The Memorial Service for Bradley Aaron Holbrook

 

Brad Aaron Holbrook

(February 13, 1969-May 15, 2022)

St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church

Fargo, ND

Revelation 7.9-17

 

+ I know people expect Priests to have some kind of answer to things.

But the fact is: we oftentimes don’t.

And today, and over this last week, I can definitely say I don’t have an answer.

I don’t know why this happened.

Why this man who was in the prime of his life was taken so quickly.

I will never understand.

But I’ll say what you all have been saying no doubt...

there should’ve been more.

There was so much life ahead of him.

Now, mind you I love God.

Anyone who knows me knows I love God.

But I am angry today at God too.

(We know we can be angry at someone we love).

And it’s all right to be angry about this.

Maybe I’m not really angry at God.

But I really am angry at death, and I am angry at the unfairness of this all.

And it is unfair.

This should not have happened to someone like Brad.

Not yet.

Not this soon.

This should not have happened to Brad or to Carolin or to Frederick or to Brad’s mother and brother and the rest of the family, and all Brad’s friends.

And that makes me very angry!

I’m really angry that there wasn’t more time.

But Brad would be the first to tell us that’s it’s not fair.

Nothing’s fair.

It’s just the way it is.

And we could leave it there.

But, for those of us who have faith—for us, even in the face of this gut-wrenching pain we feel today, even in the face of our frustration and anger and sadness, we know…

This was a person who made a difference in the world and in other people’s life.

Have you been keeping up with what is being said about Brad on social media?

We now live in an age where you can tell the impact a person had in life is by the outpouring once receives on social media.

And Brad definitely has received some amazing outpouring.

And the stories that have been shared.

It’s mind-blowing.

I have been reading about the love and the care and the stories being shared on Twitter and in social media.

It’s amazing.

The fact is: Brad made a difference.

And because he did, this world is a bit more empty today without Brad in it.

The lives of everyone who knew him and experienced that generosity and caring is emptier because Brad is not there to share that.

And that makes it easier.

It is makes all of this easier knowing that Brad was who he was, that he did what he did.

It is makes it easier to know that he made a difference.

But, it is vital to remember that all this reminds us that our goodbye today is only a temporary goodbye.

All that we knew and loved about Brad is not gone for good.

It is not ashes.

Is not grief.

It is not loss.

Everything that Brad was to those who knew him and loved him and now miss him is not lost forever.

All we loved, all that was good and gracious in Brad—all that was fierce and strong and amazing in him—all of that lives on.

It lives on with all of you who experienced the kindness and generosity and love of Brad in this life.

And for those of us who have faith, faith in more than this world, we know that it goes on too.

I don’t claim to know how.

I don’t claim to know for certain what awaits us in the next world.

But I do cling to the words we find in scripture and in the Book of Common Prayer.

I do believe that all that is good and gracious and loving in Brad now dwells in a place of light and beauty and life unending.

And I do believe beyond a shadow of a doubt that you will see him again.

And on that day every tear will truly be wiped from your faces.

And there will be no more tears.

And it will be beautiful.

I am a huge fan of a novel many of us know well.

That novel is To Kill a Mockingbird.

Harper Lee writes:

“I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It's when you know you're licked before you begin, but you begin anyway and see it through no matter what.”

In so many ways, this passage captures, I think, what real courage is.

And I think Brad embodied courage like this in his own life.

Brad saw it through.

He showed us all true courage, true strength, true determination.

He showed us what real courage was.

And we should be grateful for that.

We will all miss him so much.

But I can tell you we will not forget him.

Brad Holbrook is not someone who will be easily forgotten.

He is not someone who passes quietly into the mists (though that’s probably exactly what he would’ve wanted)

His fierce determination lives on in us.

His strength, his dignity lives on in Frederick and in Carolin and in Sandy and Martin and in everyone who knew him.

His strength and his dignity lives in those he helped and encouraged and led and was an example to.  

At the end of this service, we will all stand and I will lead us in something called the Commendation.

The commendation is an incredible piece of liturgy.

In those words, we will say those very powerful words:

All of us go down
to the dust; yet even at the grave we make our song: Alleluia,
alleluia, alleluia.

