Hope

Is the source of human hope internal or external? Does it come from inside of us or outside of us?

This question came up in a women's Bible study at church this month. It's simple enough, yet it leads me down a path of reflection that begs all sorts of questions about the qualities of my own spirit and the nature of God's action in the world.

Surely, there have been times when no outside source gave me a cause or the ability to hope, yet I was still able to watch and wait for a transformation that I believed could, and would, arrive. On the other hand, there have been times when the roots of hope only burrowed their way into the dense darkness in the center of my chest because a beloved one (usually my mother or father), persisted in loving me until my dry and thirsty heart cracked open enough to let hope in.

Whether hope has sprung up, quiet and solitary, or has been coaxed into life by another, I have never felt like I am in any way its source. It feels like a separate thing, a foreign thing. I don't understand hope, but I welcome the gift of it.

I also ache for that gift to live in others. This week, many people I love prepare to remember and celebrate the life of a friend who seems to have been living apart from hope - so much so that he didn't know how to keep living anymore and chose not to. If we don't create our own hope, where does it come from? Is it a gift from God? If it is, why doesn't God give enough to everyone? Why doesn't God water and tend even the driest deserts of despair to offer life and growth everywhere? Why should anyone have to live without hope?

Perhaps this is an echo of the same cry of "Why?" that comes to our lips in the wake of the destruction and death in Japan...

It is a heavy thing to love enough that we ache for something beyond our power to create or control. Perhaps the best thing we can do is look for the seeds of hope in ourselves and others and tend them and invite them to live and grow. And maybe that's enough...

I was walking outside with a friend yesterday who pointed down at my feet at a shoot of ivy, asking if I'd seen them popping up lately. "Something has happened in the last few days," he said. I hadn't noticed any change outside my front door, hadn't seen the new life right under my feet, but something different - the moisture or temperature or chemical composition of the soil or air - has coaxed it out of the ground.

Hope is a mystery. In this time when new life begins to spring forth in the Northern hemisphere...In this season of the Church's life when the living water offered by Christ begins to flow in torrents towards the saving flood of the resurrection and Easter baptism...In these days, this mystery pulls at my heart.

And even though there is still death and darkness...Even though we may still be in the desert, hope lives in me today. I don't understand it, but I am grateful.

Blessed

A sermon for the Second Sunday in Lent. 

     Readings: Genesis 12:1-5 and John 3:16.

The questions that ran through my mind 

     as I worried whether my heart's response to these texts 

was too personal and too raw to preach: 

     Can I preach this? Can I not preach this?

I decided to try...

I wonder about the idea of ‘blessing’ a lot.

     I have studied what the biblical writers mean 

          when they talk about it.

     I think a lot about what it means 

          when we talk about it.

And this week, I certainly wonder 

     what Abram and Sarai thought about blessing…

          after being told by God to leave everything they knew,

               to journey to an unknown land...

                    so they could be blessed,

                         and in turn be a blessing for the whole world.

As many of you know, 

     I used to work at a church in downtown Minneapolis.

We had a social ministry program 

     that offered a variety of services to people in need.

And, as the receptionist, I was often the first one to greet 

     those who came looking for help.

And I would usually start, unsurprisingly, by saying, 

     “How are you?”

I learned quickly that I should not expect the safe,

     politely superficial answers 

          that I was used to getting in response to that question.

There was one particular answer that I actually heard quite often,

   and which continually caught me off guard.

“How are you?” I would ask. 

     And I would be told, “I’m blessed.”

Honestly, at times I was confused by this answer…

     at other times I was just skeptical.

I assumed it was just a different form 

     of superficial or false response…

          partly because I don’t talk about ‘blessedness’ 

             with total strangers,

          and partly because I didn’t see many things

             that looked like 'blessing' 

                 in the lives of many of these people.

But I have been realizing 

     that I may have been very wrong about that…

 because blessing isn’t about everything being okay.

     Blessing goes much deeper than that.

          Blessing is God’s love and promised presence 

               being poured into the world

                    through people onto other people…

         It is a resurrection power 

               that can exist within pain and death…

                   because it is stronger and will live longer than both.

