You Gotta Be Bad, You Gotta Be Tough

The New Testament letters sound as if

 they were written this very week.

They speak urgently because they are written

         in the midst of crisis.

And when are we not in the midst of crisis?

War and betrayal in Afghanistan

–     terrorism in Wisconsin

–     crazy gunmen in Colorado and New York.

My childhood memories recall the Suez Crisis,         

         the Berlin crisis of 61, and the Cuban Missile Crisis,

                  to name a few.

My young adult memories are of the Energy Crisis,

         the Iranian Hostage Crisis, the S&L Crisis

– the list goes on to the present day.

On the personal front,

         I wouldn’t call my life a constant crisis.

But I’ve had my share of sleepless nights,

         and the threat of the next crisis is always looming.

Karl Barth, the most influential theologian

         of the 20^th Century called his thinking

                  “Crisis Theology” because he based his work

         on the New Testament and

the New Testament letters are about the archetypal crisis.

Jesus had just lived, died, and risen.

God had struck the earth with Jesus

like a thunderbolt of goodness.

And the earth was shaken.

Peace and reconciliation, healing and redemption

         were breaking out.

So there was naturally a backlash of evil.

When Ephesians was written, persecutions had already begun.

But they were nothing compared to what was coming.

The persecutions during the reigns

of the Emperors Decius, Domitian, and Galerius

         would eclipse all previous hardships in blood and horror.

It wasn’t just Christians who suffered.

Read Suetonius’ history of Rome in those days

or the modern version, I Claudius.

It was a perilous time.

The author of Ephesians saw this coming.

He saw that the breaking in of God’s light

         would meet with powerful resistance.

He saw that life would be hard for God’s people.

So he wrote this letter to give them strength.

If there is anyone here whose life is never hard,

         if there is anyone here who doesn’t need

         more strength to face emotional, moral,

and spiritual challenges,

then this letter is not written to you.

But if you could use some strength, courage, and hope

         to get you by – then this is your letter.

The author wants to help us in two ways.

First he wants us to understand what we’re up against.

Second, he tells us how to face it.

So what are we up against?

His answer is simple but hard to keep in mind.

He says “don’t’ blame the people.”

“Our struggle is not against enemies of flesh and blood,”

         he writes.

If we have trouble, we usually put a human face on it

–     someone who is behaving badly.

We blame them for our problems, call them names,

         maybe even wish them harm.

But the Bible says, “don’t blame the people.”

There are larger forces at work pulling their strings.

The Bible talks about cosmic powers.

We might speak of isms --

habits of thought and behavior

         embedded in our culture

 – racism, sexism, age-ism, nationalism,

         all manner of prejudices and patterns of blame shifting

                  and scapegoating.

They are at work in society and they are at work

          in the relationships of every family I know.

Addictive patterns of thinking and acting

         like alcoholism take people over                                                                       – take us over

–     and make us do things that are quite beneath us.

I am repeatedly appalled by things

 good church people do to each other

         and by their callous indifference to suffering in the world.

People, created in the image of God,

         redeemed by the blood of Jesus,

and nourished by the sacraments

                  do really bad things, cruel things.

Ephesians says, “don’t blame the people,

         first because they are not free;

         anti-God forces in the heavens and in the culture

                  are pulling their strings;

         and second, because those same Anti-God forces

                  are at work in us;

         so we need to focus or efforts not on the enemies

                  out there – but on the enemies inside us.

Focusing on what the other person is doing

         just distracts us from the far more serious problem

                  of how we are reacting.

 So work within. If we work effectively within,

         that can eventually change the situation without.

But how do we work within to combat

         the threatening forces of chaos and turmoil?

Ephesians is emphatic.

Our strategy is a powerful stillness.

“Stand firm,” Ephesians says.

“Be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his power.”//

“Stand therefore . . . Stand firm.”

There is an old Buddhist slogan about coping with crisis.

“Don’t just do something. Stand there.”

The Psalms say, “Be still and know that am God.”

Isaiah prayed, “O God you will keep in perfect peace

         those whose minds are fixed on you;

         for in returning and rest we shall be saved;

         in quietness and trust will be our strength.”

But how is that possible?

