When It Reigns

Sermon - When it Reigns

Matthew 22:15-22

Pr. Paul Cannon

Grace and Peace, Bethany Lutheran Church, from God our creator, the Holy Spirit that connects us, and Jesus Christ our Savior and Lord,

I was really in the mood this week to preach on something happy.  This whole last week and half of my life has really been a comedy of errors.  

It all kind of started last week on our way into the city to see a play, when our GPS had us driving in circles.  My in-laws were in town, and traffic was backed up terribly on the highways, so Google Maps told us that it would be faster to get off the freeways and use some city roads roads instead.  

I’ll never believe Google Maps again.  At one point, we literally came full circle, and passed the same school...twice.

Then last Sunday, my Cincinnati Bengals were poised to kick a game-winning 36 yard field goal in overtime to win the game … and the kicker missed it!  The game ended in a tie, which somehow felt worse than a ls

Then on Monday, when the office had the day off, I went with my wife, my brother and his wife and a few friends to go apple picking.  But when we were sitting down for lunch that day, I threw out a disk in my lower back.

It was one of those weeks that reminded me of the great quote from Mel Brook’s, Young Frankenstein, when one character says to the other “It could be worse!”  And the other one asks, “How?” And he says, “It could be raining!”

And I mean that literally, because right after I threw out my back, like in the movie, it started raining.

It was one of those weeks.

Yes, I could have really used something happy and light to preach about this week, but instead I got the story that has to do with taxes...When it rains...it pours.

Some religious leaders come up to Jesus, with a question that they hope is going to be a wedge issue - because no matter how Jesus answered it, it was going to make some folks mad.  

“Hey Jesus,” they asked him, “Should we pay our taxes?”  Nothing like a question about politics to get folks mad at you.

But Jesus answers in a roundabout way.  He asks one of them to take out a coin, and asks them who’s picture is on it.  And they answer him that it was the face of the emperor on the coin.

So Jesus tells them, “Give to Caesar what is Caesar’s, and give to God what is God’s.”

Good answer.

Let’s think about those words.  What belongs to the Caesar? The coin does.  It has Caesar’s image on it.  It must belong to him.

But the more interesting question is, what belongs to God?  Really.  What belongs to God?  If Caesar owns the coin because his image is on it, then where is God’s image?  

Genesis 1:27, “So God created humankind in his image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them.”

We bear God’s image.  We belong to God.  “Give to Caesar what is Caesar’s, and give to God what is God’s.”  

Don’t just give of the coin, Jesus insists, give of yourself.  But, what do you give to the God who has everything?  What do you give back to the God who gave you everything, including the coin?  

If you are given everything, then maybe we should give back everything - time, talent, money, resources - all that stuff, yes.  But it’s really much deeper than that.  You give back your heart to God.  

Remember those three great Christian values we heard about in our reading from Thessalonians today? Faith, hope and love?  Those are the things that God truly desires from us.  That should be our offering to God every day.

And that’s a lot to ask, I know.  Because sometimes, we have weeks like I had this past week.  You get lost.  You feel like you are losing at life.  You find yourself in pain.  And then it starts to rain on you...literally or figuratively. When it rains, it pours.

Those days you don’t feel particularly loving.  Those are the days you don’t feel hopeful.  Those are the days you don’t feel faithful.  But it’s particularly when it’s hard - when life is pouring on you - that it matters most.  Your teenager is fighting with you at home?  Love them even more.  Struggling with your faith?  Go pray and talk to God about it.

And hope...hope is something that I think we could all use a dose of these days.  It’s been a tough couple months, here at Bethany. I know more than most. We said goodbye to a Pastor this summer.  We’ve had our fair share of change and conflict.  And at times it feels like we are getting rained on.

But all of this - all of us - belong to God.  We bear God’s image.  And where God is present, there is all kinds of hope.  And so hope is what God asks us to give back.

This summer on our mission trip, every night all the church groups would return from a long day of serving.  We would gather for worship.  And our site leaders from Youth Works, would lead us all in an exercise of hope that they just called “Yay God.”  

And these exhausted kids, who had every right to complain after a week of manual labor and sleeping on floors, would raise their hands, and offer for the group, where they had seen God that day. And when they finished, everybody would snap their fingers...and say...Yay God.  

