Acts 10:33-43
1 Corinthians 15:19-26
Luke 24:1-12
 
      V.         Alleluia!  Christ is risen.
      R.         The Lord is risen indeed.  Alleluia!
 
      Thursday evening we celebrated Jesus’ Last Supper when he broke bread and drank wine with his disciples and then washed their feet.  He told them, “You must wash each other’s feet.  I’ve given you an example of how to love each other.  This is the way of a happy life.”
 
      This morning, Easter morning, the female disciples went to anoint, to wash, the body of Jesus.  Simple, personal, menial work, often pejoratively called, dare I say, “women’s work.”  Do you wonder if perhaps there’s some connection here?  Does Jesus’ menial, lowly service of washing feet have any relation to the women heading off to provide a service, an act of care and love?
 
      I wonder if we should be surprised that the first intimation of resurrection, of new life, came from the women trying to be of service, acting with love and tenderness to Jesus.  Perhaps in doing work, work we often consider to be beneath us, but any work of love, we open ourselves to experiencing what is above us.  Possibly.
 
      When the women arrived at the tomb, they found it empty.  Upsetting enough, but then it really got frightening.  They had a vision of two angels, and it terrified them.  The angels asked, “What are you doing looking for the living among the dead?”  The angels reminded the women that Jesus had told them, three times, that he’d be crucified and then rise on the third day.
 
      The women remembered Jesus’ promise and then returned to the other disciples and told them what had happened.  The disciples – the apostles, the great authority figures of the church – they didn’t believe a word of it, considered it nonsense.  Quite likely they would have doubted any witness offering hope, but they were also people of a time and place, of a society in which women were disqualified from serving as witnesses in court on the grounds that they were too impetuous and giddy.[i]
 
      We still live in a world under the clutch of such prejudice, too prone to discount women.  It makes sense that Jesus would have women be the first to witness to his resurrection, even here challenging our injustice and fear and cruelty.
 
      None of the resurrection stories flatters the disciples for their alacrity of faith.  To the contrary.  They had received repeated and explicit promises of the resurrection, but they didn’t get it, and they didn’t expect it.
 
      Frankly, I like that they’re confused, bewildered, slow to understand and believe and trust.  I identify with that.  If you take resurrection seriously, if your understanding of reality is not cartoon like, resurrection is difficult to believe.  It re-arranges reality as we know it.
 
      For all of the first disciples, it took time to see and perceive that Jesus had risen from the dead, and most of us, too, have difficulty seeing, recognizing, comprehending, and trusting in the risen presence of Jesus.  Where might we look?
 
      An overlooked clue.  On Friday as Jesus died on the cross, as he breathed his last, the curtain of the Temple was torn in two.  The Jerusalem Temple was an enormous structure, built on a mammoth stone platform about 500x300 meters, more than fifteen football fields.[ii]  The platform essentially turned a hill, Mount Moriah, into a very large public square.  Probably you’ve seen pictures of the Western Wall, well over 50 feet tall.  It is the only remaining part of this huge stone platform.  Today Jews stand at the bottom of the platform and pray.
 
      At the top, around the edges of the platform, Herod the Great built a large portico enclosing this gigantic public square.  It formed a huge courtyard known as the Court of the Gentiles.  It was essentially a bazaar, full of noise, commotion, conversing, shouting, bartering.  Anyone could come into this space.
 
      Rising out of the center of this immense courtyard was the main Temple sanctuary.  It was surrounded by more courtyards.  Only Jews could enter the large Court of Women, where there was typically dancing and singing.  Only Jewish men could pass through the next gate into the Court of the Israelites.  Here Jewish men could look into the next courtyard, the Court of Priests, where Jewish priests sacrificed animals and performed religious rites.
 
      Beyond the Court of Priests, there was the Temple sanctuary, the Holy of Holies, a tall, stone structure frankly looking a bit like a colossal mausoleum.  No one entered it except once a year.  A vast purple curtain covered the entrance.  For Jews, the Holy of Holies contained the presence of God, the place God dwelt on earth, the meeting place of heaven and earth, the cosmic center of creation.
 
      The Temple architecture, its concentric circles moving toward a sacred center, with each stage having more elaborate and expensive materials, was meant to emphasize God’s holiness, but it also emphasized God’s exclusivity.  It made God remote.
 
      Once a year, on Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, one of the chief priests representing the entire nation would enter the Holy of Holies to burn incense and to sprinkle animal blood.  This was not a privilege.  There may have been a couple hundred chief priests, and they cast lots to determine who’d go in.  With fear and awe, he would enter into the presence of God.  I’ve heard a biblical scholar speculate that upon entering the Holy of Holies, the presence of God, the priest would have found the chamber mostly empty, but there would have been a surprising object: a mirror.
 
