The father was anxious to be on his way, but he saw the desire in his son’s eyes and agreed to stay there for a short while. The son was delighted. Together they searched the bushes for the biggest, plumpest, juiciest berries.
Then the father knew it was time to move on. He simply couldn’t delay any longer. “Son,” he said, “we must continue our journey.”
But the boy begged and pleaded, till there seemed no reasoning with him. What could the father do?
He told his son, “You may stay and pick berries a while longer, but I will begin slowly to move down the road. Be sure that you are able to find me, though. While you work, call out to me, ‘Father! Father!’ and I will answer you. As long as you hear my voice, you will know where I am. But as soon as you can no longer hear me, know that you are lost, and run with all your strength, calling out my name.”
That might be the story behind each of today’s lectionary readings. And it might be the story of your life right now too. Are we calling out for God? And do we have what it takes to run toward God when we need to?
Isaiah 5:1-7
Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s classic tale, One Hundred Years of Solitude, is the story of a village where the people had become infected with a very strange disease. From the outside everything seemed normal — they remained strong and healthy, they continued to function in the usual ways. To all appearances, there was nothing wrong with them.
But an invisible affliction began inside their minds. Slowly they started to lose their memory. After a while, they couldn’t remember the names of simple, ordinary objects around them. Then they forgot the names of their friends. And soon they had trouble recalling the names of their husbands and their wives and their children.
At first it happened so gradually that nobody paid much attention. After a while, though, it touched everyone’s lives. Their world started falling apart.
One young man saw what was happening. He knew it wouldn’t be long before he lost his memory, too. But in the meantime, he did the only thing he could do — he acted as the memory for the whole village. He started posting little signs all over the place: “This is a table;” “This is a window;” “This is a cow—it has to be milked every morning.”
On the road leading to the village he put up two large signs. The first read: “The name of our village is Macondo.” And the second, “God exists.”
In some ways, the prophets and the songwriters of the Old Testament were like that young man. In a world that was stricken with the disease of forgetfulness, in a world that suffered from collective amnesia, in a world that seemed unable to function anymore because of a kind of Alzheimer’s disease, the prophets and songwriters remembered names. They remembered Jacob and Joseph. They remembered Egypt and Sinai. They remembered something called “the covenant.”
And on the roads where the people walked about in a daze, they posted the signs: “This way to Jerusalem;” “Don’t forget the temple;” “God exists.”
When Isaiah summarized the big message he was called to bring to ancient Israel, he penned it as the parable in our Old Testament reading for today. This teaching tale is a memory song, a signpost song, a picture song describing the most important scenes from Israel’s history. In a few words Isaiah sketches a portrait of the relationship God and Israel shared. That relationship has given identity to both of them, he says.
But now it seems like everyone is losing their memories. Does Israel remember God? Will Israel remember what God has done? And, if not, does Israel know what happens next?
Hebrews 11:29-12:2
The author of Hebrews presents examples of faith that call his readers to action, not merely disposition or assent. They are not in danger of losing connection with God; after all, they remain deeply invested in scripture as divinely authoritative and in the ceremonial expressions that bind Jews with their Lord. These readers are, however, apparently seeming to disconnect from Jesus, and, along with that separation, giving up on practices peculiar to the early Christian community. Hebrews’ urgent call to faithfulness builds on the readers’ faith in God that is not at all in jeopardy, but attempts to attach it more resolutely to Jesus. This, in turn, will have lifestyle consequences, most of which lead to persecution, loss and even death.
So faith, writes the author, is “the assurance of things hoped for” (11:1). This is the same word he used when describing Jesus as the reality of God made evident to us (1:3), and when affirming that we are partners who share fully in what Jesus is and has as divine (3:14). This assurance leads to both confidence in God and a commitment to stick with God’s plan. The examples of faith from scripture and Israel’s past affirm this. They are presented, by the author, in three waves. First are ancient individuals who stayed the course of trusting in God even when challenged by the entire world around them (11:1-7). Second is the wave that includes an extended treatment of Abraham (and briefly, along with him, his family), the father of everything Israelite and Jewish, including faith in God and reliance on God’s promises (11:8-22). Abraham is the father of the Israelite/Jewish community. He lived his life on a journey, seeking a better homeland. All of Israel and the Jews who survive the nation are resident within the life of Abraham, so Abraham’s faith (trust, confidence) is not that of seeking limited, temporal things; it is focused on eternal outcomes that transcend current difficulties or possessions. Thus, the commentary brings the recipients of this letter directly into Abraham’s kinship. So, if these good Jewish folks wish to be the best Jews possible, they must follow their father Abraham in seeking what God truly desires and intends to give. And since Jesus is God, this means seeking whatever Jesus is about and can offer! Therefore, wherever these readers are, they are on a journey, a pilgrimage. Whatever they have or experience is temporary and not essential. They need to travel together to find protection and camaraderie. They need to keep their focus on the glow of the distant horizon, where Jesus is. He is the only one who can guide them through these current crises of life, and then bring them home.
