June 11, 2023
Blessed be the God and Father of
our Lord Jesus Christ! By his great mercy he has given us a new birth into a
living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and
into an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in
heaven for you, who are being protected by the power of God through faith
for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time.
In this you rejoice, even if now for a little while you have had
to suffer various trials, so that the genuineness of your faith—being more
precious than gold that, though perishable, is tested by fire—may be found to
result in praise and glory and honor when Jesus Christ is
revealed. Although you have not seen him, you love him; and even though
you do not see him now, you believe in him and rejoice with an indescribable
and glorious joy, for you are receiving the outcome of your faith, the
salvation of your souls.
Picture this: a preacher in a black robe stands behind the communion table. It’s the first Sunday of the month. The Lord’s Supper has been prepared. The trays of bread and cups are on the table. The mood in the sanctuary is sober. Everybody is silent. With a deep, resonant voice, the preacher intones the words, “This is the joyful feast of the people of God.”
And I ask, “Does anybody respond by saying, ‘Whoopee!”
This is caricature of the communion services in the
church of my childhood. They were deadly serious. The congregation did not handle
the moment with frivolity and glee. There was no dancing in the aisle, no
clapping along with the organ music – not ever, and certainly not then. Nobody talked
but the preacher. Nobody dared to smile. This was communion. And the preacher
called it “the joyful feast.” Joyful? Really?
Over the past few decades, we’ve recovered a broader
sense of the Lord’s Supper. The sacrament was never intended as a funeral meal.
There was a Last Supper, when the sacrament was inaugurated, and the Host for
the meal was crucified. Yet he is alive again, raised from the dead. That warrants
a few smiles. We can lighten up on the gloom and doom and a dress code suitable
for undertakers. Christ is risen! He can lead us in a memory of his sacrificial
death – and he does this as one thoroughly alive. It’s the paradox of the
Christian faith: we remember the saving death of our Risen Lord.
And yet, joyful feast? I just completed some worship
planning for the next year. April 7, 2024 is a communion Sunday. It’s also Holy
Humor Sunday. Will the broken bread be served on unicycles? Will the cup be
poured out by Holy Fool with a yellow polka dot bowtie? Ahh, the anticipation
is already building.
Joy, joy, joy. It’s the fruit of the Holy Spirit.
Sometimes muted, sometimes rejected, and waiting to be understood.
First thing to note is that it’s not the same as
happiness. If you’re happy and you know it, it is a mood. Something happened to
prompt the happiness. A high school senior crosses the stage to receive a diploma.
That makes you happy; you never thought she’d finish up. All the seniors are
happy too. School’s out for summer.
In the bottom of the ninth inning, two runs down, a
shortstop hits a three-run homer to win the game. Everybody cheers! There are
fireworks in center field.
He gets down on one knee, pulls out a ring, pops the
question. She breaks into tears, not because she’s sad. She’s happy. Happiness
is situational. It’s sparked when something happens.
Grandma admires the latest progeny, declaring, “She’s
such a happy baby.” Surrounded by love, safe and comforted, receiving a lot of
attention, getting plenty of sleep. Those are optimum conditions for a happy
baby.
Contrast this with today’s text from an early baptism
sermon, titled the first letter of Peter. The preacher says, “Rejoice when you suffer
through various trials.” Wow! Last we checked, “suffering through various
trials” is not the sort of thing that sparks a lot of rejoicing. And not merely
“rejoicing” but “jumping for joy.” That’s the verb that Peter is using. “Rejoice”
– “Jump for joy”! What a curious gift from God.
Christian people often do come across a little strange;
some of you are particularly unusual. I think of the apostle Paul. He wrote the
other text that we heard today. It’s that famous line, “Rejoice in the Lord
always! Again I say rejoice!” Did you know that he wrote those words when he
was in prison? Some would say he was another strange bird. Perhaps, but I think
the clue to real joy is in the phrase he uses.
“Rejoice in the Lord.” It’s different from rejoicing in yourself.
It’s not drawing on a deep reservoir from our own capacity. Rather joy comes
from a deeper assurance – that God rules the world, that Christ has somehow
overcome the world, that the Holy Spirit is testifying among us that there’s no
reason to fear, not ultimately. God is ruling, God is working, God is rescuing.
If you have assurance, if you really know it, joy happens.
For Peter and for Paul (don’t know about Mary, but Peter and
Paul), joy is the voice of protest – a loving protest, a holy protest, a
truthful protest that God is alive, Christ is risen, and the Spirit governs the
ultimate future. Is there suffering? Peter says, “Suffering doesn’t have the
last word on us. God does.” Are you in prison again, Paul? “Sure,” he replies, “but
I’m not worried. Christ has set me free.” They are pointing to something the
world can’t yet see.
