Connections to Hope

Mary Rodgers, January 9, 2005
Scripture: Ecclesiastes 3:1-8, 14-15

Text: For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; A time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted; A time to kill, and a time to heal; A time to break down, and a time to build up; A time to weep, and a time to laugh; A time to mourn, and a time to dance. A time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together. A time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing, A time to seek, and a time to lose, A time to keep, and a time to throw away. A time to tear, and a time to sew; A time to keep silence, and a time to speak; A time to love, and a time to hate; A time for war, and a time for peace I know that whatever God does endures forever; nothing can be added to it, nor anything taken from it; God has done this so that all should stand in awe of him. That which is, already has been; that which is to be, already is; and God seeks out what has gone by. (Ecclesiastes 3:1-8, 14-15)

One of the hardest parts of living a Christian life is connecting our every day living to the words of the Bible. I have no doubt that most of us want to live by the Word of God. We want to be faithful. We want to do God's will. But it's just not that easy! Rarely is it clear exactly how we can connect what we do day in and day out with the Word of God.

Thinking about this reminds me of that commercial where a couple pulls over on a country road to ask directions and a guy in overalls says something like this: "Now you go down to where there is a cow pasture on the right. Don't turn there. Keep going 'til you see a fork in the road. When you get to that fork, take the left one. No, no, I believe you take the right one." As the couple sits there looking confused, an announcer says, "Directions: 37% clear on any given day." When we seek to connect the Word of God to what is happening in our lives, we can end up with directions that are 37% clear.

Often we don't have tremendous amount of clarity. On those rare occasions when we feel completely connected to God and God's word, when we have a sense that what is happening in our lives is somehow connected to God, then it is a gift--a gift of tremendous value.

I can think of only one time that I was given such a gift. I certainly did not deserve the gift. You see, it all started one day when I was trying to decide if I was going to go to church. (I know you never have that problem : ) I was traveling with some friends and, quite frankly, I just didn't want to go. We were jet-lagged and we knew that there probably would not be a big crowd. But we were in Seminary. We SHOULD go. So we went. It was an Episcopal church. And, as we suspected, hardly anyone was there, which did nothing to help my attitude. To ice the cake of my bad attitude, the priest proceeded to enter the pulpit and give the most disorganized, boring, random sermon I'd ever heard, and the more I listened the madder I got. You should have heard my internal dialogue. "I can't believe I'm wasting my time on this. I KNEW I should have stayed home." I was really irritated! See what I mean about not deserving any kind of gift?

I don't know why it happened. But somehow in the midst of my anger, my frustration, in the midst of my high-handed judgment of the sermon, I came to some awareness about the way I was acting. I felt ashamed. This was worship. This was something I was to give God. It was in that moment of recognition that the worst sermon I had ever heard yielded the gift. It was the only line I heard; a nugget of wisdom that connected the Word of God to my life. This is what it said:

The rhythms of our lives are the same rhythms as the liturgical year. Knowing that brings hope.

I did not recognize it as a gift at the time. Oh I had a vague awareness because I knew that something had broken through my bad attitude that allowed me to hear that one line.

The rhythms of our lives are the same rhythms as the liturgical year.

Have you ever thought about that?

The new liturgical year began November 28. As you know, the four weeks before Christmas are called advent, which means waiting or coming. A couple of years ago I asked one of the children what advent was all about. With the theological wisdom of a five-year-old, she said: "Waiting and waiting and MORE waiting! And then she added: I wish Jesus would go ahead and COME now!"

"Come Jesus Come." Before the first Christmas, God's people waited. They had waited and waited and waited. They waited for God to come and take them out of the situation they were in. Have you ever waited like that? Maybe you are in your own advent right now, waiting for God to redeem a situation. Maybe in your heart of hearts you are praying Come, Lord Jesus. Come to me now. Help me through this moment, this day, this month! Come, Lord Jesus! The same cry by God's people long ago is a connection between the living word of God and our own lives.

The rhythms of our lives are the same rhythms as the liturgical year.

