God’s sense of humor never ceases to amaze me! It isn’t the avocado or the ocelot or the Ostridge that make me laugh, no, it is the situations that I inadvertently find myself in that demand yet another, concession. Yet another rethinking when I thought I had it all figured out, another conversation that tempers me and softens a rock-solid part of the heart.
God’s sense of humor was on full display last Sunday. I had been thinking about this sermon all weekend, this sermon that was going to be something about grandkids and faith and what are grandparents to do? What are priest grandparents to do?
Let me step back for a minute and say – good morning. I’m Nan Waldie and I am so glad to be here with you all. I have met many of you over the last several months, and I have reconnected with a number of you whom I have known from my work elsewhere.
I have been a priest in the diocese for 17 years, serving in various parishes but the main focus of my work has been in hospital ministry. I am a little horrified to say that I have been serving in hospitals for over forty years. That gives you an idea of my age, so it won’t surprise you to know that I am a grandmother. Two of our grandkids are parishioners here at Epiphany, well, our son is also a parishioner here, which is what first brought us across the water from Mercer Island and Emmanuel to the community here,
Grandkids and faith and what is a grandparent to do?
Back to last Sunday. I had this whole sermon written in my head – starting with my own grandmother, my icon of faith, the woman who I would say most clearly represented Christ and Church for me.
My grandmother was Irish Catholic. Both literally and figuratively she wore her faith. Always tucked out of sight, pinned to her undergarments or draped around her neck, was a felt scapula, two postage sized cloth squares with a picture of the sacred heart of Jesus on one and a picture of Mary on the other.
My grandmother taught me to pray by example. Nightly she would kneel beside her bed, and on arthritic knees pray the rosary aloud. As an adult I understood that it was our lives being caressed as she let the beads move through her fingers.
My grandmother loved her family, her neighbors, her chickens and her cows, her kittens and she loved God and she loved the church. My grandmother would never miss Sunday mass. Which brings me back to God’s sense of humor.
In my – a little too much piety, a little too much self-righteousness – I had thought the sermon would go something like – how important it is for our grandchildren to see us practicing our faith, even when it means leaving the fun of a family gathering on a Sunday morning to make sure we make it to Eucharist. Wouldn’t that action mean something to them down the road? Wouldn’t they remember, like I remembered, my grandmother never missed Sunday services.
The discussion of faith and grandchildren has been a long standing one in my family. I am a priest, clearly faith is paramount in my life. It is not that I have a need for my kids to practice what I preach, it’s that I know that life is rocky, the road has twists and turns, and if my work in the hospital has taught me anything, it has taught me that no one, no one gets through this life unscathed. And of course, I also believe wholeheartedly that as Saint Augustine so succinctly stated, the human heart is restless oh Lord, until it rests in thee.
For those reasons, I want my grandkids to know and love God. I want them to feel the safety surety of God’s love for them. I want them to have faith.
What I failed to remember in my head sermon writing, was not only that God is already at work in my grandkid’s hearts, but that my obligation to them as a grandparent is particular to this moment, to this place, to this time. What the Holy Spirit seemed to be nudging me to was – maybe seeing Nana and Papa leave the Whidbey Beach weekend gathering on Sunday morning to get to church was not actually the most important thing.
Actually, the impetus for this sermon began several weeks prior. We had been playing a game of Outburst with the grandchildren. For any unfamiliar with the game, one person has a card with a category written at the top and players try to guess all the answers in one minute. For example, the topic might be CHEWING GUM, and the answers might be – Juicy Fruit, Chicklets, Double bubble, Bazooka, etc. Well, our seven-year-old grandson picked a card that said – Bible Stories, He promptly, whining, attempted to return it to the pile, complaining that no one would guess the answers. “Try us”; we encouraged. Low and behold, we guessed all of them. As we were guessing, our older grandson asked the question and then made the comment – what are these stories anyone? They are just myths, right? All of our grandchildren have been exposed to Greek and Roman Mythology, seems to be a thing right now.
Anyway, I was taken aback by the comment. No, they are not just myths. They are stories about humans, they might be embellished and added on to over time, but they are about men and women and their relationship with God. Take, for example, the story of Jonah. He is mad at God and trying to run away from him because God wants him to go to Nineveh and tell the people there to stop being so mean to each other. Jonah is running from God, not because he is afraid of God but because he doesn’t want the Assyrians to repent and be forgiven. This would be like God appearing to a Palestinian and asking him to go to the Israelis or vice versa. The stories in the Hebrew Bible are not the same as the stories of Greek and Roman Gods.
Or take the story we heard read this morning of Jacob. This is not the story of a capricious god acting on a human being. We are plopped into the middle of this story, but it is the story of a man who all his life has used his ingenuity, his human intelligence, craftiness, to his advantage and yet, he is not destroyed by God, he wrestles with God.
Jacobs name actually means – to wrestle. Jacob came into the world wrestling with his twin, Esau. He steals the birthright, the blessing, then fearing for his life, (Esau is furious.) he flees to his mother’s brother, Labin. Years later, after marrying, having children and accumulating live stalk and wealth, Jacob is returning home. He is afraid. He has planned a way to offer riches to Esau as a means of softening any residual anger. He has all his household cross the Jabbok, but he spends the night by himself. It is in this solitude that that he meets and wrestles, perhaps with himself, as well as God. He is changed by the wrestling, he is marred by the touch, he is given a new name, Israel. The dark night of the soul.
This story is not a myth, it is a story that can uphold one, a story that has meaning and instruction for living life. The Bible is full of these stories.
I want my grandkids to be familiar with these stories because I think they will be a help, a bed rock for them through life.
Grandkids and faith and what is a grandparent to do?
The image that sticks with me from the Beach weekend is not of grandparents leaving for church, but of Byron, bleached bone-white, blonde seven year old, in a shortie wet suit, wearing a life jacket and crocks, heading out into the Sound to a raft moored in choppy, white capped waters, twenty yards off the beach. Neck deep in roiling waves, Byron assures me impatiently that he is fine. He can touch the bottom, he yells to me, as he continues navigating to the bobbing raft.
I am standing at attention on the beach close to the water, ready to jump in if needed, already thinking about would it be faster to slip off my tennis shoes or should I head in shoes on.
Byron reaches the raft, chin still above water and after a several near attempts is able to pull himself up onto the small, rocking deck. He stands for several moments, enjoying the thrill of the raft pitching and leveling before jumping back into the waves on the far side. He pops back up grinning; effervescent. After several more plunges, he heads back to shore, life jacket and tide to help as he swims through the waves.
What is a grandparent to do?
This is the irony and where I think God’s humor is on display. Yet again I think the world is mine to save, these grandkids are mine to shape and direct, as, by the way, are their parents. But they aren’t.
I am called to do my part. I stand on the beach; I make sure that the seven-year-old is wearing a life jacket. I interject whenever I can my faith. I know the stories of Abraham and Sarah and Isaac and Jacob well enough to share them in a way the kids might hear. I offer to teach to pray or take to the Come As You Are service. I do set guidelines. We pray before dinner, always. I practice my faith as fully as I possibly can, I seek help from the Holy Spirit.
And, so importantly, I remember, that my grandchildren’s faith journey is theirs.
What Jesus needs from me are a couple of loaves and a few fish, that is enough. It is Christ’s blessing that supplies the rest.