The Table is Ready
Isaiah 25:1-9; Psalm 23; Philippians 4:1-9; Matthew 22:1-14
It seems as is if there is a whirlwind of thoughts spinning through my
mind this morning. They have been astir all week and even now I sense
there is a common thread that connects them: Banquets and feasts, open
doors and consecration Sunday mixed together with political and
economic unrest, turmoil in the church, after-effects of hurricanes,
and serious medical needs in our families and among our friends.
Tumultuous times call for a place of refuge and I think we all seek
that when life seems overwhelming. Paul’s plea, in his letter to
the Philippians, to rejoice always might sound to us like a hollow,
unrealistic command if we do not hear that phrase, “in the Lord.”
Listen to his advice: Rejoice. Let your gentleness be known to
everyone. The Lord is near. Do not worry about anything,
but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your
requests be made known to God.
This is easy advice to give when things are going well but when someone
has lost a loved one to death or has learned that they have a terminal
illness; has lost their job, their health benefits, their home, or has
had their retirement wiped out by a failing economy – the possibilities
– very real possibilities – go on and on – this sounds very
Pollyannaish.
But it is supported by the words of Isaiah, the great prophet of
ancient Israel, who captures the basis for our hope in a remarkable and
poetic statement. I find great comfort when I read:
For you have been a refuge to the poor,
a refuge to the needy in their distress,
a shelter from the rainstorm and a shade from the heat.
When the blast of the ruthless was like a winter rainstorm,
the noise of aliens like heat in a dry place,
you subdued the heat with the shade of clouds;
the song of the ruthless was stilled.
The Lord will make a feast while destroying the shroud cast over his peoples.
The images of God subduing the heat with a shade of clouds; of stilling
the wintry blast remind me of scenes from my childhood. We lived
where the summer heat could be relentless and the shadow cast by a
passing cloud was welcome respite from that heat. And, I often
played by the side of a creek. There was a small spring that
formed a pool and fed with fresh and, at the time, fresh tasting
water. It was on the side of a small cliff, facing south to that
in the winter, it sheltered from the north wind and gathered the warmth
of the sun – all in all a spot with fond memories.
But it was the image of the banquet in the midst of trouble, darkness,
and gloom that reminded me of the writings of George MacDonald in the
Curdie books - fairy tales imbued with deep insights into the love and
deliverance of God. So I was most surprised by the synchronicity
on Friday (the feast day of Paulinus, a 7th century bishop in England)
to read at morning prayer, in a short history of Paulinus, the
following argument by a pagan nobleman for converting to Christianity:
Life is like a banquet hall. Inside is light and fire and warmth
and feasting, but outside it is cold and dark. A sparrow flies in
through a window at one end, flies the length of the hall, and out
through a window at the other end. That is what life is
like. At birth we emerge from the unknown, and for a brief while
we are here on this earth, with a fair amount of comfort and
happiness. But then we fly out the window at the other end, into
the cold and dark and unknown future. If the new religion can
lighten that darkness for us, then let us follow it.
Our doors stand open today, in spite of noise, in spite of whatever
distractions it might create because we wish to welcome whosoever will
come while reminding ourselves that if our worship “in here” does not
connect with life “out there” – well, we need to rethink what it is we
are worshipping.
Of course, for someone as old as me, the days before central heat and
air conditioning often found Sunday hymns and sermons wafting out open
doors and windows. Somehow, the openness of the church and the presence
of porches on peoples homes – porches where they sat out to escape the
heat of the house and also to keep up with activities in the
neighborhood – created a stronger sense of community, of belonging,
than we experience in most places today.
Open Door Sunday is not about going back however. It is about going
forward, about recognizing our role as a transformational force in
Eureka Springs and Carroll County. But we cannot fulfill the calling of
our Baptismal Covenant to be a transformed and transforming people
unless we continually renew our commitment to offer ourselves – body,
mind, and spirit – as vessels for God’s purposes.
Note the words our bishop has written to describe where we are as a church:
Our church is not a community of like-minded people. We do not
exist for ourselves alone. Instead, we are a people set apart to
be the personal presence and witness of God to the world. We
struggle with many issues and we disagree with one another, but we
still gather each week to hear the story of God’s love for us, to ask
for forgiveness from one another and God, and to offer our lives up to
God.
In a couple of short weeks, we will again gather for Consecration
Sunday. The steering committee will have something to say about
that in a few minutes and I don’t want to steal anyone’s “thunder” but
I would be remiss if I didn’t point out that this special day is
precisely about offering “our lives up to God.” Certainly the
pledge enables the vestry and church leaders to plan for the coming
year, but that is secondary to the commitment each of makes. It
is that commitment which shapes our faith and determines our
witness. We can choose to remain under the shroud of fear and sit
in darkness, or we can find life in the banquet hall, where it “is
light and fire and warmth and feasting.”
The doors are open; the table is set. The banquet is ready and the welcome is out. Will you dine?
The Rev. John Dryden Burton
Eureka Springs, Arkansas
October 12, 2008