The Holy Spirit as our Advocate

By The Very Rev. Sherry Crompton

May 31, 2009

Read: Ezekiel 37:1-14, Acts 2:1-21 & John 15:26-27; 16:4b-15

Last Sunday we heard about the Ascension, when Jesus rose into the air and seemingly disappeared. We talked about God not saying goodbye, but saying Hello in a new and different way. We talked about it being an exchange. Jesus’ Ascension was necessary in order for the coming of the Holy Spirit. And today, is that great feast of Pentecost. Also called the birthday of the church, because of the coming of the Spirit marked by wind and flame.

The decorations and toys all have something to do with the flames and the wind. In our reading from Ezekiel, we heard about the dry bones. And God’s breath giving those dry, dry bones life. New life. “Thus says the Lord God: Come from the four winds, O breath, and breathe upon these slain, that they may live.” And in Acts, when they were all together in one place, suddenly “from heaven there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind” and “Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them”.

So what does that seem like to you? Does it seem calm, quiet, meditative, serene? I don’t think so. Pentecost is our reminder that there is another side to God’s Spirit – one that can set us on fire, transform our lives, turn the world upside down. It is not predictable. It is risky and it is beyond our control. And thank God for that! When we think of the Spirit, we remember that “the wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes.”

In John’s gospel today, Jesus is telling us about this arrival of the Spirit – he will send an Advocate. Other words for the Greek, parakletos, are: comforter, helper, counselor, “one called to assist another”, advocate. What does that mean for us? To have the Spirit’s presence with us always as an advocate. There is a story that illustrates a bit of what that means for us.

A woman named Linda set out in a little Honda Civic to drive from Canada to Whitehorse, Alaska. She stayed overnight in a motel, and asked for an early morning wakeup call. The clerk looked surprised when she asked for that early morning wakeup call, but she couldn't imagine why. But the next morning, when she got up, she understood. The place was totally "socked in" by fog.

She went to the restaurant for breakfast, and two truckers asked to join her. They asked where she was going, and she said, "Whitehorse." The truckers laughed, and one of them said, "Whitehorse! In that little Civic! No way! The pass is dangerous in weather like this."

But she said she had to get there, so the trucker said, "Then I guess we're just going to have to hug you."

Linda said, "Don't you touch me!"

But the trucker said, "Not like that! We'll put one truck in front of you and the other in back, and we'll get you through the mountains."

So Linda spent the morning following the two red taillights of the truck in front of her -- and had the comfort of knowing that there was another truck following her -- and they made it through the mountains.

Those truckers were Linda's Paracletes -- her buddies -- her helpers -- her Comforters.

A precious gift that we all receive is the Holy Spirit. Pentecost is a day about celebrating that Spirit and remembering that we need to allow that Spirit to move and breathe within us and through us. The Spirit gives us the power and the courage to speak our own voice; to be our authentic selves.

The Holy Spirit, the advocate, comes to stand with us and within us as we face the world. The Holy Spirit does not come to give us an excuse for not acting, but rather gives us the power to act. It is not the comforter who pats us on the back and assures us that all will be well, but rather the comforter that pushes us along with words of encouragement. "Go ahead, you can do it."

The advocate is not one who stands in our place, but stands alongside of us and helps us find the words to speak and the approach to take. It is the coach who keeps us focused and on track. The spirit of God comes in so that we may speak out and proclaim the good news of salvation.

Rubem Alves, a liberation theologian from Brazil, says that, “Hope is hearing the melody of the future. Faith is to dance to it.” The Spirit calls us to imagine this world as it should be, to hear the melody of God’s future. And to dance to it.

But that can be intimidating, can’t it. What if we don’t hear the melody and don’t know the steps. And what if we begin to dance to the melody of the future and someone tells us that we’re doing it all wrong? What if we begin to dance to the melody of the future and someone laughs at us, calls us naïve, or drunk, or worse? What if we begin to dance to the melody of the future and we realize that we’re out there all alone? What if we begin to dance to the melody of the future and it sweeps us away, overcomes us, changes our lives and our outlook altogether? (1)

The prophet Joel, as quoted in Acts today, talks about young men and old men, sons and daughters, slaves seeing visions and dreaming dreams.

In the book, Animal Dreams, by Barbara Kingsolver, Codi, who has gone back to her hometown to face her past, corresponds with her sister Hallie, who has gone to teach agriculture to the peasants of Nicaragua during the time that the United States is sending millions of dollars to the Contras. Codi is proud of Hallie, but is scared for her, too, and in one of her letters she writes:

“I feel small and ridiculous and hemmed in on every side by the need to be safe. All I want is to be like you, to be brave, to walk into a country of chickens and land mines and call that home, and have it be home. How can you just charge ahead, always doing the right thing, even if you have to do it alone with people staring? I would have so many doubts—what if you lose that war? What then? If I had an ounce of your bravery, I’d be set for life. You get up and look the world in the eye, shoo the livestock away from the windowsill, and decide what portion of the world needs to be saved today..”

