One summer night a young man in Scotland decided to take a
shortcut across the moors on his way to the town where he had a job. That night
he knew he would be passing near one of the area’s many limestone quarries, but
he thought he could avoid it. So, he set out through the rock and heather on
that inky black, starless night. Suddenly he heard a voice call out with great
urgency, "Peter!"
A bit unnerved, he stopped and called back into the dark,
"Yes, who is it? What do you want?" No response. Just a bit of wind
over the deserted moorland.
The lad concluded he'd been mistaken and walked on a few
more steps. He heard the voice again, more urgent than before:
"Peter!" He stopped in his tracks, bent forward to peer through the
dense black, and stumbled to his knees. Reaching out a hand to the ground
before him, he clutched thin air. The quarry! Sure enough, as Peter carefully
felt around in a semicircle he discovered that he had stopped at the edge of
the abandoned limestone quarry, one step before a fatal plunge into the deep.
Out there in the desolate moor someone knew him and someone cared. Peter
Marshall never forgot that. Dedicating his life to the One who'd called him by
name, he became one of America's greatest twentieth century ministers.[1]
Peter Marshall's vibrant, real, and utterly compelling faith was no dusty relic
inherited from his parents. Peter Marshall knew God.
Today’s gospel reading seems
particularly appropriate for St. Clement’s.
[2] Bethsaida,
like Honolulu, was a multi-cultural, cosmopolitan city. Many of us are well
educated. Many of us usually think logically, seek facts, and assess those
facts to arrive at our conclusion. This approach to life was widely associated
with first century Greeks. John’s gospel was written primarily for a Greek audience.
Thus, no great interpretative leap is required to imagine that the two men who
approached Philip had a logical, nascent scientific, worldview. We in Hawai’i value
story and networking. Stories of Jesus similarly motivated the two men to meet
Jesus; somehow, they knew Philip, who went to Andrew, who in turn went to
Jesus. I hope that you gather here on Sunday mornings emulating those two
unnamed Greeks, having heard God is this place and wanting to experience God or
to know God better. We, like the two Greek men, want to see Jesus.
The gospel enigmatically fails to
report if they actually met Jesus. Instead, the gospel’s author has Jesus speak
of his own impending death and then instruct his disciples that they must (1)
lose their life, that is, die to self, and (2) serve him by loving others. Each
of those is in fact a path that brings us to God.
Psychologists and biologists agree
that dying to self is literally impossible. No way exists for a person to
completely lose his or her whole self or ego without becoming mentally ill. Carefully
studying monasticism’s long history reveals the frustration of those who have
devoted years to slaying their own ego. However, we, like many monastics, can
diminish the ego and thereby make room for others and for God. Making space for
God sets the stage for being able to hear God’s voice leading us away from
trouble, as Peter Marshall experienced. That type of dramatic moment is rare;
more often, we experience God as a small, still voice that speaks from deep within
us. Alternatively, we may discern God’s loving presence, and perhaps a word,
from God in a breathtaking natural vista, the mysterious grace of a shared
meal, or an undeserved but much needed hug.
How can we die to self without becoming a
monastic? Prioritize spending time – even five or ten minutes – daily in meditation,
prayer, meditative reading, prayerful walking, or expressing your hopes and
fears in art, whether words, painting, music, dance, or another art form. In
other words, adopt a discipline, a daily habit, that opens space and time in
your life for you to develop a thin place in which to cultivate an ability to
discern God’s presence.
Several years ago, an 18-year-old
Toby Long traveled to Africa for two and a half weeks with World Vision, a
Christian organization committed to alleviating hunger and suffering around the
world. One day, Toby was helping to distribute food and supplies to people when
a boy came up and tapped Toby on the shoulder. The boy looked at his worn-out
shirt, then looked at Toby's sturdy clothes and asked if he could have Toby's
shirt. Toby didn't know what to do. He knew that he would be working all day in
the hot sun and not return to camp until night. Speechless, Toby backed away
from the boy. As the group left the distribution center, Toby realized what he
had just done. That evening he went to his room and cried.
After Toby's stint with World
Vision, he returned home to Michigan. But he could not forget the boy to whom
he had refused to give his shirt. So, he organized a T-shirt drive in his
community called "Give the Shirt Off Your Back." The media trumpeted
the story, and soon Toby's Campaign received over 10,000 T-shirts. A group
called SOS (Supporters of Sub-Saharan Africa) agreed to transport the T-shirts
for free on their next trip to Africa. Toby doubts that the boy he met will get
one of the 10,000 shirts he sent, but he prays about it.
[3]
Toby Long, new creation in
Christ, is learning to hate his own life and to walk obediently in Jesus'
footsteps. One step was his mission trip to Africa. But that step exposed
another aspect of Toby’s self-centeredness to the light of God’s love. His
tears reflect a dying to self even as his T-shirt campaign reveals the birth of
new life. Further steps await him. But each step, painful though it may be,
will bring him closer to Christ as the seed of self dies, giving birth to new
life. What small steps to love others is God calling you to take?
May our prayer this Lent, and
always, be: We would see Jesus.
(Sermon preached
on the Fifth Sunday in Lent, March 18, 2018, at the Parish of St. Clement, Honolulu,
HI)
[1] Steven
R. Mosley, Glimpses of God (Sisters, Oregon: Questar Publishers, Inc.,
1990), pp. 149-150.
[3]Mark
Moring, "Toby's Two Tons of T's," Campus Life, July/August
1996, pp. 28-29.