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Sunday, February 24, 2002
When we were younger, Delight regularly used to invite a pair of Jehovah's Witnesses into our house to have religious discussions. I think she invited them in partly to be neighborly and partly to have some kind of adult discussion at a time when most of her discussions during the day where with our pre-school-aged children. So most of the time, she talked with them while I was off at work. In the few times I was around when these discussions were held, it seemed to me that Delight's Jehovah's Witness friends were talking about a whole different world than anything I knew whenever they talked about the Bible. To them, the Bible demonstrated a world of suspicion and fear, a world of conformity and harsh judgment. It just didn't sound like anything I'd ever read. And when I tried to gently express my disagreement with what they were saying, I felt that same judgment coming back against me. I didn't agree with them, so obviously I couldn't be among the 144,000 faithful people their church told them would go to heaven. And, in fact, the implication was that I was destined to be turned into prime kindling for the fires of judgment at the end of time. All this lack of grace was offered in the name of the God who "so loved the world that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life." It's easy for us humans to condemn one another's theologies when we have instead been called to leave such judgments up to God. Surely, God is big enough to allow many avenues of approach and some of our theological disagreements may ultimately be no more significant than cultural differences. Yet the fact is that at one time or another, most of us have met up with someone whose expression of faith was so different than ours than it made us feel uncomfortable. In his book, Whistling in the Dark, Presbyterian author Frederick Buechner writes of his wry reaction to one such group, those who call themselves Born Again Christians. He writes:
Or, as Jesus puts it to Nicodemus: "The wind blows where it wills, and you hear the sound of it, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes; so it is with every one who is born of the Spirit." That was definitely the case with Nicodemus, who had apparently come to Jesus to test Jesus' theology, but instead Jesus unexpectedly led Nicodemus into a world of rapidly-expanding metaphor, a world that Nicodemus was so reluctant to enter that he simply disappears from the story after verse nine, while Jesus continues on in what seems to be a theological monologue. In our Old Testament lesson, Abraham was also confronted with a God of surprises, a God who called him to leave behind everything he had ever known and journey to a land where he would always remain a stranger, but which would become the homeland of his descendants, the heirs of a child he and Sarah had yet to conceive. God's surprises continue even in our own day. I remember when I first started thinking about seminary. I was in yet another dead-end job and was filled with frustration. Then I realized that the majority of the most fulfilling moments in my life were ones I had spent doing church work - teaching Sunday school, serving as an elder or committee member, and so on. And I slowly began to realize that maybe I should consider doing what people had been telling me to do for many years - that is, become a minister like my father. So Delight and I called the University of Dubuque Seminary and arranged for me to take a tour of the campus on a day off from work. I clearly remember sitting through a theology class, wondering what they were talking about and, more significantly, wondering if I could ever get to the point where that kind of discussion would ever make sense or even seem relevant to me. As I drove home from Dubuque that day I was feeling confused. I clearly felt God's call, but nothing about that trip seemed quite right. Then as I was, to borrow a phrase, pondering these things in my heart, I heard a voice that said quite distinctly, "This is not the right time." Now, I had never had an experience like before and have never had one since, so I wasn't quite sure what was going on. It sounded for all the world as if someone in the car had been talking to me, only there was no one in that car except me. After I looked around and made sure that that really was the case, I heard the voice again. Once more, it said simply, "This is not the right time." That was the whole message. I knew exactly what it meant, but I don't know what surprised me more that day - the fact that I heard something or the fact that the message I received was not the one that I had expected. I had thought that I had finally figured it all out - I would go to seminary and do something significant with my life. This plan even seemed to fit with what others were telling me about my gifts. But all of a sudden, I was being told that that wasn't right. At least for the time being. But it turned out that by being open to God's surprises, I would be led on an unexpected journey that prepared me for seminary far better than I would have been if I had registered at U.D. that day. Apparently Robert Reed had a similar experience to mine. His story was posted on the internet by Rev. Lee Griess, who wrote:
T. S. Eliot once wrote, "I don't believe one grows older...at a certain age one stands still and stagnates." But that's simply not true of those who are open to God's surprises. From the moment of their baptism - like the baptism of Alexa we witnessed today - until they draw their final breath, they are filled with God's passion and God's Spirit, which frees them from the mundane world and fills them with joy. That joy is freely available to all - it is God's gift to us for which we have to do nothing at all except open our hearts and accept it. Or, of course, we could act like those legendary contest winners who throw away their winning numbers so Ed McMahon never has the chance to bring them $10,000,000. That choice is yours. What will do with the riches of God's joy? Amen. by Rev. Jim McCrea
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