Be free to receive a new spirit

Easter 7—Year B, 5/20/12, Cyndi Banks
Acts 1:15-17, 21-26; Psalm 1; I John 5:9-13; John 17:6-19

This is one of those odd Sundays. It’s an in-between Sunday. This is Easter 7, the Sunday after (does anybody know what last Thursday was?—the feast of the Ascension), so this is the Sunday after Ascension Day and the Sunday before Pentecost. We all sort of know what Easter is about—it’s about resurrection and new life, and we all sort of know what Pentecost is about—it’s about the gift of the Holy Spirit that turns the world upside down, but what do we do with this time in-between?

It seems that the Church has this attraction to the in-between spaces, the threshold spaces, and with good reason. A) They are liminal spaces, luminous spaces, and wondrous things happen in these spaces if we will only open our eyes and look and not yearn so much for what we’ve left nor move too quickly to what is yet to come. And B) We spend a good part of our lives in the in-between spaces, having left something behind but not quite having reached what is yet to come.

A good case in point is Holy Saturday, that space of time after the crucifixion and before the resurrection, that space of time when death has occurred but the new life has not yet revealed itself. A time where all we can do is sit and wait, but because Jesus spent that time waiting in the tomb, we wait with purpose and we wait with companionship. Holy Saturday is not empty waiting; it is not meaningless. It is anticipatory, pregnant with possibility, the kind of waiting that bears fruit for having lived so long in the deep, dark earth.

And today, this Sunday between Ascension and Pentecost, is another good example. Ron Rolheiser in his book Holy Longing has a chapter on the Paschal Cycle that lays out the whole paschal pattern in a way that can help us make sense of our lives. He speaks of Good Friday as the death and Easter as the new life. Then you have this period of time until the feast of the Ascension—40 days of time—when you are adjusting to the new life. This is that kind of two-steps-forward-one-step-back kind of dance. You get it, then you lose it. You get it, and you lose it. It’s hard to move into a new way of being; it’s hard to release the old.

And then, Rolheiser notes, that you come to this feast of Ascension. Now, it seems to me that most of us just fly right by the feast of the Ascension having no idea what to do with it; we have no idea how to appropriate it. It’s mentioned in our eucharistic prayers when we “recall his death, resurrection, and ascension.” It’s mentioned in the creed, “On the third day he rose again in accordance with the Scriptures; he ascended into heaven and is seated at the right hand of the Father.” So, this isn’t a small article of faith; it’s a rather significant one. Now, I don’t know about you, but as soon as I try to make sense of it, my mind goes to a really literal place ending up with something that looks kind of like the Wicked Witch of the West, except it’s men’s feet with birkenstocks dangling from the sky. I am left with questions like, “Where did he go?” And since I can’t answer those, I ignore this article of faith altogether. But our souls miss so much if we do.

What Rolhesier got me to understand is that, in the paschal progression, ascension is absolutely essential to fully claiming the resurrection life that is promised after any sort of death or loss experience. If the period of 40 days after the resurrection is about adjusting to the new life, Ascension is about letting the old life ascend, so that, so that we can receive the new spirit on Pentecost to match the new life we are in fact already living.

And so the feast of Ascension and the 10 days we have from Ascension to Pentecost are really, really important times for us spiritually. This is the time when we need to let the old life go. Oh, it may have died quite a while ago, but have you ever noticed how old patterns, old ways of relating and behaving, old ways of living, have you ever noticed how old wounds take quite a long time to release. Something could have happened to us years ago, and we have indeed moved on, but in our minds and in our hearts and in our souls, that old stuff is still very much alive. Ascension comes to say, “It is time to let it go. It is time to let it ascend. It is time to release it, so that you are free to receive a new spirit, a spirit not shackled to the old, a new spirit to match the new life that is yours now to live.” If we have not released the old, there is no way that we can fully move into and embrace and live the new life that is ours. Our spirit is still looking back, yearning for another time, another space, another reality. Meanwhile, we miss the present that is right before us, and we won’t be able to take advantage of the future that is promised.

A new spirit is coming one week from today; what do we need to release, what do we need to let go of, what do we need to let ascend so that we will be ready to receive this new spirit? This in-between time is not wasted time, it is not meaningless, it is not empty space, but it is a necessary piece of the journey. God is not going to leave us comfortless; the Holy Spirit is on the way, but today and in the week to come, we are given the gift of space. Trust this process enough to let go. Trust God enough to know that if you let the old go, you will be given something to replace it with. You will be given new eyes to see the resurrected life that has been both promised and given. You will be given new ways to move in this new world. And you will be given a spirit that can keep pace with your new life.

