Gracious and loving God, on this most glorious day of resurrection, may only your truth be spoken and only your truth be heard. In the name of the risen Christ, we pray. Amen.
Happy Easter.
Today, Christians around the world gather to celebrate the resurrection of the Christ of God. Today, Christians around the world gather and proclaim, “Alleluia! The Lord is risen. The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!”
Let me be right up front - full disclosure - I have no intention of trying to explain the resurrection. I can say is what it is not - it is not about being resuscitated and restored to a continued earthly life. I cannot, however, give you a logical, rational explanation of what resurrection is. But I accept it. I accept resurrection not because I understand it or can explain it but because by it lives are changed.
I don’t know what happened on that first Easter Sunday but whatever it was, lives were changed. Whatever it was that those early followers of Jesus experienced after the death of Jesus on a cross, it changed them - big time. In the Gospel accounts of the resurrection, we hear of the despondent and disheartened becoming vibrantly animated. We hear that those who feared for their lives and who hid behind locked doors became bold and confident. We hear that those who were fainthearted and filled with doubt became filled with courage and faith.
Recognizing those transformations gives me reason to believe that something pretty amazing happened - even if I can’t explain what it was. And more, lives have continued to be changed throughout the history of Christianity, even unto today.
But still, there is the oh so human longing and desire to be able to dissect, explain, define and fully understand resurrection, especially the resurrection of the Christ of God. There are volumes upon volumes that undertake that task - all of which, sadly, but not surprisingly, fall short. How can anyone rationally and logically explain something that is beyond rational and logical explanation?
However, still we try. At least I do, but my feeble, all too human attempts to understand and explain the incomprehensible and unexplainable also fall short - nothing I can think, say or even imagine can capture the fullness, the depth or the heart of the resurrection.
So, let me change gears. What about the Gospel account that we have heard today from the Gospel attributed to John?
What the author tells us is that early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene went to the place where Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus had laid the body of Jesus following his crucifixion. When she arrived at the place, she saw that the stone had been removed from the mouth of the tomb. Immediately, she ran and told Peter and another disciple, the disciple Jesus loved, that the body of Jesus was gone. Those two disciples ran to the tomb and ultimately, both ended up inside the tomb, where they saw the linen wrappings lying there and the cloth that had been on Jesus’ head rolled up neatly by it self. Then the two disciples returned to their homes.
Now, the author of John just doesn’t tell us how, why or when Mary got back to the tomb but nonetheless, as the story unfolds, she was once again standing outside the tomb. Mary Magdalene was weeping. All she saw at that moment was that her lord, her teacher, her Jesus, was gone - someone had taken his body and she did not know where he was.
Weeping, and likely confused and forlorn, Mary bent over and looked into the emptiness of the tomb. But the tomb was not empty. In the tomb Mary saw two angels in white sitting where the body of Jesus had been. Then, following a short conversation with those angels, she turned around and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not recognize him. She did not know, she could not see, that it was Jesus. Rather, she thought he was the gardener
Mary stood at the door of the empty tomb overwhelmed by her very real feelings of loss, despair, fear, doubt and uncertainty about what tomorrow would bring. Through her tears, through her sorrow, through her anguish and through her grief she saw only the gardener. “Sir”, she implored him, “If you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him and I will take him away.”
All Mary could see was the empty tomb, her shattered future and ….. a gardener.
What more would we have seen if we had been there?
But then, ….. then a loving voice called her name.
“Mary.”
In that moment, when she heard that loving voice call her name, she knew, she saw everything in a new way.
In that moment, she experienced the resurrected Christ of God and she saw clearly. And in that moment, her life changed. Mary Magdalene experienced resurrection, her life changed and immediately she went and announced to the disciples, “I have seen the Lord.”
It’s hard to imagine a better Easter sermon than those first Easter morning words of Mary Magdalene, “I have seen the Lord!” It was short, to the point, memorable and it easily fits on church signs.
Now, I don’t want to hear a great round of applause when I say this but, I think we clergy tend to preach too much ….. especially on the big feast days of the Church like Easter. Perhaps it is because we think we need to say something profound, as if the empty tomb of the first Easter Day is not profound enough or can’t preach its own sermon. Often our preaching, well, mine anyway, is too much -- too much explanation, too much justification, too much rationalization - of the Bible story, of our take on the Bible story, of what God is up to in the Bible story. We, well I, tend to lean toward explanation and understanding rather than receiving and believing, toward teaching rather than proclaiming, toward creating images of a risen and glorified saviour rather than becoming living examples of the risen Christ in the brokenness of our world. And in our, well, my endless attempts to make the Bible relevant, we, well I forget that the Bible creates its own relevancy - and that is never truer than at Easter.
