Are You Afraid?

sermon by Torin Eikler
Mark 13:1-8    Daniel 12:1-4

“Are you frightened? … Not nearly enough.  I know what hunts you.”  Those are some of the first words spoken by Strider to Frodo Baggins in Tolkein’s The Fellowship of the Ring.  He is speaking of the Ring Wraiths – nine human kings who passed into the eternal shadows of evil all because of their hunger for power.  They have become fearsome beings – immortal and immensely powerful with both swords and magic.  There reappearance on the scene is an announcement of the end of life as all people know it.  They are the sign that apocalyptic times have descended on Frodo and Strider and everyone else in Middle Earth.  They are right to be afraid.

Of course, we on this Earth don’t need to fear the ring wraiths (though I suspect we could find our own version of them without looking too far).  But we, too, are living in apocalyptic times complete with signs like the Super-storm Sandy and the burgeoning war between the Israelis and the Palestinians and prophets predicting the end of life as we know it.  Either the world economy will implode leaving us back in the dark ages … or Iran will finally develop its nuclear missile bringing on a terrible war that will render the cradle of Western civilization dead and sterile for centuries … or we will reach the tipping point on global warming and whole countries will disappear as ice caps melt and oceans rise.  Everywhere you look you hear news reporters, talk show hosts, political activists, and scientists shouting … DOOM!

It would seem that times haven’t changed all that much in the last 2000 years.  All throughout Israel’s history there were prophets of the apocalypse, but things really started gearing up about 200 years before Jesus was born.  The kingdom of Israel had come and gone a couple of times, and the land was passed back and forth between several kingdoms over the course of four or five centuries until the Roman Empire finally took control and provided some kind of stability and tolerance, allowing the Jews to continue their particular religious practices.

After a time, the people began to feel stable enough to think about throwing off the yoke the empire and there were a few rebellions that were brutally put down.  The spirit of the people was not broken, though, and they began to dwell on the prophesies of the Messiah who would lead the chosen people back into a second golden age.

Daniel wrote of this coming change with vivid imagery that described the end of the world as it was and the birth of a new reality, and while his prophesies were full of suffering and destruction, they were meant as a message of hope rather than fear for the people.  All the bad stuff, after all, would be happening to the unjust and unfaithful who were abusing the righteous believers.  In other words, it would be the Romans and their supporters who would suffer while the rest of the Jews would be delivered and raised up to shine like stars come to Earth … as long as they lived Godly lives that got them written into The Book of Life.

The refrain was carried on by others – some of them recorded in the apocryphal books that didn’t make the final cut but are sometimes included in study Bibles.  Eventually, we hear the same message proclaimed by John the Baptist – repent … turn back to God for the Kingdom of God has drawn near and the end of these times is upon us.  And finally, Jesus takes his turn.

“Do you see all these great buildings? …. Not one stone here will be left on another; every one will be thrown down.” 

And when will this happen?

“When you hear of wars and rumors of wars ….  [When] nation will rise against nation, kingdom against kingdom.  [When] there [are] earthquakes in various places, and famines” (and flood and storms?).  “These are the beginnings of birth pains.”

Not really a clear answer to say the least.  It would seem that the birth pains have been going on for quite some time.

 

That’s the thing about apocalyptic talk… whether or not it is intended to comfort us, it is so vague that it inevitably evokes fear in us.  We can never really know if we will be the on the good or the bad end of things, and there’s nothing at all that we can to change what’s coming.  We can’t even know when to expect the crisis.  So it leaves us swinging in the anxious wind of anticipation, and that can damage our health and twist our sense of perspective.

As Stephen Fowl puts it in his writing for the most current issue of The Christian Century, “Apocalyptic visions generate fear.  This fear can be a good motive for action, particularly when your home is on fire or when a bus is barreling down on you as you cross the street.  In such a situation fear may save lives …. But, for the most part, the fear induced by apocalyptic scenarios can so truncate and focus our vision on such a narrow field as to render us almost blind.”[1]

Take a moment to look inside yourself.  Find some aspect of your own life where you feel like things are racing out of control toward a crisis that you can’t really anticipate. 

 

Now take a deep breath and step back for a moment. 

 

Try to look at the situation from a broader perspective.

If you can do that (and I’ll be the first to acknowledge that it’s sometimes impossible) … if you can do that, you will probably find that your fears have done exactly what Fowl describes.  They have focused you on one part of your life so much that it has become disconnected from the rest.  They have made you feel like you must act just a quickly and decisively as if you were in the path of speeding car.  And they have convinced you that you have only a few options open to you … that you must accept one of those options even if none of them fits the life you most want to live.

That’s not the healthiest way to make navigate life.  We need to move past those fears … to cast them out and make way for more spacious, life-giving way of living.  And fortunately, the scriptures give us many clues to how to do exactly that.  They are most clearly summed up in  first John, chapter 4 where it says that perfect love casts out fear.

Again … Stephen Fowl….

“For Jesus, navigating one’s way through apocalyptic times calls not for split-second judgments made in isolation but for clear vision, faithful insight and holy patience.  Fear is the enemy of all of these practices of faithful living.  Fear narrows our vision so that we fail to see the good in those who disagree with us.  Fear-induced blindness causes us to fail to see the great host of witnesses that surround, support, and sustain us…. Fear … [makes] us forget that only God can save us and leads us to treat others as obstacles that we must overcome.

Jesus' alternative is an invitation to be like those wise people awaiting the bridegroom’s arrival.  We need to cultivate a patient yet ardent desire for God to arrive in fullness in our lives … a desire not driven by a desire for triumph or vindication or by fear of one’s opponents … a desire sustained by our love for God and our eager hope for communion with the One who loves us without reserve.

The more apocalyptic our present seems, the more important it is for Christians courageously to rely on love to cast out fear (1John 4:17).” [2]

 

I read that last week, and I thought, “right … that sounds good in theory.  We can say that we rely on love to cast out fear all we want to, but how, exactly, does that work?”  But then we had our Church Council meeting, and I began to catch a glimpse of what it might look like.

What I saw was a gathering of faithful people facing difficult decisions.  It is clear – and has been clear for some time – that we don’t have the resources to keep doing things the way that we have done in the past.  We don’t have the money, and we don’t have the people.  Like it or not, our lives together in this congregation are going to change.

In the past, the coming crisis has been a cause for fear and anxiety.  We have struggled to trim our budget and adjust the structure that guides our leadership in the hope that the situation will get better with time, and that has served us fairly well … for a while. 

Yet the more that time has passed, the  closer we have come to the brink of change.  The more “apocalyptic” our visions, the less open we have become to the unexpected possibilities that are sometimes offered by the Holy Spirit.  We have focused more and more tightly on how we can cut back our spending without undermining the basic values expressed by our budget, and we have come to answer all … or at least most of the difficult questions about how we will live together with the answer, “we just need more people.”

But last week, something changed.  Nick suggested that we set up a committee to assess our options for the future, and the idea of yet another committee was greeted with … well if not with joyful enthusiasm, at least with without the sense of one more burden added to an already heavy load.  What I felt as we continued to discuss how and when that committee would do its work was a lightening of the congregation’s spirit … maybe even the beginnings of the birth pains of new hope for the future.

 

Living in the shadow of fear closes us off … hems us in … and makes us less than we are.  It leave us isolated and alone.  Living in the light of love – love for one another and love for our God – opens us up … allows our hearts and our dreams to grow bigger … and ties us into life – the true life that flows from God.  It draws us together and sets our feet on the path where God walks with us.

And relying on love to cast out fear is not simply a comfort to us.  The power of love continually transforms us.  It draws us, always, toward being the best people we can be.  That is a wonderful thing … a powerfully good thing for us and for those we love, AND it is also the doorway to the world.  The more we are guided by love, the more our compassion leads us out of our doors and beyond our families and friends to care for the suffering around us, and we reach out with the most valuable gift we have to give - the love and the hope that fills our lives with meaning and promise.

 

---

[1] Christian Century, November 14, 2012, page 20.

[2] ibid.

Dwelling in the Word

[Torin and I have just returned full time to our pastoral duties after the birth of our son, Patrick.  While we were on parental leave, our congregation engaged in a process known as Dwelling in the Word.  For seven weeks we lived with Paul's words in Ephesians 3:7-21 and had seven different speakers, including Torin and myself, come with their thoughts and perspectives.