So, don’t shove Ascension off to the side just because you can’t make sense of it. Your heart and soul yearn for the movement to which this great feast points. Let your head play with the rather silly pictures that can come as we think about Jesus ascending to heaven, but know that deep, deep within you things are being rearranged and realigned. Don’t shy away from letting go. Don’t be afraid of the space that will open up if you do. Jesus has prayed, and God has promised, not to leave us with a great big gigantic blackhole in our soul. A new spirit will come and take up residence inside of us if we can but make a space for that spirit to dwell. Amen.

The Rev. Cynthia K. R. Banks

St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Boone, NC

May 20, 2012

Promises, promises

5-13-12, Easter 6—Year B; Cyndi Banks
Acts 10:44-48; Psalm 98; I John 5:1-6; John 15:9-17 

“Promises, promises!” What do you think of when you hear that?

Well, Cambridge Idioms Dictionary says that this is “something that you say when someone says they will do something and you do not believe them” or “something that you say when you will probably not do what you say you will do.”

In other words, promises are cause for skepticism and cynicism. Promises don’t add up to a whole lot in our day and time. We sort of expect them to be broken, and we expect them to be broken because we don’t believe the promise makers to be very trustworthy. We don’t trust the promise because we don’t trust the one making the promise.

But where does that leave you? It leaves you in a pretty dismal place. We lose a lot when we turn a deaf ear and a defended heart toward a promise, when we deflect that promise away as a way to protect ourselves. To hear the promise, to open ourselves to the promise, to give ourselves to the promise is an act of courage, an act of risk, an act of supreme hope.

Today, we are marking Bryce and Nicole and Lily’s Celebration of Manhood and Womanhood. Your manhood and womanhood are given to you by virtue of your biology, but we recognize that adulthood is something that you must journey toward. And this season that now stretches before you is one that is full of promise. The whole world stretches before you, full of promise and full of promises. Which ones will you dismiss, and which ones will you stake your life on? What about the rest of us? Which ones do we dismiss, and which one ones do we stake our life on?

Bryce, Nicole, and Lily, many things will be held out before you—what and who do you trust? And how will you discern the ones you should dismiss, and the ones you should hold on to for dear life?

If I have any wisdom to offer to you today, it is this—ground your trust in God, and you will be able to see more clearly which promises you should trust. In a season of life in which risk is really attractive, take a really unconventional risk—risk believing that “God really has prepared for you such good things as surpass your understanding,” just like the collect says. Allow God to “pour into your heart” this infectious “love,” risk believing that when we “love God in all things and above all things,” risk believing that in that loving, God’s promises cease to be promises of a future state but become the reality of your present life and that this reality will “exceed all that we can desire.” You want a wild ride in life, you want a life that throws security to the winds, then open your arms wide to receive God’s love and see where that unconventional, reckless love leads you. What I can tell you is this, the promises that have come true in my life have not been the ones I anticipated, but they have far exceeded my expectations.

The promises that Jesus makes to you give you a place to stand and the strength and courage you will need to journey forth. Jesus promises you his love, he promises you his presence, he promises you that you are one with him, just as he is one with God. Can you wrap your mind around that? You are one with God. There is no gap you have to bridge to be in that relationship; you are in that relationship. You can’t undo it. You can’t blow it. And you can’t escape it. You can be miserable in it, or you can enjoy it to the max.  Jesus says that all you have to do is abide in it. Rest in it. Drink it in, and let it flow through you.

And the image Jesus gives for this relationship, the supreme icon he paints of this relationship is that of friendship, and nobody gets friendship more than teenagers. Jesus has called you friends. He would lay down his life for you, and well, he did. He laid down his life, he laid down his divine life into flesh and blood so that you could see what the abundant life looks like. You understand that kind of loyalty because you practice it all the time with your friends. God is as connected to you as you are to your friends; God is circling around you all the time as you love one another—don’t forget that.

And remember that you are a chosen one. Hear what Jesus says today, “You did not choose me but I chose you. And I appointed you to go and bear fruit, fruit that will last.” Jesus has chosen you, Jesus has appointed you, Jesus sends you out into the world to bear fruit, fruit that will last. What will you choose to do with your chosen, beloved status? What fruit will you choose to bear? You have power, tremendous, awesome power—how will you steward that power? As Mary Oliver asks in her poem, “Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon? Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” “What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”

Bryce, Nicole, and Lily, welcome to the journey to adulthood. And truth be told, it’s a journey that never ends. We are all making our way in this world, sorting through the promises that are worthy of our trust and those that aren’t. We all make a thousand mistakes along the way, and we all get to discover the glory of seeing how those mistakes get redeemed. We all have times where our hopes are dashed, and then we wake up to see our wildest expectations far exceeded.  But through it all, and in it all, beneath and above and around it all, there is God, holding us, filling us, leading us, sustaining us, in love.

God promises us, you were made in love for love. Never give up on that promise. That promise, and the God who makes it, are worthy of your trust. And if skepticism and cynicism start to make you doubt it, look no further than this circle of friends who surround this day, let us hold you in love, until you can trust that this promise is for you and that this promise is true. Amen.

