I want a better response to suffering: June 23

Job 38:1-11                                               Year B, Pentecost 5                                              

          The first time I read the Book of Job, I found it slightly unsatisfying. I was always told that if you want to understand why bad things happen to good people, this was the book you read. If you read the Book of Job with that expectation, there is a good chance you will be disappointed. First of all, the whole premise of the book is a bit confusing. It begins with God and Satan having a conversation about what a great guy Job is and how this is proof of the goodness of God’s creation.  Satan argues that Job is only good because God has given him everything he wants and needs.  God tells Satan that he can test him, he just can’t take his life.

And test him he does.  Poor Job is really put through the ringer.  He loses all his crops, his animals and his land—his entire livelihood.  Then his family is killed and he ends up covered in boils.  To make things worse, he has three friends who come and visit him and try to convince him that he must have done something wrong to have such horrible things happen to him---because after all, God is a just and merciful God.  Job refutes their arguments and continues to make his case that perhaps God is not a just God because he has done nothing to deserve this.  Job demands that God show Godself so that Job can make his case to God personally.  Finally, after 38 chapters, God shows up.     

          In the Old Testament, God likes to appear in a dramatic fashion and this story is no exception.  God answers Job out of a whirlwind.  When God speaks out of a whirlwind, or a storm, you know you are about to hear something significant.  While the text says that “God answered Job…” it’s not actually an answer to any of Job’s questions.  Instead of providing a clear answer, God comes with more questions (which was something that Jesus also did in the New Testament). 

If I was so sum up what God was asking Job, it would be with this one sentence “Who do you think you are?”  That’s how I initially read it.   God basically summarized creation in all its vastness and its intricacies, and then repeatedly asked, do you know how to do this…can you explain it? It feels like this magnificent flex on God’s part, like God boasting about all God can do and how little humans can do.  It’s almost a taunt.  “Gird up your loins like a man.” I always read that as basically saying, “put on your big boy pants.”

          I believe that part of the reason that we tend to read it that way is because that is how we have been taught to perceive God.  What’s the most common visual image of God? An old man in a robe with a long white beard sitting in a throne and looking down on us. Jesus tried to change that image for us, but it’s just ingrained in us---this image of a mighty enthroned God looking down on us.

Let me just get into the weeds for a second.  The Hebrew phrase that is translated to “Gird up your loins like a man” is an example of where the most literal translation might not be the best one, at least not for us today.  You could also read it as, “Present yourself in all vigor.”  The next line is, “I will question you and you shall declare to me.”  The Hebrew word translated to “declare to me” means, “make me to know.” You could read this as threat or even a challenge, or you could read it as God wanting to know Job, to understand him and God wanting Job to understand God.  Because if anything is clear from the past 38 chapters, Job desperately wants to understand God and God’s relationship with humanity. What I think God is trying to say with this poetic response is--- you can and should try to know me and help me know you, but the more you try to make sense of this, the farther you get from the truth.

Despite God’s unwillingness to provide a straightforward response and his encouragement that Job recognize his own limitations of understanding and perspective, God never tells Job that he was wrong to struggle with the unanswerable questions.  In fact, in the last chapter of the Book of Job when God was reprimanding Job’s friends for their overly simplistic theology, he commends Job for thinking rightly (42:7). This doesn’t mean that everything Job accused God of was right (it wasn’t), it means that God appreciated the struggle and the conversation that they had. Remember how our chapter begins…God wants to know Job and wants Job to know him. God wants a relationship, even if that relationship involves arguing and lamenting, and even some whining. 

          I started by saying that the first time I read Job, I found it unsatisfying. But it wasn’t just the first time.   There have been many times I have read it and been deeply unsatisfied by God’s response to Job’s suffering.  There is even a prayer in the book I wrote with my friend that tells God in his response to Job, “You can do better.”  I don’t think the Book of Job is a good response to human suffering.  It isn’t pastoral or comforting.  However, I do think it’s a good way to broaden our perspective and free ourselves from the burden of the need to understand how and why things happen. 

