The Joy of just being here on this beach
still without a Hilton or Sheraton.
Sand as at the dawn of creation, triumph
of existence. Look how the baby turtles
crawl from their egg shells.
Watch how they advance over the hot beach
to the sea which itself is life, the source of our own.
Taste this cool water fresh from the well.
We will not even eat the clams,
do nothing that would remind us of death.
Paradise lasting an instant.
The birds come. They nose dive,
rake low over the shore, then pull up
with prey in their beaks:turtles
just born. And the birds are not gulls:
It is the Luftwaffe over Warsaw.
With great anguish the turtles drag themselves to the tide,
victims whose only fault was their birth.
Ten out of a thousand will reach the sea.
The rest will be devoured.
Let others say this is natural selection,
survival of the fit.
For me it is the horror of the world.
Jose Emilio Pacheco
Translated from the Spanish by Michael Collier
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
A Great Mystery
Coyote looks in his crystal ball.
Which candidates will fall?
Not since '68 a race so great,
Obama, Clinton, or McCain?
Romeny? Huckabee? Edwards?
Say one, so say you all,
Denver's convention will be
A free-for-all.
Coyote's Warning
Now that Coyote is fifty, he once again reminds any and all, thou shalt not take my age in vain!
Big And Small
Good morning. Sometimes, the unpredictability of life can be funny, or serious, or both. Because my psychotherapy income is seasonal, I have worked, for the past three years, a small part time job delivering magazines to local stores. The income from this work helps level out the financial ups and downs of my profession. I set my own hours, and overall it is not a bad little job.
It was not a bad little job, that is, until about a month ago. Corporate, in an effort to cut expenses and increase profits, decided to significantly cut our mileage reimbursement. For a number of reasons this didn’t pass my smell test, so I wrote a nice little letter to our local General Manager, telling him that we have always received a generous mileage reimbursement, and that if we local employees could just stick together, maybe we could convince corporate to cut costs elsewhere.
KABOOM!!!! Talk about unpredictability! For some reason this letter was passed up to corporate, and literally, across the country, everything exploded. The previous General Manager, who now works in Sacramento, was massively chewed out because he answered a few questions I had about previous mileage policy, and I was told that supervisors would now follow me around, to find mistakes so I could be fired. I smelled a rat.
So I wrote a second letter to Human Resources, telling them if I lost my mileage reimbursement, I was going to file an arbitration claim for breach of contract. That got people’s attention. The GM in Sacramento got called on the carpet again, so he resigned. The president of the company called me personally from Virginia, promising to take care of this mess, and my Denver GM suddenly got very, very quiet. He was now in trouble too. Everybody was running for cover. My two little letters caused a ten thousand employee national corporation to shake like a leaf. That was the funny part.
The serious part is that a good guy resigned. And in Denver, in a move just short of retaliatory, work for all drivers was immediately cut back by a third. For some drivers this delivery job is their only source of income. Others are working to help support older parents. This cutback seriously affects them. That isn’t funny at all.
When I wrote those two letters I had no idea what kind of a journey I was about to begin with Dominion Enterprises. The unpredictability of how this story played out is both very funny, and very serious. When a journey begins, we have no way of knowing how it will play out.
Today we celebrate the feast of Epiphany, and contrary to popular Christmas mythology, I believe the journey of the Magi was filled with great unpredictability. I am sure this made their long journey to find the newborn King at times very funny, and at other times quite serious. Just like our journeys with God, we never know what is going to happen next.
Instead of the We Three Kings of Orient Are version of the Magi’s journey, imagine with me this morning what their journey might really have been like:
One night astronomers from what is now eastern Iraq, or Iran, or maybe even India, were studying the heavens, and they saw a new star. Their astrological and astronomical charts told them that a new star in this part of the sky meant a new King would soon be born. As they talked about this new star over the next few days, one of them probably said, “hey, maybe we should try to find this new King.” They all agreed, and their journey was born.
I believe that right from the beginning two unpredictable elements must have hit their plans. First, I’m sure the Magi expected their families and friends to be excited about their decision to find the new King. How could they not be? And I’m sure those around them found their quest very amusing. For example, if I told my wife that Phil and I and Bill Newbloom had seen a new star, and decided to take a few years to follow it, I promise you, Andrea would find that very amusing. I can’t tell you how amused she would be. The families and friends of the Magi must have felt the same way. Nice idea guys. Ha Ha. Funny and serious.
As it became clear that the Magi were serious about going, however, a second unpredictable issue must have troubled their minds. The quest to find the new king was big, and mythical. But for the families left behind, this journey was certainly not big and mythical. The Magi’s big adventure was not their friend. Why is life like this? Why do we sometimes have to decide between the quest, and home? Why do the things that inspire me seem hostile to someone else?
I am reminded of Homer’s classic The Odyssey. Odysseus has had many amazing experiences during the Trojan War, and now he is trying to find his way home. He is still having incredible adventures. But for Telemachos, his son, and Penelope, his wife, things at home are very different. Is Odysseus dead, or alive? Should Penelope marry one of her numerous suitors, or preserve Odysseus’ treasures, hoping that one day he will return? Penelope and Telemachos’ experience doesn’t feel mythical at all. Their experience is full of sorrow and uncertainty.
