Friday, April 22, 2011

Good Friday

In a rare move on my part, I actually wrote out the entire manuscript of my sermon for the Good Friday service (yes, I seem to have channeled a bit of Rob Bell’s formatting style). I have included it here:


Good Friday, April 22, 2011


John 18 -19:42


I remember sitting in the pews of the church I grew up in.


I can vividly see the sunlight cascading through the skylight.


I recall the honey-oak finish of the pews, their hardness that somehow seemed comfortable.


I can hear the call of the organ from the speakers behind the “faux” pipes on the walls.


I could tell you which pew “belonged” to our family – we sat there every week – until they removed it to make room for the “music loft”.


I remember the Pastors who led worship – they would enter from the back, with regal formality which later gave way to a casual reverence, dressed in their robes.


I remember the beautiful paraments that stretched from floor to ceiling – 40-feet in the air!


I can see myself sitting there through the years, singing hymns, listening to prayers, watching the “family” that I grew up around telling the story of Jesus.


I remember how practices changed over time.
How the Communion Elements which used to be processed to the altar with the offering started appearing on the altar when worship began
How the men who used to all wear suits began losing the jacket, then dressing in slacks and polos and then jeans
How the acolytes used to light different candles at different times of the service then they began lighting them all at the same time.


And none of it had any real meaning.


It was all just stuff


Until


Good Friday


I was maybe 7 years old.


I don’t remember what the pastor said,
all I remember is my reaction.


I remember crying uncontrollably.
Weeping.


I remember my mom reaching down to ask me what was wrong –


- I couldn’t answer her,
I didn’t know how to answer her


All I know is that at that moment I realized


JESUS DIED FOR ME


Not nameless humanity


ME


It didn’t matter that Jesus died for my parents, my brother, my friend Jim, for Shirley, Dick, or Pat


JESUS DIED FOR ME


The colors of the worship center can fade from my memory, but I will always know deep in my heart that Jesus Died for me


Until we own our relationship with our Saviour, the one who died on a cross for us, we can easily get caught up in a lot of attitudes, a lot of details, a lot of stuff.


We think that the color of the carpet makes a difference.


We think that by dropping some food in the box for the food pantry we’ve done enough to help the hungry.


We think that our translation of the Bible is the only one.


We feel hassled when we are asked to donate clothes and blankets for the homeless.


We think that music of our preferred style is the most important.


We think that if people don’t agree, then they are going to hell, or at least not to the same heaven we are


We think that by paying taxes that provide a hospital we’ve done enough for the sick.


But when we own our relationship with our Saviour, all of that STUFF drifts away.


When we own our relationship with our Saviour, our attitudes change.


When we realize that Jesus Christ died on a cross for YOU and ME, not a nameless humanity, nothing else matters – and we begin to live differently.


When we come to terms with the idea that Jesus cares enough for each individual that he
knows us by name,
knows what food we like,
knows what color we like,
knows the good we’ve done,
and also knows the times we failed
and despite all of that – CHOSE to die anyway
we look at the world differently.


It fundamentally changes WHO we ARE and HOW we live.


Some may call them rose colored glasses.
And maybe that is true
– because when we take the crucifixion seriously our vision is stained
by the blood of Jesus who was willing
to take our place on a cross so that we don’t have to experience
the full pain,
the full suffering,
the full shame
or the full humiliation of our sin.


And we begin to live in a way that proclaims a hope that no one else has to either.


Amen.