#IamAlive

sermon by Carrie Eikler
John 20:19-31, 1 Peter 1:3-9

I will admit, I am not the quickest when it comes to new technology. 

My mother made us get a cell phone when I was pregnant with Sebastian  8 years ago.

Since then Torin and I have had only one cell phone between us, and it is pretty basic.  Texting, calls.  No internet, no GPS.

I didn’t get on facebook until a couple of years ago.  I really didn’t get what apps were.  I’ve never sent a Tweet.  I’m still trying to figure out what this whole hashtag craze is (for an example, check the title of your sermon).

So for those of you as slow, or slower, than I am with bringing in new social media lingo into your life, let me give you a quick glossary of terms.

Social media=is the interaction among people in which they create, share or exchange information and ideas in virtual communities and networks.  Facebook and Twitter are the most popular, but more and more are popping up all over the place.

App=short for applications.  These are essentially…things that help you do stuff on your devices.  I can’t explain it more than that.

Tweets=the cute name for messages put on the social media site Twitter.

Selfie=a picture one takes of oneself, generally with their phone, a sort of digital self-portrait.

Hash tag (again, sermon title)= these are number signs placed before certain words in social media, such as Twitter, to group messages containing the same hashtagged word.  For example, if you sent a Tweet saying I’m having a great Sunday at #MorgantownCOB, others might use #MorgantownCOB in their tweets and you could see all the people talking about Morgantown COB!

Sometimes, even I, long for the romantic process of pen and paper.  An envelope and a stamp.  But this is how contemporary society communicates.  Sometimes it all seems mundane or narcissistic or a playground for the bored and unfocused, but sometimes this social media has taken a deeper purpose.

Sandra Hassan is a 26-year old student from Lebanon living in Paris.  Hassan had gotten sick of worrying about family and friends whenever she heard news of a suicide bombing in her hometown of Beirut.  A detonation on January 21 spurred her to action.  Partly out of dark humor, partly out of practical concern, she created the “I Am Alive” app.  According to an article in the most recent edition of The Atlantic, the was an “expression of discontent” on Hassan’s part. 

This app allows users, with one touch to tweet a reassuring message to their followers: “I am still alive! #Lebanon #LatestBombing.”  The app quickly caught on: within a month it was downloaded more than 5,000 times.  In addition to cultural commentary, it provided a much-needed service to people who live in areas targeted by terrorists—and to those who care about them.   The moments following a suicide bombing are, after all, among the worst times to make a phone call.  Networks jam.  Getting sent to voice mail induces dread.  “It’s the same cycle each time,” Hassan says.  “You have to rush to your phone or Facebook or Twitter to try to make sure that everyone you know is okay.  It’s a horrible feeling.”  On the ground, the trilling of victims’ phones becomes an eerie score to the aftermath.

In the moments after crisis, everything is stripped away.  Belief, hope, peace. 

This is exactly how I picture Jesus’ followers in the days following the crucifixion.  Moments after crisis.  Everything stripped away.  Not knowing what was going out amidst the rubble, not knowing what to believe in, hope for, where to find peace.

After reading this article about instant survival messages, I was imagining what it would have been like if Jesus was crucified in the age of social media.

Jesus texting Thomas he was alive.
Thomas not believing it.

Jesus taking a selfie to prove it.

Thomas saying someone could have simply gotten that off of Jesus’ Facebook account.

Jesus tweeting pictures of his bloody hands, feet, and side with the hash tag #IamAlive.

Wow.  Now that is to be believed.

And Jesus comes in. Just as he burst from the tomb, so he maneuvers around locked doors to stand among them.  Without the benefit of social media, Jesus comes to prove he is alive, not berating Thomas of his understandable doubts, he gives Thomas what he needs in order to believe.

He gives Thomas what he needs in order to believe.

Unashamed, unembarrassed, he offers his wounds.  Go ahead, touch them, get your fingers in there.  Get messy.  Feel it.  Be a part of it.  I am alive.

The Thomas story is presented every year, the Sunday after Easter.  This is an important story to the Easter season, showing us that we are now witnesses to the Risen Christ.  And we often talk about Thomas’ doubt.  And I have given many an apologetic sermon for Thomas, bestowing the virtures of Thomas, the place we all share with Thomas’ doubts.

But there is more to this story than focusing on Thomas’ doubts.  There is more than imagining what it would be like to feel Jesus’ wounds.

What would it be like, to feel Jesus’ breath?

