One of the hardest things I have ever had to do, is something I did two summers ago. As part of my ordination process, I was required to spend a summer working as a hospital chaplain. The hospital I ended up at was a large, bustling, public hospital. It was also level one-trauma center— which meant that all of the worst accidents in the area ended up at this particular hospital. As I started the summer, I was terrified. Mostly, I was terrified to be on call— having to respond to whatever came into the emergency room at any hour of the day or night. Gunshot wounds, car accidents, motorcycle accidents-- you name it, I saw it. Yet while those first few on-call experiences were indeed terrifying, as it turned out, that wasn’t the hardest thing I had to do that summer. The hardest thing about that summer was my experience working on the oncology and intensive care units. For while there were many patients who would come in for treatment and leave a few days later, there were many other patients who were there day after day-- not getting any better. Sometimes, their families would ask me to pray for them— to pray for a miracle— a cure. I would comply, yet day after day, despite our prayers, I would watch patients continue to decline in health and their families continue to suffer. Other times, the patients themselves would confide in me about their anger with God. Why was this happening to them? What had they done to deserve this suffering? Why hadn’t God answered their prayers for healing? What were they doing wrong?
These were the questions that haunted me over the course of the summer. These were the questions that challenged me more than anything else I experienced. This morning’s gospel story— for me-- calls to mind those experiences. It calls to mind those questions about prayer and healing, miracles and human suffering.
It’s a familiar scene— our gospel reading this morning. Jesus crosses paths with someone who is in need of healing. And despite the restriction of not working on the Sabbath, Jesus doesn’t hesitate to heal the woman of her ailment. It’s a familiar scene because time and time again, in every gospel, Jesus does not fail to work anything short of a miracle when he encounters those who are sick and suffering. Every single time-- he provides a miraculous cure— one that wipes away any trace of illness or deformity.
I have to admit that when I was working in the hospital, I often found myself frustrated by this familiar narrative. Especially when confronted with patients and families who wanted to know why God wasn’t answering their prayers. And so the question I found myself asking that summer, and the question I often find myself asking when confronted with these miracle stories is: how do we, as Christians who believe in the healing power of God, make sense of all those times when continued woundedness and brokenness-- not miraculous cures -- seem to be the result of our prayers?
A number of weeks ago, in the Thursday morning bible study that happens here at First United Methodist Church, the subject came up of the difference between praying for a cure and praying for healing. One member of the group gave an example from a film called “The Robe”-- which takes place after Jesus’ death and centers around a Roman centurion who wins the robe worn by Jesus during the crucifixion. In one very powerful scene in the movie, the centurion comes across a character by the name of Miriam. Miriam is filled with love and light-- she is an inspiration to those around her. Her community sees her as an example of Jesus’ miraculous healing power. Miriam also happens to be crippled. And so the centurion is mystified by Miriam and the claims made by her community. “How is it,” he asks, “that you claim she has been miraculously healed?! She’s a cripple! Can’t you see that??” An elder in the community explains to the centurion that since she was paralyzed at a young age, Miriam had been bitter and hateful for most of her life. She had affected everyone around her with her envy and malice. But one day, in their small town of Cana, there was a wedding. Everyone in the town went— everyone except Miriam. She stayed at home-- bitter and weeping— for what man would ever ask to marry her? But when her parents returned home from the wedding, they found Miriam changed. She was smiling, singing, and full of joy. “Was Jesus at the wedding?” the Centurion asked. “Yes,” the elder said, “but he came late.”
The healing that Miriam receives is no less miraculous than the one we read about in the Gospel story for today. It is not a healing that takes away her physical suffering and limitation. Rather, it is something perhaps even more remarkable— it is a healing of her soul. “He could have healed my body,” Miriam explains to the centurion, “but he did something even better for me. He made me an agent of his word. He left me as I am, so that all others like me would know that their misfortune needn’t deprive them of happiness, or their place in God’s kingdom.”
