St. Thomas Evangelical Lutheran Church
3800 East Third Street
Bloomington, Indiana 47401
(812) 332-5252
Sermon for the Thirteenth Sunday After Pentecost (August 10, 2008)
Liturgical Color: Green
Reverend Doctor Lyle E. McKee
The Power of Calm
Grace to you and peace from our loving God, and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.
Well, Jesus finally gets his time alone. After the interruptions of the crowd that led to Jesus' compassion, healings, and the feeding of the multitude (the gospel for last Sunday) Jesus takes more seriously his own need to grieve the loss of his cousin, John and to gain strength for the trials to come. So, "he made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead to the other side, while he dismissed the crowds. Then he went up the mountain by himself to pray."
Even Jesus has his human limits. He would not let his own needs take precedence over those of others; but neither could he totally disregard his personal well-being. When the needs of the crowds and the disciples are met, he dismisses them so that he can go to pray, grieve, and think.
Again, however, the unforeseen calls him back to service, though this time not before he has several hours alone. The disciples spend the night on the Sea of Galilee, and a terrible storm arises. They were fishermen by trade, so they had certainly experienced many such storms; but when the storm shows no signs of letting up, it gets the better of them. It reminds us that the same is true of us. Sometimes our fears get the best of us. We can feel with the disciples as they fear for their lives, and then see Jesus across the water.
Minds experiencing fear can move into panic. This must have been the case for the disciples, because they don't recognize their Lord and cry out in fear, "It is a ghost!" Then Jesus lets them know who it is and reassures them: "Take heart, it is I, do not be afraid."
This story is one with which the early church could readily identify; so, perhaps can we. The early church was surprised by many storms of persecution and set-back; they no doubt experienced life as uncertain and unsteady, like a ship in a storm. When they call out, "It is a ghost!" they speak for us as well. We too live among churches battered by the winds of change. We too offer frequent comment about how bad things are. We too call out in fear and a sense of abandonment.
This story is one with which the early church could readily identify; so, perhaps can we. The early church was surprised by many storms of persecution and set-back; they no doubt experienced life as uncertain and unsteady, like a ship in a storm. When they call out, "It is a ghost!" they speak for us as well. We too live among churches battered by the winds of change. We too offer frequent comment about how bad things are. We too call out in fear and a sense of abandonment—all in the search of that which will make us whole. Nothing, however, fully satisfies that deepest longing of the human heart—nothing except the loving presence of God.
In today's Old Testament lesson, Elijah experiences loneliness—even though he is a spokesman for the Lord. He demonstrated the superiority of Yahweh over Baal and the prophets of Baal. He experienced a moment of communion with God and personal glory that is rare indeed. And yet in the verses read this morning, he cowers in a cave, fearing the wrath of Jezebel, and feeling very much alone. "I alone am left;" he tells God. "Nobody likes me, everybody hates me."
Paul too, in his letter to the Romans, expresses the anguish of being alone in his struggle to maintain ties with his Jewish brothers and sisters. He and his fellow Christians have been persecuted, the details of which he gives in chapter 8. The misunderstandings between his Jewish friends and Christians, both of whom he loves, give him great pain and a profound sense of being alone.
The disciples, crying out for Jesus as they fear for their lives in a sinking boat, feel that same sense of abandonment and insecurity. And Peter lives that dread emotion in total isolation as he first walks out on the water in faith and then falters.
I came across a poem that expresses our common lot of fear and loneliness from the perspective of an elderly woman:
Minnie Remembers
God, my hands are old.
I've never said that out loud before, but they are.
I was so proud of them once.
They were soft like the velvet smoothness of a firm ripe peach.
Now the softness is like worn-out sheets or withered leaves.
When did these slender, graceful hands become gnarled, shrunken?
When, God?
They lie here in my lap; naked reminders of the rest of this old body that
has served me too well.
How long has it been since someone touched me?
Twenty years? Twenty years I've been a widow.
Respected. Smiled at. But never touched.
Never held close to another body.
Never held so close and warm that loneliness was blotted out.
I remember how my Mother used to hold me, God.
When I was hurt in spirit or flesh she would gather me close.
Stroke my hair and caress my back with her warm hands.
Oh, God, I'm so lonely!
