Reverend Amy Zalk Larson

Good Shepherd Lutheran Church   

 Decorah, Iowa

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Beloved People of God grace to you and peace in the name of our risen Savior Jesus.

The women leave the empty tomb with fear AND great joy. One does not negate the other.
They’re fearful AND they’re joyful at the same time.

Today, we might experience Easter joy AND fear about the state of the world. We may grieve AND feel hope arise within us. We can doubt AND embrace wonder. Two seemingly disparate things can be true at the same time. We live in an either/or world of sharp distinctions. A world that encourages us to judge experiences and others as either good or bad, happy or sad, right or wrong, fearful or joyful. Yet such judgements can constrict, confine, entomb us into rigid, soul killing ways of being.

Today as we ponder the power of the resurrection, let’s consider the power of the word and. In an either/or world, a simple AND can help us experience newness; it can help us claim and practice resurrection in daily life. We don’t often give a lot of thought to the word and or to any of the other coordinating conjunctions like so, or, but, yet. The words can seem minor AND the one we choose can make a big difference.

Imagine you’re running a marathon. I know, the resurrection seems more realistic than imagining myself doing 26.2 miles, but stay with me, just a little thought experiment. At mile eighteen you say to yourself, I want to finish the race but I’m exhausted. When you say but I’m exhausted, you give much more weight to the exhaustion, and you diminish your desire to finish. Imagine saying instead, I want to finish the race AND I’m exhausted. Two things are true. How do I honor them both? Maybe I could slow down, walk for a bit, maybe I need more water. That little word “and” can open new possibilities within us. 

Listen to how it sounds in these situations. “I’m feeling burned out AND I really care about this project.” That invites you to tend to both your weariness and your passion, rather than diminishing one. As you do that, a new way forward might emerge. “I feel devastated that he died, AND I know he was in a lot of pain,” is a way of honoring both your grief and your loved one’s peace. “I have lots of questions about this church thing AND I value the community,” helps you pay attention to all of what matters to you.

The word and can also open new possibilities in relationships with others, helping us to honor what we value and honor the other. “I’m sorry AND I’m hurt by what you said.” “I don’t agree with that decision AND I’m feeling really grateful that you tried.” “I hear what you’re saying AND I see things differently.”

The Christian story embraces both/and in a world of either/or. Jesus is fully God AND fully hu- man. We have new life in Christ AND things are still hard. The kingdom of heaven is at hand AND not yet fully present. We are saint AND sinner, broken AND beloved, fearful AND joyful, like the women at the tomb.

Mary Magdalene and the other Mary have so many reasons to be afraid that first Easter morning.

The past week has taken so much from them: their beloved teacher, the community he’d created, their hopes for the future. As if that isn’t enough, when they go to the tomb, there is a terrifying earthquake. An angel who looks like lightning appears. It’s so frightening that the guards shake and become like dead men. The women see the same things that the guards see and certainly feel the same fear. Yet they aren’t overcome by fear. They’ve been in relationship with Jesus who em- bodies both/and – both human and divine, justice and mercy, sorrow and trust.

The years with Jesus seem to help the women remain open to something more than fear at the tomb. They’re able to hear the words of promise and hope from the angel. “He is not here.” “He has been raised as he said.” “Go quickly and tell the disciples.” Joy, hope, and trust arise within them, alongside the fear and grief. The guards remain entombed in fear, but the women are able to move through all the emotions. They leave that place of death knowing Jesus is not there. Death cannot contain him. And now death cannot contain them. They go to tell the good news.

On their way, the risen Jesus meets them. “Do not be afraid,” Jesus says to them. “Do not be afraid,” Jesus says to you, to me, to us, today. And the word of Jesus creates what it declares. As if to say, you may fear, but you are not afraid. Fear does not define you. Fear is not who you are. You are not the sum of your fears. You are not the weight of your tears. You are beloved of God, joined to the one who has risen from the grave, free from soul killing ways of being. You are a witness to new life emerging from death.

The Risen One who holds multitudes, meets you, holds you. Held in this life-giving love, you can move through all the emotions of this day and every day.

You can experience and practice resurrection in how you speak and act.

You are a witness to the good news in your fear AND your great joy.

Let’s take a moment for silent prayer.

Reverend Amy Zalk Larson – Good Shepherd Lutheran Church, Decorah, Iowa

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

Today we get all the feels: joy, excitement, anger, fear, sorrow.

Worship today reminds me of the book Atlas of the Heart by Brené Brown, which explores  eighty-seven important human emotions and experiences. This day, Palm Sunday and Sunday of the Passion, feels like a Cliff Notes version of that book. We’re welcoming Jesus with glad shouts, longing for him to set us free. Then suddenly we’re calling for his death. We’re joyous and jeering, courageous and complicit. There’s hosanna and heartache.

It’s intense, but it’s also helpful to hold multiple emotions and experiences at the same time. Our culture doesn’t often give us space to do that. Either-or thinking gets in our way especially when it comes to grief – whether that’s grief at the death of a loved one, or our grief about hopes dashed, the human condition, or the state of the world.

Author Megan Devine, writes, “We’ve got this idea that there are only two options in grief: you’re either going to be stuck in your pain, doomed to spend the rest of your life rocking in a corner in your basement wearing sackcloth, or you’re going to triumph over grief, be transformed and come back even better than you were before. Two options: on-off, broken or healed.”

Yet, she continues, “There’s this whole middle ground between those two extremes. And finding that middle ground is the real work of grief – finding a place that doesn’t ask us to deny our grief, and doesn’t doom us forever, a place that honors the full breadth of grief, which is really the full breadth of love.”

As followers of Jesus, we get to share in that middle ground together. We grieve the human condition because we’re called to love and grief is love persisting. We pray and long and work for and welcome change, even as we acknowledge that we are part of the problem. We are both saint and sinner, broken and beloved. Life is both brutal and beautiful. Author Glennon Doyle combines those two words into my favorite description of life – it is brutiful. And in this life, we never arrive at some point that is all sunshine and roses. The tomb is empty, but the cross remains. Joy and grief, sin and forgiveness, death and life persist mingling all together.

Megan Devine writes, “Some things can’t be fixed, they can only be carried.” This Sunday and all of Holy Week shows us we don’t carry our grief and sin and pain alone. Jesus carries it with us, for us, with you, for you. God works in all of it to heal and to raise us up again and again.

We can face this brutiful world, our brutiful selves with hope. 

We can be people of hope for the sake of the world.

Reverend Amy Zalk Larson – Good Shepherd Lutheran Church – Decorah, Iowa

Click here to read scripture passages for the day.

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

There’s no such thing as a dumb question, right? I think that’s true when we’re trying to grasp a new concept or skill or doing science. We learn by asking all the questions. When it comes to faith, we need to ask all sorts of things, too. But there are some questions that aren’t helpful, that are even bad – questions that are formed by assumptions, questions that lead us to judgment or isolation.

Take the disciples in our story today. When they see a man who is blind, their almost knee-jerk reaction is to say, ‘Teacher, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?’ That’s a bad question. It assumes that illness and disability are caused by sin; that the man deserved to be born blind; that physical blindness is a form of failure. After Jesus heals the man, the crowd gets in the game. Bystanders interrogate the man, seeking to dissect what’s happened to him. They ask bad questions because their intent is to drive him out and prove that Jesus is a heretic. 

What are our intentions? What assumptions do we carry? How do we respond when we encounter someone who’s suffering? Someone who’s changing? How do our beliefs prevent us from seeing others? Our artwork today raises those questions. The piece is called Insight. The artist is Rev. Lisle Gwynn Garrity. She writes in her artist statement:

In this image, hands expressing denial and exclusion press in on the man. In the background, I wrote a barrage of questions I imagine emerging from the crowd: 

Why did God heal you? 

What did you do to cause this? 

Who sinned? 

Alongside those questions, I wove in contemporary statements I’ve heard spoken in situations when we think a tidy rationale will comfort us: 

Everything happens for a reason. 

God only gives you as much as you can handle. 

Pray harder.

I wonder what this story would look like had better questions been asked. 

What if his neighbors had instead asked the blind man, “How do you feel?” 

What if the man had asked the crowd, “What are you afraid of?”

What if the Pharisees had asked one another, “What if it’s time to change?”

Surrounded by remnants of narrow vision, the man has new insight. He looks beyond the words, beyond the crowd, beyond the accusations driving him out of town.  (1)

What are the questions God is inviting us to ask as we consider our world and the people around us?

When I was a pastor at Luther College, I was in lots of conversations about the mental health of students, as our young people were suffering well before the pandemic started. We were asking what’s going wrong for this student, for that student? Then one day my colleague David Vasquez said something along these lines: We’re acting like students who are anxious and depressed are hav- ing an abnormal reaction. But there’s so much anxiety and pain all around them in the larger culture. What if students are having a normal reaction to an abnormal situation? That question gave me a fuller picture of students and their awareness, insights, and lived wisdom. It helped me to name the connection between pastoral care and advocating for justice and healing in the larger world.

Asking a different question helped me to see more clearly.

A similar invitation comes from Oprah Winfrey and the renowned brain development and trauma expert, Dr Bruce Perry, in their book What Happened to You: Conversations on Trauma, Resilience and Healing. A description of the book asks:

Have you ever wondered “Why did I do that?” or “Why can’t I just control my behavior?” 

Others may judge our reactions and think, “What’s wrong with that person?” 

When questioning our emotions, it’s easy to place the blame on ourselves; holding ourselves and those around us to an impossible standard. It’s time we started asking a different question …[Rather than asking] what’s wrong with you? [ask] what happened to you? It’s a subtle but profound shift in our approach to trauma, and it’s one that allows us to understand our pasts in order to clear a path to our future―opening the door to resilience and healing in a proven, powerful way. (2)

Asking different questions and seeking to see differently can be unsettling, to say the least. It can be distressing even. Yet in all the challenges and distress we face, for whatever reason, we are not alone. God accompanies us completely, fully, entering all the places of pain. A poem offered this week by A Sanctified Art has brought that alive to me. It’s called “Jesus in the Psych Ward”, by Rev. Sarah Speed. This week I’ve also imagined a similar poem called “Jesus in the Nursing Home”.

“Jesus in the Psych Ward”

He’s in group therapy, plastic chairs in a circle.

Paper cups with weak coffee. Everyone in the room has seeking eyes.

The Pharisees admitted him. They said things like, He’s more than we can handle. 

They let the rumors fly.

The other patients like him. They say, He listens to me. 

He calls them by name.

And when one of them asks,

Is this our fault? Are we here because we sinned?

Jesus does not wait for the facilitator to speak.

He crosses the circle. He kneels down. He grabs their hands in his and says,

Child of the covenant, God loves you too much to ever wish you pain.

Bodies and minds crumble sometimes, but God’s love for you does not.

And after that there were happy tears and the group was dismissed to lunch,

where they broke bread and no one talked of sin.(3)

What happened to you?

Lots has happened to all of us throughout our lives and in the past three years.

And in all of it, we are loved. You are loved, you are held, you are accompanied.

This love empowers our resilience.

It helps us ask better questions.

It allows us to see ourselves, and others, more clearly, with more compassion.

Let’s take a moment for silent prayer.

_________________________________

Footnotes:

1 Artist Statement on Insight by Rev. Lisle Gwynn Garrity from A Sanctified Art. Inspired by John 9: 8-41 Silk painting with digital drawing and collage.

2 What Happened to You: Conversations on Trauma, Resilience and Healing, by Oprah Winfrey and Dr. Bruce Perry. Flatiron Books. April 2021.

3  “Jesus in the Psych Ward” by Rev. Sarah (Are) Speed, from Seeking: Honest Questions for Deeper Faith, a Lenten Devotional by A Sanctified Art

Reverend Amy Zalk Larson , Good Shepherd Lutheran Church, Decorah, Iowa

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

Jesus asks a Samaritan woman for a drink.

I invite you to use your imagination for a bit – kids, adults, all of us. Imagine it’s a really hot day and you’re incredibly thirsty. You’re all out of water. If you don’t get some soon things are going to get tricky – dehydration, heat stroke even. You’ve got to ask another person for a drink but that’s going to be tricky, given who that person is.

Maybe you’re at another school early, warming up before a big meet or game, and you discover you forgot to fill your water bottle. You can’t find a drinking fountain anywhere. The only person around to ask is your biggest competition, a person standing between you and getting to state. You have to ask for help.

Or maybe it’s an unseasonably hot fall day during election season. You and a friend are out knocking on doors for your candidate when you realize you’ve got to get indoors and have a drink quickly, or you’ll faint. The closest house is the one with the political signs that make your skin crawl. 

Imagining scenarios like that can give us a taste of what Jesus might be feeling as he asks the Samaritan woman for a drink. He’s tired, thirsty, and in need. It’s a hot, dry climate. There’s a well but he doesn’t have a jar. The only person who can get him water is someone a Jewish man isn’t supposed to talk to, much less ask for help, a Samaritan woman. 

Just by speaking to her, Jesus demonstrates his willingness to be vulnerable. He risks his reputation, the credibility of his ministry, her anger. Then Jesus goes a step further and asks for what he needs, showing that even he can’t make it alone. That’s another huge risk – for the Son of God to be so openly human. I mean, who wants a vulnerable Savior? A Savior who has needs? Who asks for help?

Yet Jesus’ vulnerability transforms this woman’s life. It seems when he asks something of her, she begins to trust him. She has at least five reasons why he shouldn’t be vulnerable to anyone, yet she engages in honest conversation with him. She asks questions, seeks to understand, and boldly asks Jesus for living water. She also shares her needs with him. Five different men have divorced her, leaving her incredibly vulnerable in a patriarchal society. She tells Jesus the truth, risking judgment and scorn. Both Jesus and the woman model a beautiful vulnerability, or what Dr. Karoline Lewis describes as a mutuality of need. Jesus needs water to drink, and the woman needs living water. Jesus needs her to be a witness, and she needs Jesus to invite her into a new identity.

What do you most need?

What might God do as you are vulnerable and honest about your needs, your humanity?

If you ask that competitor for help, what might happen?
If you show your humanity to someone on the other side and look for their humanity, what might happen?

Together, could we experience this mutuality of need and care?

Dr. Lewis’ insight about the mutuality of need inspired the artist for today’s painting, Rev. Lauren Wright Pitman. After reading Lewis, Pitman noticed that in most art inspired by this story, Jesus and the Samaritan woman are not on the same level. So, Pitman created this image with their body positioning mirrored and their eyes on the same plane. Let’s take a closer look at the image on your bulletins and up here, and listen to some of Pitman’s artist statement to help open us to this story.

She writes, “Where their arms overlap becomes a vibrant blue, creating a water drop with a dove in it, representing the living water that springs forth from their mutual need and relationship. 

“Each of their clothing is patterned with the other’s need. 

• In Jesus’ clothing are simplified ‘springs of water gushing up to eternal life.’ 
• In the Samaritan woman’s clothes, her water jar is positioned upright and poured out, representing her wrestling with whether she will interact with this man—and further, whether he is the awaited Messiah.

“The image is subtly divided in half by slight shifts in color value. There is a chasm between them socially, culturally, religiously. [The conflict between Jews and Samaritans over their places of worship shows up here too. On the left is the temple in Jerusalem, and on the right is Mount Gerizim.]

“In the center is the Samaritan woman’s vessel. We aren’t told whether she fills the jar or gives Jesus water, however we are told that she leaves the jar behind. Her need is not the water in the well; her need is for grounding in a new identity, and to be seen for who she really is. She needs to be defined not by the worst parts of her life, the number of her husbands, or others’ assumptions, but to be seen through the lens of mutual need—to be seen as one of the first witnesses of the Messiah, and now a vessel of living water herself.”

What do you most need?

What defines you?

Is Jesus needing your life to be defined by something deeper, something truer?

What springs of water are waiting to gush up in you?

Jesus, our vulnerable Savior, meets us at the font and at the table.

Jesus engages us in conversation today through scripture and song.

Jesus asks for our help, our vulnerability, our witness, our mutuality.

Jesus gives us living water to spring up to eternal life.

Let’s take a moment for silent prayer.

 Rev. Lauren Wright Pitman, Artists statement for the piece “Living Water Inspired by John 4:5-42”

Digital painting purchased from A Sanctified Art, asanctifiedart.org