That alleluia in the face of death is a defiant alleluia.

It is fist shaken not at God, but it is a fist shaken at death.

I like acts of defiance.

Because defiance sometimes shows true courage.

This alleluia we sing and say today is an act of courage and defiance in the face of death.

By it we can hear this:

Not even you, death, not even you will defeat me.

That is Brad’s voice. That is what Brad is saying to all of us today.

I will not fear you.

And I will not let you win.

And, let me tell you, death has not defeated Brad Holbrook.

Even at the grave, he makes his song—and we with him:

Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia.

It is a defiant alleluia we make today with him.

So let us be defiant.

Let us shake our fists at death today.

Let us embody courage in these days to come.

Let us say our Alleluia today defiantly.

Let us face this day and the days to come with gratitude for this incredible person God let us know.

Let us be grateful.

Let us be sad, yes.

But let’s remind ourselves: death has not defeated him.

Or us.

Let us be defiant to death.

Let us sing loudly.

Let us live boldly.

Let us stand up defiantly.

Let us embody courage

That is what Brad would want us to do today, and in the future.

Into paradise may the angels lead you, Brad.

At your coming may the martyrs receive you.

And may they bring you with joy and gladness into the holy city Jerusalem.

Amen.

 

 

5 Easter

 

May 15, 2022

 

 

Revelation 21.10, 22-22; John 13.31-35

+ If you’re anything like me, if you have been active in the Church over the years, you no doubt have encountered other Christians who tell us things like this:

 

“You know we’re in the last times, right?”

 

Or,

 

“When the Rapture comes, you want go with it, because to be left behind is terrible.”

 

I personally never understood these comments until I later heard that they come from some Evangelical churches that have found these interpretations of the Book of Revelation to mean that what is written in that book is happening right now.

 

And with the popularity of such awful books as the Left Behind series (which I personally find to be major manipulations of scripture, not to mention very badly written books), we have seen even more clearly some Christian’s ideas of how the Book Revelation somehow is interpreted in the light of current events.

 

Later, as I sort of studied it a bit, I found a big problem with such teaching:

 

Almost every Christians since the time of Jesus believed they were in the “end times.”

 

People thought it was the end times when the Black Death rolled through Europe.

 

People thought it was the End Times when the Protestant Reformation raged, or when the Turks invaded Europe or when the French Revolution happened.

 

People thought it was the end times when World War I came.

 

People thought it was the End Times during the 1918 Flu Epidemic.

 

People definitely thought it was the end times when Hitler rose to power.

 

People in the 1950s were saying it was the end times with the Communist threat from Russia and China.

 

Or they were saying it was the end of times when kids started listening to Rock and Roll or the Beatles came to the U.S, or anytime during the very tumultuous 1960s.

 

People thought it was the end of the world just a few years ago when the Pandemic was at it’s worst.

 

I remember everyone playing “It’s the End of the World As We Know it” by R.E.M.

 

And I remember my aunt, who belonged to the First Assembly of God Church, saying it was the end times in the 1980s.

 

I remember her saying that we should not have VISA cards because VISA was a clever guise for the Mark of the Beast—the numbers 666.

 

If we were to believe everyone who cried it was the end times, we could honestly say that the end times have been happening for at least 2,000 years. 

 

I solved my confusion about this issue by doing the only thing I could do in the fact of all that confusion:

 

I simply re-reading the Book of Revelation from beginning to end.

 

And you know what happened?

 

I was able to claim—or re-claim—it, and helped me to read it anew.

 

And I was able to see that the Book of Revelation really isn’t about “End Times”

 

There is no Rapture in the Book of Revelation.

 

Still, I think there are a lot of us who feel very differently about the Book of Revelation.

 

Revelation is a strange book.

 

It can be a frightening book.

 

But—and I know this might seem strange to many Christians— I don’t see it as a book of prophecy, as many Christians do.

 

I don’t see it saying anything definitely about future governments or some messianic Anti-Christ in our midst or that we are living in the so-called “last days” or what have you.

 

Mind you, I do believe “anti-Christs” come and go through history.

 

I do believe that powerful people who represent every anti-Jesus, anti-Christian ideals of loving God and loving others and respecting the worth of dignity of all peoples are real, and those people are, by definition anti Christ.

 

But, for that matter, anytime any of us run counter to these Christian ideals, we too become kind of “anti-Christs” to those around us.

 

Still, what I do see it doing is speaking to us through some beautiful and powerful poetry on what is happening in our lives, right now, as Christians, and about how, in the end, Christ is victorious.  

 

I think it is important for us to re-claim Revelation in this way —and, in doing so, re-read it with a new lens. 

In our reading this morning from Revelation, we find some very strange esoteric images—not an uncommon thing when we read Revelation.

 

We find this morning these images of a new heaven and a new earth, of this new Jerusalem, where death is no more or tears or crying.

 

It is a place of beauty and glory.  

 

It is a place of unending life.

 

And it is here that I think the Book of Revelation speaks loudly to us.

 

Even we, as Christians, sometimes struggle with the reality of death in our lives.

 

Even we fear it at times.

 

And that is all right.

 

That is normal.

 

Of course, death is a part of life, and certainly it’s part of my job as a priest.

 

I knew that going into it.  

 

But, let me tell you: it still is hard, often.  

 

And for people who have to deal with this mystery of death on a regular basis, there have to be ways to find strength and comfort in the midst of death.  

 

One of the ways I find my way through this sometimes constant dealing with death is by turning to the scriptures.

 

There is a common theme we find through all Scripture.

 

And that common theme is this:

 

the defeat of death.  

 

Or as the great Episcopal theologian William Stringfellow called it: “authority over death.”

 

I agree with him 100%.  

 

I think he is absolutely right about that.

 

Stringfellow saw it most profoundly in the life of Jesus.  

 

There we see this authority over death most profoundly.

 

We see it every time Jesus healed the sick, calmed the storms, cast out demons, ate with sinners, cleansed the temple, raised the death, carried the Cross.

 

And of course, in the Resurrection, which we are still celebrating in this season of Easter, it is all about authority over death.

 

In all of this, we see the God of life—God in Jesus—being victorious over death.

This view of life over death speaks to us most profoundly during this Easter season.

 

During this  season, what we have found most vital to our understanding of living into this Easter faith is the startling fact that death truly does not have power over us.

 

We, as Christians, cannot let the power of death control and direct our lives.  

 

As Christians, as followers of Jesus who crossed that awful boundary between life and death, and came back, we must truly be defiant to death.  

 

Of course, that ultimate victory over death happens only when we can face death honestly.

 

True victory over death is when we can see death in the light we hear about in today’s reading from Revelation.

 

Only then do we realize that death has no victory over us.

 

Because of what happened on Easter, because of the Resurrection, because Jesus did die, yes, but God raised him from that tomb, and because Jesus walked victorious upon the chains of death, we know now death does not have the last word in our lives.

 

 Many of us know that it would be so easy just to give into this victory death strives for over life.

 

Mourning does that do us.

 

It weakens us and saps our energies from us.

 

We all get stuck in mourning patterns.  

 

But, for us Christians, we can’t be stuck in such death.

 

We must live.

 

And we must move forward.  

 

We must  stand up against death.

 

I can tell you that, right now, in my own life, I am very tired of death.

 

I am weary of dealing directly with it.

 

I am tired of dealing with its after-effects.

 

I am tired of dealing with its seemingly overpowering presence.

 

But, standing up to death, even when we’re sick of it, is not easy.

 

Choosing life, with all its uncertainties, can be scary.

 

Even when moving forward into life  and living our lives fully and completely, we realize it can be frightening.

 

We are, after all, heading into the future which is unknown to us.

But that, again, is what I love about Revelation.

 

What Revelation promises to us, through all that poetry and imagery, is that death will lose, hatred will lose, violence will lose, evil will lose, war will lose, racism will lose—and goodness, and holiness and LIFE will be victorious.  

 

That isn’t wishful thinking.  That’s isn’t being naïve.

 

Rather, this is what it means to be a Christian.  

 

This is what it means to believe in the God of life.

 

That is what I means to follow Jesus.

 

Yes, following Jesus means following him to the Cross and to that dark tomb.  

 

And to death, yes.

 

But it also means following him into the great unknown on the other side of the Cross and the tomb—into that glorious, light-filled, unending life that swallows up death and darkness and war once and for all.

 

It means following him to the point in which the God of unending life raises him—and us—into unending life as well.

"See, the home of God is among mortals,” St. John tells us in our reading for today.
“He will dwell with them as their God;
they will be his peoples,
and God himself will be with them;
he will wipe every tear from their eyes.
Death will be no more;
mourning and crying and pain will be no more,
for the first things have passed away."

Those are words of absolute and glorious victory.

 

But more so, they are words of life—of a life that goes on forever and ever.

 

As we travel through these last days of Easter, let us do so with true Easter joy.

 

Let us do so rejoicing from the very core of our bodies.

 

We are alive.  

 

This morning, we are alive.

 

Life is in us.

 

We are followers of Jesus.

 

We are filled with life and love.

 

As we heard Jesus say in our Gospel reading for today, “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciple, if you have love for one another.”

 

Those words are our words this morning as well.

 

We are filled with love and life.

 

We are celebrating love and life.

 

And it is all very, very good.  

 

We have much to be thankful for and in which to rejoice.

 

So, let us be thankful for this life.

 

Let us rejoice in it.  

 

And let us realize that in rejoicing in our lives and in the life within each of us, God has truly prepared for us, as we heard in our collect this morning, “such good things as surpass our understanding.”

Let us pray.

 

God of life, you give us life. You lift us from the tombs of death and give us true victory over death; instill in us true Easter joy, and let us live out your commandment of love; in Jesus’ Name we pray. Amen

4 Easter

 

Good Shepherd Sunday

 

May 8, 2022

 

Psalm 23

 

+ Today is a special day.

 

Yes, it’s Mother’s Day of course.

 

But, it is Good Shepherd Sunday.

 

It’s Good Shepherd Sunday because of this wonderful reading we have in our Gospel reading for today, as well as our reading from Revelation, and, of course, the very familiar 23^rd Psalm

 

But, every year we celebrate Good Shepherd Sunday without really thinking about it.

 

How many times in our lives have we heard the 23rd Psalm?

 

How many funerals has it been said or sung?  

 

For the most part, we just don’t even really think about it.

 

After all, shepherds are just not a part of our modern lives.

 

Yet, when we really think about this image—of God being our shepherd—it still, weirdly, resonates for us.

 

We kind of get it. 

 

And we are comforted by it.

 

And it still does have meaning for us.

 

God as Good Shepherd.

 

It’s a great image for God.

 

In it, we encounter the compassion of our God.  

 

Certainly, for the people of Jesus’ day, this image of the Good Shepherd is probably one of the most perfect images Jesus could have used.

 

They would have understood what a good shepherd was and what a bad shepherd was.

 

The good shepherd was the shepherd who actually cared for his flock.  

 

He or she looked out for them, he watched after them.  The Good Shepherd guided the flock and led the flock.  

 

He or she led the flock to a place to eat.

 

It’s a wonderful way to try to describe God’s goodness to us.  

 

This image implies that God really—legitimately—cares for us and loves us.

 

This is an important aspect of the role of the Good Shepherd.  

 

The Good Shepherd didn’t just feed the flock.  

 

Rather the good shepherd led the flock to the choicest green pastures and helped them to feed themselves. 

 

In this way, the Good Shepherd is more than just a coddling shepherd.  

 

He or she is not the co-dependent shepherd.  

 

The Good Shepherd doesn’t take each sheep individually, pick them up, and hand-feed each one of them.  

 

Rather, the Good Shepherd guides and leads the sheep to green pastures and allows them to feed themselves. 

 

The Good Shepherd also protects the flock against the many dangers out there. 

 

He or she protects the flock from the wolves, from getting too near cliffs, or holes, or falling into rivers or lakes.

 

She or he cares for the flock.

 

And that’s VERY important.

 

Let’s face it, there are many dangers out there.  

 

There are many opportunities for us to trip ourselves, to get lost, to get hurt.