Unfortunately, I don't have the sermons from all of our speakers, and this Sunday was the concluding sermon in the series.  We hope you take some time to dwell with this text, and see how it may call you to a rooting and grounding in God's love]

Ephesians 3:7-21
Dwelling in the Word

Wow.  I can’t believe that it has been over two months since I last preached!  I don’t know how you feel about it, but it feels good to be here with you, exploring the word, dwelling in the word.  And yes, our seven weeks of dwelling in the word has come to an end.  I don’t know how you feel about that either.  Some of you may like to stay a bit longer and continue exploring what Ephesians 3:7-21 is working out in you.  Some are probably ready to get back to our regular routine.  At least, you’ve had enough of Paul, and need a little Jesus.  Or Moses.  Or even some Psalms for crying out loud. 

It is true that Paul can certainly be pedantic.  Long winded.  Confusing.  Boring.  Why would we want to spend 7 weeks looking at one of his letters?  Probably because he can be…pedantic, long-winded, confusing, and boring.  I mean if you just listen to one sermon on one part of his letters, it’s easy to dismiss him, to tune out, and wait till next Sunday when you get into more interesting, gospel stuff.  Spending 7 weeks with Paul, for some of you, may be like being stuck in the middle of the ocean on a boat with him .  You may want to jump ship, you may be searching for the shoreline when you can get off this boat.  But if you actually have a conversation with him, you just might learn something.  About him.  About yourself.  About God.

So yes, jumping back into the pulpit to face Paul—not just dwelling with him, but trying to make sense of him—seemed a bit exhausting.

And I don’t like being exhausted. Which is not good when you have two young boys and a baby.  So as you can imagine snatching small bits of rest in the day is crucial for me as a mother.  And for my naps I like to have book close by for those times when I wake up from a nap before any of the boys do, and I don’t want to walk around for fear they will wake up and demand something of me. And since I never know how long the quiet and stillness will last, I like having a book that has small segments with powerful thoughts.

A friend gave me the book Mitten Strings for God: Reflections for Mothers in a Hurry by Katrina Kenison.  One of the reflections is on nature, where she explored the ideas of Robert Michael Pyle.

Robert Michael Pyle is a nature writer, and a lepidopterist—someone who studies moths and butterflies.  And Pyle has presented in some of his works a rather provocative allegation.  He has observed that many children today—and probably many adults as well—suffer from what he calls “the extinction of experience.” 

Now at first, that sounds a bit counterintuitive because, as a mother, I know that there is an intense drive in contemporary parents to give our children experiences.  We want them to experience music, languages, art, dance, sports and so we rush around trying to get them signed up for this program and that lesson.  Will they ever really learn the piano if they are not in lessons by age 3?  Will they be severely deficient in our pluralistic culture if they aren’t learning Spanish and Mandarin by second grade?  We want them to know all these things, so of course we’re trying to get them experience in them, to have someone teach them, and have our children learn them.

But Pyle, being a naturalist, is not talking about this kind of experience.  He is referring to the extinction of experience with the natural world.  He says that unlike earlier generations, children do not have the kind of direct, frequent contact with the earth and its creatures that result in a passionate, lasting relationship with the natural world. 

Now it doesn’t mean that children are unaware of the natural world.  They know what a leaf is.  They know bugs.  And they certainly know about “the environment.”  In fact, Pyle suggests that our children are well versed in issues of the environment and may have “politically correct” response to whales, global warming, pollution, and rain forests; they  can speak to these major environmental issues—but far less grounded in their own visceral, firsthand experiences of nature just beyond their door.  Pyle of course, says it’s not enough to teach children about nature; we must allow our children to grow up in nature. 

The difference between knowing with our head, and a knowing, that Paul says, surpasses understanding.

 The difference between knowing and experiencing,

 between head thought, and heart revelation.

