Sermons: #hope

Showing posts with label #hope. Show all posts

Sunday, March 26, 2023

God Holds Hope

March 26, 2023
St. John’s United Church of Christ, Union, Illinois

Three years ago, the pandemic reminded us that we are fragile. We like to think we’re self-sufficient, until the underlying systems we rarely think about start to fall apart. With our health and our lives at risk in new ways, we worry more now, about our own health and about loved ones who may be even more fragile than us. Even though things have returned to something resembling normal, they are different. We have experienced loss and change.

Loss and change are part of the cycle of life. It can be good at times. Losing what has been hurtful is a positive change. Renewal and new beginnings are positive change. But loss and change can also be negative; and certainly, the anticipation of loss and change increases our anxiety. When we are experiencing the negative aspects of loss and change, it can be helpful to name that experience as grief.

I have found it helpful to remember that God is familiar with loss, change, and grief. God has been with us through the pandemic, is with us in this moment, and will be with us in the coming months as we say goodbye and begin to plan for what is next. God knows our sorrow, receives our fears, and soothes our hearts and minds. In the valley of dry bones, in front of the tomb of Lazarus, God holds hope for us who struggle to hold on to hope. God gives life, and God renews life even when death seems to have won.

We made it through the crisis of COVID, and you will make it through this new season of change. It will be difficult at times. As I depart and others stand in this place, as you miss what was, you may feel like your bones are drying up. You may feel that you are losing hope, that the church can’t go on.

You will go on, my friends, as a community of faith. St. John’s is a family of strong, faithful, generous, and kind people. You have fed the hungry, sheltered the homeless, and welcomed strangers and friends. There is a warmth here that the cold winds of winter can’t diminish. Pastors come and go, yet you remain committed to the Word and will of God, empowered by the grace of the Holy Spirit.

God brought Ezekiel to the valley of dry bones to give him a message of hope. “Thus says the Lord God to these bones: I will cause breath to enter you, and you shall live.”[2] This is not the end, not for Israel, and not for you. Even as you cry out, “Our bones are dried up, and our hope is lost; we are cut off completely,”[3] God reassures you that you will rise again, that even death does not have the last word. “I will put my spirit within you, and you shall live, and I will place you on your own soil; then you shall know that I, the Lord, have spoken and will act, says the Lord.”[4]

God asks, “Can these bones live?” Ezekiel answers, “O Lord God, you know.”[5] God knows because this is the God of Israel, the God who created the world and all that lives, who gave children to Abraham and Sarah who was thought to be barren, who set free the Hebrew people from slavery in Egypt and made the covenant to be their God, who called on them through the prophets to seek the way of life. This is God who gave Ezekiel a vision of dry bones coming to life in order to give hope to the people in exile, to revive their spirits and breathe life back into them. This is God who, in the midst of a global pandemic, breathed life into us, and held on to hope for us.

The breath of God, the Holy Spirit that brought life into the dry bones, is the same breath that filled the lungs of the crucified Jesus, raising him to life in the resurrection. That same breath caused Lazarus to come out from his tomb. That same breath filled our lungs in the moment of our birth and as we rose to newness of life in our baptism. The breath of God brings life, and new life even in the midst of loss, change, and grief.

In the incarnation, the breath of life in the flesh, we find that God truly enters our humanity. Jesus was a fragile human like us, who knew joy and pain, friendship and grief. In this scene from John’s gospel, as Jesus makes a risky trip to Bethany, we see him in one of his most human moments. “When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who came with her also weeping, he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved.”[6]

“Jesus wept”[7] is shortest verse in the King James Version of the Bible, translated slightly differently here, and one of great significance. As one scholar writes, “This is an emotionally profound testimony to the truth of the incarnation itself, of Jesus being truly one of us to the point of sharing our human need for friendship and our grief at the loss of a friend.”[8] Jesus knows what it is to grieve. Jesus wept at the tomb of Lazarus, and Jesus weeps for every life that ends. Even knowing that he had the power to reverse death and bring Lazarus to life, Jesus stops to mourn.

You are faced with a change, but not the end. You are faced with loss, but not death. You will make it through this transition to a new day. It will be difficult, but trust that God will see you through. “I will put my spirit within you, and you shall live”[9] says the Lord. “Jesus said to [Martha], ‘I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.’”[10] May the hope that God holds sustain you through this change and all the changes to come. Amen.

[1] The scripture quotations contained herein are from the New Revised Standard Version Bible, copyright © 1989 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the U.S.A. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

[2] Ezekiel 37:5.

[3] Ezekiel 37:11.

[4] Ezekiel 37:14.

[5] Ezekiel 37:3.

[6] John 11:33.

[7] John 11:35, The Holy Bible, Authorized Version (King James Version).

[8] John Rollefson, Homiletical Perspective on John 11:1-45 in Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary, Year A, Vol. 2, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, General Editors (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), p. 141.

[9] Ezekiel 37:14.

[10] John 11:26.

Sunday, November 27, 2022

Keep Awake

November 27, 2022 – First Sunday of Advent
St. John’s United Church of Christ, Union, Illinois

Isaiah 2:1-5; Matthew 24:36-44[1]

We live in a time of uncertainty. There is certainly plenty to cause us anxiety these days. There is the ongoing war in Ukraine, rising tension between China and the West, deadly protests in Iran, and never-ending conflict between Israel and Palestine. There is inflation, or maybe it’s easing up. There is the triple threat of COVID, RSV, and the Flu. And always, the political strife in our country. Things can seem pretty dark in the world right now. Are the nations beating their ploughshares into swords, and their pruning hooks into spears? It seems that way sometimes. And it seems as if there is little we can do about it except worry.

I worry about how I’m going to pay for college for Zach and Nathan. I worry about my retirement fund, the health of my mother-in-law, and when the cars are going to give out; and I worry about what I see and read in the news. What does it all mean? Where are we headed? And is there anything I can do about it? Sometimes, dare I say it, I fear for the future. I’m sure there are times when you do as well. Change comes faster and faster these days, and it’s hard to keep up with it all.

Part of that fear, I suppose, is because I think I’m supposed to know the answers. I’m a faithful person, I believe in God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit, the Bible, the Church Universal, etcetera. I’m supposed to have it all figured out, right? But my faith doesn’t always help me figure out the right thing to do. There are times when I have no idea what God would have me do in a given situation. There’s nothing in the Bible about smart phones, Twitter, antibiotics, electric automobiles, or radioactive pollution.

The disciples lived with uncertainty too. In our passage from Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus, whom the disciples have followed for years now, has entered Jerusalem and cleansed the temple. He has just finished a lengthy denunciation of the scribes and Pharisees in the previous chapter. The disciples, who know who Jesus is, are starting to worry that things are not going how they expected, and in their fear, they anticipate the end times. They ask Jesus, “Tell us, when will this be, and what will be the sign of your coming and of the end of the age?”[2]

Religious leaders, scientists, and philosophers have been making predictions for the end of the world for centuries. They’ve predicted the destruction of the world through floods, fires, and comets—none of which have come to pass. The apostle Paul got it wrong; and even Jesus predicted that “this generation will not pass away until all these things have taken place.”[3]

Jesus tells them about many signs of the end of the age; but more importantly he says, “about that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son.”[4] There is some mysterious day in the future when the judgment will come, but even Jesus doesn’t know when that will be. Yes, Jesus doesn’t know everything; and you know what? We’re not supposed to know everything either. Uncertainty is to be expected. It is nothing to fear. And faith certainly doesn’t mean living without uncertainty, not for the disciples, and not for us.

It is possible to live with uncertainty, to keep moving steadily into the future with no guarantee that we’re on the right path. We can live with the questions, seeking different answers if the old ones stop making sense. In order to keep us steady through the uncertainty of life, Jesus points us toward the everyday tasks of living – eating and drinking, marrying, working in the fields and grinding meal – doing them faithfully in wakefulness. Keep living your life, keep an eye on what is to come, but keep your focus on the here and now. Live a faithful life, and keep awake.

“You know what time it is,” Paul wrote to the Romans, “how it is now the moment for you to wake from sleep.”[5] Things may seem dark in the world today, but “the night is far gone, the day is near.”[6] It may be dark now, but a change is coming. When the doorbell rings, it will be too late to clean the house. Jesus is coming; quick, everyone look busy!

Don’t just stand around watching the skies and waiting for the rapture. We don’t have time for that! We should do good works. We should do the best we can, uncertain whether we are right or wrong at times, but faithfully going about the work we believe God would have us do in this world. And, fear not! We’re not supposed to do everything ourselves. We’re not supposed to save the world. That job is already taken. Our role is to be God’s hands in the world, to work toward the realm of God, and the work that we do will be enough. Our task is to keep faith, joy, and love alive in the midst of dark times, and watch for the signs of hope.

