people out there.

 

As I talk with hose people and share that I too have had an often difficult relationship with the Church, they are surprised.

 

They would not think that priests have bad relationships with religion or the Church.

 

But we do.

 

And when they found me agreeing with them on many topics, rather than being  defensive on them, they are surprised.

 

They were surprised at some of the things I have to say, or how I say it.

 

They were surprised that often what drove them away from religion is the reason I stay and fight and speak out in some maybe foolheartedly attempt at saving what I love and cherish about the Church.

 

But, sadly, there is a price for making the stand, for speaking out, for refusing to conform, as you all know.

 

There is a big price for living out a faith that oftentimes the rest of the Church does not quite agree with.

 

This past week I found this piece making the rounds on social media.

 

It’s by Chuck Kratzer. And it spoke loudly to me.

 

It goes like this:

 

 What the hell did you expect me to do?

You told me to love my neighbors, to model the life of Jesus. To be kind and considerate, and to stand up for the bullied.

You told me to love people, consider others as more important than myself. "Red and yellow, black and , they are precious in His sight." We sang it together, pressing the volume pedal and leaning our hearts into the chorus.

You told me to love my enemies, to even do good to those who wish for bad things. You told me to never "hate" anyone and to always find ways to encourage people.

You told me it's better to give than receive, to be last instead of first. You told me that money doesn't bring happiness and can even lead to evil, but taking care of the needs of others brings great joy and life to the soul.

You told me that Jesus looks at what I do for the least-of-these as the true depth of my faith. You told me to focus on my own sin instead of trying to police it in others. You told me to be accepting and forgiving.

I paid attention.

I took every lesson.

And I did what you told me.

But now, you call me a libtard. A queer-lover.

You call me "woke." A backslider.

You call me a heretic. A child of the devil.

You call me a false prophet. A reprobate leading people to gates of hell.

You call me soft. A snowflake. A socialist.

What the hell did you expect me to do?

You passed out the "WWJD" bracelets.

I took it to heart.

I thought you were serious, apparently not.

We were once friends. But now, the lines have been drawn. You hate nearly all the people I love. You stand against nearly all the things I stand for. I'm trying to see a way forward, but it's hard when I survey all the hurt, harm, and darkness that comes in the wake of your beliefs and presence.

What the hell did you expect me to do?

I believed it all the way.

I'm still believing it all the way.

Which leaves me wondering, what happened to you?

 

Today is, of course, Good Shepherd Sunday—the Sunday in which we encounter this wonderful reading about Jesus being the Good Shepherd.

 

And we love this Sunday because we love the image of the Good Shepherd.

 

But, as someone who in my life as a priest has been called by people in authority or by others—because of the stances I make, or the position I have taken on matter as we heard from Chuck Kratzer---I have been called a “bad shepherd.”

 

Or one person, the spouse of a clergy person at another congregation once called me: “the devil in priest’s garb.”

 

And for someone like me, despite my thick skin and my calloused view, those words still hurt

 

I think the key here is what we may definite as “good.”

 

Does “good” in this sense mean being perfectly orthodox and correct theologically and scripturally?

 

Does good in this sense mean being polite and nice and sweet all the time?

 

Or does “good” really mean striving for justice, for speaking out against injustice, for calling hypocrites to their faces and overturning tables in the golden temples filled with misbegotten money and the blood of slaughtered animals?

 

For me, I think all these images of the sweet, gentle Good Shepherd are misguided.

 

I think the real Good Shepherd doesn’t only just sweetly hug the sheep to their chest and glow celestially like a candle.

 

I think the real Good Shepherd fights and fights hard.

 

The real Good Shepherds shouts at those forces that threaten their sheep.

 

I think the real Good Shepherd stomps the ground and wields that staff and defends their sheep at any price.

 

We, each of us, not just me, are called to be those kind of shepherds in this world.

 

We too—all of us—are called to speak out, to shout, to stomp the ground, when danger threatens.

 

We are not called to be complacent shepherds with no backbone.

 

We are called to actually “know” the people we are called to serve.

 

The God Jesus shows us is not some vague, distant God.

 

We don’t have a God who lets us fend for ourselves.

 

We instead have a God who leads us and guides us, a God who knows us each by name, a God who despairs over the loss of even one of the flock.

 

We have a God who, in Psalm 23, that very familiar psalm we have all hear so many times in our lives, is a God who knows us and loves us and cares for us.

 

We see this first in Jesus, who embodies God and who shows us how to be a Good Shepherd.

 

We, by being good shepherds, allow God to be the ultimate Good Shepherd.

 

We were commissioned to be good shepherds by our very baptisms.

 

On that day we were baptized, we were called to be a Good Shepherds to others.

 

Anyone can be a good shepherd.

 

But in being a real good shepherd, we run the risk of being seen as bad shepherds for what we say and do and believe.

 

We run the risk of being called heretics or disruptors or agitators.

 

 

Real bad shepherds sometimes appear and are touted as Good Shepherds by those in authority.

 

Real bad shepherds actually undermine and, chip by chip, destroy the work of Christ in this world.

 

But, today, we don’t have to worry about those real bad shepherds.

 

We know that the actual bad shepherds, and those who allow them to be bad shepherds, in the end, get their due.

 

The chickens always come home to roost.

 

Today, we celebrate the Good Shepherd—the Good Shepherd that is showing us the way forward to being good shepherds in our own lives.

 

Because in celebrating the Good Shepherd, we celebrate goodness.

 

We celebrate being good and doing good and embodying goodness in our lives.

 

And we do so realizing that “good” sometimes is seen as “bad” by others.

 

Good sometimes means we run the risk of being called “libtard,” or “queer-lover,” or woke.”

 

It sometimes means we are being called a “backslider,” or a “heretic,” or a “child of the devil.”

 

Being good sometimes means we are viewed as “False prophet,” or a “reprobate,” or “soft.”

 

It sometimes means we are called a “snowflake,” or a socialist,” or…a “devil in priest’s garb.”

 

If that’s what “good” means, than so be it.

 

Because, if Jesus the true Good Shepherd were living his earthly life right here, right now in our own time, let me tell you, he most certainly would be called every single one of those terms.

 

And if it’s good enough for him, it’s good enough for us.

 

So, on this day in which we celebrate the Good Shepherd, let us be what he is.

 

Let us live out our vocation to be good shepherds to those around us.

 

Let us truly “see” and know those people who share this life with us.

 

And let us know that being a good shepherd does make a difference in this world.

 

Let us make a difference.

 

Emboldened by our baptism, strengthened by a God who knows us and love us, let us in turn know and love others as we are called to do.

 

Amen.

2 Easter

April 6, 2024

John 20.19-31

+ There’s a book I reference quite regularly, if you’ve heard me preach for any period of time.

 It’s Outlaw Christian by a friend of mine, Jacqueline Bussie.

 There was a quote in that book that has stuck with me for several years

 Bussie quotes the great German theologian Dorothea Soelle (one of my favorite theologians):

 Bussie writes:

 “Though a devout, Jesus-loving Christian, [Soelle} once oddly described herself as a believing atheist.”

 I don’t know why, but that description of Soelle really stuck with me.

 I “got” it in ways I don’t always get something.

 But, if you ask me why I “got” it, I would have trouble articulating it.

 I am not an atheist.

 I, like Soelle, am a Jesus-loving Christian.

 But, you have to admit.

 I’m probably one of the few priests you know who mentions atheism regularly in my sermons.

 And mention it not in a negative way.

 I know.

 It’s unusual.

 But, I really find it frustrating when I hear Christians disparage atheists.

 I always say that we, as the Church, have to accept the fact that we have probably produced more atheists by our not-so-wonderful behavior, our self-righteousness, our hypocrisy than anything else.

 The Church has done a good job of driving people way, of nudging others toward atheism.

 As for me personally, as you know, I actually read a lot of atheist theology.

 OK. Maybe those words “atheist theology” sound somewhat oxymoronic, but you get what I’m saying…

 And I have read most of it.