The big and the small often don’t seem to fit together. We feel bad for Penelope and Telemachos. But we in Western Civilization need Odysseus to experience and complete his journey. If Odysseus and Achilles had not gone on their noble adventure, even mythically, then Homer would not have written The Iliad and the Odyssey, there would have been no Trojan Horse, and, perhaps most important of all, we would never have seen Brad Pitt all bulked up in the movie Troy. That would have been an incredible loss!
But that is the mystery of the big and the small. We want big corporations to make money, but we don’t want them to treat their employees indifferently or with hostility. We want churches and denominations to grow, and build, and reach out, but we don’t want them to forget the everyday parishioner. We want our nation to be strong and successful, but we don’t want it to forget the sick, the poor, and the homeless. We want wise men and women to dream dreams and follow stars, but we don’t want other people to feel unimportant or left out. We want it all. Sometimes it works, but many times it doesn’t. That is the funny, and serious, and unpredictable mystery that must have weighed heavily on the minds of the Magi as they waved goodbye to all that was familiar, and set their sights to the West.
In my imagination the Magi’s journey to Israel must have had many unpredictable aspects, some of which were funny, and some of which were serious. Big trips like this never go as planned. Somebody always forgets their underwear, somebody always gets sick, somebody never asks for directions, and though the Pax Romana, or peace of Rome, made travel much easier and safer at this time, there was still the threat of robbers or murderers. And, of course, when you are traveling with a bunch of people for a long period of time, certain individuals don’t get along. That is unavoidable.
But balancing the funny and the serious, I think this part of the Magi’s trip was probably more fun than hardship. Whenever you go on a long trip, a special sense of camaraderie and community is always built. I remember a mission trip to the Grand Canyon I took in college. Everybody who went had a special and fun time, and we really got to know each other. I can still remember the song one of the students wrote, called “The Mole Skin Blues”, because all of us had blister and toe problems after hiking twelve miles to the Colorado River. I will never forget that trip.
I noticed this same dynamic with the people I work with at my delivery job. Until a month ago I really didn’t know any of the other drivers. I would pick up my stuff in the morning, and leave. But when things started rocking and rolling after the cutbacks and my letters, many of us would hang out for a while, discuss the labor issues, and just chat. We gained a sense of community that only a journey of labor versus corporate can provide.
In the life of any church, there are difficult seasons when people aren’t getting along, church life is boring, leadership is questioned, and the congregation lacks purpose and direction. Do you know what the best cure for this season is? A godly journey. Let me phrase this another way. The level of unhappiness and complaining in a church is directly proportional to the lack of a sense of mission and journey among its members. A happy and healthy church is a church that is going somewhere together. Because the Magi were going somewhere together, all the unpredictable parts of their journey didn’t trip them up.
So, finally the Magi arrived in Israel. If the journey itself was tilted towards the fun side of the balance, I believe that arriving in Jerusalem was definitely tilted towards the serious. For the first time the presence and power of Rome was clearly felt. I’m sure the Magi felt Rome as they traveled across the eastern side of the Empire, but upon entering Israel the visibility of Roman power very much increased. This gave the whole journey a much more serious feel.
And almost immediately the Magi made what could have been a fatal mistake. They started asking about a new King. Not a good idea, considering that the Roman Herod called himself a king. Maybe the Magi were naive, but it did get Herod’s attention. They were lucky; Herod didn’t kill them, he granted them an audience. I’m sure not many travelers got a personal audience with Herod, but they did.
This reminds me of my experience with corporate. When I was just complaining about cutbacks nobody listened. But when I said the magic word “arbitration”, the president of the company gave me a call. When the Magi said the magic word “new King”, they were quickly informed that Herod would see them. Their journey was seriously on Herod’s radar now.
Upon meeting Herod, I believe the Magi’s first impression must have been quite humorous. This guy is a King? From all we know about Herod from history, he was not a physically or personally impressive person. But it didn’t matter. This small person had the entire power of the Roman Empire behind him. Their life and journey was in the hands of this unimpressive man. And Herod said he wanted to worship the new king too. Yeah, right. Herod was unimpressive, and deceitful.
Then Herod seemingly made a big mistake. After talking with the Magi, he told them to check back with him if they found the new King. Bad idea. If you were Herod, what you should have done was send some spies to follow the Magi, and when they found the new king, to kill both them and Jesus. But for some reason Herod let the Magi go. I’m sure he heard a lot about new kings and new messiahs, and he must have thought he could wait and see. Herod was powerful, but he wasn’t necessarily smart.
We know from history that Herod was also unstable and unpredictable. When the Magi didn’t check back with Herod before they went home, this made Herod nervous. After a month or so he thought, “you know, I probably should have done more when those guys were here looking for a new King. I think I’ll just kill all boys two years or under in that area and I won’t have to worry about it.” So he went off his rocker, and ordered the murder of hundreds of children. Herod was a crazy man with the power of Rome behind him, a bad combination. The Magi were lucky to escape with their lives.
When someone’s power is threatened, they can act unpredictably. My General Manager is usually a nice guy. But when I sent my second letter to HR, he lost it. In his best Rambo voice he screamed at me, “I don’t get paid to drive home, why should you?” A perceived challenge to power can make a good guy say bizarre things. A perceived challenge to power made Herod go insane.
As Christians, we all know about power. We have seen churches use power both constructively, and destructively. But, when it comes to real strength, I think Christians have one interesting thing in common with Herod; we are personally small, but backed by a very great power.
I heard a story once that illustrates this reality. In the past, in Mexico City, certain giant intersections were controlled not by traffic lights, but by a person who climbed a large platform, and started and stopped traffic with his hand. One day, when one of these traffic controllers wasn’t watching, a small child climbed the platform and put up his hand. Instantly, all the cars stopped. On his own, there is no way this little child had any power to stop a car. But when this child was on that platform, he had all the power and authority of the Mexican government behind him. He could stop any car he wanted to.
We are like that little child. On our own, we are small and unimpressive. We have no real power. But because we have all the power of the Kingdom of God behind us, we can accomplish anything. We have power over the demonic, we have the power to overcome sin, we have the power of the gifts of the spirit, and we have the power to share the gospel to the ends of the world. With God, all things are possible.
Now we move to the final act. An historical note here: The Magi didn’t appear right as Jesus was born. The shepherds came immediately and saw Jesus in swadling clothes, but the Magi came about two years later. We know this because Matthew tells us they came to Mary’s house, not a stable. Also, Herod asked the Magi to tell him exactly when they first saw the star. When the Magi didn’t return to Herod, he killed all boys two years old and younger. So the Magi must have told Herod that they had seen the star, and begun their journey, two years earlier.
After the Magi left Herod, I imagine they kept asking questions, and finally zeroed in on Bethlehem, then an area of the city, and then a house. After a talk with Mary and Joseph, they were introduced to Jesus. Their first response was probably laughter; we traveled all this way, and this is the King? No palaces, no servants, no guards, nothing at all like Herod. How could this boy be a king?
And yet....and yet. Something big was here. The more time they spent with Jesus, the bigger He became, and the more powerful He seemed. But not a power like Roman power, which made others small and scared. This power made them larger, and courageous. And what was this other feeling? Belonging, happiness, community. Experiencing this bigness in Jesus made the Magi, and Mary and Joseph, a new community. They were all related to each other in a new way now, because they had been with the King. They were all on a new journey together. How could something so new, so big, be coming from this small child?
The only way to describe this mystery of something so big being in someone so small is through poetry. One of my favorite saints, St. Ephrem the Syrian, wrote these words about the big and the small, about Mary and Jesus, in the second century. They could easily be the words of the Magi:
“Your mother is a cause for wonder. The Lord entered her/and became a servant. He who is the Word entered/and became silent within her. Thunder entered her/and made no sound. There entered the Shepherd of all/and in her He became the Lamb, bleating as He came forth.
Your mother’s womb has reversed the roles. The Establisher of all entered in His richness/but came forth poor. The Exalted One entered her/but came forth meek. The Splendorous One entered her/but came forth having put on a lowly hue. The Mighty One entered/and put on insecurity from her womb. The Provisioner of all entered/and experienced hunger. He who gives drink to all entered/and experienced thirst. Naked and stripped/there came forth from her He who clothes all.”
That says it all. The Magi found everything they were looking for. And much more. They gave their gifts to the new King, and after a few days went home. The new King had changed them forever.
My journey with corporate America is not over. Every time I go in, I hear rumors of more changes and more firings. And though I have poked fun at this whole journey, I have to be honest and say that this has been a stressful experience. It isn’t easy to know when to speak up, and when to be silent. And, I am well aware that what I do has an impact on the jobs and careers of others. So I try to do what is right, and live by this principle: I don’t know what the future holds, but I know Who holds the future.
I believe this principle is what the Magi learned. Their lives, just like ours, continued to be unpredictable. But they had met the Lord of the unpredictable. They had met the King. And that King held their lives, and their futures, in his hand. In 2008, may we all experience the peace that passes all understanding, knowing that the Lord of the unpredictable holds our futures in His hand.
Amen
Friday, January 04, 2008
Marathon
Good morning. Before I begin, I’ve been asked to announce that after communion this morning the ushers will collect a second offering, the proceeds going to help me pay off a lunch bet with Father Phil, because, you may have heard, the Red Sox beat the Rockies in the World Series. I am a man of my word, and I pay off my bets, so Phil, I am going to take you to a very, very nice part of town; it’s called Commerce City. There is an elegant McDonalds there that serves awesome Boston Clam Chowder. Just kidding. Phil, congratulations to you and the Red Sox, and I promise, I will take you somewhere nice.
I learned a lot in kindergarten. I really did. But some of the most important lessons I have learned in life come my from experiences of running, but not quite completing, two marathons. Here’s the story.
About two years ago Charlie Schlaufman sent me an e-mail about a new race called the Colfax Marathon, and Charlie wondered if I wanted to run it with him. A marathon is a short race of 26.2 miles, and for someone of my limited running ability, running this distance would take only five or six hours, starting five miles east of Fitzimmons in Aurora, and running straight west on Colfax to Colorado Mills Mall in Lakewood. Piece of cake. Having run only seven or eight miles of distance at any one time in my life, I enthusiastically told Charlie I would do it.
I began training in January of 2006, and by May I had pushed my long runs to almost four hours. I was ready. On a beautiful day in late May Charlie and I took off at dawn. I was doing well until mile fifteen, when my quads started to tighten up. By mile twenty I could barely walk, and at mile 24, just two miles shy of the finish, my legs shut down. So I stopped. I had told myself if at any point during the race my body said stop, I would listen. My body said stop, and I was done.
I was disappointed, but I had had a wonderful time, and I immediately started training to try again in 2007. I did more long runs, I lifted weights, and I ate more nutritious foods. As I lined up at the starting line in May of 2007 I was confident that this time I would make it.
