Stuff Happens

 COLLECT for Proper 27

O God, whose blessed Son came into the world that he might destroy the works of the devil and make us children of God and heirs of eternal life: Grant that, having this hope, we may purify ourselves as he is pure; that, when he comes again with power and great glory, we may be made like him in his eternal and glorious kingdom; where he lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

1 Kings 17:8-16 The jar of meal was not emptied, neither did the jug of oil fail

Psalm 146 Put not your trust in rulers … for there is no help in them

Hebrews 9:24-28 Christ entered into heaven … to appear in the presence of God on our behalf

Mark 12:38-44 … they have contributed from their abundance, but she, her life itself

* * * * * * *

It has been quite a roller coaster ride this week, hasn’t it?

We should have known. There were signs and portents, as they say (whoever “they” is).

Monday night I went to warm up some barbecued chicken for dinner. We have a new microwave oven that was just installed. 

Anyway, I put the chicken into the microwave, and I set it to reheat our chicken. The microwave hummed along as the internal computer gave the chicken little pokes with whatever invisible fingers it uses to test the food for doneness, and after a bit we got the little musical tune that told us our meal was done and ready to eat.

We served up and, lo, that delicious, barbecued chicken had been transformed into some inedible, unbreakable stick of petrified pterodactyl – tougher than beef jerky! 

That was my first indication that there might be a bit of a learning curve involved with this newfangled instrument of the devil.

Stuff happens. There was more to our meal than just fossilized chicken, so we made do.

But “stuff” happens. That’s part of life. As Colonel Slade says in Scent of a Woman, “You get tangled up, you tango on.” You figure out “What’s the next indicated thing,” and you do that. 

Tuesday night was like that. Waking up Wednesday morning was like that. The news was devastating and disappointing for so many of us. 

For me, it wasn’t the idea that, “Oh, our side lost.” 

In our lifetimes, we’ve seen elections come and go. Sometimes team Red wins. Sometimes team Blue wins. When the dust settles, folks are sworn in, and although each team might have a different idea of the best way forward, we’ve never really doubted that each side was interested in finding the best way forward for our country. We might quibble over details, but we never doubted each side was interested in “US” as a whole, but it feels like and it looks like we’ve lost that sense of us-ness, the US part of USA, and that’s scary.

That worries me. That bothers me.

The contests have become toxic. It’s like the values we once held most dear have been thrown out the window. Values, like honesty, integrity, faithful adherence to the laws and rules that bind us together. Have they been vaporized or fossilized by some newfangled electoral microwave?

Stuff happens. So what do we do?

This week, I’ve been discouraged, discombobulated, and disoriented. I don’t know about you, but that’s where I’ve been.

To be discouraged is to have the courage sucked out of you. It is the temptation to give up, toss in the towel, and run away. 

Does the Bible have anything to say to us about that? It just so happens, I think we’ve got some helpful pointers in the scriptures we heard this morning – some light shining in the darkness.

In our first lesson, Elijah is sent to the widow of Zarephath, to live there. Elijah will be a stranger in the land – a vagabond, really. 

He will be a foreigner, with an accent that says “I’m not from these here parts.” 

Elijah, the MAN of GOD, will be putting his life into the hands of a total stranger: a poor widow who is down to her last cup of Bisquick and a little vial of cooking oil.

She is as dried up as the sticks she was gathering. “When this is gone, my son and I are dead. Stick a fork in us; we’re done for.”

“Stuff happens,” she says, “and I’m out of stuff.”

Now, Elijah doesn’t know the future, but Elijah knows God. “Stuff happens,” he says, “but as long as I’m here, so is God. You’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.”

There’s a lesson here: When we’re discouraged, we are called to come together, and we remember what Jesus says, “Where two or three are gathered, I’m right there in the midst of you. If you’re going to stick a fork anywhere, make it a pitchfork, and you just stick it in the devil, for it’s the devil who’s done for!” 

Now understand, I’m paraphrasing. But the point is, COURAGE is a matter of the heart. Remember Titanic: La Coeur de Mare – The Heart of the Ocean, the Heart of the Sea.

Courage isn’t bravery as much as it’s having that kindred spirit that says, “You matter to me.” It isn’t about my strength or resources; it’s about our relationship. Sure, we’re scared, but as long as we can ride together, walk together, head out into the darkness together, Jesus says, “Hold hands, don’t let go (like Jack and Rose); take heart, keep moving; I’m there; I’ll be lighting the way.”

Stuff happens. Sometimes we get discombobulated. That’s a fancy way of saying we’ve lost our composure. 

