Our Systems Are Not Working: Job 3.1–10, 4.1–9, 7.11–21

banquetDelivered at First Christian Church
on July 10, 2016
©The Rev. Eileen Gebbie

Sermons are written to be heard rather than read. On Sundays during July we worship with First Christian Church at 9:30 a.m., alternating between FCC and Ames UCC.
Please come join us!

REMEMBER, WE LIVE IN THE ASHES
I mentioned last week that I was worried about preaching on Job off and on all summer, that I thought I needed to find a way to sell this sorry story so that it didn’t become a summer off. I wish the news of the last week hadn’t reminded me that we are already living the sorry story. I wish our world did not require us to learn the language of Job’s ash heap over and over again.

RECAP AND UPDATE
To review: Job was a very rich man and a religious man. An adversarial force came into God’s presence. God bragged to it about Job’s faith. The adversarial force suggested that faith was built on God’s protection and special treatment of Job, that Job’s faith had no integrity. Of course it is easy to be faithful when you get everything you want!

God told the Adversary to take away all of his riches and see—Job would never forsake God. So Job loses his whole family to invaders and natural disasters. And God is right: Job does not forsake God. Then the Adversary, with God’s permission, destroys Job’s skin. Job literally throws himself away, scraping at his sores while sitting in and on the garbage dump.

Job is alone until he is approached by three friends, who sit silently with Job for seven days and seven nights, “for they saw that (his) pain was very great” (2.13).
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Gathering in Response to Orlando

On Monday, June 13, 2016, I hosted a gathering at my church in response to the mass shooting in a gay bar in Orlando, FL. The order of service and my comments folllow.

GREETING
13391604_1189965757703748_893419545035532880_oIn 2012 I gathered with my church to mourn the slaughter of children at Sandy Hook Elementary. Last August, I gathered with my church to lament the slaughter of the Mother Emanuel Nine and Freddie Gray and Tamir Rice and so many other African Americans.

Today, we gather again as a church and as a city and a county in rage and shock at the slaughter of 49 predominantly Latina and Latino members of the queer community.

The Young, black, brown, and queer: all targets of profound violence and cruel death.

In my religious tradition, we talk about how God cares most for “the least of these,” and how we are to literally care for the widow, the orphan, and the stranger. But our nation, or at least some of our neighbors, seek out the least for death, not protection.

In 2012, I greeted my congregation with the following:

Welcome to this space of prayer. May you find it a place of comfort this night, and safety. May you find hope in the space between us. May we grown more whole as our time together unfolds.

How tepid that now sounds. How insufficient for the gore that has followed. And yet true. This is a space of prayer, this is a place for comfort and hope. But we dare not skip to those without confronting our grief and anger, or we will never find wholeness in ourselves or among each other.

Please join me in the invocation printed in your program. Continue reading