Lessons from the Dark Side

Guest preacher Pat Clark preaches on John 13:5-8, “Lessons from the Dark Side”.

THERE IS NO RECORDING THIS WEEK BUT below is a transcript of Pat’s sermon.

LESSONS FROM THE DARK SIDE

John 13:2b-8

Pat Clark

St. Andrew’s Presbyterian Church

July 14, 2019

There are moments in life when the world stops, and we know that we will never be the same again. I want to talk about one of those times today. It’s on my mind because I wrote a book about it, and I received my first copies this week. I hope you will forgive the personal nature of this sermon. This is not the way they teach you to preach in seminary.

My particular heart stopping moment was Stage Four Non-Hodgkins lymphoma, diagnosed four years ago at MD Anderson. The pet scan they took showed my body riddled with cancer from my groin to my neck. Forty percent of my bone marrow was full of it. Not only that, it is incurable. That’s why I am still on the prayer list here. Right now it is sleeping, but it can re-emerge at any time.

So what have I learned four years later after aggressive chemotherapy that left me bald and exhausted at the time, stranded inside my house because of the great danger of infection?

Simply this. Darkness, my friends, comes to all of us. It may not be cancer. It can be death, serious injury, financial problems, divorce or other things. We are going around happy campers, and then bam! Something unexpected and unwanted causes our lives to take a different turn. If you and I were to go over to Starbucks and have a cup of coffee together, and if our conversation had any depth to it, nearly every one of you could tell me a story of personal suffering.

I went to a preaching workshop once where the psychologist presenting that day told us one third of the people in our congregation were in active grief, one third had just emerged from active grief, and one third were about to go in. She urged us to be gentle with parishioners when we preached.

So what does all of that have to do with the foot-washing passage I just read? Simply this.  I will get there. We all know that it is more blessed to give than it is to receive. This is especially true in denominations like ours that point to the fact that Jesus gave everything, his very life, on our behalf. Whereas some people stress union with God as the highest form of faith, Presbyterians, in general, point to a life poured out in service to others.

I think the traditional interpretation of this passage is just that—Jesus is modeling service to others as an example of what we should be doing. This is leadership, a different kind than the world was used to. The Scripture says many things in addition to that, but I have always focused on Peter and his learning to receive.

Think about it. Someone gives you a compliment like, “Well, you’re looking well today,” and you respond, “Thank you! So are you!” Maybe someone gave you a Christmas present, and you think, “Oh No! I didn’t get anything for them.” Or they give you a gift, and you give them a hug. Someone says, “I love you,” and you say, “I love you too!” We want to give back. It’s almost a knee jerk response.

But washing your feet? When you can only sit there and receive? You can’t really respond to that—you can only receive it. Of course Peter was upset! He did not want to be that vulnerable. He’s not the one in control, is he?

Do you know people who refuse to let you do anything for them? “I’m all right,” they say, and then change the subject. “I don’t need anything.”

I was one of those people. I am a minister after all. And as a solo pastor, I was used to being on call 24/7. Never mind that it was Christmas Day and I had my own family dinner–I went to pray with the grieving family. I had always been the giver, not the receiver.

Think of Peter sitting there unable to do a thing but receive this most gracious act. It may be more blessed to give than to receive, but it has been my experience that it is much harder for many of us in church to receive than it is to give. We don’t ask for help. We don’t want to put anyone out. We don’t want to be vulnerable. Especially we don’t want to be seen as powerless.

When I was flat on my back, on the living room couch, I had nothing to give, and I had to learn to receive other peoples’ kindness. I thought of Peter. He had been the strong one. I had been too, and with cancer, I could not be. It was humbling to be in that position and to be so vulnerable. Here’s what I learned: when we are flat on our backs, God shows up. God is always present in suffering and vulnerability.

Years ago when I lived in Mexico the Hispanic people I knew there prayed for suffering. I did not understand that, and I asked them, “Why would you ever do that?”

