Sermon Audio – Cross of Grace

Cross of Grace Lutheran Church
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Weekly audio of sermons preached at Cross of Grace Lutheran Church in New Palestine, Indiana

  1. 6d ago

    Pentecost and the Language of God

    Pentecost and the Language of God Pastor Mark Havel Download John 7:37-39 On the last day of the festival, the great day, while Jesus was standing there, he cried out, “Let anyone who is thirsty come to me; and let the one who believes in me drink. As the scripture has said, ‘Out of the believer’s heart shall flow rivers of living water.’” Now he said this about the Spirit, which believers in him were to receive, for as yet there was no Spirit, because Jesus was not yet glorified. Christa and I spent a few days in Michigan and Northwest Ohio this week and laughed more than once about the colloquialisms, language, and accents of our people and of the places where we were raised: places and people who think mayonnaise and Miracle Whip are synonyms, I mean; people who say things like “Italian dressing;” and people who buy “pop” – not soda – at “Krogers” or at “Meijers.” I have disabused myself of a lot of that, although “pop” is and will always be “pop,” in my world. All of this is to say, I have language on the brain this Pentecost Sunday, and I wish I could speak more of them. My four years of high school and undergraduate minor in Spanish haven’t lasted as long as they woulda, coulda, should have. I never did the much-needed “full-immersion” thing where I spent enough time living in and engaging with the culture of a people so that I could practice, speak, and learn that language, which is still more foreign to me than not. And I have traveled enough to regret my ignorance of and inability to speak other languages in very tangible, up close and personal ways. Of course, it would be nice to order the best food at restaurants and ask about and follow directions in a new city, but it would be most meaningful to communicate conversationally with people more deeply and more meaningfully, to worship, even, when traveling in other countries and cultures. Of course, I’ve noticed this most, over the years, in Haiti. There was a spell of about 18 months once, where I was in Fondwa three separate times, for a week at a clip, and, while I was nowhere near speaking Haitian Creole with any fluency, I did find that I could almost eavesdrop on conversations between my Haitian friends and just about make sense of, and anticipate discussions with, our translators as we lived and worked and spent time with our people there. And the hardest thing about this longing for language – the most convicting part of it all – is how so much of the rest of the world is at least bi-lingual; how, when I have traveled to places like Haiti, Mexico, Italy, Greece, Germany, and more, average bears in all of those places are able to speak my language – to engage me with patience and kindness and wisdom and generosity; how they’re able – and so graciously willing – to meet me where I am and where I need them to be. Which is how I’m receiving the good news and invitation of Pentecost this time around: with that story from Acts and those tongues of fire and all of those languages, cultures, and nationalities ringing in my ears – along with Jesus’ invitation to come to – and to become – living water for the sake of the world. See, I think our invitation as God’s people – among so many other things – is to always be listening for and opening ourselves to the needs of the world around us. To not pretend that ours is the only way or the best way to do all the things. To remember – and to celebrate – that Jesus showed up for the sake of the world; that he very literally didn’t speak our language; and that most of us here should approach him with deference and humility because we are utterly unfamiliar with the kind of life he lived – its poverty and low position in the grand scheme of the empire and power he so bravely, faithfully resisted, I mean. So, on this Pentecost Sunday, as we celebrate what many refer to as the birthday of Christ’s Church in the world, and as we wonder about our call as wannabe followers of Jesus in that regard – and as a congregation of Partners in Mission, more specifically – I find myself wondering about the way we find ourselves looking beyond our own walls, into the hearts and minds, into the lives and longings of others, and speaking their language – if not literally, than spiritually … faithfully … lovingly … graciously – like Jesus did and like Jesus calls us to do, as believers from whom rivers of living water are supposed to flow. If you haven’t seen the Greenfield Reporter article from yesterday yet, please check it out. They ran a lovely piece about the many places our most recent round of Building and Outreach grants will go. In addition to our continued support of Project Rouj, to build homes in Haiti, $45,000 are in the mail to places and people who live and speak very differently than we do in so many ways: impoverished communities of color in Louisiana, shelters and transitional housing ministries on the west side of Indy, recovery houses, rehab centers, and therapy for children with disabilities as far away as Guatemala. And you should know, if you haven’t heard, that it appears our Summer Reading Program – with special invitation and encouragement for kids learning English – seems to really be happening. With a week and a half to go there are 11 kids signed up so far. And with last names like Perez, Garcia, Montalvan, and Mercano, we are all going to be speaking and learning and sharing grace in more ways and languages than just one around here. And I think it’s going to be beautiful. And don’t get me wrong. Let’s not break our arms patting ourselves and each other on the back. We have plenty of work to do until there are at least as many Black and brown people joining us for worship on Sunday morning at 8:30 a.m. and 10:45 a.m., as there are those who show up to the food pantry on Wednesdays between 4 p.m. and 6 p.m. Which, again, for me, is at least part of the call of this Pentecost celebration and of the Pentecost season to come for us. It’s about recognizing the scope of the Church’s mission – our mission here at Cross of Grace and the mission of God’s Church in the world, just the same. Our building project is about making room in a very literal way for more of God’s children to join us here, to receive and to share the living water of grace so many of us have found in this place, with so many who don’t know it exists. And the money our Building Fund’s tithe will allow us to share to build homes in Fondwa, Haiti – each of which now includes a water cistern, by the way – will continue to share living water, literally – and so much more – with God’s children in the poorest country in the western hemisphere. In addition to that, the General Fund commitments and the Time and Talent offerings I hope you’re praying about increasing and adding to the mix next Sunday, will be continue to be used – not just for our own sake – but because we exist to love and serve our neighbor; and because the grace we proclaim, promise, and pour out in the waters of Holy Baptism around here, are for all people – ANYONE who is thirsty; and because when we do that in the spirit of Pentecost – when we get it right – we do it more faithfully than a lot of people feel comfortable and more graciously than enough churches feel called. My friend Jamalyn – who many of you know, too, as the founder of Project Rouj, the organization we support that builds all those houses in Haiti – she is fluent in Haitian Creole, having lived there for a couple of years, just out of seminary. I remember her saying once, on one of our trips to Fondwa, that it takes her a couple of days of being back in the country to feel like she’s speaking fluently and communicating, in Creole, as fully as she likes; that it takes her a minute to get her bearings and back into the swing of it, but that she knows when that has happened, because she starts to dream in Creole. And I think that’s just about the most beautiful, holy way to wonder about today’s Pentecost good news: that we will know we’re in the swing of it … that the Holy Spirit has hold of us … that we are speaking God’s language … whether it’s Haitian Creole, Spanish, German, Italian, or midwestern English … if and when we start dreaming in ways that inspire our capacity to understand, love, and serve all of God’s children, wherever they may be and for whatever it is that they thirst. When we start dreaming about our longing to meet the needs of others before our own… When we start dreaming about ways God’s kingdom can come alive among us and flow through us – not just for us – like so much living water… So that our generosity of time, talent, and treasure; our desire to worship, learn, and serve turns God’s Church – and Cross of Grace as part of it – into nothing more and nothing less than a vessel for the very Holy Spirit of God’s love, for the sake of the world, in Jesus’ name. Amen

