Author: Rosemary Lovelace

The Day of Pentecost – Mark S. Winward

The Significance of Pentecost

Although many Christians don’t recognize it, Pentecost is perhaps the most important Christian feast day for our corporate lives together as God’s people. If Christmas recalls the incarnation, Good Friday Christ’s sacrifice for our sins, Easter his victory over sin and death, and Ascension Day the commissioning of his representatives to share the Good News; then Pentecost frames the meaning of it all to us as God’s people. I want to suggest to you that Pentecost represents three revolutionary ideas.

The Universalization of the Covenant

First, Pentecost represents the universalization of the covenant. In other words, Pentecost opened the way of the God of Israel to all people. Most people don’t realize that the Gospel is, for the most part, a story about Jews. Jesus, all his disciples, and most of the major players in the unfolding of the gospel are Jews. When non-Jews are mentioned in the gospels, they are clearly presented as outsiders; that’s because until the day of Pentecost, non-Jews are outsiders. When Jesus’ followers gathered together in Jerusalem in the second chapter of Acts on the Day of Pentecost, they were actually celebrating a Jewish holy day. Pentecost is another name for Shavuot, or “the Feast of Weeks.” Shavuot celebrates the day God gave the Torah, or law, to the nation of Israel gathered at Mt. Sinai. While on Passover, the people of Israel were freed from the tyranny of Egyptian slavery, on Shavuot Israel was given the Torah and became a nation in a covenantal relationship to serve God.

The story of the Old Testament is the account of God’s mighty deeds among his people, Israel. God’s contract or covenant with the people of Israel was that if they obeyed God’s commandments: that he would be their God and they would be his people. The heart of the Jewish people, then, are the stone tablets of Moses’ Law—their contract with God received at Mt. Sinai. But Pentecost is the beginning of a new contract, a new covenant. At Pentecost, Ezekiel’s prophecy is fulfilled: “I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh. And I will put my Spirit in you and move you to follow my decrees and be careful to keep my laws” (Ezekiel 36:26-27). Note that Ezekiel doesn’t say “if you keep my laws, I will put my Spirit in you.” Rather, in God’s new contract, there’s a shift that most Christians still don’t get even to this day: God graciously bestows his Spirit on his people—and it’s because they already have his Spirit, they will keep his commandments. God’s people are no longer limited to a particular nation and by their strict observance of a law written in stone. Rather, God’s people are those whom God graciously chooses to bestow his Spirit regardless of race or nation. At Pentecost, the prophet Joel’s prophecy is fulfilled: “And afterwards, I will pour out my Spirit on all people. Your sons and daughters will prophesy, your old men will dream dreams, your young men will see visions” (Joel 2:28).

The Empowerment of the Holy Spirit

Second, besides representing the universalization of the covenant, Pentecost represents the empowerment of the Holy Spirit. At Pentecost, the Spirit of God thus becomes available to all people who would open their hearts to Him, through Christ. In the Old Covenant, the Holy Spirit was reserved for prophets and sages on a special mission for God. We hear how the Spirit of the Lord came upon the likes of Moses, Samson, Samuel, and David, who performed mighty acts of God. In the Old Covenant, the Spirit of the Lord wasn’t for ordinary people but select people acting in extraordinary ways. At Pentecost, the Spirit of the Lord was poured out on all those with open hearts. And a shift takes place: no longer is our relationship with God defined by who we are or what we do; rather, it is defined by to whom we belong. And that’s no longer for a special few, but to all who open their hearts to God, God empowers ordinary people to do extraordinary things in His name.

Many people believe living in the power of the Spirit is reserved only for prophets and saints, but Pentecost changed that and opened the empowerment of the Holy Spirit up to ordinary people like you and me. This is what Jesus was talking about in last week’s gospel when he said, “I am going to send you what my Father has promised; but stay in the city until you have been clothed with power from on high” (Luke 24:49). Now we affirm at baptism that every Christian has been marked but the Holy Spirit, but not every Christian has experienced the empowerment of the Holy Spirit. Think of it as a pilot light on a stove; how much we dare opening the valve defines how bright that flame shines. But it is up to us how much we choose to open that valve.

The Birth of the Church

Finally, beside representing the universalization of God’s covenant and the empowerment of the Holy Spirit, Pentecost represents nothing less than the birth of the Church. God did not send the Holy Spirit at Pentecost only to comfort—rather, he sent it for us to be empowered to boldly share his message of hope, salvation, and transformation in word and deed, and to live a life experiencing the fullness of joy he meant for us. Like the prophets of old, Pentecost empowered God’s people to spread his Word—yet not just to Israel but to a world so desperately in need of Jesus Christ.

We see the culmination of this covenant, the empowerment of the Holy Spirit, and new as we baptize Barbara this morning. In the waters of baptism, we witness the same miracle that began at Pentecost: a person being grafted into this universal covenant and “clothed with power” from on high. Just as the Spirit descended upon the first believers to mark them as God’s own, today we celebrate that the same Spirit is still moving, still calling, and still adding to the family of God.

Employing God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit

This was revolutionary on the day of Pentecost and is revolutionary today. Pentecost is the one time of year we focus on the Holy Spirit—and all this talk about the Spirit may seem a bit strange and familiar. Now I recognize that this congregation is made of up people who grew up in a diversity of faith traditions. Each our Christian traditions tend to emphasize certain persons of the Trinity over others. It has been said mainline churches often practice a faith where the Father is fully employed, the Son is under-employed, and the Spirit is unemployed. Evangelicals can sometimes fall into a faith where the Father is unemployed, the Son is fully employed, and the Spirit is underemployed. Pentecostals can have a tendency towards a faith where the Father is unemployed, the Son is underemployed, and the Spirit is fully employed. I think all three strands of Christianity have the employment part right! The Biblical faith we recall in the Great Commission, remember today in the second chapter of Acts, and celebrate here on the Day of Pentecost calls us as a corporate people of God and in our daily life at home and at work to fully employ God the Father, fully employ God the Son, and fully employ God the Holy Spirit.

