|
|
|
|
 John 16:16-24
Some time ago I read a quote by Phillips Brooks, the popular and beloved 19th century American preacher. He was a deep thinker, very articulate, and wonderfully human. For many years he was the rector of Trinity Episcopal Church in Copley Square, Boston. What I read that day brought me up short. It was one of those wonderful moments when something we hadn't understood becomes clear. Some people call it an "Aha!" moment. Others say it's connecting the dots. Some call it an epiphany. I call it "when the light comes on."
This is what I read: "Life is full of ends, but every end is a new beginning." I had never thought about this dynamic of endings and beginnings. An ending was always an ending with me, and a beginning was always a beginning. I had never put them together and seen how they were really the same thing.
In everybody's mind there are different experiences of endings of all kinds--the ending through someone's death, the ending of a relationship, the ending of good health, the ending of an illness, the ending of a job or a career, the ending of youth. Phillips Brooks describes it this way: "We are in a continuum of pointing toward closing chapters of our lives. But we can turn it around, and create new beginnings which are better..."--and then he uses the word diviner.
I learned a lesson about endings and beginnings from a very special lady a number of years ago. Mary Brinig was on the staff of this church from the mid-1930's until the mid-1960's. She was as strong and faithful a human being as I have ever met. She prayed, she listened, she believed and she acted. She and her husband Harold started the Young Adult group in the early 1940's, and ever since then the group has been a strong presence in this church. Mary and Harold were also among the leaders in what is now called the small group movement. Small groups, which are so important to this church today, were very important then as well, and countless lives were deepened and changed.
After Mary and Harold retired they moved to New Hampshire, where they got involved with a little church in their community--and, naturally, they started a small-groups program. One Sunday night after a small-group meeting, they were driving home and Harold collapsed at the wheel. The car veered off the highway, down an embankment, across a field and into a tree. After the car had stopped, Mary realized that she was not badly injured. Looking at Howard, she realized he was dead. She turned off the ignition, gently laid Howard's head on the seat, and got out of the car to walk to the road to signal for help. As she walked across the field toward the road, she said in a prayerful way, "This phase of my life is finished. Fifty-five years of marriage, a partnership, a wonderful relationship." And she had the presence of mind to say, "This part of my life, God, is finished. Show me what the next phase will be about."
He died in October. The holiday season was coming. But she didn't wait around for somebody to say, "Mary, we feel so sorry for you; come celebrate with us," although she was in profound grief, as she was for the rest of her life. Instead she volunteered to serve Thanksgiving dinner to the homeless. And as Christmas came, she was busily involved in helping to get presents wrapped and distributed to the poor people of her community. An ending? A new beginning.
In John 16, Jesus tells His disciples that soon He will go away. "Very truly," He says, "I tell you, you will weep and mourn, but the world will rejoice; you will have pain, but your pain will turn into joy....You have pain now, but I will see you again, and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy from you." He is talking about how endings turn into new beginnings. "I am going away, and you cannot come where I am going," He is saying. "But out of this ending will come a new beginning. We will have a different kind of relationship, and you will turn this ending into the beginning of something wonderful."
As Phillips Brooks says, life may be full of ends--we may live in a continuum of closing chapters in our lives--but every end is the beginning of a new chapter.
The more I see of life, the more I realize how transitory everything is. Things are always in motion. The most permanent and depend-able thing is change. Yet we all know how difficult change can be. We don't want things to change. But everything will end anyway.
There is an old story about an Eastern monarch who lived many, many years ago. And because even many years ago life was essentially the same as it is today, he was subject to conflicts, confusions, anxieties, and difficulties. He decided to do something about it, and one day brought together the wise men of his kingdom and gave them an assignment. "I want you to come up with a few magic words that will be relevant to every situation, and which I can use to help me in the distresses and conflicts of my life. But these wise words must be few so that I can engrave them on the face of a ring and refer to them whenever I need to."
So he sent them off, and the wise men did what wise men do: they meditated, thought, discussed, debated, researched, argued. They went down many different paths and avenues, and finally came up with a phrase.
This is what they concluded: "This too shall pass away." Nothing that we have is permanent.
My staff has a weekly meeting each Tuesday morning. Although we have always had some wonderful people on staff at Marble Church, this year we have a staff like I have never, never ever had before: talented, gifted, committed, each person on a spiritual journey. As I sit in staff meeting each Tuesday I am often in awe. After a recent staff meeting, I was in a conversation with our newest minister, still in his twenties, Reverend David Lewicki, and I said, "David, enjoy this while you have it, because it may not last." You never know--things are always changing. I think back to other years when we had some wonderful, gifted people on this staff and I would think, "When they leave, what are we going to do?" But I have learned not to worry about that any more, because each of these endings has been the beginning of something different, yet still good. We cannot avoid endings, but God always provides.
