“Faith, Community, Faith Community”

September 27, 2009

Esther 7:1-6, 9-10; 9:20-22

Rev. Dr. Marisa Laviola

 

If we were to read the entire story of Esther, we would see a slice of the history of the Jewish community, at a time when they were in exile under the Persian Empire around 500 BC.  We would read a tale that has all the ingredients for a good movie:  intrigue, action, a plot that keeps us glued to the screen, evil villains, a weak ruler, and an unlikely hero, in this case heroine, who rushes in to save the day and her entire people from extinction.  Some of the ingredients may sound harsh for scripture on a Sunday morning, as the plan for the genocide is thwarted, and as vengeance toward those who would plan their demise is a satisfying dénouement to the action.

             This story does not have all the fanfare of the deliverance of a people through the miraculous intervention of the Hebrew God.  There are no burning bushes, no plagues, no tablets of stone given from on High, no angels that speak on behalf of the Almighty.  This story is about an orphaned Jewish woman who becomes the Queen of Persia, through showing her physical beauty and through hiding her Jewish heritage.  It is a story of a woman’s courage in the face of a “life-and-death struggle not of her own making” (Esther, New Interpreter’s Bible).  It is a story of one person who steps out of her comfort zone, makes her heritage and religion known at great peril to her personal survival, not even sure her efforts will work.  It is a story of a flawed and courageous human being, knowing she must act, hoping beyond hope that her actions are according to God’s plan.

             This story explains the origins of the Jewish Festival of Purim, a celebration with feasting and sharing gifts, with community and with those inside and outside the community who are the most vulnerable:  in this case, the poor.  Purim is not a major Jewish holiday.  Nonetheless, even to this day, Jews celebrate their people’s deliverance from death over 2500 years ago at the hands of the advisor to the Persian King. 

             It is thought that the story of Esther was told from one generation to the next through verbal word until it was written down.  Just two years ago, a Jewish colleague of mine, at the time of Purim, relayed to me the entire story by memory, and with great emotion, just as though it was his own story.  It’s a powerful story; one that has stayed with the Jewish people to the present day, a story of the forming and preservation and continuation of their faith community. 

And it makes me wonder. What stories do we have to tell, that we can hand down from generation to generation, that are powerful, that speak to the forming, the preservation, and the continuation of our faith community?

             Stories of the 200 year history of the people of our faith community, much like Esther, flawed but courageous human beings, who stepped out of their comfort zone, risked a new path, hoping beyond hope that their actions were participating in God’s plan, life-giving for them and for the people they served.

             Stories of the people of our faith community in the recent past and even now who came to this faith community and who now participate in communion and community one with another, like Esther, flawed but courageous human beings, who hope beyond hope that participation in the preservation and continuation of our community is in God’s plan, life-giving for us and for the people we are called to serve.

             Our stories, stories of faith, stories of community, stories of this faith community, as all of us, like Esther, flawed but courageous human beings, continue to hope beyond hope that our actions, our ministry, participate in God’s plans for our lives and for those people we are called to serve.

             What are our stories to tell?  Our stories of a life long journey that has brought us here thus far, stories of a journey that has kept us here thus far.  Stories of worshipping together, praying together, fellowshipping together, working together, playing together, seeing each other through growing pains, times in which we have stepped forth out of our comfort zone into new choices for ministry, as we have committed ourselves to the preservation and continuation of this church, our church, God’s church, onto the next generations, hoping beyond hope that our ministry is indeed the ministry that God has in mind for each of us and all those we are called to serve.

             If a person on the streets of Morrisville would stop us and say, why do you attend the First Congregational Church, what would we say? What story would we tell?  As visitors come to us on Sunday morning or at other times in the life of our church, persons looking for a church home, and ask us “why should I come to this church“, what would we tell them?  If we are in a gathering at the school, at a town meeting, or at work and folks are talking about God and church and the relevance of faith in this secular society, how would we participate in that discussion?  What stories would we have to tell, of our faith, of our commitment to God and to the people and ministry of this church, our church, God’s church?

             The most familiar passage from Esther, one that is not part of our lectionary text this morning, is found in a talk she has with her uncle Mordecai.  He invites her into a growth moment, invites her to step out of her comfort zone.  He says that only her story can make a difference to the future of her faith community.  From the conversation with Uncle Mordecai, Esther decides that it is her story to the King of Persia that can save her people:  her story of being a Jew, a story that will plead to the King on behalf of her people. 

