Jesus said, “I am the true vine, and my Father is the vinegrower.” He also said, “I am the vine, you are the branches.”

God owns the vineyard–Jesus is the vine–we are the branches. All three are necessary if there is to be fruit.

* Vineyards don’t just grow on their own. Someone has to plant them. Someone has to tend the vines. That person is the vinegrower. Jesus says that the Father–meaning God–is the vinegrower.

* The vine is the plant itself. Without any vines, there would obviously be no vineyard–no wine. Jesus says that he is the vine.

* But then Jesus tells his disciples–and we are his disciples–“You are the branches.” The branches grow from the vine and, are where the grapes grow. Jesus says to us, “You are the branches.” That strikes me as quite a compliment, because the branches are where the fruit grows. Without any branches, there would be no fruit.

But it is also true that, without the vinegrower (God), there would be no fruit. And without the vine (Jesus) there would be no fruit. The Father, the Son, and the Son’s disciples work hand in hand to make a fruitful vineyard.

Jesus positions himself in the middle–between us and God. He says:

“Abide in me as I abide in you.
Just as the branch cannot bear fruit by itself
unless it abides in the vine,
neither can you unless you abide in me.”

In other words, if we as Christians are to live spiritually productive lives, we must maintain a spiritual connection to Jesus. Without that connection, we will never produce any spiritual fruit. Without that connection, our lives will come and go without ever meaning anything significant.

I once walked past a massive oak tree. A vine had grown up its trunk. The vine started small, but over the years had grown taller and taller. By the time Brown saw it, the vine covered the lower half of the tree. Its creepers formed a solid mass that reached a little higher every day.

The tree had been in danger. The vine had been choking the life out of the big oak. But the grounds-keepers had seen the danger. They had taken a saw and had severed the trunk of the vine–one neat cut through the trunk of the vine.

The vine was still clinging to the oak, but it was dead. Its leaves were turning brown. The spread of its tentacles was arrested. The vine remained attached to the tree, but no longer threatened to spread further. It carried no power to choke anything. No longer connected to the source of its life, it was dead.

Jesus said,

“I am the vine, you are the branches.
Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit,
because apart from me you can do nothing.”

Nothing! Apart from Jesus, we can do nothing! Apart from Christ, nothing else counts!

Unless we abide in Christ, we can do nothing! If we do abide in Christ, nothing shall be impossible for us. Our whole life as a church turns on this point–abiding in Christ.

* Once we understand that, life will get easier.

* Once we understand that, we no longer have to carry burdens that God never meant for us to bear. The fate of the world–the fate of this church– the fate of our families– the fate of our future–is in his hands, not ours.

* Once we understand that, we no longer have to go through life like Atlas, carrying the world on our shoulders.

* Once we understand that, we can trust God to provide.

* Once we understand that, we can shift our focus. We can begin to be less busy and more connected.

Jesus says,

“I am the vine, you are the branches.
Those who abide in me and I in them bear much fruit,
because apart from me you can do nothing.”

The question then is, How can we go about “abiding” in Jesus? How can we maintain our connection to Jesus? That is easy to answer :

We strengthen our connection to Christ when we pray–IF our prayers go beyond giving God our shopping-list. Shopping-list prayers–the kind of prayers where we say, “Give me this and give me that”–are stunted and feeble. Prayer–the right kind of prayer–will strengthen our connection to Jesus.

We also strengthen our connection to Jesus when we worship together–when we sing hymns–and listen to God’s Word–and offer up our offerings–and partake of the Holy Eucharist.

Our worship also connects us to Christians through the centuries and throughout the world. We are brothers and sisters to the early disciples–to Peter, James, and John–to the women who found the empty tomb on Easter morning.  But most of all, our worship connects us to Christ. His word challenges us–guides us–gives our lives direction and meaning. When we partake of his body and blood in the Lord’s Supper, Jesus strengthens us for the days ahead.

But the question, How do we go about “abiding” in Christ? is also difficult to aanswer, because it has to do with a relationship. We can give rules for strengthening relationships, but relationships are, at some point, affairs of the heart. We “abide” in Christ by giving him our hearts.

Do you wonder what you can do for St. Philip’s? Abide in Christ! Keep your eyes fixed on him!

Do you wonder what you can do for your family? Abide in Christ! Shower your family with his love!

Do you wonder how you can solve your problems? Abide in Christ! Let him show you the path! Let him rule your life!

Do you wonder how you find healing for your wounds? Abide in Jesus! Let him nourish your soul!

Do you wonder how you can live a fruit-bearing life? Abide in me. Jesus says.

And so it will! Let us abide in Christ.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.

When you were growing up, did you have a good shepherd watching over you–to keep you on the right path–to look for you when you were lost–to love you–to call you by name–to feed you–to bind up your wounds?

If you had a good shepherd, it was most likely your mother. Mothers usually do those things. They try to keep their children on the right path. They look for them when they’re lost. They love them and call them by name. They feed their children, and bind up their wounds.

That wasn’t true in my case. But I was blessed to have not one but several good shepherds who not only took an interest in me, but who genuinely cared about me and my well-being.

The nuns who taught and guided me as a young Catholic boy were, for the most part, good shepherds.  I remember in particular, Sister Martina, my math teacher.   She went out of her way to encourage me because she knew I struggled so hard with mathematics.  When I received a nomination to the Air Force Academy it was Sister Martina who stayed after school for weeks, coaching me in trigonometry and algebra to help me prepare for my qualification exams.  And it was she who gently but relentlessly nudged me toward the priesthood.

My only and older brother, Ed, was a good shepherd to me. He was 15 years my senior.  It was Ed who always greeted me as though he hadn’t seen me in a week.  He always had some extra change in his pocket for me.  He found a job for me while I worked my way through college and he opened his home so I had a place to live.  I still have letters he wrote to me when he was in the Army during WWII, encouraging me to be good and not to bite our bulldog, Jumbo.

Wayne Brockriede was a good shepherd to me.  He was my mentor and advisor during my doctoral program at CU in Boulder.  But he was more than my teacher.  He became like a father to me and took great interest in my work, always challenging me to push harder than I ever thought I could.

From the nuns I learned about the Good Shepherd—Jesus—and how He was the shepherd of us all.  From my good shepherd Sister Martina I learned the importance of generosity of giving one’s time for the growth and development of another and what it means to love and counsel those who needed it, as I did.

From my brother I learned how a brother is a good shepherd who loves:  he protects and guides his own and sees that they are sheltered and fed and learn how to make a living.

From Wayne I learned how a teacher can be a good shepherd, always going the extra mile to be sure that every student was seen, heard and challenged to constantly improve.

I hope you have had people in your life that were good shepherds to you.  The one thing they all have in common is that they have a deep and abiding relationship with you.  They care for you as a person and treat you with love.

Psalm 23 talks about the Lord being our shepherd, and tells us what that means:

* For one thing having the Lord as our shepherd means that we shall not want–that the Lord will provide for our needs.

* Having the Lord as our shepherd means being able to lie down in green pastures– and to drink from still waters.

* Having the Lord as our shepherd means that the Lord will restore our souls. Just think about that for a moment. Aren’t there times when your soul needs restoring–when you need the good shepherd to patch you together and to set you on your feet again? The Lord does that for his sheep.

* Having the Lord as our shepherd means having a trustworthy guide, because the Lord leads us in right paths. If I had not had my good earthly shepherds and the Lord as my shepherd, I could easily have ended up in jail instead of in the pulpit. You might believe that I’m exaggerating, but I don’t believe that I am. I could so easily have gone so wrong. The Lord gave me Christian friends to guide me–scriptures to guide me—Catholic and later–Anglican hymns that did not stop playing in my mind after the priest pronounced the blessing of dismissal.. Those hymns kept playing in my head and reminding me of the Lord and what the Lord wanted from me. The Lord has many ways of leading us in right paths.

* Having the Lord as our shepherd means not having to be afraid, even when it’s dark outside–even when we are walking through a dark and dangerous valley.

* Psalm 23 says, “Your rod and your staff–they comfort me.” What does that mean? A shepherd used his rod to defend the sheep against wild animals. He used his staff to guide sheep back onto the pathway when they strayed. So yes! We are comforted by the protection afforded us by our good shepherd’s powerful rod and gentle staff.

* Having the Lord as our shepherd means being able to sit at table in the presence of our enemies. It means that God creates opportunities for us to turn enemies into friends–to share a meal with them–to sit and talk peacefully with them. Isn’t it more wonderful to gain a friend than to stick your finger in someone’s eye! Making peace with an enemy confers long-term blessings for both sides.

* Having the Lord as our shepherd means being able to drink from a cup that is overflowing–instead of from a cup that always seems to be running dry.

* Having the Lord as our shepherd means experiencing the Lord’s goodness all the days of our lives–and being able to dwell in the house of the Lord all of our lives. That means forever, because having the Lord as our shepherd means living today and living throughout eternity.

There’s another positive thing about growing up knowing the Lord as your shepherd. In church and in our parochial school, I learned a great deal about right and wrong from the nuns and priests in our parish.  I learned what kind of life the Lord wanted me to lead. I won’t claim that I was always faithful–but the Lord was always faithful. The Lord, indeed, “led me in right paths for his name’s sake.” There were many times I would have veered onto a dangerous track if I had not had the Lord as my shepherd.

I hope that you had at least one good shepherd to help you while you were growing up–your mother–or a grandparent–or a teacher–or a coach–or a pastor–or someone.  Growing up is tough enough even with a good shepherd. I can barely imagine how difficult it must be for people who have had no good shepherds in their lives.

All of this points to one thing.  Just as Jesus is the Good Shepherd of each of us, so are you called to be good shepherds of others.  Parents and grandparents need to be good shepherds to their children and grandchildren.  Brothers and sisters need to be good shepherds for their younger siblings.

A good shepherd looks for ways to compliment others—ways to set an example by demonstrating kindness and compassion toward them. Sometimes it takes a little creativity. Sometimes you have to work hard at it–but it’s worth it. Each compliment–each positive stroke–will help your child to grow strong and straight and tall. Become an encourager–a good shepherd–to your children.

Jesus says:

“I am the good shepherd.
I know my own and my own know me….
And I lay down my life for my sheep” (vv. 14-15).

Jesus wants to be your good shepherd. He knows you by name–he loves you–he is there for you 24/7. He laid down his life for you. He died on the cross for you. He did so to pay the price for our sins–so we wouldn’t have to. And then he rose from the grave to break the power of death–to give us a chance to have eternal life.

Embrace the Lord as your shepherd. Let him guide you. Let him help you. Let him save you. Let his love shine in you.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.

I’ve been reminded of death and dying this past week.  Last Thursday was the 17^th anniversary of the terrorist bombing of the Alfred P. Murrah federal building in Oklahoma City which claimed 168 lives, including 19 children.

