"Remember This: One Day at a Time"

Pastor Nagle
02/23/2005

“Remember This: One Day at a Time” Job 3:1-26 Psalm 130 Midweek II February 23, 2005
Not every Christmas letter is filled with happy news. Though lots of people brag on their family’s exploits and include pictures of smiling children, I can think of one letter we got this year explaining why there hadn’t been holiday letters for the last couple of years. One surgery and then another, which had to be corrected. And a forced move, with lots of changes from that. One parent dead. Another as good as. Struggling children. Not maudlin. Not dramatic. Not self-pitying. Just not the best of years. And Jesus too, praying in the Garden of Gethsemane, said, “You know, this hasn’t been my best year either. Uncertainty. Interpersonal conflicts. Fickle friends. Betrayal. Denial. And did I mention the arrest and the trial and the crucifixion. My soul is very sorrowful.” And we hate to hear that. Not that it upsets us that Jesus was sorrowful, but that if even Jesus had bad days, there surely seems no hope for us.
Have you ever had a bad day? Is this one of them? Are there more of them now than there used to be? And do you come to church to find out what to do about them? I wish I could help. Maybe I can. I’m using these Lenten sermons as a kind of legacy, some thoughts before my retirement in which I remind you about important things. Stuff that could make a difference in life. Looking at your bad day and matching it with Jesus’ bad day to see if there’s any hope of having a good day. Not that there’s any real comparison between you and Jesus. No matter how terrible your past year was, his last Christmas letter had to be worse than yours. Except that he was God. Which gave him some kind of escape hatch. I mean, if you’re God, nothing can really harm you—so how bad can a bad day be. As opposed to our bad days which can be really awful. Awful in their own right, and made more awful because we’re afraid we know how terrible tomorrow is going to be, given our remembrance of how terrible yesterday was. And did you get all that?
I hope so, because that last sentence explains a lot about our view of life, how you handle things. You say you’re having a bad day. It may be an absolutely awful day. That happens. But can you deal with it by itself, as a single moment, instead of talking about how awful tomorrow will be? Even when you remember how awful yesterday was? I think taking each day by itself would help, but maybe I’m wrong. Maybe you can’t isolate today. You who have suffered dread illness remind me that I myself have not, and you remind me that it’s hard not to expect an awful tomorrow. And you who live with depression remind me that I have not, and that memories from the past and what it was or was not like cannot be easily dismissed with a click of red slipper heels. And those of you who have experienced grief or doubt or hatred are right to say that none of that is like a single and simple 24 hour virus. And you’re right, of course. But in a time of trouble, when you’re having a bad day, it may not be helpful to allow every yesterday and every tomorrow to cloud the importance of this one day. And so I offer this advice: live one day at a time.
Live one day at a time. Not that you ignore the past; it got you where you are. Not that you ignore the future; it will be here very soon. But that you spend your time looking at what’s going on right now. It sounds sensible enough, but I assure you that it’s not how everyone lives. Some people spend so long in the past, reliving the past or wallowing in the past or second-guessing the past or trying to assign blame for and relive grudges from the past, that they don’t pay much attention to the present. And some people put so much emphasis on the future and the pain and trials it will hold, spend so much time and effort on planning how to deal with the pain and trials, try to write a script and assign the roles in what could end up being fiction anyway, even spend so much effort on trying to deal with the day that comes after the day after tomorrow, that they don’t pay attention to what’s happening right now. Can you separate out what’s happening right now? Instead of re-living yesterday or worrying about tomorrow, since today may be the last day you face, doesn’t it deserve its own due?
Well that’s a pretty dark comment, isn’t it? If you’re already morose because of today’s trials and pains, it doesn’t help that I remind you that this day may be your last day. But think about it. How would you spend your last day, your very last day? Did you read that article in the paper, the one that wondered, what would you do with what you know is your last day? How about hang glide. Or get drunk. Maybe call home, or kick up your feet. Re-configure your will. Sleep in. Write thank-you notes. Whatever. But how about using the past as a foundation for the future? How about looking around in the present to make sense out of the past and apply it to the future?
