First Presbyterian Church of Watertown

Matthew 28

“Any Given Sunday”

The Rev. Dr. Fred G. Garry

March 23, 2008

At the recent Academy Awards there was a giddy spirit. The long writer’s strike had just been resolved and the dialogue of the host, John Stewart, sounded more like a pep talk for a bunch of kids at a local high school than a monologue to industry professionals and moguls who often earn millions of dollars a year. It was as if Lassie had found Timmy in the well and the death star had been destroyed. You have to love Hollywood.

He was so buoyant it was hard for him to conceal his critique of the films nominated for best picture. Each one was less than shall we say happy go lucky. The movies had as their focus a serial killer, violence in the oil business, corporate greed and cover-up, and a tragic story from WWI. Only in such company could the remaining film, Juno, which is a story of teenage pregnancy look fun. These other films made teenage pregnancy look cheery. And then he said something that really stuck with me, he said, does Hollywood need a hug?

Given the dreary movies nominated as the best of the year the answer seemed to be “yes”. Since the award show I have seen two. We watched Michael Clayton and that was well done, but a definite downer. The ending is neat and tidy and leaves you thinking people will do the right thing in the end. But at least for me the ending didn’t get me to hope. It was just too little too late. In a sense it left me needing a hug. I needed an arm around me saying, “hey, hang in there; America is more than corporate greed and power and . . . “ even my inner voice couldn’t finish the line.

The other movie was No Country for Old Men. When I told Kathy I was going to mention this movie in my Easter sermon she gave me a look that suggested I needed more than hug. I watched the movie because I love the Coen brothers. These were the makers of Fargo and The Big Lebowski and Raising Arizona and many, many more wonderful films. Yet, as their latest proved true, they can use violence to make a point that leaves you a bit unsettled shall we say. And No Country for Old Men was a deeply unsettled vision.

Yet, after watching the movie I read the novel by Cormac McCarthy and with it got the point they were trying to make. The violence was simply a tool to let you see the real struggle. The story is the ruminations of a sheriff in a small Texas county. The sheriff is feeling as if the world is no longer something he can control. The drug trade from Mexico was running through his little county and it was making a mess. Where before there were moments of domestic violence or bar fights, now there were shootouts and assassinations; where in the past it was speeding teenagers and maybe petty larceny, now it was trying to manage the presence of state and federal agencies.

Ultimately the sheriff resigns. Or I should say he no longer believes and without belief he knows he cannot be what he is supposed to be. He cannot protect his people from the chaos that is overtaking them. He’s too old is his excuse.

Beyond the excuses the story exposes a man who no longer believes that life will be better, that “his” world has a hope. The beauty of the novel was to show how hope is about small towns and friendships and a being known. Hope for the world, hope for the economy these were not the stuff of the sheriff’s struggle. “When you lose the ‘yes sir and yes mam’ it’s only a matter of time,” he said.

No Country for Old Men isn’t the first or the last novel to ponder the way changes can make you feel set adrift or how things can become so different that you don’t recognize them anymore. And if the story was just about feeling disconnected, I am not sure it would have won any awards. The question of the novel goes far beyond generational differences. In the end it is about believing in the resurrection or with the sheriff, no longer believing.

Now I am sure the sheriff, were he a real a man, would have confessed a belief in the resurrection of Jesus. I am sure he would have come to an Easter service like this and sung the hymns and said the prayers. He would have been seen as someone who serves and helps and gives. But in the end he didn’t believe for himself. Somewhere, he stopped believing, he stopped hoping that things would be right, life would be good, the violence would end. He just stopped believing. And when you no longer believe that life can be resurrected, well, that is just no good.

There is a resurrection sermon that Tony Campollo made famous. He was part of a revival service and thus one of a long string of pastors called to preach. After offering his own he had the uncomfortable experience of hearing one that made his look silly. The sermon was a mantra: it’s Friday, but Sunday’s coming. The preacher talked about the Fridays of life and faith. The Good Friday, when Jesus is on the cross, the other one when you child is just coming out of surgery: and then he would say, but Sunday’s coming. It’s Friday, but Sunday’s coming.

On and on he went, evoking those dark nights when divorce makes a lot of sense, when addiction speaks with words that sound right, when there are far more bills to pay than money to cover them. He talked about the experience of losing Jesus on the cross, the way the disciples saw not only their friend crucified, but their salvation as well- their hope, their joy nailed to a tree at the place of the skull. That’s Friday, he would say, but Sunday’s coming.

During Bible study at Ives Hill this week I asked the members to listen to the story of the resurrection again, but this time with an ear for fear. The story is really a scary moment. There’s an earthquake, an angel, an empty tomb. The guards are so frightened they faint as if they were dead. The angel tries to reassure the women, to quiet their fears, but he is unsuccessful. Jesus appears to try again to calm them. This is not a place yet of lilies and happy bunnies bringing chocolate and sugar coated marshmallow birds. The resurrection it would appear has more to do with Friday than Sunday.

Friday is the aching sense of dread, the fear and loss that comes to us in life. We can’t miss the fact that the women were bringing spices for the dead, not clothes for the living. No Country for Old Men paints such a profound picture of this, the posture life takes when we resign ourselves to no longer believing, to managing our fears, not overcoming them. The resurrection wasn’t the crowning moment of a great campaign or crusade, the resurrection was the Sunday born of Friday. It was a gift given to people that had lost hope.

Lt. Col. Greg Gadson has seen a Friday or two. Serving in Iraq Gadson was a battalion leader when his vehicle was torn apart by an IED. His body was shattered and were it not for skill of doctors and medics he would have lost more than his legs. Like many injured veterans the loss is more than just physical. Gadson was a defensive end for West Point. Being an amazing college player known for his strength and speed makes the amputation of his legs more than a loss of mobility. It does.

His college friend, Mike Sullivan, went to visit Gadson at Walter Reed. Sullivan was a teammate in college and went on to work with the NFL as a coach. Sullivan says he came away from his visit with Gadson in shock. “He was such an amazing college player. And then you see someone in the chair, in a life-altering type of condition, it was tough to see.” And then the shock, “I went there to lift his spirits – and he lifted mine”

Gadson says of himself, “I think sometimes I am given too much credit for quote, being inspirational. I may be and if people take inspiration from that I’m glad and I’m grateful. But at the same time I think I’m just trying to fight, and I’m trying to survive.” Gadson described his combat experience this way. “When you’re deployed,” he said, “we’re fighting for our country and our flag and mom and dad and apple pie, but when it comes down to it, those things are the furthest thing from your mind. You’re fighting for that guy that is right next to you. Just like my soldiers, they came and fought for me and saved my life.” He speaks of an 18-year-old medic yelling at him to stay awake, shouting at him again and again to remain conscious in the moments after he was injured.

After the visit, Sullivan invited Gadson to share these things with the New York Giants. Sullivan was one of the coaches and they were a sorry looking team after they lost their first two games. Gadson told them they were privileged and that they had a special opportunity. He described his combat experience and his own path to recovery. Mostly though he gave them a sense that life was a great gift. The speech took hold. Where as a team they were “lost” his words “put things into perspective.” After his first speech, for there would be more, the New York Giants beat the Washington Redskins in a moment that defined them as a team. “To see a guy fight in those circumstances, you really can’t help but give your best and give your all” was the conclusion of one Giant who seemed to speak for them all.

Gadson was invited to wear his own Giants jersey and join the team on the sideline. And from that point on there wasn’t many moments he missed. As you might expect, Gadson was there in Green Bay for their victory and he was in Phoenix when they won the super bowl.

A number of the players interviewed about the role Gadson played made it clear that what they are doing is playing a game and what their friend and source of inspiration gave was more than a performance. Yet, and here is the great moment, that is not how Gadson treated them. He knew that hope is not reserved for a few, or only at difficult moments. Hope was how you need to live; believing in the mercy of God is not an extra but a foundation.

There is a saying in football, “on any given Sunday any team can beat you.” So you have to play and practice and prepare as if it were the most challenging game of the season. And so it is with the resurrection. It is not reserved for Easter, nor is the resurrection reserved for Jesus. Calvin said again and again, if you fail to believe the resurrection is for you, all of its power has been lost. Any given Sunday is when the resurrection can take hold of your spirit; any given Sunday you can begin to live life defined by hope and faith.

I know it’s just a game, but a part of me really believes that a gathering of very talented athletes were given hope and courage when they had none. And with this gift, from the resurrection of Greg Gadson, they went forward; it brought them to a great Sunday.

In Gadson’s humility is the recognition that there are many around him who have suffered and even sacrificed much more. What is so lovely is that his sacrifice became a moment of hope. In the novel No Country for Old Men the sheriff never sees this beauty, the way life can emerge from Friday and find its Sunday. He didn’t understand that any given Sunday hope could begin for him.

Any given Sunday so can it be for us. The spirit of God can take hold of our heart and resurrect our spirit breaking fear and worry and dread and a sense of resignation. Every week has a Friday and Sunday and so it is with the resurrection. It’s meant to be in the here and now, in a small town, with friends, and people you know by name. The resurrection is a big moment, but it’s also about going home to Galilee. The big challenges of Gadson made it clear how possible was the challenge before a team of football players.

So it is with our Easter. Whatever the Fridays we are facing, whatever challenge is before us, we are people who believe Sunday is coming. And it comes again and again. Any given Sunday you can find the power to live a life of faith and hope and love. Amen.