Yesterday I headed back to the church where I grew up, Christ Church in Columbia, Maryland, to preach as part of their 200 year anniversary. Here's my sermon...
April 18, 2010
Christ Church, Columbia, MD
John 21:1-19
I feel like I’m back home this morning. This is the church I grew up in. From the time I was a little girl until the time I headed off to college, this is where I came with my family pretty much every Sunday. Sometimes I’d try to get out of it, but mostly my parents insisted. So I was a Sunday school regular with the poor teachers who unwittingly volunteered to be with us. And then one of the core members of the youth group. As teens, we came from every high school around but most of us had been together so long in church we were a force to be reckoned with, although perhaps not a terribly spiritual bunch. I was a frequent acolyte, sitting up front worrying about whether I’d get up at the right time to do the ceremonial hand washing for the priest. I loved the moments when I felt like such a grown-up back in the sacristy getting into my red robe with Father Shields and the lay reader for the week. Even outside of church, the church was present. Frequently parishioners were over as part of foyer dinner and gourmet groups. I babysat for the next generation of kids from this place. I always felt like the other adults here cared about me. This church was home and the people here always felt like family.
Of course, back when I was here, there wasn’t this new building. We were still worshipping over there! That’s where I was an angel in the Christmas pageant year after year, standing on a chair in front of the altar. When I was old enough, I started sitting up in the balcony with my friends. We didn’t do a lot of paying attention in church, I have to admit. Instead, we did a lot of note-passing and whispering. I’m afraid to say there was even a little spitball throwing going on. And once I remember we accidentally dropped a prayer book over the edge. Luckily, no one was hurt.
Of course, now that I’m a priest, I find myself on the other side of all this. Now it’s me trying to craft sermons that will hold people’s attention, mindful of the kids (and adults) who are out there whispering and passing notes. Now it’s me trying to get kids to come regularly to Sunday School and wondering why their parents don’t make them come the way mine did. Now it’s me working with the youth group and trying to figure out how to get them to open up and take this faith thing on for themselves. Now it’s me giving sideways glances to the acolytes and nudging them when it’s time to get up and get the cross. Through it all, I’ve never stopped feeling like the Church is my extended family.
It’s wonderful coming back here. And all the changes since I left for college are beautiful. And I know they were necessary. The old church was busting at the seams, everything was getting worn and hard to take care of. But I’ve got to say, even so, I find the changes a little unnerving.
And I’m afraid that’s a universal human sentiment – we are generally more comfortable with the status quo. It’s easier to stick with what you know, what is familiar and normal. And today we learn that we are not alone – the disciples are right there with us in our longing for normalcy.
If you were in church last week, you may remember hearing the piece of the Gospel story from John that appeared just before this mornings reading. The risen Jesus appeared with the disciples in the locked room where they were cowering. He breathed the Holy Spirit on them and empowered them for their mission in the world. Doubting Thomas missed the action and so Jesus repeated the visit again and invited Thomas to touch and see his wounds from the cross so that he might believe. And then there was the sentence that seemed to wrap it all up: “Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of the disciples, which are not written in this book; but these are written that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the son of God, and that believing you may have life in his name.”
It sounded like the perfect ending point, didn’t it? The disciples finally understood. They’d received the Holy Spirit and were ready to head out into the world in triumph, spreading the word, carrying on Jesus’ message and ministry.
Except that they weren’t. Therein lies this morning’s Gospel story. Today we find seven of those disciples back where they started, in Galilee - hanging out by the Sea of Tiberias. Sitting on the dock of the bay… wasting time… It’s hard to know why there are only seven of them together at this point. We don’t hear about what the others are up to. Maybe we can be optimists and hope that they have taken their show on the road. Maybe at least those four are out sharing their stories about Jesus who died and lived again. Or, maybe the gang is already coming apart. Maybe Judas was just the first one to break away and the others are starting to go their different directions too.
Regardless, at least for these seven, it seems like maybe they still don’t get it. They aren’t out on the road teaching. They aren’t in the synogogues preaching. They aren’t healing the sick or helping the widows and orphans. They are out on the lake fishing. For most of them, this is as natural and familiar as reading the newspaper. Before they’d met Jesus, the majority of the disciples had been fisherfolk on this same sea. They’d spent their days in wooden boats, hauling up heavy nets (if they were lucky), the sun hot on their backs. And sure enough, it seems like almost as soon as Jesus turns his resurrected back, here they are again returning to their old lives. Back where they feel most comfortable. Most sure of themselves. Maybe back to the only thing they know how to do without Jesus. After the confusion and fear and uncertainty of the last few weeks, it was probably a huge relief to get back to their old routine. Back to the familiar, the status quo.
