Pisgah United Methodist Church
Sunday, May 20, 2012
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Tender MerciesFebruary 5, 2012 6th Sunday of Epiphany
Psalm 146, 2 Corinthians 1: 3-7, Luke 15: 11-24
Winter Gifts: A Sermon Series
Tender Mercies
Today is the last sermon in our winter sermon series called Winter Gifts. The season after Christmas can sometimes be a letdown for us spiritually, so we have looked at the ongoing gifts that God gives to us all through the year. We have seen how God created us to be beings who worship; giving us the gift of Blessed Adoration, so that we worship that which is most important to us.
We also looked at the constant gift of the human community, and most particularly those whom we call our immediate family, the friends and members of Pisgah United Methodist Church. Last week we uncovered the never ending gift of shackle-free living; that grace of God that allows us to live beyond the chains and shackles that this world places upon us, and we sometimes place upon ourselves.
The last installment of our sermon series is called Tender Mercies. In 1983, Robert Duvall won an Oscar for his role as Mac Sledge in a movie by the same name. The character Mac Sledge was a down and out drifter and drunkard until he met a lonely widow and her son in the barren flatlands of a rustic Texas town. The film is the story of grace mediated by a multitude of tender mercies.
Grace is a word that we use quite a bit. In the ancient language the word used for grace is charis, which carried and has been translated with many meanings: favor, charm, pleasure, joy, and merciful kindness to name a few. It is interesting that though Jesus was said to be full of grace and truth, I could not find any instance where Jesus, himself used the word.
We english speakers use the word in various ways as well. We say “grace” before our meals. Musician to enliven musical pieces will add “grace notes,” notes and flourishes not written into the music. Bill collectors will give a “grace period” before tacking on a late charge to an account. The adding of an additional magazine to a year-long subscription is called “gracing.” Grace is apparently getting more. More than we need, more than we deserve, more than we pay for.
Philip Yancy, in his book What’s So Amazing About Grace?, speaks about grace in some profound ways. I have been reading his book this week, and it has reminded me about how truly amazing the grace of God is as well as the ways we as Christians show each other grace and some ways we don’t. I highly recommend his book to you. Yancey calls grace, “our last best word,” which is good news because he says that grace is the reason “any person goes to church; out of our hunger for grace.”[1]
I placed this big gift on the altar today to remind us of grace. The unmerited favor of God, the love of God that comes to us free of charge, no strings attached! The story is told that a British conference of comparative religions was held and experts from around the world debated what, if any, belief was unique to the Christian faith.
They began to eliminate the possibilities…Incarnation? no other religious have variations on gods appearing in human form. Resurrection? Other religions have that as well. The scholars debated, when C.S. Lewis wandered into the room to ask what all the furor was about. They explained the question that was stumping them. What unique contribution does the Christian religion have among world religions? “That’s easy,” Lewis responded. “It’s grace.”[2]
Even though Jesus did not use the word grace per se, he did often talk about grace in the parables and stories he told. We have one such story in our gospel lesson today. You may know the story as, “The Prodigal Son.” Today I would rather us entitle the story, “The Graceful Father.”
You have probably heard this story many times, so today let me take the liberty of placing the parable into a current day context:
A young girl grows up on the Cherry Orchard just above Traverse City Michigan. Her parents, a bit old-fashioned, tend to overreact to her nose ring, the music she listens to, the length of her skirts and the skimpiness of her shirts. Over and over she's grounded, and each time her anger builds. “I hate you!” She screams at her father when he knocks at the door of her room after an argument, and that night she acts on a plan she has mentally rehearsed numerous times. She runs away.
She has visited Detroit only once before, on a bus trip with her church youth group to watch the Tigers play. Because newspapers in Traverse City report in lurid detail the gangs, the drugs, and the violence in downtown Detroit, she concludes that it is probably the last place her parents will look for her.
Her second day there she meets a man who drives the biggest car she's ever seen. He offers her a ride, buys her lunch, and arranges a place for her to stay. He gives her some pills that make her feel better than she's ever felt before. She was right all along, she decides: her parents were keeping her from all the fun she could have.
The good life continues for a month, two months, a year. The man with the big car-- she calls him, “Boss,”-- teaches her how to make money on the street. She lives in the penthouse, and orders room service whenever she wants. Occasionally she thinks about the folks back home, but their lives now seems so boring and provincial that she can hardly believe she grew up there.
She has a brief scare when she sees her picture printed on the back of the milk carton with the headline “Have you seen this child?” But by now she has blonde hair, and with all the makeup and body piercing jewelry she wears, nobody would mistake her for child. Besides, most of her friends are runaways, and nobody squeals in Detroit.
After the first year she begins to show signs of illness, and she is amazed at how fast the boss turns mean. Suddenly, she's out on the street, alone, trying to support her habit, sleeping on the metal grates outside of the big department stores. She is hungry, and no longer feels like a woman of the world. But rather, she feels like a little girl, lost in a cold and frightening city.
