Hope, Anyway

(Scriptures:  I Kings 17:8-24, Galatians 1:11-24, Luke 7:11-17)

 

 

 

Today’s readings give us, not one, but two accounts of men of God restoring life to the sons of widows from the dead:  Elijah, in I Kings, bringing life into the son of the widow of Zaraphath who had sheltered him, and Jesus, bringing life to the son of the widow of Nain.   The two accounts, while taking place centuries apart, have many elements in common – vulnerable widows who, in preparing to bury their deceased sons, are mourning not only their sons, but the loss of support that these sons would provide, mourning a future for themselves of poverty and hunger.   And in both cases, mourning turns to rejoicing as life is restored to the sons – in the case of the miracle performed by Jesus, the funeral processing is literally stopped in its tracks as the deceased sits up and starts to talk.

 

I suspect most of us have been to many funerals over the course of our lives, and I’ve been to my share.  During the summer after I graduated from high school, I worked for a family owned furniture store in which the same family ran the funeral home next door – that was often a common arrangement in days gone by, as the skills used to make a wooden casket aren’t that different from those used to make a wooden cabinet – and so during that summer, I experienced funerals from a slightly different angle.  And yes, I’ve conducted a handful of funerals, for church members and for non-members.  Each funeral has its own character.  And some have unexpected participants, such as the memorial service held here at Emanuel for a family in the neighborhood a few years ago, whose mom had passed.   It was summertime, and at some point, a sparrow had somehow gotten into the sanctuary – and during the memorial service, the sparrow insisted on flying back and forth from one side of the sanctuary to the other.    And every time the bird flew across the sanctuary, those at the memorial service kept pointing at the bird and saying “It’s her spirit, it’s her spirit!”  So funerals can take unexpected turns.  But they almost always end with mourners leaving a cemetery or church or funeral home grieving and preparing emotionally for life without a loved one by their side.

 

And so I have to confess, I really struggle with preaching on Biblical texts about miracles, and so I struggle to preach on today’s texts…and indeed, my sermon had all sorts of different titles at various points before I went with the title that’s in the bulletin, and even after I settled on a title  so that I could run off the bulletins, as I wrote today’s sermon, it seemed to have wandered in a slightly different direction than I’d planned.  Witnessing the dead restored to life seems so far from our experience.  How do we wrap our mind around accounts like today’s gospel reading?  I know that if I were conducting a funeral and the dearly departed sat up in the casket and started asking whether the Phillies were ahead or behind, I’d run out the door screaming, leaving footprints on the back of anyone who got in the way.  I daresay most of us would do the same thing.

 

And maybe that says more about me, and more about us, than we may think.  We think of death and taxes as the two things that are inescapable.   The death of loved ones brings pain and grief. Sudden or accidental death – such as that of those who were crushed in the building collapse downtown earlier this week – bring shock and even anger – anger at crooked contractors, at inspectors who didn’t do their jobs, even – or especially – anger at God.  Why did God allow this to happen?  And probably the most honest answer we can give is, “I don’t know.”  But we do have resources – our faith in God, the support of the church, the care of friends and family – to carry us through the dark valley of bereavement to come out on the other side.  But what if life springs up in a place in which we expect to find only death?  Are we prepared to handle that?   Or would it send us running out the door screaming?  Might we even be tempted to slam the lid back down on the casket?  I suspect that many of us can, at least some of the time, count ourselves in some measure among the members of the writer Flanner O’Connor’s fictional Church without Christ, where, as O’Connor wrote, “the blind don’t see and the lame don’t walk and what’s dead stays that way.”

 

And yet, as followers of the risen Christ, we can say that it is not the will of God that “what’s dead stays that way.” God’s will for us is not blindness nor lameness nor death, but life, abundant life, eternal life.  Jesus restored life to the son of the widow at Nain – not because she was especially virtuous or had especially strong faith, not because of any particular merit on her part, but rather because the widow and the mourners happened to have crossed paths with Jesus and his followers, and Jesus was moved by her grief and took pity on her. 

