Jesus doesn’t want this. He is “deeply grieved, even to death” about this. He prays that this cup might pass from him. What I love about the scene in Gethsemane is the vulnerability of Jesus. Ever since chapter 23, and even before, we have seen a strong, confident Jesus, saying the hard words in the hard way to the religious elite, and boldly and clearly predicting his death. He does not seem to have any fear or hesitation about what is about to happen. He appears ready. Even when dining with his disciples, he seems confident and ready, even naming his betrayer. But as they approach Gethsemane, you can almost see him pause, take a deep breathe, turn to his friends, perhaps with a tear in his eye or a crack in his voice, and say, “I’m scared. I’m unsure. My heart is heavy. My soul is deeply grieved”.

He then heads in, falls to the ground and prays, but not before asking something of his disciples: “Remain here and stay awake with me.” There is no way that any of them could have understood what Jesus was going through at that moment. But in one of his most human moments, Jesus doesn’t need them to understand. He only needs them to stay awake with him. He only needs them to sit with him.

We live in a culture that wants to fix things. When we see a friend who is hurting, we want to know why, we want to fix it, and in many cases we want someone to pay up. And if we can’t do any of those things we often feel paralyzed, so we shut off and go to sleep. Jesus doesn’t need his friends to fix anything. he doesn’t need them to have answers. In his grief, he only asks that they stay awake with him.

Remember in chapter 25 when he talked about “what you’ve done to the least of these, you’ve done to me”? The poor, broken, homeless, naked, hungry, imprisoned are Jesus in this world. Sometimes we look at the injustices around us, with the best of intentions, we want to fix it. But we’ also feel powerless to do so. It’s a good and noble thing to do what we can to fix injustices, and we should fight with everything we’ve got for those causes, to be sure, but for the most part, we can’t fix them.

So what do we do? We go to sleep. We can’t fix it, answer it, solve it, or justify it so the privileged among us go to sleep. Beloved, God wants us to stay awake. God needs us to stay awake. And I wonder if God says to us today, “could you not stay awake with me for on hour?”. It’s hard to do, but some times all God is asking us to do is simply stay awake and sit with the Christ in his moments of brokenness, hurt, fear and grief.

Now we are moving. The meal has finished and Jesus and his disciples are on the move. Everything that happens from here on out is one step closer to the cross. As they approach Gethsemane, Jesus says, “You will all become deserters because of me this night”. I don’t know about you, but I was struck by the word “deserters”. The only context in which I’ve heard that word is when a soldier deserts their post trying to flee the war in which they are charged to fight.

In many ways that imagery fits here, but looking it up in other translations reveals something else. The King James says, “ye shall all be offended”; the NET and NIV say, “you will all fall away; the NASB also says, “fall away” but with a note saying “or stumble”. The Greek word is defined as “to cause to be brought to a downfall”. It is the same word used when Jesus warns us about being a stumbling block or causing one to sin. So prior to this verse, Jesus says things like, “If any of you put a stumbling block before one of these little ones who believe in me, it would be better for you if a great millstone were fastened around your neck and you were drowned in the depth of the sea” (Matthew 18:6), yet here he says, “you will become [stumbling blocks] because of me”.

Let’s make sure we’re reading this correctly. He is essentially saying, “you will be caused to sin because of me”. Is Christ, “the solid rock”, also a stumbling block? Is Jesus causing us to sin? Or does something else in the context of Jesus’ arrest, trial, suffering, and death cause us to sin? I think it’s the latter, otherwise I think it would read, “I will cause you to sin this night”. It’s a curious statement by Jesus, and with all the warnings he’s given about his suffering and about stumbling blocks, it’s no wonder that Peter (and all the disciples) deny that this will happen.

But here’s the hard truth: Jesus’ work of breaking the barriers of the Kingdom of Heaven wide open is the hard work of dismantling systems of oppressive power. And that work is hard enough and scary enough that his disciples then and now (that is, us) will often turn away from the work and subsequently Jesus.

In this sense, at some time we all become deserters. We all turn the other way, turn our backs to Jesus. And yet, from the very beginning, Jesus has been saying, “repent… turn around for the kingdom of heaven is at hand”. Our backs are toward Jesus, yet he makes the first move in coming to this earth to be with us. Even with him right in our very midst, we will again turn away. But then he makes a second first move towards us by going to the cross. He suffers the consequences of the work of liberation for us and with us. Though we desert, Jesus’ love for us never dies.

