Change of Plans

Sermon

My dear colleague Debbie Glaze is so fond of saying to her college students and to the church staff, “Change is constant; growth is optional.” It feels as though we have been given a prime opportunity to live out those words, as we face a world of change in how we live and move and have our being.  

It seems as though Jesus’ teaching to his disciples is in a similar vein. Oh, they had expectations of him once he admitted that yes, he was the Messiah – points to Peter for getting that right. Being faithful Jews, the disciples knew all about the Messiah – a descendent of King David who would come and overthrow the Roman emperor and establish a reign of peace and prosperity. 

Jesus had a change of plans about all of that. He knew the religious tradition, but he also knew that God had reinterpreted who the messiah would be and how the messiah would reign. Power and violence had not really worked in humanity’s favor for the last thousand years. Power and violence led to death, economic disparity, and fear among the people. Those things were contrary to the way of God and contrary to the heart of Jesus’ message. 

When my sister was in grad school, one of her advisors was fond of saying that you could motivate people either through fear or love. The people in Jesus’ day were used to living in fear, because their leaders – emperors and kings and the like – had abused their power. They kept the people on the margins down. So Jesus had a change in plans. 

He taught about love, and he lived in love, and he would reign as Messiah in love. But the love he practiced didn’t look like Valentine’s Day or your favorite romantic comedy. The love he taught didn’t look like a Harlequin Romance or dating app. The love Jesus practiced looked hard and not always fun and maybe even a little dangerous. 

It was – and is – the kind of love that takes God and neighbor and self seriously enough to want the best for all of those. It’s the kind of love that appeals most easily to the brave-hearted, because to love in that way takes courage.  

I think it takes courage to live in these strange days of COVID-19. Really. You are being brave when you stay at home and don’t look to your ordinary distractions. You are being brave when you realize you can work from home and maybe you’ve made your work a little more important than it might be in the midst of this crisis – unless you work at a healthcare center or grocery store or manufacturing plant. You know what I mean – or maybe you don’t. 

In these past few days I’ve thought a lot about what it means to be a pastor when there’s not corporate worship in the sanctuary or Session meetings in the big room in the basement or visits to hospitals and retirement centers. How do I pastor when I can’t be with the congregation? How much of what I do really matters, in terms of loving God, neighbor, and self? How can I be courageous right now? How do I hold on to hope? 

Maybe it’s a question all of us are asking right now: How are we supposed to live? Let’s try looking at this using an image from today’s scripture reading. In the first part, Jesus asks his disciples who they think he is. It’s a good question at this point in the gospel. Up to now, Jesus has been doing miraculous feedings and healings and going off by himself to pray. He’s been teaching the disciples and the crowds and telling curious parables. So given all that information and experience, who do the disciples think he is? Peter answers correctly – you are the Christ, and so Jesus the Christ pronounces him a solid rock on which he will build the community, the church. 

Then a few mere verses later, Peter the rock becomes a stumbling block to trip over. Peter doesn’t like what Jesus is saying about who the messiah is and what the messiah does. As soon as Jesus says he will suffer and die, Peter is done. He rebukes Jesus. He tells Jesus that surely he is mistaken, he is wrong, he has misunderstood, he has misread the signs, he didn’t get what God was telling him. But Jesus won’t take it. He will not let any of his disciples – any who follow him – say that suffering and sacrifice aren’t part of the picture. And then he turns his face toward Jerusalem and starts his journey to his death. 

As much as Jesus knew who he was, he also knew that suffering and sacrifice were part of the package. We know that about Jesus. Do we know it for ourselves? 

I know some of you are making sacrifices right now. You’re sacrificing sweet things like vacations. You’re sacrificing the joy of sharing in a dear one’s wedding, or sacrificing hearing the symphony concert or 8^th grade graduation or an art show or spring soccer. Some of you are giving sacrificially to nonprofits that might not make it through this time. Some of you are sacrificing your free time to help out some way. And I thank you for that, from the bottom of my heart. 

And from the bottom of my heart, I hope you are not suffering. I hope your health is good or at least good enough. I hope you have not sunk so low into grief that you don’t know if you’ll ever see light or joy again. I hope you have not lost all your savings and you don’t know if you’ll ever be able to retire. Maybe you are suffering for one of those reasons, or because of something that is beyond my imagination. 

I don’t believe that suffering, in and of itself, is redemptive, that suffering is necessary for good to happen. I think that’s a load of hogwash we have consumed for too long. But I do believe that suffering does not have to have the last word, that suffering – maybe – is just a thoroughfare between one thing and another, not a destination in and of itself.  

In this time I have been rereading The Lord of the Rings trilogy because I needed a good story in which to immerse myself, a story that dealt with fear and suffering. Near the end of the books, the two real heroes of the tale, Frodo and Sam, are taking leave of each other. It is a hard goodbye, the parting of friends who endured much together.  

Frodo says to Sam, “I tried to save the Shire, and it has been saved, but not for me. It must often be so, Sam, when things are in danger: someone has to give them up, lose them, so that others may keep them.” 

I do not know what will be asked of us in these days, beyond staying home and staying away from each other physically. I do not know. But I believe that there are stories that will hold us up, and a God who will hold us hope, so that when something hard is asked of us, we will nod with compassion and sadness. And then we will take a deep breath, and do that very thing, following the one who has gone before us. 

Stay well, beloved community, until we see each other again.