Sermon: Called for Freedom (June 26, 2016)

Pentecost 6C

June 26, 2016

Galatians 5:1, 13-25

Luke 9:51-62

         I took a class in college as a part of my religion major on theologies of the 20^th century. It was an incredible class – just five of us, all women, all from different parts of the country with very different perspectives on life and faith, and the professor was a feminist theologian and ethicist who spent time living in El Salvador during the Civil War there. Our conversations were fascinating, and I never worked so hard in a class. But one thing in particular that the professor said has really stuck with me. She said, “Lots of things are true: the sky is blue, I love my dog, Christ died so that we would have freedom from death. They are all true. But which of those will you stake your life on?”

         Which of these will you stake your life on? The question has nagged at me through every crisis I have had since then – whether a crisis of faith, or a more tangible crisis, or a combination. What truth will you stake your life on? And of all those things, I bet you can guess which is the one that gets me through crisis. I’ll give you a hint: it is not the color of the sky.

         “You were called for freedom. Love each other as Christ has loved you. Guided by the Spirit, find joy, peace, and love.” This is a short song written by Pastor Matthew Nickoloff for the South Wedge Mission congregation. It’s based on today’s text from Galatians: “For you were called to freedom, brothers and sisters; only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for self-indulgence, but through love become slaves to one another. For the whole law is summed up in a single commandment: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’” The text goes on to urge us to live by the Spirit, describing the fruits of such a life as love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity,

faithfulness, and self-control. These virtues, says the apostle Paul, are the ones we embrace when we live in a way that is guided by the Spirit, by Christ, by love for one another, and not by self-indulgence. In short, this is what it looks like to live in Christian freedom, to live a life that reflects the truth that Christ died to free us from sin and death.

         It sounds like a pretty good life, right? Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, self-control… these are all things that we want to teach our children, because we know that without those things, the world can be a pretty nasty place. Michael and I frequently tell Grace, “We want you to be successful, but most of all, we want you to be kind.” I know she doesn’t understand that yet, but we hope that by starting early enough, we will be instilling in her a value of treating others with respect and love, that she will indeed find delight in loving and treating people well. Who wouldn’t want to live a life like that?

         And yet, we don’t always do it. We all, at some point, give in to self-indulgence, and do not do what is kind or loving or patient or generous, but rather what indulges our broken, human desires in that moment. At some point we are all like the disciples in today’s Gospel lesson. They encounter the Samaritans, whom they already despised for their different historical and racial background (see, prejudice based on race has long been an issue!). When they discover these Samaritans will not receive Jesus as he travels through their country, they are outraged. They likely think, “Oh, this is the last straw. Those people, those Samaritans, are no good. They worship wrong, their blood is tainted by the enemy, they do not belong to our kind. And now this! Of course they would be behave like this, rejecting Jesus. We already knew they were bad people, and this just confirms it.” With all of their past opinions, assumptions and prejudices as proof of the validity of their hatred, the disciples ask Jesus, “Do you want us to command fire to come down from heaven to consume them?” Their response is not to love, but to destroy! Granted, they offer this with the best of intentions – they are defending their Lord, after all! Surely he would agree with them; after all, don’t we always assume that Jesus loves or rejects all the same people as we do?

         Now, I’m going to assume that no one here has ever wished death and destruction on an entire town based on one action. But I’m also guessing everyone here has at some point, whether consciously or not, wished or spoken some sort of ill or punishment against someone who upset us, or who didn’t act in a way we deemed appropriate, or who said something offensive, or who treated someone we love cruelly. We see this behavior all the time in political election seasons, as the attack ads start to hit the screen, and the rebuttals that follow, and then the nasty comments that appear online. We see it whenever a tragedy occurs, whether it is a mass shooting of a population that is hated and rejected by many, or an alligator snatching a 2-year-old off the beach. But we don’t only

see it in the news. We see it in our workplaces, in our families, in our friend groups. We see it from others, and we see it in ourselves. And the worst thing is, sometimes it feels good to voice something nasty about someone else, even something we don’t really mean.

But as good as it may feel in the moment, such a nasty response is not the way Christ intends for us to use our Christian freedom. The Constitution may grant us the freedom to say what we want, but Christ grants us a different sort of freedom – the freedom to love and serve our neighbor.

You were called for freedom: Love each other as Christ has loved you. Guided by the Spirit, find joy, peace, and love.