But, of course, Jesus interrupted their routine before with his invitation to follow him and here he comes to do it again. The seven disciples have been in the boat all night without any success. And I imagine they’re tired. Bone-weary tired. Smelling of algae and sweat and each other. And suddenly in the not-quite-dawn darkness a stranger calls out to them and tells them to throw their net out on the other side of the boat.
And even after all they’ve been through together with Jesus – the traveling, the learning, the miracles, the denials, the commissioning. Even after several incredible meetings with the risen Jesus. Even then, they still don’t recognize Jesus right away. It’s only when they try to haul that net back in and realize the huge quantity of fish in it that they realize it is Jesus on the shore.
Somehow it makes me feel better that those seven disciples who had walked so closely with Jesus and knew him better than just about anyone didn’t know Jesus when they saw him. Somehow it helps to know that even these seven who had seen Jesus arrested and killed and then experienced the miracle of Jesus as risen forgot to look for Jesus.
Because that’s right where I am on all but the best of days. That’s where all of us are, I imagine. Mostly I get so busy and so stuck in my routine that I forget to look for Jesus present in my life in all the different forms he takes. Even though part of my job is assuring people every week that God is with them in the midst of their everyday life, I only rarely recognize it myself.
But the great news – for those seven disciples fishing that day long ago, and for us here today – the great news is that our resurrected Lord continues to appear long after Easter. Even when we are as deeply mired in our familiar ruts as we can possible get, there Jesus is, inviting us again and again to break bread with him and commissioning us to fish for people. Continuing to call us gently (or sometimes not so gently) out of our forgetfulness and lovingly embracing us when we finally realize he’s there on our shore.
Just as Easter turned Jesus’ death upside down and brought new life, for the disciples what seemed like a dead-end -- with them fishing on the same old sea -- has turned, once again, into a new beginning. And it can be true for us also. The miracle of Easter invites all of us to live our same old lives in wonderfully new ways. To discover Jesus calling to us from a bonfire on the beach just when we thought we were back to square one. Thanks be to God!
April 18, 2010
Christ Church, Columbia, MD
John 21:1-19
I feel like I’m back home this morning. This is the church I grew up in. From the time I was a little girl until the time I headed off to college, this is where I came with my family pretty much every Sunday. Sometimes I’d try to get out of it, but mostly my parents insisted. So I was a Sunday school regular with the poor teachers who unwittingly volunteered to be with us. And then one of the core members of the youth group. As teens, we came from every high school around but most of us had been together so long in church we were a force to be reckoned with, although perhaps not a terribly spiritual bunch. I was a frequent acolyte, sitting up front worrying about whether I’d get up at the right time to do the ceremonial hand washing for the priest. I loved the moments when I felt like such a grown-up back in the sacristy getting into my red robe with Father Shields and the lay reader for the week. Even outside of church, the church was present. Frequently parishioners were over as part of foyer dinner and gourmet groups. I babysat for the next generation of kids from this place. I always felt like the other adults here cared about me. This church was home and the people here always felt like family.
Of course, back when I was here, there wasn’t this new building. We were still worshipping over there! That’s where I was an angel in the Christmas pageant year after year, standing on a chair in front of the altar. When I was old enough, I started sitting up in the balcony with my friends. We didn’t do a lot of paying attention in church, I have to admit. Instead, we did a lot of note-passing and whispering. I’m afraid to say there was even a little spitball throwing going on. And once I remember we accidentally dropped a prayer book over the edge. Luckily, no one was hurt.
Of course, now that I’m a priest, I find myself on the other side of all this. Now it’s me trying to craft sermons that will hold people’s attention, mindful of the kids (and adults) who are out there whispering and passing notes. Now it’s me trying to get kids to come regularly to Sunday School and wondering why their parents don’t make them come the way mine did. Now it’s me working with the youth group and trying to figure out how to get them to open up and take this faith thing on for themselves. Now it’s me giving sideways glances to the acolytes and nudging them when it’s time to get up and get the cross. Through it all, I’ve never stopped feeling like the Church is my extended family.
