(I began with three young volunteers playing keep-away with a ball)
This is my metaphor for this morning. A person feeling stuck in the middle, unable to quite get to the ball, moving one way, then the other, and feeling frustrated.
I’ve been living in that place lately. I have this new baby so I’ve been (theoretically at least) on maternity leave. It’s a strange place to be – sort of between worlds. I’m here, but not really here. And yet at home I feel that way too sometimes. It’s probably partly the sleep haze. And partly that I haven’t quite figured out this new little being. One day she’ll be perfectly content and sleep great, the next day it’s like some phantom is pinching her. And no matter what mood she’s in, getting anything else done or being much good for the other kids has been difficult. The logistics of 3 children are still a bit of a mystery to me. And so some days I feel like I’m stuck in this strange in-between. I can’t quite catch the ball.
That’s where we find ourselves this morning here at church too. Today is the last Sunday of Easter. We are smack dab between Ascension Day – when the visible Christ departed from the disciples – and the Day of Pentecost – when the disciples received the gift of the Holy Spirit. For a brief time, the poor disciples are left with nothing. Memories of a ball, promises of a ball to come, but no ball in hand.
And we in the Church (with a capital C) are living in the in-between time in a larger, more cosmic sense as well. God came to dwell with us in the person of Jesus, bringing comfort and love and challenge. Raising Jesus from the dead, redeeming humanity, and reconciling us to God. And yet the Kingdom of God has not yet been established on earth. Everyday in the newspapers, on the streets, in our schools and workplaces – and in ourselves – we are surrounded by reminders of how incomplete is the beautiful vision of God.
This feeling of being stuck in between is reflected in our readings this morning. In Acts, a possessed slave girl and a Roman jailer recognize in Paul and Silas the presence of the Most High God while the others around them can only see that these Christians are disturbing the city. In Revelation, we hear John’s vision of Jesus promising that he is coming soon and all the people waiting and hoping. In our Gospel, we get the last few sentences of Jesus’ farewell speech to the disciples, where he prays that they (and those of us who follow) might be one in their love for one another, something that neither they nor we have been able to pull off.
The already-but-not-yet is a frustrating place to live.
Not so long ago, I had one particularly wearisome day when I tried to plan an adventure for the kids and it melted down into a disaster. Maya was fussy and inconsolable, and the other two weren’t listening, and I was impatient and no fun to be around. That evening I posted on Facebook that I was looking forward to Maya being old enough that we could all enjoy our outings together again. And someone commented on my post that I needed to enjoy this time with the baby because it won’t be long that her favorite place to be is in my arms.
It was a much needed reminder not to wish away the present. Not to spend so much time looking backwards or ahead that I miss the here and now. Great advice for me personally, and pretty good advice for us spiritually also.
So the question for us (in our personal in-between times and in our more spiritual and cosmic in-between times) is how exactly can we stop living in the past or wishing ourselves into the future and be fruitful in the moment?
And one answer, at least according to the book of Revelation, is surprisingly simple. And that’s from a book of the Bible that very very rarely can be described as surprisingly simple!
The seventh from last sentence of Revelation, right at the tail end of the whole Bible, says, “Blessed are those who wash their robes….” That’s the instruction for those of us waiting for the Alpha and the Omega. While we wait for the old order of things to pass away – while we wish for the fulfillment of the promise that there will one day be no more death or mourning or crying or pain – we should do laundry!
Really! I know it sounds strange but I actually think it might work!
In Revelation, we hear Jesus telling us he is coming soon; we hear the Spirit and the Bride inviting him to come, and we are urged to echo the invitation: “Let everyone who hears say ‘Come!’” But that call for Jesus to come is also our call to ministry, not an invitation for us to sit and watch and wait.
And so, in the meantime, we do laundry. Laundry, as all of us know too well, isn’t always terribly exciting (although it can be when Holden leaves wads of cash in his pockets). Laundry isn’t flashy. Unless you mix in your new fuscia shirt with your whites, it’s unlikely that anyone will even notice what you’ve been up to. And except for those of you with spectacularly well-trained families, you are unlikely to receive a lot of thanks for the laundry you do. But, nevertheless, laundry is necessary and good.
