Walking

Charlotte Collins Reed

Christ Church Episcopal

April 26, 2020

3 Easter A

          Don’s father celebrated his 88th birthday back in February so Don decided this was the year to throw a bit of a surprise party for him. Don’s dad is Fred, or Papa to his grandchildren. Fred knew that Don’s brother and sister-in-law would be in town that weekend and that we would all have dinner together for his birthday on Sunday evening. What Fred did not know was that our two sons and their families would be there along with a group of very close friends who have celebrated Fred’s birthday with us for the last 12 or so years.

          Fred showed up at the restaurant expecting a small family gathering. What he found was a room full of people who love him, shared stories, Happy Birthday sung in glorious harmony, a chance to hold his great-granddaughter, lots of wonderful food, and an evening for the memory book. The rest of us experienced all of that plus the opportunity to connect with dear friends we rarely get to see but with whom we have a deep and rich shared story.

          The Road to Emmaus story in Luke’s gospel always reminds me of the way I experience the Risen Christ in the midst of community gathered around a meal and shared story.  From the time I was a child and could not put into words what I experienced, gathering people together around a table has been a sacred event. Whether at a dining room table, a restaurant, tables in the Parish Hall, a meal at a homeless shelter, or around the altar, those gatherings are places where I experience the love of God. On the road to Emmaus, Jesus appeared to the two weary and shaken disciples. Jesus walked along with them, talked and taught with them, explained a shared story, and yet the disciples were unaware of who was in their midst.  But when Jesus broke bread with them at supper time, the disciples’ eyes were opened and they recognized the risen Christ in their midst at the dinner table.

          I suspect that many of us are missing our gatherings around tables these days, whether this table, the tables in the parish hall, our own dining room tables, or any table for that matter. This reading from Luke’s gospel, which I have always loved, makes me a bit melancholy this year. Add to that the admonition in the reading from Acts to repent and be baptized, something else we cannot do at the moment-at least not the baptism part-, and the call of the psalm to lift up the cup of salvation, and today’s scripture passages seem, quite frankly, to be taunting us.  We would love to take, bless, break, and give bread together as Jesus did with the disciples, and lift the cup of salvation. We have two babies just waiting to be baptized. We long for the time when we can do those things together again.

          However, current circumstances force me to look at the gospel reading a little more closely and through a new lens. Because table fellowship is so important to me in so many ways, I have always focused on the scene at the end of the passage where Jesus’ identity is revealed to the disciples in the breaking of the bread. But the reality is that my favorite part of the passage is just a couple of lines. For most of the story, Jesus is walking with the two disciples, who do not know who he is. Jesus chats with them and gets them to explain the reasons they are so sad. Jesus listens to their hopes and dreams which are now dashed. They tell Jesus about the women who found the tomb empty.  And Jesus teaches them all that Moses and the prophets taught about the coming Messiah.

          Only after walking with the disciples for who knows how long and how many miles, and only after being offered hospitality, does Jesus break bread with the weary disciples. Then they recognize Jesus and he vanishes from their midst. In hindsight, they realize that their hearts had burned within them when Jesus was talking with them as they walked along.

          Most of this story is about Jesus walking along with us when we are sad, weary, when life is not going the way we thought it would, when we are disappointed, and hopes have been dashed. Most of this story is a reminder that we don’t always recognize Jesus when he is in our midst.  Most of this story is about hindsight and realizing Jesus was with us all along.

          Today, the Road to Emmaus story reminds me that we gather around this altar to break bread together not to get Jesus to walk with us, but because Jesus walks with us. We lift the cup of salvation, not to get God to do something for us, but in gratitude for all that God has done for us.  We baptize not to get Jesus to be part of the life of the person being baptized, but because Jesus is part of that life. We will break bread, raise the cup, and baptize again, but right now, as the writer of I Peter puts it, we are in exile. We are in exile from each other and from our comforting ways of worship. But I Peter also reminds us that will we learn to trust more deeply in God through this experience, and learn more than ever what it means to believe that Jesus walks with us in difficult times, even when we are unaware of his identity.  Throughout scripture, times of exile call God’s people to claim the presence of God with them-whether 40 years in the wilderness, decades in exile in Babylon, 40 days in the wilderness tempted by the devil, times of exile and persecution in the church of I Peter, or an exile of undetermined length caused by a virus.  When we can claim God’s presence with us in those times, claiming God’s presence with us in the breaking of the bread, the raising of the cup, and the water of baptism will be even more sweet when that time finally comes.

