Theologian Karl Barth once said that in order understand the scriptures one must have the Bible in one hand and a newspaper in the other. He strongly believed the scriptures to be speaking to our time and I couldn’t agree more. But I think if he had lived long enough, he’d now say you need the Bible in one hand and a smartphone in the other. Isn’t that where most of us get our information these days? Sometimes it may even be the Bible in one hand and Facebook on your smartphone in the other! That happened this week for me as I was contemplating why these first two readings in the Easter season seem so fixated on wounds. I received a message from a colleague in the Chicago area – a fellow RevGalBlogPal who serves a community church there. She asked my prayers in a private Facebook message for a clergy friend who had died by suicide this past week. We often believe clergy are immune to things like suicide – after all, we have the Gospel of Jesus Christ, right? Well, no … it’s not like that at all. We can fall into despair just like anyone else and we are not immune to any of the sufferings that others have. My colleague was mourning and shaken. Later this same colleague sent me a link that some of you may have seen on Facebook – a piece of news that I otherwise might not have seen since it happened outside our geographic area. It was the story of a third grade teacher who did an exercise with her class called “I wish my teacher knew …” She had her class fill in the blank of what they wished their teacher knew and the results were startling. The answers were raw and honest: “I wish my teacher knew that nobody plays with me at recess.” Ouch! “I wish my teacher knew I haven’t seen my daddy since I was three because he was deported.” Wow! These are third graders! We somehow view childhood through rosy glasses and forget that all of us – no matter how old we are – are carrying wounds … serious wounds.

This week’s gospel reading from Luke appears to be a repeat of last week’s reading from John. Last week we heard of Jesus showing his wounds to the disciples and especially to Thomas who refused to believe unless he saw and touched them. This week we hear of Jesus showing up with the same words, “Peace be with you” and once again showing his wounds with the words “Touch me and see.” Then in true Luke fashion, Jesus asks for something to eat … this is the gospel where he’s accused of being a drunk and a glutton! But all of this talk of wounds and showing wounds isn’t something we generally like to talk about, is it? We would rather avoid wounds all together, right? Wounds frighten us – we are afraid of our wounds, our own and those in others. But I think Jesus’ invitation to “Touch me and see” is an invitation to us to touch our wounds because in them is the hope for healing and resurrection.

The fear we have over wounds comes from our culture. We tend towards a social Darwinism touting “survival of the fittest” and that kind of thinking doesn’t make room for anyone to be hurt, does it? My experience tells me wounds are not easy for anyone, but they are especially hard for men in our culture. It’s OK for women to be wounded … we expect women to be “weaker” don’t we? But we really don’t make it OK for men to experience weakness and wounds. This is where Jesus defies the culture! He gets real and shows his wounds and by them, the disciples are healed. Even in the midst of their “disbelief” as Luke tells us – and seriously, who wouldn’t be confused and disbelieving? – the disciples begin to be healed precisely because Jesus is willing to show his wounds.

Franciscan spiritual leader and author Richard Rohr speaks of our troubled relationship with our wounds. He says that we can basically do two things with our pain. The first is to allow it to transform us – allow ourselves to experience our wounds and pain, work through the suffering, and allow the experience to transform (resurrect) us. The second option is to transmit our pain onto others. Sadly, most people take the second route because the first is scary and hard. Most people are pain transmitters because they have never done the deeper work of letting their wounds be a path to deeper transformation and healing – they are frightened of their wounds and pain. But letting it transform us allows us to become what Henri Nouwen called “wounded healers” – he actually wrote a book called The Wounded Healer. If we stop trying to run from and deny our wounds and instead let them be what they are and transform us, we can become wounded healers instead of “wounded wound-ers” (that’s what we are when we transmit our pain onto others). Being transformed, resurrected if you will, into wounded healers who offer hope to others who are suffering is part of our call as Christians.

I saw this happen last night. Last night, we held our first 12 Step Eucharist for Recovering People at Grace Church. We kept the publicity for this very low key to respect the 12th Tradition of anonymity in recovery. We put it on our Facebook page, I invited some folks I know in the recovery community to spread the word, and we handed out some flyers. Fourteen people showed up and we had an awesome speaker in Eric who likened recovery to his learning to fly a plane. What I seen in the rooms and what I saw in our gathering last night is the fact that people in recovery are brutally honest about their wounds. They know what addiction has done to them and their loved ones. Those committed to sobriety, from whatever addiction they are addressing, show their wounds to each other in the meetings and here last night. In their stories lies hope for recovery for others who are also wounded.