      This floored me.  The priest entered the presence of God and saw himself in a mirror.  The message: we see the living God not only spectacularly in a burning bush or in a great light, but in a mirror.  Perhaps this is a beginning of perceiving and understanding and trusting the resurrection.
 
      The gospels claim that the curtain covering the Holy of Holies ripped in half.  Whether or not you take it literally is not important.  The point is important: God’s presence is not limited or confined, God is available to all, accessible for all.[iii]
 
      “Why seek the living among the dead?”  The angels are telling us, “Look for the living God in your lives – not in tombs, not in what’s dying or dead.  God is alive now and always – and smack dab in front of us.  Awaken and see.”
 
      Paul insisted that although he retains his own personality, “it is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me.” (Gal 2:20)  Jesus said, “I am the vine, you are the branches.” (John 15:5)  In other words, he lives in us, and we in him.  That’s what happens in baptism: we are born again and Christ rises up in us.  That’s what happens in the Eucharist: we give ourselves to God and he gives himself to us.  The risen Jesus comes to us, dwells in us, is with us and for us.
 
      Easter invites us to see ourselves and reality differently.
1)      Death and all the losses and pain we’ve experienced, these are not the ultimate reality.
2)      Following Jesus leads to life, abundant life.
3)      Jesus lives, and he lives in us and through us.
 
      It’s Easter morning.  I’m a bit giddy, but not too giddy to witness to the resurrection.  As Christ rose from up from the tomb, I invite all of you to rise up and stand now.  Last year, you may recall Randy Haycock preached on Easter morning and had us do a wonderful thing.
 
      Divide into twos.  If someone next to you looks left out, include them and make it a three.  Turn and one of you say, “Christ is risen,” and the other reply “the Lord is risen in YOU!”  And then switch.  The second person say, “Christ is risen,” and the other reply, “The Lord is risen in YOU!”
 
      Seek God in the living.
 
      V.         Alleluia!  Christ is risen.
      R.         The Lord is risen indeed.  Alleluia!
 
YES, and Christ is risen in YOU!
 
Have a Happy Easter.
 
 
 
The Rev. Lane Davenport
www.asa-dc.org
(202) 347-8161
 

[i] Joel B. Green, The Gospel of Luke, Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co. (1997), p. 840.
[ii] A fine description of the Temple mount: Graham Tomlin, The Provocative Church, S.P.C.K. (2002), pp. 42-44.
[iii] Marcus J. Borg & John Dominic Crossan, The Last Week, HarperSanFrancisco (2006), p. 150.

Exodus 12:1-4, 11-14
1 Corinthians 11:23-26
John 13:1-17, 31b-35
 
“He loved them unto the end.”
 
+ In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.
 
            Jesus “loved them unto the end,” he loved them to the fullest, to the utmost.  To show his disciples his love for them, he washed their feet, and told them, “I’ve given you an example of how to love.  What I’ve done, you do…. This is the way of a happy life.  Love one another as I have loved you.”
 
      It’s all enormously moving and inspiring to me.  It’s what I want to be, what I hope God is making me.  Not yet, but eventually.  A model for disciples to live.  And yet, within hours of this dramatic display of love, Judas betrayed Jesus, Peter denied Jesus, and all of the disciples abandoned Jesus.  A massive failure of discipleship, a massive failure of friendship, a massive failure of companionship.
 
      This evening as I listen to the gospel, it’s hard to hear good news because I feel so much guilt and sadness about the disciples, about the human condition, about my condition.  Tonight smacks me upside the head with our resistance to God and love, how ambivalent we are about intimacy, how it freaks us out, how limited our capacity for love sometimes, how quickly fear can get the best of us.  It’s upsetting.  Where’s good news on Maundy Thursday?
 
      Well, it’s not us.  It’s Jesus, and what he does for us.  At the Last Supper, Jesus was continuing his ministry of wining and dining.  The gospels frequently show us Jesus sitting at table and feasting.  The table may be the base for his ministry, his office.  It was where he made friends and taught and offered pastoral care, but mostly his table manners shocked people because he’d eat and drink with anybody – traitors, thugs, sinners, reprobates, prostitutes.  He developed a reputation for hanging out with the outcast, the overlooked, the offensive, and received a lot of fierce, condemning criticism for it.
 
      Think of what it means to eat a meal with someone, to sit down and talk and listen and share food.  It implies acceptance of them; it develops a relationship, or strengthens it, or revives it.  This is part of the meaning of the Eucharist, what the altar must be for us.
 
