THE REV. E. WAYNE ROLLINS

​ This day always confuses me. It dashes from shouts of victory to death and burial. Hopes are lifted, only to be shattered when nailed to a tree. It’s a bit like life is being condensed into an hour or so of collective memory. 

I won’t go into centuries of mistranslations of the word “hosanna,” except to remind you that it meant “save us, we beg you” in Jesus’ native language. Remember that a bit later when you sing “hosanna in the highest” and what you might be praying for when you sing. 

Today seems to make more sense when I step back and remember all the things we’ve celebrated over the past five months. Maybe, instead of victory parades, today’s “triumphal entry” is the culmination of the Incarnation we celebrated a few months ago. When Jesus entered Jerusalem that day, he didn’t just go into the city. He entered fully into our lives. He has something to tell us, which he will do by showing us. 

Jesus has been called a prophet, a title given to those who see the reality around them and tell the truth about what they see. They might express anger, even rage, such as when Jesus overturned the tables of merchants in the Temple and drove them away. “Zeal,” some politely called it. 

It takes a lot of energy to keep overturning tables, especially when there are those ready to reset them as soon as you’re done. Initial anger often turns into empathetic sorrow as tears cleanse the hearts and souls of those who see others caught in webs of oppression and deceit meant to extort their very lives. 

Jesus shows us a different way. He enters a city whose very name means City of Peace, not to change its structure or overthrow its rulers. Well, not literally in the heavenly military sense many expected of the Messiah. Jesus’ ride is not a forerunner of Paul Revere’s, nor is it Dr. Strangelove’s hitching a ride to destruction. 

Jesus’ ride is a journey into our own lives, our joys and sorrows, our health and our suffering, our hopes and our disappointments, to show us that God understands that these things are both sides of the coin of life, and that we are not alone when any one of them dominates the others. He will carry these things when life overturns our own tables, and hold them near as they are transfigured into unity with him, because he knows firsthand these same life-defining moments. 
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What he does with them, and with us, is show us how ministry is done. And he will show us the possibilities of Almighty God when it seems all is lost and we release all we hold dear into God’s loving embrace. But for that, we’ll need to walk with him through this city of life where peace is in such short supply. We can do that by imitating his own faith in the One in whose name he comes to us, and who gives himself to and for us so that our own journey will be complete as his will soon be

THE REV. E. WAYNE ROLLINS

​​ Today we have two familiar, even beloved stories. The first is from that madman prophet Ezekiel, whose words are sometimes so explicit that ancient scholars advised limiting their reading to only those over the age of thirty. You want to get teenagers to read the Bible, tell them that. 

The second is the story of raising Lazarus from the dead, which is only found in John’s Gospel. It’s an event so radical that a conspiracy was launched to murder Lazarus because his presence caused many to believe Jesus is the Messiah. Whether that happened, we don’t know. But we do know that Lazarus would have had to face death a second time. 

As you might guess, I want to take a look at these two stories that doesn’t adhere to traditional interpretation. I’m not really all that interested in what others have said about them, and repeating that to you. You might also guess that's one reason I wouldn’t use AI to write sermons. For better or worse, it’s all on me this morning. 

We are surrounded by death and the multitude of ways leading to it. We might even find that we support a lot of those ways. A few weeks ago, as I drove friends to visit another friend dying of lung cancer, I found myself begging some of them to give up smoking, because I didn’t want to have to do that again. I didn’t make them get out of the car and walk so they would understand how important breathing continues to be. I think they get that, despite the effects of addiction. 

During the covid lockdown six years ago I decided to read some literature I hadn’t bothered to consider before then. At the urging of one friend, I read the whole Harry Potter series in March. Then I downloaded and read all of C. S. Lewis’ Chronicles of Narnia. I commend that series to you, which is enhanced by having either a literal or figurative child on your knee as you do so. 

It’s the last book of Narnia that comes to mind today. Entitled The Last Battle, it begins in a shocking way that the reader imagines, but is only told later is fact. A battle rages, its background being the old story of good versus evil, which is at the heart of the Harry Potter series as well. 

