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.

Lent 4B; Numbers 21:4-9; Ephesians 2:1-10; John 3:14-21

St. Paul’s, Smithfield 03/11/2018 Jim Melnyk: “The Call”

“Now after John was arrested, Jesus came to Galilee, proclaiming the good news of God, and saying, ‘The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news.’

As Jesus passed along the Sea of Galilee, he saw Simon and his brother Andrew casting a net into the lake—for they were fishermen. And Jesus said to them, ‘Follow me and I will make you fish for people’” (Mark 1:14-17).

No, I haven’t turned to the wrong gospel lesson for today’s sermon – I know we covered those verses several weeks ago as we moved through the opening weeks of Epiphany.  However, I think we need to keep in mind the Jesus of Epiphany – the Jesus who calls us to follow – in order to understand the lessons offered us during the season of Lent. 

Today we enter into the back end of a conversation between Jesus and the Pharisee named Nicodemus.  We’ve skipped over the first part of their meeting – the part where Jesus tells Nicodemus he must be “born from above” – or what often gets translated as “born again” – in order to understand the work of God’s Holy Spirit in his life and in the life of the world.  Jesus is, in effect, issuing a call to Nicodemus, not unlike the calls he makes to his disciples – it’s an invitation to come see what Jesus is all about – and then to follow as his ministry unfolds.  And Nicodemus’ response to that call remains a mystery until the very end of John’s gospel, when we find him among those who assist in the burial of Jesus on the day Christians have come to call Good Friday.

In the Synoptic Gospels – that’s Matthew, Mark, and Luke – Jesus uses parables – stories with multiple layers of meanings – to communicate his vision for the unfolding kingdom of God. In John’s gospel, Jesus sounds like more of a theologian than a storyteller – and perhaps that’s what we should expect from the Word made flesh – the One whom many, based on John’s gospel, have called “The Cosmic Christ.”

In today’s lesson from John Jesus equates himself with the life-saving act of God spoken about in the book of Numbers.  Jesus, being lifted up on the cross, will draw all people to himself in the same way looking upon the bronze serpent in the wilderness saved those following Moses.  Jesus becomes, in effect, the incarnation of God’s love for the world – a love that comes not to condemn, but to save – a love so great that none should be lost.

In John’s gospel the more theologically-minded Jesus also offers us seven “I am” statements – and for those acquainted with Judaism, the “I am” nature of the sayings can’t be missed – this is the very language they know through Moses for the Name of God.  Throughout the gospel Jesus names himself Bread of Life, Light of the World, The Gate for the Sheep, The Good Shepherd, The Resurrection and the Life, The Way, the Truth, and the Life, and The True Vine.  Nowhere in John’s gospel does Jesus call himself names like The Avenger, The Bringer of Death, The Hidden Darkness, The Closed Door, The Gatekeeper, The Choking Weed, or The Bread for only a Few.  Though I have to say, too much of modern day Christianity comes across as God’s self-selected bearers of the truth, and personal gatekeepers of the heavenly realm.

Reading about the wide-open love of God for the world leads author Robert Roth to proclaim: “Let’s let the folks holding up the ‘John 3:16’ signs at sporting events take a brief rest while we hold up ‘John 3:17’: ‘Indeed, God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him.’ God saves lives” writes Roth. “God saves souls. God saves peoples. God has not come in Christ to condemn, but to save.  In Numbers, Moses is instructed by a Lord who wants people to live. In the psalm, God’s ‘steadfast love endures forever’ (Psalm 107:1). In Ephesians, God ‘[loves] us,’ ‘[makes] us alive,’ and ‘[raises] us up’ (Ephesians 2:4-6)” (Sojourners Online, Preaching the Word, 2/11/2018).

All this leaves us, though, with some challenging passages in Scripture – notably a God who sends poisonous snakes in the desert, and people who condemn themselves for choosing not to believe in the love of God, but rather choose to walk in darkness, carrying out evil deeds.  But what we actually see in our reading from Numbers, as well as in John 3:16-17 and Ephesians, is a God who allows us the freedom to go our own way, but who never stands too far off from us. 

As Methodist Minister Jayson Byassee puts it, “Scripture doesn’t preach ‘I’m ok, you’re ok’ pablum.  It preaches that, left to our own devices, we are totally sunk” (ibid).  But, he reminds us, we are never left to our own devices.  Psalm 107 reminds us that while still in the wilderness “God sent out the word and healed them, and delivered them from destruction (v 20).”  Ephesians tells us that “By grace [we] have been saved through faith” (2:8).  Even when Jesus is nailed to the cross and left in the tomb for dead, Easter happens!  “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness will never overcome it” (John 1:5 paraphrased).  As Paul tells us today, even when we are dead in our sins – or dead to this life – God raises us up.

John’s gospel – in fact the overwhelming witness of all Scripture – reminds us that we worship a God of love – a God who is love.  And that overwhelming love of God given voice in today’s Scripture passages give us hope as we wind our ways through the season of Lent.  When we are willing to take the time – especially during Lent – to examine what our lives can look like when we’re left to our own devices, hopefully verses like John 3:16 and 3:17 give us hope.

I invite you to take a moment and open the hymnals in your pews to hymn 487 – a hymn that is taken from the poetry of the 17^th century Anglican Pastor George Herbert.  We’re not singing it this morning, but I invite you to read it out loud with me now – because long before it was put to music, the words were meant to be read aloud.  Listen to the words Herbert uses to name God – some we’ve already mentioned as coming from John’s gospel – others come from our many ancient faith communities’ experiences of God.

Come, my Way, my Truth, my Life:

Such a way, as gives us breath;

Such a truth, as ends all strife;

Such a life, as killeth death.

Come, my Light, my Feast, my Strength:

Such a light, as shows a feast;

Such a feast, as mends in length;

Such a strength, as makes his guest.

Come, my Joy, my Love, my Heart:

Such a joy, as none can move;

Such a love, as none can part;

Such a heart, as joys in love.

This is the God who calls Abram and Sarai to a new home.  This is the God who calls Israel out of slavery in Egypt, and feeds her in the desert.  This is the God who leads Israel home from exile.  This is the God who calls us to follow; and who strengthens us by giving us God’s own self for heavenly food.  We, my friends, are created by, called by, and loved by God – our Feast – our Strength – our Joy – our Heart.