Sermon: Now What?

First Presbyterian Church

May 24, 2020, Easter 7A

Acts1:1-14

 

Now What?

 

The waiting is the hardest part

Every day you see one more card

You take it on faith; you take it to the heart

The waiting is the hardest part

 

I can't possibly tell you how much fun it was for this novice pastor when Scripture and circumstance came together in such a fashion that I was finally able to quote a Tom Petty song lyric in a sermon given in that singer's hometown of Gainesville, Florida.

Waiting is one of those things that is easy to overlook unless you're in the middle of it. For example, accounts of D-Day focus on the crossing of the English Channel, the fierce battles to hold the beach at Normandy and finally to move inland against ferocious enemy fire. Less often recalled are the weeks and months of planning and preparation and, yes, waiting, for weather to be better, for the Channel to be crossable. Yet without the patience to endure that time of waiting and preparation – had the invasion been launched against an impassable crossing or impenetrable weather, D-Day would have come to naught (and who knows how different history would look?).

No matter our eagerness, no matter our desperation (or what seems like desperation), no matter what, there are times when we simply must wait.

This is where the followers of Jesus find themselves at the end of today's reading from the book of Acts. A lot has happened in these few verses, where the author Luke has filled in a few details that he didn't include in his first account of the Ascension, at the end of his gospel (including that Jesus spent forty days with the disciples, not just one). The disciples ask a question (one that demonstrates that they, after all this time, really don't get it), Jesus brushes it off, offers up the promise of verse 8 that also includes a charge that will change their lives forever (if they haven't already been so changed), and is lifted up to heaven. Some angels (we think?) chastise the disciples for staring up into the sky (which seems unfair to me; it's not every day you see something like this!) and promise that one day Jesus will return the same way they've just seen him depart.

With those words ringing in their ears, the followers make the short trip back into Jerusalem, return to the "room upstairs" where they have been staying (maybe the same "upper room" where they had that last supper where Jesus broke the bread and shared the cup and gave them that new commandment about doing in remembrance of him, but we don’t know for sure), and there they waited.

Waiting for…what? It's entirely possible, maybe even likely, they didn't know what they were waiting for.

Jesus had told them to wait, way back in verse 4. He told them to wait for "the promise of the Father." In the next verse he tells them that they will be "baptized with the Holy Spirit not many days from now." (This is an echo of a promise from the end of the gospel account, Luke 24:47, in which Jesus says that repentance and forgiveness of sin is to be "proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem") A couple of verses down back in Acts, just before he is lifted up, he makes that big promise that "you will receive power…and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth." And finally there was that angelic promise that Jesus would return one day just the way he had left.

Yet it's quite likely, if the disciples were honest with themselves, that they had no idea what any of those things meant. So, not much to do but follow Jesus's orders, and wait.

The eleven disciples aren't alone at this point. Luke observes that "certain women" were joining them, including Jesus's mother Mary, who hasn't shown up in Luke's story since the trip to Jerusalem back in chapter 4 of the gospel, where twelve-year-old Jesus got separated from the family and took up residence as the Temple's youngest visiting scholar. We can guess that the "certain women" probably included at least the same women who had shown up at certain points in the gospel narrative, such as Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, an unknown woman named Joanna, and others who were mentioned in Luke 23-24 as coming to the tomb to prepare his body with spices only to find the tomb empty. Also, Jesus's brothers are now included in the company.             

And…they wait.

Biblical scholar Beverly Gaventa makes a wonderful point about verse 14 in its original Greek. The verb for the first part of the sentence actually has a root meaning of "persist"; read this way the first part of the sentence tells us that "these were all persisting together."[i] Persisting together. Now that's an image, made all the more powerful with the addition of the words "to prayer." Persisting together to prayer.

Prayer's never a bad idea, of course, but perhaps in a time of "nothing to do but wait" it's all the more powerful a recourse. I suspect, though, that we're not talking about any old kind of prayer.

There is the kind of prayer that is familiar from your average church service, like this one – spoken out loud, directed toward God, with some statement of praise or petition at its core. We speak the Lord's Prayer together, or there's an opening Prayer of the Day or a Prayer for Illumination before the scripture is read. In Prayers of the People there is a space for prayer that does at least outwardly consist of silence, in which we are all invited to lift up prayers of intercession. Those are all good and needful prayers, but I suspect that's not necessarily the prayer this little company of Jesus's followers was most in need of praying in this time.  

