Posted by Priest on November 29, 2009 under Sermons | 
Cape Town is one of the most exciting cities not just on the African continent. It is often referred to as the Mother City of South Africa, because the Dutch and British first landed here. The attractions of the place are quite obvious. The landscape is breathtaking: the ocean crashing into beautiful beaches and Table Mountain sitting above the city like a natural crown. In between, there is much to experience and much to see. Industrial productivity. Successful business. Merchants and shops. Creative art in word, sound, movement, and form. Restaurants, bars, dance clubs. Churches, mosques, synagogues, temples. Highrises interspersed with gardens rich in vegetation. The city is still filled with the ingenuity of the first settlers, creating an industrious, yet, at the same time hyper-creative spirit. Cape Town is a busy place.
Of course, the history of European settlers “conquering” the African continent is not just a story filled with heroics and admirable entrepreneurial spirit. It is also a history filled with violence, with exploitation, and with unimaginable injustices. Slavery and Apartheid were horrendous violations of God’s law and of the human spirit.
Fifteen years after Apartheid, despite creating one of the most democratic and most progressive constitutions, the scars of the past are still present. Imperialism and colonialism not only killed unnumbered people and violated the dignity of so many, but institutionalized racism and violence also left a legacy of poverty, crime, and injustice. The most lasting damage done by Apartheid will be the decades-long attempts to rid the majority of the populace of their human dignity, something that cannot easily be restored, not even in a cosmopolitan city such as Cape Town. The city is full of desperation and filled with the victims of the Apartheid era as much as the victims of the new regime, which is acting more and more like the pigs in George Orwell’s Animal Farm. There is a lot going down and going on in that city. Cape Town is indeed a busy place.
Not unlike Jerusalem some 2000 years ago. Jerusalem was a busy place too. Ever since the religious centre was established there after much struggle, and ever since the dynastic ambitions of the Hebrew kings had won the day, Jerusalem had prospered. It was the Jewish Mother city.
Jerusalem was a busy place.
Every year, most Jews would go up to Jerusalem to worship in the temple. This created an economy with merchants and inns. Schools and religious institutions sprung up – and so did “industries” that were often regarded (and sometimes are still regarded) as shady: artists and street performers and, of course, prostitutes. Jerusalem also often became the hub of the many armies that occupied the Holy Land, destroying, pillaging, raping, and violating God’s temple; armies that also built up and left their mark on the city.
Two thousand years ago, it was the Romans’ turn to lord over the Hebrews, sometimes with an iron fist. Yes, universal human rights would not be celebrated for another 1700 years. But there was a deep and profound call for justice and righteousness in God’s revelation to Israel. The Romans, however, were often neither just nor righteous. They had taken over and imposed their norms with whatever it took.
Still, life continued in Jerusalem. Life continued in all its facets, with people still flocking to the city on high holidays, buying and selling and enjoying the legal and not-so-legal offerings of the city.
Jerusalem, just like Cape Town today, was indeed a busy place.
Two weeks ago, I worshipped at St. Mark’s Anglican Church in Cape Town. St. Mark’s is situated in a part of Cape Town called District Six, a rather historic part of town. The history of District Six is filled with wonderful attempts to create life beyond our futile and sinful attempts to separate the human race along the colours of our skin. But the history of District Six is also filled with many stories of violent suppressions of these attempts of celebrating God’s diverse creation. And St. Mark’s has been on the forefront to fight for God’s compassionate and equal love for all people. Fifteen years after Apartheid ended, there still is a prophetic spirit present in this place.
And it is a busy place too! When I joined the community two Sundays ago, the church was well attended by people of all colours. There were children running around. There was a wonderful family atmosphere. And all were welcome!
The worship at St. Mark’s was rather traditional within a rather traditional setting. Except – believe it or not – there was a screen onto which the hymns were projected.
Still, there was much that felt common, familiar, and comfortable. It was a wonderful and profoundly spiritual experience. There was a routine in the place. Everything just happened according to plan.
Until…
Until, I heard a funny and surprising sound. Yet, it was beautiful! I heard the song of a bird. The bird was sitting in the rafters singing melodiously and wonderfully in ways I have never heard a bird sing before. Unperturbed by what was going on around it, it sang at the top its voice, calling forth for its mate, calling forth with life and for life, calling forth in the midst of the African spring.
