sermon by Carrie Eikler
April 25, 2010 (Easter 4)
Acts 9:36-43, Psalm 23
(For my sermon this Sunday I prepared a dramatic monologue as one of the widows mourning Tabitha's death. As when reading anything that is meant to be spoken, or acted, you have to image the dramatic inflection and rhythm involved, so it was probably better heard than it is read! I started with a paraphraze of the following children's story:)
Children's Story - What’s my name? Carrie, right. That was easy. But Sebastian will tell you that my full name is Carrie Abigail Eikler. I really like the name Abigail. In fact, the name Abigail is in the Bible, and today, for the sermon, I am going to turn into a woman in the bible. Now we don’t have her name, but for now, I’m going to call her Abigail. I’m going to turn into this Abigail right now.
I’m going to put this dark cloth over my head because I, Abigail, am a widow. Do you know what a widow is? A widow, to us today, is a woman whose husband has died. And Abigail is a widow. Do you know any women whose husbands have died? Do you have a grandma, or a great grandma is still living, but your grandpa, or great grandpa is not alive? Well, I bet you love your that woman a whole bunch. Well in my time, back in biblical time, when women became widows, people didn’t love them as much. They weren’t taken care of…they kind of became invisible.
Well, today, the grown ups are going to hear me talk about a woman named Tabitha. Tabitha loved the widows in her town, including me, Abigail. She helped take care of us and made things for us and even taught us how to make things themselves. But Tabitha died. And we were so sad. We were so sad that we have sent off for the followers of Jesus to come here and maybe bring her back to LIFE!
We loved Tabitha so much because she had compassion. Do you know what compassion is? It means being kind to people. It means helping people. It means, and this sounds strange, hurting when other people hurt. That sounds strange doesn’t it. But I know that you all have compassion. I’ve seen it in the way you help each other, and last week we prayed for some of those friends who couldn’t be here because they were sick, and that’s compassion. So today, I would like to give you a green dove, because I want us to be reminded of new life that comes when we are filled with compassion. Let’s pray.
God help us be filled with compassion for each other. Help us show your love to others. AMEN
I also have something. In this basket are all sorts of things that Tabitha has made for us and I want everyone to see them, so could you please help me by taking some of these things, and laying them in the aisles, and up the stairs?
(children lay out "vestments" and return to their seats. "Abigail" takes a seat on the chancel steps, surrounded by the vestments)
I have no idea what is going to happen. I don’t want to get my hopes up because, let’s face it…she’s dead. I know, I know. I shouldn’t be so shocked…shouldn’t be so sad. She was pretty old. It’s a lucky woman who lives to be 48. It’s not like we expected her to live forever. But…it seemed like she would live forever, you know? Tabitha…oh, Tabitha. You’d probably laugh at what her name means…what her name meant. Tabitha. It means gazelle. And even with her body slowing down a bit, her spirit…it was a gazelle: bounding, graceful, aware. It was a good name for a good woman.
So here I sit, with the others. All of us, widows. We know what death means. That smell of emptiness. The familiar face of this person who you’ve looked upon day in and day out for years, life drained away, somehow turning them into a stranger. The hand that clapped in joy, and held bread, and cupped flesh…now rigid.
And we widows know what to do, and we did it for Tabitha. We laid her down, lit the candles, prayed, and began to wash her skin. It’s a beautiful, holy thing to wash the dead, you know? And to wash Tabitha, this woman who did so much for everyone, so much for me, that I could be one of the last ones to serve her. Well, it was a real honor. And she can never, will never repay me that. That’s what makes me truly humbled.
But everything has been put on hold. No sooner than I dried the tips of Tabitha’s fingers, two of the hot-blooded men in our community barged in. Not much respect in their entrance. They must had just heard about Tabitha. They just stared at her for a few moments, and then they got this look between them. It was like…a look of conspiracy. They were up to something and I knew these men as boys and when they are up to something…whew hoo you better watch out. They ran out as roughly as they ran in.
So we sat around her, in that space where those two guys came banging and barging around. We sat in the aftermath of that loud interruption, in a space that was so empty, yet so full at the same time. We watched her. We prayed over her. It all felt so familiar, yet so new.
When you’re a widow, death takes on a new perspective. I’ve endured it… as if one could endure their own death. In fact, I feared his death more than my own, my husband’s death I mean. In death I’ve been abandoned by him. At least I felt abandoned. And in a way, I died. Without my husband, I am a nobody. I really didn’t even know who I was apart from him. I was always his wife, his child-bearer. It really is the same with all of us here, all of us widows. If we weren’t crowding the steps in front of Tabitha’s house, no one would notice us.
But she did. Tabitha did. And true to her gazelle nature, she just ran forward, bringing us with her, back into life. Reminding us that we have blood running through our veins, energy in our hands, thoughts in our heads. I mean, I can’t escape these feelings entirely, this reality that “I am widow.” But she did show me how I can be loved. She just sat with me as I wondered who I was, no longer a wife.
Really, all of us sitting here are widows, at least considered widows. I mean I lost my husband, but her—over there—she’s a widow because she never married and doesn’t have any male support. And her—down there—she’s a widow even thought she’s still married…her husband just abandoned her. We’re a happy band of widows, I’ll tell you. We’re the only support we have, no matter how we became widows.
But that didn’t stop Tabitha. She was bold. While we felt invisible, these men recognized her and what she was doing. How she supported us, taught us, inspired us. And the amazing things she was saying. She’s said new things that made me rethink things about this God that is most awesome and powerful , and she told me he sent the messiah…. Well, we’ve been buzzing about it for a while now. This man called Jesus.
She kept referring to it as “the way.” That sounds so appealing to me. A way. A path. Something to walk on with someone else…like these sisters here. Like Tabitha. When one stops and needs to rest, there’s someone else to keep them company. When one needs water along the path, someone is there to help. When someone dies…(sigh)…there are others who won’t let them go by themselves. With Tabitha it was never “do this” and “do that.” She showed you what this new way was about. It was her life…her living. She showed us “the way.”
So here we sit, here on the steps, looking at Tabitha’s door. We brought out the things she made for us, all her tunics and sheets and blankets. And I’m just sitting here looking at all that color…on the steps…up to where she lay… dead.
I never expected the valley of death could be so beautiful.
There are plenty more women in there. There are so many to keep watch. I needed some fresh air. At least watching her door feels like something. (laugh) Now I can’t blame those men for running to those guys who were part of Jesus’ chummy little club. I’m sure it’s exactly what Tabitha would have done. I can just picture her, walking miles, barely stopping for rest before she dusts off her skirt and starts walking again with that attitude of her. She’d walk straight up to…well, whoever they’re going to…and say “Hey, we’ve got a situation. You better get to Joppa and quick.” She’d probably even out walk them on the way back.
(craning next) Speaking of which…it looks like they’re coming right now, over there turning around the corner. You know, they say this guy might do something, big. He might even be able to bring her back to life. Wouldn’t that be amazing? Do you think…? I mean could it really happen?
God in his infinite wisdom works miracles. I know it has happened. Our ancestors did it. Elijah raised a widow’s son. Elisha raised the son of a Shunammite woman. Now this man, this Peter I think they are calling him, is coming to us widows. And Jesus, the one who talked about the way, it happened to him too.
But I wonder what Tabitha would want. I mean, if given the choice, if you can have a choice in the matter after you’re dead, would she choose to come back? She was never afraid of death, she lived so passionately, so confidently, and she died that way. Huh…I wonder if that’s what she would want, this thing they say could happen. Would she think they wasted a resurrection? Would she send them over to the house where that young girl died, just the day before her? Would she choose to bring back one of our husbands?
OK, here he comes…there he goes into the house (sharp intake of breath). I guess we’ll wait and see what happens. What? Oh, he’s sending everyone out. That’s not going to make them very happy, but maybe he needs room to work.
Don’t get me wrong, I would love to have Tabitha back. I mean, we’re mourning here. It’s what we do…we mourn, that’s part of widows’ work. But with Tabitha, it’s real. It’s not just routine. I feel lost inside. But I have to admit something. I don’t know if this real feeling is mourning for Tabitha, or mourning for myself. Mourning for all of us.
She started something, you know? She helped us, all of us. Without her…I don’t know if we can keep it up. This energy we have about our new lives, this hope she has given us. This way she talked about…is it wide enough to hold us if we are wandering, and lost, and confused? I don’t think I could do it. What she did. How could I? (pause)
(deep breath, thoughtful) But I guess we’re here. Together. Something happened when we washed her, because we didn’t just wash her: we bathed her with our tears. But it was different this time, different than all the other times before. Because before we just did it and it did mean something... But now, for Tabitha, we did it, and it changed something.
So when those men, as irritating as they were, when those men ran out to talk to Jesus’ apostles…we knew that her compassion would be resurrected…in someway. Her compassion will live on
She’s dead, but she’s here. It’s almost as if there is something stirring among us. We’re mourning, but we’re hopeful! Look at her…and her. It’s like we’re ready for something, all together, all us invisible widows, perched here among all these colorful garments. Maybe we can walk this “way,” this way that Tabitha spoke of…maybe we’ve started to already.
(Rubbing eyes and sighing) Oh, I don’t know. It’s all so overwhelming. (look ahead). Wait a minute. Is that? Oh my.. It can’t be. It is. (stand up) We did it. He did it we did it! Praise God! Oh, they are all running over to her,--they’re going to knock her down--and to that Peter. The gazelle is alive! (pauses) It’s amazing…but I need to sit. (pause)
Now what?