What we must do is choose how we go about that work of doing good in the world. Mark Yurs, a pastor in Wisconsin wrote, “The key element for Jesus is not the work, important as it is. The indispensable part of faithful work is [what] Jesus names as watchfulness or wakefulness.” [7] The disciple is the one who is watchful for the signs of the coming realm of God. “Hope will come,” Rev. Yurs continues, “the deepest, best, and highest shall come – not from our work but from somewhere outside and beyond it.”[8] The disciples don’t bring the hope, they point out where hope is present.

We are faced with an uncertain future. Things look grim, for many people around the world, for people in this community, and for people in this room. And so, we must make a decision. We can’t go backward, searching for halcyon days that weren’t as golden as we like to remember them. We can’t stick with the old reality. If we do that, things will only get worse. We have to start living in the now, and living into the future. The decision we face is how we shall live. Will we fear the new reality, or will we face it with hope? Do we trust the signs? Do we trust the prophets? Do we trust Emmanuel?

How do we live into the future? Do we allow ourselves to be motivated by fear, or do we watch for signs of hope? Do we point out all the things that give us reason to give up, or do we keep our eyes open for ways in which we can make a difference? Do we turn our backs to the poor, or do we work together as people who have faith that things can be better? As Christians, we live into the future with glad anticipation, with hopeful urgency, awake with expectation of the dawn. “In days to come the mountain of the Lord’s house shall be established as the highest of the mountains, and shall be raised above the hills; all the nations shall stream to it.”[9]

Let us pray. O come, O come, Emmanuel. God be with us. Cheer our spirits, disperse the clouds of night. Show us the path of knowledge, give us hope, and fill the whole world with heaven’s peace. Jesus, as we come to your table, take from us our fear, and give to us your hope. Amen.

[2] Matthew 24:3.

[3] Matthew 24:34.

[4] Matthew 24:36.

[5] Romans 13:11.

[6] Romans 13:12.

[7] Mark E. Yurs, “Homiletical Perspective” on Matthew 24: 36-44 in Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary, Year A, Volume 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), p. 21-25.

[8] Ibid.

[9] Isaiah 2:2.

Sunday, August 7, 2022

Live by Faith and Hope

August 7, 2022
St. John’s United Church of Christ, Union, Illinois

Hebrews 11:1–3, 8–16; Luke 12:32–40

Are you waiting for something? Are you expecting something to happen, but you don’t know when? We spend a lot of our time waiting. We wait in line to check out at the grocery store. We wait for the light to change from red to green. We wait for the inspiration to come. We wait for the computer to boot up. With all this waiting, you’d think we would be good at it. We should be able to wait, as Jesus said, “like those who are waiting for their master to return from the wedding banquet.” Our lamps are ready to be lit, we’re awake and alert, ready to go!

The thing is, we know that when the waiting is over, the time for change has come - and change is scary. The moment comes and… we let it pass us by. The big day arrives and we’re afraid to move, to act, to change, to stop waiting. There is a song by Sarah McLachlan that captures the sense of despair that can accompany waiting:

Spend all your time waiting
For that second chance
For a break that would make it okay.
There's always some reason
To feel not good enough
And it's hard, at the end of the day.[1]

Waiting is comfortable. We have our routine, the same day to day, week to week, a comfortable rhythm. Waiting doesn’t require much of us. The thing is, if we just wait, often what we hope for never happens. Maybe what needs to happen is waiting on us.

Abraham had been promised a land, a people, descendants numbered like the stars. But ages went by, and he and his wife, Sarah, grew old. Still, he had faith. “By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to set out for a place that he was to receive as an inheritance; and he set out, not knowing where he was going.” Even as he waited for the promises of God to be fulfilled, Abraham continued to do as God asked, until finally God came through. “Therefore, from one person, and this one as good as dead, descendants were born, ‘as many as the stars of heaven and as the innumerable grains of sand by the seashore.’” Abraham lived by faith and hope, and became known as the father of many nations.

After college I took a job at the bank. Just something to pay the bills while I waited to figure out what I really wanted to do with my life. It was nine years before my waiting was over, and by then I had grown pretty comfortable with my routine. But I had faith and hope for what was next; and when I felt called, I got moving.

