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Christ Church Riverdale |
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| Father John's Sermon |
Job 38:1-11,16-18; Psalm 107:1-32; 2 Corinthians 5:14-21; Mark 4:35-41
There was a very popular book a number of years ago by a rabbi Kushner. The title of the book was “Why do bad things happen to good people?” It’s a question with a long religious history.
In the early parts of the Bible, God punishes the wicked and rewards the one who does God’s bidding. Even though God does seem to play favorites from time to time, the writer of Deuteronomy and Kings makes a clear argument that the righteous are rewarded and the wicked punished. Whenever Israel is conquered, or devastation occurs, the stated reason is that the king or the people or both have been unrighteous.
This argument is consistent with a just creator God who is in charge of his creation. But it doesn’t align with human experience. So, in the Book of the Prophet Ezekiel, the prophet points out that, in fact, the rain falls on the just AND on the unjust. It’s just the way it is.
In the Book of Job, the question arises, “Will a faithful believer whose life is a misery still worship and honor God?”
The Bible Study group has spent a year or so reading the many trials of the righteous man Job. We recently arrived at the passage at the end of Job, read as today’s first lesson. God speaks to Job out of the whirlwind and says to Job, in essence, “Who are you, Job, to question me?” “Where were YOU when I created the foundations of the earth?”
Job had spent a great amount of time bitterly complaining about the injustice of God. Job’s misery was only compounded by his feeling of betrayal. Job has not been able to accept that his powerlessness in this relationship, that his very being is dependent on his God.
How difficult it is to feel powerless! This is a very mundane recollection, but it was difficult to tell my father, when he was 90, that he should no longer drive a car. He lost independence, a form of power. And how painful suffering is! We not only hurt, we realize our mortality. The dilemma is the mere fact of our humanity. We are created with a crucial instinct for self-preservation. When threatened, we react. We learn not to put our hand in the fire. We defend ourselves against intruders. But we also become proud by our very accomplishments. Very little children learn what they can do. They say to their parents, “Look at me. Look at what I can do.” We rejoice with them, but we could also feel the bittersweet knowledge that self-awareness of a deeper sort will come.
In our culture, dying and death are hidden as much as possible, both by the outward cultural norms and by inner denial. Death emphasizes what we cannot do, and how powerless we are. We want to believe that we are in control.
But we aren’t. And the truth of that will set us free, if we allow that truth in.
The Westminster catechism of the Presbyterian Church has as its first question, “Why were you created?” The answer is that we were created to praise and glorify God. This is what gives us joy. But how much of our day is spent praising God? How much is spent in meditation? And how much is spent in attempts to achieve goals which may be of less importance and, even more, bring less joy? Might we be more content if we changed our priorities?
Do we live to the praise of God’s glory? Or do we live to the praise of our own? I’ve discovered that praise addressed to me has a limited ability to give me joy, as much as I appreciate it. I try to remember to say, with Paul, “not I, but Christ in me.” Self-praise, especially when it’s unwarranted or unfounded, has a negative effect. What freedom I’ve experienced has come from not taking myself too seriously. The greatest compliment I’ve ever received came from a ministry consultant who said to me, “You take your priesthood seriously but you wear it lightly.” My priesthood is not mine, really, nor is your priesthood as a believer yours. It derives from God.
Our ministry, as St. Paul wrote in 2nd Corinthians, is the ministry of reconciliation. Reconciliation with each other and with God. What Job must have longed for, deep down, as he raged against God, was reconciliation. As a child, who has not raged against a parent, only to cave in to love? Parents can be unfair, you know. A large element in reconciliation is realizing honestly who we are, creatures of God, children of parents. That our God is a loving God is something we learn in prayer and communion and letting go of our own agendas.
I think Job’s greatest pain was the pain of isolation. Not only was he isolated from God, he was in conflict with his friends. The grace of God’s confrontation with Job, rough though it is, is that God is speaking. God is communicating with Job, and Job at this point is not alone. Our ministry is to share God’s love by breaking the bonds that separate us and, in church language, worshipping God in Spirit and in Truth.
The other day, I became a little depressed thinking about all the various administrative issues of this parish, and the long term question of balancing the budget, wondering if people really understood how important this is, and engaging in my own way in complaining. This didn’t make me feel very good! I had to gain some perspective, and realize that I wasn’t in control of this, and that all I could do, all any of us can do, is to offer ourselves. The church is not about budgets, although the local institution will not survive long without its affairs in order. The church of Christ is much more than most of the concerns we have at the top or our agendas.
To change my focus, I went to visit Shirley Wirt, who is in Rusk Institute recovering from knee surgery. My mood changed just seeing her. Then, she told me that she had been visited by parish members Juliet Lehman and Marla Benoit on Sunday, the day before my visit. Shirley was alive with joy recalling the time with her friends. They didn’t just visit, they brought her something she needed. She had been ministered to by the congregation not only with my visits, but with other visits and with numerous phone calls. This is the ministry of reconciliation, the opposite of loneliness and isolation.
And I recall a story from my time in Staten Island. A story of reconciliation with life and with God. Dorothy Hegewish – we called her Hedgie – neglected a lump in her breast for years. When it was too late, she went to the doctor. She didn’t have long to live. But she had a wonderful friend from church named Alice, who stayed with her to the end. I recall being at the hospital when Hedgie was in her final days. Alice was there holding her hand. Alice said to her, again and again, “It’s OK to let go. Just let go”
Hedgie, though without a family, was not alone.
When the disciples were in the boat with Jesus and the storm arose, they were afraid. After calming the storm, Jesus rebukes them for their lack of faith. Their fear is the sign that their faith is weak. Of course, they were afraid of dying. Who isn’t? But Jesus was with them. They were not alone.
In the words of Paul, “If God is for us, who can be against us?” God is with us at every moment, and we realize this in our quiet moments, in prayer and in meditation. You won’t discover this because someone tells you it’s true. You have to discover it for yourself.
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