We Were Made For These Times

Lent 5B; Jeremiah 31:31-34; John 12:20-33; St. Paul’s, 3/18/2018

Jim Melnyk: “We Were Made For These Times”

Ancient peoples saw the gods’ or God’s hand at work in every event.  If the moon passed in front of the sun – it was the gods’ doing.  If the earth quaked or the floods came, it was at God’s instigation.    Even today, there are those among the Christian faithful who see God at work in every aspect of the world’s life experience.  Fire and floods, winds and rain, earthquakes and hurricanes – all find their beginning and their reason in the planning of God.  There are even religious leaders who claim to have influenced God’s decisions on where and when hurricanes might hit or miss.

           

We – or at least many of our human race – like to think that somehow God is in control of everything that happens in this world – even if that’s not the full witness of our faith stories in scripture.  Writings such as Job or Ecclesiastes were included in the canon of scripture in part because they witness to a world that moves with a rhythm that may have its beginnings in God, but that also has its sometimes discordant freedom in God as well.  The rain falls on the just and the unjust alike.  Sometimes the good die young – thank you Billy Joel, and sometimes the mean-spirited live long, successful lives, and we can’t understand why life works that way.  In fact, when we believe that we, or God, can somehow control how the world works itself out, we become frustrated and a bit jaded because things still fall apart – no matter what we do, things still fall apart – and it just shouldn’t happen that way if good people or a loving God is in control.

We long to find ways to change the way this world works – ways to change or at least cope with the uncertainties of a world where death is as much a part of life as our own breath.  And so, it is no small wonder that the Gospel of John shows us the struggle that is a part of Jesus’ life and death.  It is no small wonder that the Gospel story for today shows us a side of a Jesus who can say to his friends, “Now my soul is troubled. And what should I say – ‘Father, save me from this hour?’”  And perhaps it makes us scratch our heads when Jesus responds to his own question, “No, it is for this reason that I have come to this hour.”  Who in their right mind would choose such an hour?

           

I believe even Jesus, or at least a part of him, wants to live in a universe that makes sense – a universe that has a knowable outcome – a universe that can somehow be predicted if not directed.  And it seems, at least for a moment or two – or perhaps longer, that he is troubled by the reality of a world that just isn’t made that way. 

           

Here is where Jesus has the option to cut and run.  Here is where Jesus, seeing the handwriting on the wall – realizing that his gospel – his good news of God’s radical love for all humanity – here is where Jesus has the option to just walk away.  And who would have blamed him?  After all, a long life as a carpenter has to beat any brief run as a martyr.  But it isn’t in Jesus’ nature to cut and run.  Something in Jesus knows that if he turns his back on all he has taught something within him, something greater than his own body, would die – and he knows that such a living death would be impossible to bear.  “Those who love their life” to the exclusion of God’s dream for this world “will lose [their life].”

           

We all want to be saved from that hour, whatever that hour may be – suddenly struggling with a divorce, a terrible medical prognosis, the loss of a job, the death of a loved one, or one of our children finding themselves hurt or in some kind of trouble.  We want to be saved from that hour that marks an end to life as we’ve come to know it in our little part of the universe.  How could we not feel the need for such a plea when faced with great loss? 

           

I think of the devastation faced in the North East these past weeks from the three nor-easters – the type of storms they now call “Bomb Cyclones.”  Waves breaking over the tops of houses – streets lined with downed trees and downed powerlines – where one cannot walk down a street let alone drive.  It’s the same sort of destruction we witnessed throughout the southern states and Puerto Rico this past fall from storms like Harvey, Irma, and Maria; and the reality that much of Puerto Rico is still without power.  

I think of the horrors of events in places like Parkland, Florida, Las Vegas, Nevada, or Sutherland Springs, Texas in the past year. “Save us from this hour!”  I try to imagine what it must be like to bring a family home after the winds cease, or the ambulances and police tape fade into the background – coming home to find nothing – nothing – standing where a home once stood, or looking at an empty place at the table that will never be taken up again.  Who wouldn’t cry out, “Save us from this hour?”

When it comes to things like massive storms, we cannot always be saved from these hours – these hours are a part of the fabric of life – though we know that better care for our planet could reverse the course of their extremity – if we’re willing to believe and act upon the science behind it all. 

We cannot control the hearts and minds of individuals bent on causing death and destruction in our communities – though we can pass sensible laws and reverse our dismantling of mental healthcare in ways that might have at least some impact.  And even if that were to only save one life, in Jewish tradition the Talmud tells us that to save the life of one soul is as if we have saved the whole world. 

Our power lies not in being able to somehow bend the workings of this world – or manipulate the mind of God – to our wills.  But rather, our power comes in how we stand as people of faith and hope in the midst of life and death, living out our lives with the compassion, with the grace, and with the love of the living Christ – dying, and yet we live! 

Speaking about facing hard times in our lives Clarisa Estes, author of Women Who Run with the Wolves, said, “Do not shirk these times or try to run away.  We were made for these times.”  And I realized we aren’t created to flee the hours that come upon us with fearful uncertainty.  We are made of stronger stuff.  We are made to be the witness of God’s presence and God's love when and where the world has lost the strength to carry on; weeping with those who weep and mourning with those who mourn.  Standing firm with those in need, rebuilding hope where hope is lost, and dancing with those whose hearts are glad.

Centuries ago the mystic Julian of Norwich wrote, “God did not say ‘You shall not be tempest-tossed, you shall not be weary, you shall not be discomforted’. But God did say, ‘You shall not be overcome.’” You shall not be overcome!

God has written a covenant of love upon our hearts – God’s promises and commitment to us has been woven into our flesh.  “Jeremiah and Jesus have both commended to us something radically incarnational – something radically intimate at the center – at the core – of our human nature – making us voices, making us beacons, and making us vehicles of hope in a world faced with too many hours of fear and loss” (Bill Wylie-Kellermann, Sojourners, Preaching the Word).

I, for one, find comfort in Jesus’ troubled soul.  And I find hope in his willingness to stand fast in the face of hatred, fear, and death.  In the end, there are greater things in this world than staying quiet and comfortable and safe in our homes.  There are more powerful truths than the types of questions that come with all their answers neatly tied in a bow.  And there are far greater ways to live than by simply avoiding discomfort or death.  Our hearts may at times be troubled.  Our instinct at times might be to cut and run or run and hide.  I think Jesus could have easily said the very words offered by Estes. “Do not shirk these times or try to run away.  We were made for these times.”  Amen.