Before Thomas even came into the room, Jesus said “Peace be with you.  as the Father has sent me, so I send you.” and then he breathed on them and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit.  If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.”

This story is sometimes called John’s Pentecost, because here Jesus breathes (which in Hebrew breath and spirit are the same word) the spirit on them, just like the spirit comes upon the people at Pentecost.

Here it is not in tongues of fire, but hot wet breath.

And while the breath is still settling on them Jesus tells them now, go forgive.

Wasn’t that what he said when he breathed is last breath on the cross? “Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do?

Receive the Spirit.  Forgive sins.

Not receive the spirit, go convert people.

Not, receive the spirit, go testify.

Not, receive the spirit, go start a war to vindicate my torture.

Not even, receive the spirit, go pray.

Once we receive the spirit, we are compelled to go forgive others.

Forgiveness: the first task of discipleship.

We have just come out of the Lenten season, with its focus on confession, repentance, asking God to forgive our sins.

What if, in the season of Easter (the 50 days between Easter and Pentecost), we shifted our focus to forgiving others?  Easter as a season of forgiveness.

 

Forgiveness is close and personal, like breath on your face.

Definitely like touching an open wound.

Like a locked door in our heart, Christ omes to us, comes in, gives us peace, and strengthens us to forgive.

So take a moment and think about who have you been withholding your forgiveness from? (pause)

What happened between you and that person?

What might forgiving them look like?  Is it a face-to-face conversation?  A letter?  Is it simply consciously letting go of hurt, and a prayer saying “I forgive you.” 

What would it feel like to release that anger, and open it up with forgiveness?

Our quest to forgive can be our hashtag that Christ is alive.  The sign that connects us to Christ’s message in the world.

Christ is alive in us when we forgive. 

Christ is alive in the world when we walk through the rubble of violence and seek reconciliation.

Christ is alive when even in our doubts we seek understanding, and we forgive our shortcomings.

Christ is Alive!  Receive the Spirit.  Forgive sins.

Alleluia and Amen.

Christ is Alive!

sermon by Torin Eikler
John 20:1-18

The Lord is Risen!

The dark days are over.  The stone has been rolled away.  Death has been defeated.  And Christ has opened the way to eternal life and joy in the embrace of God.  Christ is alive!

 

That is the eternal message of Easter – the promise laid out for us in the scriptures – the gift given to us in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus.  Sometimes we lose sight of that as we walk through the stories year after year and get caught up in the details of what happened and the experiences of those who witnessed the miracle of that first morning.  Still the power and promise and hope remains, and it is cause for us to celebrate.

So I was taken aback several years ago, when I found myself talking to someone who seemed to be disturbed by Easter morning worship.  I was working with youth at the Disciples of Christ church at the time, and this young man came into the classroom the week after Easter looking very disturbed.  I was concerned myself because I knew that he had a difficult family life, and I was worried that something might have happened at home.  But when I asked him what was the problem, he asked me a question in return.

“Did Jesus have to die?”

“What?” I said.

 

“What?” … That was my brilliant reply.  His question caught me so off guard that I couldn’t think of anything else to say.  And it turned out to be a good reply, because it opened the door for him to tell me about the struggle he had been having that week, wondering why Jesus had to die.  If God was so powerful and loving, he thought, why would he send his son to Earth just to be killed as a sacrifice?

I spent some time explaining that, from my perspective, Jesus did not have to die.  He came to teach us and show the way of life that would bring the Kingdom – that would bring heaven on earth, and that kind of change didn’t sit well with the people who were in power.  So, rather than allow him to continue, they killed him.  He let them do it because he understood the importance of treating each other with love, the power of forgiveness, and our need to follow God even if it takes us to the cross.  “But,” I told him, “things might have been different if everyone would have listened to him.  If everyone had gotten the message, the world might have become paradise in one lifetime.” 

I told him that because I believe it.  I believed it then, and I believe it now.  Jesus life was more important than his death, … and I think that his resurrection validates that claim.

And yet, I have been thinking a lot about Jesus’ death this year.  I’ve been thinking about death in general more than usual.  I’ve been looking around at the way that the hard winter and the late frosts have killed off some of the plants and even frozen the leaves of many of the hardiest shrubs and ivies in our neighborhood.  And I guess that has made me a little bit sad.

But this week I noticed that newer, more vibrant leaves and shoots are coming out on those very same vines and branches that still hold the brittle memories of previous years.  I have noticed new seedlings growing up through the browned and decaying collections of weeds and other plants that took too much encouragement from the earlier warm spells.  And I was reminded of a truth I learned as a child and again as a youth … and again as a young man – death makes way for new life.

