The Centurion on Memorial Day

Luke 7:1-10

The Confession of the Centurion - James Tissot

Over the past 11 years Memorial Day has changed for me. I can’t really put my finger on it exactly, but a real change occurred about three years ago. The first 8 years following my return from a combat tour in Iraq, I was pretty angry. For many years I was angry at those I fought against, even angry at the Iraqi citizens who were caught in the middle of the conflict. When I began seminary, I wrestled with forgiveness. It was an incredibly healing experience that culminated in a trip to Israel and Palestine. Being surrounded by Arabic speaking Palestinians and the call for prayer echoing across the Bethlehem skyline had a distinct impact on my struggle with forgiveness. My memories of the Iraqi people existed in a tension between blame and admiration, until I immersed myself back into Muslim and Arabic speaking culture again. Since then, I have longed for the day I can return to Iraq. I’m not sure it will ever happen, but I hope I can return to that place one day and walk the streets of Hit or Haditha along the Euphrates river. 

The two years following my trip, Memorial Day was a day that lived in a tension similar to that of my memories of the Iraqi people. As a mainline protestant, I was oftentimes told that my participation in the Iraq war excluded me from taking an active role as an ordained rostered leader. While I received support and affirmation from many pastors, parishioners, professors, and classmates, some were very vocal in their opposition to my presence as a veteran and police officer, especially as an Infantry combat veteran. I resented those who could not recognize the struggle of those who served in combat or those who lost loved ones.

To further complicate this tension, my own faith was questioned by some of those whose support I coveted most. Some of the police and the veterans I served with could not reconcile who I had been as a police officer and Marine with who I would be as a pastor. The very perspective that gave me the greatest credibility with patients in the hospital and parishioners that were facing their own traumas, was the perspective that also caused the greatest doubt among some of those who knew me best. The question that caused the greatest conflict was simple; “How can you believe in God given what you have seen”? Maybe they thought it was a crutch? Maybe they thought I was running away from my experiences? Maybe some thought I didn’t conform to their view of what is “Christian” (for the record I hope I don’t conform to anyone’s)? I’m not sure, but I haven’t had to read too much between the lines to interpret the condescension and ridicule. What troubled me the most was not the doubt regarding my faith, it was the lack of engagement by some of those who I had so admired for their courage. I felt abandoned by many of those I regarded as the ones who knew me best. 

I reached out to both those who told me I was unwelcome to ministry and those who ridiculed the faith that offered me the hope to rise out of the anger in which I wallowed. Those I reached out to were often the most resistant to respond. Those who authentically cared and wanted to understand, usually sought me out. Some gained a deeper perspective, some provided me a deeper perspective, some just agreed to disagree, but we usually came to a place of mutual respect. Regardless, it has been trying not to shut doors to those who continue to ridicule or marginalize either communities that I still care deeply for. 

When we come to a place where we feel the most alone, we often try to inflict our pain on others. Memorial Day is one of those days. This year I am sitting at home with sick kids, and my last opportunity to worship from the pews will be spent watching Disney Junior and wiping noses. The demand made by some to take on the mantle of survivor’s guilt that many veterans and families feel - but so many cannot fully understand - is spread across social media and editorials. I still carry a true sense of survivor’s guilt, but yesterday I felt a sense of joy, and I honestly felt guilty. 

It’s nothing incredibly insightful or revolutionary. I did what I normally do on the 26th, one of my “alive days” as they call it. I reflected on that day. I reflected on the death of a fellow Marine. I looked up his obituary and the numerous articles about him. I hovered over his picture on social media, contemplating changing my profile picture in an effort to assure others I have not forgotten. I decided not to. I live with the grief and I am willing to share the pain and experience with others, but I have grown concerned that my pain has become my own golden calf. Yesterday, I took my daughter to soccer and a fun song came on the radio. She and her sister made me laugh, and my girls and I spent the morning together. I even ran into a friend who spoke to me at length about getting together on Monday -Memorial Day- to go for an early morning ‘fun run’. From the 26th through Memorial Day are normally reserved for melancholy memories and depression. So, I am still wrestling with this different perspective and unscheduled ‘living’ that is occurring in the midst of calendar dates that are reserved for a bleaker outlook.

So I took the time to read over the Gospel for today. Luke’s telling of the Centurion’s servant. A man who also lived in a strange tension. A Roman Soldier, living in a foreign land. It is hard to tell whether he is beloved by the people of Capernaum or if they are indebted to him for the favors he has offered them. He is most likely unwelcome in Capernaum, regardless of what favors he has granted. He represents the imperial forces of Rome and is the physical representation of persecution and oppression in that town. Perhaps he serves as the enforcer of imperial law in that community? A mayor of sorts imposing a sense of martial law to keep order in a region of the world that has consistently risen up against Rome, violently. 

Regardless, he has also supported a religious community that is mocked by Rome as superstitious idealistic nonsense. What is even worse is the fact that he drinks the Kool-aid. He appeals to the religious leaders for their help in healing his beloved slave. Asking a favor of the very people who are meant to submit to his military rule. The very act of asking anything of these people undermines his authority and threatens to erode the very nature of the office he holds. 

It’s a pretty extreme stance for any Roman soldier but this is a Centurion. He is a seasoned veteran who has seen much and grown to rely on one thing alone, himself. So, the story takes an odd twist in his appeal to Jesus. This Centurion places his faith in something beyond established religion, beyond national allegiance, beyond himself. He places his faith in the Christ. What is more, he places his faith in the Christ for the sake of another. 

