last week i preached in chapel at lstc. somehow the mood still fits this week, so here's the manuscript for my sermon.
the first reading was luke 20:27-38.
a reading from job (19).
23“O
that my words were written down!
O
that they were inscribed in a book!
24O
that with an iron pen
and
with lead
they
were engraved
on
a rock
forever!
25For
I know
that
my Redeemer lives,
and
will at the last
stand
upon the earth;
26and
after my skin has been thus destroyed,
then
in my flesh
I
shall see God,
27whom
I shall see on my side,
and
my eyes shall behold,
and
not another.
word
of god, word of life. thanks be to god.
the ironic thing about today’s readings is not just that
job’s words are in fact written down and in a book—though i can’t speak for the
rocks. it’s also that for readings
about resurrection and eternal life, the people doing the talking and the
asking don’t actually believe in it!
the text—and whomever you have or had for jesus and the gospels—tells us
that the sadducees, who are asking about the resurrection, don’t even believe
in it.
as for job, as dr. klein taught us and will soon teach those
of you in pentateuch, his claim to knowing that his redeemer lives is not
actually about eternal life or resurrection. and yet, as a church, our focus can so easily be eternal
life that we neglect this life here and
now. and maybe that’s so we
don’t have to face the struggle of this life here and now.
in our reading job is struggling a bit—to put it lightly—at
this point. he’s lost just about
everything—except his wife and servants and food source—ok, so maybe not
everything, but he’s had a rough go of it lately.
and i don’t know about y’all, but at this point in the
semester, job is feeling pretty relatable to me. i have so much class work, i still haven’t been to the
mosque like i said i wanted to after the hyde park immersion my first year, and
while i may be approved, i still have plenty of paperwork to do for first
call—or maybe it’s cpe, or internship, or mic.
perhaps it’s something else for you. perhaps the culture of busy-ness at
lstc is wearing you down—all those lunches spent pouring over greek or
hebrew—or even german—instead of being able to talk about life with those
around you.
perhaps it’s this feeling that you don’t quite fit in—that
nobody understands you, that you have to wear a mask just to get by here,
because if somebody knew the real you, they might tell your candidacy
committee!
or maybe the news is getting to you—so much destruction in
the philippines last week, violence in our own city, 60,000 head of cattle—so
many people’s livelihoods—lost to an awful snow storm in south dakota last
month, more public and unapologetic racism by those who ought to know better,
destruction of the environment—of Creation who gives us birth and life—and the
injustices are not just on the news, but also in our lives. they keep piling up to the point that
just putting one foot in front of another is all that you can handle.
maybe it’s worry about family—far off—in another country, in
another state, nearby, almost here, already gone, or still a dream.
life is overwhelming.
seminary perhaps more so, and somehow in the midst of all of this we’re
also supposed to find time for
relationships and sharing stories with others, self-care, a job, stewardship,
discernment, time management, volunteering, challenging and overcoming
injustice in all its forms, worship!, learning from those who are not like us,
oh, and did i mention eating good meals and getting 8 hours of sleep a night?
what hope is there when life feels so crazy and overwhelming
right now? when the light at the
end of the tunnel is really just the sign announcing the next tunnel?
that’s where i’ve been stuck for a while. but then yesterday something
happened—well, a couple somethings.
during lunch with a friend, i was reminded that we are an
already and not yet people. we
know that the end has already been decided even as it has not yet been
fulfilled. and so even when our
present reality can be a struggle to get through, we catch glimpses of the
already that we long for—glimpses of our redeemer, standing at the last that is
this moment.
we get moments, like yesterday during the american
indian/alaska native symposium as janelle adair taught some of us to make
baskets, and everything else seemed to just slip away; when the meditative
focus of weaving the basket together erases the homework, the papers, and the
stress of life and we could just be—in
that moment, together.
or later, when
choogie kingfisher told us stories and we sat together, we listened, and we
learned why dogs sniff each other’s tails when they meet and we learned also of
dr. vine deloria, jr., for whom the symposium will be named tonight, a
brilliant person who lifted up native spiritualities and their connections to
life and creation that we as christians can so easily forget.
it also happens here.
when we come to this place each day—this place of refuge—desperately in
need of Good News, dipping our fingers in the cool water that flows from the
font, making the sign of the cross, and finding our place. when the bell chimes and we rise to
sing. in the silence of words
read, heard, proclaimed, and reflected on. in the peace shared, in the weekly feast of bread and wine,
and in the waters—always in the waters that keep flowing. god is a god of the living who wants life
for us. she invites us into the
already, giving us a glimpse of redemption and resurrection in the midst of our
not yets.
in this place and in these moments, god invites us to live
into the reality that in christ god triumphs over all the powers that try to
overwhelm us.
we are an already-not yet people. god’s redemption has already come in jesus the christ, and
yet we await that final day, living in our not yet, knowing the end. we know that god wins and that we are
not beholden to those things that threaten to overwhelm us, and so we get to
live into the already in this not yet time. god invites us to life now, and we get to live into those
glimpses of the already—those moments when we know that our redeemer lives and
that god is the god not of the dead, but
of the living. we get to
choose whether or not to buy into the busy-ness mentality of our culture and
our community here.
god invites us into the already—into the already of relationships,
of moments of meditative basket-making that erase all papers and projects and
stresses from our minds, of stick-ball, music, and more stories today at the
symposium and another luther bowl game tonight, of stories shared into the wee
hours of the morning, of worship in this place, and of our baptisms. you, beloved child of god, are
invited. god, who is god not of
the dead, but of the living, invites you, each of you, into the already of your
baptisms and the already way of life.
amen.
