Gratitude and the Meaning of Life

Deuteronomy 34:1-12

Today is the final installment of our sermon series, “Barriers to Gratitude.” Such barriers can affect our outlook on life, our interactions with others, and our life of faith. An attitude of gratitude opens us up to living lives that follow Jesus’ command to love, that allow us to know and feel God’s love and to recognize the gift of blessing even in the midst of chaos, pain, and challenges. To live a life of gratitude is to live in the joy and awareness of God’s grace.

The barrier we’ll talk about today is “disappointment”. We all experience some disappointments in life. You cannot go through life without knowing its sting. Even as you are sitting here today, it is very likely that some of you are sitting on a big disappoint in your personal or professional life.

The word disappointment means just what it sounds like – it means to have a previously scheduled appointment canceled, an expected opportunity erased, or a promise broken. For some of us, disappointment has come in the form of our favorite sports team underperforming – especially when we are sitting on season tickets.

I learned early in life to stay out of the living room if my dad’s beloved Yankees were disappointing his expectations for a pennant win. His disappointment could be loud and stormy. Disappointments like that are a dime a dozen and we can pass them off pretty easily.

But what happens when the disappointments go deeper – are even life altering in some cases?

Some of us have experienced the disappointment of unrequited love, or not getting into the school, college, or career field we dreamed of. Still deeper disappointments have been experienced by those of us who have endured the disappointment of a lost pregnancy or the inability to ever conceive the children we dreamed of; a devastating diagnosis for ourselves or for a loved one; or witnessing the suffering of a loved one.  

Uncertainties of life frequently throw each of us into the pool of disappointment at times, where we bob around, sometimes feeling as though we are sinking or drowning. And that’s exactly what happens to people whose resiliency fails them, or who lack the ability to draw on hope – and even gratitude - in times of trial and disappointment.

The story of Moses would seem to be the perfect example of extreme disappointment. One would think that Moses had earned the right to cross the river into the Promised Land. Yet here we have one-hundred-twenty-year-old Moses, the great prophet whom the Lord knew face to face, who had performed unequaled signs and wonders for the Lord. Yet, he was denied entry into the Promised Land. He led the people of Israel right up to the proverbial front door of that long-promised place, yet all he could do was view it from atop the peak of Mount Nebo.

Talk about disappointment!   

It is the nature of life, even sometimes the life of faith, that sometimes does not make sense. When this happens, it is only natural that disappointment follows. When we are disappointed, it is only natural that sometimes, we react by complaining, we experience bitterness, even anger. Hopefully, time, faith, and perspective give us the ability to return to attitudes of gratitude, but that doesn’t always happen. That is when disappointment becomes a barrier to knowing the deep and abiding gift of gratitude.  

Like Job, most people who have been through the wringer of life have a long list of disappointments and complaints against their maker. It’s hard to be grateful when the thing you most want and need and desire and pray for is taken away.

But there is also great power in those who see their own stories as a part of something greater. Scripture tells us that Moses knows in advance that his ministry will end just short of his intended destination, yet he spends his last breaths in blessing and praise of the same Lord who has passed that judgement on him.

So, how do we become like Moses? How do we live in gratitude even when our hearts have been broken and disappointments assail us? Experts in the field of psychology conclude the attitude of gratitude to be a choice that we make.

Viktor Frankl, for instance, was an Austrian neurologist and psychiatrist who, along with most of his family, was sent to concentration camps during World War II. It was during their years in those camps that Frankl’s mother, father, brother and wife all perished. The only person in his family to survive the Holocaust, aside from himself had been one sister who had emigrated to Australia.

From his observations and personal experience, Frankl developed theories that he later wrote, taught, and spoke about. In his best-selling book, Man’s Search for Meaning, Frankl wrote that people are primarily driven by a “striving to find one’s meaning in life.” It is this sense of meaning that helps people survive and even thrive following painful experiences. Can we do that? Can we make the choice to be grateful no matter what our circumstance?

About gratitude, Frankl wrote, “The last of human freedoms - the ability to choose one’s attitude, especially an attitude of gratitude in a given set of circumstances, especially in difficult circumstances.” Frankl considered gratitude to be a choice one makes in the face of adversity as well as blessing.

