Chris Taylor’s Sermon – 11/18/07
The Hard Way
Isaiah 65:17-21
Luke 21:9-19
Have you ever thought about what life would be like without its challenges? At first glimpse that might not look so bad; sitting back and taking it easy. You might think you could get kind of used to that, especially if your days tend to be so packed you can barely find time to squeeze in a meal.
But think about it. Think what it would be like if there was nothing in this life that would engage us stretch us and call out our very best. The truth is that there is something in us that wants a challenge and that needs it. For example, who would want to fish in a pond jam-packed with hungry fish? A child might love it, but we would probably get pretty tired of it after the first few fish.
Part of the satisfaction of fishing is the challenge of it: picking the right spot on the river; studying its surface for insects; choosing just the right fly and then casting it so that it gently lands in the perfect area; watching it as it floats down past those depths where you know the fish are lurking; then seeing one come up and setting the hook with just the right flex of wrist and arm. There is art to being a great fisherman; an art that can take a lifetime to fully develop. It is the art, the challenge, that can make it so captivating.
It is the same principle for those who love to play bridge, or to do crossword puzzles, or to spend a morning out on the tennis court: there is just something in us that loves a challenge. There is something about the obstacles we face that speak to us of life.
Some forty years ago, a physicist named Robert Slocum moved to Seattle, Washington, where he had agreed to work with Boeing on space instrumentation for a year. He found himself side by side with a bunch of what he called “recreational fanatics;” people who loved to sail and ski and mountain climb. It wasn’t long before he, himself, was hooked.
If you have ever been to Seattle you know just how magnificent Mount Rainier appears there on a clear day. You can’t miss it. It is absolutely spectacular. From his very first climb – up a mountain called Granite Peak from which he could see Rainier in the distance – Slocum knew he wanted to climb Rainier before he went back to Texas. He made up his mind and began to take the required classes. When he announced his plans to all his outdoor buddies back at Boeing, however, he found out to his great surprise that a lot of them had never actually climbed Rainier. He writes:
They had taken climbing classes, enjoyed the songs and the beer and the fellowship of the local climbing club. But they had never intended to set foot on this mountain for a personal encounter, because this climb took too much work and effort.
Then he makes the connection to what he had observed within the community of faith:
I can look back and see that many lay men and women I have known in churches seemingly stop short of a personal encounter with God. They show up regularly for the meetings, know all the songs, enjoy the fellowship, but they never actually “make the climb.” Some of these people are the ones who have encouraged me on my own adventure of faith. But they have never abandoned their secure lives for an unreserved encounter with God.
This is the great challenge of the faith, the great invitation: to actually make the climb! Of course as with any real challenge there are all kinds of things that can hold us back. But can you think of anything truly worthwhile in this life that doesn’t come without a cost?
Great marriages for example don’t just happen. There is effort, there is sacrifice, there is the day in day out commitment to make it work. Great musicians aren’t just born. There is the enormous effort required to hone even the greatest of talents.
The best things in life are like that. They don’t come without a cost. There is almost always a challenge to overcome. This faith of ours isn’t any different.
Jesus was always clear about the challenge involved in following him. He spoke of having to take up our cross. He talked about having to deny ourselves. He said that if we are going to follow him we have to be willing to lose our lives for his sake. And that’s the substance of our text, this morning. Here he is saying that before he comes again, before that day when all history reaches its climax and all creation is redeemed, there are going to be wars and insurrections. Nation will rise against nation. There will be earthquakes and famines and plagues. And even before all that, he says, his followers are going to be hated, persecuted, betrayed, and even put to death.
You might be wondering, who in their right mind would choose a life like that?
The answer lies right in front of us almost every day we pick up a newspaper. It is there in the stories of those who have died in Iraq and Afghanistan. It is in the accounts of their sacrifice. It is in the evidence of their commitment.
Several weeks ago the Wall Street Journal carried an editorial about the most recent recipient of the Medal of Honor, our nation’s highest military honor. It was given, posthumously, to the family of Lt. Michael Murphy – a Navy Seal whose four-member team was ambushed in the mountains of Afghanistan. Already wounded, he had exposed himself to enemy fire in order to transmit a call for help. He was wounded again, this time shot in the back, but he went on to complete the call before returning to cover and continuing the battle.
Murphy’s parents had nicknamed him “The Protector” because of what they called his strong moral compass. When he was sent to Afghanistan, he sewed a patch of the New York City Fire Department onto his uniform – a reminder of the terrorist attack on our nation and on the city that he loved.
Murphy’s sacrifice, and the sacrifice of so many others who have served this nation, speaks to us of that which is best and most noble. They remind us that there are things in this life worth dying for. Things worth living for.
How long is the list? Not long at all. It is so easy to get caught up in those things that consume our energy and attention, to begin to think that they’re what are most important; our jobs, our status, perhaps even our possessions. But we wouldn’t die for them. Not if we had a choice. We might love our pets, but give our lives up for them? I don’t think so.
What would we die for? It might be the shortest list around. We would die for our children. We would die, perhaps, for other members of our family. Some of us, like Lieutenant Murphy, might be willing to die for our country, or for our comrades or even for another human being. Fire fighters routinely risk their lives for people they don’t even know.
Why take on the challenge? Why risk everything for the sake of the Gospel? Because there are certain things in this life that are worth it. That’s what Murphy and his fellow Seals embodied, fighting side by side against hopeless odds. They fought for their country, for their lives, and (most of all, I think) for each other. It is what Christians have discovered amid persecution and even martyrdom. The Gospel is worth it. They found and they believed that there is nothing in all the world so wonderful, so powerful, so meaning-filled as a relationship with Jesus Christ.
The day finally came when Slocum had his chance to climb Rainier. At dawn of the first day, they covered the vertical mile between Paradise Lodge and Camp Muir which was located at about 10,000 feet. They had a few hours rest and then shortly after midnight continued their ascent. The pitch, at times, was so steep that steps had to be kicked into the ice. He continues:
In the clear air I could see from Canada to California. But the climb was hard, painful work. Thirst on a mountain of ice, bursting lungs and aching legs, the searing sun, and the smell of wet leather and hemp… I wanted to stop and, at times, to turn back. I discovered that sometimes the most difficult job in the world is putting one foot in front of the other, minute by minute, hour by hour.
My personal encounter with God paralleled my first encounter with the mountain. With all my research and careful study, I still underestimated the incredible experience of encountering the living Christ; I simply could not appreciate in advance the breathtaking view from the mountaintop. But I also underestimated the grinding disciple needed to put one foot in front of the other, to walk with Jesus Christ one day at a time.
There it is in a nutshell: both the challenge and the goal – the challenge on the one hand of making this climb day after day with Jesus; the goal of the other, this breathtaking view that comes to us in an encounter with the living Christ. Like anything else that is truly worthwhile, it doesn’t come easily. But oh, what a view we find when we finally make it to that mountain top!
Robert Slocum, Ordinary Christians in a High-Tech World, (Word, Waco, 1986), pp. 16-18