4/19/20 “Magic or Ministry” by Nancy E. Petty
“Magic or Ministary”
Scripture: John 20:19-22
Name the song. I’m going to give you some clues to a song and when you think you know it, write the title in the comment section of our live stream or just shout it out. Ok, here are your clues. It debuted in 1965. That same year it became a top ten hit on the Billboard Hot 100, peaking at number 9. Shaun Cassidy made it popular again in 1978 when he released his version of it. According to the lyrics, the main word in the title of the song is about the power to supply happiness and freedom to those who make it and listen to it. One line of the song reads: “We’ll dance until morning ’til there’s just you and me.” The original version, sung by The Lovin’ Spoonful was ranked number 216 on Rolling Stone’s list of The 500 Greatest Songs of All Time. The lyrics were written by John Sebastian. The song has been featured in a number of movies, including: The Parent Trap, American Pie and In America. Raise your hand if you guessed it. (We can’t see you.) If you guessed, Do You Believe in Magic you are right. Who guessed it? Better yet, who remembers it?
Lately, I have been thinking about the narrative of our faith and how it has been told and portrayed throughout history beginning with the writers of the Hebrew scripture all the way through the gospels and the writings of Paul and others. The event that started my thinking was a scene from the movie Mary Magdalene that Karla and I recently watched. This particular scene, that comes almost at the end of the movie, shows Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead just before his triumphal entry into Jerusalem. Much like the gospel writers, the movie portrayed this scene as a defining moment when those following Jesus began to believe—really believe—that he was the new Messiah. As I reflected on that scene, I started thinking about other defining moments in the God and Jesus narrative–events where it seemed like all of the sudden there was an increase in believing, in trusting, in following. These defining moments I am calling magical miraculous moments. The burning bush, bearing a child at age 90, the parting of the waters, Jonah surviving in the belly of a fish, Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego in the fiery furnace, Daniel in the lion’s den, the valley of dry bones coming to life, bringing dead people back to life, the blind seeing and the lame walking, 5000 people being fed with 2 fish and 5 pieces of bread, and scenes like the one in our text this morning where we read that Jesus appears in the room with the disciples even though the doors are locked.
Although the text doesn’t explicitly say how Jesus got into the room with the disciples who, in fear, where hiding behind locked doors, the reader gets the feeling that somehow Jesus magically and miraculously appears in this room. The text doesn’t describe a knock at the door. It doesn’t say that the disciples unlocked or opened the door for Jesus to enter. It simply states that, “When it was evening on that day, the first day of the week, and the doors of the house where the disciples had met were locked for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said, ‘Peace be with you.’” Throughout Christian history, the assumption has been (and taught) that Jesus magically and miraculously (mysteriously) appeared in the room. I would venture a bet that, if we answered honestly, we would have to admit that this is the element of the story that has stuck most with us from this narrative—that Jesus magically appears in a room where the doors were locked. And to be fair, why not? Isn’t that the intent of the writer? Otherwise, why else make a big deal about the doors being locked in the first place. Why not just write, “The disciples were hiding in a house because they were afraid and Jesus came and stood among them.” No, it seems the writer wants us to understand that Jesus’ appearance was supernatural—after all, this was the resurrected Jesus.
My question for us on this first Sunday of Easter is this: “Are we looking for the magical miraculous moments of faith in order to believe; or can we give ourselves over daily to God’s extraordinary gift of grace in ordinary ministry moments—those opportunities to minister to another? In short, are we looking for magic or are we looking for ministry? Are we focused on burning bushes, seas parting and dead people coming back to life? Or are we focused on ministry opportunities like being present to one another in the midst of fear, taking care of each other in hard times, and speaking words of peace in times of great uncertainty?
Before I go on, there is something important I need to say to you. There are days that I pray to God hoping with all my being that God is a magician. Like the prayer I pray daily that God will magically erase the last three and a half years of American politics. There are days that I pray, with every ounce of energy in me, for a miracle. That somehow, someone I love might be cured of their disease. But I don’t believe in magic and my understanding of a miracle is not the idea of God intervening and making something supernatural, magical occur. I do believe, though, in pouring my heart out before God, and sometimes that means asking God to perform magic or a miracle. My hope in doing so is not in believing something magical will happen but in the desire for my heart to be opened wider to trusting more fully God’s compassion and grace and knowing that in all things God is with me.
K. Rowling said what I am trying to say much better. She writes, “I don’t believe in the kind of magic in my books. But I do believe something very magical can happen when you read a good book.” I don’t believe in the kind of praying that I sometimes do. But I do believe that something transformative can happen when I pray and offer my most authentic self to God.
When I think about Jesus appearing in that locked room with those disciples what I see is an act of ministry, not an act of magic. Huddled in fear, Jesus didn’t condemn them for being scared. Not knowing what to believe given all that they had experienced, he didn’t shame them for not believing. He didn’t recount the magical miraculous moment of resurrection. He simply stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” He offered a ministry of presence. He offered them the ordinary act of compassion and comfort. He ministered to them in their time of fear and isolation and disbelief. He offered peace.
The poet writes, “The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.” (W. B. Yeats) I don’t know about you but in these days I am relearning that those magic things the world is full of are not burning bushes that don’t burn up, or people surviving in the belly of a big fish for days, or thousands of people being fed with two small pieces of tilapia and five K&W soft rolls. No, the magic things that this world is full of is small acts of compassion shown by ordinary people, acts of love shown to strangers, the sacrifice of time to help a neighbor, the generosity of a community to help those who are hungry, even in the midst of a shelter in place order.
I don’t believe in magic. But I believe something magical can happen when we give ourselves over to God’s extraordinary gift of grace in the ordinary ministry opportunities that present themselves to us daily. Something magical happens inside of us when we fight for the rights of the poor. Something magical happens inside of us when we face our own privilege and share our power. Something magical happens inside of us when we hear the stories of those who have lost their income because of a pandemic and we are moved to help. The magic that happens is a deeper commitment to fighting income inequity, racism and white privilege. The magic happens when we feel compelled to donate our stimulus check to organizations helping those who have lost their jobs because of this pandemic. The magic that happens is the magic of ministry—small daily acts of compassion, grace, love, forgiveness and offering comforting words like“peace be with you.” I might not believe in magic but I do believe in the magic of ministry.
The story is not about the magic of a burning bush. It’s about the ministry of a man who stutters saying “yes” to allowing God to use him as a leader of God’s people. The story is not about the magic of a sea parting, it’s about the ministry of courage—the courage of a people to risk their very lives to defy oppression. The story is not about the magic of surviving in the belly of a whale, it’s about the lengths to which God’s ministry to us will go—to find us and help us step into our own power. The story is not about the magic of feeding thousands of people with 2 fish and 5 pieces of bread, it’s about the ministry of sufficiency in the presence of generosity and hope. The story is not about magically appearing through locked doors. It’s about a ministry of presence and comfort in the midst of fear and isolation and disbelief. For God and thus for Jesus, it never was about the magic. It was always about the ministry. It was always about showing love and seeking justice through the small, sometimes quiet and ordinary ways we minister to and treat one another. As the one who crafted the magical world of Harry Potter said: “We do not need magic to transform our world. We carry all of the power we need inside ourselves already.”
May we, in all our days, look not for the magic but for the sacred moments we are given to minister to one another.