Hallie, in her return letter to Codi, writes this:

“Codi, here’s what I’ve decided: the very least you can do in your life is to figure out what you hope for. And the most you can do is live inside that hope. Not admire it from a distance but live right in it, under it’s roof. What I want is so simple I almost can’t say it: elementary kindness. Enough to eat, enough to go around. The possibility that kids might one day grow up to be neither the destroyers nor the destroyed. That’s about it. Right now I’m living in that hope, running down its hallway and touching the walls on both sides.”

Remember Linda in her little Honda Civic winding her way in the fog, through the dangerous pass, but being “hugged” all along the way. May we be open to the Spirit moving in and through us. May we trust that our Advocate, the Spirit, will be with us as we step out in faith and do a little dancing in our lives.
Breathe on us breath of God! Amen.

(1) The Rev. Cindy Weber, taken from a sermon on desperate preacher site 2008

Jesus' Ascension

By The Very Rev. Sherry Crompton

May 24, 2009 (Ascension Sunday)

Read: Acts 1:1-11 and Luke 24:44-53

Today we mark one of the great and often neglected festivals of the church: the festival of the Ascension. It winds up getting neglected, because it’s fixed on a Thursday, 40 days after Easter. That’s because of the note in Acts that Jesus appeared to his disciples for that period of time after his resurrection.

So it’s often neglected, we moved it to Sunday so it wouldn’t be neglected—and it’s great, because our Lord’s Ascension is worth celebrating, it’s a cosmic event.

Truly, cosmic, I mean, in Acts, we just heard that Jesus was speaking to the apostles and as they were watching, he was lifted up, and a cloud took him out of their sight. In Luke’s gospel, as He was blessing them, he withdrew from them and was carried up into heaven.

Did you notice the disciples in this story? One more time, they just don’t get it! They’ve heard the promise of Jesus, that they would receive his power. They were reminded that they are called upon to tell the story of Jesus near and far, to the ends of the earth. They were given a clear and specific task.
And what did they do? Did they spring right to attention, hustle into action, getting right to their work?

Nope! They gazed into heaven, their eyes glued to the spot where they had last seen Jesus.

Artists who have portrayed this story in paintings and woodcuts have not only pictured Jesus’ feet disappearing into the clouds--many of them have also shown us something else. If you look closely at these paintings and woodcuts—not up in the clouds, but down on the ground—you will see footprints on the earth. Some artists have painted indentations in the rock. Others have etched black and white footprints on the ground not far from where the disciples are standing with their mouths open. Perhaps the artists simply have been imagining details that are not in the text. Or, perhaps, they keep pressing us with the question asked long ago: “Why do you stand looking up toward heaven?”

What would you do? And, what difference does it make? What does it mean for us? What’s the benefit of Jesus’ departure, leaving the disciples—the church—alone?
That’s where the Ascension gets puzzling!

A colleague of mine describes what many of us feel about absence:
When someone leaves us there is crisis. Absence creates a void. What will fill it? Absence means silence-awesome, lonely, gaping silence. No wonder we fear it, avoid it, cling to the presence, do anything to avoid good-bye. (1)

Jesus who called, taught, turned water into wine, and raised the dead is gone. I bet they had a thousand questions to ask too. "What’s to become of us?" "Yes, you told us that you won’t leave us orphans, but can we be sure?" Presence gives way to awful absence.

Something deep down in us resists the move from presence to absence. When someone is present to us, our space is filled, we are not alone. There is conversation and communion. When someone leaves us, there is crisis. Absence means silence--lonely, gaping silence.

One thing is for sure--we had better get accustomed to bidding farewell. Life is a series of leave-takings, of movement from presence to absence. Carly Simon sings, "Nobody ever stays in one place anymore..You say hello, but I say good-bye."

We honestly need God when it comes to hellos and good-byes. Our faith used to be embodied in words like the English, "good-bye”, the Spanish "adios", the French "adieu." They all imply that when we part--in that moment between here and not here, between presence and absence, we'd best give someone to God when we can no longer hold them ourselves. Good-bye means God be with you.

