Those Who Have Not Seen

Scripture Lessons: John 20: 19-31 Sermon Title: Those Who Have Not Seen Preached on April 28, 2019 This Sunday morning, I feel the need to defend the Disciple Thomas. Have you ever felt like he needed defending? Out of all the disciples, besides Judas, I believe Thomas is the one with the worst reputation. Sometimes we pick on Peter. But while we pick on him, we also acknowledge how Peter redeems himself and becomes a great hero of the Church. I don’t believe Thomas is any less heroic, while all the time we criticize him. We call him “Doubting Thomas,” which isn’t fair. We don’t call Peter, “Denying Peter” do we? I believe it’s important to take some time to understand why it was that he wouldn’t just trust what the disciples were telling him. If we had a little more empathy for the guy, we might learn something important from him. In our Second Scripture Lesson for this morning, the disciples were telling Thomas that Christ had risen. For years Christians have been wondering why Thomas couldn’t just take their word for it. However, can you imagine how their story must have sounded to him? Considering their behavior, could Thomas really just accept the testimony of the same guys who had pledged to follow Jesus till the end, then deserted him? Could he possibly trust Peter who had denied the Savior three times? Looking at this situation rationally, in cross examination any attorney or judge among us would find plenty of reason to dismiss the testimony of this group of witnesses because they had all, in their own way, failed to prove themselves as trustworthy and honorable. Worse than that, they were all afraid. People will say almost anything when they’re afraid. That might have been what Thomas was thinking. Surely, he was disappointed in them for being so cowardly, for Thomas consistently proved himself to be the most lionhearted among them. A significant detail in this account we’ve just read from the Gospel of John is there in the first verse: When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them. This group of people were so scared that they’ve huddled up in this one house, locked the door, and weren’t going anywhere, but where is Thomas? When Jesus came and stood among them, Thomas wasn’t there. Thomas is the only one who wasn’t hiding behind the locked doors. Did you notice that? It’s important to think through this detail. That he’s the only one courageous enough to leave this locked room. This kind of courage is consistent with the other episodes in John’s Gospel where Thomas is mentioned. While we’ve been told our whole lives not to be like Thomas, in the 11th chapter, Mary and Martha had just sent word that their brother Lazarus was dying. The other disciples are scared to go, afraid that if they go back into Judea, those who oppose Jesus will kill him and his followers. They may have been right about that, but when Jesus insists that they go anyway, marked men or not, Thomas says, “Let us also go, that we may die with him.” Throughout the entire Gospel, Thomas is the picture of courage. While the other disciples want to stay where it’s safe, only Thomas is willing to say, “Let us also go, that we may die with him.” Only Thomas is willing to leave the security of locked doors to do whatever it was that courageous people were doing in the wake of the Lord’s crucifixion. And now, we must see his doubts as but another example of his courage. The disciples said to him, “We have seen the Lord,” but he said to them, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe.” History calls him Doubting Thomas because of this, only do you know what a weaker man would have done? Do you know what a coward would have done? All around us are people who are too afraid to admit what they don’t know and can’t understand, but Thomas was bold to say what stood in the way of his belief. Or how many folks do you know who just go along with what their friends say and do for fear of rejection? Thomas was so courageous that he just put himself out there. This is a rare quality. So many, when faced with a choice between speaking up and keeping quiet would have blended in with those disciples despite their scruples and suspicions, but not Thomas. While sometimes it is easier to agree with popular opinion rather than struggle to find out the truth, Thomas was determined to know, even if it meant seeing the wounds and taking in the gory details of his death. That’s why I believe he has something important to teach us, for while it’s easy to just take someone else’s word for it, it’s not always right. Even now there are those who would just tell us what the Mueller Report says. There are those who say that by it our president is exonerated. Others tell us that by the same report he is fit to be impeached. Who should we be listening to, we all wonder, but you know what Thomas would do? Read it himself. Or, in the wake of another shooting rooted in anti-Semitism, consider how there are still so many