Acts 17:16-31
Mark Edwards
May 21, 2017

Today is Confirmation Sunday and in just a short while we will celebrate with these 11 confirmands in their public profession of faith and their entrance into the full membership of this church. In many ways the Confirmation program, which has met over the course of this past year, is about confronting the big questions of the faith. I’ve asked lots of questions and while even I can’t answer them all, there is one answer that all these confirmands are prepared to give today. It is the most basic answer to the grandest and most important question.

I like questions. And this text from Acts raises many. There is so much in this episode that it would be easy to get pulled in all kinds of fun directions, by asking all kinds of important questions: questions of philosophy, politics, science, providence, idolatry, religion, culture. So many questions…

[The following section was not delivered on May 21 due to time restraints.]

There is the fact that Athens is full of all kinds of idols. One might easily explore these and the similarities they have with contemporary American culture and politics, much of which is derived from Greek influences. What might we find?

There is the Stoic and Epicurean philosophy and Paul’s engagement with the leading intellectuals of the day. Stoicism emphasizes that “everything happens for a reason” and  Epicureans insist that the happy life is attained by 1) simple material pleasures and 2) not thinking too deeply about stuff we can’t grasp. Both were dominant schools of thought. And yet, 2000 years later, it is Paul’s preaching of Christ resurrected that has effectively endured as a dominant coherent school of thought. How did that happen? Is it because Christianity is more rational? And what might happen if we slip back into Stoic assumptions about fate  and providence and Epicurean aspirations of pleasure? Could we end up like ancient Greece?

There is the fact that Athens is caught up with the perpetual quest for anything new and exciting. What happens to a culture that jettisons all tradition for the latest and greatest ideas? Did they get confused? Might we?

There is the fact that the Athenians are deeply “religious” and thus likely very “spiritual” and devout — but what it is they worship? They worship Gods of silver and stone? Who could ever fall in love with and worship art and manufacturing?

There is the fact that the Athenians seem to be groping around for ecstasy and divine encounters and yet can’t seem to get their hands on the thing they most crave. And yet, of those who “search” it says they also find God. How should we feel about for God? Will all our fumbling eventually lead us to ecstasy?

There is the fact that Paul claims God “who made the world and everything in it” has “allotted the times and the boundaries” of the universe. Is God the cause of the Big Bang, the weaver of the space-time fabric?

What does it mean that the omnipotent and omniscient God, the God who knows and sees all, “overlooks times of human ignorance”? If God is not focused on our sin, failures, and short-comings, what is God focused on?

What does it mean that “we live and move and have our being” in God? Are we, like fish in water, swimming in something so ubiquitous we can’t even recognize it? Could God really be that immediate and foundational to our moment-by-moment physical existence? How? Where? Why?

Why would the almighty and all-powerful God choose to have the world judged in righteousness by “a man”? Why wouldn’t God just do it? Who is the man? Johnny Cash once sang:

There’s a man goin’ ’round takin’ names.
An’ he decides who to free and who to blame.
Everybody won’t be treated all the same.
There’ll be a golden ladder reaching down.
When the man comes around.

Who is this man? Is Cash’s apocalyptic vision theologically prudent?

What is this “altar to an unknown God”? How can we know things we don’t know? How can we worship a known as unknown? And how can Paul know the the unknowable that others don’t know?

And what of those few converts at the end of the chapter, namely the one named Dionysius the Areopagite? What of the mystical works that surfaced in the 5th or 6th Century claiming to the definitive works of this man? Is unknowing all that we know of God the true way to know that which supersedes and transcends all words, ideas, and mental images of God? How about this for a Dr. Seuss-style theological mind-twister: “But now as we climb from the last things up to the most primary we deny all things, so that we may unhiddenly know that unknowing which itself is hidden from all those possessed of knowing amid all beings, so that we may see above being that darkness concealed from all the light among beings.”^[1]

[The May 21 sermon resumes at this point.]

