Here I Am

Readings: Acts 2:14a, 22-32, Psalm 16, 1 Peter 1:3-9, John 20:19-31

What was different about the risen Christ?


We can infer from the gospels that there was something unfamiliar in his appearance. Last week, Mary Magdalene met him outside of his tomb and mistook him for a gardener. Not until he spoke did she recognize him, and then came the joy of being unexpectedly reunited.

This week we recall his encounter with the disciples, who similarly do not seem to know him at first. He greets them, but not until he offers a sign—the wounds of crucifixion—does the light of recognition dawn on them.

Jesus walks about in anonymity. A resurrected messiah, we know, would have been wild news—people would have wanted to see him. Certainly the crowds would have exceeded those he drew before, even when performing miracles. But the risen Christ is obscure.

Even Thomas, an apostle, does not believe the news. His brethren assure him, in their excitement, that they have seen Jesus, that he has been among them again; but Thomas scoffs, saying, ‘Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe" (John 20:25).

This seems a gruesome request. But then, Thomas has been asked to wrestle with an unprecedented idea: that death might be reversed.

Jesus is understanding; he responds to Thomas’s insistence upon tactile proof. Put your hand in my side, if you must; he says. It’s me. And Thomas knows him.

There’s something different about the risen Jesus. Those who walked with him before do not know him until he declares himself. They do not doubt him once he is revealed; but they are hapless until the anonymity is peeled back.

This seems, to me, to be such a powerful injunction to be kind to those who walk among us. It is disquieting that the apostles saw him without seeing him; if they, who had known him in life, were so sightless before him in his new life, how are we, who see him only in the gospels, to recognize him?

Jesus said, “What you do to the least of those among you, you do to me.” He suggested he could be sought in the meek, in those brought low by their circumstances, in the hungry and in the searching. In the eyes which we often avoid meeting, there he is. In the lonely corners we do not visit, he waits.

I read a story this week about a young girl who was taunted and physically abused in public because of her appearance. This young twenties person was shifting between genders, and something about that piqued her torturers; they decided to assault her. To teach her a lesson? To put her “in her place”? Such acts defy reason. We are so illogically prompted to be cruel to one another.

The mystery of Easter is this: Jesus was crucified. Jesus is risen. Jesus walks the world again. We do not see him when we look for the man who healed, who walked on water, who fed the masses and defied Roman authority; that figure has departed us forever.

But what about those from whom we shrink? In the teenager reviled by their peers for daring to be who they are internally compelled to be: can’t we look for Christ there? In the face of the girl who was beaten, do we sense a glimmer of recognition?

The lesson of this season is that God does not abandon us to our fallible flesh. The world, post-resurrection, is a dress rehearsal, is an unset stage awaiting the last revelation. What we do in this moment has bearing on that; we have to ready our eyes to see.

Through our faith, we anticipate clear sight: “Although you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and rejoice with an indescribable and glorious joy” (1 Peter 1:8). By acts of loving kindness to those we encounter, we attest our belief.

Hands which need to feel torn flesh belong to those who have not yet seen. Hands which reach out to greet those who seem, at first, just strangers, trust in the resurrection. We give our love to others knowing that it will someday come back to us, that Christ will someday from them say, “Here I am.”

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"I have seen the Lord!"

Readings: Jeremiah 31:1-6, Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24, Colossians 3:1-4, John 20:1-18, Matthew 28:1-10

Some two millennia ago, Mary of Magdala took a Sunday morning stroll to the tomb of her rabbi, the man they’d called “messiah”.


She walked through the streets of Jerusalem before the sun rose, John tells us, to get there. Maybe grief had jarred her from her sleep; maybe she’d never managed to capture sleep at all. The gospels don’t offer many details. We only know that she was suffering from the loss of him, as were all the disciples.

Perhaps she wanted to pay her respects. Perhaps she wanted to sit outside the tomb and question God: Why? Whatever her aim, she found that the bleak calm of the pre-dawn was shattered when she discovered that the stone which was used to seal the tomb had been rolled back.

