Third Sunday of Easter
April 15, 2018
Good Shepherd Lutheran Church
Decorah, Iowa
Rev. Amy Zalk Larson

Click here to read scripture passages for the day.

Beloved of God, grace to you and peace in the name of Jesus.

We often think of the Easter season as a hopeful time and it is – there is joy, new life and sometimes even spring.

We don’t usually think of Easter as a season of doubts and questions. After all, we proclaim boldly:

Alleluia! Christ is Risen! Christ is Risen Indeed! Alleluia! That greeting doesn’t seem to leave much room for ambiguity or doubt.

We sing lots of hymns about triumph and victory. In one we sing, “No more we doubt thee, glorious Prince of Life.” I love the tune and most of the words of that hymn, but I don’t like that line. Doubt is a key component of Easter. Hope and doubt go hand in hand in the biblical stories of Jesus’ resurrection and in our own lives.

In our Gospel story today, the risen Jesus tells his disciples to touch his wounded hands and feet to see that he’s not a ghost. They do that and it brings them great joy, but it doesn’t erase their doubts. We’re told, “while in their joy, they were disbelieving and still wondering.”

A similar thing happens at the end of the Gospel of Matthew – in Matthew’s account of the risen Jesus appearing to his disciples. We’re told, “When they saw him, they worshipped him; and all doubted.”

Almost every English version of the Bible translates this passage as, “they worshipped him but some doubted.” But, that’s not what the Greek says. It says they worshipped him, and all doubted.

The disciples worshipped and doubted at the same time. They had great joy in Jesus’ presence while also disbelieving and wondering.

In both cases, Jesus doesn’t condemn the disciples for their doubts. In Matthew he goes on to give them the great commission, telling them to go make disciples, baptize and teach. In our story today he tells them, you are witnesses. He gives the doubtful disciples important work to do. This means that when we sing and praise, rejoice and hope, and say Christ is risen, indeed, there is also room for doubt and disbelief. There is room to wonder: “How could this all be true? What does this mean for my life and for this beautiful yet brutal world?” Hope and doubt go hand in hand.

Hope and doubt actually have a lot in common because both leave us vulnerable.

When we hope, we can be disappointed. So sometimes to protect ourselves, we respond with cynicism and bitterness rather than hope. Why bother advocating for legislation for the dreamers, Congress will never get it done. Forget trying to connect with those people, I’ll never feel comfortable there. New life? Whatever – nothing will ever change.

When we doubt we acknowledge that we’re not certain, we don’t know; we open ourselves to ambiguity and uncertainty. So sometimes to protect ourselves, we turn to absolutes and stridency. We rigidly defend our beliefs and opinions on personal, religious and political issues rather than acknowledging that issues are complex, and that coming to solutions with others requires a willingness to question one’s own positions.

If we protect ourselves from vulnerability, we may be spared some pain, but we also keep ourselves locked away from all the beauty in our world.

Hoping and doubting do leave us vulnerable. They also leave us open to possibility, to change, to surprise, to joy. Hope and doubt open up space for new life to happen for us.

It’s not easy to remain open and vulnerable, especially in our world today. The good news is that the risen Jesus is also vulnerable.

The risen Jesus comes to us not so much as a glorious prince like that Easter hymn says. Instead, Jesus comes with vulnerability. We see that in how Jesus appears to those first disciples when they are locked away trying to protect themselves. Jesus doesn’t storm into the room like a strident conqueror. He appears and says, “Peace be with you.” He shows them his wounded hands and feet. He asks for some- thing to eat – he is in need of their hospitality. He comes in peace, wounded and hungry. This humble, vulnerable approach helps the disciples to recognize Jesus and to be receptive to his teaching – teaching that opens their minds to understand the scriptures.

Jesus comes to us in the same way today. Jesus is here in his wounded body the church to say to each of us, peace be with you. He is here in bread and wine, his broken body and blood poured out. He is here in his word to open our minds to understand the scriptures.

With his presence, and as part of his wounded body the church, we can say, “Christ is risen indeed” boldly, even as we wonder. We can worship with great joy even as we doubt.

We can go into the world and remain vulnerable and open. We can go hopefully with a willingness to doubt. As we do, our lives will witness to the truth that new life is possible, that the humble, vulnerable Christ is risen indeed. We are witnesses to these things.

Let’s take a moment for silent prayer.

Second Sunday of Easter
April 8, 2018
Good Shepherd Lutheran Church
Decorah, Iowa
Rev. Marion Pruitt-Jefferson

Today’s scriptures: Acts 4:32-35; Psalm 33; 1 John:1:1–2:2; John 20:19-31

Beloved of God,
Grace and Peace to you from our risen Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.