Rather than sky- or navel-gazing, Revelation’s laundry metaphor urges us to go about the everyday work of the faithful in a broken world – to become active participants in God’s work wherever we find ourselves and in whatever small ways are open to us.
There’s a Jewish theologian named Abraham Heschel who talked about the way humans live their lives as being our response to God. It isn’t about living perfectly or praying all the time but living in a manner that is “compatible with God’s presence.” Being able to recognize God breaking into the most ordinary of human circumstances and becoming God’s partner. Making the most of this time in-between.
But there are risks to this participation business. There’s a risk that we won’t see the opportunities that lie before us. There’s a risk that we might forget that the work we’re doing is for God and not for ourselves. There’s a risk that we might forget to share our burden and get overwhelmed by what we take on. There’s a risk that we won’t see any results from what we do and get discouraged.
And that’s why I think part of the trick is doing our laundry the right way.
In my house, there is a very serious philosophical divide when it comes to laundry. If Holden is doing it, he brings down every stitch of dirty or possibly dirty clothing in the house and dumps it all on the laundry room floor. And then he is focused the whole day on reducing this three foot sea of dirty clothes until it morphs into neat stacks, organized by person and item on the living room couch.
Now for me, that method is overwhelmingly depressing. All I can see is an impossible mountain of dirty clothes that taunts me each time I enter the room. I cannot bear it. Instead, I find it suits my sensibilities much better to take down just one load at a time. That way I can keep my eye on the prize. And I can be satisfied with doing one thing reasonably well, albeit a somewhat small thing, without it feeling like a crushing burden.
Which seems like a decent approach to our partnership with God as well. Stop worrying so much about that ball flying over our head just out of reach and make the most of what we’ve got right where we are. Rather than making ourselves miserable in the present with guilt and obligation and anxiety, rather than taking ourselves either too seriously or not seriously enough, we can start seeing everything we do – no matter how small – as part of the bigger picture of God’s work in the world. One day at a time, we can start living as we are meant to live, knowing that all that we are – every aspect of our lives – is being swept up into the beautiful vision of God.
What one load of laundry might be yours to start on today?
This is my metaphor for this morning. A person feeling stuck in the middle, unable to quite get to the ball, moving one way, then the other, and feeling frustrated.
I’ve been living in that place lately. I have this new baby so I’ve been (theoretically at least) on maternity leave. It’s a strange place to be – sort of between worlds. I’m here, but not really here. And yet at home I feel that way too sometimes. It’s probably partly the sleep haze. And partly that I haven’t quite figured out this new little being. One day she’ll be perfectly content and sleep great, the next day it’s like some phantom is pinching her. And no matter what mood she’s in, getting anything else done or being much good for the other kids has been difficult. The logistics of 3 children are still a bit of a mystery to me. And so some days I feel like I’m stuck in this strange in-between. I can’t quite catch the ball.
That’s where we find ourselves this morning here at church too. Today is the last Sunday of Easter. We are smack dab between Ascension Day – when the visible Christ departed from the disciples – and the Day of Pentecost – when the disciples received the gift of the Holy Spirit. For a brief time, the poor disciples are left with nothing. Memories of a ball, promises of a ball to come, but no ball in hand.
And we in the Church (with a capital C) are living in the in-between time in a larger, more cosmic sense as well. God came to dwell with us in the person of Jesus, bringing comfort and love and challenge. Raising Jesus from the dead, redeeming humanity, and reconciling us to God. And yet the Kingdom of God has not yet been established on earth. Everyday in the newspapers, on the streets, in our schools and workplaces – and in ourselves – we are surrounded by reminders of how incomplete is the beautiful vision of God.
This feeling of being stuck in between is reflected in our readings this morning. In Acts, a possessed slave girl and a Roman jailer recognize in Paul and Silas the presence of the Most High God while the others around them can only see that these Christians are disturbing the city. In Revelation, we hear John’s vision of Jesus promising that he is coming soon and all the people waiting and hoping. In our Gospel, we get the last few sentences of Jesus’ farewell speech to the disciples, where he prays that they (and those of us who follow) might be one in their love for one another, something that neither they nor we have been able to pull off.
The already-but-not-yet is a frustrating place to live.
