The Labyrinth of Job (Sermon)

 “The Labyrinth of Job”

Job 1:1, 2:1-10 and Romans 8:22-23

Allen Huff

Jonesborough Presbyterian Church

4/28/24

 

There was once a man in the land of Uz whose name was Job. That man was blameless and upright, one who feared God and turned away from evil.

One day the heavenly beings came to present themselves before the Lord, and the accuser also came among them to present himself before the Lord.

²The Lord said to the accuser, “Where have you come from?”

The accuser answered the Lord, “From going to and fro on the earth and from walking up and down on it.” 

³The Lord said to the accuser, “Have you considered my servant Job? There is no one like him on the earth, a blameless and upright man who fears God and turns away from evil. He still persists in his integrity, although you incited me against him, to destroy him for no reason.”

⁴Then the accuser answered the Lord, “Skin for skin! All that the man has he will give for his life. ⁵But stretch out your hand now and touch his bone and his flesh, and he will curse you to your face.”

⁶The Lord said to the accuser, “Very well, he is in your power; only spare his life.”

⁷So the accuser went out from the presence of the Lord and inflicted loathsome sores on Job from the sole of his foot to the crown of his head. ⁸Job took a potsherd with which to scrape himself and sat among the ashes.

⁹Then his wife said to him, “Do you still persist in your integrity? Curse God and die.”

¹⁰But he said to her, “You speak as any foolish woman would speak. Shall we receive good from God and not receive evil?”

In all this Job did not sin with his lips. (NRSV)

 

²²We know that the whole creation has been groaning together as it suffers together the pains of labor, ²³and not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly while we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies. (NRSV)

 

         Job: History or legend? A flesh-and-blood human being or an amalgamation of human experience in general and of Jewish experience in particular? What we’re asking is whether Job WAS real or IS real?

In his book Messengers of God: Biblical Portraits and Legends, Jewish scholar and holocaust survivor Elie Wiesel included an essay entitled “Job: Our Contemporary.” Wrestling with the stories around the story, he says, “Once upon a time. When? Nobody knows. [Job’s] name is mentioned by Ezekiel in passing, along with those of Noah, and Daniel—was he a contemporary of one or the other? Possibly. Other legends link him alternately to Abraham, Jacob, Moses, Samson, Solomon…and…the Babylonian exile. He would thus have lived…more than eight hundred [years].”¹

Later in the same essay, Wiesel describes Job as one who “was everywhere and everything at the same time…[a man characterized by] peregrinations through provinces and centuries.”²

So, to ask, “WAS Job real?” means arbitrating nearly a millennium of conflicting stories. It becomes a kind of maze, a complicated playground with only one entrance and only one exit and lots of dead ends in between. The point of a maze is simply the entertainment of getting lost. The experience leaves you essentially unchanged.

Now, the question, IS Job real? asks something entirely different. It brings the question into the moment. It acknowledges unmerited suffering, and dares to ask, Does God cause our suffering?

To ask if Job IS real is to enter not a maze, but a labyrinth. And a labyrinth is a spiritual practice in which one walks a set course of twists and turns that seems maze-like, but a labyrinth is about surrendering to Mystery, not becoming mystified.

When walking a labyrinth, one follows the pathway, shedding distractions, pretensions, and fear. That single, trustworthy path leads to a center—a place of stillness, reflection, and divine encounter. It also becomes a place of metanoia—of turning and new beginning. To leave the labyrinth, one simply retraces your steps and exits exactly where you entered. Assuming due discipline, which includes regular trips through the labyrinth, one becomes a transformed pilgrim who can help transform the world—or your little corner of it.

To ask if Job IS real is to enter the story as if walking a labyrinth. At the center of this story-labyrinth, we encounter God in, of all places, a gut-wrenching experience of human suffering. When traveling with Job as a path of divine encounter, we discover that regardless of whether or not he existed as a particular individual, Job most certainly IS real.

On the path of discovering the immediate IS-ness of Job, we walk shoulder-to-shoulder with all of the characters in the story. In the first curve in the path, God brags on Job’s righteousness. Irked by God’s boasting, “the accuser” dares God to test Job.

Make anyone miserable enough, says the accuser, and they’ll turn on you quicker than you can say Jezebel.

And then…What?! God accepts the accuser’s challenge? For the second time! (Job 1:6-12)

Do your worst, says God, just don’t kill him.

(The word of the Lord. Thanks be to God?)

Who wants to walk justly, kindly, and humbly with that God?

Then we meet Job’s wife, and she reminds us that it was not just Job who lost everything. Her family and fortune are gone, too. Furious, she dares her husband to test the faithfulness of God the way the accuser dares God to test the faithfulness of Job. And a long, bitter standoff begins.

Instead of eating the toxic apple of vengeance his wife offers, Job lies in an ash heap, scrapes his oozing sores with a potsherd, and cries, “Let the day perish in which I was born and the night that said, ‘A man-child is conceived.’…Why did I not die at birth?...I loathe my life.”

Utter despair is not exactly where one expects to find God, is it? Indeed, many people dismiss the very notion of God when caught in the grip of suffering that seems to have neither purpose nor end. And hasn’t the tantalizing but tormenting influence of the prosperity gospel conditioned many of us to interpret a lack of physical pain and a surplus of material wealth as signs of God’s presence and favor? From the sale of indulgences in the medieval Catholic Church to the Protestant work ethic of rewards and punishments, the Church has infected countless generations with such dis-grace. It has funneled people into a kind of doctrinal maze. Turn here, now there. Memorize this and that. Do not trust experience. Just believe and repeat what you’ve been taught. While there may be some comfort in that kind of certainty, it makes us look more like lab rats in a maze than disciples on a journey.

While the labyrinth of faith does lead us toward gratitude and joy, it also leads us toward suffering. And we encounter God in both places.

When Cardinal Jorge Bergoglio was elected Pope in 2013, he chose the name Francis because of his concern for those who suffer. And during one of his first Holy Weeks as Pope, he famously washed and kissed the feet of prisoners. Since then, he has spoken boldly things like climate change and the death penalty—issues of human suffering. He has also declined invitations to dine with a host country’s leaders in order to eat with the homeless in the streets outside.

While Pope Francis is far from perfect, he often demonstrates what it can look like to walk the labyrinth of faith rather than to wander the maze of theological convention. When he does, he helps us to remember that Jesus—who is more eager to have followers than mere “believers”—leads us into a labyrinth where we encounter God’s most amazing grace in the midst of the world’s deepest pain.

Remember what Jesus says in Matthew 25: “Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food or thirsty and gave you something to drink…[or] a stranger and welcomed you or naked and gave you clothing…[or] sick or in prison and visited you?’ ⁴⁰ And the king will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did it to me.’” (Matthew 25:37-40)

Maybe this is why Jesus often seems more authentic in the projects than the palaces.

We’ll return to Job over the next two weeks. In the meantime, I encourage you to spend time with this remarkable story. And as you read it, trust it. Let a very realJob take you by the hand and guide you to a place of very real suffering, your own or someone else’s. Be honest with any feelings of anger, betrayal, bewilderment, or despair. And if you find yourself in that dark and lonely place, sit still. Open your heart and your mind, and both give and receive the grace of the Living God.

Then may you turn and begin your journey outward—retracing your steps toward healing, transformation, and hope.

 

¹Elie Wiesel, Messengers of God: Biblical Portraits and Legends, Random House, NY, 1976, p. 188.

²Ibid., p. 190.

God's Gracious Yes (Sermon)

God's Gracious Yes

Psalm 121 and John 3:1-17

Allen Huff

Jonesborough Presbyterian Church

4/21/24

 

¹ I lift up my eyes to the hills—
    from where will my help come?
² My help comes from the Lord,
    who made heaven and earth.

³ He will not let your foot be moved;
    he who keeps you will not slumber.
⁴ He who keeps Israel
    will neither slumber nor sleep.

⁵ The Lord is your keeper;
    the Lord is your shade at your right hand.
⁶ The sun shall not strike you by day
    nor the moon by night.

⁷ The Lord will keep you from all evil;
    he will keep your life.
⁸ The Lord will keep
    your going out and your coming in
    from this time on and forevermore. (NRSV)

 

Now there was a Pharisee named Nicodemus, a leader of the Jews. ²He came to Jesus by night and said to him, “Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher who has come from God, for no one can do these signs that you do unless God is with that person.”

³Jesus answered him, “Very truly, I tell you, no one can see the kingdom of God without being born from above.”

⁴Nicodemus said to him, “How can anyone be born after having grown old? Can one enter a second time into the mother’s womb and be born?”