Finally, the third wave of witnesses is dominated by Moses, but carries along with him the Israelites that participated in the wilderness wanderings he managed (Hebrew 11:23-40). There are four ideas in this section:
- The faith of Moses protected him through challenges against both his life and his truest identity (11:23-28).
- The faith of Israel protected the nation in miraculously overcoming the challenges to leave Egypt, endure the wilderness, and enter into the Promised Land (11:29-31).
- The faith of many throughout Israelite history, resulting in heroic deeds and lifestyles, many times without immediate reward but confident of future blessings (11:32-38).
- A note of incompleteness about their journeys and that of the current readers (11:39-40).
Like Abraham, Moses gets a longer treatment than others: his parents saved him in spite of the ruler’s threats; he chose ill treatments rather than safety and luxury, simply because he fully identified with God’s people, and not the Pharaoh’s family.
This third wave of witnesses is brought to a quick finish by the rapid repetition of names from the times of the Judges and early Kings. The quick list is divided into two parts: initially mentioned are those who had faith and received miraculous outcomes; then the list continues, but now pointing to those who had faith and yet were cruelly treated, even to death. All, nevertheless, were “worthy,” precisely because of their faith in a God who promises and fulfills, even if the fulfillment is sometimes delayed, perhaps until after death. This is a direct admonition to the contemporary readers of Hebrews. They, too, are being persecuted. Their faith is tested. Many of them fear capture and torture and even cruel death. Should they not step back from public testimonies about Jesus and spare their skins?
Maybe. But in light of the drama unfolded throughout the history of God’s people, those who truly had faith stuck with it, even when the outcome was uncertain, God’s promises were delayed in their fulfillment, and the world deemed God’s people “unworthy.” Yet people of faith, says the author, stick with God and God’s promises, even though the outcome might be torture and death. What is unworthy in this world, will shine with great worth in the heaven of God!
Notice that the pace picks up as this lengthy survey moves along. At the start (Hebrews 11:1) there is a kind of slow and measured ponderance: consider these things, these people, these events... The length of individual focus keeps shrinking, however, as the focus shifts from the ancients to Abraham to Moses and beyond. At the same time, the pace increases, until the march concludes quick-step, with a whirlwind of faith-filled people, some of whom were “winners,” and some of whom were “losers” (in the eyes of the world). All, however, are heroes of faith, and those who read this treatise can be numbered among them, most significantly because they have received the fulfillment the others were only looking for with longing and hope. Will we, with them, remain steadfast in faith? How will we pick up the torch? Will we honor them or dishonor them with our own religious expressions?
In the world of the author and his readers, the “witnesses” of the past are still living. They surround us. They call us to faithfulness. They encourage us to action.
Interestingly, the running metaphors are both right and wrong. They are correct in calling all who enter the race to lay aside training weights which were used during practice sessions to strengthen legs, calves and ankles. They are wrong, however, because they jump back to talk of “the sin” that entangles us. For a runner, it is clothing that entangles, like long togas or robes, or even sashes that might wrap or trip. Yet the author of Hebrews takes us back to “sin,” which is disbelief and failure to stay close to God!
Moreover, we need to run the race “set before us” like Jesus ran what was “set before him.” There is a sense of necessity in this language, both for Jesus and for us. Jesus certainly believed his course was determined by the Father for a particular outcome. Since Jesus is both the source (“pioneer”/”author”/“originator”) and the outcome (“perfecter”/“finisher”/“culmination”) of our “faith,” we need to see our paths ahead with a similar determined intentionality. This is not fatalism (since the whole treatise speaks regularly about the choices that we make), but rather commitment to the things toward which one is called, and on the road that leads to particular ends of holiness and righteousness.
Most important, in this section, is the brief ending note: the race set before Jesus, while ending in joy, was itself the way of the cross and shame! And since we are to follow his lead, the journey for us will also likely be a path filled with “hostility”! We are to follow Jesus’ lead, even though it calls for “shedding blood,” which we have not yet experienced!
Luke 12:49-56
Those who follow Jesus see the world through different eyes and begin the journey of faith with a cry of repentance. It is then, and then alone, that dawns a ray of hope. The journey begins in that moment, just as Bill W. testified in The Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous. It starts at the bottom.
