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SERMONS Communion
Reflection, December 7th 2008 Three Times Over Three times over It was a plain Yet, For long nights And mornings do return Sung into being! Three times over. Sean M. Gilbert. December 2008. Two words that arise out of the very heart or soul of not only being a Christian or even a person of faith, but of simply being human; periods or seasons of being like a wanderer in a harsh and desolate landscape – a gibber plain near the Gammon Ranges comes readily to my mind – yet also, even at the very same moment in time, gifts of consolation; the coming of shade, the provision of water, the companionship of close friends taking this hard journey with you. Desolation, yet also, strangely, remarkably, consolation…. Importantly for the spiritual tradition, and here as I readily do, I’m contrasting that with the more familiar and dominant institutional tradition, desolation is a human given, thus a core element of faith development. It is, therefore, not to be shunned, it is not to be avoided nor to be hurriedly rescued from, by some sure and quick fire religious solution; something the institutional church and its clergy far too readily try to put in place. That’s what I call the ‘there, there, you’ll be fine’ approach, rather than, “Well, what can you learn from this and what can take you forward into life as a result.” That is not to say that desolation is pleasant or even desirable! It can be hellish, long-lasting and even dehumanising as was the case of the captive exiles in Babylon who were deliberately stripped of their identity and dignity. But, as I’ve said, and as Woody Allen reminded viewers of the 7.30 Report on Wednesday evening, the existential loneliness of being human and being alive unto death is very real and we kid ourselves if we don’t think this is the context of faith, even a catalyst for faith. Desolation: a place of raw nakedness, powerlessness and yet, the potential openness to something new and more… Comfort, comfort my people, speak tenderly to Jerusalem… A voice of one crying out in the wilderness with a message of hope and forgiveness… In other words, into the very midst – the nitty gritty of human experience – comes and always comes, the consoling, encouraging and re-creative Spirit of God. Not as a panacea or opiate, but as a bearer of renewed strength, peace, joy, courage and love; arising out of the very hard places of life, not magically landed on us from above. Ah, the morning song of a tiny bird, no less. The spiritual journey being, therefore, a conscious turning toward the great gift and Giver of consolation / comfort for life’s meaning and direction. A radical receptivity towards signs and symbols of hope even when all seems lost and enclosed. The tenacious embodiment, if you will, of love, freedom and mercy in a world that often thrives off the very opposite, namely cynicism, consumption, revenge and disinterest. Our coming aside this morning around this table, our gesture of open hands before the bread and wine, is our acknowledgement of desolation, or our great need for the comfort and consolation of God. But far from being a passive gift, it is also inflaming, empowering and indwelling. To quote that famous line of Scripture: Be compassionate as God is compassionate. Meaning, by knowing first hand our need, our limitations, our sufferings and our struggle to be fully human, by the receiving of grace anew, we can make the journey with others across the gibber plains of their experience, and do so without judgement and without quick and easy fixes. And so friends, to this holy meeting place, come to be consoled, come to be renewed, come to be found wholly acceptable and lovable in the grace that is God, alive and well in our midst. Amen.
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