Scriptural Sermons

I attended a funeral recently. It was for my high school math teacher. He was one great guy. Everyone loved him. He taught math at my high school for forty years, and he also coached wrestling. By the time he retired, he had become something of a legend in his own time. The funeral was upbeat, not like so many funerals that are so very sad. He lived a full and long life, and we gathered to celebrate that. But for one man – a classmate of mine who wrestled for him. He was absolutely devastated. I approached him in the parking lot after the funeral and asked if he was okay. He broke down. “That man was everything to me,” he said. “I was O.K. so long as he was in the world.” Then he shared his story. His mother died when he was very young. His father was a physically and emotionally abusive alcoholic. By the time he was in high school, he was far down a bad road. He hadn’t the support to do well at school, so he didn’t. He was very angry, so he was a behavior problem. The only friends he could make were kids like himself, so he hung out with a tough crowd. And he had begun to dabble in drugs. He was pretty much a lost cause at the age of sixteen. Enter my math teacher. He approached him one day out of the blue and told him he could tell by his gait that he was born to wrestle. This could only have been a ruse to intervene. Even I, who knows nothing about wrestling, am suspicious that you can identify one born to wrestle by his gait. At any rate, the ruse worked. He intervened. And he made him into a great wrestler. On top of that, he made him into a great young man. His advice, understanding, and support were unwavering. He helped him to deal with his past in such a way that it didn’t destroy him. He filled his present with new found responsibility, purpose, structure, and discipline. And he paved his way to a future. After graduation he went to college on a wrestling scholarship and eventually became a doctor. “I feel so lost,” he concluded his story. “What am I going to do now?” While he was sharing his story, I could not help but think how hard life can be. We here are generally prosperous and privileged, so we can afford to put up a front. But behind that front life can be hard. Because it’s out there -- loss, abuse, addiction, and a host of other afflictions. It’s enough to make you lose your way. And as I said, we here are generally prosperous and privileged. What if the loss, abuse, and addiction are compounded by poverty or racism? Then it’s all but a foregone conclusion. Your way is lost. Yes, life can be hard. Life takes casualties. Lots of them. It can make us feel helpless and overwhelmed. We want to make things better, but what could we possibly do? The answer is no farther away than my late math teacher. What could we possibly do to make things better? We could reach out, like he did. And what is in view here is not merely a good example, although we must never underestimate the power of a good example and must always strive to be one. But there’s more in view than that. It has to do with the Bible. The Bible may seem like a forbidding book. For one thing it’s thousands of pages long. It makes War and Peace look like a short story. For another thing, it’s unimaginably ancient. The Bible’s story begins 2,000 years before the Common Era. I just read that a sizable portion of millennials don’t know what the Holocaust was. To them that’s ancient history - a mere 75 years back. The Bible is more than 4,000 years back. That’s unimaginably ancient. For yet another thing, it traffics in extremely complicated and sophisticated theology, plumbing in its unfolding the depths of such mysteries as our nature, the predicament that our nature has landed us in, and the means of our redemption. And it does so all the while purging itself of false starts or conclusions. So it may seem forbidding. But at the same time, ironically, the Bible lends itself to succinct summaries. Here’s one: God lives. Here’s another: Good triumphs over evil. And another: Love triumphs over fear. And another: Practice universal justice. And another: Love one another. And here’s one that’s right on point: Reach out. The Bible can be summarized in just two words. Reach out. Think about it. That’s what God did. God reached out. God reached out to Abraham and told him that from him would one day issue a nation, and not just any nation, but a nation that would somehow bless all the nations by bestowing upon them redemption. God reached out to Moses and bequeathed him an ethical law so that God’s people could bear his righteousness. God reached out to David and told him that from his descendants would emerge one who would embody that redemption. And that one in the fullness of time emerged. God reach out to his son. He told him that if he would make a great sacrifice, the greatest sacrifice, it would be the means for all people to reach out to one another. In a real way. A way that advanced God’s own being and cause. And his son made that sacrifice. And in his brief ministry that preceded that sacrifice, he reached out to everyone. And I mean everyone. Lepers. Prostitutes. Beggars. Even a bitter little man perched up in a sycamore tree. So reaching out is not just a good example. It is nothing less the mechanism that God that employs to bestow redemption. Yes, life can be hard. Paul knew this. “We would prefer to be away from the body and at home with the Lord.” But Paul goes on. “So we must make it our goal to please him, whether we are at home in the body or away from it.” And this means reaching out. “I feel so lost now. What am I going to do?” asked my grieving classmate. I told him that his coach had already showed him what to do. I told him to reach out. Amen.

