The Good Shepherd who takes no Sabbath

Painting by He Qi

I began my sermon today by asking for a moment of silent prayer for the victims of the shootings in Aurora, Colo., and for those caught up in the fighting in Syria.

The lessons for today are 2 Samuel 7:1-14a, Psalm 23, Ephesians 2:11-22 and Mark 6:30-34, 53-56.

Here is my sermon:

+ + +

I believe I can speak for all of us by saying that we could use a day off from the violence, cruelty and tragedy of our world.

Allow me to invite you to find space for that here in this sacred place this morning. Allow me to invite you to find moments for that space in your week.

And allow me to invite you to have a bit of compassion for Jesus, the prince of compassion. It has been a tough week.

In Mark’s gospel today, he cannot catch a day off.

He tries to go on a short summer break to the lake, and takes his friends and family with him.

“Come away,” he says, “to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest awhile.”

So they get in a boat and go.

I wish the gospel lesson ended right there. If we were only to read the first part of the lesson, it would be a perfect permission-giving lesson for going on vacation.

But life intrudes. The crowds catch up to him, and before he knows it, sick people are begging for his compassionate touch.

We get both parts of this section of Mark’s gospel, and what is edited out of the middle, apparently in the interest of brevity for summer worship services, is the story of the feeding of the thousands.

Jesus and his disciples are doing a lot of heavy lifting when all they want to do is rest awhile at the lake.

You might say that this lesson represents a collision of the spiritual ideal and the reality of the world.

As your priest and pastor, I want you to pray, to make it a regular practice each day to set aside time for personal prayer and silence.

I would like you to read your Bible, read good books, think deep thoughts, enjoy a great meal, go on retreats, go to the lake, and, of course, come to church more often.

We do need rest – Sabbath time – to renew our bodies and soul. Slow down, take a break, keep life simple.

But I also know that life intrudes. There are kids to feed, the in-laws to visit, jobs that are demanding and require you to go in on your day off, even on a Sunday.

And the cruelty of the world does not take a day off. Not in the time of Jesus, and certainly not in our own time.

Life is complicated and it is often hard to find the time to feed our souls. Even Jesus, the prince of compassion, still had to work when all he wanted was a nap. He does what he must do.

Many come, and he is their shepherd, and not just the shepherd for his circle of disciples, but for the many. So he goes to those who are sick and hurting and in need.

He loves them all no matter who they are or where they come from. He does check their baptismal certificate or anything else. He goes.

Sometimes we, too, are confronted with moments when our compassion is tested, and sometimes we don’t get a chance to catch our breath. The call comes in the night and we go.

We do what we must do.

Summer is a time for a break and rest, and I earnestly hope you find that time. But I also know that real life intrudes – the terrible shootings in Colorado a few days ago, the fighting in Afghanistan and Syria, and people in our congregation who are in the hospital, or struggling with addiction, or who are out of work.

Real life takes no Sabbath, and the Sabbath does not always come when we need it most.

There are times when we need the Good Shepherd, and times when we are called to be the hands and feet of the Good Shepherd. We might be the one to give someone a meal, or a smile, or a sympathetic ear.

Sometimes all we can do is pray, and know that will be enough.

And I hope we will hold onto this:

The God of Grace, the good shepherd of all the sheep of this world, will be there to hold us, and love us, and carry us through.

That is the simple truth of this gospel, and the simple truth to hold close especially when life is most difficult or most perplexing.

My prayer and hope is that you will find those moments to pray, to recharge, to renew.

And when you find that moment, I pray you will have a renewed sense of the presence of the One who gives himself for us, and who will be there with us always.

The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.


He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul; he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his Name's sake.


Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.


Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; thou annointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.


Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever. 

AMEN

By James Richardson, St. Paul's Memorial Church, Fiat Lux

Walking the Sunken Road and the Killing Fields

The Sunken Road, photo by Lori Korleski Richardson

FREDERICKSBURG, Virginia – Every age, it seems, glorifies war, and every age needs to be reminded of the Sunken Road.

Here in December 1862, the Union Army attacked the Confederate forces led by Robert E. Lee. The federal soldiers crossed the Rappahannock River, and took the town of Fredericksburg. But when the Union soldiers charged up Marye’s Heights, on the western side of town, they were met with ferocious fire from rebels entrenched on a road behind a stone wall.

This killing field became known as the Sunken Road.

The total killed or wounded at the Battle of Fredericksburg: 18,000 on both sides in four short days. The Union casualties just at the Sunken Road was 7,000 dead and wounded. The bodies were piled deep, the blood soaked the ground, and most were ever after identified with a number on a stone grave marker.

Sunken Road, photographed 1863

On Friday, Lori and I walked the Sunken Road, and we spent the day exploring the battlefields around Fredericksburg.

Since moving to Virginia four years ago, we’ve been to Harper’s Ferry, Appomattox Courthouse, Chancellorsville, Spotsylvania, Gettysburg, and now Fredericksburg.

During the course of war, there were four major battles near Fredericksburg, and by war’s end 105,000 soldiers were killed or wounded in the immediate vicinity.

In each of these places, I am continually struck by how small these battlefields are. Huge armies crashed into each other in very confined spaces. The Napoleonic tactics of an earlier age met the industrialized warfare of a later age, and the results were lethal on an enormous scale.

As we walked the Sunken Road, Lori remarked that the Civil War was “a personal war.” Unlike wars of our age, with airplanes, missiles and drones, those who fought the Civil War saw who they were killing. They could see each other’s faces when they pulled the trigger; they often fought hand-to-hand with knives, rifle butts, and even rocks. They watched each other bleed to death. It was a personal war. “That’s why we’ve never gotten over this war,” Lori observed.

Sgt. Richard Kirkland

Each of these battlefields has stories of great courage and cowardice, bravery and dumb luck, and stories of cruelty and stories of mercy. Here at Fredericksburg, a 19-year-old Confederate soldier, Sgt. Richard Kirkland of South Carolina, left the protection of the Sunken Road and took water down to the wounded Union soldiers as they lay dying. Both sides stopped shooting to let him pass. Kirkland became known as the “Angel of Marye’s Heights” and he was killed in a subsequent battle. The only large monument dedicated to a soldier of either side at the Sunken Road is to Kirkland.

It was a very personal war.

Later in the day, we crossed the Rappahannock River and went to Chatham Manor, a huge slave plantation that became a hospital for the Union wounded. By the end of the battle, the walls and floors of Chatham Manor were covered in blood, and amputated limbs were stacked outside. The plantation never recovered as a plantation.

I was born during the Korean War, grew up during the Vietnam War, and I’ve lived through our conflicts in Iraq and Afghanistan. Even though these wars are broadcast instantly into our living rooms via television, ironically warfare has become more impersonal. It is fought from command centers thousands feet in the air, directed by generals and presidents halfway around the globe in “situation rooms.”

Confederate cannon, Marye's Heights

We don’t see the carnage directly. We have a “volunteer” military, and no one is drafted from our households to fight these wars. Less than 1 percent of the American population serves in the military. We don’t see the personal cost unless we go out of our way to see it, or unless it comes unwanted to our own doorstep when someone we know is wounded or killed.

Once again we have political leaders who are pushing us toward another war, this time with Iran. They talk of “preventative war” and “red lines” that Iran may not cross. We do well to remember that wars never turn out the way their architects promise, even when those wars seem unavoidable, and even when a war, like the Civil War, is fought for the highest of principles.

We do well to walk the Sunken Road now and again.

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.”
– Psalm 23:4, appointed for this evening