Sometimes they would lift up somebody who went the extra mile to help that day. Yay God (snap).  Sometimes they would lift up the way they saw God at work in the faces of the community.  Yay God! (snap)  Other times it was the way that God was accomplishing work - fixing broken homes, spending time with the sick, the old and the young.  Yay God! (snap)

They were moments of hope.  They were “Yay God” moments.

We have those too.  This week, I got a call in the evening at home from an unknown number, which is usually a bad sign.  But it was Sharon Saunders, who we’ve been praying for, to tell me that the doctors hadn’t found any cancer at her latest bouts with Chemo. Yay God. (snap)

In our God, we find hope in the most peculiar places - none more peculiar than the cross.  Through an instrument of capital punishment, as Christians, we proclaim our greatest hope for life.

That’s what I would like us all to do today. We need to start practicing a little bit of hope in the rainy times.  We need some “Yay God” here at Bethany and in our lives. 

Think of a "Yay God" moment in your life. Write it down.  Give thanks to God even in tough times.

You’ll be amazed at the incredible ways that God is working in and among you despite all the stuff that’s happened this past year.  There is so much hope - too much, to not be hopeful in our God.

There are days, and sometimes weeks and even years where it rains, and when it rains, it pours.  But as those who bear the image of God, it is our job offer hope back to this world  - especially in the rainy times.  So let faith, love and hope be your offerings.  Because in our God, faith, love and hope reign eternal.  

Yay God.

Sermon for the 3rd Sunday in Lent: March 23, 20014

Sermon for the 3^rd Sunday in Lent: March 23, 2014

Romans 5:1-11; John 4:5-42

PREACHER: Pr. Carrie Smith

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

First of all, a big “thank you” to this congregation for the gift of continuing education time. In the past, I’ve attended preaching conferences and theological conferences here in the States for continuing ed., but this time I was able to travel with my spouse to the land of Jesus’ birth, ministry, death, and resurrection, both to attend a ministry conference and also to meet with Bethany’s sponsored missionaries, Danae and Steve Hudson. It was such a treat to be able to walk the Way of the Cross in Jerusalem at the beginning of this Lenten season. Thank you, again, for allowing me the time to make it happen.

A little over one week ago, I was sitting in Jesus’ hometown of Nazareth, attempting to learn traditional Palestinian embroidery. 

Our teacher’s name was Margot, an Arab Christian woman from near Bethlehem, and she spoke very little English. Our lessons therefore consisted of her showing us a lightning fast stitch, and then barking at us, in Arabic, “Shway, shway" and “Yallah, yallah, yallah!” which translates roughly to “Slowly, slowly…now hurry, hurry, hurry!” 

We thought we were signing up for a three hour class, three days in row, with time for sightseeing and relaxing afterward. Oh, were we mistaken! The three hours were merely for instruction. Each afternoon (and evening, and middle of the night) were for doing the “homework” Margot gave us to finish. We embroidered for at least ten hours a day.

By the second day our backs were aching from sitting hunched over, and our brains were hurting from trying to understand Arabic. We were feeling frustrated that Margot would rip out work we had spent hours doing.

And…our fingertips were bleeding! Actually, this was just me. Apparently, I was doing it wrong. Thank God we were working on black fabric!

The other women I was with – three of our ELCA Young Adults in Global Mission and one ELCA missionary—commiserated along with me about the difficulty of this project. We were humbled! We were tired! We were certain we’d never produce anything worth looking at! And was it over yet?

At the end of the third day of class, having sewn half a shawl which only a mother would think was pretty, I walked over to the table of Margot’s completed shawls, bags, and purses, and picked one out for my mother. I had admired things like this for years, but now, bearing bloody fingertips as scars from the last three days, I fully appreciated the time and effort that went into making them. I paid full price—no bargaining down. I knew it was worth every penny. 

Our teacher, Margot, is on the left

I asked Suraida, the inn manager, to help me communicate with Margot about the price, and to tell her that this particular purse was going to my mother, all the way to Texas.

For some reason, this was unbelievably funny to Margot. She smiled hugely and said, in English: “It could even go to Colorado.” And then she laughed so loud she could hardly breathe.

Well, I didn’t know what to say! Was this funny? Is Colorado some kind of joke in Israel and Palestine? I had no idea! So I smiled nicely and nodded, until Suraida said, “You will have to forgive Margot. She has suffered greatly in her life. Laughing and sewing are the only way she can survive.”

Those words stopped me short. Margot had suffered greatly. I thought about her high standards and her patience (and impatience) with us. I thought about the hours we had spent together, and how language kept us from sharing more than embroidery stitches.