“To be close to God,” they told me,” “God is never closer than when God’s people suffer.”

I did not understand that then. Now I do. I suffered, and in doing that, I felt more profound love than I had ever known. I learned that God is present in vulnerability in a way we never experience when we are the one doing the giving. It was the very best gift I received from cancer.

Second lesson: I also learned that living with gratitude makes a difference. I am not a naturally optimistic person. I grumble a lot. I’m no hero. My husband has to remind me—Pat, you’re becoming negative again! Quit that!

One of the things they taught me at MD Anderson was not letting my thoughts head off in the wrong direction. Learn to live with gratitude. One morning when I was tired from three hours sleep, when I felt lifeless on the couch and overwhelmed by dust and clutter, and it was all going downhill fast, I took a pen and deliberately began to write 10 things for which I was grateful that morning. It’s a simple exercise: I was grateful for my age. I cannot imagine what it would have been like to have children underfoot.

I was grateful to live in Houston, where the temperature is balmy in winter. I was grateful for insurance. Say what you will about socialized medicine, but Medicare was a blessing to me. I was grateful for Sydney, our old farm dog that kept me company. A puppy would have driven me nus.

I was grateful to be part of a faith community, St. Andrew’s. I remain grateful for the cards, communion, art supplies, food, flowers, gifts, visits and prayers. Thank you. I was grateful for a sense of humor, grateful for eyes to see the sunrise, grateful not to be the only one with cancer. You get the picture. It works! Gratitude really does position us in a place to experience the blessing of God. The more we focus on God, the more we can rise above our circumstances. We live in a different realm. We come to a higher place.

What I learned also is how to re-frame my experiences. For instance, I love the holidays. I love Advent and getting our advent wreath out. I love putting up decorations and seeing things sparkle to remind me of the light of Christ. I love going to Christmas worship and concerts and parties. I love all of it. I always have. How could I ever experience the holiday lying on the couch in the living room without being depressed about everything I was missing?  Clearly I needed to re-frame things, but I didn’t know what to do.

A sweet minister friend of mine showed up one day with gifts, music, cards, and Advent supplies. She blessed me with a new insight into Scripture from Luke—the one where Zechariah the priest is struck mute for unbelief because he could not believe that his aged wife, Elizabeth, would bear a child, John the Baptist.

Now I have always seen that Scripture as punishment, God’s being a little cruel. I mean, after all, if an angel showed up telling me that I would become pregnant at my age, I too would find that hard to believe. Anybody would. Why punish the guy for a natural, very human response? Frankly, not everything in the Bible makes sense to me.

My friend Noelie shed some light on things that day. What if being silent was a gift? What if Zechariah’s silence led him to a deep inner experience of the presence of God? Something profound and spiritual must have been going on all those mute months because the first words out of his mouth are a praise to God. It wasn’t a curse at all. Instead the silence deepened his faith in a way that nothing else could. He needed to shut up and listen.

I thought about my own life, those months of silence when I was homebound. Was I not living the Zechariah experience—a time of quiet when rich and deep things were going on in my spirit?  Wasn’t that behind my descriptions of the cancer experience as a cocoon that would ultimately end in butterflies? Had I not felt the presence of God in fresh ways throughout those days lying on the couch in my living room?

This was indeed a time to reflect and grow in faith. God was preparing me for the days ahead, although it was too early to say what that would be. I hoped it was not a baby! Suddenly I did not mind the cloistered life, and I prayed that when it ended, whether on this side of heaven, or the other, my first words would also be a song of praise.

My friends, tough things happen to us in life, things we would never have chosen if it had been up to us. Let me say from my experience, whatever hard thing you are facing, you can do this. Learn to receive from others. Live in gratitude. Re-frame your experience, and know, deeply, that you never walk alone. Christ leads us and walks beside us until the day we meet him face to face.

To Him, be all glory, honor and praise, now and forever. Amen.