CELEBRATION OF MINISTRY SERMON
Isaiah 58: 6-12, Luke 4:14-30
Penticton, B.C.
May 29, 2011
It can be a tricky business, finding the right title for a sermon. If I were going for
the basics, I’d probably entitle this sermon, “Faithful, Public Witness,” or perhaps,
“Celebration of Ministry.” If I were feeling Scriptural, it could be “Then your light shall
dawn,” the theme text of Conference; or, “The Spirit of the Lord Is upon Me,” thinking of
the gospel reading we just heard, and the song we just sang. On the other hand,
sometimes you want a catchy title, so people will perk up a little – maybe going for a
musical theme… “Light My Fire,” or “Candle in the Wind,” … all very Spirit based,
since Pentecost is just around the corner. Mind you, a friend of mine said that if I could
just figure out how to get the word “Canucks” into the title my worries would be over….
Ahhh, he was right wasn’t he….
But sometimes the name simply announces itself, almost like a woman holding
her newborn baby and knowing intuitively what her name was. So as I took a good look
at the sermon on the page… well… the title ended up being a little weird; “A Handful of
Poems Looking for a Sermon.” Right… so I really mean it when I say, will you pray with
me….
O Holy One,
help us be open to the touch of your Spirit,
so that the words of my mouth,
and the meditations of all our hearts
might truly be graced by you,
in and through the love of Jesus Christ.
Amen.
So, let me get right down to it, and invite the first poem up here onto the stage,
“Doing Nothing,” by Dan Gerber:
When I passed him, near the bus stop
on Union Square, while the cops
cuffed his hands behind his back, while he
said, “I didn’t do anything,”
I didn’t, either,
do anything but look away,
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a little afraid they might cuff me
if I paid too much attention
and walked on still wondering
what he might’ve done
and still more about what I might’ve done.
I think Isaiah would have had a hay day with this poem, striding up here on stage, eyes
flashing, asking each one of us where we fit in this poem. Are we with those who get
cuffed, the hungry, the naked, the hurting, the oppressed? Are we standing with those
who do the cuffing? Or are we just looking away, walking on? Isaiah would have more
questions, like – “How’s your social analysis? Do you know who’s getting cuffed these
days? If not, what about spending some time at First United in the Downtown Eastside,
or The Open Door over in Victoria, or in the back lanes of Trail, Nanaimo, Kelowna or
Prince Rupert? And have you checked out who ends up in prison these days? Maybe
you’d be surprised to find so many people who are mentally ill, or addicted; people with
learning disabilities, Fetal Alcohol Syndrome; too many First Nations people; people who
are poor. Do you know any of their names? They are your kin, are they not?” That’s what
Isaiah would say.
And then he would start asking about the “cuffers” – “You United Church
people… you’re nice; I’ll bet you let your institutions do your cuffing for you, no? A
dash of NIMBY mixed well with some tight zoning regulations; some handy bylaws that
prevent loitering, begging and even the occasional tent city; gated communities – now
there’s a concept.” Isaiah just might mention Tasers and the lowest minimum wage in the
country and Residential Schools with generations of fall-out; and how do you think he
would greet the news that our government is all set to build bigger and better prisons…
and more of them, too?
Then there would be that final question… when Isaiah seems to be looking at
each one of us, and asking, “And what about the times when you’ve looked away, chosen
not to see, not to understand, times when you have walked on… indifferent, scared,
overwhelmed… a little bit afraid that if you paid too much attention, well, hard to know
what would happen… maybe you’d get converted, and then, maybe, cuffed.”
Isaiah would have a lot to say about any celebration of ministry; he would say that
ministry needs to include a lot of truth-telling, even if it sometimes feels like a two-edged
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sword; ministry needs to bear witness to the suffering of this world. Which will probably
move into confession and maybe apology; repentance… and change. It’s wake-up call
ministry, an invitation to think about what you might do next time, even if you’re a little
afraid.
But wait… there’s another poem that’s wanting to be heard. It begins with real
edgy truth, but then follows up with a promise…“The Low Road” by Marge Piercy:
What can they do
to you? Whatever they want.
They can set you up, they can
bust you, they can break
your fingers, they can
burn your brain with electricity,
blur you with drugs till you
can’t walk, can’t remember, they can
take your child, wall up
your lover. They can do anything
you can’t stop them from doing. How can you stop
them? Alone, you can fight,
you can refuse, you can
take what revenge you can
but they roll over you.
But two people fighting
back to back can cut through
a mob, a snake-dancing file
can break a cordon…
Two people can keep each other
sane, can give support, conviction,
love, massage, hope, sex.
Three people are a delegation,
a committee, a wedge. With four
you can play bridge and start
an organization. With six
you can rent a whole house,
eat pie for dinner with no
seconds, and hold a fund-raising party.
A dozen make a demonstration.
A hundred fill a hall.
A thousand have solidarity and your own newsletter….
It goes on one at a time.
It starts when you care
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to act; it starts when you do
it again after they said no.
It starts when you say WE
and know who you mean, and each
day you mean one more.
Somehow this poem becomes an invitation for Jesus to come up on this stage; and
when he waves, you can see the holes in his hands. And he would say, “That Marge
Piercy, with all that busting, breaking, burning, blurring, it sounds like she was well
acquainted with the Roman Empire, with soldiers and legions, swords, whips and
scourges, nails and crosses; mind you, there’s not that much difference between one
empire and the next, except perhaps the technology.”
And I discovered,” said Jesus, “that trouble can happen in your own home town,
be it Nazareth, Campbell River, New West, Kerrisdale, Smithers; all that “A prophet is
not honoured in his own home town” stuff, it’s true.” And we would remember with him,
what happened in Nazareth when he gave his first sermon, really laying out what he was
all about: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me … to preach good news to the poor, release
to the captive, sight to the blind, liberty to the oppressed….” And he would remind us
that any vision of ministry needs to include a whole lot of resistance; it commits itself to
an alternative vision of how life might be lived… with compassion, justice, freedom. And
you need to stick with this even when people get upset, in those times when good news
becomes too unsettling; too challenging; too demanding; when it includes too much truthtelling and asks for too much change.
But then we would remember how Jesus pushed back, and challenged the people
of his home town, to see how intercultural God’s vision truly is. Jesus deliberately
pointed out how healing came to Namaan the Syrian, how food came to the widow of
Zarapheth in Sidon… two absolute outsiders… wrong colour, race, ethnicity, religion; the
ones who are different. And here’s Jesus challenging us to feel a grace big enough to
embrace precisely the person we would have the hardest time embracing ourselves. It was
enough to drive the good people of Nazareth into major cuffing activity, into the stuff
Marge Piercy was talking about… they can stone you, throw you over the cliff, drive you
out of town.
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But then, strangely and wonderfully, Jesus would smile and say, “Remember
though, this is not a solo act.” Because, two people can give love; three are a wedge.
Didn’t Jesus say, “When two or three are gathered, I am there.”? Four, an organization;
six, fund-raising; twelve a demonstration… and how many for a congregation, a church?
And Jesus would ask, “Why do you think I started inviting others to join with me…
Peter, and the Samaritan woman at the well; Matthew, and Mary Magdalene; the rich
young ruler; Martha; the other Mary, Judas, Thomas, Joanna, Cleopas on his way to
Emmaus?” And I wonder if he would look around today, and smile at the ten of you who
are to be admitted, commissioned, ordained, recognized today; surely he would be
inviting you to join with him… you, Diane, Julie, Leanne, Julianna, Therese, Kimiko,
LeAnn, Sunni, Brenda, Lori; and just as surely he would be inviting each one of us. He’s
talking about a ministry of community, of two, three, six, twelve, a hundred, a thousand;
a ministry of partnership and alliances… ecumenical, interfaith, with the spiritual but not
religious; anywhere the Spirit is moving, where you recognize the energy of God in
whatever it is that happens between people, maybe between everything for that matter,
but especially, for us, the love that is interconnection, relational. And maybe Jesus would
talk about the long-haul, the step by faithful step kind of journey, where it goes on one at
a time; it starts when you care to act, no matter what they say; it starts when you can say
we, and know who you mean, and each day you mean one more.
Meanwhile, there’s another poem clamouring to be heard, though it’s only asking
to be on the edge of the stage, a poem called, “He needs you,” from that amazing German
theologian and poet, Dorothy Soelle, from her book, Revolutionary Patience – I mean,
even the name, eh? But here it is….
