Moment By Moment
Sermon
Sermons On The Second Readings
Series I, Cycle C
The Christmas-Easter-only people do have a point. Those who arrive at church only at Christmas and Easter somehow must know deep inside that participation in communal worship is a necessity. It is a prerequisite for survival. Granted, they miss a lot in between. However, let us merit the coming. They appear not just for show. They come out not solely because of the family dinner after church.
Something greater calls to them at Christmas and at Easter. Something within wants to hear it again. Something needs the reaffirmation that God is with us always and that God will be with us always.
The "they" is also the "we." We regular churchgoers also switch off worship sometimes, coming only in a state of inattention, except at Christmas and Easter. The story is still the same old, old story, but somehow we, also, hear it anew.
Each successive year, you and I have trudged our way through many changes. As did the people of Paul's Corinth, we need to hear again that no testing will overtake us that is not common to everyone. We yearn to hear again that God is faithful, that God will not let us be tested beyond our strength.
The gap between Easter and Christmas is too great to wait for such fortification. When we miss a Sunday, we easily slip out of hope's rhythm. We need reassurance that with any testing, God will also provide the way out so that we may be sustained in our journey.
Who has not spoken or heard these words, "God will not give you more than you can handle"? In our helplessness to say anything else were we the speakers of such words, we may have jumped to them as a handy bromide. Were we the hearers, we might have thought, "Oh, really, and how do you know?"
We may wonder if testing is a prerequisite to everything. This query that slips into our thoughts must have occurred also to the people of Paul's time.
Let us backtrack. When Paul lectures the Christians at Corinth, he sounds like a frustrated parent who lets go with a string of lambasting at a recalcitrant child. Then with negative energy expended, the tone of voice gentles to notes of compassion and encouragement.
Throughout the first ten chapters of Paul's first letter to the Corinthian church, the apostle responds to news that its members have been squabbling and strutting and competing with one another. Human vanity could have spawned this turmoil. The tension of constant pressure to be the church in difficult times could be the culprit. Whatever was going on, Paul wanted to avoid coddling this church.
He had to call this fold to careful, persistent discipleship. They should not turn things around and grump at God. They are not to test God. They are not the first group whose faith has been tested. When the grumbles take over and you feel as if you were being singled out for abuse, he says, you are not. Paul takes them back to the Hebrews whose faith also was exercised. He warns the Corinthian Christians about becoming mighty and high. They, too, will trip. Testing is a continual part of the commitment.
Then, reminiscent of the Hebrew prophets, Paul softens. He says, "No testing has overtaken you that is not common to everyone. God is faithful, and [God] will not let you be tested beyond your strength, but with the testing [God] will also provide the way out so that you may be able to endure it" (1 Corinthians 10:13).
Dee's dog guides had provided the way out so that she could move beyond enduring living nonvisually to regain her sense of wholeness. One frigid December, her second dog guide experienced a two-week downtime due to a bout of cold-triggered arthritis.
The woman realized then that in her mind she already had programmed the dog guide to work at least ten years, the length of her first dog guide's career. When despair burst out over the possibility of an aborted work life of this assist dog after only five years, she needed quiet words from her husband to return her focus to hope. He said, "You just have to let Treasure be himself."
Something about his words scattered the negative energy that had overtaken her spirit. After all, both dog guides had taught her that it was okay for her just to let her be herself.
Assisted by a human guide, she walked the short distance to the gathering room in the church where she would take her morning walk for the next two weeks. Toward the end of that time, Treasure became well enough to lead her to the church. However, he chose to lie on a sunny spot on the carpet while she designed configurations around the eight long tables.
As the dog's body discomfort subsided, he began to accompany her around the room. His endurance grew. The morning he refused to enter the church, she knew he was well. The team resumed its usual outdoor walking pattern.
Whatever the difficulty, it is easy to lose heart. A businessman has had continual reversals in his financial and work life. A young man who suffers from a complicated brain disorder finds himself in a frequent chaos that disrupts his entire being. The condition will be with him the rest of his life.
If only, we say, an ailment would be acute for once so we could just get it over with. The chronic conditions in our lives and those of the world stay with us. Whatever the anguish, it takes experience to gain trust that feeling lost within is not necessarily permanent. It takes experience to realize that neither is finding one's self necessarily permanent.
I spoke recently with a woman who had been tutoring a young man who lives with a perceptual difficulty called dyslexia. He had made a false start in college and lost his confidence. The woman reported that after several weeks of tutoring, the man had passed the re-entry tests and was readmitted to the college. The tutor and her student decided, however, to continue their sessions. The woman said, "We must help each other on the journey, or some will never make it."
When I asked what had helped this young man the most, she said, first, it was encouraging him to spot the moments of hope. Whenever he noticed that he was on the upswing, they would celebrate the possible. He had begun to learn that celebration of the possible still can have the edge over defeat.
Second, he began to redefine testing as a time to focus on his capacity. He began to anticipate finding solutions rather than slumping under the weight of testing as an enemy of progress.
How beautiful it is to see those we care about work hard to greet who they are in the light of hope. Whether age 19 or 45 or 87, life may carry hardship, but celebration of the possible still has the edge.
I once asked a woman whose body is besieged by advanced rheumatoid arthritis how her spirit has managed to survive. She said that when she understood being free of discomfort was no longer a reality, she began paying attention to the little breathers, some as brief as few moments, that came during the day. She came not only to count on and cherish these brief pauses in the pain but also to recognize them as a gift, a way out that God provides.
God may be telling us in many ways to practice being people who avoid slewing onto the path of living on the defensive. Rather, let us choose to concentrate on greeting the continual testings that come our way with as positive a problem-solving attitude as we can muster. This stance also is a response to God's call to careful, persistent discipleship.
Whatever the situation, whenever we see that we are on the upswing and whenever we begin to celebrate that gain, however minute or for however short a time, this is the time to say, "Yes, I will remember this. I will remember that I am capable of thriving because God provides a way out of the jumble."
When we can recall the treasurable experience of having been lost and being found, we can strengthen our trust that we can come through the journey regardless of how often the prodigal, the illness, the inability, or the loss shows itself. Then we can practice celebrating the possible.
Something greater calls to them at Christmas and at Easter. Something within wants to hear it again. Something needs the reaffirmation that God is with us always and that God will be with us always.
The "they" is also the "we." We regular churchgoers also switch off worship sometimes, coming only in a state of inattention, except at Christmas and Easter. The story is still the same old, old story, but somehow we, also, hear it anew.
Each successive year, you and I have trudged our way through many changes. As did the people of Paul's Corinth, we need to hear again that no testing will overtake us that is not common to everyone. We yearn to hear again that God is faithful, that God will not let us be tested beyond our strength.
The gap between Easter and Christmas is too great to wait for such fortification. When we miss a Sunday, we easily slip out of hope's rhythm. We need reassurance that with any testing, God will also provide the way out so that we may be sustained in our journey.
Who has not spoken or heard these words, "God will not give you more than you can handle"? In our helplessness to say anything else were we the speakers of such words, we may have jumped to them as a handy bromide. Were we the hearers, we might have thought, "Oh, really, and how do you know?"
We may wonder if testing is a prerequisite to everything. This query that slips into our thoughts must have occurred also to the people of Paul's time.
Let us backtrack. When Paul lectures the Christians at Corinth, he sounds like a frustrated parent who lets go with a string of lambasting at a recalcitrant child. Then with negative energy expended, the tone of voice gentles to notes of compassion and encouragement.
Throughout the first ten chapters of Paul's first letter to the Corinthian church, the apostle responds to news that its members have been squabbling and strutting and competing with one another. Human vanity could have spawned this turmoil. The tension of constant pressure to be the church in difficult times could be the culprit. Whatever was going on, Paul wanted to avoid coddling this church.
He had to call this fold to careful, persistent discipleship. They should not turn things around and grump at God. They are not to test God. They are not the first group whose faith has been tested. When the grumbles take over and you feel as if you were being singled out for abuse, he says, you are not. Paul takes them back to the Hebrews whose faith also was exercised. He warns the Corinthian Christians about becoming mighty and high. They, too, will trip. Testing is a continual part of the commitment.
Then, reminiscent of the Hebrew prophets, Paul softens. He says, "No testing has overtaken you that is not common to everyone. God is faithful, and [God] will not let you be tested beyond your strength, but with the testing [God] will also provide the way out so that you may be able to endure it" (1 Corinthians 10:13).
Dee's dog guides had provided the way out so that she could move beyond enduring living nonvisually to regain her sense of wholeness. One frigid December, her second dog guide experienced a two-week downtime due to a bout of cold-triggered arthritis.
The woman realized then that in her mind she already had programmed the dog guide to work at least ten years, the length of her first dog guide's career. When despair burst out over the possibility of an aborted work life of this assist dog after only five years, she needed quiet words from her husband to return her focus to hope. He said, "You just have to let Treasure be himself."
Something about his words scattered the negative energy that had overtaken her spirit. After all, both dog guides had taught her that it was okay for her just to let her be herself.
Assisted by a human guide, she walked the short distance to the gathering room in the church where she would take her morning walk for the next two weeks. Toward the end of that time, Treasure became well enough to lead her to the church. However, he chose to lie on a sunny spot on the carpet while she designed configurations around the eight long tables.
As the dog's body discomfort subsided, he began to accompany her around the room. His endurance grew. The morning he refused to enter the church, she knew he was well. The team resumed its usual outdoor walking pattern.
Whatever the difficulty, it is easy to lose heart. A businessman has had continual reversals in his financial and work life. A young man who suffers from a complicated brain disorder finds himself in a frequent chaos that disrupts his entire being. The condition will be with him the rest of his life.
If only, we say, an ailment would be acute for once so we could just get it over with. The chronic conditions in our lives and those of the world stay with us. Whatever the anguish, it takes experience to gain trust that feeling lost within is not necessarily permanent. It takes experience to realize that neither is finding one's self necessarily permanent.
I spoke recently with a woman who had been tutoring a young man who lives with a perceptual difficulty called dyslexia. He had made a false start in college and lost his confidence. The woman reported that after several weeks of tutoring, the man had passed the re-entry tests and was readmitted to the college. The tutor and her student decided, however, to continue their sessions. The woman said, "We must help each other on the journey, or some will never make it."
When I asked what had helped this young man the most, she said, first, it was encouraging him to spot the moments of hope. Whenever he noticed that he was on the upswing, they would celebrate the possible. He had begun to learn that celebration of the possible still can have the edge over defeat.
Second, he began to redefine testing as a time to focus on his capacity. He began to anticipate finding solutions rather than slumping under the weight of testing as an enemy of progress.
How beautiful it is to see those we care about work hard to greet who they are in the light of hope. Whether age 19 or 45 or 87, life may carry hardship, but celebration of the possible still has the edge.
I once asked a woman whose body is besieged by advanced rheumatoid arthritis how her spirit has managed to survive. She said that when she understood being free of discomfort was no longer a reality, she began paying attention to the little breathers, some as brief as few moments, that came during the day. She came not only to count on and cherish these brief pauses in the pain but also to recognize them as a gift, a way out that God provides.
God may be telling us in many ways to practice being people who avoid slewing onto the path of living on the defensive. Rather, let us choose to concentrate on greeting the continual testings that come our way with as positive a problem-solving attitude as we can muster. This stance also is a response to God's call to careful, persistent discipleship.
Whatever the situation, whenever we see that we are on the upswing and whenever we begin to celebrate that gain, however minute or for however short a time, this is the time to say, "Yes, I will remember this. I will remember that I am capable of thriving because God provides a way out of the jumble."
When we can recall the treasurable experience of having been lost and being found, we can strengthen our trust that we can come through the journey regardless of how often the prodigal, the illness, the inability, or the loss shows itself. Then we can practice celebrating the possible.