who fear the Jews as those disciples did, blaming them for any manner of grievance. Thomas demands we question our fears and our prejudice. “Show me the proof,” he says. Do you know how many lives would be saved if we all demanded our fears and prejudices be validated before acting on them? In the same way, there are those who tell us what to think about illegal immigrants. Some say they’re criminals, others say their friends, but do you know what Thomas would do? Go and get to know one. When I worked as a lawn maintenance man, I was one of the only employees able to get a valid driver’s license, but my crew of illegal immigrants wasn’t made up of drug dealers. No. Back in Mexico, one had been a doctor, another was a dance instructor. You see, too often we take someone else’s word for it, but Thomas refuses. He says, let me see him myself. “Show me his wounds.” This is crucial guidance, for in our world today, there are so many who think they know without truly understanding. Think about those who think they know everything about homosexuality, but none of them really knows a thing until their son or daughter has come into their kitchen saying, “Dad, I’m gay.” This is where we need the courage of Thomas. For it’s one thing to be told what to think and to swallow it, it’s another thing to touch the wounds left by a society who drowns too many in shame. That’s what Thomas did. He touched those wounds, and for all these years we’ve been telling children not to be like Thomas, but when I look out on the world to see how many people are like lemmings jumping off a ledge because of the fools they listen to, I wish our world had a few more people like Thomas in it. He asked to touch his wounds. We can all learn a lot if we aren’t afraid to touch the wounds. Of course, no one likes to see that kind of thing. People often don’t like to talk about the wounds. It’s not polite. Back in High School I went on our church’s ski trip with a broken nose. The doctor had straightened it out and bandaged it, but my Mom wanted me to keep it protected by wearing a catcher’s mask on the ski slope. “What will people say about me if they see me skiing with a catcher’s mask on?” I asked her. Well, no one had the courage to ask me about it, so I never had to find out. People don’t often have the courage to ask about the wounds. People don’t really like to talk about them. Columbia, TN was a community with a wound that no one much liked to talk about. We lived there while I served the First Presbyterian Church for nearly seven years, and one of the things I learned not to ask about too much was the Race Riot of 1946. From books and whispered conversations, I learned that an African American soldier returned from WWII, unprepared to submit again to segregation. When he stepped out of line, pushing a store clerk who was mean to his mother through a window, a mob assembled, and someone bought a length of rope. Hearing the rumors, his family hid him and protected him. In fact, every African American family in town, it seemed, stood armed and ready to defend him. They had seen the last of lynching in their town and weren’t about to let it happen again. However, the town was in an uproar. The National Guard was called in. This was all quite concerning, though hardly a shot was fired. Just the same, the County Jail was filled up with African American men who were arrested for defending this young soldier. Then Thurgood Marshall came to town to defend them. This was his first major legal victory. Today the riot is sometimes called the Prelude to the Civil Rights Movement, but after Thurgood Marshall won the legal battle he had to be snuck out of Columbia in the trunk of a car. Years later, when Thurgood Marshall rose to be one of our nation’s Associate Justices of the Supreme Court, a young African American man went to meet him in his chambers. He said, “Justice Marshall. I’m from Columbia, TN. I want to thank you for the good work you did back there.” The Justice was humble. He wouldn’t take much credit, but then asked, “To get out of Columbia, did they have to sneak out in the trunk of a car?” “No, sir,” he said. “Then I guess I did do something good in Columbia,” Justice Marshall responded. That’s a good story. Unfortunately, it’s a story about wounds. That’s just because all the best stories involve wounds and a force that’s stronger than them. What Thomas was brave enough to see is that the realities of life may even leave wounds on Christ, but God heals them, and those who have the courage to look at those wounds will know just how powerful our God is. What Thomas discovered is that love always wins. Death shall not have the final world. And the light always shines in the darkest of times if only we are bold enough to look for it. Blessed are those who believe these things without having to see them, but for those of us who need proof, we need only seek the wounds to find it. From every brokenness that He heals we know the power of God. Amen.

