2nd Sunday after Pentecost
May 29, 2016
1 Kings 18:20-39; Galatians 1:1-12; Luke 7:1-10
(Or watch here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5RIJpv3E3mo&feature=em-upload_owner)
You might think it goes against my grain to preach a
sermon related to Memorial Day, or any other civic holiday, for that matter. I
have a couple seminary professors who would be scandalized, because they insist
on separation of church and state, and the church is for God, not for our
country (or for any other country, for that matter). Yet when I preach on Mother’s
Day, I often include Mother’s Day themes, and that’s not a church holy day,
either. So, given what we’ve been going through as a church, the theme of
Memorial Day seemed especially appropriate this year. One of the things I read
this past week about Memorial Day and the church is that there may be folks who
want to explicitly keep Memorial Day to remember fallen soldiers only, those
who died in active military service, which is what the day was designed for.
However, I also learned from a fellow United Methodist pastor in North Carolina that the churches in her community
all combine for a Memorial Day service on that Sunday and that it’s essentially
what we would call an All Saints’ service for that community. They read out the
names and remember all who have passed away during the past year in their
community, just like we do the first Sunday in November. And I thought Memorial
Day like All Saints’ Day, now that I can get behind, and that makes sense for
us as a church. Celebrating the theme of Memorial Day makes sense for us as a church
because…
Cowenton: We lost three members in four days. It has left us
feeling a bit stunned, I think. And you wanted to stop answering your phone or
checking your email.
Piney Grove: We are a church that is grieving. And we have been
for quite a while.
One
of the pieces of advice given at the Festival of Homiletics from two weeks ago
was to make sure you could name and describe the time in which you live. As a
country, things are going well by all the usual numbers and measurements, and
yet we as a whole are angry, we’re afraid, and we’re impatient. As a church, things
are going well also statistically-speaking.
Cowenton: That’s why I made it a point to put some of those
stats on the bulletin board by the front door.
Piney Grove: That’s why I made it a point to include that list in
the last newsletter of all the good things that are going on. I started it as a
list for 2016, to make sure we remember everything this fall when we do
year-end reports. But the list got so long, I realized we ought to share and
celebrate this now!
Things
are going well on so many levels, and yet we are also in a season of grieving. And
sometimes it seems like the grieving cancels out the good things, which is why
I remind you again and again and again of the good things going on. Grief can
be overwhelming. Or you can think you’ve moved past it, but the truth is, it
pops up at random times, and often the least expected times. We are hurting,
and if we look at this morning’s texts, we find grief in all of our readings.
First,
from 1 Kings, we read about the contest between Elijah and the 450 prophets of
Baal. Elijah challenges them to see whose god will set on fire some dry wood.
Baal, of course, doesn’t respond to his prophets, since he’s not a real god.
And then Elijah seems to taunt them, he drenches his wood with water three
times before praying to God to ask God to set the wood on fire. The senior
pastor I served with before coming here had many fun Southern sayings, and one
of my favorites was, “If that don’t light your fire, then your wood’s all wet.”
Well, in this case the wood is all wet, but God is God and can set anything on
fire and he burns up all the wood, the sacrifice, even the stones, the dust,
and the water in the trench around the altar! And all the people who witnessed
this fell on their faces and proclaimed, “The Lord is the real God!”[1]
Our story ends there because if we were to read one more verse, we’d learn that
Elijah got so carried away with the victory that he had all 450 prophets of
Baal captured and killed. Better to end on a high note, right? But why is
Elijah by himself challenging 450 false prophets? Why does he rub in his
victory over them? Because Elijah is the only prophet of God left. King Ahab of
Israel, who worshiped Baal, had killed all the other prophets of the Lord.
Elijah is the only one left a prophet of the Lord. Don’t you think he’s grieving,
too? Don’t you think that has an impact on him? All of his colleagues have been
killed, he’s the only one left. And he acquits himself fantastically with this
challenge with Baal’s prophets. And then he seeks revenge for the deaths of his
friends by having those other prophets killed, too. The things we do in the
midst of grief. We don’t always make the best choices. After this is when
Elijah runs away to God’s holy mountain and eventually hears God’s still, small
voice, a story which we’ll read in a couple weeks. Grief can make you fearless,
like taking on 450 people at once. And it can make you over-zealous, when you
don’t just defeat those 450, but insist on killing them as well.
