Sermon:
September 19, 2004
Sunday Night Alive  

Scripture:
II John 1-6

Just prior to the sermon, the Praise Band sang a song by the Los Lonely Boys that has been getting a lot of air on the radio stations these past months. The song is titled “Heaven.” This is the opening verse, which poses the question that more than just begins this sermon—it begins most every day of my life: 

* * * * *   

The song we just heard has a question that sits right at the center of it: “How far is heaven?” One of the reasons I think this song has become so popular in the culture around us is because, even to the most casual of listeners, that question grabs you. Because, in some way, that question lies on all of our hearts. How far is heaven? How far do I have to keep going before I find the calm in the midst of the storm? How far do I have to go before I see the face of God? Tell me, how far is heaven? 

This question becomes even more powerful when we understand the story that gives rise to those words. It’s funny how that always seems to be the case. It’s always “the story” behind the words that makes those words more meaningful. Whether they are the words of Jesus or your words or my words, the story behind them always gives them a life far greater than the words themselves. 

So what is the story that gives rise to this song and to that question, How far is heaven? It’s sung by a group called the Los Lonely Boys, and its lead singer is Henry Garza. He wrote it at the age of 18, when his firstborn son died suddenly in his sleep. He describes it as a day when he could do nothing but go into a room with a pen and paper, close the door, and cry out that prayer, “How far is heaven?” So when you hear the song on the radio, know that it is the prayer of this man’s heart crying out to be released from the prison that he felt he had found himself in. 

As important as that story is to the question of that song, I think the song’s message touches the story of this generation growing up in the post-9/11 reality as well as any, because ours is a story of that same kind of longing—longing for answers in a world that sometimes no longer makes any sense. How far is heaven, Lord? It speaks to a generation growing up who want to ask the tough questions about the pain and mystery of their lives. And let’s be honest, we here in the church—church-like folks like us—don’t really spend a lot of time talking about those places where we still feel lost or where we still have doubts. Not at church! There’s no such thing as being lost among the found, is there? And so we would just as soon keep those questions to ourselves, put on our best Sunday smile, and think that we alone are the only ones who doubt, have pain or questions, and yearn to know, How far is heaven? 

So how far is it? There are a couple of stories from our tradition that I know are familiar to most of you that remind us of how far heaven really is. So often we have been taught and conditioned that heaven is only a hereafter experience, that we will only fully see God in the life that is to come. And while that is true, to only put heaven in that box is to miss so much of where God is in our midst in the present moment. 

Two stories from our tradition come immediately to mind. The first is from Exodus. I know you know the Moses story. Moses is out tending the flock of his father-in-law, walking the same fields day after day after day. I don’t know how many of you have a father-in-law. But if you’re working for your father-in-law, that’s pretty serious business. If you want to stay in his good graces, you’ve got to mind your own business. So Moses went out to that same field—day after day after day after day—to tend the flock. One day he went to work just as he had every day before, and suddenly God’s Spirit was ablaze in the place he had always been. And what did that voice say from the burning bush? God said: “Moses, take off your shoes, for the place where you are standing—the place where you have been standing—is holy ground.” 

I often wonder about that story. How many times did Moses walk by that very bush and miss the flame that was coming from it? I wonder how many times, because of the ordinariness of his day and the ordinariness of his schedule, he missed God’s call to him in the midst of his life? And it makes me wonder how often, in the midst of my own life, I walk past the bushes ablaze with God’s Spirit. How many times do I miss God’s call because I have not taken off my shoes and recognized that God is present right there in the midst of where I have been walking every day of my life? The Moses story reminds us that God’s presence is there in the midst of the everyday, in the midst of the mundane, work-a-day world. God’s voice and call is always present to us. 

Picking up on that, the second story comes from the words of our Lord and Savior, Jesus the Christ. After forty days in the desert discerning who he was and what God would have him do, Jesus emerged from the desert with a word. He said, “Repent, for the kingdom of God is at hand.” It’s so close that it’s right here, as close as the hand at the end of your arm. 

Jesus is saying, “In the ministry I am about to invite you into, you will see that heaven and earth have indeed touched. You will see that God and humanity are united. You will see that the Kingdom of God is at hand.” So how far is heaven? Closer than we ever could have imagined. 

How do we remember that? How do we not lose sight of God’s presence, the invitation into the fullness and abundance of the life that He has promised? How do we not miss that? 

This is a problem that has been with humanity for ages. How do we keep God’s presence close to us in the midst of our journey? This ancient quest for God’s presence led some monks in the fourth century to create something that we have come to call the labyrinth, a way of understanding where and how God was active right then and there in the midst of their very lives. So this labyrinth tradition has been with us a long, long time. And it becomes a symbol of the invitation that Christ extends to us all. 

It’s always important to remember that when Jesus wanted to teach about himself or the invitation to discipleship, he always spoke in symbols and metaphors. And we know those symbols and metaphors because they have become the language of our faith. Jesus said: “I am the bread of life. I am the living water. I am the light of the world. I am the good shepherd.” All of those symbols and metaphors teach us something about who he was and who he would have us be. 

Perhaps one of the most important and powerful symbols that he uses for himself comes toward the end of the Gospel of John when he says, “I am the way.” In effect, he is saying, “I am the path. I am the journey.” He reminds us that when we step onto that path of discipleship, we walk where the destination is never in doubt. 

You know, the symbols and metaphors that we will choose to form our lives around will shape almost every decision we make. If life is a race that needs to be won, then we will enter into most of the things we do as a competition. We will see others on the journey as competitors. And heaven will become a prize for only the swiftest, fastest and those who make the grade. 