Pentecost is nothing less than the culmination of God’s salvation story in the Gospels. This day we celebrate God opening his way of salvation and hope to all people; God’s empowering ordinary people like you and me with the Holy Spirit to discern and do mighty works; and the mobilization of the Church to share that message of hope, healing, and redemption in word, deed to a broken world desperately in need of reconciliation with God and each other. 

So, as we leave this place today, let’s not leave the Spirit behind these doors and settle for a “pilot light” faith. Dare to open the valve. Go forth as a people fully employing the God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit. Be the evidence of Pentecost in our community – a people clothed in power, speaking the language of love, and living out the revolutionary hope found in Jesus Christ. Amen.

Alcuin of York – Mark S. Winward

Every Sunday morning, at the very beginning of our celebration of the Holy Eucharist, we pray a prayer so familiar that we could probably recite it in our sleep. We call it the Collect for Purity: “Almighty God, to you all hearts are open, all desires known, and from you no secrets are hid: Cleanse the thoughts of our hearts by the inspiration of your Holy Spirit, that we may perfectly love you, and worthily magnify your holy Name…”

This is one of the masterpieces of liturgical English, translated for us by Archbishop Thomas Cranmer in the sixteenth century. But Cranmer did not write it. To find who did, we have to go back twelve hundred years to a deacon from Northumbria, England named Alcuin of York.

Today, we celebrate the feast of Alcuin—a scholar, an abbot, a teacher, and a diplomat who died on May 19 in the year 804. Alcuin lived in the Early Middle Ages –what historians used to call the “Dark Ages” – and certainly was dark to those living through it. Western Europe was fractured patchwork of warring kingdoms. The Roman Empire had long since collapsed. Education had broken down; libraries were non-existent or neglected; and even the clergy were often illiterate, unable to read the scriptures they preached or understand the sacraments they administered. Ignorance, superstition, and political instability threatened to swallow the Christendom.

Born around 730 near York, Alcuin was educated at the York cathedral school under Archbishop Egbert, who had been a pupil of the renowned Doctor of the Church, the Venerable Bede. Immersed in this intellectual environment, Alcuin inherited the finest traditions of Anglo-Saxon scholarship. Alcuin came to learn that faith and education could compliment one another.

Then, while traveling in Italy in 781, Alcuin met Charles the Great—the Frankish king whom we know as Charlemagne. Charlemagne had a massive empire covering most of western and central Europe, but he realized that military power alone could not sustain a Christian society. 

Recognizing Alcuin’s gifts, Charlemagne invited this brilliant deacon from York to help rebuild the mind of Europe. Alcuin became Charlemagne’s minister of education, establishing the Palace School at Aachen and creating a network of schools and scriptoria—monastic writing rooms—across the continent.

If you have ever written a sentence in lowercase letters, used punctuation like a period or a question mark, or put spaces between your words, you can thank Alcuin of York. Before his time, Latin was written in scriptura continua—ALLCAPITALLETTERSMASHEDTOGETHERWITHOUTSPACES. It was incredibly difficult to read. Alcuin championed a new, beautiful, legible script called Carolingian Minuscule. He introduced standardized punctuation and spacing.

Alcuin understood that if you cannot read clearly, you cannot interpret Scripture accurately. If you cannot copy a text reliably, the Gospel becomes distorted over time. For Alcuin, clear writing and clear thinking were acts of holy devotion. By standardizing the written word, he and his scribes painstakingly preserved much of the classical and Christian texts of Western civilization. Without his scriptoria, a huge portion of the ancient world’s wisdom would have been lost to history.

Yet, despite his influence, Alcuin never had ambitions for high ecclesiastical office and remained a deacon for most of his life. In the early and medieval church, teaching, scholarship, and the preservation of books were understood specifically as a diaconal ministry. The deacon is called to bridge the gap between the church and the world, to serve the needy, and to rightly dispense the truth. Alcuin saw the intellectually impoverished as the poor who needed feeding. He fed them with the bread of wisdom.

Our Collect for today praises God for raising up Alcuin, praying: “Shine in our hearts, we pray, that we may also show forth your praise in our own generation, for you have called us out of darkness and into your marvelous light.” So what does it mean for us to show forth God’s praise in our generation?

We live in an age drowning in information but starving for wisdom. We are bombarded by endless streams of texts, tweets, and 24-hour news cycles. And like the early Middle Ages, our nation feels deeply fractured. Truth is often treated as subjective, and nuance is routinely sacrificed on the altar of outrage. It can feel like a new kind of darkness.

Alcuin did not retreat from the world into our political and cultural tribes, nor did he weaponize knowledge to defeat his enemies. Instead, he built institutions of grace. He focused on the slow, meticulous, faithful work of education, textual correction, and moral formation. He understood that the antidote to darkness is not to curse it, but to quietly and persistently light candles.

In our Gospel reading today from Matthew, Jesus tells the parable of the wheat and the tares. A man sows good seed, but an enemy sows weeds among it. When the servants ask if they should pull up the weeds, the master says, “No, lest in gathering the weeds you root up the wheat along with them. Let both grow together until the harvest.”

Alcuin lived out this parable. In Charlemagne’s court, politics could be brutal, and the culture was often harsh. Yet Alcuin worked within that messy field. He strived to sow the good seed of truth, virtue, and literacy, trusting that God would preserve the harvest. He wrote over three hundred letters to emperors, bishops, and friends, acting as a counselor, peacemaker, and gentle rebuker. In a letter to Charlemagne’s treasurer, Alcuin famously laid down a profound principle of grace, warning against forcing faith upon conquered peoples. He wrote that a person can be forced into baptism, but they cannot be forced into belief. Faith, he insisted, must be fostered through patient teaching, not coerced by political power.

Particularly in this age, I believe we are called to be people who care about truth, who use language to build up rather than tear down, and who refuse to let the rancor of our times to overwhelm the Gospel. Let us pray that the Holy Spirit would cleanse the thoughts of our hearts. Let us step out of the darkness of falsehood, cynicism, and fear, and step into the light of Jesus Christ—the source of all wisdom and truth. And may God give us the courage to pursue that high calling and the grace to accomplish it. Amen.

The Seventh Sunday of Easter – Mark S. Winward

The Strength of the In-Between

Jesus said, “…you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you; and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem, in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.” – Acts 1:8

“But, but…and there goes.” Now what?

If you have ever been in an ongoing crisis or known the struggle of a terminal disease, you’re all too familiar with that “in-between” place. It is the space that lies between our current reality and the uncertainty of the future. During those times, the small things we used to worry about suddenly seem petty, and life takes on a whole new meaning. I want to suggest to you that character is generally not made in the heat of crisis; rather, it is in those in-between places that character is grown.

The Forge of the Mundane

We are often inspired by those who face crises with clarity, grace, or courage. We admire the person who bears a devastating illness with poise, the advocate who stands resolute against injustice, or the hero who risks their life for another. But before any of these individuals faced the moments that would define them, their character was forged in the mundane moments of life—the quiet hours spent waiting for a time of testing.

Alfred Hitchcock famously said that movies are “life with the dull bits cut out.” We tend to view our own lives like films, judging our journey by the peaks and valleys: births and deaths, weddings and divorces, successes and failures. But our character isn’t forged in the midst of the rapids so much as it is in the calm eddies between them. Crisis demonstrates our character, but the calm between crises is where we build it.

Complacency vs. Expectation

It is easy to become complacent in the quiet of the in-between. Complacency lulls us into a false sense of security, fosters malaise, and leaves us unprepared for the challenges ahead. Expectation, in contrast, prepares us for the trials of life. It encourages spiritual fitness and gives us confidence that, in the end, right will prevail.

This Sunday’s readings in Acts find the apostles suspended between Christ’s Ascension and the coming of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost. As they stared up at the sky, they were undoubtedly asking themselves, “So, what do we do now?”

Luke, the author of Acts, usually describes the faithful as returning home glorifying and praising God. But here, the tone is different. Things looked grim for Jesus’ followers. While Christ had conquered death and was risen, they were now alone without their teacher, dogged by the authorities, and short one disciple who had betrayed Jesus only to take his own life.

A Transformation of Character

Perhaps the greatest testament to the truth of the Resurrection is the fact that the Church survived at all. A dramatic change occurred in this ragtag band of peasants. They were transformed from men who abandoned and denied Jesus into an organized, determined force with a missionary zeal to change the world. Something changed their very character.

Character building is one of the greatest challenges we face in society. Character is defined by doing the right thing for the right reason, even when no one is looking. Unfortunately, character is preciously rare in a culture that demands results now, wants things its own way, and seeks self-interest regardless of the cost to others.

When I served in the military, entire curricula at the service academies were dedicated to character. It is the essence of our core. The challenge, however, is that we can teach people the right thing to do but we cannot teach people to actually do the right thing. That quality begins at home and in places like this. It is the foundation of a life reinforced by making the right choices daily. Eventually, making the right choice for the right reason becomes a habit. Character grows in those mundane daily choices so that, in the moment of crisis, it can be displayed.

The Legacy of the Apostles

The disciples hadn’t displayed much character up to this point. By any earthly measure, the likelihood of the Church’s survival was dim. Yet, the same cowering band of turncoats we see in the Gospels eventually went to their graves proclaiming, “Jesus Christ is Lord.” With the exception of John, every one of the apostles died a martyr’s death, refusing to deny their faith. As a result, by the close of the first century, Christianity was spreading throughout the Roman Empire like wildfire.

The only reasonable explanation is that their character—the very foundation of who they were—was transformed by an encounter with the risen Christ. Rather than falling into complacency, their lives became characterized by expectation. Day by day, despite the uncertainty and the odds, they remained focused on their mission. Their daily, faithful expectation that Christ’s Church would prevail created heroes whose courage still shines today.

Heroes Among Us

Heroes sometimes shine in a blaze of glory—but they don’t have to. There are heroes among us in this very parish: people whose faithfulness to God and our community is displayed in the quiet courage of their daily lives.

• They are the ones who volunteer with no expectation of recognition.
• They are the ones who silently endure hardship without complaint.
• They are the ones who suffer disability or grief with grace.

Whether heroism is displayed in a moment of glory or in silent faithfulness, these individuals all share a common thread: they do the right thing for the right reason when no one is looking. They keep on keeping on despite the odds. And they expect, in the end, that good will prevail. Look around this place, and you will see that there are heroes among us.

Ascension Day – Mark S. Winward

The Ascension: From Observers to Apostles

Today, we celebrate the glorious Ascension of our Lord. Although we confess Jesus’ Ascension every Sunday in the Nicene Creed—”He ascended into heaven and is seated at the right hand of the Father”—the event is often misunderstood. In truth, the Ascension is the capstone of Jesus’ incarnation, death, and resurrection. Without Christmas, there could be no incarnation. Without Easter, the cross would be a meaningless martyrdom. And without the Ascension, Easter would be a victory without its final note of triumph. At the Ascension—following Jesus’ fierce battle with death and his victorious resurrection—Christ the King takes his rightful throne to rule his people forever.

