Have you ever watched a potter shaping clay on a wheel? As a kid, I remember seeing this happen, maybe at street fair demonstrations: a woman put a slab of clay on the wheel and dipped her hands in water to make it more pliable. She centered it. And then she pushed down at the middle, and pulled up at the edges, and some kind of pot shape started to emerge. Maybe it flared out at the bottom, gathered back in at the middle, flared again at the top to make a vase shape. Or, if she pinched it on one side and added a handle on the other, it might become a pitcher. I’ve always been fascinated by watching simple materials become something: a slab of clay turning into a pitcher, or pieces of fabric turning into a blouse or a quilt.
But at least once as I watched a potter work her magic, something went sideways. A chance finger brushed against the clay too forcefully and the whole thing started to wobble. The potter stopped the wheel abruptly, took out a wire, cut the misshapen pot off the wheel and smooshed it back into a mass of clay.
If you sew, you may have had to rip out a seam or two. Or as you’re cutting out pattern pieces, you accidentally cut out the tablecloth underneath it. Or you sew the embroidery project that is on your lap onto the nightgown you’re wearing (that was me at about age 10). Years ago, my mother tried knitting a hat for the granddaughter that was on the way. Somewhere in the process she misread the instructions and came out with a hat that would fit a doll. She held it up and laughed and laughed.
So as much as the creative process can be a joy and can turn out something beautiful and useful, it can also go awry. And God the potter can take that mistake and turn it into something new.
Japanese practice of mending pots with gold along the broken spots: kintsugi. Highlight the beauty, the one-of-a-kind nature of the repaired pot. In Suffer Strong, Jay Wolf writes:
The story of kintsugi—this style of pottery—may be the most perfect embodiment of all our trauma-shattered lives.... Instead of throwing away the broken beloved pottery, we’ll fix it in a way that doesn’t pretend it hasn’t been broken but honors the breaking—and more so, the surviving—by highlighting those repaired seams with gold lacquer. Now the object is functional once again and dignified, not discarded. It’s stronger and even more valuable because of its reinforced, golden scars. [Quoted by Vaneetha Risner at https://www.vaneetha.com/journal/kintsugi-beauty-in-the-broken.]
Leonard Cohen similarly reminds us, “Forget your perfect offering. There is a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.”
Some of you have been divorced. A relationship that at one time you thought might last a lifetime became broken and unworkable. Finally it became necessary to say, “This isn’t working,” and separate.
Or a relationship ended because someone died.
Either way, in that new space of being on your own, of feeling broken and full of grief, God did not just dump you there and walk away. God says, “Like clay in the hand of the potter, so are you in my hand, Israel.” As I say that sentence again, put your own name there in place of Israel. “Like clay in the hand of the potter, so are you in my hand, _____.”
What new thing can come from our broken places? Maybe you are not living the life you imagined at age 10, or 20, or 30. I certainly am not. For all of us, life got in the way. It zigged and zagged in ways we hadn’t anticipated. Things broke, relationships ended, and we went in new directions. Maybe we met new people, formed new relationships. Or the empty, broken space provided the time and opportunity for something new to grow. Those zigzags are not a bad thing. God keeps shaping us in new ways for the next adventure.
At age 21, Van Phillips lost one of his legs below the knee. He discovered that the prosthetic legs available at that time were not adequate for the movement he wanted to do, so he studied at the Prosthetic Orthotic Center at the Northwestern University Medical School and eventually designed what he called the Flex Foot, which used kinetic energy from the leg to give some bounce to one’s step. The Flex Foot has been used by Paralympic athletes. Phillips has been honored for his work to bring affordable prosthetics to amputees all over the world. [Wikipedia, Van Phillips, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Van_Phillips_(inventor).]
God took what was broken in Van Phillips, made it the source of his strength, and then used it to help others.
So how do we open ourselves to the new adventure to which God calls us? The reading from the Gospel of Luke gives a few clues. But first we begin with a question: Why does Jesus say we must hate our loved ones and even our own lives if we wish to follow him? Hate is such a strong word.
I think it could mean that we must be willing to break everything that currently holds our lives in safe, comfortable space in order to follow Jesus toward something more meaningful. If we love our lives the way we have chosen to live them, then we are not listening for God to change anything. But if we hate our own lives, in the sense that we do not find meaning or fulfilment, we will be more open to God reshaping them.
Listening more to our own plans than God’s is something that many churches do as well. Perhaps even this one. We have certain ways of doing things. We want to sing with Kia, sing the old hymns, sit in our usual pews, see the usual people. But maybe God wants to reshape us through making art, or singing a different kind of music, or mixing with new people, or getting out into the neighborhood, or. . . . There is this community potluck happening once a month at Miller Playfield. During the season of inclement weather, we could host that potluck in our own fellowship hall and meet people who live on Capitol Hill. Maybe some of them would become curious about our church and even come to worship, who knows?
The reading talks about someone who wants to build a tower sitting down to plan out costs. They are preparing for God’s new thing, committing to it fully. Same with the king going to war: have a strategy, put yourself into it all the way.
Of course, we make plans and God laughs. Our county planned out the cost of light rail and began to build. And then something got installed incorrectly on the I-90 bridge and had to be redone, and construction workers became scarce, and materials got way more expensive, and suddenly everything is going to cost $35 billion more than expected. So even when there’s a plan and a budget, the project can derail, so to speak.
Both of our readings today invite us to be open to God doing a new thing in us and in our community. Perhaps we tell ourselves, “Well, I’m getting old; I can’t do this or that thing anymore. Maybe I’m not still useful.” God can use every one of us, no matter our age or challenges. If we’re willing, and if we say yes with our whole hearts and are open to God’s invitation.
What new thing is God inviting you to do or be? How are you open to that invitation? How is God inviting us as Prospect UCC to try something new, to invite new people into our safe, comfortable, familiar space? And maybe those new people won’t just do the things we like to do—they may introduce us to new ways to be community. They may change us. Are we open to that?
Back in 2008 we celebrated 100 years since the founding of Prospect Church. Last year we celebrated 100 years of this building. We are not the same people, of course, as the ones who were here 100 and more years ago. We don’t have the identical theology or sing all the same songs. This congregation has changed over time, shaped by God and by the people who have come and shared their gifts and talents.
God invites us to bring our broken selves, to be reshaped, to be called anew to serve, at every age and ability, to be that haven of God’s love. May we hear that call and say yes with our whole selves. Amen.