Just When You Think You've
Seen it All . . . by Fred G. Garry - October 15, 2000
Texts: Job 23: 1-9 and Hebrews 4: 12-16 There are moments in life where you
reach a point, a point where it seems like you've seen it all,
and then, there's more. Challenge and strife, some would just
call it a losing streak. The more sanctimonious and calcified
may call it punishment or wrath of an angry God. Many words have
been used to describe this point, the breaking point you may
call it: the moment where, if it weren't for bad luck, you wouldn't
have any luck at all.
There is a look that comes over people
when this happens. The experienced know to get out of the way,
to cover your ears, to get the Kleenex, whatever you deem will
best deflect the eruption. There is also a tone to their words.
Popeye captured it best, "I can stands so much; I canst
stands no more." As a boy I would always think, "look
out Brutus, here he comes. "
Sometimes the breaking point is innocuous,
sometimes monumental. Yet it is never just that, there is always
more to it, layer upon layer, usually. Layer upon layer of disappointment
or loss, regret and failure, heartache and almost always a good
dose of despair. The breaking point is like a "Molotov Cocktail"
in the soul.
I had seen this moment in others before
I met Polly. I was introduced to Polly when she rose near the
end of her father's funeral, standing up while all remained seated.
And although you couldn't see it in her face as she was wearing
black sunglasses, you could hear it in her voice, she was at
a breaking point. Now I had seen and heard this moment before.
But I had never seen it in Polly. In fact I had never met her
before.
I had heard, heard she was crazy and
prone to outbursts, some were even legendary, the stuff that
made the papers. I had seen such moments in others before, and
even though I had never met Polly, I may have been all right
with her breaking point happening in my presence, but there was
a bit more to the moment.
This was during a funeral, just as it
was ending, I was giving directions to the reception when she
stood up and said, "I want to say something about my dad."
Now I may have even handled this with out much trepidation even
knowing her reputation, had it not been my first funeral. Yes,
I think I would have been just fine with all the pieces and the
parts had it not been for that slight issue. And I must admit
I almost had a breaking point as well, not something recommended
for clergy in the book of common worship.
Her words, I want to say something about
my dad, just hung out there. Numerous members of the family gasped,
turned ashen, some hung their heads to say, here she goes. None
of these were positive signs, and given my inexperience and deep
desire for the service to not spin out of control, I gasped as
well. In doing so, in that long moment where her request just
sat in the room filled to overflowing [oh, I should mention her
father, Ed, was known by everyone in the state of Ohio, and never
meet a man or woman he didn't like, and they had all shown up
for the service], I wondered what was going on.
I didn't know it then, but Polly had
had enough. In the years that followed I received the tid bits
that filled that moment of silence. I didn't know it then, but
Polly had reached the place in Job where we read from today,
Job chapter 23. The nice subtitle for this chapter found in my
Bible is "Job Replies." If I were the editor of the
book I would have of written, "Job has had enough,"
"Job is fightin mad," "Job goes postal."
Anything but, "Job Replies." Minor point! I didn't
know it then, but Polly was in that place where she would like
to have a word with God, face to face. She was tired of getting
hit from behind, and like Job, her voice said, "if you want
to fight with me, come and fight, but come at me so I can see
you."
As it turned out Polly had endured years
of struggle, years of hardship. She was at that place the writer
of Hebrews describes as the Word of God, her life had been pierced
until it divided soul from spirit, joints from marrow. The sword
had been swift and had uncovered her thoughts and intentions.
When you stand up during a funeral service, it is pretty clear
you have some intention. But her thoughts were not yet evident,
except, "I want to say something about my dad."
Somewhere inside of me I was able to
eek out, "O.K. Sure. That would be nice." Thank goodness
we don't have those thought bubbles that surround cartoon characters.
Pony took a deep breath and so did everyone else. And then she
said, "my dad used to make tents out of sheets in the backyard
for my brother and me. And he would lay there all night with
us in the summer and look at the stars. He told us the stars
are a sure sign that God loves us, loves everybody, because they
are always there. We would talk about good things, and what it
meant to love and help people. He would talk to us until we fell
asleep." And then Polly drew her breath again and said,
"God, I am going to miss him."
Now this may sound odd, but I don't know
if I ever will hear a better description of the covenant we make
in baptism. He would talk to us until we fell asleep. That is
pretty much it. The promise we make in baptism: we will be there
until you fall asleep. I don't know about you, but that kind
of sums it up for me. When we offer the sacrament of baptism
we are promising to nurture and care, to love and to guide, but
really, aren't we saying as members, as parents to our own children,
I will be there till you fall asleep. Whenever I have attended
to one of my children having awakened from a bad dream, I always
say the same thing, "I am here. I am here."
