A Safe Place in the Chaos: Nov. 20th, 2022

Christ the King, Year C                                Psalm 46                                                                               

            Chaos.  That is what Psalm 46 is describing.  It doesn’t sound like chaos as they are using poetic words.  In the psalms, a roaring sea is typically used to describe chaos.  It’s a sign of cosmic disorder.  The psalmist writes of the earth moving---earthquakes.  Waters that rage and foam could be any extreme weather.  They didn’t have weather forecasters like we have, predicting what will happen, when it will happen, and then explaining why it happens. It was all a mystery, and thus even more terrifying.  The other symbol of chaos was nations at war.  The psalmist wrote that the nations raged and the kingdoms were shaken.  Chaos.

            I don’t remember a time in my adult life when the world has not seemed a little chaotic---at times, overwhelming so. Just this week we had mass murders on two separate college campuses.  Young  people are traumatized and terrified, and not for the first time. It’s been a particularly bad week in our country.  And of course, there is no shortage of bad weather or nations at war.  Nations are shaken.  The waters rage and foam.

            While the causes of chaos might be slightly different than they were when the psalms were written, I don’t think the feelings were that different. We like to think that people in the Bible lived in relative peace and security. How else could they have such faith in God’s protection? Yet we know that the Hebrew people were rarely at peace.  They were usually at war, often being displaced.  And when things were relatively calm, there was fear and uncertainty.

            Yet for some reason they were able to say, “God is our refuge and strength.”  Is it because they didn’t have any other source of safety and strength? Perhaps. But I think there was more.  I wonder if God’s presence was more tangible then. There were specific places where God was present. The text mentions the “city of God.”  That is mostly likely a reference to Jerusalem.  One of the things that made Jerusalem the city of God was that it was a place that held the ark of the covenant.  Interestingly, the ark of the covenant was built to be transported.  Some think it was never meant to be confined to one place.  Because God was not meant to be confined to one place.

            The beginning of the Psalm is: “God is our refuge and our strength.” It doesn’t say that the city of God is our refuge and strength—but God.  The reality is that no city, no state, no country is impenetrable.  Even our schools have become places of violence. I yearn for something solid, a place or even a moveable trunk that could hold the holiness of God, so I could reach out and touch it, feel that presence in a way that would not require faith.

            In the New Testament, God delivers that divine presence in a unique way.  It’s once again moveable, even transient.  It’s a human body.  Previously the ark of God was protected in a tabernacle. With the birth of Jesus, the tabernacle became flesh and blood. There were no walls of protection, no people standing guard.  Jesus was among God’s people for about 30 years.  That is what I really want, I want God in human form.  I want to be able to talk directly to God, see God, feel God. I don’t want to pray for God’s presence.  I just want it. Then maybe I would feel safe and secure.  We all could.

            But that’s not what we have. That tabernacle, that bodily temple was destroyed.  It was resurrected, but then taken away again.  Now we have no ark, no body.  It feels at times as though we are alone in the chaos.  “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.”  We no longer have tangible connections to God’s presence, not like they once had.  However, this psalm does give us some tips, a guide if you will.  “The Lord of hosts is with us…Come now and look upon the works of the Lord, what awesome things he has done on earth.” In some ways we have to try harder to feel God’s presence.  In other ways, God’s presence is evident when we look for it.  We can see it in nature. We see it in people. We see it in the sun that comes through these gorgeous windows.  The psalmist also tells us to “Be still then, and know that I am God.” The Hebrew word that is translated to still can also be translated to “stop or sink in.” 

            This psalm is about finding God in the midst of chaos.  When the waters rage, when the nations are shaken, God tells us to stop. Most of the time, we cannot control the chaos around us.  We try. Sometimes we try really hard and that can makes us absolutely crazy.  My mom and I are worriers. My Dad always asks, “Why would you worry about something you can’t change?”  Rationally that makes sense, but it’s hard.  At some point today, make a list of those things that are stressing you out, that are maybe even creating more space between you and God’s presence.  Then cross out the things you can’t control. I bet you will whittle that list down considerably.  Then find a time or place to soak in some natural beauty, some part of God’s creation and stop.  Just stop.

            One reason we have worship is to provide that opportunity to stop, to sink into God’s presence. While God is no longer with us in an ark or the form of a human, we have the sacraments of our church that allow us to soak in God’s presence.  The definition of a sacrament is “an outward and visible sign of inward and spiritual grace.”  It’s our moveable ark.  It’s why after we consecrate (bless) the bread and wine, we put the left overs in something we call an aumbry.  Some denominations call it a tabernacle. 

            The Gospels tell the story of Jesus being in a boat with his disciples when a great storm descended upon them. The waves crashed. The ocean roared.  The disciples were terrified. Jesus stood and rebuked the wind and then there was calm.  What had once been chaos was now peace.  If you look at the ceiling of many churches, you will see exposed beams.  It almost looks like a ship upside down.  In fact, the proper liturgical name of the part of the church where the pews are located is called the nave.  It comes from navis, the Latin word for ship.  The church is meant to be a place of safety and security where God’s presence is pronounced.

I know that a lot of people think that there is no good reason to have church buildings, that you can find God anywhere.   But (and I know I am biased), I think there is something uniquely holy about churches.  They are places of stillness and calm.  They are place where the sacraments dwell.  And hopefully, they are a safe place, a harbor in the storm for all of God’s people. Because our world is now, and will always be chaotic.  Yet here is a place where we can say with assurance, “God is our refuge and our strength.”

