Malachi 3:1-3
I Peter 4:12-18, 5:6-11
“There stood Beethoven, gravely ill and totally deaf. Eyes closed, he kept conducting the orchestra even after they had ceased their performance and the audience had risen to its feet in thunderous applause. As a singer stepped from the choir to turn him around to see those whose shouts of “bravo” resonated throughout the concert hall, tears of elation filled his eyes. Perhaps the worst loss a composer could experience had been the catalyst for a remarkably adaptive creativity that allowed him to transcend his tortures to become immersed in the thrill of conducting the premiere of his Ninth Symphony, the “ode to Joy”. At that moment, and not only in spite of but BECAUSE of his adversity, Beethoven had experienced the thrill of thriving through adversity.” _ prelude of Beethoven Factor by Paul Pearsall (Hampton Roads Publishing Company, VA., 2003)
I’ve found myself thinking a great deal about suffering lately. And today’s passages really explore it and call us to look at it once again. The Christian Education study that we have been doing on Wednesdays with Gary has been awesome. It is called, If you want to walk on water, you’ve got to get out of the boat by John Ortberg (Zonervan, 2003, Michigan) and explores many aspects of stepping out in faith to walk as Jesus has called us to do, with God and each other. The study explores our fear, the risks we take, how we perceive failure and also what we do with suffering because when we do take the risks of stepping out of the boat and stepping onto the water, there will be times when we suffer as a result, when we fall into the water, when we fail. And yet, even though we know there will be suffering, we are still called to do it. We are still called to step out, take the risks of faith, go through the fire to come out on the other side, purified. In one of the chapters, John Ortberg looks at what he calls the “resilience factor”. He says, “People who not only survive but grow through difficult situations have (been found to have) three qualities in common: 1. They take action, seeking to reassert some command over their destiny rather than viewing themselves as helpless victims. 2. They have a larger-than usual capacity for what might be called moral courage – for refusing to betray their values. And 3. They find meaning and purpose in their suffering.” In the book, the Beethoven Factor, the new positive psychology of hardiness, happiness, healing and hope, Paul Pearsall says a similar thing, especially in regards to finding meaning and purpose in suffering. He says that some people who suffer don’t become victims or even survivors, instead they become thrivers, people who actually grow through and because of their pain and suffering. He lists twelve characteristics of such people, but many of them also have to do with finding meaning and purpose. Number one on his list is that reasons can be found behind the things that happen to us, though it is up to us to figure out the reason. Number eight is that thrivers make sense of what has happened or is happening to them. In other words, both of these studies emphasize again and again the importance in finding meaning and purpose in our suffering if we are to come out stronger, thriving and resilient on the other side.
For much of the world, suffering is pointless. Our culture tells us the purpose of life is “fun”, or happiness. And in that context, suffering can have no meaning which I think is why so many people in our culture have such a very difficult time when pain does come. Where is meaning and purpose in suffering when the goal is just to “be happy”?
But for Christians, it is different. The Bible never tells us that life is about being happy or comfortable or at ease. Meaning and purpose have many levels and many layers and therefore we can’t say there is one reason or one purpose behind any individual’s suffering, we can’t determine for anyone else what their suffering is about, or why is it happening or what good God can bring out of it for any one person. None the less, what we can and do know as people of faith is that God can and does bring purpose, meaning and new life out of suffering if we work with God, if we are open to God’s movement through the pain. God creates meaning even when we can’t find it. God brings resurrection out of death. And for me, today’s passages really touch on the “reasons”, the purpose, the meaning behind all that we suffer. The passage from Peter says that God uses suffering to “test” us. I don’t really like the word “test” because for some that can imply that God authors our suffering to see how much we can put up with. That isn’t my experience of God. The God I experience does not create our suffering, but does use it to challenge us. And that is actually the truer meaning behind the Greek word that is here translated as “test”. It is more accurately translated “challenge” in the sense that God uses our suffering to challenge us to grow, to learn, and to deepen in our connection with God and with life. I find the same meanings present in the Malachi passage. Our suffering purifies us, it refines us. As John says, it also “prunes” us. Our suffering can lead us to be more godly, but only if we are open to the purpose God has in it, open to being “refined” through the hardships.
As Rick Warren, author of Purpose Given Life said in an interview, “We were made by God and for God, and until you figure that out, life isn't going to make sense…Life is a series of problems: Either you are in one now, you're just coming out of one, or you're getting ready to go into another one. The reason for this is that God is more interested in your character than your comfort; God is more interested in making your life holy than (God) is in making your life happy. We can be reasonably happy here on earth, but that's not the goal of life. The goal is to grow in character, in Christ likeness.”
As we know, this isn’t easy. The Bible tells us this isn’t easy when it compares the process to the pruning of branches, to the refining of metals. Growing in character means loving more fully, more deeply, even those we don’t like. Getting there is hard. And knowing exactly how to do this, how to love more deeply and fully is a challenge. So God pushes, God “refines” us and “prunes” us so that we might bear more fruit, so that we might be the pure, refined silver we are meant to be. That hurts. It just does. But that also gives meaning to the suffering that comes. Again, I’m not saying that God causes our suffering. What I am saying is that when we do suffer, God can use it and DOES use it to refine us if we are open. While I don’t believe God purposely wants us to hurt, I do believe God can bring and create meaning through our suffering by allowing it to teach and refine us into more godly people.
I shared this story with you before. Some women in a Bible study came across this passage from Malachi, “God will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver.” And so one of the women offered to find out the process of refining silver and get back to the group at their next Bible Study. That week, the woman called a silversmith and made an appointment to watch him at work. She didn't mention anything about the reason for her interest beyond her curiosity about the process of refining Silver. As she watched the silversmith, he held a piece of silver over the fire and let it heat up. He explained that in refining silver, one needed to hold the silver in the middle of the fire where the flames were hottest as to burn away all the impurities. The woman thought about God holding us in such a hot spot; then she thought again about the verse that says: 'He sits as a refiner and purifier of silver.' She asked the silversmith if it was true that he had to sit there in front of the fire the whole time. The man answered that yes, he not only had to sit there holding the silver, but he had to keep his eyes on the silver the entire time it was in the fire. If the silver was left a moment too long in the flames, it would be destroyed. The woman was silent for a moment. Then she asked the silversmith, 'How do you know when the silver is fully refined?'
He smiled at her and answered, 'Oh, that's easy -- when I see my image in it.'
“…When I see my image in it”.
God refines us until we are truly in God’s image. What an amazing and wondrous act of love on God’s part, to be with us in that suffering to the point where we are truly made in God’s image. To be in the image of the God of love, is to love. To be in the image of the God who loved us so much that that God was willing to die for us, is to love each other so much that we are willing to die for each other. Not easy. But that is what being in relationship with God pushes us towards, and challenges us to do.
The last time I mentioned this story, Fran approached me afterwards and said something that I also think can help us through times of suffering. She said, “How hot it must be for God to sit there and refine constantly.” That is the other part of Jesus on the cross as well. God is with us in our pain, God is with us in our suffering. And God is standing alongside in the heat, also suffering but still intent on helping us grow through and beyond our trials.
A Hawaiian elder once said, “God sometimes tears at the fabric of our lives so that we will learn to be better weavers and to show us how to more deeply appreciate being given the chance to weave. We may not see the final pattern, but we are wise if we try to find new patterns and become more patient and creative weavers.” (Beethoven Factor, xxviii)
And it doesn’t end there. As the passage from Peter tells us, “After you have suffered for a little while, the God of all grace, the one who called you into his eternal glory in Christ Jesus, will himself restore, empower, strengthen, and establish you.” So finally, the other side of suffering comes. We are refined, we are made new, and in that newness we are brought to healing, to strength and to a stronger place. Thanks be to God.
