DAY BY DAY, YEAR BY YEAR

Isaiah 6:1-8
Luke 5:1-11

St. Andrew's-Wesley United Church

Rev. Gary Paterson

January 31, 2010

 

It can happen so unexpectedly, as you’re walking through the days of your life, dealing with the groceries, the family, maybe a short walk, laundry, work, perhaps some music in the background, even a Sunday morning in church. Suddenly an everyday, ordinary moment is suffused with grace, shines so brightly out of the almost unseen background as to grab your attention; as if the tectonic plates of being were grinding sharply together, so that the earth moves, shifts, and you are caught by wonder and joy. It is as if, just below the surface of things, there is a holy river of love and light that can unexpectedly bubble or geyser upwards, spraying you with the waters of glory. Like your partner coming up behind you as you are puttering away in the kitchen, wrapping arms around you, holding you, nothing said, just strength and silence and love… for two wonderfully long minutes. Or perhaps a heron flying over head, and you stop and notice, and say to yourself, “Ah yes, the Holy Spirit flying to work again.” Maybe it happens when your daughter, or your grandson, grabs you by the pant-leg, insisting, “Come see; come see!” and you are wise enough to follow your heart so that you kneel down into delight. It can even occur in Safeway of all places, as you wheel your cart around the corner and “Wow!” the produce section explodes, the colours shining so brightly that you can actually taste them – the loud yellow of lemons; the dark green of spinach, the mysterious purple of eggplant, the sharp red of those tiny chili peppers that I have come to carefully respect after a month in India. Moments of holiness arrive so unexpectedly, and even for a short moment they take us to a different place, where we see and feel more deeply into the mystery of life, of God.

Such holiness gets talked about a lot in the Bible, although the stories that get written up tend to be the big ones… like Moses and his burning bush filled with a mysterious voice that sends him off to Egypt; or Mary talking to the angels of conception; or Paul knocked off his horse by a bolt of lighting. Mind you, I’m not completely sure if that’s how these stories really happened; it’s just that by the time they got written down, the early, more humdrum details were eliminated or forgotten.

Take the story of Isaiah that we heard this morning – pretty astounding stuff, no? Not your everyday experience, what with the temple filling with smoke, while all the pillars are shaking, and six-winged seraphim and cherubim are flapping around everywhere. But maybe it started differently; maybe Isaiah was simply vacuuming the church carpets one morning, when suddenly the sun blazed through the stain glass windows, filling the entire sanctuary with blue-golden light. Perhaps Isaiah turned the vacuum cleaner off, but being a bit obsessive, couldn’t resist tidying the pews, re-arranging all the envelopes, only to hear the organ singing, filling the ears of his heart with a haunting melody of memory. He stood there, maybe still and unmoving, then maybe whirling around and around, trying to take it all in, dizzy, finally slipping to his knees and prayer. Holy, holy, holy.

Or take today’s gospel story – the call of the first disciples. It’s a fishing story, for heaven’s sake. A fishing story…. the kind that always begins with, “You won’t believe, but…” and in each telling the “but” gets larger. It’s classic… a long night of unsuccessful fishing, everyone tired and grumpy, tediously washing up the nets, looking forward to breakfast and a nap, before going out again, later in the afternoon, hoping for better luck. But then, a word from a stranger, a hint, a suggestion, a special spot, a new twist on how to throw the net…. and out they went, trusting in fishermen’s magic -- maybe this time you’ll catch the big one. And lo and behold, that’s just what happened, oh the nets were full to overflowing, you’ve never seen such a catch; it was big, this big, no bigger; the boat was like to sink; call out to friends, help needed, you wouldn’t believe it -- two boats full of fish; never has such a catch been seen before. A hallelujah moment – thanks be to God! It happens, you know; every fisherman will tell you that.

It’s a miracle story – indeed, all such moments are. But really, they are epiphany stories – what’s really happening is that the Light breaks through a crack in the universe, and the deep Source, the Mystery shines in your face, your heart, and you see the glory of God; that’s what those moments are all about -- grace, amazing grace.