So really Jesus' good-bye turned out to be God's big hello! The real story goes like this: God never left. Never moved. Never said farewell. God simply made an equal exchange. A shift in the plan. For tucked right smack in the middle of our lesson from Acts are these words:

...when the Holy Spirit comes upon you,
you will be filled with power,
and you will be witnesses for me in Jerusalem
and in all of Judea and Samaria,
and to the ends of the earth,"

So, far from saying goodbye, God is saying hello in a big way. God is no longer contained to a single person, in a single location on planet earth. By coming into our very lives, God now wants to work through us, giving us the power to live out our faith, to share the Good News, and to grow in our relationships.

Also, because God says hello with the giving of the Spirit, it means that we can say goodbye. We can say goodbye to our attempts to cling to the past, to cling to people, to structures, to old ways of thinking and doing, and even to our comfort zones.

We can follow God's Spirit as the Spirit moves among us to give us greater mission, clearer vision, and the power to do what we've never done before. As we follow the lead of God's Spirit we may also have to risk walking down new paths at times.

But the bottom line is that far from a goodbye, God has granted us the Spirit of Jesus and that means that we are filled with power to follow in our Lord's footsteps--to be in joyful mission to a hurting world. In the midst of our current crises and periods of transition, let us on this day embrace and celebrate God's great big hello, the giving of God's Comforter and Encourager. For we are the people of God, empowered by the Spirit of Jesus. Amen.

(1) William Willimon, “Good-Bye,” Pulpit Digest (May/June 1991), page 19

My Mother Would Prune Me

By The Very Rev. Sherry Crompton

May 10, 2009

Read: John 15:1-8

Happy Mother’s Day! I found a short history of Mother’s Day that I thought you might find interesting:

The earliest Mother's Day celebrations can be traced back to the spring celebrations of ancient Greece in honor of Rhea, the Mother of the Gods. It was a pagan celebration. As Christianity spread throughout Europe the celebration changed to honor the "Mother Church" - the spiritual power that gave them life and protected them from harm.

During the 1600's, people in England celebrated a day called "Mothering Sunday". Celebrated on the 4th Sunday in Lent, "Mothering Sunday" honored the mothers of England. During this time many of England's poor worked as servants for the wealthy. On Mothering Sunday the servants would have the day off and were encouraged to return home and spend the day with their mothers. A special cake, called the mothering cake, was often brought along to provide a festive touch.

Over time the church festival blended with the Mothering Sunday celebration as people began honoring their mothers as well as the church.

In the United States, Mother's Day was first suggested in 1872 as a day dedicated to peace by Julia Ward Howe (she also wrote the words to “The Battle Hymn of the Republic”). Howe held organized Mother's Day meetings in Boston every year.

In 1907 Ana Jarvis, from Philadelphia, began a campaign to establish a national Mother's Day. She persuaded her mother's church in Grafton, West Virginia to celebrate Mother's Day on the second anniversary of her mother's death, the second Sunday of May. By the next year Mother's Day was also celebrated in Philadelphia.

Jarvis and her supporters began to write to ministers, businessmen, and politicians in their quest to establish a national Mother's Day. It was successful as by 1911 Mother's Day was celebrated in almost every state. President Woodrow Wilson, in 1914, made the official announcement proclaiming Mother's Day a national holiday that was to be held each year on the second Sunday of May.

There you have it, the story behind our celebration of Mother’s Day.

Today we celebrate Mother's Day, and with this day we remember the countless ways that mothers and maternal figures in our lives have shared love with us.

So with all of that in mind, what, pray tell, is our primary text for this Mother’s Day? The Gospel of John’s metaphor of God the vinegrower pruning branches on the vine.

Well, that’s interesting. I don’t know about you, but I don’t find a knife wielding mother particularly comforting. Maybe it’s just me, but I immediately started hearing the theme music from the movie Psycho. The whole concept of “pruning” is not necessarily one that we would connect with motherhood. At least not at first. But let’s think about this. Jesus says, “I am the true vine” and God is like a mother who lovingly and carefully tends the vineyard garden. She wants the vineyard to grow and be prosperous so she removes every branch from the vine that bears no fruit. Every branch that bears fruit she prunes carefully, constructively, and surgically to make it bear more fruit.

The pruning metaphor works best if we think of God as a gardener who grieves while watching a violent storm rip through her beloved garden. Afterward, she tenderly prunes the injured plants in order to guarantee survival and to restore beauty and harmony. But we can’t confuse pruning with the crises that overtakes us. No, pruning has more to do with clearing away the debris those crises leave behind.

And there’s one particular brand of crisis that continually calls for pruning. It’s the self-imposed crisis. It’s when we mess up. It’s when we sin that we need pruned the most (Walter Wink, "Abiding, Even Under the Knife," Christian Century, April 20, 1994).

My mother would prune me.

