 |
||||||||
| ||||||||
 |
||||||||
|
|
|
|
|
|||
 |
|||
Grace SufficientJuly 05, 2009 Fifth Sunday after Pentecost This past Lent one of the suggested disciplines for our observance was reconciling a broken relationship. A number of you have mentioned to me that this was something you attempted, and others of you have noted that while you didn’t take on the challenge (yet), you were thankful to be prodded to do so. This was one of the disciplines I attempted. I knew instantly of two relationships that were once important to me, and their fading has weighed on me for some time. There was no dramatic rupture; life choices simply got in the way, and relational care-less-ness characterized what was once meaningful, deep engagement. As my friend and I reacquainted, we were overwhelmed by what had transpired in each other’s lives during the more than one decade we had been out of contact. The more we learned about the other, I couldn’t help but feel the burdensome weight of a chosen absence, of a friendship poorly attended to. It was painful to consider everything my friend had gone through, and that I could have been a source of support or simply an encouraging, loving presence (and vice-versa) but instead I made different choices, as did he. It was a sobering, sad reality to consider. I knew the past couldn’t be undone, but I had a realization that the future could be different—the future of that relationship, the future of all my relationships, the future me. I no longer had to be relationally who I had been. It was a small lesson to learn, but since Lent I’ve been living with its implications. This encounter or reconnection became a window into my soul, a lesson with ramifications far beyond the healing of one relationship. Maya Angelou captured well what this has meant for me when she wrote, “History, despite its wrenching pain, cannot be unlived but, if faced with courage, need not be lived again." What a hopeful sentiment – “History, despite its wrenching pain, cannot be unlived but, if faced with courage, need not be lived again.” I’m exploring the implications of this truth personally, but it’s also an appropriate truth to be reminded of during this weekend observance of our nation’s freedom. It’s a hopeful truth for a people to know that they are not bound to repeat the sins of their forebears. It’s hopeful for a people to consider the possibility of a future that can, in fact, be different. I think it is safe to say that this is a lesson this nation has learned well, albeit through wrenching, painful, shameful periods of history. Don’t lose sight of the fact that Ms. Angelou was born into a society where she was not fully free, where she was relegated to inferior status because of her race and gender, and yet during her lifetime alone she went from the segregated confinement of pre-civil rights America to an America where someone much like her was elected to the nation’s highest office. Getting to that historical point required traveling on a long, wrenching, painful road, but because it was faced with courage we live in a country that continues to overcome its past (or better said, we are a people who continue to overcome our past). I think it is equally important to be reminded of that individually. Maya Angelou knew that she was not confined to the painful periods of her personal history. But what about a Bernie Madoff? While he’s an easy target, one does have to wonder what Angelou’s words – “History, despite its wrenching pain, cannot be unlived but, if faced with courage, need not be lived again” – mean for some like Madoff. I wonder what those words mean for the victims of his crimes. More importantly, what do they mean for the likes of you and me? The apostle Paul, when reflecting upon what he called his “thorn in the flesh,” – that personal demon that tormented him, tempted him, weighed on him, shamed him – faced it with courage and learned that in doing so he became stronger as a result of his weakness. “When I am weak, I am strong” he said. Ernest Hemingway expressed it this way: "Life breaks all of us, but some of us are strong in the broken places." That’s what I want you to consider this morning. What would it mean for you to be strong in the broken places? What would it mean for you to be free of the thorn in your flesh, to be bigger than the personal demon that has haunted you for too long? These are questions of freedom, spiritual freedom, and today our lessons confront us with a stark choice – will you be free or not? Don’t you imagine that Jesus was devastated when he went home to his synagogue and to his friends and relatives in his hometown where he was received so poorly? But he refused to be confined by a past others wanted to chain him to. Joyce read for us the story of his reception as a teacher and healer in Nazareth. One version of scripture, The Message, tells it like this: He…returned to his hometown. His disciples came along. On the Sabbath, he gave a lecture in the meeting place. He made a real hit, impressing everyone. "We had no idea he was this good!" they said. "How did he get so wise all of a sudden, get such ability?" But in the next breath they were cutting him down: "He's just a carpenter—Mary's boy. We've known him since he was a kid. We