Questions Shouldn’t Keep Us From Doing What Love Demands
A sermon by The Rev. Wallace Adams-Riley
Rector, St. Paul's Episcopal Church
January 31, 2010 -- The Fourth Sunday after The Epiphany
Listen to the Sermon
Sermon Text
Dear God,
take my lips and speak through them;
take our minds, and think through them;
take our hearts and set them on fire;
Amen.
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Nelson is four now, so I don't usually carry him up the stairs these days.
But I did one night this week. Because, he had a sizable splinter in the bottom of his foot.
So, I carried him up to have his nightly bath, and I sat him down right in the tub, because he was having trouble walking.
We were hoping that, with a good soak, the little sliver might just slip on out.
(As a matter of fact, believe it or not), the last time he got a splinter, that's exactly what happened.
Well; this time; that's not what happened.
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So, after the bath, with Fin put to sleep in the nursery, Gena and I rendezvoused with Nelson on our bed. And, well, I'll put it this way: he gave us a run for our money, poor little guy. Eventually, with Nelson in Gena's lap, I had to sit astraddle his leg, with my back to him, while I worked with tweezers.
Several times, amidst a lot of wailing, tussling, and tears, Nelson said, pleadingly, "Papa, it doesn't hurt that bad."
What he meant, (it was clear,) was that what I (Papa) was doing hurt way more than simply having the splinter in his foot: therefore, couldn't we just leave the splinter in?
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Well, thanks be to God, just moments later, there was great rejoicing. And, with a lollipop, a binky, and a movie, it was a whole new evening. For everybody.
And, while I'm not sure what Gena did at the point: I went downstairs and ate a big bowl of ice cream.
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There's so much that we don't understand.
And that's true, of course, for.. four-year-olds, 38-year-olds, and 99-year-olds.
As St. Paul says, now we know only in part. (Indeed.)
As I struggled to tweeze that sliver of wood, out of his foot, Nelson did not understand, and he wasn't going to understand any time soon, why I was doing what I was doing.
And, as much as I wanted to explain-it-all to him (that his foot wouldn't heal up properly otherwise; that he wasn't going to be able to walk normally tomorrow; that I was doing this because, of course, I love him, and not because I'm a big meany), and while I did make some effort at explanation; the splinter needed to come out, regardless; regardless of any explanation, and regardless of how well any explanation was understood; and we couldn't wait till he understood to get down to business.
The questions couldn't keep us from doing what love demanded. No, the questions couldn't keep us from doing what love demanded.
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And so it has been, from the beginning, for God's people:
When God called the prophet Jeremiah into ministry, Jeremiah wasn't so sure. He wasn't sure at all. "But, I'mmmm just a boy. This can't be right. I mean, I don't even really know how to speak. "
But it was right. And it would be alright.
"You shall go to all to whom I send you," God says to Jeremiah, "and you shall speak what I command you. Do not be afraid. I am with you to deliver you."
"But...uh... I'm just a boy."
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But can't we just leave the splinter in?
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We believe, (as our collect says this morning): we believe that God governs all things both in heaven and on earth, that God governs all things, but, of course, that's very, very different from believing that we somehow fully understand God's governance, God's economy.
Of course, we don't, and we can't, not fully, anyway.
Our minds are phenomenal, and yet they are, nonetheless, creaturely; and finite; and imperfect; as is, (again, as Paul says,): as is, therefore: our understanding.
We have questions. Many questions. Many unanswered questions.
And there is no bigger and harder question than what theologians call theodicy; or, more simply, the problem of evil. In a word, why would an all-loving and all-powerful God allow the great suffering we see in the world, and the suffering we know in our lives? Why?
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As I spoke of recently in our "Sharing the Faith" series, when I got to seminary I was so eager to jump right into the deep end that I took a senior course in theology called "Evil & the God of Love," on this very subject. We read a different book each week, and wrote a paper; and, each week, had deep, trenchant discussions about what were reading; about God, and about suffering.
And, yes, at the end of semester, while the time had been well-spent, and while I was glad that I had taken the course, we were still asking those questions.
Just as you and I still are.
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Why Haiti? Why such devastation and suffering?
When there really is no explanation. Or no good one; not in this life.
(Thank you anyway, Pat Robertson.)
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Now: we can talk about the part that corruption, and poverty, and imperialism played in putting the people of Haiti in such a precarious position, and that's worth talking about; but, as to why a loving God would allow such a thing to happen, while it's natural that we find ourselves asking that question at times, that question will only get us so far, and it won't get the Haitian people anywhere.
We know enough to help them. We know that much.
We know enough to give, which we have done; and, no doubt, which we will do more of.
And discussions are now underway about a mission trip to Haiti. And I am sure that, once we find the right time and place and partners to work with, I'm sure that we will know enough to go.
And, when we go, of course there will still be many questions; some of which we will be able to answer, and some of which we won't. Like: what difference can we really make in this sea of destruction and suffering humanity? And are we reaching the most needy? Why go to one neighborhood, and not to another? And will the help we offer have any lasting effect?
Again: some questions we can answer; some we can't.
But we will know enough to go and to help. We will know enough to go and offer our love, our compassion, our hope, our kindness, our tears, ourselves, our love. Yes, we will know enough to go, and to love.
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In today's gospel, Jesus references two parallel stories from the Old Testament: in one there's a severe famine, and in the other there is widespread leprosy. In each scenario, God sends his prophet into the midst of the great suffering. And God sends his prophet, not to everyone, but to one particular person; and, in each case, the one to whom the prophet is sent is not an Israelite.
And, surely; like Jeremiah, Elijah and Elisha had their questions. Like, "Why, God, would you send me to just this one person?" And, "Why, God, wouldn't you send me to one of my own people?"
But, those questions did not keep them from doing what God had asked them to do, did not keep them from sharing the healing and hope and love of God.
Just as Jesus did; even while, surely, he had his questions as well. Even still, he kept on doing what God asked him to do; he kept on offering himself, in love.
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If I have prophetic powers, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge; and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains; and, even if I get all my questions answered, even if, I get all my questions answered, but do not have love, I am nothing.
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Questions are fine. Questions are good. Questions are natural. But, finally, and always, it's the love that counts. It's the love that it's really all about.
It's the love that is the will of God. It's the love that is the work of our lives. It's the love that we were born for. Not the questions, not the questions, but the love, the love.
It's the love.