Now I don’t know how your mother handled discipline, but my mother was pretty good at it. Let’s just say I gave her lots of practice. My mother was very good at staying calm and with a very non-anxious voice she would cut me down to size. But that wasn’t the good part. The good part was the way my mother practiced the art of accountability. Her criticism was always to the point. The sin was clearly pointed out. But there was also affirmation of some good that I could build upon. In other words, my mother would prune me. She would acknowledge my inherent worth but help me clear away the debris in my life, the things that were unhealthy and only holding me back.

Needless to say, this was not always a painless procedure. But nothing that involves a pruning knife ever is. Yet there’s a big difference in the way a knife is handled. There’s also a big difference in the kind of knife used! My mother’s acts of pruning were more surgical scalpel than slashing machete. Which I am very grateful for.

And yet we all know what it’s like to have someone come at us with the slashing machete. Criticism is not something we deal well with to begin with. So when the criticism is not constructive, when it’s leveled with malice, when it is used to tear down instead of build up we are left bruised and bloodied. Intellectually we may know that this unconstructive criticism is without merit and should be dismissed, but that doesn’t stop it from hurting right in the gut.

If God’s tender upbuilding pruning is the model then that is what we should expect from one another and what we should extend to one another.

The other side of the coin is true as well here. When we are called upon to be critical, do we seek to prune in love, or do we go Psycho shower scene. If God’s tender upbuilding pruning is the model then that is what we should expect from one another and what we should extend to one another.

But it’s more than just an individual thing. When Jesus says, “you are the branches” that “you” is plural. Together we are a branch.

A man once planted cucumbers in his backyard. He had made sure that the ground was well prepared. He bought the best cucumber seedlings and set to work with the skill of a man who had planted cucumbers for many seasons. To his delight, soon he had cucumber vines all across his back yard. The plants were green and healthy. One day, he noticed that some of the leaves didn’t look as green as the others.

Not many days later, some of the leaves were as good as dead. He followed the vines with the dead leaves until he got back to the main plant. There at the base of the main stem he noticed that some kind of grub had almost eaten through the stem. The cucumber plant was dependent on the main stem for water and nourishment. Life giving juices flow from the main stem to the branches and enables high-quality delicious fruit to appear. It's not possible to produce fruit without being connected to the stem. Even though the man had cultivated the ground carefully and watered daily, the cucumber vines were unable to receive that goodness and so withered and died.

Harry Emerson Fosdick wrote: We ask the leaf, "Are you complete in yourself?" And the leaf answers, "No, my life is in the branches." We ask the branch, and the branch answers, "No, my life is in the root." We ask the root, and it answers, "No, my life is in the trunk and the branches and the leaves. Keep the branches stripped of leaves, and I shall die!" So it is with the great tree of being. Nothing is completely and merely individual.

Once upon a time a man dropped out of church. He figured he could worship God just as well on his own. A few weeks went by and the minister came to visit. They sat in the living room by the fireplace and made small talk. Then the minister took the tongs and picked up a glowing ember and placed it to one side of the hearth. The two men watched without saying a word. In no time, it began to cool. A few minutes later, the minister picked up the dead ember with his fingers and pitched it back into the fire. Immediately, it came back to life. Without a word, the minister put on his coat and started to leave. The man walked him to the door and said, “That was one of your best sermons. I’ll see you in church this Sunday.”

Jesus said,

“I am the vine, you are the branches.
Abide in me and bear much fruit,
for apart from me you can do nothing.”

The Good Shepherd vs. Hired Hands

By The Very Rev. Sherry Crompton

May 3, 2009

Read: Psalm 23 and John 10:11-18

We heard a great deal about shepherds in our scriptures for today. And, not surprisingly, today is referred to as “Good Shepherd Sunday”. Psalm 23 tells us that “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not be in want. ..he leads me beside still waters. He revives my soul”. And in John’s gospel, Jesus says, “I am the good shepherd.”

Today, let’s consider the difference between good shepherds and hired hands; that is, between those who care out of a genuine sense of compassion and love, and those who care because of the benefits, either real or perceived.

John begins with “I am the good shepherd”. What we need to know is that, in Jesus’ day, the term, “good shepherd,” would have been heard as an oxymoron – a contradiction of terms. In Jesus’ day, shepherds were anything but good. They lived as nomads, grazing their sheep on other people’s land. The life of a shepherd was anything but picturesque. It was dangerous, risky and it was menial. Shepherds were rough around the edges, spending time in the fields rather than in polite society.

And so, for Jesus to identify himself as a shepherd is quite remarkable. It goes along with his willingness to befriend the outcast, touch the leper and eat with tax collectors and sinners. It speaks of Jesus’ humility, to become as one of us in order to redeem us from our sinful nature and give us grace to become more like him. Paul said it best when he wrote to the Philippians,

“ … Christ Jesus, though he was in the form of God,
did not regard equality with God as something to be grasped,
but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave …” (Phil. 2:6-7)

Or, in the case of today’s text, taking the form of a shepherd.

