Jesus
Is Here,
Resurrecting the Cracked and Hardened Heart
The
Rev. Canon Renée Miller
(This
sermon is also available in audio)
A
day of unbroken heat—the kind of heat that blisters and sears the
skin—the kind of heat that causes fissures and cracks in the soil—the
heat that threatens to steal without restraint the moisture that
gives and sustains life.
I
live part of my life in one of the hottest and most arid places
in the country—the large and desolate Mohave
Desert. We have less than 3 inches of rainfall a year and in the
summer the temperatures range from 115-120 degrees, and rarely drop
below 100 degrees at night. Your skin can literally be scalded by
coming into contact with the door handle on your car, or by touching
the sidewalk with your bare feet. While it seems comforting to say, "Ah,
but it's a dry heat," I can tell you that even dry heat can
be so intense as to take the breath away.
It
may seem odd that a person would actually choose to live in such
a place! But, when I scan the dry cracks and sandy crevices that
are faded and drear from desert's sun and I witness the soil
blistered and fissured by that orb of sunlight, I begin to have
a language for the condition that sometimes overtakes me—indeed
overtakes us all—that condition called hardness of heart.
You
know what this is like. You know when your heart has become
so stiff that it is unpliable—unbending. And surprisingly, it
doesn't
take much for the heart to develop around it this inflexible
crust. Sometimes it is our anger at someone in our life or
a situation in our life; sometimes it is a need to have things
a certain way; sometimes it is a loss, a disappointment, or
a
betrayal; sometimes it is the emptiness of loneliness or the
fear of our own inner shame that causes our heart to become
petrified and paralyzed. And like the soil that gradually splits
and separates
under the blazing heat of the sun, so our hearts begin to split
and fracture under the heat of that anger, disappointment,
loss, betrayal, loneliness, or shame.
We
find ourselves less able to feel, less able to respond, less
able to sing the song of joy, less able to open our arms to welcome
others in, less able to hear the stirring of God's spirit within.
A pall of dullness settles over us and we start living a deadened
life—and we don't seem able to pull ourselves out from the depths
into which we have fallen.
We
go through the motions of life but do not feel alive. We speak
the words that we are required
to speak, we laugh on cue, we do our work on command, but there
seems to be no joy, no hope, no energy or enthusiasm. It seems
that in our current cultural context, these feelings overtake
us quite frequently and our primary answer for dealing with
them is to shop until we drop, read self-help books, take more
Prozac,
eat or drink more to avoid the pain. Sometimes these things
give us a little respite from the seed of dread we feel inside,
but
what our heart is really lacking is moisture. Like the desert,
we are thirsty. We are thirsty for the mercy of God. A hard
and parched thirsty heart can only be softened by the mercy of
God.
Years
ago I was attending a retreat that was led by two psychotherapists.
One part of the retreat included being in one of two small groups,
each led by one of the psychotherapists. The lights in the room
where we met were softened and we were led through a reflective
exercise. There were about twelve of us in this room, and suddenly
a man began to weep. At first he tried to cover up his weeping,
but unable to contain his pain any longer he gave full vent to
his sorrow. We all sat rigid wondering how to proceed.
The
leader of the group began to speak with the weeping man and soon
the
story of his hardened heart poured out. "I have just retired
from my medical practice," he said. "I have been an
obstetrician for 35 years. My father was a doctor and it was
the expectation that I would be a doctor. There was no question,
in fact, that this is how I would spend my life. But, I never
wanted to be a doctor. And I've spent my whole life doing something
I didn't want to do and now, for the first time, I feel as though
my tears are washing away the hardness I've felt about my life
for so long."
This
could be viewed as a sad story, but it is really a story of the
mercy and resurrection of God. In a dimly lit room with eleven
other people a man's hard, parched and thirsty heart experienced
that holy shower of mercy and a second life for him was begun.
This man was resurrected. This man had a new chance for life.
This man's heart was beating and whole.
The
Persian poet Jellaludin Rumi, who was born in the year 1207,
had an interesting way of expressing such a resurrection:
I
called through your door,
"The mystics are gathering in the street. Come out!"
"Leave me alone. I'm sick."
"I don't care if you're dead! Jesus is here, and he wants to resurrect somebody!"
There
always seems to be a good excuse for not being resurrected. And
it has more to do with the pattern of our current lives, than
it does with the lack of faith that resurrection is possible.
For in fact, we have already been raised with Christ, St. Paul
says. We're not waiting around for our physical death in order
to see if we are going to be raised up. We are already raised,
and so is everyone else for whom Christ died. What is left is
to accept the resurrected life here and now. And this resurrection
begins with our heart. This is what the poet Rumi is saying. Jesus
is here and he wants to resurrect somebody. He wants to have
someone say, "Yes, I will live the resurrection life. Yes,
I will wear the resurrection clothes. Yes, resurrect me!"
