Chris Yaw

Every year during Holy Week when we hear the story of Jesus's unjust trial, torture, and death I like to think that could never happen today in America.

But then I think of Matthew 25 and that famous story Jesus told about the sheep and the goats. He sorts out good people from bad people based on how they treated others.

At one point, the condemned ask, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry, lonely, or naked and fail to help you?' And Jesus says, 'Whenever you failed to help somebody, anybody, in that situation, you failed to help me.'

A prison reformer named Henry Brubaker once said that, "The treatment society affords its outcasts reveals the way its members view one another—and themselves."

In other words, when we allow 4,000 people to be homeless in our county, half of whom are children; when we build a health care system that allows the poor and people of color a substandard level of care that increases their suffering and shortens their life span; when we legally kill the incarcerated, we're not just doing this to other people, we're doing this to Jesus.

Friends, how we treat others is how we treat God.

Holy Week isn't just about an unjust killing 2,000 years ago, it's about the George Floyds and Breonna Taylors of today - it's about how we love others as we love ourselves - personally and communally.

The question Holy Week asks of us is, 'How are we treating others?' Is it 'me first?' Or is it 'God first,' which means 'Others first?'

This week, Jesus was put to death in his quest to care about others, how can we go and do likewise?

If Lent 2021 barely made a blip on the radar screen of your daily life, I think I know why.

It’s because we’ve been sitting here in Lent for the past year.

Lent is when we give things up we like in order to suffer like Jesus - so we can strengthen ourselves against temptation, become more resilient, and live a more focused life of service.

But we’ve been giving up things we like all year - and not because we’ve wanted to!

No wonder our stamina is gone and our strength to withstand temptation has been zapped.

So if you’re coming to Holy Week - which starts Sunday - and you feel tired and tapped out - I wonder if we can’t better understand how Jesus felt.

On Sunday we mark the beginning of the end of his life-long journey to wake up a world that’s been hopelessly asleep to God's message of love, compassion, justice, and peace.

Jesus spent three years grooming 12 disciples who still don’t get it. And he's about to run headlong into a crowd that celebrates his grand entrance into Jerusalem one moment, and then calls for his crucifixion the next.

So when Jesus finally arrives at this week, the pinnacle week of his life and ministry, we can understand how tired and spent he is as well.

And what Jesus does is what you and I are attempting to do. We are trying to summon our strength, center ourselves, and trust that just as God met Jesus in his valley, God will meet us in ours.

If holy week is about anything, it's about God's faithfulness. God’s provision. God doesn't forget us. God turns our pain into purpose. And perhaps it's our knowledge of that that can help us get through this.

As a priest I’ve been asked, ‘What do I say at a funeral?' Or 'What do I say to someone who's grieving?'

In fact, a big reason people don't like to go to funerals - or nursing homes, hospitals, or even call someone who’s going through something traumatic - is because we feel uncomfortable:

What do we say?

What do we do?

People who are grieving you need to hear three things from us:

First, they need validation - that what they're going through is bad - that this is a tough time - that their feelings of loss are not abnormal. A friend of mine got a load of cards in the mail when her husband died, and the only one she saved was from a 10-year-old girl that simply read, ‘Oh no!’ Grieving people need to know that their pain and hurt is okay.

Second, grieving friends need to know that you care. You can tell them that you love them or that you care for them, but they need to know that you are concerned. Not visiting, not calling, not texting is a cop out. Find a way to express the fact that you care about them.

And third, grieving people need to know that you are here. That you’re present. You can choose to be in a lot of different places, but you have chosen to be with your friend in their time of sadness. As the saying goes, grief shared is grief lessened.

Those 3 things and that's it.

Avoid the temptation to try to fix things - don’t say: ‘It could have been worse,’ ‘God needed another angel,’ ‘God’s teaching you something,’ or ’This happened for a reason,’ - the subtext communicated here is ’So stop feeling bad!’

When someone’s hurting, of course we want to fix it - but we can’t - only God can - in God’s time and in God’s way. And so let’s channel God’s love by offering validation, care, and presence.

This Sunday, the Fifth Sunday in Lent, we’re going to hear Jesus talk about his upcoming death: and conversations about our mortality are as uncomfortable as they are inevitable: How do we cope? How can we help others who are coping? Be with us on Sunday and we’ll learn together.

My friend Andy was raised in a Christian home.

So when he returned from college one year and told his parents that he had found Jesus, they were puzzled.

So his mother asked,

"Did you find a different kind of church?

"Is there a minister that you like?

"You have grown up in our Christian home, what do you mean that you have now suddenly found Jesus?"

What Andy articulated is at the heart of this Sunday's gospel. It's the difference between "believing", and "giving your heart over."

We see this in that iconic Bible verse from John chapter 3, 'For God so loved the world he gave his only begotten son so that whoever would believe in him would not perish but would have eternal life.'

One theologian says we should substitute the word "believe" with the phrase "give your heart over to" - he says it's much closer to the author's intent.

In other words, the biblical sense of believing in Christ is more than just ascending to some list of theological of doctrines, it's more visceral, more emotional, it means to give our selves - all of who we are - over to God.

In one sense, it's the difference between saying I love you and will you marry me?

And what we consider during this Lenten season, is that giving our hearts over to God is not something that we do once and never consider again. Rather, to use the marriage analogy again, it is not unlike successful couples, in which we continually give our hearts over to our beloved.

What does that look like to you and me?

In what ways have we agreed to believe but not given our hearts over?

In what ways have we copped to the safe harbor of intellectual ascent, tending to the rituals putting up a good front, and avoided the much less predictable waters of heartfelt commitment to Christ?

We do well to consider that God asks us to do this not for God's well-being, but for our own.

Some people describe their faith as a light switch.

One moment they didn't believe, the next moment they did.

One moment they weren't saved, the next moment they were.

One moment they were in the dark, the next, they were in the light.

"Light switch faith" lets us point to a certain moment when the lights were off then suddenly came on - and once the lights are on, they're on, and that's as bright as it gets.

Other people believe faith is more like a dimmer switch.

At our baptisms, the light starts coming on.

Then as we grow, at our Confirmations and other times of spiritual awakening, the light can gradually become brighter.

"Dimmer switch faith" suggests that we always have the ability to make things both darker - and brighter - that we can certainly step back and sit on a plateau - but we can also move toward God, seek the light, and turn that dimmer switch up.

In Sunday’s Gospel we hear one of those many occasions when Jesus describes what ’turning up the dimmer switch’ looks like - and it’s not easy. It involves looking less at our own interests, and concentrating more on the interests of others.

The more we shoulder the burdens of others, take on responsibilities we’ve been avoiding, forgiving those who don’t ask for, or deserve, forgiveness - when we name our cross - and choose to carry it - the light of Christ becomes brighter both for us and in us.

Jesus said, ’They will know we are Christians by our love’ - that light of love that comes from above, and shines forth as we do loving acts of service.

Where’s your dimmer switch set today?

What does ’turning up the dimmer switch’ look like for you?

How might this 40 day period of Lent help us turn it up and shine?

When my friend Jim was 16 years old, he ran a stop sign going 90 mph and plowed into a minivan, killing a grandmother at the wheel, and seriously injuring her 18-month-old passenger. He said he was showing off, trying to impress his friends in the car.

I recently talked with Jim, now age 26, and asked him how he copes with the accident.

He made it clear that he was not the victim, it was a grandmother and the 18 month old, who thankfully is now a healthy and happy 12-year-old, who are the victims. But nonetheless, Jim still suffers.

He told me how he had descended into depression, anger, and frustration, seeing a counselor for years, and then as he got older, purposely choosing a college that did not allow drinking, because he knew that's where he would go.

It was his quest for wholeness that led him to God.

Jim did not come from a religious family, but after a friend invited him to church, he began to explore what faith in Christ meant, and how he might be able to find strength to leave behind the insecure, reckless and selfish side of him that had caused the accident, and find a new way of being alive in the world. As 1 Corinthians says, the old has passed away and in Christ behold a new has come

At the heart of Ash Wednesday is much the same thing - as we are invited to discover, or rediscover, a newness in our lives, of God meeting us, of God filling us, of God forgiving us, of God taking our lives and getting rid of the bad stuff while equipping us with what we need to do the good stuff.

And this is what Lent is about.

40 days of self-examination.

40 days of self-reflection.

40 days in which we implement practices designed to draw us nearer to the one whose deep desire is to be nearer to us.

As Jim is always quick to tell me, his involvement in that accident has made him much more conscious of the shortness of our time on earth, of how quickly it all goes, of the absence of guarantees of health, good life, and long life.

We only have so long to do well upon this earth, and we do best with God's help.

So let us take this time to draw closer to the source of what we know will allow us to fulfill our deepest dream, which, like Jim, is to find wholeness, health, acceptance, and repair - the important things that we want, and that God wants for us.

My friend keeps a photograph of his family front and center on his desk.

Everyone's in swimsuits on the sand on some coconut island - and there’s not a cloud nor a frown in sight.

I ask him why he has this photograph so prominently displayed - and he says it’s for those times when life at home is no vacation: when the kids talk back, he’s at odds with his wife, and the baby wakes everybody up at 3 in the morning.

He says that photograph is an important reminder of what family life can be - and what keeps him going when the going gets tough.

On Sunday you and I will hear that iconic story of the Transfiguration, in which Jesus takes James, John, and Peter to the holy mount, where they meet Moses and Elijah in a dramatic display of miraculous power.

God knows they will need this reminder as they experience the weeks ahead, the arrest, trial, and death, of Jesus. God wants these disciples to remember the power and the providence at work, to help them have faith - when everything around them is crumbling.

This story invites us to ask about our mountaintop experiences - both big and small.

I have a friend recovering from depression, and his therapist regularly asks him not so much about his depressive episodes, but about his small victories, like the day he was able to work for four hours in focused concentration, or the puzzle he was able to finish with his daughter - this therapist tells him to remember these victories - as signs that he can make, he can win his battle.

One of the biggest themes in the Bible is remembrance; remember the times when God helped us endure that loss, when God somehow provided for us, and when we were given something amazing we know we didn't deserve.

For many of us, the journey of Lent that invites us to walk a challenging walk to the Cross with Jesus, feels like something we've already been doing throughout this pandemic. And God's message to us is to remember the ways God provided for Jesus in his darkest hour - and the way God provides for us in our darkest hour - knowing that what God has done before, God can do again.

Be encouraged, we’re in this together, we have each other and Our Lord.

The toddler got into the hair tonic.

Apparently he had seen dad use the pomade to help hair that was going the wrong way go the right way. So the 2-year-old, who often wakes up with a windswept, Donald Trump hairdo, decided it was time for him to do the same.

He was very well intentioned. He knew what the pomade would do. He knew, approximately which part of his body to which it might be applied. He just wasn't real sure exactly where; his cheek, his mouth, oh yeah, his hair...

Trying to make right that which has gone wrong is not simply a human predilection, it’s at the heart of Jesus's ministry.

On Sunday we will see Jesus launching headlong into his work of healing, casting out demons, and proclaiming the good news of the Gospel. He is all about putting back to rights that which has gone wrong. And he was very good at it.

You and me… not so much.

As I make comparatively feeble attempts at imitating him, I can't help but think that I look like the toddler with the hair tonic.

My mending, repairing, reconciling, and reordering, never seem to go as well as I'd like. While I enjoy modest success, I also endure my share of failure.

But I suspect that’s ok.

I believe God is honored not simply when we fix things, but when we try to fix things.

And just as that toddler will one day grow up to make his hair just right, so too, as we mature and grow, will we find ways to make all sorts of things right.

Be encouraged, keep moving toward the light, and doing what’s right.

See you Sunday

During this historic Inauguration week we hear forecasts from economists, diplomats, journalists, politicians, and doctors, but what might we, as people of faith, like to see in the next four years?

Using the Bible as our roadmap and Jesus as our guide, here are some ideas:

We would like to see the poor better off.

Jesus had such a heart for the poor and spent nearly all his time and energy improving their lot. This is a plea for more attention to the plight of ’the least of these.' The richest nation in the world should not have 550,000 people sleeping outside every night. 2,000 children in affluent Oakland County should not be without a home. Can we find a way to use our vast wealth and power to improve living conditions of those so close to Jesus’ heart?

We would like to see the environment better off.

As stewards of God’s creation, who are responsible not just to our Lord, but to our children and their children, how are the decisions we’re making today about energy production and consumption, recycling and reuse, conservation and preservation, reflecting our convictions? Can we find a way to muster Our shared sense of care for the health of our environment to productive ends?

We would like to see our society behave more civilly.

It’s a complaint we hear (and make) all the time. And we know that civility is a real impediment to progress. We know that the more we fight on deck, the greater risk that the ship goes down. And living out something most of us agree on, Jesus’ Golden Rule, shouldn’t be so hard. In our uber-connected world, can we find some way to agree that the way we treat others is not only a reflection of who we are, but of the way we treat God?

We would like to see more racial justice.

Race relations in our country remain poor. The marks made by 400 years of slavery do go awayquickly. And while our country has made strides, the average American white family, for example, has a net worth of $171,000 and the average black family has a net worth of $17,000. This points to deep and lasting systemic problems that need continued attention. At the heart of Jesus’ ministry was justice, he died for it. Can we take the momentum from last summer’s racial reckoning to new levels in the years ahead?

We would like to see greater economic equality.

Do we want to be a country ruled by plutocrats? Our society concentrates 90% of its wealth in the hands of 1% of its people. America is no longer the land of dreams it once was: it’s now far easier to rise above the class you’re born in in Denmark, Japan, Germany, and Australia, just to name a few. What can be done to stop the death spiral of ’the rich getting richer’ so that those who need it most don’t tend to get it least?