As people of faith, we don’t have to look far to find meaning in life. We have been entrusted with the message of the Gospel of Jesus Chris. We have the joy of knowing that no matter what might befall us in this life, nothing can separate us from the love of God known and experienced in Jesus Christ. We live each day knowing that we are created in the image of God for the purpose of sharing God’s love and compassion with the world. We live with the assurance that not only will God never let us go, but that God’s Holy Spirit is with us through every trial and joy, disappointment and success in life. Yet, sometimes, we forget.

In an age of instant gratification and convenience, we lose the understanding that there is a discipline to disappointment. There is a discipline to gratitude. It takes practice to react with gratitude and not resentment to the disappointments of life.

During a particularly sad and stressful time in my life, I really didn’t feel much gratitude. It was enough just to feel that I had survived each day. What made a difference to me was a friend, a person of faith, suggesting an exercise, though I didn’t know it at the time, that would give me gratitude practice. She suggest I take little red dots – the kind you find in office supply stores – and post them strategically around the domain of my existence – so: house, car, work space. Every time I saw a dot, I was to think of something I could be grateful for; to think of something positive –. And to say a short prayer of thanksgiving.

The idea was that even in the depth of our dark days, because of the love of Jesus, there is still light. Even when we are sad, there is something to be grateful for. We are in some way blessed. This is not to deny the fact that sometimes, life just stinks. But it is a way to retrain the brain to see not only the most obvious, negative stuff, but also to see the positive things in life, and to develop a healthy and spiritually grounded attitude of gratitude about them.

Look to the faith of Moses, best displayed as he sat alone with his God watching the horizon of his life’s work, feeling not resentment but grateful. What we all need is a little perspective – what is the grander story being told? What is the greater story of which we play a part?

Today, as we commemorate the 500^th anniversary of the Protestant Reformation, we remember that we are part of the story of faithful people who give thanks for the Word of God that comes new to us each day.

We are part of the story of the Church of Christ that, in gratitude for the life-giving blood of Christ on the Cross, gather each week to worship and praise our Lord.

We are Lutherans, focused on the grace of God, known through faith as the gift of the Holy Spirit and the mercy of Jesus Christ our Lord, the very Word of God.

We are the grateful recipients of God’s love, sent into the world to bring the healing love of Christ to our neighbor.

We are God’s children, redeemed for the sake of the Kingdom of God, filled with gratitude for God’s unerring love, acceptance, forgiveness, healing, and presence in the midst of our deepest disappointments.

We can rejoice and give thanks for our place in God’s story, in spite of disappointments we’ve faced along the way.

As Christians our sense of gratitude comes from a deep well of faith and hope given to us through baptism, reinforced by the Word of God and grown and nurtured through the sacraments. It is profound. It forms us in generosity. It encourages our efforts to respond to the blessings of God with our lives. It influences our sense of stewardship, citizenship, and everyday living.

In his book, On Fire, inspirational writer and speaker John O’Leary writes,

“Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos to order, confusion to clarity. It can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home, a stranger into a friend. Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today, and creates a vision for tomorrow.”

May it be, that whether we are experiencing forest or desert, joy or sorrow, loss or gain, we might learn to be grateful, for the grace, mercy and love of Jesus that accompany us on the way.

New Life in Light of Lost Hope and Dashed Dreams

Luke 24: 13-35 Road to Emmaus

Imagine yourself as one of the disciples of Christ on that first Easter Sunday. So much has transpired in the past few days. On this evening, the day of the resurrection, what do you think you might be feeling? What might you be thinking?

Remember, in just this one day alone, as you are still digesting the turn of events that led from triumph to tragedy in 5 days’ time in Jerusalem, added to your burden are the revelations of this morning.

You are probably still consumed by the thoughts and images of what you witnessed with the trial of Jesus and his crucifixion three days ago, and then, just this morning, here came two women from your group who gave witness to an empty tomb;  then other disciples went to see for themselves, and they confirmed it. The tomb was empty, though they saw no sign of either Jesus or an angel. You don’t know what to think. The women’s tale included an angelic visitation and message - a promise that we would see Jesus again, but your thoughts and feelings are in chaos.

Not able to sit idly by, unsure about the safety of stepping out on to the streets of Jerusalem, you and another disciple set out for a nearby town.  Soon, you find yourself and your companion on the road to Emmaus; it is about 7 miles away.

