Glowing Network
Sermon
From Upside Down To Rightside Up
Cycle C Sermons for Lent and Easter Based on the Gospel Lessons
During World War II, many members of the Lutheran church in Germany lost their faith because Hitler seduced them into ways of living that kept them from practicing their faith. But there was one man whom Hitler could not compromise. His name was Martin Niemöller. During World War I, Niemöller had been a great hero in the German military but when the Second World War came, he refused to bow to the authorities. He was marching to a different drumbeat. And march he did. When Hitler could not make him change his tune, could not bring him in line with the Nazis’ brutal policies, Hitler had Niemöller thrown into a concentration camp.
Seven years later, when Niemöller came out of the camp, this is what he said: “Christianity is not an ethic, nor is it a system of dogmatics, but a living thing.” Everyone who saw the fruits of his life knew who he was and where he stood and how he built his reputation.
Niemöller was a disciple of Jesus. Like those who share the final meal with their Lord, in the setting of our “Farewell Discourse” text, Niemöller experienced the “troubling” of the world that Jesus foretold. But he also knew the empowering of the Paraclete, the Holy Spirit of God, who bring remembrance and courage and hope.
Waging Grace
Sometimes it seems fashionable to downplay our faith, to show ourselves in tune with our world, to treat Christianity flippantly. “Don’t become a fanatic,” we say. “Don’t go overboard with religion. I believe in my heart; just don’t ask me to make a big deal of it.”
But our faith is a big deal ― or its no deal at all. Our relationship with God is everything or nothing. According to Jesus, we either develop the habit of deep faith or we get stuck in the habits of the world. This is what Jesus’ disciples needed to know on the eve of his departure.
Jesus prophesied that they and we would have these times of loneliness in the world. That does not mean that either Jesus or the Father is unknowing or uncaring. It simply means that life is tough. What keeps us going in the right direction has got to be the call of eternity that assures us of a resolution which transcends all of the garbage we have to deal with now. This is the teaching of the Paraclete. It is the presence of peace that grows in the soil of adversity.
Some years ago, Fred Ferre spoke to a group of theology students about the source of his father’s faith. His father was Nels Ferre, a distinguished theologian and author.
Nels came from a family of ten in Sweden. At thirteen, he was sent to find his future in America on his own. At the train station on the day of his departure, Nels’ family surrounded him, holding hands as his father led in prayer. Then each member of the family said a prayer. That was his last earthly contact with his family.
Nels boarded the train and sat by the window, watching his family wave to him and cry. As the train rolled out of the station, his mother ran down the wooded platform alongside it. He slid the window open and leaned out just in time to hear her calling, “Nels! Nels! Remember Jesus! Remember Jesus!”
Remember Jesus
That is what we are doing in these brief moments together, during the season of Easter: we are remembering Jesus. We are remembering God’s love for us. We are remembering what it means to be what we were meant to be.
When the Danish novelist George Brandes was a young man, he looked up to Henrik Ibsen. Ibsen was much older that Brandes, but he took noticed of the young writer. Once Brandes asked the famous dramatist for help and encouragement.
Ibsen wrote a long letter in response, sharing this advice: If you want to serve your world, you have to look inside first. You have to find out what you’re made of. You have to mine the depths of your own heart.
Then you have to be true to yourself, letting your faith shine for others. Said Ibsen, “There is no way in which you can benefit society more than by coining the metal you have in yourself.”
He was right. No Christian can bring anything of true value to his world by putting on airs, by denying the grace of God within, or by keeping the power of the Spirit locked up. Pious hypocrisy is of no benefit to the world.
We’re always eager to talk about the worst in society ―corruption, greed, shams, materialism. Are we also eager to talk about the best of God within us? The strength of those who hold weak hands and trembling knees? The generosity of those who break bread with the poor? The courage of those who say “No” when the rage of the world says “Yes” or of those who, by faith in God say “Yes” when the scoffers of the world say “No”?
Think of Horatio Spafford, a lawyer in Chicago in the latter half of the nineteenth century. When Mrs. O’Leary’s cow overturned the lantern the night of October 8, 1871, the great fire that resulted destroyed Spafford’s home and business. These disasters put a heavy strain on the family. Mrs. Spafford became so nervous and run-down that her doctor recommended a vacation, so the family laid plans to sail for Europe in November of 1873.
As the date approached, Horatio realized he was too busy to leave with his family. He sent his wife and four daughters on ahead, planning to catch up with them later.
On November 22, the ship carrying the five Spafford women sank beneath the waves of the north Atlantic. Nearly everyone on board died. On December 1, Mrs. Spafford sent a telegram to Horatio from Cardiff, Wales. It said, “Saved alone!”
How much more would one couple have to suffer? Where was God in all of this?
Horatio left immediately to join his wife. As he crossed the Atlantic, he asked the captain to show him where the other ship had gone down. When they came to the spot, Horatio stood at the rail, looking out at the cruel gray sea. Did he cry out to God in pain? Probably so. Did he feel cheated by life? Undoubtedly. Did he turn away from God, saying God had let him down?
He could have. But he did not, because in those moments he wrote these words:
When peace like a river attendeth my way,
when sorrows like sea billows roll;
whatever my lot, thou has taught me to say,
“It is well, it is well with my soul.”
Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
let this blest assurance control;
that Christ has regarded my helpless estate,
and has shed his own blood for my soul.
O Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight,
the clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
the trump shall resound and the Lord shall descend;
even so, it is well with my soul.
(in the public domain)
So we carry on, as he did, living by faith in a troubling world, trusting in Jesus through the power of the Paraclete. Horatio and Anna Spafford actually moved to Jerusalem after those events. They spent the last decades of their lives establishing a community of reconciliation between Jews, Muslims, and Christians in the heart of that troubled city.