I don’t know what Margot had suffered, but I can imagine. I can imagine, because I know she lives in the occupied West Bank, in Beit Jala (a suburb of Bethlehem). She is an Arab Christian woman, a minority among a minority. I know that as an Arab woman, even in the Christian community, she has little recourse if she happens to be in an unhealthy marriage. (Ninety-nine percent of marriages “succeed” in Palestine, not because they are necessarily happy or successful, but because divorce is just not accepted.) As an Arab mother, I know it’s likely she has lost a child, a nephew, or a brother in the violence that erupts all too often between Israelis and Arabs. And I know that as an Arab Christian, she has watched as her community has gradually left the land of Jesus called home, because life under occupation offers so little future for the next generation of Christians.

I don’t know Margot’s story of suffering, but I know the story of others like her. So when I see the beautiful things Margot has created with her hands, I think of the passage we heard today from Romans, chapter 5:

“And not only that, but we also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.”

To me, Margot’s beautiful embroidery is a sign of hope—hope that springs from a  deep well of faith. My bloody fingertips are all but healed already! But what about Margot? What about her family? What about her community? What about her heart? When I look at her intricate handiwork, and see how passionate she is about passing on these traditional skills, I remember how so many beautiful things are born out of great suffering: art, music, literature, acts of resistance and acts of great love.

During Lent, we as a Christian community take time to contemplate the greatest act of love—the suffering of our Lord Jesus on the cross. We walk the Way of the Cross, lovingly interpreted this year by artists in our congregation. We take on spiritual disciplines—praying more, giving more, eating less—in order to be in solidarity, not only with Jesus Christ, but with all those in the world who suffer today. And we acknowledge the pain we ourselves have suffered or have caused, and the ways in which we have fallen short of the glory of God.

But as Christians, we don’t stay in that place of darkness for long. For Lent is when we also remember that the most beautiful thing of all, the thing that binds us together, the thing that gives us the strength to carry on—namely the peace and reconciliation we have with God through Jesus Christ—was born out of pain and suffering. During these forty days we remember that while we are indeed people of the cross, we have hope because we are also people of the resurrection, and we look with anticipation to Easter Sunday, when we will celebrate that beautiful gift in all its glory.

What is hope? The hope the Apostle Paul speaks of in Romans chapter 5 isn’t merely wishing for something or showing a preference for an outcome (like hoping your NCAA bracket isn’t a total failure!) Hope is having absolute confidence in God’s love, and in the peace that even sinners like us have through Jesus Christ, in spite of anything the world throws at us. Hope flows from the living water Jesus offered to the Samaritan woman at the well! As he said to her: “those who drink of the water that I will give them will never be thirsty. The water that I will give will become in them a spring of water gushing up to eternal life.” Through Christ, our thirst for love and grace, acceptance and forgiveness, is satisfied forever. No matter what we face in life, this hope will sustain us. For we know that “suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us.”

Now, flash forward a few days into my Holy Land trip, and you would find me standing in the lobby of the American Colony Hotel in Jerusalem—one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever stayed. Robert, who had stayed there before, showed me over to a large frame on the wall, in which was housed the history of Chicagoan Horatio Spafford. 

You probably have never heard of Mr. Spafford, in spite of our proximity to Chicago. However, his was indeed a tale of hope in the midst of great suffering.  

Horatio and his wife Anna lost their first son to scarlet fever in 1870. The next year, they were financially ruined in the Great Chicago Fire of 1871. Then, in 1873, Horatio planned to travel with his wife and four daughters to Europe, but was detained in Chicago for business. He decided at the last minute to send them on ahead. Sadly, the ship sank in the Atlantic Ocean after colliding with another sea vessel. All four daughters drowned, but Horatio’s wife, Anna, survived. She sent a telegram to her husband, with these two words: “Saved alone.”  

Horatio soon traveled to be with his grieving wife, and as the ship passed over the spot where his daughters died, he penned these words: 

“When peace like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.”

You may have never heard of Horatio Spafford, but raise your hand if you recognize those words… These words of hope, written out of a father’s great suffering and even greater faith in God, have become one of the most beloved hymns of all time: “It is Well with my Soul.” 