When the threats of life assail us with anxiety,

         when troubles charge at us like

         a thundering herd of stampeding bison,

                  how can we “stand firm?”

Ephesians answers with a 7-point metaphor summed up

         as putting on the whole armor of God.

We have here the framework of a whole spiritual life,

         because the ability to deal with crisis requires

daily spiritual discipline.

Trying in the middle of a crisis to grab  up a new spiritual practice

         is like learning to drive on an icy road.

So, day in and day out, we put on the whole armor of God.

It starts with the shield of faith and the helmet of salvation.

I can’t begin to count how many times

I have prayed Isaiah’s words,

         “Surely it is God who saves me.

         I will trust in him and not be afraid.

         For he is my stronghold and my sure defense.

         And he will be my savior.”

We take refuge behind the shield of faith.

It’s stronger than Xanax and you can safely mix

         It with more stuff.

Then we gird ourselves with the belt of truth,

         because we can be a lot braver

when we are telling the truth

than when we’re living a lie.

We don the breastplate of righteousness

         which means we get our relationships right.

We do our duty by each other.

On our feet we wear the gospel of peace.

We take the stand of peacemakers in all our situations.

Peacemakers get shot at too,

         but we can take a shot with serenity

                  if we aren’t shooting too.

“Take the sword of the Spirit,” Ephesians says,

         ‘the sword of the Spirit which is the word of God.”

When troubles come, we need to know some Scripture.

We need those words of Scripture, especially the ones

         in our Book of Common Prayer.

We need them rolling through our heads already.

The Bible doesn’t just teach us to be nice.

It teaches us to be strong.

A few years ago a hit song by Des’ree summarized

         Ephesians 6. It went:

You gotta be bad, you gotta be bold,

You gotta be wiser, you gotta be hard,

You gotta be tough, you gotta be stronger

You gotta be cool, you gotta be calm.

You gotta stay together.

Ephesians 6 tells us of how to do that.

Ephesians is the construction manual for a Christian backbone.

When we confirm new members today,

         they will put on the whole armor of God

         and we will do it with them.

Absalom, Absalom

Some people who like to thump their Bibles

         haven’t read them.

Bible thumpers think the Bible is a rulebook.

But it’s actually a storybook and the lessons

         are a lot more complicated than

                  “Do this. Don’t do that.”

The Bible is an all too human story.

Take King David.

He struggled with all the complexity of family life

         multiplied by having several wives

                  and children by each of them.

The backstory of today’s lesson is this:

         David’s son, Amnon, raped his half-sister, Tamar.

         Tamar’s full brother Absalom was coldly furious.

After biding his time until he got his chance,

 Absalom murdered Amnon.

For this murder, Absalom was banished for a while.

Eventually, David relented and let Absalom come home.

But Absalom never forgave his father for banishing him.

His grievance fuelled his ambition.

Absalom spent years telling political lies to undermine David

         and to build a coalition of all the disaffected people in Israel.

He was as handsome and charming

as David had been in his youth;

         so he was successful in turning people to his side.

David did nothing to stop his son because he loved him.

Eventually, Absalom organized an army to depose his father.

When they marched on Jerusalem,

         David and the loyalist part of the army fled.

But Absalom wanted a complete victory,

         so he had his army pursued David

                  across the Kidron Valley, across the River Jordan,

         all the way to the Forest of Ephraim,

         before David finally stopped and took his stand.

As David sent his men into battle,

he didn’t give one of those battle speeches

the hero always gives before the decisive battle.

He did not say “Win a might victory for God and country.”

David said, “Deal gently with the young man Absalom.

                           Don’t hurt my son.”

But the army did win a mighty victory.

When the messenger came to tell David they had won

         and the kingdom was saved,

         David asked “Is Absalom safe?”

 Hearing the fatal news

         old David buried his face in his hands and said,

         “O Absalom, my son, my son. Absalom!

          Would that I had died instead of you.

          O Absalom, my son, my son.”

The discord and even violence in David’s family

         did not end that day.

It went on until his death and after his death.

To keep this story in perspective,

         we need to remember that this was

                  the Golden Age of Israel

–     and right to the day of Jesus,

people were hoping for a messiah to restore the Kingdom,

         to get things back they were in David’s time.

