September 12th

I remember waking up the morning after 9-11, expecting to hear bomber jets flying overhead. Though it is unlikely that Durham, NC would ever be in a flight path for U.S. war planes, I wasn’t sure what unthinkable pandemonium I should be preparing for in the wake of the terrorist attacks on our own soil. I was a new freshman in college, far away from the security of my home and family. I had spent the day before huddled around the common room television in our dorm, watching the instant replay of the twin towers collapsing into the Manhattan cement. 

There were whispers of which students had parents who worked either in the towers or in the surrounding blocks. We waited with them, our collective breath held, wondering how the news would unfold in the coming days. Would the phone call be a huge relief or a nightmare come true? With Duke’s freshman orientation week a fresh memory, I was still trying to find my way around campus and figure out when and where to find my classes. Suddenly, it seemed as if the whole world had turned upside-down. 

Eleven years later, watching reports of new conflicts and assassination, in northern Africa as well as continued upheaval in Afghanistan, I still experience echoes of that same anxiety I felt on September 12, 2001. The details have changed over time, but the underlying fear that the world might one day unravel completely, always lurks right beneath the surface. 

These past few days, besides the extra rockets that were hurled our way in “celebration” of the anniversary of 9-11, our biggest concern has been a new trash burning pit erected on the perimeter of our camp. For the last week, as the winds have picked up in the evening hours, thick smoke has enveloped our camp, causing a plethora of physical symptoms as well as a growing panic. The air quality has always been bad on Bagram because of burn pits which destroy the hundreds of tons of trash created by the 40,000 some odd people who live on our around our air base. Watching a plume of smoke spread angrily into the sky day after day, not even 200 yards from some our housing units, has made many of us wonder just how bad the health repercussions will be for us. 

Last night, as I fretted about the cancer I knew I was developing and tried not to breathe too deeply so I wouldn’t choke on the lingering smoke, I realized the one thing I had not done in these days of worry-- pray. In the midst of my woes, I am often surprised to remember that I can always pray. One would think that a pastor would not so readily forget this powerful resource, but I do. I have been indebted though, especially throughout this year of deployment, that there have been many others who have remembered. Friends and family from every one of my life’s seasons have uttered prayers on my behalf. On many days, reminders of their prayer through emails, facebook messages, and letters, have made a remarkable impact on me, helping me cope better with the chaos unfolding around me. 

In some ways, it will always be September 12th, a day when it feels as if the world is coming apart at the seams as well as a day when we discover that life goes on despite the uncertainty. We wake up, get our kids off to school, do our work, tend to our chores and between all the running around, attempt to love one another as best we can. As life swirls around us, we remember that there is very little we can control. We have been given a gift of life, without any guarantee of number of days or even moments. Spending time preserving this life is a natural response to the harsh reality that our time is constantly running out. 

Yet, I am grateful for the moments when I realize that vain attempts of security simply take away from living life well. Whether it is a plume of smoke or any other darkness which threatens us, in the midst of our worry, in glimpses of grace we remember God’s presence which is steadfast and true. We have been promised good things. Even when I am afraid, I know that this promise will still be enough. 

But none too much - Sunday Sermon, September 9, 2012

Chaplain Mel Baars

September 9, 2012

James 2:1-10, 14-17

“But none too much..”

We all know how this works, particularly in the military. Special people get special treatment. In our community, it’s not gold rings and fine clothes, but it’s a bird or a star or two which garners the special treatment. When a person of that kind of stature appears on the scene, we do the scramble dance. We are at their beck and call with our “Yes Sirs” and “Yes Ma’ams.” No request is too much. The question is not if we will jump, but just how high. This is how we train, starting from our first experiences in basic training. The rank structure exists for good reasons. I want to be clear, I am not proposing an all out rebellion against it.   

It is actually the second part of James’ point which applies to us. He says, “but if a poor person in dirty clothes walks in, and if you take notice of the one wearing the fine clothes saying, ‘Have a seat here, please,’ while to the one who is poor you say, ‘Stand there,’ or ‘Sit at my feet,’ have you not made distinctions among yourselves.” Respect is not just for the ones who have the stars on their chests. They may be the ones who get the seat at the head of the table. We stand at attention when they enter the room. This is our protocol, and it is important. Yet, that does not preclude us from extending respect to all the rest, even the ones with hardly any rank at all.

