Stillness

This was my tenth time preaching at Faith Lutheran in Bagley, on 08/09/20, and the second time preaching during the Covid-19 pandemic. 

Gospel: Matthew 14:22-33

Grace and Peace to you, from God Our Loving Creator, and from the Calmer of Our Rough Seas, Jesus the Christ, Amen. 

Last week, I stood up here and preached about Jesus feeding the multitudes and how that was an example of Grace in Action. I realized that after I wrote and preached the sermon that I neglected to say anything about the passing of Congressman John Lewis, and how his leadership during and after the Civil Rights Movement was a perfect example of Grace in Action. Getting in “good trouble” by leading sit-ins at segregated lunch counters, leading the people across the Edmund Pettus bridge to vote in Selma, Alabama and helping to lead the March on Washington, were lessons learned from his upbringing in the Church. He represented the people of Atlanta in Congress for many years in the United States Congress, and was a tireless advocate for Black and other marginalized people until he died. Showing God’s Grace to all in his advocacy and leadership, and living out his call as a Christian to make the world a better place for all. So that all may return to calm waters and a steady boat. 

There’s something to be said about a mostly empty and unlit sanctuary. Even before most sanctuaries around the world were forced to be unlit and emptied; have you ever stood in the silence of an empty sanctuary, and just taken it in? My mother worked at a church when I grew up, and there were days and afternoons that my brothers and I were left to our own devices in the church waiting for her to finish working. First Lutheran in Morris, MN is one of those churches that has a large sanctuary built in the 1920s like an upside down boat, and a large organ in the back. It has long pews and a center aisle, and floorboards that creak when you walk on them, and acoustics that resonate with the exposed wood rafters. I would sometimes sit in the front pew, and just, absorb the stillness. 

Then when I was on my pastoral internship, I would arrive at Zion Lutheran in Amor earlier than the secretary, and begin the morning kneeling at the altar rail in the empty sanctuary, praying for my day and other pressing needs. That sanctuary was built in the outline of a grain elevator, but much newer than the sanctuary of my younger days. Why am I telling you all this? Because there’s something to be said for the view from this pulpit, in this moment. In this sanctuary, with the large stained glass windows behind me, the long empty pews and the empty center aisle, the fellowship hall waiting to be used again… 

I can see why people want to be here again. It has been too long since pews and fellowship halls were brimming with people, and at the same time, they have to stay empty. Stillness must remain.  

Jesus again this week found refuge in getting away from the people. Jesus leaves the disciples to go up on a mountain, and the disciples get into the boat to wait for the Messiah. Jesus stays up on the mountain all night, and in the early morning, ventures out to join the disciples. Seeing a figure, and assuming a ghost, they get frightened, but Jesus tells them to “take heart” and “do not be afraid”. Peter decides to join Jesus out in the water, and begins to walk on the water with Jesus. In the three Gospels that this story happens, this is the only version that involves Peter getting out of the boat. Feeling the strong wind, he was suddenly reminded that he was miraculously walking on the water, and became scared. Remember the old cartoons, where the roadrunner was running across a cliff, and he keeps running into the air and the coyote follows him, all the way... until he looks down. Then the coyote falls, but not the roadrunner. It’s not until you realize that you should be falling, that you begin to fall. 

As soon as Peter realizes he should be “in” the water and not “on” the water, he begins to sink like the rock that he is, and reaches out for Jesus. Jesus “immediately” catches him. “Oh Ye, of little faith.” or “You of little faith”, Jesus says to Peter, and by extension, us. Jesus climbs into the boat with the disciples, and the waters calm. Stillness has returned to the world. 

The waves are rocking our world, friends. With all the euphemisms that the news have used over the last five months, this is the worst it’s been and it continues to get worse. Clearwater County seems sheltered from this storm a little bit, with coronavirus case numbers a fraction of what they are in neighboring counties. But it is still affected in so many other ways, this empty sanctuary a glaring example. When the boats of our lives are rocking, all we want is stability, a return to stillness. We do what we can to maintain the stability, so we don’t capsize. But there are moments when the waves become unbearable, when the strong wind becomes noticeable and we begin to sink. Jesus is always there to catch us when we fall. The stability of Jesus, the Good News, the Calmer of Our Rough Seas, is and will always be there to catch us. 

When I gaze out into this empty sanctuary, I miss those Sunday mornings that I was able to see you and preach and worship alongside you. Fumble through a different liturgy with you.  I'm sure Pastor Mark misses being with you as well. I'm sure every pastor misses being with their flock. But you know what else I see when I look out here? Stillness. Calm. Safety. 

"Do not be afraid", our Savior says. There will be a time when we come out of this pandemic. There will be life after Covid. What that will look like, we won't know until we get there, but it'll probably be a lot different for the people who survive infection, those who manage to not get infected, and the families of the millions of people who have and will experience loss during it. 

So for now, this empty sanctuary is a complicated space of memory and safety. Of wishful thinking and stillness. But it's also a reminder of why we're Church in the first place. Why it's a sanctuary... in the first place. This is a place, an identity for people. This is where baptisms, first communions, confirmations, weddings, celebrations and funerals happen. But they happen for the people that inhabit it. And the people are best served when we're as safe as we can be. 

This is the stillness of the boat. This empty sanctuary will carry this congregation until it's time to get out of the boat. Because there will come a day, when, like Peter, we need to get out of the boat and get to work. The work of the people. 

The work of the people that professes that Christ is our Savior from Our Rough Waters, the Savior that saves us all from ourselves through the Compassion, Grace, Love, and Mercy of God. The work of the people that puts that Grace into Action and serves neighbors alongside them for the betterment of us all. The work of the people that, in the words of the late John Lewis, gets us into "good trouble".

There will be times when we fall, and realize it's hard work and the wind is at our back… but that is when our Savior will pick us back up. John Lewis didn’t set out to do all the things he did for some sense of personal gain or glory, but for the people around him. He stood up when others couldn’t. He withstood beatings and arrests to stand up for what’s right, because the same Christ that we profess called him and every one of us to get into “good trouble” for our neighbors. 

For now, seek out the stillness whenever you can, because the waters are rough out there. While there is plenty to fear in the world, know that Jesus is beside you, always right there when we fall, telling us to not fear, but have faith and take heart that God’s got this. 

Amen