Change for me meant leaving my hometown of Denver, moving to a tiny apartment in Chicago, and starting school again. It was very hard to leave that old life behind. I left my family, my friends, and many things I loved. I fell to a low point of loneliness and sadness in that time. But with the help of my new community, the strength and wisdom I had gained as I waited, and with some faith in the calling I had received, I began to rise from that low point and in my new life I began to shine.

The change that comes at the unexpected hour may begin with things getting worse. It is difficult to overcome inertia. There is loss, and some cherished things must be left behind. Moving in a new direction takes a lot of energy. There are those who will oppose the change, and will tell you that you’re making a mistake. I remember thinking, “What have I done?” But with the help of those around you, with faith in the strength of God to see you through, and with the knowledge that the light of the world has come into your heart, you can face the end of waiting.

Maybe you’re ready. Perhaps you have made purses that do not wear out, an unfailing treasure in heaven. Your lamp is lit. You’re at the door. The excitement of finally going fills you with joy. Isaiah, the prophet, was ready. When he heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” He replied, “Here am I; send me!”[2] When the road ahead is clear and well-marked, and you’re ready, moving on is easy. When the way is less clear, or a fork appears in the road, we hesitate.

A decision must be made. Which way shall I go, which choice shall I choose? Often, it is facing a decision, choosing one thing and losing another, that causes us to keep waiting. We fear making the wrong choice, or losing out on something because we have chosen something else. The songwriter David Wilcox puts it succinctly:

I was dead with deciding - afraid to choose.
I was mourning the loss of the choices I'd lose.
But there's no choice at all if I don't make my move,
And trust that the timing is right;
Yes, and hold it up to the light.[3]

When the waiting is over, start moving. If you hold your choice up to the light, you’ll be moving in the direction that leads toward God. The change may be hard at first, but don’t give up hope, for after the fall comes a rising. The prophet Simeon said that Jesus was destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel. We are a resurrection people, and though we fall, we rise again to new life, and to the fulfillment of our calling to seek the realm of God.

“But know this: if the owner of the house had known at what hour the thief was coming, he would not have let his house be broken into. You also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour.” Let’s be ready when the time comes, trusting that the timing is right, already moving forward with faith and hope, forward toward the kin-dom of God.

[1] Sarah McLachlan, “Angel” on Surfacing (Wild Sky Studios, 1997).

[2] Isaiah 6:8.

[3] David Wilcox, “Hold It Up to the Light” on Big Horizon (A&M Records, 1994).

Sunday, November 28, 2021

The Way of Peace

November 28, 2021
St. John’s United Church of Christ, Union, Illinois

Jeremiah 33:14-16; Luke 1:57-80 [1]

The Greeks had already conquered Palestine, and now the Romans had taken over. The land of the Jews was occupied by enemies, by people who hated them and tried to turn them away from serving God. The people of God sat in darkness, in the shadow of death. Luke tells us that it was in the face of these circumstances that hope was born, a sign of salvation was given to the people. Elisabeth and Zacharias, in their old age, gave birth to John, who would be known as the Baptizer. This child would be called the prophet of the Most High and would go before the Lord to prepare his ways.

The sign of the coming of God into the world, the herald announcing the coming of the Christ was this child. The promise of God, the holy covenant, the oath sworn to our ancestor Abraham was to be fulfilled. The knowledge of salvation and the forgiveness of sin would break from on high like the dawn, and the first proclamation of the coming of God into the world was made at the ceremonial blessing of a child – the circumcision of John. This ancient sign of God’s covenant with the Jews would be transformed into a blessing of water and spirit – baptism – symbolizing the grace of God, the new life that we have in Christ.

In the ceremony of baptism, we remember the covenant of God’s grace and we promise to help our children to be faithful members of the church of Jesus Christ, by celebrating Christ’s presence and by furthering Christ’s mission in all the world. We promise on behalf of our children until they are ready, in the act of confirmation, to affirm their baptism and take on that responsibility for themselves.

In this day and age, it seems strange. We bring our infants to the church and in front of everyone we promise that they will continue Christ’s mission! Why do we do that? Could it be that we see something in them? Could it be that they symbolize something? Could it be that children are a powerful symbol of hope?

I know that I have hopes and dreams for my children. I don’t know that they will become prophets of the Most High God, but I do hope they will make the world a little better. There are already signs, like the way the both helped with the packing and moving of my in-laws this past week. “How can I help?” is more than a simple offer of labor. It is our opportunity to allow young people to participate in what we’re doing. In the church, it is our opportunity to welcome them into the mission of the church.

