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DonateFebruary 8, 2009 |
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Isaiah 40:21-31
Psalm 147:1-11, 20c
I Corinthians 9:16-23
Mark 1:29-39
“Have you not known have you not heard” . . . where you stand in the universe, O mortals? Today’s passages join the cosmic and infinitesimal, the infinite and the intimate, and the grandeur of the universe and the wonder of each moment of experience.
As I reflect on these passages, a new president is preparing to lead the United States of America toward the future. The times are unsettled, with no sign that an immediate solution is on the horizon. In my own life, a senior level position at another institution for which I was being considered has been suspended due to financial constraints and a dear friend is awaiting the results of tests to determine if she has cancer. Over the past year, I have lived with two cases of cancer in my immediate family. While both family members are flourishing, my family has lived with a year of uncertainty, anxiety, and fear. Pain and suffering abound in the economy and our personal lives, and our congregations are struggling to meet the financial challenges of an economy in shambles. As individuals and as institutions, we are profoundly disoriented and, as Walter Brueggemann notes, we are in search of a “new orientation” that will guide, comfort, and challenge us for our time and place.
Surely, Isaiah was aware of the challenges of life—politically, economically, and personally. In fact, his reflections on the cosmos emerge in the context of all too real experiences of pain and loss for the prophet and his people. Isaiah is painfully and personally aware of the finitude of life and the temptation to give up hope as we face challenges that may never be resolved; illness that is incurable, chronic, or painful; stock portfolios that may never fully recover the ravages of the past few months; or political situations that are intractable. We need strength and courage, as well as wisdom, for the living of these days.
Isaiah turns us toward the cosmos in our quest for an empowering new orientation. While the prophet was unaware of the vastness of the universe as described by today’s cosmologists – forty billion galaxies, like our milky way, each of which may have a billion stars, traversing a fourteen billion year cosmic adventure, the prophet experienced the contrast between divine infinity and human mortality. For Isaiah, a three-story universe was large enough to inspire wonder as well as perspective. Before God’s infinitely, all things are perpetually perishing. Our problems are infinitesimal and will soon, with our lives, pass from the scene. From God’s perspective, our lifetimes are no more enduring than our perception of the fireflies that illuminate the sky for a season and then disappear from sight. Even if the earth ceases to exist, whether as a planet or in terms of the human race, cosmic life will go on and the galaxies will take little notice.
Yet, the infinite is embedded in the finite. As Whitehead notes, the whole universe conspires to create each occasion of experience. We are part of an intricate, energetic, cosmic dance, in which each constituent, however small, somehow matters. For Isaiah, pondering the universe in its magnitude and God in God’s infinity is both daunting and awe inspiring. But, just as inspiring and overwhelming is God’s persistent and intimate care for finite humanity. God is everlasting, but God also cares for you.
God’s power and strength are revealed in intimate care by which God “numbers” all things, “calls them all by name,” and surrounds each lovingly so that “not one is missing.”
Today’s preacher might bring slides from the Hubble telescope and juxtapose these slides with pictures of the “universe within” our bodies along with photographs of persons from all cultures. Awe, wonder, and ecstasy along with glory, gratitude, and praise inspire our deepest worship.
Isaiah calls us, in the midst of our cosmic contemplations, to spiritual practices. We are surrounded by a sea of divine energy that flows in and through us, and we can claim that liveliness in our own lives.
Even youths will faint and be weary, and the young will be exhausted;
But those who wait for God will renew their strength,
They shall mount up like eagles,
They shall run and not be weary,
They shall walk and not faint.
What does it mean to “wait for God” in awareness of the interplay of the divine infinity and human mortality? What does it mean to experience the universe as “friendly” despite its vastness? What does it mean to recognize that, in the midst of crises at every level of our lives, we can “renew” our strength by connecting with God’s inexhaustible energy?
Psalm 147 continues this reflection on infinity and intimacy. The one who “determines the number of stars” also “gives to all of them their names.” God has a personal relationship with suns, moons, and planets. But, more amazing, God “heals the brokenhearted, and binds up their wounds.” “Beyond measure” and “abundant in power,” God also “lifts up the downtrodden.” The Infinite is concerned with our suffering and pain, and—by implication—the morality of our institutions. What we do on this planet, or in response in the global economic crisis, ripples across Infinity. It touches deeply the One “to whom all hearts are open and desires known.” This is not narcissistic anthropocentrism, but creative and life-giving interdependence that inspires persons and institutions to do their part to heal the earth and the cosmos.
Indeed, both the Psalm and Isaiah passage ground our sense of divine care in the cosmos rather than in a god who is at our beck and call. The only God who is trustworthy when the foundations of our lives have been shaken is the God whose energy, intimacy, and creativity is “beyond measure.” Rooted in the infinite, we can face challenges knowing that there is a larger perspective within which our challenges are treasured and transformed. A god who cherishes all things can inspire and care for each thing. We can embrace mortality, loss, and pain, with a sense of wonder at our own lives and the cosmos that flows through us. An “ethics of infinity, awe, and wonder” propel us to open to God’s vision for this immediate moment and claim God’s energy of creative transformation in response to the intricate challenges of our planet, nation, and congregations.