Many of these are great unknowns (or are they unknowables?) and we could go on, and indeed we probably should, but not here and not now. For to do so would be to overlook the greatest and most interesting question of the passage. For at the heart of this strange and world-colliding passage is the “unknown God.” Do you know who it is?

Consider that just last week Pastor Dave preached on the stoning of an early apostle Steven. Those who stoned Steven to death laid their coats (to get better aim and power) at “the feet of a young man named Saul” (Acts 7:58); “…and Saul approved of their killing this” early Christian believer (Acts 8:1). Then, just one chapter later Saul had his own encounter with an “unknown God.” “Lord, who are you?” he asked on the road to Damascus. And now, just a week and eight chapters later, Saul, now known as Paul, is preaching to the philosophical elite in the epicenter of the western intellectual world, Athens. Who is the God that can pull off such conversions? Do you know?

Strangely, the Bible is full of people’s encounters with an unknown God:

Consider Jacob wrestling on the banks of the Jabbok river (Genesis 32). “Please tell me your name,” says Jacob. But the God that Jacob is wrestling with just replies, “Why do you want to know my name?”

Who is this strange God who wrestles with humans, and lets them win? Do you know?

Consider Moses talking with a voice emanating from within a burning bush (Exodus 3), “What did you say your name was again?”

Who is this God that has heard the cries of the people and who has seen their sufferings? Who is this powerful liberating God of the Israelites. Do you know?

Consider the mother of Samson (Judges 13), who encounters a divine being in the fields, a being who promises to answer her prayer for the gift of son. When her husband, Samson’s father, encounters this curiously labeled “man of God” he asks, “Are you the one?” The simple answer in reply is, “I am.”

Who is the enigmatic life-giving God who hears the desperate pleas for a new-born, who simply says, “I am.” Do you know?

Consider a paralytic whose friends chop a hole in the roof of a house, so they can lower him down before a teacher with a bizarre reputation. Who is this one who proclaims to have the authority to forgive sins, to heal paralytics, and who says, “Stand up, take your mat and go to your house” (Mark 2:11)?

And the paralytic got up?! Who has the ability to do such things? Do you know?

Consider a batch of disciples, who spend all their days and nights with their loyal leader. And they get stuck in a storm out on a lake and think they are going to die. And when they panic and begin cussing out their leader, he calms the storm. They are stupefied and they ask, “Who then is this? Even the wind and sea obey him” (Mark 4:41).

“Who then is this?” they ask; and they live with him. They don’t even know who this one really is. Do we know?

Consider the little children, “And he took them up in his arms, laid his hands on them, and blessed them” (Mark 10:16). Did the little children know what was going on? Did they know whose lap they sat upon? In whose embrace they received an eternal blessing regarding entering the kingdom of heaven? Did anybody there have a clue?

Who can make promises and guarantees concerning entering the kingdom of heaven, as this one did? Do we know?

Consider an outcast, a thief and a murderer as they are being publicly executed in the most humiliating and painful way conceived of by the local department of justice. “Those who were crucified with him also taunted him” (Mark 15:32). Who is this one who dies an unjust death, in torture and in shame, all while enduring the mocking insults of those he is with, of those for whom he is with?

Who would do such a thing? They had no idea. Do we?

And finally, consider an early Sunday morning, the friends of the deceased who are racked by grief and depression. Mary comes in, and she “told those who had been with him, while they were mourning and weeping. But when they heard that he was alive and had been seen by her, they would not believe it” (Mark 16:11).

I mean, come on, it just wouldn’t be rational? Who is capable of being undead? Who wields power over death itself? Do you know?

From the hills of Midian, from the ford at the river Jabbok, from the fields of Manoah and his wife, from a house that needs re-roofing, from the calmed Sea of Galilee, from the marketplace swarming with vagabond kids, from the bloody site of public executions, to the dark closets of despair and emptiness, we have Paul proclaiming an unknown God in the midst of Athens. These people are smart. These people are educated. These people have heard it all. Most laugh. But not all.

