Sermon No. 1

Are There Any Questions?

In 1930, a Russian leader gave a lecture for an hour and a half, in which he reminded the people in Kiev that Christianity was an out-dated, even dangerous superstition.

It was near the Easter season, but of course Easter was irrelevant, a "thing of the past"!

When he finished, the proud Russian leader asked, "Now, are there any questions?"

A young man from the audience stood, briskly walked to the front of the auditorium, faced the audience, and boldly shouted, "Christ is Risen." Four thousand voices responded, "He is risen indeed."

Are there any questions — about the Easter story? About the plan of God?

Homer Johnson was a friend of mine in College View, Nebraska. He was killed in World War II. That's when war became a reality to me.

Well-intentioned people told his parents it was "God's will" which they simply must accept! I was revolted by that. Homer's death may have been the will of Hitler or Mussolini or Hirohito, but certainly not of God.

Was it God's will that Jesus be crucified? Touchy question, eh? After all, didn't he say, "For this I came into the world"?

Maybe we need to ask some other questions: Was it God's will that the Pharisees hate Jesus? Or was it because of their pride, their legalism, their self-righteousness?

Was it God's will that Pilate allow the crucifixion? Or was it Pilate's cowardice?

We cannot understand the cross. We can't begin to probe the will of God until we comprehend the love of God. That'll be in the life to come!

In the meantime . . . Yes, there are questions. Lot's of them. Serious questions. Why did Jesus come? Was it necessary that he die? Where does forgiveness fit into God's plan if Jesus died to "pay" for our sins? If his death was payment, why do we need forgiveness?

This morning I'd like to answer all your questions! The fact is, the more I study and meditate and pray, the more questions I have.

But that's OK. Questions are a facet of maturity. God didn't create robots, puppets, but human beings with minds. And minds are inquisitive. Children are intensely curious. Unfortunately, they lose most of it during their first few years, thanks to the rigidity of us adults. We don't even permit many questions, let alone encourage them! "Do as you're told." "Why?" "Because I said so." "Stay in line." "Why?" "Because we have to do it that way." "Why are there X number of Ys in Z formula?" "Well, that is what the book says."

We leave little room for questions, creativity, individualism. Questions are what drive us to creativity, exploration, innovation, inventions. Questions: Is there a better way? Will this work? Why can't we do things differently?

The women, and the rest of the disciples, had surely spent the Sabbath asking questions: How could this happen? Why didn't Jesus perform a miracle and walk away? Why? Why?

Peter asked himself, "Why did I deny him?" And the others asked, "Why did we run?" They all asked, "What do we do now? Do we give up? Was it all just a utopian dream?" Jesus had challenged them with his many "I have a dream" teachings. But the dream had become a nightmare! They were left with nothing but empty hopes.

Almost a century ago, some archaeologists asked, "What is inside that pyramid?" The answer was, a tomb. Inside the tomb were priceless treasures, glittering gold, artifacts which had been there since the 14th century BC.

About 2000 years ago some women went to another tomb, not with questions about the content — they knew there was a dead body in the tomb — but with an answer to a bad situation, a plan to prepare the body for permanent interment.

They found an empty tomb. Then came more questions. "Where have you put him? " And, "Woman, why are you crying?" Then, "Are you saying the stone is moved? His body is gone?"

In the sixth century, Emperor Justin made a gift to the Vatican. It was an elaborate cross, made of gold and many precious stones. In the center of it was a splinter of wood which Justin was told came from the cross on which Christ was crucified.

We can imagine that Justin was the victim of a con artist! No one has any splinters from the cross on which Jesus died. When we were in Israel a few years ago, we were offered such bits of wood by hucksters who assured us they were genuine!

It would be fascinating to have such a splinter, wouldn't it? But if we had such a cross in our sanctuary, it would not make our communion any more sacred. It would not add to the effectiveness of our liturgy. It would not make the sermons more legitimate. It would in no way add to the solemnity of our worship.

It is not the cross which is central to our faith. It is the Christ who died on the cross. The cross on the steeple, the cross on the wall, the cross on the altar, the crosses people wear are only symbols. They are reminders of the cross on which our Redeemer said, "I love you."

Maybe it would be good to have splinters of wood appropriately placed to remind us, also. That just isn't "the way we've always done things."

The cross is not our focus during Lent. The Christ of the cross is our focus, and our hope. Praise God!

Tom was new in town. He didn't know anyone in any of the churches, so he just popped into First Church in time for the morning worship. There was a large congregation. It was inspiring to see so many people in church.

What Tom didn't know was that the previous week, First Church had voted in business session to close the doors. Many of them were getting older. The younger members didn't come regularly. They had trouble meeting the budget. The only sensible thing was to close. They would plan the last service to be in 3 months.

Word had got out that week, so the good attendance was sort of a wake — people coming to "pay their last respects" to their dead church!

However, nothing was said about the imminent "burial." The preacher announced a clean-up day (after all, they couldn't leave the church unkempt) and asked for volunteers. Tom was among those who volunteered. Because he was tall and handsome, there were other young people who volunteered. Especially females!

Tom asked about the choir. He liked to sing. That week the rehearsal had a plethora of sopranos! The next week, Tom brought a couple of fellows with whom he worked. The choir grew phenomenally. Two young ladies with only modest talent suddenly found that their social engagements weren't quite as pressing as they had thought, so they rejoined the choir. What a change took place in the choir.

Amazingly, Bible study attendance also grew. And people began to get involved. A family who had left First Church in favor of a larger congregation in a neighboring suburb came back home, "for old time's sake"!

But then Tom got sick. Word spread that he had a fast-growing cancer. They couldn't believe it. So young. So full of life.

Jane and another of the older women went over to see what they could do to help. When they knocked on the door, Tom said, "Come in." He was too sick to get up.

The doctor wanted Tom to go to the hospital, but he said he had been thru that, and he preferred to just stay home. "Then you'll need a nurse," said Jane. "I'll get my things and be right back."

"Wait just a minute," said Tom. "You need to know I have AIDS. And you need to know I am a homosexual."

Jane was taken aback. She didn't know what to say. She had never known anyone of that genre. She quickly pulled herself together and asked the doctor, "What do I have to do to protect myself?"

Then she got her things, brought her favorite pillow, made a bed on the couch, and set about caring for Tom. She suggested she should call his family, but he said it probably would be best not to do that. But he gave her the number, just in case.

For several weeks, Jane stayed by his bedside. Visitors came, but she made sure they didn't stay too long. He was obviously failing fast. He died just before sunrise one Sunday morning.

Jane called his family, but they wanted nothing to do with him, with the funeral or even with anything he might have left. "He made his bed. Now let him lie in it."

The church was packed for his funeral. Even that conservative First Church congregation no longer cared that Tom was homosexual. He had pulled them together. He had loved them, and been loved by them. All in the space of a few weeks.

Well, the rest of the story is an Easter story like you never heard. The day after the funeral there was a special congregational business meeting, after which they called the conference: "We have changed our minds. We plan to keep the church open. Please send us a minister."

Christ is risen. He is risen indeed. Easter is a time to celebrate the Resurrection. But what about my resurrection, your resurrection? Our resurrection as a church?

"Since, then, you have been raised with Christ, set your hearts on things above, where Christ is seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things. For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God." (Colossians 3:1-3)

Christ is risen. He is risen indeed.

The message this morning is that you can make a difference. I can make a difference. We can make a difference. That is the message of Easter. That is the story of the Resurrection. Not just that Jesus arose — praise God — but that you, and I, and this congregation can arise anew.

Have we been "raised with Christ"? Have we been born again? and again? and again? The Christ-like life is not a one-time accomplishment. It is the "work of a lifetime."

"But in keeping with his promise we are looking forward to a new heaven and a new earth, the home of righteousness. So then, dear friends, since you are looking forward to this, make every effort to be found spotless, blameless and at peace with him . . . grow in the grace and in the knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ." (II Peter 3:13, 14, 18)

This is no time to retreat in our personal faith, nor in our fervor for evangelism. Jesus said, "Go, make disciples of all . . ."

Let us arise and go.

"Christ is risen."

