Hearing A Familiar Voice
Sermon
From Upside Down To Rightside Up
Cycle C Sermons for Lent and Easter Based on the Gospel Lessons
As parents of three wonderful daughters, my wife and I can sympathize with the couple who sent their child off to college, only to find out a few months later that she was dating another student, and that the two of them were already talking about marriage. The troubled parents urged their daughter to bring her boyfriend home so that they could meet him. When the college twosome arrived and hurried and worried greetings were made at the door, Mom shunted daughter off to the kitchen while Dad guided the boy firmly into the family room for a little heart-to-heart.
“So,” Dad said at last, trying to find out more about this young man, “what are your plans for your future?”
“I’m not sure, sir,” the boyfriend replied, “but I know that your daughter and I were destined to be together, and that God will provide.”
“Well, what about finances? How do you intend to pay the bills if you should get married?”
“To tell you the truth, sir, we haven’t given that much thought yet. But we are deeply in love, and we are confident that God will provide.”
This was not giving the father much confidence, so he pressed on. “Do you have any ideas about careers and where you will live, and whether you will both finish college?”
“We’re planning to take it one day at a time, sir,” came the reply, “and we’re sure that God will provide.”
Later that night Mom and Dad were finally alone together, and she said to him, “Well, what do you think?”
“I have mixed feelings,” he told her. “On the one hand, the fellow seems to be a deluded, shiftless, irresponsible fool who hasn’t even begun to understand how life works. Yet on the other hand, I get the sense that he thinks I am God!”
Cryptic
Most of us will never be confused with God, will we? But Jesus certainly had that problem. And, for good reason: he was God!
Of course, that is so unexpected. Good religious folk in Jesus’ day already had a relationship with God. They knew of God. They knew about God. They worshiped God.
At the same time, they were strangely attracted to Jesus. And some said that he was God. But that could not be. Everybody had an opinion about Jesus. Still, it was all so confusing. So the religious leaders came to him to ask him straight out: “Are you the Messiah?” Are you the representative of God? Are you God come among us?
And Jesus gave them directly indirect answers. It is a bit like this: if you know me, you know me; if you do not, you do not. Is that fair? Is that clear? What exactly had Jesus meant?
I think it has to do with something that George Herbert wrote in one of his perceptive poems. Generations ago Herbert penned a brilliant picture of the aching in each of our souls. It was called “The Pulley,” and in it Herbert portrayed God at the moment of creation, sprinkling his new human creature with treasures kept in a jar beside him. These were God’s finest resources, given now as gifts to the crown of his universe: beauty, wisdom, honor, pleasure… All were scattered liberally in the genetic recipe of our kind.
When the jar of God’s treasures was nearly empty, wrote Herbert, God put the lid on it. The angels were surprised. They wondered why God did not finish the human concoction, having left this one great resource still in its container. What was left behind, God told the angels, is “rest.” God chose not to grant that divine treasure to the human race.
The angels, of course, asked why. Herbert was ready with the divine answer regarding the best mix for the human spirit. humankind, said God, would be rich with gifts and talents beyond measure. But people would also remain restless, searching for something more, wishing for things transcendent, reaching for the stars or heaven or whatever might be out there.
Only if the mighty human race, with all its immense capabilities and capacities, remained restless would it eventually seek its way back to its Creator. Herbert saw well that the strong talents and marvelous abilities of humankind would make us like impatient children, eager to strike out on our own and find our self-made destinies. Only if God would hold back a sense of full satisfaction from our souls would we search our way back home.
This remains a perennial theological paradox: it is the creative act of God that gives us freedom. Yet when we use our abilities for our own ends, we tend to lose what is best in ourselves and often demean it in others, pushing like adolescents away from our spiritual parent. Only if we become restless to find the face of God in some longing for home will we regain a glimpse of our own best faces reflected back toward us in the kindness and smile of God.
This is what Jesus meant when he told the crowds, “My sheep listen to my voice…” If the restlessness of divine urgency causes our hearts to seek God, we know who Jesus is.
“His Master’s Voice…”
Remember that great advertising slogan of RCA Victor? A dog sat looking at the amplification horn of a gramophone. The caption underneath said, “Hearing his master’s voice.” Whimsical, to be sure. But also touching. To have that sense, even if we cannot see our Master, that his voice is audible, his presence is near, his care is always certain.
One writer told of attending a business conference where awards were being given for outstanding achievements during the past fiscal year. A woman was called to the podium to receive the company’s top honor. Clutching her trophy, she beamed out at the crowd of over 3,000 people. Yet in that moment of triumph, she had eyes for only one person. She looked directly at her supervisor, a woman named Joan.
The award-winner told of the difficult times that she had gone through only a few years earlier. She had experienced personal problems, and, for a time her work had suffered. Some people turned away from her, counting it a liability to be seen with her. Others wrote her off as a loser in the company. The worst part was that she felt they were right. She had stopped at Joan’s desk several times with a letter of resignation in her hand. She knew she was a failure.
But Joan said, “Let’s just wait a little bit longer.” And Joan said, “Give it one more try.” And Joan said, “I never would have hired you if I didn’t think you could handle it!”
The woman’s voice broke. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she softly said, “Joan believed in me more than I believed in myself!”
Isn’t that the message of the gospel? Isn’t that the story of the Bible? That God believed in us while we were still sinners, while we were still failures, while we were at the point in our lives that we could not seem to make it on our own?
That is why Jesus came. And those who know it, hear his voice. He does not need to explain himself to them. Meanwhile, those who know God but do not truly need God, have a difficult time understanding who Jesus is and was.
Thomas Merton, when writing about the religious community with which he spent many years, noted that every prospective participant was initially brought in and made to stand in the center of a circle formed by current members. There he was asked by the abbot, “What do you come seeking?”
The answers varied, of course, in line with the individual’s recent experiences. Some said, “I come seeking a deeper relationship with God.” Others were more pragmatic: “I desire to become more disciplined in my practices of life.” And there were always a few who were simply running away: “I hope to find solace from the world and refuge from the problems that have plagued me.”
But Merton said that there was really only one answer which all needed to voice before they could take up residence. “I need mercy!” was the true cry of the heart. “I need mercy!”
Merton said that any other answer betrayed our prideful assertion of self-determination. We wanted, we planned, we were running away from, we desired… But the person who knew his need of mercy had stepped out of the myopic circle of self-interest long enough to begin to see the fragile interdependence of all who were taken into the larger fellowship of faith.
“My sheep listen to my voice…” said Jesus. Can you hear him?
“So,” Dad said at last, trying to find out more about this young man, “what are your plans for your future?”
“I’m not sure, sir,” the boyfriend replied, “but I know that your daughter and I were destined to be together, and that God will provide.”
“Well, what about finances? How do you intend to pay the bills if you should get married?”
“To tell you the truth, sir, we haven’t given that much thought yet. But we are deeply in love, and we are confident that God will provide.”
This was not giving the father much confidence, so he pressed on. “Do you have any ideas about careers and where you will live, and whether you will both finish college?”
“We’re planning to take it one day at a time, sir,” came the reply, “and we’re sure that God will provide.”
Later that night Mom and Dad were finally alone together, and she said to him, “Well, what do you think?”
“I have mixed feelings,” he told her. “On the one hand, the fellow seems to be a deluded, shiftless, irresponsible fool who hasn’t even begun to understand how life works. Yet on the other hand, I get the sense that he thinks I am God!”
Cryptic
Most of us will never be confused with God, will we? But Jesus certainly had that problem. And, for good reason: he was God!
Of course, that is so unexpected. Good religious folk in Jesus’ day already had a relationship with God. They knew of God. They knew about God. They worshiped God.
At the same time, they were strangely attracted to Jesus. And some said that he was God. But that could not be. Everybody had an opinion about Jesus. Still, it was all so confusing. So the religious leaders came to him to ask him straight out: “Are you the Messiah?” Are you the representative of God? Are you God come among us?
And Jesus gave them directly indirect answers. It is a bit like this: if you know me, you know me; if you do not, you do not. Is that fair? Is that clear? What exactly had Jesus meant?
