THE READINGS (The Inclusive Bible ©2007)
FIRST READING— I Peter 1: 22,23 and 2: 2-6
By obedience to the truth you have purified yourselves for a genuine love of your sisters and brothers. Therefore love one another constantly, from the heart. Your rebirth has come not from a perishable seed but from an imperishable one—the living and enduring world of God. Therefore, never be spiteful, deceitful, hypocritical, envious or critical of each other. Like newborn babies, be hungry for nothing but milk—the pure milk of the word that will make you grow into salvation, now that you have “tasted that our God is good.” Come to Christ—a living stone, rejected by mortals but approved nonetheless, chosen and precious in God’s eyes. And you are living stones as well: you are being built as an edifice of spirit, to become a holy priesthood, offering spiritual sacrifices to God through Jesus Christ.
SECOND READING—John 7: 37-38
On the last and greatest day of the festival, Jesus stood up and shouted, “Any who are thirsty, let them come to me and drink! Those who believe in me, as the scripture says, ‘from their innermost being will flow rivers of living water.’”
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God, our rock in every time, grant us mercy and peace—in quiet and solitude may we seek your healing love. May the words of my mouth and all the different meditations of our hearts be pleasing to you, O God. Amen
This is the third sermon in our series on our experience of communion and it’s been a busy week—a good week, full of appointments and meetings and excitement—but a busy one, nonetheless. And so I found myself confronted with the topic at hand—the inner transformation! I really did need to quiet the many voices in my head that all sounded a lot like this: “so much to do, so much to do, no time, no time, no time—just do, do, do”. But God is faithful, and when we listen, God makes a way back to the center and so before I could stand before you today and speak of transformation, I had a journey to make. And so, I journeyed alone to Sholom Park in Ocala to visit, for the first time, the labyrinth that is in that park. It had been recommended to me some time ago by one of you, and for some reason, on that day, I knew I needed what it had to offer. And so, this sermon on inner transformation came to life as I walked that labyrinth in the middle of a very hot day just a few days ago.
For those of you unfamiliar with labyrinths, let me describe them to you. They are not mazes—there is one way in and you retrace your steps to leave. There are no dead ends, no tricks—no frustration awaits you at a wrong turn. Labyrinths are like spirals and cause us to reflect upon our inner and outer lives—delving deeper and deeper as we walk into the labyrinth and reflecting more and more on what we take back with us into our lives as we leave the inner place of transformation. There are famous labyrinths—the most famous in the Cathedral at Chartres in France. I have walked labyrinths in retreats, in conferences and, occasionally, as I did this week, alone.
First of all, I arrived at the path leading to the labyrinth in the middle of a very hot day. Now many of you know that I don’t “do” heat very well—the fan under the pulpit may have been the first clue. And so, as I arrived, I found myself questioning the wisdom of this particular pilgrimage. But, God would not let me go. So, off I started down the path to find the entryway into the labyrinth. As I walked toward the beginning, I noticed that this labyrinth was unlike any I had ever seen. It wasn’t a ‘regular’ labyrinth at all, but a series of pathways leading to a center that I could not, at first, identify. I fumed at God—couldn’t even take me to a labyrinth I recognized. I allowed that thought to drift away as I began to notice that the bugs were getting pretty bad so my mind went to the frustration of batting away the gnats that were starting to buzz around my face. I rounded a particular curve and pulled myself up short—God had brought me to this place and I really did want to see what lay ahead of me on the path, so I quieted my irritations and opened my mind and heart, just as I stepped through the arbor that serves as the entrance.
This beautiful and unique labyrinth is a winding path that has many guideposts along the way. I want to share a few of those ‘stopping places’ with you as I believe they relate quite well to the healing, transforming journey we take each week as we come from wherever we are in our hearts and minds to the Table where we experience God’s grace. I viewed these signs as stations where I was called to stop and let God invite me to go deeper into this journey of transformation. The first sign described what was ahead: “It is a physical and spiritual place to invite your contemplative, meditative, imaginary, intuitive, playful, artistic, poetic, creative, soulful being into oneness and fullness with nature. We invite you to experience your full range of emotions in the safety of this sacred place created over the centuries just for you.” And if asked to describe what I hope happens for us as journey to the Table each week I am unable to describe it better. I hope that we know that we are invited as well to experience all of ourselves in the safety of this sacred place, this labyrinth of thoughts and prayers that leads us to the center resting place here at the Table.
I walked a bit further. Some green grass grows just beyond the fence. The sign read: “Let my heart be still, turn my heart inward and be present in the now.” And as we journey inward, may we still our hearts and wait for what God has in store for us this day. A few more signs and then a tree looms large in front of me—one scarred from a lightning strike many years ago. The sign simply reads: “All of us are also wounded, even the greatest among us. Notice how this tree still stands strong…” And so I paused, thinking of my own wounds and the wounds of others that gather round this table—still standing strong, yet wounded, nevertheless. I invite us all to ponder how our woundedness allows us to be open to the pain of others—how our own grief shows us how to participate in the grief of others—calling us to be a place of healing and peace. The labyrinth path invites me to walk to the other side of the wounded tree—the side which shows no evidence of the wound at all and yet, I am strangely drawn more to the wounded side where I can be all that I am and invite others to be all that they are as we come together in God’s presence here at this Table.
Next comes a vista—out over a meadow and I am invited to explore where God is calling me to new experiences of faith and hope. Here, each week, we see new vistas of where God is calling us—each one different and yet all called to be the body of Christ as we gather round this very Table. Soon I come upon a garden of peace roses—a little bedraggled from the same summer heat that I am experiencing, but still reminding me of the gentle places of peace that God gives to me along my path. This place, this circle of friends, is one of those places in which I love to rest and be renewed. And then, more roses, a place to sit where roses grow all around. Here, in the quiet, I drink in the peace and remember that God calls us first to peace, gentleness and love and then sends us out to spread the good news of God’s reign of justice and hope.
Aha! I spy the center now—a large tree with branches coming down nearly to the ground providing rich shade for the circle of benches. While I briefly think about going directly to the resting place, God gently pushes me not to cut my experience short or take an easy way. And it is worth it, because now I can hear the waterfalls and see the stream reminding me that my life is ever-changing, and ever delightful—that even my trials are short-lived as God brings me to deeper understanding of all that takes place in my life. We come, week after week, our lives sometimes easy and sometimes hard, but God reminds us that the ever faithful love of our Creator waits for us each week as we seek to know more and more of God.
The path dips a little, reminiscent of a valley. I stop and take some time to view all that lies ahead and see that the resting place remains ahead of me. As we come to the Table, we come with all that we are—and as we walk through the valleys of life, we are grateful that the Table lies ahead. I walk through a garden of flowers and suddenly I am there, at the resting place where I feed on the quiet and the soft spoken words: “I told you I was waiting here in the center.” What I experienced most at the center was rest—the sense that the same God who created me and then redeemed me was waiting there to sustain me as well, to fill me with a sense of deep restoration and peace. And so I sat for a while until I knew it was time to go.
Walking back out, retracing my steps, I couldn’t help but notice how different some of the views looked from my new perspective—how the re-fueling and reviving of my spirit lightened my step and sent me out of the sacred space ready to encounter all that God had waiting for me—in the days and weeks to come. May you all experience this deep sense of renewal as you come to Table this very day. May God bless you with the rest and transformation waiting for you as you taste and see that God leads us all on very good journeys indeed. Amen and amen.
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