"To White Shores, and Beyond, a Far Green Country Under a Swift Sunrise"

The Rev. Brad Sullivan
Emmanuel Episcopal Church
October 31, 2021
All Saints’, B

John 11:32-44

White shores, and beyond, a far green country under a swift sunrise.

“Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

I’ll venture to guess that all of us have felt this way at some point. If you had been here. Where were you? Where are you? 

Lord, if you had been here, cancer would not have killed my loved ones.

If you had been here our city wouldn’t have flooded, children wouldn’t starve, people wouldn’t work three jobs and be in poverty. 

If you had been here, we wouldn’t have people who are feared, harassed, and killed because of the color of their skin.

Lord, if you had been here, COVID wouldn’t have ravaged our world.

Where are you, Lord? Where were you? 

As much as we wish death would not separate us from our loved ones, especially when they are young or the death is brought about by violence, death continues to happen even when God is walking on earth among us. We may wish or sometimes think that because we believe in Jesus, death won’t come for us or our loved ones until we are old and prepared for it, having lived a full life. The truth that we know, however, is that death comes to all of us just as randomly and as certainly as it does for everyone. No right formula of prayer, belief, or ritual is going to stop that. We who believe in Jesus can’t stave off death any more than anyone else can. 

Jesus didn’t come to stop death from happening. Death is supposed to happen. Without death, there is no new life. We know this in nature in the way biology works, in the way the earth works. Things die and return to the earth, and when they do, new life happens. New trees are nourished as old trees die and give nutrients to the soil. The same is true for animals, even for humans. Death brings new life, and a new kind of life.

When we die, we become new life. We are changed, not ended, alive with God.  See,
Jesus didn’t come here to keep us from dying. Jesus came here to keep us living.

Now death can take many forms. Physical, mental, emotional, relational. How often are we and other alive in our bodies, but suffering death in many other ways. These deaths too are going to happen in our lives, that’s the nature of life. Jesus didn’t come here to stop these deaths from happening. Jesus came here to keep us living amidst all of these deaths.

Thinking of these non-physical deaths, I imagine a man who was cheated by a business partner, whose dream company is no longer his, but his former partner’s. He’s angry, as well he should be. Losing his business, his ideas, his dreams, that was a death for this man. I can imagine this man thirty years later still resentful, bitter, and angry. Broken, basically, having never really recovered from the betrayal and loss, he is mostly alone, not trusting, barely loving. His life really ended with that betrayal, and though he’s physically alive, he’s mostly dead inside. 

“Unbind him, and let him go,” Jesus said. I can imagine this man taking a different path than continued resentment, bitterness, and anger. I can imagine this man releasing his past, releasing his hurt, and letting new life take place within him after that death. Thirty years later, I can imagine this man with a great life, a life different than what it would have been, but a life in which he loves and is loved, where he trusts, where he is fully alive, living life abundantly. Part of him died and went into the tomb, but he let it go. He was unbound by that death so that he could continue living.

Now, when death happens for us, all kinds of death, including the physical death of our loved ones, part of us dies too. Part of us goes into the tomb with Lazarus’ body. His body, after four days in the tomb, was decomposing, rotting. There was the stench of death and decay, and the same is true for us when parts of us die and we lie in the tomb. We’re sad, maybe lost, sometimes resentful and angry. “Lord if you had been here, cancer would not have killed my loved ones; our city wouldn’t have flooded; children wouldn’t starve; people wouldn’t work three jobs and be in poverty; folks wouldn’t be afraid, harassed, and killed because of the color of their skin; and COVID wouldn’t have ravaged our world.

When these deaths happen, we get to think and feel this way. We get to be sad and lost, resentful and angry. Even through that fourth day in the tomb when the stench of rotting flesh is upon us, we get to be sad and lost, resentful and angry. Such is the nature of death, but we aren’t meant to stay there forever. “Unbind him, and let him go,” Jesus said.

Come out of the tomb, for there is new life after death.

