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Several
years ago, I told you a story about one of my all-time favorite
people. Not that I know her, or have even met her. But I admire
her. Because one day, at age 42, in beautiful downtown Cleveland,
she ran a marathon by accident (all 26 miles, 385 yards of
it). Her name was Georgene Johnson. Still is. As you will
recall, she lined up with the wrong group at the starting
line. Not the 10K group, where she belonged. But the 26 mile
group, where she didn't. It wasn't until the four mile mark
that she realized her mistake. So she just kept going, finishing
the race in four hours and four minutes. But it's what she
said later (by way of explanation) that has stayed with me
since. Said Georgene: "This isn't the race I trained
for. This isn't the race I entered. But, for better or worse,
this is the race I'm in."
Which
is true more often than you might think. Relatively few of
us are exactly where we figured we'd be....doing exactly what
we figured we'd be doing. But we are where we are, and (for
better or worse) we're keeping our feet moving.
At least
three of our number know what race is set before them. I mentioned
them in Steeple Notes. Their names are Boyer, Perry and Rillema
... and their race is (indeed) a marathon. I trust they will
do well. But if they don't, it won't be the end of the world.
When Mike Boyer read what I wrote about him, he said to his
wife: "Talk about pressure." But a footrace is no
pressure to Mike. Mike is an anesthesiologist. Every day,
several times a day, Mike puts people to sleep so that surgeons
can cut into their bodies or brains. And if Mike makes one
mistake ... one tiny mistake ... that patient will not wake
up (no matter how good the surgeon was). That's what I call
pressure. Compared to that, a marathon is a mere stroll through
the park.
In today's
"race language," the author of the letter to the
Hebrews talks about running "the race that is set before
us." Which says nothing about how long we have to run
it. But it says volumes about whether we get to choose it.
We don't. It's there. Set before us. Not entirely of our choosing.
And when Paul talks about "finishing his race,"
notice when it is that he hangs up his running shoes. Just
prior to death, that's when. Talk about marathons. How'd you
like to smell Paul's sneakers?
If you
are getting the idea that, biblically speaking, the words
"race" and "life" are somewhat interchangeable,
then you're catching on fast. It's a long-haul thing, where
endurance counts for more than quickness. Which says something
about the goal, don't you see. And which also says something
about the training. If Christianity were a sprint, the goal
would be right out in front of you. You could easily see it.
And readily reach it. Maybe not first. But certainly not last.
Just a quick burst of energy and you'd be there.
"There"
being where? The possibilities are endless. At the foot of
the cross. At the front of the church. By the side of the
Lord. In the blood of the lamb. Numbered among the saints.
Gathered with the sheep. Safe at home. After all, how far
can it be? A simple sprint from there to here. A simple step
from here to there. Or maybe not a sprint or step at all,
so much as the opening of a door ... or the opening of a heart.
Right now. Why wait?
That'll
preach. And has. In some places, more comfortably than others.
And from some preachers, more readily than others. But if
that's the word you need to hear ... right now ... right here
... receive it from me ... and let it be a defining moment
in your journey.
But do
not pretend that such a moment will replace or complete your
journey. For you will still be left with miles to go ... down
roads not always clearly marked ... toward finish lines not
always reachable in one lifetime.
Have you
noticed that few biblical characters who go with God arrive
at the destination they had in mind when they started? And
have you noticed that those of whom it was said, "They
walked with God," wandered far more often than they marched?
The prototype, of course, being Abraham. At a time in his
life (75 years of age) when everything was nicely nailed down,
Abraham is told to get his wife, his nephew, load a one-way
U-Haul, and await further instructions. And if the letter
to the Hebrews is to be believed, ever since that day, faith
(as we know it) has been one big road show. You can't read
the eleventh chapter of Hebrews without discovering that the
big names of biblical history, in spite of their courageous
and heroic living, never quite made it to where they were
going ... never quite found what they were looking for ...
and never quite received all of the good stuff that had been
promised.