      Jesus’ table fellowship was a sign of inclusion, a prophetic act showing everyone the reality of the Kingdom of God, a place where all were invited to come.  In Jesus’ world, people broke bread with people like themselves.  There were lots of social boundaries, lines not crossed to maintain appearances and a false, haughty sense of self.  In other words, it was not that different than our own divided world obsessed with social standing.
 
      Tonight’s gospel reminds us that Judas Iscariot was at the Last Supper, that Jesus washed his feet.  The chunk missing from tonight’s gospel, verses 18-30, reports that Jesus broke bread with Judas even as he knew what Judas was betraying him.  Jesus dipped a piece of bread into a common bowl, possibly a bowl of mixed herbs, and passed it to Judas.  A host at a festive meal would do that as a sign of friendship.  Some scholars think that Judas was sitting at Jesus’ left, a place of honor.[i]  The honored man betrayed his friend.
 
      Perhaps, Judas was angry at Jesus, even feeling betrayed by Jesus, that Jesus was not the kind of Messiah he expected.  We don’t know because Judas apparently did not express himself.  He didn’t talk about it.  He just reacted.  Rashly.  Still Jesus accepted and desired Judas to be with him.  Jesus wants us no matter what.  That’s good news.
 
      It’s very difficult for us to fathom God’s longing for us, the depth of his acceptance of us no matter what.  In fact, at times, we live this way too.  Brian was twelve when he came to live at the youth home.[ii]  He had grown up fighting with his siblings, and he was also exposed to his parents’ fights.  Most people in relationships fight.  It’s normal.  But how we fight and resolve conflicts matters, a lot.
 
      Many times Brian watched his parents’ altercations end when his father went to the gun cabinet, took out a pistol, placed the barrel under Brian’s mother’s chin, and said, “If you say another word, I’ll blow your head off.”
 
      One day Brian fought with his sister over the last bowl of cereal in the house.  She had the upper hand, possession of the last bowl, and his protestations did not have the desired effect.  As she poured milk over the cereal, Brian went to the gun cabinet.  He came back to the table, put the barrel to his sister’s head, and warned her, “If you take one bite of that cereal, I’ll blow your head off.”  His sister took a bite.  Brian reacted.  Rashly.
 
      Brian went to the youth home.  The staff determined not to discuss with Brian why he was there until he brought the subject up himself, but he didn’t.  A couple months passed, and the staff grew concerned.  Brian was quiet, compliant, and never showed emotion.  It was all bottled up within, directed at himself, a despair, not at all what the staff desired for Brian’s health.  The staff began to consider trying to force Brian to talk about his crime.
 
      Still uncertain about how to treat Brian, a staff member took Brian to a nearby pond to fish.  In the ease and relaxation of fishing, the staff member expressed appreciation for Brian and commented upon how it was enjoyable to be with him.  Brian replied, “You wouldn’t say that if you knew why I’m here.”  The staff member responded, “I know why you’re here.”  This startled Brian: “You do?”  “Yes,” the staff member said, “I do.  We all know why you’re here.”
 
      Brian began to sob.  It was his first expression of emotion in months.  He recognized that the staff had accepted him, cared for him, even though he had murdered his sister.  It was the turning point for Brian’s life, a moment where transformation became possible, renewal, some kind of new life.  The staff had not shamed him, had not shunned him, but in expressing appreciation and acceptance, he could have a renewed life.
 
      Horrified by himself, Brian had run away into himself, shutting out the world and life, but he experienced the grace of acceptance and affection, and everything could change.  He repented: his heart and mind changed.
 
      For me, one of the great saddest parts of Maundy Thursday is Judas, poor Judas, who probably felt betrayed by Jesus.  He reacted by betraying Jesus, by sinning spectacularly, but we don’t hear of him turning and coming back to Jesus to receive forgiveness.  Imagine Judas’ despair.  Imagine his lack of trust.  Imagine his inability to express himself.
 
      Peter denied Jesus tonight.  But he turned around.  He repented.  Despite his horror at his actions, Peter had some sense of still being acceptable to God, allowed for the possibility of a new start.  But not poor Judas.
 
      Jesus does not reverse our actions.  He does not make it all go away.  He does not force us to turn back to him and receive the forgiveness that he always, always offers.  But Jesus does identify with sinners.  Jesus does accept Judas, Peter, you, and me as we are, and he will be there with us in our pain, in our suffering, in our lowest moments – not desiring our shame or condemning us, but calling us back to him and to new life.
 
      The church, the body of Christ, you and me, at our best, we are the staff of the youth home – that ye love one another as I have loved you.  We welcome Brian, care for him, encourage him, break bread with him, and recognize that in a way we are also Brian.  We have room in our hearts for Brian, for Brian’s father, for Judas.  Like them, each of us has hurt God and loved ones.  The good news is that Jesus still comes and sits at table with us, identifies with us, breaks bread with us, washes our feet, changes our hearts.  He loves us to the fullest.
 
