The Compassion-Killer

(sermon 7/16/17)

piano

Mark 10:17-27

As he was setting out on a journey, a man ran up and knelt before him, and asked him, “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?”Jesus said to him, “Why do you call me good? No one is good but God alone. You know the commandments: ‘You shall not murder; You shall not commit adultery; You shall not steal; You shall not bear false witness; You shall not defraud; Honor your father and mother.’” He said to him, “Teacher, I have kept all these since my youth.” Jesus, looking at him, loved him and said, “You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.” When he heard this, he was shocked and went away grieving, for he had many possessions.

Then Jesus looked around and said to his disciples, “How hard it will be for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God!” And the disciples were perplexed at these words. But Jesus said to them again, “Children, how hard it is to enter the kingdom of God! It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.” They were greatly astounded and said to one another, “Then who can be saved?” Jesus looked at them and said, “For mortals it is impossible, but not for God; for God all things are possible.”

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I have a piano. It was made in Chicago in 1911. It’s five feet tall, five feet wide, 28 1/2 inches deep, and weighs about 754 pounds. It bears a lot of scars earned over the last hundred and six years, but all things considered, it looks better at 106 than I suppose I would. It didn’t cost me anything, at least not up front; the people who owned it said we could have it if we just paid to take it away. Once we got it home, I painstakingly refinished its beautiful book-matched walnut veneer, removing a fair amount of both pink and mint green paint left in crevices from two different paint jobs it endured over the course of its long life. After that, I had a piano technician install new key covers to replace the old chipped ivories; level the key bed, repair and regulate the action, and give it a good tuning; and after all that, it still wasn’t a great piano, but it wasn’t a bad one – definitely a good one for the two girls and I to take lessons on. After a while, all three of us gave up on the lessons. But after all these years, I’m still lugging this thing around with me wherever I go; it’s been through three moves in three different states now. I almost got rid of it before I moved here, but when I said something about that around my older daughter, she said with a pained tone in her voice, “Oh, no, you can’t get rid of the piano!” So I still have it. In this most recent move, the movers ended up giving it a few new scuffs, they bent my storm door, made a hole in a wall, and broke a caster off of it – but they did finally get it into the house, ending about a year of it being in storage in two different garages. As you might guess, all that has had an effect on its feel, its touch, its playability, but then again, as I’d mentioned, there really isn’t anyone around to play it regularly anyway. So it sits there, silent for the most part, holding up the television, and gathering dust,  and taking up way too much room in my already snug living room.

I have a piano.

Well, since the piano wasn’t invented until 1700, it’s pretty safe to say that the rich young man who struck up a conversation with Jesus in today’s gospel lesson didn’t own one, but apparently, he did have a lot of other possessions. This is one of those passages that can make us squirm a bit when we hear it. Even if we don’t ordinarily think of ourselves as rich, we know in our hearts that by the world’s standards, even the least well-off among us is wealthy beyond imagination. As I mentioned in the Thursday email, there are 3.8 billion people in the world who live on about $1,300 per year. So when we hear what Jesus tells this young man, somewhere deep down, we wonder if Jesus might give us the same advice = and we worry that the answer to that question might be yes, and we aren’t comfortable with what our response to that might be.

We want to follow Jesus, and we want to help others out of gratitude for God’s grace and love that’s been showered on us. But we don’t want to give up our stuff. Seriously. We’ve worked hard for it, to be able to enjoy it. And really, Jesus doesn’t expect us all to be poor, does he? I mean sure, there are scriptural passages, from Amos, and Hosea, and Ezekiel, and a number of other places, and even Jesus’ own words here, that don’t have very favorable things to say about wealth and the wealthy; but there are also lots of other passages that say that having wealth is a sign of God’s favor; it’s a blessing. And truth be told, that’s been a common theme in a lot of our own Reformed, Calvinistic history, too. So Jesus wouldn’t really want us to get rid of all of our possessions, would he? Maybe that was just a comment specifically for this young man, not a universal commandment for all of his followers, right?