Mary’s sermon is wonderful - and perhaps the truest sermon ever preached. She didn’t say, “Alleluia! Christ is risen, the Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia!” No - she - did - not! She didn’t try to analyze, dissect, define or explain her experience. No - she - did - not! She didn’t prattle on about it for twelve to fifteen minutes in a neatly crafted sermon. No - she - did - not!
Early on that first Easter morning Mary simply said, “I have seen the Lord.”
Friends, resurrection, the resurrection of the Christ of God, is not a third person confession or a theological treatise or a creedal statement that we can recite by rote. It is a first person testimony - and that is all any of us need to preach.
To say “I have seen the Lord” is to say that resurrection is right here in the midst of the up and downs, the joys and pains of our daily lives; it is to see and witness to the reality of the possibility of new life even when all that seems visible is death; it is love in the face of hate; it is decency and goodness when that which is venomous and vile and vicious seems to be finding more and more followers.
Resurrection is not just a promise of some form of life after death; it is the assurance that the life-giving love of God will always move the stones away, in the right here and right now of this life. We do not need to wait until the next life to experience resurrection; resurrection is a truth that we experience here and now and to which we are called to witness on a daily basis.
Mary had stood at the foot of the cross of Jesus and watched as Jesus and her hopes died. Then, as she stood weeping at the door of the empty tomb, she experienced something so amazingly profound, all be it beyond human explanation, and in that moment she crossed the threshold of Jesus’ tomb into the fullness of the resurrection life of the Christ of God.
Resurrection life is a divine mystery that the human mind and the human curiosity have, over the centuries, sought to understand and to explain, even though the core truth and conviction of the resurrection of the Christ is beyond both our human understanding and explanation. Resurrection life calls us to see things differently - it calls us to see as God sees, as much as that is humanly possible.
This glorious Easter morning, we stand at the door of the empty tomb. What do we see? Do we see only the emptiness? Or, do we see the fullness of life to which the Christ’s of God calls us?
Thank you, Mary, for preaching the sermon we need to hear and giving us the sermon we need to preach - every day of our lives. May we trust the certain promise of resurrection and as Mary did that first Easter day proclaim “I have seen the Lord!”
5 April 2026 - Easter Sunday sermon by Canon Ric
Bound, Jesus stood before Pilate and said, “I was born and entered the world so that I could witness to the truth. Everyone who cares for truth, who has any feeling for the truth, recognizes my voice.”
Pilate asked, “What is truth?” Jesus spoke no more. (John 18:37-38 from The Message)
[For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.’ Pilate asked him, ‘What is truth?’] (John 18:37-38 from The New Revised Standard Version)
Let us pray. Divine lover of all creation, open our hearts, our minds and our lives to the word of your truth here among us. Amen.
I struggle with Good Friday! On a very basic human level, I struggle with the violence, with the hatred, with the whipping, with the mocking, with the insecurity and fear that led to brutality, with the ambition to preserve oneself at the cost of another, with the betrayal, with the greed, with the apathy and complacency and complicity, with the crowd mentality that results in vile and indifferent behaviour, with the deceit and corruption, with the shameful political and religious institutions and all the other things that lead to humanity’s repugnant inhumanity to one another that are so front and centre in the Good Friday story that each of our canonical Gospel recount.
And perhaps I struggle because the Good Friday story continues to unfold in the many outrageous acts of violence that stain and poison our contemporary world day in and day out.
I also struggle with Good Friday because its violence has been the foundation for so many orthodoxies and theologies and doctrines that we Christians tend to accept without much, if any, thought, without critical question or purposeful reflection. I struggle with our Christian beliefs and doctrines that have been developed out of a scapegoat or fall-guy or sacrificial victim understanding of the events of Good Friday - theologies that promulgate the idea that you and I were born so steeped in the sludge of the septic tank of original sin that only the sacrifice of a divinely sanctioned victim could free us from that sin and ensure that we get to eat that promised pie-in-the-sky-when-we-die for all eternity rather than spending all eternity in total damnation.
That divinely sanctioned victim being Jesus and the divinely sanctioned sacrifice his death on the cross. According to some theologies, it was a necessary sacrifice, the divine punishment of a spotless, sinless Jesus to atone for our birth sin, a sacrifice that Jesus was foreordained to make on our behalf because only through his death, his violent, brutal, sacrificial death, could our bondage to sin be broken and God secure our eternal salvation.
I struggle with the notion that my salvation requires such violence and such a convoluted and perhaps even illogical theological explanation of that violence. I struggle with a theology that assumes that God not only authorized but choreographed, instigated and enabled all the Good Friday events so that little-old-me can get into the kingdom of heaven when I die! It just doesn’t make sense to me! Today cannot be about God ensuring my eternal salvation in heaven by triggering all the violence of the crucifixion of Jesus.
