Sermon: A Well at the Edge

Texts: Isaiah 12; Luke 21:5-19

Date: November 18, 2007

Rev. Dee Eisenhauer, EagleHarbor Congregational Church

            There’s a hike near our Montana ranch I enjoy that winds up to the top of a waterfall.  It’s a beautiful trail, but there are a couple of sections that always make my heart pound and my palms sweat.  In those sections the trail is narrow and there is a fairly precipitous drop down some sharp rock slides on one side of the trail.  I don’t have very good balance, so I always tread slowly and fearfully along those edges.  Last time I was there during the winter, the trail was a little icy, so I felt even more anxious picking my way along the edge, very mindful of the long way down.

            There are days when I’m walking that kind of trail in spirit.  Days when the way seems narrow and icy, and I feel like I am going to tumble over the edge into a long and painful fall.  There is so much frightful news of which I am painfully aware that even though I have a good life (meaningful work, loving family, precious friends, all material needs met) I sometimes feel like I am going to plunge into an abyss of despair over the state of the world.  I trust it’s not self-indulgent to tell you this; I have a feeling I am not alone in feeling on the edge of despondency at times in spite of my very comfortable existence.

            Catherine Keller opened a theological article on End Times with this sentence: “Oh, but there are so many juicy options for the imminent apocalypse—and you don’t even have to be a fundamentalist.”  So many juicy options for the imminent apocalypse.  I read the Seattle Times, which lays out a variety of grim news items just about daily to put me on edge while I eat my Grape Nuts.  Here’s a beaut from yesterday’s paper: “Climate changes now ‘irreversible,’ U.N. report warns; Scientists say 1 billion people threatened.” The U.N.’s Nobel-prize winning panel on climate change has concluded that even the best efforts at reducing carbon-dioxide levels will not be enough.  The world must focus on adapting to “abrupt and irreversible climate changes.”[1]  That’s heavy enough, but I’ll just toss out a few more dismal tidbits: Breast cancer rates around the world are on the rise.  About 1 million cases will be identified this year, and about half of the women diagnosed will die from the disease.[2]  Some of the world’s fisheries have been so overfished, like the once-teeming cod fishery of the Grand Banks, that they have essentially collapsed and scientists doubt they will ever recover.  The Iraq war costs about $720 million per day to carry on ($500,000 per minute) [3]; meanwhile, 9.4 million children in our country lack health insurance because we can’t afford it, and American children die from something as treatable as an abscessed tooth. [4]  If we wanted to spend our entire worship hour playing a round of “Ain’t it Awful?” I could ask you, and you could throw your own putrid bits of horrible news into the mix.  So many juicy options for the imminent apocalypse.

            So in the face of all this, I flirt with dread as I perceive the world as I know it teetering on the edge of disaster.  I have a little trouble keeping my balance, psychically speaking.   Maybe you do, too.  So, why even talk about it?  Why would a preacher bring you to the precipice of bleakness to stand here trembling with her? 

            Curiously enough, the round of scripture readings we follow (the lectionary) always attends to end-of-world type texts at this time of year, insisting that we pay heed to our fears about the end of all things.  Just as the organ is tuning up “Come ye thankful people come” and the choir starts practicing its lullabies to the Baby Jesus in preparation for Christmas, the cycle of biblical texts leads us to the imminent (?) apocalypse.  Strange timing, or maybe not so strange, as in this hemisphere these readings coincide with the fading of the light. 

            The text we heard in Luke sounds like a prediction from Jesus about the fall of the temple and the persecution of the disciples.  Most historical biblical scholars will point out that since the gospel of Luke was written and circulated after the temple had fallen, it is more a descriptor of current events than a predictor of future events.  There already had been an end to some aspects of the world as the disciples had known it; the grand stones of the temple had already been thrown down, and days of peace and security were behind the believers.  So this is a text directed to believers who were teetering on the edge of despair, wondering if everything they knew was going to come to an end.  In some ways, their situation was similar to ours, although the options for imminent apocalypse they imagined had a different content from ours.

            The end of all things did not arrive for that generation of Christians, nor for any others so far, although many generations of the faithful have wondered if they were living in the End Times.  If you go by a literal reading of the text there has been evidence in every generation, including ours, that This. Is. It.  Nation rising against nation, kingdom against kingdom, earthquakes, famines, plagues, and so forth—every lifetime has seen these things.  Shoot, virtually every single year of our lifetimes has had these biblical markers of what is in Greek the eschaton, the End Time.    

            As you know, some of the more literal minded faithful in many generations have called a retreat, believing that this is the Big One.  Just a day or two ago there was a brief item in the Seattle Times noting that some 30 members of a Russian doomsday cult have barricaded themselves in a remote cave to await the end of the world and are threatening to blow themselves up if the police intervene.  A local priest is quoted saying “They are simple Christians.  They say: ‘The church is doing a bad job, the end of the world is coming soon and we are all saving ourselves.’”  Police are, rather kindly, I think, guarding the area to prevent anyone from provoking them to self-destruction. 

