Bethany Besteman

  We are living stones who sing. Like stones that would have sung to fill the silence,we ring out: “How lovely are the feet of our good-news-bearing King!”Like Jacob’s pillow we declare: “Lay your head here and see visions of angels.”We are living stones who sing in the house of God.There are other stones,stones along the road:they mark the journey, they point to the sky. There also are stones in the valley; they say, “Trouble was here— here are the rocks we threw down to bludgeon our sins, to raze death’s fortress,to remove trouble from our midst.” But we—we are the living stoneswho have left the valley behind,who have been built up into altars on which is offereda sacrifice of praise,of self,of all. And here the body and the bloodare rededicated and shared,and they bind together the living stonesas we sing,as we sing,as we sing. 

The Word was told to hush the rowdy crowd, their off-key songs of praise that followed himand mingled with the rock dust raised by tramping      feet, percussive sandals slapping dirt so that to breathe was to inhale hosanna.       With a distant look he said, “Into the silence (should they cease), the rocks themselves would rouse, would raise the cry.” Hyperbole, as he was known to use, the rabbi never       one to pass a teaching moment by, but—more than merely figurative speech—did Jesus, saying so, evoke the rocksthat spoke along the path of Israel?Did he remember then a pillow turned to pillar where the angels had passed by, the tablets etched by God’s own hand that cried the law to rocky-hearted folks, the Jordan’s       boulders pried from under priests then piled twelve high, the slate slab Samuel declareda monument to Yahweh’s aid in war?When human voices faded, still the raised-up boulders stood as words without a word.They spoke, they testified, and, yes, they sangabout the deeds of God—a river-splitting,       heaven-dwelling, law-imparting God. Perhaps, as well, the Word remembered thenthe bloodied uncut stones of altars raised for sacrifice, which told the story of sin’s cost in every bright-red drip that droppedinto the cracks and pooled in crevices,persistent lullaby of life through death.If that grand choir of stones sang out to himamid procession’s brief cacophony,did Jesus hear as well the soloist’s deep breath and smile to know there was a stone aboutto offer rumbled, rolling gloria? About to start the final movement ofthe opera by crying out to allthe grief-choked world in endless echo: Love’sredeeming work, “He is no longer here!” 

This week’s sermon text, John 20:1-18, has a profound yet simple testimony: “I have seen the Lord!” Where do we see the Lord today? When the Lord reveals himself to us, through scripture, creation, words of people, books, music, etc, we should also declare, “I have seen the Lord!” Other readings from the lectionary for today remind us that we are called to give account to the hope that we have. Easter equips us with both the words and actions to give such an account. 

This week began with the joyful sounds of “Hosanna!” but now the crowds cry “crucify.” Jesus was the ultimate servant, giving his life for the sake of the world. While the price to follow Christ might not be as high for us today, Christ made it clear that following him will cost each of us something.  As Christ said, “Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will save it” (Luke 9: 23-24).

Can you think of a situation in which explaining what to do wasn’t effective, so you needed to show the person how to do it? Jesus reverses this pattern: He starts by showing, then spends some time explaining. In the gospel of John, much of his final time of teaching the disciples has to do with love—his love for them, his hope that they will continue to love him, and his command that they love each other. But he begins all his teaching with a vivid demonstration of love: He washes his disciples’ feet. This act is set in the middle of John’s account of Judas’s betrayal. Jesus’ love is not dependent on his disciples’ behavior. It is offered in advance of and with full knowledge of all their coming cowardice, denials, and betrayals. And this act ends with a clear application: Show this same humble, servant-like love to each other.

It is worth noting that in Luke’s account of the triumphal entry there is no mention of the Palms; instead Luke highlights the laying down of the coats, a sign of reverence and subservience. Little did Christ’s followers understand of what true service to God requires: Nothing short of our whole lives, not merely our cloak. Yet, though they did not grasp the deep significance of the pageantry unfolding in front of them, they played a significant part. The message of the angels proclaimed in Luke 2:14 —“Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests” —has now been taken up by Christ’s disciples, “‘Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!’ ‘Peace in heaven and glory in the highest!’” (Luke 19:38). As Christ’s disciples in the world today, we need to continue that refrain or else the stones will cry out in our place.

What acts of service are meaningful? Is the call to serve, to live missionally, just for those who work for the church or a mission organization ? Is it for those with a particular gift?

Like the Pharisees we often are too worried about what others think about us. We worry what would happen if we hung out with the wrong people, or if someone saw us acting outside of approved norms. We spend so much time talking about our differences that we fail to see the many more ways that we are the same. The father in the story of the prodigal son  loved the prodigal son and he loved the lost son who stayed at home. Christ loved all the sinners around the table. Christ loved the Pharisees though they chose not to see it.

Living a life of service with a heart of service means recognizing the radical and complete equality in the body of Christ. In a sermon preached a few months before his assassination Martin Luther King Jr. said, “Everybody can be great, because everybody can serve. You don’t have to have a college degree to serve. You don’t have to make your subject and your verb agree to serve. You don’t have to know about Plato and Aristotle to serve. . . . You only need a heart full of grace, a soul generated by love. And you can be that servant" (Martin Luther King Jr., “Drum Major Instinct” Sermon, 4 February 1968).

Our passage this week is Luke 13:31–35 where Christ talks about foxes and hens. The fox is understood as Herod, and the hen is Jesus. Instead of the hen running away from the fox, the hen runs to the fox. Jesus continues on to Jerusalem. And while it seems the fox kills the hen, in the end true strength comes from the weakness and vulnerability of the hen. Sacrificial love always wins over power. We are called to that same love, that same attitude, that same humble service and willingness to knowingly lay down our lives. That calls for commitment.