Judges 4:1-10
 
            “Tell us a story,” the children begged.  “Please, we want to hear a really good story.”
           
            As the campfire crackled and glowed, the children waited innocently for the older woman to respond.  But before the woman could open her mouth, the children threw out another request.
 
            “Can you make it a really scary story?  Like maybe a story with a monster in it…?”
 
            The wise, older woman hesitated for a moment and then she answered.  “Well if you’d like to hear a story about a monster, I’m willing to share one with you.  But just so you know, this is a monster story from the Bible.”
 
            “What do you mean a monster story from the Bible?  Stories in the Bible are all about sheep and arks and mangers and rainbows.”  The children looked at each other surprised and in agreement nodding their heads. 
 
            “Actually, my child, some of the scariest stories come from the Bible.  Like the story of a woman named Deborah, who was a judge and a prophet in the time before the people of Israel had a king to rule over the land.”
 
            “Hang on a second…a woman prophet?” a little boy interrupted.
 
            But the older woman continued on with her story…  It is true in those days that women were rarely allowed to speak in public and almost none of them were leaders.  Nevertheless, God chose Deborah to be a prophet.  She used to sit down underneath a palm tree in the hill country of Israel and people would come to her with their disputes and complaints.  And Deborah, full of wisdom and fairness would help people reach settlements. 
 
            “What about the monster?  You promised there would be a monster in this story!” a little girl called out. 
 
            Patience, patience.  We’ll get to that part.  Now back in those days the Israelite people were being oppressed by King Jabin of Canaan.  And King Jabin had a particular army commander who was scary and intimidating.  Jewish legend said he was a giant who could freeze a lion in his tracks just by yelling at it.  And he could cause the walls of any city to crumble just by shouting in a loud voice.  This Canaanite commander had 900 iron chariots at his disposal pulled by 900 fire breathing horses.  And the Israelites had not one single chariot.  Nor a single horse. 
 
            The commander was so menacing he even had a menacing name.  Sisera.  For twenty long years Sisera tortured the Israelites.  Until one day, Deborah called upon a man named Barak.
 
            Now Barak was an Israelite who had limited military experience.  And he had some faith in God.  But he was also a bit timid.  Even when God spoke loudly to Barak and told him it was time to go and face Sisera, Barak tried to convince himself God’s voice was nothing more than the sound of the wind. 
 
            However, when Deborah summoned Barak to the palm tree where she was busy passing God’s judgements, Deborah informed Barak he had no choice.  God wanted Barak to march to Mount Tabor with ten thousand warriors by his side to confront Sisera face to face.  And if Barak did as God instructed, God guaranteed Barak would emerge victorious. 
 
            Barak couldn’t avoid God anymore.  But before he walked away from his encounter with Deborah, he struck a deal.  ‘Deborah, if you go with me into battle I will go.  Then again if you won’t go with me, I’m not going either.’
 
            Deborah agreed.  But she also had a surprise of her own.  Before she set off to the battlefield, Deborah informed Barak that no matter what happened he would get no credit for defeating Sisera.  Because according to God’s will, Sisera was to die at the hands of a woman.
 
            “You mean Deborah got to kill him!” a boy interjected.  The excitement level around the campfire was clearly building.
 
            “Just wait and see,” the storyteller responded…
 
            Well Sisera heard word of the Israelites plans and he gathered all his men and his 900 chariots and his 900 fire breathing horses and he headed for the valley of Wadi Kishon, which was a dry valley at the foot of Mount Tabor.  As they marched in formation, Sisera sent spies ahead to scope out the Israelite opposition.  One by one the spies returned with crazy reports.  Yes, the Israelites had a sizable army.  But they had two generals.  One man and one woman.  And the rumor in the Israelite camp was that Sisera would die at the hands of a woman. 
 
            When Sisera heard the report, he thought the rumor was hilarious.  He threw back his head and laughed in a voice so loud it could have frozen lions and crumbled city walls.  A voice so loud that the Israelites on the mountainside heard it in the distance and trembled in fear.  They looked down into the valley, saw Sisera’s enemy campsites, and slept fitfully, dreading the arrival of dawn. 
 
