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 Becoming the Beloved Community |
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25 March 2007 There is no way this week that we can read this story about Jesus’ welcome into the home of Lazarus and Martha and Mary, and not think of the beloved community into which we each are welcomed and anointed, nurtured and challenged. No way that we can read this story about Lazarus, whom Jesus raises from the dead, and not think of our sister Susan Russ, who precedes each of us gathered here through that transition from this life into the next. No way we can read this story and not consider our own journey of faith, our own ministry of welcome. Because in this short story, we have death and resurrection, extravagant welcome and fearful accounting; all centered on Jesus as he is bathed in hospitality and extravagant welcome before his final journey to Jerusalem. Henri Nouwen holds that faith is the direction homeward. Jesus’ journey homeward takes place within a Jewish culture holding wildly different understandings of faithfulness. In the same way, we seek our direction homeward in the midst of a culture careening between violence and narcism, predictably touted in ads of every description, but more subtly given voice by those who appear to be traveling with us. Witness Judas’ challenge to Mary. Both are disciples. Both are followers of Jesus, but the differences between them are far deeper than male vs. female. This is not the first time Mary is presented in the gospels as the faithful disciple. Luke has her seated at Jesus’ feet–the posture of a student–while Martha is busy serving a meal. In John, of course, Mary’s anointing of Jesus’ feet anticipates Jesus’ death. It also underscores the direction homeward. Mary fulfills Jesus’ love commandment before he even teaches it,[1] pouring out that love in costly perfume. Faith is the direction homeward. The direction homeward is the focus of Frederick Buechner’s adventurous, ribald Brendan, the sixth-century Irish priest. After countless dead-end adventures, Brendan goes to Wales where he finds a sour, middle-aged monk named Gildas. Gildas is convinced that his task in life is to chronicle the sins of the Welsh, but Brendan counters that what God truly wants is a loving heart. “You’ll forgive me. I’ve much to do here,” Gildas said. “Wickedness is multiplied and the times of tribulation draw near just as Scripture foretells it. I’ve no time to lose before the end is upon us.” “How beautiful upon the mountain are the feet of him that bringeth good tidings,” Brendan said. Gildas stopped his quill in mid air. “You’d best not look to me for feet.”... (H)e heaved himself up to where he was standing. For the first time we saw he wanted one leg. He was hopping sideways to reach for his stick...when he lost his balance. He would have fallen in a heap if Brendan hadn’t leapt forward and caught him.... “To lend each other a hand when we’re falling,” Brendan said. “Perhaps that’s the only work that matters in the end.”[2] It is the turning point of the story. From that moment on, Brendan lends a hand to those who are falling. He visits the lonely, pours out love and compassion to those in need. This is the work of the beloved community, faith’s direction homeward, that Mary embodies in our gospel story with her own outpouring of love. This past week showed other extravagant outpourings of love and compassion in a far different setting: the busy competence of the Intensive Care Unit of Montgomery General Hospital. Even during the long hours as it became increasingly clear that Susan would not return to her place in the choir, doctors openly shared their grief with the family, nurses dropped by with so many cups of coffee that Starbucks was in danger of losing its nearest franchise, and chaplains and volunteers made every effort to offer unobtrusive support. Meanwhile, those of you who could be reached began that support through prayer. Offers to coordinate meals and help with guests started pouring in. Phone calls too, I’m told by Marilyn. All ways in which this beloved community poured out love to lend its hand to one who was falling. You didn’t stop with Jim and Renee. You have lifted me up with your prayers. You have sent me hugs and surrounded me with supportive hands via e-mail, called and left messages on the answering machine and voice mail. You have adjusted your schedules for helping with bulletins in the office to accommodate unavoidable changes in timing. And you have been the beloved community for this beautiful choir, grieving and tender as they absorb the loss of Susan’s quiet humor, gentle presence and strong voice. Like Mary, you have given witness to faith and helped each of us homeward, responding to the needs at hand with loving and generous hearts. Together, we are the beloved community, molded and sustained through scripture, reminded of our story in worship. Our story doesn’t shy away from the reality of death, but instead reminds us that Jesus’ radiant presence accompanies us even on that singular journey. May our hearts be open to his presence with the same abandon that characterized Mary’s extravagant hospitality, and may the perfume of loving compassion fill this house with its fragrance. *** [2] Buechner, Frederick, Brendan. |