All this is to say, we don’t have to be perfect in order to walk in Jesus’ company, he meets us where we are. The Good News is, we’re accepted, zits and all.

“I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.” That is what makes him good, according to John—his willingness to get involved, to risk his life for the life of his flock. His flock. Not somebody else’s flock, which he gets paid five dollars an hour to look after, but his own flock—the one he has invested his time in, the one he has doctored and protected, the one he has come to develop a relationship with. He cares deeply, he loves, his flock. He is invested in his flock in more ways than one.

His sheep are his livelihood, for one thing, but they are also his extended family. They know his voice, his touch, his walk. If they are grazing with a thousand other sheep and he calls them, they will separate themselves from the crowd and follow him home. His flute is the sound of safety for them—the sound of still waters and green pastures. He knows them too, by name and disposition: Houdini, who is always escaping from the flock; Pegleg, who limps from the time she stepped in a hole; Bossy, who likes nothing better than butting heads.

There is something about a sense of ownership here that creates a certain kind of relationship. The ownership is not about mere possession, but about being bound to something beyond ourselves, about identifying with it so strongly that it becomes part of us. When it is threatened, we defend it as if we were defending our own bodies, and sometimes that can get us into trouble.

Barbara shares a story about visiting a friend in California not too long ago. They met at the airport and as they were getting into the car to leave, my friend opened his door so wide that it whacked the sideview mirror of a red sports car parked next to it. There was no harm done, but the owner of the sports car happened to be sitting inside of it at that time, and when he heard the whack he exploded out the driver’s door.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he yelled at my surprised friend, at which point his friend jumped out of the car and said, “Don’t you talk to him like that! It was an accident, for crying out loud, and you can see for yourself that nothing’s broken.”

“I’m talking to him, not you, buster,” the man said furiously.

“Yeah, well, when you’re talking to him, you’re talking to me.” My friend’s friend said, and the man backed down.

Say what you will about brawls in airport parking lots, there is ownership in that statement. “when you’re talking to him, you’re talking to me.” There is intimate relationship in that, full willingness to risk one’s own safety in order to defend someone else’s. Not because he can’t take care of himself, but because you care for him—you are connected to him, and you know it.

We all deserve to have someone in our lives who will say, “when you’re talking to him, you’re talking to me.” Someone who will tear her clothes off and dive into the water when what is disappearing down the river happens to be us. That is agape, self-giving love, the kind of love the good shepherd practices and the kind he teaches.

If the shepherd had been a hired hand, we would not even know his time. A hired hand would have taken one look at the wolf, or the river current, or the bully, and vanished….because a hired hand does not care for the sheep; he does not involve himself so deeply in their lives that he risks his own to protect theirs. He minds his own business. He takes care of himself.

The good shepherd, on the other hand, lays down his life for the sheep. He cares deeply. The good shepherd is calling and inviting us into a close and loving relationship with himself. Jesus desires to know us and be known by us. Jesus longs to be our leader, to be our guide, to be our friend and our protector.

When was the last time you listened for that voice?

He’s calling today. Amen.

Jesus Was the Talk of the Town

By The Very Rev. Sherry Crompton

April 26, 2009

Read: Luke 2:36b-48

Jesus was the talk of the town! Everyone wondered what the events in Jerusalem meant. What were they to make of the disaster of that Friday and the mystery of that Sunday? And now rumors abounded that Jesus was still alive.

The disciples and the others gathered in Jerusalem were immersed in chaos and confusion—fear, frustration, guilt, grief, doubt, anxiety, suspicion, distrust, restlessness, despondency and terror. Their leader was dead, and his wounded body missing. And, in the midst of their confusion, out of nowhere, Jesus himself appears!

Jesus shows up, providing words of comfort, assurance and chastisement. “Peace be with you” was followed by “why are you freaking out?”. As he had done so many times in Luke, Jesus asked what was for dinner! It was the same Jesus, yet different—once dead but now alive, caring yet still fussing. Jesus acted as if nothing had happened—he seemed normal, natural, just what they had come to expect.

Yet the appearance of Jesus after his cry of abandonment, the giving up of his spirit, and being laid in a tomb is anything but normal, natural, or expected. Earthly, human power had triumphed over him. The high priest, the scribes, the elders, the skeptics, and the curious had all condemned Jesus as a scoundrel and blasphemer—guilty as charged! The governor, the Roman soldiers, interested bystanders, and criminals had condemned Jesus as a traitor and a rebel—guilty as charged! Even God seemed to confirm the verdict, with no rescuing angels, no last-minute acquittal, no surprise witnesses to change the verdict—guilty as charged! According to the law of the day, Jesus got what he deserved. This should be the end of the story.