You see, Jesus was resurrected not as the “new and improved” version of himself but rather resurrected as one still bearing his wounds – one whose wounds have been transformed for the sake of all of us. This is also what can be true for us too. When we get real about the wounds in our lives, experience the pain of them, pray for the risen Christ to heal them, and are willing to share our resurrection experience to offer strength, hope and healing to others, these wounds become agents of grace and mercy to a hurting world.

So as we continue celebrating the hope of the resurrection this Eastertide, I invite you to examine your own wounds. Start with ones which have been healed well – those are the easier ones to address. Where might those healed wounds offer hope and encouragement to another? Where might you be hearing the invitation to show them to someone who needs the hope of resurrection in a tangible way? Now take a look at the wounds which may be more raw – the ones that may still be really hard to face because they are so fresh. You may not be ready to share those because they are not yet transformed and sharing them would make you a “wounded wound-er.” Take those to Christ in prayer. Ask for healing of those wounds and offer them to Christ as a gift. Yeah, I know that may sound weird and not the kind of gift we would normally give … but do it anyway. These wounds, offered in prayer and humility, can be transformed if you allow them to be so. And one day, you may very well be able to say to another person who is hurting, “Touch me and see … resurrection is real!"

“Just give me a reason, just a little bit’s enough. Wait a second, we’re not broken just bent – and we can learn to love again. It is in the stars, it’s been written on the scars of our hearts that we’re not broken just bent – and we can learn to love again.” Some of you recognize that song from Pink and you may even hear it played on our local radio station in the morning when our organist Dj is back in the booth at Key 103. I couldn’t get this song out of my head this week as I meditated on the gospel reading for this morning. You may not realize but this reading about the disciples being gathered and receiving the Holy Spirit from John’s gospel (yes, the one with “Doubting Thomas”) is always read on the second Sunday of Easter. So let’s just say, I’ve preached it a few times over the years. If a parish has a seminary intern, this is the Sunday the rector will pass on preaching in favor of giving the seminarian some air time. Its sheer familiarity becomes problematic to preaching. But this year, I want to look at it from another angle: one that incorporates what was addressed in the opening collect for the Second Sunday of Easter – the covenant of reconciliation and how our wounds can lead us into reconciliation where we can learn to love again.

This story takes place on the day of Resurrection – we are back on Easter Sunday. In John’s gospel, Mary Magdalene has already seen the risen Christ but, true to form, the guys don’t believe her. Peter and John run out to the burial site and see an empty tomb, but nothing more. Put yourself into their shoes for just a moment. You have thrown all caution to the wind in following this itinerant preacher who has been spreading a message of radical inclusion and love without measure. He healed lepers, gave sight to the blind, and he even raised his friend from the dead! Surely this was the promised one … but then came an arrest, false charges, a rapid conviction, crucifixion, death and burial in a tomb. Everything you had pinned your hopes on is gone – dead and gone. And how does that sit with you? Do you feel heartbroken? Sick? Feel like your trust was betrayed (“I thought he was the real deal and he’s just another fake!”)? Confused? Afraid? “Now what?” But then, when it looks like all hope is lost, Jesus appears. He said, “Peace be with you” and then he showed the disciples his wounds. This is crucial … he shows them his wounds and only after they see the wounds do they rejoice. John is pointing to something very important here. Jesus reveals his wounds to the wounded disciples. Their wounds are emotional and spiritual, and Jesus meets their wounds with his.

But Thomas was not with them when this happens. John tells us that Thomas wants to see Jesus too, but notice what he talks about: Christ’s wounds. He gets pretty graphic in saying he wants to touch the wounds of Jesus or he will never believe. Now due to a translational issue, when Jesus does show himself to Thomas, he will get forever branded with the word “doubt.” Doubt is not the issue – unbelief, faithlessness, lack of trust is the real issue Jesus raises with Thomas. “Do not be faithless, be believing” is how it is rendered in other translations. When Jesus shows his wounds to Thomas and meets Thomas’ emotional wounds with his own, then a new way forward – a new way to love again opens up.