One thing that this story illustrates to me quite profoundly is that all too often, we allow ourselves to get caught up in a rather narrow understanding of what it means to be healed. But here’s the thing— God does not always heal in the way we expect or demand. And a healing does not always amount to a cure. A healing does not always amount to God delivering us from every trace of what ails us.
I want to counter this fictional film illustration with a real-life story about a man named Anthony. Anthony was diagnosed at the age of 16 with Systemic Lupus Erythemetosis. He was told as a teenager that he would not live beyond the age of 25, and that given the deterioration of his hipbones, he would likely be confined to a wheelchair until his early death. After his diagnosis, Anthony prayed for healing. But when Anthony failed to miraculously recover from his illness, His friends at the charismatic church he attended insisted there must be something wrong with him-- some hidden sin he had yet to confess or something deficient in his faith. As a teenager, this sent Anthony on a downward spiral of questioning and doubt. That questioning, however, ultimately led him to study theology, enter seminary, receive a master of divinity degree, and eventually obtain a PhD. Contrary to what the doctors told him, Anthony lived beyond the 25-year mark. He met the love of his life, got married, and had three children. Now in his 50’s, Anthony is indeed confined to a wheelchair. And so the miracle of his healing is perhaps not immediately apparent to those who would just pass him by on the street. However, anyone who knows him knows that he has indeed experienced the healing grace of the Holy Spirit. It is because of the healing grace of God that he has been able to live a full life despite his disability. It is because of the healing grace of God that he learned to help others who suffer from physical and mental disabilities. He has become an inspiration for many who might otherwise have given in to bitterness or despair.
By the way, there is at least one character in scripture who has a story that mirrors that of Anthony and Miriam. The apostle Paul writes in his second letter to the Corinthians that he was given a thorn in his side— something that plagued him a great deal. We don’t know what this “thorn” was, but we do know that Paul appealed to the Lord multiple times for it to be taken away. Whatever it was, it was something that burdened him deeply. But eventually, Paul comes to realize that the healing he has been pleading for has already been given to him. Unlike the woman from our gospel reading, Paul is not cured. The thorn in his side does not leave him. Nevertheless, he experiences the healing power of God’s grace. He remains to this day one of the most powerful witnesses to the gospel that there has ever been. His writing on the power of grace and faith in the midst of suffering can offer us great comfort. “We do not lose heart,” he says, “because we look not at what can be seen, but at what cannot be seen; for what can be seen is temporary, but what cannot be seen is eternal.”
I would imagine that almost all of us have some aspect of our lives in which a “healing” is needed. Some “thorn in our side” that we wish the Lord would take away. Maybe we suffer from chronic pain, or perhaps we’ve experienced depression or some other mental illness. Perhaps there has been a traumatic event in our lives that has kept us enslaved to feelings of fear, bitterness, or resentment. In some way or another, I suspect we can all relate to the woman from the gospel this morning— bent over, struggling under the weight of what ails us, unable to see the sun. We pray consistently for God to cure us and to take away that which ails us. But it may be that God is already sending healing grace into our lives— perhaps in unexpected ways. It may be that while there are aspects of our lives that are difficult, we are intended sometimes not to be rid of them, but to allow Jesus to walk with us as we go through them. For only then do we come out on the other side--healed in ways that we could never have imagined.
I believe this also goes beyond our mere personal lives. We can get discouraged that our prayers for peace and justice, for example, seem to be met only with more violence, more war, and more suffering in the world. But despite the fact that war and violence persist— there is also healing and grace to be found. Healing, for example, in a unified South Africa where once racism and apartheid ruled. Healing in Rwanda— a country once torn apart by genocide— now one of the most peaceful and prosperous countries in Africa. Healing in the middle east, where despite ongoing hostility between Israeli and Palestinian governments, a group of individuals from both sides called the Bereaved Families Forum are bonding together to promote reconciliation, forgiveness, and peace. And so yes, there is war and violence. Yes, there is brokenness and hurt, disease and dis-ease in the world. But I have a feeling, that if we let ourselves be opened up to the spirit, we can see that healing is, actually, all around us. It is ongoing. It is within each of us. And if we allow it to be, that healing which is within us, can transform us, and thus begin to transform and heal the world.
As the apostle Paul says— we are to be agents of Christ’s reconciliation in the world. And so like Miriam, like Anthony, like Paul, indeed like Christ himself— our own woundedness can often be the very thing which allows us to be a healing force for others.
We yearn— all of us do— for healing and wholeness. For ourselves, for our loved ones, and for the world. I believe that one of the greatest miracles of all is that God offers this healing to each and every one of us— without exception. I believe that even in the midst of brokenness, there is hope to be found. A hope which can be summed up for me in four words: we are never alone. God does not abandon us in our suffering— God walks with us. And just as God walks with us in our suffering, we can then find the strength to walk with others in theirs-- allowing the hope given to us by the gospel to heal not only us, but to begin that great and grace-filled work of healing all of creation.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Admitting What We Know: Luke 12:13-21
We live in anxious times. We live in a time when we are anxious about money, our jobs, our homes, and our children’s futures. Amidst such anxiety, chapter 12 of the gospel of Luke-- from which we read this morning-- has some extraordinarily relevant words of comfort. In the 12th chapter of Luke we read that God’s concern for humanity is so great, that God knows even how many hairs are on our head. Chapter 12 of Luke also contains that famous passage which tells us not to worry about our lives-- what we will eat, or what we will wear-- for life is more than food, and the body is more than clothing. "Do not be afraid little flock"-- Jesus says to his disciples-- "for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom.” Comforting words, indeed, for people living in anxious times.
In our passage for today, however, sandwiched between these wonderful words of comfort, we find ourselves a little bit of a challenge. We read of a man who is also anxious. He comes to Jesus with a problem— he is fighting over his inheritance with his brother, and wishes Jesus to step in and mediate. But, as is so often the case, Jesus does not do what is expected or demanded of him. Jesus refuses to be the arbitrator, and instead of course, what does he do? He tells a parable. He reminds his listeners of that age-old truism-- that material wealth isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. It’s a story about the folly of that longstanding myth that material wealth will bring us happiness, security, and fulfillment. The idea that if we just had enough money, We would be happier. If we could just make a little more, we would be secure. But Jesus warns his followers against exactly that kind of thinking, instructing them that one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.
This is all well and good, and I certainly believe this to be true. Yet as I prepared for this morning’s sermon, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was a certain absurdity to this parable given the anxiety of the times in which we currently live. Is it absurd-- I wondered-- to talk about amassing unhealthy amounts of personal material wealth in the midst of an economic crisis that has left over 8 million people unemployed? Is it absurd to talk about the folly of storing up riches when over one million families have lost their homes, and many more struggle to pay their mortgage and put food on the table? Outside our own country, nearly half the world’s population lives on less than two or three dollars a day. Is it absurd to talk about having too much, when so many people have so little?
In the context of a continuing economic crisis, when so many people are struggling just to get by-- in the midst of so much cultural anxiety about whether or not we will be able to take care of ourselves and future generations-- I find myself asking the question: what does this story have to say to us here and now? Where do we find ourselves in this parable?
Upon reflection, I think perhaps one clue to the answer to this question lies in the very last line of the passage. Jesus explains that the man is a fool because he has stored up treasures for himself but was not rich towards God. Unfortunately Jesus doesn't give much of an explanation in this particular passage as to exactly what it means to be rich towards God. But I think if we look at the larger message of the Gospel of Luke, we can begin to understand just what Jesus means by this idea of richness towards God.