So how is Jesus living in us here? What do others know of the power of the Paraclete who shines through us into a troubled world?
There is a glowing network spreading from this place, isn’t there? How is your connection?
Seven years later, when Niemöller came out of the camp, this is what he said: “Christianity is not an ethic, nor is it a system of dogmatics, but a living thing.” Everyone who saw the fruits of his life knew who he was and where he stood and how he built his reputation.
Niemöller was a disciple of Jesus. Like those who share the final meal with their Lord, in the setting of our “Farewell Discourse” text, Niemöller experienced the “troubling” of the world that Jesus foretold. But he also knew the empowering of the Paraclete, the Holy Spirit of God, who bring remembrance and courage and hope.
Waging Grace
Sometimes it seems fashionable to downplay our faith, to show ourselves in tune with our world, to treat Christianity flippantly. “Don’t become a fanatic,” we say. “Don’t go overboard with religion. I believe in my heart; just don’t ask me to make a big deal of it.”
But our faith is a big deal ― or its no deal at all. Our relationship with God is everything or nothing. According to Jesus, we either develop the habit of deep faith or we get stuck in the habits of the world. This is what Jesus’ disciples needed to know on the eve of his departure.
Jesus prophesied that they and we would have these times of loneliness in the world. That does not mean that either Jesus or the Father is unknowing or uncaring. It simply means that life is tough. What keeps us going in the right direction has got to be the call of eternity that assures us of a resolution which transcends all of the garbage we have to deal with now. This is the teaching of the Paraclete. It is the presence of peace that grows in the soil of adversity.
Some years ago, Fred Ferre spoke to a group of theology students about the source of his father’s faith. His father was Nels Ferre, a distinguished theologian and author.
Nels came from a family of ten in Sweden. At thirteen, he was sent to find his future in America on his own. At the train station on the day of his departure, Nels’ family surrounded him, holding hands as his father led in prayer. Then each member of the family said a prayer. That was his last earthly contact with his family.
Nels boarded the train and sat by the window, watching his family wave to him and cry. As the train rolled out of the station, his mother ran down the wooded platform alongside it. He slid the window open and leaned out just in time to hear her calling, “Nels! Nels! Remember Jesus! Remember Jesus!”
Remember Jesus
That is what we are doing in these brief moments together, during the season of Easter: we are remembering Jesus. We are remembering God’s love for us. We are remembering what it means to be what we were meant to be.
When the Danish novelist George Brandes was a young man, he looked up to Henrik Ibsen. Ibsen was much older that Brandes, but he took noticed of the young writer. Once Brandes asked the famous dramatist for help and encouragement.
Ibsen wrote a long letter in response, sharing this advice: If you want to serve your world, you have to look inside first. You have to find out what you’re made of. You have to mine the depths of your own heart.
Then you have to be true to yourself, letting your faith shine for others. Said Ibsen, “There is no way in which you can benefit society more than by coining the metal you have in yourself.”
He was right. No Christian can bring anything of true value to his world by putting on airs, by denying the grace of God within, or by keeping the power of the Spirit locked up. Pious hypocrisy is of no benefit to the world.
We’re always eager to talk about the worst in society ―corruption, greed, shams, materialism. Are we also eager to talk about the best of God within us? The strength of those who hold weak hands and trembling knees? The generosity of those who break bread with the poor? The courage of those who say “No” when the rage of the world says “Yes” or of those who, by faith in God say “Yes” when the scoffers of the world say “No”?
Think of Horatio Spafford, a lawyer in Chicago in the latter half of the nineteenth century. When Mrs. O’Leary’s cow overturned the lantern the night of October 8, 1871, the great fire that resulted destroyed Spafford’s home and business. These disasters put a heavy strain on the family. Mrs. Spafford became so nervous and run-down that her doctor recommended a vacation, so the family laid plans to sail for Europe in November of 1873.
As the date approached, Horatio realized he was too busy to leave with his family. He sent his wife and four daughters on ahead, planning to catch up with them later.
On November 22, the ship carrying the five Spafford women sank beneath the waves of the north Atlantic. Nearly everyone on board died. On December 1, Mrs. Spafford sent a telegram to Horatio from Cardiff, Wales. It said, “Saved alone!”
How much more would one couple have to suffer? Where was God in all of this?
Horatio left immediately to join his wife. As he crossed the Atlantic, he asked the captain to show him where the other ship had gone down. When they came to the spot, Horatio stood at the rail, looking out at the cruel gray sea. Did he cry out to God in pain? Probably so. Did he feel cheated by life? Undoubtedly. Did he turn away from God, saying God had let him down?
He could have. But he did not, because in those moments he wrote these words:
When peace like a river attendeth my way,
when sorrows like sea billows roll;
whatever my lot, thou has taught me to say,
“It is well, it is well with my soul.”
Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
let this blest assurance control;
that Christ has regarded my helpless estate,
and has shed his own blood for my soul.
O Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight,
the clouds be rolled back as a scroll;
the trump shall resound and the Lord shall descend;
even so, it is well with my soul.
(in the public domain)
So we carry on, as he did, living by faith in a troubling world, trusting in Jesus through the power of the Paraclete. Horatio and Anna Spafford actually moved to Jerusalem after those events. They spent the last decades of their lives establishing a community of reconciliation between Jews, Muslims, and Christians in the heart of that troubled city.
So how is Jesus living in us here? What do others know of the power of the Paraclete who shines through us into a troubled world?
There is a glowing network spreading from this place, isn’t there? How is your connection?