To put things in perspective for us today, if we left Grace at the end of worship this morning and went walking toward St. Michaels, seven miles would take us just over the Oak Creek Bridge; or, going out toward Denton, 7 miles would bring us almost to Kitty’s Corner Road. Traveling out Route 50, we would get to just about the Backtown Road intersection, near Trappe; and if we went in the direction of the Dover Bridge Road toward Preston, we would nearly reach Route 578. You get the idea; it’s a bit of a hike, but not terribly long - a journey that will take a few hours at most, lots of time in which to talk, to turn over and over again all that you are experiencing, thinking, questioning.

As you walk along the way, of course, your conversation quite naturally turns into a dissection and deliberation of all the things that have happened, with the story of the empty tomb and the angels’ message of paramount interest and importance. You likely debate – even argue - with one another over whether or not to believe the women; what it means that the brothers also returned with a report of the empty tomb; what might have happened to Jesus’ body.

All of the feelings and reactions that you mentioned at the beginning of this sermon would have been in play, and then some. With the time it will take to walk these seven miles, you have the opportunity for good, open and honest conversation with your companion. You get to unpack a lot of your thoughts and feelings – to express your grief and sadness, to talk about your doubts and fears, and confusion, and even to argue over the meaning of today’s revelations.

What might that conversation have been like? I mean, if it was you, and your best friend, or one of your companions in faith here at this church who are walking along the road, what kinds of words might we expect could be overheard from your conversation?

I imagine it was a lot like that for Cleopas and his friend, engrossed in conversation when suddenly they are aware that a third person has joined them along the way. Of course, we know this person to be Jesus, a stranger to them in the moment, but one who knows them well.

And when he asks them what they are talking about, they give him an impassioned review of the things that have transpired. They reflect on the hopes and dreams for redemption that they had as they had come to know this Jesus, hopes that have now been dashed and muddled and most recently – perhaps, if they foolishly dare to entertain new hope – revived, if they are to believe the astounding reports of the women. They are so confused, so weary, so much in turmoil.

It may be hard for us to comprehend the impact of these things – after all, even if we are moved by the powerful images and stories of Jesus’ passion, death and resurrection, we absorb this story through 2000 years of processing, scholarship, and even through the bias of the ways the stories have been told to us and the way they have been interpreted through media, time and teaching. The passion, death and resurrection narrative are shaped by so many things, and in many ways, watered down by 2000 years that have transpired between that Easter Sunday and this Eastertide.

In our Gospel this morning, Cleopas and his friend, in their response to Jesus’ question spoke the words, “We had hoped…” We had hoped this is the person we were dealing with; we had hoped for redemption; for this outcome. We had hoped. Those three words may be the saddest words in our story. “We had hoped” is an expression of disappointment, of disillusionment, of despair – “we had hoped” is a bare, undisguised expression of grief. “We had hoped.”

There are many things for which we hope and in which we are disappointed. Things that matter. Things about church, your life, your family, our community, the state of our country or our world or, whatever. I would like to give you the opportunity to name your own grief, pain, and disappointment –  as expressing these things are key to our being able to let go of them, to move past them. Expressing them doesn’t make them go away, but it can release us from the power they may have over us. 

What things are you grieving, lamenting, fearing or suffering today? How would you complete the statement, “But we had hoped”?

On the road to Emmaus, the disciples described to Jesus how their hopes had seemingly been dashed. In an expression of affection, Jesus says to them, “Oh, how foolish you are, how slow of heart to believe all that the prophets had declared.”

Jesus isn’t denying their pain, but showing them that God has not abandoned them, in their underlying fear and disappointment.  Instead, Jesus to reveals to them all of the ways in which God has moved and worked and accompanied God’s people. Jesus addresses the ways in which God has promised a savior, and the ways in which, through God’s mercy and love, God’s promises have been fulfilled. Jesus walks with them. He listens to their grief and despair. In those moments, Jesus embodies God’s love and eternal presence with them.

And so it is with us. In confession, in prayer and in the thoughts of our hearts we share with God the grief we bear. We tell Jesus about our disappointments and fears, about our dashed hopes and our present hopes. As we expressed with one another the things that weigh us down and bring us to the kind of despair the disciples experienced, Jesus assures us that we are not alone, that the promise of God to bring healing and balm for our griefs and sorrow remain with us in the person of Jesus Christ. When our “but we had hoped” ends in lament, Jesus hold us, and assures us that, through his resurrection we can be assured that God is working good in our lives and will not let us go.

