Wait and See

 

The closed tomb is nothing exciting, but still we wait and see.

Job 14:1-14

Psalm 31:1-4, 15-16

1 Peter 4:1-8

John 19:38-42

 

The Rev. Seth Olson © 2022

 

O God, let my words be your words and when my words are not your words, let your people be wise enough to know the same. Amen.

Peter wrote, “The end of all things is near; therefore be serious and discipline yourselves for the sake of your prayers. Above all, maintain constant love for one another, for love covers a multitude of sins.”

The end is near, but I wonder why you showed up early for it. I wonder why you are here on this Sabbath of all Sabbath days. I wonder why you came to see this closed-up tomb.

So much of what we do on this day is waiting. If you were hoping for something else, something exciting, you will be disappointed. Even the Gospel reading for today is a re-run. We heard these same words at the conclusion of John’s Passion Gospel yesterday. So, even the Good News is waiting today—it’s silent, and for many silence is boring, even disturbing. No one has ever said, “Silence sells!” Instead, it searches us.

There is something magnificent about this silence, this waiting, this day. Unlike those who waited long ago in a garden or hidden away, unlike Joseph and Nicodemus, unlike the women who followed Jesus, we wait with some foreknowledge about the future. Sure, they had heard Jesus tell them what would happen after those three days, but could they believe as they waited. I wonder what it was like for those friends of Jesus as they waited.

I wonder if they snuck to the garden near Calvary on the Sabbath. I wonder if they sought to see Jesus’ tomb—sealed extra tight according to Matthew’s story. I wonder what they felt—sadness, anger, despair, loss, frustration, impatience, fear, apathy—their grief, no doubt, took many forms. Whatever they felt, they had to wait with it.

Today we wait. We wait somewhere fitting. Right over here and right out these stained-glass windows many holy ones are buried. And on this hallowed ground, long ago, someone prayed words similar to the following:

O God, whose blessed Son was laid in a sepulcher in the garden: Bless, we pray, these graves, and grant that those who will be buried here may dwell with Christ in paradise, and may come to your heavenly kingdom; through your Son Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

We wait here in this blessed place. We despair over the loss of a loved one, the loss of Our Lord, just like those long ago. We wait on sacred ground, yearning to dwell with Christ in paradise and to reside with beloveds in God’s Reign. That reign where love covers a multitude of sins—I wonder if that love covers all sins. I wonder if that love even swallows death. Let’s wait and see.

 

The Waiting Room

Today the whole world is a waiting room.

 

April 3, 2021—Holy Saturday

Job 14:1-14
Psalm 31:1-4, 15-16
1 Peter 4:1-8
John 19:38-42

 

© 2021 Seth Olson

Video of this sermon may be found here (at the 7:00 mark).

My soul waits for the Lord
    more than watchmen for the morning,
    more than watchmen for the morning.
(Psalm 130:6)


I do not like to sit in waiting rooms,
At doctors’ offices,
Or the dentist’s.
There I fidget, barely sitting still,
Worrying about my blood pressure,
Or a cavity.
Out the window, I spot a tree—barren or not yet in bloom.
I fight the urge to pull out my phone.
This last year, the entire world became a waiting room—and today is its epitome.

As I wait,
I wonder not about my body’s health,
But my soul’s.
If I could see my soul’s true state
With an X-Ray of sorts,
Or, if I could take it in to see a specialist,
What would I discover?
Mortality?
My soul makes not a peep.
Silently it sits.

“All are from women,
Have few days and are full of turmoil,”
Job says.
Like a flower, we wither.
In the impurity of this life,
Death slowly soils our existence.
Then, we fade
Like the afternoon sun.

“I wish you would hide me in the underworld,”
I plead alongside Job.
If people die, will they live again?
That’s what I think of in the waiting room
Sitting with my soul.
Silently, we wait for God’s reply,
More than watchmen for the morning,
More than watchmen for the morning.

Others point to mercy here—
Love covering a multitude of sins—
But in the obscurity of death,
Fear approaches.
It shrivels me up.
I feel like a parched riverbed.
The weatherman says,
“No rain today.”
Still I wait and I watch,
Together with my soul.
If people die will they live again?

