YEAR A 2026 easter sunday

Easter, 2026
Acts 10:34-43
Colossians 3:1-4
Matthew 28:1-10
Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

Happy Easter!  The Lord is risen!  The Lord is risen indeed.  And . . . so what?  Well, we’re all certainly very excited about it.  We got all dressed up and came to church.  We put up with the priest’s insistence on using incense on the high holy days.  The Lord is risen indeed, and . . . so what?  Why does it matter?  Is it like, score one for Team Christian?  What difference does it make?

Well, I think context is important here.  But first, Easter is the pinnacle of the Church year.  You might think that would be Christmas, based on how our society treats the two holy days.  But Christmas is just a way to get the story started.  The peak, the climax, the reason we even have Christmas is because of Easter.  Easter is the third of what we call the Three Days.  Maybe you’ve heard the word “triduum” before.  It’s a Latin word that means “three days,” and those days would be Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Easter (which started last night with the Vigil).  The three days are considered one long service in three parts.  If you missed Maundy Thursday and Good Friday, you’re just in time for the final act!

Let me catch you up on what you might have missed this week.  We heard different descriptions of the betrayal, arrest, beating, mocking, and humiliating death of Jesus.  We also heard that story on Palm Sunday.  So if you’ve been to church at all in the past week, you know how we got here today.  And even if you weren’t in church, you probably know how the story goes.

Judas Iscariot offers to betray Jesus for 30 pieces of silver.  He leads the authorities to the garden, and one of the disciples draws his sword.  Jesus says to put the sword back in its place.  Then they take Jesus to the religious authorities, and then to Pilate, who supposedly does his best to release Jesus, but the crowd shouts over and over that they want Pilate to crucify him.  He has Jesus beaten, whipped, and mocked, and sends him off to be crucified.  Jesus’ guy friends all run away in fear, and he is nailed to a cross between two thieves, where he suffers an agonizing death.  Two secret followers bury his body in a tomb.

All along the way in that horrible story, nobody says, “stop.”  Nobody says “enough.”  Everyone just went along with the people in charge.  The religious leaders can’t be wrong.  The government knows what it’s doing.  The soldiers are just following orders.  And nobody says, “But this is wrong.  Enough!”  It’s easy to see how that can happen.  We naturally trust that those in charge must know what they’re doing.  It sure feels wrong to arrest an innocent man, accuse him of treason with no evidence, and execute him in the most brutal way imaginable.  But nobody said, “This is wrong.  Enough!”  When you live in a culture that glorifies death, and spends all its money on the military, this is what you get.  Death rules.  Death wins.  Death has the last word.

And then we come to today.  Act three in our three-day triduum.  And—it turns out—death and violence and cruelty do not have the last word!  The resurrection of Jesus decisively cries out ENOUGH!  In rising from the dead Jesus has overcome death, has destroyed death, has declared that death does not have the last word.  The resurrection of Jesus from the dead is God standing atop all creation and screaming ENOUGH!  

Easter is a declaration of war . . . on death.  Killing innocent civilians can no longer be just “collateral damage.”  Destroying entire neighborhoods is not “mowing the lawn.”  Invading countries just because you can is not the way of Jesus.  Easter is subversive, and it stands against the culture of death.  Jesus has destroyed death.  

And Easter says, ENOUGH!

When bombs are aimed at a school filled with children, and a second bomb is dropped on their parents who come to rescue them, Easter says ENOUGH!  When leaders smile as they brag about epic lethality against civilians, Easter says ENOUGH.  When countries intentionally starve citizens, or cut off electricity to hospitals, or drop bombs on apartment buildings, Easter says ENOUGH!  Easter is a declaration of war on death.  And you cannot embrace the power of the resurrection while glorifying death and destruction.  

The Lord is risen indeed, and that changes everything.  Everything.  You and I can choose daily whether we follow the resurrection way of life, or follow the way of death.  In rising from the grave, Jesus shows us that God chooses life.  Death does not have the last word.  Death has been defeated.  The Church stands with God and says ENOUGH!  Let us also choose life.  Because the Lord is risen.  The Lord is risen indeed.  Alleluia!

Amen

YEAR A 2026 good friday

Good Friday, 2026
Isaiah 52:13-53:12
Hebrews 4:14-16; 5:7-9
John 18:1-19:42
Psalm 22

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

One of the risks of hearing this story so often is that we think of it as a tale from another time.  Something ancient and distant.  A thing that could never happen today because people are not like that, and faithful religious people are not like that, and governments are not like that, and we are not like that.  We might think, “That could never happen here!”

But everything everyone does in this story is happening all around us, right now.  The names and characters change, but this is not a story from another time.  It is a story for all time, in every time.

Judas decides that making a profit is more important than human lives.  Peter tries to solve a crisis by shedding the blood of an innocent bystander.  The police who come to arrest an innocent man are just “doing their jobs.”  Peter makes boastful claims about fidelity before abandoning the one he promises to be faithful to.  A police officer becomes violent and beats up the defendant for insolence.  The authorities accuse an innocent man of treason and call for him to be executed.  The governor decides to give into the demands of a mob rather than upholding the law.  The mob itself uses religion as a tool to persecute and eliminate their enemies.  The religious leaders deny their own faith, and claim allegiance to a faithless king.  The soldiers take an innocent man up a hill to kill him, after beating and mocking him, because they are just following orders.  The women stay to watch the death of the one they love, while the men have all run away in fear to save their own skins.

This is not a story from another time.  It is a story for all time, in every time.  Every single one of us could step into this story and play any of the parts, except for one.  At the center of this story is Jesus, the innocent lamb who is led away to the slaughter.  And Jesus is where our attention needs to be on this day.  Because as soon as we focus on any other characters in this story, we naturally start to think, “Well I would never . . .”

But yes, you would.  And so would I.  And so would everyone around us.  Because all of this is happening right now, all across the world.  And that is why we need to keep our focus on Jesus, the only answer to everyone else in this story.  This is not a story from another time.  It is happening today.

YEAR A 2026 maundy thursday

Maundy Thursday, 2026
Exodus 12:1-14
1 Corinthians 11:23-26
John 13:1-17, 31b-35
Psalm 116:1, 10-17

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

Maundy Thursday.  We get the word Maundy from the Latin word, maundatum, which is also where we get the words mandatory and mandate.  It’s related to command, and commandment.  All these words give us the notion of being told what to to.  What is required of us.  And in the gospel reading we just heard, Jesus gives us a commandment.  He says it’s a new commandment.  

What is that commandment?  Is it to wash one another’s feet?  No.  Is it not to eat pork?  No.  Is it to kill people who don’t believe like we do in a righteous holt war?  No.  The new commandment from Jesus—the maundatum of Maundy Thursday—is to love one another.  Just love one another.  And a necessary part of that commandment is the “one another” part.  Because you cannot do what Jesus commands without other people.  It requires community.  There is no “me and Jesus” in this commandment.  It requires us.  Together.

On Palm Sunday, we once again ended the 10 o’clock service singing “O Sacred Head Sore Wounded.”  Here’s the final verse of that hymn:

My days are few, O fail not,
With thine immortal pow'r,
To hold me that I quail not
In death's most fearful hour:
That I may fight befriended,
And see in my last strife
To me thine arms extended
Upon the cross of life.

And—as has happened to me before—I was so overwhelmed by that text, my eyes teared up, and I had to stop singing.  I just couldn’t do it.  And even though I could not sing, the song didn’t stop.  Because of the community.  Congregational hymns are not solos, thank God.  We sing them together.  And if the priest or anyone else has to stop singing, the song goes on.  When you cannot sing, the community sings for you.  When you cannot pray, the community prays for you.  When you cannot believe, the community believes for you.

On Palm Sunday, I couldn’t sing, but the song didn’t stop.  When one voice stops, the song is changed, but it still goes on.  In our community, in our worship, in our singing, you add a part that only you can add.  A certain flavor, a certain tone, a certain shakiness, a certain wrong note even!  The song is different because you are there.  When you can’t sing, or when you stop singing, the song changes . . . and it keeps going.  The song goes on, and whether you’re singing or not, it was made different because you were there.

At the close of this service, after we have set aside the reserved Sacrament for tomorrow, we will adjourn for a time into the parish hall for an Agape’ meal.  The word “agape’” means love.  Unconditional love, actually.  And the reason churches have this meal on this Maundy Thursday night is to remind ourselves of the commandment we have received.  That we love one another.  As Jesus said, “Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

There will come a day when each and every one of us stops singing.  But the song will go on, because we love one another, just as Jesus loves us.  The song goes on through eternity, and you are a voice in this unending hymn.  Even if you have never sung a note in your life, you are a voice in the eternal choir, and your voice matters.

Amen.

