“In My End Is My Beginning”
May 22, 2005
Texts – Genesis 1: 1-5, 31 - 2: 4
II Corinthians 13: 11-13
Do you recognize my sermon title? It is the last line of T. S. Eliot’s poem, “East Coker.” I almost memorized it years ago. Today’s readings brought it immediately to mind. “Home is where one starts from,” the poet says.
“As we grow older
The world becomes stranger, the pattern more complicated
Of dead and living. Not the intense moment
Isolated, with no before and after,
But a lifetime burning in every moment
And not the lifetime of one man only
But of old stones that cannot be deciphered.
There is a time for the evening under starlight,
A time for the evening under lamplight
(The evening with the photograph album).
Love is most nearly itself
When here and now cease to matter.
Old men ought to be explorers
Here or there does not matter
We must be still and still moving
Into another intensity
For a further union, a deeper communion
Through the dark cold and the empty desolation,
The wave cry, the wind cry, the vast waters
Of the petrel and the porpoise. In my end is my beginning.”
It’s a melancholy piece with a haunting air about it. Eliot captures the rich profundity of life’s deepest movements. He also captures the spirit of Paul’s closing words to the church in Corinth.
“Finally, brothers and sisters, farewell. Put things in order, listen to my appeal, agree with one another, live in peace; and the God of love and peace will be with you.” [II Corinthians 13: 11]
It’s a four-point sermon just begging to be preached!
“Put things in order,” he says. Obviously, all was not as it should have been with the brethren in Corinth two thousand years ago. They seem to have been divided in just about every way (and over just about every thing) that it is possible for a faith community to become divided over. Leadership and doctrine were two key elements, but it did not stop there. His comments range from the sublime to the ridiculous, including such things as how the community meal should be served and who should eat what and when. (Which reminds me, we have a community meal coming up this Wednesday at the Annual Meeting; Ellen Pine is in charge of it – yes, the President of the Church also
turns out to be the chief cook and bottle washer here . . . talk about the privileges of power! She could use some help getting that meal put together and served. Won’t you talk with her after the service or give her a call to volunteer? Thanks.)
“Finally, brothers and sisters,” Paul says, “. . . put things in order.” Maybe it’s a Biblical version of “get your act together.” Indeed I’m sure it is. But it’s more than that. It is also a way of saying, “in my end is my beginning.” Just as “in the beginning . . . the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep . . . . And God said, ‘Let there be light’” (Genesis 1: 1-3), so here at the end of his pleading with them Paul invites the Christians of Corinth to imitate their Creator by bringing order and light into their life together. “All things should be done decently and in order,” [I Corinthians 14: 40] he said in his first letter to them. He repeats it here.
“Put things in order.” Get your act together. Why? Because divisiveness leads to chaos leads to destruction. That’s the equation Paul is working, I think, though it is not unique to him. The Letter of James says,
“Who is wise and understanding among you? Show by your good life that your works are done with gentleness born of wisdom . . . For where there is envy and selfish ambition, there will also be disorder and wickedness of every kind.” [James 3: 13, 16]
Point number one . . . step one . . . in the “end which is a beginning” is “put things in order.” Step number two is “listen to my appeal.” You asked for my opinion, he says. I am the one who got you started in this Christian movement in the first place. So listen to me . . . pay attention to what I’ve had to say . . . let this be an aid to you as you continue the journey.
“Listen . . .” Why? Because the poet is right – “Home is where one starts from.” Paul is “home” for these Corinthians. He is their founder, their teacher, their parent in Christ. And it is so important to touch base with home, because “as we grow older The world (does) become stranger, the pattern more complicated.” What seemed simple in our youth . . . what was once so clear cut and black and white . . . becomes a rich mixture of many hues and shapes. Isn’t that how you experience it? I know it’s how it has become for me.
I go back to Eliot’s words – there is “a lifetime burning in every moment.” Oh when we were young so much of what we experienced seemed an “intense moment Isolated, with no before and after.” That first time you rode your bicycle down the street without falling . . . your first kiss . . . even graduation day – such intensity, such ecstasy. But the pattern grows more complicated, and now it’s as though there is “a lifetime burning in every moment And not the lifetime of one person only But of old stones that cannot be deciphered.”
Does that ring true? I was walking into the Price Chopper the other day to pick up some groceries on my way home from work. And I passed a woman I’ve never met in the parking lot. She was headed out; I was headed in. We didn’t acknowledge one another; we didn’t speak; but for a moment as we passed I saw in her a little girl with braids and braces on her way to school. Saw it clear as day. There were no wrinkles ... no gray hair ... no slight stoop to her carriage – just the child she once was hiding within an adult on her way home from the store at the end of the day. And it’s true of you and of me and of each and everyone of us. The poet says –
“Love is most nearly itself
When here and now cease to matter.”
It is so with God’s love. In my end is my beginning. Let there be light. And God saw that the light was good. And sees that in you and, by his grace, even in me.
So Paul says, “Put things in order . . . Listen to my appeal . . . [and then] . . . agree with one another.” Agree. An alternate translation of the Greek is “encourage one another.” It is a nuance lost on many of us. It means not capitulation to another’s opposing point of view, but acceptance of the other . . . being in harmony with another even though the particulars of your points of view may be out of sync with each other. Agree . . . encourage . . . embrace.
It is the fine art of community that he is counseling here. It applies to wherever “two or three gather together in my name,” of course; but it also fits (doesn’t it?) those more intimate relationships we have in our homes. I performed a wedding yesterday; it was a grand celebration. They left the selection of the reading up to me, so I picked the one I often use for civil unions and weddings –
“Put on then, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, (put on) compassion, kindness, lowliness, meekness and patience, forbearing one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. And above all these put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony.” [Colossians 3: 12-14]
I could just as easily have shortened it to Paul’s third point – “agree with one another” – but I fear they would have missed the meaning.
“There is a time for the evening under starlight,” the poet says; “A time for the evening under lamplight (The evening with the photograph album).” We’ve had such a time together as a Church this year, haven’t we? Last September we published our Bicentennial History. It is quite literally our “photograph album,” and I confess I still take great pleasure in it. What a rich, vibrant, wonderful legacy we have together here. [That I’m in it just makes it all the better of course! Always wanted to make my mark on history! Thank God, too, that my picture in it looks a whole lot better than the one in this year’s Annual Report!]
T. S. Eliot was right – “there is a time for ... the evening with the photograph album.” A time to take satisfaction in what has been, and to see oneself as part of a greater whole. This year has been such a time for many of us in this church. From last September’s publication of the church history to November’s “Unfinished Story” gathering to our Covenant Renewal Sunday in February with John Thomas. In a few weeks we’ll welcome Martin Copenhaver back home for Jazz Sunday. I hope you’ll plan to join us and that you’ll come the Saturday night before to greet Martin and Karen and Jean Andrews and each other as we end the year’s festivities.
“Put things in order . . . Listen to my appeal . . . Agree with one another (encourage each other) . . . Live in peace .” Which is to say – In my end is my beginning. “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you; let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.” Peace. At-one-ment . . . Shalom. Paul ends as he begins. The journey comes back to its beginning. The poet puts it well –
“Love is most nearly itself
When here and now cease to matter.
Old men ought to be explorers
Here or there does not matter
We must be still and still moving
Into another intensity
For a further union, a deeper communion”
You see, it really does all fit together. Scripture speaks to you and to me as we know ourselves individually. Always on the journey. Always coming to an end. Always called to begin again. And who are these “old men” who “ought to be explorers”? Why it’s us, of course, chronology not withstanding. But two hundred years more than qualifies us as a church to hear ourselves being addressed. We are called to explore. We must be still and still moving.
Wednesday night we will gather for our 199th Annual Congregational Meeting. That’s been in my mind and on my heart from the beginning of this sermon. This is a challenging time for us. The proposed budget which will come before us calls for a significant and painful reduction in our staff. Two people whom we all love and respect stand to see their job descriptions eliminated. At the same time, the dollars we are able to commit to support the outreach ministries of others are slated to be dramatically reduced. None of this seems good news.
It is not the case that we are a congregation facing decline. It is not the case that we are a troubled or divided faith community. It is the case that “the times they are a changing.” It has been apparent for a number of years that we simply do not have the ability to support with our present level of stewardship giving the ministry and mission we are so proud of. That’s how I interpret where we’ve come. None of us want to be here. Last year, collectively, we increased our pledges of financial support by a remarkable 9%. But we weren’t able to fulfill those pledges. We over-reached; we over-extended. When the tsunami struck this winter, our generosity provided the seeds from which came an amazing harvest of compassion. Let’s not “beat ourselves up” or walk away feeling some how a failure. The fact of the matter is, there are limits to what any one group of people can do, and we together have come to the end of one of those limits. That does not mean we will stop carrying out the ministry of communication which our secretary has helped facilitate, nor will we let go of the ministry of pastoral care to which our Parish Visitor has been so attentive. What it does mean is that we will have to find new ways to do these things together. And we can do that. We will do that.
“In the beginning,” scripture says, “God created . . . And behold, it was very good.” [Genesis 1: 1, 31] Now we learn again what we already know. It is God who creates, who redeems, and who sustains. In the beginning and in the end. So let us put things in order. Let us attend with care to the teachings of our faith. Let us encourage each other. And let us live together in peace, knowing it to be what it has ever been – a gift to each and every one of us. “May the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ and the love of God and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with us all.” [II Corinthians 13: 14] Amen.