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Renewal from the Bones
Sermon preached by Paula Moyer
University Baptist Church
Ezekiel 37:14
Isaiah 60:1
Matthew 28: 16-20, which is
called in some traditions “The Great Commission.”
By Paula Moyer
Bones. Core. Foundation. Heritage. These words are often
used as metaphors for the most essential part of ourselves: that part, without
which, we would not be who we are.
The theme of this sabbatical is “Renewal.” We are being
asked to notice the things that renew us spiritually. Nature and time with good
friends are obvious ways that I find renewal. A somewhat more stressful form is
to go toward my “growing edge,” to take on a task I do not routinely do – like
preaching.
During our pastor’s sabbatical, a group of us will be taking
turns filling the pulpit. I have christened this group the “Fire in the Bones”
team. The name is taken from a sermon that our pastor, Doug Donley, preached
approximately two years ago. At that time Doug established an “open mike”
policy by inviting any UBC member or friend who had a sermon “burning in the
bones,” so to speak, to let him know, and he would then schedule a date for
that individual to preach.
And here we are today, at the confluence of that sermon’s
message and the opening chapters of a sabbatical titled “Renewal.” Those two
concepts are inseparable to me.
One consistent way that I have found the energy to move
forward is to first give a backward glance, to acknowledge the gifts I bring
with me from the past. I have often renewed myself spiritually over the years
by going into my core, my bones, to examine my foundation and reflect on the
ways I carry it with me.
In many ways I will always be that girl who was nurtured in the Southern Baptist tradition. After all, this was the place where I learned to seek out, and expect to find, the Holy Spirit. This was the place where I went down the aisle at the age of eight, made my first declaration of faith, and presented myself as a candidate for baptism. Oh, those linoleum floor tiles were so hard, and the soles of my Easter shoes clattered so loudly as I made that endless walk! The imagery in the hymns, the emotional “swing” in the approach to God – many aspects of that foundation are still in place for me, even though I look at them differently now than I did growing up.
Until that catalytic sermon, one particular aspect of my
Southern Baptist background had been for some time as dry and neglected as the
bones in Ezekiel’s vision. That was then, and this is now – or so I said. But
as surely as Ezekiel prophesied to those bones and they knit together, put on
sinews, and became resurrected beings, so my memories of being in a Southern
Baptist girls’ group quickened and knit themselves together, and I saw with new
eyes how that particular “bone” makes me what I am today.
That group was the Girls’ Auxiliary, or GAs for short. We
were the auxiliary to the Women’s Missionary Union or WMU. For Southern Baptist
churches in the 1950s and 1960s, the WMU was the congregation’s “steel
magnolias,” the backbone for all church functions and the liaison to the
denomination’s mission work. I’m not going to rehash the differences we may
have with some Southern Baptists regarding several of the organization’s
stances. That’s old news. I would say quite fondly that being in GAs prepared
me for a role in church leadership. Because of that training, I assumed that I
would not only be allowed, but expected, to serve the church in any way that
the Holy Spirit was leading me.
To give you an idea of how GAs groomed us for church
leadership, I’ll share with you the GA pledge, which we memorized and recited
at our Wednesday night meetings. I have edited the pledge for inclusive
language:
Knowing that countless
people struggle in broken misery, and giving attention to Christ’s commands, I
assert my allegiance to Jesus Christ, to Christ’s church and its activities,
attempting with God’s help:
To borrow a line from a great comedy show, that pledge is
“highly caffeinated”! It’s all about active verbs, and it ends with the
acknowledgment of a commission. I grew up in a military community. Commissioned
officers were my neighbors. I knew very well that a commission was not to be
taken lightly.
Our slogan was the passage from Isaiah that I read earlier:
“Arise, shine, for your light has come.” Our anthem was the song we will sing
as the concluding hymn, “We’ve a Story to Tell.” As you will see, that song is
filled with mission and purpose.
What young person could listen to that pledge, slogan, and
anthem, without feeling a calling, and even a burden, to respond to the
brokenness and pain of the world, to render any level of service to which the
Holy Spirit was calling her? This girl
was completely galvanized.
That bone continues to support me in the present. Any time I
participate in an activity here at UBC, I think about the GA pledge. A long
time ago, I gave my allegiance to Christ’s church and its activities. Even
today, I can sign on to any part of that pledge. It has no statute of
limitations and is still in effect. I take it seriously enough that I’m
learning to say “no” to activities that I am too busy to do effectively or that
do not fit my talents well.
I love the fact that we were invited to think of our
personalities as gifts that were worthy of our stewardship. Most children have
no independent source of income, and how they spend their time is typically
dependent on the willingness of their parents to schlep them around. Therefore,
the personality may be the only item in that pledge that a young girl can call
her own. I was the type of girl that Southerners call “high-strung.” I lived
with a chronic illness. I was more than a bit on the dramatic, edgy side, and not
very popular. To top it all off, I was, like my peers, on the cusp of
adolescence and all of those wonderful hormones.
I didn’t feel that great about my personality, and yet here
was a place, once a week, where I was reminded that my personality, just as it
was, was a gift, over which I was the steward. The message I got from GAs was
that the world was filled with brokenness and misery, that God loved me as I
was, and that my gifts, including my personality, were sufficient for me to do
my part to assuage that suffering. And that I was called, or commissioned, to
do just that.
