Are We There Yet?
Sermon Delivered By Reverend Ginger Gaines-Cirelli -
October 31, 2010
Habakkuk
1:1-4, 2:1-4; Luke 19:1-10
As a child I spent hours in our
family “truckster” with my siblings waiting to arrive at our
destination. Regular treks included the four hours to Arkansas to see
my Grandma and Grandpa and nine hours to Houston to see my Nana and Pa.
And then there was the Big Trip when I was in 6th grade from
Kiefer, OK north through the National Parks of Wyoming and Montana and
into Alberta, Canada and back south through the Dakotas. The regular
refrain on these trips: “Are we there yet?” The anticipation would be
so great of getting to see our grandparents, of getting to see the
mountains, Mount Rushmore, Lake Louise that, well, I wasn’t always
patient. And there was more than one occasion when my brother, sister,
and I would get so rowdy on the journey that Daddy would pull the
classic: “Am I going to have to pull over?!”
Are we there yet? Regardless of
our age, we know how hard it is to be patient, to have to wait for
something good, to live with not knowing how much longer it will take to
get that for which we yearn. It is especially difficult to have
patience when the circumstances of our lives are painful, when our
bodies or the bodies of those we love are broken or diseased, when we
struggle to get through the day or to find any sense of meaning or
purpose, when we feel anxious, lonely, or confused without any idea of
how to feel differently, when the pace of our lives overwhelms our best
efforts at living with any sense of balance. It is hard to wait for
things to get better when, in our heart of hearts, we aren’t sure that
things can be different, or that we can be different. We
look around at the world, full as it is of senseless violence,
injustice, prejudice, systems that fail, public discourse that is
anything but civil, and a culture that makes idols of material wealth
and fleeting fame. And the words of the prophet Habakkuk sound
painfully current: “O Lord, how long shall I cry for help, and you will
not listen? Or cry to you, ‘Violence!’ and you will not save?
…Destruction and violence are before me; strife and contention
arise…The wicked surround the righteous.” (Hab. 1:2-4)
The book of Habakkuk is only
three chapters long and this is the only time in the three year cycle of
the lectionary that we will hear from him. The prophet takes on God
with challenge after challenge and question after question. He wants an
answer for his complaints and in the first lines of chapter two,
Habakkuk stands watch, waiting for a response from God. And the
response comes:
“Write the vision; make it plain
on tablets, so that a runner may read it. For there is still a vision
for the appointed time; it speaks of the end, and does not lie. If it
seems to tarry, wait for it; it will surely come, it will not delay.
Look at the proud! Their spirit is not right in them, but the righteous
live by their faith (faithfulness).” (Hab. 2:2-4)
“Wait for it…” Really? This is
the answer? Haven’t we waited long enough? And yet this is the word we
receive, a word of promise for the future. The future vision, the
promise of God is a vision that raises up the lowly and oppressed, that
sets the captives free, that brings healing, mercy, justice,
reconciliation. The vision is one in which all people cast away idols
that do not serve them and violence is no longer a precious commodity
among the fearful, where money and possessions are used to serve people
and the created order instead of people and creation being used in the
service of getting more wealth. The future vision—the “end”— is God’s
vision of shalom, wholeness for the creation and all peoples
together. It is justice rolling down like waters and righteousness like
an ever flowing stream. (Amos 5:24) It is the wolf living with the
lamb, the leopard lying down with the kid, the lion and the calf
together and a little child leading them. (Isaiah 11:6)
And at the appointed time, in
the fullness of time, the little child did come into the world to show
us God’s vision in the flesh. Jesus was God’s vision writ large, a
human being in whom the transforming power of God’s love fully dwelled.
And one day a little man ran to catch a glimpse of the vision; Zacchaeus,
this small man who was living a small life of fraud and injustice for
the sake of lining his own pockets was trying to see who Jesus was. And
on this day, there was no more waiting—all at once the words we hear are
“hurry” and “today!” On that day, ready or not, Zacchaeus’ life was
changed through his encounter with God’s love, mercy, and embrace. On
that day, Zacchaeus discovered that God’s vision included him, that he
had a part to play, that he could live his life differently, that he
could live his life in service to others. He learned, perhaps, through
the generosity shown to him in the person of Jesus, that all the riches
of his life were worth more when they were shared.
Initially, the crowd, who also
gathered to catch a glimpse of Jesus, complained at the way things
played out. Out of all the crowds crying for a word, a touch, a sign of
justice, why in the world did Jesus choose this crook to spend time
with? If those in the crowd weren’t willing to wait a little while,
trusting that Jesus knew what he was doing, then they missed the
miracle. For those willing to wait and watch, they are rewarded with
the testimony of a changed life, a life that has found its place within
the larger purpose of God’s unfolding vision. Zacchaeus was lost, his
life disconnected from any larger vision than what he could see or
understand or control himself. To be lost in this way is a recipe for
isolation and despair—and, at worst, destruction, oppression, and
injustice. This is the small, selfish life that Zacchaeus was living.
