The Last Word

Revelation 22:12-14, 16-17, 20-21
Easter 7
June 1, 2025
William G. Carter

"See, I am coming soon; my reward is with me, to repay according to everyone's work. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the First and the Last, the Beginning and the End."

 

Blessed are those who wash their robes, so that they will have the right to the tree of life and may enter the city by the gates. [15 Outside are the dogs and sorcerers and fornicators and murderers and idolaters, and everyone who loves and practices falsehood.]

 

"It is I, Jesus, who sent my angel to you with this testimony for the churches. I am the root and the descendant of David, the bright morning star." The Spirit and the bride say, "Come." And let everyone who hears say, "Come." And let everyone who is thirsty come. Let anyone who wishes take the water of life as a gift.

 

[18-19  I warn everyone who hears the words of the prophecy of this book: if anyone adds to them, God will add to that person the plagues described in this book; if anyone takes away from the words of the book of this prophecy, God will take away that person’s share in the tree of life and in the holy city, which is described in this book. ]

 

The one who testifies to these things says, "Surely I am coming soon." Amen. Come, Lord Jesus!

The grace of the Lord Jesus be with all the saints. Amen.

 

 Ideas for sermons come from a variety of places. This sermon began by overhearing a conversation. Well, it was more of an argument. He said, “Are you going to finish that sandwich?” She said, “What does it matter to you?” 

• 
  
• He said, “We shouldn’t be wasting food.” She said, “I haven’t wasted anything that I’ve eaten.”
• He said, “It costs a lot of money. Twelve dollars is a lot for a sandwich.” She said, “What I ate tasted pretty good.”
• He said, “But you didn’t finish it all.” She said, “What does it matter to you?”
• He said, “I’m going up to pay the bill. That matters.” She said, “I’m going to the restroom.”
• He returned to put down a few bills for a tip, looked at me, and said, “Hope you enjoy your overpriced sandwich.” She returned, looked at me, and said, “Don’t you pay any attention to him.”
• He said to her, “I wasn’t talking to you.” She said, “Yeah, but I get the last word.”
• He said, “That’s what you think.” She looked at me and said, “Just watch this.” And that was it.

Who gets the last word? It can be a conversational contest. Words bounce back and forth like a ping pong game. The last word is the dominant word. The authoritative word. The victorious word. The lingering word. There is nothing more to say. It’s the Last Word. Don’t try to add anything more. 

There’s a bit of this in today’s text. Somebody, I believe it’s the prophet John, says, “Don’t add anything to my book. Don’t take anything out of my book. If you add anything, or delete anything, God is going to curse you.” He’s not talking about the Bible. He’s talking about his book, the Book of Revelation.

It came in a Sunday vision, he says. It was a Lord’s Day, a worship day. He suddenly saw and heard all the doings and soundings of heaven and earth. And then John wrote it all down with the best language he could muster. The syntax is sloppy at points. The Greek can be imprecise - but cut him a break. Did you ever try to write down a dream? It’s nearly impossible to put all of it into words.

John borrows a lot of words in this book. Some of the best words he could find. He quotes the book of Psalms, reaches back into Genesis and Exodus, refers to Isaiah, Ezekiel, and the prophet Daniel.[1] As Eugene Peterson comments, “Every line of the Revelation is mined out of the rich strata of scripture laid down in earlier ages.”

So, John says, “Don’t mess with my book. Don’t amend it, don’t dilute it. Don’t tinker with it. Don’t even try to explain it. Just experience it. Let it work on you.” The words do what the words are going to do. In this sense, it’s the last word on John’s words.

But is this the last word? Good question! This is the last page of our Bible. I say, “our Bible,” because there were other versions of the Bible before our Bible. The Jewish Bible doesn’t have a Book of Revelation. It has a book of Daniel, parts of which sound like this book. Yet there’s no Jesus in the book of Daniel – and Revelation is drenched in Jesus Christ. The reality of Jesus enlarged and clarified the promises of God.

Even so, the Book of Revelation was just that – a book. Not a Bible, but a book. It was the Christian church that put our Bible into the shape its in. Our faithful forebears could have concluded their collections of Gospels, a theological history, and a bunch of letters with any document they wanted. But when you have a book like this one, which declares God’s Holy City comes down from heaven to redeem the broken earth, why not end with that? What could you possibly put after that? Maps and an index, maybe, but no more words.

The Bible is an edited book, a collection of sixty-six edited books. They have been carefully preserved, accurately translated (well, mostly), loving given to each new generation. And it ends with New Heaven descending into a New Earth. The collection begins with a Garden, the Garden of Eden, and ends with a City, the New Jerusalem. The whole journey begins with the generosity of a Creation, which we broke early, and concludes with everything repaired and flourishing. That’s the grand plot of our Bible – as edited by the church.

Well, drop a footnote here. Everything does not get repaired because everything does not get welcomed into the Holy City. Everyone does not get into the Holy City because everyone does not belong to the Holy City. That was the nasty verse fifteen. The Lectionary Makers didn’t want to ruin your day by telling you that. However, if the prophet John says, “Don’t mess with my book, and don’t take anything out of it,” we need to spend a minute or two on verse fifteen, which sounds like it’s spoken by Jesus.

In case you forgot, here’s what it says: “Outside (that is, outside the open gates of the Holy City) are the dogs and sorcerers and fornicators and murderers and idolaters, and everyone who loves and practices falsehood.” OK, pet lovers, take a breath. He’s not talking about canines. My two lovable Springer Spaniels have taught me amazing lessons about love, friendship, companionship, and creativity. You wouldn’t believe the things they get into. I have no doubt they will be welcomed into God’s Dominion a lot quicker than me.

