Sermon Blog

Traveling lightly

July 8, 2015 by Leave a Comment

From the Rev. Joe Hensley, rector, St. George’s Episcopal Church
Fredericksburg, VA | Proper 9 Year B, July 5, 2015.

Repent: Creative Common Photo by David Holmes — *Creative Commons Photo by David Holmes*

Hear again these words from the Gospel according to Mark: “Jesus called the twelve and began to send them out two by two, and gave them authority over the unclean spirits. He ordered them to take nothing for their journey…So they went out and proclaimed that all should repent.”

With no bread, bag, or money, without extra clothes, with just a staff in their hand and some sandals on their feet, the twelve disciples went out and proclaimed that all should repent. Repent! That word carries with it quite a lot of baggage, doesn’t it? Repent. It conjures up images of hellfire preachers like John the Baptist shouting in the wilderness: repent, for the kingdom of God is at hand. Repent or perish! Jesus sends his disciples out to preach repentance, but I do not think he means for them or us to preach condemnation. As Jesus sends his disciples out empty-handed, I wonder if he also means for us to travel lightly, without so many assumptions about who is right and who is wrong. Perhaps our mission is to preach repentance in a different way, inviting each other to return to God and experience a change of heart.

That word, repent, in the Scriptures has a couple of meanings. One meaning is about turning around, turning from sin and re-turning to God. Another meaning is about changing one’s attitude, a change of mind and heart. So often, though, we do not think of repentance in either of these ways. We think of repentance in terms of apologizing for bad behavior. When I was in college at UNC Chapel Hill, there was a fire-breathing preacher who used to yell at us from the center of campus: “Repent!” and what he meant was, “Tell God you are sorry! Stop doing bad things like the other bad people. Come be like me!” Repentance has carried with it the connotation of self-righteous people talking down to the lowly sinners.

When Jesus sends out six pairs of disciples, empowering them to heal the sick and to cast out demons, does he want the message just to be, “Tell God you’re sorry!”? I think Jesus is interested in much deeper good news, good news that restores us to wholeness and holiness. Jesus is interested in our total transformation, a repentance that breaks open our hearts and expands our minds. Jesus is interested in our complete reunion with God, not simply in our saying “sorry.”

Confession and absolution of sin is a sacramental part of our tradition. It can be a sign of grace, part of the process of true repentance and forgiveness. One of the main problems of Christian religion, I think, is that we often get stuck in the weeds of whether we did something wrong and how to apologize for it. Repentance means arguing about what scripture says and who broke what rules. We point fingers, cast blame, and insist on apologies and penances. Penance can be helpful but only when it points toward healing. What the church has done, too often, is assign blame and punishment and then shake its head when people do not respond and then wander away. “When they’re ready to do it our way, then we will welcome them.”

Jesus sends his disciples out not to bully people into submission, but to break bread with them. Not to insist on their conformity to holy codes, but to heal. He sends his disciples out empty-handed and vulnerable so that they will have to rely on the hospitality and welcome of others. The message I hear in this is that when we preach repentance, it is perhaps best done around the dinner table, with an empty hand and an open heart. It is best done in a spirit of mutual hospitality, giving and receiving a loving welcome.

The Episcopal Church over the centuries, has done its fair share of bullying. We are in a place now, though, I think, where we recognize that the good news of Christ really needs to be more about wholeness, healing, and love. The good news of Christ is about a true change of mind and heart, a transformation that is deep and profound.

This past week, The Episcopal Church, meeting at its General Convention in Salt Lake City, invited a change of mind and heart when it began a formal process of expanding the definition of marriage in the church. To be clear about what happened, our church changed one of its governing laws (canons) and provided options for services so that Christian marriage could be open to couples of any gender. Many of us are excited about this change. It emphasizes our witness to the value of covenantal love. It removes more barriers so that the couples we believe to be holy can more fully participate in our common faith. Others may be confused or upset. Many people honestly wonder how the church can go against some of the Bible’s teaching about human intimate relationships. At times like this, it is easy to get thick into the weeds, arguing again about who has done what wrong and who needs to repent and apologize. I considered making this sermon more of a Bible lesson, trying to explain how our church can justify its actions from a scriptural basis. I would like to have that discussion, but not from this pulpit. The good news we are called to preach is so much greater than one side or the other presenting its argument. I wonder if, this time, we can try a different kind of conversation, a conversation about repentance that is truly about transformation and returning to God.