The Rev. Cynthia K. R. Banks

St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Boone, NC

May 13, 2012

Love, love, love love.

Easter 5—Year B, 5-6-12
Acts 8:26-40; Psalm 22:24-30; 1 John 4:7-21; John 15:1-8

Does anybody else find it ironic that on the Sunday before the Tuesday when our state will vote on the definition of marriage, we have this passage from the First Letter of John, a passage where love is mentioned 26 times? Love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love, love. Does anybody else find this ironic? When I first read the passages assigned for today, I said to God, “Really? Really God? Are you kidding me?” Apparently, God says, “Really.”

So, this passage has been percolating for me all week. Then Thursday night, I went to screening of the documentary about Gene Robinson, the first openly gay partnered bishop in the Episcopal Church. I had the privilege to meet Gene Robinson when I was in seminary when he came through to teach a workshop. I met him again the night before the vote at the 2003 General Convention that would grant consent to his election as the Bishop of New Hampshire. Jim and I were seated next to Gene and his partner, Mark, at the alumni dinner for my seminary. Julia was three months old and Gene had just had a grandchild born, so we did what any normal people would do, we “ooohed” and “ahhhed” over pictures of our babies. So I knew something of Gene Robinson’s story, but I was not prepared for the effect this movie had on me. It was painful. I relived all of the history surrounding him and his election and the after effects. I was a part of all of that history; I was a participant in the two Conventions that discussed and debated and prayed over these decisions. It was painful history to watch. It was painful to watch our church struggle. And it is painful to watch our state struggle now.

Where was God then, and where is God now? According to I John, the answer is clear. God is where love is. God is love. Love is from God. When we love God we are born again, we are born anew, and we know God—not just information about God or beliefs about God—when we love, we know God, the fullness of God—we touch heaven, we know Divine Presence. And when we cut ourselves off from love, when we don’t love, there is a huge piece of God that we miss, that we just don’t know. God is always the animating force of our love—God’s love is always the catalyst to our loves; it is the action that sets our loving in motion. And when love is showered upon you, it only makes sense that you will pour it out on those around you. And this love is always being perfected in us.

In case we missed it, the letter continues, “God is love.” When you abide in love, when you live in love, when you dwell in that love and drink it into your being, you are abiding in God, you are living in God, you are dwelling in and tasting God in the deepest, most intimate of ways. And when this love is perfected in us, when it is made complete, brought to its fullness, we find a strength, a boldness that we didn’t know we had.

God is love. It would be enough for me to stop right here and let us all just meditate on that for a good long while. But there is more. The First Letter of John gives us more.

If God is where love is, does that mean that where there is not love, God is not? What is the opposite of love? Hate? No, it’s fear. That’s what John’s letter says. It’s not that God is absent; it’s that fear is present. Again, hear the text, “There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear; for fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not reached perfection in love.” This is where the rubber meets the road. It is fear that fuels the hate.

Remember back earlier this spring when those two girls were beaten up? Part of what triggered the perpetrator’s rage was tied to those girls’ perceived sexual orientation? There was much talk then about the Hate Crime laws. A very, very wise person said to me, “I wish we didn’t call them Hate Crimes; I wish we called them Fear Crimes, because that’s what they are.” I think John is trying to say the same thing in his letter.

When you are grounded in this amazing love that first loved us and dared to call us Beloved, when that love compels you profess your love for this God who loved us first, there is no room for fear, which means you just can’t hate your brothers or your sisters. John doesn’t mince words, “If you don’t love a brother or sister whom you have seen, you can’t love God whom you have not seen. It’s a commandment folks, ‘Those who love God must love their brothers and sisters also.’”

In the collect for today, we hear that Jesus is the way, the truth, and the life. His is the way of love. The truth he came to proclaim is that that love knows no limits—to the Samaritan and the Gentile and the Israelite, Jesus says, “God loves you,” to the hemorrhaging woman and the leper, the tax collector, the woman of the city, the sinner, Jesus says, “God loves you,” to the Pharisee and the Sadducee and the righteous keepers of the law, Jesus says, “God loves you,” to the opponents of Amendment 1 and the proponents of Amendment 1 and those who don’t know what Amendment 1 is all about, Jesus says, “God loves you,” to you and to me, Jesus says, “God loves you.” That is the truth, the unbelievable truth that Jesus lived and died and rose again to proclaim. And the life Jesus lived, and lives to this day, is a life of love, full out, full on, tenacious, relentless love.

Wherever we see love at work, wherever we see love at work, we are looking on the face of God, and to call such love anything else borders on blasphemy.

Where do you gaze upon such love, where, in your life, do you touch that love, that precious divine love? And how does that love change you?