The poet Paul Hamilton Hayne, who lived in South Carolina and Georgia during the Civil War, had good reason to understand how transitory life can be. He lived in violent and tumultuous times of great heartbreak and loss, and during the bombardment of Charleston he lost his house and all his possessions. One of his many poems is about how little we can count on permanence in our lives.
Art thou in misery, brother? Then I pray
Be comforted. Thy grief shall pass away.
Art thou elated? Ah, be not too gay.
Temper thy joy: this too shall pass away.
Art thou in danger? Still, let reason sway
And cling to hope. This, too, shall pass away.
Tempted art thou? In all thine anguish lay
One truth to hear: this, too, shall pass away.
Do rays of loftier glory round thee play?
Kinglike art thou? This, too, shall pass away!
Where'er thou art,
where'er thy footsteps stray,
Heed these wise words:
this, too, shall pass away.
There's one thing which is permanent in the practicality of life, and that is change. There is one other presence which is permanent. And that's the presence of the Christ, of the Holy Spirit. It never changes, but is always in motion, waiting for us to listen, to respond, and yield to it. The wisest thing that we can do is to abandon ourselves to the movement of this Spirit. Because it never changes, and it will be with us although everything else may pass away.
A lesson on overcoming loss was lived out in the life of a man named Harold Russell. You may not know his name. Possibly the older people remember him. The motto of his life was, "It's not what you have lost that counts, it's what you have left that makes the difference, because that's the only thing you have to work with." In the Second World War, Harold was a paratrooper, and in a training accident he lost both hands. Can you imagine losing both hands? It doesn't require much thought to realize the many things you can no longer do.
As you might imagine, he was angry. He was still young, ambitious and talented, but his life, he thought, was over. One day a man came to the hospital to visit with him. He had been in the First World War and had also lost both hands. "Harold," he told him, "you are not a cripple; you are simply handicapped."
This statement prompted Harold to go and check the meaning of the words handicapped and crippled. He discovered that when you're crippled, there is no possibility of any meaningful action. But when you're handicapped, you just have to work a bit harder to overcome an obstacle.
His visitor also quoted that great mind, Ralph Waldo Emerson, who said, "For every thing you have missed, you have gained something else." Emerson goes on to say in his great essay, Compensation, "Every sweet hath its sour; every evil its good. Nature hates monopolies and exceptions." This young man realized he had a choice; he could be paralyzed by his circumstance or he could start to find ways to move past his difficulties and begin to navigate his life in the direction he wanted to in spite of his handicap. Harold Russell began to work on his mind and his attitude and his life began to change.
He had wanted to be an actor, but thought, "What director would want to hire a man with two claws?" But he decided he would try to do it anyway. Eventually he got a leading role in the play The Best Years of Our Lives. He went on to appear in movies, win two Academy Awards, and marry his childhood sweetheart. All of the things he had thought he would never do, he was able to do. He had learned, "It's not what you have lost, it's what you have left that makes the difference." In his autobiography he wrote:
People frequently marvel at the things that I can do with my hooks. Well, perhaps it is marvelous. But the thing I never cease to marvel at is that I was able to meet the challenge of utter disaster and master it. For me that was and is the all-important fact--that the human soul, beaten down, overwhelmed, faced by complete failure and ruin, can still rise up against unbearable odds and triumph.
It's not what you have lost that counts. It's what you have left, because that's the only thing you have to work with.
A number of years ago when my pre-decessor Norman Vincent Peale announced his retirement, I could tell in his voice that it was a very difficult thing for him to do. He had been in this pulpit for fifty-two years, and from this pulpit his message of positive thinking and hope had gone all over the world. He loved preaching, he loved life, he loved this congregation and he loved this church. Yet the time had come for him to step aside.
Two days after he had announced his retirement, I called him. "Dr. Peale, how are you?" I asked.
"Art," he answered, "the Bible always has the answers to our questions." He quoted from St. Paul, where he wrote to the Philippians, "Forgetting what lies in the past, I press on." I heard him say this with some effort, so that he could get into it, and really have those words take him over. He didn't finish the rest of the quote, but I knew it was in his heart: "I press on to the prize, which is in Christ Jesus."
Forgetting what lies in the past, we press on. When that ending happens, where you crash land, and it is difficult and painful, remember the words of St. Paul. Forgetting what lies in the past, press on, because the answer is in the Spirit. The answer is in the presence of the Christ. Keep in mind that whatever happens, whatever your situation, God is always present.
So bless you, as things end, that out of the ending you will find the wonderful dynamic of a new and better beginning. Let us pray.
Lord, we know you are with us and for us, but there are times when we don't recognize and understand this. Help us to be open to the movement of the Spirit, so that as one thing finishes, You will be with us and You will help us do something even better. We ask this in Jesus' name. AMEN |
|
|
|
|
|