That’s true for the many non-physical deaths which take place throughout our lives, and it is also true with physical death. Jesus didn’t come here to keep us from dying. Jesus came here to keep us living.

So too with physical death, we hear Jesus’ words, “Unbind them, and let them go.” Physical death is not the end, for we continue living on in a way we don’t fully understand. More than physical life, we continue on with life in God. All of us together, unbound by death, the communion of saints, fully alive, even though our bodies have died. 

All of our loved ones. All of the saints in our lives. All of the saints in the church. Past. Present. Yet to come. We are all unbound from death and brought into full life with Christ in God. That is the communion of saints, for death is not the end. As the wizard, Gandalf said in the the movie “The Return of the King,” “Death is just another path, one that we all must take. The grey rain-curtain of this world rolls back, and all turns to silver glass, and then you see it. White shores, and beyond, a far green country under a swift sunrise.”

With the deaths in our lives, we often say, as Mary said, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” Yes he would have. Now “unbind him and let him go.” For Jesus did not come to keep us from dying. Jesus came to keep us living, living fully with God throughout this life and even after this life has ended, gathered together in God with all of our saints and loved ones, gathered to white shores, and beyond, a far green country under a swift sunrise.

Sleeper Awake (and Quit that Darn Snooze Button)

Brad Sullivan

5th Sunday of Lent

March 18, 2018

Emmanuel, Houston

John 12:20-33

Sleeper Awake (and Quit that Darn Snooze Button)

First of all, I’d like to thank my buddy Patrick Hall for his sermon last Sunday entitled, “Risking Exposure,” which helped draw out of me these words for today.  You can look him up, Patrick Hall, and search for his sermon from last Sunday called, “Risking Exposure.” 

Now turning to today’s sermon, I’ve recently found that one of the worse inventions ever created is the snooze button.  It’s a procrastinator’s dream.  You get to put off the day and stay comfy in bed, wrapped in the covers for just a little bit longer, which, if you’re going to do that just set the alarm for 10 minutes later.  The big problem with the snooze button is what doesn’t get done because of it, the morning walk or time in prayer, the rushing through a morning that could have been more peaceful.

Ok, so as non-horrific and only mildly annoying as that may sound, what about when we begin hitting the snooze button on life?   I know I need to do this thing now.  I know it’s important.  I know it’s where I need to go in life, but I really just want to stay as I am, so I’ll put it off.  Snooze.

When the Greeks came to see Jesus, that was an alarm going off for him.  As soon as he heard that a couple of Greeks wished to see him, Jesus immediately told his disciples, “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified,” aka, it’s time for me to go get arrested and killed.  Why was the fact that a couple Greeks wanted to talk to him an alarm clock for Jesus?  Perhaps because they were Gentiles, and Jesus realized that in order for his mission to extend to the Gentiles, he had to die and be raised, and the Holy Spirit to come upon his disciples so that they could all continue his work and grow his Kingdom here on earth.  Perhaps it was simply some pre-ordained signal given to Jesus by his Father.  “Now son, when a couple of Greeks come to talk to you, that’s when it’s time.” 

In any case, as soon as that alarm went off, Jesus hopped out of bed, and immediately began preparing his disciples for his coming death.  He told them that a grain of wheat must fall into the earth and die so that it could bear much fruit, rather than just stay as it is.  Jesus was talking about his Kingdom and the resurrection life within his kingdom both after this life, and in his kingdom life here on earth. 

Long before our deaths, we have alarm clocks going off, telling us that it is time for the Kingdom life here on earth, letting us know there are conditions and situations in our lives which need to die to let the Kingdom life happen.  We need to let go of an old resentment.  We need to stop drinking.  We need to stop going halfway with our faith and fully embrace the way of Jesus.  We need to let a past relationship go, or we need to stop fooling ourselves that we are ok as we are and admit to just how broken we really are. 

