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12:08
East of Bucharest. It’s the early
21st century in Romania, in a small town East of Bucharest, the
capitol of Rumania. Jderescu, a
Romanian public affairs television series host is eager to produce a show about
the 1989 overthrow of the Communist regime, and how it impacted their town.
Jderescu has invited two men from the town to honor the day of the
Revolution of 1989. Two men who are
both known to the citizens of the town East of Bucharest come to the television
studio. Awkwardly, they sit on
either side of the host, who begins his program.
The man on his left – well-known in the town as being drunk most of the
time – is the first to tell his memories of the Day of the Revolution.
Soon, calls begin to come in to the host.
The show’s call-in viewers have widely dissenting opinions about what
actually took place 16 years ago in the streets of their town.
The man who has told his account vehemently disputes each of their
claims. He dominates the show
for some time.
Finally,
when Jderescu is aware that he has lost total control of his speaker and
of his television show, he hesitantly asks the elderly man on his right to
recount his memories of that day in 1989.
The
man’s account is completely different from the first account.
He
remembers the day of the Revolution very well.
He was still working at that time, so he knows the exact time he got up
that morning. The day before, he and
his wife – who is now dead – had argued.
Remorseful, he goes out early to buy her flowers as a way to apologize
for his part in the argument. As he
tells the story, he sadly reflects that perhaps her death was caused by the
years they had argued, and he is remorseful for his part.
He vividly recalls returning to their home that day of the Revolution
with the flowers he has brought to his wife.
He presents the flowers to her. He
can tell she is pleased, although she does not let him know.
Instead, he looks into the mirror over the fireplace and sees her
reflection there, smiling, the smile she is not ready to have him see.
As he remembers, he cries.
Jderescu,
completely uncomfortable with the way his television show has unfolded today,
quickly closes the show.
Tears
or vehemence? Weak or strong?
Military defence or peace talks? Weak
or strong? Love or fear?
Weak or strong? Putting up a
fight or surrendering? Weak or
strong?
This
summer I am continuing to preach from the New Common Lectionary.
St. Paul’s letters figure in the chosen texts.
This passage from 2 Corinthians begins with St. Paul strongly defending
himself and the work he has done to start the church at Corinth.
Like the Christian Church in all times of history, the Church at Corinth
was filled with controversy. After
Paul had spent at least 1 ½ years at Corinth – a Roman city with Greek
history –bringing the message of the Risen Christ to the people – he had
left to continue his missionary work. Through
his correspondence with members of the Church, he has learned that detractors
who disagree with the Gospel message have been threatening to tear the church
down. That’s the historical
background of this letter.
2
Corinthians chapter 12 is an interesting fragment of the text, because it lays
out St. Paul’s argument clearly and concisely.
He goes from vehemence to a testimony of God’s grace.
From strength to weakness. From
a defense of the work he has done among the citizens of Corinth and the newly
baptized Christians in community there to a display of the love God has shown
him. From an intellectual argument
to a heart-felt display.
Weak
or strong? Strong or weak?
First,
St. Paul boasts about the spiritual experiences he has had.
Boasting in our accomplishments is something we all do as human beings.
Weak or strong? It certainly
sounds strong, and it’s something we are accustomed to.
Kim Jong-Il, President of the Stalinist State of North Korea, for
example, likes to display this kind of boasting strength.
We are all familiar with this boasting strength, in our homes, in our
businesses, in our leaders, in our politics.
Then,
Paul begins to speak in a different way. “I
will boast about a man like that, but I will not boast about myself, except
about my weaknesses.” How often do
we boast about our weaknesses? Not
in the world, we don’t! Not when
we want to make a good impression, we don’t!
Not when we think we have it all together, we don’t!
We
boast about our weaknesses when we have surrendered to a greater Power than
ourselves. That’s what St. Paul
writes about in the second part of this passage.
“Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take the thorn in the flesh
away from me…” When do we plead
with God? When does the world plead
with God? When do our leaders plead
with God?
“God,
I can’t take this anymore!” Weak
or strong? Weak or strong?
Finally,
Paul writes about God’s grace. He
writes that after he has pleaded with God to take the thorn in the flesh away
from him, he receives an answer: “My
grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”
God’s grace. That’s all
there is, ultimately. Nothing we can
do or nothing we are is perfect or good or right without God’s grace.
God’s grace – God’s complete, life-giving, all-sufficient love is
all that is strong.
I
close with this story, from the great novel of the 20th century, Cry
the Beloved Country, by Alan
Paton.
Msimangu
is warm, generous, and humble young minister in Sophiatown. He guides both
Kumalo – looking for his son -and us through Johannesburg, explaining the
political and socioeconomic difficulties that the black population faces and
providing shrewd commentary on both blacks and whites. He assists Kumalo with
great sensitivity, working to spare him pain when he can and arranging time for
him to rest. In general, he makes Kumalo's time in Johannesburg bearable.
Of
all the characters in the novel, Msimangu has the clearest understanding of
South Africa's injustices, and to these injustices he has a response: love.
According to Msimangu, white South Africans oppress the blacks because they fear
their numbers and their power. Msimangu believes that only selfless love can
counter this fear. Kumulo, the
man looking for his son in Sophiatown, is moved by the kindness of the young
man.
Kumalo
said humbly, "Maybe you will pray for me."
"I shall do it gladly. My brother, I have of course my work to do, but so
long as you are here, my hands are yours."
"You are kind."
Something in the humble voice must have touched Msimangu, for he said, "I
am not kind. I am a selfish and sinful man, but God put his hands on me, that is
all."
**
Rev.
Mary Elyn Bahlert
July
12, 2009
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