Tuesday, June 3, 2014
Wednesday, May 28, 2014
Sunday's Sermon: You are not Alone
1 Peter 3:13-22, John 14:15-21
This passage from John follows up on what we talked about last week. “I will ask and God will send you another companion who will be with you forever. This Companion is the Spirit of Truth, whom the world can’t receive because it neither sees him nor recognizes him. You know him, because he lives with you and will be with you.” Again, people of faith actually SEE things that the rest of the world can’t or won’t see. People of faith actually RECEIVE gifts that the world can’t because it can’t or won’t receive them. As people of faith, we experience God and the gifts God gives. Today we are talking about the gift of an ever- presence Spirit, the Advocate, the Spirit of Truth. That experience of God, that choice to see with eyes of love, that choice to see the blessings that surround us – that experience changes the way we see the world, and the way we interact with the world.
When I look at a stranger, I see a child of God, a beautiful creation and that changes the way I interact with that person. When I hear a song on the radio, I hear messages from God, and that changes the way I receive the music and words – I receive them in a spirit of listening for God’s voice and being blessed by the constancy and steadfastness of God’s presence. When I take things in such as bread and grape juice, I feel that these are gifts from God, reminders of God’s presence, and that fills me with gratitude. When bad things happen I can see them as the blessings of opportunities to grow in my faith, grow in my patience, grow in closeness to God and God’s people. When good things happen, I can experience living in the joy of God with God rejoicing too. Living a life of faith is different than walking each day as if we were ALONE. And living as people of faith means recognizing that God not only never leaves us alone, but calls us to stand with one another as well – to be advocates and companions to those around us. When God calls us to love even our enemies, to love our neighbors as ourselves, I think God is especially calling us to stand with those who cannot see, who do feel “orphaned” in the world, and who do not feel God’s Advocate living within and around them. Through standing with people who are feeling that isolation and aloneness we can help them feel God’s love, we can bring them to God’s love.
His name was Tim. He had wild hair, a T-shirt with holes in it, jeans, and no shoes. This was literally his wardrobe for his entire four years of college. He was brilliant. Kind of profound and very, very bright. He did not begin college as a Christian. Across the street from the campus was a well-dressed, very conservative church. They wanted to develop a ministry to the students but were not sure how to go about it.. One day Tim decided to go there, just to see, just to check it out, almost as an anthropological experiment, he wanted to see and understand what these people did on Sundays and why. He walked in with no shoes, jeans, his T-shirt, and wild hair. The service had already started and so Tim started down the aisle looking for a seat. The church was completely packed and he couldn’t find a seat. By now, people were really looking a bit uncomfortable, but no one said anything. Tim got closer and closer and closer to the pulpit, and when he realized there were no seats, he just squatted down right on the carpet. People were really uptight, and the tension in the air was thick. About this time, the minister realized that from way at the back of the church, a deacon was slowly making her way towards Tim. The deacon was in her eighties, had silver-gray hair, and was wearing a beautiful, lovely dress. A godly woman, very elegant, very dignified, very courtly, she walked with a cane and, as she started walking toward this boy, everyone was saying to themselves that you couldn't blame her for what she was about to do. How can you expect a woman of her age and of her background to understand some college kid on the floor? It took a long time for the woman to reach the boy. The church became utterly silent except for the clicking of the woman's cane. All eyes were focused on her. You couldn't even hear anyone breathing. The minister couldn’t even preach the sermon until the deacon was finished. And then the congregation saw this elderly woman drop her cane on the floor… With great difficulty, she lowered himself and sat down next to Tim on the floor, making the decision to worship with him and by doing so to show him that he won't be, that he isn’t alone. Everyone choked up with emotion... When the minister gained control, he finally said, 'What I'm about to preach, you will never remember. What you have just seen, you will never forget.' The truth of that came in the form of Tim returning after that service, weekly. Converted by the love of an elderly woman who made the decision to act as Jesus acts – being with people, no matter who they are, where they come from or where they are going.
After last week’s sermon, I ended up in several conversations with people about those who don’t attend church but say they are people of faith. Well, maybe. Maybe they really are people of faith. But I tend to think people don’t come to church for a couple reasons and one of them is that again, relationships with God take time and work and people simply don’t want to put that time and work in. Coming to church means taking your faith seriously, taking time to actually work on your relationship with God. That takes commitment to the real thing and it is a practice that as we here know feeds us, feeds our souls, and invites us to see and experience God at a completely different level. That kind of commitment also holds us accountable, something people who are not part of church communities may feel uneasy with. Being part of a faith community helps us to build our faith around sound principles. It is interesting to me that there is a movement towards people attending non-denominational churches. The thinking is that these churches are somehow not “tainted” by the dogma built up in our denominations. But to me, these churches are opportunities to dive into a cultish experience. Our grounded, sound denominations have worked through their stuff. They’ve had time to develop, to mature in their faith, to be grounded in practices, beliefs, and understandings that again hold us accountable and make it much harder to go spinning off into dangerous religious tangents. The practice of showing up weekly invites us into scheduled time with God. That doesn’t LIMIT our time with God. We can add more and more time through our prayers, our study groups, our faith disciplines, conversations with other people. But it means that at least one time each week we will be talking and in conversation with God. It also means that we have that time each week to remember, again, that we are NOT alone. The Advocate, the Spirit that Jesus sent is with us, always. And it is in the strength of that connection with God that we also stand with one another in our faith and in our commitment to love as Jesus loved, to follow in the Way of Jesus, to be his people.
A member of a certain church, who previously had been attending services regularly, stopped going. After a few weeks, the pastor decided to visit him. It was a chilly evening. The pastor found the man at home alone, sitting before a blazing fire. Guessing the reason for his pastor's visit, the man welcomed him, led him to a comfortable chair near the fireplace and waited. The pastor made himself at home but said nothing. In the grave silence, he contemplated the dance of the flames around the burning logs. After some minutes, the pastor took the fire tongs, carefully picked up a brightly burning ember and placed it to one side of the hearth all alone then he sat back in his chair, still silent. The host watched all this in quiet contemplation. As the one lone ember's flame flickered and diminished, there was a momentary glow and then its fire was no more. Soon it was cold and dead. Not a word had been spoken since the initial greeting. The pastor glanced at his watch and realized it was time to leave. He slowly stood up, picked up the cold, dead ember and placed it back in the middle of the fire. Immediately it began to glow, once more with the light and warmth of the burning coals around it. As the pastor reached the door to leave, his host said with a tear running down his cheek, 'Thank you so much for your visit and especially for the fiery sermon. I will be back in church next Sunday'.
Jesus has sent us the Advocate. Jesus has also sent us one another. We are blessed to be in community with God and with each other. Our call then is to spread and share that community with others. Amen.
This passage from John follows up on what we talked about last week. “I will ask and God will send you another companion who will be with you forever. This Companion is the Spirit of Truth, whom the world can’t receive because it neither sees him nor recognizes him. You know him, because he lives with you and will be with you.” Again, people of faith actually SEE things that the rest of the world can’t or won’t see. People of faith actually RECEIVE gifts that the world can’t because it can’t or won’t receive them. As people of faith, we experience God and the gifts God gives. Today we are talking about the gift of an ever- presence Spirit, the Advocate, the Spirit of Truth. That experience of God, that choice to see with eyes of love, that choice to see the blessings that surround us – that experience changes the way we see the world, and the way we interact with the world.
