Sermons by Rev. Jason S. Glombicki (Page 29)

Sermons by Rev. Jason S. Glombicki (Page 29)

Sixth Sunday of Easter

There is a problem with today’s gospel reading. Where it starts doesn’t build the scene, and so, it’s easy for us to lose the meaning. So, let’s re-create the scene. It was the night before the Passover. Jesus had become like a servant and washed his followers’ feet. Gathered at the table, Jesus told his disciples that Judas would betray him and that Jesus would be leaving them. Jesus told the disciples that he loved them and that all his disciples should love one another. It is at that moment that Jesus consoled the disciples with a few promises. Last week, we were reminded that Jesus promised the disciples a place with him. And, today, we picked up where the conversation ended last week…

Fourth Sunday of Easter

Jesus said to the Pharisees, “I am the gate.” It’s not an error in translation which we should interpret as Jesus being a gate keeper. Instead, this sentence is the key to understanding today’s gospel. Jesus as the gate in John’s gospel is similar to what brought comfort to the Psalmist in Psalm 23, namely the rod and the staff. Back in Psalm 23, the rod is the thing the shepherds use to fend off threats­­ and the staff is the longer stick with the hook at the end that can help redirect sheep or rescue them from, say, a ditch. The hook helps to bring sheep back into the community of the fold. So too, in John, the gate is a protection mechanism for the sheep by limiting or slowing outside threats while also giving access to pastures so as to be “saved.” Or, to translate “saved” in another way from the original Greek, the gate gives access to the pastures so that the sheep can be healed, made whole, or restored. You see, the gate, which in this metaphor is Jesus, is what protected and granted access to wholeness and healing…

Easter Sunday

Today doesn’t much feel like Easter. That is, apart from our readings, songs, and shouts of Alleluias. But the gusto, the warm sun-drenched sanctuary, the familiar faces, the sounds of the organ–all that Easter good-ness seems more like a broken Alleluia. Yet, here we are. We’re doing something together…