Alleluia!  Christ is risen!
​
     While Jesus predicted it and fully expected that he would rise on the third day, he was the only one who anticipated it.  Everyone else thought that the crucifixion was a horrible end to what had looked like a promising future.  Then Sunday came and Mary Magdalene discovered that the tomb was no longer sealed with a stone.  She went and told Peter and presumably John.  They went to the tomb to investigate, found it empty, and the linens with which his body had been wrapped, but no body.  John tells us that when he saw these things he believed that Jesus had risen from the dead.  They returned, but Mary Magdalene stayed and the risen Christ came to her outside the tomb.
 
      It is the experience of the risen Christ that transformed the disciples from timid, fearful, defeated followers of a fallen hero, into fully convinced, highly motivated, and enthusiastic proclaimers of the Gospel of their risen Lord.  It was no pious legend that brought that transformation about, no metaphor that they proclaimed and ultimately for which they were willing to suffer and die.
 
     One of my favorite films is Hunger Games.  It gave rise to a series and the fifth just came out last November.  My favorite will always be the first one.  The setting is in the future in North America.  The current countries of North America have long since ceased to exist, and there is a new realm, called Panem.  In this realm the have-nots exist to serve the haves.  There had been a revolution, but it failed, and every year, in order to assure such a revolution wouldn’t happen again, each of the 12 districts of the have-nots have to send two of its teenagers to a tournament where the 24 young people fight to their deaths until only one winner survives.  Each of the twelve districts, each year, draws the names of the boy and girl who will be sent to the tournament.
   
     Hunger Games is about one such tournament.  In District 12 the name of a twelve year old girl, Primrose, was drawn.  Her older sister named Catniss, loved her very much and was always protective of her.  When they called out Primrose’s name, Prim was stunned, but began to walk to the platform, everyone knowing that the little girl was walking to her death.  All of a sudden, Catniss shouted out that she would be a substitute for her beloved sister, and go in her place.  Such sacrificial love was unheard of.
      
     The story unfolds from there as Catniss is taken to the place of the tournament, where she assumes she’ll very likely be killed.  In the film there is no indication that Christianity is a part of the North American culture any longer.  Hedonism is the only motivating force among the haves, and survival the only motivator among the have-nots.  Catniss’s selfless act was, therefore, all the more surprising.  As people watch the Games, they want Catniss to win because they’re drawn to her because of her act of love.
      
     It’s not a Christian film, and yet Catniss reflects the love of God as she substitutes herself for her sister, being willing to die in her place.  That’s what Jesus did for us.  God created us to reflect his love, and yet all too often we act not out of love, but for our own selfish ends.  The result is discord in our personal lives, in our families, in our communities, and ultimately throughout the world.  To love is to choose life in its fullness.  To live with self at the center is to choose a path of destruction, ultimately ending in death.  Holy Scripture tells us that the wages of sin is death.
   
     There is only one human being who ever lived who chose always the path of love, and yet for him that choice didn’t look like it led to life, but to his death.  His message and way of life threatened the religious establishment.  The Roman government saw him as an insurrectionist.  The people who flocked to hear him preach and see his miracles deserted him.  His closest friends, fearing for their own lives, left him to fend for himself, one of them even denying any association with him, another actually betraying him.  It is the worst of stories in human history of injustice done to a totally innocent victim.
   
     His death was the cruelest form of capital punishment ever devised.  It was designed to keep a person alive as long as possible, with the maximum amount of pain.  A person who was crucified could live for a few days, and yet Jesus died in only a few hours.  That was partly due to the scourging he received, which itself could have killed a weaker man.  But it was also surely due to a broken heart.
    
     What we recall today is the triumph of God’s love over the worst that humanity can do.  God himself, through his Son Jesus Christ, offers himself as a substitute for the death that we have brought upon ourselves through our sin.  The resurrection is the sign of that triumph.
      
     In that first film, we’re not told if Catniss’s selfless act has a lasting effect in her community in the way people act in the future, if perhaps instead of living only to survive they learn the value of sacrificial love, but one gets the impression that it will have a lasting effect.  Jesus’ death on the cross has an everlasting effect on everyone who believes in his Name and is baptized, thereby being reconciled with God and made heirs of everlasting life.  His death on the cross also becomes an example for all time to come, of the way we are to live, as we give ourselves sacrificially to others in love.
    
     That’s the purpose of the Church our Lord founded.  We’re the bearers of the message that Jesus died for our sins, that he’s alive, and that God the Father “has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name which is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.” 
    
