Scripture: Genesis 12:1-5; Romans 4:1-5,
13-17
(1) Now the LORD said to Abram, "Go from your country and your kindred and
your father's house to the land that I will show you. (2) I will make of you a great
nation, and I will bless you, and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing.
(3) I will bless those who bless you, and the one who curses you I will curse; and in you
all the families of the earth shall be blessed." (4) So Abram went, as the LORD had
told him; and Lot went with him. Abram was 75 years old when he departed from Haran. (5)
Abram took his wife Sarai and his brother's son Lot, and all the possessions that they had
gathered, and the persons whom they had acquired in Haran; and they set forth to go to the
land of Canaan.
- Genesis 12:1-5
(1) What then are we to say was gained by Abraham, our ancestor according to the
flesh? (2) For if Abraham was justified by works, he has something to boast about, but not
before God. (3) For what does the scripture say? "Abraham believed God, and it was
reckoned to him as righteousness." (4) Now to one who works, wages are not reckoned
as a gift but as something due. (5) But to one who without works trusts him who justifies
the ungodly, such faith is reckoned as righteousness. (13) For the promise that he would
inherit the world did not come to Abraham or to his descendants through the law but
through the righteousness of faith. (14) If it is the adherents of the law who are to be
the heirs, faith is null and the promise is void. (15) For the law brings wrath; but where
there is no law, neither is there violation. (16) For this reason it depends on faith, in
order that the promise may rest on grace and be guaranteed to all his descendants, not
only to the adherents of the law but also to those who share the faith of Abraham [for he
is the father of all of us, as it is written, (17) "I have made you the father of
many nations" - in the presence of the God in whom he believed, who gives life to the
dead and calls into existence the things that do not exist.
- Romans 4:1-5, 13-17
Until just a few years ago, the first place I turned in the Sunday newspaper was always
the cartoon strip, Calvin and Hobbes. One morning, Calvin and his stuffed tiger,
Hobbes, were on their red wagon, careening down a hill through the woods.
Said Calvin, "We all want meaningful lives. We look for meaning in everything we
do. But suppose there is no meaning! Suppose life is fundamentally absurd! Suppose there's
no reason, or truth, or rightness in anything!"
As they plunged off a cliff and were suspended in midair Calvin continued, "What
if nothing means anything? What if nothing really matters?"
Hands over his eyes, Hobbes responded, "I guess there's no harm in a little
wishful thinking."
Still falling through the air, but upside down now, Calvin gasped, "Or suppose
everything matters. Which would be worse?"
Last week, at the beginning of Lent, we began to look at several areas of life which
are wonderful gifts from God to be used for good, but which also have great potential for
destruction and tragedy. In the coming weeks, we'll return to three of those dimensions of
life: money, sex and power. This morning, my focus is on another temptation: the
temptation to give up hope and to think that nothing really matters.
Because the Presbyterian Church has been in the news this week, I want to begin with
the church. For the past 25 years, the Presbyterian Church, like many Protestant
denominations, has been engaged in a public debate over whether or not openly to ordain
gay and lesbian Presbyterians to church office.
Let's be clear at the beginning: homosexuality and pedophilia are not the same.
Homosexuality and heterosexuality refer to the gender of one's attraction. Pedophilia
refers to adult sexual behavior with children. Pedophiles can be either heterosexual or
homosexual. Every pedophile I have been aware of knowing, which is nearly a dozen, have
all been heterosexual. This matches what we know statistically. The current scandal in the
Roman Catholic Church notwithstanding, by far the greatest risk of pedophilia is not from
homosexuals, but from heterosexual men towards their girl relatives, neighbors and
students.
For 25 years, the Presbyterian Church has been debating whether a sexual orientation
towards someone of a person's own gender is or is not as much a God-given gift as a
heterosexual orientation, and therefore whether that orientation, when lived out in a
committed, monogamous relationship is inherently sinful or can be just as joyful and
blessed by God as is a heterosexual relationship in similar circumstances. If it is
sinful, the ban against ordination ought to remain in place. If it is not sinful, then we
ought to get out the way and start recognizing the gifts for ministry God seems to have
given.
