Seventh Sunday of Easter

Revelation 22: 12-21


American science fiction and fantasy author Piers Anthony wrote a book several years ago called Bearing an Hourglass. The book is one in a series about the various Incarnations of natural phenomenon (death, nature, war, evil, good). This book focused on a man who was chosen to be the Incarnation of Time. From the moment he was chosen for this role, he began living backwards. His tomorrow was our yesterday, and our yesterday was his tomorrow. The end of his service would be at the beginning of his life. He, thus, lived within something of a complete circle.


Reading the words of Christ in today's selection from Revelation got me thinking about that book and its main character. "I am Alpha and Omega," Jesus declares. I am A and Z. I'm the start of the journey and its ending. I am the beginning and the end. Heavy stuff.


These words did not mean a whole lot to me until my wife and I were dating. During her morning devotional one day, she read these words. She could hardly wait to tell me about them. They were so special she even had them put on the prayer book she gave me. "He's the Alpha and Omega," she declared.


At the time, and for a while afterward, I smiled as I often did when she had some epiphany over some scripture or piece of writing that, to me, either didn't speak to me or else just confused me. But one day, I finally got it. "Oh yeah," I thought, "the beginning and the end." And, from time to time, those words bubble up out of my subconscious or pop up in the strangest places. Not surprisingly, those times are the ones when I most need to hear these words.


"I am the first and the last," Jesus declares. I've been there. I will be there. I am there. For what you call tomorrow, I can call yesterday.


Don't worry about tomorrow, Jesus says to us in the Sermon on the Mount. Tomorrow has enough of its own worries. What he didn't say is, "I know; because, I've seen it." I've not only got a good idea what's there, I'm well acquainted with all its possibilities. So, if you'll trust me, I think we can navigate those waters together.


Of course, the fact that Jesus has already been there and bought the t-shirt doesn't mean there isn't any trouble ahead. There's nothing in that statement about smoothing out the road or calming the seas beforehand. Some days are like bad storms that blow up out of the west. You see them coming and all you can do is hunker down and ride them out.


But Christ is there. Christ inhabits tomorrow before we do. And when midnight turns today into yesterday, we can always know that whatever lies in the hours ahead will not be faced alone.


Alpha and Omega, thanks for getting to this day before me. My only hope is that you've found a way through this particular stretch of the road. Guide me until I reach tomorrow, where I'll find you there waiting again.

Second Sunday of Easter

Luke 20:19-31, Revelation 1:4-8


"Where are you?" God says, walking in the garden in the cool of the afternoon. Who knows how long the Creator brushed past the bushes and leaves before the first man and woman stepped out of their hiding place. Perhaps it was when God was almost on top of them. Perhaps the One who had breathed life into Adam was about to step right into the middle of their hiding place. Whatever it was, Adam stood up and says that, indeed, they had heard that God was near, but they had been afraid. So, they hid.


Jesus, in today's gospel, comes wandering right into the middle of the disciples' hiding place. They were hiding out of fear. And with good reason. Their leader had been executed just as any political prisoner was. He'd endangered the Pax Romana—the Peace of Rome. The great and mighty empire could not allow anyone to disrupt that peace. And everyone knew that the followers of an executed leader could, quite likely, start their own brand of trouble. There was, after all, the missing body at the tomb and the (fake) story about its theft.


Like Adam and Eve, the disciples had walked together with their Beloved in the afternoon. They knew, as the prophet once declared, that their Redeemer lived. But they were afraid. They are, thankfully, just like me.


One day, I often think, someone will discover that I'm a fraud. They'll stumble upon me and find that I'm not as brave, strong, impervious, perfect as I've labored to appear. And then the truth will come out. I'll be known for who I really am. So I am afraid of being found out, of being found. So I hide. I hide out of fear.


But the Divine tends to find us no matter where we are. Whether its Adam and Eve in the garden, Elijah hiding in a cave, or the disciples behind a locked door, the God-Who-Sees always finds us. And, when we least expect it, appears in the midst of us. And says the words that surprise us: "Peace to you."


Peace, not like Rome can give—peace maintained at the end of a sword, peace that demands a subjugation and a bit of a lying. No, not like Rome, America, jobs, denominations, or any other human-made entity can give. My peace, says Jesus, I give.


But what is this peace that Christ can give that no other can. No more, or less, than the peace that is "I am the Alpha and the Omega." I'm first and last, start and finish, yesterday and today, childhood and old age. I know who you've been.


I know who you can be.


Alpha and Omega, you have seen the tomorrow that brings us anxiety, and you know who we truly are and who we can truly be. Come into the midst of our fears and breathe on us.

(Thanks to Jill for reminding me what Jesus says in this week's reading, which helped me figure out what this passage was trying to say to me.)