Rev. Paul Wrightman, Pastor

Independent and United Church of Christ

November 15, 2020

Dear Friends,

I’d like to thank Steve Hauk for the great work he’s done on writing an obituary for Solomon Yoo. ​​ It involved talking to lots of people, checking facts and dates, and much reporting. ​​ Sol’s obituary will appear in the​​ Monterey Herald​​ next Sunday, November 22nd. ​​ 

Thanks to all who provided and prepared food for the I-Help Men’s dinner this past Wednesday.

It’s hard to believe that we’re getting ready to enter the Thanksgiving, Advent, and Christmas seasons with the virus still raging out of control. ​​ At least there’s​​ light at the end of the tunnel​​ -- the prospect of a highly effective vaccine in just a few months. ​​ We may actually be able to return to some kind of normalcy​​ by early summer! ​​ Until then, let’s do all we can to keep ourselves safe and sound. ​​ 

And Always Remember that Jesus IS Emmanuel – God WITH Us! ​​ Paul

WORSHIP SERVICE FOR NOVEMBER 15, 2020

INTRODUCTORY READINGS

Optimism means faith in men, in the human potentiality; hope means faith in God, in His omnipotence. ​​ –Carlo Carretto

He is a God who does not make empty promises for the hereafter nor trivialize the present darkness, futility and meaninglessness, but who himself in the midst of darkness, futility and meaninglessness invites us to the venture of hope. ​​ 

--Hans Kung

Hope . . . means . . . a continual looking forward to the eternal world . . . . ​​ It does not mean that we are to leave the present world as it is. ​​ If you read history you will find that the Christians who did most for the present world were just those who thought most of the next . . . . ​​ It is since Christians have largely ceased to think of the other world that they have become so ineffective in this. ​​ Aim at Heaven​​ and you will get earth “thrown in”: aim at earth and you will get neither.

--C. S. Lewis

SUGGESTED MUSIC  ​​ ​​ ​​​​ Great is Thy Faithfulness  ​​ ​​ ​​​​ SE Samonte  ​​ ​​ ​​​​ You Tube

OPENING PRAYER  ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​​​ Angela Ashwin, Contemporary

When I feel threatened

or believe myself to be a failure,

give me courage to enter my still center,

the place of buried treasure

and sunshine

and solitude,

where you are, Lord,

and where it no longer matters

who approves of me

or how successful I am

because you are there,

and, in your presence,

I rediscover the confidence

to be me.

Amen.

LORD’S PRAYER

Our Father,

who art in heaven,

hallowed be thy name.

Thy kingdom come.

Thy will be done on earth

as it is in heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread.

And forgive us our trespasses,

as we forgive those

who trespass against us.

And lead us not into temptation,

but deliver us from evil.

For thine is the kingdom,

and the power, and the glory,

for ever and ever.

Amen.

SCRIPTURE READINGS

Isaiah 64:1a

O that you would tear open the heavens and come down!

Habakkuk 3:17-18

Though the fig tree does not blossom,

 ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​​​ and no fruit is on the vines;

though the produce of the olive fails

 ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​​​ and the fields yield no food;

though the flock is cut off from the fold

 ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​​​ and there is no herd in the stalls,

yet I will rejoice in the Lord;

 ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​​​ I will exult in the God of my salvation.

SERMON: ​​ HOPE IS A CHOICE

Rev. Paul Wrightman

(The underlining simply indicates what I would emphasize if delivered orally.)

If you’re like me, hope has often been rather elusive, especially in times like these when we’re simultaneously in the midst of a pandemic, experiencing political turmoil, and facing financial uncertainty, not to mention the constant litany of dire news concerning climate change. ​​ I’ve noticed that the more desperate I get​​ in my search for hope, the more hope seems to go into hiding. ​​ We certainly cannot force hope to become a vital part of our lives, but we can at least set the stage so that hope will have a place to play if we can coax it into taking up residence in our lives. ​​ This sermon will explore several ways of setting the stage for hope.

My feeling response of late to the brokenness of our world has been to repeat to myself over and over again these words from the prophet Isaiah: ​​ “O that you would tear open the heavens and come down (Isaiah 64:1a)!”

