I had my own journey to this very same parish. During my months of separation and divorce I found solace in a work called 'The Catechesis of the Good Shepherd.' This is a spiritual formation way for children but it became a way for me to 'become like a little child' again and unlearn things I had heard falsely and relearn things that were true. At the time that I was going through these classes there were only 2 churches in Birmingham with Atriums. Now there are many others but at that point, I chose to attend one of the churches with the Atrium and All Saints was the one I chose.
Now when I walk in our church each Sunday I relive all of our most formative moments together - Steve's ministry of reconciliation, our confirmation, our marriage, his funeral, our weekly eucharists. Each time. The sanctuary feels dense to me. Layered. Full. I have heard that the sanctuary is built like a ship, to hold us, like an ark. Until we are taken to the other side.
A few Sundays ago I was sitting next to my mother. We listened parallel to the sermon that I am going to post here. Our home life and our growing up years offered many moments for despair or worry, but honestly, I do not remember that ever being a part of my upbringing. I whispered to her, 'You did not leave me a legacy of worry, did you?' and she said, 'No, I do not know why, but I am not a worrier.' People who know my mother are always struck by how steady and faithful and kind and generous she is. She is an avid reader, a diligent gardener, constant friend and indulgent grandmother. I have to assume that her inner life has been so fed and nurtured that she has not had much need to scramble or be frenetic in her outer one.
I have a quote by my sink that says, "Mother's love is peace. It need not be acquired, it need not be deserved.' Erich Fromm. The invisible church that Steve often spoke of, that he participated in, is historically called our mother because it nourishes and protects the believer. I can honestly say that our particular, visible church is doing that as well.
I asked our priest, Glenda, if I could post her sermon here because it reminded me of one Steve could have preached. I remember sermons where Steve would talk about one's 'midnight faith.' To imagine the kind of fear Steve faced regularly and then later when making the choices he did, coupled with the faith he expressed in his ability to die well is nourishing for those of us who wait.
Proper 7: yr. B, Mark 4: 35-41
Glenda Curry
June 24, 2012
I
read a description of a painting by Rembrandt, called the Storm on the Sea of
Galilee. I found a picture on the
trusty internet and it’s extraordinary.
The artist paints the faces of the disciples in their storm battered
boat so clearly that I could feel their panic. The little boat is perched on the top crest of a giant wave;
its sail and lines are torn loose from the riggings, flapping wildly in the
wind. Five disciples are
struggling to catch the torn sail, desperately holding onto the mast. The rest are on their knees in the
boat, huddled around Jesus, absolutely terrified for their lives, one is even
seasick over the side. Some are frantically shaking Jesus, trying to wake
him. Jesus’ calm expression seems
to ask, “Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?”
You
can count fourteen people in the picture, 12 disciples and Jesus, and the
artist himself. Rembrandt paints
himself in the boat, clutching one of the broken lines, holding his head in
terror. It’s as if he’s saying
when it comes to faith and fear, we’re all in the same boat.
I
like to think of myself as faithful, rather than fearful. But my life has taught me that faith
and fear can coexist. I came from
a family that liked to worry. My
mom was a chronic, professional worrier and I learned how to worry at her
knee. Of course, she had some
things worth worrying about. Two
children to feed, no husband, no extended family help. And we didn’t talk about our
feelings, so I think worrying was how we compensated. For years my fears would wake me at night, my heart
would race and I’d tremble. Now my
fear mostly creeps in when the house gets quiet and nags, like a tired baby
whining for my attention.
There’s
a story about a little by traveling by train with his parents. They were going
to sleep in a Pullman car, the kind with berths enclosed by curtains. The mother tucked the little boy in an
upper berth, assuring him that Mommy and Daddy were sleeping in the berth just
below his. She said to her son,
“Now don’t worry. Mommy’s here and
Daddy’s here and God is here.”
As soon as the mother closed the curtains
on her son’t berth, she heard his little voice ask, “Mommy, are you still
here?” “Yes, dear.” answered his
mother. “Is Daddy still
here?” The mother answered, “Yes,
dear.” “Is God still here?” She answered, “Yes dear.”.
Five
minutes later it was the same thing and then over and over, on through the
night, until about one o’clock, when the little voice asked for the thousandth
time “Mommy, are you still here?” Suddenly a great, gruff voice roared from the
other end of the Pullman car, “yes, your mother’s here. Your Daddy’s here. Now shut up and go to sleep.” There was a moment of silence and then
the little voice asked, “Mommy, was that God?”
When
I fall prey to worry and fear, I sometimes wish God would tell my worry to shut
up and go to sleep. In today’s
gospel, the disciples experience not just worry, but terror. Most of us know what it’s like to be
scared. There’s plenty in our
world to fear. We’ve experienced
all kinds of fear; from nagging worry to maybe full-fledged panic. Fear can save our lives and keep us out
of trouble. But too much fear can
paralyze and take our lives away.
Mark
tells us a story that the Hebrew people of his day would easily understand. For
them, the sea, like life was scary.