X In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.
 
 
The Rev. Lane Davenport
www.asa-dc.org
(202) 347-8161
 

[i] Andreas J. Kostenberger, John, Baker Academic (2004), pp. 416.
[ii] Greg Carey, Sinners: Jesus and His Earliest Followers¸ Baylor University Press (2009), pp. 35-36.

Isaiah 50:4-9a
Philippians 2:5-11
Luke 19:29-40
 
+ In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.
 
      Welcome to the beginning of Holy Week, to Palm Sunday.  It’s a complex day: both celebrating Jesus’ entrance into Jerusalem and also turning to the darkness and agony of the week to come.  It’s been all lightness and light, but after communion, we’ll sing the Passion, the account of Jesus’ last eighteen hours or so.  “Passion” comes from the Latin ‘passio,’ meaning suffering.  That’s one way to understand the meaning of passion.
 
      Last week, I spoke about God’s desire for us.  God wants us to act and live out of passion, not out of duty and obligation.  So passion refers to what moves us, what ignites our energy, what deepens our commitment, what stirs our enthusiasm.  Jesus’ great passion was for us to enter the Kingdom of God, to be part of God’s rule of love, to be full of trust and hope, to live in mercy and justice.  Jesus’ passion, his love for us, brought him to the Passion, the horror and pain of arrest, abandonment, trial, humiliation, torture, and crucifixion.
 
      Jesus began this day almost two thousand years ago with a small, unimpressive peasant procession, a procession capping a long journey.[i]  He and his disciples, his followers, had been traveling to Jerusalem from Galilee, a hundred miles to the north.  They gathered that morning on the Mount of Olives, just to the east of Jerusalem, and put Jesus on an ass, a work animal, a humble mount not befitting true royalty.  It invoked the prophet Zechariah’s promise that Israel’s king would come humble and riding on an ass. (Zech 9:9)  They set off on the short, couple mile walk down the steep hill, across the narrow Kidron Valley, to Jerusalem.
 
      Jesus’ enthusiastic followers cried, “Hosanna,” and “Blessed is he that comes in the name of the Lord.”  But their procession probably did not attract much public attention.  Jesus did it primarily as a symbolic act to show the disciples that he is the king, a special kind of king inaugurating a new kingdom, a new world order.
 
      Among the onlookers, a few Pharisees, as we heard in today’s gospel, told Jesus to stifle it.  “Tell your followers to control themselves.”  It looked like a political demonstration, an act designed to rile up the Romans and the ruling Jewish elite.  The Pharisees didn’t want Jesus and his disciples troubling the Romans, who had a habit of drawing blood and not asking questions later.  The Romans often acted brutally at the slightest provocation, and there’d be lots of collateral damage.  The Pharisees likely were frightened for themselves.
 
      Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor of Judaea, was a savage, cruel, boorish thug.  The evangelists don’t paint that picture of him, but other contemporary accounts do.  Ironically, the evangelists are comparatively kind to him.  But Pilate appalled even his Roman bosses who appear to have eventually fired him for excessive ferocity.
 
      Remember: Jesus lived and ministered during a highly tense time.  Tensions would boil over about thirty years after his death, and there would be a bloody, disastrous revolution.  In Jesus’ time there were underground rebel groups, illegal militias, regular terrorist acts, vicious and violent repression by a powerful foreign army.  The region then has some similarities with the tensions between Israel and Palestine in our day.
 
      As the Passover approached, hundreds of thousands of Jews made a pilgrimage to Jerusalem.  The city itself was quite small, much less than a square mile.  The city probably filled up with as many as three or four hundred thousand pilgrims, an enormous gathering even by today’s standards.  People would’ve stayed in Jerusalem and in neighboring villages and would’ve pitched tents outside the city walls.   
 
      Lots of people, living densely, on top of each other, but few of them would have noticed Jesus and his procession because on that same day, on the west side of town, there was another procession, one far grander and, most would have thought, far more important.  Attention focused on the west side of town where Pilate as he entered with his imperial infantry and cavalry, thousands of warriors, marching or riding, but not on meek donkeys.  Horses – an animal of war and power.
 