I cannot speak for others but I wrestle with what I have done as much as what I have lost. I cannot erase the past. If I could have given my life for the sake of any we lost, I would have gladly done so. If I could have established a lasting peace between those I fought against and those I fought alongside by giving my life, I would have gladly done so. I wonder if this is the perspective of the Centurion? Perhaps he realized he could not erase his past, nor could he forgive it? But there is a detail that goes unnoticed in most translations. In verse 7 (Luke 7:1-10) the slave is referred to as a child. I cannot help but wonder if he seeks to plant his hope in another, free of his own jaded perspective. A far more fertile soul for joy and hope, maybe obviously so because this child may be his only window into that joy and hope. 

By far the most revealing thing for me in this text is that the Centurion, who has seen the magnificence of Rome -and is aware of the general scorn directed towards the ‘superstition’ of the occupied Judeans- puts his faith in Jesus. Jesus is a figure he has only heard stories of, a Judean man who subscribes to what is concluded to be such a ridiculous superstition. Without asking to even see Jesus with his own eyes, and even turning Jesus away for the sake of Jesus’ own reputation. Knowing full well that if Jesus is seen going into a Gentile home and especially a Centurion’s home, it will invite anger from Jesus’ own people. You would think that by placing faith in something that he has never seen, he would at least invite the opportunity to witness it for himself. To invite the chance to become a follower of Jesus, perhaps even finding the chance to heal his own wounds and erase his past. 

We cannot escape the past. We only live with it, but in Christ I can reconcile the world I have seen with the joy I am still capable of feeling. You don’t have to subscribe to the most orthodox doctrines to recognize that hope in a man that we can see and touch is a lost cause. You only need to recognize that human beings are incapable of being a reliant source of hope or goodness. There is only one way I can reconcile the notion of a world that continues to turn; an external hope. It is in that hope that I find joy. It is in the joy my children share on those days reserved for my own despair. A joy that they find in the unseen. A hope and joy I hope others can find in the unseen.

A chaplain I worked with at the hospital once used to say, “I don’t work in sales, I work in customer service”. I stole that line from him and I use it often. Because faith is a personal thing that an individual must find for themselves. It doesn’t mean I cannot or will not share my own. But it does mean that I pray that others can find their own hope on the darkest days, wherever it may be. 

Much like the Centurion, I do not believe I can find that hope in me, in my nation, in my despair, or in any person. I can only find it in the Christ. When I see God continue to create, I know that God is still actively creating in the world, no matter how broken. The Centurion never saw Jesus lay his hands on this child, he only found the child in good health and in that moment he found hope, because he knew God was at work. 

It is in that confidence that I will find joy this weekend and tomorrow. Not because I deny what I have seen or what I owe, but because of what arises from the unseen. That is where I find faith that God is still creating in the midst of the darkest corners of our pasts. 

Let it BURN!

Acts 2:1-21

In the summer of 1988 a series of wildfires flared up in and around Yellowstone National Park. 

The National Park Service had recently researched the value of naturally occurring wildfires on vegetation and wildlife. 

For decades, many researchers had argued that wildfires served a definite purpose in the natural ecological cycle. 

They proposed that wildfires could help to clear out underbrush, dead plant matter that had accrued on the forest floor, eliminate vegetative competition for the same rich soil, reduce overgrowth, and increase grassland space for herd animals. 

Aldo Leopold made this claim in 1924 but not until 1972, -after timber companies, private citizens, and the Park service itself recognized the potential benefits- did the Park service pass a new policy. 

That year, the park service deemed fires that were prescribed as natural would be allowed to burn under controlled conditions. 

Between 1972 and 1987 235 wildfires broke out, but out of those 235 wildfires, only 15 had exceeded 100 acres.

The new policy went largely unnoticed until the summer of 88.

But that year, after an extensive drought and over 1,000 years since a major forest fire, Yellowstone erupted in flames. 

250 fires broke out that summer, with 7 major fires that were responsible for 95% of the famous Yellowstone wildfire. 

After remaining largely unnoticed throughout its history as a government agency, both the National Park Service and the National Forest Service became magnets for media attention. 

Sensational media reporting deemed these government agencies as irresponsible and incompetent. 

Some even claimed the Park Service was maliciously destroying a national treasure. 

By the time the fires ceased burning, 793,000 acres -36 percent of the park- had been impacted by the fires. 

Today, the Park service claims that even if they had tried to put out the fire, they were exhausting every resource they had to protect human life and property. 

The story of Pentecost is another story of a completely uncontrolled burn. 

The sound of a violent rushing wind fills the room, and it is the sound that attracts people throughout Jerusalem. 

And the people it attracts don’t meet any specific criteria. 

It is a vast array of people, different languages, different ethnicities. 

I read this text on the Pentecost Sunday I was confirmed, and ever since I have felt for whoever was tasked with reading off this geography lesson.

But the broad range of geographic locations these people call home and the diverse languages that are present, serves a purpose in our reading. 

As the people were scattered and divided at the tower of Babel, now the God who has scattered does a new thing in a new way. 

By the Spirit, God gathers together. 

Regardless of their language or ethnicity, they find that they are driven to hear the same thing.

Drawn to this room by a sound like the rush of a violent wind, confronted by the sound of people they hear speaking their own language. 

It is at this point that I could throw in the catchy gimmick about the language we all speak being the language of love, but that is a language that seems less prevalent or desirable today.

