Sermon on Peace, Dec. 9

I had a couple of requests for this sermon, preached at Central on Dec. 9. Please bear with it; it's kind of long. Deep peace, Lisa

"Peace"

Write a sermon about peace, our second Advent candle. I opened a Word doc and stared at it. What could I say about peace? This week, I had a conflict with a member of the Central family over a miscommunication. It haunted me Friday as I worked on this sermon. We discussed the conflict and both said, “I’m sorry.” Still, how to preach about peace when I can’t find it in my own congregation.

This week, I also had a conflict with a friend. I was unintentionally quite rude to this friend. I apologized but that doesn’t immediately fix things. This, too, haunted me as I worked on this sermon. How can I preach about peace when I can’t find it in my own friendships?

A few years ago, I had learned to play guitar and brought it to my extended family Christmas. My grandma requested Silent Night. As I played, two members of my extended family began chatting and it suddenly erupted into a yelling match; meanwhile, I sang softly. One of them ran out of the room. I kept singing softly, finishing the song in tears. How can I preach about peace when I can’t find it in my own family? Perhaps you can insert similar stories here. Congregations, families and individuals pray for peace on earth, peace between nations. How can we pray for peace when it’s not in our daily lives?

Sometimes when I’m low, I turn to God’s word for comfort. So how about this Matthew 3:1-12! Will there be comfort in these words? John the Baptizer is proclaiming repentance on the shores of the tiny Jordan River: “Prepare the Way of the Lord! Make his paths straight.” People listened to him and got baptized. The religious leaders of the day came, too, like all good religious leaders, to check out the scene. Maybe they wanted to get baptized just for insurance or may be they were just researching. Before they can utter a word, John lambastes them, calling them snakes, announcing wrath to come and urging them to bear fruit (which I take to mean that they were currently pretty barren). John continues to insult their Jewish ancestry and pride in being children of Abraham. Finally, John issues this threat that Jesus will carry a winnowing fork to separate wheat from chaff. It seems like John is calling the Pharisees “chaff” here.

On first glance, the only seeming way to find comfort here is if you knew FOR SURE you were wheat and not chaff. Maybe then you could find comfort in knowing you were peacefully in God’s hand. Maybe you could speak as certainly as the authors of the Left Behind series, who spoke a little too excitedly when asked in an interview about the fate of those considered “chaff.” They seemed to take a particular delight in the eternal damnation of some. I guess they knew for sure that they were the wheat. I disagree with those authors. Christ would take no delight in damnation of anyone. In fact, Christ seemed to prefer “chaff” over “wheat” in his day.

Let’s move to repentance, because I think it has something to do with peace. Greek experts remind us that this word “metanoia” is really about turning and going in the other direction. It’s about going 180 degrees the other way. It’s not just about changing your mind; it’s about changing your actions. But do we really need to repent? Didn’t Martin Luther get rid of the idea that we have to confess each and every sin to receive God’s mercy? I mean, the man drove himself crazy (and so would we) trying to recount them all. Do we need to repent? Of every sin, no. Of turning around, yes.

The reality of being human is that sometimes we go in the wrong direction. It’s not a judgment or a sign of moral failing. It’s just the way things are. Good people make bad choices; we do it all the time. So repentance offers us a venue to turn around and commit to going in another direction. We can do better, right?

Author Richard Jensen says when we think of repentance, we often think in an “I can” way. I can do better next time. I can think before I speak an unkind word. I can communicate earlier with people to avoid mix-ups. I can put others’ needs first. I can be more loving and compassionate toward the people in my life. I can work toward peace in this world. Do you think that maybe this Advent season, you can do this? Maybe just a little?

This is a great idea, but the reality is, repentance is more of an “I can’t” than an “I can.” True repentance is looking at our lives and saying, “You know what, I actually can’t. I can’t be good all the time, I can’t always treat others as I should, I can’t always put others’ needs first, I can’t always say the kind word or be the ‘bigger’ person. I can try but realistically I can’t.” And this, dear ones, is true repentance. We say, “I can’t,” but God in Jesus Christ can. This reliance on God’s strength is the way to peace.

This is the good news. The call to turn around, to repent, is the call to take an honest look at our lives, see our shortcomings, say, “I can’t” and know God says “I can.” God can and does offer us love and presence, forgiveness and hope and peace. When we say, I can’t, we remember our baptism (and John’s echoes of baptism). We believe that in baptism our old self is washed away and we are born again. We can remember our baptism every day; every day we say “I can’t,” we die to that old self and start anew. I wonder if maybe our best hope for peace in this world and in our lives is by returning to the font, to the baptismal font, acknowledging our shortcomings, knowing God’s forgiveness and trusting God’s love will help us turn and go a different direction. It is said that peace begins at home and this is true. Yet for Christians, this font, the waters of life, is our home. Here we are born and reborn.

A farm story: I never knew that chaff was worthless. Indeed, on my parents’ Iowa farm it is not. A couple weeks ago I talked about the baling and unloading hay as a family and enjoying the rest that followed. Before that promised rest, though, we swept the chaff that remained on the wooden bale rack. For this is another definition of chaff (I checked Webster’s) the bits and pieces of hay that remain after the rest is formed into bales. So my brother Jay and I swept the chaff and pushed it into recycled seed corn sacks that Dad held open. There was very little waste on our farm; Dad fed even the chaff to the cows. I like to think of it as cow appetizers.

Now that’s hay and Jesus spoke of wheat. So I checked this out online. Wheat chaff is the bracts and casings left behind from the grain. And what’s a farmer to do with wheat chaff? It gets tossed not into a fiery furnace but fed to animals. It becomes life-giving.

I believe that in our lifetimes, there is no way that God will every fully separate the wheat from the chaff in all my heart and actions. But I do believe that even my failings, God will somehow use for God’s purposes. Perhaps I might learn valuable lessons on how to better be Christ in this world. Perhaps my failings will lead me straight to God, to repentance and to saying “I can’t,” instead of insisting that I always can. Maybe God will use my chaff and yours too.

Maybe this is how peace is to come into the world. Maybe not with big acts of giving from Bill Gates and Oprah Winfrey. Maybe not through religious leaders like the Pharisees and Sadducees or pastors and bishops. Maybe not by big corporations or empires. Maybe it comes quietly, unassuming. Maybe peace travels a bumpy road and comes through obstacles. Maybe peace comes when the word is very dark. Maybe peace comes into the rough-hewn mangers of our hearts, lying in a bed of straw (or chaff). Peace will come again this year. May we recognize it in Christ’s coming.