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Our society has a strong tendency to disregard, if not look down on, things and people who seem small and lack power. If there’s no use, there’s no meaning of its existence, our consumerist culture implicitly proclaims. This principle applies to people. If one is with disabilities, or one is too young or too old, one’s worth becomes less valuable than those in power or those who are more productive and useful. We say we are human beings, but the consumerist culture, which is always too anxious of scarcity, redefines us as human doings or human producing or human consumings. But Elisha the prophet in the first lesson tells otherwise. Jesus in the gospel lesson proclaims the abundance of God, not in the way of productivity or usefulness, but in the way of offering or oblation.
I would like to read you a different version of today’s gospel story of Jesus feeding the five thousand. It is Archbishop Desmond Tutu’s version, his storybook Bible for children. The title is “God provides enough for everyone: Jesus feeds the crowd.” All day in the hot sun, thousands of people sat and listened to Jesus talk about God’s dream. They were so hungry to know God, they forgot to eat lunch! When the sun started to go down, Philip said, “Master, it’s late and the people are hungry. You should send them home.” “Why send them home?” Said Jesus. “Just feed them.” “Feed them?!” Philip said. “We don’t have any food.” “Someone has something to share.” Jesus answered. A little boy offered to share his five small loaves of bread and two tiny fish. Philip threw his arms in the air. “That’s not enough for all of these people!” “Ask the people to sit down,” Jesus said. He took the bread in his hands, looked up to heaven, and blessed it. He did the same with the fish. Then he told the disciples to hand out the food. They were amazed! There was more than enough for everyone. When all the people had finished eating, the disciples filled twelve baskets with the food that was left! With God’s love, five loaves and two small fish fed more than five thousand people. (Archbishop Desmond Tutu, Children of God: Storybook Bible, pp. 88-89) As you can see, Archbishop Tutu’s version is edited. Which means as he retells the gospel story, he interprets it in some way. For example, he doesn’t include Andrew. There’s no mention of Andrew in his version. Through Archbishop’s imagination, we get to hear the crowd’s response to this miracle by which they were amazed. Philip comes across as someone who is realistic enough to know the crowd should be sent home and the little boy’s five barley loaves and two fish aren’t enough for them all. Out of all his redactions, I appreciate how Archbishop Tutu makes the little boy’s presence much more active and visible. In the original text, the little boy is presented through Andrew. Andrew says to Jesus, “There’s a boy here who has five barley loaves and two fish. But what are they among so many people?” We don’t know how Andrew found out about the boy. Did the boy get caught by a bunch of adults or did he volunteer? If it was voluntary, how did he know that Jesus wanted to feed the crowd? These are some questions whose answers we can only imagine. But in Tutu’s retelling of the story, the boy takes up a different role. And Jesus also takes up a different role. He actually expects someone to share. In Tutu’s version, Jesus says, “Someone has something to share.” That someone Jesus has in mind is the little boy. He offers to share his five small loaves of bread and two tiny fish. The little boy doesn’t hide his food from others. He doesn’t keep them to himself. He actively offers to share what he has for the sake of others, for the sake of the five thousand. This whole scene reminds us of Jesus’ saying, “Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever becomes humble like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.” (Mt 18:3-4) The little boy not only enters the kingdom of God but also shows how to enter. And what is this how? Offer what you have. Offer what you are. Offer yourself for others. This actually is a unusual behavior for us when our consumerist culture fears people of scarcity. We are told that we lack something and there’s never enough for myself, destroying any room to share with others. Interestingly, Jesus seems to go against our consumerist culture that preaches to us to produce. He doesn’t produce anything even when he sees the crowd who haven’t had anything to eat. Instead, he receives the five barley bread and two fish from the little boy. The bread and fish are offered to Jesus the Great High Priest. Jesus takes what’s offered to him, blesses it, breaks it, and distributes it to the crowd. This four patterned act brings all of us to the altar. Jesus not only offers what’s offered, but he offers himself, becoming the offering to God to feed the world. This morning, let’s be attentive to what Jesus calls into. Looking around our society and our world, there’s never enough for everyone even though we are very much aware of what’s being wasted. We might also think very less of what we have or less of what we are, telling ourselves there’s nothing much we small people, particularly our small parish, can do much for others. We wouldn’t say such things explicitly or out loud, but deep down in our hearts, we might consider ourselves not so useful or too small to be productive. Perhaps Andrew’s question might linger in our hearts, “There’s a boy who has five barley loaves and two fish. But what are they among so many people?” What are we small parish among so many people? We want to go beyond this saying of Andrew so that we can listen to the voice of Jesus, “Make the people sit down.” Which means, “Let’s prepare ourselves to serve.” My friends, let us remind ourselves that it is not up to us how to make ourselves abundant. That’s not what Jesus asks us to do. That task of God’s abundance is God’s work, never ours. Jesus never commands us to be useful or productive. Jesus simply looks for someone who desires to share what one has. It doesn’t matter how big or small you are. All Jesus wants is someone to offer, someone to be offered for the sake of others just as he himself did on the cross, as he offered himself to the Father. Offering of myself in believing that God will make me abundant is how one enters the kingdom of God. This is how one experiences the reign of God here and now. “Walk in love as Christ loved us and offered himself for us, an offering and sacrifice to God.” And this offering is made possible because we are the body of Christ. St Augustine once said, “When you eat this food and drink this wine, they will be transformed into your substance. Equally you will be transformed into the body of Christ, if you live in obedience and faithfulness. The Apostle reminds us of the prediction in scripture: ‘Two will become one flesh.’ And elsewhere in reference to the eucharist itself, he asserts, ‘Because there is one bread,we who are many are one body.’ You, therefore, begin to receive what you already begin to be.” (Sermon 227) So my friends, let us not be afraid to offer ourselves. Let’s not shy away from being oblates to Jesus who will make us abundant. He will take us, bless us in thanksgiving to God and transforming us who we really are, breaks us, and shares us with those in need of God’s mercy and grace. Let’s open up our fists, open up our hearts to this Eucharistic miracle of Jesus Christ in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. The fundamental fear that every human being eventually faces comes from mortality, human finitude, or simply put, death. Death produces lots of thoughts and feelings, which we consider unpleasant and negative. If I name a few, they are anxiety, fear, sadness, sorrow, and grief. I would say any kind of death would evoke such thoughts and feelings, but when it comes down to our loved ones, its depth is so much deeper, almost leaving a wound that makes us grieve for a while. And this morning, as we celebrate and remember the life of E, we also mourn and grieve for her loss.
I’ve never had a chance to meet her in person, but one aspect of her life that stands out to me is that she was a mother of seven children: E, J, K, C, K, A, and R. Being a mother, as we know, is not simply a matter of giving birth to a baby. Out of all kinds of things that a mother can do for her baby, there’s one crucial fact and truth that only the mother can provide. That is, becoming a home to her baby. If we reflect on English words such as womb and home, we can easily hear how these two words sound similar to each other. Every human being’s first home is a mother’s womb. So, every mother’s vocation begins quite early in her womb being a home to her baby. In this sense, E became the very first home to her seven children. There’s an interesting word play between womb and compassion in Hebrew. The Hebrew word, ‘rechem’ means womb. When this singular word becomes plural, which is ‘rachamim,’ its meaning changes to compassion. If we use this word play in our second reading, where St John the Evangelist hears the loud voice from the throne, “See, the home of God is among mortals,” the home of God can be understood as the womb of God. And this womb of God incarnate is Jesus of Nazareth. He is the divine compassion becoming flesh. And in this divine home of compassion Jesus brings to the world, death becomes a path to the way of the resurrection, not the end of everything. In this divine home incarnate in Jesus, no one is lost. Jesus raises up all, including all our loved ones who have gone before us, especially E. With sorrow, grief, and tears in our eyes, Jesus brings hope, joy, and wipes every tear from your eyes. Let us listen to what Jesus speaks to us this morning, “See, I am making all things new. It is done! I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end. To the thirsty I will give water as a gift from the spring of the water of life. Those who conquer will inherit these things, and I will be their God and they will be my children.” And to this promise of Jesus, we say, “The Lord is my portion, therefore I will hope in him.” And we will hope for the resurrection in which we are united together with E in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Pentecost+9/Proper 11B (Jeremiah 23:1-6; Psalm 23; Ephesians 2:11-22; Mark 6:30-34, 53-56)7/22/2018 Self-care seems to be one of the most mentioned words at least in the field of medicine where its use of the word was historically originated. In the fields of chaplaincy, social work, and medicine, this term, ‘self-care’ is quite frequently emphasized in the sense that before one gets burnt out, one must take care of oneself. There are many interesting and creative ways to self-care. You can very well imagine something like giving yourself a break from work or people, hanging out with your friends, taking a power nap, treating yourself with healthy food, going away somewhere peaceful, and so on. One interesting phenomenon about this term is that after the 2016 election Americans googled this term twice as much as they did in the past.
In today’s gospel lesson, it seems that Jesus becomes more aware of this importance of self-care. We might want to claim that self-care is part of the Christian teaching! So here’s the situation in which Jesus feels the need for self-care. Once his friends are given Jesus’s authority to preach to people to change their hearts and turn away from whatever prevents them from loving God, others, and themselves and to heal their broken hearts, they come back to him and report all they did. Jesus tells them, “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.” Jesus and his friends are surrounded by people coming in and out, having no leisure even to eat. We can very well imagine this busy routine of Jesus and the disciples’ ministry since we ourselves are quite busy working. They decide to go away in the boat to a deserted place by themselves. Once they are about to finally have some freedom from people, they get caught by people in that different town. These people are serious. They are not going to lose Jesus and his friends. They hurry themselves, almost running to get ahead of Jesus and his friends. Even before Jesus gets to his designated and supposedly deserted place, a great crowd of people is already there, waiting for him and his friends. I can jokingly say that if you want self-care in your life, don’t get caught by people you know like Jesus and his friends. Don’t tell others where you’re going, hide well, or turn off your phone. This, however, is not the point of the gospel. The essential theme of today’s lessons we hear really comes out of Jesus' heart. Which is compassion. When Jesus' self-care plan or vacation plan is all ruined as he encounters a great crowd by the shore, he sees them as sheep without a shepherd. His way of looking at these people who come to see him as shepherdless or lost sheep, St Mark calls, compassion. This compassion Jesus feels for the people in the gospel lesson is what the shepherds in the first lesson are missing. Jeremiah warns and condemns, if not curses, the compassionless shepherds. He prophesies the word of God, “Woe to the shepherds who destroy and scatter the sheep of my pasture! It is you who have scattered my flock, and have driven them away, and you have not attended to them.” These shepherds are judged guilty of destroying, scattering, driving away God’s flock, and not attending to them. And who are these shepherds in Jeremiah’s time? They’re the leaders of Israel. Israel in Jeremiah’s time is under the siege of Babylonia. Their cities and homes are to be taken over by the Babylonians. Their nation is already divided into two, Northern Israel and Southern Judah. The people of Israel are about to be destroyed, scattered, and driven away from their homes. Jeremiah accuses these leaders as well as their false prophets of moral depravity. In light of today’s gospel lesson, this moral depravity of Israel in the time of Jeremiah comes from a lack of compassion they have for their people. Jesus feels compassion for a huge crowd by the shore because they are like the sheep without a shepherd or like the sheep with a false shepherd. Only the one who has compassion for the lost sheep can be the Good Shepherd. Jeremiah proclaims God’s promise, “I myself will gather the remnant of my flock out of all the lands where I have driven them, and I will bring them back to their fold, and they shall be fruitful and multiply. I will raise up shepherds over them who will shepherd them, and they shall fear any longer or be dismayed, nor shall any be missing.” There is one specific righteous Branch that Jeremiah prophesies in the first lesson. That Branch of justice and righteous is Jesus of Nazareth who is not just full of compassion but the divine compassion embodied and enfleshed! When that divine compassion of Jesus touches people, healing happens. Reconciliation happens. The peace which comes through the death and resurrection of Jesus arrives in their hearts. So what are we as followers, friends, brothers, and sisters of Jesus the incarnate compassion called to do? I had a discussion about today’s gospel lesson with my priest friend and colleague. During our sharing of ideas and insights, I realize how often priests quite automatically see themselves as shepherds and lay people as their sheep. Well, I think this approach is very wrong and even harmful in the sense that lay people are seen as the ones who need a shepherd, placing them in a passive role. I would like to encourage you to look at yourselves as shepherds who have Jesus as the ultimate Shepherd. God does promise that God will raise up shepherds over the remnant of God’s flock. We as Christians are called to see ourselves as those shepherds God will raise up. Being a shepherd for others is exactly the same thing as the priesthood of all believers. In the world, every baptized Christian is called to be a priest. St Peter says, “You are a royal priesthood and royal kingdom.” Through the blood of Jesus the High Priest, we are made into priests who join the sacrifice of Jesus for the world. This being a priest is really being a shepherd for others. And what qualifies us as a ‘faithful’ shepherd and a ‘holy’ priest is whether we have compassion for others or not. What then is this compassion that is so crucial to who Jesus is as the Good Shepherd and the High Priest and who we are as shepherds and priests? ‘Com-‘ in the word compassion is a prefix which means ‘with’ or ‘together,’ whereas ‘passion’ comes from the Latin ‘pati’ or ‘passio’ meaning to suffer. Compassion is not just a feeling but calls us into action to suffer with or suffer together. It is a statement that those who are suffering are not alone. Compassion puts us into that very place of suffering to suffer together. But let’s remember that when we are present to others’ suffering, we don’t enter as a healer, but as a fellow sufferer. When these two fellow sufferers meet, there comes the healing of Jesus through the power of the Holy Spirit. This way of compassion then compels us to look at others in a different way. I’m going to borrow the words of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, German Lutheran pastor, theologian, and modern martyr in the Nazi era who says, “We must learn to regard people less in the light of what they do or omit to do, and more in the light of what they suffer.” Compassion actually pushes us out of ourselves. This compassion of Jesus perhaps is the only requirement we need as a priest and a shepherd of God. Now, you might wonder what happened to the self-care piece that I mentioned at the beginning of this homily. Did I forget? Am I trying to say self-care matters but it’s never possible? No. Based on this compassion of Jesus which essentially expands one’s understanding of self, this self-care actually is not simply limited to oneself or one single individual unit. This compassion-expanded self always includes others, forming a communion of compassion or what St Paul calls in the second lesson ‘a holy temple in the Lord’ and ‘a dwelling place of God.’ As we partake in the Eucharist, we’re embodied into the compassion of Jesus. In the Eucharist, we are joined into the divine compassion incarnate. May this compassion incarnate Jesus Christ perpetually lead us to suffering people. May we also find the healing and peace of God in that place which we see both the cross and the empty tomb. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. T. S. Eliot once said, “I said to my soul, be still and wait without hope,for hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love, for love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith, but the faith and the love are all in the waiting. Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought; so the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.” Encountering today’s rather dark and gloomy (just like today’s weather) gospel, T. S. Eliot offers a way to hear the good news. Wait without hope, love, and thought until the darkness becomes the light, and the stillness the dancing. Jesus’ name is mentioned in today’s gospel lesson, but there’s no actual saying of his. So as a person who would like to meditate and contemplate on his words, I feel quite perplexed to find his message in today’s lesson. But there’s someone else who indeed delivers the gospel. I’m not going to tell you who, but I would like you to guess. Here are the characters who talk in the lesson: St John, Herod, some people around him, Herodias, and her daughter Salome. St John the Baptizer may be considered as someone whose life solely revolves around Jesus and whose focus centers on Jesus. It is as if his identity from the very beginning, even before he’s actually born and in his mother, Elizabeth’s womb, is already set. When two soon-to-be mothers, Elizabeth and Mary meet each other, when Elizabeth hears Mary’s greeting, the unborn John leaps in his mother’s womb, reports St Luke. From that very moment, it seems it is already evident who he is called to be, what he is called to do, and what kind of death his life would face. Throughout all four Gospels, St John’s vocation is quite clear. He’s the voice in the wilderness. He’s to prepare the way of the Lord. To be the prophetic voice in the wilderness is his identity, who he is. To prepare the way of the Lord is his mission, what he does. If you can recollect your memory of this past Advent season, two lessons are about John’s prophetic role before the coming of Jesus in this world. The prophetic voice of Isaiah in the Hebrew Scripture, which is “Prepare the way of the Lord! Make straight in the desert a highway for our God.” parallels with that of John. In today’s gospel, we hear the tragic story of St John’s death. As we reflect on this gospel lesson, particularly John’s death, we might wonder if his death, not just his ministry of baptizing people with water for repentance and teaching, is part of preparing the way of the Lord and making straight in the desert. His death completes his mission. Which also means that Jesus is invited to walk on that way that John prepares. As his way paves the way of Jesus, his death foreshadows the death of Jesus. He seems to send a message to Jesus that he also has to go through the path of death and walk on it himself. The early 17th century painter Caravaggio has two famous pieces that depict the beheading of John. One painting titled as ‘the decapitation of St John the Baptist’ shows the moment of his body pushed on the ground by an executioner/headsman with a knife; this man next to the headsman giving a direction of this process; one woman holding the plate to carry John’s head, and the other woman whose hands are covering her ears looking horrified. And there are two bystanders behind the window who are watching it curiously. Another painting is Herodias’ daughter, Salome carrying the head of John on the plate with the executioner grabbing John’s hair.