When they heard of the resurrection of the dead, some scoffed; but others said, “We will hear you again about this.” At that point Paul left them. But some of them joined him and became believers, including Dionysius the Areopagite and a woman named Damaris, and others with them.

Some… just a few… certainly no more than a dozen… well, let’s just say 11 decided to cross that boundary. They decided to know the God that others did not. They decided that they did know the God that others thought was unknowable. Who were these 11? Will we ever know?

Caroline, in your confirmation Statement of Faith you wrote: “I believe that God has a plan for us all that we may not understand at the time that events occur or even that we may never be able to understand it, but I believe that God has a purpose for me and everyone around me. I accept God’s plan of salvation.”

Who stands at the center of God’s plan of salvation? Caroline knows.

Lindsey, you wrote: “Having faith is like falling off a cliff backwards with your eyes closed. You can never completely know that what you believe in is true. Even the strongest Christians have some doubt. All parts of our lives belong to God, and he created everything for us. When I am unsure of things, I have to believe that God will catch me and knows what is best for me.”

Who is the One in whom Christians put their trust? Who catches us? Lindsey knows.

Anna, you wrote: “I know that the love and forgiveness of Christ are not something I can ever achieve… With this I am grateful to be accepted into a life with the love of Christ.”

Who is the forgiving messiah who welcomes us in love? Who is the accepting Christ? Anna knows.

Josie, you wrote: “I believe that he will one day come again, but until then he is working with us and through us in spirit… The Holy Spirit has worked through me during ASP last summer, where I helped to repair damaged houses in Kentucky.”

Who is the giver of the Holy Spirit? Who is the God that is with us in Princeton and in Kentucky? Josie knows.

Cal, you wrote: “I believe in the Church, a house of knowledge, [a] closely knitted community that teaches us, preaches to us, enlightens us, provides bagels and lemonade for us, and connects with us.”

Who is the bread of life? The Bagel of Life? Who is Lord of the church? Cal knows.

Matt, you wrote: “I believe that God gave up his only son so that whoever believed in him could live eternally in heaven. God’s forgiving nature and generosity is represented through his son.”

Who is this God? Who is this son? Matt knows.

Luke, you wrote: “In the beginning, only his light pierced the veil of nothingness.”

Who is the light of the World? Luke knows.

Margaret, you wrote: “I believe that every part of the triune God is always present in the world. I believe we must be open to this idea that He might not be as direct as we would like but God does know what is best for us. ”

Who is the indirect God who guides us and walks among us in subtle, cloaked, and sometimes anonymous ways? Margaret knows.

Camille, you wrote: “As the 32 of us were standing in St. Peter’s Basilica in Italy singing our hearts out, we couldn’t help but feel the emotions and feelings of togetherness spreading like wildfire from one person to the next.”

Who is the God who sets hearts afire, who puts promises in stone and invites us into the house of God forever? Camille knows.

Morgan, you wrote: “This year in confirmation I learned many things. One of which was at Lake Champion. I learned God’s love is never-ending no matter what mistakes I make.”

Yes, Morgan, this is something we all need to learn. Who is the one who, as you say, “healed the sick, blinded the brokenhearted, forgave sinners, and died on the cross”? Morgan knows.

Isabel, you wrote: “I believe God has a path for us and we should not worry too much about tomorrow for God is in control.”

Who is the one who tells us not to worry about tomorrow and what we shall eat and we shall drink? Who tells us that our heavenly Father knows we need such things and that they will be provided? Isabel knows.

Friends, we have before us 11 who know who the “unknown God” really is. Today they confirm that they are putting their trust, their faith, and their hope in Jesus Christ. May we, like them, follow Christ into, and through, all the unknowns of our lives. Amen.

^[1] Pseudo-Dionysius, The Mystical Theology in Pseudo-Dionysius: The Complete Works (Classics of Western Spirituality), trans. by Colm Luibheid. (NY: Paulist Press, 1987), p.138 (1025B).