When I look at a stranger, I see a child of God, a beautiful creation and that changes the way I interact with that person. When I hear a song on the radio, I hear messages from God, and that changes the way I receive the music and words – I receive them in a spirit of listening for God’s voice and being blessed by the constancy and steadfastness of God’s presence. When I take things in such as bread and grape juice, I feel that these are gifts from God, reminders of God’s presence, and that fills me with gratitude. When bad things happen I can see them as the blessings of opportunities to grow in my faith, grow in my patience, grow in closeness to God and God’s people. When good things happen, I can experience living in the joy of God with God rejoicing too. Living a life of faith is different than walking each day as if we were ALONE. And living as people of faith means recognizing that God not only never leaves us alone, but calls us to stand with one another as well – to be advocates and companions to those around us. When God calls us to love even our enemies, to love our neighbors as ourselves, I think God is especially calling us to stand with those who cannot see, who do feel “orphaned” in the world, and who do not feel God’s Advocate living within and around them. Through standing with people who are feeling that isolation and aloneness we can help them feel God’s love, we can bring them to God’s love.
His name was Tim. He had wild hair, a T-shirt with holes in it, jeans, and no shoes. This was literally his wardrobe for his entire four years of college. He was brilliant. Kind of profound and very, very bright. He did not begin college as a Christian. Across the street from the campus was a well-dressed, very conservative church. They wanted to develop a ministry to the students but were not sure how to go about it.. One day Tim decided to go there, just to see, just to check it out, almost as an anthropological experiment, he wanted to see and understand what these people did on Sundays and why. He walked in with no shoes, jeans, his T-shirt, and wild hair. The service had already started and so Tim started down the aisle looking for a seat. The church was completely packed and he couldn’t find a seat. By now, people were really looking a bit uncomfortable, but no one said anything. Tim got closer and closer and closer to the pulpit, and when he realized there were no seats, he just squatted down right on the carpet. People were really uptight, and the tension in the air was thick. About this time, the minister realized that from way at the back of the church, a deacon was slowly making her way towards Tim. The deacon was in her eighties, had silver-gray hair, and was wearing a beautiful, lovely dress. A godly woman, very elegant, very dignified, very courtly, she walked with a cane and, as she started walking toward this boy, everyone was saying to themselves that you couldn't blame her for what she was about to do. How can you expect a woman of her age and of her background to understand some college kid on the floor? It took a long time for the woman to reach the boy. The church became utterly silent except for the clicking of the woman's cane. All eyes were focused on her. You couldn't even hear anyone breathing. The minister couldn’t even preach the sermon until the deacon was finished. And then the congregation saw this elderly woman drop her cane on the floor… With great difficulty, she lowered himself and sat down next to Tim on the floor, making the decision to worship with him and by doing so to show him that he won't be, that he isn’t alone. Everyone choked up with emotion... When the minister gained control, he finally said, 'What I'm about to preach, you will never remember. What you have just seen, you will never forget.' The truth of that came in the form of Tim returning after that service, weekly. Converted by the love of an elderly woman who made the decision to act as Jesus acts – being with people, no matter who they are, where they come from or where they are going.
After last week’s sermon, I ended up in several conversations with people about those who don’t attend church but say they are people of faith. Well, maybe. Maybe they really are people of faith. But I tend to think people don’t come to church for a couple reasons and one of them is that again, relationships with God take time and work and people simply don’t want to put that time and work in. Coming to church means taking your faith seriously, taking time to actually work on your relationship with God. That takes commitment to the real thing and it is a practice that as we here know feeds us, feeds our souls, and invites us to see and experience God at a completely different level. That kind of commitment also holds us accountable, something people who are not part of church communities may feel uneasy with. Being part of a faith community helps us to build our faith around sound principles. It is interesting to me that there is a movement towards people attending non-denominational churches. The thinking is that these churches are somehow not “tainted” by the dogma built up in our denominations. But to me, these churches are opportunities to dive into a cultish experience. Our grounded, sound denominations have worked through their stuff. They’ve had time to develop, to mature in their faith, to be grounded in practices, beliefs, and understandings that again hold us accountable and make it much harder to go spinning off into dangerous religious tangents. The practice of showing up weekly invites us into scheduled time with God. That doesn’t LIMIT our time with God. We can add more and more time through our prayers, our study groups, our faith disciplines, conversations with other people. But it means that at least one time each week we will be talking and in conversation with God. It also means that we have that time each week to remember, again, that we are NOT alone. The Advocate, the Spirit that Jesus sent is with us, always. And it is in the strength of that connection with God that we also stand with one another in our faith and in our commitment to love as Jesus loved, to follow in the Way of Jesus, to be his people.
A member of a certain church, who previously had been attending services regularly, stopped going. After a few weeks, the pastor decided to visit him. It was a chilly evening. The pastor found the man at home alone, sitting before a blazing fire. Guessing the reason for his pastor's visit, the man welcomed him, led him to a comfortable chair near the fireplace and waited. The pastor made himself at home but said nothing. In the grave silence, he contemplated the dance of the flames around the burning logs. After some minutes, the pastor took the fire tongs, carefully picked up a brightly burning ember and placed it to one side of the hearth all alone then he sat back in his chair, still silent. The host watched all this in quiet contemplation. As the one lone ember's flame flickered and diminished, there was a momentary glow and then its fire was no more. Soon it was cold and dead. Not a word had been spoken since the initial greeting. The pastor glanced at his watch and realized it was time to leave. He slowly stood up, picked up the cold, dead ember and placed it back in the middle of the fire. Immediately it began to glow, once more with the light and warmth of the burning coals around it. As the pastor reached the door to leave, his host said with a tear running down his cheek, 'Thank you so much for your visit and especially for the fiery sermon. I will be back in church next Sunday'.
Jesus has sent us the Advocate. Jesus has also sent us one another. We are blessed to be in community with God and with each other. Our call then is to spread and share that community with others. Amen.
Wednesday, May 14, 2014
Making Amends, Part III or..."Rebuilding what was broken"
Tyler put this in a comment after my last blog post, but I felt it deserved it's own post:
Thanks, Tyler, for the image. Beautiful, truly.
When we are willing to give what is broken our best effort and materials, what we make can be stronger, more beautiful and MUCH more interesting.
Still the choice is always there - do we put in the effort? Or do we throw away the broken pieces, declaring them beyond repair?
Personally, I think we throw things away far too quickly and easily in this culture...things, relationships, people.
I'm guilty as well.
But look at what we miss out on when we make that choice?
When we are willing to give what is broken our best effort and materials, what we make can be stronger, more beautiful and MUCH more interesting.
Still the choice is always there - do we put in the effort? Or do we throw away the broken pieces, declaring them beyond repair?
Personally, I think we throw things away far too quickly and easily in this culture...things, relationships, people.
I'm guilty as well.
But look at what we miss out on when we make that choice?
Tuesday, May 13, 2014
Making Amends, part II
Recently a friend posted on facebook the following:
I found myself thinking about this a great deal. We do make mistakes. We do break things in other people and break relationships and break hearts, etc. Sometimes this is done with malice and intention, but I don't think that's the norm. We are human and we mess up and people get hurt. Even when we are careful, even when we are thoughtful and strive to be loving, we make mistakes and people get hurt. On the other side of this coin, loving means risking, so things in us will get broken; our hearts, as I said in an earlier post this week, will be broken. All of us will do damage, experience damage, make mistakes, and have mistakes made in our direction that injure us.