But note, such moments of wonder are never an end unto themselves. Oh, they are amazing, sheer gift, but it’s not as if you are to go through your days, collecting one moment after another, like trophies, like Lucy from the Peanuts cartoon who wants to always go from “up to upper up.” No, rather, such moments of grace inevitably call forth a response from you; if they are truly experienced they do not leave you unchanged. Perhaps it is a surge of thanksgiving and praise; an acknowledgement of some divine energy beyond yourself. But I sense that it goes even further or deeper than this.

I have always been intrigued by the response to such moments that you see in so many Biblical stories, where the character cries out some variation of “Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips.” -- that’s Isaiah. And Peter, remember his reaction? – “…he fell down at Jesus’ knees, saying, ‘Go away from me, Lord, for I am a sinful man!’” Interesting… and don’t get turned off by the sin language. Go a little deeper, to recognize that what’s happening here is a moment of perspective, a humbling of human presumption. On the one hand, you, me… on the other, miracles of wonder, ten billion stars, a universe, God. We are so small, so fragile, how could we not fall to our knees… “Oh God, when I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars… what are human beings that you are mindful of them…?” (Ps. 8) Sin is just shorthand for the demand for humility; for true perspective.

A memory… arriving in Amritsar, the Punjab. It’s evening, and we are picked up by a nephew of a friend, who whisks us off to the Golden Temple, the heart of Sikhism. It’s cold and foggy out… this is winter in northern India. The outer surrounding walls of the temple complex are huge and ornate; impressive. We wash our hands, face, preparation for entry into this holy place. Shoes and socks come off and are stored behind, as we walk through the bathing pool, ankle deep. Then through the gate, and into the inner courtyard – and suddenly, the first thing you see, there right in front of you, is the temple itself, shimmering, glittering, literally covered with gold, illuminated so that it seems to be floating in the midst of a vast reflecting pool of water, almost a small lake. The entire space is filled with the never-ending chant of holy scripture being sung from the very centre of the temple, bouncing out from loud-speakers until your ears are full to overflowing. Everyone, upon entry, drops to their knees, forehead pressed to the carpet… ritual, custom, but perfectly understandable and appropriate. Holy, holy, holy. Perspective; humility; small; willing to worship.

And then you stand, facing the temple; palms pressed together, head gently bowed, eyes closed. Prayer… which takes one beyond that first moment. Small, yes; but also, included. “Be not afraid,” said Jesus to Peter. And for Isaiah, the angel came with a burning coal, offering cleansing, a purified spirit. You are accepted here; you belong; you are a part of it all.

But then, almost immediately, though maybe in reality it takes a bit longer, the grace of inclusion and belonging leads into an experience of call – there’s something you need to do, a response is being evoked. You are asked for an offering, a particular offering that only you can make to the cosmic dance, reflecting the absolute uniqueness of your being. Miracle; epiphany; humility; acceptance and inclusion… and then call. “Whom shall I send?” – that’s what Isaiah heard, and without thinking, he responded, “Here am I; send me.” And Peter, well he heard an unspoken invitation, “Follow me,” which he answered by leaving everything, and became a disciple of Jesus, one who followed. It is the human response which completes and fulfills the moment of glory; it is the willingness to take action that enables grace to effect transformation.

Let me focus just for a moment on Peter. The invitation is to follow Jesus. Not believe in, not worship, but follow -- to change the direction of his life, to walk in the world differently, to live in a new way. It’s the practice that is essential. Interestingly, many of the people that I talked to in India said that Hinduism isn’t a religion, it’s a way of life. I wonder if the same might be said of Christianity. The encounter with the divine leads us to act differently; the practices of following are the richest way of affirming the encounter with God, living into a new way of being

Let me date myself… I am of an age that whenever I hear the phrase, “follow Jesus” I hear the music of Godspell at my back. Ah… good to see that there are other like-minded folk out there…..

Day by day, day by day,

Oh dear Lord, three things I pray:

To see thee more clearly,

To love thee more dearly,

To follow thee more nearly,

Day by day by day by day.