         And it is a force that multiplies itself as it grows 

               and pours through us like a fountain 

                    with bowls that overflow from top to bottom…

                         one into another…

Blessing can be found in times of anticipation and joy, surely,

     but it can just as truly be found 
          in times of sorrow and hardship.

The truth of this 
     became very powerfully real to me this past week,

because someone very close to my family 
     died about a week ago…

And, his family and mine have journeyed together through

     those first numb and then searingly painful days

          in the valley of the shadow of a sudden and tragic death…

      My parents’ house became their sanctuary…

          and my family were among the first to hold them…

               to talk with them…to cry with them…

I was talking to my father on the phone this week…

     and I asked, unsurprisingly, “How are you?”

     And, in a voice that sounded very tired,

he told me how they were putting one foot in front of the other…

     taking things a day at a time…

Then he said something that caught me off guard, 

     “But we’re good. We really are. We’re blessed…

          so we can be a blessing to others. And that’s good.”

He had no idea we would be reading about Abram this week.

     He didn’t need to.

          Because he is living this story…

He is just one of the many children of Abraham, 

     blessing the world today.

Like Abram, who left the safety of his homeland 

     not really by choice,

so many people today are on journeys 

     not entirely of their own choosing,

         putting one foot in front of the other.

And on their journeys, and on ours, 

     every going out and coming in

          happens under the guard of an ever-watchful God…

               who does not fall asleep,

                    but holds vigil over both our joy and our sorrow.

And that is blessing.

     This watchful God is one who offers the gift and promise 

          of life and love 

               that will live beyond all sorrow and all death.

And that is blessing.

Today we, with many others, pray for the people of Japan,

     whose journey has also brought them 

          into the valley of the shadow 

               of sudden and tragic death and loss.

We will pray to the One who watches over 

     and loves these brothers and sisters…

          who struggle today in the wake tragedy…

               in grief and in fear…

We will pray for healing and for hope. 

     We will pray for comfort and for peace.

We are not so naïve as to pray that everything will be okay.

      Everything is not okay.

But God’s blessing is deep and strong enough 

     to live amidst the pain.

So we pray for the God who neither slumbers nor sleeps

     to bless these grieving and weary ones.
For, we trust that God’s blessedness…and love…

     and healing...and watchfulness are so broad…

We trust that the heirs of the promise to Abram 
     are so numerous…

that we cannot comprehend or count them…

        

     Yet it need to be said that,

          for many years and for many reasons,

     there have been those who have tried to draw boundaries

          around God’s boundless love,

               sometimes so they can try to 

                    explain away life’s tragedies

                         by excluding people who experience them

                             from the circle of God’s blessing.

     

But today we hear in Genesis that through Abraham

     all the families of the earth will be blessed…

And Paul reminds us 
     that Abraham is not only the father of some –

          but of all of us…

And in the words from John 3 that so many of us know by heart…

     words that have sometimes been used wrongly

          to draw borders around God’s transforming love…

     we hear that God so loves this world…

          this whole world…

               the cosmos…

                    the whole universe…

          the people of Japan, my family and yours,

               those suffering in Minneapolis,

                    the people of Libya, Yemen, Egypt 

                         and all the world’s conflicted places.

God loves it all…and through Christ all of it…everything…

     is to be saved…restored…

          brought into life that does not end.

   

If today’s scriptures tell us anything

     it is that you can’t draw lines around what God loves

          with anyone or anything on the outside.    

And that is blessing.

By grace, we are all children of Abraham,

     Through Christ, we are all blessed ones

          through whom the blessings of God echo 

               and multiply and flow into the world.

     We are not the source, just as Abraham wasn’t…

          But God’s boundless love and blessing have embraced us.

               So that in our joy and our sorrow,

                    we are held within the love and promise of God.

So whether we are joyful or sorrowful today,

    whether we are dancing 

           or just putting one foot in front of the other…

     whether we are weeping or laughing on this journey…

How are we?