Both paintings can bring so much emotions. Caravaggio’s realistic imagination can shock us as it reminds of John’s humiliation and indignity in his death, if not its cruel and violent features. There’s a sense of unfairness, injustice, and also disappointment. We don’t want someone like St John, the prophet and the forerunner who prepares the way of Christ to face this kind of death. This is far from that of Hollywood movies’ heroic version which we are quite used to seeing. At least in our culture, heroes must face a glorious death, not this kind of tragic, unfair, and cruel ending of John. What can be more infuriating is how his execution becomes possible. I can romanticize his death by saying that this is all meant to be and is a part of God’s providential plan. But at least what we hear from today’s gospel lesson is that his tragic death directly results from Herod’s drunkenness and Salome’s impressive dance. Of course, before that, St John has been a critic of Herod’s immoral and unethical decision to marry his niece who is already married to his brother. John’s criticism of Herod is not for the sake of his own righteousness. He risks his life to turn Herod away from the evil. Paradoxically, this is an act of love and justice. He really is a courageous and righteous voice in the wilderness while he’s seen as a sacred irritant to those in power, Herod and Herodias in particular. Let’s also remember what Jesus once refers him as that “Truly I tell you, among those born of women no one has arisen greater than John the Baptist.” (Mt 11:11) St John, however, doesn’t get to have a heroic death like Bruce Willis in Armageddon. What a tragic, horrendous, terrible way for him to die! But deep down in our hearts, we know that there’s no death in reality that can be romanticized or sentimentalized as in Hollywood movies. And out of all the deaths, John is far from a Hollywood version, so is Jesus the Son of God on the cross. It is hard to deny that John and Jesus are quite similar. Both face a tragic and horrendous death, a very political one. Both preach the same message of repentance and the coming reign of God. And this close connection is shown in a very interesting way in the eyes of Herod. After beheading John and hearing about Jesus’ ministry, he relates them to each other. Not only are they cousins and both come across as a political threat, Jesus is a resurrected John to Herod. Some say he’s Elijah, or a prophet of the ancient tradition. But what he really believes is that John is back again from the dead. The beheaded one is risen from the dead. Herod’s understanding of Jesus as a resurrected John might tell us that he’s awfully guilty. We hear from today’s gospel that he is deeply grieved for the execution. He knows John is a righteous and holy man. He fears John as well as holds grudge against him too. John in a way plays as the voice that awakes Herod’s conscience. The other aspect to this perceiving of Jesus as a resurrected John is that Jesus’ own life can be in danger. Herod or Herodias might want to get rid of this resurrected John again. Jesus who talks about the kingdom of God, the reign of God already sounds just like John, a political threat to their regime and conscientious spirit to their hearts. And they do succeed in contributing to the death of the resurrected John. The fact that both John and Jesus died is depressing. At times, we might feel like the power that be continues to win and succeed in eliminating the righteous ones in our world as if there’s no justice prevailing. But the hope ironically comes out of the mouth of that one who murders the righteous one. And this is Herod who delivers the good news of Jesus. “John, whom I beheaded, has been raised.” Jesus who is seen as the resurrected John is not simply another version of John. Jesus is the one who resurrects those who are dead. Jesus resurrects John. He resurrects many Johns who have faced unfair, unjust, and tragic deaths. This hope of the resurrection in Jesus is painfully realistic, seeing things as they are. This hope Jesus brings is beyond wishful optimism. This crucified and risen hope hops despite of its rather pessimistic view of the world. Because of this very truth and hope embodied in the person of Jesus, we are not afraid of death at all. We face it and go through it, never around it. It’s all because we believe that Jesus himself represents our resurrected selves. Our world has changed so much. Our American politics become weary. Global economics are unstable. We might want to shrink and hide until this stormy climate of politics passes. But as followers of Jesus who knew what kind of death he would face in the death of John, we want to walk that path of death and resurrection. That’s what we’re called to do today. This is the good news of Jesus. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. There’s one custom based on the first half of today’s gospel lesson which still continues to be kept in regard to clergy deployment. That is, a newly ordained person does not go back to one’s home parish as a priest. I’m not sure if there are any theological reasons behind this custom which I believe is kept throughout the Anglican Communion except some unusual cases. But I have heard from other priests that one of the many reasons is what Jesus says in today’s gospel story: “Prophets are not without honor, except in their hometown, and among their own kin, and in their own house.” I personally resonate with this saying of Jesus.
With my family members, I’m not their priest. I’m my mom’s son who probably will be her baby until I become 80 years old. I’m my sister’s younger brother who she probably remembers as someone who is somewhat juvenile, rebellious, or annoying. With my friends who I grew up with, I’m not their priest. They see me as how I was with them in my childhood and adolescence. Sharing my personal story, when my friends heard that I was going to become a priest, they really believed that I went mentally insane or I had some traumatic event which completely changed my life. They just couldn’t believe that I would become one. It does make me wonder time to time what they were really thinking of me and how badly I looked in their eyes! I’m sure we all have similar experiences like this. Imagine your high school reunion. You have changed so much, but your high school friends who you haven’t met for years simply see you as how they used to see you in high school. They treat you like how they used to treat you back in high school. It’s like going back to that high school adolescent cliche that judges who’s cool, who’s pretty, and who’s popular. If you haven’t been to your high school reunion ask yourself why not. There may be many reasons but then one of them would be that we kind of don’t want to be seen as how we used to be seen in high school. We don’t want to engage with others if they’re only going to remember me as how they used to remember me back in high school, not being able to see me as who I am becoming. The heart of this psychological dynamic between the person who’s changed and those around that person who don’t see that change is a matter of openness. Do these people of Jesus’ hometown have this openness towards Jesus? Are their hearts open enough to see Jesus as who he is at that very moment when he begins to teach in the synagogue in today’s gospel lesson? No. Their hearts are simply cloistered. They hear him and do get astounded by his teaching. They say, “Where did this man get all this? What is this wisdom that has been given to him? What deeds of power are being done by his hands? Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary and brother of James, Joses, Judas, and Simon, and are not his sisters with us?” Then they take offense at him, reports St Mark. Their immediate reaction to Jesus is quite harsh and even condescending. They see how wise his teaching is and how powerful his deeds are. They are impressed with his wisdom, particularly his preaching on the coming kingdom of God, the coming reign of God. They hear how he heals the sick and casts away demons. But they just cannot accept all that. They just cannot open their hearts to this Jesus who is proclaiming the gospel and bringing God’s healing to the world. They just cannot see him as who he is right now. What they go back to is their memory of him, how they remember him, the one that they’re used to. Notice that these town people call him ‘the son of Mary,’ not ‘the son of Joseph.’ This identification of Jesus with Mary is quite unusual in Jewish culture. Do they want to say that he is raised by a single mother? Who knows what they’re thinking, but this is not normal. They also go on to say that he is a carpenter, a craftsman, or a handyman who is expected not to have any God-given wisdom. And these people know Jesus’ siblings. They are not that special. They’re just like any town people. What they’re saying about Jesus is really about how they see Jesus and who Jesus is to them. To them, Jesus cannot be the Messiah. He cannot even be the prophet. He cannot be anyone respectful or admirable. He’s just one of them. These town people have no openness in their hearts towards who Jesus can be. But this doesn’t end here. Their lack of openness to who Jesus can be also means their lack of openness to who they can be too. There’s a saying from the Talmud: “We do not see things as they are. We see things as we are.” In other words, if I may paraphrase this saying, we do not see people as they are, but we see them as we are. Jesus’ hometown people see Jesus not as he is, but as they are. They haven’t been changed or transformed. So Jesus can never be changed or transformed or any different from them. This cloistered mind prevents them from seeing Jesus as he is and seeing them as who they can be in Jesus. This lack of openness is also prevalent in other villages. Jesus’ disciples are now sent to others as they’re given authority over the unclean spirits. Jesus warns them what to do when they are not welcomed. Let’s listen again to what he says: “If any place will not welcome you and they refuse to hear you, as you leave, shake off the dust that is on. Your feet as a testimony against them.” Jesus is very much aware that his disciples who are sent out in his name will be rejected. The lack of openness that his hometown people show will be with those people in other villages. And what they are actually rejecting is the message of repentance. This concept of repentance has been misunderstood, misused, and miscommunicated over and over throughout history. It’s not a dogmatic mechanism to impose fear on people and thus make them feel guilty and eventually ashamed. This is not simply an indoctrinating tactic to keep people coming to church on Sundays and make them volunteer and give more alms to the church. What it really requires from us is not this feeling of guilt or shame, but our inner and outer movement of turning away from how we think of ourselves and others and how we behave to ourselves and others. It’s the change of heart. But in order to make any change, we first must be open to the one who is actually telling us to change! That sheer openness to the one who himself is the source of change and transformation comes first. This is what the message of repentance is essentially about. Be open to how you can change yourself and turn things around in your life by embodying yourself in the body of Jesus Christ. Be open to your new self. Be open to others who also can be new selves in Christ. I must admit that I wouldn’t be too different from Jesus’ hometown neighbors. Frankly speaking, I confess to you that I’m not sure if my heart would’ve been open enough to see Jesus as he is. Probably I would see him as I am, as the one who has no expectation of becoming a completely renewed, restored, changed, and transformed self. To me, Jesus is just a handyman who is out of his mind, manipulating people with his know-it-all gibberish. But at this point, I’m not so hopeless. I’m not in despair though I’m shaken by being quite honest about my tendency to close my heart. I’m rather hopeful because I believe the Holy Spirit is at work, opening my heart, and not just mine, but yours. As much as the Holy Spirit can open my cloistered, stubborn heart, yes, she can certainly open yours. This sheer openness that the Holy Spirit brings challenges us every Sunday when we partake in the Eucharist. Without this openness, how do we possibly encounter the real presence of Christ in the bread and wine? Without this openness, there’s nothing special about the morsel of bread. But with this God-given openness, we can see the presence of Christ hidden and revealed at the same time in the bread and wine as his body and blood. In this mere morsel of bread, God is present with us, which tells us if we can see God’s presence in it, God is really with us wherever we are, especially when we are gathered in the name of Jesus Christ. With this sheer openness, I would like you to look at yourself. Be open to yourself. Be open to who you can become through Christ. With this gift of openness, be open to others. Be open to who they can become. With this openness, we are sent to the world. Fear closes us in, but love opens us up. This path to openness is sacred and is nothing other than the way of love all of us are called to live out. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. 6 years ago, when I first started my ministry as a hospital chaplain, I came across some question about how to interact with patients and their families outside the hospital. This issue also applies to psychotherapists, medical staff, especially psychiatrists. The question is ‘What do you do when you meet your client or patient on the street outside the hospital?’ What would you do if you’re a health care provider? And what would you expect your healthcare provider to do when you meet him or her on the street outside the hospital? Does anybody know the answer to this question?
I don’t know if there’s a definite answer to this question, but here’s what’s recommended. If. you’re a patient running into your therapist or psychiatrist, you have a choice to say hi or not. You can simply ignore and pass through. Or you can just say hi. If you’re a healthcare provider, you wouldn’t acknowledge your patient first. You wouldn’t initiate anything. Whether you as a patient say hi or just pass through, it feels a bit awkward. Here, we’re not talking about which response is more appropriate or not. We’re talking about setting up boundaries. Boundaries matter to all of us. They protect us from each other. They help us stay respectful to each other, not crossing the lines we agree to draw. Another name for this agreed behavior of keeping boundaries can be ‘privacy,’ the state of being undisturbed by others. And the extreme opposite of this behavior, that is, ignoring these boundaries and disrespectfully and violently crossing them can be called ‘assault.’ There’s another extreme of keeping boundaries that function to exclude a certain group of people, which we can call ‘segregation,’ the enforced action of setting people apart from each other. (Which is happening right now in our country.) So, again boundaries matter to us. It is crucial to our personal and communal lives. What matters is not so much about having boundaries or not. It’s about what boundary line we would like to draw. I would like us to imagine more graphically what kind of boundary line we draw in our relationship with others. Is it a thick solid bold line that doesn’t allow anyone to come into your life or that you cannot cross at all, keeping everything to yourself? Or is that line very blurry and unclear as if there’s no line at all so that you kind of get involved in all matters of people around you to the point you don’t know where your personal life is? In today’s gospel, Jesus shows a third type of line, which is a dotted line. This third type of a boundary with this dotted line clarifies where I stand from others and is also able to cross that line when necessary. This dotted line can be both open and closed. Think of it as chasing your lane from left to right when you drive. Jesus shows his transformative move in and out of his dotted boundary line in today’s gospel lesson. There are two stories of the hemorrhaging woman suffering for 12 years and Jairus’ 12 years old daughter. It’s not just one healing story we hear. Two healing stories, one being cured of the illness of bleeding and the other being resuscitated, not resurrected from death. There’s no doubt that today’s gospel lesson is about healing, but what we’re interested in is how this healing takes place through Jesus, by his way of crossing the boundaries. First, let’s reflect on Jesus’ first encounter with the hemorrhaging woman. He has a huge crowd following. I imagine it’s like walking nearby Times Square during summer time when it is filled with tourists. We can easily imagine some inevitable contacts with people passing by. This seems to be what’s happening in the story. Jesus is somewhat stuck in this large crowd. The woman who has been suffering from hemorrhages for 12 years hides herself in the crowd. No physicians have been able to cure her illness. Now she sees Jesus and has a clear mission, which is to touch Jesus’ clothes. This is what she says, “If I but touch his clothes, I will be made well.” As she touches his cloak, immediately her hemorrhage stops. She feels in her body that she is made well. She is healed. We want to pay attention to the part that Jesus himself is aware that the power of healing has gone forth from him immediately when the woman touches his cloak. This is the moment that shows his dotted boundary line. His power of healing is not bound by or boxed in or regulated by a thick solid boundary line. It’s open. This power of God gracefully and freely goes out and reaches out to the suffering woman. This movement of God’s healing power is strictly against the Jewish law. It’s ritual defilement. Women who are menstruating are considered unclean according to the Jewish law. In this story, not only do we see this suffering woman’s courage to go against the Jewish ritual law and cross the boundary but also her action shows the dotted boundary line of Jesus who neither excludes nor discriminates her. His boundary is crossed over at the disposal of the woman, eventually at the disposal of God’s mercy. Without her faithful action that risks ritual defilement, we wouldn’t be able to see this third boundary line, the dotted line where God’s mercy freely crosses. So Jesus affirms her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease.” The other healing story that we see is that of Jairus’ 12 year old daughter who is dying. By the time Jesus arrives at Jairus’ home, his daughter is already dead. Some say to Jairus, “Why trouble the teacher any further?” Jesus overhears this. He doesn’t turn away, but urges Jairus, “Do not fear, only believe.” He goes into the house and sees people weeping and wailing loudly. He tells these people, “Why do you make a commotion and weep? The child is not dead but sleeping.” People laugh at him. Perhaps Jesus feels a bit angry or disrespected, he kicks them out except the girl’s parents, Peter, James, and John. Now it is Jesus’ turn to cross his dotted boundary line for Jairus’ daughter. He seems to do what the hemorrhaging woman does. He goes against the Jewish law that strictly says not to touch a corpse, for it is unclean. He takes the girl by the hand and says to her, “Talitha cum,” which means “Little girl, get up!” The girl is back to life, back to his father. In these stories of the hemorrhaging woman and the once dead daughter of Jairus, we see Jesus crossing over certain religious boundaries and his personal boundary being crossed over by others. That’s what the dotted line does. It’s open to the suffering of others. Jesus doesn’t set his boundary to exclude others. He doesn’t lock himself inside his own boundary. He lets others come in. He invites others to come and dwell in God’s presence in him. He never condemns the hemorrhaging woman for crossing the boundary or violating the Jewish law or making him considered unclean because of her. He very well knows he doesn’t own the healing power of God. He doesn’t control it. He is always at the disposal of God. This healing power of God is always at the disposal of those who are not afraid to cross that dotted boundary line of Jesus the Son of God. On the other hand, Jesus himself crosses his own boundary. He gets himself out of his own comfort zone. He lets himself be ritually defiled by touch the dead body of Jairus’ daughter. And he’s able to do that because as he crosses himself over, the daughter is no longer dead. The healing of Jesus happens when we are able to set our boundaries as dotted lines and are able to cross them for the sake of our neighbors. Our Christian community is then the gathering of Jesus’ followers whose boundaries are dotted lined like Jesus. So we can cross all kinds of barriers and walls that divide and separate the world. In a way, healing happens in this solidarity of those who are open, courageous, and wise enough to go against something that the society determines illegal. Healing, this process of being made whole, takes place only in this solidarity. When we are in the place of Jesus who not only crosses his dotted boundaries but also carries the cross of the world, this faith of putting ourselves where Jesus is will make us more whole, holier, and closer to Jesus himself. Lastly, I would like share with you this short saying of the 5th-century desert father, Abba Poemen: Many old men came to see Abba Poemen and one day it happened that a member of Abba Poemen’s family came, who had a child whose face, through the power of the devil, was turned backwards. The father seeing the number of Fathers present, took the child and sat down outside the monastery, weeping. Now it happened that one of the old men came out and seeing him, asked him, ‘Man, why are you weeping?’ He replied, ‘I am related to Abba Poemen, and see the misfortune which has overtaken my child. Though I want to bring him to the old man, we are afraid he does not want to see us. Each time he hears I am here, he has me driven away. But since you are with him, I have dared to come. If you will, Father, have pity on me, take the child inside and pray for him. So the old man took the child, went inside and behaved with good sense. He did not immediately present him to Abba Poemen, but began with the lesser brethren, and said, ‘Make the sign of the cross over this little child.’ Having had him signed by all in turn, he presented him at last to Abba Poemen, Abba Poemen did not want to make the sign of the cross over him, but the others urged him, saying, ‘Do as everyone else has done.’ So groaning he stood up and prayed, saying, ‘God, heal your creature, that he be not ruled by the enemy.’ When he had signed him, the child was healed immediately and given back whole to his father. (The Sayings of the Desert Fathers, trans. & ed. by Benedicta Ward, p. 166) We see Abba Poemen’s reluctance to cross his own familial boundary, refusing to make the sign of the cross. But it is his monastic community who pushes him further. It’s almost like his monastic community removing certain parts of his thick boundary line and so creating the dotted line of Jesus. May we let ourselves inside this dotted line of Jesus. May we also surround ourselves with this dotted line of Jesus, letting our neighbors come in and letting ourselves out there. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. In today’s gospel lesson, Jesus sounds a bit harsh, if not judgmental of his disciples. We can easily imagine him correcting, if not scolding, his disciples of their fear and lack of faith in him. So he says to them, “Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?” As I reflect on this saying of Jesus, my rebellious side comes out. It seems quite unfair for him to say such things if we seriously consider what kind of context the disciples were in as they showed their fear and lack of faith. They were in the boat with Jesus. And a great windstorm arose. The waves beat into the boat so that the boat was already being swamped.