I visited the site in 1996. The building was directly across the street from St. Joseph Catholic Church where I was baptized as an infant.  On the day I visited it was a rainy day and I remember sitting in my car and feeling strange that I was so close to where so many had died so quickly on that day. The site was surrounded by chain link fence and was covered with hundreds of pictures, poems, letters, flowers and other items in memory of those who died.  I remember standing at that fence and being overwhelmed by the sadness of so many people killed in an instant by the senseless attack of a fellow American.

Then, just yesterday, I was listening to an interview on the radio with a writer who described his traditional upbringing as a Catholic, only to lose his faith as he got older.  But when his mother died, he found himself drawn back to the church building where he had grown up.  Something about death—and his mother’s death in particular– was pulling him back into conversation with God.  Death reminds us of God’s nearness to us.

Talking about death and dying can be a pretty heavy topic, and I don’t want to weigh you down with it.  But death and what happens to us after death has been the source of a lot of speculation, superstition, and religious belief for centuries. It’s important to pause from time to time and reflect on our own finitude.

Today’s gospel story from Luke is about Jesus’ appearance to the disciples after overcoming death itself.  It sounds much like last week’s account from John, with a few differences. The two people who had encountered Jesus on the road to Emmaus—Cleopas and a companion—possibly his wife– have now returned to Jerusalem and there they find “the eleven and their companions” gathered in what is almost certainly the same room where the eleven disciples had gathered and locked the door in fear of the Jews.

Notice the parallels between the two appearance of Jesus to the two companions on the Emmaus road and his appearance to his disciples:

1. After his death the resurrected Jesus appears to the two on the road and to the    disciples.  The two Emmaus travelers do not recognize Jesus.   The disciples believe that he is a ghost.

2. Jesus shares a meal with the travelers and in Luke’s gospel he asks the disciples for    food.

3. Jesus teaches the Emmaus pair about the scriptures and they later say how their hearts were on fire with the teaching Jesus shared with them.

4. Jesus breathes the Holy Spirit upon the disciples and reveals the truths of the scriptures to them, although we are not told which scriptures.

One of the key differences between John’s narrative and the one we heard this morning is the emphasis Jesus places on  the fact that he is not a ghost, but that he is in his own body–a living, breathing,  and apparently, hungry body.  We tend to think of ghosts as ephemeral—wispy or smoky and fading into and out of sight.

Both in Luke’s story and in John’s,  Jesus appears to the disciples in in a bodily, not ghostly form.  How Jesus enters the locked room is left to speculation, since neither John nor Luke explain this.

Jesus emphasizes his physical nature to the disciples by asking them for something to eat.  He demonstrates that a ghost has no need for food.   He goes out of his way to prove that he has risen in his own body.

Now this divine appearance raises some very human issues for us:

1. We know that the physical body decays and is reduced to its skeleton  after death.  On Ash Wednesday we are told, “Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return.”  In Ezekiel’s story of the valley of the dry bones, we hear that the skeletons are raised up and muscle, sinew and flesh are put back on their once-dead forms.  They are re-animated.

2. Many people have died and been buried at sea.  Their remains deteriorate and become part of the ecosystem of the ocean.

3. Cremation has become a very common—and in some cases, preferred—method of disposing of the deceased.  Ashes are often scattered from a mountain top or into the sea.

4. Many people are organ donors and when they die, parts of their bodies go to help others live.

It’s easy to get the impression that once our lives end our bodies are pretty much useless (except for the organs that can be removed and used by others).  It’s also common to hear the priest or minister at a funeral say about the deceased, “Joe is not here—this body is just where Joe’s soul existed.  Joe is in heaven.”

But this raises a question:  Why does Jesus then put so much emphasis on the fact that he is risen in bodily form?  How can something so complex as the human body be only a receptacle that is of no use following death?  Why did Jesus need his body after death?  What was this supposed to convey to the disciples and to us?

When I was working as a hospital chaplain I went through special training to learn about organs that could be used after death and how to approach families who were sometimes in a state of shock and always in grief, about donating their loved one’s organs.  One of the things I learned was that African-Americans, Muslims and Native Americans were generally reluctant to have any organs taken from the deceased and they were more often than not opposed to cremation.  They believed that the body must remain in a whole state so that when the resurrection happens their souls and bodies would be reunited.

But that raises another question:  What about all of those people I mentioned before whose bodies were destroyed by fire, lost a sea, cremated or whose organs were removed and given to a living person?

What really happens after death?  It’s a question that humans have struggled with for centuries.  There are many “near-death” accounts from people who report encountering people they knew in life.  Virtually none of them say they experienced themselves or others as ghostly forms but rather as they appeared in life in human bodies.

A few weeks ago I mentioned a book I read recently titled, 90 Minutes in Heaven, written by Don Piper, a man who was pronounced dead at the scene by the EMT’s.  No pulse. No heartbeat.  No breath.  His body was trapped in the tangled wreckage of his car, so they covered it with a tarp and went to care for others injured in the crash.   A passing minister who crawled into the wreckage to pray for Piper, discovered him to be alive after all and he was then rushed to a hospital where he was resuscitated.  Piper reported that he had gone to heaven and was greeted by hundreds of people, some of whom he knew and many he did not. He wrote that he was in his own body and those humans he met in heaven were in human form.  Read the book and then make up your own mind as to what you think about his story.

What happens to us after death?  As this physical life ends and the spiritual life begins¸do we have a different kind of life in heaven?  Will we have our own body or will it be another form?  We are left with no answers except what our faith provides for us:  that the end to this physical life is not all there is.  That because of Jesus’ resurrection, we too will live on in eternal life in some form of God’s design.

Because we are human and we know we must die someday, we will keep asking ourselves these questions throughout our lives.  Whether we enter eternity  with a much improved version of the bodies we now have—and I know that idea is appealing to some of you—or whether we are some kind of disembodied beings, we trust in God to reform us according to God’s design.

Recall these words from Psalm 139:
“For it was you who formed my inward parts; you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; that I know very well.
My frame was not hidden from you, when I was being made in secret, intricately woven in the depths of the earth.
Your eyes beheld my unformed substance. In your book were written all the days that were formed for me, when none of them as yet existed.
How weighty to me are your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them!”

The context of this verse is the incredible nature of our physical bodies.  The very unique complexity of the body, down to the tiniest microscopic cell, reveals that it is fearfully and wonderfully made.

Let us give thanks to God for our physical bodies—so fearfully and wonderfully made—and remember that we have the responsibility to care for our bodies as much as possible while we are alive.  The God who can create something as complex as the human body will have no trouble restoring us to whatever form God has in mind for us when we join him in eternal life.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.

What a wonderful Easter we had here at St. Philip’s last Sunday!  It always fills my heart with joy to see a long line of children being led into the church by our verger, Natalie, following the Cross held high and our thurifer, Murrell, leading the way, swinging his well-prepared thurible of incense.  Hearing the bells ring at the “Alleluias” is a truly a “joyful noise”.  Baptizing Van and Faith with all of the children gathered round the baptismal font was a highlight of the morning.

There’s no question that we Episcopalians know how to “do Easter’” in a big way—even in a small church!  And, yet, look at the empty spaces in our little church this morning!  It’s no wonder the Sunday after Easter is called “low Sunday.”  Our “Cheaster Birds” have flown in for their biannual visits and flown away.  We won’t see them again until Christmas.

Most churches experience this phenomenon.  Big crowds pack the church on Easter Sunday.  But then it’s back to the “faithful few-in-the-pew”.  We Christians don’t seem to do very well at making every Sunday as special as we make Easter Sunday.

It must be part of our Christian DNA, because the ancient members of the  early Church apparently didn’t do so well at it either.  Even after seeing Jesus walking around after his crucifixion the disciples still didn’t really understand what had happened.

In fact, as we heard in this morning’s gospel, they were huddled away, fearfully, in an upper room, worrying that the Jewish authorities might find them and persecute them, too.  It would understandable if a few of them were second-guessing their whole experience with Jesus.   He didn’t look like or act like what they thought a Messiah should be.  There was no army to ride to His rescue.  There was no glory or honor in seeing him on a Roman cross like a common criminal.

As they cowered together we can imagine them thinking these things.  But then, suddently, quietly, amazingly, he simply appeared and greeted them with “Shalom”, i.e., “Peace be with you.”  There’s a very descriptive Irish  word for someone who is caught by complete surprise:  “gobsmacked.”  The apostles were probably “gobsmacked” at Christ’s appearance in the midst of them.  I don’t want to diminish the sacredness of that moment, but it almost seemed like a scene from a Monte Python sketch:  “What do you mean, “Peace”, Lord?  “You scared the bejesus out of us!”

Were they feeling guilty?  After all, when Jesus was arrested they had all run away to hide., Only John, “the beloved disciple” was present at the cross when Jesus died.   Peter had denied even knowing him not once, but three times.  But Jesus didn’t berate them or accuse them of cowardice for deserting him.  He simply offered them a gentle, “Shalom.”  Peace.  Relax.  Take it easy.  It’s me, your Teacher.   Your friend. “

But one of the twelve was missing.  Thomas.  Where was he, anyway?  John’s narrative doesn’t tell us.  Thomas apparently wasn’t as afraid of the Jewish authorities as the others for he was out somewhere.  We only know that sometime after this event he met up with them again and they told him they had seen the Lord.

And Thomas, rational, left-brained Thomas, insisted on verification on his own terms.  Seeing is believing.  Touching is even better than just seeing.  Missouri, the “show me” state,  should adopt Thomas as its patron saint.  This is where Thomas has gotten a bum rap:  “Doubting Thomas” he’s been called.

The story fast-forwards to a week later.  Back in the house again.  Now all twelve are together.  Then, once again, Jesus is simply there.  In the flesh.  The Man.  Jesus invites Thomas to experience the proof he seeks.   He tells him.  “I want you to believe.  Put your finger here and feel these holes in my hands and my side.”

But Thomas realizes in that instant that he doesn’t need to touch Jesus.  He sees for himself.  He believes.  He becomes the first apostle to address Jesus as God Incarnate:  “My Lord and my God.”

Some people confuse Thomas’s doubt with a lack of faith.  It wasn’t that.  He doubted his fellow disciples’ story that they had seen Jesus.  The opposite of doubt is not the opposite of faith.  The opposite of doubt is fear.  Fear immobilizes us.  We lock ourselves behind the doors of our own mental room.  A friend of mine had a favorite saying when he felt people were getting too close to him:  “Shields up!” he would say.  His fear of letting  people get close to him immobilized him and made him defensive.

The famous and late Anglican teacher and theologian Verna Dozier, once wrote, “Even if I ‘m wrong, I will trust that if I move today by the light that is given me, knowing it is only finite and partial, I will know more and different things tomorrow than I know today, and I can be open to a new possibility I cannot even imagine today.,”

It was that essential trust, born of his doubt, that made Thomas an icon of the later church.  Without doubt there can be no trust, no faith.   In a way, Thomas becomes for us not a symbol of weak faith, but of courage.  The courage to trust.  To trust that there are no doubts so profound that God cannot answer them. . .to believe that Jesus cares enough to show up a second time. . .and a third time and more. . .to feel the breath of Christ on him and on us, breathing the sacred ruach—the Holy Spirit into and upon us.  That’s the breath that passed over the disciples that first evening of the first day of Christianity.