Jesus was always one to bring the party. All he had to do was show up, and lots of others showed up too -- eager for engagement, eager for excitement, eager for something new. It was little wonder. Here at last was someone who had something to say. Something different. Something provocative. Something truthful. Jesus had a way of uttering truths that had never been uttered before, but at the same time, were strangely recognizable. And it was happening once again. Once again, Jesus had brought the party. He showed up at the house of Mary and Martha, and suddenly the place was filled with men who immediately took their place at his feet. This gesture was an indicator that they were ready and willing disciples. They wanted him to teach them. And so he began to teach. That was Martha’s cue. She sprang into action. After Jesus’ teaching, it would be fellowship hour, and as we all know, fellowship hour is predicated upon food. And in ancient times, you couldn’t rely on your reserves from Costco. Feeding a room full of men was labor intensive. Animals had to be slaughtered and dressed. Bread had to be baked. Water had to hauled. Martha went directly to work, expecting Mary to fall in place behind her. But what did Mary do? She went and sat at Jesus’ feet with the men -- shirking her role, defying expectations, and leaving Martha to shoulder the burden alone. I can imagine Martha’s frustration. I can imagine her passive aggressive attempts to get Mary back in the kitchen. Staring daggers at her from the threshold. Uttering loud sighs as indicators of her strain. Dropping pottery on the floor to startle Mary to awareness. But Mary took no notice. None whatsoever. Martha should have counted to ten. How much strife could be averted if we could all just remember to count to ten, or perhaps twenty. Martha for her part shot like a rocket from outrage to outburst. “I’m doing all the work in here Jesus, while Mary has yet to raise a finger. It’s hardly fair. And have you even noticed? Do you even care?” And there was doubtless more to it than the fact that Martha had to provide all the hospitality on her own. There too was the fact of what Mary was doing. She not day dreaming or singing idly out the window. She was sitting at Jesus’ feet. She was in there with the men. Martha was doubtless chagrined and embarrassed that Mary did not know her place. It certainly did not reflect well on the family. But Jesus did not vindicate Martha. Jesus chastised her, “Martha, Martha,” (and when someone says your name twice, wait for some kind of a correction to follow) “Why are you so distracted and stressed and scattered? Let it go. Mary’s right where she should be.” We’re left to wonder how Martha felt at that point. I bet she wasn’t happy. She simply didn’t get it or she would not have reacted that way in the first place. Now normally this text is interpreted as a caution against busyness. Martha with all her busyness is a prototype that we should avoid. Not that productivity is a bad thing. Idle hands are the devil’s workshop after all. But there’s a certain kind of busyness that’s not good. It’s when we become enmeshed with worldly or personal concerns and address them with obsessive application – application that mixes with pride, competition, insecurity. It becomes a kind of self-perpetuating force. And it causes us to lose all perspective. It causes us to become disoriented. We forget that we’re supposed to be at Jesus’ feet – his disciples, listening to him. And this is a fair enough interpretation, but I think there’s something else here. An elephant in the living room. Mary was right where she should be. She was at Jesus’ feet, his disciple, listening to him. But Mary was, obviously, a woman. Women did not seat themselves at the feet of rabbis. Women were not disciples. All they needed to know was taught to them by their mothers. Women did not sit side by side with men learning. It was unheard of. It was forbidden. And yet Jesus told Martha that Mary was right where she should be. Her place was with the men. Really Jesus? A woman’s place is with the men? Really Jesus? In first century Judaism? Jesus was a revolutionary and a radical, and don’t ever forget it. All down through history and even to this day there has an unspoken and inviolable code. It could be expressed as a variant of a line from the wedding ceremony. What society has divided, let no one unite. And Jesus was saying the polar opposite. A women’s place is with the men. Think about what this means by extension. Women, your place is with the men. Men, your place is with the women. Whites, your place is with blacks. Blacks your place is with whites. The wealthy, your place is with the poor, and the poor, your place is with the wealthy. The powerful, your place is with the powerless. The powerless, your place is with the powerful. The old, your place is with the young. The young, your place is with the old. Jesus was smashing down all dividing walls. His disciples are to be completely and utterly integrated. This is simply too radical, simply too revolutionary. But that’s who Jesus was. This is why he brought the party. It’s because he spoke God’s truth. Disciples are to be completely and utterly integrated, and this in service to humankind that is to be completely and utterly integrated. That all should be one. But this is so radical and revolutionary that it is very seldom approximated. It’s too hard. But is it really? Is it really that hard to forge the way? Is it really that hard to reach out? Is it really that hard to cross the aisle? To be vulnerable? To be risky? To be open? To be accepting? To be understanding? One thing’s for sure. It’s a lot easier than hanging on a cross in faith it could be so. Amen.