The Gospel of John suggests that she ran to the disciples to beg their advice and supervision before proceeding. Other gospels present the moment differently: she and a companion are met by an angel alone, without the male disciples intervening. Whatever the case, Mary found herself before the open and empty tomb, and the whys? in her head were forced to morph.

It is Mary who is first privy to the miracle of Jesus’ resurrection. The gospels, again, present the miracle with variations: in John, she encounters the risen Jesus but does not recognize him; in Matthew, an angel announces his resurrection and fills her with fear.

And then she experiences the first post-resurrection dawn: Jesus speaks her name, and she knows. Or: Jesus stops her flight, greets her, and she knows. Light enters earth once again.

This is the wonder of Easter. On the Friday of Jesus’ death, the hopes of all the apostles seemed hopelessly disappointed. Messiahs were not supposed to die; they were supposed to radically, politically and noticeably transform the earth. Yet he left in his wake a still tumultuous Rome, a world still plagued by persecutions and injustices, and followers who were, quite frankly, stumped.

And yet the deed had been done; Christ, the anointed one, had initiated a period of new life, a new kingdom of God. Mary of Magdala was the first to be gifted with a viewing of it that Sunday morning; each Easter subsequent, our eyes have searched for it, too. We wake up and wait for God to call our names. We hold our breaths, anticipating Jesus’ coming in glory.

How far are we beyond Rome? Our kingdoms still disappoint us. This Easter morning, peace will elude so many people. As war rages on in Libya, as shots continue to ring out in the direction of Syrian and Yemenis protestors, peace will seem a distant prospect. Japan will still be struggling to recover from a devastating earthquake and nuclear leaks. Egyptian women will still be wondering how it is that they, though they thought they’d secured their freedom by participating, frequently at the fore, in this year’s protests, have once again been relegated to second class citizens. Our gulf will still be polluted and the people who depend on it will remain out of work. Cubans will have traded dictators. Tibet will still not be free.

The earth will spin to face the sun on Sunday, and light will fall across the regions slowly, and so many will not know it as peace-filled dawn. So many will not see immediate evidence of the kingdom of God.

And yet, the mystery for us is, each year in succession: he has risen. Indeed, Christ has risen. Death was defied. Something new began.

We are promised peace in God’s kingdom, and are still waiting for clarification on how that will come. Two thousand years have taught us, as three days taught the disciples, that there will be nothing conventional or predictable about God’s ultimate gift. We do not get peace here because he died; we are charged to work for it because of his precepts. Our wars and troubles are, to the degree which we create them, our responsibility; our souls are his.

We come to church together on Easter to celebrate Jesus’ new life. We come anticipating new life in Jesus. We gather in the pews because a new light has dawned. We wait for the risen God to call our names. We trust that he will.


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April 18 -- Blind But Now I See

This week's lectionary texts: Acts 9:1-20, Psalm 30, Revelation 5:11-14, and John 21:1-19.



Most people who have ever been prescribed corrective lenses can remember the day that they learned the way they had always seen the world was not quite the whole story. They were seeing shapes and colors, perhaps, or the blurry edges of objects and the fuzzy words on signs or in books. But they weren’t perceiving the world in all its richness – weren’t seeing the fullness of creation.

And then when they first put on glasses or put in contact lenses – what a transformation! Life leaps into focus. Trees have leaves, the blackboard is actually legible. The world has not changed, really, but the person’s perception of it has. They begin to see their surroundings in a whole new way.

This week’s lectionary texts tell stories of people seeing and not seeing, being blinded and having their eyes opened, coming to new understandings of the world and the role they are to play in it. The authors of these texts understand that God is constantly helping us to see things in new ways – constantly pushing and challenging us to seek new perspectives and stretch ourselves.

In Acts, we read the powerful story of the conversion of Saul. Saul was a notorious persecutor of the early Christians, a man who hated those who followed Christ and what they stood for – indeed, we read, he “breath[ed] threats and murder against the disciples of the Lord” (Acts 9:1). But one day, traveling along the road to Damascus to find new victims, he was blinded by a heavenly light that was accompanied by a voice asking, “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me? […] I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting” (Acts 9:4-5).