As we celebrate and begin our journey through this Easter season, we do so with the awesome privilege and responsibility of being not only the Church, but in being Christ in the world:  being Jesus here on earth: being the place where those who come seeking the risen Christ, doubts and all, seek that breath of new life that God offers all creation.

By definition, as Christians, we are an Easter people.  We want to believe that Easter is more than just that special, festive Sunday each year.  But it’s hard.  So many Christians have an “on again, off again” relationship with God.  Give it to God…take it back again.  Give it to God…take it back.

There seems to be that fear that if we trust in God we might not get whatever it is we believe God can—or will—give us.  That fear is what immobilizes us emotionally, mentally, physically and spiritually.   Every time we lock ourselves in that mental upper room of fear. . .hiding in fear of something that might or might not happen we are trying to live in the past or in the future when we can only truly live in the present moment.

I may have shared this poem with you before, because it’s one of my favorites.  It was written by Helen Mallicoat, and is titled, “I AM”.

I AM

I was regretting the past and fearing the future.
Suddenly, God was speaking:
“My name is I AM.”
He paused. I waited. He continued.

“When you live in the past,
with its mistakes and regrets,
it is hard. I am not there.
My name is not “I was.”

When you live in the future,
with its problems and fears,
it is hard. I am not there.
My name is not “I will be.”

When you live in this moment
it is not hard. I am here.
My name is “I AM.”

It’s when we dare to trust God—to live in the moment—that life abundant happens.  Not in the echoes of “Alleluias” of Easters past or in the fears of what the future holds, but in Christ who enters wherever we are cowering in doubt and fear and says, “Shalom.”

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.

If you saw the movie, “Forrest Gump”, you may remember this little pearl of wisdom given to the title character, played by Tom Hanks, by his mother: “Forrest, life is like a box of chocolates.  You never know what you’re going to get.”

There is some truth in that homey piece of advice:  You never know when something extraordinary is about to happen that will change you and your life forever.

Certainly that must’ve been the case on that day so many centuries ago when the women who had followed Jesus went to the tomb where he had been laid after the crucifixion, only to discover that his body was not there.

The gospel accounts of events following the resurrection vary somewhat in their descriptions of what happened, to whom, and with what effect.  Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James and Salome are named.  But it is through the experience of Mary Magdalene that we have one of the most poignant accounts of the post-resurrection events.

On the day when she first met Jesus and He cast seven demons from her, Magdalene’s life changed forever.  Her mind and body had been instantly healed and she knew inner peace for the first time in years.  Jesus  had walked on after healing her and she followed him leaving everything else in her life behind, to become  a disciple for the rest of his life.  She is sometimes called the 13^th apostle.

She watched as people everywhere were drawn to Jesus by his message of love, forgiveness, charity and compassion.  She and the other women in their group of followers prepared food and did what they could to help.  She was happy.  But she never, even in her worst nightmares, had imagined that Jesus would come to such a horrid and violent end.

And now, on this dark morning, the Sabbath done, she knew she would not, could not, rest if she did not visit his tomb.  It was common knowledge among most people that a person’s spirit remained in the tomb with them for three days after death.  She wanted to be in the presence of Jesus’s spirit one last time.  And so she rose early in the predawn darkness and made her way to the tomb where Jesus lay.

She arrives to discover that the stone covering the tomb’s entrance has been rolled away.  In Matthew’s account, an angel has moved the heavy stone and the angel tells the women that Jesus is no longer there, but has been raised from the dead.  In Mark’s version a messenger in the form of a young man dressed in white is in the tomb and in Luke’s story the women enter the tomb, but do not find a body.

John, in the narrative we heard today, tells neither of a messenger nor that Mary goes inside the tomb.  She simply sees that the great stone has been rolled away and maybe concludes that someone has taken Jesus’ body from the tomb.  Maybe the authorities or even grave robbers were responsible.

Magdalene’s first instinct is to go tell Peter.  This makes sense.  He is the leader of the disciples.   And she also realizes that as a woman, she has no legal standing as a witness.  Jewish law required two male eye witnesses to verify an event, so she runs to get Peter and the other disciple—believed to be John.

Hearing her report, the two men run to the tomb where they see the linen wrappings.  The first to enter the tomb is “the other disciple.”  He is followed quickly by Peter.  The two men, unable to grasp what their own eyes reveal to them, return to their homes, perplexed.

While all of the gospel versions tell of the women encountering angels at Jesus’ tomb who inform them that He has risen, it is only in John’s version that Magdalene has a face-to-face encounter with Jesus.  This is another powerful, emotional, and life-changing moment for her.

Not knowing what to expect, she peers into the tomb and there she sees two men sitting at either end of the slab upon which Jesus’ body had been laid.  There, we know, are the angels.  She does not.  She simply accepts that as men they have a right to be there.  When they ask her why she is weeping, she explains about the missing body of her friend.

Then she becomes aware of a third person nearby.  She believes he must be a gardener, there to tend the grounds.  She pleads with him, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him and I will take him away.”  Like others who encountered Jesus after the resurrection, Mary does not recognize him until God allows it. She looks back towrd the tomb entrance and hears someone speak her name: “Mary.”