(silence in Waiting Worship)
Affirmation of Faith
Christ walks with us today,
through the shadow of death
through the beauty of life
Christ is the source of our compassion.
From him we have learned
how to suffer with others
how to love the outcast
how to pray without ceasing
While darkness covers the earth
Compassion still abounds in this world.
Christ calls us to shepherd it into our hearts,
no matter our state of faith, ability, or confidence
Bringing compassion to this world, Christ is resurrected again, and again.
This is our faith
This is our hope.
Benediction – Resurrect the compassion of Tabitha, today and tomorrow and the next day. And so, resurrect Christ today and tomorrow and the next day. Rise again into the world, new creatures of compassion. Go in peace.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Beyond the Call
sermon by Torin Eikler
Acts 9:1-20
If you know me as well as I hope you all do (or if you’ve listened to very many of my sermons), you will know that I spend a good deal of time thinking about “calling.” The six years that I was in BVS was largely due to the fact that I couldn’t decide whether I was called to work in microbiology or in systems ecology. Did I want to work with the very small or the very large, and which field did God want me in? As it turned out, God wanted me in a different place altogether.
It was a long struggle to find my path, and really I only found the next few steps. I am still trying to see the path before me more clearly, and I still have doubts about the way that I have chosen every once in awhile. I suspect that will be the way of it for the rest of my life.
There have many times in my life when I wished for an experience like Saul’s. Not the blinding or the sense of guilt that I imagine he felt when he saw the truth of what his persecution was doing to people … I hope that I’ll never be faced with that kind of realization. But, the clarity of his call, spoken by the very lips of Christ, is something that I envy. Once while we lived in Washington DC, I told a friend of mine that I just wished for something clear and easy – a neon sign, perhaps, falling from the heavens above the Mall and saying, “Torin, I want you to do ……” But that has not been the way of it, and however much I would like to have it all figured out, it seems that I am doomed and blessed to wrestle with God for every bit of clarity I find.
In truth, my story is more like that of Ananias. Though we don’t know much of anything about him – nothing about who he was before he met Saul and very little about what happened later, he remains a good example of what most of us experience in our journey as Christian disciples. What I mean is that he was a good Christian. Though he must have been converted not long before we meet him, his was not as dramatic an epiphany as Paul’s.
He was just another disciple there in Damascus, living in faith and in fear of the reign of terror Saul was leading. He was, I’m sure, doing his best to follow the teachings of Christ and to listen for the leading of the Spirit. And then it came, “Get up and go to … the man of Tarsus named Saul. [Lay your hands on his eyes that he may regain his sight and serve me.]” It was a confusing call to be sure, but a call just the same.
What strikes me about these two very different men is not so much the different ways in which they were converted. What I think is most interesting is that despite their different backgrounds, they both heard the voice of God in a vision. They both received a call and, despite their doubts and fears … despite the consequences that would surely come, they both responded. And, in doing so, they became, each in their own ways, the hands and feet and voice of Christ carrying out the work of God in their own time and in their own world.
Now I don’t know the story of each of your conversion. I don’t know if you have had a close encounter of the Pauline kind, if you turned to Christ and the church because of teachings you heard or reading you did, or if you were simply raised in the church and found yourself growing into Christian faith gradually. I suspect that most of us are in that last group, and there is nothing unusual or undesirable about that. We all come to faith in our own way and in our own time, and while I would love to hear each of your stories of conversion or call, what I’m wondering about right now is how you have responded to the power and the presence of God in your lives. What has happened and what is happening now that we have become people of faith? How are we, all together, giving life to our faith because as James says in one of the passages beloved by Anabaptists of all stripes, “faith, by itself, if it has no works, is dead.”
Last week, Lawrence Brenneman spoke to us the Christian call to “missional living” which is another way of saying that an important part of our lives as followers of Christ is looking around us to find the places where God is already at work and joining in. At it’s heart, the work that we do – the worship we carry out in service to the world – is not our work but God’s, and whether we are waiting or acting, we are called to stay awake and be alert to the ways in which we can become the hands and feet and voice of Christ carrying out the work of God in our time and in our world.
While he was with us, Lawrence reflected with us on our own vision and the concerns we shared as a part of a listening project carried out by Allegheny Mennonite Conference a couple of years ago. For those of you who weren’t in Sunday School, I’d like to share some of his insights.
We are a congregation that has many facets, and our lives together involve finances, nurture, education, worship, fellowship, mission, and evangelism. At times, it seems that our concerns rest mostly with our financial situation and the state of our Sunday morning programming, but from what we shared two years ago, it is clear that our dreams live in realm of outreach, worship, and community building. Not only were two thirds of our comments about those three areas, but we seem to come alive when we talk about what we are doing or would like to see ourselves doing in those areas.