I should have known that getting the stomach flu one week before the marathon was a bad sign. I thought I would be okay. But at mile three I knew I was in trouble because the sweet gatorade I was drinking every mile was not digesting, it was just sloshing around in my stomach. Not good. More bad news came at mile sixteen as I experienced a digestive reversal; in other words, I threw up. At mile twenty-two, hot, sick, and about to reverse my digestion again, I stopped. As you can imagine, I wasn’t having any fun. My second marathon was over.
Today we celebrate one of my favorite days in the church year, the feast of All Saints, and I had assumed that the lessons of All Saints would be closely related to the lessons I learned in running, but not quite finishing, two marathons. I discovered, however, that sometimes the lessons of All Saints are exactly the opposite of what we earthly runners would expect.
The first lesson I learned from my marathon experiences is that training for and running marathons is often a long and lonely endeavor. Although I got in a few training runs with Charlie, most of the time I was running all by myself, sometimes for three, four, or five hours. I pretty much ran the entire second marathon all by myself. Running is not a team sport. Most of the time you are all alone.
One of the hardest parts of running all by yourself for long periods of time is not so much the physical challenge, but the mental. What do you think about for four or more hours? Boredom is a big problem. And finding mental tenacity is probably the hardest part of all. Before every run you ask yourself, how am I possibly going to do this? During the run you ask yourself, how am I going to keep going? Do I have anything left? Why, exactly, did I decide to do this? There is nobody to help you answer these questions. You are all by yourself.
Life is sometimes very much like running marathons. In many ways, we feel like we are all by ourselves. Maybe we have been dealing with an addiction or a character issue for years. It has been a long battle, and we feel worn out and all alone. Maybe we have been trying with all our might to make an important relationship work. We may be exhausted, and unsure if we have anything left to give, or if we can even keep trying.
Maybe we have been working for years at an unfulfilling job, and every morning we ask ourselves, how am I going to do this? Where will I find the energy and creativity to deal with a job and with people who bore me out of my mind? Sometimes life itself just wears us out, and we wonder, do I have anything left? Will my pain ever stop? We all must deal with these difficult questions, and many times, just like running a marathon, it feels like there is nobody to help us, and we are all alone.
But the message of All Saints is just the opposite. The message of All Saints is that we are never alone! In our Old Testament reading this morning Daniel is troubled. In a dream he has seen four different beasts coming out of the sea, and like Elvis, Daniel is all shook up. So he asks an angel what the dream means, and the angel tells him that the four beasts are four kingdoms that will arise out of the earth. But don’t worry, the angel says; the saints of the Most High will also receive a kingdom, and they will possess it forever, yes, forever and ever.
Who are these saints? Earlier in chapter eleven Daniel says that in his dream, as he watched, the Ancient of Days, or God, took his seat. A river of fire was flowing out from before him, and thousands upon thousands attended him, ten thousand times ten thousand stood before him. These countless thousands who are standing before God are his saints.
It is the historic faith of the church that these saints are God’s beloved people, living and dead, and that those saints who have died, the faithful departed, are just as real, and just as present to us, as we the living are present and real to one another. That is why, no matter how tired we are in life, and no matter how lonely we feel, because we are surrounded by the saints, we are never alone.
It’s like the new Verizon commercial, where somebody is talking on a cell phone, and suddenly they realize that they aren’t alone, but they’re surrounded by a network of thousands and thousands that make Verizon’s cell phone service the best of all. The slogan of that commercial is, “It’s the network.” That’s our slogan too. We don’t live the Christian life alone. We are constantly surrounded by a network of saints who are encouraging us and praying for us. Without that network of saints, we couldn’t do it.
And it’s important to remember that these saints don’t join us only when we die. Remember the final scene in the movie Titanic? Rose has told her entire moving story, and then she dies, and is reunited with her love Jack, and with all those who died on the Titanic that awful night. That is a great scene. But that scene has nothing to do with All Saints. We are not reunited with those who have died when we die. We are reunited with those who have died every single day, all the time, and we feel their presence especially as we worship together. Though life can discourage us in so many ways, the saints are always there to pick us up and help us keep running. That is what All Saints is all about.
The second lesson I learned from my marathon experiences is that there are often honest and legitimate excuses for why we didn’t finish the race. During my second marathon I got sick. What do you do? If I hadn’t gotten sick, there is no doubt in my mind that I would have finished. If I had done two or three more long runs, I am sure I would have finished my first marathon. The weather for both marathons was unusually hot for that time of year. If it had been in the mid-60’s, as is normal, instead of the low 80’s, I am sure I would have had enough in the tank to finish my first marathon, and maybe even my second. There are several other small things, like measuring the course correctly, that, if they had just been a little different, I likely would have finished both races. These excuses are honest, and legitimate. Sometimes there are good reasons why the race doesn’t turn out like we want it to.
Life is like that. Many times there are honest and legitimate reasons why our lives haven’t turned out like we wanted them to. Maybe we have real genetic inheritances that make us vulnerable to addictions, or depression, or anxiety. With a different genetic makeup, our lives would honestly be different. Maybe we were raised in truly dysfunctional families that deeply wounded our souls, and those wounds have made us victims in life, or perhaps perpetrators of the same pain. Growing up in a different family would honestly have made us different people.
Maybe we have made some well-intentioned, but bad choices in our lives. If we hadn’t made those choices, our lives would honestly be in a very different place. Or maybe life has simply dealt us some difficult cards. Maybe we have had to deal with medical issues, problems with a spouse, unexpected financial burdens, or simply been hit by the unexpected earthquakes and tsunamis that human flesh is heir to. Each of us have honest and legitimate excuses for why our lives haven’t turned out like we wanted them to.
But the message of All Saints is exactly the opposite. The message of all All Saints is that for Christians, there are absolutely, 100%, no excuses. And do you know why there are no excuses? There are no excuses because we have already won. We have already crossed the finish line. We are already champions. There are no excuses for why we didn’t make it, because we made it!
In Luke’s gospel this morning Jesus is ministering to the poor, the sick, and the outcasts of society. Jesus preaches to them the sermon on the plain, which is very similar to the sermon on the mount in Matthew chapter five. Jesus tell his audience that it isn’t necessarily good to be rich, because the rich already have their reward. Don’t envy those who are well fed now, because they will soon be hungry. And those who laugh now and have few cares will soon mourn and weep. But blessed are you poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are you who hunger, for you will be satisfied. And blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh. Jesus then says rejoice, and leap for joy, for great is your reward in heaven. We made it! The whole sense of the Greek in these verses is that the kingdom of God is ours, right now. No qualifications. We’re in.
I think that word heaven is what trips us up. When we hear heaven, we think of the next world. We have the idea that if we persevere in this life, then in the next life, in heaven, we will laugh, and be satisfied, and see God. Wrong. This isn’t Iowa. This is heaven. We are in heaven, in God’s presence, right now. All the blessings of the kingdom of God are ours, right now. We made it! If we don’t have to wait until we die to be reunited with God’s saints, then in the same way we don’t have to die to be a saint. We are all the saints of God, and wherever God is with his saints, that is heaven.
I know, so many times this world doesn’t seem like heaven. But on All Saints we celebrate the triumphant last chapter of the story, and what a chapter it is. Paul says in Romans eight that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. In today’s part of the story we see through a glass darkly, but we will see that God is transforming our genetic weaknesses, our family upbringings, our bad choices, and even our seemingly random fate into an incredible story of triumph and victory.
Our lives never turn out as we hoped. But our lives will turn out better than we ever could have imagined. No ifs, ands, or buts; no excuses or legitimate reasons. We did it. We made it to the finish line. That’s what All Saints is all about.
The final lesson I learned from my marathon experiences is that sometimes you give it your all, but you don’t get the medal. After I stopped running my first marathon Andrea picked me up, and we went to the finish line to congratulate Charlie. As I crawled out of the car I saw two young women marathoners walking by, and they had these beautiful medals around their necks, signifying that they completed the race. My heart sank. I knew I had done the right thing stopping when I did, but I would not be receiving a medal. I instantly thought of the apostle Paul’s admonition to run the race that you might finish it. I had given everything I had, but there was no medal for me. That was tough.
Again, I think life is often like that. Have you ever been in love with that special someone, and you said all the right things, sent all the right flowers, and wrote all the most beautiful poetry? You did everything you could possibly do, but when you looked in their eyes your heart sank, because you knew you were not the one. You gave it everything you had, but you didn’t get the prize. Or have you ever found the job that was just perfect for you? Your resume was awesome, your qualifications fit the job perfectly, and your interview went great. But your heart sank when they called to tell you they had chosen someone else. You gave it everything you had, but it wasn’t enough.
Or maybe you are a fan of the Colorado Rockies (though Red Sox fans know this experience too). You watch your team play perfect baseball for a month, and your spirits soar because everything seems just right to win the World Series. But then, even though they played their hearts out, it just wasn’t enough, and your heart sinks because they came so close, but they couldn’t capture the big prize. Sometimes in life, as players and as fans, you do everything you know how to do, but you don’t get what you longed for.
Again, the message of All Saints is just the opposite. The message of All Saints is that it is okay for our hearts to soar, because we already have a medal around our necks, and our joy has only just begun. In our reading from Ephesians, Paul says that “having believed, we were marked in Him with a seal, the promised Holy Spirit, who is a deposit guaranteeing our inheritance, until the redemption of those who are God’s possession--to the praise of His glory.” The Holy Spirit, who lives in our hearts, is also the champion’s medal around our necks.
Picture it like this. You run a marathon, and as you cross the finish line, a beautiful medal is placed around your neck. That medal is the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit, who we received at baptism, is the victory seal, the triumph symbol, written on our hearts, proclaiming that we are champions and God’s own forever. We did it! No sinking hearts because we tried with all our might and failed. Just victory and joy.
Then, you look down at that medal with great pride, and you tell the person who placed it around your neck that the medal is awesome. They say to you, “you think that medal is awesome, just wait till you see the post race banquet.” That is also what the Holy Spirit is. The medal around our necks, the Spirit, is our ticket into the post race banquet. If we have the medal, we are guaranteed of getting into the banquet. The banquet is our inheritance, eternal life with God, forever. A life of joy at God’s table that we can’t even begin to imagine. So, our life today is life is like a victory lap. We finished the race, we received the medal of the Holy Spirit, and now we are taking a victory lap around the track as we head to a banquet that will feed us for eternity. It doesn’t get any better than that. Every team winning the World Series forever. That is what All Saints is all about.