⁵Jesus answered, “Very truly, I tell you, no one can enter the kingdom of God without being born of water and Spirit. ⁶What is born of the flesh is flesh, and what is born of the Spirit is spirit. ⁷Do not be astonished that I said to you, ‘You must be born from above.’ ⁸The wind blows where it chooses, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.”

⁹Nicodemus said to him, “How can these things be?”

¹⁰Jesus answered him, “Are you the teacher of Israel, and yet you do not understand these things?

¹¹“Very truly, I tell you, we speak of what we know and testify to what we have seen, yet you do not receive our testimony. ¹²If I have told you about earthly things and you do not believe, how can you believe if I tell you about heavenly things? ¹³No one has ascended into heaven except the one who descended from heaven, the Son of Man. ¹⁴And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, ¹⁵that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.

¹⁶“For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life.

¹⁷“Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world but in order that the world might be saved through him. (NRSV)

 

References to John 3:16 show up everywhere, from Sunday school classrooms, to billboards, to bridge abutments, to eye-black on athletes.

However, when divorced from the words of the verse itself, the citation, John 3:16, tends to devolve into a secret handshake, a smug cryptograph. And when the verse appears out of context, it can be used with manipulative intent, saying, in essence, God may love you, but if you don’t say out loud that you believe in Jesus, God will still send you to hell. Have a nice day.

I find that disturbing because, while the words of John 3:16 are, to many of us, as familiar as our own names, those 27 words (or so, depending on the translation) become deeply and permanently transformed when we read them in the context of the over 200 words of John 3, and the nearly 84,000 thousand words in the gospel of John. In context, John 3:16 swells from a soundbite about a life in the sweet by-and-by to a daring call to inhabit and embody God’s realm in the here-and-now. So, let’s review that context.

Nicodemus, a Pharisee of significance, creeps about under the cover of darkness. He’s looking for Jesus. Nicodemus recognizes that approaching Jesus for serious conversation almost certainly means public censure. Let’s remember, too, that the Jewish leadership is furious at Jesus since he has so recently and pugnaciously run the authorized moneychangers out of the temple. So, a censure could even mean some sort humiliating punishment or exile.

When Nicodemus finds Jesus, he says that he privately believes that Jesus is from God because it takes uncommon holiness to do the things Jesus does. Now, Nicodemus makes that as a statement, but he’s really asking a question. And maybe he’s afraid to come right out and ask it because a Yes from Jesus would change everything. Nicodemus’ question is the same fundamental question the incarcerated and doomed prophet, John the Baptist, sends his disciples to ask Jesus: “Are you the one who is to come, or should we wait for another?” (Lk 7:19/Mt 11:3)

Instead of offering a definitive Yes, Jesus responds with a cryptic comment about being either “born anew” or “born from above.” Scholars can debate which translation is more accurate, but it seems to me that, in John’s world of symbol and metaphor, they mean pretty much the same thing. That’s what makes those yard signs that scream “Ye must be born again!” so befuddling. It grieves me how casually some can forsake grace—which is God’s boundless Yes to us—and reduce the mystical faith of Jesus to a mandated regurgitation of an absolute derived from one narrow interpretation of one verse, in one chapter, from one book in the community library which is the Bible.

Then again, maybe it feels safe to declare that being “born again” is the exclusive criterion for salvation. After claiming to be born again, we can rest easy in the manufactured certainty that we have mollified God’s fury, and God will, thus, deign to allow us into heaven. Maybe that sounds like grace because it sounds so easy, but it also requires that one imagine God as resentful and violent, and human beings as little more than ten pounds of sin stuffed into five-pound sacks.

Now, I’m not saying that offering a Yes to God is unimportant. In John, though, Jesus is God’s loving and preemptive Yes to us, a Yes uttered not only before Nicodemus asks, but before the formation of the cosmos itself. That’s why John opens his gospel saying, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God…and without him not one thing came into being.” (John 1:1-3)

God’s Yes to us came long before there was an Us. And, maybe I’m wrong, but it seems to me that any god whose love is not fully available until weemancipate it by declaring ourselves “born again” is just a graceless idol. And grace is God’s essence. Grace is God’s character. Grace is God’s vision and legacy for the Creation.

Nicodemus is trying to live in an absolute and literal world. That’s why he asks the absurd question about a grown person returning to the womb and reentering the world with a second trip through the birth canal.

Jesus’ response again slips right past Nicodemus. He distinguishes between being born of flesh and born of the Spirit. He speaks of the Spirit blowing wherever it will, and poor Nicodemus just can’t follow. “How are these things possible?” he says.