 

If we follow the Good Shepherd, if we allow ourselves to be led by him, we realize that those pitfalls are difficult, yes, but they don’t defeat us.  

 

Of course, the journey isn’t an easy one.  

 

We can still get hurt along the way.  

 

Bad things can still happen to us.  

 

There are predators out there, waiting to hurt us.  

 

There are storms brewing in our lives, waiting to rain down upon us.

 

But, with our eyes on the Shepherd, we know that the bad things that happen to us will not destroy us, because the Shepherd is there, close by, watching out for us—caring for us.  

 

We know that in those bad times—those times of darkness when predators close in, when storms rage—he will rescue us.

 

This is what we are looking for in our lives—a savior, a protector. 

 

We are all longing for someone who will comes to us and rescue us from all the bad things of this life. 

 

And not just Superman who sweeps down from the skies and pulls us out of danger, and then just nods to us and flies away.

 

We long to have this protector, this defender who knows us and genuinely cares for us.

 

That’s what makes the Good Shepherd so special.

 

The Good Shepherd knows his flock.

 

If one is lost, he knows it is lost and will not rest until it is brought back into the fold. 

 

This is the kind of relationship we have with our Good Shepherd. 

 

We know God because God knows us. 

 

God knows us and calls us each by our name.

 

And loves us for just who we are—no matter who we are.

 

The Good Shepherd reminds us that we don’t have some vague, distant God.  

 

We don’t have a God who lets us fend for ourselves.  

 

We instead have a God who leads us and guides us, a God who knows us each by name, a God who despairs over the loss of even one of us.

 

All these are important images, vital images to explain the relationship God has with us and we with God.

 

I just came across this great quote from Chad Bird

 

 

We have a God whose goodness and mercy chases us and seeks us out.

 

A God whose goodness and mercy follows us wherever we go and in whatever we do.

 

But the Good Shepherd’s role  doesn’t end there.  

 

This isn’t just about me as an individual and God.  

 

The image of the Good Shepherd must be taken and applied by us.  

 

Any of us who follow Jesus are called to be good  shepherds in turn.

 

We must love and love fully those who around us.  

 

We must care for those people who walk this path with us.  

 

We must look out for our loved ones and even our enemies, we must respect the worth and dignity of all people, and we must shepherd them in whatever ways we can in our own lives.

 

Again, this is not easy, especially when it seems we are lost at times, when we are falling into the traps life sets before us, when our alleluias during this Easter season feels cold and lonely.   

 

But, that’s the way God works, sometimes.  

 

Sometimes, God’s works through our brokenness and helps us to guide others in their brokenness.  

 

Sometimes the best Good Shepherd is the one who has known fully what a lost sheep feels like, who knows the coldness and loneliness of being that lost sheep.

 

So, on this day in which we celebrate the Shepherd who leads and guides, whose goodness and mercy chases us, let us not only be led, but let us also lead.   

 

On this day that we look to the Shepherd who guides, let us be guided and let us guide others.  

 

And let our alleluia on this Good Shepherd Sunday, even if it is a cold and lonely Alleluia, still be an Alleluia nonetheless.  

 

Let it be the sound we make, even in the cold and lonely places we sometimes find ourselves in.  

 

And let us, in that place, know that, even there, we are still experiencing the amazing glory and all-encompassing love of our God.

 

Let us pray.

Good Shepherd, you are our guardian and our guide, you know us and call us each by name; be with us as we journey through this world and seek to serve so that we may be good shepherds to those around us; we ask this in Jesus Name. amen.

 

 

3 Easter

 

May 1, 2022

 

John 21: 1-19

 

+ This past Thursday, I had my last class of my first semester at Concordia.

 

In fact, I will be leaving immediately after Mass today so I can head over to Concordia for commence this afternoon.

 

My students gave a wonderful reading at which some of you attended.

 

I had nine great student poets who took very seriously what it means to learn abo0ut the art and structure and form and purpose of poetry.

 

And I was proud of all of them as I heard them read poems that they worked on, and revised and rewrote.

 

One of this things I drilled into my students during these past few months is something I learned when I was in graduate school, studying poetry.