Why, you might ask, is this history hanging in the American Colony Hotel in Jerusalem? Because, in spite of all they had suffered, Horatio and Anna went on to have three more children. And in 1881, they moved with other Christians to Jerusalem to help found the American Colony, whose mission was to serve the poor. Today, the Colony serves mostly the wealthy who stay in its luxury hotel. But while the American Colony never became the Christian utopia he had planned, Mr. Spafford has left us an enduring legacy in the hopeful words of this hymn, a hymn which has helped countless Christians through stormy waters.

My dear sisters and brothers in Christ, no matter what you are enduring today, and no matter what you have suffered in the past, today it is my hope that you will hear again the words of the Apostle Paul, who assured us that “while we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly.” Yes, it’s true: While we were still weak from sin; while we were still weak from sorrow or suffering; while we were even still weak from doubt; just at the right time, God proved God’s love for us through the cross of Christ.  “For if while we were enemies, we were reconciled to God through the death of his Son, much more surely, having been reconciled, will we be saved by his life.” This is our strength. This is our hope. And hope does not disappoint us. Thanks be to God! Amen.

Sermon for the 1st Sunday of Advent: December 1, 2013

Sermon for the 1^st Sunday of Advent

December 1, 2013

Matthew 24:36-44

PREACHER: Pastor Carrie Smith 

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

“You do not know on what day your Lord is coming.” What a very strange thing to hear when all around us the “holy countdown” has started! Only 24 shopping days to Christmas; 15 school days until vacation; 14 days to the Bethany Christmas Pageant; 7 days to the Swedish Children’s Choir Concert; and approximately…20 minutes until the next showing of “A Christmas Story” and/or “Home Alone” on cable t.v. And in case you might forget, here in our worship space we have reminders of the countdown as well. Today, the first Sunday of Advent, we have one Advent banner, one Advent candle lit behind the altar, just one verse of “Light One Candle” to sing, and the worship space is once again awash in blue, the color of Advent hope.

Yes, the countdown to Christmas has begun! So what does it mean for us today to be hearing this particular Scripture text, in which Jesus warns believers we cannot know on what day our Lord is coming? True, this is spoken in reference to the second coming of Jesus, not his birth—but does this text mean we should give up on counting down anything at all? How are Christians to wait in hope of the Lord’s coming when we’re told we can never know when it will happen? Jesus seems to be telling us to wait, but not to get too excited. To be ready, but not to stop what we’re doing. To keep watch, but to understand we won’t know anything until it happens.

This kind of waiting-but-not-waiting is even more difficult to accept because of the fact that we really enjoy counting down hours, days, weeks, and months! During Advent we love to open little windows on paper Advent calendars and eat the chocolate, even if it does taste like plastic; Elf on the Shelf moves around the house; we work our way through Advent devotionals and mark days off on our work calendars. One of my favorite new options for counting down the days to Christmas (though it’s out of my budget) is the whiskey advent calendar from “Master of Malt.com”: 24 tiny tastes of whiskey from around the world, hidden behind little paper doors just like those bad chocolates we grew up with! Yes, it’s a little naughty…but it’s also a little nice, and besides, I have it on good authority that Santa prefers whiskey to milk with his cookies, anyway.

But we don’t just count down the days to Christmas. We also love to count how many months until the baby’s due date; how many more payments on the student loans; how many days until Christmas or summer vacation; and how many years to retirement. Some of you can also testify to what it’s like to count how many chemo treatments are left, and the joy that’s felt when you’re finally done. Amen?

Counting down the days, marking time, and anticipating some future event is one small thing that makes living this unpredictable, sometimes unexplainable, seemingly random life a bit easier to manage. So why does Jesus insist we cannot know the day nor the hour of his return? Why paint pictures of people going about their daily business in the field or in the mill, and the Lord’s return taking them by utter surprise, when he knows this will freak us out? How is this helpful, Jesus?

One answer lies in the fact that in Jesus’ time, as now, there were those who made it their career and mission to predict the end of all things. Just in our lifetimes, can you even count how many “end of the world” prophecies have come and gone? From the year 44 (before the Gospels were even written) all the way to December 21, 2012, there have always been predictions of Jesus’ return. But in spite of their anxious countdowns and dire warnings, all have passed without incident. Our apocalyptic hope remains just that: hope.

So it is into this context Jesus speaks these words: “But about that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father.”

