Sermons

“Where Is The Pause Button?”

Isaiah 40:21-31; I Corinthians 9:16-23; Mark 1:29-39 – Rev. Rebecca Littlejohn

Vista La Mesa Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), La Mesa, California – February 8, 2015

Holy God, bless the speaking and the hearing of these words that your Spirit might calm our spirits and grant us the rest our souls crave. We pray it in the name of Jesus, Amen.

I don’t know about you, but that passage from First Corinthians makes me feel a little bit out of breath. Do you get the sense that Paul was something of an over-achiever? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I have incredible respect and appreciation for the apostle and the territory he covered and the deep thinking he did in a pivotal time of great upheaval, but I’m just not sure he would be that much fun to hang out with. Or maybe his sincerity just doesn’t translate across the centuries very well. This passage is the origin of the idea of trying to be “all things to all people.” Have you ever tried that? How did it work out for you?

The truth is that very few of us can pull it off and it’s rarely a good idea to begin with. Not to mention exhausting. As I read the lectionary scriptures this week, a clear theme emerged from the contrasting pictures they were painting. And that theme was that life is exhausting. From Paul being everything to everyone, to Jesus getting up before dawn just to have a moment alone, to Isaiah reminding us that even young people occasionally fall down exhausted, the biblical witness today assuredly feels our pain. The Lord knows we’re tired.

I’m sure there are all sorts of things about life in bible times that sapped the strength and life and energy out of people, things that we don’t really have to deal with anymore, like hauling water and living without ibuprofen or electricity or decent mattresses. But modern life has developed thousands of new ways to drain us of our life-force. To-do lists, automated phone menus, operating system updates for the computer, more stuff than we have room for or time to keep organized… The banal hassle of everyday life is not just time-consuming but seems, in fact, designed to strip us of our humanity. Why is it that every time I call my insurance company, I have to key in my ID number (which has nothing to do with my actual identity), and then when I finally get to speak with a human being, I have to read that ridiculously long number off all over again? Are they just giving me something to do while I’m on hold, or is it actually more important for the machines to talk to each other before the people do?

I am firmly convinced that one of the most important things we can do for one another as church is to keep each other human. There is so much out there that is more interested in the numbers that supposedly represent our lives than in us as unique, beloved living beings. We gather here to re-humanize one another. When we come to the Lord’s Table to re-member the Body of Christ, it’s not just Jesus we’re putting back together, but ourselves. There are so many stressors in our lives these days. Even if you’re not working, just taking care of all the various accounts and appointments and deadlines life requires can be enough to wear you out. We can get to the point that we’re hardly even living our lives, because we’re spending so much time dealing with all the hassles of life. You know the phrase “beside yourself”? You can be beside yourself with grief, or excitement, but I think also with stress. All the stuff we have to take care of starts to disconnect us from truly living our lives. It’s not an out-of-body experience, so much as going on auto-pilot. This is not a new reality, though the reasons may have changed. I’m guessing it wouldn’t have been too off the mark to say that many of those purportedly demon-possessed folks Jesus was helping were “beside themselves.” And their encounters with Jesus helped them find their way back home. We come to church because we need to hear that there is something more important and worthy than account numbers and waiting rooms and three forms of verification. We need to know that our identity is something more precious than reciting our birth date and mailing address and the answer to our security question.

And this is just the simple stuff. When we look at Jesus’ need to get away, if only for a few stolen moments before the day began, when we imagine how exhausting it must have been for him to be surrounded by so many needy people, all clamoring to be healed, we recognize that tired as well. The current term for it is “compassion fatigue.” Some of what is making us so tired is there is also much going on that saps our emotional reserves. People around us are struggling, and they need our care. Aging parents, wayward children, aimless siblings, ailing co-workers, unlucky neighbors – it seems everyone needs a piece of us. It’s like we’re supposed to be all things to all people. Our days are full of loss and uncertainty and physical pain and moral ambiguity, and it’s exhausting. Everything seems to be going by in a blur, and the only we know for sure any more is that we need a break. Do you know that moment when you’re watching a movie at home, and someone says something too quickly, or something flashes on the screen, and you know you were supposed to catch it or you won’t know what’s going on, but you missed it, and you grab the remote and fumble around, but you just can’t find the pause button? I hate that. Sometimes life feels like that. I just need a second. I just need a couple hours. I just need a day. But I can’t seem to find the pause button.

