A Fourth Church Sermon by Dana Ferguson

March 6, 2005 | 9:30 and 11:00 a.m.

Seeing Clearly

Dana Ferguson
Executive Associate Pastor, Fourth Presbyterian Church

Psalm 23
John 9:1–41
Ephesians 5:8–14

“Live as children of light—
for the fruit of the light is found
in all that is good and right and true.”

Ephesians 5:8b–9 (NRSV)

Wishing is not
Prayer or magic,
But, somewhere in between.
Like prayer and magic,
Wishing brings optimism,
And wishing brings hope.
And like prayer and magic,
Wishing brings new ideas,
And sometimes,
The touch of new life.
And that, is essential
For our future.

Mattie J. T. Stepanek
About Wishing

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures;
he leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul;
he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.

Psalm 23. The most well-known biblical passage, I would think it’s safe to say. Why do we like it so much? It’s vivid. Even if we aren’t of rural, farm stock, it’s an image we can conjure up easily. Being the daughter of a funeral director, I can’t help but remember the old cardboard, handheld fans picturing the shepherd in the neat, clean and pressed robes in the field of beautifully white furred and obedient sheep resting on the most manicured green slopes under a gorgeous blue sky. It’s an image we can cast so picturesquely in our minds. And, most importantly, I suspect, we like it because it’s gentle and it’s loving and it’s pastoral, a picture of one with whom we can trust our very being our whole life.

A loving God—it’s what we worship. A loving and caring God. It’s a welcome image during these dark days of Lent, in a season that isn’t always so welcome—40 long days of darkness and dread and finally death. In a story populated with wrongdoing, selfishness, pride, and violence, the Shepherd is a surprise. And a welcome one indeed. The Shepherd, gentle and loving, enters and reminds us that the darkness isn’t about the Shepherd, that no matter how long the days of darkness seem, the goodness of the Shepherd never changes. The Shepherd holds this broken world in his hands with the power to make resurrection happen, to mend broken lives and make old things new.

Flannery O’Connor proclaims it in her story about a preacher, “The River.”

“Listen, to what I got to say, you people!’ starts the preacher. ‘There ain’t but one river and that’s the River of Life, made out of Jesus’ Blood. That’s the river you have to lay your pain in, in the River of Faith, in the River of Life, in the River of Love, in the rich and red river of Jesus’ Blood, you people! Listen,” he sang, “I read in Mark about an unclean man, I read in Luke about a blind man, I read in John about a dead man! Oh, you people hear! The same blood that makes this River red, made that leper clean, made that blind man stare, made that dead man leap! You people with trouble,” he cried, “lay it in that River of Pain, and watch it move away toward the Kingdom of Christ.” (Flannery O’Connor, A Good Man Is Hard to Find and Other Stories)

Darkness, as Flannery O’Connor’s preacher proclaims, exists. We can pretend it doesn’t exist. We can avoid hearing about it. We can even attempt to ward it off in our own lives. But the fact remains: darkness is a reality in this world of ours. But as we know, that isn’t the end of the story. Lent isn’t all there is to the story. Darkness isn’t the end. As the preacher says, “You people with trouble, lay it in the River of Pain and watch it move away toward the Kingdom of Christ.” The end of the story isn’t the kingdom of doom but the kingdom of God, where we never travel alone, where the Good Shepherd comes in to restore our souls in this life and the next, where life runs rich in the river of faith and of love and where the leper is made clean and the dead man leaps. The kingdom of God is the place where we are loved and comforted and healed.

Yea, though I walk though the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil; for thou art with me;
thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.

This Sunday, as we move steadily toward the cross of Christ, we pause to be reminded that we are all here today because in some way or another, to greater or lesser degree, the light of Christ has shone in our lives. The Good Shepherd has comforted us and loved us, and that is what defines us. Ephesians says to us, “Once you were darkness but now in the Lord you are light.” It doesn’t say, “Once you lived in darkness.” It says, “Once you were darkness.” And it says, “Now you are light.” We discover our identity is not defined by the darkness but by the redeemer, by the one who travels with us all the valleys of life. In that one we come to know who we are.