And don’t forget, the banquet doesn’t start when we die. We join with the saints at the heavenly banquet table every time we celebrate the Eucharist. Several of you have told me about impressions or visions of coming to the communion rail, and sensing that the rail extends off into heaven, with all the saints kneeling beside us. That is exactly what happens at every communion. Every Eucharist is heaven on earth.
So, there is only one question left this morning. Will I try another marathon? To be honest, I don’t feel a great need to try again. My two marathons were wonderful experiences, I got a good sermon illustration out of them, and I’m not sure I’m up for the hard work of training again. Plus, less than 1% of people ever even try a marathon, so though I don’t have a medal, my effort itself is it’s own reward. I had a lot of fun. Therefore, this morning I want to announce to my family, my friends, and my church, that my marathoning days are officially ooooo, let me try that again........my marathoning days are officially ooooooo, one more time, my marathoning days are officially oooooo, only just begun. Yes, I am going to try it one more time.
Why you ask? I’ll tell you. I have no idea. But here is what I want you do to. On May 21, 2008, as many of you as are able, please meet me at Colfax and Sheridan at about ten o’clock a.m. Come prepared to jog, walk, or crawl the final six miles with me, and bring food, water, medical supplies, umbrellas, and a wagon. Yes, a wagon. One way or another I’m getting in this time, and if I have to be pulled in, so be it. The point is, I’m not sure I can do it on my own. I need your help and support. And I’m going to get that medal. Isn’t that what All Saints is all about?
It is so appropriate that this morning, on All Saints, we are celebrating three baptisms, so please join me in prayer.
Dear Lord, thank you so much for Rebecca Sadie Lee, Magdalena Grace Lee, and Mason Harper Smith, three saints who are born into your kingdom today. As they begin the marathon of life, help them know that they will always be surrounded both by your presence, and by all the saints of God. Strengthen them when they are tired, keep them going when there are plenty of good reasons to stop, and always remind them that the Holy Spirit in their hearts is the champion’s trophy that guarantees their life with you for ever and ever. We pledge as your followers and saints to run with them every step of the way, and to greet them at the finish line, where we will all continue to worship you forever and ever at the glorious feast you have prepared for all your saints. In Jesus’ precious name, Amen.
I learned a lot in kindergarten. I really did. But some of the most important lessons I have learned in life come my from experiences of running, but not quite completing, two marathons. Here’s the story.
About two years ago Charlie Schlaufman sent me an e-mail about a new race called the Colfax Marathon, and Charlie wondered if I wanted to run it with him. A marathon is a short race of 26.2 miles, and for someone of my limited running ability, running this distance would take only five or six hours, starting five miles east of Fitzimmons in Aurora, and running straight west on Colfax to Colorado Mills Mall in Lakewood. Piece of cake. Having run only seven or eight miles of distance at any one time in my life, I enthusiastically told Charlie I would do it.
I began training in January of 2006, and by May I had pushed my long runs to almost four hours. I was ready. On a beautiful day in late May Charlie and I took off at dawn. I was doing well until mile fifteen, when my quads started to tighten up. By mile twenty I could barely walk, and at mile 24, just two miles shy of the finish, my legs shut down. So I stopped. I had told myself if at any point during the race my body said stop, I would listen. My body said stop, and I was done.
I was disappointed, but I had had a wonderful time, and I immediately started training to try again in 2007. I did more long runs, I lifted weights, and I ate more nutritious foods. As I lined up at the starting line in May of 2007 I was confident that this time I would make it.
I should have known that getting the stomach flu one week before the marathon was a bad sign. I thought I would be okay. But at mile three I knew I was in trouble because the sweet gatorade I was drinking every mile was not digesting, it was just sloshing around in my stomach. Not good. More bad news came at mile sixteen as I experienced a digestive reversal; in other words, I threw up. At mile twenty-two, hot, sick, and about to reverse my digestion again, I stopped. As you can imagine, I wasn’t having any fun. My second marathon was over.
Today we celebrate one of my favorite days in the church year, the feast of All Saints, and I had assumed that the lessons of All Saints would be closely related to the lessons I learned in running, but not quite finishing, two marathons. I discovered, however, that sometimes the lessons of All Saints are exactly the opposite of what we earthly runners would expect.
The first lesson I learned from my marathon experiences is that training for and running marathons is often a long and lonely endeavor. Although I got in a few training runs with Charlie, most of the time I was running all by myself, sometimes for three, four, or five hours. I pretty much ran the entire second marathon all by myself. Running is not a team sport. Most of the time you are all alone.
One of the hardest parts of running all by yourself for long periods of time is not so much the physical challenge, but the mental. What do you think about for four or more hours? Boredom is a big problem. And finding mental tenacity is probably the hardest part of all. Before every run you ask yourself, how am I possibly going to do this? During the run you ask yourself, how am I going to keep going? Do I have anything left? Why, exactly, did I decide to do this? There is nobody to help you answer these questions. You are all by yourself.
Life is sometimes very much like running marathons. In many ways, we feel like we are all by ourselves. Maybe we have been dealing with an addiction or a character issue for years. It has been a long battle, and we feel worn out and all alone. Maybe we have been trying with all our might to make an important relationship work. We may be exhausted, and unsure if we have anything left to give, or if we can even keep trying.
Maybe we have been working for years at an unfulfilling job, and every morning we ask ourselves, how am I going to do this? Where will I find the energy and creativity to deal with a job and with people who bore me out of my mind? Sometimes life itself just wears us out, and we wonder, do I have anything left? Will my pain ever stop? We all must deal with these difficult questions, and many times, just like running a marathon, it feels like there is nobody to help us, and we are all alone.