     We, the Church, are also the community brought into being in order to live this new way of life.  We’re to show the world that living a sacrificially loving life, with Christ in the center, in our homes, our communities, and throughout the world is the only way to true life.  We sometimes forget our calling, and sin is still a reality in our lives, but the risen Christ is with us, and the Church witnesses to this new way of life in myriad ways, to the glory of God the Father.

     It’s that sacrificial love that truly ends in life and peace.  And it’s that sacrificial love that we celebrate today and every Easter, and every day of our lives.

     Alleluia!  Christ is risen!

 
    
 
     

      Alleluia. Christ is risen! This is the surprise ending to a series of tragic events in Jesus’ life.  The disciples had spent three intensive years with Jesus, learning from him, because they thought he was the Messiah.  They understood these years to be a preparation for the time when Jesus’ new kingdom would make King David’s monarchy pale by comparison.  They would be the ones Jesus would use to establish his rule.  It even looked like it was about to begin just last week, when their Lord and Master rode into Jerusalem on an ass, in fulfillment of messianic prophecy, a public declaration of his identity.
 
     Then it all quickly came to an end.  That possibility they had never allowed themselves to imagine had happened.  The one they had thought to be the messiah was betrayed by one of the inner circle.  Jesus had been arrested, hastily tried, found guilty, and put to death.  He had been shamed, disgraced, discredited, he and his followers squelched by the powerful and efficient Roman government.
 
     There was no doubt in their minds.  It was finished.  Over.  The task at hand was to get over their grief and put their lives back together.
 
     Then some women discovered the empty tomb, and a messenger told them that Jesus had been raised from the dead.  For several days thereafter, the risen Christ appeared to some 500 people.  As Martin Marty put it so clearly, “The disciples did not believe in the resurrection because they believed in Jesus; they believed in Jesus because they believed in the resurrection.”  And they believed in the resurrection because they had witnessed the risen Christ.
 
     We are here today because of that one event, but not because it happened once, long ago, and we are here simply remembering that.  We are here because the risen Christ is with us and continually comes to us through the Sacrament, through his Word, and through one another, for he lives in us through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us at our baptism.  We have been reconciled to God through his death, and now we live with him in his resurrection.  We as members of his body live in this new reality.
 
     So, what’s the implication of the resurrection for our daily lives?  St. Paul tells us exactly: “Since you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God,  As the Lord has forgiven you, so you must forgive one another.”  As we have been reconciled to God through Christ, so we must be agents of reconciliation to others.
 
     I’m reminded of the story of two brothers who lived on adjoining farms and who fell into conflict.  It was the first serious rift in 40 years of farming side-by-side, sharing machinery, trading labor and goods as needed without a hitch.
 
     Then the long collaboration fell apart.  It began with a small misunderstanding and grew into a major difference, and finally it exploded into an exchange of bitter words followed by weeks of silence.
 
     One morning there was a knock on John’s door.  He opened it to find a man with a carpenter’s toolbox.  “I’m looking for a few days’ work,” he said.  “Perhaps you would have a few small jobs here and there I could help you with?”
 
     “Yes,” said the older brother. “I do have a job for you.  Look across the creek at that farm. That’s my neighbor. In fact, it’s my younger brother.  Last week there was a meadow between us and he took his bulldozer to the river levee and now there’s a creek between us.  Well, he may have done this to spite me, but I’ll do him one better.  See that pile of lumber by the barn? I want you to build me a fence—an 8 foot fence—so I won’t need to see his place or his face anymore.”
 
     The carpenter said, “I think I understand the situation. Show me the nails and the post hole digger and I’ll be able to do a job that pleases you.”
 
      The older brother had to go to town, so he helped the carpenter get the materials ready and then he was off for the day. The carpenter worked hard all that day measuring, sawing, nailing.  About sunset, when the farmer returned, the carpenter had just finished his job.
 
     The farmer’s eyes opened wide, his jaw dropped.  There was no fence there at all.  It was a bridge, stretching from one side of the creek to the other!  A fine piece of work, handrails and all—and the neighbor, his younger brother, was coming across, his hands outstretched.
 
     “You are quite a fellow to build this bridge after all I’ve said and done.”  The two brothers met in the middle of the bridge, taking each other’s hands. They turned to see the carpenter hoist his toolbox on his shoulder. “No, wait! Stay a few days. I have a lot of other projects for you,” said the older brother.
 
     “I’d love to stay on,” the carpenter said, “but I have many more bridges to build.”
 
