Saying nothing in the face of resurrection

Mark 16:1-8

            On Thursday of this week, as we recalled the Last Supper and the Garden of Gethsemane, I focused my message on Jesus praying for God to remove this cup of suffering from his lips, “Yet, not what I want, but what you want.” Then on Friday, as we meditated on the crucifixion, Jesus’ death at the hands of all of us, I focused my message on Jesus’ final words on the cross, quoting Psalm 22, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Well, today I am going to focus on Jesus’ words following the resurrection, which, according to the Gospel of Mark are:

…

…

…

Nothing, actually.

            In Mark’s Gospel not only do we not see Jesus raised from the dead; we also have this unexpected, Christopher Nolan-esque finale, where the disciples have the following reaction to the resurrection: Chapter 16, verse 8, “So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.”

            End of Gospel.

            It’s like that spinning top at the end of Inception where the scene cuts out just as we are about to find out if he is dreaming or not, leaving us all asking, “Wait, what the heck did I just see?” That’s what happens on Easter morning according to the Gospel of Mark, and that, again according to Mark, is the end of the story. A giant cliffhanger.

            For those of you who haven’t been with us since Christmas, and for those who maybe haven’t been paying too close of attention as we’ve read through Mark’s Gospel each Sunday, there is a repeated theme in the Gospel of Mark, which is Jesus telling his disciples to be quiet and not to tell anybody about him. No matter how often he heals people, even when he raises Lazarus from the dead, even when he does things that are impossible for human beings, he orders them clearly: Do not say anything to anybody.

            And he does this in order that they might wait on the big miracle that’s coming. Everything is directed to the cross. Every little bit of the action is heading toward the cross and the empty tomb. But, if you know a little of the story, you probably know that the disciples never listen to Jesus when he tells them to be quiet. They are always disobeying his orders and telling everybody about what he has done. And it’s the same with all the people that Jesus heals. He sternly orders them: Don’t say anything to anybody! And what do they do? They go off telling the world what Jesus has done! Of course. Who wouldn’t share about the man who cured them of incurable disease? Today you’d make a movie about it and people would go see it because they love this healing stuff. They know someone, or they themselves have been faced with a disease, and they need to know they have a healing God. I get it. Jesus did, too, and yet he told them again and again: Do not say anything to anybody. And they never listened.

Doubt and the Cross

Mark 15:16-39

            Last night we encountered what true humanity looks like. It looks like Jesus praying to God to remove from his lips the cup of suffering; it looks like vulnerability, humility, and grace. It looks not like strength as we so often imagine it, but instead it looks like the power of giving up power—a power that does not seem at first like it is power at all.

            Now, today, we encounter what happens when a person is fully human: He gets crucified. On the cross Jesus shows that greatness looks like failure. It is shouting to the heavens, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” It’s all the things that make us question God in similar words. “Is your God in Belgium?” an atheist asks mockingly on Facebook. Is our God with victims of genocide? Is our God in the streets of Chicago riddled with gun violence? Is our God with car crash victims whose only fault was an icy road or a drunk driver? Is our God with those who have cancer… a miscarriage… Alzheimer’s? Is our God anywhere at all?

            Today is the day that can either confirm those assumptions or challenge them, because this Good Friday is about the God who meets us first and foremost not in life’s victories but in life’s crushing defeats. This is the God of the cross. It’s not a very attractive God on the surface, but it’s the only one who really stands up to criticism because it’s the only one real enough to meet us in despair—where we truly need it. This is the God who points to death and says, “I’ve been there.” I’ve been there. This God is found in our failures far more surely than in our victories, because it is there that we discover our utter dependence. This is the God, who we know in Jesus Christ, who shouts from upon the cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

Not what I want, but what you want

Mark 14:22-42

“Abba, Father, for you all things are possible; remove this cup from me; yet, not what I want, but what you want.”

I’ve always found that single verse to be one of the most astounding insights into who Jesus was as Son of God, Savior, and, yet, still human being.

Jesus goes off to pray while the disciples stay in the garden and nod off contrary to his wishes, and the one remnant of Jesus’ prayer that we have is this line. “Abba, Father, for you all things are possible; remove this cup from me; yet, not what I want, but what you want.”

For the better part of his ministry Jesus has been forthright and focused on the idea that the Son of Man must die and then he will be raised again. In Mark’s Gospel this has been the entire point of the story. It’s been why he’s told people to be quiet about the healings and even when he raised Lazarus from the dead. It’s why he’s consistently battered the disciples for their ignorance of what was to come. He has had one direction and it has been toward the cross, like a freight train with one set of tracks. And yet, here on the precipice of the crucifixion, what does he pray but “remove this cup from me?” Take it away, God, if at all possible.