No matter if we celebrate or lament the decisions of the church on marriage, I wonder if we might follow the example of the disciples whom Jesus sends. What would it look like if instead of approaching each other with arguments and points to make if we approached each other empty handed and ready to receive hospitality? What if we left our “baggage” behind? What would it look like if our call for repentance was more of an invitation to wholeness than a demand for conformity? The disciples preach a simple message, that all should repent. We all need transformation. We all need to return to God. We all need a profound change of mind and heart. What if we put every conversation about faith into that context: the desire for God to make us whole again. In that light, maybe we can get farther in our conversations about scripture, about righteousness. Maybe we can live into the words of our Bishop, Shannon Johnston, who wrote this week in summary of General Convention: In and through Jesus, we are committed to one another, not to the idol of like-mindedness. Whatever we face and wrestle over, we find that all we can celebrate together still trumps the dividing lines.

What we celebrate together is the repentance that is offered to us, the change of heart and mind, the ability to return to God. We are not stuck forever in our sin. We are not stuck forever in our hard-heartedness. With God there is always a way. Travel lightly on the way, brothers and sisters. Travel lightly, so that we will be ready to receive the gifts that God has for us, the gifts we have for one another. Go and share the good news…repentance is offered to us, and so is new and abundant life.

God is with us

June 22, 2015 by Leave a Comment

From the Rev. Joe Hensley, rector, St. George’s Episcopal Church
Fredericksburg, VA | Proper 7, Fourth Sunday after Pentecost, June 21, 2015

Creative Commons image by Fr Lawrence Lew, O.P. — *Creative Commons photo by Fr Lawrence Lew, O.P.*

In the Gospel lesson we just heard from Mark, Jesus’ disciples are shouting. In the middle of the lake, in the midst of a howling gale, in a boat that is beginning to sink, they shout at Jesus, “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” These are words that could come easily out of our own mouths. We, too, have known storms in our lives, storms where it seemed that chaos had the upper hand. Teacher, do you not care that we are drowning and perishing? Today, we gather in this place that is sometimes called a sanctuary, perhaps wondering if this is a safe place. We may be wondering if God is going to be here for us. I believe that in the middle of the maelstrom, in the tumult of the tempest, God is with us. God has the power to still the storm, but more importantly God has the love to open our hearts and calm our fears. God is still with us.

Most of us have heard about the horrific tragedy at the historic Emanuel AME church in Charleston, SC, this past Wednesday. I will not retell the details. Some of us are still in shock. For some of us it is too much to hear the particulars. I will simply say that a terrifying and evil act was committed in a holy house of God. Nine innocent lives were lost in the name of racism. Although we believe one individual man committed this horror and took these lives, we also know that the evil of racism is a horror that goes beyond any one person and has taken many lives. It is easy to ask the question at a time like this: Where is God? Abominable violence was committed under God’s own roof and what did God do? The people had gathered to hear the Word of God, including the person accused of the crime (and I say “accused” simply because that is the way our justice system works…innocent until proven guilty). This could have been one of those hopeful stories we hear about a conversion. Why didn’t the Word of God penetrate the hard heart of the young man who did this? Jesus calmed the storm in the Gospel story today. Surely the Holy Spirit could have calmed the young man and stopped him from carrying out his plan. Was the Spirit asleep, like Jesus in the back of the boat?

Creative Commons photo of Emanuel AME Church in Charleston, SC by jalexartis. — *Creative Commons photo of Emanuel AME Church taken June 20, 2015 in Charleston, SC by jalexartis.*

These are not new questions. We can ask them any time evil raises its head. If we pay attention, we could ask them every day, because the power of evil is alive in this world. It distorts our humanity and seeks to divide and destroy what is good. I use the word, “evil” intentionally. In our baptism we renounce evil and the spiritual forces of wickedness that rebel against God. I believe it is those forces of evil that corrupted a young man’s view of his fellow human beings. I believe it is those forces that perpetuate a racist system in which our identity as children of God is twisted. Why does God seem to allow this? Where is God when again and again we are divided and held captive? Certainly God has the power to say to the storm: “silence, be still.”

