It's not about us. April 28, 2019 The Rev. Kathleen M. Sturges

John 20:19-31, Acts 5:27-32

A man died and found himself at the Pearly Gates.  Peter was there and said, “Before you meet with God I thought I should tell you that we’ve looked at your life and we find that you haven’t done anything particularly good or bad over the years.  Honestly, we’re not sure exactly what to do with you.  Can you tell us anything that would help us in making a decision?”  The man thought for a moment and then replied, “Yeah, once when I was driving along I came upon a woman who was being harassed by a group of bikers.  I pulled over, got out my tire iron, and went up to the leader.  He was a big, muscular, hairy guy with a ring pierced through his nose.  Well, I tore that ring right out and told him that he and his gang better stop bothering this woman or they would have to deal with me.”  “I’m impressed.” responded Peter, “When did this happen?”  “Oh,” the man said, “about two minutes ago.”

That’s just one of many jokes about the Pearly Gates.  They’re all silly.  And I like silly, but what I don’t like about them is that most of them reinforce a theology of merit - that basically God works on a point system.  And by doing certain things in this life we either earn or lose God’s love, blessing, forgiveness, even entry into heaven.  That may be the way the world works - or at least claims to work - but that’s definitely not the way God works.  In fact, if we think that it’s all about us, what we do and what we earn, then we’ve missed the entire message of our Easter celebration.  For the good news is that it’s not about us.  It’s all about God.  How God in Christ became one of us.  How God lived among us.  How God died on a cross for us.  And then how God was raised from the dead so that we might have true and abundant life.  God did all of that because of love.  Not love that we earned but love that is freely given with no strings attached. 

Hear this: there is nothing we can do to make God love us more.  All the good things we do, the acts of love and kindness, generosity and justice, they are all wonderful.  But it doesn’t make God love any of us more than we are already loved.  And the opposite is true as well.  There is nothing that we can do that will make God love us less.  The bad things, the things we do in secret, the things that come from a place of self-centeredness, anger, bitterness, envy, pride - they’re nothing to celebrate and we are called to confess and repent of such things - but no matter what it is, what you’ve done or left undone, none of it makes God love you less than anyone else.

Each one of us is fully known and fully loved.  And it’s that love of God that draws us and frees us to become more fully human by giving ourselves away in love.  Which is what is going on in our reading from the Gospel of John.  It is Easter Sunday evening.  The disciples know that the tomb is empty.  Mary Magdalene has told them that she has seen the Lord.  But it’s too much to take in and they are afraid for their own safety.  So they gather at one house and lock the doors.  But somehow Jesus shows up.  That’s amazing in and of itself, but what I find even more remarkable is that when he is among his band of faint-hearted followers that he doesn’t condemn them.  He doesn’t seek to his well-deserved pound of flesh.  Just the opposite, what Jesus does is offer them undeserved, unearned, unmerited grace, love, and forgiveness.  “Peace be with you,” he says.  And then he shows them his hands and his sides to confirm that this is no illusion or a hallucination.   That he really is alive which means that Jesus’ story is not over nor is the disciples’ story over.  Again Jesus says, “Peace be with you,” but this time he continues, “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.”  Jesus is telling them that they cannot remain in the safety of their homes.  They are to go out - out into the world to take risks for the sake of love so that the whole world might hear and know the good news of God in Christ.

And we see them living this out in our reading from the Acts of the Apostles.  Peter, along with other followers, are no longer hiding behind closed doors.  They are living outside of their comfort zone.  Spreading the subversive news that Jesus lives - he’s been raised from the dead.  Now the powers that be are not pleased which lands Peter and others in jail.  But upon their release it’s clear they haven’t learned their lesson.  When they are brought before the high priest he says, “We gave you strict orders not to teach in this name, yet here you have filled Jerusalem with your teaching....”  To which Peter and the others simply respond, “We must obey God rather than any human authority.”