After a few minutes, it was joined by another bird, which flew in also from the outside through an open window. This must be a common occurrence at St. Mark’s , because none of the people of St. Mark’s got upset, none twitched nervously, none seemed disturbed. Instead, I saw a few heads look to the rafters with a smile on their faces, taking in the beautiful song of the birds. And the two birds knew exactly what they were doing!
The liturgy did not stop, but continued while the birds were singing in the rafters. Yet, the routine of the liturgy had been enriched and had indeed been penetrated by these birds. The beauty of their song was strangely profound, strangely appropriate, and strangely prophetic. In the midst of the routine of liturgy, in the midst of the hectic life in busy Cape Town, these two birds were heralds of a different reality, a reality too beautiful for words and too deep for understanding.
Two thousand years ago, a beautiful song rang out into the routine and into the hectic busyness of Jerusalem too. And it, too, had come into the city from the outside. It, too, was a song deeply profound and amazingly beautiful. It was not just any song, it was a love-song, God’s love-song that started to ring out when a young woman said “yes” to an angelic messenger whose divine message turned her life and the life of the cosmos upside-down for ever. This love-song not only enriched and penetrated the hectic busyness and the routine of life in the city of Jerusalem, but in, by, and through this love-song our lives are changed for ever, too. For our sake and for the sake of the world, God’s love-song became incarnate in Jesus, whose birth we will celebrate in just over four weeks’ time.
Today is the beginning of the season of Advent. And it is so easy to get weighed down by the routine of the festive season, the stress and the preparations for Christmas. It is so easy for the hectic busyness of our lives to drown out any beautiful song. And it is so easy for the injustices, the horror and the death all around us to overwhelm us. God’s love-song that took shape under Mary’s heart and that yearns to engulf us all can easily be missed as it seeks to fly into our lives through the widows of our churches and through the windows of our souls.
It is Advent. And it is the time of preparation for the Christmas festivities. But it is also the time to listen to God’s love-song. I invite you to let this season be life like the song of the two birds at St. Mark’s Anglican Church in Cape Town. Let God’s love-song penetrate and enrich your life, even if is just for a moment, even if it comes silently, gently, and in surprisingly new ways.
Yes, there are some dangers when we listen: Once God’s love-song engulfs our souls, things will change, and will change radically. Death will be conquered. Darkness will be pierced. Injustices will be overcome. Violence will be destroyed. And our lives will be turned upside-down. This is radical stuff, which threatens our routines and our way of life – not unlike today’s words from the Gospel according to Mark. And we will explore these “dangers” more over the next few weeks.
But for now, for today, I invite you to only listen for the beauty of God’s love-song that comes to us in surprising ways to restore us to the awesome beauty that God intends for each and every one of us. In the midst of our routines, in the midst of our frustrations, in the midst of our fears and worries: listen, listen for the song. Open just a wee window, a little place in your life for God’s abundant love-song to fill your heart, just like the song of the birds in the rafters at St. Mark’s filled the sanctuary that morning.
[The Reverend Markus Duenzkofer delivered this sermon on November 29, 2009.]
Posted by Webmaster on November 22, 2009 under Sermons |
[This sermon was written and delivered by Presiding Priest Ruth Monette.]
In the last few weeks, my life has felt just a little out of control. I won’t bore you with the details – it is mostly just the fruit of many years all coming into season at once. It has left me feeling like everything is going just a hair faster than I’m comfortable with. And into that revved up, keyed up, sped up space of my life, I’ve tried to speak just one prayer: Come Lord Jesus. Thy kingdom come.
It’s a prayer I find escaping my lips often when I’m faced with powers and principalities beyond my control, when the news of the day (personal, local, or global) just breaks my heart. When I face the intense grief of those burying a loved one. When I try to make sense of a violent crime. When I listen to news reports about the after-effects of war or hear stories of torture. When it feels that we, as human beings, are hell-bent on our self-destruction one way or another. Come Lord Jesus. Thy kingdom come.
And hurry up already! I’m impatient for the coming of the kingdom. I’m ready for Christ’s reign. I can’t wait to sing with REM: “It’s the end of the world as we know it.”
