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Sermon for May 3-4, 2008
The Seventh Sunday of Easter
Last Sunday in her children’s message, our Sunday school superintendent asked the kids gathered around her who’d like to sign up or volunteer for suffering or trouble; not surprisingly, no one raised a hand or eagerly jumped at the chance. And I don’t think the results would be any different among teenagers or adults.
It might seem strange to be talking and dwelling about suffering toward the end of this Easter season—the Sunday between our remembrance of Jesus’ ascension this past Thursday and the joyous day of Pentecost a week from today. Isn’t talk of suffering supposed to be left in Lent? Not quite. Suffering is part of life—it can’t be avoided. So our encouragement last Sunday and today is on how to deal with suffering in the Christian life … like we heard from Peter’s letter a bit earlier: ‘Don’t be surprised as if it’s something strange when fiery trials come to you … rejoice in that you are tasting a share of Christ’s suffering, and be glad when his glory is revealed. If you are cursed for the name of Christ, know that you are really blessed because the Spirit of God’s glory rests upon you. If you suffer as a Christian, don’t be ashamed, but glorify God. If you suffer according to God’s will, entrust your souls to your faithful Creator while doing good.’
Did you notice what word kept following suffering?—glory. Not what we would normally think, right? But that’s how it is in the economy of God.
In Greek, the word suffering is pathos, itself a familiar word to some in English. But there are a whole host of words more familiar: To be pathetic is to be subject to suffering. To be apathetic means not suffering—or being unmoved by someone’s suffering. To be empathetic means entering into the suffering of another. And to be sympathetic means suffering with another … not apart from but alongside. That’s the arc we see in Jesus’ life—he came down from heaven to exist alongside a suffering people … to enter into the suffering of a broken and bleeding Creation, to take it upon himself in the sorrows of life and pain of death so that it doesn’t spiral down to despair but reaches up in the glory of resurrected life. There’s that word glory—doxa in Greek … a word you’ll maybe recognize in doxology—literally words of glory or praise.
Each one of us has known a degree of suffering in our lives, yet as Christians we often find strength before, during, and after by singing those familiar words of the Common Doxology hymn: “Praise God, from whom all blessings flow; Praise Him, all creatures here below; Praise Him above, ye heavenly host: Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.” It’s as Peter reminds us—glory can be found even in the midst of suffering, for it’s the grace of the Holy Spirit that buoys us up atop the choppy waves … the strength of Jesus that keeps us floating above water instead of sinking. It’s a sort of pathetic glory—a realistic, not pie-in-the-sky glory, which reminds us that we will be subject to suffering in this life, but can rise above it through the glorious victory of Christ Jesus. So Peter encourages us: ‘Cast your anxieties upon him, because he cares about you … and remember that your brothers and sisters are also experiencing suffering throughout the world, so be sympathetic and empathetic, not apathetic’ … much like the words of the hymn we just sang: “O Christ who led the Twelve / Among the desolate … / Lead us along the ways / Where hope has nearly died / And help us climb the lonely hills / Where love is crucified” (LSB 856). Suffering and glory, or as a wise saying goes: “Great sadnesses make us understand the world. Great joys make us love the world.”
One of the best illustrations I’ve found of this in recent years is what the Irish writer John O’Donohue encountered once after a wedding. A shy and quiet older country woman was there because she had been a next-door neighbor of the bride. Everyone knew that woman’s husband to be upright but mean and controlling of her; she had a very hard life with him and had a constant sadness about her. She had gotten used to her bed of thorns and putting a face on things for the neighbors.
At that wedding reception, she did something she had never done before: had a few drinks of alcohol. Not long after the music began and the dance-floor was empty, she got up and danced on her own. It was as though the music had gotten inside of her soul and coaxed her out of her thirty years of suffering and sorrow. She danced in her own liberating way, unaware that everyone was watching her and cheering her on. It was a lonesome dance, but all of her isolation … all of the facades she’d kept up just melted away. When the music stopped, she returned to her table blushing, but she held her head high. Her eyes were filled with gladness. Her suffering had been transformed into glory (Eternal Echoes).
Next Sunday, on Pentecost, we’ll hear how the gift of the Holy Spirit at work in the disciples made people think they were drunk; they were acting in very free and unconventional ways. But Peter stood up explaining that they weren’t drunk, but rather that what the prophet Joel had spoken for God had come to pass: “I will pour out my Spirit on all flesh, and your sons and daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams” (Acts 2:15-17).
May we stop and be gripped by the wondrous, freeing gift of the Holy Spirit poured out on us through the water and Word and faith given in Holy Baptism. May we call out to God in the midst of the sorrows and sufferings of our lives and pray like David did, that God would ‘Restore to us the joy of his salvation, and uphold us with his free Spirit.’ May we come to the Table of Christ’s mercy to be restored by his glorious gifts of grace; to be strengthened in body and soul by his renewing Body and Blood. May we rejoice in Jesus’ words of prayer to his Father for his followers, us included: “All mine are yours, and yours are mine, and I am glorified in them…. Keep them Holy Father in your name, that they may remain as one, even as we are one.” Thanks be to God! Amen.