            When the light of dawn came but it was accompanied by dark clouds and a driving rain.  Sisera awoke in a foul mood ready to destroy any Israelite he could get his hands on.  He had heard stories about a powerful God who fought alongside Israelite armies in skirmishes past.  Nonetheless rage and ferocity bubbled up inside Sisera and he confidently barked out the order. 
 
            “Charge!”  Sisera’s men and the chariots and the fire breathing horses rumbled forward toward the mountain to meet the Israelites. 
 
            Meanwhile, the order on the mountainside was no different…charge!  But the command to the Israelite army came from a woman.  Deborah’s word sent ten thousand Israelite soldiers down the mountain to face Sisera’s army head on. 
 
            As the two armies closed the gap between them, the rain continued to come down in torrents.  And before they could reach their adversary, Sisera’s iron chariots began to stick in the valley mud.  No man and no fire breathing horse could extricate the chariots and the harder they tried, the deeper the chariots sank.  Until suddenly Sisera’s army were sitting ducks. 
 
            Panic quickly set in on the Canaanite side as the Israelites approached.  Swords flashed.  Men cried out in agony.  And horses toppled over into the mud.  As he watched his vaunted army disintegrate before his eyes, Sisera looked up on the mountainside and saw a face.  A woman’s face.  It was Deborah, overseeing the triumphant slaughter. 
 
            The carnage was overwhelming and Sisera quickly calculated the odds.  Then he jumped off his own chariot and ran away from the battlefield.  Fleeing his own men and all their foes.  Fleeing Deborah and Barak.  Fleeing the Israelite God who surely had something to do with this unexpected outcome… 
 
            “Oh, let me guess,” one of the girls around the campfire raised her hand.  “Deborah took off after him and she was the one who killed Sisera.  Just the way God promised, right?” 
 
            “Actually, no.  Deborah did not chase him,” the storyteller paused.  Sisera ran as far away as he could until he reached a tent far away from the scene of the battle.  The tent was occupied by a woman named Jael, who was not an Israelite, but a Kenite.  Convinced he was in the safe company of an ally, Sisera stopped running and Jael encouraged him to spend the night.  At long last, Sisera assumed he had escaped from the clutches of those who sought to destroy him. 
 
            Sisera soon fell asleep peacefully, worn out from the day’s events.  But Jael looked down on Sisera with disdain.  And as he was sleeping, Jael took a mallet and a tent stake and drove the stake through Sisera’s skull, killing him instantly. 
 
            “You mean she was the woman?” a number of the children cried out simultaneously in disbelief. 
 
            “Yes, she was the one,” the storyteller nodded.  “She was the woman by whom God’s prophecy was fulfilled.”
 
            “Well thank God the monster was finally dead!” the children giggled to themselves.
 
            Yet the storyteller was not finished.  “I told you that Jael killed Sisera, but Sisera was not the monster in the story.  To be sure Sisera was evil.  But he was not the monster.  The real monster in the story is the violence that causes people to reach for swords and chariots and hammers and tent stakes in the name of God, even when they think they are doing the right thing for the right reasons. 
 
            The children pondered the storyteller’s words.  Until one of them spoke out.  “So what’s the point of this story.  It’s a scary story, but I don’t think God wants us to treat anybody like that.  God wants us to love each other.  We’re supposed to love our neighbors.”
 
            “You’re right,” the storyteller agreed.  But for thousands of years the monster hasn’t gone away.  The monster of violence stalks human streets and human homes and human relationships.  The monster of violence causes us to lash out against our sisters and brothers thinking we are doing the right thing for the right reason.  But the monster of violence can never have the last word.  Not in the Bible.  Not in our Christian faith tradition.  Not on a hill called Calvary where Jesus died on a cross. 
 
            As the children fell asleep around the campfire, the story of Sisera and Deborah and Barak and Jael ended.  But the question raised by the story lingered.  “What do we do about the monster…?”
 