And where in your life do you know fear? Where do you see fear? Where do you taste fear? How has that fear changed you? Where has that fear fanned itself into flames of hate? What do you need to release to let that fear go? A judgment? A sense of control? A need for security? Certitude? In the midst of that fear, can you imagine inviting Jesus in? Can you imagine letting Jesus make a way in your heart, whisper in your ear the truth of your beloved status, can you imagine letting Jesus fill your life with his love? Can you imagine inviting Jesus into your most fearful place and trusting that he has the capacity to hold that fear in his embrace and to hold it until it finally melts into love? Fear isn’t a permanent state of being; it’s a condition that comes to us when we forget just how beloved we are. When we remember the love that is the ground beneath our feet, we need not fear anything, anything.

Don’t give into hate, don’t let the fear win. There is too much love to be celebrated, to be lived, to be passed on, too much of God yet to see.

Let your way be love, let the truth you proclaim be love, let your life be the outward and visible sign of love. And know that when you walk in that way and proclaim that truth and live that life, you are never alone, for that is the very place that God is pleased to dwell. Amen.

The Rev. Cynthia K. R. Banks

St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Boone, NC

May 6, 2012

Who are you today? the good shepherd? the sheep? the wolf? the hired hand?

Easter 4—Year B (Cyndi Banks)

Acts 4:5-12; Psalm 23; 1 John 3:16-24; John 10:11-18 

I love sheep. What’s not to love? They’re cute and seem so gentle and look so cuddly. I fell in love with sheep in Wales. They are everywhere. There is a whole greeting card genre that deals only with sheep. On the farm where we lived, we couldn’t step in any direction without hearing them, seeing them, or smelling them. They’re not known to be the brightest of animals, but I beg to differ. One thing I noticed about the sheep is that they loved to find the holes in the fence and escape the sheepfolds; they were tenacious in their hunt for the gap and gave perseverance a new name. You have to admire that tenacity, that desire to be free. It is also true that once they got out, they had a devil of time finding their way back in. “We have erred and strayed from thy ways like lost sheep,” so says the confession from Rite I Morning Prayer—words etched in my memory from childhood. The fact of the matter is sheep like to stray, they like to roam, they like to explore.

Isn’t there a little bit of sheep in all of us? Sometimes, we are content to stay in the shelter of the sheepfold, but most of them time, we’re looking for the holes in the fence, striking out for greener pastures. We want to stretch; we want to see what’s beyond the border. Our spirits are not content to stay confined; they need to roam, and this is a good thing. God gives us all the freedom in the world to be on a journey. That’s why God didn’t enclose us in an institution, but gave us a Way. That’s what the early Christians were called—the people of the Way. We are made to wander. And so, God gave us a person to follow, a shepherd, as opposed to fencing us in.

But it is risky out beyond the sheepfold. It is easy to lose your way and not be able to find your way back home. And there are wolves—all kinds of things waiting to devour us. Examples abound in our day and time of predatory behavior—sometimes it’s an individual, sometimes it’s a larger collective, sometimes it’s an attitude or a mindset, sometimes the wolf dresses up as a cultural distraction, causing us to look over here, so it can devour the sheep that’s over there. The wolf is in the business of snatching and scattering. Look at those places where there is great division, both here and abroad, and see if there’s a wolf somewhere in there at work.

But in fairness to the wolf, it is a beautiful, majestic animal in its own right. I once was asked to bless a wolf. It was beautiful and gentle and powerful. Currently, there are four types of wolves on the endangered species list. Even the wolf is in danger of being hunted by a greater force. We need to be eyes wide open about who is the hunted and who is doing the hunting and where power resides. Sometimes, we scapegoat the wolf and miss the larger force who is truly doing the snatching and the scattering.

Where do we fall victim to the wolves? What things are distracting us, snatching out attention, scattering the good intentions of our hearts and souls? And where have we adopted the wolf’s ways? Are there instances where we are preying on someone or a group of someone’s, through the exercise of our power, through our blind spots, through our judgments?

And when it comes to protecting the sheep, the gospel gives us two models—the hired hand and the good shepherd. The hired hand is in it for the money. He or she is kind of like the seed scattered on the path who has no staying power when the birds come or whose roots are so shallow that it gets scorched when the sun comes up. They can stay present for a while, but when the going gets tough, they are out of there. The hired hand has only a utilitarian arrangement with the sheep—nothing deeper. How do we relate to the people, places, things, and passions of our life? Is our commitment only on the surface, or does it run deeper? If things get tough, do we throw in the towel, or do we stay put and stay present? When our fear and anxiety rise up inside of us, do we stay in relationship with sheep who may be more lost and have less power than we do, or do we run for the nearest shelter where we can barricade ourselves in and keep the wolves out? The wolf does what it does from instinct. The hired hand exercises choice. How do we exercise our choices when the going gets rough?

