Wadhams United Church of Christ
2569 County Route 10, Wadhams, NY 12993
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Sermon by Steve Smith Order of Service
Abiding Hope
May 11, 2008
And now these three abide, faith, hope, and love…
It was a strange time to be asked to stand up in front of the congregation to share a personal faith statement about hope. After more than a decade of missed diagnostic clues, unnecessary surgery, and physical therapy that did more harm than good, the source of Betty’s chronic pain had finally been definitively diagnosed. “Nerve tumors”, they had told us. Unfortunately, there was nothing they could do to treat it, and the pain relief they offered has been spotty at best. Their diagnosis confirmed the suspicion that had been gnawing at us for years, and was the final step in a prognosis which told us that pain would be Betty’s constant companion for the rest of her life.
Meanwhile, she had been diagnosed with a form of cancer that is typically treated through surgery. While the recovery and cure rate makes it one of the most treatable forms of cancer, the very thought of a malignancy growing in her body had set us both on edge and made us even more apprehensive about the future. Now, the church that would soon inform me that they were about to eliminate my position and return me to the ranks of the jobless wanted me to stand up in front of a group of 400 to 500 people and talk about hope.
It was easily the biggest crowd I had ever spoken to, and I had scribbled some notes on a series of index cards to help jog my memory and stay on topic. I frankly and briefly outlined the circumstances we were facing, and honestly admitted to the disappointment that clouded our days. And because I have a beef with the televangelists who want us to believe that all we have to do is say a prayer and all our problems will go away, I told the gathered assembly about the storm clouds of doubts and the questions that I had been wrestling with in the midst of this ongoing tempest of setbacks and personal crises.
I ended my testimony with the thread of spirituality that was holding me together then and holds me together still: it’s not a matter of me holding on to hope, because my faith sometimes wavers, and my strength weakens when I’m mustering everything I have in order to endure the next round of battering waves. No, it’s… way too early in the sermon to give you my punch line. If I tell you now, you’ll lose interest and start to doodle in your bulletins, or take power naps, or worse yet, write insulting messages on your napping neighbor’s forehead. I’m going to have you hold that thought so we can return to it in the conclusion.
So when the storm is at its worst, and the winds are lashing everything within sight, it’s hard to keep a grip on the rigging line that we call faith. When the waves are crashing harder and closer, and the seas are rising to disastrous levels, it can be hard to keep an even keel, even as people of faith. Of all the blows that stagger us most, though, the hardest may well be that of disappointment. It’s disappointment that dashes our hopes to the ground and leaves us wary of hoping that anything good can come out of disruption and chaos. And when those flooding waves of disappointment wash over us repeatedly, the experience can leave us feeling overwhelmed, frustrated, hopeless, and thoroughly discouraged.
Even as I speak, there are hundreds of thousands of people in Myanmar who are literally living on the edge of survival. I’m sure most of you have heard of their plight. A near-perfect storm, the confluence of wind and weather and tide, conspired to produce one of those once every 500 year tempests, and proceeded to devastate a nation that is ill-equipped to handle a disaster of such proportions. And who are we kidding? We were ill-equipped to deal with the devastating force of Hurricane Katrina, even though we would like to think that we are the premier country of the world when it comes to disaster response. In Myanmar, there is no reasonable expectation or hope that the government will step in to help out with relief efforts. There is no one to provide loans to help them rebuild. There is no vast stash of cash anywhere in sight that will aid them in replacing the clothes, food, and personal belongings that were swept away by a storm surge towering up to 25 feet high.
Does that mean, therefore, that there is no hope for the battered and beleaguered citizens of a nation that the rest of the world wants to label as regressive and repressive? We need to be clear that hope, at its deepest level, is not based on a confidence that people from above or outside will be there to deliver on aid and development promises, or to rescue us from ourselves. To base our hope on deep pockets or a benevolent government can set us up for the kind of disappointment that the people of New Orleans must have experienced and still contend with on a daily basis. The hope that endures or abides through the tests of time is not dependent on a warm, fuzzy notion that everything will somehow get better.
Renate sent me an email in response to last week’s sermon that points us toward a different definition of hope. In it, she forwarded some words from a friend and colleague that she worked with in Vietnam under the auspices of an organization called International Voluntary Services. He was writing in reflection on some work he had done through Christian Peacemaker Teams after a trip to the Philippines.
Some years ago I led a delegation of North American church people to the Philippines to explore the realities people face there. One day we spent time in Manila's urban poor neighborhood of Tondo where we met families, community groups, and an organizer/leader. We also walked through the stench of a mountain of garbage where thousands of people filtered the waste of Manila's middle and upper class in search of recyclable items that could be sold. Wherever we went, people found time to talk.
A garbage collector told how her landless family migrated to Manila from a remote island to find a life in the urban world. Her face was covered with a cloth to ward off the smell as she excitedly told her story to visitors. The energy in her voice was partly enlivened by the news that her squatter housing had evaded demolition for another two months. In Tondo's filth, and discarded stuff, stink was everywhere except in neatly kept rooms where entire extended families survived amidst the towering piles of garbage.
On the same trip our delegation visited a remote rural village that rarely hosted visitors from anywhere. The children showed signs of malnutrition - distended bellies, discolored hair and vacant looks. And yet, our hosting families gave us their best in conversation and cuisine. From somewhere in the 400 years of colonial influence they had known, the villagers learned that we must be served meat. So they served us the only available meat, stray dogs. The hard to chew meat meal was completed with a little bit of rice and a fried egg. The evening conversation about life was animated and lasted long into the night. They told us how they rebuilt after typhoons, and shared meager resources among families when the rains failed to come. Do you have any idea how we might improve our life, villagers inquired after recalling another story of disaster and tumult told with a humorous twist and ever present hope?
