111724, Proper 28, Year B, Lectionary 33, 26th Sunday after Pentecost

Let us begin with a deep breath in and out.

I am mindful that when all is said and done in this text from Mark, it may be hard to be hopeful.

For example.  Ole and Sven were drinking buddies who worked as aircraft mechanics in Seattle.  One day the airport was fogged in.  And they were stuck in the hangar with nothing to do.

Ole says, “I vish ve had something ta drink!”

Sven says, “Me too.

Y’know.  I hear ya can drink dat jet fuel and get a buzz.  Ya vanna try it?”

So, they poured themselves a couple of glasses of high octane hooch and got completely smashed.

Next morning, Ole woke up and is surprised at how good he feels.  In fact, he feels GREAT!  NO hangover!  NO side effects.  Nothing!

The phone rang.  It vas Sven, who asks, “How iss ya feelin dis morning?”

Ole says, “I feel great.  How bout you?”

Sven says, “I feel great, too.  Ya don’t have no hangover?”

Ole says, “No, dat jet fuel iss great stuff—no hangover, nothing.  Ve oughta do dis more often.

Sven agreed, “Yeah, vell, but dere’s yust vun ting.”

Ole asks, “Vat’s dat?”

Sven questioned, “Haff you farted yet?”

Ole stopped to think, “No.”

“Vell, DON’T, ‘cause I’m in Portland.”

 

For Ole and Sven, sometimes, being stuck with nothing to do, it’s hard to be hopeful.

And for us, when we get fogged in and do something foolish or shameful or just plain wrong, we are hopeless.  When you see great buildings collapse, when you are led astray, when you hear of wars and rumors of war, when there are earthquakes and famines, when things are thrown down, and when chaos comes, it’s hard to be hopeful.

It’s hard.  Think of the anguish caused by Hurricane Helene causing widespread destruction and numerous fatalities across the Southeastern United States in late September.

Further, on Lopez Island, it’s hard to be hopeful when cooperation collapses among families, or neighbors, or within the congregation, when there is so much shame and blame, it is a time of deep anguish.

Amid our madness and ignorance, it is hard to be hopeful when every living system is declining, and the rate of the decline is accelerating.  When important rules like don’t pollute the water, soil, or air and don’t let the earth get overcrowded have been broken, it is hard to see all being well.

It is particularly hard when the end comes, when you are dying, when your internal organs begin to fail, and the only way of living is to be attached to medical machines and expensive medicine.  It is hard to experience the structure of death, when cell upon cell is being thrown down.  When the whole works, your brain and your body are in rubble, and when you encounter nothingness, it’s a difficult thing to hope.

There are other high octane disasters, but I will add this.  It is hard to be hopeful, when the greatest commandment to love God— “the Creator who loves us in such a huge way” (David James Duncan), when this commandment is no longer the greatest commandment.  And when the other greatest commandment to love neighbor and self is no longer the other greatest commandment—it is hard to be hopeful.

Dear congregation, how is hope possible?  When the end of human history seems imminent, how does one walk on the path of love?  Surely, we ought to ask: where is God at work in the world making life thrive?  How is God renewing, restoring, and sustaining it?  And how is the worldwide community including this congregation to joyfully participate in caring for the earth?

The end is near.  Beware.  And beware of what will happen to Jesus.  He predicts the fall of the Temple and three days later, the building blocks of his body fall.  The one who came to replace the Temple is killed.  The one who claimed to be the foundation of relationship to God breathes his last.  All his microbial life is dead.  And in the silence, we are stunned.  In the hopeless fog, we are bewildered, and we weep.

Now, according to biologist Janine Benyus, “Life creates the conditions that are conducive to life.”  I think Jesus understood that.  He acted with such awareness.  Today’s text begins with Jesus’ powerful prophesy of great buildings and great stones being thrown down.  And amid such chaos, Jesus ends with an even greater promise: birth.  Labor pangs are conducive to life, newborns live.

