Rev. Ellen Jennings
Isaiah 25:1-9
Matthew 22:1-14
Sometimes I delude myself. I mean, I look at things in such a way that they make perfect sense at the time, only to realize later that my perspective was completely out of whack!
Let me give you an example. Several months ago, right before my vacation and subsequent return to the start of a rather well programmed church year, I went to see my acupuncturist, whom I see regularly. Not only does she do energy work, but she’s also a really good listener. Thus, we typically start the session with my talking and her asking, “what’s your intention?”
Well, in mid August, as I looked ahead to the fall, with Kimberly, our Church Administrator, out sick but planning to be back in the office soon; my son, Teddy, applying to colleges (and doing the requisite visits over several weekends); a packed schedule of church activities; and a son who’d just been diagnosed with a serious health condition, I said that my intention was: “to acknowledge that my plate was already full and not to add anything to it.” And, my acupuncturist heard me and then proceeded to position the needles.
Of course, what she should have said is: “Are you kidding?! Since when is adding things to your plate totally within your control?” But, she didn’t. Because: a) that wouldn’t have changed anything, and b) she’s a very patient and wise woman, and part of her wisdom is knowing people have to learn things for themselves.
So, I finished my session. The needles did their work. And, I left for home feeling pretty darn good about my commitment not to add anything else to my extremely full and very carefully balanced plate.
Two weeks later Kimberly died.
Now, please let me assure you that I am not being narcissistic, or at least not extremely so. The passing of Kimberly was a tragic loss for a great many people, especially her two children. But, my point is, her death was not an event over which I had any control. It was one of life’s unplanned, undesired, unexpected tragedies. And it totally, completely and comprehensively made my already full plate come crashing to the floor. Because, contrary to my stated intention, I simply had no say. Grief, loss, pastoral duties, administrative chaos and logistical challenges were, all at once, added to my platter. And all I could do was cope with the overload…
And, I think this may be what’s going on in today’s parable from the Gospel of Matthew. For, I don’t believe that harsh stories like this are theological statements about the nature of God—i.e. a vindictive deity who punishes us for not having our act together. Rather, I think they are truth statements about the nature of life. For, if we are so busy, so self important, so overscheduled, so “plate full” that we’ve left no room for the unexpected—good or bad—then, as a natural consequence, we won’t be available when God invites us to her party (i.e. a fabulous, fun, and fulfilling relationship with the divine!). Either we won’t come or we’ll be woefully unprepared, still wearing our workout clothes instead of our party best, always thinking it’s more important to get one more thing completed than making space in our lives for the great Lover and Creator of the world.
So, I considered all of this, and I had to ask myself: did I really want to live my life in such a way that I had no time to party with God? Balls juggling, plate overflowing, leaping in the air to catch one, landing quickly to balance the other…? And the answer was: No. I didn’t.
And yet, what were my alternatives? What might be a better way of living? What might actually be a more Godly way of living? What might be a more life affirming way to live my life?
Well, the answer came rather quickly (thank you, God). And it was completely visual: I must leave space on my plate. Or, as I reworded it later, I must prepare and maintain an empty place at the table.
Which brought to mind the Jewish tradition of leaving room for Elijah—the prophet whose return, it is believed, will precede the coming of the Messiah. Each year at the Passover feast, a place is set at the table, a chair left empty, with a goblet of wine and a full place setting: just in case.
And I love this idea. I love the concept of leaving space for God—or God’s emissary. I love the practice of leaving an empty space at the table—for all the unexpected and bewildering occurrences (not to mention, gifts) of life. For, unless we do, where (and how) can God possibly come?
Of course, I don’t mean this literally. For the great mystery and consciousness of the universe can surely choose when and where She wants to come. But, just as Dan preached last week about the distinction between choosing and being chosen, I suggest that we each have some say in whether or not the “God shaped hole” in our lives, is left open for God or is so cluttered with other activities, commitments and priorities that, in actuality, God has a rather difficult time being present in our lives. Or, at least, we are so un-present that we’re unlikely (possibly unable) to notice that God is—Present.
So what can we do about this? Especially as we enter the upcoming holiday season—a time when, spiritually, we are encouraged to notice that God is with us; Emmanuel, but, in reality, we are often more distracted by activities, events, commitments, and material consumption than at any other time of the year.
Well, that’s why I’m preaching this sermon today—before the holiday season has begun, before the crazy distractions have commenced. And I’m going to encourage each and every one of us to make a commitment, create an intention, choose, right now—to slow down, to take five things off our typical holiday “to do” list, to create a space—for God, Emmanuel, the Incarnation, however and as whoever God wants to appear—so that you don’t miss her when she comes, so that you don’t miss the party, even when your invitation is personally delivered.
It’s a good idea, right? And, if you’re anything like me, you’ll file it away in your “good idea” folder and it won’t emerge again until the holidays are over and done and, yet again, we’ve crazily wobbled through under the weight of a plate that preempts any possibility of partying with God.