How did Joseph and Nicodemus respond?
They did not wait.
They acted!
With care and without hope.
Certainly sorrowful.
No mirth.
Dutifully though with oils and linen.
Like, washing someone’s feet,
Lovingly, extravagantly, but lacking expectation.

Some women though,
They waited.
Following Jesus,
They waited.
Almost silently,
They waited.
Quietly crying,
They waited.
Like watchmen,
They waited.
Like Job,
They waited.
Like my soul,
They waited.
They waited
Wondering…

If people die will they live again?
Will he live again?
A human dies, the body remains.
A person expires but,
Where is the soul?
One is chopped down,
And hauled away.
Why then, are we waiting?
 

Something remains.
Not much, really…
Save for a delicately wrapped body.

As Joseph and his companion leave,
I tarry…
With the women and my soul.

“Jesus died, will he live again?”
I sit in the waiting room pondering.

And, at that moment,
Of all times,
My soul dares say something.
What?
I lean in to listen.

“’All the days of my service,
I would wait
Until my release should come.’

Wait
With me
For him.”

Just Show Up

My 22 year-old self happened to have more wisdom than I previously thought.

Sometimes life seems awfully complicated. When the bills keep mounting, when our jobs demand too much, when our kids’ extracurricular schedules just do not line up, when a parent’s health keeps deteriorating, or when many other things do not happen the way we wish they would life feels overly difficult. In these and other moments of challenge, it can feel daunting to make even one decision. We may want to respond by simply throwing up our hands and walking away. And, today our culture tells us we can. Society now provides all too many ways to avoid the difficulties of everyday living.

Now seemingly more than at any other time in human history people have access to escapes. Whether it is TV shows, video games, Virtual Reality, psychoactive substances, or many other distractions, we now have very accessible ways to avoid everyday life. Steven Spielberg utilized this premise in the 2018 film, Ready Player One. The renowned filmmaker envisioned a not so distant future when no one worked and everyone found their purpose in a Virtual Reality world. While this movie might appear as an extreme example, the truth that escapism is near an all-time high can simply be measured by how frequently people now use the phrase, “Adulting is hard.” So what are we to do when the difficulties of everyday life have us down? To answer this question let me tell you a story.

Back in the fall of 2006 I was a scrawny college kid with a big bushy mustache and long flowing locks of hair down near my shoulders. That autumn term at Sewanee I was a first semester senior who was unquestionably driven. On top of some seriously challenging courses, leading the residential life program, and working in the chapel as a sacristan, I was serving as the cross-country team’s captain. That season I ran the best times of my life. I met or exceeded almost every goal I had set. I earned good grades, worked really hard, made fantastic memories, and even was selected as an Academic All-American (one of the greatest accomplishments of my life). It would be easy for me to say that my life then was not as complicated as it is now, but it sure felt tough balancing many important commitments. When I wonder how I kept going through it all, one thing comes back time and time again.

Throughout that whole semester what mattered most was not perfection. It was not making the perfect score on a test, coming up with a perfect solution for a res-life problem, setting up the chapel perfectly, or running the perfect race. No, what mattered was showing up. What truly mattered then and why that time was so rich had everything to do with being there in the moment. I couldn't possibly read everything, make every meeting, or hit every pace exactly, but I could be there. Sure, I could say, "This was before the explosion of social media, pre-smart phones, and long before the responsibilities I have now." And yet, this stumbled upon wisdom from that fall long ago calls out to challenge me this week especially.

Sometimes as a preacher, I want everything to be perfect. I want my sermon to resonate so deeply with the congregation, so I reach as I try to hit a “home run” sermon. Sometimes as a liturgist, I aim for services, especially during Holy Week, to be so moving that people leave changed. Sometimes as a priest, I yearn to be such a compassionate pastor, wise spiritual director, and forward looking prophet that I end up in a million different places at once, which is to say I end up nowhere and everywhere else other than where I am. This week though I hear God bidding me, and us not to worry about getting everything perfect. This Holy Week is completely and totally about showing up.

Throughout this holiest of weeks in the Church, nothing we do will add to the saving work of Christ Jesus. We cannot make God's perfecting love any better. Every sermon ought to be about the preacher getting out of the way such that the congregation comes face-to-face with the greatest story ever told. Every liturgy ought to be about the clergy, altar guild, flower guild, readers, Eucharistic ministers, and acolytes pointing the congregation in the direction of what God has done for us. Every day is at its best another opportunity for us to show up and witness the overwhelming, unconditional, and limitless love that God has for us. This week is not about us being perfect or getting everything perfect, this week is about God’s perfection. Holy Week is about God’s fulfilling love, which overcomes all our mistakes, sins, and even death. Just show up and see what God does.

The Waiting Room

My soul waits for the Lord
more than watchmen for the morning, more than watchmen for the morning.
(Psalm 130:6)

I do not like to sit in waiting rooms,
At doctors’ offices,
Or the dentist’s.
There I fidget with my fingers,
Worrying about my blood pressure,
Or a cavity.
I thumb through magazines from the fall.
And, fight the urge to pull out my phone.
Today, the entire world is a waiting room.

As I sit in it,
I wonder not about my body’s health, But my soul’s.
If I could see my soul’s refection
In a mirror of sorts,
Or, if I could take it in to see a specialist,
What would I see?
Mortality?
My soul makes not a peep.

“All are from women,
Have few days and are full of turmoil,” Job says.
Like a flower, we wither.
In the impurity of this life,
Death slowly soils our existence.
Then, we fade
Like the afternoon sun.

“I wish you would hide me in the underworld,”
I plead alongside Job.
If people die, will they live again?
That’s what I think of in the waiting room
Along with my soul.
Silently, we wait for God’s reply,
More than watchmen for the morning,
More than watchmen for the morning.

Others point to mercy here,
But in the obscurity of death,
Fear approaches.
It shrivels me up.
I feel like a parched riverbed.
The weatherman said,
“No rain today.”
Still I wait and I watch,
Together with my soul.
If people die will they live again?

How did Joseph and Nicodemus respond?
They did not wait.
They acted!
With care and without hope.
Certainly sorrowful.
No mirth.
Dutifully though with oils and linen.
Like, washing someone’s feet,
Lovingly, extravagantly, but without expectation.

The women though, They waited.
Out of sight,
They waited.
Almost silently,
They waited.
Quietly crying,
They waited.
Like watchmen,
They waited.
Like Job,
They waited.
Like my soul,
They waited.
They waited
Wondering...

If people die will they live again?
Will he live again?
A human dies and the body remains.
A person expires but,
Where is he?
One is chopped down,
And hauled away.
Why then, are we waiting?

Something remains.
Nothing, really...
Save for a delicately wrapped body.

As Joseph and his companion leave,
I tarry...
With the women and my soul.
“Jesus died, will he live again?”
I sit in the waiting room wondering.

And, at that moment,
Of all the times,
My soul dares say something.
What?
I listen carefully.

“All the days of my service, I would wait
Until restoration took place.

“Wait
With me
For him.”

x

Without

Today we are without...

I do not like to wait…
In grocery store lines,
On traffic filled highways,
At airport check-ins,
But, today we wait.

We wait with no cause
We wait all alone
We wait scared and numb
Our existence breaks
And we are without…

We are strings without guitar;
Song without singer;
Symphony without conductor.

We are theory without scientist;
Equation without mathematician;
Project without engineer.

We are students without teacher;
Classroom without professor;
School without principal.

We are an order without a soldier;
A badge without an officer;
An accident without an E.M.T.

We are illness without doctor;
Disease without therapist;
Cavity without dentist.

We are a play without an actor,
A painting without an artist,
A poem without a poet.

We are a field without a farmer
Sheep without the Shepherd
Branches without the Vine.

We are the body without the head;
The Church without the Christ;
The Universe without its Savior.

We are without…
Without purpose and,
Without direction;
Without feeling and
Without affection.

Today we’re without,
And so we must wait,
Wait with a semblance,
A sliver of hope.
Wait outside the tomb.