MARSHY HOPE. A sermon preached by the Rev. Aaron Billard St. John s United Church, Moncton, NB January 9, 2011

Transcription

1 MARSHY HOPE A sermon preached by the Rev. Aaron Billard St. John s United Church, Moncton, NB January 9, 2011 Doug MacEachern, our Minister Emeritus, and I sometimes like to have a little bit of fun tormenting each other. Doug, a life-long supporter of all things Mount Allison, once saw me wearing my Acadia University jacket at a church supper. He asked me to remove the offending item. One time, during a discussion, he said, But you wouldn t know that, you went to Acadia. One time he asked what my plans were for vacation, to which I replied that I was going to God s country, Cape Breton. Doug chimed in, Ah, yes. And you ll be cleansed as you drive through Pictou County on your way, which is where Doug is from. On the way through Pictou County, as you get close to Antigonish, you have to drive through a place called with one of my favourite place names in all of the Maritimes: Marshy Hope. Marshy Hope is a valley in the Antigonish mountains. It was named in about 1810 when neighbours of James Mappel would tell him to "Leave this marshy place; the frost will destroy your crops." James would reply, "I hope it will improve." The neighbours remarked that his hope was a marshy hope. Hope that is marshy. Somehow, to my 2011 ears, those words resound. When I asked this congregation a few years back to send me pictures of what gave you all hope in your daily lives, you responded in abundance with pictures of the people you love, places you find peace, and moments in life that just made sense. What hope does for us is give an alternative to fear, even if it is a marshy kind of hope.

2 In his book, The Cultural World of Jesus, John Pilch provides a geography lesson about the "dry" season when Jesus and the repentant people of Judea could be dipped, "when the Jordan and its streams would have been filled with the winter rains and the sun had warmed the shallow waters to a comfortable temperature." Tom Woods says that for first century Judeans, desert people, who had a deep fear of water, similar to many Southern African traditional cultures, being thrust under water and possibly held there, was a powerful initiatory moment. It marked, not only the washing off of past failure, it also enacted the gasping inrush of new ruach (translated as spirit, wind and breath) as they emerged from the depths. The fact that Jesus chooses to use this symbolism for the launch of his public ministry is not merely iconic, it is transformative for we who follow after him. What an amazing thought as we head into 2011 that we begin it with the reminder that God doesn t merely hover over us, but ours is a God who is immersed into our lives and gasps every gasp with us along the way. It s why people seek to do crazy things, perhaps. Those life-changing activities that remind us we re alive. I want you to all look at Gail sitting in the choir. Lovely smile. Now picture Gail as she was a few years ago, tied to a bungee cord, and plummeting from a bridge! Or, imagine seeing Adele Keyes, looking great as usual, who is, we think, the oldest person to attempt Tree Go here in Moncton. Or Hugh Donald, sitting here. Hugh can never hear a word I m saying, yet just last year, Hugh jumped out of a plane in Hawaii on his 78 th birthday. Breathe. Be afraid. But breathe. Because there is hope. Hope enough for all of us, despite the things that happen in this world that break our heart, like what we saw down in Arizona 2

3 yesterday in which among others, Federal Judge John Roll was killed. He was just coming back from mass when he stopped in at the grocery store to say hello to his friend, Representative Gabrielle Giffords, who herself had recently attended Christmas services in Vatican City. It s hard to find meaning in any of it, and maybe there s no meaning to be found. Buddhism speaks of death as the drop of water returning to its source in the ocean. One of the things that faith does for me, or what all of this church is about for me, is that it is a reminder to breathe. I see it in our stories. I see it in our visits together. I see it in our conversations, that at the heart of it all is this moment of being alive. I think of Lazarus in the tomb, as he is given life again. What it must have been like in the coldness of the tomb to feel air pour back into his lungs, as he gasped. Jesus acknowledges that moment by telling people to take off the cloths and let him go. In full-immersion baptism, like the one Jesus experienced, a person has to hold their breath. And in that moment, we die to ourselves. And underwater, there is a moment of being completely surrounded. That is the moment of baptism: the moment you realize that you are surrounded by God. Surrounded by your faith community. And as you stand up, what s the first thing you do? You breathe. The book of Isaiah shares a conversation between Isaiah and God. Thus says God, the LORD, who created the heavens and stretched them out, who spread out the earth and what comes from it, who gives breath to the people upon it and spirit to those who walk in it. Rabbi Harold Kushner s Book Conquering Fear is close at hand these days, especially in the last three weeks as I ve buried a 34 year old man and a 40 year old man. The Rabbi 3

4 argues that our lives are measured in breadth and in depth, not only in length. The purpose of life is to learn to love, to learn to reach out beyond the self. (p. 147.) Sometimes I wonder what draws each of you from your homes to come to this sanctuary on Sunday mornings. One family drives forty five minutes to get here. Other families bundle up their kids, hop in the car, and somehow get here on time. In my family, we lived three minutes from the church, always arrived five minutes late, and argued the whole way there. One of the things that I think going to church provides for us is that while each and every Sunday can t and won t be a profound experience, I would hope that there is enough food for thought to either justify coming here, or at the very least, a Sunday once in a while that hits like a ton of bricks. For some, it s the midweek groups that have really taken hold and given a sense of belonging. And for others, it s simply the hour we are having where no one is demanding anything of you; no one is needing you to do something, or the simple fact that for the first time all week, you re surrounded by people. The truth is, we are more than what we do, we are more than our phones, our TVs, our volunteering, our age, our professions, our money or lack of money, we re more than how we look, or how we sound, or what we weigh, or who our families are, or how many friends we have, or if we are all alone. We would do well to remember that immediately after this passage, Jesus heads to the desert himself and experiences the great temptations to his faithfulness to his call and his sense of who he is. Martin Luther's words, "Remember your baptism!" We can imagine this Reformation leader, an anxious Luther, as he struggled through the lonely months 4

5 of his safekeeping in the Wartburg Castle. 'I am baptized,' he would scribble on his desktop, and remember his baptism as he battled back despair." (The Lectionary Commentary). Rather than a sentimental journey or an effort to recapture lost enthusiasm "remembering our baptism" is closer to seeking equilibrium on a storm-tossed sea, getting our bearings, remembering who (and whose) we are. And it is precisely at that moment, which comes to us all, in one way or another, sooner or later, that message from our Creator: You are my child, my beloved; with you I am well pleased. That s what I think of as hope - even if it does get clouded sometimes. I come to this place, and I hear these stories, and I m reminded of it. And I drink it like it s water. As Kushner writes, And finally there is faith, not the belief that God is a Santa Claus figure who will give us what we want if we have been good, not the illusion that all stories have happy endings, but the stubborn conviction that we are strong enough to survive misfortune, rejection, and failure. My faith teaches me that no good deed is ever waste, that in some way, perhaps at another time, perhaps in another place, the world becomes a better, cleaner, braver place because of what I do. Amen. 5