Sermons

Sun, May 07, 2023

Managing the impossible

Series:Sermons
Duration:12 mins 36 secs

When I was thirteen, my parents separated.

Prior to that, of course, things had been pretty bad between mum and dad:

the frequent shouting and arguing…

interspersed with long periods of silence;

the constant sense of tension and animosity in the air—

never knowing when things were going to blow up, yet again;

and, although it didn’t happen often…

and we only heard it and never saw it…

there were moments of actual physical violence—

from both sides.

Their acrimonious divorce…

and the trench-warfare of the property settlement…

pervaded and threatened our lives thereafter:

dad constantly told us that if mum got too much, we would have to sell the house and move…

and change schools.

And without any family here on dad’s side…

and no family friends who had stuck with us…

we effectively lost any form of social life.

As a fourteen-year-old…

it’s not supposed to be your job to be your father’s sole emotional support—

or try to manage his loud and very public outbursts and meltdowns—

especially when you’re trying to deal with your own pain…

not to mention everything else that goes with being a teenager.

I used to try to imagine what it was like for the other kids at school—

what it was like to have a ‘normal’ family life.

And, although I couldn’t articulate it, I was angry at both my parents…

for what they had put me through.

I didn’t deserve it.

But I was powerless to do anything about it.

 

Now, many of you have heard some of that story before;

and, in telling you again, I realise that there are dangers.

Some of you may simply turn off…

possibly annoyed that I’m hanging it all out there again;

and some of you will probably be sitting there feeling sorry for me.

And I apologise for that.

But, honestly, it’s the best illustration that I could think of—

personally—

about how, in life, we often face situations in which we feel powerless;

situations that are beyond our control;

situations that we simply cannot change.

Of course, it also happens on a less personal level.

Many of us experience something of that when we look at what’s happening in our world…

or our country;

you know, the big things…

like the senseless death and destruction in Ukraine or Syria;

or the increasing racism and demonisation of minorities;

or the plight of so many indigenous people;

or the appalling treatment of asylum seekers;

or the decline of the church.

But many of us do experience it closer to home…

and in a more personal way:

things going on in the lives of your family that you cannot fix;

or being the butt of rumours, gossip, and slander…

which you are powerless to stop;

or some suffering that you’re experiencing that’s senseless or undeserved…

for which someone— 

or some organisation— 

is responsible.

In life, we all experience situations that are beyond our control…

situations that we cannot change…

and in which we feel helpless, powerless, and frustrated.

And, in the face of them, it’s tempting to wallow in self-pity…

to try to run away or escape…

or to retaliate.

 

The author of the first letter of Peter knew that…

and sought to address it in our reading this morning.

He called upon the slaves within the church to…

“accept the authority of your masters with all deference, not only those who are kind and gentle but also those who are harsh”.

Now, bear in mind, slavery was rife in the first-century world.

It was a fundamental institution—

such that people could not conceive of a world without it.

In other words, it was simply a given…

a constant…

something that was never, ever going to change…

to the point that few, if any, even contemplated that it could or should change.

None of which helped if you were a slave.

And, in the first-century world, there was a standard stereotype:

slaves were seen as cheats and thieves…

liars…

and lazy good-for-nothings.

They had no legal rights.

They were, in almost every respect, treated as livestock… 

not as people.

If you were a slave it was a completely powerless experience.

You couldn’t change your situation.

You couldn’t do anything about it.

And, as slaves, you could be subjected to beatings and punishment…

even torture…

often for the slightest thing.

You were at the complete mercy of your owner’s whims and caprices.

Being treated like that—

living under those conditions day after day…

year after year—

would have been demoralising.

It wouldn’t be at all surprising if it led to slaves getting frustrated and angry…

trying to run away…

engaging in self-harm…

being disruptive and uncooperative…

or, worse, lashing out violently.

So the author was trying to encourage them… 

about how to live in a situation and context that they couldn’t change…

and over which they had no control.

He doesn’t call upon them to rebel or to fight…

or to try to change the system.

That simply wasn’t possible.

Nor does he hold out the prospect of vengeance or even recompense…

even in some utopian afterlife.

Rather, he calls upon them to endure.

More than that…

he calls upon them to do what is good and right… 

what is proper and fitting…

even though it doesn’t change anything…

even though it doesn’t seem to make any difference.

What he’s really saying is:

when faced with a hopeless, helpless situation…

what matters is our self-respect and our integrity.

Or, to put it another way…

if we feel powerless—

if we cannot change the situation—

there’s still one thing over which we do have power…

there’s still one thing that we can change:

namely, us…

and how we respond.

As the African-American poet Maya Angelou once said:

“If you don’t like something, change it. If you can’t change it, change your attitude”.

 

And, in that regard, the author points his readers to Jesus’ experience… 

who, in his response to suffering, set us a powerful example to emulate:

“He committed no sin, and no deceit was found in his mouth’. When he was abused, he did not return abuse; when he suffered, he did not threaten; but he entrusted himself to the one who judges justly”.

Faced with undeserved suffering…

faced with powers and forces beyond his control…

faced with a situation that he couldn’t change…

Jesus’ response wasn’t to run, or whinge, or retaliate.

Rather, he endured.

He acted with integrity.

He trusted in the God whom he believed would declare him innocent and honourable.

He trusted in the God of the resurrection—

a God who is able to transform darkness into light…

and who promises to bring joy out of pain…

justice out of injustice…

and new life out of death.

And yet…

the sense that we have here…

is that it’s only when we do what is right, and proper, and fitting—

when we act with self-respect and integrity…

when we don’t choose the path of self-pity or retaliation…

in situations of suffering and hopeless powerlessness—

it’s only then…

when we follow Jesus’ example and symbolically embrace ‘death’…

that God is able to bring forth new life.

Powered by: truthengaged