 Dr. William A. Ritter Senior Minister |
The
Sturdy and Unquestioned Piers
Sermon:
Scripture: |
|
W.W.J.D.
“What would Jesus drive?” Apparently, a group of clergy
(Protestant, Catholic, Jewish) asked that of a group of
Detroit-based automotive executives on Wednesday as part of a
campaign to improve environmental ecology. And while I know a
little something about the issue, I know next to nothing about
the group. I think most came from out of town, given that no
call went out to any of us “locals.” So, like you, all I
know is what I read in the papers. Nor
do I know what Jesus would drive, were he to suddenly find
himself in the Motor City, standing in line at some car rental
counter. Jay Leno contends that Jesus would rent a
12-passenger van. For which there would be biblical precedent.
Although, in his time…and in his region….Jesus walked
(save for a few boat rides and one late-in-life mountain
descent on the back of a donkey). That was about all there was
available to Jesus….or anybody. Unless, of course, your
friends carried you. Which is the mode of transportation that
figures so prominently in this morning’s gospel. Today’s
story has always been one of my favorites….in part, because
it is so visual. Somebody should paint it. I suppose somebody
has. But I haven’t seen it. So let me describe it. Jesus is
teaching….indoors, rather than outdoors….in a house,
rather than a synagogue….to a crowd, rather than a handful.
And the reason there is a crowd is because his fame is
spreading. People who never heard him of before are hearing of
him now. Making them curious, don’t you see. And
in a very strange phrase, Luke writes: “And the power of the
Lord happened to be with him so that he might heal people.”
“Happened to be with him”….almost as if it wasn’t
always with him….as if it came and went from him….as if it
wasn’t an everyday kind of thing for him….as if it were a
gift that could be used, but couldn’t be commanded by
him….whatever. On this day, Jesus has it and is using it. Which is why a paralyzed man is being carried by other men (Luke doesn’t say how many men, although Mark says four) on a stretcher. Well, they can’t get anywhere near the house. Which tells you how thick the crowd is. Nobody is of a mind to move out of the way. Nor is anybody of a mind to make a way. It’s wall-to-wall bodies, everywhere you look. Whenever I get in a crowd like that....as I was last Saturday in Ann Arbor….I try to get behind somebody with a wide body and use him as a blocker. Unfortunately, I have reached that point of my life where others try to get behind me and use me as a blocker. But
this day, there is no way. Except for the very clever. Which
these four guys are. So what do they do? They get themselves
and their paralyzed friend up on the roof. Whereupon they make
an opening (right above where Jesus is doing his thing) and
they lower their friend down to Jesus. Whereupon Jesus does
three things. First, he marvels at the faith of the four
friends. Second, he forgives the man’s sins (thereby giving
him mobility). Third, he gets into a hassle with the gawkers
(who, instead of marveling that a paralyzed man can suddenly
walk, challenge Jesus over whether he has the authority to
forgive sins). As
concerns the authority question, Jesus does what he always
does when someone questions his authority to do something. He
says (in effect): “I did it, didn’t I? And it worked,
didn’t it? What you see is what you get. Pay attention to
what your eyes tell you. The proof is in the pudding. So back
off.” Which they did. As
concerns the forgiveness question, guilt cripples people. I
mean, if guilt can eat away at your gut till it bleeds (we
call that “ulcers”), I suppose guilt can also eat away at
your limbs till you’re lame (we call that “paralysis”).
So don’t worry about the parts of the text that have to do
with authority and forgiveness. Instead, let’s you and I
spend a few minutes talking about the friends. These have to
be some of the all-time great guys of the world. Although they
don’t necessarily need to be guys. If it makes you feel
better, make two of them women. Indeed, if it will make you
feel better still, make all of them women. My point is not
gender-dependent. My point is that, in a world where we are
commanded to bear our friends’ burdens, these four bore
their friend. Obviously,
it is friendship that interests me this morning. This being
the Sunday before Thanksgiving, I want to suggest a measure of
gratitude for friendship. And for those who offer it. After
all, life is lonely. Or it can be. During the stupidity of
adolescence, we are overheard to say: “I can’t wait to be
totally on my own.” Only later do we learn that it’s not
what it’s cracked up to be, once we achieve it….being
“totally on our own,” I mean. When
I was a child, I was taught to pray:
Now I lay me down to sleep, Which,
had I stopped to think about it, would have scared the
daylights out of me. But I didn’t. So it didn’t. But
having reached an age where I know people who go to sleep and
don’t wake up, I am much more drawn to Dorothy Sayers and
her poem entitled “Hymn in Contemplation of Sudden
Death”….from which I give you but one stanza (the first
stanza):
Lord, if this night my journey end, Just
to be sure I understood her, I looked up the word “pier”
in a dictionary and read: “A mass of masonry supporting one
end of an arch or bridge….or a similar support of iron or
timbers.” And while it is true that a pier could also be a
dock or promenade built over the water, I think Dorothy is
lifting up an image of supporting, rather than an image of
strolling. In other words, if the years of your life are a
bridge carrying you from here to there….without friends, the
bridge collapses. And I further love the dictionary definition
that compares a pier to a “mass of masonry,” given that
one way we have often described a true friend is by saying
that “he (or she) is a real brick.” Friendship
is hard to define, but wondrous to experience. When in high
school, friends are everything. But in high school, quantity
counts for more than quality. The more the better, we think.
