October 27, 2024 – Reformation Sunday
I Kings 17.17-24
John 4.46-54
Signs
Reformation Sunday
I was at the bank in Old Lyme earlier this week, and as the teller was transacting my business, a teller from an adjacent window sidled over, looked at me quizzically, and asked, “Do you work in Chester?” I smiled and said, “Yes, I do.” “I drive by your sign every day on my way to work,” she said, “it’s nice to meet you and finally put a face to the name.” And I told her likewise, it was good to meet her and she is welcome to peek her head into church any time.
Two days later I was walking down West Main on my way to a lunch date at The Wheatmarket, and it may have been due to my encounter with the teller, but I found myself taking special note of the signs I passed as I descended the hill. The Chester Hose Company reminds us to practice our fire escape plan; the Library is apparently hosting Big Foot a week from tomorrow at 6:30 – don’t want to miss that; and the Chester Museum at The Mill is advertising the film, Let’s Scare Jessica to Death at the Meetinghouse tonight at 6:00. And the next afternoon on my way to a meeting in Deep River I passed that delightful stop sign on Main St just before the old Chesterfield’s, the sign that says, “Stop. Really.” It reminded me of a courteous speed limit sign that once stood on Lyme Street in Old Lyme that read “25 [miles per hour]. Please.” Alas, that sign is no longer; I hope that whoever took it has given it a good home.
I’ve noticed that stealing signs – and I’m not talking about baseball – seems to have become a competitive sport in this election season. Campaign signs have been disappearing from peoples yards almost as fast as they can put them up. In fact Old Lyme’s Democratic Town Committee has had so many of their signs stolen this fall that they’ve begun attaching air tags to them, though my guess is they aren’t going to anyone’s homes or yards, they’re probably lying abandoned in the woods or a swamp somewhere.
In the first twelve chapters of John’s gospel Jesus performs a series of miracles that the author tells us are signs. As Michele just read, the story of Jesus healing the royal official’s son “was the second sign that Jesus did after coming from Judea to Galilee.” Sometimes these chapters are referred to by biblical scholars as “the book of signs,” since they seem to be deliberately grouped together. You’ll probably recognize most of them. The signs include Jesus turning water into wine at the wedding in Cana; the story we just heard about the royal official’s son; the paralytic who was cured at the pool in Bethsaida, which we talked about last Easter; the multiplication of the loaves and the fish; walking on the water at the sea of Galilee; curing a blind man in Jerusalem; and raising Lazarus from the dead at Bethany. These are signs and wonders, John tells us, they are markers that help lead the way to belief.
It is important to note that the signs are not, however, about themselves; they point to something else, something greater and more important than the sign itself. Fire safety is critically important, especially in these days of drought. When I was growing up in Meriden my friends and I used to climb Mount Lamentation; it was an especially good spot to watch the fireworks of neighboring towns on the fourth of July. It is the same spot where hundreds of acres burned this week, and one volunteer firefighter lost his life. And so that little sign in front of the Chester Hose Company is not just a friendly reminder, it points to something far more serious, far more important. The library’s tantalizing mention of Bigfoot is at least in part an enticement to curious young minds to come find out a little bit more, to get them into and make them comfortable in the library which boasts an untold wealth of knowledge, and could be the beginning of a lifelong love of reading. And I’ve not seen the film myself, so I don’t know whatever happened to Baby Jane, but it sounds to me like a fun opportunity to bring people together in community to share a pre-Hallowe’en experience. A sign works best, I think, when it points to something beyond itself – it is not about the sign, but rather about the message it conveys. Now there are exceptions to rules, and I’ll share my very favorite sign with you in a few minutes, a sign that delightfully if unintentionally breaks this rule about pointing to something other than itself.
The signs that Jesus performs in John’s gospel are not about themselves. They are not miracles for miracles’ sake. If they were, then Jesus would be little more than an itinerant magician who provides a mildly entertaining and entirely temporary diversion for his audience. “Oh look Lydia – that nice young man who came to the wedding with his mother just turned 120 gallons of water into 120 gallons of wine. Laissez les bon temps roulez!” It is more than a story about a parlor trick. It suggests the inbreaking of the kingdom of God, it provides a glimpse of God’s abundant generosity, of lavish and copious extravagance and the opening up of previously unimagined transformation and possibility. As that story concludes, “Jesus did this, the first of his signs, in Cana of Galilee, and revealed his glory; and his disciples believed in him.”
