"Open To The Risen Jesus" Easter 3 April 30, 2006

(First read the text for this sermon: Luke 24:36b-48)

Picture the scene, and put yourself in it.

It is evening.

This morning Jesus’ grave was found to be empty by Mary Magdalene, Joanna, and Mary the mother of James! At the open tomb, the women encountered “two men in dazzling clothes” who told the women that Jesus had risen from the grave! “Don’t you remember how he told you this would happen?” they hear. Then they remembered his words, and returning from the tomb, they told all this to the eleven and to all the rest. Now it was Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and the other women with them who told this to the apostles. But these words seemed to [the men] an idle tale, and they did not believe them. (What a parable: that God would choose women to be the first to tell about the resurrection – in a culture that didn’t even consider women to be reliable witnesses of anything! God is really good at turning our assumptions upside down, huh?)

Here’s what happens next in the gospel of Luke. Now on that same day two of them were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem, and talking with each other about all these things that had happened. While they were talking and discussing, Jesus himself came near and went with them, but their eyes were kept from recognizing him.

It’s two followers of Jesus: Cleopas, and another who’s unnamed. The risen Jesus is walking with them, and even leading them in Bible study – but they are not able to recognize who it is! But when they get to their home, in the village of Emmaus, and they invite this stranger in for a meal, remember what happens? When he was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him; and he vanished from their sight. They said to each other, "Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?" That same hour they got up and returned to Jerusalem; and they found the eleven and their companions gathered together. They were saying, "The Lord has risen indeed, and he has appeared to Simon!" Then they told what had happened on the road, and how he had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread.

Now we get to this morning’s story. While they were talking about this, Jesus himself stood among them and said to them, "Peace be with you." They were startled and terrified, and thought that they were seeing a ghost. He said to them, "Why are you frightened, and why do doubts arise in your hearts? Look at my hands and my feet; see that it is I myself. Touch me and see; for a ghost does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have." And when he had said this, he showed them his hands and his feet.

Picture the scene, and put yourself in it. How are you reacting at the end of this long and traumatic day? How do you feel? Certainly, you’re struggling to understand what’s going on! (Remember: you haven’t heard Easter preaching so often that you’re taking all of this for granted – ho hum!)

What strikes me is how sensory, how physical all of this is. “Look,” Jesus tells the bewildered disciples. “Touch,” Jesus invites his astonished followers. He says to them, “a ghost does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have.” And he’s hungry! He eats a piece of broiled fish!

This is the risen Jesus! (It’s important to remember that, according to the Biblical witness, in the resurrection, we will have resurrection bodies. It’s not as if we’ll be ghosts, floating around; invisible spirits of some sort; not according to the apostles’ experience of the risen Jesus.)
And it’s experience that’s key here! It is only after this sensory experience of Jesus’ somehow-physical resurrected body – experienced through seeing and hearing and touching – that we read this in the story: Then he opened their minds to understand the scriptures.

For those first followers, intellectual understanding only comes after experiencing the presence of the risen Christ! Indeed, the written gospels were formulated in the same way: backwards! First, Jesus’ followers experienced him alive! Risen! Then they worked backwards. Because he is risen, because they finally knew how the story would turn out, they were then able to make sense out of what he had said, and what he had done – what had been so bewildering and confusing. So it was a process of, “Remember when he said…? Do you think this is what he meant by that?”

And notice that those first witnesses to the resurrection, to receive openness from God, do not have to go off far away from their daily life situations, on some mountain-top-experience retreat! God comes to them, where they are. They are opened through sight, and through sound, and through touch. They come to contemplation, through their physical senses! They become open to the risen Christ.

Isn’t that the way it works, for you and me, as well? Each one of us is a contemplative! Each one of us has sensed the presence of God, at one time or another. That presence of the divine is all around us, at each moment of each day – even though we are often not aware of it; even though we are often not open to the presence of the risen Christ.

There’s an old joke: I wonder how many burning bushes Moses walked past before he finally noticed one?! Doesn’t that describe you and me, most days? When we’re on automatic pilot, we cruise through the day after day routine and don’t even see what’s there around us! Isn’t that true?

Ah, but when you and I pay attention to what we see, and what we hear, and what we touch. We become contemplatives, and recognize, in our sensory experiences, the risen Christ.

