Saul/Paul and the Scandal of the Particular

Acts 9:1-19

            I was going one way… and then one day I went another—it feels like the start to so many good stories. The villain turned hero—the nobody made extraordinary—it’s all so familiar, but would we accept it if it were part of our story? Would we accept Saul as Paul?

            Saul was breathing death against the early followers of Jesus. There’s this great choral piece by Z. Randall Stroope called The Conversion of Saul that begins with a minute-and-a-half of Latin cursing: Caedite, Vexate, Ligate Vinculis—Kill, Molest, Bind With Chains. When we talk about the story of Paul we have to begin with the story of Saul, and this story is a tougher one than we often give it credit, because would you accept Saul as Paul if he killed your son or daughter—if he was the one responsible for the death of somebody you love?

            This is one side of the “Scandal of the Particular” (a phrase of Walter Breuggemann). Most of us love the Saul-turned-Paul story in principle—in theory—but put yourself in the particular shoes and if it’s your loved one who met their demise at the hands of this man you might feel differently. Then, apply this to everything that happens in this life: If somebody you love is murdered it doesn’t matter that most people aren’t murdered; if somebody you love dies in war it doesn’t matter that most people don’t die in wars; or in a traffic accident; or in a natural disaster; or because of disease; or if you are born with a disability; or any of the multitude things that most people do not face.

            Statistics are not a comfort when bad things happen and neither are they an assurance that we are safe, and yet, on the other hand, the scandal of the particular is that we are met precisely in the midst of those moments where despair creeps in by a God who promises to be in the midst of suffering and death and loss and pain and grief because he went there first. The scandal of the particular elevates Saul to Paul in spite of our views of what is just, because the justice of God has a longer view of the universe than our own.

Holding one another fast

John 20:19-31

Hidden amidst the story of so-called “Doubting” Thomas is a verse that is of profound importance to what we do as the church. You might have missed it, focused as we are in Thomas in this story, but when Jesus first appears to the disciples (minus Thomas) he says, “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.” This is what Martin Luther called “The Office of the Keys” and it is the special authority Jesus gives to his church—to forgive and, apparently, to refrain from forgiveness. And if forgiveness of sins is a significant part of our salvation then this is no small thing; in fact, it may be one of the most important things Jesus tells us to do.

            The first amazing thing here is that Jesus gives God’s people, the church, the power to forgive sins. For better or worse, Jesus allows forgiveness to come through sinners, such as us. This means that the capacity to forgive sins is not dependent on how holy you are or I am—and thank God for that!—because all of us need grace. So, already, Jesus, having died and been raised, has endeavored to pass on the faith to imperfect people such as us. This is both radical and, we might assume, potentially foolish.

If that isn’t enough, there comes a second part of the verse that is much trickier than the first. Jesus says, “If you retain the sins of any they are retained.” Now I don’t know about you, but to me this is cause for some concern. If sins can be retained—if forgiveness has to do with how proficient we are at offering it; then it feels like it will always be imperfect and limited. We need forgiveness that is perfect and can overcome all the dumb things we do. This second half of the verse scares the daylights out of me.

Easter Sunday: Resurrection and the Tree of Life

John 20:1-18

            This year I’ve focused on the three trees through the triduum—Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter Sunday. I’m going to go out on a limb and guess not all of you made it to Maundy Thursday and Good Friday, so for a quick recap there is the Tree of Knowledge, whose fruit Adam and Eve ate in the Garden of Eden. That tree invited sin into the world because we began to imagine that we are like God. So, we needed a second tree, the tree of the cross, which is the tree that stands tall on Good Friday—the tree on which Jesus died. It is the tree that bridges our pursuit of sin and death and sends Jesus through death on our behalf. The cross stands in-between this life and the next.

            Then there is today. No tree, you might think—not in the Easter story—except there is a garden and, in the end, this is taking us inexorably toward the third tree, which is the tree that has been there since the beginning. In the book of Revelation, the 22^nd chapter, it says, “Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb through the middle of the street of the city. On either side of the river is the tree of life with its twelve kinds of fruit, producing its fruit each month; and the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations.”

            In the end, we have the tree of life. You don’t see the cross there because the cross has done its job. You don’t see the tree of knowledge there because knowledge is no longer necessary. In the presence of God we will know all we need. The tree of life is the end of the story because it encompasses all that is leading up to it. The trees are a progression and they offer a promise of returning to what was once created good and holy before sin entered this picture.

Good Friday: The Tree of the Cross

John 19:31-42

            This year I’m preaching on the three trees through the triduum of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter Sunday. Last night was about the tree of knowledge, tonight is naturally on the cross, and Easter Sunday is on the tree of life. However, tonight could also be about three trees in a different light—the three crosses. In the Gospel of Luke Jesus has a conversation with the criminals who are hanging on the cross on either side of him. Three crosses: In the middle you have the son of God, through him we have eternal life and on one side you have a criminal who mocks Jesus for not saving them. He is one who has lived his life assuming that the things of this world are what there is. In a way he is the tree of knowledge personified. On the other side, you have a criminal who begs for mercy, saying, “Jesus remember me when you come into your kingdom.” Jesus’ response: “Today you will be with me in Paradise” hints that these trees are not all there is. Between both stands the cross that bore Jesus. The more I think about it; I don’t think any of this is accidental.