      A couple scholars ask us to imagine the imperial procession’s arrival:
A visual panoply of imperial power: cavalry on horses, foot soldiers, leather armor, helmets, weapons, banners, golden eagles mounted on poles, sun glinting on metal and gold.  Sounds: the marching feet, the creaking of leather, the clinking of bridles, the beating of drums.  The swirling of dust.  The eyes of silent onlookers, some curious, some awed, some resentful.[ii]
 
      Jewish religious festivals were prime time for trouble, and especially Passover which celebrated liberation from slavery in Egypt.  Every festival Pilate made a show of force to discourage Jews from getting ideas.  He had marched in from his palace in Caesarea, a new and relatively large, cosmopolitan, sophisticated city about sixty miles to the west and north.  Overlooking the Mediterranean Caesarea was comfortable and pleasant.  I imagine Pilate being annoyed, having to trudge up to Jerusalem, that dusty, rocky, backward, provincial tinderbox of unwashed religious fanatics.
 
      The Roman army came to support their puppets, the ruling Herodian family.  If the Roman and Herodian elites had known about Jesus and his disciples’ alternative procession, they would have regarded it as highly inflammatory, as a political provocation requiring a response.
 
      Jesus, of course, did not seek to be a king like Caesar, or Pilate, or Herod, but he did offer a vision in stark conflict with them: the power of God versus the power of humanity; love and trust versus control and coercion; the peasant procession versus the imperial procession; the overlooked and oppressed versus the elite and privileged; peace from meekness versus peace from force; the kingdom of God versus the kingdom of Caesar.  Two processions, two powers, two paths, two ways – the conflict of Holy Week, the conflict of Christianity and our world, the age old conflict that runs through each of our hearts.
 
      The Golden Rule in the gospels, and as expressed by numerous religious traditions, is essentially do to others as you’d like them to do to you. (Mt 7:12, Lk 6:31)  But there’s another Golden Rule: the ones with the gold make the rules.  The people in power – those controlling the state, the economy, the religious and learning institutions, entertainment and publications – ally with the status quo, and Jesus and his disciples challenge the status quo.  Christians offer a different vision of what’s important.  Our work is to turn the world upside down. (Acts 17:6)
 
      In Israel, like in most places, the wealthy elites ruled and allowed no other voices.  The vast majority were exploited economically: a half to two-thirds of the wealth went to the elite, the top percent or two, meaning that many suffered great deprivation.  Roman religion, the divine Caesar, of course, justified this arrangement.
 
      But so did the establishment officials of Judaism.  Jesus repeatedly criticized and opposed the religious authorities for their corruption, for not being true to the teachings of God as found in Judaism.  Like so many prophets before him – Amos, Isaiah, Jeremiah, Micah, Jesus attacked those in charge for abusing their position and their religion to promote injustice.  Jesus opposed the status quo, and that meant challenging the elites, those running society and oppressing people.  His message was that they were using God and religion for themselves; they had betrayed God.
 
      Two processions, two ways, two kingdoms, two types of power.  The Golden Rule versus the rule of gold.  A conflict.  Who are we going to follow?  Jesus or the powers that be?  It’s a conflict in the heart of each of us, and so a conflict always troubling our world, preventing peace.  This is the conflict that leads to Jesus’ crucifixion.  It’s not Jesus against Judaism.  It’s not Jesus against us.  It’s Jesus against a corrupt, unjust kingdom, humanity’s use of God and religion to legitimate a system of cruelty and abuse of ordinary people for the benefit of a few.  He wants us to turn from that way to his way.
 
      Jesus calls us to live not in this present age, not according to the values of empire and control, but live as belonging to the age to come, to the Kingdom of God, the rule of love and justice.  That’s what Paul means when he says, “Do not conform yourselves to this world, but be transformed, be changed from the inside out… God brings out the best in you.” (Romans 12:2)
 
      Jesus’ vision of the kingdom, of his followers, is not the gathering of the strong, the wealthy, the celebrated, the comfortable, the accomplished, the elite.  No.  It’s the home of the broken, the weak, the flawed, the addicted, the troubled, the lost, the overlooked, the hurting, the home where we come for healing, nurturing, encouraging, understanding.  It’s the home of grace and acceptance and transformation.  It’s the home of God’s children.  This was his passion.  May we enter it and share it.  That’s what this week is for.
 
+ In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.
 
 
The Rev. Lane Davenport
www.asa-dc.org
(202) 347-8161
 

[i] E.P. Sanders, Jesus and Judaism, Fortress Press (1985), pp. 306-308; E.P. Saunders, The Historical Figure of Jesus, Allen Lane The Penguin Press (1993), pp. 249-254; and Marcus J. Borg & John Dominic Crossan, The Last Week, HarperSanFrancisco (2006), pp. 1-30.  Information in this sermon derives from these sources, especially Borg & Crossan’s discussion of the two processions.
[ii] Borg & Crossan, p. 3.

Isaiah 43:16-21
Philippians 3:4b-14
John 12:1-8

+ In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.