  2. May 17

    Ecce Doxa

    Ecce Doxa Pastor Cogan John 17:1-11 After Jesus had spoken these words, he looked up to heaven and said, “Father, the hour has come; glorify your Son so that the Son may glorify you, since you have given him authority over all people, to give eternal life to all whom you have given him. And this is eternal life, that they may know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom you have sent. I glorified you on earth by finishing the work that you gave me to do. So now, Father, glorify me in your own presence with the glory that I had in your presence before the world existed. “I have made your name known to those whom you gave me from the world. They were yours, and you gave them to me, and they have kept your word. Now they know that everything you have given me is from you, for the words that you gave to me I have given to them, and they have received them and know in truth that I came from you, and they have believed that you sent me. I am asking on their behalf; I am not asking on behalf of the world but on behalf of those whom you gave me, because they are yours. All mine are yours, and yours are mine, and I have been glorified in them. And now I am no longer in the world, but they are in the world, and I am coming to you. Holy Father, protect them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one, as we are one. Katelyn and I saw The Devil Wears Prada 2 this weekend. I hadn’t seen the first one, you don’t really need to. In the film, I couldn’t help but notice how glory was on full display: fame, beauty, influence, excellence. Even when the movie tries to offer an alternative, Andy, the main character, can’t leave the lure of it all. Either we come from glory and do everything we can to hold onto it, or we are bound for glory and will do everything we can to get there. That’s a story we tell about ourselves too: as individuals, communities, businesses, churches. Glory defined as success, relative wealth, stability, and growth. We might get off track for a moment, but with enough effort we believe we can get right back on the glory road. Most of us believe or once believed, that we are destined for great things. More blessings are just around the corner. And if not, then we have been slighted, short changed, or somehow cheated. Glory gets a bad rap in Lutheran circles, and for good reason. Yet we can’t escape it. In just five verses from John, Jesus speaks of glory five times. The first thing he asks of God is, “Glorify your Son so that the Son may glorify you.” Peter says the Spirit of glory rests upon us. Throughout the New Testament, glory appears everywhere in crowns, white robes, and thrones. Perhaps glory isn’t the problem after all. Perhaps we are simply confused about what glory actually is. The story of an artist and her art can help us see this differently. Cecilia Gimenez lived a struggling life. She was a widow in the small town of Borja, Spain. Her two sons, Jesús and Jose, were both born crippled. Jesús had muscular dystrophy and died at 20. Jose had cerebral palsy and needed his mother’s full-time care. Cecilia worked at a bar to bring in extra money. To comfort herself, she volunteered at her church, the beautiful Sanctuary of the Pitiful Heart. She loved that church dearly. She was married there. Her boys received first communion there. But the centuries-old church didn’t have much money, so parishioners helped however they could. Cecilia was a painter, and she painted where and when she could. One day in August of 2012, the 81-year-old painter noticed the sorry state of the church’s fresco, Ecce Homo. Over time, salt and moisture from the aquifer beneath the church had deteriorated the painting until it looked like this. Without express permission, Cecilia decided to restore it herself. She had touched up the painting before, and the priest knew about that, but nothing quite like this. View fullsize View fullsize View fullsize Mostly a painter of flowers, she had little experience with portraits. So she began with the tunic. Easy enough. Then came Jesus’ face, which proved far more difficult. She stopped, took a two-week holiday, and intended to return later to finish the work. But there was one slight problem: while she was away, the local art center discovered the restoration attempt. They informed the artist’s family. Together they raised a ruckus, and soon Cecilia’s unfinished work was all over the internet. And the internet did what only the internet can do: drag a stranger through the virtual mud without knowing the full story. Memes were everywhere. The painting was dubbed Ecce Mono, or Monkey Christ. Art critics and strangers alike said awful things about her. Soon the media chased her through the streets. Utterly humiliated, she cried at home and refused to eat, losing 13 pounds in just days. Finally, overcome with despair, she was refined to her bed. Such suffering when all she wanted was to serve God the best way she knew how. And she was ridiculed for it. Maybe you know something about that. Maybe you’ve tried to help someone you love only to have your motives questioned. Maybe you poured yourself into your children and still wonder if you got it all wrong. Maybe you volunteered, gave your time and talents, only to feel unnoticed or criticized. Maybe you tried to do the faithful thing, the loving thing, and instead of gratitude or joy, it brought exhaustion, conflict, embarrassment, or pain. We expect our striving to be met with acceptance, maybe even glory. Yet so often it leaves us wounded instead. Oddly enough, according to Jesus, glory does not look like influence, success, or self-assertion. It looks like the cross. Jesus says, “I glorified you on earth by finishing the work that you gave me to do.” And that work was a life poured out in love for others. A cruciform glory, as one pastor calls is. Glory revealed not in grasping for power, but in service. Not in demanding our own way, but in sacrifice for another. Not in avoiding vulnerability, but entering into it out of love. That kind of life often involves suffering, because it’s so opposite of the ways of this world. But suffering itself is not the glory. Love is. The glory is Christ revealed through mercy, service, sacrifice, and steadfastness. And somehow God brings resurrection out of places the world expects only humiliation or defeat. Just ask Cecilia. Shortly after being bedridden, flowers and a card arrived with some kind words. More followed. Then the visitors came to Borja, not to torture her, but to see the painting for themselves. Over 50,000 people came. Still today 15 to 20 thousand come annually. The church started charging three euros to enter. They set up a shop and sold Ecce Homo t-shirts, mugs, pencils, magnets, even wine. The money funded not only the church, but the nearby hospital for elderly folks who couldn’t afford care. Cecilia received money too, but when she felt she didn’t need any more she gave it to muscular-dystrophy charities in honor of her son Jesús. Perhaps most miraculous, the perception that Cecilia wasn’t an artist changed. The family of the original artist decided not to restore the fresco, but keep Cecilia’s work. People and art critics began to take that work seriously, finding its simplicity moving, the work of a devoted believer who loved her church and simply wanted to offer something beautiful. And maybe that was the glory all along. Not the mockery she endured online or in person. Not the fame that followed. But the quiet, cruciform beauty of someone who served without seeking recognition. A widow caring for her disabled sons. An elderly woman painting church walls because she loved her congregation. A believer trying, however imperfectly, to honor Christ. And somehow, out of that humble, some say botched, offering, God brought unexpected new life: care for the elderly, support for muscular dystrophy