Rather, in my mind, and more importantly, in my heart, the brilliance of today, why today is called “Good”, rests in the certainty shown by Jesus in his conviction to die rather than fight the violence of the world with more violence. For me, the power of today lies in Jesus choosing to go to the wood of the cross, to his execution, to his death, guided by the same truth by which he lived his life; the same truth to which he faithfully bore witness throughout his life - in his teaching, in his healing, in his eating with outcasts, in his rebuke that only the one without sin was allowed to cast the first stone, in his confronting the money-changers in the temple, in his telling the young lawyer that what he needed to do was sell everything he owned and follow, in his associating with those shunned by society, in his love for all, including his love for betrayer Judas, for denier Peter, for doubter Thomas and for you and for me. The power of today lies in Jesus showing us, in his life and in his death, that love is stronger than hate and violence, any kind of violence, has no place in the economy of the Kingdom of God.
The Judean authorities wanted Jesus gone - dead and gone. After all, his criticisms of the temple elite had been constant and biting. They wanted their comfort back. They wanted their privilege and power to be secure once again. They wanted their authority to go unchallenged. They wanted their pound of flesh. And that meant eliminating Jesus. Jesus knew that, yet still, he rode into Jerusalem where he came face to face with the cruelty and the brutality of a world that was and, regrettably, still is, dominated by violence. With a violent kiss Jesus was betrayed. By violent hands Jesus was arrested and dragged out of the garden. With violent intentions, Jesus was bound and thrown before the high priest. Still bound, violent collusion flung Jesus at the feet of Pilate. There, surrounded by the violence of this world, with shouts of “crucify him” defiling the air, without uttering a single word, Jesus stood before Pilate and spoke a truth that neither Pilate nor anyone else who is focused on earthly wealth, privilege, status, power, and political advantage could ever begin to understand. The truth which Jesus embodied that first Good Friday was not a philosophical precept or nicely crafted creedal proposition, which, sadly, even our own Christian tradition has made truth to be. No, the truth to which Jesus bore witness that day was the truth of divine love. The truth that guided everything Jesus did and said was the truth of divine love for all creation, the truth that God is love. That is the truth that Jesus declared to Pilate as he stood silently before him. That is the truth that Jesus proclaimed could not be silenced by brutality, cruelty or violence even as he was mocked, derided, beaten and executed. That is the truth that Jesus wore as he hung on a cross, the truth that became his burial shroud, the mantle of his authority and leadership to this day.
The cross of Jesus is the doorway into God’s kingdom - a kingdom which is not only unlike but completely antithetical to any of our earthly kingdoms that are constructed of greed, hatred, apathy, self-preservation, segregation, humiliation, pride and prejudice, earthly kingdoms that spawn inhumanity and violence that seems to know no bounds. I can’t even begin to expose our own personal culpability in the violence of everyday life in the kingdoms of this world in which we live. I fear that we, collectively, are no better morally or spiritually than those who called for the crucifixion of Jesus; those who shouted “Crucify him!”; those who stood idly by, doing nothing to stop the injustice; those who implicitly condemned Jesus by their unquestioning, complacent membership in violent and self-serving political and religious institutions.
Today we glory in a cross which is, for those with courage enough, not an instrument of death but a doorway into God’s kingdom - a kingdom which has as its foundation nothing more and nothing less than the love of God - that same love that Jesus taught about, that he demonstrated in his life and ministry and for which he died. It is a kingdom that is brought about and evidenced by radical inclusion, equality, peace and justice; a kingdom that offers comfort to those who mourn, a voice for those who cannot speak for themselves and strength to those who are weak; a kingdom where the downtrodden are lifted up and the lowly sit at table with the lofty; a kingdom where weeping is turned to laughter and spears into pruning hooks; a kingdom where light pierces darkness, truth prevails over falsehood and love is stronger than hate. It is a kingdom that is not from this world, a kingdom that does not consist in what we see around us.
Jesus stood bound and beaten before Pilate who asked, “What is truth?” Pilate could not see that truth was embodied in the person who stood before him. Jesus stood silently before Pilate - a testimony to and the embodiment of the truth of divine love. It cost Jesus his life but he could do nothing other - Jesus could not have brought about the kingdom of God by violence of any kind because that would have been in violation of the very essence of the kingdom of love over which he did, does and will always reign.
By dying the death that the violent world sought, Jesus opened the door and invites us to enter the present - not future - but the present reality of the kingdom of God. Dare we go through that door today? Dare we follow Jesus through his cross to dwell in the truth he embodied - the truth of God’s love? For if we do we must become not just partakers but practitioners of that truth and of that love here and now in every aspect of our lives and in every corner of our world! We must be the kingdom of God’s love in the heart of our broken and violent earthly kingdom. Therein lies our true salvation.
