21November1999sermon.htm.wpd

"Go, and find God"

Sermon for Proper 29, Year A, 1999

Trinity Church, Princeton, NJ

Readings: Ezekiel 34:11-17; Matthew 25:31-46

It was the smell of smoke
that first caught their attention.
Not the rich woodiness of burning autumn leaves
but the sickening stench
of mattresses and clothing and lives.
The city was on fire.

And so they rushed to escape,
slipping across stony streets,
faces smudged with ash,
eyes hollow with fear, they rushed towards
the only refuge they knew.

And when they arrived, lungs burning and
skin seared,
the flames licked out
from under the bronzed tiles, catching at the rafters,
and the sanctuary
was a sanctuary
no more.

And yet, and yet
still they poured inside,
streaming to the confessional
where they pleaded
for mercy.

That was the scene in Rome
just over a thousand years ago.
The eruption of the volcano Vesuvius
and the appearance of Halley's comet,
the flesh eating plague of Saint Anthony's fire,
and the fearful famine with human flesh for food
all were heralded as the foreboding signs
of a world ready to die.

The end of the first millennium
was heralded by prophecies of a final judgement,
the end of the first millennium
was greeted
with fear,
and people abandoned their homes, their families, their lives,
to wait for the end of the world,
repenting,
in the places where they would go
to find God.

That time has come again.
The millennium has come, and again we wait
for the end of the world,
or the end of our worlds, at least.
We are worried
that we will wake up
on a cold January morning
shivering, because our heat has not come on.

We are worried
that when we go out to our cars
that Saturday morning
the lights will flicker,
and the engine will not turn over,
we are worried
that when we turn on our computers
there will be a flash of sparks
and a blank screen,

We may fear the millennium,
but judgement
has barely
entered
our minds.

Which is why
readings
like today's
make us so uncomfortable.
Leave off that last verse in Ezekiel, we want to say.
God our shepherd,
seeking the lost, bringing back those who have strayed,
binding the injured, strengthening the weak,
That
we can
believe.
But a shepherd who judges?
A shepherd
who destroys the fat
and the strong?

And the gospel,
yes, we will feed the hungry and clothe the naked,
yes, we will welcome the stranger and visit the sick and imprisoned...
yes, we can agree with that.
We can even almost believe in a God who is a king
though I suspect we would be more comfortable
if heaven were a democracy,
But leave off those first and last verses, we say, leave off
anything
that reeks
of judgement.
For the God we know
is a God of love,
and vengeance
and violence
don't belong with this God.
Our God
welcomes everyone
our God
loves us all.

Which is true...
Yes, it is true,
but not true enough.

Because God as a fairy godmother
belongs in fairy tales, God as a fairy godmother
doesn't have anything to say
to a world
where on the same front page of the New York Times
the story of a program
to teach kids
the skills of hunting,
with a picture of an eleven year old
posing proudly with his gun and game,
stands side by side with
the story
of an eleven year old convicted of murder.

This world
needs judgement, this world
needs to be able to say:
this is right
and this is wrong.

And then of course,
there's the real reason
we don't like judgement.
Not so much
that
it violates
our sense of God, but that it violates
our sense of ourselves.

"I live a good life", my high school friend used to say
when with evangelical fervor
I would tell her
about sin
and repentance,
and sometimes
even
forgiveness.

Why do we keep saying this?
we think
as we face yet another penitential section
in the Rite 1
service.
I haven't done any really bad things,
I'm okay really, aren't I?

A miserable offender, is that what God sees,
looking down
on the precious new born baby
we hold in our arms?

Surely not. For babies
are new to this world. They have had little chance
to be smudged and scarred
with pain, and anger
and, yes, evil.

Babies,
new and clean,
wide eyed with wonder
and full of promise.

As we all are,
the precious
and beautiful
creation
of a loving
God.

But you know, babies grow up
and begin squabbling
with their siblings,
and beating up their playmates,
and throwing tantrums in the toy store
when they don't get
what they want.

Then the contradiction
doesn't seem as strong
between a God who loves us
and a God who wants us
to take responsibility
for what
we do,
and what we don't do.

And like it or not,
we all fall short
when it comes to this parable.
Here in America, we are lauded
for being a generous nation. And we are. Huge amounts of money
are given
each day, each year
to alleviate
others' needs.
And yet, in spite of all that wealth and generosity
there are children just up the road
who may never learn to read properly
because their parents
and their parents' parents
couldn't read either.
There are people
who end up on disability
because they didn't have health insurance
and couldn't get help
for the condition which now cripples them.
There are people
who die on the inside, and sometimes
on the outside too
because they have no one
to touch them, to hold them,
to let them know
that they are loved.

Whatever we do
to the least of these
we do
to Christ.

Surely
we are judged.

But the answer
let me say to you,
the answer is not despair,
the answer is not fear,
the answer is not apathy.

In the church's tradition,
the answer is contained in two words, two words which are pretty much out of fashion
this end
of this millennium.

Repentance, and
penance.

Repentance,
asking God to forgive us
for what we have done,
and what we have failed to do. Being honest
about our fears
and our failures,
seeking out
the forgiving love,
the renewed relationship
which God promises.

And penance.
Stopping
what we have done
which is harmful,
and doing
what we failed to do.
Changing
how we behave,
not because
we can ever make up,
not because
we can earn God's love,
but because
it is the only way
we can express our love
and thankfulness
to God.

And what it looks like, I think, is what Jesus spoke of in today's gospel, feeding the
hungry, welcoming strangers, clothing the naked, visiting the sick and in prison. For in
them, we find and serve Christ.

Which is something like what St Benedict wrote, way back in the sixth century,
when the world as he knew it
was falling apart. The last emperor
had been deposed,
great Rome in all her glory
had fallen,
wars
and invasions
were the stuff of ordinary life.
In the midst of this
Benedict wrote his Rule, a pattern for living, and in it he offers this advice:
The Reception of guests (Chapter 53)
All guests who present themselves are to be welcomed as Christ, for he himself will
say, "I was a stranger and you welcomed me" (Matt 25:35)....All humility should be
shown in addressing a guest on arrival or departure. By a bow of the head or by a
complete prostration of the body, Christ is to be adored because he is indeed
welcomed in them. ...
The Abbot shall pour water on the hands of the guests, and the Abbot with the entire
community shall wash their feet. After the washing they will recite,
"God, we have received your mercy,
in the midst of your temple" (Ps.47:10).

Meeting Christ, meeting the mercy of God,
in those we serve.
Maybe
if that were Jesus
shivering over there at the bus stop on Nassau Street
we wouldn't just go
through our old coats
to find one
to give to crisis ministry.
Maybe, if that were Jesus,
we would go without
a new coat this year
and instead go and buy one
for someone who really needs it, and fill the pockets
with
a hat, and scarf and gloves,
and a few chocolates
as well.

Maybe
if that were Jesus
living alone
with Aids,
we wouldn't just
give money
to help fund a social worker,
but would go over
and help clean the house,
and call his parents,
and weep with him
when they refused to answer the phone,
and hold his hand
as he dies.

Maybe...

At the end of the millennium
we are reminded
whether we like it or not,
of repentance,
and judgement
and penance.

The end of the first millennium
was characterized by repentance, as people went to find God,
turned to look God straight in the face, and said,
I did this, and I didn't do that.
I'm sorry.

What if
the end of the second millennium
were to be characterized
by penance, people going to find God,
turning to look God straight in the face
in those whom they serve.

Go, and find God.

Raewynne J. Whiteley
21 November, 1999

Acknowledgment: This sermon was deeply influenced by the 1999 Hastings Lecture
at the College of Preachers, "Manifold Sins and Wickedness: Preaching Repentance
in an Age of Self-defense" by The Reverend Barbara Brown Taylor.