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| On my final Sunday at Holy Communion, I was presented with a custom alb (from England!) and a very generous check to help defray my seminary studies at Eden. |
Texts:
After many,
many, MANY weeks of hearing about the rise of the monarchy in Israel, in
particular of the House of David, it suddenly seems like our lectionary has
taken a weird turn this Sunday. We just got finished hearing about the building
of the Temple, and now suddenly, there’s this chunk of love poetry that seems to
celebrate midnight rendezvous and peeping toms. Where is this coming from?
The
connection is in the name of the book: the Song of Solomon. This is a name that
was given to this collection of poetry rather early in its life as scripture,
and it was named that because, supposedly, it was written by King Solomon. In
scriptural studies, this book is placed in the category known as “wisdom
literature.” That may seem strange, too, given that this book is a collection
of rather frank love poetry. But perhaps there is something to that. Perhaps, as
our epistle from James reminds us, the exercise of wisdom means nothing unless
it is rooted in love.
Now, there
are many suggested interpretations for the Song of Solomon. On its face, it
celebrates the love and eagerness two people can feel to be united with each
other in the deepest way possible. It is a testimony to intimate love, to the
joy and delight we can take in every aspect of our beloveds.
Other
scholars, throughout history, have claimed that the Song of Solomon is really
NOTHING MORE than an allegory about the love God has for Israel, or that Christ
has for the Church. Perhaps they were embarrassed by some of the frank
allusions to physical intimacy within its chain of interwoven love poems.
Perhaps they were shocked by the honest expression of desire by a feminine
voice.
The Church
itself has often trod gingerly around this book, with its frank appreciation of
breasts and succulent fruit and references to young stags, shying away from
attending to the Song in all but the most cursory manner. That might be why the
only snippet we get from the Song of Solomon in the Revised Common Lectionary
is this one here— this relatively tame part known as “Springtime Rhapsody,”
which spends way more time talking about flowers and figs and turtledoves than
about lying on a couch with your lover’s hand behind your head, which is also
frankly discussed in the verses of this book.
Now, having
been a teacher of adolescents for 27 years, I know I am taking a risk in
talking about things like that from the pulpit. There are some of you who may
walk out of here today only remembering that I preached about sex today even
though that is the first time I have said that word out loud.
So far.
Maybe some
of you are going to be pulling out your Bibles later and taking a look at this
entire Book to check it out-- to see if there are any naughty bits. (And there
are!) And that’s great too!
But what I
really want to address is love. It’s too easy in our culture to talk about these
two topics—sex and love (there! I said it again! I’m doomed!)—as if they are absolutely
divorced from each other. We live in a culture awash in sexual imagery in
movies, TV shows, and music. But at the very same time our culture is starved
of acknowledgment of open-hearted empathy and affection—
real love,
that doesn’t seek to gain anything but takes pleasure in being with someone. Love
that seeks to serve and treasure each other in all our differences, even with
our flaws.
What joins
these two separate subjects—sex and love-- together, however, is intimacy. It
is being willing to be with someone and not just accept but celebrate them in
all their glories and all their flaws—and to be willing to see that everyone
has both of those things—glories and flaws—but still, we love them anyway.
Thus, I
wonder if both camps of scholars aren’t right. Perhaps, as Episcopal theologian
Ellen Davis notes, the Song of Solomon isn’t the least biblical book in the
Bible, but the MOST biblical book. Maybe the Song of Solomon is the most
biblical book-- because it celebrates the expression of love as God made us to
love:
as we have
been made to love each other, and
as we have
been made to love God, and
as God most
assuredly loves us.
That
deeply.
That
completely.
That fully.
It goes
against the grain for many of us to talk about how much we love each other, how
we feel a pull to open our hearts and souls to others. It’s hard to maintain a
stance against the values of this world, and instead be willing to put others
first over our own immediate advantage; to be willing to enjoy and delight in
the beauty within each and every person (even when they sometimes drive us
nuts),and to know that we all are worthy of love and respect and even
celebration, no matter our different circumstances.
Society
tells us that individualism and self-interest should be the basis for every
decision-- even as we live alongside thousands, millions,
even billions of other people. But some of us long for something more.
The Song of
Solomon reminds us that THIS is exactly how we have been made. We have been
made to love— made to love each other, and made to love God.
As people
of faith and seekers along the way, we feel our way in the darkness of the
modern world toward embracing this hidden truth. We hope we find a place that
can give us the freedom to be this vulnerable, and many of us search in vain a
long time for a place where you can totally be yourself before others and
before God. It’s not every day you find a place where you can love and be loved
in safety.
But that
very search is what drew me and my family to Holy Communion in the first place,
over 14 years ago. The ability of the people in this congregation to love each
other—even through trials, even through disagreement, even across racial,
political, geographic, and economic differences. So I want to talk about love,
about intimacy, about delighting in each other, especially as it is practiced
in this parish.