As she tries to sleep through the cold night, her mind reals with the images of spring in Traverse City, when one million Cherry trees bloom at once, and she is playing with her beautiful golden retriever, Lady. Her tears begin when she realizes how much she misses home.
God, why did I leave, she says to herself. My dog back home each better than I do now. She's sobbing, and she knows more than anything else in the world she wants to go home.
Three straight phone calls, three straight connections with the answering machine. She hangs up without leaving a message the first two times, but the third time she says, “Dad, Mom, it’s me. I was wondering about maybe coming home. I'm catching a bus up your way, and it'll get there about midnight tomorrow. If you're not there, well, I guess I'll just stay on the bus until it hits Canada.”
It takes about seven hours for a bus to make all the stops between Detroit and Traverse City, and during that time she realizes the flaws in her plan. What if her parents are out of town and missed the message? She should have waited another day or so until she could talk directly to them. And even if they are home, they probably have written her off as dead long ago.
Her thoughts bounce back and forth between those worries and the speech she is preparing for her father. “Dad, I'm sorry. I know I was wrong. It's not your fault; it's all mine Dad, can you forgive me?” The closer she gets to Traverse City, the faster her heart pounds.
When the bus finally rolls into the station, its air brakes hissing in protest, the driver announces in a crackly voice over the microphone, “Fifteen minutes folks. That's all we have here.” Fifteen minutes to decide her life. She checks herself in a compact mirror, smoothes her hair and licks the lipstick off of her teeth. She looks at the tobacco stains on her fingertips, and wonders if her parents will notice. If…they are there.
She walks into the terminal not knowing what to expect. Not one of the 10,000 scenes that have played out in her mind prepare her for what she sees. There, in the concrete-walls-and-plastic-chairs bus terminal in Traverse City, Michigan, stands a group of 40 brothers and sisters, great aunts and uncles, cousins, her grandmother and a great-grandmother to boot. They are all wearing goofy party hats and blowing noisemakers, and taped across the entire wall of the terminal is a computer-generated banner that reads “Welcome Home!”
Out of the crowd of well-wishers breaks her dad. She stares out through the tears quivering in her eyes and begins the memorized speech, “Dad, I'm sorry. I know…” He interrupts her. “Hush, child. We've got no time for that. No time for apologies. You'll be late for the party. A banquet’s waiting for you at home.”[3]
Grace is the unmerited favor of God upon us. And God's grace is lavished upon us just because God loves us. God is like this dad, who is waiting for me and you to turn and come home so that God can give us an abundant spirit-filled life.
God’s love and faithfulness never end, and God's tender mercies are new every morning (Lam 3: 21-22). The free gift of God's grace given to us through God's son Jesus, has been showered upon us. It's what I call, the big gift. And it is the gift that continues in the tender mercies God showers upon us every day.
The tender mercies of God are what makes life in the kingdom abundant.
Nature: We see them in times of difficulty. I remember when my sweet Aunt Nib, one of my favorite aunts, passed away. We were heading to the church for her memorial service. It had been a difficult time for all of the family as we over several months had watched the life slowly seep from her frail body. I remember as we topped the hill near the college, a most beautiful double rainbow I’d ever seen was reflecting the light of the sun. It took my breath away, and helped me through saying goodbye during the evening service. The rainbow was God’s tender mercy being extended to me. God was saying to me…I am here.
Children…We hear the tender mercies in the squeals of children’s laughter, in their silly little giggles, and in their serious expressions. I will never forget little Emily Hill, a little girl who was a member of the last church I served, when she entered her newly decorated Sunday school class…”Holy Moly!” I get joy just remembering it. Kids are genuine bears of the tender mercies of God!
More and More…Even when we are already enjoying life…God adds more and more. I remember once I was enjoying a worship conference with the renowned singer Darlene Zschech at the Cove in Black Mountain. Friends and I were have a very, blessed week-end and during some of our down time, ventured down to the Chatlos Memorial chapel.
The four of us had climbed into the chapel loft, where you can sit quietly. The loft overlooked the beautiful interior of the chapel, the chancel area, and a huge grand piano. The place was empty that afternoon, and we sat together praying and praising God quietly up there, just enjoying the blessing of being together with each other and with God.
Someone entered the chapel and walked quietly down the aisle and sat down at the big grand. As the woman looked around, you could tell that she thought she was alone. You couldn’t see us in the loft from where she was. Then she began playing. I just gotta tell you, I have never heard anything like it in my life. The memory of those moments in that chapel is clear evidence to me of God’s tender mercy…even in the abundance that I was experiencing that day, God gave me more.
God’s tender mercies are indeed new every morning. The big grace is the grace that saves us…no matter our sins, our faults, our “dones or our undones.” And God’s tender mercies are those gifts of grace that continue to sustain us, to give us joy throughout our lives.
God’s tender mercies to me are you. Amen.
©2012 Judy H. Eurey
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