The promises in this story are that God suffers with us in our suffering, dies in our dying, and is interconnected to the mystery of birth.  As the labor of birth create new life, so following Jesus’ death, new life is revealed.  Love is at work.  Abundantly.  Yes, God’s life creates the conditions that are conducive to life, conducive to hope.

Dear hope filled people, in living on earth, there is anguish, anxiety, deep down despair, and fear of nothingness.  Amid fires, floods, human violence, and human weakness, we can lose our grip and fall so far that we can no longer see or hear the true God.  Yet, think again. You are a part of another story.  A story of infinite tenderness.  A story that transforms all the stories of heartache and death.  It is the story of Jesus becoming fully human.  Moreover, it’s the story where God is humbly present in every living creature.  It is the story of your baptism, where amid a congregation like this, you were buried with Christ by baptism into his death, so that from that day on, and forevermore, you live the new life of Jesus Christ himself.  And live that life, you will.

I invite you to hopeful humility.  For true hope is not self-made.  Hope comes from God.  Everything we have, including our most recent breath is grace, a gift from God.  Last night was not your last night, you woke up refreshed and seeing a new day born.  Dear sisters and brothers, I invite you to the humility that makes possible the web of true cellular hope.

Yes, I know, hope is hard labor but hear the good news.  Despite your experience of suffering and death, the new is on the horizon.  Birth will happen.  The promise is that God will reach into the nothingness of death and the entire world will be recreated.  Indeed, God has already done so.  For Jesus Christ has transformed death.  Jesus himself has entered the nothingness of death and begun the new birth.  By his resurrection, he has begun your new birth.

And in your new birth, you can be hopeful.  Friends, your hope is an interconnected hope shared in this congregation, a hope that is naked, honest, and passionate, a hope that is startling and graceful.  I invite you to embrace the mystery of birth pains and the hope in, with, and under you.

Take a moment to meditate on God’s Word for and with you.

 

Finally, a stewardship appeal.

The focus of stewardship is to think carefully about working with God in our world.  I invite you to prayerfully open yourself to God through your baptism.  Read the Bible. Pray.  Give your offerings.  Locally and globally, serve your neighbor.  As best you can, give of your time, talents, and treasure to Grace Episcopal Church.  We know that we can never fully realize the kin-dom of God.  Our mission is to serve God here in this place and it is often done by gradual measures, minor improvements, and piecemeal changes.  And you are invited to give of yourself.  We don’t totally transform the world.  God does.  And God uses you.

New birth is already possible.  You are the loving creation of a good God who entrusts you to a starting position on God’s team here on this island.  The cross of Jesus promises that when the end comes, you with Jesus Christ will pass through it to abundant life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Excerpt from a Poem, Sabbaths:VI by Wendell Berry

Found your hope, then, on the ground under your feet.

Your hope of Heaven, let it rest on the ground

underfoot.  Be lighted by the light that falls

freely upon it after the darkness of the nights

and the darkness of our ignorance and madness.

Let it be lighted also by the light that is within you,

which is the light of imagination.  By it you see

the likeness of people in other places to yourself

in your place.  It lights invariable the need for care

towards other people, other creatures, in other places

as you would ask them for care toward your place and you.

Proper5B-18, June 10, 2018

1 Samuel 8:4-20, 11:14-15; Psalm 138; 2 Corinthians 4:13-5:1; Mark 3:20-35

 

Yesterday was High School Graduation here on Lopez. It was as wonderful as ever. After a week of seeing TV footage of volcanic destruction in Hawaii and Guatemala, international meetings with leaders going poorly, the suicides of two famous people, and more scandals afoot in the political arena, it was nice to be at a genuine celebration for our young people. With any luck, they might create a better place for all of us. It would be ideal.