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James 3:13-18
Lauren J. McFeaters
April 23, 2017

James picks us up after a long thorny winter and blows a cool spring breeze across our furrowed brows. He scrapes the mud off our boots and tells us quite frankly we have some serious choices to make concerning how we will live Purely. Peaceably. Gently. Enthusiastically yielding our wills to the One who expects and deserves our mercy and good fruits, without a trace of partiality or hypocrisy.

Beginning today and reaching out across the weeks ahead, James testifies that if we are to live as people of the Risen Lord then:

• enough of our endless inclination to say one thing and do another;
• our never-ending preference to profess faith and live without honor;
• our selective obedience;
• our faith without works;
• our ceaseless need to create drama and crisis and spectacle;
• our perpetual need to go it alone.

James doesn’t understand how we can worship on Sunday, surrounded by the Living Word, and Living friends, only to return home and hole up, lonely and isolated and without wisdom.

It’s been said that if we face warring political factions, James faces more. If we have had it up to here with partisan backbiting, James feels our pain. He’s sick and tired of hearing what people think about faith in God. He’s unimpressed by so-called wisdom that’s used to pound on one another.^[i] The only wisdom that interests James is the wisdom that puts hands to work and hearts to God.

For James, who knows Christians need an intensely practical way to live, he sets before us the standards to which we’ve been called:

• Do you want to be counted wise? Learn from your mistakes.
• How do we do that?
• Live modestly because it’s the way you live that counts.
• Do you find yourself being passive, unreceptive, hard-hearted? There’s no wisdom there.
• How about twisting the truth, living arrogantly and unpleasantly? That’s the furthest thing from wisdom—it’s cunning, devilish, conniving. [ii]

Here’s wisdom: the Tibetan monk who after 18 years of imprisonment by the Chinese was asked what he experienced as the biggest threat during his imprisonment and he answered, “Losing… compassion for the Chinese.”

There’s Abby McAlister who fasted for Ramadan so that she might better understand her Muslim neighbors.

There’s the Masai warriors, who 15 years ago gave a herd of cattle, their most precious gift, to the people of the United States, so that they we might find healing from the attacks of 9/11.

There’s Cynthia Ngewu, the mother of a young man murdered in South Africa, who at the Truth and Reconciliation Commission hearings said, “this thing called reconciliation…if it means the perpetrator, this man who killed my son, if it means he becomes human again…so that I, so that all of us, get our humanity back…then I agree, then I support it all.” ^[iii]

Or from our prophet-poet Wendell Berry:

“So, friends, every day, do something that won’t compute. Ask the questions that have no answers.
Put your faith in two inches of soil that will build under the trees every thousand years. Laugh.
Be joyful though you have considered all the facts.
Practice resurrection.” [iv]

Now here’s where many of us will nod off, or start making a grocery list, or work on our car-pool schedule for the week. We just give up and think: “Yada. Yada. Yada.” Or if you’re from New Jersey: “Bada Bing, Bada Bong.” “What’s the use? It’s just too hard.” “Godly wisdom is for saints, not sinners.” “Wisdom is granted to those few really good people who have some special capacity for it, who are naturally virtuous and decent.” ^[v]  I’m a hawk. I’ll leave this for the doves. Mmm. I’m a dove. I’ll leave this for the hawks. Mmm.

Do we believe an Easter Life full of mercy and wisdom is dispensed from on high like medication from God the pharmacist? Does God only allot particular doses to some and write out scripts to those worthy and valuable?^[vi]

No. That’s the lie we tell ourselves when we believe God doesn’t mean this for me. That’s the lie we tell ourselves when we leave the faith-stuff for those who can do better. We are a stiff-necked people, aren’t we? I know I am. Stubborn as all get out. Proud beyond measure. Utterly resistant. Foolish. Thoughtless. Unteachable.