But things will never be the same for Jesus’ disciples, no matter how much they might long for things to go back to the way they were. Have you ever noticed that after this point, the disciples are called “apostles”? They are no longer merely followers of a teacher. The word apostle comes from the Greek apostolos, literally meaning “those sent out with a mission.” With Jesus no longer physically present among them, they are commissioned as ambassadors of the risen and enthroned Christ.

Still, it must have been a frightening time. Times of change always are. Their teacher of three years was gone, leaving them with a commission to share his message throughout the entire world. This band of poor, uneducated Jewish peasants was left with mouths agape, staring at the sky. If ever a group lacked the means to meet a task, it was this one. “Okay,” I can hear them saying as they gazed upward, “so now what do we do?” Like it or not, the “good old days” were over. Yet, the truth is this: had they stayed stuck in that mode of thinking, Jesus’ message would have died that day, and we would never have known the transforming power of Christ.

For these former followers, this uncertain moment—suspended between the joy of the resurrection and the empowerment of Pentecost—was the beginning of an adventure. In effect, Jesus said to them, “Stop looking into the heavens! Stop waiting around for what you think might happen—you have work to do! You are going to receive the power of the Holy Spirit, and then you will be my witnesses to every corner of the world. You will do yourselves what you could not hope to do before.”

Then, it must finally have dawned on them: in this “in-between time,” they were on the cusp of something wonderful. I suspect that for the first time, they entertained the thought that perhaps God was about to move among them in a way more marvelous than they could ever imagine.

When they finally caught this vision, the story ends with an outburst of worship: ”And they returned to Jerusalem with great joy, and were continually in the temple blessing God.” Rather than being depressed that Jesus had left them with an uncertain future, the apostles were ecstatic. They realized that witness and worship belong together. Like a bud that will not bloom without water, the church’s mission to the world dries up without the joyous praise of worship. When we open ourselves to celebrate God’s presence in word, deed, liturgy, and song, we taste the promised power of the Holy Spirit. This is what enables us to celebrate his presence outside these doors. At the same time, worship apart from witness is hollow; it causes a community to turn inward, losing its very reason for being.

Like those apostles between Easter and Pentecost, I believe we as a church are on the cusp of something wonderful. Are we ready to consider that God may be doing a new and exciting thing among us? If we are, our best days remain before us, and the adventure is just beginning!

The Sixth Sunday of Easter – Mark S. Winward

Mother’s Day

In the name of God the Creator, God the Redeemer, and God who sanctifies our souls. Amen.

The Dilemma of Mother’s Day

Happy Mother’s Day, ladies! You know, Mother’s Day is one of those occasions that leaves preachers in a quandary. First, with our still being in the Easter season, our focus remains rightly on the glorious resurrection of our Lord. Second, a service centered wholly on Mother’s Day runs the danger of sinking into a kind of sentimentalism that might ignore the very real wounds many of you may carry. For some, motherhood was an accident and not always a welcome one; for others, biological motherhood isn’t possible. For some, their mothers weren’t all that kind, and for others, even under the very best of circumstances, motherhood is still less than a bed of roses or a primrose path.

An Earthly Representation of Divine Love

So, with all those qualifications, why even bother with Mother’s Day? We do so because, in the words of poet Wilhelm Busch, “To become a mother is not so difficult; on the other hand, being a mother is very much so!” Mother’s Day celebrates a beautiful ideal. Amidst all its stumbling blocks, pitfalls, and broken dreams—amidst the soiled diapers, stained wallpaper, and spoiled plans—we see an earthly representation of God’s love and care for us. Like God’s love, motherhood is mixed with joy and pain. It is rejoicing in first steps and wiping a fevered forehead; it is the warm embrace of an infant and the sleepless nights of sacrifice. Motherhood hopes for all and prays for hope when hope is gone. Like God’s relationship with us, it is at the very heart of what it means to be human.

The Incarnation and the Mother’s Touch

Why do you think it is so important that Jesus was born and had a mother himself? It is often overlooked, but this is one of the strongest arguments that Jesus’ life and teachings were not just concocted. In ancient Roman mythology, gods frequently visited the earth and sometimes took earthly women as wives, but the product of their union was always inferior to the god himself—his deity diluted by humanity. No one before that time had ever imagined the Creator could come to this world as a man with neither divinity nor humanity diluted. This was so alien to ancient beliefs that it could not have been the choice of a storyteller weaving a yarn. Ancient philosophy missed the touch-point between humanity and divinity: love. For Jesus to be fully human, He had to know the love of a mother’s warm embrace and her wiping away of tears. To be fully human—not frail and fallen, but as God meant us to be—He had to know the healing power of an earthly love which values another supremely above itself.

Motherhood as an Icon of Love

Motherhood is much more than a matter of relation. In the age of in vitro fertilization, surrogate mothers, and genetic manipulation, our biological categories for motherhood have increasingly blurred. Yet motherhood is not about whose genes you carry; true motherhood is nothing less than an icon of love—an earthly image pointing to a deeper spiritual reality. In 1 Corinthians 13, Paul describes the characteristics of selfless love: it is patient, kind, and does not insist on its own way. True, redeemed, and godly motherhood is always rooted in this love. It is that first experience of love, or the lack of it, which models our ability to love as adults. A devoted mother can give her child no greater gift than her love.

Healing the Brokenness

Yet the reality is that we live in a world marred by sin, where love is not always devoted or selfless. For many, motherhood represents pain or hurt. For some, a mother’s love was absent due to neglect or loss; for others, they long to be mothers but never will be. For these people, motherhood is at the center of their brokenness. I believe the key to wholeness is love. Somehow, we all must find a way to feel loved and to love. Perhaps you did not experience a mother’s love, yet there is One who knew and loved you even before you were formed in your mother’s womb.

