Senior Sermon at Virginia Theological Seminary
September 8, 2010
Jeremiah 18:1-11; Psalm 139:1-5, 13-17; Luke 14:25-33
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"Indeed, there is not a word on my lips,
but you, O LORD, know it altogether." Amen.
When I was in my first year of college, a friend in my dorm taught me to knit. She gave me some beautiful purple wool, helped me pick out the right needles, and got me started on my first scarf. Stitch by stitch, I started to get the hang of it, and I plugged away for weeks on that thing. Every now and then I would drop a stitch or the scarf would start to look a little too much like swiss cheese, so I would drag it upstairs and Kate would straighten it out. One of those times, though, the damage was too great for a quick fix. Kate declared that we were going to have to pull out several rows of my masterpiece in order to get those stitches back on track, and I watched in horror as she did just that. There are times when starting over is the only way forward. Jeremiah and Jesus offer us variations on that theme in today's lessons.
Jeremiah was writing on the eve of Jerusalem's destruction and the Babylonian Captivity, calling out to the people of Judah to prevent this impending disaster by changing their behavior. Jeremiah probably came from the same community that brought us the final version of the book of Deuteronomy, so he was almost certainly recalling the beautiful words we heard yesterday. But his people had not loved the Lord with all their heart and soul and might; they had not kept God's words in their hearts; they had not bound them into their lives. So Jeremiah warned them again and again to repent, literally in Hebrew to turn, shuv. The prophet knew that if the people of God continued in their broken ways, God would have to unravel their history and start again, and repentance, turning, was the only way to avoid what Jeremiah saw coming. But his message was not heeded; the people did not turn; and within just a few years of his warning Jerusalem lay in ruins and its people were slaves in a foreign land once again. As Jeremiah predicted, God was re-forming his people.
Our gospel lesson is also about starting over, but Jesus is not talking about starting over as something we should try to avoid. Rather, it is a condition of discipleship. Jesus asks us to unravel ourselves and the very fabric of our lives in order to become his followers. "Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple. Whoever does not carry the cross and follow me cannot be my disciple. None of you can become my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions." The Greek verb for "hate," miseo, has a more nuanced meaning than this English translation implies. It's not referring to an emotion as much as a dramatic shift in priorities – "hating" something means subjugating it to a higher ideal. Being a disciple of Christ has to come first, and everything else – even your closest relationships and life itself – has to come second. So this message is a little bit less harsh than it sounds initially, but it's still a very tall order.
I remember the opening day of VTS orientation, when my class was gathered together for the very first time, shivering in the back of the auditorium. Dean Markham asked us all to introduce ourselves and name the one thing that had been the most difficult about moving to seminary. There were stories about cats vomiting all the way from Kentucky to Virginia, adventures in IKEA, and getting lost driving around Alexandria, and we all had a good chuckle. I realized later that not one of us had given the real answer to that question – not one of us had talked about quitting jobs, selling houses, leaving behind co-workers and church communities, hugging our family and friends goodbye. But those things didn't really need mentioning, because everyone in this room knows what those painful sacrifices were like. I'm really preaching to the choir here today, because you are all well acquainted with the cost of discipleship and the pain that accompanies starting over in service of Christ.
But I hope you are also here because you have had a glimpse of where that decision is leading you, because you have felt the hand of God beginning to mold and transform your life into a new vessel that is stronger than the old one. Jeremiah introduced us to a God who breaks down and destroys but who also builds and plants, and when the prophet tried to understand the impending obliteration of Jerusalem in theological terms, destruction wasn't the end of the story. Destruction came in service of God's ongoing creation. Likewise, when Jesus set his face to Jerusalem and invited us to leave everything behind and come along, he invited us to witness not just his crucifixion but also his resurrection.
When my friend Kate pulled those rows of yarn out of my scarf, I thought the whole thing would fall apart. But, in fact, the thing that was weakening it most was my own stubbornness in clinging to every stitch as a precious artifact and plowing ahead even when I knew I wasn't doing my best. She could see ahead to a stronger, better scarf, one that I still wear to this day, and she knew that starting again was the only way to attain a final work that was good and whole.
Coming to seminary is not the first or the last time you will re-orient your life for God's service. But amidst the pain of turning and amending our lives, of shifting our priorities, of starting over, we rest in the hands of a Creator God – a knitting God, no less – a God of resurrection. No one says this more eloquently than our psalmist, so I leave you with these words: "You press upon me behind and before, and lay your hand upon me. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is so high that I cannot attain it. I will thank you because I am marvelously made; your works are wonderful, and I know it well." Amen.