No, he’s not talking about dogs. He’s talking about dogs. About those sub-human souls with endless appetites who have no regard for love, friendship, companionship, or God’s holy creativity. They are on par with the sorcerers, those who try to manipulate creation for their own interest, and the murderers who have no regard for the value of life, and the idolaters who worship anything other than the One Holy God who alone is worthy of our worship.

And then, how about the fornicators? This is the Book of Revelation, written by John, who was sent into exile for speaking the truth about Jesus to Roman Empire. He’s nodding to those who were consorting with the Empire, to those who would sell their souls and bodies to move on up the food chain, to those who have no integrity, no principles, no faithfulness, and no covenant. They have sold out to power and brutality.

One more excluded group are those who “practice falsehood.” Not only are they liars, but they also practice lying, they live by lying, they perfect lying, They are so good at lying that they convince themselves that lies are real. No place for truth, just distortions, cover ups, evasions, and denials. Jesus can’t have people like that in his Holy City. All those practices bend in upon themselves and twist their practitioners out of shape.

C.S. Lewis describes this in The Great Divorce, a fable about the separation between Heaven and Hell. One of the characters quotes John Milton, saying, “The choice of every lost soul can be expressed in the words ‘Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.’ There is always something they insist on keeping even at the price of misery. There is always something they prefer to joy—that is, to reality.[2]

And that’s the alternative of Christ: living in reality, living in joy, living in the light, responding to the three-fold invitation, “Come, come, come…” The last word of Jesus might be the final beatitude he speaks in our text, “Blessed are those who wash their robes, so that they will have the right to the tree of life and may enter the city by the gates.” Their robes are clean because they are clean.

I like the way my friend Brian Blount puts it, “The blood of Christ is the detergent that launders those robes to be dazzling clean.”[3] Christ forgives them, and they welcome the forgiveness. They come clean because his mercy makes them clean. And the city, the Holy City, awaits them through its wide-open gates.

Does this mean there will be no riff raff in the City of God? Of course there will. But it will only the riff raff that knows it is the riff raff, for they will also know their future, lust like their past and present, is completely dependent on the mercy of Christ. We don’t get through the gates of that City by flashing our winning report cards. Our access has nothing to do with our goodness, real or imaginary. No, we get through by Christ’s goodness. He is the One who says, “I am the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end.” He was quoting the prophet Isaiah when he said it as the only One who could ever say it. “I am the first and the last.”[4]  He is the Last Word.

And he holds the Last Word, too. For when we travel through all sixty-six books of the Bible, when we turn to the last page of Revelation and get to the very last line of the last chapter, here is what is says: “The grace of the Lord Jesus be with all the saints.”

The Last Word, and by that, I mean the only Last Word, is grace.

 

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

---

[1] Eugene H. Peterson, Reversed Thunder: The Revelation of John and the Praying Imagination (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1988) 23.

[2] C. S. Lewis, The Great Divorce (New York: Macmillan) 71.

[3] Brian K. Blount, Revelation: A Commentary (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008) 408.

[4] Isaiah 44:6. 41:4.

Heaven Comes Down Here

Revelation 21:10, 22-22:5
Easter 6
May 25, 2025

William G. Carter  

And in the spirit he carried me away to a great, high mountain and showed me the holy city Jerusalem coming down out of heaven from God.

 

I saw no temple in the city, for its temple is the Lord God the Almighty and the Lamb. And the city has no need of sun or moon to shine on it, for the glory of God is its light, and its lamp is the Lamb. The nations will walk by its light, and the kings of the earth will bring their glory into it. Its gates will never be shut by day--and there will be no night there. People will bring into it the glory and the honor of the nations. But nothing unclean will enter it, nor anyone who practices abomination or falsehood, but only those who are written in the Lamb's book of life.

 

Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb through the middle of the street of the city. On either side of the river is the tree of life with its twelve kinds of fruit, producing its fruit each month, and the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations. Nothing accursed will be found there any more. But the throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it, and his servants will worship him; they will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads. And there will be no more night; they need no light of lamp or sun, for the Lord God will be their light, and they will reign forever and ever.

Last fall, we answered an invitation to visit two old friends. They are retired teachers and have a place on the east shore of Chesapeake Bay. Their old farmhouse was built in the 1840’s. It needed a lot of work when they bought it as a getaway place in 1998. Slow improvements took place, at first during summer vacations. A detached garage was added, then the kitchen enlarged, then a library with a vaulted ceiling. The home is comfortable – but the location is even more spectacular.

Every night, the sunset from the back deck offers an extraordinary light show. You can also watch it from the hammock beneath the shade trees. When soft shell crabs are in season, our friends drop their own traps into the bay and collect supper. If you don’t want to take the boat out on the Chesapeake, you can jump into the swimming pool and cool off.

Just to sum it up, our hostess said, “Welcome to our little piece of heaven on earth!” Heaven on earth. Can you imagine that?

Some of you may enjoy a place like that. If not, you may have spent time in such a place. Some of the characteristics are the same. Natural beauty, splendor, lots of life. Maybe your special place is on the beach. Mine would be in the mountains. And there are two complementary descriptions to mark the location. First, God is there. The Holy One touches down. Second, the place gives life. It’s life-giving.

We’ve visited those places. We have those moments. I’m talking about the moment when we sense heaven and earth are one. When it feels like what has been ripped asunder has been reunited. When the bruised are healed and the broken are healed. When hostility dissipates and opposites are reconciled. Heaven on earth.

It’s that for which Jesus teaches us to pray. Remember the line in the Lord’s Prayer? “Thy kingdom come; thy will be done…” And where? “On earth as it is in heaven.” Heaven is defined as God’s dominion. It is wherever God rules. The territory is enlarged from “heaven” out there to “earth” around here. Heaven on earth. We pray for it.

