James 1:17-27
These are trying times. Our hearts and our shoulders are heavy with the burdens of our personal lives and with the horrors covered in the news every day. Violence continues as we watch and pray for those who are desperate to escape Afghanistan and for those who will be left behind. Our veterans here at home are faced with grief and loss, as do the families of those who did not return home. The people of Haiti, a nation close to many of our hearts, are once again faced with rebuilding after another devastating earthquake. Our brothers and sisters in the Northeast are recovering from a tropical storm while our brothers and sisters in New Orleans wrestle with whether to stay or go. People we love are in hospitals, and some of our relatives, neighbors, and friends still aren’t making the medical choices we wish they would. It is no wonder that we are exhausted, no wonder that we are weary and worn out. We come to worship for many reasons, for hope and for motivation and for comfort and for inspiration, for Jesus and for our mothers and for the people who are on longer here. We are here today world-weary and worried, in need of wisdom and guidance and hope. We could all use a little pastoral care, a little shepherding from our Good Shepherd.
Thankfully, faithfully, our Lord has given us himself, both in body and in Spirit, in his flesh and blood and in the preachers and pastors and mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers he has called to speak in his name. One of those spiritual fathers, one of our tradition’s great pastors, speaks to us today in the letter of James. Unlike many of the letters of Paul, this letter is not written to one particular congregation, nor does it address one particular question. In fact, this letter is less an epistle and more a collection of sayings, a treasure trove of Wisdom, Proverbs for the Christian life.
The tradition tells us that James, the brother of Jesus and the leader of the Church in Jerusalem, wrote this collection of wisdom teachings to believers who had been separated from their communities. We know now more than ever what it is to be separated, to be in dispersion from our fellow believers and from our congregations, as well as from far-flung family and friends. If these past two years have taught us anything, it is how very much we need one another, and how much our faith relies on coming together in worship. It is difficult to keep hold of our spiritual fervor when we are limited, and separated, and unable to sing out in moments of sadness and joy. Our pastor James offers us a lesson in being beloved community when our burdens are heavy and our fellowship is strained, an invitation into renewed life in Christ.
As with all right prayer and good ministry, our lesson begins from a place of abundance, an affirmation that all good things come from God and all good acts are inspired by God. The exhortation to do good is not an invitation to self-reliance or self-improvement for our own sakes, it is a tangible opportunity to experience the presence of God in our own hearts, the movement of the Holy Spirit in our own lives. Our best instincts, our good works and our holy desires are gifts from God, born out of the well-spring of God’s image within us. We are reminded that though we are creatures, we are created by a good God whose love has made us capable of miracles in a world that no longer believes in them.
In our exhaustion, in our grief and fear for a world seemed hell-bent on falling apart, James offers us a reminder of our best selves. “You must understand this, my beloved; let everyone be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger.” To do anything slowly is a challenge to us in our modern age of instant gratification and quick fixes. To be slow to speak, to be slow to rage, is a tall order in the best of circumstances, but in these trying times it may feel an impossible feat. For we are angry, when we are honest. We are angry at all the senseless death we’ve seen, all the misinformation and politicking and the ways the vulnerable have suffered, the ways the children have suffered, the ways we have suffered. Even more, we are tired. Tired of separation, tired of anxiety and fear, tired of saying no and of being told not yet. Our exhaustion has left us impatient, short tempered, and quick with our words. In this wilderness our exhaustion has left us vulnerable to temptation, and James would remind us that this temptation is not from God. Your anger does not produce God’s righteousness. Our quick anger does not bring about God’s justice. “Therefore rid yourselves of all sordidness and rank growth of wickedness.” Therefore slow down, pay attention. Walk away from the temptation to be right, to be vengeful. Instead, “welcome with meekness the implanted word that has the power to save your souls.” Instead of quick words, slow down and look inward. The good seed of the Gospel has been planted within you, a powerful word of salvation.
When James calls us to be doers of the Word and not just hearers of it, we are being called as individuals and as a community. These proverbs are not meant to be heard as personal life advice, these are not lines from little slips of paper inside fortune cookies. We as the people of St Mark’s, we as the people of Grace, we as the people of God in this time and place, are to be doers of the Word, not just hearers of it. This place, our prayer and worship, are our mirror, the place we come to look and see the truth about ourselves through the eyes of God. We must not be satisfied to hear the word in church, and to walk away from the mirror and forget everything that challenged us. What we see here in the mirror is real, a deeper truth than what is revealed to us in society’s image. If we quickly turn away from this reality, how can we persevere?
This is the pastoral word we need, the pastoral care called for by this tired and grieving season. A reminder that a greater reality is possible, that death does not have the final word in this world. “Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this: to care for orphans and widows in their distress, and to keep oneself unstained by the world.” To remain unstained by the world is difficult. To remain hopeful, to keep our eyes open is to risk vulnerability and grief. Opening our hearts means they will break, and they will keep breaking. But we cannot do what is asked of us, we cannot care for the orphans and widows and all in distress in this deeply distressing world with quick anger and sharp words and hard hearts. The ones this world have left lonely and vulnerable need us to be doers of the word. They need to see in us the reflection of their salvation, the image of the God who loves them too much to leave them behind. We’ve come here to take a good hard look in the mirror, to memorize every detail of Christ’s life so that when we go away, we can bring Him with us. We have been set apart, claimed as Christ’s own forever. This is Good News. What are you going to do with it?
Mother A Writes 