 

Earlier I said that seeing the dead restored to life seems beyond our experience…but is that true?  While we may not have an experience exactly like that of the widows in our readings, we worship a God who offers new hope and new life in the most seemingly hopeless situations.   Perhaps we know a friend or family member who at one time seemed hopelessly addicted to alcohol or drugs, who was restored to sobriety.   Or perhaps a relationship with a family member or former friend was seemingly broken beyond repair…but some months or years down the road, one of the estranged gave the other a phone call or sent a short note or email, and eventually the relationship was restored.  Perhaps we know of someone out of work who had lost hope of ever regaining employment, or someone stuck in a dead-end job that they hated, and someone reached out to them with a phone number or the name of a friend to contact, and lo and behold, they’re back in the workforce doing work that fulfills.  Here at Emanuel, we’ve prayed for healing for a number of people, and been surprised with joy at the recovery of people whose health problems had seemed desperate.  And in our congregation itself, we’re experiencing a renewal of life, with visitors finding their way here and becoming members, and with children being mentored in the faith in Sunday school.  These are all situations in which, out of death, God is bringing new life – all situations in which, on the other side of a crucifixion, is a resurrection. 

 

But with new life, with a resurrection, comes the unexpected, comes change.  The family of someone recovering from addiction will find their relationship with that person changing in unexpected ways, as the recovering person becomes more assertive in taking responsibility for his or her life.  We may be delighted at the restoration of a previously broken relationship – but may also find ourselves on the phone more than we had planned catching up on past events with the other person.  Someone returning to the workforce after a long dry spell may find fulfillment – but may also have to adjust mentally to the change in schedule, and may have to make some practical adjustments such as arranging for child care.  We’re surprised and delighted at new life – but also find ourselves having to make adjustments.  New life can be unpredictable, even messy at times.  It can be like that in the church as well… as our congregation is renewed, things may be less tidy and less predictable than before.  A few weeks ago, I saw some drawings in the social hall that were done by our Sunday school kids...and it had been a few years since I’d seen any drawings from Sunday school kids in this church…and as I looked, I just said to myself, “Thank God….thank God.” 

 

We worship a God who brings new life in the most unlikely circumstances – as Abraham and Sarah gave birth to Isaac in extreme old age, as Zechariah and Elizabeth gave birth to John the Baptist in their old age.  As followers of the Risen Christ, we believe that on the other side of crucifixion is resurrection.  So may we live in hope, even when our circumstances seem hopeless, knowing that we worship a God who makes a way out of no way, a God who guides our steps through the wilderness.  May we, like the widow at Zaraphath, have the hopeful generosity to share what little we have with others, even when we feel like we’re at the end of our resources.   And may we have the openness and the imagination to accept the new life God is offering us, even if it brings change and unpredictability.   May God continue to use Emanuel Church to bring new hope and new life to our neighbors in Bridesburg.  Amen.

 

 

Where You’d Least Expect

Scriptures: I Kings 8:22-23, 41-43,   Galatians 1:1-12,    Luke 7:1-10

This passage from Luke, among my favorite passages from Luke’s gospel, is rich with meaning because of the many connections the people in the account make across boundary lines of social position and religion.  It provides a surprising portrait of a Roman centurion – a Gentile, and part of the Roman occupation of Galilee – who, rather than oppressing, overflowed with care for his servant and for the Jewish community in which he was stationed.  In a Roman culture in which slaves were considered just another form of property, to be treated with the level of care we would show for our household appliances, the centurion went to considerable lengths to gain healing for this slave whom he valued highly.  In a Jewish culture which maintained strong boundaries between Jews and Gentiles, this centurion had already gained goodwill among the Jews by building the community synagogue – remarkable in itself - and now reached across ethnic lines to seek the help of the community elders in contacting Jesus.   And the Jewish elders showed surprising compassion and humility as they approached Jesus on the centurion’s behalf.  As Jesus responded to the plea of the centurion as relayed by the Jewish elders, we learn that the centurion overflowed not only with compassion, but with extraordinary faith as he trusted that Jesus could heal his servant from a distance.  So extraordinary was his faith that Jesus told the crowd, “Not even in Israel have I found such faith.”  For our sisters and brothers in the Roman Catholic tradition, a slightly adapted version of the centurion’s words live on to this day in the congregational response immediately before reception of the Eucharist, “Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word, and I shall be healed.”

