Luke 19:28-40

"The Gift of Presence"

A Sermon preached by The Rev. Douglas M. Donley

Palm Sunday

April 1, 2007

University Baptist Church

Minneapolis, MN

 

        It’s so wonderful to enjoy Palm Sunday at UBC.  It’s full of great memories.  We have the brunch, the unusual use of the space, the connection with tradition and the memories of the tables set like those across the years.  We remember how we looked when we first took that walk outside carrying our palms.  We remember the faces of those who were there before, just as we look at the people who are here for the first time. 

            We remember the story, told over and over again, year after year as we enter this holy week.  We remember how important it is to be present, not only here in this place, as we tell and retell the stories, but with each other, with those who mean so much to us.  This day is especially memorable, because we share the gift of presence.

            Throughout Lent, we have looked at the gifts we possess: endurance, discernment, patience, forgiveness and garlands.  Through it all we have contemplated out own gifts as well as the barriers to utilizing our gifts.

            This weekend, I tried what I am now referring to as Donley’s Folly.  We have a couple of maple trees in our yard and we thought it would be fun to tap them and make maple syrup.  My mom works at a nature center and she sent me taps last year for Christmas.  We tapped the trees and collected several gallons of sap.  I went to Menard’s and got a clean garbage can in which to store that liquid gold.  Well, we collected sap for a month and left it in the garage until an early April Saturday when we set the sap to boil in the biggest pot we had—a few gallons.  As sap would boil off, we would put more sap into it.  This took all day.  One by one, my family said, “this doesn’t smell right.”  Sure enough, the raw sap had spent too long in a warming springtime garage and had soured.  We made the syrup anyway, but it was hard to stomach.

            This year, we wised up.  We used coolers buried in snow on the north side of the house to store the sap.  I bought a real big pot that looks more like a cauldron.  I invited friends over yesterday to have a sap boiling party.  But as you know, it rained all day yesterday.  We boiled off sap, but by afternoon we noticed that no matter how hot we made the fire or how long we watched the steam rise from the pot, the liquid level remained the same height.  My friends, Jean and Nancy were present with me yesterday and they were so nice not to laugh at me, which is what I deserved for the rain replaced all of the liquid that had been steamed off.  As we stoked the fire and watched the pot, we told stories, laughed and basically hung out.  What else could we do?  Their presence made the day bearable for me.

            Presence is showing up.  But it is more than that.  It’s also a posture of support.  Presence can be adding a bit of sanity to a crazy-making world and situation.  It’s that feeling that we are not alone.  It is the evidence that we care—when we show up and when we commit ourselves to each other.  Today, we are present on Palm Sunday which means in part that we are present to and with this community that is intrigued by the great story of Jesus. 

But being present is not always an easy thing.  It’s not something that everyone can do.  It has a cost to it. It makes you vulnerable to another person’s unpredictability.  It’s a whole lot easier to be present with people who are predictable, stable and healthy.  It’s a bit more of a challenge when people are in crisis.

I heard someone say that being present with an abuse survivor is like holding the hand of someone on fire.  You don’t want to let go and you know that holding on will hurt.

When I was in seminary, I worked at a hospital as part of my Clinical Pastoral Education (CPE).  I was educated and I was eager to do what I could do for the patients.  I wanted to fix whatever was going on in their lives and help them to reconcile with God.  I wanted to be the best hospital chaplain I could be.  After some training we were set free onto our assigned floors.  Eager bee that I was, I went to the nurse’s station and asked who might need the services of a chaplain.  They pointed me to a woman and I went to her room. I introduced myself and told her that I was the chaplain and was there anything I could do for her.  She mumbled some incoherent things.  I tried to respond, hemmed, hawed, tried to ask her again what she said and she responded with more incoherent nonsequitors.  I tried to clarify and we were both feeling frustrated.  I left the room not knowing what to do next.  I paced the hall.  Should I go back to my supervisor, tail between my legs?  Should I go to the nurse’s station?  Should I even be a chaplain in the first place?  I finally gathered up my courage and shame and went back to her room.  A nurse later told me that she had severe dementia.  I later learned that what those people need the most is someone to be present with them in the moment.  I had gone in there trying to fix something that I could not fix, when what she really needed was my presence.