So, I’m going to force the issue! Or, rather, I’m going to gently encourage you to make a life-affirming choice… You’ve each been given a piece of paper and a pen (there are also pencils in the pews), and I’m going to request, right here and now, that you remove five things from your holiday “to do” list. Maybe it’s those Christmas cards you feel compelled to send. Maybe it’s the homemade pie you could actually purchase. Maybe it’s spending hours on internet shopping when you could, instead, make a charitable donation in each recipient’s name. I can’t choose for you, and I definitely wouldn’t want to, metaphorically, take away any pie making, if that’s what you love to do. But I’m guessing each one of us can identify things we really don’t want to do over the next two months—and these are the items which should come off our plates: leaving room for the unexpected, making space for God.
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If you need more time, please continue creating your list at home. Really. For, the more you think about making space, the better your chance of doing so. It’s difficult, I know, and I’m grateful to you for opening yourselves to such a challenging spiritual discipline. As Dietrich Bonhoeffer wrote:
We must be ready to allow ourselves to be interrupted by God. God will be constantly crossing our paths and canceling our plans by sending us people with claims and petitions . . . we do not assume that our schedule is our own to manage, but allow it to be arranged by God.
Yes, we must allow ourselves to be interrupted—by God. And the only way this can happen is if we create enough space on our plate, leave a place empty at our table—acknowledge that our plans are not the be all and end all, that God may just wish to bust in and alter a few things.
Which reminds me of a story. A few years ago one of my friends was diagnosed with breast cancer. Thankfully, she survived and is, today, in good health. But, during her time of treatment, she coined the phrase: “bust it up!” Yes, of course, it was a play on words, but, most important, it was an acknowledgement that all our human plans are but an attempt to impose some order on a mystery we cannot even begin to fathom. My friend had heretofore lived her life in a predictable, even boring, and certainly conventional manner. But now, she looked around and thought: why? Did making conventional choices prevent breast cancer? No. Did trying to plan and prepare and prevent keep me from getting ill? No. Did thinking I could create my own destiny mean that I, in actuality, could? No.
So, she “busted” it up! She began painting and changed jobs and ceased, in general, being such a super good girl. Oh, she’s still one of the nicest people I know, but she’s not so controlled. She’s not so worried about whether she’s doing it right or not. She’s much more open to chaos, creativity and just not knowing what’s going to happen next (or should I say, since none of us actually knows what’s going to happen next), she’s okay with the truth that anything can happen.
Because, anything can happen. And the only way to deal with this pesky little reality is to trust: in God, in process, in life, in the way things are. If we are to create a God-shaped place at the table, then we have to be open to whatever God’s going to bring. Mostly, we have to be open to God Herself, to the Divine Presence, to the Amazing Grace in our midst.
There are so many stories about “missing God,” simply because we were too darn busy, or didn’t make room, and/or didn’t have the eyes to see. Here is one of my favorites, adapted from Max Lucado’s version of an old folk tale:
Once there was a man whose life was one of misery. The days were cloudy and the nights were long. He didn’t want to be unhappy, but he was. He was busy all the time, filling his days with work, family commitments, and other obligations. With the passing of the years, his life had changed. He was miserable. So he decided to ask his minister what was wrong.
“Am I unhappy because of some sin I have committed?” he asked. “Yes,” the wise pastor replied, “You have sinned.” “And what might that sin be, “asked the man.” “Ignorance and self-importance,” came the reply. “One of your neighbors is the Messiah in disguise and you’ve had neither the time to meet nor the eyes to see him.”
The man left the office, stunned. “The Messiah is one of my neighbors?” He began to think who it might be.
“Tom, the butcher? No, he’s too lazy. Mary, my cousin down the street. No, too much pride. Aaron, the paper boy? No, too indulgent.”
The man was confounded. Every person he knew had defects. But one was the Messiah. So he began to look for him. He spent less time at work (and on the internet and in front of the TV) and more time with people.
And he began to notice things he hadn’t seen. The grocer often carried bags to the cars of older ladies. Maybe he is the Messiah. The officer at the corner often had a smile for the kids. Could it be? And the young couple who lived next door. How kind they are to their cat—maybe one of them…
With time, he saw things in people he’d never before seen. And thus, his outlook on life began to change. The bounce returned to his step. His eyes took on a friendly sparkle. When others spoke he listened. After all, he might be listening to the Messiah. When anyone asked for help, he responded; after all this might be the Messiah needing assistance.
The change of attitude was so significant that people started asking him why he was so happy. “I don’t know,” he said. “All I know is that my life changed when I began looking for God.”
Yes, our lives really can, really do change when we start looking for God, when we create a space at the table, when we make room on our plate, when we’re available to respond to the divine invitation when it comes.
And thus, my friends, my prayer for you, for all of us, as we enter this crazy, joyful, overwhelming, depressing, fun and fabulous holiday season is that we truly will take five things off our plates, that we’ll choose to make space for God, that we’ll intentionally dress up and show up at her holiday party. Yes, that this year we will party with God.
Amen.