Gloria Dei Lutheran Church

Alleluia. Christ is Risen!

If you worshipped here on Good Friday, you may have noticed a tender moment between Pastor Bradley and me, when we got a little weepy during the final hymn. Yes, of course, we realized that this was the last Good Friday service we’d be leading together. But more than that, it was all of you, and how you worshiped that night.

As is our tradition, a large wooden cross was laid here across the chancel. And one by one, you came forward to lay ribbons on the cross, a symbol of the suffering in your own life, or brokenness or sadness in the life of the world. You draped your ribbons, connecting your sorrow to the passion of Jesus, acknowledging his solidarity with the grief of the world. Then as you found your way back to your seats, you tenderly cared for each other, reaching out to the stranger struggling to find their balance down the chancel steps, putting a hand on the shoulder of the one silently crying, lovingly recognizing our shared humanity, and our communal need for compassion.

As the ribbons dripped in the twilight, we sang those hauntingly beautiful lyrics of Susan Briehl, “Holy God, Holy and living one, you show you love by dying for your friends, and we behold your glory[i].”

Glory is that majestic, shimmering radiance of God, shining so brilliantly in the holy holiest of places, the priests hid their faces from its grandeur.

We know it in the breathtaking and awesome moments of our lives. Mountain majesty. Wedding and graduation days. The way Tim makes the organ sound on Easter morning. Absolutely glorious.

And sometimes we catch it in quieter and gentler ways. The first glimpse of wildflowers in the spring. The smell of a baby’s newly washed head. The glow of a sunset. The gentlest lullaby David and Brenda play on their violins. Love Divine, all loves excelling, joy of heaven, to earth come down[ii].

But somehow in our daily lives glory tends to get a little tarnished. We worry about the volume of just too much terrible news: more innocent deaths, more corruption, more degradation of institutions. We focus on what we’re missing or what we lack. We compare ourselves and feel that we don’t measure up. We grieve, and think that the glory, the shimmering beautiful goodness of life, has passed us by.

In the last hours of Jesus’s time with his disciples, he senses their confusion and their worry about his impending arrest and probable execution. The world had become a violent and oppressive place, and the good was being taken down by authorities.

But Jesus doesn’t seem to be giving up. Just before our reading he surprises his disciples by kneeling to wash their feet. Just after this, he will talk about taking them home to himself, which must have really baffled them, since it’s in the context of giving up his life.

And throughout it all, he keeps talking about glorifying God. Now the Human One has been glorified, he says, and God has been glorified in him[iii].

Jesus says that the glory of God, the shimmering, abiding, tangible power of God’s presence, is here, shimmering around them, even as they fear his death. It shines, he says, in loving one another as he has loved.

Love reveals God’s glory. Love that serves the least, includes the child, seeks the lost, pays the last worker as much as the first, weeps with those who weep. Love that gives it all away, taking a basin of water, and gently washing off the dust, loneliness, and sorrow of each other’s lives, so gently and powerfully, we shine again with Gloria Dei, the glory of God.

I was drawn to serve this congregation when I saw how God’s glory shines through you as you strive to live out your baptismal promises, caring, healing, welcoming, striving for justice. It sparkles in the glorious ways you sing – oh, how you can sing! –and in the congregation’s rich worship traditions.

Glory radiates in every other ministry of this place, too. We see it as you are building community; passing along faith to new generations and continuing to grow in faith as you age; welcoming those who have known exclusion; feeding the hungry; caring for the earth and this building; partnering with indigenous tribes, and global neighbors; advocating for racial justice and fair housing.

You love as you have been loved, and God’s love is reflected in that loving. By this everyone will know that you shine with God’s love, if you have love for one another. The glory of God, embodied in lives of loving service.

And it’s not only confined to ministries within the congregation. You are shining God’s glory in your own lives. Teachers see the student falling behind and take the time to get them back on track. Nurses work the extra shift. Seekers quietly study theologians and read the mystics and know more theology than I ever will. Some of you advocate for children’s welfare, or international agencies of humanitarian relief, or victims of torture. Some sit quietly, holding the hands of those who are dying. Some are artists and writers, and stay-at-home parents. Some balance jobs while caring for aging parents; some befriend the incarcerated or defend the immigrant, or put long hours in offices or retail stores, and in whatever God calls you to do, stoop gracefully to serve your neighbor. You shine God’s glory into every corner of the earth, by loving.

And throughout this last generation, loving even me, and inviting me to accompany you on your journey. You’ve shared your lives with me, allowed me to witness your joys and losses, confessed your struggles, and described miracles of hope.

You forgave me when I haven’t lived up to your hopes, held me accountable to my call, nudged me when I’ve forgotten, and continued to expect the best I could offer.

You helped raise my children, stood with me in my own grief and worries, and encouraged me to take steps into the new things God was calling us to do.

You let me be your servant and served me in doing so.

And what do you know?

Just as scripture promised, God made a home among us[iv].  God showed up to shine through us–inspiring our efforts toward justice and compassion, cheering our successes, wiping away our tears and saying over, and over again, I am home with you. Gloria Dei, right here.

I can’t really end this sermon without reminding you of Jesus’ own words: Little children, I am with you only a little longer…. Where I am going, you cannot come. 

Yes, it’s hard to say goodbye to the tender ways we have shined with God’s glory together in this place, but I remember Schola Cantorum singing to us last week, “Love shall be our song.”

Dear friends in Christ, I’m not going to stop singing. And I trust that you are not going to stop loving. And in that way, we will remain connected to each other forever in the mystical body of Christ.

Alleluia. Christ is Risen.

[i] Briehl, Susan. Holy God, Holy and Glorious, Text © 2000 GIA Publications. All rights reserved.
Music © 2001 Robert Buckley Farlee, admin. Augsburg Fortress

[ii] Love Divine, All Loves Excelling, Public Domain

[iii] John 13:31-35

[iv] Revelation 21:1-6