If life is a party, then maximizing pleasure and ignoring the pain and hard stuff is what life is all about. People who interfere with the party, who aren’t in the party spirit—well, we’d just as soon not hang with them. Nothing kills a party faster than a bunch of party poopers. And heaven—it is all here. Right here. Nothing beyond this material world. So death is the ultimate end of the party. 

So the symbols with which we choose to understand our lives are so important. That is why Jesus said: “I am the way. And choose the way.” And so those early Christian mystics, monks and priests created a walk they would call the labyrinth. This walk reminded them that life was a journey. 

The labyrinth isn’t a maze. Life isn’t a maze. Remember those mazes in elementary school? I was one of those kids who always started them in pen. Never got them done. Always ran into dead ends. The one thing the labyrinth isn’t—the one thing discipleship isn’t—is a maze. There are no dead ends. There are twists. There are turns. There are times when you find yourself suddenly at the edge, and times, without even realizing it, you find yourself closer to the center than you ever imagined, only to take another turn and find yourself somewhere in the middle. Life is like that, isn’t it? But there are no dead-ends. The destination is never in doubt.   

The labyrinth is also important because it reminds us that the invitation that Jesus offers us—the call to be on the way—is an invitation to far more than just belief. It is an invitation to discipleship. It is an invitation to follow. I can believe and never take one step onto the path. And that is why I find it so important to remember that among Jesus’ first words in the Gospels is “Follow me.” The labyrinth reminds us that the call of Jesus is a call to more than belief—it is a call to follow. 

And so what kind of faith does it take to walk the labyrinth, to walk the journey with Christ through the twists and turns of our lives? I guess it simply takes the faith to put one foot in front of the other, trusting that if we find ourselves on the outside edge or in the innermost circles, each step is a step of faith. Because when you walk the labyrinth, when you follow Jesus, the destination is never, ever in doubt. The center is always there. 

There is a great story that comes from the contemporary labyrinth tradition. It was a story about a guy named David. David was a middle manager for a PR firm. He had found that his walk of faith had gotten awfully mired down in office politics. And soon, because of the tension and the downsizing happening at his office, that tension began to affect every aspect of his life. It was as if he was stuck in the journey. He couldn’t get out of that place of frustration.  

He writes, “I was feeling angrier and angrier, tighter and tighter with the power struggles and jockeying happening every day with the downsizing. I looked around the firm at the other guys acting like jerks and realized that I was doing the same thing. Trouble was, I couldn’t see any way out of it. Do you know how awful it is to wake up every morning and discover you’re the same jerk who went to bed the night before? It was like being in a bad dream I couldn’t wake up from.” 

David was invited on a church retreat where they were going to do this thing called the labyrinth. And he agreed to walk it, figuring that it wouldn’t make much difference. He began to walk the labyrinth, slowly and surely at first. About the experience David writes, “Nothing happened at first. I was just walking and walking, determined to make something happen.” He slowly began to realize that he was so worried about doing it right, that doing it right got in the way of doing it at all. (Does that ring a bell with any of us?) 

Suddenly, in the midst of that walk, a light came on. A voice spoke to him. It was as if the Spirit of God filled his whole being. And for the first time, in the midst of the walk, he saw the whole path, the whole journey. “I realized I was completely caught in one moment of the journey. I was not seeing everything else around me. I stopped and looked around, saw the trees, heard some birds. I realized what a narrow band of life I had been focusing on.” The labyrinth helped David realize he had been stuck in one spot. He could now begin to see that one spot on the journey was not the entire journey. And suddenly he could see the whole path and he could see the center. And he knew that heaven wasn’t all that far away.  

We are called into a life of discipleship, a life of journeying. One thing that we must never lose sight of is that the center, the destination—heaven, relationship and connection with God—is never, ever in doubt once we have set foot on the path. One part of the journey is not the whole journey. And to get to the center, we must walk the whole journey—the twists, the turns, the insides and outs, those moments of walking the edge, those moments of getting so close you can taste it, then having it slip so far away. But never lose sight that the center—the heaven, that connection with God and one another—is always a promised part of the journey. 

This week, our church begins a labyrinth ministry, an opportunity to come on your own or with a group, simply to take off your shoes to recognize the holiness of the earth on which you walk, and to walk the journey of faith. You can walk it with that day in mind, with that week in mind, or with your entire life in mind. “Where have I been on this journey?” It’s simply an opportunity to once again get the fullest of pictures, to understand that God in Christ is always at the center of our journey and that the destination is never in doubt. 

I hope that in the weeks to come you will accept the invitation to walk this walk of faith. Use the labyrinth if it is helpful, but do not forget the symbol—that even though the twists and turns are many, the destination is never, ever in doubt. 

As I stand in the center, would you pray with me that our own journeys would take us here. 

Gracious and loving God, you have invited us to follow. In the words of Christ, we are reminded that you, in fact, invite us on the way, on the path, on the journey. And there is but one way, and we will not find that way if we do not follow. Lord, in the days to come, help us to be more attuned to the path you have laid out for us. Give us the courage to put one foot in front of the other. Help us see the bigger picture. And never let us lose sight of the center. How far is heaven, Lord? Closer than we could have ever imagined. Amen. And good luck on the journey to the center of our faith.  

Note:  For help and insight into the history and practice of the labyrinth, I used Melissa Gayle West’s book, Exploring the Labyrinth.

For details about walking our church labyrinth, see our Labyrinth web page.