Pasadena Presbyterian Church Sermon Text
February 23, 2003

"Daring to Believe"
Preached by The Rev. Dr. Barbara Anderson

Scripture:  Mark 3:1-12

I want to tell you about my life and about a remarkable event that changed it. My name is Aaron, Son of Stephen the Brickmaker.  I used to help my father make bricks every day, and we thought that I'd continue in the family business.  But when I was 16 years old, I was out with friends, walking along cliff and goofing off the ways friends will do.  I turned around to joke with one of them and the next thing I knew, my foot slipped and I was falling through the air.  When I hit the ground about twenty feet below, I couldn't move. My legs were paralyzed.

I was lucky, though.  My friends stuck by me.  My parents were heart-broken but never gave up on me.  A neighbor made me a board with wheels so I could push myself around, and my arms got really strong.  But more than anything else, I wanted to walk and run again, I wanted to have a life like my friends did.  I wanted to marry and have children, but I couldn't support a family like this.  And no father in his right mind would let me marry his daughter. 

Then one day we heard that Jesus of Nazareth was coming to Capernaum.  We heard that he healed people that no one thought possible.  My friends and I talked about it over and over.  Should I try to see him?  We went back and forth: It's such a crazy thing to believe God could work so powerfully through this man Jesus that I could be free of my paralysis and have the life I've dreamed of.  I hardly dared to hope.  It wasn't only that my legs were paralyzed.  My heart was paralyzed, and my mind too.  I was afraid to hope.  I was afraid to believe.

You don't have to be a paralytic in order to be paralyzed, you know.  I know lots of folks who are so worried about their past that they can't see a future.  I know lots of folks who are so wounded from a prior relationship that they don't dare to trust anyone again.  I know lots of folks who are so scared to explore a new career that they stay stuck in unhappiness where they are.  I know lots of folks who are so mired in grief or anger or bitterness that they can't see the sun rise.  I even know churches who are so stuck in their memories of grandeur and the good old days of the '40s and '50s or stuck in their memories of budget shortfalls and declining resources and institutional depression that they can't see what's going on today.  They're so covered in clouds of the past that they can't see God is giving them everything they need right now to stand up and dance.  They're all paralyzed in different ways.  Unlike my paralysis though, it's not so visible. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

My friends and I talked about it a lot; in fact we sat up all night on the flat roof of our house.  My little cart can't travel from town to town.  So they'd have to carry me on a pallet with rods down each side, like a stretcher an E.M.T. uses, and I'm not a light man.  It would take us hours to cover the short distance from my house to Capernaum.  That's ironic, isn't it:  it was a short distance in miles but a long distance in every other way?

My friends were afraid I'd get my hopes up and then be disappointed:  Like wondering if you should try a new medical treatment for your cancer, but you don't want to get your hopes up too much.  Or seeing your family after a long time and wanting it to go well, but afraid to hope too much.  Or wanting peace talks to work, but afraid to hope because you've been disappointed so many time.

I'd been disappointed so many times that I felt like the story of that bass in a big fish tank.  You know the one.  Somebody puts a bass in a big tank and then divides the tank in half with glass.  They put bait on the other side of the glass and the hungry fish keeps trying to get it.  But he can never get through.  He just keeps hitting his nose on the glass until one day he stops hoping and gives up.  Finally, somebody removes the glass and puts new bait in.  The bass doesn't even notice the change, or try to get the fish because he's been disappointed so many times before. 

I didn't want to be a bass in a fish tank.   So as the sun was coming up over the hills, I screwed up my courage and asked my friends for help.  Just sitting on my rear end wasn't going to change anything.  If they were willing to give all that help to get me there, at least I could do my part.  I hate asking for help, and it was really hard to let them carry me so far.  I didn't think I was worth it. But they did.  They had faith even when I didn't.  That's what friends and church are for, isn't it: to carry us when we can't walk on our own?

By the time we got there, it was almost noon.  The crowd had spilled out the door and filled every inch of ground all around the house.  People were really quiet, hardly breathing it seemed, as they strained their ears to hear what Jesus was saying inside.  The only way inside was if you were five years old and could slip around people's legs.  But by now we were determined to see Jesus.  We'd invested so much, we'd worked so hard, we'd hoped so deeply for healing that it would have awful beyond words to give up now.

We made our way to the roof, and then (this is really wild) my friends took their rope belts off, tied them to the corners of my pallet and lowered me through a hole in the roof.  Can you imagine?  The people inside were stunned, and when I got down partway, they reached up and brought me down the rest of the way.  Jesus got up from where he was sitting and came over.  He knelt down and looked in my eyes.  He took my hand and held it. 

I didn't realize until right then how much I had given up hope that anything could get better. I didn't realize until then how much pain and fear I held.  I didn't realize until then how much I'd been trapped in the past. 

I didn't realize until then how much I could be loved in my brokenness.  I didn't realize until then how much power God really has to change us, to change our families, to change the world, to change our churches.  It was as if all the fears and hope, all the hurt and healing of the world were deep in that man's eyes. 

Jesus looked up at my friends and told them their faith had healed me.  What a gift he gave them when he honored their faith and love with those words.  They were true, you know.  We don't come to new life on our own.  We need a community to walk us there.  That's another part of what the church is: the community that walks with us into new life.

Then Jesus got into an argument with some scribes about whether he had the authority to forgive sins or not.  I can tell you that when he said I was forgiven, I felt an enormous weight lifted from my shoulders, the kind of weight that I believe only God can lift away.  Maybe you have felt it too.  It's an awesome thing when the weight of the past, the weight of your sins are lifted away, and you have a new beginning.

My spouse says I take a long time to tell a story, so I'd better get to the end.  Even after all of this, after my friends got me there and lowered me in, after Jesus argued with the scribes on my behalf and told my friends I was healed, I still wasn't sure.  Can you imagine how scary it is, how absolutely terrifying it is, when Jesus tells you to rise, pick up you pallet and go home?  I hadn't walked in years, my muscles had atrophied.  All these people were watching.  What if I fell on my face?  What if I tried and nothing happened?  What a fool I would have been to believe that Jesus could really give me a future.  Maybe it was better to stay stuck in the past than to risk believing and then be disappointed.

I looked at all the people.  I looked up at my friends.  I looked at Jesus.  My friends had gotten me there.  Jesus had pronounced healing.  Now it was up to me.  Would I dare to believe, not just halfway in my heart, but enough to make my actions public, and to act with the confidence that God could make something miraculous happen in me and through me?  There's a book called The Courage to Heal.  I hold onto the message and truth of that title every day since I met Jesus.  

You see, healing doesn't just happen.  Growth doesn't just happen - personal growth or church growth.  Change doesn't just happen in ourselves or in your church.  God puts the opportunities before us, God gives us friends and community to walk us there. God places in us the courage to heal.  It's up to us to reach inside and hold onto that courage, because change and growth and healing can't happen without our choosing to believe that God can make us walk again. 

I found the courage to let go of my old life and grab hold of the new one God offered.  I dared to believe.  So I gripped Jesus' hand and let him pull me to my feet.  We kissed each other on the cheek, then I picked up my pallet and walked.  I hugged all the men outside, I jumped on rocks, I ran almost all the way home.  I started making bricks again.  I have a wife and two children.  I have a good life. 

I know that you have issues in your life where you wonder if you can ever bring about change, at home, at work, with your family, in your own heart.  I know there are places in your life where you feel paralyzed even when your friends or God have told you what you need to do.  I also know that God has given you everything you need if you dare to believe that it's true.  So will you sit on your pallet and sing laments for another day, stuck in your life as it was before?  Or will you find the courage to heal, to change, to risk stepping into the new life God offers you? 

It's not easy, I know.  I've been there.  But your friends and your church have brought you this far.  God is reaching out too.  Will you find the courage to hope, will you dare to believe God can give you a new life?  To you, Jesus says, "Rise, take up your pallet and walk."

I also know that you have a congregational meeting in a few minutes where you'll hear about this church's growth and hear about the reality that like nearly every church in the country, PPC has a budget difficulty this year. You'll be given an opportunity to recommit to God's work through PPC at a deeper and greater level.

God has given you everything PPC needs: people, finances, location, facilities, vision - if you dare to believe that it's true.  God has already given this church all that is necessary to get up and walk into a new day.  God has already given the Holy Spirit among you, the faith within you, and the vision before you.  The saints who have gone before have brought you to this point.

Now it is your turn to do your part. Will you sit on your pallet and go back home, afraid of what God is offering because it's been so long since you dared to believe that you could walk and dance?  Or will you find the courage to heal?.  Will you dare to believe that God can make this church a strong and powerful witness again, full of the Spirit and changing lives?  Will you find the courage to hope, will you dare to believe God can give you a new life?  To you today, to the saints gathered in Pasadena, Jesus says, "Pasadena Presbyterian Church, your sins are forgiven. Take up your pallet and walk."

Look at me.  I stand before you as proof that miracles can happen. Amen.

 

(c) Copyright 2003 by Barbara A. Anderson.  All rights reserved.  Permission granted for non-profit use with attribution.