Respect of the office is paramount to doing our business, but it’s not what James is referring to here. Instead, he is talking about how we treat one another. The idea that no matter who comes to us for help, we respond generously because he or she is first and foremost our neighbor. We see them for their humanity and not for their wealth, or in our case, their rank. As much as we know this, too often we forget. When we amass, even a modicum of power or influence, it’s easy for it to go to our heads. We task someone “under” us to do the dirty work, just this once because we are too busy with more important work. But then one time turns into two or three, and the snowball continues. We walk into a room, looking past all the lower enlisted, figuring out with whom we can rub our elbows. Just this once, we say to ourselves. We have to think of our careers and our next promotion board. One thing leads to the next, little compromises and moments of neglect, and sooner or later, we have lost sight of respect and love altogether.

Just a glance at James and it’s obvious that he isn’t in the business of sugar coating. He asks his audience a simple, albeit, excruciatingly uncomfortable question. “Do you people really believe in Jesus?” After assessing the landscape and observing their behavior patterns, particularly their treatment of the poor and powerless, James has come to a pretty dismal conclusion. Though they say they believe, they don’t act like it. They don’t live as if their belief in Jesus makes any real difference in their lives.

James’ question is as pertinent to us as it was to them. Assessing the way that we behave, examining our actions, would James ask us the same question? Do we really believe in Jesus? Do we live our lives as if our belief in Jesus makes a difference? I guess a better question might be this: How should a believer live? James answers this question by reminding his audience that we are accountable for all of our actions and, in some cases, our inaction. We may follow some laws really well, never murdering or committing adultery, but if we forget to love to our neighbors, if we judge others mercilessly, then we have, in effect, broken all of the laws. It’s not a game of picking and choosing. We are accountable for what we have done and left undone, and because we are human beings, it’s a safe bet that we have fallen short somewhere.

James spends quite a few verses of this chapter talking about the poor, which is rather appropriate for us as we are living in one of the poorest countries in the world where about 42% of the population in Afghanistan live on less than $1 a day.[1] It is hard to know where to begin in a place with these kinds of statistics, but all of us have more opportunities than we may realize to respect our neighbors, even here within the walls of our camp. Whether it’s at the dining facility, when we are served our food or find ourselves standing in line next to a local contractor, or just walking by the latrines and acknowledging those individuals whose job it is to clean up after us, it all begins with our willingness to see. Once we see the humanity of another person, once we realize that this is our neighbor, too, we may find more strength to act, and subsequently, to live like the believers of Jesus that we claim to be.

James makes some pretty controversial conclusions in his letter about faith and works, or more pointedly that “faith by itself, if it has no works, is dead.” Some of the reformers, in particular Martin Luther, didn’t think James was an authentic apostle. Some would have liked for him to be thrown out of the Bible completely because this chapter has continued to fuel a debate over whether faith or works grants a person salvation, a debate still unsettled throughout the church to this day. As a good Presbyterian, I must say first and foremost, it is God who saves us, and not ourselves. But, James asks an important question, “What good is it if someone claims to have faith but has no deeds?”  “Can such a faith save them?  Suppose a brother or a sister is without clothes and daily food.  If one of you says to them, ‘Go in peace; keep warm and well fed,’ but does nothing about their physical needs, what good is it?”

What good is that kind of faith? James reminds us that faith is about more than what we say. It is not about our lip service, but it is about our discipleship. Faith is about how we live and love and serve God and God’s many diverse children. True faith moves us both to our knees in prayer and thanks and then out into the world to become witnesses of God’s good news. When we live our lives as if our belief in Jesus actually makes a difference, then we endeavor to follow that great commandment, to love our neighbor as ourselves. We attempt to see all people as neighbors, no matter what rings or rank that they wear. And though we fail to do this completely, we also don’t ever give up.