He Is Risen

Scripture Lessons: Isaiah 65: 17-25 and John 20: 1-18 Sermon Title: He Is Risen Preached on April 21, 2019 It is an uncommon gift to be here this Easter morning. It is a gift to gather here for worship in this place, because simply having a church to worship in is a miracle that we must not take for granted. This week in the headlines made it clear. The Cathedral of Notre Dame was burning on Monday. From that moment on and throughout the week, this tragedy had so many searching for words. I read one journalist who wrote: The image of Notre Dame burning took my breath away. And yes, I was speechless. A series of thoughts raced through my mind, some fairly apocalyptic. It wasn’t just Notre Dame – “Our Lady” – that was being destroyed. To my mind, I was witnessing the immolation of Western Civilization. The words that kept repeating themselves as I tried to make sense of what I was seeing were simpler: This is so wrong. It is wrong. It just is. Just days before Easter, the Cathedral that took 200 years to build, that stood as something constant, something that could be counted on, was going up in smoke. This same journalist wrote, “Ah, yes, wars and revolutions come and go, but Notre Dame stands.” That’s how it’s been in Paris for 674 years, up until this week, when the city learned that even Notre Dame can be gone in an instant. In Louisiana I imagine there are at least three churches feeling very much the same thing. Three churches there were intentionally burned in racist violence between March 26th and April 2nd. What these congregations lost in the fire is the same as what we would have lost. Their church buildings held generations of worshipers, hosted thousands of baptisms, weddings, and funerals. Those sanctuaries were places of safety, reminding worshipers of God’s presence among them despite wars, divorces, disappointments, and deaths. For many the church building that they lost was their constant, their grounding, their foundation, and despite the changing tides of popular culture and the ebbs and flows of human life, that constant of theirs was gone all at once. It’s wrong. It’s just wrong not to have a church on Easter. Our church mourns with our sister Presbyterian Church in Wetumpka, AL, who lost their historic sanctuary to a tornado last January. This month’s Sunday School offerings will be sent to them, to help them rebuild. This is what the church should do. Like those French billionaires and others who have pledged fortunes to help rebuild the cathedral, we must help as we can, for everyone needs a place to worship God. But we must not fool ourselves. Rebuilding isn’t going to fix everything, because the comfort and healing that the broken hearted seek doesn’t come from a building. The source of the grace and forgiveness that we all need is not stone but flesh and blood. This room may point us towards God and make us aware of his presence, but while this is God’s house, this is not the only place God lives. However, so often we mistake the container for the contents. We look at the edifice forgetting that what lies inside her walls will stand for all eternity. We go to the tomb, and ask, where is he? That’s what Mary did. She went to that place, expecting to see a stone sealing the tomb of her savior. Her meager hope was to visit the place where his remains had been laid to rest. It’s as though she went to visit the grave to lay some flowers upon it, only to see that someone had run their car into his headstone, dug up his casket, and tossed it to the side. Witnessing such desecration, she’s not just disappointed. She’s not just concerned. She’s not just brokenhearted. She must have been more than all that. I imagine that she was that fierce blend of anger and sadness that those who knew her recognized and were wise to get out of her way. From the tomb I can see her storming off to notify the disciples. Two of them rushed back to the tomb with her, but after seeing the tomb empty, the disciples just returned to their homes. That makes sense in a way. Lily and I went to the library last Friday. It was closed, so we went back home. I often go by the bank too late and find the door locked. When I do, I don’t wait around expecting it to open. I go back home. But this week I went to Kroger looking for Root Beer Peeps (yes, they make those now). I thought they were sold out because they weren’t with the regular peeps. I almost went back home empty handed, but it turned out Kroger had them. I was just looking for them in the wrong place. Mary was looking for him in the tomb when a voice broke the silence asking: “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you looking for?” Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, “Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away.” Did you hear that? “Supposing him to be the gardener.” She was right there outside the tomb, tears clouding her vision. She was so consumed by despair, anger, and helplessness that she didn’t recognize him. She was so sure that if he were anywhere it would be in that tomb, and if he wasn’t in there, he couldn’t possibly be walking around. She was so sure it wasn’t Jesus talking to her that she thought the man standing before her was the gardener, because her imagination did not prepare her to see him standing there alive and well. And this is Mary were talking about. If Mary was temporarily blind to the presence of Christ, it should be no surprise that hope is hard for us, because all the time we’re looking for him in the wrong places, too hopeless to see all around us the proof that he can never die. Like the Psalmist, we lift up our eyes to the hills, though our hope doesn’t come from the hills. It comes from the Lord. We bow down on our knees in the sanctuary, though Churches are but one place where he may be found. It’s like how we long to be held in the arms of our mothers or fathers, but their love for us is not waiting in the graveyard, it is living in our hearts. This is how the evil one takes advantage of us. He uses our tunnel vision against us. We are always looking for God in the same old places, so bad luck tries to destroy our faith by setting the Cathedral on fire. Despair stalks the graveyard and draws our focus towards the tombstone with its two dates trying to tell us that life can begin and end. Two men flew airplanes into the Twin Towers thinking this will defeat the soul of our nation, but if freedom and democracy live in a building and not in our hearts, we are hopeless already, for Christ is not in the tomb but that hardly means he’s dead. Yesterday the New York Times reported: For centuries, the Notre-Dame Cathedral has enshrined an evolving notion of wat it means to be French. This cathedral may enshrine what it means to be French, but I say, what it means to be Christian is to stand back and watch him rise from the ashes. For our identity is not tied to a building. Our faith does not depend on what can be built of stone. And our hope cannot be toppled or crushed by trials and disappointments, tragedies or strife, temporary suffering or seemingly endless frustration, because every day the sun rises and there, we see him. In every infant born, he smiles upon us. Each time we dare sing Halleluiahs in the face of death we celebrate the God who has won the victory. And no matter how much evil lurks this earth from the back alleyways of our city to the halls of congress, we cannot be discouraged, for Christ has risen. That truth has to change the way we live, for saying that we believe it and letting that truth rule our lives can be two different things. Sara and I ran a 6-mile race out in Covington just yesterday. I want you to know that I ran faster than I ever have before. I finished in the top ten of my age group. There were only 8 men in my age group, but that’s hardly the point. At about mile 5 I was feeling tiered, and there were two signs at the 5-mile marker. One that said, “Runners, this way,” and the other that said, “Hospital, this way.” It’s so easy just to stop running, especially when we can’t see that he’s with us. But it is in the moment of despair that we must ask ourselves: is he gone, or are we looking in the wrong place? This Easter morning nearly 200 Christians were killed because their churches in Sri Lanka were bombed. But the bombers do not understand us. They think we will see the rubble and will give up. The believe that we will see the dust settle and will know we are defeated. Only we know the power that rises up from ash heaps and dances to defy the power of death. We will keep running. For we are on a journey towards the New Jerusalem, and not even death can stop the one we follow. A New heaven and a new earth awaits where the former things shall not be remembered or come to mind. No more shall there be in it an infant that lives for but a few days, or an old person who does not live out a lifetime. Before we call he will answer. While we are yet speaking he will hear. The wolf and the lamb will feed together, and in that day that he is bringing, we will finally stop hurting and destroying each other, for we will see Christ alive in our neighbor. We will know that he lives on in the desperate immigrant, in the thirsty and the hungry, the broken and the outcast. He is not gone, he is not dead. He has risen. Amen.

As He Came Near

Scripture Lessons: Psalm 118: 1-2, 19-29 and Luke 19: 28-44 Sermon title: As He Came Near Preached on April 14, 2019 This Second Scripture Lesson from the Gospel of Luke is so familiar and is read so often, that it’s possible to miss how strange it is. It is strange. It starts out strange, when you think about it. Consider how the owner felt when she woke up and went looking for the colt she’d been saving up to buy. Or consider this plan Jesus comes up with. You can tell he’s not used to stealing colts. “Go into the village ahead of you, and as you enter it you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden. Untie it and bring it here. [And] if anyone asks you, ‘Why are you untying it?’ just say this, ‘The Lord needs it.’” This plan is strange, and it requires a lot of his disciples. Think about it. I didn’t have a bike lock last Thursday. Cece needed to borrow mine, and as I set my bike in the nice bike rack right outside our church unlocked, I wondered how I would feel if some guys walked off with my bike. Would I feel any better if they told me, “the Lord needs it”? Well, I need to get home. What about that? How would you feel if you were the owner of that colt? Or, how would we feel if we were the disciples asked to go and take it? I suppose the point is that we would feel the same as we should feel every day, for every day Jesus requires us to step beyond what we are comfortable with. Every day he calls us to follow him as he leads us beyond what we are used to and towards the Kingdom of God. “Take up your Cross the Savior said” is how the hymn goes. If you would my