So
why do we find so many excuses to avoid resurrected life? Because
we are really afraid of resurrection—afraid of wearing resurrection
clothes. We easily jump to the conclusion that living a resurrected
life means that we will not be able to have any more fun in life.
No more parties, no more shopping sprees, no more of anything
that is frivolous and delightful. Instead our lives will become
sacrificial and difficult. Rather than take that dismal path,
we sometimes think it better to leave resurrection and holiness
to others who are more spiritually adept and obviously suited
to that kind of life.
Now
it is possible to avoid resurrection by just such mental gymnastics.
We can stay inside our hardened heart and say, "I can't
come out. I'm sick." And we can do so for a long time—sometimes
for nearly the whole of our lived life. But the voice will come, "I
don't care if you're dead!! Jesus is here and he wants to resurrect
someone!"
And
you know what will happen? Our ears will hear and our hearts
will soften because we actually desire to
be resurrected. And the way we can know if that is true is
to pay attention to those surprising and uneasy moments when
we
realize that something is missing within us. Those times when
we feel the cracks around our own hardened heart. Those times
when we hope, we wish, we long, we yearn for something more.
We may not be able to name what that 'more' is but we know
that we desire what is beyond mere enjoyment, intellectual pursuit,
even spiritual discipline.
Taste,
and touch, and vision, to discern thee fail;
Faith that comes by hearing, pierces through the veil.
I believe whate'er the Son of God hath told;
What the Truth hath spoken, that for truth I hold.
(from "Humbly
I adore thee," Hymn 204, from The 1940
Hymnal, ©1940)
You
know how this works. You awake one morning and realize that today
is going to be just like yesterday and that tomorrow will be
like today. In fact, it seems like all your days are just like
one another. After a momentary reality check about your boredom
your mind asks you, "What does it mean that all my days
are just like one another? Isn't there more to life than this?"
Or,
you go to the post office, pick up your stack of junk mail
and begin flipping through catalogues. After your first desire
to
have something new, you suddenly feel a touch of anger and
you hear the question in your head, "Why does everyone just
want to sell me something? And why does it never really satisfy
me?" Or, you read the Bible and don't understand it, you
pray and nothing seems to happen, and you're simply sick and
tired of trying to be 'religious.'
After
your bout with guilt you realize that you want to see what is
truly real, but don't know how to see it. In your head you hear
the question, "Will all this spiritual 'stuff' really make
a difference in my life?" Or, you suffer the loss of someone
you love, or you become very ill. After your shock and sorrow
you suddenly realize that all the parties and the shopping trips
can't answer the question that throbs inside your soul, "Why
is this happening to me? How can I go on?"
Or,
you see the end of your own life approaching quicker than you'd
like, and
you begin to wonder if your life has been lived well. After
worrying about what death will be like, the question that slips
across
your mind is, "How can I come closer to the meaning and
truth of life before it's gone?" These are all examples
of what it means to desire something within ourselves that
is beyond the day-to-day "ho-hum" of life.
The
dilemma is this: How can that desire, that longing be met? How
can the desire to be resurrected—to be delivered from hardness
of heart—be fulfilled short of joining a monastery? Jesus
gives us the answer. "Take my yoke upon you and learn from
me, for I am meek and gentle in heart and you will find rest
for
your souls." The Sanskrit word for yoke is yuga and
literally means "that which joins."
Jesus
names what we cannot name. "Come to me," he says. "Get into the yoke
with me. Be joined to me. Walk alongside me, in tandem, and you
will find the fulfillment your soul is looking for."
We
need only two things to be resurrected: the desire that is yet
unmet in our hearts, and the willingness to risk going to Jesus
to fulfill that desire. Scripture is replete with examples of
those that felt such desire and were willing to take the risk.
Let me tell you about three of them.
It
was on just such a hot desert day as I was describing a few moments
ago that Bartimaeus the blind man, reached out to be joined with
Jesus in the yoke of simple holiness. More than diseased eyes,
he had, not a hardened heart, but a blind heart. He knew the
religious formulas because he had grown up with them, but they
had not given him genuine spiritual sight. He heard Jesus coming
by and his closed heart began to flutter and open as a tiny newborn
robin trying out its wings for the first time. He was hearing "Jesus
is here and he wants to resurrect somebody."
Bartimaeus
wanted Jesus to stop. He wanted Jesus to notice him. He wanted
Jesus to heal him. He wanted to see. In the midst of
the crowds clamoring around Jesus and the disciples who were
trying
to protect Jesus from those crowds, he wanted to stand out
so much that Jesus would have a one-on-one encounter with him.
He
cried out and the disciples tried to silence him, so he cried
even louder. And Jesus stopped. "What do you want?" Jesus
asked him. "I want to see." When those empty visionless
eyes were given sight, the blind heart of Bartimaeus began to
beat wildly in his breast and his desire 'to see' became the
desire for resurrection that joined him to Jesus. "Jesus
is here and he wants to resurrect somebody." Bartimaeus
was willing to step into the resurrection clothes.
In
the black of the desert night where only stars and an occasional
wild dog are seen, Nicodemus slipped away from his house to find
Jesus. He was one of the bright, educated, religious leaders.
He had greatness of age and stature. He was filled with learning,
spiritual words and practices of holiness. He had not a hardened
heart, but a blank heart. He taught others and debated with others
about matters of faith, but he was aware that something was missing.
His status and place in the religious establishment made him
fearful to seek Jesus in daylight.
But
it was not only fear for his reputation that kept him from seeking
Jesus in the midst of day. He also feared his own lack of understanding.
But he was driven to Jesus in spite of his fear. Though his fear
could have held him back, he wanted to hear truth. He wanted
to be exposed to the reality of his own folly. He wanted to find
the place where hope and holiness meet. He wanted to know.
His
somewhat hardened, but certainly blank, heart had not yet been
resurrected but he was hearing, "Jesus is here and he wants
to resurrect somebody." Jesus pierced in two the smart
religious talk of Nicodemus and in the breach between full
truth and half-truth;
his desire 'to know' became the desire for resurrection that
joined him to Jesus. "Jesus is here and he wants to resurrect
somebody." Nicodemus was ready to don the resurrection
clothes.
It
was another desert evening dinner party for Mary. She had helped
prepare the house and the meal but her mind and heart were eager
for the guest of honor to arrive. The hour finally came and in
he walked. She knew her role as a woman. She knew she was supposed
to keep her distance, stay out of sight, serve and attend to
the needs of the guests. But she could not help herself. Her
heart was not hardened, but hungry. When she saw Jesus, her hungry
heart heard "Jesus is here and he wants to resurrect
somebody."
Suddenly she knew what she wanted
more than anything else. She wanted to be with him. She wanted
to listen to him. She wanted to hear the wisdom that came from
his lips. She wanted to sit at his feet and be enveloped in his
being and presence. Every fiber of her hungry heart reached out
in hopes that even she, a woman, might be given the chance to
have her heart resurrected.
She
risked ridicule from Jesus as well as wrath from her sister because
her desire was so strong. The dreaded moment came. Sure that
Jesus would reprimand Mary, her sister Martha spoke out to Jesus
that Mary was not fulfilling her duties as a woman and hostess,
and that she was not helping with the work that needed to be
done. Mary's tender heart felt as if it would stop. Would Jesus
humiliate her? Would she be forced to leave the one who gave
meaning to the yearning of her heart? Would her desire be forever
unmet? "Martha," Jesus said, "Mary has chosen
the better part, and it will not be taken from her." Mary's
desire 'to sit in Jesus' presence' became the desire for
resurrection that joined her to Jesus. "Jesus is here
and he wants to resurrect somebody." Mary was ready
to be clothed in resurrection.
These
three recognized that something was missing in their lives and
they knew that Jesus was the one who could give it to them. One
wanted to see. One wanted to know. One wanted to sit. They went
to Jesus and in the shadows of their limited understanding, they
slipped into the yoke with Jesus and felt the freedom of being
joined with him. Each of them found that resurrection of their
heart was not what they might have imagined it to be. They found
that resurrection is not about fulfilling religious duties. Resurrection
is about being joined to Jesus.
What's
going on in your heart? Where has the heat of life hardened your
heart? Where are the cracks and fissures that have left you feeling
deadened and dull? Where is your hunger? For what do you yearn?
Don't be afraid to feel that desire even if you cannot articulate
clearly what it is. Go to Jesus and tell him what you want.
All
my life I've been on a road,
Going one way, toward one dream.
The road would wind
And down it I would go,
Always searching, never finding
But even in my darkest hour I always knew,
That someday, somehow the road would lead to you.
Listen
to my heart, listen to it sing,
Listen to my voice, it wants to tell you everything.
There's so much to say,
I don't know where to start,
But if you want to know the love I'm feeling
Listen to my heart.
(from "Listen
to My Heart" by David Friedman, ©1995 Midder Music)
And
Jesus will listen to your heart. Then, when he says to you, "Get
into the yoke with me, be joined with me." Don't PANIC!!
Slowly slide into the yoke of holiness and find your soul's rest.
I
called through your door,
"The mystics are gathering in the street. Come out!"
"Leave me alone. I'm sick."
"I don't care if you're dead! Jesus is here, and he wants to resurrect somebody!"
(Jellaludin Rumi)
"I
don't care if you're dead! Jesus is here, and he wants to resurrect
somebody!"
Copyright
©2003 Renee Miller
This
homily was delivered at the Lenten
Noonday Preaching Series at Calvary Episcopal Church, Memphis,
Tennessee, on April 9, 2003.
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