That can happen in worship. Think of the water of Holy Baptism: the wetness, the splashing presence of the risen Christ.

Think of the bread and the wine of Holy Communion: the tasting, the eating; the presence of the risen Christ.

Think of when something that we do or say in the liturgy touches you deeply, even in a way that you cannot understand. For many, that happens through the music of liturgy. You become open to the presence of the risen Christ.

But it is not simply what occurs during worship. It’s in daily experience, too. Reading the newspaper becomes a contemplative experience: when you see the face of the risen Christ in the face of a person who is suffering. Think of the instance of receiving comfort and solace and the help of another person. The wisdom of another person who speaks words that enter right into your heart. Think of the tears that come to your eyes from time to time, when you are moved by joy and gratitude for another person’s kindness and mercy. Those salty tears mark openness to the presence of the risen Christ.

In all of that experience is God!

He is risen! He is risen indeed! Alleuia!

You [and I] are witnesses of these things!

In the name of God, who is Father and Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.


Pastor Andy Ballentine
St. Stephen Lutheran Church
Williamsburg, Virginia

"Afraid -- To Let Go" Easter, 2006

(First, read the text for this sermon: Mark 16:1-8)


Easter is by far the toughest Sunday morning for a preacher. That’s because most worshipers assemble on this day, assuming they know what’s happening. There is so much hoopla on this day, there are so many distractions, that many people miss what’s actually in the gospel story.

Were you listening? Did the ending of this morning’s gospel story give you pause?

I mean, we’re making all kinds of noise this morning! “Jesus Christ is Risen Today!” “The Strife is Oe’er! The Battle Won!” But listen again to the last verse of that story from Mark: So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.

What is going on here?

What are they afraid of?

For one thing, it certainly is a fearful thing to be visiting the grave of someone executed by the Romans for insurrection! What if they’re seen? What if they’re arrested, too, by the Romans, for participating in the treasonous conspiracy? (That’s a reasonable fear, isn’t it?) And it is a shocking and terrifying thing to arrive at the site, and to find that the grave is opened! (That, too, is understandable reason for fear.) But, in addition to that, it looks like Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of James and Salome are made very fearful by the words spoken by the young man that they encounter at the open grave.

Why is that? Jesus himself had told them that would happen, three times before, according to Mark’s account. Is it fearful for them to hear it now, because they obviously had not heard it before when Jesus told them, three times, that he would suffer and be killed and then rise from the dead? Now, at the opened grave, the young man tells Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of James and Salome that this has happened. [H]e said to them, "Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here. Look, there is the place they laid him.” … So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.

Why do you and I become fearful? Often, it’s when we’re afraid of what we might lose. For instance, a soldier is fearful of losing his life, and so it is a terrifying thing to be in combat. We are fearful of losing our health or mobility, and so we receive with fright an ominous diagnosis from a doctor. We are fearful of losing our money, and our identity, and so many panic when the boss tells them that they’re being laid off.

In short, it’s a scary thing to let go of whatever it is that we clutch so tightly in our hands.

So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid. What are Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of James and Salome afraid to let go of?

They are afraid to let go of their assumption that death wins! It is frightening to let go of “certainties” that we count on as being true – even when there’s greater possibility, in the letting go, of life in God’s fullness!

But, you see, that’s what the Good News of the risen Christ calls us to do. Even as we are tempted to join these three women in their flight from the empty tomb, so the Risen Christ calls you and me – to let go of whatever it is we’re holding onto, in fear, so we can live Easter!

That means to let go of our assumption that we live in a closed universe. That we know what is real and what is not. That death wins and life does not.
But primarily, to live Easter we must let go of ourselves; or, at least, of the people we think we are; the false images of ourselves we’ve built up for ourselves. When you’re spending so much energy propping up your false image, of your “in control” self, then you cannot receive the Good News of grace: that life fulfilled is pure gift, from God. God is able to enclose us in arms of love when we let go of our false selves, and when we embrace who we are, the person God created you to be, the genuine person, the one who God loves, unilaterally and unconditionally. That is what Jesus is talking about when he says, in chapter eight of Mark, "If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it.”
Are you terrified by all of that? How often are you and I just like Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of James and Salome – afraid to let go of what we’re holding so tightly, to simply believe, and to live Easter?

