Untimely Born...

 Untimely Born…

 

1 Corinthians 15:1-11
15:1 Now I would remind you, brothers and sisters, of the good news that I proclaimed to you, which you in turn received, in which also you stand,

15:2 through which also you are being saved, if you hold firmly to the message that I proclaimed to you--unless you have come to believe in vain.

15:3 For I handed on to you as of first importance what I in turn had received: that Christ died for our sins in accordance with the scriptures,

15:4 and that he was buried, and that he was raised on the third day in accordance with the scriptures,

15:5 and that he appeared to Cephas, then to the twelve.

15:6 Then he appeared to more than five hundred brothers and sisters at one time, most of whom are still alive, though some have died.

15:7 Then he appeared to James, then to all the apostles.

15:8 Last of all, as to one untimely born, he appeared also to me.

15:9 For I am the least of the apostles, unfit to be called an apostle, because I persecuted the church of God.

15:10 But by the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace toward me has not been in vain. On the contrary, I worked harder than any of them--though it was not I, but the grace of God that is with me.

15:11 Whether then it was I or they, so we proclaim and so you have come to believe.

 

Another Easter is upon us (what an interesting phrase!). “Upon,” as in “on top of,” or “burdening” us? This may be the language of a parish pastor, for whom “Holy Week” is actually what college frats might dub, “Hell Week.” Of course, none of this harsh labeling is due to any animosity toward God, Jesus, or the celebration of Christ’s Last Supper, trial, death, and resurrection. It’s mostly the result of each year’s Holy Week demanding a string of sermons and services, and some notable amount of “novelty” and/or creativity on the part of the preacher. After all, the congregation will be listening and offering their critique of the Holy Week messages—the few who show up on Maundy Thursday, or the dedicated group who join you at whatever kind of Good Friday service(s) your church or community put up—as well as the hordes who often “fill the church” on Easter. They expect you to tell them something they have never heard before, all the while not losing the narrative of the “tried and true” story of “Up From the Grave He Arose.” This is unlike Christmas, when the universal thrill of the holiday is so all-encompassing that they will be happy almost regardless of what you tell them in the Christmas message. Easter is different—they know the story as well as they do the Christmas one, but will be on the lookout for any fresh way you can relate it to their life, and most especially the one they are living right now. It’s a challenge. Some may just punt, tell the simple journalism account of the ancient event, and with outstretched arms, proclaim, “He is RISEN!” Others of us try and try and try to find a kernel of newness in the narrative. I always found SOMETHING, but it was often not the balm I had hoped it would be. In my defense, however, I DID try to find direct connections to the people I was serving at that point, and when I was successful, they “got” it. I was never one to make fun of the “Christmas/Easter” crowd, either. I was grateful they came, did my best to make them feel welcome in their own church, and take a crack at preaching in such a way they might actually want to come back before December 24. 

 

As one who never preached the same sermon twice—ever—I can say that my commitment to write “fresh” messages each week, including for the major Christian “events,” was good fodder for finding the unusual, the inspiring, or the just “Huh!” moments in the scripture accounts. When I say that I never preached the same sermon twice, it is true, but in a bit of a “mythical” way, in that I DID recycle some of my favorite (innovative or “whacky”—you decide) biblical interpretations of a text, and a story or two. Did I ever tell one congregation about “another church I once served”? Of course, but either omitted or changed the names to protect the innocent. Occasionally, I’d be REAL sneaky and say something like, “I’m going to tell the NEXT church I serve…” I found that this line always got their attention, and may be used as a “back door” into their religious psyche. 

 

Back to Easter. I decided to use this I Corinthians text for this week’s Easter retirement sermon because I don’t believe I ever did. I confess that, in spite of trying to introduce something novel into my Christmas and Easter messages, I kept in the familiar “rut” of Luke 2 and John 20, because these creative reductions of what happened are most familiar to my audience and me, and because if I screw up the rest of the sermon, at least they get the simple story again, and we all know how scripture is often the eternal “earworm” that sticks with a hungry soul, even if the preacher is having a bad day.

 

