Sabbatical Send-Off

John 17:1-11

After Jesus had spoken these words, he looked up to heaven and said, “Father, the hour has come; glorify your Son so that the Son may glorify you, since you have given him authority over all people, to give eternal life to all whom you have given him. And this is eternal life, that they may know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom you have sent. I glorified you on earth by finishing the work that you gave me to do. So now, Father, glorify me in your own presence with the glory that I had in your presence before the world existed.

“I have made your name known to those whom you gave me from the world. They were yours, and you gave them to me, and they have kept your word. Now they know that everything you have given me is from you; for the words that you gave to me I have given to them, and they have received them and know in truth that I came from you; and they have believed that you sent me. I am asking on their behalf; I am not asking on behalf of the world, but on behalf of those whom you gave me, because they are yours. All mine are yours, and yours are mine; and I have been glorified in them.

And now I am no longer in the world, but they are in the world, and I am coming to you. Holy Father, protect them in your name that you have given me, so that they may be one, as we are one.”

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Smarter people than me call this bit of John’s Gospel – and what we’ve been hearing in fits and starts the last couple of weeks, actually – they call it Jesus’ “Farewell Discourse.” There are chapters of it in the Gospel of John … these parting and final words of his before he heads off to his crucifixion. And it’s a prayer: intimate words, intended for God, the Father, but overheard, presumably, by someone close by with a notepad, apparently – possibly someone seated with him at the table of the Last Supper in that Upper Room, sometime before the Cross and Calvary and all of the ugliness he knew was waiting for him there.

I’m not expecting much ugliness in the next couple of months, but it seems like a thing that I get to reflect on Jesus’ “Farewell Discourse” as I prepare to take my Sabbatical leave for the summer. So…

1. First of all, perspective. I’m not Jesus so, while I know there’s some level of anxiety about my being gone for the summer, the weight of what Jesus is up to puts all of that into a different light and a healthier perspective, for all of us, I hope.

My time away will be lengthy, for sure. It’s more than three days, but it’s not quite 2,000 years, either. But still, lots of things can happen in your lives and in my life over the course of these summer months. It might be difficult to miss some of that – for me as much as for you, remember – but, kind of like Jesus, I have every intention of returning. I promise. I’ll be back.

2. Secondly, the point of it all for me. What I get to do is step away from being on call and on task and just plain “on,” in every way that that happens for a pastor – especially for a pastor in a busy, active, healthy, growing congregation like ours. I could try to describe what that looks like and feels like and really is like, here, but I won’t for a couple of reasons. A lot of you already understand that, for which I am grateful. Some of you might not believe it, if I tried to explain it. And others might think I was whining or complaining about my job – which is so very much not the case.

I love my work. And what’s more, I love my work in this place in ways I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t and couldn’t love my work anywhere else, at this point in my life.

But, as one of my friends who received the same grant once said, he felt like he had been running the same lap around the track with his ministry, after a time. He also said he felt like he was running out of magic tricks. If you all haven’t noticed that, or felt that, or wondered about that sort of thing around here, I’m glad and grateful for that, too. But I know what my friend means.

I’m looking forward, not so much to a break from the ministry I love and am still called to, but I’m looking forward to ways this time away means to refill the well of my creativity, enthusiasm and joy for what’s to come.

3. The point of it all for my family. The Havels have been on a physical, emotional, spiritual marathon the last couple of years. Christa’s cancer was icing on the same crappy COVID cake we all wrestled with. And I know so many of you have wrestled and struggled and suffered in your own ways, too, and I’ve been blessed to wrestle with you through some of that.

And I know all of this is relative. I’m not comparing or competing for biggest mole-hill or mountain, here. But one thing I’ve tried to learn these last couple of years is to take the same advice I have and would give to any of you – some of which is to say “yes” to the good and gracious stuff more often and more readily, because those opportunities can be fleeting … few and far between … and because we may not be able to make choices about them next week, or next year, or the next time they present themselves.

4. The point of it all for you – for us – and for our ministry together. Among other things we’ll be learning together … separately … these next few months about the hard, holy stuff of race, anti-racism and social justice. I’m so grateful that so many of you have signed up for the book studies that Francia Kissel and Pastor Cogan will lead. There are only three spots left for the Interrupting Racism workshops the renewal grant has made available, which is potentially life-changing for those who will participate. Pastor Cogan is planning a field trip to the Freedom Center in Cincinnati, with the youth this summer. And we have some amazing preachers lined up to inspire our worship throughout all of this time. You won’t want to miss hearing from them – and I’ll be praying that you don’t.

And, on a more general note, I hope you’ll look and pray and plan for ways to step up and to step into our life together in some new ways while I’m away. (Please pray about adding one new thing to your Time and Talent offerings for the year ahead, if you haven’t already.) Look for ways to show Pastor Cogan the ropes around here. And look for opportunities to receive, welcome and let him be our Pastor. He’s “the whole loaf of bread,” as Janis Janelsins used to say about me and we are lucky to have him among us. I’m not Jesus and he isn’t the Holy Spirit, but I’m not leaving you orphaned. You’re in good, capable, careful, faithful, pastoral hands. I believe it’s no coincidence that Pastor Cogan’s arrival coincides with my departure the way that it has and does and will.

5. And lastly, Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. There are congregations who resist and refuse the practice of Sabbatical for their pastors. It’s an expression of grace that’s too much for too many. It’s a gift that’s too generous for some to give – even when Eli Lilly is paying the bill. But it’s something we’ve made part of our life together because Sabbath is God’s command for God’s children … because we’ve experienced the blessing it brings to bear on our life together … and because it is an exercise in faith and grace and generosity and gratitude.

And, even though I’m proud to tell others about a congregation like ours that lets this happen, I receive your support and encouragement in all of it humbly … with deep gratitude … and I don’t take one bit of it for granted.

So my prayer for you – for me – for us – as I prepare to take my leave, is very much like Jesus’ prayer for his disciples – and his prayer for all of us, too. And it’s not just about the next few months, really, but about our life together well beyond this summer’s Sabbath time.

Mostly, Jesus prayed that his disciples – that we – would be one; that we would be united under a banner of grace and mercy; that we would have all the encouragement and power – all the faith and hope we need – to live together and do life together and carry out this ministry together, as God has called us to do, for the long haul.

It's more joy and responsibility than we deserve a lot of the time, but it is our call and our blessing. And it is God’s hope for us, as we live and work and seek to be a blessing of grace and good news for each other and for the sake of the world, in Jesus’ name.

Amen

To Hell With the Rules

Luke 13:10-17

Now [Jesus] was teaching in one of the synagogues on the Sabbath. Just then there appeared a woman with a spirit that had crippled her for eighteen years. She was bent over and was quite unable to stand up straight. When Jesus saw her, he called her over and said, “Woman, you are set free from your ailment.” And when he laid his hands on her, immediately she stood up and began praising God.

But the leader of the synagogue, indignant because Jesus had cured on the Sabbath, kept saying to the crowd, “There are six days on which work ought to be done; come on those days and be cured, and not on the Sabbath day.”

But the Lord answered him and said, “You hypocrites! Does not each of you on the Sabbath untie his ox or his donkey from the manger, and lead it away to give it water? And ought not this woman, a daughter of Abraham whom Satan bound for eighteen long years, be set free from this bondage on the Sabbath day?” When he said this, all his opponents were put to shame; and the entire crowd was rejoicing at all the wonderful things that he was doing.

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I have a new plan for our High School Sunday School this year, which is kind of an extension of what we did last year. Last year, we learned about “Things They Never Taught Me in High School,” so we changed a tire, we tied neck ties, we talked about budgeting our money and managing our time, we tied bows for wrapping gifts and I did my best to connect all of those things to Bible stories, studies and devotions to bring “life and faith together” as we say.

This year’s theme is going to be “Things They Never Taught Me in Sunday School,” and I hope to take some Bible stories to the next level for our young people; to talk with and teach them about the deeper, more grown-up – sometimes even R-rated – meanings behind stories from Scripture that aren’t always appropriate for elementary kids in Sunday School or VBS. We’ll talk about David and Bathsheba differently, and Sodom and Gomorrah, and the Ethiopian Eunuch, too. And we’ll do more with Creation and the Tower of Babel and David and Goliath, too, than even most grown-ups are used to hearing about those stories.

And I’ll keep it PG for worship this morning, but I want to talk about this morning’s miracle differently than we’re used to, too. Of course, so many people, for so many generations, have been drawn to the miracle of this broken woman being made well. Like so many other healing miracles, we are drawn to the magic of what Jesus does for the woman who’d been sick and crippled for so long. And that’s great – and a good and holy thing, for sure. But that healing is only a small part of the story. And not really the point of it all, in the end.

And I believe that’s the case with most – if not all – of Jesus’ miracles, actually. They are less about the hocus pocus, abracadabra of it all than they are about telling a better story… teaching a larger lesson … proclaiming a wider mercy, love, and grace not just because of what Jesus does in those magical moments – but because of how and why and when and where and for whom, in most cases, God does what God does through Jesus.

Think about some of the other miracles of Jesus with me for a minute. We can start right at the beginning, with the virgin birth, for example. The most impressive thing about all of that – the greatest lesson, for my money, isn’t so much about an immaculate conception. The hope of Mary’s motherhood, no matter how it came to be, is about a young woman who had faith enough to say “yes” to God. The power of that story comes from the notion that God would use a poor young girl to do an amazing thing for the sake of the world. It’s about casting the mighty down from their thrones – by way of a poor peasant girl and helpless baby boy – and uplifting the humble in heart.