Elijah asks the impossible of the woman of Zarepheth. She gets all flustered, discombobulated. She loses her composure, and that makes perfect sense under the circumstances. 

She has a smidge of meal, a dollop of oil, and a couple of twigs that blew down in the windstorm last week. That’s not even enough for her and her son, let alone three of them. 

Hospitality is important, especially in those dry, desert regions of the Middle East, but the woman loses her composure. She yells at Elijah and tells him just how little she has. She’s discombobulated, and Elijah invites her to draw closer, and he says, “It will be fine. It is more than enough.”

This isn’t one of those mindless promises we use when we whistle our way through the graveyard. You know, when you trivialize a situation (which is to trivialize the person you’re talking to): 

“Now, now, now. You’re just tired. It will be OK. It’s not as bad as you think,” It’s worse when we minimize the pain, or the agony, or the weight of what is happening, and what it means.

It’s not a question of how I feel, or what I’m experiencing: 

Of course I’ll be OK. I’m an old white man. I’ve never been stopped for the color of my skin. The composition of my marriage isn’t up for review. People aren’t going to put “how I identify” under a microscope. My pronouns are safe and secure.

But my children. My neighbor. My friend. The stranger walking down the street. Are they OK? 

So if I want to recombobulate you, like Elijah, I have to listen to the Spirit, I need to be willing and able to leave my own home, my own land, my own people, my own skin, and sit beside you and ask, not “how much have you got?” or “have you got enough,” but “May I share my life with you?”

When the prodigal son comes home, his father sees him afar off, runs to him, wraps him in his arms, and tells his servants to grab his best robe, and put a ring on his finger. 

The child has brought shame to the household, and the neighbors may very well have been ready to stone him (as they might have in that culture – an “Honor” Execution), but his Father wraps him in his arms. His actions say, “This is my son, my beloved. You shall not touch him; you shall not lay a finger on him. His life is mine!”

So like Elijah, no matter how chaotic and scary life out there is, we need to be very clear when we talk to the world: these are my people; this is my family; these are my beloved. You shall not touch them, or hurt them. When stuff happens, we’ll be there.

The third major impact I experienced this past week (and there were plenty more), but the third major issue I struggled with was my equilibrium. I was at a loss, helpless. 

In a word, I was disoriented. Disoriented … My sense of direction had been removed, cut out, lost, thrown away. Orient – the East, the direction of the sunrise. When all is dark, and your view of the sky is obscured, so you don’t know when or where the sun will rise. That’s what it means to be disoriented.

But that changes when I am here. That changes when I come here, to church, into the church. The Altar is in the East. When I am here, I become Oriented once again. The church faces East (in traditional church architecture) so we face Jerusalem, the rising sun and, most importantly, the RISEN Son of God.

We call this space a sanctuary. Holy space. We are in the world, but not of the world. When I’m discouraged, or hurting, or lost, this is where I need to be. I don’t come here to escape the world, but to embrace God and to be embraced by God in the arms of God’s people. 

We are prodigals to one another. We are prodigals to our neighbors. That is our orientation!

We sing our songs, and you know, it doesn’t matter if you can carry a tune or keep a beat, the music lifts up our hearts.  Heartfelt hugs are free for the giving and taking. 

We make our prayers, hear God’s word, receive Bread and Wine that become the Body and Blood of Christ in each and every one of us.

We become re-oriented in our life and mission. We come here and are reminded that we are not Democrats or Republicans here; we are not white, black, brown, or pink; we are not Anglo, Latino, or Ethniticos [sic]; we’re not even Americans here. Here, we are Christians. 

We have been baptized into the Body of Christ, and when we’re done, we are sent forth to minister to world in all its ugliness, chaos, confusion, discouragement,  discombobulation, and disorientation – to be light in the darkness, healing against the hurt, and a comfort against the pain.

We are called to be like the little old lady in the gospel today who waddled up to the big bronze alms basins at the mouth of the Temple. And while the rich and powerful came up and tossed in their bags of gold and silver with great thuds, and thunks, and plinks, and plonks, this little old lady came up and without fanfare, tossed in two coins that were so small they probably didn’t even go “tink.”.

This wasn’t a tithe; it wasn’t a sin offering, or part of her annual pledge. No, Jesus says, “This was her life.” 

“The rich eat the weak for breakfast, the poor for lunch, and widows for supper,” says Jesus. “But this woman, she has given herself over completely to the care and keeping of God.”

That’s how God wants us to be oriented today, when we leave here. ENcouraged, REcombobulated, REoriented, today, and always, in Jesus’ Name. AMEN

Sermon delivered by the Rev. Keith Axberg, to Christ Episcopal Church (Anacortes, WA), 11/10/2024