July 12, 2015
Romans 8:38-39
Invincible Love
There are times in the church family’s life when you have to change the plans you have made. Today is such a day. When I revisited the text and sermon I’d planned for this Sunday, I knew immediately that this side of the heartbreaking news on Thursday of little Will Smithson’s death, we needed to hear another word. I needed to hear another word.
But what word of the Lord would speak best into the terrible sense of loss and hurt we all feel so deeply at the death of a child? I found myself returning to what is for me, and I believe through the centuries for countless others, a text that speaks most powerfully of the invincible love of God; the passage we just read from Romans chapter 8.
“For I am convinced that nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus.” Nothing – nothing in heaven or earth; nothing in life or in death.
One of the things we feel when a tragedy like this strikes us is helplessness. One of our very basic instincts is to protect our children and by that I mean all our children. Suddenly, we who are so good at so much come face-to-face with the reality that much lies outside of our control. And we feel helpless.
So to what can we turn, if not to the invincible love of God in Jesus Christ? That term, the invincible love of God, is at the heart of our understanding of who God is and what God has done in Jesus Christ. Invincible means simply: too powerful to be defeated or overcome. Too powerful to be defeated or overcome.
The only invincible love loose in the universe is God’s love; the only love too powerful to be defeated or overcome. As fiercely as we love our children, our love is not invincible. As devotedly as we love our children, our love cannot protect them from life’s tragedies. Only God’s love is invincible – too powerful to be defeated or overcome. When little Will Smithson was baptized at five months of age, we claimed for him in his baptism the invincible love of God given him in Jesus Christ. On the day of Will’s baptism we also made promises. We promised to love Will and to nurture him in Jesus Christ. And we promised to support Mike and Susan and big sister Mollie as they together raised Will.
Our stewardship of Will is now ended. Tomorrow we will gather as a family of faith and entrust Will into God’s keeping. It is Mike and Susan and Mollie who need their church family now more than they have ever needed us. I have been moved by the overwhelming gestures of support, love, and care that have overflowed from this church family. You have always been quick to respond to the needs of those who have suffered loss. I’m grateful as your pastor to see so many pitching in.
More than anything else (as is true in every loss experienced in our church family) Mike and Susan and Molly need our love. They need our love because through the love of Christ’s people they can know and feel the invincible love of God. While our love may not be invincible, it can point the way to the invincible love we know in Jesus Christ our Lord- that love which will not ever let us go. And with our love they need our prayers.
A time like this is a time for faith – faith that points to and trusts in God’s invincible love in Jesus Christ. It’s not the time for a lot of theologizing. But one thing I do need to say.
The tragic death of a young child can never be called the will of God. The God who meets us in Jesus Christ does not break a family’s heart in order to achieve some mysterious, hidden purpose. We live in a fallen, imperfect world – a world where even children may die tragically. With Paul in his Letter to the Romans, we can affirm that God can bring good out of even the most tragic circumstances. But the God and father of Jesus Christ does not use means inconsistent with God’s love given us in Jesus Christ.
In a few minutes we will come together around the Lord’s Table. There we are reminded once again that God sent God’s son into a world just as complicated by tragedy as the world in which we live. God entered into life’s brokenness and took that brokenness into God’s very life through Jesus Christ our Lord, God’s own son.
“For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Romans 8:38-39.)
The invincible love of God – too powerful to be defeated or overcome. It is the solid rock on which we stand. Amen
Claude Wilson-Stayton
Covenant Presbyterian Church
July 12, 2015
June 21, 2015
Mark 4:35-41 Fear Itself
At the end of CS Lewis’s children’s classic, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, Lucy and her friend Mr. Tumnus are on the terrace of the majestic castle, Car Parval. They look out and see the great lion, Aslan, walking down the beach. Narnia has been freed from the White Witch. Eternal winter has ended and spring has returned.
“He’s leaving,” says Lucy.
