Psalm 23
|
|
Lord, may we hear your voice in the words spoken in your Name. Amen.
|
Last spring, I was thrilled when a pair of house finches built an
impossibly small cup–shaped nest in the honeysuckle vines that
grow up our garage wall and there began to raise a family. And
since all this was happening just twenty feet away, across the
driveway, I could easily watch the whole process from my kitchen
window. For those of you who might not know, house finches are
beautiful little birds. The female is plain – light brown
with a light and dark streaked breast. But her mate makes up for
his partner’’s modest colors with his crimson head and breast,
and dramatic white bars on his dark wings. So I was fascinated,
watching them, as they began flying back and forth, bringing food to
their small fledglings. I felt honored to watch the whole process.
|
|
But one day – tragedy! The largest fledgling, trying
out his new wings, fell from the nest – and before I could stop
her, our cat streaked across the driveway and finished him off. And
yet, for the next few weeks the adult birds stayed the course, bringing
life out of death as they raised the rest of their babies in that same
nest — until all those babies had fledged and flown off to safety.
|
|
Best I can tell, that’s what hope looks like – stubborn
hope. Raising life — even in the valley of the shadow of
death. Doing the best you can with the resources God has given
you. And I don’t think this is something confined to
courageous little birds. I think God also is stubborn for hope,
stubborn for life, even in the face of death. For that is what he
did at Easter. Not even crucifixion could put an end to the new
life God was determined to bring into this world. He turned a
grave into a place of new birth. For God, too, is stubborn for
hope, stubborn for life.
|
|
And that’s what he did for those newly hatched disciples in
Jerusalem, the ones we read about this morning in the second chapter
of Acts. Following the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ,
Jerusalem was, for them, a threatening place, a place of hostility and
danger. You could say it was their valley of the shadow of
death. For, both the Imperial army and the Temple authorities
wanted to put the new movement down, wanted to silence its
adherents. But those authorities were wary – for everyone
in the city was aware of the miraculous signs and wonders the apostles
were performing. And everyone in the city knew someone
who’d been profoundly affected by Peter’s preaching. So,
the authorities were moving against this new movement cautiously.
|
|
In response, what the Lord had the disciples do was to build nests,
nests that would create new homes for the gospel, new shelters for
hope and joy and comfort. And he did it in this way: He had
the new disciples gather at the Temple every day, to listen to the
apostles’ teaching and learn to pray together. But in
their homes, he had them sharing meals together and sharing r
esources – so no one who joined with them would be in
need. That was the table he was providing in their wilderness,
in the face of their enemies. This is how he was restoring their
souls.
|
|
And ever so slowly, as they continued to meet together, these newly
fledged disciples were amazed to discover the Lord’s own presence,
the Lord’s own strength and encouragement in their midst. For
as they listened to the apostles’ preaching and prayed for one
another, as they broke bread together and shared resources, they began
to sense God’s presence, right in their midst. For they
had become incarnations of his love, one to another.
|
|
A few weeks ago, the husband of one of my clergy friends in Atlanta
became gravely ill from a combination of Covid and pneumonia. We
had all heard Joe had been hospitalized, and we were all praying he
would survive. But it wasn’t to be. So, as word
spread that he was going downhill quickly — one priest after
another gathered with his wife at the hospital. For we have all
known the comfort of God’s presence wherever Christians gather
together. And we wanted to supply that comforting presence around
her. And now it is that presence – the embodied love of the
Lord in her congregation and among her many clergy friends — that i
s giving her the strength, encouraging her to take life up once
again. That is the kind of sheltering nest God provides for us
in this world – in the face of all we are up against.
|
|
And these days, you and I are up against a lot. Thankfully, none
of us is in particularly dire straits right now. But on a deeper
level I think we are all concerned, all anxious about what the future
holds – as racism rears its ugly head, as wars break out all over
the world, as our political parties snarl at each other’s throats,
as climate change threatens us all. It’s as if our whole
world had stumbled into a valley of the shadow of death. And
it’s all around us, quietly menacing.
|
|
But somehow, as we stay with one another, as we are drawn into each
other’s lives – worshiping together, praying together,
breaking bread together – we find ourselves held in God’s
own sheltering arms. We find ourselves in His
presence. It’s not as if the threatening enemies have
completely disappeared. But in our fellowship, around this
table – God happens. And our souls are restored.
|
|
“As the church, we practice a stubborn hope, the stubbornness
of building nests and setting up tables wherever we find
ourselves – no matter how precarious our live, no matter the
threats from enemies. We do what God does: make room for
people to grow into God’s eternal life. The church is a
nest where all are welcome to rest in God’s love. It is a
table where all are welcome to eat and drink God’s life. In
us, the body of Christ, God is made flesh, and we fear no evil.”
¹
|
|
To God be the glory.
|
Amen.
|
|
¹ This entire sermon is indebted, for its inspiration, to an
essay by Isaac Vllegas published in The Christian Century,
April 15, 2015
|