The Bible is full of calls for repentance, precisely because none of us will take the journey to God on our own. It is not until we come to our senses, down in the hog wallows of our lives, that we begin to cry in agony for the grace of deliverance.
When repentance comes, it can be a devastating thing. I will never forget the torment in my own soul the afternoon that my life collapsed around me and I lay face down on the carpet of a dark room, pounding the floor with my fist, painting my cheeks with my tears, and crying out in the anguish of my soul, “I need you, God! I need you, God! I need you, God!”
It is not the same for everybody, of course. But this I know — I have yet to meet the person in life with true spiritual depth who has not come through some agonizing moment of inner turning — turning from this to that — turning from one set of values to another — turning from lesser gods to someone far more profound. This, in the Bible, is the meaning of repentance. It means the turning of our inner selves from one direction to another.
This, obviously, goes against the consumer mentality that has gripped our society. We have been drugged into believing that we are okay on our own, that we have all the means and resources necessary to see us through any jam in life’s river. That is why, in a culture guided by consumption, we are not really on the way to anywhere. We do not need to repent, according to pop psychology, but only to obtain. We do not need to change our ways, only our strategies. We do not need some outside power to help us, only to encourage us. We can do just fine on our own, thank you! So as Jesus declares in our gospel reading, this call to discipleship and pilgrimage often dies before it gets a good response from our lips or a faithful commitment in our actions.
Still, “the longest journey begins with the first step,” as the Chinese philosopher Lao Tzu put it. And repentance is the first step on the road to healing. Grace has no place in the self-satisfaction of a do-it-yourself religion. Jesus himself said that he did not come to gather the so-called righteous (i.e., the ones who are satisfied with where they are), but sinners to repentance.1
Application
Love has a way of writing itself all over us, doesn’t it? We will do things for love that we never thought we would be able to do. Take Edward VIII, for instance. He was King of England in the early decades of last century.
What a position to hold! But he gave it up in order to marry the woman who captured his heart.
True love begs to be told. At least we would like to think that is true. But is not our faith in God really a love relationship, too? Yet so often it seems that we want to hide it.
William Barclay tells a story about a time when his father led a Christmas worship service in a hospital. It was a delightful hour, he says. They sang about the baby Jesus. They heard the story of God’s love. The children laughed and laughed at the good news, and at the jolly way his father told it. One little girl was so excited that her face beamed with the thrill of it all.
After the service, a nurse took her back to the ward. This nurse was known for her sharp and critical personality. The little girl looked up at her and asked, “Did you ever hear that story about Jesus before?”
“Sure,” said the nurse. “Many times.”
“Well,” replied the child innocently, “you certainly don’t look like it!”
Do you know that nurse? Have you ever seen her face in your bathroom mirror? Was she hiding her love relationship with God?
Alternative Application (Hebrews 11:29-12:2)
King Darius was upset with the Greeks. Through battlefield conquests, he had come to “own” Asia Minor (now roughly the same territory as the nation of Turkey). Since, however, this region had largely been settled by the Greeks, generations before, and continued to trade more easily westward in cultural kinship than to his far east foreign palace cities, the people of “his” territory still viewed themselves as Greeks rather than loyal Persians. Darius was enraged. These folks were meddlesome and perplexing.
So, Darius did what tyrants often do: he amassed the largest military force ever conceived, and marched it west. Brutally putting down rebellions in Asia Minor, he then headed for the source of his perceived consternations. He crossed the Bosporus and challenged the Greeks to a winner-take-all showdown on their own territory.
The Greeks were far from unified, and terrified at this onslaught. Athens and Sparta headed the largest confederations of multiple independent city-states, but the Spartans, even with their fierce training, shied away from this confrontation, explaining that they needed to observe a religious holiday in seclusion. So, the Athenians and a few allies stood feebly before the menacing Persian monster. All could see that the Greeks were going down and out, probably before a single sparring round was ended.
But miracles and strange twists of history happen every now and again. The pip punished the power. The squirt swatted the scorpion. The weakling wounded the warrior, until Darius limped back to Persia in disgrace.
And from the battlefield near a small town named Marathon, the wondering whisper cascaded: "we have won!" Stunned at their own success, the Athenian forces dispatched a runner to bring the good news home to the worried Senate. While the man’s name has been lost, his heroic run inspired generations. Striding approximately 25 miles from the battlefield to Athens, he gasped in exhaustion, and shouted his victory cry before falling dead.
