Sermon 11-6-2016“Emptied, to be Filled”
Psalm 63
http://www.scross.co.za/2013/01/empty-yourself-for-god/
http://www.millhillmissionaries.co.uk/index.php?news=557
Begin with breath prayers… breathe in God’s grace, breathe out what gets in its way…
In just a few short weeks, the people of our country will celebrate Thanksgiving. If we remember, we’ll think about the Pilgrims and the Indians, the turkey, venison, pheasant, and other foods dug and harvested from the hardscrabble earth that first feast day, and we, like them, will give thanks for all that we have been blessed with. And we, like them, will arrive at the table, hungry. It would make no sense to come to a feast, already full.
But how many of us do? How many of us come to the provisions God has for us, already full? Full of our own sense of satisfaction, our own preoccupations, our own insecurities, our own concerns. There is no space in our lives for what God has to offer, because we have already filled them up.
Father Anthony Ndichia, a Catholic priest from Cameroon who ministers to those who have emerged from apartheid in South Africa has written a wonderful treatise about emptying ourselves for God:
“Emptiness is part of human experience. Sometimes it can be seen as pain, yet it can be treated as a gift. I need emptiness in me: that space for something new; to be opened to wonder and surprises from God. Just as our bodies breathe in oxygen and breathe out carbon dioxide, so too do our spirits need to take in what is life-giving and empty out what is not helpful for us. A pot which is full cannot receive…
When our minds are filled up, there is no room for the otherness, no room for the new and unexpected, and no room for surprises of God. Openness to God could be one of the brave steps to empty anything that might be blocking our spiritual growth and freedom. There is a space within us that is waiting to be filled with the radiance of God.”
The psalmist sings of this so beautifully – and he sings with confidence. Read it again, he sings with confidence. This is a well-trained voice, these are lyrics he knows deeply. ‘O God, you ARE my God.’ God is his provider. Whether thirsty or hungry, within sanctuary and safety or without, asleep or awake, God satisfies his needs. He is open to all that God has for him. The psalmist is expectant that God will care for him, uphold him, satisfy him.
Father Ndichia: ‘I empty my dustbin and after a few days it’s filled with scrap papers. I clear my table, arrange it well, and next week it will be even messier. There is something always waiting to be sorted and discarded.
This is also true of our spiritual life. There are many things we can discard: resentment, anxiety, harsh judgments, self-pity, mistrust, breaking a vow, an addiction, and so on.
Negative thoughts, useless fears, worries, old wounding messages, and so on, also take up a lot of space. These leave no room for God’s agenda of growth, knowledge, love, beauty or pleasure.’
Take a moment just now and turn and look at those beautiful scenes we see through our own stained-glass windows. Fill your heart with that today. Fill your soul with that, fill your mind with that beauty. Take that moment.
‘Moses prepared himself to receive revelations from God: “Remove the sandals from your feet, for the place where you are standing is holy ground” (Exodus 3:1-6). What shoes do we need to remove in order to embrace the grace of God? What deep breaths do we need to take in as we move through our day.
If my life is clouded, cluttered with many thoughts and feelings, I may easily miss what God wants me to hear. Listening is key for our spiritual growth. To do this we need to open our minds and hearts, empty what blocks our way, create space and await God’s voice in our lives. God needs openings in our lives to get through to us, to communicate with us, to stretch us to greater growth, to nourish us, to revitalize and renew us with love.’
‘When we pray,’ Father Ndichia says, ‘how often do we say, “Speak, Lord, your servant is listening?” You know that story from Samuel. Often we rather say: “Listen, Lord, your servant is speaking.” If my life is clouded, cluttered with many thoughts and feelings, I may easily miss what God wants me to hear. Listening is key for our spiritual growth. To do this we need to open our minds and hearts, empty what blocks our way, create space and await God’s voice in our lives.’
A beautiful story about the power of emptiness was written by a child in Germany, fed by the efforts of Quakers in the American Friends Service Committee during World War 1. An empty pot – The Quaker’s Pot. Empty stomachs – young German girls. One willing to be filled. The others needing to be filled.
[abridged] The bright, shining moon came upon a school, her light beaming into its basement, revealing a round cardboard box next to a tall, black soup pot sitting on a large table, surrounded with small benches. The old moon spoke to the pot, wanting to know its purpose. “I am the Quaker’s Pot,” was the reply, and the pot went on to explain itself.
This is a story told by one of the children.