disciple be; Take up your cross with willing heart, and humbly follow after me. Let not its weight fill your weak spirit with alarm; Christ’s strength shall bear your spirit up and brace your heart and nerve your arm. That’s a good hymn to sing, though it’s a hard hymn to live. Some might like the song, “Jesus take the wheel” but most of the time we’re his worst backseat drivers. That’s why I admire those two disciples made horse thieves. They heard him speak and they obeyed. I don’t always do that, so I can relate to the Pharisees in the crowd. There they were. As he rode along, people kept spreading their cloaks on the road. As he was approaching the path down from the Mount of Olives, the whole multitude of the disciples began to praise God joyfully with a loud voice for all the deeds of power that they had seen, [but] some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, order your disciples to stop.” I told you before, this is familiar passage of Scripture. You’ve heard it so many times, we all have, that the weird parts seem normal. But consider how strange this is, for as Jesus rides his borrowed colt, the Pharisees were in there with the rest of the crowd. It’s easy to miss that detail, because the Pharisees are often painted with such a broad brush that we’d never imagine them there, happy about Jesus riding into Jerusalem. From Sunday School lessons it’s easy to see them as one dimensional. As those upright and haughty religious authorities who opposed Jesus. We sometimes think of them as self-righteous, and so heavenly minded as to have been no earthly good. We have to be careful about such assumptions, for the Gospel writer tells us, that they were not sitting off the side of the road glaring at the disciples, but that they were “in the crowd,” that they were a part of the parade, that they were just as happy about Jesus entering the city of Jerusalem as every other disciple of Jesus Christ. Only, they were still Pharisees, and the thing that separates a Pharisee from a disciple is often a thin line. They might have been happy about him entering the city, but they probably wouldn’t have borrowed a colt for him. They didn’t want to cause too much of a fuss. That doesn’t make them bad. That doesn’t make them evil. It just makes them cautious. Right? You can understand. Nicodemus was such a Pharisee. He too was a member of this religious group that enjoyed authority among the people and toleration by the Romans. Nicodemus was even a member of that high court of religious authority called the Sanhedrin. He was admired by the devoted, and being a man rooted in the Ancient Scripture saw in Jesus the embodiment of his same ideals. He wanted to know this man and so he went to him saying, “Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God; for no one can do these signs that you do apart from the presence of God.” What a thing to say! But Nicodemus was only able to say such a thing in the presence of Jesus at night. He went to go see the Savior when no one else was looking. He would only step into his presence when it wouldn’t cost him the admiration of his peers and the approval of the powers that be. So, it makes sense that those Pharisees were in the crowd, because this is Jesus we’re talking about. But he didn’t ask a couple Pharisees to go borrow a colt for him. He didn’t call on Nicodemus to help him out. No, for the difference between a Pharisee and a disciple is that disciples live the Gospel out in the light of day. Disciples are still Christians even when the Gospel makes them a little uncomfortable. Disciples still follow even when it costs them. That’s a level of devotion that’s not for everybody. It gets dangerous, for did you noticed what the people were singing? Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Blessed is the king. These are treasonous words, because if Jesus is the king, it means that Caesar’s not, and Caesar doesn’t want to hear that. The Pharisees know this about Caesar, and so, they chose to keep quiet themselves and to try and keep the crowds quiet. For disciples, that’s not always an option. Last week we heard again about Mary, and when it came time for her to choose between appearing like a respectable, decent, and orderly hostess or steeping out and taking a risk as a devoted disciple, she poured $10,000 worth of perfume out on his feet and wiped them with her hair. That was a bold thing to do, and you can imagine how the Pharisees reacted. They were there of course, because Pharisees want to be at the party where Jesus is a guest, but when they leave the table, they still want to live in the same world they’ve always lived in. Pharisees like Jesus, but they don’t want him changing too much. Pharisees don’t want to get their hands dirty. They try to follow Jesus, while keeping the peace. They ask, “can’t we just keep quiet and still believe?” And they say, “I’d love to follow Jesus, so long as it doesn’t cost me anything,” but on Palm Sunday, the Pharisees find out that following Jesus requires them to take a risk. That’s just what happens when he comes near. On Palm Sunday “as he came near,” it so quickly became clear who his real disciples were. It’s one of those moments, like on a threshing floor when the grain stays but the chaff is swept away with the wind. So today, when he comes near once again, like every Pharisee or Disciple in that crowd, we too must be ready to make a choice. Will we allow him to purify us? Are we ready to