It is a voice she knows and loves and she instantly recognizes Jesus.  She cries out joyfully, “Rabbouni!”, which means, “My beloved teacher!”  Mary wants to embrace and cling to Jesus but he tells her to go and tell the others that he is ascending to his Father, “. . to my God and your God.”.  She does as instructed and the last words we ever hear from Mary Magdalene are, “I have seen the Lord.”

There’s something particularly right about Jesus making his first resurrection appearance to Mary Magdalene, an otherwise minor character in John’s gospel story.  And there’s significance in the act of His calling her by name, opening her eyes to his identity, and then sending her out to tell the others about His resurrection and ascension to heaven.

We tend to view the resurrection of Jesus as a singular, incredible event.  But it might be helpful if we also think of it as an on-going process. In other words, the resurrection of Jesus should engage us every day, not just on Easter.  Like Mary Magdalene, Jesus names each of us:  “He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out.”

The resurrection of Jesus is a matter of faith for us.  In our Nicene Creed we affirm that we believe it.  We don’t pretend to know how it happened or what form Jesus might have taken.  We believe that by his death and resurrection Jesus assured us of our own resurrection.  Whether our souls and bodies are reunited someday is really of no consequence. God will take care of the details.

What is important, especially on this Easter day, 2012, is that we mean it when we say that Christ has died, Christ has risen and Christ will come again.  We don’t know how or when that second coming will occur, but we’re called to live our lives so as to be ready to greet our Lord when he calls each of us by name.  Like Mary Magdalene, we will recognize the voice of one whom we love and who has set us free from our own demons.  We will join our voice with Mary Magdalene’s and cry out in joy, “Rabbouni!”

Let us pray:

Risen Lord, you first appeared to Mary Magdalene, the apostle to the apostles:  Help us to hear you when you call our names that we, too, may recognize you as our Savior and proclaim the good news of your resurrection throughout the world, to the honor and glory of your name. Amen. Alleluia.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

We’ve heard, once again, the Passion of our Lord Jesus Christ according to Mark.  It’s a story we’ve all heard many times and I don’t’ need to elaborate on it. Just let the words soak in and reflect on the events of that day when Jesus rode triumphantly into Jerusalem.  And ponder the dark turn of events as the joyful cries of the crowds turn to shouts of violence, clamoring for Jesus’ crucifixion.

I do want to say a bit about Holy Week, which we officially begin today.

Many years ago I was into long-distance running, especially the marathon—26.2 miles.  There’s a point in the marathon called “The Wall” and you will hit the wall when you’re at about the 20^th mile.  Your whole body feels depleted.  You’re exhausted and you want, more than anything else, to stop moving.  Yet, to finish, you have to press on for 6.2 miles and break through the wall.   If you keep going you find a new reserve of energy and strength and are then able to complete the marathon.

Sometimes Lent feels like a marathon to me.  We plod along steadily from Ash Wednesday and finally reach today, Palm Sunday.  This is where we might hit “the wall” in Holy Week.  We’re almost to the finish line—Easter Sunday—but we’re also depleted by the Lenten marathon we’ve been running for the past several weeks.  That is, if you’ve been participating in the Lenten Marathon.

Holy Week lies before us.  It’s not the time for us to quit the race. The marathon is not completed until we finish this last week in Lent before we cross the finish line into a joyous Easter celebration.

We have a full slate of sacred events here at St. Philip’s this week and I urge you to participate in them.  But that will require a determination and commitment on your part.

Tuesday night we go into the dark shadows in the service of Tenebrae.  In scripture and poetry we get a foreshadowing of the suffering Christ experienced.

Maundy Thursday we re-enact the servanthood of Jesus in the washing of feet—an act of humility for both the “washer” and the “washee”.  I’ve written a Lenten Reflection on this for the diocesan series and you can read it online at the diocesan website and on our own St. Philip’s website.  Last Maundy Thursday only 12 persons came to the church for this liturgy.  I hope we do better than that this year.

On Good Friday at noon we join others from area churches in Bear Canon Cemetery and walk the way of the cross, following the path of Jesus as he made his way to his crucifixion.  The Good Friday liturgy follows here in the church at 1 pm.

The Great Vigil of Easter is the first celebration of the Risen Christ at 7 pm on Holy Saturday.  We light the new fire of Easter and from those flames, light once again the Paschal candle.  We hear the ancient chant of the Exultet.  Then all the candles in the church are lighted, bells ring, and we proclaim together that Christ has risen.

Then of course, we have the traditional Easter Sunday mass at 8 pm, followed by a solemn Mass of the Resurrection at 10.

As we begin Holy Week you have choices to make.  Everyone has  busy schedules in their lives.   Jobs, family commitments, errands—much competes for our time and energy.  All of them make up “the Wall” of Holy Week.  We can make this a time of special commitment to our spiritual development or we can just watch and wait on the sidelines, passively watching the week pass by until Easter finally arrives.

This is the time for us to listen to God’s call and to remember the greatest gift ever given to us:  the Son of God—God Incarnate—who gave himself for us, a perfect sacrifice for the whole world.  That “still, small voice within” is God calling you to live into your faith.

Stay the course.  Finish the race.  Meet the Risen Christ waiting for you at the finish line.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.

St. Philips has  white church doors but our parish hall has a new red door symbolizing this tradition. In addition a parish hall sign was installed adjacent to the red door to identify the Parish Hall and to welcome the community to enter.

