John 3:1-17
Thursday Morning Chapel; March 24th 2011
Chapel of the Resurrection, Valparaiso University; Valparaiso, IN
Pr. Katie Hines-Shah
Our hearts have gone out to our sisters and brothers in Japan in the wake of the Sendai Earthquake and its aftermath. Two weeks ago a 9.0 earthquake struck just off the coast of Japan. The Tsunami that followed was even more devastating, flooding communities along the coast. Three nuclear reactors failed to shut down, spewing dangerous levels radiation into the air. We weep. We watch. We pray. We send money and aid. And yet, we are stuck by our own human impotence.
I brought this image with me today. It's a print called the Great Wave of Karagawa by the artist Hokusai. It's in the collection of one of my favorite places, the Art Institute of Chicago. The print is dominated by the great wave, dwarfing even Mt. Fuji in the distance. Looking upon it, we feel the futility of human preparations. It does not matter how many tsunami drills have been offered. What chance do the tiny people have against such force?
While few of us have ever faced a natural disaster on the scale of Japan's, I think we can all relate to the feeling of powerlessness. We all experience tsunamis that leave us battered and broken. A failing grade in a class required for a major. An injury in the middle of the season. The ending of a relationship that we thought was "the one." Brokenness in our families. Job loss. Depression. Sickness. Death. Are these not each tsunamis in their own right? When we reach the end of our ability to prepare, when we reach the end of our ability understand, like Nicodemus we lament, "How can these things be?"
Nicodemus, the Gospel tells us, came to Jesus by night. I suppose his reasons could have been many. Much is made in commentaries about the Gospel writer's use of darkness and light. Some say that Nicodemus is a sinister character, slinking to Jesus only when others cannot notice. Yet, I wonder if Nicodemus comes to Jesus as we do. I wonder if a tsunami of life has knocked him off his feet, leaving him powerless and broken. I wonder if after Nicodemus has exhausted all reason, in a sleepless night of questions, he finally comes to Jesus to seek his aid.
Isn't that so often what it takes? Is not Jesus so often our very last resort? Author Annie Lamott writes there are only two true prayers, both best prayed in public restrooms at times of greatest need. They are "Thank you thank you thank you," and "Help me help me help me." Nicodemus' instance would be, of course, the later.
When Nicodemus prays for help, Jesus' does not simply tell Nicodemus that bad things happen because its God's will. Too often, in the wake of disaster we are quick to try to find and name the will of God. But platitudes like, "God has a plan," and "All things happen for a reason," are no comfort. We, who like Nicodemus, cannot understand earthly things, how can we presume to understand the workings of heaven? Jesus, for his chiding, knows the limits of our powers. So he offers a new way. A way of love.
Jesus tells Nicodemus, Jesus tells us, that God loves us and our fallen world. God loves us so much that Jesus comes to be with us, right in the thick of our lives. God comes to us in our "thanks yous", yes, but also our "help mes." And this is so important, my brothers and sisters. It does not matter if our particular tsunami comes to us as innocents or, as it did to Moses' people, by our own fault. No matter what has been done to us, God abides with us. No matter what we have done to ourselves, God will not forsake us. God come to us in love. God comes, Jesus promises, not to condemn us, but to save us. Thanks be to God!
Can I have an Amen here?
So what then, how are we to respond?
A few years ago a family in crisis came wanted to meet with me. The family had only been in the church for a year or two. I had baptized both of children, who now were five and seven. I wanted to talk to the family in a way that the children would understand, so I told the story of Noah and the Ark. My intent had been to emphasize the idea that though the waters might rise and though rains would come, no one would be left behind. God would see this family through.
At the end of the story I asked the children what part of the story was about them. To my surprise, the seven year old turned the question around. 'What part of the story is about you, Pr. Katie?" "What do you think?" I said. "I think," she said carefully, "That you and the church are the ark. That you and the church will keep us safe in the storm."
Do you see the long canoes in the Hokusai print? The wave might be great, but the people find strength in the power of the ship. Jesus' life giving death holds us empowering us, as Luther says, "To be little Christ's one to another."
On this, the anniversary of Oscar Romero's martyrdom we remember that the power of faith enabled poor and powerless people to face down a corrupt and well armed government. It gave them power beyond there strength and numbers. It gave them power even beyond death itself.
This is the promise we hold as we walk through the season of Lent. That no disaster or tragedy, not even death can overcome the great love of God. Knowing the love of Jesus holds us, come what may, I think that when we face tsunamis we can turn to the church and to each other. Through the grace of God, together with the people of Japan we will find life anew.
Thank you thank you, thank you God!
Amen
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