 

It essentially came down to a great quote from the British literary critic, A. Alvarez.

 

He said, essentially, it’s good to be an apprentice.

 

You learn the task—in this case, of poetry—so that “when the Devil takes you by the throat and shakes you,” it is then, that you’ll know what to do.

 

It is then, that you become a poet.

 

It has been great advice.

 

And I think it’s advice that can be used in multiple situations.

 

So, the question for all of you this morning is: When the Devil takes YOU by the throat and shakes you, what do you do?

 

What do you do when you find yourself at the left hand of God, a phrase that comes from Fr. Richard Rohr about being in a bad place in your life?

 

What do you do when the bad things of this life are thrown at you?

 

Do you shut down, and curl up and just wait for it to pass?

 

Do you freeze up and just brace yourself for it?

 

Do you react and rage at the injustice of it?

 

Or do you confront it all?

 

When the “Devil” takes me by the throat, when I find myself at the left hand of God (and I’ve been there MANY times in my life!) do you know what I do?

 

I make myself busy.

 

When I was diagnosed with cancer, when my father died very suddenly, when any of the bad things happen, I just get busy.

 

I do something.

 

Anything.

 

Because not doing something is worse than the Devil’s cold hand on my throat.

 

However, I will say this: when my mother died, I shut down to a large extent.

 

I did not do something simply because I couldn’t do anything.

 

The shock of her death and the deep level of emotional pain prevented me from doing something.

 

And that, to me, was so much worse.

 

Doing something in the face of the Devil—doing something when you find yourself on the left hand of God—is so much more important than freezing up and collapsing.

 

In this morning’s Gospel, we find the Apostles doing something very much like that.

 

They aren’t sitting around doing nothing.

 

They are doing some thing.

 

They are keeping busy.

 

In the wake of the murder of Jesus, in the wake of his resurrection, in the wake of his appearing to them—in the wake of this unusual, extraordinary activity in their lives—they do the most ordinary thing in their lives.  

 

They go fishing.

 

They pick up their nets and they go out onto the water.

 

No doubt, considering all that had happened to them in the previous days and weeks, their minds were reeling.  

 

But, now, they are doing something they knew how to do.

 

Something that gave them some comfort, no doubt.   

 

Fishing is what they did, after all.

 

Fishing is what their fathers did and no doubt what their grandfathers and great-grandfathers did as well.

 

Fishing was in their blood.

 

It was all they knew—until Jesus came into their lives.  

 

And, no doubt, when the extraordinary events of Jesus’ murder and resurrection happened, the only way they could find some normalcy in their life was by going fishing.

 

The fact is, this is probably the last time they would ever go fishing together.

 

Their old life had once and for all passed away with the voice that calls to them from the shore.  

 

Their jobs as fishermen would change with the words “Feed my sheep.”

 

In that instant, they would go from fishermen to shepherds.

 

No longer would they be fishing for actual fish.

 

Now they would be the feeding the sheep of Jesus’ flock.

 

That symbolic number of 153 seems to convey to us that the world now has become their lake.

 

And what is particularly poignant about all of this is Jesus doesn’t come into their lives to change them into something else.

 

He comes into their lives and speaks to them in language they understand.

 

He could have said to them: “Go out and preach and convert.”

 

But to fishermen and shepherds, that means little or nothing.  

 

They are fishermen, not rabbis or priests.

 

They are not theologians.

 

Instead, Jesus says, “Feed my sheep.”

 

This they would understand.

 

 In those simple words, they would have got it.  

 

And when he says “feed my sheep,” “Shepherd my sheep,” it was not just a matter of catching and eating.

 

It was a matter of catching and nurturing.

 

And this calling isn’t just for those men back then.

 

That voice from the shore is calling us too.

 

In a sense, we are called by Jesus as well to be shepherds like Peter and the fellow apostles.  

 

And those around us—those who share this world with us—are the ones Jesus is telling us to feed.

 

It isn’t enough that we come here to church on a Sunday morning to be fed.

 

A lot of us think that’s what church is about.

 

It’s about me being fed.

 

It’s about me being nurtured.

 

To some extent, yes.

 

But, if all we do is come to church to be fed and then not to turn around and feed others, we are really missing the point.

