About three years ago, over four days in June 2017, while still living in Florida, I went to prison. The story is a fun one to tell church folk because, if you phrase it right, and add a bit of inflection just so, it can’t help but raise an eyebrow.

Yes folks, this pastor went to prison.

Thought you should know ?

My prison-going happened to coincide with early conversations with Bethesda’s call committee. Which provided an opportunity to leave committee co-chair Cameron Aisenbrey a rather unfortunate voicemail. “I’d love to hear more about this opportunity,” I said, “but I’ll be unavailable, at least for a few days, and behind bars.” Cameron, thank you again for putting up with that possibly misplaced humor, and continuing the conversation about what could be.

Prison
Admittedly this time behind bars was part of a prison ministry gathering; nothing overly controversial.

Each day our group of a few dozen left behind phones, wallets, belts. We entered the maximum-security prison with only our clothes, photo id, nametag.

The compound was bordered by high, razor wire topped fences, creating very real separation for those within from the world around.

Once inside we joined another few dozen men, each who call this compound home. We then got to the task at hand: to learn more about each other; more about the Christian faith.

While there we heard conversations of what had been lost. Tales of the wives, girlfriends, children the men had been separated from. The jobs, the cars, the homes no longer theirs. The friends and relatives, once close, close no more.

We heard talk of recent news, and rumors too. Hopes of transfers soon, lawyers with ideas, early releases planned. Hope of getting back to the way things were, away from the current state of things. Hopes to reengage, with the outside world, once again.

It was tough to tell which hopes were real, which merely wishful thinking. Looking back, perhaps that distinction, between the two, didn’t really matter. There was hope still, for people with seemingly so little.

Perhaps, for now, that was enough.

We heard talk of acceptance of the way things were. With parole possibilities for some diminished, hope was replaced with peace, even joy. Joy from little things; joking with friends, reading a good book, discovering a new hobby.

Peace and joy? Those were fruits of the spirit I hadn’t expected to see growing in an environment so harsh.

While there together we ate. Oh we ate. The tables we broke bread at were filled with BBQ, chips, deserts, and soda; treats not normally available in the prison mess halls.

When basic needs are met, with care, and with love, we can be open to so very much more.

We journeyed together, these four days, learning the basics of Christianity via scripture, sermon, creed. Via testimony, prayer, song.

Trust was built. Relationships warmed. Faith, in this dark place, flourished.

The final Sunday morning we gathered alongside 100 other men in a jam-packed prison chapel for their regular weekly service. Together we fellow children of God belted out sacred words from a well-worn hymn.

Amazing Grace, how sweet, the sound, that saved a wretch, like me,
I once was lost, but now am found, was blind, but now I see.

A hymn that, in this context, took on new meaning.

In that moment I realized something. Christ hadn’t magically appeared through talk and meal and song. Christ had been present with us, in and through all of it. And had been, the entire time.

Road
Two thousand years ago there was another gathering of note. This gathering was smaller; only two men at first. And freer; out on the open road, going from one town to the next. And shorter; a one-day trek of seven miles. Yet similar to the backdrop of incarceration, these were also dark times. For Jesus had been killed but a few days before.

Which left much to speak of, much to ponder, much to question.

Early in their journey a stranger joined, walking alongside the two.

We know who this stranger is.
The two men, at the time, did not.
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The two told the one of their loss. They were now separated from someone they loved deeply. They recounted sermons, parables, miracles gone by. They recalled words and actions filled with peace, hope, brighter tomorrows.

Brighter tomorrows that, as far as they could tell, were no more.

The two told the one of recent news, and rumors too. With the loss still fresh, people were starting to talk about some crazy stuff. Things like empty tombs, visions of angels, rumors of resurrection. Women were talking, disciples too, of what it all could possibly mean.

The two told the one it was tough to know what to make of any of this. They wondered what, if any of it, could be true. The rumors at least provided some hope. A chance of faint light, at the end of the tunnel, to see them through.

And, for now at least, that was enough.

The one then spoke to the two, sharing so much the men desperately needed to hear. He spoke of what prophets declared, and how difficult it is, at times, to believe. He interpreted, piece by piece, scripture of what it is a Messiah must be.

As they neared their destination, the stranger walked ahead, as if he were continuing on. The two must have been drawn to the words of the one, because they asked him to stay with them for a while more.

