A Different Kind Of Power
Preaching
Gathering Up the Fragments
Preaching As Spiritual Practice
Object:
They went to a place called Gethsemane; and he said to his disciples, "Sit here while I pray." He took with him Peter and James and John, and began to be distressed and agitated. And he said to them, "I am deeply grieved, even to death; remain here, and keep awake." And going a little farther, he threw himself on the ground and prayed that, if it were possible, the hour might pass from him. He said, "Abba, Father, for all things are possible; remove this cup from me; yet not what I want, but what you want."
-- Mark 14:32-36
Who doesn't want to live a successful life? What a gift it is, when hard work pays off and we get what we want, when serendipity is on our side and we see our dreams realized. There is great satisfaction and power in success.
God speaks to us today of another kind of power known in failure, when everything goes wrong, the worst of fears confront us, and we have no choice but to live through what we want most to avoid.
Who can deny the beauty of health? What a glorious thing it is to enjoy our bodies when they are strong and resilient and to marvel at athletes and dancers as they explore the outer limits of physical capacity. We should all be amazed at what our bodies can do, as does a child when first learning to walk or run. Yet God speaks today of another kind of strength, revealed in weakness and suffering. It isn't a strength we relish to know firsthand, because it comes at great cost. It is strength not in accomplishment but rather in surrender.
Who doesn't long for joy, for happiness filling our hearts to overflowing? Yet today reminds us of what we already know: that in this life there is also sorrow and pain so deeply felt that our hearts break from the weight of it. And it asks: What do we do then? Where do we turn then?
We are not wrong to strive for success, health, and joy. It's a good thing to avoid as best we can the anguish of failure, disease, and sorrow. Jesus encourages us to pray for our heart's desire and that God spare us from the times of trial. He prayed the same for himself, that the cup of sorrow might pass him by.
However, for reasons we will never understand, good does not always prevail and in every life there is hardship. Jesus accepted the cup as one he had to drink and that he could not spare his friends their suffering.
Why, then, do we commemorate the sad memory of Jesus' last week on earth and honor it with the significance of the word "holy"? Why indeed. It isn't because God prefers or requires suffering, but rather because of the power that comes to us from God in our suffering. Quite apart from the power of resurrection, which is a story all its own, there is redemption in suffering, when we allow darkness its hour and name it so.
Holy Week is the time for us to experience and remember this most important of Christian truths: that when the lights go out and darkness reigns, when we are no longer able to rely on our own power and strength, God is there with a different kind of power, a different kind of strength. We often resist it because it requires surrender. It is the power of endurance and the gift of peace that can bring us through our greatest trials. Our sorrow is not eliminated, but it is enfolded in God's love. Our suffering is not taken from us, but it is enveloped in God's light.
We cannot evoke this power on command, nor dare we judge ourselves for lacking it because it is a mystery and a gift. Yet in its presence we are awed beyond words.
One of the documentary films highlighted at a recent Sundance Film Festival was titled, The Trials of Darryl Hunt. It is the true story of a nineteen-year-old black man who in 1985 was convicted for the murder of a white woman in North Carolina. No physical evidence linked Hunt to the crime, and the case against him rested on the testimony of a former member of the Ku Klux Klan. From the beginning, Hunt maintained his innocence.
In 1989, the North Carolina Supreme Court ordered a new trial after the main witness recanted his statement. Hunt was offered a plea bargain that would have allowed him to be sentenced to time served, meaning that he would go free. But he refused to confess to something he had not done. Hunt was retried in 1990 and again convicted by an all-white jury and sentenced to life in prison.
In 1994, scientific advances allowed for DNA testing of evidence from the crime scene, and Hunt's DNA didn't match that of man who raped the murdered woman. But the prosecution insisted that there was more than one assailant and that Darryl Hunt could have still been the murderer. He remained in prison. Every effort to appeal the murder verdict failed; two governors refused to consider clemency.
In 2003, with Hunt in prison for almost two decades, the local paper published an eight-part series on the case revealing racism and negligence on the part of the prosecution. Shortly afterward, the State Bureau of Investigation ran the DNA from the crime scene against federal databases of convicted felons. A match was found, and another man eventually confessed to the murder, saying that he had acted alone. In 2004, Hunt was exonerated and set free.
The lessons we can learn from Darryl Hunt's story are many, but I tell you his story for one reason alone. I heard a radio interview with Darryl Hunt recently and what struck me was the gentleness in his voice. He spoke clearly of what life was like for him, both in and out of prison, but there was no malice or self-pity in his tone. After twenty years of imprisonment for a crime he didn't commit, I would have expected him to be angry and indignant. But he wasn't.
The year of his release, Hunt was invited to speak to the incoming class at Duke Law School. Among the many things he talked about was his faith in God. He said that while he will never get over what happened to him and there is no way to make up for the years he lost, God helped him to persevere while he was in prison and allows him to avoid bitterness now. "If God says he can forgive you, you can forgive others," he told the students. "I wanted to live. Bitterness and hatred can eat you up on the inside. I am at peace in my heart."
You know as well as I that such peace doesn't come easily, quickly, or without great cost. It comes only when we painstakingly learn to accept, on a daily basis, the things we wish we could change but can't, the hardships that don't go away, and the suffering we don't deserve. In the caldron of acceptance, God comes to us, enabling us to live without bitterness or rage and to persevere on the path we know is right, even when it's as hard as steel and there's no end in sight.
