conjectural navel gazing; jesus in lint form

sermon: story time

Follow the extended link for the Palm/Passion Sunday sermon.

Sermon: Palm and Passion Sunday
Community Church of Wilmette
April 1, 2007

Story Time

When I was a little boy, my grandfather, Pappy, would read to me. He read from a series call “Old Mother West Wind Tales.” I loved those stories…tales of animals who had human personalities, sly, witty, brave, silly, hedgehogs and foxes and rabbits. They were filled with humor and had some moral to them. They were fables. I loved them. And they were old. Well, old to me. The editions Pappy read from were published in the early 1900’s about the time of World War I. My great grandmother would read to my grandfather and his brothers from those books. He would sit me down in my bed and ask me which story I wanted to hear. I had my favorites and I would ask for them every time.

The one where the hedgehogs stand up to the bullying fox was one favorite. Everything was different after that day in the happy meadow.

The books are somewhere in my father’s house, now. I imagine that they are waiting for someone else to pick them up and read from their worn pages…maybe my theoretical children or my brother’s. Who can say? But they wait, sitting on a shelf next to Jack London’s White Fang and Douglas Southall Freeman’s four-volume biography of Robert E. Lee.

Those were not the only stories my grandfather would share with me. He loved to tell me stories of when he was a boy and the trouble that he and his brothers would get into. Some are pleasant. Some are not.

There’s a story about testing just how bulletproof an army helmet was.
There are stories about the Civil War in our family that Pappy’s great uncle told him. It seems that he was at the Battle of Gettysburg. That is an amazing story.

Not all the stories were about war. There were stories about cooking, pets, parties, long drives in the mountains…story after story.

The stories we tell most often are often the stories that shape us most profoundly…which is why I have heard many stories about war. The Civil War, Word War I and World War II…Events like these echo through our minds. Sometimes stories haunt us.

I am sure we all have such stories if we stop just long enough to remember.

Stories are curious…We don’t often get to choose them. They are records of experiences we have had, not the results of an outline and the careful composition of a narrative. We do get to choose how we respond to them. But each one of us is born into a set of stories, a history belonging to our family. We are born into a set of stories belonging to our communities. We are born into a set of stories belonging to our nation. These stories are how we share who we are with one another and the world.

George Washington cuts down a cherry tree. We know and retell this story. We know that it tells us something about what we want the character of our nation to be. We have rags to riches stories…Horatio Alger tales. We have stories of immigrants. We also have stories of slavery and war.

We have chosen none of these stories for ourselves…not really. They have been given to us. Stories such as these are gifts. Some are great and wondrous gifts. Some are gifts we might want to trade in for something a little more our style. Some stories are burdens to bear.

This past Wednesday several of us gathered in the Guthridge Lounge to share a meal and to watch the documentary about the life of Dietrich Bonhoeffer. The story of his life, the memories shared by those who knew him, is a great gift. His was a challenged and inspired life. Those of us who did not know much about Brother Bonhoeffer were glad to have learned more. We even wished that there were more of the story to tell. His was a salvation story.

The world needs salvation stories.
The world needs stories where the end is not death, but in the proclamation of new life.

The trouble with such stories is that they are never simple. They are never easy. Like the story of Bonhoeffer’s life, they ask much of us. They ask for our courage to tell them again and again. They ask us to bring them into our hearts and our lives and to make them a part of ourselves. In this sense, they are a true gift.

***

On April 1, 1933, a week after Hitler became dictator of Germany, he ordered a boycott of Jewish shops, banks, offices and department stores. But the boycott was mostly ignored by German shoppers and was called off after three days. However, the unsuccessful boycott was followed by a rapid series of laws which robbed the Jews of many rights.

It was only the beginning of a story that many find a terrible burden to this day. And on the anniversary of that day, it is important for us to remember the tale. Remembering stories and retelling them is a discipline, a practice, and it is life giving.

This Tuesday, our Jewish brothers and sisters with gather to tell another story. It is Passover.

The entire Seder meal is a retelling of the most important story in Jewish history. On the evening of the Passover, God releases the Jews from slavery, from bondage. This is a salvation story. And every year families gather. They invite friends and loved ones to participate. They relive the moment, re-enter that same evening from long ago in the telling of the story and the shared meal.

They tell a story that shapes them, that informs and contains all other stories, even the story of Nazi Germany and the horrors of the Holocaust.

Passiontide, the week leading up to Easter is a time where we who gather here stop and remember a story. This is a story that was given to us. And it is a story we choose.

We have chosen the story of Jesus’ ride into Jerusalem, his trial and execution and his resurrection at Easter. We choose to identify ourselves with this story. We choose to be named by it: We are Christians. We, especially we Baptists, understand what it means to choose such a story. We don’t have to choose this one. We don’t have to identify ourselves with a Jewish carpenter and political upstart. We can choose as Peter did that same evening and proclaim that we do not know Jesus. This is absolutely our choice. And that is a generous freedom.

The story of Jesus, his life, death and resurrection is a gift to us. It is a free gift. It stands before us offering itself every day. It stands before as an offering. We can choose it or not. We can identify ourselves by it or not.

Our national identity is not compromised if we do not choose it. Our familial identity is not compromised if we do not choose it. I was born in America to a family from Richmond, Virginia. We are all crazy people. That’s the story. And to a great degree, I did not get to choose that story. I was born into it.

But I chose the story of Jesus.

I met Christ on the way to Jerusalem.

I joined the crowds who shouted, “Hosanna in the highest, blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.”

I plotted against Christ with the religious leadership. I sought his release, as did Pilate. I denied him three times, like Peter. My heart broke for his mother. My tears flowed as he died.

I have chosen this story. I have chosen to live by this story…to allow it to uphold and to convict me.

I have chosen to tell this story. It is a discipline…a gift to be shared.

The work of the Christian is to always engage this Passion of Christ, to enter into it and to allow it to inform all our stories. This is what Dietrich Bonhoeffer did. He allowed a story of salvation to inform all other stories. He allowed the story of salvation to shape his life, his work, and his politics. As frightening and confusing as that may sound, it is our task as well if we so choose. It is our task to retell this story in liturgy, song, and allowing it to define us.

This is our salvation story.

And it is our offering to the world.

Amen.

Posted by tripp at April 1, 2007 06:59 AM