I believe this is a seminal moment in the history of what it means to be human.

Jesus is showing us what humanity can be through his vulnerability. The Son of God is vulnerable. But, contrary to how we imagine vulnerability, it is precisely that vulnerability that is his strength.

To stand against the mob

Mark 11:1-11

This is a tough time of the year to preach for a couple of reasons. 1) The stories are so familiar. Who doesn’t know the story of Jesus entering Jerusalem with people waving their palm branches? Then, 2) This time of the year, more than any other, requires the whole story. This is why many churches have gone away from Palm Sunday and instead focused on the entirety of the passion on this Sunday before Easter. The church is reacting to people who don’t show up at Maundy Thursday or Good Friday services, as well as churches that do not have Easter Vigil services. The church is recognizing that people need the whole story. If you come to worship on Palm Sunday and then skip ahead to Easter you’ve missed the stuff with weight. You’ve missed some of the stuff that really matters. So you’ve likely missed the point.

            But, of course, we know it’s worse than that. There are a ton of people who not only miss Maundy Thursday and Good Friday; they also miss every other Sunday between Christmas and Easter. These folks not only miss the hard stuff of Holy Week; they also miss the reflection and penitence of Lent and the normal rhythm of Sunday worship. But, at least these folks are here on Easter Sunday. There’s a whole other group who don’t even make that much effort. For them, even the ritual of Easter is passé. So, not only have they missed the build-up—the part that convicts us and the part that causes us to reflect—but they’ve also chosen that the meat itself doesn’t matter either.

            So, here I am, reflecting on what to say to everybody in their various places across that spectrum over the course of the next week, and I’m realizing that it cannot be done apart from the whole picture, because you cannot understand Palm Sunday unless you understand that the very same people waving palm branches one Sunday are the ones shouting “Crucify!” five days later. You can’t get that if you are only in the Easter crowd, and there’s a tendency among we-human-beings to just be part of the Easter crowd, to disappear when things are challenging, to stick to Palm Sunday and then to reappear for Easter. That’s what most people do.

            Don’t be most people.

The end of the world isn't just coming; it's here.

Mark 13:1-8, 24-37

We are obsessed with the end of the world. Obsessed. Keep Awake, says Jesus. Not a problem, say the many Americans in their bunkers, readying for the apocalypse. Hoarding their rations. Just in case. Didn’t we just read something against that last week? Giving away everything… how that’s God’s will for us? This is a perfect illustration of how you can use and misuse the Bible to justify just about whatever you want. One moment give it all away; the next store up, be ready for the end. If you’re obsessed with the end of the world that’s all you’re going to hear in today’s scripture, and no matter what it actually says about the end of the world you will probably imagine it how you already imagine it. There’s a reason that pastors who preach on this stuff every week make the big bucks: People eat this up! Start preaching on the end of the world and people will come in droves. Add in zombies and you’ll really hit it out of the park. That’s the key to revitalization for our denomination. The first Lutheran Church of Zombies.

Or maybe not.

Jesus says, “Watch” and “Stay Awake.” Instead, we obsess. When’s the world going to end? How’s it going to happen? When’s Jesus returning? I bet there are secret signs and symbols that, if we just decode them, will let us in on the secret. If we can just figure out the right code, then we’ll know exactly how it’s all going to go down. This, in short, is how to write a bestselling novel and how to become famous. Just make junk up about how signs and symbols connect and point to the end of the world. Do this and people will hand you their money. Never mind that in the same breath that Jesus tells us to “Keep awake!” he also explains that we will not know the time when he will come again.

We. Won’t. Know. Period.

But from there it gets stranger, because Jesus also gives another promise: He says that this generation will not pass away until all these things have taken place.

The widow shows the way

Mark 12:28-44

Love God. Love people. This is the heart of what God would have for you.

But how do we love the God whom we do not see? Well, God has made it easy for us. He shows us himself in the needy around us. He shows up with those who have little.

The widow shows the way.

It’s no secret that people who have more give proportionally less away. And the opposite is also true: The less you have the more it seems a person is willing to give. This doesn’t make a whole lot of sense on the surface. I mean, if you have less you value what you have more—this much is almost certainly true—but why then does a person who has less also tend to give away more? Shouldn’t valuing a thing lead to holding it more tightly? And same for the wealthy person. Shouldn’t their wealth make their money less valuable to them? Shouldn’t they, of all people, understand the freedom of giving away?