Several years ago the best-selling author Anne Lamont authored a book that developed the idea that most prayers can be boiled down to one of three essential prayers, which were encapsulated in the book's title: Help Thanks Wow.

That's not a bad summary of prayer, and one could argue that the Lord's Prayer actually summarizes all three of those facets quite nicely. Still, though, I'm going to suggest there's something slightly different at play in the followers' persisting together in prayer during this waiting time, and maybe that might need to be a large part of our prayer in our own current waiting time. How's this for a prayer:

Now what?

Yes, Anne Lamont could probably argue it's a kind of "help" prayer, but I think there's something different at play. It's not a prayer about getting help with some specific thing. In fact, it isn't necessarily a prayer where we ask for much of anything at all.

It's not a prayer about getting back to normal or returning to anything, not about restoring or regaining or re-anything at all. The primary principle of this prayer is to wait for that promised baptizing with the Holy Spirit (whatever that means), for that power (whatever that means). Somehow, we trust that there is something wrapped up in Jesus's words that we don't understand or grasp in any way, but we trust, somehow, that whatever is behind it really is the Lord's doing.

Now what? We wait. We persist together. We pray. We can't say for sure exactly what we wait for, or what we pray for. But we wait, persist together, pray. And what happens?

To be continued.

Thanks be to God. Amen.

 

Hymns (from Glory to God: The Presbyterian Hymnal): #264, At the Name of Jesus; #---, When they saw their Teacher lifted; #260, Alleluia! Sing to Jesus

 

 

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[i] Beverly Roberts Gaventa, Acts (Abingdon New Testament Commentaries Series, Abingdon Press, 2003), 68.

 

Sermon: You Had Me Until That Resurrection Bit

First Presbyterian Church

May 10, 2026, Easter 6A

Acts17:16-34

 

You Had Me Until That Resurrection Bit

 

 

Paul found himself in Athens as today's reading begins, and it wasn't exactly his idea. First he had been run out of Thessalonica on a rail, then when he and his partners seemed to be making headway in Beroea, some of his opponents in Thessalonica found out and traveled there to stir up opposition and (hopefully) violence against Paul as they had in their own town. The newly-hatched community of believers in Beroea got Paul out of town fast, while his partners Silas and Timothy stayed behind to help get everything back in order. Ultimately Paul was deposited in Athens, more or less with the instruction to sit tight and stay out of trouble. As you can imagine, Paul was not the type who had even the slightest inclination to stay out of trouble.

Athens did have a synagogue, so Paul went there first, according to his usual pattern. His usual pattern of getting in trouble, though, got interrupted when some of the regulars in the marketplace got wind of what he was up to. Athens had what might be called an active public debate scene, and Athenians of various religious or philosophical systems (including some Epicureans and Stoics, as our author notes) jumped into the intellectual fray. Finally it was decided by the locals that this babbler of foreign deities might at least have something different to say, so he was hauled off to the ancient hill of debate known as the Areopagus.

At one time being hauled off to the Areopagus could be a matter of life or death, but by this time that no longer appears to have been the case. At any rate Paul was granted the opportunity to explain himself before the council there, and this speech became one of his most famous, even if it was one of his least typical.

What stands out about this speech is the degree to which Paul adapted his message to the intellectual and philosophical background of his hearers. He begins by acknowledging the plethora of idols offered up by the city, perhaps with tongue somewhat in cheek. By seizing upon one such idol – the one with the unprepossessing label "to an unknown god" – Paul forms a quick connection with his hearers, and from there proceeds through Athenian thought to approach the idea of a god unlike those the Athenians tended to idolize (and here that word really is being used literally). He quotes from their own literature; the phrase "in him we live and move and have our being" is taken from the ancient poet Aratus (although it was requoted many times in their literature), and the following "we too are his offspring" also appears in Greek literature frequently. And if we are the offspring of this god, it makes no sense to think of this god being reducible to wood or stone, does it?

Things seem to be going pretty well, initially. Paul actually identifies with his audience about as much as possible and certainly shows respect for their own intellectual and philosophical traditions. Still, there's only so far you can go in "accounting for the hope that is within you" before you end up having to say something that your interlocutor will disagree with, and Paul is now to that point.

