Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, "I have seen the Lord"; and she told them that he had said these things to her. John 20:1-18
 
When good news comes into your life, what do you do? Some people shout with happiness – woo-hoo! Some people savor it quietly, letting the news wash over them; others give thanks to God; still others might clap or dance a little jig – ever been tempted to do that, or at least jump up and down? Maybe you do or have done all of those things when you have received great good news. And I think the great majority of us have the impulse to share the good news with someone else – a phone call, a text, stepping out of your cubicle at work to tell an office mate, posting your good fortune on Facebook, talking to your neighbor across the driveway. However you do that, we all have that impulse to share wonderful news with someone else. It’s as if our joy and excitement overflows and will not be contained until it finds an outward expression and lightens the hearts of others who are glad with us and for us.
 
Easter is all about the celebration of Good News – the very best news there has ever been: that Jesus defeated the sin and death that took him to the Cross when he was raised from the dead on the third day, and now lives to gives us new life. Great Good News! Mary Magdalene knew this when she went to the tomb in the earliest hours of the morning. It took her a little bit, though, to fully understand what she was seeing: the stone rolled away, the tomb empty, the grave clothes and linen wrappings lying there, no body. Even after she went and told Peter and the other disciple what she had found, the meaning of the scene did not fully sink in; the presence of two angels didn’t even move her to the comprehension of what was in front of her. But when she saw the Risen Christ and he called her by name, the truth and goodness of the news came upon her in full force. The Good News of Jesus rising from death to new life filled her, encompassed her and she ran to share the news with the other disciples: “I have seen the Lord!”
 
Such excitement, such joy, such energy, such vitality! Because Resurrection is precisely the new life that God gave Jesus, and gives to all of us. It is not a feeling, but does bring us great joy. It is not an idea, but it is absolutely worth thinking deeply and prayerfully about. Resurrection is not merely a religious or spiritual experience; it touches every aspect of our lives.
 
Resurrection is once-and-for-all event in history. God acted in a particular time and place in history, among a certain group of people, to bring to fruition God’s plan and purpose for all humankind and for all creation. Jesus’ resurrection brings new life in all times and in all places to each of us in the ways that are particular and true to our own circumstances. Resurrection gets into all the cracks and crevices of life; it’s not just a mantle or blanket that gets spread on top of our daily concerns and then just sits there, masking pain and brokenness. The power of Jesus’ resurrection is precisely that it is like the tide that rises and seeps in between the rocks, washing away that which does not belong. And it is like the fresh spring air that rushes into a room long closed once the doors and windows are flung open, displacing the stale air. It is the tomb on Easter morning which had been filled with darkness and the stench of death; when the stone was rolled away and Jesus rose to New Life, the old and the dead were dispelled. No wonder Mary ran to tell the others that she had seen the Lord; this was the best news there could possibly be!
 
And the news is just as good for us and for our world. The Good News is that God has conquered the ultimate triumph of death, that sin in our lives and in the life of the world will not have the last word, that evil is indeed judged by God and consigned to powerlessness. Now that’s a very brave and brash thing to say in the face of so much evil that we see in the world about us, the bombing attacks in Brussels being the most recent and public example. But Jesus’ Resurrection was God’s way of breaking the back of Death – capital D; of showing us that God’s purposes have always been for life, and for goodness, and for love, and there is nothing in heaven or on earth that can stop that. It has been said that the Crucifixion and Resurrection are the final and decisive victory, and that everything else is a mop-up operation.
 
So we live our lives in these over-lapping realities of the victory and the clean-up. And every day we experience both, no doubt. But the place to focus – today and every day – is on the victory, the place where we see Christ the Lord at work in our lives, at work in the world about us. Every time we can see Jesus and then say “I have seen the Lord” in whatever words make sense to us, we will be able to see him more readily and more clearly the next time. And the more we share this Good News with others, the more we will hear Christ speaking to us, calling us by name, calling us to embrace the new life and salvation and wholeness that he so freely and generously offers us. Good News, indeed, more us and for all God has made – the whole creation and the peoples who live in it.
 
And so we say:
God is good/All the time. All the time/God is good.
God is good/All the time. All the time/God is good.
God is good/All the time. All the time/God is good.
Amen. Alleluia!

