EASTER 4A

When I go to Dean’s meetings, we meet at Queen of the Apostles’ Retreat Centre in Mississauga.  Once upon a time this retreat centre was on the outskirts of Toronto, in the country; in the midst of woods and fields.  Around the retreat centre now are mansions of all shapes and colours –they come in one size -huge.

When entering this community, one sees older stately homes...mostly sensible, with large treed lots and accessible driveways that look like country lanes.  The newer mansions are surrounded by over-landscaped land and surrounded by 6 foot high metal rod fencing –black with rod tops pointed in copper or gold filigree.  The driveways are made unsurpassable by mammoth gates –wrought iron with ornate letters or designs.

When you picture heaven: do you think mansions, streets paved in gold, pearly gates?

Whether it is jokes about meeting St. Peter at the pearly gates, kids songs about rolling through the pearly gates on roller skates, or a Southern preacher preaching up a storm on Sunday afternoon T.V. revival -preaching  glorious crowns and mansions to fill every human desire ---we have all, from a very young age been exposed to images of heaven as images of grandeur.

 I enjoy going to Queen of the Apostles Retreat centre, where long halls contain tiny cement blocked rooms, each containing a single bed, chair, and desk.  Each room has an attached washroom but shower facilities are shared and when you leave you strip the bed and put new sheets on for the next guest.  It is the getting there that is troublesome.

The opulence of the houses, the ridiculously ostentatious gates are enough to make me want to puke.

I have a confession to make to you this morning, our Gospel reading gives me a similar turn in my stomach.

Not because of what it says, but a reaction caused by almost 4 decades of me hearing the kingdom of God being described by Christians in an ostentatious way: a word that the dictionary defines as marked by a vulgar display of wealth and success designed to impress people.

Jesus says to the disciples: I am the gate.

I think about a book that I read as a teenager for high school English.  The story was about a girl of about 13, who was pretty close to living on the street, as her home was unstable and chaotic.  She went to the local catholic school, the only school in this poor end of the city.  The girl loved beauty and she set about finding a place to call her own.  Beside the nunnery there was an abandoned lot, fenced in on two sides by buildings and the other two by dirty brick walls.  At one time the space had been a garden kept by the nuns, supported by the church –but those days were in the distant past. The girl happened upon the derilict space one day by accident –she pushed through the rusty gate –that was hanging lop-sided on one hinge; to get away from a group of boys who were teasing her.

This gate was so unlike the gates in Mississauga. It was shabby.  Rusty. Broken.

Over the months the girl transformed the space into a creative masterpiece.  She collected the old pieces of fallen marble statuary and used them to mark off paths.  She moved and repurposed debris into a myriad of uses.  She made sitting spots, and talking spots. Places to rest.  Places to feel joy.  Places to feel love. 

She would enter in and out of the gate, often bringing with her treasures that she found...she walk around town looking for handfuls of dirt, which she put in her pockets and would empty into her space as the ground was too tough to grow anything.  Eventually the girl found a shovel without a handle and a discarded bean.  She planted the bean and watched it grow. One day when she arrived and came through the gate a bright red geranium sat in the middle of the garden –it was just there –a love gift from who knows where.  She took such care and delight in the plant, in the whole space, and when it was finished enough she invited other outsiders to come and relax in the space; invited them to come and have a place to belong.  All came through the rusty gate –that was hanging lop-sided on one hinge; broken.

but once daring to enter through the rusty gate,  all found in the space joy and belonging. When leaving  all  left with at least part of them being less broken.

I have a confession to make this morning, the Gospel reading sits well with me.

Not because of what it says, but the reaction caused by a memory that reinterprets the image of the kingdom of heaven and the gate that one goes through to enter.

Jesus says to the disciples: I am the gate.

Last May I took a course on 20^th Century theology and theologians, at Acadia Divinity College.  The first class was opened with devotions presented by the professor.  He highlighted Bible passages that he interpreted and translated into his theological understanding of God’s kingdom.  He spoke about theologians and that to understand anything they say, it really boils down to grasping their understanding of kingdom of God, the kingdom of heaven.  To end his devotion he chose a hymn that best described his understanding.

Reading scripture. Interpreting texts. Choosing hymns. Preferred prayers. Living Christian lives –are all done in accordance to our understanding of the kingdom of heaven; beginning with what kind of gate one enters through and is the gate in the future or in the present or both.

It was quite clear through class discussions that our final paper would have to address our vision of the kingdom, and yes to get top marks, it would include finding a hymn that best represented our understanding.

My understanding really goes along with the rusty gate, lop-sided –hanging on one hinge; broken.

Jesus said to the disciples: I am the gate.

The gate was not one who was crowned with a golden crown, but rather a crown of thorns.  The gate was not dressed in regal attire, but rather a cast off robe. The gate was not set aside as something beautiful and untouchable -the gate was public, around crowds, around the poor, touchable, go-through-able; no one was turned away from the gate.  And in the end the gate was broken on a cross.

And then when the sun/Son rose three days later, there were no pearly gates, no kingly entrance...just open arms, "Peace be with you"; a walk along a road and the breaking of bread. 

Because of the gate the whole idea of the kingdom of God changes; it requires a different set of eyes to see through the rust, the brokenness, the cross...and to dare to enter, knowing that it will change our lives forever.

The kingdom of heaven -Maybe it’s not about resting in a big mansion, behind a secure gate, with crowns and trophies for good behaviour....through the gate in the life after there will be worshiping and serving God in creative new ways.

God’s kingdom is not static, a monument to accomplishments, a trophy for a good race –that would make winners and losers.  We’re all sinners we’ve already been lost...but through Jesus and Jesus suffering on the cross...the gate has been opened. It remains open forever and always.

Jesus said, "I came that they might have life and have it abundantly." Reflecting on gates I see that abundant living is  found not in the fear of needing to secure property, to  hide from the world, or to prove something –abundant life is found by a girl who saw the beauty in what was broken and set to giving new life to the pieces. –and then found joy in sharing it with others.

Jesus said to the disciples: I am the gate.

The world is full of rusty gates, lop-sided hanging on one hinge; broken. Dare to open the rusty gate and discover the kingdom of God that unfolds before you and begs you to be a part of. Find beauty in the broken and set about giving new life to the pieces.  With the joy you receive share it with others.  It is through this gate that you will live and live abundantly.