I’d like to share a poem entitled Dying from the Cold Within, the author is unknown:

Dying from the Cold Within
Six humans trapped by happenstance, in bleak and bitter cold.
Each one possessed a stick of wood. Or so the story's told.
Their dying fire in need of logs, The first woman held hers back,
For on the faces around the fire, She noticed one was black.
The next man looking cross the way, Saw one not of his church,
And couldn't bring himself to give, The fire his stick of birch.
The third one sat in tattered clothes, He gave his coat a hitch,
Why should his log be put to use, To warm the idle rich?
The rich man just sat back and thought, Of the wealth he had in store.
And how to keep what he had earned, From the lazy poor.
The black man's face bespoke revenge, As the fire passed from his sight,
For all he saw in his stick of wood, Was a chance to spite the white.
And the last man of this forlorn group, Did naught except for gain.

Giving only to those who gave, Was how he played the game.
The logs held tight in death's still hands, Was proof of human sin.
They didn't die from the cold without, They died from the cold within.

Is this the end of our story? Dying from the cold within? It wasn’t the end of Jesus’ story. We are surprised. The disciples and the others were surprised, startled and terrified. Just when we think the story is over, God has something to say. It’s not about us. It has always been about God and continues to be so. It has always been about God’s purposes, aims and agendas for creation—repentance that leads to forgiveness of sins and the wholeness of creation.

The risen Christ appears to groups and couples to assure them that he lives; to teach them to put their fear and doubts in the context of God’s grand plan; to open their understanding of the Scriptures; to commission them as witnesses of all that God has done and is doing in the world. The defense is sure—Christ is risen!

A Civil War story: Robert E. Lee once visited a woman in Kentucky after the hostilities ceased and found her mourning the remains of a grand old oak tree that had stood in her front yard for who knows how long. Its limbs and trunk had been destroyed by Union artillery fire. She waited for Lee to condemn the North or at least commiserate with her. But he did nothing of the kind. All he said to her was, “Cut it down, my dear madam, and forget it.”

There’s a wonderful story about a church custodian’s discovery one Monday morning when he went to clean the sanctuary. Instead of finding the usual fare - forgotten Bibles, umbrellas, bulletins covered with children’s drawings, and torn-up notes the teenagers had passed to each other instead of listening to the sermon - he found something very different indeed.

In a middle pew on the right side of the church lay a discouraged man’s anger towards God. On the back left pew sat a woman’s profound disappointment and fear over an uncertain future. Further down the pew lay a middle-aged father’s feelings of failure. Across the aisle the custodian found a young couple’s lukewarm commitment. On the front row he discovered an old man’s fear of death. In the corner, so small he could barely see it, lay a young person’s sins. On other pews he found jealousy, bitterness, pride, fear and doubt. The custodian was not sure what to with all this - but finally he swept it up - all those wounds, hurts, fears and sins - and threw them away.

Sisters and brothers, that story is your story and my story. Or if it isn’t, it can be. Dying from the cold within doesn’t have to be the end of the story. Because God has forgiven us and made us his friends and his family, and freed us and given us a new future, we can walk away from all that binds and shackles us. Just walk away.

Consider the signs of hope in our world, where we do share our logs and our sticks, where we choose life and keep the fire glowing. Patricia Quigley and Susan Retik, are two mothers who were widowed on 9/11. Patti was eight months pregnant with her second child when her husband Patrick was killed while traveling on United flight 175. Susan was seven months pregnant with her third child when her husband David was killed on American flight 11. Patti and Susan were profoundly moved by the support offered by friends, family and strangers from around the world. They were cared for financially and emotionally and today they remain deeply grateful to all who helped them.

And, grateful for the outpouring of support they received, they started thinking about the women in Afghanistan who, when widowed, lose status in that society and therefore find their already difficult lives even harder. They raised money and formed a foundation called Beyond the 11th to support Afghani widows, and even made visits to Afghanistan in 2006 to meet the widows they were helping. For them, these connections have helped to make sense of the world.

You see, Jesus is among us, in the midst of our fear, frustration, guilt, doubt, anxiety, suspicion, despair, restlessness, despondency and terror. He is not dead. He is real and says to each of us, “Peace be with you”. Do not be afraid. Let’s keep the fire glowing. Amen.

The Lord is Risen

By The Very Rev. Sherry Crompton

Easter Sunday – April 12, 2009

Read: John 20:1-18

Our gospel story today begins with the words…. “early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb.”

