Sermon: Let me see again. (October 28, 2018)

Pentecost 23B/Reformation Day

October 28, 2018

Mark 10:46-52

INTRODUCTION

            Normally on Reformation Day, we have the choice of staying with the lectionary readings that most non-Lutheran congregations are using today, or choosing thematic Reformation Day texts, which are always the same every year. I usually choose the Reformation texts: First this one from Jeremiah about God writing God’s law on our hearts, claiming us as God’s own, and forgiving us and forgetting all our sins. Then Psalm 46, on which Luther’s famous hymn (and Lutheran anthem), A Mighty Fortress is based. Then this text from Romans that is the one that sparked Luther’s realization that we are saved by grace and not by works: the heart of the Gospel and the idea that, 500 years ago, spurred a Reformation of the Church. All those texts, we will hear today. It wouldn’t be Reformation Day without them!

            But for the Gospel, I decided to swap out the usual Reformation one about how “the truth will set you free,” and use instead the Gospel that keeps us in Mark’s story, because it really captured my imagination this year. We’re just coming off a series of very difficult teachings from Jesus – about selling everything you own, cutting off limbs if they cause you to stumble, being prepared to leave everything, even your family, to follow. And so it’s remarkable, after all those difficult teachings, that in this reading, the blind beggar Bartimaeus hops right up, throws off his cloak, and follows Jesus – follows him to what we know will be the cross.

            There are so many cool things about this story, but I won’t get into them all today. But as you listen, I encourage you to listen especially to the dialogue, in particular the questions asked, and the responses given, and think of when you’ve heard those in your own life. Let’s listen.

[READ]

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

             Last spring, I got inspired to try out some different ways of praying. I was flipping through a book getting ideas, and one struck my fancy. It was a sort of guided meditation on a biblical story, in which you notice and imagine the ways your senses are being engaged by what’s happening in the narrative. Is it hot there? Dusty? Are you hungry? What does that person’s face look like? How does their voice sound? How does her expression make you feel? Stuff like that.

The story my book suggested using wasn’t the story we hear today, but it included the same question that Jesus asks Bartimaeus in today’s story: “What do you want me to do for you?” At that point in the meditation, the book suggested letting everything else in the scene just fade away, leaving me alone with Jesus. The meditation suggests imagining Jesus is looking me in the eye, and persistently asking me, “What do you want me to do for you, Johanna? What do you want me to do for you?”

            It was a great exercise… until I got to that last part. Then suddenly it got really unnerving. It really felt to me like Jesus was piercing my soul, and seeing all my fears and insecurities, all the things I have kept hidden from others, and maybe even from myself. I sat with that discomfort for a while, until I couldn’t take it anymore. It was as if I was afraid to answer Jesus’ question: “What do you want me to do for you?”

            Why would I be afraid? Because I didn’t want to be selfish? Because I don’t want to come off like James and John in last week’s Gospel reading, in which they tell Jesus, “We want you to do for us whatever we ask of you!” and then ask to sit beside him in his glory? Was I afraid because I was embarrassed? Was it because in the end, I didn’t really know what I wanted?

            My response to that guided meditation practice has kept me thinking about this – and it has also made me hyper-aware of every time that question, “What do you want me to do for you?” appears in a story about Jesus. Of course, this week is one of those times, in this encounter with Bartimaeus the blind beggar. This is a question I answer differently each time I encounter it, based on whatever might be going on in my life at the time.

            Well, I have something pretty big going on in my life right now, and because of the nature of that thing, so you do. As I hope you have heard by now, either by letter or in person, I have received and accepted a new call to serve at a different church, St. Paul’s in Pittsford. It wasn’t a change I was looking for or expecting to make, but I was asked to consider it and so I agreed to listen to the Spirit – and as I prayed and had conversation with people, it became pretty clear to me what the Spirit was saying! As I went through the discernment process to make this decision, my answer to Jesus’ question, “What do you want me to do for you?” was, “Give me guidance! Give me wisdom! Please, make it clear to me where you need me right now, and what you have in mind!” Jesus was a bit slow to answer, in my opinion, but he ultimately did make it pretty clear to me. And so last Sunday, I accepted the call, and will be leaving my position as your pastor at the end of November.

