Terms Of Endearment
Sermon
From Upside Down To Rightside Up
Cycle C Sermons for Lent and Easter Based on the Gospel Lessons
In his short story, “The Capital of the World,” Ernest Heming-way reported an event they talk about in Madrid. A young man named Francisco, lovingly called Paco by his parents, grew to be a teen at odds with his father. No matter how a day began, it was sure to end with angry words and heated arguments. Paco and his father became enemies living under the same roof.
Finally the young man ran away, drifting eventually to the large metropolis of Madrid, where anyone could get lost and create a new identity. But relief from antagonism does not necessarily bring peace. Although free to find his own way, Paco was suddenly adrift in a world where many others tried to set his agenda, and missed the stability and resources of home. Meanwhile, back at home, his father and mother found themselves also in miserable silence. Paco’s absence was more destructive than his petulant presence. They missed him terribly.
With passions only parents can know, Paco’s father climbed the well-trodden roads to Madrid, asking all along the way if they had encountered his son. In the great city itself, the stranger wandered markets and main streets, seeking news of Paco. But not even in dimly lit dens and narrow alleys did anyone know about the missing teen.
Paco’s father went to the office of “El Liberal,” the largest newspaper in Madrid. He placed a personal ad that made this poignant promise: “Paco, meet me at Hotel Montana at noon Tuesday. All is forgiven. Papa.”
The father could hardly sleep Monday night. Restless and hoping against hope, he arrived at the newspaper office already at mid-morning. By then, strange things were already beginning to happen in the street outside. Traffic was much heavier than anyone could remember, with an unusual percentage of young men milling about. By 11:00 that morning, the area was nearly clogged with pedestrians. Half an hour later, as the father scanned the roiling mass in hopes of spying his son, the Guardia had to be called out to control the mob. One observer from a second-story window reported that over eight hundred homeless Paco’s had shown up, all hoping to find a loving father who would take them home.
All Is Forgiven
This is the story of our gospel reading today. We are Mary, and Mary is us. Something had happened in her life that caused her to lose faith and hope until Jesus came along. Only through him was her soul restored, her psyche mended, and her trust nurtured back to life. There are many stories and legends that surround this passage, including thoughts that Mary had been a prostitute (drawing on parallels with other accounts and similar tales). We don’t know. But what we are told with unbroken earnestness by John is that Mary’s action in anointing Jesus startled all around her, including Jesus’ own disciples. The act was too bold, too lavish, too emotional, and too over-the-top. Even Judas, who would not go down in history as the most careful of all men, was ready to shove Mary away as outlandish.
But Jesus would have none of it. He alone understood how close he was to his own death and welcomed the anticipated nod toward funereal honor. More than that, however, he honored Mary because of her passionate affirmation that Jesus meant everything to her. After the brokenness of life had washed her up, spit her out, and thrown her into the milling masses of Madrid, Jerusalem, Moscow, or Rio de Janeiro, Jesus was the word of the loving Father broadcast in mass media promising, “All is forgiven. Come home!”
This is why Jesus said we would remember her. Wherever the gospel is proclaimed, she is us, and we are her. When the transforming love of Jesus gives us the courage to express our appreciation, the world changes.
Transformational Love
Take, for instance, the story of Ernest Gordon’s survival. Ernest Gordon’s book To End All Wars (Zondervan, 2002) is the true tale of what took place in the Japanese prison-of-war camp made famous by the movie The Bridge over the River Kwai. The camp stood at the end of the Bataan death march that brought Allied soldiers deep into the jungles of Asia. Few would survive, and everyone knew it. In order to make the best of a terrible situation, they teamed up in pairs, each watching out for a buddy.
One prisoner was a strapping six-foot-three fellow built like a tower of iron. If any could come out of this alive, all felt he would. That was before his buddy got malaria. The smaller fellow was much weaker and very likely to die. Their captors did not want to deal with sickness, so anyone who was unable to work was confined in a “hot house” until he succumbed to heat exhaustion, dehydration, and the collapse of his bodily systems.
The sick man was locked into a hothouse and left to die. Surprisingly, he did not die, because every mealtime his strong buddy went out to him, under curses and threats from the guards, and shared his meager rations. Every night his strong buddy sneaked from the prison barracks, braved the watchful eyes above that held guns of death, and brought his own slim blanket to cover the fevered convulsions of the sick man.