Perhaps we can use the story of Job as another opportunity to open ourselves to God, to open ourselves to the struggle that is innate to our relationship with God and also to remember never to give up. There are so many times in our lives when it would be so much easier to just give up on our faith, give up on following Jesus.  It’s hard.  God knows it’s hard and that is why God is always willing to engage in the conversation and to wrestle with us. God never answered Job’s question, but that doesn’t mean God didn’t care that Job was suffering. God listened to all of Job’s questions and accusations.  God even listened to Job’s friends. God stuck with Job through it all.

          In the last chapter, after God has spoken about the wonders of God’s creation and our inability to fathom it all, Job says, “I had heard of you by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees you…” In other words, now Job knows God.  He might never understand God or God’s ways, but he knows God---he sees God.  In the end, that was the only answer he needed.  It’s the only answer any of us needs. But it’s an answer that we have to fight for.  It’s worth the fight.  It’s worth the struggle.

Glory Is All Around: Feb 19, 2023

 Year A, Last Sunday of Epiphany                                       Matthew 17:1-9                                                        

         It’s the last Sunday before Lent begins, the last Sunday for us to sing as many Alleluias as possible and sing them loudly. This Sunday ends our season of Epiphany, the time we talk about light and revelation. It’s a season that we can easily overlook, like the calm before the dark storm that is Lent.  Lent isn’t really stormy.  It’s just a season that we happen to associate with suffering and darkness.  The first day of Lent is Ash Wednesday.  What do we do on Ash Wednesday? We smear ash on people’s faces and remind them that they are going to die.  It’s truly a wonder that anyone comes to that service. 

            This Gospel reading is an interesting transition from Epiphany to Lent.  It’s a story of light and revelation, but there is a certain foreboding within the story---well really on either side of the story.  Right before Jesus ascended the mountain with three of his disciples, he explained that he would have to suffer and die.  Peter argued with Jesus when he made this revelation.  Peter could not wrap his head around the idea that the messiah—the person who was supposed to save them all—would soon be killed. 

It was after this information was relayed that Jesus brought his friends to the top of the mountain.  I have often wondered about the timing.  Was Jesus hoping to provide some clarity for his disciples about the message he had just given them, or was he just trying to have some quality time with his friends who were probably reeling from this new and disturbing information?  We really don’t know. 

            We often hear people talk about mountain top experiences.  Sometimes it is literally about the experience of climbing to the top of a mountain and witnessing an extraordinary view that takes your breath away.  Sometimes people use that phrase to describe a time of transcendence—a moment where they felt closer to God, a time of faith and assurance.  We can actually use that phrase for a lot of different things.

Mount Tabor

However, Jesus’ disciples would have had some specific associations with mountain tops. The mountain was where heaven and earth met. It was a place that people encountered the divine.  Mountains are mentioned more than 500 times in the Bible, most notably in Moses’ interactions with the voice of God.  That is where Moses received the 10 Commandments. Important things happened on mountains in the Jewish faith. All of Jesus’ disciples would have known these stories well and thus known the significance of the mountain.

            Therefore, it’s not surprising that these amazing things would happen at the top of the mountain.  First Jesus was transfigured before them—meaning his face got shiny and his clothes were extra bright. Then two prophets, who were long since dead, appeared.  After that a voice from heaven spoke to the disciples…the disciples.  And here is the crazy thing, of all those miraculous events that happened on that mountaintop, it wasn’t the glowing Jesus or two dead prophets back to life, it was something as simple as a voice.  That is what really got the disciple’s attention.  It wasn’t just any voice.  It was God’s voice. And for once, God was talking directly to the disciples. 

That is what really freaked them out. They were accustomed to things happening to Jesus, and maybe even to the people around them.  They had witnessed their share of miracles. But this was different, because God was talking to them and more importantly he was telling them to do something, to listen to Jesus.  And what had Jesus just told them? He had told them that he had to suffer and die and they too would have to take up their cross if they wanted to be his followers.   It’s not the kind of thing you want to hear from a heavenly voice. It’s the kind of thing you want to tell yourself was just a big misunderstanding and of course Jesus didn’t mean that he was really going to suffer and die.