So what’s the moral of this story?

There isn’t one.

No, David is not being punished for his sin

         with Bathsheba and Uriah.

That has already been dealt with and forgiven.

Was he too cruel in banishing Absalom

         or too lenient in letting him get away with the sedition?

Maybe, but mostly Absalom just seems to have been

         a proud rebellious young upstart who wanted Daddy’s throne.

David wasn’t out of favor with God.

God never loved anybody as much as he loved David.

But all this happened anyway.

The point of this true story is say this is how it is.

This happens.

When you see your child going off the rails, it is hell.

When someone you love too much hates you,

         it is hell.

When you lose a child, it is hell.

Does the turmoil of David’s life still happen?

Just this week I spoke with a priest who had been

         at a court sentencing with her parishioners.

One son had injured their daughter.

Then another son killed the first son.

He got life in prison. It happens.

That moment in the Ephraim Forest where David cries,

         “O Absalom my son, would that I had died

                  instead of you”

         -- that is part of the human experience.

The Bible does not shrink from that.

It doesn’t say suffering is an illusion.

It doesn’t say suffering is optional

– if you just get your mind right

                  and think happy thoughts,

                  everything will go fine.

The Bible doesn’t claim there is an infallible spiritual technology

         for a family harmony, business prosperity,

                  and good digestion.

The Bible tells the truth.

Life is beautiful and wonderful and glorious

         but it also hurts.

 The Bible says a lot of different things about human pain.

One writer says such and such about one kind of suffering.

Another writer says something else about another kind of suffering.

But the bottom line is the Bible doesn’t explain suffering.

It acknowledges that suffering is real

and it answers suffering with hope.

Paul says to the Thessalonians,

         “We do not suffer as those who have no hope.”

1^st Peter assures us that our personal heartaches

         share in the suffering of Christ,

         but we shall also share in the resurrection joy of Christ.

The Bible’s answer to suffering isn’t an explanation

         or a prescription on how to avoid it.

The Bible’s answer is the love of God

         which is powerful enough to heal our hearts

                  and redeem our lives from any of the pits

                           into which we fall.

Sometimes that redemption happens here in this life

         at unforeseen times and in unforeseen ways.

Grace almost always comes as a surprise out of left field.

But our ultimate hope does not lie in this life.

Our ultimate hope is in eternity.

The Bible answers suffering in the Book of Revelation, Ch. 21:

         “He will wipe away ever tear from their eyes,

          and death will be no more,

          neither shall there be mourning nor crying

nor pain anymore,

         for the old order of things has passed away.”

The Bible promises us a glory and a joy

         in union with God that is great enough

                  to swallow up even the memories of old pains.

It promises us a destiny that makes our worst ordeals worth it.

St. Paul was no stranger to hardship himself.

He knew as much about the human predicament as anybody.

Paul wrote to the Romans,

         “The sufferings of the present time are not worth comparing

                  to the glory that is to be revealed.”

That’s what we mean by faith.

With faith we don’t suffer any less,

         but our suffering is wrapped in hope,

                  and never despair.

                  

The Aggravating Serenity Of Jesus

I once read a murder mystery in which the author

named  the murderer on page one.

It was a different kind of a mystery.

It wasn’t a who-dunnit.

It was a why-dunnit.

The motive was the mystery.

The gospels are like that.

We all know Jesus was crucified and we know who did it.

But it’s not clear why they did it.

It wasn’t because he claimed to be the messiah.

People were claiming to be the messiah

 before Jesus and they have done it after Jesus.

It isn’t a capital offense.

No Jesus did something else to make people mad.

Basically, Jesus revealed the character of God;

            but when he did that,

                        it rubbed people wrong.

There are several godly things Jesus did

            that did not go over well.

Forgiving sinners was unpopular,

            because we like to see people get what’s coming to them.

Healing the sick sounds good,

            but it made people uncomfortable

            because it upset the natural and moral order.

In the Gospel lessons for last week and this week,

            Jesus exhibited another irritating  quality of godly character -- serenity.

It’s in the lyrics of Jesus Christ Superstar:

            “No riots, no armies,

             No fighting, no slogans,

             One thing I’ll say for him.