At the end of two weeks, the sick man astounded the guards by recovering well enough to be able to return to work. He even survived the entire camp experience and lived to tell about it. His buddy, however ― the strong man all thought invincible—died very shortly of malaria, exposure, and dysentery. He had given his life to save his friend.
The story did not end there. When Allied troops liberated that camp at the close of the war in the Pacific, virtually every prisoner was a Christian. There was a symphony orchestra in camp, with instruments made of the crudest materials. There were worship services every Sunday and the death toll was far lower than any expected. All this was because of the silent testimony made by a strong man toward his buddy facing death.
Only those who have been loved much can express it to others. Like Mary.
Lost And Lonely
Dr. E. Stanley Jones related an incident from his missionary days that illustrated Jesus’ point. A young girl got tired of things at home. She longed for the freedom of the streets and the excitement of the nightlife. She ran away to a large city. It wasn’t long before she fell under the spell of a pimp and was degraded into a prostitute.
The girl’s mother was beside herself with anxiety. It was true that things hadn’t been going right between them, but a mother’s love is restless and protective, and she had to find her daughter again. She remembered the child who sat on her lap, the daughter who whispered in her ear, and she now needed somehow to renew their bond of trust.
Yet how should she begin the search? All she had heard were rumors about daughter, third-hand reports that she was now wasting her body in the red-light district. The mother went to the city and simply began to walk, hoping to stumble across someone who might know her daughter. Up one street and down the next she trudged, talking to anyone who would listen, hoping for a clue to follow.
But to no avail. Her daughter did not want to be found: shame, rebellion, spite... Who can say what reasons mingle in our deceptive minds?
Eventually the quest tired even the mother. But before she returned home, she did one more thing. She carried a photograph that had been taken several years before, a picture of the two of them, mother and daughter, at a happier moment in both their lives. She got the photograph enlarged and made dozens of copies. Then she scattered those pictures around the area, hoping that one would catch her daughter’s eye. On each photo she penned these five words: “Come home! I love you!”
And one day the girl did see. She began to remember what love was all about. A holy restless gripped her soul, battering her resentment until she had to call her mother. The next day, she was home.
Never once did the daughter stop assenting to the fact that she had a mother. But it was not until her mother’s love called out the trust of her heart that she believed in all that “home,” “mother,” and “love” could mean to her personally.
There is much that we as disciples of Jesus can do in this world. We need to fight against consumerism. We need to give generously to churches and organizations which alleviate poverty and bring medical supplies to remote places. We need to help counter the craziness of society with acts of justice, mercy, and grace. We need to express compassion. We need to evangelize, to witness about the kingdom of God, and the righteousness of social justice. We need to fight against racism, elitism, cronyism, segregation, and Apartheid in whatever forms they raise their ugly heads.
But all of these things must begin at one place. We need to remember how much we are loved by Jesus. And we need to express our love back to Jesus in worship, devotion, and deep gratitude.
Orphans No More
One couple I read about was filled with great passion, particularly for those orphaned in the many war zones of our world. We do not think much about the children, do we? We hear of battles, soldiers, guns, and attacks. But what about the children who could not sleep because of the booming of the bombs, who were left without parents in the storms of war, who had no food or water to sustain them when all supplies were cut off? What about the children who got sick from the poisonous fumes, whose limbs were blown away by the mines, and whose families had been scattered and deported? What about the children?
This couple thought about the children. They ached for the children. They worked tirelessly for the children. They wrote letters. They contacted government officials. They sponsored orphanages. They arranged for adoptions. They got interviewed constantly, in order to keep the tragedies alive. They traveled incessantly, all for the children.
One night, while they were holding another planning session in the living room of their home, the talk got noisy, and their five-year-old daughter appeared suddenly on the stairs, awakened by the loud bantering. Mother saw her and took her back to her room and bed. But the little one was crying.
“Hey, you’re okay,” Mom said. “I’m here. What’s wrong?”
“Sometimes,” the girl sobbed, “I wish I was an orphan. Then you would care about me like you care about the other children.”
What a crushing heartbreak for that mother. To realize in all of her doing good, she had let the central relationship of her life lapse.
This is why Jesus pointed us to Mary. Judas said, “What a waste! We could have done so much with that money! We should get busy looking after the poor!”
Jesus did not dispute that. We need to help the poor.
But helping the poor, bringing justice to society, and evangelizing the world began with the one thing Mary got right. We need to love Jesus.
Finally the young man ran away, drifting eventually to the large metropolis of Madrid, where anyone could get lost and create a new identity. But relief from antagonism does not necessarily bring peace. Although free to find his own way, Paco was suddenly adrift in a world where many others tried to set his agenda, and missed the stability and resources of home. Meanwhile, back at home, his father and mother found themselves also in miserable silence. Paco’s absence was more destructive than his petulant presence. They missed him terribly.
With passions only parents can know, Paco’s father climbed the well-trodden roads to Madrid, asking all along the way if they had encountered his son. In the great city itself, the stranger wandered markets and main streets, seeking news of Paco. But not even in dimly lit dens and narrow alleys did anyone know about the missing teen.
Paco’s father went to the office of “El Liberal,” the largest newspaper in Madrid. He placed a personal ad that made this poignant promise: “Paco, meet me at Hotel Montana at noon Tuesday. All is forgiven. Papa.”
The father could hardly sleep Monday night. Restless and hoping against hope, he arrived at the newspaper office already at mid-morning. By then, strange things were already beginning to happen in the street outside. Traffic was much heavier than anyone could remember, with an unusual percentage of young men milling about. By 11:00 that morning, the area was nearly clogged with pedestrians. Half an hour later, as the father scanned the roiling mass in hopes of spying his son, the Guardia had to be called out to control the mob. One observer from a second-story window reported that over eight hundred homeless Paco’s had shown up, all hoping to find a loving father who would take them home.
All Is Forgiven
This is the story of our gospel reading today. We are Mary, and Mary is us. Something had happened in her life that caused her to lose faith and hope until Jesus came along. Only through him was her soul restored, her psyche mended, and her trust nurtured back to life. There are many stories and legends that surround this passage, including thoughts that Mary had been a prostitute (drawing on parallels with other accounts and similar tales). We don’t know. But what we are told with unbroken earnestness by John is that Mary’s action in anointing Jesus startled all around her, including Jesus’ own disciples. The act was too bold, too lavish, too emotional, and too over-the-top. Even Judas, who would not go down in history as the most careful of all men, was ready to shove Mary away as outlandish.
But Jesus would have none of it. He alone understood how close he was to his own death and welcomed the anticipated nod toward funereal honor. More than that, however, he honored Mary because of her passionate affirmation that Jesus meant everything to her. After the brokenness of life had washed her up, spit her out, and thrown her into the milling masses of Madrid, Jerusalem, Moscow, or Rio de Janeiro, Jesus was the word of the loving Father broadcast in mass media promising, “All is forgiven. Come home!”
This is why Jesus said we would remember her. Wherever the gospel is proclaimed, she is us, and we are her. When the transforming love of Jesus gives us the courage to express our appreciation, the world changes.
Transformational Love
Take, for instance, the story of Ernest Gordon’s survival. Ernest Gordon’s book To End All Wars (Zondervan, 2002) is the true tale of what took place in the Japanese prison-of-war camp made famous by the movie The Bridge over the River Kwai. The camp stood at the end of the Bataan death march that brought Allied soldiers deep into the jungles of Asia. Few would survive, and everyone knew it. In order to make the best of a terrible situation, they teamed up in pairs, each watching out for a buddy.
One prisoner was a strapping six-foot-three fellow built like a tower of iron. If any could come out of this alive, all felt he would. That was before his buddy got malaria. The smaller fellow was much weaker and very likely to die. Their captors did not want to deal with sickness, so anyone who was unable to work was confined in a “hot house” until he succumbed to heat exhaustion, dehydration, and the collapse of his bodily systems.
The sick man was locked into a hothouse and left to die. Surprisingly, he did not die, because every mealtime his strong buddy went out to him, under curses and threats from the guards, and shared his meager rations. Every night his strong buddy sneaked from the prison barracks, braved the watchful eyes above that held guns of death, and brought his own slim blanket to cover the fevered convulsions of the sick man.
At the end of two weeks, the sick man astounded the guards by recovering well enough to be able to return to work. He even survived the entire camp experience and lived to tell about it. His buddy, however ― the strong man all thought invincible—died very shortly of malaria, exposure, and dysentery. He had given his life to save his friend.
The story did not end there. When Allied troops liberated that camp at the close of the war in the Pacific, virtually every prisoner was a Christian. There was a symphony orchestra in camp, with instruments made of the crudest materials. There were worship services every Sunday and the death toll was far lower than any expected. All this was because of the silent testimony made by a strong man toward his buddy facing death.
Only those who have been loved much can express it to others. Like Mary.
Lost And Lonely
Dr. E. Stanley Jones related an incident from his missionary days that illustrated Jesus’ point. A young girl got tired of things at home. She longed for the freedom of the streets and the excitement of the nightlife. She ran away to a large city. It wasn’t long before she fell under the spell of a pimp and was degraded into a prostitute.
The girl’s mother was beside herself with anxiety. It was true that things hadn’t been going right between them, but a mother’s love is restless and protective, and she had to find her daughter again. She remembered the child who sat on her lap, the daughter who whispered in her ear, and she now needed somehow to renew their bond of trust.
Yet how should she begin the search? All she had heard were rumors about daughter, third-hand reports that she was now wasting her body in the red-light district. The mother went to the city and simply began to walk, hoping to stumble across someone who might know her daughter. Up one street and down the next she trudged, talking to anyone who would listen, hoping for a clue to follow.
But to no avail. Her daughter did not want to be found: shame, rebellion, spite... Who can say what reasons mingle in our deceptive minds?
Eventually the quest tired even the mother. But before she returned home, she did one more thing. She carried a photograph that had been taken several years before, a picture of the two of them, mother and daughter, at a happier moment in both their lives. She got the photograph enlarged and made dozens of copies. Then she scattered those pictures around the area, hoping that one would catch her daughter’s eye. On each photo she penned these five words: “Come home! I love you!”
And one day the girl did see. She began to remember what love was all about. A holy restless gripped her soul, battering her resentment until she had to call her mother. The next day, she was home.
Never once did the daughter stop assenting to the fact that she had a mother. But it was not until her mother’s love called out the trust of her heart that she believed in all that “home,” “mother,” and “love” could mean to her personally.
There is much that we as disciples of Jesus can do in this world. We need to fight against consumerism. We need to give generously to churches and organizations which alleviate poverty and bring medical supplies to remote places. We need to help counter the craziness of society with acts of justice, mercy, and grace. We need to express compassion. We need to evangelize, to witness about the kingdom of God, and the righteousness of social justice. We need to fight against racism, elitism, cronyism, segregation, and Apartheid in whatever forms they raise their ugly heads.
But all of these things must begin at one place. We need to remember how much we are loved by Jesus. And we need to express our love back to Jesus in worship, devotion, and deep gratitude.
Orphans No More
One couple I read about was filled with great passion, particularly for those orphaned in the many war zones of our world. We do not think much about the children, do we? We hear of battles, soldiers, guns, and attacks. But what about the children who could not sleep because of the booming of the bombs, who were left without parents in the storms of war, who had no food or water to sustain them when all supplies were cut off? What about the children who got sick from the poisonous fumes, whose limbs were blown away by the mines, and whose families had been scattered and deported? What about the children?
This couple thought about the children. They ached for the children. They worked tirelessly for the children. They wrote letters. They contacted government officials. They sponsored orphanages. They arranged for adoptions. They got interviewed constantly, in order to keep the tragedies alive. They traveled incessantly, all for the children.
One night, while they were holding another planning session in the living room of their home, the talk got noisy, and their five-year-old daughter appeared suddenly on the stairs, awakened by the loud bantering. Mother saw her and took her back to her room and bed. But the little one was crying.
“Hey, you’re okay,” Mom said. “I’m here. What’s wrong?”
“Sometimes,” the girl sobbed, “I wish I was an orphan. Then you would care about me like you care about the other children.”
What a crushing heartbreak for that mother. To realize in all of her doing good, she had let the central relationship of her life lapse.
This is why Jesus pointed us to Mary. Judas said, “What a waste! We could have done so much with that money! We should get busy looking after the poor!”
Jesus did not dispute that. We need to help the poor.
But helping the poor, bringing justice to society, and evangelizing the world began with the one thing Mary got right. We need to love Jesus.