Then, there’s the good shepherd. The shepherd who holds fast and stays put. The shepherd who lays down his life for the sheep. The shepherd who goes after those sheep who have “erred and strayed from thy ways,” who does crazy math and figures that 1 has the same worth as 99 and that the 1 is worth going after. The shepherd who doesn’t see boundaries, who doesn’t distinguish between white sheep and black sheep and spotted sheep, who only sees sheep who are looking for a way back home. This shepherd is free. The hired hand can only run as a response to his fear; the good shepherd is free to lay down his life, and free to pick it back up again.

Can you imagine that kind of freedom? How, how does this shepherd do it??? Well, in some sense he does it because he can do no other—he does it because the sheep are part of him—“I know my own and my own know me,” says the good shepherd, “Just as the Father knows me and I know the Father.” This kind of knowing is intimate. It’s the same connotation as the hebrew way of knowing which is knowing of the most intimate sort. The shepherd believes the sheep are a part of him and he is part of them—they are inextricably bound one to another. Sounds a lot like how we are bound to Christ and to one another in baptism.

When you know who you are, you are free to let go of your life, your identities, your roles, your images, and the projections others place on you.

When you know who you are, you are free to lay down expectations and a whole lot of other baggage.

You are free to lay down how the world defines life, and pick up the abundant life that Jesus promises.

You are free to name the wolves, both the little ones and the big bad ones.

You are free to take risks, crazy risks, for sheep who are well beyond the fold; in fact, you are free to follow those sheep where they wander, and yet, because you know where home is, you can point the way back when all seems truly lost.

When you know who you are, you also know that you have a responsibility to help every other living thing discover the same delight of being known that intimately by God. Jesus didn’t just consider this something that he ought to get around to doing—for him, this was “a command from his Father.”

Being known and knowing, being loved and loving, being searched for and searching, laying down and taking up again—these are the non-negotiables of Christian life.

Sometimes, we’re going to be the sheep and sometimes the wolf, sometimes the hired hand and sometimes the good shepherd. Who are you today? What part of your life do you need to lay down, of your own accord, so that you can hear the voice of the good shepherd calling you to a life of freedom and joy? Amen.

The Rev. Cynthia K. R. Banks

St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Boone, NC
April 29, 2012

He is Risen! Now what?

Easter 2, 4-15-12 Yr B (Beth Turner)
John 20.19-30

The disciples are in an undisclosed location. The windows are covered, the door locked, checked and rechecked, for their security and protection. They are living in a tomb of their own fear. When their beloved mentor was executed on the cross, they fled the scene, afraid for their lives. Within a day or two, they gather to mourn and pretty much lay low until the holy days of Passover conclude and things can return to the way they had always been. Clearly, these guys did not get the memo about our service last Sunday!

Through the course of Holy Week so much happened so fast. Only a week ago, we heard the story of Mary Magdalene, of Simon Peter and the Beloved Disciple; we heard the voice of Jesus calling out a name: Mary! It’s as though, on this second Sunday of Easter, we have to press the pause button just to catch our breath and realize what has happened to us.

For the next few Sundays, our lessons from Scripture serve to do just that – to help us create a space for reflection upon stories of various human responses to the news of God’s deliverance. We are being asked to consider: What does Easter mean? What does resurrection mean?

Beyond the startling declaration that “Christ is risen,” beyond an empty tomb and astonished disciples, what is the resurrection message and what have we to do with it? Is Easter simply part of the upbeat mood of the season, when flowers burst into bloom, the weather warms, and heavy clothes of winter give way to lighter, brighter garb of spring? Does Easter touch our human life and make a difference – or is resurrection just another “likable” post gone viral on Jesus’ Facebook page?

I wonder. Does resurrection actually intrude into our lives causing us, like Jesus, to be lifted from the grip of abandonment and death into renewed purpose and hope?

We must admit this is an awkward start for a fledging religious movement…definitely not a clean, out-of-the-blocks beginning for those who would serve as founding sisters and brothers of the Church. It’s as though the words “Christ is risen” are softly stuttered rather than sung in triumphant style.

It’s obvious that Jesus’ miraculous appearance to disciples behind locked doors met with mixed response. In the first scene when Jesus shows them his wounded hands and side, some of his disciples recognize him and rejoice. Jesus commissions them and “breathes” the Spirit on them in a kind of mini-Pentecost scene. But then the entire sequence must be repeated for Thomas – Thomas, who represents all of us who were either absent or who didn’t get the Easter Memo.

As we well know, Thomas is permanently labeled a ‘doubter’ by two millennia of history books, sermons, and theological treatises in the Christian tradition. I rather like a recent cartoon by Joshua Harris that pictures Thomas on a picket line in heaven crying out, “All I’m saying is we don’t call Peter ‘Denying Peter’ or Mark ‘Ran Away Naked Mark’. Why should I be saddled with this?” To which his friends reply, “We see your point, Thomas. But really it’s time to move on.”