     We can describe the death and resurrection of our Lord in many ways, and one of those ways certainly is by likening it to a bridge.  Through his death on the cross the carpenter from Nazareth built a bridge between us and the Father and between us and others.  His resurrection made that bridge apparent.
 
     Now that we have been reconciled to God, our purpose is to bring that reconciliation to others, and that work begins by building those bridges in our own relationships, starting with those who are closest to us. George Herbert said, “He who cannot forgive breaks the bridge over which he himself must pass.”
 
     What better way for us to celebrate the presence of the risen Christ than to let his reconciling love build bridges through us?

 
 
 
 

“We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you, because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.”
   
     The cross, that central symbol of our faith, is seen everywhere.  Have you ever noticed how many crosses there are in this church?
There’s one on top of the rood screen
on the front of each of the two tabernacles
 on top of the tabernacle on each altar, held by the lamb of God
in the middle of the reredos
above the reredos
above the church flag
 seven crosses in the columbarium
just behind the rood screen as you enter the pulpit
at the top of each hymn board
in Lent, there is a cross in each of the stations of the cross
 the carillon memorial plaque
 the festival trumpet memorial plaque
the Rededication plaque at the top
on the front of every prayer book
one toward the top of the organ pipes
three of the stained glass windows
brass Cross at the back of the nave on the table
six crosses at the top of each of the light fixtures
eight hassocks on the back of the very last pew, have a different kind of cross on each one.


     A cross leads our processions.  There are crosses on many of our communion vessels and many of our linens.  Many of you are wearing a cross or carrying a cross in your pocket. 

     There are crosses all over town. Some are on churches, but most aren’t designed specifically as crosses.  There’s a cross every time two roads intersect. Tile floors and ceilings have countless crosses.  Paneled walls, bookshelves, telephone poles, masts of ships, and the structures holding window panes all have crosses.  The cross appears in our alphabet.
 
     The cross is the symbol of our salvation.  The ancient anthem proclaims, “we adore you, O Christ, and we bless you, because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.”   The Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ is first of all the bad news that we human beings are so alienated from God by our sin that we can do nothing on our own to reconcile ourselves to God.  It’s not a matter of our being basically good people who once in a while do something wrong; it’s a matter of our being basically so self-centered that we cannot break out of that nature. 
 
     Even the best of intentions are colored by the broad brush of sin with a capital S.  Article 9 in the Articles of Religion, says this of sin: “Original sin…is the fault and corruption of the nature of every man…, whereby man is very far gone from original righteousness, and of his own nature inclined to evil, so that the flesh lusteth always contrary to the Spirit; and therefore in every person born into this world, it deserveth God’s wrath and damnation.”  That statement is speaking not of your worst enemies, not specifically of Adolf Hitler or of the terrorists who bomb schools, obviously evil people who did unspeakably evil deeds. No, it’s talking about you and me, “inclined to evil, so that the flesh lusteth always contrary to the Spirit.”
 
     If left to our own devices, we would be without hope.  One of the collects in the prayerbook states it another way: “O God, the strength of all who put their trust in you: Mercifully except our prayers; and because in our weakness we can do nothing good without you, give us the help of your grace, that in keeping your commandments we may please you both in will and deed.”
 
     It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to be able to tell that something is drastically wrong.  If the extermination of 6 million Jews during the Second World War, the massive genocides that have taken place in our time, and many acts of terrorism don’t convince you, then look at your own relationships. The person who doesn’t have some troubling conflict is rare indeed.  Families in this country are often dysfunctional.  Divorce is so common that it hardly raises an eyebrow anymore.  Alcoholism and drug addiction are still epidemic in this country, in which we boast that we can conquer most any obstacle.  We dare not leave our homes without locking all doors because of the real possibility of our possessions being stolen.
 
     These things are all symptoms of a basic problem in humanity.  We were created for joy, but something has gone drastically wrong. The Gospel is first of all bad news.  We are “inclined to evil, so that the flesh lusteth always contrary to the Spirit.”
 
     But the Gospel, of course, is also and most importantly good news, for what we cannot do on our own, God has chosen to do for us.  St. John tells us that “God so loved the world that he gave his only-begotten Son, to the end that all who believe in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”  Jesus has paid the price for our sin by his death on the cross.  Through that death we are reconciled to God. “We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you, because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.”
 
     It was real wood to which our Lord’s hands and feet were nailed.  The thorns drew real blood.  This one through whom the world was created, who himself is love, subjected himself to the cruelest form of execution out of love, not only for the people of that day, but also for all people for all time.
 
