My Third Sermon

Okay, this is starting to feel real.

I delivered my third sermon yesterday: "Running the Race to Win". I knew instantly when I read 1 Corinthians 9: 24 - 27 that it would be the textual base for my sermon.

The title was printed in the bulletin; the bulletin was printed and copied and ready for distribution. The sermon was a series of notations on some scraps of paper in my purse.

Why do I need to reach some sort of critical mass before these things are accomplished?

I had just finished reading The Book of Negroes. From my experience of that reading, a blog entry by someone named Mark Wilson, the lyrics to the anthem the choir would be singing, a note on Wikipedia about child labour and cocoa, a sentence my husband read to me in the middle of his phone call to me from his conference, and my own personal history, emerged something that I had to trust was the right message at the right time.

I think I am only just beginning to realize the implications of what it means to be called.

Despite my worries over not being in control of the service (I was called upon by the UCW to do the Kingdom's Kids and the sermon, while others chose the hymns and provided the prayers), everything meshed...well...perfectly.

I think I am only just beginning to realize the freedom of releasing control.

Because I am pleased with it, here is my third sermon.

"When I first looked over the lectionary readings for this Sunday, the passage that Pat has read for us stopped me in my tracks.

"Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize."

Run the race to win? What about 'the last shall be first', 'walk humbly with the Lord', 'lay up your treasure in heaven'? The Christian messaging of my childhood hadn't left much room for the idea of running to win. This was something I really had to think about.

"Everyone who competes in the games goes into strict training. They do it to get a crown that will not last; but we do it to get a crown that will last forever. Therefore I do not run like a man running aimlessly; I do not fight like a man beating the air."

Okay, as analogies go, this is making sense. I'd have to live under a rock somewhere to not understand that being an athlete requires self-discipline and rigorous training. And no matter how nutritious my diet, how strictly I adhered to my workouts, if I did not run with purpose, on the course, I would never reach the finish line of the race--and if I punch blindly at the air, I'm not going to win my boxing match, either.

Paul's audience in Corinth would have no trouble with this analogy. Corinth had been the site of the Isthmian games for four or five hundred years--these were games that were part of the Olympiad cycle, and occured every two years. They knew that the crowns awarded to the winners were made of wild celery or pine--unlike the Kingdom of God, these are things that tend to wilt.

As Christians, we know that God's grace is made manifest through Jesus the Christ. In the language of my Baptist up-bringing, we are 'saved' simply by accepting this. So, haven't we already 'won' the prize? What is this whole 'race' thing about?

We hear so many people talk about their various experiences as 'journeys' that it's become a cliche. In a blog entry, Mark Wilson writes: "In a well-lived life, there is a sense of progression; moving from one thing to the next. There is visible growth and the deepening of character. But the extent to which we grow (or indeed whether we grow at all) is up to us. What will our attitude be? consider that the journey is, in fact, a race" He goes to to say that there are three ways we can experience the race: watch the race; run the race; or run the race to win.

I have to admist that being a spectator might look pretty tempting at times. If you're a spectator, you get to sit back and watch the athletes, critique their performances, maybe talk to other spectators about how so-an-so needs to pay more attention to his training...better yet, you can even complain about things like the salaries, the role of performance-enhancing drugs...

We can be pretty bold and confident as a spectator. And you don't lose, either.

In Wilson's view, "to be a spectator and not a runner is to miss out on the blessing that God has for us."

I spent a lot of years as a spectator. If someone asked me about my religious beliefs, I would say 'Christian'. I attended church at Christmas and Easter, and sometimes in between. I knew what Christianity was and had a whole lot of opinions on whether or not other people could consider themselves to be Christians.

You see, I knew all about it because I started out as a runner--active in Sunday School, the youth group, the choir...I knew first-hand the power of prayer and my Bible was full of underlined verses....In the race I was running, the prize, the crown, was eternal life, and all I had to do was make sure I accepted Jesus as my Saviour and endure all the suffering that was going to come my way.

Well, you know, there wasn't a lot of suffering coming my way. I didn't have any raging waters or burning deserts to cross. We were good people, living decently 'by the Book', fitting effortlessly into the dominant culture. It was easy to be in the race, because that was the status quo in my community. There didn't seem to be much difference between the racers and the spectators...and that made it easy for me, when other racers who I admired disappointed me, to look at them as hypocrites and slip into spectator mode.

For the past 20 years, I have been an active participant again. I have been running the race, but I'm not at all certain that I have been 'running it to win'. I have learned that for me, the surest way to stumble in my own lane is when I stop to look at how other racers are doing in theirs...Aesop's hare would have won his race if he hadn't measured--and judged--the tortoise by his own standards.

I don't want to be running aimlessly, so I need to see the finish line. If I am to run with purpose, I need to know what that purpose is. Is the goal of my race to stay in my lane? Is it about doing my utmost to follow a prescription of ways to behave, to live a decent and culturally appropriate life? Is it about being nice to people, making sure there is an envelop in the collection basket, sponsoring a child in Africa?

That's not the race that Jesus ran.

Jesus' vision was the Kingdom of God. It was more important for Him to heal someone than to keep the law of the Sabbath. He worked with purpose, self-discipline and conviction. To say that He shook up the status quo is an understatement: the direct consequence of His decisions was a criminal's death on a cross. He ran to win, and did.