 From Richard Dawkins to Sam Harris, from Albert Camus and Jean-Paul Sartre to H.L. Mencken and Madelyn Murray O’Hare, the notorious founder of American Atheists—I think I’ve read them all.

 I enjoy reading atheist theology because it’s often, surprisingly enough, quite insightful.

 It challenges me.

 It helps me develop a critical eye about the Church, about theology in general and about my own personal faith in particular.

 And none of us should live in a vacuum, certainly not priests.

 It’s good for all of us to step outside our comfort zone and explore other areas.

 What disturbs me about atheist theology isn’t its anger, its rebellion, its single-mindedness about how wrong religion is.

 What disturbs me about atheism is how simple it is—how beautifully uncomplicated it is.

 And I think in many ways it would be so easy for me to be an atheist.

 Which is maybe why I ‘clicked” with Soelle’s quote.  

 Let’s face it—it’s just so easy to not see God anywhere.

 It’s easy to look up into the sky and say, I see no God.

 It’s easy to believe that science has the only answers and that everything is provable and rational.

 (And just to be clear, I am fully 100%  pro-science, by the way)

 Atheism in a very uncomplicated way to look at life.

 And I don’t mean that to sound condescending.

 For atheists, there are no ghosts, no demons, no angels.

 There are no hidden secrets.

 There are no frightening unanswered questions about existence.

 No one is watching us, looking over us, observing us.

 There’s no all-seeing, all knowing “Eye in the sky” for them.

 For atheists, there are no surprises awaiting them when they shed this mortal coil and head into the darkness of death.

 There is no hell, and no heaven.

 There’s no unending existence following death.

 I get that.

 I almost—ALMOST—envy that.

 And when I hear any of my many atheist friends state their disbelief in the white-bearded male god who sits on a throne in heaven, I realize: if that is what they don’t believe in, then…I guess I’m also an atheist.

 And maybe that is really what Soelle is saying when she called herself an atheist who believes.

 Any God that I can observe by looking at the sky, or into the cosmos is definitely a God in which I don’t believe.

 I don’t want a God so easily provable, so easily observed and examined and quantified and…materially real.  

 I don’t believe in a God that is so made in our image.

 I don’t believe in a God that is simply a projection of our own image and self.

 Who would want that God?

 For us, however, as Christians, it isn’t as easy.

 Being a Christian is actually quite hard.

 I hate to break that news to you.

 Believing is actually hard.

 Yes, we do believe in the existence of God.

 And by doing so, we are essentially taking the word of a pre-scientific (dare we say “primitive”) group of people who lived at least two thousand years ago.

 We are now in the season of Easter—a season in which we celebrate and live into the reality of the Resurrection of Jesus,

 But event that is based on some incredible evidence.

 We are believing what a group of pre-Enlightenment, Pre-rational, superstitious Jewish people from what was considered at the time to be a backwater country are telling us they saw.

 But we believe because we know, in our hearts, that this is somehow true.

 We know these things really did happen and that because they did, life is different—life is better, despite everything that happens 

 We believe these things in true faith.

 We didn’t see Jesus while he was alive and walking about.

 We didn’t see him after he rose from the tomb.

 We don’t get the opportunities that Thomas had in this morning’s Gospel.

 Doubting Thomas, as we’ve come to know him, refused to believe that Jesus was resurrected until he had put his fingers in the wounds of Jesus.

 It wasn’t enough that Jesus actually appeared to him in the flesh—how many of us would only jump at that chance?

 For Thomas, Jesus stood there before him, in the flesh—wounds and all.

 And only when he had placed his finger in the wounds, would he believe.

 It’s interesting to see and it’s interesting to hear this story of Doubting Thomas.

 But, the fact is, for the rest of us, we don’t get it so easy.

 Jesus is probably not going to appear before us—in the flesh.

 At least, not on this side of the Veil—not while we are still alive.

 And if he does, you need to have a little talk with your priest.

 We are not going to have the opportunity to touch the wounds of Jesus, as Thomas did.

