Some parts of Scripture always stay with us. The Old Testament stories like the flood, Moses leading Israel to the Promised Land, David and Goliath, the walls of Jericho tumblin’ down. The Gospel accounts of the life of Jesus. The Sermon on the Mount (or Plain in Luke). I like another extended monologue or sermon that happens on the night before his crucifixion. Known as the Farewell Discourse or High Priestly Prayer, it encompasses John 13-17. A portion of it is always read on Maundy Thursday, fittingly. In the last Sundays of the Easter season, sections of it have been the Gospel reading. This is because in this year of Mark (Year B in the three-year lectionary cycle), Mark has no  post-resurrection material. We are feeling the push, the outward thrust of Jesus’ final words to his disciples then and of every age. We are his partners in the kingdom of God as we have unity with him. He bids us come to him, with our weariness and sadness. He does not say we should not experience those things, because he himself did. He invites us to share it with him. We seek and hopefully find a faith community (church) where our desire meets the world’s needs. We long for spiritual connection and at my church all are welcome to come as they are. We are (or surely ought to be) a gathering of people who can’t imagine a better one. We are all nomads, sojourners, traipsing through the sand toward the oasis of living water.  

“You are in me and I am in you” (John 17:21, borrowed in a Peter Frampton song). Our stories, our pasts, our demons are all brought to the font and the table, the visible signs of God’s love and forgiveness. Jesus’ story, full of burden and joy, blends with ours. His words give life, eternal life. He is indeed The Word made flesh, sinew, and bone. Fully human, yet the one and only perfect, sinless one. The scandalous one, who plucked grain on the Sabbath, dined with reprobates, summoned children, and washed feet. An outlaw, renegade, and crusader. The one who shows us how not to confuse being political with partisanship. His truth – not a media-spun one – is the only one worth listening to and acting upon. My weariness comes from the incessant conspiracy theories, anti-this and anti-that, unwillingness to forgive and move on.

In closing, I sense and rue that my blog has taken on the tone of a sermon. Comes with the territory, I guess. A called and ordained minister of Word and Sacrament can do no other, I suppose. We are grafted to the Vine, created to bear fruit and to draw nourishment from his unconditional love. In exchange for our wretchedness, we get eternal life and joy beyond measure. That’s the deal of the century!

Pastor Art