Davison's Doodle

The Other Disciple

Easter is considered the most Holy day in the Christian calendar. I’ve had opportunity to offers words on Easter a few times during my time in Christian ministry. Below is the most recent rewrite of my one Easter sermon. This is the fifth rewrite. The text is John 20:1-18.

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There is an old story.  An itinerant preacher arrives at church on Sunday to find only one person, a farmer, attending worship.  He says to the farmer, “Good Morning.  Since there are just the two of us, why don’t we sing a hymn, have prayer, share communion, and skip the sermon.”  The farmer said, “Well, preacher, if only one cow shows up at feeding time, I still feed that one.  If it’s ok with you, let’s have the sermon too.”

So, the preacher led the service and gave a long sermon on God’s salvation.  He raised his voice and cursed the devil.  At the end of worship, he asked the farmer what he thought of the sermon.  The farmer said, “Well, it was good, but you know if only one cow shows up at feeding time, I don’t dump the whole bucket.” 

Sometimes, that is what we do in worship on high holy Sundays. Who knows when we might see someone again or if those visitors may return?  We have to go all out. If you are part of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), it seems we try to do the same during General Assembly worship. I’ll do my best not to dump the whole bucket with the words.

From May to December 1831, Alexander Campbell, one of the founders of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), wrote a series of essays published in The Millennial Harbinger on the theme of cooperation among congregations.  He wrote, “A church can do what an individual disciple cannot, and so can a district of churches do what a single congregation cannot.”

At our best, our little frontier movement connects, equips, and empowers disciples to love and serve like Jesus.  We are a blessing to the world and one another when we listen and act on the teaching that Jesus wrapped in a riddle: “to love God and love your neighbor as yourself.”  In the complexity of what has become of Christendom since the first Easter celebrations, I think we measure ourselves and others who claim Christian faith by the standard: followers of Jesus do Jesus-like things.  By our love.  That’s how they will know us.  It’s not a love that sounds like, “Eat your spinach because it is good for you.” or “I’m punishing you because I love you.”  It is a good news of love that the Apostle Paul tried to summarize in 1 Corinthian 13.

A love that is not envious or boastful.  Arrogant or rude.
A love that does not celebrate wrongdoing.  Rejoices in truth 
A love that doesn’t demand its own way.
A love that believes.  Hopes.  Endures.

This morning, people who claim Christian faith around the world gather to hear, to remember, to experience the words of Mary Magdalene, “Rabbi, teacher . . . I have seen the Lord.”  No matter how young or old your faith, your heart knows what those words feel like.  No matter how often you attend worship or how involved you are in a faith community, you know what the voice of God sounds like beyond belief, beyond baptism, and after the last echo of “Alleluia” fades today.  So, remember that the Lord’s mercies never cease.
Remember that the Lord’s mercies are new every morning.
Remember that the Lord’s faithfulness extends beyond our ability to see in a mirror dimly and recognize the image of God in others, and even our own face.

When Easter arrives, I remember visiting Israel in January of 1999.  It was a study trip with a group of students and friends of Lexington Theological Seminary.  My companion was one of the leaders.  I walked those places that many considered Holy.  Masada. Jericho. The Qumran community. The Temple Mount, the Dome of Rock, Galilee, and Bethsaida.  There are places where the Jordan River is so narrow anyone could hop across.  The Church of the Holy Sepulcher is in Jerusalem.  It is built on a place where Christian tradition says that Jesus was crucified and buried.  It is a large structure with many rooms.  The halls circle the building, and at any time, monks or priests may come through the halls in a processional of chanted prayer.  The main chamber is crowded with icons, pilgrims, and tourists, awash in incense, waiting for a turn to walk into the shrine designated as “the tomb.”  The line is long.  Some pilgrims enter on their hands and knees.

Down a hall and down two flights of stairs is the Chapel of St. Helena, the mother of Constantine the Great.  It is dimly lit.  There are a few pews, and the chancel area has a rail and places to kneel for prayer and reflection.  Icons and ancient words adorn every wall.  To the left of the chancel is a gate with a chain and lock that looks to be from the Middle Ages.  There is one monk who has the key.  He must be encouraged, bribed, with several bottles of Johnny Walker scotch to unlock the gate.  Through the gate and down more narrow stairs is a quarry, an excavation area that has been converted into the Chapel of St. Vartan. Candles and small floor flood lamps provide light.  There is a small wooden cross and three small wooded benches for a few people to sit.  To the right of the cross is a stone with a drawing that dates to the second century of the Common Era.  It is a drawing of a boat, someone else might call it a ship.  It is believed that the drawing was created by early Christian pilgrims visiting this site said to be the place of Jesus crucifixion and burial.  Beneath the boat is a Latin inscription that translates, “Lord we went.”