I think it has to do with something that George Herbert wrote in one of his perceptive poems. Generations ago Herbert penned a brilliant picture of the aching in each of our souls. It was called “The Pulley,” and in it Herbert portrayed God at the moment of creation, sprinkling his new human creature with treasures kept in a jar beside him. These were God’s finest resources, given now as gifts to the crown of his universe: beauty, wisdom, honor, pleasure… All were scattered liberally in the genetic recipe of our kind.
When the jar of God’s treasures was nearly empty, wrote Herbert, God put the lid on it. The angels were surprised. They wondered why God did not finish the human concoction, having left this one great resource still in its container. What was left behind, God told the angels, is “rest.” God chose not to grant that divine treasure to the human race.
The angels, of course, asked why. Herbert was ready with the divine answer regarding the best mix for the human spirit. humankind, said God, would be rich with gifts and talents beyond measure. But people would also remain restless, searching for something more, wishing for things transcendent, reaching for the stars or heaven or whatever might be out there.
Only if the mighty human race, with all its immense capabilities and capacities, remained restless would it eventually seek its way back to its Creator. Herbert saw well that the strong talents and marvelous abilities of humankind would make us like impatient children, eager to strike out on our own and find our self-made destinies. Only if God would hold back a sense of full satisfaction from our souls would we search our way back home.
This remains a perennial theological paradox: it is the creative act of God that gives us freedom. Yet when we use our abilities for our own ends, we tend to lose what is best in ourselves and often demean it in others, pushing like adolescents away from our spiritual parent. Only if we become restless to find the face of God in some longing for home will we regain a glimpse of our own best faces reflected back toward us in the kindness and smile of God.
This is what Jesus meant when he told the crowds, “My sheep listen to my voice…” If the restlessness of divine urgency causes our hearts to seek God, we know who Jesus is.
“His Master’s Voice…”
Remember that great advertising slogan of RCA Victor? A dog sat looking at the amplification horn of a gramophone. The caption underneath said, “Hearing his master’s voice.” Whimsical, to be sure. But also touching. To have that sense, even if we cannot see our Master, that his voice is audible, his presence is near, his care is always certain.
One writer told of attending a business conference where awards were being given for outstanding achievements during the past fiscal year. A woman was called to the podium to receive the company’s top honor. Clutching her trophy, she beamed out at the crowd of over 3,000 people. Yet in that moment of triumph, she had eyes for only one person. She looked directly at her supervisor, a woman named Joan.
The award-winner told of the difficult times that she had gone through only a few years earlier. She had experienced personal problems, and, for a time her work had suffered. Some people turned away from her, counting it a liability to be seen with her. Others wrote her off as a loser in the company. The worst part was that she felt they were right. She had stopped at Joan’s desk several times with a letter of resignation in her hand. She knew she was a failure.
But Joan said, “Let’s just wait a little bit longer.” And Joan said, “Give it one more try.” And Joan said, “I never would have hired you if I didn’t think you could handle it!”
The woman’s voice broke. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she softly said, “Joan believed in me more than I believed in myself!”
Isn’t that the message of the gospel? Isn’t that the story of the Bible? That God believed in us while we were still sinners, while we were still failures, while we were at the point in our lives that we could not seem to make it on our own?
That is why Jesus came. And those who know it, hear his voice. He does not need to explain himself to them. Meanwhile, those who know God but do not truly need God, have a difficult time understanding who Jesus is and was.
Thomas Merton, when writing about the religious community with which he spent many years, noted that every prospective participant was initially brought in and made to stand in the center of a circle formed by current members. There he was asked by the abbot, “What do you come seeking?”
The answers varied, of course, in line with the individual’s recent experiences. Some said, “I come seeking a deeper relationship with God.” Others were more pragmatic: “I desire to become more disciplined in my practices of life.” And there were always a few who were simply running away: “I hope to find solace from the world and refuge from the problems that have plagued me.”
But Merton said that there was really only one answer which all needed to voice before they could take up residence. “I need mercy!” was the true cry of the heart. “I need mercy!”
Merton said that any other answer betrayed our prideful assertion of self-determination. We wanted, we planned, we were running away from, we desired… But the person who knew his need of mercy had stepped out of the myopic circle of self-interest long enough to begin to see the fragile interdependence of all who were taken into the larger fellowship of faith.
“My sheep listen to my voice…” said Jesus. Can you hear him?
