What Burden Then?

What Burden Then?

A sermon delivered by Rev. Peter T. Atkinson

September 18, 2016

at Gordonsville Presbyterian Church, Gordonsville, Virginia

Luke 17:5-17

Let us pray,

Help us to see despite our eyes

Help us to think outside of our minds

Help us to be more than our lives   

For your eyes show the way

    Your mind knows the truth

    Your being is the life.

Amen.

⁵ The apostles said to the Lord, “Increase our faith!” ⁶ And the Lord said, “If you had faith as a grain of mustard seed, you could say to this sycamore tree, ‘Be rooted up, and be planted in the sea,’ and it would obey you.

⁷ “Will any one of you, who has a servant plowing or keeping sheep, say to him when he has come in from the field, ‘Come at once and sit down at table’? ⁸ Will he not rather say to him, ‘Prepare supper for me, and gird yourself and serve me, till I eat and drink; and afterward you shall eat and drink’? ⁹ Does he thank the servant because he did what was commanded? ¹⁰ So you also, when you have done all that is commanded you, say, ‘We are unworthy servants; we have only done what was our duty.’”

¹¹ On the way to Jerusalem he was passing along between Samaria and Galilee. ¹² And as he entered a village, he was met by ten lepers, who stood at a distance ¹³ and lifted up their voices and said, “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us.” ¹⁴ When he saw them he said to them, “Go and show yourselves to the priests.” And as they went they were cleansed. ¹⁵ Then one of them, when he saw that he was healed, turned back, praising God with a loud voice; ¹⁶ and he fell on his face at Jesus’ feet, giving him thanks. Now he was a Samaritan. ¹⁷ Then said Jesus, “Were not ten cleansed? Where are the nine?

Last week in my sermon I talked about gratitude, that in the darkness, when we are faced with darkness, we find ourselves to be most grateful for the light. . . and that the other response is humility. The darkness when it falls brings us to our knees, and we remember how much in need we are, but other times, when everything seems to be going right, and we feel like we’ve got it made and are invincible, and blessed, and strong, how often we forget. We forget our need, and we forget to be thankful. . . it is no longer priority one, but somewhere down the list. I know that nothing gets me to my knees in prayer like a sleepless night of worry, but when things are going well, and sleep comes fast. . . how often do I forget to pray? Are you like that? Why is that?

About a month back, when I preached my sermon from the Macbeth speech, I refound a video that I had first watched about year ago. I told some of you about it in conversation following that service that day. It was a contest show, for fun, a debate, a challenge between two scholars, one for Shakespeare, and one for John Milton. . . the debate was, who is the best writer in the English Language, who is the best English Poet. Shakespeare was the great favorite, and Milton the greatly overshadowed underdog. . . the way it worked is, that the scholars would make their arguments, and then they would set up actors, to act out scenes. . . or read lines from Milton’s Paradise Lost, to dramatize and make their points. It was great for nerds like me, but even if you weren’t going to be captivated by the debate itself, you could get blown away by the actors. . . they were so good. And it was interesting hearing Paradise Lost, which is not a play but an epic poem read by actors, as if it were a play. . . and it surprisingly lends itself well to it, because like a play the characters of Paradise Lost, give long speeches, very much reminiscent of Shakespeare. I found myself hearing passages take on new life for me, like I was hearing them for the first time, where epic poetry can drag on, even for a fan of language like me, these actors were bringing them to life. One of the ones they did was this speech given by Satan. . . and I wanted to use it this morning to help us see this morning’s scriptural passages on gratitude in a new slant of light.

Perhaps the brilliance of Paradise Lost, what separates it from other works, is that Milton seeks to get into the head of Satan, who he follows some of the extrabiblical mythology, characterizing him as the fallen Angel Lucifer. . . Milton unlike other poets, like say Dante, who renders the devil mute, Milton tries to get inside the mind of the fallen angel, and he does so quite interestingly. Satan feels hatred of course, but also within that hatred is an intense feeling of regret. . . and the regret almost is worthy of pity, for perhaps a second, before he falls back into the intense hatred that he completely embodies and represents. There is regret there, but it is only fleeting because he will make the same choice again. . . he has become so embittered and hatefilled, fueled by his rebellion. . . like Dante’s devil imprisoned by pride in the bottom pit of Hell. . . the wind from his flapping wings freezes the water that he is frozen in, that if he could bring himself to stop flapping his wings, the lake would thaw and he could escape, but such humility could not come. . . Milton gives Satan the same personality, but goes beyond situational metaphor to communicate it, instead putting it into words, like a Shakespearean soliloquy. . .

