Up From the Abyss
Joyce Rupp writes books on spiritual development… and she writes poetry. I have enjoyed tapping the well of her writings for the past few years. She has stretched my understanding of my relationship with God and, at times, set the fire burning again. As I was preparing the sermon for this week, I discovered a poem of hers that talks about spiritual renewal, using the same vision from Ezekiel that we just read. I shared this poem with those who went to the cemetery yesterday, for it is, in its own way, a resurrection poem that seem to fit the life of Estelene Curry, but I would also like to share it with you. It is called, “May I Have This Dance?”
there I am
in Ezekiel’s valley,
one heap among many
just another stack
of old, dry bones.
some Mondays
feel this way,
and Tuesdays, too,
to say nothing of
Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday.
lost dreams
and forgotten pleasures,
sold like a soul
to a gluttonous world
feeding on my frenzy
and anxious activity.
but just when
the old heap of bones
seems most dry
and deserted,
a strong Breath of Life
stirs among my dead.
someone named God
comes to my fragments
and asks, with twinkling eye:
“May I have this dance?”
the Voice stretches into me,
a stirring leaps in my heart,
lifting up the bones of death.
then I offer my waiting self
to the One who’s never stopped
believing in me,
and the dance begins.
When I was young, I used to watch those who professed to be Christian to see whether I could see signs of God’s presence in their lives. From what I had read in scripture, these people should be happy all the time and should be living a life of joyful, uncomplaining, humble service to others, filled with gratitude to God for all God’s gifts. But, it did not seem to matter which person I picked, they never seemed to live up to that ideal. Even the ones who had had some kind of “conversion experience” eventually lost the luster of that glorious moment and their lives drifted back into ordinariness again. If you really knew God… as I assumed that all Christians did… why would life ever be ordinary?
I have always wondered why we, as Christians, cannot hold on to that powerful euphoria and wondrous renewal that happens in those moments that Kimberly Dunam Reisman (in our evening Bible study) calls our “Little Pentecosts” – a time of spiritual connection with God. Even that old hymn, “Amazing Grace” seems to hint that it is a passing thing. “’Twas grace that taught my heart to fear and grace my fears relieved. How precious did that grace appear, the hour I first believed.” The hour I first believed? Why only an hour? Why not days… weeks… months… years? Why not forever? I never understood that. Why does the magic fade over time? Oh, it is still there, but not as vivid… not as real…not as compelling… not as powerful as it was in that first moment. Why? And how does one recapture it?
The Prophet Ezekiel was dealing with a people in bondage… a people without hope. They had lost everything… their homes… their families… their possessions… their land… and yes, even their belief in a God who would protect them from harm. They once had everything and now they had lost it all. They once lived in the Promised Land… a land flowing with milk and honey. Now, they were living as slaves in Babylon… second-class citizens in a land that did not want them. God was not there. God had apparently deserted them.
In reality, their relationship with God died long before the fall of Jerusalem and the destruction of the two kingdoms of Israel and Judea. In reality, their relationship with God had slowly disappeared in the midst of perfection… in the midst of their life in the Promised Land… a life built on God’s laws… protected by God’s people. Now hundreds of miles from home… living under a government established by people who did not know God… with nothing they could call their own, they had to find their way back… not just to the Promised Land, but to a relationship with God that they once had. How could they do that? How could they find hope when they were living a life devoid of hope? How could they reconnect with God when they had been disconnected for so long?
How long have you felt disconnected from God… and how, in this time of reflection and renewal, will you reconnect with God? We, too, live in a land that allows us the freedom to worship as we choose. We, too, live in a country that many consider to be the “Promised Land.” Yet, we too, become disconnected from our relationship to God and drift away, unaware of the danger of that disconnectedness.