            I totally get their impulse to retreat.  I want to retreat myself from what looks like the world on a dangerous precipice.  But I don’t agree that a withdrawal from the wicked and frightening world is what we are called to.  I really appreciate Catherine Keller’s unfolding of the Greek word “eschaton” which has been interpreted as pointing to the end time.  She says that the earliest meaning of this concept refers to either spatial or temporal edges or boundaries rather than to a mere temporal end.  She writes, “We had best interpret eschaton not first of all an end, but “edge,” or rim, as of a table; so the eschaton is the edge of our own spacetime existence; wherever, whenever we find ourselves—on the edge.”  Texts like the one in Luke don’t offer escapist promises but “guidance for times of threat and potentiality; for spaces of transition between stages of our lives or our history.”[5] 

What this says to me is that what might set me wondering whether this is an End Time is more likely an Edge Time.  Like the sections of the trail that are narrow and dangerous with a drop off on the side, we come to passages in our individual and collective history that set our hearts pounding and make us wonder if we’re headed for a fatal fall.  But the faithful before us have navigated these passages and we are called to do the same.  Not to hasten the plunge over the edge like some wacko Christians who want to bring on a nuclear war thinking this will cause Jesus to return; not to seek a cave on the side of the trail in which to hole up; but to walk on in the company of Christ who encourages us.

              The counsel offered on the lips of Jesus to the Lukan community is valuable for every Christian who is trembling on the edge of what looks an awful lot like doom.  Paul Duke summarizes Jesus’ teachings like this:

He forbids naivete ("See that you are not misled") and despair ("Do not be terrified"). He commands improvisation ("Do not prepare your defenses in advance"), trust ("I will give you words and a wisdom") and stubborn hope ("By your endurance you will save your souls"). [6]

Jesus even points to such desperate times as opportune moments for faithful witness: “This will give you an opportunity to testify.” [Luke 21:13] 

            We would like to rise to the occasion to testify with endurance and faith, would we not?  But we have to get our balance in order to do so.  We can’t afford to stand on the edge, teetering dizzily toward a plunge into despair.  Imagine you are walking along the trail, narrow and slippery.  The long plunge down off to one side is mesmerizing—you can hardly take your eyes off of the sharp rocks you can imagine shredding your skin and breaking your bones should you fall.  You round the corner, shaking in your boots.  And what do you see?  A well, smack in the middle of the trail.

            Alright, I know I am mixing metaphors here.  But there is a line from the psalm recorded in Isaiah that has been ministering to me all week: “With joy you will draw water from the wells of salvation.”  It’s lovely, isn’t it—to imagine pausing on your journey, drawing up the living water of joy from a well that has been placed along your way as a gift.  You know that if you walk a long way without water you start to feel dizzy and disoriented.  But a long cool drink of refreshing water puts your head and heart to rights again.  I believe that God means for us to discover these deep wells of joy along our journey whenever we are in need of them.  Even on the narrow and slippery trails along an edgy time—especially in those edgy passages.  God means for us to find a well around every corner, out of which we draw joy that sustains us and keeps us from tumbling into despondency. 

            What if, beloved, you feel yourself swooning on the edge of hopelessness and there is no well in your line of sight?  It’s possible that you’re going to have to dig one, striking into rocky soil with faith that the living water that refreshes is flowing beneath the surface.  Disciplined prayer is a way of digging down toward that aquifer of the spirit.  So is offering service, ministering to the needs of others even when you yourself feel so needy.  Planning your week around attending worship--even when it seems like work to get out of bed and get yourself into the sanctuary—is a bit like digging into a place at which you know those who have gone before you have found water.  Tuning into beauty in the form of music or nature’s intricacies or poetry digs a well from which you may draw joy.    There may be some labor involved in creating a well from which you will draw joy.

            But more often, I believe, it comes to you as a gift.  You wipe the sweat from your eyes after an arduous and sca­ry passage on your journey and practically trip over a well of deep joy you had not expected to see.  These moments are as mysterious as they are refreshing.  A baby grins.  The sunrise bathes you in rosy light.  A sudden insight opens up a new horizon.  A delicious meal makes your body sing.  You share a hearty laugh with a friend, and clouds lift.  A gentle embrace heals the ache of lonliness.  You come to your community of faith and look into the face of love. 

            Hear this as a promise: “With joy you will draw water from the wells of salvation.  And you will say on that day: Give thanks to the Lord, call on God’s name; make known God’s deeds among the nations.” [Isaiah 12:3-4a]  “Shout aloud and sing for joy!”  Then, beloved, journey on, refreshed and renewed.  As Christ’s partner, as Love’s conduit, do your part to insure that this time, our time, is not the End Time but only the Edge Time.

[1] Zarembo, Alan and Maugh, Thomas H. III Los Angeles Times article reprinted in Seattle Times Nov. 17, 2007, p. A1.

[2] Kingsbury, Kathleen “The Changing Face of Breast Cancer”  Time Magazine, October 15, 2007, p. 36

[3] http://www.afsc.org/cost/

[4] http://www.childrensdefense.org

[5] Keller, Catherine  “The End or the Edge?”  The Living Pulpit, Jan/March 1999, p. 5

[6] Duke, Paul D.  “Ruined Temples” COPYRIGHT 1995 The Christian Century Foundation