Yesterday's sermon, drawing from the gospel lesson of sending out the 70, exhorted everyone to evangelism and emphasized how it's everyone's job to go out and share Jesus Christ. Yet sitting in my pew, I could not discover a spark of interest in myself for listening to the preacher, let alone for doing as he said! About halfway through the sermon I realized how bored and disgruntled I was, and I began to ask myself what just wasn't connecting for me today. After all, evangelism is about sharing evangel -- good news. What's not to like?
Where was the good news today? It seemed that the preacher just didn't seem to have much invested in it. I understand that not every message is equally inspired, for a lot of reasons. But there is a real difference between listening to someone who is learning new things every day, gaining new insights or struggling with still unanswered questions, versus listening to someone who appears to be simply rehashing old territory. [Formula for a sermon devoid of evangel: rehash an old truism, link it to today's scripture, throw in a couple of anecdotes from your favorite "stories and quotations for preachers" resource, and deliver it in your sleep.] Nevertheless, there is one big advantage to uninspiring homilies. Seeming entirely predictable, they free the mind to explore tangents with no worries about missing something. And so, I did:
I am certainly someone who is possessed of good news -- great news, as a matter of fact. As I sat there, I asked myself what news do I have that I really am anxious to share? Also, what news do I know that makes the most difference in how I view and treat myself and others? That good news is perhaps best illustrated in the dialog I have with my cat Hairy every morning while he sits on my chest and gazes unblinkingly into my eyes, purring his undying devotion. He is telling me, in his own way, what I also tell him:
You and I were born together in a burst of unimaginable life-energy, from the dying throws of a distant star. We traveled, you and I--and countless others with us--over eons, throughout the universe, hand in hand in a vast cloud of energetic stardust. We have witnessed together, in this great cosmic theater, the births and deaths of galaxies, stars, and planets, and we had a front row seat to witness the beginnings of life itself. The stuff of which we are made, the very molecules of our two selves, have been at times part of the same body, and at times vastly separated--even separate species, as we are now. And we have been part and parcel of much, much more; animate and inanimate, endlessly recycled and reused and reborn. Even if our defining molecules--in some extreme nuclear cataclysm--break down or fuse into something new, our energy remains and we are but transformed. Our life energies too, my little one, have been merged and melded and separated out again, never created or destroyed. We are as old as the sky and as new as a baby's first breath, always and never the same. We are uniquely, separately ourselves, and we are unimaginably, inextricably entangled. We gaze in each others eyes and see other, see self, and see the universe -- not "in a grain of sand," but in a look of love.
God is that love. I get bogged down and sidelined by trying to understand different doctrines, various religions, conflicting moralities, and all the ways we find to distinguish our "in group" from all others... But, the essence is that (from Christian scripture, but not exclusive to Christian theology by any means!) “God is love, and he who abides in love abides in God, and God abides in him” (1 John 4:16). "Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God" (1 John 4:7). "That they all may be one; as you, Father, are in me, and I in you, that they also may be one in us: that the world may believe that you have sent me" (John 17:21). "You shall not take vengeance, nor bear any grudge against the children of your people, but you shall love your neighbor as yourself: I am the Lord" (Leviticus 19:18). "For all the law is fulfilled in one word, even in this: 'You shall love your neighbor as yourself.'"(Galatians 5:14).
When I look at others knowing that we are not, in essence, separate, but part of each other, then I am not hampered by the slow progress of an elderly man walking ahead of me; I am waiting for myself, and I claim my dignity and value as one worth waiting for. I am not annoyed by a young mother unable to quiet her too inquisitive toddler in church; I am the nervous mother, I am the overawed toddler bursting with energy and curiosity. I am "AnnBarbie" -- separate, willful, with my own needs and wants and ideas. But, I also see that it is an illusion to believe that I am only AnnBarbie. I am so much more, WE are so much more...
To strip away the illusion of separate self -- this is truly good news!
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