Only the Father knows…this a constant reminder to all who seek to discover the holy egg timer that one can never know the mind of God. It is not given to us to know God’s timetable. Whether we’re talking about Jesus’ return and the coming of the kingdom; or the onset of labor, the outcome of a particular cancer treatment, the future of a relationship, or the day and hour of our death, we are like Noah, who knew nothing until the day the rains came and he entered the ark. The one thing we know for sure about Jesus’ coming (and about God’s timing) is that it will be unexpected.

We do not know on what day our Lord is coming. We cannot know what the future holds. But, my friends, this doesn’t mean we stop looking, stop hoping, or simply resign ourselves to apathy and ignorance! Counting down the days, decoding prophecies, making predictions and preparing for disaster is waiting, all right—but it is waiting in fear. Believers, on the other hand, wait in hope. We do not know what tomorrow will bring—but we are watchful and ready. We keep our eyes open for the ways in which Jesus is at the same time here right now, and yet still on his way. And we seek to clear the clutter from our minds so we can stay awake.

Anyone who has ever worked the night shift, sat up with a sick loved one, or chaperoned a youth group lock-in knows some strategies for keeping awake! Amen? But here are a few for us, as Christians who wait in hope for Jesus:

First: Pray. This one may seem obvious! But if we’re honest, we can always use improvement in this area. So during this Advent season, I invite you to come to worship a few minutes early (or stay a few minutes late) and visit the prayer wall at the entrance to the sanctuary. There, you can write your own prayers, as well as read the prayer requests of others. For what do you wait in hope? For what does the world wait? What darkness does Jesus, the light of the world, need to come and banish?

Second: Go about your daily work. Jesus says “Then two will be in the field; one will be taken and one will be left. Two women will be grinding meal together; one will be taken and one will be left.” In other words: The proper thing to be doing when Jesus returns is the work to which you were called. Jesus doesn’t want to see you hunkered down, preparing for disaster, holding your breath for the worst case scenario. Live your life; pursue your dreams; be the person God created you to be.

And third: Get an Advent calendar. In fact, if you could find one, it would be great to have a calendar with chocolates for every day of the year! For I can think of no better way to be ready for Jesus’ coming than to celebrate each and every day we are given. Every morning, open the door of your day to see what God has revealed for you there. Eat that piece of chocolate and enjoy the sweet gift that is life! But rather than worrying about counting down, remember who you can count on.

Sisters and brothers in Christ, just as during Advent we can count on Christmas to arrive right on time, bringing again the joy of Jesus’ birth, so we can always count on God to come through for us again. We may not know the specifics, but we can trust that Jesus always shows up: not just on Christmas morning in the manger, but also every Sunday in the bread and the wine; in the reading of the Word; and in our midst, whenever two or three are gathered. And our faith tells us that one day, in his own time, he will come again in glory, just as was promised.

And so, dear people, during Advent and every day, we Christians wait in hope. All earth is hopeful—the savior comes at last. Thanks be to God! Amen.

Sermon for November 10, 2013: 25th Sunday after Pentecost

Sermon for November 10, 2013

PREACHER: Pastor Carrie Smith

Luke 20:27-38

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

 Last week, our community gathered to celebrate All Saints Day, lighting candles in remembrance of our loved ones who have died, and rejoicing in the promise of the resurrection. Here at Bethany, this day is always a beautiful celebration: we haul out the bell choir, our best singers, special brass musicians, and our lovely liturgical dancers, all to help us give thanks to God who is the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end; and to Jesus, the risen Lord, who promises to be with us always, even to the end of the age. It was a glorious worship service, thanks to all those who offered their artistic talents to the glory of God! 

On All Saints Sunday, the promise of the resurrection is what makes the day more than just a memorial for the dead. The promise that one day we will all be raised and reunited with our loved ones is why Christians do not mourn as those with no hope, but instead gather and celebrate as we did in spectacular fashion last week.

But let’s be honest: on All Saints Day, we don’t dwell on the specifics. The preacher doesn’t spend a lot of time talking about the nature of the resurrected life, providing proof of the bodily resurrection of the dead, or painting Thomas Kinkade-style pictures of heaven. Why? Because everyone has a different understanding of what the resurrection of the dead means or looks like. And Scripture, while it gives us hope, doesn’t give us many details to go on!

Take the text for this week, for example.

Here we encounter a fringe group, the Sadducees, publicly testing Jesus on the issue of the resurrection. First of all, we don’t know much about the Sadducees and who they were. These guys seem to be ones whose entire identity is made up of what they are against. Can you picture people like this from your own life? Folks who seem to draw energy from being negative? You might remember the Sadducees from Sunday School, where I, at least, was taught to remember that the Sadducees were against the resurrection, so they were sad, you see...