Some of the comments about what we are doing were:
-Reaching out to the community through Vacation Bible School,
-Supporting individuals as they carry out mission trips,
-Providing facilities for an alternative child care that provides important
opportunities to build connections with others,
-Community based mission projects like Circle of Friends and Habitat for
Humanity that meet needs in this community,
-And supporting existing mission projects through general and specific
giving.
During Sunday School we added thoughts about what we would like to be doing:
-Increasing connections and outreach to university students – both
Anabaptists and others,
-Enhancing our witness and teaching concerning environmentally
sustainable lifestyles,
-Connecting with peace and justice ministries in the community,
-And building on the promise held out by our Children as Peacemakers
week this summer.
Add to that list the dreams we listed on our 5-year plan several years ago:
-Increasing the community’s awareness of peace and justice issues through
displaying posters, inviting speakers, and having classes on issues,
-Increasing fellowship opportunities for adults by organizing small group
fellowships around particular themes and combining work and
fellowship through congregational service projects,
-And increasing attendance by encouraging regular attendees to invite
friends to come,
and it seems obvious that we are filled with a vision that points toward taking our worship with us into the world.
As a community of faith, we have felt a call to outreach and service, and when we think and plan and move in that direction, we find an energy that we didn’t think we had. It comes out in our voices. It comes out in our body language. It comes out in the smiles on our faces and the liveliness of our fellowship together in the midst of our work. That is something that Lawrence reflected to me after worship, and it is something that Carrie and I have seen in our time here with you. Again and again, people get excited about finding new ways to reach out to Morgantown or Waynesburg or Benin or Haiti. We do come away from it a little bit tired, but it’s that good kind of tired because there is a sense of fulfillment that comes from being in sync with what God is doing around us.
But I don’t think we see ourselves that way. We seem to have heard the call. We know what we are to be about. We feel it there within us. We sense it even when we are just talking about it, but we haven’t found a way to see ourselves actually living it. Something – some confusion or fear or maybe just habit stops us from going on beyond the talking and the dreaming to the doing.
I think, maybe, we are really more like Paul’s companions. We have heard a voice calling for us to change, but we haven’t glimpsed the vision. So, we muddle along as best we can, and we hope that is enough.
Maybe we just need a new vision. Not a new vision statement, though that could be helpful too, but a new way of seeing ourselves. We are a young…-ish and vibrant faith community with talent and passion to spare, but we tend to think of ourselves as an old…-er, worn out congregation struggling to survive. Yes, we have some problems meeting our budget. Yes, much of the work of the congregation is done by a large handful of people. But that is the case in just about every church I know. And however true that was in the past, we don’t have to let that define us.
Saul’s past, after all, was considerably more … “checkered” … than ours has been, but that didn’t hold him back. The power of God showed him a new vision. Once he had his eyes opened to the truth, he saw himself in such a different light that he took a whole new name, and he turned all his passion toward answering the call. Saul the persecutor became Paul the apostle, and, with joy, he followed that call despite the risks and the hardships. Whenever he saw God at work he joined right in, eager to lend his voice and his hands to the effort. And, wherever he went, God went with him, giving him support, strength, and encouragement for all that he faced.
I don’t expect any of us to be another “Paul.” But, I do wonder who we could become if we committed ourselves as whole-heartedly to answering the call that we have felt as a congregation. What could we do to further the work of Christ in our own communities if we put down our anxieties and fears and embraced the work of peacemaking or service to the hungry and homeless or reaching out to offer university students (or anyone else) a warm community of support and encouragement? How would it change us … being filled with the energy and excitement of giving life to our faith, putting feet and hands and voice to our dreams?
I had a friend once who was a prophet who heard voices that sent her to others to share important information or extend an invitation to God’s work. I asked her once about free will and what she thought happened when someone said no to the call she shared. Her response, to the best of my memory, was, “If someone doesn’t accept the work that God has for them, that’s okay. God will get someone else to do it. But, if you say no often enough, you get fewer invitations, and you miss out on all the fun, and life becomes less joyful.”
God has called us to this work – to give joyful life to our faith. We just need to offer willing hearts and eager hands, and God will open our eyes to a new way of seeing – a new vision that will show us the way. Let’s not miss out on all the fun.
Acts 9:1-20
If you know me as well as I hope you all do (or if you’ve listened to very many of my sermons), you will know that I spend a good deal of time thinking about “calling.” The six years that I was in BVS was largely due to the fact that I couldn’t decide whether I was called to work in microbiology or in systems ecology. Did I want to work with the very small or the very large, and which field did God want me in? As it turned out, God wanted me in a different place altogether.
It was a long struggle to find my path, and really I only found the next few steps. I am still trying to see the path before me more clearly, and I still have doubts about the way that I have chosen every once in awhile. I suspect that will be the way of it for the rest of my life.