It’s also quite dishonest to the text, because what is heard does not spawn love, faith, answers, or certainty, just confusion and astonishment. 

This moment is often described as the “Birthday of the Church” but this is not the anniversary of the founding of the Church or the anniversary of a birth.

This is the dedication, the initiation of the Church that Christ has been building throughout his ministry. 

It isn’t the birth, it is the removal of the training wheels. 

The church that began with a man is now entrusted to his followers. 

They are given the power to move forward in this mission if they can train their ears on what they hear,  if they can listen. 

This past year has been difficult. 

The internship committee, Pastor Nickols, and a few others have been aware of the ups and downs of this past year. 

Over the past four years, my family and I had attempted to discern a very specific call. 

We believed that we were being called to return to the military. 

Throughout the process, I continuously dotted my i’s and crossed my t’s. 

I checked and rechecked paperwork. 

But paperwork was lost, emails mysteriously missed their intended inboxes, and finally in October the Navy changed their policy regarding the chaplain corps. 

The weekend of the Oktoberfest, I received an email advising me that my path would not only be an indirect one, but it may not lead to the ministry I envisioned at all. 

To be honest, this path was a rocky one from day one.

Surprise pregnancies, surprise classes, surprise transfers, surprise internships. 

These four years have been filled with uncertainty and the path forward was anything but clear. 

And had I known as I started down this path, I would never have dared to take the first step. 

So I guess being drawn to the mystery of it all is a good thing, but the problem is when we attempt to contain it. 

Throughout this process, I have been told time and again to trust in the Spirit. 

One afternoon I called a chaplain to resign my commission from the Chaplain Candidate Program. 

He was also one of the first to implore that I trust in the Spirit.

The chaplain who answered the phone asked me why I planned to resign my commission.

He was dumbfounded when I told him it was because I wanted to trust in the Spirit. 

You see, the Spirit always leads the church forward, oftentimes to places it doesn’t want to go.

Places WE don’t want to go. 

Never in my life did I plan to be a parish pastor. I knew my call.  I knew my place. I controlled that call, and I controlled what I was hearing. 

But this year I was given the gift of hearing a call from you all. 

This year I was entrusted with your children, your questions, your anxieties, your fears, your pains. 

This year I was given blank checks to be a pastor in a context that few interns will ever experience. 

And because of that, I have had the chance to hear the call of a congregation and a pastor, to do the same work I have done here. 

And so, here I stand, confused, uncertain. 

I will begin my call at St. Michael, Virginia Beach in June. I will be ordained at the Synod assembly and shortly thereafter installed. 

I don’t know where I will live and my family will not join me until the end of June, but I am so excited. 

Because I don’t know where this goes, just like I didn’t know where this internship would go. 

When I sat in a room with a youth group of two great people as we three sat staring blankly at one another, not knowing where it would go. 

But we listened to one another and those around us, even when we didn’t want to, even when it took us where we didn’t want to go. 

And during this past year another heard the sound and came to see what it was, and then another, and another, until the youth ministry grew to eight youth, one pastor, and one almost pastor. 

It wasn’t the youth group anyone wanted or anyone planned. 

You can bet I took credit for it when it came time for approval with the candidacy committee, but I didn’t do it. 

We did it because we listened, even when it meant the death of something. 

Peter, the eleven, and the rest of the gang are not where they want to be in the account we read today. 

Peter didn’t want to lead a church and even if he did, I am pretty certain he didn’t know that his own path would land him in the same place it landed Jesus. 

When we talk about the Spirit, we usually picture some magical ghostly figure like Casper the friendly Spirit, but it is described as a fire because it destroys. 

The Spirit destroys our dreams, our plans, our decisions about what is best for our lives, our church, our gifts. 

God, the Spirit does this because these are not our lives, this is not our church, and these aren’t our gifts

These are God’s lives. This is God’s Church. And these gifts belong to God. 

But that doesn’t give us a lot to look forward to when our plans are burned in these flames. 

But the flames give us the confidence that if we continue to listen, if we continue to look for the path forward, that even when we fail we can keep getting up to fail again, knowing that the way forward will eventually come about. 

Following those fires in Yellowstone, recovery began almost immediately. 

Very little replanting occurred when the Park service witnessed the fast pace of vegetative regeneration, the restoration of the old habitats, and the birth of new ones. 

They found that seed dispersal had been the most successful in the places where the fire had been the most severe. 

Aspen -which had been less prevalent before the fire- grew more abundant.

Aspen is the preferred food source for elk.

Elk are the preferred food source for bears and wolves. 

And contrary to the media reports, the fires killed very little wildlife, some of which were actually killed by the fire retardants used to contain the fire, rather than the fire itself. 

And the following year, Yellowstone attracted the highest number of visitors in a decade who came to see the wildflowers and wildlife that was in abundance as never before. 

It isn’t the way we want it to be, but this isn’t just biblical or theological. Fire serves a purpose in our lives. 

Because it is by the loss of the things we cling to the tightest, that new life takes shape. 

Today is my last Sunday and it is the loss of one thing and the beginning of a new thing, and yes, I am excited.

But I am not just excited for me, I am excited for you. 

Because today there is new room being made for new life, new growth, if we can just let go of the things we are grasping so tightly and listen. 

Are you listening?

Amen

Just Another Sheep

John 10:22-38 and Psalm 23

The good shepherd JESUS MAFA

A substitute was called to fill in for a kindergarten teacher one day. 

After identifying the most unruly student, a boy named Tommy, this substitute teacher went right to work. 

