Every once in a
while, I’ll find myself up late at night watching TV. And I'll just sort of
graze through all those cable channels to see what’s playing. And every now and then, I’ll find myself
watching some televangelist or the other. Usually that’s not for too long
though. Because sooner or later I start to get into an argument with the
screen, and just about the time I start winning, I wake up Donna and she makes
me turn off the set. But once in a great while, I’ll get interested in one of
the guests that have on those shows.
Maybe
you know the folks I’m talking about. You meet them in churches now and then,
too. They relish telling you what horrendous sinners they were before they got
saved. “I was a dope-smoking, alcoholic, bigamist, compulsive gambling
overeater who ran a counterfeiting, communist spy ring for the Mafia before I
found God. Plus, I cheated at Solitaire.”
It almost seems
as if they’re bragging about what a consummate low-life they were. It’s as if
there was a “can you top this” contest going on in some parts of Christ’s
church to see who’s the biggest ex-sinner.
Frankly, I wonder at times how anyone could have had the energy to do
all those terrible things way back then.
And
inevitably they wrap up their stories telling about how they got saved five
years ago on death row and immediately gave up all those sins and addictions
and have since then led a new life as a traveling evangelist, or as lead singer
in a heavy metal Christian rock band that I never heard of.
And then they
add, they’ve never looked back. They’ve never had a moment’s regret. They’ve
never had the shadow of a doubt. They’ve
never had to endure any setbacks, no moments of trial or personal crisis, no
nagging questions in the middle of the night, or for that matter any financial
difficulties, or family squabbles, or troubles, or illness, or boredom, or
anger, or frustrations, or even athlete’s foot.
And that’s
what puzzles me. How in the world can
anyone never doubt, never struggle, and never undergo any personal problems, or
illness or financial difficulties? Now I’m just as sure as I am standing here
that some of those folks must at times still struggle, still have doubts, still
have fears and worldly problems, and even personal tragedies even after
they’ve had a conversion experience.
Hopefully their
lives are a lot more meaningful, a lot more fulfilling, a lot more exciting, a
lot more joyful now. But you and I know
that no one’s life ever goes absolutely smoothly just because of their
faith. That’s not the nature of our broken human existence on this broken,
incomplete, tear-stained planet.
I’m not implying
that those folks are liars. I suspect that they simply don’t want to dilute
their testimony by referring to their all-too human everyday struggles and doubts
on TV.
Believers, no
matter how faithful or devout, are not guaranteed perpetual happiness in this
earthly realm. The Gospel this morning points directly to the fact that to be a
Christian is not to be automatically immune from life’s slings and arrows. On
the contrary, Jesus is telling us that to become one of His followers might
very well mean that we’ll find ourselves alienated from our families. It might
well mean that we will find ourselves ostracized or marginalized for our faith.
It could even mean that we’ll face ridicule or even persecution for having the
audacity to stand up and witness for what our faith and our conscience tells us
is right.
In
some countries in this world, it could mean that the consequences of speaking
our conscience will lead us to being thrown down a well like Jeremiah, or being
beaten and imprisoned like Paul, or being held incommunicado like Nelson
Mandela, or disappearing and never being heard of again like Raul Wallenberg,
or even martyred like St. Stephen or Oscar Romero or the elderly French priest
murdered while celebrating Mass last week.
To
be a real live follower of Jesus Christ is not to automatically enter
into an existence of sweetness and light, free or problems and trials. To be a
faithful follower might even create problems for us. It probably will.
Taking Jesus and his word seriously will sooner or later put us at odds with
the powers and principalities of this sinful world we live upon. At the very least, following Jesus can get us
into all sorts of awkward situations.
If
you and I take Jesus seriously, we’ll come to see that he means for us to
reform our own lives, our own attitudes, and our own ways of living. He means
for us to stand up against wrongdoing.
He means for us to struggle with all our might against the rule of sin
and self—both in the world, and in our hearts. He means for us to witness for
justice and equity and peace.