I will read the speech. . . listen for the points that he makes. . . listen for the regret. . .but also listen for the hatred. . . the blame game. . . the comparisons that he makes to the other unfallen angels. . . he remains innocent in his own eyes. . . well maybe not innocent, but at least fueled by hatred towards self justification. . . he feels justified in what he has done. . . God is to blame. . . of course:

O thou that with surpassing Glory crownd,
Look'st from thy sole Dominion like the God
Of this new World; at whose sight all the Starrs
Hide thir diminisht heads; to thee I call, [ 35 ]
But with no friendly voice, and add thy name
O Sun, to tell thee how I hate thy beams
That bring to my remembrance from what state
I fell, how glorious once above thy Spheare;
Till Pride and worse Ambition threw me down [ 40 ]
Warring in Heav'n against Heav'ns matchless King:
Ah wherefore! he deservd no such return
From me, whom he created what I was
In that bright eminence, and with his good
Upbraided none; nor was his service hard. [ 45 ]
What could be less then to afford him praise,
The easiest recompence, and pay him thanks,
How due! yet all his good prov'd ill in me,
And wrought but malice; lifted up so high
I sdeind subjection, and thought one step higher [ 50 ]
Would set me highest, and in a moment quit
The debt immense of endless gratitude,
So burthensome, still paying, still to ow;
Forgetful what from him I still receivd,
And understood not that a grateful mind [ 55 ]
By owing owes not, but still pays, at once
Indebted and dischargd; what burden then?
O had his powerful Destiny ordaind
Me some inferiour Angel, I had stood
Then happie; no unbounded hope had rais'd [ 60 ]
Ambition. Yet why not? som other Power
As great might have aspir'd, and me though mean
Drawn to his part; but other Powers as great
Fell not, but stand unshak'n, from within
Or from without, to all temptations arm'd. [ 65 ]
Hadst thou the same free Will and Power to stand?

The speech goes longer, but I think you get the picture. . . here he stands. . . fallen.. . sworn to be an enemy to God, and what reason does he give? Pride? Ambition? He says that he grew tired of paying his debt to God. . . and what was that debt. . .eternal. . . endless. .  . limitless. . . unceasing gratitude. . . a simple debt. . . to simply be thankful for what he had been given. And Lucifer, according to the story was given everything. . . beauty, strength, power, the highest of all the angels. . . and yet so fell. . . the beauty of Milton, is that we can see a thought pattern here, and a pattern not for angelic sin, but for human sin. . . we can see our own debt in his. . . gratitude, for we too have been given the world. . . our lives, our very breath, gifts and blessings too limitless to name, for which our debt is to be grateful. . . and endlessly so. But are we grateful. . . are we always, or is that too great a burden for us to bear. . . Milton’s character even lets us know something about the gratitude that we owe to God. . . that it truly is no burden at all because the law of love itself forgives us this burden. .. . he says that a “grateful mind by owing owes not, but still pays, at once indebted and discharged, what burden then?” He seems to be saying that when you feel gratitude it doesn’t feel like a burden, but a regenerative balance, where the gift and the payment is all one and the same. . . but it is so easy to fall out of that cycle of regeneration.

Look at where he goes next, after saying this. . . he says. . . O had his powerful Destiny ordained me some inferior angel, I had stood then happy.” If I wasn’t so great then I wouldn’t have rebelled. . . what a tremendous statement of pride right. . . If I wasn’t so marvelous then I never would have rebelled. . . but how true is that. . . how human is that. . . we get in this human life a false sense of greatness. . . our responsibilities. . . our gifts. . . tremendous as they are. . . rather than feeling blessed by them. . . we see them as a burden. . . we think of the phrase. . . to whom much is given much is expected. . . and we don’t wish to rise to it. We wonder, couldn’t I be just blessed a little bit less? Again just a little feeling of this removes us from that gratitude cycle of giving and receiving without burden. And finally he wonders how those other angels didn’t fall. . . thinking they must not have been given the same freedom of will he was. . . he can barely even understand how those who are still in the fold could have stayed. . . from this point the speech goes on an increasingly downward spiral. . . to where this statement that started with him saying that God didn’t deserve his rebellion, his hatred. . . this God who had done nothing but bless him. . . that is where he started, but he eventually goes to a place where he says “I am Hell” I am the embodiment of the separation and punishment I feel. . . and then his hatred grows, and he again vows to continue to do evil against God and His creation.

We can learn a lot here about the downward spiral of sin. . . and we see here how the lack of gratitude seems to be an important root, an important beginning to the downward spiral. Lack of gratitude certainly seems to be the beginning of all of the bad that comes. And I look at my life, and I look at the world around me, and I see a lot of wisdom here being spoken from the mouth of Satan, because this isn’t the serpent Satan yet, and this isn’t the tempter Satan. He isn’t trying to fool anyone, other than himself, really, and watching him try to fool himself is quite revealing. . . so we can glean much here for ourselves. Again Milton is showing us the depths of human depravity, and how it can start. . . a simple debt. . . a burden placed and removed instantly. . . it reminds me of Abraham walking up that mountain with Isaac and now lamb. . . the willingness is all. . . and faith removes the price . . . instantly. Gratitude. . . it seems like a small price to pay. . . even if it wasn’t repaid immediately. . . what makes it hard?