It’s an ending of this world as we know it that we call forth when we commemorate the Reign of Christ, today on the last Sunday of the liturgical year.
Go read what Sarah Dylan Breuer says about this at SarahLaughed.net. Her post inspired me and reminded me of the REM song from my youth. “It’s the end of the world as we know it and I feel fine.”
I can feel fine at the ending of the world, because I know that the ending of this world is necessary for the reign of Christ to come in full glory. I’m ready for the reign of Christ, because this world’s order hurts. Sure, it has its benefits (I really like the internet, hot running water, and supermarkets). But it also has its costs. My heart aches for the ways of the world as it destroys life. My heart aches for the children without clean water, good food, medical care, basic shelter, primary education. My heart aches for the First Nations communities torn apart by residential schools and their legacies. My heart aches for tiny salmon runs in rivers that should be teeming with fish. My heart aches for our brothers and sisters struggling to stay dry, to find shelter this week. My heart aches, too, for our brothers and sisters whose wealth and power leaves them empty and isolated, and trapped in an endless cycle of consumption that never fills them.
The Reign of Christ that we proclaim is rooted in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. Jesus was not and is not the kind of king whose reign is based on raw power, greed, or manipulation. He did not and does not attempt to dominate the hearts and minds of people with shock and awe or force. No, Jesus lived and modeled a far different style of leadership in his life among his people. As a servant-king, he revealed his reign as one marked by humility, self-emptying, and service to others. His reign will lift up the lowly, fill the hungry with good things, give sight to the blind, and release to the captives.
It is in faith that Christ has come and that Christ will come again that we commemorate the Reign of Christ. It is in faith that we cry Come Lord Jesus; Thy Kingdom Come. And it is in faith that we know Jesus is coming. So it is in faith that we can sing, “It’s the end of the world as we know it. And I feel fine.”
[Presiding Priest Ruth Monette delivered this sermon on November 22, 2009.]
Posted by stpauls on under Webmaster Blog |
John 18:33-37 ~ Reading for November 22, 2009
Pilate entered the headquarters again, summoned Jesus, and asked him, “Are you the King of the Jews?” Jesus answered, “Do you ask this on your own, or did others tell you about me?” Pilate replied, “I am not a Jew, am I? Your own nation and the chief priests have handed you over to me. What have you done?”
Jesus answered, “My kingdom is not from this world. If my kingdom were from this world, my followers would be fighting to keep me from being handed over to the Jews. But as it is, my kingdom is not from here.”
Pilate asked him, “So you are a king?” Jesus answered, “You say that I am a king. For this I was born, and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice.”
Posted by Webmaster on November 20, 2009 under Webmaster Blog |
Remember last year’s Lessons and Carols? The choir worked really hard under the direction of Dianne Warren and the readers spoke proficiently. All in all, it was a wonderful evening of entertainment.
Be sure to attend this year’s Lessons and Carols on December 6. The congregation will enjoy singing some of the traditional Christmas Carols and will appreciate the new pieces selected and rehearsed especially for the occasion.
As usual, Dianne will be bringing together a strong group of instrumentalists and singers to regale us and prepare us for the Christmas season.
Posted by Webmaster on November 15, 2009 under Sermons |
[This sermon was written and delivered by Presiding Priest Ruth Monette.]
The phrase that stood out to me among today’s lectionary readings as “the confession of our hope” from the Letter to the Hebrews (Hebrews 10:11-25; this phrase is from Hebrews 10:23). It got me thinking about the nature of Christian hope, which I think is rooted in our understanding of the Kingdom of God. I talked (babbled, really I thought) about how the Kingdom of God is both coming (sometime in the future) and is now. I tried to focus on the little glimpses we get of the Kingdom of God right now. Those little moments when everything seems to line up; when the whole creation seems to be moving in harmony with the will of God. Then I shared this story about a Christian community in England that gives me hope, that gives me a sense of the Kingdom of God breaking through, right now. Follow that link. It’ll give you chills. A totally amazing story. And then poke around on that website.
Truly, truly, I tell you: the Kingdom of God has come near you.
