Quo Vadis

Sermon

Years ago, a dear friend gave me a copy of the book Quo Vadis by Henryk Sienkiewicz. If you don’t know the book or haven’t seen the movie, it’s a story set in Emperor Nero’s Rome, a sweeping tale of romance and morality and, yes, faith. The phrase “quo vadis” is Latin, and it means, “Where are you going?” That itself is a reference to an ancient Christian tradition in which the apostle Peter decided to flee Rome at the outbreak of the persecution, perhaps in fear, perhaps because he thought he should be somewhere safe. On his way, Peter meets Jesus, who is heading into the city of Rome to face the persecution. “Quo vadis, Domine,” Peter asks—“Lord, where are you going?” “I am going to Rome to be crucified,” Jesus answers—and disappears. And then Peter turns back into the city to embrace his own martyrdom. (https://www.arlingtondiocese.org/vocations/for-men/high-school-events/why-quo-vadis-/)

On this first Sunday of a new year, after saying good riddance to a rather horrible year, I think it is good for us to ask each other where we are going—as individuals, as a community of faith, as citizens of the world. Things look a bit rosier on the horizon so far—a vaccine for COVID-19 is slowly making its way through hospital corridors and nursing homes; the political turmoil of the last four years is coming to an end; we have passed the winter solstice and already our days are longer, if just by a few minutes.

Quo vadis?

The late theologian Howard Thurman once said, “There are two questions that we have to ask ourselves. The first is ‘Where am I going?’ and the second is ‘Who will go with me?’ If you ever get these questions in the wrong order, you are in trouble.” Now that’s an interesting thought by Dr. Thurman, a man of deep faith and deep commitment to community. At first glance it seems to imply that the community doesn’t matter. I think, rather, that he is saying that vision comes before community. Indeed, community gathers around a shared vision. For some, the vision takes the form of destination—where are we going?

That is what’s so powerful about these words from the prophet Jeremiah—he provides a vision of what will happen when the people leave their exile. It is a vision of homecoming—all the joy and restoration and reunion that will happen when the people set their feet toward Jerusalem and are homeward bound. What I appreciate about this text is that it also takes into account the suffering that has been happening. Coming home will not erase the grief but will sit side by side with it.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the next nine months. The other day Gregg and I talked about where we would go once things open up. The first thing we’ll do is see our parents. Everything else is gravy. So many of us are champing at the bit to get back to this sanctuary, back to in-person music with bulletins and ushers and children on the chancel steps. Some of us are so ready to work from the office and not home, to be in the classroom and not on Zoom, to linger at a restaurant. Some of us just want to hug someone.

What is interesting is that behind so much of our joy we find grief hiding. The joy of coming back to the Westminster building will forever be tempered by the grief of months and months of not being together—the grief of not having memorial services for our dear friends who died; the grief of not hearing the choir sing; the grief not passing the peace to strangers and friends alike.

Which is not to say that there hasn’t been some good that has happened since COVID-19 struck. I am thrilled about people meeting each other on Zoom knowing that they never would have met in coffee hour. I have been humbled by the generosity of this community and the ways you have asked not “What are you doing for me?” but “How can we help our neighbors?” I hope, when this is all over, that we will spend some time reflecting on what we have learned—the good, the bad, and the ugly. But it’s not time for that yet.

Back in July, I picked up a copy of the Harvard Business Review (not something I normally do) because I was intrigued by the title of the edition: “Emerging From the Crisis: How to Lead Through Uncertainty and Strengthen Your Organization for the Long Haul.” It was rather optimistic of both the Harvard Business Review (HBR.org, July-August 2020) and me to think that we’d be ready to address that question in July, but …

Two articles in particular have been helpful to me. The first, by David Kessler, is “Helping Your Team Heal.” He writes about the grief that is multiplying during this pandemic, and the loopy process of grief, and the need to find meaning in the grief. (For more on Kessler, visit his website www.grief.com.)

The other article was “What Is the Next Normal Going to Look Like?” In it, five CEOs of American and international businesses were asked about how they had made adjustments, how expectations of their businesses had changed, and what the new normal might look like. Reading through their responses, I was struck by how changing “business” to “church” or “community” made all that they said sound very theological.

These CEOs echoed each other’s thoughts. They talked about how they had all learned to adapt and to make decisions more quickly and with less cumbersome processes. They spoke about figuring out how to both look at the present moment and do the work of right now—looking through a microscope—and do the longer-term work of figuring out what work will look like at the end of 2021 and beyond—looking through a telescope. As one said, “… if you put a microscope up to one eye and a telescope up to the other, you just get a headache.” (Kevin Sneader, McKinsey & Company)

They also talked about how outsiders were watching these companies for how they treated people—employees, customers, investors, stakeholders. Social responsibility matters.

So what do these reflections have to do with the prophet Jeremiah and with us? At the big-picture level, we remember that communities experience crises, be it the crisis of exile or the crisis of a pandemic or so many other things. And that people emerge from the crisis—scarred and changed, yes, but hopeful too. Does this help to give us a sense, then, of where we are going?

In a literal sense, we will, at some point in 2021, be going back to church. We will be together again in the building, for worship, for meetings, for celebrations, for learning events, for justice events. Where are we going? 16th and Hancock.

But just as getting back to Jerusalem was not the be-all and end-all for the people of Jeremiah’s time, so is getting back to the church not the culmination of our journey. The work of faith that we’ve engaged in outside of the building these past ten months will continue, but with a deeper appreciation. We will continue supporting feeding programs, but with a deeper appreciation of how close to the edge of poverty some of our neighbors are. We will continue to learn about our personal racism and the need for racial justice on institutional and societal levels, but with a more heartfelt commitment after learning that communities of color have been more susceptible to catching COVID-19.

I wonder if there is a challenge for us, too, a challenge to try something new, given all that we’ve learned and missed out on. Maybe we will create home groups—members of the wide Westminster community who will worship together at home or at a park sometimes, or will commit to learning together or serving together or confessing-lamenting-encouraging together.

Where are we going? I think we are going to a place that is full—full of grief and celebration, a place of both comfort and challenge. It’s not a new place—life gives us all those things; faith does too. It’s not a new place, but we will approach it in a new way, because of what we’ve been through. We have been through a pandemic. We have been through protests for racial justice. We have been through loneliness, and frustration, and hope. And coming through those things, we cannot help but be different.

Maybe we’re always going to the same place: toward God. Let us continue that journey, whatever surprises or delights or sorrows await us. Let us continue that journey—together.

Quo vadis?

Where are we going? And who is coming with us?

To the glory of God.