I think John is using the Pharisee’s question to goad his readers into imagining what is possible in a world created by God’s eternal Yes. And God’s Yesis about more than the possibility of entering a post-mortem heaven. It’s about the possibility of living differently in this world now. I hear Jesus talking about living this flesh-and-blood-and-spirit human life more fully by living more deeply-connected to God who, as Spirit, moves about wherever and however God chooses. And while God is beyond our control and beyond our full comprehension, aren’t God’s movements always consistent with grace? With love? With peace and holy justice?

This blows-where-it-will Spirit is the energy that bears us, that births us into the new life through which we connect so deeply to God that our seeing, hearing, thinking, and interacting are transformed into signs and expressions of grace. Jesus implies that he is born of the same Spirit. And he says that “everyone who is born of the Spirit” can experience much of what he, as God’s grace incarnate, experiences.

Imagine that. Through the reverberating Yes of God in Christ, God bears us into Christ-mirroring holiness! That’s pretty wonderful—until we remember that Jesus experiences harassment, rejection, abandonment, and execution. That’s his earthly reward for committing himself to God’s grace.

“For God so loved the world [For God so Yes-ed the world] that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him won’t perish, but will have eternal life.”

To “believe in” Jesus doesn’t begin and end with voicing belief. For John, belief means living transformed and transforming lives of compassion and hope, lives bent toward justice and joy right here, in this imperfect yet God-infused reality.

St. Francis of Assisi said, “Remember that when you leave this earth, you can take with you nothing that you have received—only what you have given: a full heart, enriched by honest service, love, sacrifice and courage.”

A “full-heart” life births us into the eternal life of Christ—a here-and-now life that doesn’t condemn the world, but enters and embraces the world. A life of deep and intimate connection to God through deep and intimate connection to all that God has created. For God so loves all that God has created that, in the power of the Spirit, God enters the Creation to reveal the Son—the eternal, and the universal, reconciling Christ.

The Road to Emmaus and Back (Sermon)

 The Road to Emmaus and Back

Isaiah 35:1-7, 10 and Luke 24:13-35

Allen Huff

Jonesborough Presbyterian Church

4/7/24

 

The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad;
    the desert shall rejoice and blossom;
like the crocus ²it shall blossom abundantly
    and rejoice with joy and shouting.
The glory of Lebanon shall be given to it,
    the majesty of Carmel and Sharon.
They shall see the glory of the Lord,
    the majesty of our God.

³ Strengthen the weak hands
    and make firm the feeble knees.
⁴Say to those who are of a fearful heart,
    “Be strong, do not fear!
Here is your God.
    He will come with vengeance,
with terrible recompense.
    He will come and save you.”

⁵Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened,
    and the ears of the deaf shall be opened;
⁶then the lame shall leap like a deer,
    and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy.
For waters shall break forth in the wilderness
    and streams in the desert;
⁷the burning sand shall become a pool
    and the thirsty ground springs of water;
the haunt of jackals shall become a swamp;
    the grass shall become reeds and rushes.
¹⁰And the ransomed of the Lord shall return
    and come to Zion with singing;
everlasting joy shall be upon their heads;
    they shall obtain joy and gladness,
    and sorrow and sighing shall flee away. (NRSV)

 

         The more I wrestle with varieties of biblical texts, the more deeply I hear a single voice speaking at the heart of them all. Just as the language of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit affirms the presence of one God, the language of Incarnation, Death, and Resurrection affirms the same whirling mystery of grace.

         The Incarnation suggests that human beings are born out of an eternal union with the Creator. We can deny or mask our oneness with God, but we cannot destroy it. It is our “original blessing,” and it cannot be undone by any talk of “original sin.”

Taken seriously, the truth of humankind’s God-imaged selves can affect everything we say and do. It can move us toward excitement and delight. It can motivate us toward the blessed hunger and thirst for righteousness (Matthew 5:3-11) that leads us to work for God’s holy justice for all.

A healthy understanding of Incarnation can even help us celebrate things like birthdays and Christmas. When a gift reflects incarnate awareness, it reveals in both giver and receiver the eternally-beloved person God sees. So, maybe the gift of colored pencils and a sketch pad energizes a shy child for creative expression and self-understanding. Maybe a camera helps an older person to share the world as their eyes of experience and wisdom have learned to see it.

The best gifts tell you that the giver celebrates your existence and regards you, yourself, as a gift. And if God gives us life, what does that say about who God is and how God loves?