Avi, May, Gao, and I recently returned from our roadtrip to Tennessee. Normally, food militant that I am, I don’t allow them to drink soda pop, but in my largesse I deemed our vacation a special occasion during which the rules could be bent. Accordingly, at our first restaurant stop, I ordered them all a soda pop. I waited to hear their expressions of delight, and even more so their expression of gratitude for my freewheeling beneficence, but I waited in vain. “Why does Avi have so much more ice than me? It’s not fair,” May began. I glanced at their glasses. That waitress must not have kids, I thought to myself, because Avi had tons of ice and May just a few melting pieces floating pathetically at the top of the glass. “Avi, share some of that ice with your sister,” I requested. “But that’s not fair,” protested. “On our last vacation when we were allowed to have soda, May had more ice than me, and you didn’t make her share it.” “But that’s still not fair to me this time,” May quasi- reasoned. Gao, a quick study, caught on to the dynamic in no time. “Why is my straw orange?” she complained. “Theirs are purple and pink. Why did I have to get the orange one?” “Well there you have it,” I pronounced. “May has little ice; Gao has an ugly straw color….Life has been, in different ways, equally unfair to both of you, so that’s fair.” At that point, they weren’t quite sure what I was talking about. I wasn’t even sure at that juncture what I was talking about, but it halted the momentum of the conversation. Before Avi had the chance to realize that she had gained the high ground over her sisters, a little girl walked by with her mother. As she passed by I heard her say, “Why do they get soda when I had to have apple juice. No fair.” The other mother and I exchanged knowing glances. Misery really does love company. Perhaps I am serving some kind of penance of just desserts, because I remember having like conversations with my parents when I was about their age. More likely though, it is probably safe to generalize that children have a keen sense of fairness, albeit one driven by self-interest. But I would submit that really they are little different from us adults. We too have a keen sense of fairness, ours too driven by self-interest. We just give expression to it in an adult manner, a manner more discrete and subtle. It is a measure of our character, I suppose, the extent to which our sense of fairness is not driven by self-interest. The poet Thomas Grey recognized something like this when he wrote, “Each to his suffering, all are men, condemned alike to grown -- the tender for another’s pain, the unfeeling for his own.” Yes, child or adult, self-interested or not, we all share a sense of fairness. The philosophers, naturally, have argued over where it comes from. As far as I can make out, they argue that it is either a posteriori, or subsequent to experience – something we learn from our environment; or a priori, prior to experience – something which preexists our environment. And of those who argue that it is a priori, they argue further over whether it derives from our nature or derives from that which transcends our nature. Being a Christian, I believe it’s the latter. But again, regardless where it comes from, we all share it. This accounts for the fact that Jesus’ parable of the Laborers in the Vineyard is one of his least popular parables. Quite frankly, it offends our sense of fairness. The owner of a vineyard went to the marketplace at first light to hire laborers for the day. He agreed to pay those he found there one denarius, a fair day’s pay for a fair day’s work. At nine he returned to the marketplace and encountered more laborers waiting to be hired, so he hired them too, promising to pay them what was right. He returned again to the marketplace at noon, three and even at five, an hour before the workday ended. Each time he hired the laborers he encountered there. When the workday was over, he ordered his manager to pay the laborers in the reverse order in which they arrived. To those who had worked just an hour, he gave one denarius. They must have been overjoyed to have earned a day’s wage in an hour, but no less overjoyed than the laborers who had worked all day, for they having worked ten times longer were now entitled to nearly ten times that wage. But as it turned out each laborer, regardless of when he arrived, received just one denarius. So the laborers who had worked all day complained. “It’s not fair.” But the owner of the vineyard merely responded in effect that he was within his right. It was his money, and he could do what he wanted with it. The owner of the vineyard perhaps was within his right, but he wasn’t fair. I wonder what would have happened it I had taken that line with my sons, “It’s my money and I can do whatever I want with it.” I too would have been within my right, but I wouldn’t have been fair. Is Jesus teaching us that it’s this way with God? No wonder it’s an unpopular parable. But in fact, it is an unpopular parable because it is a misinterpreted parable. Everyone seems to miss one point, but it’s the key point. Jesus is teaching not about the marketplace but about the kingdom of heaven. “The kingdom of heaven is like a landowner who went out early in the morning to hire laborers.” Jesus is teaching about the age that he would soon inaugurate by his Holy Spirit, roughly but certainly not perfectly manifested by his church. And what Jesus is teaching is that our sense of fairness in the marketplace, which he so very brilliantly evokes so that we may be en guarde against it, does not apply in the church. It doesn’t matter how late in God’s salvation history you join the church. When you join, you receive the same benefit. You receive the Holy Spirit – a spirit of unity and equality in him, a spirit that rejoices the more that are included, a spirit that is as generous and loving as he was. What is in fact unfair is when those who joined the church earlier in God’s salvation history lay claim to special benefits, even the right to exclude or subordinate latecomers. Yet despite Jesus’ teaching, this has happened from the beginning. The very first members of the church, the Jewish Christians, claimed special benefits and attempted to exclude then subordinate the gentile Christians. And it has happened ever since. Anywhere, within the church, you see one type or class of person laying claim to special benefits and excluding or subordinating another type or class of person, usually a type or class of person different from their own, then by one pretext or another, and insidiously, it’s usually an appeal to scripture, then this unfairness is likely funding it. And it’s ironic, because those who perpetrate this unfairness overlook that they are too latecomers to God’s salvation history, whatever type or class of person they are. We are all latecomers to God’s salvation history. Look at the date. Jesus is teaching that the church simply does not work the way of the marketplace, that we must be aware of this and adjust our perspective so the church will be more fair, thus more happy and harmonious. And if you think about it, there is another place this applies. It applies to our nation. Again, we are all, at least most of us, latecomers to America, latecomers to citizenship and participation in the American dream. Yet often we who have nothing more than two or three generations on others, again because they are a different class or type of people, lay claim to special benefits and attempt to exclude or subordinate them. American belongs equally to all who want to be citizens and to participate in the American dream, to everyone American can possibly accommodate. And when we become aware of this and adjust our perspective, we and the nation will be more fair, thus more happy and harmonious. Amen.

