Chris Yaw

A dear friend recently gave me a big box of assorted chocolates.

I opened them up and offered them to the children. My daughter pointed to a square covered in dark chocolate drizzled with a white swirl and said, "What's inside that one dad?" I said, "I don't know."

She then pointed to a rectangular, darker chocolate piece with sprinkles on top and asked, "What's inside that one?" I said, "I have no idea.”

She then pointed to the shiny, round, milk chocolate dome that stands up above the others and asked, "What's inside that one dad?" Of course, that one I knew, that one is always the chocolate covered cherry.

I often wish my life was like that, that people could see the outside and instantly know what's on the inside.

If that were the case with us all then we would clearly see in one another the kindness, love, and good intentions that most people have and move through the world with. Too many times, of course, we come across much differently.

Getting our outside to match our inside is one of the most important goals of the Christian journey. How do we become more authentically ourselves? How do we let the love, generosity, kindness, and hospitality of God that is in each one of our hearts, become the most obvious thing about us?

We get some insight in Sunday's gospel. We will hear Jesus use that famous analogy about God being the vine and us being the branches - and that our thriving has everything to do with how well connected we are with the vine.

Jesus will use a distinctive Bible word, abide, to communicate the secret to authentic living: the more we abide, marinate in, surround ourselves with, make a bigger part of our lives, the words and teachings of Jesus, the more we will thrive and grow and change. We will bear fruit. And that fruit is love, kindness, forgiveness, encouragement, self-control, this kind of thing.

Yes, when these kinds of things become our most obvious traits then our outside matches our inside - and people can see us for who we really are.

Forget martyrdom, even sainthood, perhaps we’d all be better off trying to be chocolate covered cherries.

On Tuesday our nation breathed a collective sigh of relief as the jurors in the Derek Chavin case confirmed what we suspected: that the death of George Floyd, a black man, at the hands of Chauvin, a white former cop, was indeed as egregious and as illegal as we thought it was.

There were cheers and signs of elation as thousands of blacks and others applauded this all too rare affirmation of justice in a case, that in years past and in all too many courtrooms, would not have yielded the same verdict.

Theologian Theodore Parker famously said that the great moral arc of the universe bends towards justice, reminding us that the road toward a more equitable, just, therefore peaceful society, is a very long one.

That the George Floyd case now means justice in particular will yield justice in general, is a conclusion none of us are reaching. What we are seeing is that our efforts, by speaking up, by speaking out, by standing up to unjust and inequitable laws and treatment, can yield fruit.

It also means the reckoning must continue.

Mr. Floyd’s death affirmed to privileged white men like me that the time is long past when I can look the other way or pretend we white men don’t see the systemic racism that benefits us. We must work to change systems. We must yield our privilege. We must, as Jesus commanded us, love our neighbors.

The work cannot end until people of color can live freely and peacefully with no fear of the bias of racist law enforcement.

This week’s hearing comes on the heels of a racial audit of our beloved Episcopal Church’s leadership. Here we learn that our majority-white denomination has a long way to go. The report makes recommendations for steps we can take to help our church get better - like advocating for justice when we see injustice, looking carefully at our lives to see what changes we might make, and being that brave person who objects to a racist joke, speaks out, or intervenes when we see a risk of discrimination or harm.

It was George Floyd's murder that inspired our congregation to take the issue of racial equity more seriously, to read books, to sponsor movies, to hold regular discussions - and I hope you will continue to join us in the work - because none of us changes our mimds on important things very quickly.

So let this week's verdict be a cause for celebration, a cause for inspiration, and something we can look to as progress in a society where so much remains broken, indeed, we cannot breathe fully or easily until we alll can breathe fully and easily.

As our Prayer Book invites us to do, Let us pray.

Grant, O God, that your holy and life-giving Spirit may so move every human heart and especially the hearts of the people of this land, that barriers which divide us may crumble, suspicions disappear, and hatreds cease; that our divisions being healed, we may live in justice and peace; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. (BCP 823)

Another week another accidental killing.

At least that’s what the white police officer in Minneapolis would have us believe after she says she mistook her handgun for a Taser before she shot and killed an unarmed black man.

I don’t know how that happens, but I do know what it’s like to make big, regretful mistakes.

I do know that, as police put up barricades around her house in expectation of a vengeful mob that won’t be very forgiving - that officer, now in the throes of the biggest trauma of her life, will have one of the biggest challenges of her life in her quest for forgiveness and making things right.

In this third week of Easter we are going to hear Jesus tell his followers to go out and proclaim forgiveness and hope for a world full of broken police officers like this one.

Jesus knows how you and I grieve and mourn for those we've harmed, and pray for their well-being - and how we, beat up, penalize, and punish ourselves for the mistakes we’ve made.

The good word from Jesus is that pain and suffering is not the end of the story. We can help make things right. We can be forgiven. We can get through this.

By following Jesus, over time, as we embrace the reality of love in us and in God, we can find ways to help those we've harmed, to cope, carry on, and even come to believe that we are lovable - and capable of love - even in light of the big trouble we’ve caused.

This is ‘good news’ because you and I suffer too much from the fallout of our mistakes - aside from the damage we've caused, the people we’ve harmed - we talk cruelly to ourselves, get frustrated, fed up, and get mad at others because we’re mad at ourselves.

Jesus shows us how to give it all to God, to call on that ‘higher power’ - admitting we can’t do it on our own.

And when we do that, we see that we can be forgiven, by God, by ourselves, and maybe even find the courage to say we’re sorry to those we’ve hurt, as we work to fix what we've broken and pray for their forgiveness as well.

So who have we hurt?

How can we make it right?

How can we give it to God?

How can we embrace forgiveness - for others and for ourselves?

If we can’t make things right, we can make things better.

This is our Easter challenge, this is our Easter gift.

I have a friend who lost her son in a firearms accident.

Both her children were looking at a new rifle that one of them had purchased when the gun went off, killing one child, and sending the other child and his parents into an abyss of unimaginable grief.

It was from the cell block of this sadness that she wrote, detailing what had happened and expressing the depth of her family's sadness.

As a byproduct of love, grief is not something we cure, but something with which we cope. And so my words to her were much along these lines, laced with encouragement, hope, and concern, for no one can bring her son back, make the accident go away, or otherwise fix it.

This Sunday you and I will hear the story of one of Jesus's post-resurrection appearances. This one famously stars the apostle Thomas who's best known by his first name, Doubting,

In this story Jesus appears to the apostles, who are hidden behind closed doors, rapt in their own anxiety, pain, and mourning over the crucifixion. And Jesus mysteriously appears to them and tells them, more than once, "Peace be with you."

We notice that Jesus does not then go out and magically vanquish the Romans and their occupation - nor does he rid the land of corrupt religious leaders - Jesus' solution is to simply offer his followers his presence in the midst of brokenness - his presence of peace.

As we you and I experience life's trauma and life's pain, and as we come out of this lengthy, devastating, period of COVID, our prayers may also resemble a yearning for what we've missed, a restoration of what's been taken away.

But we soon realize, things can't be fixed, the clock can't be turned back, we simply have to develop new ways of coping, and at the heart of that is Jesus and the peace he offers by trusting in him.

My friend's son is not coming back, at least to this world anytime soon, but Jesus remains, and in him there is the newness of resurrection, a new way of being in the world, that promises fulfillment of its own.

The irony of trauma, is that these things that most devastate us are the things that most shape us - and more times than not - they make us better people - more understanding, more empathetic, more aware of the fragility, and hence the value, of our lives.

So let us not fear too much for what has been lost, but like Thomas, exclaim. "My Lord and my God," in faith that the resurrected One has plans for us that are needful for the world - and that promise fulfillment of their own.

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

Chris Yaw

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