Before the foundations of the world, you were loved. You were loved before you breathed your first breath and before you had that first unkind thought or did that first unjust deed. You were loved so much that God sent His Son to demonstrate an unfathomable and perfect love such as the world had never seen. God loved you to death; yet that love was so profound, so pure, that nothing could overcome it. Throughout the ages, that love has waited for you—a gift to be opened, embraced, and shared. Once you know it, it will forever be yours and you will be whole. The amazingly good news is that, in response to that love, we are free to love—not so that God might love us, but because He already does.

A Call to Wholeness

There is nothing you can do to escape that love except ignore it. Jesus Christ is alive and longs for you to live with Him. Allow Him to be your daily companion and surrender to His love. As you approach the altar this morning to receive the body and blood of Christ, receive Him anew, and go forth from this place assured that you are loved and whole. Perhaps then we can truly leave to love and serve the Lord with gladness and singleness of heart—fully human: loved to love.

The Third Sunday of Easter – Mark S. Winward

When [Jesus] was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him; and he vanished from their sight. They said to each other, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road…”

 – Luke 23:30-32

The Road to Emmaus

Have you ever been so caught up with your own problems that you missed what was happening right in front of you? I certainly have. It happens to all of us: we become so hyper-focused on a particular problem or task that we become oblivious to the world around us. Much of this stems from the fact that we simply don’t expect the unexpected. We look for what we assume will be there, and when something – or someone – extraordinary appears, our preoccupied minds fail to register it.

Jesus met his followers on the road to Emmaus in a completely unexpected way. For these travelers, the news of the empty tomb simply wasn’t enough. To them, the idea of a dead person coming back to life was as ridiculous as it is to us – perhaps even more so. In the ancient world, death was far more visible and visceral. There were no sanitized hospitals where people passed away quietly behind curtains; people saw life end in the streets and in the home. They watched women die in childbirth and saw the horrific trauma of a Roman execution. Having witnessed the torturous death of Jesus just days prior, only seeing him risen with their own eyes would be sufficient to bridge the gap between grief and belief.

This is what actually gives the story its “ring of truth.” Cleopas and his companion were so unwilling to believe that they were eventually “dressed down” by Jesus himself. If the early Church had been fabricating this story, it is highly unlikely they would include details that highlighted the followers’ lack of faith or stupidity. As the 19th-century legal scholar Simon Greenleaf noted, these accounts lack the polished signs of fabrication. A true witness is often artless and disdains calculated effects. This story has exactly that raw, unpolished tone.

The Mystery of Recognition

The Gospel writer describes their initial unbelief with a puzzling phrase: “…their eyes were kept from recognizing him.” For whatever reason, these two followers either couldn’t or wouldn’t see Jesus for who he was. Scholars have speculated on this for centuries. Perhaps the late afternoon sun was in their eyes, or perhaps Jesus wore a hood to conceal his face. Others suggest his resurrected body was dramatically different from his earthly one, while some believe God supernaturally clouded their vision, perhaps as he had once hardened the heart of Pharaoh.

The answer likely lies in a combination of these factors. God has a habit of expressing the extraordinary through the ordinary, and there’s no reason to believe he didn’t do the same here. It’s no accident that Jesus was finally revealed to them only when he sat down with them and broke bread. In the ancient world, the table was the ultimate place of fellowship – even more so than today. Throughout Luke’s Gospel, the table is where Jesus is heard and where people come to know him most personally.

The point is clear: Jesus reveals himself to us – he becomes most real to us – in the context of intimacy. This’s why faith is so important: we can’t truly know Christ unless we risk opening our hearts to him. The fact is: God doesn’t always arrive as lightning flashing across the sky. Instead, Luke suggests Jesus makes himself known in the basic, routine moments of life. He appears when we least expect him, making himself at home in the midst of our everyday chores and quiet walks. When we remain attentive to his presence throughout the day, we find that over the years, he becomes woven into the very fabric of our lives.

The Symbol of Breaking Bread

The act of breaking bread with Christ is a powerful symbol that we continue to celebrate in the Eucharist every week. Consider the feelings the smell of fresh bread evokes. If you grew up in a home where bread was baked in the kitchen, that scent is the smell of home itself. It’s why real estate agents often bake cookies before an open house; for those blessed with a nurturing upbringing, the aroma evokes peace, safety, and love.

You can’t miss the power of this symbol. Bread is the universal sign of “going home.” For the believer, it is also the symbol of Christ. In the bread, we see, touch, and taste something that tangibly and physically connects to Jesus. It is a holy, intimate moment where we connect with the divine through the mundane. And it serves as a physical reminder of our eventual heavenly home.

Conclusion

Jesus has a habit of showing up when he is least expected. He freely enters into a relationship with anyone who will welcome him, replacing their lingering fears with a burning hope. He is the master of revealing the extraordinary in the heart of the ordinary.

The catch, of course, is that you have to be looking – and you have to know who you are looking for. That leads to a vital question: Do you merely know about Christ, or do you truly know Christ? To know him is to walk with him, listen to his words, and enter into his fellowship.

As you leave this place today on your own road with our risen Lord, I pray each of you will catch the smell of the bread.

2nd Sunday of Easter – Byron Tindall

The reading for today from John’s Gospel takes place on the evening of that first Easter. John doesn’t say who all was there, just that Thomas wasn’t with them. The term “disciples” includes followers other than just the 11 or 10 without Thomas.

Regardless of the number of disciples present, I would love to have been the proverbial fly on the wall in order to eavesdrop on the conversation. I can just hear it now.

“What happened?” What’s going on?” “I heard some of the women said they’ve seen Him.” “I’m scared!” “It can’t be true that He isn’t dead, can it?” “I’m confused.” “Peter and the one Jesus loved saw the empty tomb.” I just wish John had recorded at least a little bit of the discussion.