I remember the first boy who ever kissed me.
We were both so new at that.
The taste of young lips and popcorn.
The feeling deep inside of mysteries to come.
I remember Hank and the babies.
How can I remember them but together?
Out of the fumbling, awkward attempt of new lovers came the babies.
And as they grew, so did our love.
And, God, Hank didn't seem to care if my body thickened and faded a little.
He still loved it, and touched it.
And we didn't mind if we were no longer "beautiful."
And the children hugged me a lot.
Oh, God, I'm lonely!
Why didn't we raise the kids to be silly and affectionate as well as
dignified and proper?
You see, they do their duty.
They drive up in their fine cars.
They come to my room to pay their respects.
They chatter brightly and reminisce.
But they don't touch me.
They call me "Mom" or "Mother" or "Grandma." Never Minnie.
My mother called me Minnie, too. But they're gone.
And so is Minnie.
Only Grandma is here.
And, God! She's lonely!
-Donna Swanson-
I admit it's a bit depressing, but what I like especially about that poem is that it contains within it the answer to the question it asks: Where can we find an answer to loneliness? Notice that Minnie consistently addresses God. It's more than a statement of loneliness. It's a prayer to God expressing the pain of loneliness and fear, and it therefore meets the need that it expresses. God is always there; the power of God's presence is our comfort.
Another aspect of Minnie's prayer that I like is its simple honesty. There is no exaggeration and nothing is over-dramatized. There is a quiet understanding that pervades Minnie's words of prayer.
That's an understanding that Elijah came to only slowly. It wasn't in the great wind or in the earthquake or in the fire that God chose to appear to Elijah. It was, rather, in a sound of sheer silence. We look to the spectacular; God comes in the commonplace. Mary Magdalene didn't recognize Jesus at the tomb; perhaps she expected something more dramatic. The disciples on the road to Emmaus too were slow to see that it was Jesus who walked with them and warmed their needy and lonely and fearful hearts. Here on the Sea of Galilee they fail to recognize their Lord.
Minnie knew the presence of God in her quiet and painful prayer. God is always there. We are never alone. Not if we are open to the calm, quiet, persuasive voice of the One who knows us as does no other.
Part of the great good news this morning for each of us and for the mission of the church in the world today, is that our Lord's presence, power, and persistence are both surprising and more than sufficient for our need. We are not alone. We need not fear. Our Lord is the center of calm in the cyclone of chaos.
Peter watched as Jesus walked across the water. Peter said to Jesus, "Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water." Faith was beginning to stir in Simon Peter. He was starting to believe that he could do the things Jesus called him to do, and he was even willing to step out of this boat in the midst of a storm. All Jesus said was "Come," and Peter took that first step. Only when he began to concentrate on the wind and not on his Lord did he begin to falter. And even then, Jesus is there, reaching out his hand to catch him and to instill faith.
The story ends, remember, with a confession, "Truly you are the Son of God." If we forget that the story is one that is meant to instill and inspire faith, we have missed its point.
This faith involves little steps, faltering and uncertain steps, but faithful ones. Without the presence of Jesus, Peter would never have been so foolish as to venture out of the security, limited though it was, of the boat. But at the speaking of a single word, "Come," Peter is able to venture forth.
Faith involves our venturing out and doing things we never dreamed of, placing our trust in the power of our Lord. Faith is not simply a passive trusting that God will come to us when we are down and out, though that is part of this morning's message. Faith is much more; it is an active process of living a vital, full life-going places we would never go, loving people we would never love, living life to the fullest because of our relationship to our Lord Jesus Christ.
Peter steps out in faith. There are times when we are called to risk for the sake of our faith as well. It may be in church work: teaching Sunday School or working with youth or serving on the Council or a committee. It may also be in the work of the church: calling poor ethical and moral judgments of our businesses and government to task or being faithful to our understandings of God in the midst of office controversy or developing relationships with people far away. The chief message here is that we need to maintain our focus, not on ourselves or on the winds that swirl about us, but on our Lord.
God's power is complete; God's compassion is sure. God will not abandon us. Amen.
The peace of God, which passes all understanding, keep our hearts and minds through faith in Christ Jesus our Lord unto eternal life. Amen.