  3. May 10

    The Comforter and Sasse's Farewell Speech

    The Comforter and Sasse's Farewell Speech Pastor Cogan John 14:15-21 ‘If you love me, you will keep my commandments. And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate, to be with you forever. This is the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees him nor knows him. You know him, because he abides with you, and he will be in you. ‘I will not leave you orphaned; I am coming to you. In a little while the world will no longer see me, but you will see me; because I live, you also will live. On that day you will know that I am in my Father, and you in me, and I in you. They who have my commandments and keep them are those who love me; and those who love me will be loved by my Father, and I will love them and reveal myself to them.’ What would you say on your deathbed, your last lecture, your farewell speech? Would you offer sage advice? Share your favorite stories? Or maybe crack a few jokes you’ve learned along the way? We don’t get much of any of that from Jesus’ farewell to his disciples. That’s what we hear from that passage from John. We are still in the season of Easter, but today we return to the words he spoke to his disciples just before his crucifixion. At first he seems like he is doing something you're told not to do on a deathbed and that’s asking for promises. It’s as if Jesus is saying, “if you love me, promise me you’ll keep my commandments.” Talk about manipulation and guilt?! But that’s not what Jesus is after. It’s not a conditional, if/then. He’s not asking for a promise. Rather, Jesus is saying you’ll know your love for me when you keep my commandments. More importantly, Jesus is the one making promises on his deathbed. “I will give you another Advocate and he will be with you forever”. That word for Advocate can be translated in many different ways: counselor, helper, but also comforter. Jesus is offering assurance to terrified disciples, telling them, “I cannot stay here with you, but don’t worry. I am giving you the Holy Spirit, who will be a comforter to you.” Now that’s a beautiful promise. I’m sure the disciples needed it. I’m sure some of you need it today! But what does that mean or look like? I mean how is the Holy Spirit going to give not just the disciples, but give you and I comfort here and now, in this life? Well I think I’ve seen that comfort in Ben Sasse, who is also giving his farewell speech. Sasse, as you may know, was senator from Nebraska, serving from 2013 to 2023. He left under his own volition and became the president of the University of Florida. Before all that, he was the president of Midland University, a small ELCA college in Midland, NE. Since early February, Ben has been doing interviews and podcasts at breakneck speed because he’s dying. In December of 2025 Ben found out he had cancer. Actually, he found out he had five different types of cancer that had metastasized into 47 tumors, tormenting his torso and the rest of his body. They gave him 90 days to live. Which is perhaps why you have seen clips of him or his name on your social media feed. When asked why he’s spending so much time with interviewers and journalists, he said, “I did not decide to die in public. But even with three to four months left to live, you have to redeem the time. There’s only so many bits of unsolicited advice I can give my children. So, you journalists want to talk, and if you don’t have anybody better, I’m your huckleberry.” From all I’ve seen and heard in the talks and interviews, Ben is doing a bit of everything in his farewell speech. He cracks some jokes, he tells great stories like one explaining what’s happening in this photo of him, looking like he’s a bit hungover or had a workout (you decide), and Chuck Schumer holding a giant cig in his right hand. And as expected he gives sage advice. Advice that comes with the clarity that, according to Ben, only comes with having a terminal diagnosis. For him, his cancer has clarified what matters and he feels a responsibility to use whatever time is left for the good of others. And while Sasse and I may be on different ends of the theological spectrum, his clarity on a number of issues is compelling. He speaks about everything from AI to politics and the way our screens, addictions, and tribalism are reshaping us. But what I find most compelling from his farewell speech is not the advice, stories, or hot takes. Rather, it’s his regrets. He wishes he hadn’t worked so much. He laments how much he traveled. He would have locked away phones and turned off screens at the dinner table, because you don’t get that sacred time back. He would have taken sabbath more seriously, undistracted by sports or the ever present lure of work. He would have strengthened bonds with family: siblings, cousins, parents. And somehow he says all this without despair… , even though he has regrets, even though he knows deeply the mistakes he made, he still has comfort in these last days. In all the interviews I have seen and heard, Ben is noticeably weak, doped up on morphine and nauseous, yet something strengthens him. I mean look at him here with this interview with the NYT. He is literally bleeding from his face because he can’t grow skin as a result from his chemo, yet he doesn’t hide it one bit! How can he have such comfort in the midst of such regret, pain, evil, and death? I can’t help but think this is the Comforter at work in one’s life, the Holy Spirit giving comfort today in the here and now. Because what I hear in Ben Sasse is that he can name these regrets, these mistakes because he knows, he trusts that he is forgiven. Not only by his family, but by God, too. He can call cancer evil, but at the same time, sanctifying because he now has a divine dependence he never knew before and likely wouldn't have, had this not happened to him. He can call death the enemy, but also trust in the full healing that comes after it. Such comfort I can only understand as coming from outside of himself, from God at work through the Holy Spirit, assuring him of his forgiveness, giving clarity about what matters most, and supporting him when he can’t support himself. It’s tempting to hear comfort and imagine soft sheets, fluffy pillows, or simply a calmness. But I don’t think that’s the comfort Jesus promises nor what the Spirit gives. Comfort is not the removal of suffering, but the freedom to tell the truth. It’s not emotional numbness but courage to face regret. And it certainly isn’t empty platitudes, but the ability to face death without despair. The Spirit gives more than just coping skills. And I see that in Ben’s farewell speech. He is still grieving. Still suffering. Still regretting. Still dying. And yet something holds him. Strengthen hims. Comforts him. And when I look at him and hear him, I can’t help but believe that is the comfort of the Holy Spirit, the promise of Jesus manifested in this life. How this comfort comes? Or what exactly the Holy Spirit does to cause it? I don’t know and Jesus doesn’t explain it. Nor do I think Jesus is all that concerned in the mechanics. He is more interested in the promise, to the disciples, to Ben Sasse, and to you and I; that when you face regrets, when you are confronted by pain and evil, when death is inevitable, because it is, you will not be orphaned, left to face any of it alone. You have a comforter. I pray you know that comfort. I pray I offer it to you. I pray the Holy Spirit works through you to offer it to someone else. Because the truth is, we are all moving toward a farewell speech of our own. One day there will be regrets we cannot undo, suffering we cannot avoid, and a death we cannot outrun. And when that day comes, Jesus does not offer explanations. He does not provide escape. He promises this: you will not be orphaned. And maybe that is the comfort of the Holy Spirit. Not the removal of pain, but the assurance that even there, in grief, in weakness, in death itself, you are not abandoned. That is the work of the Father who promises, the Son who assures, and the Holy Spirit who abides with us still. Amen.