YEAR A 2026 palm sunday

Palm Sunday/Passion Sunday, 2026
Isaiah 50:4-9a
Philippians 2:5-11
Matthew 26:14- 27:66
Psalm 31:9-16

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

That was a very long and difficult reading, which took us through several dark days.  It is especially jarring that we began this day by celebrating Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem with the crowd, waving our palms and shouting hosanna.  Only to watch another crowd turn and yell “crucify him!”  And, of course, we mentally separate ourselves from that crowd.  We were part of the first crowd . . . not the second.  So we want to know why this happened.  How did we get here?

And I think the explanation is tucked away in a small comment Jesus makes in the Garden of Gethsemane.  He says, “Put your sword back into its place; for all who take the sword will perish by the sword.”  We usually hear this phrase in our day-to-day life as “Those who live by the sword will die by the sword,” or something like that.  Which really changes the meaning.  It puts us in mind of Genghis Khan or someone.  Killers are gonna get killed.

Or worse, it puts it in the realm of some sort of karma mindset.  Like what goes around comes around.  Or, the country that threatens another country might get bombed, kind of thing.  And we can even think of the reverse as a hedge against violent death.  Like, I’m not going to draw a sword, so that means I’m protected from dying by the sword. 

But I think we need to pull back the lens a bit to get the true meaning here.  Because it’s more systemic than that.  The warning from Jesus is about introducing violence into the system.  Once it is unleashed it only grows.  All who take the sword will perish by the sword, along with everybody else.  It’s like once the swords are out, this doesn’t end well for anyone.

We think we want peace talks and de-escalation and cease fires, and stuff like that.  But what we really want is to inflict overwhelming violence so unspeakable that our enemies cannot strike back.  Obliterate their weapons and declare victory.  But that rarely happens.  More often than not, violence begets violence.  Martyrdom creates martyrs.  Once the swords are out, everyone is in danger.  Or, in the words of Jesus, all who take the sword will perish by the sword.  The solution is not to use a bigger sword and cause greater casualties than our enemies do; the solution is to put away the sword.

But we naturally approach confrontation by just trying to escalate the violence faster than our enemies can.  Be the first one to draw the sword.  Be the first country to have enough weapons to destroy the entire planet 10 times over.  We even see this escalation in our local police departments, when they buy up used military gear and act like they’re going into Fallujah when they’re heading to a domestic dispute in downtown Canton.

Which brings us back to the crowd.  One minute shouting Hosanna, the next minute shouting crucify him.  Somebody took up the sword; and we’re sure it wasn’t us.  But, clearly, violence got into the system.  And all who take the sword will perish by the sword . . . and everybody else with them.

What we see happen each year on this day is that our Palm Sunday celebration gives way to this Passion Sunday tragedy.  Everything was going great.  And then, well . . all who take the sword will perish by the sword.  We cannot hide from the violence once it gets started.  Whether that violence is started by drunk fans at a sporting event, or the leaders of nations drunk on power.  There can be no bystanders once the sword is unleashed.  And the only solution in the midst of violence is to follow the command of Jesus and “Put your sword back into its place.”

My hope is that we will each seek to follow this command, and put our own swords back into their place.  Our swords are not likely to be literal weapons.  They might be the words we speak, or the posts we make online, or the hate we carry in our hearts.  But they are swords nonetheless.  And all who take the sword will perish by the sword . . . and everybody else with them.  Put your sword back into its place.  Jesus offers us a better way, and a better world.  Let us follow his way into that world, that we might finally know God’s peace.

Amen

The Burial of Grant Oberlin

Grant Oberlin
Isaiah 25:6-9
Psalm 23
2 Corinthians 4:16-5:9
John 14:1-6

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

In our Book of Common Prayer (pg. 819), there is a prayer for Church Musicians and Artists.  We started all our music classes in seminary with that prayer, and we begin all our choir rehearsals with it here at St. Timothy’s.  The text of that prayer is this: 

O God, whom saints and angels delight to worship in heaven: Be ever present with your servants who seek through art and music to perfect the praises offered by your people on earth; and grant to them even now glimpses of your beauty, and make them worthy at length to behold it unveiled for evermore; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Three things stand out to me about that prayer.  First, that artists work toward perfecting our praises of God.  I think this is true even for artists who don’t believe in God.  Because—since God is the creator of all that is—any work of art or music gives glory to God.  The created, giving back to the Creator, whether they know it or not.