 Let’s face it, to believe without seeing, is not easy.

 It takes work and discipline.

 A strong relationship with God—this invisible being we might sense, we might feel emotionally or spiritually, but we can’t pin-point—takes work—just as any other relationship in our life takes work.

 It takes discipline.

 It takes concentrated effort.

 Being a Christian does not just involve being good and ethical all the time.

 Atheists do that too.

 Atheists are ethical, upright, good people too.

 Atheists are committed the same ideals most of us are committed to here this morning.

 And they are sometimes even better at it all than I am, I’ll admit

 But, being a Christian doesn’t mean just being ethical and “good.”

 (Though we should all still be ethical and “good”)

 Being a Christian means living one’s faith life fully and completely as a Christian.

 It means being a reflection of God’s love, God’s Presence, God’s joy and goodness in the world.

 It means that we might not touch the wounds of Jesus as Thomas did, but we do touch the wounds of Jesus when we reach out in love to help those who need our love.

 Remember last week, when I talked about us being “another Jesus?”

 Well, we make Jesus real when we embody him.

 When we act like Jesus, and think like Jesus and love like Jesus.

 By embodying Jesus, we embody the God of Jesus and make that God real in this world.

 And by being an Alleluia from head to toe, we must be an Alleluia to others too.

 “Blessed are those who believe but don’t see,” Jesus says this morning.

 We are those blessed ones.

 We are the ones Jesus is speaking of in this morning’s Gospel.

 Blessed are you all.

 You  believe, but don’t see.

 We are the ones who, despite what our rational mind might tell us at times, we still have faith.

 We, in the face of doubt and fear, can still say, with all conviction, “Alleluia!”

 “Praise God!”

 We can’t objectively make sense of it.

 Sometimes all we can do is live and experience the joy of this resurrection and somehow, like sunlight shining in us and sinking deep into us, we simply bask in its glory. 

 Seen or unseen, we know God is there.

 And our faith is not based on seeing God here in front of us in the flesh or proving the existence of God, or finding scientific proof for the Resurrection.

 Because we actually have known God, right here, right now.

 God has been embodied in us.

 We know God through love—love of God and love of one another.

 Blessed are we who believe but don’t see now.

 The Kingdom of Heaven is truly ours.

 Alleluia!

 

 

Easter

 

March 31, 2024

 

+A few years ago, our newspaper interviewed me for an article.

 

It was a very flattering story of me, that also included interviews with other people who knew me.

 

Well, one of the people interviewed said, “Father Jame is like another Jesus.”

 

When the article appeared, a dear friend of mine made a point of telling me how offended they were by that statement.

 

“I know you,” this person said. “You are NO Jesus.”

 

Well, to be fair, I never said I was.

 

But, the bigger point of all of this, is this:

 

Isn’t that the goal?

 

Isn’t that the goal for all of us who are followers of Jesus?

 

Isn’t it the goal for each and every one of us to be, essentially, “other Jesuses,” to be the Presence of Jesus in this world, to be the hands and feet of Jesus?

 

We are, after all, the BODY of Christ. Right?

 

What does that mean to us if it doesn’t mean that we’re expected to embody Christ?

 

In the Eastern Orthodox Church, there’s actually a term for seeking to be essentially another Jesus.

 

It’s called “Theosis.”

 

And what it means is that the goal of our lives as Christians is to be what Jesus is—to become divine, to live into the ideal of what Jesus.

 

Essentially to evolve into Christ-like beings.

 

As you hear me say way too often, we tend to put Jesus on a safe little shelf.

 

We keep him there, pristine and sweet and nice and smiling.

 

Our own personal Jesus, to paraphrase the old Depeche Mode song (I’m dating myself here)

 

And there, on that safe shelf, we worship our safe, smiling Jesus, and we can be in awe of him, there on that safe little altar.

 

And none of that is wrong.

 

But if that’s where we keep him, inaccessible, beyond us, wholly other than us, than we’ve missed the boat on this whole Christianity thing.

 

As I have said again and again, Worshipping Jesus is easy and safe.

