If You Haven't Faced Today, Tomorrow Won't Matter
Sermon
Hope For The Weary Heart
Second Lesson Sermons For Lent/Easter Cycle C
The French are not speaking to each other, and we should be concerned. Vanishing are those French cafés of the 1950s which dotted the streets on the Left Bank of the Seine in Paris, the places where Albert Camus and Jean-Paul Sartre held court, and the exchange of ideas flowed as freely as the wine. Then the French talked to each other, and the air was filled with passion and reparte like the swirling smoke of Gauloise cigarettes. Now there is increasing silence.
Of course, the French never talked to us, and if you've traveled in France, particularly in Paris, and you cannot speak the language, you know this; they will stare down their patrician noses at you like you're from another planet! But not speaking to each other? This is serious! A recent study revealed that ten years ago the French engaged in conversation fifteen percent more frequently than now. Coupled with the disappearance of the café (some 5,000 disappeared from Parisian streets last year alone), this is serious. It is serious because France already has the highest rate of suicide of any European country, and being socially isolated from other people simply exacerbates their own sense of hopelessness and alienation.
This is why the French not speaking to each other is serious and why it is seriously important for us, here in this place, on this Easter Sunday. It did not take Camus, Sartre, and the other Existentialists to discover that meaning and hope are essential to human existence, not to conclude that suicide is the only real philosophical question -- that is, "Why live at all?" We already knew this. Ever since human beings got to the point of being able to eat without being eaten, and we could enjoy the luxury of reflecting on living rather than just trying to survive, we have known that meaning, purpose, and hope are as essential to living as is the air we are now breathing, or the ham we are going to be eating later. We know it now. There is no reason to live without meaning, purpose, and hope; it's just too painful, too difficult, too ambiguous. Without meaning, purpose, and hope we might as well let the ultimate silence claim us.
Yes, the French are not speaking to each other, but we ought to be! We ought to be saying there is a reason to break the silence, and saying that there is more than the ultimate silence. We ought to be saying that love is worth the risk and relationships are worthwhile. We ought to be speaking to each other and to everyone around us, boldly and courageously saying that life is worth living, even though we sometimes struggle saying that. We ought to be saying that life can be filled with meaning, purpose, and hope, even though sometimes we wonder about that; we ought to be saying this day can be filled with joy, regardless of the sadness that may be in your heart this morning.
We ought to be speaking to each other and to everyone around us today, because if we haven't faced today, tomorrow won't matter. Today is the day we need to hear all of this -- all of this about meaning and purpose, hope and joy -- because today is where we are, and today is tough -- for each and everyone of us. I do not know what your hurts are this morning, but I know you have them, even as I have mine. It may be the hurt of loneliness and isolation; it might be the pain of a broken or lost relationship. The hurt might come from some ugly, unloving thing you've done -- or was done to you -- but whatever it is, it is there with the power to silence joy and kill hope. I do not know the inner struggle with meaning and purpose you are experiencing, but I know it's there inside, even as it is inside me. In the face of suffering and tragedy, illness and the death of those we love; in the midst of all the inexplicable things that happen to us and all the unanswered questions that cry out for answers, we do wonder if life really makes any sense; sometimes it doesn't! I do not know where hope and joy are the hardest for you, but when we are both honest with ourselves, honest with each other -- and, yes, honest with God -- we both know the truth of it: in the face of hurt, failure, and death itself hope is not easy; when our lives are battered, broken, and stretched, joy seems the rarest of all commodities.
This is where we are today, and it is today when we need more than pious platitudes and certainly more than silence. Today we need to hear and know about meaning and purpose, hope and joy. This cannot wait for tomorrow, for if we cannot find handles on today, tomorrow isn't going to matter to any of us.
You and I are in the right place, at the right time, not only to speak to each other, but also to let God speak to us. And God has been speaking, speaking the words of meaning and purpose, hope and joy; God has been speaking ever since that first Easter morning. God has been and is saying that love is worth the risk and relationships are worthwhile, that life is worth living, that life can be joyous, meaningful, and hope-filled, even and especially in the face of life's most difficult moments, even and especially in the face of death itself. This is the word God has definitively spoken in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, a word that powerfully proclaims this day that the Easter faith is not so much for tomorrow as it is for today.
Today, the voice of God meets us in the words of Paul, as we read them together in his letter to the Corinthians. Paul wrote to a people in a crisis of hope. Jesus had not come back in the way they had expected; neither had God's Kingdom come. It just appeared to be the "same old, same old." They were still hurting; they still knew failure and brokenness; and to make matters worse, friends and relatives were still dying around them. Their faith, already fragile -- as is ours! -- was wavering, in serious jeopardy: After all, if Jesus hadn't come back, maybe he wasn't going to; maybe everything else we believed was wrong; maybe this whole business of resurrection and a living Christ was also wrong; maybe you just struggle in living, and you die, and none of it makes any sense or means anything. Maybe.
Facing it all, Paul had some important things to say; I want to lift up four of them. First, Paul says that Christ's victory over death is a fact, a fact through which God has vindicated the power of love. You'll notice that Paul doesn't describe or debate the "how" of resurrection; none of the Christian writers do. Paul doesn't even know the story of the empty tomb; Luke and the others who have this tradition are much later than Paul. But this isn't important to Paul: not the empty tomb, nor the "how." What is important is the fact of a living Christ whose presence we experience in the Spirit. This isn't a debatable issue for Paul; it is rather a real, living experience of the Living and Risen Christ in our own lives. And through the resurrection of Jesus, Paul says God has made a statement about where victory lies: it lives in love -- and love is victorious over all, even over death itself; this is first.
Secondly, Paul says that even though right now the victory of love isn't quite complete, it has been won, and it will come in its completeness. In Paul's mind this is why we -- not Christ, but we -- still struggle, hurt, fail, and even die. Christ's victory hasn't completely transformed all existence yet, but it will! You can count on it.
Thirdly, and this is tremendously important, Paul says that because of Christ's victory -- the victory of love -- we, in Christ, shall share in it -- not only ultimately, in its completeness, but we can and shall share in it now! Those who are a part of Christ will live, and already are living, the resurrected life! Just as Christ found victory in the power of love, we shall know victory in the power of love; this, too, is a fact.
Lastly, Paul proclaims that if we shall share in the victory, and even are sharing in it now, we can live now with confidence, joy, and hope. We, in this present moment, know now the life-giving power of love. We know now that our lives are going somewhere, that there is purpose and meaning in living, that life can make some sense after all. And because we know all of this now -- that God's love in Christ is ultimately victorious, and we shall be, too -- we can face the "now" -- today -- with hope.
Hear with hope what Paul is saying: death -- in all of its forms: not just the cessation of breath, but dead dreams, dead useless lives, a heart stilled from hurt, the places of our lives where truly life has vanished and we are in the tombs -- death in all its forms and all of its power has no power over us. It has no power today! This is Paul's answer to the Messengers at the tomb: "Why seek the living among the dead?" (Luke 24:5). You don't! You seek, and find, the Living One in your living, for this is where life is found and death is defeated -- today! And if you don't seek and find it today, tomorrow isn't going to matter.
Can we really trust in this? Or, like those who heard the news on the first Easter simply think that it's an idle tale, what the text in Luke 24:11 calls literally "the ravings of someone in delirium"? I don't know the answer to that for you, any more than you know the answer for me. We cannot answer this question for each other, but only for ourselves, personally. I do know this, however: if we don't have an answer today, tomorrow isn't going to matter. You see, Paul was right about something else: hope -- without fulfillment today -- is worse than no hope at all. It is because today is the day we have; this one; and we have to deal with it before we can face any others.