And this is what Jesus embodied in his incarnation. Jesus is the One from Above. He comes down here, the Presence of Heaven in earthly flesh and bone. We listen to his voice, we look to his deeds, and we hear and see what God intends for everybody on this planet. Even in his crucifixion, one of the Gospel writers describes him as being “lifted up.”[1] That is, he is suspended between the sky and the ground. He holds together heaven and earth.

And this is what the prophet John sees in the vision reported in our scripture. As John is taken to the top of a high mountain, the Holy Spirit opens his eyes. John sees the City of God descending. Not staying out of sight, not remaining inaccessible, not a “castle on a cloud,” but coming into our midst. This is a stunning moment. There is so much that is right about it:

-        There is light everywhere, no shadows, no darkness.

-        There is universal appeal. The nations are there, not just our nation, but the nations.

-        There is universal access. The gates remain open.

-        There is the abundance of life, represented by the river flowing in the middle of the city.

-        This is complete purity and honesty. No unclean habits, no secrets, no lies.

-        At the center of it all is Jesus Christ, the Lamb of God.

Remember the Garden of Eden? John sees the restoration, except this time it is a city, not a garden. Life is flourishing for everybody and everything. This is God’s intention. It always has been. Heaven on earth.

The only wrinkle in the plan is that the rest of us see only earth. We don’t see heaven.

Do you remember that place I described on the Chesapeake Bay? The house that was built in 1840’s? It’s only a few miles from where Harriet Tubman was born into slavery, less than twenty years before. At least, we think so. The plantation owners didn’t regard her as a real human being. She was treated as property, worthy only of being bought and sold.

Our friends took us to lunch in their village. On the way, we stopped in front of the Dorchester County courthouse. Three years ago, a statue of Harriet Tubman was installed outside. It’s located on the exact spot where human beings were bought and sold. Harriet reaches toward the North Star of freedom, inspired by her faith in Jesus and the stories of Moses leading his people out of slavery.

By no coincidence, that statue is also in the very same spot where Harriet “stole away” her niece, who was about to be sold to a new owner.[2] While the slave owner took a meal break from the auction, Harriet stole her away. She did it because her faith taught her that God wants all of us to flourish to the fullness of our ability. Her faith declared nobody should be bound by anything or anybody less than God. We were created in God’s image to experience the fullness of life. Just one person was set free that day. But for her niece, it made all the difference.

“A little piece of heaven on earth.” That’s how our friend described it. Just a little piece.

Every once in a while, we glimpse what the prophet John saw so clearly. The clouds open, visions are clear, and life begins anew. There is life all around us, all the time, but we don’t always perceive it. Saints and poets, maybe they see it some. But reality waits for all of us to catch on.

Let me tell you what I find most striking about this vision in the Book of Revelation. It happens in the present tense. John sees the Holy City coming. Not merely in the future, but here and now. Not completely here, but already present. The river of life is here. The tree of life is available. The healing of the nations is ready. Somewhere just out of earshot, the heavenly choir is already singing. God’s new creation has broken in.

It’s not obvious to all. Neither is the Holy City completely unveiled. Yet the truth of the Gospel is that heaven has come to earth in Jesus Christ. The holy invasion is underway. And this is what a broken-down world needs most of all. A lot of cynics may dismiss it, well aware of the church’s spotty track record on mission. Some would dismiss the prophet John’s vision as some kind of purple haze fantasy; all of us must decide for ourselves if we believe it is real.

But I pledge my faith in what John saw, because I see it in the love and faithfulness of this congregation. The New Testament theologian Paul Minear once put it this way: “Delete the thought of heaven from (our) lexicon, and (we are) soon reduced to a one-dimensional environment, living without any invisible means of support.”[3] No heaven, and we are stuck only with ourselves, a closed system, no assistance from anywhere.

Yet faith invites us to say, “Our help is in the name of the Lord, who made heaven and earth.” Faith invites us to hope for what we cannot yet see. Faith invites us to trust that Christ is risen and living among us. Faith announces, “There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God; (it is) the holy place where the Most High dwells.”[4]

Today, we ordain our elders and deacons. My charge to them is the same as my charge to all of us. We are here to proclaim in word and deed that the glad river is the river of life. It flows from the heavenly throne of Christ, always from Christ, and it pours into this dry and weary land. There is help. There is hope. There is love. There is joy. Our work as church is to create an irrigation system that brings all the gifts of God to the people of God. Let the river of life flow on.

 

For heaven has touched down and continues to come among us. And until the day when everybody can see it for themselves, we live and love and serve as if it is already here. Because it is.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

---

[1] John 12:32.

[2] https://harriettubmanbyway.org/new-beacon-of-hope-harriet-tubman-statue-finds-permanent-home-in-her-homeland/

[3] Paul Minear, I Saw a New Earth (Washington, D.C.: Corpus Books, 1968) 14.

[4] Psalm 46:4

Triumph of the Wounded

Revelation 7:9-17
Easter 4
May 11, 2025

William G. Carter

After this I looked, and there was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, robed in white, with palm branches in their hands. They cried out in a loud voice, saying, "Salvation belongs to our God who is seated on the throne and to the Lamb!"

And all the angels stood around the throne and around the elders and the four living creatures, and they fell on their faces before the throne and worshiped God, singing, "Amen! Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be to our God forever and ever! Amen."

Then one of the elders addressed me, saying, "Who are these, robed in white, and where have they come from?" I said to him, "Sir, you are the one who knows." Then he said to me, "These are they who have come out of the great ordeal; they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. For this reason they are before the throne of God and worship him day and night within his temple, and the one who is seated on the throne will shelter them. They will hunger no more and thirst no more; the sun will not strike them, nor any scorching heat, for the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd, and he will guide them to springs of the water of life, and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes."

