Sermon: "In the Meantime.....Love!"

(Based on Deuteronomy 34:1-12, Psalm 90:1-6, 13-17 & Matthew 22:34-46: The Message)

Moses is an interesting character. An unlikely candidate for becoming a leader of a nation, he pulls off an exodus from the then most powerful nation in the known world. Self-described shy and self-abasing, he manages to hold the Hebrews together through a grueling 40 year trek across the Sinai peninsula to the shores of the river Jordan. Apparently a man of sage judgment, he was subject to fits of temper that barred him from reaching his hoped-for destination. Willing to persist no matter what the odds, his impatience could be his undoing. Perhaps most remarkable of all, he was a man of acute spiritual sensitivity who received an incredible gift from God, a personal encounter such as few ever have. Such a man is entitled to operate on a higher level of faith than is usually encountered in our far from perfect world. Yet for all his achievements, he is left on the wrong side of the river, peering into a promised land he will never set foot on himself.

On first glance, Moses is unlike anyone I’ve ever known, and certainly unlike me. Yet as I strive to list all the reasons why he is not like us, the more similarity I discover between us. Take for instance that psalm we heard read this morning.

It’s rather unique in that it is attributed to Moses himself. Whether he was the author or not scholars may debate. That it is true to his character works for me. It is the words of a man who feels comfortable enough in his relationship to God to speak plainly. He does not shy away from thorny issues.

It is the song of an old man. I think those of us who have traveled the course of our three-score years and ten, may appreciate his feelings more personally than the young might. Out of the mud we came and we know our return is close. Though Deuteronomy assures us Moses would get his four-score and even two more, yet this old man does not forget from dust he came and to dust he will return. And one of the privileges of being ancient is the right to speak our minds. (I still remember Bess, a woman comfortably launched into her nineties, who was lavish in her praises of my sermons. “I don’t know how you do it. I thought last Sunday’s sermon was your best, but this Sunday’s was even better.” But then came the inevitable Sunday when Bess said, “I don’t know about anybody else, but that sermon didn’t do a damn thing for me.”)

Yes, Moses was old, and he was candid, and he was barred from his life-time dream. Is that not true for us all? Oh, I know there are many who achieve great things, and I know we all can look back on great moments which make us glad. Yet who among us can truly say we’ve done it all. We’ve won our prize. We are truly satisfied. We are in our promised land. I dare say even the most satisfied among us still is capable of finding one disappointment in his or her life. Or, if not disappointment, still longs for one unreachable star that beckons beyond touch.

Interestingly enough, Moses doesn’t seem to brood on this disappointment, does he? He has seen the Promised Land and that appears to be enough.

You know, it reminds me a bit of a favorite film of mine. “Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade”. Aside from the derring-do which is all smoke and mirrors, what grips me about that film is the last scene when Indiana has found the cup of the Holy Grail, and used it to save his father’s life. Now, when the unspeakable happens and the cup is about to be irrevocably lost, his father tells Indiana to let the cup go. It isn’t as important as his son’s life.

Somehow our promised lands aren’t the real goal after all, are they? I think that’s one of the reasons why depictions of heaven fall so far short of satisfaction. Dante’s vision at the end of his classic “The Divine Comedy” is frankly static, over-blown and boring. It can’t hold a candle to the vivid depictions we’ve already seen of hell and purgatory. The depiction of heaven in the Book of Revelation is just as disappointing to me frankly. The whole Bible has been a journey to this heavenly destination, but what can we rejoice in here besides flashing jewels and eternal hymns, while angels strut their stuff in endless parades. Can’t you imagine the Queen of England perched on that balcony of hers forever? One more bagpipe ensemble playing “God Save the Queen” one more bloody time. Must I really endure “Amazing Grace” for another 300 billion times?

There’s something of a cheat about promised lands. The real satisfaction is knowing there’s still one more song to sing, still one more step to learn in this thing we call the dance of life. And while Moses may be kept from that heavenly promised land, he apparently is still alive enough that he can finish out his days in obscurity, seeking who knows what, doing what who could ever guess, still content to make his way back to dust convinced it had all been worthwhile.

