When the sun went down, life slowed down. That’s how it used to be.
When illumination after dark meant a smoky oil lamp or a dangerously dripping tallow candle, there were limitations on activities. Forget all those Hollywood movies. The rich might have had enough candle-power (and servants) to light up a ball room or a banquet hall. But for common, everyday people, the light of one or two lamps and the glow from a small cooking fire was all that brightened the night. Even the faintest light was far more welcoming than being outside in the darkness.
Last week a self-proclaimed, self-deluded “eco-activist” decided to cut the power lines in our island community as a form of social protest. At 10 p.m. on Saturday night, just as the wind whipped up and the water rained down, the lights went out. All of them, all at once.
Everyone on two islands were totally in the dark. Even though we had flashlights and candles and kerosene lamps, the darkness transformed “home” into something strange and menacing. It is not a time to be alone. In fact, the lights went out just as we were concluding our “Spring Advance” with Reggie McNeal (author of The Present Future, Practicing Greatness, Get a Life!). It was as if someone had flipped a switch and everyone scattered, wanting to get home and nuzzle like puppies, sharing body heat and bravado, hoping for a quick end to the darkness.
Maybe it was the approaching nightfall, and that urge to band and bond when shadows creep longer, that prompted the two forlorn disciples that we met last week on the Emmaus road to coax their walking companion to join them: “Stay with us, because it is almost evening and the day is now nearly over” (v.29).
One simple invitation opened the doors for the first generation of Jesus’ disciples.
That simple spontaneous invitation would be repeated nightly, a thousand years later and for a thousand years, by monks offering their end-of-the-day prayers: “Mane nobiscum Domine, quoniam advesperascit” or “Stay with us Lord, for the evening falls.”
Another thousand years later Henry Lyte opened his greatest hymn with the same sentiment, “Abide with me, fast falls the eventide.” English essayist Ronald Blythe memorably calls these “The first words of the post-Resurrection world beseeching Christ to enter it as guest.” (Ronald Blythe , The Circling Year [Norwich: The Canterbury Press, 2001], 76.)
As the danger that slips in under cover of darkness approaches, the most vulnerable must be gathered and guarded. No one knew this better than the Palestinian shepherds of the first century. Their flocks were vulnerable to the predations of four-legged hunters and two-legged poachers. Under cover of darkness any stray sheep was a potential “meals-on-wheels” for all sorts of hungry hunters. Communal sheepfolds, small walled enclosures, were often shared by several different flocks and their shepherds. Coming together for safety during the night was essential for survival.
Jesus’ parable describes that kind of coming together. But Jesus offers something more than just a way to “make it through the night.” As Jesus revealed that he was both shepherd and gateway he enabled his listeners to gain a glimpse of the transformed way of living he would make possible.
It was not a “hunker down against the darkness” existence.
It was not a “band together out of fear” existence.
It was not a “better build a ‘panic room’” existence.
In fact, Jesus did not offer an “existence” of any kind. Jesus offered “life,” and not just “life” but “abundant life” or “whole life” or “maximum life” or what we are calling a “sizzle-while-it-drizzles” life.
Whole life, abundant life, sizzle-while-it-drizzles life is post-resurrection life. It is a life made possible because of Christ’s triumph over death and sin. Jesus invites us all to enter that post-resurrection reality. He is the gate, the entryway into a redeemed life, a reborn life, a reclaimed life, a sizzle-while-it-drizzles life. This kind of whole life is ours once we go through that gate, once we cross the threshold from despair to forgiveness, from brokenness to wholeness, from disillusionment to discipleship.
The whole life Jesus offers is a life lived out in this world—-a world of tears and tears, a world where the fabric of our lives is ripped to shreds and in need of repair. Jesus didn’t say that the “thief” who comes “only to steal and kill and destroy” would magically disappear. But for those who experience John 10:10 life--whole life, abundant life, sizzle-while-it-drizzles life--they have something the “thief” can never touch.
Let’s be as upfront and down-to-earth as we can be this morning: A John 10:10 life is not a perfect life. An abundant life is not a pain-free life. An abundant life is not a “charmed” life.
