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. 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. 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.
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)
 Steven R. Mosley, Glimpses of God (Sisters, Oregon: Questar Publishers, Inc., 1990), pp. 149-150.
 John 12:20-33.
Mark Moring, "Toby's Two Tons of T's," Campus Life, July/August 1996, pp. 28-29.