Sermons

“I Will Not Leave You Orphaned”

John 14:15-21, 25-27; Acts 1:6-14 – Rev. Rebecca Littlejohn

Vista La Mesa Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), La Mesa, California – May 28, 2017

Holy God, bless the speaking and the hearing of these words that we might be assured of your presence and trust that we are not alone. In the name of the Risen Christ we pray, Amen.

As you may have heard, my husband Todd is back in Pennsylvania for a few weeks visiting friends and family. One of the consequences of this is that I get to watch all the TV shows he’d rather not watch with me. So last weekend I began watching “Anne With an ‘E’”, the recently re-booted Netflix version of “Anne of Green Gables.” For those who may not know, “Anne of Green Gables” is a 1908 novel (with sequels!) by Lucy Maud Montgomery about a plucky and brilliant, red-haired orphan who is adopted by an elderly pair of siblings in Prince Edward Island, Canada, around the 1870s.

It’s terrible to admit this on a Sunday when we’re celebrating our library, but I never read the “Anne of Green Gables” books. I’m not sure how it happened, but I just missed them, along with the TV version that came out when I was still young, which meant that I didn’t really know what I was getting into. My impression was of a story of a charming if challenged little girl, but it turns out the Netflix re-boot is a little darker than the books (and probably more realistic). Oh my goodness! I cried and cried! Anne’s life was so hard! And the people were so mean to her!

It’s interesting how in a tightly closed, supposedly moralistic society, perfectly nice people can shun a little girl because of what the world has done to her. At one point in an early episode, Anne shares with the other girls at school some of what she thinks she’s learned in her previous life in service, and their parents are scandalized and try to banish her from school. It is only Matthew Cuthbert, her adoptive father, who points out that rather than being upset with what Anne shared, they should be concerned that she’d been exposed to it in the first place. Matthew is Anne’s advocate. And she definitely needs one!

The scriptures and the church year have caught us at an auspicious moment. Next Sunday is Pentecost, when we celebrate the “birthday” of the church, when the Holy Spirit arrived with wind and fire, to empower Jesus’ disciples to carry the gospel to the ends of the earth. But today, we’re not quite there yet. Today we’re focused on what came just before, namely, Jesus leaving, or what the church traditionally calls the Ascension.

It was quite a roller coaster the disciples had been on. The drama and sorrow and fear and despair of Holy Week – losing not just their best friend but the one they had thought was going to restore the kingdom to Israel – and then the indescribable joy of Easter morning – discovering Jesus was back, no longer dead but walking and talking and eating fish with them just like always only better. And then they had these few weeks, when he was around, helping them understand everything that had happened and how God was calling them to respond. But now the moment for good-bye has arrived, and how could you possibly be ready for that? Especially when that first good-bye hadn’t turned out to be real? It would only be logical that some of them might wonder if this departure, too, was a fake-out. Is it any wonder that they were standing there, staring up into heaven? The angels’ question is so silly. “Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up toward heaven? This Jesus, who has been taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven.” Well, if that’s the case, then shouldn’t at least one of us stay here and keep watching at all times, to be ready when he returns? But mostly, I don’t think it was the possibility of imminent arrival that caused them to stand there looking up. I think it was the shock of what felt like abandonment.

Jesus had tried to prepare them. But we’re never really ready, are we? This has been a difficult week for Vista La Mesa family. We have learned once again, and twice over, that even deaths that are anticipated take us by surprise. “I will not leave you orphaned,” says Jesus, and yet so often, orphaned is exactly how we feel. I’m guessing Jesus put it that way because he knew that was precisely how the disciples were going to feel. And as I reflect on Anne with an “E”, I realize how his answer to this devastation is just what is needed. What did it mean for Anne to be an orphan? It meant that she had no sense of belonging, she had no protection, she had no one to teach her and guide her and defend her, and most of all, it meant that she was unspeakably lonely. When Matthew and his sister Marilla became her advocates, those losses were compensated. Suddenly, she belonged somewhere; she had people, people who would look out for her and see her as someone precious rather than a resource to be exploited. Being an orphan means feeling unmoored. Having an advocate gives us something to hold onto.

Is there an age past which we don’t really qualify as orphans anymore? Perhaps technically, but not emotionally. I’ve never met anyone who said they felt ready to become the oldest generation of their family. When we lose parents as adults, we may not experience the repercussions of having no one during our formative years, but there is still a keen sense of unmooring and vulnerability. A deep longing for someone to be there when we need guidance, to know that someone is looking after us, to feel like someone is rooting for us, reverberates in our lonely moments. “I will not leave you orphaned,” says Jesus. What can this promise mean for us, in the face of loss? Did it help the disciples, as they stood there numbly staring up at the sky?

What is this promised Advocate, anyway? Has anyone ever figured out the mystery of this Holy Spirit that’s arriving next week? Is it really going to make us feel better? I’m not sure that’s how Jesus said it would work. But surely there will be moments of comfort. Surely there will be moments of peace, of rest and assurance and catching our breath. “Do not let your hearts be troubled, and do not let them be afraid,” he said. We will not be left to fend for ourselves. The Spirit of wisdom and compassion will accompany us. “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me.” We experience the Holy Spirit’s comforting power in so many different ways, not the least of which is through the community of the faithful who surround us in times of sorrow and difficulty. Even orphans can come to belong somewhere.

Our most devastating losses – and here I speak not just of death but all the many losses that emerge in our lives – all of them can be mitigated by the presence of God’s love. I do not say fixed or erased or forgotten, but mitigated, made easier to bear, weakened of their power to knock us down. This Advocate who is coming, this mysterious Spirit that blows like the wind, will guide us through those dark valleys and long nights. This Advocate will bind us up together, creating new ways of belonging that will not let us go. Our pain will not be eliminated, but we will be given tools for expressing it so it cannot swallow us from the inside out. If you need a good cry, I recommend watching “Anne With an ‘E’”. But more immediately, let us remember that we are invited to a table this morning, where everyone has a place, where no one is left out or forgotten, and where Jesus is the host, ever-wise, ever-merciful, and ever-present. May we pull our eyes from the sky and feast instead on what is in front of us. Alleluia and Amen.