We are blessed –

     beloved of God,

and part of God’s work of embracing this whole weary world

     in blessedness and boundless love.

Amen.

Drowned, Crucified and Raised

Following is a revision of a mystagogical sermon on baptism, 

     written during my second year of seminary

          to reflect on baptism and the cross 

               during the season of Lent.

Reading: Romans 6:3-11

I remember the day I thought I might drown.

I was seven.

     I was at the lake that I’d been visiting with my family 

          every summer for as long as I could remember.

I knew this water – we had been friends.

     Its playful waves had lapped around my ankles

          while my gritty fingers shaped cakes of sand and clay

               on the edge of the dock.

I had floated on its surface while the clear water held me up

     and caught sunbeams in its ripples,

          bouncing them all over the place 

               until the whole world seemed to shine…

But not this day.

     This day there were waves and there was sun…

          but I couldn’t see or feel them…

               not from under the heavy numb darkness…

                    where I struggled and flailed 

                         to pull my body up to the surface

                              so I could breathe –

     but the water had swallowed me whole...

But suddenly,

     just as the last ounce of fight was about to go out of me,

          my father’s arms broke down into that dark cold place…

               grabbed my shoulders hard…

                    halted my arms from their scrambling striking…

                         and he pulled me up through the surface 

                              and into the sunlit air…

                    and once I was in his arms my whole body,

                         no longer shackled in the dark,

                               began to burn 

                                   with the exhaustion of my fighting…

     and all I could do was gasp for breath.

I remember the day I thought I might drown.

               But I don’t remember the day I actually did.

                              Do you?

It is too easy to forget that we have died already,

     in this culture whose main goal 

          often seems to be denying death entirely.

               We are taught to put it out of our minds

                    or to pretend we have control over it.

               We buy products that promise perpetual youth,

                    and hide death away in sterile places

                       safely separated from our day to day living –

          separated, that is, until death draws near…

               ready to swallow us or the ones we love,

                    and we can’t pretend it isn’t there anymore.

It is also easy to forget death on days like this…

     when we sit at the brink of spring 

          and life is ready to burst into bud,

               poking its nose up out of the dirt all over the place.

Yet today, we are also poised to enter Jerusalem with Jesus.

     As he journeys toward his passion in the weeks to come –

          betrayal, cross, and tomb stand before him...

Death yawns at Golgotha…

     ready to swallow up Christ and us…

Whether we wish to deny it or not, death is close now…

     closer than when we were reminded a few weeks ago 

          that we are dust and will return to dust.

We are journeying through this wilderness time,

     reflecting on how we have run away from life with God.

           Like fickle Israel in the wilderness brought out of slavery

               and headed towards the abundant land of God’s promise,

                    we have plenty of time to think 

                         about where we have come from,

                              how we have wandered 

                                   and where we are headed.  

So, as our dusty, weary-of-wandering bodies 

     trudge up towards Jerusalem,

          we recall the words of Paul,

               who tells us that being baptized into Christ Jesus

                     means being baptized into his death.

So, this cross towards which we walk is not just Jesus’ death.

     It is ours.

          In baptism, we share in the death 

                that Jesus Christ is about to die.

Without sharing in this death,

     in this drowning,

          we could not come to new life.

               It is not until we are submitted to death

                    that we can be carried through it,

                        so our life may be transformed.

     It is not until the water has swallowed us,

          not until we truly die,

               that God can make us truly to live.

Just as Moses’ mother surrendered him to the Nile –

     the sound of the flowing water in his infant ears

          on the other side of his thin pitch-sealed papyrus boat;

just as Noah and his family 

     and all the animals were tossed in the ark –

          watching the whole earth be consumed,

                listening to the boards creaking 

                    and praying they would hold;

just as Jonah was thrown into the sea –

     drifting down in suspended darkness 

         to be swallowed up by the great fish; 

just as the disciples panicked 

     while water washed into their boat on the sea –

          wondering whether Jesus would wake up and save them;

just as Paul was thrown into the sea 

     as his ship splintered on the reef –

          searching for a piece of wreckage to cling to…

God’s power comes to us in drowning…

     in a watery death…

          and only in being carried through it

               can we come to a future transformed.