So is the point of this little illustration that saying sorry is pointless, meaningless, and does no good? I don't think so. I do think starting with "I'm sorry", especially when it is a genuine feeling can go a long way. But perhaps the point is that it just isn't enough. Making amends means taking it to the next step. What can we do to help heal the brokenness in one another? How can we be part of putting the plate that is another person's feelings, ego, pride, or sense of self back together? That may look like conversations, listening to the damage we have really done and being willing to hear it, sit with it, address it. Sometimes it means something different. And sometimes there is nothing we can do except pray. Sometimes, if the plate is a relationship, it is broken into so many pieces that it simply can't be mended. There can be healing in letting it go just as there is healing in choosing to work it through. We also have to recognize that even when the plate is mended, it will never be the same. Often the glue that puts it back together makes those places, those joints, those broken lines stronger than they ever were before. But the lines, the scars remain and forever change the face of the plate. And sometimes the plate is so damaged that rebuilding it looks like making something entirely different. But the different thing can be even more beautiful if we are committed to working and making and creating it together.
Of course the obvious second lesson is that we do need to be aware, to think, and to strive to not do such damage in the first place. But again, it is not realistic to expect that we will never hurt one another. The deeper we go in relationship with one another, the more chances for pain and the deeper the hurts when they come. That's part of being human.
We start healing by recognizing that we have done serious damage, whether we meant to or not. We start healing by seeing the breaks, and not just apologizing for them but offering to help mend them. We start the healing by recognizing that the damage done means that the design has changed. We start healing by envisioning new designs together that can be even more beautiful, scars and all.
Monday, May 5, 2014
To risk loving...
David Whyte wrote, "Heartbreak is unpreventable; the natural outcome of caring for people and things over which we have no control, of holding in our affections those who inevitably move beyond our line of sight. Heartbreak begins the moment we are asked to let go but cannot, in other words, it colors and inhabits and magnifies each and every day; heartbreak is not a visitation, but a path that human beings follow through even the most average life. Heartbreak is our indication of sincerity: in a love relationship, in a work, in trying to learn a musical instrument, in the attempt to shape a better more generous self. Heartbreak is the beautifully helpless side of love and affection and is just as much an essence and emblem of care as the spiritual athlete’s quick but abstract ability to let go. Heartbreak has its own way of inhabiting time and its own beautiful and trying patience in coming and going." (©2013 David Whyte. Excerpted from HEARTBREAK From the upcoming book of essays CONSOLATIONS: The Solace, Nourishment and Underlying Meaning of Everyday Words.)
I've found myself sitting with this quote a great deal this last week. As I mentioned in my article about trust, loving and trusting are risks we take. They are part of living, truly living, but they do involve risk. When we choose to love, we are taking the risk of heartbreak. When we choose to trust, we are taking the risk of being betrayed. And I think that most of us strive to find a balance - we choose to trust those we think are trustworthy. We choose to love the "sure thing" or to love those who are most likely to love us in return so we aren't hurt as often, so our hearts aren't broken. But even with precautions, our hearts still get broken, in big things and in small. Even things not being quite the way we thought they were or hoped they would be are heartbreaks that we experience when we truly care.
In the face of that, I love the idea that "heartbreak is our indication of sincerity", and, as he says further in the same article, "heartbreak may be the very essence of being human, of being on the journey from here to there, and of coming to care deeply for what we find along the way…"
I think one of the hardest things about heartbreak can be the feeling that we care so much and so deeply about someone who does not feel the same way (and as always, this can be family, friend or romantic relationship - any of it). Having our hearts broken while watching our loved one's joy can lead us to feel unworthy, unlovable, "less than". But I think Whyte's article actually gave me a different perspective to stand on. To love, to put ourselves fully out there, to risk caring - these are the very things that make us human, that make us "worthy". The more deeply we love, the more deeply we reach into our humanity and into the greatest sense and source of our worth and being. (The other side of this then is that when someone can give us up, can let us go, without a sense of loss, or "heartbreak" that is an indication of a LACK of sincerity, a lack of depth to the love they gave. And eventually, we have to realize that this was not a love we would have wanted or that would have served us in the long run anyway.)
But the next step then is what do we do with that heartbreak? As a family we just finished watching, for the first time, Star Wars I, II and III. Watching Anakin descend into the dark side because of his heartbreak was powerful for me in many ways. First it was a reminder that evil does not manifest from no-where. Evil comes when people are hurt and handle that hurt badly. Or, to be even more precise, evil happens when we are willing to do anything to AVOID that heartbreak which is so central a part of life, of living, of being human. And again, the result? Even when you strive to avoid the heartbreak, it comes. No matter what you do to avoid it, it still comes. Anakin still lost Padme, despite the fact that he turned to the dark side in order to save her....no - BECAUSE of the fact that he turned to the dark side in order to save her.
So once again, we are faced with a simple truth. We can do everything to avoid the heartbreak. We can be determined not to love. We can choose evil and hate instead. We can isolate ourselves. We can do all kinds of things that keep us from loving and living. And will we then be able to avoid heartbreak? Still, the answer remains NO. So we have a choice. We can live and love and have our hearts broken. Or we can die and hate and have our hearts broken. If we choose the second, we fail to live and our lives are simply dark. But if we choose the first, while we will still have broken hearts, we will also find love, live love, and experience great joy as well. And the love that we find and create and participate in can also heal us from heartbreak. Seems an obvious choice to me. Not always an easy choice, but an obvious one.
In the face of that, I love the idea that "heartbreak is our indication of sincerity", and, as he says further in the same article, "heartbreak may be the very essence of being human, of being on the journey from here to there, and of coming to care deeply for what we find along the way…"
I think one of the hardest things about heartbreak can be the feeling that we care so much and so deeply about someone who does not feel the same way (and as always, this can be family, friend or romantic relationship - any of it). Having our hearts broken while watching our loved one's joy can lead us to feel unworthy, unlovable, "less than". But I think Whyte's article actually gave me a different perspective to stand on. To love, to put ourselves fully out there, to risk caring - these are the very things that make us human, that make us "worthy". The more deeply we love, the more deeply we reach into our humanity and into the greatest sense and source of our worth and being. (The other side of this then is that when someone can give us up, can let us go, without a sense of loss, or "heartbreak" that is an indication of a LACK of sincerity, a lack of depth to the love they gave. And eventually, we have to realize that this was not a love we would have wanted or that would have served us in the long run anyway.)
But the next step then is what do we do with that heartbreak? As a family we just finished watching, for the first time, Star Wars I, II and III. Watching Anakin descend into the dark side because of his heartbreak was powerful for me in many ways. First it was a reminder that evil does not manifest from no-where. Evil comes when people are hurt and handle that hurt badly. Or, to be even more precise, evil happens when we are willing to do anything to AVOID that heartbreak which is so central a part of life, of living, of being human. And again, the result? Even when you strive to avoid the heartbreak, it comes. No matter what you do to avoid it, it still comes. Anakin still lost Padme, despite the fact that he turned to the dark side in order to save her....no - BECAUSE of the fact that he turned to the dark side in order to save her.
So once again, we are faced with a simple truth. We can do everything to avoid the heartbreak. We can be determined not to love. We can choose evil and hate instead. We can isolate ourselves. We can do all kinds of things that keep us from loving and living. And will we then be able to avoid heartbreak? Still, the answer remains NO. So we have a choice. We can live and love and have our hearts broken. Or we can die and hate and have our hearts broken. If we choose the second, we fail to live and our lives are simply dark. But if we choose the first, while we will still have broken hearts, we will also find love, live love, and experience great joy as well. And the love that we find and create and participate in can also heal us from heartbreak. Seems an obvious choice to me. Not always an easy choice, but an obvious one.
