Pentecost 26, Proper 28C
In the name of God:
Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.
“Beware that you are not
led astray…”
In a gospel lesson that
seems to be all about wars and famine and pestilence, those are the words to
cling to.
“Beware that you are not
led astray…”
It’s tempting on a day
like today to turn away from the Gospel and focus instead on the Old Testament
lesson, but we don’t even get much help there.
Malachi tell us, “the day is coming, burning like an oven, when all the
arrogant and evil doers will be stubble; the day that comes shall burn them
up…”
Where, then, is the hope?
Shall we focus on days
“burning like an oven”? Or shall we
instead focus on Jesus, with his promises of wars and insurrections, and
betrayals, and death?
The lessons today aren’t
the kinds of lessons that are likely to inspire adherence to the faith. They aren’t the kinds of lessons that tend to
move poets and songwriters into responding.
They’re not the kinds of lessons that give us peace in our moments of
deepest despair.
But they’re not all there
is to the Christian story and experience.
“Beware that you’re not
led astray…”
We’re nearing the end of
the Christian year. We’re one week away,
actually. And over this past year we’ve
heard a lot about the life of Christ as well as the Christian life. From the season of preparation in Advent to
the celebration of Jesus’ birth; the giving of light and recognition at
Epiphany; the long seasons of marveling at Jesus’ miracles and learning from
his teachings; from journeying with him to the Cross in Lent to the exuberant
joy and surprise of Easter and its succeeding celebrations of the Holy Spirit
at Pentecost. In practicing the
Christian year, we practice the reality of human experience. There are ups and downs and all of them add
up to the fullness of God’s dream for us.
The worldview we hear
from Jesus today comes near the end of his time on earth. In the pages that follow, Luke walks us
through the seemingly climactic last days - “seemingly”, because we all know that the real climax comes
later - after the “last days”. But in
the midst of those “last days” - before any of us knew how the truth would
unfold - there would be great pain and fear and uncertainty. The disciples needed to be prepared. Their faith needed girding if it were to
endure the days to come.
There are moments in the
Christian faith and life when we feel on top of the world. There are moments when the lessons we read
are all about hope and peace and prosperity.
There are moments when we look to the future with hope.
But then there are those
other moments…
There are days when the
weight of the world around us is a little heavier than we think we can
bear. There are days when we see the
suffering of this world and we wonder where (and even if) God is.
Throughout human
experience and even still in our own lives, there have been radical ups and
downs. There have been lows from which
recovery seemed impossible and highs so high we couldn’t see the ground. And both are true. Both represent aspects of the faith and neither
negates the other. Nor do any of the
ordinary times in between.
It reminds me of a season
in my own life, and one of the lessons I learned there.
Near the end of my time
in seminary, I found myself reflecting on the experience: I remember thinking
so vividly in my first year that I thought I’d found heaven on earth. I had moved halfway across the country to a
place I had never been and where I knew no one.
I had taken a giant leap of faith and it had seemed to be paying off
more richly than I could have imagined.
New worlds were opening before me.
New ideas were forming within me.
New relationships were blossoming.
I was beginning to know myself more than I ever had before. It was as if I were standing looking over the
new heaven and the new earth about which Isaiah had prophesied.
And then there was fall
and then there was winter in my second year.
Suddenly, this “heaven on earth” seemed to be more like hell on
earth. What had once felt like a leap of
faith began feeling more like stumbling toward a far-off finish line. My “new world” turned out to be just New
Jersey. My new relationships had
blossomed into deep friendships - but they weren’t without their own challenges. And knowing myself turned out to be not quite
as easy as it had once seemed. There
were days when it was hard to make myself get out of bed. There was an insurrection gurgling up inside
me - and it seemed to be not for me, but on me.
And then there was fall
and then there was winter in my third year.
By the end of that final year of study and formation things had balanced
out. I began to see that seminary was
neither “heaven on earth” nor “hell on earth”, but instead it was just
earth. And like all creation, I could
see that it was good. But though my
experience had evened out a bit, the “promised land” of my first year was no
less true, nor was the anguish of my second.
Just like this Christian year has been, the highs and the lows were all
part of the same existence - neither canceled the other. Both represent truth.
Just as it would be
unreasonable and untrue to expect everything to be perfect, and nurturing, and
happy all the time, it’s equally unreasonable and untrue to get lost in the
challenges of life.
“Beware that you are not
led astray…”
Beware that you don’t get
lost in a sea of unreasonable expectations of perfection - life doesn’t live up
to that.
But also beware that you
don’t get lost anguish and fear - that’s never the whole story, either.
God is in both. Not either.
Not both individually. But both
together. God is in the pain and the redemption. God is in the suffering and the salvation.
The joys and pains of
every human experience - whether it’s through parenting or love or whatever
else - always adds up to the fullness of an experience more true than any one
of its aspects. And through the joys and
pains of our lives the one common thread remains - just as it has remained
through all of the highs and lows of the Christian life. The truth is that whether we are on top of
the world or in the pit of despair, there, too, is God. No matter our circumstances, we are invited
into deeper relationship with God.
It’s not always
easy. Jesus teaches that again and
again. But it’s also not always
hard. Christ teaches that. Every Good Friday has on its heels an Easter
morning begging to burst through.
“Beware that you are not
led astray…”
It’s the end of the
church year, but there’s a new one waiting in the wings. There are yet more ups and downs and good
times and bad, and lessons to be learned in the midst of it all. Beware that you are not led astray. Because by your endurance you will gain your
souls. Amen.
(this sermon draws from a previous version published in 2010)
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