Sermon 6/27/21: "It's Too Much" Pr. Craig Mueller
Pr. Craig Mueller
Lectionary 13b
June 27, 2021
It’s Too Much
What’s the most traumatic thing that has happened to you? As you recall it, take a deep breath as such memories get lodged in our bodies, not just our minds.
Most of us will experience some kind of trauma in our lifetime. Trauma that takes us to the brink. That tests our faith. In those times we say to ourselves, it’s too much. I don’t know if I can make it through this.
Imagine mothers on this city’s South and West sides grieving the murder of their child. Imagine the relatives of those missing holding vigil after the collapse of a condo building in the Miami area a few days ago.
Maybe you can remember the moment that everything changed in an instant. The doctor’s diagnosis. The call or knock on the door telling of the accident. The beloved who says, it’s over, I don’t love you anymore. The person who violated your body without consent. The death of a loved one that ripped out your heart.
Sometimes we experience trauma communally, such as the pandemic. And I suspect the recovery and time of healing have only begun.
Our first reading from Lamentations comes out of a traumatic communal experience: In 587 BCE the Babylonians smashed the walls of the community’s beloved Jerusalem and burned down the temple. Jerusalem is personified as “daughter Zion.” We’ll come back to the “daughter” image in a moment.
This is the only time the little book of Lamentations appears in our lectionary. And I bet most of us couldn’t say much about it. And though today’s reading is hopeful and is quoted in the beloved hymn “Great Is Thy Faithfulness,” the context is anything but cheery.
Lamentations was written by people who survived an unimaginable trauma. It’s for people who have lost everything they relied on for comfort and identity. Suddenly life makes no sense anymore. It is all too much. As this shocking verse before today’s reading says: My life was bereft of peace, I forgot what happiness was.
To those who claim everything that happens must be God’s will, our gospel makes clear that God does not will human trauma, suffering and death. We’ve got a Mark sandwich, one story with another inside it. Mark uses the devise often, so there must be a reason for it.
Both scenes have trauma, crowds pressing in on Jesus. And the healing power of touch.
The first character is Jairus, the respected—possibly wealthy—synagogue leader. He is at his wit’s end and begs Jesus to come and lay hands on his twelve-year old daughter who is near death. There’s that word again: daughter! Parents who have faced a life-threatening illness of a child know this kind of trauma.
The second character is an unnamed woman. For twelve years she has suffered from a flow of blood. Religious sensibility at the time declared that she was unclean. She faced religious trauma—being ostracized, marginalized, and separated from the community.
One of our members, Brooke Peterson, wrote her doctoral dissertation on religious trauma as experienced by LGBTQ people. If you are transgender, for example, and are told you are a freak, or rejected by God, it takes a toll on body and soul. No wonder welcoming congregations and Pride events and marches are so important as they proclaim the worth dignity of all, especially those considered outcast or on the margins of society.
Back to the unnamed woman. She had tried doctors to no avail, and she was out of cash. But amid the anonymity of the great crowd, something causes her to be bold, to touch Jesus’ cloak while he is not looking. And Jesus feels power—energy—flow from his body to hers. He asks, who touched me? We imagine the woman trembling and sheepishly admitting that she did it.
What a remarkable scene. While time is a wasting and Jairus is waiting for Jesus to go his failing daughter, Jesus attends to the outcast woman, calls her “daughter,” or family, and declares that her faith has made her well, whole, healed.
Yes, Jairus has faith as well. And Jesus raises the girl up. Jesus restores people to life and wholeness. In this section of Mark, Jesus crosses boundaries as he crosses the sea of Galilee. The Jewish side and the Gentile side. Always expanding divine reach. Near and far. Clean and unclean. Respected leader and an outcast woman.
Now let’s be frank. Most of the time the outer conditions of our illnesses do not change. Even with a lot of faith. But we boldly reach out to touch the hem of Jesus’ garment as well. Longing for an inner sense of shalom, of wholeness, of healing, of dignity.
As one writer on trauma says, we seek a balance somewhere between ignoring our crisis and overdramatizing it as a martyr. It’s a lifetime of work, isn’t it? Being with the traumas that come to us and loved ones, as well as the traumas in society, whether political, ecological, or social.
While I was in my hometown of Longmont, Colorado several weeks ago, Ernest and I visited one of the true saints in my life, 94-year old Jean Larson. Her husband Eugene was my pastor while growing up. Their kind, open-hearted, and supportive presence was central to my call to ministry, but quite honesty, they were deeply loved by everyone.
Jean has lived through her own traumas. Her husband falling off a porch and eventually dying from it. Burying an adult child following a bout with cancer. And other family challenges. I asked Jean what wisdom she could share with me about gracefully growing older. The first thing she said was advice from her sister, over 100: laugh often. Then she added, that for her she is able to face life’s hardships—when everything seems too much—because she knows she is held by divine grace. I’m sure she could attest to this phrase from today’s psalm: Weeping may spend the night, but joy comes in the morning.
Sometimes life is too much. Yet the scriptures give us freedom to lament, and grieve, and question where God is in it all. The traumas and trials of life are part of what it means to be fragile human beings. Yet somehow, we still proclaim, we still sing: Great is your faithfulness. Your mercies are new every morning. Every day is a gift! And that truly is too much. Too much beauty and grace for us even to take in.
