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After the events of Sept. 11 it was an easy decision for me to postpone our vision series and deal with the tragedy at hand. After last Sunday’s moving and tearful service I found myself wondering if we should focus again on the aftermath of our national disaster for this Sunday. But then I heard our president calling for our nation to resume its life. And so today, we will pick up our vision series. Two weeks ago we introduced it with the first part of our vision---to be a welcoming and accepting church. Today we will unpack what it means to be a church that shares Jesus Christ with the world. The OT reading this morning is called the Song of Moses, a poetic account of his final words to the Israelites before they were to cross into Canaan, the promised land. Moses had lived with these people for 40 years. He had listened to their complaining and bellyaching about the harsh way of life in the wilderness. He knew what it felt like to stand alone in the midst of an angry mob who insisted on returning to Egypt. He had seen them turn away from the God who delivered them from Egyptian bondage, the same God who had parted the Red Sea for their miraculous escape. From their camp Moses would watch the vultures squabble and squawk over the garbage tossed out after each Israelite meal. Is it any wonder that his thoughts would drift high in the sky above all the despair and frustrations to the majestic eagle, and feel his spirit become free as he fellowshipped with his heavenly God? Moses must have known that the eagle that soars near the sun is not concerned with how it will cross a wide river, deep canyon, or tall mountain. And somehow, Moses, having soared near and communed with his God, was quite content not to worry about how Israel would survive...how they would get out of the wilderness. What are your worries today? Does your worship of God help you let go of some of your worries? Let me share with you a story about a family of eagles who lived on the top of a mountain. It was a very high mountain which overlooked the surrounding countryside. From their vantage point they could see the village below, with its winding stream and farmland in the distance. One day the mother eagle looked at her young eaglets in the nest and said, "The time has come. You must learn to fly!" "But how?" replied the eaglets with more than a little uneasiness in their voices. "You must go to the edge of the nest and throw yourself into the wind." The young eaglets looked at each other with anxious eyes. They walked to the edge, looked down very carefully and quickly retreated to the safety of Mom's side. The next day the mother told her young once again that the time had come for them to fly. "It's far too high," said one of the young eagles. "We might fall," said another. "I'm afraid," said a third. But mother-eagle was determined. "Come to the edge," she urged repeatedly. "Come to the edge, don't be frightened." When they gradually came, she gently pushed them. And as they spread their wings, the wind lifted them and they flew and they were not afraid. When God calls you and me to be in mission, to share Christ with the world, it is a call to come to the edge. It is a call to be stirred out of the comfortable nests we build for ourselves. It is a call to risk being what we were created to be. Have you been called to the edge? Has your nest been stirred up? Some of us have had our lives stirred up by personal illness. Some have experienced the death of a loved one. Others have known depression, discouragement, and defeat. We all have experienced a major stirring of our national nest last week. Of course we have been pushed to the edge. Life, by its very nature, stirs us up. Perhaps the worst aspect of stirring is plain and simple fear. Like the eaglets we are afraid to leave the safety and security of the nest. All of us live within a defined "comfort zone". There are certain things we will do and many things we will not do simply because of our level of comfort. If we step out beyond our "comfort zone," we don't know what will happen, and so we are afraid. But God's call to be in mission, to offer help to the victims of last week’s terror, to bring the good news to the oppressed, to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and release to the prisoners is a call that pushes us beyond our "comfort zone." Sometimes God's call to be in mission is a call to do something we would rather not do. What is it God is calling you to do right here at St. John, or in South America, or in New York, or your own home that sends chills of fear through your soul? Anthony de Mello tells the story of an oil well fire and a group of fire fighters who didn't have time to be afraid. The oil company called in experts to put out the blaze, but the heat was so intense they could not get within a thousand feet of the rig. In desperation they called the local fire department. Half an hour later a decrepit-looking fire truck rolled down the road and came to an abrupt stop just fifty feet away from the devouring flames. The men jumped out of the truck, sprayed one another, then went on to put out the fire. The management, in gratitude, held a ceremony some days later. An enormous check was presented to the chief of the fire department. When asked by reporters what he planned to do with money, the chief replied, "Well, the first thing I'm going to do is take that fire truck to the garage and have the stupid brakes fixed!" When God calls us into mission, it is a call that takes us to the fire. The question is: Are we willing to ride in a truck with the knowledge that there are no brakes? Will we keep heading towards the fire? Or will we jump out of the truck? The Church of Jesus Christ needs godly persons who will respond to the call, and who will knowingly get in a truck with no brakes. It seems like such a stupid act to the world. But the one who heads towards the fire knows full well who steers the truck. We've been dwelling on the negative side of leaving our nests. What about the positive? What's good about being stirred from our nests? In one word the answer is FAITH. Faith is what's good about jumping from the edge. Think about it. How do you know if your faith in God is real? How do you really know your faith is genuine if you hardly ever step out into the unknown, not knowing what will happen? In an age of guarantees and warranties, we want the same assurance that a step of faith will not hurt us as well. I remember when I was 25 yr. old and teaching 8th grade in Georgia. Ever since I was a boy I have had a deathly fear of heights. At 25 I thought it was time to face this fear. I reasoned that if I could get over this fear, it would be easier to overcome other fears in life. One thought lodged in my mind: No one else could get rid of my fear for me. I had to do it myself and so I decided to do it by rappelling down a cliff. Now you would think, if you gave me credit for some sense, that I would start out with a small cliff...let's say 15 or 20 feet. I let a friend of mine talk me into rappelling down a sheer rock cliff 90 FEET HIGH...the equivalent of a 9 story building! I'll never forget the sweaty palms, pounding heart, and gripping fear that terrorized me that day. My friend, (at least I thought he was my friend up until now) secured me to the rope at the top of the cliff. The rest of the group watched from below. The hardest part about rappelling is that first step over the edge. After 30 minutes of hesitation, I finally got enough nerve to begin the descent straight down that 90'rock wall. My friend looked down at me and gave me the most encouraging words I could want to hear, "You're on your own, Dave." It wasn't very comforting but it was true. No one could help me. I had to do it myself. To prepare myself for this ordeal I had told myself over and over again, "Don't look down. Don't look down." What do you think was the first thing I did when I got on the rock face? I looked down. The group watching my descent from below shouted words of encouragement and when I finally reached solid ground they cheered for me... and then I fainted. It seems so often that we want to see the beginning, the middle, and the end of our journey. We start out at point A and look down the road to point B. Yup! I can see it! That's where I am going. The problem with this kind of thinking is that we don't allow time for detours, for the unexpected delays of life. It is not so much the destination that nurtures our faith, but the detours and delays. Our God is a God of the now, the God of the moment! Many years ago before the days of electricity and indoor plumbing, folks had to use kerosene lanterns to light the path to the outhouse at night. A story is told of a boy who admitted to his mother one very dark night that he was afraid. The mother sat down with her son and they talked about fear and faith. She concluded by saying, "Son, just hold your lantern up and walk in the light that is before you. When you take a step there will be light for another step." It is the same way with our spiritual journey. It really doesn't matter that we can't see 20 steps in front of us. We step forward in faith using the light that we have at the moment. You and I are children of Light. Christ has come and given his life for us that we might live in the light of God's love. But until heaven comes on earth or until we go to heaven you and I must still live in the darkness of this world. On Sept. 11 we all discovered how dark the world can be. There are people out there living in the darkness who are hurting terribly. They may not know it yet, but they need the light of Christ in their hearts. Who will take that light? Who will venture away from the comfort of gathered lights and step out on faith? When God calls us to mission it is a call to leave the nest. It is a call to leave what is secure and comfortable and leap into the wind, trusting God to catch us and teach us to fly. We all have our own unique calling to mission and ministry in the name of Christ. For some it is giant leap to walk across the street to care for an elderly neighbor. For some it is a step of faith to change attitudes about Muslims. For others it is a call to be a missionary in a country of great need. One thing is certain: if you want to be a disciple of Jesus Christ, you have a calling to be in mission somewhere. It doesn’t matter what size church we become – big, little, or in-between. We cannot lose sight of our vision to share Jesus Christ with the world. A man once found an eagle's egg and put it in the nest of a backyard hen. The eaglet hatched with the brood of chicks and grew up with them. All his life the eagle did what the backyard chickens did, thinking he was a chicken. He scratched the earth for worms and insects. He clucked and cackled. And he would thrash his wings and fly a few feet into the air. Years passed and the eagle grew very old. One day he saw a magnificent bird far above him in the cloudless sky. It glided in graceful majesty among the powerful wind currents, with scarcely a beat of its strong, golden wings. The old eagle looked up in awe, "Who's that?" he asked. "That's the eagle, the king of birds," said a chicken. "He belongs to the sky. We belong to the earth. For we are chickens." So the eagle lived and died a chicken, for that's what he thought he was. Why is it that we are created to fly the heavens, and yet we continue to be satisfied with scratching the earth? We flutter our wings now and then as a passing eagle touches something deep within us. But fear keeps us from exploring our real identity. Fear keeps us from reaching out to others in need. Fear keeps us from being transformed into the image of God. Oh, how we need children, teenagers, women, and men who are willing to face the risks of mission and discipleship. God is our mother-eagle. She loves us and cares for us. But now it is time to learn to fly. She beckons us with a heart of love, "Come to the edge, my child. Come to the edge, and fly!" |
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09/23/01 - Vision Series: Part 2: Come to the Edge (Deut. 32:7-12)