Saul was utterly helpless – ultimately forced to depend upon a Christian disciple, Ananias, in order to regain his sight. Ananias worried that assisting Saul would mean the guarantee of increased persecution of the young Christian community. But God tells him, “Go, for he is an instrument whom I have chosen to bring my name before Gentiles and kings and before the people of Israel” (Acts 9:15). So Ananias lays his hands upon Saul and heals him: “something like scales fell from his eyes, and his sight was restored” (Acts 9:18). Just days after setting out with the intention of destroying the followers of Christ, Saul (who will become known as Paul) begins “to proclaim Jesus in the synagogue, saying, ‘He is the Son of God’” (Acts 9:20).

Even before Saul was temporarily blinded by God, the author of Acts seems to be implying, he was already blind: blind to the pain he was causing, blind to God’s truth. It took the imposition of blindness and the helplessness that entailed to force Saul to reconsider the ways in which he was living, and to realize that the way he had been seeing the world was not the way God wanted him to interpret it.

The psalmist, for his part, also recalls a time when he could not see. There was a time, he explains, when God seemed to have withdrawn from him, and he could no longer see God: “By your favor, O Lord, you had established me as a strong mountain; you hid your face; I was dismayed” (Psalm 30:7). And indeed, the psalmist never explains when (or if) he is able to see God’s face again. The psalm leaves us with questions about what it might mean to feel that God's face is hidden from us -- why and how does such a thing happen?

But the psalmist also explains that God has “turned [his] mourning into dancing; [God] has taken off [his] sackcloth and clothed [him] with joy” (Psalm 30:11). As he exclaims, “O Lord my God, I cried to you for help, and you have healed me. O Lord, you brought up my soul from Sheol, restored me to life from among those gone down to the Pit” (Psalm 30:2-3). Even during those times in his life when he could not sense God’s presence, the psalmist could recall the times in the past when God had intervened on his behalf. He was able to draw on those memories to help move through the dark times in his life, trusting that he would be able to see what lay ahead by the light of God’s past help.

In the reading from John’s gospel, we hear the striking story of Jesus’ appearance to seven of the disciples at the Sea of Tiberias. Peter and several of the other disciples had decided to go fishing, when suddenly they saw Jesus standing back on the beach – but “the disciples did not know that it was Jesus” (John 21:4). It was only after Jesus told the men, who had thus far failed to catch any fish, to cast their nets to the other side of the boat, that they began to catch more fish than they knew what to do with – and realized that the man on the shore was their friend Jesus. Their eyes, blinded to the real identity of Jesus, were opened.

After the disciples returned and cooked breakfast with Jesus, John tells us that Jesus asks Peter, “Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?” to which Peter replies, “Yes, Lord; you know that I love you” (John 21:15). And Jesus tells Peter, “Feed my lambs” (John 21:15). A similar exchange happens two more times, with Jesus adding, “Tend my sheep” (John 21:16).

Peter does not seem to initially realize why Jesus continues to ask him the same question over and over; he feels “hurt because [Jesus] said to him the third time, ‘Do you love me?’” (John 21:17). But Jesus seems to only want to make sure that Peter understands just how seriously Jesus is taking the role Peter will play in the early Christian community. He wants Peter to know that loving him – loving Jesus – really means loving everyone. Peter and the disciples are to live out their love for Christ by loving and serving everyone they encounter. In this way, Jesus is giving them a new way of seeing: that is, seeing every woman, man, and child as a representation of Christ, and a person worthy of love and care.

Notice that the readings for this week do not always show a neat progression from blindness to sight. Sometimes, as in the case of Saul, people are blinded before they can learn how to see in a new way. Sometimes, as in the case of Peter, painful misunderstandings can result from God's efforts to help us to see things in new ways. And sometimes, like the psalmist, there may be times when we feel that we cannot see God at all. This Easter season, let us wrestle with these questions of blindness and sight, trying daily to see our lives, family, friends, and faith in a new light, looking for ways that we have been blind to the needs of our neighbors, and envisioning better possibilities for our world. And let us remember that all around us are people who view the world in a completely different way, a way we could never have imagined ourselves -- why not take a chance and try on their glasses for a while?

Photo credit here.

