[Propertalk] Fwd: [propertalk.topic] I AM Here Among US
Joe Parrish
joeparrish at compuserve.com
Fri Sep 2 11:31:04 EDT 2011
Forwarded:
-----Original Message-----
From: Frank Fisher <f.fisher.obl.osb at comcast.net>
To: SBA <SBA at SBAbbey.com>; PRCL-L <PRCL-L at LISTSERV.LOUISVILLE.EDU>; propertalk.topic <propertalk.topic at ecunet.org>; midrash <midrash at joinhands.com>
Sent: Fri, Sep 2, 2011 10:53 am
Subject: [propertalk.topic] I AM Here Among US
This is my sermon draft for September 5, 2011, my next to last Sunday with
these two congregations. The text is Exodus 12:1-14. Comments and
suggestions on this one would be very appreciated.
PAX,
__
Frank R. Fisher, Obl OSB
www.ffisher.net
Interim Pastor
First Presbyterian Church of Kewanee, IL
www.fpckewanee.org
Elmira United Presbyterian Church
www.elmiraunited.org
aka
Brother Oscar Romero
Oblate of St. Benedict's Abbey
Bartonville, IL
www.SBAbbey.com
"When you were born, you cried and the world rejoiced. Live your life so
that when you die, the world cries and you rejoice."-Cherokee proverb
____________________
My life flows on
in endless song;
above earth's lamentation.
I hear the real
though far off hymn
that hails a new creation.
No storm can shake
my inmost calm,
while to that rock I'm clinging.
Since Christ is Lord
of heaven and earth,
how can I keep from singing?
"Abba, please!
Will it hurt the lamb?"
Much to your father's chagrin
those words
burst from your lips
in a five year old
scream of anguish.
For your name is Athaliah,
a loving daughter,
and a most reluctant slave.
Being a slave's
not too onerous yet,
although you've been told
many times
how much you'll hate it
when you get older.
But the mere fact
of your slavery
makes you very sensitive
to the suffering
of other creatures.
And right now
you're incredibly aware
of the frightened look
in the lamb's eyes
as your father
leads it away
to be slaughtered.
Seemingly,
the lamb's quite aware
of its upcoming fate.
Perhaps,
you think,
he hears the bleats
of other lambs
coming from the other shanties
of the people of Israel.
Your father stops
on his way
out the door,
and he stoops down
to talk with you
for a moment.
You think for an instant
you've won a reprieve
for the petrified animal.
But your faint hope's dashed
as soon as your father's mouth
opens to speak.
His eyes
look on you
with the love
only a parent
can give,
as he explains
the lamb
must indeed die.
The lamb
will only hurt for an instant
he tells you.
It will meet its fate
too swiftly
to feel much pain.
But he tells you,
if the lamb doesn't die,
you
the eldest child
of your parents
will die
in its place.
You struggle
to fit your mind
around this strange concept.
For you know
your mother and father
could never
do you harm.
Seeing your puzzlement
your father tells you to wait.
"All will be revealed
and all will be well
in the end,"
he says.
"But,"
he continues,
this will be a frightening night
for all of us.
Stay here
in the house.
And pray
death will pass us by
on this Passover night."
"Passover."
You repeat
this strange word
over and over again.
"Passover."
What can this mean?
But you know
your father's word
is true.
So as your parents
disappear through the door,
you wait
and know the word's meaning
will be revealed.
Dusk falls outside as you wait.
The lamb's desperate bleating
cuts off suddenly.
This silence
brought on by lamb's death
draws on and on.
Then
just as suddenly
as the silence began
it disappears
as your father and mother
reappear
outside the door.
Your mother passes
through the door
carrying
the butchered lamb.
Apparently
the animal
you so staunchly defended
is destined
for the evening meal.
Ordinarily
you might've bemoaned this fact
for at least
an instant,
but your attention
is completely distracted
by what your father's doing.
For he's carrying a bowl
which brims
with a dark liquid.
Your nose tells you
the bowl contains
the lamb's blood.
Could your father
be offering this blood
to the unnamed God?
This thought
quickly runs through your head.
But your vision
of such a sacrifice
quickly fades
as your father
stops outside the door.
Then he dips his hand
into the lamb's blood
and he smears it
on the right door post.
You watch
with your mouth gaping with amazement
as he smears
more and more blood
until he covers
both door posts
and the lintel.
Muttering a prayer
your father bows his head
and steps though the door way
carrying
the now empty bowl.
