Sunday, May 12, 2024
/7 Easter
Acts 1:15-17, 21-26; Psalm 1;1 John 5: 9-13; John 17: 6-19
The Rev. James M.L. Grace
In the Name of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. AMEN
About six years ago, a young man visited St. Andrew’s early one Sunday morning. He was barefoot, had shoulder length hair, a beard, and was dressed in tan pants and a brown shirt, and he reminded me of the cartoon character “Shaggy” from Scooby Doo.
I asked the young man his name, and he introduced himself as Eric. It was clear to me that Eric was experiencing some sort of chemically induced high, and that he had been up all night. Eric did not seem well, either emotionally or psychologically.
He also had an unleashed dog sitting with him on the narthex stairs, which prompted me to call the constable, who arrived and began asking Eric questions. The constable confirmed that that Eric took LSD the night before, and at some point, had lost his girlfriend, who the police later found wandering 610 on foot – like Eric, also high.
Eventually, four police cars were in front of the church on Heights Blvd, and in the midst of all these uniformed personnel, a woman walking her dog stopped, looked at Eric, and the police surrounding him. This woman, observing all that was happening outside the church doors, started to tell me about her grown, adult son.
Without any shame in her voice, she told me with all honesty that she has an adult son, just like Eric. This woman’s son, she told me, had been homeless for nearly ten years, and suffered from a debilitating addiction to crack cocaine. She went on to tell me that she had tried everything she could possibly do to help her son, but to no avail. She could not help him anymore if he was unwilling to help himself.
It was obvious to me that this woman had no interest in enabling her son’s drug addiction, and that she had drawn noticeably clear boundaries to protect herself. Growing up, my mom had four household rules: (1) no drugs (2) no babies (3) do not call her if you are in jail, and (4) no dogs on the couch. My older brother learned the hard way my mom really meant what she said when one night he called her from jail (ignoring rule 3), asking if she would bail him out. She did not, a story I enjoyed reminding my older brother of from time to time.
In my eighteen years as a parent, if I have learned anything, it is that there is nothing simple about parenting. I experienced that in my own home as a child, I saw it on the front doors of our church six years ago with Eric, I heard it from the woman telling me about her own son, and I see it in my own house.
One of the tenets of Buddhism, I believe, is that the great cause of human suffering is our attachment to things. Attachment creates suffering. Parents become attached to their young children, their children grow up and detach from their parent, and if you’re not ready for it, it can hurt.
Like many things in life, Mother’s Day is a holiday with a shadow. Underneath the flowery cards, champagne brunches, and gifts, there can be a lot of unresolved pain, for both children and mothers alike. Mother’s Day can carry a lot of baggage for those who grew up without a mother, or for those who grew up with an emotionally unavailable mother, or for those of us whose mothers are no longer with us.
Life is a moving target – there are no guarantees and nothing (except for God) is certain. Eric randomly showing up on our church’s doorstep six years ago is but one example of how random life can be. I am thankful Eric found this church, because even in his gibberish, he reminded me that God’s kingdom is open to everyone. God sees no difference between the person who is nicely dressed in the church pew versus some barefoot, drugged out guy. We are all equally loved by God. And to be honest, Eric was not that different from any of us here today. He brought all his problems (which were obvious) to our church door. But we do the same thing. We bring our problems here, too. It is just easier for us to hide them from each other than it was for Eric.
I recognize that this sermon does not really have anything to do with any of our readings for today. I am not sure what this is except perhaps a love letter to the parents who raised you. Your parents, who, in spite of their own limitations, did what they thought best.
I have no idea where Eric is today, or if he is even still alive. The woman who told me about her homeless son, I have not seen in six years. I do hope that there are people out there still who love them both. If there isn’t, then there isn’t. There is something better. There is a God who looks at Eric and that woman’s son seeing not unmanageable drug addicts, but instead sees his children – just like you and me. It is said that God has no grandchildren – only children. If God is our true parent (and I believe God is) then God knows Eric and that woman’s homeless son. They are children of God, their names written upon God’s very heart, next to yours. AMEN.