First there is this notion of repentance and judgment, which wasn't really a part of most belief systems among the Athenians, and probably brought about some grumbling on the part of his audience. But that wasn't the worst of it, not by a long shot. Who's going to be the one who carries out this judgment in righteousness? No less than "a man who he has appointed, and of this he has given assurance by raising him from the dead." This is what broke up the meeting.

Some, as our author tells us, scoffed. Scoffing can take many forms; outright out-loud mockery, or a subtler but more dismissive "pfft" and walking away, or even just an incredulous facial expression. Whatever it was, that element of the audience was gone, intellectually if not physically.

It's important to understand something here. It isn't merely the idea of resurrection as a thing itself that underscores all the mockery. It isn't just about the reaction "bodies don't rise from the dead!"; there is, as would be the case with any good audience steeped in Greek philosophical traditions, an equal if not greater reaction "why would you want a body to rise from the dead?", or perhaps more by the far more succinct expression "oh, gross!" Greek thought (or at least some corners of it) had no particular problem with the idea of living beyond death, but frankly one of the good parts of such a post-mortem life was being free from the physical body. Disembodied spirit was the ideal.

We should be honest here; we're not always free of such an idea. After all, what is reflected in a saying like "shuffle off this mortal coil" besides the very idea of being rid of this broken-down old body? And if we're honest about it, it's not hard to be sympathetic to the idea. After the various breakings-down my body has experienced in the past decade-plus I can understand wanting to be rid of it, and I'm guessing some of you can too.

Paul goes into more detail on this in some of his epistles when he speaks of how "we will not all die, but we will all be changed" in writing to the Corinthians. But here, the event dissolves over this notion that a large part of the audience just can't accept. A large part, but not all; some were curious to hear more, and even a few followed, including one of the Areopagus regulars named Dionysius and a woman named Damaris. Sounds like a mixed result, I suppose, but at least they didn't chase him out of town.

But again, there comes that point when our testimony has to tell the whole story, even the parts that seem wild and fantastical and unbelievable to some of those with whom we share. As we make our way through this season of Easter, that one thing – the whole God-raised-him-from-the-dead business that so offended some of Paul's audience at the Acropolis – is still too much of a hurdle for many moderns to get over. But as Paul put it, again writing to the Corinthians, "if Christ has not been raised, then our proclamation has been in vain and your faith has been in vain." It's hard to make any kind of good news out of a resurrection-less gospel.

And, even in this time with death a far more immediate companion than we normally acknowledge, our hope is still in the assurance that death did not have the last word for Jesus and will not have the last word on us.

Thanks be to God. Amen.

 

Hymns (from Glory to God: The Presbyterian Hymnal): #244, This Joyful Eastertide; #251, Christ Has Arisen, Alleluia; #485, We Know that Christ Is Raised

 

Sermon: In Common

First Presbyterian Church

April 26, 2026, Easter 4A

Acts2:42-47

 

In Common

 

Do you remember “choosing up sides” as a kid?

You know, the group is all set to play some game, but you need to divide into teams, so two “captains” are appointed and then they take turns choosing until everybody’s on a team?

I remember mostly being chosen near the end most of the time. Never have been terribly athletic, although I could hit a little if the game were baseball or softball.

But maybe you remember “choosing up sides” and then playing. Of course, how you chose depended a little bit on what game you were playing. The big stocky guy would be great for a game of pickup football, or for that childhood favorite “Red Rover” where you formed lines and called out one from the other team to dare them to break through your line. I never really thought at the time just how violent a game “Red Rover” was. But anyway, that big stocky guy might not the best choice for a game of pickup basketball (or especially soccer, but we weren't playing that much back then).

So yeah, choosing up sides could sting a little if you were chronically chosen last. Maybe the bigger problem, though, is that in a lot of ways, we never do get over “choosing up sides,” even as we pass from childhood to adulthood and we’re not playing games anymore. In many ways we “choose up sides” when we choose where to live, with whom to socialize or spend our time, certainly when we vote, who we respect or who we scorn. Even the chocolate-covered caramel wafer we might pick up in the supermarket dares us to "pick a side"; are you a Left Twix or a Right Twix? (hold up candy)

And yeah, Christians can be guilty of “choosing up sides” even in the church.