Of course, Thomas is not to blame for this label. He made a reasonable statement in an unreasonable, once-in-a-lifetime resurrection situation. What’s fascinating is how content we are in letting Thomas be so trapped. 

Although I love the drama of Holy Week (well-crafted liturgy, well-developed theology, and well-sung anthems), the truth is that the older I get – when it comes to Easter – the more I feel like heeding the advice of Thomas’ cartoon friends and moving on with questions like: So what? What next? What now?

Think of it. When the disciples were found hiding in that locked room, this pivotal story of our faith was only a week old. There was no Church, no creeds, no organized anything. How simple, yet how all-important this time was. Do we realize just how far down our Holy Week festivities have been distilled for us on this day? I invite you to imagine that the fanfare of last week’s service has been replaced by a simple, quiet song like the ones we sing before the closing prayer of Communion. Imagine that the giant Paschal Candle has been replaced by a single, small flame, and that we are here, sitting alongside fearful yet faithful disciples, asking, What now? Whatever will we do now?

This was when Christianity was called “The Way” or “The Path” – not the committee, not the church, not the institution. The only questions back-when were:

Will we NOW follow this way? We have seen the Resurrected One. Will we NOW practice resurrection? Will we NOW accept Jesus’ invitation to become the next chapter in a story of life coming out of death?

What NOW? What will we do NOW?

In this same gospel story, Jesus astounds us, flat out stating that we have the ability to do what he did – to declare peace, to declare liberation from anything that threatens to separate human beings from one another and from God. This means what was true for Jesus is true for us, that, even in the midst of abandonment and death, God’s life is becoming our life. God’s life is becoming our life. Sometimes, I find that rather hard to believe. Don’t you?

Yet even as we struggle to believe, Will we move beyond our fanfarade of the past week and become followers who receive a commission and go forth to serve beyond our doubt?

Followers…like Thomas, who with his life became God’s life beyond the bounds of his doubt. As a missionary, Thomas traveled beyond the familiar borders of the Roman Empire to southern India where he started seven Christian communities. Beginning with the humble confession – “My Lord and my God” – Thomas confirms his ability to move on from human doubt to divine belief.

You see, the vitality of Thomas’ witness is lost when we enshrine him in his moments of disbelief. Like Thomas, we are always in the process of believing. At best, we are leaning into belief in a broken world. Faith in the resurrection is not about the absence of doubt. Faith in the resurrection is about what we do NOW. Faith in the resurrection is about the daily practice of becoming God’s life in the midst of a struggling world. 

I have a favorite author these days, a philosopher from the UK named Peter Rollins. He writes amazing books with such provocative titles as The Fidelity of Betrayal: Towards a Church Beyond Belief. Rollins has an amazing way of conveying his personal struggle to believe.

Without equivocation or hesitation I fully and completely admit that I deny the resurrection of Christ. This is something that anyone who knows me could tell you, and I am not afraid to say it publicly, no matter what some people may think…

I deny the resurrection of Christ every time I do not serve at the feet of the oppressed, each day that I turn my back on the poor; I deny the resurrection of Christ when I close my ears to the cries of the downtrodden and lend my support to an unjust and corrupt system.

However there are moments when I affirm that resurrection, few and far between as they are. I affirm it when I stand up for those who are forced to live on their knees, when I speak for those who have had their tongues torn out, when I cry for those who have no more tears left to shed.

NOW. The story I’m about to tell you – I don’t know it happened or not but I’m absolutely certain that it’s true.

Although we heard him with Yo-Yo Ma at President Obama’s Inauguration almost four years ago, the virtuoso violinist Itzhak Perlman rarely appears in concert because of his age. But many see him as the greatest violinist of the past century. He is as admired for his triumph over childhood polio as he is for his incomparable skill and music. When he comes on stage, the audience is already seated; the orchestra is in place; even the conductor stands ready and then Itzhak Perlman painstakingly makes his way across the stage. He lays his crutches down and unlocks his metal braces putting them on the floor. When settled he is handed his violin.

It has been reported that, in one concert, he was playing a fiendishly difficult and passionate piece and suddenly, to everyone’s horror, one of the four strings on his violin snapped like a gunshot echoing in the air. As we might imagine, everything came to a standstill. The story is told that Perlman motioned to the conduction to continue the piece. The orchestra began again and violinist never missed a beat, or lost a note. To everyone’s absolute amazement he finished the entire piece, more than six minutes. He used only three strings, instantaneously transposing the music from the missing string onto the three strings he had left.

When the performance was over the audience was stunned into silence. No one moved, or barely breathed. The sweat had poured from him and Perlman was dripping wet, sitting in his chair, violin and bow in one hand, dazed. After minutes the audience and his fellow musicians exploded in ecstatic appreciation. It went on it seemed forever.