“Woe to me if I do not proclaim the gospel.” Inspired by experiences of awe in the micro and macro, in the experience of God’s saving grace for mortals as well as God’s everlasting love for creation, we are moved to witness. But, what witness shall we give and how shall we give it? Paul continues the theme of the relationship of infinite and intimate as he seeks to preach the gospel of Jesus Christ and the grace of God according to the context in which he finds himself. His proclamation “I have become all things to all people” is not a call to religious or ethical relativism, but to prayerful witness based on the uniqueness of each encounter, life stage, need, and question that is brought to the “witnessing moment.” Just as God is infinitely personal and responds to each creature in terms of her or his uniqueness, our own words of wholeness and healing should join the faith we affirm with the unique situation at hand.
In light of the most recent presidential election, it is clear that progressive and liberal Christians have a much easier time witnessing to their political affiliation than to their faith. I proudly plant an “Obama” sign in my front yard and wear an “Obama” t-shirt to the market. Yet, even as a pastor and theology professor, I struggle to give witness in obvious ways to my faith as a Christian. During the campaign, dozens of persons struck up conversation with me as a result of our “shared political faith” as Obama supporters in Central Pennsylvania McCain country. But, such faith sharing seldom occurs from our church and its members apart from the web site, e-mails, and newspaper articles advertising our programs. Still, we need to find agile, gentle, and relational ways of sharing the good news – the gospel of intimate love in an infinite universe, of radical hospitality in a world of borders, of transformation in a world of hopelessness and fear. Paul’s counsel does not inspire us to street corner evangelism or confronting strangers on the street; rather it is witness grounded in relationship, in listening and sharing, in being willing to be transformed by our encounters as well inviting others to transformation. Surely this witness reflects the God we affirm, whose love is both “creative” and “responsive,” who brings forth universes and yet is touched by each creature. God calls but also listens, and this dialectic of listening and calling is our vocation in witness as well.
The narratives of Mark 1;29-39 have been described as a “day in the life of Jesus” insofar as Jesus has (as all pastors know from their own meals with parishioners) a “working dinner” with Peter’s family, heals Peter’s mother in law, casts out demons, and heals the sick. After a few hours rest, Jesus retreats to a “deserted place” for prayer and meditation. Surely, Jesus’ commitment to morning prayer is a model for our own faithful discipleship. Our lives are busy, and often we see our prayer life as expendable. We skip prayers, devotional reading, theological study, and exercise in order to get to the more “important” tasks of ministry. Yet, perhaps, the most important task of ministry is to be a spirit person, who radiates God’s love and calm in all situations. Mindful and life-giving ministry joins contemplation and action. Jesus goes “off duty” so he can return to duty, rested and open to the needs of those who seek his care and guidance.
This interplay of contemplation and action is essential for the well-being of laypersons as well. If the preacher focuses on Mark’s gospel, then the call to contemplative action should be central to her or his witness to the congregation. Do we stop to reflect on our lives and the quality of experience? Do we spend time simply “being still” with no need—for a few minutes—to change our world? Do we trust God enough to listen for God’s voice in silence and then respond with grace? Remember Isaiah’s promise, “those who wait for God…shall run and not be weary, shall walk and not faint.” We have abundant life at our disposal, time enough to spare, when we listen and prioritize in prayerful contemplation. This, as the passage from Mark indicates, is not a retreat from the world but source of world-transforming inspiration and action.
In the dialogue of Mark 1, the gospel writer tells us that the disciples “hunt” for Jesus and then – in a perfect example of systems theory “triangulation”—chide their teacher for being absent when “others” needed him. Jesus’ response is spiritually “self-differentiated”—he doesn’t compromise his prayer time but lives according to the vision that has emerged in his conversations with God. We must not linger here in a familiar place, despite its attractiveness, but must preach and teach in other towns, “for that is what I came out to do.” Aware of his mission, Jesus able to say “no” to the disciples’ request while inviting them to consider another, much more rewarding, spiritual option. In stillness, we find our vision. In stillness, we experience God’s voice amid all the other voices of life. Such stillness strengthens both our sense of self as well as our sense of mission. It may also, as Jesus exemplifies, give us guidance for a deeper and broader mission.
In waiting for God, Jesus claimed God’s infinite energy and God’s vision for his life. In our own waiting for God, we can also experience deeper energies for creative transformation and the inspiration that enables us to witness by our lives, words, and actions in larger and larger circles of care. We will run and not be weary, walk and not grow faint.
Bruce Epperly is professor of practical theology and director of Continuing Education at Lancaster Theological Seminary and co-pastor of Disciples United Community Church. He is the author of fifteen books, including the recently-published Holy Adventure: Forty-one Days of Audacious Living (Upper Room), a progressive Christian response to the Purpose Driven Life; The Four Seasons of Ministry: Gathering a Harvest of Righteousness (Alban) and Feed the Fire: Avoiding Clergy Burnout (Pilgrim).
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