Sermon: “Living in the Light”

Text: 1 Thessalonians 5:1-11

33^rd Sunday in Ordinary Time (A)

November 16, 2008

Scripture introduction.  First Thessalonians, a letter of the apostle Paul, is the oldest book in the New Testament.  He wrote it around the year 50, at a time when the early church expected the second coming of Christ to happen at any moment.  Thessalonica, the location of the congregation to which Paul is writing, is in northern Greece, and in Paul’s day it was a thriving commercial center on the Roman road that runs between Italy and Asia.  Shortly after Paul established a church in Thessalonica, local persecutions forced him to leave.  His assistant Timothy remained behind to minister to the new congregation.  Later Timothy reunited with Paul in Corinth and brought Paul news of the church at Thessalonica.  Some of the members of the church had died—perhaps through persecution—and the congregation was concerned about whether they would share in the resurrection.

In his letter Paul comforts the congregation, teaching them that at the second coming, the dead in Christ will rise first.  Those who remain alive will join Christ in the clouds.  Our text for this morning follows right after this passage about resurrection and concerns when the “day of the Lord” will occur.  According to Paul we cannot predict at what times or seasons the Lord will return: we simply must be ready at all times.  Paul’s message is alive with hope and positive outlook, a good example for us all.

Sermon.  In his novel, The Promise of Rest,[1] Reynolds Price tells the story of Hutch Mayfield, a Duke University English professor, estranged from his wife Ann and also from his son Wade, who in 1984 had moved as a young architect to New York City.  Wade was homosexual and had been living with his African-American lover, Wyatt.  Nine years later, Wade had contracted AIDS from Wyatt, and Wyatt had committed suicide.  By this time Wade, in the final stages of the illness, was completely dependent on volunteer caregivers.  His father, Hutch, found out what had happened and traveled to New York to retrieve Wade and to bring him home to North Carolina to die.  The book is about AIDS and about Wade, but like all of the novels of Reynolds Price it is also about family, about race, and about God.  In preparing for this sermon—on the day that as a congregation we take special note of the HIV/AIDS crisis—I re-read portions of this book and was struck again with the way the disease robbed Wade of youth and of life, but thankfully, not of his dignity.  Even as he quite literally wasted away, he redeemed his own family, most particularly his father Hutch and mother Ann.

I mention this book and this story because when we hear the HIV/AIDS statistics, it is so easy for our eyes to glaze over, as our “compassion fatigue” begins to kick in.  I feel my own defense mechanisms mounting even as I read you the following figures:[2]  worldwide about 35 million persons are infected with HIV, almost 1% of the population between the ages of 15 and 49.  Almost two-thirds of those live in sub-Saharan Africa, where the rate of infection rises to almost 6% of the adult population.  Worldwide about half of the infected population is female.  In sub-Saharan Africa, the number of infected young women can exceed that of young men by a factor of three, four, or five, depending on the country.  Worldwide about 2 million children are living with HIV, and almost 300,000 a year die of AIDS.  In the United States over a million persons are infected, and the Center for Disease Control estimates that about a quarter of those are unaware they are infected.[3]  In Indiana “[b]y the end of December 2005, a total of 7,765 people were infected with HIV/AIDS,” with 422 persons newly diagnosed in that year.[4]

It doesn’t take long for statistics to make us numb.  That is why stories are so important, even a made-up story like that of Wade Mayfield in Reynolds Price’s novel.  Many of us have our own stories of friends or family who have contracted HIV.  When I returned to Birmingham from law school I soon learned that one of my high-school classmates—a good friend of mine, someone with whom I sometimes double-dated—was dying of AIDS.  When he came to me for advice about his estate, I could hardly believe he was the same vital young man I had known in high school.  Until we can think of the victims of this plague—all around the world—as persons just like us, we will not appreciate the enormity of this problem. 

But AIDS is just one of many problems the world faces, isn’t it?  Sometimes we devote a Sunday to these problems, too—things like world hunger, war, and racism.  But we don’t have a Sunday for cancer, do we, or for pneumonia or heart disease.  What is it that is different about HIV/AIDS?  Why does the church take a special interest in this particular disease?  I’m not sure, but I have a guess.  I hope what I am about to say does not sound “preachy” or self-righteous because I count myself as a part of the phenomenon.  I believe the church makes a point of remembering this disease because in the past, and maybe even now, we have been a part of the problem.  In the United States the highest incidence of HIV infection is among three groups—men who have sex with other men, intravenous drug users, and prostitutes.[5]  These are all topics that, given our sensibilities in the church, are hard to talk about. 

Indeed, the issue of whether or not to ordain as church officers gay and lesbian persons who are sexually active has been such a contentious issue in our denomination—and in other denominations—that we tire of talking about it.  Despite our history on this particular issue, however, Presbyterians on both sides of the debate about gay ordination agree that gay persons should never be excluded from membership in the church.  Even Christians who believe homosexuality is sinful also admit that, because we all are sinners, there is no justification for excluding homosexuals from membership in the church or for failing to welcome them.  But what we know is right, and how we behave, are not always the same.  Many of us remain uncomfortable around gay persons.  Over the years the effect of our discomfort, which is communicated no matter how much we may attempt to hide it, is to push people away from the church—sometimes even those who have grown up as church members in our families.  When the very fact of homosexuality is a taboo that cannot openly be discussed, it becomes much harder to educate persons about high-risk behaviors.  Moreover, our own religious and moral scruples sometimes are responsible for driving gay persons into a dangerous subculture that makes it more likely they will be exposed to HIV and AIDS.  The issues are much the same when we consider the two other groups of persons most at risk—intravenous drug users and prostitutes.  I suspect there is a certain fear-factor, as well.  We are afraid of becoming infected ourselves; and we would prefer that HIV infected persons stay away from us and our families, even though we know now how minimal is the risk of contracting the virus through casual contact.

In other cultures the taboos are different, but the effect is often the same.  According to the United Nations 2008 Report on the Global AIDS Epidemic, “Long-term success in responding to the epidemic will require sustained progress in reducing human rights violations associated with it, including gender inequality, stigma and discrimination. Although these social factors differ in their manifestations, intensity and impact between and within regions, they are present to some degree worldwide and in all cases impede an effective, evidence-informed and rights-based response to the epidemic.”  This is the reason we take pains in the church to acknowledge the reality of the HIV/AIDS problem and even to consider repenting of the ways we, as the church have contributed to the problem.

When Paul addressed himself to the fears of the congregation in Thessalonica, he probably considered that Jesus would be coming back within his own lifetime.  In the verses before our reading this morning, he includes himself among those whom he believed would be caught up in the clouds to meet the Lord.  It turns out he was wrong on this point.  But he was certainly right in his advice to the Thessalonians: “We are not people of darkness,” he said, “but people of the day.”  Those who live in darkness will be surprised by, and unprepared for, the Lord’s return.  But if we live in the light, we will be ready no matter when it might happen.  Paul did not elaborate what he meant by living like people of the day.  He simply said, “[E]ncourage one another and build up each other, as indeed you are doing.”  I like that part—“as indeed you are doing.”  Paul kbm==