So I’ll say again –

     I remember the day I thought I might drown…

          but I don’t remember the day I actually did.

               Do you?

Do you remember the font where water touched your forehead,

     or was poured over you,

          or which you were thrust under?

Were you old enough to remember

     and begin to understand what happened that day,

or do you have to rely on photographic evidence

     of a small bald person in a frilly white dress

          that you have been assured is you?

Do you remember drowning in the water that day,

     and taking that first gasping breath

          after you had died and been raised into new life by God?

The water that I first loved 

     and then feared as a seven year old child

          proved to me that water can be both death and life…

               and so it is fitting that God uses this sign

                    to bring us into the body of Christ –

     through drowning and rebirth.

Water is truly an amazing force.

     It has the power to carve canyons

         and hold up water bugs skating on its surface.

     It can wash away whole hillsides

          and quench our thirst.

But this sign of water, as powerful as it is,

      is still not enough on its own 

          to convey the extravagant grace

               and shocking power of God in Christ.

In the early days of spring in the Midwest – my homeland –

     we begin to see all around us what water can do –

          how the melting trickling rivulets 

               that run over and into the soil   

                    surround the seeds that have been hiding there.

     But, it is not just the water that wakes the seeds.

          The sun lingers longer now…and warmer.

              As the water flows around the seeds, 

                   the sunlight wakes them up…

In this way, God’s power comes to us 

     through the waters of Baptism,

          with the added power of God’s Son.

               Death by water is only death.

                    Death by water with the presence of Christ 

                         brings life out of death.

And we know that for the new life of the spring earth

     to be brought forth by water and sun,

          the seeds that bear it must die.

               So, even as we look for new life in Christ,

                    we see that we are like the grains of wheat

                         that must fall to the earth 

                              and die to bring forth the harvest.

     We die as water and the Son bring new life in us.

Moses died to the security of a childhood with his family

     in order to bring a people out of slavery.

Noah died to a safe and simple life of quiet righteousness

     in order to be the steward of everything 

          that lived on the face of the earth.

Jonah died to disobedience and denial of God

     in order to bear God’s call to repentance 

          beyond Israel’s borders.

The disciples died (again and again) to doubt and fear

     in order to discover (again and again) the power of Christ

          and the coming kingdom.

Paul and his captors died to their prideful plans 

          and illusion of control

     in order that God’s power might be revealed.

We die too,

     as ones apart from God 

           with no hope of returning by our own power…

                until we drown in the waters of baptism

                     and are lifted out by God’s hands 

                          to the promised future,

     in order to live the life God has dreamed for us.

So, hear the promise of baptism, the promise of life in God...

As we go up to Jerusalem now,

     know that you journey within God’s promise…

Death comes to Jesus on the cross…and to us...

     but the tomb cannot hold Christ…

          nor will it hold us.

You have died.

          You have drowned.

                    You have been raised.

Thanks be to God.

     Amen.

Hope In Darkness

Re-posted from facebook. 
A sermon manuscript from October 17, 2010.

With continued hope as we face new times of darkness...

Readings: Genesis 32:22-31 & Luke 18:1-8

Today the Bible speaks to us

     of struggle and blessing,

          of persistence and prayer.

Today, just as it was centuries ago –

     the power of hope is alive,

          and so is the power of despair.

Faithfulness is just as complex

     and God’s transforming love 
          as desperately needed as ever.

The power of hope was witnessed 
     across the globe this past week.

          We sat in front of televisions and computers, 

               even our cell phone screens,

                    to watch the climactic chapter 
               of a two-month drama unfold.

33 miners in Chile emerged

     from under 2,000 feet of cold rock

          after 70 days of captivity in a collapsed mine.

They survived because of their own persistence 
     and determination,

          and because of the ingenuity of those 

               determined they would be rescued.

We heard about the makeshift camp 
     that grew up around the mine –

          a camp named Esperanza…

               Hope.

Like today’s gospel reading,

     this is a story about the foolishness and power 
               of tenacious faith:

          faith that will not count the cost 
               in seeking to preserve life;

          faith that will chip away bit by bit 

               at whatever stands in the way of love;

          faith that will not be deterred even in the face of death.

Norma Lagues watched her son 
     pulled out of the rescue capsule Fenix

          and said it was like watching him being born again.

A sister-in-law of miner Mario Gomez, Belgica Ramirez,

     talked about how a new life was about to begin for them…

33 men raised up from under the cold ground to new life.

Yet, I can’t imagine the struggle of those 70 days –

     buried in darkness,

          truly surrounded by death and danger.

     When he had been rescued, another miner, 
Mario Sepulveda, said:

     “I was with God and I was with the devil.

          They both fought for me.

               God won.”

What a fight it must have been.

     I wonder if that fight felt anything like the wrestling match

          at the River Jabbok.

     In darkness with a fearfully uncertain future before him,

          Jacob struggled with a mysterious opponent…

               was it a man, a river demon, God?

     The story makes it hard to tell.

          But in the dark,

               it probably mattered less to Jacob 
                    who his opponent was

                         than what the cost of losing would be.

Most of us know, like Jacob, what it is to be in the dark,

     in the midst of the struggle,

          with an uncertain future and a relentless opponent

We know what it’s like when the fight has gone out of us…

     when whatever we are fighting against seems too strong…

          when it doesn’t seem anyone 

               has pitched a Camp Esperanza for us.

Hope: it’s harder as a solitary endeavor, isn’t it?

     And it’s hard not to feel alone in the dark.

And that makes me think of another story

     that has captured and broken my heart over recent weeks.

How to speak to the cumulative anguish that we’ve felt

     hearing about more and more gay youth 
          taking their own lives?

Tyler, Seth, Raymond…

     and so many beautiful children of God.

Their lives have been cut short by the pain of the darkness…

     of feeling unacceptable, ridiculed…

          alone in the dark.

But in the midst of that darkness, that loneliness, that struggle,

     I have also been watching something beautiful happen…

           hopefully you’ve heard about it, too.

People across the country are gathering their voices

     to speak hope into the darkness….

     to offer fresh energy for the fight…

     to tell those in the midst of the struggle 
          that they are not alone.

They’re doing this through a YouTube video campaign

     called the “It Gets Better” Project.

          Through it, many gay, lesbian, 

               bisexual and transgendered people

                    (and some of their straight allies)

                         are publicly sharing their own stories

                              and their promises that life gets better.

     Celebrities and city councilmen,

          theatre companies and accountants…

               all plead that youth feeling hopeless and alone

                    stick around for the chapters of life 

                         that won’t be so dark and lonely.      

     In his video, Episcopal Bishop Gene Robinson says,

          “You can have what you hope for…

               because God hopes for that life for you, too.”

On the one hand, it is tragic that such a campaign is necessary

     and that so many lives have already been lost.

On the other, it is nothing less 
     than the love and power of the gospel

          to send a message of hope 
               to a stranger who needs to hear it.

If you listen to these stories, you’ll find that

     the hope they promise is not about happily ever afters

               and handsome princes or princesses…

          It is not a fairytale hope, but a hope born of shared pain.

               And when you hear that kind of hope,

                    I think you just know that you can believe it...

               the shared wound and love tell you it’s true.

I think if he were walking the earth, doing ministry today,

     Jesus might make an “It Gets Better” video.

          Because he, also, knew the depths of suffering

               and reached out to others who suffered.

     He promised the hope of something better

               than the brokenness of their struggles.

          And, he even loved us enough 
               to truly live in the darkness,

                    be wounded and even killed in it,

                         but finally to overcome it,

                              in order to free the others he loves.

Jacob wrestled in the dark.

    Jesus did, too.

          The widow woman in today’s story struggled 

               in the darkness of injustice. 

And we are called to be persistent, as they were…

     In our struggles…
          as we live our lives of faith and as we pray.

The image of Jacob wrestling with God, in particular,

     makes me think about not only what, 
          and when, but how we pray.

