August 19, 2007
TEXT: Hebrews 11:29 – 12:2
Walking in a Cloud
Last Sunday, while in
Minneapolis, Lori and I attended a small Lutheran Church in a working class
neighborhood on the northwest side of town.
We had to drive to get
there, it being situated across town from Lori’s sister with whom we were
staying. My sister-in-law had become
acquainted with the congregation only that week when she had visited with the
pastor about Parish Nursing program in which she is actively involved, and when
we suggested attending some “interesting” congregation, this one came to
mind.
Though its facility
suggests a different kind of past, Redeemer Lutheran’s present is an humble, informal, incredibly diverse and welcoming
community of faith. About half white and
half black with a smattering of Asians, the congregation boasted an enviable
percentage of young adults and children.
The pastor, an African-American man returned to the pastorate after many
years as a denominational servant, was joined by a young white man just
beginning an internship after seminary years at Union Seminary in New
York. The music was lively and every one
of the 50 or so worshippers were actively involved. During the Passing of the Peace, the pews
became a “fruit basket turnover” of hugs
and handshakes and introductions and affections. If we hadn’t felt included before that, the
passing peace enthusiastically drew us in.
It was a great experience – a small but vibrant household of faith where
now-tired adjectives like “contemporary” or “traditional” just didn’t seem to
apply. It was vibrantly alive, with a
powerful sense of God’s Spirit moving within them and pushing them outward, and
no other descriptions felt relevant.
“So why are their pews so
empty?” I wondered aloud in the car on our way home? “Why would anyone NOT want to worship there? It’s lively, it’s engaging, it’s warm and
diverse and globally attuned. It is
supportive, welcoming, embracing, and impassioned – a clear sign and foretaste
of God’s coming reign, and almost certainly a useful instrument of it. ”
But even as I asked the
questions, answers were easy to speculate.
It is, as I said, small; it is simple, and financially limited. As church programming goes, its “cafeteria”
of options is necessarily limited: the
congregation is the choir, if Sunday School is to happen it requires virtually every
hand. And while it was nowhere evident
in our single visit there, I have to assume that their very racial diversity
creates challenges requiring care and patience and thoughtful sensitivity. In short, the congregation is neither sexy
nor “happening”, is neither wealthy nor well-connected. And participation there requires hard work. It isn’t an easy place to be a member. By and large, in our culture – even among
Christians – those attributes are not big sellers.
But reading that
congregation – and in many ways our own – by the light of this morning’s
scripture, I thought again of Robert Frost’s The Road Less Traveled, and the book by psychiatrist M. Scott Peck
that borrowed that name. Peck, who died
earlier this year, began that watershed book with this simple but stunning
observation: “Life is difficult.” It is, he went on to point out, one of the
great truths of human experience. The
first of Buddha’s Four Noble Truths is similar:
“Life is suffering,” and though other religious traditions may not sum
it up so succinctly, the realization is clearly present in them, as well.
Life is difficult. Despite countless labor-saving appliances and
building materials, despite constant improvements in computing and
communications technology, despite mind-stretching advances in medical
treatments and cures, the fact remains as hauntingly fresh and true today as it
was almost 30 years ago when Peck first wrote about it in his best-selling book. No food processor, microwave, vinyl siding, computer,
automobile, vitamin or anti-biotic has managed to change the basic fact: life is hard.
That’s true at least in part because no such external accessory or
improvement really gets at the factors that generate the real difficulty. Sure, life was hard-er before the invention
of the wheel or the telephone or the airplane of the internet, but only in the
physical and perhaps even superficial sense of the word.
What
really makes life hard is the constant barrage of moral choices that pit our
beliefs against our desires; the inevitable conflict with other people,
including – or perhaps especially – those we care about the most; the
persistent questions about…
– meaning
– and purpose
– and fulfillment
– and truth;
– about right and wrong
– and existence and
eternity.
What
makes life hard is the view of the mountain from the valley floor – regardless
of whether the mountain is literal or figurative – for no matter how successful
we have been before, there will always be another towering slope in front of us
that looks taller, steeper, and rockier than our abilities. What makes life hard is the perennially selfish
war between those with the supply and those with the demand, because we can
never successfully manufacture our way to an armistice.
What
makes life hard, in other words, has far more to do with forces and obstacles inside
of us and between us than simply “out there.” And as if anyone had the leisure to learn
that lesson or leave it, people of faith have routinely felt its point jabbed
against them. In our own faith heritage,
alone, the examples flame up like Roman Candles of anguish – slavery, exile,
humiliation and worse. We are led by the
likes of Abraham who was torn
between his sons Isaac and Ishmael; Moses
who suffered jeopardy, abandonment and ultimately unfulfilled aspiration; Elijah, who was constantly on the run
for his life; Peter, who was
crucified, Stephen who was stoned, Paul who lived with chronic physical
pain, and of course Jesus and that
whole business of betrayal, beating, nail prints and sword wound. It is not a real cheery Pantheon of heroes,
which rather makes the promises of Prosperity Preachers and Positive Thinkers
and “Happy Talkers” a tough sell – although they somehow manage to
succeed. Ice cream, I suppose, will
always sell better than brussels sprouts.
Some things in life are bad. They can really make you mad.
Other things just make you swear and curse.
When you’re chewin’ on life’s gristle,
Don’t grumble. Give a whistle!
And this’ll help things turn out for the
best…
And, always
look on the bright side of life.
Always look
on the right side of life.
If life seems jolly rotten,
There’s something you’ve forgotten,
And that’s to laugh and smile and dance and
sing.
When you’re feeling in the dumps,
Don’t be silly chumps.
Just purse your lips and whistle, that’s
the thing!
Always look
on thee bright side of death.
Just before
you draw you terminal breath.
For life is quite absurd,
And death’s the final word.
You must always face the curtain with a
bow!
Forget about your sin.
Give the audience a grin.
Enjoy it, it’s your last chance
anyhow! (music & lyrics by
Eric Idle)
So
is that finally the solution – just look on the bright side of every challenge
and everything will suddenly transform into “peachy”? And is it true that once one becomes a
Christian everything is miraculously made peachy? Somehow I don’t find that quite enough.
If the litany recited by
the writer to the Hebrews is any indication, one shouldn’t become a Christian
in order to simplify and ease your life.
As every one of our forebears in the faith would testify, there is no
protective, lubricating “bubble” around Christians easing their passage through
life. It just doesn’t work that way. If the writer is not actually suggesting that
one has to be tried by fire, or jump
through the necessary hoops in order to win salvation, he is, I believe,
acknowledging that life is – and has always been – hard for those determined to
be faithful.
In addition to all the
run-of-the-mill, garden variety challenges that are part and parcel of living,
faithfulness to God has always been counter-cultural – moving against the tide
of expediency, domination, and success – despite the rhetoric of the ones in charge. Every counterpart to the icons lifted up by
the writer – every Pharaoh, every Pharisee, every stone-thrower believed he or she was following the divine
will. It’s just that they were, as it
later became clear, distracted and seduced by their own appetites for comfort,
power, position and wealth.
Which
could suggest the advisability of caution to the faithful anytime
“faithfulness” becomes too popular. Social
standing for the church may not be all it appears to be.
So
what is the writer trying to say? As we
have been hinting at already, I think he is trying to liberate his audience
from the misconception that once one becomes a Christian everything suddenly
becomes easy. Whatever changes in those
baptismal waters, struggles and challenges are alive and well on both banks of
the river. The stars do not suddenly
align in our favor. Parking spaces near
the door don’t suddenly materialize and germs don’t die on contact. Troubled marriages still have problems to
solve and fearfulness and greed still nibble away at our minds. God does not swoop in and sweep all
difficulties away.
But
something does happen. The company
around us somehow changes. Added, now,
to whoever else might be wishing for us the best is a company of saints and
martyrs who are urging us along.
Have you ever watched a
marathon as a family member or friend?
Or taken some part in the Special Olympics? Have you noticed the precious role that is
played by the encouragers around – those who gather along the sides and crowd
along the finish line, shouting out strength and hope and reassurance? “You can do it!” they cry. “You are doing great!” they affirm. “Don’t give up!” they caution. “Just a little more,” they prod. A great crowd of supporters and encouragers.
That’s the image created
by the scripture: of running the race of
life surrounded by encouragement – not, in this case, of passive or indifferent
observers, but rather ones who have already completed the race; who know what
it’s like; who have experienced the struggle and the opposition, the seductions
and the fatigue. If the Israelites were
led through the difficult wilderness by a pillar of cloud, we are supported
through ours by a cloud surrounding us, supporting us, encouraging us, cheering
us on.
It
may well be a “road less traveled,”
this path of tenacious, confident hope, but it is not virgin territory. We are not the first. If you listen carefully – not to the TV
broadcasters or the political pundits or the Wall Street analysts or the
advertising gurus – but to something deeper, larger and more eternally true,
you’ll hear the encouragement and the reinforcing cheers of those who have
already run with perseverance the race that is set before us – those who know
of what they speak.
Turns
out that we are not simply walking through a storm; we are walking in the midst
of a cloud which includes Jesus, the pioneer and perfector of our faith. And to borrow again from Robert Frost, “that
makes all the difference.”