Look, then, at the calendar with care. It says today -- not yesterday, not tomorrow -- but today is Easter. In the silence that surrounds us God has spoken, shouted to the world, "Christ is risen; Christ is risen, indeed!" Lift your voices, Easter people! Today we really do have something to say to each other, to say to this desperate world gripped in its own silence. For if it is the Christians who are not speaking to each other today, no tomorrow will matter to anyone!
Of course, the French never talked to us, and if you've traveled in France, particularly in Paris, and you cannot speak the language, you know this; they will stare down their patrician noses at you like you're from another planet! But not speaking to each other? This is serious! A recent study revealed that ten years ago the French engaged in conversation fifteen percent more frequently than now. Coupled with the disappearance of the café (some 5,000 disappeared from Parisian streets last year alone), this is serious. It is serious because France already has the highest rate of suicide of any European country, and being socially isolated from other people simply exacerbates their own sense of hopelessness and alienation.
This is why the French not speaking to each other is serious and why it is seriously important for us, here in this place, on this Easter Sunday. It did not take Camus, Sartre, and the other Existentialists to discover that meaning and hope are essential to human existence, not to conclude that suicide is the only real philosophical question -- that is, "Why live at all?" We already knew this. Ever since human beings got to the point of being able to eat without being eaten, and we could enjoy the luxury of reflecting on living rather than just trying to survive, we have known that meaning, purpose, and hope are as essential to living as is the air we are now breathing, or the ham we are going to be eating later. We know it now. There is no reason to live without meaning, purpose, and hope; it's just too painful, too difficult, too ambiguous. Without meaning, purpose, and hope we might as well let the ultimate silence claim us.
Yes, the French are not speaking to each other, but we ought to be! We ought to be saying there is a reason to break the silence, and saying that there is more than the ultimate silence. We ought to be saying that love is worth the risk and relationships are worthwhile. We ought to be speaking to each other and to everyone around us, boldly and courageously saying that life is worth living, even though we sometimes struggle saying that. We ought to be saying that life can be filled with meaning, purpose, and hope, even though sometimes we wonder about that; we ought to be saying this day can be filled with joy, regardless of the sadness that may be in your heart this morning.
We ought to be speaking to each other and to everyone around us today, because if we haven't faced today, tomorrow won't matter. Today is the day we need to hear all of this -- all of this about meaning and purpose, hope and joy -- because today is where we are, and today is tough -- for each and everyone of us. I do not know what your hurts are this morning, but I know you have them, even as I have mine. It may be the hurt of loneliness and isolation; it might be the pain of a broken or lost relationship. The hurt might come from some ugly, unloving thing you've done -- or was done to you -- but whatever it is, it is there with the power to silence joy and kill hope. I do not know the inner struggle with meaning and purpose you are experiencing, but I know it's there inside, even as it is inside me. In the face of suffering and tragedy, illness and the death of those we love; in the midst of all the inexplicable things that happen to us and all the unanswered questions that cry out for answers, we do wonder if life really makes any sense; sometimes it doesn't! I do not know where hope and joy are the hardest for you, but when we are both honest with ourselves, honest with each other -- and, yes, honest with God -- we both know the truth of it: in the face of hurt, failure, and death itself hope is not easy; when our lives are battered, broken, and stretched, joy seems the rarest of all commodities.
This is where we are today, and it is today when we need more than pious platitudes and certainly more than silence. Today we need to hear and know about meaning and purpose, hope and joy. This cannot wait for tomorrow, for if we cannot find handles on today, tomorrow isn't going to matter to any of us.
You and I are in the right place, at the right time, not only to speak to each other, but also to let God speak to us. And God has been speaking, speaking the words of meaning and purpose, hope and joy; God has been speaking ever since that first Easter morning. God has been and is saying that love is worth the risk and relationships are worthwhile, that life is worth living, that life can be joyous, meaningful, and hope-filled, even and especially in the face of life's most difficult moments, even and especially in the face of death itself. This is the word God has definitively spoken in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, a word that powerfully proclaims this day that the Easter faith is not so much for tomorrow as it is for today.
