It wasn't until doing a late revision of the sermon that I realized I should talk about the Trayvon Martin / George Zimmerman story. The sermon is not about that, but it includes my best attempt at helping a broad audience to develop a Christ-like attitude toward that and similar situations. As is always the case with my sermons, this is written as much for me as it is for anyone else. (Also: I don't usually write a full manuscript, but I did this time to help me keep it very short, because we were doing a special service of healing prayer with extra music and a guided meditation and stuff.)
Spiritual Compost
1 Corinthians 1:18-31
This is the second sermon in the new series on evangelism
and today I want to tell you about the Jesus whom the evangelists you see on
t.v. don’t know about. Because it only takes a little bit of reading between
the lines to realize the Messiah of televangelists must be a man of perfect
power and unlimited wealth who NEVER EVER stops smiling.
But that’s not the Jesus of the Bible. And while it might
be more effective to evangelize people with promises that all their troubles
are going to go away, it’s a lie. Because the real Jesus lived in poverty, was
rejected, tortured and, by worldly standards died as a failure. The Jesus we
have to tell people about is a crucified Messiah—and as Paul said, no one wants
to hear that.
But they really should. Because for that very reason, because
of the crucifixion, the gospel is for people who are suffering—and that means everyone. The
crazy-sounding good news of Jesus is that we can welcome and rejoice in
suffering. All those times when things go wrong in our lives—when people get
sick, even when they die—when friends abandon us—when family members betray us—when
our savings dry up and the bills are piling high—when there’s nothing in the
news but doom and despair—all of this is really so much garbage that can become
the compost for our souls.
The most fertile ground for our spirits to grow is in the
stinking pail of rot and refuse—that’s where we grow to maturity, by learning
to depend on God. That’s where we learn the meaning of surrender; when we have
no choice but to hand ourselves over to God’s
wisdom and God’s power. Because our
own wisdom and our own power are getting us nowhere.
That’s when we realize we are not the ones in control.
Are you in control of your life? It might feel that way, because there are some
things you can control—but every now and then, the truth starts to jab into
your side and you realize: you are not in control of other people, you can’t control
the economy, or the politicians in Washington, or the division of cells in your
own body. You cannot prevent the rising costs of medical care or the shooting
of random civilians in public places. No matter how good you are, no matter how
hard you try—you will still be subject to unfairness and suffering, just as
Christ was subject to suffering and injustice.
And the good news is, you can stop fighting it! ... And you're now wondering, how is
that good news?
Well, let me give you an example of what that might look
like: a lot of people have suffered some anguish this week over the Trayvon
Martin / George Zimmerman story. It came up in our Bible study, even. And
people here have some very different opinions and feelings about it. The story
really touches a nerve—on the one hand, for people who feel upset that the
media have sensationalized the whole thing and riled people up just because
they know what sells—and on the other hand, there is a huge amount of grief and
outrage from the black community and those in solidarity with them, for all the
ways that black youth get pre-judged as violent criminals and treated with
suspicion—which is something that happens all the time, whether or not it
happened in the Zimmerman case.
So, regardless of what their opinions are, a lot of
people have been really upset—personally, I would say justifiably upset in all
cases—so what about this idea, then, that suffering is compost for our souls?
What about this as an opportunity for spiritual growth?
This can become a situation where we practice putting our
trust in God alone, and not in ourselves. We can let go of our desire to be in
control—the megalomaniacal part of ourselves that says “If only I was in charge
of the Associated Press” or “If only I had been on that jury”—and instead, we
turn the situation over to God, and trust that God is at work here, even if we
can’t see it. We acknowledge that God is in control, and things would be much,
much worse if we were the ones in charge. And finally—this kind of acceptance does not mean throwing up our hands and
saying “there’s nothing I can do”—but it means asking God, “Lord, how can I be
obedient to your will and become part of what you’re doing already to take care
of this?”
You see the difference? You’re no longer saying “God,
help me to impose my will on other
people.” That’s not going to be very
fruitful because you don’t have the ability to control other people and you may
not really know what’s best for them.
It’s not going to do any good just to get all upset about that whole Trayvon-Zimmerman
thing, basically wishing that things were
different and being angry—but it is another thing, and it’s good for the
soul, if you can take a deep breath, and remember the peace that passes
understanding—remember that God is in control, even in spite of this terrible
tragedy—God is in control, even though the media have become an instrument of
divisiveness and social chaos—God is in control, even though black youth in
America are facing pervasive, debilitating racism every day—even so, I trust
that God is at work here and now, bringing about an end to all corruption and
injustice. So I give myself over to God, asking “Lord, how can I be obedient to
your will? How can I be part of what you are doing to bring justice and
healing?”
And it is only after you have surrendered to God in your
suffering and in your anguish, that the Spirit begins to move in you, and it
can give you that peace, and it can bring about some real changes—turning
sorrow into joy, giving hope instead of despair—and guiding you in obedience to
God’s will. And then you no longer want to strangle Mr. Zimmerman’s attorney or
burn down the New York Times building—instead you want to—you know—get a bunch
of white and black people together to sing songs and hold hands around a
bonfire. Or donate to some program for helping inner city youth or volunteer as
a mentor or whatever. Who knows how the Spirit may lead.
No comments:
Post a Comment