April 11 -- Doubt and Joy

This week’s lectionary texts: Acts 5:27-32, Psalm 18:14-29 or Psalm 150, Revelation 1:4-8, and John 20:19-31.

Easter Day has come and gone. We’ve gone to the church services, sung the happy hymns – perhaps the Hallelujah Chorus? – found the hidden eggs, eaten the chocolate bunnies. We’ve come through on the other side of Lent, experiencing anew the death and resurrection of Christ. We’ve heard the story of the stone rolled away, the empty tomb, the Jesus who once was dead and now is alive again.

But just because Easter Sunday is over doesn’t mean we have come to the end of the Easter season – not at all! Indeed, the Easter season lasts until Pentecost, May 23^rd – we still have weeks of joyful celebration and remembrance ahead.

After the excitement of the “big day,” therefore, it can be helpful to spend some time reflecting on the character of the God we worship this Easter. This week’s lectionary texts help remind us of the glory and goodness of the God who creates and sustains us, the God who has dwelt among us and deeply loves us.

The psalmist in this week’s psalm – the final entry in the Book of Psalms – is so overcome with reverence and awe that all he can do is exhort his listeners to praise God. And not just praise God with their lips, but praise God with every instrument under the sun!

“Praise the Lord!

Praise God in his sanctuary;

praise him in his mighty firmament!

Praise him for his mighty deeds,

praise him according to his surpassing greatness!

Praise him with trumpet sound;

praise him with lute and harp!

Praise him with tambourine and dance;

praise him with strings and pipe!

Praise him with clashing cymbals;

praise him with loud clashing cymbals!

Let everything that breathes praise the Lord!

Praise the Lord!” (Psalm 150)

God has indeed performed mighty deeds – perhaps none so mighty as the one we remember this Easter, that of defeating death itself and returning to life, that we might also live abundantly and in service to others.

As John writes to the seven churches in Revelation, moreover, the God we worship is unfathomably immense. “I am the Alpha and the Omega,” God says in Revelation – indeed, God is the one “who is and who was and who is to come, the Almighty” (Revelation 1:8). We can be comforted knowing that God has always been here and will always be here – we never have to worry about losing God’s love.

Yet it is not always easy to follow Jesus. Such a lifestyle can prove immensely unpopular. And deciding to become followers of Christ demands our whole selves – promising to honor God, to serve God’s people, and to recognize that, ultimately, we are not to do what society wants, but what God wants. As Peter and the apostles tell the council that has charged them with illegally teaching in the name of Jesus, Peter answers, “We must obey God rather than any human authority” (Acts 5:29). Peter knows that God has raised Jesus from the dead – “we are witnesses to these things,” he says, “and so is the Holy Spirit whom God has given to those who obey him” (Acts 5:32). He cannot deny what he knows to be true: that God’s surpassing love has performed miracles, and that he can’t be silent when there are people who still need to hear that good news.

Nobody alive today was present at the crucifixion and resurrection – we are taking it, in essence, on faith. But even in John’s gospel we see that Jesus’ resurrection was not an easy story to swallow. The apostle Thomas, John tells us, “was not with [the other apostles] when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, ‘We have seen the Lord.’ But he said to them, ‘Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe’” (John 20:24-25).

The next week, as it happens, Jesus again appears to the disciples, coming into their midst even through a locked door. After greeting his friends with an expression of peace, he comes to Thomas and says, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe” (John 20:27). Thomas seems overcome with emotion as he proclaims that Jesus is God, and Jesus replies, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe” (John 20:29).

This passage can be a difficult one for anyone who has ever struggled with doubt – and, I suspect, most Christians have dealt with doubt at one time or another. Jesus seems to be saying that Thomas should have believed what the disciples said in the first place, without needing physical proof. And there can certainly much to be said for having a simple faith in God, for believing without seeing, for taking a leap.

But at the same time, we must remember that Jesus does not ignore Thomas’s request for evidence. He comes straight to Thomas and offers him a sign – he does not punish Thomas for his uncertainty. Jesus wants Thomas to be able to trust in him, to believe that he is truly the risen God: but he also is willing to help Thomas make that leap of faith.

This Easter season, may we know that it is okay to not have all the answers, to want to have proof, to be unsure. And may we also know that perhaps the proof of the resurrection is all around us: in our loved ones, in the courage of those who stand up for peace and fight injustice, in the new life springing up all around us. And let us remember that this season is, above all, a season of joy – so let us take out our lutes and cymbals, our pianos and saxophones, our harmonicas and violins, and praise the risen Lord!

Photo credit here.

April 4 -- Waking Up

This week’s lectionary texts: Acts 10:34-43 or Isaiah 65:17-25, Psalm 118:1-2 and 14-24, 1 Corinthians 15:19-26 or Acts 10:34-43, and John 20:1-18 or Luke 24:1-12.

It might not quite look like it in Boston today, but spring has sprung! Tiny green buds are covering the trees; daffodils and crocuses are dotting yards and birds are chirping in the bushes and branches. The snow is long gone -- rain keeps falling, but that rain is sure to bring even more new vegetation to life after the cold slumber of winter. The world, it seems, is waking up.

April 4th is Easter, the day that we remember Christ's triumph over death -- a triumph that allows us to wake up, to start fresh, to begin a new day full of hope and joy and renewed perseverance. On Easter, we are called to awaken to new possibilities, to new awareness of the needs of our world and our neighbor, to new understandings of how God is working in our lives. The resurrection of Jesus stands as a testament to God's unfathomable love for us -- through Christ, we have been roused from our complacency, our despair, our stagnancy, and urged to claim our new lives as beloved children of God.

This week's lectionary texts are full of beautiful reflections on the power of God to create and recreate, to awaken and enliven the world and all its creatures. In Isaiah, the prophet gloriously recalls God's promises to the world:

"For I am about to create new heavens and a new earth...But be glad and rejoice forever in what I am creating; for I am about to create Jerusalem as a joy, and its people as a delight...no more shall the sound of weeping be heard in it, or the cry of distress." (Isaiah 65:17-19)

God has promised to restore and renew us, to give good things to God's people and to encourage all of creation to live together in new ways that are life-giving and love-increasing. "They shall be offspring blessed by the Lord," we read; "Before they call I will answer, while they are yet speaking I will hear. The wolf and the lamb shall feed together, the lion shall eat straw like the ox" (Isaiah 65:23-24). God wants to help us build a world of peace: "They shall not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain, says the Lord" (Isaiah 65:25).

We all understand that this world can be full of pain and destruction, just as it can be full of beauty and goodness. But as Paul tells the Corinthians, there is hope in Christ: "For as all die in Adam, so all will be made alive in Christ" (1 Corinthians 15:22). His is an eschatological vision, in which Christ has destroyed death itself, opening us to new chances to live spirit-filled, courageous, radically loving lives. Even if we feel held back -- by our circumstances, by our pasts -- God has promised us forgiveness and urges us to preach peace (Acts 10:42-43).

The resurrection story in the Gospel of John presents Mary Magdalene as the first witness to the resurrection of Jesus. Upon arriving at the tomb and finding two angels where Jesus' body had been, she begins to weep. Turning around, she runs into Jesus -- whom she fails to recognize -- and he asks her, "Woman, why are you weeping? For whom are you looking?" (John 20:15). She asks Jesus to tell her what has been done with the body -- but then, as Jesus calls her name, she suddenly recognizes that the man in front of her is her dear friend, the man who was once dead but who has been restored to life.

So often we sleepwalk through life, our eyes closed to new opportunities for service, new ways to develop our God-given gifts and talents, new understandings of community and interconnectedness. How many times have we failed to recognize Jesus in a person in need? How many times have we been unable to see God's glory because we are just too tired to shake up our usual patterns and look at the world with fresh eyes?