One of the benefits of viewing the cadences of our lives in conjunction with the cadences of the liturgical year is that when we find ourselves in the middle of our own advent, when we find ourselves waiting and hoping, needing a savior, we know that through faith, Christmas will come. It is a gift of connection. There are so many things that shape our faith; things that are in place that can help us connect our daily lives to the Word of God. Sometimes it comes through simply by reading the Bible, but sometimes the connection can come through prayers and sermons and in song. Sometimes the Word in song can remind us of the story and touch us at a place that only music can go. Can you imagine what it would have been like on the very first Christmas if God's people could have heard "Joy to the World," written in 1719, or "Lo How a Rose E'er Blooming," a song that connects Jesus to the prophecies spoken long, long ago reminding them that the wait is over. The Savior has come!

I know that there are members of this congregation and that there are people out there who are desperately living the waiting of advent right now-waiting for a situation to be redeemed, healed, made whole. Close your eyes for a moment. Imagine that kind of desperate waiting. Now keep your eyes closed and imagine that in the midst of that desperate waiting you recall words such at these:

(Singing from the back of the sanctuary:) "Oh Holy night, the stars are brightly shining. It is the night of our dear Savior's Birth."

When we are in our own personal advents, we can hold up the hope that "This too shall pass." Because we know that Christmas will come.

In our passage for today, the author of Ecclesiastes writes: "For everything there is a season and a time for every matter under heaven." And again there is a connection between our own lives and the biblical Word. As our lives move in their own rhythms of weeping and laughing, of mourning and dancing, so does the liturgical year. If you follow the Lectionary (the assigned passages for each Sunday of the year), by January 9 (today-3 Sundays after Christmas), the baby Jesus wrapped in swaddling clothes has grown up and is baptized by John the Baptist.

Even the swiftness of the liturgical calendar mirrors how time is for us sometimes. The Christmas bells have hardly gathered any dust when we find ourselves moving into the dark, dank, doldrums of Lent-40 days of remembering the 40 days that Jesus was in the desert, alone, being tempted by power and prestige, wealth and honor. During the 40 days of Lent, we are asked to wander around in our own internal deserts taking inventory of our own lives with God. We are often reminded of the five "S's" of Lent: self-searching, self-discipline, self-denial, self-dedication, and self-discovery. Like the waiting of advent, the wilderness of Lent is hard. It's much easier to look outward than to look inward. Sometimes we find ourselves in the middle of a wilderness, not knowing which way to go, thirsty for answers, thirsty for God.

When my father died, my entire family entered into the wilderness wandering around trying to figure out how to live our lives without him-but no one more so than my mother. Trying to grieve and at the same time trying to move forward. Looking inward to find strength that she's not sure she has, fighting despair, thirsting for God.

I know that many of you know about the wilderness. Oh it might not be because of the death of a loved one. Maybe it's due to divorce or having trouble with your friends at school. It's hard to be in the wilderness.

But just as the liturgical year ebbs and flows, just when you think that time in the wilderness will never end, the church finally arrives at Holy Week. Thank God for Palm Sunday. After the dark, dank doldrums of Lent, the parades and joy and Jesus riding into town on his donkey are like a rainbow after a storm. At this church, we give the children palms and they parade around the sanctuary waving and shouting, "Hosanna! Hosanna!" I get the biggest kick out it-they've got great big smiles on their faces and as I see the palms waving in the air I can imagine being at the parade watching Jesus go by. Hosanna, loud Hosanna! Out of the wilderness and into Palm Sunday. Thank God for Palm Sunday! From a minor key to a major celebration. It is a Holy Week high-until you realize what follows.

How disappointed the people must have been when Palm Sunday turned into blue Monday and then Tuesday. Why wasn't Jesus making his move? Sure, he had made a few appearances at the temple, but why did he remain aloof, retreating outside the city gates every night? Why wasn't he spending more time with the "right" people, the political types who got things done? How disappointed they must have been as the week moved on and they didn't get what they expected. They didn't get a Messiah who would throw the Roman oppressors out of the Holy City of Jerusalem, a Messiah who would cast off the burdens of taxes, the one who would be the one to feed them and protect them, giving them back their national dignity. How disappointed they must have been. The jubilant Hosannas of Sunday became a betrayal on Thursday and the demand to crucify on Friday.