            I won’t assume to know how this news makes you feel. Maybe it is sad (it is for me!), maybe angry, maybe relieved, maybe anxious or fearful… maybe more than one of those, or something else entirely! But whatever your emotional response, you will all shortly be entering together, with your partner congregation, into a time of transition. And in transitional times, perhaps more than any other time, Jesus’ question is essential. Every step of the way, Jesus will be calling to you, like he called Bartimaeus, and asking you, “What do you want me to do for you?” And every step of the way, you will be discerning what the answer is. Maybe one day the answer is, “Just be here, Lord.” Maybe another day it is, “Show us what future you have in mind.” And on another day, “Give us patience – with the process, with ourselves, and with each other – to get through this!” The answer will change. That’s why Jesus asks this question so many times throughout the Gospels, to keep us thinking about it!

            As for me, I like Bartimaeus’ response. “Let me see again.” What I like about it is that last word: “again.” Presumably he once did have his sight, and then lost it, and wants it regained. And although I have always had near perfect eye-sight, physically speaking, this condition of losing sight and wanting it back resonates with me, especially for a time of transition – a time that is wrought with uncertainty and anxiety and perhaps some fear… but also a time that is ripe for growth. And so in these times, our answer may become the same as Bartimaeus: Let me see again. Let me find my way out of the darkness again. Let me understand again.

Let me see again how you, God, create something marvelous out of nothing. Let me see again how you lead and guide your people. Let me see again how you feed and nourish your people when they are in the wilderness, just like you fed the Israelites for forty years. Let me see again.

Let me see again how you lift up leaders, like you lifted up Moses, and Aaron, and Joshua, and Samuel, and David, and Lydia. Let me see again how you equip unlikely people to do your work, like you did Jeremiah, and Esther, and Ruth, and Peter, and Mary. Let me see again how you draw your people together. I want to see that, again.

Let me see again how you, Jesus, are a light shining in the darkness, like you were that dark night in a Bethlehem stable. Remind me again about how you are with me, with us, along the rocky road, just like you were there with the disciples on the night of your resurrection, as they walked with dashed hopes along the road to Emmaus. Let me see again how you come into our fears, just like you did when the disciples locked themselves in the upper room for fear of the Jews, and yet still, you appeared and said, “Peace be with you.” Let me see you do that again, do it again in my life, in my darkness, my dashed hopes, my fear, my uncertainty. Let me see it again.

Most of all, Jesus, you know what I want you to do for me? I want to see again how you bring life out of death. Let me see again how the things we see as unwanted change, you see as opportunity for transformation. Let me see again how even when nights are long and dark, morning brings surprises we couldn’t have imagined, because with you there is always dawn, just on the other side of the darkness. Let me see again how even when we are faced with endings, you have in mind beautiful new beginnings. Let me see again.

This is the story of our faith, you see, the story of God. It is a story of seeing again and again how God works in and among us to bring about transformation from death to life. It is a story about how the Spirit is always causing disruptions, so that we would come to see the truth of God a bit more clearly. That is, after all, what we celebrate on Reformation Day: we remember with thanksgiving that 500 years ago, what looked like the death of the Church as the world knew it was actually the beginning of a new age of faith: an age in which people were assured of God’s grace and love for them. Reformation Day is a day we give thanks for the ways that God is still disrupting our lives so that we could be assured again of that love and grace, of God’s relentless presence with us in the midst of transitions. Reformation Day – and every day – is all about how we want to see again God’s transforming power, the transforming power that is our daily bread.

You know what happens right after this story about Bartimaeus? The formerly blind beggar hops up and immediately follows Jesus – who then rides into Jerusalem on a donkey with palms waving and shouts of “Hosanna!” and then a few days later, dies on a cross. Bartimaeus, the man who wanted to see again, walks along with Jesus to see what seemed to be the most final of deaths, only to then see the most incredible expression of new life: resurrection! In my imagining of this story, I believe that Bartimaeus goes on to tell the story, over and over again, about how he came to see again that with God, there is always the promise of new life.