Monday, April 21, 2014
Easter Sermon
To Be Called by Name
Jeremiah 31:1-6
John 20:1-18
We start Easter morning in despair. We start with Jesus dead, and a journey to a tomb where we will be comforted by at least preserving the body. And we go to the tomb and even the body has been taken away. There is nothing left of the man who was hope, who was God, who had become everything to us in such a short time. There is nothing left of the one who led, instructed, healed, freed, saved and LOVED us more than his own life. We start Easter by facing an empty tomb that appears to be a sign that every single part of this Lord we loved has been taken from us. Everything we have known, everything we counted on, everything we believed and trusted and which gave us life and a reason to get up in the morning, EVERYTHING has been taken. It is all gone. There is nothing left. This, THIS is how Easter begins.
Women are crying, men are desperate. And God appears to be silent. In the face of Jesus’ suffering and death, where is God for those couple days? He dies on Friday evening. A day and a half pass and there is nothing. Emptiness. Silence.
BUT, God’s silence is not God’s absence. I want to say that again because I think there have been times when all of us have felt angry, hurt or abandoned by God. God’s SILENCE is not God’s ABSENCE. I think it is sometimes in the silence that God is most profoundly with us. It’s just that there are times when the pain is so deep, so profound that there is simply nothing left to be said. Have you ever come across someone at the point of tragedy where you know that there just simply isn’t anything to say? What do you say to someone who has just been evicted from their home? What can possibly be said to a child whose dog has been hit by a car? What words of comfort are there to a parent whose child has just committed suicide? Phrases like “it’ll be okay”, or “everything happens for a reason” or “he’s in a better place now” not only mean nothing in those moments but often do more damage than good. The best we can do is to be present with one another in those times. Deeply, and completely present. And that’s what God does.
We see it first in Jesus. When Lazarus dies, Jesus first response at seeing the tomb was not to speak words, but to weep. So, too, when he comes before Pilate. Pilate asks him “what is truth?” and Jesus does not answer but stands there in the silence – a profound statement in itself.
And here we see it again. Jesus has been killed, is dead. And some of his last words are those feelings that we share, too, when we are faced with tragedy and devastation. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” And we feel that too in the face of our Lord’s death. He is gone. He is dead. And now even his body is removed from the tomb, it would seem. And God? Where is God in this? The answer is silence. Silence for almost two days.
But I say to you again, God’s silence is not God’s absence.
A pearl begins its life inside an oyster's shell when an intruder, such as a grain of sand or bit of floating food, slips in between one of the two shells of the oyster. In order to protect itself from irritation, the oyster quickly begins covering the uninvited visitor with layers of nacre — the mineral substance that fashions the mollusk's shells. Layer upon layer of nacre, also known as mother-of-pearl, coat the grain of sand until the pearl is made.
In the silence, as God sits with us, weeps with us, grieves with us, carries us, God is also doing a new thing. In the silence, in the quiet, in the stillness, God is transforming the evil into good. God is changing that which is ugly, devastating and destructive into new breath, new beauty, new meaning. God is bringing life out of death. Can we see it? Is the silence around us so loud that we cannot see the new thing God is doing? Like Mary, are we so blinded by our tears that we do not see the risen Lord standing right there beside us, but instead mistake him for the gardener?
And yet, even then, God has the final word. Even then, in that moment of ultimate despair when the silence, when the loss is so great that we cannot see even that which is before us, Jesus called Mary by name. He spoke into her heart, opened her ears to hear that which she could not SEE, and through his voice, his naming her his own, his calling her by her name, he invited her into belief. And that belief allowed her to SEE, finally. Because, as we know, some things must be believed in order to be seen. And resurrection is such a thing.
Resurrection is not a past event. The God of resurrection, the God who ended the ultimate tragedy and brought Jesus into new life continues to do the same. That is what God is about. That is what God does. Can we believe in it enough to see it? Can we have the faith to experience the resurrections that surround us? Whenever a friendship that has died is replaced with a closer friendship that is even stronger. Whenever a divorced person meets someone new to love. Whenever a lost job leads us to find a new job that we really, deeply love. Whenever our tragedies are made into that which is new and whole resurrection is occurring again.
But perhaps the even deeper question is not only can we see it, but can we allow ourselves to be part of the resurrection? I think about the women who began MADD – Mothers Against Drunk Driving. One woman had lost her 13 year old as she was walking to a church carnival and was hit by a drunk driver, killing her. The other was a mother whose 5 ½ month old baby was hit in a car by a drunk driver, leaving her a quadriplegic. The two women began MADD, taking their rage, their pain and their loss and transforming it into a group that educates, tells the truth and works hard to prevent any further tragedies such as their own. The tragedy still happened. Lives have still been lost, others severely and permanently injured. The resurrection doesn’t happen without the scars being there.
I was sent this story some time ago and found it appropriate to share with you today: The author wrote: I try not to be biased, but I had my doubts about hiring Stevie. His placement counselor assured me that he would be a good, reliable busboy. But I had never had a mentally handicapped employee and wasn't sure I wanted one. I wasn't sure how my customers would react to Stevie. He was short, a little dumpy with the smooth facial features and thick-tongued speech of Downs Syndrome. …I knew people would be uncomfortable around Stevie so I closely watched him for the first few weeks. I shouldn't have worried. After the first week, Stevie had my staff wrapped around his stubby little finger, and within a month my truck regulars had adopted him as their official truck stop mascot. …He was like a 21-year-old kid in blue jeans and Nikes, eager to laugh and eager to please, but fierce in his attention to his duties. Every salt and pepper shaker was exactly in its place, not a bread crumb or coffee spill was visible when Stevie got done with the table. Our only problem was persuading him to wait to clean a table until after the customers were finished. He would hover in the background, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, scanning the dining room until a table was empty. Then he would scurry to the empty table and carefully bus dishes and glasses onto his cart and meticulously wipe the table up with a practiced flourish of his rag. If he thought a customer was watching, his brow would pucker with added concentration. He took pride in doing his job exactly right, and you had to love how hard he tried to please each and every person he met. Over time, we learned that he lived with his mother, a widow who was disabled after repeated surgeries for cancer. They lived on their Social Security benefits in public housing two miles from the truck stop. Their social worker, who stopped to check on him every so often, admitted they had fallen between the cracks. Money was tight, and what I paid him was probably the difference between them being able to live together and Stevie being sent to a group home. That's why the restaurant was a gloomy place that morning last August, the first morning in three years that Stevie missed work. He was at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester getting a new valve or something put in his heart. His social worker said that people with Downs Syndrome often have heart problems at an early age so this wasn't unexpected, and there was a good chance he would come through the surgery in good shape and be back at work in a few months.. A ripple of excitement ran through the staff later that morning when word came that he was out of surgery, in recovery, and doing fine. Frannie, the head waitress, let out a war hoop and did a little dance in the aisle when she heard the good news…But when asked what was going on by the customers, she responded, " Yeah, I'm so very glad that he is going to be OK, but I don't know how he and his Mom are going to handle all the bills. From what I hear, they're barely getting by as it is." One of the customers nodded thoughtfully in response. After the morning rush, Frannie walked into my office. She had a couple of paper napkins in her hand and a funny look on her face.
"What's up?" I asked.
"I didn't get that table where Marvin and his friends were sitting cleared off after they left, and Pete and Tony were sitting there when I got back to clean it off," she said. "This was folded and tucked under a coffee cup." She handed the napkin to me, and three $20 bills fell onto my desk when I opened it. On the outside, in big, bold letters, was printed "Something For Stevie."
"Pete asked me what that was all about," she said, "so I told him about Stevie and his Mom and everything, and Pete looked at Tony and Tony looked at Pete, and they ended up giving me this." She handed me another paper napkin that had "Something For Stevie"scrawled on its outside. Two $50 bills were tucked with in its folds. Frannie looked at me with wet, shiny eyes, shook her head and said simply: "truckers."