Having lots of friends tells the world we are popular. Heck,
having lots of friends tells us that we are popular. And lots
of friends ensures that we will never be bored. The
fact of the matter is that very few high school friends are
lasting friends. But collegiate friends are often maintained
for a lifetime. In high school, we choose our pack. In
college, we move from pack to person. Which may explain why
the late Rev. Edward Everett Hale once wrote of Harvard:
“The best part of a college education is the people you meet
there.” Seldom
does the Bible speak with eloquence about friendship. But a
delightful exception is the passage I read (mere moments ago)
from the Apocryphal book Ecclesiasticus (sometimes known as
the Wisdom of Sirach). The writer begins with the suggestion
that not every friend who starts as one, stays one….meaning
that friends can hurt you, abandon you, even betray you. For
which of us has not voiced or heard the lament: “But I
thought you were my friend?” But
when friendship takes hold (the writer says), it provides a
secure shelter and a true treasure. “A faithful friend is
beyond price.” And a faithful friend is also “an elixir of
life”….as in life’s tonic, life’s flavor, life’s
joy. Do I think that finding such persons is easy? No. Do I
think that finding such persons is necessary? Yes. You
would think that clergy….who talk about such things
glibly….would establish such friendships readily. But you
would be wrong. Clergy are often quite lonely. For one thing,
many of us are more in love with roles than relationships.
Meaning that when we take the collar off….the robe
off….the title off….the church off….we are painfully
private and somewhat socially inept. Great as we are at
bedsides, we are far less effective at parties….where the
meeting is casual and the conversation non-professional. And
for the second thing, we are told from day one of our
ministry: “Don’t get too close to a few, lest you offend,
confuse, or otherwise ignore the many. And when you leave a
church, leave it. Sever all ties.” For which there may be a
rationale. But from which nothing very healthy comes. For
several years ago it became clear to me that when we try to
love everybody equally, we wind up loving nobody
satisfactorily. In
the midst of writing this sermon, the mail came. And in the
pile of mail that fell from the slot to the floor, there was a
packet from the Board of Pensions. Apparently, there is a
computer somewhere in Evanston that thinks this is my year to
retire. It’s not. Believe me, it’s not. But the computer
wanted to be sure I had the necessary financial information,
just in case. Better
yet, the Board of Pensions sent a slew of booklets, including
one entitled “How Do You Know It’s Time?” In it, I found
a series of questions concerning one’s emotional readiness
to hang it up. One of which read: “Do you feel comfortable
that you have friends to replace work?” Which is a good
question. But we clergy would be better served if it were
asked of us in our twenties, rather than in our sixties. For
the goal of friendship is not to replace ministry. The goal of
friendship is to enhance ministry. True,
friendships come in all shapes and sizes. At least that’s
true for me.
But
there’s also this, courtesy of Peter Gomes: “God desires
friendship with us, and has given us the model of friendship
to describe his relationship to us….and ours to him.” So
what does that mean? I’ll tell you what it means. Ours is an
incarnational faith….meaning that the best way to believe it
is to encounter someone who embodies it….given that
Christianity is less a doctrine preserved from generation to
generation, than a virus passed from person to person (albeit
a most pleasurable virus). Not
that it works every time. Mark Trotter is one of my better
friends in ministry. And Mark Trotter is one of the better
preachers in Methodism. Everybody in San Diego likes Mark.
Well, not everybody. One of his parishioners disliked him
passionately and disagreed with him frequently. But as every
unpleasant encounter between them drew to a close, she would
paint her face with a thin coat of spiritual lacquer, gargle
with a quick slug of spiritual honey, and say: “But just
remember, Mark, God loves you and so do I.” One
day he decided to test her claim. So he said to her: “Mary
(Alice, whatever), sometimes when you say that, it sounds like
a formula…..something you read in a book, heard on the
television, or figure you somehow ought to say. I know God
loves me. So just once, why don’t you skip that part of it
and tell me that you love me.” Whereupon she stared at the
floor for the longest time before breaking the silence with:
“I’m sorry, Mark….really sorry….but I just can’t say
it.” But
others can. And have. And will again. So this Thanksgiving
(after you’ve whacked the bird beyond recognition), why not
raise a prayer of gratitude for them, knowing that it is God
who speaks to you through them?
Lord, if this night my journey end, Note:
Since preaching this sermon, I have learned that the clergy
who confronted Detroit’s automotive executives were largely
out-of-towners. They represented a rather interesting
coalition. Some of them came from the Evangelical
Environmental Network, a biblically orthodox non-profit group
that works with World Vision and the International Bible
Society. Others came from the National Council of Churches,
working in conjunction with the Coalition on the Environment
and Jewish Life. So now you know. As for Dorothy Sayers’ poem, “Hymn in Contemplation of Sudden Death,” I am still searching for all the verses, given that the samplings shared with me by Peter Gomes in his book, You Can Do This, have greatly captured my fancy. For those interested in such things, Dorothy Sayers is both British and Anglican.
|