This sermon was preached at Glenwood and Canoe Ridge Lutheran Churches, Decorah, Iowa on April 7, 2019. It’s based on Isaiah 43:16-21; Psalm 126; and John 12:1-8. If you’d prefer to listen to it, find it at https://soundcloud.com/stacey-nalean-carlson.
Isaiah 43:16-21
16Thus says the Lord, who makes a way in the sea, a path in the mighty waters, 17who brings out chariot and horse, army and warrior; they lie down, they cannot rise, they are extinguished, quenched like a wick: 18Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old. 19I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert. 20The wild animals will honor me, the jackals and the ostriches; for I give water in the wilderness, rivers in the desert, to give drink to my chosen people, 21the people whom I formed for myself so that they might declare my praise.
Psalm 126
1When the Lord restored the fortunes of Zion, then were we like those who dream. 2Then was our mouth filled with laughter, and our tongue with shouts of joy. Then they said among the nations, “The Lord has done great things for them.” 3The Lord has done great things for us, and we are glad indeed. 4Restore our fortunes, O Lord, like the watercourses of the Negeb. 5Those who sowed with tears will reap with songs of joy. 6Those who go out weeping, carrying the seed,will come again with joy, shouldering their sheaves.
John 12:1-8
Six days before the Passover Jesus came to Bethany, the home of Lazarus, whom he had raised from the dead. 2There they gave a dinner for him. Martha served, and Lazarus was one of those at the table with him. 3Mary took a pound of costly perfume made of pure nard, anointed Jesus’ feet, and wiped them with her hair. The house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume. 4But Judas Iscariot, one of his disciples (the one who was about to betray him), said, 5“Why was this perfume not sold for three hundred denarii and the money given to the poor?” 6(He said this not because he cared about the poor, but because he was a thief; he kept the common purse and used to steal what was put into it.) 7Jesus said, “Leave her alone. She bought it so that she might keep it for the day of my burial. 8You always have the poor with you, but you do not always have me.”
- Morning shadows across the old floors
- Jam piled high on the toast
- Cry of blue jay from high in the spruce
- Grandma’s pressure pot still dancing
- Faint aroma of cattle and straw
- Still warm cookies
- Suds…all color in sun1
When Ann Voskamp was just four years old, her younger sister Aimee died. She writes about this experience in the opening chapter of her book One Thousand Gifts:
They lay her gravestone flat into the earth, a black granite slab engraved with no dates, only the five letters of her name. Aimee. It means “loved one.” How she was. We had loved her. And with the laying of her gravestone, the closing up of her deathbed, so closed our lives. Closed to any notion of grace… Losses do that. One life-loss can infect the whole of a life. Like a rash that wears through our days, our sight becomes peppered with black voids. Now everywhere we look, we only see all that isn’t…2
And then one day, mother to her own children, weary of living tired, afraid, and anxious, Ann receives a message from a friend inviting her to write a list of a thousand things she loves. She entitles it Gift List. Not of gifts I want but of gifts I already have. And so it begins:
- Morning shadows across the old floors
- Jam piled high on the toast
- Cry of blue jay from high in the spruce3
As her list grows, her vision changes. Now, everywhere she looks, she sees all that is.
I am about to do a new thing, God says. Now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? Do you not see it? Do you not see me?
What stands in the way of seeing God at work everywhere we look?
For Ann, it was loss that closed her eyes to grace. How can God be good, she asked, when babies die, and marriages implode, and dreams blow away, dust in the wind? Where is grace bestowed when cancer gnaws and loneliness aches? How do I live fully when life is full of hurt?4
For the Israelites, to whom God spoke through the prophet Isaiah, it wasn’t loss but past victory that kept them from seeing. Do not remember the former things, or consider the things of old, God says. And what are those former things that are standing in the way of seeing the new thing? God making a way in the sea, a path in the mighty waters; God bringing out chariot and horse, army and warrior; God leading the people from slavery in Egypt to freedom in the promised land.
The story of the exodus, the experience of God liberating them, is the story that shapes the people, forms their identity, reminds them who God is for them. And here, in anticipation of a new thing springing forth, God says forget it. Because dwelling on that story will make it impossible for you to see the new story that I’m writing even now.5
What are the stories that shape who you are, that shape who you perceive God to be? Are they stories of loss? Are they stories of victory? As congregations, are there stories from our past that prevent us from seeing what God is up to now? Do stories of full pews and growing Sunday Schools from our past close our eyes to the miraculous work God is doing now? Do the memories of how things were become a standard by which we judge how things are now?
In a changing world, a changing church, God is doing a new thing. In a world where so many thirst for peace, and joy, and hope, and healing, God is bringing water to the wilderness, rivers to the desert, drink for God’s beloved people. Now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? God asks.
See me in the morning shadows and the cry of the blue jay. See me in the laughter of the children and the whispered wisdom of the elders. See me in the song that stills your fear. See me in the questions, and the collaboration, and the astounding opportunities for congregations to work together in this place.
See me within these walls, gathering you to strengthen you and then sending you out in peace to tell the story—to tell my story—of abiding love and abundant life everywhere you look.
See me in your tears. I promise you joy.
See me at the table, with you.
See me raising the dead—Lazarus, Mary, Martha, you.
See me calling forth life. See me ordering the chaos. See me surrounding you with beauty.
See me even in the betrayal, the criticism, the sorrow, the burial.
I wonder, Ann writes, if the losses that punctuate our world, our own emptiness, might actually become places to see. To see through to God. That that which tears open our souls, those holes that splatter our sight, may actually become the thin, open places to see…God.6
- Water in the wilderness of sorrow.
- Rivers in the desert of despair.
- Drink for all who thirst to know God’s love.
- A Spirit who knows our every need.
- A Savior who meets us where we are.
- A Creator who has formed us for praise—
–lavish praise…
–use-the-costly-perfume praise…
–I’ve-seen-you-bring-life-out-of-death praise…
–you’ve-turned-my-tears-to-joy praise…
Thanks be to God.
Amen.
1, 2, 3, 4, 6 One Thousand Gifts: A Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Are by Ann Voskamp. Thanks to Cassie and Jacob Fouts for gifting me with this book!
5 Thanks to President Louise Johnson of Wartburg Theological Seminary for lifting up this passage from Isaiah at a recent retreat and asking us to consider the seminal stories that may get in the way of perceiving the new thing God is doing.