A Sermon for Proper 23A 2008
I have learned to be content with whatever I
have. I know what it is to have
little and I know what it is to have
plenty. In any and all circumstances, I
have learned the secret of being well fed and going hungry, of having plenty
and of being in need. I can do all
things through the One who strengthens me.
I have learned to be content with whatever I
have, in any and all circumstances. What odd and attractive words St. Paul speaks to us in this morning. These words are odd to us who live in a
society which is utterly obsessed with the circumstances of life -- especially now as our financial system seems
to be coming apart. In good times, we
put our energy into striving for things we hope will improve the circumstances
of our lives -- a better job, a nicer
house, a newer car, a good life for our children. In bad times, we worry about what we can’t
control and work to control what we can. We put great effort into preventing the
painful circumstances of life -- financial
loss, illness, accident, death -- so
much so that when these events occur, people often look around for the
likeliest people to blame – and sometimes sue -- simply because some circumstance has not to
turned out as they wished. Paul’s claim to be content in all circumstances,
good and bad, seems odd to us indeed.
Yet Paul’s words are attractive, too, aren’t they? I have
learned to be content with whatever I have.
Peace flows through these words;
Serenity breathes in the acceptance of whatever life brings that Paul has
learned. Many of us long for such peace
and serenity in our own lives, and admire when we see it in others’. Paul’s words have an odd attraction for us who
live so obsessed by circumstance. In
this scary October of 2008 we just might want to know what this secret of contentment
is that Paul says he has learned.
To do that, we need first to be clear what it is that
Paul isn’t saying. Paul is no Stoic philosopher: he is not saying that the circumstances of
life don’t matter. He does not preach a
detached disengagement from the stuff of human life as if it didn’t count. Paul knows that it matters whether you’re
hungry or full, sick or healthy, warm or cold, loved or alone, living or dying
-- and all things being equal, he would rather be on the good side of life,
like the rest of us. For instance, when
he wrote the letter we’ve read today, he was in jail, and it mattered to him
when Christians from the church at
Neither is Paul a Pollyanna who thinks everything is
great because he hasn’t experienced how hard life can be. His imprisonment doesn’t even make it onto the
list of bad circumstances that Paul recounts in another letter about his
apostolic journeys:
“Five times I have received the forty lashes minus one. Three times I was beaten with rods. Once I received a stoning. Three times I was shipwrecked; for a night and a day I was adrift at sea; on frequent journeys, in danger from rivers,
danger from bandits, danger from my own people, danger from Gentiles, danger in
the city, danger in the wilderness, danger at sea, danger from false brothers
and sisters; in toil and hardship,
through many a sleepless night, hungry and thirsty, often without food, cold
and naked.” [1]
And as if this weren’t enough, there was that mysterious illness which Paul
called a thorn in his flesh, a torment that he asked God to remove three times
-- but which remained. He knows that life can be bad as well as good,
painful as well as joyful. And he knows
that circumstances matter to us because God made us creatures of flesh and
blood, of feeling and desire, people who grieve and rage when life hurts, who
dance and sing when life is good.
Paul knows all of this, and yet he still can say, I have learned to be content with whatever I
have, in any and all circumstances. What then is this secret of contentment he has
learned? What is this knowledge he has
gained?
Paul has learned that though life’s circumstances matter, sometimes tremendously, circumstances are
not all that matter in life and not
all that there is to life. He has
learned to live in any and all circumstances, good or bad, without having his
heart and mind
captive to those circumstances -- because he knows that there is something more to his life than
the circumstances he finds himself in at any moment. He has discovered that above, beneath, around,
in, and through the circumstances of life is that mysterious something he calls
the peace of God which surpasses all understanding which keeps his heart and
mind in Christ Jesus.
I readily pray
for this peace of God which passes all understanding as I pronounce the
blessing at the end of the Eucharist on most Sundays. But I find it difficult to explain this peace of God because it
does surpass all understanding. It
cannot be controlled nor can it captured in words. Yet I know its real, because I’ve experienced
it in my own life and because I’ve heard many other people speak of their
experience of it, even as they’ve struggled, as I do, to find words for the
peace that God gives. So rather than try
to explain or analyze it – which, as Judith can tell you, is my perennial
temptation – I want instead to look at some of the times in life when we become
aware of that peace beyond words.
We can know that peace in those moments in the midst of
good circumstances when we experience a joy and a goodness that is deeper, broader,
and higher than the circumstances themselves could ever provide; when we know, if perhaps only briefly, that
our lives are undergirded by a presence of goodness and love that is beyond
understanding, but utterly trustworthy. I
remember a friend speaking of how she felt in the days immediately following
the birth of one of her children: a
sense of the universe simply being right and good and full of love. In those days, Barbara lived in awareness of
the peace of God that passes all understanding and she held onto the memory of
that awareness when circumstances were hard.
We can also know God’s peace in moments of great uncertainty
or anxiety, when somehow we know that in the midst of circumstances we can’t
control or figure out, God is present with us, and will remain with us no
matter what. That peace may come as or
after we’ve we raged and grieved over those tragedies and crises we would avoid
if only we could -- loss of a home or a
job, illness, loneliness, unfaithfulness, death -- perhaps blaming God because it
hurts so much that we have to have someone to blame. Such rage and grief can be a kind of prayer,
and if we stay with it honestly and faithfully, we can come to a place where we hear a voice speaking
peace to us in the midst of our struggle. My favorite poet, George
Herbert, put it this way at the end of a poem full of the anger and frustration
of a life hemmed in by unwanted circumstances:
But as I rav’d
and grew more fierce and wild
At every word,
Me thoughts I
heard one calling, Child:
And I replied, My
Lord.
But as I rav’d
and grew more fierce and wild
At every word,
Me thoughts I
heard one calling, Child:
And I replied, My
Lord.
In such moments, we discover that God is not the giver of
hard circumstances, but rather is the One who gets us through them, our loving companion who stays with us as we
live through whatever we must live through.
In the end, that companionship of love in all life’s circumstances
is the peace that passes
understanding of which Paul wrote. God
does not hand out peace in discrete packages while staying aloof or distant
from us. To the contrary, God’s peace is
what we experience as we discover Emmanuel, God with us, God present as our
loving companion: the shepherd who leads
us besides still waters, and who walks with us through the valley of the shadow
of death; the king who invites us to
wedding banquet, who spreads a table before us in the presence of our enemies,
and who wipes away the tears from every eye. The presence of this loving companion, who
comes to us in many ways, is the peace of God.
Do we live in this peace, aware of the God’s loving
companionship, all of the time? Of
course, not – and neither, by the way, did
Yet Paul does offer this peace to us as a promised gift
of God when in prayer and supplication and thanksgiving, we make our requests
known to God; when we bring ourselves,
the circumstances of our lives, and all we feel about them – joy, uncertainty,
delight, pain, rage, grief, whatever --
to God, and cling to God’s love as the reality that is deeper, broader,
and higher than whatever the chaos of life’s circumstance have thrown our way. Then, Paul promises, we may be sure that the peace of God which passes all
understanding will keep our hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.
This is Good News for us here in the Church. It is Good News, too, for the people around us
who right now are full of anxiety and fear about their financial circumstances.
I think you here know something of that
peace beyond understanding in your own experience. So I invite you to share
what you know of that peace with your friends, neighbors and co-workers as they
live in the midst of these anxious days. Share what you know, and then invite them here, that together we
may rejoice in the peace of God.
The Rev. Jack Zamboni
October 12, 2008