You know,
some people in this diocese don’t get this parish. I don’t know if you know it,
but some people call us “Holy Commotion.” Others even go so far as to call us
“Holy Confusion.”
Listen—I
think they’re just jealous. I prefer to think that this is a parish that is so
rooted in love of God and love of each other that we leave lots of spaces for
contemplation and commotion in equal measure.
But they
are WRONG when they call us “Holy Confusion.” When stuff goes off the rails
around here, we are ANYTHING but confused! This is not new ground for us,
people!
We are, instead,
Masters of Adaptation and Improvisation. They’re jealous, I tell you!
I mean,
after all, who can remember how many times we have been in the middle of
worship and the lights—and worse, the air conditioning-- have gone out?
Remember those times? And we just keep right on rolling. Who needs lights or
conditioned air, anyway, when we are lifting our hands and our hearts up to
each other and to God?
Who can
remember all the times we have planned worship in the park only to forget that
the rainy season in tropical St. Louis comes in the late summer and early
spring, and that there is no fall around here but a headlong dive into winter? I
sometimes wonder if the weather forecasters in town look to see if Holy
Communion is planning an outdoor service before they forecast rain.
But it
doesn’t matter where we are—what matters is that we are praying together, and
loving God and each other together.
We are a
people who work together to solve problems, and they happen so often that they
have made us a well-oiled machine, my friends! Like
that time a couple of weeks ago when the binder on the lectern nearly caught on
fire because it had been shoved too close to one of the torches—no one panics,
but eyes meet, unspoken words are exchanged, and voila! Problems are solved.
We’re not
confused—we’re PROBLEM SOLVERS. We need to OWN that!
We worship
over tornado sirens, elevator alarms, joyful children’s happy singing,
forgotten cell phone ringtones, the gremlin that sometimes possesses the organ
and makes it moan, and indoor waterfalls when the gutters fail. We worship
together in the liturgy, because that literally means, “the work of the
people.”
There’s a
story told about Blessed John the XXIII, the Pope who presided over the reforms
in the Catholic Church known as Vatican II.
Supposedly,
once a journalist asked him, “Your
Holiness, how many people work in the Vatican?”
The pope
thought for a second, and answered, “About half of them.”
But that’s
not how it is around here. We are all hard at work building the kingdom. We
just don’t call it work. We call it love.
Each and
every one of us does things to be the hands, feet, or face of Christ to others
in this parish and in the greater world. And we take care of each other—
take each
other grocery shopping or to doctor’s appointments, march for racial justice,
make each
other casseroles,
visit and
call each other when we are sick or in hospital,
listen to
each other as we try to discern God’s call in our lives, attend each others’
children’s recitals and plays
and just
with each other in a ministry of presence.
We welcome
fellow worshipers with such thoroughness that the peace around here can make
the Super Bowl halftime show look like a third grade skit.
We have
laughed together, mourned together, prayed together, and sang together. If
that’s not love, I don’t know what is. And that love may look like commotion to
some people—but that commotion is filled with joy, with intimacy, with humor--
with
celebration of each other as beloved children of God.
It’s not
the orderliness and predictability that bring us here each Sunday. It’s the
love.
While we
ARE Episcopalians, we here at Holy Communion have our priorities in the right
place. Just as in the gospel this morning, our focus is on feeding the soul and
loving each other, not in finding fault or criticizing HOW things get done.
We’re just focused on the happy fact that stuff gets done somehow!
And each
Sunday the tide of love draws us in to worship and pray together, to be fed in
body and soul,
and then we
are sent forth by that same tide, to carry that love and worship into a world
that is flat-out starving for it.
As the Song
of Solomon reminds us, we are a people with spring forever in our hearts,
because we are rooted in love for each other and love for God. We have
weathered the winter, and we have weathered storms, and we are held together
through it all by love, and gentleness, and laughter, and joy.
Whether you
believe it is a love song between two people or a love song from a God who
loves us so much that she yearns for us passionately, the Song of Solomon reminds
us that love IS the greatest thing in the world, and it calls us out of
ourselves and our concerns to embrace each other and God, to put our hands in
each other’s and walk forward, in faith and hope.
Listen! A
voice is calling to us!
“Arise, my love, my fair
one,
and come away;
for now the winter is
past,
the rain is over and gone.
The flowers appear on the
earth;
the time of singing has
come,
and the voice of the
turtledove
is heard in our land.
The fig tree puts forth
its figs,
and the vines are in
blossom;
they give forth fragrance.
Arise, my love, my fair
one,
and come away.”
Let us go forth to love, and be loved.
Amen.
(Note: this sermon was given on my final Sunday before leaving my home parish to begin a field placement at a new parish as part of my seminary studies.)