Sometimes it shows up simply in choosing which individual church to attend, seeking out people who “look like us”, or who we know “think like us”. Sometimes it’s all about whatever gain a person can gain from being among that congregation’s members in terms of social status or influence.

Suffice to say that this kind of “choosing up sides” isn’t at all what is at work in today’s reading from Acts. This brief vignette from the life of the early followers of Christ, still not quite a church yet, follows after the Pentecost story and Peter’s subsequent sermon that day (which, due to the quirks of the Revised Common Lectionary, we don't hear for a few more weeks). One of the key points of that Pentecost account was the presence of Jews from points far and near, speakers of many languages, who were first drawn to the event by hearing the disciples’ proclamation in their own varied languages. Aside from the moving of the Spirit in that Pentecost event there was very little reason for those people to be together in that place in that time, much less for three thousand of them to stick around and be part of the still-forming community.

Today’s reading contains another similar point, maybe a little hidden behind the part of the scripture that always gets people on edge.

Particularly among those of a particular political persuasion, verses 44-45 are guaranteed to provoke a pointed reaction. Just the mention of a community that “had all things in common” and that “would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need” is virtually guaranteed to provoke horrified gasps and mutterings of “socialism!” or worse. I’m watching y’all right now, you know, for signs of exactly that.

And yes, I get that this is a shocking thing to see right here in your Bible, and probably downright offensive to that particular political ruling class holding power right now.  But maybe the larger shock, the larger miracle is that this particular community, drawn together by nothing other than the Spirit, includes both the folks with possessions to sell and those without. Rich and poor together, in addition to people of all nations together. Let’s not mince words; we just don’t see that so often in many churches, either of those let alone both.

And all of the things happening in this community described in this passage – together in fellowship and breaking bread, the “wonders and signs” in verse 43, being together in the Temple and in one another’s homes, and yes, the having everything in common and selling stuff to provide for one another – seems to be connected to, and maybe inseparable from, this being brought together in the Holy Spirit. Maybe none of those things happen in a community that comes together by plain old human “choosing up sides.” Maybe it takes being so caught up in the leading and moving of the Spirit that we live and work among a community we would otherwise never have chosen to be ready for wonders and signs. (And if Acts 6 is taken seriously, that didn't necessarily last long, it's as if the community resorted to "choosing up sides.")

As we come together, especially on those Sundays of communion around the table but any Sunday after all, like those followers so long ago, look around. Did we "choose up sides" to be here? Or is the Spirit moving among us and within us and through us, drawing us together for, literally, God only knows what? Who knows what wonders and signs might come?

For whatever comes and for whoever comes, Thanks be to God. Amen.

 

 

Hymns (from Glory to God: The Presbyterian Hymnal): #236, The Strife is O'er; #317, In Christ There Is No East or West; #238, Thine Is the Glory

 

 

 

 

Yes, even your candy is provoking you to choose up sides. 

 

 

Sermon: In the Breaking of the Bread

First Presbyterian Church

April 19, 2026, Easter 3C

Luke24:13-35

 

In the Breaking of the Bread

 

 

One of the characteristic features of Luke’s gospel is that Jesus and the disciples spend an awful lot of time at the dinner table or otherwise gathered around food.

More broadly one could argue – and at least one author has – that one of the underlying themes of the gospel is hospitality – both the ways in which Jesus sought to minister to those around them through the practice of welcome, the practice of enabling others to feel “at home” in his presence, and the ways in which such hospitality was (or was not) extended towards Jesus – whether Jesus was made welcome or not.

But the specific hospitality context of a meal does come up awfully frequently in Luke’s gospel. There are at least ten different accounts in Luke in which the action taking place is either a meal or is something that takes place in the context of a meal; six of those stories are unique to Luke, not found in any of the other gospels. In addition, another seven accounts in Luke feature meals or eating or food in the context of Jesus’s teaching to the crowds or to the disciples, or sometimes in the context of conflict with the religious authorities, such as the incident in which Jesus’s disciples were criticized for plucking and eating heads of grain on the Sabbath.

So perhaps it shouldn’t be a surprise that the first appearance of the risen Christ that Luke records in his gospel features a meal as its turning point.