“When you think about today’s epistle, it is rather amazing that the writer to the Ephesians tells these struggling, fragile early Christians, some of whom where in and out of jail because of their faith, to shine like lights before the world,” writes Will Willimon, former chaplain of Duke University. “You might think they would be told to hunker down, keep their heads down, keep things quiet and stay out of trouble. No, they are told to shine, to stand out, to let all see how Christ has transformed their world. Once again we are reminded that, if there are religions that are mainly a ‘private affair,’ Christianity is not one of them. Christianity is very ‘public,’ a matter of light shining in the darkness” (“You, Christ’s Light,” Pulpit Resource, January 2002, pp. 41–44).

On the infamous day we now refer to as simply 9/11, I was on my way to O’Hare airport when I began to hear the reports of the day. Not sure what to make of all that I was hearing on the radio, I called home and asked my husband to turn on the news. Bob the Builder was traded for the morning news and horrific images were spread across the screen. Wayne scrambled to turn off the TV before our then five-year-olds could see it. We kept them away from the news for the rest of the day. Still in shock from the events of the day, we hadn’t yet figured out how exactly to talk to our little ones about it. At dinner we did tell them that it had been a sad day because lots of people had been hurt, but we didn’t talk of falling buildings or any other details nor did they. That night when we tucked them into bed, we also said our nightly prayers. Daniel prayed, “Put the buildings back together, God, and the people, too.” He obviously had caught some vision of the images that were flashed on the news that morning even though Wayne thought he had turned it off before the boys saw it. We then talked a little more about it and assured the boys that they were safe. With them snuggled safely into their beds, we kissed them goodnight and turned off their lights. A few minutes later—crying. We returned to their room. “It’s too dark” was all Daniel whimpered. And so, the light. We turned on the little angel nightlight to illumine their room and off to sleep they went.

The light comes in many forms. Sometimes it’s simply holding the hand of a loved one. Sometimes it’s giving of our selves and time to feed the hungry or teach the young. Sometimes it’s speaking up for those who suffer inequality. However, the light comes, it comes in action and in love, for as Will Willimon points out, Christianity isn’t a private affair. It is a public affair of letting the light shine in the darkness.

Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies.

“Theologians,” writes Scot McKnight in the Christian Century, “are calling us out of the old era of warfare, the Saul era, into the Shepherd’s era of justice, peace, and love.” He argues that the old ideas of justice as retribution—bringing others to justice—or of rectification—giving the victims and the marginalized an equal opportunity—are not adequate. Neither adequately captures the Christian sense of justice, of what is right before God and others. According to Jesus’ own creed, what is right is to love God and to love others. In the Christian sense, justice means providing our world an opportunity to love God and to love others. Peace and justice embrace one another because they will be empowered by love. (See “Living by the Word,” Christian Century, 22 February 2005, pp. 20–21.)

It is a time that is critical for us as Christians to claim that which binds us together instead of that which divides us. Chris Chakaion, a former associate pastor of this congregation, writes in the Presbyterian Outlook that it’s a matter of identity. We shouldn’t be surprised by the great divisions in our country evident in the recent elections or the divisions evident in this denomination over the issues of ordination. These ultimately are issues of identity. We spend too much time focusing on the question that the crowd asks in our Gospel lesson. The question—“Is this the man born blind?”—focuses on the issue of sin, of defining individuals by their supposed sin. It’s time to focus on the question about the identity of the savior, “Who is he? Tell me, sir, that I may believe in him.” In the story of the blind man we read today, the blind man sees with his eyes right away, but it takes him some time before he sees with his heart. “Clarity comes neither easily nor quickly.” But it does come when the very nature of our questions change. For as we search for our identity, ultimately the only question that matters is that of the identity of the Savior. “Who is he? Tell me, sir, that I may believe in him.” (See “Seeing with the Heart,” Presbyterian Outlook, 28 February 2005, p. 7.)

Glen Stassen a staunch antiabortion proponent argues that we must get past the simple agenda of our own conviction to the issues of reaching out. Whether we are pro-life or pro-choice, there are issues around which we can rally together: support for prospective mothers and their babies. The National Institute of Health reports that the U.S. ranks 24th in infant mortality compared with other industrialized nations. Stassen contends that whether one is pro-life or pro-choice, the position needs to be accompanied by what he calls a “motherhood mandate”: economic support for mothers, parents, and babies; help with better schools for pregnant teenagers; health insurance for all mothers and babies. That, he argues, “is what biblical justice really means.” That is the light of the gentle and loving Good Shepherd shining in the darkness.