            When the three disciples heard the voice from heaven, they fell to the earth in fear.   Because the earth was what they knew.  It was firm. Maybe, just maybe if they stayed there for a while they could forget this all happened.  Then Jesus bent over and touched them and he said, “Get up and do not be afraid.”  When they looked up, they saw it was just them and Jesus, just the way it should be.  And maybe they thought this was all just a dream and they could forget it.  But no, Jesus made sure to remind them on the way down the mountain, that he would have to suffer and die. This time, no one argued with him. 

            Lent isn’t merely a time of suffering and darkness.  It’s a time when we confront certain truths, maybe truths that we don’t want to confront.  It’s a time to repent from our sins.  No one likes to talk about sin.  But repentance isn’t just a about feeling guilt and shame, it’s a reorientation. It’s an opportunity to change, for the better.  The reason we have the story of the transfiguration right before Lent is to remind us that even in the midst of suffering and repentance, there is also glory and light.  There is a God who desperately wants us to listen to him, but is also willing to get on the ground with us, put his hand on our shoulder and say, “It’s time to get up and stop living in fear.”

            On the way down Jesus told his disciples not to tell anyone about what happened until he was resurrected.  I like to think he told them this because he knew that they would need this reminder of a light that we can find even in the darkest of times.  They didn’t need to use this moment to evangelize and teach.  It was just for them, a place to return in their mind and heart when the world seemed to be ending.  When Jesus was hanging on the cross, they could close their eyes---see the light and feel his hand on their shoulder telling them not to be afraid.

            That’s what many of us need—a reminder to find courage when we are afraid, a reminder that we need not fear the terror of the night—that we can confront those things we would rather avoid and forget.  Lent is a time to face our fears, our failures, and our sins---but to do that with the knowledge that those failures and sins can never defeat us because we have a God who can both glorify the earth and also kneel down next to us when our face in on the ground, brush us off and tell us not to be afraid because glory (God’s glory) is all around us. 

Praising in the midst: February 28, 2021

 Year B, Lent 2                                                 Psalm 22: 22-30                                                         

            I remember in the first few months of the pandemic reading the predictions of the number of deaths. They were saying 100,000 to 200,000 people would die.  At the time, that was unfathomable. Yet now such predictions seem almost quaint and optimistic.  This week, we reached 500,000.  500,000 people have died from COVID in one year.  That is four times the population of Hampton.  And this isn’t over. 

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”     

            I am sure you recognize those words. That is the first verse of Psalm 22, the psalm that Jesus quoted from the cross as he died.  I imagine those words, or words like them have been expressed far too frequently over the last year.  “Why have you forsaken us?” We always read Psalm 22 on Good Friday—not the whole psalm, the first 21 verses. 

Our psalm appointed for today, the 2^nd Sunday of Lent, is Psalm 22, verses 22 through 30.  It’s almost like a different psalm entirely.  The first 21 verses of Psalm 22 contains memorable verses like: “But as for me, I am a worm and no man” or “I am poured out like water; all my bones are out of joint; my heart within my breast is melting wax.” It is a lament psalm at its best and most dramatic. I mean, it had to be powerful for Jesus to quote it from the cross. 

This portion of the psalm that is appointed for today is far different.  It would be classified as psalm of praise and thanksgiving.  The author is encouraging, all the world to praise God, even those not yet born!   It’s not uncommon for the author of a psalm to go through dramatic shifts in perspective.  It makes my 4 year old’s mercurial moods seem tame.  It’s one of things I have always appreciated about the psalms.  They aren’t tame or predictable.  They don’t fit nicely into a genre. They are wild and erratic, which is true of life.  It is certainly true of the last year. 

2020 was a rollercoaster of experiences and emotions—but it was one of those wooden
rollercoasters that you think might just fall apart at any moment.  The thrill isn’t in the ride itself, it’s in coming out alive.  Let’s set aside for a moment the fires, the hurricanes, the locusts, the divisive politics and racial tension and violence.  Let’s focus on COVID (which I know we have talked enough about, but stay with me).  One moment things are fine.  Then you learn you have been exposed to someone with COVID, then you start trying to figure out all the people you have potentially exposed, then you are planning your funeral and theirs, then you are getting a Q tip up your nose and 3 days later you get your test result and learn you are negative.  So many emotions over 5 days. And that is the best case scenario.  Those are the lucky ones. In my lifetime, the psalms have never felt as realistic and appropriate as they have in this year. 

While many of the psalms have dramatic twists and turns—Psalm 22 stands out.  What’s striking to me about this psalm is how we have artificially divided it.  While I have read it many times and preached on it a few times, the end always surprises me.  Just this week I read the appointed portion and thought, wait, that’s not Psalm 22.  Where did that come from?  Despite my delight in the dramatic shifts of the psalms, I have always ignored the 2^nd part of this one.  Why?  Because it’s the Good Friday Psalm.  It’s the psalm Jesus quotes as he chokes on his own blood.  It can’t end with praise and hope.  That comes on Easter….not Good Friday.

Yet that is the beauty and poignancy of the Christian faith. The suffering and triumph---the pain and relief---the agony and the joy-- all exist on the same exquisite plain. And while that is poetic and transcendent, it’s not easy.  It’s so so hard.  It’s why Peter (in our Gospel reading) could not accept that Jesus had to suffer.  He’s the Messiah.  He’s not supposed to suffer and die.  He’s not supposed to carry the cross that he will then die on.  For those of us raised in the church, or even near the church, we forget how truly crazy the idea of a crucified Messiah is.  We know the end.  The crucifixion is just what we have to get through to get to Easter.

However, what this psalm reminds us is that neither our lives nor our faith are linear.  The moment we think we have suffered enough, the moment we think we have been through the rough patch and reached the other side, is the same moment when a fresh horror appears.  It is tempting in such times to assume that God has abandoned us.  It’s ok to feel that.  What this psalm teaches us is what it is to praise God in the midst of the suffering.  “Praise the Lord, you that fear him; stand in awe of him…and those who seek the Lord shall praise him.” 

There have been many times when I have envisioned the grand and spectacular worship service we will have when this is all over. There will be lilies and poinsettias, there will be music.  There will be praise and thanksgiving.  And God willing, that will happen. But we can’t wait for that moment to rejoice.  We cannot put our praise and worship on hold.  You might be thinking, yeah, but we can’t be together inside the church.    I get it.  It’s hard to praise God without the people and the sacred space.  It’s hard sitting in front of a computer.  It’s not impossible. 

People have praised God under much more difficult circumstances.  People have praised God in underground churches under the threat of persecution.  Enslaved people praised God even when their identity as children of God was denied.  We can do it.  We don’t do it because things are going swimmingly, we do it because we have a God who continues to love us.  We have a God who understands what it is to suffer and feel abandoned.  We have a God who created us and longs to redeem us.

And I have seen you all do it.  I have seen you show up outside on a freezing day to pray and receive ashes in a baggy.  I have seen some of you log on to facebook in the evening, the morning, anytime you can to participate in worship. I have seen you continue with zoom Bible study. I have seen you drop off food for the hungry. I have seen you come and pick up communion to deliver to your friends and family. We can do it. We are doing it.

We will find a way to do it on Palm Sunday and Easter, even if the weather doesn’t cooperate, even if we are not allowed to worship inside, we will find a way.  Because that is what we do as Christians. We praise God.  We worship God. We do it even when we don’t necessarily feel the words we are saying.  We might find that in saying the words or just hearing the words, that they inspire us to praise more, to find more ways to pray and worship---with action as well as words. We have found ways to do it and with your help, we will find more.

Let's talk about death: June 3, 2018

Year B, Pentecost 2                                                                
2 Corinthians 4:5-12                                                              

 

            When I was 12 or 13, I read that your body starts dying at the age of 25.  It had quite an effect on me.  My brothers are older and I considered their ages.  One was 25, but the other 2 still had some time left, which was a relief.  As you can imagine my 25^th birthday was a bit of a downer.  Since then I have learned a little bit more about the body and how it ages.  It’s not quite as stark as it seemed at age 12 or 13, but I am aware that one way or another, time takes its toll on your body. We are all mortal which means we are all dying.

            I was in seminary on my 25^th birthday, so while coming to terms with my own mortality, I was also reading about how to minister to people who are actually dying. I was practicing my first funeral sermon.  This meant that I thought more about death and dying than your average 25 year old. Since then I have had some time to put it in perspective.  I have also read a lot of the Apostle Paul and he can be reassuring at times.  Had the Apostle Paul been around for my 25^th birthday, he would have told me that I already carried death within me. Once baptized, you carry the death of Christ in you.  In his letter to the Corinthians, he wrote, “(we are) always carrying in (our) body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may be made visible in our mortal flesh.”  I am not sure that would have made a great message on my 25^th birthday card, but it works in this passage.

            That said, what does it really mean?  It’s definitely not straightforward. If we are going to carry Jesus within us, wouldn’t it make more sense to carry the living Jesus in us? For Paul, understanding and experiencing dying was integral to understanding living.  Think of it in your own life.  When do you really appreciate your own health—after you have recovered from an illness.  I have been fortunate in that I have only been really sick once in my life.  One of the side effects was problems breathing.  After I got better, I remember thinking, “I will never take breathing for granted again.”  That lasted about a day, but that experience did give me a renewed appreciation for living and breathing. 

            Paul talked a lot about physical suffering in his letters.  In doing so, he emphasized the vulnerability of the human body.  In this passage he said, “But we have this treasure in clay jars, so that it may be made clear that this extraordinary power belongs to God and does not come from us.” The clay jar is a metaphor for the human body.  In the time Paul was writing (almost 2000 years ago) clay jars were a common household item. They were easily made an also easily broken.  They weren’t put on display. The important thing about the clay jar was not the jar itself, but what the jar carried. As Christians, we carry the death and life of Jesus.  It’s a precious thing.  The jar is precious not because of what it looks like, or what it is worth.  It is precious because what it holds. 

            This metaphor of the jar is one of the ways that Paul displayed and taught humility. It is easy to become a little self-important.  We may even feel that we are in control. Then we get sick and we remember we are not in control at all. Paul was saying that the fragility of our bodies helps us to remember that it is not we who are powerful, it is God who is powerful.  The metaphor of the jar can seem a little insulting.  Clay jars had little worth. They were fragile and easy to replace. No one wants to think of themselves that way.     

            We don’t have to, because we carry a treasure of infinite value, which means that we, even in our fragile state are extraordinary.  It also takes a little pressure off us.  There is so much competition in this world.  It is easy to feel as though we are not good enough.  But what if we could just accept that we are not good enough?  What if we could just admit that we are fragile?  We are somewhat ordinary. After all, there are 7.6 billion people in this world. We are one of 7.6 billion. But that doesn’t matter because we are the vessels of a treasure, a priceless treasure. What can make us unique and special is our ability to display that treasure that we all carry.

            One of the ways we can display that treasure is in how we approach suffering and adversity. Paul wrote, “We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair;…struck down but not destroyed.”  Being a Christian does not mean that we do not suffer.  It means that we have a reason to move through the suffering. I don’t like to use the phrase overcome suffering, because some suffering cannot be overcome.  We don’t conquer suffering.  We wade through the suffering and eventually we make it to the other side.  One commentator wrote that “We are at our wit’s end but not our hope’s end.  As Christians, we may not know what to do, but we always know that something can be done.”[1] That is what it means to be perplexed but not be driven to despair. 

            Despite my advanced age (well past 25), I cannot be exactly sure what Paul meant when he said that “we carry the life and death of Jesus in our bodies.” However, I believe what Paul was really talking about is how we cope with suffering as Christian.  I n facing adversity and suffering, we are showing how we carry the dying Christ.  When we move through that suffering and adversity and refuse to give up hope, that is when we display the living Christ, the Christ who conquered death and rose again.  Unfortunately, there can be no living Christ without the dying Christ. There can be no Easter Sunday without Good Friday. The Good News is that with God in our life, there always is a resurrection.  There always is reason to hope. We may be dying, but death isn’t the end, it’s a chance for new beginning.

---

[1] Barclay 199

The Challenge Facing the Church: Feb. 25, 2018

Year B, Lent 2                                                    
Mark 8:31-38                                                

            I hear a lot about the church of the 1950’s and 60’s. The church was full and everyone attended every Sunday.  Church mattered.  Businesses were closed.  Nothing else was happening on Sundays.  You came to church because that was the place to be.  If you were a community leader, a government official, a business owner, anyone in leadership, you went to church. If you did not, you were judged accordingly.  Church attendance hit an unprecedented high in the 1950’s.  Some people have called that period the 3^rd Great Awakening. 

Since then church membership has been on a steady decline.  Steady might not be the right word---it was on a gradual decline and has plummeted in the last 20 years. Sometimes, I wish that I had been born decades earlier and could have served in a church that prospered with little effort.  There was no need for evangelism or marketing.  You opened the door and people came in (of course, I would not have been able to be ordained as they did not start ordaining women until the end of the 1970s—but that’s not the point.)  It seems odd to be nostalgic for a time I did not live in; yet I find myself longing for that experience of the 1950’s church. 

            A lot of people who remember the church of the 1950s and 1960s assume that it was always like that. The reality is that the church and the Christian faith have gone through many periods of growth and decline.  After both the American Revolution and the Civil War, the Episcopal Church was near collapse.  Even St. John’s barely survived those difficult times.   While there have been tumultuous times in the last 300 years, it was probably the first 300 years of the Christian Church that were the most challenging.  Being a Christian was a dangerous thing to be as Christians were openly persecuted. They were tortured or killed for admitting their faith. 

            It should not come as a surprise that the Christian faith struggled to gain a foothold for several centuries. Our God died on a cross.  He was killed by the people who were in power. Who wants to join a faith community that worships the losing side, the guy who was killed?  Today, the cross is not shameful, nor is a crucified Messiah.  Now the cross is a symbol of our faith, a faith that has survived and thrived for over 2000 years.  However, for the first 200 years of the church the cross was not a welcome symbol.  There was shame associated with that kind of death. Jesus was not the only person crucified.  Criminals were crucified by the thousands in that time. 

            If it was difficult to accept a crucified Messiah after his death and resurrection, imagine what it must have been for the disciples to hear Jesus talk about his impending death.  The disciples had come to know Jesus in a specific way.  They had seen all the miracles he performed, the people he had healed, the huge crowds who had followed him. They had seen him preach to masses and beat even the greatest theologians and church leaders in arguments. While not all agreed with him, all recognized his power and authority. 

Shortly before our reading for today, Jesus asked the disciples who people thought he was.  The disciples answered that some thought that he was one of the prophets, or John the Baptizer come back to life, or even Elijah, the great Hebrew prophet who had died and was expected to return right before the arrival of the Messiah.  So far, no one was right. Then he asked who they thought he was.  They knew him best.  If anyone knew, they should know. Peter spoke up and said, “You are the Messiah.” Finally, they were getting it.  These disciples finally saw Jesus for who he truly was. 

            Immediately after this revelation, Jesus started sharing that he would have to undergo great suffering, be rejected, be killed and then rise again.  Perhaps he thought that they were ready to hear this now that they understood who he was.  But how could knowing he was the Messiah possibly prepare them for this?  Messiahs are not rejected by humans and they certainly don’t suffer.  They definitely don’t get killed. It’s madness. Peter rebuked him.  We don’t know exactly what he said when he rebuked him, but it was probably something like, “Don’t talk like that!  Chin up.  You are the Messiah. You are not going to suffer and die.”  Peter probably thought he was being supportive.

            Jesus did not like what Peter had to say because he called him Satan and told him to get behind him. He then said, “For you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”  If I had been Peter, this would have confused me a little.  If anyone was focusing on human things, it was Jesus.  Humans are rejected.  Humans suffer.  Humans are killed. Messiahs shouldn’t experience those human things.  It would seem that Jesus had some funny ideas on what it was to be a Messiah.

Then Jesus made it worse because he told the disciples and the assembled crowd that they too would have to suffer if they wanted to be his followers. Not only will Jesus have to carry the cross, but all his followers will have to take up their cross.  I bet Jesus did not gain any followers that day.  The disciples stuck around, partially because they were convinced he wasn’t serious about this whole suffering thing. He had to explain it to them two more times and they acted confused each time, as if this was the first time they were hearing it.

