Sermons
"The Beginning of a New Year"
Gracious God, open our eyes wide that we may be witness to the good news
and
goodness in your midst.
Good Morning!
Each year, come this time, I find myself longing for the school bus to
come around the
corner. I remember my first day of kindergarten. I wore a plaid pleated
skirt, a white
blouse and a matching plaid vest. The vest had a little side pocket -
just big enough
for my finger and thumb. On my feet: little white ankle socks - with lace
around the
cuff - and a new pair of patent leather MaryJane shoes.
I remember - - my mother cried. I hoped I'd get lots of homework. And
I had a Mary
Poppin's lunch box.
I wonder if all my memories of that day would be so clear if my Mom hadn't
snapped a
picture of me jumping onto the first step of that big yellow school bus.
More than
once, I've seen that slide from more than 35 years ago and found myself
transported to
that moment.
How many memories do we have imprinted on our mind's eye because others
have told
us the story - because others have reminded us of the truth of our lives
and the world
around us.
Ezekiel (from our first lesson) was a prophet of old. Called by God around
592 BC., five
years before he and many others were deported - exiled from their home
in
Jerusalem, banished by the Babylonians when they overran that Holy City
and took it
for their own. Many of you will recognize Ezekiel as the man with the
vision of the dry
bones. [You know, where the ankle bone gets connected to the shin bone
and the shin
bone gets connected to the knee bone and the knee bone gets connected
to the leg
bone and the leg bone gets connected to the hip bone and on and on it
goes.]
But before he had this vision of hope and triumph, he spent a fair amount
of time
foretelling the woes of the world and the despair that was yet to come.
For God had
appointed him both prophet and watchman.
God said, "You mortal, I have made a sentinel for the House of Israel."
Watchmen - sentinels of that day - were stationed high upon the hills
and city walls,
scanning the horizon for enemies. Ready to alert their fellow citizens
of any danger
approaching. Likewise, they pointed out and bore witness to the good news
and the
Goodness in their midst. Calling the people, reminding the people, bearing
witness to
the people of a world outside their line of sight, beyond the city walls,
waking them
up with a start, embedding in their mind's eye something more.
We like Ezekiel are called to be watchman of the night. We are called
to be sentinels
to our families and communities reminding one another / telling the stories
of that
which is beyond. Our own personal city walls.
Yesterday's New York Times had a striking profile by Seth Mydans of a
Cambodian
artist - Van Nath. Mr. Nath - a quiet, dignified 56 year old man with
white hair and jet
black eye brows has seen and heard and lived through more pain and suffering
than
most of us can imagine. He is one of just seven people who survived the
torture house,
Tuol Sleng, where at least 14,000 people were sent to their deaths during
the Khmer
Rouge Regime from 1975-1979.
His gift for painting saved his life. While he listened to the continuous
screams of men,
women and children day and night, his shackles were removed to paint portraits
of the
Khmer Rouge's leader, Pol Pot. As the article noted, Mr Nath "painted
for his life.
Other men who failed at the at the job had been executed."
In 1979, after four years of living in hell, the Vietnamese invaded and
Vann Nath was
one of the very few who escaped alive in the confusion.
Following the invasion, Nath found himself assigned once again to his
old prison. This
time painting scenes of torture and scenes of starvation to be displayed
in a museum
remembering the Torture House.
Van Nath says, " My bewildering gift is life - my curse is memory.
I try to forget, I want
to forget but it is useless. I cannot forget even a little bit of it."
After finishing the paintings for the museum, Nath was free to go on with
his life. He
married, joined the military, became an architectural draftsman, opened
a small
restaurant with his wife, and tried to settle into a normal routine of
everyday life. But
it was, he found, impossible.
Wherever he went, whatever he did, Mr. Nath was surrounded by 14,000 fellow
prisoners who had died. He had survived, but his life no longer belonged
to him alone.
He said that in his simplest daily actions he was the representative of
the dead. He
ate, he slept, he talked, and he breathed for them.
So, imprisoned once again by his past, he devoted his time, all his time,
to telling
their story. Each telling, every interview, is an ordeal. But he says,
"By talking I think I
bring some ease to the people who died."
Having written a book and finished yet another painting of the ordeal,
he's begun to
work on a new project. To ease the lives of the aging survivors he has
prepared a
detailed proposal for a rest home where the old can be cared for and the
young can
come to learn from them.
Mr. Nath says, "I think those who went through the Pol Pot time have
special
knowledge. It is important to teach young people what they went through
and what it
means to suffer."
Van Nath is a sentinel of God. A watchman of the night bearing witness
so that we
might not forget - or ignore the pain of the world around us.
Today in our parish hall - we have a sentinel among us - Bill Zbaren has
created a
living essay with color portraits of our neighbors. The men and women
and children
who with this congregation gather on Tuesday nights for a meal, for groceries,
and for
community and probably even for God.
Bill's pictures are awesome - for they bear witness to the full range
of humanity that
gathers here on Tuesday nights. The pain, the fear, the love, the hope,
the scariness
and the scaredness, the illness, the trapped. Look at our neighbor's picture;
imagine
their stories; look at their faces. Or better yet, see how much this place
means to
them. Come meet our neighbors on Tuesday night. Learn their stories, tell
them yours,
and together be watchmen - sentinels of this world of ours - bearing witness
to the
unspoken truths, the harsh realities, the quiet moments of hope and happiness
that
combine to form this fragile Earth , our island home that God has given
to us.
God said, " You mortal, I have made a Sentinel for the house of Judah."
Bear witness so
that others may remember, so that others may know. If you don't - who
will.
Amen.