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| SERMON 5th Sunday of Lent March 21, 2010 The Rev. Charles W. Messer |
| 667 Mount Road, Aston, PA 19014 610-459-2013 |
| Small Parish - Big Heart The little church you've been looking for! All are welcome! |
| Our Mission: To worship the Lord To serve the community To grow the church |
To contact us: Calvary Episcopal Church 667 Mount Road Aston, PA 19014 610-459-2013 OFFICE The Rev. Charles Messer, Rector Fr. Chuck: frmesser@calvaryepiscopalrockdale.org Website: mail@calvaryepiscopalrockdale.org Office: calvaryoffice1@verizon.net |
was stopped for making an illegal left turn. I got a ticket for $170. I knew
it was wrong; the symbol for no left turn was right in front of me, but it
was a risk I was willing to take. $170 is a lot of money. If I could only call
a time out and said to the officer writing the ticket, “I want a do over. I
won’t make the same mistake.” But there aren’t do-overs. Our words
unleashed there’s no taking them back. I wish I could give my friends
Robbie and Stacy a do-over.
Stacy Monk and Robbie Brock lived three blocks from my house when I
was a kid. I remember Robbie used to make boobie traps with large
rubber bands his dad would bring home from work at the post office.
Robbie lived two houses down from Stacy. Stacy and Robbie were the
best of friends, always together. Robbie’s dad, a big man, always
chewed tobacco, always fun to hang around with, always telling jokes.
Mr. Brock would be the designated pitcher whenever we’d play Wiffle
Ball, always neutral, never striking anyone out.
One rainy day in August, Stacy and Robbie were messing around in Mr.
Brock’s big shed in the back. Now, Mr. Brock liked to work on cars, so
there were lots of cool things two 11 year old boys could mess around
with. A wrench or a broken fishing pole could provide maybe an hour’s
reprieve from boredom. As they were hunting around for things to
mess around with, they found, on top of a far shelf wrapped in dirty oil
stained rags, Mr. Brock’s pistol.
I’m sure you can imagine what happens next. Careless play ended in
tragedy. Stacy died from a gunshot wound to the chest. See, Stacy
wasn’t the only one who died that day. Three lives were taken: Stacy,
Robbie, and Mr. Brock. If only there was a do-over. How do you recover
from something like that? Is there hope? No matter what the king’s
horses and all the king’s men can do, hope of putting Humpty Dumpty
back together again is slim to none. If only there was a do-over.
I have often wondered what I would have said to them. What could I
have said to that boy, who’s now a grown man – a shadow of who he
used to be, who’s lost in the valley of guilt and shame of the prospect of
hope and new life? What could I have said to that dried up old man who
never forgave himself for leaving that gun around? What could I have
said to those broken and wounded parents grieving over the loss of
their little boy?
Even further, what can we say - to a cynical world where there’s
senseless violence, genocide, rampant disease, and war; what can we
say to our church that is at conflict with itself and at the brink of schism;
what can we say to families where relationships are damaged beyond
repair? We humans have really done a number on ourselves, one
another, and our planet. Can the Christian faith say something to our
world that isn’t glib, or trite; say something that isn’t a pie-in-the-sky-in-
the-sweet-bye-and-bye sound byte to a world that’s broken, restless,
and hopeless? Is the Christian faith relevant in a world full of
complication, ambiguity, and anxiety? We need a do-over.
“Thus says the LORD, do not remember the former things, or consider
the things of old. I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do
you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in
the desert. I give water in the wilderness, rivers in the desert, to give
drink to my chosen people that they might declare my praise.”
Robbie and I were never close. Robbie kept to himself after Stacy died.
He had few friends. After high school, Robbie went into the Army and I’
ve never seen him since. I often think about him. I think of what could I
have said to him. Mr. Brock grew old before his time. Sadness and guilt
aged Robbie’s dad to the point when the last time I saw him I didn’t
recognize him. These two people seemed forever lost in hopelessness,
destined to live the rest of their lives defined by this one horrific event.