So the Sadducees had issues with the resurrection, and they especially had issues with Jesus teaching in the synagogue about the resurrection. So they concocted a scenario, a perfect storm, a trap of a riddle, meant to twist Jesus up in his argument and prove the resurrection to be impossible.

“So…there is this woman whose husband dies, leaving her childless. So she marries his brother, and he dies. She eventually marries all 7 brothers, and they all die, and she never has any children—so after she dies, whose wife will she be?”

The point of throwing this riddle at Jesus is to try and make Jesus say something, in the synagogue, that goes against the teachings of Moses. The Sadducees want to discredit him, and therefore his ideas. But Jesus comes back with an answer that stops them in their tracks: he says: “Listen, these marriage laws are about the here and now. The resurrected life is completely different! Your complicated rules will not be an issue! And furthermore, even Moses talks about the resurrection. So the most important thing to know is this: ^“Now he is God not of the dead, but of the living; for to him all of them are alive.”

God is not the God of the dead, but of the living. This may not seem like a definitive answer, but for the Sadducees, it was enough to shut them up. The very next verses, which didn’t make it into our lectionary reading for today, say this:

⁹Then some of the scribes answered, “Teacher, you have spoken well.”⁴⁰For they no longer dared to ask him another question.”

I wish I could say something so definitive about the resurrection—something that would stop doubters in their tracks. Or, even better—I wish I had the right words to clear up my own doubting and confused thoughts on this issue! But to be honest, I had preached about the resurrection at a number of funerals before I had thought too much about what I really believed about it.

And then, I had no choice but to think about it. This happened at my first call, down the road at a country parish, and I had a dear parishioner there who was sick from the very first time I met her. At first, Paula was just short of breath. She wheezed a little as she walked up and down the steps into the church. She always attended the Wednesday evening service with her husband, because for many years she had worked the night shift as a nurse and found Sunday mornings too difficult. Wednesday nights typically had about 15 people in attendance, an intimate group, so we got to know each other quickly, and the Wednesday group often prayed for Paula and her breathing issues.

In the weeks and months after I arrived, as I got to know her, Paula’s health got worse and worse. Doctors were baffled. They could find no reason for her to have difficulty breathing. It wasn’t cancer. It wasn’t asthma. It wasn’t allergies or a mold problem in her house. Finally, they diagnosed her with “idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis.” In other words, scarring of the lung tissue with no discernible cause. And no treatment.

She was 59 years old.

Unfortunately, the disease progressed rapidly, and less than a year after I met her, Paula was in the hospital unable to take any meaningful breaths. One incredibly hot August day, I stopped in to see her there after spending far too much time at the county fair (another important part of a rural pastor’s job!) I rushed in, hot and sweaty, for a quick hello, and saw that Paula was really struggling. So I sat at the edge of her bed and asked what I could do. Paula shared that she was frustrated and angry, and incredibly sad to be leaving her husband, kids, and grandchildren. She knew she was dying, and it sucked. But at that moment, in her hospital bed, she wanted to talk about the resurrection.

What was it like? Did I believe in it? How could we know it to be true? Dying was the easy part, she said. Trusting that this wasn’t really the end was the hard part. Please help, she said.

I have to say, as a brand-new pastor, I felt completely unprepared for that conversation. I knew how to write a good funeral sermon. I knew how to baptize babies and chant the liturgy and prepare children for confirmation. I knew how to attend the county fair and bless the cows and pigs and sheep my parishioners were showing. But looking a dying woman in the face and answering her questions about the resurrection seemed something best left to a pastor who knew more than I did, had seen more than I did, or understood Scripture more than I did.

But here was no one else in the room that day but me. So here’s what we did: Paula and I held hands. We decided there was so much we didn’t know (what the resurrection would look like, who would be there, what our bodies would be like, what our relationships to our loved ones will be like, for example) so instead we talked about what we did know: What God is like. How we’ve felt God’s love for us and presence with us. And, especially, where we have experienced resurrection already, in this life.

Paula talked about the joy of holding her grandchildren as babies and seeing the future in their eyes.

I talked about watching my brother journey from the depths of a powerful addiction to a new, clean life, full of promise and hope.

Paula shared about her love of angels (she had a truly massive angel figurine collection at home!) and some of the times when she felt the presence of angels (or God, or the Holy Spirit, or whatever you wanted to call it) giving her comfort and hope.