As the ultimate affirmation of Incarnation, Resurrection is a whole different animal. Resurrection completely rearranges our human being. As a gift given to restore our primordial and eternal union with God, Resurrection releases us into God’s realm of unbounded mercy and love. That’s why Resurrection and forgiveness are so intimately related. To forgive and to be forgiven is to shed a deadly burden that diminishes our lives, a burden that buries us in tombs of regret or vengeance.

Now, yes, it is easier to forgive when the other admits offense. The scandal of the gospel, though, is that God’s forgiveness in Christ is preemptive; it precedes our repentance. And while such grace is entirely loving to the one forgiven, forgiveness between human beings is also entirely liberating to the one who forgives. Preemptive forgiveness says, Regardless of anything you do or don’t do, I will not allow anything to impede my joy. So that at least I may live fully and freely, I forgive you.

I understand that there are wounds so deep that preemptive forgiveness can become impossible. In those cases, I think one starts by simply asking for the gracious strength not to seek vengeance. By saying No to revenge and Not yet to forgiveness, we acknowledge and live in the tension of the ongoing struggle between our destructive impulses and our elemental need for relationship.

Forgiving and being forgiven both involve the same painful death—the death of pride. Proud hearts beat with a living death, and can neither let go of grudges nor admit error. Nonetheless, I trust that the God of grace always sees those hearts not as lost causes, but as places of potential resurrection. Remember what Isaiah says: “The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad; the desert shall rejoice and blossom; like the crocus it shall blossom abundantly.”

         Incarnation, Death, and Resurrection have something else in common. They reveal the fullness of their transforming power not inside some tomb or sanctuary, but out there—in the world, in the midst of day-to-day life.

 

¹³Now on that same day two of them were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem, ¹⁴and talking with each other about all these things that had happened. ¹⁵ While they were talking and discussing, Jesus himself came near and went with them, ¹⁶ but their eyes were kept from recognizing him. ¹⁷ And he said to them, “What are you discussing with each other while you walk along?”

They stood still, looking sad. ¹⁸ Then one of them, whose name was Cleopas, answered him, “Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have taken place there in these days?”

¹⁹ He asked them, “What things?”

They replied, “The things about Jesus of Nazareth, who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, ²⁰ and how our chief priests and leaders handed him over to be condemned to death and crucified him. ²¹ But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel. Yes, and besides all this, it is now the third day since these things took place. ²² Moreover, some women of our group astounded us. They were at the tomb early this morning, ²³ and when they did not find his body there they came back and told us that they had indeed seen a vision of angels who said that he was alive. ²⁴ Some of those who were with us went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said, but they did not see him.” 

²⁵ Then he said to them, “Oh, how foolish you are and how slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have declared! ²⁶ Was it not necessary that the Messiah should suffer these things and then enter into his glory?” ²⁷ Then beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted to them the things about himself in all the scriptures.

²⁸ As they came near the village to which they were going, he walked ahead as if he were going on. ²⁹ But they urged him strongly, saying, “Stay with us, because it is almost evening and the day is now nearly over.”

So he went in to stay with them. ³⁰ When he was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. ³¹ Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him, and he vanished from their sight.

³² They said to each other, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?” ³³ That same hour they got up and returned to Jerusalem, and they found the eleven and their companions gathered together.

³⁴ They were saying, “The Lord has risen indeed, and he has appeared to Simon!” ³⁵ Then they told what had happened on the road and how he had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread. (NRSV)

 

         As Cleopas and his companion travel the road toward Emmaus, their destination is simply geographical. They have yet to experience their own transforming deaths—their own Friday. 

Enter the resurrected Jesus, who shows up as a random stranger.

         “We had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel,” says Cleopas.

         Wow, says Jesus. You sure are slow to die to that which blinds you to truth.

         Now, let’s be easy on Cleopas. It’s no small thing to die to the generations-long expectation that God’s messianic plan includes military conquest. Indeed, just two verses after speaking of the desert blooming, Isaiah says that God “will come…with terrible recompense…[to] save you.’” Cleopas represents everyone who expects shock-and-awe from God, and it’s hard to let that hope die in order to follow Jesus, who teaches non-violence, forgiveness, humility, and compassion.

         As the three men walk, Jesus reviews the story of God’s involvement in and for the Creation. In doing so, he gives these pride-bound disciples another run at Friday, another chance to die to all that their well-intentioned doctrines, and all that their years of frustration and suffering have led them to believe about God’s activity in the world.