And perfect – perfectly in need of God’s mercy and wisdom, perfectly created to depend on our Maker. So James washes us off, cools us down, stands us on our feet, and preaches the best good news to those who just last week experienced our own betrayal in Gethsemane. Were nourished at the table of mercy. Stood at the cross and looked up into the eyes of love. And then gathered to shout our alleluias with our Resurrected Lord.

God is not expecting perfectly wise people.

What God is expecting is for us fall into the arms of the One full of mercy, who loves us perfectly, who makes us bold, and who gets us off our duffs to love and serve.

And how? How? Real wisdom, God’s wisdom, begins with a holy life characterized by getting along with others. It is oh so gentle and reasonable. Overflowing with mercy and blessings. We’re not to live hot one day and cold the next. We’re called to joy. And we’re not lone rangers who go it alone but people who can develop a healthy, robust community that lives right with God especially when we do the hard work of getting along with each other, treating each other with dignity and honor.

What on earth does that look like? When people in our lives are unreasonable, irrational, and self-centered. Forgive them anyway. If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives. Be kind anyway. If you’re honest and sincere people may deceive you. Be honest and sincere anyway. If you find serenity and happiness, some may be jealous. Be happy anyway. [vii]

Wise living is the best model of the Christian life. Living as Christ’s Easter people means we’re honest enough to know truth is not painless, brave enough not to sing our songs in private, courageous enough to live out what we pray and profess.

Living as Christ’s wise people means we’re humble enough to be teachable, flexible enough to be merciful, pure enough to be peaceable, agreeable enough to bear really fine fruit. ^[viii]

This is God’s Word given to James.

It’s given to you and for you in all your days ahead.

Thanks be to God.

[i] Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary. Editors David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, Year B, Vol. 4, Season after Pentecost 2, 2009, 87-91.

[ii] Adapted from Eugene H. Peterson’s The Message: The New Testament in Contemporary English. James 3: 13-18. Colorado Springs, CO: NavPress Publishing Group, 1993.

^[iii] Kaethe Weingarten, Common Shock: Witnessing Violence Every Day:  How We Are Harmed, How We Can Heal. New York: E.P. Dutton, 2003. As told by Pam Houston, O Magazine, September 2003, 200.

[iv] Wendell Berry. The Country of Marriage: Poems. Berkeley, CA: Counterpoint, 1971.

^[v] Frances Taylor Gench, Hebrews and James. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1996, 113.

^[vi] J. Philip Newell, Sounds of the Eternal. London: Canterbury Press, 2002.

[vii] Kent M. Keith. “The Silent Revolution: Dynamic Leadership in the Student Council.” Harvard Student Agencies, Harvard University, 1968.

^[viii] Images from Ted Loder, Guerrillas of Grace. Philadelphia: Innisfree Press, Inc., 1984, 70-71, 82-83, 96-97.

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Matthew 28:1-10
David A. Davis
April 16, 2017
Easter Sunday

A pastor, a rabbi, and a chaplain went into a bar for coffee. Actually, it was a coffee place. The established meeting place was Small Word Coffee. The pastor and the rabbi entered Small World through the secret back entrance just off Palmer Square. They waited for the chaplain to arrive. The top of the hour passed. Then five minutes. Ten minutes. No chaplain. At that point both phones, the rabbi’s and the pastor’s, buzzed with a text. It was from the chaplain. “Weren’t we supposed to meet for coffee at 10?” “Yes,” the pastor typed, “we’re here. Where are you?” “At Small World” came the response. The rabbi looked around. Then came the next text. “Small World, Nassau Street.” The pastor and rabbi were in Small World, Witherspoon Street. The pastor texted, “Give us a few minutes. Wait for us. We’ll meet you there.” I knew — we all knew — there were two places, two Small Worlds, in town. It was just that no one ever thought to ask.

