Sermons by Bishop Paul V. Marshall
A room with a view
Has the Stone Been Rolled Away From Our Awareness?
Easter Sermon 1999 -- Cathedral Church of the Nativity, Bethlehem
Bishop Paul V. Marshall[Children at the cathedral have just unearthed the Alleluia, and I have asked them to look for the Alleluia that might be entombed inside them.] Where this all comes from is the fact that while surfing the Net I was reminded recently of one of the most striking movies I've ever seen, the Merchant-Ivory production, A Room with a View.
In an early scene of the film, the elderly Miss Bartlett (Maggie Smith at her most wonderfully irritating) is quite upset that on her first trip to Florence, her young charge, Miss Lucy Honeychurch, has not been given a room with a view in their pensione, as they had been promised. Miss Bartlett complains about this at dinner -- loudly enough to be overheard by an old Englishman and his son, who offer to exchange rooms, because theirs have wonderful views.
Martyr that she is, Miss Bartlett drags out her initial refusal of the offer, particularly from someone to whom she hasn't been introduced. But under pressure she accepts -- "for her niece," of course.
Here the movie can do with an image what the original fails to do with words. The first thing Miss Bartlett does when she gets her new room with a view -- is to stride across the room and close and fasten the window shutters!
The internal contradictions in Miss Bartlett aren't much different from those that plague each of us. So, the first question this resurrection feast asks us is whether the stone is rolled away from our awareness -- are we attuned to the life that stands before us, attuned to the life on the other side of each of our deaths? Are the shutters of our souls flung wide open to see all that God has for us, to see all that God sees in us? Or are they firmly closed, focused on our limitations, our victimhood, disappointments, or hurts? Is the spiritual couch potato in us afraid of the light, truth and beauty we might see if we dared look outside our comfort zones, our habitual way of seeing the world?
Failure to look at the new or even the contemporary isn't just a personal misfortune, it is the root of international tragedy. Six hundred and ten years ago, in 1389, the Serbs lost Kosovo; fixated on that ancient defeat they have been unleashing genocidal horrors for a decade now. While the rest of the world lurches toward pluralism and diversity, they are imprisoned in a viewpoint that may cost us all many more lives. Even as we reach out in compassion to those who have been made refugees, we need also to be praying for light in Yugoslavia. A priest in our companion diocese in Ireland tells me that the most important thing for him about our Irish youth exchange is for young people to come to a country where it is possible to imagine Protestant and Catholic living and working side-by-side with a healthy sprinkling of Moslems and Jews.
Whether we consider personal or international consequences of limited vision, the call of Christ's resurrection is the same: seek the things that are above, seek the part of life wrapped up in the risen Christ; look for the unexpected, the new, the room with the view. It makes the difference in how we live and how we die.
I've had two shocks while reading this week. The first was seeing on the net a remark of a great preacher that when speaking of the resurrection our whole face should light up. He went on to say "when you're preaching about hell you can use your regular face."
However, and more to the point, the practical implications of our epistle lesson hit me with a force I was not ready for when I was reading Edwin Friedman's imagined dialogue between Moses, Freud, and Marx in heaven. The point where these wildly different thinkers come to agreement is when Moses observes, "The problem lies with the leadership of our estates, the priesthoods, if you will, among our respective followers, whether they are called the clergy or doctors or politicians. They have all become too concerned with making people feel good... rather than increasing their threshold for pain." That hurt, that transfixed me, because for years my motto has been, "Pain hurts." Here I am reminded that the business of religion is not so much to comfort me as to toughen me up to be of some use to those around me. Rabbi Friedman's little quip reminded me that Easter is God's way of saying, "Just do it." God will take care of how it all comes out.
You see, among the so-called proofs historians debate about when discussing the resurrection, is the effect it had on people. One Israeli scholar, who most emphatically does not believe Jesus to be the Messiah, is convinced that God must have raised him, because there is no other way to account for incredible transformation, courage, and persistence of those who claimed to have met him. Over the years I have had a few powerful spiritual experiences, like many people. Also like many people, I know the power of the resurrected one in events that involve other people.
About a year ago New Bethany Ministries, in which Nativity people have always played an important part, was in very serious trouble. The response within the diocese was more than instructive to me. Starting in the Incorporated Trustees, and then involving people from Nativity and the entire community, a reassessment of the ministry's vision, mission, organization, and opportunities was undertaken with an absolute minimum of blaming, complaining, or negativity. Out of that has come a stronger, more focused, ministry, with a much broader base of support than ever before. It happened because people wanted to continue to be God's agents of compassion to those in need, and were willing to spend the time and trouble required to do the job. It happened because an institution was able stand the pain of ruthless scrutiny, able to face the death of the way it had been operating and take on a new self-understanding. The future of New Bethany looks very, very, good because people did what needed to be done. Please do support that ministry to this very neighborhood.
This is to say, that along with the promise of our own life with God forever, Easter is for those who still have work to do, whether it is the work of dying or living. Easter is for those who have crosses to bear because they want to follow Jesus Christ. Easter did not erase Christ's cross, and it doesn't erase the cross you or I may have to bear -- it vindicates it, says it is worth it, toughens us up for the pain that real living always implies. Easter isn't about the Velveteen Rabbit, helpful as that story is. Easter is about a man, Jesus of Nazareth, in whom God went the whole way to make it clear that his love has no limits, and not even the death we inflicted on Christ can restrain that love. I hope to God that if I were in Belgrade today I would be celebrating the Resurrection with the fervor and focus that we do here. I also hope that tomorrow when I face the ordinary challenges of my life, and the temptation comes to close the window blinds and focus on pain rather than potential, I will still remember that Christ is risen and propels each of us to look deep inside for that hidden Alleluia our children have unearthed, and to live it gloriously.
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