     At baptism a cross is traced on the newly baptized’s forehead, symbolizing the fact that not only is the cross a sign of what Jesus did for us, but also a sign of how we are to live our lives in sacrificial love.  
 
“We adore you, O Christ, and we bless you, because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.”
 

 
 
 

  “O saving victim, opening wide the gate of heaven to us below, our foes press on from every side, thine aid supply, thy strength bestow.”
 
   I was 29 years old.  Linda, our son, Michael, and I had moved to Nashotah, Wisconsin, about a month and a half earlier.  I was sitting in the Chapel of St. Mary the Virgin at Nashotah House.  It was a Thursday night during the celebration of the Holy Eucharist, during which I would be matriculated as a son of the House. 
 
     Linda was sitting off to the side, and I was sitting in my assigned seat behind the rood screen, an ornately carved screen of arches at the top of which is a life-sized figure of Jesus on the cross, flanked by four statues of saints.  On the other side of the screen are the choir stalls, in which were sitting the upperclassmen and the faculty, and off in the distance, at the east end, is the ornate altar, which was vested with a rich fabric of white and gold. The chapel was filled with the smoke from the incense.
 
     All of a sudden I was filled with an overwhelming sense of the presence of God, accompanied by my own sense of unworthiness to be there.  I had come to Nashotah House after years of preparation.  My journey to that place had been the result of a sense of my calling, my vocation.  That wonderful gift of a strong sense of the presence of God was a confirmation of all that Linda and I, and our son, Michael (unknowingly), had been through to get to that point.
 
     My experience that night in the chapel was what some call a "thin" place.  There’s a barrier between the things of this world and the things of the Spirit.  When that barrier is diminished and the things of the Spirit break into this world, it's called a thin place.  St. Thomas Aquinas called it a gate.  When we experience a thin place, when we encounter a gate, we feel God's presence more keenly, and we see our purpose in life more clearly.  It’s an experience of an entirely different dimension of reality, a fourth dimension, if you will.  As intense as it was, it wasn’t new to me, for it was simply a deeper experience of something I felt and still feel at every celebration of the Holy Eucharist.  “O saving victim, opening wide the gate of heaven to us below.” 
 
     When Jesus gave the Holy Eucharist to his disciples, and through them, to the whole Church, for all time, he intended to provide the Church with a perpetual thin place.  The sacrifice that he was about to make on the cross would happen only once.  How would he keep that sacrifice from becoming just a distant memory of an historical event?  He did it by providing the Church, all those made members of his Body through baptism, with the Sacrament by which, whenever it was celebrated, it would be a participation in that original sacrifice.  It would be a way by which the barriers of time, place, and physicality would be overcome.  Thus, even though in the Upper Room at that first Eucharist his sacrifice had not even yet occurred, his disciples were participating in that sacrifice that was to come.  The barriers of past, present, and future were overcome.  Heaven was joined to earth and earth to heaven.  Jesus created a thin place, a gate, for all time.
 
     Our Lord Jesus used the context of the Passover to celebrate that first Eucharist.  Jews to this day celebrate the Passover as if they’re at the original Passover, when the Jews were delivered from the old life of slavery to the new life of freedom.  Every Passover is far more than a mere commemoration of something that happened in the past, but rather is a bringing to the present of that past saving event.
 
     The language Jesus ordinarily spoke was Aramaic.  In writing the accounts of the Gospel, the evangelists Matthew, Mark, and Luke translated Jesus’ Aramaic word for remembrance with the Greek word anamnesis.  Anamnesis is a word for which there’s no English equivalent.  Its meaning is basically the same as the meaning around which the Passover is celebrated.  It means to bring to the very present a past event.  "Do this for the anamnesis of me."  Thus, our Lord Jesus, in instituting the Sacrament of the Holy Eucharist, gave his Church the way in which we could access the original event of his suffering, death, and resurrection.  It’s the way in which we participate in a thin place whenever we gather for Mass, the way in which we pass through the gate to that fourth dimension in which heaven is joined to earth and earth to heaven.
 
     Tonight, we celebrate the institution of the Mass.  We speak of the Real Presence of Jesus in the Sacrament, the risen Jesus present with us in the people gathered, in the Word read and proclaimed, in the Celebrant, and in his Body and Blood.  Yet, every time we gather for the Holy Eucharist, not only is our risen Lord Jesus really present with us, but also we become present with him at the Last Supper, in his suffering, and in his death.  We speak of his sacrifice as a once for all sacrifice.  It never needs to be repeated.  Part of why it never needs to be repeated is that we participate in that original sacrifice over and over again by being present at Mass. 
 