To be present with and for someone is to give them a gift.  It is not for the faint of heart.  The Gospel is all about figuring out how to be truly present, not just a fair-weather participant.

The last week of Jesus’ life is the week we get to decide who is present and who is not for Jesus.  We remember how everyone was there at the ecstatic triumphal march into Jerusalem.  We remember the spectacle and the joy of that day. 

We remember how the rocks and stones would sing even if the authorities would succeed in silencing the people. 

            We remember how Jesus went to the temple and turned over the tables of the moneychangers.  Jesus was a bit too present for some of the people when he did that one.  But Jesus was present with God and he saw how the moneychangers were ripping people off  on the steps of the temple mount, no less.

            We remember how Jesus reminded the disciples how human they would be.  They would not be as present as they thought they could be.  One by one they would deny, betray, fall asleep on, and with the possible exception of Mary Magdalene, abandon him in his hour of need.    

We remember how Jesus went to the garden of Gethsemane to pray and to be alone in his thoughts.  We remember how he connected with God and how he specifically asked his disciples to be present with them.  While their minds might have been willing their flesh, mingled with too much Passover wine was weak.

            We remember how Jesus was betrayed, endured kangaroo courts, prison and trumped-up charges.  We remember when he was crucified, how only a few friends were there amidst the tauntors, mourners and executioners.

            We would like to think that we would be present like Mary—all the way to the cross, and the garden tomb—faithful to the end.  I hope we could be.  But I know I am not always the most present person.  I’m fallible.  I can get self-absorbed.  I can put blinders on.  I can rationalize my way out of commitment as well as the next person. There is a fine line between being present and intruding. Is simply being prayerful for someone a cop-out?  I don’t think so.  I think it can be the best form of presence for many people. 

            We are sometimes the most present when someone dies.  As our Jewish friends would say, we sit Shiva with people.  We are present with them.  We listen to them tell the stories of the loved one who died over and over again.  We remember who we are—compassionate, emotional, merciful people who want the best for those around us.  We find ourselves re-evaluating how we would like to be.  We find ourselves self-reflective and earnestly committed to being better.

            Being present is being conscious, awake and attentive.  It is urging us toward a healthy wholeness that we all seek.  When we give the gift of presence, we remember who we long to be—who we really are.  We also remind someone who is lost in their own grief, who they really are. 

            When Kim’s mother died, the family gathered in Cleveland for her memorial service.  We spent hours together. We told stories.  We looked through things and chose things through which we could remember her.  We had none of the impatience that we often had at those family times.  We accepted each other with our foibles and our messy emotions.  We needed each other.  Sometimes people needed to be alone and we allowed them that space.  Gone was the criticism, the hurried attention to schedule, the judgment, the airs of small talk shadowing what is really going on.  We wept, and laughed and remembered and were moved by the presence of everyone there.  I wish that intimacy and trust and presence would be there more often.  Maybe it will be.

            Being present is more than showing up, although that is important, too.  Being present is being attentive, compassionate, alert, awake.  Being present is being connected with God in a prayerful posture.  Being present is perhaps the greatest gift we can give another.  It doesn’t necessarily solve a problem.  But it provides a witness.  It means that we are not alone.

            Communion is a reminder that Jesus has given us the gift of presence.  Each time we partake of this bread and this cup, we not only remember Jesus’ life and death.  We also remember the promise that Jesus is always with us.  As we partake of this cup and this bread, perhaps we are also making the commitment that we will be present with Jesus and with each other as we face the joys and sorrows of life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Postscript: I boiled down the reset of the sap on Sunday after church.  By midnight, I canned a gallon of really great maple syrup.  Who knows, I may try again next year.