Year A Trinity Sunday, 11 June 2017 Community and Communion

Year A Trinity Sunday, 11 June 2017

“Community and Communion”

St. Paul’s Episcopal, Richmond, VA

Almighty and everlasting God, you have given to us your servants grace, by the confession of a true faith, to acknowledge the glory of the eternal Trinity, and in the power of your divine Majesty to worship the Unity: Keep us steadfast in this faith and worship, and bring us at last to see you in your one and eternal glory, O Father; who with the Son and the Holy Spirit live and reign, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
From Genesis 1:1-2:4a

Then God said, “Let us make humankind in our image, according to our likeness; and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the birds of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the wild animals of the earth, and over every creeping thing that creeps upon the earth.”

So God created humankind in his image,

in the image of God he created them;

male and female he created them.

2 Corinthians 13:11-13
Finally, brothers and sisters, farewell. Put things in order, listen to my appeal, agree with one another, live in peace; and the God of love and peace will be with you. Greet one another with a holy kiss. All the saints greet you. The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Spirit be with all of you.
Matthew 28:16-20
The eleven disciples went to Galilee, to the mountain to which Jesus had directed them. When they saw him, they worshiped him; but some doubted. And Jesus came and said to them, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you. And remember, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”

Trinity Sunday is always a daunting preaching task. It is the only Sunday of the Church Year dedicated to a doctrine. Some run to the challenge, and some shrink away. For some, it is an awe-inspiring Mystery, and for others it is one of the critical stumbling blocks of the faith.

The Creed of Athanasius (on pages 864-865 in the Book of Common Prayer) has MANY paragraphs on the “proper” understanding of the Trinity, and says this:

And in this Trinity none is afore, or after other; none is greater, or less than another;
But the whole three Persons are co-eternal together and co-equal.
So that in all things, as is aforesaid, the Unity in Trinity and the Trinity in Unity is to be worshipped.
He therefore that will be saved is must think thus of the Trinity.

When he wrote that around the end of the Fifth or the beginning of the Sixth Century, it was the first known declaration that all three members of the Trinity are equal. People argued over this long before Athanasius, and his attempt here to fight Arianism. (Arianism being the belief, that Jesus the Son was not co-equal nor of the same substance with the Father and thus less than or subservient to the God the Father.) And people have been arguing of the nature of this ever since.

I have always been drawn to the beauty of the idea of the Trinity, a beautiful dance of Creator, Redeemer, Sustainer. For others, not so much. And before we get bogged down in who is which, and which is what, and what is when, I want to skip right through that and get to what the Trinity means to me. The Godhead: Father, Son and Holy Spirit, is for me a way to view the way things are supposed to be, a beloved community of living and moving and having our being, and a model for what we bring to a hurting and needy world.

Let us start at the beginning, for that is where our lectionary readings kicked us off today, Genesis 1. And the beautiful portrait painted is that we, all of us, were created in the “their” image, and if you never noticed that before, the plurality of the statement, “Let us make mankind in our image,” dwell on that a moment. We are designed by a committee, [that would explain a lot wouldn’t it] and while that is usually a negative statement, here it is one of affirmation across the board.

Each and every one of us can be Creative and make things of worth and have the discerning wisdom of the Father. Each of us is capable of redeeming works of grace and a level of sacrificial love that is not of this world like the Son. Each of us is capable of intimate connections of profound understanding and communion like the Spirit. That is the Imago Dei, the very image of God. The Divine “Us” is the mirror we hold up to our best and God-intended selves. All of these are obviously aspirational, but if we get to choose who we should emulate, God would be a good choice.

But for me, the other take-away from that “Us” word is that God is in Community, and that God is in Communion. And if we are emulating anything, then maybe we can and should be, too. God the One in Three and Three in One is a Social Being. God is in Community and in Communion with God Self. And in that image, we are made to be in Community and in Community. We are Social Creatures.

Think of spying a baby in a public space. Often they just stare at random strangers. And they stare and stare and stare, until the get a response. When I was a new father I had to get used to seeing strangers making faces and waving, and then I noticed it was not at me or to me at all. It was to the baby. Babies bring out the Social Being readily and naturally. If you do not think that you were born a Social Creature, just try tickling yourself. It does not work. If God made you, hardwired you to be ticklish, and that can only happen from another, maybe we were made in the image of God, to be in Community. I heard another report on the radio this week saying that scientists have found conclusively that people with the same diseases do better and live longer if they are in a relationship with their spouse. I am glad they have determined the obvious. We are made to be in Community, just like God. But what about Communion?