God’s love is always moving towards us even though we may turn away. God’s love is always pursuing us, even though we may be fleeing. God’s love is always making the first move to capture us, and though we may run, the pursuit of God’s love is relentless. In a very real way, we can run, but we cannot hide. God’s love is there, whether we want it or not. So slow down. Stop. Turn around. Quit deserting and look upon the gracious, loving face of the Christ who calls you beloved, and calls you to follow.

So today we come to what is commonly known as the Institution of the Lord’s Supper. It is, of course, a massive story. It is the grounding of one of our two most significant acts in the Christian Church. It is the root of what centered the early church. Jesus gathers his disciples for what in Matthew is the Passover meal. He notes that one of them present will betray him, and it becomes apparent that it is of course Judas. Then he gets into this famous scene reenacted in churches across the globe every Sunday: “While they were eating, Jesus took a loaf of bread, and after blessing it he broke it…”

Let’s just let this in a moment: The most deeply rooted ritual in the Christian Church, one which has become so highly regarded that more rules and regulations come with it than perhaps any other act (save for maybe baptism), comes in the context of a meal. An actual meal. An important meal, filled with tradition and ritual, but a meal nonetheless. In a world of both literal and metaphorical fast food, I want to suggest that we’ve gotten what we call “The Lord’s Supper” all wrong in the church. It’s still a beautiful and powerful act, but we’re missing something.

In many cultures, reconciliation with enemies comes with the invitation of a meal. I think of Rep. Ilhan Omar’s continued invitations to President Trump to come and have tea with her after he grossly mischaracterized the Somali immigrant community in Minneapolis in the days leading up to the 2016 election. There is an intimately relational element to meals. It connects people. It’s why the Thanksgiving meal is important. There is no other element to that holiday other than a meal (well, maybe football). It’s also why it can be so challenging. In it, we are called to put differences aside and in that sense be reconciled to literal siblings and family.

The “Institution of the Lord’s Supper” comes in the context of one who is going to betray Jesus “While they were eating…” Might we miss out on what the Lord’s Supper really is because, in this world, there’s no time “while we are eating”? We rush through meals in our culture today like they’re a nuisance. I’m as guilty as anybody of this.

But what if the core of the Christian gathering and community isn’t songs and sermons and sanctuaries, but is sharing a meal? How might our overall worship change if we, in our regular daily and weekly lives, slowed down our meals to really be with each other? Is it possible that “communion” doesn’t just happen (as it is in our church) on the first Sunday of the month for about 10 minutes? Communion must be more than a piece of Hawaiian bread dipped Welch’s grape juice in a rigidly but efficiently ordered manner. What if it’s happening every time we gather with others to eat? What if a shared meal is the core and center and most holy act of Christian community? How might that change both our relationships and our “communion” with God and one another?

And so it begins. Jesus has finished this multi-chapter diatribe wherein he thoroughly exposes the scribes and Pharisees’ hypocrisy and talks of the King’s return, and, in so doing, he puts the insiders on the outside and the outsiders on the inside. After all that, he says, “You know that after two days the Passover is coming, and the Son of Man will be handed over to be crucified.” I pictured him saying it like this: “And, so, y’know… they’re probably gonna kill me for this”. He is fully aware of what he’s doing and what will come of it.

Then this beautiful scene takes place. Jesus is in the house of Simon the leper (being in the house of a leper is a scandal all its own, by the way) when a woman anoints him with expensive perfume, an “alabaster jar of very costly ointment.” This would be a common tool of the prostitute trade. She brings her very livelihood. And the disciples are upset and call it a waste. Maybe they’re well intentioned, but whenever I read this, I hear self-righteousness coming out of them. It’s as though they say this just to get good marks with Jesus. He doesn’t bite. He affirms her sacrifice and considers it preparation for his burial.

We’ve come full circle. At his birth, back in chapter 2, he was given myrrh, and here he’s given it again. The Greek word for “costly ointment” is “muron” (μύρον) and is an ointment said to contain myrrh. This is a good and right sacrifice to him, but, also, it does seem wasteful, I think. While I hear some self-righteousness in the disciples, I also tend to agree. In light of all Jesus has said, done and preached, they have a point!

