Rev. Paul Tellström

Irvine United Congregational Church

MLK Sunday

January 14, 2007

Epistle Reading: 1 Cor. 12:4-11

Gospel Reading: John 2:1-11                                                                      word count: 1,558

            The church is a disarming place to find oneself in at any time.  We walk through the doors expecting something, without knowing or understanding what that “something” is.  As St. Paul said, “We see through a glass darkly.”  But still we stumble in, we find a seat, we see who is here, and we listen for that mysterious “something” that might either confirm what we already believe or change us completely.

            In the season of the church year known as “Epiphany” when Jesus was revealed to the Magi who followed a star, we also stumble in the dark towards meaning; searching our own skies for revelation, for some sudden manifestation of the essence or meaning of that “something.”

            Life never seems to prepare us sufficiently for epiphanies.  By definition they come upon us suddenly, dazzling us by their raw power.  They are not magical intrusions from another world, but reality, naked and without shame.  Their very ordinariness shimmers with unexpected depth, which is why they take us by such surprise.  It does not matter whether they occur in the majesty of Hagia Sophia or in the elegant simplicity of a wooden chapel, the effect is the same.  

The Monks of New Skete, a monastic community in upstate New York, have ruminated on what is it to be a seeker of faith today, walking into a worship experience and judging what it feels like to be in spiritual community with others.  They write:

“In the Seeker's own case, whatever else he was living with, his confusion and fears, this unmistakable realization leapt out at him: God dwells here among these people.  In the very palpability of their worship, he knew this was so, and suddenly all of his other questions were put into clearer perspective; they were illumined in a cleansing moment of worship that left him changed.  How so he dared not describe at that moment, other than to know it had occurred.  This is what has been missing, he thought.  I’ve had it wrong all along.”¹

            This is one of those times in the life of a congregation, manifestly true today for specific reasons as it will be true once again for others, when an epiphany strikes us in all its raw power.  And this is the time when a scripture passage about the gifts we all have to bring is lifted up and planted in our midst by virtue of a lectionary that knows nothing but how to repeat a three-year cycle, and gives us the means to see ourselves in that epiphany.

            As I said, we stumble into places like this and take a seat, and look around to see who is here.  It doesn’t occur to us at the time that by planting ourselves here, we will have no choice but to begin to care deeply about these faces that shine in morning light.  Today, we care very deeply—we absorb and reflect back the deep grief that is being felt throughout our congregation. 

How is it that a young man, bright and full of promise, could tempt fate and lose—leaving behind an unfilled destiny and a void into which grief has no choice but to be poured?  How do we begin to know how to reach out to those shining faces who are feeling so deeply, except that we feel, too?  How is it that a husband and father is taken too soon, and how and when can healing even begin?

And, there are inner monologues speaking silently but insistently, right here, right now, expressing deep concerns:  How will I go through this surgery ahead of me?  How well will I heal at my age from the surgery I have just gone through?  My health worries me, my memory is failing me, my marriage is troubling.  Sometimes I feel despair because of all these things that are going on in my life; how do I go on…how do I go on?

Today we sang those words:  “Deep in my heart, I do believe, we shall overcome, someday.”  Somewhere in the singing, the words must be personal—somewhere within our hearts, there is conviction that allows us to bring that kind of music upward through the cacophony encircling our lives.

            At almost every wedding, we hear St. Paul’s soaring conviction about love, and if we were to back up just a little before that famous passage, we would hear these words:

“There are different kinds of gifts, but the same Spirit.” 

To each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good. The spirit allots to each one individually, just as the Spirit chooses.  What gifts do you have?  What gifts do you rejoice in?  Is it the gift of healing, or teaching?  The gift of caring or of praying?  The gift of service?  Some gifts are glorious in appearance and dramatic in their effect.  They are easy to identify and easy to praise.  Other gifts are more subtle, more ordinary, and have their impact over the long term rather than in the instant and often they fail to receive the recognition they deserve.  Someone once said that 90% of life is just showing up, and I think that’s true—just being the face that reflects care, and the person who runs the small errand that is so simple, but means so much.

Our first response when terrible things happen is to feel inadequate.  We rehearse platitudes that sound so “Sunday school” and try too hard to say the thing that will make it all right.  The event is so huge that we think we need to respond in kind, when the response that is needed and wanted is so disarmingly simple.  Just show up.  Bring the healthy meal, the card and the hug.  You’ll do the right thing.