Look at the gospel lesson for today. . . chapter 17 begins with Jesus saying, “temptations to sin are sure to come, but woe to him by whom they come. . .” and the whole deal about the mill stone around his neck. . . cast into sin. . . by leading others astray. I thought that was apropos for Satan’s speech, but it goes on, and Jesus is talking to the disciples and the Pharisees gathered it seems at the same time. Both burdened with the blessing of leadership. . . right. . . elites. . . remember the Pharisee who said, thank you for making me not a sinner like that other guy, the tax collector. . . yes that comes in the next chapter. . . and in the previous chapter. . . you have the importance of the teachings of the law and the prophets. . . as well as the parable of the dishonest manager. . . so we are here in the midst of the great parables of Jesus. . . hard hitting and harsh to his biggest critics, the Pharisees. . . but here in this chapter we see the apostles asking for increased faith, and Jesus says, oh but with only the faith of a mustardseed. . . but right on the heels of that he tells them a parable about servants and masters. . . and how the servants do what the masters ask and should not be given any thanks. . . of course not right. . . who should be praised for stuff they are supposed to do. . . . no, no extra praise right. . . interesting. What does Jesus mean by this? Why are all these teachings here together? What does increasing faith. . . mustard seeds. . . and servants doing what they are supposed to do without thanks. . . have to do with each other?

And then we get to it. . . Jesus is walking and passes 10 lepers. . . he is on the border of Samaria and Judah. . . and he heals the lepers, sending them all away, saying go show yourselves to the priests, and they are all made clean. . . out of the 10 only 1 comes back. . . Jesus wonders where the other 9 were. . . he says was only 1 willing to come back and give praise to God. . . and the one who comes back is a Samaritan. . . a foreigner. . . an outsider. . . but yet he gives prayer to God. . . why not the others?

It occurred to me while I was reading this that maybe the parable in the middle here should be flipped around. . . that so often we look at this from our own point of view. . . that we are the servants. . . that we should go about our business. . . not expecting praise. . . that we should. . . just give and give without reward. . . that it is something like the Elder brother in the Prodigal Son parable. . . that if we see our devotion to God. . . doing what we are supposed to do as a burden. . . or as he puts it. . . I’ve worked here for you as a slave. . . and you kill the fatted calf for this your son. . . that we shouldn’t be like that. . . and I think that is good teaching, but as I was reading this together, with the speech from Milton on my mind, and looking at all different parts of this chapter and the surrounding chapters in context, I can’t help but wonder if we are the master in our minds and God and Jesus are the servants. . . and we expect Jesus to do what he does. .  . God to do what he does. . . Look at the parable then again that way

⁷ “Will any one of you, who has a servant plowing or keeping sheep

Good Shepherd?

say to him when he has come in from the field, ‘Come at once and sit down at table’?

Do we invite God into our tables. . . our daily lives. . . with grace and thanksgiving. . .?

⁸ Will he not rather say to him, ‘Prepare supper for me, and gird yourself and serve me, till I eat and drink; and afterward you shall eat and drink’?

Demand to be served. . . give me what I want. . . feed me then I will feed you

⁹ Does he thank the servant because he did what was commanded?

Do we thank God or is it just expected?

 ¹⁰ So you also, when you have done all that is commanded you, say, ‘We are unworthy servants; we have only done what was our duty.’”

It’s wild to think about it this way. . . but is this exactly why the 9 lepers do not return. . . did they expect to be healed, and therefore had no reason to say thank you. . . to come back and worship? What is different about the 1. . . a Samaritan. . . an outsider. . . a stranger. . . not living in the expectation of the promises of God, but finding the blessings new to him, overcome with gratitude.

How can we get better at this? Not taking things for granted? Not treating God like our servant, doing what is expected. . . but instead seeing it as the blessing that it truly is. So simple. . . so important! May God give us that grateful heart, Amen.

Gustav Dore - from Paradise Lost

The Light and the Darkness

The Darkness and the Light

A sermon delivered by Rev. Peter T. Atkinson

September 11, 2016

at Gordonsville Presbyterian Church, Gordonsville, Virginia

Genesis 1: 1-5

John 1: 1-5

Here is the audio file of this sermon
https://soundcloud.com/peter-atkinson-17/the-darkness-and-light

Let us pray,

Help us to see despite our eyes

Help us to think outside of our minds

Help us to be more than our lives   

For your eyes show the way

    Your mind knows the truth

    Your being is the life.

Amen.

 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. ² He was in the beginning with God. ³ All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being ⁴ in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. ⁵ The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.

