Participating in Resurrection

Sermon delivered Sunday, April 6, 2014 (Fifth Sunday in Lent, Year A), at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Franklin, TN (Ezekiel 37:1-14; Romans 8:6-11; John 11:1-45)

Our readings for today seem to be getting a little ahead of themselves. They’re all about resurrection! God instructs Ezekiel to prophesy to the dry bones to bring them back to life, Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead, and Paul tells us that “he who raised Christ from the dead will give life to your mortal bodies also” (Romans 8:11).

Resurrection, bringing life from death, is everywhere in these readings. With the exception of the psalm, there’s hardly a word anywhere about our Lenten themes of sin and repentance. What’s going on here? If Easter is still two weeks away, why all this talk about resurrection in the middle of Lent?

Perhaps it is because we most need to remember the promise of resurrection during times of repentance. Whenever we stop to take a cold, hard look at the ways we are dead in our sins, we need to simultaneously remember the promise that we can and will be made alive through the Spirit of God working in us. The 40 days of Lent metaphorically recall Jesus’s 40 days of temptation in the wilderness, and it is during our own wilderness periods that we are most aware of our need for resurrection. When we come face to face with our shortcomings and our mortality, we are most open to the gift of grace and new life that God offers to us. By anticipating the resurrection two weeks before we make it to Easter, our readings today remind us that God’s offer of new life is available even in the midst of the wilderness.

And these readings also remind us of something about resurrection that we don’t hear as clearly in the Easter passages – they remind us that God invites us to participate in the process of resurrection. In today’s passages, the people are not passive bystanders to God’s miraculous power to bring life from death; they actually join with God in bringing about resurrection.

Ezekiel joins with God in bringing new life to the dry bones by speaking the words God has given him to speak, and the bystanders in the Gospel join with Jesus in restoring Lazarus to life by moving away the stone from the grave and removing Lazarus’s burial clothes. [1] Clearly, the power to bring life from death is entirely God’s, but at least in these stories, God does not do so without involving others in the process. God could have showed Ezekiel a vision of the dry bones coming back to life without any required words or actions on Ezekiel’s part, and God could have moved the stone away from Lazarus’s tomb miraculously, without human involvement, and Lazarus could have walked out already free from his burial shroud. But for whatever reason, God didn’t do it that way. God chose to leave parts of the process for us to do.

It has become somewhat of a catch-phrase in modern theology to talk about people as being “co-creators with God.” This idea proposes that human beings partner with God in the maintenance of the created world and in bringing about God’s purposes in it. In contrast to a view that sees human beings as entirely passive because “God’s in control,” this theology insists that human beings are active partners with God in God’s activity in the world.

Although a common critique of this theology is that it ascribes too much power to humans, coming close to saying human beings are equal to God, the theologian who first coined the term, Phillip Hefner, actually used the phrase “created co-creator.” We are not just co-creators – as if we were fellow gods in the heavenly court – we are created co-creators. We are, in fact, creatures, and the creature is not greater than the creator.

But, because we are created in the image of God who is a creator, we are made to be creators as well. Our creative abilities – in the arts, in science and technology, in problem-solving – are seen as a stamp of the divine nature in us. This theology also emphasizes human freedom, because it says that God does not direct every little action that happens on earth, but gives us the freedom of self-determination. No, God does not need us to do anything, but rather than exert total and utter control over us, God chooses to leave parts of the process for us to do. To the extent that we do those things, we become a partner with God in the great work of the divine redemption of the world. It is an unequal partnership, to be sure, but it is a partnership all the same.

The people in our readings for today are examples of the created co-creator. They are partners – however unequal – with God in making resurrection happen. Ezekiel delivers the words, the bystanders in the Gospel roll away the stone and remove Lazarus’s burial clothes. They remind us that although God is fully capable of bringing about transformation without us, God often asks for our help in doing so. God gives us a role to play. God invites us to participate in the work of resurrection.

The actions that Jesus tells the people to perform in today’s Gospel reading are rather symbolic. His specific instructions to them are, “Take away the stone,” and “Unbind him and let him go.” Although we can assume the people were invited to do these things in a literal sense for very practical reasons, the stories in John’s Gospel always have a deeper symbolic meaning.

Jesus invites us to participate in the work of resurrection by taking away the stones – the obstacles in our lives and in the lives of others that prevent the power of God from reaching us. I’m sure we’ve all known people who have constructed such emotional walls around themselves that they shut out everyone around them, and even shut out God. We might have even done this in our own lives at some point. There is a saying of Baha’u’llah, the founder of the Bahá’í Faith, who relates that God said to him, “O Son of Being! Love Me, that I may love thee. If thou lovest Me not, My love can in no wise reach thee.” We must give love in order to be open to receiving love. If we do not take away the stones from the entrance to our hearts, the power of resurrection can in no way reach us.