Now I am living proof that this method doesn’t work for everyone, but Jesus’ approach to this problem was to get up really early – “while it was still very dark,” Mark calls it – and slip away for prayer. Maybe early morning is your time, maybe it’s not. Maybe you can steal some moments at noon or three or 8 pm. The important thing isn’t the time but the prayer. If there is one thing that’s clear from our scriptures today and their various perspectives on overcoming exhaustion, it’s that God is the source of our strength. God is the one who doesn’t get tired, and to think that we won’t or shouldn’t is simply hubris. Even Paul in his over-achievement explains that it’s only because of God’s commission on his life that he is able to do what he does.

Whether it’s the dehumanizing banality of modern life or the actual human toll of caring for loved ones that’s wearing us out, scripture invites us to find our strength in God. “Those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength, they shall mount up with wings like eagles.” The detail of this metaphor matters. It’s not the wings of a humming bird, flapping faster than we can see. It’s the wings of an eagle, those birds who float on the air with seemingly effortless ease. The wind keeps them aloft as much as the strength of their own wings. They aren’t trying to do it all themselves. That is the lesson the prophet is trying to share with us. On our own, we will fall in exhaustion, even those of us who are young and strong and fit.

But in order for us to tap into that strength, that inexhaustible life-force, we have to find a way to re-connect with God. Wherever we steal those minutes from, we need to find them somehow. It is not likely any of us will be offered a three week vacation from hassle. But sometimes a change of pace or direction or venue can be almost as reinvigorating as taking a break. We are blessed, within the church, to have the season of Lent, which is right around the corner. Though traditionally, we may have thought of Lent as a dark time of feeling guilty 24 hours a day, it can be more fruitfully approached. If we think of Lent as a time to slow down, to let some things go, to set aside what is less important to focus on what is more important, it can have a powerful reviving effect.

You have about a week and half before Ash Wednesday. Is that enough time to figure out what is making you so tired? If it’s mundane stuff, consider whether it would truly all fall apart if you neglected it for a few weeks. Is there a way to be prioritize or let go of some of it so that you can spend more time in things that bring you energy and life? What would make you feel more human? Is there a practice that gives you joy that you could just give six weeks to?

If it’s heavy, personal stuff, the kind of life events that weigh upon your heart and distract you from all the other things you’re trying to do, is there a way to carry those things in a spirit of prayer, constantly reminding yourself that God is the one holding them, that you are not all on your own? How can your church help?

If there is a positive spin to Paul’s “all things to all people” perhaps it lies in the suggestion that as church, it’s important for us to meet people where they are. You are not required to be like everyone else here. We want to know you, and we each want to be known, fully, lovingly, for who we are as individuals. This is the place where we re-humanize each other. This is the place where rather than being asked and known as a meaningless number, we are welcomed as a beloved child of God, with a unique offering to share and whatever special combination of challenges we’re carrying. Life is exhausting. Let’s make church a place that can help.

When we gather to receive the sign of the ashes on the 18^th, we will be doing it as a sign of our mortality. It is a humbling act, but in that humilty is relief. It is the blessed admission that we do get tired, that we do make mistakes, that we have limits. And in claiming that weakness, we are also declaring that God is the One who does not faint or grow weary. God is the One who gives us the power to do and to be all that we are called to do and be. As we ease into the slower pace of Lent, letting go of what isn’t leading to life and taking on that which helps us tap into the strength of God, we can discover a better way of living. Is six weeks long enough to find the pause button? If we practice hitting “pause” for that long, will it be easier to find in the heat of the moment when we need it most? Will we begin to believe that we do not need to be “all things to all people” because that is God’s role, not ours? We will begin to believe that we, ourselves, just as we are – limited and mortal – are exactly what God intended for us?

If we can, indeed, take the risk of pausing, if we can dare to search out the minutes to seek God, rather than waiting on hold or pouring ourselves out for others past the point of exhaustion, we will find ourselves lifted. If we can endeavor to make church a place where each of us is met where we are, loved for who we are, we will find the Holy Spirit lifting all of us, re-connecting us with ourselves and with God. The gift of a season of slowness is upon us. Will we dare to embrace it? I pray that we will choose to wait upon the Lord and find ourselves restored. Alleluia and Amen.