We can very well picture how the disciples would’ve felt. Some of them like Peter, John, and James knew the sea. They were fishermen. They very well knew what to fear. Especially having their boat being trembled by the waves and being swamped, their lives were threatened to death. They were frustrated and upset, looking at Jesus their teacher sleeping as if nothing was happening. They were probably thinking, “What does a carpenter know about the sea?” Now, I want us to use our imagination to dig deeper into the gospel. Let’s imagine that the disciples did have faith just as Jesus urged! They are in the boat with Jesus. A great windstorm is haunting them with the violent waves. It’s rocking and swamping their boat. But the disciples aren’t afraid at all. They don’t care too much whether the boat is being swamped, their feet getting wet with water, their bodies being moved by the waves. With their great faith, they stay still, not anxious, not scared. With their great faith, they don’t even wake up Jesus who is sound asleep. Eventually, the storm simply passes by. Jesus has no idea about the storm or waves. He simply is very satisfied with one sweet nap, finally getting some rest from the crowd. It’s just that his clothes are wet here and there. The end of the story. I seriously doubt and wonder if this is what Jesus expected from the disciples. First of all, there’s no fun in this imagined scenario that we created. There’s no teaching lesson for the disciples. It’s almost like they have not much to learn from Jesus. They already know who he is and how they ought to behave. If this is what Jesus intended his disciples and all his followers to do, we wouldn’t even have this story in the gospels. We should instead be grateful to the disciples that they were terrified by the storm and woke up Jesus from his sleep. They are actually becoming a model for us not to be afraid to show our own fear and lack of faith. The Bible is not a rulebook. We don’t look for answers in this collection of ancient texts. We learn to ask better questions to wrestle with the difficulties of our difficult reality. In so doing, the Bible opens our hearts to speak, imagine and explore. It becomes the voice of our hearts. We learn how to ask God, complain to God, how to grieve, how to lament. We learn how to pray to God, how to love God and our neighbor, how to be forgiven and forgive, how to see ourselves and others in light of God’s love shown in Jesus. We don’t use it to justify our behaviors, which we end up abusing it. So, today’s gospel lesson encourages us to show before God our lack of faith, express our fear and anxiety, and share our experience of God’s absence in our suffering. Say what the disciples say. Ask what they ask! Wake him up! Jesus, do you not care that we’re perishing? Find and discover yourself saying the same as the disciples in the boat. And where you experience what the disciples experienced in the gospel, where you ask what the disciples asked, you face fear, anxiety, and most importantly the absence of God’s presence in that very moment of darkness. This moment you might want to call the dark night of the soul. In this dark night of your soul, God seems to be gone. God’s presence is nowhere to be found. It’s like Jesus in deep sleep while the boat is being shaken and swamped. God doesn’t seem to care so much about what I’m going through. We might just give up on God. But faith, which is the gift of God, enables us to ask that very question of the disciples, “Jesus, do you not care that we’re perishing?” Do you not care that I’m suffering? Do you not care that I feel so alone, that I don’t feel your hands reaching out to me? This question of God’s presence in suffering leads us once again to the very existential question. Why am I here suffering? Why do I do what I do? Who am I? When we start asking this question like the disciples, we are shaken and break open. The disciples in their terror of the great storm asked this question, ‘Do you not care that we’re perishing?’ in order to wake up Jesus from his sleep. But what really happened was their spiritual awakening to see the very presence of Jesus. Their questioning of Jesus’ inattention to their desperate need of rescue from the storm is nothing but their confession that they can’t rescue themselves. This question needs to be asked not simply to wake up Jesus from his sleep but really wake up and shake up our hearts not to lose sight of Jesus’ presence in the storm of suffering in our lives. Our question to wake up Jesus wakes up ourselves from sloth, acedia, apathy, ignorance, and indifference. Without seriously asking this question, we can’t see Jesus who is present everywhere, especially in the lives of suffering people. As the Body of Christ, it is our Christian duty to ask this question on behalf of those who are suffering, those whose voices are unheard. We first ask ourselves, “Do we not care that these people are perishing?” We wake up our hearts, our souls, and our spirits from our own indifference and apathy. We then ask the world around us, “Do you not care that these people are perishing?” The church’s role in this world is rather simple. Let’s amplify and intensify this question. Do we not care that there are some who are perishing because of the evil power in this world? Do you not care that innocent children are cut off and separated from their parents, damaging their most precious childhood? As Christians, we have to ask difficult and uncomfortable questions. We must feel uneasy and far from peaceful about how the world takes its own course. Jesus isn’t asleep from our suffering. Jesus isn’t far apart. Jesus never turns his eyes away from the suffering of his neighbors, his people. Because he doesn’t, we don’t. We want to see Jesus who says, “Peace! Be Still” as he rebukes the evil power and ceases it. Today Jesus asks all of us, “Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith? Ask me to wake up. Ask me if I care that you’re perishing?” “Oh yes, I do. I do,” says Jesus. “That’s why I died on the cross. That’s why I was raised from the dead.” With this truth that Jesus shows in his death and resurrection, my friends, we are going out to the world to tell that we care about those who are perishing in our eyes. We will rebuke the evil power, We will call it out. We will conquer fear. And we will do everything in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. There’s something incredibly mysterious about children. Not only that they’re quite adorable and cute, but that they grow every day and night. You have probably experienced seeing a child who you haven’t seen for weeks or months growing so much. Their heights, weights, facial structures, and characters change. It’s like they’re flourishing so abundantly. As a new parent, I have the privilege of watching my son growing bigger and taller everyday. Of course, I know that he’s growing because we diligently feed him, but there really is something mysterious, strange, and amazing about this development of a child. It’s the life flourishing without fully grasping how all these things are taking place.
The kingdom of God is just like this. It’s not a lifeless political utopia, but a living organism whose growth solely depends on God, not on us. Jesus describes it as someone scattering seed on the ground and witnessing the seed that would sprout and grow overnight. Jesus adds, “The earth produces itself, first the stalk, then the head, then the full grain in the head.” The highlight of this short parable is that this sower does not know how the seed would sprout and grow and that the earth produces of itself. See, the point is that the sower does not produce it and grows it. Out of his hands. Out of his control. The kingdom of God cannot be put in a box. It is out of our control. Just as we cannot put God into our little box of how God is supposed to make sense, we cannot manipulate and control God’s reign in our lives and in this world. The kingdom of God is in this open space that is constantly unpacking itself, producing of itself, and flourishing itself. So it is never our job to grow the kingdom, but faithfully be part of it. Often we say we would like to build God’s kingdom here on earth, but we shouldn’t forget the prayer Jesus has taught, “Thy kingdom come…” We want to be part of this coming kingdom, not getting in the way as an obstacle or a restraining force, preventing others to be part of it. Then what this parable of the kingdom of God calls us to do is not just to scatter the seed, but really to witness this growth of the seed that is out of our control. It is to put ourselves in the place that is constantly opening up and flourishing, not under our strategic management, but completely out of our mere control. It calls us to live in this open and unpredictable place where God does what God wills no matter how hard we try to take control over. How does this view of God’s kingdom make you feel? Do you feel hopeful about this? Or does it produce anxiety? I think it certainly creates great anxiety. Putting myself in the state of unpredictability and uncertainty? Standing at the edge of the unknown? Who would like this? No one wants to be in chaos, feeling powerless. We all want to have a sense of control in our lives. In this sense, the kingdom of God that Jesus depicts is not so much of a welcoming and well-acceptable idea to us. We have enough things to be anxious about in our lives, particularly our future. This kingdom of God Jesus describes and proclaims in a way invites or even forces us to face the reality, let ourselves be completely out of control, and solely depend on God’s providence. This doesn’t mean that we are abandoning our responsibility. It means we decide not to take control of everything, we give up being in control, being in charge. This way of living, the life in the kingdom of God that Jesus embodies requires us to face and look directly at the deepest fear of death, non-existence, non-being. Jesus doesn’t go around this fear that every human being has. He himself goes through it. Even before his death on the cross, he faces that ultimate fear of non-existence at the garden of Gethsemane. He shares his feelings with his friends, Peter, James, and John and says, “I am deeply grieved, even to death; remain here, and keep awake.” He throws himself on the ground and prays, “Abba, Father, for you all things are possible; remove this cup from me; yet, not what I want, but what you want.” (Mk 14:33-36) Jesus who is fully human knows very well what it’s like to live with the question of what-if creates. He knows exactly what it is like to stand at the edge of the unknown. Yet, he prays and goes through it. He stays there with trust and faith in God the Father’s faithfulness. One thing we need to be aware of is that he’s not doing it with blind faith. There’s a clear goal here. That is the will of God that Jesus persistently discerns and follows. His staying in the midst of the unknown, his facing at the ultimate fear of death and non-existence is not for his sake only as if the purpose of his life is to achieve some kind of nirvana or becoming a superhuman who goes beyond everything. It is for entire humanity’s sake in which he completes this task by overcoming death by death, through his own death and resurrection. This whole life journey of Jesus on earth is what the kingdom of God is essentially about. More importantly for us, we look at this man, Jesus. We see him on the cross and stand at his feet. And we go to his empty tomb. We follow his steps with all the saints before us. Because without him, we can never be in this kingdom of God, we can never bear the weight of the kingdom of God where we let go of our own impulse to control, manipulate, govern, and rule everything about us. Without him, we can never stay in this open place where God grows, nurtures, and fulfills His own will on earth. Without Jesus, we will continue to scatter seeds and try to grow them on our own, putting them under our control as if that is even possible! This is what St Paul in his second letter to the Corinthians means. He says, “We are always confident even though we know that while we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord, for we walk by faith, not by sight.” (2 Cor 5:6) We walk by faith in this world, in our lives filled with the unknown. Yet, we often walk with anxiety because we can't really see uncertain and unpredictable things clearly. Faith in this sense is nothing but God-given courage that we dare to face what's real, look directly and intently at the very fear of death and non-existence. When we avoid and look away from this fear, our anxiety increases. Often in the life and death situation, we often become anxious. But if we accept our very human nature of mortality and finitude, if we look at death without getting distracted by fear of death, we finally see so clearly what matters the most in our lives. In that moment of accepting our human limitation and looking at death and nonbeing, hope arises. Life is not up to me. I am not in charge. I am not in control. But God is. God is beyond life and death, beyond good and evil. In this experience, God reigns and we live in the open place where God creates, renews, and restores what’s hurt, dead, and unforgiven. In this kingdom of God through Christ, we become what St Paul says happens. He says, “...if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!” The Eucharist is the kingdom of God sacramentally given to us. We believe the Eucharist as Jesus’ sacramental body and blood. It’s like the kingdom of God Jesus talks about. We didn't create it. Gathered in the name of Jesus, we simply brought the bread and the wine. Everything else such as transforming the bread and wine into the sacramental body and blood of Christ and bringing the new creation to us is not up to us. I don't do it. We don't do it. God’s grace does it when we gather in the name of Christ. And we eat the body of Christ and drink his blood, we have no idea what kind of effect would happen to us. But it is just like today’s parable that Jesus tells us. As the Eucharistic seed is planted in our hearts, this seed sprouts and grows without us knowing how. We are also like the birds of the air in Jesus’s second parable that make nests in the shade of a mustard tree. Without realizing that we are these birds making nests under its shade, we can help others be part of this unconditional grace-filled kingdom of God. The gospel is paradoxical. We gotta let go of our control to be in God’s control. We must die first to overcome death. We must let go of life to gain life. We gotta plant seed and sleep and rise again in faith to witness the seed sprouting and growing. We must do all these, not because it is conditional. May God grant us the courage to let go and let God as Jesus has done. In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. My homily this morning will be much simpler and easily memorable than any other homilies I delivered before. There’s only one thing you’ve got to remember. It’s the question, “Where are you?” We’ll constantly come back to this question repeatedly. And considering the tragic deaths of two influential people this past week, the question helps us reflect our emotional and spiritual states.
“Where are you?” This is the voice of God we hear in our first lesson from the Book of Genesis. This question isn’t just to elicit geographical information about Adam and Eve’s whereabouts. The question strikes to the core of Adam and Eve’s very existential state. So where are they? They hide themselves from the presence of God among the trees of the garden. Their existence is trapped in that moment of eating the fruit from the tree in the middle of the garden. And when they’re brought back to the very present moment of the reality, they stand before God, being completely naked. They are naked before God, not only literally but also spiritually, being filled with fear, regret, guilt, and shame. God’s question of where matters to us too. Where are you this morning? Are you fully present here, or is your mind somewhere else while your body is here? I’m sure you have heard of this meditation technique called ‘mindfulness.’ It is becoming more popular since there are numerous scientific researches that demonstrate it helps reduce anxiety. Time to time I do this mindfulness meditation with patients in the hospital. The point of this practice is to be consciously mindful and intentionally aware of yourself in the present moment. You probably heard catch phrases like ‘Be present with yourself. Be in the moment. Stay in the moment.’ In this practice, breathing is essential. It plays like an anchor that functions to hold you back from whatever distractions feelings and thoughts move you away from the present moment. In this very practice of mindfulness meditation, God’s question is crucial. Where are you? Are you in the past or the future? Are you here and now? Some say than when we are too focusing on our past, we get depressed. And if we are too concerned about our future, we get anxious. Depression from the past and anxiety from the future, which we all indirectly or directly suffer from. But this existential question of God brings us back to the very present moment. Let’s recall the moment when God revealed Himself to Moses in the burning bush. God never said, “I was who I was” or “I will be who I will be.” God said, “I am who I am.” It’s always the present tense. God is present with us all the time as it was in the beginning, is now, and will be forever. But it is us who are not so present. And not just us, others as well. For example, if you walk around the city or mall, it’s easy to see people looking down at their phones. It’s quite interesting to think that all these technological devices are supposed to connect people with others, but people get more disconnected. Instead of talking to each other at a dining table, everyone is on their phones, connecting with someone who is actually not there, disconnecting those who are physically present with themselves. This is a social phenomenon that we see everyday. But then, a more serious issue is that not only do we lose a sense of connection with ourselves, others, and God, but also we forget to see who we are in Jesus Christ. It’s like chronic amnesia that we keep forgetting who we are in light of Jesus Christ that we’re God’s children, the followers of Christ sent to the world for the love of God. We’re held back to remain as old selves either by ourselves or others or both. Now, if this is our current existential state where we are constantly being pulled back to our old selves or the projected images of our own that we feel most comfortable with and are even resistant to move forward to our new selves in Christ, which usually happens without actually knowing what’s happening, Jesus in today’s gospel lesson shows something radically different. He’s casting away demons, healing the sick, particularly healing the man with a withered hand on the sabbath, therefore breaking the sabbath law and offending the religious authorities. He is doing something completely new. He himself is the new wine and the new wineskins. The old wine and old wineskins are about to be tossed away. Jesus is taking the new role as the one who not only proclaims the kingdom of God, the holy of holies in the midst of people, but also becomes the reign of God’s love among them, God dwelling in and among us. This God Jesus proclaims, this God in Jesus is being fully present even in the midst of the most tortuous and painful suffering through the very cries of Jesus on the cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” No one around him doesn’t like this new role Jesus is playing, but only those who are healed and restored by him. His family is about to get him back to the place where he can safely play his old role as a son, a brother, or a carpenter. People say, “He has gone out of his mind. He has Beelzebul. And by the ruler of the demons he casts out demons.” It almost sounds like he has dual diagnosis of insanity and demonic possession. Jesus refuses that judgment of others. He doesn’t accept their non-acceptance of his new role. Then he tells a parable that basically says, “How does it make sense Satan would give me this power to cast away all his allies and eventually destroy his dominance?” He also warns those who are denying his new role that all sins are forgivable but not when one blasphemes against the Holy Spirit. That person is guilty of an eternal sin. This is a bold statement that Jesus makes. Not just calling the Holy Spirit an unclean spirit, but associating the Spirit with Beelzebul or Satan is an eternal sin in this sense. What’s actually blasphemous against the Holy Spirit is denying the presence of the Holy Spirit in Jesus that renews him and leads him to the new role as the Son of God, God incarnate. The local and religious authorities also want to stop Jesus from becoming who he is called to be. Throughout history, we have seen so many of these instances that one party forces the other party not to become who they’re called to be, not to flourish as God’s beloved. I’m sure in your life there might have been some people who discourage you from becoming someone who you’re called to be in the eyes of God. That, my friends, is going against the work of the Holy Spirit. By Jesus, and with Jesus, and in Jesus, we shake off whatever old images and selves we’re locked up in and move forward to be and become the new creation. St Paul in his letter to the Corinthians says “Even though our outer nature is wasting away, our inner nature is being renewed day by day.” Just like Jesus, we’re in this new creation together with the Holy Spirit. Taking up this new role, this new self granted to us in our baptism with Jesus, we are called to act and live as a new creation that belongs to the kingdom of God. Don’t go back to your old self that is colored with guilt, shame, fear, anxiety, or resentment. Don’t stop yourself from being renewed day by day. Don’t play that old role in whom you become a victim or victimizer. Don’t lock yourself in that old self that is not present with the God of here and now. Allow the Holy Spirit to lead you to a new self. And don’t allow others to stop you to be a new self, the baptized self. With your new role as God’s children and Jesus’ disciples, empower others to be in that new role with the help of the Spirit. Where Jesus stands, we stand before the Lord God, naked, not with fear, guilt, or shame but with gratitude and hope as God’s children, baptized and fed by the bread of heaven and the cup of salvation. And this new being as God’s children is where we are called to be, supposed to be. This is where we are even if we don’t see it or feel it. And where you are, you don’t stand individually before God but are with those who are also called to be a new being. In that communion with others, strangers become your mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, and friends in Christ. On this way of being and becoming a new self in Christ, we encounter those who are on this personally and communally crafted journey of the cross and resurrection of Jesus Christ. My friends, everyday is a new day but really is not when you stay same, remaining in the same old self or role you play. So again, remember this question of God asking not just Adam and Eve, but all of you this morning: Where are you? You are here where God is present, shamelessly naked and renewed day by day, minute by minute, moment by moment, being and becoming a new creation. Take up that new role and live it. Be present, breathing in and out the breath of the Spirit. Flourish. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Civil disobedience. Civil disobedience in violating Alabama segregation laws. This is what Rosa Parks was arrested for. Not giving up her seat in the ‘colored section’ to a white passenger when the bus driver told her to do so. Her simple, yet courageous ‘No’ sparked the flame of the civil rights movements. But from our Christian perspective, this justice issue is not the only thing that matters to us. In her act of saying ‘No’ to injustice as well as the broken and distorted image of God in that person to whom she says ‘No,’ there’s healing and restoration which takes place.