What would it look like if I was running to win, to fulfill Christ's vision of the Kingdom of God?

I have more questions about this now than answers. If I had been living in England in 1780, I would know about the slave trade. Would I have continued to stir sugar into my tea, knowing its human cost? Or would I have been pleased to know that those who survived the horrors of the slave ships were being converted to Christianity and used that as justification...for my tea, my coffee, my sugar, and that beautiful indigo dye...

I will never know the answer to that..I think I would have switched to honey, as many abolitionists did...but here are qustions I have for myself today: Of the 200,000 children working in the Ivory Coast cocoa industry, the International Labour Organisation claims 6%" that's not bad, really, only 12,000 kids--may be victims of slavery. Cadburys, Hershey's, Nestle--these companies are not operating in ignorance of these facts. Amd I'm sure that people can make arguments justifying their action or inaction--probably based on the economics of physical survival rather than on 'soul-saving' as in times past. "At least they have food and shelter..."

When I gave my family Hershey's kisses on Valentine's Day, was I racing to win?

Am I racing to win when I tolerate injustice? (and isn't it a lot easier to see injustice from a distance, and not in our hometown?) Am I racing to win when I allow Christ's death and resurrection to be used to legitimize suffering and the passive acceptance of the cultural status quo? Am I racing to win when I stop to judge how others are running their races?

God has promised to be with me when I cross the raging waters and burning deserts. But I won't be crossing them unless I stop running aimlessly. Jesus said 'Come, follow me'. I can't do that by just running on the spot. I won't be fit to do that without thinking about my beliefs, questioning why I have them, in an honest, open, prayerful dialogue with God, keeping my eyes on Christ's vision.

We each have our own marathon.

It is up to each of us to decide: watch the race? Run the race? Run the race to win?

May God be with us in each of our choices."

Farewell, Faithful Fish

It was a solemn scene.

While three of us attended choir practice, my younger daughter stayed home to prepare an order of service and respectfully dressed herself in black. Upon our return, she led the family to the bathroom. As pallbearer, I followed with the fishbowl. A large turquoise towel now covered the great porcelain bowl.

She opened with a short tribute to Preston B. Sturgeon, our beloved goldfish, then had us sing 'As the deer pants'. It was my privilege to lead us in prayer, and we did so, holding hands around the fishbowl. Each of us said a few words of farewell to honour the deceased. Then the girls left the room, and my husband ceremoniously removed the turqoise towel and sent Preston on his final journey.

The tears of my daughters over the death of this little pet were wiped away by the comfort of ritual and their knowledge that they had acted rightly to observe this passing. I know that I will never be able to relate this story without a certain quirk at the corners of my mouth; I also know that in standing in that little family circle in the bathroom, we were in the thin place near to God.

A Shady Moment

Refuge from the heat on an August day; another moment's refuge today.

Over and above the clutter on my desk and in my head, the Fern Hill of Dylan Thomas....

"And nothing I cared, at my sky blue trades, that time allows
In all his tuneful turning so few and such morning songs
Before the children green and golden
Follow him out of grace..."

The Unbearable Lightness of Being

I have never read this book or watched the movie--perhaps because I love this title so much and want nothing to impinge upon its meaning for me.

As a child, picking blueberries on the hill across from my house, I would sometime stop and just lie on the lichen-splotched granite to watch the clouds. If I squinted a certain way, the jackpines bordering my vision would disappear. Sometimes I would find myself clutching at the rock, conscious of the world flying through space, feeling untethered and ready to be flung off. This was my unbearable lightness of being.

At other times I would sit hushed on the rock I had rolled into a small mossy space I called my fort. Here, in the centre of my favourite sound, the rustling of poplar leaves, I would simply be. This too was an unbearable lightness of being.

And other moments. Perhaps a reflection of the fire caught on a beer bottle as friends murmured in the summer darkness; a ripple of the water against rocks as the last commentary of a boat passing homewards; the swing of a friend's pony-tail as she danced Suite: Judy Blue Eyes on a Thursday night; the back-of-the-neck-clutching first-listen to Patti Smith's Horses; the electric celluloid sensuousness of Joel McCrae's arm around the shoulders of Jean Arthur. And poetry, poetry, poetry. Tiny pin-prick moments of joy when there wasn't oxygen enough in the entire universe to fill my lungs. Untethered. Unbearable because too rich. Just being.

How did I become the fat white woman walking through fields in gloves, missing so much and so much?

Seizing the moment

I have been seized by the lapels and shaken into this moment...layers of thought and feeling have peeled away...

There has been a coming to terms this past week.

There is the shock of personal loss revisited through the grief and loss of another family. There is an awareness that my daughters are sad not just because someone they know has died and their friends have lost their father, but because they know now that this is a world where a parent can die, unexpectedly, in the night. We have been touched by the desolation of death.

At the same time, we affirm life: I broke through the emotional clutter that held me back from fulfilling my childhood dream and took my first guitar lesson. We tidied up some physical clutter (always my excuse to not have people in...) and had an amazing dinner and visit with a friend and her daughter. I filled the house with tulips. I held my daughter close as she wept at the funeral, even as I was filled with humble admiration for the strength of the grieving and the understanding that God is in and amongst us.

I have been afraid to shine and I have been reminded that I must.