We all have alarm clocks going off letting us know that it is time to let that condition or situation die, and we hear the alarm, we know what we need to do, that it is time to get up out of bed, that shadow of the tomb, and let die what needs to die, but instead, we hit the snooze button and stay as we are, assuming we can manage life as it is, assuming we can try harder, do better, and largely stay as we are.  This is of course untrue, and we simply wait for the next alarm, keeping our whole lives in the shadow of death, rather than waking up, getting out of bed, and placing that part of our lives that needs death into the tomb.

Why do we do this over and over?  Why, when we hear Jesus calling us to let something in our lives die, do we keep hitting that blasted snooze button?  We could say lack of trust or lack of belief, fear at facing the new day without whatever part of us we need to let go, or sometimes we’re just so comfortable as we are, even if it’s not working, we’re just so comfortable lying in bed with the covers drawn up, that we don’t want to move.  We don’t want to change, because it’s just too hard to get up out of bed, when we know we’ve got that snooze alarm ready to come around again. 

The problem is that with this snooze alarm, is that in life, it only makes getting out of bed even harder.  We become more engrained in the life we have, and even though we know life is not working, the thought of risking change becomes intolerable.  Facing the new day is far too daunting, and we are far too tired, so we hit the darn snooze button again.

Perhaps then, we need to start going to bed earlier, so we’re not so tired in the morning, and the thought of facing the new day doesn’t seem so daunting.  By going to bed earlier, I mean intentionally following practices of prayer, of scripture reading, of service to others, setting aside intentional time each day for prayer, learning more and more to trust in Jesus and thereby to be rested enough so that the alarm is not a horrid sound, but an invitation from a trusted friend. 

We also need to do these prayer and scripture practices, this service others not only by ourselves, but also in community with others who can help us learn to trust in Jesus more.  We need to admit to those prayer, scripture, and service partners, why we keep hitting the snooze button.  We need to admit to them and to ourselves what is keeping us in bed so that they can give us extra support so that we can get up out of bed in the morning, knowing we have others to help us face the world without the things we need to let die.  We need help putting things in the tomb.  We need folks with us at the funeral, and we need those folks with us to help us through the new life as our lives are remade by Jesus, as his fruit begins to grow. 

It is a daunting task to let die within us that which Jesus is calling us to let die, and that snooze button is so tempting, but what is waiting for us when we get out of bed is the resurrection life of Jesus’ kingdom here on earth.  The love of Jesus, the life of Jesus, the forgiveness and grace of Jesus all both received from Jesus and then given by us to others, that is what we are putting off every time we hit that thrice blasted snooze button.  His Kingdom.  His resurrection life. His grace and forgiveness, a new life unbound by that which keeps us asleep.  That is what is waiting for us.

“Sleeper awake,” Jesus calls.  “Quit that darn snooze button, and get out of bed, that shadow of death.  Let die within you that which needs to die, and follow me.”

Our Pre-Harvey Lives Are Dead and In the Tomb

Brad Sullivan

Proper 16, Year A

August 27, 2017

Emmanuel, Houston

Exodus 12:1-14

Romans 13:8-14

Matthew 18:15-20

Our Pre-Harvey Lives Are Dead and In the Tomb

Last Friday, I was volunteering over at FamilyPoint Resources, a little ways down Memorial from here.  Family Point has after school programs for children in this area along with other services for children and families.  With school not yet in session last week, FamilyPoint opened up to have some hang out time for the neighborhood kids, and I was there to help with that.  I spent a little bit of time on the soccer field, but mostly built LEGOs with a group kids.  It’s great getting to see what they come up with and how excited they are to show off their creations. There was the occasional dispute over, ‘that piece is mine,’ but mostly we just built together and admired each others’ creations. 

Afterwards, I was talking with the executive director, Stephanie Hruzek, about Family Point and the needs of the neighborhood.  They need folks to come help with after school, of course, and they’re also assembling teams to help muck out houses.  All are welcome to join in those efforts, by the way.  One thing that was so heartening and wonderful in Stephanie’s and my conversation  was the seeming role reversal of families that Family Point is used to serving, coming out to help serve others, be it through mucking houses, helping at Family Point, or just helping out a neighbor in any way they need.  The humanity that she has seen in the wake of Hurricane Harvey has far surpassed the damage done.  Fear of the other and fear of the unknown seem to be down right now, and our shared humanity is coming to the fore.  Stephanie shared her joy at this recognition of, this living into our shared humanity, and our hope and prayer is that this seeking out and reaching out for the other continues.

Reaching out for one another and recognizing our shared humanity feels like pre-Harvey burdens have been lifted off our shoulders, burdens we were not even all that aware of:  burdens of fearing others or ignoring others.  Amidst these burdens which we often carry, Jesus says, “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” (Matthew 11:28-30)

Jesus’ yoke is his teaching, his way.  As much as our religion has at times tried to make Jesus’ way difficult and heavy, the way of Jesus, the teachings of Jesus are easy, and light.  The way of Jesus takes other burdens off our shoulders and lightens our loads as we walk this life together.  Helping others with our post-Harvey, newfound common humanity has felt lighter than before.  This is the way and the teaching of Jesus.  Post-Harvey, we’ve been walking in the way of love, and we’ve been less encumbered by the burden of fearing the other, less encumbered by the burden of ignoring the other, less encumbered by the burden of enmity towards the other.

Friends and family who have had estrangement growing over differing political and religious beliefs have found that such differences don’t matter in the wake of Harvey.  Our petty differences and even our important differences do keep us…different, but they don’t need to divide us.  If we need to be divided, God will sort that out later on.  In all seriousness, Jesus taught on several occasions that any sorting out of the people, any dividing of humanity that needs to happen will be done by God at the end of the ages.  In the mean time, Jesus taught that we are to live with each other, sometimes to put up with each other, but above all to love each other and to live out our common humanity. 

Paul told the church in Rome to “owe no one anything except to love one another.”  The burden of fear keeps us from loving one another, and there are few heavier burdens than fear - except perhaps a desire for vengeance.  Before Paul wrote to owe no one anything except to love one another, Paul wrote, “Repay no one evil for evil…never avenge yourselves, but leave it to the wrath of God…” (Romans 12:17-19)  Desire for vengeance may seem justified, but it is a heavy burden, and Jesus’ yoke, his teaching, seeks to lighten that burden.

 “If another member of the church sins against you,” Jesus taught, “go and point out the fault when the two of you are alone. If the member listens to you, you have regained that one. But if you are not listened to, take one or two others along with you, so that every word may be confirmed by the evidence of two or three witnesses. If the member refuses to listen to them, tell it to the church; and if the offender refuses to listen even to the church, let such a one be to you as a Gentile and a tax collector.”

Ok, so if we’re being honest, going up to the person who has hurt you and going to them with your heart in your hand letting them know that they hurt you is not an easy task.  Doing so requires courage and vulnerability.  You might just get hurt again.  Going to someone and seeking reconciliation, however, is so much easier and lighter than carrying around the burden of hurt forever.  The weight of carrying that pain around is hard and heavy, carrying the accompanying fear and mistrust takes are hearts of flesh and turns them into hearts of stone, weighing us down even further.  We trust less and less and fear more and more, when we don’t seek reconciliation, and then we end up with our pre-Harvey burdens of fearing the other, ignoring the other, and holding enmity for the other.  Seeking reconciliation is a far easier and lighter burden than the burden of carrying fear, mistrust, and enmity.    

Even if you can’t be reconciled, Jesus taught that you still don’t carry the enmity around.  You drop it.  You let it go.  If you can’ t be reconciled, then let that person be to you as a gentile and a tax collector.  On the one hand, you’re considering that person to be outside of your life, apart from you.  On the other hand, what grudge would you hold against someone who is not a part of you?  Let the grudge go, let the person go, and wipe the slate clean.  It would be up to the other person at that point to rebuild the relationship.  At the same time, gentiles and tax collectors were a part of Jesus’ and the early church’s mission field, so there is a writing off and a starting over in Jesus’ teaching about when reconciliation doesn’t occur.  Death and resurrection.  Such is the way of Jesus.  Such is his easy yoke and his light burden.