When Paul speaks to us about knowing the length and breadth and height and depth of Christ’s love;  when he speaks about knowing the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, I think he is on to us.  He’s on to our skeptical minds.  He’s onto our contemporary need to know intellectually. for sure. what the answers about God are.  To know what is true about Christ…

We’ve been watching these wonderful videos in adult Sunday School, a series called Living the Questions where popular theologians, scholars, and clergy take on a variety of topics and then invite us to continue the conversation.  A few weeks ago the topic was on the biblical story, and how, essentially, it is possible to take the Bible seriously without always taking it literally.  It looked at questions about creation, and the nativity story, and our hangups about saying things did or did not happen in a certain way.

And I could tell, especially with the group gathered that day, it was a welcomed conversation.  And someone said in the midst of the conversation, “But how to you know it’s the truth.”  Of course, I wanted to get all sagely and philosophical and ask “Well what do you mean by know.”  and “well what is truth?”

If anything, this is where I know I can get hung up, most certainly.  I’m asking the questions, I’m seeking the answers.  I want to know when this was written and by whom and was it Paul or wasn’t it who wrote Ephesians.  I wonder what is the politically correct thing to think about the gender or lack thereof of God?  What is the right thing to believe about God’s  working in the world?  What is the limit that I can believe if I still want to be seen as intellectual?

If I’m honest, I’m so busy thinking about me when I approach God, there isn’t much height or depth or length or breadth to dive into.  It’s more like I’m…standing in a kiddie pool with not much water.

Sure, we know a lot about God, from what we learn from sermons, or books, or Sunday School, or bible studies.  I can say what so-and-so has said about God, I rehearse arguments about God, I can do theology.  But is that the same as knowing of God? 

Just like many children and adults know about the environment, we too have thought about God…but can you say you have experienced God? [pause] Not only that, but can you say you are filled with the fullness of God?  Daily living out of the divine spark within you?

So as we prepared to dwell with this challenge, I was asking myself “how do we know? how do we know?”

And what I’m left with, after these seven weeks, is a surprising invitation.: Stop trying to know.  Stop trying to find the answers that fit neatly.

Now I’m not saying don’t ask the questions, and it’s not a get out of jail free card with the response, “well, we never will know so let’s just live in the mystery”.  But it does require us to think about how we “know” in a different way.

Hear some of Katrina Kenison’s thoughts on knowledge, as she continues reflecting on our experience with nature.  You could probably switch out some of the words about nature and replace them with God, to more clearly see where I’m going with this.

Our children offer us an opportunity to rediscover the marvels of nature for ourselves.  You don’t need any special knowledge, any equipment, or even much of a plan.  You don’t need to be a naturalist or a teacher.  In fact you don’t need to identify a single bird or flower or constellation.  All you need is a willingness to go, to look, and to drink in the mystery and beauty of the world before your eyes.  I used to wish I had more knowledge to impart, a better foundation in the earth sciences, so that I could explain the world to my children instead of simply experiencing it with them.  Certainly our outings gave rise to more questions than answers.  But as we watched and wondered together, I came to suspect that our shared experience was probably more valuable to my children than any education I could provide.  In time, they will acquire knowledge, too—but first they need the time and space to develop an emotional connection with the land, forging their own relationships with plants and animals, earth and sky.  [The naturalist Rachel Carson reminds us,] “It is not half so important to know as to feel.”

So maybe the same is true with how we approach our lives with God.  And maybe in a way, our faith life can be a bit like Paul.  A bit pedantic..talking through ideas, figuring out who we are, criticizing bad behavior of others, trying to know, defending our position.  But thankfully, Paul surprises us with a blessing.  A blessing that tells us to let it all fall away

To not get hung up on trying to understand with our minds, but to live a life that open to experiencing the love of Christ.  And this love of Christ can and does compel us to plumb the deepest of our fears, and soar to the highest of what makes us joyful.  Christ’s love entices us to broaden our arms to welcome into our lives the unexpected: the unexpected person, or event, or possibility as well as encouraging us to go to lengths we may not have ever known possible.

So to conclude this portion of dwelling in the word, J I’ll just bestow on you the same blessing in a different way. 

What you know is not nearly sufficient to experience the Christ.  In snatches of moments,

Feel Christ’s love working through you. 

Hear Christ’s love as the wind blowing through the trees. 

See Christ’s love in great acts of courage and small acts of devotion.

Engage your whole self in being part of Christ’s love, moving past what you can understand intellectually

and open yourself up to being filled with the fullness of God.