Becoming Myriads: The Sunday Sermon
A Sermon for the Fifth Sunday after Pentecost
Proper 9 – Year A
Genesis 24:34-38, 42-49, 58-67
I’m quite taken by the family’s blessing of Rebekah from the Genesis
reading – the reading which Sheryl read to us this morning.
“May you, our sister, become
thousands of myriads”
A young person stands at the threshold of a life which is rich and
open. There’s something appealing here –
I would like my life to be that rich and that open. I regret the parts of it which may over time
have become stunted or locked up. Lucky
Rebekah. She was young and she must have
been in the right place at the right time.
There’s a moment in the first reading when Rebekah slips down the side
of her camel, veils herself and prepares to meet the man she will spend her
life with. In our story, this is the
happy result. Go back a bit though. It follows from an earlier moment after the
servant explained how God had led him to Rebekah at the well when her family
turns to the young woman and asks – so what do you think? Will you go with this man? I refer to these as “moments” by the way because
they are powerful little self-contained units which communicate their contents
well. I can imagine the film scene. I can imagine the painting which some Flemish
artist might have painted. If Caireen
were up here telling you the story she would no doubt tell it with all the
different voices – including the camel’s voice.
When we gather again in greater numbers at the beginning of September, someone
will ask you at coffee time: So how
was your holiday with your family?
It had its moments – might be the
reply.
Ah, you say, let me pour myself a coffee and you can tell me about it
We are not expecting to hear about a holiday that had its minutes, are
we? We don’t care that it lasted exactly
one or two or three weeks, we are expecting to hear about a holiday which had
its moments – we are more concerned about its contents – either good or bad –
eventful – joyful – painful.
We use the word moment and the word minute quite interchangeably. Take a minute to think before you answer
we say to people who are about to take an exam or testify in a court case. We could have said take a moment to think
because we never meant that they should count to sixty. The first
use of the word had nothing to do with time at all – it described a unit of
force. Archimedes used the term to
describe the action of levers of various lengths upon their fulcrums. We might use the word “torque” in its place. That alternate current meaning of the word
moment should have something to do with forces of various kinds – the force
necessary to overcome inertia, electrical energy or somesuch. And even if you’re not an engineer we still
use the word Momentum and the adjective Momentous which give us some sense of
the difference between a minute and a moment.
And because I’m old and boring I’m going to further illustrate by relating
to you a minute of my childhood.
I am ten years old and walking to school. I walk down the path from our house and turn
right on Transit Road. I carry on to the
first stop sign where I intend to turn left.
If I’m walking at my normal rate it takes me just more than a minute to
reach that stop sign.
Let me tell you about a moment from my childhood.
I am ten years old and going to school in Victoria B.C. from my house
which is 200 yards from the Pacific Ocean.
I walk out the front door and down the path to the street into fog as
thick as pea soup. The foghorn on Trial
Island – just off shore - is sounding its deep two-note blast. Somebody on our street is burning oak leaves
and the air is rich with the smell. It’s
also low tide and mingled in with the smell of the burning leaves is the smell
of the seaweed rotting on the beach. The short trip to the first stop sign
takes a little longer than a minute because I keep stopping to listen to the
sounds and smell the air. That’s a
moment. You could write a poem about
it, it has a shape, it has substance. Three
unrelated worlds weave together into a fabric.
The burning leaves and the smelly beach have nothing to do with the fog
or with each other, the foghorn has nothing to do with a small boy’s trip to
school but the reason small boys are so often late for school and don’t get the
gold star on the chart is that they stop to look at stuff along the way – at
the way worlds which are them and worlds which are not them weave
together at their intersection into a moment.
Being small one tends to be hit by moments – they happen to you – small
people and adults who retain their sense of wonder even in their riper years – are
struck by their moments. They have
little authorship over them. They are
lucky to have them.