Today, the voice of God meets us in the words of Paul, as we read them together in his letter to the Corinthians. Paul wrote to a people in a crisis of hope. Jesus had not come back in the way they had expected; neither had God's Kingdom come. It just appeared to be the "same old, same old." They were still hurting; they still knew failure and brokenness; and to make matters worse, friends and relatives were still dying around them. Their faith, already fragile -- as is ours! -- was wavering, in serious jeopardy: After all, if Jesus hadn't come back, maybe he wasn't going to; maybe everything else we believed was wrong; maybe this whole business of resurrection and a living Christ was also wrong; maybe you just struggle in living, and you die, and none of it makes any sense or means anything. Maybe.
Facing it all, Paul had some important things to say; I want to lift up four of them. First, Paul says that Christ's victory over death is a fact, a fact through which God has vindicated the power of love. You'll notice that Paul doesn't describe or debate the "how" of resurrection; none of the Christian writers do. Paul doesn't even know the story of the empty tomb; Luke and the others who have this tradition are much later than Paul. But this isn't important to Paul: not the empty tomb, nor the "how." What is important is the fact of a living Christ whose presence we experience in the Spirit. This isn't a debatable issue for Paul; it is rather a real, living experience of the Living and Risen Christ in our own lives. And through the resurrection of Jesus, Paul says God has made a statement about where victory lies: it lives in love -- and love is victorious over all, even over death itself; this is first.
Secondly, Paul says that even though right now the victory of love isn't quite complete, it has been won, and it will come in its completeness. In Paul's mind this is why we -- not Christ, but we -- still struggle, hurt, fail, and even die. Christ's victory hasn't completely transformed all existence yet, but it will! You can count on it.
Thirdly, and this is tremendously important, Paul says that because of Christ's victory -- the victory of love -- we, in Christ, shall share in it -- not only ultimately, in its completeness, but we can and shall share in it now! Those who are a part of Christ will live, and already are living, the resurrected life! Just as Christ found victory in the power of love, we shall know victory in the power of love; this, too, is a fact.
Lastly, Paul proclaims that if we shall share in the victory, and even are sharing in it now, we can live now with confidence, joy, and hope. We, in this present moment, know now the life-giving power of love. We know now that our lives are going somewhere, that there is purpose and meaning in living, that life can make some sense after all. And because we know all of this now -- that God's love in Christ is ultimately victorious, and we shall be, too -- we can face the "now" -- today -- with hope.
Hear with hope what Paul is saying: death -- in all of its forms: not just the cessation of breath, but dead dreams, dead useless lives, a heart stilled from hurt, the places of our lives where truly life has vanished and we are in the tombs -- death in all its forms and all of its power has no power over us. It has no power today! This is Paul's answer to the Messengers at the tomb: "Why seek the living among the dead?" (Luke 24:5). You don't! You seek, and find, the Living One in your living, for this is where life is found and death is defeated -- today! And if you don't seek and find it today, tomorrow isn't going to matter.
Can we really trust in this? Or, like those who heard the news on the first Easter simply think that it's an idle tale, what the text in Luke 24:11 calls literally "the ravings of someone in delirium"? I don't know the answer to that for you, any more than you know the answer for me. We cannot answer this question for each other, but only for ourselves, personally. I do know this, however: if we don't have an answer today, tomorrow isn't going to matter. You see, Paul was right about something else: hope -- without fulfillment today -- is worse than no hope at all. It is because today is the day we have; this one; and we have to deal with it before we can face any others.
Look, then, at the calendar with care. It says today -- not yesterday, not tomorrow -- but today is Easter. In the silence that surrounds us God has spoken, shouted to the world, "Christ is risen; Christ is risen, indeed!" Lift your voices, Easter people! Today we really do have something to say to each other, to say to this desperate world gripped in its own silence. For if it is the Christians who are not speaking to each other today, no tomorrow will matter to anyone!
