The blind and the lame came to Him at the temple, and he healed them. But when the chief priests and the teachers of the law saw the wonderful things he did and the children shouting in the temple area,
“Hosanna to the Son of David,” they were indignant.
Do you not hear what these children are saying?” they asked him.
“Yes,” replied Jesus, “have you never read, “From the lips of children and infants you have ordained praise?
And he left them and went out of the city to Bethany, where he spent the night. (Matthew 21: 14-17)

The children shouted, “Hosanna!” I beg you to save us.

Children do not make themselves bigots. They are not born materialistic. They do not come out of the womb with low self-esteem, therefore bullying others to feel superior. Nor are children born with any notion of what beauty is. They are molded, influenced, corrupted … by someone else and/or society. They are innocents exposed. So why is it that they are miraculously not all totally mucked up? How is it, given every effort of sabotage, that children are amazingly smart, brave, caring and intuitive? When the innocents speak we should listen.

The children shouted, “Hosanna! I beg you to save us.

Have we not witnessed countless children over the past few weeks saying just these words? Shouting, pleading, banding together … I beg you to save us. Regardless of how one interprets the data regarding the prevalence of school shootings and what determines a mass shooting, the fact is that children in every corner of this country are afraid to go to school. At the end of the day, most of us wonder about going anywhere in public in our country today. We wonder who lurks with a weapon that shoots 90-120 rounds per minute into an unsuspecting crowd.

When my daughter moved to Texas she joined a PCUSA church. Reflective of our denomination’s thoughtful reformed tradition, this church’s stated mission is to be “deliberately diverse and fully inclusive.” In particular, this church’s reputation (long before the historic vote in Detroit) is one that welcomes the LGBT community. My daughter is straight, however being “deliberately diverse and fully inclusive” matters a great deal to her and her young generation. She got married in this church and while we were in the throes of planning the wedding, I visited and worshipped there one Sunday with her. Just after the passing of the peace during a very traditional service, a man stood up and began to loudly publicly shout vulgarities to the effect of, “You sinners … accepting gays … all going to Hell!!” After this brief tirade, he flung on a large backpack and stormed out. In a split second I thought, “What if he is the sort to open that backpack and use a machine gun to mow us down?” This obviously did not happen. Like I have said, he made a scene and then stormed out. That same Sunday happened to be the very first day for their new Pastor. She was remarkably unflustered and preached an excellent sermon about why our friends hurt us. That she would preach on that very topic at that very time was certainly by God’s grace, love and divine guidance.

We have had countless mass shootings in all sorts of venues. We are living in a constant heightened state of fear. And if I may be so bold … the culture that is harboring this fear is of our own doing. Who is the adult in the room?! I lament that we give credence to the voices of too many modern day chief priests and their scribes. We as Christians should be doing everything we can to elevate (and be one with) the voices of the children.

So let us be like the children and shout, “Hosanna”! I beg you to save us.

Amen.

“For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God.” Ephesians 2:8

Even if you are not a huge football fan, you have to admit the way this season unfolded for the Eagles gave the city of Philadelphia and its surroundings a boost in morale. Finally, after years of mediocrity punctuated by just enough seasons where they were good and close enough to the prize to make it really hurt, they not only went to the Big Game, but with their backup quarterback (and facing the dynasty also known as the Patriots), they won it!

And although there are several storylines of their journey that found their way into many pulpits (including the Providential selection of Isaiah 40:31 as an appointed scripture reading for Super Bowl Sunday), the more important lesson to learn from this shared roller coaster ride of emotions is, “Now what?”

Let’s face it. In this region we are used to shifting gears from excitement to disappointment to resignation, and finally to philosophical musings. We’ve gotten comfortable over the years coming to terms with something less than the happiest of endings. But actually winning the Big One – this is new territory. Even in the movies, when stuff like this happens, they roll the credits. What comes after the initial victory that is transferable to the Game of Life once the grease is off the light poles and the parade is over?

