Freedom from Tranquility

Listen again to the collect appointed for this Sunday. "Almighty God, you have given your only Son to be for us a sacrifice for sin, and also an example of godly life." An example of godly life. The human Jesus who lived and breathed and walked the dusty roads of ancient Palestine serves as an example for us of how a human being can and should live a godly life. But then we have this morning’s gospel. A mother comes to Jesus seeking help for her daughter. Jesus at first ignores her, then scornfully calls her a dog and refuses to exert himself on her behalf. Only when he finally sees the depth of her faith does he facilitate the healing of her daughter. This is an example of godly life? In the end, of course, yes. And this passage is one that certainly makes the argument for not taking individual verses of Scripture or particular sayings of Jesus out of their broader context. You have to read the whole story; and it’s better, of course, to read the whole gospel; best of all to read the whole of Holy Scripture.

Considering this morning’s gospel passage as a whole, it seems to me this story does show Jesus as a very real example of human godly life… an example of someone who felt human prejudice, but overcame it, who moved beyond the shortcomings of his human experience and expectations to discover and share the love of God in new ways.

I recently watched the movie Chocolat. (The book is better, but the movie is nice.) The story is about a lot of things. One of the things it is about is small town life. It is set in a small village in France. The narrator tells us that the people of this small village believe in tranquilité, tranquility. Here in New England, we might say the people of that village saw themselves as "all set." Their lives as individuals and within the community were "all set." They had set routines. Different individuals in the village had set roles. There were set standards of behavior. Everyone knew exactly what was expected of then. And, as the movie points out, if you forgot what was expected of you, there was always someone nearby to remind you. In that small village you learned that if you saw something you weren’t supposed to see, you should look the other way. If your hopes had not been fulfilled, you should adjust your expectations. Tranquility.

But then one day as a fierce wind blew out of the north a mysterious woman drifted into town and set up a chocolate shop on the town square. Right across from the imposing Catholic Church. During Lent. Not only did she offer unbelievable temptations during Lent, she tempted and nudged people into considering new roles, new hopes, new possibilities for themselves. A young boy came to find value in his own artistic talent. A woman who had grieved her husband’s death for decades found herself open to a new relationship. A woman abused by her husband found the strength to leave and chart her own life.

Most of the movie is about how town leaders resisted and fought this threat to tranquilité. Extravagant confections and chocolate truffles have no place in Lent. New hopes and new possibilities have no place in a town that believes in tranquilité. Every effort is made to drive the chocolate shop out of business, to quash its influence and to shun its owner.

Events come to a momentous crisis on Easter morning. One result of the crisis is that the very young priest finds himself with no prepared sermon for Easter morning. He must speak from the heart, as the Spirit gives him utterance. This is what he says:

"I don’t know what form my homily should take this morning." (Boy, that’s an opening line that will kill your congregation’s attention! On Easter, yet!) Do I want to speak of the miracle of our Lord’s divine transformation? Not really, no. I don’t want to talk about his divinity; I’d rather talk about his humanity. I mean, you know, how he lived his life here on earth… his kindness, his tolerance.

"Listen. Here’s what I think. I think we can’t go around measuring our goodness by what we don’t do, by what we deny ourselves, what we resist and who we exclude. I think we’ve got to measure goodness by what we embrace, what we create, and who we include…"

The narrator tells us that it was not Père Henri’s most dynamic or articulate homily, but it worked upon the hearts and souls of the people. They began to feel a new lightness of spirit. A freedom from the old tranquilité. Freedom from tranquility.

A godly life is measured by what we embrace, what we create and who we include. New possibilities, reaching out to embrace new ideas, creating new things, including new people in our communities… Just the image, the idea, of such a life spawned a lightness of spirit in the people of the village. The people felt a wonderful sense of escape from tranquility.

Perhaps you’ve never considered tranquility as something to be escaped. Maybe tranquility isn’t something you desire freedom from. It depends, I suppose, on exactly what we’re talking about when we say tranquility. When we feel a longing for tranquility are we really longing for peace? The peace of God that passes all understanding? The peace, God’s peace, which can anchor and sustain us throughout all of the storms and trials of life? If so, that is a healthy longing; God’s peace is a wonderful gift always to be sought.

Or when we yearn for tranquility are we seeking—clinging to—things like familiarity, predictability, control? Are we really just seeking to exclude everything new and unsettling? Like the villagers who tried so hard to exclude the influence of the new chocolatier. Like Jesus and his disciples who at first excluded the new idea that a Canaanite woman could be a woman of profound faith…

In first century Israel, in the set roles and structures of the Hebrew world in which Jesus lived, Canaanites were foreigners, outsiders. Not only were they different, foreign; even more importantly, they did not worship the Hebrew God. They were literally infidels, heathens. Not just in Jesus’ imagination, but in his experience. And in the experience of his disciples. Canaanites were not people who had faith in the Hebrew God. That’s just the way things were. For Jesus and his disciples to consider that this Canaanite woman might be a woman of deep, profound faith… Well, that took a great effort, an effort to embrace new possibilities, an effort to include new people into the household of God. When Jesus made that effort he was indeed a profound example to us of godly life.

Remember the words of the young Père Henri. "I think we’ve got to measure goodness by what we embrace, what we create, and who we include…"

To heed Père Henri’s words is to be liberated from tranquility. What would that mean for you?

It does not mean that all of us are supposed to go out and eat as much chocolate as possible during Lent. But it does mean that a godly life is lived in the quality of things that we do. The effort that we make to embrace, create, include.

Do you expect this day to be pretty much like yesterday? It is easy to fall into tranquility without thinking about it. Or do you demand that the routines of family life, church life, community life will remain just as you’ve come to expect? Sometimes tranquility is a chosen position of belief. On the other hand, do you see in today a chance to create a new opportunity, embrace a new idea, include a new friend? That’s godliness.

Do you look to your past experiences to determine your future? After all, every Canaanite Jesus had ever known had been an infidel. That’s tranquility. On the other hand, godliness discovers faithful people in the most unexpected places, like in a persistent mother from Canaan. Or another example… I’ve known many people who intellectually and philosophically welcome women clergy with no reservations, but in their experience, in the staid tranquility of their hearts, they do not expect those women to actually lead or to speak prophetically. Then there are the godly people of Bangor First Baptist Church, who have just called a new pastor named Stephanie. One member of their search committee said, "When we started, we wanted the best person for the job, but most of us thought in terms of a male because that’s what we’re used to (that's tranquility!). But every turn in the road led us to a woman—this woman."

Some people think that terrorism is the greatest threat facing us as a people. Some people think that a court in California is a great threat to us as a nation under God. That's tranquility.  The only real threat to us and our hope for godliness is that we, as the people of God, might come to a place in our lives where we refuse to embrace, create, include.

Tranquility is not really a place of comfort. It is a burden, a prison, a Godless place.

"Almighty God, you have given your only Son to be for us a sacrifice for sin, and also an example of godly life…" An example of godly life. Measured by what we embrace, what we create, whom we include. Amen.

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