That was three months ago. Today is Thanksgiving, the first day Stevie is supposed to be back to work.
His placement worker said he's been counting the days until the doctor said he could work, and it didn't matter at all that it was a holiday. He called 10 times in the past week, making sure we knew he was coming, fearful that we had forgotten him or that his job was in jeopardy. I arranged to have his mother bring him to work. I then met them in the parking lot and invited them both to celebrate his day back.
Stevie was thinner and paler, but couldn't stop grinning as he pushed through the doors and headed for the back room where his apron and busing cart were waiting.
"Hold up there, Stevie, not so fast," I said. I took him and his mother by their arms. "Work can wait for a minute. To celebrate your coming back, breakfast for you and your mother is on me!" I led them toward a large corner booth at the rear of the room.
I could feel and hear the rest of the staff following behind as we marched through the dining room. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw booth after booth of grinning truckers empty and join the procession. We stopped in front of the big table. Its surface was covered with coffee cups, saucers and dinner plates, all sitting slightly crooked on dozens of folded paper napkins. "First thing you have to do, Stevie, is clean up this mess," I said. I tried to sound stern.
Stevie looked at me, and then at his mother, then pulled out one of the napkins. It had "Something for Stevie" printed on the outside. As he picked it up, two $10 bills fell onto the table.
Stevie stared at the money, then at all the napkins peeking from beneath the tableware, each with his name printed or scrawled on it. I turned to his mother. "There's more than $10,000 in cash and checks on that table, all from truckers and trucking companies that heard about your problems. "Happy Thanksgiving."
Well, it got real noisy about that time, with everybody hollering and shouting, and there were a few tears, as well.
But you know what's funny? While everybody else was busy shaking hands and hugging each other, Stevie, with a big smile on his face, was busy clearing all the cups and dishes from the table...”
We participate in God’s resurrections whenever we transform the negative experiences we or others have had into life-giving, life-changing work. We participate in God’s resurrection whenever we can forgive and reconcile a relationship. We participate in God’s resurrection whenever we see an opportunity to give through a crisis or be present with someone else in their pain. We participate in God’s resurrection work whenever we become creative in our solutions to problems that seem impossible and step out to make a difference in the life of one or more people.
It doesn’t mean the bad things didn’t happen. They DID happen. The resurrection does not wipe out what took place. When someone hurts us, it DID happen, and the reconciliation cannot look like the injury never took place. The women who began MADD still lost their children or watched their children suffer. In the story I told Stevie was still a boy with Down’s Syndrome who would still struggle physically as well as mentally. Jesus, too, was resurrected with his scars, which we know because Thomas put his hands in them and in Jesus’ side. But a resurrection with the scars is a resurrected life that has deepened, that understands pain and loss and that can walk with even deeper compassion and fully love.
I want to end by sharing with you a poem written by Brian McLaren for pastors during this Easter time…one I think will none the less resonate with all of us:
A prayer for pastors on Easter
Dear Lord, I pray for all the pastors today
Who will feel enormous pressure to have their sermon
Match the greatness of the subject
and will surely feel they have failed.
(I pray even more for those who think they have succeeded.)
Help them to know that it is enough
Simply and faithfully to tell the story
Of women in dawn hush ...
Of men running half-believing ...
Of rolled stones and folded grave-clothes ...
Of a supposed gardener saying the name of a crying woman ...
Of sad walkers encountering a stranger on the road home ...
Of an empty tomb and overflowing hearts.
Give them the wisdom to know that sincere humility and awe
Surpass all homiletic flourish
On this day of mysterious hope beyond all words.
Make them less conscious of their responsibility to preach,
And more confident of the Risen Christ
Whose presence trumps all efforts to proclaim it.
Considering all the Easter choirs who will sing beautifully, and those who won't,
And all the Easter prayers that will soar in faith, and those that will stumble and flounder,
And all the Easter attendance numbers and offering numbers that will exceed expectations
And those that will disappoint ...
I pray they all will be surpassed by the simple joy
Of women and men standing in the presence of women and men,
Daring to proclaim and echo the good news:
Risen indeed! Alleluia!
For death is not the last word.
Violence is not the last word.
Hate is not the last word.
Money is not the last word.
Intimidation is not the last word.
Political power is not the last word.
Condemnation is not the last word.
Betrayal and failure are not the last word.
No: each of them are left like rags in a tomb,
And from that tomb,
Arises Christ,
Alive.
Help the preachers feel it,
And if they don't feel it, help them
Preach it anyway, allowing themselves
To be the receivers as well as the bearers of the Easter
News.
Alleluia!
Jeremiah 31:1-6
John 20:1-18
We start Easter morning in despair. We start with Jesus dead, and a journey to a tomb where we will be comforted by at least preserving the body. And we go to the tomb and even the body has been taken away. There is nothing left of the man who was hope, who was God, who had become everything to us in such a short time. There is nothing left of the one who led, instructed, healed, freed, saved and LOVED us more than his own life. We start Easter by facing an empty tomb that appears to be a sign that every single part of this Lord we loved has been taken from us. Everything we have known, everything we counted on, everything we believed and trusted and which gave us life and a reason to get up in the morning, EVERYTHING has been taken. It is all gone. There is nothing left. This, THIS is how Easter begins.
Women are crying, men are desperate. And God appears to be silent. In the face of Jesus’ suffering and death, where is God for those couple days? He dies on Friday evening. A day and a half pass and there is nothing. Emptiness. Silence.
BUT, God’s silence is not God’s absence. I want to say that again because I think there have been times when all of us have felt angry, hurt or abandoned by God. God’s SILENCE is not God’s ABSENCE. I think it is sometimes in the silence that God is most profoundly with us. It’s just that there are times when the pain is so deep, so profound that there is simply nothing left to be said. Have you ever come across someone at the point of tragedy where you know that there just simply isn’t anything to say? What do you say to someone who has just been evicted from their home? What can possibly be said to a child whose dog has been hit by a car? What words of comfort are there to a parent whose child has just committed suicide? Phrases like “it’ll be okay”, or “everything happens for a reason” or “he’s in a better place now” not only mean nothing in those moments but often do more damage than good. The best we can do is to be present with one another in those times. Deeply, and completely present. And that’s what God does.
We see it first in Jesus. When Lazarus dies, Jesus first response at seeing the tomb was not to speak words, but to weep. So, too, when he comes before Pilate. Pilate asks him “what is truth?” and Jesus does not answer but stands there in the silence – a profound statement in itself.
And here we see it again. Jesus has been killed, is dead. And some of his last words are those feelings that we share, too, when we are faced with tragedy and devastation. “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” And we feel that too in the face of our Lord’s death. He is gone. He is dead. And now even his body is removed from the tomb, it would seem. And God? Where is God in this? The answer is silence. Silence for almost two days.
But I say to you again, God’s silence is not God’s absence.
A pearl begins its life inside an oyster's shell when an intruder, such as a grain of sand or bit of floating food, slips in between one of the two shells of the oyster. In order to protect itself from irritation, the oyster quickly begins covering the uninvited visitor with layers of nacre — the mineral substance that fashions the mollusk's shells. Layer upon layer of nacre, also known as mother-of-pearl, coat the grain of sand until the pearl is made.
In the silence, as God sits with us, weeps with us, grieves with us, carries us, God is also doing a new thing. In the silence, in the quiet, in the stillness, God is transforming the evil into good. God is changing that which is ugly, devastating and destructive into new breath, new beauty, new meaning. God is bringing life out of death. Can we see it? Is the silence around us so loud that we cannot see the new thing God is doing? Like Mary, are we so blinded by our tears that we do not see the risen Lord standing right there beside us, but instead mistake him for the gardener?