But on that day when Jesus passed through, Zacchaeus was found by God
and found himself right in the middle of God’s unfolding vision! His
life meant more than being rich, his life was bigger than his short
stature, he—even he!—was called to participate in what God was doing to
bring love, reconciliation, and justice into the world. And the miracle
is that he was open and courageous enough to allow God’s grace to change
him—really change him.
Zacchaeus’ salvation on that day
didn’t end world hunger or the violence that persists; it didn’t cleanse
the world of disease or strife; it didn’t bring about reconciliation
between nations long at enmity with one another or soften all human
hearts to have compassion or end the cycles of the powerful oppressing
the vulnerable. Not even perfect love in flesh has been able to bring
God’s vision of shalom to fruition…yet. No, we aren’t there
yet. God’s vision is still unfolding, still emerging, still appearing
only in part, as in a mirror dimly. But the prophecy remains: “Write
the vision; make it plain on tablets, so that a runner may read it. For
there is still a vision for the appointed time; it speaks of the end,
and does not lie. If it seems to tarry, wait for it; it will surely
come, it will not delay. Look at the proud! Their spirit is not right
in them, but the righteous live by their faith (faithfulness).” (Hab.
2:2-4)
While we haven’t reached our
destination, the fullness of God’s vision, Zacchaeus and others through
the ages are concrete signs that God is at work continuing to make
manifest love in flesh, to bring healing, to move the world and all that
lives within it toward wholeness. Lives are changed, the lost
are found, little moments of transformation happen, and all of this
is due to the ones in the world who, by some miracle of grace, live
faithfully, trusting God more than they distrust themselves, trusting
the promise of the unfolding vision and their place in it, trusting that
small acts of kindness done with great love are the things of legend,
trusting that even in the face of hardship and suffering, God’s love and
care is cause for rejoicing.
The most powerful testimony I
ever heard was a sermon preached by a man named John who was my T.A. for
systematic theology in seminary. He was brilliant and creative both as
a scholar and as a human being. I still remember the quality of the
sunlight streaming through the windows of Marquand Chapel the morning he
stood in the pulpit and preached—the full content of the sermon is long
lost but the message, like the light, is crystal clear. He preached
about hope. He preached about God’s vision. He preached about trusting
that vision and rejoicing in God’s goodness. And all of us there sat
transfixed as we heard these words coming from our teacher and friend
who was dying of AIDS.
Friends, today the scriptures
remind us that in the face of all the complexities and confusion and
suffering and banality and injustices of human life, we are called to
live by faith, trusting and rejoicing in God’s vision. We are called to
see ourselves as participants in God’s unfolding vision—and through
that, to be strengthened and transformed. That’s what we’re here for—at
least as I see it. We’re here, in all the circumstances of our lives,
to rejoice in God who is surely at work in the world and, as a
congregation, to seek to live faithfully as participants in God’s
loving, saving work. Yes, we have a vision; we have a mission. But St.
Matthew’s—and all the faithful—are really called to be servants of
God’s vision and God’s mission: shalom, wholeness for
all creation and peoples together… All that we do here is ultimately in
service to that larger vision. And each and every one of you is called
to participate. YOU really are called to make a difference. What
Zacchaeus teaches us is that, insofar as you open your home and your
heart to the love of Christ, your own life will be transformed,
expanded, and grounded in the vision of God—and then your life will
become a testimony for others, regardless of your circumstances and,
perhaps even more powerfully because of your circumstances. As
my friend John testified before his death and, before him, the prophet
Habakkuk:
Though the fig tree does not
blossom, and no fruit is on the vines;
Though the produce of the olive
fails, and the fields yield no food;
Though the flock is cut off from
the fold, and there is no herd in the stalls,
Yet I will rejoice in the Lord;
I will exult in the God of my salvation.
God, the Lord, is my strength;
he makes my feet like the feet of a deer,
And makes me tread upon the
heights. (Hab. 3:17-19)
Living with that kind of faith,
even as falteringly as we do from day to day, allows us to live our
lives with patience, with joy, and hope, even when we’re “not there
yet”—because we trust that whether we see it or not, God’s vision will
surely come and maybe, even in some small way, will appear today.
Maybe it will even appear through you. May we have the eyes to see,
the ears to hear, and hearts open and courageous enough to receive this
astonishing good news.