      Have you ever thought, “Maybe Jesus sometimes got it wrong?”  I wonder, “How on earth can he be defending Mary here?”  Mary, sister of Martha, the sister who let Martha do all the work, strikes me as a bit of an impulsive air-head.  Be honest: would you want to be stuck on a desert isle with her?  I know that I’m not the only one skeptical about her.  Think about what she did.

      Mary had about a pint of spikenard, an enormous amount of perfume.[i]  Wealthy Romans would use a little bit of it to anoint their heads.  They’d use just a little bit because spikenard was very expensive.  It came all the way from the mountains of northern India where the nard plant grows.  Spikenard was the fragrant, rich rose red oil derived from root and the flower stalk of the nard plant.

      Mary’s jar of perfume had the value of a year’s wages for a laborer – a year’s wages in that jar.  Some scholars speculate that Mary’s jar may have been a family heirloom, passed down to her.  Here she frittered it away on impulse.

      In John’s gospel, Judas objected to Mary’s extravagance, pouring all that oil – much, much more than needed – onto Jesus’ feet.  It’s a waste, an enormous waste.  In Matthew’s gospel, it’s the disciples who object to the waste.  In Mark’s gospel, it’s the people standing around watching who object.  It’s like flushing money down the toilet.  It’s a misuse of precious resources for a momentary devotion.  You couldn’t run a family budget that way and still eat.  If our staff or governing board acted that way, it’d be time to make significant personnel changes or to shut the place down. 

      Not only did Mary squander the perfume, the way she did the anointing was highly inappropriate.  First, it was improper to anoint feet during a meal – disgusting hygiene: filthy feet mingling with eating.  Even Jesus’ feet got dirty.  Second, wiping Jesus’ feet with her hair was bizarre and scandalous.  Jewish women did not unbind their hair in public.  It indicated loose morals.  If a married woman let her hair down in public, her husband could divorce her.[ii]

      We might reasonably consider Mary’s behavior as foolish, a bit creepy, perhaps even kinky.  She did not appear to be adult, or responsible, but impetuous and emotional and exaggerated.  I get that Mary was extremely grateful to Jesus.  In the chapter just before this scene, Jesus had raised Mary’s brother, Lazarus, from the dead.  Possibly Mary would have been destitute without Lazarus.  Her prodigal ways with the family wealth suggest that she would have difficulty with a budget.

      Mary may also have had some sense that she was about to be separated from Jesus, that he had nearly reached the climax of his ministry.  In a week, he would be dead.  She anointed his feet the day before Palm Sunday, his triumphal entry into Jerusalem where he’d be hailed King of Israel, the one who comes in the Name of the Lord.  Her anointing shows that Jesus is king.  It was a prophetic act.  It also prepared Jesus for burial. 

      Still, Mary’s spectacle of love and service seems excessive and distasteful, and I don’t immediately understand why Jesus defended ridiculous Mary and rebuked sensible Judas.  It may be that Jesus was speaking to me, and perhaps to you, when he said, “Leave her alone.”;

      It may be that what John has highlighted for us in this scene are two different ways to be a disciple, to be a follower of Jesus.  There are two different attitudes about discipleship, and most of us have both of them in us.  For Judas, discipleship was a duty, an obligation.  The censorious, shaming moral voice scolding, “Think of the poor,” but he was not really interested in caring for the poor.  He was calculating. 

      On the other hand, for Mary, discipleship was about passion, the thing that energized her.  She’s animated by generosity, tenderness, and enthusiasm… so in the moment, so vulnerable, and Judas was getting on her case about it.  Maybe she has something to show us about how to follow Jesus.

      In the next chapter of John, chapter 13, five days later, it was the night of the Last Supper, Maundy Thursday, and Jesus instituted the Eucharist.  He wanted to show his disciples true discipleship, and Mary’s overwrought foot washing inspired him. 

      Jesus he got up during the meal, striped off his outer garment, wrapped a towel around himself, girded himself like a servant, and washed the feet of his disciples… exactly what we’ll do here on Maundy Thursday.  After he did this, he told his disciples, “If I, the Master and Teacher, washed your feet, you must now wash each other’s feet.  I’ve laid down a pattern for you.  What I’ve done, you do… I give you a new command: love one another.  In the same way I loved you, you love one another. This is how everyone will recognize that you are my disciples – when they see the love you have for each other.” (13:14, 34-35)

      Jesus wants us to follow him, like Mary did, out of passion, out of desire – not out of duty or obligation.  If we find discipleship a burden, a yoke, we’re missing it; our motivation is confused.  Love motivates true discipleship.  That’s what Mary showed us.  God wants passion, not duty; love, not obligation; desire, not burden.

      The point is: if you want to engage in caring for the poor or any other kind of Christian ministry, don’t do it out of obligation.  God doesn’t want you to follow him out of guilt or fear or compulsion.  The challenge for every Christian: engage in ministry and follow Jesus out of passion, out of love, out of thanks. 