As she protests to be treated as a fellow human being, the eyes of those who discriminate and persecute her are given a chance to change, treat, and love those who are equally created in the image of God as themselves. As much as Rosa Parks desires to be human, her action of freedom makes others more human than ever. Here’s one of her famous sayings: “I would like to be remembered as a person who wanted to be free so other people would be free.” Her civil disobedience sets free those who are chained by privileges, entitlements, prejudices, or stereotypes. It’s never meant to be personal, but always mutually and communally beneficial. Now we have another disobedience in today’s gospel lesson. It’s religious disobedience. That’s what Jesus is accused of. To be fair to Jesus, it is not him who violates the sabbath law, but his disciples. As they were going through the grain field, the disciples plucked heads of grain. We might think that why this act of plucking heads of grain out of hunger would be such a big deal, but for the Pharisees or any law abiding Jews, it is a big deal. No work should be done on the sabbath. This is not just a civil rule but is the fourth one of the Ten Commandments: Keep the sabbath day holy. A full stop from all work on this very day. No work but rest as God rested after creation. This sabbath observance still continues among Orthodox Jewish people in particular. In the hospital where I work has a sabbath elevator which stops at every single floor so that Jewish people don’t have to make an effort to press a button. And most of the bathrooms are motion-sensitive. Imagine that Jesus and his disciples were expected to strictly follow this commandment. At the same time, the Pharisees are just waiting for Jesus to break any Jewish laws so that they can criticize, disregard, devalue his ministry, and eventually destroy him. In the disciples’ action of plucking heads of grain, they clearly violate the law. Eating them isn’t an issue, but harvesting for crops. The Pharisees blames Jesus for his disciples breaking the law, “Look, why are they doing what is not lawful on the sabbath?” No one can justify and defend Jesus’ disciples. And Jesus doesn’t deny it at all by saying that the disciples were actually looking closely at heads of grain or trying to smell their fragrance and stuff. Instead, he says something very odd and even irrelevant. He questions the Pharisees, “Have you never read what David did when he and his companions were hungry and in need of food? He entered the house of God, when Abiathar was high priest, and ate the bread of the Presence, which it is not lawful for any but the priests to eat, and he gave some to his companions.” This is rather odd that Jesus talks about the story of David in the 1st Samuel 21. How is it really related to the disciples’ breaking the sabbath law and David’s eating of the bread of the Presence? What they have in common is that they are both hungry and they both violate the law. Does Jesus try to say that before hunger any law can be broken, that hunger out rules any commandments? He seems to think so. He continues to say to the Pharisees, “The sabbath was made for humankind, and humankind for the sabbath.” But there’s one more puzzling matter. Jesus adds one more crucial statement, which apparently enrages the Pharisees. He says, “...the Son of Man is Lord even of the sabbath.” Calling himself as the Lord of the sabbath is blasphemous and even sacrilegious in the eyes of the Pharisees. Jesus identifies himself with the Lord God. Why does he say such a problematic comment about himself? If he simply stops at the hunger part and the humankind part, the Pharisees would’ve stopped their plan to kill him in the future. Now, one thing that is clear to us is that this is beyond the message or lesson that hunger out rules any laws or human lives come before any laws. It’s really about who Jesus is and what Jesus does. It’s about his identity and work. In using the 1st Samuel passage, he reminds the Pharisees of the temple ritual on the sabbath. The priests are required to renew the bread of the presence with a burnt offering of two spotless lambs. If you actually think about the priests in the temple on the sabbath, they cannot but work. So there’s no sabbath in the sanctuary. So we see there’s a tension between two kinds of Judaism, the rabbinical Judaism of the Pharisees and the temple Judaism. In retelling David and Abiathar’s story, Jesus identifies himself as a high priest. He places himself in the position of a high priest, or the great high priest who often is called as ‘lord’ in the temple. As Abiathar, the priest in the story of David allows David and his companions to take the bread of the Presence, Jesus also permits his disciples to harvest grains. He lets them do it, not just as their teacher, but as their high priest in the temple, as their lord. Exercising his high priestly authority, both Abiathar and Jesus feed those who are hungry. Eating the harvested grains and eating the bread of the Presence is the result of the high priest’s action. Essentially, it is the high priest’s intention of feeding the famished on the sabbath. Standing in the place of the high priest in the temple, Jesus restores the hungry, the poor, and the sick. He heals the broken, shattered humanity. Then it is not a coincidence that Jesus heals the man with a withered hand. The man with a withered man does not approach Jesus. It is Jesus himself who tells the man, ‘Come forward.” He asks the Pharisees, “Is it lawful to do good or to do harm on the sabbath, to save life or to kill?” This is the very statement of Jesus that he himself is the new sabbath. Doing good and saving life is for Jesus the way to observe the sabbath. If the sabbath was first set after the six days of God’s creation of the world to rest. What Jesus brings to this new sabbath in himself is that the work of restoring what’s broken in God’s creation. In the eyes of Jesus the high priest, God doesn’t rest when there are those who can’t rest. So for us, how we Christians observe the new sabbath is quite simple. We’re first fed with the new bread of the Presence on this very day, the 8th Day. And we’re led by the spirit of the new sabbath to go out of our comfort zone. We step outside this comfort zone in which we are gracefully led, stretched, and expanded by the Spirit to the very presence of Jesus in those who suffer, those whose human dignity is ignored and violated. The new sabbath is in a way resisting what’s evil in the eyes of God. This is how we observe the sabbath day holy. In this light of the new sabbath, we also look at gun violence and resist it as Christians, mutually and communally setting free all of us in this country from the evil that gun violence creates. I’ve been meaning to participate in our food pantry, which I haven’t yet and I feel quite awful about that. But I want to say this food pantry ministry is literally feeding the hungry. And as I mentioned earlier, this is not it. We want to build a relationship with those who come to our food pantry. We want to get to know them. We want to know their names. Getting out of our comfort zone, we want to tell them, “Come forward and stretch out your hand.” This is how we proclaim Jesus Christ as Lord of the sabbath and do our work of the new sabbath. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. One of the nurses I work with in the hospital says there are three things that nurses don’t talk about with their patients: money, politics, and religion. Without further explanation, we can easily see why money, politics, and religion are not talked about. These rather divisive topics can lead to a heated debate and argument, potentially judging each other for disagreements. I think this unofficial rule of nurses might apply to those who preach on Sundays except religion. And there’s one avoidable subject matter that can replace religion for preachers. That is the Holy Trinity.
In some monastic communities, the honor (or pressure) of preaching on Trinity Sunday used to be given only to those brilliant minds who could theologically unpack the mystery of God the Holy Trinity. It is indeed a great honor and recognition of how others respect and admire that chosen preacher’s theological depth, but it still is a great burden to proclaim something that no human minds can fully grasp or logically understand. There’s also great anxiety about saying incorrect, wrong, or even confusing things about the Trinity. So on this feast of the Holy Trinity, here I am standing in front of you, asking your forgiveness in case I make you more confused than before. With that in mind, I would like us to meditate on, not try to understand or grasp, this mystery of the Holy Trinity. I would like us to ‘undergo’ this mystery of God the Trinity, Three in One, God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit, not three gods, but one God in Three Persons. 1+1+1 does not become 3, but 1 in the doctrine of Trinity. Logically speaking, this doesn’t make sense to us. This divine mystery of the Holy Trinity puzzles and confuses us as Christians. And I believe it’s supposed to do that. It should put us at unease. It should make us feel uncomfortable with this mystery, especially in our time. I say this because one of the few things that is revealed to us about this mystery of the Trinity, Three Persons in One Being, dancing together in perfect, self-giving, self-emptying, loving harmony is that this divine life calls us to think differently about ourselves and our entire understanding of humanity. It challenges and disrupts the way we perceive personhood, who we are. In our extremely individualistic, self-serving, and even self-centered culture, to think of myself, my being as communion is highly counter-cultural. Most of us in this consumerist society are used to considering autonomy much more importantly over community. I am my own, You are your own, My existence, my being has nothing to do with you. I am my own person, which subconsciously or unconsciously can very well lead to self-idolatry, “I am my own creator. I am my own god.” Can you see how hard it is for us to understand ourselves, our personhood without individualizing it? What I mean is that we see and treat ourselves and each other as an island that is not connected with other islands. Each one of us is just a single unit of one’s own. But this kind of understanding is problematic, almost making us see each other as a product that is uniformly manufactured in a factory. We become individuals, not persons in communion with one another. The mystery of the Holy Trinity sheds light on who we really are. Dancing together in unity, God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit reveal us, “I am because you are.” I exist because you exist. I can never be who I am meant to be without you. You can never be who you are meant to be without me. Being in communion with you, I can truly be who I am. Consider the following questions to see how we don’t see ourselves from this trinitarian understanding of personhood. Have you ever experienced comparing yourself with others? Have you ever discovered yourself putting the other person down in order to put yourself up? Have you ever tried to define yourself against another as if you don’t do that, you might become worthless or less important and less valuable than the other? The Book of Genesis says we are created in the image of God, not in our own image. This directly applies to this mystery of the Trinity. All human beings are created in the image of the Triune God, God beyond all, God with us, and God in us, One God in perpetual communion with one another. In other words, we are created as a being that can exist and sustain its life only when it is in communion with other beings and God Himself. Just as the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit are one, we are called to be who we are in relation to one another, finding the source of our being in the Trinity. There’s no other way around making sense of who we are and how we come to exist. This is what Jesus means when he says to Nicodemus in today’s gospel reading, “...no one can enter the kingdom of God without being born from above.” No one can dwell in the presence of God without seeing one’s very own being that can only exist in communion with others. This being in communion with God and others is the very nature of the divine life. Jesus says to Nicodemus and all of us gathered here, “God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.” God’s very nature is love. In this love, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit are in unity without losing themselves. If I cautiously say more about the Trinity, its life can be said something like “Love loves loving.” This divine love created the world and humanity. This is what our Presiding Bishop Michael Curry talked about in his historic sermon at the royal wedding. I quote, “When love is the way, we know that God is the source of us all, and we are brothers and sisters, children of God.” Becoming brothers and sisters, children of God is seeing myself and others in communion with God as God’s children. Jesus of Nazareth embodies and incarnates this trinitarian life of the divine love. Jesus reveals the divine life of the Trinity as well as the essential nature of being truly human. He died for each one of you. He died for all those who came before him and after him. He died for this entire creation and cosmos. By his dying, he wounded the sin of autonomy, selfishness, individualism, and exclusion of the other. By his rising again, he restored the true image of humanity that is created in the image of God who dwells and enjoys God’s very own communion. This sacrificial love which never asserts his own desire and will is in and of itself the way in which we find our true selves, our true being in communion. Through Jesus’ showing of his sacrificial love on the cross, he paved the way for us to enter the divine life of the Holy Trinity. And through his resurrection, our being in communion with the Triune God is never lost, even in death. In Jesus, he invites all of us to participate and enjoy that divine life of the Holy Trinity. A Russian Orthodox priest, Fr. Pavel Florensky prophetically said, “There is no other way in which human thought may find perfect stability except that of accepting the trinitarian paradox. And if we reject the Trinity as the sole ground of all reality and of all thought, we are committed to a road that leads nowhere; we end in an aporia, in folly, in the disintegration of our being, in spiritual death.” (Paraphrased; Vladimir Lossky, The Mystical Theology of the Eastern Church, p. 66) Whether we see ourselves in this trinitarian understanding of humanity or not, as baptized in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, we are already in this trinitarian presence. The Eucharist which we receive every Sunday is always the sacramental sign in which we’re embodied in the life of the Trinity. The Eucharist reveals, not hides, the mystery of the Trinity, the Son begotten of the Father, the Holy Spirit transforming the bread and wine and all of us as Christ’s Body and Blood. Our prayer life is always trinitarian in that we call ‘Abba Father’ in the work of the Holy Spirit through Jesus the Son. For us, it really is a matter of constantly reminding our trinitarian being and living out that trinitarian life which always requires other beings, our neighbors. This trinitarian way of looking at ourselves and others and living out our lives, which always leads to the life of love for God, our neighbors, and ourselves. On this feast of Trinity Sunday, we celebrate this trinitarian life given to us, particularly through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. So I pray for all of us that may we take this trinitarian personhood upon us and remind ourselves to joyfully live it out whenever we cross ourselves in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Pentecost/Whitsunday (Ezekiel 37:1-14; Acts 2:1-21; Psalm 104:25-35, 37; John 15:26-27, 16:4b-15)7/1/2018 We celebrate today as the Day of Pentecost. Amongst Anglicans it is called ‘Whitsun’ or ‘Whit Sunday.’ ‘Whit’ here might have two meanings. It can be white, symbolizing the white vestment, the alb worn by baptismal candidates. Or white can mean wit or wisdom, the Wisdom of God descending on this day. Whichever meaning we choose to reflect on, the whole point of the Day of Pentecost lies on the Holy Spirit. With this in mind, it is quite reasonable to think about the Holy Spirit. Not what, but who really is the Holy Spirit? How does the Holy Spirit work in the world, in our society, in our lives?
The second lesson from the Book of Acts shows us some images and works of the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit comes like the rush of a violent wind filling the entire gathering place of Jesus’ disciples, appearing as divided tongues, as of fire, resting on each one of the disciples. The Holy Spirit fills their hearts and enables them to speak in other languages. The Holy Spirit opens up the disciples’ mouths that speak different languages. At first, it looks like creating a chaotic situation that causes devout Jews to accuse them of being drunk. But they immediately hear what these disciples are speaking and actually understand what they are about. They are both amazed and perplexed. The fact that these devout Jews understand what the disciples are speaking about in their own languages is the evidence of God mending all the divisions in the world which were symbolized in the Babel Tower. There’s this uniting force of God taken place on the feast of Pentecost. How do these devout bystanders who are not directly affected by this make sense of this work of the Spirit? They conclude that these disciples are filled with new wine. Being filled with new wine, even though this is sarcastically said to mock and condescend the disciples and their behaviors, is quite true. Jesus is the new wine. Jesus pours out his own blood to sanctify the world of corruption, oppression, and sin. The disciples are drunk with the blood of Jesus through the work of the Holy Spirit. They cannot but proclaim God’s deeds of power in the very person of Jesus, his message, his life, death on the cross, and resurrection. So there may be some pressure on us Christians on this feast of Pentecost that we should get drunk with this new wine of Jesus if we believe that the Holy Spirit is always at work. (If you're interested in literally getting buzzed, you are most welcome to become a chalice bearer. You get to drink it all!) No matter how we’re drunk with this new wine of Jesus, we might at least have some holy pressure to desire to know the Spirit and even to hope for the Spirit to fill our hearts. Bishop elect Carlye Hughes in one of her walkabouts mentioned that we Episcopalians shy away when someone asks them if they know the Bible. I would add to that in regards to the Holy Spirit. If someone asks Episcopalians about the Holy Spirit, we might as well shy away from the question. It is quite true that we don’t really talk about the Spirit. Well, I suggest that we do from now on, not in the way it doesn’t fit us well, but in the way that works for us in our Anglican tradition. The 8th century Syrian monk and priest, St. John of Damascus said, “The Son is the image of the Father, the Spirit the image of the Son.” There’s no mention of who represents the image of the Holy Spirit. I also heard someone describing the Holy Spirit as the “shy member of the Holy Trinity.” The Spirit never asserts Himself or His own will but always follows the Son whose will is the will of the Father. These two remarks about the Holy Spirit, one as not having His own image in another Person of the Trinity as well as one being as a shy member of the Trinity and the other depiction of the Holy Spirit as the rush of a violent wind in the Book of Acts tell us one crucial nature of the Spirit in common. That is, God’s self-giving, self-emptying compassion which is often hidden in our eyes. And this self-giving, self-emptying work of the Spirit always reveals Jesus of Nazareth, his death and resurrection, God’s love made flesh in Jesus. The Spirit always brings us back to the cross and the empty tomb, death and resurrection of Jesus in which we find ourselves deeply connected with ourselves, others, and God. The Spirit always opens up our hearts, connecting you and me, us and them, God’s very own self and us as well as inviting us into the inner life of God the Trinity. So when do we experience and sense the work of the Holy Spirit? Well, there’s no limit to how one experiences the presence of the Holy Spirit. It’s really about being attentive, taking a long loving look at people and things around you, which includes yourself and very well begins with being attentive to yourself. For example, we can even be much more aware of our own breath. Closing our eyes, we can very well sense the work of the Spirit, breathing in and out, reflecting the breath of God is breathed into my body, giving me life. If we remember we have never been taught how to breathe, since we simply do after we’re born in this world, it is the Spirit of life that sustains our whole being. St Paul says, “In Him, we live, and move, and have our being.” Another example of sensing the work of the Spirit is to notice something different and new in you. If you start having a stronger desire for prayer, that’s the Holy Spirit nudging your soul to be closer to his presence. Or you wake early in the morning without any intention to do so and feel quite awake and serene. That may be the Holy Spirit calling you. What about having a stronger desire to know more about the Bible, which indicates your desire to get to know God deeper. How about the moments when your heart is filled with thanksgiving for people around you and joy that comes out of being deeply loved? There are all sort of personal encounters with the Spirit that come to us subtly and gently. But there are some communal moments in our lives that we intensely feel the presence of the Spirit. This experience of intense connection, interconnectedness with the Spirit happens when there’s a shared experience with others in the moments of extremity. This past Friday, we experienced again the tragedy and evil of gun violence. 9 students and 1 teacher died. It is excruciatingly painful and hurtful to those who are directly affected by this gun violence as well those of us who are rather indirectly shocked by this tragedy. Yet, in this extreme moment, through our wounds the Holy Spirit comes into our hearts. I saw this one photograph of parents of Santa Fe high school students circling around, holding their hands together, and praying. Regardless of the school’s past dispute over the loudspeaker prayer, it is hard not to believe that the Holy Spirit is at work in this scene of people gathering together to pray for those who are involved in the tragedy. The Spirit connects one another, creating a sense of communion where no one feels lost and alone because the Spirit never loses anyone. What about the car accident on Rt 80 in which one student and one teacher died? With anger, shock, sorrow, and compassion for one another, the Spirit gathers people together. On the other extreme, we experience the work of the Holy Spirit in the election of a new bishop who is the first African American female bishop in our diocese. Michelle, Amy, and I were talking about when we could actually go home, basically our concern over how long the election process would take. Of course, we did talk about who might be elected as our new bishop. No one at St. Peter’s in Morristown imagined or predicted that the Rev. Carlye Hughes would be elected on the very first ballot. In this surprising joy for our diocese, we sense and experience the Spirit is alive, creating something new for us, the new creation for the new world. On this very feast day of Pentecost, in this very moment where we are gathered together to celebrate the Eucharist, the Holy Spirit is still working. At the Eucharist, we ask for the Holy Spirit to descend on the bread and wine to be the sacramental sign of the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ. But not only does the Holy Spirit transform them into the sacraments of the Body and Blood of Jesus but also comes down to us, making our baptized bodies the holy food for the world. All we’ve got to do is let the Spirit transform our entire being, allow the Spirit to transfigure our whole being. Do not be afraid to be the new creation that you are called to be. No fear, but only trust in the Spirit of Jesus Christ, the Spirit of the resurrection. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. (There are two blessings that we receive from our mothers. These two are like two sides of the same coin. One is the blessing that we don’t usually remember or recognize because we received it when we were infants. We were fed, protected, and taken care of by our mothers. The other is the blessing of discovering the first blessing we received as infants and appreciating our mothers. As grown-ups, we forget the very truth that we didn’t grow up on our own. In this sense, Mother’s Day is meaningful, however it is commercialized in our society. So, I would like to wish all the mothers a Happy Mother’s day! I also would like us to keep in mind and pray for the mothers who's children are nearer to God’s presence.)