Today’s scripture passages are familiar, and they are the beginnings. The very beginning of the Bible in Genesis, the beginning of creation, the creation of the world, and then the beginning of John’s gospel, which actually takes a step backward, to the moment, if you could call it a moment, before time began, when it was just the Word, the Word and God, the very Word that becomes flesh in the person of Jesus Christ, showing forever the depth and extent of God’s love for His creation, and the complete power and sovereignty of that love over, through and within that creation. In both you have darkness, and then light, God’s light, the light of the world, shining through that darkness. Today I want to share with you, continuing our look into some of the great Christian pieces of literature, I want to share with you, as the literary counterpoint of today, a poem that is very special and personal to me. It is one where seminal events of my life, the formative events in my life are forever connected and shaped to a specific and special memory of this poem. It has taken on new life for me beyond the words, but also including the words because the event I’m going to share with you doesn’t just surround the words of this poem, but is shaped and becomes a living testimony to their truth and brilliance, the very idea that the poem is trying to communicate, is what I felt, and needed. The poem is William Cowper’s “Light Shining Out of Darkness.” Cowper, spelled Cow-per, but pronounced Cooper was born in the 1730’s in England and had a troubled life, filled with depression and anxiety. He actually attempted suicide three times in his life. But he found solace eventually in poetry and in his conversion to a deepened sense of Christianity. His salvation entered into a life that was in great need, and stood as sufficient. Cowper was actually a contemporary and friend of John Newton, writer of Amazing Grace, who also had a late in light conversion to Christianity, and together they inspired each other to write many poems and hymns. This poem, Light Shining Out of Darkness” is one of the most anthologized of Cowper’s poems. Here is is:

God moves in a mysterious way,

His wonders to perform;

He plants his footsteps in the sea,

And rides upon the storm.

Deep in unfathomable mines

Of never-failing skill,

He treasures up his bright designs,

And works his sov'reign will.

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take,

The clouds ye so much dread

Are big with mercy, and shall break

In blessings on your head.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,

But trust him for his grace;

Behind a frowning providence

He hides a smiling face.

His purposes will ripen fast,

Unfolding ev'ry hour;

The bud may have a bitter taste,

But sweet will be the flow'r.

Blind unbelief is sure to err,

And scan his work in vain;

God is his own interpreter,

And he will make it plain.

He captures the unexplainable, unplannable, power that God has to penetrate the darkest moments in our lives and bring a shred of light, a shred that is glowing bright, like a beacon bringing us through the pain, a light to follow, we can find the hope, the silver lining, the faith that though the darkness comes, the light will follow, thought the pain is here, the strength will follow, though doubt and fear and worry cloud our minds, making it hard to see the light, it is truly there, always. It is truly always moving in a mysterious way, but it is always present, and ever in motion, to fast it would seem for us to try and control ourselves. That there is a paradox, between the apparent now, and the invisible future. . . one being hopeless, and difficulty, and the other being full of hope and peace, if faith can lead us forward.

I mentioned earlier that this poem is special to me. Back in 2006 I was in what would be my last year teaching at Christchurch School. I had begun my search for what was going to be next. It had become frightfully clear that it was now time to move on, but to what, and to where. To put someother pieces of the puzzle into focus, let me give you some other biographical checkpoints. It is probably February. . . that Christmas, I headed to church with my parents, who had just moved to Gloucester from where I grew up in Southern Maryland, there new house was about 20 minutes from where I was living and working there at Christchurch. . . It was Christmas Eve, and through the darkened sanctuary, in in the light shining at the organ, I see playing at the organ, this vision. . . is she looking at me? I have to stop staring at her. . . that kind of thing. . . I would over the next few months. . . have near misses with meeting her, including seeing her in the fellowship hall with kids all over her, I was sure they were hers, and so I gave up hope. . . but here we are, and in February, we started a poetry unit with my one senior class. . . I got to teach 4 sections of Juniors, and was given one section of seniors. One of these Seniors, Jake Copeland, I had taught as a Freshman, and also the previous year as a Junior. . . It was one of those great anomalies of scheduling and timing, where I moved up from my teaching of all Freshman classes, to have gotten enough experience to be trusted with upper classmen. So my plan was I was going to assign each of my Seniors a poem that they would write a response to, and to lead the class in discussion. Jake was given this poem, “Light Shining Out of Darkness.” This is February. . . ON March 20th, Jake was missing from my class, he would never enter it again. He had taken the day off. His parents were in Mexico. And he drove his four-wheeler into a tree, killing him instantly.  His memorial service would follow a few days later. I was asked to speak. . . what would I say. . . I was racking my brain. . . I had only done this kind of thing once before, three years ago, when we lost another student who I was really close to. . . and as I was going through my things in my classroom, I found it. Jake’s paper. . . “Light Shining Out of Darkness” an essay on Cowper’s poem, by Jake Copeland. I read it. . . wow. . . how impressive. . . how perfect. . . how beautiful were Jake’s words, his sentiments about greater meanings, and silver linings, and higher plans, and God’s special providence, that loving hand of creation and sovereignty, lovingly in control even in our darkest hours. Well, we are in some dark hours Jake, we miss you. . . can I read his words at his funeral? Because how amazing would it be to hear his words. . . words of hope, words of faith, words of such Theological beauty and timeliness. . . how perfect would it be. . . Oh my God. . . how am I ever going to do this. . . somehow I did. . . and I will never forget it. Nothing has shaped my life since like that did. . . I found, right before I was heading to new possibilities. . . for I had at somepoint in that same time thought about Seminary. . . at least I was thinking about Grad School. . . and Union Seminary was one of the one’s I was looking at, but ministry. . . me. . . no way. . . and here now, again I was given the chance to make a difference in the lives of grieving people. . . I found my own strength in helping others, I found that I somehow had the right words to say, the right chord to strike, the right presence. . . and it was sealed, I was headed to Seminary. . . and I was going to marry that Organ player. . . and just like Jake’s paper said. . . there was an abundance of light shining out of that darkness. . . just like three years earlier when I suffered the darkness of loss, as well. God in his continuous act of creating me. . . said again Let there be Light, thought the night had been quite dark, the dawn now was shining brightly.

