Like any grandparent everywhere, I have a trove of pictures of my grandchildren that I treasure. But, because I am a grandparent in the age of technological advances, I also have videos of my grandchildren that I love so much I watch them over and over again.
One of my favorites is of my granddaughter, Willow, who was about 7 or 8 months old at the time. Her mother was reading that children’s classic, “Good night, Moon,” by Margaret Wise Brown. Willow loved it. No, I mean, she really loved it. Well, I think it was equal parts loving the book and loving the sound of her mother’s voice and watching her mother’s facial expressions.
Her mother begins, “In the great green room/There was a telephone/And a red balloon/And a picture of . . .” Before she could turn the page and say, “ . . . a cow jumping over the moon,” Willow bursts into a full-throated belly laugh.
“And there were three little bears sitting on chairs . . .” (More bell laughs.) “And two little kittens and a pair of mittens.” (High shrieks of laughter now.) “And a comb and a brush and a bowl full of mush . . . and a quiet old lady who was whispering ‘hush’”.
At this point, Willow was laughing so hard the joy and delight rippled through her body, bringing tears to her eyes. She ended her laughter with a deep, wondrous sigh of pure, exhausted delight.
I showed this video to the man who had been my doctoral advisor. We were at lunch in a crowded restaurant but, as you may know, grandmothers are absolutely shameless. Well, some of us are, anyway; but I would not be convicted by a jury of my peers (I’m still crazy after all these years).
Fortunately, my friend was enjoying the video with me – it was hard not to laugh right out loud with Willow. He watched it all the way to the end and then said, “You know, that’s the way church should be. We should be so filled with joy to hear the good news of the Gospel that it makes us laugh right out loud and sigh with delight and wiggle in our seats and get up and dance in the aisle – right in front of God and everybody.”
I was thinking of that as I reflected on the story of Hannah, praying in the Temple. When we meet Hannah in this passage, she is in deep anguish. She is in such despair that she leaves the banquet table and goes to the house of God to pour out her silent desperation to God.
Imagine being so deeply, profoundly in prayer that someone might think you are drunk. Imagine being so desperate that you are – almost literally – “beside yourself”. Think about that expression. “I was beside myself,” we say to mean we are ‘out of control’.
Have you ever felt that you were so upset or angry or depressed that you were ‘beside yourself’? Have you ever felt ‘beside yourself’ in prayer? Based on some of what I’ve heard, I think some of you may have gotten a glimpse of that when we got up and danced the ‘Hokey Pokey’ in the church aisles a few Sundays ago.
In our second reading from the Epistle to the Hebrews – which reads more like a sermon than a letter/epistle – the unknown preacher is talking to a community which is surrounded by despair and struggling to maintain a sense of balance as other variations of the faith compete for dominance.
This is all going on while Roman power is pressing its finger upon the church. The preacher is talking about worship with a deep sense of urgency. The subject of hope is not an idea, but a survival theology. Without this hope in Christ and belief in the transformation of the world, this ancient congregation can easily give in to despair.
Hope is the glue that kept Hannah together though she was beside herself with despair. Hope is the glue that kept the church together during the lowest points of cultural decay and corruption and the highest points of tension for the church.
We are in such a time, are we not? Sr. Joan Chittister describes it this way:
“We are living in a morass of present problems that never seem to go away. And we are surrounded by them. The cities are crumbling. Prices are getting higher but wages are stalled. The house is like a tomb now that kids have left home and we're feeling isolated. The globe is on the brink — or in the midst — of war everywhere. Women are still underpaid. Children are exploited. Misinformation is rampant. The very health of the environment is under assault.
Whatever happened to peace and quiet, friends and neighbors, democratic values and a sense of progress, a sense of contentment and security?”
This morning’s Gospel echoes the gloom and doom that overshadows the ancient community of Hebrews as Jesus tells the disciples of the destruction of the Temple. “Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down,” he tells them.
“When will this happen?” ask the anxious disciples, “Give us a sign!” And
Jesus says, Oh, you’re going to hear about “wars and rumors of wars”, and there
will be “famine and earthquakes,” but that’s not the end.
