Joel D. Kline
October 10, 2004
Highland Avenue Church of the Brethren
The Nineteenth Sunday after Pentecost
In a meditation last Sunday evening at our fall love feast I mentioned that I’ve been reading a biography of one of my favorite writers, Henri Nouwen, who wrote prolifically on the spiritual life. A friend of Nouwen’s is quoted as asserting, “To love Henri, you had to love the fact that he couldn’t live up to his books. His vision of what was possible and his horizons were always bigger than his ability to live them out.”
It struck me, as I considered the friend’s observation, that the same might be said for all of us who seek to live as followers of Jesus. Who among us would not readily acknowledge that it is far easier to express in words the vision planted within us by the Spirit of Christ regarding how life ought to be lived—far easier to speak of this vision than it is to live it out in daily living. For Christ’s vision is of life in the kingdom of God, a realm in which swords are beaten into plowshares, the love and compassion of Christ reaches to the least among us, and we learn to turn the other cheek, go the extra mile in relationships, love the enemy and pray for those who would persecute us. It is a vision of life in which the power of sin and selfishness and greed no longer reigns supreme.
Is it any wonder that our words frequently exceed our actions, particularly when it comes to our embrace of Christ’s call to be peacemakers and reconcilers? When many of us consider peacemaking, our thoughts first turn to the global level, yearning for that day when nations no longer teach the ways of war, when violence and hostility no longer are primary characteristics of relationships among the nations and peoples of the world. It’s a noble vision, to be sure, and yet who among us has not encountered one of those “peacemakers” who talks the talk of peace, yet leaves a trail of hurt and brokenness in his or her wake? Surely that’s why Francis of Assisi was so insistent that “when you are proclaiming peace with your lips, be careful to have it even more fully present in your heart.” The challenge is to embody in a very real and personal way the kind of peace we covet for the world around us.
For Nouwen, that can only happen as our actions for peace and justice are grounded and bathed in prayer. “Prayer—living in the presence of God,” writes Nouwen, “is the most radical peace action we can imagine. Prayer is peacemaking and not simply the preparation before, the support during, and the thanksgiving after … . In prayer we undo the fear of death and therefore the basis of all human destruction.” At its basic level, prayer is connection with the God of peace whose passion it is to redeem and recreate our broken world.
The apostle Paul speaks of God’s peace as surpassing all human understanding—as a gift, a hidden reservoir of the spirit, which we cannot create on our own, a gift to which we can only respond with joy and thanksgiving. And so Paul urges us,
Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near. Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be known to God (Philippians 4:4-6).
Notice the interconnections between joy, prayer, thanksgiving and peace, all of which flow out of firsthand encounter with the Lord of life, Jesus the Christ. Nouwen speaks of the intermeshing of peacemaking and contemplation, prayer and action, mysticism and the revolutionary work of witnessing to the reality and the promise of God’s kingdom. In The Wounded Healer Nouwen declares “that the appearance of Jesus in our midst has made it undeniably clear that changing the human heart and changing human society are not separate tasks, but are as interconnected as the two beams of the cross.” “Every real revolutionary,” asserts Nouwen,
is challenged to be a mystic at heart, and one who walks the mystical way is called to unmask the illusory quality of human society. Mysticism and revolution are two aspects of the same attempt to bring about radical change. No mystics can prevent themselves from becoming social critics, since in self-reflection they will discover the roots of a sick society. Similarly, no activists can avoid facing their own human condition, since in the midst of their struggle for a new world they will find that they are also fighting their own reactionary fears and false ambitions.
Whether we are more drawn to the inner life of prayer or to a more active life of seeking justice and working for peace, we are all challenged to grapple with what it means to embody the Spirit of Christ in our daily living. Paul puts it this way, “Whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.” In The Message Eugene Peterson paraphrases Paul’s words this way, “Fill your minds and meditate on things true, noble, reputable, authentic, compelling, gracious—the best, not the worst; the beautiful, not the ugly; things to praise, not things to curse.” And then Paul makes a bold claim: “Keep on doing the things that you have learned and received and heard and seen in me, and the God of peace will be with you” (4:8-9).