I think that’s not a bad way to express the sense of call… to see the Christ present in the world, to see deeply. An aside… how many of you have seen the film, “Avatar” -- no? … then go quickly; it really is worth it. There is a wonderful phrase used by the Na’vi people of Pandora; in moments of deep intimacy – they say, “I see you.” And you can sense that they mean all the way down; it’s the highest compliment and connection that can be offered. “I see you.” And “love thee more dearly” -- of course; to value, to cherish, to be faithful, to acknowledge, to say about Jesus Christ that who he is, what he embodies, this is of core importance in my life. And then, out of seeing and loving – those holy moments of grace and glory… then comes the following, more nearly, day by day by day.

Let me, just for a moment, go back to those Biblical stories. Because, just as the early details, the common, mundane circumstances of the story may not have been fully recorded, so likewise, the endings may have been changed, to emphasize the drama of it all, perhaps with a bit of condensed hyperbole, so as to ensure that we get the drama of it all, the necessity of total response. Peter just up and left everything; likewise the other disciples. Just like that, they walked away from home, family, friends, work, possessions. I always feel so inadequate when I hear this story. Didn’t Peter and the others have any doubts? Maybe they thought about it for a week or two? Perhaps some practical arrangements…. “Don’t worry, dear, it’s just for the next couple of weeks.” That kind of thing….didn’t they have any questions? How come they were so brave and perfect? Maybe I don’t have what it takes to be a disciple?

I suspect you may be in a similar quandary… though I never discount the possibility that somebody might have an epiphany moment right here and now, walk out of worship right into the following, leaving everything else behind. But for most of us, I think we are perhaps more like the amazed crowd – the ones who experienced the miracle; who were touched by the words, who were moved by the man. They may not have dropped everything the way Peter did, but they had been changed, and they too were responding.

I wonder if there is a place, dare I say it, for gradualism. Oh, I know that can slide so easily into cop-out, and a rationalization that manages to subvert every good intention. But what if some members of the crowd came back to hear Jesus the next day, and the one after that too? What if they pondered what he had said; what they had experienced? What if they began experimenting with the following – deliberately and intentionally loving their neighbour, and forgiving an enemy, and praising God more spontaneously. Small changes, step by hesitant step following… until suddenly you find yourself walking into a new kind of life, when you thought you didn’t have what it takes to get there. Change one thing in a system, they say, and somewhere down the road, well, the whole thing starts to shift. True for relationships, families, churches… one step can be the first in a long journey.

Let me approach this from a slightly different angle. While in India (bear with me… this is my first Sunday back from holidays and there’s still a good part of me that feels like it’s on the other side of the world)… while in India I listened to many people talk about the four stages of life, four somewhat distinct phases, with their own demands and tasks. It’s a familiar conceit, no? …. surely we all had to memorize those Shakespearian lines,

All the world’s a stage.

And all the men and women merely players;

They have their exits and their entrances;

And one man in his time plays many parts,

His acts being seven stages. At first the infant

Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms;

Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel

And shining morning face, creeping like snail

Unwilling to school….

[Then the lover, the soldier, the justice-maker, the old man…]

… Last scene of all

That ends this strange eventful history

Is second childishness and mere oblivion;

Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

Stage theory, so to speak. Like Erik Erikson, with his eight psychosocial stages… trust, autonomy, initiative, industry, identity, intimacy, generativity, integrity. It is helpful to explore stages of life in the context of call – because you begin to realize that each stage has its own appropriate call. Again, this can be used as a cop-out, but at its best, there is a suggestion that we are invited by God to be about different tasks at different periods in our lives; call is always contextual, and that context includes the stage of our own living. Following Jesus Christ will look different at different stages in our lives.

So back to the Indian understanding of stages. The first is the “student” – the time of preparation, understood in its broadest sense: childhood, learning, studies, equipping, growing into independence, developing a readiness. So, for instance, I would want to mention Emily Grills from our congregation, a twelve year old who has decided to study Spanish in her spare time, complete with book, DVD set, and tutor, so that when she returns next summer with her mother, to volunteer at Safe Passage, the school situated in the great garbage dump of Guatemala City, she will be more able to connect with all the kids she meets. I think she is following her call; and it’s stage appropriate.

