Mixtape Theology: World Communion (Year C – Oct 6)

Welcome to the first edition of the (not necessarily) weekly series I’m calling Mixtape Theology — reflections on the texts and themes of the Revised Common Lectionary inspired by (secular) music.

Since we’re starting this playlist series on World Communion Sunday, I figured it would be appropriate to look for songs focusing on world peace, unity and diversity, tearing down walls, and sharing table fellowship. (I also figured it would be a good chance to throw some world music inspiration in the mix, but I mostly failed. Leave your suggestions in the comments!) Some of the songs below hit on those themes, but when I opened up the Old Testament lection (Lamentations!) and started reading chatter about Greta Thunberg’s speech to the UN, I knew I (or the providence of God) definitely picked the right week to begin this series.

For those who don’t know, World Communion Sunday got its start right here in Pittsburgh at the Shadyside Presbyterian Church in the period between the two World Wars. During the Second World War, the practice was adopted by the Federal Council of Churches as a way to unite Christians in the US with their brothers and sisters around the world.

Prelude:

We begin our service with a musical tableaux of the wind blowing through the “amber waves of grain” of the countryside.

Opening Praise: Praise God in his sanctuary! Praise God in creation! Let us join together in appreciating the sights of God’s work.

“Oh, what a world, I don’t wanna leave
There’s all kinds of magic, it’s hard to believe
Northern lights in our skies
Plants that grow and open your mind
Things that swim with a neon glow
How we all got here, nobody knows
These are real things
Oh, what a world, don’t wanna leave
All kinds of magic all around us, it’s hard to believe
Thank God it’s not too good to be true
Oh, what a world, and then there is you.”

Scripture:

How lonely sits the city that once was full of people! 

(Addition: How forsaken lies the earth, once full of species.)

How like a widow she has become, she that was great among the nations! 

She that was a princess among the provinces has become a vassal. 

Lamentations 1

The global church is splintered and fractured, unable to even eat at the same table. The American church is a vassal of a corrupt government. The earth is a slave to human self-interest. The cosmos groan for redemption (Romans 8:22). Hear what God is saying to the Church. The children are watching.

Proclamation (of Judgment):

As one who has been criticized for my passion and conviction over issues people would rather be complacent and nonchalant about, can I say GO GRETA! Nevertheless, she preaches!

This is what conservatives mocking and scolding liberals for the attention they’ve paid Thunberg don’t understand. Thunberg isn’t being applauded because she’s being taken seriously. She’s being applauded because she’s not.

This is an iteration of the guilt suffused throughout liberal politics, which often seems better suited to producing tears and slogans than genuine change. 

OSITA NWANEVU, New Republic

As the people of God, liberal and conservative, Greta and her aftermath give us a lot to think about. Are we more capable of causing others guilt than we are inspiring real change in ourselves and others? What would it mean to abandon our lifestyle in pursuit of lasting, systemic change? What would it mean for us to come before God and our systemic sins in a true spirit of repentance, as people who are in exile.

Prayer of Confession: We build walls, not bridges. We squander the world’s resources rather than stewarding them. We stand idly by in the face of injustice. We cannot do this alone, O God.

“And you know
The oceans they connect us all
No one can just build a wall
We have to work together
We can’t do this on our own
To think that you can stand aside
Is nothing more than foolish pride
‘Cause everyone’s a libertarian
‘Til the brown water floods their home”

Prayers of the People: A Lament for the perceived absence of God.

O Lord, how long shall I cry for help, and you will not listen? 

Or cry to you “Violence!” and you will not save? 

Why do you make me see wrongdoing and look at trouble? 

Destruction and violence are before me; strife and contention arise. 

So the law becomes slack and justice never prevails. 

The wicked surround the righteous—therefore judgment comes forth perverted. 

Habakkuk 1 (NRSV)
From a fellow Houghton alum, Laura Johnson, bringing a hauntingly beautiful description of what it is to look for familiar sights in a sea of unknowns.
Some days God feels close and familiar, other days God’s presence can only be sensed through the “echoes” seen in “foreign faces and places.”
We feel alone, O God. We do not see you–we only see wrongdoing and trouble. Come to our aid. Make haste to help us.

