So, y'all know I have occasional bouts of sciatica. Most of the time it is the result of me being stupid. Lifting more than I should or twisting wrong. And every time I do these things, I think to myself, this is going to end up with back pain. But I do it anyway and sure enough...
But last year, you may remember that the pain lingered. So much so that I finally broke down and went to get some physical therapy. He poked and prodded me, bent and stretched me. Taught me some things to do at home. And y'all, I seem to have gotten better.
But he said that most of MY pain seemed due to stress. Stress. Well, I've had my share, but I don't think more than the average person. I mean, I really like being here in Central New York. And I love all y'all. You pitched in and supported each other during the pandemic. And you've come out on the other side willing to try new things, and glad to go back to some old things.
Yes, the cross at St. Andrew's got blasted during a storm, and yes, the septic tank collapsed during a Cultural Center event, and yes every time I turn around at Emmanuel, something springs a leak.
But the cross is getting fixed, the septic tank is fine, and we keep plugging the leaks like the Dutch Boy and the Dike. And life goes on. So, like I said, I like to think that things in life are pretty stress-free. At least given the alternative.
But I still I couldn't seem to be able to get past the sciatica. When I mentioned it to my Physical Therapist, he said, “If it's not a specific acute injury, you don't get sciatica because of outside stress. It's inside stress. It's not them...it's you. And it's not unique...we all get down in the back, or grind our teeth or get headaches to some extent. And it's all because of ourselves. We need to listen to what's going on inside. We need to respect ourselves more. You're a priest...isn't this about forgiveness? Now give me twenty squats!”
I didn't know what he meant, really, until I sat down with our readings for today. They are all have an element of forgiveness.
And forgiveness has certainly been front and center for the last couple of weeks in our readings. But forgiveness only goes part way. That clears the slate to some extent. But you see, it's a respect thing, too.
Moses and his people struggle with each other mightily when they escape the common threat of the Egyptians, but finally they will begin to settle down, realize that God loves them, and try to craft a society that respects the least among them. Widows, and orphans, and the alien in their midst.
Paul urges his church not just to forgive others for doing things the “wrong way,” but to respect those ways as true expressions of love of God.
And Jesus is urging us to respect those others who are like us, children of God, also filled with God's grace and forgiveness.
It's as simple as that. Forgiveness, coupled with respect.
There is rabbinical story I once heard. I've shared it with some of you now and then. And it bears repeating.
It is about monastery that had fallen upon hard times. Once it was a great order, but over the decades and centuries there were only five monks left in the decaying house: the abbot and four others, all over seventy in age. Clearly it was a dying order.
In the woods surrounding the monastery there was a little cabin that a rabbi from a nearby town would sometimes use as a retreat. One day, when the rabbi was in his cabin, the abbot decided to visit and ask for advice for saving the monastery.
But the rabbi could only commiserate with him. "Yes." he exclaimed. "The spirit has gone out of the people. It is the same in my town. Almost no one comes to the synagogue anymore."
So the old abbot and the old rabbi wept together. Then they read parts of the Torah the rabbi had brought and quietly spoke of deep things. When the time came for the abbot to leave, they embraced one another.
But as the abbot was leaving, the rabbi paused and said quietly, "There is one thing I have to tell you. One of you is the Messiah."
When the abbot returned to the monastery he gathered his fellow monks.
"He couldn't help," the abbot said. "We just wept and read the Torah together. The only thing he did say, just as I was leaving—he said that one of us was the Messiah!
In the days and weeks and months that followed, the old monks began to think about this and wondered whether the rabbi's words could actually be true? The Messiah is one of us?
Do you suppose he meant the abbot? Yes, if he meant anyone he probably meant Father Abbot. He has been our leader for more than a generation.
But, he might have meant Brother Thomas. Everyone knows that Thomas is a man of light.
Certainly he couldn't have meant Brother Jonathan! Jonathan gets crotchety at times. But come to think of it, even though he is a thorn in people's sides, when you look back on it, Jonathan is so often very right about things.
Surely not Brother Philip. Philip is passive, just a follower. But then almost mysteriously he has a gift for somehow always being there when you need him. He just magically appears by your side. Could Philip be the Messiah?
Of course, the rabbi didn't mean me. I'm just an ordinary person. Yet supposing he did? Suppose I am the Messiah? Oh God, why me?
As time went on, the old monks began to treat each other with extraordinary respect on the off chance that one of them might actually be the Messiah. And on the off, off chance that each monk, himself, might be the Messiah, they began to treat themselves with extraordinary respect.
Now, because the monastery was in a beautiful place, people occasionally came to visit to picnic on its tiny lawn, to wander along some of its paths, even now and then to go into the run-down chapel to meditate.
And, without even being conscious of it, they sensed this aura of extraordinary respect that now began to surround the five old monks and seemed to radiate out from them and permeate the atmosphere of the place.
There was something strangely compelling, about it. And without even knowing why, people began to come back to the monastery more and more often to picnic, to play, to pray. They began to bring their friends to show them this special place. And their friends brought their friends.
Then it just so happened that some of the younger people who came to visit the monastery started to talk more and more with the old monks. After a while one asked if he could join them. Then another. And another. And it happened that within a few years the monastery had once again become a thriving order. They even built other monasteries and convents throughout the land.
All thanks to a rabbi's gift of forgiveness, of light, and of self-respect.
Now I don't know if this story will help you stop grinding your teeth or fix your back pain or soothe your fevered brow. I suspect I still will occasionally get down in my back. But it seems to me that this is a journey worth taking. Are you willing to accept the gift? And more that that, are you willing to share the gift? Amen.