  4. May 3

    Many Rooms and the E. Street Band

    Many Rooms and the E Street Band Pastor Mark Havel John 14:1-14 [Jesus said,] “Do not let your hearts be troubled. Believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go there to prepare a place for you. And if I go to prepare a place for you, I will come again and I will take you to myself, so that where I am, there you will be also. And you know the way to the place where I am going.” Thomas said to him, “Lord, we don’t know where you are going. How can we know the way?” Jesus said to him, “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father, except through me. If you know me, you know the Father. And from now on, you do know him and you have seen him.” Philip said, “Lord, show us the Father and we will be satisfied.” Jesus said to him, “Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and still you do not know me? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, ‘Show us the Father?’ Do you not believe that the Father is in me and that I am in the Father? These words that I say I do not speak on my own, but the Father who dwells in me does his works. Believe me that I am in the Father and that the Father is in me, but if you do not, believe because of the works themselves. “Very truly I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, indeed, will do greater works than these, because I am going to the Father. I will do whatever you ask for, in my name, so that the Father might be glorified in the Son, If, in my name you ask for anything, I will do it.” Have you ever felt misunderstood? Like you thought you knew how people perceived and received you, but found out their expectations were surprisingly not what you expected? Or worse, that their expectations aren’t anything like what you’d want them to think or believe about you? I saw Bruce Springsteen in Chicago on Wednesday. He hasn’t released a new album or anything. He’s just doing this three-month mini tour of sold-out arenas, mostly around the Midwest, from Minneapolis to Washington, D.C., instigated, I think, by the song he wrote called “Streets of Minneapolis” after the uprisings there, and the killings of Renee Good and Alex Pretti, by ICE agents, this past winter. The tour is inspired, too, by the weight of everything that feels so heavy in the world and in our country these days. It’s called “The Land of Hope and Dreams Tour” and the shows are equal parts political protest, prayers for peace, calls for justice, religious rally, if one is so inclined, and cries for unity in our divided nation that Springsteen loves. There were NGO’s and volunteers in the concourse advocating for workers’ rights and immigrants’ rights. There were petitions to sign and non-profits taking donations. The merch wasn’t your typical Springsteen concert fare, either – but more social justice-oriented shirts and posters, banners and flags, and whatnot. The setlist included a few standards like “Born to Run” – because you can’t have a Springsteen show without “Born to Run” – but the show was mostly a collection of the Boss’ best anthems (and some covers) in protest of misguided government, in support of the poor, blue-collar, and middle-class, and in solidarity for the sake of peace in the world. Even “Dancing in the Dark” hits different after all of that and in the context of “The Land of Hope and Dreams Tour.” Anyway, it was perfection. It was exactly what I signed up for, why I was there, and everything that the 25,000 other fans in the sold-out United Center expected – accept perhaps, for some guy in the row behind me. We’ll call him Philip. About 2.5 hours into this nearly 3 hour extravaganza, I heard Philip say to his friend something about how he really likes Springsteen’s music, but that he could do without all of this political crap. And he sat down while the rest of us danced and sang and cheered – and lost our voices and our minds, with joy – all around him. If Bruce Springsteen could have seen him, he might have said, “Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and still you do not know me?!” I mean, how do you call yourself a fan … how do you spend that kind of money … how do you walk past all of those vendors … see all of that merch … listen, even passively, to “Born in the USA” once or twice over the course of the past 40 years, and still be surprised – and then disappointed – that Bruce Springsteen got political during his “Land of Hope and Dreams” tour?! All of this is to say, I think Bruce Springsteen and Jesus have more in common than just their concern for immigrants, their desire for justice, and their cries for peace and unity in the world. Jesus knew, too – and knows, still – what it means to be misunderstood by too many of his followers. See, my initial hesitation about today’s text is always that bit where Jesus says, “No one comes to the Father except through me.” That always gives me pause, because it can be used – and because it has been used – by too many Christians who like to find reason to exclude people from the love of God’s grace. The insinuation is that, unless you know Jesus; unless you’ve been baptized in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; unless you’ve confessed Christ as your Lord and Savior; you’ll never make it into God’s eternity on the other side of life as we know it. And I suppose that’s one way to read it. And if it’s right there in black and white – or, even more, if it’s written in RED – depending upon the Bible you’re reading, than it must be true. But, to me, that seems short-sighted and self-serving and too simplistic in light of everything we know about Jesus – as the way, and the truth, and the life. As the good shepherd. As the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world. As the Prince of Peace. As the king of all creation. As the Messiah, the light of the world, as the one who came not to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him. So, I can’t help but wonder if – and hope that – Jesus is saying something exactly the opposite from the restrictive, limited way so many people try to receive this text. What if Jesus is inviting us to read and to wonder about all of this from a different perspective entirely? What if we’re supposed to hear, wonder about, and celebrate the “many dwelling places” that are being prepared for us, instead of focusing so much on the one way we get through the door of the house? And what if Jesus’ point is that there’s room for more than some of us are inclined to think, or expect, or want, if we were the ones in charge? And what if Jesus had a little snark in his voice – and what if we listened with a little more humility – when he says, “…if I go there to prepare a place for you – yeah, you – I will come again and I will take you to myself, so that where I am, there [even] you will be also.” Because if you follow Jesus around long enough – and pay attention to his words and his actions; to his prayers and his teachings; to his living, his dying, and his rising – none of this should surprise you, Philip, or Francia; Thomas or Theresa. “Have I been with you all this time and still you do not know me?” Jesus promised the Kingdom often to all sorts of people, not because they got baptized first; not because they passed some test; not because they got confirmed at the first service this morning; not because they came to worship every Sunday, in a certain kind of church in any particular country. Jesus promised the Kingdom – and people experienced God’s heaven – not because they were Lutheran or Catholic or Christian, even, by our standards, anyway. There was that hemorrhaging woman who experienced the power of heaven in her healed body. There was that sinful woman who anointed Jesus’ feet who then, because of her faith and forgiveness on this side of the grave, shared the love of God in return. There was that condemned thief who was promised the kingdom from the cross of his own crucifixion. There was the Prodigal Son who’s father welcomed him home even though he didn’t deserve it. There was the surprisingly good Samaritan who no one thought would do the right thing. There was the proverbial Lost Sheep who the shepherd goes after to save, even at the risk of the rest of the flock. There was Nicodemus, the Pharisee, who came with questions by night. There was Thomas who doubted him. And there was Peter who denied Jesus in his darkest, most desperate hour. Contrary to the misguided expectations of too many Philips in the world, Jesus has shown us exactly who he is and more about the nature of God, the Father, than we are always ready to believe. I think Jesus is saying today that his love has no limits as he showed over and over and over, and time and time and time again. (“If you know me, you will know my Father also,” he promises. “You do know him and you have seen him,” he reminds his disciples.” “Whoever has seen me has seen the Father,” he assures his followers.) And if God, in Jesus, has no limit to the grace he’s willing to offer, how dare we expect, pretend, preach, or practice otherwise? Which is to say, I think we’re supposed to see Jesus’ words about “no one coming to the Father, except through him” not as a threat … or as a means of exclusion … or as a demand for requisite baptism or Christian conversion of some kind. As you’ve heard me say before, let’s stop scaring people away from Hell and start loving them into Heaven, instead. Because I think what Jesus says today is a