Our shared humanity, seeking out the other without fear, forgiving and actively seeking reconciliation:  these are ways of Jesus that we absolutely need in our post-Harvey lives, and what we need in our post-Harvey life as Emmanuel.  We need each other.  We always did, but pre-Harvey, we felt secure enough in other things not to realize our need for each other quite so acutely.

Our pre-Harvey lives are dead and in the tomb.   Our post-Harvey lives and post-Harvey life as Emmanuel is emerging from the tomb.  Post-Harvey, we have been woken from sleep, and we realize just how much we need each other.  More than a building, more than programs, we need each other.  Emmanuel Episcopal Church & School is a new creation by water and the Word.

We need to stay joined together, and we need to discover new ways to join together as well.  In our post-Harvey, resurrected life, we need to keep reaching out into our community.  We are a church, a people, without a building right now, and this is a challenge for us, and it is also a wonderful opportunity to live into our common humanity.  Without our building to gather in and serve from, we get to gather and serve in other people’s buildings.  We get to gather and serve in other people’s homes.  We get to join with our neighbors as they gather and serve us. 

With prayer and reconciliation, we get to continue in this resurrected life, sharing in our common humanity as a new creation by water and the Word, following in the easy way and light burden of Jesus.

Why Are We Here? For Proclamation

Brad Sullivan

Easter Vigil, Year A

April 15, 2017

Emmanuel, Houston

Matthew 28:1-10

Why Are We Here?  For Proclamation

What are we doing here?  It’s Saturday night on a long weekend.  We could be out on the town; or staying at home, relaxing; or watching the new Star Wars preview for the 17th, 18th, and 19th times no YouTube.  Instead we’re here in church, doing much the same thing and in the same place where we are going to be tomorrow morning.  We’ve spent the last 40 days of our Lenten journey preparing for this night.  As Jesus spent 40 days in the desert preparing for his ministry and death, as his disciples spent three years with Jesus preparing for their new life in him, we have been preparing.  We’ve been learning from Jesus, learning to follow in his way.  We’ve been working at re-membering, at joining ourselves back to him.  We’ve been learning to rely more and more on Jesus through our Lenten journey.

Not so tonight.  Tonight is different.  What are we doing here tonight?  Tonight we are proclaiming:  “The tomb is empty and Jesus is risen.”  That is what Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of James and Joseph did on the day of Jesus’ resurrection.  Theirs was the first joy of proclamation. 

They had gone to the tomb, and the tomb should have smelled of decay, of blood and sweat, and death, but it didn’t.  The tomb was empty, and rather than decay, the tomb smelled of new earth and rock, clean and pure.  It smelled of new life and new creation, for that is what the empty tomb was, new life.

On the first day of the week, the same day when God proclaimed, “Let there be light,” an angel of light rolled back the stone of Jesus’ empty tomb and showed the women the new life and new creation that had been brought about through Jesus’ death and resurrection.  They saw the new light and new life that God had created once again, and then they went.

They went to proclaim Jesus’ resurrection, and Jesus met them on the way.  The new life and new creation itself met them, and he smelled of Eden, of earth and trees, of grass and fruit, of life and spring.  Seeing him was like seeing the sun rise on a beautiful field after a long, dark, frightful night.

They saw him, and they touched him, this new creation, and then they began their proclamation, the proclamation of the church that has continued on ever since and continues on this very night, across the whole earth, and in this very room.  The proclamation of Jesus’ resurrection, of new life and new creation continues on in our lives of service, of prayer, of conversation, and love.  The proclamation of Jesus’ resurrection continues on in each person who is baptized in his name.

The act of cleansing, of washing away darkness and following in Jesus’ light is an act of proclamation that the tomb is empty.  Blood, and death, and decay have been washed away and transformed into new earth, new life, new light.  That is what we are here to do tonight, to continue the proclamation, that God has taken the darkness of the world and said once again, “Let there be light,” for the tomb is empty, and Jesus is risen.