Yes, I can identify with Moses. And I have at least one advantage he did not have. I have the example of Christ who would make his inexorable way to the grave with the same kind of faith and confidence. He walked our road with LOVE.

And that leads me to my other theme for today: Love. Such a common word. So ubiquitous. How quickly we mouth it. How gratefully we remind everyone ours is a God of love, not dogma. I believe I’ve heard it said “love makes the world go round”. And that genius composer Andrew Lloyd Webber assures us that “Love Changes Everything”. But even the eloquence of a William Shakespeare can’t capture all the nuances and definitions of love.

We could do worse than review Erich Fromm’s treatise “The Art of Loving”. I reread it recently, and while I have a few more quibbles about it than I did when I first read it — Good Lord! Fifty years ago? Still he has some useful things to say about it. And rather surprising for one who claimed to be at least an agnostic. He was in hearty agreement with Jesus’ great commandment while also acknowledging that the love commandment is what we now call an oxymoron, for if there is one thing love can’t be, it can’t be commanded. It is always a gift. It can come to us as a surprise - both the giving and the getting. And it always comes with admiration, respect, a deep valuing of the beloved. Interestingly enough, it must spring from a lover that is admired, respected, valued, genuinely loved. Put simply, we can’t love others if we don’t love ourselves.

For me, the act of love is an act of faith. It sees what others may or may not see. Even flaws can be recognized, embraced, valued. Some mocked that line in the film “On Golden Pond” when Katherine Hepburn refers to Henry Fonda as “You old poop”. But many more of us were inwardly applauding. We identified with it. We had known such a love. We cherished it. We had moved on from that adolescent fixation on finding Mr or Mrs “Right”, off on a search for the ideal beloved, the one who would magically fill the empty hole inside us we could not fill ourselves. In its place we had grown comfortable and grateful for the ideal one at our side, warts and all.

I often think of an episode from the old TV western “Bonanza” that concerned a rancher who had a fondness for fine horses, particularly race horses. He knew he must not indulge himself in this passion. His wife did not share it and would surely skin him alive if he brought home another of those old hay-burners, but he has succumbed to his love, and now must try to figure out how to keep the horse and not have his wife find out about it. Of course the story would have no zip to it if she did not find out - and find out she most certainly does. After her explosion of anger, she finally turns to the chastened husband and says, “Oh, tie that old hay-burner to the back of the wagon and let’s go home.” The line itself does not reveal the real message. It is the look in her eye and the heart-felt sigh that accompanies it that tells us our hero is not only forgiven, he is loved. And more important still, he is loved, not in spite of his foolishness, but because of it! She values even his flaws for they make up the fascinating totality of his deeply cherished being.

Indiana Jones and his father had much to learn, and loving each other may not have been what they thought they wanted, but it was precisely that love they had always needed, a recognition of the value and importance that lay inside both of them all along. Moses may not have been able to cross over into the Promised Land, but he had gained enough wisdom to know he was already there, and had been his whole life long. How is that to be so? By love. By the love of God. By the acceptance of God. By the affirmation of God. By the unshakable certainty that God was still his closest, dearest, most very best friend. And nothing would ever change that.

Did you see the news clip of the soldier stationed in Ramstein AFB in Germany finally screwing up his courage to tell his father – over a long distance phone call – “Daddy, I’m gay”. What made that moment so special to me was the response of the father. “You are my son and I love you. I will always love you. And I am so proud of you.”

Put your own shame in that story - we all have them - and hear God’s response. “I know, and it doesn’t matter. I love you and always will.” On, and by the way, Let’s not forget all the others waiting to hear that word too! Love them, just as you have learned how much you are loved.

We all live in the meantime — the time between what was, what might have been and what we wish could be — but still “meantime”. So please, in the meantime, love. Love with your whole being. Love for all you’re worth.

Amen.
 
(October 23, 2011)