When we have daycare chapel on Wednesdays,

      Each week, Pr. Coffey and I invite the children 
          to bow their heads

              and use their “prayers hands.”

You know how to do it, right?

But, what if we thought of the story of Jacob 
          as a model for prayer?

     What might our prayer hands look like then?

I have a friend who usually can’t hold still when he prays.

     He paces, his arms tensed…sometimes he jumps;

          Sometimes he stands, 
               but shifting his weight from foot to foot;

                    sometimes he’s on his knees.

Now, I’m fairly certain 
          there’s not really a right or wrong way to pray.

     And many of us wouldn’t feel comfortable

          doing it my friend Mike’s way.

     But, maybe we need to know that it’s okay to pray and pace,

          and even to throw a few wild punches now and then…

               that our “prayer hands” don’t always have to be the same,

               because what we pray about isn’t always the same.

     Maybe being meek, and quiet isn’t always what we need to do.

So, is there comfort in knowing that some days…

    maybe even today…

          our prayers will feel like boxing matches in the dark…

               and we may not be sure we can make another round?

I think our comfort is that,

     as we struggle, God is close at hand.

Though the struggle of faith
         and prayer may leave us wounded,

    God isn’t going to leave us.

          But rather, God knows us and claims us.

We are claimed, just like Jacob was claimed 

          and given the new name – Israel.    

     The darkness may not be gone…

          the blessing may feel far off…

               but God is with us and God 

                    has pitched a Camp Esperanza for us.

                         God has hopes and dreams for each of us.

That may not seem like much comfort sometimes.

     I don’t want to be claimed…I want to be cured!

          I don’t want a new name…I want a way out!

               I don’t want anyone to be with me in this dark place…

                    I don’t want to be here at all!

God’s presence in the darkest places 
         would be a small comfort, indeed,

    if ours was a small God.

But this God who is hoping, 

     and weeping and striving with us in the dark

          is the God who brought Jonah through the depths of the sea

               alive, in a fish’s belly.

This is the God who protected the murderer Cain

     by marking him as God’s own.

This is the God who rained down food in a desert

     for the wandering emancipated slaves from Israel.

This is the God who stood with Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednigo

     in a blazing fire.

This is the God who became one of us…

     and lived as we live…

          even to the point of suffering a humiliating death.

And this is the same God who came back 

     and walked alongside his disciples…

          when they were lost in the darkness of grief…

               so much so that they didn’t even recognize their Lord.

This is the God who meets us now,

    and is near enough to grapple with, but also to embrace us.

This God is nothing like the unjust judge of Jesus’ parable.

     God’s back is not turned on us

          until some magic number of pleas have been made.

We don’t have to wear God out with our worries…

     because we are so close to God’s heart

          that our worries and fears are always known to God.

What we learn from Jacob and Jesus today

     is what persistent faith looks like…

          It looks like Jacob wrestling in the dark,

              and like the widow who staged 

                   a sit-in on the courthouse lawn

                        and demanded justice.

                              It looks like Jesus,

                                   in the manger, on the cross, 

                   and with us always.

                

          It looks like 33 men being raised up 
               from under the ground,

          And like a strangers face on a computer screen

               offering words of love and hope.

And, when we can’t fight anymore,

     when we are spent,

          so exhausted that we can’t even stand,

God does not abandon us, God does not sit passively by,

          God’s hope for us is a living, moving hope.

               God finishes the fight.

     
We could never have defeated the darkness alone,

     but we never had to.
Christ has gone before us, deep into darkness,

     and Jesus is beside us in the dark struggles.

And darkness and struggle do not have the last word.

The impossible thing has already been done…

     but that doesn’t mean that what’s left is easy.

          The struggle of faith remains…as we know all too well,

               but the hope beyond the darkness 
                    is trustworthy and true.

It is a hope that pierces thousands of feet of rock,

     and the depths of loneliness, and despair.

          It moves in and through God’s children and the church…

               and even when we are in our own places of darkness,

          it is the very presence of God…fighting for us.

And God wins.

Amen.