At any rate, John wrote that Jesus suddenly, without fanfare, appeared in the midst of them. After giving His peace to them, Jesus gave them their marching orders and then he showed them his hands and his feet. He then bestows the Holy Spirit on them.

At this point, we need to ask the question, “Is this John’s version of the Christian Pentecost?” It is vastly different from Luke’s account as recorded in the second chapter of the Acts of the Apostles. The Day of Pentecost was the Greek term for the Jewish Feast of Weeks, so named because it fell on the 50^th day following the ceremony of the barley sheaf during the Passover celebration.

Maybe, just maybe, the gift of the Holy Spirit is given to individuals at various times. I think that is the way She acts. This has been going on throughout history. The gift wasn’t given just once to the disciples. Think about what is said at Baptisms and Ordinations. In one of the petitions in the Prayers for the Candidates at Baptism, and leader prays, “Fill them with your holy and life-giving Spirit.” During the service of Ordination, the bishop lays hands on the ordinand’s head and prays, “Therefore, Father, through Jesus Christ your Son, give your Holy Spirit to….”

Could it possibly be that all of us experience “mini” Pentecosts throughout our lives? I happen to think that we do.

The next portion of the lesson from John is one of the most debated statements in the New Testament. “If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them….” Those who are not comfortable with this say that only God can forgive sins. A close look at the prayer in the Ash Wednesday liturgy sheds a little light on the subject.

“Almighty God…has given power and commandment to his ministers to declare and pronounce to his people, being penitent, the absolution and remission of their sins….” It’s not the bishop or priest who forgives the sin. The minister is assuring the penitent of God’s forgiveness. The minister has the right to do so through the power of the Holy Spirit received at ordination.

We have now arrived at the point in John’s narrative that really resonates with me, the report of Doubting Thomas. I can relate to Thomas wanting further proof that Christ had risen. He got his proof a week later. I, for one, would like to know what transpired during the time between the gatherings in the house. Oh well, St. John apparently didn’t think it was important enough to record, so I’ll never know in this life at least.

When Jesus appeared again to the assembled disciples, Thomas was present this time. After sharing  His peace with them, Jesus tells Thomas to feel his wounds. Jesus told Thomas, “Do not doubt but believe.” St. John does not say whether or not Thomas actually touched Jesus. It doesn’t make any difference. Thomas’s exclamation says it all. “My Lord and my God!”

Jesus then said to Thomas, not the entire gathering, according to St. John, “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.”

To whom was Jesus referring when He said, “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe?

John concludes this portion of his Gospel with some very reassuring statements.

“Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in the book. But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.”

To whom did St. John direct his statement, “…these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah….”

I think that both Jesus and St. John were referring to all the saints throughout all generations down through the ages culminating with you and me.

And if that is so, when say we believe, we are to live our lives following the One who died and rose again for us.

At the conclusion of the lessons, our lectors say, “Hear what the Spirit is saying to God’s people.” We have to ask ourselves, “What is the Spirit saying to me?” “Where is He sending me?” 

Just as He sent forth his disciples, He sends us out to show God’s love for his creation. Our lives are to show the world what we believe.

 Alleluia, Christ has risen.

Easter Day – Mark S Winward

The Easter Acclamation and Welcome

We Episcopalians are known for our worship being conducted “properly and in good order.” Today is a bit different; today we celebrate the risen Christ! It’s OK this morning to join in the Easter response with spirit and gusto as if your hometown team won the championships!

“Alleluia! Christ is risen!” 

[The congregation responds: “The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia!”]

Well, that is quite good for this early on a Sunday morning! Now, I realize that there are many people who do not make it to church every Sunday—perhaps only twice a year. I once heard those who fall into that category referred to as CEOs. I don’t mean Chief Executive Officers, though I suspect we have a few of those here as well. In this context, it stands for “Christmas and Easter Onlys.” Whether you are a CEO, an infrequent attendee, or a regular, please know that we are absolutely delighted to have you here this beautiful Easter morning.

The Human Need for Victory

Throughout the country today, churches and chapels are packed. Have you ever wondered why people flock to church, at least on these major holidays? In his book The Jesus I Never Knew, Philip Yancey suggests that at a fundamental level, we as humans want—no, we need—this story to be true. Today’s story is about victory over death. Is there anyone here who hasn’t been touched by the death of someone they loved? Whether it was a friend, a family member, or even a cherished pet, something primal within humanity cries out against the reign of death.

This is why fairy tales and modern myths draw us in. Movies like Star Wars: The Last Jedi (think of Yoda), Justice League (where Superman rises again), and The Lord of the Rings (Gandalf the White) all play on that old instinct. Amidst struggle and pain, these stories tell of a victory that replaces tears with hope. The resurrection story does the same, and perhaps that is why, deep in our hearts, it rings so true.

Beyond Wishful Thinking

I do not believe the resurrection is merely the wishful “stuff of fantasy.” At the end of the day, hope for those we love—and hope for ourselves—hinges on whether this story is fundamentally true. I don’t mean true in a sentimental or metaphorical sense, as in “he lives on in our hearts,” but true in concrete reality. St. Paul wrote to the Corinthians, “If there is no resurrection of the dead, then Christ has not been raised; and if Christ has not been raised, then our proclamation has been in vain and your faith has been in vain.” (1 Corinthians 15:13-14). Our survival past the gates of death literally depends on the reality of this event.