There have many times in my life when I wished for an experience like Saul’s. Not the blinding or the sense of guilt that I imagine he felt when he saw the truth of what his persecution was doing to people … I hope that I’ll never be faced with that kind of realization. But, the clarity of his call, spoken by the very lips of Christ, is something that I envy. Once while we lived in Washington DC, I told a friend of mine that I just wished for something clear and easy – a neon sign, perhaps, falling from the heavens above the Mall and saying, “Torin, I want you to do ……” But that has not been the way of it, and however much I would like to have it all figured out, it seems that I am doomed and blessed to wrestle with God for every bit of clarity I find.
In truth, my story is more like that of Ananias. Though we don’t know much of anything about him – nothing about who he was before he met Saul and very little about what happened later, he remains a good example of what most of us experience in our journey as Christian disciples. What I mean is that he was a good Christian. Though he must have been converted not long before we meet him, his was not as dramatic an epiphany as Paul’s.
He was just another disciple there in Damascus, living in faith and in fear of the reign of terror Saul was leading. He was, I’m sure, doing his best to follow the teachings of Christ and to listen for the leading of the Spirit. And then it came, “Get up and go to … the man of Tarsus named Saul. [Lay your hands on his eyes that he may regain his sight and serve me.]” It was a confusing call to be sure, but a call just the same.
What strikes me about these two very different men is not so much the different ways in which they were converted. What I think is most interesting is that despite their different backgrounds, they both heard the voice of God in a vision. They both received a call and, despite their doubts and fears … despite the consequences that would surely come, they both responded. And, in doing so, they became, each in their own ways, the hands and feet and voice of Christ carrying out the work of God in their own time and in their own world.
Now I don’t know the story of each of your conversion. I don’t know if you have had a close encounter of the Pauline kind, if you turned to Christ and the church because of teachings you heard or reading you did, or if you were simply raised in the church and found yourself growing into Christian faith gradually. I suspect that most of us are in that last group, and there is nothing unusual or undesirable about that. We all come to faith in our own way and in our own time, and while I would love to hear each of your stories of conversion or call, what I’m wondering about right now is how you have responded to the power and the presence of God in your lives. What has happened and what is happening now that we have become people of faith? How are we, all together, giving life to our faith because as James says in one of the passages beloved by Anabaptists of all stripes, “faith, by itself, if it has no works, is dead.”
Last week, Lawrence Brenneman spoke to us the Christian call to “missional living” which is another way of saying that an important part of our lives as followers of Christ is looking around us to find the places where God is already at work and joining in. At it’s heart, the work that we do – the worship we carry out in service to the world – is not our work but God’s, and whether we are waiting or acting, we are called to stay awake and be alert to the ways in which we can become the hands and feet and voice of Christ carrying out the work of God in our time and in our world.
While he was with us, Lawrence reflected with us on our own vision and the concerns we shared as a part of a listening project carried out by Allegheny Mennonite Conference a couple of years ago. For those of you who weren’t in Sunday School, I’d like to share some of his insights.
We are a congregation that has many facets, and our lives together involve finances, nurture, education, worship, fellowship, mission, and evangelism. At times, it seems that our concerns rest mostly with our financial situation and the state of our Sunday morning programming, but from what we shared two years ago, it is clear that our dreams live in realm of outreach, worship, and community building. Not only were two thirds of our comments about those three areas, but we seem to come alive when we talk about what we are doing or would like to see ourselves doing in those areas.
Some of the comments about what we are doing were:
-Reaching out to the community through Vacation Bible School,
-Supporting individuals as they carry out mission trips,
-Providing facilities for an alternative child care that provides important
opportunities to build connections with others,
-Community based mission projects like Circle of Friends and Habitat for
Humanity that meet needs in this community,
-And supporting existing mission projects through general and specific
giving.
During Sunday School we added thoughts about what we would like to be doing:
-Increasing connections and outreach to university students – both
Anabaptists and others,
-Enhancing our witness and teaching concerning environmentally
sustainable lifestyles,
-Connecting with peace and justice ministries in the community,
-And building on the promise held out by our Children as Peacemakers
week this summer.
Add to that list the dreams we listed on our 5-year plan several years ago:
-Increasing the community’s awareness of peace and justice issues through
displaying posters, inviting speakers, and having classes on issues,
-Increasing fellowship opportunities for adults by organizing small group
fellowships around particular themes and combining work and
fellowship through congregational service projects,
-And increasing attendance by encouraging regular attendees to invite
friends to come,
and it seems obvious that we are filled with a vision that points toward taking our worship with us into the world.
