Running This Race...

Hebrews 11:29-12:2

It is an odd, random memory which surfaces at least every four years about now and it came to mind again this week as I watched the opening ceremonies of these 31st Olympic Games. Indeed, I find myself remembering the Summer Olympics when I was 15 years old. No, not anything specific about the games that year, only that they were and that they took place in a time when with so few other options, it seemed the whole world tuned in. This is what comes to mind today:

I was not yet driving and so my only mode of transportation was the 10 speed bicycle my folks had given me a few years before. I was riding it on a summer's afternoon on South Main Street and pumping as hard as I could. Perhaps it was my energy which impressed the old man who called out from his vantage point on his front porch, for I cannot imagine I was going all that fast. I can still hear his voice shouting at me, wondering if I would try out the next time the Summer Olympics rolled around.

I can remember rolling my eyes for I was not then nor have I ever been particularly athletic. No, my sister, Martha, inherited those particular genes from our dad. Indeed, I am quite certain the only reason I made the high school volleyball team was because I was willing to work harder than anyone else. In those days, running the stairs in the old gym did not cause the kind of trepidation or downright pain in my left knee that doing so would do now. I shake my head today to marvel at how I took such physical exertion for granted those few short decades ago. In fact, a couple of weeks ago when compelled to run even a short distance at my early morning workout, I found it helped, somehow, to imagine someone chasing me so as not to give up before I reached the "finish line!"

As these memories come flooding back, I realize that this is so: such recollections of who I used to be or expectations about who I should be now sometimes keep me from entering the 'race' altogether. This is so both as I try to better tend my physical body as I am by now deep into middle age and in other areas of my life and faith as well. I don't know about you but at first as I consider this 'race of faith' we are called to in Hebrews today and when I think about the examples of heroes the writer offers now, I am tempted to give up before I even begin. Indeed, how could my gifts, my participation in this race, compare to that of Gideon or Barak or Samson or the rest?

And yet, perhaps it is so that while the image before us now is a vivid one --- both of runner and those cheering her on --- we have to remember that the only "winning" that it seems to be pointing to is the act of actually 'finishing" this race, whatever that may mean. At least this is so if we actually pay attention to the remarkable role models offered by the writer of Hebrews today. Indeed, one would be hard pressed to say that any of those named were exactly "winners" in the classic sense all the time:

Gideon, for instance, was an altogether reluctant warrior. He was not confident in his own ability and he asked for proof that it was even the Lord talking to him at all. (Judges 6-8)

Barak refused to go to battle without Deborah at his side, and while to my mind there is nothing wrong with that, still that must have been unusual in that time. More than that, for all of his willingness to put his life on the line, he was told up front that in the end the honor would go to another --- and in this case another woman. (Judges 4)

Samson, for all of his superhuman strength, does not come off as all that bright and as his story comes to a close, he dies making his point. (Judges 16)

Jephthah, though described as a mighty warrior, essentially traded the life of his only child, his daughter, for a military victory. (Judges 11)

David was, of course, the 'ideal king' for the nation of Israel, but for all of his remarkable gifts, he committed adultery and arranged for the death of Bathsheba's husband. (2 Samuel 11:1-12:25)

Samuel, for all of his faithfulness, failed to convince the people that being ruled by a king would surely be their downfall. (1 Samuel 8:10-22)

And as for Rahab who is mentioned even before this litany of other "heroes of the faith?" For all the good she did, she was still remembered as a prostitute.

All of these whose stories of 'running this race of faith' are passed along to us are far less than perfect. In fact, some of them stumble and fall in rather remarkable ways. Perhaps it is so that these are named so that all of us --- regardless of our strengths, our weaknesses, our successes, our failures, our moral stature or our moral weakness --- all of us are called by God to simply get in 'the race' and trust that God will take care of what it means to 'win.' And maybe by simply being 'in the race' we are among those who are 'persevering.'.

Indeed, in a world as full of challenges as the one you and I inhabit, it might be tempting to simply turn in our 'running shoes' and head for home. This would seem to be especially so if we thought it was up to us to vanquish all that which causes the suffering and pain in this world which God's people are called to address.  But no. Along with Rahab and Gideon, Barak and Samson, Jephthah, and David and Samuel and all the rest? You and I are simply called to 'run.' And to keep our eyes on Jesus as we do so, trusting that Jesus will take care of the rest.

• What gets in the way of your 'entering the race' in all of its fullness? What doubts or fears plague you?  Does it make a difference to you to remember that the 'litany of heroes' offered here also had doubts and fears and failings in addition to their remarkable gifts?
• When were you last tempted to 'turn in your running shoes' and go home? What kept you 'running?' What keeps you 'running?'
• In this late summer days when at least some of our attention is focused on the Summer Olympics, are there stories which capture your imagination which might help illustrate what it is to 'run the race?' As for me, I am especially taken by the story of the Olympic Refugee Team. If you haven't heard their story yet, you can find it here. Any one of their individual stories could offer a shining example of perseverance in life and in the sport which has called their name.

