"How good and pleasant it is!"

Psalm 133

Pastor Tom Johnson, April 15, 2012

 

“How good and pleasant it is to live together in unity!” How wonderful and a joy it is when sisters and brothers live in loving community! How great a blessing it is when the people of God are a true family of faith! How desperately this world needs a genuine, authentic community of unconditional love—a place where people can be themselves and accepted—a place where no one is unfairly judged. How needed are genuine friends and companions in life’s journey—people who are truly interested in you—who really do pray for you—and are there to encourage you and cheer you on! How high a call it is for us to love one another as Christ loved us—self-sacrificially—laying one’s life down for others—selflessly giving of yourself to your sisters and brothers in Christ—and to always be ready for another friend! How beautiful it is when the power of the Resurrection transforms us, heals broken relationships, and keeps us close to our heavenly Father! How precious is the evidence of the Holy Spirit working in the lives of his people! “How good and pleasant it is to live together in unity!”

How sad and disappointing it is when we live in disharmony! How tragic it is when we cannot resolve conflict in a God-pleasing way! How disheartening it is when the church feels like a social club! How shameful it is when the church has junior high politics—when we have cliques, gossip, and don’t settle disagreements as children of light—with the faith that every conflict we have is an opportunity to glorify God. How discouraging it is when we major on minors—choose our battles unwisely—where being right or winning an argument is more important than seeking understanding—where we are slow to listen and quick to anger. How much it grieves the Holy Spirit when we harbor bitterness—when we lack the courage to face conflict head on—when we do not trust God to bring about peace which the world cannot give—when we do not participate in Jesus’ ministry of reconciliation.

“How good and pleasant it is to live together in unity!” It is like the consecration of the high priest—the lavish pouring of oil on Aaron’s head—that is so plentiful that it not only anoints his head but drips off his full, priestly beard—and saturates the collar of his robe. Togetherness in Christ’s Church is like wine spilling over the brim of the cup of blessing that runs over into everyone’s life. Harmony among sisters and brothers is what the ministry of reconciliation is all about. The consecration of Hebrew priests and the ordination of pastors should reconcile us to God and one to another. The core of the Christian faith is forgiveness of sins flowing from the crucified and risen Savior, Jesus Christ. When we withhold forgiveness and neglect harmonious relationships, we are missing what religion is all about—loving God with our whole heart, mind and strength—and loving each other as Jesus loved the Church.

“How good and pleasant it is to live together in unity!” It is like the dew of Hermon flowing down on the hills of Zion. Mt. Hermon in the north is always saturated with moisture unlike the dry, arid hills of Zion. Living together in unity is like the cool rain of Seattle pouring down on the hot and thirsty ground of Phoenix. True community is like the quiet, bright rays of sunshine breaking through after a loud and turbulent storm. The family of God is the strong tower of refuge from this embattled world—it is the living proof that the Kingdom of God is among us—the manifestation of the Gospel for the world to see—as Jesus said, “They will know you are my disciples by your love for one another” (John 13:35).

“How good and pleasant it is to live together in unity!” For it is in this place—the gathering of the people of God—where God has uttered his decree and commanded the blessing—life forevermore! It is in our assembly where the power of the resurrection is put on full display. It is here at the font where God washes away our sins and declares that we are his royal, adopted children. It is here at the pulpit where his Word goes out and does not return void but assures us of his grace and forgiveness. It is here at the Table where Jesus gives his Body and Blood with the bread and the wine—and he assures us that our sins are forgiven and strengthens our faith for the week ahead. It is in this sweet communion and fellowship of the saints where God has commanded the blessing—life forevermore! We are the bearers of the power of the resurrection! We are the stewards of the message of Jesus Christ. He boldly proclaims that we have eternal life in him. We can courageously embrace one another as one with the confidence that our unity is a foretaste of the oneness that will have no end. How good and pleasant it is! How good and pleasant it will forever be!

“Do not fear, he is risen!”

Mark 16.1-8

Pastor Tom Johnson, April 8, 2012

 

Our reading from Mark ends a little abruptly: “They said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.” I believe this is exactly how Mark wanted to end the story. There is a clear thread tying this whole passage together: fear. Our story is rife with fear. Fear of religious authority makes the women wait until the end of the Sabbath to go anoint the body of Jesus. To touch a dead body would make them ritually unclean. Fear of the heavy stone covering Jesus’ tomb and their lack of human strength make them question how they will overcome that obstacle. Fear comes when they see the stone already rolled away. Even more fear comes when they do not see the body of Jesus but, instead, a young man dressed in a white robe.

“Do not be alarmed—do not fear,” the angel says, “You look for Jesus of Nazareth. He is raised from the dead! Go and tell the disciples and Peter. He is going ahead of you to Galilee.” But “they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.” Fear almost keeps them from realizing the wonderful truth of what has happened. Fear almost prevents them from discovering the empty tomb. And, at the very end, fear seizes them—paralyzes them—holds them in a headlock so they cannot do what the angel tells them to do.

If we are painfully honest, the three women are not very different from us. Fear is doing its dirty work in our lives. Fear takes hold of us. Fear debilitates and paralyzes us from living the lives God wants us to enjoy. Fear may come from religious authority and tradition—like the women who feared touching a dead body during the high feast of Passover and doing “work” on a Sabbath day. Jesus said, “Humans were not made for the Sabbath but the Sabbath for humans.”

Religion should not bind us and make us live under the fear of being judged by others. Our faith community should be a place that sets us free from fear. Christ has not called us to judge one another and put legalistic burdens on one another. He has called us forgive one another, pray, and serve one another…just as Jesus “came, not to be serve, but to serve and give his life for many” (Mark 10:45).

Fear comes from powerlessness to overcome obstacles. Like the women who fear the prospects of a heavy stone they cannot roll away, there are things that make us confront our powerlessness—a dread of things that we cannot fix by our own strength: broken relationships, addiction, illness, resentment, anger, anxiety and many other things. But Jesus says, “What is impossible for mortals is possible with God.” (Lk 18:47).

Fear even comes when we witness the impossible like the women who see the stone rolled away and the angel sitting there—when we hear what seems to be too good to be true. Maybe fear overcomes us because we have grown so cynical. A lot of advertisements and sales pitches are too good to be true. Nothing is free. There is always a catch with a good offer. Fear of being disillusioned again keeps us from believing the story of Jesus that is good news, free, and where we are God’s catch.

Fear, not doubt, is the enemy of faith. Doubt is part of true and living faith. But fear—fear will keep us from going on that faith journey. Fear will prevent us from considering the claims of Christ. Fear will end our pilgrimage before it even has a chance to begin.

Fear also comes when something great is expected from us. The angel tells the women, “Go and tell the disciples and Peter the good news.” Responsibility can be scary—especially for these women in a patriarchal culture. It can be frightening when people entrust us with important things. We don’t feel worthy. We can’t control how people will respond. We fear failure. The Apostle Paul says, “I planted, Apollos watered, but God caused the growth.” It does not depend on us. Yes, God wants us to participate in what he is doing. But we can leave the results up to him. Don’t miss those powerful words from the angel: “Do not be alarmed,” he says, “[Jesus] is going ahead of you to Galilee—the risen Christ precedes you.” He goes before us and makes a way. He overcomes all our fears.

Scripture says, “There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear” (1 Jn 4:18). God loves us by sending his Son to die and rise again to deliver us from evil, guilt, condemnation, and the power of fear itself. “Do not be alarmed,” the angel says, “You look for Jesus of Nazareth. He is raised from the dead!” Jesus lives! Even though we may have our doubts—even though unanswered questions remain, there is no reason to be afraid. He goes ahead us—he will safely bring us to the next part of our journey.

Whom shall we fear? Christ has overcome death. What is that great stone but a grain of sand for God? The empty tomb says it all! Death and fear no longer have the power to seize and paralyze us. Jesus has given us the victory. We have the assurance of his forgiveness. We have the certainly of eternal life. Do not fear. He goes before you. Christ is risen!

“The Iniquity of Us All”

Isaiah 53.6

Pastor Tom Johnson, April 6, 2012

 

“All we like sheep have gone astray; we have all turned to our own way, and the Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all.” The Shepherd of the sheep has been struck down. And the sheep have been scattered. They have all gone separate paths—different paths but just as wayward. One sheep has betrayed him. Another has denied him. Some cry out “Crucify him!” Others shout, “He saved others, let him save himself.” Some see it as an opportunity to play a game for his clothing.

Our text does not say, “Some have gone astray like lost sheep.” It says, “All we like sheep have gone astray; we have all turned to our own way.” There are as many stray paths as there are sheep going astray. We could analyze the paths people take and decide which ones are worse than others. We might even sound clever doing so. But a stray path is a stray path. “All have sinned,” Scripture says, “All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.”

Look at Jesus—a blameless man dying an inhumane death—while some think it is a time for joking, some for gambling, some for theological speculation, and some for the pure sport of it. Some are complicit. Some are silent. Some have authority. Some are powerless to challenge authority. In this scene of ugly, ruthless, and agonizing death, we now see clearly. I see my propensity to wander from the truth—my nature to err—my broken human condition—that’s why the Son of God is hanging and dying on the tree.