I do not think we will ever get a satisfactory response to our questions about why God does not stop some evil. I say “some evil,” because I believe God is stopping evil all the time, and we just do not know about it. We can always hope for an ultimate end to evil as described in the prophets and visions of scripture. For now, we do not understand God’s ways of responding to the forces that rebel against God. What we might begin to understand, where we might find some hope, is in what we do believe about God. God is still with us.

Going back to the Gospel story about that boat in the storm: the disciples are shouting at Jesus, “Teacher do you not care that we are perishing?” Their shouting is born of fear, understandable fear for their lives. What they fail to see in the midst of their fear is that God is with them. Sure, they see Jesus, their teacher, sleeping in the stern, but they do recognize him as the son of God. They do not appreciate that God is right there, in the boat with them in the middle of the storm. He seems to be sleeping, but his lack of action does not mean he is absent. Jesus’ peaceful presence as the storm rages has a lesson to teach all its own.

God did not stop a man from committing violence in the Emanuel AME church on Wednesday evening. That does not mean, though, that God was not present or active. What then was God doing? I believe that God was loving. God was loving each of those people who died. God was loving the ones who were left alive. God was loving their families and all those who would be affected by this tragedy. God was even loving the person who did this (and we have to pray him too). Remember the words of Jesus on the cross about his own executioners: Forgive them, for they know not what they do. I believe that God was loving at Emanuel AME church last Wednesday, because I believe that Jesus was loving when he was on the cross. God in Christ endured the same kind of brutal and senseless death. Jesus calmed the storm in today’s Gospel lesson, but that power was only a warm up for the power he showed on the cross. Far from being passive, Jesus showed how love is stronger than hatred, more powerful than prejudice.

So I have to believe that in the middle of that storm inside the church, God was not far away or sleeping. God was right there, loving. I wish God had made a miracle happen and saved the physical lives of the nine victims. But God never promised us that our physical lives would be saved. Jesus never promised to still every storm that comes along. What God has promised us is to be with us in every storm. What God has promised us is to show us how to love no matter what, how to be free from fear, how to have eternal life. God is more concerned with our ability to love in this life and the next than with our physical safety. God is more concerned with our capacity to know peace in the middle of chaos than with removing the chaos from us. The spiritual forces of evil rebel against God, but God does not get drawn into the fight. It is not in God’s nature to struggle with evil; God is almighty. God is love, God showers love, mercy and grace upon a broken world, abundantly, relentlessly. We, on the other hand, struggle mightily against those rebellious forces. We need God’s grace and assistance as we renounce the evils of our world, including the evil of racism, and seek lasting peace and reconciliation in our time.

I said earlier that this place where we are gathered is sometimes called a sanctuary. The sanctuary specifically refers to the area around the altar where the bread and wine become the holy body and blood of Christ in communion. Sanctuary does not mean “safe;” it means “holy.” This larger room is properly called “the nave,” and that word comes from the same root as the word “naval,” pertaining to ships and the sea. Some churches are built so that the ceiling looks like the hull of a boat. This church is our holy vessel. This church is where we ride out the storms of life and occasionally witness a miracle of peace and calm. This church may even be a place where we may be called to confront evil face to face. This church is where we can have the courage to sail into troubled waters that cause division.

As our nation tries to see the way forward, there will be division and disagreement. But in this boat, we do not need to fear disagreement. We do not need to fear one another. Remember that the name of that AME church, “Emanuel,” is another word with a lot of meaning. Emanuel means “God is with us.” God is with us in this boat. God was at Emanuel AME last Wednesday. God is there as there as we pick up the pieces and struggle to find our way. God is with us in the storms, in the calm, in the face of evil and in the face of good. God is with us, loving us, tending to our hearts. God is with us, reminding us that Christ has suffered alongside us. We may want to shout, “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” God’s response to us is “I am with you.” “Know my peace and give me your fear.” “Open your heart.” “There are no limits to my love.”