Mark’s version is also on your insert, although we didn’t read it this morning. It begins “very early on the first day of the week, when the sun had risen."

While it was still dark and at early dawn. Early dawn. The Greek for early dawn can also be translated as deep dawn. I love that description...deep dawn. What is deep dawn? It is that indefinable time between darkness and light.

My friend Jim wonders if, while circling the earth in outer space, you can see an arched line that can only be described as earth’s deep dawn. There is such a thing as deep, deep dawn, but I think only the eyes of the heart can see it. Only the eyes of the mind can see it. And I doubt there’s an actual line. If you’ve ever watched the sun rise, you know there’s no actual line. And you also know the truth in the phrase, “it’s always darkest before the dawn”. And it’s true during the cold winter months, that the temperature drops to it’s lowest point just before the dawn. It is darkest just before the dawn.

It was the women who came to the tomb at deep dawn. All the gospel writers agree it was women, they disagree on the names and number, but they all agree it was women. In John’s gospel, which we read this morning, it was Mary. Mary wasn’t able to see clearly in the deep dawn. It was dark when she arrived. And Mary experienced a deep dawn moment.

Do you know what I mean by a deep dawn moment? Deep dawn, for example, is that moment just after you hang up the phone and you have to go to the police station to pick up your son or your daughter. At that moment, you believe there is hope for a new beginning, like Jesus taught; or you believe there is nothing but angry rebellion and angry retribution.

Deep dawn is that moment just after the doctor comes in and says it’s cancer….and then says these are the things he can do but makes no promises. At that moment, everything you have been taught to believe about hope is true or it is a lie….either you believe there is hope or you believe there is nothing but disease. It’s at that moment, we must remember what Jesus taught us.

It always happens at deep dawn. That in between space and time. That moment just after the news is bad….like when one parent comes home and says to the other—I don’t love you anymore….or when someone says I am powerless over my addiction…or when the boss says your job has just been phased out.

It’s just then we must remember how Jesus taught us: “Come to me all who labor and are heavy laden, I will give you rest...” “I am with you always even to the end of the ages..” “This is my body broken for you” Then you will know there is hope that will not let go.

Then you will know there is hope that will not let go. Mary tried to hold on to Jesus; to cling to Jesus. Barbara Brown Taylor says----the only thing we cannot do is hold on to Jesus. He has asked us please not to do that, because he knows that, all in all, we would rather keep him with us where we are then let him take us where he is going. Better we should let Jesus hold on to us, perhaps. Better we should let him take us into the white-hot presence of God, who is not behind us, but ahead of us, every step of the way.” Jesus leads us into new life; into new relationship.

Mary begins the day in fear, confusion, and tears – deep dawn. And then she finds new life standing before her. It is not what she expected. An unlikely movie expresses it - the movie Ratatouille. Ratatouille is an animation in which Remy, the French rat, lives underground in pipes and sewers as rats do. But one day, all the rats get swept away by a surge of water and Remy gets separated from all his friends and family. Late at night –in the dark-hungry, lost and alone, he starts climbing up the dripping, slimy pipes to get his bearings. He reaches street level and continues up between walls of buildings, through cracks, along girders, out on a balcony, up the vines of a pillar, and finally onto a roof where suddenly he is looking out over the Eiffel Tower and all of Paris at night. He says, "All this time I've been underneath Paris. Wow!"

Deep dawn is that indefinable time between darkness and light….that time when the promise in which we believe is true; or the promise in which we believe is a lie.
Mary went to the tomb at deep dawn. She was in the dark. The darkness that comes just before the dawn. She didn’t see. Then the angels appeared. And still she didn’t see. Then Jesus appeared. And still she didn’t see. She was in that moment of deep dawn. Then Jesus spoke her name. And the sun appeared. Light came. Mary could see clearly. But don’t hold on to Jesus. Let Jesus hold on to us and lead the way into light and life.

In those moments of deep, deep dawn in our life. Remember. If we take that word apart it is Re and Member. To Re-Member is to put back together. To put back together a broken body. Jesus’ body was broken for us, but we know about the resurrection.

Just remember in the winter
Far beneath the bitter snows,
Lies the seed that with the sun's love
In the spring becomes the rose.

(from "The Rose" by Amanda McBrooom)

So, in those moments of deep, deep dawn, when we remember what Jesus taught us, we will know, we will believe, we will be sure that there is hope so strong that not even the grave can contain it. Let me repeat that….there is hope so strong that not even the grave can contain it. That hope for us is the truth of Jesus of Nazareth.

Alleluia. The Lord is Risen.