God is in Communion with Godself, an intimate and loving dynamic relationship.  This whole last year St. Paul’s has been looking at Being Reconciled. Our first Lenten Preacher, Father Michael Renninger, brought up the etymology of the word Reconciliation. I have always been fascinated by etymology, where words come from and where we have taken or lost their original meaning. Reconciliation comes from the Latin, for the words Re- meaning again, Con- meaning with, and Cilia-. I knew cilia from the follicles in my intestine from Saturday morning cartoons’ Schoolhouse Rock. But the word Cilia did not originate in the gut, but on our faces. Cilia- was the Latin word for eyelashes, the follicles on our eyes. So Reconciliation is to Again be Within Eyelash distance of each other. If you are close enough to brush eyelashes, or what we called in my family Butterfly Kisses, then you are pretty close. And that is the level of intimacy God desires with us, to be reconciled with him, a closeness beyond words.

Scripture describes God in many ways, but my favorite image is the repeated trope of a seeking God pursuing relationship. One of these uses is in three connected parables, the Lost Coin, the Lost Sheep, and the Prodigal Son. The Seeker is God, looking, longing, missing, loving. There are no lengths to which God will not go to find us, to save us, and to welcome us home.

Now the Downtown Missioner in me would be remiss to not mention it. If we are attempting to emulate God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit, then we have to take seriously this Seeking feeling, especially before it becomes that Sinking feeling that we have missed the boat.

You see, God loves you. Why? Because: “You Matter. You matter to God.”  And so do all God’s Children. In fact our mission could almost be summed up in that. “You Matter. To God. To Us.” Now we find 101 different ways to say it, and to do it. But that is it.

Our worship declares to us and reminds us that importance God placed on being in relationship to us. Our astounding music. The wonderful Emmaus ministry. Laundry Love. Our children's programming. Our youth. Our relationship with the people of the village of Mwitikira, Tanzania. Our block parties. Our trip to Rosebud this summer. Our work with Woodville. Our Lenten Lectures and Lunches. In keeping and maintaining this amazing space declaring the Glory of God. In all we say and do, we declare that all God’s Children matter. And every soul you meet is a beloved child of God.

I know it is the summer and attendance takes a dip, but look around. Do you see an empty space? Pick one. Any one. We have plenty of empty spaces, but pick just one. We are designed to be in Communion, and I know you have some people in your life who need the Community that we have at St. Paul’s. They would be so much better for it. WE would be so much better for it. Heck, you have to work to get here these days. Parking is what it is for the foreseeable future. But you made it! Yeah! This place obviously matters to you. It could matter to someone else that you know. And I believe, through the ministry and music and community of this place, people can also be brought into Communion, not just us, but more importantly, with God.

Pete Nunnally, our Youth Minister, told me a wonderful story this week, and I share it with his permission. He told me of someone grieving coming in off the street and wanting someone to pray with in their sorrow. Pete was the only minister here, and took them into this space to pray and talk. Christopher came in and began practicing the organ, and in that Community of Pete, and this art-filled Sanctuary of Holiness, and Chris’s beautiful music declaring the Glory of God, this young man found a sense of peace with God in his loss. He even took a video and shared it with his friends. He found Communion through Community. We do not know if he will ever see this young man again, but I believe God will. God was seeking him out when he lost his friend. God was seeking him out when he wandered into our doors. But on that day last week, this young man found a Communion. And we enabled that. Think how much bigger a difference you could make in a friend’s life if you could invite them into Community, and in doing so, trust that it will be into Communion with God, God the Father, God the Son, God the Holy Spirit. The Three in One, the One in Three. The God in Community, the God of Communion.

The Trinity is a Mystery, but it is a Beautiful Mystery. We are made in its image, and we attempt to emulate that Divine Dance in all we do. As St. Paul, our namesake declared: “The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Spirit be with all of you.” [2 Cor. 13:13] Amen.