The original readers of this account would have been reminded of another stories about the healing of foreigners – perhaps most strongly, that of Naaman, the Syrian commander who was healed by Elisha.  Like the centurion in our Luke account, Naaman sent emissaries to the king of Israel, asking the king to refer Naaman to someone who could heal him of a skin disease.  Like the centurion, Naaman the Syrian was willing to approach the Jewish prophet Elisha for healing.  Unlike the centurion, Naaman was furious when Elisha did not personally speak to Naaman, but merely gave instructions through a servant to dip himself seven times in the Jordan.  Fortunately, one of Naaman’s servants talked Naaman out of his anger at feeling snubbed, so that Naaman did as instructed and was cured – and became a worshipper of the God of Israel.

 The original readers of the Luke account might also have been reminded of the healing of the son of the widow of Zaraphath, about which we will read next week.  The widow lived in Sidon, and so, again, she was a foreigner.  Elijah, fleeing from the wicked king Ahab and queen Jezebel, heard the word of the Lord directing him to seek refuge with this widow.  The widow and her son were almost out of food, and about to eat their last meal together before dying – and yet, prompted by Elijah, she shared a little bit of that meal with the prophet.  In response, the prophet multiplied the food so that it lasted many days, and later raised the widow’s son, who had died.

 What are we to say of this?   One thing we learn is that God does not color within the lines we draw, so to speak.   In the Old Testament accounts, God’s generous mercy extends beyond the chosen people to foreigners, who respond with gladness and gratitude.  Amos tells of God’s grace in a way to shame Israel for feeling overly entitled, writing, “Did I not bring Israel up from Egypt, and the Philistines up from Caphtor, and the Arameans from Kir?”  That is to say, God’s gave deliverance not only to Israel, but also to the Philistines and the Arameans.  And Luke picks up this theme – of all the Gospels, Luke’s Gospel has the strongest message about Jesus’ inclusive ministry, and God’s inclusive love, not only of the chosen people, but of all those on the margins of society.  Indeed, in his very first sermon in his hometown synagogue, Jesus proclaimed, “There were many widows in Israel during the famine, but Elijah was sent to the widow of Zaraphath; there were many lepers in Israel, but Elisha was sent to Naaman the Syrian.”  For these words of inclusion, Jesus nearly got thrown off a cliff.  All’s the more wonder that the Jewish elders later were willing to seek Jesus out for the healing of the centurion’s slave – hey, maybe they actually did learn something from Jesus’ sermon.

2000 years later, we in the church are still trying to wrap our minds around the reality that God still insists on coloring outside the lines, that God’s generous love overflows in all directions.  God indeed loves those who have grown up in the church from infancy onward – but not only those once on the church’s cradle roll.  God’s love extends toward many people whom we’ve never met and never will meet, and toward many who are caught in our society’s struggle over who belongs and who doesn’t.  Think of the many debates raging in our country and in the church today.  In Bridesburg, the presence of racial diversity was historically a touchy topic – perhaps still is.  Our country is divided against itself on whether a path toward citizenship should exist for immigrants, and the number of hoops through which immigrants should be expected to jump along that path.  Muslims are routinely demonized, even more so since the 9-11 attacks, and with renewed venom since the bombings in Boston.  Likewise, while consensus is slowly moving at long last toward inclusion, our country is still deeply divided on the extension of civil rights; indeed, on the extension of so much as simple, basic human decency toward the LGBT community.   Pastors who preach about God’s generous love in these situations still risk being thrown off cliffs – or having weights tied around their necks and drowned in the nearest body of water.  And yet, as with the Roman centurion, faith in God can show up where you’d least expect.  We may find ourselves saying that “Not even in the church have we seen such faith.”

 Archbishop William Temple, of blessed memory within the Anglican community, famously preached that “The church is the only institution that exists for those who are not its members.”  Our church’s name, Emanuel, means “God with us.”  But not exclusively with us, and not exclusively for us.  God is with us at Emanuel, so that through our ministry, God can be with others.   

 

In a few minutes, we’ll be gathering about the table to share in Communion.  A strong message of the United Church of Christ, and a practice of Emanuel Church for many years, is that all seeking a closer relationship with Jesus Christ are welcome around the table.  There are no second class citizens in the Kingdom of God.  As we are invited to gather around the table, may we in turn invite others to share in the feast.  May it be so among us.  Amen.

Pastor Dave is back!

Apologies for being away for several months.  Emanuel Church has gone through a difficult transition in lay leadership.  Many of the sermons of the past few months were directed at guiding the congregation through the transition.  Things appear to be settling down, and so I'll be posting regularly again.