I can only speak for myself, but I found the worship we shared here at Good Shepherd during Holy Week and Easter to be deeply moving. I was touched by so many things, but one in particular stands out for me. It was on Maundy Thursday, as the lector read these words from the eleventh chapter of First Corinthians: Jesus on the night when he was betrayed took a loaf of bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, “This is my body that is for you.”

I know I’ve heard that many, many times, but in that moment the Spirit was at work in a new way; and it was as if I heard those words for the first time. Jesus says it so simply, “This is my body that is for you” – Jesus’ body for me, Jesus’ body for you. It’s an astonishing thing to say. When a friend is having trouble, or is sick, we might say something like, “I’m here for you.” But we’d never say, “My body’s here for you.” If we’re leaving our family to go on a long trip, we might say, “I’ll be thinking of you”, or “I’ll never forget you. Do this in remembrance of me.” But we don’t hand them some personal memento and say, “This is my body that is for you.” Maybe it’s because we hear it so often and it’s become too familiar – maybe that’s why we aren’t simply speechless with amazement at the wonder of it all, by the love, the mystery, the abundant goodness of Jesus’ body for me, for you.

In the gospel today, Jesus appears to his disciples in his resurrected body. I don’t know why, but somehow Jesus, in his resurrected body, is a bit difficult to recognize. He’s mistaken for a gardener, a fisherman, a fellow traveler. As the story goes, these disciples, who are in lock-down mode on Easter day, suddenly find themselves in the presence of an unknown man. Even though Jesus greets them with Peace, they don’t recognize him. Can you imagine their confusion, their fear in that moment? But in gentleness and compassion, Jesus draws near to them and humbly shows them his wounded body – his pierced hands, and scarred side. And it is only when they see these marks of suffering on his body that they recognize him as their beloved friend and teacher – all of them except Thomas, of course.

Poor Thomas has gotten a bad rap over the centuries having been labeled “Doubting Thomas”, like that was a bad thing. If it was up to me, I’d call him “Questioning Thomas”. The other disciples were so afraid that they were hiding behind locked doors; but not Thomas. Given his inquisitive nature, I wonder if Thomas was out and about on that first Easter day, seeing what he might learn about this story the women had told them about Jesus’ rising from the dead. If that’s the case, we might well be able to call him “Thomas the Brave” – the only one who was willing to risk his life to find out if it could possibly be true.

When Thomas comes back, his friends tell him that Jesus has risen and that they have seen him. I imagine that they told him in detail all that Jesus had said and done, including the part about Jesus showing them his wounded hands and side. But Thomas isn’t satisfied with their report. He wants to see and to touch Jesus’ wounded body, just as they had done.

One week later, on the second Sunday of Easter, the disciples are together again and this time Thomas is with them. Just like the previous week, Jesus comes to them and says, “Peace be with you.” Then immediately, he directs his attention to Thomas. There is no chastisement for question- ing. There is no condemnation for the failure to believe. Instead, Jesus approaches Thomas with love and humility and offers Thomas his wounded body. Jesus, the crucified and risen one, comes not in earthly power and glory, but in vulnerability bearing the visible signs of his suffering and death. And he allows Thomas to touch his wounded body and Thomas believes.

This morning, on this Second Sunday of Easter, Jesus comes to us again just as he has done in innumerable times and places since that very first Easter day. Jesus comes to us in the vulnerability of his wounded, broken body. Jesus comes to us in deep love and compassion, knowing that each one of us bears our own scars, our own wounds, our own pain and sorrow. Jesus comes to us in this humble way so that we will not be afraid. There is no chastisement here, no judgement, only the loving kindness of Jesus, crucified and risen. Here at this table Jesus invites us to reach out our hands and to touch his broken body. And here Jesus touches us in all those places where we are wounded, and broken, and longing for healing. Jesus says to each one of us, “This is my body, that is for you”; and by his wounds we are made whole. Here we are raised to new life in Christ – wounded and made whole, broken and beloved – and then we are sent out to bring the love and healing of our humble, vulnerable, life-giving Lord to a world longing to be made whole.

Easter Sunday
April 1, 2018
Good Shepherd Lutheran Church
Decorah, Iowa
Rev. Amy Zalk Larson

Click here to read scripture passages for the day.

Beloved of God, grace to you and peace in the name of the Risen Christ. Amen.

What are Easter egg hunts like in your family? Anyone treat them like an Olympic medal race? I have some very athletic cousins, so my childhood Easter egg hunts were quite intimidating. The eggs would be spread all over my grandma’s big backyard and my cousins would race each other from one hiding spot to the next. I was all about the candy and could never keep up anyway; but my cousins were so intent on winning, they’d sometimes leave candy on the ground in their haste to beat the others to the next spot.