The Substitute pulled him to the side and asked if he would like to be the “special helper” that day. 

Tommy was advised that as the special helper for the day, he would keep watch over the class when the substitute stepped out, keeping classmates orderly and safe, and he would function as the line leader for the day. 

Tommy followed up the instructions by demanding to know “What’s in it for me?”

“Well” Responded the Substitute “you would be in charge whenever I am out, you would be helping me, and you know what else? NOBODY messes with the line leader!”

It worked.

Tommy behaved marvelously once he’d been given the task 

and it provided a role that gave, at least, the illusion of authority. 

As the class left the art room later that afternoon, the substitute had to take one of the children who had eaten some glue to the school nurse. 

Tommy was instructed to guide the class back down the hall, past the school office, to their regular classroom and wait until the substitute got back. 

Tommy did as he was told, taking his line leader position quite seriously. 

But as he walked past the office, the principle saw Tommy leading them down the hallway. 

The principle, quite familiar with Tommy for all the wrong reasons and noticing the lack of any adult supervision, ran out of the office yelling for Tommy to stop. 

But he did not stop, he continued on following his orders from the substitute to a T.

As the principle ran to the front of the line demanding Tommy stop leading the class astray, the class began to hesitate. 

Tommy spun around and demanded they continue to follow him as the principle grabbed him by the shoulder exclaiming “You stop right now! What do you think you’re doing!?”

Tommy responded by thrusting his finger into the Principle’s face and informing him “Hey! Nobody messes with the line leader!”

Hope for the future Dwight Baird

In John’s gospel for today, Jesus is also being stopped in the hallway. 

The religious authorities have noticed Jesus’ discipleship growing and they have become worried. 

There have been numerous charismatic figures that have claimed religious authority over the years. 

These charismatic religious figures had caused uprisings, wars, and acts of treason against Rome that had caused the full force of Rome to be brought down on the community. 

Many of the religious authorities had worked out a deal with their Roman rulers, basically, go along to get along. 

It had worked out well for most of them, they were able to continue to practice their religion as they had before and they were even recognized as leaders in the community. 

So, it is understandable that many of these religious elite would prefer to not have anymore of these uprisings. 

Rooting out these uprisings meant rooting out these charismatic figures, putting them back in their place, and keeping the attention of the community set on those whose authority really mattered; 

the religious elite. 

But the authority of these religious elite cannot come from Rome  

-the very force that is oppressing the community-

So, they must claim themselves to be divinely ordained, pointing to themselves as the Shepherd that leads the flock, a claim that is rather contrary to the 23rd Psalm. 

The role of the shepherd was more of a metaphorical role than a desirable vocation. 

It was a miserable job, more similar to the lifestyle of a rancher or a cowboy, than that of the shepherds we envision from Christmas pageants and claymation cartoons. 

It was difficult labor, with few benefits. 

Oftentimes Shepherds were not even caring for their own flocks, they would take care of sheep that belonged to their community or family, rather than caring for their own personal investments. 

and they were held accountable for each and every one of those sheep. 

But in the Ancient near east, a shepherd served as a good metaphor for a king. 

Prior to the psalm, the imagery had been used by many other cultures throughout the region to describe the magisterial role of their human kings and rulers. 

For the Israelites, it was a common practice to take the grand titles given to lofty rulers and superimpose them on God. 

It was an attempt to correct the idea that human rule could be unflawed 

Rulers in the Ancient near east were often seen as not only governing authorities but human gods

Taking the title of shepherd and placing it on God made a clear statement to all that there was no human rule that could match that of the divine. 

So when Jesus is confronted in the portico by these religious elite and accused of blasphemy, his response is not only justified but damning evidence of their own blasphemy. 

Because their entire practice is not pointing to God, it points to themselves. 

Not only are shepherds good metaphors for rulers, but flocks are good metaphors for us as people. 

Flock animals can easily stray if not cared for properly. 

The problem is that most flock animals do not have the means to protect themselves. 

Anyone can observe that whether it be sheep, cattle, birds, or other herd or flock animals, if one of them becomes startled, the rest will follow the first animal that flees the group. 

It is a natural response, programmed for their own safety, strength in numbers. 

Native Americans used this response it to drive bison herds off cliffs when hunting. 

It is a gruesome example of how flocks and herds can be led astray, even to their own demise. 

So, just imagine sheep that name themselves as the shepherds. 

This is exactly what Jesus is pointing out to those accusing him of blasphemy. 

Because while the religious elite are pointing to their own authority, Jesus -the One given the true authority- uses it to point to the Father. 

In 1947, the iconic baseball player, Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier.

After having played baseball for the Kansas City Monarchs in the Negro Leagues and the Montreal Royals in the Minor Leagues, Robinson was signed with the Brooklyn Dodgers. 

Robinson’s admirable career would have been iconic regardless of the color of his skin but it was his role in breaking the color barrier that is usually associated with his career

…..and I find this sad in a way. 

You see, Jackie Robinson was a great ballplayer, but he said very little about breaking the color barrier. 

He wanted to play baseball, and while he resented the insults, the ridicule, the threats, and the actual physical violence that was inflicted on him, he did very little to respond. 

He didn’t respond because he ended up making a similar argument to the one Jesus makes in our gospel today by the very way he played the game.

Robinson’s debut in the Major Leagues was condemned by many as just a marketing ploy, a distraction from baseball. 

This icon did very little to stand out in any way, unless you count the way he played baseball. 

