[Propertalk] 5 Easter c 2016 - Pt 1

[Robert P Morrison]

Here's the first part of my draft for tomorrow.
Bob

	THE EPISCOPAL CHURCH OF ST. ALBAN, ALBANY 5 EASTER c 

	ACTS 11:1-18 24th APRIL, 2016 

	REVELATION 21:1-6 PSALM 148 

	JOHN 13:31-35 

	 I have good news and bad news. 

	Who has NOT betrayed someone – anyone – at least once in their
lives?  

	 We can climb on to our high horses so easily in order to show our
superiority, so that everyone can see and hear us, and admire us,
because we’re the ones in white – think the reading from the
Revelation to John last week. 

	 Who among us has NOT betrayed someone? We prefer to forget about
events and situations like these, of course. But it happens. 

	 The Romans had Jesus pegged correctly – excuse the pun. He was a
dangerous individual. Some might even have said He was a terrorist. He
should have left things well enough alone. Whenever and wherever He
showed up – whether in a small village or a large community – He
seemed to get folk all worked up, so much so that even after He’d
left, people would be restless. They’d ask questions, they’d alter
their behaviour, they’d challenge what had been the accepted way of
doing things. And the really annoying thing is that Jesus taught
people to do it with a smile on their faces, as if it were the most
natural thing in the world to mix with every group in town, and to
treat all people with respect, and to stop to help whenever someone
had an issue that needed resolving. How can you fault someone who’s
smiling at you? Well, yes, I know, that can make one ever more upset
when it seems that the person doesn’t seem to be taking your
complaint seriously. But that didn’t stop Jesus smiling, and
reaching out, and drawing them closer to Himself. 

	 What a pain Jesus was! Still is! No wonder we can only go so far
with Him, at least some of the time. He expects too much of us. And
what He expects ISN’T what we expect He’ll expect! He wants us to
take Him – his comments and His actions – completely seriously. So
we squirm, or we should squirm, for instance, when we hear words that
were spoken at Jewish tables last Friday night: “Judaism teaches
that all people are children of God, even our enemies who would seek
to destroy us. 

	 “We cannot be glad when anyone suffers needlessly. So we mourn the
loss of the Egyptians and express sorrow over their destruction.” 1 

	 Of course it’s right and proper to celebrate with our Jewish
sisters and brothers the way that slavery was overcome through God’s
grace. Of course it’s right and proper to remember that those who
were enslaving others were, finally, compelled to release those from
whom freedom had been wrested. But Jesus, at one and the same time,
talked in absolutes and yet was so radically compassionate. 

	 It’s little wonder the disciples were so confused. Like us, they
responded with pleasure when one group or one individual who was
paining them were put in their place. They must have smirked or
laughed out loud when someone else was shown up as failing to care for
God’s creation. But when THEY were on the receiving end, or when it
became clear that things weren’t going to go the way that they
wanted, then, like over-indulged children, they refused to budge. They
dug in their heels and refused to listen to reason, no matter how much
sense it made. 

	 Perhaps they were holding out for something they thought might come
along later. If they pouted, if they refused to listen, if they
despised those to whom Jesus had given an invitation to join the
party; if the disciples – if we – behave like that, it’s as if
we’re trying to bribe Jesus, or have Him bribe us. Give us something
we like; give us a treat; make us the centre of attention; then
we’ll consider doing what you’re suggesting. In other words, they
didn’t want Jesus telling them what to do, because it got in the way
of their having their own idea of fun. 

	 That behaviour of the disciples was a betrayal of the commitment
they’d made to Jesus. And, similarly, that behaviour adopted by you
and me is a betrayal of what we promised to do. It denies both the
right and the responsibility of Jesus to renew us, to show us the
salvation way that is already won. 

	 Not only that, though. Such behaviour is destructive to ourselves.
Whenever we deny who we’re called to be; whenever we take the power
and gifts we have, and misuse them, we pervert ourselves, we turn
ourselves into that which we don’t want to be – the sort of person
whom we criticise readily in others but to which we’re blind when it
comes to ourselves. 

	 When we think of betrayal, Judas comes to mind, or Benedict Arnold.
Slightly further down the ladder we come to Peter, then to all the
others who fled, despite their promises. It takes a while, though, for
us to think of how we fail at the things we’re charged with
accomplishing 

	 Most of you will remember Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood and the
characters and props on the show. This week I read a story about
something that came about because of the TV programme. The writer
described his work defending abused children. He said, “In the
course of my work I met a man who was an adult survivor. You
wouldn’t have known it looking at him. He was this gigantic
Polynesian guy. Wild curly hair. … He was counseling some of the
little kids, and doing a fantastic job of it. 

	 “I visited his home to get his opinion on something and I noticed
a little toy on his desk. It was Trolley. Naturally curious, I asked
him about it. This is what he told me: 

	 “‘The most dangerous time for me was in the afternoon when my
mother got tired and irritable. Like clockwork. Now, she liked to beat
me in discreet places so my father wouldn’t see the bruises. That
particular day she went for the legs. Not uncommon for her. I was
knocked down and couldn’t get back up. Also not uncommon. She gave
me one last kick, the one I had come to learn meant “I’m done
now”. Then she left me there upstairs, face in the carpet, alone. I
tried to get up, but couldn’t. So I dragged myself, arm over arm, to
the television, climbed up the tv cabinet and turned on the TV. 

	 “‘And there was Mr. Rogers. It was the end of the show and he
was having a quiet, calm conversation with those hundreds of kids. In
that moment, he seemed to look me in the eye when he said “And I
like you just for being you.” In that moment, it was like he was
reaching across time and space to say these words to me when I needed
them most. 

	 “‘It was like the hand of God, if you’re into that kind of
thing. It hit me in the soul. I was a miserable little kid. I was sure
I was a horrible person. I was sure I deserved every last moment of
abuse, every blow, every bad name. I was sure I earned it, sure I
didn’t deserve better. I *knew* all of these things … until that
moment. If this man, who I hadn’t even met, liked me just for being
me, then I couldn’t be all bad. Then maybe someone could love me,
even if it wasn’t my mom. 

	 “‘It gave me hope. If that nice man liked me, then I wasn’t a
monster. I was worth fighting for. From that day on, his words were
like a secret fortress in my heart. No matter how broken I was, no
matter how much it hurt or what was done to me, I could remember his
words, get back on my feet, and go on for another day. 

	 “‘That’s why I keep Trolley there. To remind me that, no
matter how terrible things look, someone who had never met me liked me
just for being me, and that makes even the worst day worth it to me. I
know how stupid it sounds, but Mr. Rogers saved my life.’” 2
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