The seeds within us

June 16, 2015 by 1 Comment

From the Rev. Carey D. Chirico, Deacon, St. George’s Episcopal Church
Fredericksburg, VA | Third Sunday of Pentecost Year B, June 14, 2015

I was born in the 1960s. In the time of the Vietnam war; drive in movies and folk music and at a time when many people’s understanding of the Kingdom was changing. I was born before CNN, before Amber alerts and before the term ‘free range children’.

I was a free-range child. I ranged freely by bike, foot and small sail boat. We children ranged and looked and explored and miraculously survived.

I discovered very early on those long easy days of exploring swallows’ nests under the bridges of the Lafayette River and the small clams that dug themselves back into the mud at low tide that Mystery is the greatest of all motivators.

That mystery is not the absence of something but the presence of more than we can begin to comprehend.

“The Kingdom of God is like a seed that falls to the ground, sprouts and grows in the dark rich earth and the planter – has no idea how.” Those early days of my life were one science lesson after another and they led me to inextricably link mystery to physical to mystical to faith. God moment after God moment.

Allium Seed Head, shared by Flickr user Xerones, Creative Common License

The great Charles Darwin explored many of nature’s mysteries, among them the mystery of something called ‘drift seeds’.

Mystified by how seeds ended up on volcanic atolls in the middle of the Pacific Ocean–seeds carried thousands and thousands of miles–he wondered about the impact of traveling birds and fish that might carry and scatter them. Back home from his travels he actively investigated how this mysterious action happened, soaking seeds in salt water and timing their ability to float and placing them in tanks filled with fish.

My dear Hooker
… Everything has been going wrong with me lately; the fish at the Zoolog. Soc. ate up lots of soaked seeds, & then I imagined swallowed, fish & all, by a heron, being carried a hundred miles, been voided on the banks of some other lake & germinated splendidly,—when lo & behold, the fish ejected the seeds vehemently, & with disgust, equal to my own, from their mouths.—
Goodbye my dear Hooker 

Ever yours C. Dar

Science inquiry opened the mystery and we now know that certain seeds are seemingly made for dispersion by drift, their pods impervious to water and filled with air and their taproots ready to quickly grab sandy soil. But none of this is obvious; none of this was quickly seen. Really, it makes no sense that a seed would float over 30,000 miles and turn into the glorious flora of Hawaii.

Physical, tangible mysteries like these help me see the sense in the way that Jesus taught. This that makes me see the sense in obscure parables, indirect references and veiled images.

Mystery is not the absence of an explanation but the presence of more than we can comprehend.

The Kingdom is here, among us, active yet elusive, just within sight yet hidden from view.
Growing yet we know not how.

Is it possible, even probable that within each of us there resides a drift seed? That within each of us there is a seed germinating, humming, growing planted there by a loving God who knit us together in the womb? And as we go into the world, we carry that seed with the potential to let it go and to flourish?

And that we are the ocean current carrying it along?

We have heard a great deal in recent weeks about the decline of organized religion, of Church in the West. Surely it must make those of us in the pews feel like we have missed something that everyone else knows. What we have not heard as much about is the fact that 44 percent of Americans say that faith is of great importance in their lives, germinating and alive, looking for soil to hold onto. That Christianity is flourishing in Korea and China. What we do not hear about is the resurgence of attendance at Compline services, a monastic tradition of sung prayer to mark the end of the day, or the vast numbers of young people at services in Taize, France, or of the huge interest in social entrepreneurship by Church communities.

We have not heard about the fact that those who are in the pews are more committed and more engaged than ever since they are making a conscious choice to be there.

Rachel Held Evans, a modern-day Evangelical turned Episcopalian, writes that when she requested, on Facebook, title suggestions for her new book about looking for ‘Church’– one suggestion was “Jesus went to Heaven and all he left us was this lousy Church.” And she writes that as much as that made her smile, it in no way captures the mystery of Christian Community that is Church.

Church is a place that has the power to point to the Kingdom. It is a place where we who want to understand, want to question, want to look beyond the words come together. It is a place of followers, followers of Jesus the one who gave the authority to heal – not cure.

Church at its best is place that asks hard questions – understands that life often hurts, that brokenness exists and shows up to hold those pieces with each other. In community and in love. That is what takes us into Haiti, Congo and South Dakota. That is what leads us to host 12-step groups, divorce recovery groups, grief groups and to and explore hunger in our communities.