The distinction, I wonder, might be this: No one told this woman she had to give Jesus anything, but she comes and gives what she has in the most authentic and pursuant way she can. Think about it: She entered some one’s house. Did she know Simon the leper? Or did she just hear Jesus was in there, had to get to him, and barged in to give him whatever she had? The gift was not so much the oil as it was the heart that gave the oil. Her gift was authentic and pure, and this, I believe, is what Jesus desires of us. Jesus wants our hearts, and whatever gifts we give him must come authentically from the heart.

Jesus’ life began with outsiders, coming from far off lands in the East, who pursued him and gave him gifts from their hearts. And here, Jesus’ life will end with another outsider, who pursues him and gives him a gift from her heart. The kingdom is breaking wide open with people from all walks of life authentically pouring their lives out to him. May we do the same this Lenten season; may we be a people of all walks of life, who pursue Jesus relentlessly and authentically give him our hearts. His body has been prepared, his disciples warned, and his betrayer set in motion. Today is the day. The time is now.

This is an oft-quoted passage, especially these days. Even 2020 presidential candidate Elizabeth Warren cited it (though she got the citation wrong) in a recent “town hall”. It’s implications are deeper than politics, though. To be honest, it should panic us a bit. There is a clear separation here, a separation that should give us in 21st Century America great pause. Read the passage again and just let it inside you.

A few days ago our passage was Jesus telling about all the signs of his return. The overarching point of this passage is “be ready” because you never know when he will come back. Here we are, just a few days later on our journey but also only two chapters later and Jesus says, “just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.” I do not think it is a coincidence that talk of Jesus’ return and the ever-present of the “least of these” are this close.

Is it possible that we should be ready because Jesus is here? Is it possible that we should not have our heads turned toward the sky looking for a king on a white horse, but turned towards the ground where those without a home sleep? And turned towards the orphanage in Haiti where the weakest among us starve for contact? And turned towards the nursing home bed where our wisest breathe their last? And turned towards the psych-wards where some of our most brilliant try to find their place in this world?

Jesus shows up every day, all around us. He has returned. His Kingdom is at hand. It expands whenever the overlooked are seen, cared for, loved, and empowered. Let us be Kingdom expanders. Let us turn our gaze away from the clouds and towards the very world in which we live. Because Jesus is right there.

First of all, let’s be clear: This is not about investing money into Wall Street. It’s just not. Period. So what it is about?

This is the third passage in a row about the return of the master. In order for the master to return, the master must leave.  It is no coincidence that immediately following his most clear reproach of the religious elite, Jesus is talking about leaving and returning. He knows his time coming. He knows that he will soon, with the power of the Spirit, have to leave this mission into the hands of the disciples. This mission is important, and, not before too long, Jesus will have to let it go.

By itself, this passage sounds like a pretty harsh one about making your life worth something. It feels as though we have a mean boss who demands that we make something of ourselves or we will be cast out. Quite honestly, it’s hard to say that that isn’t there. But, again, let’s look at it in context with the Jesus we see throughout the Gospel. This is a Jesus that battles for the outsider, the outcast; this is a Jesus that demands good fruit, that is, he demands a life that doesn’t leave a sour taste in one’s mouth. This passage, I believe, is about grabbing onto the severity and immediacy of Jesus’ mission, more than it is about pleasing your boss. God does not want us to blindly obey God’s commands. God wants us to grab on to the passion, heart, and energy behind God’s mission.

This is a passage about helping us see that we are to be stewards of that mission. Justo Gonzalez says it beautifully in Three Months With Matthew. He points out the absence of the master in the parable and then says, “What we do not always see is that God’s apparent absence turns us into stewards of what God has given us”. This is not a passage about proving your worth. It is a passage about grabbing onto the mission of God and then using whatever it is God has given you to move that mission forward. God believes in us. God entrusts the work of the kingdom to us. Let us get out there and build it, knowing that we have nothing to lose, because the grace of God works with us, picking us up when we fail and covering us when we make mistakes. The question is, “what has God given you to help build God’s Kingdom?”

Today we read the “Parable of the Ten Bridesmaids”, which, like yesterday’s passage, but in a different manner, is about being ready. I find this passage has two sides to it:

On one side, it’s a bit terrifying. It has that “be ready or be missed” sense to it. It’s a frightening notion to think about not “being ready” and consequently missing Jesus’ return. Jesus has been breaking the Kingdom wide open, but he is also clear that some will miss out. But this is nothing new to Matthew’s gospel. Verse 25:12 has the “bridegroom” saying, “Truly I tell you, I do not know you”. In Matthew 7:23 Jesus says, “Then I will declare to them, ‘I never knew you; go away from me…’” The reality is that it appears that there will be some who end up not in, not with the bridegroom, or not with Jesus. This is a hard message.