Let us pray. Gracious God, the cross of Jesus invites us into the truth of your kingdom of love. May his voice be our one guide and his way of love our only choice. Amen.
3 April 2026 - Canon Ric’s Good Friday Reflection
Gracious and loving God, may we hear your word, embrace it in our hearts and live it in our lives. This we ask in the name of Jesus. Amen.
Today, Christians around the world are celebrating Palm Sunday. Today, the season of Lent comes to an end and we step across the threshold into Holy Week, a week that would be Jesus’ last week on earth.
On Palm Sunday it is most appropriate that we focus our attention on Jesus entering the city of Jerusalem. His journey down the Mount of Olives from Bethphage (bayth-fag-ay’), across the Kidron Valley and into the city was the first in a sequence of events that ended with his execution.
The Palm Sunday story, the story of Jesus entering Jerusalem, the story with the humble beast of burden, the chanting crowds, the branches, the coats and cloaks spread out on the road, is a story that is featured in all four of our canonical Gospels. It is more than just a familiar story; it is a famous story; it is a beloved story; it is a compelling story; it is a celebrated story. It is a story that has pride of place in the Gospels attributed to Mark (Mk 11:1-10), Matthew (Mt 21:1-9) Luke (Lk 19:28-40) and John (Jn 12:12-15), all be it with some interesting, but not earth-shattering, variations.
Now you have to know, making the cut in all four gospels - well, that's a pretty big deal, biblically speaking. In fact, I’d say that it is a far bigger deal than getting all four of the judges to vote for you on Canada’s Got Talent.
Without question, making the cut in all four Gospels is a big deal.
The story of the birth of the baby Jesus didn't make it into all four Gospels. Christmas only made the cut in two Gospels. (Matthew & Luke)
The prayer that Jesus taught his followers, the prayer we call the Lord's Prayer, the prayer that has been faithfully recited by every flavour of Christian over the course of more than two thousand years, didn't make it into all four Gospels. The Lord's Prayer made the cut in just two. (Matthew & Luke)
The eight Beatitudes - the “blessèd are’s” - blessed are the hungry, blessed are the poor, blessed are the meek, blessed are those who mourn, blessed are those who thirst and hunger for righteousness, blessed are the pure in heart, blessed are the merciful, blessed are the peacemakers - all those “blessèd are’s” didn't make it into all four gospels. The oh so well-known Beatitudes made it into only one Gospel. (Matthew)
Likewise, the four blessings and four woes, which are similar to the Beatitudes but different, are found only in one Gospel. (Luke)
The changing of water into wine at a wedding is only in one Gospel. (John)
Then there are two of Jesus’ best-known parables and perhaps two of the greatest parables of all times; the parable of the Good Samaritan and the parable of the Prodigal Son. They didn't make it into all four gospels. In fact, they too make their way to us in but one of the Gospel accounts.(Luke)
But the Palm Sunday story - the story of Jesus entering Jerusalem while a crowd joyfully praised God with a loud voice for all the deeds of power that they had seen - well, that story got the thumbs up from all four of the Gospel writers.
But as I mentioned, there are some differences in detail from one Gospel to another - some variations that each writer opted to include, perhaps to support and emphasize their individual reasons for writing their Gospels or to pick up on some Old Testament passage that was important for them.
For example - what beast did Jesus ride into town? The author of the Gospel we attribute to Mark, who doesn’t say it was actually donkey, tells us that Jesus sent two of his disciples to fetch an animal which was a colt, that is, a young male, and quite specifically, one that had never been ridden. The author of Luke tells us the exact same thing. John says it was a young donkey of unspecified gender - which, by the way, Jesus found all on his own. But Matthew, in the passage we have read today, confuses things a bit. The author of Matthew, because he misunderstood a passage from the Book of the Prophet Zachariah, tells us that the two disciples were sent by Jesus to retrieve a female donkey and her colt and that Jesus sat on both. A bit of an equestrian feat, I would say.
Oh, and that passage from the prophet Zechariah, though Matthew read it literally, missing that Zechariah was actually speaking poetically, using Semitic parallelism to describe the same object in two different ways, both Matthew and John note that Jesus rode on a donkey specifically to fulfill the prophetic words of Zechariah, “Look, your king is coming to you, humble, and mounted on a donkey, and on a colt, the foal of a donkey.” However, those prophetic words are not mentioned by either Mark or Luke.
Also, the three Synoptic Gospels, Mark, Matthew and Luke, indicate that a make-shift saddle of clothing was rigged up for Jesus to sit on, but in John it seems as if Jesus rode bareback.