And yet, even then, God has the final word. Even then, in that moment of ultimate despair when the silence, when the loss is so great that we cannot see even that which is before us, Jesus called Mary by name. He spoke into her heart, opened her ears to hear that which she could not SEE, and through his voice, his naming her his own, his calling her by her name, he invited her into belief. And that belief allowed her to SEE, finally. Because, as we know, some things must be believed in order to be seen. And resurrection is such a thing.
Resurrection is not a past event. The God of resurrection, the God who ended the ultimate tragedy and brought Jesus into new life continues to do the same. That is what God is about. That is what God does. Can we believe in it enough to see it? Can we have the faith to experience the resurrections that surround us? Whenever a friendship that has died is replaced with a closer friendship that is even stronger. Whenever a divorced person meets someone new to love. Whenever a lost job leads us to find a new job that we really, deeply love. Whenever our tragedies are made into that which is new and whole resurrection is occurring again.
But perhaps the even deeper question is not only can we see it, but can we allow ourselves to be part of the resurrection? I think about the women who began MADD – Mothers Against Drunk Driving. One woman had lost her 13 year old as she was walking to a church carnival and was hit by a drunk driver, killing her. The other was a mother whose 5 ½ month old baby was hit in a car by a drunk driver, leaving her a quadriplegic. The two women began MADD, taking their rage, their pain and their loss and transforming it into a group that educates, tells the truth and works hard to prevent any further tragedies such as their own. The tragedy still happened. Lives have still been lost, others severely and permanently injured. The resurrection doesn’t happen without the scars being there.
I was sent this story some time ago and found it appropriate to share with you today: The author wrote: I try not to be biased, but I had my doubts about hiring Stevie. His placement counselor assured me that he would be a good, reliable busboy. But I had never had a mentally handicapped employee and wasn't sure I wanted one. I wasn't sure how my customers would react to Stevie. He was short, a little dumpy with the smooth facial features and thick-tongued speech of Downs Syndrome. …I knew people would be uncomfortable around Stevie so I closely watched him for the first few weeks. I shouldn't have worried. After the first week, Stevie had my staff wrapped around his stubby little finger, and within a month my truck regulars had adopted him as their official truck stop mascot. …He was like a 21-year-old kid in blue jeans and Nikes, eager to laugh and eager to please, but fierce in his attention to his duties. Every salt and pepper shaker was exactly in its place, not a bread crumb or coffee spill was visible when Stevie got done with the table. Our only problem was persuading him to wait to clean a table until after the customers were finished. He would hover in the background, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, scanning the dining room until a table was empty. Then he would scurry to the empty table and carefully bus dishes and glasses onto his cart and meticulously wipe the table up with a practiced flourish of his rag. If he thought a customer was watching, his brow would pucker with added concentration. He took pride in doing his job exactly right, and you had to love how hard he tried to please each and every person he met. Over time, we learned that he lived with his mother, a widow who was disabled after repeated surgeries for cancer. They lived on their Social Security benefits in public housing two miles from the truck stop. Their social worker, who stopped to check on him every so often, admitted they had fallen between the cracks. Money was tight, and what I paid him was probably the difference between them being able to live together and Stevie being sent to a group home. That's why the restaurant was a gloomy place that morning last August, the first morning in three years that Stevie missed work. He was at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester getting a new valve or something put in his heart. His social worker said that people with Downs Syndrome often have heart problems at an early age so this wasn't unexpected, and there was a good chance he would come through the surgery in good shape and be back at work in a few months.. A ripple of excitement ran through the staff later that morning when word came that he was out of surgery, in recovery, and doing fine. Frannie, the head waitress, let out a war hoop and did a little dance in the aisle when she heard the good news…But when asked what was going on by the customers, she responded, " Yeah, I'm so very glad that he is going to be OK, but I don't know how he and his Mom are going to handle all the bills. From what I hear, they're barely getting by as it is." One of the customers nodded thoughtfully in response. After the morning rush, Frannie walked into my office. She had a couple of paper napkins in her hand and a funny look on her face.
"What's up?" I asked.
"I didn't get that table where Marvin and his friends were sitting cleared off after they left, and Pete and Tony were sitting there when I got back to clean it off," she said. "This was folded and tucked under a coffee cup." She handed the napkin to me, and three $20 bills fell onto my desk when I opened it. On the outside, in big, bold letters, was printed "Something For Stevie."
"Pete asked me what that was all about," she said, "so I told him about Stevie and his Mom and everything, and Pete looked at Tony and Tony looked at Pete, and they ended up giving me this." She handed me another paper napkin that had "Something For Stevie"scrawled on its outside. Two $50 bills were tucked with in its folds. Frannie looked at me with wet, shiny eyes, shook her head and said simply: "truckers."
That was three months ago. Today is Thanksgiving, the first day Stevie is supposed to be back to work.
His placement worker said he's been counting the days until the doctor said he could work, and it didn't matter at all that it was a holiday. He called 10 times in the past week, making sure we knew he was coming, fearful that we had forgotten him or that his job was in jeopardy. I arranged to have his mother bring him to work. I then met them in the parking lot and invited them both to celebrate his day back.
Stevie was thinner and paler, but couldn't stop grinning as he pushed through the doors and headed for the back room where his apron and busing cart were waiting.
"Hold up there, Stevie, not so fast," I said. I took him and his mother by their arms. "Work can wait for a minute. To celebrate your coming back, breakfast for you and your mother is on me!" I led them toward a large corner booth at the rear of the room.
I could feel and hear the rest of the staff following behind as we marched through the dining room. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw booth after booth of grinning truckers empty and join the procession. We stopped in front of the big table. Its surface was covered with coffee cups, saucers and dinner plates, all sitting slightly crooked on dozens of folded paper napkins. "First thing you have to do, Stevie, is clean up this mess," I said. I tried to sound stern.
Stevie looked at me, and then at his mother, then pulled out one of the napkins. It had "Something for Stevie" printed on the outside. As he picked it up, two $10 bills fell onto the table.
Stevie stared at the money, then at all the napkins peeking from beneath the tableware, each with his name printed or scrawled on it. I turned to his mother. "There's more than $10,000 in cash and checks on that table, all from truckers and trucking companies that heard about your problems. "Happy Thanksgiving."
Well, it got real noisy about that time, with everybody hollering and shouting, and there were a few tears, as well.
But you know what's funny? While everybody else was busy shaking hands and hugging each other, Stevie, with a big smile on his face, was busy clearing all the cups and dishes from the table...”
We participate in God’s resurrections whenever we transform the negative experiences we or others have had into life-giving, life-changing work. We participate in God’s resurrection whenever we can forgive and reconcile a relationship. We participate in God’s resurrection whenever we see an opportunity to give through a crisis or be present with someone else in their pain. We participate in God’s resurrection work whenever we become creative in our solutions to problems that seem impossible and step out to make a difference in the life of one or more people.
It doesn’t mean the bad things didn’t happen. They DID happen. The resurrection does not wipe out what took place. When someone hurts us, it DID happen, and the reconciliation cannot look like the injury never took place. The women who began MADD still lost their children or watched their children suffer. In the story I told Stevie was still a boy with Down’s Syndrome who would still struggle physically as well as mentally. Jesus, too, was resurrected with his scars, which we know because Thomas put his hands in them and in Jesus’ side. But a resurrection with the scars is a resurrected life that has deepened, that understands pain and loss and that can walk with even deeper compassion and fully love.
I want to end by sharing with you a poem written by Brian McLaren for pastors during this Easter time…one I think will none the less resonate with all of us:
A prayer for pastors on Easter
Dear Lord, I pray for all the pastors today
Who will feel enormous pressure to have their sermon
Match the greatness of the subject
and will surely feel they have failed.