Not so long ago, I had one particularly wearisome day when I tried to plan an adventure for the kids and it melted down into a disaster. Maya was fussy and inconsolable, and the other two weren’t listening, and I was impatient and no fun to be around. That evening I posted on Facebook that I was looking forward to Maya being old enough that we could all enjoy our outings together again. And someone commented on my post that I needed to enjoy this time with the baby because it won’t be long that her favorite place to be is in my arms.
It was a much needed reminder not to wish away the present. Not to spend so much time looking backwards or ahead that I miss the here and now. Great advice for me personally, and pretty good advice for us spiritually also.
So the question for us (in our personal in-between times and in our more spiritual and cosmic in-between times) is how exactly can we stop living in the past or wishing ourselves into the future and be fruitful in the moment?
And one answer, at least according to the book of Revelation, is surprisingly simple. And that’s from a book of the Bible that very very rarely can be described as surprisingly simple!
The seventh from last sentence of Revelation, right at the tail end of the whole Bible, says, “Blessed are those who wash their robes….” That’s the instruction for those of us waiting for the Alpha and the Omega. While we wait for the old order of things to pass away – while we wish for the fulfillment of the promise that there will one day be no more death or mourning or crying or pain – we should do laundry!
Really! I know it sounds strange but I actually think it might work!
In Revelation, we hear Jesus telling us he is coming soon; we hear the Spirit and the Bride inviting him to come, and we are urged to echo the invitation: “Let everyone who hears say ‘Come!’” But that call for Jesus to come is also our call to ministry, not an invitation for us to sit and watch and wait.
And so, in the meantime, we do laundry. Laundry, as all of us know too well, isn’t always terribly exciting (although it can be when Holden leaves wads of cash in his pockets). Laundry isn’t flashy. Unless you mix in your new fuscia shirt with your whites, it’s unlikely that anyone will even notice what you’ve been up to. And except for those of you with spectacularly well-trained families, you are unlikely to receive a lot of thanks for the laundry you do. But, nevertheless, laundry is necessary and good.
Rather than sky- or navel-gazing, Revelation’s laundry metaphor urges us to go about the everyday work of the faithful in a broken world – to become active participants in God’s work wherever we find ourselves and in whatever small ways are open to us.
There’s a Jewish theologian named Abraham Heschel who talked about the way humans live their lives as being our response to God. It isn’t about living perfectly or praying all the time but living in a manner that is “compatible with God’s presence.” Being able to recognize God breaking into the most ordinary of human circumstances and becoming God’s partner. Making the most of this time in-between.
But there are risks to this participation business. There’s a risk that we won’t see the opportunities that lie before us. There’s a risk that we might forget that the work we’re doing is for God and not for ourselves. There’s a risk that we might forget to share our burden and get overwhelmed by what we take on. There’s a risk that we won’t see any results from what we do and get discouraged.
And that’s why I think part of the trick is doing our laundry the right way.
In my house, there is a very serious philosophical divide when it comes to laundry. If Holden is doing it, he brings down every stitch of dirty or possibly dirty clothing in the house and dumps it all on the laundry room floor. And then he is focused the whole day on reducing this three foot sea of dirty clothes until it morphs into neat stacks, organized by person and item on the living room couch.
Now for me, that method is overwhelmingly depressing. All I can see is an impossible mountain of dirty clothes that taunts me each time I enter the room. I cannot bear it. Instead, I find it suits my sensibilities much better to take down just one load at a time. That way I can keep my eye on the prize. And I can be satisfied with doing one thing reasonably well, albeit a somewhat small thing, without it feeling like a crushing burden.
Which seems like a decent approach to our partnership with God as well. Stop worrying so much about that ball flying over our head just out of reach and make the most of what we’ve got right where we are. Rather than making ourselves miserable in the present with guilt and obligation and anxiety, rather than taking ourselves either too seriously or not seriously enough, we can start seeing everything we do – no matter how small – as part of the bigger picture of God’s work in the world. One day at a time, we can start living as we are meant to live, knowing that all that we are – every aspect of our lives – is being swept up into the beautiful vision of God.
What one load of laundry might be yours to start on today?
Comments
Post a Comment