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A Sermon by Jennifer
Russell
A Sermon by Jennifer
Russell
Weltschmerz We are blessed this morning and this month by
the presence of our middle school students in worship. The adults in their
lives obviously care that these young people have a religious footing upon
which to stand. Such a footing can be a place of solace and strength when the
world doesn’t make sense. I want to speak especially to our young people
this morning. The events of this past week are troubling to them as they are to
us. Most of us have seen movies filled with special effects; alien spacecraft
landing in a farmer’s field or the destruction of famous buildings. But
Tuesday’s actions were not special effects. No cameraperson said, "Roll ’em."
Those who died were real, real fathers and mothers, sons and daughters, brothers
and sisters. You may know someone who was there. What do we do with such news? How are we to
understand it, process it, know it, but not be owned by it? Some of you, I am sure, are talented in art. You
express your feelings best by using your hands to create. A painting or drawing,
a sculpture, a collage can tell the world how you are feeling. Some of you may
be dancers, able to tell a story through movement. Music is another way to
express one’s feelings. While I was writing this message I listened to
Mississippi John Hurt. Sometimes the Blues is what the heart needs to hear. This morning our middle school students have
been given a journal. Your artwork is on the covers. These journals contain
questions about the church service. There is also room to write further
reflections. They are a way for you to learn why we do what we do here in this
sacred space. For some of us writing is the best way to
reflect our feelings. Whether music, art, dance, or the written word is your
medium, it remains important that you talk to someone you trust about how you
are feeling. Fear, anxiety, hate, or sadness won’t go away on their own. You
need safe places in which to voice them. Church is a safe place, a sanctuary for
all of us. You may have noticed a somewhat strange word as
the sermon title today. Weltschmerz. It’s a German word that has found
its way into the English language. When I accidentally stumbled across this week
it I decided it was the word for me. Where I saw it, it was defined as world
sadness or world pain. The Oxford Dictionary On-line, the bible for
people in love with words, defines it as a "weary or pessimistic feeling about
life." Many of us feel weary this day. The barrage of
images reminds us what happened on Tuesday was real. Since it is real,
authentic, traumatic it is not containable in a small compartment in our brains.
It spills over into everything we say and do. It’s like a rash that covers our
body and can’t be hidden. In honor of the written word in a time of
Weltschmerz, I want to tell you about a girl named Anne. On her 13th
birthday she received a lot of gifts. Among other things were chocolates, a
game, books, jewelry and money. But her favorite present was a journal, a place
to record her most private and important thoughts. She wrote about parties,
friends, challenging school assignments, and family. Writing was a way she could
express her feelings. Less than a month after Anne received this gift,
her topics of discussion became far more serious. In July of 1942 Anne and her
family left their home and went into hiding. A place called the Secret Annex
gave them some safety in an unsafe world. Anne took her new journal, hair
curlers, handkerchiefs, schoolbooks, a comb, and old letters. Memories were more
important to her than dresses. Why did her family need to hide? The Franks were
Jews. Their goal was to avoid being sent to concentration camps. She described her feelings of hope, new love,
and worries to her diary that she called Kitty. In May of 1944, after almost two
years in hiding, Anne wrote these questions in the wonderful style of thoughtful
teenagers with lots on their minds: "Dear Kitty . . . As you can easily imagine we
often ask ourselves here despairingly: ‘what, oh what, is the use of the war?
Why can’t people live peacefully together? Why all this destruction? . . . Why
should millions be spent daily on the war and yet there’s not a penny available
for medical services, artists or for poor people? Why do some people have to
starve, while there are surpluses rotting in other parts of the world? Oh, why
are people so crazy?’" Anne also expresses a vision of a future: "I
simply can't build my hopes on a foundation of confusion, misery and death ... I
think… peace and tranquility will return again." Through her forced imprisonment
she remains faithful. She wrote "God has not left me alone and will not leave me
alone." In this time of uncertainty these words of a
young person are meaningful to us. "God has not left us alone and will not leave
us alone." If any of you have come for answers this
morning, I have to tell you, I haven’t any. But I am here to tell you through
Christ Jesus there is nothing that can separate us from God’s love. Though the
earth should change, though the mountains shake in the heart of the sea, the
Lord of hosts is with us. We are not alone. Let’s look at today’s scripture. The gospel
lesson is about two things: the compassionate concern of a searching God and
heaven’s delight in the recovery of the lost. We need look no further for
examples of this truth than the actions of the firefighters and emergency
personnel as they search through the rubble of the New York City buildings and
the Pentagon. God’s concern for us is of this very nature. This is what it means
to be made in the image of God. We have this love and compassion that yearns for
life, that seeks out the hurting and the suffering, especially of the weak and
the marginalized. Heaven’s delight in the recovery of the lost is
of the same nature as ours when we hear of a victim being saved or rescued.
In light of what has happened this week
something else came to my mind about this reading. When we search, when God
searches, it is good to know what it is we are looking for. When I misplace my
keys or set down a piece of paper somewhere, it is always helpful to me to know
what I’m looking for before I spend too much time searching. And so what are we looking for today? Have you
come for a sense of pre-September 11 peace? Perhaps you want to
instruction on how forgiveness can take place after such a terrible
crime? Maybe you want to understand where God was when those aircraft
veered away from their course? Are you looking for a way to stop the
hurt? Maybe you are striving for compassion, the feeling that makes
it possible to love one’s enemies? In the weeks and months ahead we will strive
together for understanding and compassion. It won’t be easy. Especially when in
our guts we remember when someone hit us on the schoolyard we wanted to hit
back, and harder. The challenge is to be here in the moment with our grief.
Today we can mourn. Today we must mourn. One of the lights of Anne Frank’s young life was
Peter, a boy who was a few years older. Their friendship in the Secret Annex
gave them strength during impossible times. Then, like now, is a time to lean on
each other for comfort and support. We need not be alone. Christ has given us
the church as a community of faith, in times of joy, in times of grave
difficulty, in times of Weltschmerz. This is a time for holding onto each other. This
is time to remember God is with us and will not abandon us. Some of you may have heard the poem Waltzing
the Spheres on PBS this week. Susan Scott Thompson reminds us poetically of
the need for holding onto each other in times like this. Though the earth should change, though the
mountains shake in the heart of the sea, the Lord of hosts is with us. We are
not alone. Amen. Reference: The Diary of Anne Frank, Pan
Books, London and Sydney, 1983. |