A Congregation Comes to a Close - 2 (Sermon: Brothers and Sisters [Hebrews])

Have any of you heard of the book All The Light We Cannot See? 

It’s a recent novel by Anthony Doerr, with whom I am not otherwise familiar.  It was published last year and won several prizes, including the Pultizer Prize, a major book award, but that’s not why I’ve been reading it.  I’ve been reading it because a friend recommended it -- and by “reading it,” I mean that I raced through it once, because the suspense was almost intolerable, and now I am re-reading it slowly, savoring every word.

All The Light We Cannot See. The title is ironic, in that the two main characters represent seeing and not-seeing in different ways. They are each engulfed in the horror of World War II as it plays out in Europe.  One of the main characters, a young German boy, is pulled into the Nazi war machine, and struggles mightily to see clearly what he does not want to see at all -- the corruption and evil which dominate his life.  The other, a young French girl, is trapped in a city occupied by the Germans.  She is literally blind, and yet she sees the world around her clearly and is thus able to act with tremendous dignity and courage.

The lives of these two characters are intertwined early on, although they do not know it until they meet, by happenstance, in the middle of a great battle.  And we understand that, while the title of the book, All The Light We Cannot See, is about light, and vision, at many levels, light and vision are about relationship – and, ultimately, about relationship for good.

Jesus, too, as we so often hear in the Bible, is about light, and vision.  “I am the light of the world,” he tells us, in the Gospel of John.  I bring not merely sight, but vision – understanding – of what is real, of what is important – he tells us as he heals those who are without literal sight.

And this light, this vision, this Jesus – he is about relationship.  Today’s text reminds us that he is in relationship with us.

Our text today comes from the Book of Hebrews.  We don’t know who wrote the Book of Hebrews, although it’s possible that the apostle Paul did, which would mean that it was written in the middle of the first century.  What we do know is that it makes reference to Jesus’ calling his disciples, calling us, brothers and sisters. Jesus calls us brothers and sisters. 

What is a brother or a sister? The most basic definition is that brothers and sisters are people whose relationship is determined by their having a parent in common. And who is Jesus?  The son of God, the heir of God, as our passage also tells us – which makes us also the children and heirs of God and God’s goodness.  The heirs of God’s light. 

But – let’s get back to brothers and sisters.  What does it mean that Christ calls us brothers and sisters?  It means that he draws us together into relationship as one family of siblings. 

And what does it mean to be included in this family, to be brothers and sisters to one another?  It means that we follow Jesus and his teachings.  It means that we are drawn into his light. It means that his way of seeing, his vision, become our way of seeing and our vision.

And what are those teachings?  Love God.  Love one another.  What path do they light?  The path of love.  How are we to see? With love.

Since we are talking about brothers and sisters today, I want to focus on the call to love one another.  The call to be in relationship. And I want to do that in the light of this congregation’s current situation, and in the light of the path of love we walk during this difficult time of loss and sadness. And in light of the loving meal we are about to share.

At their best, what do brothers and sisters do for one another?

For one thing, they, brothers and sisters recall a common heritage together.  They know who they are – together.  In my husband’s family, there is an old photograph of the four siblings lined up – seated on an ironing board, as it turns out – in a little row, when they were about three, four, five, and six years old.  Last New Years’, the four of them sat on a couch – they don’t fit on an ironing board anymore! -- in the same configuration, so that a matching photograph could be taken – nearly sixty years later.  A sign of one of the things brothers and sisters in relationship do for one another: they remember the past together.

Another thing brothers and sisters often do together is share activities and events together.  Some extended families live in close proximity to one another – my husband’s brother and one of his sisters, and their spouses and families, now extending to two generations, live in the same town as his mother, and so they all share time together on nearly a daily basis.    But even families whose members live at a considerable distance usually find time to get together for holidays and weddings – or funerals --  and for graduations and new babies and other significant milestones.   Brothers and sisters share their lives with one another.  They tend to relationships.

A third thing brothers and sisters do? They take care of one another.  When one is in trouble, others come running.  When life hands one an unexpected challenge, the others are there.  When someone needs a listening ear, it’s often a brother or sister who calls.  When practical needs arise, it’s sometimes a brother or sister who lends a hand.

And I’m not just talking about biological brothers and sisters. Many of us have neighbors and friends who are as brothers and sisters to us – people with whom we share memories, and activities, and care. 

And in the Christian family? We are brothers and sisters together.  In relationship together.  Jesus calls us brothers and sisters because we are his disciples, because we follow him.  Biology has nothing to do with it.  Geographical proximity has nothing to do with it.  Longevity has nothing to do with it.  We are brothers and sisters because we are loved, and love one another, in Christ.  We are brothers and sisters because Jesus is our brother.

What does it mean for us, here at Boulevard, to be brothers and sisters, as we prepare to close? It means the same three things as it usually does, but in a very particular way:

As brothers and sisters in Christ, we remember together.  I invite – no, I URGE—you to spend time with your Boulevard family remembering.  Take a look at those old photo albums.  Pull out old cards and letters.  Talk over the memories with one another.  Treasure one another and what you have been to each other. 

You know what one of my favorite Boulevard memories is?  On one of my first Sundays here, Julie K pulled me aside and said, “Now I’m going to explain to you how things work around here!”  And then a year later, as she lay dying in hospice, she told me all about her childhood in a West Side Hungarian family.   I treasure those memories – and here I am sharing them with you, again.  Please – share your pasts with one another.  How do things work around here?  What did you learn here, together?  How did you worship together?  How did you celebrate together?  Remember, my friends, and remember well.

As brothers and sisters in Christ, we also share the present with each other.  Again, I urge you – take advantage of our last weeks of worship together.  Come to Bible study.  Spend time with your friends.  Participate in the work ahead together – come together to help with clearing out of the church.  It can be hard to see the light when the air is thick with sadness, as we all know from cleaning out the homes of loved ones whose lives have ended. But that is work that siblings do together.  And then -- Share in our final services together.

As brothers and sisters in Christ, we also care for one another.  My friends, we have many members who are unable to get out, to make it to worship, very often, or ever.  I urge you – care for one another.  I.  Y. R. D and N.  P.  S. T.  People just in and out of hospitals this past week.    These folks are not solely the responsibility of the pastor.   Cards are not solely the responsibility of S.  Make it your business to care for each other.  A card, a call, an email, a visit – these things mean so much. If you are an elder, past or present, talk to me so that we can plan to take communion to someone at home or in the hospital.  And – look around at those who ARE here, every week that they can be.  Everyone is hurting.  Make up your mind to reach out to one or two people each week so that you can have a talk about our closing. These are the sorts of things that brothers and sisters do for one another.

All the light we cannot see?  We do see the light, the light of Jesus, in relationship. In relationship with one another.

And today – today we have a special opportunity to share memory, and present, and care, not only with one another, but with the whole world!  Today is World Communion Sunday, which means that all over the world, at virtually every hour, congregations are sharing together the meal provided to us by Jesus Christ.  Today we are invited to remember, not only ourselves, but the worldwide church -- which for those of us here means folks from Africa and Europe and Asia and the Americas, and which for all of us means the whole world.  Today we are invited to participate in a great event, to share as brothers and sisters with people the whole world over.  And today we are called to care for one another by sharing the food and drink with which Jesus cares for us.

It is often – no, it is always – the case that our own sadness is relieved by attentiveness to others.  When we struggle and suffer, we grow, and our capacity for love increases, as we tend to our relationships with others.  And so, even as we re-affirm that we here at Boulevard are brothers and sisters, let us also celebrate the brotherhood of Jesus, with us and with all peoples of the world.  All the light we think we cannot see is right here, emanating from this table and filling the world with sight, with vision, and with relationship – with love. Amen.

Family Pictures (Hebrews and Luke)

We all have lots of family photos, right?  Maybe they’re preserved in albums, or even carefully arranged in scrapbooks, with captions and other memories tucked in next to them.  Or maybe they’re piled up in drawers or boxes.  These days, lots of those precious photos might exist solely in internet form: in emails, on websites, in computer files – never printed out.  But in one form or another, we all save pictures.

Have you ever wondered what Jesus’s family pictures might look like?  Of course, he didn’t have any. He made his first appearance on earth about 1800 years too early for a family photo album.  But, as the writer of the letter to Hebrews reminds us, he was born into a body destined to be offered for us all  -- he was a human being, with a distinctive appearance, just like the rest of us.

And what about the rest of his family?   This week, my question has been: What might Jesus have said about his mother?  And it occurred to me that a child today often looks to photographs in order to learn the stories of his family from the days before he was born.  So what about those family pictures?  What about the pictures, similar to those we might take today, of an expectant mother?

There may not be family photographs, but there are LOTS of pictures, centuries of drawings and paintings and stained glass windows and sculptures, depicting the event we call the Annunciation, the story told in the Gospel of Luke of the appearance of the angel Gabriel to Mary. It’s long been one of the most popular of subjects for painters, and today I’d like to share two of them with you.  Two family pictures.  You have copies of them on the insert in your bulletins.

 

The older of the two, the one before you in which the angel and Mary are both garbed in pink and Mary wears a blue robe, reminds me of those formal family pictures we all take on special occasions: holidays and weddings and graduations and proms.  Everyone wears his or her best and gathers before the photographer in some sort of arrangement that allows all to be included. Today a new sort of these photos has become popular: we often take them on the beach or in a park, and there are often relaxed poses included among the more formal ones: children leaping, adults in unusual poses, family pets included. An entire bridal party about to fall into a lake, as happened when my niece’s wedding attendants posed themselves on a dock and the dock began to sink. “Wearing our best” may mean that we all wear jeans and matching shirts in shades of blue and white.  But we still put a lot of preparation and time into planning these pictures, which are intended to become family heirlooms.

That’s the kind of painting that Fra Angelico created, sometime between 1430 and 1450.  Fra Angelico – his name means “Angelic Brother” and is how he is known to us today  – was a Dominican monk known as Brother John to his contemporaries.  He painted several versions of the Annunciation, all of them formal and stylized, as was typical of the time.  How might we look at this version as one of the family pictures of Jesus?

 

It represents the scene and the angel and Mary, much as we might traditionally think of them: Formal in their relationship, quiet and modest and submissive in their demeanor.  The effect is similar to that of a formal portrait today: the figures seem to have stepped out of time,  into a moment we want to preserve as unique, as distinct from all other moments.  It’s not particularly realistic – they wear the clothing of the 1400s, and the setting is a European monastery; robes and architecture Fra Angelico and his friends would have known, not those of Bethlehem at the time of Jesus’s birth.  But it does represent a striking, out-of time moment.

Also, the artist includes all kinds of symbols reflecting that moment.  Our similar formal portraits include bridal bouquets, wedding rings, diplomas, caps and gowns, Christmas trees – we use symbols to highlight the importance of the event.  What does Fra Angelico include?  The Face of God the Father carved into the archway.  The light and dove of the Holy Spirit directed toward Mary.  The book on her lap, representative of the Word, the Word Jesus Christ whom she will bear.  And in the background: Adam and Eve being expelled from the Garden by another angel, the archangel Michael.  Another moment in time; the distant event this new movement in time is intended to heal. 

What moment, exactly, is this? This painting depicts a moment toward the end of our Scriptural passage, which tells us that “Mary said, ‘Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.’” It’s that light of the Holy Spirit streaming toward Mary that tells us: She has said “Yes.”  Perhaps she and the angel bow to one another in humble acknowledgment that the pivotal event in history has been launched.  All depended on her: on her openness, on her receptivity, on her “Yes” to God’s movement in her life, on her willingness to fulfill her mission in life by becoming God’s servant.  And she has quietly but powerfully said, “Yes.  Let it be according to the will of God.”

Have you experienced moments like this in your own life?  Moments in which the clarity of God’s call in your own life has been unmistakable?  Experiences of great significance from which all else followed, times at which, had a photographer been present, he would have captured a turning point in your life?  Perhaps a marriage proposal over a candlelit dinner?  Perhaps a church service, or a long walk, during which you came to a decision about your education, or your life’s work?  Maybe an encounter in an office building, when you signed the mortgage papers for a farm, or the document committing yourself to military service?  Do you remember your own sense of openness, of receptivity, of willingness?

