DOING NOTHING February 26, 2006 Vespers Communion Service Catherine Knott Pastoral Resident, Fourth Presbyterian Church Psalm 50:1–6 Mark 9:2–9 As a disclaimer, this is not titled as it is due to any lack of work on the preacher’s part. Though it does bring to mind a funny story, when a pastor friend of mine used a particular day in the middle of the week in order to write her sermon. She wrote her sermons at home, lugging commentaries into her little sunroom at the back of the manse in order to start thinking of how the sermon was going to play out. Those who did not see her in her office that morning figured that she took the day off. Determined to find her, hoping to catch her watching some bad soap opera in the middle of the afternoon, they walked across the street to the front door of the manse, knocking vigorously. As she opened to door to let them in, they wouldn’t hear the roar of a television set. Instead they saw piles of books in the back room, with a cup of hot tea sitting on the top. They’d ask her to what she was up to. “I’m writing my sermon,” she’d reply, “but I have to listen first.” I’m not sure if they figured it out. It certainly didn’t look like work to them. The sunroom was full of sunlight and lots of little plants, but it wasn’t like an office. And why did she have to take all day? What kind of work was this, anyway? It was the kind of work where God spoke first, and then she listened to what was being said before anything could be written down. She knew deep within what sort of task lay before her. She also knew what sort of awe one experiences when given the awesome task of proclaiming God’s word, somehow, as a human being. John Calvin was always amazed that we have ever had the capacity to speak as mortals. I think she was, too. The Apostle Peter, however, was never short with words. He wasn’t the type to sit around like an esoteric beatnik on a back porch somewhere, gazing at potted plants. No, Peter is a man after our contemporary hearts. Peter is a man with a mission, a destination and a goal. Peter is up there on that mountain with Jesus, James, and John, and upon gazing up at this strange and transfigured new Jesus, he already has in mind what needs to be done about it. “It’s good that we’re here,” he says. Better yet, it’s good that Peter is not going to stand around like James or John but actually decide to do something about what is before him. Here it is, the bizarre and unimaginable sight of Moses and Elijah, standing next to Jesus in his unrecognizable and fully bleached clothes, and what does Peter do but suggest building a dwelling place for each person. What a lovely gesture! Even in the midst of this unearthly and ethereal experience, Peter is immediately leaning towards the idea of service to his Master and to the prophets! He has a goal in mind, and isn’t going to let anything get in the way of it—until of course, God speaks. Then he has no choice but to be quiet. “This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!” God commands silence. Suddenly the great plans for the beautiful dwelling places are lost. The need to be productive is lost. Only God remains, as Peter stands there, overshadowed. Peter is suddenly silent about what he has seen. Because many of us cannot speak for what it would be like to experience the transfiguration of Jesus Christ as Peter did up on that mountaintop, we can perhaps speak of an experience that many Americans witness and undergo on a regular basis. In fact, it is one of the great gods in the world today, challenging many families, couples, organists, planners, pastors, and church house staff personnel. I am referring to the great Deity of the Wedding Industry, which is growing in its enormity. Weddings today average around some $25,000 a wedding. Couples are often older when they make the decision to marry and therefore are more likely to have established careers and larger bank accounts. Today’s married couples typically have established their household already, so the traditions of offering toaster ovens and blenders at bridal showers appears obsolete. Weddings are days full of high expectation and desperate prayers to God that the flowers will be perfect, the sun will be shining, and that every minute detail of the event shall be catered to the taste of the bride, the groom, their parents, etc. One of my seminary professors once received a comment, while planning a wedding, about the liturgical color that he was going to wear on the wedding day. His stole was going to clash with the bridesmaids’ bouquets. He was going to have to do something about that, the bridal party insisted. Weddings are days when people make plans and plot destinations. Sometimes they are controlled and micromanaged to prevent every possible hang-up, creating much anxiety in the process. I know a little at least about the anxiety of such a day. I was a bride recently myself. But if you ask me what it all amounted to, the flowers, the cake, and the dresses—it was the sheer silence of standing in the chancel, proclaiming vows that were full of such profound and divine mystery that my voice was quivering. My body shook, and my calm demeanor faded. I knew God was there and that my husband and I were not proclaiming our unity for ourselves but for the person of Jesus Christ. To tell you the truth, it was rather terrifying. I had no idea what I was gazing into or what was going to happen once that moment passed in time. My husband and I could no longer do anything but stand there, enraptured in awe and in wonder. To be in the presence of God is a startling thing. As we mentioned, Peter was a little scared, too. Seeing and experiencing that which is the profound mystery can sometimes put all of our plans and destinations aside. Going back in time to Elijah’s life on earth prior to the transfiguration, there was another anxious moment between both Elijah and Elisha, when Elijah was mysteriously seized by a chariot of fire driven by brilliant horses ablaze. Now whether or not this story historically points to a vision of a heavenly army that Elisha is seeing or an actual event, the synopsis remains the same: it caused great distress for Elisha. It must have been extremely unnerving to behold, whether in dream or in reality. Elisha is