Proclamation (of Gospel): God offers life-changing forgiveness for all of us. The Gospel declares “change is coming, whether you like it or not.” In communion, the change comes through “a box of wine,” that mysteriously is the blood of Christ.

I feel a change in the weather I feel a change in me. The days are getting shorter and the birds begin to leave. Even me, yes, yes, y’all. Who has been so long alone I’m headed home. Headed home. The nights are getting colder now. The air is getting crisp I first tasted the universe on a night like this. A box of wine, an alibi. And the hunger in her eyes. In a place where the tree of good and evil still resides. Still resides.”

Offertory:

“All creatures of our God and King, 
lift up your voice and with us sing 
alleluia, alleluia! 
Thou burning sun with golden beam, 
thou silver moon with softer gleam, 
O praise him, O praise him, 
alleluia, alleluia, alleluia!” – Assisi

Eucharist:

This Sunday, I will receive the sacrament for the first time since my conscience led me to abstain mid-Summer during a time in which I was estranged from some of my brothers and sisters in the faith (Mt. 5:24). The wounds have not yet healed, but I look forward to Christ’s broken body and spilled blood reminding me of the reconciliation that was, is, and is to come.

If you are able, find an opportunity to receive the sacrament of holy brokenness this week. Our country is broken. “The body of Christ, broken for you.” The equilibrium of our global environment is crumbling. “The body of Christ, crumbling onto the floor, yet given in abundance to you.”

I can’t offer the sacraments online (Methodists who remember that dispute will hopefully chuckle at the suggestion), but I can offer some sacramental suggestions from Wil Wheaton that might offer a glimpse of the Gospel for those of us suffering from Ecological (or otherwise) anxiety.

Take a shower.

Eat a nutritious meal.

Take a walk outside (even if it’s literally to the corner and back).

Do something — throw a ball, play tug of war, give belly rubs — with a dog. Just about any activity with my dogs, even if it’s just a snuggle on the couch for a few minutes, helps me.

Do five minutes of yoga stretching.

Listen to a guided meditation and follow along as best as you can. (Editor: Can I recommend Pray as you Go?)

Wil Wheaton

(As a survivor of intense, crippling anxiety at various stages of my life fueled by fears as myriad as nuclear bombs and saxophone recitals, I would also recommend to all of my human readers that you find a trusted therapist for your mental health. Even if you just need to talk through something you can’t tell anyone else. Everyone has mental health. Care for it.)

Song During Communion:

In communion, we remember that the body of Christ is beautiful in its interlocking brokenness:
“And I have to speculate
That God Himself did make
Us into corresponding shapes
Like puzzle pieces from the clay”

In the ecstacy of perceiving the divine mystery of Christ revealed to us, in the sursum corda: (‘lift up your hearts / we lift them up to the Lord’)
“They will see us waving from such great heights
Come down now, they’ll say
But everything looks perfect from far away
Come down now but we’ll stay”

Praise after Communion:

Song of Songs is a text between two lovers that’s also an allegory for the relationship between Christ and the Church. We know well of that love. But what if we sang this kind of love song about other members of the body of Christ?
Yet, this song also reveals the holy but broken nature of the relationships within the church, saying ‘it don’t mean we’ll stay together.’
Plus, nothing says World Communion like the album cover!

“We go together like sound and sight
Black and white, day and night
We go together like left and right
Oh, we go together
We go together like give and take
Pains and aches, real and fake
We go together, don’t be opaque
It’s clear we go together
We belong together
We belong together
Baby, there’s no use in being clever
Baby, it don’t mean we’ll stay together.”

Benediction:

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. 

The Lord is good to those who wait for him, to the soul that seeks him. 

Lamentations 3 (NRSV)

It is good that one should wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord. 