I just read to you seventeen verses from the gospel of Matthew. Seventeen verses and literally countless miracles. Jesus cleansed a leper. Then he healed a Centurion’s servant. Then he healed Peter’s mother-in-law. Then he cast out demons of many who were possessed. Then he cured all who were sick. Seventeen verses and literally countless miracles. So what’s up with Jesus’ miracles? I’d wager most of us have never come to terms, precisely, with what we think about them. So what if I put you on the spot? What if I asked you point blank, “Do you believe that Jesus’ miracles really happened just as they’re written?” You’d probably answer yes. But you’d probably answer yes because you figure it’s the “right answer,” and you don’t want to come off as faithless, or skeptical, or cynical, or doubtful, or impious. What if instead I allowed you to answer by secret ballot? You might well answer differently. You might well answer, “No.” Because we live in a scientific and secular age after all; a scientific and secular age, that, if it can’t quite disprove miracles, certainly puts no stock in them. It may surprise you that one of the most influential theologians of the twentieth century put no stock in them either. His name is Rudolf Bultmann. To the question, “Do you believe that Jesus’ miracles really happened just as they are written?” - He answered an emphatic “No.” His most famous account of what really happened had to do with Jesus’ multiplication of five loaves of bread and two fishes into enough food sufficient to feed a multitude of 5,000. What really happened, Bultmann theorized, was that Jesus inspired everyone to share the food they already had. But there’s a problem with this. The problem is the gospels - all four of them. They don’t record that Jesus’ inspired everyone to share the food they already had. They record that Jesus performed a miracle. If it really happened the way Bultmann theorized, why didn’t they just record it that way? Why didn’t they just record that Jesus was an inspiring man? In fact, the gospels don’t record that Jesus was particularly inspiring. His own disciples tripped over themselves his entire ministry. He was continually correcting and rebuking them. And talk about correcting and rebuking, think of the religious authorities. All he ever did was correct and rebuke them. He was so “inspiring” to them that they killed him. So to return to the question at hand, why would all four gospels engage in subterfuge? Why would they engage in subterfuge, not just with regard to the loaves and fishes, but with the countless miracles throughout them? That seems rather far fetched. No, you can’t really get around the fact that all four gospels record that Jesus performed miracles. And they go beyond this. They explain how it could be so. It begins with the fact that Jesus was the Son of God. This is to say he was possessed of God’s own essence. This is to say he was possessed of the essence that called creation into being. This is to say that he could command creation’s function. Now that’s a bold claim, but the entire Bible makes bold claims. Don’t get me started on the apostle Paul. But it’s a bold claim that makes perfect sense if you think about it. If the supernatural realm can not intervene in the natural realm, then what in the world are we Christians playing at? If the supernatural realm can not intervene in the natural realm, then there’s no resurrection. Then Jesus has changed absolutely nothing, and that’s demonstrable. The whole point is that the supernatural realm has intervened in the natural realm -- that God has entered into time and history, into your life and into mine. So the gospels explain how it could be so, and they also explain why it was so. Jesus performed miracles to show what God stands for. In the case of the miracles I just read, he performed them to show that God stands for healing, wholeness, restoration, restitution -- for abundant life, abundant life that we experience proximately in the here and now and abundant life that we will experience ultimately in the hereafter. Makes sense to me. Sounds intellectually defensible. So maybe the gospel writers actually know what they are talking about. Maybe there’s a reason that the Bible is the most influential book in human history, and it formed and sustained Western Culture before Western Culture became so worldly wise that it turned on it. That brings us to coronavirus, because all roads lead to coronavirus these days. All of this has application to our own times. It has to do with what I just said; it has to do with the fact that God stands for healing, wholeness, restoration, restitution, for abundant life, abundant life that we experience proximately in the here and now and abundant life that we experience ultimately in the hereafter. Because from this we can extrapolate a rule: What we ultimately anticipate, we presently approximate. Let me repeat that: What we ultimately anticipate, we presently approximate. And as we look around us, who do we see during these times of coronavirus, that is presently approximating? Precisely the doctors, nurses, health care workers, and all those on the front lines of this disease. They are more than brave, selfless, dutiful, and skillful. They are advancing the divine cause. They are performing miracles. But this disease is more than physical. It has a spiritual component as well, because it is attended by fear, loss, anxiety, and despair. That’s where the rest of us come in. That’s where we can advance the divine cause. That's where we can perform miracles. We can tender support, encouragement, comfort, hope, service, and love. It’s nothing more than what the writer of the epistle to the Hebrews wrote. We can, all together, see the things promised and welcome them from afar. Amen.

“Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world?” Paul’s right about one thing. God has made foolish the wisdom of the world. Put another way, there’s no such thing as the wisdom of the world. The wisdom of the world is then an oxymoron. How about the wisdom of the world that youth and beauty are to be prized and pursued at all costs? Really? Then why is it that Jesus Christ, the Son of God, “had no form or majesty that we should look at him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him?” Or how about the wisdom of the world that wealth proclaims status and worth? Really? Then why is it that Jesus Christ, the Son of God, was born in a stable and was buried in a borrowed tomb? Or how about the wisdom of the world to look out for number one? Really? Then why is it that Jesus Christ, the Son of God, “gave himself up for us as….a sacrifice to God.” The lesson here, obviously, is that we should not accept the wisdom of the world as the gospel truth. Just the opposite, we should be suspicious of it. We should question it, assess it, judge it, and, by and large, reject it. Nowhere is this more true than with regard to the wisdom of the world that responsibility is a bad thing. “Responsibility? The less of it the better!” This is what the wisdom of the world would have us believe -- that responsibility is for chumps and drudges, and the cleverest among us have escaped it. They are sipping margaritas from dawn till dusk on a tropical beach without a care in the world. God has definitely made foolish this wisdom of the world...at least according to the Word of God. There are certain things that the Bible consistently condemns. One is hypocrisy. Another is hardness of heart. And another is complacency -- complacency -- being excessively at ease. If you think about it, complacency is the opposite of responsibility. Consider this morning’s Old Testament lesson. The prophet Amos was addressing himself to a society just like ours -- a prosperous society that was afflicted by social injustice. In Amos’ day, as in ours, there were the haves, and there were the have nots. The have nots were defenseless, resourceless, and vulnerable, so they fell prey to social injustice. For example, in Amos’s day there was an institution called debtor prison. If the have nots found themselves in debt, which was often, their debtors could march them to debtor prison. The jailer would pay off their debt, and the have nots would then work off their debt to the jailer in debtor prison. Naturally such an institution was in no way regulated, so abuse was prevalent and egregious. For the smallest of debts, the present day equivalent of a few dollars, the have nots would remain in prison for years, in conditions you don’t want to hear about; but you could say that debtor prison made Alcatraz look like the Four Seasons. Often whole families were incarcerated. If this isn’t social injustice, then I don’t know what is. And what was the response of the haves? They had no response. They passed the debtor prison day by day on the way to shops or social events. So they knew it was there. Still, they had no response. This is because they were complacent. In Amos’ words, “they lounged on beds of ivory, sang idle songs on their harps, anointed themselves with the finest oils, and drank wine from bowls.” They took no responsibility for debtor prison or anything else for that matter. Amos blasted them for it as only Amos could. No, the Bible doesn’t think much of complacency. It thinks much of responsibility. It’s heroes evince as much. God called to Abraham and told him to leave his country and his kindred and his father’s house and venture to a new land. What if Abraham had said no; said that he was at ease in his country and kindred and father’s house? But instead, Abraham took responsibility. He ventured to a new land. God called to Moses and told him to leave off his life in Midian and return to Egypt to rescue his fellow Israelites from slavery. What if Moses said no, that he was at ease in his life in Midian? But instead, Moses took responsibility. He returned to Egypt and rescued his fellow Israelites from slavery. God called to David and told him to leave behind his flocks and to forge the nation of Israel. What if David said no, that he was at ease following his flocks? But instead, David took responsibility. He forged the nation of Israel, forged its capitol Jerusalem to boot. Where would we be if the Bible’s heroes evinced complacency instead of responsibility? I am not sure, but it would not be a good place. I don’t even want to think about it. We could even remove these considerations from the Bible entirely. Where would be if surgeons did not take the responsibility to acquire and execute highly sophisticated skills in order to save lives? Where would we be if the military and police did not take the responsibility to keep us safe? Where would we be if explorers of all kinds did not take the responsibility to broaden our horizons? Again, I am not sure, but it would not be a good place. I don’t even want to think about it. What good there is in our society has been through people who have taken responsibility. And beyond that, responsibility is good too for the individuals who take it. This is because it is through responsibility that individuals find the meaning they do in life. This is as true as a mathematical equation. Say you take the responsibility to care for an elderly parent. The meaning you find in life will correlate to that. Say you take the responsibility to rescue or advocate for animals. The meaning you find in life will correlate to that. Say you take the responsibility to agitate for social improvement and progress. The meaning you find in life will correlate to that. Responsibility and meaning. The two go hand and hand. And another thing is true. The more responsibility you take, the more meaning you will find. That too is simple math. But returning to the Bible, one more thing is true. If you take divine responsibility, you will find divine meaning. That brings us to Jesus Christ, the Son of God. He assumed the most divine responsibility and found the most divine meaning, for he assumed divine responsibility for human sin and found divine meaning in human redemption. With him as our guide let us forswear the wisdom of the world, and embrace responsibility. Amen.