The second stanza of “We’ve a Story to Tell” still makes me
cry. In that stanza, the singers proclaim that they have a “song to be sung to
the nations, that shall lift their hearts to the Lord, a song that shall
conquer evil and shatter the spear and sword.” In these times, what wouldn’t I
give for a song that would bring peace and justice to the world – presto! just
like that! The chorus goes on to depict the dawning of a new day in which
“Christ’s great kingdom shall come on earth, the kingdom of love and light.”
Every summer I went to GA camp. At sundown we went to
evening vespers in an outdoor pavilion. At the end of vespers, after we had
sung the last song, the camp director would ask us to be still and to listen to
“God’s orchestra”: all the frogs, crickets, birds, and other evening creatures.
That was our postlude. I still think of “God’s orchestra” when I hear those
sounds, in the morning or at night. That bone has life.
But you may be thinking, “Back up here. What does this
nostalgic picture of Southern Baptist life have to do with the Paula Moyer of
2006?” And you would be right to call me on that. The answer is: everything.
You may be familiar with the cartoon strip, “Calvin and
Hobbes,” in which the hero, Calvin, is a little boy with a stuffed tiger,
Hobbes, and a supremely gifted imagination. Periodically Calvin goes into an
imaginary world where he is very powerful and “transmogrifies” things from
their original purpose. Blankets become magic capes, and tigers talk.
In the spirit of Calvin, I have transmogrified my approach
to my Southern Baptist heritage. I understand the Gospel, the Great Commission,
and the coming of the realm of God to earth differently than I did as a young,
earnest GA.
These are the questions I have had to ask over the years.
What is the Gospel?
What is the Great Commission and what am I being asked to
teach others?
What is the realm of God, and what does it mean to hope for
its coming on earth?
My answers today are different from the answers of my
childhood and adolescence. In answer to the first question, “what is the
Gospel?” – I now believe that the Gospel is the possibility of resurrection
within each one of us, our ability with God’s help to lead changed lives. I do
not think that Christianity is the only way that people can avail themselves of
God’s help, but it is the way that nourishes and strengthens me.
In answer to the second question – The Great Commission
calls me to preach that Gospel, but I now think that I am a more effective
evangelist when my light shines by example. I now think that Jesus is most
concerned about whether I find ways to live out His teachings and live my life
in such a way that others would want what I have.
In answer to the third question, “what is the realm of God,
and what does it mean to hope for its coming on earth?” – I believe that it is
possible and desirable for the realm of God to come to earth, but I see it as
more of a collaborative effort, across faiths, rather than as an event in which
Christianity is triumphant. I recall the words of Reform Jewish writers Stephen
Epstein and Lydia Kukoff, who depict their view of the Messianic Age in the
book Every Person’s Guide to Judaism.
They write that the Messianic Age is like a jigsaw puzzle, and that each of us
has a piece of the Messiah within us. That piece is our very best part. They go
on to say that when each of us brings that best part forward, the pieces will
come together, and the Messianic Age will dawn. Today is Mother’s Day, which
was originally guided by a vision of a day when no mother’s son would be
sacrificed to war.
So, yes: the Messianic Age, the Mother’s Day vision,
Christ’s great kingdom. It’s all good! I do pray for a great day when the realm
of God will come to earth, and peace and justice will flow down like rivers. Today
we would also add “no daughter.”
There was a reason that it took this long for me to allow
these foundational bones to come together and have life again in a way that
gave me peace. The following reflection on a medical study has helped me
understand that journey. A few years ago I heard about a group of orthopedic
surgeons who wrote about an observation they had made. They had found that,
among patients who had had compound fractures, or fractures in which a broken
bone actually penetrates the skin, those who had seen their own bones were more
likely to develop post-traumatic stress disorder. The researchers didn’t come
up with any insights regarding why this should happen, but they were united on
a key point that may play a role: We’re
just not supposed to see our own bones. The layers of tissue are there to
protect. When that protection is breached and we witness it, we can be
overwhelmed.
For some of us, coming to peace with our foundation can be
quite challenging. There may be injury and pain associated with the faith in
which we were raised. That trip into the past may be as jarring as viewing our
own bones. For me that has often been the case. But it is always renewing. As
T. S. Eliot writes in the poem “Little Gidding”:
We shall not cease
from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
My heritage is not your heritage. My foundation is not your
foundation. But we all have one. In that way, the opposite is true – we have a
common heritage, because underneath it all, we are all supported by bones such
as these. I would invite you to reflect on your bones during the sabbatical.
How do they continue to support you today? How has your relationship to your
foundation transmogrified along the way? How can you use your own rich
foundation for your growth?
We may avoid seeing our own bones. They may be dry and
waiting to be prophesied to, so that they can be whole, filled with life, and
supportive of our growth. But they are there. May we come to peace with our
bones, our foundations, and treasure them for their power to rejuvenate us. May
we commit our foundations to the service of God. May we feel their guidance and
support as we seek out ways to be joyous agents of God’s healing love, and find
ways to minister that use our talents well. Amen.