One thing I have found to be true is how our wounds, our being broken and bent, can be instruments of reconciliation and healing. It seems counterintuitive. We do not like to be wounded or weak, do we? Our minds immediately go to the wounded gazelle in the herd on the Serengeti Plain being picked off by the pack of lions, don’t they? Survival of the fittest says “don’t be weak” and “don’t be wounded” … or if you are never, ever admit it! The problem with that approach is it never leads to healing – it only leads to denial and the wounds going deeper and getting emotionally and spiritually infected.

Being honest about our wounds is a first step in healing a broken relationship. You’ve heard me preach about “capital D ‘death’ and capital R ‘resurrection’” – or what I call the “final exam” when you take your last breath and leave your body behind. But there are lots of “small d ‘deaths’” and “small r ‘resurrections’” throughout our lives when things seem to fall apart. Maybe it’s the end of a marriage or the collapse of a friendship, or a rift between siblings. There are lots of times when relationships undergo a breaking apart and in the wake of that pain, we often wonder if we can learn to love again. It hurts … it sometimes feels like it hurts too much and we’ve been too betrayed. Reconciliation is a form of resurrection for these “small d ‘deaths’” and it begins by being honest about our wounds – physical, emotional and spiritual ones.

Need some proof? Look at South Africa and their Truth and Reconciliation Commission. When the governmental system of apartheid ended, both the oppressed and the oppressors were given the opportunity to tell their stories of what happened to them in front of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission. Archbishop Desmond Tutu was very instrumental in this process. Afrikaaners who had taken part in oppressing the African tribes spoke candidly and graphically about the torture and killing they did to maintain their privileged status. Black Africans spoke of the terror they experienced – beatings, rapes, murders. Anguished stories brought forth tears … and in this process, over time, a way forward began to emerge where the former oppressors and the formerly oppressed began to move forward into a future together. It was a reconciled and resurrected relationship only possible when both parties could see each other’s wounds in a process which provided a safe container for those wounds to be honored, felt deeply, and healed.

This morning, I am wearing a stole which came from Sarajevo. Some of you remember when this region was torn apart into warring factions: Muslim, Catholic and Orthodox all killing each other after their leader died. It was a horrible conflict but the long term healing has happened in the wake of bringing the formerly warring and now wounded parties together to find a way forward. This stole was embroidered by a Muslim woman … with clearly Christian symbols to be worn by a Christian minister. It is a project bringing Muslim, Christian and Orthodox women together to rebuild their country in peace.

When Jesus shows up and meets the wounds of the disciples with his own, a new and reconciled relationship begins: a relationship where the Holy Spirit is poured out and fear is taken away. These disciples would go out to take the message of resurrection and reconciliation into the world regardless of the personal cost to them. Most would lose their lives for this. Extra biblical literature and oral tradition tell us that Thomas went to India to spread the gospel and he is revered as the founder of the Mar Thoma Church (with whom we are in full communion).

This gives us hope for our future and the wounded, bent and broken relationships we have in our lives. If we can meet the wounds of another with the honesty and humility of acknowledging our own wounds, the gift of reconciliation can open a new way forward and we can, in spite of the hurt, learn to love again.

Do you ever think about how stories match particular personalities and people? Maybe it’s a character in a story who reminds you of someone you know or a story line that seems lifted out of your own life or your family’s. Or maybe it’s the narrative style of a story that brings to mind a person or situation. This is the power of stories – they reach out of the pages and bring to mind our own lives. I was thinking about this the other day in light of the narrative style of the Gospel of Mark – a fast paced, action packed gospel that ends on this unresolved weird note – and suddenly I thought of a particular person … Ron Popeil. Yeah … I know … how random is that? For those of you who don’t know that name, I know you know of him. Ron Popeil is an inventor, salesman par excellence and pioneer of the television infomercial. While you may never have bought a Pocket Fisherman, a Veg-O-Matic or a Showtime Rotisserie oven, you know Ron Popeil. He knew how to generate excitement and enthusiasm about the products he invented and sold and he used phrases that have wormed their way into our cultural language: “Isn’t that amazing?” “Set it and forget it!” and the granddaddy of them all … “But wait! There’s more!”