When I’m feeling hopeless and finally decide to do something to move on, one of the first things that I do is to think about people who had it a lot worse than me. ​​ The worst possible situation I can think of is being condemned to one of the Nazi death camps in World War II. ​​ To me, this has long represented the epitome of hopelessness. ​​ You can imagine my surprise, then, when I stumbled upon the following:

“At the university there was a piano teacher who was simply and affectionately known as ‘Herman.’ ​​​​ One night at a university concert, a distinguished piano player suddenly became ill while performing an extremely difficult piece.

No sooner had the artist retired from the stage when Herman rose from his seat in the audience, walked onstage, sat down at the piano, and with great mastery completed the performance.

Later that evening, at a party, one of the students asked Herman how he was able to perform such a demanding piece so beautifully without notice and with no rehearsal.

He replied: ‘In 1939, when I was a budding young concert pianist, I was arrested and placed in a Nazi concentration camp. ​​ Putting it mildly, the future looked bleak. ​​ 

But I knew that in order to keep the flicker of hope alive that I might someday play again, I needed to practice every day. ​​ I began by fingering a piece from my repertoire on my bare board bed late one night. ​​ The next night I added a second piece and soon I was running through my entire repertoire. ​​ I did this every night for five years.

It so happens that the piece I played tonight was part of that repertoire. ​​ That constant​​ practice​​ is what kept my hope alive. ​​ Every day I​​ renewed​​ my hope that I would one day be able to play my music again on a real piano, and in freedom.”

I learned a lot from this story. ​​ 

I did a thought​​ experiment and put myself in a similar situation. ​​ I realized that even in this impossible position I still had​​ more​​ choices than simply to give up and die. ​​ Like Herman, I​​ could​​ choose to practice my vocation every day.

Putting myself in his place, I got a glimpse of the courage and determination that his daily practice embodied. ​​ It was Herman’s was of choosing to remain true to himself no matter what circumstances he was in.

By extension – since he acknowledged God as the giver of the gift of being an accomplished pianist – practicing every day was also Herman’s way of choosing to remain true to God no matter what circumstances he was in.

In choosing to exercise his God-given musical gift in a place where God was seemingly absent, Herman was doing something parallel to the prophet Habakkuk in one of today’s Scripture readings.

The hopeless situation for Habakkuk was living during the time of Jerusalem’s destruction by the Babylonians. ​​ There was no shelter, no food, no nation, and, one would think, no hope.

Yet​​ in​​ spite​​ of​​ the hopelessness of his and his people’s circumstances, the prophet Habakkuk chooses to​​ insist​​ on hope:

   Though the fig tree does not bud

    ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​​​ and there are no grapes on the vines,

   though the olive crop fails

    ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​​​ and the fields produce no food,

   though there are no sheep in the pen

    ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​​​ and no cattle in the stalls,

   yet​​ I​​ will​​ rejoice in the Lord,

    ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​​​ I​​ will​​ be joyful in God my Savior.

What Herman’s illustration teaches me is that​​ hope​​ is​​ a​​ choice.

Herman​​ could​​ have chosen​​ despair​​ and given up.

Instead, he chose​​ hope​​ and kept going.

In choosing hope instead of despair, Herman was choosing to remain true to his own humanity. ​​ 

At the same time, he was also choosing to remain true to his relationship with God in spite of the fact that it probably would have been easier to reject God for apparently abandoning him.

One gets the distinct impression that even if Herman had​​ not​​ made it out of the concentration camp alive, his choice to practice his music every day would have enabled him to meet his death with his humanity and his relationship with God intact.

Another significant thing that I learned from Herman’s concert hall illustration is that hope has to be​​ practiced​​ on a​​ daily​​ basis. ​​ Hope without​​ practice goes into​​ hibernation, and eventually​​ dies.

To summarize, the first two dimensions of finding and keeping hope are the realities that hope is a choice and that this choice needs to be made every day.

