Abundant Gladness

Sermon for the Third Sunday after Pentecost

St. Monica and St. James | Washington, DC Pentecost +3, Proper 6, Track 2

Romans 5:1-8; Matthew 9:35-10:8

Saint Paul knew a thing or two about suffering.

Throughout his life, Paul had no shortage of opportunity to gain intimate familiarity with the complexities of hardship. His letters to Christian communities provide many autobiographical glimpses, and the story of his life reads like a grand epic: countless travels to far-flung places, confrontations and protests, shipwrecks, beatings, imprisonment—all of which likely concluded with martyrdom.

As a newly published biography, King: A Life, made its rounds in media interviews this past week, I couldn’t help but note some parallels between the Apostle Paul and the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Both of these prophetic voices speak from a place of experiential knowledge.

Somehow—in spite of innumerable opportunities to sink into the depths of despair— Saint Paul and Dr. King instead hold fast to a hope guided by deep abiding love. Surely each were tempted to turn away from their callings on many occasions! Regardless of their life circumstances though, struggles and setbacks do not determine who they are and what they’re about. Challenges certainly shaped them, but the unwavering clarity in their lives remained tethered to something beyond the present situation.

This kind of practical, lived experience reminds me of words from Sr. Margaret McKenna, an activist-theologian who has faithfully devoted her life to caring for persons with drug addiction in North Philadelphia: “I am not interested in disembodied holiness,” she said, “Holiness comes from something you’ve lived.” And this is an especially helpful lens through which to engage themes in today’s readings.

Difficult moments in our lives have a way of kick-starting our capacity for meaning- making. Attempting to understand and assign purpose to suffering is a natural human impulse. And this impulse informs Paul’s writing as he addresses the Christian community in Rome: “...boast in suffering, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope...”

Echoes of this sentiment are of course heard in many places throughout scripture. As the book of James begins,“...whenever you face trials of any kind, consider it nothing but joy...: And in the words of Jesus, “Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” What these writings in scripture and Paul’s epistles aim to offer is a paradigm shift: rather than viewing suffering as evidence of failure or some kind of mark of shame, instead it ought to be embraced and celebrated. It is a provocative notion—which offers a potentially transformative change in perspective.

In light of how this sentiment has so often been used in its modern applications though, it seems at times as though Paul is carelessly playing with fire. The critical work of womanist and feminist theologians help illumine for us the implications.5 Notions of “redemptive suffering” are a dangerous game with harmful consequences—most especially for those in vulnerable positions.

And this is particularly evident in the widely popular mini-docuseries, Shiny Happy People. As it chronicles the prevalence of abuse in some fundamentalist families, self-serving applications of Paul’s teachings provide a theological backdrop. All-too- often, these “biblical” instructions are used as a tool to manipulate people and preserve patriarchal power. But this is not their aim—it is rather a deep distortion.

Throughout his writings, the Apostle Paul attempts to creatively engage ethical dilemmas and respond to social need. And all of this is for the purpose of nurturing communal wellbeing. So, when reflecting on the nature of suffering, he draws from his own familiarity intending to encourage those experiencing difficult situations. Unfortunately though, it doesn’t take much to twist his words to instead valorize suffering—as though it is some sort of proof of holiness. And when notions of so- called “redemptive suffering” are combined with expectations of total obedience— whether it be in conservative fundamentalist communities or the most progressive of social movements—an environment is created where abuse can flourish.

While Paul aims to impart a means for redirecting us from suffering to God’s ongoing work in our lives, it is all-too-common to view suffering as the end all in and off itself—and subsequently forgetting about God’s desire for human life altogether! But patient endurance in suffering offers no more proof of one’s holiness than it offers proof of God’s love.

To be clear: God does not desire suffering. And God does not will the hardships of our lives into being.

In his farewell instruction, Jesus sums up the heart of his ministry by admonishing his disciples to abide in his love, just as he abides in God’s love. And with this he tells them the very purpose of his mission—the very reason for the Incarnation—is that their “joy may be made complete.”6 And this is where we discover God’s desire for human life: total joy. Jesus comes that we might learn to walk in the way of love and know abundant gladness!

And yet... suffering is inevitable.

Cars breakdown. Roommates eat prized and highly anticipated leftovers. Employment is lost. Marriages end. Loved ones die. As we have all learned in the shared experience of these pandemic years, suffering happens. And more-often-than- not it is beyond our control and comprehension. But this is precisely where life happens anyway.

The only way to effectively mitigate suffering is by choosing to avoid life. But while decreasing the size of our lives may manage our exposure to loss, disappointment, and pain—it also limits our capacity to know the fullness of life. Living and loving is rife with risk; there is no way around it... And this gets at the very heart of the Gospel.

We needn’t look much further than the challenges of abundant living to grasp Jesus’ words in the Gospel of Matthew. “The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few.” What might it look like for each of us to enter the harvest—to respond like the disciples and go into the places of need God calls us?

There is of course no one universal response to this question, as the harvest field is surely different for each one of us. And it’s for this reason I find myself turning to the wisdom found in poetry. Richard Wilber’s poem, At Moorditch, offers an especially helpful insight. Wilber, the former poet laureate, imagines two voices confronting this reality of suffering; we might consider the poem as an exchange between the voice of despair and the voice of hope.

At Moorditch By Richard Wilber

“Now,” said the voice of lock and window-bar,

“You must confront things as they truly are.

Open your eyes at last, and see

The desolateness of reality.”

“Things have,” I said, “a pallid, empty look,

Like pictures in an unused coloring book.”

“Now that the scales have fallen from your eyes,”

Said the sad hallways, “you must recognize How childishly your former sight

Salted the world with glory and delight.”

“This cannot be the world,” I said. “Nor will it,

Till the heart’s crayon spangle and fulfill it.”

This describes the reality of our own situation, doesn’t it? It conveys some recognizable and all-too-common feelings...

“Things have a pallid, empty look, like pictures in an unused coloring book.” ...“The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few.”

That we live in a world of tremendous need really requires no further description. Yet even within this immense yearning, a voice rises—“This cannot be the world. Because a bounty of beauty and gladness and deep abiding love that also bursts forth, just waiting to be harvested and shared. I know this to be true because I have seen it, and I believe each one of us caught a glimpse too.

In staring into the sure reality of suffering and courageously choosing to live and love in abundance anyway, our lives become a proclamation of good news. God will surely meet us within any suffering we encounter. And in entering into the depths of desolateness, God draws us into a new reality.

Inhabit life more fully then, without abandon—and like a child armed with a box of crayons and no inhibitions, let your joy-filled heart color the world with good news.

Amen.