The Rev. Stephen Y. McGehee Jeremiah 23:23-29 St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church Hebrews 11:29—12:2 Year C, Proper 15 Psalm 82 August 18, 2019 Luke 12:49-56

“Nunc Dimittis” I don't have to tell you that we live in a time when division seems to be everywhere: in the body politic, in the racial fabric of our nation, and on our borders—to name just a few areas. And that division is not simply characteristic of the present moment, but of recent historical moments as well. This past week marked the second anniversary of the white nationalist rally in Charlottesville. And to mark this milestone, last Monday the Richmond Times-Dispatch ran an article on its front page, underscoring the intensity of what transpired there two years ago and drawing our attention to the kind of change that’s necessary to bring lasting healing.1 Change after a major event like the one that happened in Charlottesville can feel disruptive and disorienting at times. It can take a long, long time and challenge our patience along the way. We want resolution, but while solutions are being debated, division continues: in the language of our Gospel text today, “father against son and son against father, mother against daughter and daughter against mother.” Back in my banking days, I experienced firsthand the disconcerting, almost discombobulating, effects of change. Bank consolidation brought major change, for sure. But perhaps the area where I experienced the most change in my professional life as a banker was during the second half of my career, when I spent most of my days financing companies through business turnarounds and restructurings. And as you can imagine, there’s plenty of change, and anxiety, in a business turnaround. Things can go horribly wrong, and capital can be placed at serious risk, if you’re not careful. And when capital’s at risk, there can be plenty of disagreement, and division, all around. In a business turnaround, bankers and owners can often find themselves working at cross-purposes, and wills often collide: “father against son and son against father, mother against daughter and daughter against mother.” I remember especially one episode, which illustrated the inevitable tension between borrower and lender in the midst of a business turnaround. I was the principle lender to a major, national distributor. One day I got a call from the owner of the business, who told me that he had discovered a major problem in one of his divisions, causing the business to experience a sudden, irreversible loss of profit. I’ll never forget the day I met with the owner of the business to decide the best next step. The problem before us seemed insurmountable: we were divided over what the best way forward should be, and clear solutions seemed distant at best. Our Gospel text today is teeming with the division that existed Jesus’ time—a kind of division that seems to be bubbling up in our time as well. It’s so easy to get locked into what divides us only and not see beyond what perhaps might be coming to us in the midst of significant change. Jesus admonishes the disciples, and us by extension, to look up from the dislocation all around us and see

1 Nolan Stout, “Change continues in Charlottesville two years after violence scarred city,” Richmond Times-Dispatch, August 12, 2019, p. A1 and A4. 1 the signs of redemption on the horizon. He tells us that when we see clouds gathering in the west, we know it’s going to rain buckets in Virginia. And when the winds blow up from the south, we know it’s going to be a scorching, hot day in Richmond. We know this because we’ve seen it time after time: Clouds in the west lead to rain in the east, and a blowing, southern wind leads to scorching heat up north. We know this from our experience. But despite what we think we know to be true, Jesus puts his finger on our fundamental human limitation: we might know how to interpret things, to look beyond, the appearance of earth and sky—beyond clouds forming in the west and winds picking up speed in the south—but for some crazy reason, we somehow can’t see beyond our present circumstances—in this case, beyond the division that’s going on all around us. You know, Gary has said on more than one occasion that the negative things—in this case, the anxiety of division—sticks to us like Velcro. But the redemptive things—the small signs of hope even in the midst of division—seem to slide off us like Teflon. It’s hard to see redemption when the world around you feels like it’s coming off the rails. That’s just the way we’re hardwired, I think. Jesus knew this, despite his primary focus in our Gospel text today on division. And by placing the emphasis, in his teaching to the disciples, on division, he echoes the perspective of Simeon, who appears to Jesus at the very beginning of Luke’s Gospel. At the age of just eight days, Jesus is taken to the temple by his parents to be circumcised, as was the Jewish custom. Simeon greets Jesus and his parents, remarking “how this child …will be a sign that will be opposed…”2 Simeon sees how Jesus will bring division among the people, drawing them away from each other over matters of religion and traditional Jewish custom. But Simeon also sees in that division the very seeds of salvation. He sees a glimmer of redemption as the logical next step from division, so that when division comes, he knows that salvation might very well be right around the corner. And he expresses this hopeful perspective in song, in his Nunc Dimittis: “Lord, you now have set your servant free to go in peace as you have promised; for these eyes of mine have seen the Savior, whom you have prepared for all the world to see: a Light to enlighten the nations, and the glory of your people Israel.” We say the Nunc Dimittis every other day in Evening Prayer at St. Stephen’s, and at the end of every memorial service here. We say it as a reminder that, when we think we’re at the end of a day, or even at the end of a life, there’s new life on the way. We know this because this is God’s promise to all of us, his covenant with us. Just when we think that things could not be worse, redemption somehow seems to find its way into our lives. I mean, how many times have you thought you might be seriously upended by an unforeseen circumstance, only to survive it completely? I found this out as a banker. When that big distributor was coming off the rails and losing buckets of money, it was easy to see nothing but loss. But, after my initial shock over what was going on, I got down to business with the owner, and together we devised a turnaround plan. And today that business is thriving. It’s hard to believe that, at one point, I had no faith in a positive outcome. I was blinded by the problems before me. But thanks be to God there was hope, despite my inability to see it.

2 See Luke 2:34. 2

And, you know, hope also springs eternal in Charlottesville. Two years ago, it was also hard to see anything redemptive over what transpired there. Everyone was blinded by the awful events that happened there. But in that article from the Richmond Times-Dispatch that came out last Monday, the author also makes a point of showing how Charlottesville has since become “Shining Beacon of Hope,”3 despite what happened there two years ago—in no small part due to the positive changes that have since been carried out in that community. Charlottesville now has a new police chief, a new mayor, and a renewed commitment to inclusion. The city has also instituted a new, affordable housing plan, which has brought renewed hope to the community.4 Is Charlottesville out of the woods yet? No. Have the larger issues of race and inclusion been addressed and rectified for all time? No. But the seeds of hope are being planted, and the future is looking more promising than it did two years ago. The work has not finished, but it has definitely begun. Division and dislocation are inevitable parts of life itself. Things just come off the rail sometimes, just like clouds rise in the west and wind blows up from the south. This is just the way the world turns. But division is certainly not the whole story. Just as often as our world seems to come unglued, so also the redemptive grace of God steps in and begins the long, hard task of drawing us all back to himself. You can count on it, because it’s God’s promise, his Nunc Dimittis. Thanks be to God that we have a friend in the universe. Amen.

3 Stout, p. A1. 4 Stout, p. A4. 3