There’s some racing in our Gospel story today as well. Mary tells Peter and another disciple, “They have taken the Lord”, and they set out running for the tomb. At first, we’re told they’re running together, neck and neck, then the other disciple pulls ahead. He outruns Peter; he makes it to the tomb first. Victory!

Yet, once the disciples make it to the tomb, they don’t stick around long. Something has clearly happened, something quite strange and disturbing has happened. The stone is rolled away, grave wrappings are lying there without a body, the tomb is empty. Mary is certain Jesus’ body has been stolen. But the disciples don’t investigate, they don’t search for answers. They just take a quick look and head home. Maybe they’re afraid, maybe the sorrow is too much; they don’t stay. They race on to the next thing. This reminds me of my cousins racing around the yard. It reminds me of how we hurry through our lives. We want to rush grief, we’re impatient with our own and others pain, we careen from one news story, one crisis, to the next at breakneck speed. We don’t take time to reflect, to ask the hard questions about what it all means.

Mary, on the other hand, stays at the tomb. She stays in this place of death that seems to be vandalized. She peers into the emptiness. She stays with the tension and unknowing, the loneliness and loss. She asks the hard questions. She stays. There – in all that is hard. And there she meets Jesus. There, Jesus calls her name and brings her back to life. There she experiences resurrection. She is given reason to hope again.

It is hard to stay present, like Mary does. It is so tempting to hurry past all that is uncertain, frightening, painful. It’s so tempting to rush to the comforts of home, the quick fixes, the easy answers. But when we do, we’re like people trapped on a perpetual Easter egg hunt – racing from one thing to the next, searching for the next sugar high, pursuing pleasure, but never being changed, never experiencing resurrection and new life.

Resurrection happens at the tomb, at the place where things are hard. There Jesus meets us. There Jesus meets you to call your name, to bring you back to life, to give you real hope. Jesus meets you there; Jesus meets you here in his body and blood, signs of his death. In this place where we mark Jesus’ death, the Risen Christ meets us today.

We all come, racing through life yet knowing the places where we struggle, where we grieve, where we feel alone. The good news of Easter is that those are the very places where Jesus meets you. You are not alone. God, in Jesus, has entered into all the pain and sorrow to work new life from the midst of it – for you. And now the Risen Christ is present to you in all things, most especially the hard things.

This means that we can stay present to all that is painful in our own lives, in our world; we don’t have to run away from it all. We can be with uncertainty and hard questions. We can remain engaged past the breaking news cycle, the issue of the hour. We can address difficult topics in our life together here at Good Shepherd. We can stay engaged in the hard work of accompanying migrant minors and immigrants and advocating for just legislation. We can care for people over the long haul of grief, chronic illness and dis- aster recovery – long after others move on. That’s what the Lutheran Disaster Response work we do as part of the ELCA is all about. We stay well past the headlines to accompany people in the long-term work of rebuilding their lives and communities.

We can stay present in all these hard places, like Mary, because the risen Jesus meets us there. He meets us at the graveside, the hospital, the ICE detention center. He meets us in difficult conversations and in the broken, beloved community that is the church.

The risen Jesus meets us in all these places and calls us back to life again. Resurrection happens at the tomb. Jesus meets you there. Jesus meets you here in his body and blood to wipe away your tears, to be present for you and for the whole world.

Alleluia! Christ is Risen!

Maundy Thursday
March 29, 2018
Good Shepherd Lutheran Church
Decorah, Iowa
Rev. Amy Zalk Larson

Click here to read scripture passages for the day.

Beloved of God, grace to you and peace in the name of Jesus, God’s love made known.

At the end of worship tonight, the altar will be stripped. It will look empty, naked, bare.

Each of us knows what it is to be that empty.

There are times when life suddenly strips us bare. We get the awful phone call, a betrayal is exposed, death strikes out of the blue.

Other times, the stripping happens to us through a thousand paper cuts: The barrage of devastating news stories, bouts of insomnia, chronic health issues, that same old argument erupting yet again. All those things drain away our energy and joy.

We know what it is to stand bare like the altar, empty like trees in winter.

The altar tonight and the Psalm that will be chanted as it is stripped: these both assure us that Jesus knows what it is to be stripped bare. He was betrayed – his friend denied knowing him. Before his death, Jesus was stripped and beaten. He even felt forsaken by God. Jesus knows what it is to have relationships, dignity, and life itself stripped away.

When so much can be stripped away from us, our instincts are to preserve what we have, to secure our life and our energy. Yet on this night, by his own example, Jesus calls us to a different way of being – to cease our futile efforts to preserve ourselves and to instead give ourselves freely to one another. 