Father Markus spent much of November on a study leave (we assume he wrote amazing Advent sermons so you might want to pencil in some church time if you’ve been away). I filled in, but I’m more – experimental with my sermons than he is. In other words, I couldn’t email your webmaster my sermons because what I wrote on paper wasn’t what actually came out of my mouth. Besides, every sermon is a mix of preparation, carefully planned thoughts, wordsmithed phrases, and the movement of the Holy Spirit. So instead of the text of my sermon, I’ve given some thoughts about what I preached on. Or maybe just what I thought I was preaching on.
[Presiding Priest Ruth Monette delivered this sermon on November 15, 2009.]
Posted by Webmaster on November 8, 2009 under Sermons |
[This sermon was written and delivered by Presiding Priest Ruth Monette.]
Father Markus spent much of November on a study leave (we assume he wrote amazing Advent sermons so you might want to pencil in some church time if you’ve been away). I filled in, but I’m more – experimental with my sermons than he is. In other words, I couldn’t email your webmaster my sermons, because what I wrote on paper wasn’t what actually came out of my mouth. Besides, every sermon is a mix of preparation, carefully planned thoughts, wordsmithed phrases, and the movement of the Holy Spirit. So instead of the text of my sermon, here are some thoughts about what I preached on. Or maybe just what I thought I was preaching on.
The Book of Ruth is short. Check it out – I like reading it here or here. Read it! We’ll be here. No, really – go right now. You’ll be done before your coffee gets cold. Okay, if you don’t want to go, I should warn you: the rest of this contains spoilers.
There are lots of themes packed into this short little book of the Bible, but the one I got excited about this week was redemption. You see, Ruth is not the “right sort” of people. As I explained in my sermon:
The Moabites aren’t just another tribe living in what we now call the Middle East. The Moabites are to the Israelites what Kentuckians are to Hoosiers and what West Virginians are to pretty much the rest of the United States. I don’t think there is quite a Canadian equivalent for this: but in the US, as far as I could tell, growing up there, every state had another state they made fun of. For us Hoosiers (that’s folks from Indiana), it was Kentucky. As far as we were concerned, the residents of our nearest Southern neighbour were dumb, backwoods hicks whose sexual mores were to be questioned. Kentuckians didn’t think this way about themselves, but they might think so about those West Virginians or maybe people from Arkansas. So the dispute with the Moabites was much like this — the Israelites looked down upon them because they were the descendants of Lot and his daughter’s incestuous union.
So for Ruth to become the grandmother of King David is a story about the “wrong sort” of people being the ones that God chooses. God redeems the things that the world casts aside.
The Book of Ruth isn’t just a story about Ruth — it’s also (and some would say more so) a story about Naomi. In Naomi’s life, things go from bad to worse: there’s a famine so her family immigrates to Moab. (Remember Moab is like Kentucky*; hicks live there. It’s not where you want to move to.) And then her sons marry Moabite women instead of good Israelite women. And then her husband dies. And then her sons die. And she’s left with nothing and no one to protect her, except Ruth. Naomi is left destitute, bitter, and empty. She goes from being a woman with a place and a role in society to being a woman alone in poverty. Through Ruth’s relationship with Boaz, Naomi is given back her status in society; she’s redeemed. God doesn’t abandon a hopeless case, but redeems a bitter, old woman.
What’s happening in the story here has to do with the practices of Levirate marriage. There are some good resources on that subject here. In essence, Ruth and Boaz offer their first child as a kind of replacement heir for Naomi’s sons. This give Naomi a place – she’s the “mother” of Obed.
(It is probably worth mentioning that this is a story that takes place in a patriarchal society with limited roles for women; although it is a story about women, it doesn’t seek to shake up the patriarchy.)
I’m struck by the fact that it was through Ruth the Moabite that Naomi is redeemed. If she’d returned to Bethlehem on her own, this story’s ending wouldn’t have happened. So I’m struck by the fact that God values people the rest of us would write off and values them so highly that they become vehicles for further redemption in the world.
The example of Ruth reminds us that even the most scandalous among us can be redeemed and bear redemption into the world. The example of Naomi reminds us that sometimes redemption arrives in shapes and persons we never planned to meet or to love.
*Actually, I kind of like Kentucky, but I’m not a natural-born Hoosier.
[Presiding Priest Ruth Monette delivered this sermon on November 6, 2009.]
Posted by stpauls on under Bible Readings, Webmaster Blog |
Mark 12:38-44 ~ Reading for November 8, 2009
Teaching in the temple, Jesus said, “Beware of the scribes, who like to walk around in long robes, and to be greeted with respect in the marketplaces, and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honour at banquets! They devour widows’ houses and for the sake of appearance say long prayers. They will receive the greater condemnation.”
He sat down opposite the treasury, and watched the crowd putting money into the treasury. Many rich people put in large sums. A poor widow came and put in two small copper coins, which are worth a penny. Then he called his disciples and said to them, “Truly I tell you, this poor widow has put in more than all those who are contributing to the treasury. For all of them have contributed out of their abundance; but she out of her poverty has put in everything she had, all she had to live on.”
Posted by Priest on November 1, 2009 under Sermons |
Today’s biblical text from the Gospel according to John is one of my favourite texts. It is one of my favourite texts for a number of reasons.
First of all, today’s text proclaims and reveals that Jesus is not just a faith healer or a prophetic voice. Jesus is not just one of the many other itinerant preachers who were not uncommon in his day and age. No, Jesus is more than that: Jesus has power over life and death. In fact, Jesus is the Lord over life and death. Through him, and in him, and by him all is created and through him, and in him, and by him all finds its final destination.
Oh, I know!
That sounds awfully theologically and maybe even a bit dogmatic… So, let me give you my second reason why I really like this text. Yes, Jesus is revealed as Lord over life and death. But this is obviously also a story about Lazarus. Lazarus is raised from the dead and is restored to his place at the table and in the community. Through Jesus, Lazarus comes out of the tomb and finds life in new ways, in ways that honour who God created him to be. Thanks to Jesus, Lazarus is given a second chance to find and embrace the life that was intended for him…
But, quite honestly, this is still not the main reason why I really like the story. The story is one of my favourites, because of Martha and Mary.
What I like about these two women is that they are portrayed in a way that is genuine and honest. There is no hiding of feelings. There is no caching of what is going on with them. There is no attempt to make Martha and Mary seem “holier than thou.” No, Martha and Mary are real. Martha is suspicious. And Mary… Mary is angry.
And she has every right to be furious! Look at it! Jesus had been away when Lazarus had fallen ill. Jesus had been away when Lazarus had taken a turn for the worse. Jesus had been away when Lazarus had breathed his last. In fact, Martha and Mary had sent for Jesus to come, be he had had other things to do! Jesus was too late!
And the result was deadly for Lazarus. He is dead and wrapped in cloth. He is buried in a tomb – for ever.
I think many of us know the feeling that Mary and Martha experienced. Many, who have lost someone, have gone through all the feelings that we find in today’s text, which are so symptomatic for grief: denial, anger, frustration, fear, hopelessness, blame, suspicion. When we stand at the bedside of a beloved, who has died, it is as if our guts are ripped out and we stand in front of a void, ready to jump, believing that there is nobody to catch us, nobody to hold us, no ground to land on.
And Jesus seems late in our lives at times too. No wonder, we ask the same questions. Where, God, where were you when my child died, when my sister succumbed to cancer, when my partner was hit by a car, when my spouse was overcome by death? Where, God, were you? And some of you might have these very questions on your mind as we come together again today to remember and honour those we love, but see no more. And it is hard not just to walk away…
But the interesting part of the story in John is this: Martha and Mary didn’t turn away. In spite of what they are going through they are willing to meet Jesus. In spite of not understanding Jesus’ delay they are willing to talk with him. In spite of the darkness that seemed to have swallowed not just Lazarus but also Mary and Martha, they are willing to listen. In spite of not understanding the ways of Jesus, they do not give up on him. In spite of being let down, they are willing to engage. And yes, their interaction might have been confrontational or marked by suspicion, but they do not let go of their connection with Jesus, hoping against all hope that Jesus would not ignore their darkness, would not shy away from them.
And this is exactly what happened: Jesus met Martha and Mary in their anger and in their grief. Their pain became his pain. He mourned and grieved with them. Jesus did not deny the horror of the situation. But Jesus embraced Mary and Martha and entered the same void and darkness that had captured them. In spite of the seeming omnipotence of death, Jesus did not offer simple solutions or cheap comfort. In spite of the rough and harsh reality of the tomb, Jesus offered the gentle healing of tears and the soft breath of life.
