Well, folks, I'm back in the city again. And I'm sure the poor city noticed my absence. I arrived in my apartment yesterday afternoon, and noted that the two subletters, while managing not to burn the place down, and vacuuming the main room very nicely, had grievously neglected to do the same for the bathroom or the kitchen. Also, I think they were under the impression I would be returning in a few days? So they graciously left me milk. And bread. For over three weeks.
Bless their sophomore-ian collegiate hearts.
(See, I did learn something valuable in my time spent back in the South.)
Actually, the subletters were very nice, and sweet, and left me a happy note, with money to buy dinner! So I won't complain about them. I am far too busy being happy about returning to New York to complain about soap scum. Or almost passing out from the soap scum remover. (Dude, that stuff is strong. I had no idea. They weren't lying about the not inhaling. Whew.)
But scummy showers or not, it's so nice to be back in a nice big city with happy people who don't berate me for reading the NY Times or t
he BBC. Where stores are open on weekends, and past 6pm! Where I don't have to live in a constant state of low-level panic about whether or not my car will turn on that morning, or which semi-functioning car I will be forced to beg, borrow or steal that day in order to function myself. (I finally took AAA off speed dial. It was a glorious moment.) Where I don't have to think "Does this sound like something a Communist sympathizer would say?" before I speak. (Though, granted, that rule should probably stay in place a while longer.)
In short, while I honestly loved the people at my church in Virginia Beach, and I did love my time spent there, despite a few road bumps along the way, it's good to be home. If only to stop living out of a suitcase, which, I've discovered, I really hate after a while.
Anyway. Here's my last sermon from the beach, given on my last Sunday. I should warn you, the texts were
difficult. But I soldiered on, nonetheless, and went with the second OT reading.
Here we go:
There are some weeks when I wonder about the wisdom of the lectionary. I had a friend, growing up in Newport News, who was Southern Baptist, and never understood why we Episcopalians stuck to a schedule of readings and prayers. She was sure she’d get bored, if she came to church with me every Sunday. It’s weeks like this that I wonder if she didn’t have a point. Our lesson lineup is somewhat less than uplifting.
We start with Ecclesiastes---or Quoheleth in Hebrew, meaning the Preacher, who over the course of the book, comes to the conclusion that life is nothing but vanity, and a chasing after wind. Nothing lasts, and nothing is new, everything just goes round and round in a circle so there’s no real use in anything having to do with this mortal life.
Then we come around to the Gospel story, after Paul sternly reminds us not to get too invested in the ways of the flesh, and Jesus adds his two cents. He tells us of a man who was rich, and very prosperous, after working very hard. And then, after achieving all this wealth and prosperity, he promptly dies, and cannot enjoy it. We are sternly warned yet again about the frailty of this earthly existence.
It’s not a cheery day in the world of the lectionary, what with everything being vanity, and people dying all over the place. But maybe it is days like today that the lectionary was designed for—because these are probably the lessons that we would skip over if we could. These are the lessons we would prefer not to read. These are definitely the lessons I would prefer not to preach on.
These lessons remind us that our lives are frail. They aren’t permanent. Our lives, in this world, aren’t eternal. Like the rest of the world around us, we get sick, we get old, and we pass away. We aren’t permanent. Only our lives with God, in Christ, are permanent.
And for most of us, or at least, myself, though this may be true, it’s not a comfortable reality. We really don’t like to think about that, because it’s really frightening for us. We hate to think about getting older, getting sick, especially in our society. Think of how much of our society is structured around staying young, staying healthy, staying fit. Think of how many magazines alone are based around the idea of looking 10 years younger! We love the idea that we could live here forever and ever. Turn on the TV, and there will be, at any given time, several different ads for face creams that promise instant youthful results, and hair dye that will cover those greys. And of course, there’s definitely more pressure on women than there is on men.
My grandmother, for example, could easily pass as a woman in her late 50s, early 60s. She loves to wear very high heels, and knee-length skirts. I don’t believe I have ever seen her wear pants a day in my life. Her comment, once, upon hearing a suggestion that she move into a retirement community upon reaching her 78th birthday, was that ‘She didn’t want to be around all those old people.’ It’s funny, but it’s sad. She’s terrified of aging, because of what aging means.
