Untethered
Transition. Grief. Room for the life ahead.
A dear friend and colleague has begun the long journey of grief after the loss of her father. In her honor, I’m resharing this sermon from 2021.
When I first preached these words, I was standing at the beginning of my own grief, after saying goodbye to my mother. And, as a professional interim, I was once again leaving another congregation - All Saints’ Western Springs. When you help others during times of transition, everyone grieves a lot. Looking back, I realize I was writing as much for the days ahead as for those on the journey in the future.
If you are grieving someone you love, or walking alongside someone who is, perhaps this sermon will offer a measure of comfort, hope, or simply the reminder that you are not alone. Grief changes us, but it also teaches us to love more deeply, remember more faithfully, and trust that God remains present, even in our deepest sorrow.
Jesus and his disciples passed through Galilee. He did not want anyone to know it; for he was teaching his disciples, saying to them, “The Son of Man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again.” But they did not understand what he was saying and were afraid to ask him.
Then they came to Capernaum; and when he was in the house he asked them, “What were you arguing about on the way?” But they were silent, for on the way they had argued with one another who was the greatest. He sat down, called the twelve, and said to them, “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.” Then he took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms, he said to them, “Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me.” (Mark 9:30-37)
When you think about your relationship with Jesus, what image comes to mind? Is it an image of footsteps in the sand, where Jesus’s feet leave a deep imprint as he carries you through the challenges of this life? Is it an image of you climbing a mountain, slowly ascending to the mountaintop, hoping to get a glimpse of God when you arrive at the peak? Is it the churning, and crashing of the ocean’s waves, giving way to the shifting of water, caught in the ebb and flow of the tides? What image comes to mind when you think about your relationship with Jesus?
An image that reflects my current relationship with Jesus is like that of a spaceman, free-falling in space, untethered, and, since the spaceman is not connected to anything, he is floating, falling, flipping, and tripping. This feeling creating this image of my current relationship with Jesus, this feeling of untetherdness, I believe comes from grief. And, in this morning’s Gospel, we encounter Jesus’ friends, confronted with grief, but trying to avoid it. And who can blame them.
Images we create illustrating our relationship with Jesus often emerge from the circumstances and experiences and challenges currently shaping our lives.
As Jesus and his friends travel from place to place, teaching and ministering to the people they meet, Jesus begins to prepare them for his death. At some point in the very near future, Jesus will be gone. So he is preparing them for what is ahead. He is counting on them to do the work he has commissioned them to do.
On the road, they pass through Galilee. As the heat from the sun hits all of them on the face, Jesus shares, “The Son of Man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again.” For a moment, the disciples remain silent. They know what they have heard but they don’t want to face the reality of what Jesus has shared.
Peter was traumatized forever by this exchange. This image of impending death was not what Peter was expecting or even wanted to consider. Peter desires to be a spiritual leader of people, a winner of popularity contests, loved and adored for the signs and wonders and works he was preparing to do in the name of Jesus. What a beautiful vision. And nothing is wrong with Peter’s plans. Who doesn’t want to be successful? Liked and thanked for the work they do. The life of the party. Not the Debbie Downer speaking about doom and death.
Their friend being gone, betrayed, and killed is scary and alarming. Betrayal hurts the most when it is done to us by those we love and live and move about with. “We are with you, Jesus, but this talk of death is chilling.” To avoid this reality, putting off this possibility of future grief, the disciples begin to argue about inheritance. We often see this happen within our families after the death of a loved one. My reason for living, loving, and being is gone. What do I get? What’s in it for me? What am I inheriting? When Jesus asks them about their conversation, they were silent, for while traveling on the road they had argued with one another about who was the greatest.
When a parent or spouse or partner or child dies there are always overwhelming decisions, life’s logistics, and prayers about how to fill such an unimaginable void, suddenly needing to be addressed by those who remain who are often lost in the midst of grief. When we are grieving, our spirits and our bodies are traumatized. We are in shock. We feel numb. It is difficult to focus. We find ourselves existing in a very narrow space - somewhere between sadness, dreams, and a new unimaginable reality. We may stop and wonder, “did my loved one really die?” We question what is true. We examine our faith beliefs. And our lives, as we experience it, changes forever.
Sometimes there is fighting in families. From today’s gospel, Jesus’ friends break the silence. In the midst of their anxiety, they decide not to reflect but to react. What is my self-interest in the midst of what I think I heard but do not truly want to hear. The disciples want to know who is the greatest, the best, the one inheriting the best seat at the table. What do I get out of this? What’s in it for me?
Jesus invites them to gather around and sit down. “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all.” Instead of worrying about position, inheritance, and a special place at the table, listen, like a child listens, seeking guidance, seeking recognition, seeking an invitation, to find their place in the ministry God calls us to do.
When you ponder over your relationship with Jesus, what image comes to mind?
An image that reflects my current relationship with Jesus is like that of a spaceman, free-falling in space, untethered, and, since the spaceman is not connected to anything, he is floating, falling, flipping, and tripping. It is a vantage point providing the spaceman with a beautiful view but there is an untetherdness about it.
My current relationship with Jesus is driven by untetherdness. Upon prayer and reflection and listening to insights from others, I believe I feel untethered due to grief. I lost my mother to cancer just a year ago. Soon after, my twenty-one year old dog died peacefully one night in his sleep. Then I completed my work as interim rector at St. Elisabeth’s, Glencoe, and those pastoral relationships ended.
Untethered.
I was called to minister in your midst during your interim period, invited to focus on pastoral relationships, ministry opportunities enhanced by better communication, and vision work, seeking discernment and creating vision for this place’s future ministry. And now, as I conclude my work with you, I once again find myself preparing for more grief and loss brought on by the ending of my pastoral relationship with you. All of us knew and knew this is what I signed on for. This is what an interim does. And I love interim ministry. But, that does not mean it is easy to leave.
The biggest blessing of congregational life in this particular place and time is the gift of building and nurturing relationships in the name of Christ so that we can do the work of Jesus together. The relationships are intense, sometimes tricky, often challenging, but ultimately rewarding because together we can do the work Jesus has called us to do with God’s help. By studying the life and ministry of Jesus, we have inherited the best vocation ever - to love and to heal, to feed and to bless, to eat and to pray then go out and change the world in his name. And this can only accomplished through faith and with the passion and dedication of people working together, trusting in the Sprit and in each other to move forward in confidence knowing that God is with us.
And this week brings us to the time where I begin stepping away from this work with you. I have loved being here. And now it is time for me to leave. Untethered. And although our relationship will shift and change and be transformed into something new, which can only revealed by the gift of time, today it feels severed, cut short, ripped apart, like a spaceman cut loose from anything stable, floating apart, viewing something beautiful but no longer connected to it.
Please know, I grieve leaving here. I am saddened by the sudden end to meaningful relationships. I am not sure the church is good at transitions. But, I do believe it is important for you, the people of All Saints, and for me, your interim rector, to create some space together. I have loved serving with you. I have delighted in imagining the future of this place with you. I have loved getting to know all of you. And I grieve leaving, feeling untethered, not being with you as you continue to do the work of this place God is calling you to do.
But, I will be watching and praying for you until we meet again, down the road.
Hymn 304 says it best, “Together met, together bound, we’ll go our different ways, and as his people in the world we’ll live and speak his praise.”