 

I have come to feel that Jesus’ death was important … that even the manner of his dying – held up for all to see – was important.  It made space in the hearts and minds of the disciples.  It cleared out the brittle hopes and the decaying expectations of glory that had collected over their years following the strange, wise, prophetic miracle worker they had come to call teacher and friend.  It prepared the way for something new – something more vibrant … more wonderful – to take root.

I see that happening in the story of Mary and the disciples rushing to the tomb.  Lost and confused they left their huddled grief and confusion behind them to run and see what had happened to Jesus’ body.  They found the empty tomb and the first shoots of new hope and faith began to sprout in their hearts as they walked back to the others.  Mary stood, though, her tears pouring from her heart and watering the earth that had been covered by stone.  She stayed, looking for more … hoping for something.  She looked and saw not only angelic messengers but the very face of the risen Christ, and whole new fields of possibility sprang to life within her, beckoning her to grab hold of new life, calling her to share the good news.

 

Not just good news for the disciples.  Not just good news for the people of Israel.  Good news for us.  Christ is alive!  He has risen from the tomb and goes before to prepare the way.  He calls out to all people through the Spirit that lives within. 

He calls out, inviting to those who would follow him to step onto the new way he has opened to us. 

He calls out … calls us by name,

            gently beckons:
                    “Come to me.  Embrace new life.”

Christ is alive.  Let us rejoice!

Do You Believe in Miracles?

sermon by Carrie Eikler

I have a question easy to ask, but likely hard to answer.

Do you believe in miracles?

Yes?  No?

I’m not going to venture who among you would say yes and who would say no.  But I would venture to guess that among you, there is what I like to call a “but” response.  These but responses are very common among us, I believe.

Do you believe in miracles?    “Yes, but…” 

Do you believe in miracles?    “No, but…”

Do you believe in miracles?

 

Miracles are tricky things to talk about in a Western Christian context.  Add to that a largely Protestant dismissiveness of mystery and a twenty-first century skepticism and rationalism, it is easy to leave the miracles stories in the bible as nice fairy tales, but not things to hitch our hopes on.

When we encounter miracle stories--when we talk about the presence of these stories in our sacred text-- it is, for me, spoken with reservation.

Because our belief or lack of belief in miracles points to something.

It points to how we see God working in the world.  It points to what we do or do not believe is possible in the natural realm.  It points to how and what we put our faith in.

And we are nervous to share those possibilities with other people.  Either our church folk won’t appreciate our rational doubts, or our non-church friends will feel we are too…

I was presented with this…

In Allegheny Mennonite Conference there is a new church plant in Pittsburgh.  It is made up entirely of immigrants from the south Asian countries of Nepal and Bhutan.  You may remember a couple of years ago, a prayer request went out to pray for a baby named Simran.  Simran was born and not expected to live.  Her parents along with other sisters and brothers in the congregation gathered around Simran and prayed over Simran and waited on Simran and blessed Simran.

The doctors had said there was little hope.

Simran is alive and well today.  Was it a miracle?  Was it the prayers?

Then at the Allegheny Conference delegate gathering last October, Simran’s parents brought her to the meeting.  Simran was well beyond the age when most young children walk, but she showed no signs of being able to.  Her parents asked for prayers, prayers to strengthen little Simran’s legs, to help her walk.

The delegate body gathered around Simran and her parents, laid their hands on them and prayed.

We received word that the next day, Simran, who showed no previous ability to walk, took a step.  And then another.  And Simran walked.

Why did this happen?  How did it happen? 

I think what blocks me from fully embracing the possibility of miracles iswhy do some people get them, and some people don’t?  It’s the question Torin’s dad posed recently when preaching on Job…why do bad things happen to good people?

Why didn’t a miracle happen to those who died in the mudslide in Seattle, or the jetliner from Malaysia?  Why weren’t fervent prayers for a miracle answered by the mother who watched her young son die from leukemia, or answered by the young man who watched his partner die of AIDS?

These are the questions that have, in the past, bound me up and prevented me from embracing the possibilities of miracles.

I posed this question to my virtual community on Facebook.  I sometimes post things to generate conversation that might help me process my sermon.  So I simply asked “Do you believe in miracles?”  Here are some of the answers:

“Yes”

“No”

“Anything is possible”

“absolutely. Yet....I think that the miracle is in that we see what is already in place and happening”

"no. I believe in miraculous events, wonders seen and unseen, unexplainable phenomena and grace. But supernatural interventions are never going to be my thing because they are too hitched to a cosmology I don't follow."

