[Propertalk] Proper 5 c part 1

[Robert P Morrison]

Here the first part of my draft for Sunday.
Best wishes,
Bob

	THE EPISCOPAL CHURCH OF ST. ALBAN, ALBANY THE THIRD SUNDAY AFTER
PENTECOST

	1 KINGS 17:8-24 PROPER 5 c

	GALATIANS 1:11-24 5th JUNE, 2016

	LUKE 7:11-17 PSALM 146

	 I think there’s more to this morning’s Scripture readings that
may usually hit our eye, or our heart.

	Some wit wrote, “My kids wanted to know what it’s like to be a
Mum, so I woke them up at 2 am to let them know my sock come off.”
Very funny, and probably not too far off the mark. But I know of many
Mums – too many Mums – who’d love to have their child wake them
at 2 am, for any reason whatsoever, except they know that this will
never happen to them again. Their child has died.

	 It’s a terrible thought, too difficult for many to process, yet it
happens. For some, this is, and always will be, reality. Nothing can
change it, and it can be very awkward, even heart-breaking, for those
not directly involved as well. We don’t know what to say, especially
if we walk into the situation unexpectedly.

	 One day last week, I went home for lunch a little later than I
intended. On the way, I glanced up and saw not one, but two
heliocentric haloes, sometimes referred to as Sun Dogs, those
rainbow-like features encircling the sun. 

	 They weren’t there long, maybe five or ten minutes. Timing, as
they say, is everything. In my case, I looked at precisely the right
time.

	 Elijah and Jesus weren’t quite so lucky. They walked into terrible
situations. Neither of them caused the sons’ deaths. Neither of
them, for that matter, knew the mothers. Both were, apparently,
widows, now all alone in the world, with friends, possibly, but no one
who’d be close, to whom one could confide personal stories and
secrets, who’d carry on the family name and traditions.

	 Were I the one who arrived on the doorstep to find that pain and
grief, it would be tremendously difficult. It’s bad enough seeing
this in a film or on TV. I know people who won’t watch these
programmes. If it’s a drama, that’s one thing. But if it’s a
documentary, if it’s the news, we may wonder where to look. Are we
being voyeuristic if we have our eyes glued to a screen? Or does one
really need to watch to admit tht this happens? If we turn away, if we
withdraw, what’s our emotion then? Are we trying to deny that it
happened? Are we trying to say that, thank God, it’s not a member of
our family, so we CAN turn away, or shut it out of our minds? But, as
I mentioned last week, once we’ve seen something, once we’ve heard
something, we can’t ever unsee or unhear it.

	 No matter where pain is felt, no matter what goes on, it DOES affect
us. It touches human beings, and all the people of the world are our
sisters and brothers.

	 We know, from having heard these Scripture passages before, that, in
both instances, there was some sort of intervention. Both young men
were restored to their mothers. I can hardly imagine what the
emotional carousel must have been like. One minute, the mother and son
could have been talking, laughing, arguing, the next minute, the young
man would have been struck down, silenced for ever. Then the Prophet
and the Messiah of God stepped into the picture and, in God’s Name,
restored them to life again.

	 I’m tempted to ask, though, as Jesus brought up to the leaders on
another occasion, how many other young men died and nothing was done,
no one was there, only grief-stricken mothers? Why these two? Were
they really special? What was it that enabled the timing of the visits
to coincide with the deaths?

	 And why did they die? Was there an epidemic in the village? The
young man whose home Elijah visited apparently became ill. What of the
one in Nain? Had he been in a fight? Was he picked on? Was he sickly?
We don’t know. Jesus and the twelve met him as he was being carried
out for burial.

	 But does it matter whether or not these men had been chronically ill
or had met with some tragic end? Surely not. Both were dead. Both
mothers were heart-broken, were angry, were confused, were frustrated.
Neither of them knew where to turn. The joy of their lives had been
ripped out of their hearts.

	 You and I know how easy it can be to read these two scriptural
accounts and to gloss over to the point where there is a glimmer of
hope presented and, finally, a miraculous intervention. This is how we
want everything to be. And if we can’t have our sons and daughters,
or other loved ones, brought back to life, then we gather at a funeral
and we talk of everlasting life. We talk of hope of the resurrection.

	 Don’t get me wrong. We NEED to hear that, and Jesus insists that
we remember that so that we won’t think that everything is pointless
and vacuous.

	 BUT, but we can and should never gloss over the pain and the
heartache that goes along with so much in life. To skip that
diminishes everything we know about the Prophets and the Messiah. To
say that, “It’s O.K. Your loved one is safe with God.” doesn’t
answer the huge hole we feel in our lives, especially if it’s
something unexpected, something emotional, like separation from
someone so young as a child or a teenager.

	 These lessons this morning speak to us about the sort of thing
we’d rather not face, not remember. The lessons say that terrible
things DO happen.

	
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