Jesus is In Our Midst

By The Very Rev. Sherry Crompton

March 29, 2009

Read: John 12:20-33

Nice Greek girls are supposed to do three things in life,” says Toula’s father in My Big Fat Greek Wedding. “Marry a nice Greek boy, make babies, and feed everyone till the day we die.” Not that Toula, a thirty-something single needs reminding. Day after boring day, she toils in the family Greek diner, her lank hair falling around her face, her body hidden in a sackcloth dress.

One day Prince Charming walks into the diner—a handsome, sensitive, artsy guy named Ian. Does Ian sound Greek to you? That’s the problem. Toula falls in love with a guy who is not a nice Greek boy. Not surprisingly, Toula’s Mr. Right becomes her parents’ Mr. Wrong—“a big xeno,” her father moans, “with long hairs on top of his head.” Her father wonders aloud of Toula’s fiancé. “Is he a good boy? I donnn’t know. Is he from good family? Is he respectful? I donnn’t know.” Eventually a date is set, however, for this clash-of-the-cultures wedding.

You can almost hear the Us and Them screeching and colliding as the story develops. Ian’s uppity parents writhe in embarrassment as they arrive at Toula’s get-acquainted party. The limo pulls up to the curb and there, amidst modest suburban homes, is Toula’s house, a miniature version of the Parthenon replete with Corinthian columns and statues and –horror of horrors—a lamb roast on the front lawn.

By movie’s end, our pale WASP family finds in the Greeks a robust and exotic community, though unorthodox (they mime spitting on each other for good luck), and both cultures are able to move beyond their suspicions to form a new family. But you just never know what will happen when the Greeks arrive.

Greeks. That’s who arrive at Passover in our gospel lesson today. Technically, the word refers to Toula’s kin—people of Greek descent, language and culture. But by the time of the Caesars, Greek meant anyone influenced by Greek culture—most of whom lived in towns and cities rather than in the rural countryside. But among pious Jews in Jerusalem, the word, “Greek,” had taken on its broadest meaning. There are only two groups in the world: Jews, a group of people held together by descent, language and culture, and Greeks—the rest of the world.

John tells us that some Greeks—non-Jewish types—who had come to Jerusalem to celebrate the Passover, paid a visit to Philip. “Hey we want to meet your leader,” they ask. “Please wait right here,” Philip says, “and I’ll get right back to you.” Philip casually turns the corner and then mad-dashes over to Andrew.

“Hey Andrew,” whispers Philip out of breath, “we’ve got a problem—some Greeks want to see Jesus.” “Greeks?” Andrew responds incredulously. “Are they good boys? We donnn’t know. From good family? Respectful? We donnn’t know.” Apparently so undecided about what to do with the Greeks, they take their request to Jesus.

For once it seems a group comes looking for Jesus with no apparent agenda- no request for healing, no attempt at controversy...just this: we would like to see Jesus.

Did Jesus really respond to the request? His reply seems to go in another direction from the questioner's intent. Or is his monologue really a statement/reply about where Jesus can really be seen--in the hour of his glory, as the seed goes into the ground and dies, on the cross, and in the faithful setting aside of self-interest of his disciples?

We all see Jesus in different ways. Healer, Savior, Friend, Teacher, Prophet. John is the gospel of signs, and he reminds us that after all the signs if we really want to see Jesus then there is only one place to look- the cross.

As much as it might hurt us to think about the darkness, the abandonment, and the pain, we must. We have to go look at the cross and we have to stay there. If we stay long enough we might just catch a glimpse of the glory of God. The truth might hit us like thunder: "Ohhh...so that's
what God is like!"

In January, 2007, The Washington Post set up an experiment to learn whether people would pause long enough to recognize real quality in their midst. They arranged with Joshua Bell, a young violinist, to dress in jeans, T-shirt, and baseball cap and play his violin near a busy Washington D.C. Metro (subway) station.

Bell stood by a wall near a trash can, took his violin from its case, tossed a few bills and some coins in the case to encourage donations, and began to play. He played his violin for 45 minutes as subway riders passed by -- more than a thousand of them. While he was playing, a few people tossed a little money in his violin case -- $32 in all. Most of the rest walked by, scarcely acknowledging his presence. $32 doesn't seem too bad for 45 minutes work. That figures out to $42 an hour -- if you don't have to take any breaks.

But Joshua Bell does better at his day job -- or, as it were, at his night job. A few evenings earlier, he sold out Boston Symphony Hall with most tickets going for $100 or more. In that concert, he played a Stradivarius violin worth $3 million -- the same violin that he played at the subway entrance.

I wonder if we would notice Jesus if he were in our presence today. He is in our presence, of course. Remember what he said? "Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me" (Matthew 25:40).

May we recognize Jesus in our midst and glorify the name of the Lord. Amen.