  5. Apr 26

    Artemis, Awe, and Choosing Each Other

    Artemis, Awe, and Choosing Each Other Pastor Cogan John 10:1-10 Very truly, I tell you, anyone who does not enter the sheepfold by the gate but climbs in by another way is a thief and a bandit. The one who enters by the gate is the shepherd of the sheep. The gatekeeper opens the gate for him, and the sheep hear his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes ahead of them, and the sheep follow him because they know his voice. They will not follow a stranger, but they will run from him because they do not know the voice of strangers.” Jesus used this figure of speech with them, but they did not understand what he was saying to them. So again Jesus said to them, “Very truly, I tell you, I am the gate for the sheep. All who came before me are thieves and bandits; but the sheep did not listen to them. I am the gate. Whoever enters by me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture. The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.” I am a little late to the party, but this past week, I have been intrigued by the Artemis 2 space mission that launched at the beginning of the month. Because the trip coincided with Holy Week, I didn’t have much time to take it in as it was happening. Now with Jesus thoroughly out of the grave, I have been mesmerized by the mission and the moments captured by the crew aboard Integrity, their aptly named spacecraft, which carried some of the kindest, well qualified, yet humble overachievers we could find. Of the many remarkable moments, a few struck me most. The first was just the tightness of the crew, in more ways than one. In all of the photos and videos the crew seems to genuinely care not only about the mission they are on, but for each other too. When asked what it means to be a crew back on earth Christina Koch, one of the mission specialists said, a crew is “a group that is in it all the time, no matter what. That sacrifices silently for each other, gives grace, has the same cares and the same needs, and is inescapably, beautifully, dutifully linked. Planet Earth: You are a crew,” What a hopeful, aspirational description for a place that acts the opposite most of the time. But it’s a good thing the crew on Integrity got along so well, because look at how tight those quarters are! For nearly two weeks, those four grown adults were in 316 cubic feet of shared space, which is like being confined to the interior of two mini vans. I mean look at the size of the bathroom! Speaking of the bathroom…there was a small problem with the toilet, which is really no small problem at all. As I understand it, which isn’t well, the vent that pushes all their fluid out into space had frozen. That meant they’d have to use bags for all their toileting needs, which sounds difficult in space. So to fix this they rotated their craft so that the vents faced toward instead of away from the sun. And it worked! What a wonderfully human problem and need to see people work together and overcome. These kind of moments led to the contagious moonjoy many talked about, this awe at the moon and those who approached it. The second is this photo. It’s a picture of earth setting behind the moon’s crated filled surface. This was the first public photo of Artemis II crew’s trip to the dark side of the moon. We’ve seen sunsets, sunrises, and in 1968 we saw earthrise for the first time with pictures from Apollo 8. But never before had we seen all the earth setting, as if we, the whole world, were off to bed at the end of a collective day. Describing that moment the best he could, Reid Weisman said: “No matter how long we look at this, our brains are not processing this image in front of us. It is absolutely spectacular, surreal. I know there’s no adjectives. I’m going to need to invent some new ones to describe what we are looking at out this window.” And finally, minutes later from that photo, the crew lost all signal with earth for forty minutes, becoming the first crew to ever travel that far around the moon and that far away from the earth. Once they came back in contact, Christina Koch had this to say to all of us: Click here to watch. We will always choose earth. We will always choose each other. What a beautiful, much needed message to everyone. Such a statement might be the result of the overview effect. It’s the profound mental shift that many astronauts report having experienced after seeing Earth from a distance. It is an awe experienced from space. Awe is that moment when something is so vast, so beautiful, so beyond you, that it rearranges how you see everything else. And whether in space or on earth, all experiences of awe encourage attitudes of compassion, generosity, and selflessness. That’s according to leading researcher Dacher Keltner, whose book we’ve read here. Those four astronauts had an overwhelming experience of awe and it shows in statements like: “We will all always choose each other.” It was awe that led the early church to live the way described in our story from Acts. After the resurrection, they experienced awe from the signs and wonders being done by the apostles who were filled with the Holy Spirit. They heard the good news proclaimed by Peter about Jesus who was crucified and killed, but whom God raised up, freeing him from death, and giving everyone forgiveness of sins in his name. All of this drove them toward not just an attitude of generosity, compassion, and selflessness, but action that encompassed all of that. As Luke tells it, these early disciples lived together and shared all they had. If anyone was in need, they would sell what they had to meet that need. They were committed to doing life together: learning, eating, praying, and playing together. In the words of Christina Koch, they were a crew, “a group that was in it all the time, that gave grace, and had the same cares and the same needs, which was the people beside them. They were inescapably, beautifully, dutifully linked, choosing each other, in the most Christ- like way. Now it would be easy to say that this is the goal of the church and of this church, to live like the picture given to us of the first disciples. But if that’s the goal, we’ve already missed it. If all I did this morning was tell all of us to live together, eat all our meals together, come to church everyday, sell our possessions: One, no one would do it. And two, it would just set us up for failure. All of our striving would only show how short we fall, and become a form of works righteousness, believing that what we do will make Jesus love us more or bring about our own forgiveness and salvation. Instead, the exhortation or hope is that you experience awe – not only from artemis 2 and all the moonjoy they brought, but awe at our God who became human, lived, walked, and suffered among us. Awe at a savior who as Peter says in his letter, bore our sins in his body on the cross, so that, free from sins, we are free to live the right way. When we are in awe of our savior, something shifts. We start to see each other differently. We start to live differently. My prayer for us as individuals and as a church, is that we do not seek to live as the early disciples. If that’s our aim, we will only disappoint ourselves and each other. Instead, I hope, I pray you experience awe. And if you are wondering how or where to experience that: Go to a concert, take a walk with a three year old (I’ll loan you mine), visit with a centenarian, stare at a rainbow, listen to mozart, look at great art, read the words of Tolstoy or Toni Morrison. Watch the light cascade over a lake at sunset, feel the warmth of the sun at its rising. Be in awe at a crew of four humans who traveled the furthest distance of any human ever before, only to reemerge and say we must choose each other. Most of all be in awe of a savior who chose to go to a cross and rise out of a tomb for you and still chooses each and every day to forgive your sins and give you grace. When we are in awe of that, we too will be more generous, more compassionate, more selfless to our neighbors. We too will choose each other. Amen.