         Of all the truths you know, which would you stake your life on? Would you stake your life on the belief that someone who hurt you or someone else should be brought down by words or actions? Would you stake your life on the belief that when someone you dislike or disapprove of falls upon bad fortune, they deserved what was coming to them? Would you stake your life on the need to tell some offender exactly what you think of them?

         Or would you stake your life on God’s promise that God is stronger than death, stronger than sin, stronger than captivity, that if God is for us, nothing can defeat us? Would you stake your life on the truth that because God has broken the bonds of death for us, that we can live lives of freedom – not the freedom to self-indulge and say and do whatever we want, as Paul writes, but the freedom to love one another, to live by the Spirit? Would you stake your life on the truth that because God loves us bunch of sinners, God is capable of loving any bunch of sinners, and that to live in God’s Spirit means that we, too, strive to love all the sinners of the world – even if they sin differently from you?

         Those are hard truths, very hard. They sometimes go very much against the grain of our human inclination, which says that people should get what they deserve. They are truths I sometimes find it difficult to apply to other people, even as I’m so grateful that they apply to me. But they are truths that I can, indeed that I must, stake my life on, because they are truths that bring us to life – life with God, and life with one another.

         Let us pray… You called us for freedom, to love each other as Christ has loved us. Guide us by your Spirit, to find joy, peace, and love. In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 

Grace in the big city!

June 20, 2016

My Dear, Darling Daughter,

This has been a really big weekend for you! We went on our first family vacation that was not to see family – a trip to New York City! We are staying at a friend’s house outside the city, and traveling into the city to have some experiences. You have been an immense trooper, once again showing yourself to be one of the most adaptable, well-adjusted, easy-going people I know. Not one day has looked even remotely close to your usual schedule, but you have gone with it, enjoyed it, made friends along the way, and kept on smiling. In these three days, my love and admiration for you has grown exponentially – who would’ve thought it possible?

Our first day in the city, it took us a while to get to our destination, which was Central Park. By the time we got there, it was lunchtime and naptime. You were so resistant to a nap – we put in the

Central Park

stroller and you lay there, sucking your thumb with your eyes mere slits, as unwilling to stay fully awake as you were to miss a single thing. Hate to tell you, but you did finally fall asleep and missed the whole walk-in-the-park portion of the trip. Don’t worry, we’ll come back someday when you can really enjoy it.

We rode several subways that day, and you made friends on each one. We have found that, especially with a cute baby in tow, people in New York City are extraordinarily kind – offering help or their seat on the subway, smiling and waving at you, starting up conversations with three strangers. It is very sweet. But you, my dear, you are the stealer of hearts. I sat beside one lady on the subway, and soon enough you were reaching over for her newspaper. She kindly smiled and asked you, “Do you want to read this?” You gazed up at her and offered her your stellar grin, and she belonged to you. Trusting that this lady would not be annoyed by your reaching, nor the fact that your little foot was jabbing into her thigh, I looked away, and when I turned back, you have taken her thumb in your chubby little hand and were happily holding it while she read, as if you’d been best friends for life.

To every person who waved or said hello to you, you offered your two-toothed smile, winning hearts all along the way. You have worked hard this trip on learning to wave, and now when someone waves at you, you lift your arm in return (though you’re not yet entirely sure what to do with it, and sort of wave it randomly in whatever direction suits you – but we’re getting there!). When the subway starts

Getting ready to board the subway!

to go, you look around at everyone else holding the poles to keep steady, and you, too, reach out for a pole, too – unless, of course, you see a stranger’s handbag or bracelet that look more compelling. And each time you opt for a stranger’s belonging, they simply smile and let you play and explore.

I took you to church on Sunday, the church where my friend is pastor, but she is on vacation. Here, too, you won everyone over, crawling down the aisle, getting passed around at coffee hour, smiling and chatting with everyone. Grace Rehbaum at Grace Lutheran was a big hit!

One of many in-transit naps

You have tried several new modes of transportation on this trip, as well. You’ve traveled by foot (practicing walking!), in arms, in carrier (front and back), in stroller, in car, and some new ways, too – by several different trains, and by boat! You even got to go on an aircraft carrier, and see a space shuttle! With each new way of travel, we have watched to see how you would respond, and each time, you watch with interest, and then go with the flow. You love to move, no matter the way! (You even had your own little dance party in the Adidas Store, causing many walkers-by to stop, point, and smile.) Each of these modes of travel, it seems, have fallen at some point during a naptime, or in some cases, even a bedtime. For a baby who loves her sleep, you have adapted amazingly well to whatever the circumstances. I just put you in the carrier, and sing and rock you until you put your thumb in your mouth, calm yourself down, and eventually, fall asleep. Then when we get you to a place where you can stretch out and get in your preferred position, you do that without complaint, and fall back asleep, then wake up a while later with a smile on your face, ready for something new.