And that is what frightens all the powers of this world, that for us Christians our ultimate authority is not found on this earth, but in the Kingdom of God.  And because that ultimate authority calls us, even commands us, to love, to include, to support the well being of all persons, especially those who are on the margins of society, that means that sometimes we must work against other people and organizations that may have some claim of authority on our lives but are not acting in the way of love.  For Jesus sends us out from what feels safe and secure to live and work and serve in places that take us beyond our comfort zones.  We don’t do this in order to earn love.  We do this in response to love - letting the love of God that has been so graciously and abundantly poured into our lives flow out into the world.

So this time it’s a woman who died and met Peter at the Pearly Gates.  “Here’s how it works,” Peter began, “You need 100 points to get into heaven.  You tell me all the good things you’ve done and I’ll give you a certain number of points depending on how good it was.  When you reach 100 you’re in.  “Ok,” said the woman, “Well, first off, I was married to the same man for fifty years.”  “Oh, that’s wonderful,” Peter exclaimed, “that’s worth three points.”  “Only three?” said the woman.  “Well,” she continued, “I attended church all of my life.”  “Terrific!  That’s certainly worth a point,” noted Peter.  “Only one point?” she responded with a bit of anxiety in her voice.  “Ok, how about this, I started a soup kitchen in my community and volunteered at a shelter.”  “That fantastic!” replied St. Peter, “two more points.”  “Two points ?!?!” The woman cried out, “at this rate the only way I’ll get into heaven is by the grace of God!”  “Grace of God?” Peter responded, “Grace of God?  Now you’re talking.  Come right in!”

It’s not about us - it’s all about God.   Which is why we rejoice.  Alleluia!  Alleluia!

Risen today! Easter 2019 The Rev. Kathleen M. Sturges

Easter Sunday

“You make every day a special day just by being you.  And I like you just the way you are.”  Anyone here who’s familiar with the TV show, Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood, likely recognizes those words.  It was the way that Mr. Rogers signed off every program.  And on many occasions 

Francois Clemmons, who played the role of the neighborhood police officer, was on the set standing behind the camera as the show wrapped up.  Each time he would watch Fred Rogers do the same routine in the final scene.  Sit on his bench and take off his sneakers.  Seamlessly slide on his loafers.  Stand up, take off his cardigan and hang it up in the closet.  And then turn to the camera and say, “You make every day a special day just by being you.  And I like you just the way you are.”  Those words were so familiar to Francois he could probably say them in his sleep.  But on one particular day he heard them differently.  It was as if Fred was saying those words directly to him.  Francois was so struck by this that once the cameras were off he walked over to Fred and asked him, “Were you talking to me?”  To which Fred answered, “Yes, I have been talking to you for years.  But you heard me today.”

Isn’t it funny how we can hear the same thing over and over again but it’s only when we are ready that we will actually be able to hear it?  I mean really hear it.  Hear it in a way that sinks in and transforms us.

Today on this Easter Sunday we see that dynamic at play in the Gospel of John as Jesus’ followers struggle to hear and know what is really going on.  Our story begins in the wee hours of the morning, while it was still dark.  Somehow, in that darkness, Mary Magdalene finds enough light to pick out her way to Jesus’ tomb.  It’s not clear what she intends to do once she gets there, but we can imagine that it is along the lines of wanting to mourn, to weep, to pay her respects.  But when she arrives she sees that the grave has been disturbed.  The stone that sealed the tomb has been moved.  So she runs in distress to tell the disciples, Peter and John, who, in turn, run back to check things out for themselves.  And there they find Jesus’ tomb empty save for some burial cloths. 

With seemly nothing else to do there Peter and John go back to their homes leaving Mary Magdalene to weep alone.  Alone, that is, until she bends over to look into the tomb herself and sees two angels in white.  In her sorrow, it’s not clear whether she gets that these are supernatural beings or not.  They speak to her but nothing is sinking in.  Her sole concern is finding the location of Jesus’ dead body.  Then as she turns she encounters someone else - this time it’s not an angel.  It’s Jesus.  And he speaks to her, "Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?"  Assuming he’s the gardener, Mary again presses the issue about finding Jesus’ body - she can’t let it go.  Up until this point she isn’t ready to take in the news that there is no dead body to be found.  She isn’t ready until Jesus speaks again.  This time it’s only one word, her name, “Mary.”  And with that she hears - not just the sound of her name in her ears - but hears with understanding, with a deep knowing that this person in front of her no gardener, no stranger.  That this is Jesus.  Jesus who was dead and is now alive.  And as that truth begins to sink in she is sent back to the disciples to share the good news.  And she does just that, proclaiming, “I have seen the Lord.”