Why in the world did I think of Ron Popeil while meditating on the resurrection narrative in the Gospel of Mark? Well … ADD only explains a small fraction of it. The more I thought about it, and yes for the record it did make me laugh too, I realized it was because they had some things in common. First, they were both evangelists of sorts – Ron telling good news about the products he was selling and Mark telling good news about Jesus Christ. They both could generate excitement through their words. Ron had those stock phrases I mentioned and Mark had a couple of favorite words – “amazing” (just like Ron … maybe that’s the hook) and “immediately.” Mark uses the word “immediately” 41 times in 16 chapters to get you on the edge of your seat. And then, Mark slows the narrative down when he gets to Holy Week. You hear every sordid painful detail of what happened to Jesus – the last supper, the betrayal by one of his closest friends, the mockery of a trial, crucifixion and abandonment and buried in a borrowed tomb.

And then we get to chapter 16 … it is early in the morning, sunrise. The women go to the tomb to prepare the body and first address a problem … who will roll that stone away for them? But they get there and see the stone is already rolled away … Jesus is gone … a stranger tells them he is not here! He’s been raised! Go and tell the disciples, even Peter who denied him, that he is going to Galilee and he’ll meet you there! Yes!! Just when you think the pace will pick up again … the women flee in terror and amazement and say nothing to anyone because they are afraid. The End! Imagine you hear Mark tell you this around the campfire … what’s your response? “What??!! Wait … what happens next? Mark replies, “Not sure … that’s it … that’s all I got. Good night.” And we think … “But wait! Isn’t there more??”

There’s a disquieting lack of resolution. So disturbing is this ending of the narrative that at least three writers tried to “fix” the gospel by tacking on endings. Two appear in many versions of the Bible and a third appears in a few obscure manuscripts. Both of the popular tacked on endings have Jesus showing up. In the longer of the two endings, Jesus gives a discourse that borrows heavily from later writings and references some pretty odd things like drinking poison and handling snakes won’t kill believers. Nothing says “Happy Easter” like snake handling, right? Thankfully we don’t incorporate that into our Easter rituals! What these tacked on ending tell us is the unsettled ending of Mark really bugged the people in the early church. You’re not alone!

But this abrupt ending has a purpose and the older I get, the more genius I think there is in it. Mark’s gospel has ended with a messenger giving the women a command and a promise. The command is to “go and tell” and the promise is the risen Christ will meet you there. In the case of the women, they are commanded to go and tell the good news that Jesus, the crucified one, is not locked in a tomb but has been raised. He is heading to Galilee and will meet them there. While Mark implies the women did not say anything to anyone, stopping the narrative there begs the question - If the women didn’t tell who would? And this is why we are disquieted because we know the answer … it is up to you and me.

You see the Gospel of Mark ends but there are more gospels being written and they are written in the lives of believers like you and me who are charged with carrying the message forward. We too are receiving the commission through Mark’s story to “go and tell.” And we are also the recipients of the promise that in going, Christ will meet us there - he will meet us in the Galilees of our lives. Wherever we are going, whatever challenges we face, Christ will meet us there because he is already there. This is the gospel still being written – gospels which bear each of our names. Chapters are still being written as you and I live out our baptismal vows in striving for justice and peace, respecting the dignity of every human being, serving Christ in all persons, and being healers and reconcilers in his name.

You see the genius of Mark’s narrative now? He knows there is more and he knows how to leave you with a cliff hanger that will launch you past his narrative and into your own ministry right here, right now. I do believe Mark’s silence in the end resounds loudly with … “But wait! There’s more!”

Cringe worthy … that phrase for me describes the Passion of Christ and especially John’s version of it. Cringe worthy. Not only for the coldness and the brutality of it but also for how it portrays the Jews. The Jews shouting “Away with him! Crucify him!” is just … cringe worthy. Passages which are even more difficult for me to read this evening knowing that as the sun was setting, my Jewish friends are gathering at table to celebrate the first night of their most holy feast of Passover – the annual celebration of their liberation from the yoke of Pharaoh. Reading these passages here and being reminded of how over the centuries they have been used to rationalize anti-Semitism and blame the Jews as the killers of Christ. Cringe worthy indeed.