The scripture passages for the fourth Sunday of Lent hang together in a way that provides perspective on our life circumstances in all seasons:

Psalm 107 is arguably the most dramatic of the readings. It is a psalm of thanksgiving, giving voice to individuals who know the saving grace of God first-hand and have a story to tell. One was lost in the wilderness with no food or water. Another was in prison, sentenced to hard labor, at the end of his strength, and no one cared. A third was suffering illness so severely as not to be able to eat or drink, and was near death. A fourth was on the high seas in the midst of a storm so rough they felt the water was tossing the boat into the heavens one second and pulling it to the ocean floor the next.

In each case, whether their plight had been the result of their own doing or not, at the pivotal moment they cried to God and were delivered. The wanderer was led to an inhabited town, the prisoner was freed, the infirmed was healed, and the seas were calmed. Having lived to tell the story, each has come to the sanctuary to bear witness and give thanks to God.

The Old Testament reading from Numbers 21:4-9 probably reminds us of people we see every day, maybe even the one we see in the mirror. Like those who gave their testimony in Psalm 107, the people of Israel have reason to give thanks. Less than 40 years removed from some of God’s most miraculous acts of salvation on their behalf and fresh on the heels of yet another prayed-for victory, their thanksgiving was short or rote at best.

Their complaints of, “Why have you brought us up out of Egypt to die in the wilderness? For there is no food and no water, and we detest this miserable food,” are not new to their weary leader Moses. In the past, the people complained to Moses, and he complained to God about them. And whether through the provision of manna on the grass each morning, quail so abundant they were sick of it after a couple days, or water flowing from a rock, God responded to their questions of, “What have you done for me lately?” remarkably.

This time, the Lord sent poisonous serpents among the people and many Israelites died through the serpents bites. When the people acknowledged their sinful lack of gratitude and Moses interceded in prayer on their behalf, God instructed Moses to make a serpent of bronze, wrap it around a pole, and lift it up so that anyone bitten by a serpent could look at it and be healed.

The epistle reading from the first ten verses of Ephesians 2 relates Paul’s counsel to a congregation like many today. It is welcoming of the new believer still awestruck from dramatic salvation encounters reminiscent of those in Psalm 107. It is also the home of those who grew up in a household of faith, or were so seasoned in their identity as Christians they had begun to think of those out of the church as different from themselves.

Paul reminds them they “were (as) dead in the trespasses and sins” as those not in the church. Not only were they (and we) like them, but it is only by God’s grace and love that, “even when we were dead in our trespasses, (God) made us alive together in Christ.” (v.5) Knowing it is one thing to recognize a need for God when we are in trouble, and quite another when we believe ourselves to be pretty decent church-folk, Paul makes it clear in verses 8 and 9, “For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God – not the result of works, so that no one may boast.”

Boom! Drop the mic!

In my experience, most of my encounters with the serpent have been less about being bitten and more about being seduced to eat the fruit offered. Namely, I am more likely to rationalize any choice that is not in total obedience to God as no big thing, not hurting anyone, or a small “oops” in an otherwise good life. In so doing, I find myself negating the truth of the gospel for myself and others. My good works are not good enough, and pretending they are, and projecting a worldview based on that premise for others, is a recipe for death of the soul.
Like winning a Super Bowl, we may reach a moment when we believe we have done everything right and have won the Game of Life, but those moments are not sustainable forever.

The gospel reading from John 3 provides perspective for everyone seeking a victorious life: “God so loved the world that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.” And even that belief is a gift from God. Only by looking to the Son of Man who was lifted up, “just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness” (v. 14) will we find healing.

May this Lent deepen our faith, our gratitude, and our invitation to others to embrace it in every season of life.

“If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and
take up their cross and follow me.”
Mark 8:34

I have read and preached on numerous occasions about Jesus’ invitation to cross-carrying discipleship. Yet when I recently wrestled with these words in the safe and comfortable confines of my local coffee shop, I paused. I have never been threatened with the fate of a cross. The ancient Roman symbol of criminality and treason has not been hoisted upon my shoulders or public record for any reason, let alone my faith. While I have faced a few inconveniences and made marginal life alterations based on personal convictions and matters of faith, I have done so at my own will. Even my choice to participate in occasional activism has been a free decision with minimal consequence. My story of discipleship encounters little resistance from outside authorities and is framed by privilege not persecution, which occasionally creates dissonance when I read Jesus’ words.

