A Virtual Sermon for the fifth Sunday of Lent during the COVID-19 Pandemic
This is the sermon that I offered up during Morning Prayer on March 29, 2020. This service was held via the zoom platform for St John's Episcopal Church in Dubuque, Iowa. The reason that services weren't held in person was due to the COVID-19 pandemic that prevented the congregation from gathering together. The scripture readings were Ezekiel 37:1-14, Psalm 130, Romans 8:6-11, and John 11:1-45.
Let us pray.
O God, bring us Grace at this time, this time of hardship for many, to believe in you and to bring us to you. In your name, of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
It’s been quite a week. Week two, of course, is when this all hits home. We’re no longer on a staycation, We who have the privilege available to stay home and practice physical distancing should do so. The headlines, too, are an uncomfortable reminder that death is a part of life.
The reading from Romans today tells us to ‘To set the mind on the flesh is death, but to set the mind on the Spirit is life and peace.’ And while Paul was trying to encourage those who would listen about the peace of God, that’s not all that helpful to me today. It’s a form of spiritual bypassing.
Spiritual bypassing was a term coined back in the 1980s, and refers to using faith to avoid the hard realities. It becomes a type of escapism, creating that idea in our minds that everything will be ok if we just have enough faith, instead of acknowledging truth.
Yes, God is with us, always. That’s Good News.
However, we are humans, with bodies that wear out.
Yes, God can resurrect the dry bones in the story of Ezekiel.
But staying home is a much healthier choice while the COVID-19 virus keeps spreading and threatens to overwhelm our healthcare system.
And yes, we hear of a Gospel miracle, but even more healing is the example Jesus gives us in his response. The ministry we see to Martha and Mary is hard, and painful.
The Gospel today starts out with a metaphor, and the disciples think Lazarus is sleeping. Jesus, however, is plain: “Lazarus is dead.” We don’t know what Lazarus died from, so it’s just as likely a virus as anything else.
The rest of the story deals not so much with the idea that Lazarus is raised, but rather, the idea that Christ, God Incarnate, Jesus who was both human and divine, is present with us in our anguish and our grief.
It’s not that Jesus wasn’t scared; in fact, Thomas expects him and the Apostles to die with him but willingly travels the pathway he has been given. But Jesus, like the healthcare professionals and essential workers all across this country, knows he must go, in spite of the risks.
And when Jesus gets there, there’s accusation, and grief. “My brother wouldn’t have died if you had been here.” Jesus listens, and speaks with both Mary and Martha, and he weeps.
And that weeping, that crying in grief is ok. Those conversations that are filled with doubt and fear and anger and sorrow are normal. Faith is not about certainty that all things will turn out perfectly. Instead, our God, Incarnate with us, will be with us in our uncertainty and fear.
We don’t know what is going to happen as the days and weeks go by. There are no rosy scenarios out there right now, and the Psalm today offers the most consolation for me: “Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord.” That’s real. It tells me that my faith is there to cling to, not as a happily-ever-after scenario, but as a promise that God is always with me, regardless of the problems that I face.
In this time of isolation, God is still making things new. The church is seeing a resurrection of sorts as people come together for worship in their living rooms or at kitchen tables. And in our uncertainty, we are finding out that the church is much more than a building. It’s you, and me, and others, tied together by the idea that the Breath of God is here, prophesying to us and telling us that we are not alone.
Amen.
O God, bring us Grace at this time, this time of hardship for many, to believe in you and to bring us to you. In your name, of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
It’s been quite a week. Week two, of course, is when this all hits home. We’re no longer on a staycation, We who have the privilege available to stay home and practice physical distancing should do so. The headlines, too, are an uncomfortable reminder that death is a part of life.
The reading from Romans today tells us to ‘To set the mind on the flesh is death, but to set the mind on the Spirit is life and peace.’ And while Paul was trying to encourage those who would listen about the peace of God, that’s not all that helpful to me today. It’s a form of spiritual bypassing.
Spiritual bypassing was a term coined back in the 1980s, and refers to using faith to avoid the hard realities. It becomes a type of escapism, creating that idea in our minds that everything will be ok if we just have enough faith, instead of acknowledging truth.
Yes, God is with us, always. That’s Good News.
However, we are humans, with bodies that wear out.
Yes, God can resurrect the dry bones in the story of Ezekiel.
But staying home is a much healthier choice while the COVID-19 virus keeps spreading and threatens to overwhelm our healthcare system.
And yes, we hear of a Gospel miracle, but even more healing is the example Jesus gives us in his response. The ministry we see to Martha and Mary is hard, and painful.
The Gospel today starts out with a metaphor, and the disciples think Lazarus is sleeping. Jesus, however, is plain: “Lazarus is dead.” We don’t know what Lazarus died from, so it’s just as likely a virus as anything else.
The rest of the story deals not so much with the idea that Lazarus is raised, but rather, the idea that Christ, God Incarnate, Jesus who was both human and divine, is present with us in our anguish and our grief.
It’s not that Jesus wasn’t scared; in fact, Thomas expects him and the Apostles to die with him but willingly travels the pathway he has been given. But Jesus, like the healthcare professionals and essential workers all across this country, knows he must go, in spite of the risks.
And when Jesus gets there, there’s accusation, and grief. “My brother wouldn’t have died if you had been here.” Jesus listens, and speaks with both Mary and Martha, and he weeps.
And that weeping, that crying in grief is ok. Those conversations that are filled with doubt and fear and anger and sorrow are normal. Faith is not about certainty that all things will turn out perfectly. Instead, our God, Incarnate with us, will be with us in our uncertainty and fear.
We don’t know what is going to happen as the days and weeks go by. There are no rosy scenarios out there right now, and the Psalm today offers the most consolation for me: “Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord.” That’s real. It tells me that my faith is there to cling to, not as a happily-ever-after scenario, but as a promise that God is always with me, regardless of the problems that I face.
In this time of isolation, God is still making things new. The church is seeing a resurrection of sorts as people come together for worship in their living rooms or at kitchen tables. And in our uncertainty, we are finding out that the church is much more than a building. It’s you, and me, and others, tied together by the idea that the Breath of God is here, prophesying to us and telling us that we are not alone.
Amen.
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