Have you ever been disappointed by God? Have expectations been crushed? In the ebb and flow of our own lives, don't we understand what they might have been feeling? Haven't we had times when God was not who we wanted God to be? The people of God did not get what they were expecting. And we find ourselves at Good Friday.

You know Good Friday is only good in retrospect. There was nothing good about that day in and of itself. Jesus died. A lot of people don't show up at church on Good Friday. As someone put it: "Maybe they don't want to be reminded. Maybe they know that they will sit in front of the cross with burning eyes and dry mouths and just look at it, that there is no figuring it out, no explaining it, remembering the day that the whole world got down on its knees and begged God to speak and to act. But God was silent all day long."

Others say that Good Friday means more to them than Easter. Now, they have nothing against lilies and trumpets and little children dressed in their Sunday best. It's just that Good Friday, as awful as it is, is more recognizable to them. They know about suffering. They know about death. They know their way around that this wreckage and there is some sort of comfort in the fact that God knows it too. (Barbara Brown Taylor, Sermons on Suffering 90)

Death and suffering define the day of Good Friday. In South Asia, death and suffering also define December 26, 2004. 147,000 lives lost in an instant. A loss felt around the world. A loss that shakes us to our core when we realize that in an instant, without warning, our lives can change. How many of us can forget the children, not only the ones who lost their lives, but the ones who lived and have no idea what happened to their families. Remember the pictures of loved ones who were missing, pictures of hope that with every day that went became pictures of sadness. A disaster such as this hit us all at core level, reminding us that in any given moment, we can find ourselves in the midst of our own Good Friday. Feeling alone, devastated and forsaken by God. There is nothing good about it. But when we can connect our lives to the Biblical Good Friday, when we can connect and understand the WHOLE biblical story, then when we find ourselves in our own Good Friday, we can be certain that Sunday is coming. It's Friday-butt Sunday's coming. Therein lies the hope. One poet expressed it this way:

It's Friday.
Jesus was nailed dead on a cross.
... but Sunday's coming.

It's Friday.
Mary's crying her eyes out
'cause her boy Jesus is dead.
... but Sunday's coming.

It's Friday.
The disciples are running in every direction
like sheep without a shepherd.
... but Sunday's coming.

It's Friday.
Pilate's strutting around, washing his hands
'cause he thinks he's got
all the power and the victory.
... but Sunday's coming.

It's Friday.
People are saying, "As things have been,
so shall they always be.
You can't change anything in this world."
... but Sunday's coming.

It's Friday.
The temple veil ripped from top to bottom -
the earth shook -
the rocks split and tombs opened.
The centurion screamed in fear,
"Truly he was the Son of God!"
... but Sunday's coming.

It's Sunday
and nations around the world are responding,
    -health kits are on the way
    -compassion is pouring forth
    -money is being sent

It's Sunday.
The angel, like dazzling lightning,
rolled the stone away, exclaiming,
"He is not here! He is risen!"
It's Sunday! It's Sunday! It's Sunday!

[organist plays "Jesus Christ is Risen Today"]

When you can connect the biblical story to your own life, there is always hope. Sunday always comes.

I don't know what season you are in your life. Maybe you are waiting, like in Advent, or feeling the pain of Good Friday. Maybe you feel like you are wandering in the wilderness or celebrating a parade. Perhaps you are experiencing the betrayal of Maundy Thursday or the joy of Easter. But I can assure that wherever you are, there is a part of the biblical story for you to hold on to.

The Liturgical year does not end with Easter. And even this mirrors our lives. We can't always live on the mountain top. After Easter, Jesus knew that it was time to go. He knew that the disciples (even though the disciples did not believe it) were at the point where he can leave. So he ascended to heaven, promising that the Spirit would arrive and guide them on their way. And, sure enough, on the day of Pentecost, the spirit of God broke into the world, and it has guided the church and God's disciples ever since. Connecting our lives to the biblical story-the beauty of the Gospel is that it is a story for all the seasons of our life.

The rhythms of our lives are the same rhythms as the liturgical year.

Thanks be to God and amen!

© Copyright, 2005, Rev. Mary Rodgers
All Rights Reserved.
Providence Presbyterian Church
Fairfax, Virginia