"Yes. I believe creation is full of mysteries I will never comprehend, and some of those mysteries are miraculous."

"I believe life is miraculous on so many levels that it feels magical and unexplainable. I believe when incredibly good things happen to us…and being unexpected or unexplainable, we call it a miracle. But when something tragic happens that we can't explain, we don't call it a miracle."

"Miracles are everywhere, constant and ingrained in every cell of our body and every wee atom."

I loved all these answers.  And yet one, from our very own Elesha Coffman, who is now a professor of church history at the Dubuque Seminary responded to the question Do you believe in miracles with the following: Yes, but I’d say they are best glimpsed by not staring straight at them sort of like the Pleiades”.  She then attached a link to a question forum where someone asked the question

“I've noticed that the Pleiades but when I look directly at the constellation, it suddenly goes dim and it's more difficult to make out the individual stars.”  The Pleiades are a seven star cluster that is in the constellation Taurus.  But many have found that the clearest way to see these stars are not by looking directly at them, but to look around them, or to use your peripheral vision.  Once you try to look directly at them, head on, squinty to see the detail, it all goes fuzzy.

The answer to this question has to do with eye structure, which one respondent went into great detail about.  It’s about how we use the rods and cones in our eyes.  The cones in our eyes are greatly sensitive to color and work best in bright light.  This contrasts the works of rods which are more effective in low light conditions.  These rods are located off the center of our retina, meaning we see more clearly at night when looking not at the center or straight on.  This is called “averted vision.”

So what Elesha was pointing to, and a way that helps me look at these miracle stories of Jesus is embracing this averted vision. Not averting as in looking away, but averting as looking around, or looking from a different perspective in the darkness…in the space around the object, the stars, the miracle.

Our rational mind wants to read the miracle stories, or think about miracles in how the story and the action bumps up and challenges our conventional thinking of the physical.  Or we look at the story and hold it up as a biblical truth that validates our traditional thinking of spiritual truths.  So would it mean to look at the miracle stories, not looking at them straight on, but glimpsing them indirectly?

Let’s look at our miracle story today, the raising of Lazarus, with this averted vision.

I like that this all goes down in the dark, so already, we are using a different sort of vision, aren’t we?  Getting those rods in gear.  If we look around the story, we will take our focus off of Lazarus for a moment and the miracles that happened to him and looking at the side at the mysterious miraculous things going on.

And so much goes on in this story, my friend.

My favorite thing that happens is that here Martha gets a chance to redeem her scarred reputation as a whirling dervish who was too busy to sit by Jesus’ feet where Mary was.  You remember.  Martha, Martha.  Why do you bustle about when you could sit here?

Well, here it is Martha’s doing that gets something done.  She runs out into the dark, while Mary sits…you guessed it…at home.  Now I don’t mean to diminish Mary here, but I have to say I’m glad Martha gets some good stuff her way.  This miracle story starts to illumine when can action, busyness, assertiveness…be holy. 


When take our gaze away from looking directly at Lazarus, we see something about Jesus that we don’t come across much: his weeping.  His being moved.  Or as commentator David Howell says, here we witness “that even Jesus finds death horrible and gut-wrenching and real. What a relief that Jesus is moved to tears by our tears when we mourn. There is, as the book of Ecclesiastes tells us, "a time to mourn" (3:4). Apparently even for God.”


And I think that this averted sight can help us not just look at the goodness of miracles in a new way, but the pain of tragedy.  When September 11 happened, many parents sought ways to protect their children from the horror of the event, but media made that challenging.  Mr. Rogers was still alive at that time and he recounted something his mother told him as a child.  When he would see some catastrophe on the newsreels at the movies (because Mr. Rogers didn’t have a TV until he was out of college), when he would feel scared by what he saw, his mother would tell him:
 
“Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.” To this day, he said, especially in times of “disaster,” I remember my mother’s words and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers – so many caring people in this world…”They are often on the sidelines, but they are there.  That’s where our focus should be.”

Even Mr. Rogers shares this wisdom.  Look around, on the sidelines.  Here you will see miracles taking place.  Small miracles.  Small acts of mercy.
 When we started looking around the miracles, our eye sight changes.  Or maybe it’s our heart. We may unbind the need to look at these stories as factual accounts, and begin to see them as stories that point to something else, maybe even something more amazing, more incredible, more miraculous.