I would like to talk to you this morning about Joseph of Arimathea. Doubtless, you just stifled a yawn. Doubtless you just thought to yourself, “Joseph of Arimathea? Really? With all the tribulation in the world today? She’d like to talk to us this morning about Joseph of Arimathea? Who the heck is Joseph of Arimathea, anyway? I barely even heard of him.” But yes, I would like to talk to you this morning about Joseph of Arimathea. He is featured in our gospel lesson, after all. So I will give you a moment to stifle a few more yawns, then I will proceed to talk to you this morning about Joseph of Arimathea. Actually, we don’t know that much about him. We know that it is highly likely that he actually existed. We know this because he appears across all four gospels. When someone or something appears across all four gospels, that makes it fairly indubitable. This is because of John’s gospel. Mathew, Mark, and Luke are pretty much the same gospel. This means they depended on each other. Not John. John is independent of them. A full ninety percent of John is absent from the other three. So if something appears across all four gospels, it’s highly likely it happened. So it’s highly likely that Joseph of Arimathea actually existed. Beyond that, all that is known of him is what is recorded in the short paragraph all four gospels devote to him. They tell us that Joseph of Arimathea was a member of the “Council”. That is to say, he was a member of the SanHedrin. The Romans permitted the Jews to govern themselves, and they did so through the SanHedrin, which was composed of their religious authorities. It was the SanHedrin that found Jesus guilty of blasphemy and condemned him to death. But Joseph of Arimathea, to quote, “didn’t agree with their plan or action.” In other words, he saw through them. He saw through their jealousy. He saw through their resentment. Above all, he saw through their outrage. They, like so many people today, lacked the moral and mental clarity to know when to be outraged. Joseph of Arimathea, for his part, knew when to be outraged. He was outraged by the SanHedrin. He realized they had just lynched an innocent man. Joseph of Arimathea had admired Jesus, but what could he have done on his behalf in the face of the SanHedrin? Nothing. Nothing as yet anyway. As Jesus hung dead on his cross, he approached Pontius PIlate and asked him for his body, Mark's version adds the word “boldly” to his request. He approached Pilate “boldly” and asked for his body. Mark is right to add the word. Because think about it. Pilate sentenced Jesus to death, assumedly, because he judged that Jesus deserved the sentence. In asking for Jesus’ body, Joseph of Arimathea was in essence challenging Pilate’s judgment. It was an act of subversion, really. In other words, he was putting himself at risk. Fortunately, Pilate’s indifference to the whole matter won out. Joseph of Arimathea then proceeded to remove Jesus’ mangled and bloody corpse from his cross. Try to imagine that. This would have involved crow bars, ladders, and lots of sweat. But above all it would have involved a mangled and bloody corpse. We have a native aversion to corpses. It’s hard enough for us to glance at them when they have died of natural causes. That’s why we dress them up with makeup and wigs and make them into mannequins. That’s all we can handle. What Joseph of Arimathea handled was downright sickening. And he didn’t need to do any of it. He didn’t need to do any of it because he was rich. He must have been rich because when he removed Jesus from the cross, he wrapped him in linen. Linen was exorbitantly expensive in those times. So he was rich, and the rich generally are freer to do what they want to do and not constrained to do what they need to do. He didn’t need to do any of it. No one else in the world bothered. Finally, he laid Jesus in his own tomb; again, a rich man’s tomb, hewn from rock. And for his efforts, Joseph of Arimathea set the stage for the resurrection of Jesus Christ. He set the stage for the resurrection of Jesus Christ -- an event, the event, that transfuses worldly tribulation with divine triumph. To say the very least of him, Joseph of Arimathea was a hero. He was one who advanced the good. He was one who defended the truth. He was one who set the example. He was one at the ready to sacrifice. He was one who made the world a better place, Yes, Joseph of Arimathea was a hero, but at the same time, he was an unsung hero. We stifle our yawns at the mention of his name. And here’s the whole point. There should be no unsung heroes, in the past or in the present. That expression should not even exist. Could we be so dull, so indifferent, so blind, so careless, so complacent, so jaded, so selfish, that we do not notice the heroes that we have been bequeathed and that surround us? Because read theologically, and a Christian must read everything theologically, they can only be God’s gift to us. They can only be God’s gift to us because for their contributions they redeem worldly tribulation. So we must be ever alert to them and endow them with the honor they deserve. We must sing their praises at the top of our voices. One of my favorite people, Fred Rogers, who himself was an unsung hero until recently, knew this well. He once said, “When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’” Amen.

I was at a holiday gathering last week with a group of women friends I made around the time our children were born. My eldest is now in her thirties, so we have been friends for a good long time. Now that our children are grown, we don’t see each other as much as we did when they were young. In those days we saw each other nearly every day. We needed each other’s company and support during the uniquely taxing business of raising young children. And besides, were interesting to no one except each other. Raising young children, the all important questions have to do with the likes of nursing, naps, teething; and, of course, those tiny little developmental milestones that at the time seem so significant. Who else would find all that interesting except another mother of young children? There’s been much water over the damn since then. Most of us, at least those of us who did not adopt a second round of children, are now empty-nesters. Some of us have remained at home. Others of us have retooled and rejoined the work force. One of my friends became a pediatrician. It’s no surprise. She is smart and driven, scientifically minded; and she loves children. When I saw her at the gathering I asked her about the ongoing drama in which she was involved wither receptionist. She hired as her receptionist a woman whose husband had died recently. Having been a wife and mother nearly forty years, she was lonely and aimless and hoped that a job would help her to reconnect to life, would bring her some structure and purpose. She was a very decent person, but did not belong I that position. She talked on and on to patients, and worse, did have a sense of appropriate sense of confidentiality. In this day and age, that can get you into trouble. She drove my friend increasingly up the wall, but big-hearted as he was, she couldn’t bring herself to let her go. “I finally let her go,” my friend said, “And those were, without question, the hardest words I’ve ever had to say in my life. “I have to let you go.” “Those words wouldn’t be hard for me at all,” said another friend, whom I would describe as self-assertive and driven to control all that is in her sphere of influence. Appropriately, she is a crossing guard. “Anyway, it was for her own good,” she said. “Why treat her like she is exempt from reality and responsibility?” That’s no favor to her overall. The hardest words for me to say,” she said, “are ‘I’m sorry.’ I had to apologize to someone last week, and I’ve vowed never again to be in the wrong so I’ll never have to apologize again.” “Good luck with that,” I said. The conversation then shifted to word that are hard to say. What we came up wit was about what you’d expect, - “I love you.” “You hurt my feelings.” And, above all, ‘No.’” As the conversation proceeded, I found myself biting my lip. My friends, have, on more than one occasion, on several occasions in fact, informed me that I have the annoying habit of not offering my own opinion, which would probably be annoying enough, but instead offering the biblical witness’ opinion on the subject. “The biblical witness would label that double minded,” I’d say. Or, I’d say, “The biblical witness would take issue with that sort of apathy.” Or, “The biblical witness forbids this kind of idle chatter.” I can’t think why they find it so annoying. I was itching to offer the biblical witness’ opinion on the hardest words to say, but, as I said, I had been warned that I was annoying. Of course, when people warn us that we are annoying, it doesn’t automatically remove the desire to continue to be annoying. I really wanted to have my say. Suddenly, I thought of a brilliant ploy. Instead of simply offering the biblical witness’ opinion on the subject, I asked a preliminary question. “Are you interested in the biblical witness’ opinion on the subject?" I asked. If they said no, that would certainly not reflect very well on them. They were churchgoers, after all. And if they said yes, I could have my say. I can boast my ploy was brilliant, of occurs, because I am really only in effect boasting on the Lord. I borrowed the ploy form m. If you recall his exchange with the chief priests and elders, they asked Jesus, “By what authority are you doing these things, and who gave you this authority.?” Jesus said to them, ‘I will also ask you one question; if you tell me the answer, then I will also tell you by what authority I do these things. Did the baptism of John come from heaven, or was it of human origin? And they argued with one another, ‘If we say from heaven, he will say to us, “Why then did you not believe him?’ But if we say, ‘Of human origin,’ we are afraid do the crowd, for all regard John a prophet.” Thanks to the biblical witness, I had my friends between a rock and a hard place. I finally had my say. According to the biblical witness, the hardest words to say are, “Here I am.” Here I am – the words with which God’s prophets answered God’s call to witness to him. “After these things God tested Abraham. God said to him, “Abraham!” And Abraham said, “Here I am!” Moses was keeping the flock of his father-in-law Jethro; he led his flock beyond the wilderness, can came to Horeb, the mountain of God. Then the angel of the Lord appeared to him in a flame of fire out of a us; he looked, and the bush was blazing, yet it was not consume…God called to him out of the bush, ‘Moses, Moses!’ And Moses said, “Here I am!” “The Lord called, ‘Samuel, Samuel.’ And he said, ‘Here I am!’ “The Isaiah heard the voice of the Lord saying, ‘Whom shall I send, and who will go for us? And Isaiah said, “Here I am!” But why should these be the hardest words to say? If you think about it, the answer is not long in coming. It is because witnessing to God is terribly difficult work and generally not welcomed by the world. And the words, “Here I am,"represent a kind of reporting for service, represent a kind of front end commitment to witness to God, come what may. And indeed, it was not easy on the prophets. God called Abraham to leave everything he knew, to go from his country, his kindred, and his father’s house to an unknown land on which would some day exist the nation he would father. And when Abraham at the age of one hundred finally fathered a son, God demanded his sacrifice as a s test that Abraham’s faith was in the God who could do the impossible, and not in Abraham’s own flesh and blood. Abraham passed the test, and God spared his son, but only imagine Abraham’s anguish as he raised that knife to his son’s neck.. Or Moses, a humble man, slow of speech, slow of tongue. God called him to enter the court of the most powerful man in the world and demand the release of his enslaved countrymen; and then to lead them, they who gave no evidence of being God’s people at all, for forty years through the wilderness to the threshold of their Promised Land. Or Samuel, whom God called to preside over the newly found institution of the kingship, an institution that Samuel had renounced and resisted for all he was worth, and then stand by and watch as the king that God had called him to anoint generated into a madman – jealous, paranoid, murderous. Or Isaiah, who was called too to prophesy to kings, kings from whose line God had be this time declared the Messiah would come, but who only encountered faithless kings who refuse to listen to the word of God and led the nation to the brink of destruction. Yes, “Here I am” must have been the hardest words to say. All of this renders nothing less than amazing, nothing less than mind boggling, what we heard in this morning’s gospel lesson. A young woman, little more than a girl really, of no imaginable note – obscure and undistinguished; and probably too, like most of her people, rather poor – was visited by the angel Gabriel who said to her, “’Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end. May said to the angel, “How can this be, since I am a virgin?’ The angel said to her, ‘The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be holy, he will be called the Son of Man….’ Then Mary said, ‘Here I am.’” And with those words that young woman, with nothing but her faith, added herself to the company of the great prophets of Israel – absent, of course, any pride or arrogance, absent any self-assertion whatever, and absent too any self-abnegation, any evasion or irresponsibility because of her low and unlikely station, and knowing it had not been easy on those who had responded this – with nothing but her faith, she added herself to the company of the great prophets of Israel. And it was not easy on her either. In fact, it may have been harder on her than it was on any of them: to be made pregnant our of wedlock, to give birth in a stable in a distant land, to live in obscurity for nearly thirty years, waiting, wondering what was in store for her son, then as her son finally embarked upon his ministry to hear him say and do things that she didn’t anticipate and couldn’t comprehend, and things that caused him to make very dangerous enemies, then to witness her son, her beloved son, tortured to death on a cross. I’d say that young woman proved herself the equal of the great prophets of Israel. Here I am. Such hard words, and such a hard life that inevitably issued from them. One wonders whether any of them had any regrets about saying them. The biblical witness does not say if they did or not, but I, at least, am certain that they did not. I am certain because that same faith by which they said those hard words – by which they reported for service, by which they made front end commitment to witness to God come what may – makes regret impossible. For faith does not seek ease or comfort; not does it require outcomes. Faith simply holds fast to God’s promises and makes witness to him. It is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. Faith need not receive the promises, because it sees them from a distance and greets them. Faith then banishes regret. Friends in Christ, God may not have called us to witness to him in such clear and commanding ways. He may not have spoken to us through a burning bushy, or through his angel Gabriel, but he has just as surely called us to witness to him. He was called us through the waters of baptism by which we have received the Holy Spirit. It is now ours to respond, “Here I am,” But the prophets who have gone before us, and we may consider Mary among them, prove that the hardest words we will ever say are too the greatest words we will ever say and live. Amen.