The mystery of this Church community invites us to plant and watch and wonder at the magnificence of life beginning anew.

When Moses stood on the banks of the Jordan, 40 years after the journey began for a rag tag group who would replant the Kingdom of Israel, he cautioned against forgetting, against the amnesia of success, the amnesia of affluence. He cautioned against forgetting whose and who we are.

Seeds lying in the earth, waiting to germinate to bring hope and green and oxygen into the world. New life emerging as mysteriously as it began. That is our invitation as the Church of Christ – to nurture the mystery, the dark, and the seed. When we live in the everyday and stop to make it sacred, we are marking the way of the Kingdom. When we bring to our work and to our play, to our meals and to our life transitions a moment of prayer, a moment of remembering whose and who planted and nurtured us, we bring into the world the signposts of the Kingdom.

Is it possible–even probable–that within each of us Children of God, is a seed, mysterious and wonderful, that we are carrying with us out into the world each day? A seed we can scatter and allow to bear beautiful fruit even though we know not how. A seed we scatter through our choices and engagement with God’s world. This is a seed that will mysteriously grow and thrive and bloom in ways that say, “The Kingdom is here.” This is the way. Follow me.

Rachel Evan’s response to her Facebook followers says it very well: “Church is what happens when someone taps you on the shoulder and whispers in your ear, “Pay attention, this is holy ground. God is here.”

Surrendering to the Good Shepherd

April 30, 2015 by Leave a Comment

From the Rev. Joe Hensley, rector, St. George’s Episcopal Church
Fredericksburg, VA | Fourth Sunday of Easter Year B, April 26, 2015

"Shepherd," by Reza Vaziri — “Shepherd,” by Reza Vaziri

“The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want.” There are few other words in scripture that are more comforting. I have said them at the bedside of sick and dying persons. I have said them at funerals. They bring that reassurance that ultimately, God is the only One who turns our scarcity into plenty. The Divine and Holy One is the only one who can reassure us in the shadow of death, feed us in the presence of our enemies, and bless us with abundant and steadfast love. The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want.

Shepherds have been around for nearly as long as humans have walked the earth. The relationship between shepherd and flock was sacred in ancient times. The shepherd cared for the animals which in turn provided labor and sustenance for the people. Survival depended on having good shepherds. To be a good shepherd took skills, sharp senses, and wisdom. Ancient peoples began using the term, shepherd, to describe their rulers. A good ruler like a good shepherd would care for the people. They would lead, protect, and provide.

We know, though, that not all shepherds are good. Not all monarchs are good. Jesus, in today’s Gospel describes himself as the Good Shepherd in contrast to the hired hand who runs away in the face of danger. What Jesus is saying, and what Psalm 23 is also saying, I think, is that there is really only one true and loving shepherd for humanity.

Sometimes, we have trouble believing that God is our shepherd. We can feel like God has left us defenseless. We worry that we won’t have enough. We fear that life is falling apart. Remember that the psalm which comes right before Psalm 23 is Psalm 22. Psalm 22 begins with the words, “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?!” In Psalm 22, packs of wild animals surround the speaker. Enemies are on every side. The speaker cries out, wondering where God is: “Do not be far from me, for trouble is near and there is none to help.” When have we felt in trouble? When have we felt like no one had our back? For many of us, myself included, it is tempting in such times to turn away from God. We look for guidance and sustenance in the arms of inadequate shepherds, hired hands. The hired hand might do the job for a while, but runs away at the first sign of trouble. What “hired hand” do you turn to when you turn away from God? For some of us, we turn to money and the temporary security it offers. Some of us turn to unhealthy relationships or destructive behaviors. Some of us turn to overindulgence. Some of us turn to experts who tell us exactly what to do to find happiness. We fool ourselves by thinking that more knowledge will save us. None of these things give us the pastoral care that God provides. They help us deceive ourselves into thinking we can handle the situation on our own.

Truly, we can probably handle a lot of things on our own. There comes a point, though, where we say to ourselves, “I am ready to give up some control and stop trying so hard.” I’m ready to take my place among the sheep and stop pretending to be the shepherd. Some of us surrender to God easily. Some of us won’t give up until we hit rock bottom. Some of us surrender one day and put our defenses back up the next. I do not understand why we have trouble surrendering to God, why we have trouble believing “The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want.” What I do believe is that when we can give up, even temporarily, God cares for us much better than we can ever care for ourselves. Following God, we are much more free than we are following our own guidance.

