Both/And

This is a sermon I preached on March 22, 2009 in Alice Millar Chapel.

I think it was my sophomore year in college, and I think it was during Fall Break. My friend Naoko, from Japan, spent the weekend with my family. I have to tell you, this is one of my mom’s favorite stories about my friends to share. Dinner was nearly ready – all that was left to prepare, the salad. Mom called into the living room, asking Naoko whether she wanted to have coleslaw or tossed salad. I think it was a combination of a slight problem of grammatical translation, and surely the fact of having grown tired of cafeteria food, but Naoko’s face lit up, her eyes widened, as she most politely said, “Yes, please!” My mom gave me “the eye,” I know you know what I’m talking about. The raised eyebrow and the quick darting movement that, in no uncertain terms, says, “Get out here and help me grate the cabbage, or cut up the cucumber.”

Mom had been thinking along the lines of either/or, while Naoko was a bit more interested in both/and. I can even think of one or two people I know, a little bit leery of anything resembling a vegetable, who would have certainly preferred “neither/nor.”

I generally try to avoid labeling and categorizing people – it’s usually in bad form, I think. But… work with me for just a moment or two. This morning I am going to suggest that there are three types of folks in the world – the “either/ors,’ the “neither/nors,” and the “both/ands.” There are people who are able to make a choice decisively, clearly affirming what they want, given two possibilities. They see the world in black and white, simply, clear cut and definite. There are people who have no difficulty rejecting both of those possibilities. They have something else in mind, or maybe they are just plain disagreeable. For them, the world might be a disappointing place, failing to live up to expectations. And finally, there are people who either can’t decide, or see no reason to – yes, please! Their appetite for life, their thirst for just about everything is overwhelming. They see the world as wide open – nothing is impossible, provided we perhaps embrace every good thing that comes our way.

It seems to me that many of the folks responsible for bringing us the word of God fall into the either/or camp – maybe sometimes neither/nor, depending on the circumstances. It’s really quite simple – you do what you know to be the right thing to do. You might whine and complain about rumbling stomachs and parched throats over the course of a long journey. Or… you acknowledge sinful behavior, repent, and ask for deliverance, forgiveness. You believe in Jesus, thus affording you eternal life. Or… you don’t, doubting claims which likely sound outrageous at the time. (Frankly, I tend to agree it’s all rather difficult to wrap your head around!) You love the darkness, or the light. You are condemned, or you are saved.

What I find compelling about this morning’s scripture readings lies not so much in what is written, as what is unspoken. I am drawn to the suggestions, those thoughts which grab hold of our minds and tend to keep on running. For instance, the Israelites in our lesson from the Hebrew Bible are a little bent out of shape – hungry, thirsty, it’s probably safe to say they are tired. They lash out, cursing God and Moses alike. God is not pleased, sending poisonous serpents to rain upon them. Poisonous serpents tend to bite, killing their prey. As the death tolls rise, the Israelites realize it is time to take action. They repent, begging Moses to pray to God to intercede on their behalf, which he does. God tells Moses to fashion a poisonous serpent (Moses opts to make one in bronze) and affix it to a long stick. If someone is bitten, all they need to do is look at the bronze serpent and all will be well. And lo and behold, all is well.
But I wonder… that had to have been a little awkward. The antidote, so to speak, was to face the very thing that had done the damage in the first place. It is hard enough facing our fears – things which might possibly prove to be dangerous, let alone those things we already know are bad news. What does that mean? That we need to acknowledge head on the destructive forces in our world, in our life, and stare them down, so to speak? That admitting when we are wrong, and doing what we are told in the aftermath makes the difference? That our healing lies somewhere in the reality of our brokenness?

The Gospel according to John tells us that those who believe in God will have eternal life. Those who don’t – they will be condemned. But, our imagination suggests that there is a great deal more to that line of reasoning than clear cut doubt or certain belief. What about those who wonder? Who consider? Who aren’t quite sure? Is that middle ground really a no man’s land, or maybe just a holding pattern? Are people driven by fear of condemnation, or by the promise of life eternal. Do we really have an idea of what eternal life looks like?

The writer of this gospel also posits that people love either the darkness or the light. Darkness conceals evil deeds, while that which is true has no need to fear being brought into the light. It’s a very tidy suggestion, really. But, what about those liminal moments locked in twilight, or the seconds just before daybreak? As the rays of the sun sink into the horizon, and the stars slowly stake their claim in the sky. As the yellows and oranges and electric blues emerge, slowly but surely. When maybe, just maybe, you aren’t altogether sure what is coming next?
Jesus was sent into this world that we might be saved rather than condemned. Is there a difference between salvation and redemption? Saved from what? Saved for what? Condemnation – who exactly decides the term? Is there a way to appeal the decision? Is there room on the continuum for verbs like shame or scold, even better, sustain, or support? I realize it wasn’t a terribly popular song, but a Billy Joel track is running through my mind at the moment, “I don’t know why I go to extremes…”

What happens when we open ourselves to the spaces in between? What exactly is in the spaces in between? I wonder… Do you suppose it might be grace? That illusive gift that is always already ours, yet remains untenable as a gentle breeze, or a shimmering moon beam? The letter to the Ephesians reminds us that we are saved by grace – not by what we do or don’t do, or how we do or don’t do it. We are saved by grace – artful enough to slip in undetected and offer a glimmer of hope, of promise. We are saved by grace – bold enough to barge in unannounced, shifting the dynamics of just about anything and everything. We are saved by grace – illusive enough that we can never seek it out, it simply comes, and we simply (or, sometimes not so simply) accept it.

Grace sneaks into the cracks in any life broken by fear and frustration, deceit and deception, anger and animosity. It lingers wherever mistakes are made, harsh words spoken, tears shed. It washes over years of hatred, pain, and wavering doubt. It expands to fill the gaps created by our extremes, our either/ors, our neither/nors, our both/ands. I believe it should be said – grace doesn’t undo what can’t be undone. It doesn’t take away the memory of wounds inflicted, of untruths told. It doesn’t justify unkindness, or insist upon our undying gratitude. Grace simply – or, again, not so simply – is.

Our closing hymn this morning speaks of the wideness in God’s mercy. I’m thinking that wideness very well might be grace. There’s plenty of room for all of us who prefer the both/and approach to life. And for those of us who don’t always act as we should – knowingly, or unknowingly. There is plenty of room, even, for ambiguity. For questions which never get asked, and answers that have forgotten their questions. Plenty of room for coleslaw and tossed salad, and probably even potato salad, too. Amen.