Ever since Tim Tebow was named the starting quarterback for the Broncos, the country has been caught up in “Tebowmania.”  He’s been the subject of a lot of comedians’ monologues, he’s been imitated, and he inspired the now-familiar pose called, “The Tebow”.

As you probably know if you watch any football at all, players often put eye black beneath their eyes.  Eye black is greasepaint that athletes smear under their eyes to reduce glare from the sun or stadium lights.  Anti-glare strips like black bandaids serve the same purpose.

In a collegiate game in 2009, Tebow  wrote “John” under his right eye and “3:16″ under his left eye on his anti-glare strips.  Seeing him on camera, you would see “John 3:16″ written across his eye black.

When Tebow wrote that scriptural reference on his eye black, within 24 hours, 90 million people did a Google search on “John 3:16.” In fact, for that 24 hour period, “John 3:16″ was Google’s highest-ranked search term.

The following year (2010), the NCAA created a new rule banning messages on eye black. The media dubbed it “The Tebow Rule” for obvious reasons.

The NFL already had that sort of rule in place when Tebow moved from college to pro football–so he can’t  wear messages on his eye black anymore. However, something interesting happened  when the Broncos beat the Pittsburgh Steelers in the playoffs:  In that game,  Tebow passed for 316 yards–and his passes averaged 31.6 yards per completion. Those 3′s and 16′s in Tebow’s yardage set commentators to commentating.   A lot of people were convinced that God was in the huddle in that game.

People respond  to Tim Tebow in different ways. Some are offended by his public display of his faith.  Some think it’s bad manners to inject religion into a secular game. Some wish that he would just play football and knock off the references to God in his post-game interviews.   Some think that Christians should be seen but not heard.  We have no shortage of invisible Christians.

John 3:16. It may be the most widely quoted verse in the Bible. In its entirety it reads:  “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.”

Let’s look at it more closely:

“For God so loved the world.” In the New Testament Greek the word for “world” is  kosmos– so that verse really says, “For God so loved the kosmos.”

In the Gospel of John, the word kosmos  doesn’t just mean “world” as in “the planet earth.” Kosmos  means “a world in opposition to God.”  When Jesus said, “For God so loved the kosmos,” he was saying that God loves even his enemies–even those who hate him–even those who oppose him at every step.

God sent his Son to die so that sinners might see the dying Christ and come to believe in the love of God.

It seems amazing that the cross would be such a powerful magnet, drawing people to the dying, risen Christ–but it is. The cross of Christ is so powerful. People all over the world kneel at the foot of the cross. People all over the world celebrate the risen Christ.

When you think about it then, it’s quite believable that the cross of Christ would make a difference in people’s lives! It’s even more believable, because we have seen it happen. We’ve seen lives changed. It happens every day.

Billions of people have been drawn to our dying and rising savior. They have come to believe not only that Christ died on the cross for them, but also that he rose from the grave to give them new life. Those people are no longer enemies of God, but are now disciples of Christ. John 3:16 promises that they will not perish, but will have eternal life.

But what does “eternal life” mean? It means more than living forever. In his prayer shortly before his death, Jesus defined eternal life for us. He said, “This is eternal life, that they (his disciples) may KNOW you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent” (John 17:3). In other words, for Jesus “eternal life” was life lived in the presence of God–both now and forever.

We can begin experiencing eternal life NOW. We ARE LIVING in the presence of God NOW.

Let’s think about what that means.  Years ago I was in Washington, DC on business.  I had some free time, so decided to take a tour of the White House.  When I got there a lot of people were waiting in line.  As I waited I began to fantasize that when I got to my turn to enter, someone would come out and say, “The President has decided to invite a few of you to have lunch with him and he would select me as one of the privileged group.  I imagined the President inviting us into his private dining room off the Oval Office and chatting with us over a delicious lunch.   That would be exciting–but it still falls short of being invited into God’s presence.

Or let’s imagine that you decided to visit London. You were standing outside Buckingham Palace when one of the guards said, “You have been chosen to have an audience with the queen. Please follow me.” You are ushered into the queen’s presence, and have a pleasant conversation. At the end, the queen says, “I’ve enjoyed your company so much. I’m going to set aside an apartment for you here at the palace. Feel free to stay here anytime you are in London. Better yet, just move in and we’ll take care of you. We want you to think of us as family.” That would be really cool–but it would still fall short of being invited into God’s presence.

Now let us consider what it means if we have eternal life–life lived in the presence of God.

* Eternal life–life lived in the presence of God–means that, at our baptism, we received the Holy Spirit–the Spirit of God–who lives in us. The Spirit of God is with us–living in us to guide us– to strengthen us–to help us.

* Eternal life–life lived in the presence of God– means that God has adopted us into his family. The Apostle Paul uses that word “adopted” a number of times. God has adopted us. We are his children. God has, so to speak, taken us in from the “mean streets” and has given us a place at his table.

* Eternal life–life lived in the presence of God– means that we will live forever in the presence of God. Jesus told us that, in the Father’s house, there are many dwelling places.   He said that he was going there to prepare a place for us–and that he would come again to take us there (John 14:1-4). That was his promise that the life we live here is just the beginning. Through Jesus’ death and resurrection, we too will live forever in the presence of God.

“For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son,
so that everyone who believes in him may not perish
but may have eternal life”–life lived in the presence of God.

That is not a fantasy about having lunch with the President or moving into Buckingham Palace.   That’s a real promise—from God– to each and every one of us and to all who believe in the Son of God.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.

About the time I was 12 years old my grandmother came to live with us.  My mother and father had divorced a year or so before, so my grandmother came to help care for my younger sister and me.

