Remember

Remember

Sermon preached by the Rev. Lowell E. Grisham, O.A., Rector

St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Fayetteville, Arkansas

March 27, 2016; EASTER SUNDAY, Year C

Episcopal Revised Common Lectionary

(Luke 24:1-12) On the first day of the week, at early dawn, the women who had come with Jesus from Galilee came to the tomb, taking the spices that they had prepared. They found the stone rolled away from the tomb, but when they went in, they did not find the body. While they were perplexed about this, suddenly two men in dazzling clothes stood beside them. The women were terrified and bowed their faces to the ground, but the men said to them, "Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen. Remember how he told you, while he was still in Galilee, that the Son of Man must be handed over to sinners, and be crucified, and on the third day rise again." Then they remembered his words, and returning from the tomb, they told all this to the eleven and to all the rest. Now it was Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and the other women with them who told this to the apostles. But these words seemed to them an idle tale, and they did not believe them. But Peter got up and ran to the tomb; stooping and looking in, he saw the linen cloths by themselves; then he went home, amazed at what had happened.

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The women were just doing their duty. There was no time on Friday to embalm the body. But that nasty job was their responsibility. It was also sad work for them, for they loved the dead man. It was costly work as well, for it would leave them ritually unclean and separated from their community for the next seven days. But, before they can get to their duties, they are interrupted. "Two men in dazzling clothes" appear and frighten the women. The men then comfort them with these words: "Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here, but has risen. Remember…" they are told.

Remember. What are they to remember? Jesus had told them that he must be handed over; he must be crucified; he will rise again. It is a pattern that will be reinforced later that day and over and over again.

We see that same pattern in the next story in Luke's gospel. It's later on that same Easter day. Two disciples were walking to the nearby village of Emmaus, and a stranger joined them on the road. They were talking about these things, the crucifixion and the rumors of resurrection. The stranger then reinterpreted insights from the scripture that they had missed.

As they got to their destination, in the manner that is customary in the Middle East, they invited the stranger to come in and stay with them. He did. And when they were at the evening meal, the stranger did something to help them remember. He took the bread, blessed it, broke it, and gave it to them. They remembered. That happened just last Thursday night, the night Jesus was betrayed and arrested and so brutally treated. That was the night they had their last supper with him. Jesus took the bread, blessed it, broke it, gave it to them and said, "This is my body which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me." Now on Sunday evening, remembering that last supper as they watched the stranger break the bread, their eyes were opened and they knew: the stranger was Jesus. Resurrection was among them. Life begins anew.

Apostles and disciples of Jesus have been remembering in just that same way ever since for nearly two thousand years. In a few moments we will take the bread, bless, break, and give it, and you will receive new life, the bread of life and the cup of salvation. You will remember, and you will be filled with resurrection life.

There is a pattern to Jesus' life that is repeated in the Eucharist. The dazzling men at the tomb told the women apostles of it. "Remember how he told you…, that [Jesus] must be handed over…, and be crucified, and …rise again." Handed over, crucified, rise again. It's the same pattern as take, bless, break, and give.

This pattern is present in every moment of life. In every moment we face a choice. Do I take it and bless it, or do I fight it and try to control it? Do I give myself over in confident, peaceful trust to whatever happens, or do I anxiously grab it and wrestle it. Like Jesus, we are all handed over. Stuff happens, and we have to deal with it. Your friend is crucified; you women have to tend to the body. The alarm clock goes off; you've got to start your day. Let yourself be handed over to it; take it and bless it. Right now is the only time we can be alive. Right now is the only time we can be one with God, living in resurrection life.

Every moment presents its duty or its opportunity, its joy or its sadness. Embrace it all, like Jesus. Jesus embraced life, its joy and its pain, all the way to the cross. From his birth he let himself be handed over into full human life, and he remained entirely himself, centered and grounded in God. He let himself be handed over to crucifixion. And he rose again. Bringing life out of death is what God does best.