So, enough about donkeys. What about all the stuff the crowd threw on the road as Jesus rode into Jerusalem? Palm branches - right? After all, that’s why we call it Palm Sunday. Well, folks - surprise, surprise! Only one Gospel, that attributed to John, specifically mentions palm branches. Luke mentions only cloaks being thrown on the road, Matthew says cloaks and branches and Mark tells us it was cloaks and leafy branches. Now I’m no expert when it comes to trees, so it could well be that the branches in Matthew and the leafy branches in Mark were indeed from palm trees, but they could well have come from other trees native to that area at that time, like sycamore, or olive, or mulberry, or oak, or juniper.
So, all this to get to the question - regardless of all these minor variations in the details found in the different versions of the story - what is the commonality? Why did all four Gospel writers include this particular story? What is the common significance of this event for all four of the Gospel writers?
To me, one possible answer to that question is found in the words, “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!” Each Gospel writer indicates that those words were shouted out by the crowd that followed Jesus as he rode into Jerusalem that day so long ago. Those words are found in all four versions of this story of Jesus entering Jerusalem. They are words that come from Psalm 118 - verse 26 to be exact.
“Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!” Yes, the Gospel attributed to Luke, but Luke alone reads, “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!” but the Psalm actually reads, “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!” and the other three Gospels all contain the exact words that are found in the Psalm.
“Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!” Those words, and indeed the entire Psalm from which they come, would have been familiar to and understood by the crowd that day. You see, Psalm 118 is one of the Hallel psalms, a short series of six consecutive psalms (Psalm 113—118) that were recited at Jewish feasts, such as Passover - and remember, this event in the life of Jesus took place in Jerusalem in the days just before the Passover celebration. Those six Hillel psalms are essentially expressions of thanksgiving and joy for divine redemption from bondage - and remember, Passover was a celebration of the exodus of the Israelites from bondage in Egypt. And remember also that at that moment when Jesus rode into Jerusalem on a donkey, Israel was in bondage under Rome. It might well be that in chanting those words the crowds hoped Jesus was the one who would once again free Israel from bondage. But that is a discussion for another time.
The point is, these psalms were very well know and understood and verse 26 of Psalm 118, the last of the Hallel psalms, seems to have given voice to what the crowds expected from Jesus as he entered Jerusalem.
Verse 26 of Psalm 118 serves as a reminder of God's continued faithfulness, inviting believers to remain hopeful. It echoes the chorus of praise that resonates throughout the whole psalm, emphasizing the arrival of one sent by God. It give tongue to a powerful blessing that is a part of a larger celebration of God’s goodness and mercy toward all God’s people. It captures the essence of welcoming someone who has been sent by God to bring God’s word. It emphasizes the divine authority and purpose behind those who act on God’s behalf.
Psalm 118 verse 26 speaks of the one, that is the Messiah, who comes by God’s authority. In context, verse 26 is the crowds declaration of praise and recognition that Jesus is that Messiah, the one truly sent by God. Jesus is the one who came in the power and with the authority of God. Jesus came not in his own name, but in God's name; not to do his own will, but God’s will; not to seek his own glory, but God's glory. Jesus came as God’s servant to do God’s work. And so he is blessed as the one who comes as Messiah.
“Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!” It is in that moment that Jesus was openly embraced and celebrated as Messiah, even though the crowd then did not grasp the radical role of the Messiah as Jesus would live out the role of the Messiah. None the less, it was a moment filled with profound spiritual significance - and as we recall that moment once again this Palm Sunday, as we walk with Jesus into Jerusalem, this is for us, in our day and in our place, a moment of profound spiritual significance in which we recognize, embrace and celebrate Jesus as the Messiah, the one who is blessed, the one who comes in the name of the Lord.
Perhaps that is why this moment, this story of Jesus entering Jerusalem, has pride of place in all four of our Canonical Gospels. It was the moment that the truth of Jesus, Messiah, was publicly and loudly proclaimed for the world to hear. Until that moment the followers of Jesus had been just that - followers. But in that moment a shift occurred and the crowd became active and they publicly and loudly proclaimed Jesus to be Messiah. It was a truth that could be contained no longer - as Luke tells us, had the crowd remained silent, the stones would shout it out! And so today we too shout out, “Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord!”
Let’s pray. Holy and immortal God, open our hearts to Jesus, the blessed one who comes in your name, that we may enter into your justice, live in the fullness of your kingdom and confess in our words and in our works that Jesus is Messiah, now and forever. Amen. (Revised Common Lectionary Prayers 2002 alt.- adapted.)
