In the Garden: Sermon for Good Friday, 2021

Every year when I was a high school teacher, I used to love to teach my students about the 1960s, and that usually was happening right about this time every year. One of the things I shared with them was the Joni Mitchell song about Woodstock. You know that one, right? Here’s how the song’s chorus goes:

“We are stardust, we are golden,
we are caught in the devil’s bargain,
and we’ve got to get ourselves back to the garden.”(1)

Countless writers and musicians have talked about our longing to get back to that garden in the beginning, where we were innocent.

Our story today in the gospel of John begins in a garden. And the mention of that garden is meant to remind us of the garden that Joni sang about. The author of the gospel of John is writing a new version of the creation story.

In the beginning, God placed us in a garden, but eventually, we forgot who we were-- and whose we were. All we had to do was trust in God, who even walked with us each day in the cool of the evening. God gave us freedom, because love can only be given in freedom, and God loved us and all of creation.

Once, we walked in a garden with God, and it wasn’t enough for us. We thought God was trying to box us in, and we responded with suspicion, which led to rebellion. Distrust leads us to be cut off from the love that offers itself to us freely, because we are afraid it will take something from us. It leads to wanting to hurt others-- and sometimes even those who are close to us—before they hurt us.

We disobeyed, and in our freedom, we turned from confidence to fear and, and then shame- shamed for our naked fear, when we had never been given any reason to doubt.

And on that day, God came looking for us. But we hid ourselves- even though we had begun hiding the second we listened to that intruder in the dust cajole us into uncertainty and suspicion. And later, we told ourselves that God had put us out of the garden, when in truth we had turned our backs on home. And we continued to hide from God throughout the centuries, unable to return to full obedience, unable to empty ourselves of all our stubbornness and pride.

At the beginning of our gospel for Good Friday, the Word of God, Jesus of Nazareth, is in a garden too. But Jesus, the bridge between humanity and God, is not hiding. This time, the forces of the world come looking for a rebel and a blasphemer. They are looking for someone who they believe has committed the sins of Adam: rebellion, and claiming to be God. The sins we’ve all been committing throughout time.

Yet Jesus, who is a new Adam, is not hiding from anyone. Instead, he boldly walks out to those looking to seize him. Instead of rebellion, Jesus acts out of perfect obedience, love, and unity with God. Instead of Adam choosing sin in opposition to love, this new Adam, Jesus of Nazareth, chooses to act in love in opposition to sin.

Once again, God knows his love will be met with rejection. This Adam is truly God’s son. Once again, we find the one who wants to give us everything, and we react with doubt, rejection, and fear. Jesus plainly tells us who he is, using the same name that came to Moses out of the burning bush. Those who come to that garden are seeking a rebel; but instead they find God in the shape of Jesus. Yet we still refuse to recognize God as God. Instead WE rebel. WE want to be in charge.

We want to be gods. That’s the REAL original sin. And it is as prevalent today as it was millennia ago, as we deny science, and deny community and deny that we care about anyone other than ourselves. We have elevated ourselves and made our feelings of grievance our gods. And it is exactly that tendency that puts Jesus on the cross.

Jesus turns our first story of a garden on its head. Jesus will go willingly from that garden, into the place where we all face trials, and place himself in the hands of evil so that he may show that the love of God always wins out over fear and sin.

On the way to the cross, and on the cross itself, Jesus shows us the way of Isaiah 41:10 – words of promise and comfort that we need today more than ever as the pandemic continues into its second year, and as some of us still refuse to acknowledge the claims our neighbors make upon us to act out of charity rather than arrogance in doing what we can, even something as small as wearing a mask. Isaiah 41:10 says this:

“Do not fear, for I am with you,
do not be afraid, for I am your God;
I will strengthen you, and I will help you,
I will uphold you with my victorious right hand.”

“Do not be afraid, for I am your God.” God loves us enough to be ours even when we are not willing to submit to belonging to God.

“Do not fear, for I am with you,” God whispers to his beloved Son as he suffocates on the cross through our own fault. Our sin—our doubt, our disbelief, our suspicion, our fear—has put Jesus on that cross. Yet God is there with Jesus, bending down as human freedom plays itself out, even to the point of putting Jesus on a cross to suffer and die.

