Sermon September 16, 2012

Jeremiah 4:23–28

Psalm 19:1–6

Philippians 2:14–18

Mark 15:33–39

“Telling the Glory of God”

Sometimes when I look out into this world where we all live, I see with eyes like Jeremiah. I see nothing but destruction, waste, sorrow, the ruins of great ideas and ideals. And it's heartbreaking. Yet, like Jeremiah, I also hear something else, just a glimmer, just a spark, just the sure and certain, but unseen hope, the voice of God saying quietly but with certainty, “I will not make a full end.” The voice of God, which may come to us from any number of places saying, “It will be okay in the end. If it's not okay, it's not the end.”

And I want to say this morning that death is not the not okay part. Hopelessness, despair, loss of purpose—that's the not okay part. Death is a part of the lives that we lead, a part of our existence as human beings. Loss of hope and purpose are what need to be healed, so that when we know death it is not the enemy.

To be okay in the end, in one way of thinking, that we have serenity with everything that comes along. It is to know that salvation comes, though it may come when we are unaware of it or unable to acknowledge it.

In the way of prophets, Jeremiah saw a world, a culture and society that had become blind to the purpose which God had brought it into being. They were lost because they forgot who God called them to be, who God continuously recreated them to be. Though their lives developed, changing generation to generation, they were still called to reflect and to somehow bear witness to God and to their own identity as God's own people.

In the beginnings of God's relationship with the people who would become Israel, God began to speak with their ancestor Abraham. God simply made Abraham a promise that he and Sarah's descendants would fulfill a promise that God made—those children and children's children, those generations of peoples would live and carry on the stories of faith, the stories of God walking with him and the nations who came from him.

And from the beginning, there was an affirmation that when in harmony with human action God's creation would be a source of support and provide resources for life. However, from almost the same beginning, there was also a very clear warning that disharmony would mean that humanity had made itself an enemy to God's creation and experience that enmity, that hostility in many ways. That disharmony, in the earliest stories meant wasteful, violent or ungrateful death of any living thing or the murder and selfish corruption that led to Cain's exile and the flood in Genesis.

There was an understanding that the actions of human beings—and in our scriptures particularly, the actions of God's people, Israel had a direct effect on the living things around them. In other words, what they did effected everyone and everything that surrounded them. The rocks and hills, the land and sky, the birds and animals, the plants and soils and the cities and town suffered the consequences of their words, actions and the choices that they made in relationship to one another as neighbors and between enemies as well.

I would risk saying that that is true for us as well. The words, actions and choices we make result in changes for the rest of the world in some way, shape or form. While we don't need to be paralyzed by that knowledge, it is an important truth to take into account whenever we consider our lives.

Our relationships extend beyond those of whom we are conscious. Whether we like it or not or even realize it, whatever we buy, drive, eat or drink has an effect on life everywhere. And what others buy, drive, eat or drink changes our lives as well. We all share the same sky, the same atmosphere. The air that we breathe connects us.

This week has been a difficult week for us as a particular community, as a congregation. a very active member of the church just a few years ago, died after several years in the nursing home following a stroke. And Judy, who we are glad to know is (back or doing well) suffered a heart attack moving us to pray for her recover and for her loved ones, moving us to anxiety at her condition. In these nearby relationships, there have been troubles and sorrows.

And around the world has been in turmoil as well—which is not that unusual, but this week, we in the United States were effected more specifically by the violence. An ambassador and 3 others were killed in Libya when armed gunman took over a protest about a film insulting the prophet Mohammad. This week is also, of course, the painful anniversary of terrorist attacks on the World Trade Centers and the Pentagon and the plane that passengers prevented from reaching the U.S. Capital.

It's been an emotional week. For a while, in these circumstances, we certainly need to care for physical ills and emotional pain and sorrow. We need to take time for healing and caring for those close to us. Yet we can't stay that way, focusing only upon ourselves and looking only to our own pain and suffering.

It is one of those times that can make us want to stay focused only on self and self-interest. Yet it is this time that we are called to remember who we are in our faith and as a nation—which are often two different things. How is it that we remember who we are?

