Saying Hard Stuff (Reflections on Pentecost 5, Year A 2023)

"Jeremiah" by Rambrandt 1630

“Whoever welcomes you welcomes me…” (Matthew 10:40a)

 Some years ago I took part in the Lutheran/Roman Catholic Dialogues. As I recall, the topic for our ecumenical discussion that particular year was “Ministry to the Dying.” Lutheran pastors and Catholic priests sat around in little groups, drinking coffee, and discussing how our two denominations address end of life issues. In my little huddle we came rather bemusedly to the conclusion that we so very rarely actually minister to the dying. We might minister all the time to the bereaved, but addressing death with someone who is holding a one-way pass to life’s exit door is something we don’t do often at all.

 Why is that?

Because most Americans don’t want to talk about it. When I was doing my CPE[i] as an oncology chaplain at the Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania, our Head Chaplain, a United Methodist pastor named Ralph, lectured my unit on Americans’ attitude towards death. “We all know we’re going to die someday,” he said, “but we think we won’t die today, and we won’t die from whatever we’ve been diagnosed with. Everybody thinks they’re going to beat it. A lot of times they don’t.”

Even we clergy folks have a hard time confronting people about the inevitability of giving up the ghost. We all have a miraculous gift for denial and self-delusion. By the time we’re actually sure someone’s earthly warranty is about to expire, they’ve already slipped into a coma and all we can do is anoint them and pray with their loved ones.

Have you ever found yourself feeling like you’re in heavy boots walking through a mine field—when you don’t know which is better: tactfully denying reality to spare someone’s feelings or sharing a necessary but unpleasant truth? If you’ve noticed, dealing with unpleasant truths hasn’t been America’s long suit lately. There are those who don’t want to know anything about a changing climate. Some don’t want to be reminded—or don’t want their school-aged kids to be reminded—that America has a legacy of racial intolerance and that LGBTQ people actually exist. Some people don’t even want to believe that their favorite candidate actually lost a fair election. They certainly don’t want to be told that the way of the Church which they’ve loved and counted on all their lives is changing and won’t ever be the way they remember it or want it to be.

I guess this is human nature. As we learn from our First Lesson for Pentecost 5, Year A (Jeremiah 28:5-9), folks way back in the 6^th Century BCE would rather hear optimistic bovine excrement (metaphorically speaking) than inconvenient truth. The backstory on our reading goes like this: Judah is at the mercy of Babylon. The Babylonians have already ripped off some of Judah’s temple treasures and taken the king and a bunch of other folks hostage. Now they are demanding more tribute. A “prophet” named Hananiah tells the current king that everything may look bad now, but within two years God will smite the Babylonians, they’ll release the prisoners and bring back the goodies they stole, and everything will be groovy.

The prophet Jeremiah begs to differ. He tells the king the Babylonians are way, way more powerful than the Judeans, and if the king resists Babylon, Judah is going to get the crap kicked out of her. Spoiler alert: the king listens to Hananiah. He chooses to believe what he wants to believe and doesn’t want to be inconvenienced by actual facts.

It doesn’t turn out well for him.[ii]

Fortunately for us, Jesus always gives us the straight skinny. For the last few weeks our Sunday Gospel lessons have been from the tenth chapter of Matthew in which our Lord sends out his twelve disciples to do some serious preaching and healing and demon casting. He’s pretty up-front with them. He tells them (and us) that discipleship will be hard. People won’t always like what you have to say. You’ll get called names. You’ll be laughed at. Your family might get annoyed with you. Your kids won’t want to have anything to do with you. You might get yourself in a mess of trouble.

But somebody’s going to get it. Some life is going to be impacted by your example. Jesus tells us whoever receives us receives him. We are his ambassadors, and people will come to know Christ through our presentation—and they will be blessed. It might be hard for us at times, and it may seem to be thankless. But God has not put us here just to waste our time. You may never know how your witness will affect others.

Or, perhaps, you just might get a small glimpse of God working through you when someone sends you a “thank you” note, or picks up a check, or offers you a bottle of cold water. You will know that your faith mattered, and that will be reward enough.

Keep the faith, my friend. Say the hard, unpleasant things if you must, but say them in love and say them in faith.

God be with you ‘til we meet again.

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[i] That stands for “Clinical Pastoral Education,” a purgatorial three-month internship Lutheran seminarians are condemned to do in hospitals or other care institutions between their first and second years of Godly study, often referred to as Cruel Perverted Experience.

 

[ii] See 2 Kings 25:1-7. It’s pretty nasty.