“Do not fear, for I am with you,” Jesus whispers to us even as we seize him and condemn him to suffer for our own fear and sinfulness.

Like our brethren the Jews, we Christians are a remembering people. We remember each time we worship, each time we read scripture, and we remember each time we share communion together, remembering this moment, when Christ our Passover is sacrificed for us. That’s why our liturgy has us sing, “We remember his death, we proclaim his resurrection, we await his coming in glory.” Today, on Good Friday, we remember Jesus’s death. Death for the sake of us all. And we await his coming in glory.

With a quiet “it is finished,” the old creation, which we had misshaped through sin and fear in that first garden, is ended.

But what happens on the cross is not just an ending, but also a beginning. There is a new creation that is

begun on that cross, a new world for all of us who look upon it. We are born anew through what happens on that cross.

Our story begins in a garden, and our story ends in a garden, or so we think. The last image we see this Good Friday is another garden, redolent with the scent of jasmine, and hyssop, and more faintly, frankincense and myrrh. Jesus’s body is put into another garden—a garden with a tomb, but from this tomb, death is going to be defeated. Unless a seed falls to the earth and dies, it bears no fruit. The power of sin is going to be, and is, vanquished. Death will itself be, and is, destroyed.

By faith, we have come this far, tottering like toddlers on the feet of hope—and God has not brought us this far to abandon us now at the grave.

God
Has
Not
Brought
Us
This
Far
To
Abandon
Us
Now
At
The
Grave.

Let a new creation spring up in our hearts, even as we watch and wait for our Savior.


Amen.

Preached at the noon Good Friday service online at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville, on April 2, 2021.

Readings:

• Isaiah 52:13-53:12
• Hebrews 10:16-25
• Psalm 22
• John 18:1-19:42

Notes:

1) Joni Mitchell, "Woodstock," from Ladies of the Canyon, 1970.

Fearlessly Human: Sermon for the 1st Sunday in Lent, Year A

From the birth of philosophy, one of the ultimate questions has always been, “What does it mean to be human?” It’s an attempt to define those unique human characteristics that separate us from other animals, and from the rest of creation. What makes humans unique? 

We start with eliminating things. It certainly isn’t strength, or speed, or agility—other creatures have us beat on all of those fronts. No, it must be something else. Over the centuries, the possible answers have been varied. Reason, some highlighted—and then we learned that dolphins, ants, and chimpanzees problem-solve and use tools. Language, others proclaimed—and then were learned about whale song and Koko the gorilla learning sign language. Memory, others suggested—and then we hear stories of elephants grieving their deceased kin, even years afterward, and loyal dogs returning to their family home after years of being lost thousands of miles away. Some claim that only humans have souls—but that takes us down another rabbit hole again, since you can’t prove the existence --or not-- of a soul in ANYTHING. 

There are things that unite us as creatures: a desire for growth, breath; a need to communicate and be understood; a drive for assuring the survival of our offspring; a longing to be fed, nourished, watered. Hungers and needs met. These are some of the basics of existence—and we are even learning that about organisms we once arrogantly assumed lack awareness. Trees sing to each other, and eavesdrop on each other through their roots. The dance of the honeybee communicates where to find water and pollen to their hivemates. Yet are they as free as human beings? 

What DOES it mean to be human? Perhaps it is bound up in the misuse of the freedom that is our inheritance. Sadly, often those who have asked that question have done so in order that they can exclude some OTHER group, and justify taking something from them or using them as objects rather than accord them dignity and rights. 

We seem to always get into danger when we overlook the responsibility part of being free humans, in favor of the argument from exceptionalism that confers more rights on whoever we define as “us” versus whoever we define as “them.” When we define being human as something that makes us exceptional, that elevates us above the balances built into creation, that’s a dangerous endeavor, because it inevitably leads us to trying to justify satisfying our wants throug selfishness, violence, and injustice. Like all creatures, we are driven by hunger, but God holds us accountable for how we assuage it. 

