To Everything There is a Season

Sermon delivered on my last Sunday at St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Franklin, TN -- Sunday, August 30, 2015 (14th Sunday After Pentecost, Proper 17).

(Song of Solomon 2:8-13, James 1:17-27)



Our first reading today comes from the Song of Solomon, that great love poem of the Hebrew scriptures, and is perhaps best known for its use at weddings. But at this particular time in my life and in the life of the community at St. Paul’s, I am struck by another aspect of this poem – its emphasis on change and seasons.

“Now the winter is past, the rain is over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth; the time of singing has come” (Song of Solomon 2:11-12).

Although the poem describes physical aspects of the earth’s changing with the seasons – from winter to spring, from rain to flowers – perhaps there is a deeper metaphorical message. The lovers can celebrate their love with joy and go away together because “the winter is past, the rain is over and gone.” Perhaps the “winter” was a difficult time in their relationship; perhaps the “rain” was external stressors beating in from every side.

In any case, this passage points us to change – change in seasons, change in dynamics of relationships, and a recognition of the impermanence of everything in life, even of our lives themselves. It reminds me of another passage from the wisdom literature in the Hebrew Bible that gives voice to this theme more fully. Made famous by Pete Seeger setting it to music in the song “Turn! Turn! Turn!” in the 1960s, the words are from the book of Ecclesiastes, chapter 3:

“For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven:
a time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
a time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time to build up;
a time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
a time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
a time to seek, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to throw away;
a time to tear, and a time to sew;
a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
a time to love, and a time to hate;
a time for war, and a time for peace.” (Ecclesiastes 3:1-8)

This passage resonated with me as I thought about taking my leave from you after three years serving together in ministry, and as this congregation goes through significant changes in leadership. “To everything there is a season.” A time to arrive, a time to depart. A time to welcome new people, and a time to say goodbye. A time to remember and honor the past, and a time to move forward and look to the future. Having just packed up my office, I know quite a bit about “a time to keep, and a time to throw away,” and perhaps rather than stones, “a time to throw away books, and a time to gather books together.”

This passage reminds us that no state of being lasts forever, whether it be positive or negative. Although we might bristle at the suggestion that there is “a time to hate” and a “time to kill,” I read this passage as describing the reality of human existence in this world, not necessarily the ideal or how it will be in the next life. In this life, nothing lasts forever. In this life, we experience seasons of good things and seasons of bad things. There are times of weeping and times of laughing. When we’re weeping, thinking that there will be a time to laugh in the future may bring us hope, and help get us through the tough times. When we’re laughing, we always realize that at any moment, something could happen that will send us back into crying again. Nothing lasts forever. Everything is temporary, no matter how permanent it may seem to us in the moment. Even our buildings and monuments that outlast generations of people are subject to the destructive forces of nature. As a line in our closing hymn today says, “Though with care and toil we build them, tower and temple fall to dust.”

But our epistle reading from James reminds us of what is truly eternal. “Every generous act of giving, with every perfect gift, is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change” (James 1:17). With God there is “no variation or shadow due to change.” It is only in God that we find permanence, constancy, a true illustration of the word “forever.” Although “tower and temple fall to dust,” in the hymn text we go on to proclaim, “But God’s power, hour by hour, is my temple and my tower.” In the midst of this ever-changing tide of seasons that flows through our lives, bringing good and bad, life and death, we must always remember to turn our attention to the one “fixed point” in the midst of all the changes: God’s love, God’s mercy, God’s power, God’s eternal presence, the fount of all being, sustaining and guiding us as our life unfolds.

One of my favorite prayers in the prayer book is in the service of Compline, that service in the Daily Office intended for use right before bedtime. It says:

“Be present, O merciful God, and protect us through the hours of this night, so that we who are wearied by the changes and chances of this life may rest in your eternal changelessness; through Jesus Christ our Lord.” (BCP 133).

“We who are wearied by the changes and chances of this life” – that is such a vivid turn of phrase, isn’t it? Who among us can’t relate to the feeling of being “wearied by the changes and chances of this life” – this life which can change in an instant, in which things we spend hours and years building can be destroyed overnight, this life in which friends and relatives can betray our trust, drift away from us, or get sick and die, this life which offers us no guarantees except for the fact of change itself.

But even in the midst of all that, God remains constant. As the collect says, we can rest in God’s “eternal changelessness,” that solid foundation at the center of our faith. And as Christians, we are an Easter people, a Resurrection people. Change and transformation are at the heart of what we understand God to be about in the world, bringing new life from death. The year I graduated high school, the song “Closing Time” by SemiSonic was at the top of the radio playlists, and I have always remembered a line from that song during times of transition in my life: “Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.” SemiSonic didn’t come up with that line; it is actually an ancient saying often attributed to the 1st century Roman philosopher Seneca. But it could very well be the slogan for the Christian faith: “every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.” Or as Jesus puts it in the Gospel of John, “Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.” (John 12:24)

On Ash Wednesday and at every funeral liturgy we are reminded that “we are dust, and to dust we shall return.” As we commend a loved one to the Lord, we say to God: “You only are immortal, the creator and maker of mankind; and we are mortal, formed of the earth, and to earth shall we return” (BCP 499). Our opening hymn today reminded us, in words that echo lines from the psalms and the prophet Isaiah, that “we blossom and flourish like leaves on the tree; then wither and perish, but nought changeth thee.”