In his first year he led the league in sacrifice hits and stolen bases, had 175 hits -125 of which were scoring runs-, and drove his teammates to scoring runs 48 times!

He led the Dodgers to the World Series in 47, 49, 52, 53, and finally winning the whole thing in 55. 

Sisters and brothers, Jackie Robinson was just a sheep. 

Yeah, a black sheep that conformed to the flock for the benefit of the flock. 

And while other sheep led others astray they became distracted and distracted others from the game, making a spectacle of themselves and a mockery of the game through their hateful actions and rhetoric.  

But Robinson and his famed bronx bombers conformed together no matter what valleys or enemies they faced or what evils were threatened against them. 

Jackie Robinson, Pee Wee Reese,
and Preacher Roe 

And it wasn’t because they were focused on Robinson, it is because Jackie Robinson, Pee Wee Reese, Gil Hodges, Duke Snider, Carl Furillo, Roy Campanella, Don Newcombe, Carl Erskine, and Preacher Roe were one flock following a call to the same prize. 

In the film 42, Pee Wee Reese is portrayed in one scene joking with Jackie Robinson;  “maybe tomorrow we will all wear the number 42, that way they won’t be able to tell us apart”

The authorities that confront Jesus as a blasphemer in the portico fail to recognize that they are the ones leading other sheep astray, gathering whole flocks of stray sheep into the valleys and enemies awaiting, alone. 

Because they have named themselves as the authority, they have told the people that they will be the shepherd in a world where we are all ill equipped for that roll, and the greatest danger are these overambitious sheep. 

Psalm 23 doesn’t assure that the shepherd will eliminate those evils, it only assures that the shepherd will remain with us as we flock together and journey through these narrow passes we travel. 

It is the idol we make of ourselves and our own selfish wanting that leads us astray. 

Just like a sheep that is looking for that greener pasture and wanders from the safety of the flock. 

It isn’t that individuality is a bad thing, because it is not, it should be cherished. 

But just like the shepherd knows every scar, blemish, and abnormality of each sheep in the flock, 

So too does our Shepherd, it is how we are identified and accounted for as we walk through the valleys we travel. 

Because we are sealed with the shepherds brand at that font and we are called to the meal where we are fed. 

And we are called to conform to the shepherd that will lead us home. 

But in a world where individuality is so prized, I find it ironic. 

We claim to demand an acceptance of one another’s uniqueness and individuality

Yet we consistently find ourselves asking why other’s do not join our own flocks?

Leading other sheep to our political parties, our shared hatred of a particular group, our demand to think, act, or live the way we deem ideal. 

How many of our flocks distract us from what it truly means to be in relationship with God and one another in the true flock that God calls us to?

How many of the sheep who claim to be shepherds are drawing attention onto themselves rather than what is best for the flock? 

In a few weeks, this will be the very question I will ask of you. 

Because as this internship comes to a close, I hope that I have not led you astray. 

I hope that the ministry I have shared with you in this place will continue to be of value to you, not because it was mine but because it was ours, because it was something we created together as a flock. 

I pray that years from now you will still see the cross I pointed to rather than the finger that was pointing to it. 

And most of all, I hope and pray that the ministry we have shared over this past year was Christ centered and not Nate centered

Because sisters and brothers, no ministry should ever mistake a sheep for a shepherd 

And God help me, sometimes faith is just trying to recognize where the true flock really is.

Amen

Leaving it all on the track

John 21:1-19

 The Miraculous Draught of Fishes

Raphael

Before attending seminary, I used to run marathons and other road races. 

One of the keys to long distance running that I learned in high school and on, was pacing oneself. 

If you go out too fast, you will run out of gas.

There are few long distance runners who can “leave it all on the road” or “the track” so to speak. 

One runner who has become an icon in the running community was Steve Prefontaine, who broke records in long distance track and field and qualified for the 1972 Olympics in Munich. 

Prefontaine or simply “Pre” as many have come to know him, was infamous for starting out fast, right from the starting block.

This was what made and continues to make “Pre” a legendary figure in the running community even after his untimely death. 

During the 1972 Olympic 5,000 meter event, he broke the slow steady pace of the other runners right around mile 2. 

Pre leading the pack in Munich (1972)

He attempted to break the spirit of the other runners early enough that it would leave him with an easy half mile jaunt to the gold, perhaps a world record, and give the other runners nothing to compete for outside of a silver or bronze medal finish. 

But Pre went out too early and the iconic runner ran out of gas, falling to third place with just 200 meters to go, then, a mere 10 meters from the finish line, 

Pre was passed and was deprived of a third place finish and an olympic bronze medal. 

At Easter we heard Luke’s account of Peter’s one man footrace to the tomb. 

Peter runs alone, sprinting to the tomb to see for himself what Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary, and the other women from Galilee had described as the empty tomb.  

But last week, we changed gears from Luke’s account of the gospel to John’s gospel and we continue with John’s account today. 

In John’s account of the empty tomb, Peter finds himself with a little competition. 

The unnamed disciple, usually described as the “other” disciple or the “beloved” disciple, not only runs with Peter but beats him to the tomb, taking the lead and depriving Peter of the first place role Peter consistently seeks among the disciples. 

This unnamed disciple not only has a fairly nice stride but is the only one of the 12 disciples that shows up at the foot of the cross as Jesus is taking his final breaths. 

This beloved disciple is entrusted with the care of Jesus’ own mother, Mary, at the foot of that cross.

