Episodes
Sunday Feb 21, 2016
Weekend Warrior Much?
Sunday Feb 21, 2016
Sunday Feb 21, 2016
from the Foundry UMC Lenten Series: Renovation Realities
A sermon preached by Rev. Ginger E. Gaines-Cirelli at Foundry UMC February 21, 2016, the second Sunday in Lent.
Text: Luke 13:31-35
Weekend warrior much? To answer the question, you need to know what a “weekend warrior” is. There are a variety of definitions including someone who parties hard on the weekends, someone who crams all their strenuous exercise into the weekend, a military reservist, and finally, a homeowner who acts as a contractor and tries to do major improvement projects on their own over the weekend (often without understanding the scope of the work to be done). For purposes of our reflection today, “weekend warriors” represent that last definition—thinking we know what we’re doing and tackling things on our own when we really could use a little help.
Several years ago, the youth at my church interpreted today’s Gospel this way: Jesus says to the people of Jerusalem, “How many times did I try to help you and you said, ‘No thanks, I'm good.’”[i] // What is up with these people? Why do they reject Jesus’s help?
I think part of the answer can be found in that familiar story of the guy stranded on a housetop in a flood, praying to God to save him. A rowboat comes by with the offer of help, but the man says “No thanks, God is going to save me.” A motorboat comes and goes the same way followed by a helicopter that was also rejected. The man drowns and goes to heaven, mad as hell at God for not saving him. When confronted, God says, “I sent you a rowboat, a motorboat, and a helicopter. What more did you expect?” Sometimes we reject help because what is offered—or the one offering—doesn’t fit our idea of what we want or need. This can happen consciously and even unconsciously—but all based upon what we’re looking for.
Did you know that what we look for can literally determine what we see? Several years back, a fascinating study was done about something called “inattentional blindness.” In the study by psychological scientists at Boston’s Brigham and Women’s Hospital, “radiologists were asked to look at five lung CT scans, each which contained about 10 nodules or abnormalities. They were asked to click on anything strange on the scans.” On the final scan, an image of a dancing gorilla about 48 times the size of an average nodule was placed in the upper right hand quadrant. 20 out of 24 Radiologists “were unable to spot the dancing gorilla” in the final scan. As one of the researchers said, “It's a vivid example that looking at something and seeing it are different. You can put your eyes on something, but if you're not looking for it, you're functionally blind to it.”[ii]
In our Gospel today, Jerusalem and its people are at the heart of Jesus’ lament. Jerusalem is the city in which God’s people wished to be gathered. What they were looking for is what all the prophets wrote about: the Lord returning to Zion as king (Isaiah 52:7-10, Zech. 9:9 ), the king visiting the temple (Malachi 3:1-4) and causing God’s spirit to be poured out (Joel 2:28-32). None of this has happened yet and so the people of Jerusalem were looking for a king who would fulfill these prophecies. Jesus is on his way to Jerusalem as the one who could fulfill the hopes of the people in a way beyond their wildest imaginings. But the people could not—would not—receive him or the help he offered. They were looking for a certain kind of king who did certain kinds of things and so they couldn’t see the new thing that God was doing in Jesus. They were caught up in the way things had always been, in the old understanding, the old expectation…and they couldn’t see that everything they desired was there in Jesus.
What are you looking for that keeps you from seeing the help or support that’s there for you?
Another part of why the people rejected Jesus—and the prophets before him—likely had to do with the fact that they didn’t want to acknowledge the truth about their lives that he revealed. Sometimes it may be that we know in some part of ourselves that something needs to change in our lives but we don’t want to truly acknowledge it—and we don’t want anyone else’s help to see it either! Let me just tell you how much I do not like it when my husband, Anthony, points out the thing I want to avoid! I would prefer to just keep telling myself “I’ve got this.” “I know what I’m doing.” “I don’t need you to tell me anything.” Or just “I don’t need you.”
Sometimes we may tell others (and ourselves) we’re “good,” that we don’t need help, because we can’t bring ourselves to admit much less say what’s real. We pretend we’re fine when there are things in our lives that aren’t fine at all. It may be that we are struggling at work or in a relationship; or that we feel lonely or stuck; or we are wrestling with a difficult decision or with questions of faith; or we have been given a scary diagnosis. And telling the truth about that stuff can feel so risky and vulnerable.
