Tag: Narrative Lectionary

Sermon: Prayer Still Changes Things

Sunday, August 7, 2015

Biblical Text: Job 42:9-10

This past week has afforded me the great and immeasurable fortune of being able to able to spend some significant time in prayer and meditation upon the beautiful ground of the Chautauqua Institute in upstate New York.

At the invitation of Rev. Dr. Robert Franklin and his staff—I gathered with a select group of religious leaders from around the country, to dream about the future of that institution and prayerfully seek the will of God for the future for a religious department of an institution that has been in existence since the late 1800s.

We all like to feel that our gifts matter.

We all like to feel that our contributions are important

We all long to live into a place where we are not simply propping up institutions because they are historic places of being in the world

—but because we believe that we truly discover meaning, and God in those places.

So while the work was excellent, and in that gathering we formed the Chautauqua Clergy Alumni Association, of which we have purposed to raise funds for the religious programming of the institution. What we each discerned was the deep and meaningful value that this historic institution had upon our lives when we sojourned there for the week. We each spoke of the way in which we entered into a posture of prayer so that we might return to our places of ministry to serve as pastors, denominational leaders, and teachers.

This week in preparation for my sermon today I spent significant time in prayer—not simply about what I would say today, but in prayer and openness for the divine presence of God. I reflected upon my life, which has been surrounded in prayer even before I entered the world—thanks be to God to deeply religious Christian parents.

I reflected on my childhood years of praying as a child:

Requesting of God favor and blessings.

Prayers at mealtime

Prayers at rest…

I reflected upon my teens years of praying:

Prayers for invisibility as I walked pass the middle school bully;

Prayers for strengthen to finish the one-mile race, not last;

Prayers for kind friends;

Prayers that she would check-the box YES;

And in High School….and all throughout college:

Struggling to fit in;

Deciding what college;

Attending the Million Man March;

Praying over my church choir before teaching new music;

Praying that God would bless their voices and my hands.

Praying over the ramen noodle in college at Florida A&M;

Piling 4 young men into a 2-seater to go to the mall;

—cause the bus took way too long….

And now for more than a decade into professional ministry I am praying—learning how to pray—learning to wait in and with prayer….

Over the last six weeks we have struggled with Job. We have listened as his story has unfolded before—a life that touched the highest heights and plummeted to deepest depths. And yet in all of Job’s ups and downs he remained faithful to the Lord his God.

He never failed to be in communion with God;

He never failed to talk with God about his struggles;

He never failed to ask God to be near;

He never failed to tell God of his failing and fear;

God heard it all—not because God is constantly listening, but God heard it all because Job told it all.

Professor Carol Newsome writes,

“What the book of Job models is a community of voices struggling to articulate a range of perspectives, each one of which contains valid insights as well as blindness to other dimensions of the problem. At different times and in different circumstances, one or another of the voices may seem more powerful, may be the word we need to hear in order to work our way through a particular experience.”

At different times and in different circumstances—we long for the word that need.

Sometimes that word is one of hope and promise;

Sometimes that word is one of letting go and release;

Sometimes that word is one that is shrouded in deep silence—the unanswered prayer.

(Howard Thurman writes a lot about this….)

But we pray all the same—we stay in divine communication with God because we need to constantly be reminded that not matter goes on in our lives that God still care for us—and through that divine communication we believe that God things, other people, situations that we face—but more so that anything else, we pray that God changes us.

Job is different man at the end of chapter 42 than he is at the beginning of chapter one. Job has been on journey that has been filled with loss, hopelessness, joy, and faithfulness. Jobs situation has changed over the course of this season of his life. Jobs friends have come and gone. Jobs health has failed—Job has even invited death to arrest his life.

Yet in all of this Job has been faithful in prayer.

He has never relented on the Lord;

He has never failed call upon the Lord;

He has constantly talked with the Lord;

He has constantly petitioned the Lord;

His voice is not lost in God’s ear.

Scripture reminds,

And the Lord accepted Job’s prayer. And the Lord restored the fortunes of Job when he had prayed for his friends.

Church, I know it may sometimes seem fruitless, and vain—but never stop praying, never stop lifting your life—and the life of your friends unto the Lord, because prayer still changes things and us.

Amen.

Sermon: Rooted and Grounded

Sunday, July 17, 2016

Biblical Text: Job 14

When I first came across this passage of scripture, particularly the reading from Job 14 I began to think about this particular tree that is planted in my mother-in-law’s backyard. The roots of my mother-in-law’s lemon tree reach deep down in the ground, in almost every picture of I’ve seen of the backyard this lemon has been present—steadily growing, steadily stretching forth its arms and bearing fruit in due season. At some point within the last several years her lemon tree fell upon hard times. It was not producing fruit as it should, and its leaves were lacking the strength and luster of its formative years in her backyard. The decision was made to cut the tree back, to trim back its branches and determine, later whether or not there was enough life left in the tree to for generate a come-back. The extravagant pruning commenced and the tree still did not fare well. The decision was then again, that the tree needed yet another stronger pruning and it was down low—a tree that once waved its arms 15 feet in the gentle Pacific breezes and photosynthesized in brilliant rays of the sun—was now a 2 foot stump.