Unbinding Lazarus

Jesus also invites us to participate in the work of resurrection by doing the difficult work of unbinding the shroud of death – the painful memories, the negative self-talk, the grudges and resentments – whatever it is that keeps us bound to the ways of sin and death – he invites us to cut loose those cords so that we can experience and appreciate the full power of the liberation given to us in the resurrection. Even though he had been restored to life, Lazarus’s freedom was still restricted until the people unbound him and let him go. Likewise, even if we have received the gift of new life through the resurrection in our baptism, we too can remain bound by our old burial shroud of sin and death, unless we do our part in the resurrection process and work to loosen those bonds.

This partnering with God in the process of resurrection is not easy business. And we can’t do it alone. Just as Lazarus could not untie himself, and certainly could not have moved the stone away from his grave while he was still dead, so we too sometimes must rely on others to help us move the stones and unbind the shrouds in our lives. This is not to say that others can do it all for us, but that we need companions and guides as we do this work. And while others have a part to play in our liberation, we also have a part to play in theirs – in fact, the two are inextricably linked. As we strive to do this difficult work, this spiritual work of opening ourselves to God and others, of rolling away the stones and unbinding the shroud of death, we find that our best guides and companions on the way are those people who know something about rolling away stones and unbinding shrouds – those people who have been there and have found a way through.

So maybe it’s not so out of character to think about resurrection during Lent after all. For it is only when we have experienced resurrection in the midst of our own wilderness that we are able to joyfully claim our role as created co-creators in God’s great work of redemption in the world.

[1] Insight into the participatory nature of the Gospel passage came from Richard Rohr, Wondrous Encounters: Scripture for Lent (Cincinnati: St. Anthony Messenger Press, 2011): 101. I must give him credit for the inspiration behind the direction of and theme of this sermon.

The woods do not work well as a labyrinth

Today, our Contemporary Moral Issues class met at our professor's house and we had a guest speaker from the Center for Religion and the Environment lead us in "Opening the Book of Nature," a class he teaches to instruct people in seeing God in nature and "reading" God's presence in nature. The ancient church fathers and saints wrote about the "two books" -- the book of scripture and the book of nature -- that were essential to understand God. We've gotten really good in post-enlightenment western Christianity about analyzing the "book of Scripture," but have all but let the "book of nature" go.

This all sounded good enough, and I was looking forward to the hour that we were given to "wander" in the woods behind our professor's house. It was very "retreat"-ish, and all my "aha" moments where I've really felt a sense of direction and purpose and what I believe to be God's call to me have all happened when I have been out in nature on retreat. So this was a familiar scenario to me. Only problem was, there weren't any clearly marked trails right behind her house, and there were three miles of woods to explore with no signs of "civilization."

Unfortunately, the good sense of direction that I generally pride myself on failed me, and I got completely lost. I came upon the same spot on the woods three different times, after being SURE that I was headed in the opposite direction, back towards the house, I'd suddenly find myself again back at the same spot. My husband, who is an Eagle Scout and lived in Alaska for a number of years and is familiar with wilderness survival and wanderings, later informed me that the human tendency in such situations is to walk in circles. I wonder what that says about our spiritual and intellectual pursuits.

I was sort of following these open paths (or what I saw as open paths) through the woods, thinking I'd let the woods guide me as I would a labyrinth. Only problem is, the labyrinth is carefully engineered (by humans!) to do what it does -- to bring you to the center and then bring you back out again, without you having to focus on remembering where you've been or where you're going. It's a nice metaphor for being led by God. But out in God's actual creation, following a path and allowing it to lead you without being aware of your surroundings only leads to being lost and scared. So how should we REALLY approach our relationship with God? Is the labyrinth really such a good metaphor? It certainly doesn't work to use God's untamed creation that way.

Sermon - Fifth Sunday in Lent, Year C (BCP)

Isaiah 43:16-21 link to NRSV text
Psalm 126 link to NRSV text
Luke 20:9-19 link to NRSV text



Wilderness.

It is a somewhat scary word. We think of "the wilderness" as the opposite of the comforts offered by "civilization." For centuries, human beings have lived in dense, concentrated towns or cities not only for convenience, but as a protection against the dangers of uninhibited nature. The wilderness is a place where things are wild and unpredictable, a place where we are not in control. In the wilderness, things are uncertain. We never know what unseen threats may await us, what animal may be lurking around the next tree. It is a place many of us want to avoid, not to seek out.

But during Lent, we are called to go INTO the wilderness. The 40 days of Lent symbolically recall both the 40 years that the Israelites wandered in the wilderness after the exodus from Egypt and the 40 days that Jesus spent in prayer and fasting in the desert before the start of his public ministry. In both of these stories, the wilderness is a place of danger, of fear, of uncertainty -- but also a place of encounter with God.

The idea of "the wilderness" usually conjures up an image of a place void of God's presence, a place where we are distant from God. To be in the wilderness, to be wandering in the desert, is to be lost, to be out of touch with God, to be in a "dry spell" spiritually, if you will. But the scriptures for this morning remind us that God is present, and even active, in the wilderness.