            Jesus is cool.”

Last week we heard about the storm at sea.

The disciples were pretty worked up about the weather;

            but Jesus was taking a nap.

He was sleeping like a baby through the storm,

            and the disciples didn’t like it one bit.

They yelled at him, “Don’t you care that we are perishing?”

So he calmed the storm and said, “Where is your faith?”

Jesus showed them the part of God that sees all of eternity

--the God who has watched worlds born and die,

             universes arise from a Big Bang and fall back into nothingness.

This is a God who takes a very long view of things,

            and in that long view, God can see “it is alright.”

This is a God who cares for us – but is not anxious about us –

            because God is perfectly confident in the outcome.

The disciples were pleased not to have drowned,

            but they were angry with Jesus for not joining them

                        in their panic.

In my family growing up,

            the way you showed you loved someone

                        was to worry about them.

No worry meant no love.

Worrying together was how we bonded.

Our life was a communion of fretting and anxiety.

Jesus’s calm would not have gone over well with us either.

In this week’s lesson, Jairus had begged Jesus

to come heal his daughter.

On the way a messenger stopped them and tried to send Jesus away

            because the girl was already dead.

But Jesus did not turn back.

He told Jairus, “Do not fear. Only believe.”

When they arrived, the place was in a commotion.

People were weeping and wailing loudly.

This wasn’t just the family who were naturally distraught.

It was the whole village gathered for mourning.

Tragedy is magnetic. People flock to it.

 We slow down and crane our necks at car accidents.

Grief is awful for the people who are in the depths of it.

But, for bystanders, a little vicarious grief is very engaging.

Dabbling in despair is seductive.

It’s what Shakespeare called “sweet sorrow.”

  

So most of the folks at Jairus’s house

            were in full tilt community grief.

Then Jesus came in and said,

            “Why do you make a commotion and weep?

             The girl is not dead, just sleeping.”

That did not go over at all.

The neighbors wanted to make a commotion and weep.

That’s what they came for.

If the girl wasn’t  dead,

            what were they supposed to do with the casserole?

It’s like in Monty Python and the Holy Grail,

            when the knight Concorde has been shot and Lancelot

                        begins an eloquent lament over his body;

            but Concorde says,

            “I’m not quite dead yet sir. I think I may pull through.”

Lancelot, however, just won’t hear it.

One day, I was visiting a hospital death bed

when the patient’s wife arrived and was surprised

to find her husband still breathing away.

She accosted the doctor:

            “What do you mean he’s not dead!

             The funeral is Tuesday.”

Jairus’s neighbors did not want their grief interrupted

by the inconvenient truth that the girl was alive.

But Jesus woke her up,

            to the delight of those who truly loved her,

            but to the frustration of the funeral planners.

Here’s the point: human beings are prone to drama.

Our dramas are full of wild optimism, fear, loathing, and sweet despair.

That’s as natural as can be.

It goes with the turf of being human.

But the next part isn’t very helpful.

We are also prone to forming relationships by inviting people

            to join in our drama or pushing our way into theirs.

We meet each other in the whirling cyclone of life’s emotions,

            not in the serene center of faith.

Jesus is the serene center of faith.

Jesus can sleep through a storm.

His serenity is so powerful it can calm the storm

because he knows

             that even if the boat sinks and everyone drowns,

            they will live anew in God.

Jesus doesn’t collapse into despair

            because he knows the little girl isn’t dead;

            and even if she were dead;

                        to him, death is just another sleep;

            -- a sleep from which he will wake her up

                        in the fullness of time.

Jesus acts like God.

He cares – but he doesn’t worry.

Instead of joining in our drama,

            he takes effective action to do us some real good.

Jesus shows us a different way of being friends.

He shows us how to be the eye of someone’s storm,

            how to be the serene center for each other.

T. S. Eliot prayed in his poem Ash Wednesday,

            “Teach us to care and not to care.

             Teach us to sit still

             Even among these rocks

             Our peace in his will

             Even among these rocks.”

If we practice faith, basing our peace on God’s will

                        instead of shifting circumstances,

                        if we know that peace in our hearts,

            then we can do each other some good;

            then we can truly share Christ’s peace with each other.