PRESENT, EVEN IN THE DARK
Ecclesiastes 3:1-8; Psalm 23; Romans 8: 35, 37-39
July 16, 2006
By Rev. Dr. Jeanne Knepper

We’ve received some hard news this week, hard news, and also news of life renewed. It has been a week to tie opposites, sorrow and joy, hope and despair, life and death, together, together is ways that we mostly avoid.

It was not always so. When I was doing research in the Methodist Magazine, looking at the stories of the lives of Methodist women in the early years of the church, I learned that young women, upon learning that they were with child for the first time, often began to sew their grace clothes. In a time before knowledge of sanitation, ultra sound, nutrition, forceps and monitors, the beginnings of life too often walked hand in hand with the ends of life, for mother or baby or both. In fact, for most of human history, life and death have been threads woven all through the human fabric. And religion has been a force to hold them together, reminding us always that the movement from life to death to life beyond death is part of the natural flow of being.

Now, we’ve mostly moved death off stage, to the edges of the fabric, away from us, to nursing homes, hospices, hospitals—or highways and battlefields. We’ve created a different script, a flashier movie to distract ourselves from the realities of death, pain, loss and grief—and we’ve also woven religion into a brighter cloth, bringing the threads of life and wholeness to the front side, and leaving people kind of alone when they find themselves on the dark side of the cloth, feeling alone and unprepared and inadequate when the cloth flips over and wraps them in threads of loss and pain.

Today, we are turning the fabric over, looking directly at the darker side of life:
Hard things happen. Relationships break down. People make foolish and irreparable choices. Tired people say cruel words that can never be recalled. Cancers grow silently until they threaten life. Minds shrink under the attack of strokes and tangle in the knots of dementia. Every life ends. Every relationship ends. Nothing is permanent. We will all experience loss, pain, grief, and death. And our faith will not keep us from this hard reality.

So what difference does it make then, to be people of faith?

All the difference in the world.

All my experience tells me that God—that deepest love that centers and calls all being, that wondrous mystery that calms all fear, the source of all life and peace and joy and hope—God will not end when I die, nor will God be crushed by my times of despair. When I don’t know what comes next, I can trust that God is still there, holding me, preparing me for a future I don’t—can’t—understand, holding me close in the dark. This is a great comfort. Held in the arms of God, we are not afraid.

All of our experience, and the testimony of so many people of faith, tells me that pain, loss and death are never the final word. God is always there, calling healing and wholeness out of brokenness, calling a new appreciation of life’s gifts out of loss, calling new life and commitment and vision out of death. From the simplest lesson of the compost pile, to the profound lesson of people who create lives of joy and purpose out of terrible losses, we learn this lesson: Hope is always in season. We will not despair.

All of my experience tells me that my dreams are not mine alone. I have been lured by God into visions of peace, beauty, justice and community. Justice, equality, an inclusive church, a world at peace—none of these are resting solely on my shoulders; none of them will disappear if I am not here to lead the charge or carry on the campaign. The dreams are from God, who will continue to lure others into lives of vision and purpose. There is a God, alive and active in all being: I don’t have to do it all in my lifetime. When I come to the time of fatigue, I can relax and trust that the One who is more than I am will still be a source of vision, beauty, peace and courage for others. Vision is the gift of God. We will not lose hope.

Experience teaches us that God’s grace will abide. We can trust that the One who has woven a fabric shot through with moments of grace will continue to weave threads of grace into the fabric of the future. People I’ve hurt will find their way to wholesome, holy lives; words of healing I’ve spoken all unconscious of their impact will continue to light someone else’s path; life will go on, and it will continue to contain beauty, love and joy. Recognizing the unending nature of God’s grace, we experience forgiveness. We will not be bound by guilt.

Finally, our lives of faith teach us that all of life is on connected and interconnected whole. When I am sorrowing, you will hold the light; when you are caught in a moment of terror, I will wrap you in words or arms of love. It is a real thing, this community of faith, a part of the whole fabric of being, our special home, our warm quilt of care and love. This is our gift, our challenge, and our hope, to be there for one another, in all times, dark or bright, the living, loving body of Christ. Thanks be to God. Amen.

Show (0) - Add comments: