Saturday, November 16, 2013

Worship notes for sunday redux...(again)

It seems that I am stumbling upon a new/old method for sermon writing these days:  take one part advanced preparation, one part simmering or incubation and one part wandering around with a text for the better part of a week.  For nearly 20 years my preferred method took me to my study on a Tuesday or Wednesday morning for serious Bible study.  By about 12 noon I had worked up an outline that led to writing a reasonable manuscript for Sunday. To be sure, I often tweaked my worship notes throughout the week, but the heart of things was well established by the middle of the week.

But for the past month although I have still set aside most of Tuesday for study and writing, I have come to sense that my real message hasn't bubbled up from below yet.  Something deeper is to be revealed if I listen, watch and wait throughout the week.  And once again that seems to be happening again today.

So here's my emerging outline for what I suspect will take place during worship tomorrow:

Introduction
The bard of Vermont, St. Frederick Buechner, once said that "Whenever you find tears in your eyes, especially unexpected tears, it is well to pay close attention."  All week long I've been walking around with that truth held close to the scriptures for today - the poetry of the prophet Isaiah and the warnings and comforts of Jesus - pay close attention to your tears, especially the unexpected ones.

+ Now I don't know about you, but sometimes I find that because my week has been so busy I haven't given myself time to notice my tears. Last week was one of those for me and it wasn't until Friday while doing some yard work that I had slowed down enough to pay attention to what I was feeling and sensing.

+ Raking leaves, feeling the gentle warmth of the late autumn sun on my face, listening to the soft wind gave me permission to reconnect my head with my heart.  And as odd as that sounds, it was in the quiet rhythm of my yard work that I began to feel my tears - tears that had been building up inside all week long - but I was to busy to give them expression.

+ I found myself weeping for some of my clergy friends in the area who are so exhausted and discouraged...

+ I found myself overwhelmed with grief for our sisters and brothers who survived the catastrophic typhoon in the Philippines...

+ I found myself brokenhearted about my father's decline...

So before I say anything more about the promises and hopes that our readings for today have to offer, let me invite you to take a moment to slow down long enough to feel what is really going on inside you.  I'm going to play a little tune I used to use all the time as a centering prayer - Yusuf Islam's "The Wind" - and as I do take some deep breaths and wind down so that you might be open to the promises of God in an unstressed way.

play "The Wind"

Insights
I have come to believe and trust that the prophet and poet of ancient Israel, Isaiah, offers us three clues for listening to the wisdom of our unexpected tears.  These tears can be a prayer, you know, a cry for real intimacy with the Lord if we treat them with respect and don't try to medicate them away or distract ourselves.  So let me tell you a little bit about the ancient Isaiah and then let's talk together about how his wisdom could make a difference for our lives, ok?

+ Context of Isaiah after the exile in Babylon...Do you recall why the exile happened?  Hubris and loss of compassion - Israel started acting too big for its britches - playing power politics with Egypt and Babylon - trying to live in a way that was fundamentally about greed rather than compassion.

+ So, in essence, God said:  you want to live like you are in control of creation?  Ok, try it out and see how that goes for you.  (St. Paul in Romans 1)  70 years later, after weeping and worrying by the waters of Babylon, the children of God in Israel returned home only to find the whole city of Jerusalem in ruins and their beloved Temple destroyed.

It was into this reality, filled with unexpected tears, that the poet shared three insights:

1)  It is God's desire and hope to bring forgiveness and grace to the people - not judgment and suffering - forgiveness and grace... 
For I am about to create new heavens and a new earth; the former things shall not be remembered or come to mind. But be glad and rejoice forever in what I am creating; for I am about to create Jerusalem as a joy, and its people as a delight. I will rejoice in Jerusalem, and delight in my people; no more shall the sound of weeping be heard in it, or the cry of distress.

2) Our tears point to where God's grace is often closest to us.
No more shall there be in it an infant that lives but a few days, or an old person who does not live out a lifetime; for one who dies at a hundred years will be considered a youth, and one who falls short of a hundred will be considered accursed. They shall build houses and inhabit them; they shall plant vineyards and eat their fruit. They shall not build and another inhabit; they shall not plant and another eat; for like the days of a tree shall the days of my people be, and my chosen shall long enjoy the work of their hands. They shall not labor in vain, or bear children for calamity; for they shall be offspring blessed by the Lord— and their descendants as well.

3) God's grace is always greater than our comprehension.
All these sufferings will give you an opportunity to testify… that is to make my love and grace flesh… I will give you words and wisdom that none can oppose… and by your endurance you will strengthen your souls.

Conclusion
·    The poet Isaiah was talking to frightened, hurting and confused people.  He was assuring them that God’s nature is grounded in grace not punishment.  And he was inviting them to rebuild the temple from the ashes so that all people – Jews and Gentiles, clean and unclean – would have a place to practice and celebrate their commitment to the way of the Lord.

·     +  This rebuilding of the Temple was a public work – a visible and tangible sign and symbol of the people’s devotion to the way of the Lord – it was a work of liturgy.  Some of us know that the word liturgy comes from the Greek leitourgia and means the work of the people.  Well, some scholars suggest that in addition to liturgy being the work OF the people, liturgy ALSO means the work FOR the people – a way of making their commitments flesh in public.

·    +  I think of the challenge to bake 400 pies as liturgy – a work FOR the people – or the CROP Walk or our upcoming Thanksgiving Eve concert.  It is a public work done by and for the people of the Lord.  Are you with me?  Do you see where this is going?

Well, earlier this week I read an article by preacher David Lohse who described an art project by Candy Chang that holds some promise for us.  It seems that after the death of one of Chang’s beloved friends, she used her skills as an artist and designed to transform a broken down house in that neighborhood into a “public chalk board where she invited people to respond to the question:  before I die I want to…”  Isn’t that fascinating?  She transformed a disserted and ugly building into a public work of hope and beauty.  Lohse continues saying: “The answers the people wrote were poignant, honest, tender, funny and insightful.”

So he wondered what it would be like if during the Advent and Christmas season, when so many people feel beaten down and depressed, we shared a public work of liturgy with the wider community by installing a chalk board outside our Sanctuary where people could write their prayers. Our question could be something like:  Today I need someone to pray for… or Today I weep for....

We don’t need to know the answers – Jesus asked us to trust him to that – all we need to do is be open, creative and present to the suffering of those all around us.  So what would happen if we did that – if we put up a chalk board with the question, “I need someone to pray for… (OR) Today I weep for..." – and then promised that each week those prayers or names would be lifted up and addressed during our Sunday worship?

When I listen to what is going on just below the surface in my own heart or the lives of my family – I hear the sounds of anxiety and busyness.  I hear a people burdened and confused.  I hear parents doing the best they can but afraid for the well-being of their children.  I hear the elderly fretting about the days to come.  And the sandwich generation wondering how in God’s name they are going to hold it all together.  And, at the same time, even in the midst of those words, I hear the promise of God:

Behold I am about to create new heavens and a new earth; the former things shall not be remembered or come to mind. Be glad and rejoice forever in what I am creating; for I am about to create Jerusalem as a joy, and its people as a delight…and even in the midst of trial and fears… I will give you an opportunity to testify to my grace.

My tears are telling me that maybe now is the time for us to share some liturgy with Pittsfield – some public work grounded in hope and grace – and wouldn’t that be incredible?  Think about beloved and we’ll talk more soon…




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