As evening fell on Emmaus, Jesus shared a meal with these disciples, on the very evening of his resurrection. Jesus took bread, blessed it, broke it and gave it to them and in that instant their eyes were opened. They knew the power of his love. They went from dashed hopes to burning hearts. They understood who he was and they knew that his presence with them was real.

As Jesus made himself known in the breaking of the bread on Maundy Thursday and again in Emmaus, Jesus still makes himself known to us today. As we remembered our Baptism this morning, as we pray together and sing together and most powerfully, as we break bread together, Jesus reveals himself to us and assures us that there is no disappointment on earth, no dashed dream, no pain, sorrow, grief or confusion he cannot penetrate through the power of his revealing love.

Imagine yourself as the disciple of Christ that you are today, and may you come to share with others how you have encountered Christ on the way, on the road, in your heart, and through the breaking of the bread. May you know the joy and surprise, once again, of God’s presence and love and promise, realized in Jesus Christ.

Amen.

Expectations be Damned

Christ the King Sunday 2016

Grace, mercy and peace to you from God the Father and from Jesus Christ our ever-living King. Amen.

            I haven’t written our family Christmas letter yet, nor even thought much about the Christmas cards we still send out each year. But Thanksgiving is coming this week. And that means that Christmas is coming, my friends! Have I gotten your attention yet? And I know without a doubt that at our house we will begin to receive Christmas cards on the day after Thanksgiving, or perhaps the day after that.

I predict that the first Christmas card to arrive as always, will be from a good friend who lives in South Carolina. Ginny is an artist, and over the years hers has always been the first to arrive. The cards we have received from her have evolved from hand-made works to commercially reproduced pieces of hers, usually detailing a scene from the story of Jesus’ birth.

Other cards we receive will include the ones beautifully illustrated with doves proclaiming peace on earth, and cute wild animals preparing to either cavort with snowmen or celebrate the newborn king. There will be peaceful snowy scenes of country churches shining with glittered snow and warmly lighted windows. We might receive a few greetings from Charlie Brown and the Peanuts or from other contemporary Christmas revelers. There will be cards that weigh in toward the more “politically correct” Happy Holidays greetings and those that stubbornly declare that Christ is the reason for the season.

We will receive plenty of cards bearing the traditional fairy-tale scenes of the nativity, with a gorgeous Mary and sweetly smiling and very cleaned-up newborn Jesus.

Then we will receive cards that boldly declare what Christians have always claimed about the divinity of the Christ-child, the Messiah, using descriptions from the Hebrew Scriptures about the expected nature and characteristics of the long-awaited anointed one. You see, these cards and the expectations they express contain the titles we wish to apply to the one we call our king.

It is these expectations that I would like to talk about today, on this Christ the King Sunday.

What were these expectations, and did Jesus fulfill them? The most familiar claims about the nature of the messiah come from Isaiah 9:2-7. This well-known oracle, made even more familiar through the works of Handel’s Messiah, performed by choirs the world over, reflect our expectations for a divine king: Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

This oracle, while well-known and claimed by Christians as a reference to Christ, did not actually anticipate or predict the person of Jesus. Written in the eighth century BCE, it was likely used to announce or celebrate the birth of a new royal prince in Jerusalem, perhaps Hezekiah, or even the coronation of the new king: Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of peace.

As in any transition in national rule or leadership from the beginning of kingly rule to present-day elections, there was great anticipation and hope for the well-being, peace and prosperity of a nation. Isaiah 9:2-7 anticipates such a change in fortune, a coming of “great light,” to dispel the “darkness” of the imperial exploitation and oppression known by the people of Judah under the governance of the empire of Assyria. Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

Early Christians transferred this focus on hope, power, might, victory over tyranny, and the coming of promised peace, to Jesus.  They saw verse 6 as containing exactly the kind of characteristics they needed from the Messiah, who they now identify as Jesus Christ, the Son of God: Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

In the readings of the scriptures this morning, however, we see a dichotomy form between expectations and reality.