One of the overwhelming themes found in the Gospel of Luke is the injunction to care for the poor and needy among us-- the claim that God will lift up the lowly and fill the hungry with good things. Throughout the gospel of Luke we are called to a kind of radical re-orientation of our lives-- a re-orientation away from ourselves and the kind of false security that we think money can buy. We are called to strive-- not for material riches-- but rather for richness of the heart. Richness of those values that we proclaim to be at the very heart of God. Values such as compassion, generosity, mercy, and love of neighbor. Richness towards God requires an orientation that recognizes that we cannot be concerned only with ourselves and our own security. We are meant to live our lives in community with others— recognizing our interconnection and interdependence.
And so in this way we can begin to understand the idea of what it means to be rich towards God-- at least on an individual level. We can understand that there are in fact a number of ways that we can be like the rich fool-- even if we aren’t rich— and even if we are simply trying to get by. Because at the end of the day, this isn’t really a story about how much we have or don’t have. It’s not so much about whether we are rich or poor, or somewhere in between. It’s about how we orient ourselves in the world. Theologian Audrey West puts it this way: “this parable calls on all, rich or poor alike, to reflect carefully about what we want and why we want it. Are our desires driven by a determination to store up treasures for our own pleasure, or are they driven by our understanding of God’s true purpose in our life? Will we measure our lives by the standards of the media, seducing us to want more and more, or by the call of the gospel to be rich towards God?”
If we are serious about seeking to bring about the kingdom of God here and now— and I think many of us are serious about that-- we must be concerned not only with our own good— but the common good. We must be concerned— not only with our own personal happiness and fulfillment-- but the happiness and fulfillment of all of God’s children.
Which brings me to my second point, which is that while there are ways we understand this idea of richness towards God as individuals-- the values we cultivate in our hearts and the way we orient ourselves as individuals— I think that in many ways, the rich fool also represents how we tend to act as a society— our collective attitude as a nation towards wealth and prosperity.
A number of years ago, before the economic crisis, a certain CEO compared the collective attitude of our country to a man jumping off of a very high cliff. The man feels like he is flying at first-- he feels the wind on his face and the sun on his back. But the man is a fool-- because he is actually in a free fall. He just doesn’t know it yet, because the ground is so far away. Well— that comparison was in the 1990’s, and the CEO turned out to be right. We were, collectively, a bit like the rich fool in the parable-- not realizing we were falling off the cliff, and that all the prosperity we were enjoying as a nation would be taken from us almost in an instant. We had let ourselves get so carried away with the idea that our prosperity could make us secure, that we had no idea we were in a free fall until we hit the ground.
Even now, as a society, we are so hesitant to let go of these myths of materialism and self-sufficiency. We are so hesitant to admit to ourselves what we already know. We all know that we can’t buy or spend our way to happiness. We know that material success and prosperity will not help us to cheat death, or give us security from those aspects of life that are no respecters of class or bank accounts. And yet, time and time again, it seems that we continue to let ourselves fall into the isolating myths of consumerism and materialism.
We hear quotes on the news from those who say that to care about the common good means we are slipping into some kind of dangerous political ideology such as communism or socialism. This kind of thinking, I believe, comes out of our anxiety and fear. Because to care about the common good doesn't mean that we have to embrace any one particular political ideology. To care about the common good means only that we are embracing the values as a society that make us rich towards God. I think that as religious people, we can reclaim this language of the common good. Not as political language, but as moral language. Language which reflects our foundational belief that all people are created in the image of God. Language that reflects God's call to care for the poor, and to love our neighbor. Language which recognizes that more meaningful than any kind of material abundance is the abundance that comes out of our relationships with others, the abundance we find together in community, and above all-- the abundance which comes out of our relationship with God.
This is the kind of wisdom that can seem frustratingly obvious sometimes. We can beat ourselves up for letting ourselves get carried away-- time and time again-- by our fear and anxiety. But admitting what we know is difficult because it truly is a counter-cultural message, it truly is a radical re-orientation. All around us, we hear messages telling us to buy more and to spend more. Economists on the news tell us that the way back to financial security as a nation is to use our credit cards, buy more material goods, and to build up the church of consumerism. But to admit to what we know— that we can’t buy our way to security, and that we need each other more than we need more stuff— that is what it means to live into Jesus’ command to be rich towards God. This may be the first and most important step in building up the kingdom of God. Because we can’t change the world until we change ourselves. That is the challenge for all of us as individuals— and then as communities-- regardless of where we sit on the economic spectrum.
We may live in anxious times. We may worry from time to time, and that’s okay. But it’s important not to let our worries and anxieties blind us from the needs of others, or isolate us from our loved ones and our communities. It’s important not to let our anxiety blind us to the truth we already know— that truth which is proclaimed so profoundly in the 12th chapter of the Gospel of Luke-- which is that God is our refuge and our strength. It is in God that we find true security. And it is in the gift of the Holy Spirit-- which infuses our communities-- that we find true richness and abundance.
In our passage for today, however, sandwiched between these wonderful words of comfort, we find ourselves a little bit of a challenge. We read of a man who is also anxious. He comes to Jesus with a problem— he is fighting over his inheritance with his brother, and wishes Jesus to step in and mediate. But, as is so often the case, Jesus does not do what is expected or demanded of him. Jesus refuses to be the arbitrator, and instead of course, what does he do? He tells a parable. He reminds his listeners of that age-old truism-- that material wealth isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. It’s a story about the folly of that longstanding myth that material wealth will bring us happiness, security, and fulfillment. The idea that if we just had enough money, We would be happier. If we could just make a little more, we would be secure. But Jesus warns his followers against exactly that kind of thinking, instructing them that one’s life does not consist in the abundance of possessions.
This is all well and good, and I certainly believe this to be true. Yet as I prepared for this morning’s sermon, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was a certain absurdity to this parable given the anxiety of the times in which we currently live. Is it absurd-- I wondered-- to talk about amassing unhealthy amounts of personal material wealth in the midst of an economic crisis that has left over 8 million people unemployed? Is it absurd to talk about the folly of storing up riches when over one million families have lost their homes, and many more struggle to pay their mortgage and put food on the table? Outside our own country, nearly half the world’s population lives on less than two or three dollars a day. Is it absurd to talk about having too much, when so many people have so little?
In the context of a continuing economic crisis, when so many people are struggling just to get by-- in the midst of so much cultural anxiety about whether or not we will be able to take care of ourselves and future generations-- I find myself asking the question: what does this story have to say to us here and now? Where do we find ourselves in this parable?
Upon reflection, I think perhaps one clue to the answer to this question lies in the very last line of the passage. Jesus explains that the man is a fool because he has stored up treasures for himself but was not rich towards God. Unfortunately Jesus doesn't give much of an explanation in this particular passage as to exactly what it means to be rich towards God. But I think if we look at the larger message of the Gospel of Luke, we can begin to understand just what Jesus means by this idea of richness towards God.
One of the overwhelming themes found in the Gospel of Luke is the injunction to care for the poor and needy among us-- the claim that God will lift up the lowly and fill the hungry with good things. Throughout the gospel of Luke we are called to a kind of radical re-orientation of our lives-- a re-orientation away from ourselves and the kind of false security that we think money can buy. We are called to strive-- not for material riches-- but rather for richness of the heart. Richness of those values that we proclaim to be at the very heart of God. Values such as compassion, generosity, mercy, and love of neighbor. Richness towards God requires an orientation that recognizes that we cannot be concerned only with ourselves and our own security. We are meant to live our lives in community with others— recognizing our interconnection and interdependence.
And so in this way we can begin to understand the idea of what it means to be rich towards God-- at least on an individual level. We can understand that there are in fact a number of ways that we can be like the rich fool-- even if we aren’t rich— and even if we are simply trying to get by. Because at the end of the day, this isn’t really a story about how much we have or don’t have. It’s not so much about whether we are rich or poor, or somewhere in between. It’s about how we orient ourselves in the world. Theologian Audrey West puts it this way: “this parable calls on all, rich or poor alike, to reflect carefully about what we want and why we want it. Are our desires driven by a determination to store up treasures for our own pleasure, or are they driven by our understanding of God’s true purpose in our life? Will we measure our lives by the standards of the media, seducing us to want more and more, or by the call of the gospel to be rich towards God?”