I think she was pretty shocked when she arrived.  My dad was a hard working man but he didn’t have time to do much work around the house.  If we’d had texting back then my grandmother probably would’ve texted, “OMG”!  She jumped right into getting things as clean and tidy as she had always kept her own home.

And that was the beginning of an annual event at our house:  Spring Cleaning.  Just as sure as the appearance of robins and the budding of shrubs and trees, you could count on getting the “Announcement” by my grandmother.  Without any warning she would proclaim at the dinner table, “This weekend we’re going to do spring cleaning.”  This did not make a lot of sense to me or my sister.  Grandma kept the house so clean all of the time that I wondered what we could possible find to clean up.  But she always found plenty for us to do.  Her favorite expression was, “We’ll make a clean sweep of it.”

As we turn to the gospel lesson this morning, I’d like for us to think of Jesus’ cleansing the temple as a form of spring cleaning; for, in cleansing the temple, Jesus purged the house of God of its corruption and disorder; he stood against the secular trappings which had crept into the worship practices of the people of his day in order to make the temple pure and holy once more.

Passover, you’ll remember, was one of the holiest feast days of the Jewish faith. It commemorated the night on which God sent the angel of death throughout Egypt, taking the life of every first-born male, but passing over the homes of the Israelites, on which the blood of the lamb was smeared on the door.

The angel PASSED OVER the homes of the Israelites and that’s how the feast day got its name. Tens of thousands of faithful pilgrims would flock to the temple from all over the Mediterranean to celebrate Passover, making their sacrifices to God and paying their half shekel temple tax.

Now, think about the logistics. It’s estimated that the population of Jerusalem would swell from 50,000 to 180,000 at Passover. Pilgrims would come from as far away as Persia, Syria, Egypt, Greece and Rome. For comparison, think about a stadium, filled with people for a Broncos football game, then double that number and hold on to the crowd for a week, instead of a day. That’s a lot of hungry mouths to feed; a lot of weary travelers to put up for the night. Plus, they’re coming to the temple to make a sacrifice. They’re going to need an unblemished animal for that. They’re also going to pay their temple tax. They’re going to have to exchange their currency. Get the picture? The commercial implications of Passover were enormous, perhaps comparable to the Christmas season in the United States today.

So, I think it’s safe to say the merchants were making a killing off the week of Passover, but were they really doing anything wrong? You could say that, by exchanging money and selling birds and animals for sacrifice, they were providing a service. Now, it’s true, in the synoptic gospels; i.e., Matthew, Mark and Luke, Jesus accuses the merchants of cheating the people. He says, “My house shall be called a house of prayer, but you are making it a den of robbers.” (Mt. 21:13)

Perhaps there was some price gouging going on, but this is not the focus of Jesus’ anger, according to John. As far as John is concerned, Jesus is upset because all this buying and selling has intruded upon the sacred space for worship. In John’s gospel, Jesus says, “Take these things out of here!  Stop making my Father’s house a marketplace (a house of commerce).”

The temple in Jesus’ day had become a marketplace, a bazaar. It had lost its sacred character. It was well attended, and it was a beehive of activity, but there wasn’t a lot of reverence and spirituality. And it wasn’t necessarily because the priests and the merchants were bad people; but because, perhaps unintentionally, they’d lost sight of the fact that it was, after all, holy ground on which they were standing.

So, Jesus took a whip and drove out the merchants and the sheep and the cattle and brought the activities of the temple to a screeching halt. As one of my beloved elders used to say, “He went from preaching to meddlin’!”

The temple leaders rightly asked, “What sign can you show us for doing this?” (2:18)  In other words, “By what authority have you come in here and disrupted the temple?” Jesus’ answer was hardly what they expected to hear. He said, “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.” 

This is John’s way of letting us know that the focus has now shifted from the temple to Jesus and to the prophecy of his death and resurrection. The point is, if the temple is truly the dwelling place of God, then the temple of God is no longer to be thought of as that physical structure in Jerusalem – or any other structure, for that matter – but the person of Jesus Christ.

And what this means for us this morning is that the temple of God today is to be found in the hearts and minds of those who honor Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior, wherever they may happen to be. This is what Paul told the Corinthians when he said,  “Do you not know that your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you …?

We are the temple of the living God in the world today. And this is where Jesus’ cleansing the temple hits home for us, as we consider the many ways we’ve become lax in our spiritual disciplines and soft in our resistance to evil thoughts and destructive behaviors and accommodating to the secular and, often, selfish values of the world in which we live.

We’re all prone to a little “backsliding” from time to time. It’s not as if we go off the deep end and forsake our Christian calling altogether. It’s just that we let little things slip into our everyday lives and take precedent over our commitment to Christ and his kingdom, until our relationship to Jesus Christ becomes secondary and nominal, at best.

It’s a gradual process, this turning the temple into a marketplace. Like the houses we live in – a little dust and dirt build up on the baseboards and in the hard-to-reach nooks and crannies of each room, lint balls accumulate under the beds, mildew forms in the shower stall and around the tub, coffee stains appear on the carpet, cobwebs hang from the ceiling – it all happens so slowly that we hardly notice, until, one day, like my grandmother  years ago, an alarm goes off, and we come to our senses, and we realize it’s time to do some spring cleaning and put our houses back in order.

And this is what I hope you’ll take home with you today: Lent is a time of introspection, of looking within and taking note of the various ways we’ve strayed from the righteousness of God. It’s a time for cleansing the temple and making our lives – mind, body and soul – worthy places for the Spirit of God to dwell.