                                                                   Amen.

The Scratchy Easter Dress

Charlotte Collins Reed

Christ Church Episcopal

April 12, 2020

Easter

          When my sister and I were little girls, Easter meant a scratchy new dress, uncomfortable white shoes, and what I considered to be utterly ridiculous white gloves.  And chocolate.  I imagine that we went to church, although we were not a church going family.  I do remember that we had to stay dressed up through Easter lunch, and then we could change clothes and get back to normal.

          As I grew older, Easter came to involve singing in the church choir, being an acolyte on Easter morning, gratitude that scratchy white dresses were a distant memory, and family Easter traditions that involved things like dinner from McDonalds and sailing on the lake not far from our house.  We were in Arkansas, where it did not snow on April 10!  Easter was a festive day even in our own mostly non-church going family. 

          As an adult, Easter has come to involve incredible arrangements of flowers announcing new life, music that blows the rock away from the tomb, a packed church that sings the Alleluia hymns loudly enough to raise the dead to life, a shared sacred meal, and the sheer joy of Easter that brings people together to give thanks to God. 

          This year, I am thinking a bit more about that scratchy dress and those uncomfortable white shoes.  Easter doesn’t seem to fit this year, and our celebration, I will admit, is a bit uncomfortable.  We will sing, but not together.  We are blessed with Mario on the organ and Jake on the trumpet, but we are missing our choirs.  We do have glorious flowers and raised Alleluias, but I never thought I would preach to an empty church on Easter morning!  Easter this year feels a bit scratchy and uncomfortable.

          We have two choices for the gospel reading this Easter.  One is the beloved reading from John’s gospel in which Mary Magdalene finds the tomb empty, mistakes the risen Jesus for the gardener, and only recognizes Jesus when he calls her by name.  John gives us a wonderful story about tears of grief and the joy of being called by the risen Christ.

          But this morning, we heard from Matthew’s gospel, where a great earthquake occurs on Easter morning and an angel rolls the stone away from the tomb.  Rather than finding the risen Jesus at the tomb, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary hear these words from the angel: “Do not be afraid; I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. He is not here; for he has been raised, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay. 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.’”  The risen Jesus meets the women as they flee the tomb to find the disciples, and Jesus repeats those last words. 

          These are the words I know I need to hear this morning.   Mary and Mary Magdalene came to the tomb grieving a great loss, wondering what the future would hold and how they would move into a new normal when the angel says to them “Do not fear.”  As we face the unknown, grieve many kinds of losses, and wonder what the future will look like, as we wear masks to the grocery store and wash our hands until our fingers fall off, we, too, hear the angel say “Do not be afraid.”

          This year, as we come to church on Zoom or Facebook Live, expecting somehow to find Jesus here, the angel says to us, as the angel said to the women who had come looking for Jesus “He is not here for he has been raised.”  The women would have wondered what that meant as resurrection was a foreign concept to them.  We say “what do you mean, he is not here.  Today is Easter!”  And of course, in one sense, Jesus is very much here with us.  But in another sense, we, too, hear the angel say “Jesus is going ahead of you to Galilee.  There you will meet him.”  Galilee is the place where the disciples first met Jesus-the place where they were fishermen and tax collectors-where their regular life happened.  This Easter is a powerful reminder of the promise that Jesus is out and about in the world, meeting us in our every day lives, pandemic or no pandemic.