More than half a century ago, the late British theologian, John Stott, boiled down the evidence for the resurrection in his Christian classic, Basic Christianity. He made three compelling points. First, the body was gone; the tomb was empty. Critics often offer suggestions to explain this. One is that the women simply went to the wrong tomb because it was dark and they were dazed by grief. But if Mary Magdalene went to the wrong tomb initially, she would hardly have repeated the mistake in the light of day when she stayed until Jesus met her. Furthermore, is it reasonable to assume Peter, John, and Joseph of Arimathea—who actually donated the tomb—would all make the same mistake?

Evaluating the Theories

Another suggestion is the “Swoon Theory”—the idea that Jesus didn’t actually die but merely fainted. Yet, the centurion vouched to Pilate that He was dead after ordering Jesus’s side to be pierced with a spear. Is it reasonable to believe that after the rigors of trial, flogging, and crucifixion, having been dead for thirty-six hours in a cold stone sepulcher without food or water, Jesus would have the strength to move a sealed boulder without disturbing the Roman guard? Could he then appear to his disciples—weak, wounded, and hungry—and still give them the impression he was victorious over death? Such a leap of logic is more incredible than Thomas’s unbelief.

Others suggest thieves stole the body, but this fails to explain how they bypassed the guards or why they would bother leaving the grave clothes behind. A more plausible theory is that the disciples removed the body. However, Pilate was aware of Jesus’s claims of rising again and intentionally placed a hand-picked guard to prevent such a theft. Even if the disciples had succeeded, would they have then preached the resurrection throughout the Roman world—facing torture and death—knowing it was a total sham? That is an awful lot of trouble to go to for a lie.

Finally, perhaps the Roman or Jewish authorities took the body into custody to prevent any sleight of hand. If this was the plan, it was an utter failure. Within weeks, followers were boldly proclaiming the resurrection. If the authorities had possessed the body, all they had to do to end the movement and prevent civil unrest was to put the moldering corpse on display.

The Witnesses and the Transformation

Stott’s second point is that the Lord was seen by multiple people. Over the next six weeks, records state Jesus was seen not only by his disciples but by as many as 500 people. While critics suggest these are mere fabrications, the narratives are sober, unadorned, and devoid of the sensationalism typical of that era. They are graphic depictions enlivened by the details of eyewitness reports. If they were “poor inventions,” the followers surely would have omitted the embarrassing details of their own fear and lack of faith. They would have played up the drama “Hollywood style” with flashes of light. Most importantly, they never would have chosen Mary Magdalene as the first witness; as a woman, her testimony carried no legal weight in ancient Jewish law.

Nor was this a mass hallucination. Hallucinations usually stem from wishful thinking, yet the women were described as terrified, and the disciples were skeptical. Thomas demanded physical proof, and even after worshipping Him in Galilee, Matthew records that “some doubted.” These were not gullible folk, but sober and skeptical people.

Finally, Stott points to the dramatic change in the disciples themselves. Peter is the most striking example. In John’s Gospel, we see him deny Jesus three times and cower in fear; a few pages later, he is forcefully proclaiming the risen Christ to thousands. Something extraordinary transformed that frightened band of peasants into a courageous force that changed the world at the cost of their own blood.

A Choice to Be Made

Does this incontrovertibly “prove” the resurrection? Not necessarily. But it does make the leap of faith less a leap into the dark and more a leap into the light. The Bible does not leave room for us to believe Jesus was simply a great teacher. C.S. Lewis famously argued in Mere Christianity:

“A man who was merely a man and said the sort of things Jesus said would not be a great moral teacher, he’d either be a lunatic—on a level with a man who says he’s a poached egg—or else he’d be the Devil of Hell. You must make your choice. Either this man was and is the Son of God, or else a madman or something worse… But don’t let us come up with any patronizing nonsense about his being a great human teacher. He hasn’t left that open to us. He didn’t intend to.”

For those struggling to believe, or who see Easter as merely a quaint holiday, what we celebrate today is either of no account at all or the most important thing you could possibly know. I know Christ is risen not just because I read it in a book, or because “the Bible tells me so.” I know He is risen because I know Him. I know His unfathomable love for me despite my selfishness; I know His sustaining power; and I know His unwavering presence as my constant companion.

Conclusion

Either I have actually and personally encountered the Lord of lords—or I am delusional. I cannot prove to you that I am not delusional, but you can prove it for yourself. If I am wrong and life is meaningless, I have at least found something that gives me strength. But what if I am not delusional?

Philip Yancey concluded that there are two ways to look at history. One focuses on wars, violence, and tragedy, making Easter seem like a “fairy-tale exception.” But, he adds:

“If I take Easter as the starting point, the one incontrovertible fact about how God treats those whom he loves, then human history becomes the contradiction and Easter a preview of ultimate reality. Hope then flows like lava beneath the crust of daily life.”

Why not give Jesus a chance this morning? In the quiet of your heart, invite Him to become a daily part of your life, to be your Lord calling the shots, and your unwavering companion to the end. Then, go from this place proclaiming:

Alleluia! The Lord is risen!”[The congregation responds: “The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!”]

The Great Vigil of Easter – Mark S Winward

The Easter Proclamation

Alleluia. Christ is risen! [The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia!]

Let’s try that again. Alleluia. Christ is risen! [The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia!]

Just one more time. Alleluia. Christ is risen! [The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia!]

That acclamation is known all over the world, and it lies deep at the heart of our identity as Christians.

The Unextinguishable Faith

Around 1930, the Communist leader Nikolai Bukharin traveled from Moscow to Kiev to address a massive assembly. His purpose was to prove the validity of a central tenet of his party: atheism. For a solid hour, he hurled ridicule and every argument he could muster against the “superstitious” faith of the people. Finally, he finished and paused to survey what he assumed were the smoldering ashes of their faith. “Are there any questions?” Bukharin smugly demanded.