In a wonderfully holy moment, when Jesus was at his sorrowful worst, he asked that God’s will be done. We pray the same thing, don’t we: “thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” Not that that keeps us from trying to figure out what God’s will is, wondering if we can change it. If we could even understand it. And we don’t really understand it. Though surely it’s not God’s will that we suffer, and yet we do. Surely it’s God’s will that we win, though we don’t. When Jesus said, “Not as I will, but as you will,” had he reached the bottom of his answer box, and had nothing left but to give up or give in? Do you believe everything that happens is God’s will? That how you feel and what I say and whether or not anything comes of it is God’s will?
That night in the Garden of Gethsemane, if Jesus had looked to his left or right, he might have seen a little flower growing. Or listened, and heard a bird chirping. And in all his pain and sorrow, Jesus might have recalled what he said to the disciples some time before—that the lilies of the field are clothed in grandeur and that the birds of the air have both food and nests. That though birds and flowers are small, God knows what each needs and gives it. But that night in Gethsemane, I don’t know that Jesus looked left or right, noticed flowers or birds. Not that I’m trying to change the story or make light of Jesus’ pain. In truth, he may have already understood perfectly well that God does pay attention to what is needed. Pays attention to the little, pays attention to the much. But do you believe that? Do you trust in that?
The cynic says, “Do remember that flowers fade. Do remind people that birds die. Don’t forget that sorrowful Jesus’ bad day got a lot worse.” I haven’t forgotten any of that. But I am comforted by a faith that says God walks with you and me through it all. And that’s not always known. Or remembered. But it occurs to me that, when it seems your life can get no worse, the promise needs to be spoken again and stronger and longer and louder. There are lots of cliches that would make our troubles seem easy and of no matter. But is this a cliché too—that we should live one day at a time?
I find myself at odds with many people when I talk about the will of God, because, in my opinion, it happens entirely too often that people claim that whatever happens in life is God’s will. In fact, though, our doctrine of sin says just the opposite—that lots of things that happen do so in spite of God’s will, and are even in opposition to his will. Not that he can’t stop it, but that we keep on keeping on so much that we take no notice of his efforts to accomplish something new and different. For example, is it God’s will that Johnny, angry at real or perceived mistreatment in the workplace, blew up at his boss, and left work early, spent the last of his money on a gun, drove off to find his estranged wife and, finding her, shot her dead and some around her too, causing grief for lots of people for years to come? That happens, but that’s not God’s will at all. But this may be God’s will—that if you have only one day left to live, you can profitably use it to confront Johnny and tell him the truth about his perceived mistreatment on the job. Or use your time to make sure that the sale of firearms is controlled, or work for counseling to be available and arrange sanctuary for abused spouses. Or you could hold the hand of everyone in every family that has to live with pain and grief.
You say you can’t do all of that? Can you, at least, do some of that? You say you don’t have the knowledge or the strength to do any of that? Then support those who do. And at least tell your own story of awful days to convince others that when awful days exist, there is a need to deal with them. And to anyone and everyone who’s facing a bad day, speak of God who deals with them in a special and particular and loving way. Speak of God who walks with us through each and every day.
The palmist said, “Out of the depths I cry to you, O Lord. O Lord, hear my cry.” And this is the will of the Lord—that whenever you have a bad day, a deep down bad day, you still will know God hears your cry and pays attention to your cry. But that in addition to your own pain, according to his will, God points us in the direction of others’ cries for the sake of enlightenment, so we will know what others are also facing. And that he sends us to others for the sake of service, that we may bear one another’s burdens, and that he uses us for the sake of encouragement, that we may speak a kind and helpful word, and for the sake of consolation, that we may grieve together over what is lost. And that through it all, through our own bad days and the bad days others have too, we may proclaim the constancy of God’s presence. Knowing that if we see the presence of God in this day and every day, there need be no concern about yesterday or fear of tomorrow. May you be sustained by the knowledge of that, and live with as much joy and hope and laughter as you can.