When You Stare a Giant in the Eye: a sermon Year A Easter 7 2017

Year A Easter 7, 28 May 2017

St. Paul’s Episcopal, Richmond

“When You Stare A Giant In The Eye”

O God, the King of glory, you have exalted your only Son Jesus Christ with great triumph to your kingdom in heaven: Do not leave us comfortless, but send us your Holy Spirit to strengthen us, and exalt us to that place where our Savior Christ has gone before; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, in glory everlasting. Amen.

One of the great lines from one of my favorite movies, The Usual Suspects, invites us to see things differently. “The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he did not exist.” Going along that same train of thought, “The greatest lie the Devil ever convinced Christ’s Church of is that we do not matter.”

Think about it. We see the numbers declining, and the budgets shrinking. We see things scaling back, and we are fearful. After the tragedies in Manchester this week, I remind you what you have heard again and again, when we live in fear, the terrorists win. If that is true for Western Society, is the Church any different? When we live in fear, the Devil wins. When we see through the eyes of scarcity, how can we bring glory to God?

The Hebrews right on the brink of the Promised Land heard two words, one promising a land flowing with milk and honey, and another word, a fearful word, that there are Giants in the land. They listened to the voice shaking with fear about Giants.

Numbers 14

9 Only, do not rebel against the Lord; and do not fear the people of the land, for they are no more than bread for us; their protection is removed from them, and the Lord is with us; do not fear them.” 10 But the whole congregation threatened to stone them.
Then the glory of the Lord appeared at the tent of meeting to all the Israelites. 11 And the Lord said to Moses, “How long will this people despise me? And how long will they refuse to believe in me, in spite of all the signs that I have done among them?

On this Seventh Sunday of Easter, just four days after we remembered Christ’s Ascension, to what voices will we listen? Ones declaring Milk and Honey, or ones fearful of Giants?

Jesus, when he was at the table with his disciples, what did he see? Did he see a group of 12 rejects who no one would bring together to plan a birthday party? Or did he see a righteous and committed few who were going to set out and change the world preaching a Gospel of Love against the Power of the Roman Empire? Think on that.

From our Gospel today, we clearly hear that Christ believed in his little band:

Jesus said: “Now they know that everything you have given me is from you; for the words that you gave to me I have given to them, and they have received them and know in truth that I came from you; and they have believed that you sent me. I am asking on their behalf; I am not asking on behalf of the world, but on behalf of those whom you gave me, because they are yours. All mine are yours, and yours are mine; and I have been glorified in them. And now I am no longer in the world, but they are in the world, and I am coming to you. Holy Father, protect them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one, as we are one.”

We are in the world, and we are here so that Christ may be glorified in us and through us. Jesus is glorified in us. But if we are shrinking daisies, what are we proclaiming to the world? Are we Christ’s Body in the World, or something else entirely?

I brought my youngest daughter with me to the showing of Traces of the Trade which was shown here a few weeks ago. Driving home from church, my daughter asked an amazingly cognizant question. "Why is St. Paul's where it is?"

In Traces of the Trade, a great documentary on the Slave Trade, she got to thinking. It tells the story from the perspective of a family who owned slave ships, plantations in Cuba, and were ignorant that the family's wealth was so intricately woven with the trade. They were from the North, it was not their sin, or so they thought. My 10-year-old girl sat in silence, soaking it all in, both the movie and the Q&A with the director. I was duly impressed. This was going through her head when she asked about our church and its central location, "Why is St. Paul's where it is?"

Having been a teacher, I knew better than to answer, and told her to answer her own question. She said it was pretty lucky to be where it is, next to the state Capitol building downtown, with the State Supreme Court behind our church, and City Hall a block away. I asked, "What kind of people would start a church 170 years ago in the middle of the city near so many important things?"

She responded, "Important people. And rich. They would have to be rich."

A part of me was beaming with pride, and part of my heart was breaking that this was a conversation we were having to have. "And where would people have gotten their money in Richmond 170 years ago, enough for them to build so beautiful a building in so important a spot?"

"People who got rich from slavery?" She asked it as a question, but she already knew the answer.

I had to say, "Yeah. Either directly or indirectly. Yeah. We have to admit that, and that conversation is one of the reasons we showed that movie tonight."

She nodded, thinking about it some more in silence. After a little while I asked her about how all this made her feel. "Like the adults at the movie, I feel confused." I let her know that that is okay.

That may have been why St. Paul’s was here then. But why is St. Paul’s here now? So many other churches moved away from downtown. So many other people followed the population west. But St. Paul's did not. So that begs the question...

