Peace in the Wilderness

Sermon preached by the Rev. Lowell E. Grisham, Rector
St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Fayetteville, Arkansas
December 6, 2008; 2nd Sunday of Advent, Year B
Episcopal Revised Common Lectionary

(Isaiah 40:1-11)
Comfort, O comfort my people,
says your God.
Speak tenderly to Jerusalem,
and cry to her
that she has served her term,
that her penalty is paid,
that she has received from the Lord's hand
double for all her sins.
A voice cries out:
"In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord,
make straight in the desert a highway for our God.
Every valley shall be lifted up,
and every mountain and hill be made low;
the uneven ground shall become level,
and the rough places a plain.
Then the glory of the Lord shall be revealed,
and all people shall see it together,
for the mouth of the Lord has spoken."
A voice says, "Cry out!"
And I said, "What shall I cry?"
All people are grass,
their constancy is like the flower of the field.
The grass withers, the flower fades,
when the breath of the Lord blows upon it;
surely the people are grass.
The grass withers, the flower fades;
but the word of our God will stand forever.
Get you up to a high mountain,
O Zion, herald of good tidings;
lift up your voice with strength,
O Jerusalem, herald of good tidings,
lift it up, do not fear;
say to the cities of Judah,
"Here is your God!"
See, the Lord God comes with might,
and his arm rules for him;
his reward is with him,
and his recompense before him.
He will feed his flock like a shepherd;
he will gather the lambs in his arms,
and carry them in his bosom,
and gently lead the mother sheep.

"Righteousness shall go before you, and peace shall be a pathway for your feet." (Psalm 85:13)

The presence of peace is often a sign of the presence of God. I have known people who were going through terrible trials, living in situations of confusion or threat, who nevertheless say that they have experienced a deep sense of peace in the midst of their struggle. That peace is a source of strength, meaning and direction for them, helping them to face their challenges with deep hope.

"Comfort, O comfort my people, says your God. ...In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord."

From time to time, all us find ourselves in a place where we don't know which direction we should turn. How do I decide what is the better path? How do I make a pathway through my desert? Occasionally people will come to me to visit when they find themselves in the wilderness. Now I'm not a trained counselor or a therapist, but I know the spiritual traditions, and I can listen as a friend. Sometimes I can connect someone and their situation with a resource or a story from the deep wells of our religious heritage.

There is a helpful practice that comes from the tradition of St. Ignatius of Loyola. Ignatius was the founder of the Jesuit Order, and in the heritage of his spirituality, the Jesuits have done some of the church's best work on discernment. Discernment is disciplined listening that can open us to God's direction. As the Psalmist says today, "I will listen to what you are saying, for you are speaking peace to your faithful people and to those who turn their hearts to you." (85:8) According to Ignatius, peace is a sign of discernment, an indicator of the will of God.

In his early years, Ignatius was a soldier. He was wounded severely in battle, and had to spend months in hospital convalescence. He lived with intense pain. One of the ways he found to cope with the confinement and pain was to daydream actively. He found that when he used his imagination to create vivid stories and narratives it lessened his pain and helped the hours pass.

Ignatius used all of his senses as he imagined. He would see the colors of his daydreams, smell the scents, and hear the sounds. He would feel the tactile touch and taste the tastes of his stories. He created voice and conversation. He used all of his senses in active imagination.

Ignatius found that he gravitated toward two fantasies – both narratives about how he might spend the rest of his life once he was healed and left the hospital. In one narrative, he imagined himself becoming a chivalrous knight who won honor and acclaim on the battlefield and earned the hand of a beautiful and virtuous noble woman. For hours he could create stories about his future, its drama and glory. While he was in his active imagination, his pain was distracted and he was comforted.

There was a second narrative that also gave him relief. Ignatius imagined himself becoming a great knight and explorer for Christ, traveling into uncharted places where no one had yet heard the Gospel story and being the first to bring Christ to the darkness beyond the edge of the known world. For hours he could create stories about his future explorations. While he was in active imagination, his pain was distracted and he was comforted.

