RKT2 - On the way to May...

May is almost here and in the words of Vivaldi's Four Seasons, "Spring has sprung and joyfully the birds welcome it with joyful song." Except it has not been very joyful. Finally exiting the depths of Lent into the bright light of Easter, I had hoped that the spring would be different. But now crushing May in its tragic grip are two events. One, the devastating tragedy at Virginia Tech University in which 32 young people were killed needlessly by a lone gunman. On the the other side, will be our somber remembrances on Memorial Day weekend, of loved ones who have died and those men and women who have given their lives for our freedom in years past and in the current conflict in Iraq and Afghanistan. It is hard to be joyful when we are so surrounded by reminders of violence, human brokenness and betrayal and our own mortality. That Easter happiness seems so far away.

For me, Easter is also where our hope must lie. I remember that before that first Easter long ago, the same deep reminders of violence, human brokenness and betrayal and their own human mortality haunted Jesus' followers. My hope, indeed our hope cannot and should not be in our own ability to vindicate violence, to banish betrayal or destroy death. The Easter promise is not that we have the power to defeat these. The Easter promise is that God does, but not in the way that we want. The Easter promise is that in the life of Jesus Christ, God enters our world, God gifts forgiveness and God creates new life out of the depths of death.

The same is true now. Jesus is alive and that life continues among us. In that life God even now enters those places of violent, hopeless, betraying death whether in Virginia, in Iraq, in Afghanistan and among us. Even now God gifts forgiveness. And our call to faith, is to wait and watch for that surprising Easter moment. When God calls life out of death even today, we are called to run to the empty tomb and welcome it in joyful song.

RKT2 - The Banality of Betrayal

When we think of betrayal, we usually think of something quite dramatic and sinister. But, for me, betrayal is something a little bit more mundane. It was the summer when I was 15 years old that I betrayed my father. We had packed up the car in preparation for a mini-family vacation to King’s Island, my favorite annual amusement park experience. While my spirit and my nose were dreading a two-hour car ride with my brother and his stinky feet, my heart was already thrilling with visions of rides on the Beast, the Racer and the Vortex. My father had just gone outside to pull the van from the garage into the driveway when the phone rang. I answered, “Hello?”

“Is Larry Doty there?” the voice in the receiver said.

“Who is it?” I asked.

“This is Eli Lilly,” the voice answered. My father’s work. Being a high-voltage electrician, my father was infrequently called to manage some electrical crisis at one of their several plants in Indianapolis. Simultaneously my heart sank and my mind raced. This was our family vacation, how dare they call him to work when he was supposed to be on vacation.

My father walked in the door. Should I tell them he was here, I thought to myself, and risk losing our trip? I knew my father was just as excited about the trip as I was. “He really was on vacation, which was almost like being away,” the little voice in my head said. If I say he’s gone, then we can just leave for our trip and no one has to know.

“He’s not here,” I heard myself say. Perfect.

Then from the kitchen came my dad’s voice, “Who is it, Kevin?”

“It’s your work,” I replied.

He had heard my lie. And he knew. I felt ashamed and embarrassed and vile. My father knew and he simply glanced at me as he took the receiver from my hand, saying, “This is Larry.” In that moment I had betrayed his trust and the values of honesty and hard work that he had taught me. It wasn’t the first betrayal nor the last, but it was for me the most memorable.

We are all experienced betrayers - those mundane but somehow central moments when the facades we build around ourselves suddenly come crashing down and our affinity for the enemies of our lives, enemies like selfishness, greed, ambition and pride, become painfully visible to the rest of the world and to us.

My betrayals are all too frequent and too mundane and unfortunately often they are also too true.

As we continue in this season of Lent, I have been pondering the betrayal of all of the disciples, but especially Judas. I think while our hope is that we are more like Peter, denying Christ, but ultimately being forgiven, our deepest fear is that we are each a faithless Judas. We have willing been betrayed by our own anger and succumbed to violence, been betrayed by our loneliness and sought quick passions, been betrayed by our own helplessness and anxiety and fear and covered them up with intoxicating substances or pushed them down into the deepest recesses of our spirit hoping they never return.

But the good news of the gospel, for Judas and for us, is not that we will never be betrayers or denyers or deserters of our professed faith. The good news is that its not our faith that saves us who makes us right with God. It is not faith in Jesus Christ but the faith of Jesus Christ that matters.