We start on the road, though. Two of Jesus’s followers – not among the twelve, but clearly followers who had been with Jesus for some time – were, for reasons we don’t know, walking from Jerusalem to a town called Emmaus. We might wonder if these two are guilty of the same breaking-fellowship error as Thomas in last week's gospel reading

This is on the third day. We find out later that this is after the women have come back from the empty tomb, as recorded in the first part of this chapter, but at this point no one has actually seen Jesus. We have accounts from the women of the tomb being empty, but no sign of the risen Christ.

We hear that these two, one of whom will be called Cleopas a few verses later, are talking about “all these things that had happened.” We tend to presume that “all these things” are those events that happened in Jesus’s last week in Jerusalem, particularly from the Last Supper forward through the crucifixion. It might also have included that curious report from the women and Peter, who each went to Jesus’s tomb and saw it empty.

Whatever their subjects of discussion, they were so caught up in them that they didn’t notice the man who had caught up with them from behind. (Remember, we know it’s Jesus, but they don’t.) When he asks what they’re talking about, the two followers act as if it should have been impossible for anyone in Jerusalem to have missed the events surrounding Jesus and his crucifixion. They recite those events to him (again, not recognizing that it is Jesus), including the odd reports about the empty tomb. In doing so they reveal, in the words “we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel,” that after all this time they might not have truly understood just what it was for Jesus to be the Messiah – not the military conqueror, but indeed a suffering servant and a true spiritual redeemer of Israel and of all.

It is this that Jesus picks up on and expounds upon as he begins to teach them, one more time, how all the things that he had said and done had been “necessary.” Going all the way back to Moses and working through all the law and the prophets he proclaims to them once again how all of his life and his teaching and, yes, his suffering and death, had been “necessary.”

What happens next, as the two travelers come to their destination, demonstrates that for all that the two disciples might have forgotten or misunderstood, they had remembered one thing, perhaps the most important thing. They had remembered how Jesus taught and showed them how to be his followers.

They remembered the table.

Not just the table at which Jesus had only days before broken bread and poured a cup and talked about his body and blood, and kept using words like “do this in remembrance of me.” Surely they remembered that one, but they seem to have remembered all those other meals and all those other tables – the one with five thousand fed by just a few loaves and fish; the one at Zacchaeus’s house, where a skinflint tax collector suddenly started making alternate plans for the distribution of his estate; the banquet at the home of another tax collector, Levi, who had dropped his whole business at a word to follow Jesus; the evening at the home of Mary and Martha, with Martha fussing over every detail while Mary presumed to sit at Jesus’s feet with the other disciples; a dinner at the home of a man named Simon, with some of the most disreputable people around.

They remembered, and they wouldn’t let the stranger go without breaking bread with them.

The rest of the story is fairly familiar; the stranger, the guest, takes over as host and breaks the bread – I know that breaking of the bread – that’s Jesus! – only for him to disappear from sight; the rushed return to Jerusalem, where the disciples tell them about Jesus appearing to Simon (we tend to assume they’re speaking of Peter, but we don't know for sure); and then, in the remainder of the chapter beyond this reading, Jesus himself appearing before them and teaching them, one last time.

In the breaking of the bread they recognized Jesus, yes; but it was in Cleopas and the other disciple reaching out to the stranger, inviting them into their own meal and their own room and sharing their resources with him, that Jesus was welcomed and able to break the bread.

One is reminded of the stories from Genesis, how Abraham and Sarah unwittingly entertained angels and even Yahweh himself in welcoming the stranger. We are also reminded of Jesus’s own words in Matthew 25, that what we do (or don’t do) for or to “the least of these,” we do to Jesus himself.

Our call, at its most elemental and most basic (and one that a lot of Christians today reject), is to make welcome for the stranger, for the guest; for the disaster victim, for the refugee, for the migrant, for the sojourners among us, whoever they may be. This, even more than our prayers and offerings and worship, is how we welcome Christ among us.

Thanks be to God. Amen.

