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Four Layers of Peace

Published on April 15, 2012April 17, 2012 by Adam Thomas1 Comment

(Sermon for Sunday, April 15, 2012 || Easter 2B || John 20:19-31)

Last Tuesday, I received two rather large packages in the mail from my parents. Turns out they have been cleaning out closets in their house, and they decided for me that I would like to be in possession of all of the Star Wars memorabilia I collected when I was a kid. This includes about three-dozen action figures, none of which is old enough to really be worth anything and all of which are now taking up space in my closet, rather than my parents’. Many of them are still in their boxes (yeah, I was that kid), and I spent a while on Tuesday looking at them, trying to dredge up all the intricate details I used to know about the Star Wars universe. And I noticed on the back of every box an advertisement to purchase more action figure, which states: “The Force is with you in all the Star Wars figures and vehicles.”

Even if you don’t know much about Star Wars, I’m sure you’ve heard the most famous line of dialogue from the films. And if you’re an Episcopalian, I’m also sure that you have a kneejerk reaction to this line. Let’s try: “May the Force be with you.” (And also with you.) I like to think that George Lucas borrowed and tweaked that bit of dialogue from the Book of Common Prayer. We say something similar three times during an average Sunday service – at the beginning before the Collect (“The Lord be with you”), in the middle during the Peace (“The peace of the Lord be always with you”), and a few minutes later at the beginning of the Eucharistic Prayer (“The Lord be with you” again”).

Let’s focus on the middle one: “The peace of the Lord be always with you.” (And also with you.) George Lucas might have borrowed his dialogue from us, but we borrowed ours from Jesus. Three times in this morning’s Gospel reading, the Risen Christ says to his disciples: “Peace be with you.” (They aren’t Episcopalians, so they aren’t trained to say, “And also with you,” back to him.) On one level, Jesus saying, “Peace be with you,” is just a greeting to the disciples. And he has to repeat this greeting after showing them his maimed hands and side because they don’t recognize him the first time around. But as the words of the Gospel according to John so often do, even something as simple as a greeting is loaded with layers of meaning.

So what is this “peace” that Jesus offers to the disciples when he appears to them on the evening of the first day of the week, the day he rose from the dead? The surface level is the greeting still heard today in Hebrew and Arabic speaking countries. “Shalom” and “Salaam” – one wonders how there can be so much conflict between and among peoples in these countries – countries like Syria, Israel, Iran – when their special words for greeting one another means “peace.”

On the level below the surface, Jesus’ word of peace to the disciples acknowledges their current situation. There they are, huddled together in the house: shutters drawn, candles doused, door locked for fear of the people who colluded to put Jesus to death. Would the disciples be next? Would the chief priests and the council be satisfied with the blood of the leader or would they pursue the followers too? How had the disciples gotten everything so wrong? How could they have followed someone so disposable, so utterly breakable as Jesus turned out to be?

And into their fear, their confusion, their uncertainty the Risen Christ comes and says, “Peace be with you.” He comes to them even though the door is barricaded. He comes to them even though three days earlier he had died an excruciating death on the cross. He comes to them even though they aren’t expecting him, even though they haven’t understood what he told them about who he is. And when Jesus gives them peace, their fear turns into joy.

But let’s not stop there: let’s go a level deeper. When the Risen Christ offers the disciples peace, he is offering them more than a greeting and an antidote for fear. He is offering them “the abiding presence of God.” This is how a member of our Wednesday Bible Study group described what “peace” means to her, and I adore this definition. Peace is not simply the absence of conflict. Peace is “the abiding presence of God.” Peace happens when we tune ourselves to God’s abiding presence. Peace happens when we resonate with God’s movement in our lives. Peace happens when we discover the inner serenity that God provides in the midst of the maelstrom of activity that marks our lives today.

We might naturally conclude that the peace, which the Risen Christ offers to the disciples and to us, would excuse us from the pain and suffering that life sometimes brings. But Jesus never promised us a reprieve from tragedy. Rather, he promised something so much greater. He promised to be with us always to the end of the ages. He promised to suffer with us, to cry with us, to break his heart open when our hearts break and pour his heart’s love on our wounds. There is no door we can pass through, which the abiding presence of God has not already entered. There is no depth or height that we can attain and not be where God already is. As the psalmist says in one of the most beautiful passages in the book of Psalms:

Where can I go then from your Spirit?
where can I flee from your presence?
If I climb up to heaven, you are there;
if I make the grave my bed, you are there also.
If I take the wings of the morning
and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,
Even there your hand will lead me
and your right hand hold me fast.

But all too often we forget that God’s presence abides, and we fail to look for God in situations where we conclude that God couldn’t possibly be. And yet how many of us have said at one time or another, “I just need a moment’s peace.” By our definition, when we say that, what we are really saying is, “I just need a moment to remind myself that I am in God’s abiding presence, a moment to drink in God’s love, a moment to be folded into the arms of grace. This is what “peace” is.

And yet there is another level deeper still. When the Risen Christ offers peace to the disciples, the peace comes with a mission: “Peace be with you,” says Jesus. “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” And then he breathes on them, saying, “Receive the Holy Spirit.” Thus, Jesus not only gives them the word of peace; he also breathes God’s abiding presence into them through the power of the Holy Spirit. The Father has sent Jesus to bring peace, and now Jesus commissions the disciples and us to do the same. The peace, which Jesus offers, is not for us alone, but for us to share with this damaged, broken world.

In about five minutes, we’ll have a chance to practice bringing this peace. I will say, “The peace of the Lord be always with you.” And you’ll respond: “And also with you.” Then we will greet one another with God’s peace. Just think how powerful an act this is. In these simple words – “Peace be with you” – we bring with us greetings from our Lord. We bring with us the joy that quells fear and uncertainty. And we bring with us the abiding presence of God and of the Risen Christ. Now just imagine: if we took this greeting we practice in church and carried the peace of the Lord into every handshake, every wave, every high five, every tilt of the head, every smile of recognition, every embrace, then we would change the world.

Four Names

Published on April 9, 2012April 10, 2012 by Adam ThomasLeave a comment

DevotiONEighty will be taking a break during the week following Easter. It will return next Monday, April 16th. In the meantime, here is my sermon for the Easter Vigil from Saturday evening. –Adam

(Sermon for Saturday, April 7, 2012 || The Easter Vigil || John 20:1-18 )

If you’ve ever been to a Bible study that I’ve led, then you know that I have a lot of favorite scenes in the Gospel according to John. But the one we just read is easily in the top three. What always strikes me about the scene is the movement from Mary’s desolation when she weeps at the empty tomb to her utter elation when she recognizes the resurrected Christ. John paints the scene with a special tenderness he reserves for only the most intimate of moments between Jesus and his followers. John focuses our attention on this intimate moment, the first reaction to Jesus’ resurrection, because the moment of the resurrection itself is far too mysterious and far too momentous for John to attempt to narrate. That moment belongs to God alone. And so John gives us a sliver of Mary Magdalene’s story – her move from desolation to elation when she realizes that Jesus is still with her as he promised he always would be. And the pivotal moment of this story is Jesus calling her by name.

Names are rare in the Gospel according to John. I went back and counted, and in the entire 21 chapters of the Gospel, Jesus calls exactly four people by name. There’s Simon Peter, first among the disciples. There’s Lazarus, whom Jesus brought back to life. There’s Philip, who had been with Jesus from the beginning. And then there’s Mary, who heads to the tomb before dawn on the first day of the week. In each of the special moments when Jesus calls these four people by name, he is somehow affirming or strengthening his relationships with them.

The first thing Jesus does when he meets Simon is give him the nickname “Peter,” which means “Rock,” which is a pretty cool nickname. We invest all kinds of theological motivation to this name because of Peter being the “rock” on which the church is built. But if they were any two people besides Jesus and Peter, we would see the nicknaming as a sign that their relationship is moving into the territory of good friendship. At the end of the Gospel, Jesus says Peter’s name three times, and this naming reasserts the relationship that Peter had denied three times during Jesus’ trial. In the end, their relationship is repaired because Jesus calls Peter by name.