Life can be a bad dream, except you're
awake. While there has been a great deal of ink spilled as to
whether or not the book of Job is based on a historical person,
no one has ever contended concerning the truth of his words,
his "reply" as my bible calls chapter 23. His reply
is the deep anguish of someone who felt that life had become
a bad dream. "Oh that I knew where I could find him, that
I could come to his house. I would lay my case before him, and
fill my mouth with arguments. I would learn what he would answer
me, and understand what he would say to me." And then the
dramatic claim, "If I go forward, he is not there, If I
go backward I can't see him; on the left he hides, I turn to
the right, nothing."
In that long moment of silence, where
Polly stood bedecked with those ridiculous black sunglasses,
in that long moment I believe this was close to the words that
must have run through her heart. Come to me God I've got something
to say. I want you to listen to me. Come out here and face me
and listen up. Do you have any idea what you have done? I
still can't imagine the courage it must have taken her to stand
up and say, "I want to say something about my dad."
In that long moment I believe Polly stood
face to face with God. And all the arguments, all the complaints,
all the words that may have arisen didn't. Instead she spoke
of stars, and tents, and sleep. The writer of Hebrews says we
may approach the throne of grace with boldness and find help
in our time of need. Polly took that boldness notion to heart.
She was bold. Scared the daylights out of me. This was my first
time, and I had been warned that Polly was crazy. But no matter
the time, no matter how crazy, the voice she heard bidding her
to speak was not mine; it was the Holy Spirit's bidding, "make
your case before the throne."
When Job made the same request to come
before the throne of God he asked a curious question, a question
Polly words answered well. Job said, "when I make my case
before God will he contend with me in the greatness of his power?"
It is a curious and legitimate question, a question that is often
recast, what will almighty God say when you stand before him
on Judgment day? My hope, and my experience, has been
that when we stand before the almighty any day we will hear words
like Polly heard, the word of God came not with argument or great
power even, but with tender mercies, with memories whose substance
was grace.
Life can be disastrous. There is just
no two ways about it. Life can cut you like a two edged sword,
splitting the spirit from the soul, the bone from the joint.
1 think it would interesting if we were to re-title the book
of Job. What would you call it? I've already offered some initial
subtitles for the chapter we read today. 1 think "Job's
Reply" is too weak. There should at least be some umph to
it. At least "Job Gets Mad." But the whole book? Maybe,
"life can be disastrous." And then as an extension,
"just when you think you've seen it all ..."
If I were to title, or to chose words
that somehow recast Polly words when she stood before God with
her complaint, it would be something close to this: "He
belonged to me, and I belonged to him." Like the answer
to the question, "what is your comfort 'in life and death?
That I belong. to If I were to recast the words of baptism, or
sum it up, or rephrase the sacrament, it would be with a sense
of belonging. This one belongs to God; this one belongs to us.
We will love so Emilia knows, so Dara knows, so Rocky knows,
so Ron and Jamie know, always knows 'in the fiber of their being,
they belong. This is how I understand the words God spoke to
Jesus as he came up out of the Jordan after being baptized, "this
is my beloved." In other words, "this one belongs to
me. I take this one with me. You belong to me."
There is a place where we can stand in
life. After all has been said and done, when we have lived and
died, when we have ventured gained and lost, there is a place
in us where we can stand before God and know, no matter what
we are held in the palm of his hand. Life can be disastrous and
devastating. When Polly stood up her life was in ruins. Yet,
in spite of the ruins, in spite of the silence, there was a place
in her, a place her father had shown her, she belonged to him,
and he belonged to her. This is the place of baptism. This is
the place in us where we see and know; where we cannot help but
believe, "we belong, we are held in his hands."
The irony of life is that we do not often
stand in this place. Baptism is the place in us where there is
unbridled and deep confidence and courage. We belong to God.
This is where Paul was standing when he said, "If Christ
is for us, who stand against us?" The irony is that we so
often only gather to this place at the beginning and end of life.
It was death that brought Polly back to the baptismal font, to
those summer nights where her father let her wonder until sleep
came like loving arms.
Irony always has a secret. And the secret
here is, we don't have to wait until birth and death to stand
before God, to come to God, to seek the face of God. We don't
have to be at our wits end before we surrender our heart to God,
and say, do with me as you will, lead wherever you would have
me go. We don't have to be at the end of life, for it to begin
again. When life ends, it will begin again, but we don't have
to wait. I can this a secret in the hope that you will share
it with others. For I know a secret is harder to keep to yourself
than the truth.
If this message today finds you at your
wits end, then it is a timely one: stand in the deep confidence,
we are God's beloved; this is the promise of baptism. If life
is disastrous today, know that our God not only can be found,
but finds us in our hour of need. I take more comfort knowing
God finds me, than I find God. If this message finds you in the
middle of the road, if this message finds you in a place of getting
through, keeping your head above water, and so on, then be sure
to live this day in confidence and peace. Offer the mercy you
have received without measure, without fail. Take time today
to build a tent out of sheets with a child; revel in the knowledge,
we belong to God. Revel in the great mercy, "this is my
beloved; this one belongs to me." Amen.
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