“All we like sheep have gone astray; we have all turned to our own way.” We have not loved God with our whole hearts, minds, and strength. We have not loved others self-sacrificially. By our thoughts, our words, and our actions we have not lived the lives of selflessness, healing, and transformational power that Jesus lived. Instead, we have gone wandering down aimless paths—following our own noses and not the leading of the Good Shepherd. Like lost sheep, we are not sure where we came from or where we are going. We grow anxious as we grope in the darkness of our own making.

“All we like sheep have gone astray; we have all turned to our own way, and the Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all.”

That is where the iniquity more remarkably lies. Sure, there is the iniquity of what we do to one another and what we have done to God. But the iniquity of an innocent man taking upon himself all that guilt, shame, and fear is what is most astounding. He does not deserve his sentence. It is unfair that he would receive the scorn, pain, and death of the cross. It is unfair that Jesus takes upon himself our uncivil, unjust, and broken evil and its power upon himself in a grotesque spectacle of death. It is, as our reading says, “a perversion of justice.”

And so, that makes all of us participants in this great iniquity. We are all a part of the reason and cause for his dying there. But it is also the Lord’s plan to lay that iniquity upon him for us.

For he alone has strong enough shoulders to bear our sin. By his obedience, innocence, and righteousness we are healed. The death of Jesus is not the end of the story—it is the beginning of the death of death. It is the last, failed effort to crush the living One and the hope of Life himself. It is the last try to cover the Light with darkness. Death, sin, and evil will not triumph. They cannot. They will not. Though it looks dark and bleak for the moment, it is only because it is Friday—Good Friday. Tomorrow is Saturday. We are just hours away from early Sunday morning. For now, we reflect on the darkness.

And here we are grateful to the Good Shepherd who lies down his life for his wandering sheep.

“The Last Passover Meal”

Exodus 12.1-14

Pastor Tom Johnson, April 5, 2012

 

Our Old Testament reading reminds us that the Last Supper—or the night when Jesus’ institutes the Lord’s Supper—is, in fact, a traditional celebration of the feast of the Passover.
Jesus and disciples tell the old, old story again of the Exodus—and it is story told through food. Maybe you have had a similar experience how the sound of fine china, the smell from the kitchen, the sight, touch, and taste of certain foods can stir the senses and resurrect old memories.

The sight, smell, and taste of home baked ginger cookies bring me right back into my grandmother’s mustard yellow and pale green kitchen. I remember her cookies that were cracked like the bed of a dried up river. I see her in her frilly apron and feel the air coming into her unairconditioned home.

More importantly, through food, I re-experience her hospitality. I can better retell the story. I am vicariously loved by her this very moment even though that moment has since passed thirty years ago. Just so was the Passover meal.

“Do you taste the bitter herbs? Do you remember the hard labor, the suffering, the inhumanity of slavery? Do you taste the salted water? Do you remember taste of tears on your children’s faces as you kissed and comforted them? Do you remember your tearful prayers to God when you were in your distress? Do you smell the roasted lamb? Do you remember how God told us to paint our doorposts in blood? Do you remember how the blood caused the angel of death to pass over our homes? Do you remember the power of the blood? Do you remember how we ate unleavened bread…how we didn’t have time to let the bread rise…how we had to leave that very night in a hurry? Do you remember how God sustained us for forty years on the Manna, the bread of heaven? Do you see that cup of Elijah…that wine cup filled to the brim and overflowing? The day will come when God will bring us into a new era—the day the Messiah will rule his Kingdom in unprecedented world peace.”

It is in the deep-seated memory of times past and hope for the things to come that Jesus takes the bread, distributes it, and says, “This is my body, given for you. Do this in memory of me.” “I am the Bread of heaven. I am the Lamb of God. I am he who will sustain you through the wilderness of this world. Remember me deep into the Exodus and deep into your own deliverance from this world’s evil.”

Jesus then takes the prophetic cup of Elijah in memory of the blood of the Lamb painted on the doorposts to ward away death itself. “This cup is the new testament in my blood shed for you for the forgiveness of sins. Do this in memory of me.”

“A new and greater deliverance has come. Elijah has come in the person of John the Baptist. The reign of King David has come in the person of Jesus Christ. This blood painted on the posts of the cross will not only release captive Israel from Egypt—it will release all those throughout the world captive to sin and its power.”