The Gospel describes Lazarus as “one whom Jesus loves.” When Lazarus dies, Jesus is days away, and Lazarus’s sisters make the faithful accusation that if Jesus had been there, Lazarus wouldn’t have died at all. So Jesus goes to the tomb and shouts out, “Lazarus, come out.” Notice that Jesus doesn’t say, “Lazarus, I raise you from the dead.” Rather, he says, “Come out.” Jesus calls Lazarus by name, but does not give Lazarus the option of remaining in the tomb. The naming is joined to Jesus’ command to return to his family and his friendship with Jesus.

Jesus calls Philip by name after Philip says to him, “Lord, show us the Father; that will be enough for us.” Jesus replies, “Don’t you know me, Philip, even after I have been with you all this time? Whoever has seen me has seen the Father.” Jesus calls Philip by name in the midst of wondering how Philip could possibly not know him yet after being with him from the beginning. With this, Jesus calls Philip into deeper, more committed relationship with him.

And then there’s Mary Magdalene, who is weeping at the empty tomb. She is desolate, thinking that her Lord’s body had been stolen and possibly desecrated by the people who put him to death. With tears and the fog of despair clouding her vision, she sees the gardener, who asks her, “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” Could this gardener be in collusion with the body-snatchers, she wonders? And she accuses him of being in on the plot. But then he says the all-important word: “Mary.” And she turns and the desolation vanishes in an instant of delight. And new elation, new hope, new life surges in to fill the void. “Teacher!” she shouts, and I imagine her jumping into his arms. Then Jesus gives her a task – to be the first to proclaim his resurrection.

So why does Jesus saying her name change the story? Why is this the pivotal word? As with Peter, Lazarus, and Philip, saying Mary’s name proves Jesus’ relationship with Mary. Her name is the outward sign of her inward identity. In this way, names are quite sacramental. Know a name and you know something of the person. Who among us didn’t feel elation when we found out our high school crush did, in fact, know our names? On the flip side, take away a name and you begin to take away the humanity of the person. How many Jews had their names erased and exchanged for numbers in the concentration camps?

Saying Mary’s name is Jesus’ shorthand for saying that he has returned just as he promised and that life would never be the same again because their relationship would never end. Earlier in the Gospel, Jesus foreshadowed this when he said, “[The shepherd] calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. Whenever he has gathered all of his sheep, he goes before them and they follow him, because they know his voice.” Later in the same passage, Jesus talks about the command from his Father that he “give up” his life in order to “take it up again.” Thus, Jesus links the power of the resurrection with the power of naming, which is really shorthand for the power of relationship.

This is the good news of the resurrection: Christ rose from the dead to show us that nothing, not even death, has the power to keep him from remaining in relationship with us. Christ knows each of our names. They are written in the book of life. They are written on his heart, just as his name is written on ours. As Jesus called Peter, Lazarus, Philip, and Mary to deeper relationship by saying their names, he calls to each of us. He calls to each of us, speaking our names, and thus ourselves, into being.

These names of ours are special things – they carry within them the promise of eternal relationship with God in Christ through the power of the resurrection. So the next time you find yourself in a moment of silence, a moment of peace at the center of the maelstrom of busyness that marks our lives today, just be still. Be still and listen. Be still and listen for the resurrected Christ calling you by name.

The Seventh Word: “Father, into your hands…” (April 6, 2012)

Published on April 6, 2012April 5, 2012 by Adam ThomasLeave a comment

…Opening To…

Sing, my tongue, the glorious battle; of the mighty conflict sing; tell the triumph of the victim, to his cross thy tribute bring. Jesus Christ the world’s Redeemer from that cross now reigns as King. (Venantius Honorius Fortunatus, from The Hymnal 1982)

…Listening In…

It was now about noon, and darkness covered the whole earth until about three o’clock, while the sun stopped shining. Then the curtain in the sanctuary tore down the middle. Crying out in a loud voice, Jesus said, “Father, into your hands I entrust my life.” After he said this, he breathed for the last time. (Luke 23:44-46; context)

…Filling Up…

For the last seven devos of Lent: last week and during this Holy Week, we are encountering Christ’s seven last words from the cross. These “words” are actually full sentences, and there are three in Luke, three in John, and Matthew and Mark share one, as well (though with a slight variation). For each of the words, I have written a song; now, the songs may or may not include the sayings themselves. Rather, think of them as my response to Jesus speaking out from the cross, a place of vulnerability, shame, and torment – that Jesus turned into a place of majesty, love, and salvation.