Indeed, God understands that it can be difficult -- sometimes seemingly impossible -- to wake up. We can be held back by challenges both external and internal, difficulties that prevent us from awakening to the new life God has in store for us. But this Easter, let us hear the call to the joyful, vibrant, beautiful promise we have been given in Christ. Let us ask ourselves how we have fallen asleep and become disconnected from God and from our neighbors. And let us wake from our slumbers and greet the morning with boldness, proclaiming with the psalmist,

"This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it!" (Psalm 118:24)

Fourth Sunday in Easter -- Taking up the Cross

Passages: Acts 2:42-47, Psalm 23, 1 Peter 2:19-25, John 10:1-10

“But if you suffer for doing good and you endure it, this is commendable before God. To this you were called, because Christ suffered for you, leaving you an example, that you should follow in his steps.” 1 Peter 2.20-21

1 Peter reminds that doing the right thing is not always easy or safe. In fact, as Christians we are called to a life of suffering for our convictions. This message is easily lost in comfortable congregations; many Christians come to church to lay down their burdens and to ease the suffering of their lives. They are looking for stability and an anchor in life, not adversity or challenge. The rise of prosperity theology – charismatic preachers proclaiming that God rewards the faithful in this life with good health and financial well-being – demonstrates how many people are thirsty for a faith that will lift them up and ease their sorrow. But Christian prosperity comes in an unexpected and somewhat paradoxical way: We are called to suffer for our faith, but in that sacrifice find redemption and a "more excellent way."

Peter is careful to only commend suffering when it is on behalf of good. I also think Peter avoids glorifying suffering, although this less clear. Many have criticized Christianity for its self-sacrificial and need-denying obsession with suffering. Often in history, Christian monastics would subject themselves to physical pain and emotional tumult in an attempt to come closer to God in their profound suffering. Yet that suffering was brought deliberately upon themselves. Although they were searching for a deeper faith, they were not suffering on account of good deeds that they performed in the world. Often they were punishing themselves for their own sins, thus not enduring suffering for goodness, but for penance and purification. While a Christian theology that makes sense of suffering and persecution is indeed necessary and healthy, it is important to avoid masochism or glorifying suffering.

But it equally important not to have a theology that demonizes suffering. Not all suffering, at all times, is bad. Often secular morality focuses merely on alleviating suffering and raising comfort in the world -- which generally is a very good thing -- but finds itself conflicted when the seemingly "good" action requires great sacrifice and even more suffering than the alternatives. The example of the cross gives Christians courage in pursuing what is right even when the consequences seem grim and terrible. Few things frighten me more than the thought of torture. Yet my greatest moral teacher knew his fate and did not flee. He had the power to avoid crucifixion, but because of his mission suffered for the redemption and transformation of society.

In my last post, I explored how that although the church has prominently shaped mainstream culture, Christian ideals and values still remain counter cultural. For the first Christians, following Christ did mean persecution and violent suffering. It meant challenging the injustices and norms of society. Christ preached a message of justice for the poor and the corruption of wealth, a message of healing for the sick. Although in many modern societies religious tolerance is such that professing Christ won't induce a beating, I think that living Christ's example in the world will still lead to conflict with the status quo and bring the suffering and struggles that come with it.

Forty years ago Martin Luther King, Jr. was murdered for his commitment to justice and his prophetic profession in Christ. Before his murder, King had been beaten and imprisoned. But, knowing the consequences for speaking the truth and challenging his culture, he stood in the pulpit and asked men and women of all ages to join with him. He reminded Christians that the crown of our glory is made of thorns, that we are called to carry the cross like Christ. And through the torment, the jabs and insults, we are to display love and forgiveness, and be committed to peace. King understood how this process transformed society. The courage and restraint of protesters attacked by dogs or assaulted with hoses opened people's eyes and changed their hearts. It gave many others the courage to stand up for goodness, even when it means sacrifice and loss.

Because suffering was a reality of Christ's ministry in the world, it will also be a reality of the mission of the global church, the body of believers. Christ does not rescue us from suffering on the cross as a substitute -- he serves as an example of a more excellent way that transcends death. But although God calls us to endure trials on His behalf, he is always present and gives us the strength to endure. The great preacher Phillips Brooks once challenged his congregation by saying: "Pray not for easy lives -- Pray to be stronger men! Do not pray for tasks equal to your powers, but powers equal to your tasks." I have faith that the strength, endurance and comfort of the Lord will guide believers through their most difficult trials and tasks. As the famous Psalm from today's lectionary praises, "Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me."