            Who can blame them?  Not only did it not make sense, it was an incredibly difficult teaching. The cross was a form of torture.  None of these men had easy lives. They were Jews living under Roman occupation.  While Jesus was popular with many, the religious authorities did not like him. The disciples knew this and this must have made them a little anxious.  They knew what it was to suffer.  But death on a cross? Where is the victory?  Where is the triumph?

            As people who know what it is to celebrate Easter, we know what the victory is.  We know that Jesus conquered death.  But we also know that most of the disciples were killed eventually, some is rather horrific ways. There are still people being killed today just for being Christians.  And on a much less violent note, we in the Episcopal Church know what it is to be part of a church that is not considered successful, not in human terms. 

            I entered seminary in 2001. In those first 5 years of the millennium, church attendance and membership moved from a gradual decline to a nosedive.  When I decided to pursue ordination in 2004, someone asked me, “Why would you want to be ordained when the church is dying? It’s a sinking ship.”  At the time, I thought that was ridiculous.  The church would turn around.  This was just a blip. But it has not turned around (and I am hoping this great decline has no direct correlation with the fact that I was ordained near the beginning of it!)

Before we all get too depressed, I would like to suggest something. Instead of worrying about the decline and bemoaning the loss of the status of the church, perhaps we can look at it from another perspective. Like the disciples, Jesus asks us not merely to look at the human things, but the divine as well.  It is human to suffer and die.  We can all agree on that. According to Jesus, it is divine to suffer and die.  But it is also divine to rise again. 

It is not easy to be the church in today’s world.  We have to work harder and to some extent we have to suffer a little as well.  However, if we believe this is God’s church, then suffering and death is only part of the story.  The final part is resurrection.  It is new life.  We assume that if the church is suffering it’s because something is wrong.  Perhaps we can see it as part of what it is to be a disciple; and instead of looking at it as suffering, we could look at it as living into a challenge. That is not just true for the church but for every individual life.  Everyone faces challenges in life---some more than others.  We don’t give up when we face challenges, we find ways to rise again.

In the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus told Peter, “Now I say to you that you are Peter (which means 'rock'), and upon this rock I will build my church, and all the powers of hell will not conquer it.”  Despite Peter’s faults, Jesus called him the rock. The church was built on a flawed human and that gives me hope, because Jesus knew he was flawed and he still chose him to be the rock.  Even though the church was built on a flawed human, this church, our church was built by Jesus.  The powers of hell will not conquer it.

Burning makes us Brighter: December 4, 2016

Year A, Advent 2                            

Romans 15:4-13                                                                    

            Most of us have heard of Sigmund Freud, a famous Austrian Psychiatrist who lived in the beginning of the 20^th century.  He was a Jew and died shortly after WW2 began.  There was another Austrian Psychiatrist who was younger, but considered Freud to be a mentor.  His name was Viktor Frankle and he was also Jewish.  In 1942, he and his whole family were sent to Auschwitz.  He spent three years in various concentration camps.  He was there until the concentration camps were liberated. 

As you can imagine, much of his later work was informed by this experience.  In reflecting on his experience in the concentration camps, he tried to determine what the difference was between those who died in the concentration camps and those who survived. He said that it was not about physical strength. He saw many strong men die and many weaker men survive.  He said that finding meaning in your own life was critical to survival and that sometimes we need to find meaning in the suffering. He concluded that the difference between those who died and those who survived was hope. 

            The Apostle Paul lived through a great deal of suffering.  He was a strong believer in hope.  Our reading for today begins with, “Whatever was written in former days was written for our instruction, so that by steadfastness and by the encouragement of the scriptures we might find hope.” Paul found hope in the Holy Scriptures. You might think, wait Paul wrote the scriptures.  That is true.  Paul wrote a good portion of what we consider scripture, the New Testament.  However, in Paul’s day, the only scriptures were the Hebrew Scriptures, what we refer to as the Old Testament. He believed that the hope the Old Testament promised was embodied in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.  Jesus fulfilled the prophesies of the Old Testament. 