Another thing I’ve noticed about the search for hope in my own life is that one of the best antidotes to feeling that one is drowning in discouragement and hopelessness is to reengage with others. ​​ A beautiful example of this dynamic is from​​ Guideposts​​ editor John Sherrill, who writes:

“I lay​​ in a hospital bed, disconsolate and more than a little bored. ​​ Doctors said I would be there for ten days while they tried to diagnose my abdominal pain. ​​ The discomfort was mostly gone now, and I was more than ready to go home.

At 4:00 AM I was roused by a nurse checking my temperature and blood pressure. ​​ Unable to get back to sleep, I decided to take a walk. ​​ So, tethered to an IV pole, I made my way along the deserted corridor, my aluminum caddy rattling beside me on its tiny wheels, my Birkenstock sandals flopping on the tile floor.

At the nurses’ desk was a young woman at her computer. ​​ On my earlier walks she had not even glanced up, but now she turned off the screen and smiled. ​​ “Here comes the man in the Jesus shoes,” she said. ​​ I laughed for the first time in days. ​​ “Jesus shoes?”

“That’s my husband’s name for Birkenstocks,” she explained. ​​ I looked down at the sturdy brown sandals with the broad bands of leather across my feet; indeed they did look like the shoes you see in paintings of Jesus and the Disciples.

We talked for a few minutes. ​​ She told me she had been working fourteen hours nonstop: ​​ She and her husband both worked overtime just to make ends meet. ​​ Feeling less sorry for myself, I resumed my walk. ​​ With my sandals clomping along beneath me I wondered if I could turn the long days in the hospital into a unique experience . . . unobtrusively walk in Jesus’ footsteps while my own life got back to normal.

From that day on, I walked the halls of Northern Westchester Hospital in a different mood. ​​ Most of the time I did not talk about God or pray aloud with people, but I always prayed silently. ​​ And I listened with new attentiveness. ​​ It was astonishing how often doctors and nurses, other patients, visitors, volunteers and cleaning staff would bring up personal matters as I walked in my Jesus shoes. ​​ 

Of course, the difference was interior. ​​ Instead of focusing on my own woes, I became concerned – like Jesus – with other people. ​​ Today, long after the doctors released me from the hospital with nothing more than a change in diet, I still think of those sandals as my Jesus shoes. ​​ When I’m feeling sorry for myself I put them on, even if only in my imagination, recalling the night a young woman at a computer console looked up and said, “Here comes the man in the Jesus shoes.”

John Sherrill stumbled upon a highly effective way to beat his boredom and discouragement: ​​ reach out to others. ​​ 

C. S. Lewis, aware of a self-destructive dynamic in himself where he would give in to his feelings and cease even attempting to pray simply because he didn’t feel like praying, maintains that precisely when one​​ feels​​ like praying the​​ least, that’s when one​​ needs​​ to pray the​​ most. ​​ He makes a big deal about the​​ importance of choosing​​ not​​ to be controlled by one’s negative feelings.

For many of us, deep feelings of generalized discouragement lead to our​​ distancing​​ ourselves from other people and from God. ​​ Riffing off Lewis’ insight about our most needing to pray when we feel least like doing it, we can say that the same challenge applies to reaching out to others: ​​ when we least feel like connecting with others, that’s precisely when we need to do it most. ​​ 

Many writers who specialize in practical spirituality would say that a wonderful side-effect of praying and reaching out to others in spite of our feelings screaming at us not to,​​ is this:​​ our discouragement mysteriously fades and our hope is mysteriously restored. ​​ 

It seems that on our own, left to our own devices, we are not that good at overcoming dejection and renewing hope. ​​ It seems that a conscious choice to transcend ourselves by praying or by reaching out to others is what it takes to break the spell of discouragement.

Thus far we have looked at three ways of setting the stage to allow more hope to enter our lives: ​​ 

First, to realize that hope is a choice.

Second, that hope is a choice that needs to be made daily.

Third, reaching out to others is an effective way to subvert our own dejection and allow more hope to sneak into our lives.

A fourth way of encouraging more hope in our lives would be to listen to hopeful music. ​​ Musical tastes, of course, are highly subjective. ​​ But I think we all know certain pieces of music that can literally lift us out of ourselves and land us in a place of deep contentment if not downright joy.​​ 

One of the mysterious and wonderful things about music is its ability to​​ remind​​ us, to​​ reconnect​​ us, to transcendent realities like faith, hope, and love that would be easy to lose sight of given the urgency of our personal problems and the problems of our world.