“You shouldn’t think that I’m always here. No, I’m only brought here every other day. Early tomorrow, two men will carry me into a car and take me to a room where I’ll be washed and left to dry overnight. And in the morning, I’ll be grabbed again and filled with steaming, good tasting soup. Then the men will bring me back here around 9:00 am and put me back on the table. For company, I have my friend, the grey cardboard box, who holds marvelously aromatic little rolls. And so we sit here and wait, looking forward to what’s to come. A powerful quiet reigns in the whole house, leaving a sense of nervousness.
Suddenly, a bell rings through the wide hallways, and it won’t be long now until I’ll be lively. We listen excitedly – now it must come. The sound of children’s feet skipping, of laughing, clattering voices, and of rattling bowls becomes louder, coming closer and closer, and then the door flies open and a stream of blonde and brown haired girls flows into the room. “Oh, how nice - today it smells like cocoa!” one of them says, or another one asks in an excited little voice, ‘Is there enough rice this time?’ The kids have beautifully formed a line, since they’re used to order, but they can’t stand still; they hop from one leg onto the other and look forward to the warm morning’s soup.
Many dim, short stories, which cause nagging hunger to disappear for a moment are heard under the clamor; the poor are usually deathly thin and meager, but now a large, warm jowl glows from all the kids. And again the door opens and four adults walk in hastily. Two of them adventurously carry soup ladles and drape them, next to me; the third grabs the carboard box, and the fourth goes through the list of the names of the served children. Then the lid flies off, both ladles dive forcefully into the soup, and the story can continue. A big, round bowl hangs suddenly over my head, and a serious voice asks, “Filled to the very top, right, young lady?” Now, it won’t be entirely full; the small stomach wouldn’t be able to handle that much, and there are many others who also want their portion. But the first one contentedly goes to her place. The next comes, and the third, and the fourth, and almost every one of them says, ‘Oh please, please, as much as you can give, it really tastes good, and we have such strong hunger!’ And soon the wooden benches are fully occupied by radiant young girls enjoying the meal. Oh, what good, warm soup and crisp, aromatic bread can do! You can see how it tastes on their beaming faces, and the little ones always go and refill their bowls. And it halts for a moment! A curly-haired kid bends over my brim. ‘Oh, it's all already gone!’ she says sadly into my ear. And everyone comes up to me one last time; each one wants ‘just a teeny tiny bit more’, but there’s only enough for a few. “Now children, we’re done for today,” the supervising teacher says. “There’ll be more tomorrow.” And the children obediently pack their bowls together, toss one last affectionate glance to their beloved old soup-pot, and go on to their classes. But I listen to their skipping little feet until everything is dead silent again.
Then I happily say to my friend, the now-empty (like me) cardboard box, “It does the heart [good], being able to help make the hungry feel full for once, and seeing how their small, pale faces gradually begin to smile!” Because they have such bitter need and deprivation before the children come to me, many of them have never experienced the feeling of fullness. “And now, you see, old moon, that I can at least feed a few of the many thousands who are starving; that is the work [of] noble men, of Quakers. So now you know why I call myself the Quaker’s Pot.” “Ah,” the moon says, “That was quite a long story you told… But I enjoyed hearing it, and from it I see there are still good people on the Earth. And when I [shine] over America again, my light will tell them thanks for their work.” Translation provided by Nate R.; German student at Hamilton Southeastern H.S.
God knows, far more than we, what we truly need. And God, loving us far more than we love ourselves, knows how to fill our need, and has all we need to fill us. And thank God, he calls us to feed others. Emptying and filling. Emptying and filling.
Some of you may have known this kind of physical hunger. Men and women who have served in war or have been victims of war have been in situations exactly like these children, where they were either held captive or were forced into physical hunger. There are certainly citizens of the world today who are physically hungry and thirsty. I thank God for the American Friends Service Committee and all other persons and agencies who work to interrupt that hunger with food and drink and physical care.
But what I would dare say is that there are many, many others who hunger deeply - for God. Who hunger deeply for the satisfaction that God brings. For the fullness that God has for each one of us. And God has this in full supply. Feeling the clearness, the cleanness, the rawness of our hunger - physically, spiritually - and then the readiness to be filled is sometimes a good thing. Soup bowls in hand, we make our way to the table. Empty. Ready to be filled with those things that God has provided for each one of us. What are those things that you hunger for? That I hunger for? They are not the same things. But God knows what each of us needs. God knows and has for each of us, what will satisfy.
“Thank you Lord, for these thy gifts which we are about to receive…’ Please join me now in expectant worship after the manner of Friends.
The Quaker’s Pot (full copy)
One bright, shining moon had put on her felt shoes and treading lightly, took her nightly path, hurrying in the dark sky. She sailed over the houses of the large, sleeping town, until she came to a halt over a large building. She was familiar with it and knew it was a big school at the edge of town, because she stood over it every night. Today though, something fell upon her that she had never noticed. Her light beamed down into a basement window, revealing a large room with white-washed walls and small wood benches around a large table. And on the table, next to a round carboard box, stood a strange thing. It was tall and black and seemed to be made of iron, appearing to be half-chimney, half-kettle. It looked like it was sleeping. The old moon with a shake of her head, peered down [into] the new discovery, for she wanted to know it’s purpose. So, she shined her brightest and brought the object out of the shadows.
“Hey, you!” she said. “Tell me, old friend, who are you, anyway?” The called-upon shook itself out of its sleep, saw the bright moon, and with a rusty voice replied, “I am the Quaker’s Pot.” “What are you?” the moon asked in astonishment. She’d never heard of such a thing before. “The Quaker’s Pot,” the other repeated, and I’d like to explain it to you, since it looks like you don’t know that much about me, and because you interrupted my sleep. I can definitely chat as well.”
“I’m an important personality, but truly a friendly fellow. You shouldn’t think that I’m always here. No, I’m only brought here every other day. Early tomorrow, two men will carry me into a car and take me to a room where I’ll be washed and left to dry overnight. And in the morning, I’ll be grabbed again and filled with steaming, good tasting soup. Then the men bring me back here around 9:00 am and put me back on the table. For company, I have my friend, the grey cardboard box, who holds marvelously aromatic little rolls. And so we sit here and wait, looking forward to what’s to come. A powerful quiet reigns in the whole house, leaving a sense of nervousness.
Suddenly, a bell rings through the wide hallways, and it won’t be long now until I’ll be lively. We listen excitedly – now it must come. The sound of children’s feet skipping, of laughing, clattering voices, and of rattling bowls becomes louder, coming closer and closer, and then the door flies open and a stream of blonde and brown haired girls flows into the room. “Oh, how nice - today it smells like cocoa!” one of them says, or another one asks in an excited little voice, ‘Is there enough rice this time?’ The kids have beautifully formed a line, since they’re used to order, but they can’t stand still; they hop from one leg onto the other and look forward to the warm morning’s soup.
Many dim, short stories, which cause nagging hunger to disappear for a moment are heard under the clamor; the poor are usually deathly thin and meager, but now a large, warm jowl glows from all the kids. And again the door opens and four adults walk in hastily. Two of them adventurously carry soup ladles and drape them, next to me; the third grabs the carboard box, and the fourth goes through the list of the names of the served children. Then the lid flies off, both ladles dive forcefully into the soup, and the story can continue. A big, round bowl hangs suddenly over my head, and a serious voice askes “Filled to the very top, right, young lady?” Now, it won’t be entirely full; the small stomach wouldn’t be able to hand that much, and there are many others who also want their portion. But the first one contentedly goes to her place. The next comes, and the third, and the fourth, and almost every one of them says, ‘Oh please, please, as much as you can give, it really tastes good, and we have such strong hunger!’ And soon the wooden benches are fully occupied by radiant young girls enjoying the meal. Oh, what good, warm soup and crisp, aromatic bread can do! You can see how it tastes on their beaming faces, and the little ones always go and refill their bowls. And it halts for a moment! A curly-haired kid bends over my brim. ‘Oh, it's all already gone!’ she says sadly into my ear. And everyone comes up to me one last time; each one wants ‘just a teeny tiny bit more’, but there’s only enough for a few. “Now children, we’re done for today,” the supervising teacher say. “There’ll be more tomorrow.” And the children obediently pack their bowls together, toss one last affectionate glance to their beloved old soup-pot, and go on to their classes. But I listen to their skipping little feet until everything is dead silent again.
Then I happily say to my friend, the now-empty (like me) cardboard box, “It does the heart [good], being able to help make the hungry feel full for once, and seeing how their small, pale faces gradually begin to smile!” Because they have such bitter need and deprivation before the children come to me, many of them have never experienced the feeling of fullness. “And now, you see, old moon, that I can at least feed a few of the many thousands who are starving; that is the work [of] noble men, of Quakers. So now you know why I call myself the Quaker’s Pot.” “Ah,” the moon says, “That was quite a long story you told, and you were really chatty about it! But I enjoyed hearing it, and from it I see there are still good people on the Earth. And when I [shine] over America again, my light will tell them thanks for their work.”
Translation provided by Nate R.; German student at Hamilton Southeastern High School
Taken from “Giving Voices to Ghosts” exhibit at Marian University, Indianapolis.
