Sermon 12 October 2014 18TH SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST/ GLOBAL CHURCH SUNDAY Isaiah 25:1-9; Psalm 23; Philippians 4:1-9; Matthew 22:1-14 Pastor Julie Webb (sing) “I am the church! You are the church! We are the church together! All who follow Jesus, all around the world! Yes, we’re the church together!” (song by Richard Avery and Donald Marsh) Today, we’re celebrating Global Church Sunday, and for some reason, the pastor who most recently has been trekking all around the globe is not preaching! But that’s okay, because the rest of us are connected to the rest of the globe in a special way. That special way certainly is not the television set, which these days does as much fear- and anxiety-mongering as information-sharing. Ebola; climate change; earthquakes and other natural disasters; violence; poverty; hunger; dishonesty; greed; slavery; prejudice; oppression. Sure. But we are connected through something other than our fears. Our special connection also has nothing to do with being the group of people who are uniquely right about things. We would probably like to think that we Christians are such a people, but every single encounter with Christ Jesus tells us otherwise. Jesus points out time and again that we are not right; we are only loved. And we are not the only ones who are loved. And there’s the thing. Any special connection we have is with the others out there who know that love is stronger than fear—and there is enough love for everyone. In fact, it is love that connects us, all around the world. It connects us as church; and beyond the church, it connects us with every other creature who exists. Now, for the most part, the nightly news is not going to help you to be more filled with love, trust, courage, and hope. “Every day,” writes Professor Susan Eastman, we hear and see a culture that focuses on what is false, dishonorable, unjust, impure, and shameful. We begin to think that to act hopefully in such a world is unrealistic.” And yet, in today’s letter to the church in Philippi, Paul writes, . . . beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. And he was writing from prison, facing possible execution. And he was writing to people in the Roman Empire, which was a world that knew as much as we do about oppression, suffering, and conflict. So today, let’s spend some time thinking about true, honorable, just, pure, pleasing, commendable, excellent things that are worthy of praise. And let’s notice what effect it has on us. And let’s ask ourselves: what if this were more contagious than fear? When we had our Jars of Joy celebration in August, I noticed that most folks didn’t seem to know what our Synod and the ELCA do, and how we are connected to them through our giving. This kind of information doesn’t usually make the nightly news, but the good work of our church goes on every day all over the world. I have passed out some news items about the global church [from spselca.org and elca.org]. If you received one, would you please take a moment to share, not the whole article, but just one item from it that you personally find interesting? You may read or tell it from where you are; just, please, be loud or call me over! . . . And where do you see Christ at work in that story? Where do you see a sign of hope? How is this story connected to you? . . . Most of us move around the world most days feeling disconnected—from other people (even those closest to us, sometimes), from other creatures, from the planet. The more disconnected we feel, the more likely we are to feel irritated, anxious, impatient, frightened, judgemental, spiteful, jealous, and even hateful. This all arises from a kind of illusion: the illusion is that we are not a part of “them”—all those other things—and they are not a part of us. The illusion is that God is not inhabiting this whole planet. But in fact, as we see in the Cross, God’s love is everywhere—especially where it seems to us to be most absent. Some of you may have heard of Thomas Merton, a former wild child who became a monk and a famous author in the twentieth century. One day, as he stood on the corner of two streets in Louisville, Kentucky, right in the middle of the shopping district, he had a strange experience. He writes, “I was suddenly overwhelmed with the realization that I loved all these people, that they were mine and I theirs, that we could not be alien to one another even though we were total strangers. It was like waking from a dream of separateness, of spurious self-isolation in a special world.” (Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander) Hindus and Buddhists would call this a moment of enlightenment or nirvana—the moment when you realize very deep inside yourself that nothing in creation is separate from anything else. For Merton, it meant that he realized everything was connected in love and light: he felt liberated from an illusion, and wrote that it was “such a relief and joy to me that I almost laughed out loud.” I have the immense joy of being [hu]man, a member of a race in which God[‘s own Self] became incarnate. As if the sorrow and stupidities of the human condition could overwhelm me, now that I realize what we all are. And if only everybody could realize this! But it cannot be explained. There is no way of telling people that they are all walking around shining like the sun. Then it was as if I suddenly saw the secret beauty of their hearts, the depths of their hearts where neither sin nor desire nor self-knowledge can reach, the core of their reality, the person that each one is in God’s eyes. If only they could all see themselves as they really are. If only we could see each other that way all the time. There would be no more war, no more hatred, no more cruelty, no more greed…. But this cannot be seen, only believed and ‘understood’ by a peculiar gift. Now, Merton didn’t have this insight because he was more special than you or me, or because he never worried about stuff. What he did was practice his faith as much as he could. He was honest with himself and God, and he learned to offer both the hard and the good things to God in prayer, the way Paul says to do. He practiced becoming still deep inside, and waiting for God. His special moment came on a walk downtown. Yours could come while washing dishes, or holding a grandchild. And even if it doesn’t come in the way it came to Merton, you are called to become more and more a person—and we are called to be a global church—standing firm in the truth. What is the truth? The truth is that love is stronger than fear, and we are all connected in God’s love for this whole world. Don’t let anyone (even that little voice inside) tell you any different.
Posted on: Mon, 13 Oct 2014 03:25:03 +0000
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