Paul recognizes that we need role models, we need mentors in our walk with Christ, and he is willing to risk being such a model for the fledgling church at Philippi. What about us? Dare we assist one another in this challenging call to live and proclaim the way of peace? Who are the persons in your life who have guided you along pathways of peace, who have guided and mentored you along the journey of faith?
Some years ago I attended the funeral service for the father and grandfather of a member family at the church I was then serving, and an adult grandchild spoke of her grandfather as a mentor. Her reflections are entitled “A Servant’s Hands:”
As I hold his shaking, yet still strong hands in mine—I’m reminded of all the things these hands have accomplished over the years.
Some 80 years ago when these crooked fingers were straight and strong, they belonged to a boy of about eleven.
He used them to help with the chores, to chop wood, and to study his lessons.
Then later, when he was older, these wonderful hands held a piece of chalk to a blackboard.
And for those children in that little country school, he gave all that he knew to give, and he made a difference.
As he matured, so did those hands.
Always willing to pat someone on the back, or thump them behind the ear…whichever they needed most.
But soon, his schooldays were over, and it was back to farming full time.
And somehow, he still used his hands to teach. A chubby little girl followed him diligently around the garden. And he taught her all she would ever need to know about potato bugs and their aversion to gasoline-filled coffee cans.
As time passed, those teaching hands stayed busy. They held a Sunday School book firmly as he stood to share his faith with those who had gathered there.
Or he would grasp a pen in one hand and a hidden word search book in the other and spend hours looking for those hidden words.
And those hands faithfully held the hands of his loving wife for 61 years.
He had worked so hard over the years, and those once straight and solid hands were becoming shaky with age and slightly bent from arthritis.
And yet, no matter how crooked or unsteady…those hands were still able to communicate the greatest love of all; as they reached across the hospital bed and rubbed the teenage hand of that now grown girl from the garden.
Now that same little girl holds his hands again, and is reminded of how she loves the owner. She is amazed at how much she admires him and his willingness to lend those hands to others.
You see, I am the chubby little girl from the garden, and the teenager in the hospital, and my life has been quietly led, changed, and supported by those two hands.
For they belong to my special friend—my Grandpa.
And now, those once busy hands have stopped…and those crooked, shaky fingers have miraculously become straight and strong once more. Those hands, and their owner, now rest in the comforting hands of the One who loaned this husband, father, grandpa and teacher to us in the first place.
Susan Robbins’ grandfather modeled a life of peace, communicating the love and grace of God in the midst of the variety of his life experiences. And that is our calling as well—to live and proclaim the peace of Christ where we are—through hand and heart, prayer and action. With Henri Nouwen, sometimes our words exceed our actions. The vision planted within us may well be bigger than our ability to live it out. But the promise of the gospel is that Christ’s Spirit is with us, anointing us, affirming us, empowering us, extending forgiveness, grace, and courage, that we might begin anew, again and again and again. Let us draw on the strength and peace of Christ, as we seek to embody the way of peace.
You are invited this morning to be anointed—to receive anew the power and forgiveness of the Holy Spirit, to experience a fresh taste of that peace that passes all understanding, to seek courage to live and proclaim Christ’s way of peace.
Spirit of the living God, fall afresh on us in these moments of quietness, as we seek to taste anew the gift of your peace that passes all understanding. We come before you, acknowledging that we know what it is like to walk through the dark valley—those times of struggle and confusion and sorrow when we yearn to know your peace more completely. Fall afresh on us, Spirit of God, as we walk through the valley.
Gracious God, fill us. Renew us. Forgive us. Shape and empower us.
Creator God, how grateful we are for the gospel’s promise that you are with us, that you stand in the midst of all the changing experiences of our lives. Just as leaves burst forth in spring and the season blossoms and grows, just as colors change in autumn and leaves fall to the ground, so we experience a variety of seasons in our lives. Seasons of hope. Seasons of pain. Seasons of uncertainty. Seasons of joy. Seasons of death. Seasons of new life. Through it all, O God, keep our eyes and our hearts focused on Jesus who guides us along paths of compassion, peace, and self-giving love.
Loving God, hear us now as we remember those who just now find themselves in a season of grief….
God of peace, you have planted within us a yearning for that day when justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream. We yearn for a season of peace, and pray that you would grant us courage and wisdom to walk in paths of peace, our eyes centered on Jesus the Prince of peace, in whose name we pray. Amen.