And what is that mission? Well, the prophecy of Zacharias said that Christ would guide our feet into the way of peace. In a troubled time, what a powerful message of hope! God has shown us mercy and will guide us to peace. We surely need peace to come in our time. Tensions between nations continue to concern us, and at home we are wrestling with one another over masks, vaccines, and anything else we can come up with. We need help finding the way of peace.

To guide us in the way of peace – you mean these children? They are supposed to lead us? Toward peace? Well, yes. And I think they might be good at it. After all, Jesus himself said that we must become like children in order to enter the realm of God. They must know something we don’t. Or maybe it’s something we’ve forgotten.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” We ask that question of all children, many times, and we laugh and we marvel at their plans and their dreams. But what is it that we are really doing? We are asking them to envision the future. Having a vision is crucial for the vitality of a church or any organization. As adults, however, we don’t ask each other about our visions for the future very often. That’s something for the planning meeting. But we ask our children about their vision all the time.

That question about growing up could also be phrased, “What is your vision for the future?” or maybe “Where will your feet take you?” If the feet of our young folk are walking in the way of peace, are we willing to follow? If we risk the unthinkable, and follow where the little child leads, we might discover a way both familiar and strange, a way of peace, hope, and love.

Sunday, May 16, 2021

While He Was Blessing Them

May 16, 2021
St. John’s United Church of Christ, Union, Illinois

Ephesians 1:15-23; Luke 24:44-53 [1]

The tomb was empty and Jesus, alive again, appeared to the disciples. Then, Luke tells us, “While he was blessing them, he withdrew from them and was carried up into heaven.”[2] Jesus the person was gone. Their last memory of him was not the frightening night in the garden when the soldiers came. It was not the horror of the crucifixion. It was not even the confusion and bewilderment of Easter morning. When he withdrew from them at last, their memory was of his blessing, a blessing that didn’t end but continued even as he left.

Parting from those we love, saying goodbye, is never easy. We’re often standing beside the hospital bed, holding a hand that is colder than before, blinking back tears as we try to express our love in some meaningful way. Other times, we hear the news over the phone that breaks our hearts. What a contrast, then, for Jesus to leave them with hearts full of joy and wonder, blessing them without ceasing. Perhaps they knew by the way he left that the blessing would never stop, that just because they could no longer see him did not mean he was no longer with them.

There is a sense that the departure of Jesus opened, rather than closed, a chapter in the story. The first part is over, but the story continues, and now is carried forward by the apostles. The new church continues the mission, now with people who will believe not because they have seen Jesus, but because they have seen his followers and heard the witness of those who have been blessed.

In a very real way, a new chapter does begin, since the author of Luke continued the story in the Acts of the Apostles. The main character of the Gospel has left the stage, but the new characters take on the lead. New figures emerge, strong leaders in their own right such as Paul. The stage expands, pulling back from Jerusalem and Galilee to reveal a wider world that will include Turkey, Greece, and Italy, and eventually circle the globe.

It was with immeasurable hope that the apostles went from Bethany to Jerusalem, and beyond. They had been reminded in their last moments together of all that had come to pass. Their minds had been opened to understand the scriptures in a new way, in light of the crucifixion and the resurrection, the suffering and the renewal. They would continue the mission of Christ transformed by the renewal of their spirits, and soon by the continual presence of the Holy Spirit.

They would need the help. The apostles would encounter resistance to their message, bitterness and resentment from those who had been their friends and families. They would face persecution from their religious leaders and from the Roman government. They would weather stormy seas, be imprisoned, harassed and even killed. But they would not give up; they would endure because of that blessing by the departing Christ that continues to bless the church even today.

“He withdrew from them and was carried up into heaven.”[3] There is in that vision a powerful pull on our souls. We no longer think of heaven as being physically above us, up in the clouds somewhere, over the moon and behind the sun. We do, however, hold on to that upward vision in our spirits and our hearts. As Yale professor Thomas Troeger wrote in a commentary on this text, “The direction ‘up’ may have left our cosmology, but it has never left our souls.”[4]

Think of how we use the word up. Rise up. Look up at the stars. Get up on your feet. Stand up for what is right. Reach up to what is next. Lift every voice and sing. When I look up to the hills, where my hope comes... The hope that leads us upward and onward is the hope that keeps calling to us, keeps beckoning us to reach beyond what we are to what we will become.

