by Rev. Fred G. Garry - December 3, 2000
Texts: I Kings 19 and Luke I There is a challenge in life we can
often miss. For in the hustle and bustle, in the day's duties,
the schedules, and the expectations, it is a challenge that demands
we put all these aside. And this is a challenge where we must
also put aside our very selves. We must not only put away our
work, but also the definitions we have worked hard to craft.
Definitions of right and wrong, definitions of how long it will
take, who should be given what, and why. There is such a challenge,
a challenge we often miss. For the cost is great, and the risk
is great as well, leading many to balk when the opportunity presents
itself.
I stood with a colleague recently who
was brimming with excitement. He is leading a new, dramatically
emerging ministry and its going well. He began to describe some
the events: good numbers, good enthusiasm, good support from
the parent group sponsoring the ministry. What could be better?
He then shifted gears and described a whole series of personal
tragedies he had recently faced: a son whose broken arm required
surgery twice, a brother-in-law losing all in a flood, and something
else that was too difficult to talk about, but was conveyed as
an understanding. And then, back to the ministry.
He was filled with joy. "A man came
to me after a recent service," he said. "He walked
up to me with tears in his eyes and said, 'in your words was
the first time I had ever experienced grace. I never really knew
what it was.'" Preacher-types live for moments like this.
He went on to describe some other moments of deep joy in his
new ministry, but then he stopped short. It was as if he was
hearing himself speaking out loud, and he said, "well, I
better stop. I don't want to sound too Pollyanna, about this."
His statement took me back a bit and I said, "you don't
have to stop for me, I like Pollyanna."
I have wondered a lot about his comment
since, "I don't want to sound like Pollyanna." I mean
it would have been one thing to say, "I don't want to be
Pollyanna," but to sound like her. This intrigues me. The
story of Pollyanna should leave many not wanting her life. The
novel depicting her life doesn't leave much room for wanting
her lot. She is born into abject poverty; she is last of three
children born to a husband and wife and the only one who survives
early childhood. She lives with her parents and then only with
her father as her mother dies. They live on the dismal charity
of others, often referred to as "what the Ladies Aiders
gave us in barrels."
Living with her father, having lost all
other family, far from any one, or any place of beauty, Pollyanna
expressed her desire to have a doll. To have a doll was her heart's
desire, from which we can deduce that she grew up with no toys,
no belongs, to treasures. Our children today could never imagine
this, both for good and ill. But this was her desire and
her desire prompted her father to write the missionary board,
who sends them their paltry support, requesting a doff. In response
the board sent a pair of children's crutches. The crutches, the
board explains, were the only child item they had, so they would
have to suffice instead of a doll.
Out of this grave disappointment, for
Pollyanna was crushed, from the crutches comes the famous "Glad
Game." Her father, seeing Pollyanna crushed with disappointment
says, "well we should be glad. Why should we be glad? Well,
because you don't have to use them. Your legs work and for that
we should be glad. "It was just absurd enough to work. And
from that moment on Pollyanna learns to play the "Glad Game."
Any and every circumstance that ought to produce disappointment
is met with the challenge of trying to find something better
to be happy about. And in Pollyanna's life she played this game
everyday, for it wasn't long after this that her father dies
as well.
Now this is just the beginning of her
story depicted in the novel bearing her name. The rest of the
story is built upon the reality that a grieving child who is
bereft of all those who had loved her was sent to a woman who
for all intents and purposes was incapable of love. Rich in material
things, but poor in spiritual ones, the child is thrown into
a regiment of duty and aloof detachment known as Aunt Polly.
You see I could have understood if my colleague had said, "I
don't want to be Pollyanna." For no one would choose to
lose their siblings, their parents, and be put in the charge
of an uncaring person whose bitterness ruled her soul.
I just can't see someone looking at the
young girl's life and saying, "ya, sure, I will take this.
I'll be Pollyanna." But this is not what he said, nor what
he meant. He said, "I don't want to sound Eke Pollyanna."
And this statement intrigues me. For in spite of everything the
amazing thing about Pollyanna, and what it means to be a Pollyanna,
is that she was happy, she was glad. In fact she said the word
"glad" so often that her aunt forbade her to use the
word. She forbade her until it became obvious that the poor child
could no longer speak. So often was she prone to use the word
"glad" that her diction became halted and confusing
as she groped for another word in her common talk.
So the option that is left and the question
that comes with it is this: could my colleague, by saying "I
don't want to sound like Pollyanna," could he have meant
that he didn't to sound glad, sound joyful, sound like someone
who is happy in spite of challenge, loss, grief even? Could this
be what he meant? I dare say there is no other option, but what
a queer one. To say, "I don't want to sound happy; I don't
want to speak with a transcending joy" when in fact that
is what he was. Why not sound like it? Why play small, hide your
happiness?
There is a challenge in Iife, a challenge
I believe we often miss. For to rise to the challenge we have
to lay aside our understandings and our duties. To step up to
the challenge demands we let our heart loose. Unfettered from
defenses and coping skills often meant to keep a steady course,
we are called to let our spirit sow for a moment. Such a challenge
doesn't come every day it seems, but at particular moments, particular
moments that are never really perfect.
