Where Are You Going?
Sermon
I like to be well organised when preparing for a trip, especially when going on holiday. Not that I pack early or anything like that, but I like to know fairly well in advance where I'm going and what I'm likely to be doing, so that I can pack the right clothes and make sure I have enough books to read and decide whether to take walking boots and so on. I should hate to pack for a beach holiday and suddenly discover myself in the Highlands of Scotland, or pack the waterproofs and the sweaters and suddenly discover myself in Malta in August.
And when I'm on holiday, wherever I might be going, I like to have some idea of what I'm going to do. I hate getting up in the morning then aimlessly wandering about, wondering what to do and where to go. Our pilgrimage to the Holy Land earlier this year was ideal for me, because it was really well organised. Although we didn't stick rigidly to the original programme and indeed had lots of changes and diversions, nonetheless our time was pleasantly filled and I knew more or less what we were going to do each day. It suited me well.
I suppose I'm the sort of person who prefers to live within a framework. Although I'm by no means obsessive about it, I'm happier when I have my life at least roughly planned out for several months ahead, and even happier when I have some idea of the next few years. I don't necessarily stick rigidly to any programmes, and may diverge from them completely, but I do like to have some sort of outline in the first place, however vague that outline might be.
I think the reason for all that is that it makes me feel reasonably safe. If I have control over my life and am making the decisions myself, then I feel secure. And that's a good feeling. But it can cause difficulty if something unexpected happens which inevitably upsets my plans. It's not so bad when something relatively small and unimportant happens, I can cope with that, no trouble. But if there's a major upset, then I'm thrown. Suddenly I find myself plunged into what feels like a terrifyingly stormy sea, with waves which batter and buffet me and hurl me this way and that, and there's nothing to cling on to. My careful plans are no use at all. They're all shot to pieces and I don't know whether I'm on my head or my heels.
I therefore admire Abraham enormously. There he was, happily esconced in his home of Haran, when God called him to move. But God didn't tell Abraham exactly where he was going. The LORD said to Abram, "Go from your country and your kindred and your father's house to the land that I will show you. I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you, and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing." (Genesis 12:1-2) Abraham didn't argue with that, or ask which way he was to set out or how he would know when he got there. We're told that Abram went, as the LORD had told him; and Lot (his brother) went with him. Abram was seventy-five years old when he departed from Haran. (Genesis 12:4)
God took away all Abraham's props of security - his home, his village, his family - and left him staggering about in unknown territory, facing all sorts of unknown and unexpected obstacles. Abraham's ten-year plan was shot to pieces and all his arrangements taking control of his own life were useless. And none of this happened while he was young. Abraham was 75 years old when God removed his props and sent him out to fend for himself in the big, wide world.
Except, of course, that he wasn't fending for himself, and that's the point. The writer of Hebrews is qoting from Abraham's life to prove a point about faith. Abraham had to give up that comforting, safe, control of his life to God, and simply go, not knowing where he was going or for how long or even whether or not he'd survive to see the end result.
For all of us, for every human being, frightening things happen to us at some point in life. It's as though we're sent out by God into the big, wide world to fend for ourselves. For some people, these frightening things start happening when they're young, and perhaps go on happening for much of life. Unhappy youngsters find themselves somehow caught up in the drugs or the alcohol scene and are perhaps in too deeply to be able to easily extricate themselves, even if they wish to do so. Or perhaps a marriage or a close partnership goes wrong, and they feel despairing or even suicidal.
For others, frightening things seem to happen more and more the older we get, and I suppose this is inevitable. The parents of youngsters suffer agonies on behalf of their children, and especially as their children grow up, are often completely unable to help their children. And as we grow older, so we and our peers become more prone to illness, and eventually our family members or close friends die. So we begin to suffer bereavements or worrying times of serious illness in the family. And for some people, retirement or the loss of work is like that, a kind of bereavement, where they're not quite sure who they are any more.
All these events not only upset our plans for the future, but completely remove any props we might have. From the calm harbour of our ordered lives, suddenly we're plunged into a terrifying storm on the open sea, a storm which seems to have arisen out of nowhere. Like Abraham, we're sent out into the big, wide world. We're forced, perhaps for the first time in our lives, to rely completely on God, because there's nowhere else to go. And that's what faith is about - relying completely on God.
But faith comes much more easily at those moments when it's really needed, to those who have practised a bit beforehand. Abraham was a man of God, close to God in his daily life, used to talking God and listening to God. His faith didn't suddenly arise from a vacuum, he'd practised it all his life, so that when the time came, he was ready. As Jesus says in today's reading from Luke's gospel, the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour, so we too must be ready. Like Abraham, we can only be ready for our own moments of crisis if we've put the work in. We need to practise beforehand. It's not so good at a moment of crisis to suddenly call on God for help, if we don't even know who God is. If we already have a relationship with God and know how to talk to him and how to listen to him, if we've been practising our faith, however small and fragile that faith may be, then when the crisis comes we'll be ready. We'll be ready to receive the Son of Man as he comes to help us.
And for those who have practised their faith, moments of crisis will offer enormous growth in spirituality and in faith. Through those awful times which feel like they've come out of nowhere and are the end of the world as we know it, comes a much greater awareness of God and a closeness to him which perhaps we haven't felt before. Just as Jesus enjoyed resurrection after crucifixion, so God continues to pull resurrection for us out of our particular crucifixion.