The unnamed disciple even accompanies Jesus into his trial prior to the crucifixion, leaving Peter in the courtyard where Peter fulfills Jesus’ prediction and denies his own discipleship. 

Peter is not only a poor competitor in this race, it would seem he hasn’t even crossed the starting line. 

Peter’s denial of his discipleship is not only an abandonment of Jesus’ teaching, it is an abandonment of the man who is left to die alone on the cross. 

Left to die by all of those closest to him with the exception of a mere few, including that unnamed disciple. 

So it is any wonder that as the disciples are struggling to haul in this huge catch of fish, Peter’s attention shifts back to winning the race.

The scene even strikes me as a bit comical as this unnamed beloved disciple tells Peter, “Hey, check it out! It’s the Lord on the beach giving us fishing tips!”

I imagine Peter pushing this disciple into the boat proclaiming, “I got dibs this time!”

The Disciples Peter and John Running to the 

Sepulchre on the Morning of the Resurrection

Eugène Burnand

100 meters from shore and Peter is all in, literally. 

No way he is going to be beaten this time as he swims to shore.

Now many claim that Peter is seeking a redemption that would return him to first place in the eyes of Jesus. 

I suppose that is one interpretation and a potentially valid one, but after abandoning the man that Peter told he would follow to the cross on Golgotha, I would argue this is more of a personal redemption. 

It is hard to believe that Peter is jockeying for the position of the most favored disciple. 

After abandoning Jesus to die alone, there is no way for Peter to think that a first place finish as the #1 disciple is even attainable. 

Peter’s abandonment and denial must have seemed unforgivable in his own eyes. 

Rather than seeking favor, I would argue that Peter is seeking the chance to confess his shame. 

And there is no shame that compares to the abandonment of another especially someone we claim to love, in their final breaths.

Peter most likely has returned to Galilee to escape his own shame, to return to the sense of normalcy, hoping to find a sense of peace that is no longer attainable. 

In Ernest Hemingway’s World War I novel, A Farewell to Arms, he tells the story of an American who receives a commission in the ambulance corps of the Italian Army. 

The character, Lieutenant Frederic Henry, deserts the army and travels to Stresa, Italy to escape the war. 

He attempts to avoid any memory of the war, refusing to talk about the war or even catch a glimpse of the newspapers, even claiming that he intends to completely forget the war ever occurred. 

But anyone who has ever experienced war can attest to the fact that war cannot be forgotten.

It changes you and it is a change that cannot be undone. 

In fact, the character Henry himself attests to this reality when he claims, 

“The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially.”

Peter has come to recognize this when confronted by the reality of the Lord on that beach. 

There is no escape from the reality of the ministry that he has witnessed. 

It is a consistently challenging ministry in John’s account. 

A public ministry that doesn’t build up to a climactic confrontation but is riddled with conflict throughout. 

An account of Jesus’ ministry that takes him and his disciples to Jerusalem not once, as in the other gospels, but four times over the course of three years. 

And a ministry that breaks all those who joined Jesus, a breaking that culminates at the cross shattering the disciples in grief and fear. 

Which is where we find them following the empty tomb, attempting to mend themselves and move on with life. 

This is why we find the setting of the story at the sea of Galilee, where the disciples seek to return to their old ways of life but cannot even return to the vocations they have always known. 

Pulling in empty nets, they are fisherman that can no longer even catch fish.

And even though this is the third appearance of Jesus following the empty tomb, there was no clear call or vision for a continued ministry in the absence of Jesus. 

But in this meeting, Peter -longing to be mended and made strong in his broken places- comes before the Lord to find redemption, but is instead questioned by the Lord. 

Peter knows this line of questioning will offer him no redemption. 

Peter is no longer a credible witness before any of the disciples much less Jesus himself. 

And the subject in which he is questioned is the very topic in which he has already perjured himself before a litigator who has most certainly proven himself to be the foremost expert on the topic: love. 

Peter’s love is questioned by the One who measures love

Not in hospitality

The Denial of Saint Peter

Gerard Seghers

Not in displays of affection

Not in pledges of loyalty

But in the sacrifice of one’s own life!

So when Jesus asks,

“Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?”

Peter knows he is being asked if he can again make the same pledge he made at their final meal together before the crucifixion, when Peter claimed he would follow Jesus to the cross and lay his life down for him. 

But this time he knows that if he says it, he’d better mean it. 

And just as he denied the Lord three times, he is asked three times. 

“Simon son of John, do you love me?”

Peter is deeply hurt when he is asked the third time. 

Peter’s confession of his love for Jesus has been expressed in the deepest way Peter knows how. 

And the pain Peter feels is grounded in the futility to prove his love because he interprets Jesus’ repeated questioning as an understandable reflection of his own lack of credibility. 

But Peter misinterprets the reasoning for this three part questioning. 

It isn’t grounded in Peter’s lack of credibility

It isn’t grounded in Peter’s lack of love

It is grounded in Jesus’ love for Peter

Because Peter’s confession of love will carry a heavy yoke, one that all the disciples failed, fail, and will continue to fail when asked to bear: 

FOLLOW ME

The word "following" is used in all four gospel accounts a total of 90 times. 

And regardless of how that word is translated, the act of following is never an act that is seen to completion. 

They are all in the race, yes, but Jesus leaves it all on the track. 

And that is why we all fail to follow Jesus, because Jesus invites us to leave it all on the track and that is a pace that we just can’t keep. 

The Christ invites us to run a race that we cannot run, at least not on our own.

