Saturday, April 07, 2012

April 8, 2012

Today's text

Mark 16:1-8


When the Sabbath was over, Mary of Magdala, Mary the mother of James, and Salome, bought spices with which to go and anoint him. And very early in the morning on the first day of the week they went to the tomb when the sun had risen. They had been saying to one another, 'Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?' But when they looked they saw that the stone -- which was very big -- had already been rolled back. On entering the tomb they saw a young man in a white robe seated on the right-hand side, and they were struck with amazement. But he said to them, 'There is no need to be so amazed. You are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified: he has risen, he is not here. See, here is the place where they laid him. But you must go and tell his disciples and Peter, "He is going ahead of you to Galilee; that is where you will see him, just as he told you." ' And the women came out and ran away from the tomb because they were frightened out of their wits; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.

Reflection

There are some people you just love, and I love these people, these three, who walk to Jesus tomb.

I love them because they look so much like other faces I have known, faces I have known around the world; faces I’ve laughed and cried with, faces I have known and loved, right here … in this place.

I have seen these faces tracked with tears, faces that know the pains of living and loving and laying to rest someone they loved more than they thought.

The faces of the three who come to Jesus tomb are like this, and I love them for the love I see in them.

They come to the place of death to perform an act of love, to anoint their tortured, lifeless friend, Jesus, a final blessing for one who loved them completely, totally, despite their confusion, doubt, betrayal and failure to understand or be of much help to him.

I want the same thing for them that I want for every face I meet in the communion line each week. I want this same thing for every person I have seen standing at the foot of a grave, and for every soul who enters my office space bearing the wounds and weight life lays on human beings.

I want the stone that crushes them to be moved away. But who will roll away the stone?

Who will roll away the stone that weighs our souls and entombs our hearts? I need someone, something to roll away the stone that weighs me down, that entombs my heart.

For I am like you. I want to live.

II

So often, I don’t.

I am held down by the stone that traps me in my tomb. It is failure, failure to be the person I am, failure to share the love I feel, the goodness I know in myself and others. There is fear that life is passing me by, that I have failed to live because I have been too afraid … to share the love I feel from the living Christ, afraid of rejection or of being dismissed, devalued and unaccepted.

There are other stones that trap you in the place of death, where joy does not come.

Our stones are the weight of the past and the fear of the future, the wounds and regrets we bear that won’t let us go. Our stones are the pains of the present and anxieties about tomorrow that weigh so heavily we can’t breathe deeply and feel freedom and peace, confidence and joy.

You can name the stones that entomb you: Deaths you continue to grieve; disappointments, losses and failures that refuse to release their grip; fears about growing old and sick; heart wounds inflicted by those who may not have a clue that their words stick to us like glue. Our stones are the hard work of caring for loved ones and work that wears us down and erodes our joy; then there is the doubt that God is real or good, or that God will come to us when we hurt and need.

Who will roll away the stone? It’s the Easter question. Often, our most honest prayer is, “Good Lord, move that stone.”

III

Let me tell you why I am here, why I am a pastor and why I bother to struggle to talk about things I will never understand.

I have met a power that moves stones, a power that is not force but love. I have seen it, felt it and been set free by it.

I hunger for it because I need that love to come and release me from my tomb again and again lest my heart grow weary and joyless.

I find this love exactly where the messenger at the tomb says it will be found, in Galilee.

Don’t look for Jesus in a tomb, the messenger says, and don’t be so afraid and confused. There is no need. Go to Galilee. There you will see him, feel him, know him. There you will meet the Jesus who lives and moves stones away that you may live.

Galilee was home for Jesus’ friends, the place of their normal life and work. There they … you … will see him.

Open your eyes; open your heart that you may see him where he is … in the places you live.

He will meet you in a love that is new every morning, whispering in your soul that your hunger for the fullness of life and joy is not an illusion but the gift the risen Jesus will give you each day.

The love of God that filled Jesus is risen and released into creation. He flows into relationships and seeps into the structures and fabric of all reality. The love that he is labors in the depths of matter and in every circumstance of our lives.

We live in the environment of Jesus risen presence. The risen One surrounds us like an ocean of love and grace, working in hidden and unseen ways amid the daily and the drab, the demands and destruction.

He is there in seemingly forsaken moments of pain and loss when we don’t see or feel him, when all we have is the promise that sooner or later we will see and know him again in our Galilee.

He will meet us, sometimes when we least expect.

But we will know him … because our hearts will be lifted by love and the stones that hold us down will be rolled away … and we will know what it is to feel alive and free.

I meet my risen Lord in the words, the tears, the blessing, the hope I see in you.

For you, the people of this congregation, are my Galilee, the place of common life where I have been told to go looking for Jesus.

If you want to see Jesus, don’t run away and pretend you can be Christian all by yourself. Hang out with people who love him, who want to feel him, who are moved by the great love that is in him.

Listen to them, pray with them, play with them, drink and laugh with them, share your hopes and hurts with them. Sooner or later you will look into their eyes and see the Love that made the stars staring back at you.