I like trying to see the potential in the world. These kids are not bright-eyed idealists and dreamers like we were at their age. All the members of this class have already been through adult challenges. Single parent homes due to divorce, death, and addictions; mental illness, physical limitations, bullying, peer pressure to push the envelope on things, plus figuring out their future plans.

So, for at least a few hours, they can celebrate the positives they have achieved, and the clean slate opening to them – a future that just might be brighter than where they are right now. Sounds like the voice of gloom or cynicism. Not so. It is very realistic. The parents and friends celebrating the graduation hope for a brighter future, a new chance, even while they too figure out all the challenges they live with.

A prayer that rang through my brain all week. “Keep watch, dear Lord, with those who work or watch, or weep this night, and give your angels charge over those who sleep. Tend the sick, Lord Christ, give rest to the weary, bless the dying, soothe the suffering, pity the afflicted, and shield the joyous, and all for your love’s sake.”

Graduation was in the ‘shield the joyous’ part of that prayer. Keep them in a joyous place for as long as possible. The real world comes back quickly enough.

The rest of the prayer was with me all week, too. “The weary, the dying, the suffering, the afflicted.” Not just on television in far away places, but on Lopez. We try to balance the joy joys and the challenges we face every day.

These graduates are a tight-knit class. Their teachers, parents, family, neighbors, mentors encouraged them to grow into themselves. We all have our circles of families, co-workers, and friends who still do help us through life, to keep us grounded.

We are a blend of strengths and weaknesses, talents and handicaps. We chose work and play according to what we can do.  We adjust to our lives by working with and adapting to what suits our set of God-given traits. God gives us both blessings and challenges. For a reason. We are only whole when we reach out to others to fill the gaps in our own selves.

It doesn’t always work. We may get kicked out because we don’t follow what others expect from us. We may chose to follow our own path. We may turn inward and “go it alone.”  That may not leave us with much support. “The house divided”, by choice or not.

We may even be turning away from God. Without God, who or what do we turn to? Thinking too highly in our own independent abilities? Our power or wealth?

The sad part of this is when we seek to fill the gaps with addictive behaviors that turn us inward, basically the deadly sins we read about that are in defiance of the 10 Commandments: envy, lust, pride, gluttony, and pride. Remember also anger and laziness. God sees these things and wants us to return to living outside ourselves, in community, in support of each other. God wants us to see ways that we can give to each other, not only take advantage of each other. Love your neighbor.

I am not talking about those of us who are challenged with physical or mental difficulties. It is how we work with our chronic illness or disabilities that show where we have God’s grace. How we learn to accept and adapt our lives – controlling or treating what we can, honestly understanding where we can still be part of God’s earthly community. How we help those who need us.

That prayer again? We are all the sick, the weary, the suffering, and the afflicted. We just don’t always let people see us in that way. Is it because we are afraid to show weakness, or are we in a state of grace with the help of care-givers, knowing that God is with us is enough to get us through another week. Physically, mentally and spiritually.

It takes work to stay connected to our family and friends. It is the hardest part of spiritual growth. We come to understand that God loves each one of us, and loves everyone else as much as he loves us. It is not a competition with anyone else to get God’s love. There is more than enough love for all of us.

We tend to share someone’s joy in receiving a diploma, a new job, a child. As long as we get ours too. But really, there are plenty of training programs, jobs, ways of creating family. We tend to be sad in sickness and loss. And sigh in relief that we are still whole. But really, we are sick and at a loss, too. God is more compassionate than we are. God wants us to know that we are all one body.

In most church run programs, the hungry or the homeless or the poor are fed first, then there is an offering of programs on how to help themselves. Like Saint Francis, the churches preach the Gospel, in some cases, using words.

We ask for God to tend to us – the sick, give rest to the weary, bless the dying, soothe the suffering, pity the afflicted, and above all shield the joyous, we know that it is all in God’s love. How God loves us, we love each other. Respecting their gifts and strengths, helping them in their weaknesses.

What more can we do?