But the message of All Saints is just the opposite. The message of All Saints is that we are never alone! In our Old Testament reading this morning Daniel is troubled. In a dream he has seen four different beasts coming out of the sea, and like Elvis, Daniel is all shook up. So he asks an angel what the dream means, and the angel tells him that the four beasts are four kingdoms that will arise out of the earth. But don’t worry, the angel says; the saints of the Most High will also receive a kingdom, and they will possess it forever, yes, forever and ever.
Who are these saints? Earlier in chapter eleven Daniel says that in his dream, as he watched, the Ancient of Days, or God, took his seat. A river of fire was flowing out from before him, and thousands upon thousands attended him, ten thousand times ten thousand stood before him. These countless thousands who are standing before God are his saints.
It is the historic faith of the church that these saints are God’s beloved people, living and dead, and that those saints who have died, the faithful departed, are just as real, and just as present to us, as we the living are present and real to one another. That is why, no matter how tired we are in life, and no matter how lonely we feel, because we are surrounded by the saints, we are never alone.
It’s like the new Verizon commercial, where somebody is talking on a cell phone, and suddenly they realize that they aren’t alone, but they’re surrounded by a network of thousands and thousands that make Verizon’s cell phone service the best of all. The slogan of that commercial is, “It’s the network.” That’s our slogan too. We don’t live the Christian life alone. We are constantly surrounded by a network of saints who are encouraging us and praying for us. Without that network of saints, we couldn’t do it.
And it’s important to remember that these saints don’t join us only when we die. Remember the final scene in the movie Titanic? Rose has told her entire moving story, and then she dies, and is reunited with her love Jack, and with all those who died on the Titanic that awful night. That is a great scene. But that scene has nothing to do with All Saints. We are not reunited with those who have died when we die. We are reunited with those who have died every single day, all the time, and we feel their presence especially as we worship together. Though life can discourage us in so many ways, the saints are always there to pick us up and help us keep running. That is what All Saints is all about.
The second lesson I learned from my marathon experiences is that there are often honest and legitimate excuses for why we didn’t finish the race. During my second marathon I got sick. What do you do? If I hadn’t gotten sick, there is no doubt in my mind that I would have finished. If I had done two or three more long runs, I am sure I would have finished my first marathon. The weather for both marathons was unusually hot for that time of year. If it had been in the mid-60’s, as is normal, instead of the low 80’s, I am sure I would have had enough in the tank to finish my first marathon, and maybe even my second. There are several other small things, like measuring the course correctly, that, if they had just been a little different, I likely would have finished both races. These excuses are honest, and legitimate. Sometimes there are good reasons why the race doesn’t turn out like we want it to.
Life is like that. Many times there are honest and legitimate reasons why our lives haven’t turned out like we wanted them to. Maybe we have real genetic inheritances that make us vulnerable to addictions, or depression, or anxiety. With a different genetic makeup, our lives would honestly be different. Maybe we were raised in truly dysfunctional families that deeply wounded our souls, and those wounds have made us victims in life, or perhaps perpetrators of the same pain. Growing up in a different family would honestly have made us different people.
Maybe we have made some well-intentioned, but bad choices in our lives. If we hadn’t made those choices, our lives would honestly be in a very different place. Or maybe life has simply dealt us some difficult cards. Maybe we have had to deal with medical issues, problems with a spouse, unexpected financial burdens, or simply been hit by the unexpected earthquakes and tsunamis that human flesh is heir to. Each of us have honest and legitimate excuses for why our lives haven’t turned out like we wanted them to.
But the message of All Saints is exactly the opposite. The message of all All Saints is that for Christians, there are absolutely, 100%, no excuses. And do you know why there are no excuses? There are no excuses because we have already won. We have already crossed the finish line. We are already champions. There are no excuses for why we didn’t make it, because we made it!
In Luke’s gospel this morning Jesus is ministering to the poor, the sick, and the outcasts of society. Jesus preaches to them the sermon on the plain, which is very similar to the sermon on the mount in Matthew chapter five. Jesus tell his audience that it isn’t necessarily good to be rich, because the rich already have their reward. Don’t envy those who are well fed now, because they will soon be hungry. And those who laugh now and have few cares will soon mourn and weep. But blessed are you poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are you who hunger, for you will be satisfied. And blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh. Jesus then says rejoice, and leap for joy, for great is your reward in heaven. We made it! The whole sense of the Greek in these verses is that the kingdom of God is ours, right now. No qualifications. We’re in.
I think that word heaven is what trips us up. When we hear heaven, we think of the next world. We have the idea that if we persevere in this life, then in the next life, in heaven, we will laugh, and be satisfied, and see God. Wrong. This isn’t Iowa. This is heaven. We are in heaven, in God’s presence, right now. All the blessings of the kingdom of God are ours, right now. We made it! If we don’t have to wait until we die to be reunited with God’s saints, then in the same way we don’t have to die to be a saint. We are all the saints of God, and wherever God is with his saints, that is heaven.
I know, so many times this world doesn’t seem like heaven. But on All Saints we celebrate the triumphant last chapter of the story, and what a chapter it is. Paul says in Romans eight that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. In today’s part of the story we see through a glass darkly, but we will see that God is transforming our genetic weaknesses, our family upbringings, our bad choices, and even our seemingly random fate into an incredible story of triumph and victory.
Our lives never turn out as we hoped. But our lives will turn out better than we ever could have imagined. No ifs, ands, or buts; no excuses or legitimate reasons. We did it. We made it to the finish line. That’s what All Saints is all about.
The final lesson I learned from my marathon experiences is that sometimes you give it your all, but you don’t get the medal. After I stopped running my first marathon Andrea picked me up, and we went to the finish line to congratulate Charlie. As I crawled out of the car I saw two young women marathoners walking by, and they had these beautiful medals around their necks, signifying that they completed the race. My heart sank. I knew I had done the right thing stopping when I did, but I would not be receiving a medal. I instantly thought of the apostle Paul’s admonition to run the race that you might finish it. I had given everything I had, but there was no medal for me. That was tough.
Again, I think life is often like that. Have you ever been in love with that special someone, and you said all the right things, sent all the right flowers, and wrote all the most beautiful poetry? You did everything you could possibly do, but when you looked in their eyes your heart sank, because you knew you were not the one. You gave it everything you had, but you didn’t get the prize. Or have you ever found the job that was just perfect for you? Your resume was awesome, your qualifications fit the job perfectly, and your interview went great. But your heart sank when they called to tell you they had chosen someone else. You gave it everything you had, but it wasn’t enough.
Or maybe you are a fan of the Colorado Rockies (though Red Sox fans know this experience too). You watch your team play perfect baseball for a month, and your spirits soar because everything seems just right to win the World Series. But then, even though they played their hearts out, it just wasn’t enough, and your heart sinks because they came so close, but they couldn’t capture the big prize. Sometimes in life, as players and as fans, you do everything you know how to do, but you don’t get what you longed for.
Again, the message of All Saints is just the opposite. The message of All Saints is that it is okay for our hearts to soar, because we already have a medal around our necks, and our joy has only just begun. In our reading from Ephesians, Paul says that “having believed, we were marked in Him with a seal, the promised Holy Spirit, who is a deposit guaranteeing our inheritance, until the redemption of those who are God’s possession--to the praise of His glory.” The Holy Spirit, who lives in our hearts, is also the champion’s medal around our necks.
Picture it like this. You run a marathon, and as you cross the finish line, a beautiful medal is placed around your neck. That medal is the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit, who we received at baptism, is the victory seal, the triumph symbol, written on our hearts, proclaiming that we are champions and God’s own forever. We did it! No sinking hearts because we tried with all our might and failed. Just victory and joy.
Then, you look down at that medal with great pride, and you tell the person who placed it around your neck that the medal is awesome. They say to you, “you think that medal is awesome, just wait till you see the post race banquet.” That is also what the Holy Spirit is. The medal around our necks, the Spirit, is our ticket into the post race banquet. If we have the medal, we are guaranteed of getting into the banquet. The banquet is our inheritance, eternal life with God, forever. A life of joy at God’s table that we can’t even begin to imagine. So, our life today is life is like a victory lap. We finished the race, we received the medal of the Holy Spirit, and now we are taking a victory lap around the track as we head to a banquet that will feed us for eternity. It doesn’t get any better than that. Every team winning the World Series forever. That is what All Saints is all about.
And don’t forget, the banquet doesn’t start when we die. We join with the saints at the heavenly banquet table every time we celebrate the Eucharist. Several of you have told me about impressions or visions of coming to the communion rail, and sensing that the rail extends off into heaven, with all the saints kneeling beside us. That is exactly what happens at every communion. Every Eucharist is heaven on earth.
So, there is only one question left this morning. Will I try another marathon? To be honest, I don’t feel a great need to try again. My two marathons were wonderful experiences, I got a good sermon illustration out of them, and I’m not sure I’m up for the hard work of training again. Plus, less than 1% of people ever even try a marathon, so though I don’t have a medal, my effort itself is it’s own reward. I had a lot of fun. Therefore, this morning I want to announce to my family, my friends, and my church, that my marathoning days are officially ooooo, let me try that again........my marathoning days are officially ooooooo, one more time, my marathoning days are officially oooooo, only just begun. Yes, I am going to try it one more time.
Why you ask? I’ll tell you. I have no idea. But here is what I want you do to. On May 21, 2008, as many of you as are able, please meet me at Colfax and Sheridan at about ten o’clock a.m. Come prepared to jog, walk, or crawl the final six miles with me, and bring food, water, medical supplies, umbrellas, and a wagon. Yes, a wagon. One way or another I’m getting in this time, and if I have to be pulled in, so be it. The point is, I’m not sure I can do it on my own. I need your help and support. And I’m going to get that medal. Isn’t that what All Saints is all about?
It is so appropriate that this morning, on All Saints, we are celebrating three baptisms, so please join me in prayer.
Dear Lord, thank you so much for Rebecca Sadie Lee, Magdalena Grace Lee, and Mason Harper Smith, three saints who are born into your kingdom today. As they begin the marathon of life, help them know that they will always be surrounded both by your presence, and by all the saints of God. Strengthen them when they are tired, keep them going when there are plenty of good reasons to stop, and always remind them that the Holy Spirit in their hearts is the champion’s trophy that guarantees their life with you for ever and ever. We pledge as your followers and saints to run with them every step of the way, and to greet them at the finish line, where we will all continue to worship you forever and ever at the glorious feast you have prepared for all your saints. In Jesus’ precious name, Amen.
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