But what really made me marvel at you – at your adaptability, your courage, your joy at life – was today. We are going to a concert tonight, so decided it would be a good day to lie low, save our energy, and let you have a fairly normal schedule day. So much for that. We started the day with you discovering how to take off your own diaper – which you did, leaving poop all over one side of your pack and play and your legs. You let us know, and we cleaned you up. You went about your playing business, keeping busy until the bed was clean and dried out enough to sleep

Tuckered out after church on
Father's Day

in. Then we thought we’d go out for lunch. You were a little sleepy, but we figured you’d be fine. You rested a bit on the way there, then were eager to be a part of lunch. I gave you some strawberries from my waffle – which you’ve successfully eaten before. But this time, your face got all red and splotchy and your eyes swollen. We scooted to a pharmacy to get some Benadryl and called the doctor while we walked back to the house. While I spoke to a nurse, you started making a gagging sound and suddenly, you were throwing up all over the sidewalk! Poor dear! The nurse told us what to do, but by the time we were off the phone, you were all smiles again, happily in your dad’s arms. You smiled and chatted all the way home, then went promptly to sleep. As I write this, I check on you every few minutes to make sure you are still breathing and safe, and you are – breathing, safe, beautiful, brave, adventurous, easy-going, joyful, and wonderful.

Oh my dear, I can’t imagine loving you more, but each day, I do, a little more! Thank you for being you, for being an inspiration, for showing everyone who meets you how to take life by the reigns and enjoy every bit of it. You are amazing, Grace!

                                                                                                Love,

                                                                                                Your admiring Mama

Sermon: Assumptions and sin-mirrors (June 12, 2016)

Pentecost 4C

June 12, 2016

2 Samuel 11:26-12:10, 13-15

Luke 7:36-8:1-3

            This past week we had our Upstate New York Synod Assembly, the annual gathering of the ELCA churches in Upstate NY in which we make business decisions, learn about and discuss the mission of the Church and the ways that mission is being carried out, and worship and have fellowship together. It is always an incredibly fulfilling but also very draining few days, because it involves your time, your head, and your heart. This year that was especially the case, as we tackled together the topic of racial justice. These were hard conversations to have, because not everyone was on the same page about whether there even is a racial justice problem, and if there is, what it looks like and how it should be addressed.

One of the more difficult topics for many of us to wrap our heads around, as good, Christian, caring people who also happen to be white, was the concept of white privilege – that is, the possibility that people who are white have some inherent privilege and opportunities simply because they were born white. The very phrase made many of us feel like our accomplishments and even our good works were being undermined and disregarded simply because we are white. But the more we talked, the more I started to notice the different ways we respond to people based simply on their physical appearance – whether that is skin color, dress, height, weight, etc. For example, watching the outrage from many people this week about this 20-year-old Stanford student from Ohio who raped an unconscious girl get less than the minimum sentence because he had no previous offenses and such a bright future… I found myself wondering, coming off the tails of Synod Assembly, how that story would have played out differently if he had all the same qualifications except that he was black instead of white. With a pit in my stomach, I realized that people would probably be less likely to give him the benefit of the doubt, and more likely to dismiss him as just another thug who didn’t deserve leniency.

Whether that’s true or not, or whether you believe white privilege exists or not, the fact is that we do make assumptions about people – based on their appearance, yes, as well as a number of other factors. Sometimes those assumptions are good – people assumed the young man from Ohio was really a good person who made a mistake because look, he’s a champion swimmer and he wants to be a surgeon. And sometimes they are bad – like when we see someone begging for food and assume they are unmotivated to get their lives back on track. Assumptions about other people – about their character, about the intentions behind their words and actions, about their background – happen daily in our lives. We make them about others, and others make them about us. And once an assumption is made, the result is too often a string of gossip that perpetuates half-truths and hurts people along the way.