He invites us to
accept and forgive and pray for, and come to love others— regardless of how
truly unloveable they may behave,
regardless of their age, or color, or faith or economic situation, or gender
identity, or even of how they treat us. He means for us to make amends to those
we have hurt, and take personal responsibility for the consequences of our own
actions. .
And if all that
gets us into awkward situations, if all that leads us to minister and reach out
in places or times, or ways, or situations, or with people with whom we’re not
entirely comfortable—then so be it. What can I learn in those uncomfortable
situations?
What does my
discomfort tell me about myself? Carl Jung noted that “Everything that
irritates us about others can lead us to an
understanding of ourselves.”
How can I minister in Christ’s name in
those times and situations? What witness
can I make with my living and even in my dying?
The late Charles
Colson was a hardnosed, cynical, amoral Whitehouse consul who found Christ in
the middle of the Watergate scandal forty or so years ago. As a consequence of
his role in the cover-up Colson was eventually jailed. In prison, Colson
organized a prison ministry that now reaches out, offering Jesus Christ to
convicts all over this country.
Jesus never
promised us a rose garden in this world.
Jesus never promised that the journey of faith was easy. Jesus never
promised that bad things wouldn’t happen to good people. Jesus only promised
that we would not have to bear more than we are capable of bearing. Jesus only promised that when we get thrown
into prison, or down a well, or into dark despair, or into deepest grief or
even into the hands of death-- that we’ll find Him there waiting for us. He has
already been there first, before us. He has already broken the trail for us.
The author of the
Epistle to the Hebrews compared it to a race. That may not be the most
perfect of analogies, but it’s not bad. The greatest race has already been run,
and Jesus is the winner. Now it’s our
turn. You and I are invited to follow. In marathons it doesn’t matter so much
who wins. (Unless you’re in it for the prize money.). What matters for us is
that we participate, that we don’t quit or fall, but strive with all our energy
to finish the course.
Like it or not,
you and I are in this race, competing with our own selves, running for a
lifetime personal best. And if you don’t like that image, you can think of a
balloon ride, or a battle, or a fire, or building a new world. You can use any
image that catches your fancy. But whatever image or metaphor you like, the
plain fact remains. You and I are on our way. The starting gun has already been
fired.
Like runners in a
marathon, the time has come for you and me to get off the block and start
running in earnest. The race for us began when we first heard about Jesus, and
sort of half-believed, and we’ve been training for it and moving in it ever
since. The name of the race is faith and the course is life itself.
We run it even as
we wriggle in our little chairs through our Sunday school classes, or nap
through countless services. We run it when we attend Youth Fellowship meetings,
or spiritual growth retreats, or church camps, or even boring business
meetings. Through all of that you and I
have somehow or other managed to stay on, or find our way back to the
course—still in the race. Through valleys of nagging doubts as well as over
mountaintops of spiritual excitement, breezing through the uneventful plains of
everyday life, we race.
Sometimes the
track is soft ground that almost cradles us as we move along effortlessly.
Sometimes we find ourselves running on broken, uneven cross-country and we have
to be wary of tripping. In times of tragedy or loss it feels as if we’re
running on the hardest of concrete and every time our foot comes down we can
feel the force of it all the way to our feet, up our legs and into our knees,
straight up to our hips.
And so we need to
get in shape. We need to get lean-- to toss away our pride and selfishness, our
prejudice and self-righteousness and hypocrisy, leave behind our lust and
violence and anger—all those encumbrances that would weigh us down, like
binding, sweaty street clothes.
The going will be
tough at times. We’ll be tempted to take short cuts. But inevitably they will
lead us to dead ends of isolation and inappropriate thoughts and behavior.
We’ll be tempted to chuck it all and just run in circles for the sake of our
own sweet selves. We all know that rat race! Whoever dies with the most
toys wins. But so what? We’re dead!
At times our
lungs will strain with the effort. Our sides will ache and our knees will hurt
and our ankles will turn and our thighs will chafe. But as we run, day-by-day, in good weather
and in bad, we’ll find something surprising beginning to happen. We’ll begin to
get in better shape. Just a little at a time. We’ll start getting
stronger. Our wind will improve. Bit by
bit, we’ll be able to work, strive harder. We’ll be able to run farther, last
longer.
And at some point
we’ll realize that we aren’t running alone.
Jesus Christ, the cosmic class runner, the ultimate all time undefeated
Olympic champion has doubled back to jog alongside us. He’s been running
alongside us all along, coaching us, encouraging us, lending us strength.
And now we need
never again worry about getting lost.
Even walking through the confusing byways of life choices and ethical
dilemmas. Running or walking, Jesus has been there before us. The trail has
already been broken. As the author of Hebrews
reminds us, Jesus is our pioneer. He knows every inch of the course. He has
laid out course markers for us in His life and Gospel message.
He
has run the race before us and shows us the way. It started out at His Birth
and Baptism on the muddy banks of the Jordan Jordan River Valley Jerusalem
gasping for breath, arms stretched out to
the side, shouting His victory on the cross.
“Finished!
It is finished!” He cried. He never wavered. He never turned aside despite
all His suffering. In obedience He began the race. In faithfulness He ran it.
And in love He finished it for our sakes.
And
if we notice, we’ll be startled to see that we’re not running on a deserted
track.
The course is crowded with other runners--
men and women, young and old, all around us. All alongside the way are runners
who started before us and already finished their course. They’re cheering us
on, and we see that this isn’t just a lifelong personal marathon; it’s also a
generation to generation relay race. And you and I are carrying the baton of
discipleship. A host of shadowy champions, a cloud of witnesses surrounds us,
cheering us and waving us on.’
O
sure, some of them may not be too impressive. There’s Jacob, who cheated his
own brother. There’s Abraham who
bargained with God like a used-camel dealer. There’s Rahab the prostitute.
There’s Jonah who needed a fish to drag him to his mission field. There’s Jeremiah
the defeatist waving from outside his well. And there’s David, the Mayor Daley
of ancient Israel
See
the list of former champions grows—loudmouthed Peter who denied his Lord and
later died for Him, hotheaded James and John, cranky old Paul, Dreamy John the
Revelator with his eyes on the City yet to come. There’s Luther banging his beer mug and
Francis waltzing with the birds. Look, over there are Wesley and Calvin, still
arguing about Predestination. The list of champions goes on. Bonhoeffer writing his prison poems,
Medger Evers, Dr. King, Zwingli, George
Fox, Tillich, Jane Addams, Dorothy Day, Mother Theresa, all of them shoulder to
shoulder cheering us on.
The
stadium is far from empty. The track is not deserted. It’s lined with
onlookers—your first Sunday school teacher, the pastor who confirmed you, that
dear old saint who always worked in the kitchen washing the dishes during the
church socials. They’re waiting for you and me to finish. Not just for our
sakes, but for theirs, and for the generations of runners who come after us.
The
day is sunny and the sky is clear and you feel totally alive! And you know that you can make it. And
you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world at that moment.
Perhaps
that metaphor of a footrace is a bit overdone.
As one who can no longer run because of ruined knees, it appeals
mightily to me. If you and I with our
runners knees and arthritic ankles can’t make it around the block anymore
without discomfort, we know that we are still invited, called to participate in
a race that is spiritual, and moral, and political, and economic, and
emotional, and intellectual.
It’s
the race to do all that we do, to give all that we can give of ourselves, to
become all that we can be in Christ’s service. As
John Wesley put it,
Do all the good you can. By all the means you can. In all the ways you can. In all the places you can. At all the times you can. To all the people you can. As long as ever you can.
And you and I are promised support, and
comforting Presence, and joy, and renewal, and ultimately even
rejuvenation. It’s exciting. It’s
challenging. It’s trying. It’s not always even an especially easy race to be
part of. But for all of that, it’s far easier than the one that Jesus has
already run and won for our sakes.
The course we run
may at times be rugged, but it’s smoother than His. He has already broken the
trail and shown us the way. He is ahead
of us and alongside us.
The crowd on the sidelines yearns to cheer
us on. All we need do is start moving.
Opportunities to serve, to love, to
witness, to share are all around us. All
we need do is follow in His way.
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