This did not mean that Jesus brought utopia to earth. He did not bring freedom to the Hebrew people, which is what many expected from the Messiah.  In many ways, he left the earth in the same place it was before he was born---but not in the important ways.  For people who knew Jesus, who experienced his love, the world was forever transformed.  There was also a hope in what was to come, when Jesus came again.  Jesus left this world with a promise to return, a promise that something better was coming.  Paul believed in this promise.  He believed that after death, he would meet God.  He believed that we all have that potential, which is why it was so important to him that he share the good news of Jesus Christ. 

This did not change the fact that people were suffering under the Roman occupation. They were oppressed and hurting.  Even those who knew of Jesus and believed in Jesus were losing hope.  They had assumed that Jesus was going to return in their lifetime. But Jesus wasn’t back.  The Romans were still oppressing the Jews. Their lives were no better.  It is understandable that they were growing weary and losing hope. 

Earlier in Paul’s letter to the Romans, he wrote, “For in hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what is seen? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.”[1]  One of the things we have to remember is that Paul did not know Jesus while Jesus was still living.  Paul heard the voice of Jesus only after Jesus died and ascended to heaven.  He did not even see Jesus--he heard his voice. 

Therefore Paul knew all too well what it was to believe without seeing. He knew what it was to suffer and hope when there seemed to be absolutely no reason to hope.  For Paul, hope was dependent not on the current situation but the ability to believe despite the current situation—to hope when there seemed to be no reason to hope.  

In my life, I have found hope in despair, but only when there was a spark, a spark of light in the darkness. I cannot imagine how difficult it must be to find hope when there is only darkness and a promise of more darkness.  As Christians, we always have a reason to hope, even when all seems lost.  We find that reason in scripture. We find it in this community of faith.  We find it in our worship. 

However, sometimes we do not have the energy to look for hope.  We don’t want to have to find it.  We want it to come to us. Occasionally that happens. Sometimes, hope is easy.  In times of suffering and despair, it is not. It can feel almost impossible.   

After his experience in the concentration camp, Viktor Frankle wrote a lot about humanity’s search for meaning.  He specialized in the study of psychology and religion.  While he survived the concentration camp, both of his parents and his wife died.  There is no way to explain away the murder of 6 million people.  We cannot always explain suffering away by saying there is a reason for it all.  While I doubt that Frankle claimed a reason for the suffering of so many, he found a way to learn from his own.  During his life and career, he was able to help a lot of people because of what we had learned from his own suffering.  He wrote, "What is to give light must endure burning."

In Advent, we talk a lot about light. We light a new candle every week and sing about the light of Christ.  Even in popular culture, there is light. We hang lights on our bushes and trees.  We put up a tree inside the house and cover it with lights.  We put electric candles in our windows.  We do that because it is festive and pretty. We do it because we don’t want to be the only house on the block without lights.  There is also a deeper reason.  We do it because the nights are longer and the days are shorter. We need more light in our lives. 

While Christmas lights are easy to hang (relatively) and candles are easy to light, discovering the light within ourselves can be much more challenging.  In life, we will endure hardship and pain.   Often we find the strength to endure those things because we know they will end.  Sometimes that hope that the suffering will end is not enough.  Sometimes the suffering is so great, the pain lasts so long, we need something else to keep us going.  In those times, we tend to look for a reason for the suffering.  Perhaps we would be better not to look for a reason why we are suffering, but to search for something that we can learn from that suffering. Because in learning something from our own suffering, we might be able to ease the pain of another.  We might be the light of Christ for someone who cannot find it on their own. 

While I do not agree with Frankle that what gives light must endure burning, I do believe that our lights have the capacity to burn a little brighter after we have endured the burning.  And because they are brighter, they will reach even farther into the hearts that need the light the most.

In the end of our reading, Paul provides a benediction.  Benediction is a fancy word for blessing.  We end every service with a benediction from the clergy. This was Paul’s blessing to the Romans and one I share for all of you, “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that you may abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.” 

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[1] Romans 8:24-25