Like a long steady climb up the mountain, we are on an upward trajectory. As we go, we may stumble, but we get up, dust ourselves off, and walk on. There will be rivers and streams, troubled waters to cross, and perilous footholds, but we’ll make it across if we keep our heads up. The night may fall, bringing shadows and darkness to hide the path; but, if we look up to the stars, we can find a way. What keeps us going, what helps us overcome, is that which rises within us from the spirit that lifts us up.

Where do we go from here? There is nowhere to go but up! Though Jesus withdrew from them, on the way up he continued to bless them. As our ancestors have withdrawn from us, they continue to bless us on our journey. Keep your chin up. There may be a long way to go. The way may be difficult. But as we go, we continue to receive the ceaseless blessing of Christ empowering us to minister to one another and to a world in need of blessing. With the eyes of your heart enlightened, may you know what is the hope to which God has called you, the fullness of him who fills all in all. Amen.

[2] Luke 24:51.

[3] Luke 24:51.

[4] Thomas H. Troeger, Homiletical Perspective on Luke 24:44-53 in Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary, Year B, Vol. 2, David L. Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor, General Editors (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), p. 523.

Sunday, August 9, 2020

Have Courage

August 9, 2020

St. John’s United Church of Christ, Union, Illinois

Matthew 14:22-33

The disciples had been through another stormy night. There is the story of Jesus asleep in the stern during a storm, but that is a different story. This time, they faced the storm without their leader. Battered by the waves, far from land, with the wind against them, they rode out the night. It takes courage to endure the storm, to wait for the dawn in hope that the storm will pass.

It took even more courage for Peter to get out of the boat and walk toward Jesus on the water. “Jesus spoke to them and said, ‘Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.’”[1] Peter, ever the bold one, swallows his fear and ventures out onto the sea. He tries to stay focused, but the wind was strong and his fear returned, and he began to sink.

I remember helping a member of my youth group walk across the high ropes course at Pilgrim Park Camp. Despite her fear of heights, she had made it up the pole, and across the first easy stretch, but now she had to trust only her balance and the ropes and harness to keep her from falling. She froze, and no amount of encouragement shouted from below could get her moving. So I put on a harness and climbed up to the place across from her.

At first, I just talked, reminding her what a great sister she was to her younger siblings, and got her to tell me about their new dog. Finally, I said, “You already have the courage to do this inside you. Just look at me and walk. Say to yourself, I will do this.” She finally started moving, made it to the next pole, and together we made it around to the way back down.

Fear is a natural response to danger. Fear kept our ancestors from being eaten by lions, and from falling over the edge of a cliff. Fear can keep us safe. Fear can also keep us frozen, unable to move forward, unable to grow. Fear of falling kept my friend safe, but she couldn’t stay up on that ropes course forever. She had to get moving. Fear of the stormy sea kept the disciples inside the boat, but they would never be more than fishermen if they didn’t follow Jesus.

An obscure author named Ambrose Redmoon once wrote: “Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgment that something else is more important than one's fear.” [2] You may have heard or read this before. It has been quoted in recognition of many who have shown bravery in the face of danger, police officers, fire fighters, soldiers, and others who overcame danger and fear to accomplish what needed to be done.

Having courage does not mean to be reckless or foolhardy. Those acts show a lack of fear, a failure to recognize the danger, or to not understand or care about the consequences of one’s actions. The brave person knows the fear, recognizes the risk, and balances that risk against the need for action and consequence of inaction. The firefighter knows to fear the fire, but also knows that in that burning building, there may be a life in need of saving. The Coast Guard swimmer knows the fear of drowning, but dives into the stormy sea for the same reason.

Now, Peter didn’t have to jump out of the boat. Jesus wasn’t drowning. That might have been cause for an act of bravery. Perhaps that’s why he falters, and begins to sink. Maybe he thinks a bold, showy act of faith is how this is supposed to work. So, he gets scolded, “You of little faith, why did you doubt?”[3] I think that what Jesus may mean here is not faith in himself, or in God. After all, Peter will go on to become the leader of the church. I think that Jesus is pointing out the lack of faith that Peter has in himself.

When we doubt ourselves, we limit what we are able to do. My friend up on the ropes trusted me and the others in our group. It was doubt in herself that kept her from moving. When you doubt that your writing is any good, you never send the manuscript to the publisher. When you doubt your ability to make something good, you never start the project. When you doubt that you can make a difference in the world, the gifts that you might share languish.