You follow closely after him
and you both look expectantly
toward the table.
Your mother beckons to you both
to come and eat
and you settle down
in your place
at the table.
On the table before you
is cut up lamb.
By now
the odor of its cooking's
over come your scruples
about eating it.
The same can't be said
for the pile
of vile smelling herbs
your mother places
before you.
Gingerly
you select the tiniest leaf
you can find
and place it
delicately in your mouth.
But it flies from your mouth
almost instantly
as you choke
on its bitter taste.
Your mouth opens
to protest this indignity
but your screech ends
before its even begun.
For you notice
how your parents are eating.
They aren't sitting or reclining
as is the custom at table.
Instead,
they're standing there
gulping down
their food
while wearing
their outdoor clothes.
And if that
wasn't strange enough
you see how their feet
are encased
by their most durable sandals,
and you puzzle
over the heavy staffs
in their hands.
Finally
you've received the message.
There's something very strange
going on
around you.
You're not really sure
you want to know
what the strangeness
is all about.
But something tells you
its important
for you to discover
what ever it is.
"What's happening
on this night?"
you ask hesitantly.
"And what did you mean
when you called
this night
the Passover night?"
Your parents
look at you
with very serious eyes.
You can see
they're hesitating
at telling you
something.
But then
they stoop down
to your level.
And in a very solemn voice
your mother tells you,
"This is the night
when the Lord our God
will pass through
the whole land
of Egypt.
And God will strike down
every first born
in the land of Egypt,
both humans and animals.
Your mouth drops
and you begin to tremble
with fear.
For you are the firstborn child
of your parents.
But before your tears
begin to flow
your mother speaks again
with words of reassurance.
"Don't be afraid,"
she tells you.
That's really easy
for her to say,
you think.
You tears
start to flow again,
but your father
stops their flow.
"Do you remember
the lamb's blood
on the doorway?"
he asks.
"The blood is a sign
which says
that in this house
live those
who worship the Lord.
When God sees the lamb's blood
on they doorway,
death will pass over our house
without harming us..
That is why we say
this will be
the Passover night."
Your parent's words
reassure you.
And your more
relaxed mind
allows your mouth
to open
with a flood of questions.
"But why are you
so heavily dressed?
And why do you hold
staffs in your hands.
Why do eat so fast?
And why are we eating
these bitter herbs?"
Normally
a torrent of why's
would drive your parents
to an exasperated silence.
But as you'd seen,
tonight
was a different night.
And your mother answers,
"The Lord's decreed
this night
will be the last night
of our slavery
in Egypt.
The bitter herbs
remind us
of all we've suffered
in this land.
And the way we eat
and the way we're dressed
reminds us
to prepare
for our escape.
For with the dawn
our God
will set us free
from the hands
of our oppressors.
Your parents again stand
to resume the hurried meal.
And you run
and put on
your heavy clothes.
Then you don your sandals
and grasp onto your own
small staff
as you again
join your parents
in the Passover meal.
And as you eat,
you listen.
You listen for a sound
you've never heard before
and you know
you'll never hear again.
For you listen for the sound
of the Mighty One
passing over your house.
A sound
which will show
your now former masters
how God will protect
God's people.
And you tremble
at the realization
this night means,
I AM
is here among us.
Through all the tumult
and the strife,
I hear that music ringing;
it sounds in echoes
in my soul;
how can I keep
from singing?
No storm can shake
my inmost calm,
while to that rock I'm clinging.
Since Christ is Lord
of heaven and earth,
how can I keep from singing?
"Father please,
is it going to hurt?"
Your father smiles
his understanding
as those words
slip from your lips
in a rush
of honest anguish.
For your name is Demas
a loving son
of loving parents.
A loving son
who's about to become
the child
of a much more powerful Parent.
And as you stand here
on the river bank
your lack of knowledge
about this rite
called Baptism
makes you tremble.
You've waited
long for this day.
It's a day
you've dreamed about
and strived
toward
since
the wonderful day
when your parents
told you the story
of God
come to earth.
As soon
as you heard
that story
you knew
you belonged
to Jesus the Christ.
But it's a day
that still fills you
with dread;
dread
inspired by the whispered rumor
of your pagan friends;
a rumor
telling of human sacrifice;
a rumor in which
they told you,
"in Baptism,
you will die."
Your fear
almost drives you
to bolt
in terror.
But your love
for the Lord Jesus
burns through the fear.