Again, there is no doubt that this is a true story.

It is reported that Perlman gestured for a microphone and the crowd went immediately quiet. He addressed the audience speaking slowly, “This has been my vocation, my lifelong mission – to make music out of what remains. This has been my vocation, my lifelong mission – to make music out of what remains.”

Christ is risen. It’s eight days later, the scripture denotes. On this day all that remains is a handful disciples in a locked, dimly lit room. Jesus appears and blesses them saying, “Peace be with you.”

What will they do NOW?

My sisters and brothers, the resurrection is not a single event, but a loosening of God’s light and life into history that continues to transform all things, to transform US by the grace and power of eternal love. It is as though a door was opened, and what poured out will never be stopped, and the door cannot be closed.

What will we do…NOW?

Easter Day, 4-8-12 Yr B (Cyndi Banks)

Acts 10:34-43 Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24
I Corinthians 15:1-11
Mark 16:1-8

It was very early on the first day of the week. The sun had just risen. The mist was rising. Things were wet with the morning dew. Those three faithful women, Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome set out for the tomb. They were on a mission—they had to go and anoint their Lord. You see, there wasn’t time on that horrific Friday afternoon. That day was the day of Preparation and the sabbath was getting ready to start. There wasn’t any time. There wasn’t any time to bury Jesus properly. Joseph of Arimathea did the best he could. At least he got Pilate to release the body, and he took Jesus down from the cross with such care, and he wrapped him in a linen cloth, and he laid him in a tomb that had been hewn out of the rock, and he rolled a stone against the door, a huge stone, a circular stone that ran in a small track, a 1 ½ to 2 ton circular stone.

Mary Magdalene and the other Mary had watched all this. It hurt to see their Lord crucified, the kind of hurt that takes your breath away and makes your chest hurt, but it hurt even more that they couldn’t do the rituals for the body of their beloved Lord. They couldn’t anoint him for his burial. But these women were determined women. They would not be denied this final act of love, this final goodbye. And so, as soon as the sabbath ended, they bought the spices they would need, and they headed for the tomb.

It is so hard for us to get back to that very first Easter, to that place where all was lost, hope was extinguished, and hearts were broken. It is so hard for us to get back to that place where the Way was destroyed and the Truth had been shattered and the Life was dead. It is so hard for us to remember that before the tomb was opened, it was very much sealed shut.

Granted, the women hadn’t thought this through very well. Love told them to go, and go they did, but on the way, the reality began to dawn on them. There was the matter of the stone. “Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance of the tomb?”

But when they looked up, they saw that the stone, which was very large, had already been rolled back. As they entered the tomb, they saw a young man, dressed in a white robe, sitting on the right side; and they were alarmed. Alarmed? Oh, the english translation is far too white-washed, far too nice. Try “thrown into terror.”

But this messenger said to them, “Do not be alarmed, do not be thrown into terror; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he’s not here. Look, there is the place they laid him. But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you.”

So they went out and found Peter and told him all that the messenger had said and they all rejoiced! No—that’s not what it says! Here’s what the text says: So they went out and fled from the tomb, for fear, the kind of fear that makes you tremble, fear had a hold on their mind—they were possessed by this fear; they were seized by this fear; this fear had thrown them out of their right mind, out of their normal mind; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.

Did you get that they were afraid? These women were terrified.

If we don’t know what to make of the resurrection, for goodness sakes, we are not the first. What those women encountered on that very first Easter morn was so stunning, so amazing, so bizarre that it completely threw their minds out of their normal state. What they encountered seized them and had such a hold on their mind that all they could think to do in response was run away, and not say a word to anyone.

There is something deeply true about how those women respond, something that we need to pay close attention to. Can we allow ourselves to be completely taken by surprise, or is this story so familiar to us that it doesn’t even register on the awe scale for us? Can you take in the messenger’s news, “He has been raised; he’s not where you left him; death couldn’t hold him; Life and Love have come again and are waiting to meet you,” can you take in that news and let it throw you out of your right mind? Because you have to get thrown out of your right mind, you have to get thrown out of your normal mind, if you are going to move into the new mind it takes to live in resurrection life.

All bets are off this morning. Where you thought there was death, there is life. Where you thought there was no hope, there is power. You thought that you had lost the Way and that the Truth didn’t matter and that Life had been snuffed out of creation—but lift your eyes and hear the news, the Way, the Truth, and the Life is calling you away from this tomb to another place, out in the world, where Jesus is going to meet you.

What did you come here expecting to find this morning? Beautiful music, children laughing, great egg dishes, gorgeous flowers, huge glorious faces of resurrection—yes, and all of these are here. But you also may have come with a heart that has been afraid to hope and a mind that is too seasoned to be much surprised by anything; you may find yourself in a tomb where all you can see is that stone, big and vast, that keeps you locked away, separate, apart. But brothers and sisters, that stone has been rolled away. Jesus has been raised, and he has raised you right along with him.