As a community of faith, we have felt a call to outreach and service, and when we think and plan and move in that direction, we find an energy that we didn’t think we had. It comes out in our voices. It comes out in our body language. It comes out in the smiles on our faces and the liveliness of our fellowship together in the midst of our work. That is something that Lawrence reflected to me after worship, and it is something that Carrie and I have seen in our time here with you. Again and again, people get excited about finding new ways to reach out to Morgantown or Waynesburg or Benin or Haiti. We do come away from it a little bit tired, but it’s that good kind of tired because there is a sense of fulfillment that comes from being in sync with what God is doing around us.
But I don’t think we see ourselves that way. We seem to have heard the call. We know what we are to be about. We feel it there within us. We sense it even when we are just talking about it, but we haven’t found a way to see ourselves actually living it. Something – some confusion or fear or maybe just habit stops us from going on beyond the talking and the dreaming to the doing.
I think, maybe, we are really more like Paul’s companions. We have heard a voice calling for us to change, but we haven’t glimpsed the vision. So, we muddle along as best we can, and we hope that is enough.
Maybe we just need a new vision. Not a new vision statement, though that could be helpful too, but a new way of seeing ourselves. We are a young…-ish and vibrant faith community with talent and passion to spare, but we tend to think of ourselves as an old…-er, worn out congregation struggling to survive. Yes, we have some problems meeting our budget. Yes, much of the work of the congregation is done by a large handful of people. But that is the case in just about every church I know. And however true that was in the past, we don’t have to let that define us.
Saul’s past, after all, was considerably more … “checkered” … than ours has been, but that didn’t hold him back. The power of God showed him a new vision. Once he had his eyes opened to the truth, he saw himself in such a different light that he took a whole new name, and he turned all his passion toward answering the call. Saul the persecutor became Paul the apostle, and, with joy, he followed that call despite the risks and the hardships. Whenever he saw God at work he joined right in, eager to lend his voice and his hands to the effort. And, wherever he went, God went with him, giving him support, strength, and encouragement for all that he faced.
I don’t expect any of us to be another “Paul.” But, I do wonder who we could become if we committed ourselves as whole-heartedly to answering the call that we have felt as a congregation. What could we do to further the work of Christ in our own communities if we put down our anxieties and fears and embraced the work of peacemaking or service to the hungry and homeless or reaching out to offer university students (or anyone else) a warm community of support and encouragement? How would it change us … being filled with the energy and excitement of giving life to our faith, putting feet and hands and voice to our dreams?
I had a friend once who was a prophet who heard voices that sent her to others to share important information or extend an invitation to God’s work. I asked her once about free will and what she thought happened when someone said no to the call she shared. Her response, to the best of my memory, was, “If someone doesn’t accept the work that God has for them, that’s okay. God will get someone else to do it. But, if you say no often enough, you get fewer invitations, and you miss out on all the fun, and life becomes less joyful.”
God has called us to this work – to give joyful life to our faith. We just need to offer willing hearts and eager hands, and God will open our eyes to a new way of seeing – a new vision that will show us the way. Let’s not miss out on all the fun.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
This Changes Everything
sermon by Torin Eikler
Easter
Isaiah 65: 17-25 John 20:1-18
As I was sitting in Love Feast on Thursday night, I found my mind wandering to my grandfather Eikenberry. Grandpa was a wonderful man … from all I’ve heard. He was a pastor and a missionary in Nigeria for most of my childhood, and shortly after he came back he developed Parkinson’s disease which affected his breathing dramatically. So, for the last several years of his life, I couldn’t understand anything he tried to say to me, and I never really got to know him. I could see in his eyes that the situation left him feeling profoundly sad and more than a little frustrated, and that meant that I did my best to avoid being left alone with him. Yet, when he died in 1996, I missed his presence immediately.
I still miss him, especially at times like this. Everyday life and the time that it carries away in its passing tend to dampen the loss and bury the memories. But at the high points of life – my wedding, the birth of my children, Christmas and Easter – I find myself feeling the holes in my life more deeply, and I wish that my sense of Grandpa’s presence was more like a hand on my shoulder than a warm feeling in my heart.
I don’t mean to ruin the celebration of this Easter morning with my reminiscence. I know that many of you have lost loved ones, too, and for some of us the grief is new or the ache of a passing is still raw. Yet, perhaps it is not all bad that we carry these others with us on this morning. Easter is as much about death as it is about life, and our greatest comfort – our dearest joy – comes from knowing that “Jesus of Nazareth was crucified, died, and was raised” from the dead so that “all who believe in him shall not perish but have everlasting life.”
Often, I think, we move past that truth all unthinking as we go from the Hosannas of Palm Sunday to the Hallelujahs of Easter morning and skip the sorrow of Good Friday and the abandonment of Holy Saturday. Jesus died and was lost to his friends and family for three days ... and without that Easter loses some of its meaning. Some of its power and glory fade away if we look at from the bright hilltops instead of experiencing it from the darkness of the valley of death.