29 March 2026 - Canon Ric’s sermon
Loving God, may only your truth be spoken and only your truth be heard. This we pray in the name of Jesus, your Christ, your anointed one and our Lord. Amen.
This current church year most of the assigned Sunday Gospel readings come from the Gospel we attribute to Matthew. However, a few from the fourth Gospel, the theologically deep and spiritually rich account of the life and ministry of Jesus that we know as the Gospel of John, are thrown in for good measure - a nice round baker’s dozen - thirteen to be exact.
Today, for the fourth Sunday in a row, our Gospel reading, comes from that Gospel we call John’s.
This long, beautifully developed, but complex and highly detailed story, the story commonly known as The Raising of Lazarus, is unique to the Gospel of John; it is not found in any of the other three Gospel accounts. This story is the fourth and last of a series of life-changing encounters certain people have with Jesus, all recounted in the Gospel of John, that we have read this Lent. This story also relates the last of the seven signs of Jesus that this the Gospel of Signs has preserved for us.
Today’s narrative unfolds in the midst of the mounting conflict between Jesus and the Judean authorities. It begins with Jesus in retreat across the Jordan. In the scene that comes just before today’s story begins, we hear that Jesus was in the temple in Jerusalem during the festival of the Dedication when the Judean authorities confronted him. It seems they were not at all pleased with what Jesus had to say and so were going to stone him. Ultimately, they tried to arrest Jesus, but he escaped from their hands, left Jerusalem and, "went away again across the Jordan to the place where John had been baptizing earlier, and he remained there." (John 10:40)
Things were going well for Jesus on the far side of the Jordan River. The author tells us that many people there believed in him. But back in Bethany, a town on the eastern slope of the Mount of Olives, about two miles east of Jerusalem, things weren’t so good. In Bethany, it was all over but the weeping. Lazarus, the brother of Martha and Mary and a person we are told Jesus loved, was ill and subsequently he died.
What unfolds is a rather elaborate narrative.
First, the Bethany sisters sent word to Jesus that their brother Lazarus was ill. One day travel time for the message to be delivered. But Jesus doesn’t seem to have been too concerned as he stayed where he was for two days before he said to the disciples, “Let us go to Judea again.” What follows is a rather confusing back and forth between Jesus and the disciples in which the disciples totally misunderstood what Jesus meant. Jesus was talking on a spiritual level that totally went over the heads of the disciples who interpreted his words in a very literal way - just like Nicodemus, the Samaritan woman at the well and a bunch of folks in the story of the man born blind all missed the point Jesus was making because they tried to understand everything he said on a literal rather than on a spiritual level. Even when Jesus tried to get the disciples on board by telling them outright that Lazarus was dead, Thomas failed to “get it” and remained laser-focused on his own literal misunderstanding. Alas!
Finally, Jesus and the disciples set out on the day’s journey to Bethany and by the time they arrived, four days had passed. Lazarus was dead. It was too late. All human hope was now lost. You see, Lazarus was not just dead, he was really dead. The detail that Lazarus had been dead four days by the time Jesus got there is meant to underscore that he was beyond resuscitation. The common Jewish belief at the time was that the soul hovered over the body for three days and after that, there was no hope of resuscitation. By all theological understanding, Lazarus was gone.
And so first Martha and then Mary, having gone out to meet Jesus, said to Jesus, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” Once again there is more confused conversation, specifically between Martha and Jesus. And there is weeping. Mary wept. Others wept. Jesus wept.
At long last, Jesus asked, ‘Where have you laid him?’
Remember, I did say this is a long, complex and highly detailed story.
Finally, Jesus went to the tomb of his beloved friend Lazarus and despite warnings from Martha, Jesus told them to open the tomb. When they had opened the tomb Jesus yelled, “Lazarus, come out.” And out walked Lazarus - restored to life. We should note that just as in the giving of sight to the man born blind, the actual restoration of Lazarus to life, the miracle itself, takes up only two verses. And that should give us pause to recall that in this fourth Gospel, the miracles of Jesus are not to be seen as ends in themselves. If we see them in that way, we run the very real risk of being left looking, longing for the next miracle and we will fail to see that in this Gospel the miracles of Jesus should be understood as signs pointing beyond themselves to something else - they point us toward the identity of Jesus and, as Jesus says in today’s passage, they show us the glory of God and reveal that the Kingdom of God is a present reality.
As we read this story, we pass through the description of distress, of weeping, of grief, of the smell of the corpse, of the dramatic moment when Lazarus, restored to life but still bound with strips of cloth, walked out of the tomb. But, above that literal level drama hovers a higher meaning which we find in the words Jesus spoke to Martha.