         Then, when Jesus breaks bread with them, their eyes [are] opened, and they [recognize] him. They see him through the spectacles of community and grace.

         When Emmaus is our destination, geography defines our journey. And maybe it begins that way, but Cleopas and his companion don’t stay in Emmaus. After their burning-heart experience, and after the revelation of the elusive, here-and-there risen Christ, they hurry back to Jerusalem, giddy with wonder and excitement. So, the road they travel is The Road to Emmaus and Back—a seven-mile hike that ends at dusk, only to turn them around and send them back those same seven miles, in the dark.

         As a Friday-to-Sunday experience, the Emmaus journey is the perennial passage of Incarnation, Death, and Resurrection. The startling newness that begins in Emmaus returns us to day-to-day reality where we embody the news of Resurrection by sharing our own transformed selves.

         To share ourselves is to live in community. And the body of Christ lives, moves, and has its being in the world through community. As Trinity, God is community. Joining this holy and dynamic kinship, we enter God’s presence. We experience the guidance of the Holy Spirit. And newly-birthed into the sacredness of our God-imaged selves, we follow the risen Christ wherever he leads.

         One spiritual teacher says, “I believe that the Christian faith is saying that the pattern of transformation is always death transformed, not death avoided…That is always a disappointment to humans,” he says, “because we want…transformation without cost or surrender.”¹

         On the road to Emmaus, we try to avoid God’s death-transforming grace. And Emmaus can be anywhere—in front of some screen or other distraction, in our fears and resentments, at the bottom of a bottle.

In Emmaus, though, death is transformed through the sharing of fellowship, stories, and meals. And in that communion, God strips us of our comfortable but selfish assumptions, then turns us, and sends us back out to do what we could not do before—begin learning to live according the radical grace of Christ, from whom we were born and into whom, through the power of Resurrection, we are being constantly re-born.

 

¹https://email.cac.org/t/ViewEmail/d/E159479F503F99402540EF23F30FEDED/CAEF12FB6B3D7B5544D0DD5392A9C75A

Endings and Beginnings (Newsletter Article)

 Dear Friends,

         When one door closes, another one opens, says the old adage. And it seems as true as it does trite. Mostly.

“In my end is my beginning,” writes E. S. Eliot in The Four Quartets.

         “If we have been united with him in a death like his, we will certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his,” says Paul to the Romans. (Romans 6:5)

         They’re all saying something similar. And this wisdom isn’t limited to our own spiritual tradition. Throughout the ages, humankind has shared the experience that endings and beginnings hold much in common.

         From the cross, as death engulfs him, Jesus says, “It is finished.” And with that, the earthly Jesus dies. His limp corpse is removed from the cross and placed in a tomb, which is then sealed with a huge rock. He is only thirty-ish. Not that old by first-century standards, and not old at all by today’s. So, it would seem that his life is cut short. But is it?

Scripture and the witness of 2000 years of disciples would argue that as short as Jesus’ life may have been, it is complete. And when something reaches completion, the implication points toward a deeper level of significance that if something is simply declared to be over. That’s why a given semester may be over, while one completes a degree.

When Jesus says, It is finished, both his ministry and his life are complete. His tomb, then, becomes a kind of cul-de-sac, a place of turning around. Or as one person said, Jesus didn’t come out of the tomb so much as he went slap through it. (I honestly don’t recall who said that, but it was likely Richard Rohr.) So again, Jesus’ end and his new beginning are, simultaneously, distinct and indistinct.

          With a fatalistic, tongue-in-cheek snort, some folks like to say that the only certain things in life are death and taxes. In matters of faith, we can’t claim much in the way of certainties, but with the fullest of trust, we call Resurrection our “sure and certain hope.” When making that affirmation of faith, we’re declaring that, finally, regardless of circumstances, the goodness, justice, and love of God will prevail. And this hope empowers us for living in the here-and-now according to those resurrecting attributes of God. They allow us to see in all endings, unexpected changes, or turns of events possibilities for God to reveal some new aspect of God’s realm of grace.

         While these are uncertain times, hasn’t every era been rife with its own triggers for grief, suspicion, and doubt? And through them all, the proclamations of Incarnation and Resurrection remain our sustaining hope. If God Incarnate overcomes death, we can overcome whatever painful realities life throws at us. For there is no end that God cannot transform into a new beginning.

 

Blessings and Peace,

         Pastor Allen