Well, I can’t speak to that part of what Jesus might have had in mind. But I do think that he’s addressing something related to wealth and money and possessions, but which goes far beyond that. I think he’s really teaching the man – and by extension, us – about the dangers of fear.

I believe that in one way or another, fear is at the root of almost all of the problems in the world. People don’t hoard money, or other possessions out of an abstract greed; they do it out of fear of an unknown and uncertain future, and that money, those things, make it possible to be insulated from that uncertainty and, theoretically at least, to be able to control it. We fear other people, especially people who aren’t like us, because we worry that they pose a risk, a threat, to what’s familiar, fixed, predictable – controllable – in our own lives. We fear real honesty in our relationships and friendships, setting up barriers and facades and projecting false images of who we really are and what we really think and feel, because honesty and openness makes us vulnerable to injury, rejection, hurt. And when we are hurt, we fear letting go of that hurt, because as much as me may even know that holding onto the hurt is harmful, at least it’s familiar to us, comfortable, predictable. We fear letting go, and trusting God.

I own a piano because my daughter seemed so upset at the thought of my getting rid of it, and I feared what that might do to her. There’s been a lot of brokenness and hurt and sadness in our family life in the past, and I thought that maybe for her, the piano, this big, stupid, hulking thing that weighs more than a boat anchor, actually does anchor her to some of the good times and happy memories. And I suppose if I’m completely honest with myself, I want it to do the same thing for me, too. So despite all the good, and the hope, and the promise that I have for the future; despite all the love and compassion that I feel from God, the piano still sits there – a constant, scratched, slightly out of tune reminder of my fear of letting go of things in my life that deep down I know I should let go of, for my own spiritual and emotional well-being.

Fear, in any of its manifestations, handicaps us. It blinds us. It ties our hands, and clouds our brains. Fear is the ultimate compassion-killer that paralyzes us by keeping our focus excessively on ourselves. It’s the compassion-killer that keeps us from doing and being so much of what we know God would want of us. It’s what causes us to build walls around us, to protect us, to insulate us, to isolate us. So in fear we build those walls, whether the bricks that we use to build them are dollars, or possessions, or opinions, or even pianos; and then we sit behind our walls, less and less able to show compassion to others.

In this passage, Jesus has compassion on the young man by addressing the particular way his fear was holding him back, keeping him from a deeper experience of God and God’s love for him. It wasn’t a particularly reassuring message for him, or for us.

For the reassuring part of the message, we have to hear all the other times that Jesus told us, and the many times that God tells us throughout the scriptures, to not be afraid. To be at peace. To have the assurance that God really does love us, and has compassion for us, and will always have our backs, through whatever is causing us fear and uncertainty. To trust God, with more and more of our lives, unlike the rich young man in the story.

So today, and throughout this coming week, let’s try to do that. Let’s ask God for the strength to let go of the fear and anxiety that surpasses all reason, and instead, to allow ourselves to accept the peace of God that surpasses all understanding. That promise of God’s unfailing compassion for us should be music to our ears; whether that music is played on a beat-up old piano, or otherwise.

Thanks be to God.

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So Now What?

trashed-campaign-signs

(sermon 11/13/16)

For I am about to create new heavens and a new earth; the former things shall not be remembered or come to mind. But be glad and rejoice forever in what I am creating; for I am about to create Jerusalem as a joy, and its people as a delight. I will rejoice in Jerusalem, and delight in my people; no more shall the sound of weeping be heard in it, or the cry of distress. No more shall there be in it an infant that lives but a few days, or an old person who does not live out a lifetime; for one who dies at a hundred years will be considered a youth, and one who falls short of a hundred will be considered accursed. They shall build houses and inhabit them; they shall plant vineyards and eat their fruit. They shall not build and another inhabit; they shall not plant and another eat; for like the days of a tree shall the days of my people be, and my chosen shall long enjoy the work of their hands. They shall not labor in vain, or bear children for calamity; for they shall be offspring blessed by the Lord— and their descendants as well. Before they call I will answer, while they are yet speaking I will hear. The wolf and the lamb shall feed together, the lion shall eat straw like the ox; but the serpent—its food shall be dust! They shall not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain, says the Lord. – Isaiah 65:17-25

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When some were speaking about the temple, how it was adorned with beautiful stones and gifts dedicated to God, he said, “As for these things that you see, the days will come when not one stone will be left upon another; all will be thrown down.” They asked him, “Teacher, when will this be, and what will be the sign that this is about to take place?” And he said, “Beware that you are not led astray; for many will come in my name and say, ‘I am he!’ and, ‘The time is near!’ Do not go after them. “When you hear of wars and insurrections, do not be terrified; for these things must take place first, but the end will not follow immediately.” Then he said to them, “Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom; there will be great earthquakes, and in various places famines and plagues; and there will be dreadful portents and great signs from heaven. “But before all this occurs, they will arrest you and persecute you; they will hand you over to synagogues and prisons, and you will be brought before kings and governors because of my name. This will give you an opportunity to testify. So make up your minds not to prepare your defense in advance; for I will give you words and a wisdom that none of your opponents will be able to withstand or contradict. You will be betrayed even by parents and brothers, by relatives and friends; and they will put some of you to death. You will be hated by all because of my name. But not a hair of your head will perish. By your endurance you will gain your souls.” – Luke 21:5-19

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It usually isn’t a good idea to try to base a sermon on a melding of two different Lectionary texts of the day, but I think this Sunday might be an exception. In today’s first reading, the prophet Isaiah tells us about that final, ultimate future coming of the Kingdom of God on earth – a time of joy, and peace, and contentment. A time of new beginning full of hope, the dawn of a new era where all the wrongs of the past will be corrected. A time of that all-encompassing kind of peaceful existence that the Hebrew language captures in the single word shalom. In the gospel text, Jesus is also telling his disciples about future times, too, not the same time to be sure, but still, a future time. It would be a very different kind of time and experience from what Isaiah was describing. This is a future full of suffering, pain, persecution, and refection. A time when the world is not going to respect, or be ordered based on the way that Jesus’ disciples would understand the world should be like.

If you’ve logged onto Facebook or watched any news in the last several days since Tuesday’s election, you know that there are a lot of people in this country who feel that the election of Donald Trump was the ushering in of a joyful new future, the dawning of a hopeful new era for our country, a time when past wrongs will be set right, and life will be good and hopeful – not really in the fullest sense of the vision that Isaiah laid out for us, but something similar to it. And you also know that there are a lot of people – actually a bit more people, looking at the actual popular vote, but still, on a national level it’s about a 50/50 split – who are shocked and crushed by the outcome of the election. They’re afraid that his presidency is going to result in a regressive time that will lead to increased injustice, inequality, discrimination, and violence. An existence much more similar to the  dark picture that Jesus painted in today’s text.

As I said in this week’s email, Springdale Church is certainly made up of people who voted for both presidential candidates, but based on conversations I’ve had with a number of you this past week, in person, on the phone, or via email – not to mention your Facebook posts – it seems pretty obvious that this congregation leaned significantly toward supporting Hillary Clinton, and is now more in the “fear and dread” category when thinking of a Trump presidency. There’s a split here, a divide. It isn’t anything near the national 50/50 split, but there is still a split nonetheless.

On a national, secular level, this split is significant because it doesn’t seem to be a simple difference of opinion on how we achieve mutually accepted social goals. We aren’t just disagreeing on what the fairest marginal tax rates are in order to pay for our governance; of whether we should or shouldn’t accept some treaty with one country or another; or the best way to fund our schools to achieve academic excellence for our kids. The split we see nationwide now is much deeper than that. I think we’re in the midst of a fundamental disagreement over what our ultimate end goals should actually be. It’s a fundamental disagreement over our basic understanding of what life in our society, our culture, our nation, should be all about.

So what do we, as Christ’s Church, as this particular congregation, do with that kind of divide? What do we do, how do we direct our fear, if we’re fearful over the election; and how do we channel our joy, if we’re joyful over it? And how do we stay in relationship with family members and friends, maybe the person we’ve sat next to in the pew for decades, when we know they voted for that other candidate; the one that we can’t understand how anyone could have voted for – especially in our context, how could anyone who professes to be a Christian have possibly voted for ________? Fill in the blank, because make no mistake, I’ve heard that exact same comment, verbatim, made by people on both sides of this political divide. How do we move forward, and at the moment, not thinking about that question on a secular level, but specifically for us here, in this place, as members of the kingdom of God, as followers of Jesus Christ?

I guess all I can really say to that question is this:

It really doesn’t matter who you or the person sitting next to you this morning voted for; and it doesn’t matter who won or lost the election. It doesn’t matter – but I say that with a very big, bold, asterisk at the end of that sentence. This statement comes with a condition, a qualifier, specific to all of us who have professed, at the baptismal font or any number of other places that “Jesus Christ is my Lord and Savior.” And that qualifier is this:

It doesn’t matter who we voted for, and it doesn’t matter who won or lost, as long as we always remember that our primary and ultimate allegiance is to Jesus Christ, and to Christ alone. Not to Donald Trump, or Hillary Clinton, or any other politician or political party. It doesn’t matter who won the election, as long as we continue to live out the commandments of our God, to always work to help, and lift up, and work on behalf of the downtrodden. The oppressed. The marginalized in our society. To care for the poor, the sick, and the hungry. To care for and provide hospitality to the alien, the foreigner, the immigrant, the refugee, living in our midst. To be compassionate to those who are imprisoned. To work for justice for those who are immorally discriminated against, whose human and civil rights are denied, whether in the guise of legality or otherwise.

As long as we who say “Jesus Christ is my Lord and Savior” continue to hear and obey those commands given to us by that Lord, and as long as we hold our leaders accountable – supporting them when they support those goals, and opposing them when they don’t, regardless of whether they’re a Republican or Democrat, and regardless of whether we’re a Republican or Democrat – then it doesn’t matter who we voted for. Then it doesn’t matter who lives in the White House. And if we do those things, then we’ll most certainly be able to continue on in positive, loving relationships with our family members, and our friends and coworkers, and that person sitting next to you in the pews, because even though the nation might be divided from a secular viewpoint about what we should be all about, we have no reason to be divided here – in this place, serving this Lord. Yes, we have legislators and governors and judges and congresspeople and even a president, but here, we also have a King – a King who wasn’t picked by popular vote or the Electoral College; a King who doesn’t have to worry about term limits or polls. And that King, our King, has given us a clear direction, a clear understanding of how we’re called to live and together serving that King, and living and serving one another in this world. It’s in that King where we find our salvation, and hope, and yes, even our joy.

So whether we’re happy or sad about the outcome of this election, in the end we can all be joyful, because regardless of any twists and turns, regardless of the difficulties that Jesus told us we’d endure at various times, we already know the end of the story. We know how the movie ends; we’ve literally read the last chapter of the book. We know that our future is that final, great, shalom-filled existence that Isaiah described for us. On any given day, in any given year, we might be encouraged or discouraged based on one given election or another, but we’ll still be hopeful, even joyful, because of who we call our King.

Thanks be to God.

Fear Factor (sermon 9/20/15)

ahmed mohamed

Watch video of this sermon here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qgm-y2NOG0I&feature=youtu.be

They went on from there and passed through Galilee. He did not want anyone to know it; for he was teaching his disciples, saying to them, “The Son of Man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again.” But they did not understand what he was saying and were afraid to ask him.

Then they came to Capernaum; and when he was in the house he asked them, “What were you arguing about on the way?” But they were silent, for on the way they had argued with one another who was the greatest. He sat down, called the twelve, and said to them, “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.” Then he took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms, he said to them, “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.”   – Mark 9:30-27

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I’m sure you’ve all seen the story about Ahmed Mohamed, the 14-year old Muslim-American high school student from Irving, Texas, who used his expertise and passion for electronics to make a digital clock, and took it to school to show his teacher – who completely freaked out and turned him into the school administration saying the clock looked like a bomb. Then the police were called and they handcuffed and arrested him for supposedly making a “hoax bomb.” And even though the police eventually dropped the charges due to the huge public outcry, never once in this whole ridiculous story has the school or the police ever apologized for their overreaction – causing thinking people all around the world to just scratch their heads and wonder if Irving, or Texas, or America, is full of crazy people.

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist – which, ironically enough, Ahmed may actually become – to understand that this crazy overreaction was the result of irrational fear, arising out of Ahmed’s name, religion, and the color of his skin. Fear is one of our most basic, reptilian-brain reactions. It’s at the root of virtually every negative thing we do, and every good thing we leave undone. And it’s got a lot to do with what’s going on in today’s gospel text.

We’ve all heard this story many times. We’ve heard the “last shall be first” and “welcome the little children” messages in any number of sermons. But while they can stand on their own as independent thoughts, Jesus is using them here with a very specific purpose. As we heard last week, Jesus had been predicting his arrest and execution, and it wasn’t sitting well with the disciples. It meant that this whole movement they were part of was about to change dramatically. Jesus, the founder and leader of this movement, was soon to be out of the picture, and that caused uncertainty, anxiety, and fear in their hearts. At first, the fear paralyzed them into inaction – they couldn’t bring themselves to ask Jesus for details of what he was talking about. But then that same fear led them to get into a power struggle, arguing about who was the greatest among them – who was the heir-apparent in the movement, who’d take over when Jesus was gone and who’d have power and authority not just in the by-and-by, and also the here-and-now. Their fear, their anxiety, over this looming power vacuum was causing them to think they could resolve things by being the position of power and control, so they could call the shots.

That fear at the root of their actions was what Jesus was speaking to when he said what he did to his disciples. Fear had paralyzed them from doing good, and was goading them to do wrong. Jesus pointed out to them that the solution to their fears didn’t lie in power or position or control. He was telling them that their fear was causing them to miss what God wanted them to focus on. They were missing out on living the abundant, loving, just, compassionate life that God had designed them for and called them to. Instead of focusing on fear, Jesus called on them to focus on faith.

A lot of times, we think that the opposite of faith is doubt. I don’t think that’s really true. Doubt is actually a necessary component of faith; otherwise it wouldn’t be faith at all, it would be certainty. The opposite of faith actually seems to be fear. And faith isn’t just intellectual assent of something. It isn’t just belief. As the preacher David Lose once pointed out, faith is actually movement. Faith is taking a step, even a small step forward to living more like Christ, in the face of doubt and fear. Dr. King meant the same thing when he famously said “Faith is taking the first step even when you can’t see the whole staircase.” Faith is movement in the face of feelings that would keep you from moving. Faith is deepened and fear is overcome, in the doing.

Pretty much whatever sin or shortcoming you can think of, fear, in some way or another, is at the root of it. Fear within each of us keeps us imprisoned in a mentality of anxiety and scarcity. It keeps us from living that abundant life that Christ opens the door to for us. So today, when we think about the fear of those disciples and Jesus’ words that spoke to those fears – What are your fears? Are they related to health, family, work, finances?

I fear what the future might bring for me. I fear insecurity and instability in my life, and I fear whether I’ll ever be able to set roots down again and restart a normal life. I fear for the future of my parents as they’re getting older, and I fear for my own health as I age. I fear for my daughters, that they might have to endure some of the terrible things I’ve had to go through in my own life. I fear that some day when I least expect it, someone’s going to come up behind me in a restaurant and sucker-punch me, or worse, just because I happened to be holding George’s hand. I fear over whether I’ll be able to have some financial security in my retirement. Those are some of my fears. Some of the things that make me wake up in a cold sweat and feeling like a steel band is tightening across my chest. That keep me from experiencing and living and enjoying that life that God wants for me.

