A sermon preached at Old South Congregational Church, United Church of Christ, Hallowell, Maine, March 28, 2010.
Text: Luke 19:28-40
The Rev. Susan M. Reisert, Minister
When we were traveling through Europe in the fall of 2008 and visiting lots of cathedrals and churches of various kinds, John liked to light candles and to pray—it’s why we light candles at the beginning of our worship now. When we visited those churches and cathedrals, sometimes there would be one place for candle-lighting and praying; sometimes quite a few. When there was a choice, John liked to find the chapel with the lowest number of lit candles and he would light his candle there and pray. John found praying especially satisfying if a kneeler was provided. We have several photos of John deep in prayer, kneeling in a church, with his head bowed.
For the most part, I just gave him the euro or two (there was always a suggested donation for the lighting of candles) and let him do his thing. Occasionally, though, I asked him about what he was praying for and sometimes, he would tell me. Usually, his prayer included something about his family. His prayers also almost always included a prayer for good weather for the rest of our trip.
I certainly didn’t want to dampen his devotionals, but I was uncomfortable with these prayers for good weather, especially when I thought that he actually thought that God might work that way—so long as we behaved, we would be rewarded with good weather and all that.
Sometimes, I would gently try to suggest that, perhaps, there might be other things more worthy of his prayers than weather, but I’m not sure I convinced him.
And, this brings me to one of the more disconcerting aspects of being a minister. I must admit that I meet a lot of adults whose faith lives have not really evolved much beyond the faith of my young son. Somehow, many people develop a sense and understanding of faith through childhood and that faith pretty much stays there, without progressing, deepening, changing much at all.
I think a lot of people get stuck in that place, in that relationship with God that reflects their childhood relationship with God, and that is a lot about requests and then a waiting game to see when, how, if, our requests and desperate pleas are answered.
Now, who hasn’t been there really? I remember a certain flight that I was on years ago when a lot of turbulence hit. I prayed a lot and tried to see what kind of deal I could make, what kind of bargain I could make with God so that I would be safely returned to the ground. Who hasn’t been there really, any of us? Something bad happens, and there we are with that frantic cry to God. Why, how can this be? How could you do this, God? Or, what can I do to make you turn this around, God? Or maybe both.
Now, it’s understandable to have this kind of response, from time to time, or in a particularly difficult moment. The problem comes in when this attitude of faith is one’s faith, when faith becomes simply a system of reward and punishment. The problem comes in when we allow our faith to stay stuck in our childhood, as if God is like a human parent, doling out good things to good children, and bad things to bad children, and sometimes bad things to children who think that they’ve been good, only something bad has happened, and now they are sure that they’ve missed something because something bad has happened, which obviously means that they have been bad. It’s a dangerous and destructive place to be because it impedes a real and sustaining relationship with God.
The problem in this construct of what faith is all about—and, in particular, what Christianity is all about—is brought into focus during Holy Week. And, as we find ourselves poised at the very beginning of Holy Week, yet again, it is an important to consider our faith, to assess its strength and development, and to re-connect if necessary with our God.
If faith is simply a system of reward and punishment, then what’s going on during this most holy of weeks? If God is not only capable, but willing, to save certain people, or rescue certain people, from suffering, then why not Jesus? If there’s anyone who should have been saved from suffering it was him, that’s for sure.
To travel Holy Week, which begins today, is to enter into a more complicated faith, a faith that doesn’t always have neat and tidy answers to life’s difficult questions. To travel Holy Week is know that the road of faith is not always easy, lined with a smooth and effortless path.
To travel through Holy Week is to get in touch with our relationship with Christ, our real relationship with Christ, and to consider how we respond to that relationship, how we offer our praise. It’s easy to praise when things are hunky-dory, but what about when things get a little more complicated?
What’s the nature of your praise?
Are you one of those who lines the streets when word goes out that a new king will be entering the city, a new king who will solve everything? Are you one of those who gets all excited about rallies and wants to get caught up in that big group thing—yelling, waving signs? Are you one of those? Is that the nature of your praise?
But, what about when the promised one comes riding in on a colt, a lowly colt? Are you still full of praise when the Savior comes to town on something decidedly not grand, not impressive, not regal? Are you still full of praise when you encounter your Savior who is decidedly not the Savior you wish for?
Are you full of praise when your friend and your teacher goes off to pray and asks you to stand by and stay awake for him? Are you full of praise or do you doze off as well?
Are you full of praise when the group is gathered for supper and your master and teacher talks about death, talks about the bread and the cup as symbols to remember him? Are you full of praise then or would you rather talk about something else?
What kind of praise are you full of when the crowd chants against him? One day, it’s “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord,” and then just a few days later, “Crucify him.” Do you go along with the crowd or do you have something else to say?
What is the nature of your praise when he’s crucified and left to die with common criminals? Are you one of the few looking on or have you gone away, far away, not thinking about him, having already moved on to something else, or are you full of grief and sadness that you ran?
What is the nature of your praise the next day? Are you gathering up spices to deal with the body or have you locked yourself behind a door thinking that you might be next?
What is the nature of your praise?
Now, this isn’t about making everyone feel badly about how much or how often they fall short. This isn’t about a big “let’s feel really guilty and slink away” kind of party.
But, it is about finding the grace and the courage to enter into Holy Week, to live each one of these days seriously and prayerfully, to allow our faith to be deepened, sometimes even in ways that feel uncomfortable and new and unfamiliar. A faith well-lived is one that has a life of its own, as if at times we feel like we are just along for the ride and we sometimes find ourselves in a completely unexpected place, a place far from where we started.
Holy Week is about letting go of some of those familiar parts of faith that we carry around like a child carries a security blanket, those very familiar parts of our faith that when we really look at them, we realize that they are getting in the way of our relationship with God.
Holy Week is about following Jesus, following Jesus to those painful and difficult places, discovering that even Jesus had moments of doubt and moments when he felt abandoned by God.
To be full of praise, so full that we are brimming with it, is not really to be like those people on that first Palm Sunday (or, sticking with Luke’s version, it should be called “Cloak Sunday”), cheering on a king whom they wanted, instead of the king who really paraded in front of them into Jerusalem. No, it’s not to be like the crowd offering their misguided and empty happy approval, but it is to be like those close friends of Jesus who struggled to stay with him, who often didn’t understand what was happening or understand fully, but yet they stuck with him. They often didn’t get it quite right, their devotion sometimes faltered, but they were there, they kept walking the journey.
It might not have felt as such, but their lives were full of praise—that those difficult and painful moments near and at the end of Jesus’ earthly life prepared them, in some way, for what would meet them at the other end. Still, it is difficult to understand. But, really faith is not only about understanding, as if this all some kind of exam that we are trying to pass.
We are not always going to get it right, probably we’ll be wrong more often than right. Our devotion will sometimes falter.
Faith is not so much about getting it right. It’s more about staying close, even when staying close means going someplace we don’t want to go. Faith is about staying close, and knowing that this is the best place to be, the most meaningful place to be. How else can our hearts be prepared to welcome life even in the midst of death?
What is the nature of your praise? This is the time to ask this important question. Are you leaving your praise to the stones to shout out? Or, are you seeking to live your life full of praise?
Welcome to Holy Week. May it be so. Amen.