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The Grace to ChangeAugust 26, 2007 Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost As I grow older, I find that the most frustrating aspect of life is my inability to break old habits and ways of being that no longer serve me well. Just ask my wife and closest friends and they’ll give you countless examples of how this is so. Some I’m completely unconscious of, until of course they’re pointed out to me, and even then I often either resist or justify in response. Other habits or ways of being I’m quite aware of, but in spite of my self-awareness I just can’t help myself. It’s very frustrating. Can you identify with this? Do you find that there are aspects of you that no matter how hard you try you just can’t seem to shake? I assume that, like mine, they run the gamut from the banal, like getting that bowl of ice cream at midnight that you just don’t need, to the more injurious, like perpetuating behaviors, expectations, or ways of thinking that wound those you claim to love, not to mention yourself. To be sure, theories abound as to why we perpetuate inane and deleterious ways. At a very basic level, we are simply resistant to change. We’re comfortable with the familiar, even when the familiar is the cause of our discontent. Another possibility is that we are motivated by fear of the unknown; uncertain of what change might bring, we simply decide to keep things as they are or keep doing as we’ve done. The philosopher Thomas Hobbes once claimed that fear is what we know best and that our most natural instinct is anxiety. “[The human heart is],” he said, “all the day long gnawed on by fear of death, poverty, or other calamity. [Man] has no repose, nor pause of his anxiety, but in sleep.” And, we know well that even sleep doesn’t provide much repose. In spite of whatever fear each of us has deeply embedded within us, I think it is safe to say that we each want to do what we can to live fulfilled lives, to achieve a certain modicum of success, to be a good person, a loving partner, and to have our lives make a difference for the good of others. That’s part of what inspires us to come to places like this – the search for just that life and the path that will lead us to it. That longing is woven into our very being and no amount of fear can stamp it out. Fear may ultimately prevent us from fulfilling what we desire, but will never strip us of the desire itself. At my previous church, shortly after my arrival, I was inspired to begin initiating change. I preached a sermon one Sunday in which I extolled its virtues and claimed that such willingness was evidence of spiritual maturity. Following the service, Marge, a long-time senior member and pillar of the church, said to me, “Javier, I’m too old to change. You’re wasting all those sermons on me.” Then she kissed me and went on her way. People like Marge are good teachers, in part because they’re not aware of being so. They help preachers not to take themselves too seriously, and help us rid ourselves of preaching tricks and worn-out clichés. Even still, they also remind us of what we’re up against, that impenetrable wall that keeps us as we are, where we are. Although she will not be moved, I am not giving up on you, nor on myself. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not preaching about change for the sake of change. I’m not even sure I’m preaching about change. What I am sure of, however, is that our lessons for today intend to prod us to consider new ways of being and thinking. And perhaps more importantly, they’re not so much about change as they are about transformation. If I may be so bold, our Old Testament lesson is extraordinary. It is extraordinary because of its simplicity and its profound truth. I would encourage you to cut it out and put it on your bathroom mirror so that you read it everyday before you leave the house, for it is thoughtful wisdom by which to live our lives. In essence, it is God’s advice on how to live a holy, fulfilled, meaningful life. Who here could possibly resist that? The lesson from Isaiah is a challenge to live differently. Originally written to a community of returning exiles, it was intended to guide their common life and to ensure that its character was as God intended. And it comes to us in a similar spirit. It is God’s way for us to be in the world, a world that often elicits from us a way of being that is far different from what is being proposed in Isaiah. Listen to it once more, but as you do so don’t be distracted by the beauty of the words, or the idealism of the sentiment; instead be awed and inspired by the way God is calling us to live in the world: “If you remove the yoke from among you (another translation reads: ‘If you stop holding others down’), the pointing of the finger, the speaking of evil, if you offer your food to the hungry and satisfy the needs of the afflicted, then your light shall rise in the darkness and your gloom be like the noonday. The Lord will guide you continually, and satisfy your needs in parched places, and make your bones strong; and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters never fail. Your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt; you shall raise up the foundations of many generations; you shall be called the repairer of the breach, the restorer of streets to live in. If you refrain from trampling the Sabbath, from pursuing your own interests on my holy day; if you call the Sabbath a delight and the holy day of the Lord honorable; if you honor it, not going your own ways, serving your own interests, or pursuing your own affairs; then you shall take delight in the Lord, and I will make you ride upon the heights of the earth; I will feed you with the heritage of your ancestor[s], for the mouth of the God has spoken.” Let’s admit it – we hold others down, we point fingers and speak ill; we don’t lose sleep over the hungry or afflicted. We all have ancient ruins in our past that need to be healed; breaches that need repairing; streets we once trampled down that now need to be restored. That’s the human condition. But did you hear the promise if we actually allow ourselves to stop what we need to stop, to let heal what needs to be healed, to repair and restore what needs to be made whole and new? Did you hear the promise? It is as much for you and for me as it was for Israel centuries ago. Your parched places, which may be many, will be quenched; your bones, weakened by anxiety, fear, stress, resentment, deceit, and whatever else you carry around – those bones will be made strong. If you rest and honor God by honoring yourself, taking a break from all your ambition and drive, serving your own interests – “I will make you ride the heights of the earth” says the Lord. That’s the promise, friends. The mouth of God has spoken it. I think most of us probably have a hard time believing this. We’re not alone. The synagogue leader who challenged Jesus in today’s gospel certainly did too. How else can someone believe that removing an excruciating and debilitating condition is an offense to God? How else can the following of a law become more important than compassion? Remember the story: A woman who had suffered with a back ailment for eighteen years approached Jesus. She could barely stand-up straight. Moved with compassion Jesus does what he can for her and her health is restored, and she immediately began praising God, not Jesus. Clearly Jesus wasn’t pursuing his own interests, or his own affairs; instead he honors the Sabbath by doing exactly what God has asked – to care for those in need and to help the afflicted. Far from being work, what Jesus did for that woman was an act of worship that honored and praised God. But see, that poor synagogue leader was stuck, unable to change old habits and ways of being that no longer served him well. Slavery to the law had replaced compassion in the heart. I can’t help but wonder if fear motivated his merciless response. Perhaps he was afraid that if Jesus blurred the lines between work and compassion, more might be required of him. Or, maybe he was troubled by the presence of such a needy person in a house of worship, for if she came and found help, how many others might come seeking the same thing? He found a reason, a loophole, to resist change, but he missed the point. With some harsh words, Jesus made sure he got the point and that God’s intentions were made clear. Do you have a loophole? Are you resisting much needed change? Are you holding on to what you need to leave behind? Why? What end is it serving? Friends, God wants us to live in freedom – freedom to love, to be good people; freedom to change old habits and ways of being that only reveal our lesser selves; freedom to change what no longer serves us well and what hurts others; freedom to let our ancient ruins be healed and our trampled streets to be repaired; freedom to give of ourselves to those who need what we have to offer, and in giving, in setting aside our own desires, we discover the life God has always longed to give us. This is the life we’re being called to live, and it’s the life that will set us free to be fulfilled beyond measure. It is this life that God will make soar to the heights of the earth. Do you want that life? Really? Are you willing to move beyond whatever keeps you in that place from which you need to be released? It is a work of a lifetime, but there is no work more important or meaningful. Of that I’m convinced. And if you’re willing, if you’re brave enough to take on this life, then you’re in for the ride of your life, for God is ready to say to you, “I’m about to transform the world, to heal, repair, and restore – and guess who’s going to help me?” [1]
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