I shared about the darkness of my own grief after losing several pregnancies, and the new, resurrected life I found when I was able to share my story with others going through the same thing.

Paula talked about feeling Jesus’ presence with her at church, and while reading Scripture, and especially while singing her favorite hymns. She also gave thanks for the life-giving 40 year marriage she had enjoyed with her husband.

After a while, we were silent. There were still many questions left unanswered. The future was still unclear. But together, we had found firm ground in speaking about the God we knew intimately—the God who had been present with us at our baptisms, in our sharing of communion, in the beauty of nature, at the birth of our children, in the love of our church community, and in times of difficulty and grief. The God we both knew is the God of the living, not the dead. Our God is a God of life, life, and more life—which we saw most perfectly when Jesus was raised from the dead and walked again among the faithful. As scary as it was to be facing death, Paula came to a resting place, trusting that the God of this life she loved so much would continue to be the God of the next life; that the God she loved and served would not abandon her when she needed God most.

Soon, I went back to the county fair, because Paula needed her rest. She died just a few days later.

At this point in my ministry, I’m not sure I have any better answers about the resurrection. I wish I could direct you all to heaven’s website, where you could see previews of the rooms available and even check out the menu for that heavenly banquet! I wish I had the perfect snappy comeback for those who doubt, just like Jesus did with the Sadducees. But instead, in times of doubt—mine or others’—I find myself going back to that hospital room with Paula, where together we found hope in the promise of the resurrection, and where we knew the awesome presence of the living God in the sharing of our stories. 

Let us pray, sisters and brothers, with St. Augustine, who wrote:

“You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it finds its rest in you.” Amen. 

7th Sunday after Pentecost: July 15, 2012

7^th Sunday after Pentecost: July 15, 2012

Isaiah 43:1-7

Song of Solomon 8:6-7

John 11:1-6, 17-35 

PREACHER: Pastor Carrie B. Smith

"Many Waters Cannot Quench Love"

Grace and peace to you from God the Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Lately I’ve been following the story of a friend on her CaringBridge site. She’s a cyber friend, really—a woman I met through an online support community for infertility and pregnancy loss. Kendrah had a massive stroke in April at just 35 years old. She is still in the hospital, struggling to walk, to talk, and to care for herself. Her three young children are being raised by relatives while she recovers. Her husband , a doctor himself, is at her bedside every moment that he’s not caring for his own patients.

Kendrah’s story has been inspiring to read, and she’s made great strides considering she was not expected to live, much less recover. But the other day her husband wrote that in spite of her physical victories, Kendrah is struggling spiritually. He teased her one day as she was working on her walking exercises: “Come on, have a little faith”, and she snapped right back: “I have no faith…it’s all used up.”

Most weeks, I would have read this and stopped to say a prayer for Kendrah myself. I might have written her an encouraging note, reminding her how God is with her in her struggles, how Jesus knows her pain, and how the Holy Spirit gives us strength beyond measure. 

But this week, her words “I have no faith—it’s all used up” hit too close to home for me. Our faith has surely been tested here at Bethany the last few months. There has been too much sadness, too many funerals, too much cancer, too many young people, gone too soon.

Monday morning I called the Kearns family to let them know I was thinking of them on what would have been Jennifer’s 20^th birthday. And then Monday night, barely 12 hours later, I was in the hospital watching a strong, handsome 18 year old young man lie in a bed that could barely hold his 6 foot 1 inch frame, as a machine breathed for him. I prayed and read Scripture with Connor’s mom and dad, but I could hardly believe it was happening again. Another young life cut short senselessly. Inside, I was crying out: “Why, God?” What is the purpose of so much suffering? How much can one family, one congregation, one community take? How much can one pastor take, for that matter? In the words of Psalm 13:

“How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?  How long will you hide your face from me? How long must I bear pain in my soul, and have sorrow in my heart all day long?”

If you came to church today so your pastor could tell you all the answers or explain why this had to happen, I’m afraid you’ll be going home disappointed. I have at least as many questions as you. Here are a few that may sound familiar:

Why do young people die? 

Why should any mother or father have to bury a child?

Why do 8 year old girls get brain tumors?

Why do talented teachers get Parkinson’s and lose the ability to speak?

Why don’t we have a vaccine for cancer or a cure for mental illness?

Most of all, this week, I would like to know: Where were you, God, when Connor was in the water on Monday? 

