Praying for the Gulf

On Sunday, Rev. Steve Fringer led us in a community prayer that included these words about the BP oil spill in the gulf. Thought I'd share them with you today as we continue to be prayerful about that situation...

Creator God, You invite us to join you in creation’s process, to be faithful stewards of your earth, so we offer our thanks and praise for the way the earth rewards the work of our hands with abundance and goodness. Yet as oil poisons the gulf waters, we have become increasingly aware of just how fragile your creation is and how awesome our responsibility. So we pray that a way be found for the leak to stop completely. We pray for all those people whose livelihoods and lives have been devastated by this tragedy, for those devoted to clean up efforts. We pray for fish and fowl, pelican and manatee, marsh and beach, oceans, wetlands, and eco-systems; that the damage done not be irreversible; that out of this tragedy wisdom be born and new and just policies to protect the delicate balance of life be crafted.

Edges - Luke 7:11-17

Sermon on June 6, 2010

Soon afterwards he went to a town called Nain, and his disciples and a large crowd went with him. As he approached the gate of the town, a man who had died was being carried out. He was his mother’s only son, and she was a widow; and with her was a large crowd from the town. When the Lord saw her, he had compassion for her and said to her, “Do not weep.” Then he came forward and touched the bier, and the bearers stood still. And he said, “Young man, I say to you, Rise!”

Luke 7:11-17 is a good example of what I sometimes like to call “routine Jesus.” He and the disciples are traveling through the countryside, and as they often seem to do, they stumble upon a scene of sad desperation. Here it’s a funeral procession. A man has died, and now his mother, who is a widow, along with a crowd from the town, is carrying his body out through the town’s gate.

We know what’s going to happen already, don’t we? We’ve read or heard enough gospel material to know almost exactly what Jesus is going to do in this situation—so much so that reading through Luke chapter 7 is a bit like driving past a dairy farm in central Wisconsin. We know what we’re going to see before we get there: cornfield, house, barn, silo, cows, cornfield.

Getting into today’s passage, we read the sentence, “As [Jesus] approached the gate of the town, a man who had died was being carried out,” and we know what we’re going to see before we get there: compassion, touch, miracle, and a bunch of people glorifying God. And that’s what happens, pretty much. Jesus has compassion for the widow—the young man’s mother. He touches the frame on which the man’s body is being carried and says, “Young man, I say to you, ‘Rise!’” and it’s a miracle—the dead man sits up and begins to speak. The crowd goes wild.

No big surprises here on the surface. If you or I had been there in that crowd that day, we’d have a real story to tell, but because this one is so short and because it’s tucked into Luke’s gospel with dozens more, we tend to drive by quickly without looking.

This morning, however, I would like to suggest that a few details in this story make it stand out. But let me say this first. Luke 7:11-17 is not a story about Jesus raising somebody from the dead. No, Luke 7:11-17 is a story about Jesus meeting somebody on the edge of her life and saving her there.

Here’s what I mean by that. In verse twelve, we’re given two details about the situation. We learn that the man who died was his mother’s only son and we learn that she herself is a widow. Now this isn’t added background information to give the characters depth or make the narrative more interesting. The fact that we have a widow who’s lost her only son is actually the true crux of the story.

To explain that, here’s a quick, nutshell lesson in ancient economics. If you are a woman in the ancient Middle East, you’d better pray you have a father or a husband or a son to take care of you financially. A woman in Jesus’ day could not own property or earn income by herself. She couldn’t take out a loan or start up a small business. Without a man to rely on for financial security, a woman in the ancient Middle East had two awful choices: she could beg for a living or she could turn to prostitution. So, friends, when we’re moving along in Luke’s gospel and we read the line, “He was his mother’s only son, and she was a widow,” what we have is a woman on the very edge of her life, perched on the brink of desperation with no way back.

Sometimes your life gets pushed to the edge. You don’t go there willingly, it seems. But you get pushed there sometimes. Financial ruin, a death in the family, your marriage is in trouble, your drinking becomes a problem, your job isn’t yours anymore… And it’s weird: most of the time, normal life just feels normal. We’ve all got our problems to work through; we’ve all issues to straighten out. But then the bottom falls out, and you’re standing there on the edge of it all.