Our reading ends there, but the story doesn’t.  Mary tells the disciples all that she had seen and heard from Jesus, but they can’t comprehend it, they aren’t ready to hear it yet.  But over the next few Sunday we will see how Jesus doesn’t give up.  How Jesus keeps coming back, revealing himself to the disciples in ways that they will eventually hear and know the good news for themselves.

But that news, the news that Jesus is alive, is not something that they, or any of us, can take in, in one hearing.  It is such big and transforming news that it needs to be heard over and over again so that the truth of it can go deep.  Because it’s more than just a news report about an event that happened long ago.  What we celebrate is that Jesus Christ is risen TODAY.  And he is inviting each one of us to live with him in resurrected life - not just in the life hereafter, but in the life here and now.  Jesus Christ is risen TODAY in your life which means that the power that raised Jesus from the dead, the force of God’s life and God’s love, is alive and at work in your life too.  Right now.  Yet we all know that that doesn’t mean that from here on out life will only be full of things that are  happy and bright.  The truth is that just like in our reading this morning God’s resurrection power often begins “while it [is] still dark.”  When we are in sorrow or despair, when dreams have been dashed, when life is not turning out the way we had hoped, it is then that God’s resurrection life is at work even while it is still dark - bringing wholeness from brokenness, freedom from bondage, life from death.  Here’s the bottom line: because Jesus Christ is risen today there is nothing in this world that is greater than God’s life and God’s love.  And it is into that life and that love that we are invited to live. 

My guess is that this isn’t the first time you’ve heard God’s good news.  Whether you come to church every Sunday or rarely come at all I have no doubt that God has been speaking to you, in various ways, over many years.  Because God is like that - never giving up on us.  Likely there’ve been times when you’ve been able to hear what God is saying while at other times the message has fallen on deaf hears.  Either way, God is speaking to you today telling you that you are loved, loved so much that not even death has the final word.  That life is stronger than death and love is stronger than any grave.  God is saying that in Christ and through Christ there is life and there is love.  And that life and that love is for you, now and always.

God has been speaking this to you for years.  God is speaking this to you now.  Hear it.  Jesus Christ is risen today!  Alleluia!  Alleluia!  Amen!

Show me your resurrection! Great Vigil of Easter 2019 The Rev. David M. Stoddart

Luke 24:1-12

The Great Vigil of Easter

I read about an encounter once between a Christian scholar and a Buddhist monk. The Christian wanted to tell the monk all about Jesus and what Christians believe about Jesus, and asked him to read the four Gospels. And the Buddhist monk, who was eager to learn about Christianity, read them.  And afterwards, he came to discuss them with this scholar. The Christian was all prepared to delve into the Gospel narratives and talk about their historical veracity and explain what exactly happened and why. But the Buddhist was not interested in any of that. His first comment was, “I loved reading this! Show me your resurrection!”

I think that comment offers a profound insight into the nature of our faith and sheds light on what we are doing here in the darkness of our Easter Vigil. When the women arrive at the tomb and find it empty, the angels say to them, Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen. He is not here. The women do not linger at the tomb. When Peter comes to check it out, he doesn’t hang around for long, either. The first believers made no fetish of the empty tomb. The disciples didn’t build a shrine there, they didn’t take curious tourists to show them the tomb and explain what happened there. What matters is that it was empty. Jesus was not there: he was already moving on ahead of them — to the Emmaus road, to Galilee, and out into the whole world. It wasn’t until the fourth century, after Christianity became an established and socially acceptable and institutional religion, that the Church of the Holy Sepulchre was built over land that some people believed to be the site of the tomb. It was only then that pilgrims started to pour into Jerusalem and venerate the site. But, you know, the message is still the same: Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen.

The Great Vigil of Easter is an ancient liturgy. Two thousand years of tradition lie behind what we are doing tonight, which of course contributes to the beauty and richness of this worship. But for all that, this is not a backwards looking liturgy: all the readings reveal a God who is constantly moving forward: creating a universe, setting people free from bondage, breathing life into dry bones, saving, healing, redeeming. So let’s be clear: we are not here to indulge in nostalgia. We embrace this ancient liturgy precisely because it reminds us that God is always doing something new. We will not find the living among the dead; we are not going to linger at that empty tomb any more than those women did. The Risen Christ is calling us now in the present moment and leading us into the future.

But that, ironically, is often what makes it hard for people to experience resurrection in their lives. So often we cling to the past; like the Israelites pining for the fleshpots of Egypt, we long for things to be the way they were, even if they enslaved us. Jesus recognizes this very human tendency. In Luke’s Gospel, a man says he will follow Jesus but first just wants to bury his father, and Jesus says to him, Let the dead bury their own dead; but as for you, go and proclaim the Kingdom of God (Luke 9:60). That sounds harsh to us, but it conveys the truth. If anything holds us back — old habits, comfortable patterns of living, dysfunctional relationships, smothering family ties, regrets, sins of the past, anything — Jesus tells us to let it go and follow him into the future. As he says to another person who wants to linger in the old ways, No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God (Luke 9:62). That is not a condemnation, but a statement of fact. God doesn’t live in the past. Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen.

That monk got it right when he said, “”Show me your resurrection.” He intuitively understood that the resurrection means Christ is at work among his people now. And of course he is: I see it all the time. I see it when a grieving widow discovers new ways of living and loving; I see it when an addict gets clean and begins a new life; I see it in the full acceptance of gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender people and in the movement towards racial reconciliation; I see it whenever people are growing spiritually, whenever people are open to new understanding and new ways of being and serving. At one of our recent Wednesday healing services, a woman came forward and asked me to pray for more joy in her life. Yes! In so many ways I see the Risen Christ.

So if we come here tonight only to remember a past event, we will miss the point, and more importantly, we will miss the Risen Lord. If someone said to you, “Show me your resurrection,” what would you show them? Where are you experiencing new life? How is the Risen Lord trying to help you let go of the past and move into the future, God’s future for you, which is always good? How are you living as a resurrection person? Those may be easy questions for us to answer or they may be hard ones, but they are the questions we need to ask ourselves if we seek to actually know Jesus Christ. For we do not proclaim that “Christ was raised;” we proclaim “Christ is risen!” We will not find him among the dead — only among the living, among us. And we will know how to recognize him: he will be the one leading us into the future, leading us forward to healing and wholeness and new life and ever greater love — in this world, in the world to come, and forever.

Violence in the name of God. Good Friday 2019 The Rev. David M. Stoddart

The Passion According to John

It is finished. Those are the final Jesus utters before he dies in J0hn’s Passion account, and thank God it is finished: the suffering Jesus goes through is horrific. But here’s the thing about John’s Gospel: the narrator and Jesus often speak on multiple levels at once. So when Jesus says, It is finished, he is not simply referring to his personal anguish. There is more at stake here than that, and much more comes to an end on the cross than Jesus’ earthly life.

And the biggest thing that comes to an end is the whole bloody business of killing creatures to please God. Human cultures have done this for ages. When the Temple of Solomon was completed, the Bible tells us that on the day of its dedication, 22,000 oxen and 120, 000 sheep were killed. And from then on, the Temple functioned basically as a massive slaughterhouse, with animals being ritually killed by the hundreds and the thousands every day. The Jewish Talmud recounts one day when 1.2 million animals were sacrificed; it describes the priests, who were essentially butchers, wading up to their knees in blood.

It was a vast and brutal religious business. All of Israel participated in it, but even at its height there were those who questioned it and abhorred it. In Psalm 50, the LORD says, Do you think I eat the flesh of bulls or drink the blood of goats? (v.13). In the book of the prophet Amos, God declares, Even though you offer me your burnt offerings . . .  I will not accept them; and the offerings . . . of your fatted animals I will not look upon (Amos 5:22). But animal sacrifice continued because people liked it; we humans like scapegoats: we like to lay our guilt and our garbage on other creatures. And all too often we believe that God approves of that, that God is like us, bloodthirsty, and that God somehow takes pleasure in sacred violence.

But all of that comes crashing to an end on the cross. In Christ, God says, “Enough! We’re done with that.” Jesus invokes the whole sacramental system of ancient Israel — and then blows it apart. This is the point that that the Letter to the Hebrews makes tonight: Every priest stands day after day at his service, offering again and again the same sacrifices that can never take away sins. But when Christ had offered for all time a single sacrifice for sins, he sat down at the right hand of God . . . Where there is forgiveness of [sins], there is no longer any offering for sin (Hebrews 10:11-12, 18).

The whole business of killing to please God is finished, God never desired it, and in Jesus God ends it. No more sacrifices, no more blood spilled, no more violence done in God’s name. Now, if we would only get that message and live accordingly.

We don’t sacrifice animals anymore, but we still commit spiritual, emotional, and at times physical violence in the name of God — beginning with ourselves. I don’t think a week goes by that I don’t hear about or deal with someone hating herself or beating herself up because of some perceived failure or flaw. People can do a real violence to themselves when they fail to live up to whatever high standards they have set. We are called to honestly and humbly confess our sins and acknowledge our brokenness, but only in the light of love. God desires always to forgive and to heal and to make whole. God does not need or want us to do violence to ourselves. On the cross, Jesus takes all that violence into himself and takes it away. Self-flagellation and self-punishment and self-hatred have no place in God’s reign. It is finished.

And when we don’t beat ourselves up, all too often we project our violence out on to others. We all too easily scapegoat and demonize other people. It would be impossible to accurately assess how many have died in religious violence over the centuries, but some scholars have tried, and most estimates number such deaths in the tens of millions. But even when we are not actually killing, we can still do violence by excluding, reviling, and despising. We do it when we judge others harshly. We do it when we say hurtful words, words that wound others because we think we’re right and that God is on our side. We do it when we drive a wedge between us and them, denigrating Muslims or illegal aliens or Latinos or Republicans or Democrats or any group we feel self-righteous towards and look down on. That is spiritual and emotional violence that has real and destructive consequences, and there is no room for that in God’s reign. It is finished.

The crucifixion of Jesus exposes us and reveals the worst in human nature, not only our willingness to commit violence in all its forms, but our effort to justify that violence with divine approval. But the cross is God’s definitive “No!’ to all of that. Jesus endures the worst without retaliating in any way. There is no violence in him, for God is love. Never again can we invoke God to justify hurting ourselves and hurting others.

So tonight, as we kneel in prayer and light our candles before the cross, we can give to Christ whatever violence we carry in our hearts and let go of it. If we are hating ourselves or despising others, if we have been speaking hurtful words or doing hurtful things, then Christ can save us and set us free from that burden. If you are carrying violence in your heart tonight, surrender it to the God of love and hear those blessed words spoken to you: It is finished.

Embracing the world. Palm Sunday The Rev. David M. Stoddart

The Passion According to Luke

Over spring break we drove up to New England to look at some potential colleges for my daughter Emma. We spent a lot of time driving, which means that we spent a lot of time looking at billboards. And, for better or for worse, they offered some interesting lessons in theology. I saw signs that said, “Jesus is the Only Way to God,” “Hell is Real,” Do You Know Where You’re Going When You Die?” and “Repent or Regret it Forever.” You know, the kind of billboards that warm your heart and make you feel so good — not! And along with those aggressive and unfriendly messages, we saw lots of crosses, big crosses. One in particular stood out. We saw it at night while driving on I-81. Perhaps some of you have seen it: it’s a huge metal cross made of steel beams, 75 or 100 feet tall. And at night it’s lit up, with flood lights that change color. I don’t know what the people who erected it wanted that cross to be: a piece of religious art, a tool of evangelism, a totem shouting that this is Christian country — I don’t know. But like the billboards, it was definitely in your face and meant to be. After hours and hours of driving, it was easy to come away thinking that the Gospel of Jesus Christ is grim news indeed, and that the cross is primarily a threat.