 

Hymns (from Glory to God: The Presbyterian Hymnal); #246, Christ Is Alive!; #254, That Easter Day with Joy Was Bright; #249, Because You Live, O Christ

 

 

 

 

 

Sermon: Going to Extremes

First Presbyterian Church

April 12, 2026, Easter 2A

John 20:19-31

 

Going to Extremes

 

In every gospel, it is made clear that the first witnesses to the resurrection, whether as recipients of the announcement of angelic beings commissioned to go and tell the disciples or simply as witnesses of the empty tomb, were women. Mary Magdalene is named in all of the gospels; Matthew, Mark, and Luke have her accompanied by one or more other women, while in John’s gospel she goes to the tomb alone.

Earlier in this chapter, Mary Magdalene has gone to the tomb and found it empty; she returned to find Peter and “the beloved disciple” and reported what she had seen, leading them to the tomb where they saw it empty. They returned to their homes, uncomprehendingly, while Mary lingered at the tomb. While she was there weeping, she became the first to see the risen Christ himself, who told her to go to the disciples and report what he told her. By “disciples” here we should understand not just the eleven, based on the Greek word used, but to the whole body of followers who had been with Jesus up to the end.

Nonetheless, by the time evening fell that same day, we find the disciples, that whole body, hiding behind locked doors. Fear of the religious authorities was still greater than any hope they had gained from Mary Magdalene’s report of her encounter with the risen Jesus.

Clearly, Jesus will have to do something extreme to get through to them. And so, even with those doors locked, Jesus is in the room with them, “all of a sudden.”

This extreme measure was joined to another, as Jesus showed the scars in his hands and feet and side, the scars of the crucifixion just days before. It was this, the ultimate verification of Jesus’s reality before them, that finally got through to these slow-of-heart disciples and finally allowed them to rejoice. Continuing to “up the ante” Jesus breathes on them and announces that they are to “receive the Holy Spirit,” setting John’s gospel apart from Luke’s, in which the Holy Spirit manifests itself on the day of Pentecost.

But understand this: after the disciples first failed, evidently, to hear Mary Magdalene’s report and take heart; after the disciples locked themselves away from the world in fear rather than allowing in hope from that news; and even after Jesus appeared before them despite those locked doors only to have to show his scars to convince them…well, the disciples had no business dumping on Thomas when they finally found them and told them what they had seen.

There is, however one thing for which you can truly dump on Thomas; why wasn't he with the other disciples to hear Mary Magdalene’s news, or especially for not being there when Jesus appeared. We have no indication of why Thomas wasn’t there, whether he had thoroughly abandoned all hope and melted back into his pre-Jesus life or whether he had been hiding separately in fear or anything else. In a time of trouble, he broke fellowship with his fellow followers of Jesus. In a time when biblical scholars seem so eager to shed the "Doubting Thomas" label, he shouldn't get off the hook for deserting his fellow disciples.

Still, what Thomas demanded when the disciples told him “We have seen the Lord!” was really not much more than it had taken for the disciples themselves to be convinced. If you are going to dump on Thomas with the label “Doubting,” you really need to hammer the rest of the disciples equally. They had not acquitted themselves particularly well before Jesus showed up and showed his scars.

Whatever level of doubt Thomas may have had, he did improve in one way: the next time the disciples came together, a week later, Thomas didn’t fail to show.

To this point Thomas’s reality was a cold, hard one: the Teacher he had followed for some part of three years had been executed in the most brutal way known to the Roman Empire, which was pretty good at being brutal. The blood, the spear piercing Jesus’s side, the nails, the lifeless body, the stone rolled before the tomb; all these Thomas saw and, evidently, said “It’s over.” Still, whatever hope he might have given up, he still found enough to be there that next week.

And whatever flicker of hope he had found was rewarded beyond his imagining.

Although Jesus offers his scars for Thomas to touch, as he had said he would have to do to believe, it isn’t recorded that Thomas actually does so. What we get instead is a first: while Jesus has been called “Lord” or “Messiah” or “Son of God” or many other titles in his time on earth, Thomas is the first to make the leap and say simply “My Lord and my God!” From a place of woundedness and doubt, Thomas comes to the most striking proclamation of Jesus’s identity we have yet received.

Jesus can’t resist throwing a little shade at Thomas, though, to use a bit of modern slang. It was an aside that could as easily have been directed at all of these followers, to be honest, found in verse 29. You believe because you’ve seen me? Really? So much more blessed are those who believe even they don’t get to see.