The very first reading we heard reflects the ancient Near East metaphor of king as shepherd – and the promise that the Lord would provide a leader who would restore the justice and righteousness that have been all-but-destroyed by a series of bad kings and rulers who have scattered the flock of the Lord, sending many off into exile, and preventing the remnant from fulfilling their destiny as God’s people. There is a promise here of coming reconciliation, justice, righteousness and peace: Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

The reading from Paul to the Colossians raises up characteristics of Christ, who is Lord over all. The images are powerful: reflecting the glory of God, the firstborn of all creation through whom all things came into being, powerful enough to defeat even the death, the one through whom God fully dwells in, with, and among us, reconciling us forever to God.

Once again we see absolute conviction in one who is a wonderful counselor, fully divine, everlasting creator and savior, reconciler to and for all nations. On this Christ the King Sunday as we read these scriptures, we too apply these characteristics to Jesus. These two readings are consistent with our expectations. They fulfill for us our ideal for the kind of king we want, even today: Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

But – there always seems to be a “but”, doesn’t there? Then comes this morning’s gospel reading, the one seemingly belonging to Good Friday.  That’s when we expect to hear about Christ on the cross. Not on a Sunday when we proclaim his kingship and majesty.

We quickly go from images like this [Christmas cards] to this [paintings from the Stations of the Cross]. Something isn’t quite right. Something doesn’t fit. There is a huge contrast between the reading of Colossians or the prophecy of Jeremiah and this gospel.

Jeremiah assures us of a righteous Lord who will heal the brokenness of the nation.

This Gospel, however, is what we need to hear. While together these readings create a kind of balance, still, the vulnerability of Christ on the cross troubles us. Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace? How can Jesus be those things for us while hanging, powerless, from the cross? How can Jesus, hanging from the cross, vulnerable, his body broken and humiliated, be for us a King?

We live in a world where people claim for themselves greatness while demonstrating through their actions true poverty of character and justice. We claim that we are the most powerful and virtuous nation in the world, yet we read each day about the angry and desperate acts of so many who feel victimized, rejected, discriminated against, or threatened because of the color of their skin, their ethnicity, their sexual orientation, disability, their gender, age, or religion.

We as Christians frequently claim our own righteousness, and superiority, while at the same time forgetting Christ’s mandate to advocate for and love the weak, the marginalized, the prisoner, the poor, the hungry, and the vulnerable. We make ourselves judge and jury over our neighbors while we ourselves have trouble even seeing past that very large log in our eye.

Such paradox.

Today, however, we celebrate Christ the King who shows us the way to true greatness, who demonstrates his greatness in suffering and in great vulnerability. From the cross, Jesus demonstrates extraordinary power as he embraces our humanity through his suffering, and offers full reconciliation for all sinners. On the cross, Jesus is the fullest expression of human powerlessness while at the same time claims the divine power to forgive sin and bring hope and reconciliation to the powerless.

The power that Christ claims is not for himself. The first criminal derides him:  “save yourself” is a challenge to act in accordance with the world’s expectations – our expectations; it is a challenge to exercise the kind of power every political authority knows best and claims for himself or herself.

The good news for us is that Jesus refuses. The only power Jesus exercises in Luke’s crucifixion account is to forgive sin and invite sinners like the criminals beside him, sinners like us, to embrace the hope and new life of God’s reign. While fully identifying with all those so easily rejected by the world, Jesus embodies the life, hope, and reconciliation desired by God, to bring the whole world into the relationship God desires for all of creation, as only Jesus, the divine King can do.

With his reign, Jesus brings about an entirely different way of being in relationship with one another and with God. It is a way of being that reveals complete vulnerability that breaks down barriers and gives life to those who are suffering and in pain.

Once again, Jesus proves to be not the kind of king we want but the kind of king we need. One born in the most humble of circumstances and settings, not in a glowing, air-brushed beautiful Christmas nativity scene; one not wielding the sword but instead hammering the sword into an instrument to bring food for the hungry; one not embraced by the masses but betrayed into the hands of tempters and torturers; one not sitting upon any earthly throne, but hanging from a cross.

Jesus is the kind of king we need, not feasting to excess while his people languish, but one who feeds us with his own body, given for us, and his own blood, shed for us, for the forgiveness of our sins, and for the promise of resurrected life with him for all of eternity.

Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace at the last – our hope, our joy, and the lifeblood of the world.