A couple things that are important to remember about this: The first is that in both of these cases (23:1-13 and 7:23) it is Jesus, the bridegroom, who says “I don’t know you”. No one else says it. It is not our job to determine who the bridegroom knows and who he doesn’t know. Second, in both of these cases, it is about me making me ready. I cannot make anyone else ready, nor should I. I think these kinds passages are actually about personal holiness more than they are about heaven and hell. They are about me working on me and my relationship with God and allowing others to work on their relationship with God. I do not place judgment on theirs, nor do they on me.

The second side to this story is in its imagery. While there is a hard message in it, there is also a beautiful one. Though this parable is about “bridesmaids” and not a “bride”, this “relationship with God thing” is about the pursuit of a bridegroom for his bride. Or a person pursuing their partner and love in life. I believe one of the primary images for humanity’s relationship with God is one of a passionate romance, not judge and defendant. We need to let the hard message in and work through it, but we also need to remember that we are talking about a God who passionately loves us, relentlessly pursues, sacrificially serves us, and wants nothing more than for us to respond. And in fact, this God even gets jealous when we don’t.

Yes, this passage has a hard message in it, but it is hard because authentic, passionate love is hard. It is risky and people can get hurt. But it is also beautiful. God pursues you because God loves you. Let that in. God sees in you someone worth pursuing, fighting for and even dying for. May you stay centered in God’s love today and everyday.

I love art that depicts the second coming of Christ. I really do. I find it quite amusing. Just look at that. The city on fire, guy in a suit with his wife on the hill looking at us inviting us in, the volcano erupting (or is that just a mountain exploding), and all the clean-cut white folk enjoying read-headed Euro-Jesus appearing in the clouds with his band of Scandanavian angels. It’s amazing.

Ok, now that we’ve got that out of the way…

I distinctly remember an influential preacher from my early Christian days often saying, “I believe Jesus is coming back in my lifetime.” I remember sitting in that old dusty church, with the paint peeling from the ceiling, thinking, “why are you so certain?”, while shouts of “amen” and “mmhm, c’mon” surrounded me. I remember many other preachers and leaders in my life in those early days saying the same thing. Well, I don’t believe any of those pastors have passed on, but I’m still not so certain. Nor am I certain that Jesus will “come back” in my lifetime, or my children’s lifetime, or even my grandchildren’s lifetime. Quite honestly, I’m beginning to think that we ourselves will render this planet inhabitable before Jesus comes back.

So what is going on in this passage?

I am no scholar by any means, and even if I were, I wonder if it would even be worth it to break down this passage and try to truly understand it. Let’s remember that Jesus is a savvy guy. He knows the power of his words. While he keeps it quiet through much of Matthew, he is the Messiah, the Christ, the anointed one. He knows what he’s doing. As we look back on history, is it any coincidence that it seems that in every generation people have looked at the state of the world, compared it to this passage, and then surmised that “Jesus must be coming back in my lifetime”. Is it possible that what Jesus is doing here, is painting a picture of the “end times” that could fit in into any point in history? Is it possible that what he’s done here is painted a picture of the “end times” that would call anyone who takes these words seriously to wonder, “oh my goodness, I better be ready because this sounds like now”. Is it possible that he does so because the Kingdom of Heaven isn’t for later but is at hand, is right now?

The picture Jesus paints sounds a LOT like today. But it also sounds a lot like the poetry I studied in college that came out of the early 20th century (“Surely some revelation is at hand/ Surely the Second Coming is at hand”, cries Yeats). It also sounds a lot like the times the disciples lived in. And it sounds a lot like the world in which my children step into adulthood.

Jesus, I’m calling your bluff on this one. You don’t seem to appear to be coming back any time soon, even though the picture you paint of that “end time” sounds a lot like right now. Too many generations have been convinced that it’s them. I’m not buying it. I’m not Charlie Brown to our eschatological football.