For each song, I gave myself no more than two hours to write and one hour to record it. These are by no means polished songs; they are the responses of my heart to Christ crucified. I hope that they enrich you on your Holy Week journey as they have enriched me. What follows is “How I’m Designed,” my response to Jesus’ seventh word from the cross.

(If you can’t see the music player, download the song here.)

In you, O Lord, have I taken refuge;
You wrote your word on my heart but then,
Lord, I forget at times I bear your good news;
Stick to my net and fail to fish for men.

There’s so much dross and it clutters my heart,
And yet the loss of that stuff is naught
Because I know the love of Christ surpasses
All things below, and everything I’ve got.

Into your hands I commend my spirit:
Let go my plans and take your will as mine.
In your commands I find perfect freedom;
I understand that’s how I’m designed –

To function best when I empty myself,
To take my rest in your love each day;
And in my choice between what’s right or easy,
I hear your voice: God, help me to obey.

Into your hands I commend my spirit:
Let go my plans and take your will as mine.
In your commands I find perfect freedom;
I understand that’s how I’m designed –

To show your grace to each person I meet,
To see your face in the poor and lost.
And when I choose to turn my back to cruelty,
Help me to lose my will no matter the cost.

Into your hands I commend my spirit:
Let go my plans and take your will as mine.
In your commands I find perfect freedom;
I understand that’s how I’m designed –
To take your hand and notice how I shine.

…Praying For…

Dear God, you designed me to fulfill your purposes in this world. Help me to let go of my own will so that I can embrace yours, which leads to freedom and joy. In Jesus Christ’s name I pray. Amen.

…Sending Out…

I leave this moment with you, God, kneeling at the foot of the cross and feeling Christ’s arms of love reaching out to embrace the whole world.

The Sixth Word: “It is completed” (April 5, 2012)

Published on April 5, 2012April 4, 2012 by Adam ThomasLeave a comment

…Opening To…

…Listening In…

When he had received the sour wine, Jesus said, “It is completed.” Bowing his head, he gave up his life. (John 19:30; context)

…Filling Up…

For each song, I gave myself no more than two hours to write and one hour to record it. These are by no means polished songs; they are the responses of my heart to Christ crucified. I hope that they enrich you on your Holy Week journey as they have enriched me. What follows is “Ten Years,” my response to Jesus’ fourth word from the cross.

(If you can’t see the music player, download the song here.)

I was sitting in the back pew on a Sunday morn
Pondering the sermon when my heart felt strangely warm
Whispers of grace set my life ablaze
And I heard you say, “I’ll be with you for all of your days.”

In the spring the next year I was reading from your saints,
And I saw my life clear as a brilliant artist paints.
The plan of your call there for me to see,
But the path was never as clear as I wanted it to be.

I’ve followed you for ten years,
Sometimes near and sometimes far;
You gave me courage when fears
Told me you’re not who you say you are.
But I wonder what you finished
On that cross at Calvary;
Is it just a faint wish
To believe you saved me?
‘Cause I’ve followed you for ten years
and the journey’s long and rough;
Sometimes I waver then hear
Someone say your grace is good enough.
But the fear still pulls me under,
The light seems far away.
Forgive me that I wonder
What did you finish that day?

I was saying healing prayers for teens one summer when
The Holy Spirit flowed through me and brought new life to them.
When we were done, I just sat and cried;
I was unprepared for how much God I could keep inside.

Nearly two months into first year classes at my school,
I was reading prayers at chapel, felt like such a fool.
Called you by name, but no prayer was found:
How could I be praying everyday and forget you’re around?

How come I can hear your call and ignore it just the same?
How come I can know you heal, yet pretend that I’m still lame?
You never said that this life I chose
Would be easy but you promised to be with me till the close.

