I hardly
know where to begin. And I am uncertain about
what needs to be said. As all of the cancellations
began to be announced, we realized there may come a time to talk about Sunday worship. But it still came upon us swiftly and left us
dizzy with a whirlwind of variables to hold in tension and factors to consider.
In the
end, some of us decided that regardless of the ways in which it could prove to
be a bad decision it was important that the Sunday morning ritual of prayers
being carried to the altar needed to be maintained. Regardless of how many were gathered in this
room at this time - all of us would know that God’s Word was being heard and
God’s presence was being sought and God’s assurances are being received. And I want to promise you that this will continue
to be the case. In this place, in this
room, and before this altar God’s name will be invoked and the petitions of
this congregation will be offered week after week after week. And even if it is only one or two who gather,
every one of you will be showered with prayer.
In the
end, some of us voiced our desire to take the associated risk in order that we
could be together. We did not want to
face this alone and we did not want to feel isolated from one another in the
face of these frightening times. This is
in no way a judgement of those who made the wise decision to stay away. It is merely another layer of the confidence that
something larger is going on in this place and at this hour and that is why we
chose to gather. The prayers we offer
this morning are our assurance that God is with us and when God is with us
there is none who can oppose us. I needed
to be here, in this place, this morning.
And I know that you felt the same and that is why you are here.
We will be
wise, and we will be careful, and we will exercise extreme caution. But we will also boldly proclaim that there
is something more powerful than any virus.
That something is what drew us to this place the very first time we came,
and it is what has brought us back to this place today.
You can
put your own words to it. Choose the
language which best expresses what it is that draws you and drives you. I have already hinted at the three which
resonate in my life. There is ritual, and
community, and a hope rooted in shared decisions.
I am concerned,
and I am worried. The extent of this
thing is impossible to judge, and we are all praying that the warnings are a distant
cry from what becomes. I am concerned
and I am worried, but I come to this place in order to build that wall which
will not let fear gain access. Fear is
that emotion which erodes us of the ability to see hope and promise. The opposite of faith is not disbelief, it is
fear. My faith will not allow me to be
fearful. My concern and my worry will
not become a faith-robing fear.
I am worried
of what might happen as COVID-19 continues to spread. I am concerned at the possibility of
deaths. But my prayers assure me there
is no reason to fear. Death has no hold
on me. And it is no threat to any of
you.
There is
no way for any of us to know how this whole thing will play out. But there is no doubt that the ancient rituals
of God’s people will provide a light for us amid even the darkest of nights.
There
will likely come a day when my confidence will start to slip away. On that day, I know that one of you will be
there to lift my drooping eyes. There will
come a day when you might suffer anxiety and worry. On that day, it will be my turn to remind you
of what you know and where you find your confidence. We do not know the path by which God will
lead us through, but we know that God will do so. The community gathered around the cross becomes
the assurance that what we seek has already come.
I kept looking
over the appointed lessons for today, and I did not forget that we were supposed
to talk this morning about the deadly sin of wrath. But the passage which emerged in my time of quiet
was Psalm 23.
Here, I
prefer the older translations to the more recent. The version I memorized as a child translated
the 4th verse this way: “Though
I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.” One of my seminary mentors noted that the
psalm does not talk about “the valley of death”, it speaks of “the valley of
the shadow of death.” Death
is not as disruptive as the shadow which death casts over our lives. We cease to live when that shadow overtakes
us. And that shadow robs us of something
more precious than death is capable of taking.
We are of
all persons to be most pitted when we allow the fear of death to rob us of life. We are lost, when our days are void of any
meaning other than to keep death at bay. The question of whether our lives has meaning is
more essential that how long our life will last.
The ancient
promises will be spoken in this place by those who have joined their lives to
ours. This community will take on the
worries and anxieties of each of its members and this community will apply the
salve needed to erase our fear. Together,
we will navigate whatever may come. And with
God’s support we will endure whatever we must.
Amen.
No comments:
Post a Comment