A sermon preached at St. George’s Anglican Church Calgary, by the Rev. Clara King, July 22, 2018.
Proper 16 – Year B
Ephesians 2:11-22
Mark 6:30-34, 53-56
May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts, be always acceptable in Your sight, O Lord our Strength and our Redeemer. Amen.
What is this reading about, I kept asking myself, trying to do my sermon preparation for today: where is the plot? where is the punchline? where is the dramatic action?
Most often our gospel readings are scenes from stories, or parables or dramatic interchanges between characters that we can relate to – but in this reading from today, those features are notably absent.
Yes, Jesus does invite the disciples off on a little retreat, but even that plotline goes awry when an anonymous crowd of townsfolk and villagers seek Jesus out and he has compassion on them and “teaches them many things”. But what things are these that he teaches them? Alas the story does not say.
It is at times like this that our lectionary makes the life of a preacher difficult, because there is a very, very big plot point coming up right after this, and we’re all very excited to get to it as soon as possible, but it is not time yet. Because just now, just before it happens we have this text, this little, in between text, which prepares us to go from the big thing that just happened – the sending out of the disciples and the flashback to the death of John the Baptist – and the next big thing, which is going to be very big indeed! This text is the preparation. So… what does this all mean?
Well, let me tell you a little story. Some time ago, I had the pleasure of driving down to a barn just west of Spruce Meadows, to watch a young friend’s English riding lesson. It was the first time I’d seen her ride, and she’s got lovely style: a light steady hand on her horse, good balance and posture, and excellent timing – all important skills for an english rider looking to be competitive as a show jumper.
The trainer had them jump over a jump, then carry on around the end of the arena in a big wide turn, and jump over the same jump the other way. It was a beautifully simple exercise - and incredibly challenging.
The horses all got excited after the first jump, as they headed into the corner, looking forward to the charge to the second jump: left to their own devices they were charging ahead, cutting the corner, running out of balance, heads up, barreling on forward, thinking of nothing except the second jump. And many of them hit the second jump a complete mess: short or long distances, out of balance, twisted, coming at the jump all crooked – all chaotic.
The trick of the exercise was to quiet them down, and get them focused, so that each stride was measured and calm; so that the rhythm of horse and rider was balanced and smooth, so they could push into the corner, make a nice deep turn, stay clear and organized, come straight at the jump, and keep the pace steady. Then their distance would be perfect and the jump smooth and horse and rider calm and collected on the other side.
But here’s the beautiful thing: the horses were fixated on the jumps; but the corner was the important part. Everything important between the horse and the rider happened in the corner, in the in between time between the two jumps, when every stride counted. Balance, rhythm, pace, focus on the present stride, on every foot fall, on every breath, and then one, two, three, and over the jump the second time.
And it was beautiful to watch this meditation in motion have its effect on the horses and the riders.
Today’s reading is like a Gospel version of this riding lesson: here we are in the corner, rebalancing before we move ahead to the next big event.
Here are Jesus and his followers, visiting and teaching a growing crowd, before whatever it is that’s going to happen next, not focusing on then, but present, now to who they are, and what they’re going through: Jesus has compassion on the unexpected crowd, because he found them like sheep without a shepherd – not what he’d expected to find in his “deserted place,” but he stays attentive to what’s right in front of him, right now, and he begins to teach them many things.
The in-between time is a tricky place to stay focused: not to skip ahead, not to anticipate what comes next, but just to be here, wherever we find ourselves, just here, before it comes.
For some of us, this is a between-time kind of season, between the end of school and the start up again in September, for others its an in-between kind of time for a different reason: between having a test and getting the results, or between a diagnosis, and now waiting for surgery; some are between jobs, or their resumes are out there for consideration and they’re waiting anxiously for a call back about a better opportunity.
Some are waiting for news: news of a loved one making travel plans, news of a loved one getting into long-term care, news of an opportunity or a long-awaited invitation.
And perhaps some are waiting for forgiveness, or courage, or grace; and some are waiting for mercy, or waiting for love.
We seem to focus so intensely on the big things in life: big milestones, big turning points, big family holidays, big breaks – but so much of our lives - so much more of our lives - is spent in the in-between times, in the corner, as we’re rebalancing after the last big thing, and the next thing is not yet in front of us.
We focus so much of our energy on the jumps, but we live our lives mostly in the corners, in the in-between times – that’s where most of the most important stuff happens.
Most of our ability to handle the big stuff, is formed by how we spend our in-between times: how we treat ourselves on a daily basis, how we eat and how we sleep, how we handle the stresses of ordinary everyday living, how we ordinarily treat the people around us, how we ordinarily give thanks for whatever it is that makes our life good, how we ordinarily practice forgiveness – for ourselves and for others.
In the ordinary times, the moments of our lives that are the least special, the least attention-grabbing – the moments which are the least of all moments: that is where we build the fabric of our lives.
Have you heard this thing that if you want to master any particular skill, like playing the guitar, you need to spend 10,000 hours practicing? Well, think of all the ordinary things we spend thousands of hours practicing, like driving, or shopping for groceries or riding the bus. Thousands of hours spent in the tiniest moments of our lives, where we’re inadvertently practicing and making perfect exactly what kind of lives we’re going to lead, exactly what kind of people we’re going to become.
So what kind of people are we practicing becoming? What kind of lives are we perfecting? For it's the way we handle all of that stuff, all the ordinary everyday stuff, that trains us to handle the big stuff when it comes, whatever it may be.
So here we are, in the in-between time. Whatever big thing you’ve just lived through, or whatever big thing you’re anticipating in the future – or perhaps you’re in the middle of a big thing right now: may God give you peace in the present moment.
May God calm your mind, and give you this time now as a sacred gift: that in every moment you remember: balance, rhythm, pace, focus on the present stride, on every foot fall, on every breath, and then one, two, three – let it come what may. Amen.