The prophet Daniel wrote that the sea was filled with monsters and
predicted the Messiah would come and send monsters away. But Creation is good, even though the
sea is stormy one minute and calm the next. Above all they believed God was in charge.
Mark’s
listeners would hear echoes of Jonah, who was caught in a storm when he tried
to run away from God and the sea became calm only when sailors threw Jonah
overboard and he surrendered to God’s command.
Or
they’d remember the story of God parting the Red Sea to save his people. When they heard this
gospel, they’d realize the kingdom of God was coming near in Jesus. Jesus doesn’t run away from God like
Jonah instead He acts like the Messiah, calming the stormy sea.
In the worldview of disciples any kind
of trouble was due to demonic forces, servants of the evil one. When that storm came out of nowhere,
punishing them with wind, lightning, and waves, they probably thought they were
being attacked by demons. So they
weren’t just afraid of dying.
They were afraid of falling into the hands of the evil one.
And Jesus is so confident of God’s care,
he falls asleep while the storm rages, trusting God will make all things
right. God is in charge and God is
good. Now God is with us, in the
flesh, right in our boat.
The
truth is no matter how carefully we live, and believe me, I’ve tried to be
careful, life is stormy even for God’s most faithful people.
I
once prayed with parents of a little boy who fell from a tree to be healed even
when doctors said his wounds were fatal.
Did God not hear that prayer?
It’s natural to wonder, “does God really care. Is God asleep?”
I
believe God did hear their prayer.
Sometimes when I cry out to God, with my best prayer, the fearful
situation remains. Yet, I do
believe in miracles, especially the ones in the Bible. I have seen miracles, intense
manifestations of grace, in people’s lives too. I think we should pray for exactly what we want because
that’s part of honest relationship with God.
Sometimes we pray with words and
sometimes without. St. Paul
tells us many times, we are God’s children and the Spirit prays for us
sometimes, in sighs too deep for words. Faith isn’t the conviction that God will turn things
in my favor every time I ask. I
haven’t seen God intervene on anyone’s behalf predictably and regularly on
request. Miracles are mysterious
and unpredictable by definition.
Prayer has many purposes and forms and grace is almost always a
surprise.
Scripture
tells us in Jesus, God has already been every place we will ever go. In Gesthemane, in doubt, loved by his
friends, hated by enemies, abandoned, rejected, suffering in innocence and just
like the forces of evil surround the boat they’re in just now, those same
forces will storm around a cross where Jesus no doubt will wonder again, “Why
are you afraid, don’t you have faith?” Yet the storm is calmed and the tomb will be
empty. The quality of the
disciples’ faith doesn’t stop Jesus from saving them.
This
story helped me see two kinds of fear. First, there’s the fear that God is absent and they
say, “Don’t you care that we are perishing”. Someone called that the “Good Friday” fear. Then they wake Jesus and cry out
to him and their fear seems to change. After the storm is stilled, our translation says the
disciples experience “awe”.
The translation police say ‘awe’ isn’t strong enough. Better translation is “They
feared a great fear”. Someone
calls that the “Easter fear”.
When the women find the tomb empty and encounter the angel, they have
that kind of fear. It makes
sense that realizing we are in the hands of Almighty God calls for some Easter
fear. That seems appropriate
and real.
One
interesting speculation about today’s story says, when Jesus says, “Peace be
still”, maybe he’s not just talking to the waves. Maybe he’s saying to the disciples, “Hush, get hold of
yourselves.” And they did what he
said.
The
miracle wasn’t only Jesus calming the storm, but Jesus calming the
disciples. I’ve seen that
happen. When we find ourselves
walking through storms with grace and peace beyond our ability. An old hymn says, “Sometimes he
calms the storm with a whispered peace be still. He can settle any sea, but it doesn’t mean he will. Sometimes he holds us close and lets
the wind and waves go wild.
Sometimes he calms the storm and other times he calms his child.”
I
read about a man and wife who were passengers in a small plane in trouble. As
they were about to make an emergency the couple joined hands and said this
prayer: “The light of God surrounds us.
The love of God enfolds us.
The power of God protects us. The presence of God watches over us. Wherever we are, God is.”
As
they landed the man said, the prayer wasn’t meant to say that everything would
turn out all right. What they meant to say was that they knew they were in
God’s care, whether they lived or died.
Jesus asks God to spare him from the cross. Instead God gave him the strength to endure it.
This
morning we sit in the Nave.
The name comes from the Latin word for ship. The beams in our ceiling resemble like the beams the beams
in the bow of a great ship.
So when it comes to our faith and following Jesus, you can say we are
literally all in the same boat. We need each other. As we tell our children in the atrium, that’s the plan
of God. The disciples didn’t
confront their fear or awe alone.
God gave them each other and God’s grace softened terror into a graceful
faith.
Each
week as the Body of Christ we share bread, wine and prayers to remind each
other to trust God when storms hit.
Loving through grief, hurt, fear and joy. Just as Jesus was with the disciples, calming the storm,
calming them, God is with us and God is for us. Whatever we face, God’s grace is working this day, stilling
our fears and making us new creations.
Amen
The Reverend Glenda Curry
June 24, 2012
Proper 7 year B