The Risk of Not Coming

Sermon on Acts 4:32-35 and John 20:19-31

St. James Evangelical Lutheran Church, Youngstown, PA

Sunday, April 19, 2009,

Second Sunday of Easter, Year B

(word count: 974)

The Risk of Not Coming

“I don't need to go to church. I'm spiritual but not religious. I can have an encounter with God out in the woods. What do I need to go to church for?”

We have all heard people make statements like these. It is true that we can encounter God anywhere, but in the Church we are guaranteed to encounter God. Jesus teaches us in Matthew, “Where two or three are gathered in my name, I am there among them.” When we eat and drink Holy Communion, we encounter Christ. Jesus says of Holy Communion, “This is my body; this is my blood.” The Book of Concord teaches us that, when we eat and drink Holy Communion, we are eating and drinking the real body and blood of God himself. You can't get that by walking in the woods.

You might encounter God out in nature. Mary Magdalene does on Easter Day. Of course, what does Jesus tell her when she meets him? He says, “Go and tell the others.” In fact, over and over, when people encounter the risen Jesus, he urges them to go and tell. Don't keep it to yourself. Go, tell it on the mountain that Jesus Christ is alive. I wonder how many people who encounter God in the woods go and tell people about the encounter.

You might encounter God in nature, but you will definitely encounter God when you are with the believers, the Church. That's what happens to Thomas. The risen Jesus appears to the group of disciples. Thomas misses out because he is not there, not with the group. Where was he? Maybe he was in the woods. Maybe he was at work. Maybe he was sleeping in. We don't know. What we do know is that, wherever he was, he did not encounter Jesus there. Otherwise, Thomas would not have said, “I will not believe until I can see and touch him.” Wherever Thomas was, he did not encounter God there.

But he does encounter God when he is with the group, with the believers. Do you understand? It is only when he is with the other believers, with the Church, that Thomas meets the risen Christ. When you're alone, you might meet up with God, just as Mary Magdalene does, or you might end up like Thomas, who did not encounter God when alone. But when we are with the other believers, we will definitely meet up with God, just as Thomas eventually does.

“I don't need to go to Church. I can meet God in the woods.” Maybe. Come to Church, and God will be here. Guaranteed. Despite all our flaws, when we, the baptized, gather, God is here. Guaranteed.

So what? When I come to church I encounter God; so what? What benefits come from encountering God at church?

I wonder how Thomas would answer that question. What if Thomas had stayed away? What if Thomas had never encountered the risen Christ? Thomas would have continued to doubt, but when he does encounter Christ, he goes from being doubting Thomas to being devouting Thomas. When he sees the risen Jesus, Thomas declares, “My Lord and my God!”

Sunday worship may not dispel all our doubts, but attending worship Sunday after Sunday does strengthen us, thanks be to God. When we gather for worship and come face-to-face with our Lord and our God, Jesus Christ, we learn anew that evil will not win. It is easy for us to doubt, easy to get discouraged, tempting to think that evil will win, that Satan is the victor. “Yup, that's right. The world's going from bad to worse. People are shooting each other, politicians are corrupt and getting worse, the world is sick with violence, the economy is derailed and plummeting off a cliff.” Satan puts his arm around you and says, “That's right. Be pessimistic, be cynical, give up. Evil has won. It's all hopeless. Why even bother going to Church? Doesn't do any good. Just stay home. What's the point?”

It is tempting to think in this rotten, smelly way, but then the Spirit compels us to drag ourselves to worship. The risen Christ shows up. He shows you his scars. He says to you, “Do you see? Yes, sinful people crucified me. Yes, I died, but now I am alive. Good has won. God has vanquished Satan. Don't listen to the doom-sayers. Don't listen to the pessimists and cynics. Sure, the world has problems, but I am still risen. I am still your Lord and your God. I am here to feed you, fill you, teach you, strengthen you, challenge you. I breathe the Holy Spirit into you.” Do you see? The risen Christ means hope, new life.

April 20, tomorrow, reminds me of this truth in a special way. April 20 is Hitler's birthday. April 20 is also the birthday of my best male friend, Glenn, who is Jewish. Hitler's plan was to eliminate all Jews, but he failed, thanks be to God. Despite Hitler's efforts, Glenn and millions of other Jews are alive. Hitler lost; evil lost. Evil is strong; God is stronger. Christ was crucified, but Christ is alive. Do not doubt, but believe. Do you see? [have Christ statue]

We come to worship with our doubts, broken-hearts, weariness, sharp pains and dull aches, fears. We bring all of this to worship, and being in worship does not erase all of that. But in worship, Christ comes to us through Scripture, Holy Communion, one another. Christ comes to us, the baptized, and says, “See the scars. See the marks from the nails in my hands. Put your hand in my side. Evil did its worst to me, but look: I am alive! I am alive. I have won, and so you will, too. You are the baptized. Do not doubt, but believe!”

Rock Part Three: Easter

ROCK PART THREE

(word count: 743)

I cannot believe it. I don't know whether to be hopeful or terrified or both. Right now I'm just shocked. Jesus used to call me Peter, which means Rock, but I feel more like jell-o.

He died. The women saw the whole thing, the crucifixion. The centurions took the body down from the cross, all bloody and battered. John saw. Others saw. He was dead. Not sleeping. Dead.

I went to the viewing at the funeral home. I saw his body in the casket. I dropped to my knees and sobbed right. My wife put her arm around me. I looked up and saw Jesus lying there, in the casket. It was him. His rugged face, swarthy skin, square jawline. I've looked into that face a million times. There was no mistake. It was Jesus. He looked like he was sleeping, but he was dead.

We thought Jesus might have a closed casket because he had been beaten so badly, but he didn't look too bad. The funeral director, John Lopatich, had done an excellent job with the makeup and clothes to hide the wounds. I stood up, reached out, touched his face.

I spoke with John Lopatich. “Is he really dead?” I asked him. John nodded. “Yes, Peter. He's really dead.” “Are you sure?” I asked. John said, “Yes, I drained all the blood out of him myself. I worked on his body. He didn't move, didn't breathe. I've been doing this job a long time. I know a dead body when I see one, and Peter, I am afraid to say that Jesus is really dead.”

I nodded and walked away, still nodding. My wife guided me to a chair.

Then they had the funeral. I don't remember what the pastor said in the homily; I'm sure it was fine. We all drove to the cemetery. Jesus' casket was placed in the upper cemetery here at St. James. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. There stood the casket containing Jesus' poor, dead body. After the service, I leaned in and gave the casket a kiss. I walked away, crying, my wife holding me close. Then we went to the church basement and ate fried chicken, halushki, and gob cake.

Last night I came back to the grave site by myself. The casket had been lowered. Back fill had been shoveled in. Now there was a mound of dirt, and, at the end of the mound, a temporary grave marker that read: JESUS OF NAZARETH, REST IN PEACE.

That all happened yesterday, Saturday. At the end of the day, I went to bed, cried, did not sleep well. This morning, when the sun came up, I was wide awake, thinking about all that I had experienced with Jesus. I recalled how I had denied him three times. As I lay there, I prayed, “God, if I could do it all over, I would not deny him. I wish I had another chance. Please give me another chance.”

The phone rang. Who was calling at 7 on a Sunday morning? My wife didn't wake up; she was just snoring away. The phone kept ringing. I looked at the caller ID. It was Mary Magdalene's cell.

“Peter, something happened,” she said. “We went to the grave this morning to place some flowers there, and it was all dug up. We looked down into the hole. The casket was there, but it was open, and sitting in the casket was a young man, probably about eighteen, wearing a white robe. He told us that Jesus has been raised from the dead and that we were to go and tell you and the other disciples that he will meet you in Galilee.”

I said, “Mary, what are you talking about?” She told me everything again, and I thought this could not be right. I said I'd have to call her back and hung up. I needed a moment to think.

My wife rolled over. “What's going on, honey?” she asked. I told her, and she said, “Well, that makes sense. Didn't he used to tell you that he would die and come back to life?”

My wife was right, of course. I got dressed and drove to the cemetery. I looked into the hole in the ground. The open casket was there, but there was no young man.

I'm so confused. This is all frightening, strange. Could he truly be alive? Look! There he is! Do you see him?

Rock (Part Two)

ROCK PART TWO

word count: 397

Where are we headed? God, hold me up. I am falling.

Just a few hours ago, we were celebrating Passover. During the seder, he held up a pita and tore it in half. He said, “Take, eat; this is my body, given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.” I didn't understand. I just stared at him. We passed the bread around and ate. The room was quiet from bewilderment tinted with holiness. I chewed the bread. The wheat flavor was rich, the texture gritty. I thought, “This is his body. This is his body.” What does that mean?

Later, he held up the chalice. He said, “Take this; drink. This is my blood given for you and for all for the forgiveness of sins. Do this in remembrance of me.” He passed the chalice. We each drank. The tart wine warmed my chest. His blood. Drinking blood. How strange. What does that mean? I could spend a lifetime thinking about that. I will.

“Do this in remembrance of me,” he said. I will do it in remembrance of him. At least I can get that right, I hope.

Maybe I can somehow make up for the horrible sin I committed against him. Can I? Will I? Can I ever do enough to make up for what I did against him this morning?

This morning, this morning, I denied him. To protect myself, I said three times that I did not know him. The first time was in response to a servant girl. What a weakling I am, letting a servant girl intimidate me. Some rock. A little while later, I denied him again. An hour after that, I denied him a third time. I got defensive. I swore an oath. I hissed, “I do not know him!”

Then I heard the rooster. I remembered what he had said: “Before the rooster crows twice you will deny me three times.” In response, I had said, “Never. Even if I have to die for you, I will never deny you.” Blah, blah, blah. Empty talk. Typical me. A whole lot of talk, but, when the pressure's on, I crumble. I'm not a rock. I denied him. To save myself, I said I did not know him. I chickened out. I failed. I'm a coward. O!

God, forgive me. [Lean over font.] Hold me up. Hold me up.

ROCK (Part One)

Rock

(a three-part homiletical monologue)

Part One

(word count: 1077)

I don't know what to think. I love him. I don't understand him. Who is he? One minute I swear I know, the next minute I have no idea. Maybe I have a demon in me driving me insane. God help me. I feel as sure and dependable as sand.

I do love him. I know that. I cling to that, cling to my love for him.

I also know that he has changed me forever. He started changing me three years ago, when we first met. I had just docked our boat. Andrew and I had a net full of carp, all shiny, wriggling and flipping. It was a huge catch. Business was good.

Then he came walking along the shore. He was muscular, dark-skinned, with large, rugged hands. His eyes were dark and intense. He came walking up to us. Andrew and I dropped our net. He waved. He called out, “Hey, you guys. Come on. Drop everything. Follow me, and I'll teach you how to do some real fishing. I'll teach you to fish for people.”

We heaved the net back into the sea so all the fish could swim away. Then we dragged the net back into the boat and followed him. We didn't know what we were doing or who this guy was. But he had power, charisma, and we did not want to say no. I remember thinking, “I'll take a couple hours off and follow this guy, see what happens.” Three years later, and the biggest fish I have caught is myself.

We followed him, listened to his teachings as often as we could. We have families and other responsibilities, but we're with him as much as possible.

He's addictive. He does astonishing miracles. He healed my mother-in-law of a fever. He drives out demons. In fact, demons would scream in terror at his presence. I've seen wonder workers and faith healers before. Every town has someone who claims to do miracles, but no one like him. Every day he cures someone of leprosy or causes a blind person to see. Incredible. Imagine spending your whole life unable to see. You're reduced to begging, you never marry. Then a man touches your eyes, and now you can see. Overwhelming.

He is astonishing. One time, we were all out on a boat. he had gone off to pray. A storm kicked up. Demons, probably, were knocking our boat about.You get that on the water sometimes. Wind howled. I've spent my whole life on the sea, but I thought for sure we were going to capsize. Then we saw someone out in the water, walking toward us. It's a ghost! “No,” the man shouted. “It's I AM.” It was him, actually walking on the surface of the waves. He invited me out. I stepped onto the surface, my stomach tense, my heart rapid. Soon I was actually standing on the waves, looking at him. It was unreal. The water felt like wet skin. I kept my eyes on him, kept my eyes on him. But the wind was so loud and the waves were so high, I thought, “I can't do,” and I started to sink. I screamed, “Save me!” and he grabbed me with a strong, tight grip. So strange and powerful.

That's how it's been with him. He has shown incredible power. He has done wonders that only, well, only God could do. He must be the Messiah.

In fact, I even said as much to him. “Who do you say that I am?” he asked, his eyes locked on me, his face dark and a bit sunburned.

I cleared my throat. “You are the Messiah.”

He put his hand on my arm, smiled, and said, “Simon you are Peter, Rock, and on this rock I will build my church.” He calls me Peter, which means rock. I am his rock. I guess. I feel more like sand than rock. Such a title is humbling to the point of heartache, but also exciting.

Right after he said that, he started talking about how he would suffer. “They're going to arrest me, beat me, kill me, and then, three days later, the Son of Man will rise again.”

I glanced at John and James. What crazy talk was this? What is he saying? Being killed, rising again? It was like he had suddenly lost it. I wondered if he somehow had a demon in him, so I tried to drive the demon out. “Get out of him!” I shouted.

But then his eyes narrowed and his mouth became taut. He said, “Get behind me, Satan! You don't know what you're talking about. You are setting your mind, not on divine things, but on human things.”

I felt punched in the stomach. I walked off by myself so that he would not see me weep.

He is a confusing one, this man, or whatever he is. One minute it seems like he will save the world. The next minute he is talking about being murdered. I don't get it. Who is he?

A couple weeks ago, he led James, John and me up a high mountain. While he was up there, he became blazing white. It hurt to look at him. I thought, “What is this? Death? Life? A vision? What?” Then two men started talking with him, and I somehow knew that they were Moses and Elijah, who have been dead for hundreds of years. It was like a dream. I thought I might die any minute. I said, “Uh, this is great. How about we make three dwellings, one for each of you?” What a stupid thing to say. Why would we make dwellings, and what were we going to make them out of?

A fog moved in, and a voice boomed, “This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him” The voice of God, hard like iron, piercing like a nail. A second later, everything was back to normal. Did I imagine it? “Don't tell anyone about this until after the Son of Man has been raised from the dead,” he told us.

Son of Man? Raised from the dead? The dead. God, help me. I do not understand. Is this man, the greatest being I have ever known, the Messiah, maybe even God himself – is this wonderful being whom I love more than anyone really, is he really going to die? Where are we headed?

Away, Satan!

Sermon on Mark 8:31-38

St. James Evangelical Lutheran Church, Youngstown, PA

Sunday, March 8, 2009,

2^nd Sunday in Lent, Year B,

(word count: 899)

WAIT, Part Two: Away, Satan!

We humans work hard at avoiding suffering, reducing suffering. If we have a headache or back pain, then we often take medicine, lie down, do something to reduce the pain. We strive to get relief, and that makes sense. Of course we want freedom from suffering.

However, a crucial component of being a Christian is suffering. For us Christians, the baptized, suffering is inevitable. In our gospel, Mark 8:31-38, Jesus teaches us that if we want to be his followers then we need to deny ourselves, take up our cross, and follow him.

Take up the cross. Meditate on that wisdom. Taking up the cross, in Jesus' day, meant being crucified, and crucifixion was ruthless and sadistic. So when Jesus says, “If you want to follow me, you need to take up your cross,” his first hearers would have pictured all that torture and humiliation ending in death. The point is that following Jesus, taking up your cross, will hurt, will demand suffering. In effect, Jesus is saying, “If you want to be my follower, you must be ready to suffer.”

What does it mean to suffer as a follower of Christ? Many of us get confused about taking up the cross, about suffering for Christ. When considering suffering, it is crucial to understand that there are at least two types of suffering. There is pointless suffering, and there is Christian suffering. Pointless suffering is suffering that happens to us but that does no good. Christian suffering is suffering that we take on for Christ.

It is crucial for us Christians to understand the difference. For example, if a so-called loved one is beating you, that is horrible suffering, but it is not Christian suffering. It is not Christian suffering, because it does not serve Christ. That person will not get better through your allowing the person to beat you. Rihanna is wrong to go back to Chris Brown. If someone claiming to love you is abusing you, get out of the relationship. You wouldn't put up with a stranger abusing you; do not put up with a so-called loved one abusing you. You wouldn't let a so-called loved one abuse a child. Do not let someone abuse you. Some suffering is just evil, does not serve Christ. Get away.

By contrast, Christian suffering serves Christ. Christ is love. Christian suffering serves that love.

We can see both types of suffering in the life of Harriet Tubman, who died on March 10. Harriet Tubman was an African American born into slavery in the 1800s. As a child, she endured the first kind of suffering, the pointless suffering. Her masters whipped and beat her. When she was a teenager, her master accidentally hit her in the head with a weight he had thrown at another slave. As a result, she had seizures for the rest of her life. Her suffering was savage, shocking. It was pointless suffering.

Eventually, Harriet Tubman managed to escape to the free states. Then she sneaked back south repeatedly to liberate dozens more slaves. Harriet was deeply religious, so you can bet that she saw her dangerous work as part of being a Christian. The abuse she endured as a child was pointless suffering, but her efforts to liberate other slaves was Christian suffering. Harriet Tubman took up the cross.

How about you? How do you take up the cross as part of following Christ? How do I? How do we at St. James engage in Christian suffering? What sacrifices do we make? Do we sometimes take the easy way out as Christians? Give, but not too much, so that we are not uncomfortable? Make little sacrifices, but nothing too hard? How can we push ourselves a little harder as Christians for the sake of Christ and the good news? What changes can we make?

Last week, we began a four-part sermon series based on the word WAIT. Last Sunday, we had a W-word, wilderness. Today, we need an A-word, to go with the second letter in the word WAIT. Actually, we have an A-phrase. The phrase is, “Away, Satan!” Away, Satan.

Part of taking up the cross, part of suffering for Christ, is pushing Satan away. Do not let him block your path. When Satan tries to talk you into being stingy or complacent, you snap back, “Away, Satan!” Satan says, “Give up on God. Stop waiting for him to help you. God's not going to help you,” and you reply, “Away, you snake!” Satan coils around you and says, “Don't take up the cross. Don't embrace suffering for Christ. Take the easy way out. Take it easy. You deserve the easy way.” You break loose. “Away, Satan!” Follow Christ. Take up the cross.

Taking up the cross can be excruciating, but it's for Christ, the one who has bought us freedom, not with silver or gold, but with his precious blood, as the Book of Concord says. Christ took up the suffering, took up the cross, so we shall live forever. Christ has liberated us from slavery to sin. Christ has carried us through the Underground Railroad and into the Promised Land, all by way of his suffering. Christ has emancipated us. Christ took up the cross to save us. Now we take up the cross to thank him. Carrying the cross, we announce, “Away, Satan!”

Wilderness Questions

Sermon on Mark 1:9-15

St. James Evangelical Lutheran Church, Youngstown, PA

Sunday, March 1, 2009,

1^st Sunday in Lent, Year B,

(word count: 688)

Wilderness Questions

Renowned Bible scholar N.T. Wright writes, “You are never far from the wilderness when you're in the Promised Land . . . When you're in Jerusalem, the wilderness is just over the next hill.”

Such is the case with Jesus in our gospel, Mark 1:9-15. Jesus is in the Promised Land, in Israel, when John baptizes him. While standing naked in the water, God's voice booming with loving pride, the Spirit swooping upon him, Jesus is in the Promised Land. Then, immediately, the Spirit hurls Jesus out into the wilderness. Forty days he is out in unblinking sun, among lions, snakes, and vultures, Satan hissing and shrieking temptations at him, badgering him to break him down. Sure, angels wait on Jesus, but he is still in the wilderness, in danger, temptation hitting him in the face like a hot, relentless wind.

The Good News is that, after those forty days, Jesus walks out of the wilderness, ragged, hungry, tired, but victorious. He escapes temptation. Satan cannot break him. Jesus is stronger. After forty days in the wilderness, Jesus returns to the Promised Land to proclaim the good news. Christ is back from the wilderness, full of authority. From Promised Land to wilderness, back to Promised Land.

We, too, sometimes find ourselves in the wilderness. In the Promised Land, the wilderness is never far off. It's just over the next hill.

When were you in the wilderness last? Perhaps you are there today. The wilderness is that place, that time, when your soul feels weak, temptation is strong. Satan prowls like a roaring lion, sniffing you out, hungry to devour you. The wilderness, that hot place, stinking of decay, where temptation tries to swallow you whole – we all end up there eventually.

Someone you love has died. Your soul is slumped over. You cry, “God, why me? You took her from me. Maybe there's no point in praying. Maybe I should give up on you.” You're in the wilderness.

You know you shouldn't drink, but your body is screaming for alcohol. Satan says, “Just one drink. No big deal. Come on. Just to help you relax.” You're in the wilderness.

When have you been in the wilderness? What tempts you? What's your weakness?

One of my weaknesses is thinking that I am not good enough. Some nights, I feel stupid, weak, hypocritical, ugly, over-weight, and I want to give up, want to run away. I am in the wilderness.

When we are in the wilderness, it is tempting for us to feel sorry for ourselves. It is tempting for us to ask, “Why me?” Poor me. Why is this happening to me?

Thanks be to God that Jesus' victory over Satan in the wilderness teaches us that, when we are in the wilderness, we are not weak. We are not alone. Deep in the howling, stifling wilderness, by the Spirit's power we cling to the Good News. Christ is the mighty fortress. Christ is stronger than Satan. Christ dies and rises, pinning Satan to the sand. Christ dies and rises, so we have power even in the wilderness. We are baptized. Christ teaches us through Scripture. Christ feeds us the body and blood. Christ gives us one another for strength.

So then, when we are in the wilderness, let's not ask, “Why me?” Instead, let's ask, “How is God helping me?” Instead of “Why me?” we ask, “What kind of person am I in the wilderness?” Instead of “Poor me,” we stand up taller, shove Satan aside, and we declare, “I am strong, and Christ is with me.” We say, “I will not let the wilderness defeat me. Because of Christ, the Promised Land is never far off. It is closer than the next hill.”

Sometimes Luther, when he felt Satan breathing down his neck, would shout, “But I am one of the baptized!” In the wilderness, the promises of God are never far off. God is our mighty fortress.

This Lent, meditate on these two questions: When you are in the wilderness, what kind of person are you? When you are in the wilderness, how is God helping you?

Eternal Hello

Sermon on 2 Kings 2:1-12

St. James Evangelical Lutheran Church, Youngstown, PA

Sunday, February 22, 2009,

Transfiguration of Our Lord, Year B,

(word count: 899)

Eternal Hello

In one of his songs, Billy Joel declares, “Life is a series of hellos and goodbyes.” Life is a series of hellos and goodbyes. We meet people. We know them for a while. Sooner of later, however, we must say goodbye to the person. We break up, we move away. We die.

