Sunday, November 6, 2011
I took a walk up at the park a few days ago – only to discover that a big truck had gone up there, and torn off a pretty good sized limb from one of the pines that line the driveway. Since – like all of us – I have taken some emotional ownership of that park, when I looked at that tree I felt horrible. The limb was just laying there on the ground blocking the driveway – the tree has a gash in it, the tree flesh is exposed, I could smell sap from that wound …and I was mad that the people driving that truck were so careless and irresponsible, and though it may sound silly, I just felt like a huge injustice had been done to that beautiful tall pine tree. Now I have gone up every day – a couple times a day to enjoy what’s left of the good weather – and yesterday morning I stopped under that tree…and I thought about all of us.
I thought about all our wounds. All the gaping gashes we have suffered. The losses of course; the disappointments of course…and also the times we have been purposely and deliberately hurt and exposed at the hands of another person. The times when harsh words and mean actions have made us vulnerable – the times when we suffered an injustice and were made to feel small and helpless. And right when I started to get really distraught - I thought about the church.
That’s one of the reasons why we come here. Yeah I know we are here to worship, to praise God, and lift up our thanksgivings, but there’s not a soul who sits in a church who isn’t wounded. Not a single soul who isn’t searching or perhaps begging for something.
The hymns, the scripture, the prayers, the promise of forgiveness = even the silence and the smell of this place, the way it looks, the way it feels, the way our spot in the pew has molded around us to make a perfect fit = and the people -- everything here has the power to lift and encourage, to calm and assure, to excite and convince, and sometimes to convict us – and all of it makes for renewal, for a new hope and the possibility of a new life.
And then the harsh and hard to hear words of this Old Testament Scripture passage came to mind.
“If you believe,” Amos said, “that you’re headed for the light – you’re mistaken cuz there’s nothing but darkness for you. If you think the day of the Lord is something to desire – you’ll be shocked to find it’ll be more like meeting a bear and getting bitten by a snake. Furthermore,” Amos continued, “God hates your offerings, your music, your celebrations, and God will no longer accept or be pleased with anything you do in worship”
A few years ago, someone called to tell me about her church experience. This person never attended church, but because of a particular trauma, and because a friend invited her to church – in the hopes that it would help…this personaccepted the invitation. She told me with great excitement – how as she sat in that pew she started to feel better – how halfway through the service a calm came over her and she felt like she had found a sense of peace, and after singing an inspiring hymn she left that church feeling closer to God, like she would be going to heaven, and even felt kind of brand new. And Minister that I am – I said, Great! And when I encouraged her to go back, the answer was, Oh no, I feel good now. There’s no reason anymore, so why would I go back?
One commentator writes, these days people go to church to feel good. If after a while the only reason you go to church is to feel good, to applaud yourself because you and yours are going to heaven, and make sure of your own personal salvation – you’d be better off to stay at home.
That’s God’s complaint – that we focus on all that feel good stuff and put blinders on when it comes to the things of the world that don’t feel very good at all. Truth is, there is nothing at all wrong with our church or our way of doing things on Sunday morning. What Amos is saying, and what God wants us to understand - is that there’s got to be more.
When we get too comfortable in here and tickled pink cuz we think (like my long lost friend) that just being here is our ticket to heaven, Amos tells us we’re wrong. When we come to believe that our Sunday morning worship is all that is required of us. Amos tells us we are wrong. When we are content to have our own wounds healed, but do not feel compelled to go out into the world to help and heal others, Amos tells us we are wrong. When we who have experienced every blessing at God’s hands, continue to close our doors on those who suffer indignity and injustice of every kind – when we are not willing to bless others as God has blessed us - Amos tells us we are wrong.
There’s not a soul in this world who isn’t wounded. Not a single soul who isn’t searching or perhaps begging for something. And every one of those souls are waiting to be lifted and encouraged, calmed and assured, excited and convinced…and we who call ourselves Christ’s disciples – we who say we are here on this earth to love and serve, have a word that makes it possible for people to be renewed, and hopeful, and able to embrace a new life.
Not a priest or a prophet, but a migrant worker; not an educated man of means, but a man who barely eeked out a living doing hard labor; he was a nobody from a place of no account. One hot, parched day, this man named Amos strolled into town, and interrupted the comfortable worship lives of the people of Israel. He carried with him a message from God. A harsh and hard to hear message that said God required them to look beyond the walls of the Temple, that God required them to go out into a world of gaping wounds, to work and serve so that justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream. He told them there’s got to be more.
And because they kept forgetting …and because we still forget, at the appropriate time, God sends us the words of Amos of Tekoa – and we hear him again.
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