Victoria Geer McGrath
All Saints’ Church, Millington, NJ
Easter Day
March 27, 2016

I will lift up the cup of salvation and call upon the Name of the Lord. I will fulfill my vows to the Lord in the presence of all his people. Psalm 116:11-12
 
A family meal, gathered around the table together…. recently I asked our Vestry members when they felt particularly prayerful and connected to God – both in Church and outside of it. And a number of them said that having a meal together with their family was a holy and spiritual time for them, and they felt the presence of God,
 
This is something we have always known, in one way or another – the importance of having a meal together with people you care about. Sharing food together, however simple or elaborate it may be, draws people together; you time becomes more than a meeting of the minds; it’s also a willingness to admit your hunger and your need before someone else – hunger for food, but also hunger for companionship. And when the meals together are few and far between – like Thanksgiving or a family reunion – we spend even more time together, we linger over the dinner table, we share news and stories and family history, and the bond of our lives and the generations get woven more strongly. We affirm and create anew our family each time we gather in this way.
 
Ancient Judaism understood the importance of sharing a meal, and the most important meal of all was the seder, the Passover celebration. It was rich with the symbolism of the Israelites’ deliverance from slavery in Egypt and their trek into the wilderness where they were held and sustained by the Lord God. It was the place where they were formed into a People – God’s People. And every year this festival of deliverance, freedom, and identity is celebrated at home, around the dinner table, the youngest child asking the question that sparks the recounting of the story: “Why is this night different from all other nights?”
 
No doubt there was a year – or several years – in Jesus’s family growing up when he was the one to ask the question which Joseph would answer. And the answer wove together not only their family, but their rootedness in being Jewish, in being part of the great big People of God.

In the last week of his earthly life, after the entry into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, after the final days of teaching in the Temple, of turning over the tables of the money-changers, Jesus and his disciples gathered for a seder meal. It was Passover, after all, the great central feast of freedom. But this year, instead of gathering with family and extended relatives, Jesus gathered with the Twelve, his inner circle. No doubt there may have been some of his closest women disciples as well – Mary and Martha of Bethany, Joanna, Salome, Mary Magadalene, James’ mother who was also called Mary; who else would have coked and served the meal?

As the story of deliverance and God’s providence was told, Jesus took the bread, the flat unleavened bread that symbolized God’s provision for them in the midst of their fleeing from oppression, and said: “This is my body that is for you. Do this in remembrance of me.” The bread that had once been about what God had done that night in Egypt so long ago was suddenly becoming about what Jesus was doing in their midst. He was changing the story and the symbols, interpreting them in a new way. The bread was now to be the Body of Christ, tangible and present among them. And the cup of wine at the end of the meal, the third cup in the seder, the cup of blessing and of covenant was also transformed. It became “the new covenant in my blood.” In the seder, the wine was a symbol of the blood of the lamb sacrificed at the first Passover – its blood spread over the lintel and doorposts so that the angel of death would pass over the houses of the Hebrew slaves, redeeming their first-born sons from death. Now, Jesus proclaimed, the cup of wine would be the symbol of his blood, he who was so soon to be the Lamb sacrificed for our deliverance and redemption from death and sin.

The cup and the bread were now, for Jesus’ followers, to be his Body and Blood – broken, poured out, sealing the covenant with God in a new and life-giving way. Jesus told the story of God’s deliverance in a new and different way, a way that put him at the center of the story. This became the new and central narrative by which we, Jesus’ followers, understand our lives. We are a People who serve a Lord who gathers us around a table, who bids us to come with empty hands and empty hearts so that we may be filled with the grace and goodness of God in the bread and wine, in the Body and Blood. These symbols of death have become vehicles of life for us. And the story we tell as we gather at the Lord’s table is the foundation of our identity, our connectedness, our reality in the world. We are the Lord’s People, Jesus’s disciples, grafted onto the Body of Christ – who know pain and sin, suffering and death, but also know that we have been changed and healed and redeemed by the sacrifice that Jesus made for us. We remember and make present and participate in that sacrifice every time we gather for Eucharist. The story and the sacrifice, the bread and the wine change us, and make us new, and give us strength and sustenance for the journey.

10 How shall I repay the Lord *
for all the good things he has done for me?
11 I will lift up the cup of salvation *
and call upon the Name of the Lord.
12 I will fulfill my vows to the Lord *
in the presence of all his people.  ~ Psalm 116:10-12. Amen.

Victoria Geer McGrath
All Saints’ Church, Millington, NJ
Maundy Thursday
March 24, 2016

"Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven and glory in the highest heaven!" Luke 9:38

Everybody loves a parade – or so it is said. The music, the flags waving, the crowds cheering, the different groups marching, the fire trucks, and floats, and antique cars, and bicycles, and parents pushing babies in strollers – the whole community on display. The sights and sounds pull us in, and take us to a place where we are engulfed in community identity. And we come away from the parade feeling more connected to our town, our country, perhaps our own heritage (depending on the theme and purpose), more connected to something greater than ourselves alone.
 
Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem was a parade, formed of his disciples, his followers, some of those who were dancing around the edges, as well as the travelers and pilgrims who were headed to Jerusalem for Passover – the High Holy Days. But it was unlike the Roman military parades – with legions of soldiers wearing breastplates and helmets, with chariots and heralds. Nor was it like the arrival of God’s Messiah that the people had so long hoped and prayed for; one who would come like King David of old – a royal warrior returning at last to claim his throne. What sort of a parade was this?
 
Jesus rode on a donkey, a work animal, a creature used by peasants and tradesmen, depended upon, but unremarkable. His saddle was make-shift – just a few traveling cloaks flung on the donkey’s back. And riding on the donkey would barely raise Jesus above the heads of the people in the crowd – no height of a battle charger here. There were no honor guards, no bands, no state trumpets, just the crowds calling out: Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven and glory in the highest heaven!
 
Where have we heard words like that before? From the angels, announcing Jesus’ birth to the shepherds: Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom he favors! Heaven and earth cries out, voices of angels and humans, at the arrival of Jesus – first, his entry into human life, our created sphere, and then his entry into Jerusalem, the holy city, and to the Temple, the place where earth and heaven met and where God’s presence was understood to burn most brightly.
 
The look, and fell, and details of this parade tell us that God comes among us, but not on our own terms. God came into human life in the person of a vulnerable child, born on the road, born into an ordinary family without wealth or power or influence – not what we would have planned if we were writing the script. God came to us on God’s own terms, coming to us in a way that we needed, but we weren’t sure we wanted. And in coming to Jerusalem for the final show-down with the forces of evil, Jesus was not making an especially impressive display – other than causing a commotion in a city tinder-dry with tension. In this parade into Jerusalem, God was coming into his own, in the person of Jesus on his own terms: what we needed, but not what we wanted. We, the people, wanted someone who would free us from Roman oppression. Instead we were set free from sin and death; and then given the charge and mission to not be ashamed to confess the faith of Christ crucified, to fight bravely under his banner against sin, the world, and the devil, and to join in the work to bring peace, justice, and wholeness to God’s creation. Not what we want, but what we need.  God comes among us on God’s terms, not our own.
 
And yet, these are words of joy, and of hope. God has indeed come among us. God has not left us to fend for ourselves, nor does God judge us from afar – a distant and cold deity. Instead, God lives with us, works with us, breaks bread with us, weeps and rejoices with us, and - most of all – loves us. And that is why we are here. We claim and proclaim the love of God in Christ for ourselves, for our neighbors, for the broken and the lost, for the whole world. We are the ones for whom Jesus lived, and loved, and prayed, and died – and rose again.
 
No wonder the crowd sang out: Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord! Peace in heaven and glory in the highest heaven! It was true then, even if the crowds did not understand. It is true now, even when we can see and understand only dimly.
 
God has come among us, on God’s own terms, for our good and for the good of the world. To God be the glory. Amen.

Victoria Geer McGrath
All Saints’ Episcopal Church, Millington, NJ
Palm Sunday
March 20, 2016

Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus' feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. John 12:3

“Waste not, want not,” the old saying goes. The idea is that by re-using, saving ends and bits of things, being creative about left-overs, we will stretch our income and resources in helpful ways. For many people this has always been a way of life, either because of economic necessity, or for some other reason. I have a friend whose family always saves string because her great-grandmother lived five miles from town in the days before automobiles and used to say, “You can’t run into town every time you want a piece of string” – hence the family saved string scrupulously.

Of course, during the Great Depression millions of Americans were forced to learned the importance of thrift and creative re-use – a shock for some after the seemingly endless economic party of the 1920s. And then the whole country was thrown into the necessity of making every dollar, penny, piece of fabric, and food purchase count when we went on a war footing during the 1940s. In fact, cook books and home magazines of the time featured articles and recipes that would cut down on waste, not only to feed and clothe families, but to feed and clothe the troops. It was our patriotic duty to do so.