Let’s nail this down. Are you one
of those who would like to be fruitful and are not – to be myriads and are not
– who would love to rediscover the openness, the beauty and the complexity of
life and are not there today. Doesn’t
it seem a little bit cruel simply to say you should stand around until you are
struck by something. That’s no gift. It would be a bit like saying that on behalf
of the Anglican tradition we sincerely hope your lucky number comes up.
I am compelled tell you another story.
There is a bit of family tradition handed down, from somebody on my
mother’s side, that when my great grandfather was studying for the Presbyterian
ministry at Queen’s College in Kingston Ontario at the end of the 19th
Century, one of the College’s previous graduates wrote back to his friends that
the work he was doing in China (on the eve of the Boxer Rebellion) was proving
impossible without a wife and could somebody please help him out. The story has it that a small group paid a
visit to the missionary and deaconess’ training home in Toronto and enquired of
the young women enrolled there whether any amongst them felt the vocation to
marry a missionary in the field.
I cannot imagine the story without a bit of embarrassed silence. There must, surely, have been a bit of a
pause - an awkward moment.
As it happened, the query was met with agreement by one young woman in
Toronto. Yes, she felt so inclined. Letters presumably were exchanged and the
young woman packed her trunks and sailed to China at the beginning of a
hazardous decade for foreigners (and especially missionaries) living in that
country. One man’s history weaves into
the history of one woman – not as an accident or a happy exception or blind
luck - but as the fruit of risks taken by the one who asks and the one who
answers.
In our first reading this Sunday, Abraham’s servant is given the task of
finding a wife for Isaac from amongst his kinsfolk in Mesopotamia. The servant prays to God for direction,
establishes the criteria by which he will know God is so directing him and is
subsequently led to the young woman Rebekah who is drawing water at the local
well. Later, when the servant has spoken
with her family, they turn to the girl.
“Will you go with this man?” they ask. “I will” she says.
The young woman’s agreement leads to the family’s blessing
“May you, our sister, become thousands of myriads; may
your offspring gain possession of the gates of their foes.”
The faith of Abraham’s bonded servant intersects with a young woman’s
freedom to say “yes” or “no” and the story culminates in
blessing. Our story weaves together
those things which simply are or which “must be” (either by God’s
command or by Abraham’s will) with what “could or could not be”
due to family politics and individual choice.
Energy – you see - goes into the equation from two sides.
The question is asked. The answer
is “yes”. The door to a world
opens.
I hope you’ll give some thought to where you are right now. Maybe I’m preaching to the choir but you may have
some sadness at the thought that you will never see an open door in front of
you, or a new horizon, or be better and bigger than you are now. Is any of this remotely important to you? Does it hit a nerve with anyone? Are you disappointed that you may never see
the moment when you slip down the side of your camel into blessing or get from
where you are now to that fruitful and hopeful place?
Our key story this morning concerns much more than lucky cards or lucky
stars. Her moment is as much about the
word “yes” issuing from Rebekah’s lips as it was about Abraham’s servant having
discerned that she was the one. Our engagement allows and even creates
moments. The weaving together of worlds
happens because we want it and because we do it. By our affirmation, by way of our curiosity
and because of our willingness - by the word “yes” which we utter. Few of us stand on ground so sloped in the
right downward direction that entry and discovery are something that we merely
fall into by the power of gravity or the weight of events. Nor are our decisions ever so distilled in
pure forms, apart from the ordinary particularity of our lives and families,
that the choice is merely obvious.
Secret gardens, hidden doors, the way in and the way out of labyrinths, pearls
of great price discovered amongst lesser gems, all the treasures ever found in
fields by nameless characters in Jesus’ parables, and - yes - the very thing which
you – men and women, boys and girls - want or need - these are to be found by
seekers.
Will you go with this man? Will
you engage with this community? There is
something you can do. You’ll do it if
you want it enough. It requires engagement
and risk - undertaking tasks which extend beyond your pay-grade and beyond the
bounds of what is proven to be safe. For that matter, even beyond the bounds of
what is generally considered polite conversation.