So where are you going in your life? Are you so organised that every minute of every day is planned and there's no time for God? Or are you willing, like Abraham, to set out on a journey of faith, and allow God to lead you to wherever he wishes you to go? If you are, don't wait for a crisis, start practising now.
And when I'm on holiday, wherever I might be going, I like to have some idea of what I'm going to do. I hate getting up in the morning then aimlessly wandering about, wondering what to do and where to go. Our pilgrimage to the Holy Land earlier this year was ideal for me, because it was really well organised. Although we didn't stick rigidly to the original programme and indeed had lots of changes and diversions, nonetheless our time was pleasantly filled and I knew more or less what we were going to do each day. It suited me well.
I suppose I'm the sort of person who prefers to live within a framework. Although I'm by no means obsessive about it, I'm happier when I have my life at least roughly planned out for several months ahead, and even happier when I have some idea of the next few years. I don't necessarily stick rigidly to any programmes, and may diverge from them completely, but I do like to have some sort of outline in the first place, however vague that outline might be.
I think the reason for all that is that it makes me feel reasonably safe. If I have control over my life and am making the decisions myself, then I feel secure. And that's a good feeling. But it can cause difficulty if something unexpected happens which inevitably upsets my plans. It's not so bad when something relatively small and unimportant happens, I can cope with that, no trouble. But if there's a major upset, then I'm thrown. Suddenly I find myself plunged into what feels like a terrifyingly stormy sea, with waves which batter and buffet me and hurl me this way and that, and there's nothing to cling on to. My careful plans are no use at all. They're all shot to pieces and I don't know whether I'm on my head or my heels.
I therefore admire Abraham enormously. There he was, happily esconced in his home of Haran, when God called him to move. But God didn't tell Abraham exactly where he was going. The LORD said to Abram, "Go from your country and your kindred and your father's house to the land that I will show you. I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you, and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing." (Genesis 12:1-2) Abraham didn't argue with that, or ask which way he was to set out or how he would know when he got there. We're told that Abram went, as the LORD had told him; and Lot (his brother) went with him. Abram was seventy-five years old when he departed from Haran. (Genesis 12:4)
God took away all Abraham's props of security - his home, his village, his family - and left him staggering about in unknown territory, facing all sorts of unknown and unexpected obstacles. Abraham's ten-year plan was shot to pieces and all his arrangements taking control of his own life were useless. And none of this happened while he was young. Abraham was 75 years old when God removed his props and sent him out to fend for himself in the big, wide world.
Except, of course, that he wasn't fending for himself, and that's the point. The writer of Hebrews is qoting from Abraham's life to prove a point about faith. Abraham had to give up that comforting, safe, control of his life to God, and simply go, not knowing where he was going or for how long or even whether or not he'd survive to see the end result.
For all of us, for every human being, frightening things happen to us at some point in life. It's as though we're sent out by God into the big, wide world to fend for ourselves. For some people, these frightening things start happening when they're young, and perhaps go on happening for much of life. Unhappy youngsters find themselves somehow caught up in the drugs or the alcohol scene and are perhaps in too deeply to be able to easily extricate themselves, even if they wish to do so. Or perhaps a marriage or a close partnership goes wrong, and they feel despairing or even suicidal.
For others, frightening things seem to happen more and more the older we get, and I suppose this is inevitable. The parents of youngsters suffer agonies on behalf of their children, and especially as their children grow up, are often completely unable to help their children. And as we grow older, so we and our peers become more prone to illness, and eventually our family members or close friends die. So we begin to suffer bereavements or worrying times of serious illness in the family. And for some people, retirement or the loss of work is like that, a kind of bereavement, where they're not quite sure who they are any more.
All these events not only upset our plans for the future, but completely remove any props we might have. From the calm harbour of our ordered lives, suddenly we're plunged into a terrifying storm on the open sea, a storm which seems to have arisen out of nowhere. Like Abraham, we're sent out into the big, wide world. We're forced, perhaps for the first time in our lives, to rely completely on God, because there's nowhere else to go. And that's what faith is about - relying completely on God.
But faith comes much more easily at those moments when it's really needed, to those who have practised a bit beforehand. Abraham was a man of God, close to God in his daily life, used to talking God and listening to God. His faith didn't suddenly arise from a vacuum, he'd practised it all his life, so that when the time came, he was ready. As Jesus says in today's reading from Luke's gospel, the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour, so we too must be ready. Like Abraham, we can only be ready for our own moments of crisis if we've put the work in. We need to practise beforehand. It's not so good at a moment of crisis to suddenly call on God for help, if we don't even know who God is. If we already have a relationship with God and know how to talk to him and how to listen to him, if we've been practising our faith, however small and fragile that faith may be, then when the crisis comes we'll be ready. We'll be ready to receive the Son of Man as he comes to help us.
And for those who have practised their faith, moments of crisis will offer enormous growth in spirituality and in faith. Through those awful times which feel like they've come out of nowhere and are the end of the world as we know it, comes a much greater awareness of God and a closeness to him which perhaps we haven't felt before. Just as Jesus enjoyed resurrection after crucifixion, so God continues to pull resurrection for us out of our particular crucifixion.
So where are you going in your life? Are you so organised that every minute of every day is planned and there's no time for God? Or are you willing, like Abraham, to set out on a journey of faith, and allow God to lead you to wherever he wishes you to go? If you are, don't wait for a crisis, start practising now.