During Lent, we are brought face-to-face with death - the absence of
life. And we are challenged to consider resurrection - life rising from
death. God’s word calls us to believe without seeing, to live by faith, to
live in hopeful expectation that someday we’ll have our do-over. And it’
s this hope that brings us to life. It is hope that rises up from our bones,
and chooses to believe in spite of how things are. Jesus said, “I am the
resurrection and the life. I am the death of death. I’m life with a capital
“L.” God is in the business of resurrection. God is in the business of
bringing to life dry and dead people who have lost hope.
We, as a church, find life, not by what we see, by the state of things
within our world, but by the Spirit of God who raises dead hopes into
living and breathing expectation. Jesus is – right here, right now –
resurrection and life. It’s God’s hope that gives us the strength to walk
through the grave, through disease, war, violence, and out on the other
side whole, well, and alive. Death, weapons of mass destruction,
Cancer, abuse, exploitation, suicide do not have the final word in God’s
kingdom.
So why does the church keep pouring out its little cup of water into
places like Haiti, the Sudan, downtown Chester and Upper Darby, and
other desperate places of the world where hope has run dry? Why do
we keep visiting the shut-ins and praying for those in hospitals when
we have no miracle drug to take away their pain? Why do we pray for
estranged husbands and wives or sons and daughters who’ve been
cast away as lost causes? Why pray for unity within our church even
though there is such division among us? Why do we commit ourselves
to the political process when there is so much cynicism and a malaise
of despair in politics today? Why? Because God doggedly pursues us
with a hope that will not leave us alone, a hope that will not leave us as
we are. God is do-over.
So here we are, this fifth Sunday of Lent. Lent expects much, but not
just of us, but mostly of God. Like pain, suffering, evil, and death Lent
begs for resolution, begs for a do-over; a resolution to start over that
cannot come from within us. Lent points us toward a Sunday morning
not too far away where we will discover that although there is much
darkness – pain, suffering, war, pride, violence, guilt, shame, cynicism,
greed, and hopelessness – the darkness has all been overwhelmed by
a great light. Our hope is in God who resurrects us from the dead,
putting an end to death by working through it instead of around it--
creating life in the midst of grief, creating love in the midst of loss,
creating faith in the midst of despair--resurrecting us, showing us that
the only way to Easter morning is through Good Friday.
it was wrong; the symbol for no left turn was right in front of me, but it
was a risk I was willing to take. $170 is a lot of money. If I could only call
a time out and said to the officer writing the ticket, “I want a do over. I
won’t make the same mistake.” But there aren’t do-overs. Our words
unleashed there’s no taking them back. I wish I could give my friends
Robbie and Stacy a do-over.
Stacy Monk and Robbie Brock lived three blocks from my house when I
was a kid. I remember Robbie used to make boobie traps with large
rubber bands his dad would bring home from work at the post office.
Robbie lived two houses down from Stacy. Stacy and Robbie were the
best of friends, always together. Robbie’s dad, a big man, always
chewed tobacco, always fun to hang around with, always telling jokes.
Mr. Brock would be the designated pitcher whenever we’d play Wiffle
Ball, always neutral, never striking anyone out.
One rainy day in August, Stacy and Robbie were messing around in Mr.
Brock’s big shed in the back. Now, Mr. Brock liked to work on cars, so
there were lots of cool things two 11 year old boys could mess around
with. A wrench or a broken fishing pole could provide maybe an hour’s
reprieve from boredom. As they were hunting around for things to
mess around with, they found, on top of a far shelf wrapped in dirty oil
stained rags, Mr. Brock’s pistol.
I’m sure you can imagine what happens next. Careless play ended in
tragedy. Stacy died from a gunshot wound to the chest. See, Stacy
wasn’t the only one who died that day. Three lives were taken: Stacy,
Robbie, and Mr. Brock. If only there was a do-over. How do you recover
from something like that? Is there hope? No matter what the king’s
horses and all the king’s men can do, hope of putting Humpty Dumpty
back together again is slim to none. If only there was a do-over.