We cannot understand the anti-Jewish language in John outside of the context in which it was written. Scholars believe John to the be the last gospel written – likely somewhere around 100 to 125 C. E. At this point, there had been a complete break between the early Jewish followers of Jesus (those who followed The Way of the Nazarene as it was called) and the Jews who held traditional beliefs and did not accept Jesus as Messiah. Tensions rose as a result of the failed Jewish Revolt which resulted in the destruction of the Jerusalem temple in 70 C. E. The early Jewish Christian community refused to join in the revolt resulting in the Jewish community feeling betrayed. Tensions continued to rise over the following years so that by the time John wrote his gospel, it was laden with anti-Jewish sentiment. Resentment and hurt spilled into the pages – resentment and hurt which would be later used to justify all manner of violence against the Jews.

While today we like to think we read these texts with the context in mind and that anti-Semitism is a thing of the past, don’t believe it. The case of Tom Schweich in Missouri says otherwise. For those of you not familiar with it, Tom Schweich was a gubernatorial candidate in Missouri, a devout Episcopalian and a devoted public servant. A few weeks ago, Tom Schweich died by suicide. He called his priest who happened to be the former senator from Missouri, Father (Senator) John Danforth. In that conversation, Tom discussed how a whisper campaign had been launched by his rival and the head of the state’s Republican party insinuating he was a Jew. The fact that in Missouri, in 2015 no less, the rumor that one was “a Jew” would derail someone’s political career proves we are not over our anti-Semitic tendencies … not over our capacity to scapegoat.

Scapegoating is what we do. The term scapegoat comes from an ancient Jewish ritual described in Leviticus 16 where the priest would symbolically lay the sins of the people on a goat and then the goat would be driven into the wilderness to die. While symbol and ritual are important, the problem of the scapegoat is that in laying the sins of the people on another, it removes the responsibility from the people to face their own brokenness and sin. By removing this responsibility, it becomes easy to project one’s darkness into something or someone else and perpetuate our violence.

Jesus was the scapegoat this day. He went up against a political and religious establishment’s rule which served to marginalize and oppress people – rules meant to keep some in and many out. He repeatedly pointed out the sin of the powers that be – and the powers that be struck back rather than face their own sin and culpability. Jesus bore the weight of projected sin, theirs and ours, to the cross.

We know about scapegoating. We do it ourselves and it has been done to us. It is far easier to blame and project our fear and suffering than to face it honestly and let it transform us. Tonight we gaze at a cross – the symbol of what happens when we engage in scapegoating.

This night, I leave you with a reflection from Brother Karekin Yarian who blogs under the name PunkMonk. He is a professed member of the Brotherhood of St. Gregory in the Episcopal Church. I share this with his blessing and permission and it is entitled “Reproaches for the Modern Age”:

My people, what have I done to you
How have I offended you? Answer me!

I sent you a Son to teach you how
to remake the world with Love,
but you married yourselves to power
and bartered that love for allegiance.

My people, what have I done to you?
How have I offended you? Answer me!

Holy is God!
Holy and strong!
Holy immortal One, have mercy on us!

For two thousand years you’ve beaten
my chosen Israel, scattered her to the wind.
You chose gas chambers, and progroms,
and pit the world against my beloved.

Holy is God!
Holy and strong!
Holy immortal One, have mercy on us!

I proclaimed freedom to the Nations,
taught you justice by bread and not the sword;
but you made slavery an industry
and turned my children into chattel
and hanged them from trees
burning crosses in my Name.

Holy is God!
Holy and strong!
Holy immortal One, have mercy on us!

For your sake I sent prophets
and teachers to bring you back to Love.
But you turned that love against me
murdered those voices and proclaimed me dead.

My people, what have I done to you?
How have I offended you? Answer me!

I led you from slavery to freedom
and you use it to make captives
in prisons, on death rows, by laws
to hold the weakest in their place
rather than raise them up.

My people, what have I done to you?
How have I offended you? Answer me!

I opened the world before you,
but you have used her resources near to death.

My people, what have I done to you?
How have I offended you? Answer me!