 

All Saints is Complicated: November 6, 2022

Year C, All Saints                                  Luke 6:20-31                                                                           

            It’s complicated. All Saint’s Sunday is complicated. This is partly because the understanding of this day has evolved over the years. It was originally meant to be a day to commemorate all the Christian martyrs (those who had been persecuted and died for their faith).  In the first few centuries of the church, they would commemorate a martyr with a specific day. But by about the 4^th century, with the increased persecution of Christians, it became clear that they were going to run out of days.  Finally, by the 9^th century, they picked one day and called it All Saints Day.  This was to be the day that would not only commemorate all Christian martyrs, but all Christians who had died.  With all of these changes, the understanding of what it was to be a saint shifted to what many people perceive as the original intention of the New Testament—to mean all Christians who have died and all Christians still living.

            When Paul used the word saint, he was almost always referring to those who were alive. In his letter to the Ephesians he wrote, “I have heard of your faith in the Lord Jesus and your love toward all the saints…” Here at St. John’s, and in many other churches, we attempt to embrace both perspectives. In the evening, our choir provides a lovely Evensong where we read the names of those in our parish who have died in the past year. 

            At this service we sing, “I sing a song of the saints of God” and we talk about how we can meet them at school, on the sea, in church, in trains and at tea—and then we end by singing, “…and the Saints of God are just folk like me and I mean to be one too.”  I don’t know about you, but I have always interpreted that as, I mean to be one in this life.

            But that is the thing about the Christian life, the line between the living saint and the saint that has died is blurred.  We live in this life—it’s all we know.  But we live this life with a promise of what is to come.  We live knowing that life as we know it could end at any moment. We have all experienced that too many times, someone we love dies unexpectedly or even a personal health crisis that has taught us how incredibly fragile life is and how narrow the line is between life and death.

            A lot of people think that we come to church or read the Bible to learn how to be good Christians/saints, so that we can get into heaven when we die.  But the Bible isn’t a how to manual on heavenly acceptance.  Jesus was a lot more concerned about how we live in the here and now—how we love the saints in our midst. 

            Our gospel reading is often referred to as “the beatitudes.”  You can also find the beatitudes in the Gospel of Matthew.  However, Matthew’s beatitudes are a little tamer, more palatable. Both gospels contain blessings (which in Latin is translated to beātitūdō). However, Luke contains fewer blessings and balances them with woes. Like All Saint’s Day, Luke’s beatitudes are complicated. 

            First of all, they contradict what we think of as being blessed. Usually when someone says that they are blessed, they are talking about something good that has happened.  They just had a healthy child.  They got a new job, a nice house, a clean bill of health.  No one ever says, “I just lost my job. I am so blessed.   Everyone is mad at me. I am so blessed.  I am so depressed…and blessed! I have never heard anyone say anything like that.

            But that was what Jesus was telling his disciples—“Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh…”  Another way that blessed is translated is to be happy. That makes even less sense.  The best translation that I have found is “unburdened or satisfied.” While that is better than happy, it still makes this text complicated. Usually when people are struggling with money, they don’t feel unburdened or satisfied.  People who are grieving are not unburdened. Sometimes you can tell someone is grieving by the way they walk as if they are literally sinking under this invisible weight. So what in the world is Jesus talking about?

            We aren’t blessed because we are poor or sad or persecuted. We are blessed because in our grief or poverty, we are (hopefully) able to reach out to God, we are able to acknowledge that we need God and that we are nothing without God. That is where the blessing comes in. It’s subtle, but it’s there.

            Luke also has a woe section—“But woe to you who are rich, for you have received your consolation.” This doesn’t mean you aren’t blessed if you are rich. In means that if you find your consolation (or your comfort and security) in your wealth, then woe to you.  Alas, that doesn’t really make me feel a whole lot better because most of us find comfort in financial security. That is why it’s called financial security. That’s not necessarily a bad thing.  But if we put too much faith in that and not enough in God, then our priorities are askew.  Because in the end, money can only do so much. It can’t protect us from grief or illness.  It definitely cannot protect us from death. And when we face those things, we better have some other place where we can find comfort and strength.

            That’s why I think Jesus said that the poor, hungry, weeping and persecuted were blessed.  It wasn’t because their life was easy. In fact, it almost guaranteed that their life was hard. It was because their hope was in God.  Remember who Jesus was talking to in this text—the newly chosen disciples, who had just left their homes, their family and any chance of financial security. They needed to hear this. While I find the beatitudes a lot more challenging than comforting, I bet the disciples found comfort in these words. 

            All Saints Day was first created to commemorate the lives of Christians who were persecuted for their faith and died as a result.  There was a time in the church when sainthood was exclusively connected to martyrdom and how you died.  Today, I think most of us want to be remembered for how we lived. 

            I’ve buried a lot of saints since I have been at St. John’s.  Many of them inspired me with their faith and service.  Yet I think the ones that inspired me the most are the ones who found blessings even in the midst of trials, those who never gave up on God. This isn’t to say that they didn’t question or struggle, but they found strength in their weakness, they found God’s strength.  I have seen that in many of our living saints as well.

And if I have just one hope for each one of you, it would be that—to find blessings not merely in the success and security that life can bring, but also the hard and scary times when we can see glimpses of God’s presence in our lives and the lives of those around us. When we are overcome by darkness, the blessings come in narrow rays of light that break through the broken places in our lives.  Those narrow rays of light might be the most beautiful and life sustaining light we’ve ever seen.