23A, the texts can be found here
The Gospel last week was the parable of the vineyard where the workers kill the owner’s son. A violent text, the parable we heard last week served the purpose of foretelling Jesus’ own murder. Because I was not the preacher and had no formation responsibilities that day, I was off the hook and instead got to watch Bryan and George squirm! But, the Holy Spirit clearly has a sense of humor, and here I am today.
And now it’s my turn to squirm, because today we are confronted by yet another uncomfortable Gospel. A king has a wedding banquet prepared, the wealthy decide not to attend, the commoners are invited instead. The commoners accept the invitation, but one of them is not dressed appropriately and the king casts him out into the outer darkness. Confounded and conflicted—my turn to squirm indeed!
But, as I considered today’s Gospel, I realized that what is so hard about this particular text is that we have been acculturated to assume that any male authoritative figure in scripture is somehow a stand in for God. And, in this text, the male stand in is a king who does not behave like the God we have come to know as the God of our salvation. So, I wondered, what’s up with that? And, in my wondering, I turned to Greek scholars and found myself reflecting on the use of the passive voice in the parable, “the kingdom of heaven was likened to”.https://leftbehindandlovingit.blogspot.com/2014/10/the-kingdom-of-heavens-v-kingdom-of.html?m=1
Could this mean that it was likened to but was not like? Is Jesus pointing out that the traditional depictions of the kingdom of heaven fall short of what God intends? Then there is the king. The Greek text uses the phrase, “man king” where the NRSV simply says, “king”. Is Jesus pointing out the difference between a human king whose actions are inconsistent with God’s nature? God, who is slow to anger, merciful and of great kindness. God who blesses the poor, the meek, and the hungry. God who will sacrifice a son rather than another.
Perhaps my instincts, that cruelty is not of God, and thus this king cannot be God are right. Perhaps, I knew all along, that this Gospel is good news because that king is not our God!
Which brings me back to last week. Last week, I didn’t understand what Bryan was doing in children’s chapel when he set up the Gospel by asking the children to describe God in one word. But, now I understand. I understand that if we remind ourselves of what we know of God’s love and THEN are confronted with something that challenges our understanding, we can use our knowledge as an anchor to keep us grounded when the world would unmoored us.
“If you had to describe God in one word, what word would it be?”
The children paused and then hands began to wave,
Kind. Powerful. Loving.
The words tumbled out. And, as our community’s children described God in a word they were reminding themselves of what they know in their very bones. They are reminding themselves of what they’ve been taught. They are reminding themselves of the love they know. The love that you all have given them, given them as a guidepost for what is true, just, and good.
Strong work, all of you, upholding our youngest members in their faith and helping them to see beyond themselves and into the love that made all things. The love that is true. The love that will prevail. The love that will endure all things.
The love that will guide them, will guide all of us, home.
Will guide us home, past the ugly and the profane. Past the scary and the foreboding. Through the night and into morning.
The rod and staff, not for beating, but for nudging and guiding. The still waters. The green pastures. We are nourished, tended, and guided—even as we walk through the death dealing places and towards the life which God intends for us.
A couple of months ago, I was chatting on the phone with one of our parishioners, Helen Leslie. And, as we spoke, we discussed our mutual love of Madeleine L’engle—noted author, poet, and (lest you’ve forgotten since that last time I spoke of her) Episcopalian. Sparked by my conversation with Helen, I decided to revisit the Wrinkle in Time series—a series I know well and that reads like an old friend. But, like time spent with an old friend, I learned new things because I am new since last we met. Which brings me to the fourth book in the series, one that I’d never paid much mind to before, “Many Waters”.
In this book, Dennys and Sandy, the teenaged twins of the Murray family have accidentally traveled through space and time and into the lives of Noah and his family. As they are tended and cared for by Noah’s family, they gradually realize that they have entered the primordial, biblical landscape, before the flood, before the ark even, and then to their great distress, they realize that some of those they have grown to love will not survive this moment.
In a moment of desperation, young Dennys find himself pacing in the night, and as often happens in L’engle’s landscapes, the stars offer a kind of heavenly counsel,
“Do not seek to comprehend. All shall be well. Wait. Patience. Wait. You do not always have to do something. Wait.”
Earlier this week, I shared that I’m feeling overwhelmed by this moment we are in, that my anxiety and fear had gotten the best of me, and that I wasn’t sure how I was going to approach the task of preaching this week. Which global, national, personal, crisis ought to be addressed? How to take the text and offer guidance, purpose, and hope? How? I keenly felt both the pressure and the responsibility to somehow find words that would break open this moment and reveal to us how we are going to FIX EVERYTHING!!!!!
No pressure or anything!
But then, in the midst of my struggle and confusion, I read those words, “Do not seek to comprehend. All shall be well. Wait. Patience. Wait. You do not always have to do something. Wait.” (318)
And, I remembered that I do not always have to do something. That it is not I alone, or St. Clement’s alone, or the church alone, or any one human structure or institution alone, that will heal this moment—because this moment is quite simply beyond any one of us. This does not mean that we are to despair and to cease to hope. It means that we are to continue in hope, to stand firm in the Lord, and through our dogged commitment to what is true, honorable, just, pleasing, and good, we will find our way through this moment.
And, what I hope for us all today, is that the reassurance of the peace of God which passes all understanding, will be enough to keep us moving forward. Moving forward, even when the way ahead requires walking through the valley of the shadow of death.
Dennys, follows the counsel of the stars, and returns to Noah’s tent where he continues in his labors. “Work on the ark progressed slowly. In the heat of the sun, his body glistening with sweat, Dennys found it hard to remember his vision of understanding and hope. But it was still there, waiting for him…” (319)
Have you ever had a vision of understanding and hope? Have you ever seen beyond this moment into the love that endures all things? Have you kept going, beyond your strength, and beyond any reason?
Have you?
Silence.
I have. I have seen the sun rise as often as I’ve seen it set. I have seen birth and death. I have felt the bass notes calling for freedom from Egypt’s land and the sweet descant of verity unseen. I have felt my hand bound to another and received the blessing of God. I’ve had friends willing to walk me to safety and known folk willing to take the risk of love. I’ve seen a calf stumble upright for the first time and held a fragile chick in my cupped hand. I have seen that sweet chariot swing low and shouted alleluia.
Silence.
And, I have kept going. And, all of you, have kept going. Kept going. because it was hope that brought you here and grace which will lead you home and there is nothing to do now. Nothing to do but, “Keep on doing”, “keep on doing the things that you have learned and received and heard and seen in me, and the God of peace will be with you.”
Amen.
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