A Sermon Preached at St. Stephen’s on Sept. 17, 2006, by the Rev. Cork Tarplee

            In this morning’s “Opus” cartoon, Opus the penguin and his pal Auggie are sitting out on hillside under a display of millions of stars, contemplating the vastness of the cosmos. While they are discussing whether penguins—who probably don’t believe in God—can possibly find the meaning of life, Auggie curls up on the hillside and falls asleep. It starts to rain. Opus, who has been dressed in hat and coat, looks down at the sleeping, coatless Auggie. “Ah, life’s meaning…” says Opus as he takes off his coat, “maybe it’s not so much found...” and he tucks the coat around Auggie and settles the hat on his head, “maybe it’s not so much found…as it is…made.”  The last frame shows Opus standing coatless in the rain, holding his umbrella over his sleeping friend.

            It is the message of our Gospel this morning.  Peter proclaims Jesus as the Messiah, and Jesus, suspecting that Peter understands the Messiah to be a super-hero who lords it over people from a prancing white steed, explains the suffering of the cross.  He’s right.  Peter doesn’t get it.  When Jesus talks about the cross, Peter rebukes him. So Jesus corrects Peter in the strongest possible terms, then calls the crowd together and says, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.”  Meaning in life doesn’t grow out of super-heroes and knights in shining armor.  Meaning in life grows out of the unselfish love of people willing to care for each other sacrificially the way Jesus loved us.  Meaning is not so much found as it is made…by people willing to give their own coats to shelter their friends.

            This morning, the Gospel urges us to be meaning makers. The book of Proverbs asks us to act on the wisdom of God.  The Epistle of James urges us to beware of glib speech because our actions speak louder than words.  And Mark’s Gospel points to Jesus’ kind of love as the only true wisdom and the only true model for our lives. It may not be an easy model to follow, this self-giving love of Jesus, but it is easy to encounter opportunities to exercise it. Jesus doesn’t ask us to go out looking for crosses and causes to take up.  Jesus asks us to take up the crosses we already have in front of us.

            A wise teacher of mine used to refer to this taking up of the crosses in front of us as “Practical Asceticism.”  He meant by this term that we don’t have to take on spiritual disciplines like the medieval ascetics, wearing hair shirts or starving ourselves or beating ourselves with whips.  Instead, life for most of us comes equipped with opportunities we would rather avoid, but can’t, with crosses to take up, practical and every-day opportunities for self-denial. A friend calls to say that her father who was in perfect health last month has just been diagnosed with a fast-moving cancer.  She and her siblings have never been faced with the death of a loved one before. Suddenly she has to take care of her own grief, comfort her father and care for her siblings.  It is the cross that is in front of her this week.  Her job is to be as loving as she can, as open and present and as real as she can with everyone around her.

            In another household, a child starts school this week.  It is not going well.  The child who is normally bright and inquisitive is alternately clingy and wildly misbehaving.  A lot of time will be needed to sort things out: time spent with the child, time spent talking to teachers and administrators.  None of this is going to be pleasant or easy.  It is the cross in front of that household this week.  The job is being loving and reassuring to the child, open and clear with the school; being fair, but above all listening for the best thing for a child in need.

            Crosses, you see, find us.  The job is to embrace them when we would rather run away.  The job is to remain loving when we are afraid. C. S. Lewis wrote about this dilemma in one of his children’s books, The Silver Chair. If you know those books, you know that the character he chose to represent God in this series is Aslan, a huge and powerful lion.  Most people who encounter Aslan are afraid of him at first.  Here’s a scene in which Jill, a newcomer to the magical land that Aslan rules, wants desperately to kneel down and take a drink from a stream, but is afraid to turn her back on the lion. “ ‘Do you eat girls?’ she asked.  ‘I have swallowed up girls and boys, women and men, kings and emperors, cities and realms,’ said the Lion. It didn’t say this as if it were boasting, nor as if it were sorry, nor as if it were angry.  It just said it.  ‘I daren’t come and drink,’ said Jill. ‘Then you will die of thirst,’ said the Lion. ‘Oh dear!’ said Jill, coming another step nearer. ‘I suppose I must go and look for another stream then.’  ‘There is no other stream,’ said the Lion.”

                                                                                                AMEN