My colleague tells the story of a young woman in her church who was active and regular in attendance and always acted like she was fine and said she “I’m good” when asked. She committed suicide. After that, the congregation made it their practice to do everything possible to encourage telling the truth. An “I’m good” response in that congregation is always pressed just to make sure… This past week I saw an article about Grammy award-winning gospel artist, Richard Smallwood, who has opened up about his struggle with depression after hiding it for years. He hid his illness out of shame and anxiety about the stigma attached—a stigma he especially perceived in the church.[iii] So often in the church we think we have to tidy ourselves up and hide our pain; we do this for all sorts of reasons, including the sense that we should be able to take care of our own stuff or that other people won’t understand or don’t care or shouldn’t be bothered when they’ve got problems of their own.
I have often heard it said that the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous look more like church than a lot of churches. One reason is that in AA everyone starts from a place of need—salty, tough guys and naïve youngsters, women and men, poor and rich. There isn’t any “No thanks, I’m good.” These folks know they need help. They realize they can’t get or remain sober on their own. They know they need each other, and they believe they need God. (The ones who aren't so sure about God speak instead of their Higher Power). A comment once overheard at an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting was “The first word in the 12 steps is ‘We.’” Sobriety requires the support and help of others—it requires a “we.” I would suggest that being truly human requires a “we.”
Do you struggle to share what is real for you with others? Do you think that gets in the way of receiving help and support?
One final thought about why the people rejected Jesus’s help is the human tendency to think we can—or are supposed to!—handle things ourselves. I’m terrible about this. Maybe you struggle with it, too. So often, it doesn’t even cross my mind to ask for help even when folks have so clearly made themselves available. Is it pride? Over-confidence? A sense of hyper-responsibility? Some perversion of a strong work ethic? Is the rejection of help simply ingrained in our culture of “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” rugged individualism? For many of us, to need help signals weakness and to appear weak is unacceptable. Likely a number of these things are involved—at least in my case. And Jesus says, “How many times did I try to help you and you said, ‘No thanks, I'm good.’”
In the entrance of the RCA building in New York’s Rockefeller Center is a gigantic statue of Atlas, a beautifully proportioned man who, with all his muscles straining, is holding the world upon his shoulders. There he is, the most powerfully built man in the world, and he can barely stand up under this burden. This is one way to live, trying to carry the world on your shoulders. But just across the street on the other side of Fifth Avenue is Saint Patrick's Cathedral, and there behind the high altar is a little shrine of the boy Jesus, perhaps eight or nine years old, and with no effort he is holding the world in one hand. We have a choice. We can try to carry the weight of the world on our shoulders or we can let those who love us—including Jesus—help us. I can just hear Atlas saying to Jesus’ offer to help: “No thanks. I’m good…”
Are you trying to hold the weight of the world alone? What would it look like to make a different choice?
In these and all our various “weekend warrior” I-can-do-this-by-myself-and-I-know-exactly-what-I’m-doing modes, we can really make a mess of things. Because even if we get by for a time—even if we thrive for a time—we are not made to be completely self-sufficient. We don’t know everything. We can’t do everything. Admitting that our “I’m fine” and “I’m good” responses don’t tell the whole story allows us to begin finding the words to ask for what we need. We need help in order to be healthy and sober. We need help to do the things that are good for us. We need help to carry the burdens of life, to manage the responsibilities and relationships that matter most. We need help to recognize the opportunities and grace offered to us in unexpected people and places. We are not independent; we need God; we need one another; we need God’s messengers and prophets (even when they come in the form of a husband who won’t let you off the hook!); we need to be challenged sometimes; we need to be held and comforted sometimes; we… need.
In our “renovation” work of making things what they are meant to be, we don’t have to be “weekend warriors” who struggle in silence and isolation, who wear ourselves out with anxiety and make ourselves sick. Jesus—likely trained as a carpenter after all—has told us that his work is to cast out what torments us, to cure us, to make new life possible (Lk 13:32). The good news is that Jesus wants to help us. “How often have I desired to gather [you] together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing…” (Lk 13:34) Why would we go it alone with an offer like that on the table? Why do you?
[i]St. Matthew’s UMC, Bowie, MD youth interpretation of Lk.13.34
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