In some sense, each moment is a small death, a little crucifixion. We let ourselves be taken by the duty or the joy of the moment. When we hand ourselves over to the circumstances of the present moment, fully present, giving ourselves to it, we put ourselves into this pattern of eternal life, the pattern of dying and rising.

It takes some trust. Trust to stay in the present rather than anticipate whatever may be on the horizon ahead of us. Trust to stay in the present rather than dragging along our resentments and hurts from the past.

David Steindl-Rast describes this kind of life as the life of leisure. "Leisure," he says," is the virtue of those who give time to whatever it is that takes time—give as much time as it takes."[i] He says that this quality of giving yourself, letting go, dying from moment to moment is our experience of eternal life in the eternal present and our participation in the resurrection life of Jesus who is always bringing life out of death.

My life is often the opposite of eternal life and resurrection life. It's often more like bondage. I look at my calendar. Before the day comes, I've nearly filled it up. Gotta get it done. Take care of business. Grab the bull by the horns. How many of you live that way? And then, depending on our temperament, at the end of the day, some of us go home and just collapse and others go to the gym and grab a workout to relax. That's not the life of leisure.

Eventually, we will all have to give this up. Eventually we will all die. As we die, we cannot do things, control things. We will all know this in the shadow of death. I remember visiting a beloved parishioner in my Mississippi church. What a good person; what a good life. I loved her so much. In her 90's now, she was dying, and she looked radiant even though confined to bed. She smiled at me and said, "I'm not afraid of dying. I'm really not." Then a cloud passed over her face. "I just wish I could get everything organized." And she glanced toward her spotless kitchen and workroom. I couldn't help but chuckle a little. This most organized person was having to let go one of the most driving purposes of her life—organizing everything in a proper order. I said to her, "Mamie, everything is just fine. From now on, you don't have to organize a single thing. It's all taken care of. In fact, there's nothing more for you to organize for the rest of your life." Her eyes got wide. There was a sparkle of happy wonder. Like that was too good to be true. Then a relaxing breath. "Well, I guess you're right. I don't have to do anything but just lie here, I guess." Then she giggled. "It's really about all I can do right now," she beamed. She had a holy death.

What if we died before we are forced to? What if we let ourselves be handed over to the circumstances of the present moment? When you think about it, it's really about all we can do right now, be fully present to the duty or joy of the moment. Take and bless what you are handed over to in each moment. Die to all your habits of worry and control. Surrender. Be. Then give leisurely to the moment whatever time it takes, living in the eternal now, trusting the rest of the universe to God.

It's a matter of remembering. Remember how Jesus was handed over, crucified, and risen. Take, bless, break, and give. Remember. It is the pattern of eternal life, the pattern of resurrection life. And if we are willing to remember, it begins here and now.

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[i] Brother David Steindl-Rast, Learning to Die, published in Parabola, Volume 2, Number 1: "Death," Winter 1977; posted online February 29, 2016: http://parabola.org/2016/02/29/learning-die-brother-david-steindl-rast/

Can You Believe This Family?

Can You Believe This Family?

Sermon preached by the Rev. Lowell E. Grisham, Rector

St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Fayetteville, Arkansas

March 6, 2016; 4 Lent, Year C

Episcopal Revised Common Lectionary

(Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32) All the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to Jesus. And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, "This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them."

So Jesus told them this parable:

"There was a man who had two sons. The younger of them said to his father, 'Father, give me the share of the property that will belong to me.' So he divided his property between them. A few days later the younger son gathered all he had and traveled to a distant country, and there he squandered his property in dissolute living. When he had spent everything, a severe famine took place throughout that country, and he began to be in need. So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed the pigs. He would gladly have filled himself with the pods that the pigs were eating; and no one gave him anything. But when he came to himself he said, 'How many of my father's hired hands have bread enough and to spare, but here I am dying of hunger! I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, "Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands."' So he set off and went to his father. But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him. Then the son said to him, 'Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son.' But the father said to his slaves, 'Quickly, bring out a robe--the best one--and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate; for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!' And they began to celebrate.