These second-century pilgrims relied on the interpretation of Jesus’ teachings by those who claimed to know him or learned from one of the descendants of his disciples.  They relied on the life choices that followers of the Way made in living out the teachings of Jesus as they found their voice to proclaim him Christ.  When you remove our technological differences and social order, these second-century disciples are not so different from us.  One of them could have been a descendant of the other disciple who went with Mary and Peter that morning to the tomb.  Any one of us could be that disciple.

Many years ago, I attended a family reunion in Louisiana.  While there, I decided I could not leave until I visited my grandparents’ graves.  I know they are not there.  The spirit of Papaw and Mamaw Davison, along with Grandma and Grandpa Ferrier, are far from the manicured lawn of the cemetery, but being there helped me feel connected to a family story that I sometimes have run from or ignored as part of my own.  Neither side of the family was particularly religious.  The Scotch-Irish side were backslidden Southern Baptists, while the French Creole-Native American side were Christmas and Easter Catholics.  It is a long drive from Louisiana to Kentucky.  Somewhere between Little Rock and West Memphis, I said a silent prayer of thanks that I went.

Easter is a confessional experience for those who claim Christian faith.  Confessional.  Not a “bless me, Father, for I have sinned” confessional experience that we might imagine when we hear this word.  Easter is a confessional aha moment.  It is an awareness.  An Emmaus road journey, an answered prayer, an experience of the Risen Christ.  Usually, it is followed by reflection, prayer, study, and conversation with the other disciple.  Like those second-century disciples who went, we don’t know what really happened the morning Mary Magdalene went to the tomb or in the days following the crucifixion.  Though we give authority to the Bible as a means of instruction and inspiration, it is not, nor is it meant to be, a detailed history of the events of our faith ancestors.  The New Testament is a glimpse into the faith struggles and stories of other disciples, and in that plot, as the other disciple, we have a chapter to write about our own lives, faith, and journey with Jesus.  

When I read the resurrection story in John, I think about being that other disciple. It is mornings like this one that the church often remembers a confession: “Jesus is the Christ, son of a living God.  I accept and proclaim him Lord and Savior of my life.”  Depending on where you grew up, attending church or not, you have heard a version of those words echo from the mouth of a friend, a family member, or even your own lips.  In that moment and through your living since that day, you are connected to Mary Magdalene proclaiming, “I have seen the Lord.”  In that moment and through your living since that day, you are connected to Peter, who is said to have denied knowing Jesus but was called a rock of faith.  Easter is a day when Christians recognize and confess a connection that is outside the confines of political, tribal, religious, theological, or economic boundaries.  And like the other disciple, that has not been easy in our culture for a long time. 

We have many tools to stay connected: text messages, emails, and voicemails.  Did you see my Facebook message? Or my Instagram post?  Meme culture has become the editorial cartoon, or what my father called, “the funny page” of the newspaper.  A few of us may still send handwritten letters.  And like those first disciples, our skills for nurturing and understanding connection struggle to match our experience of faith in God and a belief in a risen Christ.  At their best, our faith communities- our church- help us create and maintain healthy connections with believers and non-believers so followers of Jesus can do Jesus-like things. 

Confession is more than assenting to one Lord, one holy catholic and apostolic Church, one baptism for the forgiveness of sins, or the Trinitarian formula for knowing God.  Confession is an action.  It is willful, and faithful living is will-filled. You are, and I am, that other disciple who ran with Peter when we are a living confession of faith and practice our discipleship even when no one is looking.  If you are not sure what that looks like, many followers recall the stories about seeing, serving, and acting on behalf of the hungry, the thirsty, those who need to be visited, and the outcast. 

What connects us to Jesus of Nazareth, whom we call Christ?
What connects you to Jesus of Nazareth, whom you call Christ?
What connects me to Jesus of Nazareth, whom I call Christ?

The answer that confronts this disciple’s Easter confession comes from the film “Chocolat.” The village priest, Pere Henri, after a stressful week with the Mayor of his village and a near tragedy in the community involving perceived outsiders, steps to the pulpit on Easter Sunday and delivers these words:

I’m not sure what the theme of my homily today ought to be.
Do I want to speak of the miracle… of our Lord’s divine transformation? Not really, no.
I don’t want to talk about His divinity. I’d rather talk about His humanity.
I mean, you know, how he lived his life here on Earth.
His kindness.
His tolerance.
Listen, here’s what I think. I think we can’t go around… measuring our goodness by what we don’t do.
By what we deny ourselves…what we resist and who we exclude.
I think we’ve got to measure goodness… by what we embrace… what we create… and who we include.