I was busy reading the text, so I didn’t notice if anybody flinched when I said it came from the Book of Revelation. A lot of people regard Revelation as a spooky book.

It’s a strange book. The writer is the prophet John. He says he wrote down a series of visions that came on a Sunday morning. I don’t know what kind of visions you’re having today, but some of John’s visions are frightening. He sees vicious beasts with sharp teeth and terrible claws. And he hears thunder, false prophets spouting lies. Some of his visions are destructive. John sees hunger, disease, poverty, and war.

But that’s only half the story. For every horseman of the apocalypse, there are hundreds of holy angels. For every cry of pain, affliction, and suffering, there are resounding songs of praise. For every bowl of hot, burning wrath, there are altars of incense lifted as the prayers of the saints. And for every mighty dragon speaking great lies and blasphemies, there is a single Throne – and the dragon is not on it.

No, John looks and sees a Lamb. The blasphemous dragon doesn’t rule the universe. No, it’s a Lamb. Now, let that sink in.

We’ve met the Lamb before, in chapter five. John sees a Lamb that had been killed. Murdered, in fact. Yet it stands as if it is alive, thoroughly alive. So, we can guess who John perceives. It’s Jesus himself, once killed, now alive. The Lamb of God, as others called him. The Passover Lamb, as one of our Gospels describes him. He is the One who leads his people into freedom, freedom from sin and death. Surrounding him is a veritable hootenanny. A million angels are breaking into a sevenfold song of praise:

Worthy is the Lamb that was slain to receive power, and riches, and wisdom,

and strength, and honor, and glory, and blessing!

It’s an Easter hymn. He was dead but now he lives and sits upon the throne! Today, a new scene, a new vision, and we hear the sevenfold song echoed:

Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might

be to our God forever and ever! (and then to reinforce the point) Amen!

This is an Easter song, an Easter vision. Christ has died, Christ is risen, and everybody says Amen!

 But tell me, what’s with all those ugly sights and sounds? You know, the beasts, and dragons and boiling bowls of wrath? Good question!

 In his reflection on the book of Revelation, Eugene Peterson said the same question was on the minds of the first century church. The church was small; the Roman Empire was expansive. The church was blessed with those who were meek, while the Roman Empire worshiped power. The church lived by kindness and good works, while the Empire trampled with cruelty and brute force. This must have puzzled the Christians, Peterson notes. As he puts it,

If the kingdom of God has been inaugurated by Christ, why are Roman armies so much in evidence? The gospel declared God’s love for the world; Roman decrees put the people who believed it in prisons and on crosses. Christ lived, suffered, died, and rose again— and the world was getting worse, not better. Annie Dillard asks the question that presses for an answer in this kind of world— she ranks it as the chief theological question of all time — “What in the Sam Hill is going on here anyway?”[1]

 What’s going on? In the vision for today, the prophet John refers to the “Great Ordeal.” The Greek word that he uses is a word about “pressing together,” as in a squeezing, a compressing, an application of pressure. “I’m your brother in this ordeal,” he said in chapter one. He doesn’t give us a lot of details. We know he has fallen afoul of the Roman Emperor, and was sent to a small, barren rock of an island off the coat of western Turkey.

 

John felt the pressure. Rome demanded absolute allegiance, but John sees Christ the Lamb as the One who rightfully sits on the throne. The Empire pressed in to compel John’s obedience, but John will only answer to Christ who shepherds him with grace. Caesar – in this case, a Caesar named Domitian – reinforces his pressure with cruelty and the threat of death, but John knows his future is secure in the God who is stronger than the grave.

 

In the stunning vision for today, John sees more than the angels, more than the eternal elders. There is also an unlimited choir of saints in a cloud of glory. They are not just Jews like him, but rather a multitude, defined by diversity, drawing from every nation. They speak every language. They represent all the people whom Christ died for and lives for. And then they break into song - and keep singing. These people are triumphant because their Christ is triumphant!

 

But here’s the thing: he’s still a Lamb. Not a brutal dictator, but a Lamb. Not a defiant, belligerent bully who pushes his weight around, but a Lamb. Not an arrogant fool who decrees what he wants, but a Lamb who gave his life for others but now lives. And this may be the most curious thing of all!

 

There’s a Lutheran pastor named Katherine. She was trying to figure out how to talk about this text from Revelation, not just to a congregation, but for a children’s sermon. And then she remembered a phrase she had heard from one of her teachers. Jesus comes with “lamb power.” Not mighty power. Not pushy power, but lamb power. “Children,” she asked, “do you know what lamb power looks like?”

 

“Well, it’s cute and cuddly,” one of them said. “I have a toy lamb,” another added, “and I can hug it whenever I’m upset.” “I saw a lamb at a farm,” one said, “and he came close so I could set its wool.” They went on like this for a while, the way a good children’s sermon can spark more conversations that you can shut down. Finally, Katherine broke in to say, “Let’s pray.” Prayer as crowd control, you know. Then she added, “If you hear any more lamb power in today’s worship service, stand up and say so.”

 

Now, she forgot for the moment that it was a communion Sunday. And she’s a Lutheran. So, in the middle of the long communion prayer, she says, “Lamb of God, you take away the sins of the world.” Suddenly three kids started bleating! And everybody said, “Lamb power!”[2]

 

It strikes me how different this is from the way the world configures power. The world exerts power through force and dominance, just like the old Roman Empire. Yet the Gospel reveals that true power thrives on love, compassion, forgiveness, mercy, humility, and self-sacrifice. Empires and their bullies come and go, but Jesus, the Lamb of God, sits upon the throne. He was wounded by the world, but he is alive. His graciousness is his superpower.