"He is risen indeed."

Are there any questions?

Let us pray . . .

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		Are There Any Questions?
		In 1930, a Russian leader gave a lecture for an hour and a half, in which he reminded the people in Kiev that Christianity was an out-dated, even dangerous superstition. It was near the Easter season, but of course Easter was irrelevant, a "thing of the past"! When he finished, the proud Russian leader asked, "Now, are there any questions?" A young man from the audience stood, briskly walked to the front of the auditorium, faced the audience, and boldly shouted, "Christ is Risen." Four thousand voices responded, "He is risen indeed." Are there any questions — about the Easter story? About the plan of God? Homer Johnson was a friend of mine in College View, Nebraska. He was killed in World War II. That's when war became a reality to me. Well-intentioned people told his parents it was "God's will" which they simply must accept! I was revolted by that. Homer's death may have been the will of Hitler or Mussolini or Hirohito, but certainly not of God. Was it God's will that Jesus be crucified? Touchy question, eh? After all, didn't he say, "For this I came into the world"? Maybe we need to ask some other questions: Was it God's will that the Pharisees hate Jesus? Or was it because of their pride, their legalism, their self-righteousness? Was it God's will that Pilate allow the crucifixion? Or was it Pilate's cowardice? We cannot understand the cross. We can't begin to probe the will of God until we comprehend the love of God. That'll be in the life to come! In the meantime . . . Yes, there are questions. Lot's of them. Serious questions. Why did Jesus come? Was it necessary that he die? Where does forgiveness fit into God's plan if Jesus died to "pay" for our sins? If his death was payment, why do we need forgiveness? This morning I'd like to answer all your questions! The fact is, the more I study and meditate and pray, the more questions I have. But that's OK. Questions are a facet of maturity. God didn't create robots, puppets, but human beings with minds. And minds are inquisitive. Children are intensely curious. Unfortunately, they lose most of it during their first few years, thanks to the rigidity of us adults. We don't even permit many questions, let alone encourage them! "Do as you're told." "Why?" "Because I said so." "Stay in line." "Why?" "Because we have to do it that way." "Why are there X number of Ys in Z formula?" "Well, that is what the book says." We leave little room for questions, creativity, individualism. Questions are what drive us to creativity, exploration, innovation, inventions. Questions: Is there a better way? Will this work? Why can't we do things differently? The women, and the rest of the disciples, had surely spent the Sabbath asking questions: How could this happen? Why didn't Jesus perform a miracle and walk away? Why? Why? Peter asked himself, "Why did I deny him?" And the others asked, "Why did we run?" They all asked, "What do we do now? Do we give up? Was it all just a utopian dream?" Jesus had challenged them with his many "I have a dream" teachings. But the dream had become a nightmare! They were left with nothing but empty hopes. Almost a century ago, some archaeologists asked, "What is inside that pyramid?" The answer was, a tomb. Inside the tomb were priceless treasures, glittering gold, artifacts which had been there since the 14th century BC. About 2000 years ago some women went to another tomb, not with questions about the content — they knew there was a dead body in the tomb — but with an answer to a bad situation, a plan to prepare the body for permanent interment. They found an empty tomb. Then came more questions. "Where have you put him? " And, "Woman, why are you crying?" Then, "Are you saying the stone is moved? His body is gone?" In the sixth century, Emperor Justin made a gift to the Vatican. It was an elaborate cross, made of gold and many precious stones. In the center of it was a splinter of wood which Justin was told came from the cross on which Christ was crucified. We can imagine that Justin was the victim of a con artist! No one has any splinters from the cross on which Jesus died. When we were in Israel a few years ago, we were offered such bits of wood by hucksters who assured us they were genuine! It would be fascinating to have such a splinter, wouldn't it? But if we had such a cross in our sanctuary, it would not make our communion any more sacred. It would not add to the effectiveness of our liturgy. It would not make the sermons more legitimate. It would in no way add to the solemnity of our worship. It is not the cross which is central to our faith. It is the Christ who died on the cross. The cross on the steeple, the cross on the wall, the cross on the altar, the crosses people wear are only symbols. They are reminders of the cross on which our Redeemer said, "I love you." Maybe it would be good to have splinters of wood appropriately placed to remind us, also. That just isn't "the way