Such a lack of perfection was what kept
Zechariah tied to the ground. He was too old; his wife was too
old. All that the angel said sounded great, amazing even. "But
is there some proof, something that will tell me this is true.
For this sounds too good to be true." And as the Bible often
does he couples Zechariah with a larger picture, a larger refusal
to believe. For the angel not only tells Zechariah that his life
will be freed from disappointment, that the long lasting moment
of disgrace Elizabeth had faced will be taken away, but so will
the disgrace of Israel be taken away. Their son will be the spirit
of Elijah, the one who runs ahead, the one who announces the
joy of God's forgiveness and mercy.
For the passage we read from I Kings,
this passage is where Elijah got what we would call a nickname,
the one who prepares the way, the one who goes ahead. Elijah
out runs a chariot, giving it a head start, on a thirty-mile
trek over hills and valleys from Mount Carmel to Jezreel. He
out runs Ahab to say, "the drought is over, the punishment
is done, eat drink and be merry." So when the angel came
to Zechariah he told him, "your son is going to be Elijah;
he is going to run ahead of the people and tell them good news;
the drought of mercy is over." And to this Zechariah says,
"you know, no offence, but I am old, and my wife is old,
how do I know this for sure?"
There is a challenge in life we so often
miss. We miss it as we look to our circumstances, our limitations,
our disappointments. We miss the challenge as we say to ourselves,
"we had better be sure, look before we leap. If it sounds
too good to be true, it probably is. I should not give a false
impression. I shouldn't paint such a rosy picture; life has a
way of defeating us, of casting our hopes to the ground. So it
would be best not to hope too much, not to dream too big. That
would be best, lest we sound too much like Pollyanna."
One year in the church I served in Ohio,
the deacons asked me for a special Christmas project. I told
them about a local ministry that worked with troubled youth.
It was a residency program; an intensive rehab run by a very
charismatic pastor who had grown up on the streets of New York,
living the life many of his charges lived, but by grace he had
recovered and now dedicated his life to helping others. The project
was to provide a Christmas party for the young men, complete
with gifts, refreshments and fellowship at the church.
It is fair to say the deacons were nervous
about the young men in the program. Most of these young men were
there in lieu of jail. They had lived on the rough edges of Iife,
destroying their lives with drugs and alcohol. What would the
deacons have to say to them? Would the evening be a long, awkward
time of polite conversation? Fears or not, the evening came for
the gathering. There were twelve young men in the program at
the time and they arrived with four leaders about 7:00. The group
was brought into the sanctuary, bedecked for Advent. Beneath
the tree in the sanctuary there were stacks of presents. For
the deacons had gotten clothing sizes and preferences and descriptions
of the young men and bought them gifts.
After some opening remarks and a prayer,
each deacon located the young man they had bought gifts for.
With this identification, they quickly went back to the tree
and retrieved their stack. Each one as they approached the young
men was given a long confused gaze, and then a kind of hazy acceptance
by each one. Each one of them put their stack of presents to
the side, looking to the leaders, looking to me. Then one of
the ladies said, "sweetheart these are for you. Merry Christmas."
And having opening no gifts, the young man having been bid "sweetheart"
began to weep.
And then for what seemed Eke an eternity
each one of them unwrapped their gifts. Finally one of them stood
opened gift in hand and said, "this is the first time I
have been away from MY family. What I did was wrong, and I deserve
to be punished. But I thought being away from my family at Christmas
time was going to do me in. But you have given me a Christmas,
you have given me so much more than I deserve." And then
everybody cried!
And the deacon's fears, well let's just say, they weren't realized.
For as they sat next to the young men they found they did know
them well. They were the children they had tried to raise, they
were the sons lost and found, they were the children of God just
like them. In the years following that one, the evening with
Outreach for Youth came to out shine all other the special events
of Advent. It came to be a moment above all the others, for without
a doubt, it was always an amazing moment of joy. For each year
there was a new set of young men who were surprised that someone
could be gracious without reserve.
There is a challenge in life we often
miss. The challenge of running ahead of others proclaiming joy.
The challenge of sounding as happy as you are. There is a deep
and abiding challenge to believe in the love of God and let your
words be filled with the sounds and power of this gift, and not
to play it small.
It is one thing to not want the life
of Pollyanna, but for all intents and purposes, it is our calling
to sound like her. For what is the church but the sound of joy
in the midst of sorrow, the sound of gladness in the midst of
brokenness, the sound of love in the midst of despair? What is
the church but the ones who run ahead like Elijah, like John,
like Gabriel and say, "do I have good news for you? This
is a gift for you. Sweetheart these are for you. Merry Christmas."
In the days ahead you are going to meet
moments of opportunity to run ahead, to dream out loud, to hope
in the midst of disappointment, do it. Take the leap, the risk,
play the glad game if you dare. If you find someone, especially
someone who sees their life as less, treat them as more. Don't
give into the voice of decorum, or the voice of "that is
too much." Brothers and sisters, Christmas time is the season
of God's lavish, spectacular gift of love. This is the time to
dare, to be the sound of love of joy. This is the time where
we become the hymn, "Joy to the World." Amen.
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