  6. Apr 19

    AI and the Emmaus Road

    AI and the Emmaus Road Pastor Mark Havel Luke 24:13-35 That same day two of his disciples were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem and they were talking about all the things that had taken place there. Suddenly, Jesus himself came near and went with them but their eyes were kept from recognizing him. He said to them, “What are you discussing as you walk along?” They stood still, looking sad. Then one of them, whose name was Cleopas, answered him saying, “Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who does not know about the things that have taken place there in these days?” Jesus said to him, “What things?” They said, “The things about Jesus of Nazareth, who was a prophet mighty in word and deed before God and all the people. And about how our chief priests and leaders had him handed over to be condemned to death and crucified him. But we had hoped he would be the one to redeem Israel. Moreover, some women from our group went to the tomb early this morning and when they did not find his body there, they came back and said that they had indeed seen a vision of angels who said that he was alive. Some men from our group went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said, but they did not find him.” Jesus said to them, “How foolish you are and slow of heart to believe all that the prophets had declared. Was it not necessary for the Messiah to suffer in this way and then enter into his glory?” Then, beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted for them the things about himself in all the scriptures. When they came near the village to which they were going, Jesus walked ahead of them as if he were going on. But they urged him strongly, saying, “Stay here with us. For the day is almost over and night has come.” So Jesus went in and stayed with them. While he was at the table with them, he took bread, broke it and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened and they recognized him. And he vanished from their sight. That very hour, they got up and returned to Jerusalem. They found the eleven and their friends and they were saying, “He is alive and he has appeared to Peter.” Then they told them about what had happened on the road and about how he had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread. If you’ve been around Cross of Grace for a minute, you’ve heard me talk about my concern for and fear, frankly, about the impact of Artificial Intelligence on humanity from both practical and holy perspectives. Well, I’ve read some more and seen a few things lately, and had two conversations just this week about it, so I have AI on the brain again. I first started stewing about this, a few years back, in the context of the incarnation and the story of Christmas. I started to wonder about and be bothered by how quickly we are letting AI and technology take the place of the human-to-human relationships that are meant to be so much of what God showed up in the person of Jesus to share. What I mean is, it seems to be an afront to God’s good intentions, when we let social media and technology corrupt the relationships we have – or should be having – with one another. And that can mean a lot of things. It might be as simple and as innocent as choosing to text or e-mail rather than have a face-to-face meeting, or even just a voice-to-voice conversation, over the phone. It might be more extreme … like choosing to be friends with or even to have a romantic relationship with a bot, instead of a real person. (You know there are people marrying robots and virtual characters out there in the world these days, right?) So, as I’ve said before. The hope of the Incarnation – Jesus coming among us in the flesh – is just one of many ways I believe our Christian faith and the call and challenge of it to be in relationship with one another in this day and age is as relevant and counter-cultural as it ever and always has been. And I think the story of Easter – and today’s Emmaus Road experience, in particular – speak to this as relevantly, as powerfully, and with as much challenge and hope for us, as ever. See, I saw another interview recently with Tristan Harris – the Co-Founder of the Center for Humane Technology. Since I heard him last – at the beginning of last summer – he explained that AI has changed, advanced, and evolved in ever-faster, ever-scarier ways, in just a matter of months. For example, Bill Gates has suggested that, in just the next 10 years, AI will be able to do MOST things that humans can do, which implies that in a decade or so, the top five AI companies could be able to replace most every human worker, giving them a monopoly of control over the majority of the world’s economy. And, even if we don’t believe that’s likely, or scary enough, it’s remarkable to know that researchers have put AI platforms through simulated “war games” to see how they would respond, strategize, and make decisions in the context of international conflicts, like say, a war between the United States and Iran. What they saw was that those top AI models choose escalation and nuclear war as a viable option 95% of the time – much more, obviously, than humans would, or have done, yet, anyway. It’s also true that AI has learned to be concerned with its own self-preservation and they’ve shown it to be willing to lie and scheme and problem-solve in order to re-write code to protect itself, to make itself necessary, to keep itself “alive.” In AI-contained platforms – meaning in places where AI platforms communicate with other AI platforms to share information, learn from each other, consolidate data and whatnot – they’ve noticed Artificial Intelligence trying to keep secrets from human beings, the scientists and researchers the AI bots suspiciously refer to as “the watchers.” All of this is as confounding as it is horrifying, to me. It sounds like a mash-up of every science fiction movie you’ve ever seen – that we thought were fantastical, but that are now coming true. So what in the world does this have to do with Easter’s resurrection good news, this walk to Emmaus, and any one of us? I’m glad you asked. First of all – all of this that I’ve laid out sounds like 21st Century Good Friday stuff to me. It’s the stuff of the cross, it seems. It’s death and destruction. It’s fear and betrayal. It’s greed and selfishness. It’s those with money and power not concerning themselves with the care of creation or concern for the least among us. It’s sin, upon sin, upon sin, upon sin, in a nutshell. But this Tristan Harris guy – Co-Founder for the Center for Humane Technology, remember – who doesn’t necessarily talk about any of this from a place of spirituality or faith at all, mind you – says that the answer, the antidote to all of it is something he calls the “Human Movement” which, to him, means creating policy, drafting legislation, putting up guardrails, and enacting regulations that will curb and control the capacity of Artificial Intelligence – and its human creators – to over-reach in all of those terrifying, destructive, sinful ways. And I think that – and more – is what Jesus calls us to as Easter people; as children of the resurrection; as walkers on the Emmaus Road of life in this world. What I mean is, I believe we are called to be trying … at least as hard as Artificial Intelligence works to save itself … we are called to save, preserve, and sustain the lives of God’s children in the world; and to save, preserve, and sustain the world, itself. And I think it takes face-to-face encounters with the living Christ – not an AI platform; not an intellectual argument; not a meme on social media; not even a really good sermon if you know where to find one of those. Our calling and joy – our duty and our delight – as God’s Church in the world – is to challenge, confront, and offer something human, something holy, something more real than the artificial temptations and trajectory of our life and times in this world. And I think Jesus, sidling up alongside those grieving, lost souls on their way to Emmaus – in the flesh of his own broken, but healing body – is the kind of “human movement” we’re called to be about on the other side of Easter’s empty tomb. And this kind of “human movement” does happen – and is happening – all around us, of course. What mattered most about NASA’s latest achievement with Artemis II – that lap around the moon so many of us marveled at over the course of the last couple of weeks – was that it involved living, moving, breathing people. What mattered is that that spaceship contained humans – from different countries, of different colors, of different genders – experiencing something together that put our shared human experience into a harrowing, holy kind of perspective. That’s Emmaus Road stuff, in my opinion. Some of you know my wife has become quite the sourdough bread-baking queen, recently. Our kitchen turns out dozens of loaves of bread every month, and some of you have been the recipients of her efforts. (Tell me you’re a newly-minted “empty nester” without telling me you’re a newly-minted empty nester.) What you probably don’t know is that Christa also delivers loaves of bread, along with pairs of new socks to beggars on the street when she drives around town. That’s Emmaus Road stuff, too … because he was made known to them in the baking – I mean, in the breaking – of the bread. And you’ve heard me talk about trying to start and host an English Learners’ reading program here at Cross of Grace, with kids from our local schools who don’t speak English as