Many of the great classical composers – Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, and Mahler to name a few – talk about their compositions​​ already​​ existing in the universe of music, and how it was their good fortune to be able to​​ discover​​ their greatest compositions in this parallel, but connecting, musical universe.

This echoes the reports of a good number of physicists, who write about their major discoveries being handed to them in dreams. ​​ It’s almost as if there’s a dimension of truth, beauty, and goodness that is at the same time​​ part​​ of this world, but also​​ beyond​​ it.

I’m always surprised at the surprisingly large number of composers and scientists who credit their work, ultimately, to the inspiration of God’s Spirit.

This leads us to the question: ​​ Where does hope come from?

And I think the answer to this question, like the answer to the questions​​ Where does music come from?​​ and​​ Where does mathematics come from?​​ would be that these transcendent realities come from​​ God’s​​ dimension, which is​​ part​​ of this world, but also​​ beyond​​ it.

After all, the exclamation​​ O that you would tear open the heavens and come down!​​ Presupposes that there is an additional dimension out there for God to come “down” from.

I think this is why the appearance of hope in a hopeless situation appears to come from a place​​ outside​​ of,​​ apart​​ from, the hopeless situation itself.

This is the revolutionary revelation of naming Jesus​​ Emmanuel, which means “God with us,” or “God​​ is​​ with us.” ​​ Jesus as human person is​​ part​​ of this world. ​​ Jesus as God is at the same time​​ beyond​​ this world.

Scripture’s response to the deepest yearning of our hearts: ​​ O that you would tear open the heavens and come down!​​ is that God​​ has​​ torn open the heavens and​​ has​​ come down!

Sometimes we need to be​​ reminded​​ of this; sometimes​​ I​​ need to be reminded of this.

So when I allow myself to get dragged down by the pandemic, by the dysfunctional politics of our country, by climate change, by the out-of-control selfishness on the part of so many, I remind myself of something even deeper: ​​ God’s​​ love.

St. Paul says it well:

   For I am convinced that neither death, nor​​ 

   life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present,

   nor things to come, nor powers, nor height,

   nor depth, nor anything else in all creation,

   will be able to separate us from the love of​​ 

   God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

   (Romans 8:38-39)

Theologian Timothy George also says it well:

“When I was a student at divinity school, I learned preaching from Dr. Gardner Taylor, a pastor in New York City. ​​ I’ll never forget those lectures.

I remember him telling a story from when he was preaching in Louisiana in the great depression. ​​ Electricity was just coming into that part of the country, and he was out in a rural, black church that had just one little lightbulb hanging down from the ceiling to light up the whole sanctuary.

He was preaching away, and in the middle of his sermon, the electricity went out. ​​ The building went pitch-black, and Dr. Taylor didn’t know what to say, being a young preacher.

He stumbled around until one of the elderly deacons sitting in the back of the church cried out, ‘Preach on, preacher! ​​ We can still see Jesus in the dark.’

Sometimes that’s the only time we​​ can​​ see him – in the dark.

And the good news of the Gospel is that whether or not​​ we​​ can see​​ him​​ in the dark,

he​​ can see​​ us​​ in the dark.”

Amen.

CLOSING PRAYER  ​​ ​​ ​​​​ Alison Pepper, Contemporary

Lord of my darkest place:

Let in your light.

Lord of my greatest fear:

Let in your peace.

Lord of my most bitter regret:

Let in your word of grace.

Lord of my oldest grudge:

Let in your forgiveness.

Lord of my deepest anger:

Help me to let it out,

but without violence.

Lord of my loneliest moment:

Let in your presence.

Lord of my truest self –

Let in your wholeness.

Amen.

SUGGESTED MUSIC:  ​​ ​​​​ “My Life is in Your Hands” ​​ 

sung by the Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir in HD  ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​​​ Matthew Grant  ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​​​ You Tube

BENEDICTION

Patiently and persistently, God loves.

Relentlessly and unconditionally, God loves.

Now and forever, God loves.

AMEN.