Driving in the Dark (Reflections on Pentecost Twelve, Year C)

“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.

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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!