     Jesus gave us the Sacrament to provide that thin place where heaven meets earth and earth heaven.  It happened to be at a celebration of the Holy Eucharist when I had that deeply “thin” moment in seminary some 42 years ago.  I’m thankful for that experience, but I’m even more thankful that our Lord has provided the way for us continually to reach those “thin moments” every time we celebrate the Sacrament of his Body and Blood. 
 
     “O saving victim, opening wide the gate of heaven to us below, our foes press on from every side, thine aid supply, thy strength bestow.  All praise and thanks to thee ascend for evermore, blest One in Three; O grant us life that shall not end in our true native land with thee.”
 
      
 
    
                                                             
 

​     In about a half hour's time we have shouted "Hosanna!  Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord," hailing Jesus as our King as he enters the Holy City of Jerusalem.   We have recalled Jesus' arrest and his mockery of a trial.  And within that same half hour we have joined the crowd in shouting, "Crucify him!"  We have recalled his condemnation by Pilate, his sentence of death, his scourging, his crucifixion, and his death.  In other words, we have recalled the doing in of the best man who ever walked the face of the earth or whoever will walk the face of the earth, by the most religious people of the time, by a government that prided itself on its system of laws and justice.  We have recalled human beings, even the most exemplary of human beings, at their very worst. 
 
     Our part in the liturgy serves to remind us that we are part of the same broken humanity that crucified our Lord.  And we have done it all in this magnificent church; we have done it with great ceremony and dignity, with some of the most strikingly beautiful vestments that the parish possesses. 
 
     To the uninitiated, all of this might seem strange, certainly puzzling, and something that people would do well simply to forget.  These things are recalled in a spirit of sober recollection, yet undergirded with a quiet joy and thankfulness.  For the story that has been recalled, a story of human treachery, greed, and betrayal, against a completely innocent man, is the story of our redemption.  Our joy is a muted joy, for the story is not yet fully told, the resurrection not having yet occurred. 
 
     The Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ is good news, the Good News of the reconciling of God and humanity, but it is first of all bad news.  God, the Father, the Creator of this vast universe, desires to have a relationship with us, who are made in his image.  He created us to live in communion with him and with one another, yet we choose again and again to be our own god, to put ourselves in the center of our own little universes, expecting all those around us and even God to worship at our altar.
    
     This is the history of humanity.  This was the situation in the days when Jesus walked the earth.   And it still is the situation in our own day, whether we're talking about senseless wars or terrorist attacks in various places around the world, or mass shootings in our own country, or problems in the office and at home.  The Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ is that all of these things stem from the same root—we human beings wanting to be in control—of others and of God.
 
     This is our disobedience, and our disobedience has caused a rupture in our relationship with our Creator.  God still wants to be in relationship with us, and through our Lord Jesus Christ he has mended that relationship.  The good news is that, through Jesus' death on the cross, Jesus has paid the price for our sin and also has given us an example of godly life. 
 
     The story of the life, suffering, and death of Jesus Christ is the story of the pure, unbounded love of God for us.  May we live this day and all our days in the knowledge of that love, seeking, by God's grace, to live that sacrificial love in our lives.

The phone rings. A friend from work is on the line. She’s been going through a hard time, and all she wants is for someone to listen. So there you are, however you do these things, walking around your house or standing stock still in your kitchen, listening for your friend’s astonishing insight or dark secret — and then the signal cuts out. A beat goes by. And another. And then the voice of your friend abruptly returns. Maybe she’s laughing. Maybe she’s crying. Who knows why? Your ability to pay attention has practically disappeared as the internal monologue begins to roll: Do you admit that you have no idea what she’s talking about? Do you ask her to repeat whatever it was that she had said? The thought of doing so is excruciating — maybe only to me — because you wanted to listen. You picked up the phone for a reason; but you were unable at the critical moment to do so. And now! Now you’re miles away, wondering whether or not to embarrass yourself and your friend by confessing to the whole thing. But by that point the conversation is over, and you hope that whatever you missed doesn’t come back to bite you.

Communication can be hard. Maybe it always is! But then there are those moments when the message gets lost entirely. It could be the connection. It could be our forgetfulness. It could be our self-centeredness. Sound familiar? We’ve all had those experiences, when we were told to pick up peas for dinner and got pears instead or when we thought our spouse was angry when in fact they were only exhausted or when the kids’ bickering erupted into a tantrum because we were too busy looking at our phones to intervene. 

