Homily Thirty Second Sunday in Ordinary Time November 7, 2004

 

One man told this story about his wife:

I remember a time when I was sitting on the antique window seat that Helen has treasured through the years.  Because the original fabric had worn through, Helen had recently recovered it in a handsome corduroy.  A heavy storm was in progress, and I sat staring at the rain pelting down on dead autumn leaves.  The gloomy look of the garden seemed to match the mood of hopelessness that had come over me.  Problems at work had made me fearful of the future.  Basic questions that surface with the coming of middle-age had made me fearful of life itself.

 

I started to light my pipe and accidentally spilled some hot ash which burned a hole right in the center of the window seat cover.  Seeing what had happened, Helen calmly treaded a needle and stitched a beautiful flower over the charred spot.  When I looked at the finished work, I realized that it was a striking symbol of our long life together, and my spirits began to soar.  I had married a repairer of broken spirits, a healer of wounds, a woman whose very presence was an antidote to fear.  Moreover, I understood, perhaps for the very first time, that it was Helen’s deep and abiding trust in God’s goodness that made it possible for her to be a source of light and a harbinger of hope in times of darkness and despair.

 

In a sense of scripture for this Thirty Second Sunday in Ordinary Time is about hope – hope which moves us from fear, from sameness, sometimes from comfort, from rigidity, from control to a realization of what God calls us to. 

 

William Sloan Coffin said that “Hope criticizes what is, hopelessness rationalizes it.  Hope resists, hopelessness adapts.” He also says that “its hope that helps us keep the faith, despite the evidence, knowing that only in so doing has the evidence any chance of changing.”

 

Our scripture from the Hebrews Scriptures and the New Testament give us illustrations of hope – and illustrations of people without hope.

 

In our first Reading from the Second Book of Maccabees the brothers in the story have a vision that allows them to see beyond the fear of the moment, the power that would be imposed on them, the pain that they feel.  It can almost sound as if they are slavishly holding on to a law – the law about what foods to eat – and that would seem somewhat absurd.

 

We know, because it is the message of Jesus, that the law is not the vital thing. It is what the law came from that Jesus would have us adhere to.

 

Jesus taught us that it is indeed too simple to simply live the law. We could faithfully, doggedly obey the Ten Commandments – we could enthrone them in the marketplace, or the courthouse as one judge did, and say I’ve never killed, and I honor God and parents and all the rest – and that is pretty simple. But Jesus said its not enough.

 

Again, William Sloan Coffin says, “Its bad religion to deify doctrines and creeds.  While indispensable to religious life, doctrines and creeds are only so as signposts. Love alone is the hitching post.  Doctrine, let’s not forget, supported slavery and apartheid; some still support keeping women in their places and gays and lesbians in limbo.  Moreover, doctrines can divide while compassion can only unite.  In other words, religious folk, all our lives, have both to recover tradition and to recover from it!”

 

And so what the brothers in the ancient writing were doing was not adhering simply to a doctrine. They were believing in more. They knew their God was not a God of control but of love and they could never betray that – they hoped fully in that God. Nothing could constrain them.

 

And Paul in his ongoing conversation with the people of Thessalonica was concerned that they would stop – they would as some had done forget about doing the work of the Gospel and just wait for the second coming – as if they had done enough. He tells them God’s presence and grace encourages them. They need to continue – to go beyond – to help create the place where Jesus would return – Their hope would create the Reign of God. It would not be remaining rigid that they would realize what had been promised but continually reaching out to embrace, to love, to be one.

 

And of course in the absurd argument in the Gospel the Sadducees who held tightly and rigidly to the teachings of the first five books of the Bible – as God stopped speaking after that –showed their unwillingness to believe in a God who was still alive in their midst. And Jesus entering into their silly argument tells them they have no idea what God or God Reign would be like – it is beyond our comprehension and imagination – we need only believe that the God who created you and I and everyone and everything and called us all good invites us to fullness.

 

And so we are called upon to reach beyond the limits that safety can impose on us, that fear encapsules us with, the sometimes religion can encourage. As William Sloan Coffin reminds us, in fact it has been the religions of the world, including our own, that have often stifled love and compassion and oneness with the rest of God’s creation. It is religion, in many ways that generates the hate that fuels the wars of our time. It is despair and lack of hope the makes us fearful.

 

As we prepare to end this liturgical year and look to another year of grace we pray that we might by our acts of love move ourselves and our scarred world closer to God’s reign.

 

Would that our hope in a good and loving God make us more tightly embrace those who are poor – not just in our prayers and in our minds but with our hands. Would that our hope embrace those who lack housing right here in our midst – as winter draws near – who are victims of our fears. It is in fact our own lack of hope – our lack of trust that makes we who are rich so unwilling to make it possible for affordable housing to be available.

Would that our hope in a good and loving God make us more willing to dream of peace – to move our nation and all nations to a realization and respect for others. It is our fear, our lack of trust in our God that causes the innocent children of Fallujah to live in fear and to be killed.

 

Would that our hope in a good and loving God make it possible for us to see God’s design in all our brothers and sisters – not just those we are comfortable with – but those who challenge us – the mentally ill, the poor, those whose lifestyles differ from us, our gay and lesbian brothers and sisters, those of different faiths, those whose values are not our own.  It is our own lack of hope that makes us narrow our faith to what is only safe and comfortable to us.

 

Helen, in the story about the window seat because perhaps her life was marked by hope and a belief in a present loving God saw what could have been a little pain – the careless scarring of her world –saw instead an opportunity for growth and difference and light.

 

May our eyes open to trust and hope – and above all love. Thus we would be more Godlike and advance the reign of God.