know his brothers, James, Justus, Jude, and Simon, and his sisters. Who does he think he is?" They tripped over what little they knew about him and fell, sprawling. And they never got any further. Jesus told them, "A prophet has little honor in his hometown, among his relatives, on the streets he played in as a child." Jesus wasn't able to do much of anything there—he laid hands on a few sick people and healed them, that's all. He couldn't get over their stubbornness. He left and made a circuit of the other villages, teaching. [1] It turns out that Jesus wasn’t simply the little boy they remember; he was more than just a carpenter, more than just Mary’s boy, more than just a sibling. He refused to let those most familiar with him, perhaps even closest to him, define him and confine him to smaller version of himself. He chose to be free of that, and it was painful, yet liberating at the same time. It was a turning point in his maturity. The gospel tells us that this is how he reacted to his hometown rejection: Jesus called the Twelve to him, and sent them out in pairs. He gave them authority and power to deal with the evil opposition. He sent them off with these instructions: "Don't think you need a lot of extra equipment for this. You are the equipment. No special appeals for funds. Keep it simple. And no luxury inns. Get a modest place and be content there until you leave. If you're not welcomed, not listened to, quietly withdraw. Don't make a scene. Shrug your shoulders and be on your way." Then they were on the road. They preached with joyful urgency that life can be radically different; right and left they sent the demons packing; they brought wellness to the sick, anointing their bodies, healing their spirits. [2] “He gave them authority and power to deal with the evil opposition.” “They preached with joyful urgency that life can be different…[and] they sent the demons packing.” Imagine that freedom! Some of us have been holding on to some personal demons for so long we don’t know what it’s like not have them. Some of us have been digging in that thorn in our flesh deeper than it ever needed to be. We’ve become so accustomed to them, so familiar that we no longer seek to send them packing; rather, we are committed to defending and protecting them. For some the thought of killing off your unclean spirit is akin to killing you. But listen to the message the disciples were sent to proclaim – life can be radically different. For those of you who can’t remember how you lived, how you looked, how you acted and laughed, how you talked and how you loved before that thorn or unclean spirit took up residence in you, life can be radically different! Look at it this way, imagine saying to God, ‘God, leave my depression alone; leave my destructive thoughts alone; God, leave my worries, my fears, my pain alone; God, leave my addiction alone; leave my doubt alone. We have a pretty good thing going. It’s not the best relationship, but it’s the one I know, it’s the one that’s familiar. So Lord, leave it alone!’ Can you imagine saying that to God? In a rational moment like now we can see the absurdity of saying such things. Yet, too many of us, through our actions, live our lives saying those very things day in and day out. But ask yourself, what happens to my soul when I defend my unclean spirits? What happens to my spirit when I revolt against the banishment of my burdens? Paul refused to let his burden define him. In a moment of spiritual clarity and maturity he wrote, “whenever I am weak, I am strong.” And he could say this because he knew to trust the God who in his moments of weakness said to him “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.” That grace was sufficient for Jesus and his disciples, who believed and preached that their hardships and personal struggles could be radically different. Friends, the same is true for you and me. Listen clearly to the word of God this morning: “My Grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.” Some of you came to church today in the midst of a personal crisis or deep struggle. Others of you came today clinging to your thorns or personal demons. Still others came during a moment of personal confusion or what feels like a moment in which you must make a monumental choice. You came hoping to find some wisdom or direction; you came hoping the preacher would speak a word that would help you deal with that thorn in your flesh. Here’s my word of wisdom for you today: Turn right back around, go out of those doors, and take authority and power over your unclean spirits. Stare your depression, your addiction, your confusion, your fears, your doubt in the face and say “you no longer have power over me. God’s grace is sufficient for me.” You don’t have to be like Shakespeare’s Orlando who presciently said, “How bitter it is to look at happiness through the eyes of another man.” That doesn’t have to be you or me. Trust that God’s grace is sufficient and put down what you’ve been carrying far too long! Put it down. “My grace is sufficient for you,” God declares. Now go out to live as if that’s true—because it is. _____________ . Previous sermon: Jesus' Affirmation of Faith • Next sermon: The Call to Love the City All past sermons |
| ||
|
|