The worst moments, the best faith
Sermon-Year A-5Lent-March 9, 2008
The Cloud of Unknowing, "O God, our great companion, lead us ever more deeply into the mystery of your life and ours, that we may be faithful interpreters of that Life to each other, through our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen."
I read probably a dozen sermons about Lazarus and Ezekiel’s valley of dry bones.
Some days, no matter how much you work at it, nothing comes. I did find out two pretty good legends about Lazarus. One had him going with Mary and Martha and landing in southern France where he became a bishop. Another one had him going to Cyprus, by himself, where he established the Christian church and served as bishop for 30 years. One pastor I was reading said it sure was a good thing that Jesus said Lazarus’ name when he called him out of the tomb, or every dead person within a 100 miles would have been resuscitated.
But nothing grabbed me, until I heard a story about Sen. John McCain. McCain was in being interviewed by a reporter and the senator got very angry with the reporter. He thought the reporter was digging up dirt on the senator’s wife and was going to smear her in his newspaper. At one point McCain said, “this is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.” And the reporter thought about this and said McCain was tortured and kept as a prisoner of war a prison camp for 5 ½ years-how could this be the worst experience of his life?”
I was thinking about that and how we decide when is the hardest or worst or most devastating experience in our life-and how we respond to it.
And I was thinking about the story of Lazarus all week. Debby and I were talking about the last 4 weeks how long the gospel readings had been and then something struck me. Every story each week in Lent hasn’t just been longer. Each story took life and pain and faith a little bit farther. Every week. Think about it.
3 weeks ago we heard the story of Nicodemus. A worried man, confused, cautious, scared. He doesn’t know who Jesus is. And Nicodemus is so afraid of making a mistake. He questions, he investigates. You know that this story is included in the gospel because Nicodemus, an important man, was so stressed about what to do. Nicodemus -uncertain-scared-afraid. Unsure about faith, unsure about himself-especially unsure about God.
Two weeks ago, the story of the Samaritan woman at the well. A woman burdened by a heartbreaking past and an overwhelming sense of pain in her life choices. Clearly she felt alone, ostracized, away from everyone else. In fact that’s another characteristic of each of the stories-how isolated each person is. Notice how each person comes to Jesus alone. Alone in their pain, in their grief, in their fear. Much like us. Don’t you know that she thought that she was at her lowest point when she met Jesus? The woman at the well would have looked at Nicodemus’ pain and laughed. What did Nicodemus know about hurt, she would have wondered. He should feel what she felt.
Last week’s story-the man born blind. We move from emotional issues to physical ones. Here is a man who is an adult. All his life he prayed for just one thing-to be able to see. And then it happens. And he is healed. And if you remember the story from last week, he is healed, and loses everything. All his life I’m sure he thought-being blind was the worst thing in the world. Until he could see. And suddenly he is alone. One of the qualities of a terrible experience is, you feel like you are going through it by yourself. No one knows your pain, no one knows how much this hurts. No one knows how overwhelmed you feel. [My friend Mark and his wife have a daughter who is autistic and challenged. In his sermon this week he writes: I will not claim to have suffered much in my life. I have been raised in comfort, with every blessing, and have been given good health. I live in the richest nation in history, and have never known real need. The only shadow in my life is my daughter's condition of autism and mental retardation. And I will say this: do not ever, ever tell the parent of a disabled or wounded child that “God gave this to you for a reason.” You don't have the right to say that. And what you say is an incentive for a parent like me to embrace atheism.
When you are going through day after day of physical pain, or chronic illness, disability, or caring for someone you begin to think-this is the hardest thing that I have ever been through-how do I handle this? Think about your worst experience. At the time you wondered, “How do I make it through this” or “Can I make it through this?”
And then today’s gospel. The death of someone you love. Two times we hear that Jesus cried. When he was in the garden the night before he died-and here-at the death of a friend. And we see all the forms of grief here: Martha’s anger-“if you had been here-my brother would not have died”, the weeping, the bargaining, the depression. The rage. We all speak to God when we are overwhelmed by pain, “WHERE ARE YOU? WHERE WERE YOU? TAKE THIS PAIN AWAY!”
A confused Nicodemus, a discouraged guilt ridden woman, a man disabled all his life, and now the death of someone Jesus loved. Each story in Lent has Jesus facing an increasing amount of pain-and increasing challenges to faith. That is what has happened each week-we hear a story like ours-of someone going through the worst experience of their life-and then they meet Jesus. That has been the Lenten journey each week-from confusion and fear-to the burden of memory and guilt-to physical pain and isolation-to loss and grief. Each week the ante has been upped as Jesus met the overwhelming moments of life-of our lives.