Why is St. Paul's here, today? How might we help make Christ at this place and  at this time known and relevant? How are we to fulfill the call of God for now, proclaiming the Gospel in the heart of our beloved RVA? "For such a time as this," says the Holy Book in Esther. May we live into the call of our time, and grow into the opportunity. How can Christ be glorified in our actions today? How can people see what we do and say to themselves, “They really believe in a Christ sitting at the right hand of God the Father.”?

Here are just some beginning thoughts:

When we stay in the hard conversations so all can be heard and all can be reconciled, Christ is glorified.

When we repent of our sins and the sins that birthed us, Christ is glorified.

When we take up for the least of these, Christ is glorified.

When we forgive instead of responding tit-for-tat, Christ is glorified.

When we get hit and still turn the other cheek, Christ is glorified.

When we build bridges instead of walls, Christ is glorified.

When we give a cup of cold water or a warm meal to one in need, Christ is glorified.

When we gather and live out Jesus’ prayer “that they may be one,” Christ is glorified.

When we choose love over hate, Christ is glorified.

When we stare Giants in the eye and still believe in the one whose name we claim, Christ is glorified.

Never forget the math of faith: Us + God is greater than anything we face. (Us +God > Anything) When we recite the Nicene Creed in a few moments, ponder when you say of Jesus, that “he is seated at the right hand of God the Father.” For if he is, we have already won. We are just mopping up the remnants of God’s enemies. On this Memorial Day weekend it is hard for me not to remember the ultimate price paid by so many for my freedoms. But think about it, when D-Day happened, the Nazis were doomed, but we still had months of battles left, hard battles that would take many lives, but the outcome was predominantly decided. Jesus’ resurrection and ascension declares to us, and hopefully through us and our acts of faith, that when we look with the eyes of faith we can see that the end is in sight.

When I was in Seminary, I remember hearing the story of the English founder of the modern missionary movement. His words have always stuck with me. William Carey: “Expect great things from God; attempt great things for God.” In all our choices, in all our decisions we have to make as a church, I would ask us to consider two questions: “Why does God have us here now?” & “Is Christ being glorified in this?” And if we do so I think we remember that God plus us is bigger than any perceived or imaginary Giants in the Land. When you stare a Giant in the eye, remember God has your back.

I want to close today with the words of  Teresa of Avila (1515–1582). Christ Has No Body

Christ has no body but yours,
No hands, no feet on earth but yours,
Yours are the eyes with which he looks
Compassion on this world,
Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good,
Yours are the hands, with which he blesses all the world.
Yours are the hands, yours are the feet,
Yours are the eyes, you are his body.
Christ has no body now but yours,
No hands, no feet on earth but yours,
Yours are the eyes with which he looks
Compassion on this world.
Christ has no body now on earth but yours.  Amen.

"Why are we here?"

Driving home from church a few Sunday nights ago, my daughter asked an amazingly cognizant question. "Why is St. Paul's where it is?"

We had just finished watching Traces of the Trade, a great documentary on the Slave Trade from the perspective of a family who owned slave ships, plantations in Cuba, and were ignorant that the family's wealth was so intricately woven with the trade. They were from the North, it was not their sin, or so they thought. My 10-year-old girl sat in silence, soaking it all in, both the movie and the Q&A with the director. I was duly impressed. This was going through her head when she asked about our church and its central location.

Having been a teacher, I knew better than to answer, and told her to answer her own question. She said it was pretty lucky to be where it is, next to the state Capitol building downtown, with the State Supreme Court behind our church, and City Hall a block away. I asked, "What kind of people would start a church 170 years ago in the middle of the city near so many important things?"

She responded, "Important people. And rich. They would have to be rich."

A part of me was beaming with pride, and part of my heart was breaking that this was a conversation we were having to have. "And where would people have gotten their money in Richmond 170 years ago, enough for them to build so beautiful a building in so important a spot?"

"People who got rich from slavery."

I had to say, "Yeah. Either directly or indirectly. Yeah. We have to admit that, and that conversation is one of the reasons we showed that movie tonight."

She nodded, thinking about it some more in silence.

After a little while I asked her about how all this made her feel. "Like the adults at the movie, I feel confused." I let her know that is okay. I love St. Paul's and she is getting to where she does, too. But it is confusing that some place with so many wonderful things about it can be birthed from such a place. Confusing, to say the least.

