2nd Sunday in Lent
March 8, 2020
Psalm 23; Philippians 1:1-11
Anxiety. If you have been out and about this past week,
you’ll notice that our anxiety level as a society has gone up. You can feel it
walking into a store. A mild winter with tastes of spring is making us more
anxious for spring to arrive and stay. Super Tuesday and another election cycle
are causing anxiety. And the coronavirus, which hit Maryland a few days ago,
has put us even more on edge. Some of us work in Montgomery County, drive
through it, or go to doctors’ appointments in it. We’re stockpiling toilet paper
and soap, not milk and eggs like for a blizzard. Our anxiety level has
increased and it’s pulling us away from other people. There’s an increase in
racist incidents against Asians and Asian-Americans. We’re not traveling. We’re
not sure we want to be around other people, lest you get us sick. We even
implemented a few safeguards at our Wednesday evening service here, some of
which we’ll continue and others which we won’t. For example, every winter we
give you permission not to shake hands when we exchange the peace. That comes
up every cold and flu season. As adults, it’s your call as to how you want to
greet your neighbor. Yet it’s important that we do greet our neighbor and not
turn away from them. One practice I’m not going to continue is wearing gloves
while serving the bread. Here’s my sacramental theology: as long as I’m not
sick and I don’t cough or sneeze on the elements and my hands are clean, then
you’re not going to get sick from receiving the Eucharist. The bread and the
cup have been blessed; they are holy. They are no longer simply bread and wine
but signs of Christ’s body and blood, broken and poured out for us. This is
where public health policy and theology meet. Public health practices say wear
gloves whenever serving food. But communion isn’t an ordinary meal nor are you
customers paying for the meal. We are family gathered around the table to
receive a holy sacrament together. It’s a place where Jesus meets us. And,
personally, I don’t believe I’m going to get sick from taking communion. Jesus
and communion are about health and wholeness and restoration. Jesus’ body is
broken so that we may become whole. That’s my sacramental theology around
communion.
Communion is another place where we gather together,
where we turn toward each other and not away. Any good meal is like that,
really. Think of a really good meal you recently enjoyed. Picture the details:
the food, the table, where you were, who you were with. If it was a really good
meal, chances are good you weren’t dining alone. There is something about
eating together that feeds us more than just the actual food. “At the table, we
share stories, build upon relationships, learn from each other’s mistakes and triumphs.”[1]
A few months ago in my house we started sharing our rosebuds and thorns for
each day, an idea I read in a children’s ministry email and which my kids have
really taken to. If you ask a child how their day was, they’re going to give
you a one-word answer. With rosebuds and thorns, we tell each other stories
about our day and the things that stuck out, and the dinner table is the space
we have together to do that. Time together at the table creates bonds and “benefits
every aspect of our wellbeing — emotionally, physically, socially,
occupationally, spiritually, intellectually and mentally – which all acts and
interacts in a way that contributes to our overall quality of life.”[2]
We have a bit of a loneliness epidemic in our country,
which only gets worse during times of a pandemic scare. It makes us isolate
ourselves even more, and while isolation can be for good reasons, it can still
make you lonely. God made us to be in community with each other, and when we’re
not, we feel that missing. You know I’ve been meeting with the other clergy who
serve in our community, across denominations, and one of the top needs we’ve
identified in our community is isolation and loneliness. Some of y’all have
grown up here and always lived here. Other folks move out here for the space
and to not have neighbors right on top of them. Again, it’s a good reason, but
an unintended downside is loneliness, especially if you’re new. Making friends
as an adult is hard, partly because we’re busier,
which is our theme for this Lent. We’re hungry for company, but we don’t know
how to ask or where to find time. We’re afraid of rejection. We’re afraid of
getting sick. My husband and I recently found out that our next door neighbors
enjoy one of the same board games that we do, Catan. And then our neighbor
hesitantly asked if we like Vietnamese food, because his in-laws are
Vietnamese. It’s not something we’ve eaten a lot of but we’re willing to try
it. Now I just have to text them to set up a date!
