A Sermon by Sydney V. (Skip) Jackson — April 4, 2010
First Presbyterian Church, Columbus, Ohio
Texts:  Isaiah 25:1-10a;  Luke 24:1-12 — Easter

…[the Lord God] will swallow up death forever. — Isaiah 25:7c

But these words seemed to them an idle tale,
and they did not believe them. — Luke 24:11

“These words seemed to them an idle tale, and they did not believe them.”  The women’s words about their dear friend Jesus, about him rising and breaking the power of death, these words seemed to the eleven disciples an idle tale, empty talk, a silly story, humbug.  No way, ladies.  He died, and dead is dead.  That’s just how it works.  Bodies laid in a tomb on Friday are still there Sunday morning.  It is what it is.  Calling these words an “idle tale” is putting it lightly.

How could the women’s words possibly break through the shame and guilt and fear in that room?  Yes, Peter may have decided to run off to look for himself.  But that’s not exactly clear.  Many ancient manuscripts of Luke lack verse twelve.  Some scholars believe it was added to line up with John’s story, where Peter and the disciple Jesus loved race to the tomb.  But if this is part of Luke’s story, Peter still doesn’t believe.  The Greek in verse 12 is better translated as he went home not “amazed at what had happened,” but rather “wondering what had happened.”

 

A Sermon by Sydney V. (Skip) Jackson — March 28, 2010
Indianola Presbyterian Church, Columbus, Ohio
Text:  Zechariah 9:9-10;  Luke 19:28-42  —  Palm Sunday

As [Jesus] came near and saw the city, he wept over it,
saying “If you, even you, had only recognized on this
day the things that make for peace!” — Luke 19:41-42

The New Revised Standard Version of the Bible labels this story in all four gospels as “Jesus’ Triumphal Entry into Jerusalem.”  But did you notice that in Luke’s story Jesus’ entry doesn’t seem all that triumphant?  We call this Sunday before Easter Palm Sunday and celebrate with palms, processions, and hymns like “All Glory, Laud and Honor,” while imagining adoring crowds of people welcoming Jesus to Jerusalem with hosannas and glad shouts of joy. But Luke offers us another picture entirely—one that is different from the other three gospels, with no cheering crowds, no victory palms, no hosannas of triumph.

The disciples are the only ones crying out and raising a ruckus, calling out about a king of peace who comes in the name of God.  They do seem to draw a crowd of curious onlookers, but the crowd remains silent except for some Pharisees who object to what the disciples are crying out so loudly.  They object because they recognize what is going on here.  This isn’t a triumphant victory parade, but rather Jesus and his followers are engaged in a pointed, political demonstration making a public declaration of just who this Jesus is.

 

A Sermon by Sydney V. (Skip) Jackson — March 21, 2010
Indianola Presbyterian Church, Columbus, Ohio
Texts:  Job 1:1-2:10 & Isaiah 55:1-13

So you’ll go out in joy, you’ll be led into a whole

and complete life. — Isaiah 55:12 (The Message)

God said to Satan, “Have you noticed my friend Job?

he can’t lose!”  — Job 1:8-10 (The Message)

Isaiah speaks of a joy that leads to “a whole and complete life”—the words Eugene Peterson uses in The Message to render the Hebrew word shalom.  You can’t get much different from the suffering of Job.  The joy in Isaiah’s invitation to abundant life is why I chose this prophetic vision for my first examples when I preached about what grace is like two weeks ago.  I said that grace is… like you’re thirsty unto death, and here is a cool, crystal spring.  …like you’re starving, and here’s food—the absolute best, most nutritious food.  And it’s all free.  It’s not junk food or empty calories, but a banquet of meats, cheese, artisan breads, organic produce, rich food and drink.  And grace is like that feast drawing in even the wicked, who all find pardon because the host doesn’t think or act vindictively like we do.  Grace is like rain falling to water the desert to make it bloom and bring forth crops.  Grace is like a parade for peace instead of war, with all of creation singing and clapping along.  Isaiah’s images are almost too wonderful for words.

 But if grace is like this—like such incredible joy—then what about the story of Job?  This good and upright man goes from fabulous wealth to extreme poverty.  He loses all he has—his property, his children, his health—and he ends up sitting in an ash heap scratching at himself with a piece of shattered pottery.  The story of Job’s suffering is so compelling to us, because there is hardly a one of us (at least among the adults) who has not experienced some deeply personal loss that seemed entirely arbitrary and totally undeserved.  It’s not too hard to discern grace in the high points of our lives—in the birth of a child, in a success achieved at great risk, in an unexpected reconciliation, or in a long-awaited homecoming.  But where are we to find grace in life’s low points, when tragedy strikes us or a loved one?

 

A Sermon by Sydney V. (Skip) Jackson — March 14, 2010
Indianola Presbyterian Church, Columbus, Ohio
Texts:  Luke 15:1-10 & 11-32  —  COMMUNION

“And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate;
for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost
and is found!”  And they began to celebrate. — Luke 15:23-24

Three parables, familiar stories all, and they’re all about grace.  In each something is lost—a sheep wanders off; a coin rolls into a dark corner under the furniture; a young man—the younger son in a family—takes half the family fortune and heads off to parts unknown.  And in each case, that which is lost is found and then a grand celebration kicks off.  Continuing the theme from my sermon last week, grace is like… that!  “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me!  I once was lost, but now am found…”  Oh yes, grace is just like that.  And grace quite simply calls for celebration.

The Pharisees and the scribes—the self-styled religious authorities of Jesus’ day—were complaining about Jesus mixing too freely with sinners.  Why, he even sits down and eats dinner with them.  So Jesus tells these stories, addressing them to both groups—the tax collectors and sinners who are crowding around and the complainers who feel there really ought to be limits.  The thing about stories is that they can be so versatile.  Good stories draw you in.  Perhaps you start out as a bystander, a “neutral observer in the story.  But the next thing you know you connect with one of the characters, and the story is showing you something about life—something comforting, perhaps, or challenging, maybe a new way of looking at things, or even new ideas about what’s possible in the world.