Sermon 7 June 2009

Spiritual Encounters

Isaiah 6:1-8: “Here am I, LORD, send me!”

Sitting on stadium steps, Harold faces the quarter mile oval of an athletics track. His gaze extends across the empty lanes. In his mind's eye he reruns every step of the one hundred yard dash he ran earlier that afternoon. Harold, fiercely competitive, races like the wind, always confident he will leave the competition in the dust.

Harold recalls his latest race. He lines up at the start line, poised and positioned to run. His fellow athletes assume similar poses. Harold feels the sun's warmth on his skin and a trickle of sweat courses down his cheek. The crowd noises fade into oblivion as Harold strains to hear... “Crack!” The starter's gun fires.

Harold blurs into motion, arms thrusting, legs pumping. Ahead, Harold sees only the finish-line tape. He will cross it in less than ten seconds, no need to waste energy breathing, so swift is Harold.

But..., in the corner of his eye, Harold spies a movement. Someone, incredibly, step by pounding step, draws abreast of Harold.

Harold's heart hammers, not simply from trying to quicken his pace but also with feelings of doubt. Harold dares to turn his head to see who might this impudent upstart be?

And... in that instant, the charging, challenging other runner, head tilted toward the heavens, no eye for fellow runners, no looks for the finish line, the other runner surges past Harold in a burst of speed, breaking the winner's tape.

Now, Harold sits stunned and stung by his loss. His fiance, Sybil, climbs the stadium steps and perches beside him. She reaches out her hand and touches his arm, a comforting gesture.

Sharply, Harold shrugs her hand off.

“Harold...” she starts.

“Leave me alone!” he says brusquley.

“Harold,” she begins again, everyone loses sometime.”

“Not me! I run to win. If I cannot win, I will not run!” His fierce, sharp tone silences Sybil.

“Woe is me!” cries our prophet from Isaiah. “Woe is me! I am lost.” Lost, because the prophet senses his own inadequacy, he feels he does not measure up to the task at hand.

How often does that happen to us? We have all had our share of failures. So, as we gaze ahead to the task at hand, in our mind's eye we run through every step of our last attempt and conclude: “No, not me! Given my track record, I am not up to the task.”

Or, another one of my problems is that I yearn to have things turn out “just right.” So, I attempt to anticipate every possible outcome of my actions. In trying to see all the eventualities, I fail to act in a timely fashion, or I fail to act at all. Someone once told me this syndrome is called: the “paralysis of analysis.

The paralysis of analysis: life is not a chess game where one can see all the permutations possible from any given move. Life is unpredictable, even whimsical at times. Yet, still we must act.

Now, I am not saying we act rashly, without considering possiblities and consequences. But how often do we sell ourselves short, thinking we are not equipped for a task? How often do we not even attempt a job because of our fear of failure?

President Obama's recent travels to the Normandy Beaches remind me of General Eisenhower's dilemma on the eve of June 6^th, 1944. Less than perfect weather conditions were forecast. But the weapon for Hitler's defeat was in Eisenhower's hand. The occupied countries had been enslaved long enough. The allied troops who would fight for Europe's liberation were ready and waiting. The sooner they were engaged with the enemy, the sooner they could return home to loved ones and lives that had been interrupted by that terrible war. How Ike would have loved to put off the decision, or to leave it to someone else. Not possible. He weighed and considered what he could and then he acted.

In our reflection for the day, Benjamin Franklin waxes poetic as he writes: “Hide not your talents, they for use were made. What is a sundial in the shade?” Get into the sunlight. Do not hide your candle under a bushel. Shine where you are! If you have the tools at hand, act.

Let's return to our runner, Harold, sulking on the stadium steps after his loss. His fiance Sybil is momentarily silenced by his tirade: “If I cannot win, I will not run.”

My memory of this film scene is not perfect, but from my description, does anyone remember the movie? (Chariots of Fire.) The film about the English Olympian, Harold Abrahams and his Scottish rival, Eric Liddell.

Sybil, Harold's fiance, a woman of fibre and common sense, finds her voice and says to Harold, “If you do not run, you cannot win!”

She marches off smartly, leaving a pensive Harold mulling over her response to his tantrum—she will not stand for his childishness. Life has ups and downs. Life does not always go our way. Are we in the game or not? Will we use our gifts, or hide them? Will we take our turn at the tasks at hand, or will we sit in the stands, or along the sidelines, and watch as others go by?

The imperfect prophet cries, “Woe is me! I am lost.” Sounds as though he will not even enter the race, so low is his self-esteem.

Then, that mysterious encounter with the Seraph, what exactly happened? Did the prophet hear a “still small voice” within? Or, was it a voice calling in the night, that only the prophet could hear? Or, was it a ray of light breaking through on a cloudy day? Or, was it the touch of a compassionate friend? Or, was it words of confrontation, saying: “pull up your socks, get a grip and get on with it? Whatever it was, the prophet's eye, turned-in with self-doubts about shortcomings and inadequacies, after that mysterious encounter, now turns outward. The prophet hears God's call: “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” The prophet answers, “Here am I! Send me.”

One can but smile at the Spirit's power. There is an expression: “courage is fear that has said its prayers.

Let us pray. Glorious God, whom we identify as Creator, the one from whom all life originates, and as the Christ, the one made known to us through Jesus, and as the Spirit, the one who abides with us now and always, we give thanks for your presence. Your presence: made known to us in a blossoming flower. Your presence: made known to us in a new-born-baby's cry. Your presence: made known to us in towering mountains, quiet lakes, rain-washed air and twinkling stars. Your presence: made known to us in a listening ear, an appropriate word, an evening of laughter with friends and family. Your presence: made known to us in the breaking of bread and the sharing of the cup. Your presence: made known to us in this community.

We hear your word, as old as creation and as fresh as this morning's dew. Grant us the courage to respond to your call with the gifts that we have received. Let us not take counsel of our fears, but rather place our trust in you, and this sustaining community. Through Christ we pray. Amen