Jesus declared, ‘I am the resurrection and the life. Anyone believing in me, even if they die, will live and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.’ But note, at the basic, literal level that is not true: Lazarus will eventually die another earthly death. But Jesus’ words were not meant to be understood literally. Rather, just as he said that he was the bread of life, or living water, or the light of the world, he was making a different point - a spiritual point.
The point in this case, I think, is that people who trust in Jesus find new life, a living spiritual life as compared to ordinary life. It is eternal life, which, in this Gospel, is far more than an after-death, for all eternity life in heaven - which is how Martha understood Jesus’ words, ‘Your brother will rise again.’ When Jesus said those words to her, she heard only the promise of a future, heavenly resurrection life.
For Jesus, eternal life, or life in the kingdom of God, is not only a future hope, it is sharing the new life God offers through Jesus here and now. It is a present reality that transforms our normal daily living to show forth the hallmarks of the kingdom of God, such as unconditional love, radical inclusion, equality and equity. Eternal life is being connected to God and God’s ways. Spiritual death is separation from God and spiritual life is connection with God.
The raising of Lazarus, the seventh sign in the Gospel attributed to John, reveals Jesus’ identity as the Christ, God’s anointed, who calls us into a living, loving relationship with God here and now. The fourth Gospel repeatedly uses the physical realm as a metaphorical pointer to the spiritual realm. The restoration of physical life that we hear about in today’s Gospel might well be understood as a parable or a metaphor for breaking free from the bonds of spiritual death into the gift Jesus brings, the gift of eternal life, of a spiritual life, of life in the kingdom of God, right here and right now. Thanks be to God.
22 March 2026 - Sermon by Canon Ric
Loving God, bless your word this day wherever it is read, wherever it is heard, wherever it is preached, and most especially, wherever it is lived. This we pray in the name of Jesus, your Christ and our Lord. Amen.
What a fantastic passage we have just read from the Gospel we attribute to John. Fantastic - and perhaps in all possible ways of understanding that word.
The story we have read today, which in the New Revised Standard Version of the Bible is titled “A Man Born Blind Receives Sight”, describes one of the seven signs found in the Gospel attributed to John. The sixth of seven signs, to be exact. The five signs of Jesus that come before this one that we have heard today are: 1) the turning water into wine at the wedding in Cana of Galilee, 2) the long distance healing a Galilean official's gravely ill son, 3) the sabbath day healing at the Pool of Bethesda in Jerusalem of a man who had been ill for thirty-eight years, 4) the feeding of 5,000 people with five loaves of bread and two fish and 5) his middle of the night walk on the stormy sea of Galilee. The seventh sign - which we’ll be hearing next Sunday, is the raising of Lazarus.
It is important to remember that in the Gospel attributed to John, the author refers to the miracles of Jesus as “signs.” Though it may seem to be a neither here nor there distinction to make, in calling the miracles of Jesus “signs” the author is pointing out, actually insisting, that the miracles of Jesus should not be taken at face value - they are not ends in themselves. Rather, they are, as New Testament scholar Helmut Koester put it, "visible indications of something else." In this Gospel, miracles are always to be understood as signs that point beyond themselves - they point to the identity of Jesus; they help us understand who Jesus really is.
Thus, we should not expect nor be content to find the meaning of this story, or the meaning of any story in this Gospel, for that matter, in the miracle itself. Case in point, looking at our Gospel lesson for today, the reporting of the miracle, the man born blind receiving sight, happens in just two of the forty-one verses we read - or if you would like a little more detail, in the New Revised Standard Version of the New Testament, the miracle is recounted in just forty-four of the nearly eight hundred and sixty words in this passage - which means the actual “miracle” takes up only around five percent of the whole passage we have read today. All this to say, we should not be content to let the meaning of this story reside only in the miracle. The miracle is a sign - it points to something more.
This fantastic story that centers around a man who was born blind and narrates the aftermath of the event in which he gained sight, begins when the disciples of Jesus asked, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” In asking that question, the disciples were expressing a common belief that prevailed in the time of Jesus - the belief that there was a direct causal relationship between sin and sickness. At that time, it was taught, thought and believed that those with physical disabilities were being punished either for their own sin or the sin of their parents. One little verse from the Book of Exodus (Exodus 20:5 - see also Deuteronomy 5:9) was the foundation for that belief - a verse that is actually part of the second of the Ten Commandments. The second commandment begins with the directive, “You shall not make for yourself an idol, whether in the form of anything that is in heaven above, or that is on the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth. You shall not bow down to them or worship them;” and then it goes on to say, “for I the Lord your God am a jealous God, punishing children for the iniquity of parents, to the third and the fourth generation of those who reject me.”
It seems to me that they were putting the theological emphasis on the wrong syllable.
“Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?”