Maybe, maybe not.  We’re not always entirely sure, are we?  And the moment of transformation is not always one of such formality.

 

Our second painting, on the other side of your page, is perhaps a more accurate depiction of how many different emotions Mary might have experienced on that day on which God so dramatically intervened in her life. This painting (which just happens to be one of my most favorite works of art) is a much more recent one, created in 1897 by Henry Ossawa Tanner, an African American whose father was a minister in the African Methodist Episcopal Church. Tanner had traveled in the Holy Land, and his painting reflects the people and places he saw there.  He tried to paint surroundings of the Annunciation much as they might have existed in real time, rather than in a setting of his own time.

What do we see in this painting?  Certainly not the idealized, formal setting of other.  This painting is much more like one of our own snapshots of an unexpected encounter, rather than a formal portrait of an occasion for which we’ve planned. The room is a rough, simple, even disheveled setting.  Mary sits on her rumpled bed, somewhat rumpled herself, with a blanket hanging on the wall – not in a regal gown and robe, and not on a throne covered a ceiling of stars.

I think that the most astonishing feature of this painting is the angel Gabriel, who appears as a a column of light.  It’s one of the reasons I like the painting so very much.  How would an angel appear  to us?  We are used to thinking of wings and white robes because that’s what’s always been presented to us – but isn’t it possible that an angel would shine and shimmer with the light of God?  Isn’t a pillar of light perhaps more likely than someone who looks like we do, except with wings? 

I always think of this as a particularly uncompromising pillar of light: intense, filled with strength, communicating the passion of the possible transformation of all history.  Something that might rub off on you if it were to approach you.  Our hymn this morning says that Gabriel had “eyes of flame.”  What else could possibly be the case, on this day on which heaven met earth, than fire, flame, light?

And now, look at Mary in Tanner’s painting.  It’s difficult to know, looking at her, exactly which moment in the story this painting reflects.  Sometimes what I see in her face is surprise, puzzlement, wonder – what you might expect from a young, a very young, woman in her circumstances. I see that sentence early in the narrative: “[Mary] was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be.”    I see her thinking: I am a poor and insignificant girl in a poor and unknown family in a poor and small town.  How is it that an angel appears and addresses as “favored one.”  I would be surprised; wouldn’t you?

Sometimes I see skepticism – a hallmark of young people in their early teens.  Sometimes I see her asking, “How can this be?” Focused on herself for a moment, knowing that, although she is engaged to be married, she remains a virgin, so a pregnancy is an impossibility.  

And at other times, I see in that youthful expression a directness and calm as she looks into the face of her future – a directness and calm that can only reflect a peaceful  acceptance of all that the future would bring.  I see her receiving and accepting, as she will receive and accept the Holy Spirit, the assurance that “nothing is impossible with God.”  I see the confidence and courage in her response: “Here am I, the servant of the Lord.  Let it be with me according to your word.”

I see in this painting the drama of human life entangled with God-life:  The combination of the mystery of the unknown and the concrete reality of daily life.  The blend of bewilderment and acceptance.  The confusing combination of question and answer.  The journey inward – How can this be?  I am not the person for this – and the journey outward – Let it be according to your word.

As we embark upon the journey of these final two days of Advent, our final two days of waiting and preparation, I urge you to ponder these paintings, as Mary pondered these things, in your heart.  Perhaps you prefer a formal family portrait, one in which all appears clear and certain.  Perhaps you’re more drawn to the snapshots, the moments of ambiguity, the ones which reveal more of a story than is apparent at first glance. 

Whichever your preference might be, the questions for you -- the questions at the heart of these paintings -- the questions as Advent, the season of waiting, becomes Christmas, the season of arrival, remain the same: What is God asking of you?  How do you respond to God?  Are you receptive?  Surprised? Skeptical? Hopeful?  Accepting? When the Spirit of God moves in your life, she brings with her the powerful capacity for a quiet Yes.  Have you found that Yes, as you await the birth of the Savior of the World?