Today’s gospel reading is the longest discourse of Jesus in all four gospels. It is called the high priestly prayer of Jesus. The context in which Jesus prays this high priestly prayer brings us back to the scene of washing the feet of his disciples and the Last Supper before he is arrested and persecuted by the civil and religious authorities in his time. Jesus is praying before he is lifted up on the cross, before his death. Considering today is the very last Sunday of Easter, this high priestly prayer of Jesus before his crucifixion moves us into a different context in which Jesus is now risen and is going back to God the Father. So there’s a common theme between Maundy Thursday and today that Jesus’ physical presence that is limited to time and space will no longer be in this world. Hearing this passage in the context of Maundy Thursday points to his death on the cross in which he leaves the disciples. Hearing this passage in the context of Eastertide, on the other hand, takes a different meaning of his ascension to the Father. Having said this, we’re somewhat privileged to listen to this breathtakingly thoughtful and loving prayer of Jesus. Some say that Jesus’ high priestly prayer gives us ‘the’ example of how we pray for one another. I personally think this prayer defines what it means to be a disciple of Christ, who we are, and whose we are in Christ. Jesus in his prayer affirms and promises us not only of his communion with God but of our communion with him. So Jesus prays, “...they may be one as we are one.” In today’s homily, I would like us to reflect on who we are and whose we are in this world. I strongly believe that it is necessary and crucial to be aware of our Christian identity because not only do we very often forget who we are and whose we are, but we tend not to value ourselves as Christians. Our Christian identity ends up being not so important to our lives. Instead of having our entire identity, our whole being redefined and transformed as Christian in Christ, it might have become simply part of who we are and whose we are. It might have become one of those things that describe who we are such as what we do for living or what color we like or what blood type we have. How we see and treat our own selves might be heavily influenced by how the world sees and treats Christians. If you actually think about your weekly schedule, it is hard to remind ourselves who we are and whose we are unless we try to keep it in mind by intentionally praying and reading Scriptures. We spend about 3-4 hours out of 168 hours a week at church. Say we sleep about 8 hours a day, then we’re given 112 hours. Still, only 3.6% of our week directly provides us to see our true identity as Christians. We are quite exposed to the influence of how the world sees each individual. But how Jesus sees and treats us is radically different from the way we see ourselves and how the world sees us. In Jesus’ high priestly prayer, there’s a sense of movement on where we come from and go to, where we belong and where we are sent to. So here’s what he says first about where we are from. He says we are from the world. This world is the world that neither knows nor acknowledges the unconditional love and reconciling power of God. Some might say we might be living in a different world other than the world Jesus is talking about in his prayer. Yet, if we ask ourselves whether we live in the culture of grace, mercy, and forgiveness and the answer is no, then the world Jesus says we’re from has not changed. And this is also the world that God so loves that he sent his only son Jesus Christ. Not because that world is filled with God’s love, but quite the opposite. God’s love breaks into this world from which we come because of God’s self-giving love. Though all of us are from the world, we are transformed in Jesus who is the divine love made flesh. As we accept this love and compassion of God, as we confess that we’re not a god or a creator but beautifully created in the image of God and we can never save or heal ourselves but God alone, as we experience the redemptive work of God in the death and resurrection of Jesus, we become God’s, Christ’s own. Baptism is then not just a ritual that grants us a membership to a religious social club. It is the way in which we enter this new reality of God as God’s beloved. It is the very embodied effect of God’s gift to us in Jesus. We do not physically see what changes happen to our being in our baptism, but in faith, we become the new creation that does not belong to this world. Through baptism, we are no longer from the world, but from God alone. Jesus says in his high priestly prayer, “I have given them your word, and the world has hated them because they do not belong to the world, just as I do not belong to the world.” We no longer belong to the world we are originally from. You’ve probably heard about our Christian visa status in the world. We are in the world, but not of the world. Jesus also prays, “I’m not asking you to take them out of the world, but I ask you to protect them from the evil one.” We’re never meant to be out of this world, but are sent back to the world. So Jesus prays, “As you have sent me into the world, so I have sent them into the world.” What his prayer teaches us is that there’s this divine purpose for each one of us who are part of the Body of Christ. Coming from the world, we are transformed to be the new creation that Jesus brings to this world. In a way, we are chosen or elected to this divine project for the world God so loves. It’s not up to our ability to change the world. But once we realize that we are God’s new creation that is not of this world, we are God’s gift to this world. We’re sanctified in our baptism through the Holy Spirit who never ceases to work in our lives. So here’s my question to you to ponder. Do you see yourself as the new creation that does not belong to this world but to Christ? Do you see yourself as a walking sacrament or God’s gift to this world which you no longer belong but are sent by Christ himself? I hope you do because that’s who you really are. Episcopalians as well as Orthodox and Roman Catholic Christians have a high view of the Eucharist. We believe that Jesus is really and truly present in the consecrated bread and wine. We don’t know how to make sense of this divine mystery in the Eucharist and admit we can’t prove Jesus’ real presence. But it’s not because we are fooled by some type of unintelligent or blind faith. We know we can’t prove it because the Eucharist does not belong to this world. It is the new creation just as creation itself is something science cannot explain. As the Eucharist doesn’t belong to this world, we who are sanctified in the baptism of Jesus Christ do not belong to this world. We are also the new creation that belongs to a new world, that is, the coming kingdom of God. So, let us remember we are the new creation. We’re God’s gift to this world for the divine revolution of love and compassion of Christ. If we don’t see ourselves as walking sacraments for the sake of the world, we are wasting our time here. The Society of St John the Evangelist is an Anglican monastic order in Massachusetts. They’re known as the Crowley brothers. In their Eucharist, before the priest says, “The Gifts of God for the People of God” it’s their practice to proclaim, “Behold what you are and become what you receive.” Behold what you are and become what you receive. Remember you’re not just a citizen of this world but the new being, the new creation of the kingdom of God, God’s gift to the world. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. On the bus to work in the morning, two passengers behind me were chatting. Usually, passengers don’t talk because it’s pretty early in the morning to activate your brain to engage in a conversation. That morning around 6:50 am wasn’t a quiet ride. I unwillingly overheard these two passengers’ conversation. It really was nothing important but that Wegmans was coming in Parsippany. They were very excited about this new supermarket coming closer to their towns that is supposed to be a bit cheaper than the Whole Foods but more expensive than Shoprite or Stop & Shop.
A supermarket matters so much to us in our time. It’s where we buy things we need in our daily life such as food and household products. It summarizes what we humans need and use to sustain and sanitize our lives. On the other hand, it’s a symbol of consumerism. We are given so many options to choose from. Buying a carton of eggs, for example, takes some time. We look at if it’s cage-free, pasture raised, organic, or non-GMO. We are swamped by too many choices. In this marketing strategy of consumerism, we might at first think we’re choosing out of our freedom, but this process of making a choice presupposes our dissatisfaction with one or the other. The General Motors’ research division in regards to changing car models every year calls this “the organized creation of dissatisfaction.” (Paraphrased from Being Consumed, William Cavanaugh, p. 17) Consumerism encourages us to create desires to choose. Once chosen and consumed, we quickly move on to other products and detach ourselves from those we once possess. I think we may be too used to taking what we want, refusing what we don’t want, and complaining when it’s not available. This consuming habit of choosing and detaching might have influenced the way we build our relationships around and think about God. We might take who we want, refuse who we don’t want, and complain when they’re not good enough. About God, we might take the god who gets what we want, refuse the god who doesn’t get what we want, and complain when we don’t get what we want. In today’s gospel, Jesus says something quite countercultural to this consuming habit of choosing and detaching. He says, “You did not choose me, but I chose you.” Jesus chose you, not the other way around. We did not choose him, but he did. This goes directly against the spirit of consumerism. It’s never “I choose, therefore I am” but “Jesus chose, therefore I am.” Each one of us here is personally chosen and called by Jesus himself through the power of the Holy Spirit. And by God’s mercy, we simply respond to that calling. Some of us more than others might have been more attentive to this divine choice of Jesus to the Christian calling. If you’re not a cradle Episcopalian, you may be much more conscious of your choice of being an Episcopalian. I have a mixed religious background such as Buddhist, Confucianist, Catholic, and Protestant. I remember when I was a child I seriously considered which religion I must choose. I was already exposed to different religious traditions. It was my fourth year at the seminary when I chose to become an Episcopalian after once again being exposed to different Christian traditions. Perhaps this way of pick-and-choose was the way of consumerism. But, I do know that when I became an Episcopalian, being confirmed and as well as ordained, the whole purpose of my choice was to become more faithful to Jesus. I wanted to be a better follower, disciple, and abider of Jesus in the tradition that is wide and deep enough. I might say I “chose” to be an Episcopalian. But thinking back, not really. I think it’s in this Anglican tradition Jesus chose me and you to spiritually mature and grow as part of the universal church. At some point, I hope to see more of Episcopalians who can proudly say, “I’m a credo Episcopalian,” not so much of a cradle Episcopalian. And whether you’re a cradle or credo Episcopalian, Jesus chose you to be here. The bottom line is Jesus first chose you, not that you first chose him. This divine act of choosing happens in the first lesson we heard today. In the Book of Acts, the Holy Spirit descends upon all those who heard St Peter’s preaching. What’s astounding and even shocking is that the Holy Spirit does not discriminate. The Holy Spirit falls upon every single one of them whether they’re Jewish or not. These gentiles start speaking in tongues and praising God. St Peter says, “Can anyone withhold the water for baptizing these people who have received the Holy Spirit just as we have?” Basically, there’s no reason for him not to baptize the gentiles at this point. The Holy Spirit comes to everyone, not just to the circumcised. This also means that the gentiles did not choose but the Holy Spirit alone. Having been chosen, their hearts are filled with gratitude and praise, coming out of themselves and speaking in tongues. At this point, we might wonder about two things. First, what happens when you realize that you’re chosen? Second, for what are we chosen? This experience and realization of being chosen by Jesus through the power of the Holy Spirit brings a sense of joy. This joy comes out of the fact that you’re unconditionally loved no matter what you or others think of yourself. What this divine compassion of God the Father spoken and lived in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus does is that it heals the broken heart. Being saved means being healed, reconciling all the broken pieces in your heart and creating something beautiful out of them. When you feel loved by God, what do you feel and what do you do? You feel thankful and joyful. This love you’re receiving makes you praise and love God. The specific moment of experiencing this love may be at times expressed as what’s called ‘conversion.’ This love of God changes people. It converts people to look at the source of that divine love. It turns people to seek Jesus who is the divine compassion made flesh. So this transformation of the heart answers to the first question, “What happens when you realize you’re chosen?” Being chosen by Jesus is being loved by him. For this, we are being chosen: to be loved, to love him, and in turn to love others. God’s love compels and moves our hearts to love. We may have experienced this sense of love fulfilling our hearts some time in the past. It is easy to love someone when our hearts are filled with God’s love loving you. But it fades away. It comes and goes. Though God’s love is unconditional, our love is conditional. It’s like a candle flickering before the wind, yet is never extinguished because the source of our love comes from the power of the resurrection which is God’s love at the climax. The greatest commandment that Jesus tells us to do is right in our face. Love one another as Jesus loves you. No one has greater love than this to lay down one’s life for friends. This is what we are chosen for. Simple as it sounds but extremely difficult to do. It’s utterly impossible to do it on our own but very possible with the help of God. One thing we should keep in mind is not to romanticise this commandment of love. It’s not really about swallowing all the bad behaviors of others and pretending to forgive them. Love is earthy, filthy, getting your hands dirty and messy. Love is not about my personal preference. It's different from liking which sometimes happens automatically. Love is being patient with others, seeing good and bad in them and helping them flourish, never giving up on them but holding the hope that Jesus has already planted in their hearts. That’s all there is to this love. While we are being patient with others and are placing ourselves in that state of patience, we bear the fruit that will last. In this state, God the Father will give us whatever we ask him in the name of Jesus. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. There are some English words that people do not use anymore. Younger generations such as Millennials and Generation Z wouldn’t know what a floppy disk is. They might have heard of it, but would have never used it because floppy disks are no longer manufactured. The Episcopal Church, for example, is a place where all these long gone words are used. Some joke about how Episcopalians have a name for every single object in the church, which I believe is quite true. We even have a name for each linen. We have the white linen that goes underneath the paten and the chalice. This is called a corporal. What about another white linen that is used to wipe the chalice. This one is called a purificator. The vessel that contains wine is a flagon, whereas the same looking vessel with water is a cruet. We can spend next ten minutes going over all these fancy words which are used in the church setting.
In today’s gospel reading and the second lesson, both texts from St John the Evangelist, there’s this word that we really don’t use at all. Can you guess what it is? It’s to “abide.” I’m actually not quite sure how we can use this word. I don’t think I ever say, “I abide in Little Falls or abide for me outside.” Maybe I can tell my son to “abide by my rules!” He wouldn’t understand its meaning but only my angry voice. In the gospel reading, however, Jesus uses this forgotten and unused term. He says, “Abide in me as I abide in you.” St John in his letters also says, “God abides (translated as ‘live’ in the NRSV) in us, and his love is perfected in us...we abide in him and he in us…” The original Greek word that is translated as ‘abide’ is μένω. It means to ‘live, dwell, remain, stay, or wait.” This word, “abide” in English has a couple of definitions. First, it is to ‘accept or act in accordance with a rule, decision, or recommendation.’ Second, it can mean to ‘continue without fading or being lost.’ And the last definition is simply to ‘dwell or live.’ Ben Quash, an Anglican priest and a theologian, suggests that “Abiding has more the sense of a full, personal commitment. It expresses a quality of solidarity which just waiting would never convey.” (Abiding, p. 2) He then gives a biblical example of what it means for someone to abide from the Book of Ruth. This is Ruth’s response to her mother-in-law, Naomi: “Where you go, I will go; where you lodge, I will lodge; your people shall be my people, and your God my God. Where you die, I will die—there will I be buried. May the Lord do thus and so to me, and more as well, if even death parts me from you!” (Ruth 1:16-17) This saying of Ruth sounds very much like Jesus. His life on earth until his death on the cross and resurrection is the incarnate version of what it means to abide in God and the people he loves. Jesus shows us how to be an abider and calls us to be one. In this sense, being a disciple of Jesus is simply to become an abider in him. We act in accordance with the love of God shown in Jesus. We continue to follow the steps of Jesus without fading or being lost. We stand where Jesus stands. We dwell where he dwells. We commit our bodies to the Body of Jesus. We are called to be abiders in Jesus Christ. To abide in Jesus is not an easy task. And it has never been easy. Being an abider in Jesus is like entering through the narrow gate, not like the wide ones. Often, this image of entering the narrow gate feels like we just have to follow all the rules and regulations to become Christian. I think this way of thinking about the Christian discipleship is neither helpful nor healthy for our spiritual health. It simply falls into legalism that judges not only others but also ourselves. I would like us to broaden and deepen our understanding of being an abider in Christ or a pilgrim entering the narrow gate as we reflect on the organic image of Jesus that shown in the gospel. He is the true vine. We are the branches. The source of our being is only possible when we abide in the vine. Entering the narrow gate then really is to recognize the source of our being that sustains our lives as his branches. What legalism or considering our Christian faith as believing a set of principles of moral conduct is spiritually harmful to us. Not only that it makes us judge ourselves and others. But it makes us forget that we must depend on ourselves and our lives on God. Without the help of the Holy Spirit, we can neither abide in Jesus nor enter the narrow gate. What does abiding in Jesus look like? We can imagine ourselves sitting in the church and doing churchly activities. All these might be considered as abiding in Jesus but if we revisit what abiding really means. It is just not enough. To abide is more than to dwell or remain still. It is really to wrestle with our lives in Jesus and in solidarity with others. It is to never give up on loving ourselves, others, and God and hoping for ourselves and others in God. It is to discover God working in our messy lives. It is to have the long loving look on our complex and imperfect lives in which God’s grace never stops working. It also involves pruning, trimming dead or overgrown branches or stems in ourselves in order to increase fruitfulness and growth. This pruning process is traditionally called as repentance. The vinegrower prunes dead and overgrown stems in us. The vine enlivens and strengthens us to flourish together with other branches. So, what is your story as an abider in Christ? What is your story in which you find God’s mercy in the faces of others while wrestling and struggling with your messy and imperfect life? What is your story in which God helps you flourish and bear fruit? You might not recognize that you do have the stories of your own that show how you’re abiding in Jesus. Sometimes it is our job to remind and tell others that they do have stories to tell. In a way, that’s what St Philip does in the first lesson. An Ethiopian eunuch does not really recognize that Jesus is very well present in his life. He worships God without really knowing much about Jesus. It is St Philip who listens to the voice of the Holy Spirit that tells him, “Go and join the eunuch.” It looks like St Philip is teaching him about Jesus but I would say he’s really helping the eunuch discover Jesus who has been with him all along. The story of a faithful abider is like that of a love story. It is the story of love in which God unceasingly loves and that person responds to that love with gratitude and love of others. The story of a loving abider is also the story of overcoming fear, not so much about not having fear. Fear in this abider is overcome by God’s unconditional love. Even death cannot part this abider from the love of God. Because the abider is rooted in the risen Christ. My fellow abiders, let us faithfully abide in Christ. Allow ourselves to be pruned to flourish and bear fruit. Let us abide in His love. Let us love one another in Christ. This love perfected in us will cast out all the fears in the world in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. How many of you actually remember the day of your own baptism? If you’re a cradle Episcopalian or Catholic or any other branch of Christian tradition you want to call it, you probably have no idea what your parents, godparents, and the baptizing priest did to you. The priest probably made you cry while pouring some water over your head and put some oil in your forehead. And probably, your parents and godparents as well as all who were there were smiling at you. (Kind of cruel, isn’t it?)
