Tuesday, May 31, 2016

A Time to Grieve

2nd Sunday after Pentecost
May 29, 2016
1 Kings 18:20-39; Galatians 1:1-12; Luke 7:1-10


            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.



[1] 1 Kings 18:39
[2] Galatians 1:6-7
[3] Luke 7:5
[4] John 6:68
[5] Galatians 5:22-23

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