Jesus had to perform that first miracle—he went to a wedding and turned water into wine.  (And, as I get to know this congregation, I suspect that this is by far your favorite miracle story.)  How did he know that he would rise to the occasion in front of so many people?  We feel the same way when terrible things happen to the people we love, but we can relieve ourselves of the pressure that we are expected to perform miracles—we just have to bring one small gift—ourselves with arms outstretched.  St. Paul tells us that the community that we are a part of makes up in many parts the Spirit that is present.

All we need is faith that this is true.  And what is faith?  Bill Coffin says that, “Faith is being grasped by the power of love.  Faith is recognizing that what makes God is infinite mercy, not infinite control; not power, but love unending.  Faith is recognizing that if at Christmas Jesus became like us, it was so that we might become more like him.  We know what that means—from being tested by trusting an inner reservoir of faith that Jesus could turn water into wine, to watching him heal the sick, empower the poor, and scorn the powerful, we see transparently the power of God at work.  Watching Zacheus climb the tree a crook and come down a saint, watching Paul set out a hatchet man for the Pharisees and return a fool for Christ, we know that our lives too can become channels for divine mercy to flow out to save the lost and the suffering.”²   

And here is the epiphany, whose very ordinariness shimmers with unexpected depth, which is why it takes us by such surprise.  In this room, to each is given the manifestation of the Spirit for the common good, and we each act with our own gifts for that good trusting in our faith that where we can only do our small part, others will fill in the missing pieces.  

The gifts we bring to one another in a ministry of presence are what get me to the hospital bed where I can meet my neighbor where she is.  I do not bring her my faith for comfort.  My faith is what brings me to her.  And when I am in that hospital bed—when I am sick, or wearing out or nearing death, I will be comforted by my faith, for my faith has led me into rich relationships and provided me with memories and love and hope.  My religion tells me that life goes on and the world is a better place for my having lived by this faith.

And proclaiming an even more outward ministry of presence, the great leader whose life we celebrate this morning, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., said: 

“I have the audacity to believe that people everywhere can have three meals a day for their bodies, education and culture for their minds, and dignity, equality and freedom for their spirits.  I believe that what self-centered people have torn down, people other-centered can build up.  I still believe that one day humankind will bow before the altars of God and be crowned triumphant over war and bloodshed, and nonviolent redemptive goodwill will proclaim the rule of the land.

“And the lion and the lamb shall lie down together and every one shall sit under their own vine and fig tree and none shall be afraid.”

“I still believe that we shall overcome.”

Sermon Resources

1  The Monks of New Skete, The Monks of New Skete, (New York: Little, Brown and

     Company, 1999), 21.

2  William Sloane Coffin, Credo, (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2004) 7-8

Scripture for Sunday, January 14, 2007, MLK Day

1 Cor. 12:4-11

There are different kinds of gifts, but the same Spirit.  There are different kinds of service, but the same Lord.  There are different kinds of working, but the same God works all of them in all men.  Now to each one the manifestation of the Spirit is given for the common good.  To one there is given through the Spirit the message of wisdom, to another the message of knowledge by means of the same Spirit, to another faith by the same Spirit, to another gifts of healing by that one Spirit, to another miraculous powers, to another prophecy, to another distinguishing between spirits, to another speaking in different kinds of tongues, and to still another the interpretation of tongues.  All these are the work of one and the same Spirit, and he gives them to each one, just as he determines.

John 2:1-11

On the third day there was a wedding in Cana of Galilee, and the mother of Jesus was there.  Jesus and his disciples had also been invited to the wedding.  When the wine gave out, the mother of Jesus said to him, "They have no wine."  And Jesus said to her, "Woman, what concern is that to you and to me?  My hour has not yet come."  His mother said to the servants, "Do whatever he tells you."  Now standing there were six stone water jars for the Jewish rites of purification, each holding twenty or thirty gallons.  Jesus said to them, "Fill the jars with water." And they filled them up to the brim.  He said to them, "Now draw some out, and take it to the chief steward."  So they took it.  When the steward tasted the water that had become wine, and did not know where it came from (though the servants who had drawn the water knew), the steward called the bridegroom and said to him, "Everyone serves the good wine first, and then the inferior wine after the guests have become drunk. But you have kept the good wine until now."  Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him.