“He’ll come back when we need him,” says Mr. Tumnus.
“I wish he would stay,” says Lucy wistfully.
“Well, after all,” says Mr. Tumnus, “he’s not a tame lion.”
It’s no surprise CS Lewis chose a lion as the embodiment of divine power and majesty when he wrote his children’s books. And not a tame lion by any definition, but a lion that is both wonderful and terrible all at the same time.
I thought of that scene from The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, when I read today’s passage from Mark’s gospel. Jesus suggests a night passage across the Sea of Galilee; a storm whips up; the boat is in peril; the disciples are terrified. Jesus is asleep on a cushion.
“Teacher,” they cry, “don’t you care that we are perishing?” Jesus awakes, rebukes the storm, “Peace, be still!” The storm ceases at once; leaving the disciples to wonder, “Who is this that even the wind and the sea obey him.”
It would appear that Jesus is no tame Messiah.
Commenting on this passage, pastor Will Willimon says that there are two types of fear in this story. The first he calls “Good Friday fear.” The reference, of course, is to Jesus’ death on the cross on Good Friday. Good Friday fear is the fear of death. It’s what the disciples feel when they think the boat they are in is about to sink. It’s what we feel whenever we get a bad report from the doctor; whenever a loved one is in harm’s way - that fear that grips our hearts when we see the world as we know it slipping away and we can do nothing to stop it.
But there’s another kind of fear in the story, as well. Will Willimon calls it “Easter fear.” It’s there in the story when Jesus stills the storm and the disciples wonder: “Who is this, that even the wind and the waves obey him.” When they feared for their lives, they cried out: “Teacher, save us!” But now Jesus seems so much more than just a teacher. Easter fear is the fear the women who come to the empty tomb on Easter morning felt when they realized even death could not hold Jesus and that from that moment on their lives would be forever changed. And Easter fear is what we feel every time we find ourselves in the boat with Jesus and it dawns on us that he’s no tame Messiah. Like the women at the empty tomb we realize our lives are going to be changed forever.
Good Friday fear and Easter fear.
Jesus releases the disciples from Good Friday fear when he calms the storm, but then he asks them, “Why are you afraid? Have you so little faith?” He asks because he sees that their hearts are now seized by Easter fear. Fear of what Jesus may do with them.
And if we are honest, don’t all of us who follow Jesus feel that same tension. We want Jesus to wake up and calm the storms in our lives; fix all the Good Friday fears that confront us. But then that Easter fear seizes us. What will Jesus do with us?
In The Silver Chair, another of his Narnia stories, CS Lewis captures that tension between our Good Friday fear and our Easter fear. Jill Pole is taken by magic into Narnia. Before too long she is very thirsty and goes searching for water to drink. At last she comes upon a clear, flowing stream. Writes CS Lewis:
But although the sight of water made her feel ten times thirstier than before, she didn’t rush forward to drink. She stood as still as though she had been turned to stone, with her mouth wide open. And she had a very good reason: just on this side of the stream lay the lion.
The lion, of course, is Aslan. Jill stands transfixed, unable to move toward the water and unable to run away. After a long while the lion speaks: “If you’re thirsty, you may drink.” Jill remembers that her friend Eustace had told her that in Narnia it wasn’t unusual for animals to speak, yet she can hardly move.
“Are you not thirsty?” asks the lion.
“I’m dying of thirst,” said Jill.
“Then drink,” said the lion.
“May I – could I – would you mind going away while I do?” said Jill.
The sound of the clear, cool running water is driving Jill nearly frantic. She tries to extract from the lion a promise he will not do anything to her if she comes near the water, but he will make no such promise.
“I daren’t come and drink,” said Jill.
“Then you will die of thirst,” said the lion
“Oh dear,” said Jill, coming another step nearer. “I suppose I must go and look for another stream then.”
“There is no other stream,” said the lion.
Jill wants the life-giving water, but she also wants the great lion to promise he will not do anything to her.
We want Jesus to calm our storms, banish our Good Friday fears – give us the very water of life itself. But we want him to go away while we drink, and promise he will do nothing to us.
Gilbert Meilaender, University Professor, Valparaiso University, calls this the reality principle. Jesus is the water of life. There is no other stream. But we cannot drink that water and extract a promise from him to leave us alone – to do nothing with us. The real fear we must overcome is our Easter fear. For unless we open our lives in faith to him; he cannot banish all our Good Friday fears.
We cannot drink the life-giving water and bargain for better terms. Jesus is no tame Messiah. And Jesus’ question to his disciples still hangs in the air: “Why are you afraid?”
Claude Wilson- Stayton
Covenant Presbyterian Church
June 21, 2015
June 14, 2015
Mark 4:26-32 Who’s In Charge?
Who’s in charge here? Such a question might be put by an irate customer in a store or an angry hotel guest; someone seeking to speak to one who is in authority, one who’s responsible and therefore one who can straighten out whatever mess or difficulty has arisen. Some years ago I remember a hassle I had the phone company. My attempts to straighten out the problem were frustrated until I finally moved through several layers of management and reached someone in authority – someone in charge who could settle the issue.
Who’s in charge here? Who’s responsible? Who can straighten out this mess? These are questions we ask in almost every area of our lives.
But aside from the day-to-day conflicts and problems of life, there is an even deeper level at which we ask: who’s in charge here? As we look around us in our world and see turmoil, social unrest, and conflict; as we watch children starve in a world of plenty and see disasters both natural and human sweep away precious human life or despoil cherished resources, are we moved to wonder: who’s in charge here? Who can straighten out this mess?
And perhaps even more deeply, when we are faced with seemingly insoluble problems in our families or our personal lives; when illness strikes unexpectedly and the life of a beloved parent or spouse or child hangs in the balance; when we have worked hard, played by the rules, yet economic forces beyond our control have shattered our dreams and clouded our futures; when relationships and commitments we’ve staked our lives on have been betrayed; when we have let those we love down, spoken words we wish we had not spoken, done things we wish we could undo but cannot; do we ever wonder: who’s in charge here? Is anyone?
And if from the depths of our faith we answer: “God is in charge!” how, then, are we to understand God’s working in the ebb and flow of human events, natural disasters, the affairs of nations, and in the hopes, fears, ambitions, joys, and failures of our own lives?
The Preacher, the author of that strange Old Testament book, Ecclesiastes, is deeply concerned with these questions. The Preacher is an extremely wise man, by his own estimate the smartest person who ever lived. And he has applied his keen mind and powers of observation to the events of life and drawn some conclusions. Who’s in charge here? No one, really, the Preacher answers. Oh sure, the Preacher believes in God. But God seems far removed from the day-to-day operations of the world and the lives of people. After all, says the Preacher, just look around you and you can tell. The wind blows round and round, the water flows down to the sea but the sea is not filled. What has happened before will happen again. There’s nothing new under the sun. Everything is empty, like chasing the wind.
The Preacher looks around him and sees a fixed system in the world. April showers bring May flowers, and hot tropical waters breed hurricanes that ravage the coastal areas of the world. Things happen in their natural season and you can’t do anything to alter it. Human beings live for a while and then return to dust. In the interim our lot is to seek what satisfaction we can in our work, our family, and in learning. Such is the lot a distant, faceless God has given to us.
If we are honest, we must admit that there is much that is compelling in the Preacher’s view of things. His is a hard-nosed, realistic, look at life. And certainly much of today’s conventional wisdom would back him up. Not only do phenomena in nature seem to follow a fixed order, so does the rest of life. Our economy goes from boom to bust over and over again, our cities lurch from crisis to crisis, nations and tribes go from conflict to conflict - on and on through history. And with the Preacher we may be tempted to sigh and mutter: everything leads to weariness – a weariness too great for words.