This is definitely an example of one of those sermons you preach to yourself. Basically, it is my internal dialogue this week, as much personal reflection as it is sermon, truly a "life meets ministry" sermon.
Easter 3C
Easter 3C
Acts 9:1-6, Psalm 30
Christ is risen! Christ is risen
indeed!
Today
we hear the story of Paul’s conversion – from Saul to Paul, from persecutor of
the church to promoter of the church. Such a great story: this guy who was the
greatest enemy of the church, “breathing threats and murder against the
disciples of the Lord,” and as he is actively trying to tear down the church
this blazing light from heaven knocks him down and blinds him and calls him
out. Friends have to lead a confused and sightless Saul into town where he
encounters Ananias who has been told by the Lord that he must talk to this
enemy of Christ. Ananias does as he is told, explaining to Saul what had
happened to him on the road, and then this great line: “something like scales
fells from Saul’s eyes, and his sight was restored.” And Saul was baptized, and
began proclaiming the good news of Christ, and eventually became Paul, the guy we know and love who wrote much of the New
Testament.
There
are so many cool parts of this story… but I admit that when I read it, I often
feel a little jealous! I sort of wish I had such a cool and dramatic conversion
story, something that would draw people in, make them say, “Wow, if something
like that could happen to her, maybe this God and this faith are worth
considering.” Instead, my story is, “I was born into a pastor’s family and went
to church every single week, sometimes twice, for my whole life, then I majored
in religion, then I was a missionary, then I went to seminary, now I’m a pastor
and will have my own pastor’s kids someday.” It’s not a very compelling story.
No flashing light from heaven, no sudden “a-ha!” moment, no scales falling from
my eyes and sudden enlightenment. Even my call to ministry story is more
logical than mystical: I started thinking that maybe I could be a pastor, and
then I applied to seminary. For someone like me who loves a good story, it’s
kind of a bummer.
But
maybe I do have a good conversion story, and in order to find it, we need to
broaden our understanding of what conversion is. Paul’s story sets the bar
pretty high as far as how he actually become a Christian… but the thing about
becoming a Christian is that it is not a once and done sort of deal. You don’t
suddenly get baptized, confess Christ, and then you live a life of devout and
unwavering discipleship and nothing ever goes wrong and everything in life is
hunky-dory because you are a Christian. By no means! Conversion is something we
might do every day of our lives, as we face our various travails and
challenges, frequently turning this way and that before finally turning back
toward God. We are constantly converting! And so I think that the conversion
story in our readings today that might better suit many of us and our
day-to-day conversions, comes not from Paul, but from the Psalm.
I
remember the first time I really noticed Psalm 30. It was while I was living in
Slovakia. I’d been there about a month, and had just arrived in my village –
after spending the first month there with the other Americans in my group, I
was now all alone in this tiny village. I was desperately homesick, and
doubting that I should be there at all, and I spent a lot of time crying. In an
effort to cultivate a spiritual discipline, I started reading through several
Psalms each day. Although I had never before written in a Bible, when I got to
Psalm 30, I started underlining and putting exclamation marks in the margins.
“Weeping spends the night, but joy comes in the morning.” Yes! “You have turned
my wailing into dancing.” Please, Lord! Though the Psalm spoke in past tense, I
understood this as my prayer, that this would soon become my own past tense.
Joy would come in the morning. My
wailing would be turned to
dancing!
I
had a similar experience this week in my office. It has not been an easy week
for me, as many of you know, with many big health decisions to be made. I was
grumpy on Monday morning, to say the least. As is my custom in sermon
preparation, I read the texts assigned for today aloud to myself in my office…
and by the end of the Psalm, I was weeping. Once again, I knew: God would turn my wailing into dancing, and would clothe me with joy. God would convert my heart and bring me through this trial,
just as God had done so many times before. And indeed this marked a turning
point for me – I suddenly became very aware of the blessings God was putting in
my path, from the surprising kindness of strangers, to old friends
reconnecting, to a deeper sense of gratitude for the abundant gifts I have in
this life. They had all been there all along, but it was not until my heart was
converted that I was able to see them.
It’s
a different sort of conversion that the Psalmist sings. It’s not the same as
Paul’s conversion on the road to Damascus, but it is a conversion, nonetheless.
A conversion from frustration and confusion to understanding and acceptance.
From darkness, to enlightenment. From doubt and despair to hope and
fulfillment.
Such
conversions tend to happen when we are not prepared, right? Or perhaps more
accurately, when we are prepared for something else than what life throws us.
Such conversions blindside us, knocking us down when we least expect it: when a
job is lost, or an illness diagnosed, or a relationship broken, or a loved one
taken from us. We put such careful plans in place, have so many hopes for our
lives and our futures, and then BAM, everything changes. We find ourselves,
with the Psalmist, “down in the pit.” We are sad, confused, angry. We may not even
have the words to pray at all, certainly not to praise any God that would let
this happen!
This
is when conversion is possible. Saul was knocked down, blinded, confused,
approached by a stranger who told him the will of the Lord, and suddenly, he
saw. Something like scales fell from his eyes, and he saw and understood how
the Lord would work in him. He was converted, from hate and despair to love and
purpose.
And
that is a story we see in our
lives all the time. In today’s Psalm, the Psalmist begins in praise, in joy, on
solid ground. He writes, “While I felt secure, I
said, I shall never be disturbed. You, LORD, with your favor, made me as strong
as the mountains.” That’s a wonderful place to be, but it is not the place of
one who is ready to grow and be transformed, is it? It is not until we are
knocked down, maybe even blinded like Saul was on that road to Damascus, that
we suddenly become aware of our need – our need for God, our need for
conversion and transformation. I have a colleague who said it very well: “being
happy is great and all, but happiness doesn’t have a whole lot to do with
transformation.”
And
transformation, conversion, is what this faith is all about. Yes, Paul’s
dramatic conversion story that day on the road to Damascus is a wonderful story
about becoming a Christian, but conversion and transformation didn’t finish on
that road. It also didn’t start on that road. The transformation of life as we
know it started on that Sunday morning at early dawn when some women discovered
that God could transform death into everlasting life, that fear and sadness
could be converted into love and joy – indeed that wailing could and would be transformed into dancing.
This
happened on that Easter morning, it happened on the road to Damascus, and it
happens still in our day-to-day lives. This is the promise of the resurrection:
that God will continually bring life out of death, and transform our wailing
into dancing. I had a profound experience of that this week, and I’m sure you
have had similar experiences: times when
you found yourself in darkness and in pain, and were confronted with light,
healing, and direction. Times when you suffered, when “weeping spent the
night,” but when you turned toward God, “joy came in the morning.” That
conversion – that is the power of our God.
Let
us pray. Transforming God, we sometimes find ourselves weeping and wailing
through the night, unable to understand or accept our circumstances. Help us to
trust that your promise to us is to turn our death into life, our mourning into
joy, and our wailing into dancing. In the name of the Father, and the Son, and
the Holy Spirit. Amen.
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