            When I think about the adult education seminar starting here at Wapping Community Church tomorrow night and lasting for the next few weeks, I continue to ask myself that very question.  Why do people of faith too often use faith as their rationale for perpetrating violence on others.  And what can we do in 2016, Christians, Muslims, and Jews of faith, to tame the monster of violence that results in fear and mistrust and tragedy and destruction?
 
            I hope to see you here at church tomorrow night and over the next five weeks as we hear stories and tell stories and imagine a new, peaceful story for God’s faithful people.  A monster-free story we can tell our children and their children for thousands of years to come.  Amen.       
 
 
 
  

John 21:1-19
 
            I think the world can probably be divided into two groups of people.  The kind of people who love going to reunions.  And the kind of people who avoid going to reunions at all costs. 
 
            I went to a family reunion last summer and actually had a pretty good time, although I prepared myself ahead of time for the opposite.  As in most families, there were some people in my extended family I was happy to spend the day with.  And then there were others who made me glad I had internet access on my smartphone.
 
I’m sure you know some version of the family members I’m talking about.  The aunt who is so overly invested in etiquette and rules that you never know how or when or what you might do to offend her and incur her wrath.  Or the uncle who tells the same stories over and over again and doesn’t shut up.  Or the cousin who never has the right boundaries but always has the right gossip and can’t wait to spill juicy family secrets.
 
            Then there are class reunions and I confess I have never been to one.  Maybe someday when I’m older and feeling more nostalgic and sentimental, I’ll decide to go.  But for now it’s not a priority.  Going to California for a college reunion is a complicated and expensive endeavor.  If I’m going to go down and spend a day in New York, there are other things I’d rather do in Manhattan than go back to my seminary.  And the idea of returning for a high school reunion.  Once I walked out of my high school doors for the last time with a diploma in hand, I haven’t looked back on those days very often.  
 
            It’s not that I have anything against reunions.  And maybe I should give them a fair shot.  I know people who happily go to reunions every year and tell me they’d never miss one.  Arguably reunions are no different than most other human activities.  You take the bad with the good and hope for the best… 
 
            Well just like family reunions or class reunions or any kind of reunion between people, there are also reunions between God and human beings.  And those divine-human reunions can similarly be bittersweet.  Sometimes you and I want reunion with God and sometimes we absolutely don’t. 
 
            Rev. Dr. Will Willimon tells the story of a Duke University student who confronted him at the end of one of his weekly chapel services.  In no uncertain terms, she described Willimon’s sermon that day as “insensitive, disconcerting, and utterly inappropriate.”  As the intensity and the volume of the student’s disapproval rose, a crowd gathered at the back door of the chapel sanctuary.  And they all listened and watched as the young woman made her final point and stormed off in a huff. 
 
            At that point, one of the student witnesses offered the following opinion.  “Well, I guess somebody didn’t want to be as close to Jesus as she first thought.”  I’ll have to keep that one in my back pocket in case I ever need to use it down the road…
 
            In this morning’s Gospel lesson from the end of John, the disciples are busy doing what they did before Jesus called them and basically turned their lives upside down.  They were back to fishing.  It was a predictable choice and one many of us have made in our own lives.  When something traumatic happens, in this case the crucifixion, doubt and shock and disbelief were accompanied by a relentless determination to try and reclaim some semblance of life before the upheaval. 
 
            I imagine the disciples were having a hard time moving on, however.  And fishing naturally lends itself to storytelling and laughter and sharing memories as a way to pass the time. 
 
            The disciples bantered back and forth.  “Well we tried our hardest to get Jesus to become the Messiah but we fell a little short.” 
 
“The road trips and the meals and the time we spent listening to Jesus…that was all good.  But the exorcisms and the healings and trying to deal with the Roman authorities.  We could have done without that stuff.”
 
Maybe after Easter when they went back to fishing, the disciples kicked around the idea of a reunion at some later date.  Judas Iscariot was gone, but it wasn’t out of the question that the remaining eleven would gather again to remember the good old days with Jesus.  For the time being, though, fishing was a welcome anesthetic for the disciples who couldn’t think of anyplace they’d rather have been than in a boat out on the Sea of Tiberias… 
 
As the sun rose to mark the dawn of a new day, a stranger called out to the disciples from the beach.  “Have you caught any fish?” 
 
For the disciples, who were clearly not much better at fishing than they were at discipling, the answer was “no.”  Nevertheless, the stranger on the shore offered a little fishing advice and then he gathered some driftwood to kindle a fire for breakfast. 
 
Peter was the first fishmerman to figure out the stranger was Jesus.  Why he was fishing with no clothes on and decided to get dressed so he could jump into the water and swim to shore is a mystery.  But soon there was no doubt among any of the disciples that Jesus had returned.  Jesus had returned to the same lovable, ever so wishy-washy, group of friends who had disappointed him in the first place. 
 
Yes, Jesus was back.  Doing what he had done so often during the three+ years of ministry they shared together.  Inviting the disciples to the table.  Taking, breaking, offering bread.  Eating a meal.  Sharing communion.  For the disciples who were on the shore of Tiberias that day, they had seen this script before. 
 
By the same token, as one might expect, the Risen Jesus didn’t simply appear on the shore to fix breakfast.  He had bigger fish to fry…if you pardon the expression.  The Risen Jesus was there to enlist the disciples.  To summon them to action.  To give them a command.  Three times he instructed them to show their love for him by loving others.  Three times he repeated himself because Jesus knew the disciples well enough to know that one time or two times were not enough.  Three times and it might sink in…  
 
This impromptu Monday morning reunion was unexpected, unanticipated and perhaps even unwelcome…at least on the part of the disciples.  But that’s how Jesus does it.  Jesus shows up whenever and wherever he pleases.  And in the case of Easter, the Risen Jesus immediately sought out a reunion.   He came back to the very same friends who abandoned him and failed him and he asked them to carry out his unfinished work anyway…
 
While the reunion of the Risen Jesus with his closest friends was noteworthy, the truth is that the Bible can be read as a series of reunions between God and human beings going all the way back to the story of Abraham and Sarah in the Book of Genesis.  Sometimes those reunions were welcome and sometimes unwelcome.
 
The same goes for you and me.  Sometimes we look forward to reunions with God.  And sometimes we go out of our way to avoid them.  Mainly because we know reunions can be good or bad.  But one of the points of the Easter story is that it’s not up to you or to me.  Reunions are what Jesus does.  And people who are Christians are people who have been met by Jesus in some way.  You and I are recipients of reunion. 
 
In the end, here’s the good news if you are the kind of person who likes reunions.  The Christian faith is not about how we think or feel about Jesus.  It’s about what Jesus does to us.  In other words, it’s not up to us to use Jesus but rather for Jesus to use us.  Which should enable us to relax and go with it and let Jesus seek us out.
 
On the other hand, here’s the bad news if you’re not a fan of reunions.  You cannot escape.  No matter how hard you try to sidestep him, deny him, pay no attention to him, Jesus will still show up.  In church or around the breakfast table or while you are sitting at your desk at work or when you’re driving in your car.  He’s waiting for you and me to give up and to give in.  He’s patiently holding out for a reunion. 
 
Richard Niebuhr once defined “conversion” as the moment you discover that the God whom you feared as an enemy is in truth your long, lost friend.  It is all about reunions.
 
Finally, God has a vision of what lays in store for God’s people one day.  In the last days, God promises to get what God wants.  One day all of God’s frightened, divided, misguided, far-flung people will be summoned to a reunion around one table.  And Jesus, whom human beings tried to push out of our world on a cross, will be the host.  Gathering every man, woman, youth, and child together and reuniting us…the lost and the found, the living and the dead.   
 
When that one day comes, you and I and all of God’s children will know for certain that we are not fated for separation and loneliness and exile.  We are made for meeting and we are saved by reunion.  Amen.  