Today is a very special and mysterious day. Actually, Sunday worship time is always, always, a sacred time that is differentiated from other times. It is when we experience the kingdom of God on earth. But today is indeed quite special. Not only because Mikey just got baptized, but also because we’re being reminded of what we often forget about ourselves. We are participating in something that happened to all of us when we were baptized. Whether you realize it or not, whether you feel it or not, whatever begins to happen to Mikey at his baptism is still happening to you. Watching, witnessing, and actively participating in this Sacrament of the Baptism of Mikey, we are once again brought back to the very reality and the sacred mystery of our own baptisms. There are two things about this Baptismal rite that I would like us to reflect on. First, let’s go back to the sentences used when Mikey was baptized: “I baptize you in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit” and “You are sealed by the Holy Spirit in Baptism and marked as Christ’s own forever.” For those who were baptized as infants, you heard these two sentences but wouldn’t remember a thing about it. Today’s sacred event brings back the memory of your own baptism. Yes, you were surrounded by your loved ones and were given this new birth and identity. For those like me who were baptized later in life, you can go back to the experience of your baptism and remind yourself of who you really are in the eyes of Jesus Christ. In a way, I personally find it fascinating and mysterious that God is really working through the most vulnerable person here, a five month old baby. He is reminding all of us by sharing his life with us that we’ve become God’s children, sealed by the Holy Spirit in Baptism and marked as Christ’s own forever. How often do we actually believe and remember that we’re sealed by the Holy Spirit in Baptism and marked as Christ’s own forever? You’re not your own. You belong to Christ. You belong to the communion of saints, both living and dead, by baptism. You’re never left abandoned. You’re never lost in God even if you at times feel so lost. Jesus in today’s gospel urges us, “I know my own, and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father.” When I poured the holy water over Mikey’s head and baptized him in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, when I anointed him with the oil of chrism, we not only welcome him as the newest member of the Body of Jesus Christ but also we see ourselves in him. We were born from the womb of our mothers. Through Baptism, we are born again from the womb of God. This is a new birth offered by the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ the Good Shepherd. This life of new creation, new birth, and the resurrection is the gift of life that Jesus the Good Shepherd grants us in Baptism. Sacramentally, we already died with Jesus and are risen with him in Baptism. In a mortal body, we’re given the resurrected body. In this sense, this Sacrament of Baptism is a life-transforming and transfiguring event for all of us. We bear the mystery of the resurrection of Jesus Christ by becoming his Body. The other thing I would like us to reflect on about today’s Baptismal rite is these sentences that we all said to Mikey: “We receive you into the household of God. Confess the faith of Christ crucified, proclaim his resurrection, and share with us in his eternal priesthood.” Just as we’re adopted by God through Jesus Christ in the Holy Spirit by the sacramental means of Holy Baptism, Mikey the newest member of this local church, St. Agnes’ and the universal Church is adopted by God. As we belong to the one flock whose shepherd is Jesus Christ, Mikey belongs this same one flock. This is not to say we’re simply having one more member to a social club. When we welcome and receive someone newly baptized, that is the commitment that we as Church make before God that this newly baptized person is part of one Body. We pray for each other. We together work for the kingdom of God. We confess, proclaim, and live out the love that God shows us in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. We want to feel the pains others feel. We want to suffer together with those who are suffering. We want to share joy and sorrow, life and death as one Body of Jesus Christ. This act of belonging to one flock and following one shepherd is completed in the act of eating the Body of Christ and drinking his Blood together in the Eucharist. My friends, let’s remember who we are. Today at this differentiated time of God, we are celebrating what we are in Jesus Christ. Let’s remember we are Christ’s own forever. Let’s live courageously and compassionately as one flock, faithfully following the Good Shepherd who lays his own life for the world. May God continue to transfigure our baptized bodies to become the Body and Blood of Christ in order to feed those in need in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Peter, who we call a saint as well as the very first bishop of Rome, ‘first among equals,’ is an interesting character. In the Gospels, he is often shown as someone who is quick to act than to think and analyze, hot-tempered, and even violent. We remember he took out his sword and cut off the ear of the servant of the chief priest. He is so human if we want to define to be human is to err. He’s full of errors and mistakes. Once, he is highly praised by Jesus for his confession of faith, that Jesus is the Lord, the Messiah, and the Son of God. Other times, he is rebuked by Jesus who calls him Satan. Out of all the mistakes and errors Peter made, denying Jesus three times stands out the most. Three strikes, we often call it. But he wasn’t out. He stayed.
In the second lesson that we heard today from the Book of Acts, we see Peter preaching to the crowd at the temple. At first, we might simply find this message of Peter a bit confusing because it is read out of context. The lesson doesn’t include the first part of chapter 3. So, unless we read the first part of chapter 3, we have no idea what actually happened before Peter’s preaching. Summarizing 11 verses into one sentence, Peter and John healed the crippled beggar at the gate of the temple called ‘the Beautiful Gate.’ So, the crowd witnessed the healing miracle Peter performed. Before I get into the details of his core message, I would like to reflect on the way he talks or his oratory, his public speaking skill. Let’s admit that he sounds judgmental and accusatory. He says upfront, “You handed over and rejected God’s servant Jesus. You killed the Author of life.” We can very well imagine him pointing his finger at the crowd. “You, you, you handed over, rejected, and killed Jesus the Son of God!” He then adds, “To this, we are witnesses.” Now, the crowd might want to say something about this tone of Peter’s voice. Some of them might remember what he himself did to Jesus and remind him of his betrayal and disloyalty. They might argue with him and say, “Peter, you also handed over, betrayed, and rejected Jesus. You are also part of the murder of Jesus. Do you really believe your hands are clean? Are you innocent enough to judge us? Why are you even alive? Why didn’t you die with Jesus?” I think this is a fair argument and criticism of Peter. We can easily imagine how the crowd emotionally perceived Peter’s “you, you, you” statement. They probably are quite baffled, upset and angry. Even if what Peter says is all true, that they handed over Jesus to Pontius Pilate, rejected him, and killed him, no one wants to be judged and accused in public, especially at the temple. At this point, I’m getting the sense that Peter can never point his finger at the crowd as if he is innocent. While exposing what the crowd did to Jesus, he is identifying himself with them as a traitor who handed over Jesus to the local authorities, rejected, and became a part of the murder plan. He must’ve been telling this whole thing about Jesus as an insider who not only saw everything but also participated in handing Jesus over, rejecting, and murdering him. He knows his hands aren’t clean. He very well admits that he’s not any better than the crowd but worse than them. After all, he was the one who betrayed his own friend and teacher he spent time with for the past three years. I think this sheds a different light on this act of Peter preaching at the temple. This isn’t so much about Peter’s attempt to judge and accuse the crowd so that they would feel awfully guilty and ashamed for what they did to Jesus. If Peter considers this strategy of persuading people to believe in Jesus, it isn’t a very good one. Selling a ticket to a guilt-trip doesn’t work so well. As Peter reveals what the crowd as well as himself and other disciples such as John who is present next to him have done to Jesus, the Author of life, he makes himself completely vulnerable. He exposes himself to be a sinner in front of the crowd as he reminds them of what they’ve done to Jesus. The crowd might still be in a judgmental mode as they listen to Peter, but now looking at Peter, they might be curious about what actually happened to him and the crippled beggar at the gate of the temple. Peter in the latter part of his sermon tones down his judgmental voice of himself and the crowd. He becomes soft in his words and says, “And now, friends, I know that you acted in ignorance, as did also your rulers.” It’s like saying, “You probably didn’t do this on purpose with such an evil intent, and you didn’t know any better. You acted in ignorance.” This also means that Peter himself acted in ignorance as well. Ignorance means a lack of knowledge. Peter, other disciples, and the crowd had no idea who Jesus really was. They projected their own image of a savior onto Jesus. And that projection was shattered by the cross. Jesus on the cross wasn’t the god that the Israelites imagined. For us, this Jesus on the cross isn’t too disappointing or shocking to us because we’re somewhat used to its symbol or have become so insensitive or dull about this mystery of Jesus on the cross. Which I think we should refresh ourselves of its brutal nature and shock ourselves of the horrendous symbol of the cross we see here in the church. Psalm 4 which we recited together today specifically mentions about the action in ignorance. The second verse says, “You mortals, how long will you dishonor my glory; how long will you worship dumb idols and run after false gods?” (Ps 4,1) Worshiping dumb idols and running after false gods we ourselves created and filled our wishes and desires with is what it means to act in ignorance. Jesus on the cross destroys these dumb idols and false gods. This applies to all of us. We don’t necessarily feel like worshipping dumb idols or running after false gods in a ritualistic manner. It’s more of what desires, ethos, values, and beliefs govern our thoughts, feelings, and behaviors. Consumerism, for example, is everywhere. Our existence may be defined by what we consume. It’s not that we think, therefore we are, but really we consume, therefore we are. The problem with consumerism is that we are restless, always running after one desire after another. Never attached to anything, but always detached from everything else and even ourselves, our neighbors, and God. This consumerism creates ignorance. And we are constantly influenced and affected by the culture of ignorance. What this does to us is that we avoid the reality, particularly that of those who are suffering. Dumb idols and false gods in this culture of ignorance, the culture of consumerism detach us from real people. Ignoring the faces of those in suffering or turning our faces away from them is essentially ignoring the face of Jesus on the cross and turning our faces away from him. But Jesus is risen. This new creation of the resurrection of Jesus changes everything. Although the crowd as well as Peter and the disciples unavoidably acted in ignorance, the resurrection breaks into that ignorance. The resurrection opens the ignorant minds of all to the new reality Jesus has brought to the world. Peter is no longer a traitor after the resurrection. He is not hiding from his mistakes. He’s facing the reality, attaching to the concrete, messy, and complex nature of his new life that is now open to the coming kingdom of God in the crucified and risen Christ. This is why he can stand unapologetically and unashamedly in front of the crowd, making himself completely exposed and vulnerable. Let’s hear what Peter says to this crippled beggar at the gate of the temple. No longer acting in ignorance, he and John now have the eyes to see the reality. They see this man in suffering and in need of healing. They don’t turn away their faces from suffering of this crippled beggar. They look at him intently. Peter initiates an encounter with the man. He says, “Look at us.” The crippled man fixes his attention on them, expecting to receive something from them. But Peter says, “I have no silver or gold, but what I have I give you; in the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, stand up and walk.” (Acts 3,6) Then he takes the crippled man by the right hand and raised him up; and immediately his feet and ankles are made strong. Jumping up, he stands and begins to walk, and he enters the temple with them, walking and leaping and praising God. This is not the work of Peter but of the resurrected Jesus working through Peter. Like Peter, we have no silver or gold, but what we have, we give. The problem may be that we might believe we have gold or silver or that we might not believe we have Jesus to give. We might be unsure of this resurrection reality that Jesus is with us. One thing to clarify is that we don’t own or possess Jesus. What Peter does to the crippled man is to make the presence of the risen Christ known and real, helping him discover Jesus in his heart. Peter then shows what we as church give to the world of suffering as well as the world of ignorance. To this, all of us are called to be the witnesses of the resurrection. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. There are some relationships that we find troubling or want to avoid if possible. These are, to put it more accurately, former relationships or friendships. In a romantic relationship that is breaking apart, there is the dumper, and the dumpee. We’ve seen on TV or experienced ourselves engaging in the conversation which begins with “It’s really about me, not you.” In a friendship which is about to be over, I would say there can be the traitor, and the betrayed. (Of course, there are some relationships that simply fade away.) Whichever type of relationship we might be dealing with, I imagine we would probably have experienced some people who we feel a bit awkward to face. This feeling of avoidance gets stronger if we are the ones who actually hurt or betrayed them.
The disciples of Jesus would probably feel uneasy, uncomfortable, and guilty to talk about their teacher and their collective act of ditching him and denying him. In today’s gospel lesson, these friends of Jesus are gathered at someone’s place after hearing about the missing body of Jesus from Mary Magdalene. Their leader Simon Peter and John went to verify if what Mary said was true. For them, this is a serious matter. They might be accused of stealing the corpse of Jesus. They probably are together to discuss how to get away from this potential criminal charge or where to find the missing body. They are for sure scared. They make sure the door is locked so that no one can come in. But then guess who comes in? Not the religious or civil authorities to question them about the missing body, but that very missing body himself. Jesus comes into the gathering of the ten traitors and stands among them. St John does not tell us how the risen Christ became a locksmith or how he enters through the locked door. The first word he says is this: “Peace be with you,” not the “I remember what you did last summer” or “I remember what you did to me, especially you Peter” type of conversation. It’s the peace of God that he shares with his friends who deserted him. This word of peace is then the message of forgiveness and reconciliation. Jesus embraces his disciples and friends who denied him like the father of the prodigal son. The resurrection in and of itself is God’s declaration of forgiveness not only for the disciples but also for the sins of the world. So, St. John in the second lesson says, “Jesus is the atoning sacrifice for our sins, not for ours only but also for the sins of the whole world.” (1 Jn 2:2) This true peace of God originates from unconditional forgiveness and reconciliation. It comes through the presence of the risen Christ takes away the disciples’ fear. As I reflect on today’s gospel lesson, I notice that we hear the word ‘peace’ at least once in our Sunday Eucharist, and at least once a week. It is when the priest says “The peace of the Lord be always with you.” The other time that we hear the word would be when the priest invokes the blessing after post-communion prayer. It begins with “The peace of God which passes all understanding keep your hearts and minds in the knowledge of God and of his Son Jesus Christ.” At the hearing of this word ‘peace,’ it is not that of the priest, bishop, saints, or anyone else, but of Jesus Christ alone. And this hearing of the peace of Christ during the Holy Eucharist brings all of us to the place where Jesus’ disciples are gathered out of fear and anxiety. When we come to church on Sundays, we bring our concerns, fears, and anxieties about ourselves and those who we deeply love and care. To all these baggages we carry over our shoulders and lock ourselves into the church, Jesus tells all of us, “Peace be with you.” It takes away our deepest fears and anxieties. It takes away our shame and guilt. When Jesus says, “Peace be with you,” this isn’t a typical greeting like “How are you?” or “Hello.” He means peace that forgives, embraces, restores, and recharges us. And we hear this message of Christ’s peace through the mouths of one another as one Body of Christ. We become the voice of Christ for one another. The peace of Jesus doesn’t keep us behind the locked door. Let’s listen to what Jesus does next. He shows the healed wounds of his hands and side as if those wounds are the mark of who he is as the risen Christ. He repeats again, “Peace be with you.” Then he says, “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” (Jn 20:21) With the peace of Christ, the disciples’ fears are vanished. And they are sent just as Jesus himself is sent by the Father. Being sent means that one is sent for a purpose. Being sent by Jesus means that one's whole life, whole being is sent for the mission of God. A moral theologian, William Cavanaugh says, “One’s person identity is discovered in one’s mission.” (Being Consumed, p. 82) With the peace of Christ, we are accepted, adopted, reconciled, and restored as God’s beloved. We discover our true identity that is not the version of this world but the one with the divine intention. We are seen as God sees Jesus. And we are sent out of our own selves by God. We go out of ourselves but never individually as a single unit, but as one body of Christ. It makes sense that every Sunday Eucharist, we are being sent to the world with the dismissal, “Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.” Not only are we sent out by Jesus to go out of ourselves into our neighbors and strangers in the world together as the body of Christ, but also we do this only through the work of the Holy Spirit. Jesus breathes on the disciples and says, “Receive the Holy Spirit.” Whatever the disciples do in the name of Jesus is impossible without the help of the Holy Spirit. Think of the spirit as the breath of God through which we breathe in and out. With the peace of God the Son which forgives and reconciles us and the world to God the Father, we are sent as one body of Christ being empowered by God the Holy Spirit. This is the true nature of the church, the community of the resurrection. In our first lesson today, we hear strange and counter-cultural stories from the Book of Acts. The whole group of those who believed are of one heart and soul, giving up their private ownership of any possessions but all held and shared in common. At first, we might think of this as a basis of socialism or communism. But I don’t believe this is intentionally suggesting any economic and political system for our society. It is actually showing how the community of the resurrection, the church, the Eucharistic community looks like. Whatever one owns is used for others. This doesn’t mean one can’t own a property but owns and uses not for a personal gain or a private purpose only but for the sake of others in need. This is what I call “Eucharistic lifestyle.” We consume the Body of Christ, in which we are actually consumed in his Body to be broken to feed others. So the collect for today which we prayed together says, “Almighty and everlasting God, who in the Paschal mystery established the new covenant of reconciliation: Grant that all who have been reborn into the fellowship of Christ’s body may show forth in their lives what they profess by their faith…” I’m aware that the annual meeting will be followed after service. I pray that this annual meeting where all of you are gathered together be the time to see each other as a crucial part of what makes you uniquely who you are in this one Body of Christ. Also, we once again remember the passing of Dave whose presence is nearer to God not only to grieve for the loss but also to give thanks and praise for his life and our perpetual communion with him and all those who have gone before us in the hope of the resurrection. In this Eastertide, may we see each other as the community of the resurrection of Jesus Christ, proclaiming his peace in this hostile and restless world. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Simon Peter and John the beloved disciple of Jesus are running to the tomb where Jesus’ body lies. It looks like they’re even competing with each other to see who is faster. John wins the race, but it’s Peter who goes into the tomb first. They both see no one and nothing but the linen wrappings and the cloth rolled up by itself. Their competitive race of who arrives at the tomb of Jesus first and who goes in there first finishes with nothing productive. John gets there first, but Peter goes into the tomb first. Jesus’ corpse is nowhere to be found. The end.