Take, eat. Drink, all of you. Remember. Remember God’s faithfulness in the past. Anticipate it in your future. Let this bread and wine stir memory, wonder, and faith in you as it has for generations since that dark night in Egypt so long ago. The Last Supper is the beginning of a new and greater meal—the true Body and Blood of Jesus for all nations, tribes, and peoples—given in a greater understanding of love—the love of him who lays down his life for his friends. And like the Passover meal that was a foretaste of Christ’s giving of his Body and Blood in the Lord’s Supper, so the Lord’s Supper is also a foretaste of the Marriage Supper of the Lamb. This meal with angels, archangels, and all the company of heaven—a feast, a reunion with our loved ones who have preceded us, of rich food, of well aged wine, and perfect communion with our Lord Jesus.

"Why have you forsaken me?"

Mark 15.34

Pastor Tom Johnson, April 1, 2012

 

“Hosanna! Save us, O Lord! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord—the King of Israel.” “God bless you, Jesus! Fulfill our hopes! Rid us of the Romans! Take the throne! Deliver us from evil. Usher in world peace.” Even Jesus’ enemies cannot deny his popularity. The Pharisees say, “You can’t do anything about it. The whole world follows him.” Everything seems great. The disciples are with Jesus. The Romans and religious leaders leave him alone. And the crowds seem ready to embrace Jesus as their Savior and King.

But in few days, his disciples slip away into a groggy sleep at Jesus’ most difficult hour. One betrays him for silver. One denies him three times. They all run away when Jesus is arrested—one does naked. The Chief Priests abandon Jesus to Pilate. Pilate sends him away to Herod. Pilate’s wife encourages him to have nothing to do with Jesus. The loud hosannas from the crowds become shouts of “Crucify him!” from the mobs. And, finally, Pilate washes his hands and disposes of Jesus to the scourging and the cross. He is crucified. All seem to have forsaken Jesus. He is left to die hanging on a tree. Jesus is deserted by the world around him. And it is at that moment when he invites us into the loneliness of his world inside:

“Eloi Eloi, lema sabachthani?” “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” These words, so powerfully spoken and heart wrenching, are in Jesus’ Aramaic dialect—words that, once they entered the ear, echoed in the mind for a lifetime. “Eloi Eloi, lema sabachthani?”—as if no other language could adequately describe the hearing of this primordial cry. “Eloi Eloi, lema sabachthani?” These words would be strange and foreign sounds for Greek ears, just as they are strange and foreign toward ours.

The meaning of the words are no less strange and foreign coming from the lips of the Son of God—the Messiah—true God in human flesh. He cries out, “Why, God? Where are you? How is it that the Son can feel forsaken by his heavenly Father?” These words remind us that when Jesus died, he carried the full weight of sin, evil, and death itself. Jesus, who was tempted in every way yet without sin, experienced the cross in the most profound, human way. These words express the worst kind of death—worse than the separation of the body and spirit—separation from God—not experiencing the comfort of God’s loving and protective presence.

Yes, Jesus knows he will die and rise again. Yes, he knows that God has not abandoned him and will receive him in that very hour in Paradise. But Jesus still feels the very human, terrifying sensation that he is alone.

If the Son of God could feel that very human emotion—if Jesus’ faith could be tested at such a profound and spiritual level, then we should not be surprised that we may also feel that terrifying sensation that we are alone—that God has abandoned us—has left us as orphans—has ignored our suffering. Like Jesus, we may also find ourselves feeling alone with the question:

“Why?” “Why have you forsaken me. Why are you so far from my groanings? Why have you allowed this tragedy to happen? How can you know about the terrible things that happen all around us and seem like you are doing nothing? The silence is troubling. You seem absent. And my faith seems to be withering in the heat of temptation and thirst for your reassuring presence.”

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” This is Jesus’ prayer. Jesus borrows the words from King David in Psalm 22. And so, we should not fear to pray as the King of Israel and the King of kings do. Just moments after prays this, Jesus breathes his last. He enters immediately into the loving presence of his Father. No longer does he experience the agony of feeling forsaken. Jesus opens the door for all of us into the warmth and rest of an eternal, loving relationship with our heavenly Father.

Though we cry out in our confusion—though we may feel alone in our journey, God is with us. We may find that when we cry out in fear, God will overcome our fears—if we have the courage to lay all our burdens upon him who cares for us—upon Jesus who will sustain us—the Good Shepherd who leads us through the valley of the shadow of death. He may not answer according to our timetable. He may not manifest his presence for eyes and ears to observe. But he is there. He cares. He loves us. He will bring us safely through to the other side. “Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes in the morning.”