Sunday, January 30, 2022

Sermon for 1/30/22: Fourth Sunday After the Epiphany


 
No audio or video files. My apologies. For some reason, my voice recorder app on the iPhone is glitching. Going to have to take my iPad with me to Church.

 


“Groaning”

Romans 8:18-23

 

 

Grace to you and peace from God our Father, and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

 

There is a lot of groaning going on in the eighth chapter of Romans. “...The whole creation has been groaning in the pains of child birth until now.” We ourselves groan, we are told. And then, in verses 26 and 27, we are told, “The Spirit Himself intercedes for us with groaning too deep for words...” All of these groanings are born out of a deep-running tension between present reality and future realization. As one Biblical interpreter put it, we are living in the “now, but not yet.” That is the tension laid on us by the revelation of God’s redemptive plan. As such, these groanings remind us that anyone who really expects to find peace of mind in the service of our Lord is chasing an illusion. Despite all the talk of the glories of being a Christian in this world, those glories are not to be found here. They await us elsewhere.

The Christian life is, in fact, torn with turmoil and scarred with struggle, because it is caught up in a deep longing for what is yet to be. Our destiny is a as certain as it is splendid. But the way is long, and it is surrounded by the circle of our own weakness and sin. What we know here is the cross and all of the affliction it brings. St. Paul himself might serve as the supreme example of one who agonized over his bondage to death and corruption. “I see in my members another law waging war against the law of my mind and making me captive to the law of sin that dwells in my members. Wretched man that I am! Who will deliver me from this body of death?” Nothing less than the shining splendor of our Lord’s return will strike down these chains.

But, of course, we live in hope. And why wouldn’t we, with all the promises God has given us? But oh, to have just a touch, just a brief glimpse of their fulfillment! We understand so well how Peter, James, and John felt on the Mount of Transfiguration. Everything was glorious and beautiful there in the shining presence of the Son of God. But even that did not continue for them, and it is denied to us. And so we are thrown back on our prayers, our longings, our anticipation. But we are handicapped by our own weakness. We don’t really know how we ought to pray. We may know how to talk about prayer, but, really praying? That’s another matter altogether.

And there are two very good reasons for this. First, we cannot pray rightly because we cannot foresee the future. We might well be praying to be spared from things which are for our good, or we may be praying for things that might, in fact, harm us. And second, we cannot pray rightly because in any given situation we do not know what is best for us. Even the pagan Greeks, that culture in which the New Testament grew up, were aware of the moral weaknesses of men. Pythagoras forbade his followers to pray for themselves, because they would not, in their ignorance, know what was good for them. Even Socrates taught his disciples simply to pray for good things in general and to leave it to “the gods” to decide what things ought to be given.

Those pagan Greeks, however, their hearts and minds darkened by unbelief, were ultimately lacking the help and the hope we are given. But even with our imperfections, our groanings flow from faith, however weak, and ascend to the throne of God. As the Psalmist put it: “The eyes of the Lord are toward the righteous, and his ear toward their cry.” And those groanings, St. Paul tells us, are too deep for words. They remain unspoken. They arise from our frustrations, our anxieties, our misgivings, our disgust with ourselves, our heavy disappointments. They come from deep down inside, from that part of us psychologists call the “subconscious.” And they cannot be forced into the narrow framework of human speech. They are much too dark, too bitter, too despairing for that. And the wonder is that God understands those groanings for what they are, and from where we are. They do not require the promptings of the psychiatrists couch. For God hears our groanings because He hears in them the speech of His own Spirit, who is busy shaping our longings and our hopes into the speech of intercession.

We really don’t know how to pray as we ought. If we think we do, we are only engaging in self-delusion! Why we even catch ourselves day-dreaming in the middle of our prayers. This is unworthy of sons and fellow heirs with Christ. But, right there is God’s own Spirit to pick us up and to maintain our contact with the heavenly Father. In turn, He searches our hearts to look into their deepest and darkest corners. And there He hears and understands our wordless groaning.

Now that we know this, we can live in hope a while longer. We can endure this eager waiting for a little while yet. And when that prayer is finally and fully answered, we shall be done with all those groanings and sighings that are too deep for words. For the glory of God’s presence will bring forth from us that new song of which every syllable is clear and distinct: the song of the saints before the throne of God. In the name of the Father and of the Son (+) and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

 

The peace of God which passes all understanding will keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus always. Amen.

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