Sermon for Sunday, 12 October 2014
Sermon for 12 October 2014
18th Sunday after
Pentecost
The Rev. Carrie Ballenger Smith
Grace and
peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not
want.
He makes me lie down in green
pastures;
he leads me beside still waters; he
restores my soul.
He leads me in right paths for his
name’s sake.
Even though I walk through the
darkest valley, I fear no evil;
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff—they comfort
me.
You prepare a table before me in the
presence of my enemies;
you anoint my head with oil; my cup
overflows.
Surely goodness and mercy shall
follow me all the days of my life,
and I shall dwell in the house of the
Lord my whole life long.
A few days
ago, I found myself at a table with three Catholic priests from New York, a
religious sister from Ireland, and another from China. As I stepped out of the
church to head home for dinner, they caught me and invited me to sit for
coffee. It’s not an altogether unusual experience in Jerusalem to find one’s
self at a table with strangers who quickly become friends.
Our
conversation started as most do around here: “Why are you here? Are you a
tourist or a student? Where are you staying? How long will you stay? Is it your
first trip here?” This time, however, my new friends’ responses took the
discussion down an unexpected path. It turns out that all three of these brothers
had been in New York City on September 11, 2001. One was teaching a college
world religions class when he saw the plane hit the first building. One had
been in the second tower fifteen minutes before it was hit. And the other had
been at breakfast that sunny morning with fellow Franciscan Father Mychal
Judge, chaplain to the New York City Fire Department. Fr. Mychal raced from
breakfast directly to the towers when he heard the news, and ended up being the
first death recorded on that terrible day.
As my new
friends shared their very personal experiences of that day in New York, here in
Jerusalem the late afternoon Muslim call to prayer began to be sounded out above
us. Even after only two months of living here, this has become such a part of
my daily environment that I barely even notice it.
But the sound was jarring
enough to interrupt our conversation. In that
moment, the memories of a day thirteen years ago, in a city far away, were
colliding with our present reality. In 2001 in New York City, Americans felt
absolutely certain about who their enemies were. Differences in race, religion, and politics
melted away, as the people of my country were united in nearly unanimous fear
and hatred of the “other”. Sharing our memories and feelings of that day of
sorrow can easily transport us back to that place, where we again attempt to take
hold of the same certainty about who’s in, who’s out, who’s with us and who is
against us.
The call to
prayer suddenly accompanying our table conversation was a not-so-subtle reminder
that people can never be so easily classified as “enemy” or “friend.” In fact,
at that particular outdoor cafe—owned by a Muslim family—the one who was
appearing as “enemy” in our remembrances was now the host of our meal together.
“You set a
table before me in the presence of my enemies.” In some contexts, five
Catholics and a female Lutheran pastor would never be found at a table together! Sadly, I remember presiding at
a large Lutheran-Catholic funeral in my suburban Chicago church, in which a
local Catholic priest attended for the purpose of ensuring none of his
congregants came forward for communion. He sat in the back, arms crossed, and
glared at them if they made a move towards our Lutheran table. Some, members of
the family of the deceased, came to the table anyway. Many others sat back down
in silence.
 |
| Our neighbor's sukkah Photo by Carrie Smith |
 |
| Children with balloons for the Eid Photo by Carrie Smith |
“You set a table before me in the presence of my enemies.” Here in Jerusalem, we come to church having walked through every kind of valley, some of them very dark indeed. Along the way, we’ve been conditioned to see enemies around every corner. In fact, living here can feel like being a recurring contestant on a game show called “Who’s my enemy this time?” or “Which of these things is not like the other?” Where does he stand politically? Is she Muslim, Christian, or Jew? What neighborhood does he live in? Do they work for a competing organization?
We are all
too often hyper-focused on identification of “the enemy”. After all, if God
sets a table for us in the presence
of our enemies, the implication is that God has provided nothing at all for the
other guys. And this…makes perfect sense to us. Of course, not everyone can be invited. Of course, God’s favor only rests on those with whom we agree.
It’s for this reason that the parable in
today’s Gospel lesson, though disturbing, also resonates with us in a powerful
way. Yes, it seems unfair for the king to throw someone out for not wearing a
wedding robe (especially when guests were hauled in off the street!) But then
again, someone has to end up in the
outer darkness. Someone needs to
experience weeping and gnashing of teeth. Give any one of us a few minutes, and
we’d be able to make a list of exactly who we think Jesus may have been talking
about. Our struggle with God’s abundant hospitality and open invitation to the
table often makes us our own worst enemy.
“You set a
table before me in the presence of my enemies.” One of the great privileges of
being a pastor is the opportunity to share communion with those nearing the end
of life. Last fall, I sat vigil at a hospice-care facility with a church member
and her husband, whose brain cancer was in its final stages. Bruce was beyond
ready to experience what God had in store next, but at only 59 years old, his
body was strong. As a result, the last leg of his journey took much, much
longer than the doctors, nurses, and family had hoped.
On Bruce’s
last day, family and close friends gathered at his bedside to share communion.
Bruce hadn’t received anything by mouth for many days, but he was adamant in
wanting to participate. It was his wife who lovingly placed the tiniest
wine-soaked crumb of bread on his tongue. Family members and friends then
passed the bread and wine to each other around the bed, surrounding Bruce in
the presence of Christ.
The power of
that moment is a testament to how the feast of grace, mercy and forgiveness we
receive through the Body and Blood of Christ is more than a snack break in the
middle of a great and mighty battle. This feast of love renders the enemy
powerless. The presence of the crucified and risen Christ in, with, and under
the bread and the wine that day, conquered Bruce’s brain tumor once and for
all. The tumor didn’t disappear, but it no longer held the last word.
 |
| A typical Palestinian feast of salads (mezze) Photo by Carrie Smith |
“You set a
table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my
cup overflows. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my
life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord my whole life long. ”
It is indeed
a great comfort to know that in the midst of conflict and chaos, terror and
turmoil, sickness and sorrow, God always sets before us this table of abundant
love and grace. Psalm 23 reminds us that God’s got our back, whether our enemy
has a face, or comes disguised as cancer, debt, depression, addiction, or the
powers and principalities of the system. God, the good shepherd, leads us
through the olive grove, brings refreshing October rain, guides us through
difficult conversations, and comforts weary bodies and hearts.
God sets a table
before us, inviting us to put down our weapons and to pull up a chair. The
feast is now ready. All are welcome.
Comments
Post a Comment