"Now his elder son was in the field; and when he came and approached the house, he heard music and dancing. He called one of the slaves and asked what was going on. He replied, 'Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fatted calf, because he has got him back safe and sound.' Then he became angry and refused to go in. His father came out and began to plead with him. But he answered his father, 'Listen! For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command; yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!' Then the father said to him, 'Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.'"

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The opening words set the context: "All the tax collectors and sinners were coming to listen to Jesus. And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling…" Yippie! We can expect a story that will put that grumbling holier-than-thou bunch in their place.

The story then begins: "There was a man who had two sons." The original listeners knew stories like this. There are a string of tales in the Hebrew Bible about younger sons who leave their father's house to find their wealth—Isaac, Jacob, Benjamin, Joseph, David, Solomon. Usually the stories include some younger-son scandal and often something off-color. Jesus' listeners would be primed to expect a story like that—about a younger son who is something of a rogue and also the favorite. The roving son would eventually triumph and make good on his chancy behavior. And the snooty elder son would be left out while the inheritance passes through the younger.

An old Jewish Midrash on Psalm 91 catches some of the flavor:  "…there was a king who had two sons, one grown up, the other a little one. The grown-up one was scrubbed clean, and the little one was covered with dirt, but the king loved the little one more than he loved the grown up one."[i] The original listeners knew this oft-repeated story formula.

But Jesus' version would have sounded shocking and unbelievable. Never would a Middle-Eastern son ask for his share of the property. It is the equivalent of saying, "Father, I wish you were dead." A friend of mine tells the story of a vigorous argument he heard of when the story was told to a group in the Middle East. "Never could this happen. Impossible!" they said. It was unthinkable that any son could be so disrespectful of his father.[ii]

And it was equally unthinkable that a father would comply with such a request. By surrendering his property the father would lose honor in the community. He would break up the family property, an economic catastrophe as well as a stunning loss of face and status in an honor culture. The division of the property virtually kills the father and his standing in the community. He would be seen as a weak and pathetic parent; a disgrace.[iii]

The younger son with his shameful new wealth then squanders everything. Lost and hungry, instead of seeking his family's support, the young man joins with a foreigner by feeding pigs, a forbidden occupation for Jews. He has made a complete break with his family, his nation and his religion. He can't even eat the pigs' food. He lives worse than an animal. Completely degraded, "without money and food, in a foreign land, without family, tribe, or even humanity."[iv] He is starving, and he thinks of a place to get food. He recalls that his father's hired hands are better off than he is now. So he practices his speech like a legal argument and turns toward home to negotiate.

"But while he was still far off," the father runs to him. The Greek word indicates a desperate sprint. Now "Middle Eastern men of status do not run. They walk slowly in a dignified manner. To run is to act shamefully." But this father runs.

"Throwing his arms around the son is an act of protection."[v] You see, the Jewish Talmud has a ceremony to deal with a Jewish boy who loses the family inheritance to Gentiles.  It’s called a qetsatsah (kweat-sat-sash) ceremony.  If ever that person shows up in the village again, the villagers can fill a large jug with burned corn and nuts, and shout the man’s name loudly as they break the jug before him.  He is cut off from his people forever.  He is dead to them. The community might even be justified then to stone him to death as the Law of Moses commands in Deuteronomy (21:18-21) for punishment of a rebellious child. The father's desperate embrace protects the son, and his kisses express his paternal forgiveness in a maternal gesture. The father's actions again put his honor and his place in the community in jeopardy.

The father never lets the son finish his little speech. The son comes to negotiate; the father simply restores him. Bring the best robe, which would be the father's own. The ring placed on the son's finger was probably a signet ring for authenticating family business. When the servants place sandals on the son, it signifies his placement as their master. The father makes the son an "object of honor. The son's place, which had been abrogated by his loss of the property, is now restored."[vi]

"In the Middle East, if one wishes to reconcile with your neighbors, you prepare a feast. If the neighbors desire reconciliation, they attend the feast. If they do not wish to reconcile, they do not come."[vii] "'Get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate; for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!' And they began to celebrate." The father reaches out to the community to seek reconciliation.

