This Won't End with a Dead Horse

 In order to prepare myself for this sermon, I needed to rewatch the 1984 film, The Neverending Story. Now, this is going to be a reference that will instantly split us all up into generational groups. Some of us have a few pivotal scenes from that movie permanently seared into our memories, some of you may have watched at least part of that movie with your kids, and some of you have never heard of The Neverending Story and have no idea what I’m talking about. Don’t worry, I’m going to get everyone on the same page.

At the start of the film, we meet a little boy named Bastian. He’s in a vulnerable, grieving place. His mother recently passed away, he’s being bullied at school, his dad doesn’t really “get” him, and his grades at school are lagging because he’s not so concerned with math tests and homework right now, he’s more focused on the dreams he’s been having about his mom. Then a bookstore owner shows him a new book he might love, but that isn’t a “safe” read like the many other novels he’s read, because this is a book that makes him part of the story. By the end of the movie, Bastian realizes he is, indeed, the hero of his own story, maybe in more ways than one.

This week I started thinking about the most notorious scene from the film. Now, just like that first Sunday after the election in November, when we all came here together knowing that we all had different feelings about the results, this, too, is a Sunday where some of us are feeling confident about where our country could be headed for the next four years, and some of us are quite disturbed. Wherever you fall on that continuum, I love you, I love your heart, and I’m so glad you’re part of this church family. And, no matter what’s been going on in your head and heart, it’s been quite the week. Wasting no time, the new occupant of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue issued an executive order declaring that there are only two genders, and they’re determined at conception, pardoned 1,500 people who were involved in the January 6th, 2021 insurrection, ended birthright citizenship, rolled back DEI protections in workplaces throughout the country, sent thousands of troops to stop migrants and refugees from crossing the Southern border, and pulled out of the Paris Climate Accords and the World Health Organization. Also, this list may be inaccurate because everything has been happening SO fast. If there’s only two things we know right now, it’s that we’re riding quite the political roller coaster right now, and the cars carrying immigrants, refugees, and LGBTQ folx don’t have seatbelts.

For some, this week was overwhelming. That was true for a dear friend of mine, who I had a long conversation with a few days ago because he was feeling very depressed. He was trying to keep his head up, trying to keep going to work like normal, trying to keep up with his part time studies and finish his degree, and he’d gotten lots of good advice already. He felt like he’d already tried everything, and none of it was making him feel better. The words I told him that shifted the conversation were “this won’t end with a dead horse.”

This was in reference to the saddest scene in The Neverending Story, the one that permanently traumatized all of us who watched it as kids. The fantasy world in that film, that Bastian is reading about in his new book, must be saved by a little boy warrior named Atreyu. Atreyu is trying to stop The Nothing from making his world crumble. To do that, he and his horse, Artax, must cross through the Swamp of Sadness on their way to the Empress. The Swamp was a place that would latch onto the hopelessness and heartbreak within you, and if you got caught up in it, you’d sink into the mud and drown. Atreyu was making his way through the mud ok, but he turned around and realized his beloved horse, Artax, had stopped walking. Atreyu pulls the reins as hard as he can and yells “You’re letting the sadness of the swamps get to you. You have to try. You have to care. You have to move or you’ll die.” But it doesn’t work, and Artax drowns.

If any of you have felt like Artax for even a minute this last week, then you’ve been in good company, not only with many other sensitive, compassionate people, including my friend, but also with the community Ezra addresses in this morning’s Old Testament story from the book of Nehemiah. This story takes place after a major trauma for the Israelites, who lost their home and Temple when the Babylonian Empire sacked Jerusalem. Many of them were taken into exile in Babylon. After years of captivity, these prisoners of war are free, and the survivors are returning to the rubble that used to be home. And they have no idea what to do. Nehemiah becomes the new governor of these folks, and Ezra, a priest, addresses them. He doesn’t give them any false hope. No platitudes, no promises he can’t keep, no sugar coating. What he gives them is all he has to offer, and also all they need: the Word. He reads the Torah to them, and they start sobbing. It had been so long since they had gotten to hear something so soothing and normal. And Ezra tells them, the joy you find in God is your strength. Go have a great meal and some top shelf wine.

In order to get through our own time of big political upheaval, we need to heed the words that Atreyu yelled at Artax: keep caring, keep trying, keep moving. Don’t get stuck in the Swamp. If indulging in your favorite meal gives you the endorphins you need, you already have Ezra’s blessing, so go ahead and have ice cream for breakfast. I did that twice this week. If you’re scared about where the future is headed in this country, don’t let yourself sink into apathy and despair. Find ways to keep trying, keep caring, keep moving. There are groups, both locally and nationally, that are mobilizing to protect the most vulnerable among us right now. Join them in their work. That’s what gets you through the mud, one step at a time. And if you didn’t find yourself in the Swamp of Sadness this week, if you’re feeling good right now, that’s ok, too. But don’t you go get complacent, either. No matter who’s in the Oval Office, the Gospel of Christ hasn’t changed one bit. We need to feed the hungry, give drinks to the thirsty, clothe the naked, visit the sick and the prisoner, and welcome the stranger. The day we stop doing that work is the day we stop loving Christ. Don’t let today be that day. And if you need a pick me up along the way, and ice cream isn’t hitting the spot, find a favorite Bible verse to read, and memorize. Because the joy we find in God will always be our strength.

Amen.