Secondly, glimpses of God’s beauty.  When we see beautiful things in the natural world, we are witnessing God’s creative power, and—dare I say—God’s creativity.  Would it have occurred to human beings to make trees, or elephants, or even color?  Maybe, but probably not.  When artists witness God’s creativity, they are inspired to make creations of their own.  It is in the nature of artists and musicians to make beautiful things, and also challenging things.  Grant had the ability to see beauty where others didn’t think to look, and I am convinced that such recognition is a gift from God.  And not everyone has it.  Some people look at a painting and can only see a monetary investment or an insurance liability.  Others can look at a discarded piece of junk and see its beauty where others can’t.  People are wired differently, but thankfully we have those who can recognize beauty and can point us toward it.

And then thirdly, the phrase, "worthy at length to behold it unveiled for evermore."  In this world, we see glimpses of God’s beauty, and artists strive to show us more than we can already see, and the prayer asks that one day, they will be deemed worthy by God to see beauty in its entirety.  All the beautiful things, just as God intends them to be seen.

In the reading we just heard, from the gospel according to John, Jesus says, “In my Father's house there are many dwelling places.”  Since we have fairly fixed ideas of what a house is, we might picture a massive mansion somewhere, maybe with marble floors and Viking appliances.  And, for many people, the best part about that image is that it is plural—places, or rooms—meaning we don’t ever have to run into the people we don’t like.

But there’s an interesting connection between the word interpreted as “dwelling places” and a temporary stopping point.  Some scholars say this word monai is something like a place set up to receive visitors traveling through.  Not a private place to kick back and live out your eternal retirement, but a public place, to be welcomed after a long journey, with good food and a place to rest.  When we go where Jesus is waiting, we don’t put out our hand to receive our personal room keys.  Instead, Jesus stretches out his arms to receive us.  A welcome to the party, if you will.

And I am convinced that that very public space will reveal those glimpses of God’s beauty unveiled for evermore.  Spectacular artwork covering all the walls.  Gorgeous music filling the air.  And furniture that no one ever thought to make.  And over in one corner we’ll see Grant Oberlin with a screwdriver in one hand and buckets of paint around his feet, delighting in seeing God’s beauty, finally unveiled in its entirety.  The beauty Grant had glimpses of all his life, and sought to perfect through the gifts and talents God had given him.  And I bet there’s probably a very funny joke he’s waiting to tell us.

But in the meantime, listen to that prayer again:
O God, whom saints and angels delight to worship in
heaven: Be ever present with your servants who seek through
art and music to perfect the praises offered by your people on
earth; and grant to them even now glimpses of your beauty,
and make them worthy at length to behold it unveiled for
evermore; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

YEAR A 2026 lent 4

Lent 4, 2026
1 Samuel 16:1-13
Psalm 23
Ephesians 5:8-14
John 9:1-41

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

In the three-year cycle of the church year, this was the Sunday in 2020 when everything changed.  It was the first Sunday when we somehow became a parish that only streamed services, though we had never streamed any services before that.  That Sunday, we had these exact same readings.  Cristin read them to you offscreen, as I sat in the chapel leading Morning Prayer for the first Sunday ever.  Levi played the organ, and Andrew chanted the Psalm in an empty room.  And we all wondered if people could ever return to this little postage stamp of Christianity.  Would people ever get back inside the building we so loved?

And we did come back.  And—of course—some people did not come back.  Some people decided the priest was too political, or someone else was too conservative, or since their parents were no longer around to make them come to church . . . for whatever reason, some people decided this was no longer the place for them on Sundays.

There is no denying that the covid pandemic six years ago changed everything about church.  And we can’t put the genie back in the bottle by wishing it was 1976 again.  So I just want to acknowledge that the world changed six years ago, and the ramifications of those “unprecedented times” are still with us.  Everything changed.  But as you’ll see in our catechism in the Book of Common Prayer, the mission of the Church remains the same as ever: “to restore all people to unity with God and each other in Christ.”  That’s why we’re here, no matter how big or how small.  To restore all people to unity with God and each other in Christ.  And so, we press on.

This morning is called Laetare Sunday, and is intended as a small  break during the season of Lent.  That’s why we get a little festive pink or rose this morning, like it’s supposed to cheer us up, I think?  But the word Laetare means, “rejoice.”  And it’s in the imperative form, so REJOICE is a command, not an option!  And this is why on the fourth Sunday in Lent we get treated to Psalm 23.  It’s a reminder that God is with us in the midst of suffering.  So I just want to spend a moment talking about that familiar psalm.  And specifically, the table that gets mentioned.

We are all familiar with Psalm 23, particularly the King James Version of it.  It’s got all that pastoral language about green pastures and stuff, which is why we hear it every year on Laetare Sunday.  In the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil, because God’s rod and staff comfort me.  All is at peace, in the midst of turmoil, because the Lord is my shepherd.