          Resurrection is not a day or just an event.  Resurrection is Love and Love is a commitment. Resurrection is God’s love, God’s commitment, God’s promise to humankind that ultimately love triumphs over hate and life conquers death.  Easter is our love and our commitment to God that we will live as resurrection people in the face of whatever challenges life throws us.  Sometimes that commitment is loud and joyful and we sing and laugh and hug and kiss, and rejoice in the new life God has given us.  Other times that commitment feels a bit more like that scratchy Easter dress.  That commitment is uncomfortable, takes us places we would rather not go, and feels a lot like work.  I would say to you, however, that Christ Church has never backed off from the challenge of resurrection work.  Time and again, when the going got very hard here and there was no guarantee of success, resurrection people stepped up, rolled up their resurrection sleeves, and did hard resurrection work believing in the promise of new life.  Christ Church has been practicing the power of resurrection for a long time right here.  Drawing on that practice, now more than ever we are called to be resurrection people and take resurrection hope into the world where Jesus is waiting for us, even if that work must be online and physically distant for a while.

Resurrection is not magic.  Resurrection is Love.  This year, perhaps, that Love feels a bit awkward and celebration is a bit of a challenge.  The good news of Easter is that, despite any circumstances or evidence to the contrary, the tomb is empty.  Jesus is risen and will meet us wherever we find ourselves.  Love and life have conquered fear and death.  That is God’s resurrection commitment to us.  Our commitment to God is to live and love as resurrection people, in this time and always.

                                                                                      Amen.

Feet

Charlotte Collins Reed

Christ Church Episcopal

April 9, 2020

Maundy Thursday

          In 2014 I was on sabbatical during Lent, Holy Week, and Easter.  For the first time since I was ordained in 1997, I had the opportunity to experience how other churches celebrate this season.  On Maundy Thursday that year, I was invited by a friend to help at Christ Church Cathedral in Cincinnati with their “Soak, Socks, and a Sandwich” ministry to people living on the streets of the city.  This was a Maundy Thursday footwashing, not in the liturgical sense, but in a very physical and most certainly spiritual sense.

          My job was to carry water back and forth, taking the dirty water away and bringing back clean water for those who were washing feet.  In between trips to get water, I was mostly an observer.  I remember being deeply touched by the care with which those washing feet removed the shoes, and socks if the person happened to have them, washed the dirty, smelly feet with warm water and soap, rinsed, dried, and lotioned them.   Once the feet were washed and dried, new clean socks were provided, along with a sandwich and a place to sit and eat.  All the while, the two people were chatting about life, kids, worries, hope and dreams and all the things that we hold in common as members of the human race.   Everything was done with such deep compassion and care, and no wrinkled nose at the smell or arched eyebrows at the dirt.  This footwashing was one human being serving the needs of another, just like Jesus did.  The connection was sacred.

          But then my attention shifted to those on the receiving end of the footwashing.  These folks had come into an unfamiliar place, staffed with people they did not know, and bared their tired, dirty feet to a complete stranger to be touched and washed.  They chatted with those washing their feet like old friends.  I was struck by their vulnerability as they allowed a stranger to hold their feet, trusting that person to care for them and treat them with compassion and dignity.  After having their feet washed, a few of the guests wanted to switch sides and wash the feet of the person who had washed their feet.  The people whose feet were washed that day showed me how to trust and be vulnerable with a transforming yet simple graciousness.  The connection was sacred.

          In John’s gospel, there is no bread and wine at Jesus’ last supper with his disciples.  Instead, we see Jesus take a towel and wash the feet of the disciples and tell the disciples that they should wash each other’s feet just as he has washed their feet.  I imagine this, too, was a dirty smelly business as feet were the main means of transportation, the footwear was sandals, and baths were rare.   Having one’s feet washed by Jesus would be a moment of deep tenderness and great vulnerability.

          That tenderness and vulnerability, along with the absurdity of a teacher washing his disciples’ feet, was just too much for Peter.  Peter says to Jesus “Lord, you will never wash my feet.” Jesus replies, "Unless I wash you, you have no share with me."  

          “You have no share with me.”  What does that mean? 

          To have a share with Jesus is to participate fully in Jesus’ life-to be completely connected with him.  Only by making themselves vulnerable to the love of Jesus will Peter and the disciples be able to serve as Jesus has served, and love as Jesus has loved, which are the two commandments Jesus gives the disciples this night.  Being vulnerable to the love of Jesus is a deeply physical vulnerability as well as an emotional and spiritual one, actually allowing Jesus to hold their feet and wash them.  The connection was sacred.