Today isn’t just about his resurrection, but it is also about yours. Is it terrifying? You bet it is—the False Self has just been swallowed up by the Risen One—and the False Self never goes down without a cry. Is it terrifying? You bet it is because you are absolutely free to live and love with abandon. The power of death has been broken—you can’t shrink back from life anymore. Jesus is waiting for you in Galilee, yearning for you to get up and be on your way. To claim that freedom, to walk in that freedom, to live and love in that freedom is always terrifying.

Maybe those women said nothing to anyone because they were running as fast as they could to Galilee. Maybe when your mind is turned upside down and Jesus Christ awakens your heart, maybe all you can do is flee from the tomb and run headlong into the arms of Love.

Don’t be afraid to be surprised this morning. Don’t be afraid to let this scene throw you out of normal mind. Don’t be afraid to flee from this tomb. Leave your burial spices behind. Love is calling you. Life is calling you. The stone has been rolled away, the tomb is empty, go out and meet him, in Galilee, in Boone, wherever you live your life. Get up, and be on your way. Let your fear give way to awe, and then let your awe give way to joy, and when the words fail you, then dance. And I promise you, if you leave this tomb behind and dance your way down the path, you will find the Lord and the life you thought you’d lost forever. Amen.

The Rev. Cynthia K. R. Banks

St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Boone, NC
April 8, 2012

Easter Vigil, 4-7-12 Yr B (Cyndi Banks)

Easter Vigil—Year B Exodus 13:17-18, 20-22
Genesis 1:1-2:4a
Exodus 14:10-31; 15:20-21
Ezekiel 37:1-14
Romans 6:3-11
Psalm 114
Mark 16:1-8

This is the night when it all washes over us. We rejoice and rejoice and then we rejoice some more. We join our voices with the heavenly hosts and choirs of angels. We join Mother Church the world over. And the psalmist reminds us that even creation herself joins in the dance with mountains skipping like rams and little hills like young sheep. Hard rock that turns into a pool of water; flint-stone that turns into a flowing spring.

This is the night, this is the night, this is the night—we sing. The whole of salvation history—our creation, our exodus, our quickening to life when we were dead—it all flows into one glorious present moment on this night, for tonight is the passover of the Lord. Jesus Christ moves from death to life and pulls us out of the grave into the cosmic dance.

Tonight invites us to cast our solemnity to the winds and breathe deeply of the breath of God. Tonight invites us to let that breath breathe God’s spirit into our tired old bones and worn out souls and witness to the power of God to bring to life that which we thought was dead.

This is the paschal dance. It is the dance of our lives. And though our steps sometimes will step into the grave, because of tonight, we know that the dance will always lead us back to life again. This is the only dance that matters, and it is this dance into which we are baptized.

Riley, this is the dance into which we baptize you tonight. And you get this more than anybody in this room. You are a dancer. You are made to dance. You can’t help but dance. And this paschal dance now becomes your dance for the rest of your life. Death and resurrection—these are the movements that will make sense of your life. Down, down you will go at times, into the grave, into spaces that can only be described as death, all your hope buried deep into the ground, and then a hand will reach for you and raise you up and you will leave your graveclothes behind and dance your way back into life.

Tonight is but the first of many resurrections you will know, and each time, you will be made a new creation. Whatever would hinder your dance is done away with this night. Whatever would stop the flow of love moving through your life is vanquished. You have been set free to engage your life with all the joy you can muster.

Riley, you already know how much God loves you. When I asked you why you wanted to be baptized, you told me that you thought it was time that you, and we, celebrate how much God loves you, and that it was important to do this publically. You told me that it was important to you that you to take these vows on as your very own. You wanted to claim this life with your own voice and your own commitment. You are a witness to us all.

So, we are not making God love you any more on this night. God could not love you any more than God already does. No, tonight is about celebrating that love. Tonight is about lifting that love front and center in our consciousness, so that we can act on that love and live from that love.

But Riley, even though we are not proclaiming new news this night, we are proclaiming good news for all the world to hear, and there is something wonderfully mysterious about this night. This night will change you, forever, because once you are introduced and woven into the paschal dance you simply move differently for the rest of your life.

You have been a part of this community for a long time already, but tonight we ask you to share with us in Christ’s eternal priesthood. We ask you to take your rightful place in the dance. We ask you to lead us in joy. Some of our hearts may have grown dull to that joy, but not yours—you pulse with that joy. As Christ has quickened you this night, so has Christ quickened us all. But some of us have forgotten how to dance. Riley, go down into these baptismal waters, and let Christ raise you up and remind us all how to delight in the dance. Amen.

The Rev. Cynthia K. R. Banks

St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Boone, NC
April 7, 2012