For it was evening, and the day was almost done.

The one took the bread, blessed it, broke it, and gave it to the two. The three then shared a meal, together at the table.

In that moment the eyes of the two were opened. Jesus hadn’t been lost. He wasn’t merely rumored to be alive. Christ was present on their journey through talk, teaching, a shared meal among friends. Christ had been present with them, in and through all of it. And had been, the entire time.

Home
Our days of late have been defined more by what isn’t than what is. Yet we’re still talking, still in relationship. Still sharing, albeit from afar. Still trying to figure out what to make of it all.

We share conversations of loss. Jobs lost, diminished, or redefined; each creating burdens of their own. Freedoms to move and gather, together, drastically cut back. Physical health declining for some. Friends and family at risk more so than before. Mental health, for each of us, at times, hanging precipitously by a thread.

We talk of recent news, and rumors too. Hopes of curves flattened, supplies restocked, health restored. Hopes of restaurants, salons and bars reopened. Hopes of worship, together, and hugs, and handshakes and high-fives, God-knows-when.

Hopes of getting back to how things were, away from the current state of things.
Hopes to reengage, with the outside world, once again.

It can be tough, at times, for us to tell which hopes are real, which merely wishful thinking.

Perhaps that distinction, between the two, matters less than we estimate. Perhaps the hopes we cling to, for now, are enough.

We talk of acceptance of the way things are. Of books read, puzzles assembled, television binged, worship livestreamed, hobbies rediscovered, flowers planted, families reconnecting from afar. Peace and joy, during our time of confinement, it seems, is possible still.

We talk of meals enjoyed, cooking more, baking too, even as fewer gather at our tables. We still take the bread, bless it, break it, and share with those we can. In the disruption of so many traditions upended, we return to the communal meal to find our strength. Strength to carry on for the upcoming, unknown journey ahead.

And somewhere, between the books and puzzles, work and school, livestreams, shows, hobbies and meals prepared – we pray God opens our eyes too.

We pray God reveal a Christ present during our journey, walking alongside us wherever we go. Wherever we stay.

And he walks with me, and he talks with me,
And he tells me I am his own,
And the joy we share,
As we tarry there,
None other has ever known.

For Christ has been present with us, in and through all of it.

Yesterday, today, and forever.  Amen.

A Last Supper poem, in a time of social distancing

We remember a gathering, in person, of friends,
of more than ten; twelve plus one, to be sure.
They were there, those thirteen, at a banquet of joy,
a gathering, both holy, and pure.

These friends were so close, in so many ways,
for three years, in synch, with the Son.
Walking and talking, and pondering and laughing,
learning, together, as One.

These friends were so close, in so many ways,
they sat, side-by-side, a table did share,
Food and drink, clothes and bodies, all near,
hearts and minds, souls and spirits laid bare.

Christ knew a betrayer, of him, was near,
they fought over who that could be.
Christ knew a denier, of him, was there too,
not once, but thrice, did Peter decree.

They weren’t perfect, these twelve,
yet they cared, for the One,
in ways we relate to, today.

They weren’t perfect, these twelve,
yet they cared, for the One,
in ways we model, we pray.

While there, at the table, Christ took bread,
broke it, gave thanks, praises be:
It’s my body, given, for you, my friend;
Do this, for the remembrance, of me.

While there, at the table, he then took the cup,
gave thanks, giving drink, praises be:
This cup, is a covenant, in my blood
(and a new one, at that)
Do this, for the remembrance, of me.

For as often as you drink, this cup,
For as often as you eat, this bread,
You proclaim the Lord’s death, for all time,
‘til he comes, once again, in his stead.

The twelve listened, partook, remembered,
all that within Christ’s command.
They realized, eventually, the meaning,
and what would soon be at hand.

They repeated this meal, repeatedly,
a new ritual, it seems, had begun.
With new friends, new spaces, new vigor,
new ways, new cultures, new tongues.

It caught on so well, so often,
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It caught on so well, so often,
Millennia later, we remember it still.

We remember the gatherings, right here at Bethesda!
Of counts more than ten, to be sure.
We were here, in the hundreds, hearts overflowing,
in ways that could spiritually cure.

We friends were so close, in so many ways,
In-person for years, even decades were we.
Walking and talking, pondering and laughing,
Learning together, what it is, to simply be.

We friends were so close, in so many ways,
some by pew, some by chair, did we meet.
Food and drink, clothes and bodies, all near,
in distances, yep, less than six feet!

Like disciples, we friends, aren’t perfect, for sure,
at times we too, betray and deny.
But we gathered together, again and again.
To cheer a savior, hands held high.

So while we can’t gather, in person,
honoring one fully God, fully man.
We can come together, by virtual means,
doing the very best that we can.

We can:

Still pray,
Still preach,
Still sing,

Still text,
Still email,
Still ring.

Still give,
Still connect,
Still share,

Still comfort,
Still serve,
Still care.

We can still remember,
in the bread, and in the cup,
despite being physically apart.

For where two or more gather,
in Christ’s name,
be it here, be it there,
it is simply a matter, of heart.

People love to gather. Not surprisingly it’s good for us, in all sorts of ways. Social engagement increases life span, improves mental and physical health, and may even lower your risk of dementia.

Because of all this goodness we naturally want to gather in all sizes and kinds of groups. And we want to gather for all kinds of reasons. We humans are social creatures, after all. Often we gather with people who share our interests, our passions, our beliefs.

Sometimes we gather one-on-one, catching up over coffee with a friend, co-worker, or spouse. Sometimes it’s in crowds of dozens, or hundreds, or thousands. Even millions.

Sport
Sometimes we gather for sport. One thing our family had to give up because of Covid closures is Hannah’s Spring soccer league. She’s really grown to love playing – as a youth I did too. For us going to practices and games is typically a family affair. Kathi packs snacks, I’ll throw the foldable chairs in the back of the car, and off we go to Innes Park field. When Graham’s interest wanes he’ll meander over to the playground, often finding a friend to play with. For games chatting with other parents and yelling out some support and encouragement – GO HANNAH!! – is really tough to beat.

Gotta say I miss it. And can’t wait for local youth soccer to come back.

Then there’s the big sporting events that happen here in little ol’ Ames Iowa. The largest of those gatherings gets into the tens of thousands. We’re talking, of course, about Big 12 Iowa State Cyclones football. Home games at Jack Trice stadium can fill to capacity with 61,500 screaming, oft delirious fans. You can almost fit all of Ames, population ~67,000, in this one space. Locally we love us some Iowa State college football ?

Stadiums can get a lot larger than that. The biggest sporting venue in the world, the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, has a seating capacity of over 257,000 people. Add in the infield seating and number increases to about 400,000.

Song
Sometimes we gather for song. Some of my favorite memories of Decembers past have been our son Graham’s preschool Christmas pageants down the road at St. Paul Lutheran. There kids recreate the cutest of nativity scenes. The church altar steps, filled with four and five-year olds dressed up as little sheep and donkeys, Mary and Joseph, shepherds aplenty, magi. Singing songs about the birth of our savior in all the organized chaos kids that age bring. The pageants are messy. And beautiful. And pure magic.

Cubbies
Sometimes we gather to celebrate. When a really, really big event in human history happens, gathering sizes can get astronomical. Such was the case on Friday, November 4, 2016. Any guesses on what people celebrated that day? No worries, this isn’t political ?

The event, held in Chicago, was an outdoor rally and parade. The city gathered together to celebrate the Cubs epic seven-game World Series win over the Cleveland Indians. City officials estimate turnout at 5 million people, making it the largest gathering of people, ever, in the western hemisphere. When you haven’t won a World Series in 108 years, as a fan, well, you’re ready to celebrate, ready to make some noise. And doing that together, with other passionate followers, by way of a parade, is a pretty good way to go.

In numbers great and small, when we desire to be part of something we care deeply for, people love to gather.

Momentum
Today we gather to celebrate another grand event, another big parade. Palm Sunday, complete with a King, a donkey, disciples, crowds and palms waving, oh my.

The build-up to this gathering was much longer than a children’s Christmas pageant. Much more extended than a mere season of sport. It was thirty-three years in the making, at least in the flesh. Add in the celestial timeline and we’re talking thousands, millions, perhaps billions more.

As with any movement of note, the makings of this celebration started small. Sometimes Christ gathered people one-on-one. Zacchaeus and a tree. Lazarus raised from the dead. The woman and the well.

Other gatherings were in pairs. Mary and Martha. Two blind men healed. Disciples, two by two.

Over time the numbers grew. Twelve disciples at first, later 70, then 120. Crowds kept coming. Flocking to Christ, listening to sermons on mounts and plains and hillsides, along with parables aplenty.

And the feeding of the 5,000? That count was just men. Add in the women and children also there and the total gets much, much higher.

Sometimes they dropped fishing nets, becoming fishers of men instead. Sometimes they dropped water buckets, and ran, sharing their experience with many. Sometimes the deaf, now no longer, left all they knew to hear more. Sometimes the blind, now granted sight, tagged along to catch a vision of the future to come. Sometimes the dead, now fully alive, went to see, and hear, and learn where this new life would lead.

The crowd there that parade day, gathered to celebrate as Jesus entered Jerusalem. They were a mixed group of multitudes, a collection of people from so many gatherings before. A group who loved he who had come in the name of the Lord.

Parade
As they came near Jerusalem Jesus sent two disciples ahead to secure transport for the parade. A grand earthly king would ride a horse, wouldn’t they. But a humble savior? A donkey and a colt would do just fine.

Animals now arrived, the disciples put cloaks on them. Christ sat, ready for the parade to begin. This very large crowd then did their thing.

They spread their cloaks on the ground, cut branches from trees and spread those at the donkey’s feet too. They rolled out the proverbial red carpet for their king. Perhaps others waved some of those branches in the air, as we do today, heightening the drama even more.

And they shouted their excitement. Oh did they shout.

Hosanna to the Son of David!
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Hosanna in the highest!

What a moment that must have been.

Questions and Condemnations
But that wasn’t the only crowd gathered there that day. Because sometimes, we gather to question. Amidst all of the celebration among his followers that followed Christ through Jerusalem that fateful day, there were also the city folk. And hearing all the commotion in the streets they came out to see what all the fuss was about.

Scripture says the whole city was in turmoil, with residents asking simply, “who is this?” This is the prophet, Jesus, his followers replied.

Maybe some understood. Likely many didn’t. A gathering of people, largely from other lands, celebrating a leader not-from-around-here couldn’t help but raise some eyebrows.

And sometimes, when things get really dark in our world, we gather to condemn. That’s a foreshadowing of the Good Friday narrative.  Crowds that day came, because of this same person, not to celebrate, but to crucify.

Fortunately, we know the unexpected, triumphant turn that story takes.

Celebrate, Question, Condemn
People love to gather. It’s good for us. Humanity was not meant to be alone.

Yet with no live sports to speak of, live music relegated to screens, work and worship and travel restricted, our in-person gathering options right now are, well, limited.

Which leads us back to a simpler time. It leads us back to the narratives of Holy week, and the three thee reasons crowds gathered over the course of a few fateful days.

We gather to celebrate.
We gather to question.
We gather to condemn.

As we look to an era different than any other in our lifetime, let me encourage you, people of God, to celebrate.

Celebrate gatherings past. Hold cherished memories like they were yesterday.
Celebrate newfound time with beloved family, both close and afar.
Celebrate technology that keeps us close, despite our separation.
Celebrate Holy Week with familiar faces, via screen, from the comfort of home.
Celebrate what you have still. For most of us it is very, very much.

At times, people of God, let me encourage you, to question.

Question what you know. Hold fast to media sources dealing in truth.
Question leaders as needed. Honor the science that will see us through.
Question what it is to seek the greater good. Not just the good of one person, one ego, one industry. But the greater good that benefits us all.

And, if at all possible, people of God, take great care not to condemn.

Here we can lean on the eighth commandment and Martin Luther’s explanation of it. Do not give false testimony against your neighbor. Do not betray them, slander them, or hurt their reputation. But instead defend them, speak well of them, and explain everything in the kindest of ways.

Choose kindness, whenever possible.

Close
But mostly, people of God, let us gather – as we’re able – to celebrate Christ, palms lifted high. Let us celebrate a savior that always desires the greater good; for God so loved the whole world, no exceptions. A savior who knows the human condition, and the challenges it contains. A savior with us in the past, here still today, seeing us through, to a brighter tomorrow, and beyond. Amen.