She tells this story knowing that she risks her life, because a Jew certainly should not be Queen of Persia, and she has kept this fact hidden from the King.  She tells her story, hoping she can save her people, risking not saving her people at all.  Perhaps Esther became Queen of Persia to save her people.  Perhaps Esther, a flawed and courageous human being, turned herself over to Divine providence when she made the decision to tell her story to the King, hoping beyond hope that her risk, her story would bring good.

             It is difficult for us 21^st century Christians to find commonality with the life of one Jewish woman 2500 years ago at a much different time and in a much different culture, especially one who risks her life, especially one who feels the whole weight of her people’s lives on her shoulders. 

But I wonder if we have more in common with Esther than is evident at first glance.  Part of the reason the Jews drew such anger from the folks in Persia was that they preserved their faith and beliefs in their God even though they were living in a foreign land with different faith and beliefs.  Is it possible that Christians who live in a secular society may draw some subtle anger?  Or perhaps turn some heads that would rather not be turned? Bring on at least some skepticism in a post-Christendom and technologically savvy society, in one that trusts material security more than spiritual security? 

After all, we serve a Master who taught us to love our enemies, to turn the other cheek when scorned, to lay down our lives so that we don’t lose them—in the spiritual sense.  This same Master taught us that healing in mind, body, and spirit is possible even to the end of time—that miracles happen all around us everyday.  This same Master says that it is very difficult for a rich person to enter the realm of God because one cannot serve two Masters:  God and the love of money.  This same Master tells us to welcome the outcast, include the marginalized, those who are so different from ourselves; to defend the oppressed and the downtrodden, to give generously to the poor.  What if we were to take the risk and tell such a story to those around us?

Our Western society once gave Christendom and these teachings of Jesus a place of privilege, closing stores and avoiding sporting events on Sunday morning, holding God in such esteem that numbers overflowed pews and Sunday Schools burst their seams, and even Wednesday night prayer meetings were the norm.  In our post-Christendom age we struggle with differing priorities that pull us in competing directions.  We compete with societal messages that promote individualism instead of community, greed over generosity, messages that relegate God and Jesus‘ teachings to the periphery.  Even the national media has commented upon how good manners have been replaced with thoughtless and hurtful interchanges—Jesus said we are to love our enemies.  People are being less and less polite to one another, friend and enemy alike.  And we, like Esther, are in the midst of these circumstances, often feeling like we are being swept up in the post-Christendom cultural wave.

And yet, perhaps the decline of Christendom isn’t so bad.  Perhaps no longer having as the norm Sunday Worship and Sunday School, Jesus’ teachings, and church as the focal point of people’s lives; perhaps not having these as the norm helps us. Perhaps it gives us an opportunity to really think about and ponder what it means to be a follower of Christ in the 21^st century.  Perhaps it gives us an opportunity to craft our stories of faith journey.  Perhaps we can feel more of an urgency to speak our stories of faith and love and community, as a people, a group of flawed and courageous human beings, who hope beyond hope that our faith, our actions, our intentions, are all part of God’s plan for our lives and for the lives of those we are called to serve.

Perhaps part of what our Still-speaking God is saying to us, through this ancient story of Esther, is to step out of our comfort zone, to think and ponder and pray on our Christian faith and what it means to us individually and collectively, as we profess to follow the Christ in whom we confess our faith, to stay true to the One to whom we belong; and perhaps to do so through the many faith stories we have to tell.

In the Lectionary commentary, Karen Jobes claims the story of Esther is indeed part of our story, part of  the "spiritual heritage of Christians," for we too trust in a God who has delivered us from death: "When the church gathers for worship each Sunday, it has every reason to celebrate the resurrection of Jesus Christ with joy and feasting, with expressions of goodwill and affection for one another, and with gifts to the poor. Our sorrow has been turned to joy" (The Lectionary Commentary).  What a story to tell in and of itself!

Next Sunday, on World Communion Sunday, Christian churches around the globe, like our Hebrew ancestors in faith, will hold a day "of feasting and gladness," a day to break bread, share the cup, and remember God's works and God's promises from of old. As we come to the communion table next Sunday, we will share gifts one with another, the bread and the cup of nourishment.  We will add to our stories by coming together to feed one another as Christ has fed us.  And on that day, we too will remember those who are hungry, and make sure we share with them, as our Master has instructed us.  We too will share our monetary blessings with “Neighbors in Need”, those in the United States and Puerto Rico to whom we reach out from afar, those who are in need of our hand of healing and generosity. 

And as we come, as we come together in faith, in community, in faith community, we have stories to tell, personal stories of God’s work in our lives, collective stories of the richness of this church, our church, God’s church. 

And as we come, as we come together in faith, in community, in faith community, we will have stories yet to tell, personal stories and collective stories, as we continue our mission and ministry together, for our lives and for all the lives we are called to serve.