On the night when he himself was betrayed, Jesus took off his outer robe and put on a towel. He chose to strip himself of power and authority. He let go of his role as teacher and took on the role of a servant as he knelt to wash the feet of his friends. Jesus calls us to do the same – to let go of power and privilege in order to serve and love others as we have been loved. Jesus was able to surrender his power and authority because he knew how deeply he was loved by God. And, now Jesus loves us into freedom from bondage to self-preservation. Compelled by this love, we can release our hold on our own lives trusting we are held together in God, trusting that in Holy Communion we are re-membered – put back together in love.

When Jesus shared his last supper, he said, “do this to remember me.” We often hear that as, “do this and think of me.” Yet, the English word is helpful here – re-member also means to put back together. In Holy Communion, Christ is re-membered as we are made part of his body. As we share Christ’s body and blood, we are brought into his body, made members of his body.

This means that no matter what happens to us, we are not left empty or forsaken. Instead, we are part of the body of Christ where we are re-membered – where we are put back together again in love. We are part of Christ’s body that even death cannot destroy, that is raised up to new life on Easter Sunday and every day.

We are part of Christ’s body that is held in God’s love now and forever. Because we are held in this love, we can freely give of ourselves in love for others.

Tonight, as we share in Holy Communion may we know that whatever stripping, whatever emptying, whatever is to come, God’s love remains. And, we will always be re-membered in love.

Let’s take a moment for prayer and reflection.

Palm Sunday – Sunday of the Passion

March 25, 2018
Good Shepherd Lutheran Church
Decorah, Iowa
Rev. Marion Pruitt-Jefferson

Scriptures for the day: Mark 11:1-11, Psalm 31:9-16, Philippians 2:5-11, Mark 14:1 – 15:47

Beloved of God,

Grace and Peace to you in the name of Jesus.

Yesterday was a day of Passion – passion expressed across our country and even around the world. Yesterday we saw hundreds and hundreds of thousands of people – many of them not even old enough to vote – take to the streets and march. They carried signs and banners, and they cried out, “Enough is Enough!” Their passionate desire for real change was forged in deep grief – it was born of suffering and death brought about by the violence of a young man who possessed a deadly weapon.

Today, across our country and around the world, is another day of Passion. Christians have gather- ed far and wide to take to the streets in a different kind of march– waving palm branches and passionately shouting, “Hosanna to the King of David!” And even though we don’t cry out, “Enough is Enough”, or shout our demands for change, still, that is what we come seeking – that deeper transformation that can move us from hatred to love … from selfishness to selflessness … from pride to humility … from shame and guilt to freedom and new life …

Which is why on this day we enter into that story that we call “The Passion of Our Lord Jesus Christ.” It is THE central story of our Christian faith – the story of Jesus’ suffering and death. It is this ONE story that reveals the deeper meaning of all the other stories we have heard, not only the stories from scripture, but the stories that shape our own lives. It is THE story that has the power to change everything – the power to transform even death into new life.

We are confronted each day with stories of human suffering that seem to challenge the truth of God’s abundant love and care for us and for all creation. The story of the shooting at the Parkland, Florida, high school is one such story. And there are more: the terrorist attack in France, the continued bombing of civilians in East Ghouta in Syria, an innocent young black man senselessly shot dead in his grandparents backyard, package bombings across the city Austin, Texas. Then there are the stories that mark our own lives – places where we have experienced suffering, pain and loss.

In the story of Jesus’ passion and death on the cross, the mystery of God’s way of loving us through suffering and death into newness of life is revealed. This is why we so urgently need to hear the Passion Story on this day. For it is in Jesus’ suffering and death that we see that other PASSION – the passionate, loving heart of a God who enters fully into our human experience and who takes all of our suffering, our despair, our pain, and even our sense of abandonment upon himself.

This is a day for PASSION – The passion of the crowds who so enthusiastically greeted Jesus and then turned away and with equal passion cried out, “Crucify Him!”; the passion of the unnamed woman who anoints Jesus’ body for burial; the PASSION of Jesus who suffers the betrayal and abandonment of his friend, who endures the humiliation of a rigged trial and condemnation of his own religious community, who endures the physical and psychological pain of torture and execution and the overwhelming sense of abandonment, even by God. And finally, the PASSION of our God who loves us with such fervor and determination, such tenderness and care, that nothing in all creation can ever, ever separate us from that saving, transformative, life-giving love.

The procession with Palms leads us directly into the heart of the mystery of our faith – the mystery of a suffering, dying Lord whose glory is the cross, whose power is made perfect in human weak- ness, and whose death gives life to the whole world. It is this mystery that we participate in each Sunday as we gather at this table to eat the bread of life and drink the cup of blessing, which are for us Jesus’ own body and blood. Today, may the hearing of this story and the sharing in this meal draw you ever closer the passionate heart of God.