More recently we have learned that our earth’s resources can be shared more equally for the benefit of all if we reduce our consumption, re-use, and recycle all manner of paper, plastic, and metal. And as we become more aware of the number of hungry and food insecure people and families in our country, our state, and our county, we are learning that food waste is a big problem, and that reducing food waste can help. The numbers are pretty staggering. Nearly 16% of the US population – 49 million people – are hungry in some way; 1.1 million in New Jersey – 12.4% of New Jersey residents; and in Morris and Somerset counties, the rate of hunger is nearly 8% - a combined total of 64,210 people – 55% percent of whom have incomes that just high enough that they don’t qualify for food stamps or other programs. To waste food or anything else in the face of this kind of struggle and need seems almost sinful.

And yet, this morning’s Gospel reading is all about waste, and the lavish use of exceedingly expensive scented ointment, which Jesus does not criticize. What’s going on?

Jesus is at a dinner party in the village of Bethany, at the house of his friends Martha and Mary, and their brother Lazarus – the one Jesus restored to life after he died. This was a good place, a safe place for Jesus among his close friends, accompanied by the disciples. And it was especially poignant, as the Gospel writer looks back on it, because it was only six days before Passover, that day when the conflict with the religious authorities and the occupying imperial power would finally boil over and result in Jesus’ crucifixion.

This story appears in all four Gospels, in one form or another, but here in John, the setting is this home and family who are dear to him. Mary - the one who had previously sat and listened to Jesus’ teaching and wisdom while her sister Martha cooked the meal, served the food, and did the dishes – Mary took on the traditional role of a servant or female member of the household, and washed Jesus’ feet. But instead of a pitcher of water, she washed his feet with her tears, and she dried them not with a towel, but with her long hair, now uncovered and unbound – a sign of intimacy and love.

Mary then poured very costly imported perfume over Jesus’ feet, one that could have been sold for a year’s wages. Judas was aghast, because it would have made much more sense to give that money to the poor, and so often Jesus spoke and taught and prayed and stood on the behalf of the poor, in the tradition of so many Old Testament prophets. But Jesus recognized that Mary’s actions had a very different intent and purpose. And when he chastised Judas, it was not a brush-off to the poor, but instead it was a recognition that in human life, because of inequity and greed and bad luck and indifference writ large, there will always be the opportunity to care for the poor, to come alongside them with compassion and respect.

But that moment of calm, on the eve of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem, the night before Palm Sunday, had a different purpose. Not only did Mary take on the role of a servant, but she also took on the role of a prophet – for it was the Biblical prophets who anointed the kings. Here, Mary did not anoint Jesus’ head, but his feet, a gesture of tender compassion, and a preparation for his burial. Mary, who had sat at the feet of her rabbi, a devoted disciple learning from the Master, understood what the others did not: that Jesus would soon meet his death, offering up his life on behalf of others. Washing and anointing his feet was an act of affirmation and devotion; how ever the next days unfolded, Mary have expressed her love and faith in Jesus as her friend, her teacher, her leader, her king, her Messiah. This expensive gift, poured out upon his feet was a fitting and unconscious bookend to the gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh that the Magi had given him at his birth – symbolizing royalty, divinity, and suffering.

Mary anointed Jesus because she had taken the time and energy to pay attention to him, to focus on him with her whole heart and soul, and take in not only his words, but also his presence and Spirit – that very same Spirit that would impel her and so many others throughout the centuries who followed Jesus, to care for the least, the lost, the broken, the lonely, the hungry – because in caring for them we are caring for Christ in his most distressing disguises, as Mother Theresa used to say. But it comes first from giving Jesus our whole attention, our mind, our time, our will, our love – a very wasteful thing to do in the eyes of the world.

That is what we are called to – here in the depths of Lent, as we are on the approach to Holy Week – to give Jesus the fullness, the costly sacrifice of our attention, time, and devotion. He who gave his life for us and for the good of humankind bids us to give ourselves to him in return. And when we do that, then our lives will be shaped, and formed, and directed by the Love that knows no bounds, and by the Spirit who will always lead us and strengthen us to serve “the least of these, my brothers and sisters” who are with us always, and among whom Jesus always finds a home and a welcome.

Let us pray.
Jesu, Jesu, fill us with your love,
show us how to serve
the neighbors we have from you.
Neighbors are rich and poor,
neighbors are black and white,
neighbors are nearby and far away.
Loving puts us on our knees,
serving as though we are slaves;
this is the way we should live with you.
Jesu, Jesu, fill us with your love,
show us how to serve
the neighbors we have from you. Amen. ~ Ghanaian hymn

Victoria G. McGrath
All Saints’ Church, Millington, NJ
Fifth Sunday in Lent
March 13, 2016