And each week we see the response. Jesus cares. Jesus responds. Jesus weeps.
When we are going through the worst moment of our life we are usually praying for just one thing-GOD FIX THIS, GOD HEAL THIS, GOD TAKE THIS AWAY. Sometimes it happens, sometimes it doesn’t. And there are lots of folks out there who are saying exactly the kinds of things that Mark said drive him towards atheism. But that is not what we hear this Lent. That is not what we hear in these stories.
Jesus doesn’t say, let me take away your burdens, your challenges, your fears, your doubts, your worst moments. I will simply offer you the gift to handle them. That is his answer. To Nicodemus, and the Samaritan woman, to the man born blind, and the to Martha and Mary he always says the same thing-I will give you the faith and the strength to face this moment.
That has been the Lenten journey. That has been the Lenten message. Not the removal of our pain-but the faith and strength and hope to face and defeat it. The worst moments in our lives are the chance for the best moments in our faith. That is not easy. We don’t want more strength. We just want the awful worst moment to go away. But that is not what Jesus comes for, that is not his message this Lent. This is what Jesus teaches and shows: The worst moments in our lives are the chance for the best moments in our faith. Do you believe, each week Jesus asks someone in pain-and when they answer yes he responds-then you have what you need for this trial.
Deacon David Shea writes:
Death is not just a grave in which our caskets are placed. Many of us die and still live. We can all name the tombs in which life places us—the sickness that holds us captive, the graves we dig for ourselves, the problems and situations that are beyond our energies and abilities, the awful pain inflicted on us by the cruelty of life.
Where is God when people feel dead? When hope has been destroyed? When human limits are exceeded? When we’re ready to throw-in the towel because there’s nothing left to do? Do you believe that God ever withdraws from you and leaves you to yourself?
We all face death—the deaths of those we love that powerfully remind us of the finality of death and the terrible wrenching and emptiness of our lives. But we also face death if we lose our jobs, if our marriages fail; when we struggle with addictions, flunk out of college, give up plans to get married and have children, get wrapped-up in ourselves, and allow hate and resentment to control our lives. Today’s readings show us that God never abandons us at our graves— Deacon David J. Shea, D. Min.
The Cloud of Unknowing, "O God, our great companion, lead us ever more deeply into the mystery of your life and ours, that we may be faithful interpreters of that Life to each other, through our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen."
I read probably a dozen sermons about Lazarus and Ezekiel’s valley of dry bones.
Some days, no matter how much you work at it, nothing comes. I did find out two pretty good legends about Lazarus. One had him going with Mary and Martha and landing in southern France where he became a bishop. Another one had him going to Cyprus, by himself, where he established the Christian church and served as bishop for 30 years. One pastor I was reading said it sure was a good thing that Jesus said Lazarus’ name when he called him out of the tomb, or every dead person within a 100 miles would have been resuscitated.
But nothing grabbed me, until I heard a story about Sen. John McCain. McCain was in being interviewed by a reporter and the senator got very angry with the reporter. He thought the reporter was digging up dirt on the senator’s wife and was going to smear her in his newspaper. At one point McCain said, “this is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.” And the reporter thought about this and said McCain was tortured and kept as a prisoner of war a prison camp for 5 ½ years-how could this be the worst experience of his life?”
I was thinking about that and how we decide when is the hardest or worst or most devastating experience in our life-and how we respond to it.
And I was thinking about the story of Lazarus all week. Debby and I were talking about the last 4 weeks how long the gospel readings had been and then something struck me. Every story each week in Lent hasn’t just been longer. Each story took life and pain and faith a little bit farther. Every week. Think about it.
3 weeks ago we heard the story of Nicodemus. A worried man, confused, cautious, scared. He doesn’t know who Jesus is. And Nicodemus is so afraid of making a mistake. He questions, he investigates. You know that this story is included in the gospel because Nicodemus, an important man, was so stressed about what to do. Nicodemus -uncertain-scared-afraid. Unsure about faith, unsure about himself-especially unsure about God.
Two weeks ago, the story of the Samaritan woman at the well. A woman burdened by a heartbreaking past and an overwhelming sense of pain in her life choices. Clearly she felt alone, ostracized, away from everyone else. In fact that’s another characteristic of each of the stories-how isolated each person is. Notice how each person comes to Jesus alone. Alone in their pain, in their grief, in their fear. Much like us. Don’t you know that she thought that she was at her lowest point when she met Jesus? The woman at the well would have looked at Nicodemus’ pain and laughed. What did Nicodemus know about hurt, she would have wondered. He should feel what she felt.
Last week’s story-the man born blind. We move from emotional issues to physical ones. Here is a man who is an adult. All his life he prayed for just one thing-to be able to see. And then it happens. And he is healed. And if you remember the story from last week, he is healed, and loses everything. All his life I’m sure he thought-being blind was the worst thing in the world. Until he could see. And suddenly he is alone. One of the qualities of a terrible experience is, you feel like you are going through it by yourself. No one knows your pain, no one knows how much this hurts. No one knows how overwhelmed you feel. [My friend Mark and his wife have a daughter who is autistic and challenged. In his sermon this week he writes: I will not claim to have suffered much in my life. I have been raised in comfort, with every blessing, and have been given good health. I live in the richest nation in history, and have never known real need. The only shadow in my life is my daughter's condition of autism and mental retardation. And I will say this: do not ever, ever tell the parent of a disabled or wounded child that “God gave this to you for a reason.” You don't have the right to say that. And what you say is an incentive for a parent like me to embrace atheism.
When you are going through day after day of physical pain, or chronic illness, disability, or caring for someone you begin to think-this is the hardest thing that I have ever been through-how do I handle this? Think about your worst experience. At the time you wondered, “How do I make it through this” or “Can I make it through this?”
And then today’s gospel. The death of someone you love. Two times we hear that Jesus cried. When he was in the garden the night before he died-and here-at the death of a friend. And we see all the forms of grief here: Martha’s anger-“if you had been here-my brother would not have died”, the weeping, the bargaining, the depression. The rage. We all speak to God when we are overwhelmed by pain, “WHERE ARE YOU? WHERE WERE YOU? TAKE THIS PAIN AWAY!”
A confused Nicodemus, a discouraged guilt ridden woman, a man disabled all his life, and now the death of someone Jesus loved. Each story in Lent has Jesus facing an increasing amount of pain-and increasing challenges to faith. That is what has happened each week-we hear a story like ours-of someone going through the worst experience of their life-and then they meet Jesus. That has been the Lenten journey each week-from confusion and fear-to the burden of memory and guilt-to physical pain and isolation-to loss and grief. Each week the ante has been upped as Jesus met the overwhelming moments of life-of our lives.
And each week we see the response. Jesus cares. Jesus responds. Jesus weeps.
When we are going through the worst moment of our life we are usually praying for just one thing-GOD FIX THIS, GOD HEAL THIS, GOD TAKE THIS AWAY. Sometimes it happens, sometimes it doesn’t. And there are lots of folks out there who are saying exactly the kinds of things that Mark said drive him towards atheism. But that is not what we hear this Lent. That is not what we hear in these stories.
Jesus doesn’t say, let me take away your burdens, your challenges, your fears, your doubts, your worst moments. I will simply offer you the gift to handle them. That is his answer. To Nicodemus, and the Samaritan woman, to the man born blind, and the to Martha and Mary he always says the same thing-I will give you the faith and the strength to face this moment.
That has been the Lenten journey. That has been the Lenten message. Not the removal of our pain-but the faith and strength and hope to face and defeat it. The worst moments in our lives are the chance for the best moments in our faith. That is not easy. We don’t want more strength. We just want the awful worst moment to go away. But that is not what Jesus comes for, that is not his message this Lent. This is what Jesus teaches and shows: The worst moments in our lives are the chance for the best moments in our faith. Do you believe, each week Jesus asks someone in pain-and when they answer yes he responds-then you have what you need for this trial.
Deacon David Shea writes:
Death is not just a grave in which our caskets are placed. Many of us die and still live. We can all name the tombs in which life places us—the sickness that holds us captive, the graves we dig for ourselves, the problems and situations that are beyond our energies and abilities, the awful pain inflicted on us by the cruelty of life.
Where is God when people feel dead? When hope has been destroyed? When human limits are exceeded? When we’re ready to throw-in the towel because there’s nothing left to do? Do you believe that God ever withdraws from you and leaves you to yourself?
We all face death—the deaths of those we love that powerfully remind us of the finality of death and the terrible wrenching and emptiness of our lives. But we also face death if we lose our jobs, if our marriages fail; when we struggle with addictions, flunk out of college, give up plans to get married and have children, get wrapped-up in ourselves, and allow hate and resentment to control our lives. Today’s readings show us that God never abandons us at our graves— Deacon David J. Shea, D. Min.
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