The Acts of the Apostles—A Community in Conversation

Dear Reader,

You may have noticed that my sermon posts have been a little inconsistent these past few months, as I've been traveling about doing the parts of my job that take place in communities outside of Davis. This past week was one such week, as I was in Ohio to meet with the board and program directors of Episcopal Service Corps. I looked up the propers for this week so I could begin thinking about my sermon on the plane, and I inadvertently clicked ahead a week. So, the sermon that follows does not match the scripture you (may have) heard on Sunday, but rather the one you (may) hear this coming Sunday. Next week, we are participating in the third annual Davis Interfaith Games, so I won't be preaching—hence, using this text this week rather than tabling it for its proper week. Fortunately for me, grace abounds! Also, this sermon is largely audience participation, and I wouldn't want you to miss out on that. So, when you get there, I'd love it if you would come out of the woodwork and comment, answering questions 1 and 2. Humor me.

xo Case

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In the season of Easter, our lectionary readings hop into the Acts of the Apostles, the first book of the New Testament after the gospels. Scholars say that it's a continuation of the Gospel According to Luke, like by the same author, and so it continues to tell the story of what happened after the first Easter. Jesus is gone, again, and the disciples are out and about, building the beloved community.

For them, that looked like what our first reading suggested: “All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need. Day by day, as they spent much time together in the temple, they broke bread at home and ate their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having the goodwill of all the people” (Acts 2:44-47a).

It's been 2000 years, and our society has evolved over and over and over. Communities may look like this, or they may look like something else.

One of the things that is most important to me about our community here at the Belfry is that everyone gets a say in what our community looks like. When we gather for Spirituality Group or Bible Study, we decide as a group what we’re going to be learning about together. I have some ideas, always, and am here to provide the structure and the expertise. But the groups aren’t here for me, they’re here for y’all.

I did go to seminary and get ordained for a reason, so I’m not completely abdicating my role to y’all. I did, at least, start the sermon from up here. But I’m going to sit down now, and listen to you. I have some questions to ask, but the answers are yours. Surprise! This sermon is “some assembly required.”

1. What is the most life-altering community you’ve ever been a part of? Life-altering in a big way or a small way, and a big group or a small group.
1. What characteristics did you notice, as everyone was sharing, these communities had in common?

2. If you were going to design a community, what would it have? Who would be in it with you? Hypothetical or literal, (ie your best friend, or “people who like xyz”).

3. If you were going to make the Belfry a more ideal community, what would we have? Who would be here with us? What would we do?

Some of us gathered together this afternoon, and will gather on Wednesdays for the remainder of the quarter, to talk about becoming a Reconciling in Christ ministry. This will designate us, primarily, as a place where LGBTQ Christians are invited, and where we’d be willing to call a pastor who identified as a member of the LGBTQ community. On top of that, it will give us an opportunity to look at ourselves as a community and see where we have room to grow.

I am so grateful to be in community with all of you, and to work together and play together toward building the beloved community. The first reading tonight was from The Acts of the Apostles, a book written millennia ago. Our lives, though, are the lives of the apostles, and we have more work to do and more stories to tell—together.

Every Morning is Easter Morning

Grace and peace from God our Creator, hope in our Redeemer Jesus the Christ, and the promised gifts of the Holy Spirit are with you, always.

Hallelujah! Christ is risen! (He is risen indeed, Hallelujah!)

We have said and sung it in just about every grammatically possible way. Jesus Christ is Risen Today! Christ is risen, Alleluia! Alleluia, Jesus is Risen! And maybe you feel like we’re a little late to the party because Jesus Christ was risen on Sunday, and this is Wednesday, but, let me tell you—every morning is Easter morning, from now on.

You may have a heard a story about a cheesy song with those lyrics, but, all jokes aside, it’s the truth. We don’t say “Christ was risen” or “Christ has risen” but “Christ is risen” because the resurrection of Jesus the Christ is not limited to a historical moment, but rather is for all time. Jesus Christ is Risen Today, and tomorrow, and the next day. We can sing these songs throughout the entire Easter season, and really every day except for a handful leading up to the celebration of the resurrection, again.

I read a great article on Sojourners, and shared it on Facebook yesterday, called “Christ is Risen. Now What?” It was written by Kaitlin Curtice, a Native American Christian and author. As the title suggests, in it, she asks, “now what?” Now that Easter Sunday has come and gone, what has changed? What did we spend six weeks of Lent in preparation for? I think it helps us to decide how to look forward if we take a second to look back. Back to the very first Easter morning.

As I read this gospel story, and imagine the experience these women had early that morning, I just sort of shake my head in wonder. They had come to the tomb of their friend to do what they would have done if he had died any other way—they had come to mourn and, as it is written in some of the other gospel accounts, bring spices for funeral rituals. But he hadn’t just died, naturally, he had been crucified publicly but the Roman government. Their whole world had turned upside down, and so they sought comfort in the only shred of normal life they could muster, their duty to their friend, even in death. The other disciples were off, secluded somewhere, afraid and unsure. And here’s the thing—it’s hard to blame them! Jesus has been executed by the state, and so it’s not like the political unrest has come to an end after three days. They were probably still in danger. Leaving the relative safety of the place where they are staying in Jerusalem to go out in the dark and visit the tomb—which is guarded by soldiers, remember—absolutely outs them as friends and supporters of this convicted, executed criminal. Who’s to say they won’t meet the same fate? Peter’s denial of being associated with Jesus, while not exactly brave, is pretty easy to understand.

But something brought Mary Magdalene and the other Mary out into the world that morning. I think that thing was hope.