…Praying For…

Dear God, help me to know that doubt is a part of faith. Help me to know that the good work you have started in me is far from complete, but is ever moving towards fulfillment. In Jesus Christ’s name I pray. Amen.

…Sending Out…

I leave this moment with you, God, kneeling at the foot of the cross and feeling Christ’s arms of love reaching out to embrace the whole world.

The Fifth Word: “I am thirsty” (April 4, 2012)

Published on April 4, 2012April 3, 2012 by Adam ThomasLeave a comment

…Opening To…

…Listening In…

After this, knowing that everything was already completed, in order to fulfill the scripture, Jesus said, “I am thirsty.” A jar full of sour wine was nearby, so the soldiers soaked a sponge in it, placed it on a hyssop branch, and held it up to his lips. (John 19:28-29; context)

…Filling Up…

For each song, I gave myself no more than two hours to write and one hour to record it. These are by no means polished songs; they are the responses of my heart to Christ crucified. I hope that they enrich you on your Holy Week journey as they have enriched me. What follows is “The Well is Deep,” my response to Jesus’ fourth word from the cross.

(If you can’t see the music player, download the song here.)

As the deer longs for the water-brooks
So my soul longs after you.
My spirit is athirst for God,
Athirst for all that’s good and true.

But I have no bucket and the well is deep:
I see the water down below
Could life eternal gush up like a spring
The well begin to overflow?

The desert is a place of emptiness,
But God makes it a place of springs.
The sand will be afire with blossoms;
The desert shall rejoice and sing.

But I have no bucket and the well is deep:
I see the water down below
Could life eternal gush up like a spring
And the well begin to overflow?

From the throne of God a river flows,
Bright as crystal, fresh as birth.
The river waters trees of healing;
God rain grace upon the earth.

Now I know I need no bucket though the well is deep,
And though the water’s far below.
For life eternal gushes like a spring.
The well will always overflow.

…Praying For…

Dear God, you are the source of all refreshment and renewal. Help me ever to drink from your love, that I may remain nourished by your grace and ready to serve. In Jesus Christ’s name I pray. Amen.

…Sending Out…

I leave this moment with you, God, kneeling at the foot of the cross and feeling Christ’s arms of love reaching out to embrace the whole world.

The Fourth Word: “My God, my God…” (April 3, 2012)

Published on April 3, 2012April 2, 2012 by Adam Thomas1 Comment

…Opening To…

…Listening In…

From noon until three in the afternoon the whole earth was dark. At three, Jesus cried out with a loud shout, “Eloi, eloi, lama sabachthani,” which means, “My God, my God, why have you left me?” (Mark 15:33-34; context)

…Filling Up…

For each song, I gave myself no more than two hours to write and one hour to record it. These are by no means polished songs; they are the responses of my heart to Christ crucified. I hope that they enrich you on your Holy Week journey as they have enriched me. What follows is “The Torrents Overtake Me,” my response to Jesus’ fourth word from the cross.

(If you can’t see the music player, download the song here.)

A year ago I came up from the water
The river flowed around me as I watched
A spotless dove descend.
I heard the thunder from the sky say, “You are my son.”
I stared in wonder at the dove and knew
How this would end.

In back I slept right through a raging storm out at sea,
The water swept up o’er the deck and then
We started to sink.
I told the squall, the waves, the winds: “Peace be still.”
And through it all you were with me, so what
Was I supposed to think?

My God, why did you forsake me?
Let the current pull me and the torrents overtake me?
My God, you could have emptied my cup
But we both know I’ll never give up.

A week ago I rode into Jerusalem;
The people showed their love for me that day,
How could that offend?
Then yesterday the people turned their backs on me
I was betrayed, abandoned, and denied
By those who are my friends.

My God, why did you forsake me?
Let the current pull me and the torrents overtake me?
My God, you could have emptied my cup
But we both know I’ll never give up.

My hands are screaming at the blinding pain of the nails,
And I keep dreaming that this fight will end
So I can die.
My breath is gone, I can’t keep any air in my lungs,
The pain goes on so I know I’m still alive,
All you who pass by —

As for me, I am a worm and no man,
Scorned by the people,
All who see laugh me to scorn
They curl their lips and wag their heads and say
He trusted in God, should not God rescue him?
Like the nails their words stung
But I chose this cup before the world was young.