You know, it seems a little bit strange to me that the essential hope at the center of our faith is really a conundrum: true life comes from death. It reminds me of the Buddhist meditation tradition of contemplating Kōans like: “What is the sound of one hand clapping?” There are paradoxes in both of those “riddles” that defy rational thinking. After all, how can one hand clap to begin with? And, how can death – the end of life – be the beginning of, perhaps even the source of, true life?
Spend any amount of time really contemplating a question like that, and you may find your mind running in circles. You begin to wonder what the point is since there seems to be no answer, and it leaves you at your wits end and too exhausted to think. Maybe that is the point.
Maybe we need to get our heads out of the way because roughly two thousand years ago when Jesus left the tomb everything changed. Not just one of two little things. Everything changed. We say we believe that, but do we really get it?
Mary didn’t get it … not at first. She thought that someone had taken Jesus’ body and hidden it. And why not? It was the only explanation that made any sense. Even faced with angelic messengers in shining clothes, she couldn’t wrap her mind around the miracle of resurrection. So, she stood and wept for loss of her Lord.
The disciples fared no better. Jesus had predicted his own death. He had said that he would die – that he had to die and be resurrected. He told them plainly, and he painted a metaphorical picture of the future, saying that the temple would be torn down and rebuilt in three days time. Despite it all, when they saw the tomb – empty – they returned home to the others and locked the doors, empty inside.
But … but in one moment all of them changed. Lost to thought in her pain, Mary heard the voice of the gardener call her name, and her tears became tears of joy washing away the weariness of grief. Exhausted by confusion and fear, the disciples heard their teacher bless them, and their overwhelming delight flooded in to fill the emptiness of despair. They finally got it. They understood in the depths of their hearts – in the heart of their souls – what their minds had not been able to grasp: Jesus, who was dead, had been raised.
Jesus was alive, and everything had changed – not least they themselves. Life and death … grace and the law … spiritual and “real” … joy and pain … suffering and release … all the polar opposites of reasonable, measured lives bent together. No longer did they carry the burden of grief in darkness and despair for the promise of new life brought light and hope. No longer did they need to fear the rigors of life for there was a new earth. No longer did they need to fear death for there was a new heaven, and death was not the end but a new beginning.
It was a profound awakening for them, and they became different people – in many ways a new creation. It was as if they came to life. They preached the good news despite the consequences. They formed new communities where people cared for one another according to each one’s needs. Though they were still far from perfect, they brought the change they had experienced to the world, and with it, they brought hope for many.
And, what was true for their lives is true for ours. Jesus is alive. Our grief is no longer filled with utter darkness for our loved ones live on. Life is no longer filled with sadness and suffering for we have joy and hope even in the hardest times. Death no longer raises a haunting specter of fear for it is just another part of the journey of life, bringing us one step closer to .
At least, that’s the way it could be … if we really knew the truth of our faith. If we understood deep down beyond our resonable minds, the power and promise of the new creation that burst upon this world those many years ago, we too would be fearless. We, too, could preach the gospel in the face of derision. We, too, could live together in communities marked by compassion, sharing, and commitment. We, too, could live the Kingdom into being among us, offering the world hope and vision in the place of despair.
Doesn’t that sound wonderful?! Just take a moment and imagine it – a little piece of heaven on earth.
Maybe that’s what another John, John Lennon, was thinking of when he wrote his song – not imagine there really is no heaven, image heaven is here, and all the people are living together in peace. I’ll be the first to admit that I am a dreamer if this is the dream. But, it could be the reality we make if we can just get a handle on this Kōan – this mystery – that sits at the heart of our faith. Jesus Christ, our Lord, our Savior, our teacher, our brother, our friend, died on the cross and was raised from the dead so that all may have eternal life. It’s not so easy no matter how hard you try, but oh the freedom, oh the power, oh the joy that awaits us if we can grasp that truth. If we grab hold of it and let it change us, it could change everything.
Easter
Isaiah 65: 17-25 John 20:1-18
As I was sitting in Love Feast on Thursday night, I found my mind wandering to my grandfather Eikenberry. Grandpa was a wonderful man … from all I’ve heard. He was a pastor and a missionary in Nigeria for most of my childhood, and shortly after he came back he developed Parkinson’s disease which affected his breathing dramatically. So, for the last several years of his life, I couldn’t understand anything he tried to say to me, and I never really got to know him. I could see in his eyes that the situation left him feeling profoundly sad and more than a little frustrated, and that meant that I did my best to avoid being left alone with him. Yet, when he died in 1996, I missed his presence immediately.
I still miss him, especially at times like this. Everyday life and the time that it carries away in its passing tend to dampen the loss and bury the memories. But at the high points of life – my wedding, the birth of my children, Christmas and Easter – I find myself feeling the holes in my life more deeply, and I wish that my sense of Grandpa’s presence was more like a hand on my shoulder than a warm feeling in my heart.