"Strangers
and exiles on the earth" is what the author of Hebrews
calls us, looking for a home and country that shall never
quite be ours. But the willingness to look for it ... and
walk toward it ... is the thing that makes all the difference.
If that sounds strange, consider the fact that those initially
agreeing to follow Jesus didn't have the faintest idea where
they were going to camp the first night, let alone what they
were going to have for breakfast the next morning. All they
knew was that, in accepting his invitation, they had embarked
on a journey that was more in keeping with their true self
than any trip they had ever undertaken.
If all
of this sounds more like a marathon than a sprint, it's meant
to. Sprints can be run indoors ... like in churches ... down
center aisles ... a hundred yards or less. Marathons have
to be run outdoors ... over all kinds of terrain ... in all
kinds of conditions ... sometimes with great support, but
sometimes with little or no support. The phrase, "the
loneliness of the long distance runner," was surely coined
by one who knew the feeling. To be sure, long distance running
can be a team sport. But every runner must run his or her
own race ... the one that is in keeping with what they bring
to it and how they have trained for it.
When I
used to watch distance races, I always wondered why people
who seemed destined to finish with similar times, didn't match
similar strides. Why would two people run two feet apart for
twenty miles? Because each has to run his or her own race,
don't you see. Which made no sense to me until I got out there
and tried to do it. It is hard to run anybody's race but yours.
I would
contend that there is a similar solitariness to the Christian
journey. To be sure, it is a team sport ... of sorts. If it
weren't, who would need churches? But, the older I get, the
less comfortable I feel with churches (and preachers) who
say that ours is the only race ... ours is the only place
... ours is the only pace ... and ours are the only steps
by which people get from here to there. It's not so much that
they say, "Our way or the highway," so much as they
say, "Our way is the highway."
This afternoon,
several of us are going to walk a total of 6.2 miles for hunger.
I'm talking about the Crop Walk. I have walked for no small
number of years. I could do it in my sleep. There will be
no surprises. The route will be predictably and carefully
laid. All I will have to do is stay on it. But I am far less
certain that I can lay out the route for anyone's spiritual
journey, with the idea that one size will fit all ... feed
all ... or fulfill all. Which is why you must take that on
for yourself, don't you see ... determining where you've been
... assessing where you are now ... and projecting what you
need in order to proceed.
Maybe
you've studied but never sung ... sung but never served ...
served but never led...led but never fellowshipped ... fellowshipped
but never witnessed ... witnessed but never prayed ... prayed
but never tithed. And if that pattern has worked for you,
why should you change? Well, maybe you shouldn't. I am not
recommending you fix what isn't broken. But Dick Cheatham
said an interesting thing the other day (ironically, on our
way to go run). Said Dick: "We are more likely to be
surprised by God when (spiritually speaking) we veer from
our accustomed routine and try something a little bit outside
of our comfort zone."
Which
brings me to Lee Green. Lee is the most supportive "second
banana" in the world. Every year, Lee makes the final
five finalists for the "Best Supporting Christian"
award. Last year, I sat in her den and asked her to chair
the Finance Campaign. Said Lee: "Bill, I work on campaigns.
I don't chair campaigns. And even if I say yes, the one thing
I will never do is speak in public." To which I said:
"We'll see." Well, Lee accepted my invitation. Lee
chaired the campaign. And Lee spoke in public. After which
Lee said: "Bill, you didn't know how much I feared that
... how much I needed to do that ... and how much I got from
that. I can only say: `Thank you.'"
Or what
of Chris Hall? Chris loves music ... writes music ... makes
music ... helps others make music. Music is how Chris intuits
the faith. And music is how he expresses his faith. Temperamentally
speaking, Chris is more private than some of us. If I am the
only one on the staff without a computer in my office, Chris
is the only one without an extra chair in his. Last January,
Chris went to Costa Rica with our work team, where the only
rhythms he created were with hammers, and where anything even
remotely resembling privacy was non-existent for fourteen
days. Then this man of relatively few words came back and
wrote two single-spaced pages that were as revealing as they
were moving ... leading even his friends to say: "Christopher,
we hardly knew you."