I read a book called Hope in the Dark last month that I am obsessed with. I underlined like half the sentences, and mailed copies to a bunch of friends and pastoral colleagues I hoped could be similarly affected by it. I will get you a copy, if you want. In it, Rebecca Solnit writes not about a shallow or casual hope, but a deep and serious hope. It’s this true hope that led these women out to the tomb that morning. They weren’t hoping that Jesus would be alive, but they were hopeful that life could go on without him. They were hopeful that they could get up and go do the work that he had called them to do, keep the movement going, one day, one step, at a time. “Hope just means another world might be possible, not promised, not guaranteed. Hope calls for action; action is impossible without hope.” [1]

The story of Jesus’ resurrection does not have to be a critical dissection of just how it worked, biologically. We can sit here and wonder about how a dead man came to life again, and never get anywhere closer to solving the mystery. I know this question is one that some of you are asking, and it’s a question I ask, too. We talked about this just the other week, when Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead. Since we cannot know the historicity of this event, what about it can we know? What does this story tell us about God? Time and time again in our scripture and in our own lives, something that was once dead is alive again. Something that was seemingly hopeless returns, full of possibility. What does this say about the nature of our God, about the persistence of God’s love and liberation? Jesus the Christ was crucified and died, and then, somehow he lived again. The empire put Jesus to death, but his movement and his followers could not be silenced. The message of the gospel is not quieted by fear, is not silenced by death. The message of the gospel is not to be whispered, but shouted.

The story of the women leaving the tomb to tell their friends about Jesus puts this so clearly. “So they left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy,” it says. There’s a reason that we sing all of our happiest songs for Easter, all the ones with exclamation points in the titles and hallelujahs all over the place. Part of the radical nature of Easter is that, in the midst of political violence and social turmoil, God calls us to bring good news of great joy. “And when you face a politics that aspires to make you fearful, alienated, and isolated, joy is a fine initial act of insurrection.” [1]

So, if we circle back to Kristin Curtice’s question--it’s Easter, now what?--have we come to an answer? What do we do, if every morning is Easter morning? Do we go about our lives, quietly? You can, if you want. Or, you can go about your life, as the Easter people, bringing good news of great joy. You can shout HALLELUJAH at all available opportunities. You can rejoice in the knowledge and love of God, you has freed you from the power of sin and death. You can celebrate today, and every day.

In a few moments, we’re going to have the opportunity to renew our baptismal covenants. When you were baptized, if you were baptized, you were baptized into Christ’s death as well as his life. We need not be reminded that there is death in this world, that is thrust before us pretty routinely. But what we do need to be reminded of is that there is life in this world. There is new life in us today because we have heard the story of Jesus’ resurrection and made it part of our own story. We who were dead are alive again. That’s pretty good news.

Be not afraid, sing out for joy! Christ is risen! Hallelujah!

Great Expectations—A Sermon on Maundy Thursday

Grace and peace from God our Creator, hope in our Redeemer Jesus the Christ, and the promised gifts of the Holy Spirit are with you, always.

Here we are in our holiest of weeks, on the first day of the triduum, the Three Days: Maundy Thursday. There’s a lot of fancy church words happening right there, but Maundy is just a shortening of the Latin word mandatum, which is how the word “commandment” was translated in the Latin version of the New Testament.

The choice to call this Maundy Thursday, or Commandment Thursday, is to underscore that the core of what Jesus offered his disciples at the Last Supper was that new commandment—love one another.

This is maybe like starting with the punch line, but since we tell this same story every year, and I just read the Gospel lesson to you, I hope it comes as no surprise to you that Jesus says, “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this, everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

This is where we get our bumper sticker slogans like “Love Your Neighbor” and our camp songs like “They’ll Know We Are Christians By Our Love.” On a really important night—the last of his life—this is what Jesus wanted his friends to remember him by.

Because of the way each culture keeps its calendar, every once in awhile, our Holy Week coincides with the festival Jesus and his disciples were about to commemorate, Pesach—the Passover. The eight day celebration of the Passover this year began on Monday night of this week, and will last until the Tuesday after we celebrate Easter. At the meals that Jews around the world have been sharing this week, called seders, a question is asked. “What makes this night different from all other nights?” The answers to the question are about the various practices of the seder celebration, and how they are different than regular meals shared throughout the year. To be clear, the Last Supper was probably not a seder, because it took place before the festival began. However, I wonder if we can’t still ask the question, what made this Maundy Thursday night different from other nights?

On this night, Jesus ate a meal with his friends. Not that different from all other nights. On this night, Jesus spoke cryptically about his friends’ behavior and confused them about his impending death. Not that different from all other nights. But during dinner, Jesus did something different. He got up from the table and knelt in front of his friends and began to wash their feet. This sounds like a super weird thing to do, for us, because we do not routinely have our feet washed as part of the hospitality provided by our dinner hosts. In Jesus’ time, however, this was something that people expected, but they expected it from the servant of the household, not the Rabbi. This flipping of expectations is Jesus’ signature move.

To a world that expects isolation and individualism, Jesus says, “love your neighbor.”

To a world that expects its leaders to show strength through military might, Jesus says, “love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you.”

To a world that expects illness and suffering, Jesus says, “your faith has made you well.”

To a world that expects death and destruction, Jesus says, “I am the resurrection and the life.”

And to a room full people who expect to be served rather than to serve, Jesus says, “I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you.”

In our world today, just as in the time of Jesus, there are a lot of competing systems of morality and authority. This week we consider the power of the state and the power of the people. We contrast the reality of death and the reality of life. We ponder the uses of violence and the uses of forgiveness. This is a week of wonder. So on this night, Jesus makes it as simple as possible: love one another.

Amen.