Could it be that Jesus’ point is what it has been throughout the Gospel? That is, “Quit worrying about then and work on being a Fruit-of-the-Spirit-of-God bearing human now- not because it will get you into heaven and keep you from gnashing of teeth, but because it is the most fulfilling and world-transforming way to live.” And could it be (as we read this in context with not only what comes before it, but also what will soon follow) that Jesus has already come back over and over again? Or could it be that it’s not that he has come back or will come back but that he is coming back? That he is in the process of coming back right now? Or to put it another way, that he’s simply waiting for the Body of Christ to be the Body of Christ for God’s world?

Just after laying into the scribes and Pharisees, Jesus closes with “Jerusalem, Jerusalem… how often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!” Jesus turns from addressing the scribes, Pharisees, disciples, and crowds to addressing the center of it all, the holy city, the city of peace… Jerusalem.

There’s a sense of calm in his words now, a kind of tired, humble, sadness. When the Bible talks about Jerusalem in contexts like this, we should think of it like when we refer to Washington today. It’s not the literal city with its buildings and people and structures. It’s what the city represents, which is the center of power, designed to do what is good and right. Here Jesus weeps for Jerusalem, and he does so through the image of a mother hen. He moves from a “brood of vipers” to a “brood under the mother hen’s wing”. This image is a stark reminder that no matter what kind or degree of power we carry in our systems, at the end of the day, we are but vulnerable chicks under our mother’s wing.

The anger we saw earlier is not just raw anger. It stems from a broken heart over what has happened to the structures around God’s chosen people. And so he weeps. He weeps for the exclusion and division that fragments the beloved of God. He weeps for a system once commanded of God, but now perverted by the sin of desires for money and power. He weeps because he knows, like him, it needs to die. Yes, like him, it will resurrect, but resurrection cannot come without the pain and grief of death.

I cannot help but think of the United Methodist Church in all of this (as I’ve said in previous posts). I believe the United Methodist Church must die. It is broken beyond repair. The damage has been done, and it’s time to say goodbye. To be fair, this isn’t that hard for me. I simply don’t have the attachments that many do. But still, I too weep. As we head toward Holy Week in a few weeks, let’s not forget that the joy of resurrection does not come without the necessary death and burial of something we love. Resurrection loses its power and meaning if it is not preceded by the uncertainty in the burial of something or someone we love. Yes, it’s hard and scary and uncertain, but we must let the stone be rolled over the tomb, crashing into place with a resounding certainty of death. And then we must do what might be the hardest part. We wait.

And here it is: Jesus has had enough and is no longer couching his teachings and challenges in clever parables. This is straight “woe to you, hypocrites, brood of vipers, children of hell” kind of talk. This is judgment Jesus, an angry Jesus, a Jesus not afraid to speak his mind in unveiled and undiplomatic ways. I think there are a number of things that this anger coming out of Jesus could stem from. I, of course, see it directed towards the religious establishment’s oppressive system.

Throughout this Gospel, Jesus has been reaching across the borders and boundaries toward the outsiders, while also directly confronting those trying to protect those borders. Jesus is, as we’ve said, breaking the Kingdom of God wide open. In this passage, he lays it all out very clearly. There will be no more “tests”. In this passage, Jesus has said all that he needs to say to get the Pharisees to plot against him and work towards his arrest and ultimate execution.

I think it’s important to point out just how mad Jesus is and just how pointed and harsh his words are. This is Jesus (the full embodiment of who God is and what God is like in the world, remember) in full-fledged insult mode. This is not an excuse for us to just unleash whenever we get angry, but it does indicate that this whole “wrathful God of the Old Testament” that we like to dismiss is not entirely gone in Jesus. This God is alive in Jesus here.

But let’s look at what Jesus is angry about. His “woe to you” statements are followed by some kind of insult (like “you brood of vipers”) but then are followed by what it is that is inciting this anger. Take a look at these woes carefully and note what he’s upset about. He is first angry about the religious establishment shutting people out of the kingdom, followed by the likes of hypocrisy, neglect of justice, falls promises, and worrying about your brand and not your soul.

The bottom line if you ask me? Jesus is fed up with religion. Jesus is fed up with inauthentic spirituality. Jesus has had enough of religious structures that burden people and shut them out. Jesus wants spiritual seekers, not religious shills. Jesus is fed up with houses of prayer becoming shopping centers of religious commodities. That is what brings a Jesus-shaped wrath of God.

As we look at the landscape of American Christianity, I believe there are harsh words here for us. Before we point fingers elsewhere, we all need to look squarely in the mirror. To what degree have compromised authentic spirituality for rigid structures that burden others and hinder them from the very present and available Kingdom of Heaven?