In the 15th-19th centuries, many Europeans denied the humanity of Africans so that they could be enslaved, abused, and killed. In the 20th century, Nazis famously denied the humanity of Jews, using a German term for them that translates to “beneath human.” And right now, we see some loudly deny the humanity of immigrants, or people of color, or LGBT people. We see people even now, through fear and prejudice, deny the humanity and right to life of people merely suspected of crimes, much less of actual convicted criminals. 

That denial of these “othered” groups as fully human is used to justify denying them their rights to life, liberty, and property in one guise or another—to justify the filling of one person’s hunger for status by denying someone else’s humanity. We run the terrible risk of privileging our own freedom and our own surrender to hunger until it morphs into the mistaken belief that it rests upon the necessity of others’ oppression. 

I was thinking about this question of humanity and exceptionalism as I pondered our readings this week. There IS one thing that scripture mentions that makes us different from other creatures—the fact that we have been specifically charged to be obedient to God. That's not because we are special-- it's because we HAVE to be told. Faithfulness comes naturally to the other creatures, but not to us—it’s part of the other side of our freedom. Our stories this week are about our temptations to place our freedom, our hunger and the materialism that together they spawn ahead of our faithfulness and trust in God. 

Our readings seem to be pointing us toward consideration of one thing that humans definitely are really good at—and that is rationalizing sin and disobedience. Ultimately, one of the hallmarks of humanity is our ability to sin, our ability to know right from wrong, and to do the wrong thing anyway. 

As our readings from Genesis and Matthew point out, the root of sin is unchecked hunger—of pridefully “independent” people surrendering to the fear that we will lack something or be denied something we want. It is that ability to choose the expedient or the pleasurable thing over the right and honorable thing that lies at the heart of the excuse “Well, I’m only human, right?” when we get caught doing something wrong.

The story of Adam and Eve is at the beginning of scripture for a reason, after all. This story begins with the reminder that God had provided Adam and Eve everything they needed for survival and even comfort—and yet they were driven to try to take something that God said was not meant for them. I am always struck by the fact that right after God supposedly makes humans the lords and masters of the rest of the creatures, humans are depicted as misusing their freedom and thus risking throwing away our privileged place where we imagine ourselves to be most beloved of all of God’s creatures. 

I love the fact that the ancient people who first told the stories in the Torah start right out with admitting that when it comes to temptation, we humans have almost never met one we didn’t like. It’s so incredibly honest. It’s like that great saying, “Opportunity may only knock once, but temptation leans on the doorbell.” 

The placement of that story as the first with human characters is an important and honest admission – that from our earliest knowledge of ourselves, our ability to sin is bound up with our freedom. Part of the creaturely condition is a desire and hunger for freedom. But God gave us as humans the freedom to choose, and we live in a time when people often lose sight of the fact that freedoms must be balanced in the name of justice and the good of those around us. 

God knows that’s absolutely not a popular message today. But especially with a backdrop of a fears of an epidemic and climate catastrophe looming before us, I think it bears repeating that especially for us humans, freedom comes not just as a privilege, but also as a responsibility. 

In the story from our gospel today, we get another story of temptation, but with a far different result. And just to make it clear that the result is bound up with freedom, Jesus faces not ONE but THREE temptations. And this time, Jesus in his full humanity—he is famished after all, just as all of us would be. So up pops the Devil, just as crafty and cunning as that snake in the Garden of Eden. And then we get to watch a little game of “dueling scriptures:” 

Devil: (in wilderness) You’re hungry; 
I dare you to turn stones into bread. 

Jesus: Deuteronomy 8:3 says no, 

God is sufficient.     

Devil: (on top of temple) Yeah? Well, 
Psalm 91:11-12 says you are bulletproof. 

Jesus: Deuteronomy 6:16 says no, 

God should not be tested (Irony!).

Devil: (on high mountain) Okay, just 
worship me for political power, then. 

Jesus: Deuteronomy 6:13 forbids it, 

and commands worship of God only. 

Once again, the parallels jump out: the temptation of Adam and Eve started out with a discussion of food, there through God’s providence; in the first two temptations, the devil tries to get Jesus to turn his back on God’s providence, and use his power for himself and deny his humanity. 