This is what signs do – they point to something greater than themselves. This morning’s story reminds us that there is tremendous healing in the presence of the divine; it is a deliberate echo of the healing story we heard about Elijah in I Kings. It is also notable – it is also notable that the beneficiary of God’s restorative healing in the Elijah story is a Phoenician woman, and in John the son of a royal official – that is, two people outside the blessed communities of Israel in I Kings and of the Jews and/or the church in John. God does not bring blessing only to God’s recognized “chosen people” but to everyone. In Jesus Christ, God brings healing and wholeness, indeed life itself, to everyone in creation: to the paralytic at Bethsaida, to the blind man in Jerusalem, and to Lazarus. And in the feeding of the multitudes we are reminded that when we gather in good faith, anything is possible, and there is always enough to go around. It is not a story of scarcity, of but a few pieces of bread and fish, but it is a story of abundance. When we do not keep to ourselves what we have, whether little or much, when we give it away freely there is not only enough for ourselves but enough for everyone. It is a stewardship sermon disguised as a miracle; it is a sign.
I wonder – in what ways do you and I point to something beyond and greater than ourselves? In what ways do our words and actions make it clear that our lives are about more than what we want, more than what we believe, more than what is best for us; in what ways do we bring healing to hurting lives, or a hurting community? In what ways do we bring new life to old, tired ways of doing things? In what ways do we represent hope to an anxious world? I appreciated that part of Todd Yonkman’s message from this pulpit last Sunday, because one of the ways we can represent that same hope and encouragement we seek is to model them for others in ourselves. Elijah’s miracle in I Kings was not directed to those already embraced by God within the confines of the faith and family of the Hebrew people, but to a poor widow outside the perceived circle of the chosen. The son of the royal official in John 4 was likely neither a Jew nor a follower of Jesus, but rather part of the Roman occupation. But God’s abundant healing and grace was for him as much as it was for any member of those traditional faith communities. In a season when we seem to be torn apart by what wants to divide us, Jesus’ not-so-subtle act of healing insists that the power and grace of God bring healing and wholeness, not division and rancor. The power and grace of God – in Jesus and in us – bring healing, they bring sight, they bring sustenance, they bring life itself, they bring copious amounts of wine and bread and fish, they bring to a needy people whatever is needed most. Our day is no different: our communities, our nation, our world cries out for healing, it needs and desires to be fed, both in body and in spirit, we need vision, we need renewal. And we the followers of Jesus are the people who can fill these needs by the love and presence and grace and abundance that are the signs that point to the love and presence and grace and abundance of God.
Because if all we stand for is ourselves, if we are not the kind of sign that points to something greater and broader and more magnificent than ourselves, well let me tell you about my favorite sign. It used to stand along the shoreline in Old Saybrook along Maple Avenue at Knollwood Beach, although like Old Lyme’s 25 mph, Please sign, someone apparently decided it needed a new home, because it is not there anymore. But while it stood, it provided a gentle laugh for me every time I biked by it. There on a lonely metal pole was a sign that read, “This pole shall remain without signs at all times.” This pole shall remain without signs at all times. Think about it: a sign that negates its very identity, whose presence denies what it claims to stand for. This pole shall remain without signs at all times. Except when it doesn’t.
Friends, don’t be that sign. Do not let yours be the sign that points to nothing besides itself and in doing so contravenes its own purpose and meaning. Let ours be the sign that points to something other than ourselves. Let ours be the sign that brings healing and wholeness to a broken and sundered world. Let ours be the sign that feeds the hungry with plenty. Let ours be the sign that brings life out of death. Let ours be the sign that creates joy and gladness and fine wine in abundance. Let ours be the sign that brings sight to the blind and light to the darkness. Let ours be the sign that brings wonder. Let ours be the sign that brings people together and creates community. Let ours be the sign that bears the unmistakable presence of our loving and compassionate and life-giving God.
Let our lives be the sign that cannot be ignored.