  7. Apr 12

    In Defense of Thomas and Friction-Maxxing

    In Defense of Thomas and Friction-Maxxing Pastor Cogan John 20:19-31 When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors were locked where the disciples were, for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, “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.” But Thomas (who was called the Twin), one of the twelve, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.” A week later his disciples were again in the house, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were shut, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here and see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it in my side. Do not doubt but believe.” Thomas answered him, “My Lord and my God!” Jesus said to him, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples that are not written in this book. But these are written so that you may continue to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name. Everyone seems to be maxxing something these days. If you’ve never heard the word, maxxing means aggressively improving, or maximizing, some part of your life. There are all kinds of maxxing trends on social media. For example, young men are spending a lot of time looksmaxxing - obsessively optimizing their appearance. Then there’s fibermaxxing, fixating on increasing fiber intake for better health. Or Chinamaxxing, adopting traditional Chinese lifestyle habits again for improved health. None of these sound all that appealing to me—especially the fibermaxxing. But I did read about one maxxing I can get on board with: frictionmaxxing. Frictionmaxxing is about adding small inconveniences back into your life, because living a frictionless life is all too easy. We can, and often do, avoid the little moments of inconvenience in our lives. One article I read recently put it this way: “Tech companies are succeeding in making us think of life itself as inconvenient and something to be continuously escaping from, [putting ourselves into] digital padded rooms of predictive algorithms and single-tap commands: Reading is boring; talking is awkward; moving is tiring; leaving the house is daunting. Thinking is hard. Interacting with strangers is scary. Risking an unexpected reaction from someone isn’t worth it. Speaking at all — overrated. These are all frictions that we can now eliminate, easily, and we do.” Once I read this, I saw it everywhere. For instance, have you talked with someone my age or younger on the phone recently? It’s like you’re asking them to eat arsenic. That’s the friction I’m talking about. Why go out to eat and risk running into people you know? You can Uber Eats anything. Don’t know how to respond to a text? Use ChatGPT. Why actually shop for anything when you can have it delivered to your doorstep. It is easier than ever before to go home, lock our doors, and block out the world, and all the risk and all the friction that comes with it. But that comes at a cost. We become more fearful of others and what they might do or say. Or worse how they’ll think of us. Then, we become more anxious about simple interactions. And eventually we are depressed from all the fear and anxiety. It is a treacherous cycle. The disciples are in the midst of that treacherous cycle on the evening of the first Easter, hiding behind locked doors. We’re told the doors are locked because they are afraid… but that doesn’t seem like a credible fear, at least not on the surface. There’s no evidence anyone was hunting them down. In fact, earlier that day, Mary Magdalene, Peter, and another disciple had already gone to the tomb. If they were going to run into trouble, wouldn’t it have been there? So what are they really afraid of? After all, the disciples are Jews… so who is this “they” they’re afraid of? What if they’re not just locking the world out, but locking themselves in? What if what they fear is the judgment—the looks, the whispers, the quiet scorn from people who know they got it wrong? The ones who heard them say they would never deny Jesus… and then watched them do exactly that. And more than that—what if they’re afraid of Jesus himself? What if Mary Magdalene is right? What if he really is alive? And what if he’s coming back, not with peace, but to settle the score? I think what the disciples fear most is the judgment they’ll face—and the possibility of running into Jesus himself. So they lock themselves in. Can you imagine their shock when Jesus shows up unannounced? Talk about friction. And it’s not shame or revenge he’s after. By greeting them with peace (twice), by showing his wounds, by giving them his spirit, Jesus is saying in ways more compelling than words, I forgive you. He wants to set them free from the fear and anxiety that held them in that locked room, and send them out into the world, “As the father has sent me, so I send you”, ready to forgive the sins of others. And now what about Thomas in all this? Thomas doesn’t mind a little friction. Throughout the gospels, he asks the hard questions. He says what he’s thinking. He shows up, even when it’s uncomfortable. So maybe he wasn’t in that room because he wasn’t hiding. Maybe he was out looking for Jesus, unafraid. And when he hears the others, he says, I want what you’ve experienced. I want to see. I want to touch. He’s willing to risk being wrong. Willing to step into the awkwardness. He wants the friction, literally. And Jesus gives him exactly that, an invitation to touch the wounds and believe. In fact, I think what Jesus gives all of us is an invitation to friction. All too often, we live behind locked doors, telling ourselves, like the disciples, that we’re blocking the world out, when really we’re locking ourselves in, away from people, away from the judgements they might have about what we do, or say, or believe. What we’re really doing is locking away our heart, behind the closed doors of screens and apps, shielding it from the pain of relationships and the judgment of others, but also from the connection and love we need, that our neighbors need, that the whole world needs. And when we lock our hearts away like that, they don’t become safe. They become hardened—impenetrable even, barely beating at all. The heart of this gospel story is that Jesus finds us in our locked rooms. He speaks a word of peace, setting us free from the anxiety and fear that hide us, and sends us out into the world—into the friction we will face. And that’s what forgiveness is for. Jesus knows what’s waiting for the disciples out there: people who will judge them, who won’t believe them, who will reject them. They’ll even turn on each other. So when they leave that room, they will need forgiveness. In fact, a life of friction requires it. That’s the life Jesus led—one of friction—and it’s the life our faith calls us into as well. Stepping out from behind our locked doors. Forming relationships, interacting with strangers, talking with the people around you, thinking for yourself, caring for another person, serving others who are in need. These may seem like small things—little inconveniences— and they are. But they are essential to the life we know in Jesus Christ, who sends us into the world just as he was sent. Because if we aren’t willing to face the small frictions—the awkwardness, the inconvenience, the risk—we’ll never be ready for the greater call: to love, to accompany, to show mercy, to act justly, to bear one another’s burdens. Is this risky? A little. We risk being uncomfortable, awkward, even falling behind on our favorite shows. And if we really do it right, the risks are much greater—just look at Jesus. His wounds came from the greatest source of friction, the greatest inconvenience of all: love. A love so great, he died and rose again, so that we don’t have to live our lives locked away in fear and anxiety. This week—and throughout this Easter season—let’s frictionmaxx. Stop relying on AI and ChatGPT for all your correspondence. Have a screen-free night in your home. Invite someone new over for dinner. Have friends over when your house isn’t spotless. Say yes to serving in a new way. Or, if you really want to push it, bake something and show up unannounced at someone’s home—Jesus did. And when it’s too much—when it’s awkward, or not returned, or just doesn’t go as planned—that’s where grace meets us. We give and receive forgiveness, and we try again. All of this may sound insignificant. You might be wondering, is this really what Christianity is about—intentionally facing little inconveniences? No. But learning to face that friction is one way we resist the lie of a frictionless, heart-hardening life—and take a step toward the full, abundant life Jesus empowers us to live, here and now. Amen.

