Scripture: LUKE 13:31-35
In 1993, my family and I took a car trip across the country. It was a breath-taking tour of some of the most beautiful and awe-inspiring parts of this country. Starting in Rhode Island, we stopped in Cleveland and went to the zoo. We sat under the arch in St. Louis, drove through the endless flatlands of Nebraska, the strange and beautiful vista of the Badlands of South Dakota and the magnificent Rockies of Wyoming. We saw Mt. Rushmore and Devil’s Tower, and spent time in the Olympic Peninsula of Washington. On the way back, we drove down the Oregon coast, spent several hours at the Grand Canyon, and drove through that bastion of desolation, West Texas: 500 miles of nothing but tumbleweed. It was certainly not always easy—we had a three- and a five-year-old with us—but it was incredibly invigorating.
Journeys can be like that. Maybe the daily commute along 480 or the weekly flights to Boston or Toronto get old—who would be surprised at that? But a journey can be an adventure, an opportunity, even, to be filled with the Spirit of God. Because the most important journey is not a physical one. It’s the journey of faith, the journey we take with God.
That’s what Jesus did—in spades! He was always on the move with God—as though they were a two-person bobsled team careening along some sort of “faith run.” More than half of Luke’s gospel takes place after Jesus “sets his face” toward Jerusalem (9:51), and from then on he is always “on the way”. Today’s passage is clear that he’s on that very journey. The Pharisees tell Jesus he should get out of there because Herod is after him. And Jesus says basically, ‘Herod can say whatever he wants, but I’m going to keep on with my business of making people’s lives right’: “today, tomorrow, and the next day I must be on my way” (13:33). He has an appointment to keep—“miles to go before he sleeps”—and he’s not going to be dissuaded.
What’s so striking about Jesus here is that he stays true to the tasks God gives him, come hell or high water. He has a God-given journey to take. And it’s fair to say that Jesus is a guide for us in that regard. There are several ways in which he leads us this Lenten season.
Jesus’ focus, of course, is God. What’s noteworthy here is the voices Jesus doesn’t heed on this journey. With God as his GPS, there are at least three other voices and forces that fade to the background. First, his friends. It may sound surprising, but it’s not his friends’ voices that Jesus pays attention to here. The Pharisees, who can be pretty nasty to Jesus, are, in fact, extremely friendly here. They tell him to get out of there because Herod is after him. ‘Go save yourself. Don’t get killed.’ Nice as they’re being, Jesus knows they’re keeping him from his appointed rounds. So he resists them. His job is not to stay safe, but rather to remain true—true to the journey God has in store for him.
Second, not only does Jesus not succumb to his friends’ desires, neither is he swayed from his goal by his vindictive enemy. Herod can threaten whatever he wants, but Jesus isn’t going to alter his course to avoid the threats of some petty despot.
And third, this journey of Jesus’ isn’t determined by what we imagine might be Jesus’ own private wishes. He accedes, in fact, to a journey that leads to his death. Certainly Jesus doesn’t want to die. He wants to live and flourish and engage in the great mission of healing and helping that God has given him. Later in the story, in fact, he asks God to save him from his agony (“if you are willing,” he begs of God as he goes to the cross, “remove this cup from me,” 22:42). We know he doesn’t want to die. He simply knows that he must follow the journey given him to follow.
So Jesus doesn’t listen to his friends, he doesn’t cower from his enemies, and he doesn’t just take the easy route and do whatever he wants. He does what God has given him to do. This is the peculiarly radiant model he gives us here—a model of freedom and faithfulness.
We know, don’t we, how easy it is to do what our friends want us to do. “Let’s get drunk,” says one sixteen-year-old to another, and, from their perspective, why not—peer pressure is huge; this is their best friend talking, and it’ll be fun. Or, later in life, “Let’s cut corners a little on our production,” says one auto executive to another, and why wouldn’t they—the extra profit will make them look like gods in their bosses’ eyes. Our friends can be very persuasive.
So can our enemies, in a very different way. Who here hasn’t veered from the right path because of a fear of being hurt? Some of us have neglected our duties because of our fear of bullies, or a fear of failure. I’ve refused to step in when someone was being beaten up, because I didn’t want to suffer the same fate. The Herods of the world have intimidated us and kept us from our appointed tasks. Our friends have a huge influence. But so do our enemies.
And we have strayed from the right path by doing the easy and selfish thing. When I was a child, I broke a neighbor’s window with a batted baseball, and I never told them about it. I’m sure I was petrified about the consequences if I did. We do what we can to make life easy, to avoid pain, to keep our reputations intact.
None of this is what Jesus did. And if we take our journey with Jesus seriously, none of this is what we’re to be about, either. Our call is to heed the leadings of God. Our call is to follow our divinely appointed path. Our call is to listen to the “still, small voice” (I Kings 19:12) that speaks its insistent word to us, the voice that leads us along the “paths of righteousness” (Ps. 23:3).