We begin this Holy Week with the procession of palms and telling the story of Jesus' suffering. We do so for consolation and assurance. When the worst of times happen to us, the events of this week remind us that we are not alone. God is with us offering strength in our weakness and the capacity to endure our trials, whatever they may be. While we would never wish for the kind of suffering through which such gifts are given; nonetheless, when the suffering comes, it's good to know that they are there. When life requires more than we have to give, God is there, loving us, giving us the courage to persevere, and offering us the peace of God that surpasses human understanding.
-- Mark 14:32-36
Who doesn't want to live a successful life? What a gift it is, when hard work pays off and we get what we want, when serendipity is on our side and we see our dreams realized. There is great satisfaction and power in success.
God speaks to us today of another kind of power known in failure, when everything goes wrong, the worst of fears confront us, and we have no choice but to live through what we want most to avoid.
Who can deny the beauty of health? What a glorious thing it is to enjoy our bodies when they are strong and resilient and to marvel at athletes and dancers as they explore the outer limits of physical capacity. We should all be amazed at what our bodies can do, as does a child when first learning to walk or run. Yet God speaks today of another kind of strength, revealed in weakness and suffering. It isn't a strength we relish to know firsthand, because it comes at great cost. It is strength not in accomplishment but rather in surrender.
Who doesn't long for joy, for happiness filling our hearts to overflowing? Yet today reminds us of what we already know: that in this life there is also sorrow and pain so deeply felt that our hearts break from the weight of it. And it asks: What do we do then? Where do we turn then?
We are not wrong to strive for success, health, and joy. It's a good thing to avoid as best we can the anguish of failure, disease, and sorrow. Jesus encourages us to pray for our heart's desire and that God spare us from the times of trial. He prayed the same for himself, that the cup of sorrow might pass him by.
However, for reasons we will never understand, good does not always prevail and in every life there is hardship. Jesus accepted the cup as one he had to drink and that he could not spare his friends their suffering.
Why, then, do we commemorate the sad memory of Jesus' last week on earth and honor it with the significance of the word "holy"? Why indeed. It isn't because God prefers or requires suffering, but rather because of the power that comes to us from God in our suffering. Quite apart from the power of resurrection, which is a story all its own, there is redemption in suffering, when we allow darkness its hour and name it so.
Holy Week is the time for us to experience and remember this most important of Christian truths: that when the lights go out and darkness reigns, when we are no longer able to rely on our own power and strength, God is there with a different kind of power, a different kind of strength. We often resist it because it requires surrender. It is the power of endurance and the gift of peace that can bring us through our greatest trials. Our sorrow is not eliminated, but it is enfolded in God's love. Our suffering is not taken from us, but it is enveloped in God's light.
We cannot evoke this power on command, nor dare we judge ourselves for lacking it because it is a mystery and a gift. Yet in its presence we are awed beyond words.
One of the documentary films highlighted at a recent Sundance Film Festival was titled, The Trials of Darryl Hunt. It is the true story of a nineteen-year-old black man who in 1985 was convicted for the murder of a white woman in North Carolina. No physical evidence linked Hunt to the crime, and the case against him rested on the testimony of a former member of the Ku Klux Klan. From the beginning, Hunt maintained his innocence.
In 1989, the North Carolina Supreme Court ordered a new trial after the main witness recanted his statement. Hunt was offered a plea bargain that would have allowed him to be sentenced to time served, meaning that he would go free. But he refused to confess to something he had not done. Hunt was retried in 1990 and again convicted by an all-white jury and sentenced to life in prison.
In 1994, scientific advances allowed for DNA testing of evidence from the crime scene, and Hunt's DNA didn't match that of man who raped the murdered woman. But the prosecution insisted that there was more than one assailant and that Darryl Hunt could have still been the murderer. He remained in prison. Every effort to appeal the murder verdict failed; two governors refused to consider clemency.
In 2003, with Hunt in prison for almost two decades, the local paper published an eight-part series on the case revealing racism and negligence on the part of the prosecution. Shortly afterward, the State Bureau of Investigation ran the DNA from the crime scene against federal databases of convicted felons. A match was found, and another man eventually confessed to the murder, saying that he had acted alone. In 2004, Hunt was exonerated and set free.
The lessons we can learn from Darryl Hunt's story are many, but I tell you his story for one reason alone. I heard a radio interview with Darryl Hunt recently and what struck me was the gentleness in his voice. He spoke clearly of what life was like for him, both in and out of prison, but there was no malice or self-pity in his tone. After twenty years of imprisonment for a crime he didn't commit, I would have expected him to be angry and indignant. But he wasn't.
The year of his release, Hunt was invited to speak to the incoming class at Duke Law School. Among the many things he talked about was his faith in God. He said that while he will never get over what happened to him and there is no way to make up for the years he lost, God helped him to persevere while he was in prison and allows him to avoid bitterness now. "If God says he can forgive you, you can forgive others," he told the students. "I wanted to live. Bitterness and hatred can eat you up on the inside. I am at peace in my heart."
You know as well as I that such peace doesn't come easily, quickly, or without great cost. It comes only when we painstakingly learn to accept, on a daily basis, the things we wish we could change but can't, the hardships that don't go away, and the suffering we don't deserve. In the caldron of acceptance, God comes to us, enabling us to live without bitterness or rage and to persevere on the path we know is right, even when it's as hard as steel and there's no end in sight.
We begin this Holy Week with the procession of palms and telling the story of Jesus' suffering. We do so for consolation and assurance. When the worst of times happen to us, the events of this week remind us that we are not alone. God is with us offering strength in our weakness and the capacity to endure our trials, whatever they may be. While we would never wish for the kind of suffering through which such gifts are given; nonetheless, when the suffering comes, it's good to know that they are there. When life requires more than we have to give, God is there, loving us, giving us the courage to persevere, and offering us the peace of God that surpasses human understanding.