A solitary, courageous man arose and asked permission to speak. He mounted the platform and moved close to the Communist leader. The audience was breathlessly silent as the man surveyed them—first to the right, then to the left. At last, he shouted the ancient Orthodox greeting: “CHRIST IS RISEN!” The vast assembly arose as one, and the response came crashing like a literal avalanche: “HE IS RISEN INDEED!”

The Holy Fire of Jerusalem

Every Easter in the Eastern Orthodox Church, the Patriarch of Jerusalem prepares to enter the Holy Sepulcher—the very place where Jesus’ body was laid. The ancient Byzantine church in the heart of the city is dark; the thousands of oil lamps that usually illuminate that sacred space have been extinguished. Following a tradition of more than fifteen hundred years, the Patriarch and the tomb are searched for any sign of fire or the tools to create it.

Then, empty-handed, the Patriarch enters the dark tomb alone. A long period of silence follows as the people pray for what many believe is a recurring miracle. Suddenly, the Patriarch emerges with a flame—a holy and miraculous light. Immediately, he joyously exclaims, “Alleluia! Christ is risen!” And like us this evening, the people respond, “The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!” From that holy flame, the light spreads throughout the darkened church until the entire space is ablaze. That light is then used to keep the church’s lamps burning until Maundy Thursday of the following year.

A Light Breaking In

Where there was emptiness, darkness, and silence, Jesus Christ breaks in this evening—just as He did on that first Easter—with His presence, light, and joy. Throughout the world, Christians remember that they are Christ’s own; by His power and promises, we are dead to sin and alive in Him. In baptizing Annabelle tonight, we remember our own baptism and how God, through His Son, has redeemed us. We celebrate her baptism this evening because, on this most holy of nights, Christ’s glorious resurrection is what makes baptism possible.

Tonight, we recount the mighty and victorious history that leads us to this moment. Each of tonight’s readings describes how God created us, chose us, and loves us. They show how baptism ushers us into a community of His people—a people God saves by drawing them into a relationship with Himself.

The Epic Saga of Creation

Love and betrayal, heroism and defeat, abandonment and victory—these elements make this the most epic of all sagas. The story begins with Creation. I love the way the New International Version puts it: “In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters.” In ancient Middle Eastern culture, water represented mystery, danger, and lifelessness. I imagine God brooding over the emptiness of eternity past. Suddenly, God breaks the darkness, exclaiming, “Let there be light!” In a cataclysmic moment, time and space expanded together in a burst of love and light, dispersing the void. And God saw that it was good.

Created for Relationship

As the crowning achievement of creation, He made man and woman. The text says, “Let us make humankind in our image…” Many people imagine God as a giant Zeus or Saturn, looking like us but on a larger scale. But the text cannot mean a physical image, for men and women are physically distinct. The clue lies in that curious plural: “Let us make humankind in our image.” From the very beginning, God gave us a hint of His nature. He is more than just one; He is a unity. Christians know this as the Trinity—Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. In that mutual, loving relationship, God finds Himself “One.” God created us, male and female, to be relational beings—to be in a relationship with Him and with each other.

The Betrayal and the Bondage

We all know what happened next. Our Eucharistic liturgy puts it clearly: “From the primal elements you brought forth the human race… But we turned against you, and betrayed your trust; and we turned against one another.” We became estranged, bondservants to sin under a sentence of death. Out of our own bondage, we forced others into oppression as humanity spiraled toward a hopeless end.

A God Who Never Abandons

Yet, though we abandoned God, God never abandoned us. He sought to raise up a faithful people to call the world back to Him. He delivered the people of Israel from their bondage in Egypt. When they faced certain death at the Red Sea, God allowed them to pass through the waters to life, victory, and hope.

Again and again, He called us to return. But again and again, we chose our own selfish desires. We were free as a nation, perhaps, but still slaves to sin. It would take a miracle to turn us from our self-made gods. Ezekiel prophesied that God would remove our hearts of stone and give us hearts of flesh. Zephaniah prophesied that God would come into our midst to bring victory. Finally, in the fullness of time, He sent His only Son to open for us the way of freedom and peace.

Paid in Full

Tonight, we celebrate the victory of Jesus Christ, which forever broke the power of sin for all who trust Him. Recall Jesus’ last words on the cross: “It is finished.” In ancient legal terms, this meant “Paid in Full.” Out of self-giving love, God in the person of Jesus Christ paid the price for our disobedience while we were spiritually bankrupt. While the debt was settled on the cross, the Resurrection is our “get out of jail free” card. It is the delivery of our freedom.

The New Life in Baptism

Tonight, God has given Annabelle her own “get out of jail free” card. We have been reminded that she—and we—have passed through the waters of baptism. We have moved through death to this world and into the miracle of the Spirit. St. Paul reminds us that “if we have been buried with Christ in baptism, we will certainly also be united with Him in His resurrection.”

But this is not magic. A card must be used to be effective. Moments ago, we renewed our baptismal covenant to renounce evil and put our whole trust in Jesus Christ—not just as Savior, but as the Lord of our lives. The Covenant makes it clear how we do that: by persevering in prayer, resisting evil, proclaiming the Good News, and seeking to serve Christ in all persons.

People of the Light

As the light of the Paschal candle fills this sanctuary, let it remind you that the Resurrection is not merely a dusty historical event two thousand years ago to be studied and debated, but a current reality to be lived. Tonight, we do not just celebrate a miracle that happened two thousand years ago; we celebrate a transformation happening right now in the heart of a young woman and in the soul of this community. We leave this place not as people of the tomb, but as people of the light. Carry that flame with you. Let it burn away the shadows of your fears and light the path for a world still wandering in the dark. For the empty tomb is our open door, and the risen Christ is our eternal home. 

Alleluia! Christ is risen! [He is risen indeed! Alleluia!]