You realize that’s us, right?

The ones who believe even though we don’t see?

Yes, that’s us. Blessed.

Those final two verses, who some have suggested were originally meant to be the end of the gospel, serve as a reminder to us of just what John, and other gospel writers to a degree, are about here. They have no interest in giving us a blow-by-blow biography of Jesus’s life, and if that’s what you’re looking for you are disappointed. John is explicitly telling us that we have not gotten the whole story out of him. What he has told us, he says, is meant to help us to do exactly what Jesus described in that previous verse – to believe, even though we have not seen, and to therefore “have life in his name.” We are given this gospel that we might believe.

We are given the Spirit to sustain us, and much of what we hear in coming weeks will be the story of how the Holy Spirit acts among our ancestors in the faith. But we are given the gospel to teach us and show us the Jesus that is our life and our way to live. Grounded in gospel, we are then sustained and led by the Holy Spirit (remember Jesus breathing that on the disciples earlier in the reading?) to give that gospel to the whole world in our lives and words and actions. That’s what it is to “have life in his name.”

For the Word and the Spirit together, Thanks be to God. Amen.

 

Hymns (from Glory to God: The Presbyterian Hymnal): #245, Christ the Lord Is Risen Today; #248, Christ Is Risen! Shout Hosanna; #240, Alleluia, Alleluia! Give Thanks

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sermon: Opening Day

           

 

First Presbyterian Church

April 5, 2026, Easter Sunday A

Matthew 28:1-10, 16-20

 

Opening Day

 

 

First, an acknowledgment: I really did get the inspiration for this sermon title and theme from the church sign from a couple of weeks ago.

Did you notice that, somewhere amidst all the basketball foolishness of the past few weeks, baseball season started?

I'm old enough to remember that Major League Baseball's opening day always happened in Cincinnati, on a weekday afternoon There was a great big tradition and all behind it, with an Opening Day parade and everything. I remember it mostly because growing up in Georgia, I often saw that game on TV because Atlanta was frequently the opponent for that first game of the season. In fact I was watching to see Hank Aaron tie Babe Ruth's all-time home run record on Opening Day in Cincinnati in 1974. (And you better believe I plan to be at the River Bandits' home opener Tuesday night, if I can ever get the online ordering system to work.)

Funny thing about Opening Day; no matter how big the celebration, no matter how the big the win or heartbreaking the loss, no matter what (except maybe for rain), there was another game the next day.

There's a lesson in that. We'll get back to it later.

Every gospel’s retelling of the resurrection has its own quirks (for example, Mark barely tells you anything at all, and you never even see or hear the resurrected Jesus?), and Matthew’s definitely has its own distinct features, but there is one thing all four of them have in common: in none of the accounts does anyone actually see the resurrection happen. As Barbara Brown Taylor points out in Learning to Wait in the Dark, there is technically no such thing as a “witness to the resurrection.”

Aside from Mark’s aforementioned gospel, all of the others show us the already-resurrected Jesus, some quite extensively such as Luke’s several encounters seemingly all on the same day, and John’s extensive retelling of Thomas’s particular encounter in Chapter 20 and that breakfast scene on the lakeshore in chapter 21. Matthew’s account is a bit more terse, and appearances of the risen Christ only add up to two – the encounter with the two Marys and then the Galilee appearance to the disciples that culminates in possibly the most famous verses in this gospel, the ones at the very end that constitute what we have come to call the Great Commission – “Go ye therefore and teach all nations…” for those of you who have it memorized still in the King James Version.

The odd thing about Matthew’s account is that even though the two Marys witness quite a spectacle when they arrive at the tomb – an earthquake, a lightning-like angel descending from heaven and rolling back the stone, the guards becoming “like dead men” – all of this spectacle is prelude to the announcement that “he is not here.” Somehow, Jesus is already gone from a tomb that had (presumably) been sealed before the angel rolled it back, if 27:66 is to be believed.

Meanwhile, what the two Marys get is not to bear witness to a miracle. Instead, they get a job to do. (This is where that part about Opening Day comes back.)

