The Fourth Sunday in Lent-Year C

The Very Rev Melanie Dickson Lemburg The Fourth Sunday in Lent-Year C March 30, 2025 A few weeks ago, I was leading a weekend on conflict transformation for a group of lay people in the diocese. We were talking about Jesus’s teaching on his process of reconciliation for the church in Matthew 18—you know this part? If someone in the church sins against you, go to them individually and try to resolve it. If that doesn’t work, take someone with some spiritual maturity with you to try again to resolve it, and if that doesn’t work, bring in a group of wise leaders from the church to help mediate it. As I was teaching this passage to this group, they were really wrestling with it, in a way that felt earnest and faithful, and about half-way through the discussion, I realized that the ones who were the most vocal had in mind a specific relationship that was still unreconciled, and hence their wrestling. Our readings for today have both overt and covert connections with this concept of reconciliation. In Paul’s second letter to the Corinthians, we see Paul hammering this concept of reconciliation in our portion for today. He uses the word reconciliation or reconcile at least five times in these few verses. The Greek word that Paul is using here is a word that implies a change, so it’s important for us to make that connection between reconciliation and change in relationship. And Paul is emphasizing that reconciliation happens on a number of levels: God reconciles us all to God’s self through the life and actions of Jesus Christ. God also works to reconcile us to each other. The image of reconciliation is both vertical (as in restored relations between God and people) and horizontal (as in restored relations among people). And it’s important to realize that for Paul, this notion of reconciliation is not just theoretical. Something has happened between his first letter to the Corinthians and this second letter that has damaged Paul’s relationship with the community at Corinth. Some work has been done to be reconciled (probably in a letter that has been lost), but there is still a breach evident in this second letter as Paul writes to defend his ministry to the Corinthians and also to combat the influence of a group of teachers who he refers to as “the super-apostles” who he believes are leading the church at Corinth astray from the teachings of Jesus. And in this passage, we see Paul reiterating that the ministry of the gospel is a ministry of reconciliation. Reconciliation is what Jesus has done (and continues to do through the work of the Holy Spirit), and it is the work we are called to as well. It is through this reconciliation that God brings about the new creation, and it means a change in reality for individuals, for Christian community and for all of creation. In the gospel passage for today, we see Jesus telling a series of stories as he tries to bring about reconciliation between the tax collectors and sinners and the religious elite who are grumbling about how he is spending time with tax collectors and sinners. He tells a series of three parables in which something is lost and the person searching for the lost item makes great effort to restore it and then hosts an elaborate celebration to which others are invited. First, it’s a story of a lost sheep, then a lost coin, and then finally our reading for today, the story of a lost son. Seen in that light and in the light of the Corinthians passage, what can this almost overly-familiar story of Jesus have to teach us about reconciliation? It teaches us that in order to be truly reconciled, we have to put aside our own notions of fairness, because how the father acts in Jesus’ story is both nonsensical and completely unfair. The younger son has asked for his share of the property that he would have inherited upon the father’s death. And the father gives it to him. Now, this isn’t just a matter of going to the bank and taking out half of the money that is deposited there. This would have entailed selling off property and animals in order to achieve this, but the father does it and doesn’t appear to even question it. And after the younger son squanders it all and comes crawling back, the father doesn’t question it again. He simply rejoices and proceeds to throw a party to which all are invited. The older son gets hung up on the ridiculousness of it all, the unfairness of the situation. And we get that, don’t we? We pay a lot of attention to what is fair…until we are the ones who are in need. But when we are in need, we are quite eager to see fairness thrown out the window. Like the younger son, we, too, make mistakes. And there are times in life when we need to ask for help and when we need to be vulnerable in seeking reconciliation in relationship. In the story, the older son is reminded by his father of his relationship with his brother. The father speaks the truth in love to his older son, and the he invites the older son into the celebration, but we don’t know what the son ultimately chooses. Does the older son relinquish his understanding of fairness and come to the celebration of his brother’s return, or does he hold on to his resentment, refusing to be reconciled? Like all of us, he has a choice to hold onto his resentments and his frustrated expectations of how his brother should live his life and how that life compares to the life the older son is living. True reconciliation requires honesty. It requires vulnerability, and it requires being open to being changed by God in and through our relationships with each other. Reconciliation means getting back into right relationship with someone. It is finding a path forward together. It means allowing room for both to be changed through the gift of God’s spirit in relationship with God and in our relationship with each other. Reconciliation is so much more than just forgiving, and it is more than forgiving and forgetting (and infinitely more than forgiving but not forgetting). It is a healing of what is wounded or broken which then makes the relationship stronger for having been healed. In light of this well-known story, I invite you contemplate these questions this week. How have you been like the younger son and received unexpected help, grace, or reconciliation in your life? How have you been like the older brother and rejected an offer of reconciliation? What relationship in your life might God be inviting you to seek reconciliation as you continue to prepare for Easter this year?

The Second Sunday in Lent-Year C

The Very Rev Melanie Dickson Lemburg The Second Sunday in Lent-Year C March 16, 2025 “When you scratch the surface of anger, there’s always something underneath it.” These words were shared with me by my very first spiritual director about 25 years ago, and I still think about them all the time. “When you scratch the surface of anger, there’s always something underneath it.” I’ve learned to pay attention to anger—both my own and others—and also to question it. What is truly underneath my anger? What are they feeling that is below the surface of their anger? What I have learned about myself and others is that sometimes when I scratch the surface of anger, I find fear underneath it. And sometimes when I scratch the surface of anger, I find grief underneath. We see this grief just below the surface of Jesus’s anger in today’s gospel reading from Luke. Jesus is on a teaching and healing tour in Galilee when some Pharisees warn him that Herod is out to kill him. Now, scholars disagree on whether this was a genuine warning to Jesus on the part of these particular Pharisees or their attempt to get Jesus to leave town or stop his teaching and healing in the area. (It could be either.) At first, Jesus responds with strong words for Herod (and perhaps these particular Pharisees?) saying: “Go and tell that fox for me, 'Listen, I am casting out demons and performing cures today and tomorrow, and on the third day I finish my work. Yet today, tomorrow, and the next day I must be on my way, because it is impossible for a prophet to be killed outside of Jerusalem.” But then, Jesus shows us that under his initial flash of anger is grief as his words continue in a clear lament for Jerusalem and how he knows the people there will not live up to his hope for them saying, “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!” Lately, I’ve been reading the Franciscan priest Richard Rohr’s new book The Tears of Things. It finds its title in an ancient Latin phrase- lacrimae rerum-which is found in Virgil’s Aeneid and has been quoted throughout our history. Rohr quotes poet Seamus Heaney’s translation of this phrase: ‘There are tears at the heart of things’-at the heart of our human experience.” And Rohr explains this by saying, “There is an inherent sadness and tragedy in almost all situations: in our relationships, our mistakes, our failures large and small, and even our victories. We must develop a very real empathy for this reality, knowing that we cannot fully fix things, entirely change them, or make them to our liking. This ‘way of tears,’ and the deep vulnerability that it expresses is opposed to our normal way of seeking control through will-power, commandment, force, retribution, and violence. Instead, we begin in a state of empathy with and for things and people and events, which just might be the opposite of judgementalism. It is hard to be on the attack when you are weeping.” i Rohr writes about how the Old Testament prophets follow a predictable pattern in their self-development. They begin with anger at the people and their behavior, blaming them for whatever impending crisis they are warning against, encouraging the people to change their ways. But then, they move into grief; and after the prophets make peace with their own grief, they then are able to engage their empathy, moving alongside the people in solidarity in their suffering. This pattern is revealed in Jesus’s interaction for today as well—how he is angry, then he is grieved, then he is empathetic and standing alongside the people of Jerusalem in solidarity, even as he is disappointed in their reception of him. Interestingly enough, the apostle Paul adds another voice to this conversation this morning. In his letter to the Philippians, he is writing from prison to the Christian community in Philippi, which is a city in Macedonia; and Paul is writing to the Philippians, who are the first church he established on Europeans soil. Unlike some of his other churches, Paul seems to have a close and happy relationship with the Philippians, and he writes the letter to them to encourage them to be persistent in their faith as they face opposition to the church in that community and even the threat of death. Earlier in Philippians, Paul has emphasized the importance of emulating Jesus “who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself…and being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death—even death on a cross.” In our reading for today, Paul is urging the Philippians to follow his example as he seeks to emulate Christ, and he reminds them that their citizenship is not of this earth (or of Rome within whose territory they lived), and because they are truly citizens of heaven, they may not ever feel at home here. And then grumpy, old Paul speaks about the tears he is shedding for people who are driven by their passions (because the Greeks thought the stomach was the seat of the passions or the emotion), and he urges the Philippians to not be like that, reminding them that all things will be transformed through Christ. It’s a good lesson for us today, regardless of how you land politically, this reminder that our citizenship lies with God and not with earthly structures. It’s a helpful reminder, even as it can makes us uncomfortable to feel a little homeless when it comes to the workings of our government because our true citizenship lies elsewhere. And hopefully this discomfort can invite us to look under the surface of anger, because Lord knows there is so much anger in our country right now, and name what is underneath it, which is probably either fear or grief. And if we do find grief under the anger, I hope we can follow the example of Jesus and the prophets to let our grief propel us toward empathy and solidarity with those who are also sad and suffering, even if their grief and their suffering looks different from ours. Because that is what it means to be imitators of Christ and to be full citizens of God’s kingdom. So this week, I invite you to be curious about the anger you see—whether it is in yourself or in someone else. And if you find grief there, to make room for it, inviting God to be present with you in it and to transform you in and through either grief or empathy. In closing, I want to share with you a poem by a poet I just discovered. His name is Dwayne Betts, and this is a poem in his brand new book titled Doggerel. The poem is titled Grief For Lori The story of Easy, a small dog who I imagine is named after Mosley’s detective, Crawls into the psace left by Zinnia, Burrowing into corners, against Door frames, beneath a house- In search of a phantom smell. State Fair: Sahara: Thumbelina: Dreamland: Envy. Orange Star. Creeping zinnias That bloom until first frost. My g-d The ways we grieve, again & again Because the only rule of life Is to forget means to abandon. When I forget to feed Tay, she never barks, But waits, wherever I am, as if she trusts My memory more than I do. I imagine This is grief’s lesson: it is the engine Of making what happened before Matter, & it’s true that I’ve only ever Remembered a few joys as much As I’ve recounted all my reasons To grieve, but nothing grows Without weeping, not even joy.ii i. Rohr, Richard. The Tears of Things: Prophetic Wisdom For An Age of Outrage. Convergent: New York, 2025, p 4. ii. Betts, Reginald Dwayne. Doggerel. Grief. Norton: 2025, p 59.