we've always done things." The cross is not our focus during Lent. The Christ of the cross is our focus, and our hope. Praise God! Tom was new in town. He didn't know anyone in any of the churches, so he just popped into First Church in time for the morning worship. There was a large congregation. It was inspiring to see so many people in church. What Tom didn't know was that the previous week, First Church had voted in business session to close the doors. Many of them were getting older. The younger members didn't come regularly. They had trouble meeting the budget. The only sensible thing was to close. They would plan the last service to be in 3 months. Word had got out that week, so the good attendance was sort of a wake — people coming to "pay their last respects" to their dead church! However, nothing was said about the imminent "burial." The preacher announced a clean-up day (after all, they couldn't leave the church unkempt) and asked for volunteers. Tom was among those who volunteered. Because he was tall and handsome, there were other young people who volunteered. Especially females! Tom asked about the choir. He liked to sing. That week the rehearsal had a plethora of sopranos! The next week, Tom brought a couple of fellows with whom he worked. The choir grew phenomenally. Two young ladies with only modest talent suddenly found that their social engagements weren't quite as pressing as they had thought, so they rejoined the choir. What a change took place in the choir. Amazingly, Bible study attendance also grew. And people began to get involved. A family who had left First Church in favor of a larger congregation in a neighboring suburb came back home, "for old time's sake"! But then Tom got sick. Word spread that he had a fast-growing cancer. They couldn't believe it. So young. So full of life. Jane and another of the older women went over to see what they could do to help. When they knocked on the door, Tom said, "Come in." He was too sick to get up. The doctor wanted Tom to go to the hospital, but he said he had been thru that, and he preferred to just stay home. "Then you'll need a nurse," said Jane. "I'll get my things and be right back." "Wait just a minute," said Tom. "You need to know I have AIDS. And you need to know I am a homosexual." Jane was taken aback. She didn't know what to say. She had never known anyone of that genre. She quickly pulled herself together and asked the doctor, "What do I have to do to protect myself?" Then she got her things, brought her favorite pillow, made a bed on the couch, and set about caring for Tom. She suggested she should call his family, but he said it probably would be best not to do that. But he gave her the number, just in case. For several weeks, Jane stayed by his bedside. Visitors came, but she made sure they didn't stay too long. He was obviously failing fast. He died just before sunrise one Sunday morning. Jane called his family, but they wanted nothing to do with him, with the funeral or even with anything he might have left. "He made his bed. Now let him lie in it." The church was packed for his funeral. Even that conservative First Church congregation no longer cared that Tom was homosexual. He had pulled them together. He had loved them, and been loved by them. All in the space of a few weeks. Well, the rest of the story is an Easter story like you never heard. The day after the funeral there was a special congregational business meeting, after which they called the conference: "We have changed our minds. We plan to keep the church open. Please send us a minister." Christ is risen. He is risen indeed. Easter is a time to celebrate the Resurrection. But what about my resurrection, your resurrection? Our resurrection as a church? "Since, then, you have been raised with Christ, set your hearts on things above, where Christ is seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things. For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God." (Colossians 3:1-3) Christ is risen. He is risen indeed. The message this morning is that you can make a difference. I can make a difference. We can make a difference. That is the message of Easter. That is the story of the Resurrection. Not just that Jesus arose — praise God — but that you, and I, and this congregation can arise anew. Have we been "raised with Christ"? Have we been born again? and again? and again? The Christ-like life is not a one-time accomplishment. It is the "work of a lifetime." "But in keeping with his promise we are looking forward to a new heaven and a new earth, the home of righteousness. So then, dear friends, since you are looking forward to this, make every effort to be found spotless, blameless and at peace with him . . . grow in the grace and in the knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ." (II Peter 3:13, 14, 18) This is no time to retreat in our personal faith, nor in our fervor for evangelism. Jesus said, "Go, make disciples of all . . ." Let us arise and go. "Christ is risen." "He is risen indeed." Are there any questions? Let us pray . . .