I led you on your way by a humble servant,
but you turned him to a warrior King.

My people, what have I done to you?
How have I offended you? Answer me!

I strengthened you with bread and wine,
but you withheld the crumbs from the poorest.

My people, what have I done to you?
How have I offended you? Answer me!

I gave you living water from the well,
but you have sucked it dry from greed.

My people, what have I done to you?
How have I offended you? Answer me!

For you I humbled kings and rulers.
but you raised up tyrants in their place to scold me.

My people, what have I done to you?
How have I offended you? Answer me!

I gave you a royal priesthood,
but they locked their tabernacles against my presence.

My people, what have I done to you?
How have I offended you? Answer me!

I raised you to the height of hope for the world,
but you buried my cross beneath a mountain of gold
and used my Name to bless your hate.

My people, what have I done to you?
How have I offended you? Answer me!

(C) 2015, Karekin M Yarian, BSG

“Now before the festival of the Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father … and during supper Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going to God, got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples' feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him.”

Tonight we hear of washing feet and a new commandment to love one another just as Christ loved us. Tonight I want you to hear of another dinner party involving feet and love poured out:

“Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, ‘Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?’ (He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.) Jesus said, ‘Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.’”

All of the gospel writers tell the story of Jesus being anointed by a woman, but their details to not agree. In Matthew and Mark, the woman is from Bethany and anoints Jesus’ head at the home of Simon the leper. The anointing of the head with oil or perfume was a ritual act done by prophets who anointed the kings of Israel and Judah. This was not an act done by women! But in the upside down order of God’s kingdom, it is fitting that Jesus would be anointed “Christ” by a woman in the house of another outcast – a leper. Luke says the story happened at the home of Simon the Pharisee and the woman anoints Jesus’ feet. John appears to borrow from both traditions and names the woman – Mary, the one who sat at Jesus’ feet to learn and the sister of Martha … and Lazarus whom Jesus had just raised from the dead. I confess I find it frustrating that the gospel writers are so meticulous in getting the details about which man said what to whom and where but mostly neglect to even name the women who say or do anything.

But there is a connection and John is going to great lengths to make sure you see it. His framing of the anointing by Mary at Bethany happening “six days” before the Passover sets both the anointing and the foot washing within the same Sabbath cycle. Early Jewish Christians would have understood – John sees these two events as connected and wants us to see the connection too. Just as Mary anointed Jesus’ feet Jesus washes the disciple’s feet (even the feet of the one who would betray him). Both actions are those of extravagant and sacrificial love. John mentions the cost of the perfume: 300 denarii – a year’s wages! Mary may have been saving this perfume for her own burial or that of a loved one. But now, now she gives it all away – she is all in. She knows at some level that Jesus’ time is short. She lives in a world where she has learned you don’t confront the authorities and you go along to get along. Jesus has provoked the powers that be and nobody does that and lives to tell about it. She empties the jar of perfume without hesitation – and the fragrance fills the house! Likewise Jesus empties himself emotionally and spiritually to wash the feet of his disciples. He sacrifices his ego and his status as their teacher to take the role of a slave and tells them they are to do the same.

It is telling that both of them get pushback for their actions. Matthew and Mark say the disciples as a group were indignant and offended by the unnamed woman’s actions. Luke says Simon the Pharisee was offended. John appears to take Matthew and Mark’s account and assign it to Judas Iscariot – berating Mary for her extravagant waste. If you think about it … Peter is doing something similar this night. In a way, he is berating Jesus for extravagantly wasting his status and trying to preserve Jesus’ “dignity” in refusing to have his feet washed.

Extravagant love is messy. It makes us very uncomfortable. It disturbs our neatly ordered lives because it demands the death of our egos. It demands we let go of everything we think and believe about ourselves – our carefully crafted personas and the various privileges they confer on us. It demands we let go of all the attachments and addictions with which we desperately fill our lives in a futile attempt to avoid pain, suffering and death. Extravagant love is messy because in the end, it means we must die … and that’s the last thing we want to do.

“Love one another as I have loved you.” Love one another the way Mary loved Jesus. Love one another with the messy love that began this earthy journey amidst blood and water at a cradle and will end with a flow of blood and water on a cross. Love one another unto death.