Believe it or not, seminary didn’t provide me with all these answers. 

As I sat vigil with Jan and Brian at Connor’s bedside this week, I  knew I didn’t possess any good answers or magic prayers. But I did have time, and a Bible—and so I turned to Scripture.

The readings we heard this morning are a few that spoke to me this week, and I hope they might speak to you, too, as we struggle through this grief together.

The first verses I came across were from Isaiah, chapter 43: 

“But now thus says the Lord, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Saviour.” 

At first, these verses hit me like a ton of bricks. I wanted to throw them back in God’s face to say: “But, wait! When Connor passed through the waters, they did overwhelm him! Where were you!”

But then I went back to read the first part again: “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you. I have called you by name, you are mine.” 

Before Connor was ever in the Fox River, he passed through other waters. Connor was baptized in water right here at Bethany. His mom and dad brought him to this very font when he was 2 years old, and it was there that he heard the words, “Connor Nelson, you are baptized in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” And then, as a cross was traced on his forehead he heard the words, “Connor Nelson, child of God, you have been sealed by the Holy Spirit and marked with the cross of Christ forever.”  

In baptism, God called Connor by name. From that day forward, he belonged to Christ. Our faith teaches us that our baptism gives us our identity. It is a great comfort to me to know that no matter what the newspaper headlines say, Connor will never be the “Crystal Lake man pulled from river”, but he is and always will be “Connor Nelson Priesz, child of God.” 

Another Scripture passage that jumped out at me this week is from a rarely-read book of the Bible, the Song of Solomon. This entire book is basically a long love letter, often interpreted as being about the love God has for humankind. From Song of Solomon, chapter 8: 

“Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm; for love is strong as death, passion fierce as the grave. Its flashes are flashes of fire, a raging flame. Many waters cannot quench love, neither can floods drown it.” 

“Many waters cannot quench love.” This is most certainly true of the love Connor’s mom and dad had for their son. Jan barely left his side for three days, and Brian’s tenderly written eulogy in yesterday’s service speaks volumes about his love for his son. But this love letter from the Song of Solomon isn’t about parental love—it’s about God’s divine love for us. “Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm” says God. In other words: Stick with me. You can even tattoo my name on your arm—because my love isn’t going anywhere. These verses call to mind the words of Romans 8, which proclaim that “neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” 

These verses may not explain why the waters overwhelmed Connor that day, but they do reassure me he wasn’t there alone, and God’s love for us is bigger than any river. 

Finally, you heard the story of the raising of Lazarus this morning. It might seem strange for us to hear the story of a man who was raised from the dead by Jesus, when we are grieving the fact that our prayers for healing went unanswered this week. 

And yet, this story has a few things to say to this situation. 

Verse 21 says that even Mary cried out in anger: “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died!” It is good to know that our anger, our confusion, and even our lack of faith can be laid at Jesus’ feet. 

But it is perhaps even greater comfort to read verse 35 (every Confirmation student’s favorite memorization verse): “Jesus wept.”

Jesus, the son of God, our Lord and Savior, cried real tears at the death of his friend. This fact assures me that we don’t have to approach death with a holier-than-thou, everything will be fine, “It’s ok, he’s with Jesus” attitude. Jesus wept, and so can we.

After turning to Scripture this week, I also turned to my seminary preaching professor, Dr. Craig Satterlee, for some guidance and prayer. I posed the same questions to him: Why? Where was God on Monday? Was God in the water with Connor? 

And this is what he said (via Facebook chat, as I sat in the ICU):

“Jesus was in the water with Connor. "God" is too impersonal for me. Jesus was drowning with Connor. St. Ambrose says Jesus is buried with us, whether we are buried in water or dirt. And Jesus will raise Connor to new life. That Jesus did not do so on Monday is beyond comprehension. So we can only raise our fists to God, who loves us enough to receive our outrage. And we can dare to trust God to raise us from this death to new life. But it comes slowly and takes a long time.”

My only response—after a few tears—was to write to Dr. Satterlee: “Thank you.” Thank you for preaching to me. Thank you for having faith for me when mine was being tested. And thank you for giving me the strength to continue this walk with Connor’s family, and with Bethany, my church family. 

Sisters and brothers, I give thanks to God for each of you, and for the opportunity we have to walk together in our grief, to hold one another in prayer, and to serve the God who has called us each by name, and who never lets us go. Amen.