Since that night, I have repeatedly asked myself the question, "Why is St. Paul's here? Why then? Why now?"

So many other churches moved away from downtown. So many other people followed the population west. But St. Paul's did not. So that begs the question.

Why is St. Paul's here, today? I guess that is my job. To help make this place at this time known and relevant, and to fulfill the call of God for now, proclaiming the Gospel in the heart of our beloved RVA. "For such a time as this," says the Holy Book in Esther. May we live into the call of our time, and grow into the opportunity. When life and society (and history and heritage) throw us a curve, let's lean into it, and maybe even enjoy the ride.

"A People Yet Unborn" Year A Good Friday 2017

“A People Yet Unborn”

Year A Good Friday, 14 April 2017

St. Paul’s Episcopal, Richmond, VA

When I was in preparation to become a priest, the phrase that was repeated to me over and over until I got was “Praying shapes Believing.” And I have not only acquiesced to that, I actually have seen it come true in my life and believe as well. It is no surprise that as Episcopalians we use the Book of Common Prayer, not something else.

Jesus was a person of prayer, from his time of trial in the desert after his baptism, to his days apart in lonely places, to how he taught us to pray when asked. He was raised in the Synagogue, the house of prayer in Nazareth, and we are told he attended “as was his custom.” His family would travel to Jerusalem to worship and pray in the Temple, as was their custom. Jesus was steeped in prayer and trained his disciples to be people of prayer as well.

Tonight we heard the choir sing the beginning of Psalm 22, one of the songs of the Temple, a worship song. Jesus quotes the first line of a well known lyric of a song from those in times of trouble. Taken out of context, we project ourselves into how we would feel, what we would think. Where is God when things go bad? And when one is being publically executed and humiliated despite being innocent could things be any worse? Jesus is quoting a sad song for sad times, Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani.

If we stop there, I believe we miss what Jesus was really saying. The words we hear end with “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” because we do not know the rest of the song.

Bruce Hornsby’s lyric may begin, “That’s just the way it is, some things will never change…” but if you know the song, the words finish, “Ah, but don’t you believe it.” What starts off sad, becomes a renunciation.

Words become ingrained in us with repetition, our praying shapes our believing and our reality as well. The way the human brain works has not changed since Jesus’ day.

I was invited to come and see a woman in the final stages of dementia, and was told by her family that she probably did not even know I was there. That was probably true, but when I started the prayers, from somewhere deep within her the words came out after she had not spoken in days. I said. “Our Father,” and she echoed in a feeble voice, “who art in heaven,” and she mumbled along with me the rest. The same happened with the Nicene Creed, and other prayers. Her family was astounded, but our praying shapes our believing and our reality. Her heart knew the words when her body and mind had failed her.

Jesus was the same. His heart knew the words, when his body was broken and his mind was in torment. He began the prayer, or song, however you want to call it. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” And who would we be if we did not look to the rest of the lyric?

My sincere belief is that Jesus, in the height of his pain and torture got out what he could. Beyond the Romans who were there who would have been oblivious, he sent a message to his dear mother, his beloved disciples and the religious leaders who were standing there. He did not send them a message of despair but of Unquenchable Hope!

You see the Romans could crush his body, but not his soul. Inside, in his heart and soul, he continued on with the words he knew so well. What sounds like the anguish of a tormented soul, instead is a declaration of faith.

Psalm 22 begins with a cry of desperation…

My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?
  Why are you so far from helping me, from the words of my groaning?
O my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer;
  and by night, but find no rest.

It begins as dark as could be, then it weaves around the faith of the past when God delivered, and the humiliation of the present when there is no light. But then, the song goes to look ahead to what is to come. And this I think was among the final thoughts of Jesus, our Lord and Savior, during his sojourn on this earth.

All the ends of the earth shall remember
  and turn to the Lord;
and all the families of the nations
  shall worship before him.
For dominion belongs to the Lord,
  and he rules over the nations.
To him, indeed, shall all who sleep in the earth bow down;
  before him shall bow all who go down to the dust,
  and I shall live for him.
Posterity will serve him;
  future generations will be told about the Lord,
and proclaim his deliverance to a people yet unborn,
  saying that he has done it.