It’s wonderful coming back here. And all the changes since I left for college are beautiful. And I know they were necessary. The old church was busting at the seams, everything was getting worn and hard to take care of. But I’ve got to say, even so, I find the changes a little unnerving.
And I’m afraid that’s a universal human sentiment – we are generally more comfortable with the status quo. It’s easier to stick with what you know, what is familiar and normal. And today we learn that we are not alone – the disciples are right there with us in our longing for normalcy.
If you were in church last week, you may remember hearing the piece of the Gospel story from John that appeared just before this mornings reading. The risen Jesus appeared with the disciples in the locked room where they were cowering. He breathed the Holy Spirit on them and empowered them for their mission in the world. Doubting Thomas missed the action and so Jesus repeated the visit again and invited Thomas to touch and see his wounds from the cross so that he might believe. And then there was the sentence that seemed to wrap it all up: “Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of the disciples, which are not written in this book; but these are written that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the son of God, and that believing you may have life in his name.”
It sounded like the perfect ending point, didn’t it? The disciples finally understood. They’d received the Holy Spirit and were ready to head out into the world in triumph, spreading the word, carrying on Jesus’ message and ministry.
Except that they weren’t. Therein lies this morning’s Gospel story. Today we find seven of those disciples back where they started, in Galilee - hanging out by the Sea of Tiberias. Sitting on the dock of the bay… wasting time… It’s hard to know why there are only seven of them together at this point. We don’t hear about what the others are up to. Maybe we can be optimists and hope that they have taken their show on the road. Maybe at least those four are out sharing their stories about Jesus who died and lived again. Or, maybe the gang is already coming apart. Maybe Judas was just the first one to break away and the others are starting to go their different directions too.
Regardless, at least for these seven, it seems like maybe they still don’t get it. They aren’t out on the road teaching. They aren’t in the synogogues preaching. They aren’t healing the sick or helping the widows and orphans. They are out on the lake fishing. For most of them, this is as natural and familiar as reading the newspaper. Before they’d met Jesus, the majority of the disciples had been fisherfolk on this same sea. They’d spent their days in wooden boats, hauling up heavy nets (if they were lucky), the sun hot on their backs. And sure enough, it seems like almost as soon as Jesus turns his resurrected back, here they are again returning to their old lives. Back where they feel most comfortable. Most sure of themselves. Maybe back to the only thing they know how to do without Jesus. After the confusion and fear and uncertainty of the last few weeks, it was probably a huge relief to get back to their old routine. Back to the familiar, the status quo.
But, of course, Jesus interrupted their routine before with his invitation to follow him and here he comes to do it again. The seven disciples have been in the boat all night without any success. And I imagine they’re tired. Bone-weary tired. Smelling of algae and sweat and each other. And suddenly in the not-quite-dawn darkness a stranger calls out to them and tells them to throw their net out on the other side of the boat.
And even after all they’ve been through together with Jesus – the traveling, the learning, the miracles, the denials, the commissioning. Even after several incredible meetings with the risen Jesus. Even then, they still don’t recognize Jesus right away. It’s only when they try to haul that net back in and realize the huge quantity of fish in it that they realize it is Jesus on the shore.
Somehow it makes me feel better that those seven disciples who had walked so closely with Jesus and knew him better than just about anyone didn’t know Jesus when they saw him. Somehow it helps to know that even these seven who had seen Jesus arrested and killed and then experienced the miracle of Jesus as risen forgot to look for Jesus.
Because that’s right where I am on all but the best of days. That’s where all of us are, I imagine. Mostly I get so busy and so stuck in my routine that I forget to look for Jesus present in my life in all the different forms he takes. Even though part of my job is assuring people every week that God is with them in the midst of their everyday life, I only rarely recognize it myself.
But the great news – for those seven disciples fishing that day long ago, and for us here today – the great news is that our resurrected Lord continues to appear long after Easter. Even when we are as deeply mired in our familiar ruts as we can possible get, there Jesus is, inviting us again and again to break bread with him and commissioning us to fish for people. Continuing to call us gently (or sometimes not so gently) out of our forgetfulness and lovingly embracing us when we finally realize he’s there on our shore.
Just as Easter turned Jesus’ death upside down and brought new life, for the disciples what seemed like a dead-end -- with them fishing on the same old sea -- has turned, once again, into a new beginning. And it can be true for us also. The miracle of Easter invites all of us to live our same old lives in wonderfully new ways. To discover Jesus calling to us from a bonfire on the beach just when we thought we were back to square one. Thanks be to God!
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