18th
Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)
August
4, 2019
I
noticed that some of you perked up when Paul and Timothy wrote the words, “Wives,
be subject to your husbands,” and “Husbands, love your wives.” I wanted you to
know that I’m not going to talk about that. There are single people here, too,
as you know.
Others
of you raised your eyebrows when we heard, “Children, obey your parents,” if
only the commandment already said, “Honor your father and mother.” It equates
honoring with obeying, which is not always the same thing. And then to say, “Fathers,
don’t provoke your children.” What in the world was going on in the Colossian
church? I don’t know, and I’m not going to get into that, either.
Somebody
over here gasped when the text says, “Slaves, obey your masters.” All of us know
that slavery has been outlawed in our nation for 156 years, even though it
exists in other nations, and even though there are still forms of economic servitude
that are cruel and demeaning. This is not a sermon about slavery, so I’m not
going to talk about that.
No,
I’m going to talk about the poem on the bulletin cover. It was written over 350
years ago by a Welsh Anglican priest named George Herbert (1593-1633). It is based
on a line from our scripture text:
My words and thoughts do both expresse this
notion,
That Life hath with the sun a
double motion.
The first Is straight, and our
diurnall friend,
The other Hid and doth obliquely
bend.
One life is wrapt In flesh, and
tends to earth.
The other winds towards Him, whose
happy birth
Taught me to live here so, That
still one eye
Should aim and shoot at that which Is
on high:
Quitting
with daily labor
all My pleasure,
To
gain at harvest
an eternal Treasure.
The
scripture text, in case you missed it, is written diagonally in the poem: "My
life is hid in Him that is my treasure." It is a paraphrase of Colossians
3:3, "Your life is hidden with Christ in God." The verse itself is
hidden within the poem. That’s pretty slick.
According
to the poem, life moves in two directions. One direction goes from dawn to
dusk, day in, day out. There are routines to maintain, commitments to keep,
meals to make, work to do. Presumably there are spouses to love, parents to obey,
children to avoid provoking, masters to obey, and slaves to treat fairly. Life
is wrapped in flesh and engages in work on earth.
But
the Christian life also aims in the direction of Jesus Christ. Jesus lived this
life, as we do, and he reigns in it and above it in power and beauty. The true
life, the fullness of life, is hidden in Him who is our treasure. We work every
day, but we aim elsewhere. Our treasure is woven diagonally from one corner of
the day to the other, and it can been seen only when it is highlighted.
That's
where I want to shine some light for a few minutes this morning. Paul says,
"Your life is hidden with Christ in God."
I've
been thinking about the whole business of hiding. If there's something we know
how to do, we know how to hide.
On
balmy summer nights, the kids in my neighborhood loved to play hide and seek, or
the variation “kick the can.” My sister was an expert at hiding. One night she
burrowed under a yew bush. It was such a wonderful spot, that she stayed there
even when we called out “All-ee, all-ee, in free." She didn’t come. She
kept hiding.
She
didn’t even show for the homemade ice cream that our father cranked up. About
the time we finished the last scoop she emerged out of the shadows, her brow
covered with mud. She found out what she missed, and got angry. She stomped up
to her room and hid up there for the rest of the night.
We
know how to hide. Adam and Eve ate the forbidden fruit, and what did they do?
They went into hiding. They heard God strolling in the garden, so they hid. God
said, "Where are you? All-ee, all-ee, in free." Right then they
should have known it wasn't Paradise anymore. They were hiding from God. That's
about the worst description anybody can give of the human condition: Adam and
Eve were hiding from God.
It’s
kind of silly, if you think about it. Where did they think they could go?
If
there's anything we know how to do, we know how to hide. But how are we at
hiding with God? If I understand the poem and the Bible verse within it,
there is a part of life which is hidden, a slice of the soul which is out of
view, a piece of us which does not belong to public scrutiny.
And
if we don't conceal that essence of ourselves with God, every other part of our
lives can tumble out of balance. The actions of our bodies will implode in
self-destruction. Our words will tear down, rather than build up. Our
relationships will be ripped apart, rather than be stitched together.