I don’t mean to ruin the celebration of this Easter morning with my reminiscence. I know that many of you have lost loved ones, too, and for some of us the grief is new or the ache of a passing is still raw. Yet, perhaps it is not all bad that we carry these others with us on this morning. Easter is as much about death as it is about life, and our greatest comfort – our dearest joy – comes from knowing that “Jesus of Nazareth was crucified, died, and was raised” from the dead so that “all who believe in him shall not perish but have everlasting life.”
Often, I think, we move past that truth all unthinking as we go from the Hosannas of Palm Sunday to the Hallelujahs of Easter morning and skip the sorrow of Good Friday and the abandonment of Holy Saturday. Jesus died and was lost to his friends and family for three days ... and without that Easter loses some of its meaning. Some of its power and glory fade away if we look at from the bright hilltops instead of experiencing it from the darkness of the valley of death.
You know, it seems a little bit strange to me that the essential hope at the center of our faith is really a conundrum: true life comes from death. It reminds me of the Buddhist meditation tradition of contemplating Kōans like: “What is the sound of one hand clapping?” There are paradoxes in both of those “riddles” that defy rational thinking. After all, how can one hand clap to begin with? And, how can death – the end of life – be the beginning of, perhaps even the source of, true life?
Spend any amount of time really contemplating a question like that, and you may find your mind running in circles. You begin to wonder what the point is since there seems to be no answer, and it leaves you at your wits end and too exhausted to think. Maybe that is the point.
Maybe we need to get our heads out of the way because roughly two thousand years ago when Jesus left the tomb everything changed. Not just one of two little things. Everything changed. We say we believe that, but do we really get it?
Mary didn’t get it … not at first. She thought that someone had taken Jesus’ body and hidden it. And why not? It was the only explanation that made any sense. Even faced with angelic messengers in shining clothes, she couldn’t wrap her mind around the miracle of resurrection. So, she stood and wept for loss of her Lord.
The disciples fared no better. Jesus had predicted his own death. He had said that he would die – that he had to die and be resurrected. He told them plainly, and he painted a metaphorical picture of the future, saying that the temple would be torn down and rebuilt in three days time. Despite it all, when they saw the tomb – empty – they returned home to the others and locked the doors, empty inside.
But … but in one moment all of them changed. Lost to thought in her pain, Mary heard the voice of the gardener call her name, and her tears became tears of joy washing away the weariness of grief. Exhausted by confusion and fear, the disciples heard their teacher bless them, and their overwhelming delight flooded in to fill the emptiness of despair. They finally got it. They understood in the depths of their hearts – in the heart of their souls – what their minds had not been able to grasp: Jesus, who was dead, had been raised.
Jesus was alive, and everything had changed – not least they themselves. Life and death … grace and the law … spiritual and “real” … joy and pain … suffering and release … all the polar opposites of reasonable, measured lives bent together. No longer did they carry the burden of grief in darkness and despair for the promise of new life brought light and hope. No longer did they need to fear the rigors of life for there was a new earth. No longer did they need to fear death for there was a new heaven, and death was not the end but a new beginning.
It was a profound awakening for them, and they became different people – in many ways a new creation. It was as if they came to life. They preached the good news despite the consequences. They formed new communities where people cared for one another according to each one’s needs. Though they were still far from perfect, they brought the change they had experienced to the world, and with it, they brought hope for many.
And, what was true for their lives is true for ours. Jesus is alive. Our grief is no longer filled with utter darkness for our loved ones live on. Life is no longer filled with sadness and suffering for we have joy and hope even in the hardest times. Death no longer raises a haunting specter of fear for it is just another part of the journey of life, bringing us one step closer to .
At least, that’s the way it could be … if we really knew the truth of our faith. If we understood deep down beyond our resonable minds, the power and promise of the new creation that burst upon this world those many years ago, we too would be fearless. We, too, could preach the gospel in the face of derision. We, too, could live together in communities marked by compassion, sharing, and commitment. We, too, could live the Kingdom into being among us, offering the world hope and vision in the place of despair.
Doesn’t that sound wonderful?! Just take a moment and imagine it – a little piece of heaven on earth.
Maybe that’s what another John, John Lennon, was thinking of when he wrote his song – not imagine there really is no heaven, image heaven is here, and all the people are living together in peace. I’ll be the first to admit that I am a dreamer if this is the dream. But, it could be the reality we make if we can just get a handle on this Kōan – this mystery – that sits at the heart of our faith. Jesus Christ, our Lord, our Savior, our teacher, our brother, our friend, died on the cross and was raised from the dead so that all may have eternal life. It’s not so easy no matter how hard you try, but oh the freedom, oh the power, oh the joy that awaits us if we can grasp that truth. If we grab hold of it and let it change us, it could change everything.
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