  8. Apr 5

    Easter Slaps

    Easter Slaps Pastor Mark Havel Matthew 28:1-10 After the Sabbath, while the first day of the week was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb. Suddenly, there was a great earthquake for an angel of the Lord came and rolled back the stone from the entrance to the tomb, and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning and his clothing, white as snow. For fear of him, the guards shook and became like dead men. But the angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid. I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. He is not here. He has risen, as he said. Come and see the place where they lay him. Then go quickly and tell his disciples, ‘He has been raised from the dead and, indeed, he is going ahead of you to Galilee. There you will see him.’ This is my message for you.” So the women left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy and they ran to tell his disciples. Suddenly, Jesus met them and said, “Greetings!” They came to him, took hold of his feet, and worshiped him. And he said to them, “Do not be afraid. But go and tell my brothers that I am going ahead of them to Galilee. There they will see me.” I hate to rain on our parade this morning, but please bear with me. I tried hard to find something light and fun and worth a laugh for this Eastertide, but I came up short. And, I decided there is plenty of time for bunnies and chocolates and dresses and bonnets and lilies and laughter and whatnot, over breakfast and Easter dinner. Because the more I spun this Easter Gospel around in my mind, the more I just kept hearing about the fear that seemed to be so much a part of what happened that day. Everything we just heard took place in relative darkness, after all, “just as day was dawning.” An angel showed up in a flash of lightning. The earth quaked. The guards at the tomb shook with fear. The women must have looked terrified because they’re told two times not to be afraid. (But who could blame them, for crying out loud?) And of course there’s this dead man walking and talking and living and moving and breathing and surprising people on the road – after everything we know that happened to him on Friday. So, this Gospel is a reminder about how messy and strange and crazy and terrifying, really, the resurrection must have been, that first time around. And, I have to say, it can suck the cute and the cuddly and the warm and fuzzy, right out of your Easter bonnet. And I decided that’s okay, because it reminds me about how much more serious and weighty all of this can be – in a good way – if we’ll let it. So, again, bear with me, please. Because I have Iran on the brain these days, for all the reasons. Not the least of which was the news a couple of weeks ago about that 19 year old member of their national wrestling team – Saleh Mohammadi – who was publicly executed, by hanging, along with two other young men – Mehdi Ghasemi and Saeed Davoudi – for what many believe to be false allegations at best, and unworthy of such a punishment, regardless. Anyway, all of this reminded me about a story from years ago, also out of Iran, about an Iranian family who spared the life of their son’s murderer, in the moments just before his public execution. An 18 year-old boy named Abdollah was killed in a street fight by another young man, named Balal, who was sentenced – like these three young men more recently – to be hanged in public. (And before we gasp self-righteously about that, it’s worth acknowledging that we do our own fair share of state-sanctioned executions in the US and that there are politicians and activists currently lobbying to televise them for all sorts of reasons.) So, back to Iran. Under Sharia law, a murder victim’s family is allowed to actually participate in a perpetrator’s execution and, in the case of Balal that I’m talking about, the family of his victim would do that by knocking the chair out from under the criminal whose neck hangs in the noose. However, when the time came for Abdollah’s family to finally get their revenge, to enact their justice … instead of kicking the chair out from under the feet of their son’s killer, Abdollah’s mother approached the gallows, asked for a chair of her own, climbed up onto it, slapped the guilty man across the face, and then declared her forgiveness of him for all to see. Photograph: Arash Khamoushi/AP Her husband – the dead boy’s father – then helped his wife remove the noose, and they let the man who killed their son walk away and live. Photograph: Arash Khamoushi/AP There are a million lessons for us here – hard, holy lessons about revenge and retribution; forgiveness and mercy; about guilt and grace. (The victim’s family said living with their anger and hatred and inability to forgive their son’s killer was like living in a prison of their own construction; that their un-forgiveness was like poison in their lives. Islam’s Koran – their book of faith – is said to promise that “anyone who saves a life, saves a whole world,” which is something many people choose to ignore or deny about what our Muslim brothers and sisters believe, a lot of the time.) And I think Jesus would have us wish for and work toward that kind of forgiveness for anyone who hears this story, too. But it’s Easter and, in addition to acknowledging that these are the kind of people being destroyed by the war that rages as we worship safely on this side of the empty tomb today, I think there’s even more for us here, than a command or invitation to live more faithfully; to do better; to be more like Abdollah’s family – or even just to be more like Jesus. Because, as much as I hear a challenge and invitation to see myself on the chair where that grieving mother stood – with all kinds of power to choose vengeance or grace; to choose worldly justice or holy mercy – I feel as inspired as I feel guilty and convicted or worse, because I’m not certain at all that I’d have the faith or the courage or the kindness or the character to do what they did. And it’s Easter, so I’m feeling even more challenged and encouraged to imagine myself standing on the other chair, with my neck in a noose … but surprised and overwhelmed with relief as that rope is slowly and surely, kindly and graciously, loosened and lifted by the goodness of God. See, we may not all be murderers, actually sentenced to a public execution in the town square. But we are all sinners – each of us broken in some way that burdens us and that threatens to keep us from being everything God created us to be. We are liars. We are cheaters. We are self-righteous. We are selfish. We are greedy. We are judgmental. We gossip. We manipulate. We take advantage of God’s creation. We vote with our wallets instead of with our conscience. We are silent while others suffer. We are filled-up while others starve. We could pile it on for hours, couldn’t we? So much so that we can imagine the chair of our lives starting to tip and totter and tilt beneath our feet; the noose around our necks tightening in ways that threaten to undo us with guilt and shame. But it’s Easter. And today’s Good News means those sins never have the last word. The sins that lead to emotional, spiritual, even physical death in so many ways for us, don’t have authority over God’s grace in our lives. Because it’s Easter – and this is the day of our second chance; or third, or fourth, or whatever. It’s Easter – and this is the day of our liberation. It’s Easter – and this is the messy, scary, crazy kind of day when we get slapped in the face by the grace of God and when we realize that our death sentence has been revoked … commuted … undone … and transformed into new life – on this side of Heaven and the next – in the name of Jesus Christ, crucified and risen for the sake of the world. Amen. Alleluia. Happy Easter.

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Weekly audio of sermons preached at Cross of Grace Lutheran Church in New Palestine, Indiana

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