 

We, in turn, must go out and feed.  

 

And this command of Jesus is important.

 

Jesus asks it of Peter three times—one time for each time Peter denied him only a few weeks before.  

 

Those words of Jesus to Peter are also words to us as well.

 

In the wake of the devastating things that happen in our lives, the voice of Jesus is a calm center.

 

Amid the chaos of the world, the calm, cool voice of Jesus is still saying to us, as we cope in our ordinary ways, “feed my sheep.”

 

Because, it is in these strange and difficult times that people need to be fed and nourished.  

 

Not just by me, the priest, only.

 

But by all of us—all of who call ourselves followers of Jesus.

 

It is in times like these that we need to be fed, and it is in times like these that we need to feed others as well.

 

That, in a sense, is what it means to be a Christian.

 

Following Jesus, as we all know, is not easy.  

 

The fact is: it’s probably the hardest thing one can do.  

 

Jesus is not present to us as he was present to those fishermen in this morning’s Gospel.

 

He is not cooking us a breakfast when we come back from ordinary work.  

 

This God of Jesus, this God he keeps telling us to love and to serve, is sometimes a hard God to love and serve.

 

Loving a God who is not visible—who is not standing before us, in flesh and blood, is not easy.  

 

And I’m sure I don’t have to tell anyone here this morning: loving our neighbors—those people who share our world with us—as ourselves, is not easy by any means.

 

It takes constant work to love.

 

It takes constant discipline to love as Jesus loved.  

 

It takes constant work to love ourselves—and most of us don’t love ourselves—and it takes constant work to love others.

 

But look at the benefits.  

 

Look at what our world would be like if we loved God, if we loved ourselves and loved others as ourselves.  

 

It was be ideal.  

 

It would truly be the Kingdom of God, here on earth.  

 

It would be exactly what Jesus told us it would be like.

 

But to do this—to bring this about—to love God, to love ourselves, to love each other, it’s all very hard work.

 

Some would say it’s impossible work.  

 

There are people, I’ll confess, I don’t want to love.

 

I don’t want to love those people who hurt me, or who hurt people I actually do love.

 

Sometimes I can’t love them.

 

I’m not saying I hate them.

 

I’m just saying that sometimes I feel nothing for a person who has wronged me or one of my loved ones.

 

In that instant, it really is hard to be a follower of Jesus.

 

Certainly, it seems overwhelming at times.  

 

Let’s face it, to live as Jesus expects us to live, to serve as Jesus calls us to serve, to love as Jesus loves—it would just be so much easier to not do any of it.   

 

Being a Christian means living one’s life fully and completely as a follower of Jesus.

 

It means being a reflection of God’s love and goodness in the world.

 

 A quote you’ve heard me share many, many time is this one of  St. Augustine: “Being a Christian means being an Alleluia from head to toe.”

 

It means being an Alleluia even when the bad things in life happen.

 

It means being an Alleluia—in our service to others—when we would rather go fishing.

 

It means, occasionally, going and feeding the sheep rather than going off fishing and being a busybody when the bad things in life happen. 

 

In the midst of all the things in the world that confuse us—as we struggle to make sense of the world—the voice of Jesus is calling to us and is telling us to “feed my sheep.”

 

Because in feeding those sheep, you know what happens: we too are fed.

 

In nurturing Christ’s sheep, we too are nurtured.

 

See, it all does work out.

 

But we have to work at it for it to work out.

 

So, let us do just that.

 

Let us feed those Jesus calls us to feed.

 

And let us look for the Alleluia of our lives in that service to others.

 

In finding the Alleluia amidst the darkness, we—in our bodies and in our souls—become—from our head to our toes—an Alleluia.

 

 

Let us pray.

God of life, you are the God of the Alleluia, the God of Resurrection, the God of Unending Life; in those moments when we find ourselves struggling under the grasp of the Devil, in those moments when we find ourselves at that bleak place at your left hand, keep alive within us the alleluias we sing in this season. Let us be defiant even in those dark moments, so that we may live into the glory you promise us in the Resurrection of Jesus your Son, in whose Name we pray. Amen.