Lord God Almighty, who hast made all the peoples of the earth for thy glory, to serve thee in freedom and in peace: Give to the people of our country a zeal for justice and the strength of forbearance, that we may use our liberty in accordance with thy gracious will; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen. (BCP p 207)

As we move into a new chapter in our national life, I invite you to stay connected with the Episcopal Church’s Office of Government Relations for suggestions about engagement with our government. In this time of division, you might also want to check out Make Me an Instrument: A Guide to Civil Discourse, a free course from ChurchNext.

Let us pray for President Trump and President Biden and for all who hold authority. And let us never cease to work and pray for the good and well-being of all people.

And may we see the next 4 years bring us closer to God's kingdom than ever never before.

Years ago, University of California, Berkeley researchers asked students to take a very difficult vocabulary test.

Nobody did well.

The students were then broken into groups.

One was told to be easy on themselves, that they would do better next time, and to practice self-compassion.

Another group wasn't told anything. These students were left to their inner evaluations which, presumably meant concentrating on the negative, self-flagellation we routinely experience when we fail.

All these students were then monitored in the run-up to another test a few weeks later.

And researchers found something surprising.

They found that those in the first group, who were told to practice self-compassion, began studying for the next test earlier and harder - and did better on that second exam.

This Sunday, when we commemorate the baptism of Jesus, arising from the River Jordan we will hear God say to Jesus: “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”

Jesus was told, even before his first miracle, sermon, or healing, about his self-worth.

God’s word to him of inherent value and appreciation, lays the groundwork to self-compassion. And why? Because God wanted Jesus - God wants us - to do well in our pursuits.

As we approach 2021 may we not beat ourselves up - but practice self-compassion, not just so we’ll do better, but so we can do better for the world we’re called to serve.

Has there ever been more excitement about ending one year and starting another?

I'm sure you're as anxious as I am to get rid of smelly face masks, work-from-home, school-from-home routines, and that pestiferous phrase, "We can't hear you, you're muted."

Yes, 20/20 was a terrible year for too many people.

If you take a moment to do an end-of-year inventory, yours was probably rife with missed concerts, graduations, sporting events, and worship services, if not even worse: bouts with sickness, unemployment, bankruptcy, or even death, as we all did our best to stay sane, safe and healthy.

Staying safe is something we’ll hear about this weekend when we see what motivated Joseph and Mary and the newborn Jesus to leave their normal lives behind and flee to Egypt.

The story of the Holy family's flight is what we hear in marking the season of Epiphany, which is the churches' word for opening ourselves to newness.

And how appropriate is that?

Newness.

Joseph and Mary did this not once but twice: in traveling first to Egypt, then to Nazareth. Their openness to trusting their instincts - having faith in an unknown future - and holding on to hope - and the possibility that God would work things out.

This is an inspiration for you and me - as we too stand at the precipice of what will certainly be a very, very new time for us.

2021.

A fresh, white sheet of possibility and opportunity is before us.

A new dawn to pursue healing, reconciliation, charity, justice, contentment, and fulfillment is breaking.

Our icon is the star.

And the meaning of that star is hope...

And hope is the heartbeat of our faith.

The changes you and I want to see in the year ahead start there.

They will not come out of hopelessness and apathy, but out of a sincere belief - hope - that things can get better.

You may be as exhausted as I am after living through 2020 - and have very little to bring.

But don’t worry - stay seated, stay centered - we can hold hands and hold on to hope.

I have a friend who's giving holiday gifts differently.

For quite a while she’d been receiving the same ill-fitting sweaters from her siblings, tossing them into her ‘re-gifting’ area, and not until recently noticing these siblings were probably doing the same thing with her ‘more convenient than thoughtful’ gifts.

She decided this year would be different after hearing these words by poet David Whyte:

“Better to spend a long time sitting in our armchairs in silent contemplation of those we want to gift, looking for the imaginative doorway that says I know you and see you and this is how I give thanks for you, which may bring us to the perfect objet but also may bring us instead to write a short heartfelt message that acknowledges their place in our lives.”

Thoughtful.

Heartfelt.

Other-centered.

Is there a profound way to celebrate Christmas?

Chris Yaw

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Let's Stop Killing Jesus

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The Three Things to Say at a Funeral

What Do You Mean, You Found Jesus?

Light Switch or Dimmer Switch?

Getting Serious about Getting Serious

Remember to Remember

Our Ministry of Mending

Measuring the Next Four Years

Why God Wants Us to Quit Beating Ourselves Up

2021: Hope is Our Heartbeat

A Profound Way to Celebrate Christmas

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