But there is another son. The original listeners know what to expect. The unfavorite elder son will get the short stick. When the elder son will not enter, the listeners know that he is challenging the father's actions to accept the younger. The elder's refusal to eat with father and brother is an act of shaming them. It is also a violation of the Fourth Commandment. It is obvious; he will be cut off.

But he father leaves the party to come out to the field to plead with his son. Again, unthinkable. The host would never leave his guests. A Middle Eastern father never pleads with a son; he simply commands, and a son obeys.

When the father pleads, the elder son states his case in legalese. I've slaved obediently for you while this other son of yours brought shame to the family, squandering our wealth and violating the family bloodline with his prostitutes. He's a depraved profiteer, and I am a faithful slave. You honor him, and I get nothing. But the listeners see the elder not as a slave but as selfish, not as faithful but self-righteous.[viii] It's time for his comeuppance.

The father will not go there. "Son," the father says. It might be translated "Child." The word is Teknon, and it is a term of affection: "Dear Child." The son sees himself as a slave, but the father regards him as Dear Child; Companion, "you are always with me;" Co-Owner, "all that is mine is yours". The son is blind to the reality that the father is "always on his side and he need not earn his father's approval. He made himself a slave for something that was already his." He is the heir, the inheritor.[ix]

Unlike so many of the family stories in the earlier scriptures, the elder son is not disrespected or disowned in any way. He is the heir and the father is always with him. No cost; no banishment. The father rejects no one; both are chosen.

This father abandons paternal customs of honor and the legal titles, and instead he deals with his sons gently as children, kissing and embracing the younger, addressing the elder as 'dear child.' "The father combines in himself the maternal and paternal roles. As a father he is a failure, but as a mother he is a success. …forgiving, nourishing."[x]

"The younger son violates the moral code and gets a feast; the elder rejects the father but gets all." Is this justice?  This father doesn't care about justice and morality, or legality and inheritance. What he is concerned about is the unity of his sons. He wants his sons to live together, as Psalm 133 puts it, "How good and pleasant it is when brothers live together in unity."

The father comes to them both, bridging the distance, running down the road to protect the younger, leaving the party to go to the field to seek the elder. Creating unity. Apart from the father, there is division and failure.

In this parable, Jesus will bode no outcasts. This parable of the kingdom announces that the Kingdom of God is universal. None will be rejected, neither the rogue nor the elitist. All are welcomed as children of the father and siblings of one another.

That's the family Jesus invites us into in the name of the Father. And it's pretty shameless. God chooses us all. Prodigals and snobs.

We don't know how the story ends. Did the elder son go in and join the party? What status will the younger son have? When the father dies, will the younger become the elder's slave?[xi]  It seems to me that we are writing the ending of this parable. In 2000 years, not much has changed. Today's righteous Pharisees and scribes keep grumbling about "those others;" today's tax collectors and sinners keep sinning. Where are the limits of our human family unity? Are we willing to come to the table with both the prodigal and the prig? If we have any honor or self-regard, we won't. But sitting at the same table with both these sons is the price of coming to God's party. So forget honor and dignity. Look! We've got bread and wine. Let's party! Everybody's invited!

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[i] Midrash on Psalms 9 (Braude 1:131) quoted by Bernard Brandon Scott, Hear Then the Parable, Fortress Press, Minneapolis, 1989, p. 112

[ii] Paul McCracken, Sunday Lectionary Texts, 3/1/2016, the Jerusalem Institute for Biblical Exploration, available by subscription from Paul: bookncatz@msn.com

[iii] This paragraph borrows from both Scott and McCracken

[iv] Scott, p. 115

[v] McCracken

[vi] Scott, p. 118

[vii] McCracken

[viii] Scott, p. 121

[ix] Scott, p. 121-122

[x] Scott, p. 122

[xi] Scott, p. 122-123

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