In fact, I will guarantee you this: even though you are a disciple of Jesus, even though you have experienced God’s amazing grace, there will be periods when every day of your life is the same . . . the worst day of your life. Did you get it? For every one of us, there will be times when every day of our life is the same ...the worst day of our life.
Sometimes life becomes a sinkhole. Sometimes life swallows us up as quickly as it did that 32-year-old California man (Jason Chellew) who was relaxing in the living room of his Alta, California home (March 2006) when the earth under him opened, and the floor was no more. (They found him buried under 8 feet of dirt and debris).
Washington State is called the “evergreen” state. But all that green comes with a lot of grey. The price of green is grey. Much of the Pacific Northwest is technically a “temperate” (not tropical) rain forest for a reason — it rains a LOT. From November through April there is an almost steady drizzle. Moss grows on everything—even cars get a greenish patina and grow furry coats.
Some people cannot take the drizzle. They fall prey to a medical syndrome called SAD, Seasonal Affective Disorder. And they require either a trip to Arizona or a regime of UV light therapy to get their psyche’s back in synch.
Yet others thrive. Despite the endless grey, the dripping damp, the misty vistas, they flourish and grow stronger.
How do they do it? How do some people continue to sizzle when it drizzles?
Well, one way is coffee. Seattle copes with caffeine. There is a reason Starbucks’ warm, frothy, steamy, stimulating brews were developed in this rainy empire. The deep, dark brown of an espresso overwhelms the grey. In Minnesota they embrace the cold and get together to ice-fish. In Seattle they embrace the wet and get together to drink coffee.
So: how to sizzle when it drizzles?
You need three things: an umbrella, some boots, and wipes—whether rubber wipers or cloth wipes.
First, you need an umbrella. When it drizzles, seek out the umbrella of community.
That “getting together” is essential. When your abundant life springs a leak, seek shelter under the communal umbrella. Jesus used the image of sheep, the ultimate herd animal, to describe his people because sheep find identity in community. In the midst of a dark night sheep need to feel the warmth of the herd pressing about them. A lone sheep is a lost sheep.
Michael Blewett, an Anglican priest in St. Louis, tells of a parishioner who hadn’t been to Sunday worship in a while. She rarely missed a Sunday for a couple years. Then she just vanished, without a word. So Father Blewett took her to lunch, where she explained that she was having a crisis of faith.
“So, how’s that going for you?” he asked.
“Not very well.” she admitted.
Father Blewett replied: “Maybe you should try having your crisis of faith in the church with the rest of us. I’m sure you’re not the only one.”
Whether we come together in strength or in weakness, we stand together in Christ. There is no better place to be wet, or wounded, or weary, than in the center of a community that will offer protection and love.
Is there anyone who did not download the incredible video on You-Tube a few months ago that depicted the battle of a herd of wildebeests for the life of one little calf. Attacked first by one then two alligators at the local watering hole, the jaws of a lion pulled the calf out of the water and out of the jaws of the reptiles! Yet just as the lion was preparing to drag away its prize, the herd, the community of huge, well-horned wildebeests, assembled. They surrounded the lion. They charged the lion. They forced the lion to drop its hold on the calf and back off. Then the herd surrounded the calf — horns out. Ultimately the lion and its pride-mates were driven off. And, against all possible odds, against the jaws of alligators and lions, the little calf survived. That is some umbrella: the community of faith who will never desert, never give up, never give you away.
Second, you need some boots. When it drizzles, wear your rubber boots. You need something to keep you from slipping, sliding, and sloshing.
The John 10:10 life has abundant resources for any rainy season. There are no better all-weather resistant resources than the texts and traditions of our faith. Each time you enter into the Scriptures you discover a new source of traction. Bible study is not an exercise for kids in Sunday school. As we wade through the deepest puddles in life, it is the words of our ancestors we recall, the prayers we prayed, the stories of life and faith, which give us a good grip on the slippery surfaces we traverse.
Third, you need wipes. When it drizzles, you need to keep your vision clear.
Arguably the best invention ever for weather was the intermittent wiper blade on a car’s windshield. When the rain is coming down, but not a steady downpour, the every-few-second wiper settings are perfect. Intermittent wipers are slow, occasional, low key, not hot shot. They give you a clear view, but do so by taking life at a different pace.