John 20:19-31
 
            For the past few weeks, over the course of Lent and Holy Week, you’ve heard me preach about a number of important and serious topics.  I’ve talked about forgiveness, the cross, healing, living simply, speaking and acting prophetically, the true identity of Jesus Christ, and what the Risen Christ is doing out in the world.  Now as we gather one week after Easter Sunday, it feels like a good time for a more whimsical sermon.  Something a little less intense.  In the words of the old Lite beer commercial, I’m hoping this sermon tastes great but is a little less filling.
 
            I was born in the mid 1960’s and I grew up listening primarily to classic rock music.  I loved Led Zeppelin and Aerosmith and Jimi Hendrix and Van Halen, to name a few.  Almost every time I came home from school or some other activity, I would head up to my room, put on a pair of headphones and let my favorite music help me forget about all my stress and troubles.
 
            As much as I loved and still love classic rock, however, I don’t think I will ever match the fanaticism, the undying loyalty, the sheer, unshakeable allegiance many people in the generation just before me have for Elvis Presley.  All over the world there are active Elvis Presley fan clubs.  People well into their adult years still dress up like Elvis as a way of paying tribute to their idol.  For millions of people, Elvis was and is and always will be “The King.” 
 
            Noted preacher and comedian Rev. Susan Sparks describes in one of her sermons a trip she took to the holy land.  Not the capital “H”, capital “L” Holy Land of Israel.  But rather the small “h”, small “l” holy land of Memphis, Tennessee.  The land of succulent barbecued ribs, the land of proud Bible Belt Christians, and the land where Elvis Presley made his home. 
 
            On the day Susan Sparks made her way to Graceland, she was greeted by a twenty-five foot high sign with Elvis saying “Welcome to the Blingdom!”  Soon thereafter, Susan Sparks joined the long line of people waiting for tickets.  At one point, Rev. Sparks turned to one of the tour guides and asked what she figured was a relatively innocent question, “so how long did Elvis actually live here?”
 
            Whereupon the tour guide turned to her with a look of shock and disdain and whispered, “We don’t use the past tense here.”  And then she proceeded to point to her own t-shirt which read, “Graceland, where Elvis LIVES.”
 
            Never mind the fact that the tour guide had never seen Elvis herself.  Not to mention the fact that Elvis Presley officially died in 1977, nearly forty years ago.  For many Elvis fans none of those details matter.  In the end, the most avid fans can’t be bothered with things like facts.  All they know is that Elvis lives, baby.  The King is still alive.  For them it’s almost as if Elvis Presley has reached holy status. 
 
            Come to think of it, there have been actual studies which have identified the parallels between Jesus and Elvis.  And in one of his stand-up routines, none other than Adam Sandler identified a few of the similarities… 
 
            According to Sandler, in the Bible Jesus said, “love your neighbor.”  In one of his more famous songs Elvis sang,”don’t be cruel.”  Jesus was part of the Trinity.  The first band Elvis was ever a part of was a trio.  Jesus is often referred to as the Lord’s shepherd.  Elvis once dated Cybil Sheppard…
 
            Without trying to sound irreverent, I find myself wondering whether all of us as Jesus fans have something to learn from all the people who are Elvis fans.  Especially when it comes our post-Easter faith, most of us tend to be a lot more like the disciple Thomas than the tour guide down at Graceland.
 
            This morning’s Scripture lesson tells the familiar story of doubting Thomas.  After the crucifixion, Thomas and the other disciples were holed up behind closed doors.  Until Jesus came and stood among them.  When they saw Jesus, the disciples rejoiced.  But Thomas was not present at that precise moment.  Thomas heard the news later, second hand from one of the disciples who witnessed it.
 
            “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands and put my finger in his side, I will not believe.”  Thomas was adamant in his response.  But not more than a week later, Thomas was with his disciple friends and the Risen Christ appeared again. 
 
            Knowing his doubts, the Risen Christ allowed Thomas to touch the holes in his hands and in his side.  And when he did, Thomas confessed his faith aloud.  “My Lord and my God.”  Prompting Jesus to respond, “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.”
 
            You and I have likely heard the story before and more importantly, we have lived the story.  How many times in our lives have we been skeptical and asked God to show us a sign or give us some proof?  Times when the pain was more than we could bear, the loneliness was more than we could comprehend, the self-doubt was more than we could cope with.  And when we tried to reach out to God with a plea for God’s presence and God’s understanding, all we heard in return was silence. 
 
            Unless we see it with our own eyes, we won’t believe it.  Not much has changed over the course of two thousand years.  We still live in a world where trying to prove something trumps the idea of having faith in something.  And why not?  In 2016, there are microphones and video cameras and cell phones and high tech surveillance equipment available for any purpose at any time.  Who needs faith when a few clicks of a button will provide all the evidence necessary…?
 
            On the other hand, if only we could have the same kind of faith that fans of Elvis Presley have.  A faith not driven by empirical truth, a faith not driven by our need to see our touch or hear, but rather a faith driven by what we trust in our hearts.  Finding and feeling that kind of faith could change our lives.  Because when you believe something with all your heart, you start to act accordingly. 
 
            Elvis fans don’t just believe Elvis lives.  They act like he lives.  They are constantly on the lookout for Elvis.  And sometimes, they find Elvis…or so they claim.  They find him at the nearby Burger King.  Or they find him at a spa.  Or they see his image in a taco shell…really I’m not making that up… 
 
            Wouldn’t it be great it Christians put some of the same passion and energy towards looking for the Risen Christ.  Seeing him the face of a small child or a homeless stranger.  Seeing him in the face of someone who has a different skin color or someone who practices a different faith.  Seeing him in the face of someone who is supposed to be an enemy but someone Jesus urged us to love anyway. 
 
            If you and I really believed Jesus lives, we’d act as though he was alive.  If we just spent some time looking for the Risen Christ, there’s a good chance we’d find him… 
 
            And here’s another thing about Elvis Presley fans.  Because they believe Elvis is alive, the look for others who believe the same thing.  As a result, they’ve created an entire network, an entire community of people who are loyal to each other and who care about each other because they share a common devotion to Elvis.
 
            It sounds a lot like Christian community at its best.  Inside the church and outside the church, you and I seek out others who believe the same thing we do.  We search for community.  And over time we build a network of friends and fellow disciples who care about each other because we share a common devotion to Jesus Christ.
 
            One more thing about Elvis fans. Because his rabid supporters believe Elvis lives they go out into the world and share his message.  They play Elvis’ music as often as they can.  They dress up in Elvis costumes and go to Elvis conventions.  They decorate their homes with all kinds of Elvis memorabilia.  Through their words and their music and their actions and their prized Elvis collectibles, Elvis fans proudly and loudly preach the message of the King. 
 
            In truth, Elvis fans do exactly the opposite of what the disciples did.  After the cross, the disciples went into hiding.  They kept to themselves and avoided going out and seeking the solace of other followers.  They stopped preaching and teaching.  Instead they locked their doors and hoped no one would disturb them because they didn’t believe what Jesus told them…namely that he would, in fact, rise from the dead. 
 
            Instead of closing the doors and locking up our hearts and asking for proof, we might choose to take the advice of Elvis Presley himself.  Early on in his career, Elvis said, “Music and religion are similar—because both should make you wanna move.” 
 
            Are you looking for a religion that makes you wanna move?  Do you want the kind of Savior who would be thrilled if you put on a sequin jumpsuit and a pair of dark glasses and started singing?  Do you believe that Jesus lives? 
 
            I’m pretty sure that’s the kind of Savior I want.  Never mind touching the nail holes, I want a Risen Christ who lives and moves.  Long live the King, baby.  Amen.
  
 
NOTE:  The story told by the Rev. Susan Sparks, pastor of the Madison Avenue Baptist Church in New York City, can be found in her sermon titled “Trust Jesus and Elvis.” The sermon was broadcast on April 11, 2010, on the DAYOne Radio Program.