But Ignatius noticed an interesting difference between the two narratives. In the moments after he had been in active imagination, when he was just biding time and attending to the businesses at hand, he discovered he experienced a very different emotional and spiritual state following each of these two fantasies. In the ordinary time after he had been in active imagination in his stories of battlefield glory and chivalrous knighthood, he found that he felt restless and even disconsolate in the hours following. But in the ordinary time after he had been in active imagination in his stories of becoming an explorer for Christ, he found that he felt peace and consolation in the hours following. That afterglow of peace, Ignatius decided, was the sign of the will of God for him, the evidence of discernment. After he was healed, Ignatius became that Christly adventurer, and with his companions took the Gospel to new and unknown lands.

I sometimes encourage people to practice that form of Ignatian discernment when they have decisions. Choose two alternatives. Use your active imagination to live into each of them. Then notice, where does your spirit go in the ordinary time afterward? Does one path leave an afterglow of peace? That peace may be the sign of the yearning of God's Holy Spirit for you, a path through your wilderness.

This week Suzanne and I visited with someone who is walking through a wilderness and finding peace as a pathway for her feet. For more than a month, our friend Katherine has been living in a hospital motel in Little Rock in order to be near the side of her sister Ann. Katherine's history has been harder than most, and her sister is the person who has most sustained and befriended her throughout her life. Ann is living with life-threatening cancer; now she is largely unresponsive, sustained by a respirator – a young wife, mother of two children – the tragedy of it all seems overwhelming. Every day Katherine is there. In her gentle, quiet way, she sits and stays bringing her gift of deep faithful love. Katherine has found a breath prayer that she recites to herself in the rhythm of the ventilator. In times when the pain is great, Katherine is present to hold Ann's hand or to pray within the helplessness. Katherine simply is, there, present. For more than a month she has been there; she eats in the cafeteria or makes something simple like soup in her room with its microwave and small refrigerator. She's careful to get to the hospital early so her sister's husband won't have to come into his wife's room with nothing but machines there. Like most families, Katherine and Ann's has some complicated and conflictive relationships. Katherine is careful to maintain her own healthy, self-defined relationship with each of her relatives. She keeps the information flowing to all, even while she helps them maintain some boundaries between them that tend to minimize the potential for continued hurt or conflict.

"In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God." Each day Katherine spends some time with her journal. She prays. To stay grounded, Suzanne suggested that she spend some time lying on the floor. Katherine says that she did her grounding in the bed; that seemed to be the closest to the floor that she could manage. She keeps herself open to the resources of support that she needs and willingly calls on them. She stays close to friends by the phone. Last week I had a message on my answering machine. Katherine had called while I was visiting with someone else, so my voice mail picked up. "Father Grisham, this is Katherine. I just wanted to hear your voice, and I guess I did. I just wanted to say 'hi' and thank you for your support. I'm doing fine. Thank you for your prayers for Ann. Goodbye."

Step by step she walks a straight path through a dark and difficult wilderness. There is something about the quality of Katherine's faithfulness that seems to be lowering mountains and raising valleys in the wrenching ups and downs that come with following a loved one through a threatening illness. Above all, she knows that this is where she should be. She is giving a gift to her sister. Around Katherine is an aura of peace.

"A voice says, ...All people are grass... The grass withers, the flower fades; but the word of our God will stand forever. ...He will feed his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs in his arms, and carry them in his bosom, and gently lead the mother sheep."

As God gently leads Ann, the mother sheep, Katherine her sister brings comfort, O comfort, along this wilderness road. In her, mercy and truth have met together, righteousness and peace have kissed each other. She is listening to what God is saying, for God speaks peace to God's faithful people and to those who turn their hearts toward God. She knows where she should be. She knows where she is going. Each day as she walks toward the hospital, righteousness shall go before her, and peace shall be a pathway for her feet.

In the wilderness – in all of our wildernesses – God is making a pathway. Listen, listen, O my friends, for the gentle sound of peace. The presence of peace is the sign of God's guidance. God's peace is our source of strength, meaning and direction, helping us to face our journeys with deep hope.
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