No, says Jesus! It’s not even the beginning. It’s only the beginning of the birth pangs! Or in the language every woman who has ever been pregnant will understand, it’s not ‘a labor contraction,’ it’s just Braxton-Hicks contractions – the birth pangs of the uterus getting ready for labor.
I think there cannot be one single generation that has not read this piece of scripture from Mark’s gospel and thought, “Yup! Well, here it is! The end is near! It’s right here in scripture! It’s all going to come to an end! Sooner rather than later.”
This current time is no different. So, take heart, my friends. All of the troubles of our time are very serious but they are not the end. They are not even the beginning of the end. They are the beginning of the beginning which has been beginning since Adam and Eve met a talking snake in the Garden of Eden, took a bite of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge and got kicked out of Paradise and into the harsh realities of the world.
The good preacher in Hebrews reminds us that we have a great High Priest in Jesus over the House of God and all our sins are forgiven. The preacher exhorts us, “let us approach with a true heart in full assurance of faith, with our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience and our bodies washed with pure water.” The preacher is talking baptism here, my friends. The ancient preacher is reminding us of the promise of the forgiveness of ALL our sins in baptism.
This modern preacher is reminding
us of the five promises we made in baptism. You can look them up in the BCP
that’s right there in your pew (You may have noticed that I’ll use any excuse
to have you open up that good book) on page304.
But did you also know about the
Three Bears of Baptism? No, they’re not
in the BCP. I learned this long ago as a child in Church School. The Three
Bears of Baptism are:
Bear the name of Christ.
Bear
your testimony.
Bear one
another's burdens.
As an
adult, I’ve come to learn that within those Three Bears are the seeds of hope
for Christ’s Body, the church.
The preacher in the Book of Hebrews continues, “Let us hold fast to the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who has promised is faithful.”
Hold fast to Hope. Hold fast to Hope. Remember the promises you made at Baptism. Remember to Bear the name of Christ. Bear your testimony. Bear one another’s burdens.
The preacher in the Book of Hebrews finishes, “And let us consider how to provoke one another to love and good deeds, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day approaching.” Isn’t that really what it’s all about?
I know I’m going to sound like a nauseatingly proud grandmother but I think my little granddaughter knew something at 7 or 8 months old. Actually, I suspect we all knew that truth at that age but life somehow causes us to forget. Here’s the truth of it: The Good Book, the Gospel of Jesus Christ, is GOOD NEWS. That’s what ‘gospel’ means – good news. The Gospel of Jesus Christ is not a rulebook but a guidebook. The Gospel of Jesus Christ is filled with joy and hope.
Beloved of God, in the midst of all the change in the world, hold fast to hope. In the midst of all the changes in our culture, hold fast to hope. In the midst of all the changes in the church, hold fast to hope. And, if someone thinks you’re crazy – or like Eli the priest thought of Hannah as she was ‘beside herself’ in prayer, that you’ve been drinking wine – just hold fast to hope.
Hope is contagious. Laughter is infectious. Joy is a communicable social disease. Contaminate yourselves with hope. Infect others with laughter. Come down with a strong case of joy!
One of the most joyful things about the children’s book “Goodnight, Moon,” is that, after you’ve said ‘goodnight stars, goodnight air, goodnight noises everywhere,” and you close the book and drift off to sleep, the next day you wake up to a brand new day, and that night, you get to say, “Goodnight, Moon,” all over again. I think my Willow knew that and took delight in the thought.
It’s not the end of the day. It’s not even the beginning of a new day. It’s the beginning of the beginning of your whole life, which is an amazing string of joyful beginning of endings and ending of beginnings, only to become the beginning of beginnings. Willow, I think, was young enough to still be in communication with the angels who told her that time is just an absurd human construct and the only reasonable thing to do us laugh at it – because soon enough, you’ll be a slave to it.
New life is always about to happen. In two weeks, Advent will be here and we will begin preparing in earnest for the labor pangs that will bring new life – the one we will call Emmanuel, God with us – even Jesus Christ, our great High Priest.
Let us find joy in that. And, hold onto hope.
Amen.
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