      Motivation matters… a lot.  The way of duty is: I’ll follow and obey God so that he’ll accept me.  The way of passion is: God loves me, accepts me, delights in me, and in response I follow and obey.  The human inclination is the way of duty.  The gospel is the way of passion. 

      We see Mary’s lavish generosity, and we may wonder how we might ever be like that.  We won’t become truly generous by an act of will, or by a feeling of guilt, or by sense of duty.  Rather, the first step is becoming aware of why wealth is important to us, how we tie our sense of respect, or value, or security, or importance, or approval to wealth.   

      The way to true generosity is connecting with the gospel and internalizing the gospel and identifying with the gospel.  The good news is that God deeply loves and cares for us.  The quality of our relationship with God is what gives us value and security and importance.  Acting out of duty, following moral rules, earning our place with God, doesn’t lead to a true change of heart. 

      Mary showed us a discipleship motivated by passion and gratitude.  It’s discipleship as a response to God’s acceptance and love of us.  That’s repentance.  That’s a change of heart.  Mary showed us the disciple’s heart, a heart changed.  God longs for our love, for passion, not duty.

      Imagine your life without guilt, fear, duty.  Imagine the church not being associated with guilt and duty.  Imagine not feeling guilt and duty about your family or work or God.  That’s the gospel ideal.  True discipleship comes not from duty, but from love.  Thank you, Mary.

+ In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.

The Rev. Lane Davenport
www.asa-dc.org
(202) 347-8161


[i] Andreas J. Kostenberger, John, Baker Academic (2004), pp. 360-61.
[ii] Kostenberger, p. 362.

Joshua 5:9-12
2 Corinthians 5:16-21
Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32
 
+ In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.
 
      It’s commonly known as “the Prodigal Son,” and it may be my favorite parable, despite all the competition.  The parable is not primarily about the prodigal, the younger son, but perhaps we’re secretly so envious of him going off and living the wild, debauched life, that we make it about him.
 
      We’re better of calling it “the parable of the loving father and his two lost sons.”  The Bible has a lot of stories about brothers, and as an eldest brother, frankly, we don’t fare well: Ishmael being overshadowed by Isaac, Esau being chumped by Jacob, Aaron being outshined by Moses, and then there are those devious, darling, and of course hugely over-rated youngest sons like Joseph and David.
 
      The Bible assures us that sibling tensions have existed from the beginning.  In Genesis 2 & 3, we learn about human difficulty in living in right relation to God, the vertical relationship.  God banished Adam and Eve from the Garden of Eden because of our difficulty living according to God’s terms, because of our selfishness.  In Genesis 4, we learn about the difficulty of horizontal relationships.  It tells of Adam and Eve’s first two children, the brothers Cain and Abel.[i]
 
      Cain, the elder brother, was the celebrated one, well-regarded, the hope for the future, more sophisticated and advanced.  His name means “to acquire, to create.”  The name Abel means “vapor, puff of air, nothingness.”  Both brothers made offerings to God, and apparently without reason God rejected Cain’s offering.  Life is often unfair, enigmatic, and confusing.
 
      Cain was used to being perfect, adulated for his competence, but the rejection made him depressed and angry, and he led his brother Abel out to the field and murdered him.  God asked Cain, “Where’s your brother?”  Cain lied, “I don’t know.  Am I my brother’s keeper?”[ii]
 
      We all encounter painful and perplexing situations in life, all of us know about rivalry and competition and how it can leave us feeling insecure and alone, hating another for depriving or threatening us, and like Cain we don’t always react well.  Cain ran away to a far country where he wandered in exile.  But God did not lose interest in Cain.  He did not give up on him. (Gen 4:15)
 
      The common, daily estrangement of brother and brother, friend and friend, stranger and stranger, while ordinary and accepted, even normal, is not what God wants for us.  Jesus tells us that reconciliation is more important than any religious offering. (Mt 5:23-24)
 
      St. John equated loving our brother and sister to the resurrected life.  On the other hand, he said, people who don’t love are as good as dead, and hating a brother or sister is murder. (1 John 3:14-15)  Jesus said that being angry at our brother is murder.  It’s denying the other’s existence, negating it. (Mt 5:21-22)  John said that eternal life and murder don’t go together.  And the reverse is true: reconciliation of brother, or neighbor, or stranger, is associated with resurrection, and brings new life.
 
      This age old hostility, the human propensity for rivalry and competition and suspicion instead of intimacy and cooperation and trust, underlies today’s parable.  The younger brother went to his father and said, “I’m finished with you.  Give me what’s coming to me.  I’m out of here.”  The younger son wanted his father’s wealth, but not the father.
 
      The father accepted his son’s rejection of him and gave him his portion of the estate.  It would have been about a third.  The younger son, his wallet flush, set out to a far country, neglecting any responsibility to his family.  He no longer had any claim on his father.  He chose to be on his own.  He then squandered his inheritance on wine, women, and song.
 
      (It reminds me of a little bit of George Best, a great British soccer player in the ‘60s and ‘70s.  He made a lot of money, a fortune, but lost it.  He explained, “I spent it on booze, birds [women], and fast cars.  The rest I just squandered.”)
 
      When it was all gone, the younger son was hungry and homeless.  He had to slop pigs, and he longed to eat what pigs ate.  Pigs are unclean, not Kosher, because they eat feces, even their own.  Jesus painted a disgusting picture.
 
      In misery, the younger son “came to himself.”  He came to his senses.  We might say, “He bottomed out.”[iii]  He realized that he had behaved horrendously.  He felt regret.  It’s the beginning of repentance, turning direction, changing heart and mind, re-orienting our lives.
 
      The younger son left the far off country and returned home to his father.  He declared that he was not worthy to be his child.  He pleaded, “Make me one of your servants.”  The father had seen his son coming to him, and abandoning decorum and proper manners, the father ran out and welcomed his son.  The father restored his lost son.  “You’re my child.”  They celebrated and rejoiced.
 
      I wonder why the younger son ran away in the first place.  Perhaps he couldn’t stand being around his elder brother, Mr. Perfect, Mr. Competent, lording it over him, making him feel impotent.  Possibly.  The elder son was the responsible one who protected the family wealth, worked hard in the field, expressed care for his parents.  The elder son slogged away compulsively.  It was his way of proving that he was worthy to be the eldest son, that he deserved that status.
 
      But there’s big irony.  The elder son, always busting his gut, toiling away, treated himself as if he were a servant.  It seems the idea of taking a break and having a party with his friends may never have occurred to him.  The elder son may not have been aware of his own needs or even acknowledges them.  When his younger brother is celebrating at a party, he realized that it would have been nice for him to have a fatted calf with his friends, that celebrating and tending to his own desires was a possibility.
 
      When the father accepted the younger son and restored him to the family, the younger son was going to get another cut of the inheritance, a cut that would come from the elder son’s share.  The father tried to reassure his elder son that there’s plenty.  The elder son resented his brother for, in his view, manipulating their father, gouging his inheritance, getting attention for being irresponsible and ridiculous.
 
      It’s a complex tale, not a two-dimensional morality tale, but a story acknowledging how human beings get lost in life, that being alienated and suffering and un-reconciled is normal, and it’s not what God wants for us.  Both sons are lost, hurting, and both want a home to belong to, a home with warmth, joy, comfort, and love.  This is humanity.
 
      Notice how the father treated his children.  He didn’t criticize or scold either of them.  There was no finger wagging, no attempt to make his children feel shame.  Instead, he broke social protocol to run out them, longing for them to be with him.  He shared his abundance with them.  He celebrated and rejoiced.  He invited his children to be part of his joy.
 
      The father, God, was full of tenderness and generosity, eager to recover and restore both sons.  It’s God’s compassion, how much he longs for relationship with us – no matter what.  And, it’s an invitation to us to have this attitude.  It’s about welcome, hospitality, acceptance – that this is what God provides for us and what we might provide to others.
 
      God offers a party of celebrating and rejoicing.  We’re invited.  The parable ends with the severe, ethical elder son, the responsible one, the religious and dutiful one, facing a decision.  He is outside the party.  Would he accept his father’s invitation?
 
      Will the elder brother come to himself, come to his senses, repent?  Has he bottomed out?  It’s a tough decision for him.  The parable recognizes that the human condition involves feeling alone and constricted, feeling inferior, like a servant, without options.
 
      The loving father of two sons: one son wanted to be his servant and the other son felt like his servant.  Here’s the good news.  His message to his sons, and to each of us, is the same: “Repent, turn around, come home from the far country, stop wandering, you belong with your father, you are my children.  Live with confidence and strength knowing my acceptance and love of you.”
 
+ In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.
 
 
The Rev. Lane Davenport
www.asa-dc.org
(202) 347-8161
 

[i] Most of the information about Cain and Abel from Walter Brueggeman, Genesis, John Knox Press (1982), pp. 54-63.
[ii] Gerhard Von Rad, Genesis, The Westminster Press (1956), p. 102, points out that it’s an impertinent witticism: “Am I the shepherd of my brother, the shepherd?”
[iii] Klyne R. Snodgrass, Stories with Intent, William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company (2008), pp. 117-142, provided helpful commentary about the parable.