But we, as faithful people, who have heard the good news, what do we do? While the rest of the world is shouting that we should pretend that we are eternal beings, do we have another choice? Do we have a better way?
This is our challenge as Christians; we don’t have forever here, so how should we live? We have two choices, it seems to me. Either we choose to live in fear of what’s coming, the coming end of the line, or we choose to not.
Either we choose to dread what we know somewhere in us will eventually come to everyone, either we choose to postpone it and deny it as much as we can, either we choose to act like it will happen to everyone else EXCEPT US!
Or we choose not to.
Because the other side of that coin is where the joy is. The other side of that coin is where hope is. The other side of that coin is where Christ is. We are Christians, after all. We believe that death is really nothing to be afraid of. We believe that death has been conquered once and for all by God Incarnate in person!, and the waters of baptism.
God will provide for us, because God loves all of creation so much that everything has been taken care of for us. All we have to do is step out and take the risk.
So really, acknowledging, embracing that we have limited time can be incredibly freeing! It frees us up to do those things that God has called us to, that seems frightening or overwhelming. It takes away our excuse that we’ll have time later, we’ll have more resources later. It enables us to live our lives the way we know God has intended us to live right now, with no restraint. Because we have nothing to fear. Not even death.
The man in the parable today is a tragic figure, because he spends all his life doing just what he’s supposed to, working hard and providing for himself. And just when he assures himself that he finally has enough, that he is finally secure, he dies. He never gets a chance to relax. He never gets a chance to enjoy the results of his work, or become anyone other than the man who worked so hard, and struggled so much. He never felt secure. All his life was consumed with worry and struggle. What would have happened if he had relented a bit? Followed the call of God? What would have happened if he had said to himself, ‘Soul, we’ve got a surplus this month, so let’s donate it to the surrounding widows and orphans. It’s entirely too much trouble to build new barns right now, and Lord knows, I’ve got more than enough.’
Chances are, he still would have died. His death wasn’t a punishment for his poor decision-making skills. But he would have been rich toward God—that phrase Jesus uses. Being rich toward God, not rich toward this world, I’d say, means being focused towards doing the will of God in our lives, right now. Following the call of God in our lives, wherever it might lead. Turning away from our normal focus on self-preservation at all costs, and turning towards doing the will of God.
Because, the goal of this existence we have is not survival here. It’s not to cross the finish line with as many things as we can get. It’s not to cross with more spare time than anyone in history, or even more friends than anyone else, either. Those things are taken care of. Our goal is just to do the will of God while we’re here, as best we can. It’s just to fulfill our part in the reign of God while we can, with as few things holding us back as possible.
It’s just a change in emphasis maybe, just a shift in focus. But what a world of difference it makes. Suddenly, we’re not consumed by worry over whether the bank account will be full enough in the morning. Whether we’ll have enough energy tomorrow, whether enough people will agree with us or our opinions. All we have to do, in the time we have, is do the will of God, and luxuriate in the love we’ve been given. All the worry, all the fear, washed away. Just as we are washed in the waters of baptism, we are washed free from our fears and worry, and enabled to live in joy for God.
In the mid-14th century, a Sufi mystic named Hafiz was writing poetry in Persia. One of his poems, I think, sums up the freedom and joy we find in our baptismal life in Christ quite well. And I’ll leave it to you now.
If this world
Was not held in God’s bucket
How could an ocean stand upside down
On its head and never lose a drop?
If your life was not contained in God’s cup
How could you be so brave and laugh,
Dance in the face of death?
Hafiz,
There is a private chamber in the soul
That knows a great secret
Of which no tongue can speak.
Your existence, my dear, O love my dear
Has been sealed and marked
“too sacred”, “too sacred”, by The Beloved—
To ever end!
Indeed, God
Has written a thousand promises
All over your heart
That say,
Life, life, life
Is far too sacred to
Ever end.
Amen.
-Poem “God’s Bucket” By Hafiz, trans. Daniel Ladinsky from
The Gift.
----------------
Now playing:
KCRW.com - Cake - Thrillsvia FoxyTunes
y awesome.
