February 5, 2017
Sojourners United Church of Christ
Charlottesville, VA

Modern Testimony: And the Table Will Be Wide

And the Table Will Be Wide

Matthew 5: 1-12 (The Beatitudes)

When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain; and after he sat down, his disciples came to him. ²Then he began to speak, and taught them, saying:

³“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.⁴“Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. ⁵“Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth. ⁶“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled. ⁷“Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy. ⁸“Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God. ⁹“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God. ¹⁰“Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. ¹¹“Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. ¹²Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.

 

When I was 41 weeks pregnant with my first daughter, Cecilia (yes, you heard that correctly 41 WEEKS), I had a full birthing plan, and a vision of what her birth would be like. I wasn’t under any illusions that it would be easy or without trial, but I was confident that I would go into labor and surrender to the waves that carry people in and out of life and that my body would get us on the other side of those waves safely. I planned to make use of a midwife, and if necessary, a birthing tub.

So, at 41 weeks pregnant, when I went to the midwife for my post-due date appointment, they did an ultrasound and I got one of those lines from the technician, “your midwife will discuss this with you.”

On the list of things expectant parents want to hear, I would rank this right near the bottom. Thankfully, of the things an expectant parent can hear from her midwife AFTER those words, we got probably the best new. Sort of. The baby was breach. Which is why I hadn’t gone into labor.

I tried not to cry as I looked at my midwife and said, “what does that mean?”

She said, “I think you know what that means.”

She didn’t say the word, “Caesarean” but she didn’t have to. And suddenly my careful plans were dashed and my vision was upended. It would be dangerous for me to go into labor at all and so we had to schedule surgery as soon as possible. We would all be fine, of course, as our presence shows, but my spirits were crushed. Instead of the beautiful birth I had envisioned, I would endure one of the most invasive surgeries we have to offer, without the benefit of physical therapy, sleep to help me heal, or much medication afterwards.

My spouse, Drew met me in the hallway outside of the midwife’s office when I got the news. The midwife called me after I got home to see how I was doing because she heard me absolutely wail outside her office the moment I laid eyes on my husband. I wailed for a while. I mourned the loss of future that was never a sure thing to begin with. I cried that night, and the next morning and the next afternoon.

And then Drew decided he had to take his weepy wife to dinner and after some quiet in the car as we drove he said, “I have a song to play for you.” I wondered if it would be our wedding song, or something sweet and maybe a touch sappy.

And then the song began blasting through the speakers: “I get knocked down, but I get up again, you’re never gonna keep me down!” It made me laugh. I finally stopped crying. And by the end, that very cheesy drinking song, gave me back some of my vision– maybe a different and more real vision. Not one of the birth I had carefully planned, but one of our family sticking together no matter what. One where I could believe in my own strength to heal, and my own faith that we could create a vision together of what we could be.

I know that “I get knocked down, but I get up again” is technically a cheesy pop song , but it’s a part of my vision for our family. Ask any Beresford. We take our dance parties pretty seriously in our house. That’s what happens with strong visions. If you nurture them, they become traditions, and traditions can carry you through all kinds of seasons of life.

This part of the Sermon on the Mount that we hear today is a vision. And make no mistake, it is a strong vision– a rebellious vision, even. It’s definitely not status quo, state sanctioned or life as we know it.

It sticks with us, no doubt, through the centuries because it’s a vision that we all seek to bring closer to us. It’s a vision of a blessing: blessed are the poor, blessed are those who mourn, blessed are the meek, the hungry and those who thirst for justice. I want this vision that Jesus gives us to be true more than anything. more than anything.

Y’all we are at a time when the plans have changed. Our plans have been upended, and we find ourselves in mourning for our country, for our values, for our home, for the world we thought we knew. We find ourselves standing up for our neighbors, in the big and small sense, in ways that trouble our souls. We find ourselves suddenly thirsty for justice. We find ourselves thirsty for a vision of what and who we can be. And here, this week, Jesus is giving us a vision. One that we have heard before, but perhaps today with new ears.

I think what has, maybe, surprised many people (or maybe I can only speak for myself) about the current state of our country is how quickly the ground beneath us became shaky. How fast we have been sent reeling from one shock and upset to the next.

I don’t know about you, but it has left me feeling unmoored. Like a lifeboat adrift at sea just being tossed by the waves.

This is when we need to be pulled back upright, when we need to be reminded of what our vision truly is and what the gospel promises– note that the gospel has never promised an easy way, or a country of easy blessings. Really, it gives us the reality of the contrary paired with the revelation of what love truly looks like in the world.

In one of her first interviews, Krista Tippet interviewed The wise Christian scholar Dr. Jaroslav Pelikan. He was a person who thought long and hard about Christian traditions, including the most sacred and widely practiced Christian tradition of communion– a practice we will also join in together today.

He said basically that the breaking of bread, and sharing of wine is an important and cherished way of indicating a universality of the faith across not only space, but time. To know that in the Philippines this morning this was the act of faith by church goers and that Emperor Justinian in the 6th Century broke bread, as did St Francis of Assisi in the 13th and my late great grandmother and perhaps your grandmother as well. They all broke bread and shared wine.

My faith and my faith life, like you and your faith and your faith life, fluctuates. There are “ups and downs and hot spots and cold spots and boredom and ennui and doubt and all the rest.” But communion. Well that isn’t about this individual moment or feeling, it’s not about this single church, or this country.

No, This meal at this table is an act of ‘we.’  All of us together. Through time and through space. This is our vision. This is our faith. And it is strong.

Dr. Pelikan said that he had never seen set down in print that every day since the middle of the first century, Christians have gathered together around bread and wine, thanked God and received it as the body and blood of Christ. However, there has been no day when that didn’t happen since the middle of the first century. No day in the history of thousands of years when this act did not happen. The doctrines and churches may have changed. The countries and governments may have changed. The people and contexts and liturgy may have changed. But this act of faith, has happened, every. Single. day. That’s some serious continuity. That is quite a vision.

All things around us  may change, but it is “we” all of us together. Not just in this church, but all of us across centuries, generations, continents, languages and cultures.

This is our faith. And it is strong. And it is unbroken. And it will carry us– the echos of thousands of years of people of faith— will carry us in every hour.

When I told a friend some years ago, at the end of my time at Divinity School that I was considering entering the ordination process with the United Church of Christ he said, “huh, I thought you were more of a Unitarian.” I could understand why he thought that. Raised as a Quaker, I spoke very little about my faith, I am love oriented, I speak more of God than of Christ.  But, I told him something that surprised us both: “I would miss Jesus too much, and I can’t leave Communion.”

I feel the weight of our tradition and faith and history with me when I break bread with my church. I hope you do, too. I entered into the church through communion first and Baptism second. This tiny piece of bread drew me in. It has made me feel God-filled and loved and nourished. This act can make us all God-filled and know we are beloved, it can nourish us as we nourish one another.

The Good News today (to quote the Hamilton album I’ve been listening to too much) is “this is not a moment, It’s a movement.”  

“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.” That is our movement. Let us break bread together. That is our movement. Our faith gives us a movement and not just a moment.

Jesus’s vision of a peaceful and justice filled world has seen us through for thousands of years, and it will see us through still. Jesus’ vision is big enough for us. God is big enough to hold us and the fear and the anger and the confusion and grief. God is big enough for all of it.

So come to this table today, come together as the Body of Christ. Be nourished. Let God nourish all of us. Let God and this community through space and time give you strength to continue to live out Jesus’s vision of a blessed world that we can bring closer. Amen.