You will know the Love that kills death and moves stones from heavy hearts.

And you will know that Jesus is risen … and is out there ahead of you ... in Galilee.

Pr. David L. Miller

Thursday, April 05, 2012

Thursday, April 5, 2012

Today’s text

Mark 16:1-8


When the Sabbath was over, Mary of Magdala, Mary the mother of James, and Salome, bought spices with which to go and anoint him. And very early in the morning on the first day of the week they went to the tomb when the sun had risen. They had been saying to one another, 'Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?' But when they looked they saw that the stone -- which was very big -- had already been rolled back. On entering the tomb they saw a young man in a white robe seated on the right-hand side, and they were struck with amazement. But he said to them, 'There is no need to be so amazed. You are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified: he has risen, he is not here. See, here is the place where they laid him. But you must go and tell his disciples and Peter, "He is going ahead of you to Galilee; that is where you will see him, just as he told you." ' And the women came out and ran away from the tomb because they were frightened out of their wits; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.

Reflection

When is an ending not an ending? When it is the beginning. This is a beginning, an invitation to forever.

You do not appear in this story Jesus. You are missing in action. The Resurrection story is all about you, but you are not there.

The story ends with fearful people, who don’t know what is happening, being told to go find you, go where you may be found and known. Galilee is the name of the place.

It is the place where they began, where they first met you. You live there, and there they will know who you are, risen and alive, your risen nearness loving them and moving stones away from their lives that they, too, may live.

I want to live. I want the stone rolled away, the stone that holds me down, entombing my heart.

It’s name is failure, failure to be the soul you made me to be, failure to share the beauty, love and life that I can be at my very best but so seldom am, failure to connect with other hearts so that the goodness in them communes with the goodness in me, failure to find acceptance and connection with human hearts.

That’s my stone, and sometimes it is so heavy I can barely think and sleep flees.

There are other stones that trap human souls in the place of death, where joy does not come. Name your own. I need not try. You know them.

Our stones are the weight of the past and the fear of the future, the wounds and regrets we bear from long ago and that won’t let us go that we can breathe and feel freedom and peace, confidence and joy. They are the anxieties about the future that prevent us from living fully in the present moment.

Who will roll away the stone? What will roll away the stone? Only you, Lord, only the love that cannot be help captive, the love that is stronger than death.

And where do we find that? Only where you are, only where you live. And where is that? Galilee.

The messengers of the Resurrection send the fearful and trembling, the curious and the confused friends of Jesus back to Galilee, to the places where they were born, where they worked and sweated, lived and loved, fought and struggled to know joy.

There, in that common place, you live, Jesus. There, we know you as Lord of life whose love comes to us and removes the stones that entomb our hearts, there we meet you in the power and presence of a risen love that is new every morning and seeks us, whispering in our enslaved souls that our hunger for freedom, for the fullness of life and joy is not an illusion, not a fantasy but is the gift the risen Lord will give us … if we will go where he is, where he lives.

Go to Galilee, the places of our common lives. He lives there. You will see him.

The women flee the tomb and went to Jesus’ friends. They tell what they have seen. Then, the group goes into Galilee with eyes open and aching to see and be touched by a love that won’t quit, a love that moves stones away from human hearts and situations.

They go to meet Jesus. So must we, if we are to know the Resurrection of the One our hearts most need.

So keep your eyes open and your heart, too. For it is the heart that sees him. It is the heart’s hunger that pushes us to see Jesus living in the love that lifts human souls. It is the heart that keeps hoping and praying.

It is the heart that recognizes Jesus each time we feel the weight of stones being lifted from our heart, every time we feel ourselves being saved from sadness and brought to joy--such saving moments happen in the Galilees of our lives because Jesus is risen.

The end of the story is only the beginning of knowing and seeing him, forever.

He is Lord, and the love that is in him will fill you and all that is.

Pr. David L. Miller

Wednesday, April 04, 2012

Wednesday, April 4, 2012

Today’s text

Mark 16:1-4


When the Sabbath was over, Mary of Magdala, Mary the mother of James, and Salome, bought spices with which to go and anoint him. And very early in the morning on the first day of the week they went to the tomb when the sun had risen. They had been saying to one another, 'Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?' But when they looked they saw that the stone -- which was very big -- had already been rolled back.

Reflection

And then what? What do you do when the stone has been rolled away?

I imagine the women were afraid and approached with great caution. They immediately knew something was amiss. Stones don’t move themselves. Were powerful people nearby? Is it safe? Should we return home and bring reinforcements for protection?

With quiet, hesitant steps they approach the tomb. Fear has replaced their grief and love. They do not know what has happened, what is going on.

Truer words cannot be spoken. They do not know, and it is a fearful thing. The power of God has touched this place and reordered the world.

They understood the world they had inhabited. The dead are dead, and large rocks don’t get up and get out of your way. Love brings grief, and obstacles in one’s path must be overcome, overpowered, or you just have to live with them.

That’s life. The way things are.

But the stone had been moved out of the way; the obstacle to their mission removed, and the world as they knew it was changed.

