Proper 28
Today is the next to last Sunday in the church year. We have Christ the King next Sunday,
and then begin anew with Advent.
The next to last Sunday.
The church year is drawing to a close.
This is also the first Sunday after the national election.
The readings appointed for today, of course, come from the
lectionary and relate to the church calendar. We always have apocalyptic readings, speaking of the end
times, at this time of year. They
are always difficult to preach on.
Yet probably not as difficult as preaching on the
election. Yet we must engage with
it. As tempting as it may be for
many of us to disengage as much as possible, we are called to be the Body of
Christ in this world at this time.
We must engage events as important as this one and reflect and respond
as Christians.
The campaign and election have inescapably been a part of
all of our lives for months upon months upon months now. We have that experience in common.
Yet… it seems
it has also been an experience that we have NOT had in common. Based on your own life experience, your general
political preferences, and maybe most importantly, where you get your news… amongst us here there are undoubtedly
vastly different perceptions and feelings.
It is part of my vocation as pastor and preacher to offer
words to you now. Faithful words. Faith-filled words. The preacher’s tool is words.
And yet, as I’ve struggled to find words the last few days,
what has just knocked me flat is: Words
aren’t being heard.
I have felt overcome by the futility of conversation. The literal impossibility of communication
with words. Our entire country is
engaged in an enraged cosmic shouting match. I fear that any words I might offer would just become
weapons or fodder or lost in the fray.
As I read and listen, I am overwhelmed with the hopelessness of words
having meaning right now, at least any words directly related to the candidates
or the election.
At last count bishops in 24 dioceses in the Episcopal Church
have issued statements on the election.
Words from the church. That’s
about a quarter of the dioceses in the Episcopal Church, which is remarkable! Undoubtedly, it would
have been even more, except it is convention season in the Episcopal Church.
Many bishops are sharing their
thoughts and processing the election within the context of their diocesan
conventions, rather than in published statements.
Most of these statements say much what I would say if I were
going to speak directly to the election. I made handouts including a few of the
bishops’ statements (You can read them all HERE. I included Presiding Bishop Curry, our Bishop of Chicago Jeffrey Lee, and the Bishops of Newark, Washington, and Fond du Lac). Take them
home. Read them carefully when you
have time to hear the meaning of the words. I am definitely available to have individual conversations with any
of you for whom that would be helpful.
But today I want to offer some different words. As I hear and read and see the depth of
anger, hatred, disrespect, threats… that are being shouted, I finally found
words that I can say into that space.
They come from Frederick Buechner. I’ve quoted this before, I think from
the pulpit, certainly in other settings.
Buechner is talking about the Lord’s Supper. What we gather, come together, as Christians to do here on
Sundays.
It is also called Holy
Communion because when feeding at this
implausible table, Christians believe that they are communing with the Holy One
himself, his spirit enlivening their spirits, heating the blood and gladdening
the heart just the way wine, as spirits, can.
They (we!) are also, of course, communing with each
other. To eat any meal together is
to meet at the level of our most basic need. It is hard to preserve your dignity with butter on your chin
or to keep your distance when asking for the tomato ketchup.
To eat this particular
meal together is to meet at this level of our most basic humanness, which involves
our need not just for food but for each other. I need you to help fill my emptiness just as you need me to
help fill yours. As the emptiness
that’s still left over, well we’re in it together, or it is in us. Maybe it’s most of what makes us human
and makes us [sisters and] brothers.
He concludes with words from the service…
The next time you walk
down the street, take a good look at every face you pass and in your mind say Christ
died for thee. That girl. That
slob. That phony. That crook. That saint.
That damned fool. Christ died for thee. Take and eat this in remembrance that Christ died for thee
(Wishful Thinking, “Lord’s
Supper”).
Christ died for you.
First, I say those words to you.
To each of you here today. No
matter whom you voted for, or if you didn’t vote. Whether you are now feeling hopeful or very frightened. Christ died for you.
Christ died for you.
He willingly gave up his life to free you from sin and death. To set you free! To open up a way for God’s
incomprehensible peace and unquenchable life to fill you. Christ died for you. Remember that.
I have also found it helpful to take Buechner’s advice. When I walk down the street or when I
hear some rant on TV or read some comment on the internet, whether the kind or
the crazy ones, the ones I support or the ones that deeply offend me, to
mentally say to whoever is speaking, Christ died for you.
I wish I had thought of this in time to do it as I
voted… to look at every name on the ballot, those I voted
for and those I didn’t… those at
the top of the ballot and even all of those endless pages of judges… to say to each of them, Christ died for
thee.
I commend this practice to you. Verbally. Maybe
some one, some person, needs to hear you say to
them, Christ died for you. Or
maybe you need to say, or think, it as you go about your daily life and encounter others.
What individual people do with Christ’s gift is up to them,
between them and their Lord. But
this practice… this practice of
saying the words: Christ died for
you, has helped to restore my own heart and soul.
This is just the beginning. It is internal preparation for the external work that needs
to be done. God knows there is work to be done! Justice work. The bishops talk more about that. And it lies ahead of us.
Like many people this week I’ve found myself humming Leonard
Cohen’s Hallelujah. And if I leave you with that earworm,
that’s a good thing. But the last
few days I’ve also been humming another tune. Today’s canticle.
The canticle we prayed in place of the psalm this morning. The words are from Isaiah. It’s one of the canticles for Morning
Prayer. When I was in seminary, we
prayed Morning Prayer together as a community every day. And we sang the canticles; they are
meant to be sung.
I know this canticle to a gentle, hopeful melody (Hymn 679).
(Sung) Surely it is God who saves me; trusting him
I shall not fear.
Surely it is God who
saves me; trusting him I shall not fear.
Amen.