In Psalm 23 we read that God prepares a table for us. God
prepares a table for us. We don’t even have to cook the food, much less set the
table! God prepares the table. At the table, around food, we tend to relax. We
are more at ease. We’re generally less hurried. Yet Psalm 23 also recalls the
dark valleys, “yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,”
and calls us into the not-so-easy practice of sitting down at the table with
our enemies. What was the awkwardest meal you’ve ever had? If it was awkward,
changes are good you weren’t eating by yourself then, either. Was it something
that was said? Was it because of the surrounding circumstances? Was someone
trying to sell you something? Or convince you of something? “God prepares a
table for us in the presence of our enemies.” In the midst of this familiar and
comforting psalm, God talks about the people we don’t like and we’re going to
eat a meal with them! Wouldn’t it be better if it were, “God prepares a table
for us in the presence of our family,” or “God prepares a table for us in the
presence of our friends”? But no, God prepares a table for us in the presence
of our enemies. We sit down to eat with people who might get us sick. We sit
down to eat with people who don’t think the same way we do. We sit down to eat
with people who we don’t want to be around. That’s part of why sometimes we
prefer isolation, right? Better alone than with that person! But what does Jesus say? “Love your enemies and pray
for those who persecute you.”[3]
“Greater love has no one than this, to lay down your life for your friends.”[4]
And you may say, “Aha! Jesus said friends!” Well, 1 John expounds upon that and
says, “This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for
us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers and sisters.”[5]
Lest you forget who your neighbor is, that question is answered by the parable
Jesus tells about the good Samaritan. The person least wanted around, the
person most hated because of his ethnicity and religion, that’s who helped the man who was beaten up and left on the side of
the road for dead. That’s who your neighbor, your brother and sister, and your
friend are. God prepares a table for us in the presence of our enemies. And we
have to deal with it, because the good news is that an unhurried God is present
with us in the good times and in the
difficult times and invites us to be radically present to each other in the
same way.
Paul wrote the letter to the Philippians while literally
eating with his enemies: he and Timothy were in jail. Jail in the ancient world
was even more vulnerable than today because then you relied on friends outside
for basic needs like food and blankets. From that place, Paul wrote to the whole church in Philippi, not just his
friends, not just the ones with whom he got along better or had more in common
with, but the whole church. He wrote, “I thank my God every time I remember
you. In all my prayers for all of you, I always pray with joy because of your
partnership in the gospel from the first day until now, being confident of
this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until
the day of Christ Jesus… whether I am in chains or [not], all of you share in
God’s grace with me… And this is my prayer: that your love may abound more and
more in knowledge and depth of insight, so that you may be able to discern what
is best and may be pure and blameless for the day of Christ, filled with the
fruit of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ—to the glory and praise of
God.” From a place of vulnerability, from a place of daily eating with his
enemies, if he eats at all, Paul’s prayer is for the Philippians to increase in
love; that their love might just keep growing and flourishing and overflowing.
You know what else overflows? That cup at the table that
God prepared. “You prepare a table for me in the midst of my enemies. You
anoint my head with oil. My cup overflows.” My cup isn’t just full; that
usually means I’m busy, right? I’ve got a full plate. Well, I don’t have a full
cup; I have an overflowing cup. It is spilling over and running down the sides
and over my hand and there’s generally two reactions to that. One is to get mad
because of the mess and put the cup down so that you can clean up the mess. Or
you can laugh at the absurdity of it, take joy in an overflowing cup. Maybe try
to sip it down a little. Not be anxious about the mess but rather enjoying the
over-abundance that God provides. This week, make it a point to eat with
others, especially if you don’t usually. Invite someone over. We’re not in
quarantine. Use reasonable precautions like hand-washing and covering your
mouth if you cough. Let us draw together, turn toward each other and not away.
May your cup overflow with joy, and temper down that rising anxiety that is
around us, so that we might be beacons of peace during this season.
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