“To Save a Few Lives”

A sermon by Rev. Dr. Hilary Barrett, revisited

Pleasantville, UCC, June 21, 1998 & November 9, 2008

Galatians 3:23-29; Luke 8:26-39

Some of you have wondered aloud whether it is possible for me to re-use my old sermons.  The answer is, as a rule: no.  Sermons are usually rooted in the time and place in which they are preached and trying to adjust them for the current situation is often harder work and takes more time than biting the bullet and writing a new one.

But when your Associate gets sick and loses her voice and it’s Saturday afternoon and your seventeen year old is in a play at school that night, you start reconsidering the value of some of your once-preached sermons and you start thinking – hey now, this could work.

So, in light of all these things – and unless you had this one memorized, I am revisiting an old sermon today.  But it’s not just any sermon.  The sermon I’m revisiting is the one I preached over ten years ago when I came to Pleasantville as a candidate for ministry.  It was such a joy, two weeks ago, to celebrate with you all my 10^th Anniversary of ministry here at Pleasantville, that it seemed fitting and valuable to take a look at that vision for ministry that I tried to set out during that first sermon, now more than 10 years ago.  And since you now know that every sermon is very rooted in time and place, you will understand some of the mental gymnastics that you and I will have to go through together in order to bring that sermon into the present.  So, with the help of God and with the power of the Holy Spirit, let us undertake that very journey. 

When I came to you over ten years ago, my son, Sam was six year old at the time.  He was probably about 4 feet tall and looked to me like a fawn – all arms and legs with the hugest brown eyes set in his small frame.  He had blonde hair back then, too.  Those of you who know my boy today know that he is now over 6 feet tall and resembles a “fawn” not at all.  But he does still have huge brown eyes.

Ten years ago, when I was writing this sermon, my six year old son, Sam, and I had just watched the video “Home Alone 2” again.  I think it was about the 100^th time I had seen that film – or its earlier counterpart.  Sam always did (and still does) have a penchant for watching his favorite movies over and over again.  I confess he gets that from me.  Back when he was six it was “Home Alone 2” and the like.  Today it’s “Batman Begins” – which Rob and I have seen with Sam several times and which Sam has seen several more times – at the movie theater, at the IMAX – you name it; he’s seen it.

When he was a little guy, watching “Home Alone” and “Home Alone 2” it never seemed to matter how often we saw the young hero, “Kevin” outwit the bad guys.  Watching the story unfold time after time always seemed to give Sam the same satisfaction as it did when he saw the movie for the first time.  And, I knew he was not alone in this fascination because, one day when one of his young school-mates came over to play, the two of them journeyed deep in an imaginary game of Home Alone, playing around the house, setting traps, and reciting memorized lines from the movie with convincing passion.

Ten years ago it was “Home Alone 2.”  Ten years later, Sam is writing his college application essays and one of them includes a very philosophical and sophisticated line from the film, “Batman Begins.”

The power of story in human life has fascinated me for a long time.  It’s probably the reason that I became a literature major in college.  It is surely the reason I became a pastor.  Children have a passionate and unashamed belief in the truth of story, and their young lives reflect that in obvious ways.  When Sam was a babe, he carried a Batman and Robin lunch box to school, at the pool he wore a Winnie the Pooh swim suit, Star Wars action figures resided in just about every corner of our house, and from time to time he even felt it was important to settle down at night with the great purple and green dinosaur named, “Barney” in his arms.  Phew!  I have to say I’m glad the Barney days are over.  With children it’s easy to see the power of story at work in their lives.

With adults, it may not be quite as easy to recognize the power of story.  But then again, maybe it’s not so difficult either.  I, myself, do not carry a Batman lunch box, but I have been known to tote a hefty and very important-looking brief case.  I am not aware of ever having worn a Winnie the Pooh swimsuit, but at one point it seemed important to me to buy a rather expensive Coach handbag.  I am not likely to go to bed with a stuffed animal in my arms, but I do often fall asleep with the television on in order to achieve the same comforting effect.  And then there are the more insidious stories that are more difficult to identify.  Are we worth saving?  Are we entitled to God’s love and forgiveness?  Are we permitted to be happy?  Must we always be striving and aiming for a greater achievement?  Must we always be at odds with those around us?  Is the cup always half full or half empty?  These are stories too that also have power   Whether we are conscious of them or not, stories of all kinds have a profound and shaping impact upon our minds and hearts, our values and our choices.  So it is no small matter which stories we choose to tell ourselves on a daily basis.