In 1895, British Nobel Laureate Rudyard Kipling wrote a poem called If. Though originally published over a hundred years ago, it is a favorite among many, including myself and my late grandfather who first taught it to me when I was in the sixth grade. It has influenced many notable personalities, including our own General Petraeus who publicly cited this poem as one of his sources of strength, particularly during hearings on Iraq.[2] In one of its stanzas Kipling says this:

“If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,

if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

If all men count with you, but none too much.”

Perhaps he took a page straight out of James when he said—“If all men count with you, but none too much.” Though this is not an easy thing to do, we are still called to try, to do our best to love and serve our neighbors, remembering that God is present with us, giving us the strength we need to reach out again and again and again, even when it hurts. The poverty in our world is surely vast. And, it’s not just material, but also it is an emptiness of the heart. We all suffer from this kind of hunger. We are all desperate for ways to be fulfilled.

God has promised to give us what we need, to make us whole again, and to wipe all the tears from our eyes. So, write this promise down. Remember it well, for it is trustworthy and true.[3] Go out into the world in peace and with courage. Honor all people as you go. Live your life as if Jesus has made all the difference-- because, in the end, he has. Amen

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[1] "Afghanistan: Food still unaffordable for millions". IRIN. 12 March 2009. Archived from the original on 27 August 2010. http://www.irinnews.org/Report.aspx?ReportId=83417. Retrieved 11 October 2010.

[2] "Crocker, Petraeus Address Report on Iraq 'Progress'". The Washington Post. 12 September 2007. http://media.washingtonpost.com/wp-srv/politics/documents/crocker_petraeus_news_conference_091207.html. Retrieved 06 September 2012.

[3] Paraphrase Revelations 21:4-5

Hold on to what is good...

This week marks the first of a number of conversations that I am having with each of my soldiers in preparation for going home. I realize that this is only the beginning of the process of reintegration and, more importantly, finding some kind of closure after a year in Afghanistan. We have all had varied experiences here, some more stressful or tumultuous than others. This is the nature of deployment. Likewise, the reintegration process will not be homogeneous. Some soldiers will make the transition back to the United States, barely noticing the scenery change, just that the food is much better. Others will find themselves struggling over daily responsibilities-- shopping at the grocery store, picking up children from school, and waiting in line at the gas station. It’s sometimes the easiest things that surface our anxieties, often because most of us do not anticipate being challenged by the menial tasks we have done our entire lives. 

We have turned the page in our book, and discovered that there are but a few paragraphs left in the present chapter. Beneath the final period, blank space looms. There is a part of all of us that wants to read ahead, as the next chapter is now visible, almost within our reach. We also realize that we can’t move on until these last paragraphs have been brought to a close. We must read to the end. We must come to the final period, and face the gap between between these two worlds.

A few months ago, I decided that one-on-one meetings with each of my soldiers would be a good way to start the process of redeployment. These conversations would aid me in understanding the issues that soldiers were facing as well as help them to think more broadly about what it means to go home. Most everyone feels excitement at the freedoms which accompany “home,” yet very few brace for the rocks and crags which threaten derailment. I hoped these conversations would be a gentle way to identify some of the potential issues which lurk just over our horizon.

What I didn’t anticipate was how exhausting six or seven hours of counseling sessions would be, or that regular work would continue to demand at least some of my attention. With about half of these appointments behind me though, I am realizing how important this process is for my soldiers as well as for myself. While I have constant interaction with many from my unit, the harder subjects don’t often come up, not over a casual lunch or in passing. I have been shocked at the openness displayed in these meetings, even from people who have been otherwise standoffish. I have been reminded that stoicism often masks pain. A cheerful facade may be skin deep. A half an hour and a handful of questions has revealed a lot. It has helped me remember that above all else, ministry is about offering one’s presence. It is about a willingness to feel compassion.

In a few weeks we will close this chapter for good. It’s pages will remain a part of our whole story, but we won’t get to revisit them but in our memories. There is only so much we can take with us from this season. We will need to make room for new experiences and  people. Talking about this truth, I have remembered a few phrases of a benediction I first learned while on a mission trip to Guatemala during college and that I now pronounce each Sunday at the close of our worship service. 

“Hold on to what is good, and exchange no one evil for evil.”

As we continue on this journey, there is only so much that we can carry with our two hands. Despite the stress, the annoyances, the drudgery, the drama and the disappointment, there was also a lot of good that happened over this year. In our next chapters, may we keep this goodness close to our hearts, letting go of all the rest. 

We Are All Pharisees - Sunday Sermon, September 2, 2012

Chaplain Mel Baars

September 2, 2012

Mark 7:1-8; 14-15; 21-23

“We are all Pharisees”

I was in high school the first time that I heard these verses from Mark. Admittedly, I didn’t always pay close attention to the sermon or scripture readings during worship. Mostly in church, I was distracted from the choir loft by all of the people sitting in the pews, particularly, my latest crush. For some reason, though, my ears were tuned in on this Sunday. When the reader said Jesus’ words, “Listen to me, all of you, and understand: there is nothing outside a person that by going into them can defile. Rather it is what comes out of a person that defiles,” something clicked. This was just the ammunition that I needed for an ongoing argument that I was having with my father about watching rated “R” movies. Just a few weeks before, my grandmother, of all people, had given me the movie Pretty Woman. My father, normally an affable kind of guy, walked in on the exchange and took a stand. I would not be taking that movie with me, he declared. It romanticized prostitution and putting those kinds of ideas in my head would do me no good. If I didn’t watch out, I could become what I watched and read. I was a teenage girl, though. Of course, I had seen the movie a number of times, which I quipped back. But I could tell that I wasn’t going to win the argument, at least not that day. Pretty Woman stayed with my grandmother.

You better believe that my Bible was marked and ready when I brought the subject up again after church that day. There is nothing like the Bible to aid one in an argument for watching rated “R” movies, but I felt that Jesus had made a fair point, pertinent to my case.  It wasn’t what I put into my body or mind that would defile me, but it was what came out that mattered. I can imagine, as a parent, one is aware that what is put in can influence what comes out. I know that my dad has always had my best interest in mind, but the material point was this: my own heart, and not trashy television, should be my biggest worry. There is only so much that even the most overprotective parent can do to shield a child from the world and its ugly realities. At some point, we all have to face what is inside of us, our inner demons, and see them not as someone or something else’s fault, but as evidence of our humanity and, more importantly, as a reminder of how much we need God’s intervention.

Today’s gospel text is a classic case of religiosity gone wrong. It’s all about harping on the spec in that other’s person’s eye instead of recognizing and dealing with the plank in our own. Our chief hypocrites in the story are the Pharisees who have gathered around Jesus with the intent of pointing out what he and his followers are not doing correctly, according to religious law. The Pharisees make easy villains. They keep showing up armed with traps so that Jesus might publicly go against his own faith and its laws. On some occasions, it is a trap about healing and ministering on the Sabbath. Other times, it is about which commandments are most important. Today, it’s about hand washing and cleanliness. Yet, every time the Pharisees come at him, Jesus seems to turn their one dimensional argument on its head, leaving the crowd a little more prepared to reexamine the reason for the practices of their faith rather than blindly following them.

If you ask any Christian, from the fervent fundamentalist to the wildly progressive, what the greatest commandment is, most will answer this: to love God with all our hearts and minds and souls and almost as important as this, to love our neighbor. This is an easy one because the answer comes straight from Jesus’ mouth. The Jews, which included the Pharisees, have a similar great commandment which is known as the Shema. In fact, Jesus was talking about the Shema when he taught about the Greatest Commandment. These verses are from Deuteronomy and go like this, “Hear, O Israel, the Lord is our God; the Lord is One. You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your strength.” The Shema is recited twice each day by observant Jews. It is the first prayer taught to a Jewish child and in death, these are the last words a faithful Jew will utter as a final affirmation of faith in God. The Shema is the essence of the law.