Every Sunday, we gather around this table and remember. We remember that Jesus taught his disciples about generosity and humility by following God's will even though it led him to death. We remember the moment in the gospel reading this morning when Jesus' expressed his own pain and sorrow on the cross. We remember that, in the days following the resurrection, Jesus came into the disciples' lives and revealed that life would not be conquered by death, not forever.

Jeremiah’s words of warning, his dire vision was true; it was real, plain as the nose on his face. His country had been destroyed, the beautiful city of Jerusalem had been brought to ruins for the most part. The temple had been destroyed. The most educated and most valuable people carried off to exile along with many others. The fields burned; orchards and vineyards destroyed and so birds and other animals were gone. He saw earthquakes, too. He saw no sky, perhaps days of lingering smoke, hiding the skies. The air and sky suffer, too, in the consequences of wartime.

Yet, even in this most dire warning; even when the word of the Lord has been ignored, there is some hope. Though the land was made desolate, God said, “I will not make a full end.” The land and the sky would mourn, and as long as there was someone left to mourn, there is hope.

I know that sounds odd, but as long as someone could mourn—even if it was earth and sky, then all was not lost. Because if there was a mourner, there could be one who began to rejoice. There could be one who, in the words of today's psalm tells, “the glory of God;” and one who “proclaims God's handiwork.” As long as the earth exists; as long as the skies remain, the atmosphere clings to this place despite our actions, there is hope for life itself. The sky bore witness to the desolation, and the sky also bore witness to the glory of God.

And the sky provides hope and life for all living things; the atmosphere of this planet unites all living things, all people, all plants, all bacteria—everything that lives. We can celebrate and realize our unity as people because if nothing else, the air we breathe unites us. And we can be ethical people just knowing this, just understanding that this one thing brings us together. Even without God, we might be able to move toward better relationship with one another and with living things, but belief in God helps. Faith and faithful religious practice instills values important to society and provides a unique sense of hope in the face of death.

In faith, in our particular faith in Christ, we have the hope of resurrection in the face of death—though we are often called upon to realize that we have to walk through death to get to that kind of life. We must be transformed by profound, immense, earth-shaking events to achieve the life that Christ offers. So we can realize that mourning loss is never the end. The end is life—if it's not okay, it's not the end.

When we face the effects of our actions on this planet, in hope, we can know that there is another tomorrow. As long as we have a planet to live on, we are called to make it a nurturing place to live for all living things. With the hope of resurrection within us, we can realize that we have hope in a God of transformation, nurture and growth. We have hope in Christ who followed the way of life that God offered him, even though it led to his death. We can know that sacrificing something often leads to transformation beyond the sacrifice.

Changing our lifestyles to better the earth and sky around us would mean some sacrifice and transformation in this world—in the economic system in which we live. As we learn and grow more into the wisdom and knowledge of how our choices affect the environment, we can choose transformation instead of giving in to death.

In the way of Christ, there is a difference between giving up, surrender to the powers that be and giving in to the purpose for which God calls us, even if that means loss. Jesus didn't surrender who he was when he was arrested. In our scriptures, he didn't allow the Romans or the Jewish leaders to define him in their terms. He insisted on defining himself as God had define him, as God had created him. He still died on a cross, that was inevitable, but he died after living from beginning to end as God's messiah, as God's suffering servant, as God's teacher of wisdom and healer of disease, as God's weapon against evil and never gave into the evil that power often becomes.

In the way of Christ, as Christians, we can see the whole of who Jesus had been in his focus on caring for others, as he healed the sick and cast out evil. We can realize that Jesus nurtured people in the midst of celebration like feasts and weddings and in the midst of mourning when people were sick and died. He taught and urged connections between people and life in all situations.

When it seems as if the birds have fled and the land is desolate, when sorrow seems to salt the fields with tears and mourning, we can remember that joy will return to the land. Joy will return, sometimes as we begin to recognize it in others—even in the blue skies, the green trees, the blooming flowers—and we can have hope. We can tell the glory of God as we see it, as we hear it in the skies, proclaim the goodness of God, the good news of God without words, but proclaiming to to all the earth, to the end of the world. Amen.