I share those fears with you because here, in this is the place if nowhere else, we need to be open and honest with each other as God’s people. We need to speak the truth, and hear in truth. And I share those fears with you because it wouldn’t be fair of me to ask you to name your fears, even if only to yourselves, in your own minds, if I didn’t do the same thing. So now I ask you to think about exactly that: What, exactly, are the fears in your life? What’s holding you back? What’s leading you down the wrong path? What is it that wakes you up in the middle of the night?

Seriously think about that, and actually put those fears into words, to yourself, because one of the odd things about fear is that just giving it a name, and putting it in concrete words and acknowledging it, automatically takes a lot of its power away. Here’s another little exercise that I stole from David Lose. I’ve done this same sort of thing in other settings, too, and now I guess it’s your turn. When you came in today, you got a 3×5 index card. Take that card, and maybe right now, or maybe some time later today, write down on one side a fear in your life. And then, on the other side, write down some small step of faith that you can make this week – it might be something very small, and it doesn’t even have to be directly related to the particular fear you wrote down. Then carry that card with you, in your pocket, your wallet, your purse. Commit to doing that one step of faith this week. If you get it done, great! Then think of another one and write it down, and keep carrying the card until you get it done, too. The point behind the exercise is that by starting small, taking small steps, we can strengthen our faith to the point where our faith can overcome our fears. It doesn’t mean that the fear disappears, but we’ll have faithful ways to deal with it, to respond to it, to overcome its negative power and control over our lives. Eventually, by repeating that same process of facing our fears, naming them, and taking more and more steps of faith, we’ll be able to overcome even the really big fears and anxieties in our lives. We’ll be able to deal with times of uncertainty or anxiety. We’ll discover that that abundant, peaceful, joyful life that we want, and that God wants for us, is really right here in front of us. And with God’s help, each of us will be able to step out in faith, even if it’s just a little one at first, and grow and strengthen over time as we take more and more steps up the staircase.

We can do that. We can do it! It really isn’t rocket science. Really, we have to do it. Because if we don’t – if we allow our fear and anxiety to overpower us, to take control over our thoughts and actions, then we’ll all just be a problem waiting to happen. We’ll always be just one moment of anxiety away from doing something wrong or hurtful or stupid, taking us further away from the direction God is leading us. In our own lives, in our churches, in our society in general, that’s the ticking time bomb we should really be worried about.

Thanks be to God.

Creaky Rafters (sermon Easter Sunday, April 5, 2015)

snowy roof

Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the tomb. So she ran and went to Simon Peter and the other disciple, the one whom Jesus loved, and said to them, “They have taken the Lord out of the tomb, and we do not know where they have laid him.” Then Peter and the other disciple set out and went toward the tomb. The two were running together, but the other disciple outran Peter and reached the tomb first. He bent down to look in and saw the linen wrappings lying there, but he did not go in. Then Simon Peter came, following him, and went into the tomb. He saw the linen wrappings lying there, and the cloth that had been on Jesus’ head, not lying with the linen wrappings but rolled up in a place by itself. Then the other disciple, who reached the tomb first, also went in, and he saw and believed; for as yet they did not understand the scripture, that he must rise from the dead. Then the disciples returned to their homes.

But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb; and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. They said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping?” She said to them, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” When she had said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.” Jesus said to her, “Mary!” She turned and said to him in Hebrew, “Rabbouni!” (which means Teacher). Jesus said to her, “Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and say to them, ‘I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.’” Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord”; and she told them that he had said these things to her.  – John 20:1-18

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This past winter, I’m sure I wasn’t the only person here who occasionally looked at all the snow piled up on their roof and wondered just how strong the roof framing was. Sitting alone in the house in the evening and hearing an occasional pop or a creaking rafter, and wondering if this was it, that in the next moment the roof was going to collapse under the pressure, and they’d end up finding your body underneath it all during the Spring thaw, your frozen fingers still clutching that last slice of Wegman’s pizza.

