“Writing is like driving at night in the
fog. You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole
trip that way.” ― E.L. Doctorow, Writers
At Work: The Paris Review Interviews
I really like the above quote from Mr.
Doctorow. Personally, I enjoy driving, and once upon a time, I used to take
lots of long road trips. Just before my second year in seminary, I drove all
the way from Lake Tahoe, California to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania in about
three-and-a-half days. This required a great deal of night driving and it was
often a chore to keep awake and alert. The Nevada desert is a pretty dark place
at two in the morning, and you can only see as far as your headlights. When
you’re cruising at 70 miles per hour, you’d best be paying attention just in
case a cow decides to wander into the middle of the road. This happened to me,
and I can still remember the animal’s dumb, perplexed look as I screamed to a smoking
halt about two yards from its front hoof.
I was just lucky that I had that close call
over twenty years ago—back in the days before cell phones and texting and
portable GPS. Had I been distracted on that dark, desert highway…well…I tremble
to consider the ghastliness of an untimely meeting of a ton of raw beef and a
’92 Chevy Corsica.
I think this is what Jesus is trying to tell us
in the lesson for Pentecost Twelve (Luke 12:32-40). We’re not to be distracted
by the things of this world—especially not by material things or wealth. We
don’t want to keep our eyes on things which don’t really serve us. Wealth,
position, or even fear of the unknown are distractions from the road ahead.
Rather, we are to live in such a way that we are prepared to serve God when the
opportunity comes across our path.
A colleague of mine recently lamented that his
congregation seemed more like a social club and less like a body of living
Christians in mission to the outside world. He related a recent incident in
which a woman passing down the busy Philadelphia street on a Sunday morning
entered the doors of his church. She was upset and nervous and just looking for
a little peace. An usher intercepted her and, upon seeing she was in distress,
told her, “Wait here a minute. I’ll get the pastor.”
This made my friend wonder: Why did the usher
run for the pastor? Couldn’t he—the usher—sit with this woman? Couldn’t he
offer her a glass of cool water? Couldn’t he take a moment to be present with
her, listen to her, or pray with her? Perhaps Christ had come to him in the
person of a stranger, but he was not ready to meet Him. And that is very sad,
and a disturbing commentary on the state of our organized religion.
* * *
I wonder why the compilers of the Revised
Common Lectionary choose the texts from the Hebrew scriptures to marry to the
New Testament texts. What’s the connection on Pentecost 12 Year C between
Jesus’ admonition in Luke and the story of Abram in Genesis 15:1-6? I’m
guessing that both passages deal with trust in God. The Gospel text begins with
Jesus telling us “Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s good
pleasure to give you the kingdom.” (v. 32) This is probably the easiest thing
to say and the hardest to live by. We are always afraid because our intuitive
headlights see only so far into the fog and darkness of the future.
Abram is worried about his wealth.
Specifically, he’s worried about whose going to get all of his loot when he
dies. God has already assured him that he will have a legitimate heir, but Abram’s
been doing everything right by faith for years and God still hasn’t come
through with His part of the bargain.
Abram’s just like the rest of us. He’s
driving through the desert at night, and the road of his future vanishes beyond
the reach of his headlights into incomprehensible darkness. So God makes him
pull over and look up at the stars. It’s as if God is saying, “You don’t know
what’s going to happen, but just look at all the worlds my hands have made
(Hey! That would make a pretty catchy song lyric!). Just look, Abram. Even in the darkness you can
be conscious of my might and power. Just trust me. I haven’t steered you wrong
yet, have I?”
God is calling Abram to unfold himself
from his own limited situation and believe in a larger picture. And face it—none
of us can really see into the future. We are called to put trust in the God who
has already given us everything we need for the Kingdom. The provisions God has
given have nothing to do with large financial endowments, magnificent church
buildings, social media or television networks, or brilliantly conceived church
programs. God has given us the Kingdom by putting love in our hearts along with
a generous helping of trust in the miraculous love of the crucified Jesus
Christ. We have been given the gospel and promised that we will know how to
respond when something unexpected comes across our path.
I guess it just boils down to this: With
faith in the promise of God’s love—and nothing more—we can do what we need to
do. Without it we will have neither courage nor purpose. Without faith we can
do nothing. We may not be able to see where we’re going or know how we’re
getting there, but we can make the whole journey and arrive safely home.
Thanks for reading. I hope this has brightened your week!
You don't seem to get a lot of comments, but we're reading and enjoying your work - at least I am. This post DID brighten my week as many do. Keep 'em comin! - An ol' Lutheran from the left side of the state.
ReplyDelete