One of my favorite writers is Flannery O’Connor. She was the Mozart of the short story. Now you need to know that she died in the 1960s, at age 39, of lupus. So she was accustomed to great suffering over health. She had a deep and realistic faith, in the midst of the suffering. There was not an idealistic cell in her body. Keeping that biography in mind, listen to what she wrote, in one of her letters:

“I think there is no suffering greater than what is caused by the doubts of those who want to believe. I know what torment this is, but I can only see it, in myself anyway, as the process by which faith is deepened. A faith that just accepts is a child’s faith and all right for children, but eventually you have to grow religiously as every other way, though some never do.

“What people don’t realize is how much religion costs. They think faith is a big electric blanket, when of course it is the cross. It is much harder to believe than not to believe. If you feel you can’t believe, you must at least do this: keep an open mind. Keep it open toward faith, keep wanting it, keep asking for it, and leave the rest to God.

“When we get our spiritual house in order, we’ll be dead. This goes on. You arrive at enough certainty to be able to make your way, but it is making it in darkness. Don’t expect faith to clear things up for you. It is trust, not certainty.”

It seems to me that that’s where Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of James and Salome are – right there!

Obviously the last words in Mark’s gospel – and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid – is not the end of the story. Obviously, eventually, Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of James and Salome did trust enough, despite all of their uncertainty, to let go! They obviously did tell something to someone – because we are telling the story to each other this morning, of the stunning possibility of life in God’s fullness; life that is possible because of Jesus the Christ’s resurrection from the dead!

Living Easter means living in the trust and hope that that story is true! If it is true, then the Good News overcomes our fear. If the story is true, then eternal life has begun! And so, we simply let go. We live the resurrected life.

In the name of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.


Pastor Andy Ballentine
St. Stephen Lutheran Church
Williamsburg, Virginia

Maundy Thursday Instruction April 13, 2006

Technically speaking, tonight concludes Lent. What we will do in a few minutes will provide a “bookend” to what we did on Ash Wednesday. On that evening, six weeks and one day ago, we marked the beginning of Lent with the mark of ashes, in the shape of the cross on our foreheads, and the words, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” In other words: “Life is fleeting. And so, pay attention to those sins, to that brokenness, to what it is that separates you from God. Return to God before you return to dust.”

Tonight’s first liturgical action brings dramatic conclusion to that portion of the Lenten journey we’ve been on. We will confess our sinfulness. We will hear words of forgiveness, from God. And then you will have opportunity to come forward, to kneel at the altar rail, to feel the touch of hands on your head, and to hear words of forgiveness spoken to you individually.

The words to be spoken, according to the liturgy book, are these: “In obedience to the command of our Lord Jesus Christ, I forgive you all your sins.” (“Sins” – plural.) I don’t know what Pastor Einarsen will say, if you come up to his half of the altar rail! (He’s not as much of a rebel as I am.) I will disobey the liturgy book! I will speak the word “sin,” in the singular. That’s something that I always do. Every Sunday morning, in fact, during the Brief Order for Confession and Forgiveness, I always say “sin” rather than “sins.”

I have several reasons for that. Using “sins” (plural) makes us think that sinfulness is “naughty things that we do.” But then, sin simply becomes moralism. Rather than entry into divine mystery, religion becomes a set of rules, of right and wrong. The effect of that type of religion is to make you feel bad about yourself – because, can you “do good” all the time? If religion is only a set of rules to be followed, even if you “do good” 99 times out of a hundred, then you’ll beat yourself over the head because of that one time that you “did bad!”

But here’s the other side of the coin. How bad are you and I? If we are sinful only to the extent that we do “bad things,” then are we really sinful? I mean, you and I: we’re nice people, right? In fact, we’re good people! Don’t others consider you to be pillars of the community, because you do so many good things for so many people?

Perhaps you’re not really sinful – certainly not when compared with people who do really bad things! Perhaps, for instance, you have a hard time seeing yourself in the words of Psalm 51, which we use twice during Lent:

Have mercy on me, O God,
according to your lovingkindness;
in your great compassion
blot out my offenses.
Wash me thorough and through
from my wickedness,
and cleanse me from my sin….
Indeed, I have been wicked from my birth,
A sinner from my mother’s womb.

I’m sorry, but I look out, and I do not see many people who spend much time doing wicked things! And as for that last verse that I read: how many of you have held a newborn and thought to yourself, “What a wicked, sinful baby this is”?