The person they followed for the past three years, sharing meals with together, living and journeying together, and learning from him about the coming of the kingdom of God is not there. Their friend and teacher whom they confessed as the Messiah, the Son of God isn’t there. The Jesus they know who is now dead is not even in his tomb. It is empty. Peter and John don't remember that Jesus talked about his rising from the dead. Their memory of it is gone. They return to their homes. They go back to their lives of which Jesus never took part, as if their 3 years never happened. They might even say their 3-year project of making a savior failed. What a waste, they might even say. They just gotta man up and go back to fishing. But Mary Magdalene is not ready to forget Jesus and go back to her everyday life. She’s not yet ready to move on. How can she simply go back to her old life as if nothing took place after experiencing God’s forgiveness and love in Jesus? I would like to share with you this Welsh poem by Saunders Lewis which so eloquently expresses and imagines Mary’s experience: About women, no one can know. There are some, Like this one, whose pain is a locked sepulchre; There pain is buried in them, there is no fleeing From it and no casting it off… ...Deep calls unto deep, a grave for a grave, A carcass drawing towards a carcass in that unhappy morning; Three days was this one in a grave, in a world that died In the cry in the afternoon. It is finished, The cry that drew blood from her like the barb of a sword. It is finished. Finished. Mary fell from the hill To the emptiness of the last Easter… A world without a living Christ, the horrifying Sabbath of creation, The abyss of the hundred thousand centuries and their end, Mary lay down in the grave of the trembling universe. …All the flowers of memory withered except the rain of blood ...God was extinguished, In the dying together, in the burying together… (quoted from the Resurrection by Rowan Williams, p. 45) Mary grieves. She weeps outside the empty tomb. She not only sheds tears for the missing body of Jesus but also feels shattered for his death. With her tearful eyes, she looks into the empty tomb as if Jesus’ corpse would show up. She then sees two angels in white, asking “Why are you weeping?” She answers them, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” We actually have no idea what she means by “they.” Who are they? She doesn’t wait for their answer and turns around. She sees a person who she thinks is a gardener who asks the same question as the angels, “Why are you weeping?” The gardner asks one more question, “Who are you looking for?” Mary doesn’t give him relevant responses. Her response sounds like gibberish. She says, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.” What’s more interesting and even puzzling is that she doesn’t recognize who this gardener really is. The body that she’s looking for is standing right in front of her, but she doesn’t see it. There can be many ways to make sense of Mary’s inability to recognize Jesus, but I do not know. St John doesn’t tell us much about how and why in the gospel lesson. If I want to make a comment on why Mary can’t recognize the resurrected Jesus, it would be that Mary faces something utterly new to her and this entire world. The early church describes this first day of the week, which is Sunday, as the “eighth day.” We all know that there are seven days in a week. And from the creation story in the Book of Genesis, we also know that God created the world for six days and rested on the seventh day, that is Sabbath, which falls on Saturday. With the resurrection of Jesus, there’s now the new day, the eighth day in which the new creation happens. This is the new reality that Mary herself is experiencing at the empty tomb though she doesn’t see it yet. In the center of this new creation lies Jesus who is risen from the dead. Jesus who stands in front of Mary is neither a ghost nor some kind of spiritual being. This Jesus who transformed the tomb to the womb is risen with his wounded but healed body. This completely and radically new reality, this Paschal Mystery in which death is overcome by Jesus’ resurrection reaches out to Mary in the most intimate and personal way. Jesus calls her by name, “Mary!” This time, Mary gets it. Mary finally sees Jesus. She calls Jesus in the most personal way, “Rabbouni! Teacher!” At this point, we might wonder how we ourselves can enter this new creation that is already here and now. How can we experience this new reality in which the resurrected Christ appears to us and stands in front of us? I can say, “Well, maybe you want to read the Bible more. Or why don’t you come to church more often?” Or even liturgically speaking, the liturgy, the Holy Eucharist is the new creation on earth where Christ is sacramentally present in the most mysterious way. These may be good enough answers. But let’s look at Mary this time. She’s very much aware that Jesus died. His death is real. What’s behind her tears, gibberish talk, grief and sorrow is her deepest longing for Jesus. It is her desire, anticipation, and yearning for Jesus. Her longing for him never leaves that empty tomb. Her desire to find the body of Jesus fills her eyes with tears. Her anticipation to bury him again makes her look again in the empty tomb. Her yearning for Jesus gives her the chance to be the very first person to encounter the risen Christ. Then, we might want to ask ourselves, “Do I have that longing of Mary for Jesus? Do I yearn for Jesus in my life?” This question might make you feel a bit judgmental of yourself, which is far from my intention. I ask this question simply because Jesus to us feels too far from our reality. But all of us here have access to this deep longing for Jesus. Let’s remember the times that you yearned for your loved ones, especially those who are no longer physically present with you. That deep sorrow and desire to see them again, and the heartache of how much you miss them is real. This longing becomes a means to hope for the resurrection that fulfills and heals your broken, grieving, and wounded heart. Two years ago at the Easter Vigil service, I preached on this same text. I talked about my friend and colleague who had just lost her husband. In that homily, I shared her testimony. She said, “I believe in the resurrection even though I do not feel it at all. I’m not sure if I’m ever going to feel it, but I commit myself to believe in the resurrection!” Four days ago as I was talking with her about what she told me about the resurrection, she said, “I can actually feel the resurrection which doesn’t mean that I don’t feel sad. I still do. But I do feel the resurrection. I see it. God is so much bigger than me.” What lingers in my heart is “I see it.” I see it! And this may be what Mary means when she tells the disciples, “I have seen the Lord!” So where have we seen the Lord? (Perhaps in Easter egg hunts?) We see the risen Christ wherever our longing for someone makes us hover around tombs. We see the risen Christ when our longing for someone seems to be haunted by death. Whenever death feels close, the power of the resurrection, the new creation Jesus has brought declares the death of death. With our own longing as a spiritual tool to empathize, we join longings of others who haven’t seen the Lord yet. In this solidarity, walking together with them in the valley of death, the risen Jesus stands outside the tombs of those who died. Not only is his tomb empty but we envision all the empty tombs. In the very reality of death, we can shout out, “I have seen the Lord!” In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Simon Peter and John the beloved disciple of Jesus are running to the tomb where Jesus’ body lies. It looks like they’re even competing with each other to see who is faster. John wins the race, but it’s Peter who goes into the tomb first. They both see no one and nothing but the linen wrappings and the cloth rolled up by itself. Their competitive race of who arrives at the tomb of Jesus first and who goes in there first finishes with nothing productive. John gets there first, but Peter goes into the tomb first. Jesus’ corpse is nowhere to be found. The end.
The person they followed for the past three years, sharing meals with together, living and journeying together, and learning from him about the coming of the kingdom of God is not there. Their friend and teacher whom they confessed as the Messiah, the Son of God isn’t there. The Jesus they know who is now dead is not even in his tomb. It is empty. Peter and John don't remember that Jesus talked about his rising from the dead. Their memory of it is gone. They return to their homes. They go back to their lives of which Jesus never took part, as if their 3 years never happened. They might even say their 3-year project of making a savior failed. What a waste, they might even say. They just gotta man up and go back to fishing. But Mary Magdalene is not ready to forget Jesus and go back to her everyday life. She’s not yet ready to move on. How can she simply go back to her old life as if nothing took place after experiencing God’s forgiveness and love in Jesus? I would like to share with you this Welsh poem by Saunders Lewis which so eloquently expresses and imagines Mary’s experience: About women, no one can know. There are some, Like this one, whose pain is a locked sepulchre; There pain is buried in them, there is no fleeing From it and no casting it off… ...Deep calls unto deep, a grave for a grave, A carcass drawing towards a carcass in that unhappy morning; Three days was this one in a grave, in a world that died In the cry in the afternoon. It is finished, The cry that drew blood from her like the barb of a sword. It is finished. Finished. Mary fell from the hill To the emptiness of the last Easter… A world without a living Christ, the horrifying Sabbath of creation, The abyss of the hundred thousand centuries and their end, Mary lay down in the grave of the trembling universe. …All the flowers of memory withered except the rain of blood ...God was extinguished, In the dying together, in the burying together… (quoted from the Resurrection by Rowan Williams, p. 45) Mary grieves. She weeps outside the empty tomb. She not only sheds tears for the missing body of Jesus but also feels shattered for his death. With her tearful eyes, she looks into the empty tomb as if Jesus’ corpse would show up. She then sees two angels in white, asking “Why are you weeping?” She answers them, “They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him.” We actually have no idea what she means by “they.” Who are they? She doesn’t wait for their answer and turns around. She sees a person who she thinks is a gardener who asks the same question as the angels, “Why are you weeping?” The gardner asks one more question, “Who are you looking for?” Mary doesn’t give him relevant responses. Her response sounds like gibberish. She says, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.” What’s more interesting and even puzzling is that she doesn’t recognize who this gardener really is. The body that she’s looking for is standing right in front of her, but she doesn’t see it. There can be many ways to make sense of Mary’s inability to recognize Jesus, but I do not know. St John doesn’t tell us much about how and why in the gospel lesson. If I want to make a comment on why Mary can’t recognize the resurrected Jesus, it would be that Mary faces something utterly new to her and this entire world. The early church describes this first day of the week, which is Sunday, as the “eighth day.” We all know that there are seven days in a week. And from the creation story in the Book of Genesis, we also know that God created the world for six days and rested on the seventh day, that is Sabbath, which falls on Saturday. With the resurrection of Jesus, there’s now the new day, the eighth day in which the new creation happens. This is the new reality that Mary herself is experiencing at the empty tomb though she doesn’t see it yet. In the center of this new creation lies Jesus who is risen from the dead. Jesus who stands in front of Mary is neither a ghost nor some kind of spiritual being. This Jesus who transformed the tomb to the womb is risen with his wounded but healed body. This completely and radically new reality, this Paschal Mystery in which death is overcome by Jesus’ resurrection reaches out to Mary in the most intimate and personal way. Jesus calls her by name, “Mary!” This time, Mary gets it. Mary finally sees Jesus. She calls Jesus in the most personal way, “Rabbouni! Teacher!” At this point, we might wonder how we ourselves can enter this new creation that is already here and now. How can we experience this new reality in which the resurrected Christ appears to us and stands in front of us? I can say, “Well, maybe you want to read the Bible more. Or why don’t you come to church more often?” Or even liturgically speaking, the liturgy, the Holy Eucharist is the new creation on earth where Christ is sacramentally present in the most mysterious way. These may be good enough answers. But let’s look at Mary this time. She’s very much aware that Jesus died. His death is real. What’s behind her tears, gibberish talk, grief and sorrow is her deepest longing for Jesus. It is her desire, anticipation, and yearning for Jesus. Her longing for him never leaves that empty tomb. Her desire to find the body of Jesus fills her eyes with tears. Her anticipation to bury him again makes her look again in the empty tomb. Her yearning for Jesus gives her the chance to be the very first person to encounter the risen Christ. Then, we might want to ask ourselves, “Do I have that longing of Mary for Jesus? Do I yearn for Jesus in my life?” This question might make you feel a bit judgmental of yourself, which is far from my intention. I ask this question simply because Jesus to us feels too far from our reality. But all of us here have access to this deep longing for Jesus. Let’s remember the times that you yearned for your loved ones, especially those who are no longer physically present with you. That deep sorrow and desire to see them again, and the heartache of how much you miss them is real. This longing becomes a means to hope for the resurrection that fulfills and heals your broken, grieving, and wounded heart. Two years ago at the Easter Vigil service, I preached on this same text. I talked about my friend and colleague who had just lost her husband. In that homily, I shared her testimony. She said, “I believe in the resurrection even though I do not feel it at all. I’m not sure if I’m ever going to feel it, but I commit myself to believe in the resurrection!” Four days ago as I was talking with her about what she told me about the resurrection, she said, “I can actually feel the resurrection which doesn’t mean that I don’t feel sad. I still do. But I do feel the resurrection. I see it. God is so much bigger than me.” What lingers in my heart is “I see it.” I see it! And this may be what Mary means when she tells the disciples, “I have seen the Lord!” So where have we seen the Lord? (Perhaps in Easter egg hunts?) We see the risen Christ wherever our longing for someone makes us hover around tombs. We see the risen Christ when our longing for someone seems to be haunted by death. Whenever death feels close, the power of the resurrection, the new creation Jesus has brought declares the death of death. With our own longing as a spiritual tool to empathize, we join longings of others who haven’t seen the Lord yet. In this solidarity, walking together with them in the valley of death, the risen Jesus stands outside the tombs of those who died. Not only is his tomb empty but we envision all the empty tombs. In the very reality of death, we can shout out, “I have seen the Lord!” In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Standing near the cross of Jesus were his mother, his aunt, Mary the wife of Clopas, Mary Magdalene, and the beloved disciple who was considered to be St John. Out of all these five people at the feet of Jesus, Mary the Blessed Mother stands out for one reason only. She’s the sole witness of the Paschal Mystery in Jesus from the very beginning till the end, from the incarnation to the crucifixion and then to the resurrection.
This brings us all the way back to the season of Advent in December. Mary was the first human being to encounter the coming of God into this world, especially God becoming flesh into her womb. To the message of the angel Gabriel that she would deliver the Son of God, Mary the teenage refuge girl responded, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” (Luke 1:38) Her ‘yes’ (fiat) or free obedience to the will of God, her courage and willingness to respond to be the mother of God opens up the mystery of the incarnation. Mary was the one who treasured all the things that were said about Jesus and pondered them in her heart even before he was born. Let’s recall what Simeon said to her: “This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed—and a sword will pierce your own soul too.” (Luke 2:34-35) Not only did she hear what was going to happen to her son but also how her own soul would be pierced as well. She probably knew what Jesus meant when Jesus responded to her request of performing a miracle of producing wine at the wedding in Cana, “My hour has not yet come.” (John 2:4) That hour was the hour that her own soul would be pierced. Mary’s call then was not only about bearing the Son of God in her womb but also being a faithful witness to the Paschal Mystery from the very beginning. The incarnation came through the womb of Mary. The resurrection came through the womb of the cross. Mary’s vocation to be the witness to the incarnation, Jesus’ earthly ministry, crucifixion, and resurrection mirrors the life of the Church. And now in today’s gospel lesson for Good Friday, we see Mary, the mother of Jesus, standing underneath the cross on which her son is hung and dying. Her own soul is pierced. Jesus’ cry on the cross becomes hers, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken my son? Why have you forsaken me?” There’s one unspoken rule in pediatric units, at least among chaplains. That is, we never tell parents to go home and rest. It is utterly impossible for parents to leave their sick child’s bedside. They eat there. They sleep on a couch or a cot next to their child. They never leave the bedside. I think of Mary whenever I see these parents whose hearts are pierced. I would like us to imagine that we are in the place of Mary on this Good Friday. We stand where Jesus is hung on the cross. We stand near his cross with Mary, her sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, Mary Magdalene, and St John. As Jesus’ head, hands, and feet are pierced, our hearts are pierced. What we’re looking at is God who enters into the suffering of those who are suffering through his wounds. What we’re looking at is God who grants us courage to be with the pierced. We not only see a 33-year old Jewish male dying on the cross but also envision with faith the resurrected one who triumphs death. Standing at the feet of the cross of Jesus, we also hear his voice. “Behold your son.” “Behold your mother.” There has never been a time when Jesus’ ministry ever stopped. There has never been a time when God stopped working. Hung on the cross, Jesus creates a community of the resurrection. He connects people in a radically different way. Not bound by culture, nationality, tribe, gender, race, class, or anything else, but united in communion with Jesus. He embraces all with his arms stretched upon the cross. He establishes the Church, a new family of God, as he’s getting closer and looking forward to entering the door of the resurrection. On this Good Friday, in silence to listen louder in our hearts, we once again stand close to the cross of Jesus. Let’s look around. And listen to his voice. “Behold your son.” “Behold your daughter.” “Behold your father.” “Behold your mother.” We find this cross of Jesus outside the church too. We stand near his cross and listen carefully to his voice that says, “Behold your son, behold your daughter, behold your sister, behold your brother, behold your mother, behold your father only to love and forgive…” In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Let’s admit that it is quite uncomfortable to see Jesus washing the feet of his disciples. Encountering God’s humanity unsettles us. How is it okay that God washes the feet of those who would eventually run away and deny him? Actually there’s nothing okay and normal about our Christian faith in God. If we remember that God became human and came to this world as an infant in a manger, if we remember that God became completely vulnerable to the point where God wouldn’t be able to survive without Blessed Mother and St Joseph’s nurturing, this foot washing scene is another evidence of the divine humility enfleshed, embodied, incarnate in Jesus of Nazareth. And again, this God catches us off guard.
