June 15,
2008
Proper
6A
Genesis
18:1-15, 21:1-7, Romans 5:1-8,
Matthew
9:35-10:8
There’s an old story about a priest, a minister and a rabbi who
took a day off together and decided to go fishing. Once out in a
boat, the priest said, “It is wonderful to be here together. Why
don’t we get to know one another by sharing some of our
struggles?” They all agreed that it was hard to find people to
talk to and that they would support one another. The priest said,
“Well, I’ll go first. I have this problem with the bottle. For a
while I could control it but now, I have to admit, there have been
more than a few times when I have gone in and finished the wine
for communion.” The others nodded solemnly. The rabbi said, “My
problem isn’t that. My problem is this woman who sings in our
choir. She and I have always been good friends but now its
becoming more than that…” There was silence in the boat. Then the
priest and rabbi looked over at the minister. He looked down for a
minute, then smiled and said, “My problem is gossip and I can’t
wait to get out of here!”
You laughed! That’s a funny thing because somewhere, somehow, we
have been taught that church is serious and we’re not supposed to
laugh – especially when things look pretty tragic. As the story of
Sarah tells us in this morning’s reading from Genesis, nothing
could be further than the truth. At first glance, Sarah’s story
isn’t very funny. While tradition proclaims Abraham as a veritable
paragon of faith, the founder of three of the world’s great
religions, and a great godly leader, Sarah might tell a slightly
different story. If Sarah had a little time, she might describe
how this marvelous man of monotheism was not an easy husband, and
how all the talk of being the father of many nations had gone
straight to his head. Sarah, after all, left a successful happy
home surrounded by family to follow her husband on a crazy
mid-life crisis business venture. She was a beautiful woman who –
because of her husband’s political machinations and complete lack
of backbone – was forced to lie about her identity and almost had
to lie first with Pharaoh and then again with another king named
Abimelech. However, despite her beauty, she, in a culture that
valued women according to the number of children they could bear,
was unable to get pregnant and had to stand idly by while her
husband went to her servant in order to have a child (something
she didn’t handle well!). The bottom line is that by the time we
meet her today, Sarah had been through a lot to please Abraham and
his God. Like some pastor’s wives, she had had quite enough of
this religion thing and was angry and more than a little fed up.
And so, when she actually heard Abraham’s God talking doing
something for her by giving her – a woman far past childbearing
age – the opportunity to be a mother.
There are a couple of interesting things about her laughter. Note
that she was not the first to laugh. Abraham did exactly the same
thing when God talked to him. Notice also that that though God
hears her and confronts her with her denial, God is not angry. In
fact, God has Abraham name the child “Isaac” which means, “He
laughs.”
Sometimes we take God so seriously that we forget to laugh. We
take piety so seriously we forget that praising God is supposed to
be fun. We get so focused on what’s wrong that we forget that the
gospel is supposed to be about Good News. Have you ever noticed
in our prayers that the petitions for people who are sick are much
longer than the thanksgivings? It isn’t supposed to be that way!
This week is the 20th anniversary of my ordination. In
large part, I pursued ordination because my time with the
Episcopal chaplain at Northwestern University, a man named Scott
for whom my son is named. Scott did many things for us. He taught
us that God gave us brains to use and that there was no such thing
as a bad question. He loved us and in his acceptance of our angst
and struggles showed us that God loved us as well. Finally, he
taught us that church – being in church – could be fun. Over the
mantle of his home he had a large sketch he called the laughing
Jesus. It showed Jesus sitting at a table, holding a glass of wine
in his hand, with his head thrown back in laughter. Remember last
week’s lesson where Jesus hung out with tax collectors and
sinners? That picture taught me that at least in part he went to
them instead of the Pharisees because they were more real – and
had more fun.
The past twenty years have been an adventure. Answering God’s call
has led me to the streets of New York, the powwow grounds of an
Indian reservation, campgrounds in the National Parks, Sunday
schools in the West Indies, AIDS clinics in Africa, souks in the
Middle East, and monasteries in Europe. I have served churches in
Barbados, in the Chicago suburbs and in Maryland and have served
cathedrals in Paris, in Washington DC, and now in Portland.
Ministry has brought me to the homes of ambassadors and princesses
and the dwelling places of prisoners and refugees. I have eaten
Thanksgiving dinner with movie stars, homeless people, and
everyone in between. My words have been quoted in numerous
publications ranging from the seriousness religion section of the
Washington Times to the Hollywood Section of the National
Inquirer. Like the story of Abraham, on the surface it looks
pretty golden. Like the story of Sarah, it has been a journey with
real struggles and pain as well as joy. Every place I have served
has struggled with finance and the maintaining of a falling down
building. Every place has had parishioners in crisis who have
transferred their dysfunction to the congregation or clergy. At
the same time, every place stood as a witness to the forgiving,
healing, and renewing power of God. In all the people I have met
and places I have been, the message God gave to Sarah stands out.
It’s OK to laugh, especially when things are at their worst. It is
more important to be real than to be religious, more important to
be honest with God than to say what we think God wants to hear.
Even when things are the most difficult, its OK to laugh at the
absurdity of it all, especially knowing that, is in the case of
Sarah, God will provide and in the end we will be blessed. Notice
that like Abram whose name was changed to Abraham because of his
covenant with God, Sarah’s name was changed from Sarai as a
powerful symbol of how her life was changed by her interaction
with God. Her story tells us that the same life transformation
can happen to us.
In our gospel this morning, Jesus sends out the twelve apostles
for the first time. The Bible tells us that the apostles were a
motley crew – most unlikely vessels of grace. I imagine that they
were not unaware of that fact and imagine that when the apostles
heard what Jesus was asking them to do, some of them probably
found it so outlandish that they had to cough loudly in order to
suppress some giggles and guffaws. Is that you? Have you, like
Sarah, been around the block enough with this religion thing that
you are burned out, gun shy, or quite honestly a bit skeptical
that it can work? Do you find yourself looking at the doubling of
oil bills and looming $5 a gallon for gas wondering how you are
going to make it? Have you looked at natural disasters in Iowa
(not to mention China or Myanmar) and wondering if God cares about
the suffering you and others are going through? Would you, like
Sarah, be tempted to laugh if you heard that God was going to do
great things not just for you but also through you? Would you,
like the apostles, look at your feet and reflecting on your own
story and think he can’t quite possibly be talking about me?
As I said a few minutes ago, the problem is that we somehow have
come to believe that truly spiritual people are somehow
otherworldly and perfect, holy and wholly different folks. The
story of the priest, the rabbi and the minister in the boat tells
us that isn’t the case. The story of Sarah tells us the same
thing. God knew that Sarah had gotten the short end of the stick.
God knew that she had suffered and that she had acted badly. God
also knew that laughter was the best medicine – not just for her
but for all those many generations who would follow – and that she
would be blessed. Sarah teaches us that it is more important to be
real than to be religious and more important to be honest with God
than to say what we think God wants to hear. Sarah tells us that
if we can do that – if we like her can laugh at the absurdity of
what God has promised – we like her will discover that God’s
promises are real and we like her will find God doing great things
through and for us as well. That’s what the Good News of Jesus
Christ is all about.