I think
of Gayle McGarvah ... floating into our church on the wings
of radical change ... touching down in Stepping Stones ...
touching down in the choir loft ... touching down in study
groups ... then becoming a Stephen Minister ... a Stephen
leader ... a divorce-recovery group facilitator ... and recently
a Samaritan Counseling Center graduate in the Pastoral Care
Specialist program. She's been all over the map. But each
stop was as necessary as it was contributory.
And what
of Clarice Percox who, at 92 (lame and more than little hard
of hearing), had her caregiver bring her to my occasional
seminars, saying: "You're never too old to learn something
new." Then one day Clarice gave us an elevator out of
retirement funds she accumulated as a public school art teacher.
After which she said: "If I had known how much fun this
was going to be ... and how much joy this was going to bring
me ... I'd have done it years ago."
Oh, there
are so many routes ... and so many stories. Ten years ago,
Dick Dills wouldn't have predicted he'd become a full-time
volunteer with the Oakland County Food Bank. Ten years ago,
Eric and Candy Law never dreamed they'd become philanthropically
and emotionally invested in a seminary in North Carolina and
a church in Lithuania. Ten years ago, Margaret Valade wouldn't
have guessed how learned she would become in the writings
of Christian mystics from the twelfth century to the present
day. Ten years ago, Jerry Patterson and John Rick would have
laughed out loud, had you suggested that their lay ministry
would include teaching Bill Ritter some of the finer points
of evolutionary biology and first century Roman history. Ten
years ago, Julie Work would have thought it ridiculous, had
you told her (when she was a struggling single mom) that she
would reach into her shallow pocket and become a tither ...
and then into her deep heart and adopt a Vietnamese child.
I could
go on. But what is unique to these stories is their uniqueness,
don't you see. This church is filled with people who, on their
journey, went here, then there ... did this, then that ...
and surprised themselves by allowing the God of surprises
to meet them in places that were anything but familiar, at
times that were anything but expected.
But they
kept moving, don't you see. Traveling their road. Running
their race. Putting their right foot in front of their left
... and their left foot in front of their right. This church
didn't chart their route. But this church provided both challenges
and way-stations along their route.
Which
it still does. In spades. For people like you. Right now,
you are looking at that spider chart and wondering: "What
has this to do with me?" Hopefully, a lot. Take a look
at it. Then take a look at yourself. Figure out where you
are (in terms of education, prayer, service, life skills,
tithing, and Christian fellowship) and then say: "What
does my journey look like? Do I have tons of experience in
one area and little in another? Have I taken every class the
church has to offer, but am still putting a buck a week in
the offering plate? Have I spent twenty years serving God
with my tools, without ever approaching God with my prayers?
Have I processed with the choir for as long as I can remember,
but never taken the first step at integrating my Sunday faith
with the daily hatred I feel for my first husband? What do
I need next? Where should I go next? What should I do next?
Around which corner might God meet me next?
Take this
home. Mark this up. Nobody is going to grade you on it ...
compare you on it ... tell you what a "4" looks
like ... or a "10," for that matter. Lie, cheat
and rationalize all you want. If fooling yourself is what
you most need to do right now, be my guest. All this is, is
a map. A very personal map. And if you want to pretend that
you are one step removed from the Promised Land, when you're
really in Pittsburgh, go ahead. It's your journey. Yours and
yours alone.
No, that's
not quite right. It's not really yours alone. Some of us are
out there with you. Not step for step. Not stride for stride.
Maybe not even road for road. But we're out there. Very much
out there.
Along
with that other guy ... who walked that road and walks it
still. Closer than hands and feet. Nearer than pulse or breath.
You know the guy I'm talking about.
The
Spiritual Journey Growth Process
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