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Leading the WayOctober 29, 2006 Twenty-first Sunday after Pentecost About eighteen months ago, I finished the terms of my car lease and needed to choose a replacement. Being the sort of man that likes gadgets and practical technology, I knew one thing for certain about the replacement car: it would have a navigation system. And so, for these last months, on the occasion I need my own transportation, I often type in the destination and let it work its magic, even if I know how to get there. I realize that, in the breakneck speed of technological innovation, it’s sort of old hat by now, but I’m still impressed by the fact that something, somewhere, knows exactly where I am and, through the translators in my trunk, can literally tell me so. Many of you know all about this. On the other hand, lots of New Yorkers don’t drive, and so may not know about its features. For instance, I can have it speak to me in a male or female voice. I switch them every so often – sort of a test to see whether I respond better to a man or a woman giving me directions. I’ll let you guess how that works out and whether Ozzie or Harriet has more air time. I like the map features – the zooming in and out, and the fact that it can figure out multiple ways of getting somewhere. If I choose to go in a direction that’s contrary to its original plan, it quickly reconfigures and plots a new course. It’s very adaptive and doesn’t talk back. It’s very, very smart, really, at least as far as geography goes and its knowledge of the nation’s intricate systems of highways and byways. But, it does have limits. On a summer excursion to a wedding in a distant state, I plugged in the address and was told that this location existed in the middle of an area called “unknown territory,” and if I followed the stipulated directions, that’s where I would be led, into unknown territory. I made a mental note of that at the time, stuck it in a back corner of my brain, thinking it would make its way into a sermon at some point. It seemed such an obvious and useful metaphor for life at any given moment. I noticed that the system still placed the red target dot for my destination in the middle of the screen; it just couldn’t really tell me how to get there after a certain point. I decided to take Harriet’s advice (in this case) to the limit of her ability without consulting another authority, such as a gas station attendant or paper map. Melissa was with me, and together we sort of noodled it along with Harriet. Without more than one or two short u-turns we found our way without too much trouble. Harriet took us into unknown territory. As I said, it occurred to me at the time that I had wandered into unknown territory with some regularity over the course of my life. In fact, as I thought about it, it seemed that was as common a circumstance as I could name. I did it stumbling off to college, I did it the first summer working the Texas oil fields, heading into divinity school, deciding to get married, having children, moving to New York City, and attempting to help bring life to a congregation very much on the lower end of a steep decline. Sometimes it’s tempting, through the clarifying vision of hindsight, to claim more credit than I deserve for positive outcomes and less credit than I deserve for less positive. Truth is, more often than not, all the wisdom I have about the future is the equivalent of a red target dot in the middle of an area called “unknown territory.” But now, that isn’t to say I did this without any fore-knowledge whatsoever, or that it was simply the spin of a roulette wheel. On the contrary, I would say that, somewhere along the line, I became aware of the voice of a reliable guide who pointed me in the directions I might go. It’s just that, as I listened, I realized that I was often traveling into an area that wasn’t clearly marked, at least for me. Either my translator in the trunk was inadequate, or the roads I needed to travel were under construction. I don’t want to press the metaphor to the point of breaking, but as I worked the Christian thing, early on I learned that from one vantage point, the whole of the gospel story could be described as a journey into unknown territory. As it is, as the story is told, we have Jesus always on the road to somewhere. That’s the overarching structure – events and teachings that happen here and there along his path to the next town or village, ultimately taking him to Jerusalem, the location of his red target dot on his destination planner. There’s clear indication he always knew that’s where he would end up. Still, you might recall as he sweated in the Garden of Gethsemane on the night of his arrest, it was apparent he was traveling into unknown territory, even for himself. He had a reliable guide, but the road was very much under construction. In fact, Jesus himself was doing the constructing. That’s what occurs to me now that I’m thinking about it. Today’s passage from Mark begins this way: “They came to Jericho.” Jesus and the disciples are traveling along, they’re on the road and they arrived at the town of Jericho. But the very next sentence says: “As he and his disciples and a large crowd were leaving Jericho….” In other words, he was just passing through. He was on the road to somewhere else and in the meantime was passing through Jericho and there he was confronted by a blind beggar. Along the road, on his way to his red dot destination something interrupts his traveling. Now, all biblical interpreters at this point will say that physical blindness as it’s portrayed in the gospels is nearly always a metaphor for spiritual blindness. And this episode is no exception. This little vignette follows three different stories about the disciples’ inability to understand who Jesus is and what he’s about. They’re caught bickering about who was the greatest among them and who would get the best goodies when Jesus finally came into his full power and authority. You’ll recall that I’ve preached about these matters for a couple of Sundays. Mark places today’s story as a punctuation mark on the disciples’ ineptness, for although Bartimaeus is physically blind, he has a spiritual sight that reveals to him Jesus’ true nature. So much so, he interrupts Jesus’ progress along the road by making a loud commotion to attract attention. Jesus says to him, “What do you want me to do for you? Bartimaeus responds, “’My teacher, let me see…’ Jesus said to him, ‘Go, your faith has made you well.’ Immediately he regained his sight.” One clear lesson here is this: a righteous prayer for all of us repeats Bartimaeus’ request, “Teacher, let me see.” Of course we could ask, see what? The answer: well, see the truth; see you, Jesus, for who you are; see my life for what it is; see my sisters and brothers for who they are; and even, perhaps, see my destination linked to yours. This last insight is implied by the very last phrase in our little story, when after regaining his sight we’re told Bartimaeus followed Jesus “on the way.” In other words, in gaining his sight, Bartimaeus joined the traveling party. I believe this points to one purpose of this place; Christ Church is a way station of sorts. A place to stop and check just exactly where it is we think we’re headed. If we’re brave enough or wise enough, we may pray to the inspiration for the picture up there saying, “Let me see the way”. And in glimpsing the way, then joining the way he travels. The earliest Christians were known as followers of “the way.” Less concerned with dogmatic statements of belief, they were followers of the way Jesus pioneered. He became their reliable guide. Of course, even so, they would have their own roads to forge as well. As it is for us: I recently received word about a friend who was diagnosed with a very virulent form of cancer, one that he was initially told would only give him several more months to live. I wanted to see him. Yet, using the metaphor of the morning, I sensed that my going to him would take me into unknown territory. Upon visiting, I learned that just a day or two prior he was told the cancer might be less virulent than was originally thought, but still requiring radical surgery and a prolonged and difficult recovery. He would be traveling into unknown territory for sure. He told me he had wondered to himself at the time of the original diagnosis if his theology would prove adequate to what lay before him. I sensed that it would. But I brought his question home with me. It’s a good one to ask; important: Is your theology adequate to what lays before you? I think my friend really meant, had he actually internalized it? Was it his own? Had he followed the right path? Would it take him the distance? Had he plotted the right destination point on his map? And, had he been paying attention to the most reliable guide? This question is not very distant from the prayer, “Teacher, let me see the way,” followed quickly by this: “Let me follow the way I see you leading.” Previous sermon: Leadership • Next sermon: The Gift of the Saints All past sermons |
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