When the Olympic Games were revived in 1896, the original Marathon runner inspired a new event. Set at 25 miles, the marathon race drew endurance athletes from around the world. But when London claimed the hosting responsibilities in 1908, planners realized that they needed to bring the grueling course to a conclusion at the box of the royal family in the newly constructed White Stadium. The marathon suddenly lengthened to 26.2 miles, and has settled there ever since.
Most marathon runners do not die at the finish line. Nevertheless, a marathon race is extremely demanding, and requires both adequate preparation and punishing endurance. Starting is fairly easy. A runner simply puts forward a foot and is rapidly carried along by the jostling crowd. The first half-mile, or even the full initial mile, are passed in an instant, vapored away by nervous excitement.
But then the human body is called upon to function beyond its normal boundaries. While muscles cry for rest, the steel will of the runner demands continued momentum. So, the plodding and pacing set in. Mile after mile, footfall after footfall, numbed by repetitious movements that take pain to new levels, the mind kicks into autopilot as the body thuds along crying for release. Mile 4 is a miracle. Mile 9 is a blur. Mile 13 may be half-way, but the racer has long ago given up thoughts of sanity about this crushing torture. Mile 18 sees growing crowds along the route, and the rising voice of encouragement. While the body has no more to give, the spirit seems steadied and focused. By Mile 21, hope flutters, speculating nervously that maybe there will be an end to this long night of pain, and perhaps, just beyond the next turn, the stadium and its finish line will appear.
The human fences that guard the race concourse thicken, and their shouts of support rise in rapid decibels. Buoyed by the energy of others, each racer finds quicker steps and renewed focus. Up ahead, the “white noise” of indistinct stadium cheering mounts, filling the air with restless anticipation.
Up a hill. Around a corner. Suddenly every other noise is blanked out as each runner charges into the concrete echo chamber channel that connects the world to the coliseum. Thud, thud, thud… Heartbeats and footfalls blend.
And then a din erupts as the runner emerges from the tunnel’s darkness into light and chaos and the thundering urges cascading down the bleacher mountains surrounding the field. Only a lap to go! One time around the track.
My steps spring. My heart sings. My mind feeds on the shouts of encouragement. Dare I glance up at these wonderful people who are investing their time and voices and admirations into me?!
So I sneak a peek above. There are my parents, on their feet and yelling! I’ve never seen them so animated! And all for me! I almost smile, through my pain, and my steps get lighter and quicker.
And then I notice it… Next to my parents are other familiar faces. Uncle George and Aunt Sue. Cousin Cindy! What is she doing here?! Friends from college. And friends from high school?! And members of the church I used to be a part of?!
Wait! And there are Grandpa and Grandma! But they are dead! And others that I recognize from pictures in old photo albums! Something strange is going on here!
And as I run, I become more aware of the thousands, and the myriads that are cheering me on. Yes, the other runners too, but everyone shouts my name, and wishes me well, and calls for me to carry on. Some wear the out-of-date clothes, and look like they have stepped out of other cultures and times. But all are here for me, and all know me by name, and all shout their encouragement.
And before I can fully process this strange and transformative scene, I round the last corner and look ahead. There’s the finish line. The tapes measure it on both sides. The clock ticks away the seconds. And at the center stands Jesus! Even though I have never met him, face to face, I know it is him! And he smiles at me. And he laughs the most glorious laugh of good will! And be beckons me with his hand, as I finish the race, and fall into his supportive tenderness!
This is the message of the final big exhortation of Hebrews. You can do it! Others have run this race before you, and they are cheering you on! Some climbed mountains, some fell flat; some leapt over tall buildings and others suffered indignations we can’t even begin to describe. But all were surrounded, as you have been, by the testimonies and prayers and well-wishes of those who went before.
And, more significantly, Jesus ran this race, this marathon, this cruel, crushing torture. It took all he had, but he gave it his all. And now he is the very one who gives everything to you. In his strength, you can finish the course. In his encouragement, you can keep the faith. In his love, your heart will find resources that your mind and body have lost too long ago.
No one said that it would be easy. It was not easy for Jesus.
But the outcome is clear and good and overwhelming. You are a winner! Maybe not among those who taunt and test you. Maybe not in the demeanor of a mean world. Maybe not, even, within the context of your family or neighborhood or work buddies. But where meaning matters, you are a winner. You ran the course of the saints, and they are cheering you on. And you ran the race of Jesus, and he will see you through to the end.
Don’t give up on him. He has never given up on you.
And make certain that you carry your fellow runners along. If you are tired and discouraged, they are likely to be as well. We all need each other to get to the finish line.
1 Matthew 9:12-13