The belief that those with physical disabilities were being punished either for their own sin or the sin of their parents gave rise to the question the disciples asked Jesus about the man who was born blind. It was also at the heart of the understanding of the Pharisees. In fact, the Pharisees even stated it directly when they said to the man, “You were born entirely in sins.” But to all that, Jesus said, “No!” Jesus challenged the common perception that suffering was the direct result of sin, saying, “Neither this man nor his parents sinned.”
In that moment, Jesus shifted the focus from debating the cause of the man’s blindness and assigning blame to revealing something more important about doing the works of God and the revelations of God’s grace and love. Jesus shifted from the notion of sin being the cause of illness or disability to divine revelation. That is the moment when the author of this Gospel significantly shifted the focus of this story from miracle to sign, from one belief to another belief, from old, inadequate beliefs to new beliefs based on new insights given by God.
Jesus spat on the ground and made mud with the saliva and spread the mud on the man’s eyes. He then sent him to wash in the pool of Siloam, an ancient rock-cut pool in Jerusalem, historically used for ritual purification. The man did as Jesus told him; he went and washed and when he came back he was able to see. That was the “miracle” and the story could well have ended there … if indeed, miracle was the only point. But in John, miracle in and of itself is not the point. And so the story continues in order that the miracle might become a sign, a sign pointing beyond itself to the identity of Jesus.
As in many sections of the Gospel attributed to John, there are two levels of understanding: the physical and the spiritual. Most of this story unfolds on the literal, physical level. The man’s neighbours, the Pharisees and even the parents of the man born blind, all remain preoccupied, even obsessed, with the physical dynamics of the healing. Questions and accusations abound as people thought their sight and judgment were perfect, as they tried to control the script of their lives by believing their faith was a complete package, as they refused to think or see in new ways, confident that they had already fully captured the infinite wonder of God.
And then there is the man who was born blind but now could see who, we should note, never asked to be healed in the first place. How fantastic it is that all the pesky questions and accusations lead him from reciting the physical facts of the healing to reflecting on the spiritual nature of his experience and the identity of the healer. It is most certainly fantastic that his understanding of the "who" increased greatly as he repeatedly shared his story. When he was first questioned by his neighbours, he said that "a man named Jesus" had healed him. (9:11) Later he called Jesus "a prophet." (9:17) At length he realized, that is, in a profoundly spiritual way, he was able to see that Jesus had come from God (v. 33) - and when the man born blind said that out loud, the Pharisees, who were the guardians of tradition, revealed the true depth of their spiritual blindness when they “drove him out” - which, I assume, means they kicked the man out of the synagogue - a fate the man’s parents neatly side-stepped when they threw their son under the bus, saying, “We know that this is our son, and that he was born blind; but we do not know how it is that now he sees, nor do we know who opened his eyes. Ask him; he is of age. He will speak for himself.”
Again, the story could well have ended when the man was evicted from the synagogue - but that still is not the end. When Jesus heard that the Pharisees had driven the man out, he went looking for him. And when he found the man, Jesus took him one step further, leading him to understand and confess Jesus to be the Son of Man. (vv. 35-38) The man’s spiritual sight was fully restored.
This story is not just about a blind man being healed once upon a time in a land far away. In this story that the author of the Gospel of John has preserved for us, there is an interplay between physical blindness and spiritual blindness. The story ends with Jesus condemning the Pharisees, whose sin remained because, unlike the man born blind whose spiritual blindness was healed enabling him to recognized the grace and love of God in Jesus, the Pharisees insisted that they saw and knew everything already. That was their sin - and their sin remained precisely because they were so confident of their own righteousness. They were closed to the gift of God that comes to us in Jesus who can give spiritual sight only to those who acknowledge that they are spiritually blind.
This story that recounts the sixth sign of Jesus, reaffirms what the Prologue of the Gospel we attribute to John has already told us: that Jesus is the One sent from God to be the light of the world that we might become children of God living in the Kingdom of God. In the story of Nicodemus, Jesus’ identity as the one who enables us to be born, not again but anew into eternal life, that is, into the kingdom of God here and now, is revealed. In the story of the Samaritan woman at the well, Jesus’ identity as the one who gives us not just water from a well but living, spiritual water that gushes up to eternal life, is disclosed. And in today’s story of the man born blind Jesus’ identity as the very light of the world in which true sight becomes possible, as the one who removes our blindness enabling us to see the grace and love of God and the fullness of the Kingdom of God, is made know. I wonder what next week’s story of the raising of Lazarus that features Jesus’ encounter with Mary and Martha, the sisters of Lazarus, will reveals about who Jesus is and the gift he brings to us on our Lenten journey this year as we seek to make God's works manifest in our lives.
15 March 2026 - Sermon by Canon Ric