Snowflakes. If you aren’t connected to a college campus, you probably think that a snowflake is a tiny crystal of snow. If you are connected to a college campus, however, this word takes on new meaning. Snowflakes are students who are as fragile as their namesake. More particularly, Snowflakes are readily traumatized and offended. If a subject is raised, for instance, that involves exploitation, oppression, persecution, discrimination, suffering, violence, or any ism, Snowflakes meltdown. And that brings us to another word. Trigger. If you aren’t connected to a college campus, you probably think that a Trigger is the mechanism that fires a gun. If you are connected to a college campus, however, this word too takes on new meaning. The meaning relates to Snowflakes. If a professor must raise a subject involving exploitation, oppression, persecution, discrimination, suffering, violence, or any ism -- things that may trigger a Snowflake to meltdown -- they are urged to issue Trigger Warnings so the Snowflake may evacuate the classroom. In my own experience, Trigger Warnings are not feasible. I teach Bible, after all. Genesis to Revelation would issue in nothing but one unending Trigger Warning. After all, the Bible culminates in the crucifixion of the Son of God. But I would think that the same would hold true for most disciplines - certainly history, certainly literature, certainly biology, certainly psychology. At any rate, one of the leading public intellectuals of our times is a professor named Jordan B. Peterson. Peterson has become a well known spokesman against Snowflakes and Triggers. His point is that college is meant to prepare students for life, and you don’t prepare students for life by making them weak, cowardly, and avoidant. You don’t prepare them for life by giving them to believe that life is too much for them to handle. You don’t prepare them for life by over-protecting and sheltering them. You don’t prepare them for life by teaching them that the proper response to life is to run, hide, and cower. You prepare them for life by teaching them what life is, then by fortifying them with time tested convictions that are worth defending, by inspiring them with worthy examples, by encouraging them to assume responsibility for the burden of existence, and by warning them of the historical consequences of fear and ignorance. You prepare them for life by making them strong, courageous, and engaged. It all makes you wonder why students actually opt not to be rightly prepared in life. I guess the reasons that students opt not to be rightly prepared in life are the same as the reasons the rest of us opt not to be rightly prepared in life. It’s the course of least resistance. It is not easy to be rightly prepared in life. It’s downright hard to be rightly prepared in life, because it’s hard to do something as opposed to nothing. It’s hard to take action against an unrealized threat. It’s hard to forswear denial for realism. It’s hard to assume personal responsibility as opposed to relying upon others who have done so. We opt not to be rightly prepared in life, in short, because it is easy. But as Jesus teaches, “The way is easy that leads to destruction.” Because the bottom line is that bad things happen in life. Even privileged people like ourselves are not exempt. Bad things happen in life, and they happen in every way possible. They can happen to us as individuals; suddenly -- like a diagnosis, or an accident, or an attack. Or they can happen to us as individuals slowly -- like a toxic relationship, or a long and lonely end stage of life, or a debilitating condition. Bad things can happen to us as individuals both suddenly and slowly; and they can also happen to us as collective people, again suddenly, like 9/11 or slowly, like climate change. Bad things can happen every which way. And if this doesn’t ring true, just wait. Noah from our gospel lesson is proof of this. In fact, Noah is proof that it can be all of these things at once. The flood would happen to him and his family, and the flood would happen to all humankind. The flood would happen as spontaneously as storms do, but at the same time it would be a long time in coming. Humankind was riding for a fall. After all, “The LORD saw...that every inclination of the thoughts of the human heart was only evil continually.” The Lord does not let this magnitude of evil stand. It may have its day, but its day ceases to be. The Lord issues his judgment upon it. He always has, and he always will. But Noah was prepared rightly for life. He was prepared for the flood. Yes, it was hard. It would have been easier not to build an ark. It would have been easier not to stock it. That’s what the rest of the world did, after all. But Noah was prepared rightly for life, and he sailed through the flood, and in the process saved humankind from extinction. But here is the punchline for the first Sunday in Advent. “So it will be with the coming of the Son of Man. So it will be with the coming of the Son of Man.” As the Son of Man came, the Son of Man will come. He will come to each of us, and he will come to all of us. He will come as he has portended, and he will come in the blink of an eye. Our gospel lesson orders us with great urgency to prepare for the coming of the Son of Man. And you think preparing rightly for life is hard? As hard as it is to prepare rightly for life, it is infinitely harder to prepare rightly for eternal life. Because this means that amidst the reality of life we must too demonstrate faith and righteousness, mercy and forgiveness; self-sacrifice, truthfulness, justice, peace, and for this first Sunday in Advent we too must demonstrate hope. We must be people he will recognize as his own. Amen.