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Jubilee Sermon by Andrew Plocher August 31, 2008, Presbyterian Church of Chestnut Hill Philippians 2:1-18 Leviticus 25:8-24, 39-43
On this glorious morning it is hard not to look outside and think of all that we can do this day. That the barbeque planned for this afternoon, the camping in the back yard, the bocce ball and hikes can all go forward. It’s even hard to sit inside on a day like today, and if I were back in the Pacific Northwest I’m sure that much of the congregation would be off ‘worshiping in the woods’ rather than in the Sunday pews. On days like today we rejoice at God’s glorious creation and all that we are able to do! Yet part way across our country, a mere 1200 miles from here, the town of Pearlington Mississippi is preparing for another ‘worst day of its life.’ It has been three years since Katrina and Rita hit the gulf coast. Three years since our eyes were opened to the poverty, to the invisible world, no longer invisible. Three years since the town of Pearlington MS was nearly wiped off the map, and three years since the first FEMA trailers rolled into town. In these three years there have been homes rebuilt, infrastructure repaired, relations and hearts refreshed. Healing has begun, but the pain of disaster is still near to every hand and heart. While race and gender are breaking barriers in politics, while the 45th anniversary of Martin Luther King’s “I have a dream speech” is celebrated, and while the nation pauses to barbeque and toast to our labors, a hurricane is barreling toward an already wounded land. While we prepare for school and work, a return to our regular schedules and agendas, there are people young and old getting on buses to leave their homes. People gathering up their limited possessions and traveling to stay with relatives in distant states. People leaving home, family, and pets for the second time in three years. The Bennett family, whose house a team from our congregation worked on in June, is leaving their brand new home, hoping to return and find it in one piece. Miss Mary, Dallas, and all those that lost pets are scrambling to find a place in their car for their dogs, their neighbors dogs, and those they find along the way. Their windows are boarded up, doors locked, and hearts swollen as they leave their homes. Forgive me if this gives me pause, but I cannot help but feel a tremble when I think on these people. On a day when I was thinking of preaching on labor and our human vocation, my thoughts only turn to those in the path of the storm. Nothing in their doing can change the course of the storm. They cannot work their way out from under what is coming, what has come before, and what might come again. No completion of a to-do list, of a PDA or computer task sheet, or work goal can change the course of the storm. There is something profoundly theological about this, and I think it does bear light on our own understanding of what we do, of the work in our own lives. Although not where I was originally intending to take the texts today, I firmly believe that our reading from Philippians, and even that from Leviticus, relate to the challenges that we face, and that those in the gulf coast, face in the onslaught of hurricane Gustav. The storm is a reminder of God’s power in the world and a stark reminder of our need for that power and presence in our own lives. Whether or not the storm has anything to do with global warming, whether it washes away sin or is the cause of sin, the storm (any storm really) is powerful beyond human measure. That power is what draws us to the television screen, to chase the emergency lights, and to take risks in weather that should hurry us indoors to shelter. It is awesome in all its meaning. The beauty, the power, and even the destruction. It is one of the few things in our lives that we are utterly powerless over. In any time and place powerlessness is an uncomfortable feeling. Today we have a constant since of power. We have the ability to check the weather and news on our cell phones, listen to novels on a small digital device, traverse a world of knowledge at the touch of a button on our computers, and communicate with the click of just a few keys. Business can be run from distances never fathomed before, children can be monitored from across town rather than down the street, and even our cars can call for help in the event of an accident. And amid these advents of technology we utilize even further control. We create lists that run our every step of the day, calendars that boggle our minds (but that we still keep), and schedules that have our children doing five activities in a single afternoon. Why? Because we can and we should…or at least that’s what we tell ourselves. Our identities, whether we like it or not, have embraced and been embraced by our doings in this world. We are what we do and we have power over all of it. Today a panic means no cell phone service when the kids are away, an unchecked item on the list, a missed appointment, and a missed opportunity to do the right thing. Silence is unbearable so we pop in our ipod headphones. Not doing is unbearable so we turn on the television, bite our