          In the midst of a pandemic, when we who claim strength in numbers must be alone, when we who like to have a plan for our lives really have no clue what the future holds, and when we who like our routines have no idea what the new normal will be like, on this particular Maundy Thursday, we are called to let ourselves enter that vulnerability and allow Jesus to wash our feet, at least in our hearts.  In the midst of our vulnerability, Jesus wants us to connect with him so completely that we are able to draw strength from him. To be completely connected with Jesus is to share in Jesus’ vulnerability and to trust that just as Jesus’ vulnerability led to new life, so will ours.  Like the disciples, we will be better able to do as Jesus commands, serving others with the tenderness and compassion of Jesus.  We will be better able to love each other as Jesus has loved us-not from a position of power or privilege, but from the strength that comes from knowing the depth of our own vulnerability and the promise of new life.  On this night, as we worship together yet apart, we are called to claim our deep connection with Jesus.  Even and especially in the midst of a pandemic, that connection is sacred.

                                                                   Amen.

Expectations

Charlotte Collins Reed

Christ Church Episcopal

April 5, 2020

Palm Sunday

          I have been thinking a lot lately about expectations-mostly expectations that have been dashed by the gravity of our COVID-19 situation.  Events we have been looking forward to for a long time-a lifetime perhaps-have been canceled or postponed.  Graduations, family events, weddings, athletic events, end of the school year celebrations, funerals, and so many other cherished events that we expected to go off as planned have been postponed or will not happen.  Our expectations for what life will bring us have been turned upside down as we adjust to the current situation and whatever the new normal will be.

          Palm Sunday is certainly a day of high expectation.  We hear in the gospel reading that a very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the ground.  The people sang and shouted, and perhaps even danced along the road as Jesus road into Jerusalem.  The excited happy throngs of people expected something amazing to happen.  They looked forward to what they thought Jesus would do.  They hailed him as a king as he came into the city, and recognized him as the Son of David, the mighty warrior king who had killed Goliath as just a young boy, conquered Jerusalem, and ruled successfully over the united kingdom of Israel.  But interestingly, when the people in the city asked “Who is this?” the reply was not “the Son of David.”  The crowd’s response was “This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee.”  Prophets are unpredictable by nature, so I wonder if this was the crowds’ way of saying “This is Jesus and we really have no clue what he is about to do.” 

          As we know, whatever the crowd was expecting on Palm Sunday, crucifixion was not among those expectations.  Their expectations of deliverance, of the success the Psalm longs for, of the action of God in their midst-all of that crumbled in on them on Good Friday.  Jesus was a failure and the energy, hopes, and dreams the people had invested were an utter waste.  The God of Psalm 118 had seemingly abandoned them.

          Of course, we know that Good Friday is not the end of the story.  We know that Easter will come, the tomb will be empty, and we will hear the words “Jesus is not here.  He has been raised.”  We expected to come to a packed church, sing our joyful hymns, and experience the hope of resurrection on Easter morning.  We thought we knew what to expect from Easter and what the empty tomb would look like. 

          The disciples and the crowds had no idea what to expect.  They were living strictly in the moment, trying to figure out what was going on.  God’s action on Easter morning was a complete and utter surprise-nothing they could have ever dreamed or imagined.  They were taken by such surprise that some could not believe what their eyes saw and their ears heard because nothing, nothing like this had ever happened before.

          As we walk with Jesus through Holy Week this year, in the midst of confusion, isolation, annoyance, and fear, we are a lot like the people in the crowd on that first Palm Sunday.  We have high expectations for what God will do, but we really have no clue what form God’s actions will take.  What will the empty tomb look like this year?  The promise of Holy Week is not that everything will go according to our plan.  The promise of Holy Week is that God will act to turn our sorrow into joy, our fear into love, our death into life.  What amazing, mind boggling thing will God in do in our midst that we can neither ask or imagine?  We walk through Holy Week and wait, together yet apart, with open hearts and joyful expectation.

                                                                   Amen