Beoming a resurrection people
02/05/14 05:15
It will come as no surprise to regular readers of this blog that I often don’t see things the way others do. I’ve been mulling the right answer to make to an e-mail for a couple of days, now. I know that e-mail is supposed to be instant and that one ought ot respond right away, but e-mail can also be harsh and sometimes delaying an answer can make the answer more kind and caring. When I am puzzled or having an emotional reaction, I am learning to use those events as a sign that a small delay might make my response more compassionate.
The note wa absolutely well-meaning, offering sympathy for the many deaths that our congregation has experienced in recent weeks. It is true that we have been traveling through an unprecedented season of grief. The looses in our congregation have been real and hard to take. There is no shortage of grief in our congregation. And the losses have been relentless. They keep coming. There is a funeral today and another on Monday, and there are other members of the congregation facing grave illness and making end-of-life decisions.
My reaction, however, has not been one of depression and despair. I don’t feel at the end of my rope. In the first place, the church is a wonderfully supportive community that has deep experience with grief and with reaching out to others. The task of offering comfort in the midst of loss is assumed across the width and depth of the congregation. Some people visit those who are ill, others bring food when it is needed, others volunteer for jobs within the church to support grieving families. We have ushers and hosts and those who prepare food. When I visit a grieving family I almost always run into another member of the congregation who is making a visit with equal care and concern. This may be a season of grief, but we are not alone in our grief.
The writer of the note appropriately referred to a psalm of lament. Knowing that we are not the first generation of God’s faithful people to experience the pain of loss can be reassuring and I have read lament Psalms myself at funerals and with the congregation as we travel through especially hard times. But frankly, I haven’t been dwelling in the Psalms very much these days. Part of it is that grief work takes a lot of energy. I’ve been feeling tired frequently during this journey. And poetry is, for me, a literary form that takes a bit of focus and energy. I never read myself to sleep in a book of poetry. I reserve poetry for times when I can pay attention. So it may be exhaustion that keeps me from diving into the poetry of psalms and prophets right now.
Instead, I have been reveling in the Easter texts, especially the prophets. The stories of Mary at the tomb, of Tomas and the disciples in the upper room, and the disciples journeying to Emmaus with Jesus all are sources of energy and strength. I love the transition that takes place in Jesus’ friends as they experience resurrection. Almost none of them recognize Jesus right away. Resurrection is not the same as resuscitation. Jesus is transformed by the experience of death and resurrection and so too is the community. These stories open up a whole new future - one that could not be imagined before Jesus’ death. The readings of this season are so rich with hope that I find it impossible to dwell in despair for much time at all.
My “go to” section of scripture this week has been the 11th and 12th chapters of the letter to the Hebrews. Chapter 11 is an eloquent and succinct account of the history of Israel. Hero after hero of the faith is named and celebrated. It could almost be read as a catalogue of fallen leaders. It is a list of those who have died. The writer is not unaware of the past.
But if you continue reading into the 12th chapter there is a wonderful and exciting transition at the cusp between the two chapters. Having acknowledge the past, dwelling in a deep awareness of those who have died, the author turns our attention to the future. “Since, therefore we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith. . . .”
The future is calling us and the path to the future is a course for us that will demand our highest and best and more than a small amount of grit. It is a challenge, perhaps the challenge of a lifetime. We didn’t choose the path - it is a curriculum - a racecourse designed to test our skills and abilities - and it is set before us.
And like the journey of grief, we do not run this race alone. We have one who has gone before. We are following in the footsteps of our pioneer.
Those disciples on the road to Emmaus were not denied the expression of their grief and confusion. The stranger they meet on the road allows them to tell their story - in fact he asks the question that gets them talking. But while they dwelt in their grief they could not recognize their companion. Even as they struggled to make sense of what had happened, as he taught them all about how their experience fit into the teachings of scripture, as they felt their hearts warmly stirred, they could not recognize what was really happening.
It was only through the sacrament - through the act of giving thanks, breaking bread and sharing - that their eyes were opened and they saw what had been true all along. Theirs was not the story of death and loss and grief only. Theirs was the story of resurrection and new life.
They had thought that they stood at the end of the story and suddenly realized that they were at the beginning of a much bigger story.