A new world had dawned. Oh, it was the same old world with grief and pain, longing and loss, a world with such exquisite beauty it makes you weep for joy at the wonder of being a human soul, only to cut you to the quick within a moment.

All this remained, but the rules had changed. Death was no longer the end. The heavy stones that crush life and get in the way of living had been rolled away by a power human minds cannot grasp, a power that is much love as force.

The women did not grasp this for a long time, if they ever fully did. Maybe no one ever does in this life.

They were afraid. The order of existence had been changed, and it was not clear what had come or what was happening.

The question for them, for all, is whether they were willing to walk into that future, walk into the empty tomb and beyond it to see what the love of a death killing God might do … with them.

They did, and because they did the flame of an eternal, deathless love burns … in me.

Pr. David L. Miller

Tuesday, April 03, 2012

Tuesday, April 3, 2012

Today’s text

Mark 16:1-3


When the Sabbath was over, Mary of Magdala, Mary the mother of James, and Salome, bought spices with which to go and anoint him. And very early in the morning on the first day of the week they went to the tomb when the sun had risen. They had been saying to one another, 'Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?'

Reflection

Who will move the stone? This is the most human question of all and the most understandable.

What is less understandable is why the women would set out on their mission of final mercies without knowing how they could get to Jesus body. But they didn’t let that stop them, which makes them a little unusual.

It’s a wonder their question didn’t stop them in their tracks. Who will roll away the stone?

It is profoundly human to see what is wrong, to focus on the threat, the problem, the negativity--and to stop cold until a solution to the problem appears.

But they didn’t stop. They continued on. I have no idea what they expected to find or whether they believed they would arrive at the tomb and be blocked from their mission by the weight of the stone.

I can’t know their thoughts. I doubt that they believed there would be some miracle to remove the obstacle from their path. I suspect sadness filled their hearts more than any vain hope.

All I have is this verbal picture of them as they move slowly on, their hearts broken as they try to perform a final act of mercy for a brutalized, lifeless friend.

But I feel the invitation of Resurrection in their actions.

The invitation is to trust and continue, to go on, to do the deeds of mercy, recognizing that, like them, I do not know what is to come. I have no idea what wonder might appear. I can’t know what God has up his sleeve.

The Resurrection invites me to do what I can, leaving to God what I cannot do, trusting that divine power and mercy can and will do more than I imagine.

But like the women, I will never see it, never feel it, never enter the wonder of a love that cannot be stopped unless I continue forward even when great obstacles seem insurmountable.

Life holds many heavy stones. Don’t let them stop you. Continue on. You know who will move them.

Pr. David L. Miller

Monday, April 02, 2012

Monday, April 2, 2012

Today’s text

Mark 16:1


When the Sabbath was over, Mary of Magdala, Mary the mother of James, and Salome, bought spices with which to go and anoint him.

Reflection

Yes, I know; I am getting ahead of the story. Holy Week dawns with the awareness of the brutality to come.

Betrayal by friends, fear of suffering, whippings, beatings, the grotesque torture of crucifixion--the events of Jesus last week are well known. The great liturgies of the church year reflect on each one, lest we miss we what we might see and feel as we listen and watch the face of Jesus.

Each scene tells us something about ourselves, about the nature of life in this world and about the heart of God that was in Jesus.

Each one makes me squirm, as I see human treachery and weakness revealed in how he was betrayed and denied by friends--and by enemies who expediently denied their highest principles to get rid of him.

I see his struggle to pray and enter that quiet space in his soul where the Father’s loving presence filled him, only to fail to find what he needed.

I see him whipped and suffering, bleeding and screaming as nails rip his flesh. I see him lift himself on the nails, excruciating pain tears soul and body as he struggles for breath.

I see, and I want to hurry to the end. The images are too raw, the suffering too real in a world where brutalities of one sort or another continue to be wreaked upon human flesh by callous souls for whom compassion is a stranger.

I want to hurry to the place of quiet, the silence of death, where Jesus is free of torture and pain, where the gentle hands of those who loved him carry spices to anoint his limp body and lay him finally to rest.

I want to move past the brutality to the compassion of human hearts whose grace and beauty were awakened in his presence.

I am among them. I am them. These are my brothers and my sisters, the souls of hope who came alive in his presence, whose hearts took wing in his nearness, whose beauty shined in the presence of the eternal beauty that filled him.

Tears flow as I see them walking toward the tomb of Jesus. But my tears are not only of grief but of love and hope. Even amid his death, they are alive. Their hearts continue to beat.

I do not speak of their biological life, but of the inner life of love that is the Spirit of God. They are alive, and the Love that is the substance of the invisible and unimaginable God is the beating of their hearts, the breath of their lives.

You, Jesus have already given them resurrection. The love that is stronger than death is in them. It brings them to the place of death in order to love, to love you, and for this I love them so greatly, yes, for this I love you beyond any measure.

For you are the Love that does not die in this heart of mine nor in the hearts of those who love you.

I see them, Jesus, they go to the tomb. You were not there. You were already alive in them, and soon they would see you, even as I do now.

Pr. David L. Miller