Let us pray… Transforming God, open the eyes of our hearts so that we may see again the mysterious ways you work to bring about new life. Be present with us in our transitions, and help us to trust that you are there, leading and guiding us along the way. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Sermon: What power looks like (Oct 21, 2018)

Pentecost 22B

October 21, 2018

Mark 10:35-45

INTRODUCTION

            For the past few weeks, we have been following Jesus on his journey to Jerusalem – a journey which he knows, and we know, will culminate with suffering and death on the cross. All along this journey, Jesus has been offering some very difficult teachings, to which we have been privy over the past month or so of Sundays. Teachings like, sell everything you own and give it to the poor, and cut off your limbs if they cause you to stumble, and be prepared to leave everything, even your families, and some tough teachings on divorce. Week after week, we’ve been squirming in our seats! Week after week we have been confronted with how difficult it is to be a disciple of Christ!

            This week is no exception. Jesus predicts his suffering and death on the cross for a third time, and then James and John respond by completely missing the point, and asking Jesus if they can sit by his side in his glory. Little do they know what they are asking! And so Jesus will put them in their place, telling them that his glory looks a lot less like the power they crave, and a lot more like serving others.

            Our first two readings will set this up for us, giving us a glimpse of what it means for Jesus to be an obedient servant of God. All of these readings compel us to ask ourselves, as hopeful disciples: what might be required of us to be disciples of Christ? Let’s listen to the Word as we grapple with this question.

[READ]

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Yesterday I had the wonderful opportunity to meet many of you at the meet and greet – thank you for that! If you were there toward the end of the event, you also had a chance to meet my little family: my husband, Michael, my 3-year-old daughter Grace, and my almost 2-year-old son, Isaac. Several people commented, “Wow, that’s a handful!” Yes, it is! When Michael and I had our two kids 15 months apart, I admit I really dreaded getting to the point where we would have a “terrible 2” and a “three-nager” at the same time. These two notoriously difficult ages in one house seemed like a lot! I can honestly say, now that we are almost at that point, I’m actually thoroughly enjoying it, partly because my kids are totally awesome (no bias, of course!). But also because every day my dear toddlers teach me about human nature, and they teach me to be more gracious with that condition we all share.

One lesson they have made sure to teach us is about the very human desire to be in control of the situation. Whether it’s choosing an outfit, or putting our own toothpaste on the toothbrush, or making important life decisions, humans want to have autonomy. We want to have power over our lives. We want to be in control.

            With that in mind, it is no surprise, really, that James and John make this bold request of Jesus: to grant them seats at his right hand and his and left in his glory. I used to read this text and think, “Ah, the audacity! The gall! Who would make such a presumptuous request as to be granted prized seats next to Jesus in his glory?” But then I looked at the broader context. You see, James and John and the others have just heard several teachings in a row about how difficult, even impossible it is to be a disciple of Jesus. I imagine they are feeling a bit insecure by this point – I know I would be! And then for a cherry on top, Jesus has predicted his own suffering and death for the third time. That’s not easy stuff to digest! They might not understand exactly what that means (they don’t have the benefit we have, of knowing the end of the story, plus 2000 years of conversation since then), but by now they must be starting to understand that something big is about to happen, and that it ain’t gonna be pretty. If I were they, I would be feeling… fearful, insecure, uncertain about my choices and about the future, and maybe a bit like I was losing my grip on my life. In short, I might be feeling like I did not have the control and power over my life that I so much appreciate having.

            I still think their request was pretty audacious, and not in a good way. I would never do that, I think. I mean sure I’d be feeling all those things, but I’d deal with it differently. I’m not so hungry for power as all that! And maybe I’m not. But I can see several other ways that I, and perhaps you, try to hold onto power and control in our lives.