We could tell any number of stories here, couldn’t we? Stories from our own lives, from our own families, stories that have grown out of this family of faith… The cancer diagnosis, the car accident, the loss of good mental health... And there are no answers on the edge—no simple solutions. There’s not a formula for what-to-do-next on the edge.

Sometimes, like the woman in Luke’s gospel, you’re on the edge with a crowd. And sometimes you’re there alone, wondering, maybe, if anyone will show up. Normal life doesn’t prepare us, does it? Relatively safe routines don’t equip us to handle a trip to the edge of life.

The first thing I noticed about Frank and Carole was how tender they were with each other. I met them in a hospital room in Chicago. Carole was there with stage four lung cancer and Frank was there with Carole. The doctors had done what they could. Too late for surgery, they’d said, so it was chemo and radiation and chemo and radiation. Gradually their plan was turning away from aggressive treatment to pain management. Frank was there with her, each day, talking, reading to her, wiping her forehead, sitting with her in silence…

One day I stopped by Carole’s room and Frank wasn’t there. We chatted for a bit, and I asked, “Where’s Frank today?” “Oh, he just went downstairs to get something to eat,” she said. And then she stopped and she cried. Through the tears she said, “Oh, Frank can’t see me like this. It would kill him to see me like this.” Later on she said something that stuck with me. She said, “I know that I am coming to the end, but I have to be strong for Frank.”

That afternoon I caught up with Frank in the lounge. And we talked for a while. And it was clear to me that here was a man feeling completely defeated. At one point in our conversation, oddly, but maybe not surprisingly he said through his own tears, “One thing I know—I can’t let her see me down. I’ve got to stay “up”—got to stay strong for Carole.” A part of me wanted to say kindly but bluntly, “You two spend a lot of time together. You should really try talking with each other about this.”

On the edge, trying to look like we’re not on the edge. Trying to be “strong.” Because normal, safe life doesn’t prepare us for the edges. So even though we’re getting close, we we strive to maintain a picture of business as usual.

Someone asks us how we’re doing and we say something like “Doing ok. How ‘bout you?” A big part of our problem is our stubborn reluctance to admit that the edge is near. Of course, in this culture of ours, when we ask someone how they’re doing, we’re usually not prepared for “I’m falling apart,” “I’m losing my mind,” or “I feel like I’m going over the edge!” But maybe we should be open to that possibility when we start a casual conversation.

Jesus says to the man—to the body of the man—“Rise!” But that’s just part of it, because in that act of healing, he says to the woman, “It’s ok. You can step back from the edge now.” That’s the miracle in this story. Jesus saves the woman from a life of begging or even worse. He rescues her at the edge of her life.

Maybe there’s an edge in your life that you’re afraid to get close to. A relationship that seems lost, a job that’s going nowhere, a mountain of debt, a looming cloud of sadness… Maybe there’s an edge you’re staying away from—maybe for good reason. But know this: Jesus is waiting for you along the edges of your life, waiting for you there, ready to offer hope.

And we could leave it at that, and that would be enough—a call to trust Jesus on the frayed edges of our lives. We’d be silly, though, not to mention that our ministry to each other and to our world should never be confined to a safe, manageable distance from the edge. No, as we are called to the loving ministry of Jesus Christ, we too are called to the edges. Where sadness turns into despair. Where a problem turns into an addiction. Where poverty turns into homelessness.

Is there an edge in this world that God is nudging there towards? For the person sitting next to you? For someone else in this room? For someone you haven’t met yet? Every day, everywhere, people are approaching the edges in their lives. Where is God calling you?

Evotional - Hopeful?

Dear Friends,

On Sunday, as our worship service drew to a close, I shared these words with you during the benediction. They’re from Barbara Kingsolver during her 2008 commencement address at Duke University.

“The very least you can do in your life is to figure out what you hope for. The most you can do is live inside that hope, running down its hallways, touching the walls on both sides."

Have you been struck by hope this week? Or is hope something you’ve had to look for diligently? And what would it look like to “live inside that hope, running down its hallways, touching the walls on both sides”?

May your hours and days this week find you hopeful, friends. And, feeling that hope, may your life reflect God’s hopeful love in Christ.

“And now, O Lord, what do I wait for? My hope is in you.”
- Psalm 39:7

Peace,
Pastor Ben

Living Into Hope

Sermon on May 30, 2010

Romans 5:1-5:

Therefore, since we are justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have obtained access to this grace in which we stand; and we boast in our hope of sharing the glory of God. And not only that, but we also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.

Are you a hopeful person? What do you think? Maybe you’ve never considered that question before, so go ahead and think about it for a second. Are you hopeful? If your answer is “yes,” that’s great. Of course, this may represent a little wishful thinking on your part—hoping that, in fact, you are a hopeful person. Though I suppose that if you hope you’re hopeful, then you are indeed at least somewhat hopeful.

Now your answer may have been “no” or “I don’t know,” or you may have thought to yourself, “Am I hopeful? What kind of hair-brained question is that?” Perhaps when you considered the question, your mind raced to glasses half-full or half-empty, or weather reports: Is there a 30% chance of rain today, or would that be a 70% chance of total sun?

If you’re feeling hopeless at the moment or in general, you may know that there’s plenty of advice floating around out there for you. This past week I googled the phrase, “how to be hopeful,” and as luck would have it, just such an article existed online. According to the website “wikiHow,” you can be a more hopeful person if you apply some simple steps in your life:

1. Think about a plan for your life.

2. Learn from the people around you.

Ok, so far so good, I guess. But this next step is questionable:

3. Imagine waking up fresh with new opportunities every morning feeling hopeful.

In other words, if you want to be more hopeful, you should try waking up each day simply feeling hopeful.

4. Develop some talents.

5. Get training and counseling.

That last step might be the wisest. Becoming hopeful isn’t like turning on a switch—it doesn’t work that way, at least not all the time. It takes time and sometimes it does take counseling. But overall I’m suspicious of any guide to hopefulness—or love, faith, peace, or happiness for that matter. It’s always seemed to me that forces in this world like hope are too rambunctious for a step-by-step approach.

With this in mind, I’ve been mulling over Paul’s words in his letter to the Romans: “We… boast in our sufferings,” he says, “knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.”

Sounds sort of step-by-step, doesn’t it?

Step 1. Suffering produces endurance.

Step 2. Endurance produces character.

Step 3. Character produces hope.

Of course, Paul’s words are perhaps easier to consider when you’re feeling hopeful than when you’re actually suffering. Despite what Paul is doing in his letter, I cannot imagine a scenario where I’d cite Romans 5:3-4 for a person who’s suffering. “What’s that? You lost your job? Well, don’t worry, my friend, because according to the Bible, suffering produces endurance which produces character which produces hope… So cheer up, because your unemployment is really your key to endurance, character, and hope!” Not so comforting, is it?

Still, it may all be true. Suffering does produce endurance. Often begrudgingly, we learn something of endurance in the midst of suffering. The battle with cancer that takes not weeks, not months, but years. The life-long grief that comes with losing a child. The grueling road of intense pain management. Yes, suffering does at least produce endurance, but does this always lead to hope? Suffering can produce a lot of other things, too, and Paul seems to have left them out. Suffering can produce bitterness, which can produce resentment, which can produce destructive patterns in relationships, which can produce more unwanted suffering.

But for Paul, suffering produces endurance, endurance produces character, and character produces hope. This morning I’d like to suggest that Paul is right, but that this process of suffering leading to hope is not one that always flows naturally. Rather, it is one that we must cultivate, and sometimes it’s a true struggle.

