For
the season of Lent, I have moved the McNabb family rocking chair into the
sanctuary. This chair is old. It has
done a lot of rocking – whether putting babies to sleep, relaxing old bones, or
a place to calm one’s fears, cry a few tears, or contentedly daydream. This
chair has witnessed much emotion and holds many secrets. I have moved it to the
sanctuary because rocking chairs symbolize for me comfort and a place for deep
thinking.
In
the Season of Lent, Christians take time to reflect on deep concepts, items often
ignored or avoided as we go about living our every day lives; topics like: sin,
evil, death, corruption, greed, jealousy, betrayal, guilt, shame, confession. Lent drops us into deep matter, continually
pulling us to the themes humans run away from.
Tonight
we are told – to our face- “Remember that you are dust and to dust you will return.”
On Ash Wednesday the church puts its best foot forward, daring to articulate
and communicate to the world that we are not in control, as a church or as
individuals. We are but dust.
We
acknowledge this hard truth, rather than responding by fight or flight, we
choose to sit in the deep matter. We are but dust.
We witness those in the world who try to
leverage control, flex their power, and others who simply give up. We witness
those who fight with all their might to gain or take control until others are crushed
-when frustration breeds desperation on both ends of the polarity- we have been
witnesses to COVID mandate protests, freedom rallies, invasion and war with
nuclear threat, astounding numbers of displaced persons, guns in shopping
malls, teenagers robbing banks, the exorbitant raising of rent, and growing food
insecurity.
In
the midst of this world, we are called to sit in the deep matter, the simple
truth:
remember
that you are dust and to dust you will return.
To
be honest, at first glance, these words are not all that comforting. My nature is
to fix things, make circumstances better, problem solve, organize and get
things done. When witnessing the state of the world I feel helpless and at
times hopeless. Remembering that one is dust … is just fuel to the already
feeling-insignificant-chant that runs through my head and the sense that all is
out of control, so what’s the point?
Being
here tonight, -actually any time I come together with you in Christian
community to pray, to hear the Word, to worship- gives me pause to wade in deep
matter. And doing so changes me – I find peace through articulation of that
which scares me, freedom to ponder hard truths in safety, I receive grace in
the sharing of burdens, I am calmed in focused prayer, I am filled with hope in
the joining of voices in song, I am reassured through the power of ritual and
community (the past, the present, the future)--- a great cloud of witnesses
faithful through the ages.
Tonight,
we are told, “Remember that you are dust and to dust you will return.” In your
presence, in God’s presence, this hard truth is not what it seems at first
glace. In community this statement becomes life-giving.
One
of the places deemed to have the happiest citizens in the world is Bhutan, a predominately
Buddhist country in the Himalayas. In Bhutanese culture they have an old
saying, “to be a happy person, one must contemplate death five times daily.” Death
is matter-of-fact, in-your-face, through public art, festivals, stories, and in
every day life. Ura, the direct of the
Centre for Bhutan studies, once said in an interview, “Rich people in the West,
they have not touched dead bodies, fresh wounds, rotten things. This is a problem. This is the human
condition. We have to be ready for the moment we cease to exist.” He goes on to
muse that to ignore the hard truth that death is part of life has a heavy
psychological cost. As a people – the Bhutan community- embracing death as part
of life, gives freedom to living; and this is happiness.
Snuggled
in this rocking chair, surrounded by community, wading in deep matter---
I
contemplate a comment made to me by a former sister-in-law, who was annoyed by what
she called my family’s stoic emotionless approach to death; specifically in
reference to not wailing or overtly crying at my dad’s funeral. There was lots
of grieving, there were lots of tears … but not while celebrating communion in
the cemetery, surrounded by people who loved my dad, surrounded by a community
of faithful (those present and those who had gone before), surrounded by promise
and hope- and feeling the goodness of life and life-after-what-we-know and
understand. Corporate burden carrying. Corporate faith sharing. Corporate facing
of hard truths. Corporate happiness in the abundance of God and the abundance
of life was viscerally present… even in death. Christian community wading in
deep matter makes a difference. That day
in the cemetery and in many cemeteries -the community through worship, prayer,
and standing side-by-side – acts out ‘you are dust and to dust you will return’
but, combined with the Word of God, the hugs, the holding of hands, the tears,
the memories, the silence, the moment draws one to the beauty of being “part of
the sands of time.”
The
dust- the earth- seems final ---- until one takes note of the beetles and the
worms- life.
And
in presence of community dust takes on significance; in fact turns death to
life. Consider:
Individual
grains of sand that together make a beautiful beach.
The
life-giving dust that billows from fields at harvest time, rich with the smell
of produce.
The
sustaining gift of dust that when binding and mixing with other dust and stone,
makes brick, cement, glass – building material.
The
trillions of specks of dust that scatter and absorb solar radiation, bringing balance
to the planet’s radiation needs.
The
community of dust particles that form clouds and are the key element in the
earth’s climate system. Without individual, minute particles of dust, working
together as a whole, life on earth would not, could not exist.
Remember
that you are dust and to dust you will return – is a call to reflect on deep
matters. It is a call to turn from human individualism. It is a call to turn
from false ideals of self-sufficiency and self-grandeur. It is a call to
acknowledge hard truths. It is a call to
the necessity of community living. It is a call to act as a community. It is call from death to life.
Some
of you may remember the TV show, The Friendly Giant. The Friendly Giant
would greet children in the morning and invite them into his castle, to join
his puppet friends Rusty the rooster who lived in a book bag hung by the castle
window and Jerome the giraffe who stuck his head in castle window. Friendly, welcomed
one into the castle to sit by the fire place, “one little chair for one of you,
and a bigger chair for two to curl up in and someone who likes to rock, a
rocking chair in the middle.” Then the three, sometimes with additional
friends, would have a conversation about something going on in their lives, Rusty
pulling all kinds of items out of his sack as props to contribute to the theme
for the day, and there would be a little music. The conversation was serious
and honest, questions were encouraged; all listened to each other, all were
heard. In 15 mins, the show was over, and children left the castle feeling
better than they had when they arrived.
Tonight,
wading in deep matters, facing the hard truth of death with all of you, in the
presence of God, I feel comfortable – better than I did when I arrived. Thank
you for beginning your journey through Lent and doing so with the community of
faith.
Friendly
ended each show – as I do tonight- with an invitation to come again “It’s late.
This little chair will be waiting for one of you, and a rocking chair for
another who likes to rock, and a big armchair for two more to curl up in when
you come again to our castle.”
Peace
be with you.
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