 The first two temptations try to play up to what in anyone else but Jesus would be human vanity— “Hey! You’re God’s son! The rules don’t apply to you, and what can it hurt?” The first two try to lead Jesus from obedience to God by setting himself up over God. The third temptation drops all pretense and nakedly reveals the agenda: “Abandon God, worship me, the God of the Belly.” 

What we see here in looking at the parallels between our Genesis reading and the temptation of Jesus here is that the “original” sin has nothing to do with sex. It has to do with not trusting God. It has to do with putting the trust and faith that we should have in God instead in our own arrogance and our own judgment—even as we know that our judgment is often tainted by fear, anxiety, and feelings of scarcity. Focusing on our hungers makes it impossible to have true peace and contentment. 

Our original sin is to let our hunger for more, which is inwardly focused, override our true calling to love and generosity which is outwardly focused.

We are often drawn into sin when we try to escape the hunger and longing that lies at heart of our existence as humans. That’s why giving up something for Lent CAN be instructive—IF it leads us to sit with our hungers and our longings as a way of getting to know ourselves better. Our longings can be blessings or curses, depending upon whether we master them or whether we let them master us. When we let our hungers master us, we fall into greed, selfishness, anxiety about perceptions of scarcity that our fears persuade us are fact rather than perception. 

Christian educator Debie Thomas notes that temptations can also been seen as invitations to lean into our relationship with God and our understanding that we don’t have to grab everything we can get our hands on, especially if that comes at the expense of others. She says this, and it pierced my soul so much I wanted to share it with you: 

Hunger in and of itself is not a virtue, it’s a classroom. To sit patiently with desire — to become its student — and still embrace my identity as God’s beloved, is hard…. But this is the invitation. We can be loved and hungry at the same time. We can hope and hurt at the same time. Most of all, we can trust that when God nourishes us, it won’t be by magic. It won’t be manipulative and disrespectful…. And through us — if we will learn to share — it will feed the world. (4) 

It’s absolutely vital that we understand Jesus as being BOTH fully human and God’s son—an understanding that Jesus demonstrates during his temptations. Jesus fearlessly faces his time in the wilderness because he has been led by the Spirit into the wilderness as God’s beloved Son, for the express purpose of being tempted to deny his humanity. Jesus, in facing down these particular temptations, redeems and reclaims the full goodness of humanity that some, like Paul, have claimed ended with Adam and Eve’s downfall. 

And what can we learn from this? Jesus is fearless and bold in the face of the devil’s temptation because he knows who he is, and he knows that God is with him. And we can do the same, if we trust that God is with us, too. Jesus’s ultimate trust in God means that he can’t be tested away from his faith or his obedience to the will of the Father. He is secure within the love of God, which satisfies far beyond any bread made from stone. We are tempted to sin when we are afraid— afraid that we are alone in the world, that we will never have enough, despite all the promises of God that God is always with us. 

Jesus shows us how to sit with being hungry, yet still and nevertheless faithfully, fearlessly human—and part of that lies in not being afraid to rely upon God. To put our trust in something beyond ourselves. That’s what it means to be fearlessly human—to be strong enough to be vulnerable. To be generous and openhearted, even when there are hungers for “more” beating out a cadence in each heartbeat. To be strong enough to depend on God, and depend on each other. To be fearless, because no matter how much we fall into temptation, through God’s grace, we are still beloved.

Amen.

Preached at the 505 on February 29, and at the 8:00 and 10:30 am services on March 1, 2020, at St. Martin's Episcopal Church, Ellisville.


Readings:

• Genesis 2:15-17; 3:1-7
• Romans 5:12-19
• Matthew 4:1-11
• Psalm 32

Sources:

1) James Tissot, Jesus Being Ministered to By Angels, Brooklyn Museum of Art.

2) "Adam and Eve Eating the Forbidden Fruit," Detail from Ste. Chappelle, Paris.

3) James Tissot, Christ Borne Up unto a Pinnacle of the Temple, Brooklyn Museum of Art.

4) Debie Thomas, "Tempted," in Journey with Jesus, February  23, 2020

5) James Tissot, Jesus Tempted in the Wilderness, Brooklyn Museum of Art.