But my God, why did you forsake me?
Let the current pull me and the torrents overtake me?
My God, you could have emptied my cup
But we both know I’ll never give up.

…Praying For…

Dear God, Jesus took on all human pain on the cross, even the pain of feeling abandoned. Thank you for knowing how that feels, and help me to wish to seek you when I feel alone. In Jesus Christ’s name I pray. Amen.

…Sending Out…

I leave this moment with you, God, kneeling at the foot of the cross and feeling Christ’s arms of love reaching out to embrace the whole world.

The Third Word: “Here is your son…” (April 2, 2012)

Published on April 2, 2012April 1, 2012 by Adam Thomas1 Comment

…Opening To…

…Listening In…

Jesus’ mother and his mother’s sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene stood near the cross. When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple whom he loved standing nearby, he said to his mother, “Woman, here is your son.” Then he said to the disciple, “Here is your mother.” And from that time on, this disciple took her into his home. (John 19:25-27; context)

…Filling Up…

For each song, I gave myself no more than two hours to write and record it. These are by no means polished songs; they are the responses of my heart to Christ crucified. I hope that they enrich you on your Holy Week journey as they have enriched me. What follows is “How He Loves,” my response to Jesus’ third word from the cross.

(If you can’t see the music player, download the song here.)

I’m standing at the foot of the cross,
And everyone around me is a stranger.
Then I see her standing, looking so lost—
She sees the boy she once laid in a manger.
She falls to her knees
Saying, “Please, oh someone, please
Help my son.”
I look at the nails,
And all my courage fails:
I come undone.

She’s kneeling barely ten feet away,
But it feels like half the planet is between us.
I look at Jesus: bloody, betrayed;
And I wonder if it’s possible he’s seen us.
He looks back at me,
Saying, “See your mother, see.
Help her, John.
You are her son:
A family begun
Before I’m gone.”

I’m standing at the foot of the cross,
And the woman next to me is my new mother.
His commandment has a beautiful cost:
To show we are his friends we love each other.
I take Mary’s hand,
Saying, “I don’t understand
How he loves.
But this is my prayer
That in his love we’ll share,
O God above—”

For God is love.

…Praying For…

Dear God, you gave us the commandment to love each other us you love us. Help me to take seriously this call to love, for you made me in your image and you are love. In Jesus Christ’s name I pray. Amen.

…Sending Out…

I leave this moment with you, God, kneeling at the foot of the cross and feeling Christ’s arms of love reaching out to embrace the whole world.

The Unfair Fight

Published on April 1, 2012April 2, 2012 by Adam ThomasLeave a comment

(Sermon for Sunday, April 1, 2012 || Palm Sunday Year B || Mark 11:1-11; Philippians 2:5-11 (NOTE: At my church, we read the Passion Gospel at the end of the service, so this sermon moves from Palms to Passion.))

I’ve always been struck by the incongruity of the scene. A crowd lines the dusty road leading up to the gate of Jerusalem. They are there to see a parade, but the spectacle is just a fellow riding a baby donkey. People spread their cloaks on the ground as a sign of respect. But Jesus isn’t stepping on the cloaks: the donkey is.

The crowd shouts aloud, “Hosanna! Blessed is the coming kingdom of our ancestor David!” Now when David entered Jerusalem, he did so at the front of a grand procession – “all the house of Israel,” II Samuel tells us. They were carrying the Ark of the Covenant. There were shouts and the sound of the trumpet and the sacrifice of an ox and a fatling. And “David danced before the Lord with all his might.” David had just defeated the Philistines and his dynasty was assured. His triumphant march into the city was a victory march.

But when Jesus rides to Jerusalem, he rides alone. No army. No conquering legions. The people in the crowd shout for the return of the kingdom of David, but all they see is a lone man atop a baby donkey. As I said, I’ve always been struck by the incongruity of this scene.