I couldn’t help but also see the significance of this poem today. . . today the 15^th anniversary of the 9/11 attacks. . . It was crazy, this week in my class, 9/11 came up, and I was realizing that these kids had never known it. They’d been living in it’s shadow, but they were too young to experience it on this day 15 years ago. . . it was amazing too how fast things have progressed away. . . it seems like just yesterday. . . and just a few years ago, we had a student at Blue Ridge whose father was killed when the towers collapsed, and now the freshmen were not even alive when it happened. Time moves on doesn’t it. . . . That was a dark day for sure. . . It is one of those events that  you remember exactly where you were, the details of the day. . . the questions you asked about the first plane, that were hopelessly answered by the second one. . . darkness. . . to the advent of new questions like how could this happen, how could such atrocity, such violence, such blatant disregard for human life, how could it happen? Who would do such a thing? Who could think up such a thing? But I remember the days following, the months following even. . . the way that people came together, the love that surrounded, the divisions that all seemed to disappear. . . the brotherhood, and patriotism, and care for heroes that it instilled, and fostered within us. It was palpable. . . the question is now what happened?

We were so close, so united. . . how did we get to here? What happened to the light that was shining so bright in that our darkest days? I want to share one of my own poems now, for it gets at this question by painting a picture of it. It’s called Night Lights

When stars shine in darkness,

Sparkling white ‘gainst the night,

It’s a moment often missed,

Or oft times shadowed in the mist.

Too much light can blur that far off twinkle,

Artificial light blinding our eyes

To the natural wonder of created gleaming,

Brighter beaming, but an eternity away,

At least seeming because we cannot control

What we have not made, though we try,

Thinking if we just could, it would be better,

Truly made righteous, made just, for us, by us,

Or at least me. I cannot speak for others.

So many opinions there would be on just

How it should be, what perfect could be,

If we could just agree. Maybe that is why

He, who made the sky, made all things,

All rules, all decisions, for only He knows

The hearts of all, the dreams we all seem

To find in the sky, hidden behind the gleaming

Of our artificial light’s own beaming.

This poem stems from one idea, one natural phenomenon, and that is when our lights, artificial lights, light bulbs, flood lights, street lamps, whatever. . . when our lights are shining we have difficulty seeing the stars. These lights that God hung in the darkness to guide the lost sailors home, the lights that mark the night, glorious, bright burning ball of fire and gas. . . indescribable distances away.. . . can be dimmed by our own lights. . . and what an amazing metaphor for the light shining our of the darkness. . . the light is always there, we just can’t see it. . . it is not until our lights are off, our defenses have been shattered, our plans have been dashed, our trembling grip let’s go, that we can see those stars again. . . that is why the darkness reveals in us what we couldn’t otherwise see. . . because in the darkness we are no longer blinded by the fruits of our labors, clouding our vision of the real power in the universe. . . . now after 15 years, we’ve already become divided. . . distracted. . . polarized. . . people have pressed forward with agendas. . . demagogues have promised safety and security. . . we’ve built systems, we’ve put them in place. . . we. . . we . . . we. . . us . . . us . . . us. . . I . . . I . . . I. . . and where has God gone? Where has our faith gone? How have we let our relationships get broken? Have we become blinded to the light, too rapped up on our own stuff. . . have we built a tower of Babel again, trying to reach heaven on Earth, and now have become scattered, tossed, and lost in the ever blowing wind. . . still blind to the light?

There are two things that we feel in our darkest days, that we sometimes forget about when we are bathing in the light. One is humility, all our machinations, all our thoughts that we could do it on our own are taken away, and we find that we are very much in need—in need of eachother, and in need of God. The other, and perhaps it is born of humility is gratitude. . . for the very thing we need in the darkness, is a little bit of light, and that is the one thing that we get. And because we are not shadowed in our own machinations any more, that we have been humbled to our knees we can see that light, and we can bathe ourselves in the light. And light for us becomes like water for someone in the desert, we crave it we thirst for it, and when it touches our lips we are absolutely thankful for just the most bitter drop. . . so too with the light shining in the darkness. . . somewhere as time goes on, we build ourselves back up, and we lose a little bit of that humility. . . and we stop being thankful.