For most in the Western world, this is our story. We do well to acknowledge such positions of assumed comfort, especially as we pray for and become more aware of those for whom the cross is more than a devotional exercise but a daily burden carried as it intersects with the their race, orientation, economic class, the laws of the land, and encounters with oppressive systems in this nation and those abroad. Their voices and witnesses must be elevated as those most credible to speak to the depths of discipleship.

But my privilege is not the end of my struggle with Sunday’s gospel narrative. I also wrestle with the implications of Jesus’ invitation to the denial of ourselves as a prescriptive measure for discipleship.

Since the beginning of Lent, my newsfeeds have been dominated by stories of young people rallying around the country in light of the horrific events that unfolded on Ash Wednesday at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland, Florida. They are calling attention to how, in light of yet another mass shooting that has claimed the lives of our youngest citizens, they are regularly denied the very protection and security of themselves. While adults spin wheels in partisan debates about gun laws and how to make their schools safe and secure versus domestic war zones, youth are taking to streets and microphones to demand immediate action that improves their condition and eases their plight right now. I lament that grown-ups have made it so youth feel the need to act as their own advocates, but I am grateful they are doing just that. They refuse to be denied themselves and their right to life.

The same could be said of those most marginalized by pervasive and systemic racism, women whose stories trended the #MeToo movement and underscored the reality of gender inequality, sexual harassment, and abuse, and others most susceptible to pipelines to prison that exploit young people of color in ghettoized communities that lack access to necessities like grocery stores, clean water, and quality education. Their very selves are denied and their cries for a more just society exploited as pawns in abstract rhetorical games.

Again I hear Jesus and pause, “if any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.” I then wonder, what does it mean to deny ourselves when so many have had their selves denied not as a mark of discipleship but as victims of a broken, divisive, violent, and wounded world?

One answer may lie in our willingness to embrace the call of Christ to deny anything that isolates us from the concerns of or increases the risk of harm to our most vulnerable neighbors. Instead, we walk, possibly even march, alongside any and all whose selves are being denied. We do so no matter the cost to our personal well-being or the life of our institutions, preferring the divine thing of steadfast commitment to God’s concern for those on the margins over human things of privilege, power, and insulated self-interest (Mark 8:33). This is the bedrock of Jesus’ words and witness that we are neither to be ashamed of nor deny in the midst of this “adulterous and sinful generation” (Mark 8:38).

Over the last three years of my call to serve alongside the faithful of this Presbytery of Philadelphia, I have been deeply moved by the cross-bearing, self-denying witnesses of our churches and related ministries. Congregations and worshipping communities have constructed T-Shirt memorials for victims of gun violence, attended judicial hearings for detained immigrants, provided hospitality for refugees, and written grants for mural projects created alongside artists previously incarcerated who work collectively towards restorative justice and the reform of the prison system. There are faithful saints who developed programs to provide nutrition for children in at-risk and neglected urban neighborhoods and other congregations partnered with local agencies to combat the opioid epidemic that continues to deny their neighbors wholeness and health. In all of these faithful expressions and more, isolated categories of conservative or progressive have been cast aside and minds set not on human things but the words of Christ, who was always on the side of the marginalized and oppressed.

As we continue to move through this Lenten journey, which began with an all-too-familiar reminder of the brokenness of the human and social condition, may we ponder what it means for us to deny ourselves for the sake of all those whose selves are being denied. May we continue to listen to the cries and concerns of our neighbors, especially the youngest disciples among us, in efforts to imagine how Jesus is inviting us to carry crosses either alongside or on their behalf. May we cling to and fix our minds on the words and witness of Christ versus any other human thing, to include partisan agendas. In so doing, may our discipleship begin to bear fruit of solidarity and hope in even the darkest and most despairing of places, no matter the cost.