Years ago, my friend Tom traveled to South Africa for
research. It was just before the 1994 elections, when that complicated nation
was turning toward a multiracial democracy. One evening, he drove the freeway
into Pretoria, the administrative capital of the country. He described it like
a forest of steel and glass, large imposing buildings. As he took a circular
exit ramp, he was surprised to see a small gathering of black Christians worshiping
in the little green circle inside the highway exit.
He writes,
The
contrast could not have been more stark. Here against the skyline of the great governmental
city of Pretoria, strong symbol for many of the butter years of apartheid was a
tiny group of those who had been denied standing in the society. Here, in the shadow
of the capital of a nation built on gold and diamonds and ivory, was a poor
band of Christians with no building, no pews, no paid clergy, no musical
instruments save tambourines … Pretoria stood majestically, the embodiment of
the present power. The little flock danced and sang and praised the God of
Jesus Christ in the power of the Holy Spirit.[1]
How could they do that? Because
they knew that God’s future belonged to them. That hope was sealed in their
hearts, and it gave them joy.
I think of remarkable people I have known, some of them
pastors. Like Sarah, who serves in a small town near the center of this state.
She’s naturally pleasant, but there’s something else than mood or optimism that
keeps her going. The steel mill in her town has been gone for years. Some of
the plaster has dropped off the sanctuary ceiling. She said, “I tell them when
we pray, it’s OK to keep your eyes open. Never know when a gift might literally
fall from heaven.” She put her head back and laughed.
Somebody asked why she doesn’t move to a bigger town, a
better church. She says, “God wants me here.” But why are you here? How do you
keep going? “I’m here because I believe the Gospel is true. God loves every
person. God loves every community. God is giving us work to do.” When she said
it, her eyes were radiant, burning from within. That’s joy. It is fruit from
the Holy Spirit.
So how do we cultivate it? Is it a matter of handing out
tambourines or telling jokes? Well, that might help. But something deeper is required.
We keep telling the story of what God is doing in the world. We keep singing
the songs that point to the truth. To cultivate the joy of the Spirit, we put
ourselves in those events and places that teach us what kind of God we have –
and what God cares about.
Of all people, I learned this from a Jewish rabbi. He
presided at a Passover meal, a seder. (Have you been to one of those? We may be
due to have one next spring.) The Passover seders that I’ve attended are formal
affairs. Everybody dresses up. The tables are elegant, with crystal goblets and
fine china. There isn’t a lot of laughter. Rather it’s a long recital of the
story of Israel. “We were slaves in Egypt, oppressed so hard we could not
stand. God heard our cry and called Moses to tell Pharoah to release us.”
We sing, we recite the psalms, we pray. Our plates are
loaded with symbols of oppression and freedom. It is a stern and sober affair –
and the rabbi says, “This is the most joyful night of the year, for we remember
that God is a God of freedom and liberation, a God who grants dignity to every
single soul. God refuses for us or anybody else to be put down or cast out.”
That’s the kind of God who is celebrated – it is the basis of our joy.
Gives us a little perspective on our monthly celebration
of the “joyful feast of the people of God,” doesn’t it!
We’re talking about joy. Joy is the response of God
working in us. Joy is the engine that drives our spiritual car. And sometimes,
if we see God clearly enough, joy can give us purpose.
One of our longtime church members isn’t here this
morning. A lot of them aren’t here. I don’t know where they are, but I know where
she is. She is preparing and serving a meal at the St. Francis soup kitchen in
the city. She went to help, discovered they needed more helpers. She felt a tug
on her heart, so she came and confessed it to me, saying, “I think I need to be
there. I’m in a position to help.” Most Sundays, that’s where she is, and that’s
OK with me. Sometimes she sneaks in and sits on the back row with some of our
comedians, but she doesn’t stay long. Off she goes.
Here's what I need to tell you: she started volunteering
because there was a need. But her motivation has changed. To quote her directly,
“Providing those meals and spending time with those folks gives me joy.” That’s
the word she uses. She believes in a God that creates every person. They may be
hungry, but they have dignity. And she knows the Great Day is coming when all
of God’s children will dine at the wedding feast in the kingdom of God.
Joy, joy, joy – the kind of joy that carries us through all
suffering and points us toward God’s great and glorious day. How is this joy
cultivated? I’ll say it again: keep telling God’s story, keep singing God’s
praises, keep putting yourself in the lives of people and places that God cares
about.
For the day is coming, says the preacher Peter, “when Jesus Christ is revealed. Although you have not
seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in
him and rejoice with an indescribable and glorious joy, for you are
receiving the outcome of your faith.” It’s called salvation.
[1] Tom Long, in Sharing Heaven’s
Music: The Heart of Christian Preaching, ed. Barry Callen (Nashville:
Abingdon Press, 1995) 202.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment