So, for a while there, I was an avid reader of the Harry Potter series. The books were interesting, complex, adventuresome, AND it gave me a natural ‘in’ with my customers at the coffee shop, which was by a college campus, and everyone there was reading them. I can’t remember which book it was when I finally had to put it down. It was the one with the evil Delores Umbridge.
What I do remember is being filled with such angst at what I thought was blatant child abuse in some of the story lines that I just had to stop. Father Brooks would probably laugh at this, because he knows I there are so many shows I won't watch that make me nervous. But I figure I have about two hours a night, so why spend them wishing they were over. So, in the end I just left Harry, scratching “I will not tell lies” into his hands over and over again.
Now I know there are some out there who would vehemently disagree with me, and I would be most happy to have that discussion. But the fact is that for me it became simply too much to witness these kids trying to survive by the force of their own wits and power. I know the world is, or at least can be, much like this too much of the time — where evil seems to ‘win’ far more often than it loses.
And I know that far too many kids are forced to get through childhood without the vigilant protection of grown-ups who are meant to be those who help and not hurt. And yes, such heroes as Harry Potter and his friends can stand as wonderful role models for those who are forced to battle in this life now. Still, I couldn’t continue. At one point, I just stepped out of the dance — simply refusing to rejoice or to mourn Harry Potter— to borrow the images of the brief parable Jesus offers us today
Either way, we who are here are deeply engaged in this particular ‘dance,’ but we know that fewer and fewer of those around us in the world are in it with us. We all grieve this, I know. We are surprised by it — by the cynicism, the anger, or the utter lack of interest held by so many. They don’t seem to even hear the music anymore — or at least they don’t hear it in a way that calls to them.
And that made me wonder the other day, when I was listening to some teens eating hotdogs outside Emmanuel last Wednesday. The boy said, “I don’t believe in God. My family wants me to, but it's just so stupid.” And his friend — a young girl — replied, “Oh, but I do. I’d be too afraid of going to hell.”
Ouch. Ouch to both of them. It hurt to hear this, and I can’t decide what made me more sad — the young man who has abandoned his faith altogether or the young woman who believes only as a form of heavenly fire insurance. Both are trying hard, it seems to me, to live life pretty much on their own. And yet, at the same time, both appeared to be deeply engaged in conversations about things that matter. God is surely not done with them yet, and it may be that one day they will hear the music again as meant for them.
To be honest, I struggled hard with Jesus’ words this week — not so much the individual ideas and messages but I had a hard time figuring out how it all hangs together. For we hear Jesus’ words of frustration — emulated in his parable about the children in the marketplaces calling out to one another.
We hear his anger at ‘this generation’ and its response to both the witness of John the Baptist and to Jesus. We hear all this, and then Jesus seems to move into an entirely different mode altogether as he speaks his very tender words about coming to him in our weariness and putting his yoke upon us.
I’ve wondered what they all have to do with each other and this is where I’ve come down:
It is hard to live and work in a time and place where the music we are dancing to seems to not even be heard by much of the world. And yes, we all want to rest from what's going on out there. But I wonder if the ‘rest’ Jesus offers now can be experienced only if we seek to take Jesus’ yoke upon ourselves? And I wonder if to take Jesus’ yoke upon us is to simply engage those we encounter in the world who don’t seem to hear the music anymore?
Because for his entire life Jesus was present to all those he encountered: his disciples and the Pharisees, the widowed and the hungry, the sick and the dying, the hopeful and the hurting, the wise and the innocent, old and young. Through it all, Jesus was always inviting others to fully live the lives God had given them. To hear the music and dance.
So, maybe what Jesus is asking of us is to allow ourselves to dance when we hear the music, and rejoice when we experience God's grace and blessings, and grieve when our hearts are broken. But to know that through it all a place of rest and peace and hope is always ours to return home to.
And maybe if we live our lives engaged in the world, that our dance alone will be a powerful witness to those who can’t seem to hear the music any more.
Regardless of whether our music is heard, you and I are called to live our lives in such a way that it is obvious that in our dancing, we know and trust that God is present. There is something larger and more powerful than the forces we find ourselves confronting now. And it is within us.
The more we dance with Jesus, the more our weariness will cease. And we will continue, inviting the whole world...or at least our little part of it...to tap their toes, feel the music, and then come join the dance.
Amen.