 

Following Jesus, actually striving to be like Jesus, to be “another Jesus” in this world---that is very hard.

 

The point I’m making on this beautiful Easter morning is this:

 

Easter is truly a beautiful day.

 

I absolutely  LOVE Easter.

 

Some people are Christmas people.

 

Some people are Easter people.

 

I’m definitely an Easter person.

 

Easter, after all, is all about life.

 

Jesus’ life.

 

His rising form the grave.

 

His living again.

 

But if it’s only about him, and not us too, then what is Easter for us?

 

If it’s only about Jesus’ resurrection and not our resurrection too, Easter becomes a quant, sweet, nice gentle little holiday, not that far removed from bunny rabbits and painted eggs.

 

But when we strive to be like Jesus, when we seek to be “another Jesus” in this world, we start realizing that what God did for Jesus—God raised Jesus up from death itself—God also will do for us.

This is the radical aspect not only of following Jesus, but also of trying to actually BE Jesus in this world.

 

BEING another Jesus in this world means that we also get to be raised like Jesus

one day.

 

BEING another Jesus in this world means that we will be raised by God from the dark shadow of death and live, like Jesus, with God.

 

This Day in which we shout our alleluias at the Resurrection of Jesus, also becomes a day when our alleluias celebrate the fact that we, like Jesus, are also going to be raised up from death.

 

Just realizing that makes us truly want to shout, “Alleluia!”

 

See, this is why I LOVE Easter.

 

But what’s even better about Easter in my opinion is that, unlike Christmas, which when it’s over it’s over (people put out that Christmas tree the day after Christmas), Easter happens again and again for us who are followers of Jesus.

 

We get to experience this joy and amazing reality and all it represents multiple times over the year.

 

Certainly every Sunday we celebrate a mini-Easter.

 

And why shouldn’t we celebrate it beyond this season?

 

When we celebrate Easter, we are celebrating life.

 

Jesus’ eternal life.

 

And our eternal life.

 

The truly wonderful Christian writer, Rob Bell, once said,

 

“Eternal life doesn’t start when we die. It starts now. It’s not about a life that begins at death; it’s about experiencing the kind of life now that can endure and survive even death.”

 

I love that.

 

Resurrection is a kind reality that we, as Christians, are called to live into.

 

Right now.

 

Right here.

 

And it’s not just something we believe happens after we die.

 

We are called to live into that Resurrection NOW.

 

The alleluias we sing this morning are not only for some beautiful moment after we have breathed our last.

 

Those alleluias are for now, as well as for later.

 

We are essentially saying today, Praise God!

 

Praised God for raising Jesus.

 

And Praise God for raising us too!

 

Those alleluias, those joyful sounds we make, this Light we celebrate, is a Light that shines now—in this moment.

 

We are alive now!

 

Right now!

 

Easter and our whole lives as followers of Jesus is all about this fact.

 

Our lives should be joyful because of this fact—this reality—that Jesus died and is risen and so will we.

 

This is what it means to be a Christian.

 

Easter is about this radical new life.

 

Today we are commemorating the fact that Jesus, who died and was buried in a tomb and is now…alive.

 

And one day, we who strive to be like Jesus, who strive another “other Jesuses” in this world, we are alive right now, right here, and that we too will live, like him, for eternity.

 

Easter doesn’t end when the sun sets today.

 

Easter is what we carry within us as Christians ALL the time.

 

Easter is living out the Resurrection by our very presence.

 

We are, each of us, carrying within us this Easter Light we celebrate this morning and always.

 

All the time.

 

Easter is here!

 

It is here, in our very souls, in our very bodies, in our very selves.

 

With that Easter Light burning within us, being reflected in what we do and say, in the love we show to God and to each other, what more can we say on this glorious, glorious morning?

 

What more can we say when God’s all-loving, resurrected realty breaks through to us in glorious light and transforms us?

 

What do we say?

 

We say, Alleluia!

 

Praise God!

 

Christ is risen! And we are risen with him!

 

The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia!