Now, if you follow my dance, see yourself in Me who am speaking.

Here ends the reading.

Jesus asks, "Who do you say that I am ?" Is this the Jesus we know and love? Is this part of our Christian Tradition? Or is this some weird New Age dancing God? Yes and yes. Yes. It is a part of our Christian tradition: The Acts of John was written by very early disciples of Jesus, though it is not part of what we today accept as Scripture. And yes again. It is "New Age" -- on or beyond the fringes of orthodoxy -- but it's the New Age of the second century instead of the twentieth. It's a new look at who Jesus is.

Who do you say that Jesus is? Even today, there continues to be heated debate about the question, from the Jesus Seminar to the popular contemporary hymn, The Lord of the Dance. A singing and dancing God? Well maybe. No one objected when Mark told us that after the Last Supper, before Jesus went to Gethsemane, he and his friends sang a hymn. And it would have been unusual if Jesus had not danced at the wedding at Cana.

Sometimes we don't see the picture that's been there before us all along until someone puts it right in front of us. That's what happens to Jesus's friends here. So who is this Jesus? Peter answers correctly: Jesus is "the Messiah of God."

BUT . . . Shhhhh ! Don't tell anyone. Because Jesus is not the kind of Messiah people expect. Instead of a conquering savior, Jesus tells us he's going to suffer, be rejected, and be killed before we get to the victory part. And he asks his friends -- that's us too -- to follow him on that miserable deadly journey.

"Hey. Wait a minute here, Jesus!" I want to shout, "Just who do you think I am?" Well, let me go ahead and ask: Who do people say that I am? That crazy woman who tries to walk five dogs at once? A priest in cowboy boots driving a pink jeep? Brendan's mom? Dru's daughter? The misguided pastor of that gay church? How many different "me"s, false and true, are there? I begin to wonder if I know who I am.

And what about you? Think for a moment: Who would the crowd say that you are? Their old teacher? Some kinda liberal lawyer? The plumbing guy? That singing lady? A Democrat? A Norwegian? Does what the crowd thinks of you match what you think of yourself? Or do you too sometimes want to say, "Shhhhh! Don't say anything. No one's gonna understand who I really am!"? Does it matter if they know who we are? Do we even want the crowd to know who we really are?

And what about us -- us together here as a community, as the church? We may have thought about who we are. We even put our thoughts into mission statements. But who do people say that we are, that Good Samaritan is? That church by the flower shop? Oh -- I thought that place closed up years ago! I didn't know there was an Episcopal Church here in town. Episcopal Church -- what's that? -- some kind of weird sect? If we're lucky, someone might answer: Maybe it's that quaint little place where we go just before Christmas?

Today's readings bring up lots of questions. But there are some answers there too. The Apostle Paul isn't one to fool around with too many questions. He's direct and clear about who we are: "In Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith." We are in Christ. In our baptism we have "clothed ourselves with Christ" so that
"There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus."

Today we miss power of that statement "no longer Jew or Greek." Paul is not talking simply about folks who happen to be from somewhere else -- as if we were to say "no longer Americans or Koreans." Neither is he talking about simple disagreement -- like Democrat or Republican. He's talking about radical equality for people who have done nothing to deserve it -- people who have lived outside of God's Law.

He's talking about overturning the Law itself-- about rejecting the fundamentals of his faith that made the Hebrew people special to God. The security of the Law, the discipline of the Law, prison of the Law -- are all no more. Suddenly the Covenant -- the Special Deal between God and God's Chosen People -- is open to anyone who has faith in Christ. For a good Jew this is a scandal.

No longer Jew or Greek, slave or free, male or female, black or white, rich or poor, gay or straight, liberal or conservative, Protestant or Catholic, . . . All our differences are dismissed, overwhelmed by our truest identity: our unity in Christ.

Now this doesn't mean that our uniquenesses all disappear. This is Paul, after all, who's writing. Just ask any good Southern Baptist what else Paul has to say about male and female. What it does mean is that those things that kept us apart no longer separate us: "all of [us] are one in Christ Jesus." All of us are equally Abraham's offspring, heirs of the promise, God's own children dressed up in our Beloved Brother's clothes.

Who, then, does our brother Jesus say that we are? "If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will save it." Jesus gives us a CHOICE about who we are. Do you want to follow Jesus? If so, it means denying our selves -- putting all those wonderful things that make us unique into second place. We let go of -- we lose -- our own lives. And that may feel like dying.

But it's only when we let go of our selves, stop clinging desperately to our differences, that we can put on Christ -- putting our unity in Christ before all else. And that cross of self denial is not an easy burden to bear. It means we, like Christ, will suffer. And it means we, like Christ, will live. "Those who lose their life for my sake will save it"

Having lost our life in Christ we find it again in Christ as individual unique members of the Body of Christ in the world -- that one Body in which there are many members each with unique individual gifts. In Christ our unique differences no longer separate us: biblical literalist, liberal theologian, or lesbian feminist; cultured gentleman, battered woman, or slick politician; saint or sinner, well known or known to God alone; travelers with pink jeeps, dusty bare feet, or private airplanes; all who have faith are one in Christ.

So: Who do we say that we are? In Christ, we are God's children. In Christ is the suffering and the dancing. In Christ is the losing and the saving of your self. "If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me." Or: "Now, if you follow my dance, see yourself in Me who am speaking."

May you see yourself in Christ.
May the crowd see Christ in you.
Take up your cross and dance, my friends.

Once upon a time there were three little pigs. As they set out to make their ways in the world, their pastor warned them about the dangers of associating with the Big Bad Wolf.

Some of the older pigs wondered if the First Little Pig had ears to hear, because he spent his time eating, drinking, and telling stories with any stranger he happened to meet. Only after months of visiting with friends, did he finally decide to make a home of his own. From his busy social life, he took only a day or so to throw together his house of straw.

Now the Second Little Pig was an "artiste." Upon returning from Paris, he took several weeks to build himself a lovely wooden house, with intricate carvings in the wood and with beautifully painted walls.

But the Third Little Pig was a great success. He studied engineering (got all A's of course), made a lot of money, and worked many months building his house of brick. Of course he didn't work on Sundays, when he went to church and served dutifully on the building committee.

Now we all know what happens next. Along comes the Big Bad Wolf. He arrives at the home of the First Little Pig, and growls: "Little pig, little pig, won't you let me come in?" Not hearing an answer, he figures the First Little Pig was too frightened to speak, so he adds his next line: "I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house in." And he proceeds to do just that.

But of course the First Little Pig is out visiting his brother. So the Big Bad Wolf moves on to the fancy wooden house. "Little pig, little pig, won't you let me come in?" And, sure enough, he hears the answer: "Not by the hair on my chinny, chin chin." "I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house in." And he proceeds to do just that.

And our little artiste scurries off to the brick home of his successful brother. The Big Bad Wolf is not far behind and soon reached the Third Little Pig's door. "Little pig, little pig, won't you let me come in?" And, sure enough, he hears the answer: "Not by the hair on my chinny, chin chin." "I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house in." But the wonderful brick house stands like a rock. (What else would you expect from the home of the head of the church building committee?)

The successful little pig heads for the kitchen to tell his brothers of his most recent success, and who does he find sitting at the kitchen table eating, drinking, and discussing Van Gogh with his brothers? The Big Bad Wolf. "Brothers! Don't you know what kind of animal this is that you let in the back door --that he is a sinner!"

The First Little Pig says, "Simon," (for that, you know, is the successful little pig's name). Simon, I have something to say to you. Let me tell you a story. . . Once upon a time there was a rabbi . . . "

It's only a story. We heard the other stories: about Nathan and King David, about a sinful woman at a pharisee's party. Stories about confession and forgiveness. Stories about confrontation and welcome. We come on Sundays and hear the stories. We take what we learn on Sundays and try to do what is right, just like any other successful Simon, whether pig or pharisee.

Have you noticed how often it is the ones who try hardest to be good, to do God's will, that Jesus confronts with their own sin? Have you noticed how often those who seem successful, even righteous, are the ones who notice how others fail, how others sin? These are the ones to whom prophets, like Jesus or Nathan, are sent.

So here we are in church. We are trying to do God's will. And, by worldly standards at least, we are also wildly successful. So what happens when we look at others who are not like us? ... those who don't come to church, or whose careers or marriages failed, or who are in trouble with the law, . . . or however they may differ from us.

Sometimes it's easy to think: "Here's the ‘Big Bad Wolf' the pastor or the Bible warned us about" "I'm glad I'm not like that." "Best to stay away from her bad influence." Or "As the Lord lives, this person deserves punishment!"

Listen, does the prophet speak to us? "You are the one: You devoured the beloved sheep." "You are the one: You are the sinner -- you are the Big Bad Wolf." When we judge others, we put ourselves in God's place. And even if we were to have no other sin (which is unlikely), our judgmentalism would put us right alongside the other sinners in need of forgiveness.

The good news in today's readings is that the forgiveness is already and always there for all of us -- wolves and pigs sheep and kings successful pharisees and notorious sinners. Nathan announces God's forgiveness to David: "Now the LORD has put away your sin; you shall not die." Today's psalm celebrates confession and forgiveness as a blessing. Jesus announces God's forgiveness to the sinful woman (and by implication to Simon the pharisee) "Your sins have been forgiven."

And it's ours for the sharing. To forgive and to be like the first two little pigs, to take the risk of welcoming those who differ from us and leave the judgment to God. Because at some place in our lives, we're all Big Bad Wolves hungrily banging at the door. That story telling rabbi has prepared a banquet of forgiveness for all of us. So who are we to stand guard at the door, wolves dressed in pig's clothing, saying "Not by the hair of my chinny, chin chin"?

Well, did you get it? Did you understand the gospel message? That was not speaking in tongues. "It's Greek to me!" It's the language in which the gospels were written.

But it isn't good news if you don't get it. Those foreigners wouldn't have understood the Galilean disciples. The sophisticated travelers in Jerusalem might have shrugged their shoulders and said, "It's Aramaic to me."

Instead, they heard those Galilean country boys speaking all the elegant languages of the world. Each of the foreigners heard the good news in his or her own language. The Spirit offered everyone a chance to "get it."

Listen again: When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, "Peace be with you." After he said this, he showed them his hands and his side. Then the disciples rejoiced when they saw the Lord. Jesus said to them again, "Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, so I send you." When he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, "Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained."

So now it's translated. Do you get it? Maybe, but sometimes not. Sometimes, even in our mother tongue, the tongues of fire are hard to understand. In fact, some of those folks who heard the Galileans speaking their own language. thought the Galileans were drunk.

Sometimes even the translation needs translation. That's part of spreading the good news. Helping others to understand the message: preaching, telling stories, sharing examples, even arguing about interpretation. Proclaiming the good news is more than just reciting the text.

Just imagine walking up to someone on the street and saying something like last week's gospel: As you, Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me. The glory that you have given me I have given them, so that they may be one, as we are one, I in them and you in me, that they may become completely one, so that the world may know that you have sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me.

They'd probably lock you up. You don't have to be walking around with a flame on your head and speaking Aramaic for people to think you are crazy or drunk. But we're all asked to spread the message. It's part of our baptismal promises: "Will you proclaim by word and example the Good news of God in Christ?" So we're all supposed to be translators.

And don't think we don't need it -- not only for the scripture but sometimes even for the prayers. We may not use that beautiful but archaic church language anymore : words like "meet, right, and our bounden duty," yet much of our familiar church talk needs explanation, even translation, if it is to be heard by today's foreigners -- those foreigners who don't speak beautiful seventeenth century English, and who don't use words like "redemption" and "atonement."

People need to ‘get it,' to hear the good news in their own everyday language so they can understand . Not in the same language for everyone, but in their own differing languages, Medes & Parthians, Elamites & Cappadocians, Cubans & Vietnamese, teens & farmers.. Maybe, just as it takes all the different gifts, no one language alone is enough for the good news -- not Greek or Aramaic, or Latin or English. Maybe the Spirit needs them all to get the awesome, miraculous message across. Maybe, like the different gifts, we need all the different languages "for the common good," to build up the Body of Christ that is the church.

So the Spirit is talking about bringing our differences together. About "reconciliation" -- one of those words that needs translation. About forgiveness. Forgiveness, when it really happens, when it is both offered and received, is sweet. In sort of old-fashioned but everyday language, we say "Kiss and make up." In church talk we say "The peace of the Lord be with you always." The peace we exchange in church actually began as an everyday kiss -- a sign of reconciliation, of forgiveness and unity in the Spirit.

Nice to say, but how do we get there? Here's where we hit the translation stuff in today's gospel reading.. The Greek word that John used where we translate "forgiveness" -- "aphete"-- also means "to release" or "to let go." So "If you let go of their sins, they're gone." And the word we translate "Receive" is much more powerful than that -- it can also be "to take" or "to seize." So we're "releasing" the sins and taking" the Spirit.

The language in Greek is both more powerful and more ordinary. The gospels are written not in classical Greek, but in common street language. So maybe we could play with some other translations:

It was that Sunday night and the guys're hidin' upstairs ‘cause they're scared of the Jews. Jesus shows up and says "Relax, everything's cool." When he shows ‘em that he's okay they go wild. So Jesus tells ‘em again: "Cool it. The Father sent me, so now it's your turn." He gets real close and gives them a pep talk. (They're ready, you know, to go out to fight for him now that they know it'll be okay.) Jesus says, "If you forgive someone, then you're friends. But If you hang on to the hurt, what are you gonna do with it?"

Jeez! You sent us the Spirit like a tornado. We're filled with power. We're crowned with flames. We see by your hands that our hurts can be healed. We can conquer the world.... And you say, "Forgive - let it all go." What kind of wimpy power is that?

Just what did those folks from Egypt and Cyrene, those Cretans and Arabs, hear when Jesus's friends were "speaking about God's deeds of power." We don't really know. But the verse following this morning's reading from the Acts of the Apostles says: Amazed and confused, they kept asking each other, ‘What does this mean?'

We, too, want to ask, "What does this mean? Forgiveness? What kind of power is that? " The power to change. The power to turn ourselves toward God. The power to let go of the hurt and reach out in love.... Ya know, It would be easier to conquer the world in outright combat by holding on to the hurts and trying to get even than to do this other forgiveness stuff.

The power of forgiveness is greater than that conquering power. The power the Spirit gives us is the power to let go of the hurt that stands between us and others, and between us and God.

Jesus gives his friends the power to forgive. And that same power is given to us to give to others. He sends us, like the Father sent him: to forgive others. And forgiveness can be contagious, spreading like wildfire.

We've all been given the Holy Spirit in baptism, but we can only be filled to overflowing with the Spirit when we forgive and let go of the hurt. And once you're filled with the Holy Spirit, there's no room to hold on to sins.

Maybe we need a more literal translation of some of Jesus's words in today's gospel: Jesus says "Grab onto the Holy Spirit. Stop hanging on to people's sins." Because it's in letting go that we're going to find the peace Jesus brings us.