And it is a race that we will not win, at least not alone. 

But in this final account, Peter is warned, we are all warned this is a race that will take us to places that we don’t want to go. 

A finish line we claim to seek but we are hesitant to reach for.

Feeding the lambs we would prefer to persecute.

Tending the sheep that we cannot herd because they refuse to hear.

Feeding the sheep that exhaust our resources.

Wearing the yoke of Christ that may take us to places that we do not want to go

But those are the places where the gospel leads us.

The font where we are not only born into Christ but the place where we die with Christ.

The railing where we receive the very body and blood, but we seldom feel the weight of that body through the bread we hold in our hands. 

The assurance we receive in the absolution that we are not only forgiven but loved in spite of the fact that we are all so undeserving of that love. 

And the charge we are given to go out into that world and share this good news, after receiving a benediction that Christ the Lamb, the Spirit of Truth, and the Lord God Almighty will be at our side as we share in that mission we are so hesitant to take on.

Yeah, it’s a tough race and the finish line doesn’t seem too appealing, but we are assured the gold, as long as you get in the race. 

And you don’t have to even catch up to Jesus.

After all, even if we can't keep the pace, he’s invited us to draft him from the font to the finish. 

Amen

Crucifixion of St. Peter  

Caravaggio

There is NO STONE!

Luke 24: 1-12

The Empty Tomb by Ghislaine Howard

On November 22nd 1718, British officer Lieutenant Robert Maynard  -who was financed by the Virginia colony- located and engaged the pirate ship he had been charged with hunting down.

The vessel belonged to Edward Teach. 

Teach was not the most successful pirate in history. 

The pirate Henry Every accrued enough wealth to retire from piracy, although his whereabouts went unknown and his final days are unaccounted for. 

Bartholomew Roberts was estimated to have taken five times the plunder of Teach, through acts of piracy, but his legacy is also shadowed by that of Edward Teach, a pirate captain better known as Blackbeard. 

Blackbeard has been portrayed as a tyrannical monster, but most historical accounts corroborate that his image was exaggerated greatly, because his intention was to be as much a legend as a man. 

But on November 22nd 1718, when the smoke cleared, Lieutenant Maynard stood victorious. 

Teach and Maynard
in combat

He sent Blackbeard’s surviving crew members here to Williamsburg to be tried for piracy but Blackbeard was not among them. 

As many tell it, Lieutenant Maynard personally defeated Blackbeard in battle, but many claimed that the body was thrown into the ocean, where it swam circles around the vessel before disappearing into the ocean depths. 

To this day, legends of his ghost are told by sailors, and his story is told and retold in literature, movies, and music. 

All this because Lieutenant Maynard allowed Blackbeard’s body to disappear into the sea, where the legend of Blackbeard lives on. 

Lieutenant Maynard may have won the battle, but I would argue that Blackbeard won the war. 

Maynard only defeated the man Edward Teach, but the legend of Blackbeard lives on to this day, undefeated. 

The strongest military empires, even those who have no equal, have one weakness; 

Enemies who cannot be defeated by death. 

This is why in Matthew’s account, he describes how Pilate assigned a guard to the tomb. 

Pilate wants to ensure that  the body of Jesus remains in that tomb, preserving the power Rome holds over all people throughout the empire, the power and authority to take life.

And the women from Galilee in Luke’s Gospel are equally concerned about the presence of that dead body. 

No different than any of us today, they need to see the body, to grieve over the body, and to come to terms with the death of the man. 

Today we encourage this experience as the way we begin the process of grieving, especially under tragic circumstances when shock has set in. 

And these women are certainly in shock.

They have either directly witnessed the crucifixion of Jesus or at least heard the tale.

The desecration of his body and the humiliation that he had experienced is still fresh in their minds. 

The body was, most likely, rushed off to the tomb, given the timing, if not for the sake of purification laws, for the sake of ensuring that religious and Roman order is restored to the territory. 

So they were certainly in a rush to ensure Jesus is given the proper respect and to attempt to reconcile the humiliation of his death by offering a proper burial. 

Gathering up the right ointments and spices, expensive investments that were considered important for ensuring the purification of the body. 

And on top of it all, there’s a need to see his body. 

To really and truly know that he is gone. 

To begin their time of grief. 

Certainly, they are all grieving. 

This was to be the Messiah, the hope of not only Israel, but if they had believed what Jesus said, the hope of the world. 

And as the sun descended that Friday, they had taken that hope and chalked it up as a missed opportunity. 

Just another in a long line of false Messiah’s. 

Other’s had claimed the title as well. 

Other’s had suffered the same or similar fates, but of course, this time they were certain that he was the One!

So they rush to the tomb, Messiah or not, they loved him dearly and knew he was deserving of the proper respects. 

Messiah or not, he was a man of God, full of love, full of grace, full of mercy. 

Perhaps not the King they believed he was, but without a doubt, he was a priest and he was a prophet. 

The Empty Tomb by Bertrand Bahuet

Today, the sight that is marked as the location of the tomb where Jesus was buried, remains a popular destination for pilgrims who travel to the church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem, the site that houses the supposed location of Jesus’ crucifixion and his tomb. 

If you visit this site and you don’t get there early enough, you can wait all day in line just to enter into the tomb. 

The flow of traffic from the line that snakes around the aedicula - or shrine -  is controlled by a Greek orthodox priest. 

The priest’s duties are simple. He sits inside the small structure, tells those in line when they can enter, and then tells them when their time is up. 

