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| Labor Day Parade in Washington DC, 1894 |
Wayne, the ever-faithful
and tireless volunteer sexton of Faith Lutheran, dropped by the office this morning
after picking a bumper crop of tomatoes and cucumbers from Faith’s community
garden. He wanted to show me how fecund out little plot has been before taking
the produce down to Feast of Justice, our Lutheran food cupboard here in
Northeast Philly.
“I don’t want to be
pessimistic,” Wayne said, “but I don’t think you’re gonna see a whole lot of
people in church this Sunday.”
I have to agree with him.
It’s Labor Day Weekend, the “unofficial end of summer” here in the US. The
weather should be nice at the Jersey shore, so I suspect church attendance
might be sparse.
But that’s okay. I just
hope that this weekend won’t be treated as a simple excuse for one more day of
frolic before the kids go back to school. Let’s just take a sec and think about
labor, okay? The first Monday in
September owes its holiday status to a decree passed back in 1894 to celebrate
the Labor Movement in America. This was at a time when unions were being formed
so workers—many of whom had faced abuse at the hands of their employers—could demand
decency and fairness from capitalists who would not voluntarily set aside their
own natural inclinations towards greed and manipulation had they not been
persuaded to do so. I think, on the whole, this has been a very positive thing
for us as a country, wouldn’t you agree?
On the theological side,
Martin Luther maintained that any work a person does—be it harvesting a field,
teaching a child, milking a cow, or driving a cart—in some way benefited others.
In 1520 Luther published his treatise To
the Christian Nobility of the German Nation in which, among other things,
he railed[i] against the notion that
ordained priests were somehow holier than other folks. He maintained that all
Christians have a priestly calling. We all can pray prayers of intercession for
each other, and the work we do, if done nobly and with integrity, is a Godly
work.
So! Let’s enjoy this Labor
Day and consider how our work is a service to others. If you’re still earning a
paycheck, thanks for doing your part—however you do it. If you’re retired,
thanks for the work you did. You’ve earned your rest. May God bless and protect
all who labor and keep them safe on the job. May the needs of all be met, and
may fairness and equity be the goal of our society. Amen!
“From that time on, Jesus
began to show his disciples that he must go to Jerusalem and undergo great
suffering at the hands of the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be
killed, and on the third day be raised.” (Matthew
16:21)
Judy asked if I would
give her a little sip of water. The heavy medications she’s on give her a very
dry mouth, and she wasn’t sure she could swallow the communion wafer I was
about to give her. I held the Styrofoam cup of ice water close to her face so she
could sip from the plastic straw. She apologized that her thirst interrupted
the flow of the liturgy, but I assured her that it was okay.
On my way out of the
nursing home I ran into Darlene, Judy’s niece and caregiver. Darlene’s job lets
her work remotely, so she’s been able to sit with her aunt and keep her company
now that Judy has been placed on hospice care.
“It’s hard to see her
like this,” Darlene said. Her aunt’s cancer is progressing rapidly. She is now
totally confined to her bed, in pain, and just waiting for the end to come. As
I drove back to church I thought Judy is now where Jesus was—on the cross.
How could we have our
faith without the cross, I wonder?
How could we know a God who doesn’t know us, who hasn’t been where we all will
go? In the gospel appointed for Pentecost 14, Year A (Matthew 16:21-28), Peter
rebels against the notion that Jesus should endure the degradation of the
cross. It’s hard to blame Peter, however. I imagine he’s been brought up like
all the rest of us to fear pain and disgrace and value wealth, power, and
importance in the eyes of others. Yet, setting his mind on such “human things,”
as Jesus says (v.23), Peter has become the stumbling block.
The problem with human
glory is it’s finite. The road to human achievement always leads to
disappointment. One may win the Super Bowl one year, but the trophy will be
passed to others the next year. You may conquer the world. Then what? As the
poet Thomas Gray wrote,
The
boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And
all that beauty, all that wealth e’er gave
Awaits
alike th’ inevitable hour:
The
paths of glory lead but to the grave.[ii]
The ‘human things” always
seem to separate us from each other and from God. We put our faith in our own
understanding or our own piety or our own good works or our own faith we
neglect God’s grace. Or, we put our faith in our own achievement, forgetting
that making ourselves great means making others less. “Human things” split us
apart, but the cross brings us together. Jesus came to walk the path we all
walk, sharing in our collective
humanity. Sometimes—and all too often—it means sharing our pain and
disappointment.
So how do we share this walk with Jesus? Saint
Paul’s words to the Roman church in our Second Lesson (Romans 12:9-21) are a
very practical guide to denying ourselves and taking up our cross. If we’re to
outdo one another, let it be in showing honor, loving the unlovable, and walking
humbly with one another. Rejoicing with those who rejoice and weeping with
those who weep.
Our job as Christians is,
I think, always to look for Christ in others and let others see Christ in us.
As I spend time with Judy as she enters this last part of her earthly journey,
I see not only Christ’s suffering, but Christ’s grace. Jesus on the cross gave
comfort to his companions and spoke words of forgiveness. Judy does her best—even
through her immobility and discomfort—to make me feel welcome and valued. With
her and with the many other saints I’ve watched depart over the years, I get a
great sense of peace, understanding, and dignity. There is in the cross a
nobility which nothing else can achieve.
God’s peace be with you, my friend. So glad you came to visit this week.
[i]
Luther liked to rail. He was good at it.
[ii] Thomas
Gray “Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard” 1750.
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