Fourth Sunday After Pentecost Year C 2010

No Longer

04 Pentecost C 10

Father's Day

June 20, 2010

1 Kings 19:1-4, (5-7), 8-15a

Psalm 42 and 43

Galatians 3:23-29

Luke 8:26-39

(to the reader: about an hour before our services, Elaine Wilson Miller, one of Philippi's most honored members, passed away at 96 years of age.)

It seems fitting that Elaine Miller would fly to her heavenly rest on a Sunday morning.

Elaine amazed us. Many, many years, about fifty I guess, we have known and loved her here in Deltaville. Most of us know about the remarkable way she seemed to love everyone, even the people who were annoying and difficult. And not just in our congregation, but throughout out community. And not just throughout our community, but people halfway around the globe. This tiny little woman just seemed to pour love into the world.

Elaine didn't like being called a saint, I think because she knew that people meant by the term that she had no faults, and Elaine knew that she had faults. But I like that old quote from Dorothy Day, the great Roman Catholic lay woman who dedicated her life to helping the working poor, "Don't call me a saint; you can't dismiss me that easily."

Elaine would never say such a harsh word. But I have to agree with Dorothy. I think when we call someone like Elaine a saint, we are letting ourselves off the hook. It seems to me when we call someone a saint we are saying, "Of course, I can't be expected to live like that." We are, in essence, dismissing them.

Let's not dismiss Elaine by calling her a saint. Let's take this morning to learn from her.

How many people here want to do God's will? Raise your hands. I thought so. It's unanimous. We all want to do God's will. And you know, if you went out there and found everyone who believed in God, if you went into all the other churches in Middlesex, if you went and found all the people who are worshipping at St. Mattress, or the Cathedral of the Chesapeake, and you asked them if they wanted to the will of God, I think they'd all say they absolutely would.

The question that naturally arises, though, is "why don't we?"

The wonderful thing about people who believe in God, and there are lot of people who do, is that they all want to do God's will. And you know, even atheists and agnostics, even people who don't really believe in God, if you asked them, they would say that they want to live moral lives and adhere to good values. Even if they don't believe in God, they certainly believe in goodness.

We all want to do the right thing. We all want to live moral lives. We all want to do God's will. We all want to love everyone. We all want to bless the world. We all want to live every moment in the light.

Well, then, why don't we?

To me the essence of freedom is doing what you really want to do. We really, really want to do God's will. So, if we were truly free, we would. We would do God's will all the time.

It's obvious that most of us, no matter how badly we want to do God's will all the time, don't. And it's obvious that even though we want only to be associated with things that are good, we aren't. We are all of us woven into all kinds of evil. And even in our interpersonal relationships, right close by, in our families and in our communities, we somehow find ourselves doing things we're not proud of, getting caught up in behavior that we thought we'd never get into. How many times have we somehow hurt someone, when we didn't mean to? How many times have we found ourselves gossiping about someone and afterwards winced in recognition of how wrong we had been to do so?

Today is Father's Day, and I feel about as ambivalent about Father's Day as I do about Mother's Day. It seems to me that both days insist on promoting this ideal vision of motherhood and fatherhood that to many, many people is completely false. I hear the odes to perfect fathers and I remember that I don't even know my birth father's name, and I don't know if my adoptive father is alive or dead. I hear these songs about strength and dependability and tenderness and I remember that my own fatherhood has never been good enough for the standard. I'm glad for all those people who had loving fathers, but that's not my experience, and I know it's not the experience of a lot of people. But here is yet another example of what I'm talking about: every father wants to be the father we celebrate on Father's Day, but very, very few actually are.

Why?

Something prevents us. Something seems to compel us to do what we would not do, and to refrain from doing what we want to do. We want to do God's will, but something always seems to get in the way.

Elijah wanted to do God's will. Oh, yes, old Elijah, now there's a guy none of us could hold a candle to in the faith department, right? But here, a situation prevails that drives even this epitome of faith into despair. He gets word that Jezebel has a contract out on his life, and he runs. The war is over, Lord, and we lost. It never dawns on him as he runs into the wilderness that a God who could provide him with a nice breakfast every morning might be more powerful than Jezebel.

Jezebel is impressive, baby. She's got the big palace and the big throne and the political connections and the highly trained assassins just waiting for her orders. She's big and scary, no doubt. So maybe a God who serves you breakfast doesn't seem like a God who could stand up to her.

But, as Elijah finds out, God is not in the big and the scary. God is not in the hurricane and God is not in the earthquake. The power that defeats all other power is not like that. The power that sets us free to be ourselves has a whole different profile. In the book of Revelation, John sees Jesus in heaven as a lamb on a throne. Against the legions of Rome, a lamb. One preacher called God's power, "Lamb Power." It's not in the big and scary.

Elijah isn't free because he lives in a free country. Elijah isn't free because the law of the land lets him do what he wants. Elijah is free because he has the quiet power of God. Nothing can stop that power, not even Jezebel and all her assassins.

The poor man in the land of Gerasenes is not free. He is compelled to rip off his clothes and howl and shriek and live outside among the graves. He has no home, no friends, no family, no community. The legion of demons infesting him have completely robbed him of himself. They are loud, powerful, terrifying.

But they are under Jesus' authority. You notice there's no struggle. Luke doesn't tell us that Jesus trained for a week before he took on this task. There's no sense that Jesus finds this in any way difficult. And you'll also notice that the demons don't even bother to resist. They know Jesus right away, and the only option available to them is negotiation. They've been ordered to leave the man, and that order is not up for discussion. All they can do is ask for a different destination.

Upon his release, the man is clothed in his right mind, and now has a home he can go to. He can now be who he was meant to be.

This is the power of freedom given as a gift from God. It's not big or flashy. It's quiet and peaceful. It doesn't compel anyone to do anything but releases them to do what they really want: to be children of God. This is what happened to Elaine. A long time ago, she fell in love with Jesus, and she was set free to be who she was made to be.

Now, I want to point out that not everyone who is set free ends up looking like Elaine. That's just another kind of legalism, another way of locking us up in a cell. What's magnificent about God's new creation is that every person who is liberated has a different set of gifts and graces. Some are sweet and loving people like Elaine, some are fiery prophets like Elijah, some are passionate evangelists like Paul. Once we start doing what we were born to do, we are each one a unique and lovely creation.

No longer male or female, Jew or Greek, slave or free. No longer bound to convention or culture or law. No longer concerned with the murky question of what is wrong and what is right. No longer worried about any power that might demand our allegiance or try to compel us. No longer locked in any spiritual prison.

No longer bound, but free.

Amen.