Courage to get started, to get moving, requires knowing the fear, the danger, and trusting in yourself enough to hold that fear and move anyway. That trust in yourself comes with time and experience, but it also comes from recognizing the presence of the holy that is within you.

Peter looked for Jesus out on the water to save him. He forgot that God’s Spirit was already within him, and it was trust in that presence that could give him the courage to stay on the surface of the water. God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit, they are out there, yes. But they are also in here, in our being. God is not separate from us, but part of us, and we are part of God.

One of the great theologians of the past century, Paul Tillich, wrote of courage and its connection to God. In The Courage to Be, Tillich said that we are faced with tremendous anxiety. There is the anxiety of fate and death. There is the anxiety of emptiness and meaninglessness. And there is the anxiety of guilt and condemnation.

But the only way to overcome all of these is to face and accept them with courage. “Courage,” Tillich said, “is the self-affirmation of being in spite of the fact of nonbeing.”[4] We are ultimately faced with the reality that one day we will die. But we can become confident of our own personal existence only if we cease to base that confidence on ourselves. The courage to be is confidence in God who is being-itself.

When it is guilt that causes us to fear, we must remember that “the courage to be is the courage to accept oneself as accepted in spite of being unacceptable.”[5] God loves us and accepts us despite all our guilt. When it is self-doubt that causes us to fear, we must have the courage to trust that we are able to accomplish what must be done because of the presence of the holy within us.

We are part of the one who infinitely transcends our individual selves. “Faith is the state of being grasped by the power of being-itself.”[6] In spite of the seemingly infinite distance between us, God nevertheless accepts us into being. Even our death is not the end of meaning because God is not bound by death, and we belong to God.

The faith that leads us to have courage is faith that in spite of all that is set against us, in spite of fear and doubt, guilt and anxiety, we are one with the infinite, with God who promises to never leave us or forsake us. Let us then be brave as we do what must be done, as we seek for a way forward, as we prepare to meet the dawn with hope. Amen.

[1] Matthew 14:27. The scripture quotations contained herein are from the New Revised Standard Version Bible, copyright © 1989 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the U.S.A. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

[2] From "No Peaceful Warriors!" (1991) by Ambrose Redmoon, available from gnosis@lumen.org.

[3] Matthew 14:31.

[4] Paul Tillich, The Courage to Be (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1952), 155.

[5] Ibid., 164.

[6] Ibid., 172.

Sunday, March 29, 2020

God Holds Hope for Us

March 29, 2020

St. John’s United Church of Christ, Union, Illinois

Ezekiel 37:1-14; John 11:1-45

This has been a hard week. I have been trying to reach out to church members, family, friends, as well as manage the needs of my children and our household. Mundane, everyday things seem to take more effort, simple errands aren’t simple any more, and trying to stay informed only makes me more sad and anxious.

I am grieving. You are too, I’m sure. We are all mourning losses, the loss of connection, the loss of normality, the loss of events and plans. Many of us are losing jobs. I have a friend who is a factory manager, and has been furloughed for a week. That’s better than the rest of the workers there who were laid off. Other people I know are faced with the daily trauma of what is happening as hospitals struggle to cope with too many patients and not enough equipment.

This pandemic reminds us that we are fragile. We like to think we’re self-sufficient, until the underlying systems we rarely think about start to fall apart. Our health, our lives, are at risk in new ways, and we worry about our loved ones who may be even more fragile than us. It is helpful for me to recognize my experience in this as grief. And it may be helpful for you to take time to name the losses that you are facing in this time.

I have also found it helpful to remember that God is familiar with loss, grief, and the fragility of life. God is with us in this moment, hearing our cries, receiving our fears, and soothing our hearts and minds. In the valley of dry bones, in front of the tomb of Lazarus, God holds hope for us who have no hope. God gives life, and God renews life even when death seems to have won. We fragile humans were created in the image of God, and even the hairs on our heads are counted. Each of us, every one, is loved by God.

I think it is important to remember that we are loved by God, each one of us. I also think it is important to remember that even though God will love us after we die, and has prepared a place for us beyond the veil, God loves us now, in this life, and each life is precious. There is talk from some politicians about lifting quarantines, sending people to work despite the risk of spreading infection, and allowing some people to die in order to save the economy. I know that there are many who are already struggling to put food on the table, and it would be great for us all to be able to get back to work. But this kind of talk puts a price on human life, trading the image of God for the almighty dollar.