He needs you
that’s all there is to it.
Without you he’s left hanging
goes up in Dachau’s smoke
is sugar and spice in the baker’s hands
gets revalued in the next stock market crash.
He’s consumed and blown away,
used up,
without you.
Help him -that’s what faith is.
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He can’t bring it about,
his kingdom;
couldn’t then, couldn’t later, can’t now;
not at any rate without you -and that is his irresistible appeal.
The whole time… line by line… the poem is pointing to Jesus. He needs us… without us,
well, where is the body, here and now, in this place, in this time? Ah… but it is here,
because of the irresistible appeal of the man, of the vision, of the Spirit. What this feels
like, is an invitation into partnership with Christ… as disciple, follower, feet and hands of
… as friend. We’re not alone in this -- it’s not only up to me, although it is also up to me;
and it’s not only up to all of us together, although it is that; but ultimately it’s about a
partnership with the Holy, with Divine Energy. (Sorry, Gretta Vosper.)
And then Jesus and Isaiah would look at each other… you didn’t think Isaiah had
left the stage now, did you? I mean, after all Isaiah has the longest book in the Bible, all
sixty seven chapters of it. Besides, Jesus borrowed a lot of Isaiah’s words – they are
kindred spirits. And they would walk towards each other, and join hands, and then they
would say, “Hey, all of you, you need to hear some other poems.” And Isaiah would say,
“Your light shall break forth like the dawn; oh your light shall rise in the darkness and
your gloom be like the noonday.” And Jesus would nod, and say softly, “What came into
being in me is life, and the life is the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness,
and the darkness will not overcome it.” And as they linked arms, Isaiah would say, “You
shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters never fail, and God
will satisfy your needs in parched places.” And Jesus would smile, and say “Everyone
who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but those who drink of the water that I will
give them will never be thirsty. The water that I will give will become in them a spring of
water gushing up to eternal life.” And then he would talk about the mustard seed that falls
upon good soil, and, well-watered, springs up, and grows, until, spreading its branches it
embraces the birds of the world, and the water and the singing are one. And Isaiah would
day, “Dream of a time when all the hungry will be fed. It can happen; it will happen.”
And Jesus would say “Amen… and all are invited to this feast -- the cuffed and the
cuffers, the look-aways and the walk-aways; the poor and the lame, the leper, the
sinner… and every one of you here today.”
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And the two of them, Isaiah and Jesus, they are looking out, and they see our
faces, hopeful, wondering, hungry for good news; believing, some doubting, others halfbelieving, fifty-one/forty-nine. And the two of them would say softly, “Be not afraid, for
God is with you. And this is the Lord’s work. Didn’t you hear, it is the Spirit of the Holy
One that is upon us, upon you. That’s what makes this all possible. This is not another
burden, another “get out there and fix the world” but rather, it’s a promise of Spiritpower. “ So, when the church budget goes into the red and the pews are two-thirds
empty; when the vision seems impossible and the work seems endless; when the wine
runs out, when your hearts are cracked open, then turn to the Light, to the Water, to the
Bread, to the Christ, to the Spirit. “And your sons and your daughters shall prophesy and
your young men and women shall see visions; and your elders shall dream dreams, even
upon your slaves, upon the cuffed, the cuffers and the walk-aways, I will pour out my
Spirit.”
“And why not now?” Isaiah and Jesus might say. “Why not open ourselves to the
Spirit….. why not stand… come, stand now; and lay hands upon each other, on arm and
shoulder; a ritual that stretches back thousands of years , hands of blessing, hands of
ordination, hands of healing, hands of prayer. And as we hold and bless each other, as we
open ourselves to this Spirit, look… another little poem has slipped out of our Hymn
Book, and we can sing together,
Spirit of the living God, fall afresh on me;
Spirit of the living God, fall afresh on me;
Melt me, mold me, fill me, use me;
Spirit of the living God, fall afresh on me.
Spirit of the living God, move among us all,
Make us one in heart and mind, make us one in love;
Humble, caring, selfless, sharing
Spirit of the living God, fill our lives with love.
May it be so. Amen.