In Isaiah 43, God declares that God is "about to do a new thing" in the wilderness. "Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old. I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?" (Isaiah 43:18-19). In this passage, God promises to deliver the Israelites from captivity under the Babylonians, just as God delivered them from the Egyptians centuries before. Using imagery that echoes the story of the exodus, already a central sacred story for the Israelites at this point in their history, the writer of Isaiah ties the Israelites' present liberation to the salvation history that traces back to the exodus from Egypt. Just as God delivered the Israelites from the hands of the Egyptians, so will God deliver them from the hands of the Babylonians. Isaiah promises us that God will "make a way in the wilderness;" that is, God will bring deliverance from oppression.

The psalm for today also gives us an image of God active in the wilderness, active in nature. God has "restored the fortunes of Zion," the psalmist writes, restoring the land to the people, bringing forth a harvest from a land formerly barren, and simultaneously turning the Israelite's tears into "songs of joy." The metaphors of sowing and reaping, so prevalent in the biblical texts, show the extent to which God's activity was perceived and felt in the land, in nature, even in the wilderness, in the land that is least life-giving. The psalmist promises us that God will "restore the fortunes of Zion;" that is, God will bring new life after a period of lifeless and despair.

The gospel reading for today also shows God doing a new thing in the land -- this time with regards to the vineyard in the parable. God, represented in the story by the vineyard owner, destroys the corrupt tenants who abuse, reject and kill God's messengers and gives the vineyard to "others," presumably those who will respect those who come on behalf of God. Jesus promises us that God will make "the stone that the builders rejected to be the cornerstone;" that is, God will vindicate those the world has mistreated and deemed worthless.

Whether literally or metaphorically, these readings show us that God is doing a new thing -- IN THE WILDERNESS. God is doing a new thing precisely in those places that seem the most threatening, the most hopeless, the most fearful. God is doing a new thing precisely in those places where we may doubt God is even present.

"Do not remember the former things or consider the things of old," God commands the people in the reading from Isaiah (Isaiah 43:18). Even if the "former things" that have happened to us give us reason to doubt God's goodness or God's love for us, as the Israelites surely must have during the periods of slavery and exile, the scriptures tell us that we have the promise of God's deliverance, that God is active even in those periods of despair, that we can look forward to the new things that God has in store for us in our lives.

"I am about to do a new thing," God says, "now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?" (Isaiah 43:19) Just as with the ancient Israelites, God is about to do a new thing in OUR midst, in our community and in our lives! Do we perceive it? If we dwell too much on the past, God tells us, we will miss the new thing that God is doing in the present. Unless we take the time to look for it, we may indeed NOT perceive it. We must go to the wilderness, to take the time to look and listen for that "new thing" that God is doing -- so we can give thanks and rejoice in God's goodness in our lives and in the life of our community.

Barbara Brown Taylor, an Episcopal priest in Georgia and the author of many books, including Leaving Church, writes that "faith in God has both a center and an edge, and that each is necessary for the soul's health." The "center" is the liturgical life of the church within the buildings and hierarchical structures, and the "edge" is that wilderness on the outskirts of the community. The center is where the stories of encounter with God get preserved and passed on to future generations, she writes, but the edge, or the wilderness, is the place where most of those encounters have happened.

The wilderness can be scary, "a place where things are wild and unpredictable, a place where we are not in control" -- but is this not the very definition of what it means to be in God's presence? When we step boldly into the wilderness, we open ourselves to encounter God. When was the last time you went there, literally or metaphorically, willingly or unwillingly, and opened yourself to the voice of God?

Two weeks ago, I went on a mostly silent Lenten retreat through the Resurrection House program. In the weeks before the retreat, my life was incredibly busy and my mind was constantly going a million miles an hour... and I had completely lost touch with God's presence. For a while, I had been feeling like I was wandering in a mental wilderness -- a somewhat scary and uncertain place of not knowing what the future holds for me after this internship, of feeling restless, without a sense of direction.

But during that retreat, during the silent time I spent walking in the wilderness -- well, if you can call the 22 acres of woods on the property of Knowles Mercy Retreat Center "wilderness!" -- I reconnected with God. I was reminded of God's love for me, I saw God's active presence in nature, and one day as I walked, I suddenly received a strong sense of direction and peace -- a sense that "it's time to go home," that the next step of my life will lead me back to that land to which I am deeply connected on a visceral level -- that is, the South. I didn't receive any kind of insights just yet as to what the extended future will hold, but I do believe I received guidance for the next step. This is the "new thing" that God is doing in my life.

I would encourage you all to also spend some time, some REAL time, in the wilderness with God in these last weeks before Easter. Find some patch of nature somewhere where you can walk or sit, empty your mind of distracting thoughts, and listen for what God is trying to communicate to YOU this Lent. What things is God making new in your own life?

May we be always open to the wild and unpredictable ways of our God, may we always be willing to relinquish our control and to listen and wait for the ways in which God is calling to us in the wilderness. Amen.