You see it all the time, any time you see a 9/11 poster, you see the two towers. . . and it says “Never Forget.” Some people would say that Never Forget means to always be vigilant, always prepared, always to be worried, always to be scared. Others may say that Never Forget means we need to hold on to get revenge, to put those who did it to justice. I think Never Forget means, what we need to most remember today and everyday is to be humble and absolutely grateful. I look back on my relationship with Jake, and the days and events of all that, and I am humbled by the care that would send him into my life at that very moment. And on the days when I am frustrated by the minutia and the small, and the details of life that have to do with ministry, and life, and marriage, and I tend to lose sight of the amazing gratitude that I should have. That is what is missing when I’m lost, and that is what’s there, the humility and the gratitude, when I am found.

Let us pray,

Almighty God on this day and everyday, may we look back on our lives and recognize the light that is always shining, the light that is impossible to miss in our darkest days, but somehow hidden from our view when our lights are shining bright, help us not to fear the darkness, but to embrace it as part of your amazing plan, that goes beyond our imagining, the type of plan that would give of your son, to live and experience life in this world, only to be crucified, rejected and sealed in a tomb, only to show us that those things never can be done. In Jesus Christ our Risen Savior’s name, do we pray, Amen.

Mom's Dream

Mom's Dream
For Carla

We came to visit,
With many friends.
There was a line, it seemed,
But everyone had their own
Unique and special moment
Here with Carla.

I didn’t know the others,
But when I stood there
With her arm in arm,
I felt as if there was only she and I,
And we shared this moment,
In peace, and gratitude
For having been given each other.

I don’t know what the others saw.
I only witnessed my turn.
We looked up into sky,
And clouds shown white
In the perfect blue,
Until it all started to spin.

The white exploded with color,
A spiraling kaleidoscope,
More breathtaking than I
Had ever thought
I had the power to imagine:
Colors, dazzling beyond definition.

But yet somehow
There still was white,
And out of the white came
Four angels, just like you’d think,
Like the one in the empty tomb,
Who said, “He is not here! Risen!”

Indeed, I felt peace,
And I hoped as I woke,
That my peace was meant
For more than me,
But that Carla, would be granted
For her remaining time, such peace.

I don’t know what dreams mean.
I don’t know what dreams
May come, when we have
Shuffled off this mortal coil,
But I have been given in this dream a gift
Because God let me feel deeply.

He let me feel the affliction of another,
Deeply as if it were my own,
Not leaving me in despair,
But clothed in abundant hope.
I know the depth of loss,
And I believe it still means peace.

A Borrowing of Misery

A Borrowing of Misery

A sermon delivered by Rev. Peter T. Atkinson

September 4, 2016

at Gordonsville Presbyterian Church, Gordonsville, Virginia

Ecclesiastes 4: 1-12

2 Corinthians 1: 3-7

Let us pray,

Help us to see despite our eyes

Help us to think outside of our minds

Help us to be more than our lives   

For your eyes show the way

    Your mind knows the truth

    Your being is the life.

Amen.

³ Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and the God of all consolation, ⁴ who consoles us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to console those who are in any affliction with the consolation with which we ourselves are consoled by God. ⁵ For just as the sufferings of Christ are abundant for us, so also our consolation is abundant through Christ. ⁶ If we are being afflicted, it is for your consolation and salvation; if we are being consoled, it is for your consolation, which you experience when you patiently endure the same sufferings that we are also suffering. ⁷ Our hope for you is unshaken; for we know that as you share in our sufferings, so also you share in our consolation.

I wanted to put Shakespeare behind us, for football and school are here and that means that the summer is over, and I’m sure that DeAnna and the girls are feeling that way too, as they travel back here this afternoon, having been run from the coast by the hurricane. We had a good run with Willie, and if you can think back to all of the ground that we covered this summer, it has been quite a lot. We were roused by Henry V’s pep talk, journeyed through the questions of action and inaction through three weeks of Hamlet. We looked at the villainous action of Richard III, Macbeth, Edmund from King Lear. We asked with Juliet about the importance of names, especially that name of Jesus. We pondered an idea of love alongside one of Shakespeare’s sonnets, and we challenged the notion that all the world is a stage, and that we, human beings, are merely players. We covered most of what I wanted to get to. There was one episode from The Tempest I thought I wanted to do, but it never quite fit right.

So what next? I was thinking that I really enjoyed working with literature and having it send me into scripture. It has been great, not searching for proof texts, but using the themes of the literature to challenge or bring to life the poetic ideas. So I thought about continuing that, but heading out of Shakespeare. I thought, that at least this week I’d try it, and I was drawn to John Donne’s famous, “No Man is an Island.” And I wasn’t sure if it was right, until I got a phone call from Mom the other night, and like so many times before the events of life, even the small ones, seemed to align perfectly, and make my direction for this week’s sermon clear. To start let me read for you John Donne’s “Meditation 17,” but let me tell you a little about John Donne first. Donne was a contemporary of Shakespeare, though of a generation younger. He was a poet, and also a cleric in the Church of England. He wrote many sacred works, and the Meditations from which 17 comes, was part of a devotional type book that he wrote for his parishioners. Each of the Meditations would take an idea and delve into the spiritual and life ramifications of it. The idea is very similar to the devotional books that are often used today, like Guideposts, or “My Utmost for his Highest” . . . stuff like that. Meditation 17 is written based on the latin phrase:

NUNC LENTO SONITU DICUNT, MORIERIS.