The subtle art of communication — of all that’s involved with discerning what’s true and acting in accord with Reality — is a skill that we as 21st-century Americans aren’t particularly good at. Though we are far from the only people to struggle. In fact, we are in good company. Although some would call it bad.

The Corinthian Christians weren’t exactly paragons of moral virtue. Empowered by the Holy Spirit and impressed with themselves, this congregation, which had been planted by St. Paul in one of the most diverse and depraved cities in the Roman Empire, was beginning to fall apart. Parishioners sued each other — in pagan courts, no less — after cheating on each other’s business deals. On top of that, an established member decided it was okay to sleep with his stepmother. And on top of that, the congregation had split up into various factions, each with their own preferred leader and their own preferred teachings and their own kind of preferential treatment. Even the people outside of the church who knew nothing about Christianity knew that what the Corinthian Christians were doing had very little in common with Truth or Virtue of any kind. These folks were behaving like the worst sort of pagans while also claiming Christ.

Things were bad. So bad that nearly 250 miles away in Ephesus, St. Paul hears about it — and writes. His voice full of concern and pain, St. Paul warns his spiritual children, “You think you are wise, but you are infants” — and behaving like them, too. 

Somewhere along the line, the Christians in Corinth had missed or mislaid the message. They had lost the signal; and they were now in danger of dropping the call. The echoes of their past and the sound of their present were drowning out the heartbeat that was what brought them to life in the first place.

“The message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.” 

That Word is no less incredible, no less “foolish” now than it was then. We are, after all, living in a world that looks more and more like an ancient port city, complete with a dizzying array of goods and ideas as well as a seedy and sordid underbelly just a few blocks away. You can see it if you look. You can hear it if you listen. The same kinds of idols, the same false gospels are there, are here — we encounter them every day. 

If you want to be happy, get rich. If you want to be respected, find power. If you want to be remembered — we’ve moved beyond constructing beautiful tombs. Now we just buy the latest cell phone or invest in virtual reality or dabble in AI because to do otherwise risks obsolescence, a premature metaphorical death in a world that’s moving so fast the human soul can’t keep up. 

And we are told this is good. But the fact is, it’s not. 

The life we are called to live is not one measured by our salary or our followers or our fame. It is one that begins and ends in the message of the Cross, where a love stronger than death died, so that even his enemies might have life. 

This may sound like foolishness. It may look like failure; but it is actually freedom. It is actually power, God’s power, God’s grace to make every moment — the good and the bad — a moment with him and a foretaste of paradise.
 
For God, our God was so zealous for his temple that he came down, he entered into our midst, was wounded for our transgressions and crushed for our iniquities that we might no longer be pulled apart by the perceived needs and changing fashions of this world, but united with the one who can teach us a better way.

And that instruction, that message, that Word could, as the Apostle John said, fill many books and still have more to say because the message of the cross is Jesus Christ, the God who became man so that he might take up our cross and carry it through the wilderness, into the Temple, and beyond the grave — that we might be healed and made whole not by escaping the world or by escaping our selves but by following the one who lived as no one has ever lived before. His was the perfectly obedient, perfectly trusting, perfectly restful life lived in the presence of the One who is Love. 

What joy life could be if we took him at his Word, if we learned to listen past the noise of the world around us, to find that still small voice in the center of our heart that tells us what is True, that reminds us of the sound that has gone out into all the lands, and the message that rings even to the ends of the world: Someone loves us, and he is not far from us. Indeed, he draws near, he comes close, that he might speak and we might hear. 

And he never stops doing so. God never stops calling us. Not even when we are at our worst. Not even when we’re at our most ignorant. Not even when we’re distracted. Think of the cross and the message it proclaims: God will not leave us, not even though we kill him. 

This is the Word that is found at the heart of things, at the heart of everything. The Word that will not rest until all is united through Him with God. And that is happening now, as each of us beseech God to give us the grace to hear with his ears and to see with his eyes and to touch with his hands this glorious world, these glorious gifts that he has given us, that we might enter ever more deeply into his love, seeking him out and finding him in every moment of every day, learning to believe that he is leading us on into glory, no matter what we may encounter. 

That is the message we hear in every word of Scripture, the Word we taste in the Bread and the Wine, the Reality in which we live and move and breathe. "The message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved, it is the power of God." Take hold of it and live. AMEN. 

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