Alice Walker is an author and activist.  She wrote the book The Color Purple, in addition to many other books and essays.  One of her essays was entitled, “Saving the Life That Is Your Own: The Importance of Models in the Artist’s Life.”  And in that article she speaks of the life-saving importance of models, in life and in art and stories can be those models -- stories which offer us models for living with integrity and hope; stories which teach us how to live in an often inhospitable world; stories which remind us that we are not alone .  These are the kinds of stories which literally save lives.

As people of faith we affirm our belief in the power of story.  We gather weekly around a saving story, and given all of the opportunities available to us to be somewhere else this morning, our gathering in this place, to hear the stories of this book, is truly significant.  So let us turn our attention now to the stories which are offered to us in this morning’s lectionary texts -- two very different stories which speak an important word about those things which are most needful in order to save a few lives. 

            The first reading, from Paul’s letter to the Galatian church, opens a window onto an ongoing and fiery debate within the early Christian church.  The issue is whether it is necessary for non-Jews to become Jews before they could become Christians.  Must they keep the Mosaic Law?  And what was more significant to some in the crowd, must men be circumcised as a prerequisite to becoming Christian?  Paul’s letter takes particular aim at Peter -- that same Peter who Jesus called the Rock upon whom he would build his church.  Apparently, when Peter was with one group of people he said and did one thing, and when he was with another group of people he said and did another thing.  Sounds like Peter to me.

            To those people who, like Peter, would argue that Christ’s salvation extended only to those who were Jewish, Paul’s simple eloquence articulated a radical concept: 

For in Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith.  As many of you as were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ.  There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.  And if you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s offspring, heirs according to the promise.” 

            In a world like ours today, a world torn apart by ethnic enclaves, by racism, and by nationalistic ideologies of all kinds -- in such a world as this Paul’s words come to us and speak a radical notion about who is in and who is out, who is worthy and who is not.  This is a word of radical inclusion and it is one of the first and most important stories of the Christian faith:

“There is no longer Jew or Greek...slave or free...male [or] female...
for...you are one in Christ Jesus.”

Paul is talking about more than membership criteria for the Christian community of faith.  He is talking about the circle of God’s grace, and its width:

“And if you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s offspring,
heirs according to the promise.”

Now that’s a story which, if told with conviction, could save a few lives.

The second passage we heard this morning comes from Luke’s gospel.  It is a short story about healing; a story in which Jesus stops to attend to a soul shattered by illness and alienation from community.  Interestingly, it comes right after the story of Jesus calming the wind and the sea.  Taken together, these two stories (of the demoniac and the calming of the storm) affirm that Jesus’ has dominion over the forces of chaos that are within and without us.

We live in a world filled with brokenness.  And after 20 years in ministry I am persuaded that healing is one of the most critical needs facing the Church today.  We who gather in the name of the Jesus, the Divine Physicians, are called to minister to broken hearts, broken spirits, and broken bodies with equal frequency.  No matter what else the Gospel Story teaches us, one thing is clear: we who seek to follow Jesus must be healers.  More than that: we must know our own need of healing.  And most importantly, just we must go out and tell the stories of healing and transformation to others. 

For when people hear a story which promises them that they will not be left alone with their pain, but that Jesus will be present with power, then that is a story which can save a few lives.  When people learn that new life is possible, that the powers of hell and despair can indeed release their grip of death from human life, then that is a story which can save a few lives.  If we as the church are to be a healing community, we must take seriously the reality of brokenness.  We must understand the dangers that befall one another along the way.  We must keep vigil with those who suffer, and we must continue to tell the stories of healing in the hopes that by doing so, we will save a few lives.

One of my favorite authors is a woman named Grace Paley.  In the following excerpt from a short story entitled, “Debts,” she offers these words about the power and importance of story:

A lady called me up today.  She said she was in possession of her family archives.  She had heard I was a writer.  She wondered if I would help her write about her grandfather, a famous innovator and dreamer of the Yiddish theater.  I said I had already used every single thing I knew about the Yiddish theater to write one story, and I didn't have time to learn any more, then write about it...

The next day, my friend Lucia and I had coffee and we talked about this woman.  Lucia explained to me that it was probably hard to have family archives or even only stories...and there was no writer in the family...She said it was a pity to lose all this inheritance just because of one's own mortality...

I thought about our conversation.  Actually, I owed nothing to the lady who'd called.  It was possible that I did owe something to my own family and the families of my friends.  That is, to tell their stories as simply as possible, in order, you might say, to save a few lives.[1]

            “To save a few lives” is what stories are all about.  One of the most important tasks of the Christian community is to convey a story of immense Good News: God's unending love and abiding grace.  We tell this story not because we must.  We tell it not because we may.  We tell it, in order to save a few lives.  May it be so.  Amen.