Of course, we are not the first generation to fall to the temptation to make assumptions about other people. We see it all over scripture. In today’s Gospel lesson, we see a woman who was from the city and was a sinner. What did you assume was her sin? It never says so, yet throughout time, people have assumed she was a prostitute. When she starts weeping upon Jesus’ feet and wiping the tears with her hair, and Jesus allows it, those gathered assume Jesus isn’t a prophet, because if he was, wouldn’t he know that such a sinful woman as she shouldn’t be doing this? They assume a woman of her sinful nature couldn’t possibly be offering such an act merely out of love and gratitude for Jesus. Assumption after assumption causes judgment upon judgment in this story, when in reality, her intentions are to show her love, and Jesus’ intentions are to show mercy and forgiveness on someone who was, he knew, a sinner who would truly be healed by such mercy and forgiveness.

It’s easy enough to point out other people’s false assumption – but it is much harder to see when we are the ones making assumptions, to see our own sins. We see this in today’s Old Testament reading, the classic story in which the prophet Nathan tells King David a parable that enlightens David’s sins against first Bathsheba, and then against her husband, Uriah. (In case you don’t know the story: David sees Bathsheba bathing on the roof and lusts for her, and takes her for himself. When he

David and Nathan, by Jacob Backer
"You are the man!"

finds out he is married to Uriah, who is away at war, David arranges for Uriah to be killed in battle, so he can have Bathsheba for himself. It was not David’s finest moment!) When Nathan tells David this parable, David can see so clearly in the story the sins being committed – in fact he condemns the man – but when Nathan tells him in no uncertain terms, “You are the man! You are the one who has committed these heinous sins!” David is shocked. He had not been able to see his own sin until Nathan held a mirror before him.

Sometimes we need someone to do that, to hold up that mirror and show us, “Hey, what you’re doing here is not what God intended.” The very first time I ever confessed verbally in the presence of someone else (a difficult but very cleansing practice that I recommend!), I struggled to name specific sins I had committed. The pastor suggested I consider my sins in light of the 10 commandments. God gave them to us for a reason, after all. In the case of making assumptions and judgments about our neighbor, the commandment to turn to is the 8^th: “You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor.” What is especially helpful is referring to Luther’s interpretation of this commandment in the Small Catechism. He writes: “We are to fear and love God, so that we do not tell lies about our neighbors, betray or slander them, or destroy their reputations. Instead, we are to come to their defense, speak well of them, and interpret everything they do in the best possible light.” I don’t know about you, but reading that is for me one of those three-sided full length mirrors in the Target dressing room, the ones that show you way more than you really wanted to see. It’s one thing to follow that first part – I’m generally fairly good about not telling lies about people or betraying or slandering them.

But that second part is so much harder, and I so much more often fall short: “come to their defense” – so, when someone else says anything bad about them, don’t say, “Really? What else?” but instead, “That’s not been my experience with that person.” “Speak well of them” – so, come up with something nice to say instead. “And interpret everything they do in the best possible light.” Ah, this one is the key. How easy it is for us, especially those of us who have been hurt, to jump to the worst scenario, to assume people intend the worst, and so we get ready to fight and defend ourselves. It is self-preservation, really: why would we trust someone when trusted people have hurt us in the past? If we approach on the defensive, we won’t get hurt again. Safest to assume the worst until they’ve proven themselves otherwise.

But is that really the safest option? Is it the most faithful? Does it follow the 8^th commandment?

Let’s try a little exercise. Think of a person about whom you have made a negative assumption. Perhaps it is an assumption about their character, or their education level, their personality, or their intentions. Maybe it was a stranger in Wegmans, maybe someone you work with, maybe someone you met at a party, maybe even someone in this room. Think, what was the assumption you made about them?

Consider what it was that made you make that assumption. Was it the way they look? Their age? Something they said? How did you react to it? Did you yell? Complain about them later? Avoid them?

Consider now why you made the assumption you did. This is different from what they did. Think now about why you responded the way you did. Is it because you have seen that way of dressing/talking/acting before, and its outcome, and suppose this time will be the same? Is it because you feel threatened somehow by the person, and making a negative assumption about them will make you feel stronger in their presence? Is it because you are protecting yourself, or someone else you love?

Now think again about that action of theirs that caused you to make an assumption. Rather than assuming something negative in response to it, what would “the best possible light” look like? I mean, what if you assumed the best instead of the worst? For example, you encounter someone in Wegmans who, when you reach beside her to grab some bananas, starts yelling at you. Your initial assumption was, “Goodness, that person is very mean. She probably doesn’t have any friends, because she isn’t a very good person.” The best construction on that encounter might instead be, “This person must be bearing a lot in her life and be really hurting or overwhelmed to have so little patience right now. Maybe she has had a really bad day.”

With that new perspective on this person, how do you view them differently? And, are you inclined to act differently toward them? Thinking of that same lady in Wegmans, maybe initially you yelled back at her, but now, maybe you now think, “I have had bad days, too. I’ll try to have a little extra patience for her today, and pray she finds some support for whatever is weighing on her.”

It is a tough mirror to look into. I really feel for King David when Nathan holds up such a mirror, when David is faced with his sin. What a horrible feeling it is to recognize your own role in a tough situation – for example, that you made an assumption about someone without first trying to interpret their actions in the best possible light as Luther suggests, and that has caused you to act differently toward that person, and perhaps then you see that your assumption has caused a string of half-truths – shared in confidence and with best intentions to inform or protect others, but which have, nonetheless, damaged that person’s reputation. How difficult to take responsibility for that sin, to confess it, and to commit to making a changing.

But this response – to reflect, and to repent, and to seek forgiveness – this is a response that leads to healing. Jesus tells those gathered that this woman had come to Jesus seeking healing and salvation from her many sins, and because she had received such immense mercy, her response was to show great love. Love, the great healer of so many ills, rarely results when we insist that we are right. But love always finds space to grow in the face of repentance, because God’s mercy always follows repentance.

You may have noticed we didn’t begin worship with confession today as usual. Today, we are doing it in the middle of worship, right before the passing of the peace. During that time of silent reflection and self-evaluation, I pray that we will all use that time to look for a mirror, to look for a chance to recognize our sin, and to confess, so that when we hear those words of absolution in which God assures us of the forgiveness of all our sins, that we will truly hear those words as the words of healing and redemption they are meant to be.

Let us pray… Forgiving God, your mercy is extensive, and your love everlasting. Help us to be humble in our self-reflection, noticing where we have fallen short of your commandments and not loved our brothers and sisters as fully as you intended, and help us also to change our ways so that we might live in great love and service to others. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sermon: A gospel response to tragedy (June 5, 2016)

Pentecost 3C

June 5, 2016

1 Kings 17:17-24; Psalm 30; Luke 7:11-17

            The Internet exploded this week after a horrific incident took place at the Cincinnati Zoo. In case you haven’t heard, here is the gist of it: a 4-year-old boy slipped away from his mother while she was taking a picture. He crawled into the gorilla enclosure, fell 15 feet into a moat, and a 400-pound gorilla got ahold of him. As the crowd screamed in horror, the gorilla got agitated, and began dragging the boy around the water. The gorilla did not respond to zookeepers’ calls to him. The Dangerous Animals Response Team made the snap decision that tranquilizer darts would likely make things worse before they got better, and so in order to save the boy’s life, they would have to kill the gorilla – which they did. Their quick action saved the life of the boy, but took the life of a beautiful, endangered creature. It is difficult to read the story and not feel completely heartbroken.

The response on the Internet, however, has been largely hateful. Much blame has been spewed toward the apparently negligent mother, calling for her arrest. A fair amount has been directed toward

Harambe the gorilla and the little boy

the zoo, for insufficient safety measures. Some has been directed at zoos in general, for holding dangerous animals like gorillas in captivity in the first place. But almost everywhere you look, you see a great big pile of blame, shame and finger-pointing.

            It is a common response to tragedy, isn’t it? We scramble, in the face of things we don’t understand, to identify a reason for the tragedy. If we can make sense of it, and point out the cause, then perhaps we can file it away safely in the “Now It Makes Sense” file of our brains, and move on. If it is a tragedy that doesn’t affect us directly, like the gorilla story, we don’t have to think about it again. If it is more personal – perhaps the untimely death of a loved one – then we may blame ourselves, or someone else, or even God. Such blaming may be painful, especially if we blame ourselves, but the blaming at least makes us feel more settled, even if it results in broken relationships or a burden of guilt we carry for the rest of our lives. Blaming and finger-pointing is our go-to method for making sense of things we could not otherwise understand, for getting over tragedy.

            We even see this method in our scripture lessons today. In our first reading, a widow watches as her only son – the only person she has in her life – becomes so ill he stops breathing. And what is the first thing she does? She blames the prophet Elijah: “What have you against me, O man of God? You have come to remember my sins, and to cause the death of my son!” Why else would God be letting her son die? It must be the fault of this man before her, proclaiming to be God’s messenger, or her own sins, or a combination. Though it doesn’t say so, I wouldn’t be surprised if similar thoughts were running through the mind of the other widow we encounter today, in our Gospel lesson. Both of these women are in a desperate situation – with no men in their lives, there is no one to take care of them, and they will spend the rest of their lives relying on the kindness of strangers. Someone must be to blame for this. If there is no one to blame, how will they ever move on?