I wonder how often we really listen for that voice. Not what our friends and neighbors think we should do, not what our fears scream at us to avoid, not what our more self-centered instincts tell us to do, but what God is after us to be. Parker Palmer, a stimulating Quaker leader, talks in one of his books about what he calls “clearness committees.” These are groups of people who come together to help a person discern the direction of their life. The idea is that, if Dan/Maren, for example, were pondering a particularly difficult decision, s/he might gather with some people s/he trusted so they could be a clearness committee for him/her. And what’s perhaps most crucial about this group is that under no circumstances are they to offer any advice whatsoever. No “I think you ought to do this,” or “You’re so good at that, you really should pursue it.” The group is there simply to provide the space in which the person can feel and hear and sense what God might have in store for them. There are certainly other venues in which advice is helpful, but here, at some of life’s most important crossroads, it’s to be shunned. Silence and open-ended questions are their only tools.
The trouble is that, in our culture, the whole notion of shutting up and waiting on God is awkward and weird. Try sitting with someone who’s trying to figure out whether a certain job is right for them, and not giving them any advice about it. You feel like you’re not doing your duty. And if you’re the one trying to figure it out and you’re looking for answers, a friend who stays silent just seems disengaged and uncaring. What use are they?
It’s into just that silence, though, that God can beckon. When all the other voices shut up, that’s when we can hear the voice of God speaking to us—in dreams, in those stunning little “God-incidences” that dot our lives, in an awakening sense of direction.
We can be under no illusions that such a path is always going to be easy or smooth. Jesus’ journey, after all, leads him to the cross, to death. What we can be assured of is that walking that path is the way of integrity and the deepest peace.
Myles Munroe (clg@churchleadergazette.com) talks about the difference between sight and vision. Our sight, he says, can often get in the way of what we’re to do, because what we see with our eyes is frequently the awful stuff. “If you are operating by sight, you see the problems and challenges all around you. You see how many bills you have to pay; you see that your company is downsizing; you see things that threaten your security.” Our sight is held prisoner by the perceived difficulties.
Vision, on the other hand, looks up and out. “Sight,” says Munroe, “is the ability to see things as they are, and vision is the ability to see things as they could be,” even as they “should be.” Vision is a higher faculty. It pays attention to our fondest, truest hopes. It pays attention to the things that make us really happy—not superficially, but way down deep. Vision sees the gift of being an accountant or a teacher or a nurse, when sight may only see the impediments. Vision sees that, yes, this is the person I’m to marry, when sight may keep flashing only warning lights based on fear. With vision, we see worthwhile goals and move toward them. “God gave us vision,” says Munroe, “so we would not have to live by what we see.”
The fact is that, if our lives are going to be full and responsive to God, they are going to be in motion. In order for them to really thrive, the journey needs to be guided by vision. We’re going to change and grow. We’re going to go through briar patches and yet still come out on the other side. We have to keep the vision. I heard a woman say recently that it’s inevitable that we’re going to have periods of suffering “on the way” of our lives. But what do we make of that suffering? There’s no new life without scars, she said. There’s no resurrection without crucifixion. This woman has suffered much because of her alcoholism, but if she had her life to live over again, she’d keep her alcoholism, because, she says, it has been her greatest teacher. That’s vision. That’s a clear-eyed appreciation of the riches of God on a road rife with potholes.
It’s vision that gives us hope. It’s vision that lets us see our true way. In that regard, I want to take a moment this morning to say a word about Jodie Ricci and the “way” she’s been on. When some people in the church heard the news of her leaving, they said, “How could we let her get away? Why didn’t we make her a counter-offer? What could we have done differently?” Those are all extremely natural questions to ask. They reflect a deep grief at her leaving, a grief I share. We’re going to miss her terribly. She’s been a huge gift to Federated, and the loss is palpable. We grieve today, and we should.
At the same time, though, this move of Jodie’s seems to be a beckoning from God. Jodie wasn’t looking for this position, and in many ways, as she says, it would have been easier for her to stay here, with a great choir and a church she loves. But now Jodie will get to have only one work place, instead of the three she has now. She’ll get to play the piano as well as direct a choir. And she’ll be able to worship with her family in the Roman Catholic tradition they share. There’s no counter-offer to be made. Jodie’s decision wasn’t based in that realm of “business decisions.” What we affirm with joy is that God is leading her, and us, into a new chapter of life, that our journeys have come to a new crossroads, one with its share of loss, certainly, but one also filled with promise and hope.
As a final word, let me say simply how much I have valued Jodie’s ministry here. She has been a creative and joyous presence at Federated, a leader of spirit and energy and hope and affirmation. She has been clear that her work here is not primarily as a performer but rather as a worship leader, one whose central goal is not to impress or perfect, but to bring people closer to God.
Jodie and I both followed people of enormous capability in our respective positions at Federated, she succeeding Michelle Oesterle, and I following Dave Norling. Shortly after I had arrived here, she sent me an e-mail gently reminding me that my job here was not to try to fill Dave’s shoes, but simply to wear my own well. “Be the person God called you to be,” she said, and she signed it “Jodie Ricci (size 7 ½).”
That’s great advice, and essentially reiterates what the scriptures are telling us this morning. We’ve each been given our own journey to walk. It’s a journey not rooted in what our friends or enemies want, not based even on what we think we want. It may lead to our own Jerusalem of suffering and challenge and even death. But if we pay attention and listen, we’ll find it’s a blessed and glorious journey into the heart of God. No better journey could there be.