Later our delegates gathered to reflect and sum up what we learned. Every participant expressed awe at the hope they had seen in the people they had met despite their desperate situations. Was this just a misunderstanding of this advanced culture of hospitality where we could not read the signs? Did these folks know something we could not know in their day to day life of toil and survival? I have experienced this shocking juxtaposition of tragedy and hope in communities around the world, including North America. What is this hope that some people know and others of us find so hard to understand? We owe it to ourselves to understand it better.
What we experienced in these conversations was not a hope of optimism based on economic models, political stability or easy access to ministries of faith. Nor is hope to be confused with exhortations to positive thinking, or an emotional stance that can sometimes be coaxed into being by will power. So how do we explain the hope? There is a common thread in the story of hope. When people are really engaged with others in the business of constructing a fairer, more just world, the language of hope appears. It is not hope based on the next election, a windfall profit or success in one of the various lotteries of the world. It's a zero sum hope based on confidence that there is a way.
Hope is present when people take control and responsibility, which is not to say that all of us don't lose the way from time to time. That is why real hope is usually sustained by a larger movement. People of hope live fully in the present moment, embraced by the sustaining energy of their community. Hope includes the future but does not depend on how the immediate future unfolds. It is this hope that gives courage for the methodology that nonviolent love will overcome. It is hope that gives space for individual, national and racial diversity and allows us to claim unity. As I became more attuned to the depth of hope between us and in all communities I realized that our world had a little acknowledged resource, rooted deeply in our DNA. Sometimes it is expressed in voluntarism and sacrifice.
It sustains us over disappointing events and helps us overcome suffering. Hope is that special ingredient that sustains us in ordinary times and keeps us focused and on track during ridiculous times. Hope nurtures the courage that is essential when leaps arising from imagination are required. It gives us energy when wide margins of extra effort are needed to connects today's efforts to a broader vision that includes the future and the past as it is lived in the present moment.
I ended my testimony with the thread of spirituality that was holding me together then and holds me together still: it’s not a matter of me holding on to hope, or God, I told them, because my faith sometimes wavers, and my strength weakens when I’m mustering everything I have in order to endure the next round of battering waves. No, it’s not a matter of me holding on to hope, it’s a matter of hope holding on to me. When I have a hard time holding on to God, I remind myself that I am being held by God, by the God who has a future and a hope for me and for all of us who sometimes struggle with the unfairness of life and repressive governments that won’t allow others across their borders with life-sustaining help.
It’s a matter of God holding on to us when our strength gives way, and the bottomless depths of despair threaten to swallow us into a watery grave. It’s a matter of being held when there are no satisfactory answers and no clear direction. It’s a matter of hope abiding within me as I seek to live my life in connection with God and with the people that God has brought into my life. So whatever trials and troubles may come our way, there is something greater, someone greater in us than the chaotic suffering of this world, and that something, that someone, comes to us with abiding hope.
Order of Service May 11 , 2008 Back to Sermon
"NC" refers to The New Century Hymnal, The Pilgrim Press (1995)
A Candle for Peace NC #571 (verse 1)
Call to Worship
Leader: Spirit of God, we long to be open to your presence in our church and in our lives.
People: Holy One, we come to worship today seeking life in you, seeking to grow in faith and hope in you.
Leader: We pray for your Spirit to reveal to us, and in us, the power of your love.
People: Today we are especially grateful for your love as we see it in expressions of a mother’s love.
Leader: We know that your love, O God, is as unconditional as a mother’s acceptance, and as steadfast as a mother’s faith in the goodness of her children.
People: Surround us with your love, that we may surround others with our love.
Leader: Turn our hearts to you, O God, that we may worship you with hearts full of love and thankfulness.
Hymn NC #319 Wonderful Words of Life
Leader: As we honor mothers today, we mourn with the mothers of this world who have lost children to accidents, disease, and especially to war. Comfort them, O God, and help them to survive their losses.
People: Be with those who have anguish of any kind, particularly those who, for whatever reason, can’t be with their children as much as they would like.
Leader: Enable us to make life easier for others as our mothers have made it easier for us, and to honor them by imitating their goodness and sacrifice. Grant that every mother, especially those here today, would be given an extra measure of strength and patience and endurance.
People: Even as we have been blessed with motherly love by our mothers or those who have been like a mother to us, inspire us now to love as you have loved us.
Leader: Loved as we are, let us now love as listeners, helpers, hand-holders, good neighbors, visitors to the sick and lonely, friends of the rejected.
People: Let your love shine through us as blessers of children, advocates for youth, comforters of the weeping, makers of peace, feeders of the hungry, and voices for the voiceless.
Leader: Blest as we are, now let us bless others with our prayers.
Pastoral Prayer, Lord’s Prayer
Hymn NC #464 The Weaver’s Shuttle
Psalm25:1-10, Jeremiah 29:10-14, Romans 5:1-5
Sermon “Abiding Hope”
Offering, Doxology, Dedication
Hymn NC #426 O God, Whose Steadfast Love
Leader: Compassionate God, as we return to our homes and daily chores, remind us that you care for us as with a mother’s love.
People: Teach us to love with a mother’s love, which mirrors your great love. Let the mothering virtues of love and compassion become richer and stronger in our world.
Leader: And now, “ May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in God, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.” (Romans 15:13)
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