Big Feelings - Sadness

Transcript of a sermon preached by Pastor Shawn Coons on March 12, 2023

Week three of our Big Feelings Series and we've been talking about the various emotions that we experience. Not wanting to call some of the emotions good and some of the emotions bad, maybe some of them are more welcome and some of them are more challenging, but every emotion that we feel has a story to tell, has something important to tell us, and there's something for us to be gained if we sit, if we listen to the story that emotion has to tell.

I want to start this morning by reading a little bit from the book that we're kind of going through this year, Flesh, to hear about the story that sadness may have to tell us, and this is a story from the author, Cole Arthur Riley, of a time she was in college or after college, sorry.

"When I moved to Philly after college, my first friends were a group of nuns. I was leading small groups at a quaint Catholic university and Sister June worried that I was lonely, but never saying so, but invite me for meals and rosary walks. I went with her a handful of times to a prayer labyrinth that she walked weekly. The first time I went, I thought it would be a maze. I was hoping it would be, but prayer labyrinths aren't meant to trap you and the goal isn't to get out. It's a journey to the center and back again, and the way is long but clear. It's an ancient practice of embodied meditation and Sister June would mumble to herself as we walked the path from different ends. I'd pick leaves and rip them into smaller and smaller pieces as I made my way.

"Sometimes when Sister June approached the center, she'd begin to cry. I'd linger awkwardly in places to avoid the center while her mumbles became a gentle whaling. But one time she just peeked over her shoulder at me and said, 'Well, come on then.' And I entered the center with her and she slid a photo from her skirt pocket and pressed it flat between her two palms without showing me. 'My sister,' she said, and she wasn't wiping her tears away. I asked, 'Older or younger?' And maybe she knew I just didn't know what else to say because instead of answering, she said, 'I come here to cry for her and then let me tell you about her.'"

"We walked the path out together and as she told me about their love and the loss and how she once and still sometimes hated God, she told me that as she walks to the center, she travels into sadness. As she walks out, she reminds herself that she isn't imprisoned by it. We are born knowing how to cry, but it takes another to teach us how to cry well and with purpose. As we watch our elders cry, we are learning. Sister June taught me how to grieve with my body. She taught me how to feel the tears on my face and not wipe them away. Her rhythm of lament has settled into my soul."

This morning I'm inviting us to try and learn how we can let the rhythm of lament settle into our soul. This rhythm of lament we find a lot in scripture. There's an entire book of the Bible dedicated to lament, appropriately called Lamentations, and I realize coming upon the sermon I've never preached from Lamentations, but we're going to hear from it today. Lamentations chapter one, starting with verse one. It's a short book of the Bible. It's five poems, all of lament.

"How lonely sits the city that was once full of people! How like a widow has she has become, she that was great among the nations! She that was a princess among the provinces has become a vessel.

"She weeps bitterly in the night, with tears on her cheeks; among all her lovers she has no one to comfort her; all her friends have dealt treacherously with her; they have become her enemies.

"Judah has gone into exile suffering and hard servitude; she lives now among the nations and finds no resting place; her pursuers have all overtaken her in the midst of her distress.

"The roads to Zion mourn, for no one comes to the festivals; all her gates are desolate; her priests groan; her young girls grieve, and her lot is bitter.

"Her foes have become the masters; her enemies prosper, because the Lord has made her suffer for the multitude of her transgressions; her children have gone away, captives before the foe."

This is the word of the Lord. This passage marks the fall of Judah, the southern kingdom of Israel, the fall of Jerusalem, the exile where many of the inhabitants were taken off in captivity to Babylon. And the rest of the chapters of Lamentations are similar themes on this, and we can go to the Book of Psalms and we will find Psalms of lament. Often we read some of them in our Lent services at Ash Wednesday or on Good Friday, or Monday, Thursday.

Why is there so much lament in the Bible? Why is there so much sadness in the Bible? If every emotion has a story to tell, what are these stories of lament and sadness trying to tell us? It's the story of a world gone wrong. It's the story of a life gone wrong. It's the story that something is not the way it's supposed to be. The temple should still be standing. Judah should still be a kingdom. Our loved ones should not be prisoners in Babylon.

I want to ask you this morning, what stories of sadness, what stories of lament are you hearing from your emotions, of a world not as it should be, of a life not as it should be. My loved one should still be here. I shouldn't have to choose between rent and medicine. Bombs shouldn't be falling.

Cole Arthur Riley writes, "When we weep for the conditions of this world, we become truth tellers in its defense. People who can say this is not good. It is not well. It is born in the knowledge that things were good and can be good. We know sadness because we know there is more than sadness." I think that's an important line. We know sadness because we know there is more than sadness. It's hard for us at times because we know things were better, things can be better.

The Bible is full of sadness because it witnesses to a world that should be and can be better. And actually, let's think for a moment. Imagine if there weren't these stories of sadness, if there weren't these stories of lament in the Bible. Imagine, and some of you may not have to imagine so hard, imagine you're in a time of sadness and you're in this time of lament. And so you turn towards scripture, you open your Bible, and all you find in that Bible is be happy. All you find in that Bible is praise God, isn't life great? Imagine you turned toward the Bible and your story of sadness was not in there. Imagine you turned towards scripture and you couldn't find your story. You'd wonder, wouldn't you? You'd wonder if God had room for you. You'd wonder if God had room for your sadness. Your story is there. All of your stories, including the sad ones.

We even turn to points of scripture and find that God is sad in the Bible. Remember in John when Jesus' dear friend Lazarus died? The shortest verse in the Bible, good memory verse, if you ever want one, John 11:35, "Jesus wept." Jesus cried. God grieves for Israel in the Old Testament time and time again. We hear the sadness, the grieving, the mourning, the loss that Israel has gone away from God.

Another quote from Cole Arthur Riley, "I have never felt closer to God than when he has tears running down his face. There is no such thing as a lone whale. Every howl reverberates off the walls of God's chest and finds its way back to us carrying God's own tears with it." I think when God bears witness to our lament, we discover we are inviting God as a nurturer. A mother who hears her child crying in the night, she wakes, rises and comes to the place where we lie. She rushes her holy warmth against our flesh and says, "I'm here."

Our stories of sadness are God's stories, and so we need to listen to those stories of sadness. Often I think we are afraid. We're afraid to listen to those stories of sadness. We're afraid to sit with those stories of sadness. We're afraid if we do that, that sadness is going to overwhelm us, that there's going to be nothing else left. We believe that if we sit with our sadness, if we listen to our sadness, that's going to be all that we can feel. But it turns out the opposite is true.

Michael read Ezra 3 just a moment ago, and it was a time when they were rebuilding the temple that had been destroyed and they were dedicating the new temple. And we heard that as they were celebrating the new temple, there were people there who remembered the old one and they were sad and there was joy and sadness at that moment, both, and there was room for both. There's room for joy and sadness in the community. There's room for joy and sadness in us, both of them. I do actually kind of find it interesting. I didn't plan it this way to hear that scripture. As we sit in our sanctuary, there's joy and sadness. As we home our pews to good places and we remember the memories and the fondness and all the folks that have sat there, we can be sad for that and be excited for some new pews that allow us some new possibilities.

If you're familiar with the movie Inside Out, there is this point in the movie, I don't want to give too many spoilers, but it's been out for a while and it's still a great movie. There's this point in the movie where there's the character Bing Bong there, the elephant-looking character, and he is sad. The folks need his help to move forward and he can't help because he's sad. And the way they move forward is not by rushing him, but by sitting with him listening to his sadness. And it's in that listening that there is allowed to be more than sadness.

I'm reminded of Sister June again. As she walks to the center, she travels into sadness. As she walks out, she reminds herself that she isn't imprisoned by it. The Book of Lamentations is a journey into sadness, but it's also a communal journey into sadness. It isn't the sadness of one person just writing, it's the sadness of the nation. It's the sadness of the community. It's been an honored part of scripture handed down to us. It's part of our communal journey into sadness, our communal grief work. So much of scripture is that communal sadness, sharing with one another our laments.

Psalm 1:37, if you remember that, "By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, there we wept, when we remembered Zion," which is Jerusalem. But, if you notice that, they're mourning for the loss of Jerusalem, of the country. But notice it's plural. There we sat down, there we wept. How could we sing the Lord's song in a foreign land?

Tragedy can be even more tragic if we keep it to ourselves. Tragedy can be more tragic if we don't share it. In the Jewish tradition, there is a festival holiday called Tisha B'Av and it's when they remember the destruction of the temples. They remember other losses. It is a time for sadness. We listen to the story that our sadness is telling. We aren't afraid to name it and we aren't afraid to share it.

There's a powerful example I came across this week of sharing sadness. Rachel Held Evans was a Christian author who died suddenly at the age of 37, very beloved, and it was a hard loss for many people. Nadia Bolz-Weber's another preacher and writer, but she was a friend of Rachel's and she gave the sermon at her funeral and she was preaching on Jesus in Lazaruth. She's preaching on Mary Magdalene coming to find Jesus, not find Jesus at the tomb. And Nadia says this: "Right now, I have faith that our grief is actually holy to God. I have faith that Jesus stood at the tomb of his friend Lazarus and cried tears as salty as our own. And yes, I do have faith that in any spiritual and eternal way, death has no sting whatsoever, but it stings now and I feel it sting in my eyes."

So as I read this text about Mary Magdalene from John again, I'm starting to see the question, "Woman, why are you weeping?" Not as an accusation, but as an invitation. So for those gathered who have been crying quite a lot, I invite us to the same question. Why? Why are you yourself weeping? It's a holy question. Maybe just for this moment, we choose not to bypass the real truth of our sadness and ask one another, why are you weeping? What's the thing under the thing? What's the thing under the thing? Why are you weeping?

What if we go deeper? What if we go into the why behind the why? Well, I'm weeping because I lost a loved one. Okay, why? Well, I miss them because they did this. I miss being with them because of this. Why? Well, I miss how it made me feel. And if we dig deeper, we name some things that maybe we didn't realize. It's hard. It sounds hard, and it is, and we may be worried that it leads us too deep into sadness. But remember that rhythm of lament? "As she walks to the center, she travels into sadness. As she walks out, she reminds herself that she is not imprisoned by it."

Nadia Bolz-Weber, again, in that funeral sermon, I've heard it said, "Grief is the price we pay for having loved." So yeah, I think this love soaked grief of ours is holy to God. Because while there are those who reduce the Christian faith to moralism and delusional positivity, we know that the God we worship is not a shiny tooth motivational speaker churning out cheerful memes in times of suffering, because the God we worship a crucified and risen God, which is to say we worship a God that is not unfamiliar with darkness. God works in the darkness. God works in the sadness. Let me just leave you with this poem from Cole Arthur Riley.

"Aren't your eyelids tired of keeping prisoners? Those tears are precious minerals. Lap them up like a medicine. It's called healing.”

May the rhythm of lament settle into your soul.