Sweeping Out
Thumbnail image: by Hans Splinter, printed under https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nd/2.0/
Clare L. Hickman
St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Ferndale
Feb 7, 2021—Epiphany 5B
Isaiah 40:21-31; 1 Corinthians 9:16-23; Mark 1:29-39
“What’s that word?” I got a text this week. “What’s that word that begins with ‘a’ that means something that is theologically indifferent?” Which is to say, something that isn’t crucial, theologically. Something on which we can differ without any kind of worry.
The word they were looking for was “adiaphora.” [Of course. You all knew that, I’m sure!] Adiaphora. A word that’s important in the way that it reminds us that not everything is central, not everything has been nailed down and understood, not everything that we think and believe about God has the potential to stand between us and God. Between us and the kingdom of God.
Some things … are not essential. We don’t really know, and that’s fine. We have different opinions and practices, and that’s fine. Either way, it won’t inhibit our relationship with God, and it won’t interfere with our ability to help the Kingdom of God shine more brightly in this world.
Which is a concept that clearly drives Paul’s ministry to the Gentiles. Because it’s not that he thinks an adherence to Jewish laws and practices like circumcision are harmful. He just knows that they aren’t actually essential to a relationship with God. And, if he could have practiced Jewish law as it was intended, as a way to keep God as an ever-present focus in his life, he might have been able to remain a practicing Jew. But the Law became a distraction to him. He became obsessed with the idea of perfect adherence, and thus his only option in the end was to abandon the goal of adherence.
Which is how, today, we hear him talk about becoming all things to all people. Because the gospel can be good news to all kind of people, in all kinds of situations. It doesn’t need people to be one thing or another, to adhere to one set of behaviors and shun another. Most of those things are adiaphora. They aren’t crucial.
What matters is the center of the gospel. What matters is Jesus, and the way he lived and the things he taught. What matters is our relationship with and connection to Jesus; and Jesus (after all) broke bread with, laid hands on, and generally got mixed up with people of every status and demographic! So, he can be in relationship with you, too, regardless of your adiaphoras!
But … just because something isn’t disqualifying, doesn’t mean it might not get in the way. Any of those things still might distract you, as Paul was distracted by the Law: by taking up energy or drawing your focus.
Which is why I resonated with a recent reflection from my colleague Laurie Brock about the tradition of sweeping the dust and dirt from our homes at Candlemas. The Christian roots of this festival (which falls on February 2nd) spring from the Jewish tradition of a new mother coming to the Temple, 40 days after the birth of a child, to be purified and returned to the community. The non-Christian roots lie in the day that falls at the cross-quarter: halfway between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox, seen by many as the beginning of spring.
“In the darkness of winter,” Brock writes, “as we huddle within our selves and souls and in some ways, spiritually hibernate, we hear [that] the Light is still with us” (it’s the season of Epiphany, after all!), “but often that Light seems faint and weak.
“But now, on Candlemas, we are very close to spring. Lent is coming, a time to work the spiritual soil of our souls and till the literal soil of our land. The Light gets stronger as we prepare for Easter with prayer, fasting, and penance.
“However, to welcome the Light, to welcome that which God has planted and is taking root and growing, we frequently discover we need to clean out some of the stuff of our souls, the things we pushed into corners and left to stagnate over the long winter. A truth of life is [that] for something new to be born, we must be willing to create space for it to thrive and grow.
“Candlemas, in its wisdom, invites us to do just that. We light candles as we give thanks for Christ, the Light of the World. We say prayers of thanksgiving for the Light that shines in our selves and souls, and then - hopefully - we will allow this Light to guide us into the corners and recesses of our souls as we sweep out the dust, debris, and dirt we no longer need.”[i]
It's a good time to be doing this kind of work. There’s enough light to see by, but things are still quiet enough to leave room for this kind of reflection. To spend time in our interior space, and invite Jesus to be our own spiritual Marie Kondo. His favorite hobby, after all, is ridding people of all the things that are holding them back and weighing them down. Whether it be illness or scandal, oppression or condemnation, self-doubt or fear, Jesus comes to lift us out of all that (resurrect us, actually, is the word used for Peter’s mother-in-law), in order to set us free for our ministry to the world (diakonia is the word used today … to be a deacon).
So Jesus knows the kind of stuff that litters the corners of our souls. And Jesus also sees the piles that we keep in the very center of our dining room tables! He knows what’s in the way, and what’s not. And it is his desire to help us recognize: the things in our lives that are distracting us by pretending to be crucial; those that crowd out our awareness of the Kingdom; those that are actually contrary to a life lived in Christ. And then to help us sweep all that out!
You’ll know these when you see them, if you can take the time on this cross-quarter of the year, on this feast that marks the return of Mary to the fullness of community, to sit with Jesus in the home that is your internal world … and allow yourself to see all that is there … to notice what you give priority to, what gets central place … to see the things that are worn down, dusty and tattered … to get a sense (in the presence of your Savior) of what is truly precious and what is simply shiny … perhaps even be brave enough to see the things that are ugly and destructive … and then you and Jesus can make a plan.
Some can be kept: because it is good, because it is healthy, or just because you like it and it isn’t doing any harm. Some needs to be repaired, with some more attention or perhaps with repentance and atonement. And some can be, should be, swept out the front door.
So that you might be healthier and dedicated to life. So that you can be more spacious and open for the working of the spirit. So that you too can be raised up by Jesus, to go about your vocation, your loving service, your work in this world. May it be so. Amen.
[i] Laurie Brock, in blog post: “Sweeping away,” posted February 2, 2021; http://www.revlauriebrock.com/2016/02/sweeping-away.html?m=1&fbclid=IwAR1n55zWmrqrljN0aKohYZLr44WA7DPy4zbaycTFgpQBEvuGOblC82lmlgk