Several warriors find themselves in a cabin, where it seems they face inevitable destruction. The heroes of the story recognize the appearance of a way out, while others cower in fear. Fear prevents them from taking the risk of leaving the cabin, while those who do leave enter into a new field that can best be described as paradise. 

No more spoilers. Consider Ezekiel’s pile of bones, Lazarus’ sealed tomb. The call rings out. Prophesy to the bones! Lazarus, come out! What if the bones replied, “we’ve gotten used to this,” or Lazarus said “I’m just fine in here.” 

​This parish is engaged in a discernment period to try to figure out what the future holds for it. There are and will continue to be efforts to keep repeating past glory days, or even today's familiar days that are maybe not so glorious. What if the only prophetic words worth hearing are a command to just get up and live?

Ezekiel is given no declarative words of assurance of a livable wage. Lazarus isn’t told his 401k will be restored. But there is a command given by Jesus to those standing around in amazement. “Unbind him and let him go.”

How can we do that if we continue to bind ourselves to ways that no longer give life to us or to those around us? Perhaps the best we can do is be honest about the aspects of our lives that keep us in the sun-parched desert or behind sealed doors of the tombs of our own choosing. Maybe then we can begin to respond faithfully to the command “get up and live.”

We like to know what’s going to happen. We want to control the topics, schedule the dates, limit the time span. But we’re talking about eternal things, and discernment means listening more than talking, waiting more than achieving. It’s confusing, sometimes frustrating. It’s uncomfortable. It’s also about God.

God offers us life without calendars, schedules, or precise GPS coordinates. The call to come out of our comfortable and comforting tombs is a call to live in the surprising wonder of the God who told Moses, “I will be what I will be.” There’s no controlling that, although that doesn’t seem to keep us from trying.

The wind hears the voice of God that enables it to become the breath of the Spirit that gives us life. We can say we’re ready to inhale, but the proof comes when we actually do it.
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And then, we become part of the continuing and beloved story of new life that is God’s joy to help us keep telling.

THE REV. E. WAYNE ROLLINS

​ The writer of the Gospel of John uses a method where an event poses a question, followed by a response in the form of an action. This, in turn, leads to a deeper teaching, often leading to a confrontation of some kind. 

In today’s lesson, a blind beggar is seen by the disciples, who wonder why he is the way he is. They want to place blame somewhere, but Jesus will have none of that. His explanation, however, is somewhat less than satisfying. “He was born this way so that the works of God might be made manifest in him.” Anyone who might want to write a theodicy on that statement is welcome to have at it. 

Right at the outset we have a reversal. The work of God is to be seen through a man who has been blind from birth. Juxtapose that with the ending of the story, where those who claim to have 20/20 vision regarding the works of God are told they are blind. 

How about us? Do we truly see or are we in some way blind to the works of God? After all, the answers we give just might make manifest whether we live in the wholeness we seek, or whether we continue to choose brokenness as our way of life, our very identity. 

We don’t have to look very far to find brokenness due to blindness. In our city, we have many who live unsheltered in part because our economy idolizes property as status, and the very real foundation of our wealth. Then we go further to confuse wealth with worth, and therefore those without wealth are in some way unworthy of its provisions and security. 

In our nation, we choose to see differences in language, skin color, age, gender, and a lot of other identifying attributes as ways of determining and maintaining superiority and that word “dominion,” which we use to serve ourselves by interpreting it as dominant rather than the responsibility to care for one another. 

That extends into the wider world, including the planet Earth and its resources. Have you noticed that when a tragedy occurs, and I’ll include chosen forms of violent action as tragedy, for they are just that to at least one party in the conflict, have you seen that some of the first concerns raised are economic? Oil prices. Inflation. Canceled modes of transportation. Vacation plans. All this while so many are faced with grief and loss while burying their children, other loved ones, and neighbors. 

Does anyone really understand what real peace, you know, that peace that passes all understanding, really looks like? Will we recognize it even if it stands right in front of us? Or will we dismiss it, like the Pharisees who dismissed the formerly blind man from the synagogue, because we don’t like what its appearance says to us? Or says about us? Truth often holds up a mirror, showing us our true selves in our own judgmental words.