The next stage is labeled “Householder” – that time in your life when you partner, marry, have kids, or help raise kids… nephews, nieces, neighbours, church kids; a time of productivity, when you do your darnedest to contribute to the good of society, to work, to offer, to help build a better world. This isn’t the time to give up everything, family and possessions, and head off you know not where; rather, you are called to discover your calling --ethical, joyous, generous -- in the midst of work, family and society. It’s also a time to celebrate the goodness of life, to savour, to enjoy, to know pleasure – not selfishly and endlessly and obsessively, but with gratitude and thanksgiving. Earlier in the service, we celebrated last year’s baptisms, and ten sets of parents stood up at the front and promised once again to do everything they could to nurture their children, to raise them to become the people that God would want them to be, to help them discover Christ in the midst of their lives. That’s a calling for householders. And remember, you, the members of the congregation, you made the same kind of promise, albeit in a more general way.

The third stage I am taking some liberties with – it’s called the “Forest Dweller” stage, and although it suggests a certain retreat from the business of life, there seems to be a more basic suggestion that there comes a time when we are called into broader service, a caring that goes beyond jobs and immediate family; a willingness to commit to society, to spend your life energy not on the pleasures and enjoyments of life, but on the giving back. Life is simplified; there is less attachment to stuff; a greater commitment to serving.

For example, last Thursday, at the Men’s Breakfast Group, one man began talking about his brother-in-law’s mid-life crisis. I winced, expecting a painful story about a red convertible and an affair with a younger woman. But no, that wasn’t it at all. Instead, it was a story of a man who felt called to go to Haiti… a year or two ago, long before the earthquake highlighted the desperation in that land. I don’t know whether that brother-in-law was in Householder stage – if so, he was probably needing to wrestle with two different kinds of calls, caring for family and leaving everything behind in order to serve. Or maybe he was approaching Forest-Dweller stage, and sensed the need to take risk, to go further in his compassion, to use his skills and resources for those in terrible need.

Or let me weigh in with another example… I have been having conversations with some folk who are just recently retired, and who are wondering what that now means in terms of their call. Retirement may be another name for Forest-Dweller stage, when leisure, golf and travel are wonderful gifts, but not enough for a full life. God willing, retirement brings another ten or twenty years of healthy, productive living… what does it mean to see more clearly, love more dearly and follow Christ more nearly in this stage? Call is contextual; and retirement is a new context.

The last stage in Indian thought is the Wandering Time. It comes near the end of your days, and the invitation is to leave everything, to become a sadhu, a holy person, someone who walks into the world away from all the familiar structures, to go begging and wandering. It is a time for radical detachment, which means that it is the stage of preparing for one’s death. Not in a morbid way, a worried hypochondriac, but with a clear recognition that the end is approaching; it’s a stage to make oneself ready for dying, which is a holy task. Not something to be avoided, denied. This stage is a time of more intense prayer, a seeing deeply into how life passes, recognizing that things we took to be oh so serious and important before, aren’t so, now. Yes, friends and family are important, but ultimately dying is something you do alone, by yourself, a time when you need to say good bye to everything and to everyone.

Now, as you travel around India, you will see occasionally, some folk who have embraced this stage. They’re out there, wandering. But maybe this stage doesn’t necessitate a literal wandering (though again, Gary, be careful of the cop out) – but surely there is a deep wisdom in recognizing that this final stage is less about doing, and more about looking back over one’s life, affirming what has been, mending what might be in disarray, discovering a final wholeness, preparing for a new journey. Not navel-gazing, but discovering integrity, getting ready.

Moments of glory, miracle, epiphany, humility, reassurance… and from this arises call. Which is constant, although context keeps changing. O dear Lord, to see thee more clearly, love thee more dearly, follow thee more nearly, day by day, year by year. Always. Amen.