The Power Your Faith Contains A Meditation on Lamentations 3: 19

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The Power Your Faith Contains
A Meditation on Lamentations 3: 19 – 26 and Luke 17: 5 – 10
Rev. Cathy C. Hoop
October 6, 2013
University Presbyterian Church
I apologize in advance for employing dog stories in back to back sermons, but as Mark Twain wisely
noted, “write what you know.” With my husband on the road most of the week, domestic life is
spent with two furry companions: Willie, my 14 year old Jack Russell terrier – or terrorist – as my
husband likes to call him, and my mother’s dog, “Butch,” an odd conglomeration of pug and
various other things. He has an underbite, his back feet turn out, his front feet are pigeon toed. He
has wirey hair and a tail that curls up over his back. If he were green or purple, he would look like
something from Dr. Seuss.
As if the poor dog couldn’t look any stranger, he has been wearing one of those Elizabethan collars,
a big, blue plastic cone for the past several weeks. A friend’s German Shepherd tried to take a bite
out of Butch, and the wounds have been slow to heal.
Part of the problem, as you probably know if you are a pet owner, is that he won’t leave the
wound alone. “Licking one’s wounds” is a familiar phrase. It’s what we do when we’ve been on the
losing side of an encounter. We retreat in order to recover. The healing process requires us to
replay the event, sort through it, process it. Still, “licking one’s wounds” has taken on a
connotation of intentionally wallowing in the pain rather than moving through it.
It’s what dogs do – they don’t know when to stop, obsessing over the sore, making it worse, getting
it infected. Whoever tried to sell us on the idea that dogs’ mouths are cleaner than humans
couldn’t possibly have been a pet owner. I don’t know any humans who lick the floor, drink from
the toilet, or give you a dirty look when you won’t let them eat roadkill. Dogs do, and dogs
introduce all that dirt to the wound.
Thank goodness we don’t have to wear the “cone of shame” when we are wounded. Although,
there have been times when I could have used one. Something to keep me from going back and
cracking open that wound just when it had almost healed.
Haven’t we all been there – metaphorically? So deeply wounded that we can’t leave the ache
alone? Introducing bacteria into an already festering site, introducing more obstacles to healing.
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Going back over and over again to replay the hurtful comments, to relay the story to others, to
justify the reasons why we should stay angry rather than forgive ourselves or others?
Forgiveness. That’s the part of our New Testament text which is missing. In order to discover what
these two odd mini-parables are about, we have to find the context. I don’t know about you, but
first reading left me baffled. So let’s back up and read a brief section which the lectionary
omitted.
Luke 17: 1 – 5:
Jesus said to his disciples, “Things that cause people to trip and fall into sin must happen, but
how terrible it is for the person through whom they happen. It would be better for them to be
thrown into a lake with a large stone hung around their neck than to cause one of these little ones
to trip and fall into sin. Watch yourselves! If your brother or sister sins, warn them to stop. If they
change their hearts and lives, forgive them. Even if someone sins against you seven times in one
day and returns to you seven times and says, ‘I am changing my ways,’ you must forgive that
person.”
The apostles said to the Lord, “Increase our faith!” (CEB)
These two brief parables are a continuation of Jesus’ teaching about forgiveness. In Matthew 17,
Jesus also asserts that faith the size of a tiny mustard seed is ample faith, but he says this to the
disciples in response to their embarrassment over not being able to heal someone suffering with
epilepsy. Faith and healing. Here we are talking about faith and forgiveness. Jesus is responding to
their very honest acknowledgement that forgiving someone, especially someone who “sins against
you” repeatedly is an incredible challenge. This depth of forgiveness leads them to cry out,
“Increase our faith!”
Consider their situation. This is a group of followers, united in their desire to be Jesus’ students.
They have given up their homes to live in what we might describe as intentional community. They
are most likely surprised to discover that they have aligned themselves with someone who makes
authority figures, both religious and civil, displeased. Some days tensions probably ran high
amongst these disciples. Peter could be really annoying with his brashness. Thomas asked too many
questions. There was jockeying for position, bids at playing the favorite. This group knew too well
the difficulties of life in community.
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And we join our voices with theirs in saying, “Increase our faith!” Increase our faith that we may
know how to practice forgiveness at work, at home, at church. I’ve known book group members to
get sideways with each other, when opinions ran deep and emotions ran high. Another opportunity
to practice forgiveness. I imagine Jesus smiling at his friends as he remarks that the tiniest kernel
of faith can do miraculous things! Rather than chastising them, I get the impression that he is
agreeing with them. “Yes,” he says, “the capacity to forgive that much is the capacity to work
miracles.”
From the mustard seed, Jesus moves on to the parable of the servant or slave. The scenario is so
painful for our modern ears that we almost can’t bear to look for the truth in it. We need to name
the landmines here. How grateful we would be if Jesus had told this story as a denouncement of
slavery, but he didn’t. Or if he had turned the tables and the slaves had been served after working
all day in the fields. Jesus has told stranger tales in other parables. But he doesn’t do that either.
He tells the story of a servant who works all day, then comes in and serves the master. Because
that is what is expected.
Also, remember that Jesus’ heritage is one which often employed the metaphor of servant and
master to describe the relationship between God and Israel. In Hebrew tradition, God is the loving,
faithful master to a sometimes fickle or inept servant. While that doesn’t remove our distaste for
the concept of slaves and masters, it at least affords us a window into this story.
So Jesus doesn’t take this parable in directions we might wish he had, but he does do something
surprising. He begins the parable by placing the disciples in the role of the master, “Would any of
you say to your servant?” Then does a flip flop at verse 10, casting them in the role of servant. We
read from the NRSV, So you also, when you have done all that you were ordered to do, say, “We
are worthless slaves; we have done only what we ought to have done!” Listen to this verse from
the Common English Bible:
“In the same way, when you have done everything required of you,
you should say, ‘We servants deserve no special praise. We have only done our duty.’” (CEB)
We have only done our duty.
When we forgive, we have only done our duty as peacemakers, as Christ’s followers.
When we forgive, over and over and over, even if it seems futile. Even if the apology does not
necessarily hold any promise of change, we have done our duty.
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Please do not misunderstand me. This practice of forgiveness does NOT equate with allowing others
to abuse us. We can forgive without condoning. We can speak the truth and extend grace.
Righteous indignation is not the same thing has carrying a grudge.
When we practice forgiveness, we may not change a situation or a relationship, but we may make
it possible for healing to take place within our own souls. The bitterness we carry toward others
does not hurt them, it only keeps our own wounds festering.
The writer of Lamentations is wounded - physically, mentally, spiritually wounded - almost beyond
hope. Verses 22 – 24 are one of the few bright spots in this grief filled book. Jerusalem, their
home, is destroyed. The people are starving and dying. Their natural response was to believe that
God had brought this destruction upon them, a punishment for their faithlessness. Yet even in the
midst of despair, we hear these words:
The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases,
God’s mercies never come to an end.
They are new every morning. Great is God’s faithfulness. (Lam. 3: 22 – 23)
In the midst of desolation, in the midst of what feels like God’s abandonment, the author proclaims
God’s faithfulness and mercy. Though the people Israel had forgotten how to care for the
vulnerable, welcome the stranger, keep the faith, God would be merciful and loving and faithful.
This is the example we have been given, our model of forgiveness.
Yet what does any of this have to do with World Communion Sunday and Peacemaking Offerings?
Our practice of peace must begin here. In the ways we listen to one another, care for one another.
Whether that’s the person in the pew beside us, or those next door, a few blocks away, or across
the river. Our practice of peace begins here, and our prayers for peace, our efforts to spread peace
extend from here. It’s not easy, but Jesus believes we can do it.
Do you know the story of the two wolves? It is widely attributed as a Cherokee parable, but if you
know the source, please share that with me.
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A Cherokee chief was teaching his grandson about life...
"A fight is going on inside me," he said to the child.
"It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves.
"One is evil - anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment,
inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, self-doubt, and ego.
"The other is good - joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy,
generosity, truth, compassion, and faith.
"This same fight is going on inside you - and inside every other person, too."
The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather,
"Which wolf will win?"
The grandfather replied, "The one you feed."
So let’s gather side by side to be fed at the table of peace, to receive the food of God’s own
forgiveness. Thanks be to God. Amen.
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