Inside you can take pictures, touch the stone that surrounds the tomb, leave flowers, mementos, and prayers. 

But when the priest tells you to leave, that’s it. 

As you can imagine, this is the site of the most frequent debates, scuffles, and yes, even fist fights. 

Ironically, etched above the tomb in Greek are the words we heard today in the gospel,

“Why do you look for the living among the dead? HE IS NOT HERE!”

During my own trip, a member of our group got into a staring match that descended into a scolding match between the priest and this particular traveler as they were told that their time was up. 

Another from our group was scolded as well when they informed this particular member of our group they didn’t miss anything, 

They said they had it on good authority that he wasn’t in there. 

When I entered the location marked as the tomb of Jesus, I found myself overwhelmed by what I found. 

It was nothing more than an empty space, filled with icons, flowers, candles, prayers, and an array of other items attempting to make that empty space filled with our own perception of what holy actually looks like. 

It was ironic, quite the reverse of what we hear in Luke’s Gospel today. 

Because there’s nothing in the tomb but burial shrouds, and the things they brought to make that space holy, we don’t even know what they did with them.

The empty tomb is a shock. 

It is a shock to the women who fear that the body has been further desecrated, and it is equally shocking to the empire and religious authorities who want Jesus buried and gone. 

All parties want this event behind them, over, so they can move on.

This story is meant to be an emotional roller coaster and the greatest tragedy for a modern audience is that we know how it ends

… or do we?

As they approach the tomb two messengers just pop up, out of nowhere, and share some very “matter of fact” insights. 

Resurrection of Christ 

and Women at the Tomb

By Fra Angelico and Benozzo Gozzoli

In a nutshell, 

“Yep, he’s not in there.”

and 

“He told you this was going to happen, remember?!”

The women from Galilee don’t come to the realization because these two messengers are attesting to witnessing it. 

They come to the realization because Jesus told them this was going to happen, these two  messengers are just reminding them of his words, his promise. 

There is no hardened proof, no fingerprint dusting, no black light test, no DNA samples, they are just reminded of HIS words and in that moment…they believe. 

This is at the center of a core Lutheran theological concept. 

By NO power of our own can we come to believe, it is by the words of the Christ that the light bulb shines brightly above our heads. 

And that light bulb is not an idea, it is FAITH in HOPE!

It is the hope that sends Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary, and all the women back to the apostles, probably in hysterics, sharing the news that the promise is real. 

It is the hope that draws Peter off his butt, sprinting to the tomb. 

It is the hope that draws Peter into the tomb to investigate. 

And it is the hope that leaves Peter dumbfounded, pondering just what has taken place, what he has witnessed, and what -very well- may not have been an end at all. 

Because the story is not over, it has not ended. 

The story is still taking place right now and no, we don’t know how it ends. 

We are not given a clear picture or description, there is no certainty regarding what the end will look like. 

It is just a promise, an assurance, given through the Christ to us. 

That is the hope we cling to at the font, at the table, in the assurance we receive in the forgiveness of sins, and most of all in our final breaths. 

~

This past week, I felt like I had the Easter sermon pegged down until Tuesday morning when I flipped on the news. 

The attacks in Brussels, while tragic, are no longer isolated unique events. 

These attacks have become all too common and those are just the ones we hear reported,

while daily terror attacks in Africa and the Middle East go largely unnoticed. 

All morning I listened to the the talking heads, heads of state, contributing terrorism, state department, and military experts all ask the same question. 

How do we respond?

In the story we heard today, the very empire who inflicted the act of violence that was meant to silence and intimidate the entire world, submitting any and all who would question their authority, 

Find THEMSELVES asking the very same question; How do we respond?

Because sisters and brothers, how can you respond when the very means of intimidation is ironically lifted up as a symbol of love and triumph?

How can you respond when the tomb meant to bury the man, Jesus, is not strong enough to hold the Messiah, THE Christ?

And while Matthew’s account places a guard at the tomb, the guard doesn’t matter. 

Because it wasn’t the body of a man that they feared, it was the symbol of the Truth, 

Holy Week Sketch by J.R. Howley

And no guard, no stone, not even an army can contain a Truth so ironic and so revolutionary that it will assimilate the very empire that attempted to silence the Truth.

The symbol that uses the Roman empire to be the means by which the Christ transforms the world, even beyond Rome’s own borders. 

Maybe not the defeat that Rome, the Apostles, or the Sanhedrin imagined.

But in the history of the world, there has never been a single person who has done what Jesus the Christ does in this moment. 

If we are to believe 

-and I mean really and truly buy into the promise we receive in the words of Jesus the Christ- 

we receive a power that surpasses that of any empire, any government, any terrorist, any fear that can be incited against us. 

Because in that moment the stone is removed from EVERY tomb. 

The stone of death is removed and the very power it holds over us , 

A power which many have, would, and will continue to attempt to harness.

But they will fail if we truly have confidence that the stone has been removed. 

The stone of fear

The stone of anger

The stone of hate

The stone that we still fear will hold us in our own tombs at our final breaths. 

Because in the Easter promise we are assured 

That the sword no longer has the final say

and the tomb is nothing but an empty shell.

So I guess in the face of the events of this past week alongside the message we hear in the Word we are given from today’s gospel, 

There is only one response that I can give. 

The Christ has risen and He has promised that I no longer have to fear that stone. 

Alleluia. 

Christus Victor 

Mosaic from the Chapel of the Archbishop, Ravenna