Thou annointest my head with oil;
my cup runneth over.

We live in a land of plenty, yet many live in a land of want. If we shrank the world’s population to one village of 100 people, with all the existing human ratios remaining the same, it would look like the following: 57 Asians, 21 Europeans, 8 Africans; 52 would be female, 48 would be male; 70 would be non-Christian, 30 would be Christian; 89 would be heterosexual, 11 would be homosexual. And, here comes our lesson for the day, 6 people would possess 59% of the world’s wealth and all 6 would be from the United States. 80 would live in substandard housing; 70 would be unable to read. 50 would suffer from malnutrition. Only 1 would have a college education. Only 1 would have a computer (Racism and Privilege, NPR, Miami, FL, 17 January 2000). To bring those statistics closer to home, in Illinois more than 8.5 percent of families are living in poverty and more than 15 percent of children live in poverty.

These statistics can be overwhelming. It can be, as Daniel said, “Too dark!” But we are reminded that we aren’t defined by the darkness but rather by the redeemer, and that as the sheep of God’s pasture, we are called not only not to avoid the darkness but to expose it, believing that the light has the power to rescue those who live in darkness. And so we grapple with a place to start.

Many argue that the path out of poverty is through education. Voices for Illinois Children reports that our state has the nation’s worst achievement gap between well-funded and poorly funded school districts. Education Week gave Illinois an “F” on education spending. A broad-based coalition has launched the A+ Illinois Campaign, which is committed to real reform in the funding and quality of education. The campaign proposes a plan to fund Illinois schools equitably while lowering their dependence upon property taxes. The plan doesn’t lower the amount of funding that schools in wealthy districts receive. It raises the level of funding for poorly funded schools through the equalization of income taxes and grants. Our Mission Committee has chosen this year to focus its energy on supporting the A+ Illinois legislation. You will be invited to join them in this campaign.

And while I’m making a commercial, there’s one more to add, another opportunity to support children in their educational journey. The Tutoring Program has asked that I let you know that they are in need of volunteers to help with Kids Cafe, Job Training, and Computer Instruction. More details can be found at the Volunteer Table during Coffee Hour.

Once you were darkness. Now you are light. It is in this that we find our identity and our calling, for we can’t claim the gift of light without also claiming it’s source and believing in the Good Shepherd to empower us in it.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life;
and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

A member of the staff of Fourth Church was recently struck by a sudden and devastating tragedy. Paula’s parents were involved in car accident that took the life of her father and severely injured her mother, leaving her in the hospital awaiting many surgeries to come. A week or so after the accident, we received an email from Paula. It went like this:

At my church back home, our minister always starts the service with “God is good.” The congregation responds, “All the time.” He would say, “All the time” and again the congregation would respond, “God is good.” As I went to my mailbox a few minutes ago, there was an envelope for me from anonymous. All I can say is God is good. These past couple of weeks have been unbearable and yet your love, support, and thoughtfulness have helped me and strengthened me. My mom says that God put us where he wants us or needs us to be. I’m glad he brought me back to Fourth. He knew exactly what he was doing. Thank you anonymous for your wonderful generosity!
God is good,
Paula

Indeed, God is good, the Good Shepherd who walks with us in the darkness, who makes us to lie down in green pastures, who leads us beside still waters. And who calls us to do the same—to be light in this world. The darkness exists. Some of it we can change. Some of it we can’t. But to all of it we can bring light.

In the verses of Ephesians just before those we read today, the writer refers to saints. We imagine those to be people who are blameless and upright. But, in fact, that isn’t at all how saints are defined. They are described as those dedicated to divine purposes in the world. They set themselves apart from other people not by what they don’t do but by what they do, by letting God shine forth in them. And so, in the dark days of Lent, resolve again to claim the goodness of the Good Shepherd, to be one of his saints letting the light shine in you and through you.

God is good. All the time. God is good. Go now, saints, to believe it, to live it, to proclaim it, and preach it in all your days and ways. All to God’s glory and honor and praise. Amen.