Sensing something to be incongruous – to be out-of-place – means that there are expectations that are not being met. If you go to a job interview at State Street in a t-shirt and jeans, there’s a better than average chance that the interviewer will take one look at you and send you home. The interviewer has the expectation that you will enter the room in your best suit, and the incongruity of your casual clothes will trigger discomfort and then disapproval in the interviewer. But say that you wear your t-shirt and jeans to the park to throw a Frisbee with the guys. No incongruity there. The expectations match the scenario.

When Jesus rides into Jerusalem on the back of the baby donkey, he is actively challenging the expectations of the crowd that is shouting “Hosannas.” They praise him while he rides in humility. They celebrate his arrival in the capital city while he knows the outcome of his arrival will be bloody. They show him the respect due to royalty. And all the while Jesus is boldly defying the people who have no respect for him, the chief priests and their lackeys, who have until now hoped he would keep a lower profile.

And in the greatest incongruity of all, the crowd shouts for the return of David’s kingdom; that is, a kingdom marked by a sovereign Israel, an Israel with no Roman occupiers. But Jesus frustrates this expectation, as well. In this case, the crowd is thinking too small. They have only their own country on their minds. But Jesus isn’t concerned with the Romans. They’re small potatoes. When Jesus rides into Jerusalem on the back of that baby donkey, he sets in motion events that will drive out, not the Romans, but the power of death, the grip of evil, all the forces of darkness. No wonder no one was expecting that.

Jesus hovers above the crowd, sitting atop the donkey as the beast shambles ahead. He remains above the crowd not for the glory of the exalted position, but in order that the powers of death, evil, and darkness might get a clear view of their target. And in seeing this small, humble human being, those powers underestimate their foe.

The powers of darkness do not realize that this Jesus riding on the donkey is someone they’ve met before, albeit in a more glorious form. In his letter to the Philippians, Paul tells us why the powers don’t recognize Jesus. Paul says, “Though [Christ] was in the form of God, [he] did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death–even death on a cross.”

The powers of darkness have their expectations too. The incongruity of Christ’s humanity throws them. They have no idea who they’re dealing with because Jesus acts in ways they never expect. While the powers of darkness would always seek to exploit, Christ empties. While they would always seek self-aggrandizement, Christ humbles. While they would always seek to get their own way, Christ becomes obedient to the point of death.

How could the powers of darkness possibly think they could win if they completely underestimate their opponent? And all the while, Christ is here on earth, learning all about the darkness, participating in the brokenness of people’s lives, bringing wholeness, bringing hope, bringing light.

And yet, the darkness sees the little man on the back of the baby donkey and wishes for a more impressive opponent, if only so the fight would be more interesting. But what the darkness fails to realize is that this is the most unfair fight of all time.

The powers of darkness bring all of their standard weapons to the ring: fear, mistrust, the desire to dominate. They expect Jesus to bring the same. But Jesus brings no weapons at all. Instead, he brings the willingness to sacrifice. He brings the love that gives him the courage to lay down his life. He brings the peace that passes all understanding.

They are David and Goliath, and David left his sling at home. Normal expectations would ask how Jesus could possibly win this fight. But we know the incongruity of God’s love. We know that God loves us even though we don’t deserve such an amazing gift. We know that God loves this broken, messed-up world so much that God sent God’s only Son to save the world. We know that God rejoices in letting us in on the secret that our expectations are always too small. God let slip this secret when the women went to the tomb on Easter morning.

But we’ll get there with them next week. First, the powers of darkness marshal. First, Jesus rides humbly into the teeth of the storm. First, the battle.

The Second Word: “You will be with me in paradise…” (March 30, 2012)

Published on March 30, 2012April 1, 2012 by Adam Thomas1 Comment

…Opening To…

…Listening In…

Responding, the other criminal spoke harshly to him, “Don’t you fear God, seeing that you’ve also been sentenced to die? We are rightly condemned, for we are receiving the appropriate sentence for what we did. But this man has done nothing wrong.” Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” Jesus replied, “I assure you that today you will be with me in paradise.” (Luke 23:40-43; context)

…Filling Up…

For the last seven devos of Lent: yesterday, today, and during Holy Week, we are encountering Christ’s seven last words from the cross. These “words” are actually full sentences, and there are three in Luke, three in John, and Matthew and Mark share one, as well (though with a slight variation). For each of the words, I have written a song; now, the songs may or may not include the sayings themselves. Rather, think of them as my response to Jesus speaking out from the cross, a place of vulnerability, shame, and torment – that Jesus turned into a place of majesty, love, and salvation.