nails, or grab the latest soduku. Although we are taught by Christ to “go and do likewise” I think we sometimes take the doing to seriously. I believe that this ‘over doing’ is not the story of Jesus. It is also not the story of those in the path of a hurricane, and ultimately it is not really our story. No matter how much we have embraced doing, our story is of a different sort. One of the camp managers in the Presbyterian Disaster Assistance village in Pearlington relayed a story to me. Jeremy, about my age, was speaking with a woman who lived in the area and whom he had become well acquainted. Amid all of the fear over the storms striking again, the anxiety and the stress, she said: “Jeremy, I hope this storm hits us again, I really do,” “Why? What on earth do you mean? You can’t really mean that?” “I do mean that. Katrina was so bad and we suffered so much. I know what is going to happen when it hits. I can’t bear the thought of another storm like Katrina hitting someone else. That’s why I would rather have to go through it again than them.” This is where we meet Christ in today’s lesson. Let me read part of the lesson for you again: “Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death— even death on a cross. Therefore God also highly exalted him and gave him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.” This is not a call to martyrdom or for the people of the gulf coast to go through the suffering again on behalf of those of us wrapped in security and comfort. No, it is the beauty of God’s love for us shown in implausible, astounding, and uncomfortable ways. Instead of a to-do list, a process to becoming righteous, a laundry list of things to do and be in the world, we are handed Jesus. Instead of being driven toward a goal we are offered a spirit to follow. Soren Kierkegaard described it well saying, “One might ask: How was it possible that Christ could be put to death, one who never sought his own advantage? How is it possible that any power or person could come into collision with him? Answer: It was precisely for this reason that he was put to death. This is why the lowly and the powerful were equally exasperated by him, for every one of them was seeking his own advantage and wanted him to show solidarity with them in selfishness. He was crucified precisely because he was love, that is, because he refused to be selfish. He was as much of an offense to the powerful as to the lowly. He did not belong to any party, but wished to be what he was, namely, the Truth and to be that in love.” Jesus is indeed the truth in love and no amount of process can bring us to him. He is already there. He is waiting for the storm in Pearlington, for school to start in Springfield, for work to resume in Center City. Christ is already present and has already done for us that which we cannot do for ourselves. Jesus became human and emptied himself, became a slave, and died on a cross. He did so for our own glorification, that we might be led by him, by his Spirit, and know the love of God. It is this love that allows someone to stand in the storms path again. This love that holds our arms around our families and communities. We know that when all our lists are gone and when the day’s work is done, that what sustains us is the love of God. It is this love that we are called to share. As the Presbyterian theologian Shirley Guthrie once said, As human beings created in the image of God, we can realize our distinctive individuality only in and for the sake of community with God and other people; and we can live in true community with them only as we respect, preserve, and defend our own unique individuality and that of other people. True individuality and true community cannot be separated; each has to be understood in inseparable connection with the other… We are connected through God. This morning, with birds and crickets chirping, tee times and barbeques waiting, we are all powerless to the love of God. We are called to stand with our brothers and sisters in the gulf to weather the storm, to be in the storm and to know that there is something greater than the storm. We are asked to be of the same mind (not to do!), to shed the lists, to pause for the jubilee and to breathe deeply. It doesn’t matter how busy we are, Jesus is there waiting for us, ahead of us, already done with our to-do list, loving us for who we are. To again quote the eloquent words of Shirley Guthrie, this means “There is no place where we can go where Christ is not already at work before us—no nation, no home, no place of work or entertainment, no hospital, no place where the homeless, unemployed and untended sick huddle together. We do not have to go into the hostile or indifferent world anxiously, defensively, or belligerently. We can go thankfully, confidently, and joyfully, because we go not to take (Jesus into the world) but to meet him (there).” And when we do go into the world, may we go as he came, risking failure, not pining for success; willing to experience weakness and not holding power over others, carrying a cross and not wearing a crown. We go into the world because Jesus commands us, but how we go makes all the difference: and we go following him. Amen. |