You may have heard this wonderful ancient story. A Cherokee elder was teaching his grandson. “A fight is going on inside me,” he said to the boy. “It is a terrible battle and it is between two wolves. One wolf is evil—he is anger, envy, greed, guilt, and hatred. The other wolf is good—he is joy, peace, kindness, love, and hope. And this battle is the same one that goes on inside of you—and inside of all people.”

The grandson thought for a minute and then asked, “Grandpa, which wolf will win?” And the elder simply replied, “The one you feed.”

Are you a hopeful person? Do you feed hope in your life? If you do, you may find that even suffering is not wasted—that even the painful, broken pieces of life can be gathered together and fashioned into something hopeful.

From 1989 to 2003, the West African nation of Liberia was brutalized in its own civil war. Close to 250,000 were killed and many more became homeless. Fourteen years of war left the country’s economy in shambles and its communities overrun with weapons.

It was in the midst of that devastation and chaos that a small group of Liberian Christians fed hope. Their cities, towns, and countrysides were littered with bomb and shell casings—part of war’s pollution. They began to gather them, and with those empty rounds of ammunition, they put themselves to work. I’m holding in my hand one of their creations. This is an empty shell from the Liberian Civil War, but it’s been cut and reformed in the shape of a cross.

The people who made it are part of a group called Liberians Against Violence. They are victims of Liberia’s war—civilians and former soldiers—who are now generating income for themselves and their communities by fashioning these crosses. They’ve partnered with the Presbyterian Peacemaking Program and with other non-profit organizations throughout the world, and they are making an impact in a nation that has an 80% unemployment rate.

Suffering produces endurance produces character produces hope. Yes, if you feed it that way. Our spiritual task in life is to feed hope, and sometimes that’s hard to do. Sometimes you literally have to pick up the worst, violent pieces of your life and smash them forcefully into something worth keeping.

What does that look like for you?

May Lou Weisman has written a book called Intensive Care. In it she tells the tragic story of the death of Peter, her fifteen-year-old son. Peter suffered from muscular dystrophy, and at the end of his life Mary Lou and her husband Larry were with him at his bedside.

By this time, Peter’s body was completely paralyzed, but his mind was still sharp. He lay there, moaning with pain, struggling to communicate with his parents. “His voice,” wrote Mary Lou, “sounded so far away, so lost.” But then, suddenly, in a surprisingly clear voice, Peter spoke directly to Larry, his father.

“Daddy, what does ‘impudent’ mean?” Bewildered and frightened, Larry and Mary Lou looked at each other. What could this strange question from their dying son possibly mean?

“Daddy, what does ‘impudent’ mean?”

Even though he had tears streaming from his eyes, Larry answered Peter matter-of-factly. “Impudent. Son, impudent means bold. It means shamelessly bold.”

Peter paused for a moment, death closing its grip on him, and then he said, “Then put me in an impudent position.”

And sure enough, just before their son died, Larry and Mary Lou, positioned Peter’s arms and legs in a posture of bold defiance, an “impudent position” in the face of death. (1)

Sometimes, in the midst of suffering, we have to fiercely feed the good wolf. Sometimes, when suffering is all we know, we have to brazenly feed any source of hope we can find. Because Christian hope isn’t just wishful thinking or even sincere optimism. Rather, Christian hope is an “impudent position” against the powers of death and brokenness.

Our hope is not, “I hope the sun comes out soon,” “I hope the Brewers can get their act together,” or even “I hope this economy picks up soon.” Our hope is a faith that in broken world of violence and war and hunger and greed, none of these things will have the last word—that against all odds, love is finally stronger than hate. Our hope is an “impudent position” that we willfully take—a position that celebrates resurrection even in the midst of suffering and death.

May God bless you with courage, faith, love, and impudence as you live into hope today in the days to come. Amen.

1. Professor, author, and pastor Thomas Long tells this story in a sermon entitled "A Living Hope."

Back to the Blog

Well, it's been a while. Having returned from Ethiopia a month ago with our two new children, Karla and I have been "laying low" for a bit. And for me "laying low" apparently means letting go of my blog. But I'm back this week with this past Sunday's sermon and the weekly First Presbyterian Church evotional. Enjoy!

Ben