My son was born at the very beginning of the “Baby Boomlet.” Many of the marvelous inventions that have been introduced in recent years were not available then. One of the very first, however, was available in a rudimentary form: that sling that holds a baby close to his parent’s chest while leaving the parent’s arms free for other tasks. I find it amazing that Native Americans and other peoples have had these slings for generations, but we have only “discovered” them in the last two decades. Now there are wonderfully advanced baby backpacks that actually allow parents to carry a child effortlessly wherever they go and park them upright on the floor when they arrive at their destination. I just had a cloth sack with straps that went over my shoulders and tied around my waist. But that sack kept Julian close to my heart while I bought groceries, cleaned the house, and took care of a myriad of other tasks.
One invention I often wished I had when my very active young son was a toddler was the wrist leash. I cannot count the number of times that his tiny hand slipped out of mine as he ran to investigate another mystery of life. My only recourse was to run after him, calling his name and heading him off at the pass.
Don’t we need some sort of device that keeps us tied close to God… attached at the wrist to the One who leads us through life? Or do we need a sling that holds us bound tightly… our head resting close to the heart of our Creator? What are the things that keep us bound to God, so that our lives are lived in his life… and our very existence is linked to God’s? This time of Lent is a time to re-examine our lives to see where those connections are … to see what binds us to God and to strengthen those connections… or to re-establish them if they are missing. In my life, there are two different ways in which I remain connected to God. The first is the reading of scripture. I would compare the reading of the Bible in my life with the little wrist leash that toddlers wear. That leash… reading the Bible… always tells me where God is and where God wants me to be. It is how I learn to be a child of God… how I learn the path I am to walk… how I learn when to stop and when to start… how to walk the path as a Christian.
The second way that I stay connected with God is through prayer. This connection is more like the sling that binds me close… closer than a leash… pressed against my Creator’s bosom. The time that I spend in prayer opens me to hear the heart of God beating in my ear. I can hear God’s voice speaking in a way that resonates deeply in my life. Resting close to the very heart of God, I am renewed and restored in a way that brings life and hope, purpose and meaning. In this place… a place of prayer… I find comfort and peace.
During this time of Lent, we have provided opportunities for everyone to plunge deeper into these two different ways of being connected to God. Our Lenten Bible studies are opening up the scriptures to us in a new way. And, while the weekly studies are tied together by a theme, each week’s lesson stands alone as a unique experience within the scriptures. In our interaction with others during our study time, we can seen different perspectives and examine rich new meanings in the text.
In contrast, our Wednesday evening meditations offer a silent time of openness and communication with God. In a sanctuary that is insulated from the outside world, where the lights have been dimmed and candles flicker around the chancel, there is nothing to distract us from seeking the heart of God and resting there for a brief time… nothing to stop us from pouring our hearts out to the One who loves us and listening for his voice. I have an advantage over all of you in that I can do that in the middle of my work day, for this sanctuary is only a few steps away from my desk. But I have found that those few steps make all the difference in the world. Coming here pulls me from daily tasks to broader visions… from predictable routine to the extraordinary unpredictability… from chaos to peace.
There are times in the life of every young mother when the “work” of motherhood overcomes the “joy” of that experience. But I always found that, if I tied Julian in that sling close to my heart, it not only transformed him into a peaceful, satisfied bundle of humanity … it also transformed me into a gentler, more caring parent and guardian. I know that my life of prayer transforms me… for I tie myself to God’s bosom and rest close to God’s heart. I often wonder whether my doing this also transforms God. It certainly feels like it does… and I like to believe that it does.
This sanctuary is here 24-hours a day, seven days a week, and, most of the time, it is empty. I want to invite you to come here… on a day that is not Sunday… at a time that is not a time for worship… and drink deeply of the mystery of this place. If there is a car in the parking lot, there is usually someone in the church. Come to the church… it is a different experience from Sunday morning. Connect with God… and feel the wind of God Spirit re-enter those dead bones and bring you to life again.
On the evening of Maundy Thursday… after the Seder Meal and throughout the night when we commemorate Jesus’ dark night of the soul… his night of solitude and prayer… this sanctuary will be open… not for worship, but for anyone who chooses to come and spend time in silence with God. I hope that you will take advantage of this time to reconnect with God… and to pray. It could change your life forever. Amen.
Ezekiel 37:1-14