In the movie The Curious Case of Benjamin Button, Benjamin keeps saying hello and goodbye and hello to his life's love, Daisy. They are together for a few days, then some event separates them. Then they are back together, then apart. Finally they get to live together as lovers for a few years. Eventually Benjamin decides that she would be better off without him, so he disappears. Years later, as Benjamin is close to death, the two reunite. Daisy takes care of him until goodbye.

In our first reading, 2 Kings 2:1-12, God is taking away to heaven the prophet Elijah, and his protege, Elisha, is not happy about the matter. He hates the thought of Elijah leaving him. Elisha keeps saying to Elijah, “I will not leave you. I will not leave you.” When Elijah is finally gone, Elisha, to express his grief, tears his own clothes. Goodbye.

Such is the case with us. None of us will be here forever. We will let that truth scrape against our minds on Wednesday night, won't we? Part of the gritty truth of Ash Wednesday is that, eventually, each one of us will die. Life is a series of hellos and goodbyes, and Ash Wednesday reminds us in a black way that all of us will have to say goodbye.

The goodbye of death can cut the heart. People can console us all they want, but all the kinds words and casseroles in the world do not change the naked reality that someone we love is no longer alive, and we will miss having that person with us. Death hurts.

Thanks be to God that death is not the last word. Because of Christ's transfiguring power, you and I have the eternal hello. In heaven no one says goodbye, because we never have to leave each other. In heaven there is no death, no sickness, no moving away, no divorce, no separation, no break-ups. In heaven we are always together, and we are always happy to be together. In heaven we do not get sick of each other. We are together, one, with God, forever, and no one ever has to say goodbye again.

Christ has made this eternal union a reality. By climbing upon the cross and locking with death to defeat it, Christ has given us the eternal hello. Christ lifts us dogs out of the slums to make us into trillionaires. Christ's dark and shadowy death generates the supreme light brighter than anything on earth, the light that the darkness cannot overcome or comprehend. We, the baptized, stand at the foot of the cross, inhaling the light shining through the darkness, and we declare, “Lord, how good for us to be here! Thank you for baptizing us, for saving us, for shining your light on us, for making us into wisemen and wise women. Lord, how good for us to be here! Alleluia!”

Because of Christ on the dark, bleak, shining, bright cross, God has transfigured you and me. God has saved us, so that one day we shall be in heaven and we shall never have to say goodbye again.

In the meantime, we do say goodbye to each other, and those goodbyes can lacerate us with heartache. That sadness is strong, and even stronger is the perpetual presence of God. We do have to say goodbye to each other, at least for now. We never have to say goodbye to God.

God is with us always. Jesus says in Matthew 28, “I am with you always.” No matter how scary the economy; no matter how sick we get; no matter what wars we fight; no matter what, God is with us. When someone we love dies, we might yell and sob, full of furious fear. We might wonder, “How am I going to survive without her? How am I going to survive without him?”

A friend of mine who serves a congregation in New Jersey had someone in his congregation who lost her husband on 9-11. A few months later, she killed herself. When someone we love dies, sometimes being without that person feels like more than we can endure.

Such loss can be overwhelming, but do not give up. Just as God was with Elisha, just as God was with Mary on Good Friday, so also God is with you always, even to the end of the age. God is here, never says goodbye. God comes to us through the Bible and sermon. God comes to us through prayer. God comes to us at every baptism. God is your food at every holy communion. The presence of God does not fix every problem, but it is a strong, comforting presence, and God never says goodbye.

Alleluia! No matter how dark the world, no matter how dark our hearts and minds, God the light shines, scatters the darkness. Feel the holy heat. The light transfigures us. Because of Christ, we never have to say goodbye to God, and, one day, we will bask in the eternal hello, reunited. Hallelujah!