And so, that’s another reason why I don’t say “sins” (plural) – because, for most of us, the “bad” things that we do are pretty innocuous and boring. If you and I are sinful only to the extent that we do “bad things,” then, for most of us, sinfulness is inconsequential and insignificant.

But our sinfulness is not so trivial. That’s because it is not primarily what we do. It is, rather, our condition of being. The “bad things” that we do are simply actions that arise out of that condition of being.


Our sinfulness is our condition of brokenness from God.

Let me try to say what I mean. How often are you absolutely, crystal clear about God’s purpose for your life? You do have glimpses of such clarity, don’t you, at times? But we are broken from God; that’s what sin means! A sign of our condition of sin is that clarity only comes in glimpses!

How consistent is your trust in God? Again, you can point to instances when you’ve acted in great trust that God would provide for you – even when there was no earthly evidence that that was true. But how often are you unable to trust in God’s love and grace? How often are you broken from God in that way? Here’s how I experience that brokenness, on pretty much a daily basis. I wake up nearly every morning, somewhere before 4:30 and 5:00 (which means much earlier than I need to wake up) – and as soon as I come to consciousness, my mind is racing: with worries. And usually my mind is full of worries over stupid stuff! Things that aren’t worth worrying about!

That early-morning worrying is a daily demonstration of my lack of trust in God. Because who is in control? Who is running the show? Why, then, do I wake up with the frantic notion that it is all up to me? Why am I not able to awaken peaceably, trusting that God will provide what is needed for this new day, in grace?

It is because of my sinfulness that I am not able to be trusting of God’s grace. It is because of my brokenness from God. I am in bondage to sin and cannot free myself. All I can do, in those first moments of consciousness (when it’s still dark outside!) is to pray the Jesus prayer from the Russian Orthodox tradition: “Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me.” And, after a number of repetitions of that prayer, spoken slowly, while breathing slowly, I come to relax again, and I allow God to embrace me with God’s arms of grace. And I experience eternal life – which has already begun!

It is for that God-pleasing reason that you and I assemble tonight, in this place, to conclude Lent, and to enter into the worship of The Three Days: through Good Friday and the Easter Vigil, to the joyous celebration of Easter. We assemble to experience God’s grace, and to remember, in dramatic ways, the source of that grace: through the death and resurrection of Jesus the Christ.

The next thing we will do tonight is to enter into Corporate Confession and Forgiveness. But first, let’s sit in some silence.

Be silent.
Be still, alone, empty before God.
Say nothing.
Ask nothing.
Be silent.
Let God look upon you.
That is all.
God knows.
God understands.
God loves you with an enormous love.
God only wants to look upon you with love.
Be silent.
Be still.
Let God love you.


Pastor Andy Ballentine
St. Stephen Lutheran Church
Williamsburg, Virginia

"Sir, We Wish To See Jesus" April 2, 2006 Fifth Sunday of Lent

(First, read the text for this sermon: John 12:20-33)

A preacher who enters this pulpit sees a strip of metal, engraved with the words, “Sir, we should like to see Jesus.” John Byerly, who was pastor of St. Stephen when this room was constructed, told me that this engraved saying was a gift from members of the Lutheran Student Association, who said that that is the goal of preaching: to make Jesus known.

To the same end, at St. Martin’s Episcopal Church, about a mile and a half from here, out Jamestown Road, the same saying is attached to outside of the pulpit, so that the worshiping congregation can see it. There the quotation is closer to what’s actually in the passage: “Sir, we wish to see Jesus.”

Of course, that saying comes from this morning’s story in the gospel of John. In this passage, everything is coming together, in the gospel writer’s telling of the Jesus story. Jesus is in Jerusalem for the third and final time. This is the final scene in Jesus’ public ministry. (After this, until he is arrested, Jesus spends his time privately, teaching only the inner circle of disciples.)

As this morning’s scene begins, “some Greeks” approach Jesus’ disciple, Philip. Now, you know that nearly every Jew is a Hebrew, a blood ancestor from Abraham. But these are not Hebrews. They are irregular. They are obviously converts to Judaism – because they are in Jerusalem to worship at the Passover festival. They approach Philip because he has a Greek name, and because his accent is familiar. (It’s an accent that comes from the region of Bethsaida in Galilee, which is full of Greeks.)