Jesus asks the man if he believes in the Son of Man, then identifies himself as that being. I’ve struggled to understand what the phrase “Son of Man” means in John’s Gospel. Current sight leads me to believe that it is the identity of the One whom theologians, including Paul, have called the “Second Adam,” the one who, in some way, embodies all humanity, as well as its future hope.

As that foundational belief takes hold, I also believe that for too long we have blinded ourselves by our refusal to see not just Jesus in others, but others in some way present with Christ in the same way we believe ourselves to be. This drives home Matthew’s words, “as much as you do it to the least of these, my children, you do it to me.” And on top of that, as the body of Christ, the church, we also do it—whatever “it” is—to ourselves.
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Maybe when we truly see the many ways our self-inflicted wounds drive us far from the very things we say we seek, our eyes will behold the true peace we claim to long for. It’s probably still standing right in front of us.

THE REV. E. WAYNE ROLLINS

​ A few weeks ago the active clergy in our diocese met for one of our Clergy Day sessions. We talked about lay licensing for various ministries and heard reports about events affecting all of us. At one point, we sat around our tables to discuss some questions presented to us. 

I don’t remember what those specific questions were. I do remember a discussion about hierarchies and proper places for folks exercising some of the ministries we discussed. I said that as heirs of a tradition based in England, we had to admit that a lot of our structures are based in a highly defined hierarchy—royalty, nobility, aristocracy, all the way to those of us who have to work for a living. 

Much of our canonical structure is hierarchical. The alternative to that comes from the congregational polity of the Presbyterians, Baptists, and other Reformed traditions. Opposition to our hierarchical structure played a large part in the Puritans’ sailing to these shores, especially since beheading a king and seizing Parliament for eleven years didn’t work out all that well for them as they might have hoped. It's also a big factor in the decision to not have a state-sanctioned religious denomination in this country. You might discern the wisdom behind that when you consider the effects of state-sanctioned religion in the history of the world. Everything from the crusades to empire-building to September 11, 2001 and pretty much any day in the Middle East finds its roots in religious posturing, even when at heart actions were more about power and wealth. 

During our discussion, a colleague said that every communal tradition has its hierarchy. Whether it be a formal, defined structure, or tribal customs, every community pays deference to its leaders who might be elected, or simply considered wise due to the experience of age or particular spiritual gifts. This is true for families as well. 

One community is set-up differently, if it defines itself in ways that are not the customs of traditional worldly structures. That different community is one that took on a derogatory name in its early years. We’re told that it was in the ancient city of Antioch, Syria, that its name was first pronounced. Christian. 

Years ago it became apparent to me that there is one group of people whom Jesus denounces, even shuns. Those people are the religious leaders who tried to maintain their status by judging Jesus because of those with whom he associates. He hangs out with outcasts and “sinners.” He touches the ill and infirm. Why, one time, he made mud with his own spit and rubbed it on a blind man’s eyes. 

He doesn’t obey every jot and tittle of the law when pastoral concerns supersede it. And to beat it all, he sits down—and stays a few days with—those considered mortal enemies. You know, Samaritans. You have to say and hear that word with the same disdain as the people of Antioch said “Christian.” Or as some of our own leaders might refer to folks from Caribbean, African, and Central American ancestry.

Jesus has a favorite word for those of us who like to use those terms to feed our own desire for superiority. It means, in the translation from the original Greek, actors. Scripture usually uses the English version of the Greek. “Hypocrites.”

But we aren’t here, bearers of that disdained identity Christian, to be actors on a stage as if God posted our Playbill on the heavenly refrigerator door. We are here to be ministers, a word meaning those who use their skills and resources to help others.

It might be as simple as looking beyond accepted practice and sitting with a stranger to share a cold drink and warm conversation. It could be a conversation where truth is spoken in love in such a way that each life is changed for the better. It’s always where a child of God dares to see a sibling—another child of God—and shares life in as much abundance as is possible in that moment.
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Who knows? Perhaps the encounter of God’s children with one another, and the realization that each bears that identity, will cause one to jump up to spread the good news of the presence of the Savior of the world in our own time. It caused an outcast to recognize Truth sitting next to her. It caused a German priest named Martin Luther to turn in a new direction when he came to understand that it’s more about what God has done—and continues to do—than what we do.
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Why, it could even be the witness of a fountain of life-giving sustenance gushing from our own, and hopefully formerly, rocky hearts.

THE REV. E. WAYNE ROLLINS

​ Today’s Gospel lesson is perhaps the most quoted, most memorized, and most misunderstood and misused in scripture. Its most familiar verse (3:16) has become a shorthand seen at athletic events and on billboards across our country. Another verse is often used as a cudgel to coerce into submission those made fearful by false teaching. 

That one comes at verse three—“you must be born from above,” or as the King James’ Version puts it, “ye must be born again.” Those last two words have become familiar in some religious circles while playing an important part in our dysfunctional identity politics. 
I’ve told you before that I was raised in those circles. I heard words of condemnation, threatening eternal damnation, along with finger-pointing judgment until I did what we were expected to do. I gave in, knelt at a prayer rail, called an altar, and in everyone’s eyes, got saved. Suddenly, they acted like they loved me. 

No one bothered to explain to me the depth of God’s love that John tries to help us understand. Not before, and not after that night. Love wasn’t an important part of the conversation. And, according to other verses in scripture that tell us God is love, and as I’ve come to believe since then, God wasn’t really an important part of the conversation, either. 

John is known as the Gospel of Light. It’s significant that Nicodemus, a Pharisee and community leader, comes to Jesus at night. He comes out of the darkness to do what Pharisees through the ages continue to do. He questions anything new, because it is his job, his purpose, to maintain stability or control through knowledge of how things are supposed to be done. I’ve been a lot of places where that tradition continues. 

The verses following today’s lesson speak of the difference between darkness and light. Nicodemus steps into the light, but hears a truth he’s not ready to understand or accept. So he steps back into the darkness. 

But he’s faced with contradictions. His own statement of where Jesus comes from runs headlong into his teachings that it’s not supposed to happen this way. In the previous chapter, Jesus turned water into wine, then went to Jerusalem for Passover where he drove merchants from the Temple. All the teachings say water is supposed to remain water. And the authorities gave their stamp of approval on the exchange of money for religious goods and purposes. 

“The Spirit blows where it will.” The light shines in the darkness, often revealing the misunderstandings and practices that betray our self-identifying ways of worship. So we skip over the parts that don’t speak to our own purposes while standing close enough to light’s edge that our own shadow remains shrouded in darkness. 

​Lurking in that darkness is fear and judgment, tools we use on ourselves and on others to maintain acceptability. Move closer into the light, and we must claim our shadow, lest it continue to claim us.

You see, another verse they neglected to make me memorize as a kid is the last one we heard today. God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world through him might be saved. Be saved, not get saved.

When we move into the light of Christ, and stay there, we find that light envelops us, and in forgiveness and love erases the shadow of sin. Not because of anything we do to earn it, but because that’s how God makes it happen. To use Paul’s favorite word, it’s because of grace, God’s grace, God’s faithfulness toward us. It’s because God so loved the world—including us—that God gives us salvation as a free gift.

Paul will go on to tell us that happened long before we knew anything about it. So, it’s not about getting born again, getting ourselves saved. It’s about realizing that all that is necessary has already been done for us, and choosing to live in gratitude for such amazing, wondrous love. That is the truth scripture teaches us, and living in the light of that truth is where we find freedom to live in God’s presence now, and not have to wait in fear hoping we don’t do or think something that causes us to miss it when we die.

There continue to be many who live in fear of eternal judgment. And, I’ll admit, there are times I hope their fears come true. (I’ve said many times that most days I’m a universalist, then I meet someone who makes want to hope there really is a hell.) That’s my own prayer of confession. And truth be told, we will all face judgment. My hope, my belief, is that the only one truly capable of judging will determine a fate for all of us. That is that we are judged guilty—guilty of being loved by the greatest love ever known, by the One who is Love itself.
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That judgment, and the resulting sentence, is ours to tell the world. It is the light that begs to shine through all of us as followers of Christ, a light of love that erases the sin of the world and invites it to walk a new path, a clear path, to its reconciliation with its Creator.