 

The truth of this was brought home to me through a couple vignettes. The first happened around a funeral that I led. I got a phone call a few years ago from an old friend from high school who now lives in Florida. He said, “My father died, and I don’t know any clergy from our hometown. Could you officiate his funeral?” Well, certainly! I’d be honored. My buddy gave me the date and time for a graveside service, out in the country hills south of my town.”

 

As I hung up the phone, recalling what I could about his father, I suddenly remembered that my friend had an older brother. His name was Bob, and he was the bully that threatened me when I was in first grade. It’s still traumatic to remember it. Bob was older, taller, and had an anger management problem for a fourth grader. He loved to pick on little kids.

 

One day, noticing I had an interest in a blonde classmate that his brother, my buddy, also desired, he confronted me on the steps of the school bus. “Stay away from her,” he bellowed. Then he pushed me down the steps of the school bus. The bus driver yelled at him, but the damage was done. I cowered in fear. I did what he said. It ruined my first-grade love life. I had never gotten over it – and now I was doing his father’s funeral. Gave me second thoughts.

 

But then, we gathered at graveside, and here he came, fifty-five years later. Now, an old man, thick glasses, walking with a cane, and absolutely distraught. He had lost his father. I said the necessary words, he wept. I prayed his dad into the care of Christ, the Lamb of God, who is our shepherd. After the “amen,” I stepped over to shake his hand and offer condolences. He grabbed my hand, pulled me in, gave a huge hug, and said, “Thank you.” You know, sometimes even the bullies grow up. So do the cowards. Mercy is the way to abundant life.

 

The second vignette is something you may have seen. With all the grief over one pope’s death and another pope’s election, I noticed a brief article about Pope Francis, the one who died. He had a heart for the downtrodden, for the weak, and for the vulnerable. He turned down the fancy mansion years ago and chose a small apartment. He also turned down a salary; reports say he had $100 to his name when he passed.

 

Now, here’s the vignette: when Pope Francis was dying, he bequeathed one of his Pope Mobiles to the children of Gaza, asking that it be used for a mobile health clinic. It will carry bandages, antibiotics, sutures, and vaccines in a land where thousands have died, and the health system has collapsed. As the Vatican reports, “Pope Francis often stated that ‘Children are not numbers. They are faces. Names. Stories. And each one is sacred,’ and with this final gift, his words have become action.”[3]

 

This is Lamb Power, so different from the cruelty, division, and hostility that a hell-bent world won’t restrain. Yet there is another way, the Jesus Way, the Mother-Who-Loves-You Way, the way of mercy and self-sacrifice. It’s the Way for those who hear the voice of Jesus. It’s the Way for those who know he is the way, the truth, and the life.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

---

[1] Eugene Peterson, Reversed Thunder: The Revelation of John & the Praying Imagination (San Francisco: HarperCollins, 1988) 72.

[2] Katherine A. Shaner, “Lamb Power,” The Christian Century, 9 May 2025. https://www.christiancentury.org/sunday-s-coming/easter-4c-shaner

[3] https://www.vaticannews.va/en/pope/news/2025-05/the-popemobile-of-peace-pope-francis-final-gift-to-gaza.html

Easter and Other Ghost Stories

Luke 24:36-49
Holy Humor / Easter 2
April 27, 2025
William G. Carter

     While [the disciples] were talking about this, Jesus himself stood among them and said to them, “Peace be with you.” They were startled and terrified, and thought that they were seeing a ghost. He said to them, “Why are you frightened, and why do doubts arise in your hearts? Look at my hands and my feet; see that it is I myself. Touch me and see; for a ghost does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have.” And when he had said this, he showed them his hands and his feet. While in their joy they were disbelieving and still wondering, he said to them, “Have you anything here to eat?” They gave him a piece of broiled fish, and he took it and ate in their presence.

Then he said to them, “These are my words that I spoke to you while I was still with you—that everything written about me in the law of Moses, the prophets, and the psalms must be fulfilled.” Then he opened their minds to understand the scriptures, and he said to them, “Thus it is written, that the Messiah is to suffer and to rise from the dead on the third day, and that repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem. You are witnesses of these things. And see, I am sending upon you what my Father promised; so stay here in the city until you have been clothed with power from on high.”

Of all the jokes and gags told today, do you know any about ghosts? I have a few.

• Why did the ghost starch his sheet? He wanted everyone scared stiff.
• What’s a ghost’s favorite type of music? Sheet music.
• What did the ghost wear to improve his eyesight? Spook-tacles.
• Where do ghosts go when they want to surf? The Dead Sea.
• What's a ghost's favorite makeup to wear? Mas-scare-a!
• How does a ghost unlock a door? With a spoo-key.
• What room does a ghost not need in a house? A living room.
• Why do ghosts love elevators? It lifts their spirits.
• Why don’t ghosts ride in elevators? When the elevator goes up, they fall through the floor.

Let’s talk about ghosts. As far as I know, I have only had one encounter with a ghost. I went to a conference. They put us in a large house, a three-story mansion. After signing in, I received my room key. And the man at the desk said, “Wait a minute. Room 37.” He looked both ways and said, “Are you afraid of ghosts?”

Is the room haunted? “That’s not something we can prove,” he replied, “although we have had reports of strange occurrences in Room 37.” I gave him a long look. He said, “It’s not like anybody died in that room. Not that we know of.” Well, what if they did? He said, “They’re probably still there.” 

So, the conference started well. There was dinner and an opening session. It went until 9:00, and then everybody scattered. I walked across a very dark conference center to my three-story house, punched in the security code, pulled the door shut behind me, and walked up the long staircase. The place could have been better lit. Lots of shadows in that hallway.

When I got to the third floor, I found Room 37. It was at the end of the hallway. Fishing around for the key in my pocket, I opened the door and said, “Anybody in here?” You can’t be too careful. I didn’t hear a reply, so I unpacked the small suitcase, put on my pajamas, and pulled out the book I’d been reading. A murder mystery, of course. Then I plopped into a large wingback chair and turned on the reading light.

About two chapters in, the light went out. I flicked the bulb with my finger. Nothing. So, I got up to turn on another light across the room – and the reading light came back on. OK, I returned to the chair, opened my book, and the light went out again. I muttered under my breath, “You know, I would really like to read for a while” – and the light came back on. It was unsettling… for a murder mystery.

I read for a little bit longer and the light went out again. No use fussing with the paranormal, so I put down the book and crawled into bed. I tried to sleep with one eye open. Tossed and turned, re-fluffed the pillow, rolled over. After about an hour, I drifted off. Then somewhere around 2:30, the bathroom faucet started running full force. I sat right up in bed, turned on the light. Nobody else was there, nobody I could see.

I turned off the faucet, crawled back into bed, stared at the ceiling. Every little sound in that old creaking house, I sat up and looked around. At breakfast, somebody said, “You look awful. Did you sleep?” And my host said, “He was in Room 37.” Everybody else around the table said, “Oh, right!” And they went back to their meal.

Did I see anything? No. Did I hear anything? No. Was I spooked? – that’s an appropriate phrase – was I spooked? You bet.

So, I can’t imagine how it went for the eleven disciples to see Jesus three days after he was killed. Suddenly, he was just there. Nobody saw him enter. Nobody knew how he got there. No, they blinked and there he was, two fingers in the air, saying “Shalom!” Was he hiding? Did he walk through the wall? Nobody knew – and they were terrified.

What made it worse is that the eleven had just been told a wild tale about Jesus disguised as a stranger. It’s the story we heard last Sunday in worship. Two other disciples were trudging off to the tiny town of Emmaus, dejected by what they had seen on the cross, incredulous about what they had heard from the tomb. This Stranger stepped alongside, heard their tale, then gave them a two-hour-long Bible lesson to explain it. He called them “stupid.” He said they were slow.

It was kind of rude, but they listened. When they drew near their home, they invited him in for dinner. And as we heard, he took the bread as if he owned it, broke it, gave it to them. They realized it was Jesus. Then he vanished – like a ghost. It was enough of a shock to send them running back seven miles to Jerusalem. They knocked on the door, gave the password, hurried inside. As they told their story, he was again, showing up, inside a room that we can presume was locked. They had only one logical conclusion: was this a ghost?

Now, I don’t know if you believe in ghosts. Maybe you do, maybe you don’t. Maybe like me, you stayed in a room with faulty wiring and a leaky faucet. Or maybe you’ve had a moment you cannot explain. Most of us, if we felt safe, might confess to seeing somebody in a dream – and we are completely convinced it was real. Others of us have had even more mystical moments if we dared to confess them.

Ghosts inhabit our stories. Like all those Harry Potter books, floating apparitions of those who died tragically, passing through walls, peeking underwater, commenting truthfully on the deceptions underway. Or that most famous Christmas story apart from the New Testament accounts. It’s a ghost story, leading Ebenezer Scrooge to say, “How do I know you are not a dab of mustard or an underdone potato?” To which Jacob Marley howled!

The eleven disciples saw Jesus and thought he was a ghost. He said, “Why are you frightened?” And the line Luke left out of the Bible is, “Why do you think?” People who die don’t come back. But he did.

So, he said, “Look at my scars – hands and feet. See, it’s me!” Again, the line Luke left out of the Bible is, “We see the scars, but that’s not particularly comforting.” And he says to them, “Want to touch them?” Again, the deleted bit of dialogue, “No, we don’t want to touch them. No, thank you.”

What Luke does say is a remarkable description, “in their joy, they were disbelieving.” They were overwhelmed – and overwhelmed.

Then he said something else. “Got anything to eat?” It was stunning. Like a teenager coming home from soccer practice, ravenous with hunger, peering into the refrigerator, “Is there anything here to eat? I see half a jar of pickles, some mustard, and three containers of expired yogurt. Is there any food here?” They gave Jesus a piece of fish. Then they all leaned forward to see if they could watch it go down into his belly. It’s a bizarre story.

I remember the late, great Jimmy Connors, three-term mayor for the city of Scranton. He always had a joke. And if he was forgetful, he wrote them down on 3 by 5 cards. Here’s one of his favorites: “A skeleton walked into a bar and said, ‘Give me a beer and a mop.’” It’s a dumb joke, but it makes the same point.

They watched Jesus eat that piece of broiled fish. Did it go down into his belly? Could they track it down his throat through his translucent body? And the answer was, “He really did eat the fish.” To be fair, he hadn’t eaten anything since Thursday night. That was, as we say, his Last Supper. Three nights later, he was eating a leftover piece of broiled fish. Well, didn’t he have some of the bread he broke up in Emmaus? No, the Bible says he broke it, but it doesn’t say he ate it. In fact, he vanished before supper. And now, he’s in Jerusalem.

Go ahead and try to figure this out. I can’t. You can’t. The disciples couldn’t. It was more than they could comprehend. It still is. But just because we don’t understand something doesn’t mean it’s not real.

Of all the stories! Why does Luke add this account to his larger story? No doubt there were deep questions bubbling up in the generations after Jesus. What really happened on Easter? How could Jesus choose to disguise himself? How could he get from one place to another so quickly and effortlessly? Was he just a vision, a fantasy, a phantasm? Within a hundred years, a teacher named Marcion taught that Jesus was so divine that he could not have been a human. Since God doesn’t have a material body, Jesus didn’t either. He only appeared to suffer.

Hearing all that, the church said, “No, that’s heresy. Jesus was real. He took up physical space. His body was wounded because of us. He came back breathing through the mystery of God’s power. He still had the scars, yet he was completely alive. And he ate a piece of fish.” We can’t explain anything more than that.

But we can listen to the story he tells and the meaning he provides for it. The Messiah came to us from God. A deadly mix of religion and politics conspired to kill him in a ghastly way. But then God raised him and sent him back to us, to announce God’s forgiveness for what we had done. And in his own voice, Jesus called us to turn from our destructive ways and proclaim the mercy that has the power to set us free. This is the Good News. All of us are invited to live it and tell it.

Easter is more than a ghost story; and in a way, it prepares us for the Ghost who is to come. This will be the Holy Ghost, the Holy Spirit. Jesus predicts what we have come to know, that he continues among us to keep his story alive. This is more than a fantasy. It’s reality. We embody it here and now in our own time and place.

“Let repentance and forgiveness be proclaimed everywhere,” he said. Everywhere, starting right here.

Love God, love one another. That’s the aim. Take God seriously. Take one another seriously, from the tips of their heads to the bottom of their smelly feet. And that reminds me of a song…

(c) William G. Carter.  All rights reserved.

An Easter Recipe for Holy Heartburn

Luke 24:13-35
Easter
April 20, 2025
William G. Carter

Now on that same day two of them were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem, and talking with each other about all these things that had happened. While they were talking and discussing, Jesus himself came near and went with them, but their eyes were kept from recognizing him. And he said to them, “What are you discussing with each other while you walk along?” They stood still, looking sad. Then one of them, whose name was Cleopas, answered him, “Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have taken place there in these days?” He asked them, “What things?” They replied, “The things about Jesus of Nazareth, who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, and how our chief priests and leaders handed him over to be condemned to death and crucified him. But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel. Yes, and besides all this, it is now the third day since these things took place. Moreover, some women of our group astounded us. They were at the tomb early this morning, and when they did not find his body there, they came back and told us that they had indeed seen a vision of angels who said that he was alive. Some of those who were with us went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said; but they did not see him.” 

 

Then he said to them, “Oh, how foolish you are, and how slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have declared! Was it not necessary that the Messiah should suffer these things and then enter into his glory?” Then beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted to them the things about himself in all the scriptures. As they came near the village to which they were going, he walked ahead as if he were going on. But they urged him strongly, saying, “Stay with us, because it is almost evening and the day is now nearly over.” So he went in to stay with them. When he was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him; and he vanished from their sight. They said to each other, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?” That same hour they got up and returned to Jerusalem; and they found the eleven and their companions gathered together. They were saying, “The Lord has risen indeed, and he has appeared to Simon!” Then they told what had happened on the road, and how he had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread.

 

Happy Easter, everybody! This is our big day.

I can imagine a church deciding to do something about that. They pool their resources to rent a billboard. The message goes up for a month before the holy day. “Come to our church and see that Easter is true and Jesus is alive!” Then they train the ushers to be super friendly, plan for good food at coffee hour, and start the countdown. The sign is in a prominent location. Thousands of cars pass by every day. There’s hope that the building will be full of fresh faces. 

And when the day comes, attendance is the same as it was last year and the year before that. Worried that they wasted money on advertising, a huddle forms in the back of Fellowship Hall. Why didn’t we see more visitors? Should we have used brighter colors on the sign? Should we have left the photo of the pastor off the billboard?

Nobody can say. Until one seasoned choir member says, “In all my years, I’ve never known a billboard to make more believers.” She has a point.

There’s something about Easter faith that cannot be flashed up on a sign. We can’t prove the resurrection by posting a picture of an empty tomb. Something else has to happen. Something that the Gospel of Luke is telling us some fifty years after the raising of Jesus.

All four Gospels tell us that it took a while for the Easter announcement to sink in. Mark says the women went to anoint the body of Jesus with burial spices. They ran away terrified and didn’t say anything to anybody. Matthew says the Roman guards were bribed to say the body was stolen; the lie was told for many years. John says there was confusion and tears. One of those closest to Jesus declared, “I won’t believe it until I can put my finger in the nail holes.”[1]

Luke adds a pathetic note of his own. The women return to tell the disciples what an angel told them, that Jesus had to be delivered into the hands of sinners, be crucified, and raised on the third day. Their report is dismissed as nonsense, an idle tale, a curiosity. It’s no wonder that a billboard won’t get anybody to church on Easter Sunday. The news is a lot to take in.

So, Luke tells us about two of Christ’s followers walking away from the whole event. Naturally, they are talking about their disappointment. They had hoped Jesus was the Messiah, but the Messiah was never supposed to die. They hoped Jesus would chase out the Roman army, but the soldiers presided over his crucifixion. They hoped what they heard the women say was true, that the tomb had been opened, and the body wasn’t there. Yet as they told a stranger about it, they scratched their heads and admitted they didn’t know what to think.

But this stranger seems to know his Bible. He says, “Wasn’t it necessary the Messiah should suffer?” That was something they never thought about. They assumed it was all glory, more glory, and victory. Yet in a world like this, God’s ways are resisted. God’s teachings are broken. God’s messengers are rejected. It happened to Moses. It happened to the prophet Samuel. It happened to Elijah, Elisha, Isaiah, Jeremiah, right down to the present day. “It’s all in the Bible,” he said. It doesn’t mean the Messiah wasn’t the Messiah; it simply means the Messiah never expected an easy time of it.