So how do we surrender? How do we convince our hearts to believe that “The Lord is my shepherd?” We could spend several sermons on these questions. Certainly part of surrender is found in obeying the command to love one another that we heard in the letter of John today. Another part of surrender is definitely listening in quiet prayer for the voice of the shepherd that Jesus mentioned. I want to focus on something a little more uncomfortable, perhaps. It involves the collection plate. In the Episcopal Church, we tend to start with the material and move to the spiritual. We start with the wet water of baptism. The edible bread and wine of holy communion. We touch, taste, hear, smell, and see things in the act of worship. At first we may not have much understanding of what is going on before us, but with time and practice, we develop a sense of the Spirit at work. Every Sunday we put out an empty plate or pass it around. We don’t say much about it, but many of us put money in that plate or send a check to the church. Yes, that money does sustain the ministry of the church and helps others in need, but that is only a part of the purpose of the empty plate. Yes, we offer our gifts in thanksgiving to the one who gives us everything. But thanksgiving, too, is not the whole picture. We offer each other this empty plate as an invitation to surrender. Sacrifice some money as a material gesture of our desire to trust in God. The Lord is my shepherd. I shall not want. Money is not my shepherd. The things money can buy are not my shepherd. My true needs are not supplied by money. So I put some money in the plate. At first we may not be sure what this material gesture means. Over time, with practice, for many of us giving away money to God has become a sign that we want to be free. We want to stop following the hired hands who would feed us to the wolves. We want to be free to give, free to love, free to trust that God really is our shepherd.

I know there are lots of invitations to give money in the church. Since I got here in January, we have invited you to give to the operating budget, to Shrine Mont’s Shout to the Mountain campaign, to outreach, flowers, and trust funds for Easter, to United Thank Offering, and the Community Give effort for The Table. It may sound like a lot. Let me emphasize that this is not a test. You will notice that the plate does not sound an alarm if you give nothing. Nor does a choir of angels sing if you put in a million dollars. Your gift does not necessarily indicate great faith. The open plate simply extends an invitation to surrender who we are and what we have to God so that we can stop following false shepherds. Money is just one thing that goes in the plate. We can surrender our time to God. We can give energy and effort to God. We can offer whatever it is that we value instead of God. Money is often helpful, because it’s very tangible and we give it a lot of power in our minds.

Yes, money does help us keep the lights on and the bills paid. It helps us feed the hungry and be available to care for others. But the church too surrenders to God. We give away a lot for free and proclaim that God’s grace is without charge and plentiful. Over and over God shows us that we can do more than we ever thought possible. So again, this is not a test. The plate is not a fundraising tool. It is not a veiled attempt to get you to give more. The plate openly proclaims that when we surrender to God and Christ the Good Shepherd, God shows us our true life and revives our souls. The Lord is our shepherd, we shall not want. You, O God, spread a table before us, you have anointed us to follow you and announce your abundant love to the world. You will pursue us to the ends of the earth with goodness and loving kindness all the days of our life. May we surrender to you, O great, holy, and mysterious One and dwell in your house, our true home.

Peace be with you

April 22, 2015 by Leave a Comment

From the Rev. Joe Hensley, rector, St. George’s Episcopal Church
Fredericksburg, VA | Third Sunday of Easter Year B, April 19, 2015

Peace be with you. These are the risen Jesus’ first words to his disciples as he appears to them late on that Easter Day. These are the words we share with one another each week in our worship service before we share the Holy Eucharist together. These words are really a resurrection greeting. They are an invitation to wholeness, fulfillment, and new life. Peace be with you.

So often when we think of peace, we think of the absence of conflict. We think of peacefulness, serenity, calm. So when we say, “The Peace of the Lord be always with you,” we might be thinking: “Jesus was such a peaceful person…may you also be peaceful like Jesus.” When we share the peace, though, we are sharing so much more than just a feeling of calm. The word that Jesus and the Hebrews used for peace, “Shalom,” carries with it a sense of being whole and complete. Peace means the fulfillment of all that God has called us to be. We are not merely without conflict. We are at peace, because all the pieces are in place. We are no longer at war with ourselves and each other, because we have all we need.