We can easily imagine how the disciples would feel about Jesus’s initiative to wash their feet. Their teacher and the one they confess as the Messiah gets off the table where he teaches them how to remember him and promises his real presence in the form of bread and wine as his body and blood. He takes off his outer robe. He ties a towel around himself. He pours water into a basin. And he begins to wash the disciples’ feet, wiping them with the towel. To this extremely odd behavior of Jesus, the disciples seem to be in shock. They’re probably thinking, “Is Jesus going crazy? I feel so awkward and uncomfortable. My feet smell so bad…” It is always Peter who can tell it like it is. He doesn’t like the idea that Jesus who he confesses as the Son of God and the Messiah washes his feet. He refuses to be washed by questioning and reminding Jesus of his bizarre behavior, “Lord, are you going to wash my feet? You will not wash my feet.” Have you ever experienced someone washing your feet? It is such an intimate experience that can really make you feel uncomfortable and even vulnerable. This act of someone other than myself washing my body part is quite troublesome. When I was hospitalized a couple years ago, I wasn’t really able to freely move my body. I was quite bedbound at that time. I wasn’t really able to walk on my own feet. That night, I had two nurses who appeared to be in their 20s. A more experienced nurse was training this nursing student. They came into my room and asked me if I wanted to bathe. I usually have a hard time saying no. So without much thought, I simply said yes. I just thought they would wash my face or something. Well, they meant what they said, which was to bathe me. They carefully moved my body left to right. I felt extremely embarrassed and uncomfortable. If you want to talk about vulnerability, this is it. Being washed by two nurses. But after I was being washed, I felt refreshed. And deep inside, I was so grateful for these nurses who were so kind enough to wash my body. We Christians talk about humility a lot. And there are many ways to define what humility is. In today’s gospel lesson, especially tonight on this Maundy Thursday, Jesus teaches us that humility is nothing but to have your feet washed by him. Accept and allow God’s coming into your life to wash your feet, to cleanse the parts of your life that you would like to hide, deny, and avoid to face. Let Jesus serve you first as he himself says he came here not to be served but to serve. Letting Jesus wash your feet is not an easy task. One of the challenges patients often express to me in the hospital is that they have to depend on others to do small things. Asking for help is hard. Acknowledging my need for help from others is harder. Because it’s making me feel and look imperfect and vulnerable. Our society teaches us that it is virtuous to be independent of each other. But what Jesus teaches us is quite the opposite. It’s like “If you want to serve someone, you need to be served by me first. Once you accept God’s service, you’re then ready to serve others.” In other words, make yourself vulnerable before God by letting God see everything about yourself including your pain, shame, guilt, and everything that you want to hide. This is the act of offering up our imperfection to God. Br. John Braught of the Society of St. John the Evangelist, the so-called Cowley brothers, once said, “When we offer up our imperfection to God, we no longer feel the need to play God, we no longer feel the need to make ourselves in our own image.” Jesus himself allows his feet washed and anointed by Mary. This happens six days before Jesus washes his disciples’ feet. Mary takes a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anoints Jesus’ feet, and wipes them with her hair. Jesus doesn’t refuse to have his feet washed. He makes himself vulnerable and dependent on the hands of Mary. His allowing Mary to wash his feet and his hands reaching out to our feet are God’s way to enter into the very core of human vulnerability. Not only does he teaches us how to be vulnerable before God but also assures us that he’s with us in that moment. Tonight, we celebrate Maundy Thursday to remember the first sacrificial meal in the Eucharist and the greatest commandment of Jesus. “Maundy” comes from the Latin word, “mandatum.” It means “mandate.” Loving one another is a mandate for Christians. And we remember this teaching by remembering Jesus’ love for all humanity. This is not just one of many teachings Jesus gave to his disciples. This is almost like the last will of Jesus. Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father. When we know our end is near, we want to give something that matters the most to our loved ones. St John writes, “Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end.” Remember you are his own. Let Christ wash your feet. Accept Christ’s love. Allow yourself to be loved by him to love him and love others deeper. When your feet are washed with Christ’s hands, we are transformed. And when we wash others’ feet, we are once again transformed in that very act. Let Christ’s love transform you during this Holy Week. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. “Since blood is fittest, Lord, to write
Thy sorrows in, and bloody fight; My heart hah store write there where in One box doth lie both ink and sin: That when sin spies so many foes Thy whips thy nails, thy wounds, thy woes, All come to lodge there sin may say No room for me, and fly away. Sin being gone, oh fill the place, And keep possession with thy grace; Lest sin take courage and return And all the writings blot or burn.” (The Passion by George Herbert) When Jesus, riding on the donkey, entered Jerusalem, the crowd shouted, “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestor David! Hosanna in the highest heaven!” And this same crowd shouted, “Crucify him!” When Jesus told the disciples, “You will all become deserters for it is written, ‘I will strike the shepherd, and the sheep will be scattered.’ But after I am raised up, I will go before you to Galilee.” Peter impulsively answered Jesus before any other disciples, “Even though all become deserters, I will not.” And when one of the servant girls of the high priest accused him of being with Jesus, it was this same Peter, “I do not know or understand what you are talking about” When Jesus specifically pointed out Peter and said to him, “Truly I tell you, this day, this very night, before the cock crows twice, you will deny me three times,” Peter assured Jesus, “Even though I must die with you, I will not deny you.” And it was the same Peter who later cursed, swore an oath, and said, “I do not know this man you are talking about.” We hear two radically contrasting voices in the crowd. We hear the shout of praise and political desire projected on Jesus on the one hand: “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest!” On the other hand, we hear the voice of judgment, rage, and hatred: “Crucify him!” In Peter, we also hear two different voices. We hear the voice of faithfulness, courage, and loyalty on the one hand: “Even though all become deserters, even though I must die with you, I will not deny you.” On the other hand, we hear the voice of denial, betrayal, and fear: “I do not know this man.” We might want to call this the inevitable human nature of hypocrisy or inconsistency. And this inconsistency of the crowd and Peter’s words and behaviors is something all of us may experience quite well. St Paul in his letters to the Romans talks about his inner conflict. He says, “I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.” (Romans 7:15) In this inconsistency, we look at our distorted desire projected on Jesus and our violent nature to scapegoat this false messiah who is unable to fulfill our self-serving wishes. Quite surprisingly, this inconsistency we all have is actually what we are called to experience during this Holy Week. Starting from the Liturgy of the Palms, we identify ourselves with the crowd. We ourselves become the voice of the crowd who shouted, “Hosanna in the highest!” In our gospel lesson today, we hear how this voice of the crowd so quickly changed and shouted, “Crucify him!” And on Good Friday, we will hear again this crucifying voice of the crowd as we identify ourselves with the crowd. The whole liturgy of the Holy Week somehow invites us not only to see the Passion of Jesus but also to face our own inconsistency and fragility which St Paul would call our sinfulness. St Paul confesses, “...if I do what I do not want, it is no longer I that do it, but sin that dwells within me...Wretched man that I am!” (Romans 7:20, 24) So, it’s really the reign of death that we see in the crowd, St Peter, St Paul, and ourselves. Our body becomes the body of death. We can’t see any light in the voices of the crowd, St Peter, and ourselves. Only death reigns. Only darkness is seen. We come to realize that we cannot save ourselves. And this seeing of the darkness in us and our body of death is necessary in order to see the light coming through Jesus. In today’s gospel lesson, two voices of Jesus shed God’s light on the body of death. Jesus goes to Gethsemane. He throws himself on the ground and prays, “Abba, Father, for you all things are possible; remove this cup from me; yet, not what I want, but what you want.” In this prayer, we encounter Jesus’ fear and distress. He is distressed, agitated, and deeply grieved, even to death. He probably feels tremendously isolated, which is why he is not alone but with Peter, James, and John. Yet, he becomes alone since all his disciples fall asleep. He prays the same a prayer again, “...not what I want, but what you want.” Now, we hear the voice of Jesus on the cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” At first, we might see this agonizing voice of Jesus as that of our inconsistent nature. This cry might be perceived as if Jesus regrets what he decided to do in his prayer in Gethsemane. Yet, this cry of Jesus on the cross, as he faces the complete rejection and abandonment of God, is exactly what God Himself wills to accomplish. It is God’s willingness to enter into the very core of human suffering. God in the cry of Jesus on the cross, joins all those who are suffering. God on the cross suffers with those who become the body of death. What this suffering of God on the cross in the person of Jesus of Nazareth reveals to us is, if I would like to point out one thing, is that God is not behind all the horrible things in the world. The God revealed in Jesus is not magical like a genie in a bottle. This God might disappoint lots of people who simply want a deity who can get them out of misery. Instead, this God in Jesus suffers with us. He never abandons us, and is always ever lovingly, patiently, and faithfully present in that very midst of darkness we all encounter in our lives. Showing his crucified and resurrected body of life, he embraces us as his own, particularly as we become one through Baptism and the Eucharist. The challenge we’re left with is then not so much of our own inconsistency or sinfulness, but then really is whether this God in the crucified and risen Jesus Christ is enough for us. Is Jesus enough for you? As we’re entering the Holy Week, I would like us to reflect on the cry of Jesus on the cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Let’s remember that this cry is not Jesus’ complaint about God. It is through this cry of Jesus that God is the suffering and loving One for all. This cry of Jesus may very well be yours when you suffer. When was the last time you actually felt rejected, isolated, and abandoned by our close ones or even God and utter the cry of Jesus as yours? Remember even if you shout out that cry and even if you feel completely abandoned by God, you’re not. God never forsakes you. Because the crucified and resurrected Jesus is always with us even in our bottomless pit of despair, even in our death. Thus, St Paul asks us, “Who will rescue me from this body of death?” He answers, “Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!” In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Today’s gospel reading seems to give us two religious symbols: the bronze serpent and the Son of Man. But what the symbols have in common is this image of either the bronze serpent or the Son of Man being lifted up. Let’s first look at the bronze serpent, which is called the ‘Nehushtan’ in Hebrew. This story of the bronze serpent begins with the Israelites’ impatience with God and Moses in the wilderness. They petitioned God to liberate them from Egypt, having Moses as their leader to the Promised Land. They were glad that when they finally got out of slavery. But as they feel like wandering in the wilderness without any progress, they start complaining against God and Moses. This is quite typical of all human beings. When we stumble upon something and struggle with challenges we aren’t so prepared, we become frustrated and angry. We then complain.
Let’s hear exactly what the Israelites say in the first lesson. They shout out, “Why have you brought us up out of Egypt to die in the wilderness? For there is no food and no water, and we detest this miserable food.” No food and no water, they say. Actually they take back about the food part. It’s not that there’s no food. They have manna from heaven. Yet they detest, dislike intensely, hate the food God provides. They refuse to eat this food in protest against God. What about the water part? It is actually not true that they have no water. We didn’t get a chance to read the previous chapter of the Book of Numbers. But in chapter 20, the Israelites already asked for water. God listened to their cry and commanded Moses what to do. Here’s what God says: “Take the staff, and assemble the congregation, you and your brother Aaron, and command the rock before their eyes to yield its water. Thus you shall bring water out of the rock for them; thus you shall provide drink for the congregation and their livestock.” (Numbers 20:8) The Israelites might be suffering from amnesia. They do have water and food. Their claim of no food and no water is not a good reason to blame God and Moses for taking them out of Egypt. As their stay in the wilderness gets longer, they realize more and more that this is not what they signed up for. The life in the wilderness on the way to the Promised Land from Egypt is not about obtaining their independence. It is about learning their total dependence on God. This life of trusting in God feels like no water and no food for them. It feels more like suffering and death to them. And they do experience death in the wilderness. Poisonous serpents bite them. This crisis of the poisonous serpents’ attack brings the Israelites back to God. They cry out for help and ask Moses to pray on behalf of them, “We have sinned by speaking against the Lord and against you. Pray to the Lord to take away the serpents from us.” At this point, we might wonder if God sent the poisonous serpents to the Israelites to teach them a lesson to the point of killing them. I suggest that this is how the Israelites make sense of the crisis of being bitten by poisonous serpents. They interpret this incident as God’s punishment for their complaint and consistent amnesia about God’s act of deliverance from Egypt. God answers the Israelites’ prayer request not in the way they want. God doesn’t take away the serpents. They would still get bitten by the serpents. And when they are bitten, they must look at the poisonous serpent that is made of bronze. They should look up the bronze serpent being set on a pole. What God has in mind is to let them face what they most fear, which is death. Instead of escaping from their fear of death, they must face it. Fear doesn’t disappear by avoiding it but through it. Healing happens when we overcome our own fear of death. The bronze serpent becomes the symbol of both death and healing. In today’s gospel reading, Jesus uses this symbol of the bronze serpent in comparison to the Son of Man, himself. The bronze serpent is to be lifted up on a pole, and so is the Son of Man. This image of the Son of Man that is Jesus being lifted up comes easily to us as the symbol of the cross. The cross in the time of Jesus is another symbol of death. People in his time probably consider it strange and shocking to see how the cross is being used in our time. For them, the cross is not a sign of glory or victory or fame or honor. It is indeed a sign of public judgment and shame in which a criminal is tied, nailed, and hung to death. Crucifixion is a method of capital punishment. As the bronze serpent is set on a pole so that the Israelites can face their fear of death, the Son of Man, Jesus is lifted up on the cross for the entire world to face their fear of death. Death has always been the subject matter of that which to overcome. It has always been the subject of the deepest fear that humanity has struggled with. Jesus doesn’t want us to look away from this reality of death. As he is hung and killed on the cross, he wants us to look at it, face what we most fear. As we see the body of Jesus, more specifically speaking, the corpse of Christ (literally corpus Christi) on the cross, we face our own fear of death. It is a scary thing to face our own fear. And it is even scarier to have no fear. There’s a reason why Lent begins with Ash Wednesday on which we hear we are dust and to dust we return because what we most fear is death. Some say our fear of death is worse than death itself. During this Lenten season, we’re again and again being invited to face what we most fear as we reflect on the Son of Man hung on the cross. But this is not the main goal. We’re to see the corpse of Jesus on the cross to really see death is overcome by him. God enters into what we most fear. God faces what we’re most afraid of. God jumps into death willingly and sacrificially. This is how God loves all of God’s creatures. The cross then obtains a different meaning. It becomes the sign in which God joins the suffering of the world out of love. The resurrection is nothing but this love enfleshed in the crucified and risen Body of Jesus Christ. Look at the cross. We see what we most fear. But don’t forget that we also see God’s love towards us. The Body of Jesus on the cross is God’s way of expressing God’s unconditional and eternal love and compassion for us and others. When that divine love touches us, our fear of death disappears. Nothing matters but love. As St. Paul says, “neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Romans 838-39) Believing in Jesus is not about accepting all the church teachings. It is about realizing that you’re loved as you see the corpse of Jesus on the cross and in turn, you also love him with enormous gratitude for that love. Remind yourself that you’re loved every time you look at the cross. At times, however, you might wonder or doubt whether you’re really loved by Jesus. I think this is quite common to experience in our culture that often judges, punishes, and shames us. It requires some spiritual muscles to remind ourselves of God’s love. Here’s some practical tips I can share with you. This is about how to remember that Jesus loves me. In your own heart, you might have experienced love and compassion for some people you don’t really know. Now, ask yourself where that love originates from. Let me give you an example. I hope you will excuse me for sharing my personal story. As a person who doesn’t have a good relationship with his father, I often wondered if I can be a good loving father myself. My logic behind is based on causality, cause and effect. If I didn’t get much love from others, how can I have any love to give to others? Quite surprisingly, Jesus’ love doesn’t work that way. After becoming a father myself to my son, I not only learn to love him more but also discover love in me that I never thought I would’ve had. I don’t believe I created it. I believe it comes from the love of God in Jesus. It is the sign or inner sacrament that shows Jesus loves me and I am his beloved. God’s love enters in and through the crucified Body of Jesus and reveals itself through the risen Body of Jesus. During this Lent, it is my prayer that we open up our hearts to experience anew this love of God shown in Jesus Christ. It is my prayer that as we reflect on the cross, we are reminded of God’s love that never leaves us and that we discover our inner sacrament of love as we love others. And lastly, it is my prayer that the more we discover ourselves being loved, the more we love Christ and others. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Have you ever experienced entering your home with muddy shoes? Or have you ever had someone entering your home with muddy shoes and walking on your carpet? Whether you have experienced it or not, you can at least imagine that unpleasant messiness disrupting your house. You can also imagine yourself feeling upset and angry with the entire situation and with yourself or the guest with muddy shoes.
With this imagined experience and feelings of anger and frustration, we can better resonate with Jesus in today’s gospel reading. Jesus experiences something similar to the example I just mentioned. It is actually more than that. Jesus refers the temple as “my Father’s house.” It is where he finds himself as God’s Beloved Son. But he sees the messiness in his Father’s house. People sell cattle, sheep, and doves for sacrifice. Money changers sit at their tables, exchanging Roman coins to Jewish coins for the temple tax. The religious authorities turned the temple, God the Father’s house into a marketplace. As we would be so quick to clean the mess that the muddy shoes made in our house, Jesus makes a whip of cords and drives all those selling sacrificial animals out of the temple. He pours out the coins of the money changers and overturns their tables. He scolds them and says, “Take these things out of here. Stop making my Father’s house a marketplace!” This particular act of Jesus is famously called the ‘cleansing of the temple.’ So Jesus wipes all those selling out of his father’s house and flips over the tables of money changers. At first glance, it looks like Jesus is reforming the temple. In a way, he is. And there’s more to this reforming work of Jesus in the temple. Jesus’s main criticism is that the temple is turned into a marketplace. The temple is not just a building that God dwells in, just as this church building is built so that God can live here. The temple is where God is worshipped. God is revealed in the liturgy that takes places at the temple. The temple then is the sacred place where God and people communicate in the language of worship. This sacred place is now a marketplace. There’s no admission fee but whoever wants to worship needs to purchase a sacrificial animal and exchange their profane Roman coins with the stamp of the gentile emperor to Jewish coins with foreign transaction fees. The religious and civil authorities make profit at this marketplace-temple. People who come to worship God are exploited. But the real problem isn’t limited to social justice issues. It’s essentially about how God is perceived. The god that this marketplace-temple portrays is conditional and transactional. This god takes some fees from those who would like to worship. This god is not available to those who can afford to buy sacrificial animals and the temple tax. This god is not free but can be purchased as long as you can give money. This god is not everywhere. This god is stuck in the temple. Throughout our Christian history, this has happened time to time such as the abuse of indulgences in the 16th century and the prosperity gospel in our time that teaches, “If you give your money to God, God will bless you with more money.” To this wrong and harmful perception of God in the temple, Jesus puts a stop. God is not conditional. God is not transactional. We don’t make a deal with God. God doesn’t have to do that. God is God, and we’re not. God and we are not on the same level. But then, God comes to where we are in the person of Jesus of Nazareth. In the face of Jesus, God manifests as unconditional, ever giving and forgiving, and loving and compassionate. Jesus, having called the temple as his Father’s house, pushes further. He identifies himself with the entire temple. The temple that still is a marketplace becomes his body. He takes upon himself the entire temple that is filled with sins. He and the temple become one. Jesus tells the religious authorities, “Destroy this temple, and in three days, I will raise it up.” Here, let’s not be confused with his words. Jesus is telling the religious authorities to destroy, not that he’ll destroy himself. And ‘this’ temple is Jesus himself. So, the zeal of the religious authorities for God the Father’s house will consume Jesus. Jesus’ identifying himself with the temple filled with sins is none other than the biblical metaphor of Jesus as the Lamb of God. Traditionally, we think of Jesus as the spotless lamb who takes upon himself the sins of the world. So we sing, “Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world, have mercy on us.” For Jews, this metaphor of the Lamb of God makes sense since the ritual of sin offering was part of their spiritual life. For us, this is a bit challenging since we live in a different culture. I can think of one metaphor that might be relevant to us. I recently watched this video clip that shows the saving work of firefighters. I was deeply moved as I was watching the firefighters’ courageous and sacrificial action for others. I’ve been also reminded of the 9/11 first responders. Our modern metaphor that might describe Jesus taking upon himself the entire temple filled with sins would be that of a firefighter. Imagine an apartment building on fire. People are inside. Into this fire, a firefighter jumps into to rescue them. Jesus jumps into this temple set on the fire of sins. Jesus’ death is his jumping into this fire. In the Creeds, both the Apostles’ and the Nicene, Jesus descended into the dead or hell. This event of his jumping into the fire shouldn’t be taken as some doctrine even though this is one of the Christian doctrines. Again, imagine yourself caught in fire. Jesus the divine firefighter jumps into that fire to rescue you. This is not transactional nor conditional. This is sacrificial and unconditional. This is love. Before we say Jesus rescues us or saves us, what proceeds that salvific action is love. Jesus loves you. Lent is the season in which we pray for the Holy Spirit to give us grace to find ourselves in the temple embodied in Jesus Christ. No transactions required but our acceptance of the divine love. No more sacrifices but sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving for the love God reveals in Jesus. Lent is also the time when we find ourselves and the world in fire of sins and see the divine firefighter jumping into that fire to rescue us, to save us, and to be with us wherever we are. As long as Jesus is present with us, there is nothing that we’re afraid of. After all, Jesus our temple is risen from the dead. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. |