First the angel gives them the word to go find those other disciples and get them headed towards Galilee, where Jesus will meet them. While they were headed off to do just that, with the curious mixture of “fear and great joy” Matthew describes, Jesus himself makes his appearance – just as in John’s gospel, Jesus appears to the women first – and basically gives them the same message: go tell the disciples to meet me, not in the great city of Jerusalem, but back in rural Galilee, where Jesus spent so much of his ministry.

This is no great spectacle in front of great numbers, but only to two women, isolated from the rest of the world that was going on as if nothing had happened. No great crowds, no great gathering: just the two Marys. Later the disciples (eleven, after what Judas did) get their turn. As far as Matthew’s gospel goes, that is maybe thirteen witnesses to the resurrected Christ?  It’s almost as if it’s a secret, at least until Jesus commands them to "go therefore and make disciples of all nations..." At least we have Christ's promise that "I am with you always, to the end of the age." This is where Opening Day means there's another game tomorrow, and the next day, and so on. Easter's not over; the season is just getting started.

Maybe the point of Easter is about our job to bear witness, to testify. We receive that commission no matter where we are, no matter how big or how small, how important or unimportant. Whether anybody saw it or not, Christ is still risen and still calls us to bear witness, whether we're in the big leagues or the minors.

Easter is not the end of anything. It's Opening Day. The season is just getting started.

Thanks be to God. Amen.

 

Hymns (from Glory to God: The Presbyterian Hymnal): #232, Jesus Christ is Risen Today; #233, The Day of Resurrection; #511, Come, Behold! The Feast of Heaven; #239, Good Christians All, Rejoice and Sing!

 

 

 Opening Day, April 4, 1974. To be fair, Aaron did get the next game off. 

 

Homily: The In-Between

First Presbyterian Church

April 4, 2026, Holy Saturday A

Lamentations 3:1-9, 19-24; John 19:38-42

 

The In-Between

 

 

It isn't often we hear the kind of desperate, unadulterated, almost unhinged kind of lamentation we hear in this reading from the book of Lamentations. And yet, with the gospels remaining resolutely silent about anything on this day between the awful Good Friday and the terrifying morning of Easter Sunday, this depths-plumbing wail of suffering and, well, lament isn't the worst possibility for filling that gap.

Friday ends with the unexpected disciple Joseph of Arimathea and the unexpected sympathizer Nicodemus showing up to perform a nearly-royal burial on Jesus's body, in Joseph's own tomb at that. The narrative then goes silent until the morning of the first day of the week, when (in John's gospel at least) Mary Magdalene shows up by herself, waiting for who knows what.

What Mary Magdalene, along with Peter and the other disciples and fellow travelers might have noticed on that day in between was that the world did not stop for their grief. Just as the world is not stopping for this small observance today, just as traffic on 7th Street never stops, the world keeps doing what it normally does. Faithful Jews are not necessarily out and about because it's the Sabbath. The Romans? They're probably doing what they usually do most days: either whatever their commander tells them to do, or whatever they want. Aside from being Sabbath, it's just another day out there.

You have to wonder if these words from Lamentations came to mind for Jesus's followers on this day. Imagine Peter, three times verbally and quite loudly having denied Jesus, alone somewhere in his grief. Not to let the other disciples off the hook; at least Matthew's account makes sure we know they "deserted" Jesus, just as he said they would. For Mary Magdalene and the other women, who followed Jesus and might well have provided for the whole party out of their own resources, the one man they knew who treated them as fully human was now dead. Where could they possibly turn to now?

And yet, in even this bleakest abyss of despair, our lamenter can't avoid hope; "but this I call to mind...the steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to an end...". You have to wonder if any of the disciples or followers of Jesus managed to have even a tiny bit of such a moment on that bleakest of Sabbaths.

For this day, Jesus was dead. We of course know what happens tomorrow morning, but for this day, Jesus was dead.

This is our day, you know, the in-between day in which we live our lives. We have seen Good Friday happen; we know Easter Sunday is coming (or at least we're about to go decorate the church for Easter Sunday, so we're acting like it's coming), but it doesn't take much of a look-around to see that we don't live in an Easter world. And our headlines remind us that some of the worst anti-Easter things out there are being done or endorsed by religious authorities and those who seek their protection, and those day-after followers of Jesus would recognize that as well.

And in this dark in-between, our Lamentations reading amazingly offers the word of hope for the day: "the steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to an end...". Thanks be to God. Amen.