Two
words are important for the writer of Colossians. They are the words
"hidden" and "mystery." Paul and Timothy speak of Christ as
the mystery hidden throughout the ages (1:26). In Christ "are hidden all
the treasures of wisdom and knowledge." (2:3) It is not enough to
"wrap our lives in flesh" - - we must "wind toward Him."
The
apostles point to a set of renunciations and affirmations that
distinguish us as children of God. They describe the Christian life as if it’s
like shedding an old set of clothes and putting on a new outfit. You choose to
do it, not to make yourself pretty, but because God has already considered you
beautiful and given you the new outfit. It's been paid for. All you have to do
is put it on. And we do this best by spending time with the One who gave it to
you.
That's
why God gave us the Sabbath. The old Sabbath law is an invitation to dwell abundantly.
It works by guarding the tendency to live only in the exterior world. God
protects us from having to earn our way, by commanding us to sit still for one
day out of seven.
God
says, "For a seventh of your time, don't lift a finger - - not because
you're lazy, not because you're tired, not because you think you need to earn
your keep – but because, in some deep, abiding sense, you are already kept.”
Paul
calls upon us to protect a part of our soul so that the world can't snatch it
away. "Set your mind on things that are above and kill off the bad habits
of down below." The piece of us that matters most is already hidden with
God. The passive language is instructive. We don't have to establish a
relationship with God. It has already been set up for us. It happened in
baptism when the old self was sunk into the water and washed away. The new
person was already raised with Christ.
The
invitation is not to do anything, at least, not anything more. It’s the
invitation to be – to be a baptized soul, to be claimed by Christ, to be sufficiently
“hidden with Christ in God" that nothing else can ever snatch us away.
So
what would that look like? For me, it’s a few different habits that I work on.
I flip on the coffee pot at 7 in the morning, let the dogs out, and enjoy the
morning silence. From about 7:15 until 8, I read a couple of Psalms. It’s a
time to float, a time to sit on the front porch, enjoy the flowers, watch the
bees and the hummingbirds, and receive a day that I didn’t have to make.
And
throughout the day, I may push back from the desk and take a five-minute mini-sabbatical.
I could light a candle, pray for the person that I just talked with on the
phone, or simply be silent for a bit. When the day is over, I’m the last one to
go upstairs. I pause to thank God for the day, for the conversations that I’ve
had, ask forgiveness for the mistake I made, and drop an unfinished day into
the Savior’s hands. Nothing particularly dramatic. Doesn’t seem very spiritual,
except that maybe it is. I rest in God’s mercy. I hide with Christ.
So
what would it look like for you? Maybe some of these things, or maybe something
else.
·
Maybe
you need to take a walk in the woods or applaud for a pretty sunset, or maybe you
could sit still on Sunday afternoon and let a refreshing Wind bring you back to
life.
·
Maybe
you could sit in a boat with a fishing pole, in no hurry to catch anything but admiring
the dragonflies, or you could read a book that opens your heart and expands
your mind.
·
Maybe
you could get up early and pray for the people you love, or you could sit by a
crackling campfire at night and offer to God the people you find hard to love.
·
Maybe
it’s time to make a list of distant friends and pick up the phone, or maybe you
need a retreat from the noisy people around you.
·
On
my spiritual list is laughter. I need the regular presence of laughter, what
Annie Lamott calls “carbonated holiness.” Maybe you need that. Or perhaps you
need to make a pilgrimage to a place where the world has experienced pain. The
tears that find you could unlock your heart and sharpen your view of God’s justice.
These
are all spiritual practices. They keep us in the embrace of God. They can be
ways that we steal away to Jesus and hide in the mystery of grace. I don't know
what, of any of this, sounds inviting to you. But I do know that we have the
capacity to be more than a breathless schedule of activities. And if we take on
some of these disciplines, we announce that we belong, not merely to the world,
but to Christ.
The
only life worth living is a life that is grounded in the grace and mercy of God,
whom we know in Christ Jesus. The invitation is always there, to steal away and
spend time with the One who is our Treasure.
(c) William Carter. All rights reserved.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment