Thirty-six years ago
today, on March 28, 1979, central Pennsylvania experienced the
worst accident in the history of commercial nuclear power in America – the
partial meltdown of a reactor at Three Mile Island. Over the next few days,
utility company officials, government regulators, news
reporters, and even the President of the United States descended on the scene
to assess the damage done and weigh the risk of further harm. 140,000 people voluntarily
evacuated, but many more stayed put. In the resulting media frenzy, corporate and government spokespersons offered contradictory claims and uncertain advice.
For those who lived in the vicinity, including my aunt and uncle, this all was terribly and
personally frightening. But even for Pennsylvanians who lived further away,
there was a palpable sense of dread.
| Three Mile Island |
Eleven days after the
meltdown, on Palm Sunday, my father stepped into the pulpit before his
congregation in Easton, Pennsylvania and preached a sermon entitled “Rejoicing
on the Brink.” Here’s the heart of his message that morning:
"No one really knows for
sure how close hundreds of thousands of people came to disaster over the last
week and a half around Three Mile Island. The prospects of catastrophe were
variously described by the electric company, the government, the media, and
many independent experts. But all agreed there was a risk, and there were a lot
of grim faces on the people involved in that situation. Not much rejoicing in
the Middletown area.
The nuclear accident,
while certainly important in itself, also stands as a symbol of a more
widespread condition developing in our world today. We are getting used to
living on the brink of disaster. There are a whole host of problems – certain
foods and food additives, industrial wastes, crime, governmental scandal,
economic collapse, the energy crisis, nuclear accident or war, earthquake, just
to name a few – problems which have become so commonplace in the headlines that
we are almost used to them. In the beginning when a new life-threatening
problem is discovered, we get disturbed about it for a while, but soon it just
takes its place alongside the others. There is a kind of grim resignation to
living with the tension created by all these threats to life. You probably
noticed this on the faces and in the comments of the residents around Three
Mile Island as they were interviewed on TV. No tears, but no laughter either –
because more and more all of us are being conditioned to living on the brink.
There is growing, I think, a deadly serious, even morose attitude toward life.
I even detect this is the children I know; there is not that totally carefree
feeling among them that I enjoyed as a child.
In contrast to our
modern predicament, we catch a glimpse on Palm Sunday of a man out of the
distant past who is also standing on the brink of disaster – his own personal
disaster. I speak, of course, of Jesus, mounting a donkey to ride into
Jerusalem where he will spend the last week of his life. And he knows very well
what is coming; he is not ignorant of the fact that he is flirting with death.
His whole life has been geared toward the Cross. One might say that he lived on
the brink from the day he was born.
Here Jesus is, with
every reason to be terrified, or maybe bitter, or at least grim. But what does
he do? He lets himself become the center of a triumphal celebration. The
scriptures even tell us he took part in planning it. In one of the Gospel
accounts he even insists that the celebration go on, over the objections of
some. I think it is a faithful reading of the text to see Jesus enjoying this
moment immensely, rejoicing on the brink. He is letting himself be part of this
celebration.
If we could see and
accept this interpretation of the Palm Sunday, it would be very refreshing and
helpful to those of us who nervously teeter on the brink, either in our
personal lives or along with mankind as a whole. To see Jesus relax and enjoy,
with the Cross less than a week away, gives hope that this kind of peace and
joy might just be possible for us as well. But how can we do this? From where
does Jesus summon the strength to approach the brink with rejoicing?
Jesus knew what his mission,
his job in life was. In the Temple at 12 years of age he said to his nervous
parents who had been searching everywhere for him, 'Didn't you know that I must
be about my Father’s business?' From childhood on, his whole life was consumed
with the mission of doing his Father’s business, of manifesting the love of God
to sick, broken, guilty and hard-hearted people.
Some people look at
their lives as something like an empty box. To such people, teetering on the
brink is horrifying because the box might spill and they will lose everything
that they have. But other people look at life as a mission, a calling. They feel their life is not just theirs to
live as they please. God has a plan for them, has work for them to do. And so
their whole life is spent discovering and following that mission, seeking to do
God’s will for them. Such people are not shaken when they approach the brink
because they know that they can never lose the experiences they've had, and
that even this impending disaster will become yet another opportunity in their
mission, another building block in the Kingdom that God is building through
them.
Jesus rejoiced on the
brink of his death because he trusted God, because he knew who he was, and
because he knew where he was going. If we decide to lay aside everything else
and follow him in faith, he will give us the grace to rejoice with him on the
brink. Life with him, even if it is on the brink, will be so exciting and full
of meaning, that we will never stop praising him. We will know then what Jesus
meant on that first Palm Sunday when he said, 'I tell you, if these [people]
were silent, the stones would shout out.' Luke 19:40 (NRSV).
He is Lord of all! He is Lord over the brink. Nothing shall separate us from the love of God! Praise the Lord!"
From: "Rejoicing on the Brink"
Scripture: Mark 11:1-10; Zechariah 9:9-13
Preached on April 8, 1979
Calvary U.M. Church, Easton, PA