But the table.  Remember that line?  In our prayer book it is phrased, “You spread a table before me in the presence of those who trouble me.”  In the King James Version it is, “Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies.”  What do you picture when you hear those words?  I have to confess that I’ve always imagined it means, I sit down to a feast in a green valley, while my enemies look on in hunger.  God just keeps ladling out the food for me, while those who trouble me, “mine enemies,” stare on with jealousy.

The two phrases to hold onto here are “before me” and “in the presence of.”  It’s not a table for me.  It’s a table in front of me.  And it’s not next to my enemies; it is in their presence.  They’re already there at the table.  God is inviting us to sit at a table with our enemies.  God is saying, come share a meal with the very people who trouble you.  To put it bluntly:  If you want to eat, you’ve got to eat with people who hate you.

What the heck kind of offer is that?!?  We share meals with our friends.  We invite people we like to dinner.  We don’t imagine sitting down to eat with our enemies.  I thought the peaceful verdant valley was going to be a place where it was just me and God, my shepherd, leading me beside still waters.  I didn’t sign up for this “have a bite to eat with people who trouble me by not voting the same way I do!”

And that’s because our vision of a table is too small.  We imagine a card table for one, set up in an open field, while what God is offering is a huge banquet table, where everyone is invited.  We see this over and over in the parables of Jesus.  A king holds a wedding banquet and invites in all the poor and outcast.  The fishing net gathers up every kind of fish.  The lump of yeast leavens the entire loaf.  The weeds are left to grow among the wheat.  On and on, we hear that God is inviting everybody to the banquet.  No one is left out or excluded.  Even those who trouble me.  Maybe even, especially those who trouble me.

A Lutheran musician friend of mine named Jonathan Rundman has a song called “Meeting Nixon.”  In the chorus he sings, “We’ll be meeting Nixon, meeting Nixon, when we go to that White House in the sky.”  I think it’s one of his best songs, because it makes everyone uncomfortable!   Some people will say there’s no way Nixon is in heaven.  And some people will say there’s no way Jonathan will be in heaven, because he’s a Lutheran.  And some people will say, wherever either of those two are going is not where I want to be going.  It’s a banger song, because, whether you like it or not, everyone is going to be at that same table!

And every time we celebrate the Holy Eucharist, we hear hints of this in the Sanctus, where we sing, with the angels and the archangels and all the company of heaven.  Everybody!  This morning’s man born blind and the religious leaders interrogating him.  The innocent civilians being bombed half a world away and the people who gleefully boast about bombing them.  You and me and all the people who trouble us, gathered around the same table and saying, holy, holy, holy Lord . . . heaven and earth are full of your glory.

The table is bigger than we think, and everyone has a seat at it.  Including you and me.  Again—as our catechism says—The mission of the Church is to restore all people to unity with God and each other in Christ.  All people.  No matter who still shows up at church on Sundays, no matter who has drifted away or left out of anger, no matter what the pandemic did to the size and unity of our parish, the mission of the Church has not changed: and it is to restore all people to unity with God and each other in Christ.

The table God spreads before us is big enough for everybody.  It’s only our own small thinking that would exclude anyone from that banquet.  You are not excluded from this banquet, and neither are those who might trouble you.   No matter our differences, we have unity in Christ, and that is why we rejoice on this Laetare Sunday.  God’s table is big enough for everybody.  Rejoice!

Amen. 

Ecumenical Lenten Service, 2026

MACA Lenten Service 2026
30 Pieces of Silver 
Matthew 27:1-10

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.  Amen.

In all four of the gospel books, Jesus gathers his disciples for what we call the last supper.  They are seated around a table (or all on one side, if you believe Leonardo da Vinci).  And Jesus—seemingly randomly—announces that one of them will betray him.  And how do the disciples respond?  Depending on which gospel account you’re reading, they either ask one another who it could be, or they ask Jesus directly: Is it I, Lord?

Someone will betray Jesus.  Is it I, Lord?  What’s easy to miss here is that by asking this question, they’re all acknowledging that . . . it’s possible.  They’re all capable of doing it.  Someone is going to do the most horrible thing imaginable, and what I want to know is, is it I, Lord?  It could be me.  It could be someone else.  The disciples don’t know who it’s going to be.  But we do.

We know who is going to betray our Lord.  We know his name.  And I can 100% guarantee you that no one in this room is named Judas.  So we KNOW it’s not one of us who will betray Jesus.  We’re off the hook right?  We can live our lives never having to ask, “Is it I, Lord?”  We can confidently say, “It is not I, Lord!”  

