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Do we really want new life?
The Reverend Canon Elizabeth Knowlton
Fifth Sunday of Easter, May 6, 2007
Cathedral of St. Philip 8:45 & 11:15 a.m.
Revelation 21:1-6
Do you like going to the ocean? While I didn’t grow up going to the ocean, there is something primal there for me now. I usually start to sense it with my first whiff of sea air or the glinting of reflected sunlight off the waves. But, more than the sights, more than the aroma, or even the feel of the sand beneath my feet, I am drawn to the sounds.
The rhythmic crash of the waves, the sound of rushing and receding foam is as beautiful as the music of a favorite Mozart piano concerto. If I am lucky enough to spend several days in the company of the ocean, I often notice a sense of calm and connection starting to inhabit my body. I feel rooted to the created world in a way that is harder to attain in the cacophony of the suburbs.
Which, is why it is always hard for me to relate to biblical references to the sea.
The ancient world did not see the ocean as a top vacation destination. Other than Peter leaping into the sea to get to breakfast with the risen Christ, we don’t have a lot of swimming images.
Instead the sea is a harbinger of death, danger, or chaos. It creates scenes of terrified clinging disciples in a storm tossed dingy. The sea is so powerful it requires God’s direct intervention to allow escape from slavery, and woe to you if you are an Egyptian driving a chariot for Pharaoh. This view of unbridled power and chaos does not seem congruent with sun-kissed white beaches in the panhandle. It does not resonate with evening hand-held walks with children running ahead searching for treasures or the stray hermit crab.
“I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more.”
As I have sat with this text, done the proper reflection on the symbolism conveyed by the end of the sea (which is of course order replacing chaos), I have an admission to make. It isn’t going to seem much like heaven to me if the ocean isn’t there.
So as I have tried to shake myself free from images of idyllic summer vacations at the beach, I’ve had to ask myself a pretty hard question. If I have to give up the ocean, do I really want a new heaven and a new earth? Do you?
And of course that is not really the questions we struggle with. Most of us would give up the most beautiful piece of creation if it meant an end to suffering and strife. Well, at least if we could get a guarantee ahead of time.
But the question often does not come to us quite that clearly. We are not told that if we give up the ocean, we will be free of suffering. Instead, we are given thousands of little daily choices that allow us to move either towards a new heaven or away from it.
And I fear that I can be rather intractable. Even the scientific community is starting to support this. Our brain research is starting to confirm that we are not just stuck in ruts because of sheer stubbornness. Rather, we have literally mapped our brains to respond in very particular ways.
That is a gift and helpful if it keeps me from having to process an overwhelming amount of external stimuli. It is not nearly as helpful when I am looking for new life and signs of resurrection. I may be much too likely to skim across the surface seeing the same thing I’ve always seen. We like the predictability of the known, and can fear the new.
Even when the promise is heaven, God dwelling with us, and the end of tears, I don’t think it is as easy as we’d like it to be. Because the new we are asked to embrace is really quite radical. This kind of newness requires a letting go of all we know and cling too.
It requires courage and it requires the tenacity of a hope we can’t really explain.
Yesterday, I had the honor of being present at the dedication of the latest habitat house our parish has supported. It was a wonderful assembly of faithful people from the Cathedral, Holy Innocent’s, and Big Bethel AME church. I was particularly moved by Barbara, the woman who will take up residence there shortly with her daughter. She has worked alongside the volunteers to literally build up her new residence. As she spoke her words of thanks to those of us gathered she was overcome with emotion as she tried to put into words her gratitude about what this new house would mean to her and her daughter.
After she finished, James, the building supervisor from Habitat added a few words. He said he wanted us to know something about Barbara. She had moved to Atlanta from New York City following 9/11. It has not been an easy move. She works to support her family full time at the Krispy Kreme on Ponce and could hardly imagine the dream of home ownership. In fact in the face of struggling to find a new way, a new place in Atlanta, she wasn’t sure she was where she needed to be. She was not sure she would be approved for a Habitat Home and told James she had decided to move back to New York if she didn’t hear something soon.
Then James turned to us, and said, “Thank you for each one of you who gave Barbara the new home she needed to make a place here in Atlanta.”
“See the home of God is among mortals. He will dwell with them as their God; they will be his peoples and God himself will be with them....”
Peoples---not person. Barbara couldn’t go it alone and neither can we. Especially, when we are called to relinquish our comfortableness, and find the new. We need to have something to cling to, and that can only be one another. Newness is hard, even when it is desired. Habitat recognizes this by providing ongoing support and education to the homeowners as they transition to life in their new residences. We also presented Barbara with two items for her new life. A bible and a canvas bag full of tools.
At our best, our communities recognize this on the spiritual journey. We don’t baptize a baby and then send them off to find the new heaven and the new earth. We make vows to support and nourish one another as we look towards new life. We recognize that we need each other and God’s help to make the journey----- Even when it is towards heaven.
This is the invitation Jesus is giving the disciples in the Gospel passage for today. He tells us “Where I am going, you cannot come. I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”
This is really a rather curious statement when he says it is a new commandment. There is certainly ample evidence in the Hebrew Scripture that love is to be desired and practiced in our communities, even on behalf of the stranger. So in what way are we called to love one another in a new and different way?
While the command is simple, the implementation can be far more difficult in practice. We do know it is not the stuff of Hallmark commercials or fairy tales. It looks a lot more like a canvas bag filled with home maintenance tools. It looks a lot more like providing assistance in the wake of the devastation of Hurricane Katrina than lying on the beach.
It means recognizing that Jesus’ hour of glorification comes at the moment of his betrayal. The journey to new life includes death and the empty tomb before resurrection and ascension.
To live this out in the here and now is the hard work of Christian love. It means being willing to let our preconceived notions die and risk donning the lenses of resurrection. And it means looking for that new life when we are uncomfortable, scared, and even irritated.
It requires courage and the tenacity to hope in the image of heaven where death is conquered. We don’t sustain that individually, but it is possible in community. We don’t need to look for Christ where we cannot go, but reveal to one another each of the places we see and experience that presence here and now.
We have already received the promise of resurrection accompanied by the vision of the place where death is no more. And if we look carefully enough, we’ll realize we are already participating in the new heaven and new earth. We might need to let go of some precious idols, even encounter the darkness of that which we thought was only idyllic. But, together we will participate in fullness of life and experience the risen Christ.
Amen
Comments? Contact Beth Knowlton at: BKnowlton@stphilipscathedral.org