For each song, I gave myself no more than two hours to write it and one to record it. These are by no means polished songs; they are the responses of my heart to Christ crucified. I hope that they enrich you on your Holy Week journey as they have enriched me. What follows is “Remember Me,” my response to Jesus’ second word from the cross.

(If you can’t see the music player, download the song here.)

Remember the child with the arms like twigs
Sitting in the dirt,
Remember the student going back to school
Trying on a brand new skirt,
Remember the tyrant, remember the fool,
Remember the victim of everything cruel,
Remember all those who have never been free,
And Jesus, remember me.

Remember the soldier in the chopper crash
Dying so far from home,
Remember the farmer digging in the field
Cultivating rich, dark loam,
Remember the banker, remember the thief,
Remember the mourner who is lost in her grief,
Remember all those who can never agree,
And Jesus, remember me.

Remember the patient in the ICU
Breathing by machine,
Remember the parent at the grocery store
Buying food when times are lean,
Remember the scoundrel, remember the queen,
Remember the vagrant who has never been seen,
Remember all those who from violence flee,
And Jesus, remember me.

Remember the foreman, remember the geek,
Remember the worker who makes pennies a week,
Remember all those who have their back to a wall,
And Jesus, remember all.

…Praying For…

Dear God, you are present wherever I go and in you is Paradise. Help me to see the glory all around me, even when times are dark. In Jesus Christ’s name I pray. Amen.

…Sending Out…

I leave this moment with you, God, kneeling at the foot of the cross and feeling Christ’s arms of love reaching out to embrace the whole world.

The First Word: “Father, forgive them…” (March 29, 2012)

Published on March 29, 2012March 29, 2012 by Adam Thomas1 Comment

…Opening To…

…Listening In…

They also led two other criminals to be executed with Jesus. When they arrived at the place called The Skull, they crucified him, along with the criminals, one on his right and the other on his left. Jesus said, “Father, forgive them, for they don’t know what they’re doing.” They drew lots as a way of dividing up his clothing. (Luke 23:32-34; context)

…Filling Up…

For the last seven devos of Lent: today, tomorrow, and during Holy Week, we will be encountering Christ’s seven last words from the cross. These “words” are actually full sentences, and there are three in Luke, three in John, and Matthew and Mark share one, as well (though with a slight variation). For each of the words, I have written a song; now, the songs may or may not include the sayings themselves. Rather, think of them as my response to Jesus speaking out from the cross, a place of vulnerability, shame, and torment – that Jesus turned into a place of majesty, love, and salvation.

For each song, I gave myself no more than two hours to write it and one to record it. These are by no means polished songs; they are the responses of my heart to Christ crucified. I hope that they enrich you on your Holy Week journey as they have enriched me. What follows is “I am a Thread,” my response to Jesus’ first word from the cross.

(If you can’t see the music player, download the song here.)

I am a thread: see me shine in the sun.
You may never notice if I am the only one.
A thread is so thin, insubstantial, and frail,
And with a set distance from beginning to tail.

So please, God, weave me
In your tapestry.
Please, God, weave me.

We are all threads: see us shine in the sun.
But weave us together and together we are as one.
The fabric so thick, so substantial and strong;
There’s never a question of “do we belong?”

So please, God, weave me
In your tapestry.
Please, God, weave me.

Pull on a thread and you pull on each one;
So quick to unravel, so slow to weave again.
Father, forgive me: I don’t know what I do;
And grant me the eyes to see the fabric like you.

And please, God, weave me
In your tapestry.
Please, God, weave me.

…Praying For…

Dear God, you knit all of humanity together. Help me see how my actions and inactions threaten the thriving of my neighbors both here and far, that I may extract myself from the domination systems of the world, with your help. In Jesus Christ’s name I pray. Amen.

…Sending Out…

I leave this moment with you, God, kneeling at the foot of the cross and feeling Christ’s arms of love reaching out to embrace the whole world