Nought changeth thee. The author of the letter to the Hebrews put it this way: “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever” (Hebrews 13:8). The scriptures say in various places that Christ is our foundation, our cornerstone, our rock. God is the one thing we can count on not to change, no matter what. But for everything else, there is a season…

Our shepherd knows what it is to be a sheep

Sermon delivered Sunday, April 21, 2013 (Fourth Sunday of Easter, Year C), at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Franklin, TN. (Scripture: Acts 9:36-43, Psalm 23, Revelation 7:9-17, John 10:22-30)

Although today is the Fourth Sunday of Easter, it might also appropriately be referred to as “Good Shepherd Sunday.” On the fourth Sunday of Easter in every year of our three-year lectionary cycle, the readings emphasize the image of God as a shepherd. There is always a reading from chapter 10 of the Gospel of John, where Jesus talks about himself as the good shepherd, and the psalm is always Psalm 23, that most beloved of psalms that proclaims, “The Lord is my shepherd.”

So why do we have a “good shepherd” Sunday in the middle of Easter? The primary image of Easter is of Jesus as a lamb, not a shepherd – Christ the Passover lamb who was sacrificed for us – the “Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world.” Isn’t it mixing metaphors to talk about Jesus as the shepherd in the season when we proclaim him as the lamb?

Perhaps, but paradox has always been at the heart of the Christian faith. The ability to hold two seemingly contradictory ideas or images in one’s mind at the same time is a particular skill necessary for the Christian life. We proclaim that God is one, but also say there are three persons in the Trinity. We say that Christ has defeated death and sin, and yet both death and sin are still all too prevalent in the world around us. So thinking of Jesus as both the lamb and the shepherd in the same season is right in line with the paradoxical nature of many of our Christian claims. In fact, this apparent mixing of metaphors can serve as an illustration one of the central Christian paradoxes: the claim that Jesus was both fully divine and fully human.

The image of Jesus as the shepherd emphasizes his divinity, while the image of Jesus as lamb emphasizes his humanity. As the shepherd, Jesus is wise and in control, guiding the sheep who otherwise would not know where to find food and water, and protecting them from the dangers of wolves and other predators. As the lamb, Jesus is vulnerable and powerless, experiencing the full depths of human pain and the power of evil as he dies on the cross. Perhaps we could say that on Good Friday, Jesus is the lamb, but after Easter, Jesus is the shepherd. After the Resurrection, we see that Jesus is indeed wise and in control, having overcome death itself to bring new life to “those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death” (Luke 1:79). Having gone before us to prepare the way, the sheep-turned-shepherd now guides us through the pains of death into the well-springs of life.

You might have noticed, as you listened to the readings today, that some of them sounded familiar from their use in our burial liturgy. Psalm 23 is the most obvious one, but actually all of the passages we read from today except the one from Acts are included in our prayer book as appropriate scripture to be read at funerals. Psalm 23 talks about not fearing as we walk through the valley of the shadow of death, and the promise of dwelling in the house of the Lord forever. The Revelation to John offers a vision of departed souls who have come out of a “great ordeal” gathered before the throne of God and praising him, with the promise that they will no longer hunger and thirst, and that “God will wipe away every tear from their eyes” (Revelation 7:17). And in the Gospel passage, Jesus talks about his promise to give those who follow him eternal life. All of these passages speak of death and Christian understandings of the afterlife, but they also share the common thread of the image of God or Jesus as a shepherd.

Why is it that the image of the Good Shepherd speaks to us so deeply in times of death and loss? Perhaps it is because it is comforting to remind ourselves that God is in control, that God guides and directs our lives even when we, like sheep, do not have the understanding to find our own way to the nourishment we need. It is comforting to know that even when it may seem to us that we are passing through a dangerous and threatening place, the shepherd knows where we are going and will guide us safely there.

But our understanding of God as our shepherd has an additional depth of meaning beyond the concept of a strong protector and guide. The passage from Revelation brings the two metaphors together when it asserts that “the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd.” Because the Lord who is our shepherd has also been a sacrificial lamb, he knows intimately not only the streams of life, but also the valleys of death. The shepherd who guides us is also a sheep who has known what it is to be lost and to cry out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

So when call upon the image of the Good Shepherd as we lay those we love to rest, we are not only invoking the protection and guidance of God, but the empathy of God. We are reminding ourselves at the same time of the omnipotence of God and the vulnerability of God. No matter what the circumstances of the death, whether it be a peaceful death at the end of a long life well lived or the shock of a life cut too short by illness or acts of violence like the bombings in Boston on Monday, the Good Shepherd we call on knows the full range of our human grief. He has been with us in the agony of the slaughtered lamb on Good Friday and he knows the way to the joy of the Resurrection. Because we have a shepherd who has traveled this path before, we can follow him confidently not just through the valley of the shadow of death, but through death itself.

This is why, even as our hearts ache with grief, we can say in the burial liturgy that “even at the grave we make our song: Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.” We say “alleluia” because we put our trust in the promise of the Resurrection, the promise that, as Paul wrote in his letter to the Romans, “if we have been united with him in a death like his, we will certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his” (Romans 6:5). To sing “alleluia” even at the grave is a fiercely defiant cry of hope rooted in the full assurance that our shepherd knows what it is to be a sheep.