Notice what’s happening. Up to this point in the gospel of John, the leaders of God’s people of have resisted and rejected Jesus. Now, from the outside, from the margins, Gentile converts are seeking Jesus! In this passage, that’s significant. That is moving us to the fulfillment of God’s promised salvation. “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified,” says Jesus.

There is deep mystery in what the gospel writer is presenting. Not the least of the mystery is this: In Jesus’ death is glory!

What makes for glory in our culture? Isn’t it the prestigious job title? The honors received, framed and on the wall? The house and the neighborhood? The expensive car? Those are the markers of success, right?

The deep mystery in this morning’s gospel story is that glory is entirely redefined. It has nothing to do with “success,” as that is defined in our culture. Indeed, honor comes in dying to such a false image of who we should be. Honor comes in servanthood!

Listen again to how this deep mystery is expressed. Jesus answered them, "The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. Those who love their life lose it, and those who hate their life in this world will keep it for eternal life. Whoever serves me must follow me, and where I am, there will my servant be also. Whoever serves me, the Father will honor.

"Now my soul is troubled. And what should I say – 'Father, save me from this hour'? No, it is for this reason that I have come to this hour. Father, glorify your name." Then a voice came from heaven, "I have glorified it, and I will glorify it again." This is mysterious, mystical stuff.

“Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.” What is that fruit, in the case of this passage? I suspect it is the community that is formed by Jesus’ death, and then his resurrection. It is the fruit that shows itself in those who redefine life on the basis of Jesus’ death and resurrection. This is a community, into which you and I have been baptized, of people who realize that it is through servanthood that our relationship with God is restored and lived out.

Did you know you signed up for this? It’s an entire re-orientation of assumptions!

Here’s what we encounter near the end of this morning’s passage: Now is the judgment of this world; now the ruler of this world will be driven out. See, in the gospel of John, that victory is not reserved for the future! The defeat of the power of evil in the world happens here – in Jesus’ death and then his resurrection! (When facing those who were propping up the demonic system of apartheid in South Africa, Desmond Tutu used to love to say to his opponents, “You are on the losing side!” He would say that when there was no earthly evidence that that was true! He was being entirely Biblical.)

“Now is the judgment of this world; now the ruler of this world will be driven out.” The story that we read this morning challenges any of us who have a stake in maintaining the status quo, those who are comfortable in our culture.

“Sir, we wish to see Jesus.”

There is great hunger to see Jesus, among all who hunger for fulfillment and meaning and joy – whether they know it or not! Those who hunger for fulfillment and meaning and joy are hungering for the salvation that Jesus has brought, and that salvation is offered to the world in every encounter with the living Christ. It is the salvation that confronts and judges the culture, when its values are those of the losing side.

“Sir, we wish to see Jesus.”

A tragic irony is that many who wish to see Jesus have been alienated by a church that they has been supporting political leaders who pander to those who have wealth, and who are not concerned with those who are poor. (In the Bible, God always takes the side of the poor.) Or, those hungering for Jesus have been alienated by a church that they have seen to be simply maintaining itself as an institution in the cultural status quo.

“Sir, we wish to see Jesus.”

It is the community of servants who show Jesus to the world. It is those who are acting as if they are on the winning side!

Those servants of Christ who engage in political activism with the aim of building a more compassionate culture are showing Jesus to the world. Jesus is seen when our public policy is to care for children in poverty, and for others who are helpless; those who are sick; those who are disabled. (In the Bible, God always takes the side of such people.)

How do you, assembled servants, show Jesus to those who hunger to see him? For instance, where is Jesus seen among the 40 million Americans without health insurance? Where is Jesus seen among the poor, whose health care is reduced by cuts in Medicaid? Where is Jesus seen in the debate over immigration? In the debate over the minimum wage? In the moves our nation might make in Iraq?

Tough questions, huh? Lent is a time, especially, for tough questions – of how to live out of our faith, as servants, revealing Jesus’ compassion.

There is a winning side! Now is the judgment of this world: in the death and resurrection of Jesus the Christ. And what hunger there is to see Jesus.

In the name of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.


Pastor Andy Ballentine
St. Stephen Lutheran Church
Williamsburg, Virginia