A big way we do this that I see often is holding onto grudges. Getting hurt by someone, and not being willing to forgive them. Not even wanting to forgive them, because as long as you hold that over them, you have the upper hand, and the upper hand feels like power. I know I have done this, and I hear this story a lot from others, whether we are willing to admit it or not. Even though we know, intellectually, that holding onto a grudge doesn’t do us a bit of good, not for ourselves nor for the health of our relationships with others, it can still be hard for the heart to let go, because letting go can feel like letting go of having some power in the relationship.

Another example I have seen lately, especially in our divisive cultural climate, is an unwillingness to listen, really listen, to other points of view. We all have dearly held positions on various issues, and to really listen and try to understand another point of view runs the risk of us realizing we might have been wrong about something. And that can feel very scary and vulnerable. And although I think vulnerability can be incredibly powerful, it doesn’t always feel very powerful at first. So we tend to avoid it.

A third example of how we try to seek and hold onto power in our lives is how we handle our money. We work hard, we are good people, we want to provide for our families and enjoy life, we want to put money in retirement and college funds. All very healthy financial practices… that allow us to feel like we have a measure of control over our lives, now and in the future. And having that control and security feels pretty good.

Yeesh… these are all things I do or have done. And even though I don’t know you very well yet, my guess is you’ve had some experience with some of those things, too. Turns out, we are hungry for power, hungry for control, hungry for security! Maybe we shouldn’t be so quick to criticize James’ and John’s behavior – we too go to sometimes great lengths to maintain control and power in our lives, from toddlers and right on up! That’s not an inherently bad thing. It’s just a human thing.

Jesus’ response to James and John’s request is first a bit amusing, and then convicting. At first, it reminds me of when my toddler doesn’t want to wear a jacket on a cold day, so I say, “Sure, that’s fine,” and we walk outside and immediately I hear, “I’m cold.” Natural consequences, kid! Let’s go get that jacket! Jesus, too, says, “You don’t know what you’re asking. You want those things? Fine. You’ll see soon enough what they entail.”

But then, in true Jesus form, he goes on to flip everything they thought they knew right on its head. “You say you want to be in a powerful position,” he says. “What you’re envisioning as power is how the Gentiles see power – and we see how well that’s working out for them! Those who you see as ‘great’ are tyrants! They’re trampling the poor and weak! That’s not what we’re trying to do here. In my kingdom, this is not how it works. In my kingdom, those who are great are the ones who serve. Those who are last are first. Those who you’d think would be first, are really last.” Hmm… suddenly having control over my life and being in a powerful position isn’t sounding quite so appealing as it did a moment ago!

On the other hand… Jesus doesn’t say power is bad. He’s not telling us to be doormats, or not to contribute to society, or not to strive for great things. He just says that power looks different from what the world would have us believe.

The world would have us believe that power and glory is being in a higher position than others, having higher status and more prestige… but Jesus’ power and glory is in being low, in humility, in service, in self-giving.

The world would have us believe that power and glory are in wealth and riches… but Jesus’ power is in generosity, in ridding ourselves of the shackles of wealth that promise us what we desire but do not deliver. Jesus’ power is in resisting the temptation to put our trust in money, rather than in Christ.

The world would have us believe that power and glory are in being right, in having the upper hand, in having a bulletproof argument… but Jesus’ power and glory are in compassion for the other, listening to those on the margins of society, and sincerely trying to understand another’s pain. Jesus’ power is in seeking and offering forgiveness.

Jesus’ power and glory aren’t flashy and impressive in the way the world tells us they should be. The world says we emanate our own light, our own power. But followers of Christ know that this is not the case. Our work is not in shining our own light and bringing our own power into the world, but rather, in bringing Christ’s light and power into the world, into the places most in need of that power, that joy, that abundance, that life.

In last week’s Gospel reading, Jesus told his disciples, “For mortals, this is impossible, but not for God. For God, all things are possible.” And oh man, there is grace in that! Because this is hard. This is a difficult teaching. Sometimes I feel like I’m really getting it, really in a groove, but in just a second things can change and I fall once again into the trap of seeking what the world tells me is power and glory. It is impossible for us. But it is not impossible for Jesus, who, right after this exchange, enters Jerusalem to jubilant shouts of “Hosanna!” only to be crucified days later. He shows us the cost of discipleship. He shows us how difficult these teachings can be to live out.

But then, he also shows us what new life looks like. He shows us that these deaths and failures we experience don’t get the final word: with Jesus, life always wins. Life always follows death. He shows us that where we fall short, he doesn’t. Where we struggle, he leads the way. Where we might fall into doubt or despair, he gives us hope. “For the Son of Man came not to be served, but to serve, and to give his life as ransom for many.”

For many. For you. And for me. For all of us who suffer from the pitfalls of the human condition. For all of us who are lured by the flashy promises of the world. For all of us who dearly want to find abundant life, but sometimes look in the wrong places. He came to serve us, and to win us back from all that would try to keep us from that abundant life. He came, and loved, and served, and died, and rose again, for us.

Let us pray… Servant God, when we are lured by the false promises of the world, bring us back into your fold. Set our gaze upon those in need, so that we would work for the power and glory that comes from faithfully serving one another. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

CELEBRATION (Lives Touched, Lives Celebrated)

Last night, I had the opportunity to speak at an event held at our local Breast Cancer Coalition of Rochester. I was the featured speaker, asked to speak for a few minutes each on hope, healing, and celebration. Here is my reflection on CELEBRATION.

Here are the other two:
HOPE
HEALING

When I was diagnosed with cancer the first time, one of the possible side effects of the chemo was infertility. Even at 15 years old, I knew I wanted to be a mother someday, and I refused to let cancer take that dream away from me. I thought then, “I will know I have beaten cancer when I hold my baby in my arms - by whatever means!” After my husband and I got married, and I had finished all five of the surgeries I ended up having for the second and third times I had cancer, we tried for eight months to get pregnant without success.

On the day I finally did have a positive pregnancy test, my husband and I collapsed into each other’s arms in a fit of joyful giggles. The baby, we learned, was due on the anniversary of my first breast cancer diagnosis. When our beautiful daughter arrived 9 months later, she was named for all the hope and healing and celebration of my experience with cancer: she is called Grace Victoria. She is absolute grace, and a daily reminder of hope ever breaking through the darkness of a cancer journey. And she is a victory, the very representation of my kicking cancer’s butt – three times! Fifteen months later, when my son came along, we called him Isaac, a name which means laughter. And oh, my, he is! I know every mother would say this, but seriously, he really does have the most beautiful laugh in all of the world! It is music!

My children are for me a daily celebration of joy, grace, victory and laughter – even as I know I am one of the lucky ones, to be able to go on and have children post-cancer. But I also see celebration in so many other ways.

Celebration looks like seeing another beautiful season turn, like the smiles of nurses and doctors I trust, like looking at myself in the mirror and thinking, “Oh… I look beautiful,” and realizing I feared I’d never think that again. It looks like the love of my life down on one knee to ask me to marry him shortly after I was diagnosed, vowing to go through this with me as my committed partner. Later, it looked like a white dress perfectly fitted around my newly reconstructed breast.

Celebration sounds like the words, “Scan was all clear. See you in a year!” It sounds like exchanging boob jokes while my vitals are being taken (because really, there are too many boob jokes not to make them liberally!). It sounds like a high five, and like gratitude, and like laughter. It sounds like being able to sing.

Celebration smells like fresh air, like my first walk on a beautiful day in May, a few days after mastectomy. I remember one day, shortly after one surgery, when I took my dog outside to do his business, and as I reached down and picked up after him I realized that celebration literally smells like crap, because celebration is doing something normal and mundane for once, like picking up my dog’s poop!

Celebration tastes like being able to eat your favorite food again. It tastes like the breast milk donated by so many of my friends for my daughter to drink. It tastes like a juicy peach, the kind that runs all down your arm.

Celebration feels like my beloved’s arms wrapped tightly around me. It feels like a little more strength than I had yesterday. It feels like enjoying the immense softness of my dog’s ears, as he lay on the couch beside me while I recovered.

Most of all, celebration to me looks like gratitude. It looks like noticing so many gifts in this life, like each little thing that throws a lifeline to keep us from slipping into despair, sadness, or doubt. It looks like lighting a candle in the darkness, and not letting the darkness win.

Tonight, my friends, I am grateful to be here. I am grateful for so many brave women and men who have faced this mess that is cancer, who have inspired others with their strength and resolve. I am grateful for the gifts and perspectives gained from the experience, the depth we have grown, the ways we have experienced life even when death looked us in the face. I am grateful. And so – I celebrate!

HEALING (Lives Touched, Lives Celebrated)

Last night, I had the opportunity to speak at an event held at our local Breast Cancer Coalition of Rochester. I was the featured speaker, asked to speak for a few minutes each on hope, healing, and celebration. Here is my reflection on HEALING.

Here are the other two:
HOPE
CELEBRATION

           

            As a pastor, I am privileged to walk alongside lots of different people through lots of different life events – some of the very best moments, and some of the most difficult.

            I had a difficult one a few months back, when a woman came into my office searching for some spiritual guidance in the midst of a particularly challenging bout with cancer. She desperately wanted to believe that God could heal her, and she prayed for it daily. She described a few experiences she had had with healing prayer, yet here she still stood, riddled with cancer. She looked me in the eye, and with some degree of desperation, asked, “Do you believe God can heal me?”  

How do you answer that in a way that doesn’t sound trite or hollow to someone in her position? I quickly prayed silently for the right words, and the ones that came out were, “First of all, yes, I believe God can do anything, and second, I guess that depends upon what you mean by ‘heal.’” She gave me a puzzled look (one which I probably would have been giving myself as well!), so I went on. “Do you want God to take away your cancer, heal your body, and bring you back physically to where you were five years ago? Or, do you want God to make you more accepting of your new normal, even if it isn’t what you would have chosen? Or, do you want God to take away some of your guilt, and to help you to forgive yourself? Or do you want God to help you forgive someone else, or accept their forgiveness? All of those are important sorts of healing, and I believe Got can do all of them. But if you’re willing to listen and respond, my guess is that God will heal you in the way that you most need healing… and that might not be the way that you had in mind. Whatever the case, you need to know that healing might not feel good right away. It might hurt a little along the way. It might hurt a lot.”

            I’m not sure where all those words came from exactly, but as they came out, scenes from my own life flashed through my mind, in which each of those sorts of healing needed to happen for me. I recalled the pain involved in physical healing – muscles adapting to being in new places, nerves coming back together, regaining strength I had lost, the sheer exhaustion of it all. And I also remembered the spiritual and emotional healing – coming to terms with a new normal I didn’t much like; discovering what emotions were going on in me, admitting them, and learning how to talk about them to trusted people; learning how to believe again that God loved me, that I wasn’t being somehow punished; and trusting that I and this experience were being used ultimately for something good. As I talked, I watched this woman’s face reflect what had been in my heart through all that – what still crops up in my own heart from time to time, whether about cancer or about some other area where I need healing.

            Healing, my friends, is hard work. I know I don’t have to tell you that – but it is does bear repeating because maybe we forget sometimes. Healing is painful work, for the body and for the heart. We normally hear “healing” and think of that lovely end result when we are already healed, and forget about the painful road to that desired point on the path, that scenic overlook where we can finally look back and say, “Wow, look at all that I have overcome.” Healing is the road to that point, and it is rocky and uneven, at points steep and sometimes treacherous… and also at times, stunningly beautiful, and strengthening, and deep, and transformative.

            Healing is hard work, and it doesn’t always result in the kind of healing we hoped for. But it still happens. Healing can always happen in some form, if not of the body then perhaps of the heart or the spirit. If we focus only on the healing we had in mind, we might miss the other incredible ways healing is happening in our lives. My hope and prayer is that we might all keep our heads up and our eyes open, ready to see the many and various ways we are continually being transformed.