Sermon Archive
Readings for 9 September 2007
Proper 18
Year C
Deuteronomy 30:15-20
Moses said to all Israel the words which the Lord commanded him, "See, I have set before you today life and prosperity, death and adversity. If you obey the commandments of the LORD your God that I am commanding you today, by loving the LORD your God, walking in his ways, and observing his commandments, decrees, and ordinances, then you shall live and become numerous, and the LORD your God will bless you in the land that you are entering to possess. But if your heart turns away and you do not hear, but are led astray to bow down to other gods and serve them, I declare to you today that you shall perish; you shall not live long in the land that you are crossing the Jordan to enter and possess. I call heaven and earth to witness against you today that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Choose life so that you and your descendants may live, loving the LORD your God, obeying him, and holding fast to him; for that means life to you and length of days, so that you may live in the land that the LORD swore to give to your ancestors, to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob."
Philemon 1-20
Paul, a prisoner of Christ Jesus, and Timothy our brother,
To Philemon our dear friend and co-worker, to Apphia our sister, to Archippus our fellow soldier, and to the church in your house:
Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.
When I remember you in my prayers, I always thank my God because I hear of your love for all the saints and your faith toward the Lord Jesus. I pray that the sharing of your faith may become effective when you perceive all the good that we may do for Christ. I have indeed received much joy and encouragement from your love, because the hearts of the saints have been refreshed through you, my brother.
For this reason, though I am bold enough in Christ to command you to do your duty, yet I would rather appeal to you on the basis of love-- and I, Paul, do this as an old man, and now also as a prisoner of Christ Jesus. I am appealing to you for my child, Onesimus, whose father I have become during my imprisonment. Formerly he was useless to you, but now he is indeed useful both to you and to me. I am sending him, that is, my own heart, back to you. I wanted to keep him with me, so that he might be of service to me in your place during my imprisonment for the gospel; but I preferred to do nothing without your consent, in order that your good deed might be voluntary and not something forced. Perhaps this is the reason he was separated from you for a while, so that you might have him back forever, no longer as a slave but more than a slave, a beloved brother-- especially to me but how much more to you, both in the flesh and in the Lord.
So if you consider me your partner, welcome him as you would welcome me. If he has wronged you in any way, or owes you anything, charge that to my account. I, Paul, am writing this with my own hand: I will repay it. I say nothing about your owing me even your own self. Yes, brother, let me have this benefit from you in the Lord! Refresh my heart in Christ.
Luke 14:25-33
Now large crowds were traveling with Jesus; and he turned and said to them, "Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple. Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple. For which of you, intending to build a tower, does not first sit down and estimate the cost, to see whether he has enough to complete it? Otherwise, when he has laid a foundation and is not able to finish, all who see it will begin to ridicule him, saying, `This fellow began to build and was not able to finish.' Or what king, going out to wage war against another king, will not sit down first and consider whether he is able with ten thousand to oppose the one who comes against him with twenty thousand? If he cannot, then, while the other is still far away, he sends a delegation and asks for the terms of peace. So therefore, none of you can become my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions."
Sermon
The Rev. Cornelia P. Spoor
“Refresh my heart in Christ.” In nomine patri…
“If any comes to me and does not hate his own father and mother and wife and children and brothers and sisters, yes, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple,” Jesus says to the crowds who are following him to hear his teachings. Well – this sure isn’t the gospel of pretty little lambs and hugs and kisses, is it? Or the passage that would bring to mind the hymn “A comfy pillow is our God,” as a Lutheran friend of mine once joked? Not at all, and it’s not a message that’s easy to hear, or – I’d guess – one that any of us really wants to hear, either.
Indeed, what are we to make of it? The very idea that – in order to be Jesus’ disciple – we need to hate those to whom we are closest is profoundly uncomfortable to me, and I would guess to most of us. Each of the commentaries I consulted quickly pointed out that the use of the word “hate” is rhetorical exaggeration, traditional in Hebrew culture; one commentary adds that the word “hate” is better understood as meaning “love less” or “to be less attached to.” In other words, in order to become a disciple of Jesus, we need to be more attached to Jesus than to our own lives and families, or to be willing to give up anything and everything that we have and that we value.
I have to admit, that had I been in that crowd and heard Jesus say this, I’d very likely have suddenly remembered some chore or task at home that urgently required my attention -- and rushed home to take care of it. Maybe, hopefully, your reaction would be different, but that is the reaction that this message -- that it’s necessary to be willing to give up everything I value -- always first elicits in me. This is just a hard message, and one that I really don’t want to hear. It goes against the grain in so many ways, and I just want it to be easier – never mind comfier – to do the right thing. Of course I want to be a disciple of Jesus; I just want it not to be so hard and so demanding. Honestly, I want it to be less challenging … and more convenient.
Reflecting on this, I wonder if the hardness of this message, the seeming impossibility of following this teaching, is one of the reasons that there has been, over the past month or so, a small flood of books published that each make a case for atheism, and which blame the dangerous state of the world today on religious belief in general, Christian as well as Jewish and Muslim faith. Certainly, as we approach the 6th anniversary of 9/11, there’s a very appealing and tempting easiness in such an argument. Maybe if everyone in the world gave up their own beliefs, it would solve the problems of strife and terrorism and war. Maybe. Or not. I certainly have no answers about any of this, only questions: First of all, the arguments against religion and faith seem to be predicated on the idea that the current problems tearing the world apart are primarily religious in nature, but isn’t it clear that religion is only one among many of the issues currently causing division and discord? Secondly, does it not seem wildly improbable that everyone would willingly agree to give up her or his own beliefs? And thirdly, what on earth would a world without beliefs look like? Isn’t it more likely that the very problems that set our world on fire are the result of too little belief, too little care for each other, too much caring about oneself and not caring enough about others?
Thinking about all of these questions, and the approach of the anniversary of 9/11, I thought back to August 2001, when I had the one of the best vacations of my life: camping for a week on a very small island in the northern Adirondacks. The island is accessible only by canoe or rowboat, with no electricity or running water. And if you don’t know that my total prior life experience of camping experience prior to 2000 involved one trip 20 years ago that I hated and which resulted in my being hospitalized for 10 days, you can hardly imagine how improbable it is that I would have ever have considered such a trip, much less that it would be my “best vacation ever.” But having been to this particular park before, I did want to go there and try staying there, and when Lee and I were offered an island as a campsite, it sounded both terrifying and wonderful.
And both scary and wonderful is exactly what it was: scary to leave behind all the comforts I’m used to - internet access, newspapers, hot running water, a refrigerator, my car, my bed. And wonderful to be in the quietness, in a place where the only light at night is campfire, gas or battery-powered lamplight or moonlight, a place where the only sounds at night are the wind and the water lapping on the rocks, or the rain dripping on the tent, where you can climb up a rock in the morning and watch the mist burning off the water, or watch a storm coming across the lake. It was wonderful and amazingly peaceful, at least when I was able to ignore not having a hot shower, or the idea that someone might be calling my phone with an important message. And the longer I stayed, the easier it became to do that. At the end of the week, I was truly sorry to leave the island and come home. Having a shower was lovely, but it felt strange to be inside walls and a house again. ....
And then, about 2 weeks later, came September 11th. The New York Times published a graphic of the flight paths of the planes that flew into the World Trade Center: directly over the Adirondacks - over what I had come to see as “my lake, my island.” And for me, the idea that that any evil had passed over my place of such peace, such beauty, such wilderness, became for me part of what was torn apart that day. And I mourned that loss, that tearing apart, that tarnishing of the peace and the beauty of my place, my island, along with all the other losses we have all felt since that day.
It wasn’t until the next summer, when I went back to that park, to that island, that I began to see things differently. When I first went back to the island, it felt different, less magical, damaged somehow - sad. But very early my last morning there, I climbed up and sat on top of the hill, watching the light change over the lake as the sun rose, watching a family of loons that lived near the island that summer, looking at the leaves beginning to change as fall approached, and thinking about the planes flying over nearly a year before.
And as I sat there, I experienced something I can only describe as pure grace: the certain knowledge that despite the evil, the tearing, all the loss and pain and sorrow, that - yet - everything was still there: the sun, the mist, the trees, the water, the family of loons, the rock of the mountains, all still there, all enduring. Not that the world was untouched, but that it endures. And I cried - for the first time since September 11th, I cried, not only for the losses, but also for the sheer joy of the knowledge of what endures -- creation, with all its glories, and for the spirit that animates and sustains it, God’s love, in spite of everything.
A hard moment, a hard lesson: that we need to be ready to give up whatever it is that we want to hold onto in order to be followers, disciples.
But too, that if we don’t, aren’t willing to, we won’t be open to the grace, the gift of love-in-spite-of everything, the love that refreshes our hearts in Christ.
Amen.