The disciples never make it to the empty tomb in Matthew’s gospel. It’s Mary and the other Mary that had the Easter morning experience: the earthquake, the angel rolling back the stone, the angel telling them not to be afraid, the angel telling them Jesus was not there but had been raised, the angel telling them Jesus was going ahead to Galilee, the two women leaving the tomb quickly in fear and great joy, and the risen Jesus meeting the women along the road… suddenly. As Matthew tells it, “Suddenly, Jesus met them and said ‘Greetings!’ And the women came to Jesus, took hold of Jesus’ feet, and worshiped him. Then Jesus said to them, ‘Do not be afraid; go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me.’”

In John’s Gospel, Peter and the other disciple whom Jesus loved took off and ran to the tomb. Jesus wasn’t there. Here in Matthew, if they took off racing, Jesus wouldn’t have been there either. The women heard it twice, from the angel and from the risen Jesus, that he was going to Galilee. They wouldn’t see him until Galilee. They were going have to meet him there, somewhere else, somewhere up the road, in Galilee. Christianity’s first preachers, Mary and the other Mary, the two female preachers? They told the eleven that Christ had risen! (He is risen indeed!) But he’s not here. He’s in Galilee. He’s in Galilee. We’ll meet him there.

My friend Scott Hoezee at Calvin Seminary in Grand Rapids points out the awkward switch of location. Christ is risen! He’s just not here. Galilee is about 80 miles north of Jerusalem, and that’s as a crow flies. It’s easily 90 to 100 by pathway and roads. I know it’s a good few hours by bus. Scott suggests that walking at a good clip, accounting for elevation changes, eating, resting, and sleeping, it would have easily taken them two to three days to get to that meeting. I figure that means the disciples would not have seen the risen Jesus until long about Wednesday. In John, it’s evening on that day, the first day of the week, when they get to see Jesus in the Upper Room. In Luke, the two walking along the Emmaus Road, they see Jesus in the breaking and sharing of bread. It was later that same day. In Mark, well, in the shorter ending of Mark, no one sees the risen Christ. Here in Matthew, if you define the New Testament experience of Easter as an encounter with the risen Christ, well, then yeah, for the disciples, Easter comes long about Wednesday! And nowhere near Jerusalem. Who would have thought to ask?

Of course, the Bible doesn’t say that it was Wednesday. “Now the eleven went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had directed him,” Matthew writes. “When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted.” That’s when Matthew’s Jesus gives the Great Commission. “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always to the end of the age.” And that’s it. That’s the end. That’s the end to Matthew’s gospel. No Upper Room. No Emmaus Road. No breakfast on the beach. No “do you love me, do you love me, do you love me” with Peter. Just the trek up to Galilee. The eleven finally seeing Jesus. Worship. Doubt. Some doubted (which means more than one and there were only eleven) and the Great Commission. The risen Jesus gives the Great Commission to the eleven who aren’t even close to 100% on board. And it all happened long about Wednesday.

It doesn’t say which mountain in Galilee. It could have been the same one that Jesus climbed when the devil took him up to show him “all the kingdoms of the world and their splendor.” It could have been the Mount of Transfiguration where Jesus took Peter, James, and John and then Elijah and Moses showed up too. But it must have been the Mount of the Beatitudes where Jesus preached the sermon, the Sermon on the Mount. The risen Christ tells the eleven to teach them “to obey everything that I have commanded you.” It just makes sense that they would been there, at the teaching mountain. And here’s where one of the disciples, maybe one of the doubters, maybe not, but one of them had to ask. Pulling out a fresh notebook, and something to write with, after Jesus said, “Everything, teach them everything.” That’s when one of the disciples said, “Now Jesus, could you tell us again? Tell us again! Tell us again, Jesus!”