It was customary in Jesus’ time to greet someone with the words, “Peace be with you.” The words did not necessarily carry a lot of symbolism. It could have been that Jesus was just greeting his disciples in the customary way. But I choose to believe that he also really meant what he said. He really wanted them to know true fulfillment. Jesus wants us to know true fulfillment also, wholeness and completeness that can endure suffering and even death and still live and breathe, touch and taste, just like the risen Christ.

I am reminded of an old story which takes place hundreds if not thousands of years ago. In these ancient times, if you were traveling alone, you had to be on your guard. Deserted trails and roads were rarely protected. If you met someone along the way, they might be a bandit or a thief. One day, a man was traveling in a wild and lonesome place where the path was quite narrow because of the rocks on either side. He sees another man coming along the path towards him. He does not recognize the man as anyone he knows he can trust. He will not be able to step aside to let the other man pass. So they meet, unable to easily pass one another in this narrow spot, and are looking at each other, trying to decide what to do. Then the first man does something completely unexpected and unconventional. He extends his empty right hand to the other man. Now to extend your empty dominant hand, the hand you would normally use to pull out your sword or knife…to put that hand, empty, out in front of you…was a risky thing to do. It meant being vulnerable. The second man was so taken aback by this gesture that he wasn’t sure how to respond at first. He had never seen anyone do this. Was it some kind of trick? He looks the first man in the eye and thinks maybe he will try it too. He extends his empty right hand. The two hands get closer and closer until they touch and the two men squeeze hands. It was the very first handshake.

Of course, we don’t know for certain when or where the first handshake occurred. But somewhere, sometime, there must have been someone who was willing to take that risk to extend the empty hand as a gesture of peace. The open hand was a sign that you could trust.

The risen Jesus extends his empty and wounded hands to his disciples with the words “Peace be with you.” His resurrected body is a sign to us that God is ready to make peace with us. Jesus is God’s handshake to us. God wants us to trust and believe in the gifts of repentance and forgiveness. God is ready to help us change our lives and release us from all our spiritual debts. Even though we continue to put our hands on our swords. Even though we continue to look with suspicion at the good things of this world. Even though we doubt that we are loveable or that we can love…God extends the vulnerable, empty hand of the Easter Jesus to us and says “Peace be with you.”

Our Easter gift to ourselves and one another is to put aside our fears and reach out that empty hand to God and to a neighbor. There will be moments when we encounter another, and we will be tempted to reach for our defenses. What are our defenses? What words, thoughts, actions do we use to protect ourselves from others? What is our go to response when we meet a stranger along the way? The stranger in ourselves, the stranger on the street, the stranger who may be Christ in disguise? I admit, I am an idealist, but I also know that sometimes we have to defend ourselves. The world can truly be a dangerous place. The murder of a University of Mary Washington student this past week is a horrible reminder. Today is the twentieth anniversary of the Oklahoma City bombing. This week, our Diocese has called upon us to remember the 100th anniversary of the genocide of Armenians in what is now Turkey. Over 1 million Armenians were systematically killed by the Ottoman Empire. But even in a world where such awful things can and do occur, the risen Christ comes and says “peace is possible.” The resurrection witness of Christ is to suggest that we can have the grace to open our hand, open our heart, take a risk to know another, to know ourselves, to know God and God’s peace.

It is no accident that many of us pray with open hands. The Roman Catholic priest, Henri Nouwen, once wrote a book about prayer with that very title. He talks about opening the hand that we often form into a fist. When our hands are tightly clenched around the things we cling to, we cannot be whole. We cannot know peace. We know the peace of God when we come with those open hands, ready to accept the gift only God can give.

Peace be with you, my brothers and sisters. May the peace of Christ, the wounded and vulnerable Christ, be with you. May his shalom, his wholeness and completeness show us where we are clinging too tightly, holding on to our defenses, where we are unwilling to open ourselves. May the peace of the risen Christ help us know that peace which we can share with the world, an open-handed, open-hearted, repenting and forgiving peace that passes all understanding. Alleluia.