And you smile
hesitantly back
at the elder's
blazing smile
as she leads you
by the hand
into the middle
of the waters.
As you reach the river's
deepest part
the elder
raises both her hands
in prayer
over you.
You stand
stock still
not knowing
what to do
as she gives thanks
to the Christ
for bringing you
to this place and time.
And she asks God's blessing
on you
and your new life.
But the elder's smile
fades away
and she looks at you
with very serious eyes.
Solemnly
she says to you,
"I Baptize you
in the Name of the Father."
And even before the final sound
of her words
fades
from her lips
you're grabbed
roughly from behind.
Then you're lifted
into the air
and plunged deeply
beneath
the water's surface.
You struggle in terror
as you look up
and see
its your father
who's holding you
beneath
the water's surface.
You want to cry
out to him
to let you go.
But of course
you can make
no sound
here in what now
seems to be
your watery grave.
You can no longer
hold your breath.
But just as your consciousness
begins to fade away
your father
lifts you up
into the air again.
There
you struggle
to gulp in air.
Yet before
you can really breath
you hear the elder say,
"I Baptize you
in the Name of the Son,"
and you feel yourself
being slammed down
to the watery depths
once again.
Your time under water
seems a bit briefer
this time.
But it still leaves you gasping
as you're raised
into the air
in time to hear,
"I Baptize you
in the Name
of the Holy Spirit."
This time you've realized
what was to come.
And you'd been able
to gulp in enough air
to make your underwater excursion
almost comfortable.
At least
you think
as you're lifted once again
from the water,
it was comfortable
by comparison.
You realize
no further dunkings
await you
as the elder
again takes you
by the hand
and leads you
from the water.
She smiles
as you take a few deep breaths
when you reach the bank's safety.
Then
she looks at you deeply
and with upmost solemnity
says to you,
"Your pagan friends
probably told you
you were to die
today.
They were right.
For when
you entered the waters
you died
and entered the tomb
with the Christ.
Then
like the Christ
you arose again
from the tomb
to the joy
of new life.
Death
has passed over you
today.
As you are mortal
it will one day
come again.
But because you've died
and arose
with the Christ
death
can never hold you.
It can only pass over you
once again
before you once again
arise
to eternal life."
Then the elder smiles
again deeply
and she leads you
away
to your first meal
with your new sisters and brothers;
a special meal
of bread and wine;
a meal
in which you come to know
the wonder
that the one known
as
I AM
is here
among us.
What though the tempest
'round me roar,
I hear the truth
it liveth.
What though the darkness
'round me close,
songs in the night
it giveth.
No storm can shake
my inmost calm,
while to that rock I'm clinging.
Since Christ is Lord
of heaven and earth,
how can I keep from singing?
"I'm afraid.
I don't know
what lies ahead
for my congregation."
Those words
burst from your lips
as you consider
your congregation's future.
For your name
is your own.
You're a member
of this particular church,
and in this interim time
you've been hearing
about your future path.
You've heard
to continue
as you are
will eventually mean
your church's doors
will one day close
forever.
As you look around
and consider how many of you
will be here
twenty years from now
you realize
what you hear
may well be true.
But you also know
the changes needed
to secure your future
will mean
another death;
the death
of the way
things are now.
For a moment
you consider
simply giving in
to despair;
despair
born of the fear
for your congregation.
But then you remember,
you are a disciple
of Jesus Christ.
You have
already died with Christ
and with Christ
have risen
from the tomb.
Since death
has already passed over you
there is no reason
to fear it
for you
or for
your congregation.
Then with the fear of death
put behind you
you turn
toward your future path.
You know
you can face
what ever path
Christ calls you
to trod.
And as you step forward in faith
you rejoice
and reach out to grab
the hand of the one
who walks forward
with you.
And you sing out
as you begin your journey
at the wonder
that where ever you go
I AM
is here
among us.
The peace of Christ
makes fresh my heart,
a fountain ever springing.
All things are mine
since I am Christ's;
how can I keep
from singing?
No storm can shake
my inmost calm,
while to that rock I'm clinging.
Since Christ is Lord
of heaven and earth,
how can I keep from singing?
To God alone be glory.
Amen.
-------------- next part --------------
An HTML attachment was scrubbed...
URL: <http://stsams.org/pipermail/propertalk_stsams.org/attachments/20110902/c62bd850/attachment.htm>
More information about the Propertalk
mailing list