It is good for one to bear the yoke in youth, to sit alone in silence when the Lord has imposed it, to put one’s mouth to the dust (there may yet be hope), to give one’s cheek to the smiter, and be filled with insults. 

For the Lord will not reject forever. Although he causes grief, he will have compassion according to the abundance of his steadfast love; for he does not willingly afflict or grieve anyone. 

Lamentations 3 (NRSV)

Go in Peace. Amen.

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Sunday Sermon – World Communion Sunday (Ephesians 2:11–22)

This sermon was originally preached on October 7, 2018 at Eldersville United Methodist Church. The text appears in the Lectionary earlier in Year B (Proper 11), but it’s a great text to pull out for World Communion, focusing on the themes of unity in diversity.

Scripture Text: Ephesians 2:11–22

Key Verses: For [Christ Jesus] is our peace; in his flesh he has made both groups into one and has broken down the dividing wall, that is, the hostility between us. He has abolished the law with its commandments and ordinances, that he might create in himself one new humanity in place of the two, thus making peace, and might reconcile both groups to God in one body through the cross, thus putting to death that hostility through it. So then you are no longer strangers and aliens, but you are citizens with the saints and also members of the household of God.

One of the first projects I remember from elementary school was a report on ancestry and family history. Some of the kids in my class came back with a detailed report from their parents, while others reported some uncertainty in their family’s background. When I asked my parents about our origins, I found out that my paternal Great-Grandfather immigrated to the United States from Sweden and that my mother’s family roots are English. These days, if I wanted to know more, I could easily pay $99 to have Ancestry.com analyze my DNA and trace my genetic heritage. Maybe some of you have done that. These services are popular because our cultural heritage and family history are important to our sense of identity. As you well know, there are a plethora of ethnic groups represented in our area, many with cultural heritage festivals where people can gather together and strengthen that identity which would otherwise be lost.

At the same time as we have those cultural identities as people who at one point in history came to the United States from another place, we have a new identity which often supersedes the old. We are citizens, or at least, residents of the United States. We are residents of West Virginia or Pennsylvania. This identity shapes our values and it gives us a voice in local issues that have meaning for us. We might not understand the importance of this new identity, as the newness has long worn off for us. But we can see the excitement in the faces of those who take their vows of citizenship and take on this new identity. Just this past week, the Pittsburgh Seminary community celebrated that the associate director of the World Mission Initiative was sworn in as a new US citizen. He was beaming with excitement.

We may be relatively sure of our identity in the geopolitical sphere, but when we turn to the Old and New Testaments we might be confused. There’s no mention of Swedes, Serbians, Italians, and Germans. Instead we see only two markers of identity: Jew and Gentile. As we read the Old Testament, we read the cultural and religious history of this first group. We hear how God called Abraham and promised him a great nation. We read how the Israelites were caught in slavery in Egypt and how God delivered them through Moses. We trudge through the long and complicated history of the establishment of a Jewish nation under David and how it was subsequently lost to a long line of invaders. 

At the same time, we hear mentions throughout the story in the left-hand of our Bibles of the Gentiles. Well, actually, the word Gentile is Latin, but we see mention in the Old Testament of the people called Gentiles in references to the “nations” or “foreigners” and “aliens.” The Gentiles, those whose ethnicity is not Jewish, are mentioned in terms of both separation and eventual unity. God warns his people not to associate with those who might lead them religiously astray, but God also promises through the prophets a day when all nations would worship God together. 

As we read the Old Testament, we should realize: none of this story is ethnically ours. No matter where our family came from, as long as we’re not Jewish, we belong to the second category: Gentile, one of the “nations,” a “foreigner” or “alien.” 

If that terminology makes you uncomfortable, that’s understandable. None of the Gentiles of the New Testament whom Paul evangelized would have identified themselves as such either. They thought of themselves as proud Romans, Greeks, or Scythians. But Paul, as a good Jew by heritage, reminds them that in spiritual terms they are Gentiles.

