A Fourth Church Sermon by John A. Cairns

December 30, 2001 | 9:30 and 11:00 a.m.

Some Things Worth Remembering

John A. Cairns
Dean, Academy for Faith and Life,
Fourth Presbyterian Church

Psalm 148
Isaiah 63:7–9
Matthew 2:13–23

Here is the question: What does it take to get us to notice what’s going on around us? What does it take to get our attention? In these weeks leading up to Christmas and the end of the year, my mailbox has been filled not only with Christmas cards, but with solicitations from a wide variety of charities who are trying to do just that—to get my attention. It is a time for giving, and worthy causes abound—and most of them, it seems, have acquired my name and address from some source or other. So they come—often three or four on a single day—and I try to sift and sort and make some judgment about which ones and how much and when. I’m sure many of you have been doing that very same thing.

Of course, every appeal comes with a deeply moving story, but I was particularly caught by the nature of the approach of the appeal from MADD (Mothers Against Drunk Driving). Without going into all the details, it went something like this: “I knew people drove drunk. I knew that drunk drivers caused accidents and killed people. But when our daughter was killed by a drunk driver my world was changed forever.” It was a touching story that focused attention on a horrible evil that we should all care about and try to stop. No argument about that. But the point of the letter—the point of telling the story—was, it seemed to me, to send an alert—to get my attention—without my having to experience such a tragedy firsthand. To keep me from being as naïve as the teller of the tale had been—and then, of course, to make a contribution.

As I wrote my check, I found myself wondering what it takes to get our attention these days, to cause us to notice what’s happening all around us. As I have so many times this fall, I thought about terrorism and the way it got the attention of all of us on that one horrific day in September, and I realized that, like drunk drivers, it had been out there all along. I must admit that I have been aware of terrorist acts for years, known about the horror they inflict, but I had paid little attention, pretending it did not matter to me, that it hadn’t touched my world—until September 11.

What about these personal worlds you and I inhabit? What’s going on in them? What does it take for us to develop an awareness of the various forces and factors for good or ill that make our lives what they are? On one day, more than 3000 innocent people are killed and we all notice. Is that what it takes? Virtually every Christmas note or letter we received this year talked about how the world had changed, how family mattered, how feelings needed to be expressed. Yet five times that many people were killed by drunk drivers last year, and the only note that mentioned that was in a Mothers Against Drunk Driving solicitation.

Now certainly I know all the reasons why this is so—from the terrorist’s violation of our seemingly safe and sacred space to the saturation coverage by the media to the destruction of two American architectural and cultural symbols. The 9/11 event was massive. It could not be ignored. Drunk driving deaths happen one, two, five at a time in cities and villages, on country roads and interstate highways, east and west, north and south, 15, 786 deaths in 1999 and it goes on year after year—and for the great majority of us, it doesn’t show up on our awareness screen, doesn’t get mentioned in our Christmas letter, doesn’t change our world. It’s there. It happens. You and I just don’t pay much attention.

I make this point not to promote MADD or to raise suspicions about the nation’s response to 9/11. I mention it to call attention to how many important elements—critical factors—in our world simply escape our notice, fail to gain our attention. And if that’s true of negative happenings, think how much more it is true of the positive ones.

This morning’s Isaiah text began with some very positive words: “I will recount the gracious deeds of the Lord, the praiseworthy acts . . . because of all the Lord has done for me.” Those gracious “deeds of the Lord” may be hard to identify, particularly when I keep focusing on such negative matters as the September 11 tragedy and the statistics on drunk driving fatalities. But I’d venture to say that even if I had not filled your head with unpleasant circumstances, building a list of “praiseworthy acts of the Lord” might be a slow task. It’s hard because we set the standard of expectation so high. That’s the bar that we regard as the norm. All that it takes to reach that level is not worthy of comment. “Praiseworthy” doesn’t come into the picture until life has exceeded that level of basic satisfaction. When it comes to singing God’s praises, we can be a pretty quiet crowd!

Peter Gomes reminds us of how we tend to keep score as we make our way through this holy, celebrative, gift-giving season. Our assessment of Christmas is “somehow it promises so much and delivers so little,” Gomes says. “Christ is born, but wars persist, marriages continue to decay; the job is no better on the 26th of December than it was on the 24th. Joy, cheer, peace, and goodwill—these are the guaranteed minimums of the season, and when we are denied them, things are [regarded as] worse than before” (Sermons, p. 27).