            John’s Gospel—the one we read tonight—goes so far out of its way to demonstrate that all of this is planned, orchestrated, and necessary; that Jesus walked this road willingly because we could not. The cross is needed to bridge the criminal on the left and the criminal on the right. They’re all guilty—that’s not the question!—it’s whether anything can save us, all of us, who are guilty. The cross is the tree that bridges the divide between what we are and what we can be once more.

            From the moment we tasted the fruit of the tree of knowledge we have sought to become like God. We have set our stock on that tree, and that tree has given us so many little nuggets to keep us happy; it’s taught us how the world works, how to accumulate things, how to make friends. It’s given us just enough of a taste to keep us coming back. It is our drug, our addiction. Our desire—above all other desires—is to be like God.

Maundy Thursday: The Tree of Knowledge

John 19:23-30

            Over this Holy Week I am going to spend some time on the three trees that encompass three central facets in the history of the faith: The tree of knowledge, the tree of the cross, and the tree of life. Tomorrow I’m going to focus on the tree of the cross, as Good Friday begs; and on Easter I’m going to talk on the tree of life alongside the resurrection promise; so today, though it’s not so much in the scripture reading, I am going to talk on the tree of knowledge.

            In Genesis 2 it says, “The Lord God took the man and put him in the garden of Eden to till it and keep it. And the Lord God commanded the man, ‘You may freely eat of every tree of the garden; but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall die’” (Genesis 2:15-17).

            Adam and Eve had one rule—just do not eat from this tree!—but as all of us who are parents know if the kids only have one rule you can be assured that that rule will absolutely, certainly, most definitely be broken. So a serpent comes along and tells Adam and Eve, “If you eat from this tree you will not die, that’s just God playing tricks on you. No, the reason God does not want you to eat from this tree is because if you eat from the tree you will be like God, knowing everything” (Genesis 3:4-5 paraphrased).

            Well, that’s tempting. So, they eat the fruit, they learn some new things—for example, they understand they are naked—and suddenly they are thrust out into the world to fend for themselves. In short, they get exactly what they wanted: They get to experience things as they truly are East of Eden. Worst of all, they are promised death—something they couldn’t have really even understood before then. You mean, now there will be this transition? Now, our lives down here will… end? What does that even mean?

            The moment that transition—from life to death—came into the picture a million other questions popped up—Is there something after life? What will it take to fix this? Is the transition painful? Adam and Eve got what they were looking for, but it didn’t satisfy. Their newfound freedom to do whatever they pleased was met by a sour recognition that knowing things does not save you.

Not how Jesus comes in but the way he goes out

John 19:1-16

One more week of Pilate and politics. Are you sick of it yet? I know I am. It’s like we need something different—a break in the usual routine. It’s like we need a week that is holy; a chance to start over.

Unfortunately for me who wants to jump ahead to Easter already, the Palm Sunday story is extremely political. In the Gospel of John it is yet another cautionary tale about allying your faith with the empire and of seeking the king you want rather than the king you need. It’s a reminder that when you do this you end up saying, “You know what, empire, perhaps that sign shouldn’t say “The King of the Jews,” but instead it should say, “This man said, I am King of the Jews.” You find yourself in the uncomfortable position where a man who you just treated as the your king is crucified on a hill. Talk about poor marketing for the faith! This is not a great advertisement for the Jewish people.

            The empire wins at this game every time. Pilate won. Pilate got everything he wanted and more. He got the very people who were shouting “Hosanna!” to turn around and crucify their king. Chalk one up for the empire. Do not sell your soul to the principalities and powers, because those powers always win.

Jesus before Pilate: Politics vs faith

John 19:1-6

            The trial of Jesus before Pilate is not at all as it seems.

            There are several things going on underneath the surface here. First is the Gospel of John’s treatment of “the Jews.” It’s generally accepted that the Gospel of John emerges from a time and place where Christians were oppressed by Jewish authorities. This Gospel, having been written at least forty years and maybe as much as seventy years or more after Jesus’ death paints a picture of “the Jews” as enemies of Jesus. This has been a convenient portrayal for many people throughout history who would like a scapegoat for the crucifixion—of course, nowhere was the Gospel of John more misused than under the Third Reich, as justification for the Holocaust. So, first we have to understand what John means by “the Jews” and what to do with that. Second, we need to understand this figure of Pontius Pilate. What is he up to? What are his motivations? And finally, what does the trial of Jesus show us that’s relevant in our lives? Or is this just history irrelevant to the present?