Or, rather, they were Gentiles (and so were we). Those Paul speaks to in Ephesians used to be Gentiles. They were by birth. They were Roman, Greek, or Scythian Gentiles. But now, because of the work of Jesus and the Holy Spirit after the resurrection (Acts 15), these Gentiles had been given a new identity, along with Jews, like Paul, who confessed faith in Jesus as Messiah. They began to be called those who are “in Christ,” or as we say today, “Christians.”

Paul reminds the Gentiles that, in God’s kingdom, we used to be aliens and foreigners. We used to be part of the out-group, those who were excluded. We used to be, as Paul says in verse 12, those who lived “without hope and without God in the world.” The word for “without God” in Greek is atheoi, the root of our modern word atheist. Paul is saying that we used to be atheists, those without God. We used to not have hope! But now, because of Jesus, we have been brought near to God. We have been given hope and peace even though we were once hopeless and distressed. 

Despite their national identity as Romans, despite our identity as citizens of the United States, Paul says we are all given a new identity, an identity that supersedes even though it doesn’t erase ethnic heritage. We are given the identity of being in Christ.

How do you think it would feel to be the group on the outside of God’s covenant? How would it feel to be strangers and aliens to God’s kingdom? We should know, we were once strangers! In the great temple in Jerusalem, there was literally a wall dividing the court of the Gentiles from the place where God’s chosen people could worship. Yet, because of Jesus, we have been grafted into God’s people. We have been brought near. We may be called Germans, Italians, Swedes, Americans, West Virginians, Pennsylvanians, and all sorts of other (sometimes crude) things. Yet, because of Jesus, we are called Christians above all.

Do you think, if we probed our spiritual DNA, if we ran a spiritual Ancestry DNA test, that our Christian identity would shine through? Or, would someone probe into the recesses of our soul and find a different identity at our core?

The first limitation with talking this way is that we often have a very limited picture of what being a Christian looks like. For some of us, being Christian may be synonymous with being a white American. After all, most of the Christians we know probably look like us and live near us! We don’t think of the multitudes of Christians that live in South and Central America. We don’t think of the growing number of Christians who worship in African languages across the world from us. And we don’t necessarily think of all the immigrants that come to the United States from these countries, bringing their vital Christian faith with them. 

Yet, we know that because of the apostle Paul and the many missionaries that followed his lead, there are Christians in every corner of the world. It’s because Paul didn’t just reach out to his own people, the Jews, with the message of Christ. He didn’t just go into the synagogues, what we might think of as Jewish churches (Acts 17:1). No, Paul went out to the “pagan” places where the Gentiles were (Acts 17:22), where we were. Paul and the people who followed him went to the educational institutions, the centers of political power, the bars and pagan temples, the highways and byways, and promised them a new identity in Christ!

So, just as we who were far off from God were pulled into Christ’s body and given a new identity, so were people from every nation of the world. Even while our pews may be half empty and Christianity seems to be on the decline in our country, new believers come to faith every day in South America, Africa and Asia.

Today, on what is called “World Communion Sunday,” we celebrate the fact that though these Christians may not look like us, they are our brothers and sisters and we are their brothers and sisters. When we gather at this table for this most holy of meals, we remember that we are “one with Christ, one with each other, and one in ministry in all the world.”

We may not see those believers physically present with us this morning. It’s a shame. But the Gentile Christians Paul wrote to in Ephesians didn’t have much contact with their Jewish Christian brothers and sisters either. They were sectioned off, just as we are. Yet, Paul encouraged them to recognize their global unity with Christians everywhere. We may be far off from our brothers and sisters in Christ, yet we are one with them.

The second limitation we run into in our thinking is that we forget that though we were Gentiles, part of the out-group that was cut off from God, we are now part of the in-group. We don’t worship in homes or in community centers, but we worship in a church, a building like a synagogue. And we’re so comfortable in our worship space that we forget that God made the effort to include we who were not previously included. We come to imagine that we were always part of the body of Christ, forgetting that God reached out to us and brought us into this covenant. We begin to assume that the love of Christ is just for us and not for anyone else.