If we are serious about seeking to bring about the kingdom of God here and now— and I think many of us are serious about that-- we must be concerned not only with our own good— but the common good. We must be concerned— not only with our own personal happiness and fulfillment-- but the happiness and fulfillment of all of God’s children.
Which brings me to my second point, which is that while there are ways we understand this idea of richness towards God as individuals-- the values we cultivate in our hearts and the way we orient ourselves as individuals— I think that in many ways, the rich fool also represents how we tend to act as a society— our collective attitude as a nation towards wealth and prosperity.
A number of years ago, before the economic crisis, a certain CEO compared the collective attitude of our country to a man jumping off of a very high cliff. The man feels like he is flying at first-- he feels the wind on his face and the sun on his back. But the man is a fool-- because he is actually in a free fall. He just doesn’t know it yet, because the ground is so far away. Well— that comparison was in the 1990’s, and the CEO turned out to be right. We were, collectively, a bit like the rich fool in the parable-- not realizing we were falling off the cliff, and that all the prosperity we were enjoying as a nation would be taken from us almost in an instant. We had let ourselves get so carried away with the idea that our prosperity could make us secure, that we had no idea we were in a free fall until we hit the ground.
Even now, as a society, we are so hesitant to let go of these myths of materialism and self-sufficiency. We are so hesitant to admit to ourselves what we already know. We all know that we can’t buy or spend our way to happiness. We know that material success and prosperity will not help us to cheat death, or give us security from those aspects of life that are no respecters of class or bank accounts. And yet, time and time again, it seems that we continue to let ourselves fall into the isolating myths of consumerism and materialism.
We hear quotes on the news from those who say that to care about the common good means we are slipping into some kind of dangerous political ideology such as communism or socialism. This kind of thinking, I believe, comes out of our anxiety and fear. Because to care about the common good doesn't mean that we have to embrace any one particular political ideology. To care about the common good means only that we are embracing the values as a society that make us rich towards God. I think that as religious people, we can reclaim this language of the common good. Not as political language, but as moral language. Language which reflects our foundational belief that all people are created in the image of God. Language that reflects God's call to care for the poor, and to love our neighbor. Language which recognizes that more meaningful than any kind of material abundance is the abundance that comes out of our relationships with others, the abundance we find together in community, and above all-- the abundance which comes out of our relationship with God.
This is the kind of wisdom that can seem frustratingly obvious sometimes. We can beat ourselves up for letting ourselves get carried away-- time and time again-- by our fear and anxiety. But admitting what we know is difficult because it truly is a counter-cultural message, it truly is a radical re-orientation. All around us, we hear messages telling us to buy more and to spend more. Economists on the news tell us that the way back to financial security as a nation is to use our credit cards, buy more material goods, and to build up the church of consumerism. But to admit to what we know— that we can’t buy our way to security, and that we need each other more than we need more stuff— that is what it means to live into Jesus’ command to be rich towards God. This may be the first and most important step in building up the kingdom of God. Because we can’t change the world until we change ourselves. That is the challenge for all of us as individuals— and then as communities-- regardless of where we sit on the economic spectrum.
We may live in anxious times. We may worry from time to time, and that’s okay. But it’s important not to let our worries and anxieties blind us from the needs of others, or isolate us from our loved ones and our communities. It’s important not to let our anxiety blind us to the truth we already know— that truth which is proclaimed so profoundly in the 12th chapter of the Gospel of Luke-- which is that God is our refuge and our strength. It is in God that we find true security. And it is in the gift of the Holy Spirit-- which infuses our communities-- that we find true richness and abundance.
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