Double Vision

This blog post is based on my sermon from Palm Sunday, April 14, 2019.

When they had come near Jerusalem and had reached Bethphage, at the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two disciples, saying to them, "Go into the village ahead of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied, and a colt with her; untie them and bring them to me. If anyone says anything to you, just say this, 'The Lord needs them.' And he will send them immediately." This took place to fulfill what had been spoken through the prophet, saying, "Tell the daughter of Zion, Look, your king is coming to you, humble and riding on a donkey, and on a colt, the foal of a donkey.? The disciples went and did as Jesus had directed them; they brought the donkey and the colt, and put their cloaks on them, and he sat on them. A very large crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and the others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. The crowds that went ahead of him and that followed were shouting, "Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest heaven!" When he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was in turmoil, asking, "Who is this?" The crowds were saying, "This is the prophet Jesus from Nazareth in Galilee."

--Matthew 21:1-11, New Revised Standard Version

 Each of the four gospels contributes something unique to the story of Palm Sunday.

Mark was probably the first gospel writer to tell the story.

The Gospel of John is the only gospel that mentions the waving of palm branches. In the other gospels, the people cut down nondescript branches and place them on the road. So, you have John to thank for making you hold up the leafy palms and wave them back and forth. Otherwise, we might be celebrating nondescript branches Sunday!

The Gospel of Luke, as we were reminded a moment ago in the Time for the Child, includes the wonderful anecdote of the authorities complaining to Jesus about the noise of the crowd and Jesus responding that if the people were kept silent even the stones would cry out.

The unique thing about Matthew is that Matthew has Jesus riding into Jerusalem on a donkey and a colt. Two animals. The other three gospel writers simply have Jesus riding on top of one animal.

The 14th century Italian artist Pietro Lorenzetti tried to reconcile Matthew's account with the other three gospel writers. He painted the Palm Sunday procession with Jesus riding on top of a donkey while holding onto the reigns of a young colt that walked beside them.

Pietro Lorenzetti (1280-1348), "Entry of Christ into Jerusalem"

Yet if you listen to Matthew's account closely, it actually sounds like Jesus is trying to ride both animals simultaneously. In fact, verse seven explicitly states that Jesus sat on them. Plural.

One time a woman in a Bible study group told me that she used to imagine Jesus riding sidesaddle on the larger animal while using the shorter animal as a footstool.

How ever you might imagine the scene, Matthew wants us to see Jesus riding two animals at once.

Why does Matthew have us seeing double?

To be honest, some scholars think that Matthew may have made a mistake, that Matthew may have mistakenly assumed that the Prophet Zechariah, whom Matthew quotes, made reference to two animals, when in truth only one animal was intended.

Matthew quotes a line from Zechariah 9:9, "Lo, your king comes to you; humble and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey." At first, that might sound like two animals--a donkey and a colt, but in reality Zechariah is employing the Hebrew poetic device of parallelism, in which something is said once and then repeated again for emphasis in a slightly different way (see comments by Thomas G. Long in Matthew, Westminster Bible Companion Series).

If I were to say to you, "Jesus came riding into Denver on a bronco [comma] on a horse," I am only describing one animal. 

Now, in biblical Hebrew there are no punctuation marks; there are no commas. Nonetheless, the structure of the Hebrew poetry itself reveals the parallelism.

So, what happened? Was Matthew absent that day in 9th grade Hebrew school when the poetic device of parallelism was explained?

Did Matthew make a mistake, or did Matthew have his own reasons for making us see double?

New Testament scholar David Garland has suggested that Matthew found hidden meaning in the two words donkey and colt.

The donkey, a coronation animal, may have been symbolic of Jesus' royal status as the Son of David, whereas the more humble colt may have been symbolic of Jesus' servant role (David Garland, as cited by Long, Matthew, Westminster Bible Companion Series).

I'm inclined to agree with David Garland. I think that Matthew wants us to see the symbolism in both animals. I think that Matthew wants us to see double. Matthew wants us to have double vision.

Matthew wants us to see the cheering crowds, but Matthew also wants us to see how the rest of Jerusalem is in turmoil.

Matthew wants us to see on one level how the religious authorities, the Romans, and the evil powers that rule the world are teaming together to take Jesus' life, but Matthew also wants us to see, on an even deeper level, how Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of David, and how the forces of heaven have the upper hand, and how Jesus gives his life freely, no one takes it away (Long, Matthew).