Sometimes the down and drizzly times in the abundant life are caused by allowing the world to set our pace, to set our agenda, to set our standards. Sometimes we need to clean off our grimy lenses and see beauty, truth and goodness in their original glory and splendor.
“One of the most moving stories I have read in recent times is that told by Martha Beck in her book Expecting Adam. Martha and her husband John were graduate students at Harvard University well on their way to careers of academic distinction. Then Martha became pregnant for the second time and discovered that the baby would almost certainly have Down’s Syndrome. Although not pro-life advocates, or religious in any formal sense, Martha and John decided not to terminate the pregnancy. Expecting Adam tells the story of their struggles, fears and pain. It also tells how the birth of Adam not only changed their understanding of what it means to be a ‘normal’ human being, but also transformed their lives. Near the end of the book Martha writes:
I have discovered that many of the things I though priceless are as cheap as costume jewelry, and much of what I labeled worthless was, all the time, filled with the kind of beauty that directly nourishes my soul. Now I think that the vast majority of us ‘normal’ people spend our lives trashing our treasures and treasuring our trash.
She continues:
Living with Adam, loving Adam, has taught me a lot about the truth. He has taught me to look at things in themselves, not at the value a brutal and often senseless world assigns to them. As Adam’s mother, I have been able to see quite clearly that he is no less beautiful for being called ugly, no less wise for appearing dull, no less precious for being seen as worthless. And neither am I. Neither are you. Neither is any of us. (Martha Beck, Expecting Adam [London: Piatkus, 2004], 317, as referenced in John W. De Gruchy, Confessions of a Christian Humanist (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2006), 5-6.
You can sizzle-when-it-drizzles; you can live a sizzle-when-it-drizzles life if you pick up that umbrella, put on some boots, and wipe your lenses clean and clear to see life as God designed it to be.
Illustrations, Illuminations, Ruminations, Animations, Applications
I don’t like language that refers to “the spiritual life.” In fact, such language of “The Spiritual Life” is part of our problem. There is no spiritual life. There is only life. One life where the spiritual is not separate but the whole.
You might want to contrast The Market God’s “Good Life” vs. The Maker God’s “Abundant Life.”
There is where the whole market morality, and the cult of the Market God, can be challenged and confronted.
Part of whole-life discipleship is a celebration of the simple things like daily food and neighborly conversation, daily life lived in relationship with God as a present reality.
To sizzle when it drizzles . . . .
Don’t spend your time asking WHY it’s raining.
Don’t spend your time complaining about the drizzles . . .
Give the rain some meaning and purpose.
Leonardo Boff says that while there is no meaning in suffering, “we can endow it with meaning.”
Leonardo Boff, Passion of Christ, Passion of the world: The Facts, Their Interpretation, and Their Meaning Yesterday and Today (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1977), 107.
“In When Faith is Tested: Pastoral Response to Suffering and Tragic Death, Jeffrey Zurheide presents five possible frameworks from which to respond. A deterministic framework tries to offer solace with the words, ‘It is God’s will’ (that someone is suffering). The didactic approach conveys the idea that God is teaching something through the suffering. The athletic answer portrays suffering as training, testing, or strengthening experiences sent by God. This disciplinarian framework suggests that a God as parent is punishing or chastising for wrongdoing. The fifth framework offered by Zurheide is a struggle with the question of theodicy resulting in a sense of God’s mystery and incarnational vulnerability. It is the latter that Zurheide suggests is most workable. Using the theological language offered by Karl Barth in his Church Dogmatics, Zurheide focuses on God suffering with us. Through the incarnation, an omnipotent God became flesh in the person of Jesus Christ, who lived on this earth: ‘Thus, as Jesus was rejected, God was rejected; as Jesus wept, God wept; as Jesus experienced profound suffering, so also God experienced the same.’”
Some suffering is self-inflicted. Sometimes we rain on our own parade.
A doctor who had recently done an artificial heart transplant was reassuring the recipient’s wife that her husband would soon be well enough to play golf. The wife replied, “Hasn’t the man suffered enough?”