This sermon was preached for the second Sunday of Easter, April 16, 2023 for St. Mark's in East Longmeadow. The texts for this sermon was John 20:19-31.
Have you ever wondered why we don’t usually clap for musical performances in church? It’s not because we don’t appreciate our musicians (because we really, really do) or that we aren’t impressed by them (because we really, really are)! We don’t clap for music in church because they aren’t performances, but rather a form of prayer and praise. The music is not for us, it’s for God. Normally, applause is how we show gratitude, but in church the music itself is the expression of gratitude. We, sitting in the pews, are not an audience either, but participants in every aspect of worship. We are drawn up into the music and pray it, too, just by listening.
Reading the ending of today’s Gospel reminded me of another reason we aren’t supposed to clap after musical pieces in church. It’s the same reason the Gospel accounts don’t end with a big cursive “The End.” As we heard today, the writers of the Gospel according to John want us to know, “Now Jesus did many other signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not written in this book. But these are written so that you may come to believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that through believing you may have life in his name.” The Gospel’s final verse echoes today’s ending, too: “But there are also many other things that Jesus did; if every one of them were written down, I suppose that the world itself could not contain the books that would be written.”
The Gospel of John admits that it is an incomplete account - unfinished. It is unfinished because no book can fully capture all of who Jesus was to them, let alone all of who Jesus is and will be for humankind.
I don’t usually like to preach about the origins of words - I find etymology makes for a pretty boring sermon a lot of the time. But there’s one word origin I think about a lot. The word perfect comes from two Latin roots: per meaning complete and facere meaning to do. Perfectus means completed in Latin. To be perfect is to be done. Finished. Dead.
To be imperfect, therefore, is to be alive. To be alive is to be imperfect - still changing, still growing. Imperfection is not sinful or a failure - it simply means we are alive.
The Easter season asks each of us: How does Jesus being alive change our faith? What difference does worshiping and following a living God make?
Part of our answer today is to treat our scriptures as though they are alive: the living word of God. Now it might sound pretty radical for a priest to preach that the Bible isn't perfect. What I mean by that though is what the Biblical accounts themselves claim: they are imperfect because they are incomplete, not done, still alive. Our scriptures are not the be-all-end-all of who God is because the story of God is still being written in each of our lives. Jesus did many other signs - and Jesus is doing so much more in us, still today.
Applause usually indicates the end of a performance. We don’t clap for music in church because the song isn’t over when the choir stops singing. The awed silence after the notes fade is also part of the song. And so are the thoughts we think and the emotions we feel because of having heard it.
A sermon isn’t over when it is preached. A ministry isn’t done when it comes to its natural conclusion. A reading from our scriptures does not wrap up in The Word of the Lord, not really. The work of the sermon continues carried by the Holy Spirit in the hearts of those who hear it. The work of the ministry lives on as its participants act out the ways they were shaped by it. The dismissal after the last hymn on Sunday does not declare that worship has ended; it charges us with bringing that worship out into the world, into everything we do.
A song sung for the glory of God reverberates through the lives of those who heard it, long after the singer has fallen silent.
Last week I decided to finally try chanting in liturgy, even though I’ve never thought of myself as a singer, even though I knew not all, maybe not even most, of the notes would come out just right. But that’s kind of why I did it. What we do here in church isn’t about us at all, it’s about God. And none of this is meant to be perfect. It’s meant to be alive. An expression of gratitude and praise for our living God.
I wasn’t surprised when my family commented that they had never really heard me sing for that long by myself before, let alone in public. When I realized that my own family hadn’t known what my singing voice sounded like until last week, it made me feel a little sad. Sad because I started to think about all the songs I hadn’t sung because I knew some of the melody would land a bit flat or a bit sharp. Not just me, though. What about all the art that’s been left uncreated across so many other lives: all the paintings left unpainted, all the poems left unwritten, all those songs left unsung and dances left undanced. All those prayers left unprayed, all because someone somewhere was afraid of imperfection.
What matters about our work here on earth is not its state of completion or its nearness to perfection; what matters is the purpose behind our actions. Its impact is beyond our control and beyond our knowing - it is ultimately held by God.
A life lived for God isn’t finished in death. The best funerals are the honest ones that say, this person was imperfect and we loved them. This life was incomplete, and look, it lives on still, in each of us who knew them. The greatest funerals are the ones in which we can authentically say, this person made mistakes, and the life they lived they lived for others, for the glory of God, for a greater purpose than themselves.
The writers of the Gospel knew that their accounts could never be fully complete, and in just that fact alone, never perfect. But they wrote them anyway - and thank God they did! The Gospel writers wrote their stories down because they were focused on the purpose of their writing: to bring others - you and me - into love and relationship with God through Christ.
Sing your songs, however imperfectly. And not just songs. Do art. Dance. Write. Join the choir. Don’t let that voice in your head get in the way of jumping in, trying out new ways to pray and praise the Lord. Express yourself even when it feels a little silly. Embrace never being perfect, celebrate never being complete. Enjoy your unfinishedness - it means you are alive. Alleluia!
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