At this, Luke says the two followers of Jesus began to have heartburn. Not because they had eaten something spicy, but they knew this is the truth about we are and how we push God away. The Bible is a big thick book. It says a lot of things. One of the prevailing themes is how good God is, how righteous God is, and how hard it is for human beings to be around such goodness and righteousness. We want it, but we don’t want it, and no Easter billboard will quickly change anybody’s mind.

It was a long lesson. The three of them were walking seven miles, says Luke. That’s about a two hour walk if you’re talking and the terrain is flat. From the sounds of it, the Bible teacher filled up most of that time. The two arrived at their destination. The teacher was going on – but they said, “It’s getting late. Stay with us.” And we heard what happened: he took the bread, blessed, broke it, and gave it to them. They realized it was Jesus. Then he disappeared.

And with that, they hustled back seven miles to Jerusalem in the dark. They had to tell the disciples whom they had seen – even though they could not now see him. They told what he had said – and how it put everything in perspective. And they told them how they knew he was alive – it happened in the breaking of the bread.

Now, let’s take a couple of minutes to unpack this. There are a few reasons why this is a critical Easter story.

First, Easter is easy to miss. It’s just out of sight. None of us were there to see the empty tomb. Of course, we’ve heard about it. Today we sing about it. But there is no assurance the message that Jesus is alive will lodge in our souls. In fact, it might ricochet off us like an acorn bouncing off a turtle shell. We can never judge those who do not believe. After all, every single Easter story reports some were not sure.

So, it’s OK to admit our own uncertainty. To confess our unfinished faith. Some days faith is strong, other days it’s not. That’s the nature of faith. It doesn’t mean the things we’ve been told are not true. Only that we don’t see them. And we are all on the road. Faith is a journey. All of us have a way to go.

Second, faith can be awakened by discussing scripture. That’s how it is on the road to Emmaus. Reading scripture is important, but talking with others about it is what sinks into the soul. The Bible is a collection of field reports of where God has been heard and what God has done. You and I weren’t there when any of that happened. But when we read what others have said about the works of God, the character of God, of the love and justice of God, a picture begins to form.

When we talk to one another about it, we come to some clarity. We build a consensus. What Cleopas and his companion discover is there is a truth behind their trauma. Jesus was good, and they loved him. Jesus was crucified for doing good, and it tore them up. And the stranger says, “Wasn’t it necessary for him to suffer, just as the prophets did?” They begin to nod their heads in recognition. They remember what it is like to live for God in a world like this.

Third, the Bible prepares us to catch a glimpse of the Christ who lives again. It’s good to hear the Bible. It’s good to discuss the Bible. But Jesus is more than a character in the Bible. He is alive. He is no longer bound by history. He is always in the present tense. We see the evidence in the little game he plays with these two disciples seven miles out of Jerusalem. He takes the bread, blesses, breaks it, and gives it to them.

Wait, wait, wait. Just like the Last Supper! Just like the time he fed the multitude in the wilderness! And they see him. They know him. They cannot hold on to him, which is fine. He has places to go, people to see, illnesses to heal, multitudes to feed, sinners to restore, a world to run, and a universe to rule. You can’t pin him down because he is no longer bound to the tomb, no longer confined to the Holy Land, no longer stuck in the past. Jesus is alive. He is perpetually in the present tense. And for us, there are moments when this becomes crystal clear.

Can you think of those moments for you?

·       Maybe somebody you loved was sick, desperately sick, and somehow, they got better.

·       Or maybe somebody you loved was slipping away, and you recognized they were going to be in better hands than your own.

·       Maybe life was unraveling for you and then you got a second chance.

·       Maybe you were swirling in a moral tornado, turning every which way, when things became clear, you knew there is a right and wrong, and life needed to change.

·       Maybe you were struggling to find some purpose in your life – and then your purpose found you.

·       Or maybe you crawled through some trauma until an internal switch clicked, and you knew the old trauma no longer needed to define you. 

All are signs that Jesus is alive, that he is with us. We do not see him, but we can know him. And Luke reminds us in all his writing that the scriptures help us understand who Jesus is, what he has been through, and what he continues to do.

One of my professors was a guy named Jim Loder. He taught Christian Education theory, but his specialty was teaching us how to spot Jesus when he comes. He loved this story of the road to Emmaus. He used to say this is the moment where it all comes together. Two disappointed disciples discover Jesus is alive through the “breaking of the bread.”

Now, what does that mean? Communion? Feeding the five thousand? Some other meal? Dr. Loder said, “Let’s talk about the bread. When was the last time Jesus had some bread? It was when he said, ‘This is my body, broken on the cross.’ The bread is Jesus’ own symbol for his crucifixion, now held by his resurrected Presence” – and he gives it to them. His brokenness is united with theirs. He gives it to them as the One who lives, so that now they might live, and live abundantly. When they see this, it’s enough. Jesus doesn’t need to stick around, and they don’t need him to stay visible. The miracle of Easter has happened in them, and they have people to tell.[2]

As Dr. Loder said to us – and it’s true for all matters of faith - “Once you’ve wised up, you can’t wise down.”

Friends, Jesus Christ is risen. He is no longer confined to a place long ago. He can draw near us, and we don’t recognize him. He can open the scriptures in a way that our hearts will burn. In the power of his resurrection, he breaks the bread and puts it into our hands. And should we see him, we know that nothing will ever be the same ever again.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

---

[1] Mark 16:8, Matthew 28:13-15, John 20:25.

[2] Adapted from James E. Loder, The Transforming Moment, (Colorado Springs: Helmers & Howard, 1989), 121.