And I hope you can see the danger here.  The danger is that we can walk ourselves right into thinking we are better than Judas.  We can even convince ourselves that we are better than all the disciples, because we don’t have to ask Jesus if we might be the one to betray him.  We can point to Judas.  There he is.  Case closed.  Turns out, it is not I, Lord.

However, we could say that people who think of themselves as incapable of doing horrible things are actually just incapable of self awareness and reflection.  The ability to ask ourselves, “Is it I, Lord?” should not be overlooked.  For enough money, you can get a person to do just about anything.  As they say, everyone has their price.  Which brings us to the 30 pieces of silver.

30 pieces of silver sounds like a lot of money to me.  Or, it did until I dug around a bit.  Depending on which kind of coin we are talking about, the estimated value of these 30 pieces of silver, translated into today’s US dollars would be . . . ready?  Between $91 and $441.  At most, it’s like 450 bucks.  Who would betray their friend and Lord for $450?!?  Surely not I Lord!  I am way better than Judas!

When we hear that Judas betrayed Jesus for such a tiny amount of money we feel a bit offended, don’t we?  Like it’s just so crass and transactional.  If he’d done it for lofty ideals and principles, that would be one thing.  If it was because Jesus was actually an immoral and compromised leader, or something like that.  Like we could understand that.  But to turn Jesus over to the authorities for a pittance.  To sacrifice his life for what is essentially a monthly car payment.  It’s just so . . . paltry.

We just wouldn’t do that, would we.  We wouldn’t trade anyone’s life for a few bucks.  Certainly not I, Lord.  People are made in the image of God.  All people are made in the image of God.  Even the people we don’t like are made in the image of God.  You can’t put a price on somebody’s life, if they are made in the image of God.

I recently saw a headline in the NY Times that said, “Americans may turn against the war in Iran if they feel the pinch at the pump.”  So far, there have been over 1,300 people killed in Iran, including hundreds of children.  When 150 schoolgirls are killed in their school, along with their parents who came to rescue them, that’s just a cost of doing business.  BUT if gas prices go up, that’s a whole different thing!  Now you’ve got our attention! We could say that 30 cents at the pump is our 30 pieces of silver.  But, hey, whatever it takes.

Back to Judas.  As we heard, when Judas saw that Jesus had been betrayed, he repented, and brought the 30 pieces of silver back to the priests.  He repented.  Did the chief priests and elders forgive him?  Certainly not!  They said, “What is that to us?” and sent him away.  Did Judas forgive himself?  It seems doubtful, since Matthew tells us he went out and hanged himself.  Did Jesus forgive him?  Hard to say, right?  But here’s a clue:  Judas was still present at the very first Lord’s Supper.  Jesus knew what Judas was going to do, and yet . . . in John’s telling, Jesus washed Judas’ feet.  As best we can tell, Jesus did not reject Judas, his betrayer.

That’s hard to hear, isn't it?  The very one who betrayed Jesus, who sold him out for—at most—$450 was not kept away.  Was not rejected.  Was not banished from the Lord’s Supper.  Was not excluded from the washing of the disciples’ feet.  And maybe that’s where you and I can find good news in the story of Judas and the 30 pieces of silver.

Because if we’re really honest with ourselves, if we’re really willing to do the hard work of being self aware, then the answer to the question “Is it I, Lord?” is yes.  Yes, it is I.  It is I who daily fails to see Christ in other persons.  It is I who daily sins against God and my neighbor.  It is I who does not love God with my whole heart or love my neighbor as myself.  It is I who will throw away another’s life for 30 pieces of silver or 30 cents at the gas pump, because of my own selfish needs and desires.    

I recently ran across this poem by the Argentinian poet Jorge Luis Borges, which seems apt:
    The coin fell on my hollow hand.
    I could not bear it, although it was light,
    and I let it fall. It was all in vain.
    The other said: "There are still twenty nine.”

It’s not easy to hear or to face, but the answer to the question, “Is it I, Lord?” is yes; it is I.  But if Jesus can break bread with his betrayer, if Jesus can wash the feet of the one with 30 coins still in his pocket, then Jesus can welcome you and me as well.  No matter what we have done or where we have been, God’s grace is big enough for us.  God’s mercy is wide enough for us.  And God’s love for us is more than we could ever ask or imagine.  Remember that most of all.  God’s grace, mercy, and love are for you.

Amen