In recent years it has become customary for many churches to celebrate Palm [slash] Passion Sunday, or they might do what we've been doing here at KPC, which is that one year we will emphasize the liturgy of the palms, as we are doing this year, and another year, we might emphasize the liturgy of the passion, as we did last year.

Thirty or more years ago nearly all of our churches would have simply celebrated Palm Sunday, but in the decades since, as it's become apparent that Maundy Thursday and Good Friday services are not that well attended, many voices have suggested that we remember Jesus' Passion on the Sunday before Easter.

Scott Black Johnston, the pastor of the Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church in New York City, argues that many of our attempts to combine Palm Sunday and Passion Sunday in the same worship service don't always work out as well as we intended. He lightheartedly observes that they end up being the liturgical equivalent of the El Camino. Do your remember the El Camino? It was a Chevrolet product that was rolled out around 1965 that was meant to be a combination of a cushy sedan and a pick-up truck. It never sold very well. Those who wanted a sedan bought a sedan, and those who wanted a truck bought a truck (from a sermon by Scott Black Johnston, "Save Us," preached April 5, 2009 on the Day One Radio Network).

Here's the point. We don't have to worry about our awkward attempts to combine Palm Sunday and Passion Sunday because the Gospel-writer Matthew has already combined them for us.

If we put on Matthew's special glasses which enable us to see double, we already see the foreboding of Jesus' Passion in the events of Palm Sunday itself. We can simply focus on Palm Sunday and allow the master storyteller Matthew to do the rest of the work.

Matthew's double vision allows us to see how Jerusalem is the holy city of the Son of David, but it also allows us to see how Jerusalem is the city that kills the prophets and stones those sent to it.

To celebrate Palm Sunday as Matthew celebrates Palm Sunday means that we already anticipate Jesus' Passion and his death on the cross. And we begin to anticipate how Jesus' death will lead to our salvation. To help us understand this, Matthew not only gives us double vision, he also gives us double hearing.

With one ear Matthew wants us to hear the crowds chanting their joyful hosannas, and with the other ear Matthew wants us to hear those hosannas as a cry for help.

Scott Black Johnston points out that, while the precise etymology of the word "hosanna" is uncertain, many scholars believe that the word is likely a combination of two Hebrew words:  yaw-shaw (meaning to save or deliver) and naw (meaning to beseech or pray). So, you might translate the shouts of the crowd as "we beseech to deliver us."

Thus, hosanna sounds like a joyful, celebratory word, but it's also a plea for help. 

"Lord, save us!"

"We beseech you to deliver us!"

Hosanna! 

Lord, save us from shame, from the sinking feeling that we will never measure up or be good enough.

Hosanna! 

Lord, save us from deep disappointment in ourselves.

Hosanna!

Lord, save us from the paralyzing grief that prevents us from moving forward. Help us to hold onto what we need to hold onto, but also help us to let go what we need to let go.

Hosanna!

Lord, save us from our own worst inclinations.

Hosanna!

Lord, save us from debt and financial disaster.

Hosanna!

Lord, save us from loneliness.

In our middle schools and high schools there's a cry of Hosanna!, Lord, save us from Tuesday's math test, but there's also a cry of hosanna, Lord, save us from the bullying, from the pressure to conform, form the school shootings.

Hosanna!

Lord, save us from the addictions over which we have no control.

Hosanna!

Lord, save us from obsessive worry about our children, whether those children still live at home, or whether they've long since been adults trying to make their way in the world.

Hosanna!

Lord, save us from cancer, from ALS, from MS, from Parkinson's, from dementia and decline.

Hosanna!

Lord, save us from cruelty, from the harsh treatment that is often given to immigrants and refugees.

Hosanna!

Lord, save us from the savage inequalities that are tearing apart the fabric of our society.

Hosanna!

Lord, save us from the rancor that makes civil, political discourse seem impossible these days.

Hosanna!

Lord, save us from racism, from sexism, from every --ism that causes us to devalue or fear the other, and help us instead to embrace the beauty of each other's humanity.

Hosanna!

Lord, save us from sin.

Hosanna!

Lord, save us from the hell of feeling ourselves abandoned by God.

What is the thing in your life that is weighing on you most heavily right now?