Friends, we need to remember today that just as we were once alienated from God, just as we were once atheists (in Paul’s language) without God, there are many in our community who are without God, without hope, and without peace.

Now, don’t get any ideas that we’re trying to differentiate ourselves from them and erect a new wall to keep them out. No, the hopelessness of our world should inspire us to reach out, to patiently reach out and bring others into Christian fellowship.

Our world is changing and has changed. We can no longer expect people to come into our church looking for God. Rather, we need to once again take up the call of Jesus that wherever we go, we should be telling others about the hope that we have in Jesus! When we encounter people who are without hope, who are in bondage to addiction, pain, illness, or anger, we need to tell them that we were once in the same position! We were once without hope, but God came near to us. God accepted us and loved us so that we would be free from our sins.

This is what the church is for: proclaiming hope in every place so that those who most need hope will find it.

It’s often been said that the church is the only institution that exists for the benefit of people who aren’t part of the church. And it’s true! Or, at least, it should be. 

Instead, we build dividing walls like that one Paul mentions in verse 14. We build physical walls to bring temporary peace, we build walls of animosity between groups based on race or national identity. We build walls of judgment between cradle Christians and those new to the faith. We wave these divisions like battle flags! These invisible walls are made visible by the ways we only talk about our hope within the walls of the church. 

God, through the apostle Paul, calls us to a better way. God calls each of us to listen to those who are without hope, to listen to those who are far off from us. God calls us to see others as ones who have been created by God! Remember, we were once like those without hope! Like our prayer of confession said, we could very easily be the one who thinks church isn’t important, who thinks Sunday mornings are for rest. We could easily be one who lives without God!

But we’re not.

We have been given hope through Jesus. As ones who are included in God’s love, our hearts are full of love for one another and for God! Why wouldn’t we share that? Why wouldn’t we tell others about the way we were once far off from God but how God came near to us.

I’ve heard your stories! I know you have them. You’ve encountered all sorts of adversities. And yet, God rescued us. God healed us. Thanks be to God. Now, let’s tell someone else about it.

As we conclude our reflection on God’s word this morning, I want us to take a moment to reflect. Who in your life is far off from God and God’s love today? Who is lonely, hopeless, or stuck in destructive behavior? Who has God uniquely equipped you to reach? Take a moment. Write down a name. And I want to challenge you to listen to that person’s story. Tell them what God has done for you. And offer a space for God to work in their life.

Let’s take a moment now to write down the name of someone we know who is far from God’s love today. Who is without God in our world today?

We have faith that God who has done a great work in us will work through us to do a great work in the lives of others. We have a sure and confident hope that the God who gave us a new identity will do the same for countless others.

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, may it be so. Amen.

All that Matters (A Sermon)

While I’m on a leave from pastoral ministry, one of my projects is to edit and compile some of the most meaningful sermons from my time in Eldersville. The sermon below was preached on Thanksgiving Sunday 2018. I hope these words are encouraging to you, especially if you are going through a period of disillusionment and rediscovery, as I am.

Ephesians 5

Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children, and live in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us, a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God. Be filled with the Spirit, as you sing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs among yourselves, singing and making melody to the Lord in your hearts, giving thanks to God the Father at all times and for everything in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.

Ecclesiastes 1

All things are wearisome; more than one can express; the eye is not satisfied with seeing, or the ear filled with hearing. 

What has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done; there is nothing new under the sun. 

Read more from The Teacher.

One of Jesus’s most powerful and memorable teaching moments was at a time when he was surrounded by children. Parents were bringing their young ones to see Jesus from near and far, seeking his blessing. The disciples were trying to keep the children from Jesus—they wanted to reserve the teacher for adults who could understand and wouldn’t cause a fuss. But Jesus was angry. He said, “let the little children come to me and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.”

If we take a moment to reflect on this teaching, the meaning becomes apparent. Children are not only dependent on their parents, just as we are to dependent on God. The lives of children are also filled with wonder, curiosity, and a perpetual sense of newness. Everything in the life of a child is fascinating to them. They learn seemingly by osmosis, picking up on their surroundings. To a child, everything is new under the sun. Once they learn about something, they’re eager to share their new knowledge with someone else.