The widow shows the way.

There’s another story in the Bible about a widow giving away all she has. It happens in 1 Kings when Elijah, the prophet, is sent by God to a widow in Zarephath because she would provide for him, but upon reaching her she informs him that she was just about to feed her last bread to her son and then their big plans for the day consisted of laying down and dying. Elijah, being the model of compassion that he was, immediately told her he would help find her some food and bring help her out of her condition. Wait, no. That’s not what Elijah did. The story goes that, after hearing her sob story, Elijah reiterated, “Give me the bread, first of all.”

What’s going on here?

Why does God command poor folks to give their last morsels of food? Why does he praise the widow for tithing herself beyond poverty?

Maybe because he knows what comes next.

Scarcity, Abundance, and the the Broken Pieces

Men's Lenten Breakfast 2016
John 6:5-14

            You can only make everybody happy if you’re Jesus. We are scarcity people, by which I mean we are people worried about what might come who store up what they already have. Some of this comes from being part of an agricultural community who is very much aware our dependence on the weather and various things outside of our control. Some of it is fiscal conservatism. Some of it is that ol’ Scandinavian tendency to put something away for a rainy day.

            Whatever it is, my great uncle Walt had it in spades. My great-uncle Walt spent his life farming the same plot of land near Blacktail Dam, north of Williston, North Dakota, up until his death at 95 years old around a decade ago. When he died, his family (meaning our extended family) discovered he had an account in a Williston bank with six figures just sitting in a checking account from which it appeared he never made a withdrawal. And no, for those of you who just got the brilliant idea that this pastor doesn’t need to be paid quite so much, no, I didn’t see any of that money, though my mom did, split about forty ways.

            There is something about my great-uncle Walt that is symbolic for me of a life of scarcity. Here was a man who spent his childhood in the dust bowl, who knew real poverty, who valued money so much that he never spent it, and here he was at the end of his life, in completely different circumstances, keeping the exact same philosophy even to his death. There’s something noble about that. There’s also something foolish about that. Maybe both in equal measure.

            When Jesus is presented with a moment of scarcity.—look, Jesus, we only have five barley loaves and two fish!—he turns scarcity into abundance. What they expected: To be out of food, to struggle to make people happy, to have a bunch of grouchy people stranded on a hillside, ended up being the very stage needed for Jesus to demonstrate what the kingdom of God looks like. It looks like abundance.

            You know scarcity well in this community. For this month’s newsletter article here at Grace I spent some time researching worship attendance numbers for the hey-days of the 1960s, because I always hear about how many people there were, how full it was, how much more was happening, etc. etc. So, I looked it up, and the average worship attendance here at Grace peaked in 1965. Every Sunday. That’s a little more than four times what we have today. There are reasons for this that you all know. Some of it is less people living in the area. Much of it is also that religion is no longer the center of our community, as it once was, so there are fewer people going to church generally. All of this leads to a feeling of scarcity and fear and tightening the belt, and putting aside more and more for a rainy day, because things today feel worse than they were once upon a time—and it’s only getting sparser and sparser.

            It is to places like these that Jesus appears. In fact, I’m going to suggest something that isn’t really radical but it might sound that way. Our problem is not that we don’t have enough people or time or resources or money. Our problem is that we still have too much. A few loaves and fish? Jesus can work with that. God is always working with very little. It’s those that have much—and have much stored up—that Jesus passes by. Why do those who have much need a Savior?

            But, actually, it doesn’t stop there. You see, after miraculously feeding the five thousand Jesus gives a command that is easy to overlook. He tells the disciples, “Gather up the fragments left over, so that nothing may be lost.” This is scarcity and abundance wrapped up in one small action. Jesus is telling us to trust in the absence of what we need, but he is also telling us to value every little fragment that we have. He’s telling us that all that little stuff matters because God does something with little things, with little people even. God doesn’t discard the remnants; he values them above and beyond the really good looking, new stuff.

            God can do something with the broken pieces. We see death, God sees new life. We see decline, God sees opportunity. We are people broken and given to the tendency to store away just in case, but Jesus shows us how patently unnecessary it is, because even our brokenness is of use in the kingdom of God. Every little thing, and nothing, is something that God can and will use.

            Every bit of you—the parts you like, the parts you don’t—and everything you have. That’s what God will use.