The life it once knew was no more.

The enjoyment it once knew was no more.

The shade that it provided was no more.

The fruit that is bore was no more.

But what continued, as if the tree had never left its former state, was the steady and consistent care of the woman who drew a pot of water from the kitchen sink—and marched out to tree—all the while talking and singing— sometimes to the tree, and poured the water on the stump just like she had always done.

Trees often play a very unique roll in religious life and reflection. Very common is the tree the symbol of dogged-determination, life, longevity, survival and the power of renewal in the face is death and destruction. In the writing of our Christian mystic, the Morehouse trained theologian, Howard Thurman the tree is symbol of God steady and unrelenting presence of determination—of God, in our lives. Thurman invites us in a mediation entitle “I Will Not Give Up” to dare to act, be as determined, to be as faithful and strong as the tree.

What we know of the biblical narrative that is before us this morning is that Job’s life has been like that lemon tree in my mother-in-law’s backyard.

There have been days when he lived his life in grand prosperity.

There have been days when the sun has shone brightly upon his life.

There have been days when light rains fell and gave him renewed vigor.

There have been days when the gentle breeze helped him wave his arms in praise.

There have been days when the fruit grew to be sumptuous and juicy.

There have been days when birds found refuge in his branches.

There have been days when his life gave shade to other.

There have been days—days when life was altogether good.

But now he has been cut down, cut off

And is nothing more than 2 foot stump…

And it is from this place of despair and the utter sense of hopelessness of Job’s own life, that he begins his reflection on spirituality of a tree. Listen to his words again:

“Indeed there is hope for a tree. If it’s cut down and still sprouting and its shoots don’t fail, if its roots age in the ground and its stump dies in the dust, at the scent of water, it will bud and produce sprouts like a plant.”

You see my sisters and brothers—the message. The good new of the text this morning is that it really matters so very little what you look like to the eyes of those who are all around you—what matters most is are you rooted and grounded to the source of your strength and power.

Job was all messed up.

He lost his possessions.

He lost his servants.

He lost his wealth.

He lost his social standing.

He lost every single one of children—all ten!

And while the text does not pick up on the great tradegy of this loss, I cannot help but name it today. Especially when black lives—men, women and those in the transgender community—are being extinguished today by police officers.

Black folks burying their murdered their transgender rainbow children.

Black folks burying their murdered their strong and beautiful daughters.

Black folks burying their murdered their boys and men

We know what grief and loss is like.

We know what burying our children feels like.

And for as much loss and grieve we have, as much loss and grief as we have experienced since the beginning of time, in loosing our children—it is interesting to note that we do not have word in our developed sophisticated vocabulary to describe the loss of children.

There is not a single word in English.

There is not a single word in French.

There is not a single word in Spanish.

There is not a single word in German.

There is not a single word in Tagalog Japanese, Arabic, Zulu, Swahlili

There is not a single word in Turkish, Portuguese, Russian Hebrew, Greek.

How do we describe the depth and pain of our grief when even our language has failed—over the course several centuries—to describe a pain that seems to be too hard for us to even name?

And yet amid off his grief, his physical pain, and the worrisome friends who initially come to comfort but find themselves causing more confusion and pain—Job is connected the source.

Just like that the tree that is cut down, but whose roots run deep—Job is connected to his source. And it from that place of connection that Job feels free to say to God what is on his mind. It is from that place of connection that Job feels free speak directly to God about his situation—his present condition in life.

When you are rooted and grounded,

You don’t have to worry about being cut down

because you are connected to the source.

When you are rooted and grounded,

You don’t have to worry about what people think of you

Because you are connected to the source

When you are rooted and grounded,

You don’t have to worry about if people say of you

Because you are connected to the source.

When you are rooted and grounded,

You can live without fear of the future.

When you are rooted and grounded.

You can live without worry of tomorrow

When you are rooted and grounded.

You can live without distress over the times.

When you are rooted and grounded.

You can live without dread of what may be next.

When you are rooted and grounded.

You can live without panic and alarm.

Because at the very scent of water….

That which not only sustains our bodies, but also our community

That which symbolized new life, cleaning and fulfillment of God’s promises.

Job was rooted.

AND

Job was grounded.

He therefore did not need to worry about his life—which why in Chapter 19 he able to cry from desolate place—I know that my redeemer lives.

I know that I have an advocate.