But even though Christians and Jews alike are taught that these are the greatest of all the commandments, it does seem that there is a disproportionate emphasis on some of the more peripheral things. In the first century, much of what the rabbis talked about were dietary rules, Sabbath-keeping and circumcision.^[1] These were not at all a part of the Shema which they prayed relentlessly, but it sure seems that whenever the teachers of Jewish law, the Pharisees, show up, these are the issues that they focus on. Likewise, these days, the media is flooded with church leaders or even political leaders who have a whole lot to say about religion and the hot issues: The fight for birth control, the dilemma of sin and sexuality, are you pro-life or pro-choice? Is one’s politics Christian enough? Being a good Christian has been equated to support of a political party or a political issue and all the while, very few are saying anything at all about the most important thing-- that those who claim Jesus are called, first and foremost, to love and serve God. This commandment comes before all of the other things.

The Pharisees were so focused on who was a part of the inside crowd, based on observing certain laws, that they lost sight of what really mattered, loving God. The problem is not just that they neglected to teach others what mattered most, what pastors and priest are tasked with when they accept a call to ministry, but they forgot what really mattered themselves. This is Jesus’ point when he quotes Isaiah, saying, “This people honors me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me; in vain do they worship me, teaching human precepts as doctrines.” It may sound odd for me to say this, but I find it strangely comforting that the tendency to be hypocritical is not just of their time or our time, but it is of every time. Hypocrisy is the product of our pretense and self-deceit. It is, too often, the way of the human heart.

Of course, we know it is not just the Pharisees who are stricken with the inability to see the plank in their own eyes. Nor is it only the religious leaders in this time and in our pulpits who love to point their fingers and delineate just who is “in” and who is “out.” On most days, we are all Pharisees. We, too, have focused more on the specs in everyone else’s eyes, those especially who are not on our inside, who are not Christian enough, and all the while we have neglected the huge planks in our own eyes. As we point our fingers at the sins of others, as we endeavor to bar them, even, from our love and care, we defile ourselves from within. We fall into the greatest trap of all, abandoning God and instead clinging to our own very human tendencies.

As much as I can see Jesus shaking his head at all of us saying, “You hypocrites! You honor me with your lips but your hearts are far from me. In vain you worship me, but you teach of your human ways as my way,” I also remember that Jesus never gave up on the Pharisees. After a while, after proving their points invalid, it would seem perfectly reasonable that Jesus would give up on them. Jesus could have easily pushed them aside because they just couldn’t get it. But, that is not how Jesus does business. With indefatigable patience, he continues to teach and preach, to be a living example of grace. This is not without speaking the truth. Jesus did not shy away from hard conversations. But, he also never got to the point of rejection, even when people got it all wrong. Even when they got it wrong in his Father’s name. Jesus’ religion never got in the way of his love.

As one commentator put it, “Ironically, the one human being who was perfectly free from self-righteousness is the only one who was completely righteous. The least exclusive member of the human race is also its most exalted. The only person who has ever been truly free of a messiah complex was the Messiah.”^[2]

With God, our hearts are open, our desires are known, and none of our secrets are hidden. Though we know this is true, we still struggle to be honest about our sins. We still fool ourselves into believing that we are somehow better, somehow more lovable, somehow less tainted than those other people. We honor with our lips, but our hearts, what God desires most of all, are far away. Though we are all Pharisees, God’s news is still good. The mercy of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting. In Jesus Christ, all of us, every last one, are forgiven and made whole. Believe the good news. Amen and Amen.

---

^[1] John Ortberg. “Pharisees Are Us.” The Christian Century. Aug 23, 2003, p. 30

^[2] Ibid p. 30

Almost September

I looked up and realized it was about time to flip the calendar to September. I almost can't believe it. Our first weeks in Afghanistan crept by like molasses, but ever since then, the sand has rushed through the hourglass as if it was put in fast forward motion. As friends have prepared to go home over these past weeks, we have had quite a few moments of deployment review. It's the funniest things that linger in our memories-- the time a friend suggested we use two trays instead of just one for Mongolian Grill, because the food was so hot that it nearly burned our hands through the cardboard, the nights of watching West Wing or sitting on the balcony of our building for hours, and, always, the stories of our first meetings which, for some strange reason, most often happened in the bathroom. These will be the threads that we hold onto long after we have moved into a new phase of our lives.

September also means it's time to begin packing and preparing for the arrival of the chaplain who will replace me. Over these months, I have accumulated enough letters, cards, and artwork to cover the walls of my office and my bedroom. From pictures of new babies and families from church to random people whom I may never meet but who, nonetheless, sent boxes of girl scout cookies and toiletries for my soldiers, everything that has come through the mail has found a spot on one of my walls. They are a shrine to the kindness and generosity of countless people who have helped to make this year a little brighter for me and many of the soldiers and sailors with whom I work.

As much as I dread peeling each thing off my walls, I also know the whole process will be deeply cathartic. I know I can't keep all of it. Well, I guess I could, but I doubt that I will ever revisit such a large bundle again, at least in its totality. Instead, as I take each letter, each card, and each picture off the wall, I will give thanks to the person who sent it. I will remember the gratitude I felt when it came in the mail. I will acknowledge, once again, that it is the smallest gestures of care which make much of the difference. I am sure that there are a few I will keep, but for the most part, I also realize that bringing closure to this time of my life now, and not putting it off, will help me live better in present time. Life is always moving forward and letting go, as hard as this is to do, is how to stay engaged in whatever comes our way.

Already soldiers have talked about how sad my office will be without my brightly covered walls. I know they are right. I will be sad, too. But empty walls signify our impending departure. It's not quite time. There are still weeks of work left to do. Yet, with September on the horizon, we all feel the ground shifting beneath us. We hold it all in both hands-- the grief for our losses here and the excitement for what is soon to unfold. Shortly, the walls here will be bare, but I know there will be other walls to fill, too. For this, I am surely grateful.

It is Well - Sunday Sermon, August 26, 2012

Chaplain Mel Baars

August 26, 2012

Ephesians 6:10-20

“It is Well”

Most nights, when I was a little girl, my mother would come into my room and help me say my prayers. If we were in the middle of college football season, prayer time was extended so that we could include extra prayers for the starting lineup of her alma mater. No first-string Alabama football player went unmentioned. To this day, some of their names still linger in my head. The other part of my childhood prayer life consisted of putting on my armor. I also did this daily. When I put my armor on, I was protected from all the bad guys, which, back then, were the shape shifting aliens I saw on a particularly frightening episode of Star Trek. Every night I would pray these same words, “Jesus you are my righteousness. Jesus you are my salvation. Jesus you are my peace. Jesus you are my truth. Jesus you are my faith. Jesus you are my living word.” We put on our armor a lot, whenever we were going on a road trip or if something important was about to happen. Once I remember praying these words while my mother had surgery. Saying them quieted my fears. Every once-in-a-while, my mother still mentions praying this prayer on my behalf.

In all the years I have used these words for my prayers, I never knew where exactly in the Bible they came from, at least until this week. Reading this passage again and again, I have been reminded of how much the prayer has meant to me throughout my life. I realize now, these “pieces of armor”-- truth and righteousness, the gospel of peace along with faith and the Holy Spirit-- are God’s gifts to us, empowering us to walk in love as Christ has called us. With these as our guide, we discover that we are never left alone, only with our own devices. I will admit that it has been years since I put my own “armor” on, at least using the words I prayed as a child. In my budding intellectualism, I figured that I had grown far beyond this militaristic metaphor which has been used, too often in our own church history, to justify our violence. But this week, as I remembered the power of this prayer and its gifts, I realized just what I have been missing by neglecting this part of Paul’s letter to the Ephesians.

Though we are almost two thousand years into the future, the relevance of Paul’s message is undeniable. Just like those first Christians did, we also struggle. In the face of our world and its wily ways, it is not easy to live as Jesus taught us. We are buffeted from every side-- with temptations of consumerism, with misguided notions that we can control the rest of the world, with the lie that God is dead, and even if he wasn’t, we really have no need for him anyway.

The wiles of the devil are surely real. I would like to suggest, however, that they may not be what we first imagine, some kind of dark, lurking demonic presence which resembles the antagonist in a horror movie. These wiles are much stealthier than that. Sometimes they are our greed, that little voice that rationalizes that being generous is unwise, that we have earned all of this on our own accord and owe nothing to no one in return. Sometimes these wiles are our fears, our quick judgment and subsequent condemnation of someone because he doesn’t share our opinion or our understanding of faith, or even when we fail to embrace another because not getting hurt is more important to us than following Jesus’ command to love our neighbors, even when it’s hard.

We don’t have to look far to be reminded that darkness looms ever close. This darkness manifests itself in many ways, and not only in our hurtful treatment of one another, but also in our self-contempt, in our anxiety, in our guilt, in our inability to see ourselves as God sees us, as beloved children. God wants more for us than a half-life mired by the shadows of our failures. When we have confessed what we have done and what we have left undone, God responds to our sin and shortcomings with forgiveness and pardon, freeing us to live in peace.

And, this is what matters most. For as much as this passage warns us of the dangers of darkness, Paul’s message is that much more about the gifts that God gives us to weather these dark realities. The darkness may be strong, but God is still stronger. This is what we can’t lose sight of because this is the good news. Trials will come, that is sure. Look anyone in the eye, after the death of a child or when receiving news that it’s terminal, and see just how darkness may threaten. At one time or the other we will all know too well the searing pain of disappointment or cruelty. We will be knocked to knees by our grief. We won’t be able to see our hand in front of our face, but that is never the end of our story. That’s not where we have to stay. When it feels that we have no strength left, we may remember Paul’s words, not only of encouragement, but of incredible hope. Be strong in the Lord, putting on the whole armor of God, so that you may be able to stand against the darkness. Because our strength comes from God, even when we are knocked down, we are able to stand back up again.

Last week Lieutenant Dixson, or Katie as we know her in our lunch bunch, told us that her favorite hymn is, “It is Well With my Soul.” And, since this is her last Sunday in Afghanistan, she wondered if we could sing it. Of course, I agreed, and not just because it is one of my favorite hymns, too. Part of what makes this hymn so powerful is the background upon which it was composed. It was written by a man, Horatio Spafford, who had lost almost everything, first his four year old son, then his business, and finally, all four of his daughters when their ship sank during passage over the Atlantic. Only his wife survived, and so he set sail to go and find her in the aftermath of this tragic event. As he passed over the place in the ocean where his daughters perished, he wrote these words. “When peace like a river, attendeth my way, when sorrows like sea billows roll; whatever my lot, thou has taught me to say, it is well, it is well, with my soul.” And then the second verse, which is perhaps most pertinent to our passage today, “Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come, let this blest assurance control, that Christ has regarded my helpless estate, and hath shed his own blood for my soul.”

Now, there is no doubt in my mind that Horatio was a devastated man. That he grieved, that he felt anger and sadness and everything between, is a certainty. But, I have to pause in wonder about a man who can be surrounded with such darkness, from sorrows like sea billows to Satan’s buffeting, and even still, as he passes by the watery grave of his children, articulate, so poignantly, this peace which passes all human understanding. I don’t know of anything on earth which could have given him this kind of peace. This is the kind of peace which only comes from God.

I found it fitting, on this last worship service for a few of our church family, that our text would remind us this truth, that God has given us all that we need to go out into the world in peace, prepared to witness good news wherever we may find ourselves. In many ways, we all had to have courage to get here in the first place. Then, through the blessings of friendship and love, a few of God’s means of strengthening us, we have weathered this deployment season. And now, as we face the transition back home, back to our “other” lives, we look to God’s strength again, and not just to make it safely home, that is the easy part if the Air Force is cooperative. But, as we face new challenges, new beginnings, new frontiers, places we have never been before, we are strengthened by God’s promises of goodness. Because we know this much is true, we can walk in love as Christ has taught us, even through the darkness.

A belt of truth, and a breastplate of righteousness. Shoes, which when you put them on your feet, make you ready to proclaim the gospel of peace. A shield of faith, a helmet of salvation, and a sword of the Spirit. These are what we take with us-- truth and righteousness, faith, peace and salvation, and always, the spirit-- wherever we go, so that we may be ready for whatever life unfolds around us. It may get dark. In fact, on some days it will. But when it does, may we remember these gifts. May we rest in God’s holy presence and in the knowledge of God’s steadfast grace. Amidst whatever comes, may we find ourselves still singing these words, “Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say, It is well, it is well, with my soul.” Amen.