“A people yet unborn.” That is you. That is me. Jesus in his final moments had us on his mind, and in that hope, in that prayer, Jesus’s heart sang of our Deliverance.

Tonight as we sit and remember what the Lord has done, we are the fulfillment of the prayer Jesus prayed. Tonight, you are the answer to Jesus’ prayer. Here, and in every church and home and heart when people think on what he did and give glory to God, we are the fulfillment of Jesus’ prayer.

When you are asked why is this Day called “Good Friday,” remember that. How could we ever look at Jesus’ suffering on the cross and declare that Good? Nothing that I can see from the outside, but Jesus tells us where his heart is.

Think on what makes Christ’s heart sing: “Future generations… will proclaim to a people yet unborn, saying that he has done it.” Jesus has done it, and it is finished. And that is why we can call it Good. Amen

“Sour Wine” meditation Year A Good Friday 2017

“Sour Wine”: a Good Friday meditation

Year A Good Friday, 14 April 2017

St. Paul’s Episcopal, Richmond, VA: Prayers and Meditations Service 12 noon - 3 pm

Sour Wine.

He was thirsty, and they gave him Sour Wine.

Too often in this world, when we are thirsty we are given Sour Wine. It is the nature of the world. “But this is what you need,” they might say, “so this is what you get.” No matter the intent, it is still Sour Wine.

I think about, as he breathed his last, what was going through Christ’s mind? All the pain. All the sorrow. He was thirsty, and asked for something to drink. He asked the same of the woman at the well, if you remember.

Thirst.

So human a need for the Son of God to request. But here he was, the Quintessential Human doing what we all must one day, Jesus was dying.

And in the horror of those last moments, he asked, for something to quench his thirst.

“I am thirsty,” he said.

A statement.

A request.

I wonder if he thought back to the last thing he ate, the last thing he drank.

He was at a Seder, the traditional Passover banquet, with those he was closest to, eating, drinking, laughing, remembering.

And in the midst of that night he taught, he prayed, he worshiped.

He tasted of the Fruit of the Vine, the sweet wine of the Promised Land. He drank four cups of sweet wine as part of the ritual, the fourth and final cup the promise and hope of salvation. I wonder when he sipped the Sour Wine did he think back to the sweetness of the night before?

But it was not Sweet Wine he tasted, but Sout Wine. Wine that had turned. Bitter. Acrid. Biting to the tongue. Did he think back to the Maror, the bitter herb he had eaten the night? Just as bitter to remind all partaking of the bitterness of being enslaved, the bitterness of not being free.

The Sweet. The Bitter. Both mingled in that single sip. That Sour Wine meant to quench his thirst.

The agony of death on a cross is excruciating, doctors tell us. The nails piercing the wrists sever the sciatic nerve running up the arm causing pain closer to being burned alive than a cut or puncture. The stretching of the abdominals to the point of cramping gives the feeling and horror of suffocation. The effect and intended desire is terror. And add to that the nakedness of Jesus on the cross added humiliation. Crucifixion achieved the terror and and humiliation all too well. And Sour Wine is what they gave to the Savior of the World.

What do we give?

Sour Wine has a purpose. Analgesic effects, so they say. But when someone thirsts, EVERYTHING ELSE becomes secondary.
Thirst is a pain.

Thirst can drive wise ones mad.

Thirst is what Jesus felt.

It was the final concern of his all-too-brief life.

And he was given Sour Wine.

His final word, tetelestai as recorded in the Greek of St. John’s gospel, is often translated as, “It is finished.” But it is more than that.

Two weeks ago, my family did the Monument Avenue 10k. My youngest had never done it before, and the first four miles of the six point two, she ran ahead and kept pushing for us to go faster. You see, we had all done it before, and knew how far we had to go. She did not.

At mile 5, she slowed significantly, and before we were even close to mile 6 she was in obvious pain. At mile 6 she asked, “How much further?!?!” I was able to point ahead and show her the banners at the end so she could see the finish line. When she crossed it, she cried out, “That’s finally over!” But her loving father looked down, and said, “You did it! I am so proud of you!” I would have picked her up and carried her if I could, but we all know, there are some things we all must do for ourselves, and we alone can finish them.

Jesus, in pain and sorrow, looked to heaven and declared not, “It is finally over!!!” He declared to his loving parent, “It is accomplished.” And then he breathed his last.

And then the earth stood still and silent as Jesus died.