Our
Epistle lesson also has a lesson on grief in it. No one dies this time, yet
listen again to what Paul writes, “I’m amazed that you are so
quickly deserting the one who called you by the grace of Christ to follow
another gospel. It’s not really another gospel, but
certain people are confusing you and they want to change the gospel of Christ.”[2] Paul is writing to the churches in Galatia, plural, because Galatia
is a region, not a town. And these are churches he personally started and a
region he traveled all over evangelizing; you can read about it for yourself in
Acts 13-14. Paul personally has something at stake in these churches and so
it’s understandable that he’s so upset that some folks are trying to change
Christ’s gospel and preaching that you’re saved by what you do, rather than by
what Jesus did. It’s not too different, really, from a parent who’s brought up
a child and then has to watch while that child makes poor decisions. And when
things that you set in motion go different than according to plan, even though
you no longer are in control of it, you may well grieve that loss. Paul may write,
“I’m amazed that you’re so quickly deserting God,” and other translations say
I’m astonished or I’m surprised or I’m shocked, yet this isn’t a pleasant
surprise. This isn’t the shock of a surprise birthday party, this is a sad “I
can’t believe you did this.” And then having to grieve; the church was on this
trajectory, and now they’re on this one, down here. Something you created did
not go as you had hoped. A minor example would be a cake that didn’t rise. A
life-changing example would be a grown child choosing a path that leads away
from God. And there’s grief, grief that things did not turn out how you had
hoped. The churches Paul planted in Galatia are turning toward another gospel,
one that is contrary to the gospel of Christ. While presumably his letter has
some effect in bringing folks back around, there’s always grief for those you
lose.
Finally, our Gospel story today has someone on their
death bed, a servant who is very ill and about to die. His master is a Roman
centurion who is beloved by the Jewish people he oversees. The Jewish elders
who go to Jesus say that “he loves our people and he built our synagogue for
us.”[3] This centurion is obviously a very
compassionate, caring leader. And so when one of his servants is so sick that
he’s not expected to make it, he doesn’t say “Oh well, now I gotta hire someone
else,” and see people and servants as disposable; no, he sends for Jesus and
asks Jesus to heal the servant. Grief often begins before the event happens. We
tend to start feeling sad when we know something sad is coming, even before
it’s here. This centurion appears to stay in control of his emotions, yet you
can hear he’s hurting from what the Jewish elders say about him. “He deserves
to have you do this for him.” The centurion never directly talks with Jesus,
it’s all through messengers, and these messengers beg Jesus to heal the servant
on his behalf. The first thing we should do when we’re hurting is to turn to
Jesus. Not to chocolate or to drink or to others who will help us throw ourselves
a pity party. No, when we are grieving, we turn to Jesus. Because in the midst
of loss, even loss that hasn’t happened yet but is expected, Jesus is the only
one who has the words of life. Peter says that to Jesus, “Where else would we
go? You alone have the words of eternal life.”[4] The centurion’s last message to
Jesus asks him to “simply say the word, and my servant will be healed,” and
Jesus marvels at the centurion’s faith.
Just say the word, Jesus, and I know it will be ok. I
don’t know when, I don’t know how long, but I know those wonderful words of
life, and I can sing them even from a place of grief, maybe in spite of the
loss. Sometimes a word of life is defiant, sometimes it’s subversive, sometimes
it’s hope in the face of despair. It’s resurrection, knowing that there is more
to life than what I’m feeling right now. I may be overwhelmed, I may be sad, I
may be angry, I may be impatient. Yet I still claim the fruits of the Spirit of
love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, self-control, gentleness, and
faithfulness, and there is no law against such things.[5] That comes from that same letter
Paul wrote to the Galatians, near the end of it. Paul ends that chapter by
saying, “If we live by the Spirit, let’s follow the Spirit. Let’s not become
arrogant, make each other angry, or be jealous of each other.” Let us not sin
in our grief, but turn our eyes instead to Jesus, who can handle everything we
throw at him and who, in the face of grief, holds out the hope of resurrection.
