by CCW | 8 March 2009 14:00
The Rev’d David Curry, Rector of Christ Church, preached this sermon at Morning Prayer for the Second Sunday in Lent, based on the first lesson[1]: Genesis 18:1-15[2].
The laughter of Sarah echoes down the empty corridors of the centuries of human ignorance and presumption. She, of course, “laughed to herself.” But that, of course, cannot be hid from God. “Almighty God, unto whom all hearts be open, all desires known, and from whom no secrets are hid,” for what kind of God would that be if things could be hid from him? Not a God worth believing in, surely.
No. The laughter of Sarah instructs us wonderfully about the nature of God’s compassionate dealing with our humanity. Why does Sarah laugh? For a very good reason, really. Listening at the tent door, she has just overheard the word of the Lord to her husband Abraham that she shall conceive and bear a son. Being old, advanced in age, the utter improbability of this occasions her laughter. She hadn’t heard yet of the marvels of contemporary reproductive technology. Not only are “the old men made young again” via Viagra, but the old women can give birth again and again! The problem is that her laughter is a denial of God’s power and his will for his people. “Is anything too hard for the Lord?” the Lord says to Abraham and Sarah. There is precisely the sense of something divine at work here that overrides our all-too-human expectations.
For Christians, it is hard to hear these words without immediately thinking of Mary’s response to the Angel Gabriel about being the theotokos, the God-bearer. “How shall this be,” Mary asked, “seeing as I know not a man?” The difference lies, perhaps, in the tonal qualities of these stories. The laughter of Sarah about the promised Son is redeemed by the holy query of Mary about the Son who is the redeemer of mankind.
The Annunciation and this story are stories of the encounters between God and our humanity. The scene in Genesis is one of my favourites. Under the shade of the oaks of Mamre, the Lord appears to Abraham. How? As three men or three angels? At times the dialogue is between Abraham and the Lord, singular. A scene, too, of exquisite oriental courtesy, Abraham conducts the ancient rites of hospitality, providing for his guests. He lays a feast before them but he himself does not partake rather he “stood by them while they ate.”
This is the setting in which God promises a son to Abraham, the promised son from which the promised people are derived. It is a powerful scene. Sarah’s laughter, then, is no minor matter. It is the mocking laughter of all who have despaired of God’s redemptive purpose. The mercy in the story is that the Lord who knows that she was laughing to herself calls her to account and in such a gentle fashion.
The parallels to the Gospel story of the prodigal son are intriguing. There is a banquet of rejoicing at the return of the son who was lost. Only the elder son, the one who never left, is aggrieved and feels slighted. Such are the tentacles of envy in our souls. Not only do we despair of God’s grace in our own lives but we refuse to rejoice at its motions in the souls of others. Notice, too, how anger leads to envy. He does not laugh but vents his displeasure at the fuss being made over the one who has returned having wasted all his inheritance.
In both stories there is a moment of accountability. In the Genesis story it is initiated by the Lord; in Luke’s Gospel, the son comes to himself in that far country. He recognizes two things: his own folly and the intrinsic goodness of his father. ‘I will arise and go to my father, and I will say to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no more worthy to be called your son.”’ Powerful words, they highlight the nature of redemption. The recognition of the good will of God for our humanity enables the possibility of change and reform. “The goodness of God leadeth to repentance.” The promises of God run ahead of our coming home. “While he was yet a great way off, his father saw him and had compassion on him and ran to him and embraced him.” We are brought to account so that there will be joy and laughter, the joy and laughter of our taking delight in God.
These stories both illumine and are illumined in turn by the great gospel reading at the Eucharist for today, the story of the Canaanite woman who comes to Jesus seeking the healing of her daughter, “grievously vexed with a devil.” It is the story of an incredible encounter, one which teaches us something quite profound, namely, the testing of our wills about what we desire and about our commitment to the truth. The woman here perceives and holds onto what she thinks she knows about Jesus, that he is the Son of David who can heal her daughter.
The troubling dialogue – troubling because at first “he answered not a word”, secondly, the disciples say “send her away because she is crying after us”, thirdly, Jesus identifies his mission as belonging to “the lost sheep of the house of Israel”, fourthly, he says “it is not right to take the children’s bread and throw it to dogs” – draws out her commitment to what she perceives as true in him. She will not be put off. She perseveres and takes the kingdom of heaven by storm, we might say, but only because God so wills to be taken. Such is the nature of true desire. Our loves cannot be half-hearted. What is wanted is our total commitment. This is what Jesus draws out of her. “Truth, Lord,” she says in response, “yet even the little dogs eat of the crumbs which fall from their masters’ table.” With such words, she breaks into the heart of Jesus. Her deep humility is rooted in her profound commitment to the truth of Christ. It cannot go unnoticed that her words quite literally shape our liturgy in “The Prayer of Humble Access” at Holy Communion, words which are about our total commitment to Christ in his total commitment to us, body broken and blood outpoured, “he in us and we in him.”
We will not be like Abraham under the shade of the oaks of Mamre, simply standing by at the banquet. We will be like the prodigal son, humbled and penitent, embraced in the compassion of the father and made partakers of the banquet of joy. There we may hear the true laughter, the divine laughter of delight at our return. “It is fitting to make merry and be glad, for this your brother was dead, and is alive; he was lost, and is found.” There is joy, the joy that comes from repentance and returning to the Lord, the joy that places us at the banquet of heavenly delight.
Fr. David Curry, Lent II, MP, March 8th, 2009
Source URL: https://christchurchwindsor.ca/2009/03/08/sermon-for-second-sunday-in-lent/
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