Joy, cheer, peace, goodwill—are they your minimum expectations as you make your way through the Christmas season? If so, your “gracious deeds of the Lord” scorecard may be a little light. Joy and cheer, peace and goodwill have not been abundantly present in these last months. How then will you respond to Isaiah’s call to “recount the gracious deeds of the Lord”? Are we to revert to our Thanksgiving dinner table routine and try to outdo one another at listing our blessings? No, Isaiah is talking about something more significant than that.

Paul Hanson, in his commentary on the Isaiah text, says that the prophet is “seeking to keep God’s word of promise alive in a period in which the community stands on the brink of losing its spiritual identity by attributing setbacks not to human unfaithfulness, but to divine indifference” (Isaiah, p. 235). It seems Isaiah would have had a similar challenge if he had been writing for folks in 2001. Our days come and go with little attribution to God for anything—at least not for anything good!

The newspapers reported recently that although Americans had flocked to churches in the weeks after September 11, by the beginning of November, attendance had returned to normal. We were apparently not looking to experience a spiritual revival, not looking to be repentant, not seeking new or deeper faith; we were simply trying to recruit God as an ally! But now that the crisis has passed, that agenda doesn’t seem quite so urgent. We could be regarded like those in Isaiah’s time as “a community on the brink of losing its spiritual identity,” because we fail to pay attention—or just don’t bother to notice what God is doing here, there, last year, last week, today.

“I will recount the gracious deeds of the Lord because of all the Lord has done for us.” Just what was Isaiah pointing toward? What was it that showed up on his list, that got his attention? As far as I can tell, it was not a long string of pleasant outcomes and notes of good fortune. His world was as full of tragedy and disappointment as ours. What Isaiah wants Israel to notice—wants Israel to recount—is one single reality. In his words, “‘Surely they are my people,’” God said, “and he became their savior in all their distress. . . . In his love and in his pity he redeemed them; he lifted them up and carried them all the days of old.”

Here is the heart of Isaiah’s prophecy—and the heart of the Christmas message. It’s about being lifted up and carried. It is about redemption. (I’m not sure that word has the clear meaning it once had). Redemption is about giving value to something that apparently has little value. I can remember in my earlier years stores that were called “Redemption Centers.” They were places where you could turn in booklets in which you had pasted sheet after sheet of stamps given out by certain merchants. Bring in enough booklets of stamps and you could “redeem” them for a toaster or a TV. Something of little or no value was turned into something useful—something of real value.

This, Isaiah reminds us, is what God is up to. This is the unique and singular direction of God’s activity. Redemption—transforming our existence of questionable usefulness and purpose into something of value and importance. This is also the Christmas story, the whole purpose of Christ’s birth, of Christ’s coming. From the words of Mary’s Magnificat to Jesus’ words before, during, and after his crucifixion, the theme is redemption. About turning our fear-filled, disappointing world into the kingdom of God, about turning each of us into persons who are loved and cherished, lifted and carried by God.

Kathleen Norris says this about the Christmas event:

For me the Incarnation is the place where hope contends with fear. . . . When a place or time seems touched by God, it is an overshadowing, a sudden eclipsing of my priorities and plans. But even in terrible circumstances and calamities, in matters of life and death, if I sense that I am the shadow of God, I find light, so much light that my vision improves dramatically. . . . [I see] the ordinary circumstances of my life to be filled with mystery and gospel—which means “good news.” (Amazing Grace, p. 30–31)

Redemption—life filled with good news—can you see it? What does it take to get our attention? To notice what God is—and has been—up to? When Norris writes of the place where “hope contends with fear,” she is writing about the place where you and I live out our days. Her question—Isaiah’s question—is what will get our attention in that place where we live? When we open our eyes and look around us, what will we see? Certainly there will be sadness and tragedy. But there is also redemption. It is what God is doing every day.

“I will recount the gracious deeds of the Lord,” Isaiah writes. “In his love and in his pity he redeemed [his people], he lifted them up and carried them.” Can you see it? Will you pay attention?

From his prison cell Dietrich Bonhoeffer saw God’s redeeming power and work and wrote:

By gracious powers so wonderfully sheltered,

And confidently waiting, come what may,

We know that God is with us night and morning,

And never fails to greet us each new day (The hymn “By Gracious Powers”)

As we head into the year 2002, some things are worth noticing, worth recounting, worth remembering. My suggestion is that we place at the top of the list God’s redeeming love, which never fails to greet us—and lift us and carry us—each new day.

Amen.