take such a risk? For nothing will be gained unless we are willing to make some changes. There will always be evil systems that benefit from our silence. There will always be corrupt forces that urge us to keep quiet. There will always be parts of our own souls that resist the kind of purification that Christ brings as he draws near, and we must decide if we are willing to let our light shine for all to see. That’s a hard thing to do, but that’s what’s required of us when he comes near. I’ve recently benefitted from a book about the ministry of Dr. Frank Harrington. Sheila Tyler let me borrow her copy, and in this biography of that great preacher who served the Lord at Peachtree Presbyterian Church so well, is the story of a relative, who during the dark days of segregation heard a crowd of African American men and women march through the street singing. Dr. Harrington remembers how this relative of his, loving and faithful in so many ways, just wanted the crowd to quiet down. But what were they singing? We shall overcome. We shall overcome. We always have this choice to make. Will we sing with the parade, or will we swallow our desire for justice down once more to keep the peace? Will we say something to the friend who always drinks too much, or will we watch as her children lay a blanket on her sleeping body? The Pharisees among us and within us will say, “Just keep quiet. Let her sleep,” but will change come from our silence? When will we speak? When will we sing? When will we let the rolling waters flow, rather than try to hold back the flood? Each moment we spend hiding the problem rather than inviting him to help us is a moment wasted. Each second we spend tolerating brokenness is a moment spent carrying a heavy burden that he would free us from. Each day we spend trying to hold up the corruption of Rome is a day we could have spent building a better future. Each lie we live is time wasted when we could have been rejoicing in the truth. These Pharisees who want everyone quiet are just hoping to keep the peace. But as the Prophets said, “We say peace, peace, when there is no peace.” If you want peace, then as he comes near, sing. As he comes near, dance. As he comes near, let him change you and rejoice as he changes the world. Amen.

Do You Perceive It?

Scripture Lessons: Isaiah 43: 16-21 and John 12: 1-8 Sermon Title: Do you perceive it? Preached on April 7, 2019 Have you ever tried to be in two places at one time? I say, “tried to be in two places at one time,” because no one really can. It seems the best we can do is be present in one, and when we try to be in two, we generally end up being in neither. But trying to be in two places at one time makes for good comedy. I remember watching Saved by the Bell after school. This was a teen-drama that came on TV every afternoon during the week, and the most popular boy on the show, Zach Morris, once asked two different girls out on a date for the same night and at the same restaurant. It didn’t end well, and neither did it end well in the movie Mrs. Doubtfire, when a character played by Robin Williams is trying to meet with a business associate on one side of the restaurant as himself, while trying to enjoy dinner with his children, his ex-wife and her new husband, on the other side of the restaurant where he is trying to keep up the act of being an aging British, female, nanny. Thinking of situations like these and many others, the challenges of being in two places at once become obvious, but we still try, because sometimes life seems to demand it of us. In our Second Scripture Lesson from the Gospel of John, if you’re Martha, while you may want to just enjoy dinner with your guests, sitting down to relax with them at the table doesn’t seem possible, for if anyone is going to eat then somebody has to go back and forth between the table and the kitchen. Someone has to cook. Did Mary think of that? Maybe Martha wanted to sit at Jesus feet to fully hear and comprehend what he had to say too. Or maybe she would have enjoyed sitting next to her brother Lazarus, freshly raised from the dead, but someone had to be in the kitchen and so Martha was trying to be in two places at one time. You know what this is like. Maybe after dinner your spouse and kids went outside to play basketball in the driveway. You wanted to play too, but someone has to wash the dishes. Maybe your preschooler came home from gymnastics ready to offer you a full demonstration of what she’s learned. You’re trying to watch, but as she displays cartwheel after cartwheel, she could see that your attention was compromised because there’s laundry to fold, bills to pay, and emails to send. I’ve heard mother’s respond to their children’s cry for attention by asking, “is anyone bleeding?” because that makes it easy to decide what to pay attention to first. The rest of the time it’s really hard to decide where to be fully present. So, at dinner in Bethany we have Martha going in between the kitchen and the table, just like every parent I know. Why? Because that’s life. I imagine that your perception of which demand gets priority changes should you become a grandparent, because those who are lucky enough to become grandparents have had a lifetime to learn that the laundry will always be there, but the grandchildren will grow up. Since we can’t really be in two places at once, we have to decide which really is the better part, but Mary already knows. She is fully present. Focused solely on Jesus, while like Martha, we have to think about it. We think about the plates pilling up in the sink. We fold laundry and cut the grass. What will the neighbors think if we don’t? People say that we should all dance, like no one is looking. Have you ever done that? Neither have I. Instead, I worry about decency and decorum like all the dinner guests in that house. Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, and there they gave a dinner for him. If I were among those invited, I’d try to play by the rules of the house just as they did. If Martha set the table with more than two forks at my place, I might not know which one to use first, so I’d sit back to watch what everyone else does. That’s what guests should do. One summer during college I was sent by our denomination down to Argentina to be a missionary intern, and there, if you order ice cream, they put a little spoon in your cone. I didn’t know what it was for, but I’m glad I watched everyone else, because in South America one of the most vulgar things you can do is lick an ice cream cone out in public. It’s just not done. Of course, it’s hard to enjoy an ice cream cone if you’re so conscious of social decorum, but you have to think about these things when you’re invited over to someone’s house for dinner. You get too immersed in enjoying something and you might make a scene. That’s why Mary is the only one anointing Jesus’ feet. The other guests are sitting back, trying to do things decently and in order, not realizing that just as you can’t be in two places at once, you also can’t do two things at once. You can’t be both decent and devoted, and Mary picked the better part. She knew, that we always have the chance to be respectable, while ice cream tends to melt. She doesn’t care that it’s considered scandalous for a woman to let down her hair in front of a man. She doesn’t care that some will say that she’s making them embarrassed, that she’s being a poor host, or that the perfume she poured on her savior’s feet could have been sold to the poor. Judas is right about that of course. Nard is a perfume made from a plant that grows in the Himalayas. Because of its distant origins, even a little of this oil would have been expensive. A small vile might have cost a week’s wages, but we know from Judas’ observation that Mary poured three hundred denarii’s worth, a full year’s salary for a low wager worker in that region. Some say that the perfume would be worth as much as $10,000 today. $10,000, poured out on his feet. Can you imagine? Do you know what MUST Ministries can do with $10,000? Do you know what her children or her sister’s children might have done should she have invested $10,000? We’re told that responsible people have to think through their decisions. We have to be mindful of the future. Not only do we challenge ourselves to be in two places at once or to think about being both decent and devoted, our lives also call us to try and be in the present while mindful of the future. But not Mary. Mary is so completely present with Jesus, knowing that the poor will always be with her, but Jesus only had a little more time. It’s true. At this point in the course of his life, his days were numbered. Our Second Scripture Lesson began: “Six days before Passover Jesus came to Bethany.” That’s six days before the Last Supper. Six days before he was betrayed. Six days before he was arrested, tried, and sentenced to death. That means it was about a week before he was crucified. That’s why she gave him everything that she had. All her attention, all that she could give. She was before the Lord undistracted, completely devoted, and fully present. She poured out all of who she was to this man who meant everything. Her act of devotion was so beautiful, so pure, and so costly, that I imagine, not only did the smell of this perfume fill the room, but were we to stand at the foot of his cross several days after this dinner, we might still have smelled the love she poured out coming off his feet as he breathed his last on the Cross. Maybe he smelled it. As he was dying, perhaps he smelled the perfume coming off his feet and remembered that as the world turned their back, Mary still loved him. As for the rest of us. Well, even when we are having dinner with just one person, still we are distracted. And so, we must be warned not to reach the end our days like Emily in the Wilder play, Our Town, lamenting how “It goes so fast. We don't have time to look at one another. I didn't realize. All that was going on in life and we never noticed.” The prophet Isaiah calls us to be more like Mary, asking “do you not perceive it?” I don’t, for sometimes I’m busy in the kitchen, as though anyone ever lay on their death bed embarrassed over the dishes left unwashed in their sink. Other times I’m too worried about what everyone thinks, even though I know that when they go off to college I’ll have forgotten what I missed their soccer games what, but they’ll remember whether or not I was there. Then sometimes all I can think about is what tomorrow will hold, so I must remember to pay attention to the one who holds tomorrow. Today, let us all try and take a lesson from Mary. For soon he will make his way to the Cross, and just as she poured out everything that she had as a sign of her love, so He will pour out everything he has for us. Today, perceive the wondrous love of His body broken for our sake; his blood shed for the forgiveness of our sins. Amen.