The first thing that caught my eye in this text was the phrase in verse 6: “Then he appeared to more than five hundred brothers and sisters at one time, most of whom are still alive, though some have died.” Paul tells us something here that is unique. Honestly, it sounds more like the Lukan author, who has a penchant for giving details and numbers, but I like the “most of who are still alive” part. This is significant, especially in light of what Paul will say a couple of verses down the road. When I read verse 6, I thought of the movie, Apollo 13. If you don’t know by now that I am a “space buff,” you haven’t been reading too much of what I write. I grew up through the Mercury/Gemini/Apollo era, and have never gotten over the advances and accomplishments of the people who made it a reality. I STILL like to go back and watch the cache of movies and documentaries I’ve amassed on DVD, and won’t miss new, stirring ones that show up, like the haunting film, “First Man” about Neil Armstrong, as portrayed by a brilliant Ryan Gosling. Of course, Apollo 13 is the Ronnie Howard movie portrayal of the one “failed” mission to the moon, most of the narrative for which came from James Lovell’s book about it, “Lost Moon.” Like the Christmas and Easter stories, you probably know Apollo 13’s. Not long after blasting out of Earth orbit and heading for the Moon, a mundane cryogenic “tank stirring” task precipitated an explosion in the Service Module, the part of the spacecraft that housed most of the essentials for life aboard Apollo. Breathing oxygen was bleeding out into space, oxygen that was also essential to the “fuel cells,” the mechanism that generated the electrical power for the Command Module (home to the astronauts on the journey, and the only part capable of getting them safely back to Earth). Again, not to belabor the story, but in essence, they used the Lunar Module as a “lifeboat” until they could loop around the Moon and fire up the batteries on the Command Module to re-enter Earth’s atmosphere. It all worked, they were safely home, much drama was part of how and why, and the rest, as they say, is history, blah, blah, blah.

 

As the movie is winding down, after the astronauts are safely aboard the aircraft carrier, Tom Hank’s voice (as Jim Lovell) narrates the closing scenes. As the camera pans over the jubilant “geeks” at the consoles in Mission Control, Hanks tells us that most of these engineers and flight controllers “have gone on to other things,” but that “some are still there.” Paul’s words that “some are still alive” from the 500-plus that witnessed the events around that first Holy Week prompted this Apollo 13 connection in my possibly twisted mind. I began an investigation, my inner dialogue and I. Is the story of Apollo 13 a micro-cosmic (sorry) “version” of the story of God and humanity? What begins as a romantic “mission” gets suddenly derailed by a human failing, and everything kicks into survival mode. Maybe this is as good a definition of the scriptures of the Hebrew Bible as there could be—“survival mode.” God and humanity going back and forth, trying to find a way to “keep alive” and together. Both parties must pool their “creativity” and expertise to overcome the plethora of obstacles to this partnership. At one part in Apollo 13, when a fight breaks out between astronauts Fred Haise and Jack Swigert, Jim Lovell intervenes and reminds them of the goal—survival and GETTING HOME. The prophets of the Old Testament do exactly the same thing, and it often seems like they are attempting to convince BOTH humans AND God of this, fearing that either/or may be ready to abandon the mission.

 

The Christ Event is the Lunar Module, in this scenario. Christ IS our “lifeboat” who “gets us home,” but even Christ can’t land us, safely. We also need a cast of thousands and our OWN commitment to “re-enter” the scorching atmosphere of life and the challenges of relationships. Once the Lunar Module saves our astronaut-heroes, it is cut free and burns itself up, resurrected in the on-going story of the ones it saved and a grateful nation. You can draw your own parallels here. 

 

Each year it seems we lose another astronaut or one of the principals who got us to the Moon. And we lose more of us who lived through the actual events, such as the hazardous flight of Apollo 13. Thankfully, there are storytellers who have recorded these events for us to read or watch, and even museums dedicated to their remembrance and the “re-living” of them for those who weren’t yet alive when they took place—those “untimely born.”

 

Of course this is our last parallel. Paul felt he “missed out” on the actual events around that first Holy Week—what he labels “untimely born,” and yet it is the incredible richness of his scriptural storytelling, his innovative crisis management, and the church he helps launch that has formed, fostered, and “forwarded” the faith we now share. And to this story, we are all “untimely born,” relying on those who have gone before us to “get us home” in our relationship with God and the Community of Faith. Now WE are part of that on-going cloud of witnesses, just like Paul, charged with keeping the story of redemption alive. The church is our “museum” of the story where we regularly rehearse and re-live the biblical events that give us our meaning and connect us all to God. Easter is the successful and triumphant “splash down” signifying to us that in Christ, we are all delivered home safely. 

 

At the end of the movie Apollo 13, Tom Hanks gives the following speech:

 

Gene Kranz retired as Director of Flight Operations just not long ago. And many other members of Mission Control have gone on to other things, but some are still there. As for me, the seven extraordinary days of Apollo 13 were my last in space. I watched other men walk on the moon, and return safely, all from the confines of Mission Control and our house in Houston. I sometimes catch myself looking up at the moon, remembering the changes of fortune in our long voyage, thinking of the thousands of people who worked to bring the three of us home. I look up at the moon, and wonder, when will we be going back, and who will that be?

 

As a retired pastor, I often find myself doing the same kind of retrospective about the church, “thinking of the thousands of people who worked to ‘bring us home’,” and “wondering who will that be?” that will lead us onward as we “re-live” the resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ and witness him to the world. Who WILL that be? You? Me, even in retirement? This I know: it will be one untimely born. Amen. Oh, and HE IS RISEN! He is risen, Indeed! Happy Easter, Beloved!