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The two disciples in this morning’s Gospel lesson seem to think that by getting out of Dodge maybe they could escape their grief, could leave behind the bad memories of the previous Friday. Jerusalem had become like an empty house from which all the children had gone, haunted by memories, by pain, by hopes that never materialized. Jerusalem was the place where their dreams had died. It was time to hit the road and see if they could leave their troubles behind.

Born ‘Michelangelo Merisi’ in 1571, the Italian artist is best known by the name of the township where he grew up, “Caravaggio.” After a lackluster apprenticeship in Milan, Caravaggio ventured to Rome, and by the age of twenty he was causing scandal, not only because of his volatile character and temper, but also because of his controversial painting methods.

Walking into a Christian church, one of the cues that helps to tell you whether you are in a Roman Catholic church or Protestant church is the presence of either the crucifix (Catholic) or the cross (Protestant). The crucifix, displaying the crucified Jesus, often hangs above the altar, while the bare cross more often than not sits on the altar table or on a shelf behind it.

The remarkable thing about Easter is that Jesus was not just raised from the dead, or that he defeated the powers of sin and death, but that he also returned to his disciples. It would have been enough that Jesus was resurrected, but he also came back to his fearful followers.

Easter may ultimately be about things that are high, bright, light and clear, but it begins low, dim, dark and murky. That’s what we see in our Gospel lesson this morning from John. Here we are told that, for Mary Magdalen, the day that would eventually become celebrated as Easter began “while it was still dark.”

God is not particularly concerned with our happiness, but God is very concerned with our holiness. He is concerned with our commitment and not our pleasure. On the cross, Jesus shows us how far God goes to show us His love and he shows us what it means to be his follower, to love as he loves us.

The writer Annie Dillard, in one of her short stories, has a scene in which a family is sadly gathered at a grave to commit a loved one’s body to the earth. At one point the minister intones the familiar words from I Corinthians, “Where, O Death, is thy sting?”  Upon hearing that, one of the family members looks up.  He scans the sorrowful faces of his family and sees all around him rows of headstones.  And then he thinks to himself, “Why, it’s just about everywhere, seeing a

The healing of the man born blind is significant if only because it had never been done before. No one had ever gained sight when they were born without it. Not in the Old Testament, nor in any stories from ancient times that I can recall. It was a miracle without parallel. It entailed not just fixing a damaged organ but essentially creating new ones, new eyes.   But beyond the physical healing, more important is what is signified by the miracle.

As we continue our Lenten journey towards Good Friday, towards the cross, the story of Nicodemus reminds us what this is all about, what the Bible and the church say is the reason God sent Jesus: that no matter how far we feel from God, no matter how long we’ve lived ignoring God’s presence in our lives, no matter what we’ve done or how guilty we feel, or wounded or sullied, Jesus came to save us, to redeem us, to give us new life, eternal life.

What thing in your life is in danger of taking over? What do you love too much in the wrong way? Whatever “it” is, God calls us to end it, to give it up. But that “giving up” need not be some great courageous act of renunciation, rejecting the world and becoming a monk, say. Likely more helpful is to start small, to take baby steps toward new life, beginning by denying ourselves some small things in order to be receptive to greater goods in our lives.

At the Transfiguration, divinity refused to be contained to heaven but erupts into this world, making clear to the disciples and to us, that the transcendent world, the world of God and spirits, is real, just as real as the one we can touch and see and taste, and just as present.

A church that doesn’t invite people or that stops inviting people is not a “true Bible church,” not Jesus’ church. From the first, Jesus promises that if we sign on with him, he will teach us, will teach us not correct doctrine or right behavior or the right opinions, but will teach us to “fish for people,” to catch them, to share in his work of drawing in all people to God.  

In 1279, a Dominican monk known as Frère Laurent produced—whether by original composition or careful compilation—the Somme le roi, a handbook of moral instruction prepared for King Philip III of France.

Stanley Spencer (British), The Baptism , 1952 John Baptizes Jesus at the Odney Pool   You had not known you belonged to such a region until Spencer took you there, until he showed you Cookham, where God made a detour down High Street,   past Fernlea to the Odney Pool, mineral-laced water near the Thames where the artist once swam as a child.   All’s inverted now. Heaven’s here-- in the languid pool, where, amid the bathers in their ordinary, black-knit suits, God’s only Son’s

If you are listening for it, you can find Christian messages in the strangest places, even in the lyrics of country music songs. Consider these thoughtful, theological verses: “Sometimes I thank God for unanswered prayers,” “Jesus, take the wheel,” and “God blessed Texas with his own hand.” As I said, deep theology…The lyric that most struck me recently when I heard it is a line from Brooks and Dunn’s ‘Red Dirt Road’: “Happiness on earth ain’t just for high achievers.”

God has shared an amazing gift with us—new life in Christ as part of his Church. This is at times a joy, and a challenge, but most of all a blessing. Why would we not want others to share it with us? Why wouldn’t we want them to find and be found by Christ in our midst? In this season after Epiphany, in which we celebrate the “appearings” of Christ among us, it is our joy to share Christ with others, to point to him, and invite others to meet Christ, to invite them to “come a

With Jesus’ baptism, God has involved himself in our sin, in our mess, and in our baptism we’ve gotten involved, been recruited into God’s work of cleaning that mess up. We’re in it together, God with us and us with God, as we work with God to bring about God’s plan to bring the world to right.

Stanley Hauerwas of Duke University once observed that the greatest enemy of the Gospel is not atheism, but sentimentality. Perhaps there's no time when we're more susceptible to this danger than at Christmas with the stories about the birth of Jesus. What parent hasn't gushed with pride watching their child play a shepherd in a bathrobe or an angel with a coat hanger halo? It's difficult to read words like "they wrapped him in swaddling clothes" and not melt into a puddle of

That a messenger of God, a bearer of “good news,” should be so fearsome may surprise us. Yet throughout Scripture, whenever humans encounter the realm of God, the natural response of ordinary people is not joy but fear.

It's easy to overlook Joseph. The Bible doesn’t say much about him. In fact in all four gospels, he never speaks, not one syllable. He just stands there silently in the background of Christmas cards and pageants, nearly always overshadowed by Mary, Jesus’ mother. Even the shepherds and the wise-men get more press. Joseph just takes his place in the story without any songs or speeches, trudging slowly but stably along that road from Galilee to Bethlehem.