already crushed that his plans to stay by the side of Elijah have been ripped to pieces, but to have witnessed in some capacity this startling vision is even more profound and disturbing. Poet Emily Dickinson writes briefly on this vision of a fiery chariot: Elijah’s wagon knew no thill Was innocent of Wheel Elijah’s horses as unique as was his vehicle— Elijah’s journey to portray Expire with him the skill Who justified Elijah in feats inscrutable— Dickinson clearly defines this vision as inscrutable because this aptly conveys what this chariot “innocent of wheel” looks like. In the face of it, there is nothing left to do but to remain enraptured and, in Elisha’s case, a bit disturbed. Ordinarily a chariot would not cause such grave concern, but in this particular instance, the wonder and the marvel of God’s works turned what would be Elijah’s wagon into something extraordinary. The extraordinary, friends, is what lies ahead on the other side of the terrible wonder of God’s great mystery. It may be disturbing and leave Peter distressed or Elisha in great mourning to witness the sovereignty of the Divine, but this also conveys to us that even as God defies our plans, God is eternally present and is with us. It is okay if sometimes we can do only nothing, if it means that we are able to listen as to what God might have to say to us. This is a difficult message to convey, but sometimes in order for us to be nurtured, we have to stop planning goals and destinations and instead enable God to be present with us. In fact, sometimes we even have to acknowledge God’s ultimate control of the cosmos. There are many ways in which this voice of the great cosmic God can be heard in our everyday lives, though it isn’t merely a matter of standing still for a few minutes. On the contrary, it may be an extraordinarily difficult thing to do. Though we can be up for the challenge. We are, indeed, a people of doing. We have friends, families, church bodies, governments, schools, and a whole world that beckons for our time and our energy. We have our weddings to plan, our lives to live, and many generations to care for. We have much good that we can offer to one another, so that we actively promote service and love towards our brothers and sisters living all around the world as well as those who are right in our neighborhood. These are, after all, fruits of the Christian life. Jesus Christ in his life and ministry has asked us to be present with other people and to love our neighbors as ourselves. The book of James reminds us that if we are faithful but do not commit acts of good works towards one another, the faith is dead. Clearly, faith must be in action. Jesus constantly annoyed the religious authority in his day by serving others to such an extent that he would even violate the law of the sabbath if it meant a brother could be healed. And in Elijah’s day, the prophets spoke of love and of justice. One of the most beautiful lines from the book of Micah reminds us that we are to do justice, love kindness, and to walk humbly with our God. The prophetic imagination takes action and risk. And it also takes a sense of wonder. This means that in the midst of building homes and lives and participating in other deeds of service to build the kingdom, we have to pause for a moment and listen to the thunderous and sometimes small still voice of the Triune God. As Peter was quieted on the mountaintop by the great vision of Christ transfigured, we too must sometimes be still. We must sometimes be served. We have to allow for God to sometimes come down to us, to care for us, and to love us. After all, how can we expect to ever love our neighbor or enter into acts of great justice and kindness towards one another if we ourselves are not first loved? There is an interesting book entitled Life after God written by Douglas Copeland. In what is written as almost a set of journal entries, Copeland examines his adult life as he is now the first generation raised without the church. Copeland believes in many of the teachings of Jesus Christ but has not experienced God’s love for him in his life. Copeland was raised to become a successful, thoughtful, and loving adult, but there was a sense of loss that pervaded not only in his life but in his generation. He was not raised with any sort of Christian traditions and had always perceived the reliance on a fallible institution as a means of weakness. At the end of his entries, he is running in a forest during a camping trip, running out of a sense of fear and Kierkegaardian dread. He crashes into a lake and looks up at the stars and is suddenly captivated by the beauty of the night sky. He has never in his life imagined anything so beautiful. To this he is quieted and stands still, shoulder deep in the water, staring up for what appears to be hours on end. After being silent for sometime, the only words that come through his mouth to his pen are “I need God.” We do indeed need God. Friends, believe that in the midst of our best intentions and in our holy desire to serve our brothers, sisters, and our God, we must first be served. Jesus reminds us that the Son of Man did not come into this world to be served but to serve. It is because God loves us that we are commissioned into service. But this also means that before we make plans to build a dwelling place for Elijah, Moses, and Jesus, we must first be still and know that God is God. One of the most profound ways that we come to terms with this in worship in the Reformed tradition is through the sacrament of Communion. Here before us, God invites us to be in fellowship with God, remembering Christ’s saving death and resurrection for our sake. Here we are invited not out of our ability to build temples, houses, budgets, or futures, but because we are loved by God. Here we are asked to do absolutely nothing but to take and to eat, remembering and celebrating the source of all life. Poet George Herbert writes in his poem “Love” about the dialog between our God (who is love) and any one of us: “You must sit down,” says Love, “and taste my meat.” So I did sit and eat. We have been called to witness something extraordinary on the mountaintop. Listen now for the voice of God in God’s action towards us. Be loved. Be still. Be served. Amen.