That’s a gospel message that confronts my Easter confession.  “Rabbi . . . teacher . . . I have seen the Lord.”

You are the disciple whom Jesus loved.  Just as Mary Magdalene did centuries ago, we possess a knowledge and experience of the risen Christ that compels us to go and tell.  Disciples, let’s remember there is ministry to do and gospel to be.  That’s where resurrection happens every day.

A century from now, will other disciples know that we went?

Caring for people. Doing good in the world.

Not long ago, I revisited the stories of Jesus’ temptations while preparing some words for another topic. The specific temptations detailed in Matthew 4:1-11 and Luke 4:1-13 have been taught as “one off” experiences in the life and times of Jesus of Nazareth. They are tests that Jesus passes on his way to living as a meditation on what it means to have faith in God. Maybe they are not “one off.” Your moral compass. Your empire claims. Your use of power. Those are always going to be Jesus’ temptations. They are never “one off.” They keep coming back. That’s the lesson. They always return in different clothing, financial instruments, power structures, political parties, slogans, policies, empires, instruments of injustice, and in the name of the Divine. Jesus dealt with it. Those first generations of disciples dealt with it. Saul, transformed to Paul certainly had his issues as did those claiming apostleship and interpreting a backstory to mean dominate the known world for Jesus. History shows how badly that interpretation coupled with politics can be. The Crusades. The Holocaust. A new PRRI survey indicates it remains a struggle in the 21st century for those that claim Christian faith, be it faith in Jesus or the faith of Jesus.

One of the differences often noted between Matthew and Luke is the order of the temptations. That’s not what caught my attention. In Luke’s version, Jesus has been in the desert forty days being tempted by the Satan. The text says “He ate nothing at all during those days, and when they were over, he was famished.” It is then that the Satan offers the big three detailed in Luke and Matthew. Famished. I think this is a way of understanding the rise of pop-Christian evangelicalism, the New Apostolic Reformation, Christian nationalism, and the religious fundamentalism that has returned in our Nation. Mainline Protestant Christianity and Catholicism became comfortably numb in its place in society having been popular post WW II and experienced righteousness during the Civil Rights era. A queasy tolerance of secularism and the expansion of rights for women, expanded gender roles, the sexual revolution, voting rights, interracial marriage, and changing cultural norms drove some to a wilderness. These emerged from the wilderness of the second half of the 20th century famished. Everyone was left behind at the turn of the millennium. Jesus didn’t return. For some the search for a purpose driven life has embraced an amoral capitalist turned political leader whose worldview is immoral. We’ve seen what being famished will do to a person, a people. We are seeing Captain Jack Sparrow’s pirate moto in realtime, “Take all you can. Give nothing back.” Two characters from central casting, President Trump and Musk, play their roles well. Savior and villain. It could be understandable had they been born into poverty fighting the man and the man’s systems for their fair share. But, they were born into wealth and privilege, and protected when they failed over and over again because of that wealth. Famished. Have we as a Nation learned nothing from world history and our own history with these temptations?

The good news according to Mark gives no details of the temptations. The text simply says Jesus was driven into the wilderness, tempted by Satan, was with wild beasts and angels waited on Jesus. (Mark 1:12-13). I don’t pretend to know what the wilderness is for people, nor the metaphorical wild beasts of other’s struggles. Everyone experiences both. I don’t believe in the existence of celestial beings called angels, but I think the idea of caring, watching out for people, treating people fairly and tending to our neighbor, is a description of what people are capable of. It might be what President Lincoln meant in his first inaugural address as, “the better angels of our nature.” Based on his behavior pattern this doesn’t interest the 47th President unless the transaction benefits him somehow. Famished.

It was with great surprise last Sunday that my congregation’s minister referenced the podcast, “Where Everybody Knows Your Name.” Ted Danson is interviewing his wife, Mary, who mentions how her childhood church was important to her growing up and still is today. It just happens to be part of the little frontier movement in which I serve. She speaks as one who understands the temptations never go away, and that church can embrace the faith of Jesus in simple acts that are super intense. Care for people. Do good in the world. I don’t know if that will stop the pirates ravaging our government today as they attempted to do on January 6, 2021, but it is a place to begin locally when the temptations return. It’s not easy, but the best way to not be fooled again is to not be famished inside or outside the wilderness. Jesus didn’t fall for it. Followers of Jesus do Jesus-like things. You do your best. Persons of other faiths that may pass by this site, I suggest the parts of your holy texts that teach something like the Golden Rule. Maybe you are of no particular faith and consider yourself spiritual, agnostic, or something else. The simplicity of Zoroastrian faith is a place to begin in the wilderness or oasis: Good Thoughts, Good Words, Good Deeds.