But it’s not. The world, in the form of the religious authorities and the Roman army, does its worst to Jesus, but the Passion narrative we just heard is not a story of Jesus versus the world: it’s a story of Jesus embracing the world. The message here is not adversarial, it’s not, “You better believe or else!” This is a love story, and the only way to grow in our understanding of it is to hear it as a love story. Not love in a trite or sentimental way, but real love, the kind of love we see when someone gives his life away for others unreservedly, with no strings attached. They betray and deny Jesus; they mock him, beat him, and torture him. But he never fights back, never lashes out at all: he doesn’t argue with them, doesn’t curse them, doesn’t threaten them with hell. There’s no talk of punishment. He doesn’t say, “I’ll get revenge on you later.” He just surrenders himself. And he’s not passive about it, he’s not a doormat: he gives himself away freely and deliberately until his dying breath, when he says, Father into your hands I commend my spirit. And to the very end, he gives himself away in love. He forgives his executioners: they haven’t apologized, but he forgives them anyway. He offers Paradise to the criminal dying next to him: the guy’s guilty as hell, but he’s given heaven anyway. I mean, how much clearer can the message be? What more does God have to do? God is love, and in this story, God in Christ pours God’s self out to convey unconditional love, in the fullest, most dramatic way possible. And that love is for all people, no exceptions. It is for every single person in this room, regardless of your age, your sex, your sexual orientation, your marital status, your level of faith or lack of faith, your moral standing, your church attendance, your failures, your sins, or anything else. God doesn’t just love us when we get it right; God just loves us.

But here’s the really staggering thing about Palm Sunday. We don’t do all that we do today just to remember an historical event, no matter how important it is. We’re not here just to engage in hero worship “Oh, yeah, that Jesus: he’s amazing.” We will not fully understand today until we accept that this love story is our love story. In his letter to the Philippians, Paul writes, Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself. We have been baptized into the death and resurrection of Jesus: his Spirit is our spirit; his story is our story. It’s not just that we are supposed to feel loved: we’re supposed to empty ourselves by loving others, like Jesus. In fact, as Jesus teaches, those two things are bound together. We can’t just receive God’s love and bank it: we experience God’s love is by giving it away. Like an electric current, you have to complete the circuit: God’s unconditional love flows through us as we let it flow out of us to the world around us. If we want to feel love ourselves, the Christ way is to love others; if we want to experience forgiveness, we forgive others; if we want to know the fullest life possible, we give our life away.

The cross should never be an in-your-face symbol to the world, showing others how Christian we are and bullying them into being Christians, too. The cross is a reminder to us of who we are — God’s beloved, one with Christ — and an invitation to become fully alive, to become the people we were born to be. It’s not a question of being perfect or trying to get into the Kingdom: we’re already loved as we are, we’re already part of the Kingdom. It is our joy to live into it, giving ourselves away to our customers at work, giving ourselves away to the patients in our office, giving ourselves away to the children in our classroom, to our families, our friends, our fellow parishioners, the people God brings into our lives. They won’t be perfect and we’re not perfect, and that’s okay: love them anyway. Let the Christ Spirit flow: give generously, forgive freely, be light wherever you go — make everyone’s day happier, make everyone’s life better. Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus; his love story is our love story. Live it. To the very end and beyond, live it.

Now it springs forth. April 7, 2019 The Rev. Kathleen M. Sturges

Isaiah 43:16-21, John 12:1-8

How many Episcopalians does it take to change a light bulb?  Ten.  One to actually change the bulb and nine to say how much they liked the old one.  Now, it’s not just Episcopalians who often prefer the way things used to be.  Years ago I was invited into a home of a historian whose particular area of expertise was the rise and fall of gas lighting during the 19th century and early 20th century.   He was so committed to his studies that he had restored his own historic home in D.C. to its original glory which meant that all the indoor lighting was by gas.  It was night when I toured the house and I particularly remember two things.  One, how dark the home was and, two, the owner’s comment about how when lighting homes by gas was first introduced the complaint was that it was too bright.  It makes sense because up until that time people had only lit their homes with candles and oil lamps.  Gas lights by comparison were shockingly bright and harsh.  But as people do, they got used to it.  So much so that several decades later with the introduction of electric lights guess what the critique was?  The very same thing - too bright and too harsh. 