And think about the miracle of Jesus turning water into wine, at that wedding in Cana. It could have been milk or honey, Pepsi or Bud Light … the substance of it didn’t matter so much. The point was – the lesson to be learned, the good news to be shared – was that there is more than enough to go around and that God always saves the best for last. (So no. I guess it couldn’t have been Bud Light, after all. That stuff is terrible.)

Or what about the miracle of the guy who was born blind but who Jesus helped see again? His friends and neighbors thought he had been born blind because of something he or his parents did to make him deserve that hardship. So when Jesus restores his sight, it wasn’t about the miracle of Lasik surgery in the 1st Century. It was about showing that God doesn’t punish us with sickness or disability. It was about showing, perhaps that, even if you believed his blindness was the result of some sin, God could and would and does delight in undoing that through the power of forgiveness; and that God will go to great lengths to restore someone to their community.

When Jesus walked on water, he wasn’t proposing a new Olympic sport, he was showing us something about faith. When he calmed the storm, he wasn’t concerned about the weather, he was revealing the power of God’s peace in the presence of our fear. When he cleansed the leper it wasn’t about better skin-care it was about God’s love for the outcast and the outsider among us.

Do you see what I mean? As much as we love a good miracle story, the magic of it is rarely the point. And today’s episode, in the synagogue is no different.

It’s great that this woman who’d been hunched over, crippled, for nearly two decades was “up-and-at ‘em” again without the help of a chiropractor, don’t get me wrong. But in light of what we know about the kind of things Jesus can do, this isn’t the most impressive thing about that day. What we’re supposed to pay attention to – what matters most about all of this in the first place – is that it happened on the Sabbath. The Lord’s day. The established day of rest and for worship.

What I mean is, it wouldn’t have meant as much – this story wouldn’t have made the news – had the woman done what the leader of the synagogue suggested and come back for her healing the next day, right? It would have been great. It would have been no less miraculous had Jesus commanded this woman to stand up for the first time in 18 years on a Tuesday. But, again, the miracle – the healing, itself – is barely the point.

So, miracle, schmiracle. Our faith can’t be just about the miracle or else all we’re left with is the hopeless reality that we can’t do what Jesus does and that Jesus doesn’t do what he can for everyone, in every way we would like. So there must be something more than the miracle here.

And the “more” … Jesus’ greater point and larger purpose … is to heal and to comfort and to share love and offer grace at all costs. In excess of every expectation. At the expense of every rule. Breaking the rule about working or healing or whatever on the Sabbath is Jesus’ larger mission – and our greatest hope – this time around.

The point is that the only rule that matters to Jesus is the one about loving God and loving our neighbor and living in any way and every way possible that brings that love to bear upon the world – so to Hell with the rules. Literally. To Hell with the rules. Let the rules – and laws and limited expectations of those in power – be banished to the outer darkness. Let those rules be subject to whatever weeping and gnashing of teeth it takes to dismember them.

Which is something I can sink my own teeth into and something I can wrap my brain around. That’s something each of us can do something about, too – breaking the rules, I mean – that keep God’s love from being shared in as many ways, with as many people as we can manage.

When someone tells you you can’t or shouldn’t love someone because…

When your own score-keeping, rule-abiding heart tells you you shouldn’t forgive someone because or unless or until they…

When your own fear tries to convince you you shouldn’t be that generous…

When society tells you you shouldn’t extend mercy because…

When your own history and experience tell you you should or shouldn’t, or can or can’t because “that’s not the way you’ve ever done it before”…

In the face of whatever rules or expectations that threaten to limit what God can accomplish by grace – for you and through you – Jesus gets up in the synagogue on the Sabbath day and breaks the rules. He breaks the law so that we can see just how brave and bold and beyond reason God’s love means to be. And how beyond the rules we are called to be, just the same.

Because we can’t heal every disease, but we can love one another through the sickness and struggle and sadness of them all – and that’s a miracle.

We can’t change the weather, but we can trust God’s presence, and we can be the presence of God for someone, when the storms of life in this world show up – and that can be magical.

We can’t undo every sin, or change every sinner, but we can accept and offer forgiveness – and that’s nothing to sneeze at.

We can’t walk on water, but we can extend a hand to an outcast or an outsider and welcome them in – and that will work wonders in the lives of God’s people.

Because the greatest miracle of all – Jesus’ resurrection from the dead – shows just how far God is willing to go to break every rule for our sake. And the miracle of that isn’t just something we wait for on the other side of heaven. In a world full of so many rules, too much fear, and so much sadness – all of which try to convince us otherwise – we are set free from all sorts of bondage, like the woman in today’s Gospel, to live in the miracle that is new life and second chances and amazing grace, every day, for all people, in Jesus’ name.

Amen