I have to admit that over this winter, I’d started to feel something like my roof. My own mental rafters, my emotional rafters, were starting to creak under the stress of a winter that seemed like it would never end, just a great big cosmic piece of hate mail; but it was more than the weather, too. It was also the whole idea of picking up and moving away from 30 years’ worth of familiarity and support systems and connectedness – family, friends, church, everything. Don’t misunderstand, I love the excitement and challenge of new things, new experiences, and making new friends, and new connections. But even at that, some of these winter days were pretty lonely. Sometimes, I felt like I was going it all alone. It made for some pretty creaky rafters.

I guess I hadn’t quite realized just how much that had affected me until this past week. Some of you know that about a week ago, my pastoral mentor and friend, Phil Hazelton, passed away suddenly and unexpectedly; and that I quickly rearranged my Holy Week schedule to run back to Columbus for his memorial service. It was a gut-wrenchingly sad time for me. I spent most of the service trying hard not to cry, and sometimes even succeeding.

But then something incredible happened. At the full-to-capacity reception that followed the service, as we were coming together to mourn and honor this very inspiring man, I was caught off guard by the overwhelming number of people who made a point to gather around and greet me – old friends I’d known for decades, as well as people whose faces I barely recognized, all offering hugs and handshakes, and smiles, and love, saying how good it was to see me again, and wishing me well. I have to admit, I was kind of embarrassed at first; I mean, we were there to honor Phil, not me. But gradually, bit by bit, with every smile, every hug, every hand on the shoulder, the snow started melting off my rafters, and I realized I’d been mistaken. I recognized something that I guess I knew in my head but I’d forgotten in my heart, and these kinds of things you have to know in your heart. No matter how I’d felt in those moments over the winter, I’d never been alone at all. God’s love, the face of Christ, seen in the faces of all these wonderful old friends, and also all my wonderful new ones, had really been there all along. I was, and am, so blessed because of God’s presence. Over the years, God had used my friend Phil to teach me, or at least to remind me, of so many important things. And now, God had used Phil indirectly to do that again, one last time.

So what does all that have to do with Easter? Well, all through Lent I’ve been thinking about just what Jesus’ death and resurrection really means. I’m not talking about the official party line or the right answer according to the Heidelberg Catechism. And I’m not talking about any doctrines of substitutionary atonement or any other mind-numbing theological arguments, I mean: what does it really mean, to me? And after thinking about it a lot, I think it comes down to something very simple, something very basic, something very much like my experience this past week, and that’s this:

There will certainly be times when things will be difficult – very difficult. You’ll go through times of upheaval and uncertainty that will sometimes seem unbearable. Maybe it will come from not knowing what to do about a decision about work, or school. Maybe it will come when you get a frightening diagnosis from the doctor. Or maybe it will come in the wake of a broken or lost relationship, or the death of a loved one. It could be any of these things, or any of a hundred others. There will be times when you’ll go through hell. And whenever that happens, whatever it is that causes the weight, that causes your own emotional rafters to creak under the pressure, it can make you feel very afraid, and very alone.

But the resurrection means that whatever it is that you’re going through, you are never alone. God raised Jesus from the dead, and however you personally understand that to have occurred, it was real enough and powerful enough for hundreds of his closest friends and first followers to experience it, and for all of them, all devout monotheistic Jews who prayed every single day “Hear O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is One”, to suddenly start worshiping Jesus as divine. Jesus went through hell, and was given new life, a life that he shares with us – invisibly, directly into our hearts, but also visibly, concretely, through the love and fellowship and support of all those around us who make up the whole community of faith – old friends, new friends, each one of them being the face of Christ to us in times of trouble and uncertainty and loneliness and fear.

In the very last sermon he ever preached, Phil Hazelton said that whatever it is that you’re going through, have no fear. Don’t be afraid. Trust in Christ; he’s got your back. Trust in Christ, keep moving forward; he’s got you covered. Whatever else Jesus’ resurrection means, whatever else the message of Easter is, it’s most definitely this: that through Christ, God is with you – you are not alone. In Christ, every end brings a new beginning, every death brings new living, every uncertainty brings new growing. And we can say that with all confidence and boldness and joy this morning, because on this day, Christ is risen – Thanks be to God!