A lot of the work that I've been doing on Sabbatical has been more internal than I expected, so I had the idea to create "highlight images" of some of the insights I've been gleaning to share with anyone who might be interested. I'll use this blog to provide a bit of context, if anyone is interested.
A lot of the work that I've been doing on Sabbatical has been more internal than I expected, so this morning I had the idea to create "highlight images" of some of the insights I've been gleaning to share with anyone who might be interested. I'll use this blog to provide a bit of context, if anyone is interested.
Before I get started, I want to assure you that I didn’t wear this hilarious shirt by accident, and I promise that I’ll explain it later.
I should also probably take a moment to acknowledge that it’s not, in fact, Ascension Sunday yet, even though we just read the story of Christ’s ascension a moment ago. Normally, the Church celebrates Christ’s Ascension into heaven forty days after Easter (following the timeline of the original events), and we’ve still got three weeks to go. But I figured that since I won’t be with you on June 1 and I’ve given our guest preachers carte blanche to preach on whatever they want, it was worth making sure that we touched on this important story at least once.
And if I’m being entirely honest, it also feels like an especially fitting scripture reading for today. At the risk of comparing myself too favorably to Jesus, I can only imagine that the experience of the disciples here must have been similar to the experience of a congregation watching their pastor prepare to leave on Sabbatical. Both events represent significant shifts in the community’s life; confusion, uncertainty, and even fear are all understandable reactions. Even if you’re NOT experiencing any of these emotions, it’s undeniable that the next three months will be very different from the past six years. Just as the Ascension was for the disciples, the three months that I’ll be on my Sabbatical will be a time of transition and adjustment for all of us: a time of switching gears.
Let’s be honest – this is a pretty disturbing story. Up until this point, Acts has largely been a celebration of the Holy Spirit’s movement among the people, giving us joyful tales of miraculous healings, communal living, and exponential growth. Sure, the disciples were harassed here and there, but they always seemed to come out okay in the end. This, though – this is dark. There’s no “happy ending” for Stephen, even though he’s consistently described as righteous. Amid all the recorded successes of the early Christian movement, this story is a bleak reminder of the sinful reality of the human condition.
I’m gonna need a little bit of help with the first part of my sermon today, so if I spoke to you earlier about helping, would you please come up and gather around the table now?
As my helpers are making their way forward, I want to offer a little bit of context for those of you who may not have been following Boone’s Lenten worship very closely. Over the past six weeks, we’ve been reflecting on divisions within humanity, both as found in John’s gospel and as reflected in our own lives. To drive the point home, we used different colored beads – the beads up front here – to “vote” on some of the most divisive issues of our times: Summer or winter? Dogs or cats? Chocolate or vanilla? These particular divisions are, of course, more or less superficial, but they remind us of the many ways that we categorize and separate ourselves out from one another. That’s how the whole world would be if human beings were in charge.
Today is Transfiguration Sunday. Churches usually spend this last Sunday before Lent reading and reflecting on the story of Jesus’ dazzling transformation on a mountaintop. There’s a good liturgical reason for this timing: the Transfiguration serves as a preview of Christ’s ultimate glory and exultation in the Resurrection. It gives us the theological context for Jesus’ earthly life as we prepare to enter Lent.
But – well – we’ve run into a problem this time around. As has become tradition for us here at Boone, we’ll be spending the six weeks of Lent reading straight through one of the gospels from beginning to end. But this year’s gospel is John, and John doesn’t HAVE a transfiguration account to ground us during this time of liturgical transition. It doesn’t offer a “mountaintop experience” to contextualize all the rest of the stories that we’re about to hear. It doesn’t fit into the mold of the other three gospels.
Ah, yes; yet another miraculous healing from Jesus. To be honest, Jesus does so much healing in the gospels that the stories all seem to blend together a bit, don’t they? I don’t know about you, but I’m guilty of occasionally assuming that all these accounts serve the same narrative purpose: to demonstrate Jesus’ power and explain how his following grew so quickly. It makes for faster reading if you can gloss over the details and just throw the story into that corner of your brain where you keep a vague awareness of all the gospel’s other healings.
By this time in Luke’s gospel, Jesus has been going around teaching and healing for a while now. He’d made quite a name for himself, to the point that people were actively seeking him out to hear what he had to say and be cured of illness and disease. But the attention wasn’t all positive – Jesus had also attracted a fair amount controversy and conflict, as we read a couple of weeks ago. And it appears that by this point, one particular group of Pharisees have had about all they can take: upon observing Jesus healing on the Sabbath, Scripture tells us that “They were furious and began talking with each other about what to do to Jesus.”
You know, over the course of my ten years of ordained ministry, I’ve had frequent doubts about the content of my sermon. Sometimes I think, “Maybe I should try to be a little more intellectual in my writing. Maybe I use too many weird metaphors about butterfly goop[1] and Barbies[2] and Witness Protection[3] and cups full of mud[4]. But then, of course, I remember that Jesus was the KING of metaphors. I remember that he refers to himself as bread, a vine, and a gate; that he calls his disciples salt, sheep, and light; that he describes the kingdom of God as a mustard seed, a pearl, and a hidden treasure; and I feel less self-conscious about my sermon illustrations.
“People are so easily offended these days. You can’t say ANYTHING anymore!” Such is the attitude that seems to have taken hold in certain corners of the popular modern imagination. We’re living in the era of “cancel culture,” and to hear some people tell it, it’s the worst thing that could possibly happen to society. If only people would just stop being so sensitive, we’d be able to focus on things that really matter, instead of spending all our time tiptoeing around the “snowflakes.”
As many of you know, this past December was unusually rough for me, but for the first time in a long time, it doesn’t feel like the new month and new year offer a fresh start. If anything, I almost feel MORE dread for what comes next, and I know I’m not alone. I was joking with someone on Christmas Eve that, while I usually see social media flooded with posts full of hope that the new year will be better than the last, this year I saw a cartoon with a door labeled “2025” and people peering at it from around the corner, cautiously opening the door with a nine-foot broom. The characters in this cartoon are obviously not looking forward to finding out what’s behind that door, and that seems to be the vibe that we’re all entering this year with.