            But I’m not really sure “moving on” is what we are ultimately looking for. “Moving on” doesn’t require any growth, any change, any self-reflection. It requires only putting something behind you, or sweeping it neatly under the rug, and hoping it doesn’t crop up again in the future to bite you.

            No, “moving on” is not really the goal. Rather, I think the goal here is healing. Both of the widow stories we hear today are stories about healing; and we’ll actually hear several such stories from Jesus’ life in the coming weeks. Though in the biblical healing stories, it happens almost instantaneously, we who have experienced healing, whether physical or emotional, know that it is, in fact, a long, sometimes painful process, one that requires commitment, patience, endurance, and support. It comes not from walking around or over our grief, but right directly through it. It comes from acknowledging pain as a part of the process, and facing it bravely, and coming out the other end as a stronger, healthier person.

            So what does healing look like in the face of tragedy? Thinking again about the gorilla story: I have found in my reading this week, that amidst the vitriol and shame piling, a few voices have arisen to offer not blame, but empathy and compassion. I’ve seen it come especially from other parents of young children, people who know how quickly a determined child can slip away from your sight even if you are watching with a keen eye, people who know that mistakes happen all the time. It comes from people who have imagined themselves in the same situation, and tried to feel that same heartbreak before casting stones.

That is a much more difficult approach to helping someone through tragedy, isn’t it? We want to steer clear of as much pain as possible – that’s why we search for reasons. Rationalizing it makes the pain at least make sense. But what can be more healing than someone crawling down into your dark, grief hole with you and saying, “Man, it’s dark and scary down here. Can I sit with you a while?” Not fixing, or applying reason, or blaming someone else, or offering a silver lining. Just

Cartoon of empathy from Brene Brown animation

sitting there, with you, with the pain. This empathy, this compassion, is the first step toward healing.

            Jesus and Elijah both feel compassion for their respective widows. But at least the way the biblical narrative unfolds, it seems that from there they both quickly move to a solution: they bring the sons back to life. In our lives, healing does not happen so quickly. You have to sit in that dark hole together with your loving, compassionate community a lot longer before healing occurs. That is why, as I search for the gospel message that speaks to our management of tragedy, I am drawn this week to our Psalm.

When I read Psalm 30, I am transported back to Slovakia, where I lived for a year after college. I had just moved there when I learned of a horrific tragedy back home. I had never and have never felt so desperate and alone and helpless. And I found myself drawn to Psalm 30, which acknowledges so poignantly the pain of desperation and helplessness. Though it starts from the perspective of having already been healed, the way it reflects on those painful times from before resonated with me. They were so real. “You hid your face, I was filled with fear… Hear O Lord, and have mercy on me. Be my helper.” But then, finally, “You have turned my wailing into dancing. You have put off my sackcloth [the garment of mourning], and clothed me with joy.” Oh, how I clung to this hope! I prayed this prayer, knowing it was not yet true for me, that I was still in the night of weeping and wailing, but knowing also that joy does come in the morning, that God does, finally, clothe us with joy.

            That joy and dancing that follows the night of weeping – that, my friends, is healing. That is the gospel. That is what God through Christ does for us. It doesn’t come when we point a finger, assign blame, and move on from our pain prematurely, and it doesn’t happen overnight. Sometimes the night of weeping lasts for many months or even years. But God promised us on that Easter morning that joy does come in the morning, that our wailing will turn to dancing. We are assured of that promise when we are baptized into the death and the resurrection of Christ.

As we cling to that promise, that same God calls us toward loving one another and showing one another compassion and empathy, hearing one another’s pain, striving to understand one another

without judgment. Can we offer that sort of compassion to a horrified mother who watched a 400-pound gorilla drag her son through a moat? Can we offer it to our friends, family, and co-workers? Can we offer it to ourselves?

            Weeping spends the night – it always done, whether we want it to or not. But joy comes in the morning. May we in all tragedy, near and far, and all conflict, cling to that promise, that God will bring dancing out of mourning, healing out of pain, and life out of death.

            Let us pray… Healing God, in the face of pain, tragedy, or struggle of any kind, you have promised us that the night does not last forever, and that when it finally ends, joy will come. Help us to have compassion for one another in our pain, until that day when your morning light finally shines on all of us, and all of life is joy. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.