I have often wondered what I would have said to them. What could I
have said to that boy, who’s now a grown man – a shadow of who he
used to be, who’s lost in the valley of guilt and shame of the prospect of
hope and new life? What could I have said to that dried up old man who
never forgave himself for leaving that gun around? What could I have
said to those broken and wounded parents grieving over the loss of
their little boy?
Even further, what can we say - to a cynical world where there’s
senseless violence, genocide, rampant disease, and war; what can we
say to our church that is at conflict with itself and at the brink of schism;
what can we say to families where relationships are damaged beyond
repair? We humans have really done a number on ourselves, one
another, and our planet. Can the Christian faith say something to our
world that isn’t glib, or trite; say something that isn’t a pie-in-the-sky-in-
the-sweet-bye-and-bye sound byte to a world that’s broken, restless,
and hopeless? Is the Christian faith relevant in a world full of
complication, ambiguity, and anxiety? We need a do-over.
“Thus says the LORD, do not remember the former things, or consider
the things of old. I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do
you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in
the desert. I give water in the wilderness, rivers in the desert, to give
drink to my chosen people that they might declare my praise.”
Robbie and I were never close. Robbie kept to himself after Stacy died.
He had few friends. After high school, Robbie went into the Army and I’
ve never seen him since. I often think about him. I think of what could I
have said to him. Mr. Brock grew old before his time. Sadness and guilt
aged Robbie’s dad to the point when the last time I saw him I didn’t
recognize him. These two people seemed forever lost in hopelessness,
destined to live the rest of their lives defined by this one horrific event.
During Lent, we are brought face-to-face with death - the absence of
life. And we are challenged to consider resurrection - life rising from
death. God’s word calls us to believe without seeing, to live by faith, to
live in hopeful expectation that someday we’ll have our do-over. And it’
s this hope that brings us to life. It is hope that rises up from our bones,
and chooses to believe in spite of how things are. Jesus said, “I am the
resurrection and the life. I am the death of death. I’m life with a capital
“L.” God is in the business of resurrection. God is in the business of
bringing to life dry and dead people who have lost hope.
We, as a church, find life, not by what we see, by the state of things
within our world, but by the Spirit of God who raises dead hopes into
living and breathing expectation. Jesus is – right here, right now –
resurrection and life. It’s God’s hope that gives us the strength to walk
through the grave, through disease, war, violence, and out on the other
side whole, well, and alive. Death, weapons of mass destruction,
Cancer, abuse, exploitation, suicide do not have the final word in God’s
kingdom.
So why does the church keep pouring out its little cup of water into
places like Haiti, the Sudan, downtown Chester and Upper Darby, and
other desperate places of the world where hope has run dry? Why do
we keep visiting the shut-ins and praying for those in hospitals when
we have no miracle drug to take away their pain? Why do we pray for
estranged husbands and wives or sons and daughters who’ve been
cast away as lost causes? Why pray for unity within our church even
though there is such division among us? Why do we commit ourselves
to the political process when there is so much cynicism and a malaise
of despair in politics today? Why? Because God doggedly pursues us
with a hope that will not leave us alone, a hope that will not leave us as
we are. God is do-over.
So here we are, this fifth Sunday of Lent. Lent expects much, but not
just of us, but mostly of God. Like pain, suffering, evil, and death Lent
begs for resolution, begs for a do-over; a resolution to start over that
cannot come from within us. Lent points us toward a Sunday morning
not too far away where we will discover that although there is much
darkness – pain, suffering, war, pride, violence, guilt, shame, cynicism,
greed, and hopelessness – the darkness has all been overwhelmed by
a great light. Our hope is in God who resurrects us from the dead,
putting an end to death by working through it instead of around it--
creating life in the midst of grief, creating love in the midst of loss,
creating faith in the midst of despair--resurrecting us, showing us that
the only way to Easter morning is through Good Friday.