“In spite of.” In the last few minutes, I have used these three simple words seven times. And this is no accident. So, don’t complain to the sermon-police about the repetitive use of certain phrases in my sermon. This is quite deliberate. It is deliberate, because I believe today’s story not only teaches us about the power of God’s love in Jesus the Christ. But today’s story also teaches us about sainthood. It teaches us what makes a saint of God:
First of all there is Lazarus, who dies to his old life so that he can come out of the tomb, so that he can be resurrected by Jesus to new life. Saints are those who are willing to be called out of the fake and complacent realities of the world to a life that is true and genuine and that is willing to join Jesus in building God’s reign of love and compassion, of righteousness and forgiveness, of justice and peace.
But there is another definition about sainthood in today’s text. It is a definition that is linked to Martha and Mary. I believe Saints are the “in spite of” people of God. Saints not only come out to new life, but they bring out something unique, something unexpected, something surprising.
In spite of their own grief and mourning, Martha and Mary did not disconnect from God.
In spite of persecution and harassment, Peter and Paul did not abandon the life-giving message of the Gospel of Jesus Christ.
In spite of the misogyny of the time, Mary Magdalene became the first witness of the Resurrection and an apostolic leader in the church.
In spite of the mockery by society all around them, Francis and Clare of Assisi embraced lepers and the poor.
In spite of the horrors of the Thirty Years War, Paul Gerhard wrote beautiful hymns filled with wonderful worship of our triune God.
In spite of his own first failings, Thomas Cranmer stood faithful to the prophetic insights of the Reformation in the end.
In spite of the national euphoria, Dietrich Bonhoeffer saw and identified the sins within nationalism and patriotism.
In spite of hundreds of years of tradition, Florence Li Tim Oi embraced the priesthood as a woman.
In spite of the cultural oppression by the white ruling class in Canada, Sakucheweskum served the church as an ordained leader and elder.
In spite of his own, safe upbringing, Jonathan Daniels took to heart what he prayed at the Episcopal Divinity School and registered black voters in the U.S. South.
In spite of Christians advocating for institutionalised racism, Desmond Tutu rose to be one of God’s prophetic voices in our time.
In spite of the frustration and anger all around her, Hannah Ashrawi became an advocate of peace in the Middle East.
And these are just a few that we all know of, so-called famous people.
But there are more. All around us. Look around. And look into your own life. There are stories of God’s “in spite of” people all around. Saints are all around: saints who have not given up on God, on the church, or on the world; saints, who are willing
- to shed tears with others,
- to sing a song of hope in the midst of despair,
- to witness to the Gospel in word and deed,
- to embrace strangers and sinners alike,
- to advocate for peace and justice,
- to pray with and for those who cannot find words anymore,
- to offer their labour and help when others cannot be found, and give themselves as agents of God’s healing.
These are God’s “in spite of” people – and they are here. Sitting in these very pews.
And this is what we are here to celebrate: All saints. All of God’s “In spite of” people, those from the past, those from the present, and those yet to come. Because by celebrating God’s saints, we are in fact celebrating God, whose story among us is the great “in spite of” for our lives.
[The Reverend Markus Duenzkofer delivered this sermon on All Saints Day, November 1, 2009.]
Posted by stpauls on under Bible Readings, Webmaster Blog |
John 11:32-44 ~ Reading for November 1, 2009
When Mary came where Jesus was and saw him, she knelt at his feet and said to him, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who came with her also weeping, he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved. He said, “Where have you laid him?” They said to him, “Lord, come and see.” Jesus began to weep. So the Jews said, “See how he loved him!” But some of them said, “Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?”
Then Jesus, again greatly disturbed, came to the tomb. It was a cave, and a stone was lying against it. Jesus said, “Take away the stone.” Martha, the sister of the dead man, said to him, “Lord, already there is a stench because he has been dead four days.” Jesus said to her, “Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?” So they took away the stone. And Jesus looked upward and said, “Father, I thank you for having heard me. I knew that you always hear me, but I have said this for the sake of the crowd standing here, so that they may believe that you sent me.” When he had said this, he cried with a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!” The dead man came out, his hands and feet bound with strips of cloth, and his face wrapped in a cloth. Jesus said to them, “Unbind him, and let him go.”