What is the nature of the unresolved grief that you are carrying within you?

What are you deepest longings for yourself, for your children, for our society, that so far have remain unfulfilled?

Acknowledge those things for a moment.

[Pause]

And now, haveing acknowledged them, let us pray together to God for deliverance, let us shout together: Hosanna! Hosanna! Hosanna!

$3.00 Worth of God

This blog post is based on my sermon from Sunday, April 7, 2019.

When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats, and he will put the sheep at his right hand and the goats at the left. Then the king will say to those at his right hand, 'Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.' Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you? And the king will answer them, 'Truly, I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.'

--Matthew 25:31-40, New Revised Standard Version

 $3.00 Worth of God is a title of a book of meditations published by Wilbur E. Rees. The irony is that the book was published in 1971 and has long since been out-of-print, so when a rare copy does show up in a used bookstore, it retails for about five hundred dollars!

Now, if by some coincidence, this little book were to show up on Rummage Donation Sunday, please tell the donor that while we don't normally accept book donations (other than children's books), that we are willing to make an exception in this case, and then take the book directly to the boutique!

Here's a quotation from the first meditation in the book:

I would like to buy $3.00 worth of God, please, not enough to explode my soul or disturb my sleep, but just enough to equal a warm cup of milk or a snooze in the sunshine. I don't want enough of [God] to make me love a black man or pick beets with a migrant. I want ecstasy, not transformation; I want the warmth of the womb; not a new birth. I want a pound of the Eternal in a paper sack. I would like to buy $3.00 worth of God, please.

It seems to me that Wilbur E. Rees has written perhaps the quintessential mediation on keeping God at arm's length. How different is that from what Jesus said:

I was hungry and you gave me food to eat. I was thirsty and you gave me a drink. I was a stranger and you welcomed me. I was naked and you gave me clothes to wear. I was sick and you took care of me. I was in prison and you visited me. 

Those who hear this are incredulous, and they ask, "Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you a drink? When did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and give you clothes to wear? When did we see you sick or in prison and visit you?

Then Jesus replies: "I assure you that when you have done it for one of the least of these members of my family, you have done it for me."

The original hearers of Matthew's Gospel were those who were well acquainted with being hungry, with being persecuted and thrown in prison, with having little to no resources of their own and having no choice but to rely on the hospitality of strangers. How reassuring it must have been for them to know that all those who had shown kindness and compassion to them would be acknowledged by Jesus as having shown the very same kindness and compassion directly to Jesus. The original hearers of Matthew's Gospel would have recognized themselves in the persons of "the least of these," and they would have taken heart in Jesus' promise of blessing to all those who had given them food when they were hungry, or something to drink when they were thirsty, or clothes to wear when they were without clothing, or who had welcomed them when they were strangers, or who had visited them when they were sick or in prison.

How do we hear these words as followers of Christ nearly two thousand years later, when our own social location is, for the most part, one of privilege and security?

We may hear it as an ethical demand to feed the hungry and welcome the stranger, which it is, but there's a danger in thinking of ourselves as the "haves" while thinking of the "least of these" as the "have nots." We might begin to think of ourselves as regulators of the resources, as the ones who get to decide who is the most deserving of our support.

And where is Christ in all of this?

Jesus Christ is in 100% solidarity with those who are hungry, thirsty, naked, sick, or in prison. If we as followers of Christ want to be where Christ is, then we need to be in solidarity with those who are hungry, thirsty, naked, strangers, immigrants, sick, or in prison.

How can we begin to identify and partner with our fellow human beings, and not simply think of ourselves as the regulators of the resources?

My friend and colleague the Rev. Cari Pattison was an associate pastor at the Reformed Church of Bronxville (New York) for nearly twelve years. She recently left her position to begin thru-hiking the Appalachian Trail. She started out three weeks ago today, on March 17th, at Springer Mountain in Georgia, and she hopes to get to Mount Katahdin in Maine sometime this Fall.

It seems to me that in the three weeks that she's been on the trail that she has posted on social media with much greater frequency than she ever has before, which has been an incredible gift, making it possible for hundreds of people to follow her hike in real time through Facebook, Instagram, and her blog.

In one recent blog post she wrote about hunger:

Hunger is a funny thing. I am sitting on a shuttle out of Winding Stair Gap, riding into Franklin, [North Carolina]. Reeking of the woods, I feel like the homeless woman on the back seat of the bus. I'm surrounded by what seem to be squeaky-clean day hikers.

My stomach rumbles. It is all I can do to sit on my hands to keep from swiftly reaching over the seat to grab their packs and rummage for food. I am quite certain that if there were a garbage can, I would be going through it.

I watch one of the passengers on the bus in front of me, a smiling, 50-something woman. She leans over ad kisses the man she's with, as they affectionately share a PayDay bar.

"I will not take their PayDay," I repeat to myself. "I will not take their PayDay," summoning all powers of restraint.

(just in case you weren't already craving one ...)

They kiss again. "I will not yell or punch them."

I ate my last calories earlier that day--a lone packet of apple cinnamon oatmeal. What's the big deal? I have fasted before. I have dieted and cleansed and done ten-day green-smoothie challenges before. But not while hiking ten to fifteen mountain miles a day with a 30-pound pack on my back.

This kind of hunger is new. This kind of hunger encompasses every muscle, every cell, every bone. This hunger has invaded my brain, giving me violent fantasies of confiscating the woman's fanny pack on the seat in front of me.

My hands and fingernails are caked in dirt, and I put on my sunglasses so I don't have to make conversation or eye contact. My empty belly feels like another character on the bus, yelling at me for not packing enough food. The smell of the woman's peanut bar wafts into my nostrils and I try not to breathe.

She tries to make small talk with me and I cannot concentrate on the words because the peanuts--the peanuts are so loud and taunting and the woman is so clean and kissing and not-hungry and I am trying so hard not to scream.

I have never, ever, felt this famished.

Disclaimer: I have never been truly poor. I have had a largely privileged life.

The bus driver careens around a corner and I make a promise. Never again will I walk through the streets of New York City without carrying an ample supply of protein bars or McDonald's gift cards.

I will never again walk by someone who looks hungry or says she's hungry, and not give her something to eat. 

And here ends my long quotation from her blog post. To read her post in its entirety, please click here.

We who are followers of Jesus Christ are called to identify just this strongly and intensely with those who are hungry, with those who are immigrants, with those who are in prison.

A few longtime members of Katonah Presbyterian Church will remember Helen and Jack George, who helped start the food pantry out of KPC that eventually became the Community Center of Northern Westchester. Helen and Jack were remarkable in that their son was killed as a bystander in a crime, yet they visited their son's killer in prison and forgave him. As Susan Polos describes them, they were incredible examples of love.

Many will also remember Thea and Bailey Jackson, who were very active in prison ministry. Thea, along with Lee Roberts, started the college program at Bedford Hills Correctional Facility.

Jim and Susan Polos recall with fondness the many experiences they've had with the Children's Center, hosting children so that they could visit their mothers at Bedford Hills.

And isn't the best part of our annual Rummage sale the fact that we provide clothing and other essentials at greatly reduced prices to marginalized people in our community?

In many ways we do already embody what it means to be a Matthew 25 church, but we can still grow to be more of a Matthew 25 church.

Last Monday the Presbyterian Mission Agency of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) issued an invitation to each congregation in our denomination to become a Matthew 25 church. An invitation, in the words of Executive Director the Rev. Diane Moffat, to put feet to faith, hands to hope, and legs to love.

You can learn more about this invitation by clicking here.

Congregations are invited to become a part of this Matthew 25 initiative by committing to work toward congregational vitality, dismantling structural racism, and eradicating systemic poverty.

I am eager myself to learn more about this newly announced initiative, but in truth the invitation is nearly two thousand years old. An invitation not merely to distribute resources, but to identify with and walk alongside those who are hungry, thirsty, naked, strangers, sick, or in prison.

And the one issuing the invitation is none other than Jesus Christ.

All glory and praise be to our God. Amen. 

Over Prepare, Then Go with the Flow

(thank you to Sue Kravits for the meme)

This blog post is based on my sermon from March 31, 2019. The title comes from Regina Brett, the author of 45 Lessons Life Taught Me. Number #22 is "Over prepare, then go with the flow." The five "wise" bridesmaids in the parable were certainly over prepared, whereas the five "foolish" bridesmaids were merely adequately prepared. If I were to assign a new title to this sermon, it would be "Don't Grow Weary."

Then the kingdom of heaven will be like this. Ten bridesmaids took their lamps and went to meet the bridegroom. Five of them were foolish, and five were wise. When the foolish took their lamps, they took no oil with them; but the wise took flasks of oil with their lamps. As the bridegroom was delayed, all of them became drowsy and slept. But at midnight there was a shout, 'Look! Here is the bridegroom! Come out to meet him.' Then all those bridesmaids got up and trimmed their lamps. The foolish said to the wise, 'Give us some of your oil, for our lamps are going out.' But the wise replied, 'No, there will not be enough for you and for us; you had better go to the dealers and buy some for yourselves.' And while they went to buy it, the bridegroom came, and those who were ready went with him into the wedding banquet; and the door was shut. Later the other bridesmaids came also, saying, 'Lord, lord, open to us.' But he replied, 'Truly, I tell you, I do not know you.' Keep awake therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour.

--Matthew 25:1-13, New Revised Standard Version

I'd like to begin with an informal survey. Raise your hand if you've ever been to a wedding. Looks like a full house.

Now, raise your hand if you've ever been to an evening wedding. Again, almost everyone here.

Of those of you who went to an evening wedding, how many of you brought a flashlight?

Now, for those of you who did not bring a flashlight--and I do not intend in any way to sound harsh or judgmental--do you think that was wise? Suppose that the wedding had been long delayed and then suddenly there was a massive power outage, and then you would be a wedding guest without a flashlight.

Now, for those of you who did have the foresight to bring along a flashlight, let me ask you another question. Did you bring extra batteries? If not--and again I do not in any way wish to sound harsh or judgmental--do you think that was wise? After all, you have no way of knowing how long the wedding will be delayed or how long it will take before electric power is restored. It would have been prudent to bring along extra batteries.

Some of you may be thinking that you really had no need to bring a flashlight because your smartphone has a flashlight app. Very well, did you remember to bring a charger? And if you did remember to bring a charger, did you check the flashlight app on your phone to make sure it was functioning properly? Sure, those little LED bulbs are meant to last much longer than the life of your phone, but you never know.

We laugh or roll our eyes at such outrageous wedding scenarios, but underlying this parable is a very serious question.

How long are we prepared to wait?

How long are we prepared to wait for healing from a debilitating illness?

How long are we prepared to wait for reconciliation with estranged members of our family?

How long until the school shootings cease?

How long until hatred and discrimination end?

How long until all divisions end?

How long, in the words of the Prophet Isaiah, until we learn to study war no more?

And how long, in the words of the Prophet Amos, until justice rolls down like waters?

Wedding guests in Jesus' day would have been prepared for a slight delay. The bridegroom would often deliberately be a little late in order to build suspense and to heighten the sense of joy when he finally arrived. But the delay would only usually be for an hour or two. Under normal circumstances most members of the wedding party would have had more than enough oil in their lamps for a slight delay (insights from Thomas G. Long, Matthew, Westminster Bible Companion).

This parable has traditionally been called the Parable of the Wise and Foolish Virgins, but I've sometimes wondered how fair it was to call half of them foolish when they did in fact have enough oil in their lamps for the usual slight delay. Are we really talking about a contrast between the foolish and the wise, or is it more of a contrast between the adequately prepared and obsessively, over prepared?

If someone shows up to a wedding with a flashlight and extra batteries, your immediate reaction is not likely to be, "Wow, that person is really prepared!" You're more apt to think, "Wow, that person is really odd!"

But in the narrative world of this parable the ones who are obsessively, over prepared are called wise, and the ones who are merely adequately prepared are called foolish.

Why was it necessary to bring along that extra gallon jug of oil from Costco?

Because we have to be prepared for a very long wait.

Matthew is the only gospel writer who included this particular parable of Jesus. The Christians in Matthew's day had been expecting Christ to come again, but it had already been more than 50 or 60 years since the time of Jesus' ministry. Most of the first generation of Christians had already died.

How long must the church be prepared to wait? How long can the church stand on its tiptoes in anticipation? How do you maintain a sense of urgency after all that time?

Alyce McKenzie is a Methodist minister and a preaching professor at Perkins School of Theology in Dallas, Texas. She tells her own parable about how to live with a sense of urgency in a seemingly endless future. One semester Alyce McKenzie asked her students to read through a book in the Bible prayerfully at the same time each evening as a spiritual discipline.

One of her graduate students, Greg, decided to do this. His wife was out-of-town for a while. And so, every night at ten o'clock, he'd get off the couch where he usually watched ESPN and would sit on the love seat and begin to read a book of the Bible and pray his way through it. Their two-year-old beagle named Sadie decided that this was an opportunity for spiritual growth for herself as well. And so, when Greg was sitting on the love seat, reading the Bible, Sadie would cuddle next to him and put her head in his lap.

One night Greg got real interested in a football game, and he was still on the couch well after ten o'clock, and he found Sadie tugging on his pant leg, trying to get him to come over to the love seat to do his prayerful Bible reading.

Another night, Greg was dead tired and went to bed at 9:45 PM, and he heard whimpering in the bedroom and Sadie was pulling the blankets off the bed, calling him to prayer. Greg decided that some dogs are bird dogs, some dogs are sheep dogs, and that Sadie must be a prayer dog! Alyce McKenzie writes that Sadie, the prayer dog, does indeed teach us how to live with a sense of urgency in a seemingly endless future.

We pray day after day. We study the Bible for the sake of our own spiritual growth. We love God with our whole hearts, and we love our neighbors as ourselves. We strive to serve others. We cultivate oil.

And this oil--this oil of resilience--must be cultivated. It cannot be shared. I suspect that many of us are taken aback by the refusal of the "wise" bridesmaids to share their oil with the others. But perhaps the reason that the oil is not so easily shared is because the oil represents the kind of resilience that we have to learn on our own.

Your daughter is in her first year of college. That first semester away has been exciting and exhilarating, but it's also been academically stressful. She calls you up the night before her first college midterm exam, and she's almost in a panic. You can listen to her, you can talk her through her anxiety, you can pray for her, but you cannot give to her that oil of resilience that she must cultivate on her own.

We cannot give that oil of resilience to our children, but our children can watch us as our own lamps burn from a reservoir of cultivated oil.

I remember a scene from To Kill a Mockingbird. Scout is talking to her father about the upcoming trial. He father, Atticus, is about to defend an African-American man named Tom Robinson. It's the 1930s in rural Alabama. The jury is going to be all white. Scout asks her father, "Daddy, are we going to win?" And Atticus turns to his daughter and says, "No, Scout, we are not going to win. But I couldn't go to church on Sunday if I didn't defend this man."

Perhaps the oil in this parable represents resiliency in the face of injustice, a determination to do the right thing no matter what. One doesn't become an Atticus over night. We become more like Atticus through a lifetime of cultivating oil, of building up reservoirs of hidden strength that go much deeper than our personal strength alone.

On the day when Atticus does indeed lose the trial and Tom Robinson is declared guilty, all the white guests exit their seats from the main floor of the courtroom, while all the African-American guests in the balcony remain. When Atticus himself finally stands and leaves to exit the courtroom, all the African American guests stand up in a gesture of respect. Scout (Jean Louise) had been watching the trial from the balcony. As Atticus walks by below, Rev. Sykes, the pastor of the African American congregation, says to Scout, "Jean Louise, stand up, your father's passing."

That's probably my favorite scene in both the novel and the 1962 movie. If Atticus had a reservoir of resilience, then imagine how much deeper a reservoir Rev. Sykes must have had. I've always wished that Harper Lee had given us more of Rev. Sykes's back story. I can't even begin to imagine all the things that Rev. Sykes must have endured in his lifetime--all those years of Jim Crow, discrimination, and terror.

But I picture him preaching to his congregation, encouraging them to cultivate the oil of resilience. I can hear the congregation singing the spiritual that we sang this morning, "Keep Your Lamps Trimmed and Burning." I can hear them singing . . .

Keep your lamps trimmed and burning / Keep your lamps trimmed and burning / Keep your lamps trimmed and burning / for the time is drawing nigh.

Sisters, don't grow weary / brothers, don't grow weary / children, don't grow weary / for the time is drawing nigh.

You, living with cancer, don't grow weary.
You, newly divorced or a long time alone, don't grow weary.
You, care takers in your family, don't grow weary.
You who are grieving, whether that grief is fresh or ancient, don't grow weary.
You, longing for reconciliation, don't grow weary.
You, who are waiting for justice, don't grow weary.
You, who are waiting for the Lord, don't grow weary, for the time is drawing nigh.

All glory and praise be to our God. Amen.