As many of you know, I have, through the years, come to believe that our sexual
orientation is as morally neutral as is our hair color. Heterosexuality and homosexuality,
in and of themselves, are not sinful, any more than the existence of money and power are
inherently sinful. The moral issue, the issue of right and wrong, of good and evil enters
the picture when we talk about actions and what we do with our sexuality: an adult using a
child or youth sexually is always wrong always wrong. Promiscuity is always wrong. Acting
sexually with one person while we're in a covenant relationship with another is always
wrong. Our sexuality is intended to be expressed in loving, committed, long-term
relationships that are mutual, caring and respectful, whatever the gender of our partner.
But the sermon on sexuality is for another day. I promised to speak about hope today.
I have begun with the church, because this week, as another amendment to change the
Constitution of the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) in a way that would have permitted local
churches and presbyteries to ordain those they believe God is calling church office
regardless of sexual orientation, failed to be approved by a majority of presbyteries,
many who believe God wants this change in our church, are gravely disappointed. Some are
giving up hope that change will come. I already know of one excellent minister who has
decided to set aside her ordination because the personal cost of continuing is so great. I
grieve her decision. I give thanks for her long years of faithfulness to this church and
its ministry. I ache deeply for her pain and anger.
Whether it is this particular issue, or any other of a wide variety in life, when you
believe strongly in the rightness of a particular vision or cause or goal, but no matter
how hard you work, it doesn't come to be as you would hope, or happen as soon as you would
wish, it is tempting, oh so tempting, to give up hope. Why keep climbing the mountain path
if with every turn, you see you still have a long way to go? Why not just turn around and
head down the mountain, or enjoy the vista from the point you reached and go no farther?
Whether it's a desire to change denominational policy, to bring a local church back to
life, to create low-income housing, to alleviate hunger or rid the world of land mines, or
to work for peace in the Middle East, why should any of us keep going when it seems we are
trying to empty the ocean with a tablespoon?
In another part of life, a widow asks, "How long will it be until my heart stops
hurting so much?" She can't imagine continuing, yet gets up each morning and puts one
foot in front of the other. She tries to care for her grief and reinvest in life, but she
can't tell any difference from one month to the next.
Another woman realizes that she has lost herself and wants to recover her personal
sense of worth and well-being. But it's a long, difficult journey with no end in sight,
and her journey towards health leads her to see problems at home and in her marriage that
she's not sure she wants to face. Her journey towards wholeness is taking her directions
she finds frightening. Should she give up her vision of feeling joy again and accept her
life as it is?
A man has been diagnosed with cancer. He begins the treatment program, but the side
effects are nasty, the process long, and the outcome unknown. It seems to go forever, and
he wonders if it is worthwhile to fight for life.
Or maybe you're one who is caring for an elderly parent or an ill spouse. Each day
seems like the one before, and each morning you're tired. You wish you could make the
other well, or ease their journey towards death, but everything you do seems small and
inconsequential. Where do you find hope to keep going? Do the daily tasks of care really
have meaning?
Or maybe you're trying to be a good parent, but the day-to-day effort seems
overwhelming. Will what you say to your children today really matter? Does reading a
bedtime story or kicking a soccer ball together really make a difference? Does eating
dinner together and asking about each other's day count for anything in the bigger world?
I have no eloquent, intellectual answers. I can merely tell you why I keep going. I
keep going because long ago Abraham and Sarah agreed to leave their home for a land they'd
never seen, trusting God that it was a better place. And after a long, winding, and
sometimes fearful journey they found the land God had promised. It was good land, and they
became the parents of the world's three largest faith traditions. It wasn't their deeds
that the Apostle Paul celebrates in the Romans passage we've just read. It was their
faith, their belief in God's faithfulness to fulfill the promise made to them. That is the
faith I hold onto, the hope that keeps me going.
I keep going because the huge oak trees and the sycamores I so admire, with their
twisted trunks and spreading branches did not grow overnight. They grew inch by inch and
twig by twig, growing stronger, larger, reaching higher and spreading farther slowly, year
by year. We can care for a tree, water it correctly, even fertilize it if appropriate, and
prune it. We cannot ultimately hurry its growth. That which is most beautiful takes time.
That which is most awesome to view took years to get that way. Our institutions and
personal lives are really not that different.
I have no elegant answers. And I've never found cheerleading to be effective off the
playing field when people are tempted to give up hope, so I won't do that this morning,
either.
I'll just tell you what keeps me going in such times: I believe that what we do does
ultimately matter, in the big decisions and the small ones.
It matters that each of us takes our voting seriously.
It matters when we change a bedpan for someone hasn't the strength to get up.
It matters when we had someone a kleenex so they can dry their eyes.
It matters that children given to our care know they matter to us through our actions
and our words, for it sets a pattern for the rest of their life.
It matters when we practice getting up each day and investing in life, whether we feel
like it or not, because one day when we least expect it, we'll hear ourselves laugh again.
It matters that we keep increasing our emotional health and deepening our faith,
because the degree of our emotional health and the living of our faith do have an impact
on others, whether we realize it or not.
It matters that we keep living and fight for life, because each day we're alive is an
opportunity to touch another's life with love, or a smile, or an encouraging word, and
this may be just what God needed that person to receive that day, and we were the one
through which it could happen.
It matters that we speak for justice and work for fairness in small ways, because small
acts of fairness, compassion and justice are the foundation of a just, caring and civil
society.
Sometimes, our desire to give up hope is not only a fear that we can't make it to the
end of our vision, or reach our goal. Sometimes the temptation to give up comes from a
fear that we really do have the strength to see it through to the end, but we know it will
be painful and difficult to get there, and we don't really want to pay the cost. The
temptation is to believe that God's power is not really great enough to see us through,
and God's love not really strong enough to carry us when the road gets even more
difficult. The temptation is to set down the cross too early.
As Nelson Mandela said some years ago, "Our worst fear is not that we are
inadequate; our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not
our darkness, that most frightens us. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence
automatically liberates others."
The Apostle Paul was imprisoned and killed in Rome, never dreaming that we would be
reading his letters nearly 2000 years later. He did not give up hope.
In the 1800's the Reverend Thomas Kendall, who grew up in my home congregation and
attended my alma mater, Miami University of Ohio, was elected moderator of one of the
small Presbyterian denominations that was a predecessor of ours today. As he toured North
Carolina, interpreting the policies of the church against slavery, he was tarred and
feathered, and nearly hanged. Could he possibly have imagined that one day the Secretary
of State would be an African American? Yet he did not give up hope. Our worst fear is not
that we are inadequate; our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
I have no elegant answers to help us hold onto hope when the road is long, and the
night is dark. I just look back at my own life and know that God has seen me through
before, and therefore I can trust that God will see me through again.
I look at the history of the church and realize that trees and churches and people grow
slowly towards the heavens, and that although we fertilize and water, it is God who gives
the growth.
I look at Jesus, who was tempted to give up hope in humanity and hope in God, but found
the God-given strength to persevere all the way to Calvary.
And I remember...I remember that resurrection happens only in cemeteries. Resurrection
does not happen in good times, in times of rest and respite and easy hope. Resurrection
happens in cemeteries where grief is heavy. Resurrection happens in tombs where
hopelessness hangs heavy in the air. Resurrection happens after a heavy cross has been
carried, a difficult journey made, after the weeping of tears and the gnashing of teeth,
and even after the cry, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"
We need not give up hope. Resurrection happens in cemeteries. Trees grow slowly. God
has given us strength and courage and compassion beyond our imagining. Life has meaning,
what we do matters, therefore, we have cause for hope. Like Abraham and Sarah, and all the
saints who have gone before us, we too, can trust that God's love is steadfast, and God's
promises forever.
"Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also
lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with
perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of
our faith, who for the sake of the joy that was set before him endured the cross,
disregarding its shame, and has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of
God." Amen.