(I pray even more for those who think they have succeeded.)
Help them to know that it is enough
Simply and faithfully to tell the story
Of women in dawn hush ...
Of men running half-believing ...
Of rolled stones and folded grave-clothes ...
Of a supposed gardener saying the name of a crying woman ...
Of sad walkers encountering a stranger on the road home ...
Of an empty tomb and overflowing hearts.
Give them the wisdom to know that sincere humility and awe
Surpass all homiletic flourish
On this day of mysterious hope beyond all words.
Make them less conscious of their responsibility to preach,
And more confident of the Risen Christ
Whose presence trumps all efforts to proclaim it.
Considering all the Easter choirs who will sing beautifully, and those who won't,
And all the Easter prayers that will soar in faith, and those that will stumble and flounder,
And all the Easter attendance numbers and offering numbers that will exceed expectations
And those that will disappoint ...
I pray they all will be surpassed by the simple joy
Of women and men standing in the presence of women and men,
Daring to proclaim and echo the good news:
Risen indeed! Alleluia!
For death is not the last word.
Violence is not the last word.
Hate is not the last word.
Money is not the last word.
Intimidation is not the last word.
Political power is not the last word.
Condemnation is not the last word.
Betrayal and failure are not the last word.
No: each of them are left like rags in a tomb,
And from that tomb,
Arises Christ,
Alive.
Help the preachers feel it,
And if they don't feel it, help them
Preach it anyway, allowing themselves
To be the receivers as well as the bearers of the Easter
News.
Alleluia!
Monday, April 14, 2014
Trust
I've been thinking, the last few years in particular, about trust. It had always been hard for me to trust people. I have had a lot of fear of abandonment that had in the past made letting people into my heart a real challenge. But I had overcome that. I had made some amazing friendships (which continue) and had finally, at age 29, been able to trust enough to marry and commit my life to a person I loved, adored, and trusted completely with my heart. But as with many fears, sometimes the things we fear the very most do in fact come to pass - perhaps in part God or the universe is choosing to show us that even these things can be survived, especially with faith and (ironically) trust in the One who will never fail us. I am reminded of this clip from the movie "French Kiss" -
In the movie, "French Kiss", Kate lives in fear of everything falling apart. And despite all that she does to protect herself, everything still DOES fall apart. But through that tragedy she learns she can survive and she is eventually able to let go of all the things she has set up around herself to protect herself. She realizes that all of that which she had set up had actually prevented her from truly LIVING, and that since you can't actually protect yourself against tragedy, it is better to fully live despite the risks, than to fail to live in an attempt to protect oneself against the inevitable.
The movie resonates with me deeply. Because I had done the same. I had tried hard to surround myself with the "safe", or to protect my heart from more heart-break and loss by being very careful about who I trusted, who I really let in.
The "wisdom" of this exists in the greater culture too. Songs such as "owner of a lonely heart" preach this.
I also saw recently a quote posted on facebook, "Be careful who you trust. The devil was once an angel." And my first reaction was "yes!" After all, the angel I had trusted fell for me during those few years, breaking my heart, breaking trust in a way I could not possibly anticipate. Additionally, loss compounded loss. Broken trust led to more broken trust. And my broken heart was shattered in more than one way.
But sometimes it is only from the most broken shards that we can begin again. Sometimes the break does need to be complete in order for us to begin to build new hearts that are more full of love, more able to survive betrayal, more able to take the risks of trusting, even while knowing that sometimes that trust will be betrayed, and sometimes our hearts will be broken.
"The devil was once an angel." But now, two things occur to me about that.
First, when people are angels, we can't anticipate which ones will become devils. We can't. The only way to protect ourselves then against our angels becoming devils is to trust no one. In other words, again, we can choose to fail to really live, fail to really love, in order to protect ourselves. But we won't succeed in protecting ourselves because life happens even when you don't trust. And in choosing to not trust anyone we will fail to have experiences and build friendships and relationships and connections that do give us life and do build us up and do enrich us and help us grow.
Second, why is it that the angel-that-was became the devil? I wonder if the angel had been loved more, if this would not have happened. No, I'm not so naive anymore as to think that love really conquers ALL. But I think it does conquer a whole lot. Sometimes angels become devils because they aren't loved with the depth and fullness they really need. Sometimes they don't experience enough compassion, enough caring, enough trust to trust fully themselves in such a way as to avoid falling, or at least to minimize it. In other words, we don't just serve ourselves by taking the risk of loving and trusting. We also serve those around us by choosing to invest in people, trusting them with our openness, our love, our honesty, and our care.
Is it still hard? Is it still risky? Will we be hurt? Yes, Yes and YES! It is hard and risky and we WILL be hurt when we make the choice to trust people. But life is hard and risky and we will also be hurt if we don't trust people. And personally, I'd rather live and love fully, taking the risks and suffering the cost, than choose to not live and love at all.
In the movie, "French Kiss", Kate lives in fear of everything falling apart. And despite all that she does to protect herself, everything still DOES fall apart. But through that tragedy she learns she can survive and she is eventually able to let go of all the things she has set up around herself to protect herself. She realizes that all of that which she had set up had actually prevented her from truly LIVING, and that since you can't actually protect yourself against tragedy, it is better to fully live despite the risks, than to fail to live in an attempt to protect oneself against the inevitable.
The movie resonates with me deeply. Because I had done the same. I had tried hard to surround myself with the "safe", or to protect my heart from more heart-break and loss by being very careful about who I trusted, who I really let in.
The "wisdom" of this exists in the greater culture too. Songs such as "owner of a lonely heart" preach this.
I also saw recently a quote posted on facebook, "Be careful who you trust. The devil was once an angel." And my first reaction was "yes!" After all, the angel I had trusted fell for me during those few years, breaking my heart, breaking trust in a way I could not possibly anticipate. Additionally, loss compounded loss. Broken trust led to more broken trust. And my broken heart was shattered in more than one way.
But sometimes it is only from the most broken shards that we can begin again. Sometimes the break does need to be complete in order for us to begin to build new hearts that are more full of love, more able to survive betrayal, more able to take the risks of trusting, even while knowing that sometimes that trust will be betrayed, and sometimes our hearts will be broken.
"The devil was once an angel." But now, two things occur to me about that.
First, when people are angels, we can't anticipate which ones will become devils. We can't. The only way to protect ourselves then against our angels becoming devils is to trust no one. In other words, again, we can choose to fail to really live, fail to really love, in order to protect ourselves. But we won't succeed in protecting ourselves because life happens even when you don't trust. And in choosing to not trust anyone we will fail to have experiences and build friendships and relationships and connections that do give us life and do build us up and do enrich us and help us grow.
Second, why is it that the angel-that-was became the devil? I wonder if the angel had been loved more, if this would not have happened. No, I'm not so naive anymore as to think that love really conquers ALL. But I think it does conquer a whole lot. Sometimes angels become devils because they aren't loved with the depth and fullness they really need. Sometimes they don't experience enough compassion, enough caring, enough trust to trust fully themselves in such a way as to avoid falling, or at least to minimize it. In other words, we don't just serve ourselves by taking the risk of loving and trusting. We also serve those around us by choosing to invest in people, trusting them with our openness, our love, our honesty, and our care.
Is it still hard? Is it still risky? Will we be hurt? Yes, Yes and YES! It is hard and risky and we WILL be hurt when we make the choice to trust people. But life is hard and risky and we will also be hurt if we don't trust people. And personally, I'd rather live and love fully, taking the risks and suffering the cost, than choose to not live and love at all.
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