The impulse to prefer things the way the used to be is nothing new.  Understandably this is how the Israelites feel in our Old Testament reading as they survey their current situation - living as exiles in the foreign land of Babylon after invaders had destroyed Jerusalem conquered them.  Who wouldn’t want to go back to the way things were when they were an independent people, when they lived in their own land, when God seemed present and active in the well-being of their common life?  They had plenty to pine for.

Yet it is during this time of exile and despair that we hear the prophet Isaiah speak, “Thus says the Lord, who makes a way in the sea, a path in the mighty waters….”  What is he talking about?  The prophet is reminding the Israelites about the amazing things God has done for them, in particular, the dramatic rescue out of Egypt. Isaiah continues, the Lord, “who brings out chariot and horse, army and warrior; they lie down, they cannot rise, they are extinguished, quenched like a wick.”  The prophet seems to be fanning the flames of nostalgia, “Ah yes, the good old days….”  But then Isaiah goes in a completely different direction.  As everyone is basking in the memory of how great things used to be he tells them to stop it, knock it off.  “Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old,” says the prophet.  Why?  Because “[God is] about to do a new thing.”  God is going to do something new, something different and he doesn’t want his people to miss it because they are clinging to the past.  As wonderful as it may been in years gone by wanting to go back is not the way to prepare for something new.

For “I am about to do a new thing,” says the Lord, “now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.”  In a seemingly hopeless situation of captivity the prophet calls upon the people to not lose heart but instead to pay attention.  To look with expectation for the signs of God’s coming work.  What they don’t know yet is that political forces are changing.  Soon the Persians, led by King Cyrus, will defeat the powers in Babylon.  Israel will be released and begin a new journey back to their beloved homeland.  This is God’s new thing.

Now fast forward almost 500 years and let’s see the new thing that is going on in our reading from the gospel of John.  It is six days before Jesus’ last Passover meal on this earth which we often refer to as the Last Supper.  His time is short.  And here Jesus and his disciples are dining at Lazarus’ house.  Martha is engaged in her specialty, serving.  Mary, who always seems to march to the beat of her own drum, takes a pound of costly perfume, anoints Jesus’ feet with it, lets down her hair and then proceeds to wipe his feet with her hair.  I don’t think any of us can really grasp how scandalous this act was on so many levels - the “waste” of perfume that was worth about a year’s wages, the anointing of a living man’s feet which was an act reserved only for the dead, a woman letting down her hair in public and then further breaking social and religious taboos by touching a man.  It was absolutely shocking.  And it was a new thing - a new thing that Jesus accepted.  Not only accepted but expands as he goes on to speak about another new thing that was about to happen - his impending death.

How could Jesus’ unjust death be a new thing of God?  How could death on a cross be a means that would overcome the all powers of darkness, revealing the light of God’s passionate love?  In a few days hence God was about to do this new and ultimate thing.  A thing so new, so unexpected, so shocking that for some it was, and still is, hard to perceive.  Yet the love and power of that act continues to touch and transform every day of our lives.

So what new thing is going on in your life right now?  It may, or may not, be something that you particularly want to embrace.  Could it be, though, that God calling you to let go of the former things so that you might perceive what is now springing forth?  Change is hard and it is especially so when it feels as if we are being asked to let go of a past that has been filled with good things.  Yet because we know God is good.  Because we know God is love.  Because we know God is with us we need not fear but greet whatever new thing comes into our life with trust, faith, and confidence.  We may be people who tend to prefer the familiar, to pine away about how lovely the light was from the old bulb, but if we do we risk missing the new thing that God is doing now.  For God is always calling us to grow, to change, to live into the fuller brightness of life in Christ.  God’s light shines with fresh radiance each new day.  Let us open our eyes, our hearts, our lives and see.