Like the student who sits down in the precept with the physics professor still trying to grasp the mind-blowing part of the lecture the day before: “Could you tell us that again?” Like the grandchildren who never tires of the absolute awe in her heart when her WWII veteran grandfather tells stories about those days in the war. Sometime after dinner today, she says, “Papa, tell us again?” Like the person in the office who has to fill in for the presentation because the boss is being called away; the pressure’s on to know it all and to get it right. “Now, before you go, tell me one more time.” Like the child at bedtime who can recite every word of the bedtime story but asks for it every time, and the parent will never say no. “Tell it again.” “Goodnight room, goodnight moon, goodnight cow jumping over the moon.”

Maybe like all of those and so much more; the eleven, the risen Christ, and his body of work that is the kingdom of God. His resurrection shines now through all his teaching, every healing, every miracle, every touch. Letting your light shine, turning the other cheek, laying aside your worries, doing unto others, the exhortation comes with access to resurrection power, death-stomping hope, and a life-giving, life-sustaining, life-creating hope. Trusting in God, seeking first the kingdom of God, shouting hosanna, save us, it’s all undergirded, founded on, nudged along by his resurrection spirit. Losing your life in order to save it, knowing that the last will be first, taking up your cross and following Jesus; only and because of the strength of Christ himself, the Risen Victorious Christ. It was Paul who wrote, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” It was the risen Christ who said, “I am with you always.” Tell us again and again and again, Jesus!

Tony Campolo has a famous sermon known by the title “It’s Friday But Sunday’s Coming.” In the sermon he actually tells of his pastor preaching a “knock it out of the park” sermon all riffing on the phrase that “it’s Friday but Sunday’s coming.” It’s Good Friday but Resurrection Sunday is coming. We live in a Good Friday world but the Easter Victory is coming. It’s Friday, but Sunday’s coming. You get the picture. Well, today is Sunday. Easter Sunday. Christ is risen! But Wednesday’s coming. It’s one thing to shout “Christ is risen” today. But what about Wednesday.

Because long about Wednesday is when another trip to an open grave in the cemetery comes. Long about Wednesday is when that brutal meeting at work happens and holding a grudge is the least you can do. Wednesday is when rest and peace and quiet seem a long way off. Wednesday is when no one is talking to each other at the dinner table. Wednesday is when forgiveness is really hard. Wednesday is when time seems to stand still, and loneliness is brutal, and even a sunny day doesn’t help lighten the load, lighten the mood, lighten the journey. Long about Wednesday is when the headlines tell of another terror strike, or the size of a bomb being praised, or the nations escalating talk of missiles and retaliation and war. When nasty graffiti is sprayed on the synagogue wall, when a racist incident goes viral on social media, when an elected official says something hateful. That feels like a Wednesday. A Wednesday is the next doctor’s visit, or just another day to visit your dad long since lost to dementia, or the day when all those blasted acceptances and rejections from schools comes out, or the day after graduation and no job in sight.

It’s a joy-filled, beautiful Easter Sunday with brass and a full church and familiar hymns and a resurrection acclamation. Christ is risen! I don’t know about you, but I hope the risen Christ is waiting for me long about Wednesday. I’m so thankful to rejoice and celebrate with you this Easter Sunday morning. But I want to see Jesus on Wednesday. His presence. His strength. His death-stomping, sea-calming resurrection power. That spirit of his that lifts me. That teaching of his that inspires me. That grace of his that claims me. That kingdom of his that welcomes me. That love of his that will not let me go. I’m going need it on Wednesday. When the nations rage, when the leaders of the world rattle their sabers, and when death just never goes away, and when it’s just harder to love, and hope is harder to find, and it’s whole lot easier to just worry about me, and my old sinful self is winning the day. Wait for me then. Wait for me there. Meet me there Jesus. Oh, uh, guess what day it is! What day is it? It’s Wednesday, Jesus.

Jesus Christ and his resurrection power. It is so much more, so much bigger, so much better than one Easter Sunday. The first preachers, they said Christ is risen. But he’s not here. He’s in Galilee. We’re going meet him there. He’s waiting for us there. He’s there.

Christ is risen.

© 2017 Nassau Presbyterian Church
Contact the church to obtain reprint permission.