Not Peace But Division

Luke 12:49-56

The words of Jesus are hard to hear today....and yet I have learned that what he points to, while painful, often simply is.

And so it is that the story I share now still lies close to my heart --- never mind that the memory is nearly 40 years old, it still pains me to remember.

It was Christmas Eve when I was in the 8th grade.  My grandmother had died the week before and immediate family had gathered at the funeral home that afternoon.

Immediate family included only my parents, my three sisters and my grandfather.

My dad's folks had moved to the Midwest the year before when Grandma's Alzheimer's Disease meant they needed the support of family in the day to day.  My folks bought the house next door to us for them and a wonderful group of friends from our congregation showed up and cleaned and painted and readied it for their arrival.  I remember that as an especially happy time --- a time when I witnessed the church at its best.

Only my grandparents had never been involved with a church.  It was never talked about though.  To this day I have no idea what their thoughts were on the matter of faith, but their absence from all involvement spoke for itself I suppose. 

Indeed, when Grandma Hunt died, this was especially evident, for this is what I remember from that day.  The church was not there: not its people, not its pastor.  This would not have been my parents' choice, I know, but they were following her wishes and that of our grandfather.  My dad, her oldest son, was the one who stood at the head of her casket and spoke words which I have long since forgotten.  I only remember his voice breaking as he spoke.  I can't imagine how difficult that must have been for him. 

When we left the funeral home that afternoon it was raining. I remember waiting for my grandpa to pick me up at the door for I was riding home with him and how sad I was and stamping on my memory that detail so I would not forget. When I got home, while the house was more quiet than it normally would have been, there was still the special day that was upon us.  Looking back now I would guess my folks must have just been going through the motions of last minute preparations for our Christmas celebration then.  I remember pausing in the kitchen where the grief was heavy and asking if perhaps we ought to ask Grandpa Hunt to go to church with us that night.  No one looked at me.  Finally my dad shook his head and said he didn't think that would be a good idea.  I never brought it up again.

Years later when Grandpa died we gathered around his grave in Boston.  By then I was in my first year of seminary and my dad and I shared the speaking then. 

For years I pondered and worried and wondered over this.  Some time ago though I finally let it go, entrusting them both into God's tender care --- whether it was a love they ever acknowledged or not. 

So I know a little of what Jesus speaks today.  I know it is so that family can be divided by matters of faith and its expression.  I know something of the heartbreak it carries --- spoken or not.  And I know that it just is.  That though the life of Jesus and all that it was is meant to unite it doesn't always.   Sometimes it does precisely what Jesus says it will do today.

It is a wonder to me, really, that my dad, his brother, and his sister, all were people of faith --- all deeply involved in congregations, and they raised their children to be and do the same.  I choose to focus there --- knowing that no matter what has been, hope can still emerge.  And while my dad was always a good son, he did not let that loyalty dictate his life choices.  Some things, I expect he discovered, matter even more than that.  Still, this must have been hard for him ---- harder than I ever thought to ask about.  Even so, you never would have known.  The belonging, the joy, the hope he found among God's people were always a wonder to him.  Perhaps especially because he came to it as an adult.

And yet it is so that I am still shaped by those people, those events from so long ago especially in this way.  You've heard me say this before.  I'll do a funeral for anyone.  If I can, I will stand with those who grieve so that no family will have to be as alone as we were that Christmas Eve.  And I am not surprised to hear that others share the same experience with those they love.  I understand the real grief they live with, for I share it, too.

So I hear the hard words that Jesus offers now as simply describing what can be so.  Following him is so much more than choosing to worship on Sunday morning --- or Christmas Eve --- although that may be the first place the difference becomes evident.  Even more than that, this journey we are called to impacts our life choices, our values, our priorities.  One who even seeks to listen for the Holy Spirit's leading may find oneself at odds with even those most dear.  It is not, I know, that the division is necessarily permanent, although my example above makes it appear to be so.  Still, this is faith that matters, and as such, it is likely to make us look different than we would had it not claimed us in some real way.

Is there grace and gift in the fire and division that Jesus brings?  I imagine there is, although in this life, perhaps, I will always grieve those most dear to me with whom I could not share this most  important, this most defining of things.  Maybe I will always wish this were not so, and yet Jesus offers the simple truth today that when we stand for that which matters most, not everyone will stand with us.  Knowing this, while I acknowledge that I cannot fully know the mind, the heart of God, still I trust that God somehow holds us all.

• What do you  make of Jesus' words today?  Do you struggle with this as I do?  Are  you able to find grace in what he has to say?
• Where have you witnessed the truth that sometimes faith divides?  Have you also witnessed reunion once more?
• Is there some measure of 'comfort' in the fact that we who have experienced such division are not alone?  If nothing else, do Jesus' words remind us that what we are called to be and do matters and as such we may find ourselves at a different place than others?