If only we could retain such youthful exuberance in our spiritual life!

To children such as these, the Teacher of Ecclesiastes says, “rejoice, young ones, while you are young, and let your heart cheer you in the days of your youth.”

Taken out of its context, that sounds well and good. Those with the wisdom that comes with age often say such things to children and youth. We tell them to enjoy their time of youth because we fondly recall some of the same experiences.

The dark side of that, though, is what the Teacher says about such youthful joy: eventually, it fades. The things that once brought us joy become old hat. The causes we were once passionate about begin to look more helpless. We hear someone say, “look, something new,” and we quickly see through the illusion. It’s just the same thing in new packaging.

Like the Teacher, who identifies himself as David’s son Solomon, we seek out earthly pleasures: retail therapy, a good book, or our favorite TV show. We labor to improve our lives and work on projects around the house. We pour ourselves into anything that can give us a momentary sense of meaning. We work long hours, hoping that they will pay off with some reward.

Yet, the Teacher says, even those things are trivial and ultimately meaningless. They’re no more permanent than dust in the wind.

It’s no wonder that many adults either want to return to the days of their youth or are disparaging toward those who are young. They either want to regain their youthful exuberance or hasten the disillusionment of those who see the world with new eyes.

“Vanity, meaningless, absurd is the world,” we say. “Best you learn it willingly instead of being wiped out on your butt by the harsh reality of life.”

Is there anything that isn’t a vain illusion? Is there anything in this world that will last?

I’m not sure I was ever a youth, as Jesus and the wisdom Teacher describe it. Sure, I was a youth in the sense of making bad decisions and generally being an idiot, but I don’t know if I ever had that spark of youthful joy in my eyes. 

This may be news to you all, but I’ve never been a sunshine and rainbows optimist. I thrive indoors on a rainy day drinking tea and contemplating the wisdom that leads to vexation and increases sorrow, as Ecclesiastes says.

I may have deceived you all with the occasional unequivocally positive message that restores your hope and joy. We do have to remember Easter every once in a while.

You don’t often hear out of my mouth the sickly sweet words that “everything is going to be okay” and “God has a plan” without some qualification and presentation of the facts. I’m the first to admit that sometimes life goes wrong, bad things happen, the world loses its luster before our eyes. Meaning is elusive.

But I bet I say something from the pulpit every once in a while that seems to drip with youthful idealism. I see you out there shaking your heads every once in a while. “Oh, that’s Joel. He says stuff like that. One day he’ll learn.”

One way or another, we both wrestle with the same predicament at times: our talk about God does not always describe the world as we see it. Revelation speaks of God making “all things new” and wiping tears from our eyes—but those days are far off. Jesus speaks of having the hopeful joy of little children—but we’ve all grown up. We have our degrees from the “school of hard knocks.”

Let’s admit it—Sometimes the words we share in church are like the sound of a tree falling in the forest. It’s far off from where we are. They pass through our ears, never to be heard again.

Church can feel like a show in which we act as if we have all the answers. We sing the hymns that uplift our spirits, if for a moment. We whisper the amen at the end of the sermon and our prayers, sure that it’s what we’re supposed to do.

And then a question pops up in our minds that we’re too afraid to ask. An experience launches us into a dark night of the soul. A friend or coworker asks us about our faith, but we’re not sure how to answer it. 

Still, we pop into church on Sunday morning and pop out an hour later like a breakfast pastry in the toaster. Maybe it helps, maybe it doesn’t—but, it feels right to us.

The Teacher gives us permission to close the curtain on the illusion, on the show.

Ecclesiastes allows us to skip the confident “Amen” once and awhile to sub in the cry, “vanity, vanity,” “meaningless, meaningless,” “these words are absurd!”

We have permission to peel back the illusions of our lives.

What do we have to gain from the daily toil of our lives? Nothing.

Will we be remembered in a hundred years? Probably not.

Will your congregation be remembered after all that time? In the history books that no one reads.

Look! The sun rises and sets day after day, again and again. Streams flow into the sea but they never complete their work, filling the ocean. Last week I wrote a sermon, in two weeks I’ll have to write another one. But the words are just dust in the wind. You won’t remember them on Monday (be honest!). Just like in the summer months—we mow the grass one day only to have to do it again the next week. It’s never ending! Soon that’ll be the case with the snow…

If you think that all this talk of vanity is Old Testament nonsense incongruent with the ministry of Jesus—I hate to disappoint you.

Sure, Jesus doesn’t go around spreading doom and gloom all the time, but he doesn’t pull any punches either.

To the rich young ruler who says, “I’ve followed all the commandments…” Jesus says: meaningless! Give up your idolatry and vanity. Sell what you have and give it to the poor. It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God!

Upon entering the temple, Jesus goes up to the salespeople at their tables and flips them over. “All the stuff going on in your church? Meaningless! My house shall be a house of prayer, but you have made it a den of robbers.”

As he left the temple, one of the disciples looked admiringly at the grand structure, but Jesus said, “See this? None of these stones will be left. All will be thrown down.” Stop admiring what will not last.

There are so many things of true importance in the world. Why would we focus on what is meaningless, vain, and idolatrous?

The disillusionment of Ecclesiastes and the ministry of Jesus aren’t any fun. 

We much prefer singing amens than we do unmasking the vanity of things we hold dear. But within the word disillusionment is the key to the good news. Disillusionment is, for sure, a disappointing feeling. But dis-illusionment is also the undoing of our illusions!

None of us, when probed, would consciously say, “yes, I would like to see things incorrectly. I would like to spend my days chasing after things that don’t last.” It would be ludicrous to do so.

Sometimes the exact thing we need is for Jesus, the Teacher, to come in and turn our tables over, wipe the slate clean, start from scratch and build things up from the foundation.

This discontentment and disillusionment with how things are might just be exactly what we need to regain the youthful exuberance of discipleship as children of God.

To be clear, we cannot give into the forms of disillusionment that lead us into the depths of cynicism. We might end up there every once in a while, but we can’t stay there. 

But the disillusionment with the status quo that leads us to self-emptying is exactly the kind we need this Thanksgiving.

Yeah, I said it. We need to be disillusioned with some things to truly give thanks to God.

Too often, we give thanks like the rich young ruler might: “Lord, thank you for not making me like those other people who don’t know you, who don’t have what I have.” Maybe we give thanks like Joel Osteen, “thank you God for helping me live my best life now, thank you for showing me with blessings.”

Such thanksgivings are vanity. They are like a house build on sand, like the bricks of a great temple.

But the promise of God is that not all is vanity. The Teacher of Ecclesiastes couldn’t see it, but he was looking in the wrong places. He’s right—we’ll never find meaning in routine work, in toil and trouble, in pleasures of food or drink. These are vanity.

But what is there that isn’t a vain illusion?

What in this world truly abides?

Paul gives us the answer in 1 Corinthians 13—

“And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. And the greatest of these is love.”

When we’re busy clinging onto the dust, we can’t grasp any of those things. We can’t have faith in God’s provision for an uncertain future if our future is sure. We can’t have hope if we’re clinging to the status quo of how things are. We can’t have true love when we’re only interested in our own self-importance and self-preservation.

But when everything else is stripped away from our minds, all of those so-called material and comfortable blessings of life, when we become disillusioned like the Teacher—only then can we become filled with the faith, hope, and love of Christ.

To paraphrase the words of St. Paul, “If I speak in the tongues of mortals and angels but do not have love, I am but dust in the wind—vanity! Even if I give away all my possessions and do not have love, I gain nothing.

“Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

“Most of all, though everything else is an illusion that will come to an end, Love will never end. Faith, hope, and love will abide. And the greatest of these is love.”

Love is not an illusion. Love endures even the powers of sim and death. Love abides forever and ever. 

For that we can give thanks to God today and every day. Amen.