So I will continue to pray and I will find words as gentle and kind as I am able to respond to the writer of the note. And I won’t forget the past. But I for one am encouraged by the vision of the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, who goes ahead and reminds us that this course we travel leads to a destination worth all of the perseverance we can muster.
Onward!
The note wa absolutely well-meaning, offering sympathy for the many deaths that our congregation has experienced in recent weeks. It is true that we have been traveling through an unprecedented season of grief. The looses in our congregation have been real and hard to take. There is no shortage of grief in our congregation. And the losses have been relentless. They keep coming. There is a funeral today and another on Monday, and there are other members of the congregation facing grave illness and making end-of-life decisions.
My reaction, however, has not been one of depression and despair. I don’t feel at the end of my rope. In the first place, the church is a wonderfully supportive community that has deep experience with grief and with reaching out to others. The task of offering comfort in the midst of loss is assumed across the width and depth of the congregation. Some people visit those who are ill, others bring food when it is needed, others volunteer for jobs within the church to support grieving families. We have ushers and hosts and those who prepare food. When I visit a grieving family I almost always run into another member of the congregation who is making a visit with equal care and concern. This may be a season of grief, but we are not alone in our grief.
The writer of the note appropriately referred to a psalm of lament. Knowing that we are not the first generation of God’s faithful people to experience the pain of loss can be reassuring and I have read lament Psalms myself at funerals and with the congregation as we travel through especially hard times. But frankly, I haven’t been dwelling in the Psalms very much these days. Part of it is that grief work takes a lot of energy. I’ve been feeling tired frequently during this journey. And poetry is, for me, a literary form that takes a bit of focus and energy. I never read myself to sleep in a book of poetry. I reserve poetry for times when I can pay attention. So it may be exhaustion that keeps me from diving into the poetry of psalms and prophets right now.
Instead, I have been reveling in the Easter texts, especially the prophets. The stories of Mary at the tomb, of Tomas and the disciples in the upper room, and the disciples journeying to Emmaus with Jesus all are sources of energy and strength. I love the transition that takes place in Jesus’ friends as they experience resurrection. Almost none of them recognize Jesus right away. Resurrection is not the same as resuscitation. Jesus is transformed by the experience of death and resurrection and so too is the community. These stories open up a whole new future - one that could not be imagined before Jesus’ death. The readings of this season are so rich with hope that I find it impossible to dwell in despair for much time at all.
My “go to” section of scripture this week has been the 11th and 12th chapters of the letter to the Hebrews. Chapter 11 is an eloquent and succinct account of the history of Israel. Hero after hero of the faith is named and celebrated. It could almost be read as a catalogue of fallen leaders. It is a list of those who have died. The writer is not unaware of the past.
But if you continue reading into the 12th chapter there is a wonderful and exciting transition at the cusp between the two chapters. Having acknowledge the past, dwelling in a deep awareness of those who have died, the author turns our attention to the future. “Since, therefore we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith. . . .”
The future is calling us and the path to the future is a course for us that will demand our highest and best and more than a small amount of grit. It is a challenge, perhaps the challenge of a lifetime. We didn’t choose the path - it is a curriculum - a racecourse designed to test our skills and abilities - and it is set before us.
And like the journey of grief, we do not run this race alone. We have one who has gone before. We are following in the footsteps of our pioneer.
Those disciples on the road to Emmaus were not denied the expression of their grief and confusion. The stranger they meet on the road allows them to tell their story - in fact he asks the question that gets them talking. But while they dwelt in their grief they could not recognize their companion. Even as they struggled to make sense of what had happened, as he taught them all about how their experience fit into the teachings of scripture, as they felt their hearts warmly stirred, they could not recognize what was really happening.
It was only through the sacrament - through the act of giving thanks, breaking bread and sharing - that their eyes were opened and they saw what had been true all along. Theirs was not the story of death and loss and grief only. Theirs was the story of resurrection and new life.
They had thought that they stood at the end of the story and suddenly realized that they were at the beginning of a much bigger story.
So I will continue to pray and I will find words as gentle and kind as I am able to respond to the writer of the note. And I won’t forget the past. But I for one am encouraged by the vision of the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, who goes ahead and reminds us that this course we travel leads to a destination worth all of the perseverance we can muster.
Onward!