I read an article published on Thursday in the New York Times entitled “God Doesn’t Want Us to Sacrifice the Old.”[1] The author, Russel Moore, is the president of the Ethics and Religious Liberty Commission of the Southern Baptist Convention. Now, under normal circumstances, Moore and I would probably disagree on a lot of issues; but these are not normal times. Moore writes, “It’s true that a depression would cause untold suffering for people around the world, hitting the poor the hardest. Still, each human life is more significant than a trillion-dollar gross national product.” When we start to think of people in terms of dollar signs, we diminish the humanity of everyone. Moore goes on to say:

A life in a nursing home is a life worth living. A life in a hospital quarantine ward is a life worth living. The lives of our grandparents, the lives of the disabled, the lives of the terminally ill, these are all lives worth living. We will not be able to save every life. Many will die, not only of the obviously vulnerable but also of those who are seemingly young and strong. But every life lost must grip us with a sense of lament.

We depend on jobs, work, and money to make it day by day, and I understand the value of a good economy. We will return to work, things will get better, and we will be able to gather in large groups, shake hands, and hug our friends again. But we can’t do that until doing so will not result in preventable deaths, hospitals overrun with sick patients, and medical professionals dying because of a lack of protective equipment.

We can make it through this crisis. It will be difficult, particularly for people who are already struggling. As the days pass, the losses build, and our future seems less certain, we may feel like our bones are drying up. We may feel like we have lost hope, that we can’t make it through this to the other side.

God brought Ezekiel to the valley of dry bones to give him a message of hope. “Thus says the Lord God to these bones: I will cause breath to enter you, and you shall live.”[2] This is not the end, not for Israel, and not for us. Even as we cry out, “Our bones are dried up, and our hope is lost; we are cut off completely”[3] God reassures us that we will rise again, that death does not have the last word. “‘O my people. I will put my spirit within you, and you shall live, and I will place you on your own soil; then you shall know that I, the Lord, have spoken and will act,’ says the Lord.”[4]

God asks, “Can these bones live?” Ezekiel answers, “O Lord God, you know.”[5] God knows because this is the God of Israel, the God who created the world and all that lives, who gave children to Abraham and Sarah who was thought to be barren, who set free the Hebrew people from slavery in Egypt and made the covenant to be their God, who called on them through the prophets to seek the way of life. This is God who gave Ezekiel a vision of dry bones coming to life in order to give hope to the people in exile, to revive their spirits and breathe life back into them. This is God who in the midst of a global pandemic can breathe life into us as we gasp for breath, and raise us to newness of life.

The breath of God, the Holy Spirit that brought life into the dry bones, is the same breath that filled the lungs of the crucified Jesus, raising him to life in the resurrection. That same breath filled our lungs in the moment of our birth and as we rose to newness of life in our baptism. The breath of God still blows through the world, even a world that struggles to breathe, bringing life even in the face of this terrible illness.

In the incarnation, the breath of life in the flesh, we find that God truly enters our humanity. Jesus was a fragile human like us, who knew joy and pain, friendship and grief. In this scene, as Jesus makes a risky trip to Bethany, we see him in one of his most human moments. “When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who came with her also weeping, he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved.”[6]

“Jesus wept”[7] is the shortest verse in the King James Version of the Bible, translated slightly differently here, and one of great significance. As one scholar writes, “This is an emotionally profound testimony to the truth of the incarnation itself, of Jesus being truly one of us to the point of sharing our human need for friendship and our grief at the loss of a friend.”[8] Jesus knows what it is to grieve. Jesus wept at the tomb of Lazarus, and Jesus weeps for every life that ends. Even knowing that he had the power to reverse death and bring Lazarus to life, Jesus stops to mourn.

We can make it through this crisis. It will be difficult, but we can trust that God will see us through. “I will put my spirit within you, and you shall live” says the Lord. “Jesus said to [Martha], ‘I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.’”[9] May the hope that God holds for us sustain us until we can gather again in health, in fellowship, and in love. Stay home! Amen.

[1] Russell Moore, “God Doesn’t Want Us to Sacrifice the Old” March 26, 2020. Posted on: https://www.nytimes.com/.

[2] Ezekiel 37:5. Unless otherwise noted, the scripture quotations contained herein are from the New Revised Standard Version Bible, copyright © 1989 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the U.S.A. Used by permission. All rights reserved.