Now this bell tolling softly for another,
says to me, Thou must die

I’ve always, and I don’t know how accurate it is, but I’ve always pictured, Donne, a somber man, listening to the funeral bells tolling, and allowing his mind to go out in empathy and love, trying to feel each bell tolling personally, as if he himself was participating in the death and funeral of a stranger. . . and then felt compelled to write this famous meditation:

PERCHANCE he for whom this bell tolls may be so ill as that he knows not it tolls for him.  And perchance I may think myself so much better than I am, as that they who are about me, and see my state, may have caused it to toll for me, and I know not that.  The church is catholic, universal, so are all her actions; all that she does, belongs to all.  When she baptizes a child, that action concerns me; for that child is thereby connected to that head which is my head too, and ingraffed into that body, whereof I am a member.  And when she buries a man, that action concerns me; all mankind is of one author, and is one volume; when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language; and every chapter must be so translated; God employs several translators; some pieces are translated by age, some by sickness, some by war, some by justice; but God's hand is in every translation, and his hand shall bind up all our scattered leaves again, for that library where every book shall lie open to one another; as therefore the bell that rings to a sermon, calls not upon the preacher only, but upon the congregation to come; so this bell calls us all: but how much more me, who am brought so near the door by this sickness.

There was a contention as far as a suit (in which, piety and dignity, religion and estimation, were mingled) which of the religious orders should ring to prayers first in the morning; and it was determined, that they should ring first that rose earliest.  If we understand aright the dignity of this bell, that tolls for our evening prayer, we would be glad to make it ours, by rising early, in that application, that it might be ours as well as his, whose indeed it is.  The bell doth toll for him, that thinks it doth; and though it intermit again, yet from that minute, that that occasion wrought upon him, he is united to God.  Who casts not up his eye to the sun when it rises?  But who takes off his eye from a comet, when that breaks out? who bends not his ear to any bell, which upon any occasion rings?  But who can remove it from that bell, which is passing a piece of himself out of this world?

No man is an island,  entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main; if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were;  any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.

Neither can we call this a begging of misery, or a borrowing of misery, as though we were not miserable enough of ourselves, but must fetch in more from the next house, in taking upon us the misery of our neighbors.  Truly it were an excusable covetousness if we did; for affliction is a treasure, and scarce any man hath enough of it.  No man hath afflicion enough, that is not matured and ripened by it, and made fit for God by that affliction.  If a man carry treasure in bullion or in a wedge of gold, and have none coined into current moneys, his treasure will not defray him as he travels.  Tribulation is treasure in the nature of it, but it is not current money in the use of it, except we get nearer and nearer our home, heaven, by it.  Another may be sick too, and sick to death, and this affliction may lie in his bowels, as gold in a mine, and be of no use to him; but this bell that tells me of his affliction, digs out, and applies that gold to me: if by this consideration of another's danger, I take mine own into contemplation, and so secure myself, by making my recourse to my God, who is our only security.

Have any of you ever heard those words before, either in part or in full? For Ernest Hemingway fans, his novel “For Whom the Bell Tolls” takes the middle paragraph, and uses it for his title and the epigram opening that great work. This is a statement about humanity, about how we are all connected, and involved in the lives of each other, that we are all in this crazy world together, and that we all share the same fate. He sees the affliction of others, and like we are to remember our Baptism when we see another baptized, he remembers his own death, his own frailty, his own vulnerability as a mortal on this Earth, and makes his “recourse to God” who he says is our “only security.” What do you think about his meditation? What do you think about the connectedness of all things? What do you feel inside when you hear of the death or affliction of another, of a loved one, of a friend, what about a complete stranger, what about someone on the other side of the Earth? Are we saddened? Or is it more? Or have we become numbed to it all? Have we gotten so callous by the news, and so jaded by the widespread violence and injustice in the world, or have we just seen too much, has it become unreal to us, because it is so vast, so in our face, so often, and much too, too big to do anything about? Are we reminded of our own mortality as Donne says he is, and if so what does that do to us? Would we rather run from such realizations, flee from morbid thoughts of our own ends. There is so much around us, so much pain, violence, confusion, affliction, if we were to be moved by it, could we even function? These are the questions that were flowing through my head this week as I was studying Donne. . . .and it didn’t take me too long to find some of Donne’s scriptural source material. This morning’s new testament lesson screams the same message

³ Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and the God of all consolation, ⁴ who consoles us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to console those who are in any affliction with the consolation with which we ourselves are consoled by God. ⁵ For just as the sufferings of Christ are abundant for us, so also our consolation is abundant through Christ. ⁶ If we are being afflicted, it is for your consolation and salvation; if we are being consoled, it is for your consolation, which you experience when you patiently endure the same sufferings that we are also suffering. ⁷ Our hope for you is unshaken; for we know that as you share in our sufferings, so also you share in our consolation.

Sharing in sufferings, sharing in consolation, hope unshaken, abundance in Christ, the connection between affliction and suffering. . . and then the Old Testament lesson from Ecclesiastes, DeAnna and I had it read at our wedding.

⁹ Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their toil. ¹⁰ For if they fall, one will lift up the other; but woe to one who is alone and falls and does not have another to help. ¹¹ Again, if two lie together, they keep warm; but how can one keep warm alone? ¹² And though one might prevail against another, two will withstand one. A threefold cord is not quickly broken.

We certainly have a need for each other. . . a deep visceral and all encompassing need, friendship, companionship, community, these are the things of life. . . and in it all we share one amazing humbling end. . . . and it saddens us, does it bring us closer to God and to each other, or do our fears and numbness drive us apart? Is feeling too risky, too involved, too full of misery and pain, that we instead choose the numbness of oblivion and solitude. . . “I am a rock, I am an Island, and a rock feels no pain, and an Island never cries. . .”  Yes, Paul Simon touches on it too, it is too difficult to be a Bridge Over Troubled Water for someone, saying, “When you’re weary, feeling small, when tears are in your eyes, I will dry them all. . .” This is the language of compassion and empathy and love, and it takes on the risk of feeling head on.

So Midweek I had all of these ideas swimming through my head. . . and I’d come home to a quiet and lonely house. . . and I’d wonder to myself, what am I going to add here, where is this going, obviously there is a need, obviously we need each other, but how does it all work, where do I go from here? You don’t have much Pete, just the obvious longings and dangers of life, with no real specifics, nothing to connect it all together. . . and then as I said, Mom called.

She called because they’d been away and I hadn’t talked to them. She called because she knew I was by myself. She called because she had, had a dream. She has a dear friend, Carla. . . and Carla was just released from the hospital to go into hospice. . . She has a brain tumor, and the aggressive surgeries that she has had, just haven’t worked. . . and so she’s going home with a massive head wound, and still growing tumors, to slowly shake off this mortal coil, and pass on. It so sad, because she was so alive, just a few months ago. She was with her grandkids, she was living her life, she was very much alive, and then the diagnosis, the treatment, the surgery, left her in a hospital bed. . . without any positive change. Mom was sad about her friend. . . but she had this dream. I wanted to write it in verse form, to try and describe what she described to me. This isn’t what mom said exactly, but it is what I heard, and tried to make sense of beyond the words she spoke:

We came to visit,

With many friends.

There was a line, it seemed,

But everyone had their own

Unique and special moment

Here with Carla.

I didn’t know the others,

But when I stood there

With her arm in arm,

I felt as if there was only she and I,

And we shared this moment,

In peace, and gratitude

For having been given each other.

I don’t know what the others saw.

I only witnessed my turn.

We looked up into sky,

And clouds shown white

In the perfect blue,

Until it all started to spin.

The white exploded with color,

A spiraling kaleidoscope,

More breathtaking than I

Had ever thought

I had the power to imagine:

Colors, dazzling beyond definition.

But yet somehow

There still was white,

And out of the white came

Four angels, just like you’d think,

Like the one in the empty tomb,

Who said, “He is not here! Risen!”

Indeed, I felt peace,

And I hoped as I woke,

That my peace was meant

For more than me,

But that Carla, would be granted

For her remaining time, such peace.

I don’t know what dreams mean.

I don’t know what dreams

May come, when we have

Shuffled off this mortal coil,

But I have been given in this dream a gift

Because God let me feel deeply.

He let me feel the affliction of another,

Deeply as if it were my own,

Not leaving me in despair,

But clothed in abundant hope.

I know the depth of loss,

And I believe it still means peace.

This is what I heard in my mom’s description. This is what I heard in her breaking voice. This is what I heard through the grief of her pain. And just like Mom I felt connected and drawn closer somehow.

I don’t know what dreams mean. . . that was a question she asked me, “What do you think about dreams?” I don’t know, it’s mystical. . . and so much personal in the experience of something like that. . . that it’s easy and safe to dismiss. . . but I know there is more to the human mind than we have a grasp on. . . and in that mystery and not knowing is a lot of room. . . a lot of room. What she felt was a moment of empathy for another. . . so deep that it was beyond her control. . . and therefore came to her recognition outside of her waking hours. . . but enough for her to remember, and share it. . . and in so doing feel and spread the peace that she felt in the dream.

To me this is what John Donne is writing about, in what he calls “a borrowing of misery”. . . this is what Paul is writing about. . . this is what the Ecclesiastes passage is about. . . the blessing of affliction. . . the blessing of pain. . . the blessing of loving so much that you are brought to tears by another’s affliction. . . the blessing of life. . . to feel the pain of another person, and in so doing grow closer to God, and to them. Is this the heart and soul of loving God and loving our neighbor. . . may it by God please be so.

Let us pray. . .

May our hearts be made full

May our minds be connected

May our imaginations soar

May our dreams push farther than our limitations

May our souls be rivers made deep with tears of compassion

May our lives intertwine in bonds unbreakable

May we love.

Amen.